pairing: choi yeonjun x reader. genre: angst, right-person-wrong-time. wc: 860-ish. warnings: i’m not too sure, but lmk!. an: i’m sorry 🧎🏻♀️ this was sitting in the draft's, it is not the fic i spoke about writing the other day 💀
“i love you,” you croak once more. its amazing how it gets out amidst your body screaming, aching and burning. your cheeks are wet with tears, but your eyes are still so full you can barely make out the expression on yeonjun’s face. and you’re not sure you want to. you don’t know if you’ll be able to handle it.
your world feels as if its collapsing and you’ve realized it at a stage that is far beyond salvaging. but you had to tell him. you needed him to hear you. you needed him to know.
“(y/n),” he whispers and his arms come around you and swallow you whole, apologies are mumbled into your hair. those arms bring you into his firm chest, your shield, your home. but not anymore.
with the sliver of energy you muster, you push out of his embrace before it can put you all back together again. you need to feel this pain. the shattered pieces of your heart need to pierce and cut you. this is your fault, you deserve it. you hurt him.
you squeeze your eyes together and focus on steadying your breaths. you wipe your face and force a smile, but the heavy, hollow feeling in your chest is everpresent.
“no. no, i’m happy for you, jjun. really. i want you to be happy. don’t feel sorry for me.” you say, meaning it. you look into his eyes for the first time since since you called him out and confessed, and his eyes are red and swollen. you made him cry.
“i am.”
he steps toward you and you take one back. a frown knits his eyebrows together and he looks as if you’ve jabbed a knife into his heart and twisted it.
“do you love her?” you steel yourself with another false smile and the mantra that whatever he says, you’ll be able to take it.
before you can react, his palm is holding the side of your face and your skin is buzzing beneath it even though you are willing it to stop. then he nods.
“i don’t think there is anyone on this earth i could have loved more than you. you make me feel things—very real, scary things—that make me crazy.” he swallows and his frown deepens, like it pains him to say it, and you crumple once more. hot tears of hurt and regret fall from your eyes. “but i do love her, (y/n). she doesn’t make me feel the way that you do, but she’s great and we could have an amazing future ahead of us. i don’t want to hurt her.”
his thumb brushes your cheekbone and you bite your lip, nodding. he whimpers, then presses a lingering kiss to your forehead. you feel like you’re going to be sick.
“i don’t regret all the years i spent loving you, (y/n). god, i still love you. but some things... no matter how right they feel, no matter how much you wish they would turn out differently, they just aren’t meant to be.”
they could have been. you want to say it, but you think better of it. instead you cry and you cry, letting the tears fall and fall. he cries too, the sounds of his whimpers only making you sob harder. they could have been.
you’d spent years pretending you didn’t know yeonjun loved you. you were too afraid of losing him, so afraid, that you selfishly held onto him; not too close and not too far. you thought you’d be able have him forever that way. but you were wrong.
so so so so wrong.
now he didn’t love you anymore. not like you wanted him to. he never would again. he loved her now.
you stand up on your toes and touch the tip of your nose with yeonjun’s when your eyes and throat are raw and red and you have no more tears left to cry.
“i’ll be okay. now you go, she’s waiting for you inside.” you say softly, holding onto him for just a second longer before you lean back and take him in one last time.
puffy eyes, red nose, pink cheeks and lips. your best friend in the whole world. your yeonjun. beautiful, beautiful yeonjun. you turn him around and shove him toward the door of the restaurant.
the restaurant on cornelia street is booked out tonight. every table is filled with his friends and his family. with her friends and her family. they know what he’s going to do, and they’re elated for him. you were supposed to be one of them too. at a special table somewhere in the middle because he didn’t know whether to list you as ‘friend’ or ‘family’.
you watch his back as he walks to the door. he pushes the door open, takes a step inside and then pauses. your heart stops. you hope, but you know it is too late. and without turning around, he walks into the restaurant.
you watch from the window as he pulls a velvet box from his pocket and gets down on one knee before of her.
pairing: choi beomgyu x fem!reader. genre: strangers to friends to lovers, fluff. wc: 800?. warnings: this man is absolutely astronomically down bad. an: i’m going to pretend this isn’t self-indulgent. bonus points for anyone who correctly guesses who the inspiration for this beomgyu is 🤪
your eyes sparkle. your lips curl up. they dig into your cheeks and crease the edges of your eyes. you tilt your head back. and then that smile, already lethal enough as is, cracks open and you laugh.
this sequence, this magnificent spectacle, plays in slow motion for beomgyu. it is a mesmerizing spell that had been burned into his retinas from the very moment you first honoured him with it–monday, or just now, he wasn’t sure. every time felt like the first.
laughter, beautiful, raging-manic-drugged-up-butterfly-unleashing laughter spills from your lips and wraps around the racing heart in his chest so firmly he has to gasp for air. he’s pretty sure this sight deserved the top spot on the list of the world’s seven wonders, but he also wanted to drag you into a room and have it all to himself.
and he did that. him. little old beomgyu pulled that look, that sound out of you.
you were going to be his. you didn’t know it yet, but you were.
“tomatoes, beomgyu? really?” you say between the breaths with which you’re trying to control your laughter. his heart swells a little more every time you say his name, and he’s certain one day it’s just going to burst right out of his chest and snuggle into yours. you manage to contain yourself and his heart drops, but the smile remains so he deems it still a win. “what do you have against tomatoes?”
“they’re pure evil,” he grins as you dab away the tears in your eyes with your fingers. he decides right then and there that these kinds of tears are the only tears that are allowed to fall from your eyes. “they’re designed to be imposters! i mean, look, they’ve got the look of a vegetable, but they’re a fruit! not to mention, they’re too slimy to really taste like either.”
you giggle, and tomatoes are suddenly his favourite fruit in the world. he’d start a small country and make tomatoes the national fruit, it’d be on the flag too. “fair enough. but you believe that’s why they’re plotting a revolution?”
“think about it,” he shrugs, brushing obstructing strands of hair from his eyes, “no one would ever see it coming.”
you shake your head and sigh, your hair falling over your face. he aches to reach over and tuck it away; he wanted to always see all of you. but he thinks better of it. he would take things slow, have you see how great he was first. there was nothing cool about being irredeemably down bad for someone from the second he laid eyes on them.
the campus café was quiet this time of the evening. most students were either comfortably in their dorms, or partying in someone else’s. on any other night, beomgyu, too, would have been with a solo cup in hand at heeseung’s, but now you were here. you had transferred from another university in the city and, with his luck, you were in the same major, in the same year and had been grouped together for an assignment.
needless to say, professor cho is his hero.
“beomgyu,” you say, pulling him out of his daze. he then decides that beomgyu must be the most beautiful name in existence, second only to yours, because why else would his heart skip a beat when you say it. your smile has vanished, and you’re looking at him in a way that makes him nervous.
“why aren’t the others coming?”
he fights the surprise off from his face. his mind is blank. how was he to tell you that he told them you moved the groupwork date to tomorrow, because he hoped to have you alone today. because talking about tomatoes with you was infinitely more important than some guy called leonardo da vinci and whatever the hell he did.
he observes your face, starting from your cute little chin and ending with your big, beautiful eyes. he realizes that this look is telling him that you know. you know they aren’t coming, and that you could have possibly known for the whole three hours you’ve sat there. he feels his heart in his throat, two feet from disembarking on the journey to the palm of your hand.
“do you wanna go somewhere with me?” he asks, a little more breathlessly than he had hoped. that smile, that weapon of mass destruction sent by God Himself to make him a holy man, makes a reappearance and it’s all he can do not to fall to his knees.
“i’d go anywhere with you,” you mumble. and then your eyes widen with realization and your face turns pink.
he fires heeseung a text, yea, no, dude, idc. this woman is going to have all my babies.
general taglist: @luvrjn @koishua @yoonzinoswife @hyukabean @piscesgyu (send an ask to be added, or fill out the form!)
pairing: kang taehyun x reader. genres: fluff, f2l. wc: 764. warnings: none i’m aware of!. an: i am aware there are a flotilla of f2l fics on my blog. no, i cannot explain why. also idk what i was trying with this, and i’m so nervous i wanna hurl, but i hope you guys like it!
the seasons are changing.
the sweltering, muggy weather began to cool and subdue. soft breezes became chilly breaths coaxing goosebumps onto your skin. flip-flops were exchanged for sneakers and warms sweaters were pulled over t-shirts and shorts on especially brisk mornings.
golds, browns, reds and yellows began to creep onto the leaves of the maple tree in your backyard. the seasons are changing.
your eyes are on taehyun and his are on the biology textbook in his lap. it’s this big, heavy hardcover with words so small you were sure they were written by an ant, but in the thirty minutes since you’ve settled against the maple tree he has already read half of it.
this was always how it was when he visited on sundays, and you never minded it. whenever he got so absorbed it afforded you minutes, sometimes hours, at a time to appreciate the shape of his eyes, the lines of his nose and jaw, the paleness of his skin and the curve of his lips.
the cool blades of grass brush against your legs as you adjust yourself so your head rests in his lap. his eyes don’t move from his course material, but he accommodates your shift with a lift of his arms before settling one of them across your chest. when he turns a page, it brushes across your cheek lightly. his fingers gently grasp your arm, thumb rubbing circles into your shoulder.
taehyun was going to a big university in seoul. you were so proud of him. he had received early admittance through this special science program for the top twelve students who applied. he was due to leave in two weeks.
two weeks.
an invisible hand reached into your chest and squeezed its fingers like a vice around your heart. imagining that someone who had been at your side for as long as you could remember leave made you tremble. taehyun was like your lucky charm; you had no idea how you were going to be without him. your best friend.
the pad of taehyun’s finger presses between your eyebrows. “what’s wrong?”
you shake your head. you know telling him is pointless. you’ll either make him laugh or make him sad; either prospect was horrifying. “nothing.”
“i know you like the back of my hand, loser. soulmates, remember?” he pulls the tokyo ghoul keychain from his book bag and dangles it infront of your face. he doesn’t even like anime. he often tells you to get off the ink fumes and into the real world. but he has carried around that keychain like it’s the most precious thing in the world to him ever since you won it at a convention you dragged him to when you were twelve. you have a matching one.
seeing it, and the proud smile pushing those beautiful dimples into his cheeks, makes a lump form in your throat and pressure burn behind your eyes.
he frowns, hands moving to cradle your face. “hey, hey, hey. tell me what’s wrong, (y/n).” his eyes are sad, sad, sad, and his thumbs are soft against the corners of your eyes.
“if you ditch me for some marie curry or some shit i’ll kick your ass.” you sniffle and turn away from him so that he doesn’t see your cheeks burn.
he bursts out laughing, so hard even his legs are shaking and you’re pretty sure your face is on fire.
“(y/n) marie curie is dead!” he chuckles and you curse at him under your breath but still loud enough for him to hear.
when his laughter has died down, he runs his fingertips through your hair above your ear and down into your neck. he repeats the motion a few times, slowly, carefully.
your backyard is quiet, save for the breeze gently rustling the leaves now and then, even the cicadas are still. under the shade of the maple tree the air nips at your bare arms, but it isn’t the reason for your goosebumps when taehyun leans down and whispers into your ear.
“you’re my everything.”
his hands are warm on your arms, gliding upward until his fingers on your shoulders turn you over. the look in his chocolate-brown eyes make your nerve-endings tingle. they dart between your eyes and your lips; asking, begging. his fingers curl around the back of your neck and swarms of butterflies burst into your belly.
his lips brush against yours.
a crimson leaf, one buried beneath the green, one you hadn’t even noticed, floats from its branch and catches in your hair.
the seasons are changing.
general taglist: @luvrjn @koishua @yoonzinoswife @hyukabean @piscesgyu (send an ask to be added, or fill out the form!)
pairing: choi beomgyu x reader. genre: comfort, fluff. wc: 613. warnings: anxiety, insomnia (?). an: some self-indulgent stuff i wrote at 1 AM. also the title might change LMAO
your phone buzzes and the screen lights up, startling you. you reach for it on your nightstand, rub the sleep, or lack of it, from your eyes and squint. and then you smile.
“hello?” you say softly, fixing your phone between your ear and your pillow.
“hey,” comes a voice from the other end of the call, thick with sleep. a voice that makes your heart still and eases your mind. you let out a quiet sigh. “you’re up?”
you glance at the clock on your desk against the other side of your room. it reads two-fifteen in bright-red glowing numbers. “yup. you? is something wrong?”
“no, i’m good.” he yawns. it sounds as if he climbed out of bed, and a creaking sound tells you he has slipped into his game chair. shortly after, you hear the tapping of a keyboard. “how was your day?”
“the same as it always is, i guess. i did get a pot plant though.”
he laughs. its deep and raspy and mocking you, but a smile plays on your lips. “you? got a pot plant? and it survived the entire day?”
“yes,” you roll your eyes and peer at the lone hanging succulent on your windowsill. you don’t tell him about the cozy nook you’re preparing in the corner of your room for when he visits in august. you want to surprise him. “so far so good.”
there is a loud bang from somewhere outside, forming cracks and shattering your rose-coloured glasses, and you freeze. your eyes squeeze shut and your heart races as your fingers clutch onto your sheets for dear life. you try to will away the scary, intrusive thoughts that worm their way into your mind but the grip they have on you is far too strong.
“(y/n). hey. listen to me, angel. you’re okay. do you hear me? i’m here, okay? take a deep breath for me okay, baby? nothing’s going to happen to you, i promise.”
he coos. his voice is gentle, patient. it reaches into your chest and embraces your heart, filling it with warmth, with safety. it’s as if he’s right next to you, pressing kisses into your hair and rubbing circles into your back, along your arms.
“beomgyu,” you croak, voice strained by the lump in your throat. by the pain of feeling scared, lonely and helpless. by the gratitude for the comfort of his voice and company.
there is some shuffling and then he begins to strum a quiet melody with his guitar, and you listen. he hums and then he sings about how everything is going to be okay because you have each other. it’s overwhelming and you cry before you can stop yourself.
“beomgyu,” you try once more. your voice still trembles, raw from how you’ve wept, but it’s firmer than before. when he hums in response, you take another calming breath.
“thank you. for calling me every night.”
“what are fellow insomniac internet friends for?” he jokes, and you giggle. and sniffle. he sighs into his phone.
you don’t see or hear his prayers; prayers which beg the days and distance keeping you apart to crumble away.
“you hurt me when you cry. you hurt me when you laugh. i can’t ever win with you, i’m afraid.”
you laugh once more and your heart flutters. it’s scary how you already know your home is going to feel more like home than it ever did when he steps into it, like he’s returning instead of visiting. your heart aches to imagine him leave.
pairing: choi yeonjun x reader. genre(s): fluff. wc: tbd. warnings: none. that i know of. an: i feel like it’s so easy to write and read yeonjun into these situations; he’s the epitome of a sweet bf.
in which your best friend takes you to the beach on his first off day in a while
“ta-da!” yeonjun excitedly presents, pulling up the handbrake before popping the boot of your rented hatchback.
as he heads to the back of the car, you look up at the cloudless blue sky unfurling above you and regard the meagre waves lapping at the shoreline with disdain.
“the beach. yay.”
you hate the beach. you hated alot of things, but the beach fell atleast into your top three. it was always either unnecessarily hot, or unnecessarily windy — God forbid if it was both. you could throw on a space suit and, while it would keep the wind and oxygen out, by the time you got home and removed it, there’d still be grains of sand stuck in all your crevices.
the beach, as an idea, was great. in reality, it was just plain absurd.
“come on, (y/n)!” yeonjun swings your door open, practically vibrating with enthusiasm like a gigantic golden retriever. a medium-sized picnic basket is slung over his shoulder and a blanket and towels are sitting in his arm. his eyes sparkle in the midday light.
reluctantly, you take his hand. once he locks the car, he’s racing with you through the opening between two sand dunes, kicking up sand everywhere. you grimace.
he drops his things on the section just before the sand becomes wet and concrete, and stops before the cold pacific waters can soak into your sneakers. he lifts up his arms, with your hand still in tow, and lets the ocean breeze caress his face and brush through the strands of his golden hair. he takes a deep breath and finally lets go of your hand, shoving his into the pocket of his shorts.
he turns to you with a smile. “isn’t this refreshing? do you feel refreshed? ah, i love the beach.”
your heart swells. you’re sure you’ve mentioned to him before that you detest the beach; after all, you’ve been friends since junior year in high school. you’re also pretty sure you know he must’ve forgotten that the beach is everything but refreshing to you.
but seeing how happy he is, knowing how much he wanted to spend time with you on his short break from the world of practice rooms, flashing cameras and tv personas, its enough to make you want to come here again, and again, and again.
the waves pull back into the ocean before crashing back onto the shore once more and he lets out another contented sigh, his silver piercings gleaming under the sunlight.
you fish your cellphone from your tote bag.
“psst, yeonjun.”
snap. snap. snap.
“hey!” he chuckles, jogging around you to take a look. you tilt the device toward him so he can get a better look. he peers over your shoulder, and a soft smile tugs on his lips. your face breaks out into a satisfied grin, tummy doing flips.
“send them to me. i want to post them.”
your heart drops. you don’t want him to. yeonjun belonged to the public. they saw him more often than you did, knew what he was doing when you didn’t, and were there when he discovered new aspects himself when you weren’t.
they already had all of him. you wanted this moment, just this one, where he was truly happy, truly yeonjun, to be yours and yours alone.
you whirl around, tucking your phone into your back pocket. “no.” he looks as if he’s about to protest, because he thinks you’re joking, you presume, so you say quickly, without much thinking, “this yeonjun is mine.”
he looks stunned, eyes wide and his mouth slightly agape. if you’re honest, you in a quite little bit of disbelief yourself. so you both stand there, with burning faces while the wind whips hair around your faces.
he contemplates carefully, swallows. his eyes flit between the ground and your face. and, you’re unsure, but you almost think they glance at your lips for a millisecond too.
the next thing you know, icy water grates against your calves, something slimy rubs against your ankle and you let out a yelp, throwing your arms around yeonjun’s neck. but he’s startled too and stumbles backward, sending you both into the salty waters.
you’re both soaking wet, coughing hysterically. hair sticks to your face and you can taste the water in your mouth. you feel sand in your pants and wetness sloshing around in your shoes, the feeling of wet clothes making you cringe.
you and yeonjun are laying side by side, his arm keeping you close. you shove his chest. “fuck, yeonjun! there’s fucking sand in my butt-crack!” you fume.
he looks at you apologetically, but in no time you both burst out laughing. he uses his free hand to push the matted hair from your face and leaves his hand in the nape of your neck.
you’re still overtaken with laughter, but now he’s watching you. watching you with a glimmer in his eyes and a warmth in his chest. he has missed you. more than you’ll probably ever know.
he leans over and pecks your nose. “i adore you.”
you flush, his gaze heavy on you.
and then realisation strikes.
“my phone! the pictures! oh shit shit shit!” you cry, pushing yourself up to grab your phone from your back pocket.
but then he pulls you back down to him, and if water gets into his face in the process he doesn’t flinch. “don’t worry. you’ll have plenty more where that came from.”
“but,” you start, tears rimming your eyes, “you looked so happy there. so truly happy, and and i—”
“i guarantee,” he breathes, “i am so much happier right now.”
pairing: choi beomgyu x reader. genre(s): f2l, fluff. wc: ~1k. warnings: mention of politics in a jokey way. an: i had this thought after reading People We Meet On Vacation and a tweet mocking beomgyu’s seemingly endless plaid shirt collection. enjoy!
you tear open your best friend’s wardrobe and your face twists in dread. you fix your hands on your hips and twirl to face him.
“you’re kidding me, right?”
“what?” he replies, not looking up from the book he picked up beside him. the book you had been reading and subsequently tossed upon realizing the time, jostling him awake. realizing he was deflecting. like he was still doing now.
you observe him. he’s wearing a black t-shirt and a dark pair of jeans cuffed at the bottom. you guess that he totally intended on just throwing one before he left. if he ever intended on getting off his butt.
you roll your eyes, “why do you have so many plaid shirts? you’re going to bring her home after your date and she’s going to think you’re a serial killer.”
he doesn’t answer. instead, with sleepy eyes he continues to flip through the book. he lifts it above his head, turns it in every direction like it’s some code he’s trying to crack, and then tosses it back to its place. it’s like he’s trying to piss you off.
“beomgyu!” you half yell, half groan. he leans back, resting his elbow on the mattress and perches his head in his hand. he regards you with a lift of his eyebrows, and you wonder if he’s actually being nonchalant or just an ass.
“you said your date’s at seven-thirty. that’s in round about an hour from now. and all you have in your cupboard, are plaid shirts.”
he looks as if he’s confused to what the problem is. “what if she likes plaid shirts. we’d get along pretty well then. you like my shirts.”
ofcourse, he makes a perfectly valid point. you love his plaid shirts. he wore them well, and whenever you got cold he gave them to you to swim in. no literally, they sat on you like a dress. and it has never bothered you that he always wore them, but you were worried his date would make the biggest mistake of her life and underestimate him.
you sigh, not in complete defeat. not yet. you were no quitter. you crawl back onto his bed, and he adjusts himself so you can sit in the same position you were before: head in his lap while he reclines against the pillows. he smells like fabric softener, and lavender, and the cologne that drove you nuts.
“no one dresses that causally on a first date. especially with someone like kim haram. she’s practically an angel.” its no wonder she wanted to go out with you.
he shakes his head, a small smile on his lips. he touches a strand of your hair and brushes it from your face. “why is this so important to you anyway, it’s just one date. who’s to say i’ll bring her home anyway. who’s to say i’ll even want to sit for the full duration. who’s to say she’ll want to?”
you shoot up, like he’s just told you Hogwarts isn’t real, and scowl. “don’t you give me that,” you jab a finger at him, “you’re so much more wonderful than your wardrobe suggests; she’ll be head over heels before you know it!”
he grins, the corners of his eyes creasing and whisker-like dimples form on his cheeks. your heart feels as if it could burst. it was no secret that your best friend had the prettiest smile in the universe. you were pretty sure that smile could turn trump into democratic putty. beomgyu was nonpartisan by the way.
a small part of you wishes you could keep it to yourself forever. the smiles of this sleepy, plaid-wearing boy.
“what if i were to say i’d ditch the date if it meant we get to marathon marvel movies until sunday,” he says, smile never faltering, fingers still gently brushing through your hair.
your heart leaps and your cheeks burn a shade of pink you hope he’ll never notice. if he does, he doesn’t say anything.
you bite your lip, “stop being a wuss. she’ll love you. like i do. except in a wholly unplatonic way.” his eyebrows crease and you swallow deeply, choosing to focus on the ceiling now instead of his face. “plus, you hate marvel.” you mumble.
he’s quiet for a beat and you pray he says anything, because your heart is racing and, in the quiet of his room, you’re afraid he’ll hear it.
you sneak a peek at his face, and he looks as if he’s thinking– hard. like he’s weighing what he wants to say in his mind before he says it, and all you can think is that you wished you could see what was on his mind.
“i like how it looks on you.” he says finally, softly, almost like he’s unsure if he wants you to hear it.
you’re confused though, not a clue what he’s talking about. “huh?”
his fingers slip from your hairline to the side of your face, and he runs his thumb across your cheekbone softly. there is an aching in your chest, but you tuck it away quickly, aware and afraid of it.
“i love how my shirts look on you.” he says, his voice a little firmer this time, soft, silvery locks skirting the brown eyes boring into yours. “that’s why i have so many of them. i think of you whenever i see them, and then i buy them.”
your heart combusts at the confession, and the emotion you forced away comes bubbling to the surface. you bring your hand over your face, hiding the gigantic, teeth-showing, smile that stretches across your face.
you peek at him through your fingers, and he looks down at you with the sweetest smile you ever saw him wear, light shades of rose dusting his cheeks and ears.
a gentle breeze slips in through the window, and his windchime chimes softly. the golden hour catches the side of his face as he leans down and places a lingering kiss on your forehead.
“and an excruciatingly long movie marathon, of movies– you’re right, i don’t care for, sounds alot more appealing when you’re curled up with me.”
pairing: kang taehyun x reader. genres: text au, crack, fluff, roommate au. warnings: knives mentioned, death elluded to as a joke, food mentioned, looney bin mentioned as a joke, cursing. an: smth i made to get on mina’s nerves and actually enjoyed (act surprised)
general taglist: @oifelixcmerebrou @00-baejin-05 @chaoticdreaminisode @luvrjn @todorokiskitten @acciomylove @vantxx95 @bambisgirl @soobin-chois @yoonzinoswife (send an ask to be added!)
pairing: kang taehyun x curly haired! fem! reader. genre: fluff, fluff, fluff!. wc: 673. warnings: mentions of food. an: happy belated birthday sweet taehyun, and happy mina week 💖 @yoonzinoswife
Taehyun slips in through the front door with a heavy breath, the fabric of his windbreaker swishing as he shuts out the chilly breeze trying to sneak in past him. He kicks off his trainers at the door and peers down the hallway, picking his airpods from his ears to listen for any sign of you around the house. He smiles when he hears the familiar sound of clinging and clanging from the kitchen, his heart doing a little flip, almost as if he didn’t see you just an hour ago.
He makes his way down the short, gaslamp-lit hallway with a skip in his step, pausing momentarily to fix the photo-frame on the console table that seemed to be laying on its side. His fingers caress the glass fondly as he reminisces the trip to Cheongsando Island, fields and fields of magnificent yellow rapeseed flowers; and you, sitting in the middle of them all, the most beautiful of them all.
He is careful not to make a sound when he rounds the corner into the kitchen, catching you in your element was always a treat. Folding his arms across his chest as he leans against the doorway, he watches you scuttle across the kitchen floor with a humored smirk. You were yet to change out of your pajamas (which were only the ufc tshirt you had gotten him for his birthday, that he had only worn a handful of times and was ten sizes to big for you, and your blue patterned yoga pants), your messy dyed curls were loosely pulled back by a hairpin that looked a little too much like the fountain pen from his study and your eyebrows were set in a frown as your fingers firmly grasped the spatula that seemed to have more icing than the cake itself.
You seemed to be waging a war with the cake in question, and your boyfriend counts himself lucky to not be where it is standing. Especially when there was a blunt object between it and you.
“What are you doing, love?”
You jump at the sound of his voice, the spatula hitting the floor with a smack, splatters of cobalt icing flying everywhere. When you realize it is him, your eyes glance toward the somewhat maimed cake before coming back to him and your shoulders fall. “Why are you back so early?”
The disappointment is evident in your voice, and he wishes he’d see you pout, but he knows you won’t, so he sighs and steps into the kitchen. “We finished early. Beomgyu-hyung decided halfway running isn’t for him and went home. Why? Did you want to surprise me?” He bends down to pick up the spatula and hands it to you with a grin, but you’re as much of a stubborn ass as he is, so you sulk and trudge over to your bubbling pot of stew on the stove.
He watches your back for a bit, affection glowing in his eyes and burning in his chest, probably trying to test the duration of his ability to withstand the hold the little things about you have on him. And then one step at a time he moves toward you, stopping just behind you and in time to catch you beam at your meal in satisfaction, the light of the kitchen hood drowning you in merigold. His arms reach for you and find homage around your waist, and he leans into you, resting his head on yours.
The relentless wind; the bitter cold; February’s winter knocks on every door and window in your little house in the not-so upper side of gangnam, but it falls on deaf ears and is forgotten by Taehyun, to whom the presence and embrace of his beloved is like the spring that will come to thaw it in March.
His eyes flutter to a close as he whispers, “It smells delicious, (Y/n). Thank you.”
“Happy birthday Taehyun.” you whisper back, turning the stove off before burying your face in the warmth of his chest.
taglist: @oifelixcmerebrou @00-baejin-05 @iminchaosnow @luvrjn (send an ask to be added!) also @ty5n bc i think you'd like it <3
