"Mornings Are Dangerous Too"
I blinked awake to soft sunlight slanting through the curtains.
Warm. Quiet. Peaceful.
Too peaceful.
Something was wrong.
Correction: everything was wrong.
My leg was hooked over something.
My arm… wrapped around someone.
And his stupid heartbeat thumped under my cheek like it belonged there.
Taehyung.
We were tangled. Completely. His body wrapped around mine like a python in silk.
Chest to back. Legs intertwined. One of his arms draped over my stomach like I was his personal plush toy.
No. Absolutely not.
I jumped — or tried to.
But the beast had me caged.
His grip tightened in his sleep like he'd sensed the escape attempt.
"Let. Go."
I whispered, pushing at his arm.
He didn't.
Instead, he mumbled something unintelligible and buried his face in my hair.
His breath tickled my neck. I froze.
Then he pulled me closer.
Tighter.
This man has no survival instincts.
So I did the only thing left in my arsenal.
I bit his shoulder.
Hard.
He jerked slightly… then laughed.
Laughed.
That smug, low chuckle vibrated through his chest — into mine.
He finally opened his eyes, that smirk already in place like it was part of his DNA.
"You bite like a kitten," he said, voice gravelly from sleep. "Not sure if you were trying to hurt me or… claim me."
"You wish," I growled, trying to pull away again.
Still stuck.
His smile deepened. "I don't have to wish. You're already in my arms."
I elbowed him.
He winced, laughed harder.
"Fine," I hissed. "Next time, I'll bite hard enough to leave teeth marks."
He turned his face closer, bare shoulder still under my hand.
"Go ahead," he whispered, eyes locked on mine. "Mark me."
I stared at him.
That dumb, cocky face.
The way his voice dropped when he got serious.
The way he always knew how to get under my skin.
And worse…
The way part of me wanted to do exactly what he said.
I hated mornings.
Especially ones where the enemy made me feel… almost wanted.
---His arm flexed against my waist, keeping me pinned like I belonged there.
"Stop squirming," he murmured, voice still husky with sleep. "You'll just make me hold tighter."
"That's called kidnapping," I snapped, wriggling harder.
Mistake.
The movement pressed me closer against him, and his grin widened like he'd just won a war.
"Funny," he said smoothly, lips brushing my temple, "because the only one struggling is you. I feel perfectly at home."
My pulse betrayed me—fast, unsteady. He must've felt it against his chest because his smirk turned into something darker, softer, possessive.
"You hear that?" he whispered, brushing his thumb lazily across my stomach. "Your heartbeat's racing. For me."
"It's called adrenaline," I shot back. "Fight or flight."
"Then choose," he countered, tightening his hold until his breath slid across my ear. "Fight me… or stay."
I elbowed him again—sharper this time. He groaned but didn't let go.
"God, you're stubborn," I muttered.
"And you're mine," he said simply, like it was the weather. "No amount of biting or kicking is going to change that."
I twisted, glaring up at him. "You don't get to decide that!"
His eyes locked on mine, amusement melting into something heavier. "Sweetheart, I already did. The second you fell asleep in my arms."
I sputtered, face heating. "I did not fall asleep in your arms. You— you ambushed me!"
"That's not how your little sighs sounded last night," he teased, smirk curling wickedly.
My jaw dropped. "I don't sigh—"
"You do," he interrupted, voice dipping lower, lazy and lethal. "And you blush, and you bite like a kitten, and you make the cutest little sounds when you dream. I hear all of it. Because you're here. With me."
My throat tightened. His words were ridiculous. Dangerous. Almost gentle.
I shoved at his chest, desperate for distance. "You're insufferable."
He caught my wrist before I could retreat. His gaze sharpened, no trace of laughter now. "Maybe. But you'll stay right where you are."
I opened my mouth to argue—
He leaned closer, lips brushing just shy of mine, taunting, testing.
"Because mornings," he whispered, "are mine."
♡Butterfly with Fangs
I sat in the center of the bed, legs folded beneath me like a statue carved out of spite.
Arms crossed.
Back straight.
Hair wild.
Eyes—lethal.
I looked like a damn angry kitten trying to act like a queen.
A wildflower with thorns.
A chaotic butterfly mid-tornado.
And there he was.
Wearing a suit.
A suit. After everything.
He stood by the mirror, fingers adjusting his tie with lazy precision, like he hadn't just spent the night wrapped around me like a living blanket.
Like I hadn't nearly bitten through his shoulder an hour ago.
Fresh from the shower, droplets still clinging to his neck. His shirt crisp. Watch gleaming.
Shameless.
He glanced over his shoulder at me — slow, like he knew.
His lips curved. That smirk again.
"You're staring," he said, voice like sin wrapped in silk.
"I'm judging," I shot back, tone sharp as ice.
He turned fully, hands in pockets, walking toward me like he had all the time in the world.
"So loud for someone who didn't mind cuddling last night."
I rolled my eyes.
"That was accidental."
"Was it?"
I lunged for a pillow and chucked it.
He dodged — barely — and laughed under his breath.
He stood at the edge of the bed now, watching me like I was both a puzzle and a poem.
"You're dangerous when you're mad," he murmured, tilting his head.
"I'm always mad," I said. "You just keep surviving it."
He grinned.
"That's because part of you doesn't want me to stop breathing."
I glared harder.
But said nothing.
Because he was right.
And that made me hate him just a little bit more.
What should I do with this smug face man? I'm stuck with him. And his babies? They are ridiculously cute and chaotic, I can't help but find them cute. Maybe I start to love them?