a/n: hes so sweet i can't believe i haven't written anything about him yet 🥹 that ends right here
this one's shorter than my usual stuff but i just wanted something small and fluffy :3 i want an elementary school teacher fiancé bruh
summary: when koshi sees you with your baby niece, he malfunctions and realizes he needs to have 4 kids with you.
koshi worked with children every single day. he taught them at a local school in miyagi. he was excellent with them, according to numerous parents, friends, ex-teammates, basically everyone he'd ever met. and so, there was absolutely no reason for him to be having an entire breakdown watching you with your baby niece.
he hadn't thought much of it when you told him that the two of you were visiting your family for dinner. he loved meeting your family! after all, he'd proposed just a week ago, finally getting to guarantee the rest of his life with you. though if he were being honest, that was already guaranteed the first time he'd seen you smile.
anyway, the dinner started off perfectly normal. koshi loved your parents, found your younger brother hilarious, and forever respected your older sister because of how he'd heard you talk about her. and your family loved him even more. they saw how happy he made you, how much you laughed when you were around, and how much he cared about you. despite that being a common topic for them to tease you with, they were glad you were marrying someone so incredible.
the real trouble for koshi started when your brother in law, your sister's husband, and her 10 month old daughter arrived. you immediately greeted him, already offering to take the baby girl even before he'd sat down. you couldn't help it; you adored babies and children. and you were a natural with them too. if given the opportunity, you'd absolutely become a kindergarten teacher, preferably at the same school as koshi.
you held the little girl in your arms, cradling her as she stared up at you with wide eyes and a gummy smile. "mama?" she babbled, hands attempting to grab your hair as she completely unknowingly melted your heart. "i'm not your mama, sweetheart," you replied, tenderly holding her tiny little hand. meanwhile, unbeknownst to you, koshi was malfunctioning. badly.
the only thoughts running through his mind were oh my god she'd be an incredible mom and how many kids are we going to have in the future?
he was staring at you and your niece, actual hearts forming in his eyes as his pupils dilated slightly. it looked like cute fiancé behavior on the outside. internally, though? he was buying baby shoes, picking out colors for the baby's room, and humming lullabies.
it wasn't because this was the first time he'd seen you with a kid, no, not at all. but it was the first time starting a family of your own actually felt almost terrifyingly in reach. and to be honest, he was scared. because while he knew you would be the best mom, he was scared he wouldn't be good enough. it was the same irrational fear he'd had since high school; there always seemed to be someone better, more prepared, more talented, regardless of how hard he tried. and sure, logically, that was perfectly normal. but it didn't ease his fears. and if his future child didn't grow up with a good enough father, he would never be able to live with himself-
"koshi, you wanna hold her?" he was snapped out of his mental spiral and brought back to the sight of your warm, soft smile and your arms still tenderly cradling the little girl. his brain stuttered for what had to have been the 9th time in the past hour, and he nodded, letting you hand the baby to him. the girl immediately reached up to his face, giggling the second she saw him. "dada, dada!" she giggled out, and koshi swore to himself that this would not be the last time he had a baby call him that.
the rest of the evening went by just as smoothly for you, and you really enjoyed yourself. but before you got back into your car, koshi immediately grabbed your hand, resting his head on your shoulder. "darling, how many kids do you want? or if you don't want any, that's fine too. we'll just have to visit your sister every day." you chuckled softly, carding your fingers through his soft grey hair. "as many as you want, baby. but if it were up to me? 4." he grinned at that, looking up from your shoulder. "perfect."
Summary: Imagine Hwang In-ho is your fiancé. You are going to handle everything about him. Nevertheless, it deepens your love for him.
Warnings: Just hold your seatbelt and deal with the fluffiness.
Fiancé! Hwang In-ho x Reader
Words: 4.6k
The air smelled faintly of jasmine and grilled meat from the neighbor’s yard. The stars blinked lazily above your heads, and the only light on the rooftop came from the string of fairy lights In-ho had clumsily taped around the edge of the railing—uneven and flickering, but somehow perfect.
You sat across from him on the old blanket he laid down, a box of takeout between you, untouched. He was nervous—you could see it in the way his thumb kept rubbing his ring finger like he was trying to find courage there.
Then suddenly, with no grand preamble or cheesy line, he exhaled shakily and pulled out a small velvet box.
“ Five years.” He said, voice low and trembling with restraint.
“ Five years of being a fool for you. Five years of fighting for this. For us. I never gave up because I knew—I knew—you were it for me.” He opened the box slowly. A simple silver band. No diamonds. No sparkle. Just him.
And everything in you softened. The hesitation, the fear, the guilt of loving your best friend’s older brother—all melted in his trembling voice, in the way his eyes were shimmering despite his firm jaw. You didn’t even realize your eyes were already wet.
“ Yes…” You whispered. Then again, firmer, brighter, happier.
“ Yes, In-ho.”
The grin that bloomed on his face could’ve lit up the whole city. He lunged at you, not roughly, but desperately—pulling you into a hug so tight, so warm, that your chest hurt in the best way. His hand cradled the back of your head, his lips pressing against your hairline as if to brand you with his joy.
“ You said yes.” He kept repeating like he couldn’t believe it.
“ You finally said yes.”
…
It was surreal. From the very start, everything between you two had been chaos wrapped in tension. You were just Jun-ho’s friend from high school, the younger one who was always around. But In-ho…he saw you. In ways no one else did.
You tried to fight it. He was older. He was Jun-ho’s brother. It felt wrong. But In-ho never stopped. He didn’t just court you—he dedicated himself. He showed up with flowers every week, learned your favorite food, and memorized the dates of your exams just to bring you coffee.
And then there was that night. When he barged into your house with a guitar slung awkwardly over his shoulder, trying to sing a love song in your native language.
He mispronounced half the lyrics. You laughed so hard you cried—but behind that laughter was something else. You saw the man who would embarrass himself just to see you smile.
Every day after that was a mix of goofy romance and heart-melting sweetness. His silly love letters, crammed with jokes and chessy lines like “ Are you a criminal? Because you stole my whole police-issued heart.” It was ridiculous—and it worked.
Then came the clingy phase. One day he flopped on your lap and refused to move unless you scratched his scalp. He pouted when you ignored his cheek for a goodbye kiss.
He groaned dramatically if you walked away mid-hair brushing, burying his head in your thighs and muttering, “ You hate me now. I can feel it.”
You couldn’t take him seriously—but God, you adored him. Even his tough image crumbled at home. You once came back from work and found him wearing your apron, stirring adobo on the stove with a very serious expression.
Detergent powder smudged across his cheek, the washing machine humming in the background. You should’ve scolded him for doing your chores, but instead you laughed—because how could you not fall for that?
“ I just wanted to surprise you.” He said, sheepishly.
“ It’s your favorite, right?”
It always was. Him. The food. The effort. The love.
And now, tonight, your left hand bore the simplest ring—but your heart carried a memory far too grand for words.
You were no longer just the girl who hesitated.
You were his fiancée.
And as he curled around you on the rooftop blanket later, head resting on your lap, hands still trembling slightly, he whispered,
“ I love you more than anything. Even if you stop brushing my hair.”
You smiled, running your fingers through his hair anyway.
“ I’m never going to stop.”
…
The next morning, sunlight poured gently through the curtains of your shared bedroom. It was warm, golden, like the universe itself was congratulating you for finally saying yes. You stirred awake slowly, your eyes fluttering open to the feeling of something—or rather, someone—wrapped around your waist.
In-ho’s arm was slung over you possessively, and his face was nuzzled against the back of your neck, his breath even and warm. You tried to move slightly, but he grunted.
“ No…” He mumbled sleepily, tightening his grip like a clingy child.
“ You’re not allowed to leave. You’re mine now. I have proof.”
You chuckled, glancing down at the silver ring glinting on your finger. “ So now I’m a prisoner?”
“ A pampered one.” He said with a lazy smirk, not even opening his eyes.
“ With unlimited cuddles. And I’ll cook for you forever. Just don’t leave.”
“ You weren’t kidding when you said you’d get clingier after I said yes.”
“ You were warned.” He mumbled again, voice heavy with sleep.
“ It’s in the fine print of my proposal.”
Eventually, you untangled from his grip after promising a kiss—and just like that, he let you go with a sleepy hum of contentment.
You padded to the kitchen, only to find the counter already crowded. Breakfast was already halfway done. He must’ve gotten up earlier and went back to bed just to cuddle you.
On the stove was his version of your favorite breakfast—eggs a little too runny, garlic rice shaped into a weird heart, and a pan of hot chocolate with two mugs beside it.
There was a sticky note stuck to one of the mugs:
Mrs. Hwang sounds so sexy. Just saying. 😏
You rolled your eyes fondly. Before you could sit, you felt two strong arms wrap around you from behind. In-ho rested his chin on your shoulder, his lips brushing the side of your neck.
“ Smells good, right?” He asked.
You hummed. “ You even remembered the hot chocolate.”
“ I remember everything when it comes to you.”
You turned around to face him, cupping his cheeks with both hands. His eyes crinkled as he smiled, leaning into your touch like a cat. Then, just like every morning lately, he pouted.
“ You forgot something.”
“ What now?”
“ My good morning kiss.” You leaned in and kissed his cheek.
He whined. “ Both cheeks.”
You obliged. “ There.”
Then, with no warning, he scooped you up bridal style, making you squeal in protest and laugh as he spun you once before placing you on the kitchen counter.
“ You said yes.” He reminded you again, like he still couldn’t believe it.
His eyes were soft, almost shy despite the cocky smile. “ Now I can do this every day. Forever.”
“ You’ve been doing this every day for the past five years.”
“ But now it’s legal.” He teased, kissing your forehead. “ And binding.”
You giggled, looping your arms around his neck. “ Then I guess I’m doomed.”
“ Doomed to be spoiled rotten by your clingy, domestic, overly affectionate fiancé.”
“ And dramatic.” You added.
He grinned. “ Hopelessly.”
…
That day, nothing big happened. You didn’t leave the house. There were no grand adventures. Just breakfast, laundry, his awful singing as he folded clothes, and the two of you dancing barefoot in the living room to an old love song he half-remembered the lyrics to.
And when evening fell, In-ho dragged the mattress to the floor in front of the TV, surrounded you with pillows and snacks, and curled against you like a human furnace.
You looked at him—his messy hair, the soft curve of his smile as he fell asleep first, and realized that love didn’t always need chaos or noise.
Sometimes, love is waking up to the same arms. The same scent. The same voice that begged for kisses like it was oxygen.
Sometimes, love is simple.
Just like the ring on your finger.
Just like him.
Just like home.
…
You didn’t expect him to be this excited.
“ Okay, okay, scoot a little to the left. No—my left! There! Now twirl! I need that full dramatic effect.” In-ho said, crouching in front of a field of tulips in the Netherlands, the camera phone held up like he was directing a short film.
You deadpanned at him. “ Why are you acting like a K-drama director on his debut?”
He grinned. “ Because I am capturing the main character of my life.”
You groaned. Loudly. “ I regret everything.”
“ No, you don’t.” He sing-songed as he zoomed dramatically on your face. “ You said yes, remember? Too late now, princess.”
You were trying to soak in the views, the quiet of being somewhere far from the chaos back home. But with In-ho? Quiet wasn’t part of the itinerary.
From Paris to Kyoto, Santorini to Jeju, he’d planned the whole trip as a “Stress Detox World Tour”—his words, not yours. And at every stop, he brought chaotic fiancé energy with him.
In Tokyo, he bought a matching pair of cat ears and insisted on wearing them the entire day. Even on the subway. Even in restaurants.
When you asked him why, he said with a very serious face, “ To match the way I purr whenever you scratch my head.”
You nearly choked on your ramen.
In Greece, he randomly knelt in front of the Acropolis and pretended to propose again.
You stared at him, cheeks heating as tourists began filming. “ In-ho, I already said yes!”
He blinked innocently, “ But I didn’t get it on video that time. And now you’re wearing that sundress I like. It’s cinematic.”
Cue him filming your flustered reaction with a caption:
“ Still marrying me, right? Or should I reapply?”
You started calling him Dad with a camera because he recorded everything—your confused face reading maps, the way you tried to ask directions in broken French, your sneeze attack in the lavender fields, your sleepy face at airport gates.
And every time you thought he was filming scenery, he’d suddenly turn the phone to you and say something ridiculous like:
“ This is the love of my life. She doesn’t know it, but I’m marrying her again in every country we step foot in.”
Or
“ She says she’s tired. I say she needs ten kisses and a nap on my shoulder.”
Once, in Italy, he said to the camera while holding a gelato:
“ They say Rome wasn’t built in a day. But my love for her? Instant. Like this brain freeze.”
Then he immediately cringed as the cold hit him. You laughed so hard your stomach hurt.
At night, wherever you were, you’d end up tangled together in bed. Sometimes in a cozy airbnb, sometimes in a hotel with a view. In-ho would always insist on being the little spoon.
“ Because you said I’m your baby.” He’d mumble, pushing your arm around him like a blanket.
You’d poke his side. “ You’re a grown man. You interrogate people for a living.”
“ Shhh, not on vacation. I’m soft now. Pet me.”
And you always did. Fingers brushing through his hair, watching him turn to putty under your touch. Occasionally he’d make his little pleased hums, and you’d laugh, telling him he was ridiculous.
But the truth was—you’d never seen him happier. Or freer. Away from his badge, away from expectations, he got to be this: playful, dramatic, soft, yours.
On your last night in Prague, you both sat in front of the river, wrapped in one jacket. The Charles Bridge lights reflected like melted gold on the water. In-ho set the phone on a tiny tripod and hit record.
You leaned your head against him with a smile. “ Another video?”
“ Yeah…” He whispered, voice a little more serious this time.
“ Because someday when we’re old and wrinkly, I wanna show this to our kids. To remind them that their dad was clingy, yes, but also madly in love.”
You looked at him, your heart flipping as he turned toward the camera again.
“ I don’t care how many times she sighs or rolls her eyes.” He said into the lens.
“ This woman right here? She’s my favorite view in the world.”
You covered his mouth with your hand, laughing. “ Stop being so cringey!”
He licked your palm.
You gasped. “ Hwang In-ho!”
“ Too late.” He smirked. “ It’s recorded.”
And maybe, just maybe—you’d never delete it.
…
You were halfway through enjoying your gelato in Florence when In-ho suddenly gasped as if struck by divine inspiration.
“ Jagi~…” He said dramatically, pulling out his phone and pointing the camera at you.
“ Quick. Look at me like you just realized I’m the love of your life.”
You blinked. “ I already did realize that. Like five years ago.”
“ But not on camera.” He argued, zooming into your face.
“ Now say something poetic. Make it go viral.”
You narrowed your eyes, took a deliberate bite of your gelato, and said with all the mock-seriousness in the world.
“ I love you more than this gelato...which, for the record, is pistachio. So that’s saying a lot.”
He dropped his phone to his chest and groaned like you’d stabbed him with affection. “ You’re trying to kill me with sweetness, aren’t you?”
“ I’m just being honest.” You shrugged.
“ No. No, no. I need to sit down. You’ve overwhelmed me.” He flopped dramatically onto the nearby bench, throwing an arm over his eyes like a melodramatic telenovela character. Tourists looked over in confusion. You just laughed.
“ That’s your fiancé?” Someone whispered behind you.
You nodded with a sigh. “ Unfortunately, yes.”
…
In-ho’s brand of clingy only amplified as the trip went on. In Switzerland, you tried to take aesthetic shots of the snow-covered village from your hotel balcony. Instead, In-ho kept jumping into frame wearing your scarf and shouting,
“ Is this boyfriend-core enough?! LOOK AT MY BABY’S SCARF ON ME!”
In Paris, you wanted to quietly appreciate the Eiffel Tower. But no, he had other plans.
He pulled you in front of the camera, holding your hand as he whispered to it, “ Do you see this? I said I’d take her to the top of the world. This is step one.”
Then he kissed your cheek and muttered, “ Step two’s the bedroom later.”
You smacked him with your beret. He deserved it.
In Vienna, he bought you both matching Mozart shirts and insisted on calling you “my muse” in public. He played classical music on his phone and spun you around on cobblestone streets.
“ You look like a lost K-pop idol who got cursed into a romcom.” You told him, breathless from laughing.
“ Good” He grinned.
“ As long as I got cursed with you.”
…
Every country brought new chaos. In Seoul, he threw you into his old college hoodie, recorded you pretending to run around like a student, and titled the video:
“ She’s too cute to focus. Help. I’m failing all my imaginary classes.”
In Bali, he rented a scooter and insisted on being the passenger so he could wrap his arms around you the whole ride. You nearly crashed from how many times he kissed your neck through the helmet.
“ Sir…” You warned, “ This is not safe.”
“ Love makes me reckless.” He grinned.
“ You’re going to get us arrested.”
“ Then at least we’ll be in a cell together.”
You never got a break. He recorded you snoring on flights. He filmed your bedhead in the morning. He captioned one video: “ She threatens to leave me daily but still lets me sleep on her thigh every night. I win.”
But it wasn’t just for fun. Every moment he captured came with a layer of quiet awe in his eyes, like he still couldn’t believe this life with you was real.
One night in Copenhagen, after a full day of biking and getting lost, he curled up beside you in your tiny rented room, your legs tangled under the blanket.
You were mid-scrolling on your phone when he whispered, “ I think I’m addicted to you.”
You looked up from the screen, amused. “ Like, emotionally?”
He nodded. “ Physically. Mentally. Spiritually. Biologically. Like if I don’t kiss you once every three hours, my heart malfunctions.”
You smirked, tossing your phone aside. “ Is this another line for your next video?”
“ No.” He whispered, softer now, voice suddenly raw.
“ This one’s just for you.”
And you kissed him.
Not because of the line.
Not because of the camera.
But because you were in love with a man who made the entire world feel like one giant honeymoon—and somehow still treated you like it was day one.
…
The moment you opened the door, you were met with the warm scent of home—clean laundry, something vaguely cinnamon, and the soft hum of the air purifier you insisted on running 24/7.
And there he was. Hwang In-ho, your clingy, overgrown golden retriever of a fiancé, sitting on the couch in sweatpants and one of your hoodies. Legs stretched out, one arm lazily slung over a pillow, and a book held close to his face.
You blinked. You expected him to be out with friends or watching reruns of some crime docuseries he already knew the ending of. But here he was. Quiet. Reading.
A rare, suspicious sight.
“ I’m home.” You called softly, kicking off your shoes.
In-ho immediately perked up like a dog hearing his favorite word. “ Baby’s home!” He cheered, tossing the book aside like it offended him and hurrying toward you with open arms.
“ My hard-working wife-to-be is home! Come here, I missed you!”
You laughed, dropping your bag just in time before he pulled you into his chest like a weighted blanket that had a heartbeat.
He buried his face in your neck, inhaling dramatically. “ Mmm, stress and overpriced coffee. My favorite scent.”
“ You’re weird.” You murmured, already melting in his embrace. You didn’t fight it. You didn’t want to. Your shift was long, your feet hurt, and your favorite clingy man was warm and cuddly. Perfect combination.
“ You love it.” He said proudly, guiding you over to the couch and tugging you on top of him until you were nestled right against his chest.
“ I tolerate it.” You teased, eyes closing as you laid your cheek against his heartbeat.
“ Liar.” He grinned, kissing the top of your head.
A few peaceful moments passed, your breathing syncing with his, your body relaxing into the comfort that was In-ho. But eventually, your curiosity won over.
You poked his chest. “ What were you reading?”
“ Hm?”
“ The book. You looked really focused.”
“ Oh!” He reached over without moving you and picked up the book again, holding it proudly in front of your face. “ This.”
You squinted. “ Wait...is that...my language?”
He beamed. “ Yup.”
Your eyes narrowed suspiciously. “ Since when do you read textbooks in my language?”
“ Since I realized I might accidentally call your mom a...um...chicken butt.”
You blinked. “ What?”
“ I—look…” He sighed, running a hand down his face.
“ I tried learning online. YouTube. TikTok. Forums. But apparently, people lie on the internet. Shock!”
He flipped the book open, reading aloud in a careful, exaggerated tone, “ ‘Mahal ko po kayo.’ See? I’m trying to be respectful. Not say things like...” He hesitated, then whispered the last part,
“ Gutom ako sa love mo, bebegurl.”
You snorted, laughter escaping before you could help it. “ Who taught you that?!”
“ I saw it on a Facebook comment under a cooking video!” He defended, eyes wide and wounded.
“ It sounded romantic! The girl replied with a heart emoji!”
“ That’s not romantic, that’s meme culture, babe.”
In-ho huffed and pouted, his bottom lip jutting out adorably as he rested the book on your back. “ I’m doing this for you, you know. So I can properly talk to your parents without accidentally cursing or flirting with your dad.”
You laughed harder. “ Oh my God. What did you say to my dad that time again?”
“ I told him his cooking was ‘malupet,’ which I thought meant amazing.” He muttered.
“ Turns out, I said it with the wrong tone, and your dad gave me a look like I challenged him to a fistfight.”
You were crying now, your shoulders shaking as you clung to him. “ You’re so stupid. It’s kind of impressive.”
“ Stupidly in love with you.” He replied proudly. “ And I will learn your language if it’s the last thing I do.”
“ Oh really?”
“ Yes. So when I propose again—this time in front of your family—I’ll do it fluently, without accidentally insulting your grandma.”
You smiled against his chest, heart fluttering. “ I think she already loves you.”
“ She tolerates me.”
“ Gee, wonder where she got that from.” You mumbled, throwing his earlier words back at him.
He grinned and tilted your chin up for a kiss. “ Shhh. Say you love me in your language.”
You gave him a look, amused and warm. “ Mahal kita.”
“ Mahal kita.” He repeated slowly, proudly, then whispered with a grin,
“ Does that translate to ‘now kiss me again, pretty girl’?”
You rolled your eyes—and kissed him anyway.
Because yes, he was ridiculous.
But he was yours.
…
The evening melted into the kind of quiet only shared by people deeply in love—and deeply tangled. You were still sprawled on top of In-ho on the couch, your limbs comfortably knotted together, a thin blanket thrown over your shoulders even though neither of you had moved in nearly an hour.
His book rested open beside you, completely abandoned the moment your presence had become more interesting. You were half-asleep when he softly cleared his throat.
“ Want to quiz me?”
You cracked one eye open. “ Huh?”
“ My vocab. I’ve been studying.” He puffed his chest, though it was impossible to take him seriously when his hair was sticking up in five directions and your lipstick smudge was still on his jaw.
You smirked. “ Fine. What’s the word for love?”
“ Mahal.” He said instantly. “ Too easy.”
“ Beautiful?”
“ Maganda.” He said with a triumphant grin, then added,
“ Like my fiancée.”
You clicked your tongue. “ Cheesy.”
“ Correct.” He grinned wider. “ That’s my whole personality.”
“ Okay. Stubborn.”
He blinked. “ Uh…”
You raised an eyebrow. “ Come on, Mr. Honor Student.”
He squinted. “ Matigas ang ulo?” He tried, with a tone that made it sound like a question.
You burst out laughing. “ You just described yourself perfectly!”
“ I knew it sounded familiar!” He teased, tapping his forehead. “ My brain is just a mirror for your insults.”
“ You mean compliments.” You corrected, settling your chin on his chest.
In-ho smirked. “ Okay, now you try.”
“ Try what?”
“ Say something to me. In your language. Something sweet.”
You paused, lips twitching. “ Like…Talagang mahal na mahal kita.”
He blinked slowly. “ That sounds serious. What did you say?”
“ That I really, really love you.”
His eyes softened. And suddenly, the teasing melted into something quieter, something warmer. “ Say it again.”
You rolled your eyes but repeated, softer this time, “ Talagang mahal na mahal kita.”
He swallowed like it went straight to his chest. “ You know…” He whispered, brushing his thumb along your jaw.
“ That’s the only phrase I never want to mess up. Ever.”
You kissed his chin. “ You won’t. You’re doing great.”
“ Okay, then how do I say…” he trailed off, pretending to think hard,
“ ‘Please let me kiss you until you forget you’re tired’?”
You blinked. “ That’s not in the book, In-ho.”
“ It should be.”
“ That's not studying, that’s flirting.”
“ Same thing when I’m fluent in you.” He murmured with a boyish grin.
You groaned, pushing his face away as he giggled like a child who just got away with something scandalous. But he caught your wrist gently and turned it, pressing a kiss to your palm.
“ You always baby me after work.” You whispered, cheeks warm.
“ Because you take care of everything and everyone all day.” He shrugged, eyes sincere now.
“ So it’s my job to take care of you.” Your throat tightened. You didn't say anything.
Just bury your face into his neck and let the comfort wrap around you again. He hummed a tune while stroking your back.
“ Are you singing now?” You mumbled.
“ I’m practicing.” He said proudly. “ Next time I do harana, I’ll get the pronunciation right.”
You laughed into his skin. “ You’re never going to let that go, huh?”
“ Never.” He smirked. “ You said yes after that performance. Obviously, it worked.”
You looked up and pinched his cheek. “ You’re so annoyingly lovable.”
“ I’m fluent in that too.” He replied smugly.
And just like that, you realized—he didn’t need perfect words.
He already spoke to you fluently.
…
The soft sound of chopping filled the kitchen, rhythmic and calm. Somewhere behind it, your favorite playlist hummed from the speaker—his doing, always making sure your evenings felt like a movie.
The scent of garlic, sesame oil, and soy danced in the air. It was his specialty dish, and he only made it when he was in a good mood—or when he missed you too much during the day. He was humming, shoulders swaying a little, spatula in one hand as he turned toward the stove.
And you…you were just standing there. Leaning on the doorway. Watching him.
Loving him. He looked so natural in your space. In your life. Barefoot in sweats, sleeves rolled to his elbows, a smudge of sauce on his cheek that he hadn’t noticed.
Hwang In-ho—your best friend’s older brother. The forbidden fruit you once tried so hard not to reach for. The risk you once feared taking.
Now he was just yours.
And somehow, you were still in awe.
He glanced up and caught your eyes, a smirk tugging at his lips. “ You’re staring again. I must look really hot when I cook.”
You scoffed, crossing your arms. “ You’ve got sauce on your face.”
“ Adds flavor.” He shrugged.
You rolled your eyes. “ You’re impossible.”
“ And yet…” He said, stepping over to press a kiss to your forehead. “ You’re still here.”
You rested your hands on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart through his shirt. “ I’m always here.”
He looked at you for a moment—quiet, soft—and then leaned his forehead against yours. “ I used to dream about this, you know. Cooking dinner with you watching me, pretending I’m not messing up the recipe, you pretending not to laugh.”
“ I’m not pretending.” You teased. “ You are messing it up.”
“ Then stay with me forever so you can fix it.”
You smiled. “ That’s the plan.”
And in that moment—quiet and ordinary and nothing extravagant—you felt it.
The culmination of all the years you spent yearning. All the fear, the hiding, the sacrifices. All the times you questioned if it was worth it to love someone you weren’t supposed to. Every whispered night. Every stolen glance.
It led here. To this small kitchen. To his ridiculous apron. To him.
You’d never regret loving Hwang In-ho.
Because how could you? He was the only man who made you believe love was real—not the kind from books, but the messy, real kind.
The kind that teased and challenged, that laughed with a smirk but held you when you cried. The kind that cooked for you barefoot after a long day, humming off-key and occasionally burning the rice.
He was the only man you never had to chase anymore—because you had already caught each other.
And you never dared to look anywhere else.
Why would you, when he was the only one who ever made love feel like something you could touch?
If reincarnation was real, you’d choose him again. Every lifetime. Every version of yourself would find its way back to this man. This house. This heartbeat. This stupid smirk.
Because loving him was the most sacred, chaotic, precious gift you had ever received.
And you’d keep choosing it.
Again, and again, and again.
THE END.
Author's Note:
I am literally kicking my feet as I write this piece. Grinning from ear to ear. I blushed as if I had been slapped across the cheeks (haha). This confirms my status as a hopeless romantic. I crave these moments in the real world and hope to have them soon. However, I have to remain in the delulu phase for the time being.
Post-Veilguard, Lucanis and Alba help with the remaining Antaam in Treviso and spend their nights at the Dellamorte Villa to officially start Lucanis' work as First Talon. Alba always needed a lot of sleep to properly function, but having less "Thedas scale threatening issues" to fix made him sleep in even more often.
Lucanis doesn't mind watching his peaceful fiancé get a well deserved rest 💜
A series of doodles of Lucanis Dellamorte & Alba de Riva/Rook[he/they] that I drew before sleeping on two different days, thus the artstyle difference because I wasn't in the mood to render stuff properly haha
She’s MINE😍 My stunning wife💍🖤 We locked 🔒 in forever ♾️ I found my person, I found real healthy love. Katie's bar is our home where we fell deeply in love. From meeting at Katie's bar back in 2019, where our love story began, we found our way back to each other. You said to me you gave me your heart in 2019 and you never really got it back 🥹
I look at you every single day and I swear my heart still beats with that exact same magnetic pull I felt the very first second I saw you across the room at Katie’s where our souls found each other. I loved our sexy eye contact across the room.. You bring out the best in me✨ I didn’t just fall for you, I love you in a way that is so raw, so deeply consuming, and so fierce that it actually scares me, because I know with absolute certainty that my soul could never survive a world without you in it. I’m the happiest I have ever been when I’m with you 🤍 Years together, I still get butterflies on date night with the prettiest girl to ever step foot in Katie’s. How did I get so lucky 🥺
We are the only ones in this world who truly understand the depths of each other’s souls 🖤 You are my home, and you are the only person who truly holds the key to the deepest, most hidden parts of who I am. I love loving you deeply and being yours 🤍
We have a rare unique soul bond. Our connection is deep, raw, spiritual and telepathic. The kind of connection that sticks under the skin and never fully leaves 🖤✨ It’s a magical connection I can’t explain. We truly understand each other in ways no one else ever could
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You aren’t just my beautiful wife, you are my rare, telepathic, irreplaceable soul bond. You are the love of my life, my best friend, my soulmate, and my absolute daylight. Home is wherever I’m with you. I gave you my heart and soul a long time ago, and it is yours for the rest of time. I love you 3000 x
