i lowkey hate how people only write smut for kang-soo and ignore how much he actually went through in yadangā¦.so hereās an angst piece. i hope you enjoy!
summary: you wish kang-soo was around more often.
warnings: angst (happy ending), feelings of loneliness, reader may come off as a little selfish, mentions of cigarettes, arguing
word count: 1.1k
the apartment was quiet.
a quietness you had gotten used to, of course, given that kang-soo was almost always out of the house nowadays because of his new work as a yadang.
you understood his situation, really you did, but that didnāt stop you from missing him and wishing he was home any less. you werenāt resentful, really, but sometimes you couldnāt help but be a little angry at your circumstances.
the sound of the front door opening rouses you out of your thoughts.
he was home?
you rush to set down your book and get off the couch to see him, stopping as he walks in the door looking completely beaten down.
āhi,ā he greets lowly, brushing past you to get to the kitchen and get a glass of water.
you stand rooted to your spot, frankly baffled at how he essentially ignored you. it had been nearly a week since heād last been home, no doubt crashing at chang-rakās place or some shitty motel while he was away.
āis that it? hi?ā your voice comes out a little harsher than you mean it to, and for a second you feel a twinge of regret, but it quickly fades. itās kang-sooās almost flippant behavior that makes you realize just how angry you are with not only the situation, but him. sure, he had to be out of the house often, but couldnāt he show a little more affection? didnāt he realize how much his absence was affecting you? how much you worried about him and his well-being?
or was he choosing to ignore it?
you see his posture stiffen a little bit at the tone of your voice, before slowly turning to face you. his face is tired, the purple and slightly yellow remains of a bruise marring his cheekbone and making him look even more weary.
āare you really going to do this right now?ā his voice is sharp. a muscle in his jaw jumps slightly. āare you really going to be like this now?ā
his words make you even angrier. how dare he act like you were some nuisance, like you were a child, when all you wanted was for him to be okay and safe? when all you wanted was the love of your life home with you?
āwhat do you mean, be like this? be like what?ā you move closer to kang-soo, standing in front of him in the kitchen as you cross your arms over your chest.
the sound of the glass of water hitting the kitchen island as kang-soo sets it down a little too hard makes you jolt a bit, but it doesnāt disarm you. if anything it makes you feel worse.
you go to open your mouth in a retort, but kang-soo cuts you off, his voice sharp.
ādifficult. youāre always difficult when i come home.ā
the words take the breath from your chest, the anger from your heart.
difficult.
thatās what you were. difficult.
and the worst part was that he wasnāt wrong either. now that you think about it, you were difficult when he came back home. always chastising, always nagging, telling him to be more careful when out, telling him to stop smoking all those cigarettes.
you just werenāt expecting him to say it to your face.
when you look up at kang-soo, his lips are pressed into a tight line, fingers tapping the counter rapidly.
āy-youāre just so annoying sometimes.ā he stutters out, grabbing the glass of water heād poured and taking a sip.
your heart sinks in your chest at hearing his stutter come out; that was an indicator of him being really stressed.
and to call you annoying? that comment stings more than youād like it to admit.
kang-soo could be mean if he wanted to be, but he was normally always softer with you; you had that effect on him.
so his words cut you more than they shouldāve.
you turn your head quickly out of his view so he canāt see the tears that pool in your eyes. but itās too late. heās seen.
you hear kang-sooās soft sigh, and then the sound of the glass he had being set down on the counter.
ābaby,ā he starts, voice softer now that youāre crying. āiām not trying to be mean. you know that, right?ā
you nod, still not turning to look at him. you kick yourself mentally for being a coward.
āi justā¦.ā kang-soo trails off a bit, thinking.
āiāve been going through a lot lately. and i donāt mean to bring that home or take it out on you. i k-know you miss me and worry about me, i miss you too when iām out.ā
he sighs. ābut when i come home itās justā¦.i, i canāt ever really get away from it all. because you start fussing about e-everything.ā
you turn your head a little to face him, but you donāt look at him yet.
āiā¦iām sorry, kang-soo.ā your voice is shaky despite your attempt to keep it even.
āiām sorry.ā tears track down your face. how could you have been so selfish? how could you not have seen how battered he was?
his hand, warm but rough against your face, turns your head to look at him. wipes your tears softly. pulls you closer to press a kiss to your forehead.
ādonāt cry, babyā¦.ā he sighs again, but not out of exasperation. he hates it when you cry. it undoes him completely. and even more so if it was something he did to make you cry.
kang-soo smooths your hair down repeatedly with his hand, a gesture meant to soothe.
āiām not mad at you. i was just frustrated, okay?ā
you nod, still unable to fully meet his eyes. shame burns hot in your chest.
i know youāre only worried about me, sweetheart.ā
you nod again, faster this time, trying to hold the rest of your tears in. it doesnāt work. you hide your face against his chest and let out a sob that makes his heart twist.
āiām sorry,ā itās all you can say as you cling to him, still being careful of any injuries he might have under his clothes.
kang-soo pulls you a little closer, one arm wrapped around your waist while the other remains in your hair.
the two of you stay like that for a while.
āi love you.ā his voice is soft in your ear, arm squeezing you to him a little tighter.
your eyes water at that. you know kang-soo loves you, of course you do.
but to hear him say it, in the flesh and not over the phone, is different.
you look forward to the days where he can say it in person every time.
synopsis : In a cold, arranged marriage, a cheerful wife longs for affection. When her husband discovers her romance stories, he awkwardly begins learning how to loveāslowly turning their relationship into something real.
genre : slice of life, mafia au, angst, slow-burn, comfort, fluff, little comedy
warnings : none
authorās note : im on holiday rn so ill be posting more hehe š
word count : 1.7k
The first thing you learned about your husband was that he didnāt smile.
Not at the wedding. Not during the vows.
Not even when the officiant tried to lighten the atmosphere with a joke about ātill death do you partā sounding a little too literal considering his line of work.
Kang Yeosang had simply stood there in his perfectly tailored suit, hands steady, expression unreadableālike he wasnāt marrying you, but signing a contract.
Which, to be fair, he kind of was.
You werenāt naive.
You knew exactly what this marriage was: a strategic alliance between your family and his.Ā
Stability. Protection. Power consolidation.Ā
All the very romantic things that made mafia deals go smoothly.
What you didnāt expectā¦ was how quiet he would be. Not cold in the dramatic, cruel way.
Justā¦ distant.
Like he existed slightly outside of your world.
He spoke when necessary. Ate with precision. Moved like someone always calculating three steps ahead.Ā
Even at home, where most people would relax, Yeosang remained composedāback straight, voice low, emotions tucked away behind a wall you couldnāt even see the edges of.
At first, you tried.
āDo you like tea or coffee?ā you had asked on the third morning after moving in.
āEither.ā
āā¦Okay, but which do you prefer?ā
A pause.
āTea.ā
You beamed. āGreat! Iāll remember that.ā
He nodded once. That was it.
No āthank you.ā No follow-up.
Justā¦ Yeosang.
You refused to let that discourage you.
If he was a wall, youād be ivy.
You talked about everything.
Your day. The neighborās weird cat. A random documentary you watched. A joke you found funny.
He listened, always. That was the strange part.
He never interrupted, never dismissed you, never told you to stop talking. He justā¦ didnāt respond much.
Still, you noticed things.
Like how his gaze would linger just a fraction longer when you laughed.
Or how heād subtly adjust the air conditioning because you once mentioned you got cold easily.
Or how your favorite snacks would magically appear in the pantry after you offhandedly said you liked them.
He didnāt show his affection with his words.
Heā¦ executed it.
Quietly. Efficiently.
Like everything else he did.
You shared a room.
A large one, elegant and impersonal at first, until you filled it with small touchesābooks on the nightstand, soft blankets, a ridiculous amount of pillows Yeosang never complained about.
The bed, however, remained a clear line of demarcation.
You on one side. Him on the other.
He never crossed it. Not even in his sleep. Not even once.
It wasnāt rejection, exactly. It justā¦ felt like distance.
And sometimes, late at night, when the house was silent and Yeosangās breathing was steady beside you, youād stare at the ceiling and wonderā
Does he even like me?
āāāāāāāāā āā āā ā
āāāāāāāāā
If there was one thing you didnāt share with him, it was your stash.
Hidden carefully in the bottom drawer of your desk, beneath neatly folded scarves and old notebooks, was your treasure trove:
Romance novels. Fanfiction printouts.
Dog-eared pages, highlighted lines, sticky notes marking your favorite scenes.
Soft love. Slow burns. Confessions whispered in the dark.
The kind of affection your marriage didnāt quite have.
It wasnāt that you expected Yeosang to suddenly turn into a dramatic romantic lead.
But sometimesā
Okay, a lot of timesā
you wished heād justā¦ reach for you.
āāāāāāāāā āā āā ā
āāāāāāāāā
It happened on a completely normal afternoon.
Which, in hindsight, was exactly how life liked to ruin you.
You had left in a hurry, rushing out to meet a friend, completely forgetting that youād left your drawer slightly open.
And Yeosangā¦ had come home early.
He wasnāt looking for anything in particular.
Just a document he thought might be on your desk.
He noticed the drawer because it wasnāt perfectly aligned.
And Yeosang was, unfortunately, a man who noticed everything.
So he opened it.
And foundā¦books. A lot of books.
He frowned slightly, picking one up. The cover wasā¦ pink.
Suspiciously pink.
He flipped it open.
Read a line. Paused. Read another.
His expression didnāt change much. But his ears turned slightly red.
āHis fingers traced her wrist, slow and deliberate, like he was memorizing every inch of her skināā
Yeosang closed the book.
Very calmly. Placed it back.
Opened another one.
āYou donāt understand,ā he whispered, voice breaking, āIāve loved you from the moment you walked into my life.ā
Pause. Blink.
Yeosang sat down.
And, for reasons even he couldnāt quite explainā¦kept reading.
You didnāt think anything was wrong when you walked in.
āYeosang, Iām back!ā you called cheerfully, slipping off your shoes.
No response. That wasnāt unusual.
You wandered into the bedroomāand froze.
Because your husband was sitting on the edge of the bed.
Holding one of your books.
Your brain stopped functioning.
āā¦ā
āā¦ā
He looked up. You looked at him.
The book.
Him.
The book.
Him.
āI can explain,ā you blurted.
āExplain what,ā he asked calmly, holding up the book, āthis?ā
You wanted the floor to swallow you whole.
āItāsāuhāitās research.ā
āResearch.ā
āYes.ā
āFor what?ā
āā¦life.ā
A pause.
Thenā
āā¦I see.ā
He looked back at the page and continued reading.
You stood there. Processing.
āā¦Wait.ā
You stepped closer.
āYouāre just going to keep reading it?ā
āI was in the middle of a chapter.ā
āThatās not the point!ā
He glanced at you.
āThen what is?ā
Your face burned.
āThatās private!ā
āI didnāt know that,ā he said, tone even. āIt was not labeled.ā
āYou donāt need a label, itās obviousā!ā
Another pause.
He closed the book gently. Looked at you.
āā¦Do you like this kind of thing?ā
Your soul left your body.
āWhy are you asking that?ā you said weakly.
āYou read a lot of it.ā
āThat doesnāt mean anything!ā
āIt usually does.ā
āThatās notāā you stopped. āOkay, yes, I like it, but thatās not the point!ā
āWhat is the point?ā
āThe point is that you werenāt supposed to see it!ā
āWhy.ā
āBecause itās embarrassing!ā
āWhy.ā
āBecause it just is!ā
Yeosang studied you. Carefully.
āā¦It is about affection,ā he said.
You froze.
āā¦What?ā
āThese stories,ā he continued, flipping the book slightly, āthey focus heavily on emotional and physical intimacy.ā
You covered your face.
āI know what theyāre about, Yeosang.ā
āDo you want that?ā
Your hands dropped. The room went quiet.
He wasnāt teasing. Wasnāt mocking. Wasnāt even embarrassed.
He was justā¦ asking.
Direct. Honest.
Like he always did.
And suddenly, it wasnāt funny anymore.
āā¦I mean,ā you started, quieter now, āI donāt expectā¦ all that dramatic stuff.ā
He waited.
āI justā¦ā you hesitated. āSometimes I wonder if you even like me.ā
Silence.
āI do,ā he said.
You blinked.
āā¦You do?ā
āYes.ā
āā¦Oh.ā
That wasā¦ not what you expected.
āāāāāāāāā āā āā ā
āāāāāāāāā
Something shifted after that.
Not dramatically. Not overnight.
Butā¦ noticeably. It started small.
One evening, you were reading on the couch when he sat beside you.
Closer than usual. Not touching.
Justā¦ close.
You noticed. Said nothing.
Thenā
His hand moved.
Slowly. Carefully.
And rested next to yours.
Not holding. Not quite touching.
Justā¦ there.
You stared at it. Then at him.
He was looking straight ahead, completely composed.
But his fingersā¦ twitched slightly. Like he wasnāt used to this either.
You smiled. And gently placed your hand over his.
He froze.
But he didnāt pull away. Didnāt react.
Justā¦ stayed.
But his grip tightened. Just a little.
āāāāāāāāā āā āā ā
āāāāāāāāā
Yeosang approached affection like he approached everything else:
Methodically.
Which led toā¦ some very interesting moments.
āYou lookā¦ acceptable.ā
āAcceptable???ā
He paused.
āā¦Good.ā
You burst out laughing. He looked mildly offended.
Another time, you were in the kitchen when he suddenly hugged you.
From behind. Stiffly.
Like he had read instructions but didnāt quite understand them.Ā
You nearly dropped the spoon.
āā¦Yeosang?ā
āā¦Yes.ā
āā¦Are you okay?ā
āI am attempting something.ā
āā¦I can tell.ā
Pause.
āā¦Is it working?ā
You turned in his arms, smiling.
āYeah. It is.ā
The third time, you came home one day to find candles.
Everywhere. Way too many candles.
āYeosangāwhy does it look like a ritual in here?ā
āI read that this creates atmosphere.ā
āā¦For what?ā
He hesitated.
āā¦Romance.ā
You stared at him.
Then laughed so hard you had to sit down.
He looked deeply confused.
Despite the awkwardness, the stiffness, the occasional complete misunderstanding of fictional tropesā
He was trying. For you.
And that mattered more than anything.
But the real momentā
The one that stayed with you came quietly. Like everything important did with him.
It was late.
You were half-asleep, curled up on your side of the bed.
When you felt it.
A shift. Warmth. Weight.
You blinked your eyes open.
And realizedā
Yeosang had moved.
Closer. Not all the way.
But enough that his arm rested lightly over your waist.
Careful. Hesitant.
Like he was giving you the chance to pull away.
You didnāt.
Instead, you leaned back slightly. Into him.
He stiffened. But then relaxed.
And that meant a lot.
āāāāāāāāā āā āā ā
āāāāāāāāā
Yeosang didnāt become a completely different person.
He didnāt start making grand declarations or dramatic confessions.
But you started noticing more. A lot more.
The way he always made sure you ate. The way heād stand just a little closer in public.
The way his hand would find yours without thinking.
The way he remembered everything you said.
Even the smallest things. Especially the smallest things.
And sometimes, when he thought you werenāt lookingā¦ youād catch it.
A soft expression. A quiet fondness.
Something warm.
Something yours.
āāāāāāāāā āā āā ā
āāāāāāāāā
One night, you found something unexpected.
On your pillow. A book.
One of yours.
Withā¦ sticky notes. You picked it up slowly.
Opened it.
And saw annotations.
āThis is unrealistic.ā
āThis is inefficient communication.ā
āā¦This is acceptable.ā
You laughed. Then flipped to the last page.
Where a single note waited.
āI am still learning. Be patient.ā
Your chest tightened.
Soft. Full. Overwhelming.
You looked up.
And there he was. Standing by the door.
Watching you.
āYou wrote this?ā you asked.
āYes.ā
You smiled. Walked over.
āAnd what if I said youāre doing really well?ā
He paused.
Then, very gently, he reached out.
Tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.
āā¦That would beā¦ good.āĀ
āYeosang?ā
āYes.ā
āā¦Do you love me?ā
A rare question.
Direct. Vulnerable.
He didnāt answer immediately.
You waited.
Thenā
he stepped closer.
Rested his forehead lightly against yours.
And said, quietly:
āI would not be doing all of thisā¦ if I didnāt.ā
Not dramatic. Not poetic. Not straight out of your books.
But somehow better.
Because it was him.
And as his hand found yoursāsteady now, no hesitationā you realized something.
Maybe your story wasnāt like the ones you read. Maybe it didnāt have grand speeches or perfect moments.
who's ur fav of ateez?? im a hwa girlie through and through (i too am a silly little yapper with nerdy interests tho i dont have his insane face card šš)
me and my son at dinner :3 isn't he adorable
hiiiiiiiiii
i love all of them omgā¦ā¦huge topaz girl tho! i donāt have a picture but i have wooyonyang and jjoongrami on my bag!
kianamaiart
areudirty
titsay
gracieabrams
turnnoffyourmind
theartofmadeline
baratheonpilled
