[soobvns]

h.k -‘๑’- chauffeur 

Summary: It’s healthy for couples to have time apart so you go on holiday with your friends. You miss Kai so he offers to pick you up in the most Kai way possible.

→ requested! gn reader! fluff, crack

When Kai offered to pick you up from the airport you were met with a bunch of teasing coos from your friends. You tried to deny his offer since your flight landed you back into the country at 2am but he was incessant on picking you up since it had been over a week since you both spent time together.

You’re glad you’re dating Kai. Boyfriends in the past had been wary about your holidays with friends, explaining that people in relationships shouldn’t go on friends holidays. A particularly bad fight with your ex led to him revealing he was actually cheating on you when he went on friend holidays after he let it slip in an argument. Thankfully Kai wasn’t the jealous type — at least that way — and neither the cheating type. He was happy for you to spend time with friends and vice versa.

It’s the first time you were actually happy to return home to a boyfriend after a trip. Kai’s cute and you imagined him waiting for you like a happy puppy, invisible tail wagging as he beams at you with his pearly whites.

It’s why you’re not anxious for him to pick you up per se but you are because at the end of the day it’s Kai. He just has to be extra and you blame Beomgyu for rubbing off on him.

After battling at the carousel of luggage for your suitcase, you’re weaving through other passengers easily once you find your sense of direction. You glance at your phone and spot the text from Kai.

‘Waiting for you now, baby. I can’t wait to see you~!’

Kai was a dream when you were away. Praising the little selfies you’d send him and he’d send you one back. He’s often send you a little money when you told him you were eating out or shopping, telling you that there’s no point in the money not being spent on something good. It’s why you felt a little guilty at being so excited to return.

You blush when your friend peaks over your shoulder and sends you a suggestive look. They laugh heartily before resuming the easy conversation. It’s something about what they’re going to do when they return home but your brain is too tired to keep up with it. You can only focus on the thought of Kai.

You wipe the sleep from the corners of your eyes and despite the fact your eyes are drooping and begging to close, the excited chatter from your friends keeps you awake.

“Oh my god, is that Kai?” Your friend laughs as they grab onto your shoulder. The squeak of the wheels from your worn suitcase ceases as you tiredly look around the crowd of people. Your stomach drops when you lock onto Kai.

Of course. Of course this man is standing with a sign with your name on it.

Huening Y/N

Come home the kids miss you.

His cackle echo’s across the building at the sight of your pale face. Your body is positively confused by your emotions: happy, dreadful, embarrassed, excited — your nervous system is positively fried.

For once in your life you’re happy that you’re wearing a hoodie as you tug it over your head before speed walking towards Kai. He continues to laugh as he watches the pout on your face grow closer, annoying grumbling turning into irritated welcomes as you vehemently wrap your arms around his midsection.

“I hate you.” You whine as you press your face into his chest. He rumbles with laughter as he drops the sign he was proudly holding so he can wrap his arms around you too. His left hand curls around so he can curl his fingers onto your head, massaging you through the soft fabric of your hoodie. His right hand rubs comfortingly on your back, soothing the warm embarrassment he caused you.

“I missed you too.” He sighs lovingly. You pull back from his chest so that you can look at his face. He never feels to make you feel like the luckiest person on the planet. How can you be with someone so effortlessly ethereal.

Kai takes the initiative to plant a soft kiss against your lips. It’s quick but the lingering feeling makes your lips tingle with anticipation.

“Let’s go home, yeah?”

short but i wanted to put something out! thank you for requesting anonie <3

[kai-is-a-penguin]

Treat You Better

inspiration: Treat You Better by Shawn Mendes pairing: Huening Kai x fem!reader wc: 2K summary: Kai can't bear to watch another man drag you away so he finally decides to step in a/n: I have no words for this type of Kai

The house party is in full swing. You are sitting on the lap of a guy you’ve met before but can’t remember the name of. The alcohol in your system told you he is good looking so that was enough for you. He has been touching up your thigh and trying to bring your face to his but you already knew you wouldn’t kiss him in front of all these people. Your friends are just happy you are finally opening up to someone even if you didn’t know his name. It has taken you almost a year to get over your last relationship, the breakup was messy leaving you devastated for a long time. Everyone in your friend group is up dancing except Kai who is sitting across from you staring at the guy you’re sitting on. You don’t know what his problem could possibly be so you do your best to ignore him.

The nameless man shuffles under you and asks if you want to get up and dance. You agree, needing to get away from Kai’s unwavering gaze. As you start to sway to the music with the man’s hands on your waist you still feel like you are being watched. You tell your brain to blame it on the alcohol then place your hands behind the man’s neck. The songs blur together and his hands wander over you more and more, his beer smelling breath hot on your neck. He whispers something in your ear but you are too zoned out to hear him. The guy takes your hand and leads you in the direction of the front door. 

Before you can make it into the hallway he stops. Glancing up you find Kai blocking the way. He has his usual calm composure but the look in his eyes is one you have never seen before. Kai tugs at your wrist freeing your hand from the man's weak grip. 

“Come on Y/N,” Kai says to you softly, you barely hear him over the loud house music. The guy is instantly annoyed by you being taken from him. 

“This is none of your business bro,” he shoves Kai’s shoulder with one hand causing Kai to sway to one side. You tumble forward with the motion. What is he doing? Why is he stopping you? When Kai doesn’t retaliate the drunk guy loses interest too quickly sighing “urgh whatever man,” and stumbles back to the dance floor to find another girl. 

Seeing the guy leave, you grip Kai’s arm and haul him up the stairs. You drag him all the way up and strom into the first empty bedroom you find. Shutting the door with a slam, you turn to face him. You have never been so angry with Kai in all your years of friendship. The alcohol in your system is boiled away by your anger sobering you up. If this was a cartoon, steam would be rising from the top of your head. Staring at his sheepish face furiously, you wonder what on Earth is going on with him tonight. 

“What is your problem?” you yell not caring about how loud you are. His eyes shoot up at you, irritation overcoming him. 

“I was saving you, you can just say thanks.” This version of Kai is new to you. 

“Saving me? How was that saving me? What was I being saved from?” you are almost laughing at how ridiculous he sounds. Kai’s eyebrows raise in disbelief like he can’t believe what you’re saying. 

“That man,” his gawks, arms flailing, “I was saving you from him and his horrible intentions towards you.” You scoff at his presumptions. 

“How do you know what his intentions with me were?” You fold your arms in amusement thinking you have him pinned now. Kai’s expression switches, his pleading eyes are replaced by a scowl. When he speaks next his voice comes out deeper and at a steadier pace. 

“I know what his intentions were because I’ve seen him do that to other girls too,” he takes a step closer to you, “he was just going to use you.” You don’t react, remaining still. 

“I never asked for your stupid help Kai, go babysit someone else,” your voice rises with your increasing annoyance. Kai’s head tilts in shock, he wasn’t expecting that. 

“Maybe if you cared a little more you wouldn’t need my ‘stupid’ help,” he bunny quotes the word stupid tipping you over into anger once again. Huffing you look away from him, blazing holes into the carpet. 

“Why do you care anyway? My love life doesn’t concern you,” you pace the short distance back and forth between the bedroom walls trying to walk your emotions off. 

“Like hell it doesn’t…” his sharp words cause your eyes to snap back up to him, stilling your whole body. “He didn’t care about you, none of them do, they just want to take advantage of you.” 

He’s right, you knew all those house party guys never wanted any more than to spend the night with you, some of them didn’t even want the whole night. Normally this is the point in an argument when you would give in and admit defeat but the opportunity to mess with this new side of Kai was too appealing. So you decide to aggravate him further wanting to see what he will do. Matching his volume and tone you yell back, “What if that's what I want?” 

Kai’s stunned into silence for only a moment, his jaw going slack as he wonders how you could possibly want that. Are you oblivious to what's around you? His jaw now clenches at the thought of that ungrateful man's hands all over your skin, his lips on your neck, his body up against yours. Kai’s now rapid heart beat causes blood to pump faster through his veins. He never wants to fight with you but hearing you say you want men to take advantage of you boils his blood. You deserve better than that. 

“Do you know how hard that is to watch? Letting them take you and not appreciate you,” his pleading rises back to the surface. 

“Then don’t watch!” Your hands hit his chest, shoving him with all of your strength. Fortunately, against Kai that doesn’t send him flying, he only stumbles back a few steps. It has the desired effect, his eyebrows furrow as he glares at you.

“Why? Cause it will make you feel better about your shit choice,” he barks at you across the distance now separating you both. You scoff, laughing in irritation. 

He continues, “just admit it… you do it because I am watching.” Kai knows he’s got you this time based on how you try to stifle your gasp standing frozen staring into his eyes. You notice his anger melt into what you could only describe as desire as he comes closer again. The air is suddenly too stuffy, your body too hot and your clothes too heavy on your skin. 

“Have you been waiting for this moment to happen, waiting until I lose it and drag you away,” he stops just before you collide. He’s close enough that you can smell his intoxicating cologne. “What was your plan once I did it? Berate me for ‘saving you’?” more bunny quotes. This is definitely a new level of Kai. If you had known this was hiding under his calm, patient, cute personality you might have gone about this a completely different way. You never planned for him to drag you away but now he has done it you realise maybe your subconscious has always secretly wanted this to happen. 

You’re at a loss for words. How do you respond? He smirks at your reaction, amusement taking over. 

“Or did you not think this far ahead?” He had you again. Your cheeks now flushed red from embarrassment instead of anger. 

“I think…” he raises his hand to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear, raising goosebumps down your neck, “you baited me to do it because you know I can treat you better than they can.” He said it so softly, barely above a whisper. 

The fantasy flashes through your mind. Could Kai treat you better? Well the other men never managed to make you feel like this and Kai hasn't even touched you yet. Your gaze lowers to his lips, confirming he’s right. Kai knew you better than you did right now which is both terrifying and exciting. You swear you could feel him leaning in, closing the gap, giving you what you want. Your eyes were about to flutter closed when a loud bang on the door shocks you so hard you physically jump, crashing you straight into Kai’s chest. He just chuckles, grabbing hold of you and pulling you into a hug. 

“I hope whoever’s in there isn’t on my bed,” the guy shouts through the door, “it better be clean.” Kai responds in his usual light hearted tone, “We’ll be right out.” What is happening? Your head is aching from the whiplash of his switching. He loosens the hug so he can hover his lips over your ear. His voice drops an octave to whisper “time to go pretty.” Pulling away, he walks around you to unlock the door then holds it open for you to leave. The guy is rambling to Kai but you can’t hear whatever he is saying. You just leave the room, Kai following behind. 

You keep walking until you are outside the house. The cold night air hits you, removing the haze from around your mind. Did that just happen? Is this a dream? Kai taps you on the arm to get your attention, “hey, are you feeling alright?” There is still a buzzing coursing through you although you don’t think it is due to the alcohol anymore. You turn to look at him and it’s like seeing him for the first time, you don’t know him at all. The dim light from the house barely illuminates his features yet you can’t stop staring. His dark brown eyes appear black against his light hair that surrounds them. Your gaze trails down the slope of his nose to his pink lips. Kai shakes your arm when you don’t respond trying to wake you from your daze. 

“Let me take you home, bet those other guys never made sure you got home safe,” he pulls his phone out to order a taxi. That’s true, they never did. 

“You would like that wouldn’t you?” you tease in a soft voice hoping to bring his other side back out. His fingers stop to return his gaze to you. “Showing that you’re better than them.” A deep mischievous laugh falls from him. He tilts his head to ask “What? You don’t want to find out if I am?” He’s back. The flutters in your stomach confirm that you do. 

He finishes on his phone then pockets it. Thinking about arriving home to your bed, you remember your friend group are still inside the house. 

“Ah Kai, we need to tell the others we’re leaving,” you try to step around him to head back inside but he grasps your waist holding you still. 

“Don’t worry about them,” he murmurs into your hair covering your ear. Shivers run down your spine, you grab onto his shirt to steady yourself. 

The taxi arrives, Kai opens the door for you to slide in then jumps in after you. You politely tell the driver your address. The blurring city lights flash by as you stare out the window unable to bring yourself to look at Kai. His gaze was burning into you again but now you understand why. His hand brushes yours as he leans over to whisper “Want me to tuck you into bed pretty? So I know you're really safe.” The insinuation from his sultry tone causes your breath to catch. Does his question imply what you think? As the car turns down your street, Kai’s fingers guide your chin so you look at him. “I think it’s best if I do.”

© kai-is-a-penguin masterlist - hk

[overtheggum]

huening's (very much) real girlfriend

the four times tubatu didn't realise their maknae had a real girlfriend and the one unfortunate time that they did

pairing : hueningkai x fem!reader

word count : 10.7k

warnings : hueningkai is referred to as kai, freaky moments but like its not freaky cause they just kiss ??? but the members thnk they did sm freaky and kai doesn't correc them becuase theyre kinda dumb , dumb but loving txt , reader is describe to be shorter than kai (sorry!) doesnt have to be super short jsut enough to look slightly up at him

playlist : blue by yung kai, echoes by enhypen, honeymoon avenue by kasper, roller coster by tomorrow x together , dance with you by tomorrow x together , i love u by yuni

author's note: we need to normalize calling men pet names cause wtf am i supposoed to address them as but its okay i love hueningkai hes so cutesy + wrote this instead of studying for my math exam tomorrow 〒▽〒

Kai Kamal Huening wasn’t good at hiding secrets.

It was something his sisters never let him forget—especially when he accidentally let it slip that a boy had been talking to them, right in the middle of family dinner.

Kai would only shrug in response, because it always ended the same way anyway: with him being rewarded with extra gummies for dessert.

It was a trait he had kept into adulthood, mostly because he found lying to be far too much effort.

But times had changed.

Kai had changed.

He was no longer the little boy who played the recorder while his sisters ‘traded’ his plushies for one of their uglier ones.

He was a man now—one who still played the recorder, but who also got to keep all his plushies to himself. And somehow, impossibly, he had something no one in his life ever thought he would have: a girlfriend.

Him having a girlfriend wasn’t entirely out of this world, but it was something everyone around him seemed convinced he couldn’t manage.

Maybe it was his lack of social activity.

Maybe it was his tendency to stay in his room.

Maybe it was his complete disregard for “trendy clothing.”

Regardless of all these very real factors, Kai had managed to get a girlfriend—you, to be specific.

He had met you on one of the rare occasions he decided to go on a solo trip around Seoul. Everyone else had a schedule that day: Yeonjun was busy working on his solo, Taehyun and Beomgyu were at the gym—mostly because Beomgyu was tired of being thrown around by the members—and Soobin was probably getting lectured about his lack of media training. After all, who publicly admits they can eat a watermelon in three seconds and expects the internet to forget about it?

Which left Kai all alone—and, for once, ready to go outside.

The plan was simple. Kai wanted to visit the café down the street from the HYBE building that had been temporarily converted into a Pokémon lover’s dream. While the fact that it was a manga café by design had always interested him, it wasn’t until the Pokémon theme that finally pushed him to go.

Which is exactly what he did.

Kai messaged his manager, put on his mask, and embarked on his journey.

The walk there was about as nice as a walk could get. The weather was good, his playlist was playing every song he wanted it to, and—most importantly—he hadn’t stepped in dog shit yet.

All in all, it was pretty good.

It was safe to say Kai was in a good mood when he stepped into the café.

Only for his good mood to be ruined by a sign plastered across the cashier area that read, with zero remorse: Out of Pokémon Trinkets / Merch.

Kai couldn’t help but slump in on himself.

He sighed as he checked the time on his phone. It was 3:24 in the afternoon, which meant that if he made the fourteen-minute walk back to HYBE now, he’d be stuck doing work—something he very much did not want to be doing.

Which left him with only one option: to suck it up and enjoy the ambience of the café.

It wasn’t as if he was deprived of Pokémon merchandise, or that this was his only chance. He was an idol, for crying out loud—he’d been to the Pokémon Center more times than he could count. Still, he had to admit it would’ve been fun to get something from a place just down the street from HYBE.

Kai allowed himself to wander into the café, taking in the posters plastered on the walls and the cute Pokémon-themed drink series.

He figured he should probably find something to do before ordering a drink—he didn’t want to risk juggling one hand holding a drink while the other flipped through manga, something he had learned inevitably ended with at least one item hitting the floor.

Which left him wandering into one of the aisles lined with manga. He soon found himself scanning for Gintama, a familiar favorite.

Kai walked up and down the aisle, hoping to see the familiar spine.

Kai was so focused on finding his manga that he didn’t notice he wasn’t the only one in the aisle. He didn’t realize you were only four steps away—until he walked right into you and sent your drink spilling all over his hoodie.

He looked down at his comfiest blue hoodie, now soaked in iced coffee.

“Oh—oh my gosh!” you exclaimed. “I’m so sorry!”

Kai froze, trying to understand what was happening. He watched you pull your purse forward and dig for napkins, a small smile of relief appearing once you found some. He hesitated, unsure if he should say anything as you raised the napkins toward him, silently asking if it was okay to touch his hoodie.

You were pretty, really pretty.

Which made him want to curl up in a ball and never leave his room again because the one time he did he made an absolute fool of himself in front of the prettiest girl he had ever seen.

You cleared your throat, shaking the tissues as a reminder of the situation, snapping Kai back to reality. He quickly grabbed them from your hands and started dabbing at his hoodie, employing the method Yeonjun had once taught him when he was sixteen and utterly incapable of doing laundry.

“Are you okay?” you asked.

Kai could only nod.

You nodded back.

Kai decided he was finished trying to salvage the hoodie. If the stain survived the wash, it would simply be downgraded to a pyjama hoodie rather than an outdoor one.

You held out your hand, silently gesturing for him to give the tissues back, which he did without a word.

It was then that he truly saw your face for the first time.

His heart skipped. Your mouth slowly formed an ‘o,’ and a spark of recognition lit up your eyes.

Kai couldn’t help but tense. He remembered practicing scenarios like this during media training seminars: if a fan recognizes you in public, you simply say hi, maybe sign something—but never give personal information or take pictures. Stay calm. Stay calm.

And yet, you didn’t react with excitement or demand anything. You simply closed your mouth, quietly took the tissues from him, and held them with that calm, easy grace.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“It’s okay,” you replied.

Kai decided then and there that you were precious—because your voice sounded just as charming as you were.

The two of you stood in that aisle, quiet, each trying to think of something to say.

It was then that he noticed the orange keychain hanging from your purse—a Charmander, to be exact.

“Is that…” he cleared his throat, “the Charmander keychain from the café?”

Your eyes lit up, and Kai silently thanked the fact that his mask hid just how pink he’d gone at the sight of you.

“Yeah!” you exclaimed. “I got it last week, actually!”

You looked at him directly. “Did you get one too?”

Kai shook his head, smiling at how infectious your excitement was. “I wanted to, but they were out of all Pokémon stock by the time I got here.”

He noticed your small frown, as if you were a little disappointed he hadn’t gotten one.

Then, carefully, you unclipped the keychain from your purse. “Here,” you said, holding it out toward him.

Kai’s eyes widened. “Oh… I couldn’t take this—”

“It’s okay,” you said with a small smile. “Consider it an apology for spilling my drink on you. I mean, it’s not every day you spill something on a famous idol.”

Kai nodded, bringing his hands forward to accept the precious gift. “Are you sure?” he found himself asking.

He found himself fumbling with the keychain, looking up to see if you had seen that.

“Take it,” you insisted. “Seriously, just take it.”

He placed it in his pocket, already imagining where he would put it in his room.

Then his eyes drifted to the manga you had been holding before the incident, and he froze at the familiar spine of Gintama.

“Wait… is that Gintama?” he asked, a spark of excitement cutting through his embarrassment. “You like Gintama?”

You nodded, and just like that, the conversation fell into easy territory. The two of you traded favorite arcs and characters, Kai gesturing animatedly, completely forgetting the wet patch on his hoodie, the spilled drink, and even the passing time.

Then his phone rang, and the name on the screen made him groan: Soobin.

“Where the hell have you been?” the voice demanded, half-angry, half-panicked.

Kai shot you a glance. “Uh… just a sec,” he said, still distracted. You smiled and scribbled something on a piece of paper.

“Here,” you said, handing it to him. “You’ll probably need it for… you know, emergencies.”

He looked down. Your number. And even though his stomach did that weird fluttery thing, he couldn’t stop the grin spreading across his face.

“Right. Got it,” he said softly, tucking the paper into his pocket. “I’ll… uh, text you.”

Soobin continued whining in the background, but Kai, manga in hand and Charmander keychain safely pocketed, realized that maybe spilling his hoodie wasn’t the worst thing that could happen on a solo trip to a Pokémon-themed café.

After all, it was where he met his girlfriend.

His girlfriend, who would listen patiently while he ranted about whatever he was watching at the moment.

His girlfriend, who would sit prettily on her couch as he came over to show her something he helped create.

His girlfriend, who, over time, grew bold enough to tease him relentlessly, because in your words, “You're too pretty to not be appreciated.”

Because of you, Kai finally got to do all the “couple things” he had watched Lea gush about on the phone with her friends.

He could hug you whenever he wanted.

He could formally “adopt” plushies together with you.

He could talk about anything he wanted, knowing you’d always listen and respond.

He loved having a girlfriend.

In fact… he loved you.

He told you on your three-month anniversary.

You responded by showing him matching figurines of Plusle and Minun holding hands in a heart-shaped box you’d painted.

Was it quick? Probably.

Did the two of you care? Absolutely not.

It was on your four-month anniversary that you asked the question that made his stomach flip:

“Do your members know about us?”

He watched as you slowly lifted yourself off his chest, the two of you still sprawled on the bed, watching Team Rocket get absolutely destroyed by ten-year-olds.

He hated to admit it, but he always missed you—even if you were only ten centimetres away.

He shook his head, silently saying ‘No’.

“Why not?” you asked.

Kai opened his mouth, then closed it again. The only answer he could come up with was… weird. How do you tell the people who had practically raised you since the age of thirteen that you’re dating at twenty-three? How do you explain to the four people who had traveled the world with you, who had suffered with you, that you were no longer the kid with plushies that they had to take care of? That the kid remained a loser with plushies… but also now made out with the prettiest girl in the world every other weekend?

How do you even begin to explain that?

So all he could manage was, “It just… hasn’t come up in conversation.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And how exactly do you expect it to come up in conversation?”

Kai groaned and let his head fall back. “I don’t know!” he exclaimed dramatically, which made you giggle.

He turned to look at you, voice exasperated, “How do you tell people who’ve taken care of you—and shared diarrhea with you—that you’re suddenly dating someone?”

You made a face. “Too much information,” you muttered.

Kai shrugged. “Besides, what if they don’t like it? It’s not like I can run away from them—I’m legally required to spend the next seven years with them!”

You hummed, weighing his words. Then you moved back to your spot on his chest. “Fine,” you said, “don’t tell them—but don’t hide it from them either.”

Kai nodded.

“They’re important people in your life,” you continued, smiling down at him. “They deserve to know that we’re together.”

Kai nodded again.

You leaned up and planted a soft kiss on his lips—a kiss he gladly returned.

Regardless of his members, Kai simply loved his girlfriend.

THE FIRST TIME: WHY DO YOU HAVE HADILAO ON SPEED DIAL?

Yeonjun loved eating.

When it came to deciding the group’s archetypes, he had claimed the “foodie” title immediately—and no one argued. He would eat anything. Everything.

But he knew his limits. After three consecutive days of takeout, a hand-made meal became necessary—even if it meant risking death by Taehyun’s glare. And he knew every other member shared this belief.

Which was why he was utterly confused when he saw the maknae frantically searching for the fastest route to Haidilao from their photoshoot location.

It was a photoshoot for something—he wasn’t exactly sure what—but all Yeonjun had to do was pose and post it on Instagram. Simple enough.

And yet, there was the maknae, plotting a route to hotpot like his life depended on it.

There was nothing wrong with it. It was just… peculiar. Yeonjun could have sworn Kai had gone to Haidilao three days ago. And wasn’t he supposed to be dieting?

He narrowed his eyes at the maknae, trying to decipher the master plan.

“Hyung?” Kai’s voice broke him out of his trance.

Yeonjun blinked, looking up. “What?”

Kai shook his head, smirking. “Why are you looking at me like I drew three-dot YJ again?”

Yeonjun squinted at him. “You’re a brat, you know that, right?”

Kai simply smiled and nodded, as if this accusation was an everyday occurrence. (It was.)

Unsatisfied, Yeonjun glanced around, searching for backup.

Soobin was being debriefed by the photoshoot director about the promotion plan.

Taehyun was getting his outfit refitted—his arms having somehow grown overnight.

Beomgyu was in the makeup chair, half asleep and fully unhelpful.

Which left Yeonjun alone, forced to interrogate the maknae’s sudden devotion to hotpot by himself.

The plan commenced with a subtle shift—moving from standing in front of Kai to sitting beside him. Then leaning in, peeking over the maknae’s increasingly broad shoulder, and glancing at his phone screen.

Kai was scrolling through the Haidilao menu. Specifically, the soup bases.

“What’cha doing?” Yeonjun asked casually.

Kai flinched and immediately locked his phone.

“Nothing,” he stammered.

Yeonjun froze.

Now this was interesting. He had never seen Kai this shaken before.

“Are you sure?” he asked again.

Kai nodded—but it was far too frantic to be convincing.

“Because it looked like you were searching how to get to Haidilao from here.”

Yeonjun watched as Kai visibly slumped, like a man caught red-handed.

“I promised someone I’d eat with them there today,” Kai admitted.

Yeonjun’s curiosity sharpened immediately. Kai never mentioned meeting new people—ever.

“Who,” Yeonjun pressed, “are you planning to meet there?”

Kai muttered something under his breath and turned his head away.

Yeonjun bit back the urge to roll his eyes. Why was he suddenly this difficult?

“I’m sorry,” Yeonjun said sweetly, sarcasm dripping from every syllable, “I couldn’t hear you.”

Kai straightened, as if bracing himself, and forced eye contact with his hyung.

“My girlfriend.”

Yeonjun stared at him.

“I’m sorry—what?”

Kai sighed, turning fully toward him now, resignation written all over his face. “My girlfriend. I was trying to figure out the quickest way to get to Haidilao because I promised my girlfriend we’d eat there together.”

Yeonjun blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Did the word girlfriend just come out of Kai’s mouth?

No. It couldn’t have.

It had to be something else. A misunderstanding. A joke. A lie. A very elaborate excuse involving hotpot.

The sheer absurdity of the idea hit him all at once, and Yeonjun burst out laughing—loud enough that Beomgyu jolted awake in his makeup chair.

“What—what’s happening?” Beomgyu croaked.

Kai remained entirely unimpressed, staring at Yeonjun like this reaction was deeply offensive.

“If you wanted to go to Haidilao,” Yeonjun wheezed between laughs, “you don’t have to make up some fake girlfriend just to do it.”

Kai blinked at him.

Once.

Slowly.

And then—

“She’s not fake.”

“Sure,” Yeonjun said, very close to ruining his eye makeup from how hard he was laughing.

Kai only sighed and went back to scrolling on his phone.

It took three full minutes—and two increasingly concerned side-eyes from nearby staff—for Yeonjun to finally calm down.

“I’m so happy that the idea of me dating someone makes you want to pee your pants,” Kai said dryly, already tired of bowing apologetically to staff members who looked genuinely worried about the two of them.

Yeonjun snorted. “You know you don’t have to make up a whole fake girlfriend just to go eat hotpot.”

He pushed himself upright, having nearly folded in half during his laughing fit. “It’s okay if you don’t want to eat Taehyun’s cooking today,” he continued, reaching out to pinch his maknae’s cheeks. “I’ll tell him you got called away by the producers or something. It’s not like he’s going to murder you for skipping one healthy meal.”

Kai nodded along, deadpan, wondering if the concept of him having a girlfriend was truly that unbelievable that his members’ most logical conclusion was that he was lying just to avoid eating clean.

“Yep,” Kai said quietly. “That’s exactly what’s happening.”

Satisfied with the maknae’s answer, Yeonjun turned around and went to his phone.

Kai has a girlfriend?

Yeah right!

When Kai finally spotted you waiting in a booth, scrolling on your phone, he felt the weight of the day melt off his shoulders.

You were sitting there in one of the hoodies that existed in joint custody between the two of you, your bag resting on your lap. A Plusle keychain dangled from it—perfectly matching the Minun clipped to the belt loop of his pants.

He couldn’t help but stand there for a moment, silently debating whether he should wait for you to notice him or poke you into acknowledging his presence.

The decision was made for him the moment you realised there was a 183-centimetre shadow looming in front of you, prompting you to look up.

“You know, if you keep standing there, someone might think you’re haunting me,” you said, trying to get him to sit down.

Kai let himself slide into the seat—not across from you, but beside you.

He couldn’t help it. You were comfort personified, and why would he want a table between the two of you when he could sit right here?

He wrapped an arm around you, slowly letting himself melt into your side.

Photoshoots weren’t new to Kai, but they were always just exhausting enough to make him want to curl up into a ball afterward.

Now, he could curl up with you beside him—and that made everything better.

“Are you ready to eat?” you asked, leaning into him just as easily.

As his head slowly drooped to rest against your shoulder, Kai briefly thought that this must be what people meant when they complained about couples being disgustingly affectionate in public. Still, he couldn’t find it in himself to care if anyone was watching.

His thoughts were interrupted by a small nudge. He followed your finger to the tablet displaying the menu.

He straightened up and ordered with you, making sure both of your cravings were met. He listened as you talked about your day—about the new anime you were watching, about your friend’s upcoming birthday—and he realised he felt full in a way food had nothing to do with.

He really loved you.

When the food arrived, he made sure you ate first, even though this was the first proper meal he’d had all day.

It was halfway through feeding you your seventh bite that you asked, “So… how was the photoshoot?”

Kai made sure the chopsticks were perfectly loaded with everything you liked. “It was okay,” he said. “We filmed some TikToks—you’d probably like them. The outfits were fine.”

He lifted the chopsticks again, waiting patiently for you to open your mouth. “The only weird thing was that Yeonjun laughed at me when I told him I was meeting you here.”

You immediately choked on your food.

Kai rushed to grab a glass of water, holding it up to your lips and steadying it as you drank.

Once you finally signalled that you were okay, he set the glass down and watched you try to compose yourself.

“He—” you started. “You told him?”

Kai nodded. “Yeah. I said I was meeting my girlfriend here, and then he laughed like the Joker for twenty minutes.”

You snorted.

Then you started giggling.

Was he secretly a comedian? Why did everyone keep laughing at him?

“Well,” you said between laughs, “I guess they wouldn’t believe it even if you told them you had a girlfriend.”

He narrowed his eyes at you. “Are you saying that, in my members’ eyes, I am eternally bitchless?”

You nodded, still laughing.

“It’s okay,” you said, finally calming down. “I’ll still be with you—even if the entire world thinks you can’t pull.”

Kai couldn’t help but smile, because he knew the same thing.

No matter what anyone said, he’d choose you every single time.

THE SECOND TIME : SINCE WHEN WERE YOU INTO SHOUJO ANIME?

Soobin practically knew everything about Kai.

He knew his likes and his dislikes. He knew which of Kai’s many plushies was his favourite. He knew the small, subconscious habits Kai carried without realising—things Soobin had memorised over years of shared dorms and overlapping schedules.

Which was why this felt wrong.

Maybe it was because they’d been busy lately—the new comeback, the sudden surge of solo schedules, or simply the lack of proper one-on-one time—but Soobin never imagined walking into the living room to find Kai willingly watching Kimi no Todoke.

For fun.

Not ironically. Not because someone else had it on. Not because he’d lost a bet.

No—Kai was curled up on the couch, eyes glued to the screen, fully immersed as Sawako awkwardly fumbled through her feelings.

Soobin stopped walking.

He stared.

Since when was Huening Kai into shoujo anime?

Soobin knew Kai had been trying to get more into anime lately—but he distinctly remembered nineteen-year-old Kai declaring that he would rather get abs than watch shoujo.

Soobin blinked, needing to confirm whether what he was witnessing was real or simply the result of his horrible sleeping habits finally catching up to him.

He closed his eyes.

He opened them again.

Kai was still there. Still watching Kimi no Todoke. Still wearing an expression of genuine focus that couldn’t possibly be faked.

Soobin couldn’t help himself.

“What the hell are you watching?”

Kai flinched, whipping his head around to find Soobin standing behind him.

Soobin slowly raised a hand and pointed at the TV. “Want to explain this?”

Kai tilted his head, genuinely confused. “Hyung, you’ve known I watch anime. Why is this weird?”

Soobin did a double take.

Why was this weird?

Oh. Right.

“Are we looking at the same thing right now?”

Kai turned back to the screen and paused the episode, then patted the space beside him, gesturing for Soobin to sit. “Do you want some water?” he added seriously. “Maybe all those media training lectures messed with your head.”

Soobin gaped at the maknae—yet somehow still found himself sitting down moments later, a newly acquired glass of water resting in his hand.

Kai turned to face his leader, a blanket draped over his lap and his comfiest hoodie pulled on, looking painfully at ease.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

Soobin searched for the right words. “Why?”

Kai tilted his head. “Why what?”

“Why are you watching—” Soobin gestured vaguely toward the TV, fingers flailing, “this.”

“I’m not following,” Kai said calmly.

“You’ve never watched shoujo anime,” Soobin continued, pausing deliberately, “like. Ever.”

Kai shrugged. “What if I like romance anime?”

Soobin nodded slowly, as if that explanation made sense.

It didn’t.

“But you said you’d rather get abs than watch a school romance,” Soobin shot back.

Kai chuckled at the reminder. “I did,” he said, then gestured vaguely to his body. “But, uh—look at what happened to me.”

Soobin stared.

Abs were one thing. This? This was slander.

His brain began to whir. Loudly.

This wasn’t the Kai he knew. The Kai he raised. The Kai who once abandoned a drama five minutes in because ‘why are they staring at each other for so long?’

He looked at the screen again. Sawako was blushing.

Kai was smiling.

Oh no.

He’s changed, Soobin thought, dread curling in his stomach. Someone did this to him.

Slowly, carefully—like he was approaching a wild animal—Soobin leaned forward.

“Kai,” he said quietly. Dangerously calm.

Kai hummed, eyes still fixed on the paused screen.

“Who,” Soobin continued, pointing once at the TV, then very deliberately at Kai, “made you do this?”

Kai finally looked at him. Blinked. “…Hyung?”

“C’mon,” Soobin said. “You mean to tell me that all of a sudden, you’re changing your personality.”

“Personality?” Kai shot back. “I’m watching one anime and now you’re saying my entire DNA has changed?”

Soobin nodded. “Exactly. So what’s happening?”

Kai sighed, already knowing his hyung wouldn’t let this go. “You want the truth?”

Soobin nodded.

Kai exhaled. “My girlfriend told me it was good, so I decided to watch it.”

Soobin stared at his maknae.

Kai stared back at his leader.

“Girlfriend?” Soobin echoed.

Kai nodded, like this was the most normal sentence he’d ever said.

Soobin stared at the boy he’d known since he was fifteen—the kid he’d practically raised. He lifted a hand and pointed straight at him. “Girlfriend?”

Kai nodded again. Still calm. Still normal.

Too normal.

Which could only mean one thing.

Kai was lying.

A big, fat liar.

Soobin blinked. “You know,” he said carefully, “it’s okay to admit your tastes have evolved.”

Kai frowned. “What?”

“You don’t have to make up a girlfriend for it.”

Soobin watched as Kai closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose, and let out a long sigh.

“You’re telling me,” Kai said, locking eyes with him, “that just because I said I have a girlfriend, you think I’m making up an excuse to watch a romance anime?”

Soobin nodded—completely serious.

Kai pursed his lips. “You’re right,” he surrendered. “You’re absolutely right.”

Soobin nodded, satisfied with the explanation he’d decided on for Kai.

“Go on,” he said, leaning back with his arms crossed. “Have fun watching Kimi no Todoke.”

Kai opened his mouth to retort, then thought better of it, allowing Soobin his moment of victory.

Soobin settled back into the couch, proud of the conclusion he’d reached.

Kai can’t have a girlfriend, he decided firmly. He’s just getting introduced to girls.

Kai’s favourite part of the days when he couldn’t see you was when he got to call you.

It was always late at night, after he’d settled into his room and made sure he’d said goodnight to all the members. He would send you a simple message—something like i’m free ~ —and then go about his nighttime routine, already anticipating the sound of your voice.

Sometimes you called while he was still in the shower, and he would speedrun through it just to call you back as soon as possible. Other times, you’d call when he was halfway through skincare, and the two of you would talk about your days while Kai carefully applied one of the Pokémon face masks you’d insisted on buying him.

To him, these calls were peace.

Relaxation.

The thing that made long, exhausting days at the company feel worth it.

And he knew that for you, they were a break too—a pause from daily stress, from everything that weighed on you.

Maybe that was why he cherished these calls just as much as he cherished seeing you in person. Because when the two of you were talking through a screen, it felt like your own small world— one that couldn’t be disturbed in the slightest.

Tonight’s call came while he was finishing his skincare. He’d already said goodnight to the members after eating Taehyun’s homemade food—the same food he’d missed earlier when he’d gone to Haidilao to meet you.

He accepted the call and smiled immediately when your face appeared on the screen. It looked like you were just starting your own nighttime routine.

The conversation began the way it always did: small, simple questions.

How was your day? Did you eat? Are you tired?

But they were never small between the two of you.

Kai genuinely wanted to know everything you’d done, and he knew you loved hearing about the tiny moments that made his day special.

Tonight’s main story?

Soobin questioning him over watching Kimi no Todoke—and then outright refusing to believe him when he told the truth.

It sounded ridiculous when Kai said it out loud. But the way you reacted, laughing softly into your hand, made it worth it.

As much as he loved the sound, Kai couldn’t stop the pout that formed on his lips.

“Why do all the members think there’s no possible way for me to get a girlfriend?” he complained.

Your laughter slowly faded.

“Maybe,” you said gently, “it’s because you’re always their baby who hates romance?”

Kai let out a noise somewhere between a scoff and a sulk. “But it’s not funny anymore.”

You tried—and failed—to contain another quiet laugh.

“Imagine if you give them our wedding invitations and they still don’t believe you.”

Kai looked horrified at the thought.

“No!” he exclaimed, face-palming as he pulled his blankets up and over himself like they could shield him from the idea.

That finally set you off, but when the laughter faded, Kai found himself just watching you—your smile warm and fond in a way that made his chest ache.

“It’s okay,” you said softly. “That just means when they finally do figure it out, it’ll be even funnier.”

That was something Kai could agree on.

It went quiet for a moment. Comfortable. Unrushed.

And before he could stop himself, he said, “I miss you.”

You shifted in bed, getting more comfortable before smiling back at him.

“I miss you too, bubba.”

Kai wrinkled his nose. “Bubba?”

You nodded. “It’s cute.” You leaned your head against your hand. “Like you.”

As much as Kai wanted to argue that you were much cuter, his cheeks were already turning pink.

“Shut up,” he mumbled weakly.

Your small laugh echoed through his headphones.

 “I love you.”

Kai muttered the words back, quieter—but no less certain.

He really wouldn’t mind being married to you.

THE THIRD TIME: DID THE GHOST OF SHAKESPHERE POSSESS YOU?

Beomgyu had always admired Kai.

From the moment he learned that the group’s maknae had originally come to the company to produce—not sing, not dance—Beomgyu found himself genuinely impressed by the thirteen-year-old trainee. It wasn’t just talent. It was instinct. Kai heard music differently.

Whenever it came time to write lyrics or build a track, Beomgyu gravitated toward him without thinking. Beats, melodies, second opinions—Kai was always the one he trusted. The one who listened carefully before speaking. The one whose feedback actually made things better.

So when the producers suggested that the two in-house producers of the group sit together to brainstorm for the new album, Beomgyu didn’t hesitate.

He already had expectations.

Kai would write about friendship.

Or youth.

Or chasing dreams with that soft sincerity he was known for.

What Beomgyu did not expect—

Was a romance song.

And not even the safe kind. Not a vague, abstract I like you from afar track that could be brushed off as fanservice or metaphor.

No.

Kai wanted to write about wanting to dance with someone.

The lyrics he showed Beomgyu made him think Kai might want to do more than just dance.

Beomgyu stared at the lyric sheet in silence.

Then, slowly, he looked up.

“…Who possessed you?”

He stared at the maknae—who stared back at him with wide eyes.

“What do you mean?” Kai asked.

Beomgyu looked back down at the paper, skimming over lines like this long, sweet dance that can’t be done alone.

He blinked.

“When did the ghost of Shakespeare possess you?”

Kai frowned. “I don’t follow.”

Beomgyu gestured at the lyric sheet.

“What made you write—” he paused, repressing both a shiver and a gag, “—sensual stuff?”

His face twisted. “Sensual stuff?” he repeated, like the word physically hurt.

Kai frowned—not offended. Just… confused. Genuinely so.

“What’s wrong with it?” he asked.

Beomgyu froze.

That was worse than denial. Worse than embarrassment.

That was indifference.

The maknae was absolutely indifferent to the fact that he had written something meant to be sung to someone.

“Kai,” Beomgyu said carefully, “you don’t just accidentally write lines like this long, sweet dance that can’t be done alone.”

Kai shrugged, rolling his chair a little closer to the desk. “It’s just honest.”

Beomgyu’s eye twitched.

“Honest.”

“Yeah,” Kai said, leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees. “Dancing isn’t just moving. It’s timing. Trust. You have to listen to the other person. You can’t rush it—and you can’t do it by yourself.”

He spoke gently. Thoughtfully.

Like he’d rehearsed this explanation long before Beomgyu ever asked.

Beomgyu stared.

This wasn’t poetic nonsense.

This was a thesis.

“So,” Kai continued, eyes flicking briefly back to the lyric sheet, “I wanted it to feel close. Like you’re aware of every step the other person takes.”

Silence.

Beomgyu’s brain began to short-circuit.

“…You’re aware,” he said slowly, “that this is a love song.”

Kai nodded. “Yeah.”

Immediate. No hesitation.

Beomgyu swallowed.

“And you’re aware,” he pressed, “that this is supposed to be hypothetical.”

Kai tilted his head. “But it’s not?”

Oh.

Beomgyu looked at him again—really looked this time. The calm posture. The steady tone. The lack of deflection. No jokes. No embarrassment.

“…Who,” Beomgyu asked quietly, “are you dancing with?”

Kai blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Then his ears turned red.

Something in Beomgyu’s soul cracked.

“Kai,” he whispered, pointing accusingly, “don’t you dare tell me this is about a real person.”

Kai shrugged, turning back to the soundboard and fiddling with a beat.

“God forbid a man wants to write a song about dancing with his girlfriend.”

Beomgyu blinked at him.

Girlfriend?

“…And by girlfriend, you mean a really hot actress, right?”

Kai turned around, eyes wide.

“Why would I lie about having a girlfriend?”

Beomgyu scoffed. “When would you ever leave your room long enough to get a girlfriend?”

Kai nodded slowly—less in agreement and more because he was still processing the audacity of that statement.

Beomgyu, meanwhile, seemed perfectly satisfied with his conclusion. He leaned forward and grabbed Kai by the shoulders.

“So,” he said teasingly, eyes sparkling, “care to tell me which actress made you want to finally become a man?”

Kai grimaced. “That’s gross, hyung.”

Beomgyu gasped, recoiling like he’d been personally offended.

“You’re disgusting! I didn’t mean it like that,” he protested, then pointed accusingly at Kai. “I just wanted to know what made you want to be all sensual,” he sang, dragging the word out obnoxiously.

“She’s not an actress!” Kai exclaimed.

Beomgyu clutched his chest and gasped once more.

“Is it one of our sunbaes?”

Kai opened his mouth to defend himself—but nothing came out.

“Is that why you want to dance with them?” Beomgyu giggled, a new theory forming mid-sentence. “Is it because you want a collaboration?”

Kai sighed and nodded along.

“Sure,” he said, patting Beomgyu as the older boy laughed himself silly. “Whatever floats your boat, hyung.”

Beomgyu continued to giggle.

The maknae having a girlfriend before him?

As if.

No matter how many times TXT released new music, it never stopped being nerve-wracking for Kai.

Questions always raced through his head—what if the fans didn’t like it? What if the directors butchered the music video? What if the company uploaded the wrong file and the wrong video went live?

Release day always left his stomach twisted into knots.

Today was no different.

If anything, it was worse.

Today was the day you would watch—and listen to—Dance With You for the first time.

Kai paced back and forth across your apartment, hands running through his hair, stopping only to glance at your laptop every few seconds as you refreshed the page again and again. Meanwhile, you just watched him with quiet amusement, unfazed by his spiraling energy.

“It’s okay,” you called out gently.

And the practical part of his brain agreed. It was fine. Totally fine.

It’s not like he’d written a song about you.

Not like it was basically dedicated to you.

And it’s not like this was your first time hearing it, considering the song had been out for weeks—weeks you’d spent waiting only because he’d begged you not to listen until the music video dropped.

Really. No big deal at all.

Then he heard you gasp.

Kai snapped his head toward you just in time to see you click on the thumbnail—him, mid-dance, holding a mop.

He physically cringed.

What if you hated it?

What if you hated seeing him like this—more grown, more intentional, more romantic?

Oh my god… what if you broke up with him because you thought he was getting too close with a mop?

The thought was ridiculous. Completely irrational.

And yet Kai suddenly became very afraid that, in some distant future, he’d be remembered only as the ex who danced with cleaning supplies—a cautionary tale you’d tell on dates because you hated the music video that much.

Kai was so consumed by his panic that he completely missed watching your reactions. It wasn’t until your voice cut through his thoughts with a weary, “Kai?” that he snapped back into reality.

“Yes?” he answered too quickly, silently begging his stomach to keep down the egg and toast he’d forced himself to eat that morning.

You were looking at him—not at the screen, not at the paused video, but at him. There was something in your expression that made his chest tighten, something Kai could only describe as awe.

He swallowed hard, pushing down the lump forming in his throat.

“…Did you like it?” he asked quietly, almost meekly.

You held your hands out to him, and when he placed his in yours, you gently tugged him down until he was sitting beside you.

“Like it?” you echoed, disbelief woven into your voice. “Sweetheart, I loved it.”

Kai felt his body finally relax, like everything snapping back into its proper place. “Really?”

You nodded without hesitation. “What’s not to like?”

You reached for the laptop, replaying the music video as you continued, “My boyfriend looking all pretty and handsome on screen, showing the whole world that he’s capable of incredible things.”

A small giggle slipped out of Kai before he could stop it, warmth blooming in his chest as he let himself soak in the praise.

He shifted closer, eventually settling into your lap, eyes fluttering shut as your hand instinctively moved to run through his hair.

“Did you read the lyrics yet?” he asked softly.

You shook your head. “Considering I heard the song for the first time, like, seven minutes ago? I don’t think I’ve had time to properly digest the lyrics you wrote.”

“Well, you should,” he said, almost sheepishly. “They made Beomgyu think I’m crushing on a sunbae.”

You snorted. “What?”

He nodded seriously. “He read the lyrics and straight-up refused to believe I’m capable of writing about girls.”

You laughed, already following his logic. “Another girlfriend reveal gone wrong?”

Kai hummed in agreement. “It’s obvious too. I’m not even hiding you from them anymore, and they still don’t believe me when I tell them.”

He glanced up at you as you tried to think of a solution.

“Maybe they’d believe it if they saw it?” you offered.

Kai considered that. You weren’t wrong—but a small, anxious part of him worried they’d just ask if he’d hired you as an actress.

“I’ll think about it,” he said instead.

Which, in Kai-speak, really meant: I don’t want to think about this right now, but I’ll file it away as a potential Plan B.

You resumed playing with his hair, fingers gentle and familiar. “Hey, Bubba?” you asked softly.

He looked up, expecting a question.

Instead, you kissed him.

He melted into it immediately, relaxing as he pressed his lips back against yours. When you pulled away moments later, you stayed close, your words barely a whisper against his mouth.

“I would love to dance with you.”

Kai kissed you again without hesitation, heart swelling in his chest.

And as he held you there, he couldn’t help but think that he’d dance with you every day—every lifetime—if he could.

THE FOURTH TIME : IS YOUR LOVE LANGUAGE ABS?

Taehyun knew he was very different from Kai.

Taehyun hated being called cute.

Kai embraced it.

Taehyun hated watching romance.

Kai was—apparently—getting into it.

Taehyun didn’t mind showing skin.

Kai avoided it as much as he possibly could.

But Kai had been Taehyun’s first friend on the team.

One of the people closest to him.

Taehyun listened. He always did. He would sit beside Kai and let him talk—about his day, about melodies stuck in his head, about ideas for projects that never quite left his thoughts. Taehyun didn’t interrupt. He didn’t rush him. He just stayed.

Which led to another realisation, another difference between them.

Taehyun loved working out.

Kai would rather do just about anything else than step into a gym.

Which was why Taehyun found himself surprised— and, admittedly, a little scared— when Kai asked if he could help him get abs.

Taehyun had agreed.

That decision led to a two-hour session at the HYBE gym, where Taehyun spotted the maknae and discovered—much to his disbelief—that Kai was putting in a full, unwavering one hundred percent effort. No complaints. No excuses. Just stubborn focus and slightly shaky arms.

That alone was alarming.

It wasn’t until after the workout that Taehyun decided he needed answers.

They were seated at the HYBE café, taking full advantage of the free food benefit they earned by metaphorically breaking their backs for the company. Taehyun watched as Kai ordered his usual mango drink— then added one scoop of protein powder.

As if that single scoop made all the difference in the world.

Taehyun cleared his throat.

“So,” he began carefully, “what exactly made you want to get—” he paused, searching for the least awkward word possible, “—abs?”

Across from him, Kai slurped his mango concoction thoughtfully, eyes unfocused as he considered the question.

Taehyun waited.

This better be good.

Kai blinked. “Well… we had them for Love Language, so I thought I should keep them.”

Taehyun nodded slowly, not fully buying it.

“If I remember correctly,” he said, “you were always the first person to leave the gym the second the trainer said you were good to go.”

Kai hummed in response, leaning forward to take a bite of the egg tart he’d grabbed.

“So?” Taehyun pressed, crossing his arms.

Kai finished chewing and let out a sigh.

A deep sigh.

That immediately worried Taehyun.

“Is everything okay?” he asked.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Kai said quietly.

Taehyun’s mind started racing.

What does he mean I wouldn’t understand?

He ran through every possibility—every reason Kai might suddenly change one of his most fundamental habits.

“…Are you getting hate comments about your body again?”

Kai’s eyes widened. “What? No.”

Taehyun raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

Kai nodded. “I mean, I probably am. But I’m not reading them anymore.”

Taehyun looked down at the table and let out a small, relieved sigh.

Okay. Not that.

So what else?

He cleared his throat again. “Then what is it that I won’t believe?”

Kai took another sip of his drink.

Taehyun watched closely, silently praying that two hours at the gym hadn’t just gone to waste on a mango drink with a conscience.

Kai cleared his throat. “Well,” he trailed off, “my girlfriend really liked my abs during Love Language, so I thought I should try to keep them.”

Taehyun blinked.

Then rubbed his ear, just to be sure.

“I’m sorry,” he said, rubbing it again, “can you repeat that?”

Kai looked like he was used to this. He slumped further into his seat.

“I’m trying to keep my abs because my girlfriend likes them.”

Taehyun stared straight into Kai’s eyes, searching desperately for a hint of humor.

There was none.

Which meant this had to be something else.

“You don’t have to use a girlfriend as an excuse to better yourself,” Taehyun said gently.

That had to be it. He must be embarrassed—starting now, when everyone else had been working out for years.

Kai looked exasperated. “What exactly are you talking about?”

Taehyun continued, “I understand that everyone around us has always pushed us to be fit, and you never listened—which was completely fine, because you looked great without the muscle.” He paused, meeting Kai’s eyes. “But you don’t have to be embarrassed to admit you want to improve yourself now.”

Kai stared at him.

Then leaned forward, rested his arms on the table, and took another sip of his drink.

“Sure, hyung,” he said dryly. “You caught me. I’m using a fake girlfriend as an excuse to get abs so I can keep watching anime and gaming in my room—but with abs.”

Taehyun nodded, satisfied.

“That makes sense,” he said. “I mean—whose love language is abs?”

Kai stared at him blankly. “Yeah,” he said flatly. “So weird.”

Taehyun opened his mouth to comment on the tone when his phone rang—a reminder for an interview he had to film alongside Yeonjun.

He stood, holding the phone up to Kai, who waved him off casually.

Taehyun walked down the hallway toward the makeup room, already shaking his head.

The maknae having a girlfriend?

There was absolutely no way.

When Kai was training, he always kept a small emotional-support plushie with him.

It wasn’t separation anxiety—he swapped them out often.

It wasn’t to stand out or earn points with the producers during training sessions, like some of the other trainees tried to do.

He simply liked having something small and soft nearby. A reminder that even when things felt overwhelming or bleak, there were still gentle, cute things in the world.

People teased him for it.

His sisters teased him.

His members teased him too.

But he always knew it came from a place of fondness, so he never took it to heart. It became just another thing about him—something he accepted with a shrug and a smile.

Which was why his heart had started beating faster when, during a video call, you noticed the plushies in the background.

And instead of commenting on how many there were, you asked if they all had names.

And stories.

You were the first person in his life who didn’t treat his plushies like something to laugh at—but like something that mattered.

What made it even better was that you had your own collection. A stash of stuffed animals you clearly adored just as much.

At the time, it felt like a small detail. Cute. Insignificant.

Later, it became something else entirely.

Something affectionately referred to as “ the co-parenting practice”.

This happened every two to three weeks.

The two of you would meet—usually at your place—and spend a few quiet hours together before exchanging plushies, so that you each left with a small piece of the other.

This week was no different.

In Kai’s hands was a Tuxedo Sam plushie you had given him, tucked carefully alongside the strawberry Molang plushie he planned to give you in return.

But that wasn’t all he was carrying.

In his bag were three of his comfiest hoodies—chosen specifically because, just the other day, you had complained about how the women’s section never stocked properly oversized fits.

Kai wasn’t stupid. He had watched enough dramas to know that this was a thing—something you were supposed to do. Give someone your hoodies. Let them steal your warmth.

So he had spent a full ninety minutes standing in front of his closet, narrowing it down to his top three. He picked his favourite cologne, sprayed each hoodie lightly, then folded them neatly into the bag, placing the plushies on top like they were guarding them.

And somewhere between zipping the bag shut and slinging it over his shoulder, it hit him.

This—this—was what love meant.

Because he knew, without a doubt, that he would never do this for anyone else.

He quickly unlocked the door to his apartment and let himself in, immediately kicking off his shoes and hanging his jacket and mask on the designated hook you kept just for him.

He set his bag at the foot of the couch before heading to the kitchen to find you. Instead of greeting you properly, he opted to surprise you with a hug.

He couldn’t hide his smile when you flinched at the sudden contact.

“You know I could’ve kicked you,” you said, even as you melted into his embrace.

“Yeah,” Kai agreed easily, “but then you wouldn’t be able to hug me, and you’d feel bad.”

You stopped stirring the pasta and turned to face him. “Well, that would be too bad, wouldn’t it.”

He smiled down at you. “Hi,” he whispered.

“Hi,” you smiled back.

“Are you ready for the exchange?” he asked, already looking forward to carrying another piece of you with him.

You nodded, placing a lid on the pot.

“Smells delicious, by the way,” Kai added as he followed you into the living room.

The exchange went on as it always did—soft smiles, familiar movements, comforting habits. In return for his Squirtle plushie, he received a bread plush with a tiny bow tie, accompanied by your quiet remark that it reminded you of him.

He, in turn, excitedly handed you the Molang plushie, which you immediately cooed over, praising how cute it was.

You were just as overjoyed with his hoodie selection, admitting that you’d been eyeing his closet for a long time. Kai felt his heart warm as he helped you pull them on, one by one.

The meal that followed was delicious. Because of you, he had learned how amazing it was to eat something homemade—something not packaged or ordered. He would happily eat your cooking no matter the consequences.

It was only when it came time to say goodbye that Kai found himself truly grateful for the arrangement the two of you had started. He couldn’t imagine not doing this with you.

He lingered in your doorway, procrastinating putting his jacket and shoes back on.

“One more hug,” he pleaded, making small grabby hands in your direction.

You smiled. “I’ve been hugging you all day.”

“That’s different,” he argued. “This is my goodbye hug.”

You played along. “You’re right. It would be unjust to let you go without one.”

He opened his arms, already accepting you the moment you stepped into his space.

You shifted slightly in his embrace. He didn’t think much of it—until your voice came out muffled against his sweatshirt.

“Have you been working out?”

He nodded, arms still wrapped around you. “You said you liked my abs, and I figured… if you liked them, I might as well try to keep them a little longer.”

You looked up at him. “You know you don’t have to.”

He hummed in agreement. “I know. But it’s for you—and it’s not a big deal either.”

“Are you sure?” you asked.

He smiled and nodded, pulling you even closer.

“It even let me tell Taehyun about you,” he added after a moment, loosening his hold just enough to let you breathe.

“Did he believe you?” you asked.

“No,” Kai said, a little dejected.

You giggled. “You’d think he’d be the one to figure it out.”

“You’d think,” Kai sighed, finally moving to put his shoes on.

“It’s okay,” you said, handing him his jacket. “We’ll tell them together?”

He nodded, slipping it on and grabbing the bag that held his children—read: plushies.

He paused, looking at you. “One more hug before I leave?”

You smiled and indulged him.

Kai decided he wouldn’t mind staying in your embrace forever.

THE ONE TIME : WHY WERE YOUR LIPS MOVING LIKE THAT ?

Kai decided that everyone around him was, frankly, dumb.

There was no other explanation. No universe in which four grown men could repeatedly fail to comprehend the very simple fact that he had a girlfriend—especially when he had spelled it out for them. Slowly. Clearly. Multiple times.

And yet.

They accused him of having everything but a girlfriend and moved on as if it never happened.

Which was why Kai decided it was time to test their cognitive skills.

By inviting you to the dorm.

The plan was simple. He’d call you over, the two of you would hang out in his room, and that would be that. Undeniable proof. Visual confirmation. Case closed.

It started well enough. Despite everyone having the day off, the dorm’s common areas were eerily empty, which made it easy for Kai to sneak you inside and coax you down the hallway to his room without running into anyone.

He’d planned the afternoon meticulously. Snacks were arranged neatly on his desk. His laptop was fully charged. His bed had been transformed into the coziest possible setup—plushies piled high, hoodies layered over the mattress for extra comfort. He was nothing if not prepared.

And honestly? The day went well.

It was a little awkward at first—Kai adjusting to the reality of having a girl in his room, you adjusting to the fact that you were in your boyfriend’s room—but somewhere between the soft giggles, the easy conversation, and eventually curling up together on his bed, the nerves melted away.

Two hours slipped by without either of you noticing.

You talked. You scrolled on your phones in companionable silence. Eventually, you settled in properly, choosing My Neighbour Totoro—a mutual favorite—and letting the movie play as you cozied closer together.

At some point during the film, Kai realized he had stopped paying attention entirely.

Totoro moved across the screen, the gentle music swelling and fading, but Kai couldn’t tell you what was happening anymore. His attention had drifted—quietly, naturally—away from the movie and onto you.

You were tucked into his side, knees drawn up slightly, your head resting against his shoulder like it belonged there. One of his hoodies swallowed you whole, sleeves covering your hands, fabric bunching up around your neck. Every now and then, you shifted closer without thinking, chasing warmth.

Kai swallowed.

He told himself to look back at the screen. He really did. But then you laughed softly at something—barely louder than a breath—and the sound settled right into his chest.

He glanced down.

Bad idea.

Your face was relaxed, eyes reflecting the soft glow of the screen, lips slightly parted in concentration. Kai felt something twist low in his stomach, unfamiliar and dizzying. He adjusted his arm around you, intending only to get comfortable.

Instead, you leaned into the touch.

Your head tipped just enough for your cheek to brush his collarbone, and Kai froze. His heart began to race, loud enough that he was convinced you could hear it. He held his breath, waiting to see if you’d pull away.

You didn’t.

Minutes passed. Or seconds. Kai wasn’t sure anymore. The space between your faces felt suddenly noticeable—charged in a way that made his palms sweat. He could feel your breathing, slow and steady, syncing with his own despite his best efforts to stay calm.

You tilted your head up slightly, eyes flicking from the screen to his face.

“Kai?” you murmured, barely audible over the movie.

“Yeah?” His voice came out softer than he intended.

“I think you stopped watching,” you said, a small smile tugging at your lips.

He huffed out a quiet, nervous laugh. “I think I did.”

Your gaze lingered. Too long to be accidental. The air between you felt heavy, expectant, like it was waiting for something to happen.

Kai leaned in before he could overthink it.

Slowly. Carefully. Giving you time to pull away.

You didn’t.

Instead, you met him halfway.

The kiss was gentle—soft and hesitant, like the two of you were still figuring out how to exist in this moment. Your lips fit against his in a way that made his thoughts scatter completely, warmth blooming through his chest.

Someone on-screen said something profound.

Neither of you noticed.

The kiss lingered.

At first, neither of you moved—like you were both waiting to see if the moment would disappear if you shifted even slightly. Kai’s lips stayed against yours, warm and careful, his breath shallow. He could feel the way your hands tightened just a little in the fabric of his hoodie, like you were anchoring yourself there.

Then you leaned in again.

Just a fraction closer. Just enough.

Kai followed instinctively this time, his hand sliding from where it rested awkwardly at your side to your waist, fingers curling into the oversized hoodie. The movement was slow, almost shy, like he was asking permission with every inch.

Your lips parted slightly, and his heart stuttered.

The kiss deepened—not suddenly, not dramatically—but naturally, like it had always been meant to get here. It was still gentle, still sweet, but warmer now. More intentional. Kai tilted his head, kissing you again, softer this time, slower, like he was trying to memorize the feeling.

He pulled back just enough for his forehead to rest against yours.

You were close enough that he could feel your breath, hear the tiny sound you made when you inhaled.

“Sorry,” he whispered instinctively, even though he didn’t know what he was apologizing for.

You smiled, brushing your nose against his. “Don’t be.”

That was all it took.

Kai kissed you again, a little more confident now, his thumb moving absentmindedly at your waist. The world outside his room—practice, schedules, his members, the whole ridiculous plan—felt impossibly far away.

Right now, it was just this.

You. Him. The quiet glow of the movie still playing, completely forgotten.

And for the first time since inviting you over, Kai thought distantly:

Yeah. This was a really good idea.

…Which was, unfortunately, exactly what happened.

Somewhere between kissing you and getting completely lost in it, Kai failed to register the footsteps outside his door. He didn’t notice the handle turning. Didn’t hear the door creak open. Didn’t even process Beomgyu’s voice starting to say something about practice being moved to today.

Not until the scream.

It was loud. Sharp. Horrified.

Kai froze.

Time stalled in the worst way possible—his lips still barely parted, his hand still at your waist, the world crashing back into place all at once.

“Oh my—” Beomgyu’s voice cracked mid-sentence. “WHAT—”

The scream echoed down the dorm hallway.

And just like that, Kai knew.

The moment wasn’t just ruined.

The entire dorm was about to know.

Kai broke the kiss and looked down at you, trying to make sure you were okay. He was about to ask when another scream tore from Beomgyu.

“Can you stop screaming, hyung?” Kai said, annoyance creeping into his voice.

Beomgyu just stared, eyes wide. “You—” He pointed a trembling finger at Kai. “What the hell were your lips doing?”

Kai opened his mouth to retort—but was interrupted as Yeonjun appeared, dragging a half-asleep Soobin behind him.

“What happened?” Yeonjun asked, out of breath.

His gaze followed Beomgyu’s finger, landing on Kai… and you… in his bed. His eyes widened, and he dragged Soobin closer to see for himself.

The two eldest gulped, then simultaneously turned to Kai. “She’s real,” they said at the exact same time.

Eerie, Kai thought.

Then Taehyun appeared, peeked inside—and Kai watched the most unfazed member of the group’s jaw drop.

He was about to speak, but Soobin cleared his throat before he could.

“Group meeting… in the living room. Now.” His leader's tone made it clear this was going to be serious.

Soobin then turned to you. “You… should also come,” he stammered, clearly untrained in handling the concept of a girl in the maknae’s room.

Soobin quickly dragged the members to the living room, muttering something about “letting the youngest get a decent—” The words sounded pained as they left his mouth.

Kai wanted to yell back that nothing inappropriate was happening, but he quickly realized that wouldn’t mean anything to them.

He turned to face you, bracing for shock or awkwardness—emotions he knew he’d beat himself up for causing. Instead, he found your face carefully composed, trying—and failing—to suppress a laugh.

You let out a small burst of laughter. “Well, I guess they know now.”

Kai relaxed slightly. “I guess they do.”

You turned to him, smiling. “Shall we go?”

Kai nodded, helping you out of the cozy nest of his bed and holding your hand as you stood.

He led you to the living room, where his four older members were whispering and pointing at each other, clearly in the middle of a heated debate.

Kai cleared his throat, catching everyone’s attention. “Hello,” he said, bowing slightly as if this were some formal interview. He held up your joined hands. “This is my girlfriend.”

You smiled, raising your free hand to wave. “It’s so nice to meet you! I’ve heard so many things about you.”

The four boys stared at you as if you were a unicorn.

“You're real?” Beomgyu asked.

You nodded, “I would hope so,”

Soobin snapped back into reality.

“Sit,” he gestured to the couple that he could barely make eye contact with.

Kai let you sit down and settle first before sitting beside you.

Yeonjun cleared his throat, “You weren’t lying when you said you were going to Hadilao to see your girlfriend?” 

Kai nodded.

Soobin chimed in, “And you were watching Kimi No Todoke because she wanted you to watch it?”

Kai nodded again.

Beomgyu looked Kai in the eye, “To be clear, you wrote Dance with You for her?”

Kai pursed his lips and nodded, remembering all the glances Beomfyu would give him any time they would pass a female sunbae.

Taehyun stared at him, “You were training to get abs because of her?”

Kai let out a hum of agreement.

A collective ‘oh’ let out by the group.

Beomgyu turned back to you, eyes wide. “So… she’s real. And he’s… yours?” His voice trembled slightly, as if this revelation were too big to process.

Kai, unfazed, simply nodded and gave your hand a small squeeze. “Yep. All hers.”

The room went silent for a moment, each member letting the information sink in. Then, almost simultaneously, Yeonjun and Beomgyu groaned in unison.

“This is so embarrassing for him,” Beomgyu muttered.

“And for us!” Yeonjun added, throwing his head back dramatically.

Soobin finally broke the silence, sighing heavily. “Alright. New rule: no more accidental walk-ins. And Kai… maybe give us a heads-up before your ‘romance escapades’ escalate again.”

Kai’s ears turned red. “That’s not what was happening!”

Beomgyu shook his head, pointing a finger at him. “No, that was exactly what was happening. I’m the one who had the misfortune of watching.”

Kai opened his mouth to argue, but was interrupted by Taehyun, who leaned forward with an unexpectedly serious expression. “Are you… happy with each other?”

You blinked, taken off guard by the sudden shift in mood. Clearing your throat, you smiled softly. “Yeah… I think I’m the happiest I’ve ever been when I’m with Kai.”

Kai’s chest fluttered. He leaned forward and pressed a small, tender kiss onto your intertwined hands.

Then came the gagging noises.

Kai didn’t care.

Because no matter what the world—or his members—thought, he was very much in love with his (very much real!) girlfriend.

[jinkoh]

(im)patience

hueningkai x fem!reader

wc: 0.6k; established relationship, fluff, talks about marriage, reader is being carried, and also drunk and a bit of a brat, kai is very in love; SFW

a/n: recently watched to do ep.166 with @blizzardfluffykpop and my key take aways were a) kai seems p good at handling bratty behaviour and b) kai can and would carry you (...maybe not as effortlessly as depicted here but lemme indulge myself)

masterlist

“This is practice,” you explained, a big drunk smile painted all over your face as Kai maneuvered both of you into your shared flat. It’d been quite a struggle to unlock the front door without dropping you, but you’d refused to get down, and it wasn’t like Kai was going to stop indulging you now after he’d already carried you up the stairs to your 2nd floor apartment. He was a weak man when it came to you, and he didn’t even mind it.

He kicked the door shut behind the two of you and tiptoed out of his shoes. “Practice for what?”

“Our wedding night,” you whispered, as if it was something scandalous and secret, though your drunk self didn’t quite manage to keep your voice down, “You’ll have to carry me over the threshold then, too. But with my dress and all, I’ll be sooo heavy. You better work out.”

“I think I can handle it,” he hoisted you up a little higher to prove his point as he carried you down the hallway, “And who said I was going to marry you?”

Immediately, a pout appeared on your lips and your eyebrows pulled into a frown, “Were you going to marry someone else? Who?” 

He shrugged, because he couldn’t help himself from wanting to tease you a bit when you were drunk and moody like this. “Who knows?”

The frown deepened even further, “Do you really think anyone else would marry a nerd like you?”

“You think no one would?”

“You suck,” You averted your gaze, your response coming out in a mumble, “Of course a lot of people would. But you should indulge me at times like this.”

“Sorry love,” he paused to leave a small peck on your forehead, “Of course there’s no one else I would marry but you.”

“Thank you,” you replied, emphasizing each syllable. 

Kai just chuckled, turning to nudge open the door to the bedroom with his shoulder, cozy bed with your (mostly his) zillion plushies ready to swallow you up. He set you down at the foot of the bed, and you just flopped over to the side like a sack of potatoes while he crouched down to take off your shoes.

“You will though, right?” You mumbled into the mattress. Your voice sounded genuine this time, “Marry me?”

“Are you proposing right now?”

“No. I don’t want it like that.”

“You want me to propose?”

You turned your head from where it’s buried in the sheets to look at him. Your hair fell into your face messily, but he could still make out your eyes beneath. “Yeah.”

“Now?” 

“No. Not now… Wait a bit, so that I can feel surprised by it.”

Kai wouldn’t be able to keep the fond smile off his face if he tried. “Alright. I’ll wait a bit.”

"But not too long." 

“Someone’s impatient,” He shook his head with a chuckle, “We’ll have the rest of our lives.”

“Well, we both know that you’re the patient one between the two of us. And besides,” a cheeky smile spread on your lips, and Kai wanted to kiss it right off, “I just can’t wait for the rest of our lives to begin. What’s so wrong about that?”

“You’re right,” he said, keeping his eyes from darting to the bottom drawer of his nightstand and instead leaning over to finally peck your lips, “I can’t wait either.”

masterlist ♡ pls consider reblogging and/or leaving a comment if you enjoyed this fic ♡

[tyunningzzz]

• it’s nice to have a friend | KANG TAEHYUN

in which two best friends fall in love with each other. and then they grow old. together.

based “on its nice to have a friend” by taylor swift

pairing: bestfriends! kang taehyun & afab reader

genre: romance, best friends to lovers, coming of age, happy ending, open ending

word count: ~12,5k

warnings: underage drinking

rating: Mature (M / 17+)

January 16th, Thursday 9 years old

The school bell rang 45 minutes ago.

She had heard her parents say this was the coldest winter ever, even though it hadn’t snowed yet. At least not until last night, when the whole town was finally covered.

Her small hands were basically blue at this point, her breath visible as she huffed, worrying about how mad her mom would be when she told her she lost her gloves. Her new gloves the ones she got not even two weeks ago!

She wandered around the school playground, trying to spot the bright orange fabric.

She was freezing and terrified. How was she supposed to go home after school and tell her mom what happened? Maybe if her dad was home, she could tell him first, and they could secretly buy new gloves. He wouldn’t be mad — he didn’t buy them, she thought.

“Hello!” a boy with a bowl cut yelled from the gym window, interrupting her thoughts. His bangs stuck to his forehead. He didn’t care that it was below freezing outside, he actually enjoyed the fresh air. “Why are you still at school?”

“Tae, I lost my gloves.” She finally let herself cry. “Ok! We’re gonna find them! Wait for me.”

There was nowhere to sit, nowhere to rest while she waited for Taehyun — her best friend and neighbor. She was so cold she didn’t even care about those stupid gloves anymore, the ones she had begged her mom to buy. Her tears fell salty and endless. The cold air made it painful to even cry.

Taehyun ran outside, wearing a long black puffer coat. His blue scarf was wrapped lazily around his neck, barely keeping him warm. Why would he care? Boys didn’t get cold! It was a daily fight with him and his mom.

“Are you not cold?” he asked.

“I am!” she almost screamed. “I lost my gloves during recess, Tae! My mom is gonna be so mad!” she explained through her tears. Taehyun found it hilarious. His hands were warm inside his red mittens.

He scooped up some snow and tossed it lightly in her direction while she stared at the ground, still looking for the gloves.

“You’re stupid! You’re not my friend anymore!” she yelled, stomping her boots as she walked away.

Taehyun just laughed, not realizing she was serious. He ran to catch up. “I’m sorry! That was mean.” His face dropped, hair still stuck to his skin. “I need to hurry home, I’ll get sick.”

She kept walking, stomping so hard she smeared the chalk drawings some kids had made on the pavement days before.

“Here, have one of my mittens. I’m a boy, we don’t get cold.” She angrily snatched it and stretched it over both hands. Not a single word. No thank you, no glance his way.

They walked home while Taehyun rambled about how he scored so many points and how Soobin got none. She was still crying, but he didn’t notice. Her head spun with worry about telling her mom, while his brain ran at a hundred miles per hour, buzzing about practice.

Behind them, the only signs left were patches of their boots in the snow and the leaves Taehyun kept pulling from a bush and throwing around. He was so annoying.

When they reached his house, she threw the mitten onto the snowy ground. “Bye. See you later.” She thought he was so stupid!

•

She held back her tears as she stepped inside.

Her mom immediately started yelling. “Where were you? School finished an hour ago! It’s freezing outside!”

And she couldn’t hold it anymore. She blurted everything out — how she thought her mom would be furious, how she searched the school grounds, how Taehyun promised to help but instead threw snow at her.

Her mom laughed. Should she be relieved? She wasn’t mad? “Sweetie, it’s okay. You’ll find them when the snow melts.” Finally, she calmed down.

•

A piece of folded paper fell onto Taehyun’s desk while he colored in his drawing book during art class.

want to play games after school?

Written in pink glittery pen. He smiled widely. She hadn’t talked to him all day, but he didn’t care. He probably hadn’t even noticed. She had gotten over her anger as soon as she fell asleep last night.

•

“Mommy?” she peeked her head into the kitchen. Her mom hummed in response.

“Can Tae come over? We want to play on my Game Boy.”

But Taehyun was already inside, hiding behind her, leaning against the wall. His hand clamped over his mouth to stifle a giggle, one foot crossed over the other. He found this so funny.

Her mom already knew. They had done this a million times at both houses. “I know he’s there, sweetie. Come on out, Tae!”

He groaned, throwing his hands up and dragging his feet into the kitchen. “How did you know?” “I always know, kids.”

•

It was almost 7:30 when Taehyun’s mom came to pick him up. After the moms finished their tea and gossip, they walked upstairs to find the two kids fast asleep under a blanket stretched across two chairs, pillows dragged from the attic. Taehyun’s hands still gripped the Game Boy tightly, the device making whimsical little noises every so often.

Her mom quietly removed the blanket and tossed it back over them.

“You can wait here, Yoonhe. I don’t think they’ll stay asleep for long,” she whispered as they left the room.

They both laughed softly.

“Can you believe we were doing this 20 years ago, and now our kids are doing the same?”

Oh, it was exactly what they had always dreamed of. Two best friends having kids who were also best friends. Pregnant at the same time, Taehyun just two days older. Living across from each other. A dream come true, built-in best friends.

And they were right. Just 20 minutes later giggles were coming from her room once again.

June 21st, Saturday 18 years old

When their parents went on their yearly vacation together, they were so excited! Freedom to do whatever they wanted. Last year had been the first year they weren’t dragged to the Jeju trip. Their younger siblings weren’t that lucky.

A year ago, Taehyun had smuggled some of his dad’s whiskey into his room and they watched stupid viral YouTube videos they grew up on and played drinking games.

They got into a big argument because what did she mean she liked Soobin? His biggest rival. Oh, how Taehyun hated Soobin.

She had stormed out of his house and cried in her bed. He texted her a quick sorry before falling asleep.

•

She and Soobin never worked out. He graduated that summer and moved to Seoul. Taehyun was happy. It only lasted two months. If that.

•

Her last alcoholic drink had been that disgusting whiskey. And the beer Soobin got her, which she hated, she never finished. But she never told Taehyun. He didn’t need to know.

They overheard from Beomgyu and Kai that they were getting peach soju, so that’s what she suggested. Taehyun disagreed. But he still got on his bike with her sitting on the handlebars, riding them down the hill to the liquor store. Just hoping they wouldn’t get asked for their IDs.

Grabbing a few soju bottles, Taehyun cheerfully greeted the old woman behind the counter. She dropped bags of snacks next to the alcohol.

Of course, they weren’t asked for their IDs. The lady couldn’t care less. Relief washed over them.

•

Taehyun carried the bags up to her parents’ room, the one with the roof window. It was way too hot to sit outside, but she didn’t want to spend time under the AC. She said it gave her a headache. He told her she was giving him a headache, but still complied.

He struggled to open the window while she dragged a small stool from her sister’s room for them to climb up.

She went first, saying she was more experienced since she did this with her dad often. Taehyun was terrified of heights, but he knew he couldn’t change her mind.

He handed her the bags of snacks and soju while staring right at her.

“Why are you such a scaredy-cat?” she giggled as she lowered the bags onto the roof. “C’mon Tae! Don’t be like this!”

He hesitated. But once he got out, he was in awe. He never knew the view was this good from up here. From their neighborhood.

“Told you!”

•

They were on their second bottle of soju at this point. The sky was perfectly pink.

“Take a picture of me, Tae!” she said as she handed him her phone.

He giggled as he instructed her on how to pose and what face to make. They didn’t care how loud they were. It wasn’t late. Barely 7 pm. He thought she was the prettiest girl he’s ever laid his eyes on.

“Okay, your turn.”

Taehyun did the same poses she had. They hadn’t laughed like this in so long.

Resting their heads on pillows, he sighed loudly.

“What?” her voice was annoyed.

“I’m so bored.”

She got up on her elbow to look at him. “Bored? With this view? How can you be bored?”

He shrugged. “You know I’m not much of an outside guy.”

And then she suggested, “20 questions. After each one, we take a shot.”

By the fifth, he suggested they go down. He was drunk and his fear was getting worse. A slanted roof wasn’t a good place to be when drunk.

Setting up a blanket tent, they threw each other onto the ground and continued. Some questions were so stupid: what’s your favorite food, what did you want to be when you were older, who was your favorite middle school teacher. But they were getting giddier and more drunk.

“My turn! Question 18.” She turned to face him again, stuffing her face with popcorn. “What’s a secret you never told anyone? Not even that purple diary you write in.”

“What!? I don’t have a purple diary!” he defended.

He lied. She had seen it in his locker a few months ago.

“You do. Now answer me.”

“Yeah.” He was so drunk at this point he didn’t care what he answered. He thought that would be enough.

“Tae! That’s not good enough!”

He rolled his eyes, his voice barely a whisper. “I never told anyone who I’m in love with.”

And she knew. Somehow, she knew. Her mind went blank.

“Interesting.”

Silence filled the room. Awful silence. Almost painful.

“Your turn.” She shut her eyes.

“Who do you like?”

Her eyes shot open. She looked scared. Her cheeks red from alcohol. Or embarrassment. Probably both.

“Tae. I don’t like anyone.” Lie. They both knew. Everyone knew they had a silly childhood crush on each other.

“And what if… what if I kissed you right now? What would you say?”

Her heart stopped beating for a second. This cannot be happening!

“Well, you used up your question. It’s my turn.” She rambled, trying to shift the conversation. “Ummm… What’s your favorite car?”

“Why are you trying to change the topic? Answer my question.” He was annoyed. His hand was inching toward her. So painfully slow it was barely noticeable.

“I did. Now it’s my turn.”

And with the mention of her name, she looked straight into his eyes.

“Answer me.”

Her voice was so quiet he could barely hear. But when Taehyun heard that small yes, he cupped her cheeks in his big hands. The kiss was slow. Both of them felt like they were flying. Hands in each other’s hair. Grabbing everything they could. And then she pulled away.

“Tae. We can’t.”

Taehyun’s gaze was almost harsh. He tried to bring her closer again, yearning for that kiss.

“Why?”

She stared. So intensely.

“Fuck it. We can.”

And she kissed him again.

May 3rd, Wednesday 22 years old

Taehyun planned everything so perfectly. Everything down to the smallest detail.

From what color she was going to do her nails. What music was going to be playing in the background. What flowers would look the best. What cologne he was going to wear. Everything! The size and shape of that pretty diamond she was going to wear on her hand.

But the scariest part wasn’t even done. Something scarier than even asking her the question.

He fixed his collar over and over again. For some reason he changed his outfit ten times. Like her dad hasn’t seen him in the most ridiculous outfits when he was 15.

He worried if his shoes matched his shirt. What belt he should put on.

Yeonjun stared at him while he spent half an hour making sure there was not a single wrinkle on his shirt. “Dude, you’re trying to impress a man you’ve known since you were a baby. He’s seen you at your worst.” And Jun was right. He always was. But this was different. So different. He wanted her dad to know this was serious for him!

He knew she wasn’t home. He made sure she wasn’t so he could do this uninterrupted. A girls’ date with their moms and sisters. Whatever that meant.

While he walked from his to her house, Taehyun’s whole body was on fire. He took a quick shot of whiskey to calm his nerves. But it didn’t work. It made it worse.

Taehyun’s shaky hand pressed the doorbell. And when he saw her dad there, his heart almost gave up. He wished it did, because this was the worst thing he ever had to do. “H-Hello!” Her dad laughed seeing him all dressed up. “Boy, what are you wearing! Job interview?”

“N-No! I have a question. Can I come in?” And her dad laughed again. Taehyun would usually come in like he lived there. He basically did.

He was sitting down with her dad. Across from him to be exact. If the world only knew how scared Taehyun was in that moment. He decided he needed to be sitting on the opposite side of her dad just in case. His dad jokingly said he should do that, but Taehyun took him seriously.

He gave him some tips on how to ask for someone’s daughter’s hand in marriage, but he wasn’t really listening.

He fiddled with his fingers and her dad put down a glass of water in front of him. “My boy, are you okay?” he asked with genuine concern. He’s never seen Taehyun this stressed. “What’s up, kid?”

And he just pulled out a small purple velvet box. Opened it and slowly slid it towards the middle of the table. “I’m h-here to ask for your daughter’s hand.”

Her dad’s eyes filled with tears. “You know, I love her more than anything in this world.” Just a simple nod. Tears now on his cheeks. Taehyun’s as well. “And it would be an honor to marry her.”

“I’ll make sure she always has everything she needs or wants. I’ll make sure she’s the happiest girl in the world.”

Without words, her dad slowly got up. Glass clinked in the kitchen. Fridge opened and closed. Taehyun was still shaking, rambling how much this would mean to him, expressing love toward his girlfriend to her dad. His eyes fixated on that box in the middle of the dinner table. Sun reflecting itself on the diamond, shining across the room.

“Welcome to the family, Taehyun.” And he downed that drink in seconds. The relief he felt was insane. He felt like he was flying. Crying now, he got up to hug her dad. “You were always part of this family, Tae.”

June 21st, Monday 22 years old

That morning was just as stressful as the day he asked her dad for her hand.

For this entire month, she noticed Taehyun acting strange. Acting so weird she thought he might break up with her. Constantly on his phone texting someone. Talking on the phone out in his backyard, leaving her alone with his family during movie nights. When asked he would claim it was Yeonjun.

But when Taehyun mentioned they could join their families in Jeju, she was now annoyed. They hadn’t been there with their families since they were 16. Their sisters as well.

Why would they want to spend their 4th anniversary with them? What’s wrong with watching Twilight for the millionth time, reciting every word like they did all the years before?

He even got both of their sisters to join. He had to pay them, though. But he didn’t care. He needed everyone there. Both families.

What she didn’t know was that Taehyun had been arranging hydrangeas and beach setup for days now. Yeonjun, future best man, making sure the violin player knew exactly when to start. Making sure the engagement dinner was perfect.

He even made sure to get to the airport after her. In case they would stop him in security. He couldn’t risk anything! Made up some stupid white lie about being held up at work.

•

Taehyun received pictures of the small beach setup. White curtains flowing in the wind with hydrangeas around it. Fabric just lightly touching the surface of the water. His stomach twisted. It’s happening.

He made their dads force both families to wear white. He needed them all in white! Nothing else! He knew she wouldn’t wear white if that wasn’t the case.

“Are the two of you ready?” Taehyun’s dad asked while they both sat on the patio, waiting for the rest of the group to join so they could finally get dinner. She nodded. But she was angry.

He forgot their anniversary! But she decided she wouldn’t be a bitch about it and ignored him all day, giving him a taste of his own medicine. “Please go to the restaurant by yourself. We’ll join you.”

Taehyun got up so swiftly. Dad’s had a mission — make everyone leave late. “Okay, babe! Let’s go.”

But she refused. Not even lifting her eyes off her phone. “Sweetie, if you don’t leave with Tae we’ll lose our reservation!” Her mom yelled from the bathroom over sounds of hair dryers.

With a sigh, she got up and walked in front of Taehyun the entire way to the restaurant. But when he grabbed her hand to detour her, she looked with sharp, angry eyes. “What the fuck are you doing, Tae?”

“We are taking a shortcut,” he explained. He dragged her to the small pathway between rocks. The entire time she complained about how she couldn’t believe he forgot their day, how annoying he was this entire trip, and asked if he wanted to end things he should’ve done it back home.

While she ranted, he didn’t listen at all. Her voice was a slight buzz in his head. The only thing he could think about was his speech. Clammy hand constantly reaching down to make sure the box was there. His throat was tight.

•

She heard it before she could see. Her favorite song. Softly playing on the violin. Her vision filled with the most beautiful sunset. Wind blowing in her hair as she walked slowly in front of Taehyun. White flower petals on the sand.

Her heart was pounding so loud she could hear it. When she reached a small platform on the water, she turned around just to see Taehyun on his knees. Her name on his lips. So careful and soft. Pink diamond on a white pillow sitting in a box he held in his hand.

“I can’t promise you the whole universe. I can’t promise you stars and moon, but I’ll keep trying until I’m able to bring them down to you. I can promise to love you forever. It’s all yours. Every day. In every way I can give you. Let me give you everything I have. The good. The bad. Everything. W-Will you marry me?”

And all she could do was sob. Staring straight into his eyes. Her knees almost giving out. She wasn’t even sure how she managed to keep standing. She just repeated yes probably hundreds of times before he got up and placed the ring on her finger. Taehyun almost dropping it in the process.

She hasn’t stopped saying yes, both of them giving each other small kisses and repeating I love yous. They were so into this moment they didn’t even see their families on the hill above the beach.

June 21st, Sunday 23 years old

As they walked down the aisle, neither of them could stop their tears. Church bells loudly announcing their marriage. Taehyun kept repeating how lucky he was as they passed the church rows before exiting to greet their families and friends for the first time as a married couple.

Rice was everywhere! Reminding her of the snow on that freezing day almost 15 years ago when she lost her orange gloves. It hadn’t really snowed that much since.

Loud cheers were deafening. Moms hugging each other, sobbing. Love radiating from them felt electric. Both dads had their suits stained with tears.

When Taehyun spun her around to proudly show off his wife, he repeated how lucky he was. Again and again. He couldn’t believe it. Everything he ever needed in the palm of his hand. His whole universe right there.

•

“Now, jump!” Taehyun exclaimed loudly, extending his arms in front of him after unlocking the front doors of their apartment. Ears still ringing from loud music. It was 7 a.m., just now coming home from their wedding party.

“Tae, no!” She giggled into his shoulder.

“It’s a tradition! We have to!” And she complied. Jumping into his arms. He kissed her forehead. For who even knows which time today, he repeated I love you to her and carried her over the threshold.

Dropping her down, he kissed her with so much love and passion. His wife. After all these years.

December 24th, Friday 25 years old

She knew something was happening to her. And it wasn’t from raw cookie dough she kept eating while Taehyun tried making cookies but she kept interrupting.

So she sneaked to the bathroom. Quietly. On her tiptoes.

Two blue lines. Staring at her. She thought she was seeing things. She took three more. Still didn’t believe it.

Until she held up one that said pregnant in big bold letters. “Oh. My. God.”

The unexplainable feeling overwhelming her. Soft sobs. Hands immediately hugging her stomach.

Fear and excitement.

When she wrapped those tests, she wondered if Taehyun would be grossed out. She wished it wasn’t Christmas Eve so she could go out and buy a cute little onesie and use that instead. To have that as one of his gifts.

But she didn’t have time. Placing them in an old phone box, she wrapped it and wrote his name on it.

•

She sat on the couch surrounded with all the gifts Taehyun got her. He insisted she had to open hers first while he watched.

But when it was his turn, she suddenly got nervous. She asked him to open that one last.

Gift wrapping paper was scattered around their living room. He grabbed his last gift and tore off paper.

“You got me… the phone I already have?” He laughed. So did she.

But when he opened the box and it fell out of his hands, the world stopped.

Hopping on his feet, he just stood in shock. Eyes lowering to look at four tests on the ground. “Are you serious?” He questioned carefully. And she nodded.

Taehyun was suddenly on his knees clutching one of the tests in front of her. “Are you actually?” His voice suddenly got so high. Almost a scream.

“Yeah. I took them this morning.” And he was kissing her. Hands on her stomach. So intimate and delicate. “We’re gonna have a baby?”

August 1st, Monday 84 years old

It’s so crazy how life works. So many ups and downs. Wins and losses.

Three kids later. Beautiful life. Filled with so much love, happiness. Smiles and laughter. Occasional tears that were inevitable.

So many firsts. So few lasts.

Taehyun never stopped loving her. She never stopped loving him.

For them, it felt like they’d have eternity. Forever with one another.

He never lost the spark in his eyes he got whenever he would look at her. He was still determined to bring down the stars and moon to her.

And one day he will. He knows he will.

Thank you for reading! Be aware english is not my first language. Proofread but if you notice any mistakes please let me know.

Any feedback is welcome :)

[cbeargyu]

I was thinking about arranged married with Taehyun, he doesnt love you but still feels jealous when you're hanging out with your guy friend? 👀

the weight of silk and silence

summary: you married him for business, not love. taehyun didn’t want a wife, and you didn’t ask for his heart. but when an old flame reappears and stirs forgotten feelings in you, taehyun begins to see you in ways he never allowed himself to before.

pairing: husband!taehyun x wife!reader

genre: arranged marriage au, angst, slowburn, eventual smut

warnings: explicit content (at the end), virgin!reader, possessive behavior, jealousy, emotional tension, marriage without love, slowburn pacing, soft domination.

wc: 7,5k

notes: omg anon i LOVED that idea, it’s so heartbreaking but delicious by the end 😭 i really hope you like it — taehyun fits this trope so well, and like… we all know he’d be insanely jealous LMAO 🖤

the first time you ever held kang taehyun’s hand was in front of five hundred guests, under a crystal chandelier that cost more than your first car.

it was your wedding day.

you had met him a handful of times before — quick, shallow meetings at galas and charity events, where your parents would whisper his name in your ear like a warning. taehyun, heir to a massive corporation. taehyun, quiet and serious. taehyun, the boy who would be your husband.

and yet, in all those encounters, he never truly looked at you. not in the way a man looks at a woman he wants. you were background noise to him. a silhouette in silk. polite smiles, brief nods, nothing more.

until the contract was signed.

it was a merger more than a marriage — a binding of legacies, not hearts. your father said it was an honor. your mother cried while helping you into your wedding dress, whispering how lucky you were to marry someone with such influence, such presence. you didn't feel lucky.

your gown was custom-made, flown in from paris. long-sleeved and ivory, with delicate lace crawling up your collarbones, and a train so long it took three women to carry it down the aisle. you looked like a dream — regal, immaculate, almost untouchable. even your makeup was soft and flawless, like you were born to be admired from a distance.

when you reached the altar, taehyun was already waiting. his eyes swept over you with the indifference of a man examining a sculpture in a gallery — beautiful, yes. admirable, even. but not his. not something he reached for. he looked expensive in his suit. tall, composed, painfully handsome. but there was no joy on his face. no warmth in the way he took your hand.

when he took your hand, it was because the priest told him to.

his palm was cold. steady. his grip was neither too firm nor too soft. you imagined it was the same way he signed business contracts, with precision and detachment.

you told yourself you didn’t need warmth. this wasn’t about love. it never was.

and yet it hurt, in some small, stupid way.

he kissed your cheek when the priest told him to. his lips brushed your skin, and you felt nothing. not butterflies, not electricity. just the cold, aching confirmation of what you already knew: taehyun didn’t love you. and he didn’t want to.

the wedding made headlines. a spectacle of elegance and power. articles praised the "fairytale union" and posted blurry photos of taehyun helping you into the car, his hand on your back like a gentleman. what they didn’t know was that by the time you arrived at the private estate where you’d live together, he was already walking ahead of you, phone in hand, voice low and disinterested.

“you’ll have the west wing,” he said. “second floor. we won’t share a room — i assume that’s fine”

you nodded. your veil was still pinned in your hair, your earrings heavy on your ears.

he didn’t say goodnight. he didn’t ask how you felt. he simply turned and disappeared into his study, closing the door behind him with finality.

his room was on the opposite side of the house.

you didn’t see much of each other after that. in the mornings, you passed him in the dining room — his sleeves rolled up, eyes glued to his laptop as he sipped black coffee. sometimes he nodded at you. sometimes he didn’t.

when he spoke, it was brief. emotionless. professional.

"you’ll need to be at the choi event next week."

"wear something navy. it matches the branding."

"your lipstick was smudged last time. be more careful."

not cruel. not kind. just cold.

still, you played your part. at every family function, every business dinner, you laced your arm around his like the doting wife you were supposed to be. taehyun would place his hand on your lower back, lean in close enough to whisper scripted compliments in your ear, and smile when cameras flashed. you looked like a couple in love — poised, elegant, connected.

but at night, you would close the door to your room and cry silently into a pillow that smelled like perfume and loneliness.

he never asked if you were happy. you never offered to lie.

you had been married to kang taehyun for a year.

twelve months of empty rooms and empty words. of silent mornings, separate beds, and dinner parties where you pretended to love a man who barely remembered how to say your name without flattening it.

your marriage was the kind that looked good in photographs. carefully curated images of a successful union — him in tailored suits, you in designer gowns. your hands always touching, your eyes always soft. a perfect illusion.

but once the flashbulbs faded and the doors closed, so did the performance.

you lived in a mansion, but it never felt like a home. it was quiet in a way that echoed. too many walls, too many shadows. your bedroom was at the far end of the hall, separated by sleek marble floors and silence. taehyun’s was opposite yours, and he never crossed that threshold. not even once.

some nights, you stood by the door and waited. hoping. other nights, you stopped hoping altogether.

he wasn't cruel — not in the way that left bruises or sharp words. his coldness was quieter than that. it was in the way he never asked if you were okay. in the way he answered you with sighs instead of sentences. in how he looked past you at breakfast, eyes on his phone, fingers tapping away at stock reports and news articles, as if you were part of the background — as if your presence was nothing more than ambient noise.

“you need to be ready by seven,” he’d say without looking up.

“don’t wear white. it clashes with the decor.”

and you would nod. always nod. because what else was there to do?

you played the part. you smiled when your in-laws visited. you stood beside him at every event with your hand wrapped gently around his arm, your voice sweet, your gaze rehearsed. when his hand slid onto the small of your back for the cameras, you leaned into the touch as if it belonged there.

but the second you were alone, the warmth disappeared.

you would walk down opposite corridors, into opposite beds, and try to fall asleep beside the ache of being unwanted.

you never asked him why. never begged for attention or tenderness. you had learned, from a very young age, that feelings were fragile, disposable things — and that love had no place in contracts.

your marriage was not a love story. it was a transaction sealed with gold and paper, a deal between two families who saw you as an extension of their legacy. you were beautiful, accomplished, poised — a perfect bride. and taehyun was a perfect son. loyal, brilliant, emotionally vacant. the kind of man who could run an empire and feel nothing when he held your hand.

and you —

you were so good at pretending that it almost felt real sometimes.

until you saw lee heesung again.

the invitation arrived embossed in gold — another affair hosted by the choi family, all shimmer and status. you wore emerald silk that night, low-backed and elegant, with your hair twisted up and pinned with mother-of-pearl. taehyun wore black, as always, his presence severe and pristine beside you.

he didn’t compliment your dress.

you didn’t expect him to.

the ballroom was all crystal and candlelight. strings played softly beneath the murmur of conversation, and champagne flutes clinked like bells. you smiled when expected, danced twice with taehyun in front of curious eyes, then slipped away toward the edge of the room for air.

and that’s when you heard it.

“y/n?”

you turned at the sound of your name — tentative, soft, almost disbelieving.

he was standing near the edge of the terrace, champagne glass forgotten in his hand, dressed in a dark suit that clung to his frame more confidently than it had when you last saw him. his face was older now — sharper jaw, deeper eyes — but the smile… the smile was exactly the same.

“heesung?” your voice was breathless. like it didn’t belong to you.

he stepped forward slowly, as if afraid you might vanish if he moved too quickly. “i almost didn’t recognize you. you—” he laughed under his breath, eyes roaming your face with a mix of awe and disbelief. “you’ve grown up.”

you blinked, unsure whether to laugh or cry. “so did you.”

it had been ten years. ten whole years since he left — packed off to europe for school, his family’s goodbye rushed and quiet. you had cried for two nights straight, then spent years pretending you hadn’t. and now here he was, in the middle of a gala, as if nothing had changed.

except everything had.

you were married now. in name, at least.

but still, when he smiled at you — wide and warm and genuine — something fluttered in your chest you hadn’t felt in years.

“you look incredible,” he said, eyes dancing. “i mean, not just the dress. you— i don’t know, you shine. always did.”

you lowered your gaze, cheeks warm. “you’re still a flatterer.”

“only when it’s true.”

you heard footsteps behind you before you could reply.

“taehyun,” you said quickly, straightening. “this is… lee heesung. an old friend.”

taehyun’s eyes moved from you to heesung in a single sweep. his face didn’t change, but something in his posture did — his jaw just a bit tighter, his stare a little too direct.

“taehyun,” heesung offered his hand, unbothered. “pleasure to meet you. i’ve heard a lot about you.”

taehyun shook his hand. short. firm. “have you?”

“well,” heesung chuckled, glancing at you, “maybe not a lot. but enough.”

you felt taehyun’s hand settle on your lower back — a gentle but deliberate touch, the kind he only ever used in public. you could feel the tension in his fingers, though. not affection. not comfort. something else.

you smiled politely, masking the strange electricity crackling between them. “heesung was my neighbor growing up. we were… close.”

“very close,” heesung added, too casually.

taehyun said nothing. but his hand lingered longer than usual.

his tone was pleasant. perfectly civil. but his fingers pressed slightly harder against your waist, and when you looked up at him, his jaw was clenched just enough to betray it.

and for the first time in a year of cold silences and empty gazes, kang taehyun looked... bothered.

you met heesung again three days later. this time, alone.

you told yourself it was just a reunion. a friendly catch-up. nothing more.

but he made you laugh in ways you hadn’t in years. he remembered everything — the way you used to hate thunderstorms, the songs you’d sing under your breath, the stupid nickname he gave you for always carrying too many books. he looked at you like you mattered. like you were more than a name in someone else’s contract.

you didn’t tell taehyun. and he didn’t ask.

you met again the next week. and the one after that. coffee turned to lunch, lunch turned to long walks through hidden parts of the city, where no one knew your last name. you smiled wider. your skin glowed. you started wearing the perfume you liked, not the one his mother approved. you began laughing out loud, not just behind a polite hand. and people noticed.

especially him.

the first time taehyun said something, you had just come back from lunch. your hair was windswept. your phone buzzed with a new message from heesung: i miss talking to you already.

taehyun was standing in the kitchen, sipping wine like always. he looked at you for a long moment before saying, “you’re seeing him again.”

you froze. “he’s my friend.”

his stare didn’t waver. “and i’m your husband.”

the silence was suffocating. you didn’t reply. you didn’t need to.

“don’t be careless,” he added after a pause. “people notice.”

but you couldn’t stop. because every time heesung smiled at you, you remembered what it felt like to be loved — or at least wanted. and every time taehyun’s eyes darkened across the room, you felt something crack open between you, something ugly and raw and dangerous.

and it was only a matter of time before it spilled.

you weren’t supposed to see heesung again.

you told yourself that the moment you stepped out of the café that night — that it was enough. enough catching up, enough smiling too much, enough letting your heart remember what it felt like to be looked at like you were something bright. but the next day, he texted. just a simple “remember the old bookstore by the river?” and without thinking, you replied. you remembered everything.

you met there the following sunday. it was quiet, tucked away behind overgrown ivy and the whisper of autumn wind. the inside still smelled like sun-warmed paper, and heesung still laughed like you were the most interesting story on the shelf. you wandered between aisles, letting your fingers trail along spines, and for a little while, it felt like you’d slipped through time — like nothing had changed. like you weren’t twenty-five and married. like your last name wasn’t kang.

he took you to lunch after, somewhere casual, small, a place you never would’ve stepped into with taehyun. there were no cameras, no eyes, no pressure to sit up straighter or speak more delicately. you ate slowly, letting the warmth of soup melt the cold that had crept into your bones over the last year. heesung talked about his travels, the people he met, the music he was trying to write. and when he asked about you, really asked — what do you like now? what makes you happy? — your throat felt tight.

you didn’t know how to answer. not honestly.

later, walking by the riverbank, you laughed when he called you “bookworm” again. you shoved his shoulder lightly and he caught your hand — fingers threading through yours like it was still summer and you were still fifteen.

and just for a moment, it was too easy to pretend.

but as the warmth of his skin soaked into yours, your stomach twisted. not with guilt, not yet. something more dangerous — doubt. was this what you were missing?

“heesung,” you said softly, eyes still on the water. “do you ever think we were supposed to be something?”

he was quiet for a beat. then, “i thought about you more than i should have.”

your heart thudded — but it wasn’t joy. it was grief.

you pulled your hand back gently, wrapping your coat tighter around yourself. “i used to think that too,” you whispered. “but that version of me… the one who wrote your name in the margins of her notebooks and cried when you left… she doesn’t exist anymore.”

he didn’t argue. he just nodded, like he understood.

you parted ways with a hug. longer than necessary, but not intimate. not improper. just... sad.

and when you stepped into the house that night, the silence hit harder than ever. no message from taehyun. no note. no light left on. only the familiar echo of emptiness.

you wandered into the kitchen, fingers still cold. you didn’t expect to see him standing by the window.

he turned, startled for a split second — rare for him — before composing himself.

“you’re late.”

“i went out,” you answered, setting your purse down. “with a friend.”

he didn’t respond. just stared at you like he was searching for something beneath your skin.

you avoided his gaze. “do you want tea?”

“no.”

you nodded, stepping past him. the silence stretched, heavy and full of things unsaid.

“you look different,” he said quietly.

you froze. “different how?”

he hesitated. “lighter.”

you didn’t know what to say. so you didn’t say anything at all.

when you finally made it to your bedroom, you sat on the edge of your bed, breath shallow. you thought about heesung’s smile, the sound of his laugh, the way he made you feel like your teenage self again — untouched by the cold calculations of your family, unburdened by the weight of your name. but you also thought of taehyun — the tension in his jaw tonight, the way his voice had shifted ever so slightly when he said you look different.

and that’s when you realized the truth.

you liked heesung, yes. you liked what he represented. freedom. comfort. the girl you used to be. but taehyun? he wasn’t the boy of your past — he was the man in your present. and despite his silence, his coldness, the way he looked right through you some days... you wanted him.

you wanted him to see you. want you. need you.

and that hurt more than anything.

because you were starting to realize... maybe you already loved him.

the room was all golden light and champagne — delicate strings of music trailing through crystal chandeliers, waiters gliding past with silver trays, women in gowns that shimmered like moonlight.

you stood near the center of it all, wrapped in a dress the color of soft wine. off-the-shoulder silk, cinched waist, a slit that whispered against your leg when you moved. your hair was swept to one side, exposing the slope of your neck. taehyun hadn’t said a word when he saw you leave your room, but his eyes had lingered. too long to be empty. too cold to be warm.

he escorted you, as always, arm linked with yours — not too tight, not too loose. he greeted the right people, nodded at the appropriate times, made you laugh when he needed to keep up appearances. you smiled when the cameras turned. you leaned into him when the board members looked.

but the minute your mutual obligation ended, he released your arm without a word and stepped off to speak with someone from the finance division.

you didn’t follow.

you wandered to the bar instead, thankful for the small reprieve, and that’s when you heard it — your name, light and warm like summer.

“you look like you stepped out of a painting,” heesung said, smiling, holding two glasses of rosé. “guess i’ll have to pretend i belong here.”

you smiled before you could stop yourself. “you look good in a suit.”

“don’t sound so surprised.”

you laughed, taking the glass he offered. his fingers brushed yours — brief, innocent — but still enough to make your heart stutter. you hated how easy it was to feel fifteen again. and you hated that you missed it.

“you didn’t tell me you’d be here.”

“i didn’t know,” he shrugged, sipping slowly. “my manager’s friend works with the caterer. said he needed a last-minute hand. i said yes without thinking. figured it’d just be another fancy party where no one would remember my name.”

“you’re wrong,” you said softly.

his eyes flicked to yours. there was something in them — something unspoken. something that a married woman shouldn’t try to read too closely.

“are you here alone?” you asked.

he nodded. “unless you’re counting all the corporate execs who’ve asked me if i play piano.”

you laughed again, this time quieter. “you do.”

“not for them.”

heesung's voice was low, almost teasing. but there was a weight behind it — an ache, maybe, or just the memory of something never lived.

you didn’t notice the man watching you.

kang taehyun stood on the other side of the room, his glass untouched in his hand. he wasn’t smiling. wasn’t even pretending. his gaze was locked on you — on the way your lips curved when heesung leaned in to say something; on how your fingers played idly with the stem of your glass; on the tilt of your head, the brightness in your eyes.

he hadn’t seen you smile like that since before the wedding. maybe never.

he finished his drink in a single swallow.

when he approached, it was silent — sudden. you only noticed him when the air beside you shifted, cool and sharp. he placed a hand on the small of your back, a gesture you were both used to in public, but this time... his palm stayed. firm. possessive.

“everything alright?” his voice was smooth, but there was steel underneath.

you blinked. “yes. taehyun, this is—”

“lee heesung,” he cut in flatly, gaze unwavering. “we met.”

heesung offered a polite smile. “good to see you again.”

taehyun nodded, but didn’t return it.

“your wife was just telling me how beautiful the venue is,” heesung continued, tone light. “honestly, this place looks like something out of a dream.”

taehyun’s fingers pressed a little deeper into your back. “she has good taste.”

you froze for a second — not at the words, but the way he said them. not like a compliment. like a reminder.

the silence stretched.

“i should get back to the kitchen,” heesung said eventually, glancing at you. “don’t disappear too fast.”

you nodded. “i won’t.”

he walked away.

taehyun didn’t move his hand.

“you’re close,” he said, eyes still on the crowd.

“we’re old friends.”

“looked like more than that.”

you turned to him, brows drawing together. “why does it matter?”

he didn’t answer. his jaw tightened.

you exhaled slowly, pulling your arm from his and stepping half a pace away. “you don’t get to be jealous, taehyun.”

his eyes snapped to yours, sharp and unreadable. “who said i was?”

you didn’t reply.

neither did he.

but when you walked ahead, you felt it — the burn of his stare against your back. the heat in the silence.

the car ride home had been silent.

not the usual quiet — the polite, professional kind that hovered between you like a well-dressed wall. this one buzzed. like static. like heat trapped under skin. taehyun sat beside you, eyes fixed on the dark city flashing past the window, one leg crossed neatly over the other, jaw locked so tight you could hear it click when he swallowed.

you didn’t speak. neither did he.

not until the front door of your shared home closed behind you with a soft, final sound.

then his voice cut through the silence like a blade.

“do you think it’s appropriate to smile like that in front of the board?”

you turned, slowly, heels clicking against the polished marble. “excuse me?”

“with lee heesung,” he said, dropping his watch onto the side table without looking at you. “you looked like a schoolgirl with a crush.”

you laughed, sharp and humorless. “so you were watching.”

he turned to you finally, his tie half loosened, shirt still perfectly tucked into tailored slacks. he looked angry — but not wild. not loud. just cold. tightly wound. exactly like you’d expect from a man who built walls instead of raising his voice.

“i didn’t have to watch,” he said. “the whole room saw it.”

“saw what? that i was happy for five minutes?”

his expression didn’t change. “you’re married.”

“are we?” your voice rose. not a shout — just enough to cut. “because from where i’m standing, it feels like we’re just two strangers with matching rings.”

he took a slow step forward.

you didn’t move.

“then don’t embarrass me,” he said, quieter now, like it hurt to say it. “not in front of people who matter.”

you stared at him — tall, beautiful, indifferent. you hated how good he looked like this. hated the way his presence still made your skin ache even when his words made you feel disposable.

“i’m sorry,” you said, stepping closer, voice trembling with restraint. “am i supposed to stay quiet and smile at your side like a fucking ornament while you pretend i’m not even there?”

“that was the agreement,” he said flatly.

you blinked.

taehyun flinched.

the silence after that was thick. awful.

you stepped back.

he didn’t stop you.

“you didn’t care before,” you whispered. “why now? why tonight?”

he didn’t answer right away. he just looked at you — really looked, for maybe the first time in weeks. and it wasn’t the way he looked at you at galas, or dinners, or in family portraits. it wasn’t performative.

this time, it felt like he couldn’t look away.

“you were mine tonight,” he said finally. “and you forgot that.”

you stared at him.

you didn’t say anything.

but your hands shook a little as you reached up and unclasped your necklace, one jewel at a time. your earrings. your bracelets. everything expensive he’d helped you put on earlier that evening, now coming off piece by piece like armor being stripped away.

you didn’t cry. you didn’t yell. you just walked past him, brushing his shoulder as you left the room.

“don’t worry,” you said over your shoulder, voice like ice. “i’ll remember next time.”

his footsteps followed you down the hallway. unhurried. deliberate.

“you’re not going to pretend this didn’t happen,” he said, voice low, firm.

you paused at the edge of the bedroom. didn’t turn around.

“what do you want from me, taehyun?” your words were a whisper, sharp and tired. “you barely speak to me. you barely look at me. and then the second someone else does—”

“i’m not just someone else.”

“no,” you said bitterly. “you’re my husband. legally. contractually. nothing more.”

that did something to him. you could feel it — the tension shifting, thickening in the space between you like a storm waiting to snap.

his voice came closer. behind you now.

“do you think i haven’t noticed the way you look at me?”

you turned then. slowly. eyes burning.

“what way?”

his jaw clenched. “like you want something from me. like you want me to be someone i’m not.”

your breath caught. not because he was wrong. but because he wasn’t.

“and you,” you hissed, stepping forward now, chest brushing his. “you act like you don’t want me. like this marriage is just a formality. but the second someone else so much as smiles at me, you break.”

he said nothing.

his eyes dropped to your mouth.

then back up.

“tell me i’m wrong,” you demanded.

silence.

“taehyun.”

his hands moved before his mouth did — gripping your arms, not hard, but with purpose. pulling you closer until there was no space left to pretend with. his breath hit your cheek, fast and uneven.

“you’re not wrong,” he said finally.

and god, it burned.

because that was all you had wanted to hear — some crack in his mask, some proof that you weren’t crazy for feeling the pull between you. and now that you had it, it only made everything worse.

“then why do you treat me like this?” you asked, voice barely a breath. “why push me away every single time i try to reach you?”

“let's sleep together,”

the door slammed shut behind you, hard enough to rattle the frame. your heels clicked against the marble floors of your shared home—too loud, too sharp in the silence. you stormed through the living room, toward the master bedroom, your dress dragging behind you in a frustrated blur of expensive silk and lace.

you didn’t even look back.

“you’re not sleeping here tonight,” you said coldly, pushing open the bedroom door and stepping inside. “use one of the guest rooms. i don't care which one.”

taehyun followed you, of course. always the quiet shadow behind your anger, never raising his voice—but tonight was different. his jaw was tight, eyes darker than you’d ever seen them. something was burning under his skin.

he stepped into the room before you could close the door on him. “the hell i’m not.”

you turned to him, chest heaving, tears stinging your eyes though you refused to let them fall. “don’t make a scene, taehyun. i’m not in the mood.”

“you think i give a fuck about your mood right now?” he bit back, stepping closer. “i watched you smile at him like that. laugh with him like that. and then you come home and tell me to sleep somewhere else?”

“we don’t even sleep together, taehyun!” you shouted, finally losing it. “we’ve been married for a year and you still treat me like some damn business contract! so why should you care who i talk to?”

he was in front of you in two long strides. too close.

“because you're mine.”

his voice was low. not yelling. not angry in the way you expected. but full of something darker—possessive, raw.

your breath caught.

“you don’t get to flirt with old friends like you’re single,” he said, crowding you backwards until your spine hit the wall. “you wear my ring. you sleep in my house. you're my fucking wife.”

“in name only,” you spat, but your voice trembled.

his eyes dropped to your lips.

“no,” he said, fingers brushing the edge of your jaw. “not anymore.”

and then he kissed you.

not soft. not slow. it was messy. angry. real.

a year of silence poured into that kiss — the frustration, the jealousy, the ache of sleeping in separate rooms while pretending to be a couple to the world. it wasn’t romantic. it wasn’t pretty. it was honest.

his mouth moved over yours like he was starving. like he hated himself for needing this. needing you.

your robe fell to the floor.

his hands were everywhere — your waist, your back, your thighs. he lifted you without effort, your legs wrapping around his hips as your back hit the nearest wall with a quiet thud. his mouth never left yours.

you gasped when his hands slipped under your silk nightdress. he groaned when he felt you bare and burning beneath it.

and when he whispered your name — hoarse, like a confession — you knew this wasn’t about duty anymore.

this was need. raw, dangerous, undeniable.

this was taehyun, breaking.

for you.

“stop pretending,” he growled against your mouth. “you want this too. don’t you?”

you didn’t answer.

you didn’t have to.

because your body gave you away.

he kissed you again, deeper, pressing his thigh between your legs as he cupped your face with one hand and slid the other down your back. you melted into him, your fists gripping his suit jacket. he pulled back just enough to speak.

“bed,” he ordered.

taehyun’s hands were steady as they moved over you, but there was something in his touch that made your breath catch — as if he was testing the boundaries of something fragile, something new.

your heart raced. you weren’t sure if it was the heat of his touch, the way he kissed you, or the slow realization that everything you had felt for him, all the confusion and desire, was now colliding into something far more real.

his hands traveled down your body, slipping under the hem of your nightdress. when his fingers touched your skin, it was like a spark. you gasped, and he froze for just a moment, before continuing, his fingers sliding up your thigh, almost teasingly slow.

he moved, lips trailing down your neck, sucking gently at the soft skin near your pulse. you arched into him, silently asking for more. the way he touched you, the way he made every inch of your skin burn under his fingers — it made you feel like you were breaking open in the best way possible.

you swallowed, hesitating for only a second.

taehyun’s hands were firm as they spread your legs, gently but with purpose, pulling you closer to him. his lips left your neck to trace down to your collarbone, each kiss a promise, each touch a slow unraveling of control. his breath hitched as he touched you where you needed him most, slipping past the fabric of your panties. you gasped, your body instinctively tensing, but he didn’t stop, didn’t falter. he was careful, tentative even, but the heat in his touch made it clear he wanted this, wanted you, desperately.

then you turned and walked toward it—slow, steps shaky—and sat at the edge.

he followed, kneeling in front of you, his fingers pulling off your heels, one by one, then slowly, reverently dragging his hands up your calves.

“your first time?” he asked, voice softer now. darker. laced with something almost like awe.

you nodded.

“i’ll be gentle,” he said, kissing your inner thigh. “at first.”

he lifted your dress slowly, exposing lace panties soaked through from everything he’d said, everything he’d done. he groaned low when he saw the mess between your thighs.

“look at that,” he muttered. “my pretty wife. dripping for me.”

you gasped as he licked a stripe over the lace, tongue hot and wet and slow. he took his time—kissing, teasing, tasting you through the fabric until you were panting, hips grinding against his mouth without shame.

“taehyun—please—”

“you’re beautiful,” he whispered, his voice hushed but intense. “so perfect.”

“let me in,” he whispered, his voice almost breaking, as if he was asking for permission, even though he had already claimed you.

“lie back.”

you obeyed.

he climbed over you, dragging the dress up and over your head until you were bare beneath him—your chest rising with every breath, your skin flushed.

he kissed your collarbones, your neck, your breasts—fingers tweaking your nipples, mouth trailing lower. then he was lining himself up, one hand gripping your hip as he kissed you again, deep and dizzying.

“relax,” he whispered against your lips. “i’ve got you.”

you nodded, the tension in your body thick as he carefully, slowly, pressed into you, watching your face the whole time. it hurt at first — the stretch, the unfamiliarity — but he didn’t rush. every movement was deliberate, tender, as if he were trying to make it as gentle as possible, as if he feared breaking you in the process.

your back arched at the stretch, tears welling up in your eyes from the fullness, the ache. he kissed them away.

“fuck,” he muttered. “you’re so fucking tight. like you were made for me.”

your breath hitched, and you held onto him, your hands gripping his shoulders as he pushed deeper, his lips finding yours once more. his kiss was hard, almost desperate, like he couldn’t get enough of you. his pace was slow, at first, allowing you to adjust, but the need in his body was impossible to ignore.

“you feel so good, baby. taking me so well. fuck—i can feel you squeezing me.”

but it didn’t stay soft for long.

because once you got used to him—once the sting faded and the pleasure bloomed—taehyun changed.

“this what you needed?” he growled, pounding into you harder, “a reminder that you're married? that you belong to me?”

he gripped your wrists and pinned them above your head, fucking into you harder, deeper. his jaw clenched as he watched you fall apart beneath him.

“mine,” he growled. “you belong to me. this pussy’s mine. not heesung’s. not anyone’s.”

“taehyun—god—”

“say it.”

“yours,” you moaned, breathless. “i’m yours.”

“that’s right,” he hissed. “and i’m gonna fuck you like it.”

he flipped you over before you could think—hands on your hips as he thrust into you from behind, one hand fisting your hair, the other slapping your ass hard enough to leave a mark.

“you like this?” he said, breath hot against your neck. “like getting fucked like a wife should?”

you couldn’t answer—you were too far gone.

he pulled you up against his chest, your back flush to him as he kept fucking into you. his hand moved to your clit, rubbing tight, fast circles until you were shaking again, sobbing from the pleasure.

“you’re gonna come again,” he said, voice rough. “you’re gonna come all over my cock while i fill you up.”

and you did.

your whole body convulsed, a scream torn from your throat as he groaned behind you, emptying inside you with a final, brutal thrust.

he didn’t pull out.

instead, he dragged you back into bed, still inside you, kissing your shoulder, your jaw, your lips.

“again,” he whispered. “we’re not done.”

you were still trembling when he kissed the sweat from your temple, when he pressed his chest against your back and held your hips tightly against his.

he hadn’t pulled out.

you could still feel him inside you—thick and hot and pulsing. the room smelled like sex and perfume and expensive cologne. your skin was burning everywhere he touched you. everywhere he kissed.

taehyun’s hand slid from your hip to your waist, then up to your throat. not squeezing—just resting there. possessive. grounding.

his voice was low, rough against your ear.

“feel that?” he murmured. “still so fucking hard inside you.”

you whimpered, thighs twitching. he groaned in response, hips rolling slowly, deliberately, grinding deeper.

“fuck—taehyun…”

“don’t say his name,” he snapped. “you moan mine. no one else’s.”

his hand tightened just a little around your throat, enough to make your eyes flutter closed, to make your breath catch.

“say it,” he demanded.

“…taehyun.”

“again.”

“taehyun—fuck—please…”

he pulled out then, and you almost cried from the sudden emptiness. but he wasn’t done. not even close.

“on your stomach,” he said.

your limbs obeyed before your brain could catch up—body pliant, aching, desperate.

he spread your legs with his knee, dragged your hips up, and slid back into you with a groan so guttural it echoed through the room. your fists clutched the sheets, knuckles white, back arching at the angle.

this time, he didn’t hold back.

his thrusts were deep, punishing, endless. the bed creaked beneath the force of him. his name spilled from your mouth like a prayer, like a cry for help. but he wasn’t stopping. he wanted to hear it.

he needed to ruin you.

his hand tangled in your hair again, yanking you up until your back hit his chest.

“you think anyone else could fuck you like this?” he hissed. “you think he could make you feel this full? this fucking owned?”

your moan was broken, desperate. “no—taehyun—fuck—only you—”

he bent you forward again, pressing your face into the sheets, his hand gripping your ass as he pounded into you harder, messier.

“that’s right. you belong to me.”

“taehyun—i’m gonna—i’m—”

“come for me. now.”

you shattered beneath him, legs trembling violently as he fucked you through it, not relenting, not even slowing.

“god, baby,” he groaned, losing rhythm, “you’re fucking milking my cock.”

he came deep, with a grunt that sounded more like a growl, his hips still grinding into you, desperate to push every drop inside.

neither of you moved for a long time.

his body collapsed over yours—heavy, solid, grounding. your face was buried in the sheets, lungs barely able to keep up, body boneless beneath his weight.

then, slowly, he pulled out.

you gasped softly at the mess that followed, at the mix of fluids dripping between your thighs, down to your trembling legs. he watched it happen with dark, hungry eyes.

“fuck,” he muttered, thumb dragging through the mess before spreading it back into you. “look at this. took all of me like such a good fucking girl.”

you whimpered, shivering.

taehyun leaned down, kissing your shoulder, your spine, your lower back. then he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you with him, both of you sinking into the sheets, tangled together.

he didn’t speak for a while. neither did you.

then, so quietly you almost didn’t hear it:

“don’t ever look at him like that again.”

his voice was low. dangerous.

your eyes fluttered closed, your fingers curling into his chest.

“i won’t,” you whispered.

he kissed your forehead.

“good,” he said. “because you’re mine. and i’m not letting you forget it.”

the room was dim, the soft golden light from the hallway spilling through the cracked bedroom door. taehyun hadn’t let go of you. not since the moment you both collapsed into each other, skin against skin, breaths uneven, hearts pounding too loud for either of you to ignore. the air was still heavy with the scent of last night—sweat, sex, his cologne lingering on your skin. your legs ached. your throat felt raw. but it was a quiet ache. a sore you didn’t mind.

but now, the high was gone, replaced by something raw and heavy.

his fingers traced idle shapes along the curve of your bare spine, but his eyes were distant. not cold — not like before — but unreadable. he wasn’t looking at you. he stared at the ceiling, his chest still rising and falling beneath yours.

you shifted slightly in his arms, pulling the sheets tighter around your body. your voice was quiet when you spoke.

"i know you don’t love me." you felt his breath catch. his hand stopped moving. "you never have."

taehyun didn’t answer at first. the silence made your throat close up. maybe you shouldn't have said it. maybe it was better when everything was unspoken — easier to pretend.

"you’re right," he said finally, his voice low, flat. "i didn’t."

you nodded, heart sinking, even though you told yourself you were prepared for that truth.

"but i loved you," you whispered, eyes stinging.

that made him look at you.

not glance. not flick his gaze and move on.

he turned his head, slowly, and looked at you like he had never seen you before. his eyes searched yours — not just your face, not your lips or your lashes or the outline of your cheek — but you. like he was trying to piece together something he hadn’t noticed until now.

"you what?" he asked, almost breathless.

"i loved you," you repeated. the words burned on your tongue, bitter and hot and trembling. "quietly. without reason. without hope. even when you wouldn’t look at me. even when you kept me at arm’s length for a year. i still—" you paused, swallowing hard. "i don’t know when it started. maybe it was the way you always pulled my chair out at those family dinners. or the way you’d always place your hand on the small of my back when we had to play pretend in front of everyone. it was nothing. always nothing. but it meant something to me."

taehyun sat up slowly, the sheets slipping down his bare chest. he looked like he wanted to say something, but nothing came. he was frozen, and that silence felt worse than any rejection.

you smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes. "it’s okay. you don’t have to say anything. i just… i needed you to know. even if it changes nothing."

"stop," he said suddenly. his voice cracked.

you blinked. "...what?"

"don’t say it meant nothing," he said, turning to face you completely. there was a tension in his jaw, his hands clenched in the sheets like he didn’t know where else to put them. "don’t say that."

you stared at him, lips parting, but he beat you to it.

"i saw you tonight," he said, his voice lower, steadier now. "with him. laughing like that. smiling like it didn’t hurt. like you weren’t trying to survive this fucking arrangement. and for the first time, i hated myself for not trying harder. for not seeing you sooner. i thought i could stay distant. keep it clean. keep it safe. but then—"

he exhaled harshly, running a hand through his hair.

"then you looked at me like you didn’t need me anymore."

your heart thudded in your chest.

"so maybe i didn’t love you then," he said, his voice quiet again. "but don’t tell me it meant nothing. because right now, i think it’s starting to mean everything."

you stared at him, breath caught in your throat, chest tight with the ache of all the things unsaid between you.

slowly, carefully, you leaned forward, pressing your forehead against his.

"then let it mean something," you whispered.

taehyun closed his eyes. and for the first time — truly, deeply — he held you like he didn’t want to let you go.

he opened his eyes a little at the time. he stared a moment longer—at your lips, your eyes, the faint tremble still in your voice. then, for the first time, he leaned in without hesitation. without obligation.

his kiss was soft. warm. nothing like last night.

when he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours.

“i’ll draw a bath for you,” he said. “stay in bed.”

you blinked. “you…?”

“you can’t walk properly,” he added, and this time, a tiny smirk curved at the corner of his mouth. “my fault.”

you flushed. “taehyun—”

“don’t argue,” he said, sitting up. the sheets slid down his bare torso, revealing the lines you’d traced with your fingers just hours ago. “you married me. you’re mine. that means i take care of you now.”

you stayed quiet as he got out of bed, the tenderness in his tone still ringing in your ears.

you’re mine.

i take care of you now.

but for the first time, you felt it in the way he walked toward the bathroom. in the way he turned on the water. in the way he reached for a towel and hung it over the warmer. in the way he came back to you with a robe in hand and helped you into it without asking.

he wasn’t warm. not exactly. but he was no longer cold.

he was changing.

and god help you—so were you.

[cbeargyu]

prophecy ﹢﹑ ⊹ ﹒ [smut]

summary: wow, you love your dedicated, sweet husband — a man who grills like a god, folds laundry like a pro, and kisses you like he’s still trying to win you over. but once upon a time? he was your worst enemy. sharp words, rolled eyes, and a rivalry that made high school unbearable… until one prophecy, one kiss, and one chaotic love story changed everything.

pairing: husband!taehyun x fem!reader

genre: enemies to lovers, slow burn, fluff, smut, domestic/family life, hint of magical realism.

warnings: explicit sexual content (18+), strong language, mentions of pregnancy and parenthood, soft angst, suggestive humor, implied prophecy/magic, fluff overload.

wc: 3555

notes: hi everyone! i’ve been having a lot of recurring thoughts about dad!tae lately 👀 i truly believe that devoted husband, multitasking good father taehyun is a headcanon, and i love himmm. i hope you enjoy the story! 💛

PRESENT.

you and the girls are settled in deep garden chairs overlooking the lake, legs tucked under light blankets, iced teas sweating in your hands. it’s one of those rare, golden moments — where the breeze is gentle, the laughter is low, and the chaos feels like home.

taehyun is at the barbecue, of course, wearing that stupidly tight apron that says “dad’s the #1 bbq king”, flipping ribs like a damn pro, forearms glistening in the sun, jaw flexing as he tastes marinade off his thumb. beomgyu stands beside him, supposedly helping, though he’s clearly more interested in sneaking bites than actually grilling.

a few meters away, yeonjun is on the grass with seori and dawon, arms wide, pretending to be a dinosaur while the kids scream with laughter. soobin is up on the patio, changing baby yoonjae with the seasoned skill of a dad of two, and huening kai just pulled into the driveway, arms full of snacks and extra diapers — ever the reliable uncle.

you glance at your kids: seori and seojeong, your five-year-old twins, are building a rock castle near the water, arguing over who’s king; little jeongwoo is chewing on a toy car in chaemin’s lap. nuri, soobin and naara’s daughter, is sharing bubbles with chaeyoung, yeonjun’s two-year-old girl. it’s loud, messy, perfect. the rest of the guys are setting up the picnic tables as their wives laugh softly nearby, glowing in the late afternoon sun.

you look at the same girls who were with you the night everything changed — outside that witch’s shop, giggling and skeptical.

“sometimes I still can’t believe we’re all moms now,” naara sighs.

“well,” Hana laughs, “not all. kai and i are still happily child-free, thank you very much.”

“but not forever, right?” jiyoon teases, hand resting on her pregnant belly, six months along.

“maybe. eventually,” Hana shrugs. “when we’re not still pretending we’re twenties”

everyone laughs.

“i mean,” chaemin grins, “y/n was the first. married first. kids first. like the prophecy said.”

you roll your eyes, but your stomach still flips. that prophecy. that stupid night. that damn witch. and yet — here you are. married to taehyun. three kids. just like she said.

you glance at him now, just as he licks a bit of sauce off his finger, slow and deliberate, his eyes locked on yours from across the garden.

the fucker knows exactly what he’s doing.

you swallow hard.

“what?” he smirks, “you want a taste, baby?”

you arch a brow, arms crossed. “i’m good. i already had you for breakfast.”

he chokes on a laugh, turning back to the grill, but not before tossing a wink over his shoulder. “round two later. when the kids are asleep.”

you roll your eyes, heart fluttering anyway.

you sit down on the edge of the porch, letting the sun kiss your face.

and just like that, the memory hits.

FLASHBACK.

you remember it vividly — that summer night years ago, stumbling out of karaoke with your friends, still giggling about hana’s terrible high notes and the way naara kept butchering the lyrics. the street was buzzing, the kind of neon-washed chaos that made everything feel a little magical.

then you saw it.

that crooked little alleyway lit by flickering candles, lined with strange shops selling crystals, talismans, jars of dried things you didn’t want to identify. and right at the center — the one with the purple curtains and the wooden sign that read “destiny & darkness: magic for the brave.”

“let’s go,” chaemin had dared, already pulling you by the hand.

the woman inside looked like she’d stepped out of a fairytale — silver hair, too many rings, eyes that felt like they could see through timelines. she said she could read your futures together. and laughing, tipsy, you all agreed.

one by one, she gave vague clues to the others. but when it was your turn, she looked serious.

“you,” she murmured, taking your hand, “will be the first. first to marry. first to bear life. your fire matches his.”

you blinked. “his?”

“the boy with the sharp tongue and the hurt behind his eyes. he hides desire with cruelty. but he is yours. three children. you’ll know him when the truth hits.”

the others were already laughing. “taehyun?” naara joked, “no way. he called y/n ugly last week.”

“what the actual fuc—”

“language,” the woman snapped. “you’ll be a mother.”

you’d scoffed. you hated that cocky, smug, insufferable basketball player.

you hadn't spoken to him since that day. since he'd leaned in with that cocky smirk, expecting you'd melt like the rest of them, and when you didn’t, when you raised a brow and told him to try harder, he blinked—just once—and spat out:

“tch. you’re prettier from far away.”

you’d laughed in his face, the most venomous, biting laugh you could muster. the kind that echoed in his ears long after you walked away.

so no, you hadn't spoken since.

not until now.

it seemed like he was determined to get close to you at any cost. the first move came when he used a flimsy excuse to return your chemistry notebook, which you had purposely left on your desk. you had planned to grab it in the morning, knowing you’d need it for class first thing.

the hallway smelled like cheap disinfectant and teenage sweat. nothing unusual. but something in the air felt different. subtle. tense.

ever since that night at the karaoke bar, since the damn witch, your friends looked at you like you had property of kang taehyun tattooed across your forehead. and worse—he looked at you the same way.

now he watched you like he'd figured something out. like he knew a secret you didn’t.

you hated it.

you hated him for making you doubt everything.

you were at your locker, pulling out your books, when his voice landed behind you.

“you left this in chemistry.”

you turned. And there he was. the bastard. holding your notebook like it was breakable.

“thanks,” you muttered, flat, avoiding his gaze.

“you shouldn’t be more honest?”

your head snapped up. you met his eyes. the loosened tie, the half-buttoned shirt, that stupid unruly hair falling into his lashes. goddamn him.

“oh, thank you so much, kang taehyun,” you drawled. “you’ve saved me from failing chemistry. however can i repay you?”

he smiled.

not like before. not like the boy who laughed at everything. this one was softer. quieter. more dangerous.

“i accept offerings in snacks. or praise. preferably both. but i’ll settle for you not pretending you hate me.” the second act occurred a week later, it was after practice, a late afternoon when the gym smelled like sweat and wood polish and the sky outside was melting into peach and violet. you were there to pick up your friend’s forgotten phone, not to run into him.

but of course, there he was. shirt half off, hair damp, alone. the others had left. he must’ve stayed behind to shoot.

you told yourself to ignore him. walk in, grab the phone, leave. simple. clean. civil.

except your damn eyes betrayed you.

you glanced.

and he caught it.

his smirk was lazy as he wiped the sweat from his jaw with his shirt. “you stalking me now?”

you rolled your eyes. “yeah. i came here just to bask in your body odor.”

he chuckled low, dribbling the ball lazily as he looked at you through his lashes. "still got that sharp mouth, huh?”

you stepped closer to the bleachers. “still got that inflated ego, huh?”

silence stretched between you, not awkward, but loaded. his dribble slowed.

then he said, quieter than you expected, “what i said that day… was a dick move.”

you blinked. his tone didn’t match the taehyun you knew — didn’t drip with arrogance, or sarcasm. it was raw, almost shy.

“…yeah,” you muttered, folding your arms. “it was.”

“i thought being an asshole was easier than—”

he stopped himself. his fingers tightened around the ball. you waited.

“than what?” you pushed, stepping off the last bleacher.

his eyes flicked up to meet yours, dark and unreadable. “than actually wanting to get to know you.”

that caught you off guard. completely. and you hated that it did. hated the way your chest fluttered, hated the way his voice didn’t sound rehearsed or smooth, just… honest.

“why would you want that?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.

he took a slow step forward. “because you didn’t fall for my shit. That pissed me off. and then it interested me. and now… i don’t know. you live in my head.”

you snorted. “that’s sad.”

“i know,” he said, smiling.

you should’ve left then. should’ve walked away like you had last time.

but you didn’t.

instead, you stood there in the low light of the empty gym, heart racing, while he bounced the ball once, then let it roll.

“wanna shoot?” he asked, nodding toward the hoop.

“…i suck.”

“i’ll teach you.”

you hesitated.

then stepped onto the court.

then, the climax of the third act also arrived.

it was the end of english class when they called for the dictionaries to be returned. the library was quiet, the usual buzz of chatter replaced by the soft shuffle of pages and the sound of students neatly lining up their books. you walked over to the shelves, pulling the heavy dictionary from your bag, the weight of it making your fingers brush against the spines of other books. you weren’t paying attention to anything in particular—until you felt him.

taehyun appeared beside you, too close for comfort. his usual smirk was missing, replaced by something else, something quieter. he didn’t say anything at first, just watched as you placed the book on the shelf. the air between you felt heavier, charged. his presence was overwhelming, the scent of his cologne mixing with the musty smell of old pages.

“you know,” he said, his voice low and just for you, “i’m starting to think you really do enjoy ignoring me.”

you didn’t look at him, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. but then, his hand brushed lightly against yours, a casual touch that sent an unexpected jolt of warmth through your body. you froze, feeling the pull between you both, the moment hanging in the balance. you didn’t want to acknowledge it, but you couldn’t ignore it either.

before you could move away, he stepped closer, his chest almost touching your back. his breath fanned across the nape of your neck as his lips grazed the shell of your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

“you know what i’ve been thinking?” his voice was almost a whisper now, the words teasing and close enough to make you tense. “maybe you don’t hate me after all.”

you swallowed, the tension thick in the air, and tried to step back, but his hand moved, resting just above your waist, guiding you back towards him. you could feel the heat of his body, the press of his chest against your back, and the way his lips hovered near your skin.

and then, as if it had all been building up in silence, his lips touched the side of your neck, a fleeting, hot kiss that made your heart race. he pulled back quickly, just enough to look at you, his expression unreadable.

"guess that answers my question," he murmured, his voice rough with amusement.

your breath caught in your throat. for a moment, it was as if time stopped. his teasing smile was back, but there was something in his eyes—something deeper. you were too close. everything was too close.

you turned to face him, your back now against the bookshelf, heart thudding in your chest. he was watching you—waiting, maybe even testing you. and maybe you should’ve walked away. maybe you should’ve said something scathing and left him there with his smug little smirk and sinful mouth.

but you didn’t.

instead, you tilted your chin, eyes locked on his.

“i think i have my answer too,” you whispered.

and then you kissed him.

you were the one who did it. you reached up, grabbed a fistful of his collar and dragged him down to you, your lips crashing into his with more hunger than you'd admit to anyone. your fingers curled into the soft fabric behind his neck, anchoring yourself, like you’d waited too long and couldn't wait any longer.

for a second, taehyun didn’t move. he froze, like his brain had short-circuited. then his hands found your waist—strong, warm, his—and he kissed you back like he’d been holding himself back for years. his mouth moved over yours, desperate and deep, and he pulled you against him until there wasn’t a breath of space left between your bodies. the bookshelf behind you rattled quietly as you leaned into it, not caring if the world burned around you.

and then it was over.

just like that.

you both pulled apart, lips tingling, breathing fast, eyes wide. no words. no promises. just that look—like you both knew something irreversible had just happened.

everything after that moved fast.

you started dating. somewhere between library makeouts and late-night texts that lasted until sunrise, the bickering faded and the heat stayed. then came the wedding. then came the kids. now there were sticky fingers on glass doors and toys buried in the garden, soft lullabies and sleepless nights, the scent of barbecues and baby powder and love that felt like home.

you never questioned your feelings. you loved your husband—loved him—with every bone in your body. but remembering how it all started… in the shadows of dusty shelves, hearts racing, breath stolen between whispers…

it was strange.

strange—but the kind of strange that makes a love story unforgettable.

PRESENT.

funny how things turn out. you started off hating each other—really hating each other. petty insults, eye rolls, tension so thick you could cut it with a knife. and now? now you were married, sharing a mortgage, three beautiful kids, and a calendar full of playdates and parent-teacher meetings. Ironic, isn’t it? how the boy who once called you annoying is now the man who kisses your stretch marks and whispers “thank you” after every bedtime story.

the house is finally quiet. the lake outside hums instead of roars, and the soft creak of floorboards is the only sound accompanying the anxious thump in your chest.

the kids are out cold. seori curled around her unicorn plushie. seojeong half-off the bed like always. jeongwoo snuggled in a sleepy little knot in his portable crib. all your babies, safe and dreaming.

and now… your husband.

taehyun’s in the kitchen, shirtless except for that old, stretched-out tee of yours that reads “bad decisions make good stories”. his hair’s a mess. his eyes shine in the low kitchen light, and that goddamn smile’s already waiting for you.

“you should be sleeping, babe,” he murmurs, still drying a plate with a towel like he has all the time in the world.

you lean against the doorway, arms crossed. “can’t sleep. too wired. maybe it’s the leftover sugar from the s’mores.”

“or maybe it’s me.”

you shoot him a look, but he’s already tossing the towel aside, walking toward you like gravity’s pulling him.

“you looked so hot today,” he says into your neck, his voice a hush meant just for you, “watching me grill, biting your lip like that… i swear, i could feel your eyes burning through my damn apron.”

“you did it on purpose,” you mutter, your grin impossible to hold back as his hands slide around your waist.

“of course i did. i always do it on purpose.”

“you’re impossible.”

“and you’re still mine.”

he kisses you. slow at first, like he’s reminding you how it started — that ridiculous flirtation, that first real kiss in the back of the library after weeks of pushing each other’s buttons, the kind of kiss that changed everything. like he still has something to prove.

“taehyun...”

“you think i don’t still get hard every time you say my name like that?” he whispers against your mouth. “you think i forgot how to worship you just because you made me a father?”

your knees go weak. the fire in your chest spreads, low and warm and relentless.

“bedroom. now,” you say, breathless.

taehyun’s grin is all cocky pride and boyish hunger. “god, i love when you get bossy.”

“and i love when you shut up and fuck me.”

he chuckles, deep and low, then lifts you like it’s nothing, carrying you through the house without breaking the kiss. your legs wrap around him, fingers buried in his hair. and even after all this time, even after the kids and the chaos and the late-night feedings, that fire — the one the witch predicted — still burns.

and you have no intention of putting it out.

he kicks the door shut with his foot, never taking his mouth off yours. the room’s dim, the only light coming from the sliver of moon sneaking through the curtains, painting his skin silver. you gasp when your back hits the mattress, the cool sheets a sharp contrast to the heat rolling off his body.

taehyun hovers over you, eyes dark, chest rising and falling. he looks at you like he’s starving — and you know it’s not just lust. it’s you.

“god, look at you,” he mutters, dragging his fingers up your thigh, slow and reverent. “how the hell did I get this lucky?”

you laugh, breathless. “maybe it was the witch.”

he smirks, teeth flashing. “remind me to send her a fruit basket.”

you yank him down by the collar of your shirt now stretched over his torso. “just remind me why i married you.”

taehyun’s mouth crashes into yours, hot and needy, his kiss all tongue and teeth and promise. his hands are everywhere — cupping your breasts through your shirt, sliding under the hem to feel skin, gripping your hips like he wants to memorize the shape of you.

“you drive me insane,” he breathes into your neck, sucking a mark just beneath your jaw. “you’ve always driven me insane.”

“good,” you whisper, arching into him, your fingers slipping under his waistband. “then it’s mutual.”

clothes are tossed blindly — your shorts hit the lamp, his boxers land half on the nightstand — until it’s just skin against skin. his body presses into yours like he belongs there, like you were carved to fit together. and in a way, maybe you were.

he sinks between your legs, groaning low when he feels how ready you are for him. but he doesn’t rush. no, taehyun’s never rushed you — he savors, teases, worships.

“you think i don’t still fantasize about that first kiss in the library?” he murmurs against your breast, kissing it softly before dragging his tongue in slow circles. “you think i don’t remember the exact sound you made when you grabbed me?”

you whimper, fingers tugging at his hair.

“say it,” he demands, voice thick. “tell me you remember too.”

“i do,” you gasp. “i remember everything.”

his mouth finds yours again, and this time when he pushes inside you, it's slow but deep — a stretch you still crave, even now. your bodies find a rhythm that’s old and new at once, urgent but familiar, desperate but safe.

and when you come, clinging to him, moaning his name like it’s a prayer — he follows right after, burying his face in your neck, whispering “mine” over and over like a sacred chant.

after, you lie there tangled in sheets and sweat and love.

the sun barely begins to filter through the curtains when the soft cries of Jeongwoo echo through the baby monitor. you groan, stretching beneath the still-warm sheets, and feel taehyun shift beside you, arm instinctively reaching for your waist.

“your turn,” you mumble, eyes still closed.

he chuckles sleepily. “we both know i’m going either way.”

you hear him pad out of the room a moment later, humming something low and sweet as he picks up your son. soon, seori’s giggles join the morning chaos, followed by seojeong’s sleepy demands for cereal now. the house fills with life again.

you toss on a robe and follow the noise to the kitchen, where taehyun stands in that same ridiculous t-shirt, hair sticking up in all directions, a baby on one hip and a juice box in his mouth like a cigarette.

he sees you, grins.

and right there, watching your husband juggle toddlers and toast like a pro, your heart aches — in that full, quiet, overwhelming kind of way.

the house stirs quickly after that.

naara appears first, hair a mess, nuri clinging to her leg like a koala. soobin trails behind, already bouncing baby yoonjae in his arms. yeonjun comes in with chaemin, both still in pajamas, laughing about something seori said in her sleep. hana yawns dramatically as she pours herself coffee, and kai steals a pancake right off the skillet with zero shame.

the kitchen turns into controlled chaos—tiny feet pattering on hardwood, spoons clinking, someone yelling about missing socks, someone else cleaning spilled juice. taehyun bumps your hip with his as he flips another pancake, and you pretend to be annoyed, but he knows better.

outside, the lake glimmers in the morning light. another sunny day. another memory in the making.

[citrusxbees]

Spoiled Rotten

You're heavily pregnant when it hits you just how outrageously spoiled sylus' daughter is going to be

sylus x pregnant reader ⟡ fluff ⟡ 1.3k words

You’re 8 months pregnant with Sylus’ child, and it is no easy feat. But what did you expect? The man is huge. His towering figure and sharp features exude dominance and power, though his soul held nothing of the sort. At least not with you. 

You're lying on the egregiously expensive leather couch, hand rested on the underside of your belly. You can’t do much these days, not that you’re incapable; you’re just too tired. You swear this baby is sucking all the energy out of you. 

Sylus has been away on some type of “business trip” for the last week. He has texted you at least 4 times a day, constantly checking on your comfort. He even orders the chef to make you specific foods you mention in passing from halfway across the world. 

Luke and Kieran (surprisingly) aren’t here. They had tagged along on the so-called business trip. You guess that whatever business Sylus was doing was more serious than he let on. He spared the details, not wanting to alarm you. These past months, the twins have been your shadows, ensuring your safety and comfort everywhere you went.  

Sylus dreaded leaving you. You had become more clingy since getting pregnant; just his scent would bring you comfort. You had no shame about it either, embracing him in the doorway when he returned home, nuzzling his chest to breathe in his scent as deeply as humanly possible. Sylus loved it, petting your hair and saying, “I missed you too, sweetie.” You often found yourself burying your nose into his pillow while he was away. 

Unfortunately, Sylus had to be away even more often now. With the impending birth of his daughter, he wanted to settle things in the N109 quickly. He needed to make sure his daughter would grow in a safe, stable environment. She would never question her dad's return home or worry if he was injured. 

You sit up on the couch, rubbing your lower back. God, your back hurts. Just as you were about to grab your phone and text Sylus, you heard the door leading to the garage open. Sylus is finally home. You breathe out a sigh of relief. You slowly lift yourself from the plush couch, eager to greet your husband. You make it not even two steps when the twins come rushing into the living room 

Luke and Kieran, clad in their black uniforms and crow masks, are carrying bags. Shopping bags. Lots of shopping bags. Easily six massive bags hooked onto each arm, with a few of Sylus’ men trailing behind them with even more. “Bosslady!” Luke said excitedly, dropping an armful of bags onto the floor. “We missed you!” Kieran nodded at his brother’s words, “Yeah, and Bossman missed you too. He wouldn’t shut up about it.”

You nodded, staring at the mountain of shopping bags that was now invading your living room. “Yeah… I missed you guys too,” you said, taking a step towards the bags. They're all from baby stores, luxury children's boutiques, maternity wear stores, you name it. “Where’s Sylus?” you ask, wanting to speak to the true perpetrator. 

As soon as you mention his name, in he walks, looking as effortlessly gorgeous as usual. For a split second, the idea of dragging him to your bed consumes your thoughts, but you swiftly suppress it. Then you notice his hands. He has more bags. He drops them the moment he sets his eyes on you. 

He takes two long strides towards you. “Sweetie,” he says, pulling you into his chest. “I missed you so, so much.” You pull back and look up into his eyes. His hands quickly come up to cup your cheeks, thumbs brushing your cheekbones. “We missed you too,” you say, looking down at your swollen belly. He leans down to kiss you, chaste and gentle, but you do the unthinkable. You deny him.

You push against his chest and take a step back. He drops his hands to his side in shock. Did you really just deny him the otherworldly pleasure of kissing his wife? He can’t remember the last time you did that, if ever. What could he have done wrong?

You stare directly into his wide, shocked eyes, crossing your arms. “Sylus,” you say, long and drawn out, “please enlighten me as to why there are, like, a hundred shopping bags in our living room.” You gesture to the room. 

He chuckles and adjusts his watch. “I just thought I would get a few things for you and the baby, kitten,” he says nonchalantly, stepping toward you again and settling his arm around your waist, dropping his head towards your ear. “As an apology for being away so long,” he whispers.

“Sylus,” you grab at his arm, “we do not need all this. We already have a fully stocked nursery.” 

“So?”

“So? So we don’t need all this unnecessary stuff, Sylus!”

“Don’t you want our baby to have the best?” 

“Yes, but this is too much! She’s going to be spoiled!” 

“What’s wrong with that?” he asks, cocking his head to the side like a curious cat. 

It hits you then. You had never really thought about it before. This baby was going to be spoiled, and her father saw absolutely nothing wrong with it. What did you expect from the man that had the entire N109 zone shaking in their boots?

Luke, Kieran, and the rest of Sylus’ men have slowly filed out of the room, leaving you and Sylus alone with the mountain of shopping bags. 

You peel his arm off your body, grabbing the first tissue paper-filled shopping bag that you see. You hold it up towards Sylus and pull out the contents. “See? Why does our baby need a…” you actually take a good look at what’s in your hand: “A Swarovski crystal-encrusted onesie! Really, Sylus?” You give him a deadpan look and drop the onesie back into the bag. 

 “It’s cute, kitten. Do I need another reason?” He crosses his arms and shrugs his shoulders, as casual as ever. 

You pick up another bag. “A-and this, a Louboutin baby shoe? She won’t even be able to walk.” 

“Fashion doesn’t always mean practicality, sweetie.” 

“A pure silk blanket? That's not even useful.” 

“It matches our robes.”

“Four different types of breast pumps? These are like $400 each.” 

“I want to make sure you find what’s best for you.”

“Okay, that’s actually very sweet. Thank you, honey.” You sigh, defeated. Your husband practically worships the ground that you walk on. You can’t even begin to imagine the lengths that he would go to for your children.

He slinks back over to you, placing one hand on your belly and the other around your back to pull you close. You succumb to his embrace, unable to resist your husband's affections any longer. You drop your head onto his chest, wrapping your arms around him. “Our daughter is going to be spoiled, isn’t she?” you ask. “Yes,” he answers, almost too quickly. “There’s nothing I can do about it, is there?” he sighs into your hair. “No, my love, no, there is not.” 

You look up at him, getting on your tippy toes, urging him to lean closer. He leans down, your lips inch closer to his, nearly touching. “Just try not to spoil her rotten. Okay, Sy?” His breath fans over your nose.

 “With a mother like you?” he says, voice dripping with devotion. “She could never be rotten.” You smile at him.

Finally, after a whole week of being deprived of him, you kiss your husband. It was long, and gentle, and perfect.

Of course your daughter is going to be spoiled. You suppose you are spoiled too.  

[whenstarsundress-deactivated202]

1000 followers celebration <3 - request 3/10

sylus knelt in front of you, hands trembling slightly as he held the ring box open. he had rehearsed it. the whole thing. three times. precise words. calm tone. just like a mission.

but when he looked up at you—really looked—everything unraveled.

“i…” he began, then swallowed hard. “i thought i could say it all. clean. simple. but…”

his voice broke. your breath caught as he looked down, blinking fast, then back up at you. his eyes were soaked in emotion, shining too much.

“i never planned on needing someone,” he whispered. “and then you came along. and now i—” his jaw clenched. “i can’t do anything without thinking of you.”

you dropped to your knees in front of him, hands cupping his face.

“i love you so much it scares me,” he choked, finally cracking. “i want to spend every day proving i’m good enough for you.” he opened the box with shaking fingers. “will you marry me?”

you nodded, crying, saying yes yes yes, and he exhaled, forehead dropping to yours in relief, a shaky, silent kiss pressing against your lips. he didn’t say much else. but when he slipped the ring on your finger, his hand wouldn’t stop shaking, and his heart had never beat louder.

[fuzings]

By the time Sylus gets home, you’ve been asleep for enough time to feel well rested.

He goes on about his usual routine: disarming himself, checking that everything is running smoothly, having a steaming shower. If he notices that you’ve been staring at him the whole time he’s been coming and going in and out the room, he doesn’t say anything.

Maybe he’s not even aware that you’re awake. After all, Sylus doesn’t like disturbing you, especially not when you’re sleeping. Or maybe he just likes to feel your eyes on him — he’s mentioned it before. And so, you scan his every move, the way his muscles ripple under the satin robe he likes to wear after showering, and how he flexes as he throws on his pajamas.

You stare at him for so long that you’ve started to drift off again. Perhaps you weren’t entirely awake and your longing for Sylus’ presence made you conjure him up, almost like a genie had granted you a wish; and your wish would always, always be him.

You feel his lips press to your forehead, his slender fingers softly caressing your cheek before he sits on the bed, the expensive mattress barely dipping under his weight, “Get some rest, sweetie.”

Sylus lies down next to you and now it’s your turn to feel his eyes on you, while he traces your features softly with the tip of his finger, as if he intends to commit you to memory in that precise moment.

For a brief second, you’re tempted to start one of your bantering moments, those when you both pretend you’re not equally crazy about the other even though you spend the entire day longing for him. Even in your busiest moments, your brain still supplies you with brief moments of intense yearning, like your souls are trying to constantly reach for each other.

You both end up falling asleep, but before the sun rises, you wake up again. This time, Sylus’ back is facing you. So strong, yet so soft. Your dragon, in all his glory. So vulnerable, with all his scars, lying there next to you.

Instinctively, you raise your hand, the unbearable need to touch him taking over you. And yet, you stop yourself, fingers tingling as your hand hangs mid-air. Sylus barely shuffles and you lower your hand softly, your eyes burning holes on his pale skin, a confession in the tip of your tongue.

Still, you hold back. You can just stare at his back the whole day. At least until you’re courageous enough to mutter the three words that have been stuck in your throat for so long.

[unluckywisher]

How they sleep:

Zayne: On his side, one arm draped over you. Doesn't move much, but his head might end up resting against your chest by 'pure chance'. If he has nightmares, he holds you a little tighter.

Xavier: Doesn't make noise or move at all. Seems dead except for his moving chest. This isn't a problem unless he falls asleep on top of you, crushing you. Immovable object.

Rafayel: Moves around quite a bit, and if he wakes up, he always complains about how 1. You're hogging the blanket and 2. You're not cuddling him. (He literally pushed away the blanket and you himself)

Sylus: While Xavier might crush you by accident, this man does it on purpose. Fully covering your body with his, face neatly tucked against your neck. He snores constantly but softly.

Caleb: Spooning, iron grip version. You're not going anywhere while he's out. Sometimes he talks in his sleep. Your name, mostly. He doesn't tend to snore, but when he does, it's one singular loud as hell snore.

[17chuuya-deactivated20251015]

Rafayel's toddler son is a total mama's boy, despite looking just like his father.

"Nine months in my womb and you look just like your idiot father."

The little kid follows you around everywhere you go and demands that you hold his hand. Personal space is non-existent with both your boys. If it isn't Rafayel clinging to you, it is your son who demands cuddles just as often.

Surprisingly, unlike his father, your son is a very quiet and docile child. He listens to you when you ask him to clean up after himself, and he helps you tidy, despite never being asked to.

But despite being a soft-natured child, he is his father's greatest rival.

Pushing his dad's face away softly whenever he gets too close. Pulling on his ear piercing as a way to fidget. Interrupting the two of you.

Arms wrapped around each other, with you on his lap. He deepens the kiss, sliding a hand in your hair, only for a small voice to call out. "Mama?" "Hi baby!" And just like that, he's forgotten again, left strung up behind.

Squeezing himself between the two of you in bed, which is fine, until Rafayel wakes up with a foot in his face, apparently, the passive nature disappears when he's asleep.

After waking up for the eighth time with his son starfished

"Now I know why some animals eat their young."

"Rafayel!"

Rafayel loves his little twin, though (the cuteness aggression he gets looking at the product of your love).

masterlist

[moved-to-lumiersdreams]

i have the silly husband!zayne in the mind so time to ramble about him 😊

husband!zayne who wakes up first and either cooks breakfast or heats up the already prepared meal from the night before that was in the fridge. once you wake up, he's already made you your drink of choice that he's memorized by heart. it's a lot less sweeter for his liking (he'd sneakily take a sip just to make sure he got it right once in a while) but it was one of the details he loves about you

husband!zayne who pulls you into his arms and affectionately squeezes you momentarily just to hear you giggle before he goes to work, your voice and laughter sounds like home to him

husband!zayne who keeps you updated about his work, checks up on you while on break and even sometimes texts you if he has tea to share once he gets back home after work

husband!zayne who, contrary to his professional exterior, is a great storyteller when it comes to sharing gossip. he doesn't need to change his monotonous tone much, his looks and dramatic pauses alone says a thousand words

husband!zayne who feels really guilty when he doesn't get to give you a heads up about an emergency situation that he gets pulled into and makes it up by taking you to both of your favorite pastry store and having a nice afternoon date there

husband!zayne who adores your cooking, even if some days you can only cook a simple meal. he'd suggest simple ways to spice it up next time and if you do take him up on it, he'd give you an honest critique about it

husband!zayne who pulls you into his nightly care routine before bed. shaving his face, skin care, then brushing his teeth. he'd let you shave his face and put on the skin care products on him, he puts your own products on yours and you do this almost every night if you both have enough energy by the end of the day

husband!zayne who loves having you lay your head on his chest, one of his arms wrapped around your waist comfortably as you two chat in hushed whispers about silly jokes and 'i love you's into the dark before falling asleep together

[rievendell]

dad!zayne who opens a text from you during his break. it reads, "i've been wondering why it takes them a while to finish. did you know about this?" followed by a video of their child at the sink, taken at an angle that suggests they do not realise they were being recorded.

dad!zayne who plays the video to see their little 4-year-old washing their hands very thoroughly before proceeding to work up their forearms — a manner that is no way unfamiliar to the man himself.

dad!zayne who is impressed that somehow their preschooler managed to learn how to wash their hands like they were to scrub in for surgery. he may have absentmindedly done that a few times at home. did they pick that up from him?

dad!zayne who watches fondly as the child's focus breaks and looks at the camera stunned, finally noticing you. "do you want to say hi to daddy?" you say. they nod enthusiastically, waving at the camera and flinging a few suds away, "hi daddy!"

dad!zayne who has an ice evol, melting under the warmth of his two suns.

idk if this has been done before but aaaa plot bunnies part of me still in disbelief that l&ds of all things has me writing. i feel rusty and lowk out of my element? this was inspired by tiktok doomscrolling.

[sunsets-and-crows]

Sleepy confessions

SFW - The Softest Sylus I could write.

I was feeling far too many feelings today.

I wrote this because I really needed to feel a little loved today and if a man isn’t going to do it, I’ll write it for myself. It’s deeply self-indulgent but this is the kind of love I want. Not just any love, but the kind that is all-consuming and unwavering. I’ve never been in love, nor have I ever truly felt loved and as I approach my 30s, I’m feeling it! Maybe this kind of love is unrealistic, maybe I’ve read too many stories that paint devotion in impossible hues. But if I were to be loved, this is how I would want it.

Sylus had always found the quiet unsettling. 

His life had always been loud and chaotic, dangerous even. His past life, too, had been filled with sound, of dragon wings beating through the skies and fire roaring over cities. When those cities came for him, their shouts resonated through the air, filling his days with a cacophony that became his white noise, his comfort.

Now, the sounds of guns blazing and motorcycles purring were his norm. Days were his nights and his nights were chaos, loud chaos. He was used to it, thrived in it even.

Silence usually meant that something was wrong. That something was building and chaos would erupt soon. Silence was deadly. 

But right now, in this moment, with you curled up against him, chest rising and falling, he thought maybe he could learn to love the quiet too. This moment of peace was far too precious, too perfect that he’d be willing to wage war on anything that dared to break the stillness.  

Poor thing.

You’d fallen asleep so quickly, curled on his lap. Your body warm and trusting, your cheek pressed against his chest. He could feel the soft puffs of your breath against the skin bared beneath his robe, the way your fingers had instinctively curled around the fabric at his waist before going slack. 

It was too much. Too tender. Too perfect. 

His heart squeezed dangerously, threatening to burst with emotions he hadn’t allowed himself to feel for milenia. Still, he couldn’t take his eyes off you. 

His hand moved on its own, trailing down your spine, smoothing over the curve of your back, fingers brushing lightly over your hair. 

Each tiny shift came with the softest little noises of contentment, sounds he wanted to bottle up and keep forever. 

This is what love feels like.

He’d experienced it before, with you. Love that was shouted from rooftops, that set cities aflame and was declared loudly, passionately. 

But this was something else. Quieter. Deeper. Unassuming. An entirely different kind of love to the ones he'd experienced before. 

It crept up on him in the silence and wrapped itself around his heart, squeezing tightly, narrowing its focus to only you. 

It wasn’t a sudden, violent force, like a city razed to the ground. 

No, this was entirely different. It was the moment that lobster realised that the pot was too hot to survive, the only choice was to surrender. 

And in the end, wasn’t that feeling of giving in a relief? 

His throat tightened. His eyes stung.

Sylus exhaled softly, shaking his head gently. “You really do trust me, don’t you?”

The words were barely more than a breath, a desperate attempt to preserve the quiet of the room, but they made that grip on his chest tighten imperceptibly harder.

You had no idea what it meant, how it affected him, to have you like this. Warm and safe in his arms. Completely unguarded. 

Completely his.

He scoffed lightly, remembering the way you had first met in this life. The fear, the hatred in your eyes, the anguish in his. 

“You're impossible,” he murmured, his voice even quieter now, almost reverent. “You know that?”

You stirred slightly, nuzzling into his warmth, but didn’t wake. 

“Of course you don’t. You have no idea.” 

Another sleepy noise escaped past the pout of your lips, and he smiled, warm and soft. 

A little while ago, Luke and Keiran had knocked on the door, the soft sound enough to make a frown crease between your brows. They’d entered to find a glare fixed on them, red piercing eyes telling them that whatever they had to say could wait. 

They left quickly, smart enough to forget the sight before them. 

Sylus’ fingers traced idle patterns along your arm, his touch featherlight. 

You’d tell him off, if you were awake. Tell him to start his day. Order him to tend to Onychinus. You were so selfless, so giving. You’d put anything and anyone else before yourself.

Luckily, he had no such ideals.

Somewhere, far away, the world still existed. There were people waiting for him, needing him. Things that needed his attention, his approval. None of it mattered. 

There was no past. No future. Just this.

Just the steady rhythm of your breathing. Just this moment, stretching infinitely, like a dream he never wanted to wake from.

He was selfish when it came to everything but you. And even then, he was still a little selfish. 

He would keep anyone waiting, if it meant he got to hold you, like this. He’d run his business into the ground for the taste of your lips. 

He had, and would again, raise entire continents to the ground to ensure your safety, uncaring of anyone that resided there. 

Yes, he was selfish.

And he didn’t care. 

A quiet sigh left him. He didn’t deserve any of this. Did he? He had ruined too much, burned too many things and left too many ghosts in his wake. Yet, here you were. Pressed against him, completely at ease. 

His throat constricted. How? How could something as good as you ever belong in the arms of someone like him? 

No he didn’t deserve it, but he would keep it anyway. A dragon’s nature was to hoard. 

His eyes roamed your face, memorising everything. Each freckle. Each eyelash. The soft curve of your lips, parted just slightly with sleep. He reasoned that you had to have been made by some higher force. That somewhere, there was a god that claimed you proudly as their creation. 

He was torn by that. By the idea that there was something or someone else out there that had a right to you. But you were a masterpiece and it was the only way you made sense. 

So if there was a god, let them bear witness. Let them take notes. That his devotion, his heart was offered in quiet surrender to that creation. To you. 

Slowl, with infinite care, he raised a hand to cup your cheek, brushing his thumb over your lips in a barely-there touch. Soft. Delicate. Sacred. He wanted to kiss you, but he wouldn’t. Not yet. He wouldn’t wake you. 

Instead, he leaned in and pressed his forehead against yours, your breaths’ mingling, breathing you in. You smelled warm, like sleep and something sweet, something inherently you. He shut his eyes, just for a moment, letting the sensation settle in his bones.

And when he pulled back he just stared.

Memorising you. Worshipping you.

It had been a long time since he said those words to you.

Reluctant to break the sanctity of the precarious relationship the two of you had, he’d kept them inside. But here, in the hush of the night, with you deep in sleep, he could be honest in ways he never could before. 

“You have no idea how much I…” He swallowed, tilting his head back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling, willing away the fullness that threatened to spill from his eyes. “How much I love you.”

A single tear dripped down his cheek, tracing a glistening path, evidence of his quiet confession. 

His heartbeat increased, loud and strong in the quiet of the room. He willed it to still, wished he could make it stop beating lest it wake you from your slumber. 

And then-

A sleepy hum. 

A shift of your body. 

And a murmured, drowsy, “Luh you too.”

His breath stopped.

You were barely conscious, probably didn’t even know what you were saying, but his chest ached all the same. A deep overwhelming ache.

He looked down to see your bleary, unfocused eyes gazing back at his. Heavy with lingering sleepiness and slow blinks. 

Your hand cupped his face and swept away more tears that had fallen from his eyes. 

Hands wrapped around his shoulders, holding him tightly, like you were afraid he would let you go. 

Silly thing, he would never let you go. 

Your head nestled into his neck and you pressed a soft kiss to his racing pulse. 

“Love you, Sylus.” 

His arms tightened around you in response, pulling you closer, needing the physical closeness to ground himself, to remind himself that this was real. 

Your breathing deepened again, soft breaths tickling the skin of his neck in a way that promised he’d have a patch of condensation there in a little while. 

He didn’t care. 

“I love you too,” he whispered into the silence of the room. 

His arms flexed around you slightly. His heart, beating a pattern just for you. A silent vow.

This, the two of you, would never be a fleeting moment. It wasn’t something he would allow to slip through his fingers like smoke, something he would lose in the chaos of the life he led. 

No. 

This was eternal.

He would build up a world from dust to ensure your place by his side. To keep you safe, protected, his. 

No matter what happened, he would never let this go.

Never let you go. 

And just like that, he let the silence have him.

➽──────────────────────────────────❥

Well, that was a diary entry disguised as a fanfiction. Enjoy 🥺

[meinii]

“I love you”

summary: Sylus loves you, and he was ready to tell you… but it seemed to never be the right time ໒꒰ྀི ੭-ࡇ-꒱ྀི੭

content: fluff, mentions of food

୨୧･｡｡･♡･∴･♡･｡｡･୨୧

Sylus had never been the kind of man to hesitate. ruthlessness, precision, and control—these things came naturally to him. he could break a man with a word, send empires crumbling with a command, and yet…

three simple words had him struggling

“I love you.”

he had never said them before. never needed to. but with you, he wanted to. he needed to

he just… couldn’t.

the first time he tried, you were curled up beside him on the couch, watching some movie he wasn’t even paying attention to. your head rested against his shoulder, his arm lazily draped around you, fingers tracing absentminded patterns along your wrist. you were warm. soft. comforting in a way he didn’t know how to describe

the words pressed against his throat. all he had to do was say them. three words. three stupid, simple words

he opened his mouth—

“do you want more popcorn?” you asked, sitting up slightly

he closed it. inhaled through his nose. forced a smirk “tch, i don’t eat that cheap stuff”

you rolled your eyes “liar. you had a whole handful ten minutes ago”

“that was different”

you snorted, throwing a piece of popcorn at him. he caught it between his fingers, flicked it back at you, and just like that, the moment was gone.

the second time, you were half-asleep in his bed, tangled up in the sheets with one of his hoodies drowning your frame. he watched you, his fingers brushing over your cheek, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear

the words sat heavy on his tongue

“I love—”

you made a soft sound, shifting slightly “mm… Sylus?”

he swallowed hard “yeah?”

“stop staring. creepy.”

he huffed a quiet laugh, pressing a kiss to your temple instead. you drifted back to sleep within seconds, and he exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair

what the hell was wrong with him?

the third time, he almost had it

you were sitting on the balcony, the night breeze ruffling your hair as you gazed out over the city. he stood behind you, leaning against the railing, watching the way the neon lights reflected in your eyes

“I love y—”

“hey,” you interrupted, turning to look at him “why do you keep staring at me lately?”

he stiffened “what?”

“you just seem like… you wanna say something. but you don’t”

Sylus clicked his tongue, forcing his usual smirk

“maybe I just like watching you”

your brows furrowed slightly, but then you smiled, shaking your head

“you’re weird”

he watched as you turned back toward the skyline, his hands curling into fists

coward.

he didn’t get another chance

because the next time, you beat him to it

you were both in the kitchen, doing absolutely nothing special. he was leaning against the counter, watching you stir your coffee, and you just… said it

“I love you, Sylus”

just like that. so casually. so effortlessly.

his brain short-circuited

you blinked at him, waiting. then, slowly, a frown crept onto your face. “…Sylus?”

he swallowed, gripping the edge of the counter. he had waited so damn long to say it first, and now you had stolen the moment right out from under him

his expression must’ve given him away, because you suddenly broke into laughter

“oh my god were you trying to say it first?”

his eye twitched

you covered your mouth, still giggling. “I can’t believe you’re actually pouting about this. you’re so cute”

his scowl deepened “shut up”

“no, really, it’s adorable. the big bad Sylus, all sulky because I said it first”

he groaned, dragging a hand down his face “this is a disaster”

you stepped closer, resting your hands against his chest “hey,” you murmured, smile softening

“it doesn’t matter who said it first, you know. you don’t have to force it. just say it when you’re ready”

he exhaled slowly, eyes dropping to yours. something in his chest squeezed tight, and finally

“I love you”

you beamed “see? that wasn’t so hard”

he sighed, tugging you forward, burying his face against your shoulder “shut up”

but he was smiling

[lyn31]

YOUR ZAYNE'S FIC ARE SOOO GOOOOOD. You cook so well😩. Now pretty please write MC in labor😩

I got carried away again as always..... but I like how it turn out! All this make me want to write about Zayne as dad now...... damn you guys! (read: Thank you) 🫶🏻😩

Oh and hopefully this is what you're thinking of! ✨🥹

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Labor

Summary

A quiet hospital room, the rhythmic beeping of a monitor, and a steady hand in yours. The tension lingers in the air—uncertainty, hope, fear—all colliding in the seconds before fate takes its course. And then, with a single breath, everything shifts.

Ao3 link

My Masterlist ✨

Notes

Pairing: Zayne x MC/Reader I'm no way near know what labor feel like, so I try my best!

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The hospital room is quiet, save for the steady beeping of the monitors and the occasional distant chatter from the hallway. The dim lighting casts everything in a soft glow, making the space feel cozier than it should—even with the sterile white walls and medical equipment surrounding you.

Zayne sits beside your bed, his ever-present clipboard in hand, reviewing something with a look of calm focus. He’s been like this for the past hour—checking notes, double-checking them, then checking them again, as if he personally intended to oversee every detail of your care.

You watch him for a moment before finally breaking the silence. “You know, for someone who isn’t my actual doctor, you sure look like one.”

His gaze lifts from the clipboard, cool and composed as ever. “I am a doctor.”

You snort. “Yeah, but not mine. You’re off-duty, remember?”

Zayne tilts his head slightly, a thoughtful hum leaving his lips before he counters smoothly, “Not yours?” He leans forward, resting an elbow on the bed as his cool fingers brush over your knuckles. “I seem to recall you calling me yours quite often.”

You narrow your eyes, catching the deliberate way he twists your words. “Oh, so we’re doing this now?”

His thumb brushes along your hand, his expression composed but undeniably pleased. “Doing what?”

You let out an amused huff. “Never mind.”

He doesn’t push, just holds your hand a little firmer, his touch steady. “Either way, I have no intention of being off-duty when it comes to you.”

You roll your eyes, squeezing his hand. “Wow, so controlling.”

His brow lifts. “I prefer ‘thorough.’”

You laugh, squeezing his hand. “Right, right. Thorough.”

There’s a beat of silence, a comfortable one, before Zayne shifts slightly, his eyes dropping to your belly. He’s been doing that a lot—watching, his expression unreadable but his touch careful every time he rests a hand there.

You follow his gaze, smiling softly. “Getting impatient?”

His thumb brushes against your skin absently. “I wouldn’t say impatient.” Then, after a pause, he adds, “Eager, perhaps.”

The honesty in his voice makes something in your chest tighten. You bite your lip, fighting back the sudden wave of emotion, and instead lean back against the pillows with an exaggerated sigh. “I swear, if this kid doesn’t come out soon, I’m charging rent.”

Zayne exhales a quiet chuckle, the sound low and warm. “They do seem rather content staying where they are.”

“You think they’ll be as stubborn as you?” you tease, tilting your head toward him.

His gaze flickers toward you, amused. “I was going to ask if you thought they’d be as stubborn as you.”

You grin. “So, we’re both in trouble, then.”

Zayne hums, his fingers tracing absent patterns over your skin. He doesn’t say it, but you can see it in his eyes—the quiet anticipation, the depth of feeling he doesn’t always put into words. You feel it, too, this strange, overwhelming mix of excitement and nerves, the knowledge that any moment now, everything will change.

And then, as if on cue, there’s a sudden shift in your body—a pressure, a faint discomfort that makes your breath hitch.

You blink, startled.

Zayne immediately picks up on it. “What is it?”

You hesitate, then laugh lightly. “I think… my water just broke.”

His posture straightens in an instant, that calm, practiced focus settling over him. But you don’t miss the way his fingers tighten slightly around yours, or the flicker of something—something almost like nerves—that flashes through his expression before he reins it in.

“Well.” You exhale, shifting carefully. “Guess they finally decided to stop freeloading.”

Zayne’s lips press together in what might be a smile, but his gaze is already sharp, assessing. He reaches for the call button with his free hand. “Let’s not keep them waiting, then.”

The contractions start soon after, steadily intensifying with each passing minute. Nurses move in and out of the room, checking your vitals, monitoring the baby’s heart rate, and preparing everything for delivery. The air shifts—calm, but purposeful.

Zayne never leaves your side.

He holds your hand, his grip firm but careful, his other hand occasionally brushing over your forehead, pushing damp strands of hair back with cool fingertips. Every now and then, you hear the soft murmur of his voice—low, steady words of reassurance, though you barely process them between each wave of pain.

You squeeze his hand through another contraction, breathing through it as best as you can. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t complain, just lets you cling to him as tightly as you need.

When the pain eases slightly, you slump back against the pillows, exhaling a heavy breath. “You know, I’m starting to think we should’ve made a scheduled exit plan for this kid.”

Zayne huffs a quiet chuckle, though his eyes remain sharp, watchful. “That would’ve been ideal, yes.” His fingers smooth over your knuckles. “Unfortunately, they seem to have other plans.”

You groan. “Stubborn already.”

His lips twitch slightly. “Wonder where they get that from.”

You roll your eyes but don’t have the energy to fire back. Another contraction rolls through, sharper this time, stealing your breath. Your fingers tighten around his instinctively.

Your muscles seize, the pressure mounting unbearably. Each breath feels like dragging air through fire, your body fighting against itself in the desperate push forward. The contractions are relentless, but there’s no telling how much time has passed between them anymore. Minutes? Hours? It all blurs together, an endless cycle of pain and fleeting relief.

You gasp through another one, clinging to Zayne’s hand as your head slumps back against the pillows. Your limbs feel heavy, the exhaustion sinking into your bones, deeper than any mission injury you’ve had. For a brief moment, it feels like too much—like you can’t do this, like your body is failing you.

Your breath stutters. “I—” The words don’t come. You shake your head instead, a flicker of panic rising beneath the fatigue.

Zayne catches it instantly. His grip shifts, firm and grounding, his cool fingertips brushing against the back of your hand. “Breathe,” he murmurs, his voice steady, unwavering. He lifts your hand slightly, pressing his lips against your knuckles—a fleeting touch, but the warmth lingers. “You’re doing well.”

You force yourself to take a breath, then another. The haze doesn’t clear completely, but the panic eases—just a little.

You shake your head, barely able to get the words out. “I can’t—”

“Yes, you can.” His grip tightens just enough to remind you he’s there, solid and unwavering. “One breath at a time.”

The room is a blur—rushed voices, the steady beep of monitors, the sharp scent of antiseptic and sweat. You can hear the doctor saying something, the nurses murmuring encouragement, but it’s all distant, muffled under the sheer weight of everything happening to you.

And then—another contraction crashes into you, sharp and all-consuming. You barely register the way your body tightens in response, instinct taking over as the doctor’s voice cuts through the haze.

“Almost there.” he says, quiet but firm. “Just a little more.”

Zayne’s hand never leaves yours. His voice, cool and certain, is the only thing anchoring you as the final stretch begins.

You don’t know if it’s minutes or seconds, but when the next contraction comes, your body takes over. You push—every muscle screaming, every fiber of your being focused on this one thing.

And then—weightless relief.

A newborn’s cry pierces the room.

Everything that just happened crashes into you all at once. The pain, the exhaustion, the overwhelming sense of finally. You let out a shaky breath, your body trembling with the aftershocks, your vision swimming with unshed tears.

Zayne exhales slowly beside you, and when you turn your head, he’s already looking at you. His eyes are unreadable for a moment, as if even he needs a second to process that it’s over. Then, something shifts—something so quiet, so deeply felt that words aren’t needed.

His fingers brush your temple, the touch featherlight, reverent. Then you hear it again—the cry, small but strong.

The sound nearly knocks the breath from your lungs. A choked, startled sob bubbles in your throat before you can stop it, your body sagging against the bed. You barely register the movement around you—nurses bustling, hands moving quickly, a soft, wriggling weight being placed onto your chest.

Tiny. Warm. Yours.

Your hands tremble as you touch her, brushing over impossibly soft skin, feeling the rise and fall of her first breaths. Her cries settle slightly as she squirms against you, as if already seeking the comfort of your presence.

Zayne doesn’t say anything.

You turn your head toward him, and for the first time since this all started, you see something unguarded in his expression. He’s staring, utterly still, his gaze fixed on the baby in your arms like he’s trying to memorize every inch of her. For someone always so controlled, so certain, there’s a flicker of something else. Like he’s seeing something impossible. Something fragile and new, and undeniably real.

His fingers hover for a second, hesitation creeping into his movements that are usually precise. Then, finally, he lets them brush over the delicate curve of her head. The warmth is unfamiliar, delicate, alive in a way that almost doesn’t feel real.

The moment his fingertips graze her skin, his breath catches—so slight it’s almost imperceptible. Then, as if remembering himself, he exhales slowly, his touch impossibly gentle. The baby shifts under his fingers, a tiny movement—barely anything at all. And yet, something in his expression tightens, a flicker of something deep and unreadable settling in his gaze.

For once, there’s an almost imperceptible delay in his movements, as if he’s afraid the smallest touch might shatter the moment.

It’s quiet between you, even as the room hums with movement. The weight of everything lingers, exhaustion, awe—something too deep to put into words.

Zayne leans in slightly, pressing a cool, lingering kiss to your temple.

“Thank you.”

It’s barely a whisper, yet it carries more weight than any grand declaration ever could.

The relief washes over you, but it’s tinged with something strange—a lightness in your limbs that doesn’t quite feel right. You blink, trying to shake it off, but the room swims slightly at the edges.

You turn toward him just as another wave of lightheadedness washes over you.

It’s subtle at first, a sudden wave of dizziness, sharp enough to make your grip falter, but then your vision blurs slightly at the edges. Your grip on the baby weakens for just a second—not enough to be dangerous, but Zayne notices immediately.

Immediately, his head lifts. His gaze sharpens. “What is it?”

You swallow, blinking hard. “I—” Your tongue feels thick and sluggish, like your body is struggling to keep up. “Feel weird.”

His hand is already at your wrist, checking your pulse. A second later, he glances at the monitors, his expression hardening almost imperceptibly.

“Get a blood pressure reading,” he orders, his voice cool, controlled.

A nurse moves quickly, wrapping the cuff around your arm. The numbers flash across the screen—too low.

Her expression shifts. “Her pressure is dropping.”

Zayne doesn’t hesitate. “Call the attending. Now.”

The room shifts instantly. Nurses move in taking your daughter away, adjusting IVs, lifting your hospital gown to check the monitors. Words blur together—blood pressure instability, excessive bleeding, immediate intervention.

Then—cool fingers brush your cheek.

“Stay awake.”

Zayne’s voice. Steady. Firm.

You blink up at him, trying to ground yourself. “M’not going anywhere,” you mutter, attempting a smirk. It’s weak.

His fingers linger for half a second before he pulls back. His gaze flickers toward the attending nurse as she steps in, then back to you. “It’ll be alright.”

It’s not a reassurance. It’s a certainty.

The attending doctor barely spares him a glance before issuing instructions. “We need to stabilize her before we proceed. Doctor Li, I need you to step out.”

You feel him stiffen beside you.

His grip on your hand doesn’t tighten, but you feel the hesitation, the way he lingers for just a second too long, his expression unreadable.

For a moment, he doesn’t move. Then, slowly, he exhales, his grip loosening like letting go is a battle within itself. He nods.

His fingers brush over your wrist one last time before he pulls away.

“I’ll be right outside,” he murmurs.

And then, for the first time since this all started—he’s gone. The space he leaves behind is too cold, too empty.

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The hallway is quiet. Too quiet.

Zayne stands just outside the door, his hands clasped behind his back, shoulders squared in that composed, unshakable way that gives nothing away. From a distance, he looks like a man simply waiting—patient, motionless, his breathing even. But up close, the cracks are there.

His grip is tight—so tight his knuckles press white against his skin. His shoulders don’t relax, don’t shift, as if held in place by sheer force of will. And then, after a long moment, his fingers uncurl, his hands drop to his sides. He exhales slowly through his nose, a measured breath that does nothing to ease the tension gripping him.

Still, the tension lingers, wound tight in his chest. And then—without thinking—he moves.

His back touches the wall first, cool against the tension coiled in his muscles. Then he lowers himself into a crouch, forearms resting loosely over his knees. He doesn’t bow his head—doesn’t close his eyes. He just waits, eyes fixed on the floor in front of him, unmoving.

Minutes stretch. Nurses pass by, but no one stops him.

Eventually, a different nurse approaches, speaking in a quieter voice, like she knows she’s interrupting something unspoken.

"Dr. Li, your daughter has been moved to the nursery," she informs him. "She’s doing well. She responds quickly, no signs of distress—breathing is steady, vitals are stable."

Zayne listens, absorbing each detail without a single wasted motion.

"Is she warm enough?" His voice is steady, measured. A doctor’s question—but something else lingers beneath it, quieter. Something almost hesitant.

"Yes," the nurse assures. "She’s in an incubator for now, just for monitoring, but everything looks good."

He nods. "And her blood oxygen levels?"

"Normalizing well."

Another nod. His expression doesn’t change, but his fingers twitch slightly against his knee. He exhales through his nose—measured, controlled. He has his answers. His daughter is being taken care of.

Still, he doesn’t move.

The nurse hesitates, then glances toward the closed door beside him. "Your wife should be waking up soon."

He knows. That’s why he’s still here.

The nurse doesn’t press further. She just offers a polite nod before walking off, leaving him alone in the hallway once more.

And when the door finally opens, when a different nurse steps out and says, "Doctor Li?"—he’s already standing before she finishes his name, walking inside the room.

The door clicks shut behind him, but he doesn’t move right away.

For a moment—just a moment—he stands there, gaze settling on you. A flicker of something crosses his face—not relief, not entirely. His fingers twitch, just slightly.

You’re propped up against the pillows, the soft glow of the monitors casting shadows across your face. There’s exhaustion written in every inch of you, but your eyes are open, meeting his—awake, breathing. Present.

His shoulders shift, a tension he’s been holding finally loosening—just slightly.

Then, slowly, he exhales, a quiet breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Only then does he step forward.

He moves to touch you, then hesitates—just for a second. His gaze lingers, tracing the IV line, the faint tremor in your fingers where they rest against the sheets. When he does touch you, it’s careful, as if making sure you won’t disappear beneath his fingertips. His thumb presses slightly against your wrist—a quiet reassurance. A confirmation.

"You were waiting," you murmur, voice hoarse, the words threading through the rawness in your throat. You shift slightly—just enough for the sheets to rustle—but even that small movement leaves you breathless for a second. His fingers shift slightly against your wrist, like he notices.

His lips press together faintly—not quite a frown, but not neutral either. "Of course."

You huff a tired breath, tilting your head just a little. "And our daughter?"

"She's in the nursery," he answers immediately, his voice steady. "The nurses assured me she's stable—no complications."

A slow, relieved exhale leaves your lips.

Zayne watches you, his gaze flickering over every detail—the way your fingers twitch weakly against the blanket, how you start to lift your hand but let it fall back to the sheets, your breath just a fraction uneven. He knows you’re alright now, you’re awake. You’re here.

His hand moves, fingers trailing up until they settle against your cheek. His touch is cool, grounding, and when you lean into it—just barely—his thumb skims over your skin in a slow, absent motion.

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You wake slowly, warmth pressing against your side, the rhythmic sound of beeping monitors lulling you into awareness. It takes a second to register everything—the hospital room, the soft weight of blankets over you, the faint scent of antiseptic lingering in the air.

Your body feels different than before—less exhausted, though a dull soreness still lingers, like a distant ache instead of the overwhelming fatigue from the first day. Manageable. Easier.

And then, you hear it.

A quiet, steady voice murmurs something too soft to make out.

You blink your eyes open, the room still dimmed by the evening light filtering through the blinds. And there, sitting beside the hospital bed, is Zayne.

He leans forward slightly, adjusting the tiny bundle in his arms—your daughter, cradled carefully in his hands. His voice is quiet, patient, as if he’s explaining something to her, even though she’s far too small to understand.

You don’t move at first, just watching. It’s rare to catch him like this—settled, no longer on edge, his focus entirely on her. His usually sharp gaze softens, tracing over every tiny feature as if memorizing her all over again.

You don’t know why you expected him to overthink this. The man analyzes data for a living, after all. But somehow, fatherhood has come to him as naturally as breathing—each movement careful but sure, each touch precise yet gentle. No hesitation, no uncertainty, just a calm, measured certainty in every move he makes. And yet, it’s not clinical. There’s something soft in the way he holds her, something instinctive. Natural.

A small smile tugs at your lips. “I’m not sure she’s ready to appreciate the commentary just yet.”

Zayne’s head lifts immediately, sharp instincts ever-present, but this time, he doesn’t tense. “You’re awake.”

“No, I’m talking in my sleep.”

His gaze flickers over your face, checking—because of course he is—but he doesn’t comment on it. Instead, he exhales, slow and quiet, before glancing back down at the baby. “She was fussing earlier.”

You shift, pushing yourself up slightly, but before you can get far, Zayne is already moving. One hand settles gently against your back, supporting you as he adjusts the pillows with practiced ease.

You give him a look. “You know, I did survive before you started micromanaging me.”

“And yet, here you are, letting me,” he murmurs, completely unbothered as he smooths the blanket over your legs.

You huff, but there’s no real bite behind it—because, well, he’s right.

His fingers brush over your wrist, lingering just long enough to check your temperature, before his gaze flickers to the baby. “You should feed her now.”

You glance at your daughter, her tiny fists barely peeking out from the blanket. “You’re giving her back just like that? Thought you’d keep hogging her.”

Zayne doesn’t react immediately, but the corner of his mouth twitches—slightly. “She does seem comfortable with me.”

“She’s a newborn, Zayne. She can’t even tell you apart from a blanket yet.”

He hums, clearly not convinced, but still, he shifts forward, carefully placing the baby in your arms. His movements are precise, ensuring she’s supported properly, as if she might shatter under anything less.

Once you’ve settled, he watches closely, like he’s analyzing every part of the process, committing it to memory.

You raise an eyebrow. “You’re going to supervise the entire thing, aren’t you?”

His gaze meets yours, unblinking. “Obviously.”

A laugh bubbles up before you can stop it, tired but genuine. “You really are fussing.”

Zayne doesn’t deny it. Instead, he reaches over, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear with precise care. “You just woke up. Someone has to.”

And, well—he’s got you there.

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Notes:

Zayne as Dad is live rent free in my head now...... also I watch one of those video where everyone is literally fussing the baby and the dad is just waiting outside of the mom's room, like "why is my wife not out yet" it was so cute 🥹 so ofc I have to use it as well 🫶🏻😩 This is ended up connected ahaha either way, if we're going for chronological order here it is: (this is part 4) more like a snippet (smut) part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 (smut at the end)