mdni. instead of sleep walking, gojo’s sleep sucking on your titties!
“-ngh.”
waking up to satoru’s heavy frame slung on top of you wasn’t exactly anything new. but opening your eyes to discover his warm mouth wrapped around your nipple?
stifling a yawn and squirming, sleepily trying to regain a sliver of sensibility as he sucked hard, sloppily dragging his tongue over the peaked bud as his fingers squeeze and groped your other breast.
“satoru,” you softly whined, blinking as your boyfriend practically tried to breastfeed from you—absolutely undeterred at the lack of milk.
he made a needy noise.
a deep groan that came from his chest, his hips grinding down to rut against the blankets tangled around you.
when you suggested free use to him a few months ago, you figured he’d use it for actually fucking you. not just slurping on your nipple while you were half-asleep.
and even now that you were starting to rise, he hadn’t budged, still groping and grabbing at you as he licked up his own spit that dribbled down the valley of your breasts.
“toru,” you whispered again, gently running your fingers through his fluffy hair, pushing the soft strands back so you could see his eyes.
he blinked slowly back at you, lazy and unfocused, the blue still shining in your dimly lit bedroom. swirling his tongue over the sensitive bud, not slowing or stopping for even a second as you tugged lightly at his roots.
but even when he unlatched, he barely reacted, brows just knitting together in faint confusion. mumbling something completely incoherent before returning to nuzzling against your chest as it struck you that he wasn’t even awake.
exhaustion still heavy enough in your bones and luring you back into your own dreams, readjusting with a thick yawn as you let him snuggle closer, lips leaving lingering kisses. the hypnotic sounds of his moans lulling you under until you had drifted off once more.
“fuck,” gojo’s groans snapped you out of your sleep a second time, morning sun filtering through the window now as you sat up easier, squinting as you scanned the room to discover satoru out of bed this time.
his pretty face all scrunched up, staring down at the unfortunate dried cum stain splotched in the front of his boxers, not even a hint of embarrassment etched into his expression.
Synopsis: When Minho is hired as the head chef of Farfalle, a prestigious Italian restaurant, expectations are high for him to elevate its reputation and bring it to new heights. However, no one anticipates the drastic changes he implements in the kitchen—including his strict rule that that there'll be no women and no romance in his kitchen.
oh my god, oh my god the way i binge read this over a night and this afternoon. The character growth!! The kinda slow burn!! The coming together of the whole kitchen 😭 so good
Well, not saying that it's that great though but for me personally, Taste is my comfort fic. And yeah, you can say that I love being ragebaited by Chef Lee Minho 😂
Synopsis: One night, you accidentally found a diamond ring hidden in the closet. Naturally, you assume your boyfriend, Seungmin, is going to get on his knee and pop the question. Since then, every dinner, every date, every tender look from Seungmin feels like it could be ‘the moment’ — until it isn’t. (22,6k words)
Author's note: It's been a while since my last Seungmin fic so I hope you enjoy this fluffy (and just a tad bit angsty fic) ❣️
You aren’t just good at your job—you are brilliant.
Vice President at one of the most prestigious firms in the city, your days are built on back-to-back meetings, business proposals, and decisive strategy calls. You thrived in it all. There is something intoxicating about the fast-paced rhythm and high-stakes negotiations, the weight of your signature at the bottom of a multimillion-dollar deal.
You walk through skyscraper hallways like you belong there and you do. Still, no matter how polished your days looked in heels and tailored blazers, the part you always looked forward to most is coming home.
Your apartment—shared with your boyfriend of five years—sits high in a sleek building that towered above the glittering city skyline. From the floor-to-ceiling windows, you can watch the sun melt into orange and gold behind the glass silhouettes of the skyline, the lights of the world flickering to life beneath you.
You toe off your shoes at the door, setting your bag down on the console table. You roll up the sleeves of your silk blouse and head to the kitchen. You start by washing your hands, hair loosening from the tight twist it lived in all day.
Cooking helps you unwind. You grab the ingredients for dinner and hum a little tune as you chop and stir, your voice mixing with the soft jazz playing from the portable speaker.
It’s simple and domestic in a way that feels earned. Because even with all your success, all the accolades and titles and salary numbers most people your age only dreamed of—you still cherished this: a quiet evening while anticipating for your boyfriend’s return.
You’re just setting the table when you hear the sound of the door unlocking. Keys jingling, then a soft click and then he’s there.
“Smells like someone’s trying to win girlfriend of the year,” Seungmin calls out as he steps inside, the familiar edge of exhaustion softened by affection.
You glance over your shoulder and smile, finding Seungmin dressed in navy suits. The jacket already draped over one arm, tie slightly loosened at the collar. His hair is a little tousled, like he ran his hands through it on the elevator ride up—his version of unwinding.
“I thought I already won that last year,” you say, setting down the last plate.
“You did,” he grins, shrugging off his bag and making his way to you. “But I like that you’re not getting complacent.”
He leans in to press a sweet kiss to your cheek. It’s gentle, but it says everything—I missed you, I see you, we’re here now.
Seungmin is just as much a force in his world as you are in yours. A high-stakes corporate lawyer known for his razor-sharp mind and unbeatable composure in the courtroom. He thrives under pressure, commands rooms without raising his voice, and has the kind of reputation that even senior partners take seriously.
That’s what you have in common, really. The ambition. The passion. The shared understanding that success isn’t something you luck into—it’s something you grind for. But even more than that, you both believe that relationships, like careers, needed investment. Time. Intention.
So, you make time. No matter how late your meetings run or how chaotic his court schedule gets, you always come back to this: dinner, together. Phones down, minds open, hearts soft.
You both eventually settle at the table. The city glows outside the window behind him, casting golden light over his features as he fills your glass with wine.
“So,” he says, resting his chin in his hand, eyes trained on you, “tell me everything. Wins, losses, scandalous office gossip—what’s the highlight reel today?”
You laugh, reaching for your fork. “Well, let’s just say the intern who accidentally CC’d the entire company on her resignation email now has a fan club.”
He chuckles, and just like that, the stress of your day begins to peel away. This is how the two of you survive the whirlwind—by anchoring yourselves in these moments.
And in moments like this, you can’t help but think: if you were to spend the rest of your life exactly like this, it would still be more than enough. You just didn’t know how much that thought would start to shift soon.
-
Later, the two of you move in sync, the way only people who know each other’s routines by heart do.
You're in the bathroom now, side by side at the sink. You’re patting toner into your cheeks while Seungmin brushes his teeth, bent slightly over the sink in a faded gray tee and sweatpants that sit a little too low on his hips.
You catch his reflection in the mirror. His hair is still slightly damp from his quick shower, and he gives you a lazy smile, foamy toothpaste making him look younger than usual.
It’s such a simple moment, but it feels like home.
You turn to grab your moisturizer just as he leans in to spit, and your shoulders bump. “Oops, sorry,” you say, voice soft.
He tilts his head slightly, flashing you a half-smirk. “Shoulder check me again and we’re gonna have a problem.”
You roll your eyes with a laugh and nudge him again, just because you can.
By the time you finish up and head to the bedroom, the city has quieted. The only sounds are the faint traffic several stories below and the rustle of sheets as you both climb into bed. You propped up by a pillow against the headboard, a book resting open in your hands. You’re halfway through a paragraph when the bed dips beside you.
Seungmin crawls up from the foot of the bed, slow and catlike, until he’s beside you, leaning over with a soft, almost mischievous smirk. His lips press to your cheek, featherlight, then to your jaw. You don’t look up from your book, but the corners of your mouth curve.
“Hi,” you murmur.
He hums a greeting into the space behind your ear, then kisses just below it. “How far in are you?” he asks, voice muffled slightly against your skin.
“Chapter fourteen,” you reply, flipping the page. “The main character just found out her sister’s been lying to her for, like, five years.”
He lets out a thoughtful little noise, lips drifting lower—along your jawline, then to your neck, pausing to linger at that one spot that always makes you squirm. “Sounds dramatic,” he says, his voice a little too casual for someone currently distracting you from the plot.
“Very,” you say, holding back a smile. “I would be more into it if someone wasn’t trying to seduce me with neck kisses.”
“I’m not seducing you,” he murmurs, now kissing down the curve of your shoulder. “I’m appreciating you.”
Then, he pauses. “Wait… are you using a new lotion?”
You finally glance at him, raising a brow. “Yep.”
He leans in and inhales lightly near your shoulder. “Smells like coconut.”
Your smile grows. “Correct. Bonus points for identifying the scent.”
“I’ll collect them later,” he murmurs, grinning against your skin before resuming his trail of kisses, slow and lazy, like he’s in no rush at all.
You try—really try—to keep your eyes on the page, but Seungmin makes it nearly impossible. His lips keep moving—down your shoulder, along your collarbone, ghosting over your chest with featherlight kisses that trail heat in their wake. You shift slightly, book still in hand, but your focus has long since slipped through your fingers.
“Seungmin,” you murmur, half a warning, half a sigh.
“Keep reading,” he says softly, voice low and teasing near your waist. “Don’t mind me.”
You let out a quiet whine, a protest laced with laughter, but you don’t stop him.
Seungmin doesn’t stop either. His mouth continues its slow descent, inch by inch, kisses landing on the curve of your stomach, your hip, then lower still. The hem of your sleep shorts shifts as he settles between your legs, nudging the fabric aside, his breath warm against your skin. Then his fingers hook around your underwear, and in one smooth motion, he tugs it down.
You glance away from your book now, heart skipping, only to find him looking up at you with that wild, naughty glint in his eyes.
“You worked hard today,” he says, lips brushing the inside of your thigh. “Let me help you relax.”
A soft laugh escapes you, caught between amusement and desire. “Is this a reward system now?”
He smirks, eyes never leaving yours. “Mm-hmm.” He nods, slowly, smug and sweet all at once. “Positive reinforcement.”
Your cheeks flush, but your smile grows with it. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And you’re beautiful,” he replies, pressing one last kiss to the soft skin of your inner thigh.
You shake your head, biting back a smile, and with a quiet breath, you let yourself lean back fully against the pillows, parting your legs for him.
He looks up at you one more time, a soft, knowing expression on his face—affection woven seamlessly with desire. And in that look, you feel it again: how much he sees you, how much he chooses you. Every time.
Despite having Seungmin’s head between your legs as he pleases you with his mouth, you try to keep your eyes on the page. The words blurring slightly as you breathe through the sensation building between your legs from the way he licks and sucks, flicking his tongue on the right spots.
The book trembles faintly in your grip, your fingers tightening around it each time Seungmin’s mouth moves just right. He’s slow, attentive—almost too much so. Then he hums against your drenched cunt. A deep, satisfied sound that vibrates through your core, making you gasp softly.
He pauses for just a beat to say, “God, I missed this.”
Your head tips back against the headboard, a breathless laugh slipping past your lips. “You missed going down on me?”
He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t even try to play coy. “Yeah,” he says, looking up at you with that maddeningly proud smile. “Think about this sweet, little pussy all day.”
You let out a quiet, incredulous chuckle, your free hand covering your face for a second before falling to your side. “You’re so—”
“I know.” He kisses your inner thigh again, grinning into your skin. “Lucky for both of us, I get to do something about it now.”
You give up on the book entirely, dropping it to the side, pages folding shut as your body arches instinctively toward him. Your hand slips into his hair, fingers curling as he gets back to work, tongue and lips relentless, methodical in the way only Seungmin can be when he’s determined to ruin you.
It doesn’t take long for him to do that. You’re a mess beneath him—moaning, trembling, your fingers fisted in his hair like it’s the only thing anchoring you to the world. Each movement of his mouth feels more precise, more purposeful, like he’s reading every sound you make, every shiver that ripples through you.
The way you fall apart under him only drives him further. He’s focused—relentless in that quiet, devoted way of his, like this is something he needs to do for you.
Your breath catches, hips stuttering beneath his hands as your body tightens, and you manage a desperate, shaky whisper of his name. “Seungmin—Oh...”
He hums with his mouth full of your wet cunt and it sends another wave through you.
That’s all it takes. You come with a soft, broken cry. Your thighs trembling around him, hand tugging sharply in his hair as your back arches off the bed. He holds you through it with mouth still coaxing every last flicker of pleasure from you until you’re gasping, limp and boneless against the sheets. Only then does he pull back, his lips kiss-swollen, his expression soft and smug all at once.
“You okay?” he casually asks, crawling back up beside you, brushing a few damp strands of hair from your forehead.
You can only nod, eyes half-lidded, breath still catching in your throat.
He smiles and leans in, pressing a kiss to your temple, then one to your lips—gentle and full of the affection that’s always been the heart of what you share. “Reward systems,” he murmurs, chuckling. “Highly effective.”
You’re still catching your breath when you shift slightly, your body pressed against Seungmin’s side, cheek resting on his chest. He’s warm and steady beneath you, arm draped lazily around your waist like he’s content to stay like this for hours, but you’re not done with him just yet.
You glance up at him, a teasing glint in your eyes. “You know,” you murmur, voice low and playful, “you work hard too. Day and night.”
His eyes flick down to meet yours, lips twitching into a smile. “Yeah?”
“Mmhmm,” you hum, hand drifting down, slipping beneath the waistband of his sweatpants. You palm his cock gently, feeling the way his body reacts to your seductive touch—quick and eager, the tension building beneath your fingers as you give his length slow, gentle strokes. “I think you’ve earned a reward too.”
Seungmin exhales sharply, his muscles tensing as he watches you with growing interest.
“Go on,” you add with a smirk, fingers curling ever so slightly. “Collect your bonus points.”
He lets out a breathy laugh, eyes narrowing with playful warning. “Dangerous game you’re playing.”
But you only smile wider, hand continuously stroking him. “I like high stakes,” you whisper, leaning down to press a kiss just below his jaw.
Seungmin groans softly, hands gripping your hips. “So do I.”
He hovers above you, his face close, breath mingling with yours. He repeatedly rubs the tip of his cock between your folds, letting your essence drenching every inch of his throbbing length. The longer he does it, the more you anticipate it. When he finally pushes in, the sheer size gives you that delicious stretch, making you moan in both pain and pleasure.
“I know you can take it,” he murmurs as he pushes the remaining length with such intensity that a cry slips out of your parted mouth.
The two of you taking a moment to savor it — the feeling of connecting to one another, physically and emotionally. He runs his hand down your front and then rests it on your abdomen.
He looks at you, his eyes heavy with both lust and love. “I'm going to move now, yeah?” he asks, his gaze tender yet smoldering.
With that, your bodies move together in a slow, steady rhythm—his hips rolling into yours, his chest brushing yours with every thrust. His forehead rests gently against yours at first, and the low sounds he makes—those quiet, breathy groans, the occasional broken whimper—fill the silence between kisses like a melody only you were meant to hear.
You reach up, gently brushing his hair back from his forehead, fingertips lingering on his temple. “Seungmin,” you whisper, voice trembling from pleasure, “you make me feel so good.”
His eyes flutter open at that, gaze locking with yours. The look he gives you is raw, open, like he’s trying to say everything he feels without words. He takes a mouthful of your breast, tongue swirling around your hard nipple before he lets go with a popping sound.
“You’re perfect,” he murmurs against your skin, breath catching as he sinks into you again. “Every time.”
The pace turns slower yet deeper, drawing out the tension between you, making every movement feel more intimate, more intense. He keeps his eyes on you, like he wants to remember every expression, every sound you make.
You moan his name again, soft and needy, and he shudders above you, his control slipping just a little. He presses his lips to your jaw, to your neck, to your shoulder like he can’t get close enough, like he wants to memorize your skin.
He keeps moving like that—changing pace, adjusting his angle—until you're gasping beneath him, your nails digging into his back as your legs tighten around him. And when he finally lets himself go, buried deep inside you with a choked, desperate sound, you feel it in every part of you—not just the heat, not just the tension snapping, but the emotion behind it.
Because with Seungmin, it’s never just physical. It’s love, every time. And he makes sure you know that with his hands, with his body, with the way he holds you after.
-
The scent of freshly ground coffee and melting butter fills the kitchen. Sunlight streaking through the blinds in warm, golden bands. The city is just beginning to wake outside, but inside your apartment, it’s slow and quiet—the kind of morning that only belongs to weekends.
You’re standing by the stove, slowly stirring scrambled eggs, carefully watching their texture. They’re just starting to come together, soft and glossy, not too dry. You tilt the pan slightly, flicking your wrist the way Seungmin always says brings out the perfect consistency.
Behind you, Seungmin stands by the counter, completely focused on the kettle. He holds the thermometer just above the water, brow furrowed, waiting for the precise number to hit before pouring it over the coffee grounds in steady, slow circles.
You glance at him over your shoulder with a smirk. “You’re acting like you’re defusing a bomb.”
He doesn’t look up. “That’s because good coffee is a must in this household.”
You laugh under your breath and return to the eggs, taking them off the heat just before they finish cooking, leaving them soft, just how he likes them. You add a pinch of salt, a bit of cracked pepper, then plate them while he finishes pouring the last of the water into the carafe.
By the time you both sit down at the small dining table, everything is quiet again. Coffee, eggs, toast. Then you clink your mugs together in a mock toast before taking your first sip.
“This is nice,” you murmur, resting your cheek in your palm as you watch him butter a piece of toast like he’s doing brain surgery.
He glances up with a soft grin. “Mm. Still think I make better eggs than you.”
“You do,” you admit, stealing a bite from his plate anyway. “But I’m still the fun one.”
He chuckles, eyes crinkling at the corners. “No argument there.”
Weekends are sacred in your relationship. An unspoken promise to reconnect after a long week of endless meetings, deadlines, and case files. Sometimes that means spending the whole day together—brunch, errands, movies on the couch, lazy evenings tangled up in each other. Other times, it means giving each other space. Because loving each other also means understanding that you are your own people, too.
“So,” he says between sips of coffee, “baseball game starts at five. Jisung's meeting me there. Should be back before midnight.”
You nod. “Yes, I remember cause you’ve been talking about it all week.”
He gives you a little look—half proud, half sheepish. “I might yell.”
“You will yell,” you say knowingly, grinning. “Just don’t get too carried away and angers everyone around you.”
He rolls his eyes with a smirk. “Not my fault they made that stupid call in the seventh inning.”
You laugh, shaking your head as you sip your coffee.
“And you?” he asks. “Still doing that girls’ night?”
“Mhm. Marion’s coming over later. We’re doing the full thing—masks, sugary cocktails, probably something embarrassing on Netflix.”
Seungmin raises a brow, mock serious. “Try not to drink too much and gossip about me behind my back.”
You tilt your head, pretending to consider it. “I could do that.”
He narrows his eyes at you, but there’s a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “You’re lucky I like you, you know.”
You nonchalantly shrug. “I know.”
And just like that, the rest of the morning unfolds in soft conversation and shared glances—two people perfectly in rhythm, building a life that’s equal parts warmth, work, and a little bit of mischief.
-
Marion shows up right on time, wearing loose linen pants and a graphic tee, sunglasses still perched on her head despite the setting sun. The moment you open the door, she throws her arms around you.
“God, it feels like forever,” she says into your shoulder.
You hug her tightly, laughing. “It’s been a week.”
“Exactly. Forever.”
When she pulls back, she holds up a brown paper bag with a smug grin. A long-necked wine bottle is very visibly poking out the top, along with what looks like a skincare sheet mask box and possibly a pint of ice cream tucked at the bottom.
“I brought the essentials,” she says proudly.
You eye the wine and nod in approval. “You understood the assignment.”
Behind you, Seungmin is just finishing up, adjusting the hem of his jersey and tossing on a cap that matches it perfectly. He steps into the entryway and flashes Marion a grin. “Hey, Marion.”
“Hey, Seungmin,” she replies. “You look like you’re about to fight someone over a bad pitch.”
“Not ruling it out,” he immediately replies, grin widening. Then he turns to you, wrapping his arms around your waist as you lift your chin to meet him.
He kisses you fully, just shy of teasing. It’s the kind of kiss that says I'll miss you, even if you’ll be apart for just a few hours. When he finally pulls back, he rests his forehead briefly against yours. “Don’t drink too much,” he murmurs.
You chuckle. “No promises.”
He shakes his head, muttering under his breath like he’s half-exasperated, half-entertained. You lean in and plant a quick kiss on his jaw, grinning. He always looks too cute when he’s annoyed in that quiet, worried way of his.
The two of you move toward the front door, and as he puts on his sneakers, he glances over his shoulder. “Marion, I expect my girlfriend is still in one piece when I'm back, yeah?”
Marion doesn’t miss a beat. “Can’t make any promises. But if I do, I’ll probably just take a bite out of her.”
You laugh, watching them with a shake of your head. Seungmin’s tying his laces, but he’s smiling. Once he’s done, you reach for his wrist, tugging him gently back toward you. You press one more kiss to his lips—longer this time.
He sighs into it, like he doesn’t actually want to go, and you whisper, “Have fun.”
But Seungmin squints at you, narrowing his eyes. “You. Don’t have too much fun.”
You can’t help but laugh again. “That also, I can't promise,” you say, for the second time.
He rolls his eyes, muttering something in mock defeat, but there’s that charming smile again as he lifts a hand in farewell and steps out the door. You watch it close behind him, the quiet clicking into place like a soft punctuation mark.
When you turn back around, Marion is already in the kitchen, holding up two glasses of mimosas with a satisfied grin.
“Cheers to nights in and no boys allowed,” she says.
You take your glass, clinking it against hers. “Cheers.”
-
It starts with the idea of “just one cookie.”
One cookie turns into an attempt to make a whole batch. That turns into realizing neither of you have measured anything quite right. That turns into the first tray coming out entirely too dark on the bottom. Marion swears they’re “extra toasty,” but even she admits the crunch sounds suspicious.
Now, you’re both leaning against the counter, wine glasses half-full again, laughing as the second batch bakes and this time with the timer actually set and taken seriously.
“You know,” Marion says between bites of a still-warm cookie from the improved batch, “I always thought Seungmin was super serious when I first met him. Like, scary lawyer energy. And then you told me he sleeps with one sock on because he can’t stand it when both feet are warm.”
You nearly choke on your wine. “Oh my God—don’t expose him like that.”
“I like him, but come on,” she laughs. “That’s a little unhinged.”
You nod, grinning. “He says it’s about temperature regulation, but I think he’s just stubborn.”
Marion wiggles her fingers dramatically. “Genius boy logic.”
You swirl your glass, smiling softly into it. “Honestly, sometimes he says things that are so dry I don’t know if he’s joking or judging me. But then he breaks and laughs at his own joke for like, a full minute. It’s the cutest thing.”
“That’s criminally cute.” Marion nudges your arm. “You’re so gone for him.”
You shrug, but the smile on your lips betrays you. “I really am.”
She sighs, setting her glass down and hopping up to sit on the edge of the counter. “Isn’t it crazy? Like, we’re at that age where we’re not just dating people who are fun. We’re dating people who we could actually see in our lives for a long time.”
“Yeah,” you say softly, nodding. “And somehow it still feels just… easy.”
Marion sips her wine before nodding in agreement. “That’s so true.”
“What about you and Leo?”
“Oh God,” she groans in mock embarrassment. “He’s convinced he can dance. And he can’t. At all. But he’ll do this horrible little shoulder wiggle every time he brushes his teeth and makes eye contact with himself in the mirror.”
You both burst out laughing, the sound echoing through the kitchen as the smell of sweet dough fills the air again. The timer goes off, and this time, the cookies come out golden and perfect. You each grab another and lean against the counter again, barefoot and tipsy, warm with wine and sugar and the feeling of knowing someone who knows you.
In this moment, everything feels light and easy. Well, until Marion spills her mimosas on the couch. You’re both laughing about it while you rummage through the linen closet in the hallway, muttering about how everything in this apartment magically disappears when you actually need it.
You’re halfway to tipsy and elbow-deep in a search for extra towels. You tug at a thick stack of folded tablecloths near the back, pulling them forward and— thunk.
Something small and soft hits the hardwood floor at your feet. You blink and look down. A square velvet box sits there, deep navy in color. Your brows knit together as you crouch down, curiosity tugging at your fingers as you pick it up and open it.
Inside, nestled in the cushioned lining, is a ring. Not just a ring. That kind of ring. Gold band. A classic cut diamond. Undeniably meant for a certain question and a promise.
“OH MY GOD,” Marion shrieks behind you.
You nearly drop the box as you jolt in surprise, whipping your head around to find her standing in the hallway, eyes wide, hand over her mouth like she just watched a K-drama twist unfold in real time.
“What?” you ask, still crouched, heart hammering, your voice weirdly flat compared to the chaos in your chest. “What is this?”
Marion walks over in slow, careful steps, like she’s approaching something sacred. “Are you serious? Are you serious right now?”
You look down at the ring again. It sparkles faintly under the hallway light. “I mean… it’s a ring. But—”
She lets out a dramatic gasp. “You dummy! It’s your ring!”
You blink up at her. “What are you talking about?”
Marion throws her hands up, pointing down at the velvet box. “That is an engagement ring. That’s a proposal ring! Look at it—it’s literally from that high-end designer boutique. I recognize the box! And the cut of the diamond—come on, that is classic proposal energy.”
Your mouth opens. Then closes. You look at the ring again, mind slowly catching up with her words. “I mean…” you start, hesitating, “he hasn’t said anything. And it was just in the linen closet, not like… hidden hidden.”
“Oh my God,” Marion groans. “It was between tablecloths and towels. Do you think he’d just toss a ring like that there if it wasn’t meant to be a surprise?”
You fall silent, your gaze dropping to the ring again.
She crouches beside you now, her voice softening. “He’s going to propose to you. He probably has a plan. Maybe he’s waiting for the right moment. Or maybe he’s just… trying to figure out how to keep it a surprise because he knows you’ll pick up on it.”
You don’t want to get your hopes up. You really don’t. But the ring is stunning. The kind of ring Seungmin would pick—classic, simple, elegant. You remember how he once made a comment about how you always liked things that lasted. And now it’s sitting in your palm, blinking at you like a secret trying not to be found.
Your chest flutters. Hope blooms slowly, cautiously. “Maybe he is,” you whisper.
Marion grins, eyes misty with excitement. “Girl… he is.”
And for the first time that night, you’re not tipsy on wine, but on possibility. You stay crouched there a second longer, staring down at the ring as if it might suddenly explain itself.
Marion is still next to you, practically vibrating with excitement when you finally whisper, “What do I do?”
She grabs your shoulders like she’s about to shake you. “You put it back.”
“What?” you ask, slightly confused.
“Put. It. Back.” She points emphatically at the linen closet. “Exactly where you found it. Pretend you never saw it.”
You glance at the velvet box in your hand again, hesitant. “What if he notices?”
Marion grins. “Then you say nothing, act innocent, like you have no clue he’s about to propose and marry you. And probably cry when he does it.”
You slap her arm, laughing in disbelief. “Stop.”
She only cackles harder as you carefully tuck the box back between the tablecloths and towels where it had been hidden, adjusting the folds to make it look untouched. You close the linen closet gently, almost like it’s sacred now.
The moment the door clicks shut, Marion shrieks again, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Oh my God, you’re gonna get married!” she says, grabbing your hands.
“Marion,” you hiss through a laugh, trying to hush her. “We don’t even know if that’s what it is.”
She ignores you entirely. “I mean, we need to think colors. Do you want something classic? Romantic? I can already see you in an off-shoulder satin gown—”
“Okay, stop,” you say again, cheeks burning, waving her off as you walk back toward the kitchen. “Nothing’s confirmed.”
She follows you, still buzzing. “But it will be. I know that man. Seungmin is calculated, strategic. If he bought that ring, it’s happening. You're gonna walk into brunch one day wearing that thing and act like you’re surprised. You better start practicing your gasp.”
You roll your eyes, but your heart’s thudding inside your chest, louder than before. You try to brush it off and try to tell yourself that maybe it’s not what it looks like. That maybe it’s a ring for something else, or a decoy, or a mistake. But your fingers still feel the weight of the velvet box.
And no matter how hard you try not to let it take over your thoughts… You can’t help but wonder. What if it is?
-
You pause at the doorway of the bathroom, watching him from behind. Seungmin is standing by the sink, toothbrush in hand, head slightly tilted as he brushes with quiet focus. The dim bathroom light casts gentle shadows on his back, the lines of his shoulder blades, the slope of his neck, the soft dishevel of his dark hair. You find yourself staring, studying the way the fabric of his white tee stretches across his shoulders, the curve of his jaw in the mirror’s reflection.
Sometimes, in mundane moments like this, you still can’t believe he’s yours.
He spits, rinses, then glances up and catches your eyes in the mirror. A smirk pulls at the corner of his lips. “Stop watching me, you creep.”
You laugh softly, stepping forward. “But I’m your creep.”
He shakes his head in amusement as you walk up to him, not caring that he’s now smoothing moisturizer over his face. You slip your arms around his waist, pressing your cheek to his chest, melting into his warmth.
He doesn’t even hesitate to wrap his free arm around you, pulling you in closer as he continues gently patting his face with the tips of his fingers.
You tilt your head back slightly, watching him. You could say it now. Ask about the ring. About the velvet box in the linen closet, about what it means. The words press lightly at the back of your throat, but you swallow them down.
Not now. You tell yourself. Because you know Seungmin. He doesn’t rush anything and he’s never made you feel like something was missing. Maybe it’s not the right time, or maybe he is waiting for the right moment. And if it never comes? You’d still choose him. Like this. Like now.
His eyes drop to yours suddenly, as if sensing the thoughts spiraling in your head. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
You shake your head with a smile and bury your face in the crook of his neck. “I missed you.”
He lets out a quiet chuckle, his hand rubbing up and down your back in slow, comforting circles. “Marion must’ve made you drink a lot, mmh?”
You scoff into his neck. “That’s the whole point of a girls’ night in.”
He hums in agreement, reaching for a tube of lip balm with one hand and applying it methodically.
You pull back a little just to watch him, lips pursed, face content and freshly moisturized. “Did you miss me too?” you teasingly ask.
He caps the tube and places it down, then cups your jaw with one hand, tilting your face up so your eyes meet. “Of course I missed you,” he answers without a beat.
You scoff at that. “Lie. You forget about everything whenever you watch a baseball game.”
Seungmin lets out a soft chuckle and then he kisses you. It’s tender and slow, thumb brushing lightly along your cheekbone as he deepens it just enough to make your heart skip. Just enough to remind you how much he means it, even if he doesn’t say much. Even now, after almost five years together, his kiss still makes your chest flutter.
When he finally pulls back, his eyes are warm, lips curved in that subtle smile of his. “Let’s go to bed.”
You nod but don’t let go. Instead, you jump up, wrapping your arms and legs around him. And he catches you without missing a beat, grunting slightly in surprise. You press a quick kiss to his lips, giggling into it.
Seungmin steadies you, arms securely around your thighs, and gives you that amused grin. “You’re such a big baby.”
Then he gives you a light, playful slap on the butt and carries you out of the bathroom.
You smile against his shoulder, already half-asleep in his hold, completely at peace and content with everything you have. And quietly hoping for what might come next.
-
The week passes in a blur and somewhere along the way, the memory of the ring tucked between the tablecloths and towels fades to the background, replaced by spreadsheets and strategy decks and late nights staring at your laptop until your eyes burn.
By Friday afternoon, you’re buried in emails when your phone starts buzzing on your desk. You glance at the screen. Seungmin.
It’s rare that he calls when you're in the middle of work. You frown slightly, sliding your finger across the screen and lifting it to your ear. “Hey. Is everything okay?”
You expect the worst—something urgent, a change of plans, maybe even bad news. But instead, you hear a soft chuckle on the other end.
“I’m fine,” Seungmin calmly says, “Just wanted to let you know that we’re going out for dinner tonight.”
“Oh?” you say, slightly surprised. “What’s the occasion?”
There’s a brief silence, and then you can hear the smile in his voice. “It’s a surprise.”
Before you can press him for more, he hangs up. You lower the phone slowly, staring at it like it might offer an explanation. You don’t want to get ahead of yourself. You don’t want to assume. But your thoughts are already spinning.
A surprise dinner. On a Friday night. No reason, no hints. And suddenly, the memory of that ring box floods back in. Could it be?
You exhale slowly, catching yourself before your imagination runs completely wild. Even if it’s just a regular dinner, you tell yourself, there’s no harm in looking good.
You press the intercom button on your desk. “Hey, Jess? I’m going to step out early today.”
Your assistant’s voice crackles through. “Sure. Want me to clear your schedule for the rest of the day?”
“Yes, please. Something came up. I have... an event tonight.” You smile to yourself.
The moment you end the call, you grab your bag, already planning a visit to the boutique two blocks down. Maybe get something simple yet chic and elegant.
Whatever this night holds, you want to be ready. Just in case.
-
The vanity light glows softly, casting a warm sheen over the organized chaos of your skincare and lipsticks. Your hair is still wrapped in a towel, damp strands clinging to your neck, and your makeup is only halfway done.
In your hand is a champagne flute. Or, well... mostly champagne. You’d started with the idea of a pomegranate spritz, but at the last second, you’d added another splash—or two—of champagne. For courage. For nerves. For what might be happening tonight.
You take a long sip, eyes darting to the hallway. And then, as if your feet move on their own, you walk toward the linen closet. It’s stupid, maybe. But a part of you just wants to know. You’re not trying to ruin anything, you just want confirmation. Or reassurance. Or some kind of sign that your hope isn’t misplaced.
You slowly open the door, the quiet creak of the hinges sounding louder than usual in the apartment’s stillness. Your hand slides between the stacks of towels and tablecloths, fingers searching the familiar spot, seeking the edge of that velvet box. But all you touch is folded fabric and the smooth, empty wood of the shelf beneath.
Your brows furrowed in confusion. You push the towels aside, check the corners, even lift a few things just to be sure. It’s gone. The ring box isn’t there. Your heart lurches. A rush of adrenaline floods your chest, so fast it’s almost dizzying.
It’s happening. It has to be.
You scramble to put everything back just the way it was, flattening the towels, smoothing out the tablecloths, trying to erase any trace of your little search mission. Just as you shut the closet door with a quiet click, you hear the jangle of keys at the front door.
You make a quick dash to the bedroom, practically throwing yourself into the chair at your vanity. You unwrap your towel, tossing it aside, and reach for your foundation with shaking hands, trying to look like you haven’t just been rooting through a closet like a hopeful maniac.
A moment later, you hear footsteps. Then Seungmin appears in the doorway, still in his sleek work attire except that his tie now slightly loosened, shirt sleeves rolled up, hair a little tousled from the wind outside.
You meet his eyes in the mirror and smile, trying to keep it casual. “Welcome home,” you sweetly greet.
He walks up behind you, leans down, and presses a soft kiss to the side of your neck. “You smell good,” he murmurs, his lips curling into a smile against your skin.
You hum softly as he places another kiss on your jaw, your cheeks warming at that.
He straightens, gently tugging at your robe’s collar in that playful way of his. “I’m gonna take a quick shower.”
And then, with a grin, he adds, “And I’m using your fancy body wash. The expensive one.”
You chuckle under your breath. “So long as you smell like me by the end of it, I won’t complain.”
He winks, already backing toward the bathroom, unbuttoning his shirt as he disappears behind the door.
You exhale slowly. Your heart is thudding so hard it echoes in your ears, and your reflection is practically glowing with excitement, nerves, and disbelief.
He took the ring. He’s taking you out to dinner. And yet, you still don’t know.
But God, you hope.
-
The city glides by in a blur of golden streetlights and muted reflections in the car windows. Seungmin’s hand rests on the wheel, his other on the gearshift, navigating familiar roads with the kind of effortless ease that only comes from years of doing life together. You sit in the passenger seat, hands folded on your lap, your eyes darting to the glowing dashboard clock—7:08 PM.
He hasn’t said where you’re going so you try to puzzle it out in your head, thinking through every restaurant the two of you have been to. If it’s the Italian place downtown, maybe it’s just a regular Friday night date. But if he’s heading toward the hills, toward the rooftop spots or places with skyline views, then maybe— You shake your head and try to stay calm.
The hum of the engine fills the silence between the two of you, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s just… charged. And then the car slows, stopping at a red light.
Seungmin glances over at you, a little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He reaches out and takes your hand gently, bringing it to his lips to kiss the back of it. The touch is soft and thoughtful. He doesn’t say anything at first, just laces his fingers through yours and holds on. Then, casually, like he’s not slowly unravelling you, he asks, “You hungry?”
You swallow the nerves that are caught in your throat and manage a nod, smiling back. “Actually? Famished.”
At that, Seungmin pulls a dramatic face and squints at you. “Don’t tell me that’s because you drank your weight in pomegranate spritz before dinner.”
You wince with a small laugh, but this time, instead of teasing him back like you normally would, you just shake your head and bite your tongue. You’re afraid if you say too much, he’ll notice the way your voice shakes. The way your hands keep fidgeting in your lap. The way your eyes keep drifting to the glove compartment where, maybe, a ring box might be tucked away. So, you stay quiet.
Seungmin just squeezes your hand gently, his thumb brushing along your knuckles, and keeps his eyes on the road. Just then, the light turns green and the car moves forward.
Belle Vue. It's the restaurant. The kind of place where people wear tailored suits and sleek dresses and speak in hushed tones over candlelight and wine that costs more than your electricity bill.
Seungmin pulls up to the valet, shifts the car into park, and glances over at you. His expression is unreadable, calm in that effortlessly cool way he always is. You school your face into something neutral just as the valet opens your door.
“Good evening,” the young man says, and murmur a thank-you as you step out, smoothing your dress and clutching your purse a little tighter than necessary.
Seungmin walks around the car, handing the keys over with a quick nod before he turns back to you and reaches for your hand. And together, you walk into the restaurant and the maître d’ looks up with a smile as you approach.
“Reservation under Seungmin Kim,” Seungmin says smoothly.
The host glances at the list, nods, and gestures with a polite smile. “Right this way.”
You trail after him, heart pounding in your chest like it’s trying to beat out the truth. The restaurant is beautiful and intimate. Each table lit by the soft flicker of candlelight, crystal glassware gleaming, then the host stops.
Your table is by the window. The one that offers a stunning view of the city skyline, glittering like a dream just outside the glass. It's the kind of table people book months in advance. The kind of table people get proposed to at. You sit down slowly and carefully, like one wrong move might shatter the moment.
Seungmin takes the seat across from you and thanks the host, who gives a small bow before slipping away.
The signs are everywhere. The view. The reservation. The tone of the night. You barely hear Seungmin when he speaks. “Are you okay?”
You glance up to find him watching you. Not suspiciously, but curiously. Like he knows something’s off. You laugh too softly and wave it off with a smile. “I think it’s the pomegranate spritz. I drank too much while getting ready.”
He squints at you, giving you that signature unimpressed look. “I told you not to drink before dinner.”
You flash a grin, but your fingers tighten slightly around your water glass. “I know. I deserve the lecture.”
He lets it go with a mock sigh and leans back in his seat, casually scanning the menu as if he didn’t just lead you into the most romantic restaurant in the city on a Friday night, sitting across from you looking godly attractive and every bit the man you’ve built a life with.
You nod to yourself, trying to stay composed, but even as the waiter comes by and pours water into your glasses, all you can think is: This could be it.
-
Dinner flows surprisingly well, despite the nerves bubbling just under your skin. Seungmin, as always, is composed. He’s cutting into his entrée with the same precision he approaches everything. He tells you about a new case at work, one that’s been dragging for weeks, and you listen with your chin propped on your hand, your glass of wine untouched for the past few minutes.
The conversation slips easily from work, to life, to a recent player transfer on his favorite baseball team. His voice lights up when he talks about it, and you smile at the familiar passion in his tone—the way he gets animated about stats, potential lineups, strategy.
And then, mid-sentence, he pauses and looks at you. Really looks at you. “You look beautiful tonight,” he says softly.
A smile tugs at your lips as you glance down at your dress. “I snagged the last one in the boutique. Lucky find.”
Seungmin shakes his head slowly. “It’s not the dress. It’s you,” he says. “You look beautiful tonight.”
You’ve received compliments from him before. Lots of them. Casual, playful, sincere. But this one… this one land differently. Maybe it’s the quiet conviction in his voice. Or the way his hand reaches across the table and wraps around yours, fingers fitting together like they always do. Maybe it’s the way his eyes hold yours—tender, thoughtful, like he’s memorizing the moment.
You smile, cheeks warming as you gently squeeze his hand. And then you let your eyes roam over him, fully appreciating the sight before you. Seungmin in a tailored black suit, his white shirt perfectly crisp beneath it, collar resting just right to frame the sharp line of his jaw.
“Look at you,” you murmur, letting your voice drop just enough. “Sitting there looking like a main entrée.”
You smirk as you lower your voice and teasingly add, “I can’t wait to take that white shirt off of you tonight.”
Seungmin leans back in his seat, giving you a slow, dangerous grin. “Let's see if you're lucky tonight.”
You grin back at him, playful and smug, but your heart is racing now—not because of the banter, but because the night is almost over.
As the waiter reappears and begins clearing the plates, he asks, “Are you ready for dessert?”
You barely register the question as you're lost in your head. “Excuse me,” you say quickly, offering a polite smile as you slide your chair back. “I need to go to the restroom.”
Seungmin nods, lifting your hand for a brief kiss before letting you go. “Don’t take too long.”
You nod as you get up from your seat. But as you walk toward the restrooms, your stomach twists. The dinner is nearly over and if he’s going to do it—if tonight is the night—then it’s happening soon.
In the restroom, you lean over the sink, both hands braced on the cool marble countertop, staring at your reflection in the mirror. You look stunning—anyone would say that. But your face is tense, your eyes a little too wide, your lips pressed tightly together like you’re holding in a thousand thoughts that don’t have anywhere to go. You inhale. Exhale. Shake out your hands like you’re about to give a keynote speech in front of a thousand people.
This is ridiculous. You’re not even sure if it’s happening tonight. Still, the nerves are real. Palpable. You reach for your purse to find your lipstick, but instead, your fingers brush against your phone. And before you can talk yourself out of it, you tap Marion’s name and press it to your ear.
She doesn’t pick up on the first call. You curse under your breath and hit redial, pacing a slow circle around the restroom. This time, she answers, slightly breathless. “Sorry! I missed the first call—I’m having dinner with Leo. What’s up?”
You don’t even hesitate and blurt out. “I think Seungmin’s going to propose tonight.”
There’s a pause and then a sudden shuffle on the other end of the line. You hear her muffled voice excusing herself before a door shuts in the background, and then—
WHAT?” Marion says quickly. “Now tell me everything. Start from the top.”
You press a hand to your forehead. “Okay, so… he called me this afternoon out of nowhere. Said we’re having dinner tonight. Wouldn’t tell me where. Just that it’s a surprise.”
Marion gasps.
“And then,” you continue, pacing again, “I was getting ready and I—okay, I checked the linen closet. The ring box’s not there anymore. It’s gone.”
“Oh my god.”
“And then he takes me to Belle Vue. Best seat in the house. Full skyline view.” You glance at your reflection again, voice growing quiet. “And the way he looked at me tonight, Marion… I don’t know. It felt like something. Something big.”
There’s a beat of silence before Marion lets out a shriek of joy so loud you have to pull the phone away from your ear. “I KNEW IT! I knew he was going to propose soon! Everything—literally everything—makes sense!”
You laugh, nerves bubbling over again. “But I... I don’t want to get ahead of myself.”
“Girl,” Marion says, her voice dropping into dead-serious mode, “he took the ring out of the closet. He brought you to a place that takes a month to book. And he’s looking at you like you hung the stars. What else could it be?”
You rub your temple, heart racing. “What do I even do if he does?”
“You keep breathing,” Marion says firmly. “You apply a fresh coat of lipstick. Fix your hair. And start practicing your surprised-but-still-glowy-yes-face.”
You snort softly. “Right.”
“I’m serious! I expect a full report by the end of the night. Don’t you dare leave me hanging.”
“Okay, okay,” you say, smiling despite yourself. “Love you. Wish me luck.”
“You don’t need it. Just say yes.” She hangs up with one final squeal, and you sigh as you slip your phone back into your purse.
You want to brush it off, laugh it away. But… maybe there’s nothing wrong in being prepared. So you do exactly what Marion said. You blot and reapply your lipstick. Fluff your hair. Practice your smile in the mirror and feel your heart flutter in your chest. You take a final breath to steady yourself, then step out of the restroom and walk slowly, carefully, back toward your table.
Seungmin’s already there, sitting tall with his black suit pristine under the golden glow of the restaurant lights. He looks up the second you appear and smiles. “There you are,” he says. “Dessert’s here.”
You return his smile as gracefully as you can manage and settle back into your seat, murmuring a polite thanks to the server as they place a second silver spoon beside your plate.
The dessert is gorgeous. Artfully plated with swirls of ganache, caramel glass, and something delicate and dusted with powdered sugar. The kind of thing that would usually make you beam with delight. You take a bite and it’s perfect. Silky, rich, melt-on-your-tongue perfect. And yet, your stomach is still in knots.
The air around you feels like it’s waiting for something. Like you’re waiting for something. You sit quietly, your spoon gliding through the dessert, letting yourself hope for just a few more seconds.
Seungmin glances at you from across the table. Then he chuckles. “You got real quiet.”
“It’s the dessert,” you say, forcing a small smile. “Too good to talk through.”
He nods, still smiling, like nothing’s out of the ordinary. And then, his hand disappears into the inner pocket of his jacket.
This is it. This has to be it. Your heart skips. Your whole body stills. You watch, barely breathing, your fingers tightening around your spoon as he pulls something from behind the lapel.
But it’s not a velvet box. It’s his card wallet. He places it on the table, sliding the bill check toward himself. “Figured I’ll take care of it now,” he says casually, flipping it open to slip in his card.
And just like that, the illusion unravels. The anticipation that’s been building all night collapses into the hollow space behind your ribs. You lower your eyes to your plate and push another bite of dessert into your mouth just to keep your expression from cracking.
You’re not sure what disappoints you more—that it didn’t happen… or that you let yourself believe it would. You manage a small smile, nodding at nothing in particular as he chats with the waiter. Because this is just a regular night. Just dinner. Just dessert. And the ring? Whatever it was… maybe it was never for tonight at all.
-
The night air is cooler now, the city buzzing gently in the background as you and Seungmin make your way back to the car. He opens the passenger door for you like he always does, and you slip inside quietly, your mind still reeling from the way dinner ended in… nothing.
You fasten your seatbelt, settling in, trying not to let disappointment cling too heavily to your skin. You glance at him as he gets in on the driver’s side, buckles his own belt, and starts the engine.
Before Seungmin shifts the gear into drive, he pauses. He turns to look at you and with that same soft gaze from earlier, calm but with the slightest hint of mischief. Then, he says: “You ready for the real surprise?”
Your fingers still on your lap as your heart stutters. “There’s more?”
He just smiles and for a moment, you don’t say anything. You’re careful now, cautious—wary. You don’t want to spiral again. You don’t want to go through another round of quiet expectations and louder disappointment. But it’s already happening, isn’t it?
Because maybe he didn’t mean to propose at the restaurant. Maybe he wants somewhere more private. More personal. Somewhere it’s just the two of you. Your thoughts start spinning all over again, and just like that… your hopes are up.
You exhale a little laugh, eyes flicking over to him as you lean back against the headrest. “Should I be nervous?”
Seungmin grins as he puts the car in gear, easing the vehicle into motion. “You’ll see.”
You glance at him as he drives, trying to read something from the side of his face. His lips curve in a satisfied little smirk, like he’s proud of himself—like he’s planned something sweet and thoughtful. You want to match his energy, you really do, but your mind is moving too fast.
The car eventually slows in front of a low-lit building, all glass windows and minimalist signage. You squint at it through the windshield—it looks closed. Not a single light flickers inside.
You frown, confused, but Seungmin just turns off the ignition and steps out like he knows exactly what he’s doing. You follow, heels quiet on the pavement. “What is this place?”
“Trust me. You'll love it,” he says with a small grin, already walking ahead.
The door is shut. The hallway inside is dark, empty. You hesitate as he holds it open for you, a hand gently placed on the small of your back as he leads you inside. And then, the door at the end of the hallway opens, spilling warm golden light into the shadows, and a man greets you with a polite smile. “Welcome. Right this way.”
Seungmin glances back at you, still grinning. “Surprise.”
You follow the waiter down a flight of velvet-covered steps, into the glow of a dimly lit jazz club tucked secretly beneath the city. A stage glows at the center, a band tuning their instruments, the soft rustle of glassware and hushed laughter scattered across booths and tables.
Seungmin’s hand remains on your back as he follows close behind, guiding you into a cozy, curved booth lit by a single low-hanging lamp. As you settle in, the scent of citrus and woodsmoke and fresh linen lingers in the air.
The ambiance. The music. The romantic lighting. You take it all in and despite everything—despite how beautiful it is, how thoughtful it is—you feel a dull ache press against your chest. Because this was supposed to be the night. Because you once mentioned in passing how you wanted to come here, how you read about the craft cocktails and the underground ambiance and Seungmin remembered. But… that’s all it is. Just a surprise date night. Just thoughtful. Not life-changing.
He turns to you, resting his arm on the back of the booth. “Do you like it?”
You look up at him and manage a small. “I love it.”
But Seungmin studies you for a second longer than you’re comfortable with. He’s too smart, too attentive not to notice. “You don’t look like you love it,” he murmurs, brow creasing.
You panic a little—not wanting to ruin the moment, not wanting him to feel like he failed at something he worked hard to plan. So you lean forward and pull him in by his collar, kissing him with more emotion than you planned. It’s soft, deep, thankful—and just a little desperate.
“Thank you,” you whisper as you pull back, your hand still on his cheek. “Really. I love it.”
His eyes search yours for another beat and then he smiles, wide and bright, as if you’ve successfully reassured him.
You lean back into your seat, brushing your fingers along the rim of the menu in front of you. “So…” you say, raising a brow. “Does it mean I can have as many cocktails as I want?”
Seungmin lets out a quiet laugh. “Of course,” he says, already flagging down a server. “That’s one of the perks of dating someone as responsible and reliable as me.”
The way he says it with that cocky grin that first won your heart makes you smile despite the weight in your chest. You order something strong and pretty, something with a salted rim and citrus notes. You sip your first drink slowly, savoring the taste as much as the dull numbness it brings because tonight didn’t turn out the way you thought it would.
And you still love him. You still want him.
-
You wake up late the next morning, the light already soft and golden through the curtains. Your head aches faintly, a dull throb behind your eyes, and your mouth feels dry from the cocktails the night before. You roll onto your side, rubbing the sleep off your eyes before getting up.
The moment you step out of the bedroom, you immediately spot Seungmin standing by the stove. He’s still in his navy sweater from the night before, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. His hair is a mess, sticking up in uneven tufts, and his face is bare, just the soft kind of beautiful you’ve only ever seen when it’s just the two of you.
He glances up and catches your eyes. A smile tugs at his lips as he sweetly greets you. “Morning, sleepyhead. Breakfast will be ready soon.”
You hum in reply and have a seat in the dining table. You prop your chin in your hand, watching him move around the kitchen.
He’s calm, efficient, pouring eggs into a pan, flipping toast, sliding cabinet drawers open with ease. He turns back a minute later with a steaming cup in his hand and walks over to you. “Here,” he says gently, leaning down and holding it out. “Coffee first.”
You take the mug from him with both hands, and before you can say anything, he reaches up and cups your face with one warm hand, thumb brushing over your cheekbone. “Hungover, mmh?” he murmurs with a knowing smile.
You pout, lips pushing out as you nod.
His touch lingers as he brushes your hair behind your ear, gaze full of amusement and affection. “Do you want something for the headache?”
You give him another nod.
He leans forward and presses a kiss to the top of your head, fingers curling softly around the back of your neck. “I’ll go get it.”
You watch him stand and walk off toward the bathroom, his socked feet padding lightly against the floor. And you feel… small. Not in a bad way. In a protected way. Cradled. Cared for.
In that moment, sitting there in his sweater, with the warmth of the cup of coffee seeping into your hands, your head foggy from the night before, you ask yourself how you could possibly be mad at someone who treats you like this.
It isn’t his fault. He didn’t promise anything. He never gave you reason to believe it would happen last night. That was all you. All your wishful thinking, your hope spun too tightly around small signs. You expected something that didn’t belong to a timeline, something he might be holding onto for later.
You hear him returning before you see him. His steps light but steady, then the faint clink of a glass in his hand. He appears by your side, holding a small white pill and a glass of water.
“Here you go,” he says, handing them over.
You take the ibuprofen and pop it onto your tongue, then chase it down with a long sip of water.
Seungmin watches you quietly, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. When you hand the glass back to him, he sets it on the table. Then, without a word, he gently pats the top of your head, his fingers trailing lightly through your hair. “Good girl,” he murmurs with playful affection. “Took it like a champ.”
Your lips curl into a soft smile, heart fluttering at the way he’s looking at you right now—fond, warm, like you’re the most precious thing he’s ever held. His fingers linger, gently caressing your temple.
You gaze up at him and say with a quiet, almost bashful smile, “I feel better already.”
And despite everything you’re holding in, you mean it. Even if your chest still aches, even if the ring never left his pocket, even if last night didn’t turn out the way you dreamed. Right now, with Seungmin beside you like this, brushing your hair and taking care of you with such ease, it’s enough.
Even if it still hurts a little.
-
The scent of freshly baked pastries and espresso greet you as you step into the café. It’s a bright Sunday morning, but you keep your face composed even though you know exactly why Marion asked to meet today. She hasn’t said it outright, but her texts were filled with excited emojis and vague exclamation points. And you’ve been dodging her calls since yesterday. She’s convinced she knows what happened Friday night. And you? You’re still trying to push the embarrassment down far enough not to wear it on your face.
You stop to scan the room and there she is, already seated by the window, her smile wide and warm as she waves both hands at you. You smile back and walk over, forcing your expression into something sunny and relaxed. She stands to hug you the second you’re close, and you go through the familiar motions—press cheek to cheek, squeeze briefly, sit across from her as if everything is normal.
“Hi, you look amazing,” Marion says, practically glowing. “I’ve missed you.”
You chuckle softly and nod. “Missed you too.”
Before she can get a word in, you flag down a waiter, already pointing at the brunch menu. “Let’s order right away. I’m starving.”
You buy yourself a few more minutes, drinking from your water, nodding when she makes a comment about the décor, but it doesn’t last long.
Once the waiter walks away, Marion leans forward with that signature glint in her eyes. “So,” she begins carefully, “how are you?”
You breathe in. Smile. “I’m good— Great. You?”
“I’m… I’m good,” she says, then breaks into that smile, a little brighter than usual. The one that radiates something new, something big, and then—she lifts her left hand.
Your eyes fall to it instantly. A delicate diamond glints under the light, elegant and perfectly set. Your breath stills.
“He proposed,” she beams, barely holding back a squeal. “Leo proposed last night.”
“Oh,” you say, stunned. “Marion…”
“We were just having dinner at home!” she continues, talking quickly, hands flying. “Like nothing out of the ordinary. He made pasta and opened a bottle of wine and then—God—I turned around and he was on one knee. I thought he dropped something! I literally asked him if he lost a contact lens.”
You laugh, even though it catches a little in your throat. “That’s so Leo.”
“I cried like a baby. It was so us. No big gesture, no fancy restaurant. Just home. And him. And this.” She gestures again to the ring, her fingers shaking slightly.
You nod, trying to swallow around the sudden lump forming in your throat. “It’s beautiful. I’m so happy for you.”
And you mean it. You do. But your chest still aches.
Marion reaches across the table and takes your hands. “We’re both going to be brides,” she says, glowing. “Can you believe it?”
Something in you cracks. Just a little. You try to smile, try not to let it show, but she sees it. Marion always sees it.
“Wait. Did… did it not happen?”
You pause and then, softly, you shake your head. “No. He didn’t propose.”
“Oh…” Her voice quiets. “I thought—”
“I did too,” you say honestly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I found the ring, remember? In the linen closet. And then he planned that whole night. The dinner. The jazz club. It just… I really thought…” You trail off, eyes fixed on the table.
Marion squeezes your hands tightly. “Hey. That doesn’t mean he’s not going to.”
You smile at her, small and tired. “I know. I just… I shouldn’t have assumed. That was my mistake.”
“No,” she says firmly. “No, that’s not a mistake. Anyone would’ve thought the same. And maybe he’s just—taking his time. Planning something special.”
You nod, because it’s the kind thing to do. “Yeah. Maybe. And if not… that’s okay too.”
Marion scoffs. “Please. This is Seungmin we’re talking about. Of course he’ll propose to you. The guy practically worships you.”
You want to believe her. You do. But you don’t say anything—just press her hand, smile, and try your best not to let your heart show.
“You know what? Let's ditch the coffee,” Marion says as she gestures the nearest waiter hanging around the table. “Let's order sweet cocktails with the umbrellas.”
-
You come home with your arms full of shopping bags and a headache that the brunch cocktails didn’t manage to blur out. Your shoes click softly against the floor as you step inside the apartment, eyes briefly flicking toward the living room where Seungmin’s seated cross-legged on the couch, a controller in hand, the screen flashing with bright movement from whatever game he’s playing.
Glancing over his shoulder with a grin, he calls out, “Did you buy the entire mall?”
You don’t answer. Not even a smile. You head straight to the bedroom. The bags thump softly as you drop them near the closet, shedding your jacket and slipping off your shoes like they suddenly weigh too much. You feel too tired to process your thoughts—your conversation with Marion still ringing in your ears, the ring still nowhere in sight, your emotions swinging too close to the edge.
A few moments later, you hear Seungmin’s footsteps approaching. He leans against the doorframe for a beat, watching you, then steps into the room and sits on the edge of the bed. He peeks into one of the bags like a curious cat. “So… how was brunch? Did you have fun?”
“Mm-hmm,” you reply, voice flat as you pull your sweater over your head and toss it aside. “It was fine.”
Seungmin hums, clearly sensing something but not pressing—yet. He reaches into one of the shopping bags and pulls out a folded piece of delicate fabric. “Ooh,” he says, lifting the silky nightdress with a playful raise of his eyebrows. “Nice pick. Are you wearing this tonight?”
You manage a soft chuckle and shake your head. “Maybe.” You take it gently from his hands and tuck it back into the bag.
Seungmin watches you for a long moment. Then, quietly, “Did something happen?”
“Nothing,” you lie, forcing a thin smile.
But he’s already moving. He reaches for your wrist just as you bend to lift the shopping bags again, tugging you gently toward him. The bags slip from your fingers and land on the floor with a soft thud as he pulls you into his lap.
Seungmin wraps his arms around you as if you’re something precious and fragile, his hand brushing your hair away from your face. “What’s wrong, baby?” he asks again, voice low, gentle.
You hesitate because a part of you want to say it. You want to ask about the ring, the night that didn’t go how you expected. But the fear of sounding demanding coils around your throat like a knot. So instead, you ask the one question that’s been sitting quietly in your heart: “Do you love me?”
Seungmin blinks, startled. And then, with a teasing smile, “You bought all this and none of it is for me? My love just dropped a point.”
You smack his chest—not hard, but enough to make your point. “Be serious,” you whine, your voice tight and unexpectedly shaky. “Please.”
His expression softens immediately. “Hey, hey…” he pats your head, chuckling lightly. “Who are you and what did you do to my girlfriend?”
You smack his chest again, harder this time.
He yelps, but a smile still tugs at his lips. Then, gently cupping your face in both hands, he studies you closely. “You’re not acting like you. You’re usually the one giving me affirmations in the middle of the day. What’s going on?”
You look at him and almost say it. But instead, you shake your head and murmur, “Just answer the question.”
He exhales and smiles at you. The kind of smile that makes everything feel okay for a second. His eyes never leave yours. “Of course I love you,” he says quietly, sincerely. “You know I do.”
And then he leans in and presses a chaste kiss to your lips. “I love you,” he repeats, like a promise.
You can feel how much he means it. In the way he holds you. The way your heart stutters just hearing the words from his mouth. But before you can melt completely, he pulls back just enough to flash a cheeky smile. “I’ll love you more if you put on that silk dress, though.”
You swat his shoulder—aiming for it, at least—but your hand lands on his jaw instead. He yelps again, a hand flying up to cradle it. “Ow! That hurts!”
“Oh, don’t be a baby,” you laugh, leaning in to kiss the spot. “It didn’t even hurt.”
“It did, actually,” he pouts dramatically, but he holds your waist tighter, tilting his head slightly to give you better access as your lips trail a few more apologetic kisses along his jaw. Then, gently, your lips find his again. This time, slower. Sweeter.
After everything, this is what you needed. His arms. His quiet, unshakable love. You pull away just enough to look into his eyes. “I love you,” you whisper, this time with everything in you.
Seungmin’s smile is soft and full of warmth. Then he presses his forehead to yours. “I know,” he murmurs.
In that moment, it really is enough. Even if your heart still carries a tiny, unspoken ache.
-
Later that night, you’re wrapped in the familiar quiet of your bedroom, the soft hum of the air conditioning barely audible under the weight of your slow breathing. Seungmin lies behind you, one arm slung lazily around your waist, his fingers tracing light shapes over the silk fabric of your nightdress—the one you didn’t plan on wearing tonight but somehow ended up in anyway. You shift slightly, pressing your back closer to his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath against your shoulder.
He presses a kiss to the back of your neck. “Comfortable?”
You hum your answer, your eyes fluttering shut. “Mhm. Yeah.”
He chuckles softly, the sound warm against your skin. “Guess I’ll have to ruin that.”
His hand slides along your waist, slow and teasing, until it finds your bare thigh peeking through the slit of your nightdress. He palms the skin there gently, his touch both grounding and electrifying. You turn slightly toward him, enough to meet his gaze in the soft light of the bedside lamp.
There’s something about the way he’s looking at you like you’re something to be cherished and devoured all at once. You lean in, brushing your lips over his, and he doesn’t hesitate to respond. The kiss deepens easily, naturally, as if the day hadn’t worn on you at all. His fingers curl around your hip, guiding you closer, pulling you into his space until you’re tangled together, mouths moving in sync, breathes shared and stolen between kisses.
The silk of your nightdress shifts under his touch, soft fabric slipping aside as his hands roam with purpose, memorizing the curves he already knows by heart. You gasp softly against his lips when his thigh presses between yours, your fingers finding the hem of his shirt, tugging at it with unspoken need.
“You're so hot. How can I not love you?” he whispers, just barely, his voice thick and quiet.
You breathlessly giggle as you're threading your fingers through his hair as he begins to kiss lower, trailing heat down the curve of your throat and over your collarbone. And in the stillness of your shared space, with limbs entwined and hearts laid bare, you let go of everything else. Because in this moment, it’s only him. Only you. Only love.
The room is quiet except for the soft rustle of sheets and the shared breaths between your lips as your mouths meet again, slow and deep and unhurried. Seungmin propped on one elbow as he's leaning over you with that familiar half-smile playing at his lips—the one that always makes your chest ache in the best way. His hand roams beneath the silk nightdress, slow and deliberate, brushing over your waist, your hip, until it finds its way between your thighs.
You suck in a sharp breath against his mouth as his fingers move lower, his touch gentle but firm, and entirely sure of you.
“Still comfortable?” he murmurs, the words laced with teasing as he palms your clothed sex, his thumb easily tracing your bundle of nerves through the flimsy fabric.
You nod, breathless, your fingers gripping his bicep beneath the fabric of his shirt. “Too comfortable,” you whisper, echoing his earlier words with a shaky laugh.
He kisses the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, then lower still. His fingers never stop moving against the dampness forming on your underwear, his touch slow and coaxing, driving you quietly out of your mind. He knows your body—knows how to build you up with the softest strokes, how to make your toes curl and your breath catch without a single word.
Your body arches slightly, your head falling back against the pillow as he whispers something against your skin—words that are low and loving, and just a little cocky.
You barely register them because all you know is the warmth curling low in your stomach, the way he’s making you unravel piece by piece while holding you so close, as if you might disappear if he didn’t.
Seungmin continues his exploration, fingers circling on your clit—slow and steady—until you’re clutching the sheets and gasping his name like it’s the only word you remember.
Your breath is uneven, your cheek resting against the pillow as your body melts into the mattress. You feel Seungmin’s weight shift beside you, then the soft press of his lips against your shoulder.
He trails more kisses along your skin, slow and unhurried, until he’s hovering above you, his chest brushing against your back, warm and solid. One of his hands remains on your heating wetness, still touching you, fingers moving with knowing precision, making you shiver despite the heat of his body. “You’re not tired yet, are you?” he murmurs against your neck, the smile in his voice unmistakable.
You let out a quiet laugh, breathless. “Should I be?”
Instead of answering, he presses a slow kiss to the base of your neck, his hand moving just a little firmer now, drawing another soft sound from your throat. Then you feel his hips settling closer, the subtle grind of him against you, the heat of his arousal unmistakable even through the layers of fabric still between you.
He doesn’t say anything, just breathes against your skin, letting his body do the talking. The slow, steady roll of his hips, the way he fits against you, the heat, the hardness. You squirm beneath him, not to escape but to tease back, and he groans low in his throat—a sound that sinks into your bones.
“You drive me crazy,” he whispers, voice rough now, his hand still moving, coaxing every bit of response from you as his hips grind against you again, slower this time, deliberate.
You tilt your head slightly to the side, glancing at him from over your shoulder, your lips parted, your body flushed and pliant beneath his. He meets your eyes and there's no more teasing in his expression. Only want. Only love. And the soft weight of him above you feels like the safest place in the world.
You hum softly as Seungmin’s lips continue their gentle exploration of your shoulder and neck, each kiss fluttering against your skin like a secret. His hand never leaves your body, drifting across your stomach before inching lower again. Then, with a breathy chuckle against your ear, he murmurs, “I take it back.”
You smile, eyes still closed. “Take what back?”
“This nightdress,” he says, his voice low and teasing as his fingers slip beneath the hem and slowly tug it upward. “I hate it.”
A laugh bubbles from your throat, soft and breathless, as he continues, “Hate it so much.”
The fabric slides higher as his hands move with purpose, and you oblige with a grin, pushing yourself up slightly so your back meets his chest. You tilt your head against his shoulder, lifting your arms in silent invitation. He takes the cue without hesitation, sliding the dress up and over, tossing it somewhere off the bed without even looking.
Warm hands return to your bare skin immediately, greedy and reverent. He touches you like he’s missed you—even though you’ve been right here the entire time. Fingers trace every familiar curve, rediscovering you with a tenderness that contradicts the hunger simmering in his breath.
His hands come to rest on your chest, cupping your breasts in his hands with gentle insistence, his palms hot against your skin. You gasp as his thumbs brush softly over your sensitive nipples, and your body melts further into his. He leans in, mouth seeking the spot just below your jawline, where he nips and sucks, leaving behind the echo of his affection in the form of wet heat and marks.
You feel boneless in his arms, pliant and undone, every breath you take shivering out of you as he holds you like something he never plans to let go of.
He groans softly against your neck, his hands never still. “You have no idea what you do to me.”
But you do. You feel it in every kiss. Every touch. And as you press your hand over his where it rests on your chest, you whisper back, “I think I do.”
With that, you lower yourself onto the bed, the sheets cool against your warmed skin as Seungmin’s hands glide down your sides slowly, reverently. His fingers catch the edge of your underwear, and in one fluid motion, he eases it down and off, leaving you bare beneath his gaze.
He shifts above you, mouth returning to the soft skin of your neck, where he plants teasing kisses and playful nibbles. You giggle when his breath tickles your ear, your shoulder curling slightly as you squirm beneath him, not from discomfort but anticipation.
“Seungmin...” you whisper out of want, need.
His response is another kiss—this one pressed just below your ear—and then he begins to trail down your spine, every slow kiss leaving a trail of warmth in its wake. When he reaches the curve of your back, his hands settle on your hips, his thumbs stroking slow circles before sliding lower.
You feel him—hot and hard—pressed against your wet cunt, not quite pushing forward, just teasing. Testing. His grip tightens ever so slightly, and you gasp when he slips his cock in between and rubbing it against your wetness, giving just enough to make your breath hitch but not enough to satisfy.
“Seungmin,” you whisper, breath trembling. “Please…”
His chuckle is low and indulgent as he leans in, mouth brushing over your ear again. “So needy for me,” he murmurs, almost amused. “How can I not love you?”
And finally, finally, he gives in. He pushes his cock inside you slowly, deliberately, his eyes never leaving to where his length disappearing into you, savoring the way you take him inch by inch. The breath you release is a stuttering moan, muffled into the pillow beneath you, your hands clutching the sheets as your body adjusts to him.
It stays like that for a moment and when Seungmin deems you're ready for more, he begins moving with the kind of rhythm that feels both intentional and instinctive like he knows your body as well as his own, knows every subtle shift in your breath and how to pull the sweetest sounds from your lips.
Your fingers twist into the sheets, your skin tingling with every deep thrust, and when you turn your head to look at him, he meets your gaze—his dark eyes full of heat and tenderness. That look alone nearly undoes you.
“Seungmin, baby, you feel so good inside me...” you mewl as you look at him with half-lidded eyes.
Without needing to hear it, he can tell just from reading the expression on your face, the way your body arches into his, how your voice catches every time he hits that perfect spot. And he responds the way only he can—his pace changing without warning, suddenly fast, then slowing again just enough to tease, to keep you on edge, to build that need higher. He’s loving you like it’s everything he knows how to do—with devotion in every movement, and passion in every kiss he leaves along your skin.
By the time he finds that final rhythm—deep, fast, overwhelming—you’re a breathless mess beneath him, your moans spilling out freely, loud and broken, as the bed rocks beneath the intensity of it all. You don’t even care anymore if the neighbors hear. He’s lost in it too, letting out low, desperate sounds against your skin, his grip on your hips tightening as if he’s trying to hold on just a little longer.
When the wave crashes, it takes both of you with it.
Seungmin buries himself deep one last time before letting go, his body trembling slightly as he spills his seed inside you, collapsing against your back as the weight of his pleasure and exhaustion hits him all at once. His chest heaves against you, damp skin pressed to yours, and for a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of your breathing and the faint rustle of sheets.
You turn your head just enough to find him, to brush your lips to his. He kisses you back slowly, softly, like he’s still catching his breath. And then, in the quiet that follows, you whisper against his lips, “I love you.”
He doesn’t need to say it back right away—you can feel it in the way he kisses you again, in the way he shifts just enough to hold you better, closer. But then, you hear it anyway—soft and sincere, right against your temple. “I love you so much.”
And in that moment, with your bodies tangled and your hearts bare, it’s all you need.
-
The kitchen is a delightful mess—flour dusted across the countertops, chocolate smudged on your wrist, and a mixing bowl dangerously close to tipping off the edge of the sink. You and Marion are both slightly tipsy, giggling over a cocktail shaker that’s lost its lid mid-shake and sent droplets of raspberry gin fizz onto the cabinets.
“Are we even doing this right?” Marion asks, peering into the brownie batter as you try to fold in the chocolate chunks without splashing anything else.
You shrug, your cheeks flushed from laughter and the alcohol. “I mean, if the batter tastes this good, the final result can’t be that bad.”
Marion dips a spoon in and tastes it with a dramatic moan. “Yeah, you’re right.”
You’re both laughing again, this time harder, and she almost knocks over the tray as you slide it into the oven. You set a timer, then lean against the counter, clinking your glass gently with hers.
“To very serious bakers,” you toast.
“And to very responsible drinking,” she adds with a wink.
Once you both settle on the floor with a throw pillow each, the buzz mellowing into that warm, glowy feeling, Marion sighs and rests her head back against the cupboard. “I can’t believe I’m getting married.”
You glance over and smile. “I can. You and Leo are disgustingly perfect.”
She snorts. “We’re just… learning. Growing. Like… I don’t know, good wine or something.” Then she quiets for a second, her voice softening. “I didn’t think I’d feel like this. All the clichés? They’re real. I’ll see him in the kitchen making coffee and suddenly I’m like, ‘God, I want to spend the rest of my life watching this man make terrible pour-overs.’”
Your laugh is soft this time, fond. “I’m really happy for you, Mar.”
She turns to you, eyes shining a little. “And I’m so happy you’re my maid of honor.”
Your chest warms at the words. “I’m going to be the best maid of honor ever. Just watch.”
She grins wide. “And threaten Leo with bodily harm if he ever makes me cry.”
You toast your nearly empty glass with hers again. “That’s a given.”
There’s a pause, a comfortable one, and then Marion leans her head gently against your shoulder. “You’ll be next,” she murmurs.
You don’t say anything right away. Just smile and keep looking at the oven, the faint ticking of the timer filling the silence. You don’t need to answer—not tonight.
Once brownies has cooled down, you take the first bite of the brownie and blink in disbelief. “Wait… why is this actually good?”
Marion’s eyes widen as she chews her own piece. “Did we accidentally summon domestic goddess energy?”
You both laugh, mouths full of gooey chocolate, your cocktail glasses sitting mostly forgotten on the coffee table. The brownies have that perfect crispy edge with a soft, fudge-like center, and it feels like an accomplishment far beyond its baking difficulty—maybe because it’s wrapped in the comfort of laughter, drinks, and easy friendship.
But as the minutes pass and Marion continues sipping, then pouring a little too enthusiastically, it becomes clear that your best friend is crossing the line from tipsy to gone. Her cheeks are flushed, her head wobbles when she moves, and she’s singing along to a song playing from her phone in a voice so off-key, it’s almost impressive.
You, a little lightheaded yourself, shake your head with a smile. “Marion,” you say gently, nudging her. “It’s not even ten-thirty.”
“I’m great,” she declares, wobbling as she tries to stand. “I feel like I could plan a wedding and solve world peace right now.”
“Mhm,” you mutter, looping an arm around her shoulders when she stumbles again. “Let’s aim for just making it to your bedroom without breaking anything.”
She slumps into you, leaning heavily as you walk her slowly down the hall. “You know what we should do?” she says, her words slurring slightly. “We should totally get pregnant together.”
You pause mid-step. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Yeah,” she continues dreamily. “Me and you. Pregnant together. Baby bumps and morning sickness and matching diaper bags. Our babies can have playdates and grow up to be best friends like us.”
You snort, half laughing, half trying not to tip over. “That’s a very... ambitious plan.”
Marion nods solemnly. “Synchronize our cycles. Manifest the future.”
“Okay, Drunk Oracle,” you say, trying not to laugh too hard. “Let’s just start with you getting to the bed.”
You manage to get her onto the mattress in one final push. She immediately curls up into a fetal position, already half-asleep. You pull the duvet over her gently and take a moment to look at her soft, peaceful expression—marriage-bound, impossibly hopeful, and dreaming of coordinated pregnancies and pastel nursery paint.
You reach out to brush a bit of hair from her face and sigh, not entirely sure what to feel. The air is still warm with laughter, but there's a quiet twinge in your chest. You flick off the bedside lamp, casting the room in darkness, and close the door behind you.
With Marion already tucked into bed, you're left with the cleaning task to yourself. You sigh before moving around Marion’s kitchen, cleaning up the mess the two of you made earlier. There’s flour dusted across the counter like a fine layer of snow, smears of chocolate batter dried onto the mixing bowl, and spatulas sitting lazily in the sink. It’s quiet now without Marion’s laughter or the clinking of glasses, and the silence presses in gently, nudging you into your thoughts.
As you rinse the dishes one by one, Marion’s drunken rambling echoes in your head like background music. “You’ll be next. Let’s plan our pregnancies together. Baby playdates. Matching diaper bags.”
You shake your head with a smile, a soft chuckle slipping past your lips. She was drunk. But even so… the picture forms easily in your mind. You and Seungmin. A modest house filled with warmth. Little footsteps running down the hallway. A baby with Seungmin’s eyes and pout. Him in sweats with a sleepy toddler cradled on his chest, the glow of Sunday morning light filtering through the windows. It makes your chest flutter in the softest way.
You’re still standing at the sink, sponge in hand, when the sound of the front door clicks open, shattering your daydream. The soft thud of keys hitting the entry table follows, and then the familiar voice.
“Hey,” Leo says gently as he steps into the kitchen and sees you. “You’re still here.”
You turn and offer a small smile. “Just waiting for my taxi. Didn’t want to leave a crime scene behind.”
He glances toward the living room, then toward the hallway. “She’s out, huh?”
“Out cold,” you confirm with a chuckle. “Didn’t even make it to 10:30.”
Leo laughs under his breath and grabs a glass from the shelf. “That sounds about right.”
You start drying your hands as he fills his glass with water. There’s a beat of comfortable silence, broken only by the quiet hum of the refrigerator and the soft rush of water from the tap.
“You can hang out for a bit,” Leo says, taking a sip. “Seungmin would kill me if I let you leave without making sure you got in your ride safely.”
That makes you chuckle. “Sounds like him.”
Leo leans against the counter and tilts his head slightly. “You know… I always thought Seungmin would do it first.”
“Do what first?”
He raises a brow, like it’s obvious. “Propose.”
The word hits you with a weight you didn’t expect, but you try to keep your expression casual. “Oh?”
“Yeah,” Leo nods. “I mean—funny story actually. The day I bought the ring for Marion? I ran into him at the jewelry store.”
You look up sharply. “You did?”
“Yup,” he says, smiling at the memory. “I asked what he was doing there and he said—” Leo lifts a hand to mimic air quotes, “—‘just returning something.’ Total deadpan. Didn’t even blink.”
You force a small laugh. “Also sounds like him.”
Leo shrugs, grinning. “But knowing Seungmin? I think he just didn’t want to ruin the surprise. I mean, guy’s got a poker face made of steel.”
You nod slowly, but your heart sinks just a little deeper than before. Because now you're not so sure. Was it really a lie to keep a surprise? Or… was it the truth?
You swallow hard, trying to keep your expression smooth as you offer him a polite smile. “Yeah. Maybe.”
But your chest is heavy again, and as you glance at your phone to check the time, you wish more than anything that you hadn’t opened that damn linen closet at all.
-
You fasten the clasp of your earrings as you glance at yourself in the mirror, the morning light slipping through the blinds and catching on the satin fabric of your dress. Marion texted you twenty minutes ago with three exclamation points and an “ARE YOU READY YET” that you haven’t had the heart to respond to. You’re not late—just… taking your time.
Because when you're alone like this, brushing on a little blush and slipping into heels, your thoughts begin to loop again. About the ring. About that empty space in the linen closet. About what Leo said.
He said he was just returning something. But… what if he really was?
It’s been days, and still nothing. No big gestures. No changes in the way Seungmin acts. And you're trying not to let it eat you alive.
You're meant to be excited for Marion today—maid of honor, dress shopping, champagne flutes and dramatic tears—but your head’s a noisy place. You're halfway through slipping into your dress when the bedroom door creaks open.
“Need help?” Seungmin asks from behind, already closing the distance.
You nod, standing still as he gently gathers the zipper at the small of your back. His fingers are warm, smooth, careful. The sound of the zipper sliding up echoes too loud in the quiet room. Once it’s zipped, his arms immediately slip around your waist. He rests his chin on your shoulder and lets out a long, dramatic sigh. “Marion’s stealing you for the whole weekend now, huh?”
You smile faintly at his reflection in the mirror. “Well, I am her maid of honor. This is part of the job.”
He pouts against your shoulder. “You’re gonna be so busy helping her plan stuff. I’ll barely see you.”
You tilt your head, amused. “You say that like it’s a bad thing. Doesn’t that just mean no one’s interrupting your video game marathons?”
He frowns like you just offended him. “That’s not the point. I want to play with you too.”
You turn in his hold, facing him, his hands still warm on your waist. For a fleeting second, you want to ask about it. About the ring. About Leo. About the jewelry store. Instead, you lift a hand to cup his jaw, tracing your thumb gently along the curve of it. His skin is soft from shaving, and his eyes are impossibly warm.
You softly kiss him, lingering just enough to let him know you mean it. When you pull back, your hand stays on his cheek as you smile faintly. “Don’t wait up. I’ll probably be out all day.”
Seungmin sighs and lets his forehead bump gently against yours. “I hate it.”
You giggle and break away, reaching for your shoes. “Behave.”
“You behave,” he mutters, clearly not letting go of the pout.
You lean in for one last kiss as you sling your bag over your shoulder and glance at him one more time—and there’s that stupidly cute smile. The one that crinkles his eyes and shows off the dimple in his cheek. The one that made you fall in love with him years ago.
“Have fun,” he says, still holding your hand as you reach for the door.
You smile at him over your shoulder and realize that is why you can never stay mad at him.
-
The second you and Marion step into the bridal shop, you both instantly enveloped in a world of white and ivory and shimmer. The space smells faintly like fresh flowers and lavender. Soft piano music floats in the background, almost drowned by Marion’s giddy gasp as she takes it all in.
Rows of gowns hang like clouds on gold racks, each dress more breathtaking than the last. You follow Marion as she practically skips ahead, already flipping through lace, satin, and embroidered tulle. “This one has your name written all over it,” you say, gently tugging out a sweetheart neckline dress with hand-sewn appliqué.
She lets out a squeal, taking it from you like it’s made of spun sugar. As she continues browsing, her eyes alight with excitement, your mind drifts. You glance around at the other brides-to-be in the boutique—smiling, glowing, radiant in anticipation. However, when you try to ignore it, you feel that sting again. You don’t even realize how quiet you’ve gotten until Marion turns to look at you.
“Hey,” she says softly, as if reading your thoughts. “You okay?”
You give a small nod. Then you sigh and admit, “Leo said something… the other night.”
Marion raises a brow. “Uh-oh.”
So you tell her everything. About Leo bumping into Seungmin at the jewelry store. About how Seungmin said he was ‘just returning something’. About how it’s been swirling in your head ever since. “I keep thinking… maybe he had a change of heart,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe he bought the ring and then changed his mind.”
Marion stares at you for a moment, then she blinks and waves a dismissive hand like she's physically swatting the idea away. “Nope. Not buying that. That man is obsessed with you. I see the way he looks at you like he wants to give you the world.”
You let out a quiet laugh at that, but it's tight.
Marion gently bumps her shoulder into yours. “He probably lied because he’s trying to keep it a surprise. He’s meticulous like that. You know he is.”
“I know,” you murmur. “But I’ve just been overthinking everything. And the longer nothing happens, the more I can’t stop wondering.”
Marion gives you a knowing look, then turns toward the bridal shop staff and says brightly, “I think I’m ready to start trying some dresses on!”
One of the attendants smiles and gestures for her to follow. Marion turns back to you, squeezing your hand before heading off. “Stop spiraling. I’m telling you—it’s coming. Just breathe.”
As Marion disappears into the fitting area, you remain in the middle of the boutique, surrounded by future promises sewn into fabric. Trying to believe that maybe yours is just still in progress.
The buzz of the boutique continues around you. You sit quietly on the velvet cushioned bench, hands resting on your lap as you wait. You’re surrounded by joy, by promise, and still, your mind refuses to settle.
A staff member approaches you with a delicate smile, holding a silver tray with two tall champagne flutes. You take one and thank her, nodding politely as she walks away. You bring the glass to your lips, the bubbly drink cool and crisp on your tongue. You hope it’ll ease the tangle of thoughts knotting in your head but it doesn’t.
You’re halfway through the flute when the curtain rustles, and Marion steps out in her first wedding dress. You gasp despite yourself. She looks ethereal—floating in a sleek A-line gown with embroidered floral details and a delicate train behind her. The sweetheart neckline frames her perfectly, and the way she smiles makes it glow even more.
“Oh my god, babe,” you breathe. “You look… breathtaking.”
Marion beams at your reaction, spinning slowly for you to take it all in. “Right? I didn’t think I’d love this one, but wow—this might be it!”
You try your best to focus, offering compliments, suggestions, small smiles, but your energy is off and you know it.
She disappears again into the fitting room, and one dress after another, she keeps emerging in tulle, lace, satin, sleeves, no sleeves—and all you can manage are soft nods and faint hums of approval. You’re trying. You really are. But your smile slips too easily, your thoughts keep drifting.
When she comes out in a fitted mermaid gown with a dramatic low back and doesn't hear the familiar excited gasp from you, she places a hand on her hip, narrowing her eyes. “Okay. That’s it.”
You glance up at her. “Wha—”
“Get out of your head,” Marion says with a gentle firmness only a best friend could manage. “This is my wedding dress moment. I need you here, babe. Mentally, emotionally, spiritually. All of it.”
Your heart drops a little at her words, not because she’s wrong, but because she’s right. And the last thing you want is to take this moment away from her.
You set your glass down and stand, walking over to her, guilt clouding your expression. “I’m sorry,” you murmur. “I’m really sorry, Marion. I want to be here for you—I am here for you—I just…”
Instead of her usual understanding nod or the warm squeeze of reassurance, Marion stares at you. Her eyes linger for a beat too long, her lips pressed into a flat line. You expect her to soften, to offer one of her teasing but gentle replies.
This time, she lets out a short, sharp laugh, void of humor. “You know what?” she says, voice low but cutting. “Maybe Seungmin did change his mind. And honestly? I wouldn’t blame him.”
You freeze. “What?”
She crosses her arms, still standing in her wedding gown. “This was supposed to be my day. One day. One moment. And somehow, you’ve still managed to make it about you.”
“Marion…” you mutter so low it's almost a whisper.
She cuts you off, frustration finally bubbling to the surface. “All week, you’ve been moping, overthinking, spiraling—and I get it, I do, but today is about me. And instead of showing up like my best friend, like my maid of honor, you’re just… wallowing. In something that hasn’t even happened.”
Her words land like stones. Heavy. Sharp. And maybe it’s the stress, or maybe it’s the part of you that’s still wounded from your own disappointment, but your chest tightens.
You pick up your purse, slowly, trying to keep your face blank, even though it’s already twisting. “Okay,” you say quietly. “I get it.”
“Wait—” Marion starts, her tone flickering with regret already, but it’s too late.
You sling the strap of your purse over your shoulder, blink back the sting in your eyes, and walk right past the mirror-lined walls, the racks of white lace and silk, the staff who glance up with startled looks. You don’t stop until you’re out of the boutique and the glass door swings shut behind you.
You step out onto the sidewalk, the air kissing your flushed skin, and only then do you let yourself exhale. Because you didn’t expect the hurt to come from her. Not today. Not like this.
-
When you step into the apartment, Seungmin looks up from the couch with that familiar glint in his eyes, already ready to tease. “Back already?” he says, setting down his phone. “Did you miss me that much?”
You walk right past him, brushing his shoulder lightly, without a word. Your heels click softly against the floor until you reach the bedroom. The purse slips from your fingers and lands on the floor with a soft thud, and you follow it, collapsing face-first onto the bed. The tears come almost instantly, soaking into the pillow before you even have the chance to catch your breath.
A few seconds later, you hear the sound of footsteps, the creak of the door, and then the bed shifts under Seungmin’s weight as he climbs in beside you.
“Hey,” he says, gently. “Baby, what’s wrong?”
You don’t answer. You just keep crying, your chest rising and falling with quiet, shuddering sobs.
Seungmin shifts closer, concern painting every inch of his voice now. “Are you hurt? Did someone—did someone say something to you?” He brushes your hair back, his fingertips feather-light on your cheek, but you still don’t look at him. “Who hurt you, baby? Tell me.”
He gets it, then. Whatever this is—it’s not something you’re ready to talk about. So he doesn’t push. Instead, he slides closer, his arms wrapping around you from behind, pulling you into the warmth of his chest. You feel his breath against your neck. He presses the softest of kisses to your shoulder, then to the side of your neck, and one more at the edge of your jaw. His hand moves slowly up and down your arm in comforting strokes, no words, just presence. Just him.
“I’m here,” he whispers eventually, voice barely audible. “Okay? I’m right here.”
And maybe that’s all you need for now. Not answers. Not promises. Just this—Seungmin’s arms holding you close as you let yourself fall apart.
By the time your tears have dried, the room is steeped in quiet. Outside the window, the sky has turned deep blue, the last of the evening light fading into night. But inside, Seungmin is still holding you just the same—arms wrapped around you, his lips pressing soft kisses along the slope of your neck, the curve of your jaw, grounding you with every touch.
“Seungmin,” you croak out, voice raw from crying.
He hums in response, his hand still rubbing slow, gentle circles on your back.
You hesitate, but then ask, barely above a whisper, “Do you think I’m… a selfish person?”
Seungmin stills, then leans back enough to look at you, his brows knitting together in concern. “Why would you ask me that?”
You shift on the bed, turning to face him. He instantly loops his arms around your waist again, pulling you flush against his chest. His hand comes up to brush strands of hair away from your face, wiping at the dampness still lingering under your eyes.
You stare at him, and the words fall out of your mouth again, more fragile this time. “Do you think I’m selfish? Is that... Is that why you don’t want to marry me?”
He flinches slightly—not out of anger, but surprise and then the silence stretches a little, filled with nothing but your shaky breath.
“I found the ring,” you finally admit, your voice barely audible. “The one you hid in the linen closet. It fell when I was looking for a tablecloth.”
Realization flashes in Seungmin’s eyes. His mouth parts slightly. “Oh…” he lets out a soft gasp as it all clicks into place, and a breath escapes him in a long, quiet sigh. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”
You give a faint, bitter laugh, eyes shimmering with fresh tears. “So it was for me?”
Seungmin cups your face with both hands, brushing his thumbs over your cheeks as he nods. “Yes. It was always for you.”
“Then why did you return it?” you ask softly, searching his face, trying to keep the heartbreak from bleeding through your voice. “Leo… he saw you at the store. He said you told him you were returning something.”
Seungmin lets out a breathy chuckle, shaking his head. “I didn’t return it because I changed my mind about you,” he says, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. “I returned it because I found a new one—a better one. One that suits you more.”
You sniffle. “You… did?”
He nods again, still gently stroking your cheek. “Yeah. That first one—it didn’t feel like you. I kept thinking about how you deserve something that really fits who you are. So I exchanged it. I wasn’t trying to lie or confuse you… I just didn’t want to ruin the surprise.”
You fall quiet at that, your chest tightening with emotion—not from sadness, but from the weight of your own misunderstanding. You had made up so many things in your head. So many wrong assumptions.
Seungmin presses his palm to your cheek, coaxing you to look into his eyes. “You’re not selfish,” he says firmly, the sincerity in his voice wrapping around you like a blanket. “A selfish person doesn’t cook me dinner even when she’s tired. She doesn’t stay up late to watch me play video games or take care of me when I’m sick. She doesn’t let me drag her to baseball games or listen to me talk about player stats for hours.”
You laugh softly, another tear slipping down your cheek.
“You’re amazing,” Seungmin whispers. “You’re strong and kind and honest. You're true to yourself. I love you for all of that.”
Then he smiles, eyes sparkling even in the dim light. “If anything… I’m the selfish one.”
You frown in confusion. “Why would you say that?”
He leans in, his forehead resting gently against yours. “Because I want all your love just for me. All of it. Every day. Forever.”
A fresh wave of tears rushes into your eyes, but this time, they’re light and full of warmth. You bury your face in his chest again, clutching at the fabric of his shirt as you start crying again—but now, you’re smiling too.
Seungmin kisses the top of your head, his hand slipping into your hair. “You just ruined my proposal plans, by the way,” he mutters playfully. “Guess I’ll have to come up with a new one.”
Despite the storm of emotions, you laugh into his chest, muffled and breathless. “Sorry…”
He chuckles softly. “Not really, though.”
You tilt your head up, looking into his eyes. Everything you need to know is there, written so clearly in the way he looks at you. With love. With certainty.
And when he leans in to kiss you, it’s slow and deep, a promise in itself. “I love you,” he murmurs against your lips.
And in a voice full of all the love you’ve ever felt, you whisper back, “I love you too.”
And that—more than a ring, more than a proposal—is everything.
-
The next morning unfolds slowly, gently—sunlight spilling through the windows, warming the kitchen tiles beneath your feet. There’s music playing softly from your phone, and you’re still in Seungmin’s oversized shirt, sleeves rolled clumsily up your arms, your hair slightly messy from sleep.
Seungmin is beside you, flipping pancakes with exaggerated concentration, while you stir scrambled eggs in the pan next to him. His arm brushes yours every few seconds. You both steal kisses in between chores—on his cheek, on your temple, on the side of your neck—sometimes just for fun, sometimes just because you can. He reaches over your shoulder to grab the pepper and presses a kiss behind your ear on the way, making you giggle and squirm.
There’s a lightness in your chest this morning, a clarity you haven’t felt in days. Because now you know, he’s not going anywhere. He’s here. With you. Choosing you every day.
As you both set the plates onto the table, getting ready to finally eat, the doorbell rings. You pause, glancing at Seungmin. He lifts an eyebrow at you, mouth already full of a bite of pancake. “Who is that?” he says with his mouth full.
You shrug and wipe your hands on a kitchen towel as you pad to the door. When you open it, Marion is standing there. She looks… uncertain. Hesitant. But when her eyes meet yours, she smiles softly and lets out a breath. “Hey.”
You blink in surprise, then give her a faint smile. “Hey.”
Marion hesitates, fidgeting with her hands. “I just—” she sighs. “I’m sorry. For what I said yesterday. I didn’t mean it. Any of it.”
You stay quiet, letting the weight of her words hang in the air for a beat.
“I was overwhelmed with everything,” she continues, “and I didn’t know I was holding all that tension until it snapped. But that’s no excuse. I was wrong. And I’m really, really sorry.”
You look at her and, in her eyes, you see nothing but sincerity. And maybe just the tiniest bit of shame. But your heart is already softened. You’ve cried enough. You’ve carried enough weight. And you don’t want to carry bitterness too.
A small smile curves on your lips. “It’s okay, Mar. It's all water under the bridge.”
Marion's shoulders drop in relief and a big, bright grin takes over her face. She rushes toward you, throwing her arms around you.
You hug her back tightly, burying your face into her shoulder, holding on for just a second longer than necessary. When you pull away, still smiling, you grab her hand and tug her inside. “Come in. Join us for breakfast.”
She hesitates. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah,” you say, already leading her toward the kitchen. “We made pancakes.”
“Say no more,” she grins. “I’m in.”
Seungmin looks up from the table as you both enter, and he offers Marion a nod of greeting. “Hey,” he says casually. “Hope you like slightly burnt pancakes.”
Marion laughs as she sits down. “I like everything when it’s free.”
The three of you settle around the table, warm plates in front of you, coffee cups steaming gently between sips and bites. The late morning light glows through the window, making everything feel softer, slower, sweeter.
Marion takes a sip of her coffee, hums in appreciation, then glances at Seungmin. “Okay, wait. This coffee? This is actually really good.”
Seungmin shrugs with a cocky grin. “What can I say? I’m a man of many talents.”
You grin as you pick up your cup. “This is exactly why I want to marry him. He makes good coffee.”
Marion pauses, blinking in a half-surprised, half-delighted way as she shifts her eyes from you to Seungmin. “Wait, what?”
You glance at Seungmin, who’s already giving you a warning squint across the table. You bite back a smile and turn to Marion. “Seungmin’s going to propose soon,” you say, teasing just enough to make him squirm.
Marion gasps, all wide eyes and giddy hands clasped to her chest. “Oh? Really?!”
You laugh and quickly explain, “He already knows we found the ring in the linen closet. It wasn’t that sneaky.”
Marion immediately gasps louder, turning to Seungmin with the most wicked grin. “So you are proposing. And you’ve been dragging it out this whole time?!”
Seungmin groans and drops his fork dramatically onto his plate. “Wow. You two are literally talking about me like I’m not even here.”
“That’s because you took forever,” Marion teases, smirking.
“You know,” Seungmin points his fork at both of you, “I should’ve just proposed in secret and eloped. Peace and quiet.”
Marion leans in, nudging her elbow against yours with a conspiratorial grin. “You know what? Maybe wait until after my wedding to propose.”
Seungmin gapes. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” she says, smug. “She’s my maid of honor. Which means, until my wedding’s over, she’s mine.”
“She practically owns me,” you say with a laugh.
Seungmin dramatically scoffs, “That explains so much. I always knew something was up. You’ve been using her!”
Marion flips her hair and lifts her chin proudly. “Absolutely. And I plan to keep using her until the very last hour of the reception.”
Seungmin narrows his eyes at her, then looks at you like a betrayed puppy. “Do you hear this? I’m just... background noise now. Replaced. Overtaken.”
You burst out laughing, watching the two of them bicker like siblings. “Don’t worry,” you say, reaching over to rest a hand on Seungmin’s. “You still make the best coffee.”
-
It’s a rare, golden kind of day—the one where everything falls into place. Marion’s out of town, the maid of honor duties are on pause, and for once, your calendar is blissfully empty. Seungmin had insisted that you both take advantage of it, and now here you are, walking into a crowded stadium, your hand snug in his, the warm scent of grilled food in the air, the hum of excited fans filling every inch of the space.
Seungmin’s face is practically glowing as he guides you to your seats. You barely get a chance to settle in before he excuses himself, disappearing into the crowd. When he returns a long moment later, his arms are full—two large beers and a tray of snacks balanced precariously.
You quickly reach for them, steadying the tray so nothing spills. “I don’t know how you made it through that crowd in one piece,” you say with a grin.
“I’m just that good,” he replies, settling into his seat and taking a long sip of beer. “Okay, so here’s the deal—my team’s playing their biggest rival today. It’s going to be intense. Their defense is solid, but if our pitcher holds it down, we’ve got this.”
You rest your chin on your hand as you watch him talk. He’s so passionate, so animated, and you can’t help but smile at the way his eyes light up with excitement. He catches your stare mid-sentence and falters, cheeks warming slightly before he leans over to kiss you, quick and sweet.
You laugh after taking a bite of corn dog. “I was just thinking you look cute when you get all serious about baseball.”
He tries to hide his smile behind his beer, and just as he starts talking strategy again, the jumbotron begins cycling through advertisements, then team previews, and finally, the kiss cam. You watch it playfully, giggling at the awkward and adorable kisses caught onscreen.
And all of a sudden, your face appears. You blink, mid-sip, then turn to Seungmin with a startled laugh. “Oh my god—we’re on the screen.”
He doesn’t hesitate, just leans in and kisses you, and the crowd erupts into cheers as the kiss cam switches to another couple.
Both of you break into shy laughter, your heart thudding with the strange mix of public attention and private affection. “That was embarrassing,” you murmur.
“Why? People liked it,” Seungmin says with a shrug, almost a little too casually.
You give him a suspicious look. “What do you mean ‘people liked it’?”
But before you can question further, the kiss cam cuts back to you two again.
“What? Again?” you ask, shocked, but Seungmin just chuckles and kisses you again.
The crowd cheers louder this time, and you feel your face flush. You pull away, laughing nervously. “Okay, what is happening? Why are we on again—”
Seungmin is already leaning in for another kiss, his lips brushing yours with more intention this time. The crowd roars yet again.
When the camera doesn’t move on after this one, your confusion grows. And then you notice that the words KISS CAM fade away. New words begin to scroll across the jumbotron in big white letters: WILL YOU MARRY ME?
Your brain short-circuits and when you turn to Seungmin, and he’s no longer beside you. He’s on one knee. In his hand, a velvet box—open to reveal a ring you’ve never seen before. A white gold band cradling a stunning cushion-cut diamond, surrounded by the softest halo of pink diamonds. It’s delicate and beautiful and so you. And suddenly the jumbotron, the repeated kiss cams, the look he gave you earlier—clicks into place.
Seungmin looks up at you with those warm, impossibly sincere puppy eyes. He smiles, his voice steady but soft—just for you, even though an entire stadium is listening.
“Will you marry me?”
Gasps ripple through the crowd, followed by a wave of cheers and people chanting, “Say yes! Say yes! Say yes!”
You’re already nodding before the words come out, tears brimming in your eyes as you cover your mouth with trembling fingers. “Yes. Yes, of course I will.”
Seungmin’s smile could light up the whole field. He carefully takes the ring from the box and slips it onto your finger with gentle hands. Then he stands, pulls you into his arms, and kisses you as the crowd erupts in wild applause. Fireworks explode across the jumbotron in a burst of color as congratulary words flashing on the screen as confetti cannons go off in the background and strangers all around are clapping, cheering, congratulating.
It’s loud and chaotic and perfect. And right there, in the middle of a packed stadium, you’re holding the only person in the world who matters. And he’s yours.
-
It’s just the two of you now—back in your shared space, the world quiet, and the buzz of the proposal still pulsing through your chest like a second heartbeat.
You’re in bed, wrapped around each other as if trying to make the moment last forever. You’re sitting on his lap, legs looped around his waist, your fingers tangled in his hair while his arms hold you tightly against him, as though letting go would break the magic.
Seungmin’s lips are on yours in slow, deep kisses that taste like champagne and forever. Your bare skin pressed against his is warm, comforting, electric. You can still feel the outline of the ring on your finger, even as you cradle his jaw between your hands and kiss him again, smiling into it.
There’s laughter between kisses—whispers of disbelief that this is real, that this is happening. That you’re engaged. And you feel it in your bones—the security, the joy, the love so big it hums through every part of you.
“I still can’t believe you pulled that off,” you whisper against his lips.
Seungmin chuckles, resting his forehead against yours. “You’re not the only one who knows how to keep a secret.”
You smile into the kiss, breath catching slightly when Seungmin pulls back just enough to look at you. His gaze lingers, soft and glowing with something deep and unshakable. “I can’t wait to marry you,” he murmurs, like it’s a secret just for you.
Your heart flutters, and the smile blooming on your face feels unstoppable, too wide to hide. You don’t want to hide it anyway—not from him. Not from this moment.
He reaches for your hand, the one now bearing the engagement ring, and lifts it gently to his lips. His kiss is reverent against the band, and somehow that small gesture makes everything even more real.
You let out a soft, breathless laugh, brushing your thumb over his cheek. “Gosh, I love you so much.”
He kisses you again, longer this time, his arms tightening around your waist. “I love you. Always.”
Slowly, you lift yourself just enough to allow you to ease yourself down onto his throbbing cock, your breath catching as your body adjusts to the closeness, the stretch, how hard he is inside you. When you fully take all of him, you hum in pleasure and press your forehead against his.
There’s no rush—just stillness and the quiet awe of feeling everything at once. His hands find your hips, grounding you, steadying the soft tremble in your breath. You stay like that for a moment—joined, wrapped up in the warmth of love and commitment and the tenderness of what comes next.
And then, as you begin to move, it’s slow and meaningful—each motion a silent vow, each look shared a quiet promise. You keep your eyes on him, letting him see everything as you make love to him with all of your heart.
Your fingers find his jaw, holding him steady beneath your gaze. “I can’t wait to be yours,” you whisper, voice breaking with emotion. “To have all of you… just for me.”
Seungmin’s thumb brushes over your hip, his breath hitching at your words. His eyes are full of love, of you.
“I already am,” he says softly. “All yours.”
-
The music begins and you take a deep breath before stepping out onto the aisle with the other bridesmaids. The soft rustle of fabric follows your steps, and though you try to keep your focus ahead, you can feel Seungmin’s gaze like a gentle tether, pulling your heart toward where he’s seated.
When you steal a glance at him, there he is. Sitting tall in his suit, his eyes never leaving you, filled with a quiet, radiant pride that sends warmth cascading through your chest. You know exactly what he's thinking because you're thinking it too. One day, it’ll be you walking down the aisle in white and he'll be waiting at the altar, just like Leo is now, with that same kind of look in his eyes. Maybe even deeper.
As Marion appears at the end of the aisle, music swelling to greet her, you look forward again. Leo's reaction is instant and visceral—his breath visibly hitching, eyes already glossy, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he watches her take each step closer to him. And you, watching him, can't help but imagine Seungmin looking at you like that. One day. Not far from now.
During the ceremony, with Marion’s vows still hanging delicately in the air, you glance across the crowd again. And Seungmin is already looking at you. There's something reverent in his expression, something soft and deep and full. He just mouths it like a sacred promise, “I love you.”
It takes a second to register. Your heart leaps. Tears prick the corners of your eyes. You’ve heard him say it so many times, but this… this moment makes it different. It’s not just the words—it’s the truth in his eyes, the forever behind it.
You bite your lip, trying not to smile too hard or cry too openly, and you mouth it back through the flicker of your tears, “I love you.”
For a few heartbeats, time feels suspended between you. Just you and him, exchanging silent vows of your own in the middle of someone else’s wedding. And honestly, you can’t wait for your turn.
-
The music has quieted into a soft, dreamy melody. The dance floor is mostly empty now, save for a few lingering couples swaying gently under the glow of string lights and the night sky is dotted with stars. You and Seungmin sit side by side at your table, shoes off, champagne flutes in hand. The bubbly has long gone lukewarm, but neither of you minds. It’s not about the drink—it’s about the moment.
You glance over at him. His tie is loose, the first few buttons of his shirt undone, his arm draped behind your chair. There’s something so comfortably tender about him like this.
Then come Marion and Leo, walking hand in hand like they haven't been married for just a few hours but for lifetimes already. Marion doesn’t hesitate to plop down in the chair next to you, letting out an exaggerated sigh as she kicks off her heels with zero ceremony. She props her feet up on Leo’s lap, and he takes them in stride, starting to massage them as though it's the most natural thing in the world.
"God, I’m exhausted," Marion groans, leaning back and resting her head on the edge of your chair. "But worth it. You," she says, turning her head toward you, eyes half-lidded and full of gratitude, "are a lifesaver. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you. Best maid of honor award? Goes to you, obviously."
You laugh, cheeks warm from the champagne—or maybe from the pride blooming quietly in your chest. “I’ll take that,” you say with a grin, raising your glass.
Marion raises hers too, clinking it softly with yours. Then she turns to Seungmin, her gaze suddenly mischievous. “Now it’s your turn,” she says, pointing a perfectly manicured finger at him. “Hurry up with the wedding. She and I have already decided we’re getting pregnant together, so our kids can have playdates and matching Halloween costumes and trauma-bond over how annoying their moms are.”
Seungmin raises his eyebrows, slowly turning to look at you with an exaggerated expression of mock-betrayal. “You’re making pregnancy pacts now?”
You snort into your champagne, nearly choking. “Apparently.”
“She’s already picked out names,” Marion adds matter-of-factly.
“I am petrified,” Seungmin deadpans, but there's a glimmer of laughter in his eyes as he leans closer to you, bumping his shoulder against yours. “I marry you and I get Marion in the package too?”
“It's a buy one, get one,” you say, grinning.
“You’re welcome,” Marion adds.
Leo just chuckles, his fingers still kneading gently into her tired feet. “You’re all insane,” he mutters fondly.
But as the music fades out and the final notes echo across the quieted venue, Seungmin turns to you, his hand brushing over your knee, thumb circling gently. You catch the way he looks at you in that moment—something quiet and sure. Like he already sees that future Marion joked about, and maybe it doesn’t seem so far away anymore.
-
With your maid of honor duty is officially come to an end, you and Seungmin walk hand-in-hand back to your hotel room. Your heels dangle from your other hand, your makeup slightly smudged from the long day, but there's a glow to your skin that has nothing to do with highlighter. It’s been a full day of laughter, vows, dancing, tears and now, just the two of you, the quiet is welcome.
Seungmin swings your hands a little between you. “So…” he begins casually, but there’s a glint of curiosity in his voice. “About what Marion said earlier.”
You glance at him, raising an eyebrow. “Which part?”
“The part where she said you two are planning on getting pregnant together.” He looks at you like he's testing the waters, but his voice is half-serious.
You burst out laughing. “Please tell me you didn’t take that seriously. Marion was drunk on love and cake.”
Seungmin stops walking, tugging your hand gently so you turn to face him. His expression is still light, but there's something sincere underneath it. “But what if I did take it seriously?” he asks. “What if I actually… want to talk about it?”
You stare at him, caught off guard, your heart tripping in your chest as the mood subtly shifts.
“Like… how many kids do you want?” he asks again, quieter this time.
Your lips part in surprise before you lean into playfulness to mask the sudden emotion curling in your chest. “I don’t know,” you say, squinting at him. “Do I want little Seungmin running around?”
His mouth drops open in mock offense. “Excuse you? Little Seungmins would be adorable.”
“One Seungmin is already a headache,” you tease, poking a finger into his chest. “I don’t know if I can handle another one who hogs the blanket and never loads the dishwasher correctly.”
He gasps, affronted. “First of all, I do load the dishwasher correctly. My method is called organized chaos. And second,” he says, stepping closer, slipping his arms around your waist, “I don’t care how many kids we have—one or five—but we should definitely start working on making little Seungmin now.”
Your eyes widen. “Seungmin—!”
But before you can finish, he scoops you up into his arms in one smooth motion, carrying you bridal style down the rest of the hallway.
You squeal and wrap your arms around his neck, laughter spilling out of you as he walks with a cocky grin on his face, clearly enjoying himself. “Put me down!” you whisper-shout, still giggling.
“Too late. You’ve offended me. You must now suffer,” he says dramatically, nudging the hotel room door open with his foot after expertly swiping the key card.
“And what exactly is my punishment?”
He gives you a look that’s half mischief, half promise. “Let’s just say… we’ll see how you feel about little Seungmins after tonight.”
And as the city lights dimmed beyond the hotel windows and the world quieted into the hush of midnight, you found yourself curled against Seungmin’s chest, his heartbeat steady beneath your cheek, his fingers drawing lazy patterns against your spine.
In that moment, you find a clarity that everything you once feared or doubted had led you here. Not just to a proposal, or a ring, or a kiss under stadium lights, but to something greater: a life built hand in hand, with love that stayed steady through uncertainty, with a future you no longer needed to imagine, because it was already unfolding—right here, beside him.
-
Please support my writings by kindly reblog, comment or tip me on my ko-fi!
➥ Contains: No SKZ: fellas are in some imaginary group bc they be toxic, down horrendous Hyunjin agenda™, an unhinged kiwi, Chris the Hyun whisperer, idol industry diss, meta fandom shenanigans, doubling tripling down on the delulu because it's the solulu, gratuitous amounts of Hyunchanner fan service because i can, insane shit then wholesomeness midfuck per youzhe
➥ Reader discretion advised: See the masterlist for the full disclaimer about this project, general warnings, and request guidelines. By continuing, you accept to read at your own risk.
⚠ — (Non-exhaustive, full cw policy here): Corruption fetishism, objectification, MMF, sex with other people present in the room, overall irrational behavior
➥ Hyunjin doesn’t fuck around when it comes to biases—if you’re ulting him, you’re ulting him, period. If you can so casually announce you’re getting “biaswrecked”, he can and will wreck you back.
But sign the NDA first.
*a/n: Back on my irregularly scheduled Derangedjin bullshit because June sucked.
I just want to receive love.
Ask any survival show contestant why they want to become an idol, and that’s the bullshit they’ll feed you with a wholesome smile, which is the politically correct way of saying, “I want to be worshipped.” No one even judges them for it because new gods on the block will always be in demand.
Fresh meat and whatnot, you know.
The only catch is you’re no longer allowed to worship anyone if you have worshippers yourself. Have you ever seen a god who simps for her own devotees?
Please.
If you “make it”, there is only one law you have to abide by—stick to your meticulously crafted persona and be generous with fanservice, and almost a decade into his career, Hyunjin hasn’t had a problem with it. He does study the faces of his “regulars” before he goes into fancalls. He does flirt a little extra with them at fansigns, holding their hands a little longer, a little tighter, less tsun more dere, even sharing little intimate details of his private life only they are privy to.
Well, allegedly.
That’s the least he can do for his off-the-books sugar mamas, no? He is a part of a grand romance scam after all.
It doesn’t mean he’s never struggled with keeping up the act, of course. With all the things he has to suppress, all the things he cannot scream at certain entitled brats’ faces, some days he does come very very close to snapping. What’d you expect? He is trapped in a life he hates doing something he loves.
Which is why it’s Stockholm as fuck that he’s found distraction from his delulu dealer duties by completely leaning into it.
It’s not even guilty, just pure pleasure for him to browse through fan work. As if he needs any more reasons to inflate his behemoth of an ego… Over time, his fandom has become a point of pride with him—so much talent scratching his Stendhal itch just right. The origin point doesn’t matter; the end result is still solid fucking art. It’s like he’s the Beatrice to a thousand Dantes.
Maybe “Like artist, like fan” does have some merit to it.
The literature department of his counterfeit Renaissance cult is where things get a little more unhinged. Some of these people write him so vividly, so intensely sexy that if Hyunjin could fuck himself, he would. It’s kinda disappointing that there is a strict hush-hush rule about fan spaces, which forces him to pretend he doesn’t know what a Kinktober is. Otherwise, he would have loved to send some flowers, signed merch, fucking fan club membership as a thank you for all the nuts busted. When the average market value for life-changing orgasms is in three to four digits, a cup of coffee seems criminally low.
Is it still sex work if someone makes you cum without touching you at all?
Among the sea of creators he religiously follows, of course he has favorites, and whoever goes by zipcode10320 tops that chart. He finds the hardcore shipping fucking hilarious, but he actually respects the preferred method of worship. The thirst might be heavy, but unlike the bitches practically living outside his apartment, it’s at least from a non-suffocating distance.
From a... distance...
anonymous asked:
what if hyunjin is deadass reading you lol
A decade-long career with a fake boyfriend side hustle. Five restraining orders. Three court appearances. Endless blacklists…
Hyunjin lived to see the day where it’s the distance that suffocates him.
He never thought one day he’d find himself on the other side of the fence like this. It’s on the tip of his tongue, but he just can’t tell what it is about this person he’s so hung up on. He has a battalion of authors writing about him, so what’s so special about this one? Is it a style thing? Is it the subject matter? Why is he looking forward to the next character he’ll play like it’s the next season of his favorite show? Why is he getting this ticklish feeling for no reason whenever he scrolls through a new drop in his bed? It’s as if the words are laced with something because he only feels it when he reads.
But what the fuck IS IT that he’s feeling?!
zipcode10320 replied:
im pretty sure he has a life 🤣 on the super off chance that he does tho, hi bby save me from my misery and swipe my v-card plz 💋
Huh…
Well, now he knows.
So it wasn’t for no reason that he turned into a shark—there was blood in the water, and it reeked of the proverbial innocence. So all that lustful longing you keep writing… All that unhinged sex you keep depicting…
Is that…? How you want to be…? By him?
It’s too late when he realizes his fascination with the “art” has turned into something else entirely, but he can’t stop it. He just can’t! It’s in his every waking thought that someone out there loves him just a few drops shy of unconditionally, wanting him with lust so carnal that the desire can no longer stay inside its shell. It jumps into a getaway car with words for engine and fucks right off, all gas no brakes, because it has to get to him as fast as it can. It has to exist in the same corporeal realm as Hyunjin so it can call out to him. It’s in his every waking thought that a god out there compulsively conjures little Hyuniverses, unable to contain the fond smile whenever they doodle his name on a surface, be it cellulose or binary codes.
Hyunjin as a psycho.
Hyunjin as a prince.
Hyunjin as a psycho prince.
Hyunjin as the meaning of life.
Hyunjin as the meaning of MY life.
Hyunjin.
Hyunjin.
HYUNJIN!!!
anonymous asked:
if he asks you to give your virginity to him ur ACTUALLY gonna say yes?
zipcode10320 replied:
who tf says no to hwang hyunjin fucking BET!!!
anonymous asked:
what if he’s a freak tho
zipcode10320 replied:
if the freak is me getting sandwiched between hyunchan i volunteer as tribute thank 😌
anonymous asked:
what if IM hyunjin and ur just giving me ideas lol
zipcode10320 replied:
even IM not that delulu bro cmon
Well, maybe you should get on his delulu level because there is some freak that needs to be matched here. It’s okay if you can’t right from the get-go; he has all the time in the world for you. He can show you everything. How to match it. How to get him there. How he will get you there. Everything. Everything you can imagine, he will teach you with utmost care.
But he needs to complete a little self-assigned mission first.
He starts bringing his notebook to every single fan event to take notes of his interactions. Mannerisms, tone of voice, clothes worn that day, some word that sticks out to him… Whenever someone asks what he’s writing so fervently, his go-to excuse is, “Things that inspire me before I forget”. He does show a few actual snippets to cover his tracks, and luckily, all he gets in response is dreamy sighs and, “Oh my god, you’re like sooo romantic!” instead of suspicious looks.
It’s called a “bias” for a reason.
It doesn’t matter if your face doesn’t show in your posts. He has all your notifications on, so every fancall or concert video you share, every photo captioned with “They don’t know I’m zipcode10320” goes straight to his “data” folder where he compares his “field notes”. It doesn’t take too long for him to finally put a face to the name, and the satisfaction of victory weirdly feels like afterglow. He doesn’t smoke, but he craves a cigarette all of a sudden.
His fascination with you mutates into infatuation so fast, he might just blurt out a marriage proposal next time he sees you.
He keeps waiting for you to pick up what he’s putting down, but you seem a bit too insistent with that godforsaken “respect to his personal space” thing. What personal space? There is no personal space when it comes to the two of you; don’t you get it? You need to occupy the exact same space so he can be where he’s meant to be. As your very first. As your very last. So he can be your muse for the rest of your life. Can you even imagine the stories he’ll inspire you to tell if you spend just one night with him?
Don’t get it twisted, that’s just a figure of speech. He can’t and won’t settle for anything less than a couple of hundred nights with you. You know, to teach. So that the freak can match perfectly in the finale.
Unfortunately for him, the news of the iceberg arrives before he can finish packing for the maiden voyage, and for the first time ever, Hyunjin wishes he was blind so he wouldn’t be able to read your words.
zipcode10320
guys im this 🤏 close to ulting the shit out of chris hes been wrecking me left and right this comeback SEND HALP
Oh, you just… Oh, you fucking did not…
Really? That’s the extent of your loyalty? One whore goes Magic Mike, and all of a sudden you’re wrecked? Did the memories you shared mean jack shit to you? Weren’t you the one going on and on about him being your muse just YESTERDAY?!
Oh, you’re gonna get wrecked alright.
“Jiwon, do you have an NDA copy on hand?” Hyunjin addresses the driver in the front seat, his eyes still glued to his phone.
“Yes, sir.”
“Good,” he opens his contacts and dials a number. “Turn the car around.”
“Where to, sir?”
“I’ll tell you in a bit.”
The car completes the U-turn after the third ringback tone, and a trollmeister voice answers the call on the other end.
“Yo, Hyunzales.”
“Where are you?”
“Fucking your girl in the backseat of my car.”
“I know you’re ragebaiting, but do you want to?”
The elongated silence on the line lets Hyunjin know that the hunter was successfully hunted. He softly chuckles to himself, amused by his triumph.
“Pussy got your tongue, motherfucker?”
“You’d actually give the fic girl to me?” Chris asks for good measure, his rabid giddiness spilling all over his voice.
“Calm the fuck down. No one said anything about giving you stuff,” Hyunjin sternly corrects. “I’m just inviting you to come play.”
“You’re the pettiest, most possessive man I’ve ever had the displeasure of knowing, and that includes the GOAT Joe Goldberg,” Chris starts a mini interrogation to do his due diligence. “If there is a chance for you to hit that yourself, how come you’re inviting me?”
“You fucking know why. I don’t trust myself,” he admits. “It’s not a random hookup. Bin’s hosting an opening ceremony tonight, and I want her there.”
“No fucking way…”
“Deadest of asses,” Hyunjin finally releases the death grip on his lips and lets them curl. “Meet me at his place if you’re interested. Otherwise, I’ll risk it all and go solo.”
“Race you there, fuckface.”
When the call disconnects, Hyunjin takes a deep breath to calm… his nerves? And well, his residual annoyance—he can’t be in that kinda headspace right now. He closes his eyes, and just the thought of your surprise is enough to put him in a good mood. He pulls up your profile again and presses play on the video from the concert two months ago, fondly smiling as he listens to you scream at the top of your lungs, “I’LL SIGN THE NDA, HYUNJIN, JUST ONE CHANCE!!!”
“Well, you said it yourself, beautiful,” he turns to his right, watching the nightlights pass by the tinted window. “Time to put your money where your mouth is.”
You blankly look at the man’s face for a solid ten seconds, unsure if you’ve heard it right, because there ain’t no way…
“Just to triple confirm,” you briefly squeeze your eyes close. “We’re talking about the performer Hwang Hyunjin, right?”
“Yes.”
“The art harlot Hwang Hyunjin.”
“Yes.”
“The Hwang Hyunjin.”
“Just assume every adjective you can think of is true, but if we could get to the matter at hand, please,” the man sighs, rapidly losing patience. “Mr. Hwang strongly wishes for your companionship tonight.”
cOmPaNiOnSh— What?
How would the man, the myth, the legend himself, the only baby daddy you’d be willing to accept, Hwang motherfucking Hyunjin even know you? This has to be a hidden camera prank or something!
As you suspiciously look the man up and down, however, you’re struggling to hold onto your prank theory. The weirdly familiar butler-henchman hybrid guy is clad in a crisp Dior suit, his nails are perfectly manicured, and his hair is so neatly coiffed that bro can walk a runway if he wants. Now you’re trying to logically explain why someone would send a man like this to locate you at this hour. Maybe if they are bored enough? But what entertainment can possibly come out of interrupting a plain mortal’s cocktail hour with their friends?
WHY would a Diorland resident want to locate YOU in the first place? There is literally NO possibility of your paths ever crossing!
“Wait, you’re in every single fansite picture when Hyunjin attends a public event,” Mina points at him, her face contorting with her revelation. “You’re Kim Jiwon, aren’t you?”
“I am,” the man acknowledges.
“How do you even know this guy?” you turn to Mina.
“Girl, even you know him,” she answers with a content smile. “He’s Hyunjin’s bodyguard.”
As you let out a long “Ohhh…”, it finally clicks in your mind why he seems so familiar. He pulls something out from the inside pocket of his blazer and clicks a silver pen.
“I’ve been told this was your own request,” he hands you an envelope containing a single sheet of paper. “You need to sign it before I can take you to him.”
There ain’t NO WAY…
You can see the words, but your brain refuses to process them. That’s it; you’ve been fangirling so hard that it has finally given you permanent brain damage, and now you’re hallucinating worse than ai. At least, that was how you were planning to plead insanity.
But the “OH MY GOD!”s raising from the table confirm that your friends can also see the title reads “Non-Disclosure Agreement”.
“Please don’t. This document contains sensitive information,” he snatches the paper from the prying eyes before they can commit it to memory, and points at the bottom. “If you won’t be signing it, please let me know right now, so I can relay it to Mr. Hwang. This is a time-sensitive issue.”
“T–Time-sensitive?!” you widen your eyes. “Can’t I at least tell my friends where I’m going so they know I’m safe?”
“No, you can’t, but I’m obligated to ensure your protection just as much as Mr. Hwang’s,” he indirectly informs the table. “This isn’t a job offer, so there is nothing to contemplate here. It’s just a promise that you will be discreet about the time you will be spending in Mr. Hwang’s company. Yes or no.”
Yet another “OH MY GOD!” erupts from the table, and by then, Jiwon is at his limit. Before he rescinds the invitation altogether, you lunge at the document telling you to shut the fuck up and sign it. You don’t have one logical answer as to how the Hwang Hyunjin knows you, or why he, quote, “strongly wishes for your companionship”. But the three Cosmopolitans in your bloodstream convince you that making shady deals in the middle of a restaurant is a great idea. And that you will regret it if you don’t go all in tonight.
Whatevs, if anything goes off the rails, you’ll just scream bloody murder, and his career will be over before he can spell “handwritten apology”.
“If I don’t send a thumbs up within 15 minutes, call the police,” you quietly scheme with Mina as you take your sweet time gathering your belongings. “If I do send a thumbs up, call a mortician because his sheer hotness will fucking kill me.”
You follow Jiwon to the valet area, barely registering that he’s just opened the door to a Rolls-Royce Phantom for you. It’s a true test of willpower not to yell “SHUT THE ABSOLUTE FUCK UP!” as you get into the disgustingly smug flex all over Hyunjin’s socials. So it’s true. It’s actually true. You are being taken to the only man ever. For whatever fucking reason…
WHO CARES?!
You make it to the mystery venue in just under five minutes. As he accompanies you to the elevator, Jiwon hands you what looks like a gold-plated card, instructing you to just swipe it to reach your intended destination. So you do. With a thousand butterflies in your stomach, and still only half-believing that you’re about to appear before His Majesty.
Once you get out of that cabin, you can only see one large door at the end of the hallway. A light breeze of music leaks into the carpet-clad corridor. The distance you need to walk suddenly seems like miles long, and the entire time, you keep repeating to yourself, “What am I doing? What am I doing? What the ACTUAL FUCK am I doing?!”, which is entirely pointless considering you’ve already made it this far. Might as well see what’s behind door number two.
Well, door number 4001, to be exact.
Standing in front of the heavy-looking oak, you take the deepest breath of your life and ring the doorbell, your group chat still open in your hand just in case. After a ten-second silence, it finally opens.
Your knees damn near give way when you make eye contact with your greeter.
“Hey, beautiful,” the only man ever leans against the door frame with that sultry smile you know too well. “Remember me?”
You quickly send a thumbs-up emoji to the group chat and shove the phone inside your bag, having no idea what to do with yourself. It’s him. The man who stuns you when he just breathes, the man who has sheer grace and absolute harlotry running in his veins instead of blood is right there smiling at you. It’s REALLY him!
It is really him, but something is not.
Every memory you have of him suddenly flashes before your eyes. Every “private” moment you were lucky enough to share, the handholding, the small talks about his personal work, the eggplant lasagna jokes… All were so soft, so comfortable, and it was like that by design. Even though he knew your name, you were fully aware that this man was at work. That “See? I remember intimate details about you because you’ve made a mark on me” shtick was the first line of his job description. These guys were probably handed a study pack full of attendee information before those events anyway.
But right this moment, not even a shred of the sentimental soft boi is present in his demeanor. Eyes darkened, pupils dilated, posture relaxed, cunningly smirking. The man standing at door number 4001 isn’t Hwang Hyunjin.
It’s the fucking DEVIL!
“Uh… I feel like I need to make sure, just in case,” you shake your head to snap out of it. “You are aware I’m not an escort, right?”
“Why would you even say that?” he furrows his brows.
“I signed a document that says you want my companionship for an opening ceremony tonight?”
He’s so amused, he starts laughing, and you die a little bit. That part is at least the same. When he laughs, your heart still goes into overdrive.
“Yes, I’m aware,” he answers.
“How do you… even know me?” you hesitantly ask, making sure your tone wouldn’t make him think you’re displeased by the invitation. “I couldn’t come up with one reason why you of all people would look for me.”
But the way his face falls, he must be offended. You panic, trying to find ways to explain yourself and what you really meant by that. That he is a god walking among mortals, that you’re one of the aforementioned mortals, and that it just doesn’t make any sense why he wouldn’t summon a fellow goddess instead.
“See, I’m a glass-half-full kind of man,” he speaks through a sigh as he slowly approaches, wrapping his arms around your waist. “Some might say your zip code starts with 103. I say it ends with 320.”
No.
No, there ain’t NO MOTHERFUCKING WAY…
How is that even POSSIBLE?! How many degrees of separation have you been from Hyunjin all this time? Does one of your followers just HAPPEN to know him somehow? Then what, did they just show him the fucking embarrassing amounts of delusion? Did he at least get a good laugh out of it?
Seems a bit too late to deactivate now…
“Well, you asked for it yourself, didn’t you?” he chortles, lifting your chin. “You signed the NDA. Now’s your one chance.”
How are you still not passing out?
Fuck the how, he knows. He knows about it all, and you have never been this mortified about something in your damn LIFE! Your shame brute-forces its way into the main control room of your brain and disables all your cognitive functions.
You can’t think of ONE thing to say to him!
“Unless… You’d rather it was someone else instead,” he cocks a brow at your silence. “Someone who’s been wrecking you recently?”
“I… I–I’m… I don’t…”
The door he left ajar behind him opens again, and another familiar face peeks out, flashing you a pair of heart-stopping dimples.
“Fucking hot,” Chris bites his lips, resting his chin on Hyunjin’s shoulder while staring at you. “Lucked out with this one, huh, Hyun?”
WHAT THE HELL IS EVEN GOING ON RIGHT NOW?
Where did he come from all of a sudden? What does it all mean? And why is this whole thing starting to feel like a fujoshi trap?!
“It’s just a party,” Hyunjin reassuringly smiles, caressing your cheek as if to calm you down. “We’ll hang out, talk, have a couple of drinks, that kinda thing.”
He holds your hand and presses his lips on your wrist for at least a solid five seconds, deeply inhaling your scent, then looks at you with dreamy eyes.
“But if the fancy strikes,” he steps aside, gently pushing you from your waist to lead you in, “we can always party a little harder.”
Incredulous that you are actually flanked by your very own OTP, you walk into the gigantic suite where the chatter of the crowd melts into the music. You recognize a lot of these faces because it’s crawling with idols inside, but the sight is the furthest thing from variety show cutesiness. Their claim holds up. It is a party.
They just forgot to tell you what kind.
The front end is “frat”. Two fandoms are amidst a vicious fanwar online, yet their “oppas” are heavily broing it out, all clearly intoxicated, laughing their asses off as two of the bunch are trying to do body shots off of each other.
Whereas the back end is “swinger”. Socials are filled with snark about who paved the way, yet the younger artists are busy teaching their seniors how to eat their pussies properly. No one cares that they are in the presence of a crowd—they are going at it.
“How’d you like the cesspit black hole of bubblegum pop?” Chris asks, plopping down next to you on the giant sectional by the window, and hands you a glass of vodka on the rocks. “Not giving ‘ending fairy’ at all, yeah?”
“You don’t say,” you raise your brows. “Feels like I passed through an underworld portal just now.”
“So…” Hyunjin flings an arm around your shoulder, comfortably spreading his legs. “You’re a shipper.”
Your drink almost comes out of your nose with panic-slash-fluster. THAT’S how he chooses to bring it up?!
“It’s just entertainment,” you play it cool, trying to choose your words carefully. “I don’t actually believe you are in a relationship.”
“Even when we live together?”
“That’s not proof of anything.”
“Even when we shower together?” Chris presses. “Stuck in hotel rooms together for months on tour…”
“Everybody knows that’s a convenience thing when you’re strapped for time,” you refute.
“But what if Hyunchan is real, and we’re laughing our asses off hiding in plain sight?” he looks you up and down, annoyingly smirking. “Post a picture of me giving him head right now, and haters will still say it’s fanservice.”
“Didn’t you see the pepero thing?” Hyunjin chimes in. “He’s the only one I almost made out with, and our parents were in the audience, mind you.”
Before you catch on goddamn fire, you have to force quit the fangirling and put your rational thinking into overdrive QUICK! What are they even after, having a weird ship conversation about themselves out of nowhere? It’s almost like they are trying to convince you it’s real, but even if they do, what’s going to possibly come out o—
Oh.
Oh, okay.
Okay, so it’s just a random jackpot thing. They saw your stuff, picked you as a target, and this is how they’re “getting even” by humiliating you to your face. Ha ha, very funny…
“Alright, message received,” you sigh in defeat, your mood suddenly bitter. “Do you want me to apologize in writing, or—?”
“What are you talking about? I’m not mad about that at all,” Hyunjin quickly interjects. “I canceled a porn subscription because of you. I goon to your stuff a lot.”
“SHUT THE FUCK UP NO YOU FUCKING DO NOT!!!”
You scream at his face out of pure reflex, but everyone in the vicinity is so faded that no one even hears it. Well, except for Chris who folds in half howling with laughter.
“Ask him,” Hyunjin points at the yang to his yin extremely seriously. “What was I doing just last night?”
“I’m gonna be a gentleman and say he was reading the latest drop, but he changed his sheets at 2 a.m. Do the math,” Chris corroborates while wiping the tears from his eyes. “So yeah, can confirm he’s not mad. Mad horny, maybe”
“But…” Hyunjin snuggles up to you, speaking directly into your ear. “I am mad about something else.”
“W–What did I do?” you turn your head to face him, almost brushing against his lips.
“What is it about me that you don’t like anymore?” he asks with narrowed eyes.
“WHAT?!”
“It’s the haircut, isn’t it?” he tsks in disappointment. “You find it off-putting.”
“Absolutely not! Where did that even come from?!”
“Then how fucking come you’re wrecked so easily after all these years? I thought we had something.”
The course of the night is quite disorienting as it is. Then he goes ahead and says all that in a single breath, fire shooting out of his eyes as if you’ve cussed out the entire Hwang bloodline. He sounds more delulu than all fics in existence combined, yet he’s dead serious, legitimately demanding an answer from you.
You’re so dumbfounded, you can’t produce a single coherent thought!
“Fine,” Hyunjin pulls out his phone and shows you the screen. “Read it. Out loud.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake…
If you can get an ETA on when you can vanish, please, because the self-cringe of looking at your own blog is suf–fo–ca–ting! Nevertheless, it suddenly doesn’t seem entirely implausible to you that these two may indeed be dying laughing at the fanservice defenders. If you posted about this very moment right now, no one would ever believe you, either, would they?
Mad imagination, bro. 12/10 gooned. Have my reblog.
You sigh in exasperation, trying to dissociate from the fact that those are your own words on the screen, and start reading.
“Guys, I’m this cl—”
“No,” Hyunjin stops you with the tone of an insufferable director. “With feeling.”
Are you unknowingly auditioning for something, or…?
You try to remember what you were doing when you rabidly typed this nonsense and yeeted it into the void of the interwebs. Some teaser pictures had dropped, so it wasn’t even anything that deep. Just plain, good ol’ thirst for normal people, but treason-level betrayal by a certain kiwi’s insane biasing standards.
And nothing less than a recommittal blood oath will convince him of your loyalty, apparently.
“Guys, I’m this close to ulting the shit out of Chris. He’s…” you pause to chase some of the cringe with a sip of vodka. “He’s been wrecking me left and right this comeback.”
“I know, right?” Chris cheeses at you, then mimics Hyunjin’s earlier tone. “It’s the bench press thirst traps, isn’t it?”
“All of it,” Hyunjin demands. “Don’t stop at the best part now.”
Real talk? You’d rather endure the ship interrogation than this medieval-adjacent self-reflection moment. Maybe they used to make witches read their own fics aloud, too, who knows?
“Send help,” you punctuate your unhinged diary entry with an eye roll and hand him his phone back.
“Well then.”
He suddenly pulls you close from your waist, shifting you to straddle his lap. The sight must be a little too satisfying, the way his jaw drops watching you sit on your new throne, breathing heavily as he runs his hands up your waist.
“Help,” he brushes two fingers down your cleavage, “has arrived.”
It doesn’t feel real at all. You’re so close to him that if you move forward just an inch, you can kiss him. In your absence, Chris moves right next to Hyunjin and starts lazily stroking your legs, smiling to himself as he watches goosebumps spread on your skin in slow motion.
“Be honest with me,” Hyunjin puts a hand on your cheek, pointing at Chris with a nod. “Do you wish it was him touching you instead?”
“That’s not what I meant when I said—”
“Look, I get why you might have slipped for a moment,” he interrupts, holding Chris’s face between his thumb and index fingers. “Just look at him. He’s so hot, fucking pisses me off sometimes.”
“Pisses you off, my ass,” Chris scoffs with a snort. “Tell that to your dick standing at attention every time I get out of the shower.”
“Not the time to air our dirty laundry,” Hyunjin turns off the black box, then turns to you. “But if you’re really sorry for abandoning me—”
“I didn’t abandon you!” you protest.
“You did, and it broke my heart,” he instantly denies your appeal, his expression somehow crestfallen and quietly enraged at the same time. “Or are you not sorry at all?”
“I am sorry for upsetting you, but not for abandoning you,” you respond. “Because I didn’t.”
“But you are sorry.”
“I am.”
“Then,” he slowly drags a strap of your dress down your shoulder, “show me how much.”
“T–There are people here,” you quickly grab his hand.
“Of course there are,” he purses his lips. “Otherwise it wouldn’t be a ceremony.”
“Just what the hell is this ceremony for?” you crease your brows. “I haven’t seen one ribbon getting cut.”
“Just because they aren’t in your face doesn’t mean they don’t exist,” he responds with a grin. “You asked me to save you from your misery, remember?”
what if IM hyunjin and ur just giving me ideas lol
Your face changes when it finally starts to sink in.
You look around, and that’s when you see the room for the first time. There are clusters of people spread all over the place, each with a “focal point” amidst them. Depending on the kind of lens you have, you can claim they are being worshipped, pleasured, or entirely humiliated.
Only then does it dawn on you that the “opening ceremony”, at least the one held on this side of the room, is of you.
“Don’t avert your eyes,” Hyunjin holds your face with the kind of tenderness that does not belong to the salacious backdrop. “Look at me.”
And look, you do.
You see two men before you, their gaze somewhat soft but not because it bears any wholesome intent. It’s a tiger and a wolf sitting side by side, and the only reason they don’t snarl is not to spook the gazelle. Otherwise, you can see the drool pooling in their mouth. The intent doesn’t seem entirely nefarious, either, but you have lowered inhibitions and complete heart eyes for them, so… Not exactly the beacon of sound judgement.
When Hyunjin starts pulling you in, the remaining crumbs of sound judgement evacuate the building anyway.
“Kiss the lips you keep writing about,” he quietly demands.
Your life temporarily ends when he takes your lips within his. It’s not like your makeout scoreboard is completely blank, but you’ve never felt anything like this before. The man doesn’t kiss; he attempts to pour himself into your body, then permeate every single corner until he completely possesses you.
Divide and Hwangquer.
“Feeling a little neglected here,” Chris interrupts. “No kisses for me?”
That pout paired with the puppy eyes gives you a little cuteness aggression. You steal a glance from Hyunjin, trying to gauge how upset he’d be if you kissed Chris, but he beats you to it. He just knows you’ll prefer the “fanservice” over a stupid membership card anyway. Now he can thank you for all the sheets he ruined in a single installment.
He grabs Chris by the nape and fucking goes for it, showing you what you would have seen if he had finished that pepero to completion. It makes you wanna combust that their rhythm seems so memorized. It’s pure muscle memory. If these demons had a side hustle where they made out to entertain an audience, the entire community would find out the day they created an account. Not even the most devout “It’s fanservice!” supremacist can explain how two people can know each other’s hot spots this well if they haven’t found them firsthand.
FUCK, IT’S TRUE THEN?!
As Hyunjin languidly grinds against you, he unbuttons Chris’s pants and frees his cock, making him whimper when he wraps his long fingers around him. You can’t control the throb between your legs when you hear that sound, and of course Hyunjin notices, breaking into a diabolical smile.
He channels his attention to you again, this time meeting no resistance when he reaches for the strap of your dress. He takes the left side while Chris takes the right, both men savoring the fuck out of unwrapping the present they treated themselves to. The tiger and the wolf can no longer hide their intent, openly showing their teeth as they stare at your bare chest. As if they communicate with telepathy, each sucks on a nipple at the same time, the same way they make out with each other. Loud. Messy.
Wet.
When you run your fingers through his hair, Chris looks up and makes eye contact with you. He lets go of your nipple and reaches for your face, demanding his kiss. They both melt within your lips, but it’s like night and day. Hyunjin kisses like a Sunday morning—slow and lazy, deep sighs, soft touches because you have all the time in the world. Whereas Chris is like a quickie you know you shouldn’t have—fast and passionate, heavy breathing, firm gropes because you are strapped for time before you get busted.
But both set your body on fire just the same.
Hyunjin stops when he realizes there’s a makeout session going on over his head and starts kissing your neck, fondling everything he can reach. Shortly after, you feel a hand on your inner thighs caressing you. Then it moves up. More. A bit more. It makes you shudder when it reaches the dampened fabric gatekeeping your wetness.
“So, you’re saying,” Hyunjin unzips his pants and lets his cock hang, “if I dip my tongue in there, I’ll be the first ever to taste you?”
“Y–Yes,” you barely manage to answer, wits barely intact.
“You wouldn’t… lie to me, would you?” he squints with suspicion.
Then something you can’t quite explain happens.
Hyunjin looks the same, but his demeanor feels… sinister, almost. It’s like there is a very specific answer to his question, and if you can’t get it exactly right, there will be consequences. The problem is, you can’t tell if he’s roleplaying or if his personality is actually changing right before your eyes.
If the tiger snarls that loudly, obviously it will spook the gazelle.
“Of course not,” Chris intervenes with the wholesomest smile, his voice softer than cumulus clouds. “She would never do that to you.”
“She said she loved me, but it didn’t stop her from having eyes for you,” Hyunjin stares daggers at him. “How do I know she’s telling the truth this time?”
“Hyun, you’re scaring her.”
Hyunjin swiftly turns to you, and when you make eye contact, his rigid scowl suddenly disappears. He averts his eyes like he’s ashamed, but the pout doesn’t go anywhere.
It’s like you’re trying to communicate with a stubborn kid.
“If I hurt you so much,” you softly utter, tilting your head to look into his eyes, “would you like me to leave?”
He immediately grabs your hand like you’re going to vanish otherwise, his eyes widened like saucers. Chris giggles at his reaction and wraps his arms around Hyunjin’s waist behind him.
“You just loooove being a mega spoiled brat, don’t you?” he nibbles on Hyunjin’s earlobe, then flashes his mega reassuring dimples at you. “Asking for a kiss like a normal person is too pedestrian for our prince, so he has to make a scene.”
You thought he was fucking around when he said he was heartbroken earlier, but he looks it. You are so confused, and nothing makes sense to you, but a part of you feels weirdly privileged to witness whatever is going on.
“Come closer,” Chris invites you, placing open-mouth kisses on Hyunjin’s neck. “Let’s pacify him a bit.”
You hold Hyunjin’s hands and put them on your waist, then pull him into a kiss. As soon as your lips touch, he immediately starts melting, and you can feel his body go limp in your arms. He softly moans into you, one hand on your face, the other holding Chris’s hand behind him.
“Do you really love me?” he asks with a pout.
“I came here tonight because Mr. Hwang asked for me,” you affirm. “There was no mention of Chris.”
“Will you stop loving him then?”
“Will you?” you raise your brows, unwittingly laughing. “Don’t ask me for things you don’t have the balls to do.”
“Will you at least stop biasing him then?”
“What’s happening to you?” you smile through your creased brows, strangely endeared.
“Nothing, baby. It’s his dinner time, and he gets very groggy when he doesn’t eat,” Chris answers on his behalf, looking at you knowingly. “So you might wanna feed him now.”
Hyunjin doesn’t lose another second and gently pushes you to lie on your back, comfortably settling between your legs. He has zero patience left to take the teasing route, but still tries his best to hold it together and not rip your underwear off altogether.
“Oh, you so wanna shove it in there already, don’t you?” Chris chuckles, seeing Hyunjin practically drool at the amount of slick.
“Fucking look at this, my god,” Hyunjin bites his lips hard.
“Rock paper scissors?” Chris extends his hand.
“Oh, fuck you, I have bias privileges,” Hyunjin slaps it away. “Dibs on everything.”
“Yes, you do, but you will do my requests, right?
You kinda wanna slap Chris when Hyunjin stops two millimeters away from your pussy and looks up at him. It’s so strange that he seems to only listen to Chris and do everything he says with blind obedience, as if he doesn’t have a mind of his own.
Huh…
“What do you want?”
“How about you get her suuuper wet first,” Chris speaks, dragging Hyunjin’s lip down with his thumb, “then double cream her?”
They smirk at each other, and you almost die because WHAT EVEN IS THIS INSANE DYNAMIC?! They’ve done this before for sure; the correct question is JUST HOW MANY FUCKING TIMES?
“I’m just gonna borrow her a bit so I can cum faster, okay?” Chris gives a quick peck on Hyunjin’s lips. “She still only loves you.”
“I know,” Hyunjin tries to play it cool, but massively fails when he can’t help his smile.
“And I only love you, too.”
FUCK—THIS!!!
You suddenly forget where you are and what you’re about to do, barely stopping yourself from shedding happy tears, because what other proof do you need here, really?
fAnSeRvIcE, my ass!
“I guess it’s only fair that I warn you about this,” Hyunjin licks his lips with sheer hunger, spreading your legs wide.
“A–About what?”
“That no one’s gonna compare to me after tonight. You’ll live the rest of your life looking for me in everyone you fuck,” he smirks big. “So maybe don’t even bother fucking them in the first place.”
You inadvertently arch into him with a gasp when he finally graces you with that first lick, grabbing onto Chris lying by your side. It’s such an unfamiliar, brand-new feeling, and it spreads all over your body faster than a pandemic. So wet. So warm. Dangerously addictive. Unfathomable that someone could have this kind of appetite for you one day, but there you have it in technicolor. And out of all people it could possibly be, it’s Hwang Hyunjin.
The only man ever.
“God, you’re fucking beautiful,” you let slip unbeknownst to yourself.
“Mpf…”
You sink your fingers deeper into Chris when Hyunjin moans into your pussy. The vibrations feel so nice. It’s like an ‘achievement unlocked’ moment—when you talk to him, he reacts.
And he reacts good.
“Feels good, yeah? Now we’re gonna do the same with you,” Chris gets on his knees and presses his cock on your lips. “Open your mouth for me.”
You don’t exactly understand why, but you’re starting to relate to Hyunjin. For whatever reason, when Chris says something, you just do, no questions asked.
You take him into your mouth, but he doesn’t move for a while, just enjoying the sensation as he watches Hyunjin work wonders on your pussy. The man is gone, eating like he’s been starved to death, and when he realizes Chris is watching, he stops sucking, spreads your lips, and makes a complete show of flicking his tongue on your clit as fast as he can.
You’ve heard of chain reaction crashes before, but only now do you understand how they work. Hyunjin licks your soul out of you, you moan louder, and it somehow manifests itself within Chris’s body even though he’s fucking your face. It’s as if you’re just a vessel connecting the two lovers, and Hyunjin pleasures Chris through you.
If you can choose your own death, this is your preferred way to go.
“Oh, FUCK, sorry baby, borrowing your man for a bit,” Chris hurriedly pulls out and rushes to Hyunjin. “I’m about to explode. Fucking finish me!”
Hyunjin gets on his knees, fervently stroking Chris until he unloads a hefty load all over his cock. It’s unclear whether it’s Chris or you who’s about to pass out when he cums because you’ve never seen something this hot in your entire life.
“Do it now,” Chris flashes a fucked out smile. “Before it dries.”
Hyunjin wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and aligns himself with your entrance. As his precum mingles with Chris’s drops at the tip, you see the tiger has fully murderous intent now, groaning loudly even though he very very shallowly thrusts into you, only a knuckle deep. Literally just the tip, barely holding himself back from ramming himself into you with how deliciously slippery you are.
“Shh, shh, it’s okay,” he soothes you when you flinch a bit. “I’ll be very gentle.”
“Why? I didn’t ask you to.”
The two men look at each other and flash the most evil smiles you’ve seen anyone flash.
“Jackpot,” Chris sinks his teeth into his lips.
“Lick her clit so she gets tighter around me,” Hyunjin demands, then looks deep into your eyes. “We’ll see how you like me now.”
“Ah, FUCK!”
You said it yourself. You said so many things yourself. How you were this obsessed with him. How you wanted him to break you in. How you wanted just one chance in exchange for an NDA. And now not to be gentle with you. You’re right, why should he? It’s not like you’re made of glass. You’re a big girl, you can take it.
He’s just complying with your wishes here.
“Your eyes are rolling back,” Hyunjin clenches his teeth, maniacally laughing. “Go ahead. Go ahead and fall back in love with me.”
All you can make is incoherent noises while he sinks into your deepest spots, Chris’s tongue gliding all over your clit. This is it. This is how you go certifiably insane, if not die altogether. Not even the worst fantasies your mind has ever conjured can compare to this, and in your heart of hearts, you know Hyunjin is right. No one’s gonna compare to him, to them, after this, and you have no idea how you’re supposed to go on with your life.
If only there was a way that… If only…
“Don’t stop. Please don’t stop, I’m about t— HYUNJIN!!!”
As you let out a sound you didn’t even know you were capable of making, both men pin you in your place, forcing you to just let the pleasure in. In all your years of self-pleasuring, you have never reached a high this surreal, tearing your soul from your body, and you just know that after tonight, you never will. Squeezing him to death within your walls, you shove Hyunjin into his atom-rearranging orgasm, and his load is so heavy that you can feel every single drop he shoots inside you.
Meanwhile, Hyunjin is so happy he got to be your first that he could die.
“Are you in love with me again?” he nuzzles against your neck once he comes back enough to be able to speak words.
“If I say yes, will you stop obsessing over this?”
“I’m not promising anything.”
You flash him the most fucked out smile. He smiles back. Your heart swells in your chest to the point of combustion when you see his dimples.
“Then no, I’m not,” you stroke his kiwi hair. “Try again.”
He’s not in the least bit offended. If anything, this is the closest he’s been to fansign Hyunjin the entire night, his chuckle making your heart go into overdrive.
“Now that the official ceremony is over,” Chris gets up and starts putting his clothes on, “let’s bounce.”
“Are you really gonna make us move right now?” Hyunjin whines.
“Of fucking course, I am!” Chris scowls, incredulous that Hyunjin would even dare say something like this. “I still need to fuck her, and all our toys are back home.”
❥ Reblog & drop your feedback to make Hyunchan bias you.
"finally," you mutter to yourself, scrolling through apartment listings on your cracked phone screen.
the ad looked sketchy as hell. no photos. barely any details. just an address in a decent neighborhood, a rent cheap enough to make you suspicious, and a single name.
sukuna.
conditions list: no guests, no pets, quiet after 10 pm. you could live with that. desperation makes it sound reasonable after three failed viewings today alone. you stared at it for a second before snorting. whatever.
you dial the number, heart pounding when a deep, bored voice answers.
"yeah?" sukuna's voice cuts through.
“oh—hi! I was calling about the apartment.”
he started firing questions like bullets without so much as a hello in between. age, job, why you need the place. by the end of it, you felt less like a potential tenant and more like you were being interrogated at a police station.
you stammer answers, relief flooding you when he grunts an approval. “oh, thank god. I really—”
“hang on.”
your stomach dropped again. another pause. then you heard him speak, slower this time.
“Is this you?”
“huh?”
“the profile picture.”
you frowned, glancing at the tiny icon on your screen. “uh... yeah?”
he didn't answer immediately. Instead, a low chuckle crackled through the speaker, the sound oddly amused.
“so...” he drawled. “you really want this place?”
“yes,” you said a little too quickly. “please. I don't really have any other choice.”
he went silent again. long enough to make you wonder if the call had dropped.
"then one more condition. non-negotiable."
you brace yourself, grip tightenening around the phone. "sure."
"free use. while you’re living here."
confusion knots your stomach. free use? like sharing stuff? wi-fi? sure, you barely own a coffee mug, anyways. In every angle, he's the one who getting the short end of the stick.
"deal," you agree quickly, without another thought, far too tired and far too desperate to question what he'd actually meant.
***
the moving truck pulls away as you lug your last box into the shared apartment's dim hallway.
sukuna leans against the doorframe of his room, arms crossed over a tight black t-shirt that strains against thick muscle. he doesn't offer help, just watches with hooded crimson eyes as you struggle past him.
"kitchen rules," he states flatly. "clean your shit when you're done. my space stays untouched."
you nod, throat tight. his presence feels like a physical weight. heavy and territorial.
for two days, you tiptoe around him, microwaving dinners silently while he ignores you completely, sprawled on the couch scrolling his phone. the silence is suffocating, but at least the rent's paid.
by the third morning, you're scrambling eggs in the kitchen while the coffee brewed beside you. It wasn't until you heard footsteps approaching that you realized you probably should've changed first.
you'd rolled straight out of bed and into the kitchen wearing the same tank top and tiny sleep shorts you'd fallen asleep in, never expecting sukuna to be awake this early.
the sound of footsteps stopped in the doorway. he looked like he'd only just gotten out of bed too, hair still messy from sleep, only a pair of gray sweatpants hanging low on his hips.
then you caught him looking at you. long enough to make you suddenly, painfully aware of what you were wearing. heat crept up your neck as you shifted your weight awkwardly, instinctively tugging at the hem of your tank top.
"...morning," you mumbled, clearing your throat as if that would somehow make the moment any less awkward.
he didn't say anything, just crowds you against the counter, his heat searing your back. one hand shoves aside your hair, his mouth lands on your neck. a wet, biting kiss that steals your breath.
"what—" you gasp, but his palm slides under your top, rough fingers pinching your nipple hard.
you blinked blank, very much confused. It took a second. then another. before your brain finally connected the dots.
uh-oh.
"still fine with it?" he growls against your ear.
the eggs were burning as his other hand slips between your thighs. you nod dumbly, the sizzle of the pan drowned by your pounding heart. but hey, even if it was a little misunderstanding, you weren't exactly complaining.
sukuna’s laugh rumbles against your spine, dark and satisfied. "good."
he doesn’t ask. just shoves your shorts down your hips, letting them pool at your ankles. the cold granite counter bites into your palms as he bends you over it, one hand fisting in your hair while the other spreads you open.
you gasp at the sudden intrusion, his thick fingers pushing inside without warning, rough and demanding. eggs char black in the pan beside you, smoke curling toward the ceiling as he pumps his fingers deep, scissoring them until you’re slick and trembling.
"quiet," he orders when you whimper, slapping your ass hard enough to leave a stinging print. "neighbours are nosy."
he flips you around like it’s nothing, hoisting your legs over his shoulders. your back arches hard off the counter as he yanks his pants down, and your eyes widen. fuck.
his cock was the biggest monster. thicker and heavier than the rest of him, dark red at the tip like it's angry at you. he’s really gonna put that in you?? lord have mercy...
he pumps it twice in his fist, before he starts poking and slapping the fat head against your pussy. the wet smacks makes you cry out. he shoots you a sharp look.
you slap your own hand over your mouth real quick, eyes rolling back as he massages your poor pussy with his mean cock. It feels more like he’s hitting and bullying your folds than actually rubbing. but those heavy slaps right on your swollen bud, make your thighs shake like crazy. you can’t think straight at all.
he gives your pussy a few more light, teasing taps, then finally lines it up on your hole and pushes in, inch by brutal inch, stretching you open wide as he buries himself deep inside you, bottoming out with a satisfied groan.
sukuna grins down at you, all sharp teeth and hunger. "knew you were tight," he rasps, hips pistoning.
every snap of his hips slams you against the counter’s edge, your jaw dropped open as he fucks you raw. you claw at his forearms, nails scraping ink-black tattoos as he uses you like a toy, relentless.
smoke thickens the air, the ruined eggs forgotten. your legs tremble around his neck, thighs slick with your own arousal and his sweat. he pins your wrists above your head, leaning close enough for you to taste his breath, hot and faintly metallic.
"look at you," he snarls, thrusts turning deeper. "best roomie ever."
you whimper, arching into each punishing stroke, the counter digging bruises into your spine. his pace stutters, a low groan tears from his throat as he spills inside you, filling you with pulsing heat. he holds you there, until he empties the very last drop in you.
he pulls out slowly, leaving you leaking on the countertop. sukuna doesn’t glance back as he grabs a towel to wipe himself off, very casual, like he’d just taken out the trash.
"clean this up," he grunts, nodding at the sticky mess between your thighs and the charred pan still smoking on the stove.
you slide down, legs shaky as noodles, shorts still tangled around your ankles. the cold air hits your skin where his sweat had been, making you shiver. you fumble for a cloth, avoiding the smirk he throws over his shoulder before disappearing down the hall.
***
the next few days blur into a rhythm controlled by him. you’re bent over the couch armrest in the middle of his match, his huge hand clamped tight over your mouth to muffle your moans while he rails your cunt from behind. hard and fast, brutal strokes like he’s trying to break you before the game ends. later he drags you into the shower, water running over both of you as he pins you face-first against the cold tiles, fingers digging bruises into your hips, and fucks you raw again.
you learn real quick to keep lube stashed in every damn room. you don’t complain. not when he wakes you at 3 am by ripping your panties to the side, sinking his teeth into your shoulder, and shoving himself balls-deep inside you. not when he casually palms your cunt under the table, thick fingers teasing your clit while he scrolls on his phone, then just walks away and leaves you leaking and aching.
his rules are simple: stay available, spread your legs, keep your mouth shut, let him use that sloppy pussy whenever he wants, and take every load he pumps into you. and god, what he gives is good.
It’s clear now. his “condition” meant exactly what he said. and you… you’ve stopped questioning it. you just take it like a slut he’s turning you into.
cw. this post contains dark topics, reader discretion is advised. noncon !!, noncon somno, drugging w sleeping pills, 9th member reader, chan's desperate and a perv wc. 2260 minors dni.
note. here's a noncon version of this story, by popular demand. it's written from chan's pov :)) prompt: #31 "shh. go back to sleep."
you look so serene, curled towards the wall with one hand tucked under your cheek.
your pajama shirt has ridden up, exposing the curve of your waist and the gentle ridges of your spine. the slow rise and fall of your chest tells him you didn't hear him enter your room. you never do. he's practiced unlocking your door until he could do it without a sound.
he stands there for a moment, watching you, cock already throbbing in his sweats. he's been hard since he left his room, drawn to yours by the memory of dance practice earlier that day. the way you shivered when he put his hands on your hips, pretending not to be affected by his proximity. it had cost him all his self-control not to take you against the practice room mirror right then and there. he'd pushed minho aside harder than necessary, but something in the other man's hungry gaze had bothered him. no one should be allowed to look at you like that, let alone touch you, even if it improves your performance.
you sigh and mutter something under your breath, a faint word that sounds eerily similar to his name. something flutters in his chest. even though he's a year older, he loves it when you use pet names for him. channie. chan-ah. he reaches out to stroke your hair, still a little damp from your evening shower.
the first time it happened he thought he'd imagined it. then you said it again. he stood over you for an hour after, hand wrapped tight around his aching cock, finishing into his own palm with the other pressed against his mouth.
something changed in him after that night. his visits became more frequent. chan moves around the bed in silence, knowing exactly where your furniture is located and how to lower himself onto the mattress without disturbing you. the bed dips beneath his weight but you don't stir. you never do; he made sure of that, too.
he shrugs off a wave of envy as he looks at your sleeping form. everyone knows chan can't sleep, no matter what he tries. what they don't know is the real reason for his insomnia: you. what man would be able to sleep at night, knowing you are only a few rooms away?
he gently brushes his fingers through your hair, tilting your head so he can view the outline of your profile in the dimly lit room. you make a soft sound and it goes straight to his cock. he's taken care of you since day one, making sure you never felt left out as the only girl in the group. remembering small details like the names of your childhood pets and the birth dates of your parents and siblings. he learned to read your body, to notice when you're struggling before you do, so he can appear at your side with a gentle hand pressed to your back.
and you? you let him.
you keep your sleeping pills in your nightstand, packages you ordered online when you were exhausted after practice and not thinking clearly. and the ones that showed up on your desk with a little hand-written note: got some new pills. saw you looking tired yesterday, give them a try <33
he's sure you never bothered to check the dosage, trusting him to such an extent it didn't even occur to you to ask for the leaflet. it's all your fault, really, for not making it harder. for letting him guide you without questioning.
he lies down behind you on the mattress, close enough to feel the heat radiating off your body, and just breathes with you for a moment. he has to close his eyes against the intensity of it.
his hand finds your hip first. he lets it rest there, over the blanket, the warmth of your skin palpable through the layers. you shift slightly and he freezes, breath catching in his throat, but you settle again like you always do. the pills see to that.
he slips under the covers and drags his fingers across the bare skin of your thigh until he finds the edge of your underwear. he traces the seam; the thinning cotton, the worn elastic, the way it cuts slightly into the flesh of your hip. he never thought such ordinary underwear could get him this hard. he's held this same pair in his hands so many times, fished out of your laundry basket, pressing it to his face and breathing you in. half your wardrobe has been against his cock: from your bras and panties to the socks you wear to practice, the ones that rub his skin raw. he can't stop himself from cumming all over them.
you shift again, your body responding to his touch even in sleep, and he watches your expression for any sign of waking. your brow furrows briefly and smooth outs again. your lips part gently. chan's learned to read those small signs like another language, knowing exactly when and how to move next.
his hand slips beneath the waistband of your underwear. he grunts, a low and guttural sound. you're wet. not just damp or a little slick, but wet. soaking through the fabric, your cunt hot and slippery beneath his fingers. he has to stop and breathe to calm himself and fight off the wave of arousal that threatens to overtake him.
you've been like this before. he's felt it on other nights in those rare moments like this, when he let himself touch, just a little to take the edge off, too scared to go any further. he's made you cum in your sleep twice now just by fingering you, always leaving you to wake up confused and flushed with only the faint memory of a dream.
your cunt's leaking all over his fingers, making his head spin, and chan surpresses another moan. he's been so patient. so careful, so fucking good for so fucking long and he can't — he can't —
he yanks your underwear down your thighs, rougher than intended, and you mumble something — half a word, a protest maybe, but chan's too far gone to care. he shoves his sweats down just enough to free himself.
"hey, it's just me," he whispers, "don't worry. it won't hurt for long."
he spits into his palm and strokes his thick cock, spreading the wetness over the head. he knows it won't be enough, not with the size of him, but he can't wait any longer. he's spent months waiting patiently, and it's too late to go back now. if he doesn't get to be inside you within the next few seconds he'll lose his mind.
his hand hooks under your knee, lifting your leg and opening you up. your cunt glistens in the light falling from the crack between your curtains. it's an obscene sight, your lips a little puffy from his fingers toying with them earlier, as if daring him to touch you again.
chan takes a deep breath and pushes in.
he shudders, unable to keep a moan from slipping out. you're so tight. so fucking tight, and wet, and hot — he sinks into you agonizingly slow, inch by inch, and it feels better than anything he's imagined. his hips press flush against your ass and he stops there, his cock throbbing as your cunt flutters to adjust around the sudden intrusion.
you make a sound in your sleep — a whimper, confused and pained — and your face twists. your hand reaches behind you, fingers brushing against his hip.
"chan?" your voice is low and drowsy from sleep and pills, and a fresh wave of arousal goes straight to his cock at the realization you're awake enough to know something's happening but not awake enough to stop it. he pulls back a little, hissing at the feeling of your tight cunt sucking him back in.
"i'm right here."
he kisses your nape and thrusts, pushing your body forward on the mattress. your hand falls away from his hip and you make another sound, something that could be a moan or a protest. he can't tell and he doesn't care, fucking you in earnest now, pulling you back on his cock.
"feel that, angel?" he's talking into your shoulder, his lips dragging across your skin. "feel how good you take me? i knew you would. you were made for me."
your body responds despite the fog clouding your senses. your cunt clenches around him, back arching while soft sounds fall from your lips.
"i thought about this so many times." he's blabbering now, the words spilling into the quiet room. "every time you smile at me or touch my arm. eight months of torture, of watching you sit at the dinner table in your flimsy shorts, of watching you walk out of the bathroom wearing nothing but a towel. can you blame me?"
he rolls you onto your stomach and follows you down, his weight pressing you into the mattress. he belatedly realizes you're awake now — or close enough to it, hands fisting in the sheets and voice hoarsely calling out his name — but he doesn't stop. his hips drive into you, the new angle allowing him even deeper, feeling every inch of your cunt wrapped around him.
"no, please, chan, i can't…"
"you can." he reaches under you, hand wrapping around your throat, arching your spine. the sounds you make go straight to his cock. you're crying; he can hear it in your voice, feel it in the way your body shakes. your pulse thumps against his fingertips and his own heart flutters in the same rhythm. you're crying because of him. you're falling apart because of him. this is all his doing. he's floating, lost in the feeling of you, enveloping all his senses.
his hand slides down your body, between your legs, rubbing your clit with urgency.
"tell me you're mine," he pants, pressing his lips against your shoulder. your body seizes, cunt clamping tighter around him. he already knows you are, but he needs to hear you say it. he has to make sure this is real.
he pinches your clit when you don't answer, your cries muffled by the pillow. soft, broken noises sweeter than any sound he's heard you made before. his fingers pick up their pace until your body shudders and a gush of wetness covers his thighs, soaking the sheets beneath you. you go quiet as he fucks you through it, past it, not slowing down to give you a chance to breathe.
"i'm going to cum inside you." his thrusts become more erratic, and the way your back curves and your shoulders shake almost push him over the edge before he can finish his sentence. "and then i'm going to do it again. and again. until you understand that you're mine."
his hips stutter, burying his cock as deep as he can, holding it there and spilling hot and thick. his head swims, almost as hazy as yours, drunk on the feeling of your pussy milking him through his orgasm.
you're still crying. he feels your heartbeat against his chest, pounding like that of a small animal. he wraps his arms around you and rolls onto his side. at some point you've reached back and grabbed his hair, your hands still tangled tightly in the damp strands, and he shivers at the touch.
you're holding him. after all this time, you're holding him.
his lips find your shoulder, your neck, that soft ticklish spot behind your ear. he kisses you gently, relishing in the blissful warmth and your familiar scent surrounding him. he whispers into your skin, voice soft and gentle.
"i love you so much. you have no idea."
you don't answer. you're exhausted, throat raw from crying out his name, so he cradles you against his chest and listens to your breathing evening out. it's okay. he can wait. he's gotten very good at waiting, and he knows you need him now.
his softening cock slips out, followed by a rush of cum dripping down your thigh. he reaches down without thinking and cups a hand over your cunt, keeping it inside where it belongs. you flinch at the touch. he whispers more soothing words into your skin between kisses, familiar and comforting.
"i'll take care of everything," he promises. "your pills, i'll get them for you. and the makeup to cover up the marks. i know which shade you use, remember? i've bought it for you before. nobody is going to find out, i'll make sure of it. and if they do? i'm the leader. i'll protect us."
us. you and him, like it was meant to be. not just for tonight but for the coming days, weeks, months…. the rest of his life, if he has anything to say about it.
he pulls the blanket up to cover both of you, tucking it around your shoulders. his hand stays where it is, keeping his cum inside you.
"we can talk about this in the morning," he whispers between kisses, "about… us."
tomorrow you'll wake up sore and confused and alone. you might cry again, try to push him away, but he can handle it. you'll understand your life and career rest on his his protection. he'll hold you and tell you he loves you, show you in every way he can.
you mutter something in your sleep, too quiet for him to hear, but he knows.
"Shit, I, uh, gotta call you back," Gojo groaned, rubbing the corner of his eyes, flicking on his hazards despite the almost-entirely empty street. Just his fucking luck. He could blame it on the car in front of him braking too fast, but he really hadn't been paying any attention, too hungry to focus on the road. A tie was hanging loose around his neck, dressed for some black tie event he ended up ditching halfway through, too many dirty old bastards there whose blood he'd rather die than drink.
"What now?" His best friend wryly commented, irritation bleeding through at being interrupted in the middle of his story about some girl he just met.
"I might've rear-ended someone," He admitted with a sheepish shrug, as if he'd somehow be able to tell from the other end of the line.
"Seriously?" He sighed.
"Oops?"
"Just don't do anything stupid," Suguru insisted.
Like he was six instead of - shit, how old was he now?
Either way, he wasn't a child. Okay, well, maybe sometimes he acted like one. But a tiny bit of faith would be appreciated.
The bright blinks of the one still-working taillight of the lone car in front of them hurt his eyes, cutting through the dark as the car turned into a deserted parking lot, hastily stopping. He muttered a few vague assurances before the line went dead, distracted as he pulled into a nearby spot.
He stepped out first, shoving his phone in his pocket along with his keys while he walked around to check out the damage to his own car. A black scuff on the white paint, a small dent, nothing dangling or seriously damaged. The ignition of the other car switched off, a car door swinging open in the corner of his vision.
"Is it bad?"
It only took a single look - a single whiff - and he knew he was going to do something monumentally, astronomically stupid.
Your outline bent over, the curve of your ass in a tight dress sticking out while you dug through your stuff for your insurance information, probably. Maybe you were out on a date, or at some club.
The idea of someone letting you go home alone was a little absurd though.
"Terrible," He lied, unable to catch his Cheshire grin before it curled up on his lips. Glancing over his shoulder and already conjuring up some dramatic complaint when-
Now that just wasn't fair.
Your face was even sweeter than you smelled, pretty eyes peering up at him, lashes fluttering as you bit your lip in concern, drawing a tiny drop of blood.
And he was simply starving.
"Really?" You frowned, brows furrowed together as you sucked on the broken skin, and he was pretty sure he was hard already, his pants straining to contain his cock, throbbing every few seconds at each flicker of your face.
"Nah," He chuckled, stepping closer and swinging his keyring around his finger, eyes drifting across your body. "Just a few scuffs."
"Oh." Your breath hitched, and he could hear your heart beat quicken when you swallowed hard when he stopped barely a foot away from you.
"Broke your taillight though," He sighed, pushing out his lip like he was so apologetic. "Sorry, beautiful."
Your face flushed, color rising to your cheeks. Full of the life he lacked. Would you cry if his teeth sank into your throat? What would your tears taste like?
"D-do you have your insurance information?" You stammered, and shit, Gojo would die all over again just to hear you stutter his name next.
"Not on me, sweets," He murmured, pulling his wallet out of his pocket instead, not even counting the bills before forking over a handful of them. "Think this will cover it?"
He could barely hide the hunger in his stare when your own flickered from his intense eyes down to the cash then back up, catching a second too long on his lips.
"That's too much," You mumbled, like he couldn't see how much you were itching to take it.
"Just consider the extra an apology for me inconveniencing you," He purred, using it as another excuse to get closer to you, invading your personal space just to plop the money in your hand, his cold one clapping on top of yours.
And fuck, touching you made it ten times worse, the temptation to drag you into his backseat and tear into you was biting and scratching its way into every thought.
"Seriously?" You frowned, not foggy-eyed or falling for him the way humans typically did when he tried to work his charms. No, your flustered state had turned almost suspicious.
Studying his pale face and extra-pointy canines, how much of his pupils swallowed the brilliant blue of his eyes, the sharpness of features, like carved stone instead of soft flesh.
"There's just one condition," He tried to backtrack, come up with some excuse to distract you.
"What?" You scrunched your nose up, probably still trying to figure him out, sort him into some box in your brain to make this all make sense.
"A date," He cheekily grinned, leaning down so his nose nuzzled against yours.
"With you?" You blinked, not quite believing him.
"See anyone else around here?" Gojo teased.
You laughed, soft and low and little sardonic. Sucking on that sore spot on your lips before giving him a cute shrug before answering, "Good point."
"Is that a yes?" He impatiently goaded.
God, he wanted you now, but a five star special was something to savor, not a midnight meal scrounged up in some parking lot.
"Depends on if you wanna date me or fuck me," You bluntly said, no shy stammer to be found now.
"What about both?" He proposed. Then you glanced back down to his lips, and he knew he had you.
But he didn't expect you to grab him by his tie and drag him into the backseat of your car, cash and purse tossed up front, his suit jacket discarded on the floor and your hands softly cupping his face to kiss him.
The faint taste of blood still lingering on your lips made him moan into your open mouth, need searing through him and piercing his heart to demand for more. You were richer than any dessert, finer than any dish he had before, warm and wonderful and full of something he wasn't sure how to name, addicting in a way he'd never known.
You didn't notice. Just kissed him harder, held him closer, fast fingers unbuttoning his shirt so you could run your palms over his sculpted chest.
He tried to guide your hand down before you noticed his heart didn't beat, although he was sure if it could, it'd be pounding by now with you laying so pretty underneath him, tasting so fucking fantastic on his tongue.
"Wanna taste you," Gojo whined out loud, not even fully meaning too, fangs sharpening inside his mouth as he sat up, starting to hike your dress up your thighs, revealing a pretty set of lacy blue panties.
How fitting. His favorite color.
Long fingers siding up your smooth skin to toy with the thin fabric, about to slip underneath it when he felt it. The sharp prick of wood pressed against his chest.
He froze, eyes slowly glancing up to find your lips pushed together in a mocking pout, a wooden stake in your hand, probably something you had hidden beneath the seat.
You tricked him. Tracing the shape of a heart over his own, etching a searing line into his skin while you sighed softly, as if he was something pretty to pity.
"Guess that means no date then, huh?" He chuckled, and you laughed for real this time.
Gojo hated how hot he still found the sound. How irresistible you looked trying to act intimidating with your fingers wrapped around that stake instead of his cock. Biting your lip on purpose this time just to taunt him with the blood.
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