♡Sugar Haze and the King's Lullaby
By the time we were halfway home, the sugar rush had definitely caught up with me. My eyelids felt impossibly heavy, the chocolate haze in my stomach making my body feel warm and soft.
I leaned against the window, head tilting slightly, fingers still clutching a half-eaten tart. My hair fell loosely over my face, a few strands sticking to the faint chocolate smudges on my cheek.
"Hey…" Taehyun murmured, leaning slightly toward me.
I blinked once, lazily. "…Hmm?"
"You're going to… fall asleep like that," he said, voice soft, amused but protective.
I yawned, a small, cute little sound that made him smirk even wider. "…Mhm… chocolate… comfy… sleepy…"
And just like that, my body gave up. My head lolled gently against the window, then shifted slightly to rest on his shoulder. My fingers loosened around the tart, crumbs scattering on my lap.
Taehyun froze for half a second, blinking down at me, taking in the messy chocolate on my lips, the crumbs on my dress, the soft warmth radiating from me as I slept.
Then… he smiled. A quiet, indulgent smile.
He carefully tilted his body slightly, letting me rest more comfortably against him, one arm curling around me protectively.
"Messy… cute… mine," he murmured, low and possessive.
I stirred slightly, mumbling in my sleep, "…mine too…"
He chuckled softly, brushing a stray hair from my face, keeping me safe, warm, and utterly adorable in my chocolate-covered, sleepy mess.
The city lights streamed past, the hum of the car engine soothing, and for a few golden minutes, it was just us—quiet, messy, and perfectly at peace.
The mansion gates opened, lights spilling like liquid gold across the driveway.
Taehyun didn't even let me wake as he parked the car. The moment the engine stopped, he leaned down, scooping me up effortlessly.
I didn't stir—my head lolled against his chest, chocolate-smeared lips and all, asleep and oblivious to the world.
"Look at you," he murmured, voice low, amused and tender. "Messy, exhausted, adorable… and mine."
He carried me through the grand foyer, my arms dangling lazily, and whispered soft reassurances as if I could hear him in my dreams.
In the bedroom, he carefully set me down on the bed, adjusting my position so I was comfortable. Then, with the precision of someone used to managing every detail, he cleaned the chocolate smudges from my face with a warm, damp cloth, brushing my hair gently out of the way.
I murmured something unintelligible in my sleep. He chuckled softly. "Sleep tight, my messy little princess."
After wiping my face, he gently changed me into a loose, soft pajama set, slipping off the heels and letting my feet stretch into the silky comfort of the fabric. Every movement was careful, quiet, almost reverent.
Once I was clean and comfortable, he climbed onto the bed beside me, wrapping an arm around me so I felt his warmth without waking. My head rested against his chest again, the steady beat of it a lullaby of its own.
"Sleep," he whispered, voice low and possessive. "I've got you."
And there I stayed, blissfully asleep, chocolate crumbs forgotten, safe in his arms, while he watched over me—protective, tender, and utterly captivated by my peaceful, messy perfection.
Morning Aftermath
I woke up to the feel of something warm against my cheek. At first, I didn't move—still half-asleep, wrapped in the lingering comfort of a dream. Then I heard it.
A heartbeat. Slow. Calm. Right under my ear.
My eyes fluttered open just a little.
I was sprawled across Taehyun's chest, arms loosely around his waist like a koala. His shirt was slightly wrinkled, his hair messy from sleep, one arm behind his head, the other around my waist possessively—like he'd held me the entire night.
Great. Elegant bridesmaid one evening, drooling chocolate toddler by night, now sleepy octopus in the morning.
I groaned softly and tried to move away, but his hand tightened on my hip.
"Oh no," he muttered, voice thick with sleep. "Stay. You're warm."
"I have morning breath," I mumbled into his chest.
He chuckled, low and lazy. "You had chocolate breath last night. This is an upgrade."
My eyes snapped open. "I—what?"
He smirked without opening his eyes. "You fell asleep with cake on your lips. I had to clean you up before you tried to eat the pillow."
My cheeks burned. "Y-You changed my clothes?!"
"Mhm," he said simply, like it was the most normal thing in the world. "You drooled on your dress, too."
I slapped a hand over my face. "I hate you."
He hummed. "You said 'mine too' in your sleep."
I froze. "I DID NOT."
"Oh, you did," he said, finally opening his eyes, dark and amused. "And I quite enjoyed it."
Before I could argue, he rolled slightly, hovering over me, pinning me gently but undeniably.
"And next time," he murmured, lips brushing the corner of mine, "don't pout over desserts at a wedding. I'll buy you… the whole table if you want it."
I glared, cheeks hot. "You kidnapped me away from the dessert section!"
"I rescued you," he corrected smoothly, brushing a thumb over my jaw as if I were fragile crystal. "You were about to start a war with the macaron tower."
I scoffed and tried to wriggle away, but his arm around my waist didn't budge.
"And stop moving," he added lazily, eyes fixed on my face. "Your pajamas are slipping."
I froze instantly. "…You're a menace."
"A very patient one," he said, lips curving. "I had to fight your half-asleep self just to get your shoes off. You kicked me."
"I was unconscious!"
"And violent," he agreed proudly, like it was an achievement.
I tried to bury my face under the blanket but he tugged it down just enough to see me.
Then his gaze softened—dangerously soft—and he brushed my hair off my forehead.
"You looked peaceful last night," he murmured. "Messy. But peaceful."
I blinked up at him, caught between
embarrassment and something that made my chest glow quietly.
"…Did you even sleep?" I asked.
He didn't lie. "Not much."
"Why?"
He met my eyes with an intensity that stopped every thought in my head.
"Because you were sleeping on me," he said simply. "And I didn't feel like letting you go."
My heart did an embarrassing flip.
Before I could respond, he added, completely unbothered,
"Also, you snored once. Very softly. Like a dying kitten."
"I HATE YOU!"
He laughed—actually laughed—and pulled me back down when I tried to escape.
"Shower first," he said, pressing a quick kiss to my temple. "Then breakfast."
"What breakfast?" I muttered into his chest.
"The desserts I hid from you last night," he replied calmly.
My eyes shot open. "YOU WHAT—?!"
I'm scrolling through my phone, hair a mess, still trapped halfway under his arm.
Her profile pops up immediately—the bride from last night. My newest social media friend. And God. Even in a candid photo someone tagged, she looks like she stepped out of a dream. Big, soft eyes. The kind of smile that could make villains confess their sins. Graceful. Feminine. Warm.
I blink at her wedding pictures and mumble to myself, "Wow… how is she that pretty? I think I'm in love—"
A shadow falls over me.
Slowly… very slowly… I turn my head.
Taehyun is staring at the screen. Then at me. Then at the screen again.
His jaw flexes.
"You're in love, huh?" he asks dangerously calmly.
I blink. "I meant—love as in appreciation. Respect. Support women kinda love."
"Hm." He leans in, caging me with one arm. "You blush every time you talk about her."
"I do NOT—"
"You stared at her like she personally ended world hunger."
"She's PRETTY!"
He squints. "Unfollow her."
I gasp. "EXCUSE ME?!"
"And don't 'heart' her photos."
"I already liked three!"
He goes silent for a moment.
Then: "Unlike them."
"I am not undoing my support for women just because you're jealous!" I huff.
His eyes narrow. "You don't even like your own selfies. But you're worshipping someone else's wife at seven in the morning?"
I chew my lip, trying not to laugh. "Are you seriously jealous of a woman?"
His answer is immediate. "I'm jealous of air if it touches you too long."
I blink.
Then I grin slowly, smug. "Should I tell your mafia friends their boss is jealous of brides?"
He leans in until our noses nearly touch, voice low and lethal in the sweetest way. "Try it. And I'll block her from your Wi-Fi, your phone, and your dreams."
I burst out laughing. "You can't block someone from my dreams!"
His smirk is sly. "Watch me."
I fall back dramatically on the bed, clutching my phone like a scandalized Victorian lady. "My God. I married a possessive psycho."
"You married my problem," he corrects, stealing my phone and tossing it on the other side of the bed. "Now stop crushing on someone else's wife when you are mine."
I snort. "Relax, she's taken."
"So are you," he reminds me, pulling me into his lap with zero warning.
And just like that—my bride-crushing moment turns into me being kissed breathless by the jealous husband of the year.
He's still got me caged in his lap when I manage to breathe out, "You're insane."
"That's fine," he says, brushing his thumb over my bottom lip he just ruined again. "You married me anyway."
He finally lets me go—well, physically. Emotionally and territorially? Absolutely not.
I crawl out of bed to go wash my face, and he watches me walk like I'm about to elope with the bathroom tiles. I toss one last dramatic look over my shoulder.
"I'm still gonna like her posts."
He doesn't blink. "I'm still gonna change your password."
"You wouldn't dare."
"I already did."
I FREEZE. "WHAT?!"
He just smirks and lies back against the pillows like some smug mafia king.
I stomp into the bathroom muttering curses. The moment the door shuts, he calls out, completely straight-faced:
"And don't lock the door. You take too long and I'll assume you're secretly texting her!"
I scream into a towel.
After brushing my teeth and fixing my face, I walk back out—ready to argue again—but stop dead.
Because he's not in bed.
He's in the walk-in closet.
With a box.
I squint. "What are you doing?"
He glances at me once, then lifts out… earrings. Diamond. Small but expensive-looking. Then a thin necklace. Then a bracelet.
"Pick one," he says casually, like this is a normal breakfast conversation.
"For what?"
"For existing. And for wearing white last night. And for sleeping on me. I don't know—just take it."
I eye him skeptically. "Are you guilt-gifting me because you got jealous of a woman?"
His nostril flares. "Take. One."
I grin, stepping closer. "Hmm… the necklace."
He steps behind me, brushing my hair aside and fastening it around my neck with slow, deliberate fingers. His lips graze my shoulder—barely there.
Then he murmurs in that soft warning tone, "If you're going to crush on women… crush on your husband's wife."
That's when it hits me.
He wants me obsessed with myself.
I blink at him in the mirror. "Did… you just indirectly tell me to be narcissistic?"
"No," he says calmly, meeting my eyes in the reflection. "I told you to remember who owns the mirror you look into."
DAMN.
I blush like fire and shove him away. "I'm eating without you!"
He smiles like he won the war and follows me anyway.