#anonie

“Jongin, stop!”

Your voice broke the air, and his fist froze mid-motion. When he turned to look at you, the adrenaline in his eyes faded, replaced by a flickering realization as he finally registered the look of pure disappointment on your face. Jongin glanced down at what he’d done—the guy slumped on the floor, blood blooming from his nose, too exhausted and beaten to even keep pace with the fight anymore.

“Man, what did you do!?” he heard from someone else who helped the guy on the floor. 

You didn’t wait for an explanation. You turned and bolted, escaping the campus as fast as your legs could carry you, desperate to get away from him.

Jongin realized the moment he saw you run that he had broken the one promise that mattered. He tried to catch you before you left the school grounds, but you were already gone. 

It wasn’t until later that evening that he showed up at your place, his shame trailing behind him like a shadow.

“Babe… it’s me.” The sound of his knuckles against your front door was hesitant. When you didn’t reply, he knocked again.

“Go away!” Your voice was thick with anger.

Jongin froze on the other side. “Love, please,” he urged, his voice strained. “Just listen to me once.” You could almost hear him dragging a hand through his hair in frustration. “I promise I’ll leave if you don’t want to see me, but please… just once.”

Promises. That was the problem.

You had every intention of keeping that door locked, but a stubborn part of you softened. You sighed before finally pulling the door open, stepping back to give him just enough space to enter.

“Ten minutes,” you said firmly.

Jongin looked stunned, but he didn’t argue. He stepped inside, searching your eyes as he struggled to find the right words.

“I’m sorry,” he rasped. The rawness in his tone forced you to look at him. “I know I fucked up. I know I told you the fighting was over, that I was done being impulsive.”

“Then why was there blood on your knuckles today, Jongin?” you asked, your voice rising despite yourself. “Why?”

“Because…” Jongin looked like he wanted to punch the wall, but instead, he curled his fingers into his palms. “He was talking about you… he said things... disgusting things about what he wanted to hook you up. I couldn’t just stand there.”

“I can defend myself,” you snapped. “I’ve been doing it long before you came along. You didn’t have to do that for me.”

“I did it because you’re my girl, and… I love you.” He stepped closer, his shadow looming over you.

His shoulders slumped. Jongin could definitely face an entire crowd with his fists up, but he couldn’t survive a single day without you. You were the only person in the world who could disarm him without trying.

Jongin reached for your hands, his touch surprisingly gentle. “When he said your name, I just... I couldn’t handle the thought of him disrespecting you.”

You looked down at his hands. “The promise wasn’t just about the fighting, Jongin.” You finally met his gaze. “I trusted that you were better than that.”

“I am,” he urged, squeezing your fingers. “With you, I am.”

You didn’t pull your hands away from his, but you kept them limp. “Jongin...” Your heart ached at the sight of the cut on his lip and the red mark on his cheekbone, but you forced yourself to stay cold.

His grip on your hands tightened just a fraction. “You’re the only good in my life, and the thought of someone even thinking they could lay a hand on you or speak your name like that…”

“I don’t need a protector,” you muttered, pulling one hand free to tuck a stray hair behind your ear. You stepped back, leaning against the kitchen counter to put more distance between you. “How am I supposed to trust you’ll stay calm next time?”

Jongin followed you, but stopped a few feet away, respecting the boundary you’d drawn. He looked utterly defeated. “You’re right.” He took a shaky breath, his eyes shimmering with a sudden, raw vulnerability. “But you have to believe one thing.”

He stepped into your space then, closing the gap until he was close enough for you to feel the heat radiating from his chest. He didn’t grab you; instead, he lowered his head, resting his forehead against your shoulder in a gesture of absolute surrender.

“I could fight a hundred guys like him,” he breathed into the fabric of your shirt, his voice muffled and trembling. “But I can’t fight you. If you tell me to leave now and never come back… I’ll do it, because I can’t stand being the reason you’re unhappy.”

You felt the tension in your shoulders begin to crumble; his entire body was shaking. For Jongin, his pride was everything—and he was laying it all in the dust just for a chance to stay.

You didn’t say a word. Rising up on your tiptoes to close the distance, you cupped his face and met his lips with a soft, deep, and agonizingly slow kiss. Then, you wrapped your arms tightly around his neck, pulling him into you.

Jongin’s arms wound around your waist instantly, his large hands splaying across your back, drawing you flush against his chest. He let you take the lead, his body sagging with a relief so profound it was almost heavy. He followed your rhythm, losing himself in the quiet safety of your touch.

Suddenly, he let out a sharp hiss of pain, his breath hitching against your mouth. The adrenaline that had carried him through the fight had finally vanished, leaving behind the stinging reality of the cut on his lip.

You pulled back just an inch, cupping his face with both hands. As you looked at him, the softness in your eyes sharpened into a look he knew all too well—the one that told him exactly how reckless and foolish he’d been.

“That hurt, didn’t it?” you whispered, your thumbs brushing just beside the bruise on his jaw.

Jongin looked down at you, still reeling from the kiss. He nodded, feeling embarrassed. “But don’t worry… I know it’s my fault.”

You didn’t even let him finish his sentence. Instead, you caught his hand and led him toward the sofa. He followed you silently and compliantly as you pushed him down into the cushions.

“Stay,” you commanded softly before turning to retrieve the first-aid kit.

When you returned, you climbed onto his lap, settling there with the kit balanced between you. The sudden proximity made his breath hitch; he looked utterly embarrassed, his gaze dropping as if he couldn’t quite handle how small he felt under your focused attention.

As you pulled out the antiseptic, you started the lecture. “You realize how many times we’ve had this conversation, right?” you murmured, your voice firm but low. You dipped a cotton pad in the solution and pressed it against the cut on his lip.

Jongin hissed, his entire body tensing as he nearly shut his eyes against the sting. His hands reached out instinctively, bunching the fabric of your hoodie in his fists, gripping it as if it were a lifeline. He didn’t pull away, though. He stayed perfectly still, letting you work even as he winced. You caught the way he was clinging to you, and a small, involuntary smile tugged at your lips, which he didn’t see.

“You’re lucky it didn’t need stitches.” You moved the cotton to the bruise on his cheekbone. “What am I supposed to do with you, Jongin?”

“I-I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice muffled.

When the last of the blood was cleaned away and the ointment was applied, you finally set the kit aside. You cupped his face, tilting his head up until he had no choice but to look at you. Then, you gave him a tiny, gentle peck on his forehead. Then another on his nose. And finally, one on his chin, avoiding the sore spot on his lip.

Under your touch, the last of his defensive walls crumbled. Jongin let out a long, shaky exhale and leaned into your palms, looking up at you with raw, searching eyes.

“Are you… still angry?” His voice was barely audible.

You looked at him for a long beat, then gave a slow, honest nod. “Of course.”

His face fell for a fraction of a second, but you didn’t move away. You weren’t going to lie to him, but you were also certain that you didn’t want him out of your life. Not tonight.

“Your boyfriend’s a dumb, mmh? I... I’m sorry, love.”

As your fingers began to comb through his hair, the tension finally left his body. Jongin loved the rhythmic slide of your fingers against his scalp, the quiet comfort, and the fact that… you were still there.

“Come on,” you said softly, shifting your weight. “Let’s go to bed.”

He opened his eyes wide. “You sure?” he asked softly. “I don’t... I don’t wanna bother you. I know I messed up.”

You met his gaze. “No more fighting, Jongin. Never or it’s over. For real this time.”

“For real,” he promised. The way he squeezed you in his arms made you believe him. “Shall I?” he asked, holding you closer. 

When you nodded, Jongin simply smiled and took you in his arms. He finally took you to bed, feeling completely safe in your arms, knowing this time he won’t disappoint you again.

okay first of all, he’s taking you somewhere stupidly exclusive. like remote private villa in bora bora vibes. infinity pool. ocean view. no paparazzi. no phones. just you, him, and vibes immaculate enough to cure generational trauma.

he’s romantic in subtle ways. not grand gestures, but the little things: booking your favorite spa treatment, holding your hand during long walks on the beach, brushing your hair behind your ear while you talk like you’re made of glass.

he spoils you effortlessly. breakfast in bed, drawing bubble baths with flower petals, even drying your hair gently afterward. “you don’t do anything this week, baby. just exist. let me take care of you.”

brings his camera and takes the most gorgeous candid photos of you—sunlight in your hair, your laugh mid-bite, legs dangling in the pool. but then there’s another folder on his phone that’s locked with face ID 😏 let’s just say those pics are not for public viewing.

super clingy at night. you can’t sleep without him curling around you, arms snug around your waist, legs tangled, occasionally whispering sleepy “i love you’s” into your hair.

he talks about forever in the softest, most casual way. “we should come back here for our anniversary… every year.” or “you think our future kids would like this beach?” 😭

last night of the trip, he slow dances with you under the stars. barefoot, no music, just his heartbeat pressed against yours. “you know i’d marry you all over again, right?”

honeymoon sehun = possessive af. but let’s be real, he was already the most possessive one in exo before you even tied the knot. like he’s always been the quiet, watchful, touch-you-even-if-you’re-just-standing-there type. but now that you’re officially his wife? it’s cranked up to a million percent.

slow morning sex hits DIFFERENT. soft kisses, sleepy moans, your legs wrapped around his waist while he whispers “just wanna feel you like this forever.” but then he’ll flip you over mid-stroke and ruin your whole morning schedule. no regrets.

loves overstimulation. he’s not rough—he’s intentional. the type to edge you until you’re trembling, then hold you close and whisper “you can gimme one more, right?” while making you come apart all over again.

he lives for you in his clothes—but nothing underneath. you walk into the kitchen like that, and boom. he's pushing you onto the counter, one hand under your thigh, the other gripping your jaw. “you know what that does to me, don’t you?”

gets off on how fucking wrecked you look. flushed skin, teary eyes, shaky legs. kisses your temple with a smug little “so pretty like this… all mine.”

has a secret folder in his phone for the more explicit memories: videos of you moaning his name, his hand around your throat, your back arched while he whispers filthy things you wouldn’t dare repeat in public.

choking kink, praise kink, majorrrr possessiveness kink. mix it all with slow, deep strokes and you’ve got the kind of sex that makes you cry from the intensity, not pain.

aftercare king. wraps you in soft towels, kisses your forehead, makes you tea, rubs lotion into your thighs like you didn’t just get wrecked ten minutes ago. “ya good, baby? still breathin'?”

oh and if you tease him during the day? walk around in a tiny bikini or give him a certain look? he’ll make you pay for it that night. and by pay, i mean scream into a pillow while he ruins your entire soul 💀

Not that he had done anything wrong—not really. He had texted earlier, saying work ran long, apologizing like he always did. But lately, the apologies felt routine, like a script he repeated without thought. And maybe that’s what hurt the most—not the lateness itself, but the growing feeling that you were becoming an afterthought in his life.

Not that you could make yourself blame him anyway—although maybe it could explain the feeling punching in your chest in an easier way. He was just doing his job, being the hardworking man you felt in love with and were perfectly aware of the consequences when you said I do. And if you were realistic, he was practically sent home to rest since the new company, so you really have a lot of time together.

The last weeks, though... you just barely saw each other awake—the biggest frequent glince you had of him was his cute and serene pouty face as he whines as you moved away from his arms, the morning starting early to you; and his soft smile through your heavy eyeleads as he carried you to bed whispering something your mind couldn't quite understand. Besides that, some calls, texts, some silly and cute selfies; some teasing angles of him proving he was giving his best on getting ready for the new season.

But.... his best was when he arrived home, announcing himself and just wait long enough for you to greet him back before looking for you around the house if you took a too long time to answer, and then kiss you like he needed to, like you were the oxygen that he did not breathe all day.

He was breathing lately, it seems. Breathing the sandwiches he ordered because a dancer of his said it was good; breathing the horrible green drink that allegedly helps to eliminate toxins because a dancer of his other dancer said was extraordinarily efficient; breathing the short documentary he watched during the break with his friend; breathing very deeply the last tiktok trend with his choreographer and staff.

It was bitter, the taste of all this at the end of so many days—or it was simply some change in your taste buds that made everything but tasty, as you read this afternoon in an ebook about pregnancy and maternity.

You wanted to tell him today, taking advantage of being so thoughtful and nervous about that that sleep would surely not come before he arrived. You knew him, you really did, and you were not scared of his reaction; still, your heart was beating so fast at the thought of him seeing you—really seeing you—again, even though it was not exactly because of you, keept you in check.

The sound of keys and the door opening took you from the thoughts, and you had to take a deep breath, reviewing all the words you thought about saying.

He wasn't alone, though. No, he was alone—but he was talking on the phone. He walked in, his eyes widening as he saw you awake sat on the couch. He murmured a "hey, love" under his breath, leaning in to kiss your forehead before signaling he was going to the bathroom.

Okay, okay. Sometimes business come home.

As he came back, though, typing something on the phone, a bumpy smile on his face, it was a bit too much. You sat on your seat on the table, following suit as he took off his jacket.

"We're going out tomorrow morning with the boys." he said, his tone betraying the enthusiasm for the plans. "We finally managed to get matching schedules after like- a month and an half?"

You hmm in response.

"But are you going to come home earlier, then?" you asked, the food in your plat untouched.

Baekhyun frown, chewing. His phone buzzed on the corner of the table.

"Probably not, babe, I still don't feel a part of the choreo and Kasper is stopping by to help."

You nodded, lips pressing into a thin line as you stared at your plate. His answer wasn’t surprising, but it still stung. But still, you didn't have the heart to confront him about it. You just couldn't, somehow... not like this, not right now.

“I see.” you murmured, poking at the food with the fork.

Baekhyun glanced up at you, sensing something off in your tone. His phone buzzed again, and you caught the flicker of hesitation in his eyes before he reached for it. He unlocked the screen, quickly typing a response, that same shadow of a smile on his lips—but if the plans were getting great, he didn't say a thing. You exhaled slowly, trying to steady the weight pressing against your chest. And the table trembled again, and you couldn't help back.

"Is Kasper going too?" The question slipped out before you could stop it, quiet but sharp enough to make Baekhyun pause mid-chew.

He blinked at you, caught off guard.

"What?"

You shook your head, setting your fork down, looking at everything but this eyes, wishing he couldn't see you fighting the tears. The heat went up through your cheeks, warming the ground for your almost inevitable crying. No, you would hold back!

“Never mind.” you managed to say.

“No, hold on.” He put his phone down, sitting up straighter. “What do you mean?”

You hesitated, feeling ridiculous now that the words had left your mouth. But it was too late to take them back. It was not like you, to get.... jealous of how time with other people.

“Nothing.” you said again, forcing a small smile. Nah, it was the hormones, you silently blamed. “Forget I said anything.”

Baekhyun wasn’t having it.

“We don't know yet. But you have any objection on Kasper going too?” His voice wasn’t defensive, but there was an edge to it—like he was trying to make sense of something that hadn’t even crossed his mind.

“It’s not about that.” you admitted, rubbing your temple, the tears seemed to sisappear fast this way.. “It’s just…” You sighed, searching for the right words. “Lately, it feels like you have so much space in your life for everyone and everything—except me.”

Baekhyun frowned, his gaze softening.

“That’s not true.”

"Isn't it?" You let out a quiet sigh, almost a mocking laugh with it, shaking your head. “Looks like it."

“Babe…” He reached across the table, but you leaned back instinctively, putting just enough distance between you that he noticed.

"You don't see it, do you?" You exhaled, eyes locked onto his. "You come home, kiss me, ask how my day was, but you're not really here. You're thinking about work, about schedules, about dances, about—" You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to calm down. "I don't doubt that you love me, Baek. But lately, I feel like I'm just… part of your routine."

Baekhyun’s expression shifted, frustration creeping in.

"That’s not fair." he muttered. "I’ve been working hard, trying to balance everything—”

"I know that!" Your voice cracked slightly, emotion bubbling to the surface. "And I’m proud of you. I always have been. But when was the last time you asked me how I felt and actually listened? When was the last time you noticed that I’m not okay, or that I want more kisses, and that I need your help for—? I never had to ask and now I struggle in front of you but you do nothing until I have it almost done!"

Silence.

His brows knitted together, as if he was about to say something—but he didn’t. And that silence said more than words ever could.

You inhaled sharply, feeling your chest tighten. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

Baekhyun rubbed a hand over his face, exhaling deeply.

“I didn’t realize you felt that way.” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “But… babe, I can’t constantly reassure you. I need you to trust me. We're married, I literally carry proof of that daily. I can't just– check on you all the time, you know how to ask for help when you need it, babe.”

You froze.

The words hit like a slap, not because they were cruel, but because they implied something that made your stomach turn—like you were being unreasonable, overreacting.

Baekhyun must have realized it too, because his eyes widened slightly.

“Wait, I didn’t mean it like—” But it was too late. Your throat felt tight, and before you could stop yourself from actually crying, you stood up.

“I think I’m done.” you whispered, your voice unsteady pushing your plate away. “Good night, Baekhyun.”

And you walked away before he could even say another word, blinking back the sting of tears as you made your way to the bedroom with a blurry vision.

Baekhyun didn’t follow you. His footsteps didn't rush to get to you before you closed the door. For the first time in a long time, he let you walk away. And somehow, that hurt even more.

Baekhyun sat frozen at the dining table long after you disappeared into the bedroom. The plate in front of him remained half-eaten, but he had lost his appetite completely.

The silence in the apartment felt heavier now, suffocating. The buzzing nerve wracking by its sound and the constant shake of the glasses on the wooden table.

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. What the hell just happened?

It wasn’t like you to get upset over something like this. Sure, you were sensitive sometimes, but you always talked things through. This time, though… this time, you had walked away.

And the worst part?

He had let you.

Baekhyun rubbed his temples, feeling the weight of regret settle in his chest. He replayed your words in his mind—your voice, tight with emotion, the tears swelling in your eyes, your cheeks red as you tried to hold them back. The way you had looked at him, like you were tired of fighting… of fighting for his attention.

"When was the last time you noticed that I’m not okay?"

His stomach twisted. Had he really been so wrapped up in everything else that he failed to see you slipping away? You we're more tired lately, that's for sure: the weird positions in which you fall asleep speaking by themselves. The cause behind it, though? He really didn't know, but he should.

He pushed his chair back with a quiet scrape, glancing toward the bedroom door. The light was off.

Maybe he should give you space.

Maybe—

No.

He needed to fix this. Now.

Baekhyun stood up, making his way to the bedroom. He hesitated just outside the door, hand resting on the handle. For the first time in a long time, he felt nervous about stepping inside.

Still, he took a breath and pushed it open.

The room was dark except for the soft glow of the hallway’s light filtering through the open door You were lying on your side, facing away from him, curled up beneath the blankets.

“Babe?” His voice was quiet, hesitant.

You didn’t answer. He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I know you’re awake.” he whispered.

Still nothing.

Carefully, he sat on the edge of the bed, close but not touching you. He wanted to reach out, but something about the way your shoulders were stiff, the way you held yourself so still—it told him you weren’t ready.

“I’m sorry." he murmured, staring at his hands. “I wasn’t trying to make you feel like you don’t matter. That’s the last thing I’d ever want.”

Silence.

Baekhyun swallowed hard, pushing forward anyway.

“I didn’t see it.” he admitted. “I didn’t realize how much I’ve been neglecting us. You’re right. I’ve been so caught up in work, in making sure I do everything right there, that I didn’t notice I was doing things wrong here.”

You shifted slightly under the blanket, but you still didn’t speak.

“I love giving you smooches. And hugs. And help you although I know you can do whatever it is on your own—most of the times, sometimes another pair of hands are really needed…” his voice grows quieter, his chest heavy with scenarios of you feeling so lonely, even when he was there. It reminded him of the past, when nothing seemed right nor fair in his life—he wasn't alone, but he felt like he was. You living the same feeling? He couldn't have that. “I'm sorry…”

Baekhyun sighed.

“I’m an idiot, huh?”

Finally, you exhaled a soft, humorless laugh.

“Sometimes.”

He smiled a little at that. A small victory. Encouraged, he turned toward you, placing a hand gently on your shoulder.

“Can you look at me, please?”

You hesitated before finally rolling onto your back, blinking up at him. Your eyes were puffy from crying, and Baekhyun felt his chest tighten with guilt.

“My love…” his thumb gently runned down your cheeks. “I am really sorry. I'll be managing the next week differently, alright? Make time to have dinner together and hear you complain about everything everyday. I promise you. Share the tea too, while some shitty show plays on TV...”

You nodded slightly, your eyes still glassy, but you can't help but roll them.

“You’re not ashamed of making your pregnant wife cry, are you?”

The words slipped from your lips softly, but they might as well have been a right twinge. Baekhyun froze, the colour of his cheeks ghosting for a moment.

His brain completely short-circuited.

“W-what?” His voice cracked, eyes widening.

Your expression was unreadable, but your fingers instinctively rested on your stomach—a small, almost unconscious gesture. Baekhyun followed the movement, his gaze locking onto your hand. His heart pounded.

Pregnant?

His mouth opened, but no words came out. A thousand thoughts crashed into him at once, but none of them formed into anything coherent.

“You… you’re…” He swallowed, looking back at you, completely overwhelmed. “You’re pregnant?”

You nodded slowly.

Silence stretched between you.

Then—

“Oh my god.”

Baekhyun surged forward, pulling you into his arms before you could say anything else, the cool air on the room cooling your back. His grip was tight, almost desperate, as if the reality of your words had just hit him full force.

You felt him exhale against your shoulder, his body trembling slightly.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice was muffled, thick with emotion.

You hesitated, then whispered.

“I wanted to. But we kept missing each other. And then… we started fighting.”

Baekhyun pulled back just enough to cup your face, his thumbs brushing away the remnants of your tears. His eyes were glistening, filled with something raw and unfiltered.

“I’m so sorry.” he breathed. “For everything. For not seeing you, for making you feel alone—God, baby, I should have been here. I will be here.”

You searched his gaze, and for the first time in weeks, you saw him—fully present, fully yours.

“Promise?” you asked, voice small.

Baekhyun leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours.

“I swear.” he murmured. “You and our baby… you’re my whole world.”

His hand slid over your stomach, hesitantly at first—like he was afraid of breaking the moment. When you placed your hand over his, guiding him, his breath hitched.

A tear slipped down his cheek, but he didn’t care.

“I love you." he whispered. “Both of you!” a smile illuminated his face. “I'm taking friday as a day off. I will need to rotate but I will take a day off to do the deep cleaning of the week. And tell me about the appointments, okay? I'll go with you.”