There's something delicate about the way Renjun loves.
MAINS. boyfriend!Renjun & female reader
TROPES. established relationship, hurt/comfort, slice of life
WARNINGS. insecurity about being loved, crying
WORDS. 1.4k
NOTES. for beloved @lily-blue ♡
There’s something delicate about the way Renjun loves.
He doesn’t love loudly. No obvious declarations for everybody to hear, no possessive hands on your waist in public, no check-in texts every hour when you’re away.
When you first started dating, you barely noticed the difference between friend Renjun and boyfriend Renjun. Nothing much changed. You couldn’t help but feel insecure because you have been used to seeing dating and romance in the way they show it on tv: grand gestures, playful jealousy, I love yous shouted from rooftops. You have seen your friends doing cringey couple things like feeding each other in picturesque cafés, fit checks in their matching outfits posted on their social media, holding hands or linking arms with their boyfriends. Renjun never initiated anything like that. It brewed something bitter in the pits of your stomach and endless questions started to plague you: What if he didn’t really like you how you liked him? What if he felt forced to be in this relationship? What if he just didn’t know how to turn you down without losing you as a friend?
It’s just one of those days. The nothing-works-out kind of days. Every little thing annoys you and the doubts are louder than usual. You break down over nothing.
When you get home, it’s quiet. The door to Renjun’s study room is closed which means he’s still working. You’re pretty sure he’s working more as a freelancer artist than he would at a 9-to-5 office job, but he’s doing what he loves, so you would never tell him to quit. You place the takeout box you brought home on the counter (you take turns with that: Renjun cooking and you buying food, it’s a good system) and reach up to grab the plates, excited to dig into your favorite orange chicken after such a tiring day. Then it happens: a millisecond lapse in your attention, a wrong hold on the porcelain and the plate is shattered to pieces on the vinyl tiles.
Tears well up in your eyes. Not necessarily over the broken plate but because nothing seems to go right.
You hear a door open and rush to wipe your face but the tears keep coming. It’s like an avalanche. When Renjun sees you crouching down in the kitchen you’re sure you look like a mess: sweaty from being outside, tired from work, face red and swollen from crying.
“What happened? Are you okay?” He asks as he approaches you, slowly cataloging your surroundings.
He doesn’t raise his voice nor does he blame you when his gaze falls onto the ground. He kneels down in front of you, takes your face into his hands and wipes your cheeks with his thumbs feathery light.
“It’s okay,” he whispers and it only makes you cry harder. You’re practically sobbing when he pulls you against his chest, patting the back of your head while you’re trying to burrow yourself into his soft cotton shirt that smells like jasmine laundry detergent and something distinctly him.
You aren’t sure how long it takes for you to calm down but Renjun doesn’t rush you. He lets you take it at your own pace, holding you as long as you need even though you’re sure his knees probably hurt. When you slowly pull back, untangling yourself from his arms, he just presses a kiss on your forehead and helps you to your feet.
He doesn’t say anything as he pulls you into the bathroom, leaving the broken pieces behind in the kitchen, and sits you down on the toilet lid. He reaches into his sweatpant’s pocket and secures the strands of your hair away from your face. Your lips wobble at the realization that he keeps bobby pins and hair ties in his pocket for whenever you need it.
You watch him as he moves around in the small bathroom, retrieving a makeup wipe from your stash so he can clean your face from your foundation mixed with salty tears. He’s gentle even with that, never rubbing too harshly like he could hurt you otherwise. For a moment insecurity strikes again, gripping you tight, telling you that it’s nothing special, that he would probably do the same with all his friends but… honestly, it’s easier to imagine him slapping the wet wipe against Chenle’s face to do it himself than anything else.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Renjun asks, not pushing, not demanding but you hesitate.
You want to rant because complaining just for the sake of complaining has always been a great stress-relief to you. You want to tell him about the shitty new decision of the management that will give you extra workload for the same pay, about that rude dude on the subway not even apologizing after practically running into you, about the corner café running low on your favourite alternative milk option… but you don’t want to tell him about this ugly thought weaving its web all over your mind, about the little voices telling you that he doesn’t really care, that you’re just a burden, that he doesn’t really love you.
“Later. I’m starving,” you pout and Renjun smiles softly.
You eat the lukewarm takeout on the couch (even though Renjun is usually fussy about eating on easily stained furniture) while the TV is on mostly for background noise. He offers to do the dishes while you wash up. The hot shower helps, you can feel the water work the tenseness out of your muscles and soften your edges. You can feel yourself relaxing as you slip into your comfy nightwear.
By the time you finish, the kitchen is cleaned of any evidence except for the uneven number of plates you now have in the cabinet. Renjun looks up from his phone when you shuffle into the living room and the device is immediately put away before he turns towards you.
“Come here,” he calls for you as he opens his arms and you sink into his embrace like rocks sink into the ocean: deeply, like you have always belonged there. Your face fits perfectly into the crook between his neck and shoulder and if you close your eyes, you swear you can hear his heart beating.
“Bad day?”
“Mmh,” you mumble against the warm skin of his neck.
In his hold, you feel safe, content and light. You tell him about work, the subway, the café. Renjun listens, patient and understanding, his hand stroking your back. It reminds you how touch-starved you have been lately and guilt knocks on the door.
“Sorry,” you mutter as you sit back, wrapping your own arms around yourself as his fall back beside him. He looks confused.
“What for?”
You have a lot to apologize for: for soaking his shirt with your tears, for ruining his evening with your mood, for acting like a child. Eventually you settle on something simple:
“That you have to take care of me like this.”
Renjun frowns, he opens his mouth like he wants to say something but he can’t find the words. Silence stretches between you awkwardly and you’re ready to pull away, to distance yourself because… what if you ruined it all?
But then Renjun reaches out and he takes a hold of your hand, his thumb carefully caressing your knuckles.
“I’m not doing it out of obligation. I’m doing it because I love you,” he says like it’s that simple. Like it makes sense. Like that’s how it’s supposed to be: being loved unconditionally.
There’s something delicate about the way Renjun loves.
He loves quietly, softly, gently.
It’s in the way he goes out of his way to attend a ring making workshop to make couple rings for the two of you instead of just buying them. It’s in the way he’s reserved and not as comfortable with touches as you are but he will hold you to make you feel loved when you need it. It’s in the way he rarely says anything but somehow knows what you need: your comfort movie, your guilty pleasure, fancy coffee, your hair out of your face, his hug, his kiss, him.
His love is delicate. Not because it’s fragile. But because it’s precious.
END NOTES. header is from the rains in heaven behind film
alot has happened in ncity.. as we know. and i haven't written anything since new years, but i have some stuff im cooking up in the drafts. the emotaeyongie drought will be over soon.
peace and love <3
i have a ton of ideas right now but im mainly thinking of writing for either haechan or hendery, (or possibly- yangyang.)
i know i mainly did texting fics, but i've always been more invested in actual writing, so there will be more of those! (but im not discontinuing my text ones- i do think they're funny)
i will see you all soon! and make sure to be tuned in for jaehyun's comeback and wayv's (alleged?) comeback! love u
Fire Prince Donghyuck x Water Princess Reader - Arranged Marriage (smut)(repost)
The Fire Prince and Water Princess are set to be married for a political alliance so both countries can be at peace, but maybe it turns into something more...
ATLA inspired!
11.8k, unprotected sex, shower sex, dirty talk, making out, sexual tension
----------------
The palace air was thick with formality and tension. Crystal waves carved along the ceiling of the Water Kingdom's great hall, the cool breeze enchanted through the walls to keep guests comfortable. And yet, the moment Fire Prince Haechan stepped into the chamber, everything felt warmer.
Y/N inhaled sharply.
There he was.
The man she was bound to marry.
She hadn’t known what to expect—only vague reports from her advisors. “He’s clever.” “He’s temperamental.” “He speaks like the sun glows for him.” Not one of them had said beautiful.
But he was. Unfairly so.
Sun-kissed skin glowed golden under the morning light. His shoulder-length brown hair was swept back, exposing his forehead, which gave him a princely aura—but his eyes held mischief, like he knew every dirty secret the world had to offer. His uniform was red and black, trimmed in gold, hugging his frame, collar just low enough to hint at a toned chest. His lips curved when he caught her staring.
Smirking. He’s smirking.
Y/N straightened her spine, eyes narrowing. She was a princess of the tides, trained not to flinch under pressure—certainly not at a cocky fire prince with a gaze that wandered too slow, too low.
And wander he did.
Haechan felt his chest tighten as he looked at her. Fuck.
She was stunning.
Silky hair cascading over her shoulders in soft waves, skin glowing like it had been kissed by moonlight, lips perfectly pink, full and glossy. Her eyes caught him like a current, hard to look away from, especially when they sparkled with challenge. She wore a soft blue ceremonial gown, fitted at the waist, water jewels stitched into the bodice that shimmered when she moved. Haechan let his gaze travel down—just enough to note the soft swell of her chest under the fabric, before returning lazily to her face.
He liked the way she bristled.
“I take it you’re Princess Y/N,” he said, his voice low, smooth like slow-burning embers.
Y/N tilted her chin. “And you must be Prince Haechan. I expected someone taller.”
His brows lifted, lips twitching. “I expected someone... less cold.”
“I am the daughter of water,” she replied with a cool smile. “I run deep.”
Their parents, engaged in stiff conversation a few feet away, seemed unaware of the verbal sparring. The two royal families had kept their distance for centuries, water and fire locked in uneasy rivalry. This marriage was supposed to seal the first treaty between their kingdoms.
A symbol of peace.
Yet standing here, with their eyes clashing like flame against ocean, it felt anything but peaceful.
“I suppose we’re supposed to smile and look grateful,” Haechan said under his breath, voice pitched for her alone. “Pretend this is what we wanted.”
Y/N resisted the urge to glance at his lips. “Isn’t it?”
He leaned in just slightly, a glint of something dangerous in his eyes. “I didn’t ask for a stranger.”
She didn’t flinch. “Neither did I.”
A beat of silence passed, heavy with awareness. Somewhere behind them, her father mentioned something about ceremonial customs, his voice clipped and formal.
Y/N finally looked away.
But she could still feel Haechan's gaze on her.
Lingering.
Burning.
The meeting adjourned with stiff handshakes and overly polite smiles. The adults discussed ceremony details, treaties, dowries. But Haechan didn’t care about any of it.
Not when she was walking beside him, her chin high, her lips pressed tight in practiced serenity.
They were shown into a private chamber for “acquaintance and bonding,” the advisors said, as if either of them could relax under the weight of centuries of political tension and a wedding in seven days.
The moment the doors closed, Y/N turned to him.
“I think it’s best we set expectations now,” she said evenly, voice calm, practiced. “This marriage is a symbol. A duty. Nothing more.”
Haechan raised a brow. “Nothing more?”
She nodded once, folding her hands delicately in front of her. “We’re doing this for our people. So I’d like our relationship to reflect that. Respectful. Professional. No unnecessary intimacy.”
He blinked once, then laughed—sharp and amused, the sound low and rich like a crackling flame.
She frowned. “What’s funny?”
“You,” he said, grinning. “This whole ‘professional relationship’ thing. You say it like you don’t feel it.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Feel what?”
He stepped a little closer, voice dropping. “The heat. You don’t feel it yet, do you?”
She sucked in a breath, cheeks flushing pink. “I feel nothing of the sort.”
“Sure,” he said casually, stepping back with a smirk. “Whatever you want, Princess.”
Y/N bristled. The way he said Princess—so smooth, so mocking—it made her blood boil in the worst way. He wasn’t taking any of this seriously. Just like the rumors said: Prince Haechan, the Fire Kingdom’s cocky golden boy. Spoiled, reckless, dangerously charming.
Her gaze flicked to the floor, frustrated, then back up—just in time to catch him staring at her hand.
At the delicate silver ring on her finger.
She stiffened.
“What’s that?” he asked, his tone curious but sharper now. His eyes locked on the band with a seriousness that hadn’t been there a second ago.
Y/N’s entire body went tense. “None of your business.”
His gaze snapped back to her face. And then—
He grinned.
Slowly. Like a match being struck.
“Oh,” he said, eyes dragging down her figure now with less subtlety. “Oh.”
Y/N’s cheeks went crimson. “Don’t you dare—”
“A purity ring,” he murmured, almost to himself. “You’ve got one of those?”
She turned away, scoffing. “You’re so full of yourself. I knew the rumors were true.”
Haechan crossed his arms, still smirking, voice cocky. “They usually are. But... it seems like you’re into that.”
She gasped, spinning back around. “You’re insane!”
But he just leaned against the nearest pillar, looking entirely too pleased with himself as she stormed toward the door.
“See you next week, soon-to-be-wife,” he called as she yanked it open.
Y/N didn’t look back.
But Haechan stayed where he was, hands in his pockets, heart thudding faster than he’d like to admit.
He hadn’t expected to want her. Not really. Not like that.
And now? Now all he could think was:
Shit.
I’m going to enjoy this.
---------------
The Water Kingdom had never seen a ceremony like this.
Petals floated in the enchanted air, suspended like glittering snowflakes that shimmered as they caught the light. An orchestra played gentle strings, the melody laced with old hymns from both kingdoms—fire and water woven together for the first time. The entire capital had gathered beyond the palace gates, watching the union of two enemies turned allies. Of two strangers turned husband and wife.
Y/N stood at the edge of the marble aisle, her gown flowing like a tide around her feet. The pale silk hugged her figure before cascading into layers of sheer, iridescent fabric. Tiny crystals had been stitched into the sleeves and train, catching the light with every step she took. Her hair was woven into an elegant twist, a delicate water lily tucked just behind her ear.
She didn’t tremble. She didn’t frown.
But her heart was pounding.
When the palace doors opened and she stepped inside, the entire room inhaled.
Including Haechan.
He stood at the altar in deep crimson ceremonial robes tailored perfectly to his frame, the collar low and lined in gold, his hair brushed back again, a warm firestone pin glittering at his chest. But it wasn’t his outfit that made her breath catch.
It was the way he looked at her.
Like the whole world had shifted.
She stopped in front of him, eyes meeting his—nervous, unsure—and he leaned forward slightly, the officiator’s voice just beginning in the background.
“You’re beautiful,” Haechan whispered.
Y/N blinked.
Her lips parted in surprise—then curved into the softest smile. “Thank you.”
They joined hands, his palm warm against hers, fingers curling gently. She expected arrogance, some smirking joke. Instead, he held her like she mattered. Like this mattered.
When it came time for vows, Haechan surprised her again.
He didn’t stumble, didn’t look smug or bored. He spoke clearly, gaze fixed on hers like she was the only person in the room.
“I promise to protect you,” he said quietly, voice low and serious. “To stand beside you, and not in front or behind. I’ll give you the life you deserve—not just as a princess or queen, but as yourself. I’ll learn to love what you love. I’ll fight for what you believe in.”
Y/N's throat tightened. The words were simple, but… honest. No performance.
She spoke her vows just as softly, her eyes shining by the time they finished.
When the officiator declared them husband and wife, Haechan stepped closer.
His hand lifted, fingertips brushing her chin as he tilted it up. She could feel the warmth of his breath, the strange intimacy of this moment—before their first kiss had even begun. He didn’t rush it. He just looked at her like he needed to remember this.
And then he kissed her.
Slow. Sweet. Just a brush of mouths.
But it left her a little breathless anyway.
When they pulled apart, they were both smiling.
The crowd erupted into cheers, and they descended the stairs, hands still joined, fireworks beginning to blossom in the skies above the palace dome.
Their first dance was held in the grand ballroom, golden chandeliers flickering with soft flame, enchanted rain dancing just outside the windows.
Everyone watched.
But Y/N didn’t care. Not when he held her waist gently, pulling her in.
They swayed together, slowly.
And for a second, it didn’t feel like duty. It didn’t feel like obligation.
Just… warmth.
She leaned in closer, voice soft by his ear. “Did you mean it?”
Haechan pulled back to look at her. “Mean what?”
“Your vows.”
He smiled—just a little—his voice a quiet rasp. “Every word.”
She stared at him, eyes searching, lips barely parted.
Then he leaned in again, his next words brushing hot against the shell of her ear.
“I don’t do or say anything caring what anyone thinks.”
When she pulled back to look at him again, there was a new look in her eyes.
Something uncertain.
Something intrigued.
And Haechan—
Well.
He hadn’t planned to care.
But now?
Now, he was starting to.
----------------
The royal island estate was made for beauty. For romance.
The white-sand shores curved along crystal waters, untouched and hidden from the world. Their private villa sat atop a lush hill, its wide balcony wrapped in flowing curtains, overlooking a sea that shimmered under the starlight.
It was paradise.
And it was hers.
Theirs.
Y/N stood in the doorway of the master suite, barefoot on the polished wood, arms crossed tightly over her chest.
One room.
One bed.
Of course.
The servants had filled the space with soft candles, flowers from both kingdoms twined into garlands across the carved headboard. A silver tray of wine and fruits sat untouched on the low table. And in the center of it all, that massive, silken bed.
Y/N didn’t look at Haechan. Not at first.
But she could feel him behind her. The warmth of him. The weight.
She could hear him unbuttoning his jacket, dropping it somewhere behind her with a casual sigh.
“Pretty place,” he murmured.
She swallowed. “It’s a tradition. Every royal marriage ends with a retreat to one of the sacred islands.”
“I like it.”
Y/N finally turned. Haechan had loosened his collar, kicked off his boots. The sunset behind him made his tan skin glow like embers, and when he met her eyes, he smirked faintly.
“Are you going to sleep in that gown?”
“I haven’t decided yet.”
“Want help deciding?”
Her jaw tightened. “We’re married now. I thought you’d be less irritating.”
He walked past her, slow and sure, brushing her shoulder with his as he moved toward the bed. “That’s the thing about marriage, Princess,” he said, tossing himself down across the mattress. “Now I get to irritate you for the rest of your life.”
She turned away, cheeks warm.
She wasn’t afraid of the wedding night. She’d prepared for it. She’d assumed, expected, that it would happen now. That he would try.
And yet—he didn’t move.
He just laid there, one arm propped behind his head, watching her with something unreadable in his eyes.
Finally, she cleared her throat. “Aren’t you…?”
Haechan tilted his head. “Aren’t I what?”
“Going to… consummate the marriage?”
A pause.
Then—that smile again.
“Didn’t you say you wanted this to be professional?” he asked, feigning confusion. “Strictly duty?”
Her eyes narrowed. “You—”
He sat up slowly, voice dropping low, slow like smoke curling around her spine.
“I won’t touch you,” he said, eyes locked on hers, “until you’re crying for it.”
Y/N froze.
A breath caught in her throat. She gasped softly, like the air had been pulled from the room.
“You’re insane,” she hissed, stepping back instinctively. “That won’t happen.”
He just laid back again, smug and glowing and dangerous. “Sure, Princess. Whatever you say.”
Fuming, she stomped toward the bed, grabbing every pillow she could and stacking them straight down the center—walling him off.
“You’re impossible.”
He didn’t stop chuckling until she was under the covers, back to him, arms folded.
With a flick of his fingers, the lantern blew out.
Darkness settled around them, soft and thick.
The ocean whispered beyond the open balcony. Wind danced through the trees.
And in the silence, Y/N lay awake far too long, heart racing, skin hot, aware of the fact that on the other side of that ridiculous pillow wall—
Was her husband.
Smirking in the dark.
Waiting.
“This is ridiculous,” Y/N muttered as they strolled through the winding gardens of the island villa the next morning, sunlight glinting through the palm leaves. “We’re doing everything backwards.”
Haechan looked over at her, sipping lazily from a chilled coconut. “What do you mean?”
She gestured vaguely. “We got married first. Now we’re dating and getting to know each other.”
He grinned. “Better than dating first and then realizing the sex is bad.”
Her mouth dropped open. “You—!”
“Kidding,” he said, very much not kidding, eyes gleaming as he tossed the coconut aside and leaned closer. “Mostly.”
Y/N rolled her eyes and kept walking, though the smile tugging at her lips gave her away.
They spent the late morning exploring the island’s hidden paths and secret groves, followed by a private lunch on a terrace carved into the cliffs, overlooking the turquoise sea. The food was decadent — grilled mango-glazed fish, warm honeyed bread, spiced vegetables — but it was the company that made her heart beat too fast.
She hated how easy it was with him.
Hated how they laughed, how he teased her into smiling when she didn’t want to, how he challenged everything she said and meant it, how—despite the heat between them—he still hadn’t made a single move.
It made her feel insane.
“Don’t you ever get tired of hearing your own voice?” she asked dryly, pushing her plate away.
“Not when I’m saying interesting things.”
“You don’t say interesting things.”
“I said you were beautiful.”
“That’s just lazy flattery.”
“Worked, didn’t it?” he replied with a wink.
She flushed and stood. “I’m going swimming.”
His brows lifted. “Without me?”
“Obviously.”
But of course, he followed.
—
The private lagoon was quiet, hidden away by thick jungle. A soft waterfall spilled into the blue-green pool, mist catching the sun in delicate bursts of light.
Y/N dove in first, sleek and fluid like she was born for the water. Her hair trailed behind her like seaweed, her limbs graceful and easy. Haechan watched from the edge, tongue pressing to the inside of his cheek.
“Are you part siren?” he asked as she resurfaced. “Be honest.”
“No,” she called back, smoothing her wet hair over her shoulder. “Just better than you at this.”
“I’d argue,” he said, stripping off his shirt and stepping into the water, “but I’m too distracted.” His eyes raked up and down her body.
She turned—just in time to see him walking in, sun casting his body in sharp lines, muscles flexing as he moved. Her eyes dipped briefly, involuntarily, before snapping away.
“You’re disgusting.”
He laughed. “And you’re still staring.”
Y/N splashed him without mercy. He took it with a grin, wading deeper until the water reached his waist.
But then—
He looked at her.
Really looked.
Dripping, glowing, bare shoulders rising and falling with each breath. The water hugged her body, translucent fabric floating up, revealing the soft swell of her breasts, the dip of her waist. Her skin shimmered in the light like polished pearls.
Haechan felt the air leave his lungs.
That’s mine, he thought, shocked.
That beautiful, clever, infuriating girl—was his.
His wife.
He let his gaze trail down again, slower this time. No shame. No apology.
And when she caught him?
She glared. “You’re not even trying to hide it.”
He grinned lazily, voice low and teasing. “Why would I?”
Then, leaning back in the water, he added:
“I might’ve married you out of duty, Princess…” His gaze raked her once more. “But I’m still the real winner.”
Y/N looked away with a scoff, swimming farther out.
But her thighs pressed together under the water.
She hated that she could feel it—the heat between her legs, the thrum in her chest, the pull of his voice like a flame licking just close enough to burn.
And she hated most of all that…
She didn’t hate it.
The sun hung low, casting golden ribbons across the lagoon. The water shimmered like glass, warm and still. The sound of the waterfall had become background music to their laughter, their bickering, their shared silence.
They floated near the edge now, side by side.
Y/N laid back on the surface, letting her arms stretch wide, hair fanned out in the water like seafoam.
Haechan was close enough to touch. Close enough to feel. But for once, he was quiet.
“You never told me,” Y/N said softly, eyes on the sky. “How you reacted. When you found out.”
He blinked. “Found out what?”
“About the marriage. The arrangement.”
A pause.
Then: “Oh. That.”
His voice was too casual, too cool.
She turned her head to look at him.
He sighed. “Honestly? I was annoyed. Felt like I was being traded. Like I didn’t get a say in something that would affect the rest of my life.”
She nodded slowly. “Yeah.”
“Felt like a trap,” he added with a crooked smile. “And I hate traps.”
She smiled faintly, but it didn’t reach her eyes.
“What about you?” he asked, glancing at her from the corner of his eye.
Y/N took a moment.
“I was scared.”
The words left her lips like a confession.
“I didn’t know who you were. I didn’t know what kind of man you’d be. I just kept thinking—what if he’s cruel? What if he’s angry all the time? What if he tries to break me?”
Haechan’s smile vanished.
Gone in an instant.
He straightened slightly, suddenly all sharp breath and stillness, his brows furrowing.
He hadn’t thought of that.
He hadn't thought of her fear.
How terrifying it must’ve been, being promised to a stranger—especially one from a nation known for their fire. Their temper. Their history.
She hadn’t just been afraid of the marriage.
She’d been afraid of him.
And yet here she was. Laughing with him. Swimming beside him. Still giving him that cold, smart mouth—but with softness behind it now.
He reached out.
Took her hand beneath the water.
“I’d never hurt you,” he said quietly. “And I’d never force you into anything.”
Y/N’s eyes searched his face. He was all boyish beauty still—but for once, the smirk was gone. His jaw was tight, his gaze serious. Protective.
Her heart cracked a little.
“I know,” she whispered, squeezing his hand.
The moment held between them like a delicate ripple.
Then he let go.
“I’m gonna shower,” he said quickly, pulling away.
Y/N watched as he climbed out of the water, water trailing down his back, the sun outlining every sculpted line of his body.
But her chest felt hollow.
The second he was gone, the pool felt colder. Quieter. Like the heat had been drained from the air entirely.
She sank lower into the water, pulling her knees to her chest.
And whispered to herself:
“…I miss your warmth.”
--------------
The morning sun painted soft golden lines across the veranda, the air warm and scented with sea breeze and tropical fruit. Their plates were nearly empty — mango slices, toasted honey bread, and cups of steaming jasmine tea sitting untouched now as the silence between them settled into something unusually comfortable.
Y/N sipped her tea, stealing glances at Haechan as he tilted back in his chair, shirt loose, collar open, hair still slightly damp from his morning shower. He looked impossibly smug for someone doing absolutely nothing.
“You’re too quiet,” he muttered without looking at her. “What are you plotting?”
“Nothing,” she said, voice soft but firm.
“Liar.”
“Arrogant.”
He smirked. “Flirt.”
Before she could respond, her foot caught on the leg of the chair as she stood, her body tilting awkwardly to the side. She gasped—
—and landed right into him.
Strong arms closed around her waist instantly, catching her like it was nothing.
Time froze.
Their faces were close. Too close.
Y/N blinked up at him, chest pressed to his, the heat of his skin radiating around her like he was the sun. Her breath caught. Her fingers were curled on his shoulders, gripping instinctively.
And Gods, he was warm.
Not just physically — elementally. It buzzed under his skin. Alive. Like standing in front of a campfire with no escape.
He looked at her, amused.
“Well,” he said quietly. “If you wanted to throw yourself at me, Princess, you could’ve just said so.”
Y/N’s face flushed. She yanked her hands back and stepped away, nearly tripping again in the process. “It was an accident.”
“Sure.” He leaned back against the table, arms folded lazily. “But if you ever do want to touch me, all you have to do is ask.”
“Keep dreaming.”
“I do. Every night.”
She picked up her teacup just to have something to throw at his head. He dodged easily, laughing.
The rest of breakfast dissolved into their usual chaos — him teasing, her snapping back with sharp, witty insults. But under it all, Haechan could barely hide his grin.
He loved this.
Loved the way she didn’t just tolerate him — she fought him. Matched him word for word, glare for glare, and looked so damn pretty doing it.
He leaned in, elbows on the table, chin resting in his palm as she pretended to read the itinerary the attendants had left for them.
“Tell me again,” he said casually, “how you think I’m insufferable.”
She didn’t look up. “You’re egotistical. Loud. You smirk too much. You flirt with everything. You have a god complex.”
His grin stretched wider. “You forgot devastatingly handsome.”
“I was getting there.”
“Mm,” he hummed, watching her lips. “You think I’m hot, don’t you?”
Y/N finally looked up. “I think the heat from your ego is melting this entire island.”
He barked a laugh, the sound warm and happy and annoyingly attractive.
And deep down, Y/N knew: she didn’t hate this.
She didn’t hate him.
Not even a little.
In fact… she was starting to enjoy this game.
Even if it left her thighs pressed together under the table and her thoughts drifting to the way his hands had felt on her waist.
---------------------
They hadn’t spoken much at the beginning. Just exchanged a few awkward nods before the instructor gestured for them to step onto the circular wooden floor, dimly lit by rows of candles in red and blue glass.
“Today,” the instructor smiled, “you’ll learn the Fire-Water Unity Dance. It’s a tradition meant to express harmony through contrast—strength through surrender, resistance through flow.”
Y/N raised an eyebrow. “So... a fight?”
Haechan grinned. “More like foreplay.”
She elbowed him, but he only laughed, not even pretending to apologize.
Then the music began—deep drums for the fire, slow strings for the water. The instructor moved around them, guiding their bodies into position. Haechan’s hand found her waist first—warm and firm. She braced herself for the heat, but it still startled her—the way his touch burned even through layers of fabric.
His other hand took hers, fingers sliding into place like he’d done this a hundred times. She glanced up to see him watching her, not the instructor.
“You’re warm,” she whispered.
He smirked. “You’re cold. Guess we fit.”
The movements started slow. A step forward, a sweep to the side. Haechan’s palm slid from her waist to the small of her back, guiding her, pulling her into him with each breath. Y/N tried to focus on the rhythm, the meaning behind the steps, but her mind kept scattering—burning alive from the nearness of his body, from the teasing brush of his thigh against hers as they spun.
The dance wasn’t chaste. It wasn’t meant to be.
It was intimate.
Every step placed them chest to chest, then spun them apart, then back again. Her skirt flared, and Haechan caught it mid-air, eyes dropping to the skin of her thigh before he returned to form. His smirk deepened when she stumbled.
“Nervous?” he murmured.
“You wish.”
His hand slid up her back again, fingers spreading at the base of her neck. “Maybe I do.”
The instructor circled them again, correcting their posture. “Closer,” she told Y/N, gently nudging her toward Haechan. “Let him feel your balance.”
Y/N pressed closer. Her chest brushed his, and Haechan bit back a sound, one of his hands flexing on her waist like he was barely holding it together.
Her heart pounded. It wasn’t the music or the movement—it was him, all of him, his heat, his breath, his words. His hand slid lower when they turned again, thumb brushing the top of her backside, his lips next to her ear.
“You’re sweating,” he said.
“So are you.”
“Yeah,” he said softly. “But I like the way you smell.”
Y/N made the mistake of glancing up at him. His eyes burned. She felt her legs falter just a bit—he caught her, smirking again.
“I got you,” he said, cocky and sure, spinning her back into his arms.
By the time the music faded, her entire body felt like it was trembling. Her cheeks were flushed, her pulse wild. The instructor gave them a pleased nod and excused herself to grab water.
As soon as the door closed behind her, silence settled over them like heavy smoke.
They stood there, breathless.
Y/N’s hands were still against his chest.
Haechan was staring.
And then—“Don’t you wanna kiss me?”
She blinked, lips parting. “Don’t you wannna kiss me?” She repeated.
His mouth twitched. But this time it wasn’t a tease. “Actually… yeah. I do.”
He took a step closer, giving her time to stop him.
She didn’t.
She couldn’t.
His hand cupped her jaw gently, thumb brushing her cheek as he leaned in. His lips met hers softly at first—so soft it made her breath hitch. It wasn’t rushed, wasn’t demanding. It was warm, languid, testing. But then she kissed him back—hungrily, breathlessly—and he groaned into her mouth.
The hand on her waist pulled her flush against him. Her hands slid into his hair. His tongue teased the seam of her lips, and when she let him in, he kissed her like he’d been waiting for this moment forever.
Her fingers tightened in his hair as he sucked on her lower lip, then tilted his head to deepen it, pressing his thigh between hers.
Y/N moaned softly, the sound lost into his mouth.
That’s when—
The door creaked.
They jerked apart, faces flushed, lips swollen.
The instructor froze in the doorway, clearly registering the scene, but politely looking away.
Y/N was mortified, gasping as she stumbled back.
The instructor cleared her throat. “We’ll... pick up again tomorrow.”
As she walked past, Y/N covered her face.
But from behind her, Haechan whispered, smug and low, “Next time, princess... I’m not stopping.”
The moon hung low and silver, casting a gentle glow across the private royal bungalow nestled in the jungle. The sea breeze slipped through the open windows, rustling the white curtains like ghostly dancers. Inside, all was still—except for Haechan.
He sat in the woven rattan chair by the open balcony doors, cradling a crystal glass of sweet, dark Fire Nation whiskey, gaze locked on the sleeping figure in their bed.
Y/N lay on her side, face soft and peaceful in the lamplight, hair fanned across the silk pillowcase. One hand was curled under her cheek, the other rested gently over her chest, the glint of her wedding band catching the light with every slow breath. Haechan could make out the delicate blue and silver bracelet her mother had given her, still wrapped around her wrist.
She looked… untouched. Serene. Sacred.
And it was killing him.
He ran a hand down his face, then through his hair, the whiskey burning down his throat like it was trying to match the heat pulsing inside him. He was going insane. He could still taste her from the kiss they'd stolen, feel the pressure of her body against his during the dance. Her curves. Her breathy laugh. Her stubbornness. Her soft moan. The pillow wall was still up between them at night, but every morning he woke up with his hips pressed against it, her body just inches away.
Now, watching her in the moonlight, purity written across every line of her body, his chest twisted in something that felt nothing like lust.
He might be falling for his wife.
-------------
The next morning came far too quickly.
Y/N stood at the docks dressed in her traditional Water Tribe blue—layers of hand-stitched silk swirling around her like waves, hair intricately braided by her mother’s hands. Her father kissed her forehead; her youngest sibling clung to her waist, trying not to cry. The ocean sparkled behind them like a painting, the same one she grew up with, the same one she was leaving behind.
“I’ll write you every week,” she promised, her voice shaking, pulling her mother in for one last tight hug. “And I’ll visit whenever they allow it.”
Her mother sniffled and nodded. “Just remember who you are. Your heart belongs to the sea, but now you’ll have fire beside it too.”
Y/N turned to Haechan, who had given her space but hadn’t taken his eyes off her. He knew what she was giving up. Her culture, her home, the safety of being surrounded by people who understood her without words. And she was coming with him, to a kingdom where the air smelled of smoke and stone and the palace halls were always too hot.
As she stepped onto the ship beside him, Haechan slipped his hand into hers and gave it a squeeze.
“I know it’s not fair,” he said quietly. “But I promise to make it feel like home.”
The Fire Nation palace was majestic—soaring ceilings, carved stone hallways, crimson tapestries that caught the firelight. But it wasn’t home.
Not for her.
At dinner, she sat stiffly, dressed in unfamiliar fabrics, her appetite lost to nerves. The servants presented spicy grilled meats, fire-roasted vegetables, dishes sizzling with heat and oil. Haechan noticed her hesitance immediately.
He leaned over and whispered, “I had them make something else for you.”
Moments later, a new tray was carried in: slow-simmered seal stew, moon peach tarts, iced berry nectar—all from the Northern Water Tribe.
Y/N blinked at the spread, lips parting in shock. “You remembered?”
He nodded, a little sheepish. “I paid attention during that history lesson on our date. And maybe... asked your mom and the cook for a few recipes before we left.”
Her eyes welled up for a moment, but she blinked quickly and leaned in to kiss his cheek—quick, soft, just a brush of lips on skin.
“Thank you.”
And just like that, Haechan—crowned prince of the Fire Nation, soldier, firebender—was reduced to a man grinning like an idiot, heat blooming across his face hotter than any flame he’d ever bent.
He reached for more stew just to hide it, but he couldn’t stop smiling the rest of the night.
Their new bedroom in the Fire Nation palace was much smaller than the luxurious honeymoon suite. The bed—although still elegant—was noticeably tighter, forcing proximity neither of them had truly confronted yet. Haechan paused in the doorway, arms crossed as he surveyed the space. “If it’s too cramped for you,” he offered, his voice casual, “I can take the guest chamber. I don't mind.”
Y/N turned to him with a small shake of her head, her voice gentle but sure. “No… We’re married. We have to get used to it.”
That word—married—still sent a strange thrill down his spine. A mixture of disbelief, amusement, and something warmer, more dangerous. Especially when she said it like that, so soft and sure of him.
They both changed in the small adjoining room, backs turned out of respect—or maybe tension. Haechan padded out first, shirtless as always, his sun-kissed skin glowing under the firelight. Y/N followed a moment later, dressed in a silk two-piece set: soft blue shorts that clung to her thighs and a matching top with delicate straps. Haechan glanced over just once, then forced his eyes away, swallowing hard as he slid beneath the covers on his side.
The palace’s rooms were cooled by design, to give Fire Nation dwellers relief from their natural heat. But to Y/N, who’d grown up falling asleep beside crackling blizzards and glacial winds, the room felt too cold—unnatural, almost eerie. The fire in the corner was out, only a few embers glowing faintly. She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself as she lay down.
They didn’t say much. The silence wasn’t awkward—it was heavy, expectant. Like the air between them had shifted since that kiss during the dance.
Now, inches apart, both of them lay facing opposite directions. But somewhere in the middle of the night, Y/N stirred.
The cold crept into her bones and, half-asleep, her body searched for warmth. Without thinking, she rolled over and instinctively burrowed into the closest heat source.
Haechan.
He felt it immediately—soft limbs tangling with his, her silk-covered thighs brushing against his bare skin, her chest pressed against his arm, breath hitting the crook of his neck. His whole body went rigid.
Eyes flying open in the darkness, he stared at the ceiling, heartbeat hammering. She was—she was all over him. One leg had slipped between his, her hand resting unconsciously on his abdomen, fingers brushing the faint line of hair below his navel. She didn’t know what she was doing. She couldn’t.
Shit.
He shifted slightly, careful not to wake her, but her body responded instinctively—curling tighter against him, nose nudging his throat. And he felt it—his body’s response. His cock, hard and aching now, trapped under the sheets. All because of the way she clung to him in her sleep, unaware and innocent and so damn soft. Dangerous.
He hissed under his breath and clenched his jaw, frozen.
Was she dreaming of something else? Or was it really just the cold?
Either way, he couldn’t take advantage. He wouldn’t.
After a moment of cursing himself silently, he exhaled slowly and reached for a thicker blanket at the foot of the bed. Gently, he tugged it over her body, covering her fully and tucking the edges around her, like some kind of ridiculous protector. Like he could shield her from him.
Once she was cocooned in warmth and no longer clinging, he carefully peeled himself away from her and sat at the edge of the bed, head in his hands.
He needed a shower. A cold one. Immediately.
As he slipped out quietly, trying not to wake her, he glanced back once. Her face was peaceful, lips parted, wedding ring catching the faint light.
Haechan ran a hand through his hair and whispered to himself, “What the hell are you doing, man?”
Because he knew the answer was dangerous.
He might just be falling for her. For real.
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