[arilevenatz]

Silent vows | K.Y.S

Pairing: Mafia!Yeosang x Reader

Genre: Arranged marriage, One-sided slow burn (idek 😭), slight enemies to lovers, fluff

Word count: 22.4k

Warnings: forced marriage, slow ahh burn, emotional abuse, stalking, jealousy, implied violence, insecurity, yeosang is THE husband, we all want him

AN: Ok so happy belated birthday to my boy yeosang. The most prettiest, angelic mf I've ever seen. Like how can a man be so pretty and handsome at the same damn time. Also this was kinda like a prompt but I can't for the love of god find the comment. But you know who you are, thank you

Part 2 | Masterlist

“I’m not doing it.”

The words left your mouth before you could stop them, sharp and fast, cutting across the heavy air in the room like a blade. The study smelled like old leather and wood polish, the same way it always did when your father called you in for his lectures. But this wasn’t a lecture. This was something else. He sat behind that heavy desk, wearing the same expression he always wore when he made decisions for other people’s lives— calm, practiced, untouchable.

“This isn’t a request,” he answered, barely sparing you a glance. “It’s a responsibility.”

You could’ve laughed. Honestly, you almost did. Responsibility. That word sounded hilarious coming out of his mouth. What did he know about responsibility? The only thing he was responsible for was dragging this family name around town like it was some royal crest, acting like being respected by neighbors counted for anything real in the world.

“You don’t get to sell me off like I’m a—”

“Enough.”

Just that one word. Quiet. Heavy. And somehow louder than your shouting could ever be. Your mother was standing near the window, arms folded like she was cold even though the room was warm. She didn’t speak. She never did, not in front of him. Just stood there looking outside, twisting her rings like she could disappear into the carpet if she tried hard enough. You hated that you weren’t even surprised.

“This marriage will benefit this family,” your father continued, smoothing his sleeves like this was some business meeting. “We’ve built this name for generations. And you will protect it.”

You clenched your fists tighter, nails biting into your palms. “Your reputation doesn’t mean anything outside this stupid town.”

It slipped before you could stop it, but you didn’t regret it. You meant it. All these formal dinners, these family events, these endless talks about legacy— all of it felt empty. Like a dying empire pretending it was still a kingdom.

“This family has survived longer than you’ve been alive,” your father shot back, finally meeting your gaze with steel in his eyes. “And you’ll do your part to make sure it stays that way.”

You could feel the walls closing in. You could feel your freedom shrinking, curling in on itself, suffocating before you could even scream.

“Kang Yeosang.”

The name hit you like a slap. Sharp. Direct. Cold. You knew that name. Everyone did. Not because he was some loud, reckless criminal—no, worse than that. He was dangerous in a way that didn’t make noise. Dangerous in the way silent oceans are. You don’t notice how deep they are until you’re already halfway sunk.

“Why him?” you asked, throat dry.

Your father barely blinked. “Because his family’s name will keep ours alive.”

Alive. Like this was survival. Like marrying you off to someone you didn’t even know was a favor. Like it was a gift. You hated how calm he was about it. You hated how your mother still hadn’t said a single word. You hated how small you felt in that moment, standing in a house you used to believe was home.

“I’m not going to his house,” you muttered finally, stubbornness flaring even when your heart was hammering in your chest. “You can make me marry him, but I’m not moving in with some— some stranger.”

For a second, you thought maybe—just maybe—that would get a reaction. That something in him would soften, crack, break.

It didn’t.

Instead, he stood. Calm. Slow. Adjusting the cuffs of his shirt with careful precision, like he was bored of the conversation already. “You will,” he said softly. “You’ll go to his house, you’ll be his wife, and you’ll do what’s expected of you.” “And if I don’t?” you pushed, lifting your chin like you weren’t breaking inside.

His gaze sharpened just enough for the threat underneath to show, sharp and cold as glass. “Then I’ll handle it my way.”

You knew what his way meant. Not blood. Not mafia violence. But ruin. Reputation torn apart. Family turned against you. Friends pushed away. He knew how to break you the polite way, the respectable way. Quiet destruction in the form of shame.

You swallowed thick, hot air that didn’t want to go down.

“I hate you,” you breathed.

But your father was already walking away, steps quiet against the polished floor.

“I can live with that.”

Your throat burned with all the things you wanted to scream, but only one thing came out. “What about my studies?”

It sounded small. Weak. But it was the only lifeline you could grab onto in that moment. Something that was yours. The one thing you had left that wasn’t part of their family dinners, or reputation games, or polite handshakes pretending to be alliances.

University was supposed to be your escape. Not glamorous. Not perfect. But it was freedom in its own, small way—early mornings, long commutes, paper deadlines, friends who didn’t care about who your father was.

Your father barely reacted.

“You can continue after the wedding,” he answered flatly, as if you were asking if you could have dessert after dinner.

You stared at him. “After?”

“Yes. You’ll still attend.”

But you knew what that meant. You knew the weight behind those words. After the wedding. After moving into a stranger’s house. After taking his last name. After your life wasn’t yours anymore. Technically, sure—you could go back. Physically, you could sit in the same classrooms, scribble in the same notebooks. But it wouldn’t be the same. Not with whispers curling behind your back. Not with people watching you like you were an exhibit. “That’s her—the girl who married into them.”

It would hang on you like invisible chains. Dragging behind you everywhere you went.

And worst of all—you wouldn’t be able to come home. Not really. Not to this family. Not to your old life. You’d have a new last name, a new house, a new set of rules written by someone else’s hand.

The walls of the study felt like they were closing in.

“I don’t want this,” you said, quieter this time. No yelling. Just raw honesty, like a last ditch effort to claw your way out. “This isn’t my life.”

Your father looked at you the same way he looked at accounts on paper. Math. Numbers. Problems to solve, not feelings to fix.

“It is now.”

Simple. Unforgiving. Final.

You could almost feel the weight of your choices shrinking down to nothing. Every dream you used to picture folded neatly into a little box, pushed aside for family names and legacy dinners with strangers in pressed suits. Your stomach twisted. Hot. Cold. Rage and panic mixing together until you couldn’t tell which was worse.

You wanted to shout, wanted to break something, wanted to drag this perfect little empire down brick by brick just to prove you could—but you stood there frozen, fists clenched, staring at a man who would never, ever see you as anything but his tool first.

Come to the house.”

“Now?”

“Now.”

Yeosang sighed, rubbing his hand over his jaw. “Alright. Be there in twenty.”

It wasn’t unusual—getting called over like this. His father didn’t waste words, didn’t waste visits. If he was calling, it meant something needed handling.

By the time he got to the mansion, the gates were already open like they always were when they expected him. The house was quiet, the same way expensive places are—grand, but not loud about it. Just old money tastefully sitting in every piece of polished wood.

His father was already in the study when Yeosang stepped inside, standing by the window, one hand in his pocket like it was muscle memory by now. Glass of whiskey in the other. Of course.

“You’re early,” his father said without turning around.

“You said now.”

His father finally looked over, gave him that familiar once-over like he was assessing a report. “Fair enough.”

There was a beat of silence. Not tense. Just quiet.

Then—

“There’s going to be a wedding.”

Yeosang blinked once. “Yours?”

His father gave him a flat look, one eyebrow raising the way it always did when Yeosang was being difficult on purpose. “Yours.”

Yeosang huffed a breath, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh, stepping further into the room. “That supposed to be funny?”

His father didn’t smile. “I’m serious.”

Yeosang stood still for a second, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek. “Is that what you dragged me here for? Could’ve sent a text.”

“This isn’t a text conversation.”

“You’d be surprised what can be said over text these days.”

That earned the smallest twitch at the corner of his father’s mouth. Approval, maybe. Maybe not. Hard to tell with him.

“It’s arranged,” his father said, cutting through Yeosang’s deflection cleanly. “Her family’s name still matters in this town. Not rich, not influential in our way, but solid. Traditional. The kind of people who care about reputation more than their own comfort.”

Yeosang tilted his head slightly. “So… charity work?”

“Strategy,” his father corrected smoothly. “They need stability. We don’t need much from them, but it keeps everything clean.”

“Clean,” Yeosang repeated under his breath. He crossed his arms, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe. “And I’m guessing I don’t get a vote?”

“You get an understanding. That’s enough.”

Yeosang didn’t argue. Not because he agreed, but because he knew there was no point. This was how it worked. Give and take. Favors. Names. Quiet deals behind closed doors.

He exhaled through his nose. “Who is she?”

“Y/L/N’s daughter.”

Yeosang’s brow ticked. “Didn’t know they had one.”

“Not surprising. They keep her out of sight. Books, classes, family dinners. But they need her to secure their name before it fades.”

Yeosang thought about that for a second. Reputation marriages were common enough. Boring, mostly. People shaking hands over other people’s futures like it was stock trading.

“You’ve met her?” he asked.

“Briefly. Enough to know she’s going to fight it.”

“Great.”

His father glanced at him then, sharp. “Not your job to like it. Just your job to make it work.”

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t,” Yeosang muttered, rolling his jaw. “I’m just saying… if she’s gonna be difficult, it’s gonna be annoying.”

His father’s gaze didn’t soften, but there was a certain understanding there. “You’ll handle it.”

Yeosang let out a dry chuckle. “Yeah,” he said, pushing off the doorframe. “Guess I will.”

As he turned to leave, his father added quietly, “This isn’t punishment.”

“I know.”

And he did. This was just how things worked. Fair or not—his life wasn’t completely his own anymore. Yeosang sat behind the wheel, thumb tapping against the steering wheel as he pulled out of the driveway. Headlights cutting clean lines through the dark street, smooth turns, muscle memory driving him home while his mind drifted elsewhere.

Marriage. Arranged.

He scoffed quietly to himself, shaking his head once. What was he supposed to do with someone else’s family name attached to his life?

Some sheltered daughter of a traditional family, probably the kind who spent too much money on handbags and complained when the AC wasn’t cold enough. He could already hear the whining. Could already see the way she’d expect to live in his place, treat it like a hotel, float through his routine like an expensive perfume he didn’t ask to wear.

No, that wasn’t happening.

Maybe he’d buy her an apartment somewhere else. Nothing fancy, but decent enough. They could do the whole photo ops thing, wear the rings, play nice for the public, then go back to separate lives. Paper marriage. Clean. Or worse—she could be one of those girls who latched on for money. Gold digger. Probably already imagining his credit cards with her initials on the back.

He pressed his tongue to his cheek in irritation. God, he hated gold diggers.

Maybe she’d show up to the first meeting with some designer bag acting shy, but batting lashes like she knew exactly how to play the game. All wide eyes and fake humility. Great. Just what he needed—another headache in heels.

And the name—YN.

It felt familiar. Couldn’t place it, but the reputation was old enough to echo through town. Traditional. Reputed. The type of family that prided themselves on manners but ate each other alive behind closed doors.

The kind that smiled with their teeth.

He drummed his fingers once more, sharp taps on the leather, jaw set.

Alright.

If he was going to be stuck with this arrangement, he might as well know what he was dealing with. And he wasn’t about to walk into it blind. He had resources. Skills. Connections that didn’t come from LinkedIn profiles or polite family dinners. If they thought he was going to just sit back and play along without checking her first, they clearly didn’t know him well enough.

Fine. If she was going to be part of his life, even on paper, he’d find out exactly who she was—before she even stepped in the same room as him.

He flicked his blinker, turning toward his penthouse, already thinking about who to call first.

Let’s see what Miss YN was hiding.

By the time Yeosang finished, he knew more about her than her own family probably did.

University—small, local, nothing flashy. Biology major. Not exactly the typical rich family trophy daughter. No branded handbags, no influencer lifestyle. Her socials were barely active. Private, even. Most of her posts were old, nothing more than the occasional picture of a sunset or food she cooked. No thirst traps. No fake aesthetic feeds.

She liked drawing. Had an old art account that hadn’t been touched in months—messy sketches of flowers and animals, all pencil or black ink. Crochet too. Random photos of half-finished scarves stuffed in a drawer. Cooking—simple recipes, home stuff, not the kind of thing you post to show off, just to remember.

Her friends? A few from university. Small group chats. Normal conversations. Mostly about classes, complaining about assignments, nothing interesting. No clubbing pictures. No vacation shots with secret boyfriends tagged under fake accounts.

The further he dug, the more it annoyed him—not because he found anything bad, but because he didn’t. No scandals, no secret plans to social climb, no hidden motives that screamed gold digger or spoiled brat.

She was just… boring.

Boring in the way people are when they’re not trying to be noticed. And for some reason, that irritated him more than if she had been a problem.

Yeosang leaned back in his chair, tossing his phone on the table. Elbow propped on the armrest, hand running through his hair, frustration curling at the edges of his jaw.

Great. Now he was stuck marrying some quiet, awkward, crochet-making biology nerd who probably spent more time reading textbooks than thinking about designer clothes. Not exactly the chaos he was expecting.

But that was fine.

Boring or not, it didn’t change the situation. Didn’t change the fact that she probably didn’t want this marriage any more than he did. Didn’t change the fact that, like it or not, she was about to become his problem.

The small cafe tucked between two old bookstores smelled like cinnamon and burnt espresso, the kind of place you’d miss unless you were looking for it. Y/N liked it that way—quiet, steady, familiar. No loud music, no influencers with tripods. Just people who liked good coffee and minding their own business.

She stepped up to the counter, eyes scanning the pastries before glancing at the girl behind the register. “I love your hair,” she said softly, a small smile pulling at her lips. “That color looks really good on you.” The girl blinked, caught off guard, then smiled wide. “Oh! Thank you—I just dyed it last week.”

Y/N nodded, pleased. Compliments were easy. They made people softer. And the girl was pretty, her pastel blue curls tucked behind her ear like she wasn’t sure yet if she liked them. Little things like that made the world feel less sharp.

She ordered her coffee, tucked herself into the corner seat like she always did, pulling her notebook out of her bag. Pages filled with messy diagrams, doodles in the margins, recipes scrawled sideways between molecular structures.

What she didn’t notice—what no one noticed—was the man sitting at the table near the window, fingers idly circling the rim of his untouched cup, black baseball cap low over his brow.

Yeosang watched all of it with that same steady, unreadable expression he always wore when he was thinking too much. He wasn’t even sure why he was there. Habit, maybe. Curiosity. Boredom. The fact that the more he found out about her, the more it didn’t add up with what he expected. Normal girls didn’t compliment strangers just because. Normal girls—especially daughters of families clawing for reputation—were supposed to be fake polite. Smile, nod, move on. But she meant it. He could tell. You didn’t fake that kind of tone.

He watched the way she curled into herself, scribbling in that notebook like the rest of the world didn’t exist, lips pressed into a soft frown of concentration.

Just a quiet girl who looked like she was holding herself together with coffee and stubbornness.

Yeosang leaned back in his chair, crossing one ankle over his knee, jaw ticking once. This was going to be annoying in a completely different way. Y/N didn’t notice him when she left.

He watched her go, watched the way she shrugged her bag higher onto her shoulder, thumb absentmindedly rubbing at a little ink stain on her wrist from writing earlier. She moved like someone used to being unnoticed, like she liked it that way. The door chimed behind her, soft and forgettable.

Yeosang waited a beat, then stood, shoving his hands into his coat pockets as he stepped out onto the street. He wasn’t planning to follow her. Not really. That wasn’t his thing. He wasn’t the lurking type. But something about the whole thing felt unfinished—like he’d walked into a movie halfway through and now he needed to know how it ended, even if it was boring. Especially because it was boring.

She turned down one of the smaller streets, familiar paths clearly mapped in her head. She didn’t hesitate. Not once. Like she’d walked this way so many times her feet didn’t need permission anymore.

Normal. Predictable….Except for the part where, in a few weeks, her life wouldn’t be.

That was the thing gnawing at the edge of his mind. She didn’t know yet. Not fully. Probably knew about the arrangement, sure, but she didn’t know what marrying into his family meant. What marrying him meant. She looked like she still had hope things would be fine. Like she still thought she could negotiate her way out of it if she used the right tone with her father.

Cute.

He wasn’t cruel. He wasn’t the type to tear down someone just because he could. But he wasn’t about to let someone walk into his life acting like it was optional.

This marriage was happening. She was going to be his. And the sooner she realized that, the easier it was going to be for both of them.

Yeosang sighed, pulling his cap lower as he turned the opposite direction, heading back toward his car. No point in being seen. Not yet. He’d play it properly, like he always did—let the introductions happen the way their fathers arranged, act like this was his first time seeing her. Civil. Normal.

For now, she could keep her quiet cafes and notebooks full of diagrams.

Soon enough, she’d be sitting across from him at a dinner table pretending she wasn’t thinking about escape routes.

And when that time came—

He’d enjoy watching the fight leave her eyes when she realized there weren’t any.

The dining room was too polished. Everything in it felt like it belonged in a magazine—heavy chairs, polished forks, crystal glasses that didn’t belong to people who used them often. It smelled faintly like expensive old wood and control.

Y/N sat straight, shoulders set, jaw locked like she’d been preparing for this her entire life. Polite daughter. Obedient. Chin slightly tilted up—not too much to look rude, just enough to show she wasn’t going to shatter on command.

Across the table, Yeosang sat with his elbow resting lazily on the armrest, fingers tapping slow against the tablecloth. His gaze was on her, not in the obvious way, not wide-eyed or curious—more like someone reading a file they already memorized but going over it again for fun.

“So,” his father started, formal tone sharp around the edges, “this is long overdue.”

Her father chuckled lightly, already halfway sunk into the leather chair like this was a golf meeting. “We’ve been meaning to sit down properly.”

Yeosang barely blinked. “Mm.”

Y/N didn’t look at him at first. Her eyes were trained on her plate, expression soft but unreadable, like she’d pulled politeness over herself like armor. When she finally did glance at him, it wasn’t shy—it was calculated. Brave. Probably spent the last week practicing it in the mirror.

Didn’t matter.

He knew everything already. Biology major. Draws on the side. Probably keeps her yarn stuffed in a drawer somewhere in that tiny bedroom of hers. Ordinary, and for some reason, that irritated him more than anything else could have.

Their parents carried the conversation like businessmen. Deals, family names, subtle remarks about strengthening ties. It wasn’t a dinner—it was a contract, disguised in roast chicken and overpriced wine.

Yeosang’s eyes didn’t leave her.

Y/N shifted her grip on the napkin under the table, folding it tighter in her palm. Eyes stayed low—not on purpose, not because she was scared—but because eye contact always felt like permission for people to ask more questions. And she wasn’t in the mood to explain herself to anyone at that table.

Yeosang sat across from her, speaking with her father like he wasn’t being sized up for marriage. Confident. Comfortable in a room full of expectations. His voice was steady, like someone used to being listened to, used to having the final word in a conversation. The kind of steady that didn’t need raising.

His father said something about ties between families. Her father hummed in agreement. Someone poured more wine. The edge of Yeosang’s gaze cut toward her briefly. He didn’t stare. Just checked. Like someone glancing at a watch to see how much longer they had to stay.

“So,” his voice finally reached her side of the table, low, smooth, without decoration, “biology.”

Her fork hovered, not quite raised, not quite lowered. “Yeah.”

He waited. No explanation followed. No polite rambling about how she got into it, what she wanted to do with it, how hard it was balancing studies with life. Just that quiet confirmation, like she wasn’t going to give him more than that unless dragged.

Something about that pulled a faint curve to the corner of his mouth—not a smile, not even close, just interest. Her fingers folded the napkin tighter.

“You gonna finish that?” he asked, eyes flicking to the untouched half of roasted potatoes on her plate.

Finally, her eyes met his. Not soft, not flirty—flat. Careful. “Do you want it?”

He shrugged once. “Didn’t think you were shy about eating.” “I’m not.”

He raised an eyebrow, mildly amused. “Good.”

Silence again, heavy but not uncomfortable. Just two people used to not needing to fill it. Her father started speaking about how she could continue studying after marriage, casual, like saying we’ll paint the guest room next week. She didn’t bother correcting him, though the heaviness in her chest said she wanted to. No way it would actually work that easily.

She didn’t say anything else for the rest of the meal. Yeosang didn’t, either.

He just watched her, like a lion watching something small—not because he wanted to pounce, but because he was curious if it was going to run. Neither of them moved first.

Yeosang watched the way her fingers kept folding the napkin tighter and tighter, like if she could just make it small enough, she could disappear into it. But her expression didn’t match the tension in her hands. She didn’t look flustered. Didn’t look desperate. Just… controlled. Like someone who’d been living with locked doors their whole life and knew better than to jiggle the handle too loud. Interesting.

“Do you usually not talk,” he murmured, cutting into the silence, “or is that just for me?”

The faintest breath of humor pulled at her nose before she could stop it. “Depends.”

“On?”

She let her gaze flick up—not to his eyes, just above them. “Whether or not the person across from me deserves it.” His tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek, and for a second, he almost laughed. Almost. This wasn’t what he expected. Spoiled daughters didn’t sit at tables folding napkins into perfect squares like they were holding knives in their laps.

And she didn’t look at him properly, not even once. Not because she was scared. Because she didn’t care. But she would.

Not in the way girls cared about him normally. Not wide-eyed or hopeful. No, she was going to care when she realized exactly how much of her life was about to be decided for her whether she folded napkins or full pages of essays. And the funny thing was—he didn’t want to break her. He just wanted to watch how long she could hold that line before she blinked first.

After the dinner dragged itself to its dull, polished conclusion, with the adults shaking hands over dessert like they’d just signed a treaty, Yeosang leaned back in his chair, elbow resting against the polished wood, fingertips brushing his jaw like he was thinking something over. And maybe he was. But the look in his eyes said this was calculated.

“So,” he said casually, but with the kind of weight that immediately drew the attention of both families, “how about next Thursday?”

The words dropped into the space between them with a deliberate softness, like a stone hitting still water. No one moved. His father raised a brow slightly, clearly pleased with the display of initiative. Her father smiled, the kind of smile fathers wear when they think their daughter’s life is finally falling in line. And Y/N—Y/N kept her fingers on the edge of her plate, eyes flickering up to Yeosang, finally, properly, but only for a second.

“Thursday?” she echoed, like she needed to make sure she heard him right, even though she absolutely had.

He nodded once, slow, composed. “Next week. You’ll be free, won’t you?”

It wasn’t a question. Not really. Not with the way every eye at that table turned toward her, expectant, waiting for her to be agreeable. Marriage was already settled like property; a casual dinner date wasn’t going to shake the foundation of that, but somehow, this felt worse.

Her jaw tensed before she could stop it, irritation curling hot under her ribs—not because she didn’t expect him to test her, but because he chose Thursday. Her only weekday off. Her only breathing space. Her only time where nobody expected her to be anything, say anything, do anything. She studied late on Thursdays, sometimes sat in the library doing nothing but scribbling messy notes on scrap paper that didn’t mean anything, just because she could. And now he was looking at her like he knew that. Like he’d planned that.

“I suppose,” she muttered, voice clipped, polite, lined with quiet annoyance that no one but him seemed sharp enough to hear. “Since you’ve already picked the day for me.”

Their fathers chuckled, pleased at the display of future marital bliss like they were in on some great joke. His father gave him that approving glance—the good, take responsibility look that was passed between powerful men in rooms like this. But Yeosang wasn’t watching anyone else. Just her. Measuring. Testing. Curious how far she could fold before snapping.

“You’ll like it,” he said simply. No tease. No apology. No smile.

She didn’t respond. Just folded the napkin in her lap one more time before setting it neatly on the table like she was handling something fragile. She didn’t look at him again, not because she was shy, but because she knew better. If she did, it’d feel like she was giving him something.

And right now, she wasn’t in the mood to give him anything. But she was curious now. Why Thursday?

Yeosang saw everything. He wasn’t sitting there with that calm posture and steady gaze for show—he was trained for this, raised on discipline sharper than any blade, molded under the expectation that one day he would carry the weight of something much heavier than family name. He was observant. Always. And while everyone at that table was busy patting each other’s backs over the success of an arranged marriage neither party asked for, Yeosang was watching her like a map he was learning by memory.

It was the way she folded the napkin—not once, not twice, but over and over. Each time, pressing it smaller, sharper, tucking corners like she wanted it neat but not too neat, controlled but never pristine. People who folded things that many times weren’t trying to fidget—they were trying to manage something they couldn’t put words to. He’d seen it in tense meetings, watched rival leaders smooth the edges of cufflinks or touch their watches repeatedly when they were hiding nerves or holding in words they couldn’t say aloud.

And she didn’t even realize she was doing it.

But that wasn’t the only thing. He caught the tiny shifts in her posture whenever her parents leaned too close, a subtle lean away—not disrespectful, not obvious, just barely enough to create distance like muscle memory. She didn’t flinch. She didn’t recoil. She managed it. As if that small separation was the only thing keeping her breathing steadily through this whole suffocating display of family pride.

Then there was her food. The careful way she pushed it around her plate, not because she was picky or entitled, but because eating under watchful eyes wasn’t the same as eating alone. Separating textures, shapes, colors, almost like categorizing parts of herself she wasn’t ready to share yet. It wasn’t disinterest—it was control. She was being studied, so she gave them nothing. Not even in the way she chewed.

Most people didn’t notice these things. Hell, most people didn’t even know they did them. But Yeosang saw it all like someone reading subtitles under a movie no one else could hear. And with every fold of that napkin, with every subtle lean of her shoulder, with every glance that never quite met anyone else’s fully, he knew one thing for certain—

She was no ordinary girl.

No spoiled daughter. No meek little thing waiting for a husband to save her from some sheltered life. There was something under that careful silence, something sharp, something waiting. Not the loud kind of defiance—but the quiet kind that made revolutions possible if left alone too long.

Yeosang didn’t know what that thing was yet. But he wanted to. Not to break her. Not to tame her. Not even to get under her skin. He just wanted to see what would happen if someone finally pressed back. And he was more than prepared to be that someone.

But he was no saint, either. Sure, Yeosang was observant. Sure, he was sharp, disciplined, raised on a steady diet of politics, violence, and strategy—but he was also his father’s son. And that bloodline came with one very particular curse: the chronic, unrelenting need to poke at things just to see what sound they made when they cracked. It wasn’t malicious. It wasn’t even personal. It was just in his bones.

And she—sitting there with her neat napkin folding and careful glances and that stubborn refusal to give him anything—was basically gift-wrapped for that exact kind of cruelty.

Admit it. He was intrigued by her, sure. But more than that, there was an itch under his skin when he looked at her, this annoying, bratty curiosity that made him want to press buttons just to see what she’d do. Not because he wanted to humiliate her. Not because he wanted to watch her fall apart. No, it was because she didn’t flinch. And that was interesting. Different. Everyone flinched eventually—but she just… adjusted.

And she looked cute annoyed.

Not the whiny, spoiled kind of cute. Not the bratty, helpless kind. The kind of cute that made him want to lean closer, just to see if her voice would crack the same way her napkin did under her fingers.

He shouldn’t care. He shouldn’t even be here, technically, wasting brainpower on reading into a girl he was being forced to marry by family names he didn’t even particularly respect. But here he was, running mental diagnostics on someone’s napkin folding like it was part of a case file, and liking it more than he should.

And if he was going to be dragged into this circus of arranged happiness, he might as well have fun while he was at it.

Testing her? It wasn’t just strategy anymore. It was entertainment. Annoying her? That was just hereditary.

She really didn’t want to go.

Like—borderline, jump-off-the-balcony level of not wanting to go. Not because she thought it would fix anything, not because she was dramatic, but because the sheer dread of giving up the one day that belonged to her made her stomach twist. It was Thursday. Thursday was hers. Her one breath in a week full of held ones. Her one clean, unclaimed square of time where no one asked her to smile, or marry, or fold herself into something palatable.

But she didn’t jump, because that wasn’t how good girls act.

Her mother’s voice echoed in the bathroom as she brushed mascara through her lashes. ‘Be agreeable, Y/N. Don’t embarrass us. You’re not going to be one of those girls with tantrums and police reports. You’re better than that.’

Better. Whatever that meant.

So she got dressed. Pulled on clothes that said I didn’t try but I still look good because if she was going to be dragged into this, she was going to do it on her terms. She tied her shoes like she was tightening a tether around her own ankles. Did her makeup—not too much, not too little, just enough to look alive, to hide the exhaustion that simmered under polite nods and family dinners.

And when she finally looked at herself in the mirror, it wasn’t vanity staring back. It was survival. Thursday. Her Thursday. And now she was about to spend it across from him.

That annoying Yeosang with his sharp eyes and careful words, with his I’m watching you energy and the quiet smugness that didn’t need smiles or stupid flirting to make itself known. She could already hear his voice in her head, perfectly even, perfectly annoying.

And yet—she still tied her hair the way she liked it. Still put on her favorite necklace. Not for him. For herself. Because if she was going to war, she might as well wear armor.

She went down the stairs like muscle memory, footsteps light but steady, not really registering anything around her. Her parents said something—maybe a wish, maybe a warning, maybe one of those sugary “be good” reminders her mother loved so much. But it was all white noise, just the hum of life happening in the background of a mind that was already somewhere else entirely.

She didn’t ignore them on purpose. She was just zoned out. The kind of zoned out where you don’t even realize your keys are already in your hand, or that you locked the door behind you without thinking about it. Automatic. Like when you’re walking to class with music on and suddenly you’re already at the building, but you don’t remember crossing the street.

She didn’t remember leaving the front door. Didn’t remember if she’d even said goodbye, or if her mom had tried to fix the fold of her sleeve one last time like she always did. And she definitely didn’t see him until she stepped out onto the pavement and felt him.

There’s a specific kind of awareness that happens when someone’s eyes are already on you before you’ve noticed them. Like a silent tap on the shoulder. She glanced up—

—and there he was.

Leaning back comfortably in the driver’s seat of a sleek black car, windows down just enough to catch the breeze, one hand draped over the steering wheel like he had all the time in the world. Rap music playing in the background, not quiet but not obnoxiously loud. And that expression—not quite a smile, definitely not a grin, just that irritating curve of satisfaction people wore when they’d predicted something exactly right. Smug wasn’t even the word for it. It was too clean. Too Yeosang. Of course he was already here.

Of course he was watching her like he knew she wouldn’t have noticed him until now. She blinked once, slow, lips pressed in a thin line, and then kept walking. Didn’t acknowledge him, didn’t offer a greeting, just moved like she was late for something even though she wasn’t.

He leaned slightly forward as she approached, tapping his fingers once against the steering wheel, eyes glinting with that silent, irritating amusement.

You walked towards the car, your steps slower than usual, annoyance bubbling up at the sight of him sitting there, looking far too comfortable. You crossed your arms and leaned slightly against the door, giving him a flat look.

“I wasn’t aware you were picking me up,” you said, trying to keep your voice neutral. It came out a little sharper than intended, but you couldn't help it. This whole thing felt off, like you were being dragged into a game that you hadn’t agreed to play.

Yeosang just looked at you with that annoying, cocky expression, the one that always made your blood boil, and shrugged a shoulder. "Well, you should've been. It’s not like you had many options."

You felt a flicker of irritation, but it quickly settled into a calm mask. You weren’t about to give him the satisfaction of showing how much he got under your skin. Moving towards the backdoor, you reached for the handle, ready to slide in and get this over with.

Before you could even touch it, the car locked with a loud click.

You froze.

What the hell?

You looked up at him, surprised. He just sat there, still with that casual air, his eyes gleaming as if he was waiting for a reaction.

“Excuse me?” you said, narrowing your eyes.

Without missing a beat, he simply pointed to the passenger seat with an almost lazy gesture. "Sit there."

You blinked at him. You were about to say something—probably something rude—but you stopped yourself. There was no way you were going to let him mess with you like this. Still, you didn’t argue. You didn't have the energy to fight him over something so trivial. The car door opened with a quick swipe, and you slid in, your gaze still sharp but subdued.

Yeosang didn’t speak again as you buckled your seatbelt, his attention shifting to the road as he put the car in drive. The silence between you felt heavy, but you couldn’t bring yourself to break it. It was better this way. Better not to engage, better to keep things surface-level.

The ride was awkward. Well, for you, at least. Yeosang didn’t seem to feel it. His posture was relaxed, one hand on the wheel, the other resting lazily on the gear, like he was driving down to the beach with friends and not chauffeuring his future wife to some forced date neither of you wanted.

But you sat there, arms crossed, eyes out the window, chewing the inside of your cheek. And then it hit you. Wait. Is that Kendrick Lamar’s Reincarnated playing?

You blinked, eyes flickering toward the dashboard like you could confirm it with just a glance at the stereo. The beat was unmistakable, that heavy bass, sharp snare, and those layered vocals riding smooth over the instrumental. Of all the people to be playing Kendrick Lamar at full volume—it had to be him.

The irritation in your chest shifted slightly, replaced by something… warmer. Familiar. For a second—just a second—you forgot you were on your way to spend your Thursday afternoon with the most annoying man alive. You knew this song. Knew it.

Mentally, you started mouthing the lyrics in your head, matching every bar, every breath, every sharp flip of cadence like muscle memory. Word to word. Clean. Like second skin. It wasn’t loud in your expression, but your mind was in full concert mode, rapping like you’d been waiting for this exact song to save you from the awkwardness.

And for the first time since you sat in that car, you didn’t feel bored.

Without even realizing it, your fingers had started tapping against your thigh, following the beat with this natural kind of ease that only happens when something feels right. The awkwardness melted just slightly—not completely, but enough that you didn’t feel like throwing yourself out of the moving car anymore.

But then—

The song ended, and before you could even mourn the silence—another Kendrick song started playing. Different album. Same vibe. Same unmistakable energy. You frowned slightly, eyes flicking to the stereo now like it had betrayed you. Two Kendrick songs in a row? Coincidence?

You sat there for a second, staring ahead, lips pressing into a thin line as your brain worked overtime. Sure, it could’ve been a coincidence. Everyone liked Kendrick, right? But this felt… deliberate. Like someone had put it on a playlist. Was he doing it on purpose? Is he a fan too?

You glanced at him, cautious, like you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of catching you interested—but curiosity was starting to override irritation. He was just driving like usual, one hand lazily adjusting the volume like it was background noise to him. But something about how casual he looked felt rehearsed.

It didn’t sit right with you. Could’ve been random. Could’ve been a setup. Or… could’ve been both. But either way, you weren’t about to ask first. Nope. Not happening.

You just leaned back against the seat, eyes steady out the window, tapping your fingers again, this time not just because of the beat—but because you were thinking.

Yeosang was way too pleased with himself.

Not that he showed it outwardly—no smug grin, no teasing comments just yet—but inside? Yeah. He was damn near proud. Everything was going exactly how he wanted. Calculated. Controlled. Planned with the kind of precision that came from years of watching, learning, and frankly—being too damn good at reading people.

He knew everything he needed to know about you. Hell—he probably knew more about you than you did. He knew Thursday was your free day. Knew how you carved it out for yourself like it was holy ground. That’s exactly why he chose today to drag you out. Not because he wanted to ruin it. No—because it would be the one thing you couldn’t say no to. You’d either have to cancel your only peace of the week or face him—and he knew you’d pick facing him. Pride. Predictable.

He knew you didn’t like going out—not with family, not with friends, barely even by yourself. So, he came to you. Made it easy. Familiar car. Private. No excuses to back out last minute because “I didn’t feel like taking a cab” or “the bus was crowded”. Nah. He had you cornered, comfortably.

And the music? That wasn’t a coincidence, either. He’d seen the playlist. Hell, he’d memorized the damn playlist. Kendrick Lamar was your favorite in the rap genre, and it just so happened Kendrick was on his heavy rotation too, so it didn’t even feel forced. Just enough familiarity to make you settle in, just enough to make your fingers tap without realizing, to get you thinking maybe this won’t be as bad as I thought.

He didn’t need to ask you what you liked. He knew what you liked. Yeosang’s father didn’t raise fools—and Yeosang wasn’t about to start disappointing now.

He kept his eyes on the road, face clean of expression, like he didn’t know exactly what you were thinking. Like he hadn’t already played this scene out in his head a dozen times. You were stubborn, yeah—but he was patient. And precise.

He didn’t want to break you. Nah. That was boring. He wanted to watch. Watch how long you could act like you didn’t care. Watch how long you could pretend you weren’t curious. Watch how long it took before you realized—you weren’t the only one with sharp edges.

And yeah, he liked rap too. Lucky you.

The car rolled to a smooth stop, the hum of the engine cutting off and leaving behind the faint echo of Kendrick’s verse lingering in your head. You looked around, blinking slowly. Parking lot.

What kind of parking lot? You didn’t know. Big building, a few cars around, that slightly industrial vibe, but nothing familiar. You didn’t go out enough to tell which part of town this was, and frankly—you didn’t care. You just wanted to get this over with.

With a sigh, you reached for your seatbelt, pressing the button to unclip it…Nothing.

You pressed it again, harder this time, like maybe the extra force would convince it to listen to you. Nothing moved. “Oh, come on—” you muttered under your breath, tugging at the strap now with growing frustration. Typical. Typical. Of course this was happening. On today of all days. And the last thing you wanted to do—the very last—was ask him for help. But pride had limits, and you’d already used up most of yours agreeing to this disaster of a “date.”

You glanced at him reluctantly. “It’s stuck.”

He didn’t even pretend to be surprised. Didn’t flinch, didn’t chuckle—just leaned slightly toward you, unbothered, one hand moving with irritating ease to the buckle. The button clicked effortlessly under his fingers like it had just been waiting for him to do it.

“See?” he murmured, voice low, that smug little undertone threading beneath it. “I knew you’d need me eventually.”

Your jaw clenched, and you shot him a look that could’ve killed a weaker man on the spot. “It was broken.”

“Of course it was,” he replied, tone dripping with mock sympathy, before pushing his door open and stepping out like nothing just happened.

You sat there for a second, heat prickling at the back of your neck, wishing the ground would swallow you whole—but no such luck.

Fine. Whatever. You pushed your door open too, standing straight, brushing down your clothes like you hadn’t just been humiliated by a seatbelt. You wouldn’t let him have the last word. Not yet. Not ever.

You followed him, not knowing where you were going, but very aware of two things:

1. This was going to be a long day.

2. You hated how nice his stupid cologne smelled when he walked ahead of you.

But you had no intention of making this easy for him.

So, as soon as you both started walking, you slowed your pace—not obviously, not dramatically—just… enough. Enough to make it mildly irritating. Enough to make him notice. You weren’t even really doing it on purpose; he was just tall, and apparently, tall people had no concept of walking like normal humans. His strides were three of yours combined, and you refused—refused—to jog after him like some lost puppy.

If he wanted to drag you around, he was going to work for it. But the irritating thing? He didn’t say a word. Didn’t huff, didn’t throw a glance over his shoulder, didn’t tell you to hurry up like you half expected. He just walked, silent, hands in his pockets like this was the most casual thing in the world.

Until suddenly, about ten steps ahead, he stopped. Just stood there.

You narrowed your eyes, fully prepared for some passive-aggressive remark or maybe a sarcastic clap. You were ready for it. Bring it on. But instead—he just turned around and… held out his hand. You stared at it like it was something you didn’t understand.

The hell was that supposed to mean?

Your eyes flicked up to his face, searching for the usual sharp comment or hidden smirk—but nothing. He just stood there, hand out, expression unreadable but steady. “Grab on,” he said, like it was obvious. You blinked, caught between being offended and… genuinely confused. “What?”

“You’re slow,” he said simply, like he was pointing out the weather. “So grab on.”

You stared at his hand, then back at his face. “I’m not slow. You’re just fast.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” he said under his breath. “Now grab on before I make you.”

You didn’t move for a second. Pride screamed no, but practicality… well, it was tired of jogging every five steps to keep up. And something about the way he said it—firm, low, steady—not mocking, not playful, just… expecting—it made that prickling nervousness crawl up your spine again. You hated that tone.

But your hand moved anyway, slipping into his, your fingers curling awkwardly, like you didn’t know what to do with yourself. His grip was steady, firm—but not crushing. Not controlling. Just… leading.

Without another word, he started walking again, pulling you gently but efficiently alongside him, adjusting his pace—not entirely slowing down, but enough that you didn’t have to scramble. You hated how… easy it felt. Hated it more that your hand stayed there.

The deeper you both walked, the clearer it got—it wasn’t just some random building or a casual cafe. It was a restaurant. A fancy one.

Not just white tablecloth fancy, but crystal glasses, piano music playing softly in the background, waiters dressed better than your uncles at weddings kind of fancy. And honestly? It was too much.

Your dad never took you to places like this. Never. Said restaurants were a scam, said home food was better, cheaper, cleaner—but you knew better. You’d seen the unpaid bills, the receipts stuffed into drawers, the phone calls with that low, desperate tone he didn’t think you could hear. Gambling debt didn’t leave room for filet mignon or imported wine. You’d spent your life quietly excusing it, brushing it off, pretending you didn’t want this kind of thing anyway.

But standing here now, in this giant pristine place with soft golden lighting and tables spaced way too far apart, you felt like an imposter. Like you were wearing someone else’s shoes in a room you didn’t belong in. It was overwhelming. Too bright. Too clean. Too silent. Everyone here looked like they belonged. And you—you didn’t even know which fork to use first.

You hadn’t realized it at first, but your body did. Instinctively, without even thinking, you found yourself scooting closer to him. Not dramatically—not enough to look weird—but just enough that the space between you narrowed. Like proximity alone could make you smaller, safer, less obvious. The worst part?

It felt natural.

You hated that. Hated that the man you were mentally arguing with for the past hour was now also the one person here who felt vaguely familiar.

Yeosang noticed, of course he did. The tension of your shoulder brushing barely against his arm, the shift of your body tilting slightly toward his—he clocked it instantly. But he didn’t comment. Didn’t give you that teasing remark you were bracing for. Instead, his fingers adjusted slightly around yours, like he was anchoring you there. Silent. Steady. Just a solid presence beside all the marble floors and velvet chairs.

He didn’t say a word. But you felt it anyway. ‘I got you.’

Some guy—manager, waiter, whatever—showed up then, all polite smiles and expensive cologne, greeting Yeosang like they were long-lost friends or something. Said something about the table being ready, offered some words you didn’t really catch because your brain was too busy buzzing with nerves.

You weren’t listening. Didn’t want to. Everything felt too sharp around the edges. Before you could even process it properly, Yeosang had your hand again, guiding you forward with that same casual grip, not giving you the chance to hesitate. It wasn’t forceful, just… confident. Like he already knew you’d follow.

And you did.

He led you through rows of softly murmuring people until you reached a table—not entirely private, but tucked into a little alcove, partly hidden by frosted glass panels and low plants. Enough separation that you didn’t feel like fish in a tank, but not so hidden that it felt awkward. It was nice. Comfortable in a way you hadn’t expected.

Yeosang didn’t miss a beat. He stepped around you and—of course—pulled out the chair. You hesitated for half a second, eyes flickering up at him. No teasing expression. No sharp remark waiting. Just a simple gesture, like this was routine.

You sat down, the chair gliding smoothly beneath you, and he pushed it in with practiced ease. For a brief second, you hated how nice that felt. Not because of him. But because no one had done that before. Not dates, not family, not anyone.

You adjusted your sleeves awkwardly, trying not to fidget, while he walked around and took his own seat, leaning back with that effortless comfort like this was his living room and not a restaurant with menus you probably couldn’t even afford to read.

He picked up the menu with one hand, flipping through it casually like this wasn’t his first time here—which, judging by how the staff greeted him, you were sure it wasn’t. His eyes scanned the pages, sharp and focused, while the other hand rested lazily on the edge of the table. After a moment, he looked up, right at you. “What do you want?”

It shouldn’t have been a complicated question. Normal people would just… answer. Say pasta, steak, whatever. But for some reason, your throat tightened. It wasn’t nerves—not exactly. Just… indecision.

All your life, someone had chosen for you. Your mom, mostly. Always ordering for you at restaurants—never asking, just assuming. Always brushing off your opinions as “It’s not good for you,” or “You won’t like it.” Somewhere along the line, you stopped bothering to decide. It felt easier that way.

So you did the only thing that felt natural, default almost. “Whatever you’re having.” Yeosang paused.

His jaw ticked slightly, almost like he was holding back a sigh—but not in frustration. More like… patience. “That’s not how this works,” he said, voice lower, steady, like someone reasoning with a kid who was trying to eat candy for breakfast. “You don’t just copy.”

You shrugged, defensive, staring at the polished wood of the table. “I don’t know what’s good.”

“It’s not that deep,” he finished for you, lips twitching slightly—but not in mockery, just amusement. “It’s just food. Pick what you want.”

The thing was… no one had ever given you choices like that. Not explained them patiently. Not acted like your opinion actually mattered, even in something as small as dinner. It made your chest feel weirdly tight. Like you wanted to be mad, but couldn’t quite find the reason.

Yeosang didn’t press further. Just leaned back again, waving over the waiter with a lazy flick of his fingers, like this was the most normal thing in the world. But you sat there with the menu still open in your hands, staring at it…

That’s when it hit you—the slow, creeping embarrassment settling in the pit of your stomach.

You didn’t know how to read menus.

Not like literally not knowing how to read, but… you didn’t know how to understand them. Fancy restaurant menus weren’t in normal language—they were in that rich people language. Words like confit, beurre blanc, something-something reduction—you didn’t even know if you were ordering food or furniture. The more you stared at it, the worse it got. Everything blurred together until it just looked like noise on paper.

Your hand twitched slightly on the edge of the menu, the corners of it curling under your fingertips. You didn’t even know how to begin. Finally, you gave up. Quietly. Awkwardly. You placed the menu down and looked at him—really looked at him—for the first time all evening. Gone was the irritation, the stubborn defiance. Instead, it was something softer. Not defeated, but pleading.

“Can you just… choose?” you asked, voice low, almost hoping he wouldn’t make a scene about it.

For a second, he just stared at you. No teasing, no smug smile—just studying you. Calculating. Then, instead of making a big deal about it, he nodded once, sharp, like this was all perfectly normal. “Alright,” he murmured. “But you’re still gonna have choices.”

And then, like it was muscle memory, he listed things off. Simple. No complicated words, no long-winded chef specials.

“Do you want red sauce or white?”

“Chicken or beef?”

“Want dessert or not?”

Just basic questions, no extra fluff. Like someone breaking down rocket science to math tables. By the time he was done, it actually sounded like a meal, not a puzzle.

And without realizing it, you’d started folding the cloth napkin again. Neatly. Sharply. Fold, unfold, fold, unfold. It was muscle memory at this point—your fingers always needed something to do. Something to control, even when nothing else made sense.

Somewhere along the way, he’d passed you his napkin too. You didn’t even notice it. Just that at some point, your hands had another one to work with. Your mind didn’t register it; your body just accepted it, thankful for the extra fabric to keep you grounded.

It was quiet. Subtle. No words, no glances, no gestures. And while you kept folding and unfolding that napkin like your life depended on it, he just sat there across from you, arms resting lazily on the table, ordering both your meals in that steady voice like this wasn’t even a thing.

He didn’t act like he was helping. And you didn’t notice you were being helped.

While you were busy poking at the carefully cut chicken on your plate—eating but not really tasting—Yeosang sat across from you, trying not to lose his mind.

Cuteness aggression. That was the only way to describe it. Like he wanted to bite something or hit the table—not out of anger, but because you were just too much.

It wasn’t just the way you’d quietly surrendered, letting him order for you like it was nothing. It wasn’t just the way your fingers kept working that napkin like you didn’t even know you were doing it. It was the whole picture—the you of it all. Sitting there, looking like the softest thing in the sharpest world.

And that cardigan you were wearing? Please. He could tell by the stitching it was handmade. Probably by you. The unevenness of the cuffs, the slightly imperfect patterns—no brand could fake that kind of charm. You didn’t even know how much that cardigan was giving you away, how much of you was stitched into every row.

It made something in his chest tighten, like he wanted to tuck you somewhere safe. His pocket. A drawer. Somewhere you couldn’t get overwhelmed by menus and loud places and useless fathers.

But he still played it cool, leaning back a little, eyes glinting as he ran his thumb along the edge of his fork like he wasn’t thinking borderline insane things about a girl he just met. He glanced at the cardigan, then back at you, voice dropping casual but knowing.

“You make that?”

You blinked, pausing mid-bite. “What?”

“That cardigan,” he said, tone light, like they were talking about the weather. “You made it?”

You hesitated. Not because you were embarrassed—more because no one really noticed that kind of thing. Definitely not guys like him. But… you nodded. “Yeah.”

A lazy grin, sharp but not mocking, pulled at the corner of his mouth. “Figured. Looks like you.”

That sentence alone made your stomach flip in ways you didn’t have the energy to process. You didn’t even know what that meant. Looked like you? Quiet? Crocheted? Awkwardly stitched together? You didn’t ask. You just looked back down at your plate, busying yourself with another bite, folding that second napkin again like it was holding the fabric of your nerves together.

Meanwhile, Yeosang sat there, feeling way too satisfied with himself. You were dangerously cute. And he was dangerously aware of it.

He dropped you off, making sure you got to your front door before pulling away. You didn’t say much—a quiet “thanks,” barely audible—but you didn’t run away either. Progress.

But by the time he pulled into his father’s estate, parked the car, and stepped into the over-polished marble entrance, he was losing it. Hand over his mouth. Jaw tight. Muscles flexing like he was holding in a scream or something equally embarrassing. What the hell was that?

That wasn’t supposed to happen. You were supposed to be annoying. Spoiled. Bratty. Some daddy’s princess with acrylic nails and too much perfume. You were supposed to be the type he could dump in a nice apartment and visit once a month with gifts so you’d stay quiet about the whole arrangement.

But you weren’t. You were a mess. An organized, pretty, cardigan-wearing mess.

And worse, you didn’t even know you were cute. You weren’t even trying. You just sat there in that chair at that fancy-ass restaurant, folding napkins like they were some secret escape plan, wearing that handmade sweater like it wasn’t making him feel like an insane person.

And now? Forget that whole buying-another-place plan. That idea was dead the moment he saw how small you looked sitting across from him. No way. You were staying where he could see you. Reach you. Annoy you on purpose if he felt like it. Which he did.

He stood in the foyer of his father’s mansion, hand dragging down his face, pacing a little in his boots.

God. He felt like squealing. Like actually kicking something, or punching the air, or rolling on the expensive carpet like a twelve-year-old with a crush.

“This is insane,” he muttered to himself, like saying it out loud would make it make sense. It didn’t.

You were in his head. Neatly folded like that stupid napkin you kept twisting around your fingers. And for the first time in a long time, Kang Yeosang didn’t know whether he wanted to laugh, scream, or marry you right now.

The moment Yeosang stepped further into the house, hand dragging down his face, muttering like a lunatic, he heard it—the unmistakable voice of his old man echoing from the sitting room. “Why the hell do you look like a teenage girl who just got her first crush?”

Yeosang didn’t even flinch. Didn’t even stop pacing. Just waved his hand dismissively, as if to say don’t start. His father stood there in his usual crisp shirt, whiskey glass in hand like always, giving him that unimpressed look fathers reserve for sons who don’t follow in their exact footsteps.

“I’m serious,” his father huffed, stepping forward. “What the hell’s wrong with you? Why are you here anyway? Thought you liked hiding in that overpriced shoebox you call an apartment.”

Yeosang finally dropped his hand from his face, side-eyeing him, unimpressed. “Renovation,” he grumbled. “It’s getting fixed up. You want me to sleep on the street?” His father scoffed, taking a sip of his drink, shaking his head. “You could’ve stayed at one of the hotels we own.”

“Right. And let everyone think I’m homeless now. Good look for a mafia heir.” The older man narrowed his eyes, recognizing that tone. That annoying tone Yeosang always used when he was about to get smart-mouthed. “So why are you pacing around here like some lovesick idiot?”

Yeosang clicked his tongue, glaring at the floor like it personally offended him. “It’s your fault.”

“My fault?”

“You’re the one that set me up with her.”

His father’s brow lifted. “Did she bite?”

“She didn’t even blink.”

That made his father laugh. Really laugh. Like belly laugh, hand pressed to his chest, deep and loud in that expensive, echoey house.

“God,” Yeosang muttered under his breath. “You’re actually enjoying this.”

“Of course I am,” his father smirked. “Finally met someone who doesn’t fall apart under your pretty-boy nonsense. Good. You needed that.”

Yeosang rolled his jaw, annoyed beyond belief, but honestly? His dad wasn’t wrong. His father waved his glass toward him. “What’s the problem, then? I thought you were going to dump her in a penthouse and get on with life.”

“Yeah, that plan’s dead.”

“Why?”

Yeosang just stood there, defeated. “She’s too—”

“What? Petty? Weird? Mean?”

“…Soft.”

His father blinked, confused. “Soft?”

Yeosang didn’t elaborate. Didn’t have to. Soft in a way that made him want to ruin someone’s life if they made you cry. Soft in a way that made him want to drag you closer by the wrist when you got overwhelmed. Soft in a way that pissed him off because he liked it too much. His father just shook his head, amused, like he knew exactly what kind of hell Yeosang was walking into. “Good luck with that, Romeo.”

“Shut up.”

You did not expect this. A casual text? Fine. Him calling you just to “check in”? Annoying, but tolerable. Even him dragging you out on those stupid dates now and then—you could live with that. But this? Showing up to your university?

What the actual hell was wrong with him?

It wasn’t even subtle. Of course it wasn’t subtle. Not with that stupid black car of his parked right at the entrance, shining like a beacon of unwanted attention. Not with him leaning against the door like he was shooting a damn commercial, sleeves rolled up, sunglasses pushed into his hair, looking like every other man’s nightmare and every other woman’s distraction.

And people noticed. Oh, they noticed. Girls whispering, eyes widening, phones coming out to take sneaky pictures. A group of guys near the library basically breaking their necks trying to get a better look. And you?

You wanted the ground to open up and swallow you whole. He had the audacity to wave at you. Like this was normal. Like this wasn’t blowing up the very careful life of low attention, quiet exits, don’t talk to me I’m just here to graduate you had built for yourself.

You speed-walked. Not even pretending anymore. Walked up to him so fast it looked like you were about to commit a crime. “What the hell are you doing?” you hissed under your breath, shoving at his shoulder, eyes darting around like you were being followed by paparazzi.

“Picking you up,” he said, casual as you liked, like this wasn’t the most embarrassing moment of your life unfolding in real time.

“Get in the car,” you snapped. “Now.”

And, the bastard, he laughed. Laughed like this was a game.

Still, he obeyed, sliding into the driver’s seat like he was doing you a favor. You yanked the passenger door open, practically diving inside, head ducked like you were avoiding a sniper.

The moment the door shut you rounded on him. “Are you insane?”

“I missed you,” he said, like that explained anything.

“You could’ve— texted me or something! I don’t need the whole uni thinking I’m with someone rich”

“You are with someone rich,” he corrected, one hand casually gripping the wheel, the other resting over the gear like this was a Sunday drive.

The car came to a stop in front of this sleek-looking storefront, all black glass and warm lighting, like one of those places you only see rich people walk into on TV shows. And because your life apparently wasn’t embarrassing enough, Yeosang parked like he owned the building.

You looked at the place, then at him. “What is this?”

“Jewelry,” he answered flatly, already stepping out of the car. Jewelry. Jewelry. As if that explained anything.

Before you could argue or even think, he came around, opened your door, and like a villain from a drama, dragged you inside by the wrist—not harsh, but determined. The cold from the street clung to your clothes, your boots crunching against the salted sidewalk, but the moment you stepped inside—it was warm. Not just warm, but that kind of luxury warm, where the air smells faintly of expensive perfume and everything feels soft, even though nothing should be.

And you? You immediately felt your whole body loosen, just a little. It wasn’t even intentional. The cold had been biting, sharp against your ears and the tip of your nose, and this? This was dangerous. Comforting. You could rot here, honestly. Just melt into one of the velvet chairs and stop existing.

Yeosang noticed.

Of course he noticed. He didn’t miss anything about you. The way your shoulders relaxed. The way you almost—almost—let your head drop forward like you could fall asleep standing there.

He wanted to bite you. No, seriously. Bite. His jaw clenched just thinking about it. You looked too cute. With your knitted cardigan, snow-dusted boots, fidgety fingers already tugging at the sleeves. It was criminal. Illegal. Someone should lock you up for being this dangerous in public.

But he was strong. Barely. Barely holding himself back from grabbing you by the face and just—squishing. Maybe even kissing that stupid annoyed expression off of you. Would’ve been worth it. You were too busy shaking the snow from your sleeves to notice him battling for his sanity two feet away.

An employee walked over, all smiles and professional greetings, asking what you both needed today. You blinked at her like a deer caught in headlights.

Yeosang spoke first. “Rings.”

You snapped your head to him. “What?”

“For the engagement,” he said calmly, like duh, obviously. Your mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again. “You dragged me here for that? You could’ve warned me—”

“And ruin the surprise of watching you panic in real-time? No thanks.” You glared daggers into his skull, wishing you could teleport out of your own skin. “You’re evil.”

“Mm,” he hummed, eyes lazily drifting over the display cases. “Yours?”

You blinked. “What?”

“Ring size.”

“I—I don’t know!”

His lips quirked—not a smirk, you banned those, but just that annoying, knowing twitch that told you he was enjoying this too much. “Figures. Guess we’ll find out together.” You honestly might combust right there on the jewelry shop floor.

Yeosang walked toward the counter with the same energy as someone about to close a business deal. Calm. Focused. Casual power.

You stayed frozen for a beat, still stunned at the whole situation, until your feet moved on their own. Before you realized it, you were right beside him, eyes locking onto the display.

And that’s when it hit you. The rings. They were gorgeous. Not just shiny-for-the-sake-of-shiny—but delicate, beautiful. Rings with elegant stones, simple but detailed bands, not the overdone flashy stuff but the kind that made you think: if I wore that, maybe I wouldn’t feel so small.

You leaned in without realizing, gaze scanning over each one like a kid at a candy store—but also a little sad. You never let yourself want things like that. What was the point? Your parents could never buy you things like this. You grew up being handed the practical, the necessary. Wanting was a waste of time.

But Yeosang saw it. All of it.

The way your fingers twitched at your sides like you wanted to reach out but didn’t. The slight glassiness in your stare—not tears, but that lost look people got when they wanted something badly but were too used to swallowing it down.

To him? Your eyes were sparkling. Bright, full of that light people only showed when they forgot to hide. He couldn’t stop looking at you. The whole room could’ve caught fire, and he wouldn’t have noticed.

He leaned closer, voice lower. “See something you like?”

You snapped out of it, blinking up at him like you’d just been caught stealing. “I—I was just looking,” you muttered, instantly defensive, shoving your hands into the sleeves of your cardigan. “Didn’t say I wanted anything.”

But Yeosang wasn’t even listening to the words coming out of your mouth. He was too busy cataloguing everything you didn’t say. The spark. The hesitation. The soft way your lip pressed against your teeth when you held back from speaking. You weren’t loud, weren’t clingy, weren’t bratty like he thought you might be—you were quiet. Observant. Someone who shrank herself just to survive.

Yeah, no. You weren’t leaving his sight ever again. “Good,” he said, nonchalantly signaling to the employee. “Because we’re not leaving until you try some on.” You shot him a glare. “What is this, Pretty Woman?” “More like Pretty Annoyed Fiancée.” His eyes flicked down to you, sharp and amused. “C’mon. Humor me.”

You stared at the rows and rows of rings like they were mocking you. Every shape, every color, every shine — how the hell were you supposed to pick one? Your fingers hovered over the glass, not touching, just hovering, like maybe the right one would start glowing or something. But nothing did.

It wasn’t that you didn’t like them. It was that you liked all of them, and also none of them, because your brain kept whispering, what if you pick the wrong one? What if you regret it? You didn’t get choices growing up, not real ones. Every decision was always someone else’s to make for you — your clothes, your food, even your damn hair. The few times you got to choose something, it was met with criticism or disappointment. No wonder your chest felt tight standing here.

“I can’t,” you muttered under your breath, frustrated. “They all look… I don’t know.” Yeosang watched, hands tucked in his pockets, silent. But not with judgment. More like studying. He could see it happening—the way you kept retreating into yourself, that familiar shrinking posture like you were bracing for someone to yell at you for being annoying or difficult.

He didn’t like that. Not one bit.

Without warning, he stepped closer, leaning down near your ear, voice lower, firmer. “We’re not doing that here.” You blinked up at him. “What—” “We’re not doing that thing where you act like you’re a burden for existing,” he continued, tone steady but not harsh. “You like something, you say it. You don’t like something, you say it. You don’t have to know what you want right now, but don’t stand here apologizing for breathing.”

Your throat went dry. No one’s ever talked to you like that before. Not mean. Not fake sweet. Just… steady. Like he meant it. Like he wasn’t going to move until you heard him. “I’m not apologizing,” you finally muttered, defensive. He raised an eyebrow. “You’re folding into yourself like someone’s about to slap your wrist.”

Your jaw tightened. “That’s just how I stand.”

“Mhm,” he hummed, not convinced for a second.

You wanted to shove him. You also wanted to crawl under the display case and disappear. But somewhere deep down, embarrassingly deep, you also wanted to grab his sleeve and lean into him like a tired stray cat. But instead, you just shoved your sleeves up higher and looked at the rings again. “Fine. I’ll try some.”

“That’s my girl,” he murmured, barely loud enough to catch, but you caught it. And you hated that you liked how it sounded.

You picked up one of the rings, delicate and shimmering with tiny embedded stones. It wasn’t flashy in the way rich people wear things—it was pretty. Simple. Something you could see yourself wearing every day.

But then it hit you like a slap. The price. What the hell were you doing? Just choosing whatever looked nice like you weren’t broke half your life? Like your mom didn’t yell at you for picking snacks that were ₹20 more expensive than the local brand?

You started searching the display, eyes darting, looking for price tags like a madwoman. But it was one of those places. No prices on anything. Which only meant one thing—if you have to ask, you can’t afford it.

Panic started tightening in your chest. You weren’t stupid. You knew this whole setup was expensive. Expensive coat racks, expensive chairs, expensive air. And here you were like some idiot playing dress-up, picking rings you couldn’t afford in three lifetimes. “Uh… what’s the price on these?” you asked quietly, almost hoping he didn’t hear you.

But of course he did.

Yeosang, standing beside you with his annoying posture of “I own everything I touch,” just glanced down at you, one brow raised. “Why?” You gave him a look. “What do you mean why? They’re probably… crazy expensive. I don’t wanna-” “You think I brought you here to worry about prices?” he interrupted, eyes sharp now.

You blinked. “Well, yeah? This isn’t a grocery store, I can’t just-” “Do I look like the kind of man who’s going to let you think about numbers right now?” His tone wasn’t harsh. But it wasn’t soft, either. It was just… Yeosang. Calm, slightly amused, slightly annoyed, fully in charge.

You hated how warm your ears felt.

“I don’t—”

“I said pick.”

His voice was low this time. Not rude. Not cold. Just that tone that slides down your spine and makes your stomach clench in the weirdest way. Firm. Dominant, even. But not because he was trying to be macho—it was just who he was. You stood there frozen for a second before whispering, “They don’t even have prices on them—”

“They don’t have prices,” he cut you off, leaning closer so only you could hear, “because the people who shop here don’t need to ask.”

You swore your knees nearly gave out.

“And right now,” he added, hand lightly brushing your lower back as if guiding you forward, “you’re with me. So that makes you one of those people. Pick.” You swallowed hard, looked down at the rings, then up at him.

His gaze didn’t waver. “Or,” he added, eyes glinting, “do you want me to choose for you again?”

God help you—you almost said yes.

The wedding was hectic.

Not in the “fun chaos” way you saw in movies—no, this was suffocating. Your cheeks hurt from fake smiling at people you didn’t even know. The scent of flowers was so strong it made you lightheaded. The jewelry was heavy, and the outfit? Beautiful, yeah, but you could barely breathe.

After the ceremony, when the music was loud and people were starting to eat, you sat in a corner. Just existing. You were chewing blandly on some sweet, not even tasting it. The small cushion under you was probably worth someone’s rent, but you sat like you were at some boring family reunion.

Yeosang did ask you last month if you wanted to invite your friends. You had been fixing your cardigan sleeve at the time and barely looked up. “Don’t really… have any.”

It wasn’t sad when you said it. Just a fact. You said it the way someone says, “Yeah, I don’t like tea,” or “I’ve never been to Goa.” Just plain. But you felt it sting more now, seeing his friends—8 of them—laughing on the other side of the venue like this was just some party.

Meanwhile, you sat with your cousin. The only one in your family who didn’t belittle you constantly or make subtle comments about you being “too old to be unmarried” or “too quiet for your own good.” He didn’t say much either. Probably didn’t even care. But you preferred that. Quiet company was better than company with sharp tongues.

Your eyes wandered across the room. Yeosang was standing with his friends, of course. One of them threw his arm around Yeosang’s shoulder, laughing about something. And then Yeosang glanced at you. It was brief—but he looked. And when his gaze met yours, it wasn’t pity, or amusement, or even awkwardness.

It was… knowing.

Like he knew you didn’t want to be there. Like he understood exactly what it felt like to be surrounded by noise and not feel like you belonged in it. And for a moment—just a second—you didn’t feel alone in that room. Of course, the moment passed when your cousin nudged you and asked if you were going to eat your chicken.

You gave it to him without a word, gaze still lingering on the man across the room who, apparently, now belonged to you.

The ride home was torture. Your jewelry felt like chains, the embroidery on your dress scratched at your skin with every small shift, and your hair—oh god, your scalp was screaming. You sat awkwardly, pressed up against the door, knees at an angle because the fabric wouldn’t let you sit properly.

And Yeosang? He just drove like it was a normal day. Relaxed hand on the steering wheel, other resting against his thigh, occasionally glancing your way. He didn’t say anything, but you knew he noticed you shifting every two minutes like you were sitting on needles.

By the time the car pulled up at the apartment complex, you were two seconds away from just tearing the sleeves off like some dramatic soap opera character.

It was late—too late for nosy neighbors or anyone else to be hanging around. The whole building was quiet except for the low hum of the elevators. You followed him silently, heels clicking softly against the polished floor. And when the elevator doors opened to his place—

Yeah. Pinterest board aesthetic.

It wasn’t over-the-top, but it was intentional. Clean lines, warm lighting—not those harsh white bulbs like your home had. The couch looked like it cost someone’s college tuition, blankets folded neatly on the armrest like it was straight out of a home decor photoshoot. Shelves with actual books. Art that wasn’t mass-produced prints. Little ceramic things on the side tables that you didn’t know the use of but looked expensive anyway.

It didn’t smell like dust or old carpet or fried onions like your house did after your mom cooked. It smelled like sandalwood and something slightly musky. Like him.

You just stood there by the entrance like a misplaced sticker on a clean page. He casually dropped his keys in a tray by the door and started undoing the buttons on his sleeves, rolling them up forearms first. “You wanna change?”

Did you wanna change? You were two seconds away from climbing out of your own skin. You nodded silently.

Without a word, he pointed to a hallway. “Third door. Closet’s in there. Pick whatever. Bathroom’s attached.” As if it was nothing to offer someone full access to his wardrobe. As if he hadn’t just brought his brand new wife into his home like someone bringing home takeout. You shuffled off like some fancy-dressed raccoon, already planning which oversized shirt you were gonna steal first.

You padded out of the bathroom, freshly freed from that suffocating dress, now wearing a soft oversized t-shirt that smelled like detergent and someone else’s cologne, paired with pajama pants that pooled a bit at your ankles. Your hair was a mess, makeup slightly smudged from your tired hands rubbing your face. But you couldn’t care less. Comfort first.

Yeosang was already lounging on the couch, changed into a black t-shirt that hugged his shoulders just right and grey sweatpants, one ankle lazily crossed over the other. Casual. Comfortable. Infuriatingly attractive. You stood there, awkward, arms crossed, twisting your fingers like you always did. “Where… where am I supposed to sleep?”

He didn’t even hesitate. Just pointed with two fingers toward the hallway. “Second room on the right.” You nodded and started walking, but something tugged at you. A gut feeling. Something wasn’t right. Second room…

Curiosity dragged you to peek, and when you opened the door, your stomach dropped. Black sheets. Black pillows. Black walls. Not pitch dark, but matte—sleek. Expensive. His room. You didn’t need to ask. That man screamed black-on-black energy. You stormed back into the living room, eyes narrowed. “That’s your room.”

He looked up from his phone slowly, mouth twitching—not into a smirk, just that faint amusement he always wore when he knew he was pushing your buttons. “Yeah. I know.” You stared at him, blinking. “Why did you point me there?” He set his phone down like this was about to be a full conversation. “We’re married now. Married people share a bed.”

You gawked at him. “That’s not a rule.”

“It is now.”

God, you hated that. That casual dominance. Not loud, not aggressive. Just matter of fact. Like he said it, so it’s law now.

“You’re annoying.”

“You married me.”

“We were arranged.”

“Same thing.”

You rolled your eyes so hard they almost got stuck, turning on your heel to storm back to the room. And yet… you didn’t really argue more, did you? Because deep down, under the irritation, you couldn’t help but feel that same stupid warmth creeping up your neck.

If he wanted to be cocky, fine. Two can play that game.

You marched back to his room like you owned the place, plopped yourself dead in the center of the king-sized bed, limbs spread like a starfish, sinking into the expensive sheets like you were born for this. If he wanted drama, you were going to give him cinema. Moments later, the door creaked open, and you heard his footsteps approaching. You didn’t look. You just knew from the way the air shifted, from the scent of his cologne mixing with the faint smell of fabric softener on the bedding.

Silence for a second. Then—“Really?”

You cracked an eye open. He was standing at the edge of the bed, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised, the faintest curve on his lips—not quite a smile, not quite mockery. “You’re gonna starfish in my bed?”

You yawned, stretching even further like a cat on a sunny windowsill. “You said it was our bed,” you said pointedly, throwing his own words back at him with venom-laced sweetness. “I’m just following instructions.”

He looked at you for a beat longer. Then, very slowly, very annoyingly, grinned. “Fine,” he said, voice deep and lazy. “But if you stay like that, I’ll just sleep on top of you.” Your eyes snapped open fully, heart jolting so fast it almost echoed in your ears. “You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I would.”

It wasn’t even a threat—it was a promise. That calm tone, that glint in his eyes—he meant it.

You groaned and scrambled to your side of the bed, flustered beyond measure, hating him more with every second and somehow hating yourself for feeling heat crawling up your neck. “You’re insane,” you muttered, adjusting the pillow aggressively.

Behind you, you could practically hear his satisfied smirk, even though you weren’t going to turn around to give him the satisfaction of seeing your face.

“Married life, sweetheart,” he murmured, climbing in on his side, making the mattress dip. “Welcome to it.”

You didn’t know what devil possessed you to say it, but the words just slipped out, dripping with faux innocence as you looked straight at him.

“I have weird sleeping habits,” you murmured casually, adjusting the blanket like it was the most normal conversation. “Like… I’ll keep rubbing my leg on yours until you put your leg on top of mine.”

Silence.

You didn’t dare look at him yet, but you could feel the way his posture stiffened beside you, like your words short-circuited something in that annoyingly sharp brain of his. Then—softly, almost too casual—came his voice, deep and quiet, “Is that a threat or a promise?”

You slowly turned your head to him, blinking, pretending to be confused. “What do you mean?” His jaw tensed slightly, like he was holding back a laugh—or something else. “I mean—” he leaned in just a bit, enough for his voice to drop that octave lower that made your stupid heart stutter, “—if you keep talking like that, I’m gonna start wondering if you want me to put my leg over yours.”

You hated that heat crawling up your skin, hated that he was good at this stupid game, hated that he was better at it than you, hated that you wanted to keep going anyway.

So you did.

“Why would I want that?” you shot back, voice steady, gaze sharp but your hands fidgeting with the edge of the blanket. “It’s just a habit.”

“Right,” he said, laying his head on the pillow now, one arm tucked behind his head, looking absolutely unbothered. “Just a habit.”

You laid down too, facing the other way, stubborn. The tension between you two was thick, and you both knew it. Then, after a beat, you felt it—the slow weight of his leg draping lazily over yours. “I’m just helping with your habit,” he murmured, so close you felt the warmth of his breath by your ear.

“I’m serious,” you said, voice flat, not backing down. “It’s true. I can’t sleep unless someone’s leg is over mine. And I always hug something too. It’s like—comfort or whatever. Dunno. Been like that since forever.”

Honestly, you thought that would be the final straw. That he’d roll his eyes, scoff, maybe throw a pillow at you and head to the couch like any sane person would. Maybe you were hoping for that. Maybe you didn’t want to admit how weirdly safe this felt. Either way, you braced yourself for irritation, for that cocky remark, for something.

But nothing came.

Instead—you missed it—the way Yeosang stared at you like he was physically restraining himself. Like some internal monologue was yelling don’t say it, don’t call her cute, don’t ruin it, don’t scare her off. But how could he not? You? Looking like that? Saying stuff like that? In his bed? Wrapped in his blanket, in his shirt? Talking about hugging things like you weren’t already curled up like a goddamn kitten?

He was having a crisis.

“Okay,” he finally said, calm. Too calm. Suspiciously calm. You frowned, glancing back at him. “Okay?” “Yeah.” He adjusted slightly, the mattress dipping with his weight. “Leg’s already over yours. Go ahead. Hug something.”

You glared at him. “I don’t have anything to hug.” His lips quirked slightly at that. Barely. But you caught it.

“You’ve got two arms, don’t you?” You wanted to slap him. Genuinely. But also—not really.

Fine. FINE.

You stubbornly grabbed the pillow, hugging it tight to your chest and trying to sleep. Silent. Annoyed. Flustered. All of it. And Yeosang? He laid there, eyes on the ceiling, teeth sinking into his lip just to physically restrain himself from smiling like an idiot. If only you knew how close he was to dragging you into his chest just to see how flustered you’d get then.

Cute. Way too cute. He was so screwed.

You were out. Completely gone, knocked out like you hadn’t had proper sleep in weeks. Leg tucked neatly under his like you said you would, hugging his pillow like your life depended on it, your face mushed against the fabric, lips slightly parted in a soft pout you didn’t even know you had.

Yeosang was having a spiritual crisis. What was this? What was this feeling? Cuteness aggression? Probably. He felt like he could actually bite you. Not to hurt you—god no—but just to—argh—because how could one human look that cute doing absolutely nothing?

His jaw flexed, teeth grinding softly as he stared at you, eyes darting between the way your fingers curled into the pillow, to the little crease forming on your cheek from the way you were pressed against it.

It wasn’t fair. It shouldn’t be allowed. He felt like punching the wall just to let some of the weird, frustrated fondness out of his system. The urge to squeeze you like some plush toy was nearly overwhelming.

And the worst part?

You didn’t even know.

Didn’t know the way you’d completely tangled yourself around his leg without a second thought. Didn’t know how absolutely tiny you looked curled up in his bed. Didn’t know how soft your breathing sounded in the dim light filtering through the curtains.

Yeosang stared at the ceiling for a good minute, breathing slow, eyes closed, fighting the very cellular urge in his bones to scoop you up and just—keep you. Like, forever. Pocket you. Protect you. Instead, he carefully shifted, tucking the blanket around you a little tighter, letting your leg stay right where it was. He glanced at you one last time before shutting his own eyes.

Completely, utterly ruined by the universe. Absolutely smitten. And you? You just drooled a little on his pillow.

Perfect.

Morning light spilled through the sheer curtains, soft and annoyingly gentle. Your eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the brightness—and then it hit you.

You were holding something warm. Something that breathed. It wasn’t a pillow. It was him.

Your heart stopped for a solid second. Somewhere between falling asleep and now, the pillow had betrayed you—replaced by Yeosang. Your arm was across his torso, fingers curled loosely into the fabric of his shirt. Worse, one of your legs had completely decided that boundaries were optional and had hooked over his, practically hugging him like some oversized teddy bear.

What the actual—

You moved so carefully, like one wrong twitch would make the earth explode. Slowly untangling yourself, your breath hitched when you saw his hand resting lazily over your arm, like he’d pulled you closer in his sleep. That just made it worse.

Finally, finally, you untangled yourself, slipping out of bed like a secret agent on a stealth mission. The floor was cold beneath your feet, but your entire body was flushed with embarrassment anyway. Without sparing him another glance, you practically ran into the bathroom, shutting the door behind you with a soft click.

The second you were alone, you let out a silent scream, face buried in your hands. God. Why. Why you. You turned the shower on, letting the sound of running water drown out your embarrassment. Maybe you could drown in it too while you were at it.

Meanwhile, back in the bedroom, Yeosang cracked one eye open, staring at the ceiling with the smallest ghost of a grin.

“Thought so,” he whispered to himself. That damn pillow never stood a chance.

Yeosang lay there, staring at the ceiling like it had all the answers to life’s greatest mysteries. His hand absentmindedly touched the part of his shirt where your hand had been curled into just moments ago. The warmth was gone, but the imprint of it — of you — stuck like some permanent tattoo on his chest.

What the hell was this feeling? No, seriously, what was this feeling?

He had always thought love was supposed to be a slow thing. Like aging whiskey. Like taking your sweet time to ruin someone in a chess game. But this? This felt like a truck hit him. A small, anxious kitten-shaped truck with pouty lips and messy hair in the morning.

It was stupid. He knew it was stupid. You were barely in his life for what? Few months? And yet here he was, already thinking like some washed-up romantic lead in a drama. It wasn’t even funny anymore.

He dragged a hand across his face and groaned softly, staring at the bathroom door where steam was now rolling from the gap under the frame. The thought of you in there — wearing that sleepy pout, probably muttering under your breath about your parents or about how annoying he was — it made his chest feel tight in the weirdest, most annoying way.

Was this how his dad felt about his mom? Cause that man always did dumb shit just to annoy her, but never went a day without holding her hand.

He was whipped. Fully, entirely, embarrassingly whipped. And he wasn’t even fighting it anymore. Hell, he was enjoying it. “I swear to god,” he muttered to himself, eyes shutting like he was trying to meditate through the emotional breakdown, “if she ever figures this out, I’m finished.” But knowing you? You wouldn’t. You were too busy folding napkins, avoiding eye contact, acting like you weren’t the most precious thing to ever annoy the hell out of him.

And god—he liked having a wife. A wife.

He let that word roll around in his head like a marble, both terrifying and oddly satisfying. If you stayed in that shower any longer, he might just combust. And honestly? He’d die smiling.

You came out of the bathroom with damp hair sticking slightly to the sides of your face, the oversized t-shirt hanging loose on your frame, sleeves falling a little off your shoulders, pajama pants riding up slightly at the ankles. You rubbed your hand against your face, trying to wipe off the last remnants of sleep, but honestly, your head was still foggy. You weren’t even fully functioning yet.

And there he was. Still in bed.

Liar. You could tell he wasn’t sleeping anymore. Before, he was on his back, legs spread out like some rich brat on vacation. Now? He was on his side, perfectly composed like he was acting asleep. And he was good at it. But not good enough for you.

With irritation bubbling up — mostly because you were up, and why should you be the only one awake suffering in awkward new-wife-land — you stomped over to the bed and stood over him with crossed arms. You stared at the messy strands of hair falling into his stupidly handsome face. His lashes were thick, unfairly so. And his lips slightly parted like he wasn’t living rent-free in your nerves already. He looked expensive even while pretending to be unconscious. Ugh.

Annoyed, you bent down and gave his shoulder a shove. “Wake up.”

No response. Another shove. Harder this time. “Wake up.” Finally, his eyes opened. Lazy, slow, like he was waking up from a peaceful dream of girls feeding him grapes or something. His voice was rough from sleep, deep in that way that made your brain short circuit for a second. “What?” he rasped, like you were disturbing his peace.

Your mouth opened, about to say something snarky, but then you paused. Why was he hot like this? Who gave him permission to be hot right after waking up? Hair a mess, voice low, sleep still hanging off his features like a silk sheet draped across expensive furniture. You forgot what you were gonna say for a second. Caught yourself blinking at him like an idiot.

He noticed. Of course he noticed. A smug little grin spread on his lips, lazy and cocky at the same time, like he was the main character in every stupid romance movie. You cleared your throat and stood up straight again, brushing invisible dust off your pants. “What… what do you want for breakfast?”

You hated how quiet you sounded. Like you were suddenly soft just because he was attractive. Which — you were soft, but he didn’t have to know that. He sat up properly now, running a hand through his hair like he was in a commercial. “You’re making breakfast?” he asked, raising a brow.

You shrugged. “What else am I supposed to do? I’m awake.” He leaned back on his arms, eyes not leaving you for a second. “I didn’t marry a housewife, you know.” Your jaw clenched. “I’m not—” you stopped yourself. “I’m just making breakfast because I’m hungry.”

“Yours?” he said suddenly, tilting his head.

You blinked. “What?”

“Breakfast. Yours or mine?”

You frowned. “...What’s the difference?”

He grinned, teeth showing this time. “Yours is probably, like, toast or boiled eggs or something. Mine’s pancakes, bacon, syrup. Fancy shit.”

You deadpanned. “Who the hell eats pancakes on a weekday?”

“I do,” he answered smoothly, without missing a beat. “I’m rich, remember?”

You rolled your eyes so hard you almost saw your own brain. “Fine. Yours. Whatever. Pancakes.”

Yeosang stepped into the bathroom, the door creaking softly behind him as he entered the faint warmth she left behind. The mirror was still fogged at the corners, drops of condensation trailing down lazily like the room itself hadn’t quite woken up yet. The air smelled faintly of her—something floral, something sweet, and something unfamiliar but weirdly comforting.

He exhaled through his nose, steady and controlled, walking up to the sink. His eyes automatically landed on the toothbrush holder. His black toothbrush standing tall, firm, exactly where he always kept it.

And beside it… her pink one.

Smaller, softer looking, like it didn’t belong. But it did. It really did. He stared at them both for a second, lips slightly parted, eyebrows drawn faintly together—not confused, but thoughtful. Something about seeing them together in the same cup twisted something warm in his chest. It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t fireworks or explosions or heartbeats racing so fast he couldn’t breathe. It was… steady. Fulfilling. Quiet in the most dangerous way.

He loved it.

Not the pink color or the softness of it. He loved what it meant. Her using his things like they were hers now. The shared space. The toothbrushes leaning like companions. It was stupid—something small, something everyday—but it was theirs. And for someone like him, someone who always knew how to calculate every move, who always knew how to observe and stay steps ahead, this feeling was something he couldn’t predict.

He picked up his own toothbrush, fingers brushing against the handle of hers. He stared at that pink brush for a second longer, a lazy grin curling on his lips before shaking his head at himself. Who the hell gets soft over a toothbrush?

Apparently, him.

He started brushing his teeth, leaning over the sink, letting the familiar minty sting wake him up properly. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he thought—he could get used to this. He wanted to get used to this. Her hair clogging the drain, her random skincare bottles invading his shelves, her leaving the bathroom all steamy and warm like this every morning.

It was stupid. Domestic. And yet… it felt like power in the quietest, most dangerous form. And Yeosang was nothing if not addicted to power. Especially if it looked like her.

He came down wearing a black fitted turtleneck, sleeves pushed up to his forearms, paired with tailored dark slacks that hugged his waist just right. His silver watch gleamed faintly against his wrist, hair slightly messy from towel-drying but falling just perfectly like it was meant to. He didn’t put in effort—but somehow looked like he walked straight out of a photoshoot. Sharp jawline, long legs, expensive cologne that smelled like trouble and money.

And then—that smell hit him.

Pancakes. Sweet, buttery, thick in the air like a hug you didn’t know you needed. Warm vanilla mixed with something fruity. And then, there she was. (Do pancakes even have scents? Idk)

Hair tied up lazily, a few strands falling loose, wearing one of his black aprons that looked like it was made to fit her. Bare feet padding softly on the kitchen floor, navigating his sleek, modern, borderline cold kitchen like she’d been living there her whole life. She didn’t hesitate with the drawers, the utensils, even reaching up to grab plates from his overhead cabinets with a little difficulty like she knew where everything was. Like she belonged.

He leaned against the wall for a second, arms folded, watching her. His kitchen was matte black, sharp edges, minimalist design, way too clean for someone who actually lived here. It was the kind of kitchen that screamed money but not home. Until now.

Until her.

Now it felt warm, felt used. And for some reason, that domestic image made something stir in his chest. Not in a soft, sentimental way—no, Yeosang didn’t do sentimental. It was more like—possession. Admiration. Like—yeah, that’s mine. His quiet, irritating, soft-voiced girl, right there, using his kitchen like she owned it. And she didn’t even realize how good she looked like that. The apron tied at her waist, sleeves rolled up as she worked carefully over the stove, flipping pancakes with precision.

How the fuck did she even know where everything was? He barely cooked. Eating out was his thing. Restaurants. Friends. Loud tables. Fancy places. But this? This made him crave home-cooked meals in a way he didn’t know he could. Made him crave coming home to something like this. And the worst part? He didn’t know whether he wanted the pancakes more or her. Probably her.

Definitely her.

He didn’t even realize she’d caught him staring. Sharp reflexes, top of his class, trained to pick up on the tiniest shit—and yet here he was, caught like some lovesick loser at the doorway of his own damn kitchen. She didn’t make a big deal out of it though. Just glanced over her shoulder, flipping another pancake like it was routine. “Oh, you’re here. Sit down or something.”

He blinked for a second, caught between embarrassment and awe, and then muttered under his breath, “Yes, ma’am.” Low enough that she wouldn’t catch it. Good. His pride was intact. Barely.

When she finished, she casually served two plates—one in front of him, one in front of her. No big presentation, no waiting for him to start first like those rich girls he was used to. Just sat down, scooted her chair in, and started eating like it was another regular morning. Like they’d been doing this for years. God, why did that feel nice?

The pancakes were good. Like, scary good. Slightly crisp on the edges, soft in the middle, syrup on the side, not drowned in it like an amateur. She knew what she was doing. Each bite made him feel weirdly cared for, and he didn’t like that one bit. It felt… vulnerable. Exposed. He wasn’t used to this shit. Halfway through, she lifted her gaze to him. Not fully—just under her lashes, barely holding eye contact before glancing away again.

“I’ve been meaning to ask…” she said softly, cutting into her pancake with that annoying, neat little precision of hers. “What do you actually do? Like… all day?” He chewed slowly, buying time. No one ever asked him that. Not seriously. Everyone just knew who he was. Son of that family. Part of that business. It was understood. Expected. Even his friends didn’t bother asking.

But her? She didn’t care about any of that. She genuinely didn’t know—or maybe she did but wanted his version of it. Wanted to hear it from him, not just whispered behind closed doors or Googled with a headline next to his face. So, he swallowed, set his fork down carefully, leaned back slightly in the chair.

“What do I do?” he repeated, eyes glancing over her face like he was trying to decide how much of himself he wanted to give her. “I manage the boring rich guy stuff, apparently. Assets. Investments. Real estate. Help with family business bullshit.”

She hummed softly, almost dismissively. “Sounds annoying.” That caught him off guard. He huffed a laugh through his nose. “It is annoying.”

They sat in silence for a second, just the quiet sounds of cutlery scraping against plates.

Then she added, still not fully looking at him, “Sounds lonely too.”

That made something sharp twist in his chest. Annoyingly accurate. He stared at her, at the little crease between her brows as she focused on cutting another piece, at the way she subtly folded the napkin next to her hand without thinking about it. Always fidgeting, always folding.

She didn’t even mean it like that. It was supposed to be just a question. A throwaway thought while she was chewing, cutting another bite, syrup glistening against the fork like she was focused on literally anything else except him. Like it didn’t matter. Like it wasn’t going to completely rearrange the wires in his damn brain. “After I graduate… can I see your office or something?”

Just that. Simple. Plain. Like she was asking to borrow a pen.

But Yeosang? Yeosang heard that in HD. Dolby Atmos. Surround sound. Can I see your office echoed through his skull like she’d just proposed marriage again or something. Why was that affecting him so much? Why was his immediate internal response Yes. Yes, of course. Come sit on my lap in the stupid leather chair. Take over the entire desk, I don’t even like working, I’ll retire now, I’ll build you a whole new office, you can have my whole name—

He blinked. Dangerous thoughts. Dangerous. She didn’t even know what she’d done. But he couldn’t just say all that, obviously. He couldn’t wrap her up in a blanket and tell her she was the cutest thing alive for wanting to be in his space, in his world. He couldn’t tell her that no one—no one—had ever even bothered to ask about that part of his life. His office. His work. His real world outside of the titles and money.

So, he kept it cool. Cool and bored. Always the bored one. Mr. Nothing Affects Me.

“Sure,” he said, cutting another piece of pancake, stabbing it with his fork, stuffing it into his mouth like that would hide the feral urge he felt to grab her face and kiss the absolute life out of her. “Really?” she asked, finally glancing at him properly this time, eyes sharp and unreadable. “It’s not like a private office?”

Private office? Private office? Woman, you’re in my home. You cooked in my kitchen. You slept with your entire leg tangled around mine. And you’re asking about privacy?

He swallowed. “It’s my office. I decide what’s private.”

Another bite. Another casual shrug. Another act like he wasn’t two seconds from folding completely. Folding like the damn napkin she kept playing with next to her plate. “Sure,” he said again, this time softer. Almost like a promise. Almost like anything you ask me, ever—I’ll give it to you.

You both didn’t know one thing. You both were falling.

Maybe Yeosang knew it. Kinda. Somewhere in the background of his usually sharp, calculating mind — the same one trained to notice weaknesses in deals and flaws in contracts — there was this soft hum, like static turning into a love song. He knew something was happening. Maybe not fully, maybe not yet in words, but the pull toward you was starting to feel less like curiosity and more like instinct. Breathing. Natural. Familiar in a way nothing else had ever been.

But you? You didn’t know. You didn’t realize what was happening. You didn’t realise that while you sat here with syrup on your fork and pancake crumbs on your fingers, you were starting to heal something that he didn’t break.

Yeosang didn’t grow up with softness. His mother was the only person who offered that to him, that kind of gentle warmth that made a person feel safe, and when she left—so did that warmth. His father tried to raise him with ambition and success, not comfort. Not home. Yeosang had everything: wealth, education, sharp looks, friends who could buy out entire hotels on a dare—but not this. Not this thing he was starting to feel around you.

And you didn’t realize that you were going to get something you never thought possible, either. That here, you were healing too. Because all your life, you were raised in pieces. Your parents clipping parts of you before you could even grow. Told that your interests were silly. That your opinions didn’t matter because you were a girl. Always “too much” or “not enough.” They called it upbringing. Respect. But it wasn’t. It was shrinking. You adjusted. You bent around it like vines climbing a crumbling wall, finding space wherever you could, making a way even when there wasn’t one.

But here?

Here, no one was going to call you too much. Here, no one was going to shrink you down into something manageable. Here, no one was going to make you feel small for having hobbies or dreams or random thoughts that didn’t make sense. Here—you weren’t going to adjust anymore. You were going to thrive.

And you didn’t even know it yet.

Days blended into something that almost resembled normal life. Morning routines settled. Nights had their own rhythm. You handled your stuff—university lectures, deadlines, notes scribbled on the backs of receipts when you couldn’t find proper paper. He handled his—meetings, calls, those frustrating dinners where people tried to get on his good side for favors he never planned to give.

The two of you orbiting each other like satellites, not colliding, not quite distant either. Somewhere between strangers and something else you both refused to name yet.

But then there were nights like this.

Nights where assignments piled higher than your patience. Nights where caffeine felt like medicine, where eye bags were unavoidable, and sitting cross-legged on the living room floor with books spread around you felt like survival mode. The glow of your laptop screen threw harsh shadows across your face, highlighting the slight furrow between your brows, your bottom lip caught lightly between your teeth as you tried to figure out whatever academic nonsense your professor thought was appropriate for midnight.

Yeosang came home late that night. He had texted you. ‘Running late. Don’t wait up.’

He didn’t expect much. Maybe you’d already be in bed, curled up, hair a mess, hugging that ridiculous pillow you’d claimed as yours. Or maybe you’d be curled on the couch, knocked out with some random video playing softly in the background. But no.

He walked in, loosened his tie, and paused.

You were awake. Awake and working. Glasses slipping down your nose. Notebook covered in tiny handwriting, pages curling at the corners. For a split second, irritation sparked in him. Not at you—at himself. Why were you still up? He told you not to wait. And yet—

Then he saw it. The laptop open to some assignment, words scrolling by, academic jargon that even he didn’t have the mental energy to pretend to understand. You weren’t waiting for him. You were fighting a deadline.

Silently, he toed off his shoes, rolled up his sleeves, and went to the kitchen.

The machine hissed softly as the coffee brewed. The comforting, bitter scent filling the sharp black lines of his modern kitchen again. This time, coffee. Warm, grounding, familiar. He made it just the way you liked—two spoons of sugar, a splash of milk. Not too sweet, not too bitter. Balanced. Like you.

He poured one cup for you, one for himself, and padded back across the living room, setting the mug down next to your scattered pens and half-crumpled sticky notes.

You barely noticed at first, mumbling a quiet, “Thank you,” eyes still on the screen.

But Yeosang? He just stood there for a second, hand in his pocket, watching you. Watching how you stubbornly refused to give up, even with dark circles forming under your eyes, even with your knee bouncing from stress, even with your exhaustion creeping in like slow fog.

“Can I help?” His voice was soft, breaking through the quiet hum of the laptop fan and your messy thoughts. You blinked, finally tearing your eyes away from the screen to look at him properly.

Help? You weren’t used to that word being offered like that. Especially not for things like your work. No one really asked if they could help—you were always expected to figure it out yourself, get through it, push harder. Alone. You stared at him for a second, eyebrows furrowed slightly like you were trying to figure out if he was joking or being sarcastic. But he just sat there, leaning forward, coffee resting on his knee, expression neutral but serious. Waiting.

You hesitated. Not because you didn’t want help. Just… it felt weird. Someone wanting to take on something with you instead of at you or despite you. But you were tired. And behind all your stubbornness, you knew you could use it.

“…You can help with a couple things,” you murmured, barely above your breath.

His lips twitched slightly at that—almost a smile, almost—but he didn’t comment. Didn’t tease. Just sat up straighter, pushed his coffee aside, and motioned for you to show him.

It wasn’t even difficult stuff. Mostly organization. Proofreading. Finding references. And Yeosang, for all his cocky behavior and sharp-tongue antics, was ridiculously smart. He picked up on things quickly, helping you untangle confusing parts, correcting small mistakes you didn’t even notice you were making in your sleepy haze.

With him there, the work didn’t feel like a mountain anymore. It felt doable. Manageable. Like he was one more set of steady hands holding up the mess before it could collapse.

You didn’t talk much. Just handed things to him, pointed at the screen when you needed help cross-checking something, let him scroll through research tabs while you typed furiously to finish the parts only you could write. By the time you reached the end, you realized it had gone faster than you expected.

And… it didn’t feel heavy anymore.

As you saved the file and finally let yourself lean back against the cushions, stretching your aching fingers, you glanced at him from the corner of your eye. His sleeves were still rolled up, tie loose, hair falling slightly over his forehead. He looked relaxed. Like this wasn’t a burden. Like he didn’t mind being here at all.

“Thanks,” you said finally, voice quieter than before.

He just hummed, reaching for his now slightly-cold coffee again. “Told you,” he muttered, taking a sip, “I’m not just here to look pretty.”

You rolled your eyes at that, a small breath of laughter escaping despite yourself. And for the first time in a while, the stress didn’t feel suffocating. For the first time, you didn’t feel like you were carrying everything alone.

But now you didn’t want to move. Not even a little. Your body felt like it weighed triple, bones filled with sand, limbs heavy from the hours of grinding through assignments, deadlines, typing until your knuckles hurt. The soft hum of the laptop fan was starting to blend with the background noise of the apartment—the occasional creak of the walls, the soft ticking of the clock. So you just laid down right there on the couch, curling slightly onto your side, pressing your cheek into the cushions like they could swallow you whole.

“You shouldn’t sleep here,” his voice broke through gently. Not nagging. Not demanding. Just a low, careful suggestion. “It’s bad for your back.”

“Yeah…” you mumbled. You knew. Of course you knew. But knowing and moving were two different things. The soft, tired sound of your own voice felt distant to you, like it was coming from somewhere underwater. “M’fine… Just…gimme a minute…”

And then, you felt it. Arms sliding under you, one beneath your knees, the other curling easily around your shoulders. The couch shifted beneath you as he moved, and suddenly, you were moving too. Your eyes snapped open halfway, heavy-lidded with exhaustion but sharp with shock. What the—

He picked you up. Like it was nothing. Like you weighed absolutely nothing. Effortless. Smooth. As if this was something he did on a daily basis, as if you weren’t dead weight with tangled limbs and messy hair and exhaustion practically dripping off your skin.

You knew he worked out. You’d seen his arms, the way his shirts sometimes hugged his shoulders, the way his forearms tensed slightly when he rolled up his sleeves or carried grocery bags with one hand like they were weightless.

But this? This was a whole new experience.

You blinked up at him, groggy but vaguely scandalized, too drained to fight him on it but still indignant enough to grumble, “I can walk, you know…”

“Doesn’t look like it,” he muttered back, voice lazy but steady, gaze fixed ahead as he carefully maneuvered you toward the bedroom. His jaw was set, clean lines of his face shadowed by the low lighting, and that stupid, faint grin on his lips—like he was enjoying this a little too much.

You were too tired to argue more, head lolling lightly against his shoulder, his cologne filling your nose. Clean, sharp, warm.

“Put me down,” you murmured weakly, only half meaning it.

“No.”

That’s all he said. Just no. Simple. Firm. No teasing this time. Just—no. Because you were tired, and because he wanted to carry you. Because whether you liked it or not, this was part of who he was now—your husband. And part of that role, apparently, included picking you up like a princess when you worked yourself to exhaustion doing university assignments at midnight.

You didn’t realize when your eyes slipped closed again, but the warmth of his hold and the soft shift of the apartment around you made it easier.

He set you down gently on the bed, the mattress dipping softly under your weight. The second you hit the covers, your whole body sighed in relief, muscles unraveling like thread, tension slipping out of your shoulders as your eyelids fluttered heavily.

You barely registered him leaving, the soft rustle of fabric as he changed, the faint clink of his watch being set down somewhere on the nightstand. The apartment was quiet except for those soft, everyday sounds—the kind that made a space feel lived in. Real. And then the bed dipped again, the warmth of him close, his scent following like gravity itself. Before you could fully register it, his arm snaked around your waist, firm but not rough, and he pulled you in.

Your eyes opened halfway, brows pinching lightly. “Yeosang…”

“No complaining,” he murmured, voice low, brushing near your ear. “I know you need it.”

That shut you up real quick—not because he was being cocky, but because… he was right. You did need it. And that annoyed you more than anything, how well he was starting to read you without effort. Like this connection was some secret language only he could pick up on while you were still figuring it out. You wanted to argue. Maybe just out of habit. Maybe because that independent part of you hated the idea of needing someone this badly. But… God, it felt good. It felt safe. Not like being trapped, not like obligation—but like comfort. Like warmth. Like someone saying, It’s okay. You don’t have to hold everything up alone tonight.

So you didn’t say anything after that. Just let yourself sink into the pull of his chest against your back, his hand splayed warm over your stomach, his steady breathing brushing against the back of your neck. Everything fit a little too perfectly, like puzzle pieces you didn’t even know belonged to the same set.

And that night… that night, you both slept better than you ever had since this whole marriage thing started. No weird dreams. No uncomfortable tossing and turning. No stress lingering sharp at the edges of your thoughts.

Just… sleep.

You didn’t know how it happened, but somehow, somewhere in the middle of the night, your body betrayed your stubbornness. You woke up curled against him, face pressed gently to his chest, his scent filling your lungs like something you’d been secretly addicted to. His arm—God, his arm—was draped around you, hand cupped protectively over the back of your head like instinct. Like he was shielding you, even in sleep. And it wasn’t awkward. That’s what surprised you most. It felt natural. Not forced, not weird, just… like safety.

You could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest under your cheek, hear the soft, even rhythm of his breathing. And as much as you hated to admit it… he looked pretty like this. No, scratch that—annoyingly pretty. Long lashes resting against sharp cheekbones, lips slightly parted, hair tousled from sleep in that effortless way guys pull off without even trying.

Gross. Beautiful. Disgusting. Infuriating.

You blinked a few times, brain slowly booting up for the day, before carefully untangling yourself like a thief in the night. His arm loosened its grip like he was reluctant even in his sleep, but eventually let you go. You got up, showered, got dressed, doing your whole morning routine as quietly as possible. University wasn’t going to wait for you to bask in your soft domestic crisis. And you definitely weren’t about to stand there and gawk at his stupidly handsome sleeping face for too long. Absolutely not.

By the time you were adjusting the strap of your bag, tying your hair properly, you heard movement from the bedroom. A few minutes later, Yeosang walked out, freshly showered, damp hair pushed back, wearing that clean, crisp button-up with the sleeves rolled just enough to make you want to scream into a pillow. Grey slacks, black watch, rings back on his fingers, that usual lazy confidence laced into his posture.

He looked at you, eyes dropping down briefly to your outfit, then meeting your gaze again like it was nothing.

“I’ll pick you up later,” he said, fixing one of his cuffs. “After uni.”

You blinked. “Why?”

“Date,” he said simply, like it was obvious. “We deserve one.”

You opened your mouth, then closed it, unsure of what reaction you were supposed to give. A part of you wanted to roll your eyes, say something sarcastic—but another part… another part felt weirdly happy about it. Happy in that annoying, fluttery kind of way you weren’t ready to admit yet. So you settled for a quiet, “Okay,” adjusting your bag again, looking at the floor to hide the small smile trying to creep up on your lips.

“Good,” he said, smirking now—but this time it wasn’t cocky. It was something softer, warmer. “I’ll see you later, then.” And as you left the apartment, the weight of the day felt lighter somehow. Like maybe, just maybe, you weren’t dreading things as much anymore.

Yeosang sat in the car, one hand lazily draped over the steering wheel, the other tapping faintly against his thigh. The sun was starting to dip, casting that golden hour glow over the edges of buildings, making everything look softer, warmer, like a scene out of some movie. But Yeosang wasn’t paying attention to the scenery. Not really.He’d had a day. Meetings that dragged. Calls that felt like someone was reading tax documents aloud just to torture him. Endless signatures, fake smiles, the whole act. All he wanted right now was peace. Quiet. A good meal. And you.

A proper date with his cute wife, nothing more, nothing less. Just you sitting across from him in that way you always did—half avoiding eye contact, sleeves of your cardigan slipping past your wrists, probably fidgeting with your napkin again. That was the peace he wanted. Not luxury. Not power. Just that.

But then…

His eyes narrowed. He saw you. And you weren’t alone. There was a guy. Some nobody. Same-age, maybe older, walking beside you, too close for Yeosang’s liking, talking like he knew you well. And you—God—you were smiling. Not the full kind, not the ones Yeosang secretly hoarded like precious stones, but still smiling. Like you were comfortable. Yeosang’s jaw tightened. His fingers, the ones tapping against his thigh, stopped moving. What pissed him off wasn’t just the guy talking. It was the way he was talking to you. That casual, easygoing posture, like he thought he was funny. Like he thought he was charming. Like he thought he deserved to be walking next to you, making you smile like that.

And maybe you didn’t even realize. Maybe you were just being polite. But Yeosang saw it all. The way the guy leaned slightly in when he spoke. The way his hands moved while explaining something, animated like he wanted your full attention on him.

Yeosang didn’t like it. Not one bit.

The expensive black car, polished to perfection, stood out like a punch to the face in front of the university gates. People kept throwing glances, some doing double-takes, whispering. Whose car is that? Who’s that guy? But Yeosang didn’t care. Let them look. Let them talk. His gaze stayed locked on you and that idiot next to you. Calm on the outside. A storm brewing underneath. You didn’t know it yet.

You spotted him the moment he stepped out of the car. Yeosang wasn’t the type to make a show of himself, but somehow—he did. Maybe it was the way he stood, sharp lines of his suit catching the light, hair pushed back neatly, expression unreadable. Maybe it was the car behind him, polished black, practically humming money and influence. Maybe it was just him. Either way, heads were turning, eyes flicking between him and you like something wasn’t adding up.

You swallowed, nerves prickling up your spine. Before you could react, before you could even introduce anyone properly, he was already moving. His hand found yours—firm, warm, possessive without being rough. It startled you. Not because of the touch—you were used to that by now—but because of the timing. Calculated. Precise. Like everything he did. “This your friend?” he said calmly, looking not at you, but directly at the guy.

Before you could speak, Yeosang gave the poor guy a small, polite smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Nice to meet you,” he said smoothly, tightening his grip on your hand just slightly. “I’m her husband.”

And then, for good measure, he added his name. Kang Yeosang.

You could see the shift instantly. The recognition behind the guy’s eyes. The flicker of panic mixed with surprise. Everyone in this city knew that name—or at least the ones who mattered did. Not just because of the wealth, but because of what that name meant in certain circles. Reputation. Power. Authority. Not just a businessman—something more. Something sharp underneath the polished surface.

“Oh,” was all the guy could manage, awkward, unsure of where to put his hands now, stepping back half a pace instinctively. “Yeah,” Yeosang finished softly, expression pleasant, dangerous in its restraint. “Good talk.”

Without another word, he guided you toward the passenger seat, opened the door like a gentleman, helped you in, and shut it carefully behind you before rounding the car and getting in himself. He didn’t look at you at first. Just started the engine, pulled out of the lot with practiced ease.

What you didn’t see, however, was the slight tilt of his head down as he flicked open his messages. His fingers moved swiftly, effortlessly, typing out the guy’s name, sending it to an unknown number. No emojis. No fluff. Just a clean instruction.

A name and a dot. That’s all it took.

Then the phone slipped back into his pocket like nothing happened.

He glanced at you finally, features softening just slightly now that the irritation had passed, hand casually resting on the gear shift..

"You ready?” he asked, like none of that had just happened. You didn’t answer immediately. Your heart was still somewhere between confused, flustered, and maybe—a little impressed. And Yeosang?

He was perfectly at ease. Because no one touches what’s his.

The date itself was simple, nothing extravagant—just the way you liked it. Dinner somewhere not too loud, warm lighting, food you could pronounce, chairs that didn’t make your back ache. He didn’t drag you to some elite chef’s private villa or a high-rise with twelve spoons and seven forks. Just… normal. Comfortable.

But of course, it wasn’t normal, not with him sitting across from you like that. Rolling up his sleeves just enough to show off the veins in his forearms, leaning forward slightly when you spoke, giving you that attention that made your stomach twist in a way you’d pretend was annoyance—but you knew better now. You were far too aware of his every move, his subtle glances at your lips when you talked, his faint smile whenever you fidgeted with the sleeves of your cardigan or neatly arranged your utensils.

And he was losing it.

Internally.

Watching you talk softly about nothing—ordering dessert, choosing between tea or coffee, or even just adjusting your bracelet—like it was the most adorable thing in the world. You didn’t even have to try. That’s what drove him crazy. You could breathe and he’d be on the verge of melting into his seat like some fool.

But what really started creeping under your skin wasn’t the food or the conversation or even the comfort of the evening.

It was after.

Back in university, you started noticing something odd. The guy—the one from the parking lot—gone. No hellos in the hallway, no passing glances, no awkward waves after that weird encounter with Yeosang. Vanished. Just… gone.

You weren’t naïve. You noticed patterns. You noticed behavior. You might’ve been quiet, but you weren’t stupid.

So, you asked him. One evening, after he’d made both of you coffee, when the room was quiet and warm, you just casually dropped it like spare change on a counter.

“By the way… that guy I was talking to last week? Haven’t seen him around.”

His reaction was instant, which already gave him away. That sharp, barely-there twitch of his lips. His fingers curling ever so slightly around the mug handle.

And then—he laughed.

That annoying, deep, pretty laugh that was all throat and no apologies.

“Don’t know,” he said with a shrug, voice lazy, too smooth to be true. “Weird, isn’t it?”

Liar. Absolute liar.

And that’s what did it. That’s what made you fall.

Not the expensive car. Not the handsome face. Not even the whole husband thing.

It was that. That dumb, cocky, lying laugh paired with the soft way he helped you out of your coat or refilled your water glass without saying anything. The combination of someone who could ruin a man’s whole life in one text but still remember that you liked your toast slightly burnt.

It wasn’t fair.

And maybe, just maybe, you found yourself falling.

Not all at once. Just—a little more.

Dangerous. Warm. Annoying.

Yours.

Taglist: @jujusreader @nkryuki @lover-ofallthingspretty

Dividers from @/cafekitsune

[ateezmakemeweep]

strawberry vanilla.

yeosang x reader

word count: 1k

fluff

you tiptoed out of bed after smiling at your sleeping boyfriend, taking about five minutes to successfully sneak out from under his arm.

you’d been out late last night, celebrating his birthday with him and the rest of the boys by eating chicken and singing karaoke until three a.m. it was the happiest you’d ever seen him, watching from your seat as his group members took turns serenading him.

he was embarrassed, cheeks red and hand covering his face, but you could tell he secretly loved it. loved the attention and the way the boys fawned over him, pinching at his cheeks and tripping over one another just to get to him.

but now you wanted your time with him, to spend a nice quiet morning with the sunshine and smell of strawberry pancakes you’ve been planning to make him for weeks. so with the instructions pulled up on your phone, you carefully laid out the ingredients and measured each of them perfectly; you didn’t wanna mess this up for him.

Keep reading

[lcvejjoong]

bliep, bliep

pairing : mafia boss! san x fem! reader

synopsis : A mafia marriage built on contract and convenience is shaken when a near-fatal attack exposes the fierce, mutual love both partners have been hiding. 

genre : slice of life, fluff, mafia au, little angst, comfort, slow-burn, romance

warnings : mentions of blood

author’s note : 2nd last member for the mafia aus that im doing 😛 hope yall enjoy 🤍

word count : 1.9k

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You learned early on that loving a man like Choi San meant learning the language of restraint.

Silence instead of questions. Distance instead of demands. Trust instead of reassurance.

The contract spelled it out in black ink and colder words: marriage for alliance, protection, appearance. 

Nothing more. Nothing less.

You signed anyway.

San stood across from you that day in an immaculate suit, hands folded neatly in front of him, eyes unreadable. 

He didn’t smile. Didn’t frown. 

Just nodded once when the papers were done, like you’d finalized a business deal instead of tying your life to his.

“From today onward,” he said evenly, “you’re under my protection.”

Not my wife. Not mine.

Protection.

And yet.

You hadn’t expected the way his jacket would always find its way onto your shoulders when rooms were cold. Or how his hand would hover just behind your back in crowds, never touching, always guarding. Or how he memorized your schedule better than his own.

You hadn’t expected the way his eyes darkened whenever someone looked at you for too long.

You especially hadn’t expected the bullet.

The memory still replays too vividly: the sound of gunfire ripping through the air, bodies scrambling, someone screaming your name. 

You remember reaching for San—then the impact, the way his body slammed into yours, the force of him knocking you down as something wet and hot bloomed against his side.

“I’m fine,” he’d said through clenched teeth, already shoving you behind him. “Stay down.”

Liars always say that.

Now he lies in a hospital bed instead, hooked up to machines that beep too loudly, too insistently, as if they’re afraid he’ll disappear if they stop watching him.

You sit beside him with your hands folded in your lap like a child waiting to be scolded.

This is your fault.

If you hadn’t insisted on attending the gala. If you hadn’t stepped away from his side. If you hadn’t smiled politely at the wrong man—

Your jaw tightens.

You remember him. Tall. Well-dressed. A little too familiar. He’d leaned close, voice low.

“Didn’t expect San to marry someone like you.”

You hadn’t known what he meant, only that San’s hand appeared at your waist immediately after, grip firm, possessive.

“She’s mine,” San had said quietly.

The word had settled deep in your chest and refused to leave.

The heart monitor beeps steadily now. Mockingly calm.

You stare at San’s face—relaxed in unconsciousness, sharp edges softened. 

He looks younger like this. Less like a crime lord. 

More like the man who makes sure you eat when you forget, who waits up even when meetings run late, who pretends not to notice when you fall asleep on the couch beside him.

Your fingers curl into the sheets.

You lean closer without realizing it.

“I hate you,” you whisper, because loving him feels too dangerous to say aloud. “You don’t get to scare me like this.”

Your throat burns.

The doctor said he’d be fine. The bullet missed anything vital. Surgery went well.

Still, fear doesn’t obey logic.

You brush your thumb over his knuckles, just once.

Warm.

Your chest caves in.

Before you can stop yourself, you lean down and press a soft kiss to his cheek—barely there, barely a confession at all.

The heart monitor loses its mind.

You jolt upright as the beeping spikes wildly, panic flooding your veins. “What—?!”

San stirs.

Then his hand closes around your wrist.

“You,” he rasps, voice thick with sleep and something sharper. “You kissed me.”

You freeze.

“You’re awake?!”

His eyes flutter open, dark and unfocused at first—then they land on you, and something shifts. 

Awareness. Vulnerability he never lets anyone see.

The heart monitor continues its furious protest.

“That’s—” He swallows. “That’s new.”

You stare between him and the machine. “Your heart rate just tried to kill itself.”

He huffs out a breath that might be a laugh. “Yeah. It does that when you’re close.”

Silence crashes between you.

“…San.”

“Yes.”

“Why.”

His jaw tightens. For a moment, you think he’ll retreat back into cold professionalism. 

A mafia boss. A contract husband.

Instead, he looks at you like a man who’s been caught.

“I thought,” he admits quietly, “that you didn’t care.”

Your breath stutters.

“I thought you stayed because it was easier. Because the contract protects you. Because I’m useful.” His grip loosens slightly. “I never thought you’d… choose me.”

Choose him.

“You got shot because you jumped in front of me,” you whisper.

“That’s my job.”

“No,” you say. “That was instinct.”

He doesn’t deny it.

The door opens suddenly, footsteps approaching, and San’s expression changes instantly—walls slamming back into place. His hand slips from yours like it was never there.

The nurse smiles politely at you. “Your husband’s vitals spiked. Everything okay?”

San answers before you can. “Fine.”

Too quick. Too sharp.

The nurse eyes him skeptically but nods. “Try not to get too excited.”

When she leaves, San exhales slowly.

“Sorry,” he mutters. “Didn’t mean to… scare you.”

You laugh weakly. “You’re unbelievable.”

His gaze lingers on you, softer now. “You shouldn’t have kissed me.”

Your chest aches. “Why not?”

“Because if I start wanting things I can’t have,” he says quietly, “I get reckless.”

You think of the man at the gala.

Of San’s hand at your waist. Of the bullet meant for you.

“…San,” you say slowly, “who was he?”

His eyes darken instantly.

“Who.”

“The man earlier. The one you nearly killed with your stare.”

San’s jaw clenches. “No one important.”

“That’s not an answer.”

He looks at you for a long moment. Then—

“He’s been watching you,” San admits. “Too closely. I told him to stop.”

Your stomach twists. “You didn’t tell me.”

“I didn’t want you scared.”

You swallow. “You don’t get to decide that alone.”

“I do when it comes to you,” he says fiercely, then stops himself. “I mean—”

The heart monitor spikes again.

San curses under his breath.

“…You see?” he mutters. “Reckless.”

You lean in, voice soft but unyielding. “San. Look at me.”

He does.

“You don’t have to protect me alone,” you say. “And you don’t have to pretend you don’t care.”

His eyes search your face like he’s memorizing it all over again.

“Then don’t give anyone else a reason to look at you like that,” he says quietly. Jealous. Honest. Bare. 

“I don’t trust myself when they do.”

Your heart thunders.

“You don’t get to be jealous if you won’t admit you’re mine,” you whisper.

San’s breath stutters.

“…Say that again.”

San’s voice is low. Not threatening—but dangerous in the way honesty always is.

You don’t move away. Your heart is pounding too loudly for fear to win now.

“You don’t get to be jealous,” you repeat softly, “if you won’t admit I’m yours.”

The heart monitor spikes like it’s tattling.

San exhales sharply and squeezes his eyes shut, like he’s physically restraining himself from something—words, maybe. 

Or you.

“You don’t understand,” he says quietly. “If I say that out loud, I won’t be able to stop.”

“Stop what?”

“Wanting you,” he answers immediately. No hesitation. No calculation.

That knocks the breath clean out of your lungs.

He opens his eyes again, gaze burning, stripped of the careful distance he usually keeps. “This world eats people alive. Anyone close to me becomes a target. I married you to keep you safe, not to—” His jaw tightens. “Not to love you.”

You swallow. “And how’s that going for you?”

A humorless laugh escapes him. “Terribly.”

The door opens again before either of you can say more. This time, it’s not a nurse.

It’s him.

The man from the gala steps in with an infuriatingly calm smile, hands tucked into his coat pockets like he owns the place. “San,” he says pleasantly. “Good to see you breathing.”

San’s entire body goes rigid.

The heart monitor resumes its frantic commentary.

“What are you doing here,” San says flatly.

“I came to check on you.” The man’s eyes flick to you—too slow, too intentional. “And your wife.”

San moves before he thinks.

He tries to sit up.

Pain flashes across his face instantly, a sharp hiss tearing from his throat as his hand clamps to his bandaged side. The monitor shrieks.

You’re on him immediately. “San—don’t—”

“Get out,” San growls, eyes never leaving the man. There’s something feral in his gaze now, something raw and unrestrained. “Now.”

The man chuckles. “Relax. I’m not here to cause trouble.”

“You already did,” San snaps. “You looked at her.”

Silence slams into the room.

The man lifts his brows. “Possessive for a contractual husband.”

That’s the wrong thing to say.

San’s fingers curl into the sheets so hard his knuckles go white. “Say her name again and I will forget I’m bleeding.”

“San,” you whisper, gripping his arm. You can feel the tension vibrating through him. “Please.”

He looks at you then—and the shift is immediate. The fury softens into something achingly gentle, like he’s terrified he scared you.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I didn’t mean to raise my voice.”

The man watches, intrigued now. “Interesting.”

San’s gaze snaps back to him, ice-cold. “Leave. Or I’ll have my men escort you out in pieces.”

A beat.

Then the man lifts his hands in surrender. “Message received.”

Before he exits, he glances back at you one last time. “You married a dangerous man.”

You don’t hesitate. “I know.”

The door closes.

San collapses back against the pillows, chest heaving. The heart monitor slowly begins to settle.

You turn on him, hands shaking. “Are you insane?! You’re barely stitched together!”

“I know,” he says hoarsely. “I’m sorry.”

“You could’ve torn something—”

“I know,” he repeats. Then, softer: “But I won’t let anyone look at you like that. Ever.”

Your anger deflates, replaced by something warm and terrifying.

San stares at the ceiling. For a long time, he says nothing.

Then, quietly: “I almost died today.”

Your throat tightens.

“And the only thing I could think about,” he continues, voice rough, “was that I never told you the truth.”

You reach for his hand again. This time, he doesn’t let go.

“I watch you sleep,” he admits. “Not in a creepy way,” he adds weakly. “Just… to make sure you’re breathing. I memorize the sound of your footsteps. I know when you’re upset before you say a word. And every time someone gets too close to you, I imagine how many bones I’d have to break to make them regret it.”

Your lips tremble. “San…”

“I’m in love with you,” he says. “Violently. Inconveniently. Completely.”

The heart monitor loses its mind again.

You laugh through your tears. “You’re really bad at hiding it.”

He huffs. “Apparently.”

You lean down, forehead pressing to his. “For the record?”

“Yes?”

“I’ve been in love with you since you learned how I take my coffee and pretended it was a coincidence.”

His breath catches.

“Since you sleep on the couch but still tuck the blanket around me first,” you continue. “Since you put yourself in front of a bullet without thinking.”

San lifts his free hand, cupping your cheek with reverent care, like you’re something sacred.

“I’m going to spend the rest of my life making this up to you,” he vows softly. “Every missed confession. Every night I pretended you weren’t already mine.”

You kiss him—slow, careful, full of promise.

The heart monitor absolutely cannot cope.

San laughs against your lips, breathless and stunned. “I’m never going to live this down, am I?”

“Nope,” you say, smiling through tears. “My mafia husband fell in love with me and his heart monitor snitched on him.”

He pulls you closer as much as the wires allowed.

“Good,” he murmurs. “Let it scream. I’m done pretending.”

───────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

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© lcvejjoong, 2026

taglist: @darjeelinglemontea ❤︎@fluffypuddingatz ❤︎@luumiinaa @snow0-0fairy @snow0-0fairy-writes

[souliloqui]

"do you know how much i love you?" sylus asks on a late evening, the two of you huddled close on the balcony. there's a chill in the air that threatens to dig into your bones but sylus' warmth holds it at bay as your back nestle deep into his chest.

you hum, feigning thought as you tap your chin. "you love me as much as all the money in the world," you reply teasingly, tilting your head back to catch his smile. it's infuriatingly handsome, even from this angle. "more than all the guns and jewels. more than anything you could ever own."

sylus huffs, amused, and leans all the down to kiss your forehead. "you'd correct," he says. "but that isn't the answer i'm thinking of."

you blink. "oh?" you asks, puzzled. "okay, then what is your answer?"

with a gentle hand, sylus tilts your head back up before angling it towards the stars above. then his arms coil tightly around your waist, pulling you in until the space between you vanishes. you melt like syrup into his heat, sweet and familiar and coated in his cologne. it lulls you into something soft, gifts you an emotion only he can give you.

"i do love you more than anything i could own," sylus begins, his voice a delicate song in your ears. "but i could only own so much and my love for you surpasses all the material possessions on this earth. in the universe and the many others that exist beyond our reach. i love you from the beginning of time to the end of time. i love you beyond time and during time. my love for you was there before they even knew what love meant. you, my dearest, are the very definition of love for me."

you stare up at the stars, still and shattered into a billion of tiny pieces. but his words rebuild you, every echo in your mind fitting you back together like the world's easiest puzzle. they don't make any mistakes; they fit each piece exactly where it needs to be until you've been made whole again. until your lungs inhale a hungry breath while trying not to hitch at the lump in your throat.

a warm hand wipes away a tear rolling down your cheek. but it can't keep up whens tears stream down like twin waterfalls. your world shifts when sylus slowly turns you around to face him, his expression heartachingly soft as he looks at you with such love and devotion.

"too much?" he teases, lightening the mood for your sake. but you shake your head, face crumpling up as your hands come up to hide your vulnerability from view. sylus' warmth engulfs you as he curls you into his arms and smatters feather-light kisses upon the top of your head.

"i love you so much," you sob out with such reverence coiled tightly the love itself that sylus swallows thickly.

"i never doubted that for a second."

[lcvejjoong]

ateez when you’re under the mistletoe 

pairing : ot8 non-idol! ateez x fem! reader

synopsis : At a holiday gathering, you and him pause beneath the mistletoe. Laughter fades, teasing softens, and the moment turns quiet and warm—an unspoken feeling neither of you wants to step away from.

genre : slice of life, fluff, rom-com, wholesome, soft christmas  

warnings : none

author’s note : MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE 🎄here’s an ateez christmas drabble 🫶

word count : 0.7k

KIM HONGJOONG

You’re both standing a little too close, pretending not to notice how quiet it’s gotten. 

Hongjoong’s explaining something—rambling, really—hands moving awkwardly as he talks, when his voice trails off.

“…sorry, I’m bad at explaining—”

You smile and glance upward without thinking. 

A second later, he follows your gaze.

He freezes.

“Oh,” he breathes, like the word got stuck halfway out. 

Hongjoong’s face heats instantly. He laughs under his breath, nervous, and suddenly the floor is very interesting.

“I mean—um—traditionally, I think—” He stops, swallows, then looks back at you, eyes soft but uncertain. “Only if you want to.”

He leans in slowly, giving you every chance to pull away. When you don’t, his smile is small but real, like he can’t quite believe this is happening.

PARK SEONGHWA

He notices the mistletoe the moment you step beneath it together.

You’re mid-laugh when his hand settles at your waist, steady and warm. “Hold on,” he says, voice low, amusement curling at the edges. “You feel that?”

You blink. “Feel what—?”

He tilts his head just enough for you to see it above you. The mistletoe. Perfectly placed.

“Well,” he murmurs, stepping closer, “wouldn’t want to disrespect tradition.”

Seonghwa’s thumb brushes your side, slow and deliberate. He watches your reaction carefully, even as he smiles like he already knows the answer.

“Relax,” he says softly. “I’ve got you.”

JEONG YUNHO

He groans the moment he looks up. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

You laugh, nudging his shoulder. “Holiday rules.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, but his smile is fond, familiar. 

Comfortable. Then his voice softens.

“…You know,” he adds, quieter, “I always wondered if this would happen.”

Yunho meets your eyes, something sincere shining through the joke. “Guess I’m glad it’s you.”

He leans in, gentle and warm—like home.

KANG YEOSANG

He’s still talking—about the lights, the food, something completely unrelated—while you’ve gone quiet.

“Hey, are you listening?” he asks, finally noticing your expression.

You point upward.

Yeosang follows your finger… then bursts out laughing. “No way. Seriously?”

He takes a step back, then forward again, grinning like he’s just been dared to do something ridiculous. “Wow. The universe is bold tonight.”

He rubs the back of his neck, suddenly shy despite the smile. “Guess that means we’re supposed to do something, huh?”

CHOI SAN

It’s your hand tightening around his sleeve that tips him off.

San looks down first, concern flickering across his face. “You okay?”

Then he notices where you’re standing. He glances up, smiles softly, and something in his expression warms—like the moment means more than he expected.

“Oh,” he says quietly.

He steps closer, careful, like he’s afraid of startling you. “We don’t have to,” he says, sincere. “I just… wanted you to know I noticed.”

When you nod, his hand cups your cheek with reverence, like this is something to be treasured.

SONG MINGI

He steps back without looking—and immediately bumps into the doorway.

“Ow—why is this doorway attacking me?”

You laugh, pointing upward. He squints, then his eyes widen.

“Oh. Oh no.”

Mingi’s face goes bright red as everyone nearby suddenly becomes very interested. “This is—wow. This is really happening.”

He laughs, half-hysterical, half-delighted. “I swear I’m cooler than this usually.”

Despite the chaos, his smile is genuine—and a little hopeful.

JUNG WOOYOUNG

You feel his gaze on you before he says anything.

“Funny spot to stop walking,” Wooyoung says casually, but his eyes flick upward and linger. 

A slow grin spreads across his face.

You follow his gaze and groan. “Of course.”

“Oh, don’t sound so disappointed,” he replies, leaning closer. “You’re under my favorite holiday decoration.”

He tilts his head, voice dropping. “So—do I get permission, or should I keep teasing you about it?”

He waits, eyes bright, enjoying every second of your reaction.

CHOI JONGHO

He notices the mistletoe instantly.

He doesn’t comment on it. 

Instead, he steps closer, subtly shielding you from the noise of the room. The chatter fades, replaced by the soft glow of lights and the sound of your breathing.

His eyes lift briefly, then return to yours.

“Guess we’re here,” he murmurs.

There’s no rush in him. 

No audience. Just a shared pause that feels intentional, intimate.

“For as long as you want.”

© lcvejjoong, 2025

[makeitmingi]

In Sickness And In Health

Genre: Romance, Fluff, Comfort

Pairing: Seonghwa x Reader (y/n)

Characters: Doctor!Reader, Boyfriend!Seonghwa

Summary: Seonghwa has always been known to be the mother of the group, the one that takes care of everyone. But what happens when he falls ill? Luckily, his girlfriend is a doctor and will nurse him back to the health, just like he would for everyone else.

Word count: 4.7K

Story warning(s): Mentions of needle used for medical purposes, medications, being sick.

"Seonghwa?" You called out softly when you entered your shared house, closing the door behind you, but was replied with silence. You dropped your duffel bag onto the counter to take out the IV drip kit, fluid bag and medication.

Earlier at work...

"Hey, Hongjoong. Sorry I missed your call. What's up?" You called your boyfriend's best friend once the patient queue was freed up and you had a small break.

"Sorry to bother you, (y/n). I know you're working... Hwa's probably gonna kill me for telling you this but he's sick."

"Hwa's sick...? What do you mean?" Your eyes widened.

"Yeah, he knows you're on night shift and you know him, he never likes to have people take care of him... But he sounded quite bad over the phone and he didn't even let us to over to check on him..."

"Mhmm, I know exactly what you're talking about. Thanks for letting me know, Hongjoong. I'll go take care of him." You said.

"Let me know if you need anything."

"Thanks, I'll update you." You hummed and hung up with the captain before returning back to work.

So that's why, before you left work, you grabbed an IV drip set and all the necessary medications from the pharmacy that you may need to nurse Seonghwa back to health. Being a doctor has it's perks in that sense. And you were so worried about Seonghwa's condition that you ended up leaving your shift early.

"Seonghwa?" You poked your head into your shared room and was surprised the find the bed empty. You frowned, where did your sick boyfriend disappear to?

"Did he go out...?" You walked to your office and it was empty too. Then you checked the guest room.

"Oh, there you are." You sighed in relief.

On the bed of the guest room, there was a shivering lump under the blankets. You approached quietly and pulled back the covers, not wanting to surprise him too much.

"Seonghwa..." Your heart broke seeing Seonghwa so sick. He was shivering so much, lips quivering and cold sweat on his forehead.

"(y/n)?!" Seonghwa opened his eyes and was shocked to see you standing there.

"W-What are you doing home early? Did something happen?" He blinked, as if he was worried you were a hallucination caused by his fever. You could tell he was worrying about you.

"Hwa, stop worrying about me right now. I came home because I heard you were sick!" You frowned. Seonghwa cursed Hongjoong's name under his breath, knowing that only his best friend would rat him out to you like that.

"Come, let's get you back to bed. Why are you sleeping in the guest room?" You asked, pulling the blanket away to help him.

"Because I didn't want to spread my germs on our shared bed and I've been cold sweating. I'm so gross. You can't afford to get sick, love." Seonghwa quivered.

"Ah, Seonghwa... You know I don't care about that. We're getting you back to our bed. Come on." You helped him up.

"You should wear a mask." He tried to cough away from you.

"Park Seonghwa. Let me take care of you, okay? Stop worrying, please." You begged. He looked so sick and he was still fretting over you, it caused an ache in your chest.

"Okay, okay." He noticed your desperate tone and slipped under the covers of your shared bed, letting you tuck him in.

"Here." You put the thermometer in his mouth then went out to get the IV supplies from the counter.

"Luckily Nurse Jung let me borrow one of the portable IV stands to take home." You chuckled as you wheeled the IV stand in and fixed the height beside Seonghwa. Then you removed the thermometer from his mouth and checked. Seonghwa's fever was so high if you didn't have the IV, you would have taken him to the hospital.

"Oh, Hwa." You softened, feeling guilt bubble in your chest. But for now, you pushed it down. Seonghwa needed your focus and attention right now.

"Let me wash my hands first." You went to wash your hands and prepared the IV port to put into Seonghwa's arm.

"It's alright, baby. Slowly." Seonghwa said when he noticed your hands shaking slightly as you wiped his skin with an alcohol swab.

"Take a deep breath." You instructed and inserted the needle with precision. Seonghwa's face scrunched at the pinch, which made you feel worse.

"Sorry. It's over." You pouted.

"It's okay, love. Not your fault." He gave you a small smile. You grabbed a syringe to add the ampoule medications into the IV bag.

"Alright, there we go. It'll help with symptoms and your fever should subside quickly." You told him as you adjusted the dial flow once the drip was hooked up to the bag.

"Can you hand me another pillow?" He requested. You nodded and placed a bolster under his IV arm so it'll be comfortable.

"I'll be right back." You went to get rid of all the trash in the area and wash your hands. While you were outside, you prepared a cloth and a bucket of cool water so you could wipe him down. And you put some juice into a tumbler for him.

"I missed you." Seonghwa smiled as he watched you put the tumbler of juice and bucket on his nightstand. You started with wiping his face, feeling how warm his face was.

"Your hands are cold." He chuckled, placing his free hand over yours on his cheek.

"They're not. You're just warm." You smiled softly as you gently wiped his neck too. Then you rinsed the cloth and wiped his arms.

"Hwa, careful." You hissed when he lifted his IV arm, trying to make it easier for you to wipe his entire arm. He pouted at you and placed his arm back down.

"I need to wipe your legs too." You told him.

"But it'll be cold." He whined, quickly gripping the blanket since he knew you were going to yank it away.

"Just for a bit, Hwa. Come on, be good~" You cooed at him, which made him frown. He liked to coo at you like you were a baby and of course, you will take the opportunity to do the same to him now.

"Fine." He sulked and let you pull the blanket away. His first instinct was to him to curl his legs up. You raised his pajama pant to wipe his leg, rinsing the cloth before moving onto the next. But when you were done, you didn't let Seonghwa cover himself entirely, only covering his legs from his hips.

"But I'm cold, baby." He said, shivering.

"I know, Hwa. I'm sorry but if you bundle up like this, you'll warm your body up too much. The air conditioning will help with the fever." You kissed his forehead.

"I'm going to shower. You try to get some sleep first." You told him. He nodded, eyes already half closed.

'Hey, Hongjoong. Thank god you text me, his condition was terrible... But I put him on a drip, he should be fine. - (y/n)'

'That's good to hear. Hwa's lucky to have a doctor girlfriend or else I would have to drag his butt to the hospital and that'll be a whole nother thing. - Hongjoong'

'He's a horrible patient. But I'll keep you updated. - (y/n)'

With that, you went to take a quick shower to wash off the smell of antiseptic and germs from the hospital.

"Soup... Soup... Soup..." Since Seonghwa fell asleep, you decided to start a soup going, digging through the fridge for ingredients.

While the soup was boiling on the stove, you quietly moved the air purifier from the living room, into the bedroom. You also refilled his waterbottle with cold water. Then you went to change the sheets in the guest bedroom.

"Myers' cocktail with Peramivir administered at 3:08pm. Temperature taken 39.2 degrees." You wrote down the information on your phone, just in case.

"That's done." You turned the stove off for the soup and went to check on Seonghwa.

To avoid waking him up, you used your forehead thermometer instead of the one that needs to be in the mouth.

"38.3..." You whispered. Covering your mouth to yawn, you went to retrieve the bucket and filled it up with fresh water, along with the cloth from before.

Were you tired? Of course, you worked the graveyard shift at the hospital last night. But your priority now was Seonghwa.

"Mmm..." Seonghwa let out a soft whine in his sleep.

"Sorry, Hwa. I'll be quick." You whispered, rinsing and wringing the towel before gently wiping his face and neck. Then doing the same to wipe his arms.

"Baby?" He croaked out, slowly opening his eyes to see you standing over him to wipe down his arm.

"I'm sorry to disturb your sleep, I just wanted to try and bring your fever down faster. I've made soup for you when you feel like it. You can go back to sleep after this." You whispered with a soft smile. He nodded his head, a small smile coming onto his face as he watched you take care of him.

Seonghwa always liked taking care of people, whether it's his family, his members and of course, he LOVED taking care of his precious girlfriend. He always put others' needs before his own.

Until now, he is still the best person that takes care of Hongjoong when he's busy being the captain of the team.

"Actually, I'm a little hungry." Seonghwa admitted.

"Oh, okay! It's good that you have an appetite. I'll finish here and get you some food." You threw the cloth into the bucket and brought it out. Then you got some soup for him.

"Here." You placed the tray on the foldable table on the bed. Then you helped him sit up.

"No rice?" He gave you a sad face.

"You know you can't eat rice when you have a fever, Hwa. When your fever subsides, I'll make you rice porridge." You told him, going to open the window to let some fresh air come in.

"Sit with me, baby." He said. You hummed, pulling a chair to sit at his bed side to watch him eat.

Seeing Seonghwa eat so slowly, you figured his throat must be hurting him. It hurt to see your boyfriend like this. You were out the whole night, taking care of others when you couldn't even care for your loved on who was suffering alone at home.

"This is delicious, baby. Tha- Why are you crying?!" Seonghwa panicked when he turned his head to see tears streaming down your face. You didn't even realise that you were crying.

"I'm sorry." You looked down, shaking your head as you wiped your tears with the sleeve of your hoodie.

"My precious baby. There's nothing for you to be sorry for." He reached out to hold your hand since he couldn't reach your face.

"B-Because... What kind of doctor am I? I treat people for a living and I didn't even know you were sick! Hongjoong had to tell me and I find you in that condition. You always take care of me and I can't even-"

"Okay, okay. Breathe, my love. Breathe." Seonghwa calmed you down, moving his tray away to make some space for you.

"Come here, love." He patted his lap and you moved to sit with him, being extra careful of his drip.

"Ouh, my precious baby. My love." You hugged each other for the first time that day, Seonghwa coddling you and cooing at you like you were his baby.

"No, stop! I'm supposed to be taking care of you! Not you comforting me." You wailed, wiping your tears. Seonghwa kissed your temple, rubbing your back. Honestly, this was what Seonghwa wanted to feel better too. He missed you and just wanted to have you as close to him as possible.

"I've been waiting to hold you since you came back but I didn't want to get you sick. And I'm so gross and sweaty." Seonghwa chuckled.

"You won't... Even if you did, I don't care." You mumbled.

"No, you need to rest." It took everything in you to separate yourself from Seonghwa's embrace and placed the tray in front of him so he could continue eating.

"You take very good care of me. You're a great doctor and a great girlfriend, your patients are lucky to have you. I'm lucky to have you."

"You always take such good care of me and I couldn't even do the same." You slumped.

"Don't say that. We take good care of each other. You've just finished a night shift and yet, you've been running around to take care of me." He held your hand in his, rubbing the back with his thumb.

"Eat while I get you your medication, okay?" You stood up and went out of the room.

"Your drip is done so you can take these." You handed him a small dish with the medication on it. Before he ate the medication, you disconnected the drip from the needle port in his arm. Then you carefully removed the needle, placing a band aid over.

"Thanks, baby." Seonghwa smiled and ate the medication, chasing it with gulps of water. You gave a small smile in return and cleared up the area before washing your hands.

"Luckily I didn't throw away your sharps bin." He called out to you as you were throwing the used needle away.

"It's not even half full, I just keep it around for cases like this." You replied.

"Baby, I'm being a good patient and resting. You should also be a good baby and rest. Come on, I know you haven't taken a break since you came back and you worked graveyard." Seonghwa said.

"I will... Later..." You replied, taking the empty juice tumbler and placing it in the kitchen.

"Baby..." Seonghwa frowned in disapproval.

"I'm fine, Hwa. I promise." You squeezed his hand, taking the thermometer and taking his temperature. Finally, his temperature was now a low grade fever.

"Thank goodness I don't have to take you to the hospital now. But I'll continue to monitor your temperature." You informed, taking your phone to note down the temperature and medication log. Seonghwa curiously leaned closer to you to try and take a peek at what you were writing down.

"Wow, I'm like your patient. Just that I have you to myself and I don't need to share you with other patients." He grinned.

"You are my patient. Even though it's usually the nurse that does the charts, not me. And you never have to share me, you know I'll alwyas prioritise you and your health." You scoffed.

"I know. I just like hearing you say it." He grinned.

"Hmm, on second thought, I think the fever has made you even more delusional." You chuckled, placing your hand on his forehead.

"That's impossible. I have the best doctor in the world taking care of me." He grasped your hand to kiss the back of it. You smiled and pressed your cheek against his.

"Now come to bed." He whispered.

"I will. Just let me clean up the kitchen. You should sleep more." You replied. He hummed obediently and let you tuck him in.

"Come back soon." He smiled. You closed the window and quietly left the room to let him sleep. Although, you didn't just clean the kitchen. You knew Seonghwa was particular about cleanliness so you did his daily cleaning routine for him, knowing he couldn't do it today.

"Lint roller, vacuum, wet tissue mop then lint roller." You tried to remember his cleaning sequence and took the necessary equipment you needed to clean.

However, you didn't want to wake him so you didn't use the vacuum, instead you used the broom to sweep the floor.

"Ah, finally done." You fell back onto the couch with the lint roller in your hand.

"Baby...?" Seonghwa came out, wrapped in his blanket. He woke up to find his bedside empty and when he felt how cold the sheets were, he knew you didn't come to bed like you said he would.

"(y/n)-" Seonghwa paused when he saw you asleep on the couch, still gripping the lint roller in your hand.

"Sweet girl." He cooed and put his blanket aside before gently easing the lint roller out of your hand and putting it aside.

Looking around, Seonghwa knew that you must have done his usual daily cleaning routine for him. He smiled softly, brushing your hair away from your face, you knew him so well.

"Rest well, my love." He kissed your head and placed the blanket over your body instead.

Seonghwa went to the room and took his temperature, writing down the reading and timing on a post it, knowing that you would want to log it in later. He was still running a low grade fever and felt aches in his body but he felt 10 times better than he did this morning, all thanks to you.

"Hongjoong ah." Seonghwa made the phone call in the room, not wanting to disturb you.

"Okay, listen Seonghwa. Before you come at me all mad, you were so sick and didn't want any of us to help you. That's why I told (y/n), okay? So it's your fault."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. You so owe me." Seonghwa rolled his eyes, even though he knew Hongjoong couldn't see him.

"You have a doctor girlfriend to give you first class care. I don't owe you anything. But I'm guessing you're feeling better already?"

"I do, thanks to her. She's resting now, poor thing worked the whole night and came back to take care of me. She didn't even have time to sit down and catch a breather." Seonghwa sighed.

"You both take care of people before you take care of yourselves. See? That's why you're made for each other."

"Right..." Seonghwa scoffed.

"Anyway, do you two need anything from us? The others should be done with their schedule and I just left the studio. I can pick up whatever you need."

"You shouldn't be around the house for too long or you might get sick too. But if you could drop dinner off for us, it'll be a great help. I don't really want (y/n) to do anymore cooking or for her to be eating ramyeon." Seonghwa knew you too well.

"Sure. Send me what you want and I'll go pick it up, drop it off at yours."

"Thanks, Hongjoong ah." Seonghwa said and hung up. He texted over the food for Hongjoong to buy, knowing your likes and dislikes.

As much as Seonghwa wanted to snuggle with you, he had to hold himself back. Firstly, he didn't want to wake you. Secondly, he was still worried about getting you sick.

"Ah..." He winced and dramatically held his arm back as he stood before you.

"Once you recover, you can get all the cuddles from her." He took a deep breath and returned to the room.

And of course, he found his nintendo switch in the charger, you must have put it there, knowing he would be bored and want to play when he wakes up.

When you woke up, you sat up in shock. You didn't even know when you fell asleep. But the curtains to the living room were drawn and there was a blanket placed over you.

"Yeah, she's still sleeping... I want her to get as much rest as she can get since she worked graveyard... Thanks, Hongjoong ah. I'll see you." You heard hushed whispers from the bedroom and assumed it was Seonghwa speaking to Hongjoong over the phone, maybe updating him on Seonghwa's current condition.

"Oh, baby! You're awake." Seonghwa was heading back into the living room and spotted you standing there, half asleep and confused.

"Was that Hongjoong?" You asked.

"Mhmm, he picked up some dinner for us. I didn't want you cooking and I shouldn't be cooking for you when I'm sick." He said, placing the empty cups on the counter.

"Ah, I'm fine to cook, Seonghwa. And besides, there's still some leftover chicken soup for you." You yawned, shuffling to him.

"I know. But I also know you'll give all the leftover soup to me and make ramyeon for yourself." He stated.

"I..." Your cheeks heated up as he exposed you. Seonghwa chuckled, watching you stand there, still half asleep and a little lost, with the blanket wrapped around your body like a child.

"You should be resting... Let me do all the dishes..." You said to him.

"I feel better already, baby. I took my temperature down and even took the medications." He said, showing you the post it note with all the temperature readings, the medications he took and the timings of when he took them.

"Let me feel. Come here." You reached up to feel his cheeks and forehead in your hands.

"Your fever is gone. Let's hope it stays that way. But still, you're not fully recovered." You frowned slightly. You were relieved that his fever was finally gone.

"After this." He kissed your knuckles.

"Let me put this back." You bundled up the blanket and folded it properly, returning it to the bedroom.

"Gosh, I didn't even know when I fell asleep." You rubbed your cheeks and let out another yawn.

"Poor baby. You were probably so tired and running on adrenaline to take care of me. Once the food is delivered, we should eat and go back to bed." Seonghwa frowned sadly.

"Yeah, we should." You smiled softly.

"I bought some immunity juice thingy in the fridge. You should drink that. It's good for you." You pointed.

"It looks horrible. Tumeric, black pepper, orange, ginger, carrot, apple, cucumber... I think just reading this is making me feel more sick than I already am." Seonghwa took the bottle out, cringing at the colour and ingredients listed on it. You took the bottle from him and poured him a glass.

"It's good for you." You re-emphasised and held it out to him. Seonghwa sighed in defeat and grabbed the glass to drink it. He gulped the whole thing down, shuddering when he finished.

"Now, you. You're always around sick people, you should be drinking it too to build immunity." Seonghwa refilled the glass.

"But..." Your face fell.

"Be good, baby." Seonghwa shot you a pointed look, repeating your own words back to you.

"I take you being able to boss me around as a sign that you're feeling better." You raised an eyebrow with him but still drank the immunity juice. Seonghwa was right, the taste was vile.

"See? Horrible, right?" Seonghwa chuckled and engulfed you in a bear hug, rubbing your back while you nodded glumly.

"There, there." He comforted. Seonghwa's hugs felt like home, you nuzzled your cheek against his chest and closed your eyes. It doesn't matter how long you are away from him, you always miss his hugs and his warm embrace.

"My love, are you falling asleep on me?" He chuckled.

"Shhhhh..." You hushed him. Seonghwa sighed in defeat and stroked the back of your head. He guided you to the couch so he could tuck you under his arm.

"Don't sleep, Hongjoong's coming to delivery dinner soon. After that, you can sleep." He said.

"If you don't want me to sleep, stop being so comfy and cozy." You grumbled. Seonghwa laughed at your nonsense.

"Wait! You should be the one resting! Not me!" You shot up suddenly, making Seonghwa jump in shock. He didn't have time to protest as you pulled him up from the couch and brought him back to the room.

"There. Stay here until I get the food from Hongjoong." You pulled the blanket over his legs.

"My love-"

"Shh, rest." You placed the Nintendo switch console in his hands and exited the room to prepare his next round of medications, as well as fill up his water bottle for him.

"Hongjoong ah! Thanks again for doing this... No, he's not sleeping, you can see him if you want... That's right, you need to remain healthy as the last Matz standing... Don't make yourself sick taking care of the kids and not of yourself." Seonghwa heard you talking to Hongjoong, it was nice to hear you so comfortable with him.

The love of his life and his best friend.

"Mmm, I will. Take care and let me know if you need anything!" You bid Hongjoong goodbye and brought the food bags in.

"Stay there, Hwa! I'll plate everything up." You said just as Seonghwa was about to stand up from bed. You knew him too well to know what he would do.

"Do you have a camera in here?!" Seonghwa yelled back.

"What are you talking about?" You chuckled as you entered the room with a tray of food for him. You placed the tray on the bed for him.

"Where's your dinner? And don't tell me you will eat after me. I won't eat unless you eat with me." Just like you knew Seonghwa, he knew you very well too.

"Fine, I'll go get my food." Your shoulders slumped and you went to get your bowl of noodle soup.

A nice silence fell over the both of you as you ate, the both of you were rather quiet eaters. Just that usually, you and Seonghwa would put food on each other's spoons but with Seonghwa being sick, you both didn't want to risk cross-contamination.

"I'll go take a shower. I really want to get out of these clothes." Seonghwa said with an uncomfortable frown once dinner was done. You nodded and let him shower while you cleaned up.

"Don't go under the hot water for too long, Hwa! It might trigger your fever again." You knocked on the door.

"Yes, Dr (y/l/n)." He replied. You laid on your side of the bed, checking your phone for messages.

"I'm back." Seonghwa wrapped his arms around you from behind, pulling you flushed against his body. He was still slightly warm but the medication seemed to really help.

"Still feel ill?" You ran your hands through his hair.

"No, I'm a lot better but the body ache is still there." He smiled softly, grabbing your hand and kissing your fingertips.

"I've set an alarm for you to take your meds, so don't swear at me for waking you up later, okay?" You joked, knowing that Seonghwa would NEVER ever swear at you.

"You don't have to wake up, baby. I can wake up on my own to take the medication, just put it on my table." Seonghwa said.

"It's fine. I want to, it will make me feel better knowing your temperature and reaction to the medication." You insisted. He knew there was no persuading you otherwise so Seonghwa just nodded and pulled you to him. You both didn't care about getting you sick anymore, you just wanted to be as humanly near him as possible.

"Thank you for taking care of me, baby." He kissed your forehead.

"What's there to thank for? You're always taking care of me and making sure I'm at my best." You looked up at him.

"Yeah, but I like to take care of you. It's not a chore at all, it makes me feel useful knowing I can help you. And with your job, you always take care of patients. It's nice to be taken care sometimes."

"Seonghwa, you're always useful, no matter what. I've never saw you as useless." You said.

"I know... It's just a personal feeling." He shrugged.

"I could say the same for you. You're always taking care of the other members and especially Hongjoong. So you can take a break and let me take care of you." You giggled.

"We'll always be here to take care of each other. You know like they say... In sickness and in health." He stroked your cheek.

"Exactly." You smiled softly and closed your eyes to join him in dreamland.

~

Masterlist

[starhwaxo]

Yeosang as your boyfriend short oneshot

genre : pure fluff !

summary : life with cutie yeosang as your boyfriend, the way he treats you, loves on you etc etc

Having Yeosang as your boyfriend is so peaceful.

You often just do parallel play, with him resting near you while you busy yourself with your interests.

He’s a listener, always prepared to hear whatever you have to say and nodding along even if he doesn’t quite get it.

He’s so soft in how he takes care of you, placing fluffy blankets over your body if he notices a shiver, delivering your favorite snacks when he sees the shelves or fridge get empty.

His love isn’t always shown with touch, not even words but he makes an effort to let you know how loved you are.

His sensitivity makes touch feel like an intrusion, his body naturally curls up, yet he wants to push through for you.

You find him slowly opening up more, he’ll be letting you hold onto him during a sleepy night.

You just can’t help but giggle when you look up at his flushed face, he’s blushing immensely and trying not to push away from the hug.

He goes slow with every action, careful to not overwhelm the both of you.

Kisses will mostly be quick pecks, or a romantic make out.

The makeouts will be where he slowly takes his time, and deepens the kiss, all while keeping the pace just enough.

As he rests your hands on your waist, rubbing gentle circles to soothe you and ground himself.

He likes how intimate it feels, you’re both vulnerable in the moment—but trusting in each other.

So expect kisses more often than you think.

He also has a tough side as well, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t notice the strength of his body.

When he gets out of the shower, towel wrapped around his waist, it’s hard not to stare.

Going to the gym is one of his hobbies, so seeing him shirtless completely contrasts the cuteness of his face.

During simple tasks and you can see all his arm veins glistening, it’s quite hard to hold back.

He’s incredibly hot too.

You also notice the deepness of his smoky voice.

When you wake up next to him, his morning voice can make you crumble in

“Good morning”.

It sounds raspy and even deeper than usual.

The best part of those early mornings is seeing his calm face after waking from slumber.

His birthmark is bright, as the light from the window shines through.

He looks ethereal, like pure serenity.

He’s all yours.

[sturnaisa-deactivated20260531]

→﹐ ⛩ 𝐌𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝. ♡

함께 행복해요

Seonghwa x fem reader

context: you are on a videocall.

fluff, cute, established relationship, couple things.

“Hello love”, he smiles after you accept the video call. You automatically smile too.

“Babe! How you doing?”

He was fidgeting in the swivel chair back and forth. “Better now that you've answered me. I missed you, you know?”

“Missed you too,” you say, and he lets out a breath like he’d been holding it.

“You look like home,” he adds.

“Hwa...” that put a cute smile on you.

He grins at the sound of his nickname, the one only you say that way. “What? It’s true.” He leans his elbows on the desk, chin resting between his palms. “I saw your name pop up and suddenly my whole day made sense.”

You laugh. “You’re being sweet today, what happened?”

He hums as if pretending to think. “Maybe I just haven’t seen my girl in too long.” His eyes flick up to yours. “Or maybe you’re just especially pretty right now.”

You hide your face with your hand for a second and he immediately protests.

“No, no, don’t do that. I waited all day to see you, don’t start hiding from me now.”

You lower your hand, and he brightens like you’ve done him a favor.

“There,” he says softly. “Much better.”

He shifts in his chair again, the familiar fidget you’ve grown used to, something he only does when he’s excited or trying not to show how happy he is.

“I was supposed to practice after dinner,” he admits, “but I kept checking my phone. Just in case you messaged me first.” He sighs, smiling at himself. “Guess I lost that battle.”

You smile back. “You could’ve called earlier.”

“I like calling when I know I’ll have you for a while,” he says, voice dropping into something softer, steadier. “Not rushing. Just… being with you like this.” He settles deeper into his chair, knees pulled up slightly, like he’s getting comfortable for a long call.

“You know what I kept doing today?” he asks, fiddling with the ring on his finger. “Every time something annoyed me, I’d be like, ‘It’s fine, I’m calling her later.’” He laughs at himself. “Kinda embarrassing how well that worked.”

You shake your head, amused. “You’re dramatic.”

“Only with you,” he answers instantly, with that small, shy tilt of his smile.

Then, softer: “You make everything feel less complicated. Just being here with you like this.”

He pauses, watching you for a momen, not intense, just… present, like he’s really taking you in.

“Tell me about your day,” he says. “All of it. I don’t care if it’s long or Nothing special. I want to hear your voice for a while, just you and me.”

You speak, and he listens attentively, his hand on his chin, focused.

You finish, the matter is closed, then he shifts again, the chair squeaking a little as he tucks one leg under himself. “You know what I really want?”

“What?”

“To be there.” His voice drops into something warm and honest. “Right now. Sitting next to you. Or lying on the couch with my head in your lap.” He gives you a tiny, shy grin. “I’d even let you play with my hair.”

You laugh, and he leans closer like it’s a reward.

“I miss that,” he adds, quieter. “Your hands. Your warmth.”

“Come here,” he says affectionately, knowing you can’t, but pretending anyway. “Just… closer. I wanna see you like you’re right here.”

You lean in, and his expression melts instantly, sweet, almost shy.

“Hi,” he whispers.

“Hi,” you whisper back.

He beams, cheeks round, eyes soft. “That’s my favorite.”

“What is?”

“When you get all quiet like that with me.” He tilts his head. “Makes me feel like… I don’t know. Like I’m special to you.”

You smile, and he gives you a soft, boyish grin in return.

Then he says, barely audible, “I wish I could kiss you.”

Your breath catches a little.

He sees it. He always sees everything, and smiles wider.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “That one. That face is my favorite too.”

[makeitmingi]

Princess At Work

Genre: Romance, Comedy, Cute, Fluff

Pairing: San x Reader (y/n)

Characters: Mom!Reader, Dad!San, Daughter (Choi Haeun)

Summary: With san's paternity leave being over, you knew he was having a hard time going back to work and leaving you alone with haeun. So it was time for haeun to visit the studio for the first time to see her dad at work!

Word count: 3.8k

warning(s): mentions of breastfeeding, reader jokes about being a surrogate mother, postpartum symptoms.

[A/N: This was meant to be a drabble but it obviously turned into a oneshot with nearly 4k words...]

"I don't want to go. Please don't make me go." San whined as he paced around the living room with Haeun in his arms. You looked at him with an amused look on his face before turning back to finishing the dishes from breakfast.

"You have to, Sannie." You giggled softly. Today was San's first day back to work after 3 months of paternity leave. While he wasn't 100% off schedule, he did have reduced appearances and practices.

"But I want to stay here with you and princess. You want me to stay, don't you, princess?" San pouted, asking Haeun.

"We'll still be here when you come home, you know?" You raised an eyebrow at him.

"What if she misses me?" San asked.

"We knew you would have to go back to work sooner or later, San. Haeun will be fine. You only have a photoshoot anyway, it shouldn't end too late." You said.

"What if I miss her?" He asked again, smiling down at Haeun. You sighed and shook your head.

"Trust me, you'll be fine. Your wallpaper is her, your keys has a photo of her, you have 2 photos of her in your wallet." You listed.

"A photo will never be the same as the real thing and you know it!" He squinted his eyes at you. Geez, he was seriously an obsessed father in the most adoring way.

"It's only a few hours. You can do it." You patted his shoulder to try to be encouraging.

All of yesterday, San was quite depressed and upset at the thought of it being his last day of paternity leave. He did want to request to extend it but he had been away from a full schedule for a long time, he still had duties to fulfill and fans that were eagerly waiting for his return. It wasn't fair to them and the rest of the group.

And while the two of you did play it like a joke, you knew that San was really bothered. Not that he didn't trust you. But his bond with Haeun was different.

Which is probably why he was having some separation anxiety at the thought of being away from her.

"You're going to be late." You spoke softly.

"I'll see you later, my sweet angel baby princess." He leaned down to kiss Haeun, inhaling her comforting scent. San did have the oddest combination of nicknames for Haeun.

"And you, I'll miss you too. I love you, jagi." He gave you a kiss with a soft smile.

"If you need anything, call me right away." He told you. You nodded and smiled softly, giving him another peck.

You could tell it took a lot for San to reluctantly hand Haeun back to you. You carried her over your shoulder and patted her back, letting her snuggle against you.

"Bye." You wished, walking him to the door. After wearing his shoes, he grabbed his bag and went down.

"Alright, missy. It's just you and me." You changed Haeun then put the 3-month old in a baby carrier strapped to your body.

As you cleaned the house, your walking coaxed Haeun to take her mid-morning nap. She was so adorable with her little fist holding onto the material of your shirt. It was a habit she started with San, holding his shirt when he put her to sleep.

"I love you." You kissed her head as she slept. Once half of the chores were done, you sat down for a little break. You picked up your phone to see a message from Wooyoung.

'He's so saddddd. - Wooyoung'

Attached to his message was a picture of San, sitting on the couch, looking at his phone with a sad look on his face.

"Mmmm." Haeun whined and stirred, making you put your phone down before you had the chance to reply. You removed her from the baby carrier.

"It's okay, my love. I'm here. It's alright." You comforted her as she whimpered in your arms.

"Sweet girl, you're okay." You cooed as she stared up at you, a smile appearing on her face as she reaches up to your face.

"Actually, shall we go visit your appa, baby girl? He looks so sad." Even with all the teasing, you had a really, really soft spot for San. And the photo of him pouting was stuck in your head.

Haeun babbled something in return and you took that as her giving you the approval.

"You're such a daddy's girl, aren't you, Choi Haeun?" You chuckled as you changed her diaper and clothes.

"Luckily, appa always restocks your go bag." You said to Haeun as you checked through the baby bag. There were changes of clothes, a ton of diapers, a blanket, toys, water, powdered milk (for emergencies) and loads of baby wipes. After every outing, San always replenishes the supplies.

He was just an amazing dad and partner. He never shied away from being involved in Haeun's care, he went above and beyond to help you. You never felt alone, navigating childcare and being parents.

"Are you ready to see appa?" You asked. Haeun kicked her feet in the baby carrier, making little sounds.

"I'm going to take that as a yes." You laughed and left the house. You took a cab to the venue that San told you they were shooting at.

"(y/n)?" Hongjoong immediately spotted you when you stepped out of the cab. He was standing at the food truck that they usually had during photoshoots.

All the boys were very involved and protective of you and Haeun, she was the luckiest girl.

"Hi. We're here to surprise, San. You know he's having a hard time adjusting back to everything..." You trailed off. Hongjoong nodded his head, he was the leader, he knew everything.

"I'm sure he'll be glad to see you and the little princess~" Hongjoong cooed at Haeun, stroking her head.

"Eung..." Haeun looked at Hongjoong with familiarity.

"You're happy to see your uncle Joongie, aren't you?" Hongjoong had a proud smile on his face, handing his coffee to the manager and grabbing a fresh wet wipe to clean his hands. You unclipped the baby carrier, already knowing what he was going to do.

"There we go." Hongjoong carefully fished Haeun out from the carrier and carefully held her. San had made sure all the boys were trained on how to hold a baby carefully.

"There, comfy?" Hongjoong craned his neck to look at Haeun, who seemed uncertain for a while but did settle in his arms.

"Let's go find your dad." He said. You laughed and followed behind him, bowing to the staff who greeted you.

"Is that the little princess?" Yunho, who was monitoring his shots, grinned when he saw Haeun in Hongjoong's arms. The 3-month old blinked at the tall male.

"How is it possible for someone to get cuter with every passing day?" Yunho asked as Haeun grasped his finger.

"You guys are unbelievable." You shook your head.

Yunho and Hongjoong laughed at your words before continuing on to where you assumed was the waiting room. They knocked on the door first, in case anyone was changing or filming.

"San? You there? Anyone filming?" Hongjoong asked specifically just to make sure, patting Haeun on the back.

"Yeah, cap... Come in, no one is filming." San replied. Yunho opened the door and the others were there. San hadn't looked up from his phone yet.

"Is that my baby?!" Wooyoung exclaimed, coming over in big strides. Hearing the commotion, San finally lifted his head. His eyes widened as he took in the scene in front of him. You were there and Wooyoung reaching over to take his princess from Hongjoong's hold, showering her in so much love and kisses.

"Baby?" San blinked a few times, standing up and rubbing his eyes. The look on his face was priceless, as if he thought he was dreaming.

"You're not dreaming, San." You giggled as you greeted him. The first thing San did was hug you, pulling you to his chest, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

"What are you and princess doing here?" He asked softly.

"I heard you were being weepy and pouty so I brought princess to surprise you." You laughed, burying your face against his pec.

"I was not weepy." He frowned. That was when he realised, you have been here for god knows how long and he has yet to carry his princess while Hongjoong and Wooyoung have already carried her.

"Princess~" San sang as he approached her, he grew jealous, seeing her give small smiles to Mingi.

"No, my baby." Wooyoung turned away.

"She has zero of your DNA!" San argued. You let out an 'oof' at San's comment, the two were constantly bickering over Haeun.

So you learnt, not to get involved. You waved to Yeosang before taking a seat beside him. He very kindly held out the cup of popcorn chicken he was eating, offering you a piece. You gratefully took a piece to eat.

"It's funny how at this point, you're not bothered by them. Like it's your normal for them to be bickering." Jongho chuckled as he ate. You nodded with a shrug.

"They're the married couple. I'm just a surrogate." You joked. They only got your attention when you heard Haeun begin to cry.

"You two need to be in time out. Look what you did to Haeun. Your back and forth overwhelmed her." Seonghwa scolded.

"Come to uncle Hwa hwa." Seonghwa reached over to hold Haeun, rubbing her back to comfort her like he usually did. But Haeun wasn't having it this time. That was your cue.

"Come here, lovey." You took your daughter into your arms, hushing her and swaying gently.

"I'm sorry, princess." San spoke softly as he came over, having retrieved a handkerchief from the baby bag, gently wiping her tears.

"(y/n), you can feed behind the changing screen if you'd like. We told the staff." Hongjoong smiled. You looked at Haeun and nodded gratefully, heading over. San was hot on your heels.

"Let me help." As a precaution, he still put the modesty cover over you as you fed Haeun.

"Feeling warm? Shall I bring a fan in?" San asked. He knew that you always felt warm and sweaty whenever you fed Haeun.

"I'm good. Come, sit." You nodded over to the seat beside you. But of course, being the ever attentive partner, San didn't just sit. He went out for a few seconds and came back with a bottle of cold water and a protein bar. He knew that you needed adequate nourishment since you were burning energy to feed Haeun.

"I'll feed you." He whispered, unwrapping the bar and holding it out for you to take a bite.

"Thank you." You smiled, leaning against his arm slightly. San turned his head so that he could plant a kiss on your temple. He lifted the cover slightly to make sure Haeun was okay.

"I didn't mean to scare her..." If San was a puppy, his ears would be guiltily folded against his head now.

"I know that. She knows that too. You and Wooyoung only have her best intentions at heart. She would never be scared." You said.

"Are you supposed to be shooting? I don't want to take you away." You asked.

"Not yet. I did the first set already, I'm waiting for the others before we can do the group shot." He explained, letting you take another bite of the protein bar.

"Mmm..." Haeun began to whine and stir, meaning that she was done. San helped you hold her while you adjusted your clothes back.

"My sweet princess." San cradled Haeun, smiling down at her. She grinned back at him, making him let out a tiny squeal.

"Alright, calm down, appa. Don't get a heart attack." You patted his pec, making him roll his eyes. San waited for you before the two of you emerged from behind the changing curtain. You placed everything back into Haeun's baby bag.

"Why don't you go get a snack from the truck outside, baby? I got it covered. Princess is fed and content." San said. You didn't hesitate for a second and nodded.

"Ooh! I wanna go!" Mingi shot up and went with you.

"You are so beautiful, my princess." San smiled dreamily at Haeun, who looked back up at her father with wide eyes.

"Ouh... Ouh..." Haeun responded. San lifted her and bent down slightly so he could press his forehead against hers. At that feeling, San felt Haeun kick her legs excitedly.

"Yeah, you're my princess, my love." San chuckled with a big grin. Being in his own world, he didn't notice Wooyoung recording.

"See ATINY? That's what a fool looks like, he's a fool for his daughter." Wooyoung snickered.

"I love you~" San gently placed a kiss on Haeun's head. Then he smiled contently as he let Haeun lay on his chest, patting her back as he became humming.

"San... You know you can't do that." You scolded when you came back and saw the position that they were in.

"Why is it not safe?" Yeosang asked.

"No, nothing like that. It's just that when San let's Haeun lay on his chest, she falls asleep and he refuses to do anything else. And it's impossible to get Haeun without her fussing. I don't want him to use her as an excuse to not work." You placed your hands on your hips, clicking your tongue. San frowned at you, sticking his tongue out.

"San sshi, can we touch up your make up?" The stylist came over. You were going to take Haeun when San stopped you.

"She'll be okay. Can we do the make up here?" He asked the stylist. You rubbed your temples as the stylist agreed and worked on touching up San's make up.

"See what I mean?" You rolled your eyes. But soon, San had to go change into his other outfit. Haeun was almost asleep.

"Give her over." You held your arms out, starting to put the baby carrier on again.

"We have to go." Hongjoong called everyone, adjusting his jacket. It looked like it physically hurt San to give Haeun to you. She whined, not liking to be disturbed but you hushed her.

"It's mama, baby." You patted her back, walking around with a light bounce in your steps.

"Shh, shh." You watched as she calmed down and settled, staring up at you.

As San shot with the members, his eyes caught your figure, walking around the open area of the set, one hand patting Haeun while the other held up a portable fan to keep her cool.

"Can I have my phone?" San asked his manager. After receiving it, he zoomed in to your figure, taking pictures of you.

"(y/n)'s such a good mom." Yunho commented. San nodded in agreement, feeling a sense of pride in his chest. He always thanked his lucky stars that fate led you to him, that you were his partner and the amazing mother to his beautiful child.

"Let's take a 5 minute water break." The moment the director said that, San was back to your side. Instead of drinking the water himself, he offered it to you.

"No, you have it. It's your water break." You said softly. San shook his head, holding his hand out below in case water dripped onto Haeun.

"She just keeps getting cuter, my princess." San fanboyed in whispers, looking at Haeun's sleeping face.

"After the group pictures, let's do the duo pictures!" The photographer said to everyone. Some of the boys were filming some behind the scenes footage but San stuck by you.

San was first to do his duo shot with Jongho. He heard Haeun cry and craned his neck to see.

"She must have woken up from her nap..." San said, watching you comfort Haeun and Wooyoung jogging over to help you.

"Did you have a good nap, my sweet princess?" From the corner of his eye, San saw Wooyoung carry Haeun.

"Good girl, it's okay. Uncle Woowoo's got you." Wooyoung patted her back to soothe her, walking around the place before sitting down. The other boys surrounded him.

"Look who just woke up." Mingi cooed, letting Haeun grasp his finger.

It had been a while since you've seen San at work, you used to go with him all the time, but watching him pose in front of the camera again made your cheeks blush slightly and your heart race. He was just so captivating to watch.

"Careful. You're drooling." Seonghwa's amused voice broke you out of your trance. You cleared your throat, looking away in embarrassment at the fact that you got caught.

"Is Haeun going to get a sibling tonight?" Wooyoung teased.

"Shut up. And don't say those types of things in front of my daughter." You hissed.

"I guess you haven't seen San at work in a long while. You used to always be in the wings or in the dressing room." Hongjoong chuckled. You nodded your head.

"I do miss it some times." You giggled. The first time you watched him perform, you fell in love right away.

And now, you continue to fall more in love with San every day.

When the director called it done, surprisingly, San came over to you first, not where Haeun was. He slipped his arms around your waist and pulled you to him with a cocky smirk on his face.

"What?" You looked at him quizically.

"I saw you staring." One hand came up to cup your cheek, lightly brushing your skin with thumb.

"I-I was not s-staring!" You stuttered in embarrassment, unable to meet his eyes. You were hyper aware that people could see the two of you right now but thankfully, they didn't pay any attention to you considering the two of you were a couple. San squeezed your waist, the proud look never leaving his face.

This is what you meant, even with Haeun born and San's absolute obsession with her, he never 'forgot' you and deprioritised you over her. There was no competition.

"Go to your daughter." You slapped his chest. San grinned and leaned in to give you a peck before leaving to get Haeun.

"Ouh, my princess! My precious." San cooed as he lifted Haeun from Seonghwa's arms and into his own.

"There we go. Back where you belong." He smiled as Haeun settled in his arms comfortably, letting out a little sigh of content. You laughed at her expression.

"Why are you so funny?" You tapped her cheek as you took a picture, making her smile.

"You should go change, I wouldn't want your outfit to get ruined." You told San, realising he was still in the photoshoot's outfit.

"I don't want to let her go." San whined.

"San, if you want her to visit more, you can't keep being so distracted by her." You spoke gently. He knew you were right, he didn't want his partner and child to be seen as a distraction or worse, a nuisance.

"I'll go monitor my shots first then change." He said and you nodded your head.

Haeun came back into your arms and San left. The managers and staff would come up to you to play with Haeun a little. Having napped and been fed, Haeun was in a social mood, smiling when the manager played peekaboo with her.

"I'm back!" San jogged over, dressed in his regular black shirt and sweatpants. Of course, Haeun had found her way into Wooyoung's arms again and Yeosang was helping to take pictures of them.

"Haeunnie~ Look at uncle Sangie." Yeosang cooed at her to get her to look at the camera.

"Oh, Wooyoung posted a video of you. It's going viral." You showed San, who slung an arm around your waist.

"When did he take this?" San looked at the video.

"You look like a mother cut nuzzling her kitten." You giggled, watching all the reposts of Wooyoung's video on different social media platforms. There were many fan reactions too.

"Someone made fanart. You and Haeun have cat ears!" You fangirled, it was all so cute that you saved some in your phone.

"Okay, okay. That's enough." San covered your phone with his hand, smothering you in kisses.

"San! We're in public." You protested.

"Look at your parents being silly again." Wooyoung spoke, lifting Haeun to look at you. Haeun reached her hands out to the both of you, she smiled as you both came into view.

"Thank you for bringing her. It was a wonderful surprise." San said, leaning his head against yours. You looked up at him and smiled. Usually by now, Haeun would have fussed and wanted to come back to you or San. But it was Wooyoung who had her, she's used to him being there since birth.

"Dirty diaper alert. Don't worry, I got it." Wooyoung said, bringing Haeun to the dressing room, where the baby bag was. He went for so many parenting classes with San.

"Shall I get you more snacks?" San turned to you.

"I'm good. I think Mingi and I went overboard just now." You chuckled, patting your tummy.

"But you know you need to eat enough since you're burning calories to feed princess." San knew all about postpartum symptoms from his book, including the possibility of negative intrusive thoughts.

"Don't worry, San. I know. The only thing now is the hair loss, not enjoying that." You sighed.

"Still beautiful to me. And I'm sure Haeun will agree with me." He kissed your head.

"She has to agree with you, I am the milk machine." You joked.

"You're more than that." San frowned. You threw your head back in laughter, San was really the sweetest ever. You wrapped your arms around his waist to hug him.

"I should have you and princess with me at work, all the time." San laughed, patting your back.

"No way. You and the others are just going to be distracted by the princess and not do your jobs. Your company is going to hate us." You rolled your eyes, shaking your head. You gestured to how everyone was gathered around Jongho carrying Haeun.

"Nonsense, KQ and the fans love you and Haeunnie. The CEO will just have to give you two jobs as mental wellness ambassadors." San grinned, trying to convince you.

"You better go before the others start posting dad pics with Haeun again." You reminded him, changing the subject.

"Okay, that's enough! Give me my princess." San left you, storming over to the others to take his princess back from the other members.

"Booooo!" The others jeered at him as he let Haeun settle back into his arms. But San will never let anyone think that she's anyone else's daughter but his.

[seokminfilm]

husband  𑂴 jeon wonwoo

coming home to your clingy cook husband after a tiring day at work is just what you needed.

[ warnings \ tropes ] non-idol au, domestic au, husband wonwoo x wife reader, mentions of stress (specifically workplace-induced stress), mentions of food!, kissing, skinship, soft/clingy wonwoo, wonwoo calls reader baby

[ saint's voice note ! ] guess who's missing wonwoo real bad lately (hint: me 💔) starting my rebranding off strong with a wonwoo fic! hope you guys enjoy <3

[ saint's now playing... ] only > leehi

[ wc / writing for ] 975 / @kstrucknet @k-records

it's a miracle you don't crumple to the ground the moment you step over the threshold into your home.

the lights are dimmed in the living room, and a wonderful smell wafts from the kitchen and a few clinks sound off before your husband turns the corner of the foyer, soft smile on his face as he comes to greet you.

"welcome home, baby." wonwoo's voice is deep, sending shivers down your spine in the best way possible as you smile tiredly, slipping your shoes off and letting wonwoo take your coat and bag. "hi, won."

"how was work?" he asks absentmindedly, hanging up (his) your coat and work bag in the closet before taking you in for a quick hug, breath brushing against your temple before he kisses it. "i missed you."

smiling, you sigh heavily, letting your hands flatten against wonwoo's sculpted back as he rubs yours softly, hands ghosting over your dress shirt as you fight back a giggle.

"work was tough," you say once you pull away, letting wonwoo push your hair away from your face as his thumb gently brushes over your moving lips. "a coworker was moved to a different department so now i have to take over their workload until they're replaced."

wonwoo's eyes sharpen slightly in annoyance at your workplace's terrible habit of deferring all of their problems to you, but he doesn't say anything, grabbing your hand instead and tugging you into the kitchen.

the smell of steak and vegetables—your favorite after-work combination—fills your nose the moment you step in front of the stove, and your heart bubbles with contentment at the same time your stomach rumbles with unchecked hunger.

wonwoo grins, pulling you closer to him with his hand on your waist. he takes a spoon, scooping a little of the steak's sauce onto it as he gently guides it to your mouth.

"mmm, won. this tastes amazing." you hum happily, cheeks starting to hurt from your wide smile. he pecks your cheek, just happy to see you ready to eat. "i'm glad. you look like you need some decompression time."

"how'd you know?" you ask dryly, moving to pull plates out of the cabinet before wonwoo tugs you back to him, grip tight on your waist as he speaks.

"no. let me do it."

the finality in his voice makes you flush, but you speak anyways. "won, you've already cooked me dinner. at least let me get some plates—"

"no, baby. you just go to the table. i'll take care of the rest. let me finish what i started, okay?" wonwoo's gentle in the way he refuses you, cupping your cheek before softly bringing your lips to his. "i can do this myself. all i need you to do is to relax for me."

unable to respond without flushing an even darker red, you give in, shuffling to the dining room table as wonwoo starts to finish up in the kitchen.

after a few minutes of struggling to stay awake at the dining table, wonwoo comes in with a plate in each hand. his white button-up is slightly unbuttoned at the top from his work in the kitchen, and his glasses are perched on the bridge of his nose as he smiles. "here you are."

he serves you like a professional, plate gorgeous as always before he hands you a spoon and fork. wonwoo gets himself situated too, nodding to you. "try it."

hungry and half-awake, you happily take the command, taking a piece of steak and vegetable to your mouth as you grin seconds later. "just as i said—absolutely amazing."

when wonwoo chuckles, it's a lighthearted sound, and he brings his glass of water to his lips as he grins. "good. made it with you in mind."

you roll your eyes at wonwoo's rare attempt at flirting, but blush nevertheless as you continue to eat. he's attentive to every bite you take, secretly swooning when you excitedly rant about all the flavor the dish carries. wonwoo thinks its adorable, seeing your eyes light up when you take another bite.

"someone's getting a little sleepy," wonwoo teases, noticing the way your eyes start to droop and your movements slow. doing your best to deny it, you shake your head, taking a half-bite of a carrot.

"no, no, i just..." your eyes feel so heavy, but you do your best to keep them open, shuffling to the edge of your seat as you sigh. "just thinking about work and what i need to do tomorrow."

wonwoo stands up suddenly, forsaking his plate to walk around to your side of the table and push your plate away. "that's it. we're getting you to bed."

"won, i'm fine. i promise." you mumble, almost slumping against wonwoo before he gets the memo. he then scoops you up into his arms without a second thought, cradling you to his broad chest as he carries you to your shared bedroom.

"you are going to bed. we can finish dinner together later." wonwoo says with a soft tone of finality, and you're too spent to even argue, snuggling into his chest a little more before he sets you down on the soft sheets.

you're grinning tiredly when your head hits your pillow just right, and the smell of wonwoo blankets you when he slips your work pants off and puts his sweatpants on you in return.

a warm fuzzy blanket covers your already warming body seconds later, and he's brushing hair from your forehead, kissing it as he runs a finger down your jawline.

"rest, baby. i'll talk to you when you wake up." wonwoo's deep voice is only above a whisper now, and you wave sleepily at him, eyes falling shut before you can even catch one more glimpse of your sweet husband.

[atzocean]

the perfect day

jeong yunho x reader

word count: 457

warnings: intentional lowercase, very fluffy

description: yunho wakes up to a beautiful sight

ocean’s notes: this stream was something else. why are you so boyfriend?? divider by @saradika-graphics <3

yunho woke up to the sunlight peeking through the blinds. on a normal day, his first thought would be to yank the covers over his face and snag another ten minutes, before he peeled himself out of bed. but this wasn’t a normal day. instead, yunho’s eyes dropped to you. curled up against his chest, your breath fanning over his skin at a steady pace.

you were still sleeping, and you seemed very comfortable wrapped around him. your hair was messy, and your cheek was squished, causing a little pout on your face, but to yunho, you were perfect. everything about you was perfect in his eyes. his frustration at the morning sun melted away the longer he stared at you.

hesitantly, his hand reached out to cradle your head, fingers scratching at your scalp so lightly as to not wake you. he just wanted to feel you, to prove that you’re real. he worried, at times, that you were a figment of his imagination. how could someone so beautiful be so in love with him? he didn’t understand it.

he had to remind himself of the times you’d scolded him for a thought like that. it wasn’t even meant to be self-deprecating. he truly just couldn't wrap his head around it. every second with you felt like a waking dream.

slowly, the time slipped by, and his eyes began to close once again. he was trying so hard to keep himself awake, but your presence was very calming. yunho looked at the clock on the wall and sighed to himself. he needed to get up for work very soon.

wait.

no, that’s not right. he’d been so used to his rigorous routine that he’d forgotten! today was special for a reason, and it wasn’t just because you were there, though that was an amazing bonus. today, yunho had the day off! the entire day to do whatever he wanted. most of his members were going out somewhere, visiting family or friends, or staying in to play games and eat yummy food all day, but yunho had planned for today to be perfect.

as he watched your chest rise and fall, he couldn’t help but smile to himself. a big, beautiful smile that held so much love. he glanced at the clock again. ah, the day is going exactly as he’d hoped.

a whole day off, and he wanted to spend it all with you. he wouldn’t ask for anything else. it was perfect.

finally, he allowed his eyes to close once more, hugging you even closer to him. yunho would be happy to sleep the entire day away if it’d meant being with you. yes, that sounds lovely, he thought, as he drifted back to sleep.

[atiny-bunny]

𝑯𝒆’𝒔 𝑪𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒚, 𝑯𝒆’𝒔 𝑵𝒆𝒆𝒅𝒚

J.YH x girlfriend!Reader (feat. ATEEZ)

Thinking of Clingy BF!Yunho who trails behind his girlfriend like a feral golden retriever at 7am in the morning.

•··········•··········•··········•··········•··········•··········•··········•··········•

You woke up first, still tangled in Yunho’s arms on his bed, his face buried in your shoulder, hair messy, breathing slow and warm against your neck.

You tried moving. Huge mistake. His arms tightened around you instantly. Like a seatbelt.

“No,” he mumbled, eyes still closed.

“Stay.”

“Yunho, I need to pee.”

“No.”

“Babe—”

He groaned, loosened his grip just enough for you to slip out… but the moment her warmth left his chest…

He woke up.

Eyes half-open. Groggy. Confused. Disoriented. Very much puppy mode. The ‘wait, where is my oxygen?’ look.

You walked towards the bathroom, still tying your robe, when you heard something behind you.

Soft footsteps. Shuffling. Low whining.

You turned around and face palmed.

Your six-foot-two boyfriend in pajamas was following you. All sleepy and disheveled yet still effortlessly good looking at 7am in the morning.

His hair sticking up in twenty directions making him look more puppy-er than usual. Your blanket still wrapped around his shoulders like a cape.

A feral golden retriever that had imprinted on his mate.

You blinked, “Why are you following me?”

He blinked back, like the question was offensive. How dare you ask that question?

“…Because you left.”

“I’m going to the bathroom.”

“I’ll wait outside.”

“No, you won’t.”

He nodded stubbornly. “Yes, I will.”

You squinted. “Are you… pouting?”

He immediately shook his head. He absolutely was pouting.

He padded after you all the way to the bathroom door, blanket trailing on the floor. When you tried to close said bathroom door, his fingers slipped into the doorway.

“Baby.”

“What?”

“I miss you.”

“You saw me thirty seconds ago!”

“I still miss you.”

You groaned, but not really complaining. “You’re impossible.”

He leaned his forehead against the doorframe, groggy and adorable.

“Come back quickly,” he murmured. “I can’t function alone yet.”

You laughed so hard that you nearly forgot why you went in there.

Oh yeah. Pee.

•··········•··········•··········•··········•··········•··········•··········•··········•

By breakfast time? Yunho was already in maximum Feral Puppy Boyfriend mode.

You headed to the kitchen. Yunho was exactly one step behind you.

No, not beside you. Nope, not even near you. God, never in front of you. Right behind you. Wherever you went.

You opened the fridge. He peered over your shoulder. You went to the sink. He followed. To the coffee machine? He kissed your cheek. You reached for a mug. He grabbed it for you like a loyal but unhinged butler. “I’ll get it for you baby!”

San passed by the kitchen, rubbing his eyes. Stopped and stared. Half in disbelief, half in judgment.

“…Why the hell is he like this? Bro it’s 7 in the morning.”

You poured juice. “I don’t know.”

Yunho, still glued behind you, muttered, “I want cuddles.”

San blinked. “Dude… you look feral.”

Yunho growled. Actually growled. Low. Possessive. Sleepy.

San raised his hands like he was facing a wild animal. “Okay, okay, damn, chill—she’s all yours—my god.”

You sighed. “He’s stuck to me like gum.”

Yunho rested his chin on your shoulder and wrapped his arms around your waist from behind.

“No,” he corrected, eyes still half-shut, voice hoarse from sleep. “I’m stuck to you like love.”

San gagged audibly. “Ugh. I’m out, where’s Young-ie?”

•··········•··········•··········•··········•··········•··········•··········•··········•

By the others start waking up, Yunho still stuck by you. Nothing new. Just their Yunho being a baby to his girlfriend in their home. Totally a normal Sunday. One by one, they wandered in, completely used to this nonsense.

Wooyoung walked in, too happy with life, immediately screamed, “Good morning—OH MY GOD HE’S IN PUP MODE.”

“Someone get the spray bottle.” Mingi cackled while receiving a glare from his bestie.

Hongjoong, absolutely done with this madness, rubbed his temples and waved the others off, “Leave him. He’s harmless until noon.”

Yeosang deadpanned, “That’s a lie. He bit me once.”

“He doesn’t bite. He nibbles.”, Hwa corrected, stirring his coffee, smiling apologetically at you, “You okay, sweetheart?”

Jongho walked in last with San back hugging him, “Hyung, let the poor girl breathe.”

You turned to look at Yunho. Only for him to tightened his hold around your waist, blanket swallowing both of you now.

“Don’t listen to them, baby,” he mumbled into your neck.

“I’m good. I’m warm. You’re warm. Everything is perfect.”

You giggled softly, patting his cheek before giving him a peak on the lips.

“My clingy puppy.” He made a sound. A little whimper.

The boys all screamed internally. Gagged internally. Or externally, seeing Hongjoong cringed at the affection early in the morning.

Wooyoung shrieked, shaking San by the shoulders, “That’s it. She broke him. He’s never coming back.”

Yunho nuzzled into your neck, finally awake enough to smirk. That cocky smirk that always made you want to either smack him or kiss him. Or both to be honest.

“If she calls me that again,” he murmured against your skin, “I’m carrying her back to bed.”

You flushed immediately. The boys SCATTERED.

“KEEP IT PG, BRO!”

“THERE’S CHILDREN HERE!”

“HEY!”, Jongho protested.

The end, teehee.

•··········•··········•··········•··········•··········•··········•··········•··········•

[miaoua3]

(pairing: bf! jeonghan x gn! reader)

i miss my angel sm :(

there's nothing more you love than kissing jeonghan.

and not just a quick peck (although those are always very nice to experience as well)-the slow and sensual and intimate make out sessions he loves to indulge in.

he's currently underneath you, sitting in the middle of the couch. his hands are gently caressing your skin, from your bare ankles that are resting beside his thighs, to your own thighs, to the soft skin of your waist underneath his shirt that you have stolen, all the way to the back of your neck and cheeks.

all while lazily and slowly kissing you, taking all of his time with you.

your own hands are busy fiddling with his short black hair, now constantly at this length due to his enlistment.

you thought the enlistment would be harder on you two, that you would miss him so much.

but as it turns out, it's even better than you have ever imagined. he gets home every night by 9pm at the latest, where a dinner always awaits for him. he has slept next to you every night, which rarely happens when he's busy being an idol.

you get to see him every day, and you have never been happier about it.

his whole body is relaxed, his brain feels like he's under the influence, intoxicated by you and your kisses.

the back of his head is resting on the back of the couch, letting you turn his face in the direction you want as you kiss him slowly. each stroke and pull on his thin lips has him humming in appreciation. his tongue masterfully dances with your own, meeting for a brief moment before he pulls away, his lips enclosing around one of yours and slowly pulling on it before they separate, only for him to repeat his moves all over again.

nothing about this feels even remotely sexual, even when you can feel his half hard on underneath your hips. but whenever you try to grind on him, he stops you with his grips on your hips, mumbling against your lips that "i just want to kiss you. don't overthink it. just let me kiss you, my angel."

he just...missed you, so much.

even when he gets to see you every night, he misses you. he wants to spend days next to you-the few hours he gets instead just don't cut it.

almost as you can sense the inner turmoil that he has going on, you pause your kisses for a moment to mumble against his raw and red lips "what's on your mind, love?"

he doesn't respond for a second, as he physically can't stop kissing you.

mumbling in raw and hoarse voice, he responds "i miss you. miss you so much, baby."

you make a little sound of confusion as he proceeds to kiss you yet again, his arms wrapping around your back in an effort to pull you closer, until your chest are touching.

"but i'm right here? you see me every night, hannie. i'm not going anywhere."

he grabs your cheeks with one hand, which makes you open your eyes to look at him. his eyebrows are furrowed, eyes dark, like they usually are when he starts to get a bit upset.

"it's not enough. a few hours i get with you aren't enough. i want days with you."

he pauses for a second as he presses a slow and gentle kiss on your cheek, right beside his thumb that is pressing your cheek.

"wanna spend a whole week with you, uninterrupted."

next is a kiss next to your ear.

"wanna wake up to your kisses, not to an alarm."

a kiss on the jawline.

"wanna make love to you the whole night, not just for an hour."

a kiss and a soft suckle on your neck.

"wanna...be with you. every day, the whole day."

he starts sucking on your collarbone next, which makes you gasp and head fall back.

he stays there for a few seconds, leaving his mark on your skin, almost as if he wants to make up for what he has just admitted.

in a deep whisper, he then admits

"there won't ever be enough time i could spend with you. i want to be right beside you every day, until my last breath. a few hours a night doesn't cut it for me. i miss being with you during the day too. miss being home with you. you are always on my mind, even when i have to work. i end up missing you all the time. i just...i love you so much, i long for you. even when i know i will see you in a few hours."

his admission makes your eyes water a bit, lips quiver and heart break.

while you were so grateful that he could even spend those few hours a night with you, he has been hiding all of these feelings away from you. he wants you so much, he isn't satisfied with just a few hours like you are.

the realisation makes you wrap your arms around his neck, hugging him closer to your body, tightly. his face buries itself deeper inside your neck, making him get a deep whiff of your scent, which makes him close his eyes in appreciation. his arms, now buff and muscley, wrap themselves around your back again, pulling you impossibly closer.

and then you just sit there, you on his lap. hugging each other. him smelling your neck, you pushing your nose deeper in his short hair.

you stay silent as you just...breathe each other's presence in, soft fingers caressing each other-your own being buried in his soft hair, while his are hidden under the shirt you are wearing, drawing silly patterns on your back.

the longer you sit there, the later it gets, which means han will definitely not be getting his 8 hours of sleep. but that's okay for him. he doesn't need sleep.

he needs you.

jeonghan then wiggles his face away from your neck in order to kiss your cheek softly, whispering a little "i love you" directly in your ear.

you do the same, whispering "i love you too. so much." right back, even nuzzling your nose against his cheek a bit.

a few hours a night won't cut it.

but every minute you two get which other is so precious, jeonghan won't ever take it for granted ever again.

[from-izzy]

[--:--] | ATEEZ JEONG YUNHO

Yunho knows that anxiety attacks have no scheduling or time limit, and he fears the times that he's not there to hold you close.

pairing » ateez jeong yunho x fem!reader

trope/au » established relationship au, non-idol au

genre » hurt/comfort (my fav), fluff, caring boyfriend yunho, comforting yunho who is patient towards the reader

word count; estimated reading time » 1291; ~5 mins

warnings (lmk if i missed anything!) » panic/anxiety attacks, mentions of hospitalisation, crying

navi/masterlist!! 🤍 ateez masterlist 🤍 part of 'especially to you...'

inspired by my friend that i mentioned in this post. this was a convo that we had, and a convo that i hold dear. my mental health challenges peaked when i was in highschool and i just couldn't understand why it had to do so during what i regarded to be one of the most important years of my academic life. no one will ever have a clear answer as to why, but she said that "it's called mental health challenge because it's difficult" and for some reason, that simple explanation just kept me going. it's hard to describe, but i think i just needed someone who understood and put it into words.

It's one of those days when you can't understand yourself or the world around you. When the aching heart beat pounds too harshly on your chest and against your eardrums, and the sweat around your forehead and fingertips. With no clear reason to be feeling this way, you could only slump against the kitchen bench, sliding your back against the surface to sit on the floor.

You're blanked out, eyes staring mindlessly at an imperfection on the wooden floor. You're breathing the cooling air, but you can't feel your lungs taking any of it. Your lips are chapped due to the hour-long waterfall of tears. You try to rehydrate yourself, but the coolness of the glass makes you retract your hands, as if the temperature were the complete opposite.

Your golden retriever, Sunny, first sensed your anxiety flaring up before you did, and he's been carefully trailing you from behind. Now, completely defeated on the ground, he carefully taps his paws on your thigh. The small touch makes you turn your head to him, and you give him a faint smile. It's the sign you give to allow him to climb onto your lap. When he does, he tries to breathe calmly and hopes yours will sync with his soon. Your jittery fingers pat his back, trying to focus on his soft fur amidst the chaos.

The idea to adopt and train Sunny for health purposes was none other than your loving boyfriend's. Yunho knows that anxiety attacks have no scheduling or time limit, and he fears the times that he's not there to hold you close. The last time you had a major attack and he was out of the house, you passed out on the floor due to exhaustion. Staying in the hospital for a full day wasn't fun for him, but he could only imagine the excruciating moments that led you to be there.

Sunny nudges the home telephone that he had in his mouth into your hand. You know exactly what he's telling you to do and what you should do; what you've promised to do. Currently, Yunho is out with his friends. You know he wouldn't be mad if you asked him to come home and hold you tight with no words. But you couldn't bear being the person who would cause the smile on his face to drop. Even though you would do it for him if he were in your situation, you couldn't dare pick up the phone and dial his number.

It's so complicated to know that someone else would drop everything for you, not get mad, yet because of the past, everything you do is calculated with doubt.

You shake your head. "Let's just give him a few more minutes. I'm sure he'll be home soon." Sunny whines, his eyes and ears drooping at your reply. Your words weren't comforting to him, and it sure wasn't for you as tears prickled on the corner of your eyes.

You hum to yourself as you close your eyes, trying to picture a memory that brings you peace. It starts with meeting Yunho and his cheerful personality. The way his cheeks flushed red when he first asked you out. The first time he asked if you could be his first kiss. The day you and him bought this house that you both call home together. Jeong Yunho has been part of all your milestones, and you're the luckiest person in the world to have him.

Your heartbeat steadily calmed down, a gentle smile overtaking your frown. If it wasn't for Sunny wagging his tail, you would've missed the unlocked door and the car keys being set on the trinket bowl.

"Y/N, I'm home!" Out of energy, you couldn't respond to him, but you turned towards the direction of the kitchen entry, waiting for him. "Y/N?" he calls out for you. When he steps into the kitchen, his furrowed eyebrows of confusion are immediately replaced with alarmed eyes.

The paper bag in Yunho's hand is set down on the table over you, and he joins you by your side. Your hand is immediately in his, and he slips his arm behind your neck so that you can rest on his shoulder. Yunho doesn't say anything else and kisses the crown of your head.

"I'm here," he whispers. "Just tell me what to do, and I'll do it."

Your eyelids shut once more. "Just stay here with me."

"Done."

Sunny extends his front paws to Yunho, catching his attention. Yunho scratches Sunny's head and mouths a 'good boy' to the companion who kept you grounded. Sunny looks over to the discarded phone, and Yunho pulls a tight smile at it. He checks the call logs quietly, confirming that his phone isn't broken. It's not the time to talk about it now, he thinks. All that matters is to make sure you're feeling better.

"I know you think I should've called you," you break the silence. "I'm sorry that I didn't. It's not that I don't trust you or anything like that, Yun."

"No, I know," he reassures. "I know that it's hard to lean on someone when you're not used to it." He wants to continue with a 'but'. To remind you that he would always drop everything for you. But sometimes genuine words could scare a person more than it could comfort them, even if they mean good.

You lift your head from Yunho, already missing his warmth and touch. Slight shaking, you face him properly. "I'm sorry. I know I'm hard to comfort and get through-"

"Hey, hey, no. Don't apologise." Yunho cups your cheeks with his palms. His thumbs slide across under your eyes, ridding any leftover tears. "You're not, Sunshine. Don't say that. Let's take this step by step, okay? Of course, I wished you had called me, but I know reaching out is hard for you. I'm here to remind you that I'm always here. No matter what."

It's weird that he's calling you 'sunshine' when it's he who gives bright energy. When you ask him why he calls you the name with such love, his eyes soften and he leans for a sweet kiss: "Because you always make my days brighter. No matter what."

Your lips quiver at his understanding. His orbs shine for you, and the light touches he offers only make you break out into a second round of tears. Yunho's heart twisted at the sight of you fighting and bearing everything alone. He's here to remind you that he'll always be beside you, and he has every single time. You just need more time to dial his number. It's an improvement from the previous time when you slid the phone across the room.

Yunho extends his legs, patting his thighs for you. You take his offer and sit on his lap. He tucks your face under his chin and hums a calming melody. His fingers brush through your hair, and the one holding you across your back steadies you. To the beat of his melody, he taps your waist, bubbling a light chuckle from you.

"Tickles?"

You shake your head. "Perfect."

"Just like you," he confesses from the bottom of his heart, and you know he means it. "I love you and I'm so proud of you, Sunshine. I'll always be by your side."

His grey shirt hues darker from your tears, and Yunho whispers sweet nothings continuously. You could only nod, whimpering into his chest and keeping your heart warm.

"I love you, Yunho. Thank you for always being with me."

"I'm all yours, no matter when and where, Sunshine." Because his love for you is stronger and truly has no schedule or time limit.

navi/masterlist!! 🤍 ateez masterlist 🤍 part of 'especially to you...'

join the taglist here » @eighteez-net @k-films @kflixnet @k-vanity @starlit-network @kstrucknet @blossomnet @pirateeznet @haneul-and-clouds @svzllts @yerimacoustic @ffenjoyerdazme @wooyoungqueen

[miaoua3]

(pairing: bf! minghao x gn! reader)

happy belated birthday to my king

minghao slowly blinks his eyes open, the morning sunlight coming through the window making him immediately close them. he can feel his muscles hurt in that satisfying way after he has spent the entire night with you, catering to your needs, making you feel every ounce of his love and desire that he holds for you.

and just as he was about to stretch them out a bit, he realises that he can feel a pair of arms wrapped around his body, naked chest pressed into his back, and soft lips kissing his cheek right where his ear starts.

a wide smile immediately spreads on his soft cheeks, which is an indication enough for you to realise that he's awake.

ever-so slowly, in a low and raspy voice, you start singing directly in hao's ear.

"happy birthday too youu..."

hao's smile becomes even wider, though his eyes remain closed.

you continue.

"happy birthdayy too youu..."

a chuckle leaves his voice at your little voice crack at the end of the line.

"happy biiiirthdaayy my hoooney..."

hao can't resist the temptation anymore, and slightly turns his head in your direction, one swollen eye opening to see you, in all your beautiful glory.

"happy birthday to...you."

you both chuckle at the silliness of the moment before you lightly peck his lips-only lightly, because morning breath and all.

his brown eyes look lighter in the early morning sun, but you don't mention it because you know he will say it's not because of the sun, it's because you shine so brightly it makes everything brighter.

the smiles that are plastered on both your faces are yet to leave, even as he turns to fully lay on his back and you come to rest on his naked chest, and even as you lean closer to give him another small peck.

hao hums in appreciation, eyes closing in enjoyment this time. one of his hand he tucks behind his head while the other naturally finds its waist on your soft waist, caressing your skin underneath the thin blanket.

in a raspy voice, he starts talking.

"thank you, my darling. what a beautiful thing to wake up to. we should make this a daily tradition though."

you chuckle at his silliness as you push his messy hair back.

"i'll see what i can do about that."

hao is in absolute awe at the love that is visible in your eyes as you watch him.

it makes him wonder-what did he ever do to deserve this love? sure, all humans deserve love in one way or another, as humans are quite literary programmed to love. but this type of love? the type that is all-consuming? the type that is peaceful in the most quiet way and wild in the most chaotic way? the type that makes him truly believe that you two are two parts of one whole? the type that makes him believe that you two were born just so you could love each other in this lifetime?

hao looks at you too, with just as much love (or he hopes at least) as he pushes your own hair back a bit. he stays quite for a few moments, before he honestly, earnestly and completely convinced tells you

"i can't wait to marry you one day and spend the rest of my life with you."

and you, in your cheesy and usual fashion, wait off the shock for a few seconds before you smile and push yourself even closer to his face, kissing him once before you whisper against his lips

"the sooner you propose, the sooner i will marry you, so. get to it, pretty boy."

hao chuckles as he pulls you closer (if that's even physically possible anymore) and thinks to himself.

there's nothing i have ever been more sure of than this.

[ciaraashren]

Tall and calm boyfriend x short and aggressive girlfriend dynamic

Bf! Yunho x gf! Reader soft thoughts

Warnings: none , just fluff and fluff and fluff

This was on my mind the whooooole night so this is just a little soft moment for you guys .

ENJOY 🎀❤️

calm bf! Yunho who's the only person who calms you down when that anger hits you . You got angry because you accidentally drop your drink? Yunho's there, someones annoying you? Yunho's there.

Calm bf! Yunho who always has to save wooyoung from you murdering TF out of this man . One time yunho brought you to work with him and once they were done rehearsing, some of them was sitting quietly in the practice room , calm and collective, that was until a huge scream came from outside the practice room.

Everyone knew that scream , wooyoung. All of them thought it was just wooyoung doing causal wooyoung things . But as the practice room's door flue open with wooyoung turning his back against the door before locking it , the scard expression on his face was just enough proof that he was in danger , SERIOUS DANGER. Loud banging was heard at the back of the door and everybody knew it was you .

"WOOYOUNG! IF DON'T OPEN THIS DOOR NOT ONLY IM A BREAKING IT BUT YOU LEGS AS WELL , DO YOU HEAR ME!" Wooyoung pleaded for the other members to help him but it was too late because just as he backed away to hide by mingi and San the door had already open leaving wooyoung shrinking be run around with you chasing him .

The others thought it was hilarious and started laughing ( mainly Jongho) while others were shocked and Hongjoong and seonghwa just signing like the tired parents they are. Yunho rushed in to save wooyoung by wrapping his arms around your waist before lifting you up in the air to keep you from running and attacking him as you struggled to get out of his strong grip ( mmh his arms 🤤) " LET ME GOOO. IMMA GONNA KILL YOU DO YOU HEAR ME WOOYOUNG "." WOOYOUNG RUN I CANT HOLD ON ANY LONGER, GO!

As wooyoung ran for the hills dragging San with him before closing the door , you then got out of his hold before running towards the door before being grabbed by yunho who brought you into a hug and running this fingers in your hair gently while kissing the top of your head and laughing.

Let's just say wooyoung got PTSD the whole day he saw you .

Calm bf! Ycaunho who is the only person who you can never get mad at , and even if you do he always finds a way to calm you down and forgive him whether its cuddling you , speaking softly in your hair , combing your hair or brushing his fingers against your nuckels.

Calm bf! Yunho who describes your relationship as a golden retriever x black cat type of vibes but ATINY usually say it's like demon x angel type of vibes, ya know.

calm bf! Yunho who brags to his friends stating that you are the most kind person and thinks your really sweet while others look at him with the ' you can't to serious 'face and sometimes wooyoung says "Girl no , she's a literal DEMON "

(- Jung wooyoung famous last words)

Calm bf! Yunho who deeply loves you and especially when bad times happen like when most people saw you as a rude heartless person but that's just how you grew up because at childhood due to many bullies who had constantly started picking on you and that's why you had to show you were tuff and release you anger opon other people , but in reality you just don't know if your really worthy of being loved especially with your aggressive attitude. But yunho will always see you as his baby who will always be their were ever you are

Calm bf! Yunho who always teases you about your hight difference and sometimes shows it by picking you up if you had an outburst or he would put his chin on your head making you feel smaller ( in a cut way not as in a rude way ) .

Clam bf! Yunho who never lets someone else tease you about your hight because he would differently give them a death glare but if it's wooyoung, San or wooyoung , yah .... He will just let you kill them instead, stating that they just "made their own grave " or "you brought this opon yourself, go get em! "

[minniesfiles]

SILENT MODE

You never thought your insecurities would’ve led you to the near destruction of your own relationship.

❧ PAIRING; mingyu x reader

❧ GENRE; angst, fluff, hurt/comfort

❧ TAGS/WARNINGS; established relationship, reader is very insecure, arguing, yelling, swearing, lots of tears, lgbt themes, very dramatic and cliche oop-, panic attack, fainting, hospitalisation

❧ WORDCOUNT; 11.1k

[ part of the Silent Treatment series ]

𐚁₊⊹

▎11 JULY 2025

09:34 p.m.

The echo of the front door slamming against the wall rattled through the house. You stormed inside and without a second thought, you threw your black Chanel clutch across the entryway, and the bag skidded until it thudded against the baseboard.

Your chest was heaving as anger and humiliation boiled within you, so hot it felt like your skin was on fire. There were fast and heavy footsteps pounding behind you. You tried to block them out, but before you could make it to the living room, a strong hand clamped around your arm.

The sudden grip yanked you backward and spun you around so hard you almost stumbled. Mingyu stood inches from you with his jaw clenched, and his dark eyes blazed like he was holding back a raging storm.

“What the fuck is your problem Y/n? What the hell was that back there? Huh?” he spat out.

Your own rage flared. “My problem? Are you seriously asking me that right now Mingyu?” you snapped back, jerking your arm free from his grasp.

“YES!” he shouted like thunder. You didn’t flinch, at least not outwardly, but your heart was hammering inside your chest.

“Because not only did you ruin what was supposed to be a nice get-together dinner party,” he continued, his voice rising with every word, “you made a complete spectacle. You embarrassed Gaeul in front of everyone. Do you even realise what you did?”

Gaeul.

Of course it had to be her. Gaeul was Mingyu’s ex-girlfriend. They were the duo everyone thought he would end up marrying. The two had been together for almost two years, but knew each other long before you were ever in the picture. And even after they broke up, she never really disappeared. She stayed close because she was still Mingyu’s friend, and he still cared about her.

You hated how much that bothered you. Mingyu told you over and over again that he didn’t love her anymore, and that the past was the past. And maybe you believed him most days. But every time Gaeul showed up, that pit of insecurity cracked open again.

How were you supposed to compete with someone who knew him inside out, someone who shared years of memories that you were never a part of?

Tonight was the final straw. You watched Gaeul lean in too close to your boyfriend. You watched her hand brush his arm. You watched her laugh like she still had a claim to him, and it tore every fragile stitch of your restraint completely.

Part of you knew Mingyu’s anger made sense, because you just caused a scene and humiliated someone he still cared about. But the burning jealousy and pride overpowered any rational part of you. You refused to look small.

“She was all over you Mingyu!” you snapped.

“How the fuck was I meant to sit there and let her be all touchy with you?!” you argued back.

Mingyu’s eyes narrowed, and his jaw worked as if he was physically biting back words. “What are you even talking about? She wasn’t all over me Y/n. You’re blowing this way out of proportion!”

You let out a sharp laugh, but it didn’t sound like humor, it sounded like disbelief. “Out of proportion? She had her hands on you the whole damn night Mingyu. Everyone saw it. And you just sat there and let it happen!”

He stepped closer as frustration radiated off him. “What did you want me to do? Push her away in front of everyone? Cause a bigger scene and embarrass her than you already did?”

“Oh, so this is my fault now?” you shot back. “I’m the crazy one because I don’t like your ex-girlfriend being all over you?”

“She’s my friend, Y/n” Mingyu snapped, his voice growing louder this time. “That’s all she is. Why can’t you trust me on that?”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you Mingyu, I don’t trust her!” your voice cracked as you yelled. “And the fact that you’re just sitting there and letting her be all over you, that’s what’s fucking pissing me off!”

Your throat burned. Your eyes began to glisten with tears no matter how hard you tried to blink them away. You hated showing weakness, especially in the middle of a fight, but the hut was too much to overcome.

Mingyu’s face softened for a split second when he saw your eyes shine, but the absurdity of your accusation riled him up more. He ran a hand through his hair, pacing a short step away before spinning back around to face you.

“Do you even hear yourself right now? Do you know how ridiculous you sound?” he questioned.

“You didn’t even give anyone a chance to explain. You jumped straight to conclusions because you were too fucking insecure to see anything past what you already decided in your head” he stepped towards you with dark eyes.

“Let me tell you something Y/n,” he said, breathing heavy.

“I don’t love Gaeul anymore, and neither does she love me. We’re friends, only friends, and that’s all it’s ever going to be. Everyone in that room knew it. You know why?” he paused, waiting for you to look at him.

“Because Gaeul already has a girlfriend.”

The words felt like it knocked the air out of you.

Mingyu let out a shaky breath as he rubbed a hand over his face. “We didn’t just break up because we drifted apart. She realised she was into women, not men. That’s the truth. And honestly? It’s not even my story to share, but you pushed me here” his voice cracked a little as his shoulders dropped.

“If you actually understood how friendships really work, you’d see she wasn’t being ‘all over’ me. That’s not who she is. Gaeul knows her boundaries. She’s not the villain you’re making her out to be” his tone softened at the end, but his words left you stunned and speechless.

Your mouth went dry. For a second, you just stared at him, completely blindsided. “She— she has a girlfriend?” you managed to say with your voice smaller than you wanted it to be.

Mingyu sighed, running both hands through his hair before letting them fall uselessly to his sides. “Yeah. And she’s happy, really happy. That’s why she was laughing so much tonight, because she was telling me about her. But you didn’t even give yourself the chance to hear it. You were too busy glaring holes through her like she was some homewrecker.”

To say you were ashamed would be an understatement. You were embarrassed. The tears you were holding back finally slipped, and you turned your face away, hating how exposed you felt.

“I— I didn’t know,” you whispered as you hugged your arms around yourself.

“Of course you didn’t know,” Mingyu shot back, though his tone had softened. “You didn’t even want to know. You just assumed the worst, like always.”

“Do you have any idea how exhausting it is Y/n? Constantly having to prove that I chose you?” his voice broke, and it hurt more than his anger.

You turned back to face him, and the sight broke you. The hurt in his eyes and the exhaustion etched into his expression felt like a punch straight to the chest.

“If you can’t get past your insecurities, then how are we supposed to move forward? How many more times do I have to prove to you that you’re the one I want? That you’re the person I want to spend the rest of my life with?” Mingyu’s voice trembled, like he was begging you to understand.

When you saw a single tear slipping down his cheek, your heart dropped into your stomach. You panicked, “baby—” you desperately reached out for him.

But Mingyu stepped back. His jaw clenched as he wiped his face quickly, like he didn’t want you to see him break. You flinched in hurt, watching him create more distance between you.

“I need some time,” he muttered with a rough voice. Without waiting for your reply, he turned and walked out the door, leaving you frozen in the silence and your hand still hanging in the air where he pulled away.

You closed your eyes as your shoulders sagged in defeat. The strength left your body all at once, and your hands fell limply to your sides.

A shaky, broken sob escaped your throat before you could stop it. The shame pressing down on your chest was so heavy that it almost hurt you to breathe.

You couldn’t believe it. You couldn’t believe yourself.

Things with Mingyu had been rocky lately. The two of you were fighting more than you ever had before. The arguments that started were small, but they always seemed to escalate into something bigger. And almost every single time, the root of it came back to the same person. Gaeul.

You hated that she was even part of the picture, even if it was “just as a friend.” No matter how many times Mingyu reassured you, it felt strange and uncomfortable to watch your boyfriend stay so close to someone he used to love.

It didn’t matter that they had history, or that they claimed it was all in the past, you just couldn’t wrap your head around it. The idea of your boyfriend laughing with, texting, or leaning on his ex like nothing ever happened made your stomach twist in knots.

To you, it wasn’t about jealousy in the simple sense. It was the awkwardness and the uneasiness of knowing that there was a part of his life you’d never be able to compete with. She had been there first. She knew sides of him you were still learning.

As much as you hated to admit it, you were insecure. You tried to act like you had it all together, and that things from the past didn’t bother you anymore, but deep down, they did.

Your love life before Mingyu hadn’t exactly been a fairytale. The two guys you dated before him each left their mark in the worst ways.

One made you feel invisible, like nothing you did was ever enough to keep his attention. The other didn’t even bother to hide it. He flat out left you for someone else. Both relationships ended the same way, with you questioning what you lacked and why you weren’t worth staying for.

And that kind of hurt doesn’t just disappear, no matter how much you want it to. It still lingers around. It makes you second-guess yourself in moments you should feel secure. It makes you wonder if maybe there really is always going to be someone better, someone prettier, someone smarter, someone easier to love.

So even with Mingyu, who had never once made you feel unwanted, those old wounds had a way of creeping back in and whispering that maybe you still weren’t enough.

Maybe you were still stuck in the past. Maybe a part of you was still carrying all that fear of not being enough, of being replaced the way you had been before.

It wasn’t Mingyu you doubted, never for a second. You knew he loved you. You knew he was loyal, and you never truly believed he would betray you. The problem was you. You were the one second-guessing yourself at every turn. Even after three years of being together, even after all the ways he had shown you that he loved you, that old voice in your head never fully shut up.

You kept wondering if you were enough for him. If one day he’d wake up and realise he deserved better. And every time that fear bubbled up, it always led to frequent arguments. It led to jealous comments and moments that didn’t need to turn into fights but always did.

Deep down, you knew it wasn’t fair. Mingyu wasn’t the problem. Your insecurities were. They were the reason why your relationship was close to crumbling. And no matter how much you hated it, you could see it clearly now. More often than not, the fights weren’t because of what Mingyu did. They were because of what you couldn’t let go of inside yourself.

And today, you could see that Mingyu had finally hit his breaking point. The way he looked at you and the way his voice cracked when he said he needed space, it told you everything. He was done carrying the burden of your doubts. And honestly? You couldn’t even blame him for it.

Because you knew this wasn’t on him. It was on you. You were the one letting your insecurities run the show. You were the one picking fights you didn’t need to start. You were the one who kept pushing even when he tried to reassure you. It wasn’t fair to him, and you knew it.

For the first time, it really sank in. Maybe you weren’t just hurting yourself with all this doubt. Maybe you were slowly tearing down the person who did nothing but love you. And that thought hit harder than anything else.

You weren’t just the problem. You might have been the reason things were falling apart.

▎12 JULY 2025

08:07 a.m.

You didn’t even realise you cried yourself to sleep waiting for Mingyu until the next morning, when you woke up on the sofa. The brightness of the sunlight streaming through the window hit your eyes instantly, making you groan as you scrunched your nose and lifted a hand to block it. Your body felt heavy and stiff from spending the whole night in one position.

When you pushed yourself upright slowly, that was when it hit you. The house was quiet, too quiet. Where was the same hollow silence that settled in after Mingyu walked out last night. And just like that, the ache you’d tried to sleep off came rushing back.

You wondered if he was even home. You stood up and dragged your feet across the floor as you made your way upstairs. Maybe he came back late and went straight to bed, sleeping it off like nothing happened.

You held onto that hope, even as your hand hovered on the doorknob. Taking a shaky breath, you pushed the door open, only to find the bedroom empty. The bed was still untouched and perfectly made, just before you two left.

Your heart sank.

Maybe he left you a message, at least, telling you he was crashing at Wonwoo’s place, or that he just needed space for the night. Clinging to that thought, you hurried back downstairs and grabbed your phone off the coffee table.

But there was nothing. The only notification lighting up your phone was from your friend Minghao telling you that you needed to apologise to Gaeul. Minghao was not the one to sugarcoat anything, his message was just a blunt reminder of how badly you messed up last night.

You weren’t surprised that people were upset with you. Honestly, you would’ve been shocked if they weren’t. The way you acted last night was out of line, and you knew it. “Embarrassing” or “shameful” didn’t even come close to describing how you felt right now. The guilt was eating you alive.

You had to apologise.

Chewing nervously on your lip, you unlocked your phone and opened Instagram. It felt a little pathetic, but it was the only way you could think of. You and Gaeul didn’t follow each other, because you never had any reason to, and you didn’t have her number either. So this was there only way to reach her.

Your fingers hesitated over the search bar. Part of you wanted to slam your phone shut and pretend none of this happened. But you knew better. You made the mess, and now you had to face it.

You sat there staring at the screen, fingers hovering above the keyboard. Your chest felt tight, because honestly, you didn’t even know where to start. What were you supposed to say? “Sorry for causing a scene”? Or “Sorry for being insecure”?

None of it felt like enough. But hiding behind silence wasn’t going to fix anything. If you were going to apologise, it had to be face to face.

So, swallowing down your nerves, you finally typed out a message.

[jeon.yn08] : hey, it’s Y/n. Can we please talk?

⇥ [kgaeul_] : sure

[jeon.yn08] : in person would be better

⇥ [kgaeul_] : okay, where?

[jeon.yn08] : Moonbird Coffee, in 30 minutes?

⇥ [kgaeul_] : 👍

You switched off your phone and set it back down on the coffee table.

A long, shaky sigh slipped out of you as you let yourself sink deeper into the sofa cushions, face buried in your hands.

Every part of you, especially the introverted and stubborn part that hated confrontation, was begging you not to do this. Normally, you’d rather keep quiet and wait for things to blow over than reach out first. But this time, you knew you didn’t have a choice. If you wanted things to get better, you had to swallow your pride, face the discomfort, and actually do the right thing.

The guilt sitting in your chest was hard to ignore, eating at you more with every second that passed. You couldn’t just sit there pretending nothing happened while knowing how much you had hurt someone. Seeing Mingyu so exhausted and hurt last night kept flashing in your mind. If you couldn’t do this for yourself, then you had to do it for him.

╴╴╴╴╴

08:36 a.m.

After forcing yourself through a quick shower, brushing your teeth and changing into something presentable, you grabbed the house keys and stepped out the door. Mingyu had taken the car, so the subway was your only option. Not that you minded much, it gave you a little time to think.

You slid into a corner seat once the train doors closed and, out of instinct, unlocked your phone. Part of you hoped you’d see his name light up your screen, but there was nothing.

Good thing you had your mask on and your hair down. Otherwise, it would’ve been way too obvious that you were biting the inside of your cheek, fighting to keep yourself together from breaking down in public.

Your fingers itched to type out something, but you stopped yourself. He needed space, and you had to give him that. So, swallowing the lump in your throat, you shut the screen off and shoved your phone into your jacket pocket while holding back the tears threatening to fall.

A few stops later, you finally got out of the station and headed towards the café you told Gaeul to meet you at. Your steps slowed the closer you got, and you felt your nerves tightening. By the time you reached the door, your palms were clammy, and you could feel your heart beating a little too hard.

The café was quiet inside, with only three other customers scattered around. It should’ve been comforting, but the calm atmosphere only made your nerves stand out more.

And soon enough, you spotted Gaeul sitting in the corner. Her cherry-coloured hair stood out, so it was easy not to miss. She was leaning back against the cushioned chair with her phone in her hand, looking somewhat bored, like she had been waiting for a while.

You were nervous, still too embarrassed to face her after what you did last night. Nevertheless, you opened the door and made your way straight towards her with hesitation.

As your footsteps drew closer, Gaeul’s attention snapped away from her phone and finally lifted her head. The moment her eyes met yours, you froze for half a second and felt your nerves spiking all over again.

You forced a small, wary smile. “Hey,” almost too quietly. For a second, you weren’t sure she even heard you.

“Hi,” she answered, her lips curving into a polite, almost tired smile. It wasn’t warm, but it also wasn’t cold, and somehow that was enough to make you loosen up just a little. At least she wasn’t glaring at you, or throwing knives at you with her eyes. Honestly, you wouldn’t have blamed her if she had.

You pulled out the chair across from her and sat down, sliding yourself closer to the table. Your hands instantly needed something to do. You slipped your mask off, cleared your throat, tucked your hair behind your ear. You looked at the floor, the table, the window, anywhere but at her face.

Eye contact felt impossible, at least just for a moment.

Of course, Gaeul noticed. She let out a soft sigh, not harsh but enough to tell you she wasn’t here for small talk. “So…you wanted to talk?” she said finally, breaking the silence.

You swallowed and forced yourself to look up. When her eyes met yours, you could see how drained she looked, like she hadn’t slept much. But there was still hurt in those brown orbs, the hurt you caused.

“Y-Yeah,” you stammered.

Closing your eyes briefly, you exhaled. There was no use dragging this out. You had to be honest.

You fiddled with your fingers under the table, feeling your throat tighten. For a second, no words came out. But eventually, you forced yourself to speak.

“I— I’m sorry,” you blurted out.

You chewed on the inside of your cheek, and forced yourself to keep going. “I’m sorry for last night. I’m sorry for everything I said and the way I acted. I know I crossed a line, and I know I made things way harder than they needed to be. You didn’t deserve any of it.”

Gaeul didn’t say anything right away, she just sat there watching you. Her silence made your chest ache even more, but somehow you pushed through it.

“I was insecure, and jealous, and honestly? Just scared,” you admitted.

“I was scared that Mingyu might look at you and realise that you’ve always been better than me. And instead of dealing with it like a normal person, I lashed out at you. That wasn’t fair. I let my insecurities get the better of me, and I hurt you in the process.”

You sighed. You felt tears building up in your eyes, but you kept them locked on hers this time. “I don’t expect you to forgive me right away, or even at all. I just…I couldn’t let things stay like this without at least apologising to your face. You deserve that much.”

Your palms were sweaty against your jeans, and your heart was beating like a drum. For the first time, you felt like you laid everything bare. There were no excuses, no defenses, just honesty. Now all you could do was wait for her response.

You were ready for her response, whatever it could be. She could laugh at your face or spit harsh words she had for you, you were ready to take it all in.

But you got nothing.

Instead, Gaeul leaned back in her chair and let out a long breath like she’d been holding it in since you walked through the door. Her expression stayed unreadable as her eyes flicked down to the table and then back up to you.

“You know…” she finally started, calmly, though sounding tired at the same time.

“When you implied I was being a ‘homewrecker,’ I can’t even tell you how much that hurt. I was furious, hurt and embarrassed all at once. I wanted to snap back and prove you wrong to defend myself right there. But I didn’t, I just froze. It was one of those moments where you’re so shocked, you don’t even know what to say, you know?”

Your heart dropped to your stomach as her words sank in. Your bottom lip trembled and you lowered your head in shame. God, you felt awful. So damn awful. If the situation had been reversed, you knew you would’ve lashed out too. Anyone would, to protect their dignity. You couldn’t even blame her for being angry because it made perfect sense.

“But,” she continued, “I get where you’re coming from. I mean, I would feel weird too, considering the history Mingyu and I have. So I can’t really pretend that it doesn’t make things complicated sometimes.”

Gaeul’s tone then softened a little. “But Y/n, that doesn’t mean I’m trying to take him away from you. I moved on, and I have an amazing girlfriend who I love more than anything. Mingyu is your boyfriend now, and I respect that. I would never try to mess with what you two have” she said.

She paused to choose her next words carefully.

“You have to understand that Mingyu and I were good friends way before we ever dated. He’s been one of my friends for a long time, and that bond didn’t just vanish after we broke up. We don’t love each other in that way anymore, but we still care about each other. We still laugh, we still tease, we still share that old comfort. That’s just the kind of friendship we have. And I need you to know, that’s all it is now, friendship. Nothing more.”

It had been pretty obvious to everyone, well, at least to their close friends, that Gaeul was into women by the time she and Mingyu broke up. Still, when it first came out, it threw everyone for a loop. Nobody saw it coming, because Gaeul had always dated guys, and she and Mingyu seemed solid for a long time. So when she finally told them, there were definitely a few dropped jaws and awkward silences.

Perhaps it was the fact that she hid it all so well in fear of being judged, or at least, to figure out her sexuality.

But over time, it started to make sense. The way she talked about love and the way she carried herself, it all just fell into place. She seemed lighter and more like herself than she’d ever been when she was with Mingyu. And her friends noticed that too. The same girl who used to second-guess everything was suddenly glowing, laughing more and completely at ease in her own skin.

So, what started out as a shock quickly turned into one of those “ah, okay, that actually makes perfect sense now” moments.

The only person who hadn’t caught on, or maybe just didn’t want to, was you. Everyone else seemed to have accepted it ages ago, but you were stuck in your own head, replaying the same thought over and over, that Gaeul and Mingyu used to date.

That was it. That was the line your mind refused to cross. No matter how many times Mingyu reassured you, or how harmless Gaeul’s actions actually were, your insecurities kept twisting everything into something ugly.

And now, sitting there with everything laid bare right in front of you, it all hit you so hard. Gaeul wasn’t the problem, she never was. You were just too caught up in your own worries to see what was obvious to everyone else. You couldn’t help but feel incredibly stupid, and honestly, a little ashamed of how much you let your insecurities take over.

You couldn’t stop yourself as your hands flew up to cover your face, the tears finally breaking free. All the guilt, the embarrassment and the exhaustion from holding everything in just crashed at once. You felt miserable, really. You didn’t even know what to do with yourself anymore.

“I’m so, so sorry, Gaeul,” you said, voice trembling as you tried to steady your breathing. “I shouldn’t have shouted at you like that, especially in front of everyone.”

You forced yourself to uncover your face, even though your cheeks were still wet and your eyes bloodshot and puffy. You wanted her to see how much you meant it, and that it wasn’t just some quick apology to ease your conscience.

Gaeul could see right through you. She could see every bit of guilt, regret, and exhaustion written all over your face. There wasn’t a single trace of defensiveness left in you, just sincerity. And that alone was enough to soften her expression. She let out a quiet sigh, then gave you a small, almost tired smile.

She reached across the table and gently placed her hand over yours, and the simple gesture nearly made you tear up again.

“Hey,” she said gently, “it’s okay Y/n. I forgive you. I’m honestly glad you came to talk about it face-to-face instead of just texting. It means a lot. I hope we can move past it and maybe…be friends?”

You gave her a small nod as your lips curled into a faint, broken smile. It wasn’t much, but it was all you could manage without crying again. And you felt the tension in your chest loosen a little.

You didn’t really know what came next. Things between you and Gaeul weren’t magically fixed, and it would probably take some time before things felt normal again — if they ever really could. But for now, that didn’t matter.

What mattered was that she didn’t hate you. She didn’t resent you or hold that moment against you. She forgave you, genuinely and wholeheartedly.

Taking a quiet breath, you wiped the corner of your eye and looked at her with a bit more steadiness this time. “Thank you,” you whispered.

Gaeul smiled softly in return. “So…” she started, dragging the word out just a little as she leaned back against her chair.

“I’m guessing you and Mingyu got into an argument?”

You let out a soft, awkward laugh as you tucked a few strands of hair behind your ear. “Is it that obvious?” you asked, though you already knew it was.

She raised an eyebrow and gave a little snort. “Uh, yeah. Considering how pissed off Mingyu looked and how he basically dragged you out of the restaurant, I’d say it was pretty obvious. The whole table went dead silent after that.”

“Also, you looked absolutely shit the moment you walked in,” she added, jokingly.

You couldn’t help but laugh this time. “Wow, thanks,” you said sarcastically, using both palms to wipe at your still-wet and puffy eyes.

“God,” you muttered, shaking your head as another laugh slipped out.

After a brief pause, your smile began to fade, replaced by worry as last night replayed in your mind. “Hey..do you perhaps know where Mingyu is?” you asked, breaking the silence.

Her expression shifted immediately as her brows pulled together in concern. You took a shaky breath, “I haven’t heard from him since he left the house last night” you added.

Gaeul leaned back and frowned. “After dinner ended, we all went home. He came by my place to apologise for what happened, but I’m not sure where he went after that,” she said honestly.

“I just assumed he went back home.”

Your heart sank at her words. He didn’t come home. You struggled to breathe for a second as your mind raced through all the possibilities. Was he really that angry? Was he avoiding you?

Or worse, was he regretting everything?

Gaeul noticed your face pale and quickly leaned forward to hold your hands. “Hey,” she said softly, trying to pull you back to reality.

“He’s probably okay wherever he is. Maybe he just needs more time to cool off?” she reassured you with a small, hopeful smile.

You let out a tired sigh, resting your elbows on the table and rubbing your temples. “Yeah, that’s what he said before walking out,” you murmured.

“It’s just…it’s so hard right now,” you admitted.

“We’ve been arguing so much lately, way more than we should. And it’s gotten to a point where it doesn’t even feel healthy anymore. And after yesterday…” you swallowed hard, fighting the lump in your throat. “I’m scared I might’ve pushed him too far.”

Your voice cracked on the last word, and you quickly dropped your gaze to the table, hoping she wouldn’t see the tears already forming in your eyes.

“I don’t even know how to fix this anymore,” you whispered. “I just hope I don’t lose him. God, I’ll fall apart if I do.” A tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it.

You didn’t mean to start crying again, but it just hurt. You were scared, because you didn’t know how you were going to reconcile with him. What if this time apart wasn’t just him cooling off? What if it was him realising he didn’t want to come back at all?

The idea alone made your stomach agitate. Losing Mingyu was more than just a nightmare, it felt like it would be the end of everything you both built together.

You pressed the heel of your hand to your eyes, trying to pull yourself together, but the ache in your chest stayed. All you could think about was how badly you wanted to rewind and do things differently, before it was too late.

“Hey, hey,” Gaeul cut in quickly.

“You’re not going to lose him, alright? Trust me, I know Mingyu. When that man loves someone, he loves hard. He’s stubborn about it too. He’d rather get hurt himself than let go of the person he cares about. That’s just who he is” she said.

You looked up at her with your glossy eyes, but her words slowly started to sink in.

Gaeul smiled softly. “He loves you so much, Y/n. Seriously. More than he ever loved me, and I say that with full confidence.”

She gave a small laugh, shaking her head like she still couldn’t believe it herself. “I’ve never seen him so gone over anyone before. You have no idea how obvious it is. Everyone sees it. He’s completely whipped for you.”

She leaned back in her chair. “So, please don’t start thinking the worst. I promise you, Mingyu’s not the type to walk away just because things get hard. If anything, he’ll fight even harder for you. That’s how much you mean to him.”

Your heart fluttered. And somehow, hearing that from her, the one person who used to know him best, made it all feel a little more real.

╴╴╴╴╴

12:25 p.m.

After saying goodbye to Gaeul, you let out a long breath you didn’t even realise you had been holding. It felt like a weight had finally been lifted off your chest. Though not completely gone, you felt lighter, like you could finally breathe again. Things between you and her had been tense for so long that just clearing the air felt like a small victory.

At least that part was over. At least she didn’t hate you. But then your thoughts drifted right back to Mingyu, the one thing was still weighing heavy in your heart.

You didn’t know what you were supposed to say to him when you finally saw him again. Would he even want to see you? Would he still be angry, or just done?

Though with Gaeul’s reassurance, you still felt a little uncertain.

But at the same time, you were determined. No matter how hard it would be, you were ready to do whatever it took to make things right.

So, after stopping by the supermarket and grabbing everything you needed for beef bulgogi and kimchi fried rice, you headed straight home with your arms full of shopping and your head full of nerves.

But when you stepped into the house, your heart immediately sank. Mingyu still wasn’t home. The place felt weirdly empty without him because you weren’t used to this kind of silence. Usually you would hear him humming from the kitchen as he cooked, yelling your name from the living room, or just rambling about whatever random thing popped into his head.

Normally, he would always greet you by the door and wrap you in a warm, tight hug. Then he’d press a soft kiss to your lips and say something stupidly sweet that would make you forget about the terrible days you’d had.

It felt weirdly gloomy without him around. The slice was almost unsettling, and you couldn’t shake off how strange it felt not to hear his voice, or any noise that indicated that he was home.

Still, you wanted to do something. Maybe cooking his favourite food as an apology would help. That was always your thing, after all. If you messed up, you’d make his go-to comfort meals, like beef bulgogi or kimchi fried rice. If he was in the wrong, he’d show up with your favourite soup or spicy stir fried noodles.

With the little hope you had left in you, you sighed. You didn’t even bother to change out of your outfit. You simply took your shoes and jacket off before dumping the bags on the counter and getting to work.

╴╴╴╴╴

03:10 p.m.

As much as you wanted to text Mingyu, you forced yourself not to. You told yourself over and over that he needed space, and you had to respect that. And for a while, you tried, you really did. But the longer the silence stretched, the more you started to feel suffocated. It was becoming unbearable to just sit there in the empty house without the sound of his presence.

The food, which you haven’t dished up yet, was still sitting on the stove, and it had long gone cold now. You hoped that Mingyu would walk through the door in time for lunch, but noon turned into afternoon, and there was still no sign of him.

Eventually, you couldn’t wait any longer, so you texted a few of his friends and asked if they had seen or heard from him. The replies came quickly, but none of them helped. None of them knew where he was.

You stared at your phone, and felt that familiar knot tighten in your throat. He wasn’t answering anyone, not even you, and that was what scared you most. You tried to tell yourself to relax, but it was getting hard to breathe in this silence.

Finally, you exhaled shakily and picked up your phone again. Enough waiting — you were going to call him directly.

After three rings, you were hit with the sound of the automated voice telling you the number you were trying to reach was unavailable. And just like that, whatever little bit of strength you had left completely snapped.

Your chest tightened so painfully, and it felt like the air was sucked right out of the room. That stupid robotic voice kept echoing in your head, and suddenly everything around you blurred. The knot in your throat grew until it felt like you couldn’t swallow, couldn’t speak, couldn’t even think straight.

Your breathing turned sharp and even, like you were gasping for air through a straw. Tears started welling up so fast that your vision went foggy, and you could barely see your phone screen anymore. You pressed a hand to your chest to try and calm yourself down, but your heartbeat was wild and erratic. It was like your body was stuck in fight-or-flight mode.

You wanted to cry, to scream, or do something to release the ache choking you, but you couldn’t. The sobs stayed trapped in your throat, and it was burning their way up but never escaping. Your whole body was trembling hard, uncontrollable shakes that made it impossible to even sit still.

Your fingers went numb, and your phone slipped from your grasp and fell onto the floor. You curled in on yourself and clutched your chest, desperately trying to breathe.

You were in the middle of a full-blown panic attack, and it was worse than any you ever had before.

Was this really the end? Was Gaeul wrong about everything she had told you? What if Mingyu had finally made up his mind? What if he was done with you for good? The thought alone sent you spiraling even more.

Your mind went completely blank afterwards, except for one thought, your mother.

“M-Mum,” you choked out with your trembling voice as your hands shakily reached for your phone.

Everything felt blurry, like you were underwater. Your fingers could barely move properly as you scrolled through your contacts. It took what felt like forever to find her name, while your legs were barely keeping you upright. When you finally pressed call, you could hear your heart pounding in your ears.

Your mother was your best friend. You told her everything, your highs, your lows, your plans and your stupid little worries. She was your safe place, and hearing her voice was all you needed right now.

So when she picked up and that warm, familiar voice greeted you with, “hey darling,” you just broke.

“M-Mum,” you managed to croak out between choked breaths.

Instantly, she picked up on it, and her calm tone turned into panic. “Y/n? Honey, what’s wrong? Talk to me, what happened?”

“H-He doesn’t w-want m-me anymore,” you stammered. “H-He d-doesn’t want t-to c-come b-back home M-Mum.”

Your voice cracked completely, breaking into sobs. You could hear her calling your name, trying to calm you down, but her words sounded so far away and muffled, like they were coming from another room.

“I-I can’t…b-breathe,” you gasped out, clutching your chest as your vision began to tunnel. The phone slipped slightly in your hand, and you heard your mother’s voice grow louder and panicked now as she yelled your name through the speaker.

But it was too late. Your knees buckled and the phone fell from your grip. The last thing you heard was your mother’s desperate shouting before everything faded to black.

╴╴╴╴╴

Meanwhile, Mingyu was sprawled out on his bed, staring blankly at the ceiling of his old bedroom.

He didn’t really plan to end up at his parents’ house. After storming out and stopping by Gaeul’s place to vent and apologise for disappearing on her mid-conversation, he realised he had nowhere else to go. His parents’ place seemed like the safest option. It was more comforting and quiet where he could breathe for a bit.

The moment he walked through the door, though, his parents bombarded him with questions asking him what happened and why he looked so down. He didn’t have the energy to explain, so he brushed it off with a vague answer that you both fought and that he needed some time to cool off. It was enough to make them drop it, well, at least for the night.

But by the time the sun rose the next morning, his mother had clearly noticed his phone buzzing every few minutes on the nightstand. She was beginning to get annoyed at her son’s lack of attention. And hearing the constant vibration and seeing the unread notifications piling up on his phone, she smacked his chest, saying, “stop being childish Mingyu. If she’s calling this much, you should answer her.”

He didn’t respond though. He just stared at the screen lighting up again with your name. He knew you were trying to reach him, and he knew exactly how worried you must’ve been. But as much as it hurt to ignore you, he didn’t want to reply. He was still angry, yes, but more than that, he was exhausted, both emotionally and mentally.

So instead of replying, he switched his phone off completely and left it on the bedside table like it didn’t even exist. Out of sight and out of mind, at least, that’s what he tried to tell himself.

Mingyu knew he was being ridiculous at this point, but he couldn’t help it. It just felt like no one really got what was going on in his head, not even you. He loved you, god, he loved you so bad. He loved you so much it almost scared him sometimes.

No matter how insecure you got, he always tried to make sure you felt seen, safe, and loved. He would go out of his way just to remind you how much you meant to him, whether through small text messages, giving you forehead kisses, or staying up late at night to talk things through when you were overthinking again.

To put it simply, you were everything to him. His entire world.

And yet, it felt like you couldn’t see it. Like no matter how hard he tried to show you that there would never, ever be another woman he could love the way he loved you, it wasn’t enough. Every time there were misunderstandings, every argument that circled back to the same insecurities, it chipped away at him little by little.

He was tired. He wasn’t tired of you, rather, he was tired of the fighting. He was tired of the endless reassurance he’d give you, and the feeling that love alone wasn’t fixing things anymore.

And after what happened last night, when things went a little too far, it pushed him over the edge. It broke something inside him, and now as he laid staring at the ceiling, he wasn’t even sure how to start putting those pieces back together. He just didn’t know how else to prove to you.

Mingyu let out a long sigh and rolled onto his side, eyes drifting toward the window where the sunlight was spilling through the curtains. The sky was clear with not a single cloud in sight, and the breeze that slipped through the slightly open window carried that midday freshness. It was perfect beach weather.

And instantly, his mind went to you, because you loved this kind of day. You loved the sound of the waves, the feel of sand between your toes, the excuse to pack a basket full of snacks and just lie there for hours talking about nothing.

Mingyu could almost picture it, of you laughing as you laid your head against his bare chest. And walking hand in hand down the beach, admiring the sunset.

He would drive the four hours down to Busan without a second thought if it meant seeing that smile again. That was how much he loved you. Even now, when things between you were such a mess, that love was still sitting strong in his chest, refusing to fade.

It wasn’t long before Mingyu heard quick footsteps storming down the hallway, followed by his bedroom door bursting open.

“Kim Mingyu!”

He quickly rolled onto his other side at the sound of his mother’s sharp and panicked voice. She stood in the doorway with her phone in her hand. “Where in God’s name did you put your phone?” she snapped as she took a few quick steps towards him.

He blinked, caught off guard. “Why? What happened?” he asked.

His mother stopped beside the bed, taking a shaky breath before speaking. “I just got a call from Y/n’s mum,” she began. “She was looking for you, and said Y/n called her while having a panic attack. A really bad one.”

For a split second, everything froze. His heartbeat, his breathing, even his mind. And when the words finally hit him like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over his head, his heart started racing with dread.

“She— she what?” he almost stuttered as he shot upright, fumbling for his phone on the nightstand. His hands were getting clammy, shaking so badly he almost dropped it as he pressed the button to turn it on.

“Her mum said she was struggling to breathe,” his mother said in a worried tone. “The last thing she heard before the call was cut off was Y/n saying she couldn’t breathe.”

Mingyu’s stomach contorted agonisingly, but before he could even react, his mother went on to say something that made his whole world tilt.

“When she rushed over to your place, she found Y/n collapsed in the living room.”

His heart shot straight to his throat, eyes widening in alarm. “C–Collapsed?” he stammered, quickly standing up to his feet.

“What do you mean collapsed? Where is she now?!” his voice rose slightly in fear as he walked towards his mother.

“Yes Mingyu! Collapsed!” his mother snapped. “She’s at the hospital right now. Her mum said she wasn’t responding, and they’ve all been trying to reach you for the past thirty minutes! Why haven’t you been answering your phone?”

Mingyu barely heard the rest of what his mother was saying. Her voice, the ticking clock, even the sound of his own breathing, everything around him blurred into static. The air suddenly felt too thin to breath, and his chest felt like all the oxygen had been sucked out of his lungs.

He couldn’t think straight. His head was spinning, and his heartbeat was too loud in his ears.

“Hospital,” he mumbled, almost to himself,

And without wasting another second, he bolted out of his bedroom. Mingyu practically flew down the stairs. He nearly tripped trying to shove his feet into his shoes, and he didn’t l even bother to tie the laces properly. His hands were shaking so badly that he fumbled with the keys on the counter before finally grabbing them.

“Mingyu!” his mother called after him, shouting the name of the hospital. He barely heard it over the rush of blood in his ears.

“I got it!” he yelled back, though his voice cracked halfway.

He yanked open the door, ran outside as fast as he could, and jumped into his car. Turning on the engine, he hurriedly reversed out of the driveway.

Mingyu knew better than anyone how dangerous, and stupid, it was to drive recklessly, no matter how desperate the situation was. You’d drilled that into him numerous times.

Every time he’d grab his keys to leave, you’d give him that little reminder, “drive safe, okay? No speeding.”

It became your thing. And the irony was, you didn’t even have a driver’s licence, but you still lectured him like you were the highway authority itself.

And Mingyu, being the confident driver he was, sometimes got a little too bold behind the wheel. He’d often take turns too fast or tailgate when he was late, and you would always call him out for it later with that disappointed look he hated seeing.

Even now, when all he wanted to do was slam his foot on the accelerator and break every speed limit in the book just to get to you faster, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. The thought of going against your words was enough to keep him in check.

Don’t speed Mingyu.

Still, it was torture. Every time he got caught at a red light, his hands tightened around the steering wheel til his knuckles turned white.

He couldn’t stop muttering curses under his breath while bouncing his leg anxiously. And when a car in front of him moved at the speed of a snail, he’d slam his hand on the honk button.

He was, really, trying so damn hard to stay calm.

By the time Mingyu finally pulled up to the hospital, he didn’t even care how he parked. The car was barely in the lines, maybe even sideways, but that didn’t matter to him. He just threw the door open, slammed it shut behind him, and sprinted straight through the sliding doors.

The receptionist was startled a little when he rushed up to the desk. But more so by his dishevelled appearance — hair messy, chest heaving and sweat beading down his temple. He looked completely frantic, like he ran a marathon.

“Jeon Y/N, where is she?” he asked, leaning forward on the counter, barely able to catch his breath.

The receptionist blinked at him. “I’m sorry, sir, but we can’t give out any information about patients unless you’re a family member,” she told him.

“She’s my girlfriend. Please, just tell me where I can find her” he pleaded, trying not to lose his cool.

Before the receptionist could speak up, Mingyu heard your mother’s voice call out his name from somewhere behind him. “Mingyu?”

His heart leaped at the sound, spinning around instantly. “Mrs Jeon!” he exclaimed in relief as he rushed toward her.

Mingyu reached your mother in seconds, almost stumbling to a stop in front of her. “Where is she? How is she? What happened?” he blurted out, voice breaking halfway through the sentence. His breathing was uneven as his eyes darted around the hallway like he was searching for you.

“Hey, slow down,” your mother said softly.

“The doctor said her body was under a lot of stress. The panic attack made it worse which caused her to faint. But she’s okay. They said she just needs a lot of rest” she explained.

Mingyu felt a lump form in his throat, and eyes sting with tears. “Is she awake right now? Or is she sleeping?” he asked.

Your mother’s expression softened, and let out a small sigh, “she’s awake, but she doesn’t really want to talk to anyone right now. She just keeps asking for you.”

It was like the final string that snapped. Mingyu’s bottom quivered as he fought to hold himself together. But involuntarily, a small whimper escaped from his lips.

“Which room is she in?” he whispered.

“Room twenty-six,” she said, pointing down the corridor.

But she didn’t even finish before Mingyu’s feet were already on the move. His shoes squeaked against the hospital floor as he ran, and he didn’t care about the people staring or the nurses telling him to slow down. All he could think about was getting to you, and seeing you with his own eyes.

When Mingyu finally reached your room, he stopped dead in his tracks right outside the door. His hand hovered over the handle, but he couldn’t bring himself to push it open just yet. His heart was pounding, so hard it felt like it might burst out of his chest.

All that adrenaline that had carried him here suddenly turned into nerves. He was so desperate to see you, but now that he was here, he didn’t know what to do.

He swallowed hard, running a shaky hand through his hair as he stared at the small window on the door. Through it, he could see you sitting on the bed with your knees pulled up to your chest and your face buried in your arms.

The thin hospital blanket was draped around you, but you still looked so small, so fragile. The lump in Mingyu’s throat began to suffocate him. His hand reached up to clutch his chest, trying to steady the rapid thump of his heart.

His vision blurred as he tried to fight back the tears threatening to spill. Then, he let out a shaky exhale, “God, what have I done?” he whispered to himself, You looked completely broken, and knowing he was part of the reason you ended up like this made him want to tear himself apart.

Mingyu dragged in a shaky breath, roughly wiping his eyes before finally pushing the door open.

The sudden sound made you flinch, but the second your eyes landed on the man you had been dying to see, your whole body seemed to let go of the tension it had been holding.

“Mingyu…” you breathed out with a trembling voice as you threw the blanket aside and got to your feet.

The sight of your red and puffy eyes completely broke him.

Whatever strength he had left just shattered right there. A strangled sob tore out of his chest as he rushed to you, closing the distance in seconds before wrapping you up in his arms in a tight, desperate hug.

You melted into him immediately, and your hands gripped at the back of his shirt. “Where were you?” you choked out as you buried your face against him. “I thought you left me.”

“I thought you weren’t coming back,” you continued, your sobs growing harder. “I was so scared.”

“I’m sorry Mingyu. I’m so, so sorry. I never wanted to make things harder for you. I didn’t mean to make you feel like you had to prove anything to me. I just—” you broke off, gasping through another wave of tears.

“Please don’t leave me. I’ll do better. I’ll be better.”

“Hey, hey, hey—” he stammered as he pulled back to cup your face in his large, shaking hands. His thumbs brushed over your damp cheeks, and his heart shattered with every sob that left your lips.

“Look at me baby” he said.

When your eyes flicked up, that was all it took for his composure to crumble all over again. “Shh, calm down baby. It’s okay,” he reassured you, almost desperately.

“I’m right here, okay? I’m not going anywhere. I’m not going to leave you, I swear” he said, blinking back his own tears.

You tried to say something, but the words dissolved into another sob, and that broke him to the core. “Fuck,” he choked, shaking his head.

“Fuck, I didn’t mean for things to go this far. I didn’t mean to hurt you like this. I’m so fucking sorry my love.”

He leaned forward until his forehead pressed against yours, eyes shut tight as he breathed you in.

“God, I’m so fucking stupid,” he croaked as he leaned in and pressed a shaky kiss to your lips.

When he pulled back, his forehead stayed pressed against yours, and you could feel his hot and uneven breath fan over your lips. “But I’m here now,” he whispered.

“I’m right here with you baby girl. I’m not going anywhere again, I swear. I’m never leaving you.”

He kissed you again, slower and longer this time, and you could practically feel him trembling against you. “I’m so sorry” he whimpered against your lips.

“I’m so sorry I left you like that, baby. I shouldn’t have walked away at all. I shouldn’t have ignored you. God, I hate myself for it.” His tears mixed with yours, tasting the salty warmth spreading between your lips as he kissed you again and again.

“Hey,” you whispered softly, voice still hoarse from crying.

“At least you’re here now,” you said softly, giving him a small, tired smile as you reached up to brush the messy strands of hair away from his eyes. “That’s all that matters.”

Mingyu let out a low hum, almost like a sigh of relief, before he cupped your cheek and pulled you in for another long, deep kiss.

When he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours once again. His eyes were still glassy, but they were much calmer now.

“I love you baby,” he said as his thumb traced lazy circles against your jaw.

“Always remember that, okay? No matter how angry I get, no matter how bad we fight, that anger’s never going to be stronger than how much I love you. Ever.”

You blinked at him, your heart squeezing at his words. You saw him swallow hard, “I love you too much to ever let you go. You have no idea how much it scares me at the thought of not having you around. I swear, I’d rather take all the pain in the world than ever lose you.”

His words hit so deep that your eyes started welling up with tears all over again. You didn’t have to doubt that he meant every one of them. The sincerity in his eyes, the way he kissed you and held you, it gave you the security you desperately needed at this moment.

You smiled through your tears, “I know” you responded. “I know you do. And I love you too.”

Mingyu cracked a small smile and leaned in again, kissing the corner of your lips gently before enveloping you into a hug.

“We’ll be okay.”

╴╴╴╴╴

10:20 p.m.

After you got discharged, Mingyu drove straight home, one hand on the wheel and the other holding yours the entire way. He was quieter than usual, but the way his thumb kept brushing over your knuckles said enough.

Not long after you got settled in, his mother dropped by with a pot of warm rice porridge. Of course, a few minutes later, Mingyu was the one with the bowl in his hands, devouring it like he hadn’t eaten in days.

You just sat there and watched him shovel spoon after spoon into his mouth. “You do realise that was supposed to be my porridge, right?” you tried not to laugh.

Mingyu glanced up, a bit of rice stuck to his lip, and gave you a sheepish grin. “You love me too much to stop me.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue. He did love that porridge way too much, and honestly, you weren’t even that hungry anymore. Just the sight of him looking so happy enjoying it made your heart feel full.

After that, the two of you hopped into the shower together, mostly because Mingyu didn’t trust you to stand for too long on your own. You complained, but you didn’t really mean it. The way he was so gentle when washing the shampoo out of your hair and kissing your temple every few minutes, it made your chest ache in the best way possible.

Dinner was whatever leftovers you had cooked in the afternoon. And then, predictably, you both migrated to the sofa. Mingyu grabbed the thickest blanket he could find and wrapped the two of you up like a burrito before putting on a random rom-com movie.

Now, halfway through your second film, your eyelids were starting to grow heavy. The rhythmic movement of Mingyu’s fingers tracing soft circles over your bare stomach wasn’t helping at all.

You tried to fight the sleep, whether it was by blinking hard, shifting your position, or even pretending to be interested in the plot. But his warm and his quiet breathing beside your ear, and that comforting hand on your bare belly were all working against you.

Mingyu noticed, of course. He glanced down at you with a small grin. “You can sleep, you know” he told you.

“I’m fine,” you mumbled, eyes already half-shut.

He chuckled softly, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “Sure you are,” he responded, still drawing lazy patterns on your skin.

You stayed quiet for a while, eyes still closed, somewhere between awake and asleep.

“I talked to Gaeul today,” you mumbled sleepily, breaking the silence.

Mingyu blinked and took his eyes off the television, glancing down at you. If he was surprised, he made sure to make it seem less obvious. “Yeah?” he asked softly.

“Mhm,” you hummed, finally blinking your eyes open to look up at him. “We met at this little cafe and just…talked it out. I apologised to her for last night and everything, really” you said.

“After learning everything, I just felt incredibly stupid for everything I’ve said to her. I felt so crap” you continued, shifting a little to adjust yourself in his arms.

“So I messaged her to meet me at a cafe. And honestly? I didn’t know what kind of reaction to expect, but I just wanted to put it out there and let her know how sorry I was.”

Mingyu tilted his head slightly, “and how did that go?” he asked as his fingers brushed through your hair. Though he could already guess how it went, he wanted to hear it from you.

“Better than I thought it would, honestly. I cried a lot, and God it was so embarrassing now that I think back to it. I was such a mess” you gave a small laugh, shaking your head at yourself.

“But she was really kind about it. She said she appreciated me reaching out and talking to her in person. She said it meant a lot” your voice softened a little.

“Most importantly, she forgave me” you added.

Mingyu’s expression melted into one of quiet pride. “That’s good,” he said, brushing his thumb over your cheekbone. “I’m proud of you baby.”

You let out another soft laugh, almost sleepy. “I just felt so stupid, you know? The things I said to her were just…ugh!” you groaned and buried your face against his chest again.

“I don’t even know what came over me.”

Your body relaxed again, and you let out an airy hum as Mingyu’s fingers continued to move through your hair. “I’m glad I talked to her though,” you whispered, half-drifting back into sleep.

“I am too,” Mingyu said quietly, resting his chin on your head. “Means you can finally stop carrying everything around like a burden.”

You hummed in agreement, your words slurring slightly as you mumbled, “maybe now I can actually sleep without crying.”

You felt Mingyu’s chest vibrating under your cheek as he let out a small laugh. “Good,” he whispered, holding you a little tighter. “You deserve that.”

You could feel sleep creeping up on you again, and your eyelids grew heavier and heavier with every lazy stroke of Mingyu’s hand on your back. You didn’t bother fighting it this time, and just let yourself sink into his warmth.

“I love you, Kim Mingyu,” your words slurred together as sleep started to win.

Then, in a voice so soft it almost broke his heart, you whispered, “please don’t ever leave me.”

The room fell quiet after that, and Mingyu’s smile faltered just a little. It wasn’t the first time you said something like that half-asleep, especially when you two made up after an argument, but it still hit him the same every time. He hated that there was even a part of you that worried he’d go anywhere.

Your body grew heavier in his arms as you finally drifted off completely. Mingyu adjusted his position and sat up a little straighter so you could rest more comfortably against him. He tugged the blanket higher and tucked it snugly around your shoulders, before wrapping both arms securely around you.

He looked down at your sleeping face, your lashes resting softly against your cheeks, lips slightly parted, breathing slow and steady. His chest ached in the best and worst way.

Leaning down, he pressed a long, gentle kiss to your forehead. “I love you too princess,” he murmured against your skin. “And I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”

You didn’t stir. You were already deep in sleep with your small breaths fanning over his chest. Mingyu smiled faintly as he brushed a thumb over your cheek.

“I don’t even wanna think about what I’d do without you” he said, almost to himself.

a/n; sorry it took so long! my iPad broke and I needed a way to edit the fonts. and also sorry if you commented on my post to join the tag-list and aren’t listed on here, for some reason I can’t find your username under the @ search.

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