#~ . 🌼

[white-poppie]

𐙚 ‧₊˚ Thinking 'bout Older!Toji <33

Older!Toji who very clearly needs reading glasses but refuses to wear them because "he doesn't need it." So he's just squinting his eyes trying to read whatever is written on the newspaper.

Older!Toji who's your biggest hypeman; you'll find him whistling "damn mama" at anything you wear, sweatpants, large ugly t-shirts? He's hyping you up like you're wearing designer clothes, his hands constantly on your butt, smacking whenever he has a chance. And if you whine cutely, he'll just chuckle and do it again!

Older!Toji who just refuses to fight with you even if it's for valid reason. You'd be screaming at him, and he'll wait till you tire out and just look at you with a coy smirk and say, "You done, baby?" ugh, he's so annoying.

Older!Toji, who has this weird thing where he squishes your face and then leans down to kiss your puckered lips with an audible smooch.

Older!Toji who's super clingy in the morning (contrary to popular belief) and just sags half of his body weight on you, and you can barely move. " 'jus five more mins ma," he'd whisper in his hoary voice and you'd have no choice but to relent.

Older!Toji who doesn't have the energy he used to have in his younger years, so after particularly tiring days, he just wants to lay his head on your lap and have you run your fingers through his hair and he's out like a baby...except the fact his snores could wake up the entire neighbourhood.

Older!Toji who loves wearing the black compression shirt and grey sweatpants combo just to see you salivate over him. He pats his thighs and gestures for you to sit on his lap before burying his nose in your neck and pressing a kiss on your shoulder.

Older!Toji fell in love with you all over again when he let you shave his face after you insisted. He just looks up at you with his intense eyes, being so silent you can't even tell if you accidentally hurt him or something, and after you're done, he grabs your hand and whispers out, "I swear to god, I am gonna marry you again."

[nora-yoko]

[mariemariemaria]

St Brigid's Crosses from the National Museum of Ireland Country Life collection

[sobbingscripter]

𓈒⋆⑅˚₊୨🌹wc. 5471🌹୧₊˚⑅⋆𓈒

“Yeah.” Your voice is soft, fingers carding through Mark’s hair, the silky feel between your fingers is the only thing keeping you from wearing your excitement on your fucking forehead.

“Wait, really?” He perks up, pretty brown eyes focused on your face, searching your expression for a hint of deception but all he finds are kiss swollen lips curled into a sheepish smile, fluttering lashes and a tongue that swipes across your bottom lip with the same fluidity he wants to feel against his leaky tip.

“Yes, really.” You snort.

And Mark’s excitement is palpable, lips curling into a wide grin, and he sits up, blankets pooling at your hips and you glance down at the very, very prominent shape in his boxers. The fabric pulled so taut that you’re beginning to think he might actually lose circulation and you watch as Mark reaches over, grabbing your phone from beside his and he unlocks it.

Fingers flying over the cracked screen guard, and he taps his fingers impatiently against your cover.

“What are you doing?” Your brows scrunch in confusion, thighs tossed over his ones and you feel the way warm muscles tense and twitch under the weight of your legs.

“Playlist.” Mark whispers, his fingers scrolling through your Spotify, adding just the right songs.

“Are you serious?” You groan, laughter tinging at the edge of your voice, as you stare at Mark. Clad in a President Nixon T-shirt and black boxers, raven strands tousled messily from the way your fingers carded through the strands so incessantly, a dopey grin formed by lips reddened from kissing and his fucking eyes.

So dazed, pupils blown wide and long lashes fluttering with each half-blink. Light reflects off the pretty brown of his eyes, and you could stare at him like this forever.

“Okay, done.” Mark whispers, setting your phone back down and he adjusts the sound just a bit until he’s hovering back over you, lips ghosting over yours. The ball of his nose bumping against yours in sweet butterfly kisses, his hand moving to rest on your waist while the other supports his weight above you.

“Do you have condoms?” Mark questions softly, lips pressing against yours in sweet, gentle kisses. Slowly trailing his lips along your jaw, his hips pressing into yours and you feel the way he grinds his clothed cock against your pussy, the flimsy fabric of your nightshorts doing nothing to obscure how you’re soaking through the cotton.

“I— hah…” A weak sigh leaves your lips when Mark kisses the hollow beneath your ear, and your thighs wrap around his waist firmly “I don’t think we wear the same condom size.”

A breathy laugh against your neck has your cunt oozing slick, a pool beneath your hips and you’re trying not to whine whenever his ridge catches at your sloppy folds. “Yeah.” Mark murmurs. “Your dick’s so much bigger than mine.” And he kisses the curve of your neck. “What size are you?”

“Magnum.” You whisper. “Extra large, with extra ribbing.”

And Mark laughs, his head lifting. “Why do you know so much about condoms?”

“I don’t.” You snort. “I pulled that out of my ass, but.” You hum. “How couldn’t you guess that? Don’t you know about condoms?”

And Mark shrugs. “No. I always thought that with the right person, I wouldn’t have to wear them.”

His voice is quiet as he looks down at you, pretty eyes roving over your features and he swallows, lips curling into a dorkish grin that has you weak, your belly clenching at the way he slips his hand under your shirt, giving your waist a gentle squeeze before his hand slides up further. Stopping until his thumb traces over the curve of the underside of your breast.

“Call it alien instincts.” He whispers, pressing another kiss to your neck and you sigh. “M’still waiting for you to dry out and get all gross.”

“I’m not like ET. I’m basically like… Kryptonian.” He answers softly, sucking a mark into your skin and you gasp at the sudden sharpness of the action. A slight pinch that makes your heels press into his lower back.

“And what’s your kryptonite?” You hum softly.

“I’d tell you to take a guess but that’s kinda cheesy.” Mark whispers against your skin. “So, it’s comic books.”

You let out a giggle, your lips parting to say something but Mark’s thumb brushes over your nipple, teasing the velvety soft bud until it stiffens beneath his grasp and you take a shaky breath, your lashes fluttering shut as you feel the way Mark’s kisses trail lower and lower, until he’s pushing your shirt up, past your belly and tucking it beneath your chin.

And he stares.

Unapologetically.

Muscular fingers flexing as they grasp at your hips, brilliant chestnut pools focused and trained on the way your nipples harden, pebbling under his gaze. And you swallow.

“Is something — bitch, wait, are you playing The Weeknd?” You attempt to sit up, shifting enough for your elbows to support your weight but Mark presses a hand on your chest, pushing you back down and he dips his head. His tongue’s hot as he drags along your nipple, eyes glancing up to watch your expression as his lips find purchase, tongue flicking and his other hand moves back to palming your unattended tit. Your body nearly leaves the surface of your mattress at the way Mark attends to you, pandering to your body and you whine.

“Are you sensitive here?” Mark breathes out, but it’s like you don’t hear him immediately.

Your fingers are raking through his hair, nails dragging along his scalp and Mark groans, eyes fluttering shut as he shifts his attention to the other.

He’s impeccably good at it.

But clumsy enough for you to know that this is his first time.

His hips rut against your thigh desperately and you let out a low sigh, your eyes rolling back.

“Shit…” You whisper, swallowing hard before you nod. “Apparently so.”

And he grins.

“Score.”

Mark tugs at your nipple with his teeth and he lifts his head to admire you.

Glossy, swollen nipples, a belly that’s dipping inward with every shallow breath you take and Mark’s hooking his fingers into the waistband of your shorts and panties, pulling them down in one go and Mark tosses them aside. Before grasping at the edge of his shirt, pulling it overhead and tossing it aside.

“Fuck, you’re so perfect.” He breathes out, desperately as he shifts, kisses and hickeys scattering themselves across your torso with each desperate press of his lips, fingers wrapped around your thighs and Mark pushes your legs apart. His lips pressing a kiss against your fleshy, plump mound before guiding your legs to part comfortably.

And your hands immediately go to cover yourself, and he lets out a little hum, before shifting, peering at you with a confused expression. “You okay?”

And your lips purse as you try to find a way to say you’re a little nervous about that. “Are you like….” You chew on the inside of your cheek. “Does— do you have to like… do that?”

Mark lifts the covers, hands moving to support his weight as he stares down at you. “If you’re not comfortable with it, we don’t have to do that. It’d just make it easier for later, you know.”

“It’s not that I’m not comfortable, it’s like… You don’t have to, if you don’t like… wa—"

“I want to.” Mark interjects. “I’m not doing it for you, I’m doing it for me. I gotta put me first.”

You snort, loudly before looking at Mark. Your brows furrowing as you remember your anxiousness. What if it doesn’t… Like…

“What if it’s like not… You know?”

And Mark lowers himself back to between your thighs, his chin resting on your mound and he watches you with soft, empathetic eyes.

“The worst possible thing that could happen, is you tasting like pennies because you don’t drink water.” Mark deadpans. “But I like the taste of pennies.”

And your lips purse. “We’ll get back to the penny tasting part later but are you sure?” Your voice is quiet.

“I’m sure.” Mark whispers back. “Can I show you how sure I am?”

When you nod, Mark’s head dips and he sighs in delight

Thumbs move to spread your puffy lips apart, your glossy cunt being stared at so intently that you can feel it. But it doesn’t make you any less horny. And Mark groans quietly when he watches the way you twitch.

“Demogorgon.” Mark breathes out and you gasp. “Mark, you fucking asshole. That’s not fun—…nnyyyyy..”

You whine weakly when you feel the way his warm tongue drags through your sloppy folds, slick pooling on the wet muscle and Mark groans as your thighs press against his ears.

Mark feels the way your cunt twitches against his tongue, and he tugs a folds into his mouth, eyes focused on your chest and the way your breath stutters, rather than the whines you’re muffling with your hand.

You’re writhing. With the way you’re trying to simultaneously get away AND closer to his tongue, Mark’s finding it hard to keep the smile from his face. Your fingers sink into his hair, fisting the raven strands and he groans, tongue lapping needily at your dripping pussy and when Mark pays attention to your clit, you squeal. A hand on his forehead, pushing him away.

“Not there—!” You hiss, your voice a weak whine and Mark lifts his head, staring at you from beneath heavy lashes.

And Mark huffs. “Listen here,” He swallows, pushing the covers out of the way and ultimately, leaving them bunched at his waist instead, “I can lick a pudding cup clean in like, a minute. This, this is my calling.”

And you pant, bleary eyes glancing down at him, your cheeks flushed and hot.

“You’re a literal superhero.” You remind him. “I think that’s more … Your calling.”

“Well, lucky for me, I don’t pay you to think.”

“You don’t even pay me.”

And Mark lets out a boyish little giggle, peering up at you and this time, he can make out your features properly. So much better than when the covers were obscuring his vision.

“Shhhh.” Mark shushes you. “I’m busy eating.”

You roll your eyes, although it’s to the back of your head but you’re pretty sure your point is across. Fingers remain clutching your thighs, Mark’s lips find purchase around your clit and he’s suckling at the sensitive bud, only stopping to drag his tongue along the nerves and you whine.

Your body feels like it’s on fire.

“Is it good?” Mark whispers softly. “Do you like that?”

And you nod weakly. “Uh-huh, keep doing that. M’really close…”

Your belly dips in shock, lungs taking in deep breaths of air that just don’t seem enough when you feel his tongue drags along your slit, your toes curl and your brows bunch. And your hips jerk upwards.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit.” You pant. “Mark, m’gonna—”

You don’t get to finish your sentence when your orgasm’s ripping through you like a tidal wave, slick bursting from your gooey walls and trickling down your already sloppy cunt. Your body shivers, nerves wracking and you’re trembling with each swipe of Mark’s tongue. And he groans.

“Fuck, you taste so good. What are you eating?” And he peers up at you, his chin glossy and his eyes hazy.

“Uh— berries? I’ve been eating a bit healthier. You know, more juices, less soda.” And Mark nods his head, tongue out and dragging sloppily against your cunt, before he raises his head.

“Keep doing that.” And he buries his face back between your thighs, latching onto your clit and he shakes his head, hands shifting to the backs of your thighs, pushing your legs to your chest. And you’re spread out like a meal. Something for him to admire and feast on until either of you pass out.

And Mark drags his tongue from that furled hole, all the way up to your pretty, puffy pearl and you gasp.

“Way too close!” You huff. “You can’t go that close to my ass.”

And Mark groans against your pussy, looking up at your from beneath furrowed brows and his words are barely audible.

“Boo, tomato, tomato.” He slurps at your cunt, and the sound is loud enough that it drowns out your weak mewls. You’re a little bit oversensitive, your thighs still a bit unsteady and with the way Mark keeps prodding his tongue, you’re guessing he’s not stopping anytime soon.

“Have you ever been fingered?” Mark whispers, using one of his hands to push his hair out of his face, and he melts when your hand replaces his, fingers sliding through the strands and keeping them from falling to his face.

“Where would I have found the time to be fingered?” You breathe out, body twitching whenever his breath ghosts over the slick, a chill breeze that makes your toes curl in your socks.

“Your parents aren’t ever home, you don’t have any hobbies other than sleeping.” Mark shrugs.

“You described an extremely busy schedule to me just now, and I’d like for you to find fingering time on there.”

And he huffs.

“Yapper.” And his middle finger slowly pushes into your cunt, and gorgeous, blown out brown eyes focus on your face, watching every twitch o your brows, every part of your lips for even a lick of pain and discomfort. Your body shifting until your feet are planted on the bed, on either side of him.

“How does it feel?” Mark whispers, tongue tracing over your clit and you swallow hard.

“Like… a little uncomfortable but it doesn’t really hurt-hurt.” You answer softly.

“And if I do this?” Mark’s finger curls, the calloused pad of it brushes against that gooey spot you’ve never reached before and you gasp, nails dragging against his scalp when you fist his hair.

“Do that, please.” You sigh. “S’good.”

“Fuck, you’re so tight.” Mark whispers quietly, his brows scrunching and he can feel the way his cock aches in his boxers, precum soaking through the fabric and he ruts against your bed like a fucking animal. But he’s subtle about it.

Mark sucks at your clit, finger thrusting and brushing along that gooey spot, pressing down until there are stars bursting behind your eyelids, and you squeal.

“Fuck, fuck, right the—!”

You’re coming around Mark’s finger, slick pooling beneath your hips, dripping down the crease of your ass. And you’re fine with it being there.

But Mark isn’t.

He forces your knees to your chest again, head dipping lower before he’s dragging his tongue from the edge of your spine, along your furled entrance, your oozing slit and all the way to your clit and circling it with the point of his tongue.

And you gasp.

“Mark. I swear to God. If I get an infection—”

“I’m not sticking my tongue in your ass, oh my God.” He groans. “But fine. I guess you’re just not about that life.”

And you giggle, bringing your hands up to your face to hide your blush. “You fucking dork.”

“Do— do you think you’re ready?” Mark questions, a hand reaching up to push your face slightly. “Look away.”

“I should probably be ready.” You murmur quietly, your gaze lifting to the ceiling but you can’t even deny that the back of your eyeballs are burning to catch a glimpse of what’s been causing the print you kept eyeing.

For the last couple of years.

And Mark peels off his boxers, before flinging them in your direction. And your mouth falls open. “Why are they wet?” You giggle, a snort slipping past your lips as you pick up his boxers, setting them to the side and you look down at where Mark’s hand is wrapped around the base of his cock, ruddy tip ghosting over your folds. You begin to fear for your organs.

“You know, now that I’m looking at it—”

“I won’t make it fit.” Mark deadpans, dragging his cock along your leaking slit, slick coating his cock and he lets out a shuddering breath when he aligns himself with your hole.

And he swallows heavily.

“Take a deep breath…” Mark breathes in.

And your brows bunch.

He looks… Stressed.

Eyebrows knitted, lips parted to let out calculated breaths, his chest heaving and— oh my god, his hand’s shaking.

“Mark?” You call softly. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good.. I’m just like… hyping myself up— fuck, your hand’s so warm…”

Mark sighs, a whimper slipping past his lips when he feels the way your hand wraps around him, gently guiding his tip towards your fluttering cunt, peering down at you from beneath hooded eyes, his skin prickling and he swallows hard. His body shivering, and muscular hands move to rest on your knees, fingers digging into your flesh as he pushes forward.

Your hands are so much daintier than his, softer, smaller and he feels the way your walls clench, cunt snugly wrapping around his flushed and bulbous tip, and Mark’s brows furrow.

And you snort.

“Are you okay?” Your voice is a breathy giggle. “You know, seeing as you’re losing your womanhood.”

Mark’s scowl makes you laugh, your muscles clenching around him and Mark gasps, his hips surging forward a good 3 inches and your eyes widen.

“You motherfucker—!”

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” He breathes out. “I’ll pull out.”

His cock drags against your soft, plush walls, him in that way that makes his lips form a pretty ‘o’ shape, brows raising.

“You’re so warm…” He sighs. “For a heart so cold.”

The laugh slips effortlessly from your lips, your lashes fluttering and one of your hands move to rest on his lower belly, fingertips ghosting over the muscles of his abs but the contact’s enough for his stomach to flex, the sight so painfully delicious that if you didn’t feel like you were being split in half, you’d have slid a dollar down his torso, and Mark leans over you, the silver chain dangling in front of your eyes.

Lips pressing against yours, and your arms slink around his neck, thighs parting to accommodate him better and you feel that uncomfortable burn as he slowly pushes into you. Your nails drag down his back, a satisfying purr slipping past Mark’s lips and he shushes you.

“It’s okay, its okay.” He coos. “It’s gonna feel better in a minute, yeah?”

A hand slips down between you, fingers gently circling your clit, the sensation makes your body thrum and Mark groans, face pressed into the curve of your neck when he hears the lewd way your pussy squelches around him.

“You’re so… Tight… Fuck, shit—” Mark swallows, “—I need to pull out.”

His chest heaves, and he lifts himself just a bit, hands shifting to your hips and your brows bunch.

“Now?”

“Yeah, right now...” He swallows hard, chest heaving and a sharp breath leaves his nose. “…s’too much. I’m gonna come.”

He looks down at where your pussy swallows him, plush and glossy lips busted open, slick trickling down the sides of him and he swallows, expression damn near pained and he lets out a whine.

“I don’t wanna.”

Mark leans forward, sweaty torso pressed against you, his face buried in your neck and you whine when he pushes deeper into you, mushroom-y tip pressing sloppy French kisses against your cervix, your fingers sinking into the hair at his nape and Mark whimpers when he feels the way you clamp down on him. Precum smearing against your slick walls with each shallow thrust of his hips, desperate humping as he whines into your neck, needy and his arms wrap around you, fisting the fabric of the shirt you have yet to take off.

He doesn’t mind it.

It’s his shirt.

“Don’t pull out.” Your lips brush against his ear, and Mark swallows hard. His heart beating against his ribcage, body prickling with nerves and he nods his head.

“Okay.” He breathes out.

Mark sits up, watching the way your thighs are strewn lazily across his, his cock buried deep enough that he can make out the little bulge just below your navel and he pulls out slowly. Watching as each inch of his cock emerges coated in a gloss that reflects the light that creeps through your curtains, before pushing back in.

Your body keens, nearly instinctively curling into yourself and he brings his hand back down, his thumb pressing tight circles on your clit and you gasp, nails digging into his forearms and your head tips back, your throat bobbing.

“Fuck, right there.” You pant out.

Mark’s slowly picking up speed, gentle thrusts that push him closer to the edge and when your body spasms, belly dipping inward and your knees pull themselves to your chest, he knows he’s a fucking goner.

Mark’s hands bracket the backs of your thighs, pushing your knees to your chest and he pushes into you, feeling the way your pussy clenches and Mark comes.

And God, he pulls you out of your reverie with the pornographic moan he lets out. Plump, pink lips parting, brows scrunching into a twitching frown, eyes squeezed shut and his hips keep moving. You feel the way his cum paints your insides, pearlescent droplets slipping out of you and pooling beneath you. His thumbs press into the fat of your thighs, pushing your legs just a bit further apart and he fucks into you deeper, faster.

“Fuck, you feel so good—” Mark gasps, peering down at you with hazy eyes and blown out pupils.

“Play,” he pants, head lolling and tipping back, moonlight dancing on the crown of his head, “play with it while I fuck you.”

Mark has your brain turning into mush, your fingers moving to lazily swipe over your clit, dainty fingers swirling over the bud and Mark watches the way your toes curl, pussy squelching and gushing around him as you come. Your legs shaking, your heart beating so much louder than he’s ever heard it before and you’re whining. Squealing, nails dragging at his forearms and leaving streaks behind in the flesh.

When your hand falls away, Mark simply takes over.

A true friend, pinching your clit between calloused fingertips, rolling it until you’re swatting at his hands, the overstimulated bud swollen and he groans when he feels you push at his belly.

“N-no….” You whine. “S’too much…”

“Move your hand.” Mark huffs, before he pins your hands above your head, leaning forward and you gasp when his hips grind against yours, his face pressing into the curve of your neck. He sucks marks into the flesh, sweet hickeys and his hips meet yours in a messy cacophony of plap! plap! plap!

“It’s too much…” You pant out.

“But you look so pretty, though.” He coos. “You can take it, can’t you?”

Mark kisses away the tears that roll down your flushed cheeks as you nod weakly, your chest heaving and glossy lips parting.

“You wanna switch positions so you can cry in peace?” Mark whispers and you nod.

“Mhm.”

You’re flipped onto your belly effortlessly, a pillow stuffed beneath your hips, and Mark slowly pushes into you. Your back’s arched so deeply, your face pressed into your pillow and your hair’s a bit of a mess as Mark gently tugs the T-shirt from your body.

“Shit, ‘s big.”

And Mark grins.

“I’m big, huh?” He taunts you, hand moving along the curve of your spine and he feels the way you clench down on him.

“Yeah, your fat head’s big.”

And Mark sighs. “Not fucked out enough to compliment me?”

You shoulders shake as you snort with laughter, lifting yourself just enough to peek at him over your sweat-slicked shoulder.

“Not even close.” You lie and he hums, his hands moving to palm the fleshy globes of your ass, spreading the fat and he watches your furled hole clench as a thick wad of saliva travels down the cleft of your ass.

“Guess I’m just gonna have to fuck the niceness into yo—”

“Want a break from the ads?”

Marks expression falls, his attention moving towards the illuminated screen of your phone, bright green on display and he swallows hard.

“How fucking cheap— Just get premium!”

“Premium’s expensive!”

“I’m not even kidding right now, I’ll give you my actual bank account if you get premium.”

“I’m not getting premium. That’s like, the ultimate final boss of consumerism.”

Mark groans loudly when the ad finishes, and he lets out a breath. Before he waits, impatiently tapping at the base of your spine, eyes narrowing at the back of your head the longer it takes. And then, something plays.

“What shit is this?”

“No, no, leave it. I like this.” You swat his hand away, your head moving to the stupidly catchy tune and Mark shuts his eyes.

“I’m actually gonna choke you out. What is this?”

“It’s ‘Year of the Ca—’ mmph! ”

You’re interrupted when Mark pushes your face into your pillow, hands gripping the fat of your hips and he shifts closer, cock churning your insides with each thrust he gives, cum leaking down your inner thighs and he groans. The lewd squelch of your cunt nearly drowns out the soft voice of Al Stewart, but not enough. Mark’s brows are furrowing, swallowing hard as he feels another coil begin to form is belly. Aggressive and fiery, Mark’s snapping hips have the fat of your ass recoiling of the sharp angles of his hips, one hand moving to grasp the back of your neck while the other clutches at your headboard.

His hips are unforgiving, brutal thrusts that has your walls spasming, nails clawing at the sheets of your bed, your back arching and you’re pushing back against Mark, ass flush against his hips and you’re letting out weak, muffled whines into your pillow. Drool, and tears mix and you raise your head, looking over your shoulder at Mark.

“Mark…” You complain, your body breaking in a cold sweat when he pulls out of you, leaving your drooling pussy to clench around. And your expression falls when you watch the way he picks up your phone, swiping through the various musical options.

“Are you fucking serious right now?” You hiccup.

“I cannot fuck to this. I’m so sorry, it’s just—”

“Markus!”

“Fine!”

Mark’s shoving his cock back into you, the warmth is inviting and that fucking stretch has you gasping, eyes rolling back in your head and you whimper.

You don’t know how long you’re gonna last with his hips thwacking into you like you owe him money.

You probably do, but you have no intention of paying him back.

Your belly’s coiling, your toes are curling and your body’s threatening to go slack and Mark leans forward, pressing a kiss against your back.

“M’gonna come inside, yeah?”

“Uh-huh….” You nod weakly. And a pitchy sound rings out when you feel the way his cock pushes out thick, pearly ribbons that leave streaks across your gooey walls, and your body goes limp, his following and you’re grasping at your pillow. Letting out panted breaths and he kisses along your shoulders, warm and affectionate presses on his lips that have you sighing.

And his hips roll against yours. Slow and deep, and you’re whining weakly.

“It’s too—”

“You can give me one more.” His breath ghosts over your ear, arms wrapping around your midsection and he pulls you closer to him. He can feel your heart beating as erratically as his, your body warm and sweat, skin flushed. “I’ve heard you come 5 times, back to back. You can do it for me.”

And you whine, pressing your face into the sheets as his hips roll against yours, grinding into you and fucking his cum deeper.

“You wanna get on top?” Mark coos softly and he watches as you shift almost uncomfortably, raising your hand weakly and you flip him off.

And Mark hums, a snort of laughter slipping past his lips and he lets out a soft moan at the way your fleshy cunt squeezes him, before he pulls out of you, flipping you onto your back.

“You’re so pretty.” Mark coos, hands brushing along your hips and belly, sliding up to your chest and he ghosts his thumbs over your perky nipples, still oversensitive and he watches the way your body twitches.

Big doe eyes are tear-filled, your lashes fluttering and your lips are swollen. And Mark glances down to where your glossy pussy remains unattended and he sighs softly, biting his bottom lip as he pushes back into you, inch by inch. Watching the way your back arches off the bed.

“Can you put your legs on my shoulders?” Mark speaks softly, hands massaging along your thighs and his gaze flicks up to yours, and the way you’re staring at him makes him smile, dimples deepening in his cheeks.

He looks…

'Radiant', as zesty as it is, is the only word to describe him.

Muscled body coated in a thin sheen of sweat, droplets traveling down the delves of his muscles, broad chest heaving, a thin silver chain glittering in the faint light. His hair falls over his face, a few strands stuck to his forehead and his eyes. They’re glittering like ponds of honey, framed by dark lashes and his lips curl so deliciously into a grin.

“Right.”

He murmurs, before guiding your legs onto his shoulders, leaning forward to press a kiss against your lips as he sighs when your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him closer. He purrs when your fingers disappear into his hair, sweat-slicked strands moving between your fingers as his hips grind against yours.

That scratchy tuft of hair above his cock tickles at your clit, overstimulating the bud even more, his chest presses against yours and he keeps his eyes on yours.

“Why’re you —hah— looking so deep into my eyes?” Your voice is soft, and Mark lets a breathy giggle fan across your face, his hips pressing into yours, timing each of his thrusts with one of your perfect, rhythmic pulses that slowly speed up.

Your orgasm impending.

��I’m trying to figure out if you’re as in love with me as I’m in love with you.”

Mark’s voice is softer than you’ve ever heard it. His lashes fluttering as his lips keep ghosting over the apples of your cheeks, pressing sweet kisses to your rosy and flushed face.

And you swallow.

“I am.”

It’s the first time you’ve admitted it to anyone without there being a comedic undertone, without some… Discrete joke of self-loathing because Mark was looking in every direction except yours. And you swallow, your gaze focused on his.

“Really?” He whispers softly, a hand cradling the side of your face, and he’s drinking in every sensation you have to offer. And you weakly nod.

Only snorting when he presses his rosy face into the curve of your neck, his knees causing the bed to dimple and you feel the way his arms wrap around you, forcing your hips to angle a bit more upward.

And his hips rut.

Hard.

Mushroom-y tip pummelling against that spongy spot, your toes curling and your nails scratching at his back. You’re effectively folded in half, folded in a way that would have lawn chairs jealous because of how much space you’re saving but you can’t even think of that.

Not with the panted praises in your ear, the flurry of “you feel so good” and “fuck, you’re so pretty like this”s making your mind melt. Your body's pliable and weak, electricity pulsing just beneath your skin and your cunt’s oozing, wet shlick! shlick! shlick! sounds accompanying the sounds of his thighs slapping against the fat of your ass.

And you tuck your face in Mark’s neck, nails digging into his skin, biting down on the muscle of his shoulder as you stifle the scream that threatens to tear your throat as you come, gushing and soaking the tops of his thighs, his pelvis and tightly toned lower belly.

Mark wrings you dry. Fucking into you until you’re a weak, trembling faucet and he pulls out, looking down at the creamy mixture that trickles out of your gushing cunt.

And he swallows, panting just a bit.

“Are you okay?” Mark coos, his thumb tracing over your swollen clit, peeking out from between velvety folds and you nod weakly.

“Mhm…” You breathe out, your body prickles with goosebumps, your sheets soaked and you look like deflated sex doll.

“You wanna go again?”

And you stare at him incredulously.

“No.”

T🌹A🌹G🌹L🌹I🌹S🌹T

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[shigarosie]

Izuku keeps cumming prematurely. It's to be expected, really, he was a virgin when you met and he gets worked up easily. You've never held it against him- in fact you find it pretty hot. He always keeps going, though it can be hard for him. Too intense. And embarrassing in his eyes. He's a firm believer in making your partner cum first. So you had to come up with something to help him hold off for a few minutes, for his sake.

That's how you end up on his lap, telling him to talk you through his last homework assignment or his favorite anime. He rambles through equations or plot points in extreme detail while you ride him, asking him questions to keep his focus off of your pussy and on whatever topic he chose. It works pretty well- he doesn't cum within the first fifteen minutes if fucking you, and you think it's hot when he rambles. It's a trait about him that initially attracted you to him in the first place. You love your nerdy little boyfriend and his rambling <3

[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.

[spookyclookykinz]

where is he going??

[userarmand]

I like how you withhold. It's alluring. It's practiced.

[horangslay]

Yeosang's American Girl doll lookin ass next to Wooyo in his loser sweater is SENDING ME

[peacozy]

[white-poppie]

Status upgrade ?! ⎯ ft. jjk men

feat ⎯ satoru, kento, suguru, sukuna 'n toji

synopsis ⎯ you accidentally refer to your boyfriend as 'husband' !

a/n ⎯ I was giggling the entire time writing this, also sukuna is not the king of curses here because I said so.

✶ ࣪˖ GOJO SATORU

You can't seem to be able to catch your breath with him, not enough air fills in your lungs as you stare at him with clenched fists and a taut jaw.

"What part of 'I didn't want you to take on that mission' did you not understand 'Toru?" you say, exasperated, your voice cracking in sheer frustration after having gone back and forth the same topic infinite times, all ending with 'you know I have to, it's not like I want to,' or something like that.

But you are tired, you really are, the kettle whistling cacophonically when the two of you finally found time for an intimate little movie night, interrupted by a call on his phone and then him subsequently teleporting away like it was nothing. Like you were a fool, feeling all giddy for just finally being able to spend time and woosh, he's gone.

"I'm sorry baby, you know I have no choice, there are people who depend on me." His pretty face crumpled in guilt and annoyance all the same. And every time he says this, it's like his way of shutting you off, because how do you even respond to people's lives being dependent on him?

Its too much, it really is too much sometimes. Somehow, all of these discussions end with you feeling like the douche.

"I hate when you do this," you choke, "I can't even have a little time with my husband now." It leaves and you don't even register it, but Satoru does.

He takes in a deep breath, his own throat in brambles while his heart stutters. A little slip off the tongue and it hits him harder than ever.

"Your husband?" he says, trying so desperately to not let his muscles twitch into a wide grin, but he can't help it. And so against the situation, his eyebrows soften down and little smile appears on his face.

There is a tender feeling in his chest that seizes his entire being, somehow, that one word makes all of it feel so tangible. Your concern, endearing then, seems heartfelt now. A sudden strike of accountability that perhaps stems from the little future he imagines within that few-second interval when you call him your 'husband.'

"Whatever," you bristle, annoyed, embarrassed at the slip of the tongue, turning around to walk away from him, before two muscular arms find their way on your waist and you freeze. His weight against your back, nose nuzzling into your shoulder, tufts of white hair tickling against your skin.

"I'm sorry," he whispers into your shoulder flesh, hot breathing fanning against the skin. His arms tighten around your waist as though holding your back from moving, to keep you planted as you are, in his arms, forever. "I'm sorry, I promise I'll say no, I promise I'll try to reject the missions I can." He whispers out, planting kisses against the expanse of your neck causing you to shiver against his broad frame.

You sigh deeply, hand coming to caress his face. "Okay," you breathe out.

"And as your husband — I should really stick to you like glue, yeah? More so if I wanna make it into reality," His large hand sprawls on your tummy and you can hear that damn smirk on his face.

Your cheeks turn red and you try desperately to backtrack, "It just slipped out of my mouth—"

"Yeah, yeah, as I was saying, do you prefer a pear-cut or a marquise-cut diamond?"

God he is so obnoxious.

✶ ࣪˖ NANAMI KENTO

You're sleepy, so damn sleepy that you could just fall into sleep the instant you find a surface to lay on.

"You look exhausted," Kento comments, his eyebrows furrowed in worry as he looks at your weary form. You peer to look at him through the mirror on your vanity. He looks like a dream. His reading glasses resting on the bridge of his nose, a classic novella in his hands as he leans against the bedrest.

"Come here, love," he pats the space on the mattress, right beside him and you feet move before you can think, climbing onto the bed, you bury yourself against his side, curling in.

A soft smile graces his lips as he pulls you closer against his side with his free arm, his fingers carding through your hair.

"Tough day?"

"Mmh, it was so tiring," he nods at your reply, taking in a deep breath.

"Yeah? Tell me about it."

"Well for starters, I worked like a dog and then stayed for overtime, my favourite lipgloss finished and when I wanted to treat myself nice; they put too much sugar in my drink." You huff.

"Oh that sounds tiring," he murmurs, "why don't you get some sleep, hm? We can plan a little get-away this weekend." he whispered out, leaning over to keep his book and switch off the lights so they don't burn as sharply against your sleepy eyes.

When he settles back, he's met with a tender quirk of your lips, "You're amazing, Kento," you murmur, letting yourself be shifted carefully against him as he lays down from where he was sitting.

A deep, dulcet chuckle leaves him at that, "Really, what did I do?"

"Nothing, you just are perfect, the perfect husband a girl could ask for," it leaves your sleep-addled mouth before you can even comprehend it, and Kento freezes for just a second, his hand that was brushing your hair pauses in its tracks. On any random day he would have been flattered beyond words, but right now he is flattered and dumbfounded.

"Your husband?" he replies, trying his absolute best not to laugh and wake you up.

You blink, slowly as the realisation sets in and bury yourself against his chest in embarrassment. "Kentoooo" you groan out.

Nanami chuckles and shakes his at your embarrassed antics, utterly endeared, and presses a soft kiss on your forehead.

"Why are you embarrassed, love? Its good you are already getting a habit of it, because it's not that distant of a future."

✶ ࣪˖ SUGURU GETO

The girls started calling you 'mom.' It happened slowly, gradually as you eased your way through the household.

Suguru was still 'Mister-Geto', but you were mom. That was enough for him, that meant everything, to watch the girls find solace in your presence.

A Sunday outing, one of the few rare days Suguru got free time from his cult and the way he spends it is to spend time with Nanako, Mimiko and you. You're seated at the girl's favourite restaurant, the girls on one side and the two of you on the other.

"I'll have a burger," Mimiko chimes "and fries."

"Why are you copying me? I said burger in the car first," Nanako looks at her with a sort of distressed expression.

"No but I thought of it before you said it."

"And I-I thought of it, yesterday."

And apparently they thought of the burger and fries the day before and the day before that, and the day before the day before...

"Girls, calm down," Suguru sighs with a soft chuckle, placing the menu down. "You can both get burger and fries."

"But do you really want to get the same thing everytime, there are other options on the menu too," you suggest, hoping to calm the tension down. "Like Chicken nuggets."

"I'll get Chicken nuggies." Nanako quickly suggests, earning a very obvious side eye from her twin. Suguru sighed, calling for the waiter at that.

"Uhmm, one chicken nuggets meal, a burger with fries and I'll have Aglio Olio and so will my husband." You mutter and the waiter nods, taking your order, and you are met with three curious, wide-eyed people back on your table. Suguru, Nanako, Mimiko; everyone's gaze stuck at you, making you very obviously aware of your blunder.

And for a second you wish you could melt into the seats.

"Are you married to already Mr Geto, mom?" Mimiko speaks out, slightly surprised and you can't help but groan in embarrassment at the innocent curiousity on her face.

"Not yet," Suguru breaks through the awkwardness, answering for you. His soft eyes reaching over to look at you, his fingers intertwining with yours under the table.

And you notice him share a glance with girls, as though a secretive pact you don't quite understand but they do.

"So we still need the rin⎯" Nanako tries to utter, to which Mimiko quickly places her hand on her mouth...yeah its going to be one interesting day.

✶ ࣪˖ SUKUNA

Sukuna has a staring problem and everyone notices it, including your coworkers at your 'stupid work-party' as Sukuna likes to call it. And he draws eyes, everywhere. Its hard to not notiuce him when he's towering everyone, standing in a corner all broody. He's eyeing everyone in the room, staring down at everyone who talks to you. If he were a dog, his damn ears would stiffen if he say anyone walking close to you.

"'Kuna, you are making people scared," you sigh at your boyfriend who's form fills the two piece suit like a damn glove, frankly you want to peel it off him, but that's a conversation for another time.

"Good," he mutter, sipping at the rum in in his glass, his hand slowly caressing the small of your back through your dress, his warmth anchoring you through the flurry of loud interactions.

"Is that woman who keeps bitching about her cheating husband instead of leaving him?" He mutters, languidly pointing of of the fingers of the hand that is holding his glass, a little too loud in your opinion.

"Sukuna!" you hiss to him, a warning, but he just shrugs and smirks, taking yet another sip.

"What, I'm just confirming all you 'tea' is about the right person."

You sigh, internally regretting bringing him as your plus one. your eyes land to your manager walking upto you and you immediately straighten up, putting on the corporate smile.

He walks up, raising an eyebrow towards Sukuna, before he looks expectantly at you for the introductions.

"Sukuna, this my manager, Mr Lim and Mr Lim, this is my husband, Sukuna." You introduce, and notice a bit too late Sukuna's grip around your waist tightens and you look upto with a nervous expression, realising how awkward it would be if he corrects you.

Instead, Sukuna smiles, extending his hand for a handshake "A pleasure."

Soon your manager leaves upon being called and youi feel Sukuna's warm breath on your ear, "Didn't know you were going around introducing me as your husband to people." He whispers.

"I-"

"No need, I like it, wife."

✶ ࣪˖ TOJI

Its three in the damn morning when Toji wakes upto the sound of vegetable chopping.He can't help but groan at the absence of your warmth on your side of the bed, reaching over to sling an arm, but he's met with the cold sheets instead of your sleeping form.

He decides against falling asleep again like an asshole and instead begrudgingly pads to the kitchen, barefoot, scratching his head. "Babe its four in the morning, why are chopping vegetables at this time?" he sighs with a yawn, his voice all sleep-addled and deep. Toji walks upto behind you, nuzzling his face against the crook of your neck as he wraps his arms around your form.

"I was hungry, 'Ji," you murmur. "And craving ramen." You add before he could protest with, 'why didn't you just eat cup noodles?'

"You and your damn cravings," he snorts, watching you stir the mix before he peels himself off you and gets cup noodles.

You look up at him wuth a raised eyebrow, questioningly, wasn't he criticising your random cavings just a minute ago?

"What? Seeing you eat is making me hungry too," he grumbles, boiling water beside you.

"This is nice," you comment with a fond smile, stirring at the makeshift recipe of instant noodles and veggies.

"What is?"

"Just this, cooking together...well not really cooking, but sort of spending time together like this with my husband⎯" You say without paying much attention and do a double take, slowly you turm your head towards Toji to see his reaction and to your surprise he smiles, a soft smile on his face as he watches the water boil.

"Yeah, I like it," he replies, his tone betraying a hint of fondness. "Maybe even as a forever sort of a thing."

Masterlist ⎯ 𝐉𝐔𝐉𝐔𝐓𝐒𝐔 𝐊𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐍

⟢ Get added to: Permanent Taglist 

[shimmershy]

Chara can stand exactly ONE human. That's it.

[sobbingscripter]

𓈒⋆⑅˚₊୨🌼wc. 681🌼୧₊˚⑅⋆𓈒

"Are you ever gonna offer to get on top?"

Mark's brows bunch into a scowl, his elbows braced on either side of your head.

The late afternoon sunlight pours in through your window, streaks of golden light dance over your bare flesh, his carved hips pressed firmly against yours. His brain fuzzy with how your fingers feel, tangled in the raven hair at the nape of his neck and you scoff, letting out a huffed breath.

"Fuck no."

"Dude, I literally just came from space. I was on a whole different planet for like, two months."

"Yes, and?" You huff. "You literally ghosted me for two months, came back with a purple baby."

Mark tucks his face into the curve of your neck, his chest flush against yours, and he shifts, muscles shifting beneath his flesh as he wraps his arms around you, calloused fingertips curling around your waist and digging into the softness of your body.

His Thraxan garb tossed messily onto your deskchair, your clothes scattered across your room and your panties ripped to literal shreds.

"For the last time: he's not mine." Mark groans into your neck.

"He has your eyes." You argue.

"Because he's my brother." He deadpans. "Do you really think I'd cheat on you? Like, do you actually think that?"

And you purse your kiss-swollen lips, your nails tracing patterns over his sinewy back, your legs shifting and your thighs wrapping snugly around his hips.

"With an alien? Definitely. You popped a boner during Fifth Element."

And he whines. "She was an opera singer. It was a totally different thing. Unrelated to the alien thing."

Mark lifts his head, shifting until he's resting his chin on your sternum, peering up at you with those big brown eyes, lashes fluttering and you watch the honeyed sunrays form a bronze halo on the crown of his tousled hair.

He looks at you like you're his whole world and it makes you weak.

'Fuck.' You suck your teeth.

"Please, baby." Mark sighs, pressing a kiss against the valley between your breasts, trailing his lips along your chest in those sweet, shy pecks. "I'll do that thing—"

"Oh my God, you big baby. Just flip us over." You grunt, and Mark switches your positions with ease, lips curled into a dorky grin as he watches you, his gaze dropping to where you're seated so prettily on his hips, your knees dimpling your mattress and your sheets pooled around your hips.

"Score." He whispers under his breath, eyes nearly rolling back in his head when he feels your hips lift, your hands braced on his broad chest.

And his phone rings.

And his eyes shoot open, and he stares up at you, brows curling in frustration.

"No—no, no— don't ans—"

"It's Mr Cecil." You hum softly, the device grasped between your fingers and you listen attentively.

"He says he needs to see you."

Mark's expression crumples.

"Oh my God," His voice cracks and he lets his head fall back against the pillow, "I hate these fucking people."

And he sits up, his tongue brushing across his lower lip as he stares at you. Soft, pliable and still with his leaky cock buried in you, and he sighs.

"When I get back," Mark's fingers dig into your cheeks, forcing your lips into a puckering pout, "you're on top."

And you snort.

"Wouldn't count on it, pookie." Your lips press a sweet peck against his, before you lift yourself up, and Mark winces as the cold air hits his still wet and still hard cock.

"If you don't, I will, actually crash out." Mark states. "Viltrumite style."

"And the government can't stop me." His dimples deepen.

"Because as you know, I'm—"

"Indestructible." You interrupt. "We get it."

"It's literally right there! The word is right— you know, I'm done. You're on top when I get back." Mark grumbles, already rifling through your closet for something to wear before settling on your robe.

"I'll be asl—"

"Ahhhh," He interrupts, effectively cutting you off, "I don't care. You're on top."

T🌼A🌼G🌼L🌼I🌼S🌼T

@lucky-beheaded ; @queen-of-gotham ; @coldvirginbitch ; @wittyjasontodd ; @a-n-a-n-a1 ; @dearlyya ; @broicouldjustbuyyousomekombucha ; @jasontoddswhitestreak ; @daydreams-and-peace ; @misstyy12 ; @fruticake ; @httpstes ; @waterflowersblog ; @glowinthedarkjellyfish ; @vm4879bb-blog ; @monaekelis ; @radlovesfics ; @allycat4458 ; @bigbodycity ; @feral010 ; @anesthesia-4rizzle ; @princesstrunkz ; @blackfox774 ; @sh1d0uryus31 ; @your-lovely-rose26 ; @slugstarzz ; @ripcolel0l ; @strawbiemilk420 ; @verysynical ; @kikiiguess ; @missam ; @luvvfromme ; @luvvcharxo ; @alma-ru3 ; @mxvoid26 ; @urfriendlyfrog ; @the-good-kooshe ; @troublesome-nara ; @secretaccountlol ; @syubseokie; @atanukileaf ; @im-nowhere-but-also-somewhere ; @i-love-frensh-fries ; @lov3vivian ; @boyofroyo1 ; @tamaranblaze ; @supersecretxreadersideblog ; @etphonehome0623 ; @markgraysonlover ; @icanmeltanigloo ; @itzmeme ; @buckturd

[shigarosie]

You cried out to your bedroom ceiling, legs locking around Denki's waist as he brought you to another orgasm. You'd let your friend with benefits convince you to fuck you raw tonight, promising he'd pull out when the time came. The result was life changing for you, the feeling of his warm, hard cock inside without the latex barrier.

"I'm sorry," he whimpers, fucking into you harder, "I'm so fucking sorry, fuck."

"W-why are you sorry?" You ask, still gasping and trying to catch your breath from your orgasm as Denki continues to fuck you.

"Because-" his arms give out, causing him to drop down, leaving you chest to chest with his face near your ear as his hips desperately hump into your pussy. "Because there's no fucking way I can pull out now."

[thedensworld]

Stupid Drunken Call | C.Sc

Genre: fluff, office au!

Summary: After submitting your resignation letter, you drunkenly called your boss of seven years. After that, his behavior toward you changed unexpectedly.

You heard the elevator ding softly in the hallway—the unmistakable signal that your superior had arrived, as he did every morning at precisely this time. You stood from your desk, smoothing your blazer and preparing to greet him as usual. Moments later, he appeared: Choi Seungcheol, followed closely by Jeonghan, your colleague and his main secretary, who read the day’s schedule to him in a steady, practiced voice. Confidence radiated from both men as they walked, commanding the room's attention without trying.

When Seungcheol passed by your desk, you bowed politely, offering a respectful, “Good morning, Mr. Choi.”

He paused, surprising you by stopping in front of your desk rather than continuing down the corridor. “Morning,” he replied, his voice low but steady. After a brief pause, he glanced at you and asked, “Where’s Mingyu? Isn’t today his first day of training?”

You nodded, feeling a twinge of something bittersweet. Mingyu, a new recruit with undeniable talent, was here to train as your replacement. After seven years of routine mornings, assisting the superiors through countless meetings, projects, and unexpected crises, you were leaving. Resigning had been your choice, but the weight of this change hadn’t truly hit you until now, standing here in the familiar morning light of the office.

“Yes, Mr. Choi,” you replied with a slight smile, “He should be arriving shortly. I’ll bring him over as soon as he does.”

Seungcheol gave you a curt nod, his gaze lingering on you for just a moment longer, a glimmer of something unreadable in his eyes before he continued down the corridor.

“Mingyu… That guy should know to be on time,” Seungcheol muttered, a hint of irritation in his voice. “His training is two months, right?”

You nodded as Jeonghan stepped out of Seungcheol’s office behind him, finally able to relax. He let out a sigh. “I can’t believe you’re really leaving.”

You offered him a knowing smile. “Me either. But it’s been seven years.”

Seven years ago, you and Jeonghan had been recruited and trained together to assist Mr. Choi, Seungcheol’s father. When Mr. Choi passed away, the board quickly assigned Seungcheol to take his father’s place. Thankfully, he was gracious enough to retain both you and Jeonghan as part of his secretary team, easing the transition for everyone.

Jeonghan suddenly looked at you with a hint of panic in his eyes. “Did you book the restaurant I asked about? Mr. Choi has that lunch meeting with the client, remember?”

You gave him a thumbs-up. “All set. I even double-checked that they have vegan options on the menu.”

Jeonghan clutched his chest dramatically. “I have no idea how I’ll manage after you leave me with Mingyu!”

Just then, a tall, slightly disheveled guy with a backpack hurriedly appeared, out of breath and looking a little flustered. “Sorry I’m late!” Mingyu panted, giving you both a quick nod. “There was an accident—the bus I took lost a wheel!”

You and Jeonghan exchanged unimpressed glances, trying not to laugh at Mingyu’s unusual excuse. He was here to take over your position, but it was clear he had some big shoes to fill—and that he might need a few more lessons in time management.

After the lunch meeting, Jeonghan placed a takeout box on your desk, right as you were deeply focused on the manual you were putting together for Mingyu. You glanced up, intrigued by the unexpected treat.

“Mr. Choi finally declared his favorite secretary,” Jeonghan announced, leaning casually against your desk with a sly grin.

You raised an eyebrow, skeptical. “Really?” you asked, your tone dripping with doubt. In all your years working for Seungcheol, he had never done anything like this.

Jeonghan nodded, his eyes narrowing playfully. “Is there something going on between the two of you that I don’t know about?” His tone was teasing, hinting at the kind of office romance you'd only read about in novels.

Rolling your eyes, you smirked. “You wish. Besides, you know he’s dating that model,” you replied, thinking of the stunning woman Seungcheol had brought to a recent social event.

Jeonghan shrugged nonchalantly. “Maybe he’s softened up since you handed in your resignation. Maybe he’s finally realized what an incredible secretary he’s losing.”

You laughed, nudging his shoulder. “Shut up!”

Before Jeonghan could reply, your phone rang, interrupting the moment. On the third ring, you picked it up, recognizing Seungcheol’s deep voice on the other end, summoning you to his office. Through the glass wall of his office, you noticed him looking—no, glaring—your way. You weren’t entirely sure what he was thinking, but the intensity of his gaze made you stand up quickly, leaving no time for second-guessing.

“He called. Gotta go,” you said to Jeonghan, setting down the phone and straightening your blazer.

He gave you an exaggerated nod and moved back to his own desk across from yours. “Alright, Ms. Secretary,” he called after you with a wink, making it clear that the teasing was far from over.

You knocked on the office door before opening it and stepping inside. Seungcheol was there, his suit jacket draped over his chair, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The sight of him in this more casual state threw you off, even if only for a moment—you were never fond of this job, but professionalism kept you grounded.

You bowed politely, standing a respectful two meters from his desk, hands clasped in front of you. As he looked up from his paperwork, his gaze lingered on you, his eyes scanning you from head to toe. You felt oddly exposed under his scrutiny.

“Are you always this rigid, Ms. Ji?” he asked, a slight scoff in his voice.

You blinked, caught off guard. Had you been? “I’ve always been this way, sir,” you replied, keeping your tone professional. You prided yourself on maintaining boundaries; that’s why you were leaving—to stay true to your professionalism.

He nodded thoughtfully. “What do you think of Mingyu?”

Resting his chin on his clasped hands, he watched you intently as you spoke. “From what I’ve seen, he’s quick, sharp, and adaptable, which is promising. He’s also retained everything I’ve shown him so far, so I don’t think you need to worry.”

Seungcheol nodded, but you caught a hint of dissatisfaction in his expression. It seemed there was something he didn’t quite like about Mingyu, though he didn’t say so outright.

“He can be a little clumsy,” you admitted, recalling with a slight grimace how Mingyu had spilled Seungcheol’s coffee that morning. “But he’s working on it.”

Seungcheol raised an eyebrow. “Yes, please guide him well. Are you sure two months will be enough?”

After this morning, you weren't so sure. But prolonging your stay here wasn’t an option you wanted to consider. “I’ll ensure he makes significant progress within two weeks, sir. If more time is needed, I’ll let you know.”

He nodded, seemingly satisfied, and you took this as your cue to leave. But you couldn’t help noting how strange this was. Oddity number two: he rarely called you into his office; normally, communication was handled over phone or email. That, combined with the unexpected lunch takeout, left you wondering if this was all coincidence—or if something had shifted in Seungcheol's usual demeanor.

“You can go, Y/n,” Jeonghan called out as he wrapped up his final check of the materials for tomorrow’s meeting, catching you by surprise.

“Who says?” You turned, eyes wide.

“The boss himself,” he replied with a smirk. “I know he’s been acting a little strange. Face it, Y/n—he’s trying to keep you here. I think he’s finally realized just how essential you are to this place,” Jeonghan added playfully.

You chuckled, shaking your head as you grabbed your things. “I’m flattered, but I’m taking this as my cue to go. It’s been so long since I finished work at this hour,” you said, smiling as you headed for the elevator.

Once outside, you flagged down a cab, sinking into the back seat as it pulled away. You couldn’t help but reflect on the day. Oddity number three: Seungcheol letting you go home early.

Staring out the window at the city lights, you resolved to stay focused. You’d given this company seven years—enough was enough. You were moving forward, and no amount of unexpected gestures could change your decision.

*

You sat uncomfortably in Seungcheol's car as he drove the two of you to a lunch meeting with Hong Group. Normally, you'd be the one arranging transportation, but today you hadn’t. In fact, you couldn't—because you didn’t know how to drive. You still remembered the brief flash of surprise in his eyes before he smoothly took the driver’s seat, saving you the trouble of calling a driver at the last minute.

“I’m sorry, sir, I should’ve arranged for a driver earlier,” you mumbled, embarrassed. For the first time in your career, you felt humiliated by something so trivial. Maybe you really should take driving lessons after this.

Seungcheol only chuckled behind the wheel. Ahead, a sea of cars sat at a standstill in traffic, making you curse yourself a little more for this uncomfortable situation.

“It’s alright,” he reassured, glancing over. “It’s been a while since I’ve driven myself, actually. Jeonghan usually handles it—and he’s a great driver.”

As he turned his attention back to the road, you recalled Jeonghan’s parting words before you left the office. “See? I told you—he’s trying to win your heart, Y/n,” Jeonghan had teased, though you’d brushed it off.

The silence stretched, until Seungcheol finally broke it. “Is it rude to ask why you don’t drive?” He sounded curious, as if this was unusual for someone in your position.

“Oh, it’s just... a bit of a silly reason,” you admitted. “I’m actually scared of driving.” You glanced down, hesitating. Even just sitting in the front seat made your heart race a little; the thought of being behind the wheel terrified you.

He seemed to take that in, and then, with surprising gentleness, asked, “But are you comfortable now? You seem a bit tense.”

You were caught off guard but exhaled, realizing he’d noticed your fidgeting hands and the way you avoided looking at the road ahead. “I’m fine, sir. I’m sorry if I seem distracted,” you said quickly, grateful when the restaurant finally came into view.

Inside, Seungcheol introduced you to Mr. Hong and his son, Joshua. As the three men began discussing business, you took notes on key points. Seungcheol was interested in investing in Joshua’s new automotive line, and you tried to focus, but following the conversation was difficult. Every so often, Mr. Hong or Joshua would turn to you for your opinion, and you felt your confidence waver. This wasn’t your area of expertise; Jeonghan was the one who shone in meetings like these. You started to regret agreeing to join the lunch.

“You didn’t seem to enjoy lunch earlier,” Seungcheol commented as the two of you headed back to the office, now seated in the back while the driver took over. You were relieved you’d managed to arrange a driver before the meal ended, sparing you from any more time on the front seat.

“Oh, no, sir. I enjoyed it very much,” you replied, forcing a polite smile. But even as you spoke, you had the strange feeling that he’d seen through you.

Seungcheol sighed softly, then spoke to the driver, instructing him to close the soundproof partition between the front and back seats. Your curiosity stirred—why would he need privacy? But the next thing he did startled you even more. He turned, looking at you with an expression you’d never seen on his face before: a mix of hesitation and vulnerability.

“Let me be honest,” he began, his voice low and sincere. “When you first submitted your resignation letter, I wasn’t bothered. I thought you simply wanted to develop your career in ways that maybe our company couldn’t provide.”

Your breath caught, heart thudding as you tried to anticipate where he was going with this.

“But when you called that night…” he continued, pausing as if weighing his next words. “I—I felt like a very bad person. I didn’t realize how my actions might have affected you, and for that, I want to apologize, Ms. Ji.”

His words struck you like a bolt, leaving you reeling. What was he talking about? What call?

“I’ve been thinking about it ever since,” he went on, his gaze never leaving yours. “And your idea… it seemed very tempting. So if the offer is still valid, I’d like to take you up on it.”

What on earth was he talking about?

You felt panic creeping in as you tried to process his words. You called him? You couldn’t remember ever calling Seungcheol outside of office hours, let alone making him an offer. And what kind of offer could you possibly make to someone who, practically speaking, owned your career for the next two months?

Heart pounding, you took a steadying breath, unsure of what to say. Yet the words slipped from your lips before you could stop them. “Of course, sir…” you heard yourself reply.

A small, almost relieved smile crept onto Seungcheol’s face as he turned his gaze to the window. He seemed content, as if a weight had lifted from him.

Was it about your resignation? Had you asked to delay your departure without remembering it? Jeonghan had hinted that Seungcheol might not want you to leave. Or was it something else entirely? Questions buzzed through your mind as the car pulled up to the company building.

“Talk to you later, Ms. Ji,” Seungcheol said, his face lighting up with the dopiest smile you’d ever seen on him as he exited the car.

Jeonghan, waiting by the entrance, raised an eyebrow, clearly as perplexed as you felt. Mingyu, the new hire, looked at you like he’d seen a ghost, noting the stunned expression on your face and your unusually pale complexion.

*

You did call him.

You really did, the night after you submitted your resignation letter—the night when you grabbed can after can of beer, drowning yourself in them like a madwoman, trying to forget everything.

You let out a heavy sigh, collapsing onto the bed. What happened that night when you called him? Why was he suddenly treating you so differently? And what exactly was the offer he mentioned this afternoon?

You felt the weight of the questions pressing down on you, swirling in your mind, but no answers came. Just more confusion.

Your phone rang, startling you. The caller ID displayed Choi Seungcheol, your very boss himself, calling you outside of working hours.

"Good evening, Mr. Choi. Is something wrong?" you answered, your voice betraying a hint of confusion.

You could hear him chuckling on the other end. "I can't call you?"

The casual tone caught you off guard. "Yes—I mean, no! I just thought… you never call at this hour, so I assumed you needed help with something."

"Actually, I do. I was looking over the presentation you sent me this morning, and I need you to get it ready by tomorrow morning."

Wait, he sent you home early, yet now he expected you to work overtime?

You couldn’t help but wonder: Is this the reason I wanted to leave this company?

"Please let me know which section you want me to edit," you said, trying to remain professional.

"No, actually… I’m in the office right now. Come in, and I’ll show you exactly what I need."

Great, you thought to yourself.

"Alright… I'll be there," you replied, hanging up.

Thirty minutes later, you arrived at the office. The lights in Seungcheol’s office were on, and you could feel a knot forming in your stomach. You knocked on the door, announcing your presence.

"I'm sorry to drag you back here," Seungcheol said as you entered. "I need this material first thing in the morning."

You walked over to his desk, studying the part of the presentation he wanted changed. As you did, he stood and stepped aside, letting you sit in his chair to examine the presentation on his computer—he hadn’t printed anything out.

"Jeonghan had to leave. Today’s his anniversary with his girlfriend," Seungcheol added, his tone almost apologetic.

You nodded in acknowledgment. "You know, I didn’t want to be the jerk boss who makes him stay late on his anniversary," Seungcheol said.

You tilted your head slightly, waiting for him to continue.

"I called you because, well… I’m already the jerk boss to you," he added, his voice lighter than before.

"Sorry?" Your hand froze over the mouse as you processed his words.

Seungcheol let out a soft, almost playful laugh. "You called me a jerk boss that night, Ms. Ji."

Your heart skipped a beat. His casual tone, combined with the unexpected mention of that night, made you feel a sudden heat rise to your cheeks.

You had a blind date that night—the first one in seven years, after working yourself to the bone for Seungcheol. But just as you were getting ready, Seungcheol sent you a voice note an hour before you were supposed to leave. He needed you to reschedule his entire agenda for next week because he was taking a vacation.

A vacation. Was it with the supermodel girlfriend he’d brought to the last social event?

With a heavy sigh, you dove into his agenda, making calls, negotiating with a dozen third parties. It took far longer than you expected. And by the time you finally finished, you received a text from your date.

"If you're too busy with your work, let’s cancel our date."

The words hit you harder than you expected. You remembered crying all week because of Seungcheol, how he had treated you so poorly, despite everything you had done for the company. That was it. You were done. You made up your mind—you were going to resign. You wrote up your resignation letter and handed it to him first thing in the morning.

The night after, you drowned yourself in cans of beer. And somewhere between the haze of alcohol and frustration, you remembered calling him.

“Jerk!”

You heard nothing on the other end.

“Jerk! Are you there?” you called again, louder this time, the anger boiling in your voice. Finally, he responded, his voice tight with confusion. “Ms. Ji, are you drunk?”

“Don’t ask me if I’m drunk! The reason I’m drunk right now is you!” you snapped.

“Ms. Ji? Where are you?” His voice softened, but you could hear the undercurrent of concern.

You chuckled bitterly. “Don’t act like you care. All you’ve done these years is take advantage of your quiet secretary. You’ve never treated me fairly, but I’ve been doing everything for you, bending over backward for the company. You're a jerk!"

And then the words you’d held in for so long spilled out in a rush. “And what? You’re going off on a vacation with your model girlfriend while I’m stuck here, working my ass off on your schedule? You’re a total jerk, Choi Seungcheol! You heard that?”

*

You gasped as the memory of that conversation came rushing back, like a freight train you couldn’t escape. Your hands shot up to cover your mouth, and your eyes widened. You did call him a jerk.

"I missed my blind date last week because of you, Choi Seungcheol! Do you know how lonely I've been, working for you? I bet you don’t, because you're off gallivanting with your supermodel girlfriend while I’m stuck with your endless schedule!"

"Ms. Ji, I don’t have a—" Seungcheol started, but you cut him off, your words coming faster than your brain could keep up.

"How are you going to take responsibility for that, huh, Mr. Choi? Do you even want to be my date? No? Well, then there’s no reason for me to stick around. I’m out of here! I’m leaving, you jerk! You big, dumb, heartless jerk boss!"

You leaned back in his chair like you were starring in your own drama series, dramatic pause and all. Of course, you tried to keep your distance, but Seungcheol was standing right next to you, practically breathing down your neck. The closest you could get to escaping was a meter away—one meter—as if that would be enough to save you from this mortifying moment. You could practically hear the earth laughing at you, but not helping you disappear.

"You remember now?" Seungcheol’s voice was amused, like he’d just stumbled upon a hidden gem. "I see, you forgot about it. No wonder you’ve been acting all... normal since then."

You should’ve been taking a dramatic exit, but instead, your brain was screaming for you to run to the nearest plane out of the country. You were so done.

"I’m sorry, Mr. Choi. It was... I mean, I... It’s just..." You froze, completely out of words. The awkward silence between you was so thick, you could cut it with a knife. You shoved your hands over your face, wishing you could just melt into the desk.

You quickly tried to apologize, your voice trembling slightly. "I—I'm really sorry, Mr. Choi. I didn’t mean to... to... say all that. It was just the alcohol talking, you know? I wasn’t thinking clearly."

Seungcheol paused for a moment, his expression shifting from teasing to something more thoughtful. He didn’t look angry. In fact, he seemed... grateful? “You know, I actually appreciate your honesty. I didn’t realize how badly I’ve been treating you.” His eyes softened as he continued, “I guess it took you saying all that for me to really get it.”

You blinked, not sure how to respond. Was this really happening? Did Seungcheol just thank you for calling him a jerk? You were still in shock, but it felt... different now. Not bad, just unexpected.

Seungcheol leaned forward, his voice suddenly turning serious. “You called me a jerk, but... about that offer to be your date—" He paused, glancing at you with a small, almost mischievous smile. "I meant it."

You immediately shook your head, trying to dismiss the idea. "Oh, no, no, no," you quickly interjected, waving your hands dismissively. "Please, forget that, Mr. Choi. Besides, you have a girlfriend. I’m not about to get mixed up in that drama."

Seungcheol raised an eyebrow, unfazed. He didn’t back down. “I’m serious, Ms. Ji. I want to take you out. No work, no obligations, just you and me. You’re not going to get rid of me that easily.”

You looked at him incredulously, half-laughing to yourself. "Are you... are you really serious right now?"

Seungcheol nodded, his voice low and sincere. “Dead serious. I know I messed up, but I’d like a chance to make it right. To be something more than just your boss. So, what do you say?”

You immediately felt a strange flutter of something in your chest. The idea of dating Seungcheol seemed ridiculous—too complicated, too messy. You had spent so much time thinking about leaving, about cutting ties with this company. You had worked your ass off for him, and now he was here, offering something completely different. Something unexpected.

You quickly shook your head again, trying to keep your composure. "I—I'm not sure what you're trying to do here, but I don't think dating you is the solution to this... whatever this is."

Seungcheol’s expression softened. “I’m not trying to fix anything, Ms. Ji. I’m just trying to make sure you don’t leave with regrets... especially when it comes to me.” His gaze held yours with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. “So, just think about it, alright? No pressure.”

The words hung in the air, and despite your best efforts to shake the idea off, a small voice inside you couldn't help but wonder what it would be like...

Seungcheol let out a small, knowing smile as you kept shaking your head, clearly trying to dismiss the idea. "You know," he began, his tone suddenly light, "I don't actually have a girlfriend."

You froze, your hand halfway through waving him off. "What?"

"I don’t have a supermodel girlfriend," he repeated, leaning back slightly, his arms crossing casually over his chest. "I mean, I might’ve brought someone to a social event, but that doesn’t mean she’s my girlfriend. You assumed a lot, didn’t you?"

*

"What's going on between you and him?" Jeonghan asked, raising an eyebrow as he stepped out of Seungcheol's office this morning.

You glanced at him, raising your own brows. "What do you mean?"

Jeonghan rolled his eyes with a knowing smirk. "I saw you two stepping out of his car with a driver."

You shrugged nonchalantly. "We met on our way."

Jeonghan hummed, unconvinced. "He always drives himself to work, but today he brings a driver? Suspicious," he said, walking back to his desk with a grin.

You tried to shake off Jeonghan’s teasing and focused on your work. You walked over to Mingyu’s desk, where he was already sorting through some papers. "These two haven’t fixed yet, so you need to make a call and finalize the date and time with the other party," you instructed. Mingyu immediately nodded, giving you a thumbs up.

As you turned back to your desk, your phone rang, and you quickly rushed to pick it up. Your eyes flickered to Seungcheol’s office, where he was standing by the door. You answered the call just as he made eye contact with you.

"Ms. Ji?" Seungcheol’s voice was calm but warm.

"Yes, Mr. Choi?" you replied.

"Do you have any plans for lunch?" he asked, his tone casual but with a hint of curiosity.

You paused for a moment, taken aback by the unexpected question. "Uh, no, not yet," you answered, trying to keep your voice steady. "Why?"

"Great. Come to my office, then. I’d like to discuss something with you," he said, before hanging up.

You knocked softly on Seungcheol's office door before stepping inside. He was sitting at his desk, looking as composed as ever, but there was a warmth in his expression when he saw you.

"Ms. Ji," he greeted, his voice smooth. "Come in. Have a seat."

You hesitated for a moment, then took a seat across from him. The silence lingered briefly before he spoke again, his tone more casual than usual.

"I was thinking, since it’s almost lunch hour, why don’t we go out and grab something to eat?" he suggested, leaning back in his chair slightly. "I’ll let you pick the place. Anywhere you want."

You blinked, caught off guard by the offer. This was... unexpected. Was he being genuine? Or was this just another one of his attempts to be "nice" when it suited him? You tried not to overthink it, but you couldn’t help the feeling of unease creeping in.

"You... want me to pick the place?" you asked, raising an eyebrow. "Are you sure about that?"

He chuckled, the sound surprisingly warm. "Of course. I’m sure you know better than I do what’s good around here."

You thought for a moment. Choosing a lunch spot was something you usually did for Seungcheol, not with Seungcheol. Usually, lunch was a quick, impersonal affair—grab something from the café downstairs or eat at your desk. But today, the offer felt different. You couldn’t deny that a part of you was curious about what he was really up to.

"Alright, I’ll choose," you said, feeling a little bold. "But don’t say I didn’t warn you if it turns out to be something too casual for your taste."

Seungcheol raised his hands in mock surrender. "I’ll trust your judgment," he said with a grin. "Lead the way."

You nodded and stood up, your mind already racing through the possibilities of where to go.

"Thanks for the meal, Mr. Choi!" Mingyu cheered as he eagerly began inhaling his food, Jeonghan following suit with a satisfied hum. Seungcheol, however, sat at the head of the table with a polite but strained smile, poking at his food with none of Mingyu's enthusiasm.

You leaned closer, lowering your voice. "Is it to your liking, Mr. Choi?"

He sighed, briefly meeting your gaze before nodding curtly. "It’s fine," he replied, though his tone suggested otherwise.

It dawned on you too late that you might have misunderstood him earlier. When he said he wanted to have lunch, you assumed it was a casual team lunch with all the secretaries—Mingyu and Jeonghan included. So, you’d taken the liberty of booking a four-seat table at a decent restaurant and informing everyone.

You hadn’t noticed until now that Seungcheol’s face had been slightly sour since stepping out of his office.

"Is this one of those farewell lunches for Ms. Ji?" Mingyu asked innocently in the middle of the meal, completely oblivious to the tension brewing.

Everyone froze. Jeonghan shot Mingyu a sharp look, and you cringed, knowing full well your resignation was still a sensitive topic for Seungcheol. It had only been three weeks since your notice, and the new secretary-in-training was nowhere near your level of efficiency. No boss wanted to lose a competent staff member, especially not one they relied on as much as Seungcheol relied on you.

Seungcheol’s fork paused mid-air before he cleared his throat and shook his head. "If this were a farewell lunch, it would need to be much grander than this, don’t you think, Mr. Yoon?"

Jeonghan immediately nodded, catching on to the unspoken signal. "Absolutely, Mr. Choi. I’ll start planning one later. Ms. Ji has been with you for seven years—it’s only fitting to make it a big celebration."

Your eyes widened in surprise as you shook your head. "No, no. Really, there’s no need for that. It’s not exactly something to celebrate," you insisted, feeling a mix of awkwardness and guilt.

Seungcheol set down his fork and leaned back slightly, his gaze firmly on you. His lips curved into a small, enigmatic smile that sent a shiver down your spine. "Oh, don’t be like that, Ms. Ji. I’d like to treat you to something you’ll never forget."

You froze, feeling your face heat up at the deliberate weight of his words. Before you could process what he’d just said, you choked on your food, your eyes watering as you coughed violently. Jeonghan jumped into action, handing you a glass of water while Mingyu leaned forward in concern.

"Are you okay?" Mingyu asked, looking genuinely worried.

You nodded hastily, gulping down the water while avoiding Seungcheol’s gaze. Meanwhile, the man in question calmly resumed eating his meal, a subtle smirk tugging at the corners of his lips, as if he hadn’t just dropped that bombshell in front of his other staff.

Jeonghan and Mingyu exchanged curious glances, clearly aware that something unusual was going on. You, however, were too busy trying to regain your composure to notice. This lunch was not turning out the way you’d imagined.

"Ms. Ji... I'll drive you home," Seungcheol announced as he stepped out of his office, his tone leaving no room for negotiation.

You glanced up, startled, and then looked around the empty office. Jeonghan and Mingyu had already left, leaving you alone to crosscheck everything before calling it a day. "I don’t think that’s a good idea, Mr. Choi. I’ll just take the bus," you replied, trying to sound nonchalant.

Seungcheol frowned, clearly displeased. "Why? The bus is going to be packed at this hour." He checked his watch, then shifted his gaze back to you. His expression softened, but his stance remained firm as he leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest.

"And besides," he continued, his lips curving into an easy smile, "I want that dinner date. Just the two of us."

Your breath hitched before you could stop it. "Mr. Choi... I..." You trailed off, your brain scrambling to process his words. A dinner date? With him? The thought sent your heart racing in ways you didn’t want to admit.

He shrugged, utterly unbothered by your flustered state. "I told you, Ms. Ji, I’d like to be your date. I want to get to know you better," he said, his tone so casual it was almost maddening.

Then, as if he had just decided on the matter, he clapped his hands together and straightened up. "Alright then, I’ll book a restaurant for dinner. We can watch the sunset beforehand." Without waiting for your response, he turned on his heel and disappeared into his office, leaving you standing there, utterly baffled.

Dinner? Sunset? With your soon-to-be ex-boss? Your mind raced. This was either going to be the most surreal experience of your life—or a disaster waiting to happen.

*

No, no, no. This couldn’t be happening.

All the material for this morning’s meeting had disappeared from your computer, and to make matters worse, it seemed like your system had been attacked by a virus. Your computer was practically frozen and would need time to be repaired. Glancing at your watch, you realized there was only an hour left before the meeting started. Panic clawed at your chest as you made a beeline for Seungcheol’s office.

“I’m so sorry for disturbing you,” you blurted out, cutting into Seungcheol and Jeonghan’s morning conversation as you barged into the room, not bothering with pleasantries.

“What’s wrong, Ms. Ji?” Seungcheol asked, his brows furrowed in concern.

“My computer’s been attacked by a virus, and I can’t access the materials for the morning meeting. Is it okay if I use your computer, Mr. Choi?”

Without hesitation, Seungcheol stood from his chair, gesturing for you to take his place. “Go ahead.”

You quickly logged into his system and started searching, your fingers flying over the keyboard. But as you combed through his files, a sinking feeling settled in your stomach. “You can’t find it either?” Seungcheol’s voice broke the tense silence, sounding as baffled as you felt. “I’m sure I finalized the file and saved it. It should be here.”

“It’s gone,” you said grimly, turning to look at him. “Even the recycle bin is empty.”

“What about Mingyu? Does he have a backup?” Jeonghan asked as you all hurried out of Seungcheol’s office, heading to the workstation to regroup.

You shook your head in frustration. “I haven’t handed the final version over yet. Mingyu only manages the schedules and documents that need signing."

Jeonghan patted your shoulder sympathetically. “It’s okay, don’t panic. We’ll figure it out. We can finish this in 30 minutes if we work together.”

Taking a deep breath, you nodded and sat at Jeonghan’s desk, taking over his computer. Opening the last version of the file, you began revising it at a frantic pace. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me lately,” you muttered, your fingers trembling slightly as you typed. “Maybe I’ve been too distracted.”

Jeonghan shook his head, offering a small smile. “You’ve been juggling so much; it’s bound to happen. Just focus—we’ve got this.”

The clock ticked closer to the meeting time, and the pressure mounted. Mingyu darted into the room, his face lined with worry. “The printer broke down,” he said apologetically. “She’s trying to fix it, but it’ll take at least five more minutes.”

Jeonghan let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair. “Great. Just what we needed.”

In the meeting room, heads of departments and their assistants were already seated, shuffling in their chairs as they sipped coffee and waited. Mingyu quickly returned, distributing refreshments in an effort to keep them placated.

“Is everything settled?” Seungcheol asked as Jeonghan re-entered his office, his voice calm but tinged with impatience.

“I’m afraid we’ll need to delay the meeting. It’s taking longer than expected to fix everything,” Jeonghan admitted.

Seungcheol nodded thoughtfully, glancing at his watch. “Announce to everyone that the meeting will start in fifteen minutes. I’ll handle the delay personally.”

Jeonghan gave a quick nod, rushing out to relay the message, while you continued frantically typing at Jeonghan’s desk. Though the tension was palpable, you reminded yourself to stay calm. There wasn’t any room for error now.

“Focus, Ms. Ji,” you whispered to yourself, steeling your nerves as you worked against the clock.

“The meeting is delayed for 15 minutes, and you printed out the wrong document?” Mr. Park, the head of the marketing department, raised his voice, his tone cutting through the tense air as you handed out the material.

You froze, glancing down at the section he was pointing at. Your heart dropped when you realized he was right. The document you printed wasn’t their presentation—it was entirely unrelated. You were sure it was the correct file when you sent it to print, but now, staring at it, there was no denying the mistake.

“I’m so sorry. I’ll fix it imme—”

Before you could finish, Mr. Park threw the paper onto the table with a loud thud. “This is unacceptable! How do we expect to run a successful meeting with this level of incompetence? I knew something like this would happen when they decided to overburden the director’s secretary team instead of hiring specialized staff for each department.”

You flinched at his words, bowing your head in shame. Whispers broke out among the other heads of departments. Some seemed to agree with Mr. Park, nodding subtly, while others exchanged concerned looks.

The door opened, and Seungcheol stepped in, his commanding presence making everyone rise to their feet. His sharp eyes scanned the room, immediately locking onto you, standing there with your head lowered, tension radiating off your frame. Papers were scattered across the table, a clear sign of discord.

Seungcheol’s gaze flicked to Mingyu, who leaned in to whisper a quick explanation. As Seungcheol listened, his jaw tightened briefly before he nodded. Straightening his posture, he addressed the room with a calm but authoritative tone.

“Thank you so much, Ms. Ji, for your hard work,” he began, his voice cutting through the silence like a knife. “Someone from the marketing department, please accompany Ms. Ji to ensure the correct material is printed this time.”

His eyes shifted to Mr. Park, who immediately lowered his gaze, uncomfortable under Seungcheol’s direct attention. “It takes patience to get things right,” Seungcheol added, his tone firm but controlled, “and patience is something we all need to practice.”

You felt a rush of gratitude and embarrassment as Seungcheol diffused the situation, taking the spotlight off you. Nodding quickly, you turned to one of the marketing assistants, signaling them to follow you out of the room.

As you left, Seungcheol’s calm but commanding words lingered in the room, leaving no space for further criticism. Instead, the atmosphere shifted as everyone quietly reorganized themselves for the meeting ahead.

*

"You're not taking lunch," Seungcheol observed as he stepped out of his office, heading to grab a meal. He glanced around, noticing that both Mingyu and Jeonghan were nowhere to be seen—they must have left already, leaving you alone.

You shook your head, adjusting your posture in your seat. "I’m fine, Mr. Choi," you replied, your face carefully composed with professional restraint.

Seungcheol frowned slightly but took a few steps closer, leaning his frame casually against the edge of your desk. "Is it because of what happened this morning?" he asked, his tone softer now.

You hesitated before shrugging, unable to completely mask the frustration bubbling under your calm exterior. "I mean... I can’t just shake it off like nothing happened. And honestly, I’m sorry for messing up like that."

He crossed his arms and tilted his head, studying your face. "This is the first time, isn’t it?"

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. "I can’t believe it myself. Seven years without a major mistake, and then this happens," you muttered, more to yourself than him.

Seungcheol let out a quiet chuckle, the sound both warm and reassuring. "That’s an improvement, then. No one goes seven years without a single mistake—it just means you’re human."

You glanced up at him, your lips curving into a faint, tired smile. "And that’s exactly the point, Mr. Choi. I’ve set a standard for myself, and now I’ve blown it. Maybe Mr. Park was right—I might really be incompetent."

His expression hardened at your words, and he straightened slightly. "That’s not how I see it, Ms. Ji," he said firmly. "Whatever Mr. Park said has no bearing on your competence. I supervise you, and I know the quality of your work better than anyone here."

His confidence in you was disarming, and you found yourself relaxing just a little under his steady gaze. "Thank you, Mr. Choi. That means more than you realize," you admitted softly, your voice almost breaking with relief.

Seungcheol glanced at his watch and then back at you. "We’ve got thirty minutes left before the break ends," he said thoughtfully. His eyes softened, and a small smile tugged at his lips. "What do you say we grab some sandwiches together? My treat."

The offer caught you off guard. You blinked up at him, unsure whether to accept or refuse. "Are you sure?" you asked cautiously, not wanting to impose.

"Positive," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "You’ve been beating yourself up all morning. A good sandwich and some fresh air might do you good. Come on."

With a reluctant but grateful nod, you stood up. For the first time since the chaotic meeting earlier, you felt a flicker of comfort creeping back into your day.

"I thought we were going to sit down and eat," you said, taking a bite of your sandwich while walking back to the company building.

Seungcheol’s suit had been left behind in his office, leaving him in a dark grey dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His tie was loosened slightly, giving him an unexpectedly casual air as he took a bite of his own sandwich. He shook his head at your comment, chewing quickly. "We don’t have time for that," he said, his voice muffled.

You giggled at the sight of him, noticing a crumb stuck on his cheek. "You’ve got something on your face," you said, pointing.

He immediately tried to wipe it off but missed.

"Here, let me," you offered, stepping closer. Without a second thought, you used a napkin to gently clean his cheek. Your fingers brushed his skin briefly, and Seungcheol froze mid-chew, his eyes locking on yours.

"All clean," you said, stepping back with a smile before taking another bite of your sandwich, oblivious to the faint blush creeping up his neck.

"I told you not to call me Mr. Choi when we’re outside," he teased, trying to mask his flustered expression.

You laughed softly, shaking your head. "It’s weird to call you casually when I’ve been calling you Mr. Choi for the past seven years."

Seungcheol’s expression shifted slightly, a thoughtful look settling on his face. "Last night," he began, his voice softer now. "When you told me why you don’t drive anymore…"

Your steps faltered for a moment, but he stopped completely at the crosswalk as the pedestrian signal turned red.

"Did it happen here?" he asked gently, his eyes scanning the intersection.

You nodded, the food in your hand suddenly feeling much heavier. The memory, though buried, resurfaced vividly as if it had happened yesterday.

Seven years ago. You’d just started working with Seungcheol after his father had passed away, and the transition had been anything but smooth. Unlike his father, Seungcheol had seemed colder, more distant. His way of doing things clashed with what you were used to, and the tension in the secretary team had been palpable—especially for you.

That morning, your car had broken down, and you’d decided to walk to get Seungcheol’s favorite coffee. You were already flustered, trying to make a good impression despite your frustrations with him. Then, everything changed.

You had witnessed it—a car collision right before your eyes. The screeching tires, the bone-chilling sound of impact, the desperate cries of onlookers. And then, the blood. You still remembered how it splattered onto your blouse and face, how your legs had frozen in place, unable to move.

"Y/n? Where are you? We have a meeting in an hour, and Mr. Choi has been asking for his coffee," Jeonghan had called, his voice impatient through the phone.

You’d managed to drag yourself to the office after buying a new blouse, your hands trembling the entire time. Yet, instead of compassion, you’d been met with Seungcheol’s sharp reprimand for forgetting his coffee. The sting of that moment had stayed with you for years.

And now, you couldn’t believe you had shared it all with him last night, over casual conversation, when he’d asked why you no longer drove.

The pedestrian signal turned green, snapping you out of your thoughts. But before you could move, a hand gently gripped yours.

Seungcheol’s warm fingers curled around yours, grounding you in the present. He led you across the road, his pace steady, his grip firm yet comforting.

You glanced at him, surprised by the gesture. His gaze remained forward, focused on the path ahead. Yet, the warmth of his hand in yours spoke volumes, a quiet reassurance that lingered even after you’d crossed the street.

*

The complaints began to pour in like an unrelenting tide. Every time you opened your inbox, you found more emails from department heads, their tone varying from formal discontent to outright disdain. Words like incompetence, unprofessional, and unacceptable were repeated so often they seemed to blur together, creating a cloud of frustration and doubt in your mind.

What made it worse were the thinly veiled accusations of favoritism. Several emails implied that Seungcheol’s supposed bias toward you was undermining the secretary team’s performance and credibility. The insinuation was like a dagger, cutting into the team’s morale and creating an atmosphere heavy with unease.

It wasn’t long before you noticed the shift among your colleagues. Mingyu, usually cheerful and talkative, had grown quieter. His usual playful remarks were absent during lunch breaks, replaced by an awkward silence. Even Jeonghan, who always maintained an easygoing demeanor, seemed troubled, though he tried to hide it behind his usual smirks and teasing words.

“Ignore those emails,” Jeonghan said one afternoon, leaning against your desk. He spoke casually, but his eyes held a seriousness that betrayed his concern. “It’s the marketing department stirring up trouble again. They’ve been trying to undermine the secretary team for years.”

You glanced at him, startled. “Why would they do that? What do they have to gain?”

Jeonghan shrugged, his lips curling into a bitter smile. “Power dynamics, politics, control—you name it. Ever since Mr. Choi took over, the marketing department hasn’t been happy. They thrived under his father’s management because they were given more autonomy, but Mr. Choi’s stricter policies clipped their wings. They’ve been retaliating ever since.”

“And we’re caught in the middle,” you murmured, feeling the weight of the situation settle over you.

Jeonghan nodded. “Exactly. They’re using the secretary team as a scapegoat to make Mr. Choi look bad. And now that they’ve noticed how close you and him seem lately, they’re exploiting it to fuel their narrative.”

Your stomach churned at his words. The accusations weren’t just baseless; they were carefully orchestrated attacks designed to destabilize the entire team.

“But what can we do?” you asked, your voice tinged with helplessness. “If this continues, it’ll ruin our reputation—and Mr. Choi’s.”

Jeonghan leaned closer, lowering his voice. “We fight back, but carefully. First, we need to fix the immediate issues—no more mistakes, no more complaints. Then, we gather evidence. If we can prove the marketing department is behind this sabotage, we’ll turn the tables on them.”

Seungcheol walked you to your door after he drove you home, his steps calm but purposeful. "You don’t have to worry about all the complaints," he said, his voice smooth, but there was a knowing look in his eyes as he bid you goodbye.

"You saw them too?" you asked, your voice a little strained from the weight of it all. He nodded with a small grin. "Receiving complaints is part of my job, you know," he teased, throwing you a wink as if he were trying to make light of the situation.

"So you know they’re all from Mr. Park’s people?" you asked, unable to hide the slight bitterness in your voice.

He smiled, that reassuring smile of his. "I told you, you don’t have to worry about that," he said, his tone confident, almost as if he already had everything under control.

You lowered your head, feeling the weight of it all. You were involved now, and the rumors were only growing. Whispers of your relationship with him were circulating the office, and worse, someone had posted pictures of the two of you on the company community page. It felt impossible to escape.

Seungcheol seemed to sense your unease. "Hey," he said, his voice gentle, "it’s just a month left before you leave. A little plot twist will make it great, right?" His words were meant to lighten the mood, and you couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought.

He reached for your hand, giving it a comforting squeeze. "We’ll be fine. I’ll be fine. Don’t worry."

You hesitated for a moment, then asked, "You want to come inside?" You bit your lip, unsure of how he’d respond. Would he take the offer seriously, or was it too much, too soon?

After a brief pause, he sent a quick message to his driver. Moments later, he was already seated on your couch, his suit jacket and tie discarded, his sleeves rolled up casually.

"I expect this kind of vibe," Seungcheol remarked as his eyes wandered around your apartment, taking in the cozy space. His gaze lingered on everything, from the soft lighting to the quiet hum of your personal sanctuary.

"Two rooms?" he asked, a curious glint in his eyes. You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips.

"Sometimes my brother visits. He lives in a dorm, but he stays here on his days off," you explained, your voice casual, but you felt a little self-conscious explaining it. You weren't sure why, but it felt like you were giving him a piece of your personal life you hadn’t shared with anyone before.

"He's still training for the national team?" Seungcheol asked, and you looked at him, surprised that he remembered.

"You remembered?" you asked, your voice soft with disbelief.

Seungcheol nodded, his smile warm. "Of course, it’s you."

It was a casual evening after work, everyone gathered in the break room. Jeonghan and Seungcheol had just returned from a trip, and he couldn’t wait to share some exciting news.

"My sister just got accepted into one of the top companies!" Jeonghan had announced, beaming with pride. "We’re celebrating this weekend!"

The team cheered, raising their glasses in a toast. It was a happy moment, and you couldn’t help but feel a little nostalgic for the simplicity of those times.

Seungcheol had joined in, his voice nonchalant but with a hint of pride. "My brother decided to go into the culinary field instead of business," he had mentioned. "Can you believe it? A chef, not a businessman."

You’d overheard it all, and for some reason, it had stayed with you—how casually everyone shared their family stories, how different yet similar your lives were.

Seungcheol’s voice broke through your thoughts. "Do you have siblings, Ms. Ji?" he asked, his tone playful, though there was a touch of curiosity beneath the words.

"She has a brother," Jeonghan had added once, with a wink. "Do you know Ji Chang Wook, the former football player? That’s her brother."

Seungcheol raised his eyebrows, clearly surprised. "Really?" he asked, looking at you with a mix of disbelief and admiration.

You nodded shyly. "He now works for the national team as their coach."

Seungcheol’s eyes softened, impressed. "That’s incredible," he said. "You’re surrounded by greatness."

You smiled at his words, feeling a swell of pride for your brother. As the conversation shifted back to the present, you placed a glass of iced tea on the coffee table for Seungcheol before settling back onto the couch next to him.

"How am i as a boyfriend?" Seungcheol suddenly asked, his question coming out of nowhere. You let out a soft chuckle at his unexpected inquiry. His gaze was playful, yet there was something deeper beneath it, as if he was genuinely waiting for your answer.

You paused, thinking about how to answer. "I don’t know that you’d be willing to go down with a mere secretary staff like me, Mr. Choi," you teased, trying to mask the flutter of uncertainty in your chest.

Seungcheol rolled his eyes at the "Mr. Choi." He had been correcting you ever since the beginning, insisting you call him Seungcheol.

"Can I ask you a question?" you asked, your voice tentative. He nodded, leaning in slightly, his expression serious.

"Why were you being an asshole at the beginning?" you asked, the words slipping out before you could stop them. It wasn’t the most delicate way to phrase it, but you couldn’t help yourself.

Seungcheol closed his eyes, clearly not thrilled about being reminded of his past behavior. "I was a lowly bastard, wasn’t I?" he admitted, his voice quiet, almost regretful. "I’m sorry... I was just very insecure."

"Insecure?" you repeated, surprised by his honesty.

He nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips as he reached out to brush a stray hair from your face. "My father passed away, and my brother didn’t want to take over the business. I didn’t have enough experience to rule a company. I was just trying to figure things out."

You blinked, caught off guard. "I had no idea about that."

Seungcheol nodded again, his gaze softening. "I made sure no one knew about it. But I broke down at one point, and Jeonghan helped me a lot. You did, too. You always did your best at work. But I just..." He trailed off, his fingers grazing your skin as he continued, "I didn’t want to get distracted by you. Maybe that’s why I treated you so badly."

You furrowed your brow in confusion. "Distracted? By me? How come?" You chuckled, still processing the idea. Was it really possible?

Seungcheol’s smile deepened, and his gaze softened. "I used to like you a lot. My father always spoke highly of you, and I couldn’t help but admire you."

"No way," you whispered, your eyes widening in disbelief.

"I’m serious," he said, his voice steady and sincere. "You were always shining at that desk of yours."

You laughed, the sound a mix of disbelief and warmth. "Since when?" you asked, your curiosity piqued.

"Since you visited my house," he said, his tone turning nostalgic. "I saw how you treated my father—so professional, yet so graceful. I tried to find a secretary like you, but I guess there’s only one of you."

Your heart skipped a beat as you looked at him, the realization settling in. Despite all the tension and confusion, there was something undeniably genuine about his words, and for the first time in a while, it felt like things between you and Seungcheol might finally be falling into place.

Seungcheol leaned in closer, his eyes fixed on your lips, the moment growing more intimate with every passing second. Just as you felt your breath hitch, the sound of someone punching in the passcode to your door broke the tension, startling both of you.

“Y/n! I brought some—” The baritone voice trailed off abruptly as the door swung open, revealing a tall, broad-shouldered man carrying two plastic bags. His steps halted, and his eyes widened as he took in the scene before him. His sister, tangled up with a stranger on the couch, looking far too close for comfort.

You and Seungcheol scrambled apart, both of you stumbling to your feet as if caught red-handed.

“Did I interrupt something?” the man asked, his tone sharp and accusatory. His gaze darted between you and Seungcheol before settling on you. “Who’s this, Y/n?”

Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment as you tried to compose yourself. “Uh... this is Choi Seungcheol, my... my boss,” you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper.

Seungcheol extended a hand, his expression polite and composed despite the awkwardness of the situation. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m—”

“Your boss?” the man interrupted, completely ignoring the handshake. His eyes narrowed as he turned his attention back to you. “He’s the one who made you work overtime and miss my birthday?”

You froze. Shoot. You had vented about Seungcheol to your brother countless times, never expecting him to meet the man himself.

“Oppa, it’s not like that,” you tried to explain, but your brother wasn’t having it.

“You talked ill of him to me all the time,” Changwook said, his tone laced with disbelief and a hint of anger. His grip on your arm tightened slightly as he pulled you further away from Seungcheol. “Why is he here now? In your apartment?”

Your mind raced, searching for an explanation that wouldn’t make things worse. “We’re... umm...” You waved your hands in the air helplessly, your words failing you.

Seungcheol, however, didn’t hesitate. “I’m her boyfriend,” he said firmly, his voice steady and confident as he stepped forward.

Your eyes widened in shock at his bold declaration. “That’s—” you started, but the words died in your throat as your brother’s gaze hardened, his protective instincts kicking in.

“Boyfriend?” Changwook echoed, his voice filled with skepticism as he gave Seungcheol a once-over. “Since when? And why am I just now hearing about this?”

You cringed inwardly, feeling trapped between Seungcheol’s unexpected claim and your brother’s scrutiny. The fact that you’d spent months complaining about Seungcheol didn’t help. How did I end up here?

“Changwook, calm down,” you said, trying to diffuse the situation. “It’s... new.”

“New?” your brother repeated, his frown deepening as his eyes bored into you. “How new? And why would you date your boss of all people? Especially someone you’ve always badmouthed?”

You felt the blood drain from your face. You’re dead, your mind screamed at you, but before you could even attempt a defense, your brother turned to you with an authoritative wave of his hand.

“Go to your room,” Changwook said firmly, his tone brooking no argument. “This is a men’s conversation.”

*

You were trapped between two drunken men. Changwook, still pouring himself another shot of soju, mumbled incoherently about everything under the sun, while Seungcheol, clearly in no better condition, had his head dropped onto your shoulder. The weight of him was comforting yet overwhelming, especially with the alcohol fumes wafting off him.

"Our Y/n couldn’t drink dairy, so you have to make sure her latte is always with oat milk,” Changwook slurred, his words slightly jumbled as he tried to sit up straight. He pointed a wobbly finger at Seungcheol as though delivering a life-or-death instruction.

Seungcheol gasped dramatically, his head lifting momentarily before snuggling back into the crook of your neck. “Our Y/n can’t handle dairy? Oh my god, poor Y/n!” His words came out in a hushed, exaggerated whisper. “I’ll buy you tons of oat milk, Y/n. Gallons of it! So you’ll never, ever get a stomachache again!”

You tried to suppress your laugh, but a chuckle escaped as Seungcheol tightened his arms around your waist, nuzzling into your neck like a sleepy puppy. He smelled like soju mixed with the faint remnants of his cologne—a mix that somehow still made your heart skip.

“Alright, Mr. Gallant Knight,” you murmured, brushing his hair back gently. “Let’s get you home before you start a crusade against all dairy products.”

“Nooo,” Seungcheol whined softly, his voice muffled against your skin. “Let me stay here. I promise I won’t do anything! I’ll sleep on the floor if I have to, cross my heart.”

You shook your head, unable to contain your amusement. He was far too cute like this. “Alright, fine,” you relented with a small smile. “But we’re at least getting you into bed. Let’s get up on the count of three, okay?”

Seungcheol groaned in protest, but you felt him adjust slightly, his arms loosening around your waist.

“One,” you began, bracing yourself. “Two… three—"

You tried to pull him up, but Seungcheol, true to his drunken state, flopped back onto the couch like a boneless doll.

“Too heavy,” he mumbled, pouting. “You have to help me, Y/n. I’m weak, but you’re strong.”

“Strong?” you repeated with a laugh. “What are you even talking about? You’re twice my size!”

“Exactly,” Seungcheol replied, his tone overly serious. “That’s why you’re amazing. You’re tiny but mighty.”

From across the room, Changwook let out a grunt as he finally rose from his seat, wobbling slightly before glaring at Seungcheol. “Stop flirting with my sister, you lightweight,” he muttered, pointing a finger at him before stumbling toward his room. “And don’t you dare think about sharing a bed with her!”

“Noted, Coach Ji,” Seungcheol mumbled sleepily, waving his hand in the air.

You sighed, shaking your head as you tugged at Seungcheol’s arm again. “Come on, big guy. Let’s at least get you lying down before Changwook comes back with a lecture.”

Seungcheol finally complied, leaning heavily on you as you helped him to your room. “Thanks, Y/n,” he murmured, his voice soft. “You’re the best.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you said, rolling your eyes but smiling nonetheless. “Just don’t puke on my bed, okay?”

“I’d never,” he promised, his words slurring as he flopped onto your mattress, instantly dozing off.

You sighed again, pulling a blanket over him before retreating to the couch. As you settled in, you couldn’t help but smile at the chaos that was your life—and at the man now snoring softly in your bed.

“Where’s Mr. Choi? He’s not here yet?” Mingyu’s voice broke the usual morning buzz of the office. He glanced around, noting the conspicuous absence of the boss. It was already 8 a.m., and Mr. Choi was typically seated at his desk by 7:45, meticulously reviewing his schedule or flipping through a book.

Jeonghan checked his watch and frowned. “I know, right? He hasn’t called or texted me either. Do you think he’s sick or something?” he wondered aloud, a hint of concern creeping into his tone.

“He’s late,” you mumbled, barely glancing up from your phone as you replied.

“How do you know that?!” Mingyu and Jeonghan exclaimed in unison, their voices tinged with surprise.

“He texted me,” you replied nonchalantly, still focused on your phone.

Mingyu’s jaw dropped, and he pouted, looking genuinely hurt. “He texted you? But not me? He still doesn’t trust me with his schedule. What if he hates me?” he whined, the last part almost a whisper.

You chuckled softly, grabbing a stack of documents from your desk and placing them in front of him. “That’s why I’m tutoring you today. We’re going over how to prepare presentation materials and manage other tasks.”

Mingyu sighed dramatically but couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at his lips. “Alright…” He reluctantly took the documents, the pout still lingering on his face, but his determination to improve was clear.

Suddenly, Jeonghan’s voice interrupted the moment. “Oh…”

Both you and Mingyu turned toward him, brows furrowed. “What’s wrong?” you asked, stepping over to Jeonghan’s desk.

Jeonghan didn’t answer immediately, his eyes fixed on his computer screen. His lips pressed into a thin line as he stared at something. Curiosity got the better of you, and you leaned in to look.

On the screen was a post from the company’s internal community. The headline read, “Mr. Park Is Caught!” Beneath it was a photo of Seungcheol standing in the marketing department alongside the head of HR.

Your brows knitted together. “What’s that supposed to mean? Is Mr. Choi investigating him behind our backs?”

Jeonghan bit his lip, his gaze still glued to the screen. “Looks like it…” he murmured.

You quickly scanned the comments below the post. Employees from the marketing department were sharing snippets of gossip. Someone had claimed that Mr. Park had been caught falsifying records and embezzling departmental funds.

Mingyu, who had walked over to peek at the screen, let out a low whistle. “Wow. I didn’t think Mr. Park would actually get caught.”

You frowned, a mix of surprise and worry swirling in your chest. “He didn’t mention any of this to us,” you said softly, almost to yourself.

Jeonghan finally looked away from the screen, his expression thoughtful. “If he’s handling this personally, it must be serious.”

Mingyu crossed his arms, tilting his head. “Well, if Mr. Park’s really guilty, it’s good that Mr. Choi’s taking action. But why keep it so secretive? I mean, we’re his team.”

Jeonghan sighed and leaned back in his chair. “It’s probably because this involves embezzlement. You know how sensitive that kind of accusation is. He probably didn’t want anyone tipping Mr. Park off before he had solid evidence.”

You nodded slowly, processing everything. “Still, I hope Mr. Choi’s being careful. This kind of situation can get messy.”

Jeonghan gave you a knowing look but didn’t say anything. Mingyu, however, turned to you with a cheeky grin. “Wow, you’re so concerned about him. Are you sure you’re not his girlfriend”

You shot him a glare, heat rising to your cheeks. “Shut up and get back to your documents, Mingyu.”

He laughed, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. But seriously, I’m curious how this all plays out.”

Jeonghan nodded, his gaze returning to the screen. “Me too. If Mr. Park’s really guilty, this could shake things up in the company.”

You bit your lip, silently hoping Seungcheol would return soon—with answers.

Seungcheol’s arrival on the floor sent a wave of tension through the secretary team. His usual composed demeanor was even more rigid than usual, and without wasting a second, he summoned Jeonghan into his office. The atmosphere was thick with curiosity and unease, but you kept your head down, silently supervising Mingyu as he prepared materials for tomorrow’s meeting with all the department heads.

“So, what’s Mr. Park’s status now?” Mingyu asked, flipping through a document from the marketing department. His voice was casual, but his eyes betrayed his curiosity.

You shook your head. “I don’t know, Mingyu, and honestly, I don’t want to fill my head with too much right now. I’m leaving this company in a week, remember?”

Mingyu sighed, setting his pen down. “Yeah, I remember… But you know what? As much as I believe in myself, I can’t help but worry. What if I can’t replace you?”

You gave him a reassuring smile and patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Mingyu. It took me seven years to get to where I am. You’ll get there too.”

Mingyu bit his lip, nodding. “You’re right… You’re really good at comforting people, Ms. Ji,” he said playfully, his usual pout returning.

You laughed. “Of course, I am! Now, finish this and send it to me before lunch.”

Just then, Jeonghan stepped out of Seungcheol’s office, his expression unreadable. The entire team turned their attention to him as he cleared his throat.

“Mr. Park has officially been fired as of today. HR has concluded the investigation, and with all the evidence gathered, there was no room for negotiation. A replacement needs to be found as soon as possible. There’s already a potential candidate, but the final decision still needs to be made.”

A murmur spread across the room, but before you could react, Jeonghan turned to you. “Can we talk in private, Y/n?”

You blinked at him but nodded, following him to the pantry. The moment the door shut behind you, Jeonghan exhaled deeply, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Mr. Choi mentioned your name as the potential head of the marketing department.”

Your eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

Jeonghan sighed, looking at you seriously. “I know it’s sudden, but he has his reasons. And honestly? After hearing him out, I found myself agreeing with him.” He still seemed surprised at himself for admitting that.

“But… next week is my last day!” you protested, your voice rising slightly in disbelief.

Jeonghan placed a firm grip on your arms, steadying you. “Listen to me—HR and Mr. Choi are definitely going to call you soon. You need to prepare yourself.”

You let out a frustrated sigh. “That’s too much responsibility! You know I was planning to travel across Asia after this.”

Jeonghan chuckled, shaking his head. “And that’s what you’re most worried about, huh?” His tone was amused, but there was also a hint of admiration in his eyes. “Look, whatever decision you make, I’ll support you. But just think about it, alright?”

Your mind was already spinning with the weight of the unexpected offer. A promotion just as you were about to leave? It was almost ironic.

"Ms. Ji, can you come to my office for a sec?"

You nearly jumped from your seat at the sudden sound of Seungcheol’s voice filling the secretary team’s office. The room fell silent as all eyes darted toward him. He stood behind his office door, only half of his body visible as he peeked outside, waiting for you.

You stole a glance at Jeonghan, who was already looking at you, his expression unreadable but his eyes silently sending you a thousand words of encouragement. You sighed, smoothing down your blazer before standing up and making your way to Seungcheol’s office.

The moment you stepped inside, you noticed that the blinds had been down since this morning. You figured after the confrontation with Mr. Park, he must have needed some privacy.

"Mr. Choi," you called his name softly as you stopped in front of his desk.

Without a word, Seungcheol handed you a file. You hesitated for a moment before taking it, flipping it open to find pages upon pages of evidence—proof of Mr. Park’s embezzlement during his tenure as the head of the marketing department. Your brows furrowed. This file was supposed to be confidential, a matter strictly between him and HR. So why was he showing it to you? Especially when you were set to leave in just a week?

"You told me about this last night," he said, his voice calm but firm.

Your mind raced back to your conversation with him the night before. You had mentioned it—your suspicions about the marketing department’s financial discrepancies. You had noticed missing reports from the past two years that didn’t sit right with you. And despite your reluctance, you had handed him the findings you had gathered over time.

Wait.

Your eyes flickered up to Seungcheol, your expression shifting. "You weren’t drunk?"

He smirked, leaning against the edge of his desk. "I was just acting."

Your breath hitched as the realization hit you. The way he had suddenly become lighter when he was supposedly dead weight on your shoulder last night. The way he had pulled you aside, listening intently as you spoke about the missing reports.

You didn’t remember much about how the conversation had unfolded, but somehow, in that moment, you had found the courage to show him everything.

"And you were right," Seungcheol continued, pulling out another document from his desk—your resignation letter.

Your heartbeat quickened.

"I have an offer for you," he said, his eyes never leaving yours. "Be our new head of the marketing department."

Silence hung in the air.

You stood frozen, the weight of his words sinking in.

"You’re probably the only person who knows the ins and outs of the marketing department better than anyone else," he reasoned, his voice steady. And he wasn’t wrong. You had spent the past seven years collecting reports, reviewing files, and meticulously studying every department before handing them over to him. You knew how the department functioned, where its strengths and weaknesses lay.

But despite the logic in his argument, you couldn’t bring yourself to answer. Not now. It was too sudden, too unexpected. You knew Seungcheol always had a plan—he never made decisions lightly. But the real question was, were you ready for more?

"What do you think, Ms. Ji?" His voice was softer now, laced with something you couldn’t quite place.

You swallowed, taking a deep breath before finally speaking. "I’ll think about it, sir."

Seungcheol studied you for a moment, his expression unreadable, before nodding. "Alright. You can go back."

That was your cue to leave. You turned on your heels, stepping out of his office, your mind a whirlwind of thoughts.

Why did everything suddenly lead to this?

*

"Want to talk about it?" Seungcheol’s voice was soft as he cuddled you close, his warmth seeping into your skin. His hand moved lazily through your hair, fingers tracing slow, comforting patterns.

He had invited you over tonight after you received a text from your brother, letting you know he was having friends over. You hadn’t wanted to be home with all the noise, and without asking too many questions, Seungcheol had offered his place. Now, nestled against him, your head resting on his shoulder and your arm draped around his torso, you felt the weight of the day pressing down on you.

"I'm all ears," he murmured, sensing your hesitation about his earlier offer.

Doubt flickered through you before you finally spoke. "Are you..." You hesitated. "Are you going to listen to me as my boss or as my boyfriend?"

Seungcheol hummed thoughtfully. "I'll decide after."

His answer caught you off guard. It sounded too neutral, almost detached, and something about it stung more than you expected. Without thinking, you shifted away from him, turning your back.

"Hey," Seungcheol's arm immediately wrapped around your waist, pulling you back against him. His grip was firm yet gentle, grounding.

"Tell me, baby," he coaxed, his breath warm against the back of your neck. "I'll listen to you as your partner. Go ahead."

Slowly, you turned back to face him, meeting his steady gaze. "I don’t want to accept the offer."

Seungcheol said nothing, only watching you carefully, his fingers tightening slightly on your waist, a silent sign that he was listening.

"It’s too much for me," you admitted. "A big responsibility. And I don’t think I’m cut out for that—I’m not that passionate about it."

Seungcheol frowned. "You're a very passionate person, Y/n."

You shook your head. "Not about this. Not anymore." A deep sigh left your lips. "I'm tired of working, Cheol. I just want to travel the world, maybe get a job with less responsibility. Something that doesn’t drain me like this."

Seungcheol remained quiet, his dark eyes locked onto yours, absorbing every word. His fingers traced absentminded circles on your waist, a silent reminder that he was there, that he heard you.

"I need a break," you whispered, voice barely audible. "Before I break."

Something flickered in Seungcheol’s expression—regret, concern, maybe even guilt. He pressed a gentle kiss to your temple. "I’m sorry," he murmured, his lips lingering for a moment. "I didn’t realize how much you’ve been carrying. And I—" He exhaled sharply. "I’ve been a jerk, haven’t I?"

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. "I think I wore myself out, Cheol. I hit my limit."

Seungcheol nodded, his thumb brushing along your cheek. "Then you should rest. You need to rest. Or else you’re going to—"

"Explode," you finished for him, smiling faintly. "Like when I called you drunk months ago."

A chuckle rumbled from his chest, the tension in the air easing. "I should thank your drunk self. If not for that, I wouldn’t have known my secretary wanted me to be her date.

You rolled your eyes, fingers threading through his hair. "That’s what you took from that?"

He grinned. "Well, that, and the fact that you can’t handle your alcohol."

You swatted his arm playfully, and he caught your wrist, tugging you closer.

"I just want to stay home for a while," you murmured, your voice softer now. "Do things I actually enjoy. Maybe pick up a hobby. Get a pet." You sighed as if the mere thought of it was a relief. "And none of it involves going back to work anytime soon."

Seungcheol studied you, a small smile tugging at his lips. "You sound like a good wife."

You chuckled, raising a brow. "I would make a good wife."

His eyes twinkled with mischief. "Really?"

Before you could answer, he tackled you onto the bed, his hands finding your sides as he tickled you mercilessly. Laughter filled the room as you squirmed beneath him, the weight of your earlier worries momentarily forgotten.

Your heart raced as Seungcheol hovered above you, his eyes dark with warmth and something deeper—something that made your breath hitch. His weight against you was comforting rather than overwhelming, his presence grounding.

"You tried my cooking earlier," you teased, giggling when he trailed soft kisses across your face—your forehead, your cheek, the tip of your nose. Each touch was featherlight, sending a shiver down your spine.

Seungcheol hummed in agreement, his lips brushing against your skin as he whispered, "You’ll make a good wife."

Before you could react, he closed the distance, capturing your lips in a kiss—slow and deliberate, as if savoring every second. His hand cradled your cheek, thumb stroking gently, while his other arm held you firmly against him, as if he never wanted to let go.

And in that moment, nothing else mattered.

*

It was your favorite place—a simple barbecue restaurant where you and Jeonghan used to have dinner together during your early years at the company. The scent of grilled meat filled the air, blending with the warmth of laughter and chatter. Tonight, the atmosphere buzzed with a mix of celebration and bittersweet goodbyes as everyone gathered for your farewell party.

Seated around the long wooden tables were your colleagues—the secretary team members, department representatives, and even a few unexpected guests. Among them was Seungcheol, his presence instantly commanding attention. It was rare to see him at casual company gatherings like this, and his attendance left many curious. But since it was you—one of his most trusted employees—who was leaving, everyone assumed that was the reason he sat beside you, his presence a quiet yet significant statement.

After a while, you stood, clearing your throat as conversations died down. With a grateful smile, you delivered your speech—thanking everyone for their support, for the years of teamwork and shared challenges, and apologizing for any moments you might have fallen short.

When you finished, the room erupted into cheers and applause, glasses raised in a heartfelt toast. Laughter followed, but beneath it all was an unspoken truth: this chapter was ending, and things would never quite be the same again.

Seungcheol cleared his throat, the deep sound cutting through the lingering laughter and drawing everyone's attention like a switch had been flipped. Conversations faded, and all eyes turned to him.

He sat upright, his expression composed yet sincere. "First of all, I want to thank Ms. Ji for her hard work all these years," he began, his voice steady but carrying weight. "She’s been one of the most dedicated people in this company, and honestly, it’s hard to imagine this place without her. We’re losing not just a talented employee but also someone who made things run smoother for all of us."

A murmur of agreement swept through the group, and you felt a mix of pride and guilt settle in your chest.

Seungcheol glanced at you briefly before continuing. "And... I also want to take this chance to apologize," he said, his tone softening. "For any unnecessary pressure, for the late nights, for expecting too much sometimes. I know I wasn’t always the easiest boss to work with."

You shook your head slightly, about to reassure him, but before you could say anything, he inhaled deeply and, with absolute confidence, added,

"Also, since we’re all here, I think now’s a good time to make an announcement."

You frowned, confused, and Jeonghan—who was sipping his drink beside you—arched an eyebrow.

Seungcheol’s gaze met yours, then he turned back to the room. "Ms. Ji and I are dating."

A moment of silence. Then—

"What?!" Mingyu choked on his drink, coughing as Jeonghan patted his back. Gasps and murmurs spread through the group like wildfire. Even the usually composed members of the secretary team looked at each other in shock.

You stiffened, your body going rigid as the realization sank in. Your fingers clutched at the fabric of your dress under the table, your pulse hammering in your ears. Slowly, almost mechanically, you turned to Seungcheol, your voice barely above a whisper.

"What—why would you—"

"Wait, wait, wait." Jeonghan put a hand up, smirking. "That's expected. Since when?"

Seungcheol chuckled, resting his arm on the back of your chair. "For a while now."

Meanwhile, Jeonghan just sat there, utterly amused, swirling his drink in his glass before finally saying, "So this is why you’ve been sneaking around, huh?"

"Jeonghan!" You hissed, shooting him a glare, but he only shrugged, clearly enjoying your suffering.

Mingyu, still coughing slightly, gaped at Seungcheol like he had just grown a second head. "Wait, wait, wait—you two?! Since when?! And why didn’t I know?!"

Your face burned as everyone’s eyes darted between you and him, trying to process the sudden revelation. Someone from marketing whispered, That explains why he’s actually here tonight.

"You could’ve warned me first," you hissed under your breath, still reeling from the shock.

Seungcheol leaned in slightly, his voice teasing, "Where's the fun in that?"

The room exploded into a mix of cheers, teasing remarks, and incredulous laughter. Some congratulated you, others demanded details, and Mingyu, still processing, just groaned, "Why am I always the last to know?!"

You sighed, covering your face, but despite the initial embarrassment, you couldn’t help the small smile forming on your lips. Seungcheol had just made sure this farewell party was one no one would forget.

Your fingers twitched. If there weren’t so many witnesses, you might have actually smacked him.

"So you two have actually been together this whole time?" One of the HR reps asked, her mouth still slightly open in disbelief. "Like, during work hours? During meetings? While she was still his secretary?"

Oh no. That was a dangerous line of questioning.

You opened your mouth, scrambling to regain some sort of control over the situation, but Seungcheol, of course, was faster.

"It started after work," he clarified, his voice smooth and nonchalant. "And it’s not like she’s breaking any rules. She’s leaving the company, after all."

The way he said it—so effortlessly confident—made your stomach twist. You wanted to argue, to regain some control over this mess he had just thrown you into, but then you caught the way he was looking at you.

There was something possessive in his gaze, a quiet certainty that sent a shiver down your spine. He wasn’t ashamed. He wasn’t hiding.

And suddenly, the tension shifted.

"You’re unbelievable," you muttered, barely able to contain the heat rising to your cheeks.

He chuckled, finally turning back to his drink. "And yet, you’re still here."

The table erupted into laughter, cheers, and even a few claps. Someone from the legal department shouted, "Well, damn. We need to drink to this!"

"Oh—another thing to celebrate," Seungcheol announced, his voice effortlessly cutting through the laughter and clinking glasses.

You turned to him, sensing something in his tone, but before you could ask, he raised his glass.

"Congratulations to Mr. Yoon, our new Marketing Department Head."

A moment of silence hung in the air before the entire table erupted in cheers and applause.

"What?!" Mingyu nearly knocked over his drink in shock. "Jeonghan-hyung? When did this happen?"

Jeonghan, ever composed, simply smirked as he leaned back in his chair. "A while ago."

"You knew?!" Mingyu gawked at him before turning to Seungcheol. "And no one thought to tell me?!"

Seungcheol chuckled, completely unfazed. "HR finalized it this afternoon. He was my first choice from the start."

"But—but—" Mingyu stammered, looking between you and Jeonghan. "I thought she was the best candidate?!"

You smiled, lifting your drink. "I’m leaving, remember?"

Jeonghan shrugged, tapping his fingers against his glass. "And someone had to clean up after her, so here I am."

Laughter filled the table, and soon, everyone was raising their drinks toward Jeonghan, congratulating him on the promotion.

Seungcheol leaned in closer to you, his hand finding yours under the table. His voice was low, meant only for you.

"Now you really have no reason to stay at work."

You rolled your eyes playfully but squeezed his hand in return. "You planned all of this, didn’t you?"

He smirked, his thumb brushing against your fingers. "Maybe. But I also knew it was what’s best for everyone."

You sighed, glancing at Jeonghan, who was basking in the attention, and then at Seungcheol, who was watching you with that knowing look.

Despite everything, you couldn’t deny it—this felt right.

*

It had been ten months since you left the company, but something about Mingyu working as Seungcheol’s secretary still didn’t sit right with you. This morning only confirmed your suspicions. Seungcheol, who once carried himself with unwavering composure, now sat at the breakfast table with noticeable dark circles under his eyes. You couldn’t recall a single time in the past when he looked this tired.

“What’s your schedule like today?” you asked, setting a plate of breakfast in front of him along with a cup of freshly brewed coffee.

Seungcheol gave you a faint smile before replying, “Just a quick briefing with finance. I’ll probably be home late; I have a meeting with Joshua over dinner."

Your arms crossed as you stood beside the table, watching him. “You never memorize your own schedule,” you pointed out, your tone laced with concern.

He nodded in agreement, his attention on his food. “I used to have Jeonghan to remind me about everything. And you,” he added, glancing up at you with a soft smile. “You made sure everything ran smoothly.”

You watched him take another bite before leaning against the table. “How many staff members is Mingyu working with?” you asked, your tone more curious this time.

Seungcheol chuckled, wiping the corner of his mouth. “Why are you asking?”

“Because it’s obvious you’re overworking yourself, babe,” you said bluntly, crossing your arms again.

He paused, his gaze softening as he looked at you. “I’m fine, love. Don’t worry,” he reassured, though his voice didn’t quite convince you. “Mingyu’s my only secretary now, but the system’s changed. He’s managing just fine.”

You sighed and sat down in front of him, resting your chin on your hand. “Is Mingyu still an idiot?”

Seungcheol couldn’t help but laugh, his tired expression lifting just a little. “He is,” he admitted, shaking his head. “But he’s getting better, I promise. You’d be surprised.”

You weren’t entirely convinced, and your frustration showed as you frowned at him. “You used to come home looking less like a zombie,” you muttered.

Seungcheol reached across the table and took your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I know you’re worried,” he said, his voice soft. “But really, I’ve got this. Mingyu may be a work in progress, but we’re managing.”

You squeezed his hand in return, but your concern lingered. “Just don’t forget to take care of yourself, alright?”

He smiled at you, a warmth in his eyes that made you feel just a little more at ease. “I won’t. I promise.”

As Seungcheol finished the last bite of his breakfast, he leaned back in his chair and tilted his head slightly, his gaze softening as it shifted to you. "How’s the baking class going?" he asked, his tone casual but genuinely curious.

You perked up slightly at his question, a smile tugging at your lips. "It’s going really well. I finally mastered the chiffon cake yesterday," you said, your excitement seeping into your voice.

Seungcheol raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed. "The one you said was impossible to get right?"

You nodded eagerly. "Yep. It took me three tries, but I did it. The instructor even said I nailed the texture and flavor."

He smiled, the fatigue on his face momentarily fading as he watched you talk. "Look at you, becoming a pro baker already," he teased, though there was an unmistakable pride in his tone.

You chuckled, waving off his comment. "I wouldn’t say ‘pro,’ but it’s been fun. I didn’t think I’d enjoy baking as much as I do now."

Seungcheol leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as he looked at you. "So, when are you going to let me taste this famous chiffon cake?"

You rolled your eyes playfully, leaning back in your chair. "Soon. I just want to perfect it a little more before I let you try it. You’re too honest with your feedback," you said, narrowing your eyes at him with mock suspicion.

He laughed, the deep sound filling the room and making your chest warm. "You know I only critique because I care," he said, reaching out to poke your arm. "But fine. I’ll wait until you think it’s ready."

You smirked, crossing your arms. "You better. No sneaking bites when I’m not looking."

"I wouldn’t dare," he replied, his tone exaggeratedly serious.

The two of you fell into an easy silence for a moment, the tension from earlier easing as you both enjoyed the quiet morning together.

"Maybe," Seungcheol began, breaking the silence, "you could make a batch of something for Joshua’s dinner meeting. He has a sweet tooth, you know."

You raised an eyebrow at him, pretending to be skeptical. "Are you volunteering me to impress your business partner with baked goods now?"

"Maybe," he admitted with a cheeky grin. "But only because I know you’d knock it out of the park."

You shook your head with a laugh, but you couldn’t deny how his words filled you with a small sense of pride. "Fine," you said. "I’ll make some cookies or brownies. But you owe me."

Seungcheol smirked. "Deal. I’ll make it worth your while."

The restaurant was dimly lit, with soft jazz music playing in the background. Seungcheol sat across from Joshua at the private dining table, his posture relaxed but still exuding authority. Mingyu, seated beside him, diligently took notes and managed the documents for the formal part of the meeting.

The discussion went smoothly, with both parties agreeing on the next steps for their partnership. As the waiter cleared their plates and brought out coffee and dessert, the atmosphere gradually shifted to a more casual tone. Seungcheol leaned back in his chair, finally allowing himself to relax.

Joshua stirred his coffee, a friendly smile on his face as he looked at Mingyu. "I have to say, Mingyu, you’ve really grown into your role. The professionalism you’ve shown tonight is impressive. So different from how you were!"

Mingyu let out a nervous laugh, scratching the back of his neck. "Well, I had to step up, didn’t I? Working for Seungcheol hyung isn’t exactly a walk in the park."

Seungcheol chuckled, glancing at Mingyu with a raised eyebrow. "Are you complaining?"

"Not at all!" Mingyu quickly replied, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "I’m just saying, I had to adapt."

Joshua laughed, clearly amused by their dynamic. "It’s good to see, though. I remember the Mingyu who couldn’t sit still in meetings or keep track of his tasks. Now look at you—organized, professional, and confident."

Mingyu puffed out his chest jokingly, but there was a hint of genuine pride in his smile. "Well, I had a great mentor," he said, nodding toward Seungcheol.

Seungcheol scoffed, though a small smile played on his lips. "Don’t get too cocky, Mingyu. You still have a long way to go."

Joshua tilted his head, a curious expression crossing his face. "By the way, how did Mingyu end up working for you, Seungcheol?"

"Trust me," Seungcheol said, a playful glint in his eye, "I didn’t want to hire him at first. But he insisted, and I figured if he was going to work anywhere, it might as well be under someone who wouldn’t go easy on him."

"And he doesn’t go easy on me," Mingyu added, holding up his hands. "This man is tough."

Joshua laughed, clearly entertained. "Well, I have to say, it’s working. You’ve come a long way, Mingyu. But I bet it’s also a little intimidating, working for your family."

"It is," Mingyu admitted, "but it’s also motivating. I can’t slack off when my boss knows everything about me, including my bad habits."

Seungcheol shook his head, though his expression softened. "To be fair, he’s proven himself. He’s still Mingyu, though, so he keeps things interesting."

Seungcheol chuckled to himself as he sipped his coffee, the memory of that day playing vividly in his mind. It was his aunt's anniversary, and the gathering at his house was the perfect opportunity to introduce you to his family. At least, that was his plan.

You had looked stunning that day, wearing a soft pastel dress that complimented you beautifully. Yet, your nervousness was unmistakable—the way your fingers fidgeted with the strap of your bag, the quick glances you stole at Seungcheol for reassurance, and the tiny, hesitant smile that melted his heart every time he caught you looking at him.

He remembered how your confidence faltered the moment you stepped into the living room, where the cheerful buzz of conversation filled the space. His family greeted you warmly, but then your eyes landed on Mingyu standing casually by the snack table.

Your reaction was priceless. Your eyes widened as if you'd seen a ghost, and before you could stop yourself, you mouthed to Seungcheol, What is he doing here?

Mingyu’s face lit up instantly when he noticed you. "Noona!" he called out excitedly, leaving his spot to approach you.

Seungcheol stifled a laugh as you turned to him, utterly baffled, while Mingyu pulled you into a friendly hug. "What... what is happening?" you whispered urgently to Seungcheol as Mingyu grinned beside you.

Seungcheol smirked, enjoying your confusion. "Mingyu is my cousin," he explained casually. "He’s my aunt’s son."

You blinked in shock, staring at both men as if the pieces of a puzzle were suddenly falling into place. "That explains a lot," you muttered, earning a laugh from Seungcheol and a curious look from Mingyu.

From that day on, your dynamic with Mingyu took a playful turn. What started as harmless teasing quickly became your favorite way to keep him on his toes, especially after he became Seungcheol’s secretary.

"You should work harder, Mingyu," you had told him one day when he stopped by your place to drop off some files for Seungcheol. Leaning against the doorframe, you smirked knowingly at him. "You only got that job because the boss is your cousin. Nepo baby."

Mingyu groaned dramatically, running a hand through his hair. "Noona, you can’t keep calling me that! I’m actually working really hard, you know."

"You better," you shot back, grinning mischievously. "I worked hard supervising you."

Seungcheol, who had been silently observing the exchange from the couch, couldn’t hide his amusement. "Don’t go too hard on him, love," he teased, though his tone was far from serious.

Mingyu pouted, looking between the two of you. "Great. Now I have two bosses to impress."

"You should be honored," you quipped, sending him a wink before heading back to the kitchen.

As Seungcheol watched Mingyu’s exasperated expression, he couldn’t help but smile. Despite all the teasing, the camaraderie between you and Mingyu warmed his heart. It was proof of how naturally you had integrated into his life—his family—and how, even in moments of chaos, you brought lightness and joy to everything you touched.

End.