#wonwoo oneshot

[thedensworld]

A New Vendetta| J. Ww

Pairing: Wonwoo x Mafia's daughter reader

Genre: arranged marriage au!, mafia au!

Type: angst, fluff, smut (mdni!)

Word count: 18k

Summary: Raised in an abusive family, you were thrown into an arranged marriage that overwhelmed you. Can you survive all of these?

Once you got into the cab and felt a hand cover your mouth with a cloth, a wave of dread swept over you. This was it, you thought. This was the end of your miserable life. You fought with every ounce of strength left in you, but as the world began to fade, your mind drifted to regrets you’d been holding on to. You could’ve accepted Mr. Seo’s offer for a date. You could’ve been kinder to your colleagues—especially Mrs. Chae. You could’ve treated your students with more warmth, if only you had known this was how it would end. Your end.

But then, somehow, you woke up.

You blinked against the dim light, disoriented, and slowly took in your surroundings. The posters, the bookshelves, the scent of lavender… You were in your old bedroom, the one you’d left behind four years ago. This was your parents' house.

You shot up from the bed, a dozen questions firing off in your mind. Hadn’t you been kidnapped? How were you here, of all places? You struggled to process, but then realization hit. This had to be your parents' or your brother's doing. They had found you...and forced you back.

"Welcome home," a low, familiar voice drawled.

You turned sharply to see Seungcheol standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame with an infuriatingly smug look on his face. So, it was him—your brother. It had been his doing all along.

A dry scoff escaped your lips. "Real classy," you muttered, rolling your eyes. Kidnapping you? A dramatic, underhanded stunt. But of course, it was nothing new—your family always preferred control over conversation.

Seungcheol’s eyes glinted as he strolled toward you, a self-satisfied smirk curving his lips. "Four years away from home, and look at that attitude." He reached out and roughly cupped your chin, lifting it so you had no choice but to meet his gaze.

"Don’t touch me!" you snapped, wrenching yourself free from his grasp. Seungcheol simply chuckled, an arrogance radiating off him that only made you bristle more. That glint in his eye was something darker, something that reminded you just how ruthless he could be.

But it was his next words that made the room go cold. "Don’t worry," he sneered, “you won’t be here longer than a week. We’ve got everything arranged."

You frowned, trying to make sense of his cryptic statement. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh, forgive me for breaking the news so bluntly.” His voice was laced with mockery. “You’re going to marry into the Jeon family."

The words echoed in your mind, each one twisting like a knife. Marry into the Jeon family? Arranged…by them?

You barely managed to whisper, "The Jeons…?"

Seungcheol nodded, and before you could pull away, he patted your head with a mockery that felt almost sinister. "That’s right. Finally found you a purpose in this family." He dropped his hand, then suddenly grabbed a handful of your hair, yanking your head back so you were forced to look him in the eyes.

“And don’t think for a second you have a choice, Choi Y/n. Run as far as you want, but we’ll find you. Just like today."

A bitter chill settled over you as his words sank in.

This was how it would end, after all.

Weeks later, you sat at the dining table the night before your wedding, feeling like a ghost in your own life. Your father, mother, and brother sat around you, talking about the wedding, the Jeons, and your future—as if you weren’t sitting right there with them. Your father steered the conversation with a business-like precision, his words detached and clinical, while your brother chimed in with cold, calculated suggestions on how you should conduct yourself once you were officially part of the Jeon family. His every word seemed to emphasize your role as nothing more than a tool to cement a family alliance. And your mother? She just sat there in silence, powerless, not even a whisper of comfort to ease your loneliness.

You longed to go back—to your apartment, your sanctuary. The one place where you’d fought so hard for your independence, the place that held all your dreams of a life free from the shadows of your family’s influence. All the effort you’d put in—studying relentlessly through high school, earning a place at a prestigious university, fighting tooth and nail to live on your own, even moving to Busan to work like an ordinary person—all of it felt wasted. You would never be “normal” as long as you bore the Choi name, as long as Choi blood flowed through your veins.

The family’s construction company, the empire your father had built, was struggling. Business had slowed in recent years, and not even Seungcheol, with all his skills and clever maneuvers as a director, could salvage it alone. So, they played their last card: you. A political marriage, sealing your fate to secure the future of the family. It was nothing new in the Choi lineage—almost every member had been born into a marriage of convenience, a bond made for power, not love. It explained a lot. No one here was truly happy. Not even your parents.

“Make sure she doesn’t make a scene tomorrow,” your father said coldly, his words like a verdict. “Station guards around her room tonight. I don’t want her pulling any stunts. Ensure there’s no way she can run.”

With that, he rose from the table, his final words echoing in the air, suffocating you with their weight.

You let out a sigh, barely audible, a silent plea. Couldn’t they just leave you alone, even for a single moment?

*

The first time you saw your groom’s face was at the altar. You knew almost nothing about this underground world your father and brother had dragged the family into, this illegal network where alliances and debts seemed to rule over any shred of morality. But one thing was clear: the Jeon family was no better than yours. They were villains in this twisted world, and your husband could be just as dangerous.

Now, you stood in front of him, heart racing, every nerve on edge. His face was sharp, his jawline defined, and his expression unwavering. His brows conveyed a strong-willed intensity, and his eyes held a kind of passion that only unsettled you further. You hated it—they were far too similar to your father’s eyes, filled with ambition and control. Something was off, you could feel it.

Would he treat you the way your father treated your mother?

Would he hit you? Swears?

Would he belittle you, try to break you down until you were nothing?

You took a shaky, nervous breath before placing your hand in his, the cold weight of inevitability settling on your chest. Your head spun, each breath feeling more difficult than the last. Was this real? Were you seriously about to be married today?

You premised your students that you’d grade their tests by the weekend!

A sudden, firm grip tightened around your hand, yanking you from your thoughts. Jeon Wonwoo—his name, all you knew of him—stared down at you with an intensity that bordered on piercing, his gaze unwavering as if he could see right through you.

You’d never imagined yourself in a situation like this. You had vowed you’d never end up in a marriage of convenience like your parents, trapped by arrangements you didn’t control. You’d sooner die, you’d thought, than ever agree to be a pawn in their twisted game.

As the ceremony unfolded, his grip never loosening, your mind wandered to a single thought, dark and sharp like a knife’s edge.

How to escape this. Even if it meant finding your own way out—even if it cost your own life.

*

Wonwoo watched you intently during the dinner that followed the wedding. This was the first time the Jeon and Choi families had gathered together for a meal, but the tension in the room was thick and unrelenting. This marriage was a business deal, nothing more, a simple contract that would benefit both families as long as it remained intact. Divorce was out of the question. Everyone involved had too much at stake—including him.

He was grateful that the proposal had been accepted by your family; it meant he could finally begin building his own empire, a chance to distance himself from the family business that never suited him. But it was clear you didn’t share the sentiment. From the moment he laid eyes on you today, he could see it in the slump of your shoulders, the hollow look in your eyes. You were more than just unhappy—you looked utterly defeated.

He couldn’t exactly say he enjoyed the day either. Playing the perfect son for his father’s business associates, mingling with your family—well-known figures in the construction underworld—was draining. Thinking of it as a business transaction helped him get through it, masking the discomfort with a polished facade.

He had done his research before today, reading through the sparse details in your profile. The only daughter of the Choi family, you were an interesting puzzle. What intrigued him most was that you’d run off to Busan after returning from studying abroad, quietly taking a job at a university there, far from your family’s influence. That move was one he hadn’t expected.

Why did you leave?

His gaze shifted to your mother across the table. She looked as stoic as you, her face giving nothing away. Perhaps it was a family trait, this quiet, expressionless mask. Or maybe it was something else, a grief frozen in time—he recalled reading about your brother’s drowning a decade ago, a tragedy that seemed to cast a shadow over the Choi family even now. Whatever the reason, she, like you, appeared detached, locked away behind a wall of silence.

Wonwoo considered if he liked the idea of a “submissive” wife—someone like your mother, who seemed to blend into the background, supporting her husband’s dominance without question. Was that what he had expected of you? But there was a fire in your eyes, even buried beneath the sadness, that told him you weren’t going to be as easy to control.

“Honey, isn’t it time for Wonwoo and Y/n to go?” his mother asked, looking over at her husband and reminding everyone of your planned departure for Jeju Island. The Jeon owned a private villa there—a family vacation spot that had been chosen for the three-day honeymoon trip.

Wonwoo cleared his throat, glancing over at you. When your eyes finally met his, he was struck by the deep brown depths beneath your lashes. He wondered if they would ever show him anything other than wariness, whether he’d ever see any warmth or trust there.

He rose from his seat, his voice steady as he addressed the table. “I think it’s time we head out. Thank you all for today.”

He reached for your hand, feeling the cold sweat of your palm. Bowing to both families, he caught your brother Seungcheol’s pointed remark about being a “good wife.” You didn’t even flinch, giving him no reaction, no indication that you’d heard him at all.

It only made Wonwoo more curious. Just how close—or how distant—were you from this family that claimed to control you?

*

Wonwoo spent the day subtly observing, trying to piece together what kind of person you were. During the flight, he’d tested the waters—asking if you were cold, offering his jacket, holding your hand during a patch of turbulence just to see if you would react. But you remained composed, barely acknowledging him. Fewer than five words had escaped your lips the entire time, as though you were carefully crafted to reveal nothing.

As the two of you disembarked from the Jeon family’s private jet, Wonwoo kept hold of your hand, guiding you toward the grand villa where you’d be staying. The sight brought back memories—he’d spent countless childhood vacations here, running around with his cousins, exploring every corner. But those days were long gone, buried beneath responsibilities and the family business. He never thought he’d return under these circumstances, with a wife by his side. It struck him how fast time had passed.

“Are you tired?” he asked as you sank into a plush couch in the villa’s main room, exhaustion clear on your face. “You can head to bed first. I’ll join you after I make a call—”

“Can we have separate bedrooms?” You cut him off, your voice quiet but firm. He turned, eyebrows raised in surprise. So, you could speak, he thought, intrigued.

“Why?” he asked, genuinely curious. He hadn’t expected such a direct request—especially on your wedding night.

You shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. “It’s just… I have trouble sleeping when there’s someone else in the same room.”

He tilted his head, an amused smile tugging at his lips. This was the first real conversation the two of you had, and it was about where you’d sleep. “But we’re married. Aren’t we supposed to share a bed, even if we’re… not exactly on good terms?”

“But this is a business marriage,” you replied, voice steady yet distant. “I don’t think we need to sleep in the same room.”

So that’s what you’ve been thinking, Wonwoo mused. You saw this marriage as nothing more than a transaction, as if intimacy were just another formality you could avoid. He studied you for a moment, then nodded.

“Alright.” His agreement came quickly, almost to his own surprise. He was tired, too tired to debate it further.

“You can take the master bedroom,” he said, gesturing to the hall. “I’ll take the room next to yours.”

Without waiting for a reply, he walked out onto the balcony, pulling his phone from his pocket. There was a call he had to make, business that couldn’t wait—if he wanted even a chance at resting tonight.

As he stepped outside, he glanced back, catching a glimpse of you alone on the couch, your expression unreadable. The distance between you two felt vast, yet something about your quiet defiance intrigued him.

“Happy wedding, man,” a familiar voice greeted Wonwoo as his call connected.

Wonwoo scoffed, “How’d you know? I didn’t tell you.”

The other person chuckled. “I have my sources everywhere. So, is that why you were asking about a house in Busan? Are you moving?”

“Yeah, I am,” Wonwoo replied, glancing at the villa. “My people are stationed there, and it’ll be easier to manage things from that side.”

“Got it. I’ll send over some listings. Just let me know if you have any specific requests,” the voice on the line replied smoothly. “And by the way, enjoy your wedding night,” he added with a teasing tone.

Wonwoo let out a laugh as he ended the call, quickly opening his email to find the property listings his friend Mingyu had just sent. As he scrolled through the catalog, he couldn’t help but think it was a lucky coincidence that you were already working in Busan.

Perhaps, for once, things were aligning in his favor.

*

You opened your email first thing in the morning, only to find it oddly filled with congratulatory messages from your colleagues and students. What’s going on?

Just then, a text came in from Mr. Seo, offering his own congratulations on your marriage. He even apologized for asking you out a few times without realizing you were already taken. He thanked you for the parcel—something you hadn’t sent but were sure was Seungcheol’s doing. At least he was responsible enough to help cover the work you’d had to leave behind on such short notice.

A knock at the door pulled you from your thoughts. It was Wonwoo, his head peeking in, a faint smile appearing when he saw you were awake.

“Breakfast is ready. Come join me,” he said warmly.

You left the bedroom and made your way to the dining area, where a spread of food awaited. Wonwoo sat with his coffee, his other hand scrolling through something on his tablet.

“How’d you sleep?” he asked, glancing up from his screen as he sipped his coffee.

“Great,” you lied, forcing a small smile.

The truth was, you hadn’t slept at all. The image of Wonwoo walking off to the balcony last night lingered in your mind. Was he mad? Would he get angry if you made another request like that? Would he—like everyone else in your family—end up getting tired of you?

“I asked if you wanted coffee or milk,” Wonwoo said, bringing you back to the present. You blinked, realizing you’d been lost in thought.

“Oh, coffee, please. Thank you,” you muttered, feeling a little embarrassed. You caught a glimpse of a quiet laugh on his face as he poured coffee into your glass.

Wonwoo set down his tablet, his attention now fully on you. “Did you see the closet yet?” he asked, and you shook your head.

“My mom picked out a few things for the honeymoon. I hope you’ll like them,” he said, taking another sip.

“Thank you,” you mumbled, nodding politely.

As you watched Wonwoo during breakfast, he seemed calm and collected—so different from your brother, who always wore a smug, confrontational expression, or your father, whose look always seemed to say everyone owed him something.

It was a relief, but it frightened you, too. You couldn’t read him, couldn’t guess his next move. He was smiling as he spoke to the maid now, but could that change in a flash? Would he end up yelling or even hurting you the way your father had with your mother?

A chill ran down your spine at the thought. It had been years since you’d witnessed that kind of violence, at least until you’d been pulled back to your family’s house three weeks before the wedding. You remembered your brother grabbing you by the hair, your father screaming at your mother. You knew about Seungcheol’s revolving door of relationships—a habit he’d probably picked up from your father’s infidelities.

Would that be your life, too?

You better come up with some plans.

*

The calm and collected, the submissive and innocent—those were the labels Wonwoo had instinctively assigned to you when he first met you. Yet, who could have predicted your next move? Running away, just a day after your honeymoon ended.

Wonwoo was at work—his first day back after a four-day absence—engrossed in an important meeting when his right-hand man, Lee Seokmin, discreetly approached him. Leaning down, Seokmin whispered, “Your wife ran away.”

Wonwoo’s fingers drummed against his lap as he processed the words, a wave of irritation rolling over him. Now, seated in his car, he was on his way to Busan. Good thing he’d asked Seokmin to plant a tracker in your wedding ring; otherwise, finding you would have been far more complicated. He glanced at his phone, tracking your movements. You were at work—of course.

“You didn’t tell her you were moving to Busan next week?” Seokmin asked, his tone laced with mild amusement. Wonwoo sighed tiredly, rubbing his temple.

“No, I didn’t,” Wonwoo muttered, exasperated. “I didn’t think I needed to. This whole situation is ridiculous.”

Seokmin glanced at his boss but wisely chose to remain silent. He had witnessed Wonwoo’s growing frustration during the honeymoon. Despite the picturesque Jeju scenery, the trip had been far from enjoyable for either of you. Wonwoo had spent most of his time working, glued to his phone or laptop, even forcing Seokmin to turn on airplane mode during moments when Wonwoo couldn’t resist calling him. The honeymoon wasn’t just a disappointment—it was a disaster.

Wonwoo barely saw you during those four days. You had breakfast long after him, skipped lunch entirely, and dined early, ensuring your paths rarely crossed. It was clear you were actively avoiding him, and it grated on his nerves more than he cared to admit.

This marriage isn’t just inconvenient for you, he thought bitterly as he watched the road ahead. I’m stuck in this mess too.

And now, you’d decided to make things worse by running away from his house to Busan just to get back to work. All of this could’ve been avoided if he’d simply told you about the plan to move next week. The thought irritated him further.

“This entire situation could have been avoided if you’d just communicated better,” Seokmin remarked, half-joking. Wonwoo shot him a sharp look.

Seokmin raised his hands in mock surrender. “I’m just saying. Maybe next time, a simple conversation will save you both the trouble.”

Wonwoo didn’t respond, his jaw tightening as the car sped down the highway. One thing was clear—he needed to get you back, not just physically but emotionally. Because while this marriage had started as a business arrangement, the chaos you brought into his life was beginning to feel far too personal.

"Why are you here? How the hell did you open my door?!"

You stood in front of him, your voice sharp with fury, yet it was nothing compared to the storm brewing in Wonwoo’s dark eyes. He had been waiting for nearly four hours, watching every move you made—from university to a café, to a restaurant, and everywhere but home. Each passing hour had only fueled his frustration.

He had his men tail you, making sure nothing happened, but every moment you were out of his sight left his mind racing with worst-case scenarios. He could already picture the wrath of your father and brother, their faces etched with rage if something had gone wrong.

"Took you long enough to get home," Wonwoo drawled, leaning back on the couch. His tone was calm, but the anger simmering beneath was unmistakable. He glanced at his watch—23:44.

"I asked you, how did you get inside?!" you snapped, your frustration growing as you saw him lounging on your couch like he owned the place.

Wonwoo didn’t bother answering. Instead, he casually propped his legs on your coffee table, ignoring your glare.

"Why are you here?" you repeated, this time with more control, though your patience was wearing thin.

Wonwoo let out a low scoff, his lips curving into a faint smirk. "Why are you here?" he shot back, his voice carrying a challenge.

Your brows knitted in confusion. "What are you talking about? I was working. You're not the only one who has a job."

His expression darkened at your response, his jaw tightening as his irritation reached a boiling point. "You could’ve told me. There was no need to run away and make me chase you here."

You crossed your arms defiantly, tilting your chin up. "I didn’t ask you to chase me."

Wonwoo’s eyes narrowed as he leaned forward, dropping his legs to the floor. The air between you grew heavy with tension. "Oh, but you did," he said, his tone dangerously calm. "The moment you stepped out of my house without a guard, you asked for this. You're my wife. Remember that."

Your laugh was humorless, bitter. "So what are you going to do now? Run crying to my father? Or are you going to beat the shit out of me because I can’t be your perfect little wife?"

Wonwoo stilled, caught off guard by your words. His eyes scanned your face, searching for any hint of sarcasm, but instead, he found something that made his chest tighten—a raw, painful truth hiding behind your defiance.

"What are you even talking about?" he asked, his voice lower now, laced with confusion.

You exhaled shakily, dropping your bag to the floor. Your shoulders slumped as if the weight of the world had finally broken you. "What are you waiting for, then? Slap me. Swear at me. Call me useless. I’m used to it all by now."

The tears that slipped down your cheeks caught him off guard more than your words. Something twisted in his chest, a deep ache he couldn’t quite name. How could you say that? What kind of life had you been living before this?

Wonwoo looked away, unable to meet your eyes as guilt crept up on him. Midnight struck. The sharp chime of the clock broke the silence, but it did little to ease the tension in the room.

He stood abruptly, his movements controlled but deliberate, and walked toward the balcony. Before stepping outside, he paused, speaking over his shoulder. "Prepare a bed for me. I’m staying here tonight. The house will be ready tomorrow. Sleep well."

With that, he slid the door shut behind him, letting out a heavy sigh as he leaned against the railing. His fingers reached into his pocket, pulling out a cigarette. The faint flicker of the lighter illuminated his face for a moment, revealing an uncharacteristic weariness in his expression.

The first drag of smoke filled his lungs, and for a second, he let the tension in his body dissipate. He’d thank Seokmin later for slipping a pack into his suit—it wasn’t often he needed one, but tonight was different. Tonight, everything felt heavier.

As the city lights stretched before him, Wonwoo stared into the distance, the bitter taste of nicotine lingering on his tongue. Your tears haunted him, replaying in his mind. He had thought he understood you, but now he realized he hadn’t even scratched the surface.

What the hell happened to you? he wondered, the smoke curling around him like a ghost of unanswered questions.

*

You woke up in bed. The soft mattress beneath you was a surprise; you were certain you’d left it for Wonwoo last night and made yourself comfortable on the couch. Had your husband moved you here? Husband. The word felt foreign and heavy in your mind, like trying on a coat two sizes too big.

Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you sat up and glanced at the clock. Two hours before your first class—plenty of time to get ready. You swung your legs off the bed and stretched, pushing away the lingering haze of confusion.

Freshly dressed, you stepped out of your room, planning to grab a quick breakfast. A slice of bread and some milk might hold you over until lunch. But as you walked into the living area, you froze.

Wonwoo sat at the dining table, arms crossed, his posture as commanding as ever. Across from him stood Lee Seokmin, his ever-efficient assistant, carefully plating food from plastic containers onto dishes that looked too fancy for your humble kitchen.

"Good morning, ma’am," Seokmin greeted you warmly. "Please have some breakfast before heading out."

Your eyes wandered to the table, laden with an array of nutrient-packed dishes. It was an impressive spread for such an early hour. Your gaze flicked to the couch, where the pillow and blanket you’d used were already folded neatly. Of course, he’d tidied up. Your husband was nothing if not meticulous.

"I’ll have the house ready by this afternoon. You can start moving your things tonight," Wonwoo said, breaking your thoughts as you hesitantly joined him at the table.

Your brows furrowed in confusion. "What house?"

"Our house," he replied simply, sipping his coffee like it was the most natural thing in the world. "We were supposed to move next week, but I pushed them to finish it earlier."

Your confusion turned to irritation as you stared at him. "You’re moving here?"

Wonwoo nodded, his tone calm but firm. "My business was originally centered here. I used to travel back and forth between Seoul and here frequently. Now it’s easier for me to stay permanently."

You sighed, frustration bubbling in your chest. All your carefully laid plans to create some distance between the two of you—gone. "Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?"

He scoffed, a hint of amusement in his otherwise serious expression. "Do you think I had the chance to tell you?"

His sharp gaze locked onto yours, a subtle reminder of the days you spent in your room during the honeymoon, avoiding him entirely while binging dramas. The pointedness of his words stung more than you cared to admit.

Seokmin cleared his throat, cutting through the tension. "Please eat before it gets cold," he said politely, excusing himself soon after.

As he reached the door, Wonwoo added, "Tell Jun to get the car ready. Y/n will be driven by him today."

Seokmin nodded and left, leaving you to frown at Wonwoo. "I can go to work by myself," you argued, your voice firm.

"I know," he said nonchalantly, picking a piece of meat from one of the dishes and placing it on your rice bowl. "But I’ve assigned Jun to drive you. He’s excellent at martial arts."

You sighed, knowing there was no point in arguing further. Wonwoo always seemed two steps ahead, and resisting him felt like fighting the tide. You reluctantly picked up your spoon and began eating.

The silence that followed wasn’t entirely uncomfortable, though your mind was still racing. He had tracked you down, shown up at your apartment like he belonged there, and even had a home ready for the two of you. He had already begun dismantling the semblance of independence you’d clung to, piece by piece.

You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye. Did he also handle your apartment lease? You dreaded the possibility. He's crazy if he did.

As if reading your mind, Wonwoo spoke, his tone neutral but direct. "I’ll talk to your building owner about the lease after breakfast. Don’t worry."

You stared at him, caught between disbelief and reluctant gratitude. At least he wasn’t entirely crazy. Your husband, as infuriating as he was, wasn’t heartless.

*

You didn’t remember asking him to pick you up from work.

As you walked out of the building with your colleagues, the lively chatter surrounded you. Among them was Mr. Seo, Seo Myungho, who had asked you out a few times in the past. He strolled beside you, quietly attentive as the others babbled about your sudden wedding.

You had already explained to them, in the simplest terms possible, that it was an introduction followed by a quick marriage. Yet, their curiosity remained insatiable, likely fueled by the unexpected month-long leave you'd taken—something orchestrated by Seungcheol. At least he'd sent gifts that bolstered your professional reputation, though it didn’t make the constant questions any less exhausting.

"I do understand why the Dean approved her leave for almost a month," Mrs. Chae remarked, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "She’s her favorite, after all."

The comment hung in the air, and you chuckled softly to yourself, resisting the urge to fire back. Wasting energy on Mrs. Chae's barely veiled resentment wasn’t worth it.

"She’s been doing excellent work on her research projects this year," Myungho interjected kindly, his tone steady and polite. He smiled at you briefly before addressing Mrs. Chae. "I think she’s more than earned her time off."

You felt a small wave of gratitude toward Myungho. His support didn’t go unnoticed, and it seemed to shift the mood slightly, with the others murmuring their agreement. Everyone, except Mrs. Chae, of course—her disdain was as predictable as ever. You were younger, more competent, and rising through the ranks faster than she could handle, and she hated every second of it.

Then, you saw him.

Wonwoo.

Your husband stood tall, casually leaning against his sleek car. He was a striking figure, dressed impeccably, yet looking oddly out of place in front of your university building. The sight of him felt surreal. Wonwoo didn’t seem like the type to wait outside for anyone, let alone you. It was baffling—and slightly annoying.

"Who’s that guy?" one of your colleagues asked, their curiosity piqued.

You barely heard them as you quickly turned to bid everyone goodbye. "I’ll see you all tomorrow!" you said hastily before jogging over to Wonwoo.

When you reached him, you glared up at him. "Who asked you to come here? Let’s go!"

Wonwoo raised an eyebrow, clearly taken aback by your urgency. Before he could respond, you grabbed his arm, pulling him toward the car. He moved with you, a bemused expression on his face as you opened the door and pushed him inside.

You quickly slipped into the passenger seat, taking a deep breath. Turning back to your colleagues, who were still watching, you forced a polite smile and waved. They waved back, but their curiosity had undoubtedly turned to outright speculation.

Your marriage had already become the hottest topic of gossip among your peers. Now, seeing you leave with a man as striking as Wonwoo—and in a car as luxurious as his—would only pour fuel on the fire.

You sighed heavily, sinking into the seat as the car pulled away. "This is exactly what I was trying to avoid," you muttered, more to yourself than to him.

Wonwoo glanced at you, his lips quirking into the faintest of smirks. "You're welcome," he said dryly, eyes flicking back to the road ahead.

You scowled at him, but there was no denying the slight flutter in your chest. For better or worse, your life was now entangled with his—and there was no turning back.

You glanced at Wonwoo as the car smoothly merged into traffic, the tension between you two lingering like an uninvited guest. You finally broke the silence, your voice low but sharp. "Where are we going?"

Wonwoo didn’t take his eyes off the road as he replied calmly. "To our new house."

You frowned. "Why? I thought we weren't moving until next week."

"I wanted to make sure everything you need is settled before you move in," he explained, his tone as matter-of-fact as if he were discussing the weather. "I’ve also arranged for a moving agency to pack and transfer your belongings tonight. It’s all scheduled."

You blinked at him, stunned by his efficiency—and, admittedly, a little irritated. "You scheduled my move without asking me?"

He finally looked at you, his dark eyes steady. "I didn’t think you’d agree if I asked. And whether it’s now or later, you’ll have to move in anyway. So why delay it?"

You sighed deeply, leaning back against the seat and closing your eyes. He wasn’t wrong. Now or later, this situation wasn’t going to change. Fighting him on it felt pointless, and you were already drained from the day.

"Fine," you muttered, surrendering to the inevitable. "But don’t expect me to be excited about it."

Wonwoo smirked faintly, his focus returning to the road. "Noted."

As the car wove through the streets, you gazed out the window, trying to calm the swirling thoughts in your mind. The idea of living with him, under the same roof, felt surreal. You weren’t ready to call this man your husband—let alone share a home with him.

But what choice did you have?

The car eventually pulled into a gated neighborhood, the homes large and modern, with sprawling lawns and tall hedges. You glanced at Wonwoo as he parked in front of a sleek, minimalist house.

"This is it?" you asked hesitantly.

"Yes," he said, stepping out and opening the door for you. "Come on. I’ll show you around."

You followed him reluctantly, stepping into the house. The interior was just as polished as the exterior—clean lines, neutral colors, and high-end finishes. It felt luxurious but cold, like a place designed for appearances rather than comfort.

Wonwoo gestured toward the open kitchen. "I’ve made sure it’s stocked with everything you might need. If anything’s missing, just tell me."

You nodded silently, your eyes scanning the space. It was beautiful, but it didn’t feel like yours.

He led you to the living room, then upstairs to the master bedroom. "This will be your room," he said, pushing the door open.

You turned to him, raising an eyebrow. "My room?"

"Yes," he said firmly. "You need your own space. I’ll take the guest room."

His unexpected consideration threw you off. You nodded slowly, unsure how to respond. "Okay."

Wonwoo checked his watch. "The movers should arrive in an hour. I’ll stay here to supervise."

You sighed again, the weight of it all settling in. This was your new reality. No matter how hard you tried to run, you couldn’t escape the situation you were in—or the man standing in front of you.

"Fine," you said quietly, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "I’ll unpack when they’re done."

Wonwoo studied you for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he turned and left the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

You sat on the edge of the bed, trying to make sense of everything when Wonwoo walked back into the room, his expression calm but purposeful.

"By the way," he said, leaning casually against the doorframe, "I changed my mind about the room."

Your head snapped up. "What do you mean?"

Wonwoo crossed his arms, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "There’s only one master bedroom in this house, and it’s ours. We’re married, Y/n. It’s only right that we share it."

You stared at him, your mouth falling open slightly. "You’ve got to be kidding me. There are other rooms here. You could easily take one of them."

He shrugged nonchalantly. "I could. But I won’t. I want us to share this space."

The way he said it, calm yet unyielding, made it clear this wasn’t up for debate. Frustration bubbled up inside you. "What about what I want? Did you even think about that?"

Wonwoo’s eyes softened slightly, though his resolve didn’t waver. "I did. That’s why I set up an office for you."

You blinked. "An office?"

He nodded, gesturing for you to follow him. Reluctantly, you got up and trailed behind him as he led you down the hall to a smaller room. Inside, you found a neatly arranged workspace with a sleek desk, bookshelves, and a comfortable chair. The shelves were already filled with reference books and stationary supplies, and a corner was decorated with a small potted plant.

You took a hesitant step inside, running your fingers along the edge of the desk. "You set this up for me?"

"Of course," Wonwoo said, standing by the doorway with his hands in his pockets. "You’re a lecturer, and I know you need a space to work. This room is yours to use however you want."

Despite your frustration over the bedroom situation, you couldn’t help but feel a twinge of gratitude. The office was thoughtful—more thoughtful than you’d expected from him.

Still, you turned back to him, narrowing your eyes. "That doesn’t make up for the fact that I don’t get my own bedroom."

Wonwoo tilted his head, his smirk returning. "You can decorate the office however you want. Think of it as a trade-off."

You crossed your arms, glaring at him. "This isn’t a negotiation, Wonwoo."

"It’s not," he agreed, his tone maddeningly calm. "It’s a compromise."

You sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of your nose. Living with him was going to be impossible.

"Fine," you muttered. "But if you snore, I’m moving to the couch."

Wonwoo chuckled softly, his gaze following you as you stepped past him to head back to the master bedroom. "I don’t snore. But you’ll have to deal with my early mornings."

You shot him a glare over your shoulder. "And you’ll have to deal with me slamming doors if you wake me up too early."

His laughter followed you down the hall, light and warm, making your heart twist unexpectedly. As much as he infuriated you, there was something undeniably disarming about the way he carried himself.

But you weren’t ready to admit that. Not yet.

*

Wonwoo sat at his desk, scanning the report he had asked Seokmin to gather. As he read through the details, something shifted inside him. Your words from yesterday echoed in his mind.

"Slap me, swear at me. I'm used to that."

The sheer pain in your voice as you said those words—how could anyone ask to be treated like that? And the worst part was, you cried. Tears had slipped down your cheeks, and he stood there, frozen, unable to comfort you. The helplessness stung, and for a moment, he questioned his own worth.

His mother had taught him better than that. She hadn’t raised him to be passive, to stand idly by when someone needed help. Yet, in that moment, he had failed you.

Determined to understand the depths of your suffering, Wonwoo had asked Seokmin to dig into your past—specifically, your family. He needed to understand how you had come to be the person you were, how you had been shaped by the world around you. What kind of upbringing had led to someone like you being so broken, so wary of affection?

He already knew about your father. Reckless, cold-hearted, a man who did business as though he owned the world. His methods weren’t just questionable; they were downright illegal. Everything about him was transactional, and it was no surprise that he had built his empire on those very practices.

But it wasn’t just your father. Your brother, too, was no better. Wonwoo had heard the rumors—how your brother had a reputation not only as a businessman but as a lover, a man who seemed incapable of loyalty. Infidelity ran deep in your family, and it had left its mark. Wonwoo recalled the look on your mother’s face during your wedding—distressed, distant, like she knew more than she was willing to let on. It made sense now.

The report mentioned something else that struck him deeply. "Her brother was drowned in the Han River."

It clicked. The pieces fell into place. He had suspected there was something more to your past, something you hadn't fully confronted, and now he understood.

The report also mentioned the PTSD you had suffered, a trauma so deep it had robbed you of the memory of the incident. Your brother’s death had happened right in front of you. It was no wonder you struggled to cope with intimacy, with trust. That level of violence, loss, and betrayal—how could anyone emerge unscathed?

Wonwoo let out a heavy sigh. Now he understood. This was why you had built walls around yourself. Why you flinched at kindness, why you kept everyone at arm’s length. You hadn’t just been shaped by your family’s actions; you had been destroyed by them.

But the weight of that realization didn’t make him resent you—it made him want to protect you more fiercely. His heart ached for you, for the girl who had been forced to grow up in such brutality. He wanted to be the one to help you heal, to show you that not all men were like the ones who had scarred you.

And though it was clear that your past had shaped you in ways he hadn’t fully realized, he was more determined than ever to be the man you deserved—one who wouldn’t walk away when it got hard, one who wouldn’t stand by and do nothing.

He closed the report with a soft exhale, a sense of resolve settling in his chest. Now that he understood, now that he knew the truth, there was no turning back. This knowledge would shape his actions moving forward, guiding him in a way he hadn’t expected.

Just as he leaned back in his chair, his phone rang. It was his mother.

"I heard you're in Busan. Have you moved already?" she asked, her voice carrying a note of concern.

"Yes, mother. My wife had to attend to her work immediately, so we moved earlier than expected," Wonwoo replied, trying to keep his tone casual.

He heard a faint hum from the other side of the line, a sign that his mother was deep in thought. "How's life as a husband? I’m worried you won’t be able to treat her right."

Wonwoo chuckled softly, a warm but tired sound. "We're both fine, really."

There was a long sigh from his mother, the kind that spoke volumes. "I’m sorry, Wonwoo. I knew this marriage wouldn’t be easy. I should have known better than to pitch a marriage to the Choi family. I’ve heard so much about them. But your father insisted."

Wonwoo smiled, a wry but understanding expression crossing his face. "Mother, I told you it was okay. I accepted this, and here I am."

"I know, I know," his mother said, her voice thick with regret. "You couldn’t refuse. But I just... I feel guilty for you, and for Y/n, of course."

Her words made his chest tighten a little, the weight of everything settling on him once again. He wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince her or himself, but he said, "It’s not as bad as you think. We’ll figure things out."

There was a brief pause before his mother spoke again, her voice softening. "Just... say hi to her for me, okay? Tell her I’m thinking of her."

Wonwoo’s smile grew a little more genuine as he replied, "I will, mother. Take care."

Wonwoo had started the project with small gestures: a kiss on your temple every morning at breakfast. The first time he did it, you gave him a surprised, almost startled glance, like it was an unfamiliar gesture. But Wonwoo simply smiled, brushing aside your reaction as if it were nothing. Sometimes, his hand would gently brush your hair while you shared a meal, and you'd look at him like he was out of place, unsure of how to react. Still, it gradually became a part of your routine, and everything began to run smoothly.

But then your brother, Seungcheol, came to visit. He stayed for dinner, and immediately, the tension in the air thickened.

"You should leave after dinner," you told him flatly, already anticipating the clash.

"Why would I? It’ll be more comfortable for me to stay here than in some hotel," Seungcheol replied, shooting a glance at Wonwoo.

Now, Wonwoo found himself caught between two siblings, each offering their own persuasive arguments as to why he should stay or leave. Every word from either of them felt like a debate, and Wonwoo couldn’t bring himself to find the right words to settle it. Could he just vanish into thin air?

Before he could respond, a sigh escaped his lips, and he glanced at you, his voice rising to ease the tension. "How about we all stay in a hotel? It’s been a month since our honeymoon. I think my wife deserves a bit of a rest."

Wonwoo immediately regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. He cursed himself mentally for the slip-up.

Seungcheol raised an eyebrow. "Whatever, I’m not gonna stay here," he said nonchalantly. "You satisfied?" He turned his gaze to you, and you wiped your mouth with a napkin, stoic as ever.

"Your house is beautiful, with a beach view," Seungcheol continued, trying to steer the conversation in a different direction. "It’s only a 10-minute walk to the beach?"

Wonwoo nodded, trying to ignore the tension building in the room. "Yes, hyung. Only five minutes by car, but the waves are pretty strong at this hour."

Seungcheol chuckled lightly. "Guess I shouldn’t go near the water, then. Your wife might just drown me."

That’s when you froze mid-motion. Your hand, which had been holding your utensil, suddenly dropped it with a loud clatter onto the plate. You stood abruptly from your chair, your eyes hardening.

"It’s just a joke," Seungcheol quickly added, watching you intently.

You didn’t even flinch. "You better go after your meal," you said in a cold, steady tone. "I don’t want to see your face in my house again."

Seungcheol smirked, unfazed by your words. "You’ve got some nerve after joining the Jeon family, Y/n. Don’t forget I’m your older brother."

Your steps paused mid-stride as you turned back to face him, your expression hardening. "Don’t forget I killed my own brother 20 years ago. Older brother."

The room fell silent.

Wonwoo’s heart raced. His hair stood on end at the chilling words that hung in the air. He wasn’t sure if the coldness in your voice was from the past, or if you were daring Seungcheol to test your limits now. Either way, he realized he had stepped into something far more complex than he had anticipated.

*

It was just you and Jisoo sitting on the deck when it happened. The details were blurry, fragments lost in the haze of suppressed memories. They said you pushed him, that you shoved him off the vessel, causing him to fall into the water and drown. That’s what everyone believed. And because they believed it, so did your 12-year-old self.

You didn’t remember anything from that day. No arguments, no screams, no malicious intent. But their words were louder than your own doubts. "You killed him," they said. The accusation clung to you like a heavy chain, dragging you into a guilt you couldn’t escape.

It changed everything. You stopped attending school, retreating into the isolation of homeschooling, where whispers and judgment couldn’t reach you. But even home was suffocating. The weight of the incident lingered in the air, heavy and unspoken, a ghost haunting every corner of your life.

When you decided to enroll in a university abroad, it wasn’t just for education. It was an escape. An escape from the house that felt like a prison, from the suffocating presence of your family. Especially your mother.

She never said much about the incident. No accusations, no consolations. Just silence. But in her silence, you saw her resentment. She didn’t need to say the words for you to know. She hated you. You could see it in her cold stares, in the way she avoided your presence.

Every time your father or Seungcheol raised their hands against you, she stayed silent. She didn’t flinch, didn’t intervene. She just watched, her indifference cutting deeper than any bruise. And what other reason could there be for her silence, besides hate?

You told yourself leaving was for the best. Putting distance between you and them was the only way to breathe, to survive. But even thousands of miles away, the shadows of your past followed you, whispering the same accusation: You killed him.

"I hate Father so much, Y/n. I wish I could have been born into a different family."

"NO!"

Your voice echoed in your ears as you jolted awake, your breath hitching and your chest heaving. The remnants of the dream clung to you, vivid and suffocating. Your heart pounded wildly, its rhythm frantic and uneven as you tried to steady your breathing. Slowly, you sat up, pressing a hand to your chest in an attempt to calm yourself.

The faint sound of movement brought your attention to Wonwoo, who had just stepped out of the walk-in closet, already dressed for work. His hair was still slightly damp, the crisp lines of his suit adding to his composed appearance. He offered you a small smile at first, but it quickly faded when he noticed the tension in your expression.

"Hey," he called softly, his voice laced with concern as he walked toward you. "What’s wrong?"

You shook your head, unable to meet his gaze, and glanced at the clock on the nightstand. There was still an hour before you had to leave for work.

Wonwoo crouched beside you, his eyes scanning your face for answers. But you avoided his gaze, focusing instead on the sunlight beginning to seep through the curtains. After a moment of silence, he stood and spoke gently. "I’ll drive you to work today."

Before you could protest, he leaned down and pressed a lingering kiss to your temple. The simple gesture carried more warmth than you expected, easing the tension knotted in your chest.

And then he was gone, his footsteps retreating down the hall as he left the master bedroom.

You exhaled shakily, the earlier panic slowly fading. For reasons you couldn’t quite explain, the touch of his lips on your skin and the sound of his voice had calmed the storm within you.

When Wonwoo said he would drive you to work, you assumed Jun or Seokmin would accompany him. But as you approached the sleek car parked outside, you were surprised to find him alone, sitting calmly in the driver’s seat, waiting for you.

He rolled down the window and smiled at you. “Ready?”

Sliding into the passenger seat, you greeted him quietly as he started the engine. He asked about your sleep, and you gave him a vague response, deliberately skipping over the part about the strange nightmare that had jolted you awake.

He also mentioned your brother. “Seungcheol left early this morning to Seoul. ”

You muttered a soft, “Good,” relieved that you wouldn’t have to deal with him any longer.

As the car glided smoothly down the road, Wonwoo suddenly glanced at you. “Can I hold your hand?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the question. “But… you’re driving.”

A soft smile spread across his face. “I can manage. I just want to hold your hand, even if it’s just for a minute.”

You hesitated, your gaze shifting between his outstretched left hand and his calm expression. “Is this part of the ‘training’ to get comfortable in public later?”

He nodded, his eyes briefly meeting yours before returning to the road. “It is. So… can I?”

After a moment of hesitation, you slowly lifted your right hand and placed it over his. His hand was warm and steady as he gripped yours gently, holding it securely even as he maneuvered the car.

“It’s nice,” he murmured, his voice soft but sincere.

When the car came to a stop in front of your campus building, he reluctantly let go. “See you at dinner?”

You nodded, stepping out of the car, and walked away without looking back.

“Good morning, Ms. Choi,” a few students greeted you as you made your way through the halls to the lecturers’ room. You offered them polite smiles, your thoughts still lingering on the warmth of Wonwoo’s hand.

Your first class of the day was about Ship Security and Regulations. Standing at the front of the classroom, you scanned the faces of your students as they settled in.

Since you were young, you had known that the world of business wasn’t for you—especially the kind your father conducted. You had always loved the sea: the gentle breeze, the endless horizon, and the calming rhythm of the waves. But that dream of becoming a seafarer had been buried long ago when you realized you had developed a paralyzing fear of water.

As the class progressed, one of your students raised a hand with a cheeky grin. “What if there’s a passenger who wants to jump overboard?”

Laughter rippled through the room at the seemingly absurd question. You sighed, trying to maintain your professionalism. “Is that even possible?”

Another student chimed in, still grinning. “It could happen, Ms. Choi, if someone wanted to end their life.”

You shook your head firmly, your tone growing serious. “Let’s not entertain that idea. There won’t be any cases like that. Focus on preventing real risks, not hypothetical ones.”

The class nodded, the humor subsiding, but you couldn’t shake the unease their words stirred.

As the session ended and the students filtered out, you found yourself staring out the window at the distant ocean. Despite your best efforts, their question lingered in your mind, unsettling thoughts creeping in like waves crashing against the shore.

*

Days later, Wonwoo learned that his wife had registered for a psychiatric consultation. He had known about the abusive environment you grew up in, but he hadn’t realized it had reached a point where professional help was necessary. The news unsettled him, lingering in his mind until dinner that evening, where he cautiously brought it up.

“You visited a psychiatrist, I heard,” he said, carefully watching your reaction.

You nodded casually, as though it wasn’t a big deal. But to him, it was.

“Why?” he asked, his voice steady but tinged with concern.

“I’m trying to face my phobia of water,” you replied, your tone neutral. “It’s for one of my research projects.”

Wonwoo didn’t press further, but a knot tightened in his chest. He suspected it wasn’t as simple as you made it seem. A fear of water? Yet, you had graduated in Maritime studies and built a career in the same field. The contradiction puzzled him.

The following month, Wonwoo received word that your parents were hosting their anniversary party on a cruise ship. That explained it. Was this why you were trying to cope with your phobia? He couldn’t help but wonder.

The drive from Busan to Seoul was quiet. Jun handled the wheel while Seokmin sat in the front passenger seat, briefing Wonwoo on the event’s details. You sat beside Wonwoo in the back, your eyes fixed on the window, your hand intertwined with his.

“Anyone I should keep an eye on?” Wonwoo asked, his voice calm but measured.

Seokmin shook his head. “It’s just an anniversary event. Nothing serious is expected.”

Wonwoo glanced at you, leaning in slightly to whisper. “Are you okay?”

Your gaze shifted to him, startled for a moment before you nodded with a soft sigh.

“You know I’m always here for you,” he murmured. “You don’t have to worry.”

You gave him a small, grateful nod before turning your attention back to the passing scenery.

When you arrived at the cruise ship, Wonwoo followed Seokmin’s briefing, greeting everyone with effortless charm. He introduced you to the guests with a protective arm around your waist, keeping you close by his side.

“This is my wife, Choi Y/n,” he said warmly, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries.

“I’m Jeon Wonwoo,” he added, offering his business card to a few attendees.

As the ship set sail, everyone gathered on the deck for a brief speech from your father. Wonwoo noticed the way your gaze hardened, a glare fixed on the man speaking so highly of your mother. The words seemed hollow, a facade masking the truth you both knew—of abuse, violence, pressure, and threats. Yet, like your mother, you remained silent.

Wonwoo’s grip on your waist tightened subtly as your father shifted the focus to you and him, the newlyweds. Smiling for the crowd, he leaned closer to you, whispering, “Do you want to rest?”

Before you could answer, your father’s voice carried over the murmuring crowd.

“And to my second child, Jisoo… He left us too soon, but we will always remember him. Rest in peace, my son.”

Wonwoo felt your body tense beside him, your breathing growing heavier. He could hear the whispers that began to ripple through the crowd.

“His sister killed him.”

“She was only 12.”

“Is that the sister?”

“Poor kid.”

He leaned in again, his voice firm yet gentle. “Let’s go somewhere quieter.”

As he began to guide you away from the deck, the ship suddenly lurched, causing a man standing near the edge to lose his footing. Gasps and screams filled the air as the man slipped and fell overboard, the security team springing into action.

Wonwoo felt your grip tighten on his arm, your nails digging into his sleeve as your body went slack. He steadied you immediately, shielding you from the chaos.

“Hold onto me,” he whispered, his voice low and soothing. “Let’s get you to your room.”

Without waiting for a response, he wrapped an arm securely around you and led you through the crowd, his protective instincts taking over.

*

What you had witnessed brought back the haunting memory of Jisoo falling from the vessel, a memory tied to the very same cruise ship you were now aboard. You were only 12, and he was 15. It had been a family vacation—a week on a private cruise ship arranged by your father. On the final night, you remembered noticing something different about Jisoo. He hadn’t smiled once that day. Troubled by his mood, you gathered the courage to visit his cabin late that night.

"You look sad," you had said softly, standing in the dim light of his room.

Jisoo turned to you, a faint smirk on his face that didn’t reach his eyes. "Wanna go outside?" he asked, his voice low and conspiratorial.

“Going to the deck past 9 p.m. is prohibited,” you replied, hesitating. “Father will get mad at us.”

“We’ll figure it out,” he said with a glimmer of rebellion, gesturing for you to follow him.

The memory felt so vivid that it sent shivers down your spine, yet there was a fog of uncertainty around it. Was it real, or was it just a false memory conjured by your fractured mind?

Wonwoo’s voice pulled you back into the present. He had guided you to the edge of the bed, his eyes filled with worry as he crouched before you. “Hey, you’re okay,” he whispered, his hands steady on your arms as if anchoring you to reality.

But you weren’t sure you were okay. Your mind replayed the image of Jisoo falling into the dark, endless water, his body disappearing into the calm yet terrifying abyss. That night had marked the beginning of your fear of water—its deceptive stillness, its unrelenting strength. And Jisoo had never come back.

Tears escaped your eyes, and it was only when Wonwoo gently cupped your cheeks that you realized you were crying. His thumbs brushed away the wet trails, his touch grounding yet unbearably tender.

“Hey, hey,” he murmured, his voice a soothing balm against the chaos in your heart. “That’s okay… You’re fine. I’m here.”

You looked at him, the warmth of his gaze pulling you out of the suffocating hold of the past. For a moment, you weren’t a scared 12-year-old on a dark deck—you were here, in the present, with someone who cared.

The weight of years of bottled-up emotions surged forward—anger, sadness, guilt, disappointment. It was overwhelming, and all you wanted was to let it out, to empty the well of pain you had carried for so long.

“Can I hug you?” you asked in a quiet, trembling voice, your vulnerability bare.

Wonwoo didn’t hesitate. He climbed onto the bed beside you and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest. His embrace was strong, protective, and warm—everything you hadn’t realized you needed.

“I’m here, Y/n,” he said softly, his voice steady in the dim light of the room. “I’m here.”

And for the first time in years, you allowed yourself to cry without restraint. Your makeup smudged, your breaths hitched, but it didn’t matter. In Wonwoo’s arms, you felt a strange sense of safety amidst the storm inside you. You clung to him as the emotions poured out, the weight of them finally starting to lift.

In his embrace, you found solace, a quiet assurance that you weren’t alone. And even though the past still haunted you, for this moment, you could let it go, piece by piece, in the arms of someone who refused to let you face it alone.

*

Breakfast with your family was as tense as ever. Wonwoo had joined late after handling an emergency call from his father, leaving you to endure the table’s strained atmosphere without him for a while. Your father, mother, and Seungcheol sat together as the cruise ship quietly sailed back to Seoul, the polite murmurs of other guests filling the air.

“You went to your room early last night,” your father said, his voice breaking through the quiet as you chewed your food.

“She was unwell,” Wonwoo replied smoothly as he settled into his seat. His hand found your shoulder, a protective gesture. “I should have informed you earlier.”

“Unwell, or?” Seungcheol interjected with a smirk, his tone dripping with mockery. His pointed glance at you made your stomach twist. The tension between you and Seungcheol hadn’t eased since the last altercation Wonwoo had witnessed.

To divert the conversation, Wonwoo placed a bottle of expensive, aged wine on the table. “Congratulations on your anniversary. I didn’t get a chance to say it last night, but I brought this as a gift.”

Your father’s expression softened momentarily. “You didn’t need to, son-in-law. Taking care of my daughter is gift enough for us.”

Then, as if on cue, he added with a smirk of his own, “Though it would be even more amazing if you gave us a grandchild.”

Wonwoo faltered, momentarily caught off guard by the statement. But before he could respond, you calmly put down your utensils, your tone icy and resolute. “We won’t have a child.”

The air seemed to freeze. Wonwoo turned to you in surprise, but your expression was unreadable, your demeanor cool and composed. In that moment, he was reminded that your marriage was a business arrangement—and you, perhaps more than him, treated it as such.

Your father’s jaw tightened, his attempt to suppress his anger painfully evident. He glanced at the nearby guests, clearly aware that this was no place for a scene. “You should have a child if you want this marriage to last,” he said, his voice low but firm.

You met his gaze without hesitation, your words cutting through the air like ice. “So you can hit them? So you can scream at them? Threaten them like you did to me?”

The tension at the table became unbearable. Wonwoo could feel the weight of your father’s fury, his grip tightening on the tableware before setting it down a bit too forcefully. Other guests turned their heads, sensing the disturbance.

Your mother looked at you, her wide eyes betraying shock. It was as if she couldn’t believe the words you had just spoken, the defiance in your tone so unlike the quiet obedience she had come to expect from you.

“I’m going,” you said sharply, pushing back your chair and standing without another glance at your father.

Wonwoo quickly rose from his seat, offering a hasty apology. “I’m sorry. She’s been under a lot of stress from work. I’ll go check on her.”

As you disappeared toward your cabin, Wonwoo began to follow, but he stopped when a hand gently caught his arm. Turning, he found himself face-to-face with your mother.

“Mother-in-law,” Wonwoo greeted, bowing slightly out of respect, though her unexpected presence caught him off guard.

“Y/n…” she began, her voice soft but unsteady. “Is she alright?”

Wonwoo nodded, his tone calm as he tried to reassure her. “She’s fine. She was just a bit tired last night. You don’t need to worry.”

But your mother shook her head, her eyes glistening with something that looked like guilt. “I mean after last night. Was she alright? She hasn’t set foot on a ship for years. Not since…” She trailed off, her words hanging heavy in the air.

So, she knows, Wonwoo realized.

“She was nervous,” he admitted, his voice careful. “But she handled it well. She’s stronger than you think.”

Your mother looked away, her expression clouded with emotions she seemed reluctant to voice. After a moment, she took his hand in hers, her grip trembling. “My husband… he can be harsh. Especially toward Y/n. Please…” Her voice cracked slightly. “Take care of her, for me.”

Wonwoo stared at her, taken aback by the vulnerability in her words. For the first time, he saw beyond her composed exterior, glimpsing a mother who, despite her silence, harbored regrets and perhaps even a desire to protect you in her own way.

“I will,” Wonwoo promised, his voice steady. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

Your mother released Wonwoo’s hand, her eyes lingering on him for a moment before she stepped away. The silent plea in her gaze lingered in his mind as he made his way back to your shared cabin. But his thoughts were soon interrupted by a call from his father earlier that morning, asking if the two of you could visit their home since you were already in Seoul. Wonwoo suspected there was more to the request—his parents had missed the cruise’s anniversary celebration, and now this sudden urgency hinted at something serious.

When you both arrived at their home, Wonwoo’s suspicions were confirmed. His mother was unwell, lying in bed looking pale and fatigued. Neither his father nor the house staff had told him what was wrong, and the uncertainty gnawed at him. A sense of dread settled in his chest. Was it something serious? Something incurable?

You sat quietly by his mother’s bedside, holding her hand and offering her comforting words. Wonwoo stood to the side, his eyes darting between his mother and father, frustration simmering beneath the surface. Finally, when he couldn’t take the silence anymore, he followed his father to the living room.

“What’s going on?” Wonwoo demanded, his voice sharper than he intended. “What’s wrong with her? Why hasn’t anyone told me?”

His father sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Don’t be mad at me,” he started, his tone hesitant. “She doesn’t want anyone to know.”

Wonwoo’s patience wore thin as he watched his father’s lips tighten, clearly debating whether or not to reveal the truth.

“She…” His father hesitated again, and Wonwoo’s heart raced.

“She’s dehydrated because of diarrhea,” his father finally admitted, the words tumbling out in a rush.

Wonwoo blinked, stunned. “What?”

“She ate something bad, and that’s what happened. She doesn’t want anyone to know—not even you or Y/n. Says it’s not ‘fashionable.’”

Wonwoo exhaled heavily, running a hand down his face in exasperation. “I thought it was something chronic! For goodness’ sake, I was preparing myself for the worst!”

His father shrugged nonchalantly. “If it were serious, she’d be in the hospital. She’s just embarrassed.”

Wonwoo groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “But I’m her son. I should know these things, whether they’re ‘fashionable’ or not.”

His father offered a faint smirk, leaning back into his chair. “There are a lot of things children don’t need to know about their parents, kid.”

Wonwoo stared at his father, incredulous. “This isn’t about need-to-know; it’s about being family! I’ve been worried sick, thinking it was something life-threatening.”

His father patted his shoulder lightly, as if to dismiss the tension. “She’ll be fine in a day or two. Just don’t bring it up, or she’ll never forgive me for telling you.”

Wonwoo sighed deeply, shaking his head. “Unbelievable,” he muttered, heading back toward the bedroom where you were still sitting with his mother.

When he returned, you glanced up at him, your expression concerned. “Is everything alright?” you asked softly.

Wonwoo gave you a tired smile, sitting down beside you and gently taking his mother’s other hand. “She’ll be fine,” he said, his voice calm now. “Just a little dehydration.”

His mother’s weak smile told him she knew exactly what had happened in the living room. “Don’t make a big deal out of it,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

Wonwoo chuckled lightly, the tension easing from his shoulders. “I won’t. But only because you asked nicely.”

*

The two of you decided to stay an extra day in Seoul as Wonwoo had a business matter to attend to. That evening, as you settled into bed, Wonwoo joined you with a book in hand. He leaned against the headboard, his focus on the pages, while you lay beside him, staring at his profile. You wanted to speak, the words swirling in your mind, but hesitation kept them locked inside. Sensing your unease, Wonwoo spoke without looking up.

"Speak," he said simply, his voice calm and inviting.

You shifted your position, sitting up slightly to face him. "Is your mother okay? She looked really unwell today," you said, your voice tinged with concern.

Wonwoo closed his book and set it on the nightstand. His gaze softened as he turned to you. "Why? Are you worried about her?"

"Of course, I am. She's my mother-in-law," you replied earnestly, your words earning a faint smile from him.

"She mentioned something earlier, and I’ve been feeling conflicted about it ever since," you admitted, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of the blanket.

Wonwoo’s brow furrowed slightly, curiosity piqued. "What did she say? Did she ask you for something ridiculous? You know you don’t have to take it seriously if—"

"What do you think about having a child?" you blurted out, cutting him off mid-sentence.

Wonwoo froze, the words hanging in the air between you. He blinked at you, his expression shifting from surprise to something unreadable. "Sorry? What did you just say?"

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. "Everyone has been talking about us having children. It’s only been three months, but people are already questioning if we’re serious or if this is just another typical business marriage."

Wonwoo tilted his head, a teasing glint in his eye. "You said it yourself this morning—you don’t want a child," he reminded you, his tone lighthearted.

You sighed, your fingers now twisting the hem of your pajama top. "I know. But seeing your mother today... and hearing what she said, it made me think again. What if it’s something we should consider?"

Wonwoo leaned back, studying your face carefully. "What exactly did she say to you?"

"She didn’t explicitly ask for anything, but she hinted that a grandchild would make her happy. And I—I don’t know, it felt serious," you admitted, your voice faltering slightly.

Wonwoo chuckled softly, shaking his head. "You’re overthinking. My mother will be fine with or without a grandchild. She just enjoys the idea, like most parents do."

"But wouldn’t having a child make this marriage... I don’t know, feel more stable? Last longer?" you asked hesitantly.

He raised an eyebrow. "You think a child will stabilize a business marriage?" His tone was skeptical but gentle.

"I don’t know," you muttered, feeling suddenly foolish. "It’s just... everyone seems to expect it. Your family, my family. It’s like they see it as the ultimate proof that this marriage isn’t just a facade."

Wonwoo sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Look," he said softly, "if you’re reconsidering this because it’s something you want, then we can have a serious conversation about it. But if it’s just because of external pressure—what they expect from us—then I don’t think it’s a good enough reason."

His words hung in the air, grounding you. You nodded slowly, his reasoning settling over you like a balm.

"You don’t have to decide anything now," Wonwoo continued, his voice steady. "We’re still figuring this out, you and me. Let’s take it one step at a time."

You exhaled, feeling the weight of your thoughts ease slightly. Wonwoo reached over, placing his hand gently on yours. "For what it’s worth," he added with a small smile, "you’re doing great. You don’t have to carry everyone’s expectations on your shoulders."

His reassurance brought a faint smile to your lips, and you nodded. "Thanks, Wonwoo."

"Anytime," he replied, picking up his book again. But before he reopened it, he glanced at you. "And if you ever want to talk about this again, just let me know. No rush."

His understanding made your chest ache in a way that felt unfamiliar but comforting. "Okay," you whispered, settling back into bed beside him.

*

The moment you received word that your mother was in Busan, everything else faded into the background. Dropping your work immediately, you rushed to your house. The news was jarring—your mother had signed the divorce papers and was now in your house.

"She did what?" you whispered in disbelief, your hands trembling slightly as you clutched your phone.

Jun, who was driving you, glanced at you briefly in the rearview mirror. "Mr. Jeon is on his way as well," he informed you calmly.

When you arrived, you found your mother sitting on the couch, sipping tea with a composed air. Across from her sat Wonwoo, his demeanor calm and understanding, as if he were holding the room steady with his presence. In stark contrast, you felt like a storm raging inside.

You didn’t speak right away. Instead, you walked to the couch and sat beside Wonwoo, your eyes fixed on your mother, who looked more at ease than you ever remembered.

Sensing your need for privacy, Wonwoo leaned over, his hand briefly brushing your arm. "I’ll excuse myself," he murmured before standing and stepping out of the room.

The silence that followed his departure was thick, heavy with unspoken words.

"I signed the divorce papers," your mother finally said, setting her teacup down on the table with deliberate care. "I’m sorry it took me so long."

"Why are you apologizing?" you asked, your voice sharper than you intended. Your eyes were locked on her hands as they fidgeted in her lap.

"It’s just..." she hesitated, her voice dropping to a near whisper, "you’ve wished for this for a long time."

Your brow furrowed in confusion. "I wished for this?" you repeated, your voice incredulous. "I don’t understand."

She bit her lip, her gaze flickering to the floor. "You might not remember," she began hesitantly. "After Jisoo... after he left us, you tried to explain what happened. That he fell off the vessel. But no one believed you—not your father, not Seungcheol. No one."

The memory stirred faintly in your mind, like a forgotten dream just out of reach.

"And in your frustration, in your pain, you told me you wished I’d leave him." Her voice cracked slightly, the weight of the revelation pressing down on both of you.

You leaned forward, stunned. "Why would I say that?"

She let out a shaky breath, her hands trembling as she clasped them tightly. "Because you believed I was the only one who truly trusted you. And you were right. I knew—I knew—you would never harm Jisoo. He was your best friend. Your brother. You loved him more than anything."

A heavy silence hung between you, broken only by the faint ticking of the clock on the wall. Her belief in you, her unwavering trust, hit you like a tidal wave.

"I didn’t leave back then," she continued, her voice thick with emotion. "Because I had no power. The only thing I could do was try to give you strength. To help you build a life where you’d never have to depend on anyone else."

Her words struck a chord deep within you. "You helped me get my job," you said, realization dawning.

She nodded. "The dean is an old friend of mine. She told me you were impeccable, that you’d make an excellent lecturer. I used every connection I had to make sure you had opportunities I never did."

"Why?" you asked, your voice trembling with the weight of so many unanswered questions. "Why did you do all that for me?"

Her gaze softened, tears welling in her eyes. "Because I wanted you to have your own power. I wanted you to be free, to stand on your own two feet, so no one could ever control you the way your father did to me."

You swallowed hard, her words sinking in like stones in water. You wanted to ask if this was why you had chosen to marry Wonwoo, but the question felt too raw, too invasive.

Did I fail her? The thought struck you like a sharp pang in your chest. She had believed in you when no one else did, but had you done the same for her? Or had you been so consumed with your own pain that you hadn’t noticed hers?

You bit your lip, your vision blurring as tears welled in your eyes. "I don’t even remember saying that to you," you admitted, your voice cracking.

Her gaze softened, and she reached out to place her hand over yours. "You were just a child," she said gently. "You didn’t mean it the way you think you did. But those words... they stayed with me. They reminded me that someone saw me, even when I didn’t see myself."

The conflict within you deepened. You didn’t know whether to feel grateful or guilty, proud or ashamed. All you knew was that your mother had spent years trapped in a cage she hadn’t built alone, and you had unknowingly become the key she needed to escape.

Her next words shattered what little resolve you had left. "When I saw you stand up to your father on the cruise, I realized that it’s never too late to find my own power. You showed me that."

Her tears spilled over then, and for the first time in years, you saw her cry. Not from fear or despair, but from a release—a shedding of years of silent suffering.

You didn’t know what to say, so you didn’t say anything. Instead, you reached for her hand, gripping it tightly as if to anchor both of you in this moment of raw, unfiltered truth.

"Is she alright?" Wonwoo asked as you entered the room. You nodded, exhaustion clear on your face as you walked toward him. Without hesitation, he opened his arms, silently inviting you into his embrace. You stepped closer, sinking into his chest, letting his warmth surround you.

"She’ll be fine with us," Wonwoo murmured, his voice steady and reassuring as he tightened his hold around you. The weight of the night seemed lighter, though your heart still carried the storm brewing within.

"My father..." you began, your voice trailing off before the bitterness returned. "He’s such a menace. I just hope he doesn’t find Mom here."

Wonwoo nodded, his chin brushing the top of your head as he whispered, "I’ll tell Seokmin to add more guards around the property. You don’t have to worry. We’ll handle this, and we’ll find a way to keep her safe."

His words gave you a fragile sense of peace, enough to let you rest your head against him, trusting in the certainty of his promise.

The next day, Wonwoo left for Seoul to have a word with his father. The situation with your mother’s divorce wasn’t just a family matter—it had the potential to create ripples in the business world. Ji Construction, your father’s company, was already in a delicate position, and any negative press could trigger a chain reaction. As a major supporter of Choi Construction, the Jeon Group couldn’t afford to ignore the fallout.

Wonwoo sat in the polished meeting room, tension thick in the air. His father’s trusted advisor, Mr. Park, laid out the details of the situation. "If news of the divorce goes public, it will undoubtedly impact the market. Choi Construction’s stocks could plummet, and given their illegal dealings, there’s a risk of further exposure."

"That’s a problem for Seungcheol to fix," Wonwoo’s father interjected, his expression impassive as he leaned back in his chair. "He’ll have to make a move immediately."

Wonwoo scoffed, unable to hide his disdain. "Seungcheol isn’t capable of handling this. He’s nothing more than a copycat of his father—arrogant and reckless."

"Which is precisely why we need to prepare," Mr. Park said, clearing his throat. "Jeon Group holds the largest share in Choi Construction at the moment. If the Choi family crumbles, we’ll need to decide who will take the reins and stabilize the situation."

His father turned to him, a calculating look in his eyes. "What about Y/n? Does she have any interest in the business?"

Wonwoo shook his head firmly. "No. She’s focused on her career, and I won’t let her be dragged into this mess."

There was a moment of silence before Mr. Park spoke again, his tone measured. "The best step forward is to begin preparing a new leader—someone who can step in if the Choi family fails to recover."

Wonwoo leaned back in his chair, the weight of responsibility pressing against him. He wasn’t just thinking about the company or the market. He was thinking about you—how you had suffered enough under your father’s shadow, and how your mother was finally free. This was his burden to carry now, and he would ensure you wouldn’t have to bear it.

"We’ll prepare," Wonwoo said, his voice firm. "But I’m not letting Y/n or her mother get dragged into this chaos. We’ll find a way to stabilize things without jeopardizing them."

The next day, chaos erupted at the Jeon residence. Wonwoo was in the middle of an important meeting when he received your frantic call. Your father and brother, Seungcheol, had shown up unannounced, demanding to see your mother. Sensing danger, Wonwoo didn’t hesitate to cancel everything and rush home.

The scene he walked into was worse than he imagined. Standing at the front door, you were blocking the way, arms spread protectively in front of your mother. Seungcheol’s face was contorted with rage as he swung his hand toward you, ready to strike. Wonwoo’s heart stopped for a second, but his body reacted instinctively. He intercepted Seungcheol’s hand mid-air, gripping it tightly.

You stood frozen, the shock and fear rendering you speechless. Wonwoo’s jaw tightened as he threw Seungcheol’s hand away with a forceful movement. He stepped in front of you, shielding you with his own body as he turned to face your father and brother.

"No one is allowed to harm my wife," Wonwoo said, his voice calm but dangerously firm as his eyes locked on Seungcheol. "That includes you."

"Get out of our way! This is a family matter. It’s none of your business, Jeon," Seungcheol spat, trying to push Wonwoo aside. But Wonwoo didn’t budge.

Your father, with an air of cold authority, interjected, "Let me speak to my wife, son-in-law."

Wonwoo’s expression didn’t falter as he shook his head. "I’m sorry, but when my mother-in-law sought protection under my roof, it became my business too. She’s safe here, and I suggest you go home before things escalate further."

A smirk twisted your father’s lips, but his eyes burned with malice as he stepped closer to Wonwoo. "Are you doing this because you know what will happen?"

Before Wonwoo could respond, you stepped forward, your voice trembling but determined. "Enough, Father. This is our home, and you need to respect its owner. Isn’t that the lesson you’ve always preached to everyone else?"

Your father’s gaze snapped to you, his expression darkening. What happened next stunned everyone. Without warning, your father grabbed your arm and pulled you toward him, his hand tightening around your neck. You gasped for air, your hands clawing at his grip as your brother, Seungcheol, stared in shock, clearly not expecting things to escalate this far.

"Father, stop!" Seungcheol’s voice broke through the chaos, but his words did little to deter the enraged man.

Wonwoo’s blood ran cold as he lunged forward, shouting your name. "Let her go!" He fought to pry your father’s hands off you, his panic turning into fury. Seokmin and the guards rushed in to assist, finally managing to wrest you free from your father’s grasp.

Your body went limp, collapsing to the floor. Wonwoo dropped to his knees, scooping you into his arms with a shaky breath. "Y/n," he whispered, his voice thick with worry. "Stay with me."

Turning to Seokmin, Wonwoo barked orders. "Call the police! Get all the CCTV footage as evidence."

Seungcheol tried to calm your father, whose anger hadn’t abated, but it was clear the situation was spiraling out of control. As your father continued to shout about his wife, Wonwoo carried you inside, his arms tightening protectively around you. His mind raced with thoughts of your safety, but one thing was clear—he wouldn’t let anyone hurt you again, no matter who they were.

*

You woke up in the hospital to the sound of quiet sobs. Your eyes fluttered open, and you turned your head to see your mother sitting beside you, tears streaming down her face. The moment she noticed you were awake, she gasped softly, clutching your hand tightly.

"You're awake," she whispered, her voice thick with relief.

You blinked, disoriented. The sterile white of the hospital room was unfamiliar, and a dull ache in your neck brought back fragments of what had happened. "How...how did I get here?" you asked, your voice hoarse and shaky.

Your mother wiped her tears and took a deep breath before answering. "We got you checked. You fainted after...after what happened. The doctors said you’ll be fine with some rest." Her voice trembled as she continued, "We’re going to file charges against your father. He tried to kill you, Y/n."

The weight of her words hit you like a ton of bricks. Your breath hitched as your hand instinctively reached for your neck. The memory was vivid, and you could still feel the ghost of his grip—the warmth of his hand, twisted with the terrifying force that had robbed you of air.

"Wonwoo..." you whispered, panic creeping into your tone. "Is he okay? Did he get hurt?"

Your mother shook her head quickly, trying to reassure you. "He’s fine, sweetheart. He’s outside talking to the police. Do you want me to call him for you?"

Before she could leave, the door opened, and Wonwoo stepped into the room. His eyes immediately found yours, and a wave of relief washed over his face as he crossed the room in a few swift strides.

"Y/n," he murmured, his voice soft but full of emotion as he leaned down and pulled you into his arms.

The strength of his embrace brought you an immediate sense of safety, and you buried your face against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. His hand gently brushed through your hair, his voice a comforting whisper against your ear. "You’re safe with me now. You’re going to be okay. I promise."

Tears welled up in your eyes as the reality of the moment sank in. For so long, you had felt powerless—trapped in the shadow of your father’s control, just like your mother. But now, something had shifted.

You thought back to the confrontation. Despite the fear, you had stood up to your father and brother. You had protected your mother. And when it all became too much, Wonwoo had been there, steadfast and unyielding, shielding you from harm.

The realization hit you like a spark igniting a flame. It wasn’t just that Wonwoo had given you strength—it was that he had shown you the strength you already had within yourself. His unwavering support had become the foundation for your courage, and in standing up for yourself, you had also empowered your mother to take a stand for her own freedom.

You pulled back slightly, looking up at Wonwoo. His gaze was filled with concern, but also with pride, as if he could see the shift within you.

"Thank you," you whispered, your voice steady despite the tears.

Wonwoo cupped your cheek, brushing away a stray tear with his thumb. "You don’t have to thank me. We’re in this together, always."

In that moment, you felt a profound sense of clarity. You weren’t powerless anymore. With Wonwoo by your side, you had the strength to face whatever came next—for yourself, for your mother, and for the future you were determined to build.

*

With help from Mingyu, a friend who worked in property, Wonwoo unearthed substantial evidence of your father’s corrupt dealings. As he collaborated with the police to ensure your father faced justice, he simultaneously engaged in discussions with Seungcheol regarding the future of Choi Construction.

“My father hates her because she’s a girl. That’s it,” Seungcheol admitted bluntly, providing the answer to Wonwoo’s lingering question about your mistreatment within the household.

Wonwoo’s patience had long worn thin, and any remaining respect he might have held for your family was gone. To him, your father and brother were just men he had to deal with, not figures deserving of courtesy. As he sat across from Seungcheol, his tone was firm, devoid of negotiation.

“I’ll hand over the rights to the Singapore branch. But in return, you and your family will leave my wife and her mother alone. Permanently.”

Seungcheol stared at the table, his head bowed. “You’re right. I’ve always been too insecure to run the company properly,” he confessed, his voice carrying the weight of years spent under his father’s oppressive shadow. The realization of his inadequacies seemed to dawn on him, leaving him vulnerable and exposed.

“Were you close to Jisoo?” Wonwoo asked, breaking the heavy silence.

Seungcheol shrugged, his face devoid of emotion. “I wasn’t close to anyone, not even my mother. My father was too focused on molding me into the perfect businessman. I’ve always been just a puppet.”

Wonwoo let out a deep sigh. “Your family is a wreck,” he said bluntly, his frustration barely concealed.

Seungcheol gave a bitter chuckle. “Tell me something I don’t know. Could you say that to my sister, though?”

Wonwoo glanced at him, his expression softening slightly. He shook his head, unwilling to voice such harsh words about you.

“You love her,” Seungcheol muttered, nodding as if confirming it to himself.

The court’s decision was finally made—your father was sentenced to 25 years in prison for engaging in illegal business practices and attempting to murder both you and your mother.

With Choi Construction left without a leader, Wonwoo was appointed as its new director, while his younger brother took over his former position in their father's company. Wonwoo wasted no time making sweeping changes, rebranding the company as Jeon Construction and reshaping its operations from the ground up. As months passed, he found himself buried in work, barely able to make time for you.

Realizing the imbalance, Wonwoo finally texted you, deciding to pick you up from your mother's house, where she had recently moved to Busan. But before he could leave, Lee Seokmin, his assistant, delivered a very pointed lecture on the importance of "dating your wife properly."

"Bring flowers," Seokmin had added, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

So now, here he was, standing outside his car, waiting for you with a bouquet in his hands. When you stepped out, he felt the corners of his lips lift involuntarily.

"Where are we going?" you asked, eyeing the flowers before taking them with a soft smile.

Seokmin had already booked a restaurant—a fine dining spot that happened to be one of your favorites. Wonwoo wasn’t sure how Seokmin knew that, but he’d figure it out later. Tonight, he wasn’t going to waste a single thought on anything but you.

Over a candlelit dinner, you savored every bite of your meal while Wonwoo enjoyed watching you unwind. As the evening progressed, he raised his glass slightly and asked, "How’s the food?"

You exhaled, setting your fork down with a satisfied smile. "Perfect… actually, amazing. I had a tough day today, and this just made everything better. Thank you."

Wonwoo’s lips curled into a rare, genuine smile. He lifted his glass towards yours, eyes locked on you.

"A toast?" he asked.

You clinked your glass against his, and for the first time in a long while, the two of you enjoyed a quiet moment—just the two of you, no business, no burdens, just the warmth of each other’s presence.

As you took a sip of your wine, the warmth of the moment settled in. The quiet hum of the restaurant, the dim glow of the candles, and the way Wonwoo’s eyes never strayed far from you made the evening feel almost surreal—like a small pocket of peace after the storm.

He set his glass down, fingers tapping lightly against the stem before he finally spoke. "How are you feeling… after everything?" His voice was calm, but there was something deeper in his tone—concern, curiosity, maybe even guilt for not asking sooner.

You placed your glass down and thought for a moment. The past few months had been a whirlwind. Your father’s sentencing had been all over the news—a powerful businessman brought down by his own crimes. Twenty-five years behind bars, stripped of everything he once controlled. But despite everything, a part of you still felt unsettled.

"I don’t know," you admitted, fingers tracing the rim of your glass. "Some days, I feel relieved. Other days… it still feels unreal." You exhaled, meeting his gaze. "He’s still alive, still out there somewhere. Even if he’s locked up, it’s like he still has a grip on me."

Wonwoo nodded slowly, his expression unreadable, but his eyes held a quiet understanding. "He took too much from you for you to just move on overnight," he said simply.

You swallowed, nodding. "Maybe." A pause. "But I don’t want to keep living in that shadow. I want to move forward. I want to build something new for myself… for my mom."

Wonwoo leaned back in his chair, observing you. "And for us?"

Your breath hitched slightly at his words, your eyes flickering to his.

A small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "I didn’t go through all this trouble to protect you just to watch you walk away."

You let out a soft chuckle, shaking your head. "I didn’t say I was going anywhere."

His smirk faded into something softer. He reached across the table, his fingers brushing against yours. "Good," he murmured. "Because I need you here."

The weight of his words settled between you, heavier than the wine in your glass, more intoxicating than anything you had tasted tonight.

"Then I guess we’re staying," you whispered.

And for the first time in a long time, the future didn’t seem so uncertain.

*

As soon as the door closed behind you, Wonwoo backed you against it, his hands settling on your hips as he leaned in to capture your lips in a searing kiss. Yourur tongues tangled eagerly, the flavors of wine and dessert mingling as your mouths moved in perfect sync.

As your lips parted, Wonwoo's breath tickled your ear as he whispered sultry nothings, his warm words sending shivers down your spine. "God, I want you," he rasped, trailing open-mouthed kisses along your jawline and down the column of your throat. Each nip and lick sent sparks of pleasure through your veins, making you arch into his touch.

As Wonwoo's lips trailed reverently along your skin, his whispers grew softer, sweeter. "You have no idea how much I crave you." His fingertips danced across your chest, tracing patterns that left goosebumps in their wake. "You're all mine," he breathed, punctuating his words with a gentle kiss to the hollow of your throat.

As Wonwoo laid you down on the soft cushions of the sofa, a soft moan escaped your lips at the feel of the cool leather beneath you. Your senses were heightened, attuned to every brush of fabric against your skin and the heat emanating from the man towering over you. You could feel the rigid outline of his arousal pressing insistently against your thigh, a tangible reminder of his desire.

"Please, Wonwoo," You whimpered, reaching up to cradle his face in your palms. "Kiss me again, taste me...touch me everywhere," You begged, your voice thick with need. Your hips lifted off the couch, seeking friction against the solid length prodding your leg. "Make love to me, right here, right now," You pleaded, your eyes locked onto his, filled with lust and adoration.

Wonwoo's fingers found the dampened lace at the apex of your thighs, teasing the sensitive flesh through the thin barrier. A gasp slipped past your lips at the intimate caress, your hips canting up involuntarily to press closer to his touch. "Mmm, so wet for me already," he purred, rubbing the pad of his thumb over your clit through the soaked material. The sensation shot straight to your core, leaving you trembling and desperate for more.

"Please, Wonwoo," You whimpered, spreading your legs wider in invitation as his fingers resumed their playful exploration of your most sensitive area. He obliged without hesitation, slipping a digit beneath the drenched lace to stroke through your slick folds, gathering the evidence of my arousal on his fingertip before circling your entrance teasingly. You arched off the couch, a needy moan spilling from your lips at the delicious pressure building inside you.

Wonwoo's husky whisper sent shivers down your spine. "You're breathtaking, my love. Just as I imagined, dreamed of, a thousand times." His hand stilled for a moment, letting you relish in the praise before resuming his tender touch. Slow, deliberate strokes coaxed out more of your essence, each movement pushing you closer to the edge. "Let go for me," he urged, his breath hot against your ear.

As Wonwoo's fingers continued their maddening tempo, the coil of tension inside you snapped. You cried out his name, back arching off the couch as waves of ecstasy crashed over you. Pleasure pulsed through your veins like liquid fire, your inner walls clenching around nothing as the orgasm ripped through you. Distantly, you heard Wonwoo's approving groans, felt his body tense above you as he watched you come undone in his skilled hands.

He picked your naked body to the bedroom effortlessly as laid you down softly. Wonwoo's nimble fingers worked their magic, effortlessly shedding the barriers between you, you gazed at him in awe. The soft lighting of the bedroom illuminated his chiseled features and the moonbeams danced across his skin, making him look like a deity descended from the heavens.

He stood before you, glorious, as you ran your hands reverently over the contours of his torso. His body hovered yours. As your lips met, the world around you melted away, leaving only the intoxicating sensations of the kiss and the warmth of each other's bodies.

Wonwoo's mouth slanted over yours, demanding and possessive, claiming you with every brush of his tongue against you. You melted into the embrace, returning his ardor with equal fervor, your moans mingling in the stillness of the room as you lost yourselves in the passionate dance of desire.

Wonwoo's hands roamed the curves your body as he kissed a path along your neck, his touch igniting sparks wherever he touched. He cupped your breast, thumb grazing the pebbled nipple through the thin fabric of your bra, sending jolts of pleasure straight to the core. "So soft, so perfect," he murmured against your skin, nipping and sucking gently as he explored the sensitive terrain of your throat.

"Once I get a taste of you, I may not be able to let you go," he admitted hoarsely, his voice trembling with need. The vulnerability in his words only heightened your excitement, your body arching instinctively to draw him closer.

With a gentle yet insistent pressure, Wonwoo guided himself into your waiting depths. A soft gasp escaped your lips as he filled you inch by exquisite inch, stretching and accommodating his impressive girth. Once he was buried to the hilt, he paused, allowing you to adjust to the incredible fullness before beginning to move within you. Each deliberate thrust sparked a cascade of pleasure, the sound of skin meeting skin and your ragged breaths filling the air.

"You're so big.."

Wonwoo's smug grin only added to the erotic charge between you as he drew back and pushed in again, his thick length stroking deep inside you. "Big enough to satisfy this greedy little pussy, isn't it?" he purred, his voice a low, husky rasp. He set a steady, pounding rhythm, each powerful thrust driving him impossibly deeper.

Wonwoo's praise was a velvet caress against you ears, heightening the euphoria coursing through your veins. "Fuck, you feel amazing wrapped around me," he growled, punctuating each word with a deep, forceful stroke. "Like you were made for me, custom-fit just to take my cock and beg for more."

Wonwoo's fingers found your throbbing clit with ease, applying just the right amount of pressure to send shockwaves of pleasure surging through you. Each stroke harmonized with his relentless pace, the dual sensations threatening to unravel you completely. You clenched tighter around him, the snug, velvety grip of your walls milking his thickness with every thrust.

Wonwoo groaned deeply as he felt the telltale fluttering of yout inner muscles, signaling your impending climax. "That's it, baby, let go for me," he urged, his voice roughened with lust. He rubbed your clit in swift, targeted circles, pushing you precariously close to the edge. With one final, searing plunge, he triggered your orgasm, the waves of ecstasy crashing over you in intense, overwhelming bursts.

With a guttural moan, Wonwoo plunged deep, his hips jerking as he spilled his hot seed inside you. You elt each pulsing wave of his release, his thick cock throbbing and twitching as he emptied himself within your clenching depths. The sensation was decadently intimate, making you shudder with pleasure as you rode out the aftershocks of your own climax. Your bodies moved in tandem, lost in the primal dance of sex and satisfaction.

As you collapsed together in a tangle of limbs, panting and sated, Wonwoo pressed his lips to yours in a tender, lingering kiss. "I've waited so long for this moment," he breathed against your mouth, his words muffled but heartfelt. "Half a year of longing, of craving your touch... and now it's finally real." He nuzzled you temple, his warm breath fanning across your skin.

"I love you."

*

The morning light filtered softly through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room. The air was still, heavy with the remnants of last night—shared breaths, whispered confessions, the quiet surrender to something neither of you had spoken aloud but had felt for so long.

You stirred slightly, the cool sheets contrasting against the warmth of the body next to you. Wonwoo’s arm was draped over your waist, his breathing slow and even. His grip was loose, but even in sleep, he held onto you like he wasn’t ready to let go.

Your mind was quiet for the first time in a long while. No thoughts of your father, no weight of the past pressing down on your chest. Just this—just him.

As if sensing your thoughts, Wonwoo shifted, his fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns against your skin. He hummed lowly, his voice still thick with sleep. “You’re awake?”

You turned slightly to face him, your lips curving into a soft smile. “Mmm.”

His eyes cracked open, hazy and laced with something unreadable. He studied you for a moment before exhaling, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Are you okay?”

The question made your chest tighten, but in a good way. He wasn’t just asking about last night—he was asking about everything.

You nodded, shifting closer until your forehead rested against his. “Yeah… I think I am.”

His fingers slid up your arm, his touch grounding. “Good.”

Silence settled between you, comfortable and warm. Then, a small smirk tugged at his lips. “Seokmin’s going to give me hell when he finds out.”

You let out a laugh, shaking your head. “You mean he hasn’t already?”

Wonwoo groaned, rolling onto his back. “He probably sent me twenty messages by now. That guy’s too invested in my love life.”

You propped yourself up on your elbow, looking down at him with amusement. “Maybe he just wants to make sure you’re treating me right.”

He turned his head to meet your gaze, something softer in his eyes now. “I don’t need Seokmin to remind me to do that.”

Your breath hitched slightly, but before you could respond, he pulled you back into his arms, burying his face in the crook of your neck. “Five more minutes,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your skin. “Then I’ll deal with whatever disaster Seokmin has planned for me today.”

You smiled, closing your eyes as you let yourself sink into the warmth of him. “Five more minutes,” you echoed.

You traced small patterns on his bare chest, enjoying the way his skin tensed under your touch. “So… last night,” you murmured, your voice teasing.

Wonwoo cracked one eye open, his lips twitching. “What about it?”

You tilted your head, pretending to be deep in thought. “You talk a lot when you’re in the moment.”

His brows furrowed slightly before realization dawned on him, and for the first time in a while, you saw a hint of red creeping up his ears. “I—” He cleared his throat. “That’s just—”

You smirked, leaning closer. “No, no, I liked it.” You let your fingers dance over his collarbone, your voice dropping slightly. “Didn’t know you had a thing for dirty talk, though.”

Wonwoo groaned, covering his face with his hand. “You’re really going to bring that up first thing in the morning?”

You laughed, enjoying how flustered he got despite everything. “I mean, I just think it’s cute,” you teased, nudging his side. “You’re usually so composed, but last night—”

He suddenly rolled on top of you, pinning you beneath him in one swift movement. His expression had shifted, his teasing smirk returning. “If you keep talking, I’ll have to remind you exactly how much I like talking.”

Your breath hitched as he dipped his head closer, lips ghosting over your jawline. The way his voice dropped sent a familiar shiver down your spine.

Wonwoo rested his forehead against yours, his breath warm as he held you close. The night had unraveled things between you—vulnerability, passion, and something deeper that neither of you had dared to name until now. His fingers traced soft patterns on your back, and for a moment, it was just the two of you, wrapped in warmth and unspoken words.

Then, he spoke.

“I love you.” His voice was steady, unwavering, but you could hear the slight nervous edge in it. Like he had been holding onto those words for a while, waiting for the right moment. “I don’t think I realized how much until I almost lost you.”

Your heart clenched, remembering everything you had been through. The fights, the fear, the way he stood by your side through it all. Your hand found his cheek, thumb brushing over his skin as you took in the sincerity in his gaze.

“I love you too,” you whispered, watching the way his eyes softened, his lips parting slightly as if surprised despite everything. “And… thank you, Wonwoo.”

His brows furrowed slightly. “For what?”

“For staying. For fighting for me. For always making sure I’m safe.” Your voice trembled slightly, emotions catching up with you. “For giving me a reason to feel strong.”

Wonwoo exhaled slowly, his grip on you tightening as he buried his face into the crook of your neck. “You were always strong,” he murmured. “I just reminded you of it.”

You smiled, running your fingers through his hair. “Well, either way, I still want to thank you.”

He pulled back slightly, his lips curving into that rare, genuine smile you loved. “Then let me thank you too,” he murmured, pressing a slow, lingering kiss against your lips.

And in that moment, you knew—this wasn’t just a marriage of convenience anymore. This was real.

[imloyaltoscoups]

after shower | jeon wonwoo

You were sitting on the floor, your back resting against the couch, idly scrolling through your phone. The air smelled faintly of soap and shampoo, and you glanced up just in time to see Wonwoo walking out of the shower, the way his white shirt clung to his still-drying skin made your heart race.

He walked over and sat beside you, his long legs stretched out in front of him as he began wiping his glasses with a small cloth. You couldn't help but stare, your head tilting slightly against the couch as you admired him.

Wonwoo looked effortlessly handsome—his defined jawline, the way his lips pressed together in thought as he cleaned his glasses, the droplets of water trailing down his neck. It was too much to handle.

Noticing your gaze, he raised an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He placed his glasses on the table, setting the cloth aside before turning his full attention to you.

“What?” he asked, his voice low and teasing as he leaned forward, his eyes flicking down to your lips.

You didn’t answer, your breath catching as he closed the distance between you. His hand came to rest on the floor beside you, his face mere inches away. Your heart raced in anticipation, and you waited, your lips slightly parted.

Then, finally, he kissed you. You kissed him back immediately, your hand moving to his neck as you deepened the kiss. Your tongue ran along his bottom lip, silently asking for entrance.

Wonwoo chuckled softly against your lips, the sound low and almost smug, before parting them to let you in. The kiss quickly shifted as he took control, his tongue tangling with yours in a way that left you literally breathless.

You whimpered softly, your fingers tightening in his damp hair as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss further. His hand found its way to your waist, steadying you as he continued to dominate.

When you pulled back slightly to catch your breath, his lips didn’t stray far, brushing against yours as he whispered, “You really can’t resist me, can you?”

You pouted, your cheeks warm as you muttered, “You’re the one who kissed me first.”

Wonwoo smirked, his thumb gently brushing along your jawline. “And you didn’t exactly stop me,” he teased, leaning in to steal another kiss.

When he's done, he leaned back slightly, still close enough that his breath brushed against your lips. His dark eyes sparkled with amusement as he tilted his head, studying your flushed face.

“I guess you found me pretty handsome, huh?” he said, his tone smug yet teasing.

You scoffed, trying to look away, but his hand gently cupped your chin, turning your face back toward him. “Don’t even try to deny it,” he added, his smirk deepening. “I caught you staring.”

Your cheeks burned, and you playfully swatted at his chest, though it lacked any real force. “You’re so full of yourself,” you muttered, trying to ignore how good he looked sitting there with his freshly showered glow.

He chuckled, clearly enjoying how flustered you’d become. “I mean, can you blame me? You’re practically drooling over me.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “Fine. Maybe just maybe.. you’re a little handsome,” you admitted hesitantly.

“A little?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow and leaning in closer, his face just inches from yours again. “Is that really all you’ve got to say after staring at me like that?”

You huffed, and raised both of your hands. “Okay, okay. You’re extremely handsome. Happy now?”

His grin turned softer but no less smug as he kissed the corner of your mouth. “Very,” he said, his voice low and full of satisfaction. “But I think I need to hear you say it again. Just to make sure.”

Before you could protest, he kissed you once again, effectively cutting off any of your response with a laugh that rumbled against your lips.

....... ≿━━━━━༺MASTERLIST༻━━━━━≾ .......

[joonsytip]

Beyond the Transcripts || Wonwoo [Teaser]

Pairings: Ceo!Wonwoo x Legal Head!Fem!Reader

Genre: Angst, Smut, Fluff, exes to co-parents to lovers au, second chances au.

Synopsis: Jeon Wonwoo, the calmest and untainted CEO to ever exist, gets his world shaken up when he finds you as the legal department head at his own company and your only registered family is a little guy who resembles him a bit too much.

Alternatively, you are smooth in onboarding Wonwoo into your son's life but problems arise when he tries to slide back into yours.

Warnings: Themes of co parenting, mentions of past difficult pregnancy, misogynistic slurs being used at workplace, minor accident, profanities, heartbreak, secret identity, workplace jargons.

Drop Date: Anyday next month.

Check out the masterlist for THAT'S SHOWBIZ, BABY! Please support all the amazing writers white putting up so much effort!

Thanks to @lovetaroandtaemin, Ally for coming up with this beautiful banner (even after I ate her ears off and made her do several banners for this one), I'm really grateful!

TAGLIST is closed.

Main story out now checkout here!

At the sound of the door closing, your gaze lifts.

Wonwoo walks towards you, in large but steady strides, just as you have remembered. He stands in front of you, at a distance. Your gazes meet and the time stops.

Wonwoo hasn't changed much, his eyes hold the same depth. He, you assume, still likes his hair side parted with locks clipped so they don't fall on his face. The scent of the same perfume lingers in the air, the one which he had always claimed as his signature. The frame of his glasses aren't geometric anymore, he goes with pilot nowadays.

And before your mind could trace back on the memory lane deeper, you decide to slip into the momentum.

Because, he's the man, who had broken your heart, had left you alone to pick up the pieces on your own.

“Mr. Jeon”, you bow to him, giving a small smile. Your heart beats erratically, as you continue to speak, “You must be busy so I won't take much of your time.”

The title you call him by is foreign to Wonwoo's ear. It always used to be strings of sickly sweet nicknames.

He watches the changes time has brought upon you. You no longer seem like the carefree law major from back then. You, no longer are the girl who'd cry over smallest things, speak the first thought that comes to your mind.

While Wonwoo loses touch with the current predicament, you line up several documents on his desk in specific order.

It's exacting because you used to know him so well, maybe even now if he hasn't emerged entirely as a different person. You see the way his eyes are on you but the dilated pupils give away the fact that he's running miles in his head.

So you wait, wait for him to come back to the present, to this moment.

And he does, a few minutes later. You can tell it by the way his gaze locks into yours right away, his lips curling down in slightest.

“How have you been, Y/N?”

His voice strikes a chord in your heart, before it reaches your ear. The voice that you used to love so much, the voice that sung you to sleep on restless nights, the same voice which called when your name, it summoned your soul.

Years of preparation goes down in the trench as you're about to break down at the first set of words you hear from him.

But you can't, you're not the same vulnerable Y/N, who used to strip bare in front of her lover.

“I think we have more important matters to discuss, Mr. Jeon.”, you speak through your gritted teeth.

“But you promised you'd answer all my questions.”, Wonwoo reminds you calmly.

“And this is what you want to know?”

“Out of all things, first and foremost, yes this is what I want to know.”

You find it ironic. Trapped in by his words, you answer truthfully, “I just can't sum up everything but I have been holding it in, thanks to Wonjae.”

Wonwoo perks at the mention of your son's name, well his as well.

“The first document is about me as Wonjae’s legal guardian, consenting to you conduct a DNA test.”, your gaze is gentle as you point at the bunched papers, “I don't want any questions, any fingers raised at my son in future.”

“But I don't–”

“I request you to conduct one.”

Your sharp tone shuts up Wonwoo completely, though not willing, he nods.

His gaze sweeps across the rest of the document which promotes him to ask, “What are the rest of these documents for?”

Your eyes turn somber. You've studied law, practised it. You know all the nooks and crannies and you're a mother who is raising her son against all odds.

“The second document is a contract that states that if you don't want to be associated with Wonjae then the fact that he’s your son will be concealed and never brought up by me. If I ever do so”, you turn the pages and show him the space left blank, “You can fill up the breach statement and penalties in this section, I have left it blank.”

Wonwoo gapes at you in disbelief, “What do you think you're trying to pull here?”, he speaks in a low tone but you can hear the agitation ringing in it, “What do you think of me, Y/N?”

You don't deem it necessary to answer his questions and proceed further to explain the contents of the last document.

“If you have any concerns about me working in your company and see me as a threat or identify me as someone who has the potential of stirring up trouble then you can ask me to resign but under the conditions that I work here until I find another job.”, your attitude has shimmered down from being hyper to nonchalant, now that you have done your part.

Wonwoo observes you in disbelief and at himself in distaste because he's the reason behind the version you are currently showcasing.

“Also, I have prepared the clauses for custody just in case you're willing to share responsibilities in future. I'll bring it to you if you decide to be a part of Wonjae's life.”

You say terms, speak things all in legal language and Wonwoo just listens.

“I would have suggested you to run these documents by your legal team to cite any negotiations or catch any flaws but unfortunately, it would mean that I'd be the person you'll need to work with.”, you smile sardonically, “So it would be better if you contact someone who's not affiliated to this company.”

He wonders if things would have been different if he stayed and in the midst of the storm that whirlwinds in his head, he asks, “Why didn't you tell me that you were pregnant?”

What a simple question to ask. But are all questions meant to have an answer?

“Would you have stayed?”

Silence falls upon.

You give him a knowing smile, “Just when you were leaving, I asked you something, do you remember?”

Yes, he remembers, all of it. The way you had chased him to the station, your face wet, eyes bloodshot from crying. The way you just stood in front of him, mumbling the last question you had as the train entered the platform.

“What if I have something important to tell you, something that could change our lives? Would it make you stay?”

“There’s nothing left to salvage. Nothing's gonna stop me from leaving. This is the end for us.”

It answers his previous question. It makes sense now, he didn't only leave you, he had abandoned his unborn child as well.

Some fences cannot be mended, some bridges can't be cemented. Just like this relationship, which once bloomed beautifully, is now wilted.

→ Do not copy, re-post, translate, or share any of my works on other platforms! All stories are copyrighted, joonsytip. ©️

[minniesfiles]

OPERATION WONWOO: CALM DOWN MY GIRLFRIEND

In which Wonwoo tries to comfort his overly dramatic girlfriend after his enlistment news came out.

❧ PAIRING; wonwoo x reader

❧ GENRE; fluff, humour

❧ TAGS/WARNINGS; established relationship, idol wonwoo, tears, humour, fluff, topic of enlistment

❧ WORDCOUNT; 1.1k

𐚁₊⊹

▍5 MARCH 2025

Wonwoo never considered himself as a particularly emotional person. He was rational, practical, and logical. None of which, apparently, applied to you, who was currently curled up in a blanket burrito on his sofa, sobbing like he just told you he was moving to the moon.

He sighed while standing over you with his arms crossed. “Babe, you’re being ridiculous.”

You lifted your head from the blanket pile, eyes red and puffy. “I am not,” you wailed. “You’re leaving me for eighteen months, Wonwoo. That’s, like, a lifetime in relationship years.”

“That’s not how time works.”

“You don’t care about my suffering at all!” you sniffled dramatically.

Wonwoo rolled his eyes and shifted his weight as he continued watching you spiral into despair. “Okay, first of all, I’m not leaving you. I’m literally just going to work. Second, I’m not even doing active duty. I’m doing an alternative service because, in case you forgot, my eyesight is so bad that the government won’t even trust me with a gun and is making me do a desk job instead.”

“Still counts” you hiccupped mid-sob.

“Does it?”

“Yes” you crossed your arms, glaring at him. “You’ll still be gone, and I’ll still be alone, and — oh my God, what if you get super buff and realise you don’t love me anymore?”

Wonwoo blinked. “I’m literally going to be working in an office.”

“So? What if lifting all those papers gives you arm muscles?”

He sighed, rubbing his temples. “First of all, paper isn’t that heavy. Second, even if I did somehow get buff, I wouldn’t stop loving you.”

You let out a dramatic huff. “How do I know that for sure?”

Wonwoo stared at you for a long moment before answering, “Because if I was going to leave you, it would’ve been when you made me watch that thirty-episode historical drama just so you could cry over it.”

You gasped, clutching your chest like he physically wounded you. “You said you liked it!”

“I lied.”

You let out a strangled noise, then flopped back onto the sofa. “I knew it! I’m already losing you.”

Wonwoo sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Babe, I’ll be home every night. The only difference is that I won’t be promoting with the members for a while. That’s it.”

You sniffled again and gripped the blanket tighter. “It’s not just that! I won’t get to see you perform, or travel with your members, or do all the cute idol boyfriend things—”

He raised an eyebrow. “When have I ever done cute idol boyfriend things?”

“Okay, fine, Jeonghan does cute idol boyfriend things. But that’s not the point!” you huffed, sitting up to glare at him.

“The point is, I won’t get to see you in your element. I won’t get to watch you perform on stage, and I won’t get to hear you talk about making music with your members. You love being with them.”

He frowned slightly at that, because — well, you weren’t wrong.

It would be weird not promoting as a Seventeen member, not spending every day surrounded by the usual chaos and comfort of his group. He would miss standing on stage. He would miss the adrenaline of performing, the way the members bickered, the way Carats screamed their names with so much love.

But, at the end of the day, he would still be home.

Wonwoo let out a sigh and sat down beside you, resting a hand on your knee. “I get it. I’ll miss all of that too,” he admitted.

“But it’s not forever. And honestly? I’d rather be at home with you every night than stuck in a training camp running laps at five in the morning.”

“I feel like you’re just saying that to make me feel better” you pouted.

“Maybe. But it’s also true” he smirked.

“You think I’d rather be sweating in a field somewhere when I could be home with you, eating ramen and watching bad dramas?”

You hesitated. “…That does sound better.”

“Exactly.”

You sighed, rubbing your eyes. “But what if you change?”

“What do you mean?” your boyfriend frowned.

“What if, after eighteen months, you don’t love me the same way?” your voice was quieter now, and your usual dramatic energy was replaced by something more vulnerable.

His chest ached at the sight of you, and the way you curled into yourself like you were trying to brace for impact.

“Baby,” he murmured, reaching up to tuck your hair behind your ear. “That’s not going to happen.”

“You don’t know that” you mumbled, biting your lip.

“Yes, I do,” he said firmly. “You think I’m going to go to work, file some paperwork, and suddenly forget how much I love you?”

“Maybe there’s a really hot co-worker with perfect vision who loves books as much as you do” you shrugged.

Wonwoo gave you deadpan look. “First of all, I can barely see people’s faces without my glasses, so your imaginary rival isn’t even a threat. Second, no one could ever be you.”

“You promise?” you sniffled.

“I swear on my terrible eyesight.” That finally got a small laugh out of you, and Wonwoo felt some of the tension ease from his chest.

“Besides,” he added, smirking. “If anything, you should be more worried about Jeonghan stealing me away while I’m gone.”

Your eyes narrowed. “I knew it. He’s been trying to seduce you for years.”

Wonwoo chuckled, “you have no idea.”

You let out a dramatic sigh and flopped against him. “Fine. I’ll let you go.”

“Oh? You’re giving me permission now?”

“Yes,” you sniffed. “But only if you compensate me properly.”

“And how exactly do I do that?” Wonwoo raised an eyebrow.

You perked up. “A life-sized body pillow with your face on it.”

Wonwoo groaned. “Not this again.”

“You owe me emotional damages” you crossed your arms.

“I’m not getting you a body pillow.”

“Then I’ll just make my own,” you threatened.

Wonwoo sighed, rubbing his temples. “Okay, how would you even do that?”

“Print a giant picture of your face, tape it to a pillow, and boom. DIY boyfriend” you smirked.

“You have issues” he stared at you.

“I have needs” you corrected.

Wonwoo shook his head in defeat. “Fine. I’ll send you so many selfies that you’ll get sick of my face.”

You gasped. “Never.”

“You’re ridiculous” he chuckled, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you close.

“And yet, here you are, cuddling me instead of telling me to stop.”

“Unfortunately” your boyfriend sighed dramatically. You gasped and smacked his chest. “Take that back!”

“Nope” he grinned mischievously.

You huffed, but your arms tightened around him. “Ugh. You’re the worst.”

“And yet, here you are, crying over me leaving.”

“Shut up and let me be sad. And you’re not exactly leaving, remember?” you sniffled.

Wonwoo chuckled, squeezing you gently. “Alright baby. Be as sad as you want.”

a/n; dreading the almost 2 years of Wonwoo drought icbbb

[ddeonghwa-s]

moonlight greed .ᐟ.ᐟ

wonwoo, standing in the moonlight, admiring you; his sleeping stepsister.

꒰୨୧꒱— jeon wonwoo x fem!reader

꒰୨୧꒱— wc is approx. 1.2k

꒰୨୧꒱— genre : smut (mdni)

꒰୨୧꒱— cw : male masturbation, perversion

꒰୨୧꒱— tw : stepcest, somnophilia, morally questionable (arguably fucked) and perverted wonwoo, half-naked reader

꒰୨୧꒱— notes : in this fic wonwoo is fucked! pls know this behavior is not anything i condone or actually associate with wonwoo :)

it's a little after midnight when wonwoo finally eases your bedroom door all the way open.

your room is, of course, dark. he can't see the papers that undoubtedly litter the desk he put together for you; can't see the details of the posters you had stuck against the popcorn walls in an attempt to inject your personality into the room.

wonwoo had objected to some of the posters at first. the prints of pink tulips and baby blue bows and kittens; it was all too much for wonwoo, whose own room was a classic combination of black, grey, and black.

but he'd do anything for you, just like a good stepbrother would.

and this is how he justifies sneaking into your bedroom in the middle of the night.

your room is dark, but the faintest sliver of silver moonlight peers through the curtains. it doesn't help a lot — doesn't allow wonwoo to see the fine details of things — but it helps just enough.

luck is, wonwoo thinks, on his side in that case.

the silver light lets wonwoo eye your sleeping figure greedily. he is able to make out the shape of your body, the line of it against your bed. you had discarded most of your blanket, too hot to be burrowed underneath it as you usually were — no thanks to luck this time; wonwoo had thumbed the thermostat to a higher temperature during your nightly shower. your blanket lay against your hips, hiding your legs from his sight.

your blanket does not hide the rest of you.

wonwoo can see the line of your torso and head. he can see your sleeping face turned towards the ceiling; your hand tucked rather awkwardly, in wonwoo's opinion, behind your back;

your tits, deliciously illuminated by that beautiful silver moonlight.

you had, whether consciously or in your sleep, rucked your tank top up over your tits. it conceals half of one of them, does nothing to hide the other. and so wonwoo can stare all his fill. l

your nipples are not perked at attention, the temperature of the room warm enough to soothe your skin from any gooseflesh, to keep your nipples from hardening. your tits are pressed against your body from gravity, a stark picture from one of the scenes that constantly replay in wonwoo's mind of you bending over in a low-cut shirt that allowed him to feast on your tits as they hung, gravity perfectly showing the full bulge of them for his depraved, perverted mind.

still: wonwoo feels the blood pool at his gut, feels his cock harden and balls tug in his joggers.

you are asleep. you feel safe, here in wonwoo's apartment — your safety, as a matter of fact, was the number one reason why your father pushed for you to move in with wonwoo; you'd be safe here, your father had said; wonwoo would protect you.

and here he was, sliipping his hand down over his thickening bulge, palming at the base of his dick through his joggers.

you are safe, wonwoo thinks as he watches your tits rise and fall with every breath you take. you are safe in his home from the harsh elements of outside, from rain or thunder or wind, from opportunists and scums who would take advantage of you.

the silver light bathes you; your face is calm, devoting itself to the peaceful world you slumber in.

wonwoo slips his hand underneath the tight band of his joggers. his dick, when he touches it, jumps in his hand. he wants to fuck something, wants it so badly.

wonwoo draws his hand along the length of his cock, thumb trailing. he fists the head of his cock, eyes greedily roaming over your tits, sliding over your stomach.

he digs his thumb into his sensitive cockhead. wonwoo winces at the pleasure-pain that shoots through him at the sensation, tightening his fist around his dick, chasing that pain further.

wonwoo's balls are tight against him as he begins to fuck his fist. he was brisk with it, no finesse; he wants to cum, wants to feel that electric bubble of heat burst within him.

it would be better, wonwoo thinks fleetingly, if he could cum in your tight little pussy.

because he knows it would be tight; that your cunt would be hot and wet.

every part of you is perfect, so that, too, wonwoo logically surmised, would be heaven.

even this, wonwoo thinks as he stands in the entry way of your bedroom with you sound asleep with your tits on display, is a piece of heaven. he's allowed to look and look without distraction, and fuck —

if he doesn't look.

wonwoo doesn't fuck his hips to his hand, instead bringing his fist back to strike against his groin, the dull slapping sound of skin against skin, fist against groin, filling the quiet room. 

his balls throb; his dick hurts. 

wonwoo wants to cum so badly. he wants to watch his cum shoot out and stain your skin. he wants to watch his cum paint the walls of your cunt, watch it ooze from your cute little hole and drip down onto the bed. wonwoo would love to see his cum on your face, too; love to see it shoot across your lips and nose and cheeks, see your face of surprise. 

he thinks about it, eyes straining through the darkness to focus on your nipples, to memorize the shape of them in the hope of imagining his lips around them later. wonwoo thinks about you on your knees in front of him, eyes squeezing shut, mouth open and tongue stuck out with his white cum pearling so beautifully. 

wonwoo cums into his pants with a grunt. the wetness of it makes his joggers stick uncomfortably. his dick feels horribly sensitive as he walks from your room with his cock still tucked inside. 

he goes to the thermostat; lowers it. 

wonwoo moves to his room. he switches on the light, knowing his sweet thoughts don't deserve to take root in the darkness. 

he grabs one of his blankets off of his bed, shaking it out. 

with his pants still sticking to him from his cum, wonwoo moves back to your room. the air conditioning kicks on, and he can feel the draft almost immediately, the skin on his arms pebbling. 

he doesn't bother being quiet. 

wonwoo edges around your bed, hands finding the corners of the blanket. he fluffs it out, draping it over your form, concealing your tits from his eyes. 

you furrow your brows. your eyes flutter open, lips pressed into a pout with the soft anger of an angel being disrupted from sleep. 

"turned down the ac," he says, tucking the blanket around your shoulders. wonwoo continues to press the blanket underneath your frame, pushing it snugly to your form. "you'll be cold."

you smile at him, shifting in your bed. "thanks, wonie," you mumble, eyes already shutting. 

wonwoo shuts your bedroom door behind him, closing you and the silver light behind him, protecting you once again.

[kmgkmg]

lovesick - jeon wonwoo

wc: 0.3k | pairing: wonwoo x gn!reader | synopsis: virtual date w jww

genre/s: fluff, idol!wonwoo, established relationship | warnings: none!

rating: pg

“this is never going to get done.” you sigh, reaching for the next pile of paperwork your supervisor assigned for you to finish before the weekend ended.

your boyfriend, wonwoo, was on the other side of the phone, facetiming you. he paused his game, keeping his cat ear headphones on as you could hear him shuffle around his hotel room. after some more ruckus, he bent down to look at you through his phone again, quickly running a hand through his still damp hair. 

your hand was suspended above the paper in front of you, unable to write, not knowing what he was up to. amused, you try your best to hold back a small smile but fail miserably. as he notices your smile, he returns the expression, before adjusting his phone so you could see the floor. your view was his open suitcase as he wordlessly climbed into it. 

“are you that homesick, wonwoo?”

“i’m lovesick, y/n. i think i need to come home and get treated by you.” he calmly informs you, not moving from the suitcase. 

“and you’re not just saying that so you can come encourage me from up close?”

he clears his throat, feeling awkward and unable to refute your deduction on his other motives. closing his suitcase again, he grabbed his phone and flopped onto the bed.

“two more weeks and i’ll be able to cuddle with you again, two more weeks and i can eat your cooking again, two more weeks-”

you interrupt his speech, shaking your head, “two more weeks until i suddenly have a distraction-filled home again.”

“and that’s a bad thing?” his genuine surprise threw you off-guard.

“we both know it’s not.”

he takes his glasses off, placing them on the nightstand. smiling warmly as you yawned for the nth time of the night, he replies softly, “yeah, i just wanted to hear you say it.”

[scarletwinterxx]

won't let these little things slip out of my mouth - jeon wonwoo imagine

i have a confession... i cried while writing this. now i'm sad no one will ever propose to me this way, why oh why did i even write this BUT I LOVE IT SO MUCH🥺🥺🥺🥺

A/N: I HIGHLY SUGGEST PLAYING SPRING SNOW BY 10CM WHILE READING THIS. or not if u don't want to cry like a baby (like me🥹)

for my other svt fics, check them here

All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2024 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(pics not mine, credits to rightful owner)

The cold winter air nips at your cheeks as you walk beside Wonwoo, his camera slung over his shoulder as always. The streets are adorned with twinkling lights, festive wreaths, and the hum of Christmas carols drifting from nearby speakers. Despite the chill, you feel warm. Maybe it’s the cozy scarf he insisted you wear or the way his hand occasionally brushes yours as you walk.

He’s been unusually quiet tonight, though. You steal a glance at him, noting the slight curve of his lips as he stares ahead, the golden glow of streetlights reflecting in his dark eyes. He’s up to something. You just know it.

“Jeon Wonwoo,” you say, breaking the silence, “what’s with the secrecy? You’ve been grinning like a kid who knows something I don’t.”

He chuckles softly, the sound warm and familiar. “Patience,” he teases, his tone as smooth as always. “You’ll see soon enough.”

He leads you to a quaint little gallery tucked away on a quieter street. The windows are frosted, but you can see the soft glow of light inside, illuminating what looks like an intimate exhibit. Your curiosity piques as he holds the door open for you, the bell above jingling softly.

The gallery smells of wood and faintly of pine, and the atmosphere is calm, almost reverent. Wonwoo leads you through the first room, where a variety of black-and-white photos hang on the walls. They’re beautiful, sure, but they don’t hold your attention for long. Not when you can feel Wonwoo’s excitement radiating beside you.

“Come on,” he says, tugging you gently toward a smaller, dimly lit room at the back. “This is the part I wanted you to see.”

The moment you step inside, your breath catches. The walls are lined with photographs, but these aren’t just any pictures. They’re familiar. Too familiar.

“That’s... Wait, that’s from our trip to Jeju!” you exclaim, pointing to a shot of you laughing on the beach. Another photo catches your eye—a candid of you staring in awe at cherry blossoms during spring. And then another, of you holding an umbrella, your face lit up with laughter as the rain poured down.

You turn to Wonwoo, your heart racing. “What is this?”

He’s smiling, that soft, shy smile that always makes your knees a little weak. “Keep going,” he says, nodding toward the other wall.

You walk further into the room, and your chest tightens as you take in rows and rows of photos. All of you. Every angle, every expression, every moment he managed to capture. There’s one of you napping on a park bench, another of you squinting at a map, and one where you’re mid-bite into an enormous burger, ketchup smeared on your cheek.

You burst out laughing, tears pricking your eyes. “You didn’t!”

The walls of the gallery feel like they’re closing in as you walk further into the room, your gaze darting from photo to photo.

Each one is a piece of your life together—your smiles, your laughter, even your messy moments. You pause at a picture of you trying to eat an ice cream cone that’s melting faster than you can keep up with it. You remember that day vividly, how Wonwoo kept laughing and snapping pictures while you tried (and failed) to salvage the cone.

“Wonwoo,” you say softly, your voice trembling as the weight of it all settles over you. “You’ve been collecting these... all this time?”

“Every moment I could,” he says from behind you, his voice warm and quiet in the stillness of the room.

You move to the next photo. And then the next. They’re all you, and it’s overwhelming in the most beautiful way.

Then your eyes catch something different.

The very last photo on the wall.

It’s simple—a close-up shot of a ring nestled in a velvet box. The light glints off the delicate band, making it shimmer in a way that feels almost magical. Your breath catches in your throat as you take a step closer, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Is that—” you start, but the words die on your lips when you turn around.

Wonwoo is there, down on one knee in the middle of the gallery, holding that same velvet box in his hand. The air leaves your lungs as your gaze locks onto his, the vulnerability and love in his eyes almost too much to bear.

“It’s just us,” he says softly, as if he’s answering a question you didn’t ask. “No distractions, no one else. Just you and me.”

You cover your mouth with your hand, trying to hold back the tears threatening to spill over. He takes a deep breath, his voice steady but filled with emotion.

“I’ve spent so much of our time together trying to capture every moment, every expression, every laugh, because I never want to forget a single second with you. But the truth is, none of these photos come close to how I feel when I’m with you. You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen—through my lens and in my life.”

He opens the box, revealing the ring that you’d just seen immortalized in the photo. It sparkles under the soft lights of the gallery, but nothing shines brighter than the love in his eyes as he looks up at you.

“I want this to be my last photo project,” he says with a small, shaky laugh. “Because after this, I just want to live the moments with you. Will you marry me?”

The world tilts and rights itself again as you nod furiously, your tears spilling over. “Yes! Yes, of course, I’ll marry you!”

Wonwoo grins—one of those rare, wide grins that you know he reserves for the moments when he can’t contain his joy. He slides the ring onto your finger, his touch gentle and sure, before standing and pulling you into his arms.

The silence of the gallery wraps around you both like a warm blanket. It’s just the two of you, the faint glow of the photos on the walls casting soft shadows.

You lean back to look at him, laughter bubbling up through your tears.

“You seriously used a picture of the ring for the big reveal?” you tease, your voice trembling with joy. “Couldn’t help yourself, huh?”

He chuckles, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “It’s a story, isn’t it? And now it has the perfect ending.”

You rest your head against his chest, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear. “Not an ending,” you whisper. “The perfect beginning.”

And in that moment, surrounded by the story of your love etched in photographs, you know you wouldn’t want it any other way.

[blue-jisungs]

soft-hearted jealousy

#author's note ... i love wonwoo so fucking much did i ever guys tell u that. anywho this one is for zanzan bc i got inspired when we watched the kode ep <//3 and big big biiiig shout out to my beloved @l3visbby for proofreading <3 love u mother

#summary ... you're a little jealous of wonwoo n kerias frienship<//3

#word count ... 986

pssst the fic is referencing this cute vid:( wonwoo looked so good in it btw like what the actual fuck. also keria is my height and i fainted when i saw them hug bye

the door opened with a soft click and then all you could hear was soft patting of wonwoo’s footsteps against the wooden floor. 

sighing, you switched youtube to instagram and tried to act unbothered. but how could you? a reel of a new video featuring your fiancé popped out. a video you have just watched and it made you… a little jealous. 

“bedroom?” wonwoo called, trying to locate you. 

“yea” you hummed back, loudly enough for him to hear you. scrolling down, you noticed another reel. 

the love of your life with a cute, gamer boy. 

puffing your cheeks, you decided to exit instagram as well and check if you had any mails or texts. 

wonwoo entered the room, a small crease between his brows. 

“is everything alright, darling?” he asked, voice smooth as honey. which pissed you off even more. how dares he sound so attractive when you’re mad at him? 

“yes” you grunted a little too sulkily, drawing his attention. 

“oh really? because you didn’t run up to me once i entered the house” wonwoo teased and walked up to the bed, stretching his arms. you lost the battle with yourself and watched him, biting the inside of your cheek. how could one look so good in a plain white t-shirt and jeans? 

“yeah, im fine. how was your day?” you sighed and looked away once you saw he noticed your gaze. with a small smirk, he laid down next to you. the mattress dipped under his weight but that restored the balance – it somehow felt empty when he wasn’t there before. 

“it was good. me and mingyu did a live… i talked to my new friend… we might play a bit today” he answered, eyes tracing your face “oh, the video is out! did you see it?”

you hated how excited he was. and how much you liked it. keria is… 

“cute. i liked it” you mumbled and turned his back to him, fighting a smile. this is ridiculous. 

but it’s just not fair that wonwoo looked so handsome in that video and threw some flirty comments. he was so cocky in it too… 

“cute? yeah, keria is so adorable” wonwoo chuckled and you looked at him through your arm, shooting him a glare “what? what is it?” 

“nothing” you grunted. wonwoo’s lips broke into a grin, finally figuring you out. 

“something is clearly wrong. come on, talk to me” he purred, his hand sneaking its way under your t-shirt. 

“you looked good in the vid” grunting, you tried to surpass a smile. the warmth of his skin on yours sent shivers down your spine but your tried to remain calm. and not fold. 

“really? thank you, darling. keria said he liked my jacket” your fiancé hummed and leaned a bit closer, fingers tapping gently against your ribs. 

you couldn’t control the huff that left your lips. 

“we got along really well, i like his company. he’s so sweet” wonwoo continued to tease you and apparently that did the trick. 

“if he’s so sweet why don’t you date him, hm?” murmuring, you tried to hide your face in the pillow. wonwoo’s fingers ghosting over your skin in a circular motion made you melt, making it impossible not to crack.

“oh?” 

“forget it. go play your stupid games” you scoffed and wanted to move further away from him but wonwoo was quicker. he pulled you closer, calloused hands resting on your hips. 

“are you, perhaps… and i might be wrong here… jealous?” wonwoo’s cat-like adorned his features and you turned around, finally facing him. ebony eyes looking at you with amusement but also love, so much love, in them.

“yes, you’re wrong” you finally broke and cracked a smile, poking his buff chest. wonwoo tenderly grabbed your hand, placing it flat against his chest. his heartbeat softly drummed beneath your palm, making heat rise to your cheeks.

“come on, you know i would never…” he started and you shook your head. 

“it’s stupid and not that serious” you whined, covering your face with your other hand “it’s not the way you were… so flirty… and charming…”

“oh, pretty” wonwoo laughed wholeheartedly, the warm sound of his laughter bouncing off the walls of your shared bedroom. 

you leaned closer and hid your face in his chest, the smell of cologne filling your nostrils. his tender hands moved to the back of your neck, massaging it gently. 

“i made my angel jealous… by talking to my friend?” wonwoo sighed dramatically and you could hear the smile blooming on his lips. 

“it wasn’t just talking! you were so flirty…” your voice was a bit muffled by the material of his t-shirt “or i just… don’t know. you were really something that day, you know? so what if i’m a little jealous, i just don’t want to share you with the world… that much” 

wonwoo’s heart skipped a beat and he observed how you raised your head up. eyes meeting his, cheeks dusted with pink. you were so cute like that… cuter than keria. 

“can i make it up to you?” he hummed, hands trailing to cup your face. 

“a kiss. and no flirting with others, even if it’s a cute guy” you pouted and wonwoo leaned, capturing your soft lips in a sweet kiss. 

before you had a chance to deepen the kiss, he leaned away with a small frown. 

“but you do admit he’s cute, right?” your fiancé asked and you smacked his chest lightly.

“i wish we could adopt him” you laughed, and a grin formed on wonwoo’s face. 

“i’m afraid he’s a little too old for that…'' hiding his face in your hair, you decided to wrap your arms around his waist. 

“he’s 21… still a baby…” you huffed and shortly after, the sound of your laughs mixed in harmony. you guessed you might forgive him, it wasn’t really serious in the first place. 

masterlist <3

taglist. @mirxzii ,, @primoppang ,, @l3visbby ,, @nicholasluvbot ,, @planetkiimchi ,, @weird-bookworm ,, @slytherinshua ,, @kazmura ,, @laylasbunbunny ,, @mon2sunjinsuver,, @eternalgyu ,, @rubywonu ,, @haecien ,,@mine-gyu ,, @nonononranghaee

[kissbyoon]

— “dreamy & loving”

wc: 0.6k ★ est. rs, fluff ★ a/n. rushed layout :((

You look at Wonwoo, who is sleeping peacefully with you wrapped in his embrace. His features are beyond description; they are so perfect.

The way his face rests peacefully while his lips form a slight pout. The way his fluffy hair falls on his face. He looks so adorable.

You run a finger lightly down his jaw, noticing how flawless it is.

“It tickles,” Wonwoo whispers in his sleepy voice, causing you to startle. With a gentle smile, he slowly rubs his eyes before laying his eyes on your flustered face. “Did I startle you?”

“I thought you were asleep…” You mumble, mentally cursing at yourself for waking him up.

Wonwoo scoots closer to you and tightens his grip around your waist. “You're not asleep too,”

“Did I wake you up?” You ask with a frown, earning a giggle from him. “Sorry…”

“Don't be,” with a tone laced with reassurance, Wonwoo gently pats your back and shakes his head. “I wasn't really sleeping anyway.”

Your cheeks turned pink and your eyes grew wide as you recalled how you had been giving him soft, gentle kisses across his face, only to find out he hadn't been asleep this whole time.

Wonwoo chuckled, his eyes half-lidded as he tucked a hair strand behind your ear.

“It felt nice,” with a subtle pink flush to his cheeks, he spoke.

“What—”

He interrupted, pecking the corner of your lips. “This.”

You blinked, your eyes meeting his. His eyes softened with the slightest hint of teasing, as he slipped a hand under your shirt, his warm hand resting on the side of your bare waist.

“Ah, and this too,” he added, laying his lips on the tip for your nose, leaving a lingering, soft peck there. He pulled away, flashing a lazy, but bright smile.

Your lips curved into a gentle smile, and your hands reached out to cup his cheeks. “You little sneaky, you were enjoying it, huh?”

He pulled you closer by the waist, his smile never leaving his face. “I'm just good at pretending,” with a giggle, he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

The way Wonwoo’s hair was a complete message, even though it hasn't even been two hours since you both got on bed to sleep, made him look so cute. Especially with that shy smile and his pink-dusted cheeks? Adorable.

“I know you wanted more kisses, but couldn't keep a straight face anymore.” You teased, causing him to lift his head to look at you. Giggling, you looked down at him, wiggling your eyebrows. “Isn't it?”

He shook his head with a straight face, but broke into a blushing mess when you leaned down to peck the tip of his nose.

Suddenly, he lifted himself on his elbow and stared at you with a sheepish look. “Well, you can continue doing that,” he says, shifting his position to lay on his back as he closes his eyes tightly.

“Do what?” you leaned forward, slightly hovering over him and looking at him with raised eyebrows. Wonwoo peaked through one of his eyes, pausing for a minute as you stared at him with a confused smile. He then puckered his lips, pointing with his fingers with his eyes shut closed again.

Finally understanding what he meant, you throw your head on his shoulder with a laugh. Wonwoo's body vibrated with giggles before you lifted yourself up and leaned down to close the gap between you two—pressing your lips against his in a soft motion.

Wonwoo’s hands instinctively reached out to rest on your back, followed by a smile forming on his lips just two seconds into the kiss—causing you to pause for a moment and lean back.

“Sorry, sorry,” he whispered with a wide grin, giggling at your flustered state. Gently resting one of his hands on the back of your neck, he pulled you in for another kiss.

Sometimes kisses shared between you two weren't always perfect and passionate. Sometimes, they are messy and filled with giggles and laughs—imperfect yet so dreamy and loving.

[thedensworld]

Now We're Swapping | j.ww

Pairing: Rich Kid Wonwoo x reader

Genre: College au!, Enemy to Lovers au!, Body Swapped au!

Type: fluff, hint angst, smut (mdni!)

Word Count: 18k

Summary: Wonwoo was waking up as his high school rival in one sudden morning. There were two things he could do, help you or turn your life into a miserable one.

Wonwoo experienced three bizarre things the moment he woke up:

1. He wasn’t in his soft, warm, and luxurious bed. In fact, he wasn’t even in his room. The second he opened his eyes, confusion struck him like a bolt of lightning. Instead of his familiar surroundings, he found himself lying on a rock-hard mattress in a room he had never seen before. His back ached from the uncomfortable bed, and the musty smell of old wood filled the air.

2. Before he could even process where he was, the door suddenly burst open, slamming against the wall with a loud bang. A woman, looking frantic and completely unbothered by the fact that he had just woken up, barged in and yelled at him. “Come on! Help me get the kids ready!” she snapped, her voice grating against his ears. Wonwoo flinched. The kids? Since when did he have kids to take care of? Even back at home, not a single staff member dared to wake him up so rudely, let alone order him around. But this woman? She had the audacity to yell at him as if she had been doing it for years.

3. It wasn’t until he was practically dragged out of bed, his body moving sluggishly with sleep still clinging to him, that the real shock hit him. Stumbling towards a mirror hanging on the wall, his bleary eyes landed on his own reflection—except it wasn’t his reflection. It was you. His heart plummeted into his stomach. He blinked. Once. Twice. He even rubbed his eyes, but nothing changed. It was your face staring back at him. No, wait! It wasn’t just your face—it was you. Or was it him? No! It was him, but in your body! No— Whatever! The details didn’t matter. What mattered was that he had somehow woken up as you!

Now, Wonwoo stood in the backyard of a place called Pristine Foster Home, feeling utterly lost. Wet blankets and bedsheets hung from the clothesline, swaying in the breeze, but he was too consumed by his own crisis to care. He tapped his foot anxiously against the ground, his fingers instinctively biting at his nails—a nervous habit he never realized you had. This can’t be happening. This is a nightmare.

Not only had he woken up as a girl, but to make things worse, he had woken up as you—his biggest rival for the upcoming university student presidential election next week. Before Wonwoo could fully process the madness of waking up as you, the woman—who everyone around here called Mrs. Kim—grabbed his wrist and dragged him away without a hint of hesitation.

“You! Front yard. Now. The donor is coming in two hours, and this place needs to be spotless!” she barked, barely giving him time to keep up with her fast-paced steps.

Wonwoo stumbled along, still disoriented, but before he could even protest, a broom was shoved into his hands, and Mrs. Kim disappeared just as quickly as she had appeared. He blinked down at the worn-out broom in his grasp.

What the hell was happening?

He huffed in frustration and, without a second thought, threw the broom aside the moment she was out of sight. His arms crossed over his chest, lips curling in irritation as his gaze swept across the yard. The place wasn’t even that messy. And more importantly—

“Why am I the only one working here?” he muttered under his breath, glaring at the empty yard. There were kids. Lots of them. Small, loud, and chaotic little kids running around, playing, laughing—doing everything except helping. Meanwhile, he—no, you—was here, being ordered around like some unpaid laborer.

A long sigh escaped his lips, carrying the weight of his rapidly declining mental state. He was exhausted, and he had barely even done anything yet. He pressed his fingers to his temple, trying to piece together the last thing he remembered.

He had gone home last night. That much was clear. After an intense strategic meeting at Mingyu’s place about how to crush you in the upcoming university election, he had ridden his bike home. He did have a beer—maybe two. But he wasn’t drunk. He swore he was completely sober when he got home.

And yet, here he was. Stuck in your body, in a place he had never been, surrounded by a bunch of kids and an overbearing woman yelling at him about cleaning. His head was starting to spin from the sheer absurdity of it all.

What kind of twisted nightmare was this?

Hours later, the children lined up neatly in the front yard, their chatter filling the air with restless energy. Wonwoo, on the other hand, was slumped on the front porch, exhausted and utterly out of place. He had barely caught his breath when, once again, Mrs. Kim grabbed him and dragged him forward, forcing him to join the group.

She clicked her tongue in disapproval, eyeing him—you—from head to toe. “You’re a mess,” she muttered. “You look filthy. You probably stink too, but there’s no time for a bath.”

Wonwoo barely had the energy to argue. His body—your body—was covered in sweat and dirt after hours of cleaning. His arms ached, his back was sore, and he was convinced he had never worked this hard in his life. And for what? To stand in a lineup like some kind of orphan?

“Now—Oh! They’re here! Let’s go.”

Mrs. Kim barely gave him a second to react before shoving him to the front of the group. Wonwoo stumbled forward, blinking in confusion as an expensive black car slowly rolled to a stop in front of them. His brows furrowed as he focused on the vehicle, a bad feeling creeping into his chest.

The driver stepped out first, closing the door behind him. Wonwoo’s blood ran cold.

“Oh no…” he muttered under his breath, his stomach twisting into knots. He knew this man. The driver stood tall, his expression neutral yet familiar, dressed in the usual black suit that Wonwoo had seen countless times before.

Don’t tell me the donor is…

Before he could finish his thought, the back doors of the car opened, and a well-dressed couple stepped out.

“Mr. Jeon! Mrs. Jeon! How are you? It’s very nice to meet you. It’s been a long time, right?” Mrs. Kim greeted them enthusiastically, her voice laced with respect.

Wonwoo’s entire body stiffened.

What in the actual universe was this?!

Standing before him were his parents.

Wonwoo froze as his mother approached him with a warm smile, her arms immediately wrapping around him in a tight embrace.

“Y/n… you’re beautiful,” she murmured, pulling back slightly to cup his—your—cheek. “How are you, honey? I heard you joined the election for university student president. I wish you the best of luck!”

His entire body went rigid.

It wasn’t just the hug that caught him off guard—it was the way she spoke. So soft, so affectionate, her voice practically dripping with warmth. His mother had never spoken to him like that before. And now, she was looking at him—at you—with so much fondness that it made his stomach churn with unease.

Before he could even process her words, his father stepped up beside them. Unlike his mother’s overwhelming affection, his father’s greeting was simple yet firm as he gave Wonwoo a friendly pat on the shoulder.

“Good job, Y/n. I heard you’re ranked second in your school.”

Wonwoo nearly scoffed. Of course, you’re second. Living in a foster home, faking a high-maintenance life while studying at an Ivy League university—you’d have to be at the top to keep up. But there was something about the way his father said it that irked him.

Second place. And who was first? Wasn’t it him? The top student? Before he could dwell on it any further, he felt Mrs. Kim’s sharp gaze on him. Her eyes flickered between him and his parents, silently sending him glances—no, warnings. Her expression screamed at him to stay in line, to play along.

Play along with what?!

Before he could figure it out, his mother suddenly took his arm, her fingers latching onto his wrist as she led him forward, her voice full of excitement. “Come, let’s take a look around!” The entire group started moving for a home tour, but Wonwoo was barely keeping up. His mind was still spinning, drowning in confusion, when a voice snapped him out of his daze.

Mr. Jung, the driver, leaned in and whispered something to his father.

His father’s expression darkened instantly.

“We need to go,” his father said abruptly, turning to his mother.

She blinked in surprise. “Why? What happened?”

“Our son is in the hospital. Bike accident.”

Wonwoo’s breath caught in his throat.

What?!

*

Now, thanks to the lie he had impulsively made earlier—saying he wanted to come with them to the hospital—everyone, or rather just his parents, would start thinking that you and he were close.

His mother’s fingers gently wrapped around his hand, her eyes filled with warmth as she asked, “You’re close with our Wonwoo?”

Wonwoo almost blurted out No way in hell! because, really, what kind of sick joke was this? He and you had been enemies since high school. Ever since you transferred in and started creeping up the academic ranks, toppling one student after another—except him. He had been the only one who managed to keep you from taking first place.

And now? Now, here he was. Sitting in front of a hospital room.

As his parents went inside to see their real son, Wonwoo sat stiffly in the hallway, his fingers absentmindedly tugging at the hem of the dress he was still wearing. Your dress. He hadn't even had the chance to change out of it—an old, faded yellow sleeping gown that was wrinkled from all the chaos he had been thrown into. His hair— your hair was probably a mess, sticking out in all directions, and worst of all… he reeked. The hours of chores he had done at the foster home had left him sweaty and grimy.

He sighed, rubbing his face with his hands.

What the hell is going on?

Before he could spiral any further, the door to the hospital room creaked open.

“Honey.”

He looked up to see his mother stepping out, his father following close behind.

“He wants to see you.” Wonwoo’s heart stilled.

Shit. Who the hell was he?

“Wonwoo… is that you?”

The voice sent a shiver down his spine. It was his voice—his own deep, familiar tone—but coming from the hospital bed in front of him.

Wonwoo hesitated before stepping closer, eyes narrowing as he took in the sight of his own body lying there. His forehead was bandaged, a clear sign of the accident, but everything else was exactly as he remembered.

His own face looked back at him with furrowed brows, filled with confusion. “Who are you?” Wonwoo asked, his voice laced with suspicion. He didn’t know what to expect—hell, nothing about this entire day made sense—but seeing himself awake and talking to him? This was beyond anything he could’ve ever imagined.

The person in his body blinked, hesitant before answering.

“I’m Y/n…” Your voice—his voice—sounded unsure, shaken. “Why am I here?”

Wonwoo let out a slow breath, crossing his arms over his chest. “Surprised you didn’t panic the moment you saw yourself talking to you,” he muttered, shaking his head. He honestly expected more screaming. Maybe some fainting. But here you were, surprisingly composed despite everything.

Your—his—eyes widened slightly, scanning the room before looking back at him. “What happened? Why… why am I you?”

Wonwoo scoffed, letting out a dry chuckle. “You think I know?” He met your gaze with an exasperated look. “I’m just as confused as you are, Ji Y/n. But whatever happened… we’ve switched.”

Silence filled the room as you stared at him, disbelief evident in your expression. And for the first time in his life, Wonwoo experienced the incredibly uncomfortable feeling of being stared at by himself.

It was unsettling. He shifted on his feet, looking away as he took a small step back.

You swallowed hard before finally speaking again, voice quieter this time. “How did this happen?”

Wonwoo sighed, running a hand through his—your—messy hair. “Same, Y/n… I’m asking too.”

A heavy silence settled between them. Wonwoo—stuck in your body—felt an itch in his brain, an urge to pace around the room in frustration, but he held himself still. Meanwhile, you, trapped in his body, were staring at your—his—hands, clenching and unclenching your fists as if trying to confirm this wasn’t just some fever dream.

“This has to be a nightmare,” you muttered, gripping the blanket draped over your lap. “A really weird, messed-up nightmare.”

Wonwoo sighed sharply, rubbing his temple. “I thought the same thing when I woke up in that damn foster home.”

At his words, you blinked, finally snapping your gaze up to meet his.

“The foster home… Pristine Foster Home?”

“Yeah.” Wonwoo let out a tired huff. “Woke up on some hard-ass mattress in a tiny room, got screamed at by a woman who made me do chores all morning, and then got dragged here because your—” He paused, correcting himself. “—my parents showed up as donors.”

Your expression darkened as you digested his words. “Mrs. Kim must’ve made you clean, didn’t she?”

“Front yard.”

You cringed. “Damn. That’s the worst one.”

Wonwoo scoffed. “Yeah, I figured.” He studied you carefully, watching as you pulled at the hospital blanket, your jaw tightening. “So? What happened to you? How the hell did you end up here?”

You let out a deep breath, shaking your head. “I don’t know. I remember going to bed last night like usual, and then… I woke up here. But obviously, it wasn’t me who got into that accident.”

Wonwoo frowned, trying to recall the events of last night. He had been at Mingyu’s house, strategizing ways to defeat you in the student election. He’d had a couple of beers, but he hadn’t been drunk. He clearly remembered riding home on his bike, arriving at his house, getting into bed…

And then waking up as you.

His fingers twitched as he crossed his arms again. “Nothing weird happened,” he muttered. “At least, nothing that explains this.”

You let out a tired groan, running a hand down your face. “This is insane.”

“No shit.”

Just then, the door to the hospital room creaked open, and both of you snapped your heads toward the entrance.

Wonwoo’s—your—parents stepped back in.

“Honey,” his mother—your mother now—spoke gently, a worried look on her face. “You must be tired. Why don’t you go home and rest?”

Wonwoo felt his pulse quicken. Home? As in your home? The foster home?

His father nodded in agreement. “Yes, dear. We can handle things here. You’ve done enough already.”

Done enough?! What had he done besides get thrown into this mess?

Before he could protest, his mother stepped forward, her hands reaching out to pat his cheek fondly. Wonwoo stiffened instantly. “You’ve always been such a hardworking girl,” she said softly. “It makes me so happy to see you and Wonwoo getting along.”

Wonwoo barely resisted the urge to grimace. He threw you a look, silently screaming, What the hell do I do?! You—trapped in his body—were no help. You simply stared at him, eyes wide, just as lost as he was. And just like that, Wonwoo realized something horrifying. Until they figured out how to switch back…

He was going to have to live as you.

*

Wonwoo stood frozen in front of the bathroom door, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. The old wooden door creaked slightly, the dim light from the hallway casting a shadow over the tiled floor inside. The thought of stepping in—of actually taking a bath—made his stomach twist uncomfortably.

Because that would mean undressing. Undressing your body. Absolutely not. There was no way in hell he was going to do that. He had morals. Standards. There were just some lines he refused to cross, and this was one of them.

But damn… his body—your body—felt disgusting. The grime from hours of chores clung to his skin. Sweat dried in uncomfortable places, making the oversized sleeping gown stick to him. His hair was an absolute mess, still tangled from the wind earlier, and he could smell the faint scent of dirt and soap from when he’d scrubbed the front yard clean.

Wonwoo groaned, running a hand through his—your—hair in frustration.

“What the hell am I supposed to do?” he muttered under his breath.

If he didn’t shower, he’d feel like this all night, and the thought of sleeping in this state made him want to scream. But if he did shower…

He shut his eyes tightly, cursing under his breath.This was hell. Just then, a loud knock on the door startled him.

“Hurry up in there! Other people need the bathroom too, you know!” Mrs. Kim’s sharp voice rang through the hallway, making Wonwoo jolt. He turned his head, glaring at the door.

“Alright, alright!” he snapped back, annoyed.

He exhaled slowly, trying to collect himself.

Fine. He wouldn’t do anything weird. He’d make this as quick and moral as possible. No unnecessary looking, no thinking too hard about it. Just in, out, and done.

Steeling himself, Wonwoo reached for the doorknob, swallowing hard before stepping inside. This was going to be the most uncomfortable bath of his life.

Wonwoo tried his best not to look. He focused on the feeling of the water against his skin, rubbing the soap over your—his—body as quickly as possible. The sooner this was over, the better. His movements were stiff, awkward, and mechanical. He kept his eyes trained on the tiles, avoiding even a glance downward. Just soap, rinse, and get out. That was the plan.

But then—

His hand ran over his back, and a sharp sting shot through him. Wonwoo froze.

What the hell?

His stomach churned at the thought.

Wonwoo quickly rinsed off and turned off the water. He grabbed a towel, drying off haphazardly before stepping out of the bathroom. The moment he found a small, cracked mirror in the hallway, he twisted his body, angling himself to get a look at his back.

Wonwoo’s breath hitched as he finally caught a glimpse of his—your—back in the cracked mirror. His brows furrowed, and his fingers twitched at his sides.

His chest tightened.

His mind raced as he tried to recall everything that had happened since he woke up in your body. Wonwoo gritted his teeth.

What the hell happened to you, Ji Y/n? And why did he have a bad feeling that this was just the beginning of something bigger?

*

Wonwoo stormed through the front doors of his house, shoulders tense as he stomped up the grand staircase. His whole body—your body—felt sore and exhausted from the insane day he'd just had. The security at the gate had nearly dragged him out, refusing to believe that the Ji Y/n in front of them was actually their young master, Jeon Wonwoo.

"You have no idea how much I had to beg the security to let me in," he grumbled as he yanked open the bedroom door, stepping inside with an annoyed scowl.

Inside, you—in his body—stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie. It was jarring, watching his own body move with hesitation, looking completely out of place in the very room he had lived in for years. The moment your eyes landed on him, your shoulders sagged in relief. "Finally—I thought you were never coming back."

Wonwoo scoffed, shutting the door behind him. "I thought I was never coming back. You think it’s easy walking into my mansion looking like you? The guards almost threw me out!"

"You live here," you shot back, exasperated. "You could’ve just walked in—why did you make this harder?"

Wonwoo gave you a deadpan look. "Oh, sure, let me just casually waltz in while looking like someone who doesn’t belong here. I looked like a lost delivery worker!" He threw his hands up, pacing the room. "Do you know how humiliating that was?"

Your frown deepened. "At least you weren’t forced to do laundry and yard work for an entire foster home full of children. Mrs. Kim practically used me as free labor."

Wonwoo turned to you, unimpressed. "Yeah? Well, I woke up in a hospital bed, covered in injuries, and had to sit through my own parents looking at me like I was their long-lost daughter."

Your mouth opened slightly, then shut. "…Touché."

Silence fell between you two, the weight of the situation settling in.

After a moment, Wonwoo groaned, rubbing his temples. "Alright. We need to figure out what the hell happened and how to fix it."

You nodded, though your expression was still tense. "Agreed. But where do we even start?"

Wonwoo exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. "Let’s think. What’s the last thing you remember before we… switched?"

Wonwoo leaned back against the headboard, arms crossed as his brows furrowed in frustration. No matter how much you both racked your brains, there was no logical explanation for why you'd switched bodies. There was no accident, no weird mystical event—just a normal night before waking up in each other’s skin.

"This is ridiculous," Wonwoo muttered, shaking his head. "It’s like some cheap fantasy movie plot, except it’s actually happening to us."

You sighed, rubbing your temples. "I know. And I hate to admit it, but I don’t think we’re going to figure this out tonight."

Wonwoo scoffed. "Yeah? Well, in the meantime, I’m not going back to that foster home and working my ass off like some unpaid worker." He turned to you with a pointed look. "You call my parents. Tell them to let you stay here until we switch back."

Your eyebrows shot up. "What? Why me? That’s your job!"

"I can’t exactly call them in your voice and say, ‘Hey, I’m actually Wonwoo, let me stay at my mansion until further notice.’ They’ll think I’ve lost my mind."

You groaned, grabbing his phone from the nightstand. "Fine. But if they say no, you’re on your own."

Wonwoo smirked. "Trust me. My mom loves you. She won’t say no."

You stared at Wonwoo’s phone in your hands, your thumb hesitating over the contact labeled Mom. The plan was simple: call his parents, pretend to be him, and ask if you—which meant him in your body—could stay over until this mess was sorted out.

Easy, right?

Wrong.

You cleared your throat and pressed call. The phone barely rang twice before his mother answered, her voice warm yet slightly distracted. "Wonwoo? It’s late. What is it?"

You shot Wonwoo a look, and he gestured impatiently for you to just talk.

"Uh—yeah. Mom. I, uh, wanted to ask if Y/n could stay over for a few days?"

There was a beat of silence. Then she hummed, as if turning the idea over in her head. "Y/n?" she repeated, her voice carrying a hint of curiosity now. "Why?"

Your mouth opened, but no excuse came to mind. You hadn’t thought that far. You shot Wonwoo a desperate look, but he just folded his arms, watching in amusement.

The silence stretched, and then, to your horror, his mother let out a knowing sigh. "I see… So it’s like that."

Your brows furrowed. "Like what?"

"You finally brought a girl home."

Wonwoo choked.

You nearly dropped the phone. "Wait, what?"

"It’s fine, Wonwoo. You’re an adult. If you’re serious about this girl, I won’t say anything. Just make sure you’re being responsible."

Wonwoo was now aggressively shaking his head at you, mouthing fix it!, but you were too stunned to respond properly.

"Uh—yeah," you stammered, scrambling to end the conversation. "So… she can stay?"

His mother chuckled softly. "Of course. Have the staff set up a room for her. Your father and I will be out of town, but tell her she’s welcome."

And with that, the call ended.

You lowered the phone slowly, turning to Wonwoo with wide eyes.

"You finally brought a girl home?" you repeated in disbelief.

Wonwoo groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "This is a nightmare."

You stared at the phone in disbelief. "That’s it?"

Wonwoo let out a humorless chuckle. "What did you expect? A heartfelt conversation?" He snatched the phone from your hand and stuffed it in his pocket. "They’re barely home as it is. They probably don’t even care who stays over."

The bitterness in his voice didn’t go unnoticed.

You decided not to comment on it. Instead, you sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Well, at least that worked. Now get out of here before Mrs. Kim drags me—I mean, you—back inside for more chores."

Wonwoo groaned but grabbed his things and left.

As you settled into his massive, empty house, you couldn’t help but feel like it wasn’t much of a home at all.

*

The next morning, you both stood in front of Wonwoo’s sleek black car, staring at it like it was the final boss of this entire ridiculous situation. "You drive," you said, tossing him the keys. Wonwoo caught them but immediately scowled at you. "You drive. It’s my car."

You folded your arms. "I don’t even have a license, genius." His jaw clenched. He looked at the keys, then at the car, then at you—his own body. "You mean to tell me that after all the times you acted like you’re better than me, you can’t even drive?"

"Driving doesn’t determine intelligence, Jeon." You rolled your eyes. "Are we going to school or not?"

Grumbling, he unlocked the car and got into the driver’s seat. You slid into the passenger seat, watching with barely contained amusement as he adjusted everything—pushing the seat forward, adjusting the rearview mirror, lowering the steering wheel.

"This is so uncomfortable," he muttered, shifting in the seat. His knees were practically up to his chest. You smirked. "What? Is my body too small for your big manly car?"

Wonwoo shot you a glare before turning the ignition. The car rumbled to life, and he carefully pressed the gas pedal—only for the car to jerk forward suddenly, causing both of you to lurch.

"YAH!" you yelped, clutching the dashboard. "Are you trying to kill me—yourself—whatever?"

Wonwoo exhaled through his nose, gripping the steering wheel tighter. "Your legs are too damn short! I can’t feel the pedal properly!"

You laughed, shaking your head. "Now you know my struggles."

After a few more rough starts, Wonwoo finally managed to get the car moving smoothly. The drive to school was tense at first, but as he adjusted, his usual confidence returned. You, on the other hand, were dreading what was to come.

As soon as you arrived, all eyes would be on him—or rather, you. And there was nothing either of you could do about it. The night before, you and Wonwoo had spent hours sitting in his room, going over the rules of survival until you switched back.

1. Don’t tell anyone about the situation.

"Not even Mingyu?" you had asked.

"Especially not Mingyu," Wonwoo had deadpanned. "He’ll make this a circus."

2. Act normal, even to each other.

"You mean I have to be cold and unbothered like you?" you had teased.

"And I have to act like you?" Wonwoo had shot back. "All smiles and fake pleasantries? Great."

3. Avoid attention.

This one was the most important. The last thing either of you needed was people noticing something was off.

Now, standing at the entrance of the university, those rules felt like an impossible mission. You watched as Wonwoo—you—stepped out of the car, adjusting the oversized hoodie he had thrown on. It was strange seeing yourself through someone else’s eyes, and even weirder seeing how awkward he looked in your body.

"Stop slouching," you hissed under your breath. "I don’t walk like that." Wonwoo shot you a glare but straightened his posture. "And stop staring at your feet. It’s weird." With that, the two of you walked through campus, forcing yourselves to act normal. It was fine. Until the first person called your name.

"Y/n!"

You froze before realizing it wasn’t actually you they were calling—it was Wonwoo, in your body. Wonwoo sighed, forcing a smile that was so stiff it looked painful. "Uh… morning?"

Your friend frowned. "Are you okay? You sound weird."

You nearly facepalmed. Rule number two, idiot!

Wonwoo quickly cleared his throat and attempted to sound more like you. "I mean—uh, I’m fine! Just, um, tired!" He gave a thumbs-up that looked completely unnatural.

Your friend tilted their head but didn’t press further. You exhaled in relief, but it was short-lived. Because at that moment, the worst possible person appeared.

Mingyu.

And he was heading straight for you.

Mingyu approached with a wide grin, his usual energy radiating off him like a beacon. "Wonwoo! Y/n! What’s up?"

You barely had time to react before Mingyu threw an arm around your shoulders—except it wasn’t you, it was Wonwoo trapped in your body. Wonwoo went stiff immediately.

You saw it, the way his entire body tensed, the way his hands twitched like he wanted to shove Mingyu off but was holding back. You couldn’t blame him. You wouldn’t like Mingyu suddenly draping himself over you either. But—

"Are you okay?" Mingyu suddenly leaned down, squinting at Wonwoo’s face. "You look kinda… different today."

You nearly choked. Crap.

You forced a tight-lipped smile. "Haha. No, I’m good. Totally fine." You flinched at how unnatural that sounded.

Mingyu narrowed his eyes. "You sure? You don’t usually stand this stiff. And your voice sounds weird. And you—"

"He said he's fine," Wonwoo cut in, voice strained.

You quickly jumped in before Mingyu could keep interrogating. "Just tired. We were studying late last night."

Mingyu looked between the two of you, lips pursed. Then suddenly, his eyes widened. "Wait a second."

You both froze.

He pointed at the two of you. "Did something happen between you two?"

Wonwoo stiffened. "What?"

Mingyu gasped dramatically. "Are you two dating now?"

"WHAT?!" you both yelled in unison.

Mingyu took a step back, hands up in defense. "Geez! Sorry, it’s just—lately, you guys seem different. Studying together? Walking into campus together? Y/n’s acting weird, Wonwoo’s looking more tired than usual—it’s suspicious!"

Wonwoo turned to you with a glare, mouthing, Fix this.

You gritted your teeth before turning to Mingyu with a forced laugh. "No, no! We’re not dating. We just—uh—had to work on something together, that’s all!" Mingyu squinted at you—well, at Wonwoo’s body. “Work on what?”

“None of your business,” you snapped, crossing your arms. Mingyu blinked at your sharp tone but shrugged. “Okay, whatever. Anyway, why are you heading that way? Our class is upstairs.”

You froze for a split second. Right. You were supposed to have class with Mingyu—as Wonwoo. But out of habit, you had started walking toward your usual class instead.

Wonwoo, standing beside you in your body, subtly elbowed you. “Uh—he’s just, uh, walking me to class first,” he quickly interjected.

Mingyu’s brows furrowed as he looked between the two of you. “Since when do you do that?” You cleared your throat, trying to keep your expression neutral. “Since today. Got a problem?”

Mingyu narrowed his eyes. “Yeah, actually. That doesn’t sound like you at all.”

Wonwoo shot you a look, silently pleading with you to play it cool. Taking a deep breath, you forced a casual shrug. “I just felt like it. Can we go now?” Mingyu crossed his arms, clearly unconvinced. “Weird. Really weird.”

You resisted the urge to sigh. If Mingyu was already suspicious, keeping this switch a secret was going to be harder than you thought.

*

After surviving the day without slipping up—at least, not too badly—you and Wonwoo finally made it back home. The moment you stepped inside, you groaned, throwing yourself onto the couch while Wonwoo shut the door behind him.

"That was exhausting," you muttered, rubbing your temples. "Do you know how hard it is pretending to be you? You barely talk to anyone, but somehow people still pay attention to you."

Wonwoo scoffed, crossing his arms as he leaned against the wall. "And do you know how annoying it is to be you? Everyone just randomly talks to me, and I have to pretend I actually care about their gossip. Even your professors are so chatty. One of them asked me if I was doing okay in business class. Do you struggle that much?"

You glared at him. "Excuse me, but business studies is not my major. You expect me to be a genius at it?" Wonwoo shook his head before his gaze sharpened. "Speaking of weird conversations, what's up with Mingyu?"

You blinked. "What about him?"

"He’s too friendly with you. I didn’t know you were close," he said, narrowing his eyes slightly. You shrugged. "He's just been kind to me since senior high school."

Wonwoo frowned at that. "Why? You two don’t seem like the type to be friends."

You hesitated for a moment before sighing. "It’s... a long story. Back then, Mingyu was the first person to find out that I wasn't actually the child of some entertainment industry mogul like the rumors said. He was the only one who knew I was orphaned and living in a foster home."

Wonwoo stiffened slightly. He had never heard that before. He had always thought you were just naturally secretive and didn’t like discussing your personal life. But this—this was different.

He didn’t know why, but the thought of Mingyu knowing something so personal about you before him left a strange feeling in his chest.

Wonwoo sat down across from you, his expression unreadable. "So… you grew up in a foster home. How did that happen?"

You sighed, leaning back against the couch. "I was placed there when I was a kid. I don’t remember much about my parents—just bits and pieces. They passed away when I was young, and after that, I ended up in Pristine Foster Home."

He nodded slowly, absorbing the information. "And school? Our school isn’t exactly easy to get into. How did you afford it?" A small, almost ironic smile tugged at your lips. "Your mother."

Wonwoo blinked. "What?"

"Your mother," you repeated. "Mrs. Jeon. She’s one of the biggest donors for Pristine Foster Home. Every year, she funds scholarships for students with high academic potential. I was one of the kids who got lucky."

For the first time, Wonwoo was at a loss for words. His mother? The same woman who barely had time for her own son had been funding your education all this time?

"You… never told anyone?" he asked after a moment. You shrugged. "Why would I? People already made enough assumptions about me. If they found out the truth, I’d just become a pity case. Besides, it’s not like your mom personally chose me. I was just another name on the scholarship list."

Wonwoo was still trying to process this new information. He had spent years seeing you as a rival, someone always on his heels, challenging his top position. But now, for the first time, he saw you in a different light.

"So all this time," he muttered, "you were working twice as hard just to stay in school."

You huffed a quiet laugh. "More than twice, actually."

He didn't know why, but something about that unsettled him.

*

The days went by with both of you struggling to adapt to each other’s lives while keeping up the act. The campaign phase for the student president selection had officially started, and since you were both candidates, you agreed to stay professional about it.

"Don't play dirty," you both promised.

That meant being responsible for each other's campaigns. If someone asked you about Wonwoo’s stance on school policies, he had to answer correctly. If someone questioned him about your plans for student well-being, you had to handle it.

There were three candidates in total. Wonwoo—the top student, known for his intelligence and efficiency. You—the representative of female students, admired for both brains and beauty. And Seungcheol—the rich, well-connected candidate who could probably win just by flashing his wealth.

“You’re acting weird,” Mingyu said, narrowing his eyes at you—or rather, at Wonwoo’s body, which meant he was technically squinting at him. You, stuck in his body, stiffened. “What do you mean?”

Mingyu tilted his head, studying him. “You’re being… polite. Too polite. Wonwoo, you usually glare at everyone, but today? You literally smiled at Soonyoung when he called you ‘princess.’” You, sitting in Wonwoo’s body, internally cringed. Right. You had forgotten about that.

Meanwhile, Wonwoo was struggling just as much to keep up with your usual attitude.

“Y/n, are you okay?” one of your classmates asked, frowning as they observed Wonwoo’s body. “You’ve been acting so… serious today.”

Wonwoo barely looked up from the book in front of him. “I’m fine.”

She stared at him, unconvinced. “Uh… you didn’t even whine about how boring today’s lesson is.”

He cursed internally. Right. You always complained about morning classes.

“I’m… trying to be a better student,” he muttered.

She gave a slow nod, still eyeing him suspiciously.

It wasn’t just your friends who were growing suspicious. Professors had started noticing the odd behavior, too. You had always been confident in subjects like marketing and communication, but the moment you sat in Wonwoo’s business economics class, you knew you were doomed.

“Mr. Jeon,” the professor called out, peering at you over his glasses. “Could you summarize the concept of supply and demand in market equilibrium?”

Your mind went blank. Market equilibrium?

You hesitated, scanning the board for hints, but nothing made sense. Silence stretched across the room. The professor raised an eyebrow.

“Uh… equilibrium… is when things are equal…?” you blurted out.

The entire class turned to stare at you in horror. Even Mingyu, sitting beside you, looked concerned. The professor let out a long sigh. “Mr. Jeon, I expected better from you.”

Meanwhile, Wonwoo was having an equally hard time in your marketing class.

“Miss Ji,” the professor called. “Could you give an example of a successful emotional branding strategy?”

Wonwoo froze. Emotional branding? He knew numbers. He knew statistics. But marketing?

“Uh…” He cleared his throat. “Emotional branding is… when a brand… makes people emotional?”

The professor’s expression remained unreadable. Wonwoo held his breath. “…Technically not wrong,” the professor finally said. “But please elaborate next time.”

Wonwoo exhaled in relief, but he could still feel the judgmental stares of your classmates. Keeping up appearances was exhausting.

You had to remember to act cold, distant, and borderline unapproachable. Every time someone approached you—well, Wonwoo’s body—you had to force yourself not to smile too much.

When you accidentally giggled at a joke Seungkwan made during lunch, he nearly choked on his drink.

“Whoa. Wonwoo, you laughed?”

You immediately straightened your face. “No, I didn’t.”

Seungkwan’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, you did. That was a full-on giggle.”

Meanwhile, Wonwoo was struggling with the opposite problem.

He had to force himself to be approachable. Smile more. Nod during small talk. When someone complimented you on your campaign, he barely responded before remembering that you were supposed to be charismatic.

“Ah… yeah. Thank you,” he muttered awkwardly.

The girl who had complimented you blinked. “Uh… you’re welcome?”

It was painfully obvious something was off.

But despite the challenges, Wonwoo started thinking.

There was an opportunity here.

If he was in your body… and people naturally liked you… then why not use that to his advantage?

You had a way with people. Students admired you. If he played this correctly, he could subtly steer people toward supporting his campaign—without outright sabotaging yours.

It wasn’t cheating.

It was just… strategic use of circumstances.

Sitting in the cafeteria, he overheard a group of students discussing the election. Some were loyal to Seungcheol because of his family’s wealth. Some admired your leadership. But a few were still undecided, considering Wonwoo’s intelligence but unsure about his approachability.

“If only Wonwoo was a little more… open,” one student mused.

“Yeah, he’s brilliant, but he’s kinda cold,” another agreed.

Wonwoo’s lips curled slightly. An opportunity.

The next time he (in your body) spoke to people, he made subtle shifts in conversation.

“Wonwoo’s been under so much pressure lately,” he said casually.

“You know, he doesn’t show it, but he really cares about the school.”

“He’s just not the type to express it openly, but he’s been working hard behind the scenes.”

He didn’t need to lie. He just needed to frame the truth in a way that made people sympathetic.

If students thought he (as himself) was struggling under pressure, they might rally behind him. They might see him as someone deserving of their votes.

And the best part?

No one would suspect manipulation.

Wonwoo adjusted the strap of your bag on his shoulder, casually strolling through the hallway while eavesdropping on conversations. He was getting better at this. Being in your body had its advantages—people naturally gravitated toward you. They trusted you. They listened to you.

So why not use that to his advantage?

As the election campaign heated up, students began discussing the candidates more openly. Seungcheol was securing votes through his endless connections, practically drowning the school in expensive flyers and promotional videos. Meanwhile, your campaign was gaining momentum thanks to your charisma, intelligence, and undeniable appeal.

But Wonwoo?

People respected him but hesitated to support him because of his reserved nature. He needed to change that perception—without breaking his promise to you about playing fair.

So, he started subtly influencing opinions.

During lunch, he sat with a group of students he knew were undecided. He (in your body) let out a sigh, tilting his head thoughtfully.

"You know, Wonwoo doesn’t really show it, but he’s been so dedicated to this campaign," he mused.

A girl across the table looked up. "Really?"

Wonwoo (as you) nodded. "Yeah. I think people misunderstand him. He’s just not the type to brag about his efforts. But I know for a fact that he’s been working late nights planning policies for the school. He doesn’t just want the title—he actually wants to make changes."

Another student leaned in, interested. "I always thought he was a bit distant. Like, he doesn’t really care about people."

Wonwoo let out a small, knowing smile. "That’s not true at all. He’s just not good at expressing it. But if you really talk to him, you’ll see how much he genuinely wants what’s best for the school."

Hook. Line. Sinker.

The students exchanged glances, suddenly reconsidering their stance.

Wonwoo wasn’t lying. He had been working hard, and he did care. But he knew that if he had tried to say all of this in his own body, people would just assume he was defending himself.

But coming from you? Someone they trusted and admired?

It felt genuine.

He kept this strategy up, slipping subtle remarks into conversations, framing his strengths in a way that didn’t sound forced.

At the library, when a group of students discussed who they should vote for, he (as you) casually said,

"Honestly, Wonwoo is the only one who’s actually proposing policies based on data instead of just saying what people want to hear."

At a student council meeting, when people debated about which candidate had the best leadership skills, he (as you) shrugged, "Wonwoo may not talk much, but he’s the most capable. He’s been top of his class for years. If anyone can handle responsibilities, it’s him."

And it worked.

Slowly but surely, more students began considering Wonwoo as a serious contender.

Of course, he had to be careful not to overdo it. If you suddenly became too much of a Wonwoo supporter, people might get suspicious.

So, every now and then, he would slip in a neutral or positive remark about you as well, just to balance things out.

"Y/n is amazing, though. She’s got that natural leadership aura."

"I think between Y/n and Wonwoo, we’d be in good hands either way."

Seungcheol was still dominating with his flashy campaign, but now?

Wonwoo had momentum.

*

Meanwhile, you were starting to notice something was off. At the end of the day, you crossed your arms, watching Wonwoo—well, your body—scribbling something in your campaign notes.

"Why do I feel like you’ve been too invested in my popularity?" you mused, raising an eyebrow.

Wonwoo barely looked up. "I have no idea what you’re talking about." You narrowed your eyes. "Wonwoo."

He sighed, closing the notebook. "Look, I’m just… taking advantage of an opportunity. It’s not cheating—I’m just rebranding myself a little."

"Rebranding?" you repeated, appalled. "You’re using my face to market yourself!"

He leaned back against the chair. "Technically, I’m not lying about anything. I am working hard. I do have solid policies. People just… needed a little push to see that."

You groaned, running a hand through your hair—well, his hair. "I knew I shouldn’t have trusted you."

Wonwoo smirked. "Oh, please. You promised we’d be fair to each other. I never said I wouldn’t be smart about it."

You scoffed, muttering under your breath. "I hate you."

"That’s unfortunate," he said, flipping open your campaign notes again, "because I think I really like being you."

A week.

It had been a week of waking up in Wonwoo’s body, wearing his oversized clothes, walking around with his permanently unimpressed face, and trying to keep up with his ridiculous level of intelligence in class.

You were exhausted.

If this continued any longer, you were going to need therapy.

Wonwoo, sitting on his bed (in your body), smirked. "Oh? Having a hard time living as me?"

You shot him a glare. "You live like this every day? No offense, but it sucks."

"None taken," he said easily. "I’m used to it."

You groaned again, burying your face in your arms. "At this point, I’m just praying we switch back before I completely lose my mind."

Wonwoo hummed, flipping through his phone. "Well, at least you don’t have to deal with your own expenses anymore."

You lifted your head. "Huh?"

He smirked. "I checked your bank balance, Y/n. You’re broke. You can’t even afford new panties."

Your face burned in embarrassment. "Excuse me?!"

Wonwoo laughed, shaking his head. "Relax, I didn’t actually look. But seriously, where does all your money go? I heard my mom has been funding you for years, so what are you spending it on?"

Your expression darkened, but you didn’t answer.

Wonwoo noticed the shift in your demeanor and frowned slightly. "Hey—"

The two of you froze the moment you heard sounds.

Wonwoo’s parents were home.

His mother was sitting in the living room, casually sipping tea, while his father was reading the newspaper. They looked up simultaneously, eyes landing on you first.

"Oh, Y/n," his mother greeted warmly, setting her cup down. "You’re two home already."

Wonwoo—inside your body—stiffened beside you.

You, standing in his body, forced a polite nod. "Uh… yeah. Classes ended a little early today."

His mother smiled. "That’s good. Come, sit down. I was just about to ask chef to prepare some snacks."

Your heart pounded. You had interacted with Wonwoo’s mother plenty of times before, but never while pretending to be her son. One wrong move, and she would know something was off.

You shot a quick glance at Wonwoo, silently screaming, What do I do?!

He only shrugged. Figure it out.

You resisted the urge to strangle him.

His father, who had been silent up until now, finally spoke. "Wonwoo, I heard you’ve been doing well in the election campaign."

You tensed. "Uh… yeah. I guess so."

He nodded approvingly. "Good. If you want to take over the family business one day, this is a good step toward leadership."

You nearly choked. Take over the family business?!

You hadn’t even considered that part of being in Wonwoo’s body.

Meanwhile, Wonwoo, still in your body, sat stiffly on the couch, looking incredibly awkward. You could tell he was doing his best not to react too much.

His mother turned to him. "Y/n, dear, how has Wonwoo been treating you?"

Wonwoo snapped out of his daze. "Huh?"

She smiled gently. "You know, since you’ve been staying here. Has he been a good host?"

Wonwoo blinked. Then, ever so slowly, he smirked.

"Oh, he’s been great," he said smoothly. "Super considerate. Always making sure I’m comfortable. Really making my stay… interesting."

Your eye twitched.

His mother beamed. "That’s wonderful! I always tell him to be more thoughtful toward others."

You clenched your fists. I am going to kill him.

His father, however, was more focused on you. "Wonwoo, I heard you had an important presentation in class today. How did it go?"

Your soul left your body.

Presentation?!

You turned slightly to Wonwoo, panic written all over your face.

He smirked again, clearly enjoying your suffering.

You were so screwed.

*

Dinner with the Jeons was awkward.

You had eaten with his family before, but this time, it felt different. Because this time, you were him. Wonwoo—trapped in your body—sat stiffly across from you, barely touching his food. He was oddly silent, his usual sharp remarks absent. It was almost as if he wasn’t the son of this house at all.

Meanwhile, you tried your best to act like a son. You engaged in small talk with his mother, attempting to mirror the way a child might converse with a parent.

His mother, elegant and poised as ever, seemed pleased by your effort. You knew her well—after all, she had been funding you since junior high school. Yet, you had never had the chance to sit this close, to talk to her as though you belonged at this table.

It felt foreign.

The clinking of silverware against porcelain filled the silence between occasional remarks. Then, just as you were starting to relax, a phone rang.

His mother glanced at the caller ID. "Oh… why is Mrs. Kim calling?"

You froze.

Wonwoo saw the way your shoulders tensed, how your grip on the chopsticks tightened.

Mrs. Kim.

Why was she calling?

Wonwoo felt his own chest tighten with something uncomfortable. It was strange—seeing his own body react so visibly to that name.

He swallowed.

No.

Not in a quadrillion years would he go back to that place. That stinky foster home. That cramped space filled with too many kids, too little food, and too much responsibility.

He refused.

He stared at his mother as she stood up and stepped away from the dining table to take the call, her voice soft yet unreadable.

The seconds dragged on.

Neither of you spoke, but the air in the room had shifted.

When his mother finally returned to her seat, something was different. Her expression wasn’t as lighthearted as before.

She placed her napkin down carefully, looking directly at Wonwoo—who was still in your body.

"Y/n," she said gently, her tone firm yet concerned. "Tell me the truth."

Your stomach twisted.

She folded her hands together. "Why have you been staying here for a week?" A pause. "Be honest."

Wonwoo turned to look at you, his throat tightening.

You looked back at him, equally frozen.

The two of you, sitting in each other’s bodies, mirrored each other’s nervousness so perfectly that if anyone had been watching closely, they might have noticed something was wrong.

You could feel your pulse in your ears. His mother’s eyes were sharp, expectant, waiting for an answer you weren’t sure how to give.

Wonwoo—trapped in your body—swallowed hard. His mind raced for an explanation, something that would make sense. But every possible response felt weak under the weight of his mother’s gaze.

You, meanwhile, could feel your palms sweating.

His mother’s gaze didn’t waver.

“Mrs. Kim said you ran away from the foster home after stealing her money.”

"No, she didn't steal anything."

His mother’s gaze snapped toward Wonwoo—toward you. “Do you know something, Wonwoo?”

You hesitated, words catching in the throat. You wanted to say something, but how much could you actually say? His mother didn’t know the truth about the switch, and if you weren't careful, things could get worse.

"I mean..." You started, choosing your words carefully. "Mrs. Kim never really liked her. She's probably just trying to make her look bad so she can take her back."

His mother frowned. "Is that true, Y/n? Mrs. Kim is lying?"

Wonwoo—you—tensed.

You swallowed hard, fingers curling into the fabric of your sleeves. You couldn’t say it outright. You couldn’t risk making things worse. But at the same time, you didn’t want to go back.

"Mrs. Kim..." You shifted in your seat. "She’s never been very fond of her. She always saw her as a burden. And, well..." You forced a weak chuckle. "Let’s just say she has her own way of handling things."

His mother’s expression darkened slightly. "What do you mean?"

You glanced at Wonwoo, at your own face, searching for some kind of lifeline. Wonwoo was watching you closely, his lips pressed in a tight line.

"I—" You exhaled. "There was something more complex and Y/n couldn't just explain it to you."

Silence hung in the air for a beat too long. His mother’s gaze was unreadable, but there was a flicker of something in her eyes—concern? Realization?

Wonwoo—inside your body—shifted uncomfortably, gripping the hem of his sweater. He had never thought about what your life was like before. But now, watching you struggle to speak about it, he felt something churn in his gut.

"Mrs. Kim said she wants you to come back," his mother said, her tone quieter now. "If what you're saying is true, then tell me—do you want to go back?"

You inhaled sharply.

And for the first time since the switch, Wonwoo saw something in your eyes that he wasn’t sure he had ever seen before.

Fear.

*

Wonwoo, still trapped in your body, stepped into his own bedroom. It felt strange, standing there as someone else—seeing his familiar space from a different perspective. Normally, this was where he slept, but since his parents were home, he had to take the guest room. The one you usually stayed in.

Leaning against the doorframe, he folded his arms and watched you—watched himself—working on a marketing project. He hated marketing. He hated everything about it. But he knew you were doing it for him, for the presentation he had to give in front of your class tomorrow.

"About earlier…" he started, his voice quieter than before.

You didn't look up, fingers continuing to type away on the laptop.

"Is it true Mrs. Kim doesn’t like you?"

The sound of your typing stuttered for a second. Wonwoo caught the slight pause before you resumed.

"You can be honest with me, you know," he pressed, stepping further into the room. "I mean… I deserve to know. Since I’m you at the moment."

Still, you didn't answer. Your expression remained focused, determinedly avoiding his gaze.

Wonwoo exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. His voice dropped slightly.

"Is she the one who gave you that wound on your back?"

This time, you finally looked at him.

Your eyes were unreadable.

Wonwoo felt something uneasy settle in his chest. He had never thought about where the scar had come from. He had seen it, felt the sting of it when he moved, but he hadn’t questioned it. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to.

"Is it true?" he asked again, voice firmer now. "She hit you?"

You lowered your gaze.

For a moment, there was only silence.

Then, you nodded.

"I’m sorry that you had to bear that."

Wonwoo swallowed. His hands curled into fists at his sides, but he forced himself to stay composed.

He shrugged, as if trying to make light of the weight in his chest, and walked toward the bed. "The staff helped me with ointment. She asked if you had been hit by someone. Like… physically abused."

You didn’t respond right away, but your silence spoke louder than words.

Wonwoo sat on the edge of the bed, staring at his own reflection in the mirror across the room.

He thought about Mrs. Kim. About what kind of person she really was.

And for the first time since this whole body-swapping nightmare began…

He realized that maybe, just maybe, there were worse things than waking up in someone else’s life.

Like living in a life you never chose… and having no way out.

"Let me see… How bad is it?"

You stood from your seat and turned to him. Wonwoo, still in your body, looked up from the bed, brows raised in alarm.

"What?"

You blinked. "Let me see."

A heat crept up his face. "No!" His hands shot up defensively, arms crossed over his chest as if shielding himself.

You rolled your eyes—his eyes. "That’s my body, technically."

"And you’ll be looking at it with my eyes," Wonwoo argued, scooting a little further away from where you stood, hands still up in defense.

"As if you’ve never touched my boobs during a shower," you shot back, unimpressed.

Wonwoo gasped, scandalized. "I’ve been very careful and respectful, for your information," he retorted, voice full of righteous indignation. He narrowed his eyes at you. "And I’d appreciate it if you did the same for mine."

You snorted. "No, seriously, let me see. I don’t remember getting one on my back."

Before Wonwoo could protest again, you turned him around—your own body—and lifted the hem of his shirt.

He let out a sharp squeal, but you ignored it, your attention now focused on the sight before you.

The bruises were in various stages of healing—some faded, others still dark and angry-looking. A deep blue one spread across the lower part of your back, as if someone had struck you with full force. You hadn’t even realized how bad it was. Seeing it now, so clearly, made something inside you twist.

"That’s… brutal," you muttered. It was the first time you had seen the extent of the damage, the history of pain that had accumulated over the years in that foster home.

Wonwoo quickly yanked the shirt back down and turned to face you, his expression serious. "Is Mrs. Kim the one behind all of them?" His voice had lost its teasing edge, replaced by something far heavier—concern, maybe even anger.

You hesitated.

"It’s… a punishment. Everyone got that. I just got a lot more than the others." You took a deep breath.

"Why?"

You shrugged. "I lived there the longest. No one adopted me, so I stayed there for years."

Wonwoo blinked, trying to process that. You had endured this for years? His mind reeled.

"But my mom…"

You shook your head, gaze dropping to the floor. "She just funded me."

It was true—Wonwoo’s mother had funded your education, sending you to an elite private high school and later helping you get into an Ivy League university. But no one ever knew where you came from. Your background had been carefully concealed, your identity kept a secret.

And yet, despite all those privileges, Mrs. Kim had never let you leave the foster home. It was only later that you realized why. The money meant for you had never truly been yours—it had gone straight into her personal bank account. She had given you just enough to cover small personal expenses, but nothing close to what a college student actually needed.

In return, she had assigned you to endless chores, justifying it by saying she had raised you. The truth, however, was much simpler. No one had adopted you, not because they didn’t want to, but because she had made sure of it. You had been nothing more than a source of steady income to her.

Wonwoo exhaled, rubbing his temples. "I don’t want to go back," he muttered. His voice was quieter now, but the weight of his words was undeniable. "It was only a day. But it felt like a day in hell."

You looked at him for a long moment before stepping closer, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"I’ll talk to your parents," you promised. "I’ll make sure you can stay here until we swap back. Don’t worry."

Wonwoo stared at you, still in his body, before nodding. For once, he didn’t argue.

*

You knocked on Wonwoo’s bedroom door Monday morning, already irritated. Both of you had class in an hour, and since he had to drive, he needed to wake up. Now.

"Wonwoo, get up!" you called, knocking harder. Silence.

With a sigh, you pushed the door open—only to find him curled up in a tight fetal position, clutching his stomach like he’d just been mortally wounded.

You blinked. "What are you doing?"

He barely lifted his head. "Dying."

It took you exactly three seconds to realize what was happening.

Your period was coming.

You bit your lip, trying not to laugh. "Ohhh. So, how’s it feel?"

"How’s it feel?!" Wonwoo wheezed, shifting slightly—only to immediately wince and curl up tighter. "I feel like someone’s wringing out my insides like a soaked rag while kicking my spine. This is inhumane. You live like this?!"

You shrugged. "Every month."

"Every month?! This happens every month?! For how long?!"

"About five days."

"Five—" He buried his face into the pillow and groaned loudly. "I can’t do this. I can’t live like this. How do women even function? How do you go to school, work, BREATHE?"

"You get used to it." You rolled your eyes before getting a small heating pad packet you’d picked up from the convenience store few days ago, tossing it onto the bed. "Here. Stick this on your stomach."

He eyed it suspiciously. "What is this?"

"A heat patch. It’ll help with the cramps."

He struggled to sit up, tearing open the packet with shaking hands before slapping the patch onto his lower stomach. A few seconds later, he exhaled in relief, sinking back onto the bed. "Oh. Oh, that’s—" He let out a soft, almost embarrassing noise. "Nice."

You raised an eyebrow. "Did you just moan?"

"Shut up."

You snickered before heading for the door. "I’ll get you some painkillers. You have ten minutes before I drag you out of bed."

"I’m not gonna make it," he groaned, dramatically throwing an arm over his face. "Just leave me here to die."

You smirked. "Get up, or I’ll make your body buy pads in broad daylight."

His eyes snapped open in pure terror.

You had never seen him sit up so fast.

As the day went on, the pain dulled to a manageable ache, but Wonwoo was still visibly uncomfortable. He kept shifting in his seat, frowning every few minutes, and muttering curses under his breath. At one point, he glared at you as if this was somehow your fault.

By the evening, his parents were preparing to leave the city again. The two of you stood at the entrance, watching as his father loaded their luggage into the car. His mother straightened Wonwoo’s—your—collar before stepping back with a warm smile.

"Take care of yourself, Y/n. And you too, Wonwoo. Don’t forget to review those documents I sent over for your internship."

His father adjusted his watch and turned to you—well, to Wonwoo. "We’ll talk more when I’m back, but I trust you’ll take this internship seriously. It’s time for you to step up."

You blinked. What internship?

Your head snapped toward Wonwoo—who was standing beside you in your body—only to see him freeze like a deer caught in headlights. His wide eyes screamed I forgot to tell you about this.

"Uh..." You cleared your throat, trying to keep your expression neutral. "Right. Of course."

Wonwoo's father nodded approvingly. "Good. This is an important step. You’ll be working directly with the executive team to prepare for your role in the company."

Your role? What role?

You stole another glance at Wonwoo, your face silently asking What the hell is he talking about?

Wonwoo, in your body, gave you a strained smile and the tiniest shake of his head, as if saying, Later. Just nod and agree.

So you did. Hesitantly. "Yeah. Got it."

His father clapped a hand on your shoulder, almost knocking the air out of you. "That’s what I like to hear. Make me proud."

You forced a smile, though internally, you were screaming.

After a few more goodbyes, his parents got into the car and drove away. The moment they were out of sight, you turned to Wonwoo, arms crossed.

"What. Internship."

Wonwoo groaned, rubbing his temples. "God, I was hoping you wouldn’t hear that."

"Well, I did. And now you’re gonna explain."

"It’s just some stupid business internship," he muttered, looking anywhere but at you.

"Business internship? You mean, for your family business?"

He shot you an unimpressed look. "No, for the bakery down the street. Yes, for my family business."

Your jaw nearly dropped. "You’re supposed to be the heir?"

He rolled his eyes. "Apparently."

"Since when?"

"Since I was born," he said bitterly. "They never pushed too hard before, but now that I’m getting older, they think it’s time I 'step up' and 'fulfill my role.'" He made exaggerated air quotes. "It’s stupid."

You frowned, watching him closely. He wasn’t just annoyed—he looked exhausted.

"You don’t want to do it," you said quietly.

"No, I don’t. But they don’t care what I want." He scoffed. "It doesn’t matter that I hate it. That I want to do something else. All that matters is that I have their last name and was born first."

For the first time since the swap, you saw something vulnerable beneath his usual sarcasm. It made your chest tighten a little.

You hesitated before saying, "Then why don’t you just... refuse?"

He let out a dry laugh. "You think it’s that easy?"

"I think you should at least try to talk to them."

He sighed, shaking his head. "It’s not that simple, Y/n."

Maybe it wasn’t. But the way his shoulders slumped made you think that, for a long time, he had felt trapped. And no matter how much he acted like it didn’t bother him, deep down, it did.

"What do you want to do then?" you asked, settling onto his bed.

The two of you had just finished gathering your things—his things, technically—since his parents were gone and it was time to return to your designated rooms.

Wonwoo leaned back against the headboard, arms crossed. "Journalism."

Your brow lifted in surprise. "I remember you were in the journalism club back in high school."

"Yeah."

A memory resurfaced, making you smirk. "You wrote an entire article about me beating you in chemistry and taking first place. Called me a 'lucky fluke.'"

Wonwoo let out a small chuckle. "I was very bitter about that."

"You were such a sore loser."

He scoffed. "I had a reputation to uphold!"

You laughed. "Right, right. And now, look at you. So mature."

He sighed dramatically. "Yeah... I’ve grown a lot."

You gave him a skeptical look.

"I mean," he continued, "I’m literally experiencing a period right now. That has to count for something."

Your lips twitched. "Oh, of course. Nothing says personal growth like surviving cramps."

He nodded solemnly. "I have transcended. I'm practically enlightened."

You rolled your eyes but couldn't stop yourself from laughing. "Idiot."

You leaned back on your elbows, tilting your head as you looked at him. "By the way, why did you even run for student president?"

Wonwoo exhaled through his nose, crossing his arms. "I needed influence."

You blinked. "What?"

He shrugged. "Connections. A reputation. If I ever wanted to pursue journalism seriously, I needed to build a name for myself early on."

You stared at him for a second before bursting into laughter. "Oh my God, you sound like a villain setting up a master plan."

Wonwoo rolled his eyes. "It’s called thinking ahead. You wouldn’t understand."

"Oh, I wouldn’t understand?" You scoffed, sitting up straighter. "Alright, then why do you think I ran for student president?"

He tilted his head, thinking for a moment before shrugging. "For the experience?"

You shook your head.

"To put on your resume?"

Another shake.

He frowned. "To prove you’re better than me?"

You smirked but shook your head again. "Nope. I needed a place to stay."

Wonwoo’s frown deepened. "What do you mean?"

You inhaled before answering. "The student president gets a free dorm on campus. I needed a way out of the foster home, and that was my best shot."

Wonwoo went quiet, his gaze searching yours as if piecing together things he hadn't realized before. "You… ran because you needed housing?"

You nodded. "Yeah. Mrs. Kim never planned on letting me move out. The only way I could leave was if I had a legitimate reason that even she couldn't argue against. A free dorm with full coverage? She couldn’t say no to that."

He was silent for a long moment before muttering, "Damn."

You chuckled, but there was no humor in it. "Not all of us can afford to run for power moves, Mr. Influence."

Wonwoo sighed, rubbing his face. "I really had no idea…"

"It’s fine," you said, waving it off. "I made it out, didn’t I?"

He looked at you, expression unreadable. Then, with a small huff, he muttered, "I still think my reason was cooler."

You threw a pillow at him.

*

The presidential election had finally concluded, and to your surprise, your votes ranked in the top two alongside Seungcheol. The final results hadn’t been announced yet, but sitting in the driver’s seat, Wonwoo was already sulking like a kid who dropped his ice cream.

"Seungcheol has a lot of influence, you know," you said, trying to lift his mood as you buckled your seatbelt.

Wonwoo huffed, arms crossed. "Yeah, yeah. He’s charismatic, well-connected, and has professors wrapped around his finger. We get it."

You smirked. "Sounds like you’re a big fan."

He shot you a glare. "I'm not. I just don't like losing."

"You made it to the top two. That’s not losing."

"It’s not winning either," he grumbled, resting his chin on the steering wheel. "I had a plan. I worked hard. I even made small talk with people, and you know how much I hate that."

You chuckled. "Oh no, not small talk. The ultimate sacrifice."

Wonwoo groaned, tilting his head back against the headrest. "You don’t get it. I needed this. Influence is important."

You grinned. "Yeah, tell me. I was just trying to get a dorm."

Wonwoo let out a long sigh, starting the car. "Well, at least if you win, I'll be stuck in power with someone who won’t make my life hell."

You laughed. "Aww, is that your way of saying you trust me?"

He clicked his tongue, pretending to focus on the road. "No. It’s my way of saying I don’t trust Seungcheol."

"Right, right," you teased. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, Mr. Almost-President."

Wonwoo’s phone—well, technically, your phone—buzzed on the dashboard. He glanced at the screen, then at you, hesitating.

"It's my mom."

Wonwoo's grip on the phone lingered even after the call ended, his mind racing. His mother had sounded calm, but he knew her well enough to recognize when she was holding something back.

"She knows," he said suddenly, breaking the silence.

You blinked, lifting your gaze to meet his. "What?"

"My mom—she knows what Mrs. Kim has been doing to you."

Your breath hitched. "How?"

Wonwoo hesitated. He hadn’t told you yet, but when he had been in your body, experiencing firsthand the bruises, the way your muscles flinched at sudden movements, the way Mrs. Kim had spoken to him—he hadn’t been able to keep it to himself. He had confided in his mother, unable to hold back his anger.

"I told her," he admitted, watching your reaction carefully. "When I was in your body, I couldn’t just ignore it. She knew something was wrong, and I… I told her everything."

You stared at him, emotions flickering across your face—shock, confusion, and something else, something raw.

"She’s getting the police involved," Wonwoo continued. "She already contacted them, and they’re starting an investigation."

You swallowed hard, the weight of his words pressing down on you. "An investigation?"

He nodded. "We’re not letting her get away with this."

For the first time, real hope flickered in your eyes, but there was also hesitation. "But… she’s always covered her tracks. She’ll deny everything."

"She can try," Wonwoo said firmly. "But I already went for a visum et repertum."

Your eyes widened. "You what?"

"A forensic medical exam," he explained. "To document the bruises, the scars—everything she did to you." His jaw clenched. "I needed proof. And now we have it."

You sat there in stunned silence, struggling to process it all.

"Wonwoo, you—"

"She’s not laying another hand on you," he said, his voice low but unwavering. "Not now, not ever."

Your fingers curled into your lap, emotions overwhelming you. You had spent so many years believing no one would ever step in, that no one would ever truly see what was happening behind closed doors.

But Wonwoo had. And he wasn’t backing down.

Tears pricked at your eyes, but you blinked them away, forcing out a small, shaky laugh. "You really went and did all that?"

He gave a half-smile, shrugging. "Yeah, well… I might have a soft spot for you."

That startled a genuine laugh out of you, light and breathless.

For the first time in a long time, you felt something unfamiliar creeping into your chest—something warm. Something safe.

Maybe, just maybe, this nightmare was finally coming to an end.

*

Wonwoo stood beside his mother, his heart pounding in his chest as the police officer laid out the results of the investigation. He glanced at you—his own body—sitting stiffly beside him, hands clenched into fists. He could see the tension in your posture, the way your shoulders barely moved with your breathing. He understood why. Every word the officer spoke only made the weight in his stomach sink deeper.

"Tonight, we will take Mrs. Kim into custody," the officer stated firmly. "We've gathered substantial evidence, including records showing she registered life insurance policies for over ten children under her care. One of them was a boy who died from hypothermia."

Wonwoo felt a sharp chill crawl up his spine. "Hypothermia?" he repeated, his voice coming out in your tone.

The officer nodded grimly. "She drowned him," he clarified, sliding a file onto the coffee table. "The forensic reports prove it. The original findings were covered up, but we managed to recover them."

A nauseating feeling twisted in his gut. He had suspected Mrs. Kim was cruel, but this… this was beyond anything he had imagined. He turned his gaze toward you—you were staring at the photos in the file, your expression blank, but he knew you well enough to see the terror hiding beneath it.

His mother, who had been listening quietly until now, suddenly stiffened. Her sharp eyes locked onto one of the documents in the officer’s hand. She reached for it, flipping through the pages before pausing.

Then she froze.

"There's your name," she murmured, glancing at him.

Wonwoo leaned forward, eyes scanning the document. It was an insurance registration. The name on it was yours.

"She took out a policy on you six months ago," the officer confirmed.

His breath caught in his throat. He turned to look at you again, and for the first time since this nightmare began, he saw pure fear in your eyes.

His jaw clenched as his mother exhaled sharply, gripping the paper tightly. "She was planning to..," he said, his voice dark with anger.

His mother closed her eyes briefly before fixing the officer with a hardened gaze. "She won’t get away with this, will she?"

The officer shook his head. "No. We have enough evidence now to ensure she faces the full weight of the law."

Silence settled over the room like a suffocating fog. Wonwoo’s mother slowly reached for your hand—his hand—and squeezed it gently.

"You're safe now," she whispered.

*

The news came late at night. Mrs. Kim had been arrested. The police had raided the foster home, taking her into custody without incident. The children had been removed from the house, placed under temporary care while they underwent medical check-ups and psychological evaluations.

You sat in Wonwoo’s room—his real room, not the shared space in the foster home—legs tucked under you as you stared blankly at the floor. It still didn’t feel real. After years of suffering, years of thinking no one would ever come to help, it was over. Mrs. Kim was gone.

Wonwoo—still in your body—watched you carefully from across the room. He could see the exhaustion in your posture, the way your fingers trembled slightly as you held onto the blanket draped over your lap. You had barely spoken since the police update.

"You should sleep," he said softly.

You exhaled a small laugh, shaking your head. "I don’t think I can."

Silence settled between you. Then, after a moment, you looked up at him, your expression unreadable.

"Thank you," you said, voice quiet but steady.

Wonwoo blinked. "For what?"

You let out a breath, searching for the right words. "If it weren’t for you… none of this would’ve happened. Mrs. Kim would still be out there. The kids would still be suffering. I—" You paused, looking down at your hands. "I might not even be alive."

The weight of your words hit him hard. He didn’t know what to say. Instead, he just stared at you, watching as the tension in your shoulders slowly unraveled.

"You didn’t have to help me," you continued. "But you did. You fought for me when I couldn’t fight for myself."

Wonwoo swallowed, something heavy settling in his chest. "You deserved it," he said simply.

You met his eyes, and for the first time since this nightmare began, you felt something close to relief.

"Yeah," you murmured. "I think… I’m finally starting to believe that."

Wonwoo, still in your body, moved to your side, his expression unreadable. Before you could say anything, he pulled you into his arms. The embrace was firm, grounding, and for a moment, you forgot about the weight of everything that had happened.

You stiffened slightly at first—it was strange, feeling your own body hold you—but the warmth of his touch, the steady rhythm of his breathing, made it easier to let go. Slowly, you relaxed against him.

"You’re safe now," he murmured. "It’s over."

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his—your—shirt. "It doesn’t feel real."

"I know," Wonwoo said, his grip tightening just a little. "But it is."

Silence settled between you, thick with everything unspoken. The weight of the past few days, of the fear, the uncertainty, the fight—it all hung in the air. But underneath it, there was relief.

Wonwoo pulled back just enough to meet your eyes. Even though he was in your body, the concern in his gaze was entirely his. "If I hadn’t gotten there in time—" He shook his head, exhaling sharply. "I don’t even want to think about it."

"But you did," you reminded him, offering a small, tired smile. "You saved me. And not just me—all the kids in that house. If it weren’t for you, they’d still be suffering."

Wonwoo’s grip on you tightened for a moment before he finally nodded. "Yeah. I guess we saved them together."

He watched your eyes and hesitated, his grip on you loosening just slightly, but he didn’t pull away completely. His eyes flickered to your lips for just a second before he caught himself, shaking his head as if to clear his thoughts.

You noticed.

Before you could overthink it, you leaned in, pressing a soft, fleeting kiss against his lips—a mere brush, a hesitation wrapped in warmth. It was barely anything, just a peck, but the way Wonwoo froze made your heart race.

When you pulled back, his eyes widened, lips parted as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t quite find the words. You stepped back slightly, giving him space, but the air between you had changed.

"What was that?" he finally asked, voice quiet.

You swallowed, suddenly unsure. "I… don’t know."

A beat of silence.

"We were enemies, right?" Wonwoo said, his brows furrowing in thought. "Back in high school, we couldn’t stand each other."

You let out a small, breathless laugh. "Yeah, I guess we were."

"But then… somehow, we became friends," he continued, his voice softer now. "I don’t even know when that happened."

You met his gaze, something unspoken lingering between you. "And now?"

Wonwoo didn’t answer right away. He lifted a hand as if he wanted to reach for you but hesitated at the last second. Instead, he exhaled, shaking his head with a small, almost amused smile.

"I have no idea," he admitted. "What are we now?"

You didn’t have an answer either. But as you looked at him—at the way he was watching you, searching for something—maybe that was okay. Maybe you’d figure it out together.

*

The morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow across the room. You shifted slightly, feeling warmth against you—an arm draped loosely around your waist, a steady heartbeat beneath your cheek.

For a moment, you didn’t think much of it. It felt natural, comfortable. The exhaustion from the past few days had melted into this quiet moment of peace.

Then it hit you.

You shot up, your eyes widening as you took in the sight in front of you. Wonwoo was still half-asleep, his hair a mess, eyes barely open as he blinked up at you in confusion. But that wasn’t what made your breath catch.

It was him. His face. His body.

And then you looked down at yourself.

Your hands—your hands—small, familiar. You touched your face, feeling the features you had grown up with.

Panic and realization hit at the same time.

"Wonwoo," you gasped.

At the sound of his name, he frowned, groggy, his voice rough from sleep. "What?"

You grabbed his shoulders, shaking him slightly. "We—"

Then his eyes widened, fully waking up as he sat up abruptly. His hands darted to his own face, his own chest. He looked at you, then at himself, then back at you again.

"We’re back," he breathed.

You both stared at each other, the weight of everything crashing down. The confusion, the fear, the chaos of switching lives—it was over.

A mix of emotions swirled inside you. Relief. Disbelief. Maybe even… a little sadness?

Somehow, in all of this, you and Wonwoo had gone from being enemies, to reluctant allies, to something more. And now, back in your own bodies, you weren’t sure what came next.

"You were cuddling me," Wonwoo suddenly pointed out, a smirk creeping onto his lips.

Your face heated instantly. "You were cuddling me!"

He hummed, stretching lazily. "I don’t remember pushing you away."

"Ugh, you’re insufferable."

But there was no real bite behind your words. You were too relieved, too overwhelmed, and maybe even… a little happy.

Because somehow, through all of this, you had found him.

*

You moved out as soon as Seungcheol, the newly elected student president, handed you a key after pulling some strings to secure you a free room in the student dorm. It was a relief—a chance to finally breathe on your own, away from the chaos of the past few months.

"Don't forget, you owe me," he said, a smirk playing on his lips as he twirled the keyring around his finger like some grand prize. He was clearly enjoying this.

You rolled your eyes but snatched the key from his hand anyway. "Aye aye, captain," you muttered, stuffing it into your pocket.

Seungcheol chuckled, leaning lazily against the doorframe. "Oh, and your boyfriend—think he’d be interested in filling the media and advocacy position?"

You froze mid-step, your fingers tightening around the key. "He's not my boyfriend," you shot back, a little sharper than intended. Heat crept up your neck, and you hated how easily he could fluster you with just a few words.

Seungcheol’s brow arched, clearly unimpressed by your denial. "Don't lie to me. You think I didn’t notice how often you talked him up during the campaign?"

You scoffed, turning the key in the lock just for something to do. "I wasn’t talking him up."

"Really?" His smirk widened. "So saying he's ‘sharp, capable, and annoyingly good at everything’ was criticism?"

You opened your mouth to argue, but the words caught in your throat as realization dawned on you. It wasn’t you who had said those things about Wonwoo. It was him, using your body.

That little—

Your jaw tightened, a wave of embarrassment washing over you. The thought of Wonwoo casually praising himself while pretending to be you made you want to throw something. Of course, he had made you sound like his biggest fan.

You exhaled sharply, deciding this was a battle for another day. "I’ll ask him," you muttered, pushing open the door to your new dorm.

"Good," Seungcheol said, straightening up. "And let me know when you two finally admit you’re together."

"Seungcheol—"

"See you at the next meeting, Madam Secretary," he called over his shoulder, throwing you a knowing wink before strolling off down the hallway.

You groaned, running a hand down your face as you glared at the empty space where he had just stood. Annoying.

With a sigh, you stepped inside your new dorm room, shutting the door behind you. The silence was almost deafening compared to the whirlwind of everything that had happened recently. You glanced down at the key in your palm, feeling the weight of it.

A new beginning. A fresh start.

But somehow, you had the feeling that no matter what, Wonwoo was going to be right in the middle of it all.

Just like now, the tall boy was sitting on the floor, unboxing your books and carefully placing them on the shelves. The only sound in the room was the occasional hum from your lips—a rare moment of quiet between the two of you. It struck you as odd.

Wonwoo was never this silent around you.

You turned, only to catch him flipping through one of your books. But from the worn-out cover and the way his brows slightly raised in interest, you knew exactly what it was.

Your high school diary.

Your stomach dropped.

In a flash, you slid across the floor to his side, reaching for the book, but he was faster. With a teasing smirk, he turned his body away, holding it just out of your reach as he continued reading like he wasn’t blatantly invading your privacy.

"That's my diary, Wonwoo," you hissed, stretching to snatch it from his grasp.

"As if I hadn’t literally lived in that body of yours," he quipped, his smirk widening.

You huffed, crossing your arms in frustration. You honestly didn’t even remember what you had written in that diary—probably a bunch of pointless high school drama and petty complaints about your elite private school.

That is, until he read one line aloud.

"Mingyu is annoyingly kind and smart for the rich kids."

You groaned, immediately burying your face in your hands. "Please stop."

Wonwoo chuckled, clearly enjoying himself as he leaned back against the bed. "And he's handsome too, I guess. You like Mingyu?!"

"Past tense," you muttered, peeking at him between your fingers. "And honestly, who didn’t back in high school?"

His amusement lingered as he continued flipping through the pages, but then, without warning, his smile faded.

He stilled.

His brows furrowed.

When he finally looked at you, there was something unreadable in his expression. "It was intentional?"

Your breath hitched at the shift in his tone. "What?"

Before you could grab the diary, he turned it around so you could see the passage.

And then, it hit you.

The memory resurfaced instantly—the day you had scribbled those frustrated words after an exam. The day you had deliberately answered one question wrong just to land in second place.

Wonwoo’s voice was quieter this time. "My father asked you to do that?"

His eyes scanned your face, searching for confirmation, as he tried to process what he had just read.

Your fingers curled tightly around the diary as you exhaled, leaning back against the bed. There was no point in hiding it now—not when he had already read the truth for himself.

"It was to secure my scholarship," you admitted, your voice quieter than before.

Wonwoo's brows remained furrowed, his hands tightening slightly around the book. "What?"

You swallowed, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. "Your father... he told Mrs. Kim that I was never to step into your level—meaning the highest I was allowed to place was second."

The words hung heavy in the air, thick with unspoken resentment and long-buried frustration.

Wonwoo’s jaw tensed. "He told you that?"

"Not directly. Mrs. Kim did," you clarified, gripping the diary a little tighter. "She said it was a condition. That as long as I stayed beneath you, I could keep my scholarship. My tuition would stay covered, my future secured—as long as I didn’t outshine you."

Wonwoo stared at you, and for the first time since you met him, there was no teasing, no sarcasm, no sharp-witted remarks. Just silence.

He wasn’t even looking at the diary anymore. His gaze was locked onto you, his expression unreadable.

"You were forced to stay second place," he finally said, his voice almost detached, like he was still trying to wrap his head around it.

You shrugged, forcing a small, bitter smile. "It wasn't that hard. You were better than me, anyway."

"That's not the point," he snapped, the sudden edge in his voice making you blink. He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair before shaking his head. "That’s why you never challenged me, isn’t it? Why you never tried to win?"

You hesitated before nodding. "Would it have mattered?"

Wonwoo let out a humorless chuckle, but there was no amusement in his eyes. "And here I thought you just enjoyed losing to me."

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. "Yeah, because that sounds like something I’d do."

He didn’t laugh. He didn’t even smirk.

Instead, he stared at you like he was seeing you in an entirely different light.

Like he was starting to understand something he never had before.

Wonwoo let out a deep breath, his gaze dropping to the diary still clutched in your hands. His fingers twitched, like he wanted to reach for it again—but instead, he just sat there, staring at nothing in particular.

Then, to your surprise, he laughed. A quiet, almost disbelieving sound.

"Wow," he murmured, shaking his head. "So all this time... you were holding back for me."

You frowned. "Not for you—"

"Still," he cut in, finally lifting his gaze to meet yours. "You let me win. Over and over. You fed my ego for years."

You didn’t know what to say to that. Was he mad? Annoyed?

But then he exhaled, running a hand through his hair, and you saw something unexpected in his expression.

"Thank you."

You blinked. "What?"

"Thank you," he repeated, his voice softer this time. "For letting me think I was the best. For... making me feel like I was good at something."

There was no sarcasm. No teasing. Just a raw honesty that made your chest tighten.

"I didn’t do it for you," you muttered, looking away.

"I know." He tilted his head slightly, watching you. "But you still did."

You let out a breath, shaking your head. "Why are you even thanking me? It’s not like I had a choice."

Wonwoo leaned back against the bed, his expression unreadable. "Because if you hadn't, I probably would've lost my mind."

You frowned.

"My dad—he always expected me to be the best. Not just in school, but in everything." He let out a small, humorless laugh. "And I wasn’t. I knew I wasn’t. But the scores? The rankings? That was the only thing that made me feel like I was good enough. Like I actually deserved something."

You stared at him, the weight of his words settling in.

"You have no idea how badly I needed that validation," he admitted. "How badly I needed to believe I was the best at something. Even if it was fake."

You swallowed. You had never thought of it that way before. You had always seen Wonwoo as someone untouchable—smart, capable, and always one step ahead of you. But now, sitting here, hearing him admit that he needed to win...

He wasn’t as untouchable as you thought.

"You weren’t bad, you know," you said after a moment. "Even without me holding back, you probably still would’ve beaten me."

He let out a breathy chuckle, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Maybe. But at least now I know the truth."

Silence settled between you, heavy and unspoken.

You sighed, shifting so you were fully facing him. Wonwoo had always carried himself like he had everything under control, like he never wavered. But now, sitting here, you could see the cracks in that image—the weight of expectations, the pressure he had put on himself for years.

"You don’t have to be the best at everything, you know," you said quietly.

Wonwoo looked at you, surprised by your words.

"You’re already smart," you continued. "Responsible. Honest to a fault." You hesitated before adding, "You even helped me with Mrs. Kim when you didn’t have to."

His brows furrowed slightly. "That doesn’t mean—"

"You could’ve caused trouble while you were in my body," you cut him off. "You could’ve made my life a mess, done things just to spite me. But you didn’t. You helped me. You took care of things. That says more about you than any stupid ranking ever could."

Wonwoo didn’t respond right away, his expression unreadable. You weren’t sure if he was actually listening or if he was just waiting for you to stop talking. But then, after a long pause, he let out a quiet chuckle.

"So you’re saying I’m a good person?"

You rolled your eyes. "I’m saying you don’t have to prove that you are. You already are. And that’s enough."

Wonwoo blinked, like he didn’t quite know what to do with your words. Then, slowly, a small, almost shy smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

"That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me."

You scoffed, nudging his arm. "Don’t get used to it."

But the warmth in his gaze lingered, and for the first time, you saw him believe it.

Wonwoo let out a small laugh, shaking his head. "You know, if this were some kind of cliché moment in a movie, you’d kiss me right now. Like last time."

You snorted, crossing your arms. "Oh, please."

But his words triggered a memory—the last time your lips met.

"Besides," you added, tilting your head at him, "I technically didn’t kiss you last time. It was more like a peck. And even then, it wasn’t me kissing you—it was me in your body, so it was your lips touching mine."

Wonwoo smirked, leaning in slightly. "Sounds like a lot of excuses."

Before you could roll your eyes again, he reached for your wrist, pulling you just close enough that your breath hitched. His gaze flickered to your lips for just a second before he murmured,

"Let’s fix that, then."

And before you could even think of a response, he closed the distance, pressing his lips against yours.

This time, it wasn’t just a peck.

*

Wonwoo sat stiffly across from his father, unsure why he had been called to this unexpected meeting. His father, always composed and stern, sipped his tea before finally setting the cup down with a decisive clink.

"I’ve been thinking," his father began, his deep voice carrying an unusual softness, "about your future."

Wonwoo’s shoulders tensed. He was ready for another lecture, another reminder of his predetermined path. But then—

"I’ve decided," his father continued, "that if you truly want to pursue journalism, you have my support."

Wonwoo blinked. He must have misheard. His father? Supporting his dream?

His father adjusted his glasses, tapping a finger against the table. "I read your work—the articles, the essays, the investigative pieces you’ve written over the years. There’s potential, Wonwoo. Real potential. I wasn’t convinced before, but now…" He exhaled, looking directly at his son. "I see it."

Wonwoo’s mind raced. How did his father—?

Then his eyes flicked to his laptop sitting on the desk nearby. A strange feeling gnawed at him. Slowly, he reached for it, opening his email.

His inbox showed a long thread between him and his father—except… he didn’t remember sending these.

Clicking through, his breath caught. Attached were all the articles, drafts, and opinion pieces he had ever written, even the ones he had abandoned, perfectly formatted and sent with a professional, persuasive message:

"Father, I know journalism wasn’t the future you envisioned for me, but writing has always been my passion. I hope you can see the effort I’ve put into it. All I ask is for you to read and reconsider. If there’s any part of you that believes in me, please support this dream."

The email was formal, respectful—something Wonwoo would never have dared to send himself.

Because he didn’t send it.

Realization struck.

You.

While you were in his body, you had gathered every piece of writing he had ever done and sent it to his father, pushing for the approval he had been too afraid to ask for himself.

A lump formed in his throat.

"You…" Wonwoo murmured under his breath, still staring at the screen. His heart pounded, caught between disbelief and something else—something warm, something deep.

His father took another sip of tea. "I’m ready to support you, son. If this is what you want, you don’t have to fight for it alone."

Wonwoo swallowed, his grip tightening around the laptop. His lips parted, but no words came out.

Because for the first time in his life, he realized—

Someone had fought for him first.

*

Years later, Wonwoo came home to find you curled up on the couch, absentmindedly flipping through TV channels. The familiar sight of you—your hair messy, your legs tucked under a blanket—made something in his chest unclench. Without a word, he let his tired body collapse onto you, his arms wrapping around your waist as he buried his face in your stomach.

You huffed at the sudden weight but didn’t push him away. Instead, your fingers instinctively found their way into his hair, gently brushing through the strands.

"I'm so tired," he mumbled, his voice muffled against your shirt.

You chuckled, feeling the vibration of his words against you. "Journalism finally hit you?"

Wonwoo groaned dramatically before shifting, propping himself up just enough to look at you. "My senior is evil. How could he make us stay in the police station for two days?"

Your brows raised. "Got any news?"

He sighed, shaking his head before letting his head fall onto your lap, his face turned toward you. His dark eyes studied your features, the corners of his lips tugging into something softer, something unspoken.

"And I missed you," he murmured.

You rolled your eyes, though your fingers never stopped their soothing motions through his hair. "You're so dramatic."

"Am I?" He smirked lazily. "You should've seen how miserable I was without you."

You scoffed, pretending to ignore the way your heart fluttered at his words. It had taken months—months of stolen kisses, secret touches, and endless bickering—before the two of you had finally admitted what everyone else had seen from the start.

Mingyu, fed up with your ridiculous denial, had finally intervened. And by "intervened," it meant shoving you and Wonwoo into a closet during a party and refusing to let you out until you confessed your feelings. It was a long, messy story—one that involved a lot of yelling, some threats, and a victorious Mingyu grinning like a proud matchmaker.

And yet, it had worked.

Now, here you were, years later, with Wonwoo sprawled across you like he belonged there. Because, in a way, he did.

"You’re such a baby," you teased, lightly flicking his forehead.

He caught your hand before you could pull away, intertwining his fingers with yours. "Only for you."

You felt it before you saw it—the subtle shift in the way Wonwoo’s fingers curled around yours, the slow, deliberate drag of his thumb against your palm. His other hand, which had been resting idly on your waist, started to move, fingertips tracing light, teasing patterns over the fabric of your shirt.

Your breath hitched when he pressed a little firmer, his touch no longer innocent, no longer just an affectionate gesture.

"Wonwoo," you murmured, though it came out softer than intended, barely a warning.

His lips twitched, eyes flicking up to yours, dark and knowing. "What?" he asked, voice low, lazy, but there was something else there too—something heavier, something that made your stomach flip.

"You’re tired," you pointed out, though even to your own ears, it sounded like a weak excuse.

Wonwoo hummed, shifting slightly until he was lying on his side, one arm draped around your waist, the other still tangled with your fingers. "Yeah," he agreed, nuzzling into your stomach. "But I still missed you."

You swallowed when his nose brushed against the hem of your shirt, the warmth of his breath ghosting over your skin. His fingers slipped under the fabric, skimming your hip before sliding up, slow and unhurried.

Your skin prickled under his touch, and he must've felt your reaction because his smirk deepened.

"Wonwoo," you tried again, but this time, your voice betrayed you, dipping into something breathier, something more wanting.

"Hmm?" He looked up at you, feigning innocence, but the way his fingers flexed against your waist, the way his lips barely brushed against your stomach before pulling back—it was anything but innocent.

Your fingers twitched in his hair, torn between pulling him away and pulling him closer.

And from the way his smirk widened, you had a feeling he already knew which one you were leaning toward.

You sucked in a breath when Wonwoo’s fingers trailed lower, his touch lazy, teasing, like he had all the time in the world. His palm skimmed over your thigh, fingertips pressing just enough to make you shiver. His head remained on your lap, but his eyes were locked on yours, watching every little reaction.

"You're really not going to stop me, huh?" he murmured, amusement lacing his tone.

Your fingers curled in his hair, torn between pulling him away and keeping him right where he was. "Wonwoo," you whispered, though you weren’t sure if it was meant to stop him or encourage him.

He chuckled, the deep sound vibrating through you, before his fingers slipped just a little further, skimming over the waistband of your shorts. Your breath stuttered, body tensing in anticipation.

"You’re so easy to tease," he mused, his lips curving as he pressed a kiss to your stomach.

You swatted at his shoulder, though there was no real strength behind it. "You’re impossible."

"And yet, you still let me touch you."

His fingers flexed again, just a whisper of movement against your skin, but enough to send a shiver down your spine. The heat in his gaze was unmistakable, and the air between you felt thick, charged.

Your lips parted to say something—maybe to challenge him, maybe to tell him to keep going—but before you could, his fingers dipped lower, making you gasp.

Wonwoo smirked, leaning in closer. "Yeah," he murmured, voice dark with satisfaction. "I thought so."

Wonwoo's fingers danced across your heated flesh, tracing the sensitive inner thighs, his touch both teasing and tantalizing. You parted your legs slightly, inviting him deeper into the haven of your intimacy. His calloused palm grazed the damp lace of your panties, the delicate material offering little barrier against the scorching heat of your core.

With a knowing smirk, Wonwoo hooked his fingers into the waistband of your underwear, slowly peeling them down your hips to reveal your glistening, needy center. He dipped a finger into the slick folds, gathering your essence and rubbing it along your throbbing clit in a deliberate rhythm.

"You're so wet for me already," he purred, his voice low and husky with desire. "Tell me, do you miss me as much as I miss you?"

The overwhelming ache within you demanded release, begging for Wonwoo's touch to quench the thirst that had built throughout the day apart. You nodded frantically, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you surrendered to the intensity of your longing.

"Yes, I miss you so much," You whimpered, arching into his skilled caresses. "Please, Wonwoo... I need you inside me."

At your plea, Wonwoo stood abruptly, scooping you effortlessly into his arms.

He carried you swiftly towards the bedroom, kicking the door shut behind you with a resolute click. Once there, he set you down on the edge of the bed, his dark eyes smoldering with unrestrained hunger as he shed the remainder of his clothes with swift, practiced movements.

"Nowhere else I'd rather be than right here, buried deep within your sweet heat," he declared, his rigid length jutting out prominently, aching to claim its rightful place inside you once again.

"I'm dying to taste you, sweetheart, but I can barely control myself." Wonwoo spat onto your dripping slit, the warm droplets mingling with your arousal. "Gotta get inside you, now."

He positioned himself at your entrance, the swollen head of his member nudging against your slick heat.

With a steady, controlled thrust, Wonwoo sheathed himself fully within you, his thickness stretching and filling you to the brim. He paused for a moment, allowing you to adjust to his size, before withdrawing until just the tip remained inside.

"Are you ready, baby?" he asked, his voice rough with restrained passion.

You nodded, your hips lifting eagerly to meet his next push forward.

Wonwoo's grip tightened on your hips as he began to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate, each stroke dragging out the pleasure until it bordered on agony. He leaned down, capturing your thing between his teeth, nibbling and suckling in time with his measured pace.

With agonizing slowness, Wonwoo continued to drive into you, each inch a tantalizing exploration of your innermost depths. His teeth grazed your thing, sending electric shocks straight to your core as his fingers found your sensitive clit, circling the tender bud with maddening gentleness.

"Wonwoo...Yes..." You whimpered, lost in the haze of pleasure, your nails digging into his back as you clung to him desperately.

Wonwoo's rhythmic strokes intensified, his hips undulating sensually against yours. Each deep, languid thrust seemed designed to unravel you from the inside out, his teasing touches driving you closer to the brink. Youwrithed beneath him, craving more of that exquisite friction, your cries escalating into urgent whimpers.

"Fuck, you feel incredible," he groaned, his voice strained with effort as he fought to maintain the torturously slow pace.

With a subtle shift in his tempo, Wonwoo picked up speed, the previously languid thrusts now becoming harder and faster. Your back arched off the bed as he pistoned into you with renewed vigor, the room echoing with the lewd sound of flesh meeting flesh.

"That's it, take it deeper," he encouraged, his hand tightening on your hip, urging you to meet his increasing fervor. "Let go, my love. I've got you."

With a sudden yank, Wonwoo hoisted you up, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he maintained eye contact. The new angle allowed him to sink even deeper inside, and you cried out at the delicious stretch.

"I want to look at you while I fill you up," he growled, his thumbs rubbing circles over yout hyper-sensitive clit as he pumped into you.

With each relentless thrust, Wonwoo could feel the telltale flutter of you impending orgasm building within me. Your walls clenched tighter around his throbbing length, drawing him impossibly deeper, and he knew you was teetering on the precipice.

"Don't hold back," he commanded gruffly, his own climax fast approaching. "Let go for me, my beautiful girl. I want to feel you shake apart.."

With increased urgency, Wonwoo slammed into you, the force of his thrusts nearly knocking the wind from you ungs. You inner muscles spasmed wildly as you reached the crest, wave after wave of intense pleasure crashing over me.

"Yes, yes, yes!" You screamed, your nails raking down his back as the most potent orgasm of yout life ripped through you.

...and then Wonwoo buried himself to the hilt, his cock pulsating violently as he reached his peak. With a guttural roar, he poured himself into you, flooding your spasming channel with his hot seed.

"P-pretty... fuck," he stuttered, his face contorting in blissful agony as he emptied himself inside you. His rhythmic spurts triggered aftershocks, each twitch of his still-hard member coaxing out lingering echoes of yout earlier climax.

With a contented sigh, Wonwoo collapsed onto you, your bodies still intimately entwined. Though he'd just delivered a mind-blowing orgasm, his exhaustion was palpable, making it clear he had no intention of withdrawing anytime soon.

"Mmm, too tired," he mumbled, his face nuzzling into the crook of my neck as he struggled to catch his breath.

*

A soft groan escaped your lips as you stirred from sleep, the lingering sensations of last night’s intimacy still fresh in your mind. Your body felt relaxed in the most satisfying way, every inch of you still attuned to Wonwoo’s touch. A small, pleased smile curved your lips as you felt the comforting warmth of him pressed against you, his solid form still nestled close, as if he had no intention of letting go.

"Morning, sunshine," you murmured sleepily, your voice laced with warmth and amusement. "Seems like you didn’t intend to let me go after all, did you?"

But the moment the words left your mouth, something felt off. The timbre of your voice—deeper, rougher—sent a jolt of confusion through you.

Your eyes snapped open.

Your breath hitched as you took in the unfamiliar sight of broad shoulders, long limbs, and the distinct weight of a body that wasn’t yours.

Panic set in.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, you looked down to the other side—only to find yourself staring at… yourself.

Wonwoo—trapped in your body—blinked at you sleepily, his own eyes widening in delayed realization.

Not again.

"Don't move…" Wonwoo groaned, his voice—your voice—strained as he let out a soft moan from the way your body tensed inside him.

His grip on your arm tightened as he exhaled sharply, frustration evident in the way his brows furrowed. "Shit… Does your body always ache this much after sex? Don’t move!" he snapped, his complaint sounding oddly amusing in your own voice.

You bit back a laugh, despite the absurdity of the situation. "I’m not doing anything," you said defensively, then motioned toward your member—his member—where the evidence of his current predicament was painfully obvious. "It’s working itself."

Wonwoo sighed in exasperation, dragging a hand down his—your—face. "Welcome to manhood," you added with a smirk.

His glare could’ve burned holes through you, but at that moment, all you could do was marvel at the sheer irony of it all.

The end:)

[imloyaltoscoups]

silver lining | jeon wonwoo

You barge into the living room, your eyes locking onto Wonwoo sitting comfortably on the couch, glasses perched on his nose. Without a word, you plopped down beside him, grinning mischievously.

“Wonwooo, look! Look!” you chirped, sticking out your tongue.

His gaze lazily shifted toward you. His eyebrows furrowed slightly as he took in the glint of the tongue piercing. Slowly, he removed his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“You disappeared for two fucking months,” he muttered, his tone laced with annoyance. “And this is what you come back with?”

“Tehee~” you giggled, playing with the piercing by swirling it around your teeth.

Wonwoo’s jaw tightened as he stared at you, clearly unimpressed. He reached out, squishing your cheeks with both hands, forcing your lips into a pout.

“This was the big surprise you wouldn’t shut up about?” he asked, his voice dropping an octave, a mix of irritation and something... else. His thumb brushed against your jawline, and his tone turned low and velvety. “You ghosted me for months. For this? For a fucking metal?”

“Mmmph!” You mumbled through his hold, your cheeks still squished. You managed to get out, “It needed time to heal!” You demonstrated by swirling the piercing again, the faint clicking sound audible.

Wonwoo’s eye twitched. “That’s your excuse?” His annoyance hadn’t faded, and suddenly, he leaned forward. “Let me see how healed it is, then.”

Before you could respond, his lips crashed onto yours, his movements firm and demanding. You gasped, startled, but he took full advantage, slipping his tongue past your lips. The sensation of him toying with the piercing sent jolts through you, leaving you breathless and pliant.

Your arms went slack as he deepened the kiss, his lips tugging slightly at yours before pulling back just enough to speak.

“Still dazed, huh?” he murmured, his thumb brushing over your lips, now slightly swollen. His eyes gleamed with mischief as he added, “Let’s test this thing out properly. You know what to do.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, the sultry suggestion making your already-jelly legs turn to mush.

Wonwoo’s intense gaze stayed locked on yours, the corners of his lips curling into a smirk. His hands moved deliberately, trailing down to the buckle of his belt, the soft metallic clink echoing in the otherwise quiet room. You wet your lips waiting for his next move.

“You’ve had your fun showing it off,” he said, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “Now, let’s see if it’s as useful as you’ve been bragging.”

Your breath hitched as you watched his fingers expertly undo the buckle, sliding the leather strap free with a deliberate slowness that made your stomach flutter.

“Wonu…” you whispered, your voice barely audible as you felt heat rising to your cheeks.

He chuckled darkly, leaning in so his lips brushed against your ear. “What?” he teased, his breath warm against your skin. “You’re the one who disappeared on me, showing up with that little surprise. Shouldn’t I get to enjoy it properly?”

You swallowed hard, unable to respond, your cheeks burning as you bit your lip.

He leaned back slightly, tilting his head as he took in your expression, clearly enjoying your reaction. “Don’t get shy on me now,” he said, sliding the belt free and tossing it aside. His fingers moved to the button of his jeans, popping it open effortlessly.

Your eyes darted to his hands, then back to his face. His expression was calm, but the smoldering intensity in his eyes told you he was anything but...

“Unless you’re going to keep me waiting again,” he said, raising an eyebrow. The playful taunt in his tone sent shivers down your spine. “And we both know you’re not very good at that.”

His words snapped you out of your daze, and you bit your lip, you settle yourself in between his legs. You felt your throat go dry as Wonwoo’s already hard length sprang free, standing tall and proud before you. Your gaze flickered up to his face, his hooded eyes burning with anticipation and the faintest smirk curling on his lips.

“Go on,” he murmured, his voice low and commanding, sending a shiver down your spine. “Show me what you’ve been hiding this whole time.”

You licked your lips, your tongue flicking out just enough for the piercing to glint under the dim light. Wonwoo’s eyes darkened at the sight, his jaw clenching slightly.

Slowly, you leaned forward, your lips parting to tease his tip with the piercing first. The cool sensation of the metal made him hiss, his head tilting back slightly.

“Fuck…” he muttered, his hand instinctively tangling in your hair, guiding you as you began to swirl your tongue around him.

You took your time, letting the piercing drag along the sensitive underside of his shaft, drawing low groans from him as his grip on your hair tightened. Each movement of your tongue was deliberate, adding pressure and flicks in just the right places to make him twitch.

“That… tongue of yours,” Wonwoo gritted out, his voice strained yet dripping with approval. “You really know how to use it, don’t you?”

You hummed around him in response, the vibration making him curse under his breath. As you took him deeper, your piercing brushed against his most sensitive spots, leaving him gripping the couch tightly with his free hand.

“God, you’re—ah—so fucking good at this,” he groaned, his hips bucking slightly into your mouth. You kept your rhythm steady, your eyes glancing up to watch him lose his composure, his chest heaving and his lips parted as soft curses tumbled from them.

“Keep going,” he rasped, his voice laced with desperation. “Don’t stop…”

You obliged, swirling your tongue and letting the piercing glide over him until his hips stuttered and his breathing grew ragged.

You suddenly pulled back for a moment, letting your lips leave his shaft with a soft pop. Wonwoo groaned at the loss of contact but didn’t have to wait long as you tilted your head lower, your warm breath grazing his sensitive skin.

His eyes widened slightly, and he cursed softly under his breath when your mouth found its way to his balls. You gently sucked one into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it while your piercing added an unexpected jolt of pleasure.

“Shit,” Wonwoo hissed, his hand tightening in your hair as he let his head fall back against the couch. “You’re gonna fucking kill me…”

His reaction spurred you on, your tongue lapping at him teasingly before you moved to give the same attention to the other while your hand continued to stroke his slick, throbbing cock. His thighs twitched slightly under your touch, and the deep groans you pulled from him sent heat coursing through your body.

After lavishing him with attention, you moved back to his cock, taking him into your mouth once more. You hollowed your cheeks, bobbing your head, the combination of suction, your tongue, and that piercing driving him wild.

“Fuck—just like that,” he groaned, his voice strained as his hips bucked slightly, chasing the heat of your mouth. “I’m close…”

You didn’t slow down, your hands gripping his thighs to steady yourself as you took him deeper, your tongue working him in all the right ways. The sound of his groans grew louder, more desperate, until finally, his grip on your hair tightened, and his body tensed.

With a deep, guttural moan, he came, his release hot and messy as it spilled into your mouth and onto your face and clothes. You pulled back slightly, gasping softly as you felt the warm stickiness on your skin.

Wonwoo opened his eyes, his chest heaving as he looked down at the sight before him. You, with your lips swollen, his release dripping from your chin, and your clothes slightly stained, had him groaning again.

“God, look at you,” he muttered, his voice still thick with desire, a smirk tugging at his lip as he swipe his thumb across your chin to gather a stray drop before bringing it to your lips. “You’re a fucking mess.”

You smirked, licking his thumb clean, your tongue flicking out with a playful glint of your piercing. “Well, you’re the one who made me this way,” you teased, sticking your tongue out to show off the piercing once more.

Wonwoo chuckled breathlessly, leaning back on the couch, his gaze never leaving you. “Remind me to thank whoever convinced you to get that piercing,” he said, his voice low and teasing.

....... ≿━━━━━༺MASTERLIST༻━━━━━≾ .......

[tokkiw00]

HEARTACHE ON THE BIG SCREEN - J.WONWOO (0)

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS, DO NOT INTERACT. UNEDITED.

synopsis: Jeon Wonwoo, renowned actor of the year— your ex, is paired up with you for the year's newly awaited movie; ironically about reconnecting with an old flame. Your reunion is anything but smooth, old grudges and feelings rise to the surface as the both of you continue working on the film. Will this give the both of you an opportunity to rekindle what was once lost or will this prove that you're better off moving on with each other’s lives?

rating: (n)sfw

pairing: actor! wonwoo x actress! afab reader

genre: actor!au, exes to lovers!au, angst, slow burn

warnings for this chapter: use of female pronouns for reader, written in third person, cursing— i think that's it— (please do message if i missed any)

wc: 1.1k

a/n: i've been working on this story for months and even so, i'm far from finishing it lol. again, please expect really slow updates since i just got a job and i cannot promise that i'll be able to update all the time.

my messages and ask are both always on, feel free to leave one! i also really appreciate comments and reposts! once again, thank you for choosing to be on this journey with me :) i hope you have fun as much as i do :)

Official tag for the series is #HOTBS

teaser || HOTBS masterlist

date posted: 11/06/25

The dimly lit lamp post illuminated the two figures that were standing in the middle of the rain,  shadows dancing around their faces as droplets from the heavy downpour masked the pair’s heavyhearted expressions. The rise and fall of their chests from their labored breaths was evident as they faced each other.

“Is it really that easy for you to throw three years away?” Wonwoo said, knuckles turning white as he gripped the ends of his sleeve.

Lips pursed, Y/N couldn’t utter a response— because if she did, she knew that she'd break down in front of him. She’d take back every word she had said to him a few minutes ago; beg for his forgiveness for even thinking about separating, pull him to her embrace and never let go.

All she could do was look at him, misty-eyed as she studied the latter’s face— as if this was the last time she could do this. 

She memorized it all, from the mole on his left cheek that was situated under his eye to the scar that was just right above his right eyebrow. His glasses were foggy from the rain but she could still see his eyes, the usually bright ones were now glossy, his eyebrows furrowed, and his jaw was clenched. No one would know whether or not it was raindrops that were trickling down his cheek or his own tears.

“Don’t look at me like that. Please,” Wonwoo pleads, his voice slowly cracking. “Talk to me, Y/N.”

She lets out a shaky breath, lips trembling. “You think it’s that easy for me too? I’ve been patiently waiting for you while you break one promise after another.”

Wonwoo stood there silent as his head hung low, the sound of the rain hitting the concrete pavement seemed to only grow louder. 

“I know your manager has been telling you to break up with me. You think I wouldn’t know about that?”

For a moment, Wonwoo looked taken aback. His strong stance seemed to falter for a bit, “What right do they have to have a say in my relationship? To tell me what to do with my relationship?”

His eyes softened as he looked at her slightly trembling figure. “Please, let me make up for lost time, Y/N. I promise, I’ll make it up to you—”

His hands tried reaching out for her elbow, trying to bring her closer but she only shook her head, pulling her arm back with a small sob escaping her lips. 

“You,” Y/N tried to talk, her voice slowly failing her. “You always say that.”

“You keep telling me that you’ll make it up to me. You promised and you promised. You kept on promising until there came a time that you couldn’t even do it anymore,” she says, her eyes not leaving his.

“I can also see how tired you’ve become just trying to be in our relationship. I can see it every time I look at you.”

“Y/N, I’m not tired! I’m just—”

Y/N only looked at Wonwoo, making him stop his sentence as his eyes met hers.

In contrast to what used to be light and carefree, her eyes were tired. She looked paler and the dark circles under her eyes were proof of the lack of sleep she had the past few weeks. Hurt was evident as the pair stood in the middle of the rain, silence enveloping them. The tears she held back were finally falling freely on her face.

Y/N thought she could do this, she should’ve known better.

“I love you,” Wonwoo whispered.

“I love you too.”

“We can still make this work. Please, don’t end it just like this.”

In a desperate plea, he held her closer to his chest. Hugging her as if she’d vanish into thin air if he lets her go. 

She lets herself bask in his embrace for a few seconds, before snapping back into their reality. She tried pushing him away, hitting his chest but he wouldn’t budge.

“Please don’t make this harder for me,” she tells him in between sobs. 

“Let’s fix this, please, please, please,” he once again pleads, slowly loosening his hold on her.

“You’re losing sleep, trying to be with me. Your management is already furious with you because of me.” 

It was no secret to her that his management isn't too fond of her. His manager would pick Wonwoo up from her place when they would spend the night together and his manager would look at her as if she was the bane of their existence. 

Wonwoo would immediately shut down any dating rumor that could possibly rake up viewers of any upcoming movies or dramas. He would try to leave early after his shoots until one day he couldn’t anymore.

He wasn’t a bad boyfriend, nor was he a passive lover. 

This is what made it harder for her. 

“I don’t want to hinder you from shooting to the stars, Won. You deserve to be there, to go even higher. You deserve to shine brighter, and you won’t be able to do that with me pulling you back.”

“Shooting to the stars be fucking damned if you’re not with me, Y/N.”

“This is exactly why we should stop.”

Wonwoo looked at her stunned.

“This is your dream. You’re at the pinnacle of reaching your dream, and what? You’re throwing it away for me? I can’t possibly make you do that, Wonwoo.”

A few seconds of silence once again passed the both of them, until Wonwoo took a deep breath.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to go on without you.”

A bitter smile formed on her face, tears still falling on her cheeks. “I know you can, Jeon. You’ll be able to walk and move forward without me by your side.”

I’ll always be watching you from afar. I’ll always watch your movies, your dramas. I’ll always support you in whatever goal you have dreamed of, whether you choose to divert your journey from the stars to the moon. I’ll always love you and support you, even if it means just standing idly by the sidelines.

She had many words left unsaid, yet she couldn’t bring herself to say any of it. 

 Wonwoo held both of her hands, bringing her knuckles close to his lips as he placed a gentle kiss on them, letting a shaky breath right after. 

“Why are you talking like you’ll never see me again?” He whispered.

She looked away from him, biting the inside of her cheek before she started speaking once again. “I’ll be leaving for London in a few weeks, I accepted the scholarship grant from the university yesterday.”

NOTE: This story is purely fictional. Any traits or decisions of the story's characters do not reflect those of their real life counterparts. This is a work of fiction and is not real. Please separate fiction from reality.

This story will be crossposted to wattpad and twitter.

[wonuwonder]

still playing? pt 2 – jeon wonwoo

content: 1k words, smut, established relationship, gamer!wonwoo, boyfriend!wonwoo, fem reader x wonwoo, anything else lmk! mdni

an: as promised🫡, i really liked how this one turned out, lmk what you think! lowercase intended. read part 1 here

you’ve been waiting for almost an hour now, since he got carried away playing games. you’ve been needy all day long, and receiving a picture of wonwoo’s bulge in front of the mirror while you were at work hadn’t helped, at all. he knew it would tease the hell out of you so he sent it on purpose.

you were in your bed, trying to read something, but it was all too much. you were stressed out and tired, and the only thing on your mind was your boyfriend’s cock.

you got up and went to his desk in front of your bed, you moved his chair back and sat on his lap without asking, flustering him.

“take a seat then” wonwoo said, and locked his arms around your waist to pull you closer to him while he could still continue to play.

you were kind of pissed at him for not giving you the attention you wanted, so that meant teasing in your books.

you started to rub your ass lightly against his crotch, trying to look as innocent as possible, so that he wouldn’t suspect that you were trying to get off on him. you did it again, roughly this time, which made him groan. he grabbed your hipbone at the surprise and looked at you from the side.

“babe what are you?-” you moved again, completely bluntly this time, whimpering at the feeling of his semi hard cock against your ass. “fuck-” he grunted.

you turned to look at him, and signed at him to turn his mic off.

“can you please do something ? i’m fucking soaked and will rip your pants off if you don’t move” you blurt out.

“you’re really that needy babe?” he scoffed “and all for my cock huh?” he got close to your ear and bit the hem if your ear softly, making you squirm.

“yes won, please” you whimpered, while he moved his hands to your waist, guiding your movements against him.

he reached for the hem of your pijama dress he had bought for you and lifted his hand reaching your pussy, groaning when he finally got to feel your arousal all over his fingers.

“fuck y/n” he groaned, kissing your shoulders. while he started to play with your pussy, making you a whimpering mess in a second. he knew you perfectly well to know what buttons to press that would make you go into abyss. he would never get enough of your sounds and seeing how good he made you feel, even if he was busy, he would never reject making his girl feel good.

“gosh i’m gonna cum-” you whimpered, head falling back to rest on his shoulders, while you rocked your pussy onto his fingers “need your cock inside me” you could barely get your words out, and he had just started.

he kissed your cheek and left your aching pussy, making you take his fingers in your mouth. he made you stand up before him so he could get loose of his pants and boxers, spreading his thighs on his gaming chair, his cock sprung out reaching his lower abdomen, the tip red and leaking with pre cum, he was just as needy as you were.

you licked your lips at the sight, normally you would take him in your mouth instantly but your pussy was aching, and you couldn’t wait any longer, so you would save that for the morning.

he grabbed your waist and made you straddle him, rubbing his dick over your entrance, coating himself with your juices, making you both whimper out loud. he lifted your silky pijama dress and made sit on his cock, entering slowly at first to let you adjust to his size. you had been dating for a year now, but his cock was still a lot to take. once you were settled he wasted no time in start pounding on you, lifting you up and down his length, his thighs slapping against your skin. making all kinds of noises. your thighs all wet from your juices trailing down your skin.

his movements started getting sloppy so you grabbed onto his shoulders and started to rock your hips against him, taking the lead, moving yourself deliciously onto him.

“you fill me up so nice won” your eyes fell shut.

“so good for me baby” he growled while kissing and massaging your breasts through the thin layer of clothing.

the noises wonwoo was making made you go absolutely insane, he was a big grunter, but once in a while he became a loud whimperer, specially when you rided him. the sight of him at this state because of what you were doing to him, turned you on even more, even if it was impossible. your moans were loud as hell, and he couldn’t last much longer. he grabbed your hips and thrusted into you a few times before he came undone, gasping and grunting loudly, you coming after him just a few seconds later.

you fell onto him from your high, his palms trailing your spine, squeezing you against his chest, you hissed at the touch, and drunkly kissed his lips.

“better now?” he asks out of breath, smirking at you, brushing the strands of hair from your face, he kisses your cheek and nudges into your neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses as well.

“fuck yes, that was- gosh i love you”

“i love you too, so much”

you kiss again.

and after a few minutes of silence of just the two of you making out, you hear their intruding voices.

“next time make sure to mute your mic guys” it’s cheol’s voice.

“or don’t, i liked it” soonyoung adds,

“that was hot as hell” mingyu says.

covering your mouth with your hand, you look at your defeated boyfriend’s face, you’ll never hear the end of it now.

tags: @effielumiere @viewvuu @honglynights @anthropologymajorkpopmultistan @zerocoded 💗 luv u

[dohoonie42]

Worst boyfriend

⸻

Idol!Wonwoo x Fem!Reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Established Relationship

Word Count: 1.7k+

Summary: Wonwoo makes a silly bet with the members to avoid showing affection for a night, unknowingly breaking your heart with every cold rejection—until he finds you crying alone on the couch and realizes no bet is worth hurting the person he loves most.

⸻

It was nearing two in the morning by the time Wonwoo finally stepped into the apartment, dropping his bag by the door with a heavy sigh. You peeked around the corner, bright-eyed despite how late it was, heart skipping the moment you saw him.

You had missed him so much today. You missed the feeling of his arms wrapping around you, his soft kisses pressed against your forehead, the way he mumbled “I love you” against your skin like he couldn’t help it. All you wanted—needed—was to melt into his arms after such a long, exhausting day without him.

But when you approached him with a sleepy smile, arms open wide for a hug, he… sidestepped you.

You blinked, confused.

Maybe he was just tired?

You tried again as he took off his jacket, reaching out to touch his hand, but he quickly pulled away under the guise of adjusting his sleeves. Your hand hovered awkwardly in the air before falling back to your side.

“Wonwoo…” you murmured, a tiny pout forming on your lips.

“I’m gonna wash up,” he said quickly, voice strangely flat, and disappeared into the bathroom without so much as a glance your way.

Your heart sank.

You didn’t know—and how could you?—that Wonwoo had made a dumb bet with the members earlier. “Bet you can’t go a whole night without clinging to your girlfriend,” Mingyu had teased, grinning mischievously. And being Wonwoo, quiet but always up for a challenge, he accepted. It would be easy, right? He had iron willpower. He could absolutely make it one night.

He didn’t think about how much he needed you after a hard day.

And he definitely didn’t think about how hurt you’d look when he rejected you.

⸻

Later, when you were both getting ready for bed, you tried again, stubborn and hopeful, because you didn’t want to end the night like this. You brushed against his arm while brushing your teeth. You sat closer to him than usual on the bed. You even laid your head shyly on his shoulder.

But each time, he shifted away, giving some half-hearted excuse or simply ignoring it altogether.

It stung. It stung so badly that you bit your lip hard to stop it from trembling.

Did he… did he not want you anymore?

Had you done something wrong?

Feeling more defeated than you had in months, you grabbed your phone and quietly left the room. If he didn’t want to acknowledge you, you didn’t want to push it any further. Maybe he just needed space. Maybe he was mad.

You curled up on the living room couch, the cool leather a poor replacement for his warm body. You pulled a blanket around yourself and tried to distract yourself by scrolling on your phone, but your eyes kept welling up against your will.

You missed him. So much.

You sniffled, wiping away a tear quickly before it could fall.

⸻

Meanwhile, back in the bedroom, Wonwoo was having a serious internal crisis.

He climbed into bed and immediately felt something was missing—you. The empty side of the bed stared back at him accusingly.

He groaned, running a frustrated hand through his hair.

He missed your weight against him, the soft way you tucked your face into his neck, your fingers brushing his side when you thought he wasn’t paying attention.

He couldn’t do it.

Bet or no bet, he couldn’t stand another second without you.

With a determined breath, he threw off the blankets and padded out of the room.

What he wasn’t prepared for was the sight of you curled up so small on the couch, phone clutched tightly in your hands, cheeks wet with silent tears as you scrolled aimlessly, trying to pretend you weren’t hurting.

His heart shattered.

Without thinking, he crossed the room in a few strides, bent down, and scooped you up into his arms.

“W-Wonwoo?!” you squeaked, utterly confused, clutching onto him as he carried you.

He said nothing, jaw tight, until he reached the bed. He set you down gently, then all but collapsed on top of you, caging you against the mattress with his body.

“Baby,” he whispered hoarsely, voice shaking. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

He peppered kisses across your face—your forehead, your nose, your cheeks, your jaw, even your tear-stained lashes. Each kiss was frantic, desperate, almost like he was trying to erase every hurt he’d caused you tonight.

You laid there frozen for a second, still processing, before you blinked up at him.

“What… what’s going on?” you whispered, voice cracking.

He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, guilt flooding his own. “I made a stupid bet with the guys. I was trying to last the night without being affectionate. But—” he shook his head, lips trembling into a wobbly smile, “I can’t. I can’t do it. Especially not when you’re hurting.”

You pouted again, tears slipping free despite yourself. “I thought you were mad,” you mumbled.

Wonwoo groaned and hugged you even tighter, pulling the blanket over both of you.

“I’m the worst boyfriend ever,” he said dramatically, nuzzling into your neck.

You giggled through your sniffles, finally melting into him the way you had wanted all night. “Yeah, you are,” you teased, poking his side weakly. “Worst boyfriend ever.”

He chuckled against your skin, soft and relieved. “I deserve to be punished.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Oh really?”

“Mmhm,” he hummed, pressing slow, lingering kisses down your neck, your shoulder, anywhere he could reach. “Starting now,” he added, before smothering you in even more kisses.

You squealed as he buried his face in your neck, mumbling endless apologies, pet names, and confessions of love between each kiss.

“Love you so much,” he whispered. “Missed you all day. Couldn’t even think straight without you. I’m sorry, baby.”

Your heart swelled painfully in your chest. You wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders, finally clinging to him the way you had craved all night.

“I missed you too,” you whispered back, pressing a kiss to his temple.

The two of you stayed tangled together like that for what felt like hours, whispering, giggling, and making up for every second you had missed. Eventually, you both dozed off, still holding each other tightly under the warm blankets.

And in the morning? Wonwoo definitely sent a very angry voice message to Mingyu who made that stupid bet, scolding him for daring to make him hurt you.

⸻

Guys I miss my wonu so freaking muchhhh :(

⸻

[lololololchips]

i would loooooove (love!) more wonwoo bf texts

also i saw you’re mexican american. me too! love to see latina writers 💃

i finally finished this oh my😭😭

omggg another latina carat ily we need to stick together actually <3333 ENJOYYYYYYY

Jeon Wonwoo || even MOREEEEE bf texts

genre: fake texts, smau, one!shot, fluff

warnings: cursing, fem pronouns, suggestive

[scarletwinterxx]

black and white and golden - jeon wonwoo imagine

happy birthday to my lucky charm, the man who taught me to forgive the world, my jeon wonwoo. i hope you find all the happiness in this universe🤍

All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2025 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(pics not mine, credits to rightful owner)

The third time they pair you with Jeon Wonwoo, you consider quitting. Or at least pretending to be sick. You even open your notes app and half-type an excuse.

But when you see your editor’s email — You two make magic. Don’t fight it — you swear under your breath and toss your phone aside.

Jeon Wonwoo. Photographer. Zero small talk. One hundred percent pretentious. The man breathes in ISO and exhales shadows. Meanwhile, you're the girl who writes copy with color theory in mind, who believes every word should pop like a burst of sunlight.

He’s monochrome. You’re confetti. And somehow, it works.

You’ve done four campaigns together now. And every time, it starts the same: with passive-aggressive jabs in the pre-prod meeting and ends with a late-night moment in post where the both of you look at the final output — breathless, reluctant, electric.

Still, you groan out loud when he walks into the conference room. Tall, lean, dressed in black from head to toe, camera slung across his chest like a warning sign. He doesn’t say a word.

You look away, focus on the mood board you brought. Pastels. Messy hair. Laughing models. 

He glances at it and deadpans, “Too much movement.”

You roll your eyes. “Too much gloom gives people seasonal depression.”

He doesn’t flinch. Of course he doesn’t. But his dark eyes stay on you a second too long.

Then he says, coolly, “You like working with me.”

You bark a laugh. “I don’t.”

“Then why do you keep staring when you think I’m not looking?”

Your spine stiffens.

He takes a slow step closer, his voice dropping low, just for you. “I know I drive you crazy. I just haven’t figured out if it’s the good kind yet.”

Your heart kicks.

He’s too close. Not touching you, not really but the air shifts. The kind of shift you feel when the lights dim in a gallery and you realize you’re alone. Watched. Trapped in someone’s frame.

“I stare,” you say, voice sharper than you mean it, “because I’m trying to figure out how someone can be so annoying and artistically talented.”

He smirks. That maddening, barely-there twitch of his lips.

But before he can reply, your editor walks in. Meeting starts. Notes get passed around.

Still, all through the briefing, you can feel it — his eyes on you. Not just looking. Studying. Composing. Framing.

And when you turn a page in your notebook, you find a post-it that wasn’t there before.

Let’s make something beautiful again. This time, don’t fight me so much. —JWW

You blink. Glance up.

He’s already looking somewhere else, like he didn’t just slip you a note that sounds more like a threat than a request.

But when the campaign starts and he’s adjusting a model’s pose with fingers too firm, or when he tugs the lighting rig just a little closer to your side of the set, you start to wonder:

Is it the good kind of crazy?

Or is it the kind where he’s been collecting snapshots of you this whole time just waiting for you to notice?

=

Shoot day starts too early, as always. You arrive with a barely-touched coffee and your tote stuffed with scribbled notes, mockups, and emergency lipstick. 

The set’s already buzzing. Assistants adjusting lights, the stylist fussing over hangers, and makeup artists corralling models. And then there’s him.

Jeon Wonwoo, behind the camera, sleeves pushed up, silent and sharp-eyed like he’s already in some creative trance.

You don’t greet each other. You never do.

Instead, you walk past him and say, “Try not to suck the color out of this one.”

He doesn’t look up. “Try not to write another tagline that sounds like a horoscope.”

You snort, but you’re smiling as you walk away.

The first few hours are smooth. Too smooth. You jot notes, direct a few expressions, argue mildly over angles but it’s all routine. Familiar. Comfortable in a way that shouldn’t be. Especially not with him.

At one point, you hold a reflector steady because one of the interns bailed. He pauses mid-shot, glancing at your hand.

“You know,” he says casually, “you don’t have to do everything yourself.”

You glance up. “Neither do you. But here you are micromanaging every shadow.”

He lifts the camera. “Because not everyone sees things the way I do.”

There’s a beat.

Then he adds, voice lower, “But you get close.”

The shutter clicks. You look away first.

Later, you’re off to the side with one of the male models, a golden-retriever type who keeps finding excuses to hover near your clipboard. You laugh at something he says not because it’s particularly funny, but because it’s nice. Easy. Safe.

Wonwoo doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t even loo but the next time he calls for lighting adjustment, his tone is clipped. Short. Sharp.

“Backlight’s wrong. We’re redoing this set. Everyone reset.”

The model groans good-naturedly. “Again? You’re ruthless, man.”

Wonwoo doesn’t answer. Just lifts the camera, jaw tense. You watch him a moment too long.

After the next break, you’re reviewing a few test shots on his monitor. You lean in, about to make a comment, when his voice stops you.

“Do you like him?”

You blink. “Who?”

“The model.”

You glance up. He’s not looking at you. He’s reviewing photos like this is the most casual conversation in the world.

“I don’t know,” you say slowly. “He’s nice.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

There’s a silence between you, stretched tight.

Then he turns to you. “He’s not your type.”

“Oh? And what is my type?”

He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t blink. Just looks at you like he already knows the answer.

“I think,” he says quietly, “you like being challenged. You like sharp edges. You like the kind of person who notices when you skip breakfast and leaves granola bars in your bag.”

Your lips part, but nothing comes out.

He leans in, barely an inch, voice barely audible over the hum of set noise.

“I think you like me.”

You stare at him.

“And I think,” he murmurs, “he should stop talking to you.”

Just then, someone calls your name, breaking the moment. You step back, breath uneven, pretending not to see the way his gaze follows you the rest of the day like a loaded lens.

The shoot wraps late and people start packing up with tired smiles and half-finished drinks. You’re standing near the monitors, still mid-laugh with the editors, going over selects and teasing one of the assistants about their playlist.

Wonwoo walks past, camera bag slung over his shoulder, cool and unreadable as always. He doesn’t say a word but he doesn’t leave either.

You notice it how he slows near your things, pauses, then just… picks them up. Your tote, your extra charger, even your water bottle. Like it’s second nature. Like he’s done it a hundred times before.

You blink. “Hey—what are you doing?”

He doesn’t answer. Just keeps walking.

You hurry after him. “Jeon! What is your deal?”

The studio door swings shut behind you, warm dusk brushing your skin. He’s a few steps ahead, heading to the lot. Doesn’t even look back.

Then a voice calls out behind you. “Hey! Wait—wait, hold on!”

It’s the model from earlier, jogging over, shirt half-untucked, charming smile in place.

Wonwoo slows. You don’t.

The model catches up beside you, hands stuffed in his back pockets. “You heading out now? I was gonna ask, do you maybe wanna grab something to eat? I know this little place near here. Super chill, no pressure or anything.”

You open your mouth, polite and caught off guard.

Then he adds, grin widening, “Can I get your number?”

You feel Wonwoo stop completely. There’s a flicker in the air like a wire being pulled too tight.

Before you can say anything, you hear the click of a car door unlocking. Then Wonwoo moves, fast and wordless. He walks over, swings open the passenger door of his car with a thud, and looks at you like it’s not a question.

Like it never was. 

You stare at him. Then glance back at the model, who’s suddenly a lot less confident.

“Uh—sorry, are you two…?”

“She’s leaving,” Wonwoo says, voice low but final.

Then to you: “Get in.”

You freeze, torn between bristling and… something else. Something that pools in your chest at the way he doesn’t even look at the guy anymore.

Just you.

With a beat of hesitation—and maybe, curiosity—you slide into the seat.

Wonwoo shuts the door behind you. Not hard. But firm. Like punctuation. By the time he’s in the driver’s seat, engine purring, you’re still watching him.

“You didn’t let me answer,” you mutter.

“I didn’t need to.”

Then, quieter, he adds, “I don’t like sharing.”

You don’t say anything but you don’t ask to get out either.

The engine hums beneath you, low and steady, but the tension in the car is anything but. You glance over, crossing your arms.

“So,” you say, voice cool, “let me ask again.”

He doesn’t look at you.

You lean a little closer. “What’s your deal, Jeon?”

A pause. The city noise fades behind closed windows.

“I carry your stuff, I sit through your edits, I let you drag my lighting setups to hell and back—”

“You don’t let me—”

He cuts you a glance. Sharp “—and then I see you giggling with some guy who doesn’t know a softbox from a sunbeam, and suddenly I’m supposed to just stand there?”

You blink. “He was being nice.”

Wonwoo pulls the car to a red light. Turns to you fully.

“There’s a difference between being nice and thinking he can touch something that’s not his.”

The words drop between you like a match in dry grass.

You stare. “I’m not… yours.”

He doesn’t blink. “No. Not yet.”

You fumble, voice uneven. “You—you can’t just say things like that.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s insane?”

He scoffs, low under his breath. “You think I’m the crazy one? I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I’m not paying attention.”

You open your mouth. Close it. Damn him.

“I’m not an idiot,” he murmurs. “You like the push and pull. You like when I argue with you. You like that I see you.”

He turns again, a quiet street now, almost too quiet.

“I know what this is. You just don’t want to admit it first.”

You can feel your heartbeat in your throat. You look out the window, then back at him, and for a second, everything is suspended. Caught in headlights and breath.

“I don’t like you,” you lie.

His lips twitch. “Sure.”

You glare. “I don’t.”

“Then why are you still in my car?”

You scowl, shifting in your seat to face him more directly. “Oh, so what? You want me to jump out? Tuck and roll while you’re at a red light?”

Wonwoo shrugs, one hand still lazily on the wheel. “If you think your dramatic exit would prove a point, I won’t stop you.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“You say that a lot.”

“That’s because you are.” You throw your hands up. “You act like you’re doing me a favor by being overbearing.”

“I carried your bag.”

“You kidnapped me.”

“I opened a door. You got in. That’s not kidnapping, that’s cooperation.”

You groan, rubbing your temples. “God, how does anyone work with you?”

“Only one person keeps getting assigned to me,” he says flatly

You shoot him a glare. He smiles then. Barely. That infuriating ghost of a smirk that always makes your stomach tighten in the most inconvenient ways.

“Face it,” he murmurs, “you’d hate working with anyone else.”

You scoff, crossing your arms. “You’re arrogant.”

“You’re stubborn.”

“You’re controlling.”

“You’re nosy.”

You exhale sharply. “You’re obsessed.”

He looks at you. No denial. Just a tilt of the head, like he’s considering it.

Then he says, calm and quiet, “Maybe.”

You falter.

“Is that what you want to hear?” he continues. “That I notice everything? That I know how many sugar packets you steal from catering. That you hum when you’re writing. That you bite your lip when you’re holding back a smartass comment—usually aimed at me.”

Your throat feels dry.

He slows the car in front of your building. Throws it in park. Doesn’t look at you when he says, “I notice everything.”

Then, voice softer, almost teasing: “If you notice everything, then you should know I don’t give my number out that easily.”

Wonwoo finally turns, gaze locked on yours. “I wasn’t going to let you give it to him at all.”

You blink. “Why?”

“Because he wouldn’t have known what to do with you.”

Silence again. The air between you is thick and crackling.

=

The next day is nonstop chaos.

Back-to-back meetings. Mood boards, budget revisions, brand notes that make you want to walk into traffic. You barely have time to breathe, let alone think about him.

You last overheard that Wonwoo was off on location today. Shooting some high-profile ad with another team across town. So you tell yourself you’re safe. No camera flashes. No quiet glances. No unsolicited car rides and infuriatingly perceptive commentary.

By the time your last meeting ends, your brain is mush and the office is half-deserted.

The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, and the sky outside has already dipped into that inky, late-evening blue. You tug your cardigan tighter around you, hug your folder to your chest, and start your slow walk toward the elevators.

You pass by the creative department on instinct, taking the long way out.

Most of the desks are empty now. Monitors dark, chairs askew, headphones abandoned. But at the far end of the open floor, where the studio heads have their corners, one light is still on.

Wonwoo’s space.

Spacious, minimalist, and annoyingly clean. Except for the piles of printed test shots currently spread across his desk.

He’s there, seated, hunched over his monitor. Serious. Focused. Hair slightly tousled like he’s been running his fingers through it. And he’s wearing glasses.

You pause mid-step.

You don’t mean to watch him. You’re just… taking in the scene. That’s all.

But then he tilts his head, squints at the screen, and mutters something under his breath before reaching for a pen to jot something down on a nearby notepad.

You take another step before your voice betrays you.

“Didn’t peg you as the type to pull late nights.”

His head lifts immediately, eyes flicking up to meet yours. Sharper, even behind the glasses.

You try not to fidget under the weight of his stare.

Wonwoo leans back slightly in his chair. “Didn’t peg you as the type to snoop.”

“I wasn’t snooping,” you say, walking a little closer despite yourself. “Just passing by.”

“Convenient.”

You roll your eyes, trying not to smile. “You always this charming after hours?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just watches you quietly for a beat too long.

“Only when the company’s tolerable.”

You ignore the way your stomach flips.

He gestures vaguely to the photos spread out in front of him. “Client wants new mood adjustments. They can’t decide if they want moody or romantic.”

“Can’t they be both?”

He glances up at you again. “Exactly what I said.”

You lean in a little, scanning the images. portraits in soft light, blurred movement, aching stares between models. And for a second, it’s just the two of you, surrounded by stillness and the faint buzz of the desk lamp.

“You should go home,” he says quietly, breaking the silence

“I should,” you echo, but you don’t move

He doesn’t push. Just watches you, the corner of his mouth barely curved. Like he knows.

Then, with the same maddening calm “Still think I’m obsessed?”

You give him a look.

“I mean, you’re literally here in the dark with romantic portraits and mood lighting,” you say, deadpan. “You’re like a noir character who listens to sad jazz and pines dramatically.”

“I don’t listen to jazz.”

“So you do pine?”

That actually makes him smile, just slightly.

You blink. “Was that—did you just smile?”

He exhales, long-suffering. “Do you ever stop talking?”

“No,” you say sweetly. “But you keep listening.”

He leans back again, gaze slow and deliberate. “I told you. I notice everything.”

You should go. You should absolutely turn around and leave.

But instead, you ask, “Got room for one more opinion?”

Wonwoo raises a brow, then pushes one of the photo sets toward you, wordlessly. He raises a brow, eyes tracking your every move like he’s trying to figure you out. Again.

And you should’ve just stood next to him. You should’ve.

But instead—

You move.

You don’t know what possesses you. Maybe it’s the way he’s looking at you like he expects something, like he already knows you’re going to do it.

Maybe it’s how warm the room suddenly feels, or how your pulse is thudding in your ears louder than it should.

Either way, the next second, you’re putting your folder down on the edge of his desk carefully, and sliding onto his lap.

His body goes still beneath you.

You barely give yourself time to process it. Just lean forward, grab the mouse from his hand like you’ve done it a thousand times before, and start dragging one of the photos across the screen.

“Your layout’s messy,” you murmur, keeping your eyes on the monitor. “You’re blending contrast-heavy shots with soft light sets. That’s why the mood doesn’t stick.”

He doesn’t say a word.

His hands stay resting on the armrests of his chair, fingers twitching like he’s holding himself back. His chest rises against your back in slow, measured breaths.

“You’re insane,” he finally says, voice low

“And yet,” you say, still scrolling, “you’re letting me do this.”

“You think I won’t move you?”

“Then do it.”

Silence.

Then you feel it. His hand ghosting up to your waist, not gripping, just hovering, like he’s waiting for something. Waiting for you to bolt. Waiting for you to tell him to stop.

You don’t.

Instead, you nudge the brightness on one image down a few notches. “That one’s better. Warmer. More intentional.”

“Intentional,” he echoes, voice rougher now. “You know you’re playing with fire, right?”

You turn your head just slightly, enough to see him from the corner of your eye.

“Am I?”

His jaw flexes. You’re close enough now to see the faint crease in his brow, the sharp line of his cheekbone beneath the glasses. His eyes are darker than usual, trained fully on you.

“You climbed into my lap,” he says simply.

“I’m multitasking,” you reply.

He huffs a quiet laugh, more breath than sound. “You’re driving me insane.”

“You started it.”

And yet… neither of you move. Not away.

Not at all.

You linger there for another beat, feeling the weight of his stare, the way his hand still hasn’t touched you but it could. So easily. You can feel the tension crackling like a live wire.

Then you shift. You slide off his lap, smooth your skirt like nothing happened, and pick up your folder from the desk.

Back to business.

“Don’t stay too late,” you say casually, voice light but not quite steady. “We have a morning huddle tomorrow.”

Wonwoo doesn’t move. Doesn’t answer right away.

You glance at him still seated, gaze pinned to you like you’ve just stolen something and he’s letting you run with it. For now.

He doesn’t smile, doesn’t blink. Just watches.

You turn toward the door.

And as you’re walking away, you hear his voice—quiet, but certain.

“You’re going to drive me crazy next.”

=

The next morning, the office is cold and bright in that awful, too-early kind of way. You’re running on four hours of sleep and one too many thoughts you didn’t ask for. You kept replaying last night in your head—what you did, what he didn’t stop, what he said.

You walk into the creative floor with your coffee gripped like a lifeline and a deliberately neutral expression.

Sooyoung eyes you the second you step into the meeting room.

“Why do you look like you haven’t slept and are also hiding a crime?”

You sit down and take a long, long sip. “Because I haven’t slept and I might be hiding something criminal.”

Before she can grill you, the conference room door opens.

Wonwoo walks in.

Dressed in black again. Hair slightly damp like he just got out of the shower. Camera strap slung over his shoulder. Glasses gone.

Your stomach flips. Sooyoung sees it. Her eyebrows fly up.

You nearly choke on your coffee.

The team lead starts the huddle, launching into project updates and timelines. You try to focus. Really. But it’s hard when Wonwoo sits directly across from you and doesn’t look at you once not really except…

Except he doesn’t need to. You feel him. Every time you speak. Every time you nod. Every time you flip a page in your notes.

The meeting continues. You swear you don’t breathe for ten minutes straight.

You should’ve known.

You should’ve known the moment you saw your name on the concept pitch team. You were already half-dreading the next round of campaign prep—but when you saw his name listed right below yours, your soul flatlined.

Creative Concept Leads: • (Your Name) • Jeon Wonwoo

You wanted to throw your tablet across the room.

Sooyoung just gave you a smug look and whispered, “The universe ships it.”

Now here you are—jammed in his car, en route to the client’s location for an ocular visit. The marketing head insisted someone from visuals and copy come together to “absorb the space creatively.” You tried to volunteer Sooyoung. You even tried to fake a cough.

The ocular goes smoother than expected.

You spend the better part of an hour with the client walking through the space, nodding thoughtfully, jotting down notes. There’s a lot of talk about “clean aesthetics” and “youthful energy” and “natural light flow.”

You walk up beside him. “Get anything usable?”

He nods. “Lighting’s better than expected. Colors need adjusting.”

You pause, watching him scroll through thumbnails. “You know, for someone who claims I talk too much, you really don’t complain when I’m around.”

He clicks through a few more images. “That’s because you’re distracting in the right ways.”

You blink, caught off guard for half a second. “That’s… either a compliment or a line.”

He finally looks up at you, one brow raised. “Why can’t it be both?”

You roll your eyes, turning toward the car, trying not to smile. “You’re insufferable.”

“You’re blushing.”

“I’m sunburned.”

“I saw you put sunscreen on in the car.”

You whirl back around. “You were watching me?”

“I always watch you.”

That shuts you up for a second.

He closes the camera screen and pushes off the car, walking around to the driver’s side like it’s no big deal. “What are you doing Friday night?”

You blink. “Uh… nothing?”

He doesn’t hesitate. “Great.”

He opens the door, slides in, and looks at you through the open window.

“I’ll pick you up at seven.”

You stare at him.

He raises an eyebrow. “You gonna argue?”

You grip your folder a little tighter. “Only if you show up with mood lighting and your ‘mysterious artist’ playlist again.”

He smirks, starts the car. “So… seven.”

=

You expected dinner. Maybe somewhere moody and minimalist, some dimly lit place with overpriced appetizers and equally pretentious wine.

But instead here you are. Sitting side by side at a long wooden table, an apron tied around your waist, a half-painted ceramic mug in front of you, and a tiny tray of pastel paints between you.

Wonwoo doesn’t look away from his own mug. He’s holding it delicately like it’s some ancient relic, brows furrowed in concentration as he paints what looks like…a sunset?

“You said you wanted to do this.”

“No, I said I saw it while scrolling and thought it looked cute,” you point out. “That’s not the same thing as a formal request.”

He finally looks up at you, and the grin he’s trying not to wear is way too pleased.

“So you did say it.”

You narrow your eyes. “You were listening?”

“I always listen.”

You stare at him.

He dips his brush in a light yellow, still focused. “You said it two weeks ago. You were scrolling through your feed in the break room, showed Sooyoung the pictures, said—‘This looks fun, but no one would ever go with me to this.’”

Your mouth opens, then shuts.

Wonwoo glances at you now, and it’s not smug. It’s soft. Intent. Warm in a way that throws you a little off balance.

“I thought you might like it,” he says simply. “Something different. Something just for you.”

You don’t answer right away. Just look down at your mug and quietly add another dot of pink near the handle, heart doing something traitorous in your chest.

When you sneak a peek at him again, he's already watching you. Eyes bright. Chin rested in his hand, the corner of his mouth lifted in the smallest, most genuine smile.

“You’re enjoying this,” you accuse.

He shrugs, still staring. “You’re cute when you concentrate.”

Your brush slips. “I will paint you.”

He leans in slightly. “Promise?”

You try to scowl, but your face is already warm, and he knows it. He can see it. Wonwoo’s eyes crinkle faintly as he turns back to his mug, utterly content.

And that’s when it hits you.

This man—this brooding, black-wearing, shadow-chasing photographer—has remembered a throwaway comment you made two weeks ago. And now he’s painting a damn ceramic mug with you on a Friday night like it’s the only thing he’s wanted to do all week.

God help you. You’re in so much trouble.

You swirl your brush into the sky-blue paint, trying to distract yourself from how warm your face feels. It doesn’t work. 

“You know,” you mutter, not even bothering to look at him this time, “for someone who calls me annoying all the time…”

He looks up, eyes waiting.

You finish, “You seem to like me way too much.”

He doesn't answer right away. Just sets his brush down slowly, wipes his fingers on a paper towel, and leans his elbow onto the table. Tilts his head like he’s studying you.

“I don’t call you annoying all the time,” he says, voice maddeningly calm.

“Oh my god,” you huff. “That’s your response?”

“I’m being accurate.”

You give him a flat look.

He lets out a soft laugh barely a sound, just enough to tug at the corners of his mouth.

“I do like you too much,” he says, almost offhandedly.

That makes you blink.

Your heart skips like it missed the memo on how to beat properly. “What?”

Wonwoo picks up his mug again, like he didn’t just casually drop a bomb between you. “I said I like you too much.”

You just… stare.

He glances at you from the corner of his eye. “You gonna pretend you didn’t hear that too?”

You grab your own mug, suddenly very invested in outlining a tiny heart on the rim. “I just wasn’t expecting you to admit it.”

“I’m not subtle.”

“You’re the least subtle person I’ve ever met.”

“Then why are you acting surprised?”

You pause, brush mid-air.  “…Because you’re you.”

He looks over again, and this time, his expression is quieter. Steadier.

“Yeah,” he says. “And I’m sitting here painting mugs with you. What does that tell you?”

Wonwoo leans in just a little more, elbow still propped, voice low and even.

“Tell me to stop and I will.”

You look up at him slowly. His face is unreadable but not cold. Focused. Like he’s waiting on a shutter click only you can trigger.

You swallow. Then shake your head. “Don’t.”

He doesn’t smile but his eyes say everything.

He doesn’t say anything after that. Jst gives you that long, unreadable look one last time before turning back to his mug like it never happened. Like he didn’t just casually tilt your entire emotional axis with a straight face.

You watch him quietly, lips parting, something light curling in your chest.

And then a slow smile creeps across your face.

You lean in closer, resting your elbow on the table, voice soft but laced with amusement. “Knew it.”

He glances sideways. “Knew what?”

“That you liked me,” you say, teasing now. “You’re, like… secretly a softie. Under all the black clothes and broody attitude. You're just a big, secretly sentimental guy who paints mugs and remembers stuff I say in passing.”

Wonwoo doesn’t even look up.

“That’s because you’re annoying.”

You gasp. “Wow.”

“Loud,” he continues calmly, as if listing facts. “Dramatic. Difficult. Always in my space. Won’t shut up.”

You swat his arm with your brush. “Rude.”

Paint dots his sleeve. He pauses, finally looks down at it, then up at you with the most deadpan expression.

“That was intentional.”

“I plead the fifth.”

He sighs, exaggerated and slow. “This is what I get for liking you.”

=

You weren’t expecting to hear from him over the weekend.

After Friday night. After that smile, that look, the mug painting, the soft teasing that still loops in your head on repeat you figured there’d be some space. A reset. Time to overthink everything.

But then, Saturday morning, your phone buzzed.

Wonwoo [8:02 AM]: Good morning.

You stared at the screen. Blinking. Then you squealed. Actually squealed. Like a teenager with a crush and no self-control.

You flopped back onto your bed, pillow over your face, heart doing somersaults. What is happening to me.

Before you could type a cool, detached response, another message came through.

Wonwoo [8:03 AM]: Breakfast?

Now here you are.

Twenty-five minutes later, seated side by side in a quiet café tucked into a sleepy street corner. It’s all soft sunlight through gauzy curtains, the clink of cutlery, and the hum of lazy weekend chatter.

He’s next to you, legs casually spread, forearm resting on the table, black hoodie sleeves pushed up to his elbows. Glasses on. 

You poke at your hash browns. “So this is your idea of a date?”

Wonwoo doesn’t look up from his fork. “You like breakfast food.”

“How do you even know that?”

“You always order pancakes at client brunches and complain when they don’t give you syrup on the side.”

Your fork pauses mid-air.

He glances over, like it’s not a big deal.

“I pay attention,” he says simply.

You don’t know what to do with that. You sip your coffee to buy time. “You know, if you keep doing things like this, I’m gonna start thinking you’re sweet.”

He raises a brow, chews a bite of toast. “That’s your first mistake.”

You grin. “So you’re saying you’re not secretly a sweetheart?”

He gives you a look. “I dragged you out of bed for carbs. Not a confession.”

“But you said good morning.”

He rolls his eyes, but his mouth twitches.

“You’re ridiculous,” he says.

You nudge his arm with your elbow. “And you like it.”

He doesn’t argue. Just takes a sip of his coffee, slow and quiet.

Then, voice lower, “You free tomorrow?”

You glance at him. “Why?”

He shrugs. “Might feel like seeing you again.”

You narrow your eyes at him, setting your coffee cup down with a little more force than necessary. “See—this is what gets me.”

Wonwoo quirks a brow, entirely unfazed. “What?”

“You can flirt like this,” you say, gesturing at him dramatically. “Be all… soft-voiced and casual and thoughtful and infuriatingly attractive—”

“Infuriating?” he echoes, amused.

“Let me finish,” you snap. “You can do all this. Make me flustered before 10 a.m.but instead, most of the time, you choose to argue with me like we’re in the middle of a creative deathmatch.”

He leans back in his seat, that familiar smirk creeping up. “That’s rich coming from the girl who picks a fight every time I suggest a muted color palette.”

“Because your idea of ‘muted’ is one shade above grayscale,” you shoot back.

“And your idea of contrast is blinding the audience.”

“You’re impossible.”

“And you’re dramatic.”

You scowl harder, jabbing your fork in his direction. “There. That. This is exactly what I mean. You’re flirting and fighting. It’s emotional whiplash.”

Wonwoo shrugs, cool as ever. “You’re the one who said I was secretly a softie. Can’t blame me for trying to keep up appearances.”

You huff, crossing your arms as you lean back. “You could try being normal.”

“I am being normal.”

“You are the opposite of normal. You have resting death glare, an emotional support camera, and a romantic streak that only shows up after 9 p.m.”

He snorts. “Says the woman who argues like it’s foreplay and sat on my lap in the office like that was a normal Tuesday.”

Your cheeks flare immediately. “That was—! Okay, first of all, that was an act of curiosity—”

“That’s what we’re calling it now?”

“I hate you.”

“You like me too much to hate me.”

You roll your eyes, but your mouth twitches.

“See?” he says, smug. “That smile. You always pretend like you’re annoyed, but you love it.”

“I do not—”

“You do.” He leans in slightly, voice dipping. “You like when I push your buttons. When I argue with you. You light up every time.”

Your lips part, caught halfway between protest and denial—but he’s not wrong. Not completely. You reach for your toast instead of replying.

Wonwoo watches you for a moment longer, then adds, “I argue with you because you’re the only one who can keep up.”

You glance up. He’s not teasing anymore. There’s something behind his voice. Quieter. Real.

“That… was kind of sweet,” you admit cautiously.

He sighs dramatically, stabbing at a piece of his pancake. “Guess I’m slipping.”

You smirk, nudging him under the table with your knee. “Don’t worry. You’ll say something annoying again in about three minutes.”

His smile returns, slow and knowing. “Then I better enjoy the peace while it lasts.”

=

The next few days pass with no big declarations, no dramatic shifts just… the quiet continuation of whatever this thing between you and Wonwoo has become.

You still bicker during team discussions. You still roll your eyes when he insists on shadow-heavy frames. He still pokes holes in your captions until you threaten to delete his entire photo folder.

But you also catch him holding the elevator for you without saying a word. He always walks you to the lobby. Opens the passenger door. Drives you home like it’s automatic now. You tease him about it, call him your grumpy chauffeur. He says nothing just gives you that small side glance, the one that means he’s secretly pleased.

It’s those little things. Consistent. Steady.

Then Thursday rolls around.

The office has emptied out hours ago, the hum of fluorescent lights the only company left. You’re still at your desk, eyes glued to your screen, headphones in, halfway through rewriting a tagline that just won’t cooperate.

You don’t notice the time. Not until a quiet shadow moves behind you.

You pull your earbuds out and spin your chair around. He’s just standing there. In a black hoodie again, hands in his pockets, gaze half-lidded.

You blink at him, surprised. “Wonwoo?”

“It’s past ten.”

You check the time at the corner of your screen and curse. “Shit. Really?”

“You skipped dinner.”

You frown. “How do you know that?”

“You’re still here,” he says simply. “And your coffee cup’s empty.”

You stare at him. “Are you keeping tabs on my caffeine intake now?”

He shrugs. “Someone has to.”

You snort softly. “Okay, dad.”

He doesn’t move. Just studies you from where he’s standing, eyes tracing your tired face, your slumped shoulders. He tilts his head slightly, and in that quiet office, it feels like he’s close enough to hear your heartbeat.

“You should’ve gone home,” you murmur

“I was about to.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

“I saw your light still on.”

You don’t say anything to that. Can’t because he didn’t have to come up. He didn’t have to check on you. But he always does. In his quiet, maddening, consistent way.

You finally stand up, gathering your things. “Alright. Let me just shut this down.”

Wonwoo steps back slightly, waiting.

Then, while your computer hums its shutdown tune, he asks, voice quieter, “You always stay this late when I’m not around?”

You glance at him, lips twitching. “Why, getting jealous of my overtime?”

He meets your gaze head-on. “I’m serious.”

You shoulder your bag, facing him fully now. “No. I just got stuck in the zone.”

Wonwoo doesn’t respond. Just reaches forward, gently plucks your phone off your desk and hands it to you, thumb brushing yours in the process.

You take it. He turns toward the elevator, expecting you to follow.And you do. As the elevator doors close with a soft ding, the hum of motion filling the silence, Wonwoo speaks again 

“Next time you stay this late,” he says, “text or call me.”

You glance at him through the faint reflection on the elevator doors

“It’s dangerous to go home this late.”

Your brow arches, a smile tugging at your lips. “Wow,” you murmur. “You quoting video games now? ‘It’s dangerous to go alone’ what are you, my pixelated knight in shining armor?”

He doesn’t answer. You turn your head to glance at him, and his eyes are still on you. Calm, unreadable.

You can’t help it, you keep going. “What’s next? You gonna give me a sword and three hearts?”

“Would you shut up for five seconds,” he mutters under his breath, more fond than irritated.

“Oh my god, you are a secret softie. I knew it.”

He exhales like you’re the world’s biggest problem set wrapped in an overactive imagination. The elevator slows to a stop. You’re still teasing, still poking at him. Words halfway out of your mouth as the doors slide open.

And somewhere between your rambling and your dramatic gasp over his concern, his hand finds yours.

Fingers threading together. Warm, natural. You don’t even register it at first.

Still caught in your usual antics. “Should I be worried now? Are you gonna make me wear pepper spray on a lanyard and check in every hour?”

Wonwoo doesn’t answer. Just walks with you, still holding your hand like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

You glance down—finally, finally noticing.

You blink. “Wait—are you holding my hand?”

“Brilliant observation.”

“When did this happen?!”

He sighs. “Three insults ago.”

You blink again, looking down at your tangled fingers like they’re foreign. “And you didn’t say anything?”

“Didn’t want to interrupt you. You were busy dragging my entire personality.”

Your cheeks flush before you can stop it, and suddenly you’re way too aware of the heat in your palm, of how his thumb brushes yours once before he lets go to open the building’s front door.

You walk out together into the cool night air, heart rattling somewhere near your throat.

And when you glance at him again, all he says is

“You talk too much.”

But his hand brushes yours again, like it’s waiting. So you take it back.

“Yeah, well,” you say smugly, fingers still laced with his as he walks you toward his car. “You like me, so.”

He exhales one of those long-suffering breaths, like he’s dealing with a particularly persistent migraine that he’s secretly fond of. Then he opens the car door for you, motions you in with a dramatic flourish, and mutters, “Should’ve just kept you guessing.”

You scoff, sliding into the seat. “As if you’re capable of being subtle.”

He closes the door, rounds the car. You’re still going by the time he’s in the driver’s seat.

“You’re the opposite of lowkey, Jeon Wonwoo. You scared that male model the other week just for saying I looked good in pink.”

He adjusts the mirror, nonchalant. “He was too close.”

“And what about that time the new photographer tried to ask what I was doing Friday night? You cut in mid-sentence and told him I already had plans—with you. You didn’t even blink.”

“He was wasting his breath.”

You point at him accusingly. “Exactly. That’s what I mean! You act like you’re all calm and detached but you’re the most obvious person in the room. If anyone even looks at me for too long, you show up like some passive-aggressive shadow with a lens and a grudge—”

“Hmm.”

“—and you say I’m dramatic, but meanwhile you’re plotting someone’s downfall because they complimented my sentence structure—”

“Right.”

“—and honestly I don’t even know how you’re still pretending to be chill about any of this when you literally—”

“Are you done?” he cuts in suddenly, turning to you

You blink, mid-rant. “No, I—”

Then he’s leaning in. No warning. No dramatic pause. Just moving. Smooth, easy, like it’s always been this simple for him.

His hand finds your jaw, steadying you, and then his lips are on yours. Warm and unhurried, but firm, certain. Like he’s finally tired of hearing you talk but can’t bear the thought of shutting you up any other way.

It knocks the air from your lungs.

You don’t even realize your hands have curled into his hoodie until he pulls back, just slightly, enough to speak against your lips.

“I like it better when your mouth’s busy doing that.”

Your heart’s still hammering when you murmur, “You’re unbelievable.”

His thumb brushes your cheek. “You’re impossible.”

The drive was quiet but electric. When you got to your building, he walks you to your floor.

Now here you are. 

Your back hits the door to your apartment with a soft thud, and thank god the hallway’s empty because right now, Jeon Wonwoo has you pressed against it and your mouth is very, very busy.

You breathe out, lips brushing his. “I should go.”

“Mhm,” he murmurs, mouth already finding yours again, slow and deep like he has no intention of stopping.

You make a quiet sound, tilt your head to kiss him harder. Your hands slide up his chest, into his hair. His palms are flat on either side of your waist, thumbs brushing your skin through your shirt like it’s second nature.

You break away again, breathless, eyes hazy. “Wonwoo—really—I have to go—”

He only pulls you closer, mouth dragging along your jaw, his voice low against your skin. “Then open the door.”

You shiver. “I didn’t say you were coming in.”

“Then stop kissing me like you want me to.”

That shuts you up.

He pulls back just enough to look at you flushed, lips swollen, pupils blown wide. His hand comes up to cradle your jaw, thumb brushing your bottom lip like he’s memorizing it.

You hate how easy it is to melt into him again. Hate how your body doesn’t listen to your brain at all.

“I’m serious,” you whisper, though your fingers are tugging him closer again. “I should really—go—”

“You keep saying that,” he murmurs, kissing the corner of your mouth. “But you keep chasing me.”

You groan into his lips, smiling helplessly. “You’re so annoying.”

“You’re obsessed with me,” he says, smug now.

You don’t deny it.

Instead, you kiss him again, slow and lingering, until your hand’s fumbling behind you for the doorknob—

And you know, deep down, you’re definitely not going anywhere.

The next morning, you wake up tangled in your sheets, your hoodie sliding off one shoulder—his hoodie that he left with you.

Sunlight spills through the curtains, soft and warm across your legs. Your apartment is still. Quiet. Suspiciously so. You blink up at the ceiling for a solid five seconds before it hits you.

Oh my god.

Your eyes fly open.

You sit up so fast your head spins. “Oh my god, that happened.”

You cover your face with your hands, your voice muffled behind your palms. “No, no, no, that happened. I made out with Jeon Wonwoo in the hallway. I let him kiss me like that outside my apartment where there are cameras—”

You groan, falling back onto the mattress. “He left his hoodie here. I wore his hoodie here. We’re a cliché.”

You peek at the hoodie you’re still wearing and groan again.

“Why is this so soft—he did this on purpose—”

Then your phone rings.

You jolt, scrambling across the bed to grab it, heart already pounding.

Wonwoo[Incoming Call]

You stare at the screen like it’s personally offended you.

“Oh my god,” you whisper again. “Is this what regret feels like? Is this karma?”

You hesitate then answer, trying to sound normal. “Hello?”

His voice comes through, low and way too calm. “You awake?”

You clear your throat, sitting up straighter. “Yeah. Just now.”

“Good,” he says. “Come to the door.”

Your heart jumps. “What?”

“I’m outside.”

Your mouth falls open. “Wonwoo—”

“I brought breakfast.” A pause. “And your favorite kind of coffee. Because I do listen, remember?”

You’re stunned silent.

Then he adds, dryly, “Also, I want my hoodie back.”

You hang your head, whispering to yourself, “I’m in so much trouble.”

But you’re already getting up. You open the door in his hoodie and sleep shorts, hair a mess, bare-faced, and still halfway in denial.

And there he is.

Jeon Wonwoo. In all his early morning glory black ball cap, grey hoodie, two cups of coffee in one hand, a paper bag of what smells suspiciously like breakfast carbs in the other.

You blink at him. “...Hi.”

Wonwoo blinks back. “You’re acting weird.”

“I’m not acting weird,” you say too quickly, stepping aside to let him in. “You’re acting weird. You just showed up. Unannounced. With breakfast. And feelings.”

He walks in, drops the food on your kitchen counter like he’s done it a hundred times. “I told you I was outside.”

“That doesn’t make it less weird!”

“You wore my hoodie to bed.”

“Yeah, well, it was cold—”

“You sniffed it first.”

You freeze mid-step. “I did not.”

“You’re obsessed.”

You point a finger at him. “You kissed me first.”

“And you chased me like it was a sport.”

You fumble for a comeback, but your brain short-circuits, short-wired by sleep and his voice and the way he’s looking at you.

So you just sputter, waving your arms in a full-body flail of denial. “I’m not—! I don’t—! This is your fault!”

Wonwoo tilts his head. “What is?”

“You! Being... like this!”

He raises an eyebrow, steps closer. “Like what?”

You backpedal. “Like—tall. And smug. And weirdly nice in the most aggressive way possible. You remembered my pancake order and you brought coffee—”

“Because you like it with two sugars and a splash of oat milk—”

“STOP BEING PERFECT,” you shout, face burning.

Wonwoo just watches you. Calm. Unmoving. Infuriating. Then, while you’re mid-rant, hands flying, voice loud—

He grabs your wrist.

Pulls you forward.

And kisses you.

Right there in your kitchen, your sleep hair everywhere, no lip balm, no sense of logic. Just his lips on yours. Quieting every thought. Shutting you up the only way he knows how now.

When he finally pulls back, he’s still annoyingly close. “Better?”

You blink at him, stunned.

Then you mutter, dazed: “I literally forgot my name for a second.”

He smirks, presses another kiss to your forehead, and says, “Good. Now sit down before you combust. Your pancakes are getting cold.”

He chuckles softly from across the table, watching you stab at your pancakes with way more intensity than necessary.

“You mad at the syrup or just taking it out on the carbs?” he asks, resting his chin in his hand, thoroughly amused.

You shoot him a half-hearted glare as you chew. “You’re lucky these are good.”

“I’m amazing at breakfast choices.”

“You’re annoying.”

He grins. That’s the thing about you, always calling him annoying, always pushing, always rolling your eyes and pretending to be fed up. But he knows. He knows now.

You critique his muted color tones, call him dramatic when he won’t let you walk to your car alone, mock the way he glares at everyone within a ten-foot radius of you but you’ve never once stopped him.

Not once.

Not when he cuts in between you and another guy trying to ask where you’re from. Not when he shuts down some overeager creative lead asking if you’re “single off-duty.” You don’t even flinch.

In fact, he’s noticed the opposite.

You lean into it.

Literally.

You inch closer to his side at events. Your elbow brushes his more often than it needs to. You never stop him when he mutters “she’s busy” on your behalf. And when someone has the guts to ask for your number, he catches the flicker of relief in your eyes.

Wonwoo’s not a mind reader. But he pays attention.

It’s one of the many things about you he’s learning to love.

“Hey,” he says now, voice lower, soft.

You look up, mid-bite, eyebrows raised. “Hmm?”

He leans forward, eyes tracing your face. “You gonna let me keep doing this?”

You swallow. “Doing what?”

“This,” he says, gesturing between you two. “Waking you up. Bringing breakfast. Stealing kisses before you’ve brushed your hair.”

You flush, stabbing another piece of pancake with less force this time. “Depends. You gonna keep cutting off every guy who even breathes in my direction?”

Wonwoo leans back in his chair, smirking. “Obviously.”

You smirk back, cheeks pink. “Then yeah. I’ll allow it.”

He pretends to exhale in relief. “Wow. Finally. Permission.”

“Don’t push it,” you mutter.

But you're smiling. And he’s watching you like you're his favorite bad habit. Because you are.

You twirl your fork through the syrup, casually, like you’re not about to ask the question that’s been crawling through your brain all morning. Like your heart isn’t already speeding up just from the way he’s watching you.

You poke at your pancake again. “So…”

Wonwoo raises a brow.

You glance at him. “When did it start?”

He blinks. “Huh?”

You look up fully now, resting your elbow on the table, eyes narrowing playfully. “You. This. Me.” You motion vaguely between the two of you. “Whatever this is. When did it start for you?”

Wonwoo pauses, blinking once, then sits back a little, coffee cup halfway to his mouth. “You mean when did I start liking you?”

You shrug, feigning casual. “I mean. If you wanna be all straightforward about it.”

He hums, sets his cup down, like he’s actually thinking. And that just makes you more nervous.

You’re expecting some recent, dramatic moment but when he answers, it’s quiet. Blunt. Like it’s not a big deal.

“The second campaign.”

You blink. “What?”

He shrugs. “You argued with me for a full twenty minutes over the tone of the ad copy. You refused to change it just because the client said so.”

“I—” You blink again. “I wasn’t even nice to you back then.”

“You weren’t,” he agrees. “But you were right. And you didn’t care that I was annoyed. You stood your ground. And you looked good doing it.”

You open your mouth. Nothing comes out.

“And then,” he continues, “you tried to storm out but knocked over your coffee and tripped over a light stand.”

You cover your face with your hands. “Oh my god.”

“I caught you,” he adds, sipping his coffee again.

“Stop talking.”

“I liked you after that.”

You peek through your fingers. “You’re insane.”

“You were wearing green that day,” he adds. “You never wear green.”

You lower your hands slowly, staring at him like he’s just admitted to memorizing your closet. “You remember what I was wearing?”

He shrugs again. “I always remember.”

Wonwoo leans forward, voice lower now. “Your turn.”

You blink. “My turn for what?”

“When did it start for you?” He’s already smirking. Like he knows. Like he’s just waiting for you to squirm.

“Go on,” he says, voice low and maddeningly smug. “Say it. When exactly?”

You glare at him. “I hate you.”

He just leans back in his seat, arms folded across his chest, sipping his coffee like he’s got all the time in the world. “That’s not a date.”

You scowl harder. He waits. Silent. Patient. Amused. You look at your plate. Your fork. The wall. The napkin dispenser. Anywhere but his face.

Eventually, with a dramatic sigh, you mutter under your breath, “The first introduction.”

Wonwoo raises a brow. “What was that?”

You roll your eyes so hard they might get stuck. “The first introduction, alright?! When you joined the company.”

He freezes and you catch the subtle twitch at the corner of his mouth before he tries to hide it behind his mug.

“Seriously?” he says, voice a little smug but mostly surprised. “That early?”

You wave your fork at him like it’s a weapon. “Don’t make it weird.”

“Oh no, too late.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands. “You walked into the meeting room in that dumb black button-up, all tall and unreadable and broody-looking, and I knew. I knew you were going to be a problem.”

“Problem,” he echoes, smiling now. “That’s what we’re calling it?”

“You didn’t even smile,” you go on, ignoring him. “Just nodded at everyone and sat down like you were already too good for us. And then later you criticized the storyboard without even reading my captions.”

“It was a bad storyboard.”

“I worked all night on it.”

“It still sucked.”

You throw your napkin at him. He catches it, grinning.

“I literally said to Sooyoung,” you mutter, “‘That guy’s going to be the death of me.’”

“And here I am,” he says, leaning forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Still killing you softly.”

And you want to be mad. You try to glare. But his eyes are warm and his mouth is smiling and he looks entirely too pleased with himself.

You grumble, “I should’ve transferred departments.”

He shrugs. “You didn’t.”

You sigh. “I almost did.”

“You liked me the second I walked into the room,” he says with zero shame.

You groan, dropping your head to the table. “I should’ve transferred to another building.”

He reaches over, threads his fingers into yours on top of the table like it’s the most natural thing in the world. You don’t pull away.

“You didn’t,” he murmurs again. “That’s what matters.”

And you hate how that makes your chest feel stupidly full.

=

It’s already midday by the time you arrive on set. The shoot’s in full swing, assistants buzzing around, lights flashing, stylists adjusting hems and hair. The usual chaos, but organized in that beautiful, creative kind of way.

Wonwoo’s in the center of it all, camera in hand, black tee and cargo pants, sleeves rolled, hair slightly. He hasn’t seen you yet.

You’re off to the side, talking quietly with the campaign coordinator and art director, catching up on what’s been done so far. 

Wonwoo, mid-cue, camera lifted, one eye squinted behind the lens. His voice calm and low as he gives the model directions.

You watch the flash go off.

Then he lowers the camera and she laughs. Loud. High-pitched. She says something and reaches out, her fingers grazing his arm.

You see him glance down. See him step slightly out of range. But she doesn’t seem to care. Keeps talking. Her lips curve a little too much. She tosses her hair and says something else. You can't hear everything, but you catch the tone. The shift.

 “Are you always this serious?” Her voice rings just clear enough through the lights and buzz.

Wonwoo doesn’t respond right away. He adjusts a setting on his camera.

“I mean, it’s kind of hot,” she says.

That’s when you walk up. You stop at the monitor behind him, pretending to review the last few shots. You feel the shift before he says a word. His body turns slightly. His shoulders ease.

And then, mid-shot, he murmurs, “Didn’t know you were here.”

You don’t look at him, flipping through the clipboard with studied nonchalance. “I’ve been here a while. Watching you be mysterious and hard to look away from.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then a quiet exhale. Almost a laugh. Almost. You finally glance up and meet his eyes. And he’s already looking at you. Already wearing that expression, the one that only ever appears when it’s you.

The model, still nearby, clears her throat, clearly expecting more attention.

Wonwoo turns back to her briefly, voice distant now. “Hold that pose for a moment.”

You stand a few feet from the setup, arms crossed loosely as you watch him work. Wonwoo is in his element

“Like this?” she asks, tilting her head just slightly toward him, her hand brushing her collarbone as if to draw his eye. “Or should I be looking at you?”

Wonwoo doesn’t react. Just peers through the lens. “At the light. Not me.”

She laughs. “But you’re kind of hard to ignore.”

You roll your eyes so hard they might leave your body. Oh my god.

She giggles after every other shutter click. Touches her hair. Tilts toward him like she’s trying to melt into his camera.

And then finally the shoot wraps.

Wonwoo lowers the camera and wordlessly hands it off to one of the assistants. No nod. No thank-you. Just turns. And walks straight to you.

He doesn’t say much. Doesn’t need to. He stops right in front of you, eyes locked on yours, voice low but crystal clear

“Ready to go, babe?”

Silence. The model? Jaw dropped. You? Stunned. Speechless. You can literally hear your brain buffering. The stylist next to you physically gasps. A tech guy across the room drops something. Somewhere, someone forgets how to breathe.

You’re frozen. But he’s already taking the folder from your hands, slinging his own camera bag over one shoulder then grabbing your bag like it’s just a matter of routine.

And then he’s strolling toward the exit. Cool, calm, deadly.

He stops by the doorway. Turns. Holds his hand out, fingers open like he’s done this a hundred times.  You stare. One beat. Two.

Then you move.

You walk toward him, wordless. Your fingers slide into his like they were meant to be there all along. The room behind you stays completely, utterly silent.

And he just smiles, the smallest bit, like this was the plan all along.

The moment the car door shuts behind you, your brain is still catching up. He doesn’t say a word as he starts the car, calm as ever, hands steady on the wheel.

And finally, as he turns out onto the street, smooth and quiet like nothing earth-shattering just happened

You whip your head toward him. “Okay. Hold up. Pause. What. Was. THAT?”

Wonwoo hums like he doesn’t already know exactly what you’re talking about. “What?”

You throw your hands in the air. “What? Are you serious right now?”

He doesn’t take his eyes off the road, one hand relaxed on the wheel, the other resting lazily between you. “You mean at the shoot?”

You scoff. “Yes, at the shoot, Jeon Wonwoo. You dropped ‘babe’ like it was your job title.”

“Right.” He nods like he’s just remembered. “Because you are.”

You stare. “That’s not the point!”

“I think it is.”

“You shattered the room.”

“Not my fault they’re slow,” he shrugs.

You groan, dragging your hands down your face. “The model looked like she saw her career flash before her eyes.”

“She kept flirting with me,” he says simply. “You looked annoyed.”

You glare at him. “I was annoyed. But I wasn’t expecting a public broadcast. You never say stuff like that in front of anyone.”

He glances at you now, the ghost of a smirk playing at his lips. “You didn’t like it?”

Your mouth opens. Then closes. Then opens again.

“I didn’t say that.”

“Didn’t think so.”

You cross your arms. “Still. That was... aggressive.”

“She kept touching me.”

“Okay but—”

“She said I was hard to ignore,” he adds, like that alone should justify the entire situation.

“Because you are!” you snap, then immediately shut your mouth like you didn’t mean to say that out loud.

You groan again, slumping in your seat. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

You glance at him again, arms still folded. “You’re getting cocky.”

He parks, puts the car in park, then looks at you fully, finally.

“Let them know,” he says simply.

You blink. “Let who know?”

“The ones who flirt,” he says, voice low, eyes on yours. “That I’m not going anywhere.”

Your heart does a very stupid flip. You try to act unaffected. Fail spectacularly.

“…Okay,” you mumble.

You push his shoulder, trying not to smile. You fail at that too.

You scowl at him as you unbuckle your seatbelt, twisting to face him fully. “Subtlety is really not for you, Jeon Wonwoo.”

He shrugs, annoyingly unbothered, wrist draped over the wheel, head turned toward you like he’s got all the time in the world. “Not when it comes to you, no.”

Then, with a glance out the windshield, he adds, “I don’t like people thinking I’m available.”

That makes your stomach twist. You blink, leaning back slightly. “Aren’t you?”

The question slips out before you can really think it through. And now it hangs in the air between you.

You’re not… not together. You’ve been tangled in each other’s orbit for weeks now. Shoots, coffee, hand-holding, car rides, sleepovers, kisses in hallways and pancakes in your kitchen but still, technically…

No one’s said the words. Not officially. Not aloud.

Wonwoo’s quiet for a second. Then he exhales once, and his voice is steady when he says, “You really think I’d be doing all this if I was?”

You shrug, avoiding his eyes. “I mean… I don’t know. Maybe you’re just a very romantic situationship.”

“Don’t joke.”

“I’m not—” You look at him. “Okay, maybe I am joking, but—look, I’m just saying… You’ve never actually said it.”

He watches you.

And you hate how serious he looks now. Like you touched something buried a little deeper in him.

“Do you want me to?” he asks, quiet.

You hesitate. “I don’t know. Do you want to?”

He turns his body toward you slightly, the car engine humming low in the silence. “I’m not the type who says things just to say them.”

You nod slowly. “Yeah. I know.”

“I do things when I mean it. That’s why I take my time.”

You speak, a little softer now. “So what is this, then?”

“Mine.”

Your mouth opens, then closes. “...You can’t just say that.”

“You asked.”

You swallow. “So that’s it? That’s your label?”

“It’s not a label. It’s a fact.”

You shake your head, trying not to smile. “You’re unbelievable.”

He leans a little closer, hand brushing yours on the console between you. “You haven’t stopped me once. Not when I held your hand. Not when I kissed you in your hallway. Not when I called you babe in front of other people.”

“You don’t want to be available either,” he murmurs.

“…I never said I did,” you say under your breath.

“Then stop looking surprised when I act like you’re mine.”

You glance down at your hands and then back at him. “So you’re not available.”

He squeezes your fingers. “Not even close.”

You don’t even get two full steps from the car before you hear the door close behind him and his footsteps following right after.

You roll your eyes, barely glancing over your shoulder. “Don’t you have, like, a mysterious exit to make or something?”

“Nope,” he says, and when you turn, he’s already there. One tugs gently at the hem of his hoodie still draped on you, the other brushing your hair behind your ear, so casual, so him.

“Don’t act like you’re not excited to call me boyfriend.”

You scoff, heat crawling up your neck despite the very valiant eye roll you throw at him. “You’re literally unbearable.”

“And yet,” he says, fingers sliding down your arm until he catches your hand, “you let me call you babe in front of, what, fifteen people?”

“That was ambush flirtation,” you say, trying to keep your face straight. “You weaponized affection.”

“You didn’t say stop,” he murmurs, leaning in, voice low. “You blushed. You froze. You followed me out like I was your ride home and your last meal.”

You jab a finger at his chest. “First of all, you were my ride home. Second, I was in shock.”

He grins. “Exactly. You like it when I keep you on your toes.”

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” you mutter.

His fingers lace through yours. “I know I’m lucky.”

That catches you off guard, softens your smile just a little. And then he’s kissing you again light, unhurried, the kind of kiss that says yeah, this is mine.

When he pulls back, he murmurs, “Say it.”

You raise a brow. “Say what?”

He brushes his thumb across your knuckles. “Say I’m your boyfriend.”

“Why? Need the validation?”

“Maybe,” he says. “Or maybe I just like hearing you say it.”

You look up at him for a long second, chest warm, lips twitching.

You tug him closer by the front of his ahirt, grinning now. “You’re my boyfriend, Jeon Wonwoo. Happy?”

He pretends to think about it, then leans in again. “Ecstatic.”

And this time, you’re the one who kisses him.

=

The gallery is already full when you step inside the buzz of soft conversation, and the click of polished shoes against polished floors. His name is printed in bold black lettering on the entrance wall:  Jeon Wonwoo — Light / Shadow 

You smile, tugging your coat tighter around you, your suitcase still wheeling behind. You’d just landed an hour ago. He thinks you’re still three cities away, deep in a client shoot.

But there was no way you were missing this.

You move quietly through the crowd, scanning the framed photos.. There’s his signature minimalism, sure.  One in particular makes you stop cold.

It’s a photo of hands, your hands. Mid-motion. A soft focus, a blurred laugh caught in the background. You remember the day he took it. You didn’t even know he was shooting.

Then a familiar voice, low and polite from across the room.

“Thanks for coming,” he says to someone. “No—really, I wasn’t sure anyone would show up.”

You turn. He’s across the floor, in a charcoal button-down, sleeves rolled to his elbows, hair styled like he hasn’t touched it since this morning. He looks calm. Grounded. But there's a nervous edge in his stance you know too well.

He hasn’t seen you yet.

You watch as someone gestures to one of the larger portraits and he answers with that quiet way of his but you can see the way he tugs slightly at his cuff when no one’s looking.

Your heart aches.

You wait until there’s a lull, until the guest he’s speaking to turns away—then you step forward, voice soft, just enough for him to hear:

“You really thought I’d miss this?”

Wonwoo turns eyes wide. He stares for a solid three seconds like you’re a ghost then his shoulders drop, and something in his face just melts.

“You said—”

“Flight got moved up,” you say with a grin, stepping into his space. “So I made a detour.”

He looks you up and down like he’s still trying to believe it. “You flew straight here?”

You shrug. “Had to see your name on a wall in person.”

He blinks. “You’re insane.”

You smirk. “You’re welcome.”

And before he can say another word, you’re pulling him in, arms sliding around his neck, ignoring the murmurs and background clinking of glasses. He exhales sharply, head ducking against your shoulder like he’s been holding his breath all night.

“Hi,” he murmurs into your ear.

“Hi,” you whisper back. “Proud of you, boyfriend.”

He pulls back just enough to look at you.

“I put that photo in the exhibit for a reason,” he says, tilting his head toward the picture of your hands.

You glance at it again. “Why?”

He leans in. “Because that’s what my work looks like when I’m in love.”

You freeze. He smiles, soft and barely there but oh, it wrecks you.

And then he presses a kiss to your cheek, grounding, quiet, before whispering “Don’t ever stay out of town that long again.”

You’re already talking before you even finish your second step into the room again.

“Okay but that one over there—tell me that’s the one you almost deleted. You’re insane for even thinking about it—oh my god, Yeji! Hi!” you beam, waving to one of the junior curators you’d met before, leaning into Wonwoo slightly as she waves back excitedly.

Your fingers are laced with his like it’s second nature, your other hand gesturing animatedly as you keep talking, already switching topics mid-thought.

Wonwoo just watches you.

Still holding your hand. Still pulling your small carry-on behind him like it’s nothing. Like you didn’t just travel hours to be here. Like his chest didn’t finally unclench the second you walked through the gallery doors.

You keep talking, not even noticing how quiet he is. You’re too busy waving, pointing at framed photos, complimenting random staff, joking about wine choices.

And he just lets you. Like always. Like your voice fills in the spaces that get too loud in his own head. Like the background noise of his thoughts dims the longer you’re near.

Like your voice, no matter how fast or chaotic, is the only kind of noise that feels like silence to him. The good kind. The kind that settles him.

He squeezes your hand once, a silent I missed this.

You narrow your eyes suspiciously. “You’re doing the thing again.”

“What thing?”

“The… staring-like-I’m-your-favorite-plot-twist thing.”

He shrugs, completely unbothered. “You are.”

You blink, caught off guard for half a second before you groan and bump his shoulder with yours. “You’re lucky I missed you.”

Wonwoo just follows along, carrying your bag, carrying your chatter, letting the sound of you fill in all the quiet spaces that haven’t felt quite right since you left.

And somehow—this chaos? This fast-talking, opinion-sharing, story-hopping version of you?

It’s the most peace he’s had in weeks.

He glances over at you from the driver’s seat, and you don’t even notice. You’re too busy gesturing with your hands, buzzing from pride and energy and airport coffee.

“You don’t even get it, Wonwoo, I almost cried. And you know I don’t cry at things with clean lighting and clean lines. I cry at commercials and drama specials and dogs. But that last shot with the man on the bench?? I was like, sobbing internally. I swear the woman next to me was crying too, or maybe I just imagined that to feel less insane—”

He’s smiling now. Small, quiet, not for you to notice. But he’s listening because you haven’t stopped since the gallery. And he doesn’t want you to.

By the time you’re inside his apartment, you’ve kicked off your shoes and peeled off your coat, still talking. Now you’re sitting on his bed, cross-legged in his clothes, hands moving as fast as your mouth.

He leans against the doorframe for a second, watching you. Silently. Like you’re the main feature now.

“And the print layout? Gorgeous. I mean, obviously, because you, but still—like, museum-quality. Like, people will look at that ten years from now and pretend they saw it when it first opened. You know that, right? You know this is one of those shows people brag about seeing? I heard two people talking in the corner, one of them was like ‘this guy’s gonna blow up’ and I was just there smiling like, he already did.”

Wonwoo walks in slowly, dropping his keys on the desk, tossing your overnight bag onto the chair, and you still don’t notice that he hasn’t said a word in minutes.

You’re too busy beaming, caught mid-rant as you shift to face him better on the bed.

“I’m just saying,” you breathe out, finally pausing, cheeks flushed and eyes wide with sincerity, “it was beautiful. You were—are—brilliant. And I’m so, so proud of you.”

Then you realize—he’s just been watching you.

You blink. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

He walks over. Sits at the edge of the bed facing you. Still quiet. Still watching.

“What?”

He shrugs lightly. “You didn’t run out of words.”

“Obviously,” you say, rolling your eyes. “I never do.”

“No,” he says, voice low now. Honest. “Not for this. Not for me.”

“That bothers you?”

He shakes his head. “No. That’s not what I mean.”

You blink again. “Then what’s the look for?”

He reaches out, gently tugging your ankle until you slide closer across the blanket. He leans in, resting his forehead against yours.

“That’s what it feels like,” he murmurs, “when someone sees you.”

You’re quiet now. For once. Not because you don’t have anything to say. But because you don’t need to say it.

You smile, confused but soft, a breath of laughter slipping out. “What do you mean?”

He doesn’t pull back right away. Just stays close, breath mingling with yours. “You talk like you’re trying to hold everything I’ve ever done in your hands.”

He brushes his thumb along the side of your knee absentmindedly, gaze dropping for a second, like the words are too raw to say while fully looking at you.

“You remember every frame, every detail. You talk about it like it matters. Like I matter.”

Your breath catches a little. “Wonwoo…”

“I’m used to people liking the work,” he says, almost absently. “Liking the photos. Liking the light, the angles. Not a lot of people care about what I was thinking when I shot something. Or what I felt.”

You lean forward slightly, bumping your forehead against his again, voice low. “I care.”

He looks at you now. “I know. That’s what I mean.”

You let out another soft laugh, your hand sliding up to cup his cheek. “Well, yeah. That’s what happens when you date a girl who’s annoyingly observant and thinks everything you make is magic.”

He kisses you. Just once slow, unhurried, like a thank you.

Then, pulling back barely an inch, he mutters against your lips, “You really are the loudest kind of peace.”

You smile. “Good. Because I’m not shutting up anytime soon.”

Later you’re pulling your hair up into a messy bun, having just washed your face. You hear the soft creak of the floorboards just before he knocks gently on the open bedroom door. When you look up, he’s standing there, still in the same dark sweater from earlier, now holding an envelope in one hand.

He crosses the room and holds it out to you.

You frown, taking it. “What’s this?”

He shrugs like it’s nothing. “Open it.”

You sit on the edge of the bed, curious now, sliding your thumb under the seal. Inside is a print carefully wrapped, thick matte paper, the corners taped gently with that photographer precision.

You pull it out. It’s that photo.

The quiet field from the road in that small town a year go. The one with the lone tree and golden haze just before sunset. You’d both stopped there briefly accidental detour while scouting for another location. It wasn’t even part of the job. He took the photo anyway.

You’d stared at the view through the passenger window and said, half under your breath, “God, that’s beautiful.”

And he had—without a word—gotten out of the car and taken the shot.

It was the first time you both agreed on a frame without bickering, no debate, no teasing.

You run your fingers over the print now, gently. “I didn’t see this at the exhibit.”

Wonwoo sits down beside you, quiet. “That’s ‘cause it’s not part of the exhibit,” he says. “It’s yours.”

You look at him.

He’s not even watching you, eyes on the photo in your lap. “Was never meant for the gallery. I knew that the second I shot it.”

You swallow. “Wonwoo…”

He finally looks at you then, soft and serious.

“You said that one stopped time for you.”

Your heart squeezes. You glance down at the photo again, holding it like it might slip through your fingers.

“…It kind of did.”

He doesn’t answer, just leans in and presses a kiss to your temple.

You look up at him, fingers still curled around his, that photo now resting gently on your lap. The moment’s soft but your chest is full to the brim and holding it in feels impossible.

You meet his eyes, steady and sure, and say it without blinking.

“You know I’m so deeply, crazily in love with you, right?”

It hangs there for a beat. Raw. Unapologetic. And he freezes. Like your words landed somewhere inside him that he’s been keeping guarded.

His gaze doesn’t leave yours. Not for a second. Then, quietly, he says, “Say it again.”

You laugh softly. “Greedy.”

“Yeah.” His voice is rougher now, quieter. “Just this once.”

You shift closer, knees touching, your hand now resting flat over his heart like it’ll help him feel every word more clearly.

“I love you,” you whisper. “So much it’s actually kind of a problem. Like—I can’t shut up about you. I annoy Sooyoung daily. My notes app has your name in it. My camera roll is 80% you. I think about you when nothing’s even happening. It’s dumb.”

Wonwoo stares at you like you just short-circuited something in him. His jaw ticks, his eyes softer than you’ve ever seen them. No teasing now. Just this quiet awe that settles between you.

He cups your cheek, thumb brushing along your skin like he’s grounding himself.

“You’re not dumb,” he murmurs. “You’re… everything.”

You smile, eyes crinkling. “That was dangerously close to cheesy.”

“Don’t care,” he says, leaning in. “I’m deeply, crazily in love with you, too. So get used to it.”

And then he kisses you slow, deep, final in the way that says this is what all the photos, all the silence, all the waiting was leading up to.

And you kiss him back like you’re not afraid to show it anymore.

You laugh one of those breathy, overwhelmed little laughs and then groan into your hands, flopping backwards onto the bed dramatically.

“Noooo,” you whine, voice muffled. “You don’t understand.”

Wonwoo tilts his head, clearly amused, hovering over you now with one hand braced beside your shoulder. “Then explain it to me.”

You peek up at him through your fingers. “It was cute before. Like—the banter? The arguing? The smug ‘you’re obsessed with me’ stuff?”

He nods slowly. “Still accurate.”

You throw a pillow at him. He catches it easily.

“I’m serious!” you laugh, sitting up again, cross-legged, your hands flying now. “It was fun! You were annoying, and hot, and I got to act like I wasn’t affected, you know? I had control.”

Wonwoo raises an eyebrow. “Is that what you think you had?”

You ignore that entirely, already on a roll. “But then we started dating for real and it’s like—ugh. My brain broke. Like I get shy.”

He blinks. “You.”

“Me!” you say, gesturing to yourself. “Shy! Over you. And I’ve seen you grumpy, and sweaty, and hangry, and I still—” You cut yourself off with a strangled sound. “It’s a problem, Wonwoo. I’m in too deep. I don’t even know what to do with myself anymore. Like who am I?”

Wonwoo laughs. He can’t help it. Not in a teasing way just totally endeared, like he’s watching his favorite movie unfold frame by frame.

You squint at him. “Why are you smiling like that?”

“Because I remember the version of you who glared at me every time I disagreed with a shot,” he murmurs. “Who used to call me emotionally constipated. And now you’re here… in my bed, wearing my shirt, blushing over your own feelings like I don’t already know every version of you.”

You make a strangled noise. “See! That’s another thing! You say stuff like that and my brain short circuits. I’m supposed to be good with words, but nooo, I just go all—” You wave your hands helplessly, making an unintelligible noise.

He’s laughing now, full chest laugh, eyes crinkling, and it only makes it worse because you love that laugh, and he knows it.

“I hate you,” you groan, flopping back down again.

He shifts, laying beside you, propping his head on one hand while the other traces idle shapes against your arm.

“No, you don’t,” he says easily.

He leans in close again, his grin gentler now. “I know you’re shy. I know you ramble. I know you pretend to be annoyed when you’re just flustered. And I know you love me. Because I love you back, exactly like this.”

You sigh, tucking into his side with a dramatic groan. “Ugh. Fine. Be perfect. Whatever.”

He laughs again, pulling you closer. “Keep talking. It’s my favorite sound.”

You shift slightly, just enough to look up at him, chin resting on his chest.

“Hey,” you mumble.

He hums. “Mm?”

You trace a lazy line on the fabric of his shirt. “Remember when you said I drove you crazy?”

Wonwoo tilts his head, glancing down at you. “Yeah.”

You squint at him. “You still think that?”

A slow smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, but his eyes are already soft. “Of course.”

You roll your eyes dramatically. “Rude.”

“But now it’s worse,” he says, barely biting back a laugh.

“Worse?!” you squawk, smacking his chest lightly. “Wow. So glad I flew in early to support you. Really feeling appreciated right now.”

He catches your wrist easily and kisses the inside of it before lacing your fingers together again. “Let me finish.”

You glare. “This better be a recovery arc, Jeon.”

Wonwoo shifts onto his side, face close, nose brushing yours, his voice low and serious in a way that melts your bones every time. 

“It’s worse now because I don’t just think about kissing you. Or arguing with you until you cave. Or watching you ramble while you wave your hands like you're trying to fly off the bed.”

You blink. “...okay, those are all very specific.”

He smiles. “I think about you being in my life all the time. Like… routines. Mornings. Groceries. Long drives. You showing up when I don’t expect it, ruining my peace in the best possible way.”

He tugs you a little closer. “So yeah. You still drive me crazy. But now it’s the kind of crazy where I don’t want anything else.”

You stare. Then, deadpan, “Wow.”

Wonwoo lifts a brow. “What?”

You grin. “You are getting romantic.”

He sighs. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

You lean up and kiss him quick, all smile. “No. You’re lucky you’re mine.”

His hand curls against your back. “That too.”

And somehow, even when the silence returns, your heart’s louder than ever.

=

Six months later.

You’re both standing at the edge of a rooftop late evening. Wonwoo’s camera hangs lazily from his neck, forgotten for now. You’re nursing two plastic cups of terrible rooftop wine. Your coat is buttoned halfway, your hand is in his.

You both worked late, again. Another campaign, another rush deadline. But it’s different now.

The tension’s still there, sure. You still argue over color tones and layout space and whether the tagline needs to be six words or five. But now he kisses you in the middle of those arguments, presses your notes against your chest with a grin and says, “Wrong. But passionate.”

He drives you home every night. Sometimes you stay up eating ramen barefoot in his kitchen. Sometimes you fall asleep mid-sentence on his couch, and he tucks you in, then stays awake just to finish editing with you curled up beside him.

“Hey,” he says now, bumping your shoulder as you lean into the rail.

“Hmm?”

He doesn’t look at you. “Remember the first campaign we worked on together?”

You groan, loudly. “Do not bring that up—”

“You kept fighting with me over that blue backdrop,” he says, already smirking.

“I was right, and you know it.”

He chuckles, sips from his cup. “It’s weird, isn’t it?”

“What is?”

“That we used to only know each other through disagreements.” He turns to face you fully. “And now I know what your voice sounds like when you’re half-asleep. I know you hog the blanket and always re-watch the same three movies when you’re stressed. I know you ramble when you’re happy, and fake-annoyed when you’re overwhelmed.”

You blink, a little caught off guard. “...Where’s this coming from?”

Wonwoo shrugs. “Just thinking.”

You stare at him, heart catching. “You’ve gotten sappy.”

“Blame you.”

You smile, stepping closer until your nose brushes his sweater. “Blame me all you want. You’re the one who fell.”

He doesn’t answer that. Just lets his hand slide around your waist, pulling you in gently.

And then, after a beat— “Got something for you.”

You look up. “Right now?”

He nods, pulling a folded envelope from his coat pocket. Your brows furrow. “Is this another print? You know I’m running out of wall space—”

“Open it,” he says, quiet.

You do.

Inside is a photo, your photo. The two of you, standing outside the gallery from months ago. You hadn’t realized someone captured it: the way you were holding hands, forehead to his chest, mid-laugh. You, looking up at him like he hung the moon. Him, looking back like he’d never wanted anything more.

It’s simple. And perfect.

“Wanted to give you something that wasn’t for work,” he says. “No concept. No shadows. Just… us.”

You blink once. Twice. Then you tackle him, nearly sloshing your wine onto his shoes, arms around his neck, photo clutched in your hand.

“I love you, you idiot,” you whisper.

He just holds you tighter.

And the city keeps blinking beneath you both, but up here—it's still. Time paused exactly where you’re meant to be.