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jedisupernova · 25 days ago

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falling for a prince — choi seunghyun

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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jedisupernova · 1 month ago

Text

falling for the mafia boss's son, kwon jiyong

notes minors dni contains fem reader, non idol au, always written with plus size reader in mind as i am myself but anyone can read, takes place in the late 90s (hence the mention of certain technology or media,) mentions of smoking and drinking, reader and jiyong are both twenty-four, very much slice of life and dialogue heavy, very cute and banter-filled meeting!, jiyong being a flirt (or my attempt at writing flirting,) jiyong and reader are down bad (a lot of banter, her parents are on the stricter side; he has to sneak in) reader and jiyong being silly, yearning, angst (miscommunication, mentions of his hardships, he wants to protect reader from his life but to a fault, arguments, he shows up injured one night and you tend to his wounds YUPPPP, mention of insecurities, reader lowkey needs new friends), smut (keeping quiet, dry humping, oral f receiving, sub!jiyong, p in v, reader gives jiyong a pair of her panties,) and inevitable typos.

requested? no, this is an original idea! its certainly is a 180 from the last jiyong fic i posted, but what is creativity without ambition! so here goes nothing! this is long. enjoy :)

the time on jiyong's watch read 9:13 pm, his eyes drifting to the summer night sky above. it was hot as fuck. the street lamp's fluorescent lighting flickered, making him blink increasingly harder, distracting him from properly inhaling the lit cigarette between his lips—unceremoniously landing a bead of sweat initially perspiring from his temple into his eye. "shit." his mutter disappeared into the commotion of whatever his friends were going back and forth over. last he checked, it was something about someone's car, or some movie, but the other side of his brain just processed technotronic coming from the house the party they were all invited to tonight was in. jiyong took his cigarette between his pointer and middle fingers, using his other hand to rub his bothered eye. neither of his friends took notice, enwrapped in conversation, taking drags of the cigarettes they bummed off jiyong after parking the car some ten minutes ago. a long, defeated breath deflated his chest. "hot as shit, bro—god damn." that earned him concurring nods, their gazes following him to the house peeking over the wooden fence behind them. jiyong wiped his forehead, kissing his teeth disapprovingly; the back of his hand glistened with sweat. he took one last drag of his cigarette, dropping it onto the sidewalk and putting it out with his sneaker. "place better have some fucking ac," he said, turning to his friends. "you ready to head in? alright, lets go."

to his joy, there was air conditioning! and not many people were in the house, so he could actually feel it! hallelujah! he sunk into the couch like it was nobody's business after making himself a drink, laying his head back, letting the rum and coke glide down his throat with a satisfied huff. he mouthed the few lyrics he knew to the music playing from the backyard, trailing into the house from the partially-open sliding door. jiyong's eyes opened at the sound of loud footsteps clambering down the stairs, catching glimpses of a friend group walking down the hall leading through the kitchen and into the backyard. he planned on joining whatever was going on out there later in the night—his friends did so immediately after getting their drinks—but for now, he minded his own. he liked parties, and went to most that he was invited to—unless his father had something to say about it, of course—but his social battery didn't sustain for long. he liked the quiet, or at least as quiet as it could get; settling with himself for the time being.

a while after finishing his drink, he went searching for a bathroom. the one on the first floor was occupied, so he headed upstairs; he's been here before, specifically the barbecue that happened a few weeks ago to usher in summertime. it felt humid upstairs with the window behind the landing wide open, laughter from below mixing in with the speaker sounding like it was on its last breath every time the bass kicked in. just as jiyong raised his knuckles to knock, the door swung open, catching him off guard but startling you entirely. "oh my god." you placed a hand over your heart, eyes closed. jiyong didn't know what to do in those passing couple seconds—his hand was still in the air. you smiled, amused at yourself. "didn't expect that," you muttered to yourself, opening your eyes. "my bad—here you go."

you stepped to the left to make room for him to enter and you exit, but he happened to step the same direction with similar intention. an upside down grin molded your face, hearing him awkwardly chuckle. "stay there." the sound of your warm giggle drizzled over his ears like honey, making him perk up and pay the fuck attention. jiyong's eyes followed you whilst you walked by his right. his feet moved before he knew it, his head looking away when you turned to look at him. in those three seconds, a whirlwind of thoughts ran through either of you. for jiyong, it was she's fine as hell; the image of you in your shirt and denim shorts lingering in his mind for as long as he wanted, topped by the sound of your clipped voice fading with each passing moment since he heard so little.

for you, it was the slight furrow of your eyebrows whilst you descended down the stairs: was that who she was talking about? you wondered—thinking back to the pregame at your friend's house earlier in the evening. rumors had floated around about ju . . . was it—no, its ji. jiyong? yeah, that—about jiyong's family, more-so his father, but no one ever had the gall to ask him. did they just not want to be caught in their own bluff, or afraid of unleashing a weapon-bearing fight if they properly dared mention it to him? no one knows, nor was willing to attempt. your city wasn't necessarily small, but it also wasn't large enough for anyone to fall through the cracks. you could pinpoint countless times throughout the years where you overheard speculations of his family's true source of income whilst in line at the local donut shop on sunday mornings, or his supposed home life becoming the topic of discussion at the sleepover once the clock hit two in the morning—but actually coming across him? perhaps a few times at the grocery store, fleetingly at parties, seeing him walking up the block with his friends, or in his car waiting for the traffic light to turn green—like any other neighbor.

you tsked to yourself, remembering something else from the pregame: "i heard he's been getting a lot of tattoos lately." a friend said after someone else brought up the rumor he'd be at the same party you were all going to, pouring the group shots—nothing was left in the house after scrounging the last few pours of cuervo tequila, so you all made due with the singular zima found in the fridge. you never liked the beer alternative, so on top of holding your miniature glass with a slight grimace, her baseless observation just deepened it: "you think that has anything to do with . . . you know . . . his family?" what did that have to do with anything? people have tattoos for whatever reasons . . . not to fit some aimless narrative. now that the anecdote came back, you do remember seeing a pair of detailed wings tattooed on the back of his neck—so he had to be the, for lack of a better term, infamous jiyong. unless there was someone else with the same name? you thought, until you realized how stupid you sounded. that was him, and that was it.

jiyong made his way outside, shouting over the music for his friends to hear him. it was relatively crowded. partygoers were dispersed all throughout the yard—some roasting s'mores by the small fire pit on the corner of the tiled pavement leading into the grass, others bickering over the party mixtape, and many either cheersing or throwing out their red solo cups for new ones. jiyong spotted you on the other side of the yard, talking to a friend whilst sat in the patio swing. his attention left his own friends, inner monologue drowning them out: move, motherfucker. that person must have heard him via some inter-dimensional force. though he couldn't overhear, your friend excused herself to get some snacks from the kitchen, leaving you temporarily on your own—but not if he had anything to say about it. he left his friends wordlessly mid conversation, making his way over. jiyong didn't think ahead much and acted more-so on autopilot, nearly stopping in his tracks when you looked up from your seat.

"did you wanna sit here?" the nicety slipped out before you could stop yourself, gesturing to the empty seat, halfway to standing on your feet. "i can move." "no, its okay." jiyong shook his head. it clicked for you: oh wow. its him, again. "i can—i'll just. . ." jiyong cut himself off by sitting down. it took a moment for you to process what was happening. "oh," an upside down grin tugged at your mouth. "alright." you sat down, inadvertently copying the direction of his gaze watching the party before you, lingering in one another's peripheries. your friend returned outside, equipped with a small plastic bowl of mini pretzels and potato chips, nearly dropping it upon seeing who took her spot. she scurried to the other side of the yard as fast as her flip flops would let her, grabbing the shoulder of whomever in your friend group that was in her nearest reach; scrambling to find the words, only able to point hurriedly in your direction.

whilst their mouths fell agape, yours remained closed. you glanced at him from the side, fingers toying with the bottom hem of your shirt. jiyong crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes remaining ahead; unsure of what to say but sure of his decision to come to you. albeit . . . he felt a little stupid. he was usually quite smooth with it, and if he was awkward, there was an indescribable charm coupled with it. he wasn't necessarily at a loss for words (at least that's what he told himself,) but it was one of those times where he acted before thinking it through—hence the silence. you turned your head fully to look at him. "is there something you wanted to bring up?" "hm?" he was caught off guard, turning his head towards you. jiyong jutted his bottom lip, shaking his head. "no. why?" you shrugged your shoulders. "people don't usually follow the person they ran into in the bathroom, let alone sit next to them." "i didn't follow you." jiyong countered. "we're at the same party." "okay. you tracked me down, then." "tracked you down?" his furrowed eyebrows amused you, seeing him fall into your unserious trap. "what're you talking about? we're at the same party." he repeated, a little defensive.

you shrugged your shoulders again. "i don't know. seems kind of fishy." "what does?" "this." "how? i'm just sitting here." "next to someone you don't know." "so?" "people don't just do that. even when they're at the same party." "they do." jiyong wanted to win. win what? he didn't know. "they do when they're—when they're . . ." he cut himself off, growing embarrassed. "when they're what?" you asked. jiyong swallowed, adjusting his posture. "when—when they're. . ." he hated that he started to build a sweat, and the humid night air wasn't to blame. "when the other person's really, uh—really pretty." you looked at him. he didn't dare look at you. a big smile unraveled across your face. "all of that," you said. "just for you to be cheesy as fuck." jiyong didn't expect to laugh as hard as he did, let alone his hand that shot up to his mouth, clutching his lips to hold it on—until he glanced at you and caught your eyes on him, the both of you losing it.

"oh god." jiyong hid his face behind his palms. "was it really that bad?" he asked, opening a gap between his pointer and middle fingers, peering up at you. "don't try to save face with that cute shit." you dismissed. "you think i'm cute?" his hands slid back down, a knowing smile on his face. "that's—that's not what i was trying to—" you stumbled on your words. he nodded along, eyebrows slightly furrowed in faux-thought. "oh, okay," he barely hid his grin; now we're back on track, he thought to himself. "what were you trying to say, then? hm?" "go away." you told him, turning away, arms crossed over your chest whilst his eyes stayed on you. "if really you don't like it, you can get up yourself." "no, because i asked you first. and you're the one who came over here." "i don't see you leaving." jiyong said. you let out a breath, admittedly defeated. a small grin tugged at the corners of his mouth, turning into a full-blown smile when seeing your hand make a talking gesture—the same one waving him off with a small scoff.

jiyong noticed how you both sat with your arms over your chest, finding it endearing. his eyes fell to his knee, mere centimeters away from yours. if only i just sat a little closer. "you're funny." he said, eyes on your knee. "i like that." your hand slipped from underneath your arm, coming up to fan your face. "did you hear me ask what you liked?" this bickering feels like we've been married for decades, his inner monologue voiced. jiyong leaned towards you a little, his movement earning your eyes. "i like a challenge." his voice was smooth, getting his edge back. until you humbled him in a way eliciting whiplash: "that didn't land in the way you thought it would." jiyong let out a breath, eyes closing as he sat back in defeat. "you have me spent." "you've barely tried." you retorted, an upside down grin on your face as you looked down at your lap.

jiyong's eyes opened, sitting up, stretching his arm out before him. "i came all the way over here to talk to you!" he exclaimed, defending himself. "i've been trying!" "so you didn't just come here to rest that pretty head of yours?" your flirting flew right past his senses, jiyong prioritizing the bickering: "this is going nowhere." he crossed his arms over his chest begrudgingly. "it is," you corrected him. "you're just being dramatic for no reason." "i'm not being—" he was about to argue, until your words sunk into his psyche. "oh—it is?" you nodded, cheeks warming, pad of your ring finger wiping the built-up sweat off the side of your nose. it took a moment before jiyong said something: "what worked?" he asked. you shrugged your shoulders yet again, pondering in thought, though you had the answer. "you're funny." jiyong tsked, hiding his sheepish grin by turning his head the opposite direction. "it was fuckin' stupid when i said that." he said, still loud enough for you to hear over the music playing some twenty or so feet away. "it wasn't." you said. "it was cute."

jiyong looked at you; ego boosted, but his smile and raised eyebrow reflected his heart doubling in size. "so you do think i'm cute?" "i owe you after you admitted you came over here to talk to me. even if it was apparent from the beginning." that last part was half-bluff—you weren't completely sure, a bit taken aback when he first approached and sat down. you didn't know where this was going to go, but when it did take off, you would be remised not to have some fun. jiyong was sweet; quickly introducing himself as a witty conversationalist whom both matched your energy and kept you on your toes. his banter was fruitful and his clever use of profanity even more so—like the anecdote of when some guy gave him senseless trouble outside of his cousin's birthday dinner a couple years ago: "i told him that i am indeed the type. the fuck i was, the fuck i am, the fuck i will be." "i can't lie, jiyong. you curse pretty good." or when you told him about the argument that broke out between your friends over what movie to rent from blockbuster last weekend: "its not my fault that i didn't want to waste my time when i've been begging to what feels like a brick wall for months to see angelina jolie in 'gia.' i'm not sorry." "fuck no—and you shouldn't be."

jiyong looked like any other twenty something year old—hiding awkward tendencies behind a charming yet nervous chuckle, or going off on an unbridged tangent about a tv show he likes because he wants to fill the silence; keeping a pretty girl like you tethered to him by any means he could think of. but if anyone looked close enough (and you did, because he was fine), they would find something off about his ensemble of a loose-fitting graphic tee, scuffed sneakers, and basketball shorts paired with hair that looked fresh despite his dried sweat; side taper half-hidden underneath the hair that fell so effortlessly into his comma cut—a little too fresh. or perhaps the most perplexing clue of all: the two-toned watch that fell up and down his wrist whenever he moved his arm. you didn't know much about being rich, or differentiating fake luxury items from the real deal, but how the band of the watch molded against his wrist like it was part of him, and the dial that stared you down whenever he fixed his hair, told you he didn't mess around.

his eyes softened whenever your hand came up to fan your face or swat away gnats, noticing the slight sheen glazing your nose and forehead with a small grin on his face. you looked beautiful. the fact that you gave him the time of day was attractive enough—you didn't need to go out of your way to re-adjust your posture, making your plush thighs rub against the swing's cushioned seats in a way that stole his common sense, or your laughter making his eyes kiss in their corners, his right hand gripping the arm rest to keep his balance. jiyong didn't keep track of the time, so when his friends came over—one who perhaps had one too many, and the other with his arm slung around his shoulders—saying it was a good time to get out of there, he thought quickly on his feet: "its all good, man. i'll—i'll meet you at the car in, like, five minutes."

jiyong stood up, you mimicking his movements without thinking. "do you have a mobile?" he asked you. "no," you shook your head with an iota of irrational shame. "was—was never able to afford one." you let out a nervous chuckle, shaking your head. "its all good." jiyong assured. "whats your home phone? i'll call you." your eyes widened, shaking your head with an added sense of urgency: "my—my parents would never." "oh, okay. i got you." he nodded, understanding. the grin on his face was knowing and a bit cocky, taking a step closer to you. "what should we do then, hm? i'm not leaving here without an answer, y'know." "what about your friend?" "don't worry about him." jiyong said softly, subtly shaking his head. "he could hurl all over the street—like i give a fuck. i'm only here for you." you tsked, looking away to thwart the flustered feeling creeping up your neck. jiyong put his hands in his pockets, grinning when you spoke: "you really need to stop with this cute shit, jiyong." "i don't see you walking away, now do i?" he quipped, chuckling when you nudged his shoulder. he liked this feeling. "cmon," he gestured with his head. "i know you got something. tell me."

you looked at him after a moment. "you're lucky i have the day off tomorrow." "i do consider myself the richest man in the world." "oh my god, fuck off!" your exclaim slipped into clipped laughter, in disbelief over his commitment to the bit. "i'll give you my home phone. but you can only call at specific times, and when i tell you to." "i'll make anything work for you." you scoffed, only deepening his upside down grin. "you're not getting any reactions out of me anymore." you said, only to stumble on your words when he jutted out his bottom lip. "come with—come to the kitchen. i'll find a napkin to write it down, or some shit." and call jiyong did—at noon, just like you told him after scribbling your number down with a bic pen on its last few drops of ink. it was about ten minutes after your parents left the apartment to make the weekly grocery run, strategically landing you at home to finish washing the dishes from breakfast. you dropped the sudsy pan into the sink without second thought when the phone rang, hastily wiping your rinsed hands on your shirt, dashing behind the counter and to the living room.

"hello?" "sorry i'm late—had to get away from my parents." jiyong laid more comfortably in his bed, foot shoving a stray sock off his comforter; the rustling transferring from his nokia. you looked over your shoulder at the analog clock hanging next to a framed family photo, seeing it was barely past 12:01. "you're actually quite punctual." you told him. "you sound surprised." he said. "can you blame me? you're a man." "not just any man—" "—its only been, like, ten seconds," you cut him off, sitting down on the couch. "don't make me already contemplate hanging up." jiyong smiled wide. "you're sharp." he said. "i like that." "in the twelve hours that we've known each other, i don't think i've ever asked what you like. and i don't plan on it." "i think you're just going to have to suck it the fuck up, because i like you." he let out a satisfied huff hearing you scoff. "plus, i think we've known each other for more than twelve hours. i've seen you before. the grocery store, maybe? i knew you looked familiar—think i finally placed you." he tried to play it cool, though he knew the answer.

"most likely, yeah." you nodded despite him not being able to see, your other hand twirling the phone cord between your fingers. did he think about me last night? "i've been working there part-time for a while. its been hard finding a full-time gig, as embarrassing as it feels to be two years post-grad." "i don't think you should feel bad. its hard out here." said jiyong, sincerity coming through the grainy audio. "i mean, i went to columbia, but you don't see me in a suit with a briefcase and shit." "hold on," you waved your hand. "you can't just be the most random person i've ever met." "what do you mean?" "i went to a nobody-knows community college that i'm sure will be caught in a class action lawsuit for money laundering in ten years time, but i'm just sat here talking to a scholar?" jiyong chuckled, running his hand over his warming face. "i'm not a scholar, i'll tell you that much." he toyed with a loose thread on his comforter—memories of his father repeatedly reeling how much he poured into his spot at the university flashing in his head, beckoned away with a small, defiant flick of his head.

you brought him back down to earth: "i'm gonna go get my thesaurus." he kissed his teeth disapprovingly, pout evident in his voice. "like the fuck you are. stay on the phone." he panicked slightly at the prolonged (it was five seconds) silence from your end of the line. "please?" you grinned. "you're really cheesy." you teased. "how is talking to a fine ass woman fuckin' cheesy?" "you can't just say shit like that casually, jiyong." "well, i will. hear me loud and clear." he cleared his throat into the receiver, catching you off guard, holding back your laughter. "you're fine as hell. do i need to keep saying it?" "maybe." "are you free for dinner tonight? i'll tell you in person." "maybe." "what'll convince you?" you said the first thing you thought of: "if you wear that watch of yours again." jiyong smiled, bottom lip caught between his teeth. "you like the finer things in life. don't you, baby?" he said smoothly. your cheeks felt warmer by the second, unsure of what you just started. "its hard to take you seriously when i can hear that smug grin on your face." you responded, voice akin to velvet despite the crackles over the line. "you already know me so well." jiyong's fingers toyed with the drawstring of his sweatpants. "m'starting to think we're meant to be. that doesn't sound corny, does it?"

"i'm relieved you're able to pinpoint that yourself now." you heard him chuckle. "and, no. it doesn't for once. you can be sweet when you want to be." "i can be good." he told you earnestly. "i can be really good, you know." "i believe you." you told him. "i hear it in your voice." a beat went by. "you know," said jiyong. "i didn't think you were capable of being nice." "don't be a dumbass right now, jiyong. this was such a good moment." you couldn't stop the grin stretching your mouth hearing him burst into laughter. "you're goofy as fuck, boy. oh my goodness." you giggled, running a hand over your face. "okay—okay, stop laughing. do you know where we're going for dinner? because i've long thought of what i'm going to say to get out tonight." jiyong got serious real quick. "oh shit—damn, okay. let me think." he cleared his throat. "there's this—there's this place i know by the rec center that has really good subs. does that sound—" "—fine by me." you didn't give a fuck what you ate. you just wanted to see him. "okay. okay, cool." jiyong nodded, licking his lips in thought. "you wanna meet there? or i could—i could come pick you up, if thats okay. i know we just met and all. and your parents might not be the most . . ." you waited for his choice of word. he didn't disappoint. "enthusiastic."

you let out a laugh. "you're right." you said. "you can pick me up from one block over." "whatever works for you works for me." "i can't lie to you, jiyong," you said. he hasn't sure where this was going. "but i really like the sound of that." jiyong took his ear off his phone, turning his head the opposite direction on his pillow, silently screaming into his palm. i hit the jackpot! i hit the fucking jackpot! his inner monologue rejoiced. he quickly brought the phone back to his ear: "you do?" "mhm." the sound of your voice made him kick at nothing, covering his face from no one. "i do, jiyong." "oh my god." he muttered. "i think i love you." you scoffed, unable to thwart your grin or increasingly flustered state. "what's my favorite fucking color, jiyong?" "i still think i love you," he avoided the question. "i'll know by the end of tonight, anyway." "i don't even want to ask if you're referring to my favorite color or whether you love me because you're starting to get on my nerves." "is it the right one?" "jiyong." "at least tell me if its the right one. look, i'll be honest and tell you that i'm just really happy i sat next to you last night." a moment went by before you spoke. "i am too." you said honestly. "and yes. it was the right nerve." jiyong buried himself behind his palm. "tell me where i should pick you up from. i can be there at seven."

it wasn't long before you started sneaking him in. up the fire escape that conveniently lead into your bedroom on the second floor of the apartment building you've lived in your entire life—it was a no brainer. it also wasn't long before jiyong got you a pager and mobile phone to go with it. to use at your own leisure, of course, but also already programmed with speed dial: "just press eight and i'll pick up anytime." "anytime?" "anytime, baby." "even when you're on the shitter?" "now that you mention it, yes. even when i'm on the shitter." jiyong came at ten pm on the dot on nights you gave him the green light. those first few times, it often began with the two of you bickering in hushed whispers when he didn't lift his leg high enough to climb over the windowsill, losing his balance and leading his foot to come clambering down, echoing off the steel grates.

you looked at each other in silent panic, his eyes dashing to your door behind you; both listening for footsteps, his shoulders sinking in relief when nothing followed, only to straighten back up when you smacked his shoulder. "get it the fuck together!" you whisper-yelled. "do you want my parents to wake up!?" "alright, alright—damn!" jiyong tsked, clearly annoyed, but his voice remained quiet. "its not my fault the developer built this shit higher than a fucking city skyscraper!" "use your nimble legs, they usually get you far enough." "i don't have nimble—" "—its a compliment, jiyong." "i don't have time for fuckin' riddles. give me your shoulder—it'll help me balance." he beckoned you over, hearing you huff. you stepped forward, feeling his palm secure your left shoulder. you leaned in as he prepared to attempt to climb in again, hand on his other cheek, bringing his closest to your lips. "you whiny baby." you whispered. "you making fun of me isn't helping either of us." "that wasn't me making fun of you." "you know what—i can just head home." he gestured behind him. "my car is right across the street." you looked him in the eyes, waiting for a moment or two. "i don't see you leaving, jiyong." "well, i was just—" "—get inside before i close the window."

he watched you like you just did him. "right—goodnight." you reached up to pull the window down. jiyong scrambled; "wait, no—shit! wait!" he reached up and tousled his hands with yours, either of your fingers clumped together. his face was directly in front of yours, looking into your eyes. a small, please-forgive-me grin stretched his mouth. "you look really pretty." he whispered sweetly. "just shut up and get inside." you stepped aside, feeling his hand on your shoulder. he climbed in successfully, arms making residence around your waist in no time, bringing you in for a kiss. "you're lucky i like you." he whispered hurriedly with intent, quickly reconnecting your lips. "excuse me?" you felt him giggle against your lips. "its—its the other way around. have to deal with your goofy shit all the time." "but you like it, right? because you like me." his arms pulled you closer to him, your supple cheek squishing against his lips. "right?" he kissed harder, your failed attempt at acting annoyed manifesting in a curt tsk. jiyong was in his own world: "right, my pretty girl?" "i wanna say no just to fuck with you." jiyong abruptly stopped, sinking his face into your neck. "i like hugging you." he murmured. "i think you just like annoying me." his giggle was your answer, feeling a chaste kiss pressed dotingly onto your neck when your hands traveled up his back and into his hair. "you're a pain in the ass."

jiyong was someone who knew what he wanted. so when he asked to be official after your second date, you were surprised and even let out a small laugh, thinking he was playing—but he was dead serious: "you've known me for less than a week, jiyong." you said from his passenger's seat. his gaze left your apartment building a block down and returned to you, shrugging his shoulders. "i mean, sure—yeah." he concurred, wiping the sweat off his forehead. the mechanic still didn't fix his ac right. "but i'd say i've known you long enough to know that i want you." he said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world, because it was. why waste time, especially when you know the other person feels the same? warmth mounted your cheeks, averting your gaze to the center console. "can i think about it?" you asked. jiyong grinned, eyes momentarily watching your fingers glide against the leather lining of the console, avoiding the urge to hold your hand by tapping his own against the steering wheel. "yeah," he responded gently. "but i already kinda know what the answer is." "no you don't." you tried to quip, your quiet voice a giveaway. "did you not say yes to getting ice cream tomorrow? at the pier? maybe i misheard—" "—you didn't, ji."

he smiled. "good. thats good." he spoke softly. he faced you, eyes fluttering down before taking your hand in his. he brought it to his lips, pressing a kiss. he turned to your palm, mouth molding against the clammy skin before making his way down to your wrist. his eyes opened when your nerves acted before you could think, wordlessly calling him over to you when your palm now rested against his cheek. jiyong moved without an iota of hesitation, leaning over the center console. his eyes looked into yours with a look of can i?, voice unexpectedly barely moving a morsel above a whisper. "can i kiss—" "—yes. come here." he didn't need to be told twice, closing that gap damn near immediately. your hands held his face when he tilted his head to the side, deepening the kiss. his lips felt soft albeit somewhat chapped, molding against your lips in a way that made a shaky breath exit your nostrils; his hand trailing up your thigh.

"jesus—fuck." you were startled by someone lugging their garbage into the dumpster a few feet away from the car, a hand coming up to your chest as jiyong cursed under his breath. he looked over your shoulder, eyes narrowing at the unsuspecting stranger. his attention returned to you upon feeling your fingers toy with the collar of his graphic tee. jiyong leaned in, the chaste kiss sweet. "my answer's yes." you muttered against his lips. "that's news to no one, baby." his hand rested atop your thigh, thumb tracing your plush skin. "at least act surprised," you tutted, holding his face in your hands, amused at his lips being half-puckered; clearly expecting another kiss. "i have a reputation to uphold." he smiled, not hiding his chuckle, his eyebrows furrowing slightly. "what—for who?" you tried to come up with something witty, but each passing second prevented anything from landing correctly. you shrugged your shoulders, playfully defeated. "i can't lie to you—i've heard them say that in movies, and it always sounded really cool." he erupted into colorful laughter, his forehead falling to your shoulder. you caught him, unable to hold your own giggles back.

nights in your bedroom were spent underneath your duvet; recounting your days to each other in hushed whispers, making plans for future dates after swiping that day's newspaper from the kitchen counter—"'eyes wide shut' is still playing? seunghyun mentioned wanting to see it recently, i think. i think he went the other day." "tom cruise kind of freaks me out. what about 'but i'm a cheerleader,' tomorrow at 7:15? i heard its good fun.", giggling in between sweet kisses, or attempting to stay quiet if things got heated. whether it was you unbuttoning his jeans or his hand slipping past the hem of your underwear, either of your free hands was covering the other's mouth. jiyong's mewls were muffled behind your palm as your fist pumped his hardened cock— incessant ruffling of his briefs against your hand hidden behind the innocent creak of the bed when you turned onto your back to spread your thighs further, giving his thumb enough leverage to nurse your clit. his body followed your movements without hesitation, laying on his side, bottom lip caught between his teeth at how your t-shirt bunched up in the space between the bottom of your back and the top of your ass—breathing heavily into your palm.

it was easy to tuck him underneath your shirt when he made love to those perky nipples, relishing in the sound of your sharp breath after the chill of his watch band pressed against the warm, bouncy skin of your right breast, his tongue tending to the left. his ministrations were experienced, but how his hand trailed up and down your side, squeezing and rubbing your hip dotingly felt personal. or the way he hummed to himself in satisfaction from time to time, muttering whispers of "one and only," and "how can you be so fucking hot." he didn't give a fuck that his lips were begging for some vaseline, or that his jaw was feeling increasingly tighter—your breathy "jiyong, baby . . ." was all he needed to hear to keep going. even better if you arched your back, squishing his nose against your chest whilst his re-adjusting his posture stretches out the shirt you slept in. he moved to your right breast, encircling your areola before capturing it between his lips. he moved to lay atop you, waist between your thighs.

you felt his bulge against you. "you know whats f-f—mmph!—funny?" you whispered. "hm?" jiyong hummed. "you're in the perfect p-position t-to—s-shit—to f-fuck me if you wanted to." "don't put that idea into my head," jiyong whispered quickly, popping sotly off of your nipple. "you don't know how long i've been thinking about that." "there's no way we'd stay quiet enough, s-so forget 'b-bout it—least for now—shit!" your hand shot up, covering your mouth as the warmth of his tongue made your eyes roll back. "s-show me." it was hard to clarify with how scattered your mind was at the moment. "p-pretend to—i can feel you—j-ji, baby." you cut yourself off, thinking it was useless to try to compose yourself; thoughts coming out fragmented. he got the message, though—practically shoving of his cock caged in his briefs against your clothed pussy, moving his hips against yours. you let out a small gasp, back arching. jiyong collided his hips harshly with yours, feeling your thighs jiggle and a sound of surprise from your lips. "damn! go slow!" you exclaimed in a whisper, amused smile evident in your tone.

he did it again, eliciting a peculiar small grunt from his forcibly-muted efforts, amusing you further. "i get you that hot and bothered, huh?" "you have no fucking i-idea—f-fuck." he came to a halt, catching his breath, feeling how desperate his dick was between his fucking temples. "if you act up like this," you said. "then there's no way we can fuck here." "no—i'll behave myself." he hurriedly assured, making you grin. "i'll behave, baby. i will. holy fuck—its hot under here." jiyong carefully slid out from underneath your shirt, gradually standing on his knees on the bed. he let out a breath, wiping his cheeks and forehead with the back of his hand. "like i was saying," he let out a breath. "i'll behave—" "you're ridiculous." you cut him off. jiyong looked down at you, seeing you propped up on your elbows. "what?" "since when did you rival fedex?" "what?" he repeated, confused—until he followed your gaze; so hard, and with how the fabric of his briefs looked, it was as if his dick doubled in size.

he bit at corner of his bottom lip, hands on his hips. "i mean—" he began. "you asked me to show you, so here you go." you tsked, raising your leg, nudging his shoulder with the ball of your right foot. he caught your ankle, pressing a kiss before letting your leg go. you propped your feet against the bed, knees together in the air. "nah—open 'em." he tutted softly. "gonna have a taste before i leave. make you feel real fuckin' good." and he fucking did—face sunken into your cunt, his tongue going back and forth between nursing your clit and hole; hands atop your thighs, holding them in place. he heard your whimpers, as muffled as they were, even through the erratic meshing of your plush skin against his ears. your other hand sunk into his hair before having to use both to cover your mouth once that knot began to form in your abdomen. "j-jiyong!" your ghost of a whisper penetrated his senses. his response manifested in one arm slung over your stomach, his other hand trailing past your stretch marks, reaching for the closest breast and kneading it in his palm; humming in content against your slick pussy.

you and jiyong lived in your own world those first few months. neither of your respective friends knew—not because it was hidden on purpose or anything, but jiyong was too busy running red lights to come see you, and you were occupied with thinking of a slick way to end a phone call after hearing the pager beep in your nightside table drawer. though there wasn't verbal confirmation until later, there were definite signs: a particularly blunt friend pointing something out when you got to lunch ten minutes late ("there's something different about you, but i can't place it—" "—she smells like sex. also has the glow." "hey! no i don't!"); jiyong thinking his bucket hat would deter attention from the mostly-faded-but-still-noticeable hickey on his neck, only for seunghyun to point it out the moment he got in his car to head to the mall ("that goofy hat isn't doing shit." "she calls me that, too." "it takes nothing to get everything out of you, ji."); when you were too quick to leave a night out, saying you'd take public transit home, ultimately leading you to be cornered by the same friend, strategically pulled you into her car away from the others ("be for real. are you seeing someone?" "we're still—" "—okay, so you are. who is it? don't tell me its that co-worker that ate the—what was it? expired tuna? willingly?" "i'm offended that you think i would ever consider that. we met at a party, anyway—" "jiyong!? oh my god! oh my god!" "how did you—" "—i saw you two on that swing, but i didn't think—oh my god! tell me everything!" "only if you let me get a fucking word in—holy shit!"); to jiyong straight up telling seunghyun "i can't tonight, man. m'seeing my girl." to which his best friend responded "she rang me up the other day at the market, but i don't think she knew who i was. you need to fix that."

things took a turn the night your parents were out at a co-worker's wedding. they left at eight, not expected to be back until well past midnight. jiyong was in your bedroom no later than 8:10, shoes kicked off, hand comfortably behind his head, slumped against the pillow next to yours in bed. perhaps it was the fact you two were truly alone for the first time with your parents gone and window closed—for once not at the ready to dash out if footsteps erupted down the hall—that the conversation trickled elsewhere. something about these last few months was just something different for jiyong . . . he felt connected. safe. most importantly, trusted. you felt cared for, desired, and seen. it showed in those lingering stares; the air just feeling right whenever you two are together; his hand ghosting past yours before working up the courage to hold it in a way that always granted him that shy grin of yours; your cheeks brushing against one another's when you're looking at the same thing . . . the list was endless. something just—it just clicked. the question of are we moving too quickly? pestered at the back of either of your minds . . . but one look, and the puzzle was completed. the answer clear. any doubts eradicated.

trust was in bloom, and so was his willingness to be vulnerable. when it occurred, you shut the fuck up, putting your own shock aside: "my parents have never been the type—nah." jiyong chuckled. it was after some anecdote you brought up from middle school about parent-teacher conferences—specifically how you were outed for having a failing grade in chemistry. "my mom went to those things, but my dad—its like you'd have to drag him there. he was always busy, or some shit." you hummed, reaching over and softly grazing your finger against his forehead, fixing a fallen strand. it wasn't intended, but jiyong took the gentle gesture as a means of saying you can tell me anything. his eyes flickered to the linen before fully turning onto his side, directly facing you. he avoided the stirring turmoil in his chest, bringing his pointer finger to your bottom lip, pulling it down and letting go; chuckling at the small plop it made against your top lip, endeared by your playful scoff.

"listen, uh—" he began. "i know people—people talk. about my . . . about my family, or whatever. about my dad, specifically." he rubbed his eye, avoiding looking at you. "he does work, uh . . . he does work—he works underground—" "—jiyong, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to." you told him, seeing the strain on his face. "no," he shook his head. "i want to. i mean—if i can find the fucking words." he let out a curt chuckle, frustrated with himself. he took a breath, still not looking at your eyes, but the bottom hem of your shirt. "i guess i—" he huffed. "i guess i always kinda knew something was different. like, my 'uncles' weren't my uncles. well, two of them are. but most aren't." you listened carefully, cheek rubbing against the pillowcase when you nodded. "it was a feeling, i guess? and then in sixth grade it was like . . . my frontal lobe developed. that's real fucking early, i know, but i don't know how else to describe it. everything just—it just made sense."

jiyong finally looked up. your expression was unreadable, but you didn't look scared. or intimidated. so that was a good sign. "i'm just jiyong." he spoke softly. he wasn't sure why he said that but something in him compelled him to do so. his hair ruffled against the pillow, subtly shaking his head. "i don't do any of that. i'm set straight—normal." for the most part, his inner monologue voiced. you scooted closer, the tip of your nose brushing against his. your brought your hand up, pad of your thumb tracing his stubble. he watched you with a glint in his eyes; entranced. "no one's interrogating you." you whispered, a smile stretching your mouth, seeing him visibly relax. he let out a long breath, forehead falling onto yours, eyes fluttering closed. "and you are just jiyong." you told him, hand reaching behind him, coaxing tenderly up and down his back. "well, my jiyong. specifically speaking." "you got that right." he kissed your cheek, nestling into your chest, arms slung around your waist. you held him without hesitation, quickly combing his hair back with your fingers as it tickled your chin. jiyong closed his eyes, letting something else slip out: "you make my life feel normal." he muttered, hidden in your warmth. "you make my life a lot more interesting." you told him, the vibrations of your chuckle making him hold you tighter.

a couple hours later, he was out of your bed, stood in front of your rotating fan perched beside your dresser. "you'd think it wouldn't be still hot as shit in damn near october." jiyong muttered, quickly leaning down once the fan turned him way, flushed cheeks momentarily relieved. "i know." you concurred, left in nothing but a shirt and underwear; laid on your side in bed, head propped up by your hand. jiyong huffed when the fan turned away, tugging at the collar of his shirt and pulling it over his head, wiping the sweat off his forehead with the fabric. you quickly looked away when he turned around, sitting on the edge of the bed. the unintended brewing silence caught his attention, turning his head to look at you. "this is the longest you've gone without talking since we started dating." "shut up, ji." he grinned, leaning down, bringing his lips to yours.

"you've seen me like this before. why so shy now, hm?" he murmured against your mouth; the kiss slow, deliberate. "s'cause you're fine." you mumbled. "s'my line, baby." you stopped the kiss, lips hovering above his. "you're so cheesy sometimes that it hurts, jiyong." he laughed against your mouth. "but you like it. i know you do." he said between kisses. his hand reached your hip, sliding down your thigh until his fingers tried to nestle between them. you opened your thighs enough to let his hand in, closing them around his wrist. he cupped and palmed your clothed pussy as best he could, kissing you a bit harder. "i know my girl likes it when i'm half fucking naked." he whispered. his eyes opened when the kiss ceased, feeling your quiet breaths brush against his mouth. you perched your left foot atop the bed, effectively separating your thighs, allowing jiyong to feel your puffy lips underneath the fabric of your underwear. "look at her. so good f'me, so ready." he praised, glancing down as his hand tucked into the hem, sinking his middle finger between your puffy lips. he moved it side to side, watching you as a small gasp left your mouth. you adjusted your hips—to your fortune, the move aligned the pad of his finger to your clit, making you shudder, fighting rolling your eyes back by squeezing them shut.

aimlessly, your hand pawed at his bare chest. "j-ji—kiss me." he leaned in, the side of his nose aligning with yours. "don't ever need to ask," he murmured. "jus' do it." he kissed you repeatedly, going slower when you moaned into his mouth; it was the way you liked it—purposeful and fucking sensual. you both were present and so fucking crazy for each other that it could suffocate any room . . . and it was beginning to be your own. "both of your lips are so soft against my mouth, baby," he muttered atop your mouth, adding his tongue to the mix. "y'know i have dreams of eating that pussy, right? can't get enough of it—" "—j-jiyong!" you gasped, holding onto the back of his neck when the pad of his finger fastened its speed. "should i do it now? hm? should i eat this sweet pussy—make love to your fucking clit before i fuck it? yeah?" that latter was his usual dirty talk that got you the fuck going, putting the idea into your head before giving you brain that had yours malfunctioning. it felt so risky with your parents down the hall, so you never did it until—wait.

"j-ji—jiyong. stop—wait." you reached down, fingers wrapping around his wrist. he halted his ministrations, looking at you. "c-can't—can't think." you breathed heavily. "what's up? everything okay?" he asked, lips finding your temple. his finger left its spot between your puffy lips, palm resting against you. "do you—" your mind was scrambled. "do you have a condom? i want you. tonight." there was a small gap between his lips—until it clicked in his head. "right. right—" he nodded, reaching into his pocket and opening his wallet. if he thought he was flustered before, his cheeks were on fire now. the one fucking time—his inner monologue cursed. "shit—i don't have any." "go get some." "one step ahead of you." his hand slipped out of your underwear, sucking briefly on his middle finger before grabbing his shirt from the floor, shoving his feet into his shoes. "won't be longer than ten fucking minutes. i swear." he told you, leaning down and kissing your lips. "just—just stay horny." jiyong said a little awkwardly before climbing out the window. his own libido clouded his senses, dizzying his temples as he descended down the stairs and climbed down the short ladder. "will do." you muttered to yourself, chuckling.

your bed creaked as loud and incessantly as either you or jiyong willed it to. once he was in and you were adjusted ("how's it feel, baby? feel okay?" "y-yeah. just—just hold me, ji."), he fucked you right and good. you felt like everything he dreamed of and more—all those nights he lulled himself to sleep tracing the linen back and forth with his palm, imagining it was your hips; balling the fabric in his fist as he showed himself no mercy with the other, dreaming of what you might sound like around him. "f-feel good with me, baby. c-c'mon." he'd whisper to himself in the confines of his bedroom—panting it next to your ear whilst his hips rammed into yours. you felt as if you achieved your final form: arms above your head in bliss, shirt pushed up to your neck whilst your tits bounced intermittently, your fine ass man between your legs; fucking you with such tenderness coupled with carnal desire, stretching you out in a way you didn't know you needed or was possible, quite frankly. jiyong took his time to memorize your body: all the divots and crevices poetically curated by your cellulite, the uneven lines of your stretch marks, how the rolls adorning your hips jiggled differently than those on your stomach. his hips stuttered, vulnerable moan escaping his lungs when your thighs wrapped around his waist as best you could in your horned-out haze, pleading "more, jiyongie—m-more. want it harder," so beautifully. he leaned down, both of your heavy breaths meshing together as he adjusted his balance on his knees, rutting into you harder than before. all mine, he thought to himself, eyebrows curling upward at the sound of your indescribable moan, how fucking lucky am i?

the only problem was once you started . . . you couldn't stop. this newly-emerged can of worms was barely contained when your parents were once again just down the hall—but ambition was nothing without strategy. you two mapped out the least-noisy parts of your bed and acted accordingly: if jiyong's behind you, he's on his feet whilst your elbows propped you up on your bedside, your feet on the carpeted floors as his pelvis pounded your globes (nearly popping a vein trying to keep quiet in the process); if you were on top, strangely enough the top middle of your bed worked well, but jiyong couldn't change how he sat once he settled; or the one time you fucked on the floor because you really wanted to try the position whilst laid on your sides, but the bed would be too nosy. you swore to never do it again after waking up with a migraine and stuffy nose from the air conditioning blowing directly onto your head.

at some point, you couldn't take it anymore. it was after the thanksgiving holiday—the early hours of black friday, to be specific. whilst your friends were hitting the mall, jiyong was hitting it from the back. he drowned himself in your duvet trying to keep his whimpers at bay, your own palm suffering under the pressure of your mouth. when you finished, he kept his balance by gripping your left globe, squeezing it to thwart the urge to smack it silly. drool threatened to leak out the corner of his mouth, swiping it with the back of his other hand before pulling the condom off. a thin string connected your palm and your mouth, that same hand going into his hair without thinking upon feeling his lips against your cheek. "i love you so much." he whispered, hand tenderly rubbing your hip. "l-love you too. can't keep—" you swallowed, mouth dry. "can't keep being quiet. s'too hard." "i know. i feel the same." "help me—help me stand up, jiyongie." "i got you. c'mere, baby."

you were on the brink two weeks later. swiveling your hips, his hands holding your waist and lower back in place, swallowing his mewls and whimpers with your connected lips. jiyong was so needy—cut fingernails clawing at your bare back, faint whispers of "keep fucking me. keep f-fucking me just like that—hngh!" against your mouth, hastily re-connecting the kiss to muffle his verbose libido. he was more whiny than usual that night—this being the first time you've seen each other in a while from misaligned free time and abrupt family plans. it showed. "oh f-fuck yeah, baby—" his whisper was so faint and high he sounded as if he was depleted of oxygen. the way his face was scrunched up—mouth hung open, eyes shut, eyebrows knit deeply together—didn't help. "k-keep fucking me—keep fucking jiyongie just like that. y-yeah! fuck—" your mixed slick combined with the lubricated condom made his dick slip out of you a few times, permitting a breather, but not for long. your knees burned and you felt dizzy, but his cock was fucking addicting. it was all for you and no one fucking else's. his pathetic fucking whines merely scratched the surface of attesting to that—how about him chanting your name like a goddamn prayer? catching him grinding into the duvet when he's eating you out? begging for mercy with that fucking quiver, only to stutter a million thank yous once that euphoric wave hits? it was endless. he was yours. you'd take that tylenol and hydrate later—for now, it was just you and him. no one else existed in your shared world.

your gummy walls clenched around him, sending him into an untamable orbit. "a-agh!" he whined aloud, sucking in a breath with your hand covered his mouth with haste, his eyes widening. "you better stop moaning like a bitch." you whispered. his eyes were misty, subconsciously mourning the temporary loss of movement. "i c-can't help it, baby," he shook his head, shaking off your palm. "y-you feel so fucking good. m'so fucking turned on right now—you have no idea, holy s-shit." both of his arms wrapped around your waist, pressing kisses onto your bare chest. "i'll be good. i'll—i'll behave, baby." he whispered, looking up at you. his hand grabbed your right breast, eyes watching yours with a glint. "i'll be your good boy—your good jiyongie. look, i'll do this to keep quiet." his tongue encircled your nipple before taking it between his lips, lapping the peak repeatedly.

it was an effective method, considering when you started moving again, all that could be heard was the moderate, non-suspicious tinkering of your metal bed frame—but now your self-control was withering away. your fingers entangled in his hair, vibrations of his moans molding into your plush skin . . . you couldn't help yourself: "f-fuck!" you gasped, hand aimlessly grabbing onto the wall in front of you, nails scratching against the chipped paint. jiyong sucked diligently as if nothing happened. you attempted to squish this shit like a bug, needing your boyfriend to wake the fuck up: "cut that shit out, ji—ha-a!" you sucked in a breath. "i can't k-keep quiet." "if i don't have this, i'm going to wake up the entire neighborhood." he muttered. "not before we wake my fucking parents!" you whisper-yelled. you nudged the side of his head with a tsk, your nipple slipping out of his mouth with you leaned to your left, grabbing your shirt. "oh hell no—" jiyong realized what was happening, you cutting him off: "shut up." you tutted, putting your shirt on. "thats what you get."

you held either side of his face, kissing his lips sweetly. "i love it when you're like this." you felt him hum. "all desperate." "i know," jiyong answered, kissing you back. "you ride my shit into the sunset whenever i do." he chuckled when you turned away, clearly flustered. "come back here." he murmured gently, lips decorating your supple cheek. "but m'being honest. this is how you make me. s'fucking hard keeping quiet, baby." "i can't keep doing this, jiyong." you shook your head. "i'm going crazy." "i know, pretty girl, i know." he nodded, palms rubbing up and down your thighs. "my place isn't really an option, either." he shook his head, seeing you nod. you talked about this before. "always busy with some shit. but i'm gonna get us a room—its about time. so we can be loud as we want to, yeah? fuck good and hard?" "y-yes." you let out a shaky breath, slowly beginning to move your hips. "needed it, like, yesterday." "i'll book it first thing tomorrow." he whispered, bottom lip choked between his teeth. "just finish us off, baby," his voice was already an octave higher. "no one does it like you—ha-a—a—oh f-fuck!"

it was an interesting feeling, knowing you were going somewhere just to fuck your boyfriend. those car rides were either humorously quiet or overly conversational—the little white lies you told your parents at the back of your mind as you filed into jiyong's passenger's seat after your shift ended: "i'll be late tonight. its someone's birthday," "i'm picking up another shift," or his personal favorite "the girls and i are having a sleepover." ("am i one of the girls?" "in your dreams.") he swiped his card at the hotel receptionist's desk without a second thought; clothes on the floor and bed creaking less than an hour later. the nearby 24 hour mart was the go-to for condom and snack runs, or the neighboring strip mall where you went for dinner ("do you want to go re-fuel?" "'re-fuel' is crazy, jiyong.") or he'd pick up an order—styrofoam take-out containers sprawled out in bed, eating your burgers and curly fries with nothing but the thin hotel quilt atop either of you, talking about whatever as the local weatherman played on the box television.

"keep moving like that! holy shit! holy shit!" he cried out one night, fucking up into you as you slammed down onto him. his hands went back and forth between gripping the side of your thighs to smacking either of your plush globes; or laying his palms on your thighs, looking down as he both watched and felt them shake with each unrelenting thrust. "i love feeling this fucking j-jiggle," he sucked in a breath. "and gripping this shit." his hands squeezed your ass before kneading to your love handles, looking up at you upon hearing you moan. "have no idea how fucking gorgeous you are," his breathing was jagged, sweat perspiring across his forehead. "the fuck do y-you—hngh!—t-the fuck do you mean no one's ever wanted you this bad? huh? felt like i needed to start a prayer service when i met you, baby—f-fuck! oh my god—ha-a—a!" he whimpered, hips stuttering to a sudden halt after you clenched around him. you let out a breath, adjusting your knees, hands letting go of the headboard to opt for your arms wrapping around his shoulders. "thats it, thats it." he praised gently. "get comfortable f'me. for your jiyongie—your good jiyongie. there you go, baby." he found his face lost in your neck when he started moving again; fingers entangled in his hair, nails scratching against his tattoo. "o—oh! j-jiyong! oh f-fuck, b-baby—" you cut yourself off with a gasp, guttural moan following. you felt so free. "felt like i needed to start a prayer service when i met you, baby—f-fuck! oh fuck—yeah! yeah!" he was close, determined to finish his thought. "felt like i needed to go to church and t-thank g-god herself for bringing me t-to you—f-fuck!"

no part of the room was spared. godspeed to whomever was on the housekeeping shift that saturday morning after the stench you two left in that damn bathroom . . . meant to get in the shower at ten to make the eleven check-out time and also complementary weekend brunch . . . but its not your fault the both of you are fine as fuck! "like that! like that! m-more—more! f-fuck!" your voice bounced off the tiled walls; acoustics of the bathroom drilling your moans into his brain for his next however so many lives—not that he was complaining what-so-fucking-ever. your knee was atop the counter, stomach laying comfortably in the sink as your hands held onto the wall and mirror before you, being fucked delectably from behind. the plop of his heavy balls against you hardly rivaled the sound of the air vent, let alone how loud you were. "o-oh my god, baby! f-fuck—fuck me! fuck me just like that! a-ah!" your walls swallowed and spit him out whole, leaving nothing to the imagination with the condom covered in creamy slick. he was panicking a little, though, because all of his cock was in you. he didn't have anymore, so he just went harder.

it seemed to do the trick. his mouth fell open at the sound of your shaky "oh my fucking god!", glancing at the mirror and seeing an expression on your face that he thought only existed in his fantasies. "f-fuck!" he whimpered. "y-you're f-fucking tight—feels so f-fucking good—a-agh! jiyongie f-feels so good!" referring to himself in third person was a tell-tale sign he was pussy drunk, only making you more hornier, knocking over the hotel hand soap in your effort to fuck him back. damn—is my dick really that good? he wondered to himself, nearly stumbling in trying to regain his balance. it ended in you two making it on time to brunch—but with his t-shirt on inside out and backwards, and droplets of water adorning your hair, along with a sheer streak of body lotion on display whenever your lifted your arm to take a bite of your omelette, of course.

godspeed to whomever was next door, too, like that one time a couple took an overnight pitstop during their road trip. it was downhill for them starting at 11 pm that friday night. you were stroking jiyong's cock as he laid on your chest, his moans muffled by your mouth, but the boyfriend's eyebrows raised nonetheless as he got ready for bed. the girlfriend nudged his shoulder and gestured to the wall when you were getting your pussy ate, moans undeniable as jiyong's tongue made love to your clit, slurping you up like never before. she kept her laughter in, eyes widening humorously at the circumstance. the smile was swiped clean off of her face when jiyong started fucking you—grunts of fighting for power as your ass rammed his pelvis, mewls of pleasure, and whorish moans bleeding through the walls like it was made of paper. the couple stared at the ceiling in complete darkness, not a wink of sleep in sight for either of them. to top it all off, a phone kept ringing. until something went crashing down.

"who keeps—who keeps fuckin' calling—god damn!" they heard him curse when your mobile rang again. "m-must be one of the girls." you were out of breath, the ringtone dramatically deafening. "c-can you—can you get it? take out the battery or something. i can't reach—can't think straight, sick of the phone—hngh!" your thoughts came out fragmented, shutting up once jiyong leaned over to the bedside table; inadvertently shoving his cock deeper inside you. he slid the back off, picking the battery out and shoved everything onto the floor hastily. "thats fucking better—f-fuck!" you pushed into him, feeling him grip your hips and rut into you at breakneck speed. "y-yes! yes!" you cried. the girlfriend was fed up, but not with you: "why don't you fuck me like that?" she asked her boyfriend. "uh—" he stuttered. "she's—she's playing it up. clearly. i mean, who really sounds that dramatic? right?" he was overpowered by the sound of you calling jiyong's name so delicately that anyone could see what was really going on. the girlfriend huffed, turning away from him and onto her side, tugging the duvet. "that's what someone who doesn't know what they're doing would say." she muttered. "good-fucking-night."

its true: jiyong knew you like the back of his hand. no matter how he got on your nerves sometimes (with love, of course.) however, as your five month anniversary went by, and you rang in the start of the 21st century together ("we survived y2k, baby. i think this calls for some celebration." "just finish your cig in peace, ji."), you realized you didn't really . . . know him. like, some of the basics. here's some context—what initially tipped you off was something completely unrelated: a conversation that arose when you were out with friends; out at brunch at a local diner, taking up an entire booth, catching up after some time apart. an anecdote filled your ears: "we went all the way to his mom's for his little brother's birthday," a friend was recounting her previous weekend with her boyfriend; the tinkering of silverware and iced teas decorating the air. "it was fun. the food was so good—i haven't stopped thinking about the baked ziti." a wave of chuckles spread around the booth, including from you. as she went on, your inner monologue took your attention away from your french toast: does jiyong have a sibling? i think he mentioned having an older sister before . . . but where does he live? oh my god—where does he live?

you grabbed your glass of water, taking a sip, mentally going down the rabbit hole. does his mom live with him? are his parents divorced? i mean, with his dad's work, its highly unlikely . . . but still—what's his family like? holy shit, i don't even know his favorite fucking movie. now the standing question is was this a product of your own actions, or was he just secretive to the point it all fell under the radar? it felt complex and confusing, and also as if the universe was targeting you directly. the next thing cemented it: the mention of your name from someone in the group took you out of your head. "hm? what's up?" you muttered. "does jiyong have any hobbies?" you have got to be kidding me. you thought to yourself, out of everything i could've been asked. and i don't even fucking know. the look on her face was almost knowing, but in a different way. the subtle snarkiness ruminated in some of your friends since you told them you and jiyong were dating—a product of not having the gall to ask you about his family directly, you've figured. "he does," you quickly said, nodding. "he likes making mixtapes—" "has he made you one?" "yeah, he has. a couple, actually." you nodded again. now lay off; and she did.

not only was jiyong the type to know what he wanted, but he knew when something was up. a lifetime in a household riddled with conflict will do that to you. he doted on your cheek with sweet kisses, remnants of your shared desire sporadically sprinkled throughout the hotel room the following weekend. his arms were wrapped around your naked body, bringing you closer to his own whilst he lowly hummed in content—but you weren't paying attention, and deliberately so. your eyes remained glue to the uninteresting re-run playing on the late night television channel. jiyong was losing his patience, but kept himself leveled: "is something on your mind, baby?" he asked gently. "no." you responded curtly. he pursed his lips, "your pout says different." you let out a huff, defeated, turning your head towards him. a moment passed before you spoke: "i don't know you." you blurted. immediately confused, jiyong's eyebrows furrowed. "what?" "i mean—" you shook your head, "let me explain." you turned to face him fully. "the other day, i was out with my friends. one of them talked about, like, going to her boyfriend's mom's house for a birthday party, and i just thought about how i didn't even know where you live. like, what part of the city, or something." you thought aloud.

your effort to find your words subconsciously led you to sit up in bed, hand out as if you were rifling through the metaphorical word bank. "like, i don't even know what your favorite movie is, ji." you shook your head. "the godfather." he joked, shit-eating grin on his face; head propped against his palm, elbow on his pillow. "this is what i fucking mean!" you exclaimed, gesturing towards him. "be for real, jiyong. now's not the time." "okay, okay. i'm sorry," he apologized, sitting up himself. "i'm not really one for movies." he said. "i'm more into tv—like twin peaks. i really like that show." you looked at him. your subtle pout made you look kissable to the level of a federal offense. "what's your favorite ice cream flavor?" "easy: rocky road." answered jiyong. he looked at you for the next question, but it didn't feel satisfactory. nothing did. your face sunk into your palms. "i don't even know where you live, jiyong." you repeated, albeit with an added sense of self-pity. "that's, like, the first thing someone knows about their significant other. i said 'i love you' before i even knew whether you live on a fucking cul-de-sac, or some shit."

his chest felt heavy. he knew you were right. perhaps his efforts of protecting you from the mess of his life backfired. he didn't feel the need to be retaliatory or on the offense, but instead owned up to it. "i'm sorry." he muttered. "no, jiyong. don't apologize," you shook your head. "that's not what i—you know what . . . i don't even know what i meant. just—just forget it." "no, don't do that." he tsked, shaking his head. "that's the last thing we should do right now. c'mere, baby." he scooted closer to you, wrapping his arm around you, bringing your head to his shoulder. "i'm not the best at being open." he murmured, only for your ears to hear. "but i'm going to try my best to change that—for you. you hear me?" he kissed your temple. "its the least i could fuckin' do." he thought aloud. a long breath left his lungs, eyes fluttering closed, letting himself feel the uncomfortable emotions stirring in his chest. "how about i bring you around tomorrow before i drop you home?" he spoke into your supple skin, pressing a kiss. "my parents won't be home, so it won't be a lot at once. but it'll be a start. how's that sound, baby?" "okay. as long as you're good with it." you said. "i'm more than good with it." he assured with a nod. "you're the person i trust the most, y'know."

his family's house was beautiful. lived in, personal, and not intimidating whatsoever—in fact, it was normal. luxurious, yes, but normal. he lived in a gated community lined with homes with price tags you could only imagine, parking his car on the driveway made with any regular asphalt (you felt asinine for being compelled by such a small detail, but couldn't blame yourself either). the few granite steps leading to the front door were lined with potted flowers in bloom on either end. you had hardly any time to take in just how fucking wide the door was, because before you knew it, paws were pitter-pattering on the floor, followed by a handful of barks. "this is rodney." jiyong bent down after taking his shoes off, scratching behind the beagle's ears. "we got him for my older sister when she turned sixteen. i didn't name him that nerdy shit—she did."

jiyong then gave a tour: the wall of family photos that lined the left side of the hallway leading to the kitchen—the frames aged yet elegant (the portraits weren't giving jcpenney but a friend of a friend of a friend who knows an exclusive french photographer, and mixed in effortlessly with developed photos from disposable cameras and polaroids from family reunions); a descriptive yet comedic detailing of the food in the fridge after you mentally got over how spacious the kitchen island is ("this sliced meat right here—my dad's gone to the same butcher since he was a kid. oh, and this tupperware—my mom's bulgogi marinade is top tier." "i can't wait to try it one day, ji." "you will, baby. you will."); peeking out the windows on the lited doors serving as an entryway into the backyard, staring at the pool before harkening your attention back to him standing in the living room, the couch and nintendo 64 between you two ("me, and this couch. like this—" he crossed his fingers. "every thursday at nine for twin peaks." "no wonder you disappear." "prior obligations, baby."); to finally his bedroom, with rodney filing in and settling into his duvet whilst showed you his cds ("wu-tang clan changed my life." "can i borrow it to listen to it sometime?" "its like you want me to drop everything and propose right now." "its never ending with you, jiyong.")

when rodney decided he was over it, he jumped down and left the room, allotting the bed to you and jiyong. some time later, you laid comfortably atop the duvet, fingers entangled in jiyong's hair as your lips molded against his, his palms tenderly rubbing up and down your side. from time to time, you grew flustered, breaking the kiss and turning away, beckoned back to him upon his lips trailing from your cheek to the corner of your mouth. when it happened for the third time, a smile stretched his mouth. "hey," his breath was hot against your cheek, deepening your sheepish state. "come back here. stop doing that, baby." he purposefully elongated the last syllable, kissing your supple skin slowly. "don't get all shy on me." "i don't know," you muttered. "sneaking over to my boyfriend's house . . . making out with him in his bedroom . . . getting all shy like this. its like i'm finally experiencing what everyone else did when they were sixteen." you looked at him, slightly embarrassed. "does that sound stupid?" "not at all," jiyong shook his head, admiration apparent in his eyes. "you're so fucking cute that it pisses me off sometimes." he laughed at your scoff and eye roll, leaning closer when you nudged him away. "like, i get to be your baby. can you believe that?" "you're always on the brink of being my enemy." "that's hot." "jesus—its never ending!"

slowly ushering you into his life began to mend some things. he pushed aside those movie dates where you sat at the back of the theater, lips together like there was some sort of magnetic force; the gelato café where you've tried every flavor twice and repeatedly beat him at chess on the set out for customers; you two fighting the glitchy atm as he tries to deposit money to pay the overpriced rental rates for pattleboats at a nearby waterfront ("its like the universe doesn't want me to ride the dragon paddleboat." "you sound more like me everyday, ji.") for a restaurant his family has frequented since he was a kid. it was lavish and elegant—yet a sense of community was palpable. jiyong greeted the hostess like he's known her his entire life (because he has), cooly pulling out your chair out for you before settling in himself. he had a pristine suit on coupled with the watch he met you in, wearing them both with ease like a second skin of sorts, ordering the chicken parm for the both of you ("its the best dish and also ginormous") and a wine you were pretty sure had three digits after the dollar sign on the menu.

as out-of-body of an experience this was, you felt you blended in somewhat. it was all in your outfit: a long sleeve red dress that draped just above your knees, complemented by black tights, pearl earrings jiyong gifted you for christmas, and a coat to protect from the bitter winter cold outside. jiyong could tell you were uneasy at first, eyes lingering on you whilst the waiter poured water into your glasses, seeing you try to hide your pensive expression with a grin. "c'mere," he called softly, arm draped on the back of your chair. "see that lady over there? the one with the blue silk top?" "mhm." "has some of the worst french tips you've ever seen. she used to babysit me when i was a kid—shit was in my nightmares." "what a way to reach consciousness." you giggled, making him smile. "i know, right?" he concurred, looking around. "oh—that guy over there, by the plant," he pointed to the right. "he was caught with his twenty-one year old secretary. his wife took the kids—think they're about my age now—he went to turkey and got a hair transplant." he wanted for it to be in view. "move your head, motherfucker." jiyong muttered, glancing at you when you nudged his shoulder. "jiyong!" you chuckled. "what? i wanna show you—look! now!" he whispered. you were taken aback. "i'll be for real with you: i would've never guessed." his commentary was disarming and helped you relax; the kiss he planted on your cheek helping his case.

you felt the fleeting glances from others in the restaurant throughout the night. everyone really knows each other, you thought to yourself as you cut into the chicken parm. however, it wasn't attached to a flare of vitriol or scoping-out-the-fresh-meat, like your one friend would suggest if she knew where you were tonight, but with an air of curiosity and gentle would you look at that? before returning to their business. many, if not all of your fellow diners, were older and had known jiyong his entire life. it was tight-knit, exclusive—further illustrated by the aunties that came up to your table when you finished your meal and were waiting on dessert, doting on him with "you've grown up so well," and smiles brightening even more so upon seeing you. what topped it all off was when an elderly man greeted jiyong at your table in the midst of sharing a small plate of flan, followed by his wife and two younger children—all dressed to the nines. jiyong shot up from his seat, extending his hand, only to be pulled into a hug. you quickly figured this was one of his uncles, standing to your feet after jiyong said your name: "this is my girlfriend," you walked around the table, smiling politely. after making introductory small talk, you returned to your seat, not seeing the uncle grab jiyong's elbow: "you look married." he muttered, making jiyong chuckle, nodding.

"blood-related?" you asked him a moment or two later, glancing at the family being seated on the opposite end of the room. "take a guess." said jiyong, wiping the caramel drizzle from the corner of his mouth with a cloth napkin. "hm. . ." you thought aloud. you genuinely considered it: they shared a similar cadence and held their postures akin to looking into mirrors, but something in you said it was otherwise. "i'm gonna say no." you looked at him, hearing his spoon tinker against the porcelain plate. you shrugged your shoulders, "intuition, i guess." jiyong swallowed his bite of flan, smiling afterward. "what?" you questioned. "did i get it right?" jiyong nodded. "you did, yeah. he's my dad's oldest business partner. used to take me on fishing trips—it was him that shocked me the most when i put the pieces together, y'know?" "mhm. i see, i see." you nodded. you scooped some flan in your spoon, slipping it into your mouth. you sat back on your chair, letting out a breath as your arms crossed over your chest. jiyong couldn't help his grin—you looked like a natural. "you're gonna fit in well here." he told you. "i barely know what i'm doing." you said. "well," he countered. "there's nothing to know. i'm just . . . . me. you just need to be you."

you grabbed your wine glass, stirring it with a subtle rotation of the stem held by your fingers. "i told my parents about us." said jiyong. "you did?" you asked, eyebrows furrowed, taking another sip. jiyong nodded, "i told my mom, like, two weeks after we met. she was so excited." he tried to act cool about it, but you saw through the sudden avoidant eye contact and nervous chuckle; amused grin on your face. "how about your dad?" you set your glass down. "he found out through her." explained jiyong, seeing you nod. "then—then he tried to ask me about you like he didn't know. he's not that good at being subtle." he shook his head, smile stretching his mouth hearing your laughter. his family sounded sweet and admirable, a stark contrast from their perceived reputation. a product of being multi-faceted and cunning, you figured, but you found it endearing nonetheless. "would you—" jiyong cleared his throat. you knew what was coming. "would you ever tell your parents about me?" "absolutely," you answered without hesitation. "they might, y'know, stop drop and roll to the hospital. but they're just going to have to suck it the fuck up, quite frankly."

jiyong smiled so big that his eyes kissed in the corners. "that's right." he chuckled, nodding. "would they be more calm if there was a diamond on your ring finger?" you gave him a look, eyes narrowing a little. "i think that might induce cardiac arrest, but not before it does me—because i know you're not about to get down on one knee right now." "i'm not!" he smiled, shaking his head. "i promise, i'm not! well, not yet—" "—jiyong." "its just an idea!" he defended. "to think about!" you tsked, unable to hide your grin, watching as he took the checkbook from the waiter. "yeah, okay," you nodded. "think about it, silently, to yourself as you pay the bill." "mhm, mhm." he nodded, biting his bottom lip; utmost failure of keeping his smile at bay, placing his card into the book and handing it back to the waiter. "you don't see us doing that, though?" he wondered aloud. "if i say yes, you can't use it against me and make me all flustered and shit." "i can't promise you that." "well, then i guess you'll never know." jiyong smiled knowingly. "think i got my answer, baby."

as the good fluttered in, so did the bad. things got real rather quickly—in every meaning of the word. it wasn't that you were naive and expected some adrenaline-pumping life with jiyong. he was normal, and just a person whom was born into circumstances out of his control. he felt so lucky to have found someone so generous and grounding, accepting of his family without materialistic expectations or with a looming hunger for intel. you wanted him for him; the good, but also the ugly—no matter how visceral it may be. living a life of nuance wasn't a culture shock. everyone experienced it in their own respective lives, whether it was what you perused for at the grocery store, how you were raised, the car you drove, your personal quirks, your defining experiences; the list was endless. jiyong's just happened to be the talk of the city, and on full public display when he was pushed to the edge. so when he showed up to your window on a late thursday night, knocking softly and one when your bedroom door was closed (the rules you established long ago), with small cuts on his face and a bruise forming on his chin, you didn't know what to do.

"h-hey baby," he smiled—an effort to fight his increasingly glossy eyes. "how are—how's it going?" "ji," your voice was quiet, taking the sight of him in. "what . . . what happened?" "uh—" he licked his lips, wiping a fallen tear, seeing it mixed with a droplet of blood leaked from a cut on his eyebrow. its now or never, he thought to himself. "y'know how—y'know how when he first met, i told you sometimes some guys try to give me trouble?" he sniffled. you nodded, "yeah." "well, sometimes," he sucked in a breath. "sometimes i let them." the shame felt atomic. it all happened so quickly . . . out to dinner with his friends . . . having a smoke in the parking lot outside . . . the son of his father's many business partners that's been on the brink of being ousted coming up to him . . . the beef trickling back to jiyong, the eldest and only son of his father's, having to take the heat . . . next thing he knew, he was flooring it to your apartment complex, his face pulsating.

he shook his head. "i didn't have anywhere else to go." he looked at you pleadingly. "its—its—" hard to explain, his inner monologue finished, but he couldn't get the words out. "do you . . . do you have a first aid kit?" his voice fell to a whisper. a moment went by before you responded, everything starting to sink in. "i do have something—" "—t-thank you!" he let out a breath. he grabbed your hands, kissing your inner wrists. "i'm so sorry b-baby. i didn't mean to scare you—i love you so fucking much." he cried. "hey, ji, i need you to breath." you brought him back down to earth, watching him inhale and exhale shakily. "you stay here and out of sight until i get back." you motioned to the brick wall to your left. he's done it before, hiding himself during a close call with your parents early in your relationship. "okay?" "y-yeah." he nodded. "don't—don't take long." "i won't."

you did what you could with the tools at your disposal: a bottle of antiseptic that's been lodged in the bathroom cabinet for years in case it was needed; applying it to his cuts with a cotton round, neosporin that was bought recently after your dad nipped his finger fixing a loose hinge on a kitchen cabinet, and a pack of bandaids that have been there as long as the antiseptic. it wasn't much, but it did the job. jiyong didn't have it in him to hiss at the slight stinging, let alone scrunch his face up in muted discomfort. you two sat in silence, you carefully placing the bandaid on his eyebrow as best you could, your other hand lifting his hair so it wouldn't stick to the adhesive. "do you wanna tell me what happened?" you spoke quietly, fingers fixing his hair. jiyong shook his head. "its fucking embarrassing." a beat went by. "i don't wanna scare you—or something." "you wouldn't. its not embarrassing to tell your girlfriend about something, ji." you told him. he recounted the night as best he could, but didn't lift his head to look at you; falling into mutters when it got to the more sensitive parts. it left you bewildered, but accepting—there wasn't any other choice.

"i'm sorry, jiyong." your hand rubbed his bicep tenderly. "you don't deserve that pressure. no one does." "it can get real fuckin' tough." he nodded, feeling the tears brew again. "like there's no way out sometimes. just gotta suck it up, y'know?" he looked up at you, sniffling. "i know." you whispered. "can i—" he let out a shaky breath. "can i stay here tonight?" "you know that's not possible, ji." you said—your parents down the hall. "i know," he nodded quickly, wiping his cheek. "but i just—i had to ask. how about the hotel? do you wanna go?" "i have work early in the morning." "oh shit—yeah. i forgot. sorry." he muttered. he knew this was coming: he'd have to deal with these emotions himself. he wasn't new to this, but it would've been nice to spend the night with his love. "its okay." you assured, reaching for his hand. "can you—can you hold me? i'm sorry, i don't wanna be a burden—" "—shut up." you cut him off, pulling him into your embrace. he nuzzled his face into your neck nearly immediately, wrapping his arms around your waist, eyes closing at the feel of your hands traveling up his back, settling behind his shoulders. you talked to him in a way that would resonate: "when you're the love of my fucking life, there's no such thing as being a burden." you whispered into his ear. "do you fucking hear me, ji? hm?" "yes." he responded meekly, holding onto you tighter.

your palm smoothened his hair, petting the back of his head like he’d wither away at any second. “i told my parents about us.” “you did?” he expected the worst. “what did … what did they say?” “they brought up your dad,” sounds about right, jiyong thought to himself. “which is surprising, since they usually keep to themselves, so i didn’t expect them to know. but i guess if you don’t talk, you listen.” you thought aloud, hearing and feeling jiyong hum as he listened. he opened his eyes, pondering if he should say what was brewing in his head. i’ve spilled so much tonight, he figured, might as well. “what did you say?” he asked. “i told them they have no idea what they’re talking about,” his eyes fluttered closed, holding you closer. “and left it at that.” he felt his face grow hot. “would they—would they ever wanna meet me?” “funnily enough, my mom asked me this morning before she left for work.” your hand traced up and down his arm. “between you and i,” you grinned. “she looked a little excited at the prospect.” “really?” jiyong lifted his head. “that's—that’s amazing.” a twinkle returned to his eyes. “we can take her to val’s,” the restaurant he took you to, “anything she wants, she gets. i don’t give a fuck how high the bill is.” he shook his head, wiping his cheeks with the back of his hand. “what about your dad?” “he’ll come around.” you said. you saw his face drop a little. “it’ll take some time, but he’ll come around. i promise.” your hand came up, fingers fixing his hair, though it looked fine; you just wanted to be near him. jiyong nodded, turning his head to kiss your palm before leaning in, bringing his lips to yours. “i don’t know where i’d be without you.” “me neither.”

the next several months were smooth sailing. your first valentine’s was spent at val’s before making the headboard bash into the wall at the hotel—the bouquet of roses jiyong gave you sitting idly next to the gifts you got for one another on the tv stand. come spring, you met his family! not only his immediate, but most of his extended, as well. it called for extensive preparation: “what do i wear?” you asked him from your end of the line, mobile flip phone held between your ear and shoulder as you reached for your go-to cereal. “i don’t know—something casual?” jiyong lugged his laundry bag down the basement stairs. “its a fuckin’ dog’s birthday party. wear anything you want.” he let out a breath, lifting the top of the washer open. “no, jiyong,” you huffed, pouring your cereal into your bowl. “be for real. i’m not showing up in jeans. tell me so i can thrift accordingly.” “thrift? fuck no. i’m taking you to the mall to figure this out. what time’s your shift end?” “two.” you looked at the time on the oven—you had to be out the door in twenty minutes. “great,” you heard jiyong as you chewed. “we’ll be there at two-thirty.”

rodney’s adoption day party was as lively as a graduation or wedding engagement celebration. the love was in the air, specifically an excuse for a huge family to get together and eat good food. jiyong’s mother dashed over to you in her kitten heels before her son could utter a mere syllable, harnessing the most welcoming aura. “you’re more beautiful than i ever could’ve imagined, oh my goodness!” she seemed like the happiest person in the world, holding your face so softly in her hands as if you were god-sent. she took the boxed tiramisu you brought with a look of appreciation, taking your hand in hers, and effectively away from jiyong as she brought you to the festivities in the backyard; much to his chagrin. “how’re you feeling?” jiyong asked when his mother was beckoned away by an in law, hand on your lower back. “a lot of things,” you nodded. “many things—good things. colliding.” he chuckled. “good,” he nodded. “come here, we’ll start with my cousins.”

no one had to tell you his father was the one standing on the opposite end of the poolside, the way he carried himself did the talking. he was conversing with a small group when jiyong brought you over. he was half an inch taller than jiyong, never faltering his posture, even when extending his hand to shake yours. you were so fucking nervous, looking up at him with your best smile and polite greeting. it was like he knew, because what he said next was so disarming it nearly made you dizzy: “i’d usually be a lot less formal with my son’s girlfriend, but i’ve got a reputation to uphold with these guys.” he gestured his head to the right. you let out a laugh, missing him patting jiyong’s shoulder and giving him an approving, re-assuring wink. you went to motherfucking town on that bulgogi, coupled with bottomless in-house mimosas (“compliments to the chef, your mom—holy shit.” “that’s what i’m saying!”); surprised when rodney recognized you after only meeting a couple times, delighted when he came over and sat by your feet (“you’re his mommy.” “you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”); or him watching happily when you got along with one of his older cousins, talking to her about coldplay’s upcoming record. a job well done; a new chapter opened.

you were invited frequently back to his house for dinner thereafter. your parents did come around, treated to dinner at val's—jiyong answering whatever questions your father threw at him with unbridled ease. finally, after all this time, it felt as if things were falling into place. so much so that when it came time for his birthday, several weeks after celebrating your first year together, you took a page out of his book: making a mixtape. sure, your family computer was running like a jet engine by the end of it … and you picked up an album of an artist he likes just in case it didn’t work … along with something else … but its the thought that counts, right? right. you handed him the small gift bag before after he climbed out your bedroom window, ready to say goodnight. “happy birthday, my love.” you held his face, bringing your lips to his. “thank you, baby.” he smiled. “what is it?” you tsked, making him chuckle. “open it when you get home. its just … a little something.” “a little something?” “a token for you to remember me by.” you grinned, referring to his family’s week long trip visiting his elder sister and brother-in-law, set to fly out early in the morning. “your dramatic ass.” he teased, giving you a sweet kiss. “i love you. i’ll be back before you know it.” “i love you too,” you rested your hands on the windowsill, watching him descend down the fire escape. “page me when you get home—drive safe!” “i will!”

the mixtape worked, holy shit! he read the accompanying card with a grin on his face, heart doubled in size, practically seeping out of his pores when he opened a greatest hits cd of one of his favorite artists. he set them down on his nightside table, peering into the bag and seeing a box was left. he fished it out—it looked like it would house jewelry, nothing bigger than that. did she get me a bracelet? necklace, maybe? he wondered, lifting the lid. what stared back at him was unmistakable ribbed knit black fabric, lined with what looked to be white elastic hemming tucked into the sides; half of the brand name visible. “holy fucking shit.” he whispered to himself. he’s seen you wear this pair before—better yet, he’s taken it off of you before. he picked the folded underwear out of the box, watching it dangle off his fingers in awe. a thought flashed in his mind. he leaned in, inhaling. then he inhaled again. and again. and again. is that why she went to the bathroom before i left? to fucking pack this—he inhaled sharply, looking down and seeing how hard he was through his shorts. holy fuck.

he triple checked that his bedroom door was locked, taking an extra precaution and lodging the top of his desk chair underneath the handle. jiyong kicked his shorts and briefs off, laying comfortably in bed. he took a deep breath, beginning to stroke himself. he started slow, not wanting to work himself up too quickly. he stared at your underwear held in his palm, letting it dangle onto the linen before scooping it back up, teeth raking over his bottom lip. “look how hard you made me, b-baby—s-shit!” he whispered to himself, stomach curling inward, that fucking knot in his abdomen already threatening him. “look how hard you made your jiyongie.” the amount of precum he already had was (to him) embarrassing, making him grip his stiffened dick more firmly to prevent it from slipping; inadvertently making his mind numb and toes curl. “f-fuck!” he mewled. “keep—keep f-fucking me, b-baby! keep fucking jiyongie just like that—a-agh!” his voice escaped into a higher register, almost invisible in his broken whisper. he pressed the back of his hand against his lips to quiet himself, bringing your underwear back to his nose, eyes rolling back upon catching your scent again. a vein popped onto his temple, sweat building on his forehead—eyes shut, thinking of how your skin jiggles every time he fucks you; the way you look up at him before taking his dick in your warm mouth; the thought of you taking your underwear off in the bathroom and packing it for him.

“o-oh my god!” he whimpered. without thinking, he wrapped your underwear around his dick the best his horned-out mind could, fucking his fist. “c-can’t h-help it, b-baby—can’t hold it in—f-fuck!” he came so hard, feeling it bleed through the fabric and trail down his balls. he breathed so hard he could power a fucking windmill, body feeling like jelly as he aimlessly reached for his jeans on the floor, fishing out his flip phone and speed-dialing you. all you heard was his heavy breathing: “hello? ji?” “i’m gonna f-fucking marry you.” he huffed, chest heaving. “what?” you furrowed your eyebrows, the microphone a little muffled. “is everything okay?” “i said—” he licked his lips. “i said i’m gonna marry you—a-agh! f-fucking—f-fuck.” he whimpered into the microphone, his mewls making it all click. you looked down at your thighs, heat brewing between them. “did you—” you swallowed. “did you like your gift?” “like it?” jiyong huffed. “baby, i—i came in it.” how could she act all innocent when she knows what she’s doing? oh my god—i’m gonna get hard all over again, his inner monologue rambled, breathing finally leveling. your jaw fell, catching it quickly behind your palm. “good to—good to know.” you muttered, hiding your face from no one. i wonder if that hotel would accept guests at one in the morning … you thought to yourself.

by the end of your second summer together, there was a stack of photos on your dresser—developed from various disposable cameras. most were from the same barbecue, beginning with a photo of you and a friend making drinks in the kitchen; the snacks lining the counter; the small bonfire that somehow became overexposed when developed; jiyong giving a thumbs up when the flash went off—a tester photo when you thought you fucked the camera up; you and your friends trying to coordinate a photo; you in the middle with jiyong and seunghyun (you finally know who he is! he’ll never let that inside joke go) on either side of you; and two of you and jiyong smiling grandly in both—the first with his arms around you sweetly; the second he calls “just let your dad handcuff me right now,” his hands visibly on your ass, cigarette hanging between his lips as he grinned. he couldn’t help the very characteristic thing he said after picking the photos up from the department store, rifling through them with you in his car: “damn. we look hot as fuck, baby.”

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