➡️ Kindly read the previous pov that I posted a few minutes ago ⬅️
Continuation of the previous pov:-
✧ Scene Title: “Mountains, Madness & Mehendi Previews” ✧
The jet's wheels kissed the Manali runway with a smooth hum. The crisp Himalayan air sneaked through the narrow gap of the aircraft door as it opened. The scent of pine, fresh mud, and distant campfire smoke filled Y/N's senses as she descended the ramp with Princess in her arms, snugly wrapped in a fluffy lavender baby coat. Taehyung trailed behind them like a bodyguard disguised as a Celine ad.
A cavalcade of luxury SUVs was already lined up on the tarmac—arranged by none other than Wooshik, whose family had gone full Bollywood Punjabi wedding mode.
“Welcome to the madness,” Wooshik grinned, hugging Taehyung and shaking hands with Y/N. “Yuri’s already threatening to cancel her own wedding if the mehendi artist isn’t flown in from Delhi.”
Y/N rolled her eyes, laughing.
✧ The Resort ✧
Their SUV drove through the dense cedar woods into the heart of Manali’s most exquisite mountaintop resort—a sprawling estate tucked between ancient pines, with cottages that looked like wooden palaces and windows that framed the Himalayas like oil paintings.
As they pulled up at the resort's circular driveway, the valet opened the door and stared for a moment too long at the ethereal woman stepping out of the car.
Y/N, wearing a chic oversized coat over her cozy airport attire, had the wind catch her hair just right. Taehyung whispered from behind,
“You’re stealing the mountains’ spotlight again.”
Y/N elbowed him gently. “Stop saying things that make the clouds blush.”
✧ Inside the Suite ✧
Their room—well, their private chalet—was nothing short of magical. Floor-to-ceiling windows opened to a breathtaking view of snow-dusted peaks. There was a stone fireplace already roaring, a hot tub on the balcony, and flower petals arranged in the shape of a heart on the bed because apparently, Indian hospitality took “extra” very seriously.
Princess waddled around in awe, touching every soft pillow like a mini queen inspecting her kingdom.
Y/N sighed in disbelief.
“This is... it’s surreal. I’ve never seen mountains like this in my life.”
Taehyung placed his hands on her shoulders from behind, his breath warm near her ear.
“Let’s pretend it’s our honeymoon.” “…Without the wedding,” she muttered, deadpanned. “Details,” he grinned.
✧ The Chaos Begins ✧
Barely had they unpacked when they heard loud bhangra beats thudding from the open fields below.
They stepped onto the balcony.
There it was—the pre-wedding madness in full swing.
Giant tents with shimmering drapes. Aunties dancing with abandon. Uncles trying to outdo each other in drinking contests. And in the middle of it all—Yuri, dressed in an elegant Indo-western lehenga and yelling into her phone about lost bangles.
Y/N giggled. “You sure we’re not at a film shoot?”
“We are,” Taehyung whispered, “A film where you’re the star.”
✧ Entrance, Style, and Whistles ✧
Later that evening, they descended into the party grounds. Y/N in a deep olive-yellow embroidered suit, her hair tied in a soft braid adorned with baby’s breath flowers. Taehyung in a black bandhgala sherwani that screamed "rich villain with a redemption arc."
As they glided through the crowd, the sea of guests parted instinctively — like Moses had just dropped his staff and declared “Make way for the hotness.” Whistles broke out. Aunties almost dropped their samosas. Someone actually choked on a rasgulla.
A cluster of cousins, crouched near the snacks table, turned to full-on gossip hyenas.
“Wait—who is that man? He looks like he just walked out of a K-drama and into my dreams.”
“That's Wooshik's dance coach’s fiancé—HELLO?”
“No, no, no, I’ve definitely seen that jawline somewhere. Wasn’t he on the cover of Vogue or something??”
“OH MY GOD—yes! YES! That’s him! The Kim Conglomerates guy!! The one with the impossible bone structure and scary net worth???”
“Stop it. Are you telling me Wooshik casually invited a CEO to this function while I had to beg for an extra gulab jamun???”
“Ssshhh, shut up! Don’t be obvious! But—look at his cheekbones. I feel like they could slice through tax evasion.”
“No, I’m sorry, but he literally looks like the human embodiment of generational wealth and gym dedication.”
One of them dropped their drink.
Another dramatically clutched their chest. And the rest simply stared, as if the heavens had dropped a Dior-wrapped thunderbolt straight into their mohalla.
Scene: The Great Auntie Ambush –™️ With Ladoo and Trauma
Y/N? Calm. Serene. Regal.
But inside?
She was rolling on the metaphorical carpet of her mind palace, shrieking into a throw pillow, cackling like an unhinged villain with popcorn in both hands.
Because Taehyung—CEO of Kim Conglomerates, resident mafia heartthrob, airport fashion demon, and unofficial god of jawlines—was currently being…
TANTE-TRAPPED.
It began innocently.
A nudge. A fluttering giggle. Then BAM.
Four aunties encircled him like he was free mango pickle samples in a supermarket.
> “Arey beta, you’re SO tall! What’s your height? 6’3? 6’4? 6’9? Basket player?
> “Your skin is glowing, no? Like a baby's bottom but smoother. What cream? Or is it just stress from counting money?”
> “Are you single? My daughter looks just like Alia Bhatt from the left profile in good lighting. She even makes round rotis.”
Taehyung blinked.
Once. Twice. Internal WiFi disconnected.
He tried to say something polite—like “thank you” or “I’m taken” or "Hold on"—but every time he opened his mouth, another aunty shoved a ladoo, a business proposal, or worse, a biodata at him.
One auntie tugged at his collar like she was ironing him with motherly intentions.
> “Smile more, beta. You look like a statue carved from marble.”
Another shoved a plate of sweets in his hand.
> “Eat this, for sweetness. Like you. Also, my niece is very flexible. She teaches yoga.”
Meanwhile, Y/N stood a few feet away with a drink in hand, sipping like a queen watching her prized lion being attacked by parakeets in sarees.
Her inner monologue was pure filth and delight.
> “Yes. Yes. Suffer. You pretty little CEO goat.”
Taehyung met her eyes.
His look? Desperation mixed with spiritual surrender. Like a war general being overpowered by overfriendly marital suggestions and aggressive matchmaking energy.
> “Save me, woman.”
Y/N just… sipped her juice louder.
> “Nope.”
She even adjusted her imaginary crown. "Let him cook. Or get cooked."
Just as one aunty leaned in—hand hovering near his cheek, probably ready to pinch it and declare him her 5th son—Y/N finally glided over like a final boss.
She looped her arm through Taehyung’s with the casual dominance of a mafia queen and the smugness of someone who just won Uno with one card.
“Oh! I see you've met my fiancé,” she said sweetly— But her eyes?
Glowing with a level of possessiveness that made even the ghost of territorial lions go “damn, girl.”
The aunties? Giggled. Flushed. Scattered like pigeons after a firecracker. One even dropped her ladoo and mourned it silently.
Taehyung exhaled like he had just survived being kidnapped by saree-clad spies.
He leaned down and whispered, “You left me for dead.”
Y/N, not even sorry, grinned. “You’re still breathing, aren’t you?”
She patted his chest. “Now come, Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Matchmaking-Magnet. The kids are waiting to drag you into a dance battle before another aunty tries to check your Kundali.”
He groaned, “Next wedding, I’m wearing a fake mustache and glasses.”
Y/N smirked, “Next wedding?”
Taehyung blinked. “…Ours.”
And just like that—somewhere in the crowd—an aunty shrieked. Another fainted dramatically onto a chair. And a kid yelled, “MOM! THE HOT UNCLE’S GETTING MARRIED!”
Y/N and Taehyung walked away hand-in-hand, while aunties mourned the fall of India’s most eligible NRI fantasy.
RIP matchmaking dreams.
✧ A Toast to the Beginning ✧
As the night lit up with fairy lights and dhol beats, Y/N and Taehyung shared warm tea in brass cups under the open sky while Princess napped in a nearby stroller.
“This might actually be the most peaceful chaos I’ve experienced,” Y/N said, watching the laughter, the dancing, the love in the air.
➡️ Kindly read the previous pov that I posted a few minutes ago ⬅️
Continuation of the previous pov:-
Scene Title: “Clouds, Champagne, and Childlike Wonder”
Location: Paris Charles de Gaulle – Private Elite Terminal
Y/N’s fingers were still laced with Princess’s tiny hand when they stepped into the sleek, marble-floored lounge, which looked more like the lobby of a seven-star hotel than an airport.
There were no chaotic announcements, no scurrying passengers or squeaky trolleys—only soft instrumental music humming through the air and attendants dressed sharper than a runway model offering rose-scented towels.
Taehyung walked ahead casually, but he kept glancing back at Y/N.
And she?
She had paused mid-step, mouth slightly parted in awe, her gaze sweeping over the crystal chandeliers, the velvet high-back seats, the glass table with gold-flaked macarons.
“This is...?” she asked quietly.
“The waiting lounge,” Taehyung smiled, watching her with eyes that couldn’t help but soften.
“Waiting lounge?” she blinked. “This looks like Versailles and a dream had a baby.”
He laughed—an actual soft laugh, the kind he only did around her. He leaned in and whispered, “Just wait till you see the flight cabin.”
Scene Shift: Inside the Ultra-Elite Business Class Suite
Y/N stepped inside the private cabin and halted again.
Her breath caught.
It wasn’t just Business Class—it was art.
Warm wood-paneled walls, glowing amber lights, cream-colored reclining chairs that molded to her frame like a hug, and a private sliding door that made it feel like her own little world.
She turned in slow, stunned circles, staring at the leather console, the silk-covered pillow set, the built-in bookshelf with real novels, and a glowing touchpad that offered everything from Italian hot chocolate to an on-air yoga guide.
“Taehyung…” she whispered. “This is a house in the clouds.”
He sat down lazily, arm draped over the armrest, but his gaze never left her.
“You like it?” he asked, voice unusually gentle.
“Like it? I feel like if I touch too hard, I’ll break something.”
She plopped cautiously onto the recliner seat, hands nervously clutching the edge.
“I’ve never even been in Business Class… forget this. I don’t even know if I’m allowed to breathe here.”
Taehyung chuckled, but his heart... god, it swelled. He wasn’t used to feeling like this—this protective, warm, hopelessly in love feeling.
“Breathe all you want,” he murmured, kneeling briefly in front of her and lifting her hands. “You belong here more than anyone.”
She scoffed and looked away—but her cheeks were dusted in pink.
Mid-Air: Quiet Moments and Warmth
Princess had long fallen asleep in her cozy cot, bundled like a dumpling in the warm blanket.
Y/N, however, was wide awake, pressing every button on the menu screen like a fascinated child.
“This thing has a stargazing mode?” she gasped. “Taehyung, the ceiling changes colors! Look!”
“Yes, yes,” he smiled, watching her excitement like someone who had just witnessed the sunrise after years of darkness.
“And the chair reclines all the way like a bed! Why do people even need hotel rooms if these exist?!”
Taehyung placed a hand on his heart in mock agony. “Please stop being so adorable. I can’t handle it.”
✧ Scene Title: “Altitude & Amour Served on Gold” ✧
The private cabin of the luxury jet glowed under soft amber lights, the windows darkened by automatic tint to create a cozy ambience. Princess was tucked away in the crib-bed beside them, her tiny fists clutching a silk blanket as she snored softly, dreaming baby dreams.
Y/N had just finished marveling at the interior decor again—gilded etchings along the paneling, a chandelier-style lighting cluster above them, and velvet cream seats that reclined smoother than any hotel bed she’d ever known. Everything felt like it was carved out of royalty’s daydreams.
She was still looking around like a stunned tourist when the steward entered, wheeling in a crystal-top table and covered silver domes.
“Your gourmet menu is served, sir,” the steward bowed slightly.
Taehyung smirked at her awe. “Wait till you taste what flying like royalty actually tastes like.”
He pulled the table forward and flicked the covers off with flair, like unveiling treasure.
Y/N’s jaw almost dropped.
✧ The Menu ✧
• A shimmering bowl of white truffle risotto topped with gold flakes
• Butter-seared scallops in a saffron champagne glaze
• Miniature duck roulades wrapped in herb-crusted pastry
• A deconstructed beetroot terrine with edible flowers and crystalized lime dust
• And for dessert, an exquisite lavender crème brûlée served with a spun sugar tiara
And beside it all—poured into long-stem glasses—was non-alcoholic chilled elderflower sparkling nectar, with a single blue orchid floating delicately inside.
Y/N blinked rapidly, trying to process the edible artwork before her.
“I—I don’t think I’m allowed to eat this. It feels like I’ll get fined if I breathe near it.”
Taehyung chuckled, slicing a piece of roulade and placing it gently on her plate. “You deserve to eat like this every day.”
She shook her head. “This is not eating. This is—this is attending the MET Gala in my mouth.”
“Exactly,” Taehyung grinned. “Bon appétit, my Lady of Paris.”
✧ In Between the Bites ✧
Y/N took a spoonful of the truffle risotto and paused.
Her pupils dilated.
Her whole soul seemed to ascend into a higher realm.
“I think I just forgave three of my ex-friends for no reason,” she whispered.
Taehyung laughed so hard he choked on his elderflower drink.
“You’re ridiculous,” she muttered.
“And you’re adorable and hilarious when you taste any dish.”
She poked his chest with her fork. “Why do you keep doing this?”
“Because I’m hopelessly in love with you,” he replied casually, lifting her hand and kissing the back of it. “Also, because I like watching you gasp like a five-year-old discovering fairy dust.”
✧ Dessert & Daydreams ✧
As the steward cleared the main course, he returned with the lavender crème brûlée. Y/N hesitated, then broke the sugar top with the back of her spoon. The scent alone made her eyes flutter shut.
“Mmhh,” she moaned softly.
Taehyung paused mid-sip.
“If you make that sound again, I might lose all my sanity.”
Y/N snorted, covering her mouth.
✧ Post-Meal Peace ✧
The lights dimmed into a soft, starry projection along the ceiling as the cabin settled into silence, until Y/N said softly,
“You always knew I was simple. I didn’t need any of this. But today…” “…today I felt like the universe bowed a little for me.”
Taehyung’s voice was soft, warm, unshakable.
“Because you deserve it. And the universe should bow every day you smile.”
Y/N exhaled deeply.
For once, she didn’t argue.
Later: Her Head on His Shoulder
They didn’t speak for a while. The stars outside blinked like gentle secrets, and Y/N’s head slowly dropped on his shoulder, her breathing steady.
He didn’t move.
Not even a twitch.
His fingers rested near hers on the shared armrest, and all he could think of was how much this moment meant—her sleeping beside him, unaware that she’d just made a part of him feel at peace for the first time in years.
“You belong in all the luxury this world has,” he whispered, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. “But I’d still love you even if we had to walk through fire barefoot.”
Scene Title: “Operation Manali Departure: Saree, Sulks, and the Sulkiest Dog”
Location: Y/N’s Apartment & Fluffy Paws Luxury Pet Care, Morning of Departure
The apartment was in complete chaos.
Saree boxes, baby bottles, boarding passes, and an odd sherwani lay across the living room like a war had broken out—one made entirely of velvet and gemstones.
Y/N, wrapped in a pastel floral robe and her hair half-straightened, was running back and forth like she was being chased by the ghost of missed flights.
> “Taehyung, have you packed the pacifiers for Princess?”
> “She chewed two last night. I only found a chewed rubber stump this morning. Looked like a crime scene.”
> “Did you pack her wipes?!”
> “I packed a *whole department store*. Calm down, Mother Goose.”
Meanwhile, Princess, dressed in a lemon-yellow onesie and wearing sunglasses too big for her chubby face, was flopped over a suitcase—wailing melodramatically because Taehyung tried to tie her shoelaces.
Hunter sat by the door pouting in silence, his chin resting on the ground and his ears drooped like two sad curtains.
His expression screamed betrayal.
Y/N knelt down beside him, cupping his big fluffy face.
> “Hunter, sweetheart… it’s just two weeks. Okay? Just fourteen days. I’ll video call you every night—cross my heart.”
Hunter didn’t move.
He let out a long, deep sigh like a Victorian man watching his lover board a ship to America.
> “He hates me now,” Y/N declared dramatically, flopping back onto the floor.
> “He’s sulking because he knows you’re gonna party without him,” Taehyung replied, already in his travel gear: beige turtleneck, trench coat, and sunglasses that screamed *airport fashion king.*
---
Time Skip: Outside Fluffy Paws Luxury Pet Care Centre
The glass doors slid open like some elite five-star hotel lobby, revealing a reception area that smelled faintly of lavender and expensive shampoo. Behind the marble desk stood a woman in scrubs, smiling like a trained hostess at a spa.
> “Welcome to Fluffy Paws,” she chirped. “Hunter Bernard, yes? We've prepared the deluxe VIP suite for him. With a view of the koi pond and optional dog yoga.”
Y/N looked guilty as she held Hunter’s leash. “Will he like it?”
Hunter, meanwhile, was already inspecting the room through the glass—where a golden retriever was being fed organic chicken bites on a velvet cushion.
He blinked once, impressed.
> “He’ll live better than us,” Taehyung muttered.
Y/N knelt down and gave Hunter one last bear hug, burying her face in his thick fur. “No rolling in dirt. No biting the yoga instructor. And if you meet a poodle named Bella, remember—you have standards.”
Hunter licked her cheek with a slow, noble *farewell my queen* kind of gesture.
> “You better not forget me,” she whispered, her voice cracking.
Hunter huffed and walked dramatically into the pet suite like a man who had accepted his fate at a five-star exile.
---
Time Skip: Back at the Apartment Door
Taehyung carried Princess in one arm and rolled two giant designer suitcases with the other like he was heading off to a fashion runway.
Y/N adjusted her jhumka earrings, did a twirl to test the swish of her long skirt, and tried not to cry again thinking about Hunter’s soulful goodbye glance.
> “We dropped our dog off at a wellness resort,” she muttered. “Should we even be allowed back into normal society?”
> “Let’s be real, he’s in better hands than us,” Taehyung said, patting down his trench coat. “The dude gets morning paw massages now. I’m still trying to survive back pain from holding Princess.”
Princess let out a squeal of agreement and tried to smack his sunglasses.
Y/N gave a mock salute. “Saree, sandals, sass. Locked and loaded.”
As they got into the car, Y/N suddenly turned and shouted toward the empty apartment—
> “Hunter, I’ll call you! Don’t flirt with the receptionist!”
The car doors closed.
Taehyung grinned, pulling out his phone. “He’s probably already sipping cucumber water and ignoring us.”
Y/N sighed dramatically. “We raised a diva.”
But somewhere at Fluffy Paws, Hunter lounged on a plush dog bed, a cucumber slice balanced on his head, watching koi fish like a man reborn.
➡️ Kindly read the previous pov that I posted a few minutes ago ⬅️
Continuation of the previous pov:-
Taehyung blinked.
Then blinked again.
And again.
His brain was buffering like an old computer trying to load a 4K video on a dial-up connection as he watched Y/N—his delicate, elegant, refined woman—sit cross-legged on the floor like a gremlin with an enormous delivery box open in front of her. The aroma alone was enough to knock a grown man out. He felt his sinuses flare up just from breathing near her.
It was that spicy.
“Love…” he said, cautiously, watching the way she unwrapped the heavily red, lava-coated chicken wings and pulled the first one close to her mouth like it was a duel to death.
Y/N didn’t even look at him. “Don’t talk.”
Taehyung shut up immediately.
She took the first bite.
A dramatic pause.
Her eyes didn’t even water. Not a flinch. She kept chewing, lips glistening in sauce, brows furrowed in that intense concentration scowl like she was solving world hunger, and the wing in her hand was the key.
She didn’t even blink as she reached for the next one, and then the next, eating like she had been possessed by the spirit of a spice demon and the only way to exorcise it was through combustion-level consumption.
Taehyung sat on the sofa, wide-eyed, hands frozen in his lap as if movement might disturb her flow.
The baby monitor buzzed softly beside him, but Princess was fast asleep. He wondered if she’d inherited Y/N’s spice tolerance. God help him if she had.
“Babe…” he tried again, barely above a whisper, “Are you... okay?”
Y/N didn’t answer. She downed another wing, licked her thumb with surgical precision, and then finally glanced at him with fire in her eyes and a nose slightly pink from the heat.
“I needed this,” she said darkly, voice raspy from the sheer force of the masala.
Taehyung raised his hands in surrender. “Yes, ma’am.”
By the time she reached the final wing, her lips were practically vibrating, a drop of sweat forming at her temple, but she didn’t stop. She was a warrior. A commander. A gladiator in a colosseum of chilies.
And Taehyung was just her stunned audience of one.
She finally looked at him as she finished, grabbed a napkin with grace unbecoming of someone who had just battled spice level ten, and wiped her fingers carefully.
Then she sipped her cold water like a CEO sipping vintage wine.
Taehyung blinked again. “You terrify me. In the sexiest way possible.”
Y/N smirked. “Good. Next time I’m ordering the ghost pepper curry.”
Taehyung shivered.
“Do you want a bite?” she offered casually.
He laughed—an actual nervous laugh. “I value my intestines, thank you.”
Y/N just leaned back with a sigh, completely satisfied, resting a hand over her stomach like a food god had descended and blessed her soul.
Taehyung stared at her, chest swelling with affection, a little horror, and a whole lot of awe. “I'm in love with a dragon.”
“And you better keep her well-fed,” she mumbled with her eyes closed.
“Yes, Your Fire-Breathing Majesty.”
The next morning arrived unusually quiet, cloaked in an eerie silence that settled like a storm brewing behind the clouds. The neighborhood bustled with routine—a woman swept her porch, a fruit vendor rang his brass bell down the alley—but inside the apartment, the air was thick with something else. Tension. Shadows moved behind curtains. Even Hunter, lounging lazily by the door, kept growling low in his throat.
Y/N, still in her soft morning robe, sat on the couch feeding mashed fruit to Princess, who refused to keep still. Taehyung had just walked out of the bathroom, hair damp and white shirt half-buttoned, when the door suddenly banged.
A fist. Then another. Then a loud, guttural scream.
"GET OUT! GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!" The unmistakable voice of the landlady shrieked from behind the door, followed by the sound of polished leather shoes and radios crackling.
Y/N froze mid-spoon. Taehyung’s eyes narrowed, ice slicing through his calm. He didn’t need to look through the peephole—he already knew.
He opened the door slowly.
The landlady stood outside with two police officers flanking her like rabid hunting dogs she thought she controlled. Her hair was pinned too tight, her shawl flailing from one shoulder, and her lips twisted with a smirk of authority.
"I told you,” she spat, pointing a crooked finger at Y/N behind him. “This isn’t a place for loud, bossy women who twist their men around their fingers. This is my house. We follow my rules. No woman here tells a man what to do!”
Taehyung’s hand gripped the doorframe.
“And your so-called husband? Acting like a servant. Hah! If my Harry ever behaved like that, I'd slap him straight. But you—” she sneered at Y/N, “—you sit there acting all high and mighty while the man plays your wife. What a disgrace. You people don’t belong here. I’ve brought the police. Pack your bags and GET OUT."
Y/N instinctively stepped back, shielding Princess, who whimpered sensing the rise in anger. Even Hunter growled from his place behind the curtain, baring teeth that could snap a wrist in half.
The two officers stepped forward—but the moment they caught sight of Taehyung, everything in the air changed.
They halted. Blinked.
One of them, a tall man with a golden badge and a stern face, immediately stiffened. His eyes widened like he had seen a ghost. Then, as if a silent alarm had gone off, he straightened his back and bowed—bowed—to Taehyung.
The second officer followed suit, albeit with shaky hands.
“Monsieur Kim,” the first officer said quickly in French, clearing his throat. “Apologies. We… we weren’t told it was you.”
The landlady blinked rapidly. “What? What are you doing? I called you to throw them out! They’re freeloaders! Look at them! They attacked on me in my own house!"
“Madame,” the officer interrupted coldly now, voice losing all pretense of politeness. “Do you have any idea who this man is?”
“What? He’s just—some flashy businessman—”
“This is Kim Taehyung,” the second officer hissed low under his breath. “CEO of Vante Corp. CEO of Kim conglomerates. The man who owns half of the docks in Marseille. And more than half the city’s lawyers, hospitals, and banks. Not to mention…” he hesitated, glancing at the hallway to check no one was listening, “…the Commander Noir.”
Taehyung stood calmly, not moving an inch. Not blinking.
The first officer turned to him with visible respect. “Is everything alright, sir? Shall we… escort her away instead?”
The landlady paled. “E-escort me?! He—he’s just a spoiled man with wealth! You—you’re being paid off, aren’t you?”
But her voice was now a faltering mess, cracking under the weight of a reality she hadn’t expected. Her husband Harry stood at the stairs watching silently, lips parted in confusion. Even he had never seen the police react like that.
Taehyung tilted his head slightly, a lazy smile forming—cold, dangerous, and elegant like velvet on a dagger.
He stepped forward, voice ice.
“You walked into my house. Yelled at my Y/N. Scared our Princess.”
He took one more step, and she stumbled back.
“You think I’ll let that pass? You wanted us gone?”
He turned to the officers.
“She wants to evict us. I’d like a full background check on this woman. Tax fraud, land documents, and every illegal petty complaint she’s filed over the years. If I find even one violation—”
The landlady gasped. “You can’t—!”
“I can,” Taehyung cut her off. “And I will.”
“Sir,” the officer nodded, already pulling out his phone.
The landlady looked like she might faint. “I—I didn’t know—You are all corrupted—”
“You treat every woman like this?” Taehyung asked sharply. “Or just the ones who don’t lower their eyes and beg?”
Hunter growled again, as if echoing the tension in his master's voice.
The woman flinched, suddenly aware of every pair of eyes in the corridor—neighbors peeking through curtains, stunned into silence.
Taehyung turned back to Y/N, who stood still in the hallway, holding Princess close, lips trembling not with fear, but restraint.
“Let me handle this.” he said gently to her. “This filth isn’t worth your ears.”
Y/N nodded slowly, retreating into the apartment with Princess. The baby had sensed enough unease to bury her face into Y/N’s neck and cling tight.
Once the door closed behind them, Taehyung faced the landlady again.
“You may own the bricks of this building,” he said, voice low and cruel, “but if I wish, I’ll own you by the end of the week. Get out of my sight.”
The woman fled, almost tripping over her own slippers. Her husband ran after her, calling her name. The officers exchanged looks, then bowed once more before turning to leave, respectfully and without a word.
And Taehyung?
He remained in the hallway for one more minute, jaw tight, chest heaving once.
Then he stepped back inside, quietly locking the door behind him.
The silence that followed was laced with power—and no one in that building would ever forget the day they saw fear bow to love.
➡️ Kindly read the previous pov that I posted a few minutes ago ⬅️
Continuation of the previous pov:-
The lights in the bedroom were dimmed to a warm golden hue, the soft rustle of the curtains barely audible in the stillness of the late afternoon. Outside, the Parisian sky was grumbling with the promise of rain, but inside, it was quiet—except for the faint hum of a lullaby Taehyung had put on for Princess, who was napping in the next room with Hunter curled protectively beside her.
Y/N lay on the bed, curled slightly on her side, her face creased with exhaustion and the dull ache of cramps lingering under her skin. PMS had her in its brutal clutch—her body sore, her emotions frayed thin, and her soul just desperately needing rest. Her breathing was soft now, but Taehyung could tell she wasn’t truly asleep. There was still tension in her muscles. Her fingers twitched occasionally. Her brow furrowed every few seconds like her body was struggling even in sleep.
He sat beside her slowly, careful not to startle her. His hand brushed away a few strands of hair from her forehead, his knuckles grazing the side of her temple with a reverence that spoke volumes.
“Mon amour…” he murmured quietly, voice barely above a whisper. “I know it hurts.”
Y/N stirred faintly, her eyes fluttering open halfway, glazed with fatigue.
“I don’t want to move…” she croaked.
“You don’t have to,” Taehyung whispered, his lips kissing the corner of her mouth. “Just stay still. I’ll take care of everything.”
Gently, he guided her to lie on her stomach. His hands—strong, warm, and precise—started with her temples, massaging in small, slow circles. She let out a low hum, the first sign of relief in hours. He worked his way down her head, running his fingers through her hair and pressing gently at pressure points near her scalp. His touch was healing—neither too light nor too firm, just the perfect pressure to release the migraine lodged behind her eyes.
Then, his hands moved to her shoulders, kneading the tight knots with devotion. His thumb pressed into the ridges of muscle just below her neck, drawing soft whimpers from her that made him frown in concern.
“Why didn’t you tell me it hurt this much, ma chérie?” he murmured.
“I didn’t want to be a burden,” she mumbled into the pillow, eyes still shut.
His hands froze for a second. “You’re not a burden. Ever. You’re mine to care for. Always.”
And with that, he resumed, taking his time as he rolled his knuckles across her shoulder blades, letting the tension melt away. After her upper back was loosened, he slipped down to her arms, lifting one at a time, pressing his thumbs into her palms and down each finger with absolute delicacy. Her fingers twitched under his touch, and she gave a sleepy sigh.
“I feel like crying more when you pamper me like this,” she said, her voice heavy with sleep and gratitude.
He chuckled softly. “I love you no matter what. But I’ll still take that as a win.”
He shifted to the edge of the bed, pulling the soft blanket slightly higher over her hips as he uncovered her legs. His touch was reverent as he massaged her calves first, then her ankles, working his way up with gentle care. Each slow press of his palm, each circular rub against the tension in her thighs, was infused with unspoken love. He made sure to move softly, aware of how tender her body felt during these days. Not once did he rush.
When he reached her feet, he looked up to find her fully asleep now, breathing deep and even. Her body looked a little more relaxed, the tension in her brow gone. Her lips were slightly parted, as if finally able to rest in peace.
Taehyung pressed a kiss to her ankle, pulled the blanket over her completely, and dimmed the lights a little more. He quietly left the room to check on Princess, but before closing the door behind him, he turned once more to look at the sleeping figure of his queen.
“You give everything to everyone,” he whispered. “Let me give everything to you.”
And with that, he left her to dream, his heart full and soft.
Scene: Y/N wakes up from her nap to find Taehyung has done everything—again
The soft rustling of curtains stirred her from slumber. Outside, the sun had long begun its descent, drenching the apartment in an amber glow. Y/N blinked slowly, disoriented. Her head felt lighter than before, the sharp edge of her headache dulled into a quiet hum. But as her eyes adjusted to the familiar space—the tidy coffee table, the clean kitchen sink, the faint scent of lemon soap in the air—her stomach dropped.
She shot up from the couch, eyes darting toward the clock. 4:47 PM. She had napped for nearly three hours.
“Taehyung?” she called, her voice raw from sleep.
“Hmm?” Taehyung’s voice floated in from the kitchen, casual, calm, unaware of the storm brewing inside her chest.
She staggered to her feet and walked toward him, her heart sinking further with every step. There he was, dressed in loose black joggers and a faded grey t-shirt, hair pulled back with a clip, standing barefoot at the stove. He was stirring ramen broth in one hand while holding Princess on his hip with the other. The baby had one hand in his hair and another clumsily holding a toy.
“Taehyung…” she whispered, her eyes already misty.
He turned at the sound of her voice, smiling, “Hey, love. Feeling better?”
She didn’t reply.
Instead, her lips quivered.
Taehyung frowned immediately, placing the spatula down and bouncing Princess lightly on his arm, “Y/N… what’s wrong? Are you in pain again?”
“I-I slept too much,” she choked, her voice cracking, “And you… you did everything, Taehyung. You’re cooking, holding Princess, cleaning—and your laptop’s still open, you were working too. You didn’t even rest.”
Taehyung blinked, confused at first. But then, his expression softened when he saw the guilt in her trembling mouth and the tears pooling in her lashes.
“Y/N…” he walked toward her, shifting Princess to one arm with practiced ease and using the other to cup her cheek. “You were hurting. You needed to rest.”
“But—” she sniffled, trying to step away, “It’s not fair on you! You have your own job, your own body to care for. You… you shouldn’t have to do all this alone just because I’m—because I’m a hormonal mess—”
“Hey. Stop,” he interrupted, his voice low but firm, brushing his thumb under her eye to catch the tears before they could fall. “You’re not a mess. You’re my love. And I’m not doing anything for you, I’m doing it with you… because we’re a team, remember?”
“But I feel useless,” she murmured, breath hitching.
“You’re not,” he said, kissing her forehead. “You’re the strongest woman I know. Some days your body will need rest. Some days you’ll be crying for no reason, or all the reasons. And some days, you’ll scold me for stacking the towels wrong,” he added with a tiny grin. “And I’ll still be here for it all.”
She finally let the tears roll down then, curling into his side, careful not to squish Princess. “You’re too good to me…”
“No,” Taehyung murmured against her temple. “I’m just giving you what you always deserved.”
Princess, still perched in his arm, leaned forward and patted Y/N’s head as if mimicking her uncle’s affection. That made Y/N laugh through her tears, even if just a little.
And in that moment—between the quiet kitchen hum, the spicy aroma of simmering dinner, the softness of love woven through fatigue and affection—Y/N realised she wasn’t failing. She was just loved… deeply, wholly, and without conditions.
The sky outside was dim with the melancholy of evening rain, the windows fogged with cold mist while the apartment lights glowed in soft amber hues. The heater hummed quietly, and the aroma of sandalwood incense mingled with the faint traces of lavender from the laundry. But inside the apartment, a storm was brewing.
“I told you I didn’t want pineapple in the fridge! Why is it still there?” Y/N snapped, her voice rising as she stood in front of the open refrigerator like it had committed a mortal sin.
Taehyung, who was folding the laundry on the couch with a soft hum under his breath, blinked.
“Love, I—I thought you liked pineapple? You literally asked for it last week.”
“Well, now I hate it! It smells like... ewww,” she snapped again, slamming the fridge shut with dramatic force. Her lower lip wobbled a second later, and she turned around, arms crossing over her chest like a pouting child.
“And why are you smiling like that? Are you mocking me?” she demanded suddenly.
Taehyung immediately stopped smiling, even though his expression had been fond—not mocking. “No. Never. I just think… you’re really cute when you’re mad over pineapples.”
“Oh my god—don’t call me cute! I’m a rage machine, not cute!” she yelled again, throwing herself on the couch dramatically, knocking over half the folded clothes he’d just stacked.
She didn’t mean to cry, but the tears betrayed her anyway. They started from the corners of her eyes, hot and salty, and rolled down in tandem with her frustration.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she sniffled, grabbing a throw pillow and hiding her face in it. “One minute I want to burn the whole world down, and the next I just want a tight hug and a hot water bag.”
“Want both?” Taehyung offered gently.
She groaned through the pillow. “Don’t make me laugh, I’m still mad at you. And myself. And the pineapple.”
Without another word, Taehyung walked to her side and slowly knelt on the floor beside the couch, right in front of her. His large hands gently peeled the pillow away from her face and cupped her cheeks like she was something fragile and irreplaceable.
“I don’t care if you yell at me. I don’t care if you throw all the folded laundry at my face,” he whispered, his thumbs gently brushing her damp cheeks. “You’re allowed to feel everything. You work hard, you carry too much inside that beautiful head of yours… if you need a war zone for a few days, I’ll stand on the battlefield with my armor off.”
Y/N looked at him, lips quivering, eyes glassy with unshed emotion. “You really aren’t scared of me at all?”
“No,” he smiled softly. “I’m scared for you sometimes. Scared that you think you need to carry your storms alone.”
She sniffled again. “I hate this. I feel gross. I don’t want to yell but I yell. I want to cuddle but also stab someone.”
“Well,” he leaned in and kissed her nose, “you can yell at me, cuddle me, and threaten to stab me all in one breath. I’ll still bring you chocolate and a heating pad.”
Her arms slowly reached for him, and Taehyung immediately scooped her into his embrace, sitting down on the couch with her pulled onto his lap like a doll. She buried her face in the crook of his neck and let herself cry without shame.
“It’s just hormones,” she murmured.
“And your hormones are royalty,” he replied, rubbing her back in soothing circles. “We bow to them for a few days, and then we survive. Like always.”
She chuckled through her tears, “You’re stupid.”
“Painfully,” he whispered back with a kiss on her temple. “But I’m yours.”
And there they stayed, in their small sanctuary—her with her erratic mood swings and raging cravings, and him with all the quiet devotion in the world—until the storms passed again, just like they always did.
Taehyung paced around the living room with Princess in his arms, swaying her gently like a lullaby in motion. Y/N had finally dozed off on the couch after an entire morning of mood swings, cramping, yelling at the laundry detergent for being "too lemony," and then sobbing because she thought she was being "too mean" to the detergent.
Now she was curled up in a blanket like a grumpy burrito, a cool compress on her forehead and the faintest wrinkle between her brows. Her lips twitched every now and then — the leftover frustration hadn’t left her even in sleep.
Princess, however, had other plans.
“Mmm-mmaaaa…” she mumbled, reaching one chubby hand out toward the couch, wriggling in Taehyung’s arms.
“No, baby,” Taehyung whispered softly, bouncing her a little and backing away from the sofa like it was sacred ground. “Aunt’s sleeping. Aunt's a dragon right now. A very tired, beautiful dragon. Let’s not wake the dragon.”
Princess blinked at him, confused.
“Ba!” she protested louder this time, and Taehyung panicked for a second, eyes darting toward Y/N’s sleeping form.
"Shhh, sshhhh, sshhhhh, baby, baby, baby," Taehyung whispered, gently putting his finger to her lips. “I’ll give you your blocks. Blocks! You love blocks.”
He scrambled to the corner of the room where Princess's toy bin was stashed and sat her down carefully on her play mat, offering her the colorful blocks like they were ancient treasure.
Princess took one. Stared at it. Then threw it.
It hit Hunter, who was resting in the corner like the old war veteran he was, and he groaned lowly, shifting his massive head.
“Don’t encourage her,” Taehyung muttered at the dog, who blinked at him with equal parts boredom and amusement.
Princess crawled with all her energy and made a dash toward the couch.
“Oh my God—nope nope nope—” Taehyung grabbed her mid-run, lifting her up like a sack of potatoes. “Not today, baby. Aunt has a headache that could kill a man. We're not waking her unless you want uncle to die.”
Princess giggled, clearly enjoying the chase.
Taehyung stared at her, dead serious. “I am not joking. She threw a ginger at me this morning because I told her she’s cute when she’s cranky."
He let out a deep sigh and kissed the side of Princess’s forehead. “But she’s still our queen, right?”
Princess burbled in agreement — or possibly just made a bubble sound — but he took it as a yes.
He glanced at Y/N again. Her face had relaxed slightly now, her shoulders not as tense as before. Maybe the painkillers were finally kicking in. A soft, sleepy sigh escaped her lips.
Taehyung smiled softly.
“See that?” he whispered to his daughter, still holding her close. “That’s the woman I love. She’s strong. She takes care of everyone and never asks for anything. So when her body aches and her mood flips ten times in an hour, I don't get mad. I just love her more.”
Princess blinked.
“And that’s your cue to stay quiet,” he added in a singsong voice, gently lowering her to the mat again and handing her the soft plushy bunny this time.
Hunter let out a slow exhale, rising to his feet and padding over silently. He laid down next to Princess protectively, letting her lean on him as she slowly grew interested in chewing on bunny ears.
“Good boy,” Taehyung whispered, giving Hunter a grateful pat.
Then he tiptoed to the kitchen and began heating up the soup he had prepared earlier — a gentle, comforting broth Y/N always loved. One that reminded her of the monsoon days from childhood. No onions, because apparently onions "smelled like betrayal" this week.
As the kettle whistled softly, he peeked into the living room again. His queen still slept, Princess was occupied, and the world, for now, was calm.
He smiled, adjusting the apron he wore.
Because if pampering his moody, beautiful, heart-aching woman and babysitting their chaos incarnate was what the day called for, then he was going to show up, every damn time — like the royal butler of a PMS-ing empress.
Scene: The Dinner Invitation – A Clash of Eras and Egos
Y/N and Taehyung stood at the threshold of the landlady’s old-fashioned home, a mix of pretense and politeness stitched into their smiles. Taehyung was immaculately dressed in a charcoal turtleneck, his hair tousled just enough to look aristocratically careless. Y/N, effortlessly elegant in a soft mauve dress, held their baby girl, Princess, in her arms—who, as usual, refused to be separated from her aunt’s warmth.
The landlady’s husband, a frail but sprightly man with snowy hair and a perpetually furrowed brow, opened the door.
“Ah, bonsoir!” he exclaimed with forced cheer, glancing nervously behind toward the kitchen. “Come in, come in—before she starts yelling again.”
Taehyung let out a gentlemanly chuckle, placing a protective hand at the small of Y/N’s back as they stepped in. The living room smelled of roasted garlic, wine sauce, and the unmistakable tension of two worlds about to collide.
From the kitchen, the landlady barked, “Take your shoes off! No dragging mud across my clean floor! And that baby better not touch anything!”
“We’ve brought her toys,” Y/N replied sweetly, unfazed. She gently placed Princess on a mat near the sofa, surrounding her with plushies and soft rattles. The toddler gave a satisfied gurgle, immediately chewing on her stuffed bear’s nose.
Taehyung’s eyes softened at the sight. He crouched to fix the blanket beneath Princess, brushing a kiss to her cheek before rising to help set the table.
“You don’t need to do that,” the landlady snapped as she emerged with a casserole in hand. “The man doesn’t set the table. He gives instructions.”
She nodded at her husband, who was already seated, watching the interaction like a spectator at a cockfight.
Taehyung didn’t flinch. “Respectfully, Madame,” he said with poised steel, “in our home, I serve my wife. I consider it an honor.”
The landlady scowled, clearly unaccustomed to having her worldview challenged. Her husband murmured, “Young man… you don’t want to encourage her. Women get ideas.”
“I want her to have ideas,” Taehyung replied, voice calm but firm. “She was born for more than just clearing plates.”
Y/N, adjusting Princess’s bib, heard every word. But rather than confront the obvious ignorance, she remained composed, directing her energy toward the child in her lap.
Dinner began.
As everyone sat, Taehyung served Y/N first—salmon en croûte, potato gratin, a careful scoop of ratatouille—before even lifting a bite to his own lips.
The landlady dropped her fork with a clang.
“Excuse me,” she said sharply, “but where I come from, the wife serves the husband. Not the other way around.”
Y/N’s hand froze mid-air. Her gaze flickered from the landlady to Taehyung.
Taehyung leaned back with aristocratic grace. “Then I must thank the heavens that I’m not from here,” he said coolly, brushing his fingers over Y/N’s hand. “In my world, if my Y/N is not served first, I don’t sit at that table.”
The landlady’s husband inhaled wine and coughed, scandalized.
“So she’s the queen now, is she?” the landlady scoffed. “You’ll spoil her rotten and she’ll forget her place.”
Taehyung’s jaw clenched. He placed his fork down, wiped his mouth delicately, and spoke with precision. “Her place is wherever she wants to be. And my job is to make sure she knows that every day.”
Princess tugged on Y/N’s skirt. “Ya-ya,” she whined softly. Y/N lifted her up, settled her on her lap, and began feeding her small pieces of cherry. Slowly, carefully. The toddler babbled happily between bites, unaware of the storm gathering at the table.
The landlady sneered. “Too soft. You pamper them too much and they forget who’s the man in the house.”
Taehyung looked up.
“She is the house,” he said quietly. “The reason it stands. The reason I breathe.”
The cutlery stilled.
Y/N tried to remain poised, but the tension crept beneath her skin. Her heart pounded louder with every bitter word the woman spoke. When the landlady's voice turned from sharp to venomous, Y/N could feel the weight of years—the judgment, the sideways glances, the subtle accusations.
“I must say, it’s no wonder the poor man has to do everything,” the landlady continued, sipping her wine. “She speaks too much for a woman. Always walking ahead of him, always having an opinion. In my day, women walked behind their husbands—not next to them like equals, let alone in front like generals. No wonder your generation is so… chaotic.”
Y/N’s spine stiffened.
She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, a small tremor in her hand betraying the turmoil inside. Her lips parted, but no words came out. A polite smile attempted to mask the ache forming in her chest—a familiar pain of being labeled *too loud*, *too much*, *too independent*.
The landlady’s husband muttered with a chuckle, “She does talk quite a bit. But women these days… they forget who provides for them.”
That was it.
Taehyung stood.
The chair screeched sharply, Princess squealed, and Y/N blinked up at him.
His hand gripped her shoulder—not roughly, but with urgency—and helped her to her feet.
“We’re leaving.”
The words fell like thunder.
The landlady looked up, stunned. “What do you mean leaving? We haven’t even served the tart—”
“I won’t sit at a table,” Taehyung said, eyes ablaze, “where my Y/N is insulted just for having a voice.”
Y/N, still holding Princess, stumbled slightly as Taehyung took her hand in his. His grip was steady. Unshakable. She let him lead her away—relieved, overwhelmed, but silently furious on the inside.
They barely reached the corridor when the landlady called after them again, her voice sharp with mockery.
“Tch. That woman you’re always trailing behind… loud, too proud, and far too free with her opinions.”
Taehyung stopped dead in his tracks.
She wasn’t finished. “Women like her… they forget their place. Talk too much. Dress like they own the streets. Men like you—you need to teach them manners before it’s too late.”
Taehyung turned slowly. His hand slipped from Y/N’s for the briefest second.
“You let her talk back, you let her dance in shorts, you sit there and cook for her like a servant—Pfft,” she sneered. “Be a masculine man. Put her in place. One slap and silence. That’s how men keep their women humble.”
Y/N’s heart stopped.
“Taehyung—” she whispered, but too late.
He lunged.
His fist slammed into the wooden bannister next to the landlady’s head, splitting it down the center with a crack that echoed through the corridor. Y/N gasped, clutching Princess tightly against her chest.
Taehyung’s hand gripped the woman’s throat.
“Say it again,” he hissed. The words were low, guttural, primal.
The landlady clawed at his wrist, gasping.
“Say another word about Y/N. Say *one more* vile syllable, and I swear—” his voice dropped to a growl, “—I’ll make you regret ever crawling out of whatever rotting womb birthed this garbage in you.”
Y/N’s eyes widened with disbelief. Her pulse raced. “Taehyung, stop—please.”
He didn’t loosen his grip until the woman’s face began to pale, her slippers falling off in a heap. Only then did he shove her against the wall and release her.
She collapsed in a heap, coughing violently.
Her husband came rushing out, panicked. “Monsieur, please—she didn’t mean—”
Taehyung didn’t even look at him.
He turned back to Y/N, eyes still dark with fury. Her breath caught when she saw his trembling hands, his tense shoulders.
Without a word, he took her hand again—gently, but firmly—and pulled her down the hallway.
“Taehyung…” Y/N whispered, shaken but still holding Princess close, “you didn’t have to—”
“I did,” he murmured, never stopping, not even looking back. “Because you’ve had enough people tell you to stay quiet in your life. I won’t be one of them. And I won’t let anyone else try either.”
They stepped out into the cool night air. Y/N’s steps faltered, but his arm never left her. He slowed only when they reached the edge of the street, far from the old home’s rotting ideologies.
She looked at him, clutching Princess. Her voice barely trembled.
“Taehyung…”
“You’re not just my love,” he said, voice softer now, breaking through the rage. “You’re the standard. And if they can’t respect that, they don’t deserve a seat at the same table as you.”
Y/N blinked back sudden tears—of pain, of awe, of fierce gratitude. And in the reflection of his eyes, she saw not just her worth, but the future he was willing to burn the world to protect.
➡️ Kindly read the previous pov that I posted a few minutes ago ⬅️
Continuation of the previous pov:-
Scene: Operation "Wife On Paper"—Kim Taehyung Style
Y/N was lounging on the couch, dressed in his hoodie that practically drowned her, hair messily tied up, legs tucked under her. She was lazily sipping on lukewarm coffee while trying to stop Princess from chewing on the TV remote. The toddler had now taken to crawling everywhere like she paid rent and occasionally slapped the remote with such authority that even the TV switched off out of fear.
Meanwhile, inside the study, Taehyung—the Kim Taehyung, underground mafia boss, billionaire CEO, destroyer of empires and morals—was currently hunched over a printer that beeped like a malfunctioning spaceship. His sleeves were rolled up, tie undone, glasses slipping down his nose as he stared intensely at a glowing screen that read:
> "Template: Marriage Certificate — Editable PDF"
“This better look real enough to make that landlady choke on her herbal tea,” he muttered, dragging a photo of them from last nighout into the form. It was a picture of Y/N glaring at him while he grinned like a puppy who had just stolen food. It was domestic. It was chaotic. It was... married couple coded.
He carefully typed in:
> Name of Husband: Kim Taehyung > Name of Wife: Y/N Forbes > Date of Marriage: Somewhere convincingly backdated > Place: Any spiritual sounding temple with no digital records > Witnesses: Blank. Don’t ask. Confidential.
Just then, Y/N peeked in from the doorway, arms crossed suspiciously. “What the hell are you doing? You’ve been in here for an hour. Did you forget how to blink?”
Taehyung turned his laptop screen slightly. “Creating our marriage certificate,” he said as casually as if he were ordering pizza.
Y/N blinked. “Our what—?”
“For the landlady,” he clarified, waving his hand as if it explained everything. “She’s nosy. She’s suspicious. She thinks we’re living in sin. I need her distracted with forged paperwork while I keep my real crimes running. Priorities.”
“You’re seriously forging legal documents now?” she asked, incredulously.
He turned to her slowly, leaning back in his chair, fingers steepled like a villain. “Darling,” he said smoothly, “you’ve seen me lie to Interpol, outwit the national crime branch, fake deaths, blow up yachts, and charm arms dealers into giving me discounts. You think I can’t print a fake wedding certificate?”
Y/N stared. “You put the photo where I was yelling at you.”
He nodded proudly. “That’s how I know it’s realistic.”
The font was Comic Sans.
She gasped.
“Comic Sans?! Seriously?! You want her to believe we’re married with *Comic Sans*?!”
He turned the screen to her proudly. “It’s friendly. Approachable. Like us.”
“Approachable?! We have a German Shepherd that eats delivery boys and a baby who screams like a kettle!”
He smirked. “You’re the one who taught her that scream.”
“Taehyung,” she warned, crossing her arms.
But he only leaned back in his chair like he ruled the world. “Do you want her to evict us, hm? Do you want her to start spreading gossip that you’re my live-in lover with a shady past? A mafia man’s kept woman?”
Y/N stared. “You’re already a mafia man with a shady past.”
He smiled, pleased. “Exactly. And you’re too pretty for rumors.”
“Oh my God—” she facepalmed.
“Besides,” he whispered dramatically, lowering his voice as he clicked ‘Print’, “I even found a ‘just-married’ font stamp with glitter.”
She lunged for the mouse. “Stop it—don’t put glitter—"
Too late.
"This certificate was just unnecessary.” she said after a beat.
Taehyung leaned his head slightly against hers. “Maybe not,” he whispered. “Someday, I’d like to make it real. On paper. In heart, it already is.”
Y/N froze, heart stammering—but before she could say anything back, the printer finally roared to life like it had been summoned by destiny itself.
And out came their first fake marriage certificate, warm from the printer tray, still ink-scented.
He grinned as he retrieved the certificate, blowing imaginary dust off it like it was the Magna Carta. “Look at us, Mrs. Kim. Legally fake and fabulously fraudulent.”
“Fake document. Real mess,” Y/N muttered.
“Real husband,” Taehyung corrected softly, bumping her shoulder, “at least to one very nosy landlady and one clingy baby who thinks you're her actual mother.”
Y/N chuckled dryly, but didn't deny any of it.
“Now let’s go laminate this. Official documents deserve shine.”
♡ JungSu ♡
♡ JungSu ♡
A complete journey of yesterday's lunar eclipse — phase by phase. Photographed by me. ❣️🌑
2 days ago | [YT] | 52
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♡ JungSu ♡
गणपति बप्पा मोरया 🕉️🐚ᬒᬁ𓃰🔱🪘
2 weeks ago | [YT] | 129
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♡ JungSu ♡
➡️ Kindly read the previous pov that I posted a few minutes ago ⬅️
Continuation of the previous pov:-
✧ Scene Title: “Mountains, Madness & Mehendi Previews” ✧
The jet's wheels kissed the Manali runway with a smooth hum. The crisp Himalayan air sneaked through the narrow gap of the aircraft door as it opened. The scent of pine, fresh mud, and distant campfire smoke filled Y/N's senses as she descended the ramp with Princess in her arms, snugly wrapped in a fluffy lavender baby coat. Taehyung trailed behind them like a bodyguard disguised as a Celine ad.
A cavalcade of luxury SUVs was already lined up on the tarmac—arranged by none other than Wooshik, whose family had gone full Bollywood Punjabi wedding mode.
“Welcome to the madness,” Wooshik grinned, hugging Taehyung and shaking hands with Y/N. “Yuri’s already threatening to cancel her own wedding if the mehendi artist isn’t flown in from Delhi.”
Y/N rolled her eyes, laughing.
✧ The Resort ✧
Their SUV drove through the dense cedar woods into the heart of Manali’s most exquisite mountaintop resort—a sprawling estate tucked between ancient pines, with cottages that looked like wooden palaces and windows that framed the Himalayas like oil paintings.
As they pulled up at the resort's circular driveway, the valet opened the door and stared for a moment too long at the ethereal woman stepping out of the car.
Y/N, wearing a chic oversized coat over her cozy airport attire, had the wind catch her hair just right. Taehyung whispered from behind,
“You’re stealing the mountains’ spotlight again.”
Y/N elbowed him gently. “Stop saying things that make the clouds blush.”
✧ Inside the Suite ✧
Their room—well, their private chalet—was nothing short of magical. Floor-to-ceiling windows opened to a breathtaking view of snow-dusted peaks. There was a stone fireplace already roaring, a hot tub on the balcony, and flower petals arranged in the shape of a heart on the bed because apparently, Indian hospitality took “extra” very seriously.
Princess waddled around in awe, touching every soft pillow like a mini queen inspecting her kingdom.
Y/N sighed in disbelief.
“This is... it’s surreal. I’ve never seen mountains like this in my life.”
Taehyung placed his hands on her shoulders from behind, his breath warm near her ear.
“Let’s pretend it’s our honeymoon.”
“…Without the wedding,” she muttered, deadpanned.
“Details,” he grinned.
✧ The Chaos Begins ✧
Barely had they unpacked when they heard loud bhangra beats thudding from the open fields below.
They stepped onto the balcony.
There it was—the pre-wedding madness in full swing.
Giant tents with shimmering drapes. Aunties dancing with abandon. Uncles trying to outdo each other in drinking contests. And in the middle of it all—Yuri, dressed in an elegant Indo-western lehenga and yelling into her phone about lost bangles.
Y/N giggled. “You sure we’re not at a film shoot?”
“We are,” Taehyung whispered, “A film where you’re the star.”
✧ Entrance, Style, and Whistles ✧
Later that evening, they descended into the party grounds. Y/N in a deep olive-yellow embroidered suit, her hair tied in a soft braid adorned with baby’s breath flowers. Taehyung in a black bandhgala sherwani that screamed "rich villain with a redemption arc."
As they glided through the crowd, the sea of guests parted instinctively — like Moses had just dropped his staff and declared “Make way for the hotness.”
Whistles broke out. Aunties almost dropped their samosas. Someone actually choked on a rasgulla.
A cluster of cousins, crouched near the snacks table, turned to full-on gossip hyenas.
“Wait—who is that man? He looks like he just walked out of a K-drama and into my dreams.”
“That's Wooshik's dance coach’s fiancé—HELLO?”
“No, no, no, I’ve definitely seen that jawline somewhere. Wasn’t he on the cover of Vogue or something??”
“OH MY GOD—yes! YES! That’s him! The Kim Conglomerates guy!! The one with the impossible bone structure and scary net worth???”
“Stop it. Are you telling me Wooshik casually invited a CEO to this function while I had to beg for an extra gulab jamun???”
“Ssshhh, shut up! Don’t be obvious! But—look at his cheekbones. I feel like they could slice through tax evasion.”
“No, I’m sorry, but he literally looks like the human embodiment of generational wealth and gym dedication.”
One of them dropped their drink.
Another dramatically clutched their chest.
And the rest simply stared, as if the heavens had dropped a Dior-wrapped thunderbolt straight into their mohalla.
Scene: The Great Auntie Ambush –™️ With Ladoo and Trauma
Y/N? Calm. Serene. Regal.
But inside?
She was rolling on the metaphorical carpet of her mind palace, shrieking into a throw pillow, cackling like an unhinged villain with popcorn in both hands.
Because Taehyung—CEO of Kim Conglomerates, resident mafia heartthrob, airport fashion demon, and unofficial god of jawlines—was currently being…
TANTE-TRAPPED.
It began innocently.
A nudge.
A fluttering giggle.
Then BAM.
Four aunties encircled him like he was free mango pickle samples in a supermarket.
> “Arey beta, you’re SO tall! What’s your height? 6’3? 6’4? 6’9? Basket player?
> “Your skin is glowing, no? Like a baby's bottom but smoother. What cream? Or is it just stress from counting money?”
> “Are you single? My daughter looks just like Alia Bhatt from the left profile in good lighting. She even makes round rotis.”
Taehyung blinked.
Once.
Twice.
Internal WiFi disconnected.
He tried to say something polite—like “thank you” or “I’m taken” or "Hold on"—but every time he opened his mouth, another aunty shoved a ladoo, a business proposal, or worse, a biodata at him.
One auntie tugged at his collar like she was ironing him with motherly intentions.
> “Smile more, beta. You look like a statue carved from marble.”
Another shoved a plate of sweets in his hand.
> “Eat this, for sweetness. Like you. Also, my niece is very flexible. She teaches yoga.”
Meanwhile, Y/N stood a few feet away with a drink in hand, sipping like a queen watching her prized lion being attacked by parakeets in sarees.
Her inner monologue was pure filth and delight.
> “Yes. Yes. Suffer. You pretty little CEO goat.”
Taehyung met her eyes.
His look? Desperation mixed with spiritual surrender. Like a war general being overpowered by overfriendly marital suggestions and aggressive matchmaking energy.
> “Save me, woman.”
Y/N just… sipped her juice louder.
> “Nope.”
She even adjusted her imaginary crown.
"Let him cook. Or get cooked."
Just as one aunty leaned in—hand hovering near his cheek, probably ready to pinch it and declare him her 5th son—Y/N finally glided over like a final boss.
She looped her arm through Taehyung’s with the casual dominance of a mafia queen and the smugness of someone who just won Uno with one card.
“Oh! I see you've met my fiancé,” she said sweetly—
But her eyes?
Glowing with a level of possessiveness that made even the ghost of territorial lions go “damn, girl.”
The aunties?
Giggled.
Flushed.
Scattered like pigeons after a firecracker.
One even dropped her ladoo and mourned it silently.
Taehyung exhaled like he had just survived being kidnapped by saree-clad spies.
He leaned down and whispered, “You left me for dead.”
Y/N, not even sorry, grinned.
“You’re still breathing, aren’t you?”
She patted his chest.
“Now come, Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Matchmaking-Magnet. The kids are waiting to drag you into a dance battle before another aunty tries to check your Kundali.”
He groaned, “Next wedding, I’m wearing a fake mustache and glasses.”
Y/N smirked, “Next wedding?”
Taehyung blinked.
“…Ours.”
And just like that—somewhere in the crowd—an aunty shrieked.
Another fainted dramatically onto a chair.
And a kid yelled, “MOM! THE HOT UNCLE’S GETTING MARRIED!”
Y/N and Taehyung walked away hand-in-hand, while aunties mourned the fall of India’s most eligible NRI fantasy.
RIP matchmaking dreams.
✧ A Toast to the Beginning ✧
As the night lit up with fairy lights and dhol beats, Y/N and Taehyung shared warm tea in brass cups under the open sky while Princess napped in a nearby stroller.
“This might actually be the most peaceful chaos I’ve experienced,” Y/N said, watching the laughter, the dancing, the love in the air.
Taehyung looked at her, his eyes soft.
“It’s not the chaos that’s peaceful… it’s you.”
To be continued....
1 month ago | [YT] | 19
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♡ JungSu ♡
➡️ Kindly read the previous pov that I posted a few minutes ago ⬅️
Continuation of the previous pov:-
Scene Title: “Clouds, Champagne, and Childlike Wonder”
Location: Paris Charles de Gaulle – Private Elite Terminal
Y/N’s fingers were still laced with Princess’s tiny hand when they stepped into the sleek, marble-floored lounge, which looked more like the lobby of a seven-star hotel than an airport.
There were no chaotic announcements, no scurrying passengers or squeaky trolleys—only soft instrumental music humming through the air and attendants dressed sharper than a runway model offering rose-scented towels.
Taehyung walked ahead casually, but he kept glancing back at Y/N.
And she?
She had paused mid-step, mouth slightly parted in awe, her gaze sweeping over the crystal chandeliers, the velvet high-back seats, the glass table with gold-flaked macarons.
“This is...?” she asked quietly.
“The waiting lounge,” Taehyung smiled, watching her with eyes that couldn’t help but soften.
“Waiting lounge?” she blinked. “This looks like Versailles and a dream had a baby.”
He laughed—an actual soft laugh, the kind he only did around her. He leaned in and whispered, “Just wait till you see the flight cabin.”
Scene Shift: Inside the Ultra-Elite Business Class Suite
Y/N stepped inside the private cabin and halted again.
Her breath caught.
It wasn’t just Business Class—it was art.
Warm wood-paneled walls, glowing amber lights, cream-colored reclining chairs that molded to her frame like a hug, and a private sliding door that made it feel like her own little world.
She turned in slow, stunned circles, staring at the leather console, the silk-covered pillow set, the built-in bookshelf with real novels, and a glowing touchpad that offered everything from Italian hot chocolate to an on-air yoga guide.
“Taehyung…” she whispered. “This is a house in the clouds.”
He sat down lazily, arm draped over the armrest, but his gaze never left her.
“You like it?” he asked, voice unusually gentle.
“Like it? I feel like if I touch too hard, I’ll break something.”
She plopped cautiously onto the recliner seat, hands nervously clutching the edge.
“I’ve never even been in Business Class… forget this. I don’t even know if I’m allowed to breathe here.”
Taehyung chuckled, but his heart... god, it swelled. He wasn’t used to feeling like this—this protective, warm, hopelessly in love feeling.
“Breathe all you want,” he murmured, kneeling briefly in front of her and lifting her hands. “You belong here more than anyone.”
She scoffed and looked away—but her cheeks were dusted in pink.
Mid-Air: Quiet Moments and Warmth
Princess had long fallen asleep in her cozy cot, bundled like a dumpling in the warm blanket.
Y/N, however, was wide awake, pressing every button on the menu screen like a fascinated child.
“This thing has a stargazing mode?” she gasped. “Taehyung, the ceiling changes colors! Look!”
“Yes, yes,” he smiled, watching her excitement like someone who had just witnessed the sunrise after years of darkness.
“And the chair reclines all the way like a bed! Why do people even need hotel rooms if these exist?!”
Taehyung placed a hand on his heart in mock agony. “Please stop being so adorable. I can’t handle it.”
✧ Scene Title: “Altitude & Amour Served on Gold” ✧
The private cabin of the luxury jet glowed under soft amber lights, the windows darkened by automatic tint to create a cozy ambience. Princess was tucked away in the crib-bed beside them, her tiny fists clutching a silk blanket as she snored softly, dreaming baby dreams.
Y/N had just finished marveling at the interior decor again—gilded etchings along the paneling, a chandelier-style lighting cluster above them, and velvet cream seats that reclined smoother than any hotel bed she’d ever known. Everything felt like it was carved out of royalty’s daydreams.
She was still looking around like a stunned tourist when the steward entered, wheeling in a crystal-top table and covered silver domes.
“Your gourmet menu is served, sir,” the steward bowed slightly.
Taehyung smirked at her awe. “Wait till you taste what flying like royalty actually tastes like.”
He pulled the table forward and flicked the covers off with flair, like unveiling treasure.
Y/N’s jaw almost dropped.
✧ The Menu ✧
• A shimmering bowl of white truffle risotto topped with gold flakes
• Butter-seared scallops in a saffron champagne glaze
• Miniature duck roulades wrapped in herb-crusted pastry
• A deconstructed beetroot terrine with edible flowers and crystalized lime dust
• And for dessert, an exquisite lavender crème brûlée served with a spun sugar tiara
And beside it all—poured into long-stem glasses—was non-alcoholic chilled elderflower sparkling nectar, with a single blue orchid floating delicately inside.
Y/N blinked rapidly, trying to process the edible artwork before her.
“I—I don’t think I’m allowed to eat this. It feels like I’ll get fined if I breathe near it.”
Taehyung chuckled, slicing a piece of roulade and placing it gently on her plate. “You deserve to eat like this every day.”
She shook her head. “This is not eating. This is—this is attending the MET Gala in my mouth.”
“Exactly,” Taehyung grinned. “Bon appétit, my Lady of Paris.”
✧ In Between the Bites ✧
Y/N took a spoonful of the truffle risotto and paused.
Her pupils dilated.
Her whole soul seemed to ascend into a higher realm.
“I think I just forgave three of my ex-friends for no reason,” she whispered.
Taehyung laughed so hard he choked on his elderflower drink.
“You’re ridiculous,” she muttered.
“And you’re adorable and hilarious when you taste any dish.”
She poked his chest with her fork. “Why do you keep doing this?”
“Because I’m hopelessly in love with you,” he replied casually, lifting her hand and kissing the back of it. “Also, because I like watching you gasp like a five-year-old discovering fairy dust.”
✧ Dessert & Daydreams ✧
As the steward cleared the main course, he returned with the lavender crème brûlée. Y/N hesitated, then broke the sugar top with the back of her spoon. The scent alone made her eyes flutter shut.
“Mmhh,” she moaned softly.
Taehyung paused mid-sip.
“If you make that sound again, I might lose all my sanity.”
Y/N snorted, covering her mouth.
✧ Post-Meal Peace ✧
The lights dimmed into a soft, starry projection along the ceiling as the cabin settled into silence, until Y/N said softly,
“You always knew I was simple. I didn’t need any of this. But today…”
“…today I felt like the universe bowed a little for me.”
Taehyung’s voice was soft, warm, unshakable.
“Because you deserve it. And the universe should bow every day you smile.”
Y/N exhaled deeply.
For once, she didn’t argue.
Later: Her Head on His Shoulder
They didn’t speak for a while. The stars outside blinked like gentle secrets, and Y/N’s head slowly dropped on his shoulder, her breathing steady.
He didn’t move.
Not even a twitch.
His fingers rested near hers on the shared armrest, and all he could think of was how much this moment meant—her sleeping beside him, unaware that she’d just made a part of him feel at peace for the first time in years.
“You belong in all the luxury this world has,” he whispered, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. “But I’d still love you even if we had to walk through fire barefoot.”
To be continued....
1 month ago | [YT] | 160
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♡ JungSu ♡
➡️ Kindly read the previous pov ⬅️
Continuation of the previous pov:-
Scene Title: “Operation Manali Departure: Saree, Sulks, and the Sulkiest Dog”
Location: Y/N’s Apartment & Fluffy Paws Luxury Pet Care, Morning of Departure
The apartment was in complete chaos.
Saree boxes, baby bottles, boarding passes, and an odd sherwani lay across the living room like a war had broken out—one made entirely of velvet and gemstones.
Y/N, wrapped in a pastel floral robe and her hair half-straightened, was running back and forth like she was being chased by the ghost of missed flights.
> “Taehyung, have you packed the pacifiers for Princess?”
> “She chewed two last night. I only found a chewed rubber stump this morning. Looked like a crime scene.”
> “Did you pack her wipes?!”
> “I packed a *whole department store*. Calm down, Mother Goose.”
Meanwhile, Princess, dressed in a lemon-yellow onesie and wearing sunglasses too big for her chubby face, was flopped over a suitcase—wailing melodramatically because Taehyung tried to tie her shoelaces.
Hunter sat by the door pouting in silence, his chin resting on the ground and his ears drooped like two sad curtains.
His expression screamed betrayal.
Y/N knelt down beside him, cupping his big fluffy face.
> “Hunter, sweetheart… it’s just two weeks. Okay? Just fourteen days. I’ll video call you every night—cross my heart.”
Hunter didn’t move.
He let out a long, deep sigh like a Victorian man watching his lover board a ship to America.
> “He hates me now,” Y/N declared dramatically, flopping back onto the floor.
> “He’s sulking because he knows you’re gonna party without him,” Taehyung replied, already in his travel gear: beige turtleneck, trench coat, and sunglasses that screamed *airport fashion king.*
---
Time Skip: Outside Fluffy Paws Luxury Pet Care Centre
The glass doors slid open like some elite five-star hotel lobby, revealing a reception area that smelled faintly of lavender and expensive shampoo. Behind the marble desk stood a woman in scrubs, smiling like a trained hostess at a spa.
> “Welcome to Fluffy Paws,” she chirped. “Hunter Bernard, yes? We've prepared the deluxe VIP suite for him. With a view of the koi pond and optional dog yoga.”
Y/N looked guilty as she held Hunter’s leash. “Will he like it?”
Hunter, meanwhile, was already inspecting the room through the glass—where a golden retriever was being fed organic chicken bites on a velvet cushion.
He blinked once, impressed.
> “He’ll live better than us,” Taehyung muttered.
Y/N knelt down and gave Hunter one last bear hug, burying her face in his thick fur. “No rolling in dirt. No biting the yoga instructor. And if you meet a poodle named Bella, remember—you have standards.”
Hunter licked her cheek with a slow, noble *farewell my queen* kind of gesture.
> “You better not forget me,” she whispered, her voice cracking.
Hunter huffed and walked dramatically into the pet suite like a man who had accepted his fate at a five-star exile.
---
Time Skip: Back at the Apartment Door
Taehyung carried Princess in one arm and rolled two giant designer suitcases with the other like he was heading off to a fashion runway.
Y/N adjusted her jhumka earrings, did a twirl to test the swish of her long skirt, and tried not to cry again thinking about Hunter’s soulful goodbye glance.
> “We dropped our dog off at a wellness resort,” she muttered. “Should we even be allowed back into normal society?”
> “Let’s be real, he’s in better hands than us,” Taehyung said, patting down his trench coat. “The dude gets morning paw massages now. I’m still trying to survive back pain from holding Princess.”
Princess let out a squeal of agreement and tried to smack his sunglasses.
Y/N gave a mock salute. “Saree, sandals, sass. Locked and loaded.”
As they got into the car, Y/N suddenly turned and shouted toward the empty apartment—
> “Hunter, I’ll call you! Don’t flirt with the receptionist!”
The car doors closed.
Taehyung grinned, pulling out his phone. “He’s probably already sipping cucumber water and ignoring us.”
Y/N sighed dramatically. “We raised a diva.”
But somewhere at Fluffy Paws, Hunter lounged on a plush dog bed, a cucumber slice balanced on his head, watching koi fish like a man reborn.
Vacation had begun. For everyone.
To be continued....
1 month ago | [YT] | 19
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♡ JungSu ♡
➡️ Kindly read the previous pov that I posted a few minutes ago ⬅️
Continuation of the previous pov:-
Taehyung blinked.
Then blinked again.
And again.
His brain was buffering like an old computer trying to load a 4K video on a dial-up connection as he watched Y/N—his delicate, elegant, refined woman—sit cross-legged on the floor like a gremlin with an enormous delivery box open in front of her. The aroma alone was enough to knock a grown man out. He felt his sinuses flare up just from breathing near her.
It was that spicy.
“Love…” he said, cautiously, watching the way she unwrapped the heavily red, lava-coated chicken wings and pulled the first one close to her mouth like it was a duel to death.
Y/N didn’t even look at him. “Don’t talk.”
Taehyung shut up immediately.
She took the first bite.
A dramatic pause.
Her eyes didn’t even water. Not a flinch. She kept chewing, lips glistening in sauce, brows furrowed in that intense concentration scowl like she was solving world hunger, and the wing in her hand was the key.
She didn’t even blink as she reached for the next one, and then the next, eating like she had been possessed by the spirit of a spice demon and the only way to exorcise it was through combustion-level consumption.
Taehyung sat on the sofa, wide-eyed, hands frozen in his lap as if movement might disturb her flow.
The baby monitor buzzed softly beside him, but Princess was fast asleep. He wondered if she’d inherited Y/N’s spice tolerance. God help him if she had.
“Babe…” he tried again, barely above a whisper, “Are you... okay?”
Y/N didn’t answer. She downed another wing, licked her thumb with surgical precision, and then finally glanced at him with fire in her eyes and a nose slightly pink from the heat.
“I needed this,” she said darkly, voice raspy from the sheer force of the masala.
Taehyung raised his hands in surrender. “Yes, ma’am.”
By the time she reached the final wing, her lips were practically vibrating, a drop of sweat forming at her temple, but she didn’t stop. She was a warrior. A commander. A gladiator in a colosseum of chilies.
And Taehyung was just her stunned audience of one.
She finally looked at him as she finished, grabbed a napkin with grace unbecoming of someone who had just battled spice level ten, and wiped her fingers carefully.
Then she sipped her cold water like a CEO sipping vintage wine.
Taehyung blinked again. “You terrify me. In the sexiest way possible.”
Y/N smirked. “Good. Next time I’m ordering the ghost pepper curry.”
Taehyung shivered.
“Do you want a bite?” she offered casually.
He laughed—an actual nervous laugh. “I value my intestines, thank you.”
Y/N just leaned back with a sigh, completely satisfied, resting a hand over her stomach like a food god had descended and blessed her soul.
Taehyung stared at her, chest swelling with affection, a little horror, and a whole lot of awe. “I'm in love with a dragon.”
“And you better keep her well-fed,” she mumbled with her eyes closed.
“Yes, Your Fire-Breathing Majesty.”
The next morning arrived unusually quiet, cloaked in an eerie silence that settled like a storm brewing behind the clouds. The neighborhood bustled with routine—a woman swept her porch, a fruit vendor rang his brass bell down the alley—but inside the apartment, the air was thick with something else. Tension. Shadows moved behind curtains. Even Hunter, lounging lazily by the door, kept growling low in his throat.
Y/N, still in her soft morning robe, sat on the couch feeding mashed fruit to Princess, who refused to keep still. Taehyung had just walked out of the bathroom, hair damp and white shirt half-buttoned, when the door suddenly banged.
A fist. Then another. Then a loud, guttural scream.
"GET OUT! GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!" The unmistakable voice of the landlady shrieked from behind the door, followed by the sound of polished leather shoes and radios crackling.
Y/N froze mid-spoon. Taehyung’s eyes narrowed, ice slicing through his calm. He didn’t need to look through the peephole—he already knew.
He opened the door slowly.
The landlady stood outside with two police officers flanking her like rabid hunting dogs she thought she controlled. Her hair was pinned too tight, her shawl flailing from one shoulder, and her lips twisted with a smirk of authority.
"I told you,” she spat, pointing a crooked finger at Y/N behind him. “This isn’t a place for loud, bossy women who twist their men around their fingers. This is my house. We follow my rules. No woman here tells a man what to do!”
Taehyung’s hand gripped the doorframe.
“And your so-called husband? Acting like a servant. Hah! If my Harry ever behaved like that, I'd slap him straight. But you—” she sneered at Y/N, “—you sit there acting all high and mighty while the man plays your wife. What a disgrace. You people don’t belong here. I’ve brought the police. Pack your bags and GET OUT."
Y/N instinctively stepped back, shielding Princess, who whimpered sensing the rise in anger. Even Hunter growled from his place behind the curtain, baring teeth that could snap a wrist in half.
The two officers stepped forward—but the moment they caught sight of Taehyung, everything in the air changed.
They halted. Blinked.
One of them, a tall man with a golden badge and a stern face, immediately stiffened. His eyes widened like he had seen a ghost. Then, as if a silent alarm had gone off, he straightened his back and bowed—bowed—to Taehyung.
The second officer followed suit, albeit with shaky hands.
“Monsieur Kim,” the first officer said quickly in French, clearing his throat. “Apologies. We… we weren’t told it was you.”
The landlady blinked rapidly. “What? What are you doing? I called you to throw them out! They’re freeloaders! Look at them! They attacked on me in my own house!"
“Madame,” the officer interrupted coldly now, voice losing all pretense of politeness. “Do you have any idea who this man is?”
“What? He’s just—some flashy businessman—”
“This is Kim Taehyung,” the second officer hissed low under his breath. “CEO of Vante Corp. CEO of Kim conglomerates. The man who owns half of the docks in Marseille. And more than half the city’s lawyers, hospitals, and banks. Not to mention…” he hesitated, glancing at the hallway to check no one was listening, “…the Commander Noir.”
Taehyung stood calmly, not moving an inch. Not blinking.
The first officer turned to him with visible respect. “Is everything alright, sir? Shall we… escort her away instead?”
The landlady paled. “E-escort me?! He—he’s just a spoiled man with wealth! You—you’re being paid off, aren’t you?”
But her voice was now a faltering mess, cracking under the weight of a reality she hadn’t expected. Her husband Harry stood at the stairs watching silently, lips parted in confusion. Even he had never seen the police react like that.
Taehyung tilted his head slightly, a lazy smile forming—cold, dangerous, and elegant like velvet on a dagger.
He stepped forward, voice ice.
“You walked into my house. Yelled at my Y/N. Scared our Princess.”
He took one more step, and she stumbled back.
“You think I’ll let that pass? You wanted us gone?”
He turned to the officers.
“She wants to evict us. I’d like a full background check on this woman. Tax fraud, land documents, and every illegal petty complaint she’s filed over the years. If I find even one violation—”
The landlady gasped. “You can’t—!”
“I can,” Taehyung cut her off. “And I will.”
“Sir,” the officer nodded, already pulling out his phone.
The landlady looked like she might faint. “I—I didn’t know—You are all corrupted—”
“You treat every woman like this?” Taehyung asked sharply. “Or just the ones who don’t lower their eyes and beg?”
Hunter growled again, as if echoing the tension in his master's voice.
The woman flinched, suddenly aware of every pair of eyes in the corridor—neighbors peeking through curtains, stunned into silence.
Taehyung turned back to Y/N, who stood still in the hallway, holding Princess close, lips trembling not with fear, but restraint.
“Let me handle this.” he said gently to her. “This filth isn’t worth your ears.”
Y/N nodded slowly, retreating into the apartment with Princess. The baby had sensed enough unease to bury her face into Y/N’s neck and cling tight.
Once the door closed behind them, Taehyung faced the landlady again.
“You may own the bricks of this building,” he said, voice low and cruel, “but if I wish, I’ll own you by the end of the week. Get out of my sight.”
The woman fled, almost tripping over her own slippers. Her husband ran after her, calling her name. The officers exchanged looks, then bowed once more before turning to leave, respectfully and without a word.
And Taehyung?
He remained in the hallway for one more minute, jaw tight, chest heaving once.
Then he stepped back inside, quietly locking the door behind him.
The silence that followed was laced with power—and no one in that building would ever forget the day they saw fear bow to love.
To be continued....
1 month ago | [YT] | 14
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♡ JungSu ♡
➡️ Kindly read the previous pov that I posted a few minutes ago ⬅️
Continuation of the previous pov:-
The lights in the bedroom were dimmed to a warm golden hue, the soft rustle of the curtains barely audible in the stillness of the late afternoon. Outside, the Parisian sky was grumbling with the promise of rain, but inside, it was quiet—except for the faint hum of a lullaby Taehyung had put on for Princess, who was napping in the next room with Hunter curled protectively beside her.
Y/N lay on the bed, curled slightly on her side, her face creased with exhaustion and the dull ache of cramps lingering under her skin. PMS had her in its brutal clutch—her body sore, her emotions frayed thin, and her soul just desperately needing rest. Her breathing was soft now, but Taehyung could tell she wasn’t truly asleep. There was still tension in her muscles. Her fingers twitched occasionally. Her brow furrowed every few seconds like her body was struggling even in sleep.
He sat beside her slowly, careful not to startle her. His hand brushed away a few strands of hair from her forehead, his knuckles grazing the side of her temple with a reverence that spoke volumes.
“Mon amour…” he murmured quietly, voice barely above a whisper. “I know it hurts.”
Y/N stirred faintly, her eyes fluttering open halfway, glazed with fatigue.
“I don’t want to move…” she croaked.
“You don’t have to,” Taehyung whispered, his lips kissing the corner of her mouth. “Just stay still. I’ll take care of everything.”
Gently, he guided her to lie on her stomach. His hands—strong, warm, and precise—started with her temples, massaging in small, slow circles. She let out a low hum, the first sign of relief in hours. He worked his way down her head, running his fingers through her hair and pressing gently at pressure points near her scalp. His touch was healing—neither too light nor too firm, just the perfect pressure to release the migraine lodged behind her eyes.
Then, his hands moved to her shoulders, kneading the tight knots with devotion. His thumb pressed into the ridges of muscle just below her neck, drawing soft whimpers from her that made him frown in concern.
“Why didn’t you tell me it hurt this much, ma chérie?” he murmured.
“I didn’t want to be a burden,” she mumbled into the pillow, eyes still shut.
His hands froze for a second. “You’re not a burden. Ever. You’re mine to care for. Always.”
And with that, he resumed, taking his time as he rolled his knuckles across her shoulder blades, letting the tension melt away. After her upper back was loosened, he slipped down to her arms, lifting one at a time, pressing his thumbs into her palms and down each finger with absolute delicacy. Her fingers twitched under his touch, and she gave a sleepy sigh.
“I feel like crying more when you pamper me like this,” she said, her voice heavy with sleep and gratitude.
He chuckled softly. “I love you no matter what. But I’ll still take that as a win.”
He shifted to the edge of the bed, pulling the soft blanket slightly higher over her hips as he uncovered her legs. His touch was reverent as he massaged her calves first, then her ankles, working his way up with gentle care. Each slow press of his palm, each circular rub against the tension in her thighs, was infused with unspoken love. He made sure to move softly, aware of how tender her body felt during these days. Not once did he rush.
When he reached her feet, he looked up to find her fully asleep now, breathing deep and even. Her body looked a little more relaxed, the tension in her brow gone. Her lips were slightly parted, as if finally able to rest in peace.
Taehyung pressed a kiss to her ankle, pulled the blanket over her completely, and dimmed the lights a little more. He quietly left the room to check on Princess, but before closing the door behind him, he turned once more to look at the sleeping figure of his queen.
“You give everything to everyone,” he whispered. “Let me give everything to you.”
And with that, he left her to dream, his heart full and soft.
Scene: Y/N wakes up from her nap to find Taehyung has done everything—again
The soft rustling of curtains stirred her from slumber. Outside, the sun had long begun its descent, drenching the apartment in an amber glow. Y/N blinked slowly, disoriented. Her head felt lighter than before, the sharp edge of her headache dulled into a quiet hum. But as her eyes adjusted to the familiar space—the tidy coffee table, the clean kitchen sink, the faint scent of lemon soap in the air—her stomach dropped.
She shot up from the couch, eyes darting toward the clock. 4:47 PM. She had napped for nearly three hours.
“Taehyung?” she called, her voice raw from sleep.
“Hmm?” Taehyung’s voice floated in from the kitchen, casual, calm, unaware of the storm brewing inside her chest.
She staggered to her feet and walked toward him, her heart sinking further with every step. There he was, dressed in loose black joggers and a faded grey t-shirt, hair pulled back with a clip, standing barefoot at the stove. He was stirring ramen broth in one hand while holding Princess on his hip with the other. The baby had one hand in his hair and another clumsily holding a toy.
“Taehyung…” she whispered, her eyes already misty.
He turned at the sound of her voice, smiling, “Hey, love. Feeling better?”
She didn’t reply.
Instead, her lips quivered.
Taehyung frowned immediately, placing the spatula down and bouncing Princess lightly on his arm, “Y/N… what’s wrong? Are you in pain again?”
“I-I slept too much,” she choked, her voice cracking, “And you… you did everything, Taehyung. You’re cooking, holding Princess, cleaning—and your laptop’s still open, you were working too. You didn’t even rest.”
Taehyung blinked, confused at first. But then, his expression softened when he saw the guilt in her trembling mouth and the tears pooling in her lashes.
“Y/N…” he walked toward her, shifting Princess to one arm with practiced ease and using the other to cup her cheek. “You were hurting. You needed to rest.”
“But—” she sniffled, trying to step away, “It’s not fair on you! You have your own job, your own body to care for. You… you shouldn’t have to do all this alone just because I’m—because I’m a hormonal mess—”
“Hey. Stop,” he interrupted, his voice low but firm, brushing his thumb under her eye to catch the tears before they could fall. “You’re not a mess. You’re my love. And I’m not doing anything for you, I’m doing it with you… because we’re a team, remember?”
“But I feel useless,” she murmured, breath hitching.
“You’re not,” he said, kissing her forehead. “You’re the strongest woman I know. Some days your body will need rest. Some days you’ll be crying for no reason, or all the reasons. And some days, you’ll scold me for stacking the towels wrong,” he added with a tiny grin. “And I’ll still be here for it all.”
She finally let the tears roll down then, curling into his side, careful not to squish Princess. “You’re too good to me…”
“No,” Taehyung murmured against her temple. “I’m just giving you what you always deserved.”
Princess, still perched in his arm, leaned forward and patted Y/N’s head as if mimicking her uncle’s affection. That made Y/N laugh through her tears, even if just a little.
And in that moment—between the quiet kitchen hum, the spicy aroma of simmering dinner, the softness of love woven through fatigue and affection—Y/N realised she wasn’t failing. She was just loved… deeply, wholly, and without conditions.
To be continued.....
1 month ago | [YT] | 21
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♡ JungSu ♡
➡️ Kindly read the previous pov ⬅️
Continuation of the previous pov:-
The sky outside was dim with the melancholy of evening rain, the windows fogged with cold mist while the apartment lights glowed in soft amber hues. The heater hummed quietly, and the aroma of sandalwood incense mingled with the faint traces of lavender from the laundry. But inside the apartment, a storm was brewing.
“I told you I didn’t want pineapple in the fridge! Why is it still there?” Y/N snapped, her voice rising as she stood in front of the open refrigerator like it had committed a mortal sin.
Taehyung, who was folding the laundry on the couch with a soft hum under his breath, blinked.
“Love, I—I thought you liked pineapple? You literally asked for it last week.”
“Well, now I hate it! It smells like... ewww,” she snapped again, slamming the fridge shut with dramatic force. Her lower lip wobbled a second later, and she turned around, arms crossing over her chest like a pouting child.
“And why are you smiling like that? Are you mocking me?” she demanded suddenly.
Taehyung immediately stopped smiling, even though his expression had been fond—not mocking. “No. Never. I just think… you’re really cute when you’re mad over pineapples.”
“Oh my god—don’t call me cute! I’m a rage machine, not cute!” she yelled again, throwing herself on the couch dramatically, knocking over half the folded clothes he’d just stacked.
She didn’t mean to cry, but the tears betrayed her anyway. They started from the corners of her eyes, hot and salty, and rolled down in tandem with her frustration.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she sniffled, grabbing a throw pillow and hiding her face in it. “One minute I want to burn the whole world down, and the next I just want a tight hug and a hot water bag.”
“Want both?” Taehyung offered gently.
She groaned through the pillow. “Don’t make me laugh, I’m still mad at you. And myself. And the pineapple.”
Without another word, Taehyung walked to her side and slowly knelt on the floor beside the couch, right in front of her. His large hands gently peeled the pillow away from her face and cupped her cheeks like she was something fragile and irreplaceable.
“I don’t care if you yell at me. I don’t care if you throw all the folded laundry at my face,” he whispered, his thumbs gently brushing her damp cheeks. “You’re allowed to feel everything. You work hard, you carry too much inside that beautiful head of yours… if you need a war zone for a few days, I’ll stand on the battlefield with my armor off.”
Y/N looked at him, lips quivering, eyes glassy with unshed emotion. “You really aren’t scared of me at all?”
“No,” he smiled softly. “I’m scared for you sometimes. Scared that you think you need to carry your storms alone.”
She sniffled again. “I hate this. I feel gross. I don’t want to yell but I yell. I want to cuddle but also stab someone.”
“Well,” he leaned in and kissed her nose, “you can yell at me, cuddle me, and threaten to stab me all in one breath. I’ll still bring you chocolate and a heating pad.”
Her arms slowly reached for him, and Taehyung immediately scooped her into his embrace, sitting down on the couch with her pulled onto his lap like a doll. She buried her face in the crook of his neck and let herself cry without shame.
“It’s just hormones,” she murmured.
“And your hormones are royalty,” he replied, rubbing her back in soothing circles. “We bow to them for a few days, and then we survive. Like always.”
She chuckled through her tears, “You’re stupid.”
“Painfully,” he whispered back with a kiss on her temple. “But I’m yours.”
And there they stayed, in their small sanctuary—her with her erratic mood swings and raging cravings, and him with all the quiet devotion in the world—until the storms passed again, just like they always did.
Taehyung paced around the living room with Princess in his arms, swaying her gently like a lullaby in motion. Y/N had finally dozed off on the couch after an entire morning of mood swings, cramping, yelling at the laundry detergent for being "too lemony," and then sobbing because she thought she was being "too mean" to the detergent.
Now she was curled up in a blanket like a grumpy burrito, a cool compress on her forehead and the faintest wrinkle between her brows. Her lips twitched every now and then — the leftover frustration hadn’t left her even in sleep.
Princess, however, had other plans.
“Mmm-mmaaaa…” she mumbled, reaching one chubby hand out toward the couch, wriggling in Taehyung’s arms.
“No, baby,” Taehyung whispered softly, bouncing her a little and backing away from the sofa like it was sacred ground. “Aunt’s sleeping. Aunt's a dragon right now. A very tired, beautiful dragon. Let’s not wake the dragon.”
Princess blinked at him, confused.
“Ba!” she protested louder this time, and Taehyung panicked for a second, eyes darting toward Y/N’s sleeping form.
"Shhh, sshhhh, sshhhhh, baby, baby, baby," Taehyung whispered, gently putting his finger to her lips. “I’ll give you your blocks. Blocks! You love blocks.”
He scrambled to the corner of the room where Princess's toy bin was stashed and sat her down carefully on her play mat, offering her the colorful blocks like they were ancient treasure.
Princess took one. Stared at it. Then threw it.
It hit Hunter, who was resting in the corner like the old war veteran he was, and he groaned lowly, shifting his massive head.
“Don’t encourage her,” Taehyung muttered at the dog, who blinked at him with equal parts boredom and amusement.
Princess crawled with all her energy and made a dash toward the couch.
“Oh my God—nope nope nope—” Taehyung grabbed her mid-run, lifting her up like a sack of potatoes. “Not today, baby. Aunt has a headache that could kill a man. We're not waking her unless you want uncle to die.”
Princess giggled, clearly enjoying the chase.
Taehyung stared at her, dead serious. “I am not joking. She threw a ginger at me this morning because I told her she’s cute when she’s cranky."
He let out a deep sigh and kissed the side of Princess’s forehead. “But she’s still our queen, right?”
Princess burbled in agreement — or possibly just made a bubble sound — but he took it as a yes.
He glanced at Y/N again. Her face had relaxed slightly now, her shoulders not as tense as before. Maybe the painkillers were finally kicking in. A soft, sleepy sigh escaped her lips.
Taehyung smiled softly.
“See that?” he whispered to his daughter, still holding her close. “That’s the woman I love. She’s strong. She takes care of everyone and never asks for anything. So when her body aches and her mood flips ten times in an hour, I don't get mad. I just love her more.”
Princess blinked.
“And that’s your cue to stay quiet,” he added in a singsong voice, gently lowering her to the mat again and handing her the soft plushy bunny this time.
Hunter let out a slow exhale, rising to his feet and padding over silently. He laid down next to Princess protectively, letting her lean on him as she slowly grew interested in chewing on bunny ears.
“Good boy,” Taehyung whispered, giving Hunter a grateful pat.
Then he tiptoed to the kitchen and began heating up the soup he had prepared earlier — a gentle, comforting broth Y/N always loved. One that reminded her of the monsoon days from childhood. No onions, because apparently onions "smelled like betrayal" this week.
As the kettle whistled softly, he peeked into the living room again. His queen still slept, Princess was occupied, and the world, for now, was calm.
He smiled, adjusting the apron he wore.
Because if pampering his moody, beautiful, heart-aching woman and babysitting their chaos incarnate was what the day called for, then he was going to show up, every damn time — like the royal butler of a PMS-ing empress.
To be continued....
1 month ago | [YT] | 17
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♡ JungSu ♡
➡️ Kindly read the previous pov ⬅️
Continuation of the previous pov:-
Scene: The Dinner Invitation – A Clash of Eras and Egos
Y/N and Taehyung stood at the threshold of the landlady’s old-fashioned home, a mix of pretense and politeness stitched into their smiles. Taehyung was immaculately dressed in a charcoal turtleneck, his hair tousled just enough to look aristocratically careless. Y/N, effortlessly elegant in a soft mauve dress, held their baby girl, Princess, in her arms—who, as usual, refused to be separated from her aunt’s warmth.
The landlady’s husband, a frail but sprightly man with snowy hair and a perpetually furrowed brow, opened the door.
“Ah, bonsoir!” he exclaimed with forced cheer, glancing nervously behind toward the kitchen. “Come in, come in—before she starts yelling again.”
Taehyung let out a gentlemanly chuckle, placing a protective hand at the small of Y/N’s back as they stepped in. The living room smelled of roasted garlic, wine sauce, and the unmistakable tension of two worlds about to collide.
From the kitchen, the landlady barked, “Take your shoes off! No dragging mud across my clean floor! And that baby better not touch anything!”
“We’ve brought her toys,” Y/N replied sweetly, unfazed. She gently placed Princess on a mat near the sofa, surrounding her with plushies and soft rattles. The toddler gave a satisfied gurgle, immediately chewing on her stuffed bear’s nose.
Taehyung’s eyes softened at the sight. He crouched to fix the blanket beneath Princess, brushing a kiss to her cheek before rising to help set the table.
“You don’t need to do that,” the landlady snapped as she emerged with a casserole in hand. “The man doesn’t set the table. He gives instructions.”
She nodded at her husband, who was already seated, watching the interaction like a spectator at a cockfight.
Taehyung didn’t flinch. “Respectfully, Madame,” he said with poised steel, “in our home, I serve my wife. I consider it an honor.”
The landlady scowled, clearly unaccustomed to having her worldview challenged. Her husband murmured, “Young man… you don’t want to encourage her. Women get ideas.”
“I want her to have ideas,” Taehyung replied, voice calm but firm. “She was born for more than just clearing plates.”
Y/N, adjusting Princess’s bib, heard every word. But rather than confront the obvious ignorance, she remained composed, directing her energy toward the child in her lap.
Dinner began.
As everyone sat, Taehyung served Y/N first—salmon en croûte, potato gratin, a careful scoop of ratatouille—before even lifting a bite to his own lips.
The landlady dropped her fork with a clang.
“Excuse me,” she said sharply, “but where I come from, the wife serves the husband. Not the other way around.”
Y/N’s hand froze mid-air. Her gaze flickered from the landlady to Taehyung.
Taehyung leaned back with aristocratic grace. “Then I must thank the heavens that I’m not from here,” he said coolly, brushing his fingers over Y/N’s hand. “In my world, if my Y/N is not served first, I don’t sit at that table.”
The landlady’s husband inhaled wine and coughed, scandalized.
“So she’s the queen now, is she?” the landlady scoffed. “You’ll spoil her rotten and she’ll forget her place.”
Taehyung’s jaw clenched. He placed his fork down, wiped his mouth delicately, and spoke with precision. “Her place is wherever she wants to be. And my job is to make sure she knows that every day.”
Princess tugged on Y/N’s skirt. “Ya-ya,” she whined softly. Y/N lifted her up, settled her on her lap, and began feeding her small pieces of cherry. Slowly, carefully. The toddler babbled happily between bites, unaware of the storm gathering at the table.
The landlady sneered. “Too soft. You pamper them too much and they forget who’s the man in the house.”
Taehyung looked up.
“She is the house,” he said quietly. “The reason it stands. The reason I breathe.”
The cutlery stilled.
Y/N tried to remain poised, but the tension crept beneath her skin. Her heart pounded louder with every bitter word the woman spoke. When the landlady's voice turned from sharp to venomous, Y/N could feel the weight of years—the judgment, the sideways glances, the subtle accusations.
“I must say, it’s no wonder the poor man has to do everything,” the landlady continued, sipping her wine. “She speaks too much for a woman. Always walking ahead of him, always having an opinion. In my day, women walked behind their husbands—not next to them like equals, let alone in front like generals. No wonder your generation is so… chaotic.”
Y/N’s spine stiffened.
She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, a small tremor in her hand betraying the turmoil inside. Her lips parted, but no words came out. A polite smile attempted to mask the ache forming in her chest—a familiar pain of being labeled *too loud*, *too much*, *too independent*.
The landlady’s husband muttered with a chuckle, “She does talk quite a bit. But women these days… they forget who provides for them.”
That was it.
Taehyung stood.
The chair screeched sharply, Princess squealed, and Y/N blinked up at him.
His hand gripped her shoulder—not roughly, but with urgency—and helped her to her feet.
“We’re leaving.”
The words fell like thunder.
The landlady looked up, stunned. “What do you mean leaving? We haven’t even served the tart—”
“I won’t sit at a table,” Taehyung said, eyes ablaze, “where my Y/N is insulted just for having a voice.”
Y/N, still holding Princess, stumbled slightly as Taehyung took her hand in his. His grip was steady. Unshakable. She let him lead her away—relieved, overwhelmed, but silently furious on the inside.
They barely reached the corridor when the landlady called after them again, her voice sharp with mockery.
“Tch. That woman you’re always trailing behind… loud, too proud, and far too free with her opinions.”
Taehyung stopped dead in his tracks.
She wasn’t finished. “Women like her… they forget their place. Talk too much. Dress like they own the streets. Men like you—you need to teach them manners before it’s too late.”
Taehyung turned slowly. His hand slipped from Y/N’s for the briefest second.
“You let her talk back, you let her dance in shorts, you sit there and cook for her like a servant—Pfft,” she sneered. “Be a masculine man. Put her in place. One slap and silence. That’s how men keep their women humble.”
Y/N’s heart stopped.
“Taehyung—” she whispered, but too late.
He lunged.
His fist slammed into the wooden bannister next to the landlady’s head, splitting it down the center with a crack that echoed through the corridor. Y/N gasped, clutching Princess tightly against her chest.
Taehyung’s hand gripped the woman’s throat.
“Say it again,” he hissed. The words were low, guttural, primal.
The landlady clawed at his wrist, gasping.
“Say another word about Y/N. Say *one more* vile syllable, and I swear—” his voice dropped to a growl, “—I’ll make you regret ever crawling out of whatever rotting womb birthed this garbage in you.”
Y/N’s eyes widened with disbelief. Her pulse raced. “Taehyung, stop—please.”
He didn’t loosen his grip until the woman’s face began to pale, her slippers falling off in a heap. Only then did he shove her against the wall and release her.
She collapsed in a heap, coughing violently.
Her husband came rushing out, panicked. “Monsieur, please—she didn’t mean—”
Taehyung didn’t even look at him.
He turned back to Y/N, eyes still dark with fury. Her breath caught when she saw his trembling hands, his tense shoulders.
Without a word, he took her hand again—gently, but firmly—and pulled her down the hallway.
“Taehyung…” Y/N whispered, shaken but still holding Princess close, “you didn’t have to—”
“I did,” he murmured, never stopping, not even looking back. “Because you’ve had enough people tell you to stay quiet in your life. I won’t be one of them. And I won’t let anyone else try either.”
They stepped out into the cool night air. Y/N’s steps faltered, but his arm never left her. He slowed only when they reached the edge of the street, far from the old home’s rotting ideologies.
She looked at him, clutching Princess. Her voice barely trembled.
“Taehyung…”
“You’re not just my love,” he said, voice softer now, breaking through the rage. “You’re the standard. And if they can’t respect that, they don’t deserve a seat at the same table as you.”
Y/N blinked back sudden tears—of pain, of awe, of fierce gratitude. And in the reflection of his eyes, she saw not just her worth, but the future he was willing to burn the world to protect.
To be continued....
1 month ago | [YT] | 143
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♡ JungSu ♡
➡️ Kindly read the previous pov that I posted a few minutes ago ⬅️
Continuation of the previous pov:-
Scene: Operation "Wife On Paper"—Kim Taehyung Style
Y/N was lounging on the couch, dressed in his hoodie that practically drowned her, hair messily tied up, legs tucked under her. She was lazily sipping on lukewarm coffee while trying to stop Princess from chewing on the TV remote. The toddler had now taken to crawling everywhere like she paid rent and occasionally slapped the remote with such authority that even the TV switched off out of fear.
Meanwhile, inside the study, Taehyung—the Kim Taehyung, underground mafia boss, billionaire CEO, destroyer of empires and morals—was currently hunched over a printer that beeped like a malfunctioning spaceship. His sleeves were rolled up, tie undone, glasses slipping down his nose as he stared intensely at a glowing screen that read:
> "Template: Marriage Certificate — Editable PDF"
“This better look real enough to make that landlady choke on her herbal tea,” he muttered, dragging a photo of them from last nighout into the form. It was a picture of Y/N glaring at him while he grinned like a puppy who had just stolen food. It was domestic. It was chaotic. It was... married couple coded.
He carefully typed in:
> Name of Husband: Kim Taehyung
> Name of Wife: Y/N Forbes
> Date of Marriage: Somewhere convincingly backdated
> Place: Any spiritual sounding temple with no digital records
> Witnesses: Blank. Don’t ask. Confidential.
Just then, Y/N peeked in from the doorway, arms crossed suspiciously. “What the hell are you doing? You’ve been in here for an hour. Did you forget how to blink?”
Taehyung turned his laptop screen slightly. “Creating our marriage certificate,” he said as casually as if he were ordering pizza.
Y/N blinked. “Our what—?”
“For the landlady,” he clarified, waving his hand as if it explained everything. “She’s nosy. She’s suspicious. She thinks we’re living in sin. I need her distracted with forged paperwork while I keep my real crimes running. Priorities.”
“You’re seriously forging legal documents now?” she asked, incredulously.
He turned to her slowly, leaning back in his chair, fingers steepled like a villain. “Darling,” he said smoothly, “you’ve seen me lie to Interpol, outwit the national crime branch, fake deaths, blow up yachts, and charm arms dealers into giving me discounts. You think I can’t print a fake wedding certificate?”
Y/N stared. “You put the photo where I was yelling at you.”
He nodded proudly. “That’s how I know it’s realistic.”
The font was Comic Sans.
She gasped.
“Comic Sans?! Seriously?! You want her to believe we’re married with *Comic Sans*?!”
He turned the screen to her proudly. “It’s friendly. Approachable. Like us.”
“Approachable?! We have a German Shepherd that eats delivery boys and a baby who screams like a kettle!”
He smirked. “You’re the one who taught her that scream.”
“Taehyung,” she warned, crossing her arms.
But he only leaned back in his chair like he ruled the world. “Do you want her to evict us, hm? Do you want her to start spreading gossip that you’re my live-in lover with a shady past? A mafia man’s kept woman?”
Y/N stared. “You’re already a mafia man with a shady past.”
He smiled, pleased. “Exactly. And you’re too pretty for rumors.”
“Oh my God—” she facepalmed.
“Besides,” he whispered dramatically, lowering his voice as he clicked ‘Print’, “I even found a ‘just-married’ font stamp with glitter.”
She lunged for the mouse. “Stop it—don’t put glitter—"
Too late.
"This certificate was just unnecessary.” she said after a beat.
Taehyung leaned his head slightly against hers. “Maybe not,” he whispered. “Someday, I’d like to make it real. On paper. In heart, it already is.”
Y/N froze, heart stammering—but before she could say anything back, the printer finally roared to life like it had been summoned by destiny itself.
And out came their first fake marriage certificate, warm from the printer tray, still ink-scented.
He grinned as he retrieved the certificate, blowing imaginary dust off it like it was the Magna Carta. “Look at us, Mrs. Kim. Legally fake and fabulously fraudulent.”
“Fake document. Real mess,” Y/N muttered.
“Real husband,” Taehyung corrected softly, bumping her shoulder, “at least to one very nosy landlady and one clingy baby who thinks you're her actual mother.”
Y/N chuckled dryly, but didn't deny any of it.
“Now let’s go laminate this. Official documents deserve shine.”
To be continued....
1 month ago | [YT] | 367
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