#jeon wonwoo aus | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

archivegyu · 19 days ago

Text

masterlist

The Art of Being a Girl Dad

dad! seungcheol x reader ll 5k words

The morning sun filtered through the sheer curtains of the Choi family’s living room, casting dancing shadows across the hardwood floor where an unlikely wrestling match was taking place. Kkuma, Seungcheol’s beloved white coton de tulear, had somehow found herself pinned beneath a giggling five-year-old who was attempting to braid the poor dog’s fluffy ears.

“Kkuma-ya, stay still! You’re going to be the prettiest princess dog in all of Seoul!” Naeun declared with the kind of unwavering confidence that only children possessed. Her small fingers fumbled with tiny pink hair ties as Kkuma’s tail wagged frantically, clearly torn between escape and enjoying the attention.

Seungcheol paused in the kitchen doorway, a steaming mug of coffee in one hand and his phone in the other, watching his daughter’s latest creative endeavor with barely contained laughter. His hair was still messy from sleep, sticking up at odd angles that somehow made him look younger than his years. The sight of his two favorite girls bonding over questionable grooming choices filled his chest with a warmth that had nothing to do with the coffee.

“Naeunie,” he called softly, padding over in his slippers. “What are you doing to poor Kkuma?”

“Appa!” Naeun looked up with bright eyes that were carbon copies of his own. “I’m making her beautiful for the tea party! Mama said you have to come too because Uncle Gyu is bringing cake!”

Seungcheol’s eyebrows shot up. “Uncle Mingyu is coming? When did this happen?”

“This morning! Mama was on the phone and she was laughing really loud and then she said yes to cake!” Naeun had returned to her mission of transforming Kkuma into what appeared to be a four-legged fairy tale character. “She said you were grumpy about getting up early but Uncle Gyu said he’d bring the really good cake from that place with the fancy name you can’t say right.”

“Patisserie Laurent,” Seungcheol muttered, already knowing exactly which place Mingyu meant. Trust his member to remember his weakness for their mille-feuille. “And I wasn’t grumpy, I was tired. There’s a difference.”

“You made that face,” Naeun said matter-of-factly, scrunching up her features in an exaggerated frown that was disturbingly accurate. “The one where your eyebrows touch and Mama laughs.”

Before Seungcheol could defend his morning expressions, the sound of his wife’s laughter drifted from the kitchen, followed by what sounded suspiciously like multiple voices on speakerphone. He recognized the chaos immediately – Seventeen’s group chat had gone live.

“Is that the whole circus?” he asked, settling down on the floor beside Naeun and gently rescuing Kkuma from her latest hair accessory.

“Jeonghan is being mean to Seokmin again,” his wife called from the kitchen, amusement clear in her voice. “Something about stealing his face mask.”

“It was a limited edition!” came Seokmin’s distant, indignant voice through the phone speaker.

Seungcheol shook his head, simultaneously exasperated and fond. Five years of marriage and fatherhood had done nothing to mature his bandmates. If anything, having Naeun around had made them more chaotic, each trying to claim the title of ‘favorite uncle’ through increasingly ridiculous means.

“Appa, can we call Uncle Hannie too? I want to show him Kkuma’s new look,” Naeun said, having successfully managed to get one small bow attached to the dog’s ear. Kkuma looked resigned to her fate.

“Let’s wait until after your tea party, okay? Uncle Mingyu will be here soon and you know how he gets when he’s not the center of attention.”

As if summoned by the mention of his name, the doorbell rang with the specific pattern that could only belong to Kim Mingyu – unnecessarily long and dramatic. Naeun shrieked with excitement and abandoned Kkuma entirely, racing toward the front door with the kind of speed that made Seungcheol wonder if she had inherited more than just his eyes.

“Uncle Gyu! Uncle Gyu!” Naeun’s voice echoed through the hallway.

Seungcheol followed at a more reasonable pace, already smiling at what he knew he’d find. Sure enough, Mingyu was crouched at Naeun’s level, having somehow produced not just the promised cake box but also a small bouquet of daisies and what appeared to be a toy crown.

“Princess Naeun!” Mingyu announced dramatically, placing the crown on her head with ceremonial precision. “Your royal tea party awaits!”

“Did you really bring a crown?” Seungcheol asked, accepting the familiar one-armed hug that Mingyu offered while juggling his various gifts.

“Hyung, I don’t do anything halfway. You know this.” Mingyu’s grin was shameless. “Plus, I may have had help from a certain someone who shall remain nameless but definitely knows a lot about princess accessories.”

“Uncle Wonwoo helped!” Naeun announced, completely ruining Mingyu’s attempt at mystery. “He said princesses need proper headwear for important occasions!”

Seungcheol’s wife appeared from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dish towel and shaking her head with fond exasperation. “Wonwoo called ahead to make sure Mingyu brought age-appropriate entertainment. Apparently, last time’s magic tricks were ‘too easy for the target demographic.’”

“They were great magic tricks,” Mingyu protested. “It’s not my fault Naeun figured out where I was hiding the cards.”

“You left them on the kitchen counter in plain sight,” Seungcheol pointed out.

“Details,” Mingyu waved him off, then turned his attention back to Naeun. “So, Princess, what’s on the agenda for today’s royal gathering?”

What followed was an elaborate explanation of the tea party requirements, including but not limited to: proper seating arrangements for all attendees (including Kkuma, who was apparently the royal pet), specific tea flavors (apple juice was acceptable as a substitute), and a very serious discussion about cake cutting protocol.

Seungcheol watched his daughter command the attention of a grown man who regularly performed in front of thousands, completely unaware of how naturally she held court. There was something magical about the way children could make adults remember how to play, how to find joy in the smallest things.

“She’s got your leadership skills,” his wife murmured, settling beside him on the couch as Mingyu and Naeun began arranging the living room for optimal tea party conditions.

“And your ability to wrap people around her finger,” he replied, pressing a kiss to her temple.

The actual tea party was a masterpiece of organized chaos. Naeun had assigned seats with the precision of a military strategist: herself at the head of the coffee table (which had been draped with her favorite blanket to serve as a proper tablecloth), Mingyu to her right as the guest of honor, her parents flanking the other sides, and Kkuma positioned on a small cushion with her own tiny tea cup.

“Now,” Naeun began, having insisted on wearing her fanciest dress for the occasion, “everyone has to hold their cups like this.” She demonstrated with her small hands positioned just so on her plastic teacup, pinky extended in what she clearly believed was the height of sophistication.

Mingyu, without a trace of self-consciousness, mirrored her posture exactly, even going so far as to straighten his imaginary tie. “Like this, Princess?”

“Perfect! Appa, your pinky isn’t high enough.”

Seungcheol adjusted his grip on his mug with exaggerated precision, earning an approving nod from his daughter. His wife was barely containing her laughter behind her own cup.

“Okay, now we have to toast,” Naeun continued. “Mama taught me. We say something nice and then we clink.”

“What should we toast to?” Mingyu asked seriously.

Naeun considered this with the gravity of a diplomat. “To… to Kkuma being the prettiest princess dog, and to Uncle Gyu bringing the best cake, and to Mama’s apple juice that tastes like tea, and to Appa for making funny faces when he drinks it.”

“I don’t make funny faces,” Seungcheol protested weakly.

“You do,” his wife and Mingyu said in unison, causing Naeun to dissolve into giggles.

They clinked their mismatched cups together, and Seungcheol felt that familiar tightness in his chest that came with these perfect, ordinary moments. This was what he’d been missing all those years on the road – not just the big milestones, but the silly Tuesday morning tea parties and the sound of his daughter’s laughter mixing with his wife’s.

The cake, as promised, was exceptional. Mingyu had somehow convinced the patisserie to create a miniature version of their famous mille-feuille decorated with edible flowers. Naeun insisted on cutting it herself, resulting in uneven slices that she distributed with the solemnity of a judge.

“Uncle Gyu gets the biggest piece because he brought it,” she announced, “but Appa gets the piece with the most flowers because he’s the best appa in the world.”

Seungcheol felt his throat tighten unexpectedly. “Thank you, baby.”

“And Mama gets the prettiest piece because she’s the prettiest mama.”

The conversation flowed easily from there, jumping from topic to topic the way it did when Naeun was involved. She told Mingyu about her new favorite book (something involving a dragon who was afraid of its own fire), demonstrated her latest dance moves (a combination of ballet and what appeared to be taekwondo), and explained in great detail why purple was clearly superior to all other colors.

Mingyu listened to every word with the kind of attention usually reserved for important business meetings, asking follow-up questions and offering commentary that made Naeun beam with importance. Watching them together, Seungcheol was reminded of why he’d fallen in love with this chaotic group of men in the first place – their capacity for genuine care, for making others feel seen and valued.

“Uncle Gyu,” Naeun said suddenly, having finished her cake, “are you sad that you don’t have a little girl like me?”

The question caught everyone off guard. Mingyu’s expression softened, and he reached over to tuck a strand of hair behind Naeun’s ear. “You know what? I’m not sad, because I get to be your uncle. That means I get all the fun parts – tea parties and cake and hearing about dragons – but I also get to spoil you and then send you home to your appa and mama when you’re too full of sugar.”

“That’s sneaky,” Naeun observed approvingly.

“I learned from the best,” Mingyu glanced at Seungcheol with a grin. “Your appa taught me everything I know about being sneaky.”

“I did not—” Seungcheol started to protest, then caught his wife’s knowing look and decided discretion was the better part of valor. “Okay, maybe I taught him a few things.”

The doorbell rang again, interrupting what was surely going to be an embarrassing trip down memory lane. This time, the pattern was shorter but repeated three times – definitely Jeonghan.

“Did you invite more people to my tea party?” Naeun asked, not sounding particularly upset about the prospect of additional guests.

“That would be Uncle Hannie,” Seungcheol’s wife said, already moving toward the door. “He said he had something for Naeun.”

“Something” turned out to be Seokmin, Joshua, and Wonwoo, along with what appeared to be half of a craft store. Jeonghan waltzed in like he owned the place, carrying a bag full of supplies, while the others followed with varying degrees of sheepishness.

“We heard there was a princess in need of proper royal crafts,” Jeonghan announced, dumping his bag on the coffee table with a flourish. “And Seokmin insisted on bringing his guitar.”

“For royal entertainment,” Seokmin added quickly, holding up his acoustic guitar case. “Princesses need proper serenades.”

“I just came to make sure nobody burned down the apartment,” Wonwoo said mildly, though he was already pulling something from his jacket pocket. “Also, I brought more appropriate magic tricks.”

Joshua, ever the gentleman, presented Naeun with a small wrapped box. “I thought you might like these for your next tea party,” he said in his careful, accented Korean.

Inside were a set of actual porcelain tea cups, child-sized but clearly real, painted with delicate flowers. Naeun’s eyes went wide with wonder as she lifted one carefully from its tissue paper nest.

“They’re real grown-up cups,” she whispered, as if speaking too loudly might make them disappear.

“Very real,” Joshua confirmed. “My mom helped me pick them out. She said every princess needs proper tea service.”

“Uncle Shua, they’re the most beautiful cups in the whole world,” Naeun declared, and Joshua’s smile could have powered the entire building.

What had started as a simple tea party was rapidly evolving into something resembling a small festival. Jeonghan had begun spreading out craft supplies with the efficiency of someone who’d clearly planned this in advance, while Seokmin tuned his guitar and Wonwoo shuffled what appeared to be a deck of actual magic cards (as opposed to his previous amateur hour attempts).

“Hyung,” Mingyu leaned over to whisper to Seungcheol, “I think we’ve been upstaged.”

“I think our daughter has an entire entertainment company at her disposal,” Seungcheol replied, watching Naeun flit between uncles like a butterfly sampling flowers.

His wife settled back beside him, shaking her head with amazement. “Remember when we used to worry about her not having enough socialization?”

“I remember when we worried about a lot of things,” Seungcheol said quietly. The early days of fatherhood had been terrifying in ways that performing on stage never was. Every cry, every fever, every milestone had felt monumental and fragile at the same time.

“Look at her now,” his wife murmured.

Naeun was in her element, directing her uncles with the confidence of someone who’d never doubted her place in the world. She’d assigned Jeonghan the task of helping her make crowns for everyone (apparently, one royal crown wasn’t enough for a proper court), while Seokmin provided background music and Wonwoo prepared what he promised would be “actually impressive” magic.

“Uncle Hannie, this one needs more sparkles,” Naeun declared, holding up a construction paper crown that was already ninety percent glitter.

“More sparkles, got it,” Jeonghan replied seriously, reaching for another container of craft supplies. “What about Uncle Gyu’s crown? Should it match his height?”

“Make it extra tall so everyone knows he’s the giant uncle,” Naeun decided.

“I’m not a giant,” Mingyu protested from where he was attempting to fold his long limbs into a child-appropriate sitting position on the floor.

“You’re bigger than the refrigerator,” Naeun pointed out with irrefutable logic.

While the crown-making continued, Wonwoo had set up what appeared to be a proper magic show area, complete with a small table draped with one of Naeun’s blankets. His movements were precise and practiced in a way that suggested he’d been doing more than just casual research into children’s entertainment.

“When did you learn actual magic?” Seungcheol asked, genuinely curious.

“YouTube,” Wonwoo replied without looking up from his card arrangement. “Also, Mingyu’s cousin teaches kids’ magic classes. I may have attended a few sessions.”

“You took magic lessons for my daughter?”

“I took magic lessons for my pride,” Wonwoo corrected. “Getting outwitted by a five-year-old is unacceptable.”

Seokmin, meanwhile, had found the perfect background music tempo – something light and whimsical that made everything feel like a scene from a family movie. His voice hummed along with the melody, unconsciously harmonizing with himself in that way that never failed to remind Seungcheol why they’d all chosen music in the first place.

“Appa,” Naeun appeared at his elbow suddenly, having momentarily abandoned crown construction. “Are you happy?”

The question was so direct, so purely her, that it caught him off guard. “What do you mean, baby?”

“You’re making your thinking face,” she said, climbing onto his lap with the ease of long practice. “The one where you look far away. Are you thinking sad thoughts or happy thoughts?”

Seungcheol wrapped his arms around her small frame, breathing in the scent of her strawberry shampoo mixed with glitter and cake frosting. “Very happy thoughts,” he said truthfully. “I was thinking about how lucky I am.”

“Because you have the best daughter in the world?” Naeun asked with a grin that was pure mischief.

“Because I have the best daughter in the world,” he agreed, “and the best wife in the world, and the most ridiculous uncles in the world who love you almost as much as I do.”

“That’s a lot of bests,” Naeun observed.

“I’m a very lucky appa.”

She seemed satisfied with this answer and settled more comfortably against his chest, content to supervise the ongoing craft production from her new vantage point. Seungcheol caught his wife’s eye across the room and saw his own contentment reflected back at him.

“Naeunie,” Jeonghan called, holding up a completed crown that was somehow even more elaborate than the original. “What do you think of Uncle Wonwoo’s royal headwear?”

The crown in question was a masterpiece of construction paper architecture, featuring multiple layers, an impressive array of gems (plastic, but convincing), and what appeared to be actual feathers. It was also approximately three times too large for any human head.

“It’s perfect,” Naeun declared. “Uncle Wonwoo will be the most royal uncle at the magic show.”

Wonwoo accepted his fate with the stoicism of someone who’d learned that resistance was futile when it came to Naeun’s vision. The crown perched precariously on his head, held in place by sheer determination and possibly divine intervention.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced formally, “prepare to be amazed by feats of wonder and impossible possibility.”

What followed was genuinely impressive. Wonwoo had clearly put considerable effort into learning tricks that would actually surprise and delight a child, rather than the transparent sleight-of-hand that had characterized Mingyu’s previous attempts. Cards appeared and disappeared, coins materialized from behind ears, and somehow he managed to produce a small stuffed rabbit from what had definitely been an empty box.

Naeun was entranced, gasping and clapping at each reveal, but Seungcheol found himself equally captivated by the sight of his normally reserved friend fully committed to entertaining a five-year-old audience. There was something beautiful about watching people step outside their comfort zones for love.

“How did you do that?” Naeun demanded after a particularly impressive card trick.

“Magic,” Wonwoo replied solemnly. “True magic can’t be explained, only experienced.”

“But really, how?”

“Trade secret. Magicians never reveal their methods.”

Naeun considered this seriously, then nodded with acceptance. “Okay, but can you teach me one that I can show Mama later?”

“I think that can be arranged,” Wonwoo said, and Seungcheol made a mental note to prepare for his daughter’s inevitable new obsession with prestidigitation.

The afternoon continued in this vein, flowing from activity to activity with the organic rhythm that seemed to characterize all gatherings involving Naeun. After magic came a mini concert, with Seokmin leading everyone in increasingly silly songs while Joshua provided harmony and Jeonghan added dramatic interpretive dance.

Mingyu had appointed himself official photographer, documenting every moment with the dedication of a professional despite the fact that his subjects kept moving and his main model had a tendency to make faces at the camera when she thought no one was looking.

“Appa, come sing with us,” Naeun called, having climbed onto the coffee table to serve as conductor for what appeared to be an original composition about tea parties and magic shows.

“I don’t know the words,” Seungcheol protested weakly.

“There are no words!” she replied with five-year-old logic. “We’re making them up!”

And so Seungcheol found himself standing in his living room, surrounded by his bandmates and family, singing a nonsensical song about royal cake and magical uncles while his daughter conducted with the serious concentration of a maestro. His wife was laughing so hard she was crying, Kkuma was barking along in what might have been harmony, and somehow it was the most natural thing in the world.

This was what happiness looked like, he realized. Not the roar of crowds or the satisfaction of a perfect performance, but this – chaos and laughter and the complete absence of dignity in service of making one small person feel like the center of the universe.

As the impromptu concert wound down, exhaustion began to set in. Naeun’s energy, while impressive, was not infinite, and the combination of sugar, excitement, and multiple uncles had begun to take its toll. She found herself gravitating back toward Seungcheol’s lap, her movements becoming slower and her blinks longer.

“Someone’s getting sleepy,” his wife observed gently.

“I’m not sleepy,” Naeun protested, even as she curled more firmly against Seungcheol’s chest. “I’m just resting my eyes so I can see the magic better.”

“Of course,” Seungcheol agreed seriously. “That’s very smart princess thinking.”

One by one, her uncles began the process of taking their leave, each stopping to say proper goodbyes and receive official thanks for their contributions to the royal tea party. Jeonghan left behind enough craft supplies to stock a small art classroom, while Wonwoo presented Naeun with a junior magician’s kit and a promise to teach her three tricks at their next meeting.

Seokmin and Joshua coordinated their departure with the efficiency of long practice, but not before Seokmin had been made to promise to bring his guitar to the next family gathering. Mingyu lingered the longest, as he always did, reluctant to leave the peaceful chaos of their little family unit.

“Thank you,” Seungcheol said as he walked Mingyu to the door, Naeun having finally succumbed to sleep in his arms.

“For what? Bringing cake? That’s basic uncle duty.”

“For all of it,” Seungcheol gestured vaguely at the living room, which looked like a craft store had exploded in the most wonderful way. “For loving her like she’s yours.”

Mingyu’s expression grew serious for a moment. “Hyung, she kind of is mine. Yours and hers and all of ours. That’s how family works, right?”

“Yeah,” Seungcheol said quietly, “that’s exactly how family works.”

After Mingyu left, the apartment settled into the peaceful quiet that followed a day well-spent. His wife began the process of cleaning up while Seungcheol carried Naeun to her bedroom, carefully navigating around the various craft projects and new toys that marked the path of her day.

He tucked her into bed still wearing her princess crown, deciding that some rules were made to be broken. She stirred slightly as he pulled her blankets up, just enough to mumble something that sounded like “best tea party ever” before settling back into sleep.

“Sweet dreams, princess,” he whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead.

Back in the living room, his wife had made impressive progress on the cleanup, sorting craft supplies and folding blankets with practiced efficiency. Kkuma had reclaimed her favorite spot on the couch, though she was still wearing one small bow from her earlier princess transformation.

“Leave it,” Seungcheol said as his wife reached for the last of the paper crown supplies. “She’ll want to finish those tomorrow.”

“Our dining room table is going to be unusable for a week,” she pointed out, but there was no real complaint in her voice.

“We’ll eat on TV trays. It’ll be an adventure.”

She laughed, settling beside him on the couch and curling into his side with the easy intimacy of years together. “Remember when we thought having a baby would make our lives quieter?”

“I remember thinking a lot of stupid things before she came along,” Seungcheol said, tightening his arms around her. “Like thinking I knew what love was.”

“You’re getting sentimental in your old age, Choi Seungcheol.”

“I’m getting honest in my old age,” he corrected. “There’s a difference.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, watching the last of the afternoon light fade through their windows. The apartment still hummed with the energy of the day – glitter catching the light, the lingering scent of fancy cake, the echo of laughter in every corner.

“She’s going to remember today forever,” his wife said softly.

“Good,” Seungcheol replied. “I want her to remember that she’s loved. Not just by us, but by everyone who matters to us. I want her to know that our family is bigger than just blood, and that she’ll never have to navigate this world alone.”

“Even when she’s fifteen and hates us for existing?”

“Especially then. That’s when she’ll need Uncle Mingyu to remind her that her parents are actually pretty cool, and Uncle Jeonghan to teach her how to get revenge on mean girls, and Uncle Wonwoo to show her that quiet strength is just as powerful as loud confidence.”

His wife tilted her head to look at him. “You’ve really thought about this.”

“I think about it all the time,” he admitted. “About what kind of life we’re giving her, what kind of person she’s going to become. Today… today I realized I don’t have to worry so much. Look at how she commanded that room, how she made everyone feel special and included. Look at how naturally she loves people and expects to be loved back.”

“She gets that from you, you know.”

“She gets that from both of us. And from them.” He gestured toward the door through which his bandmates had recently departed. “She’s growing up surrounded by people who chose to love each other, who made family out of friendship and commitment instead of just accepting what they were given. That’s not nothing.”

“No,” his wife agreed quietly, “that’s everything.”

Later that evening, after dinner had been eaten off TV trays as predicted and Naeun had been convinced to take a bath despite her argument that princesses didn’t need to wash off their royal sparkles, Seungcheol found himself in her bedroom for the second time that day.

She was already in her pajamas, a set covered in cartoon dragons that seemed to contradict her earlier dedication to princess aesthetics, but somehow made perfect sense for her eclectic personality. Her hair was still damp from the bath, and she smelled like lavender body wash and childhood.

“Appa, will you tell me a story?” she asked as he tucked her in properly this time, having convinced her to remove the crown for sleeping.

“What kind of story do you want?”

“A story about today. But make it like a real story, with once upon a time and everything.”

Seungcheol settled into the chair beside her bed, the same chair where he’d spent countless nights during her infancy, watching her sleep and marveling at the fact that he’d helped create something so perfect and terrifying.

“Once upon a time,” he began, “there was a princess who lived in a magical kingdom with her mama and papa and her loyal companion, a brave white dragon named Kkuma.”

“Dragons can’t be white,” Naeun interrupted drowsily.

“This one could. It was a very special dragon. Now, one day, the princess decided to hold the most magnificent tea party in all the land…”

He wove the day’s events into a proper fairy tale, complete with magical uncles who appeared with gifts and talents, enchanted cakes that granted wishes, and crowns that bestowed special powers upon their wearers. Naeun’s eyes grew heavy as the story progressed, but she fought sleep to hear every detail, occasionally murmuring corrections or additions to ensure accuracy.

“…and so the princess realized that the real magic wasn’t in the tricks or the crowns or even the cake,” Seungcheol continued softly, “but in being surrounded by people who loved her enough to spend their day making hers special. And she lived happily ever after, knowing that whenever she needed them, her magical uncles would appear with exactly what she needed most.”

“What did she need most?” Naeun whispered, though her eyes were already closed.

“Love,” Seungcheol said simply. “She needed to know she was loved, and she was. More than she could ever imagine.”

“That’s a good story, Appa.”

“It’s a true story, baby. The best kind.”

He sat with her until her breathing evened out into the deep rhythm of sleep, then allowed himself a few more minutes to simply watch her. Five years old, with the whole world ahead of her and the unshakeable confidence that came from being unconditionally loved. She would face challenges, heartbreaks, moments of doubt – but she would face them knowing she had an entire chosen family in her corner.

His phone buzzed quietly with a message. The group chat, predictably.

Mingyu: Thanks for today, hyung. I needed that more than you know.

Jeonghan: Same. Nothing like princess duty to put life in perspective.

Wonwoo: I’ve already ordered more magic supplies. Next time I’m doing levitation.

Seokmin: I’m writing a song about royal tea parties. Naeun inspired me.

Joshua: My mom wants to know when the next family dinner is. She’s making Naeun a matching tea set.

Seungcheol smiled, typing back quickly: You’re all ridiculous. She’s going to be so spoiled.

Mingyu: That’s the point of being an uncle.

Jeonghan: Wait until she starts dating. We’re going to be terrifying.

Wonwoo: I’m already researching intimidation techniques.

Seokmin: We have fifteen years to prepare!

Joshua: Thirteen years. Kids grow up fast these days.

Seungcheol could picture them all, scattered across the city but connected by their phones and their shared investment in his daughter’s wellbeing. They’d be there for every birthday, every school play, every milestone and heartbreak. They’d spoil her outrageously and drive him crazy and love her with the fierce protectiveness that had always characterized their approach to family.

He turned off the bedside lamp and padded quietly out of Naeun’s room, closing the door behind him with practiced stealth. His wife was already in their bedroom, propped up against the pillows with a book and a cup of tea, looking completely at peace with the chaos that had been their day.

“How long did the story take?” she asked as he began changing into pajamas.

“Longer than usual. She wanted all the details included for historical accuracy.”

“Of course she did. She’s your daughter.”

Seungcheol climbed into bed beside her, automatically reaching for her hand the way he had every night for years. “Today was perfect.”

“Today was exhausting,” she corrected with a laugh. “But yes, also perfect.”

“I keep thinking about what Mingyu said. About how she’s all of ours. Sometimes I feel guilty about how much they love her, like I’m taking advantage of their kindness.”

“Seungcheol.” His wife set down her book and turned to face him fully. “They don’t love her because they have to. They love her because she’s loveable, and because she’s part of you, and because love multiplies when you share it. You’re not taking advantage of anything – you’re giving them the gift of being part of something beautiful.”

“When did you get so wise?”

“I married you, didn’t I? I had to develop wisdom in self-defense.”

He laughed, pulling her closer and burying his face in her hair. “I love you.”

“I love you too. Even when you get all philosophical about tea parties.”

“Especially then.”

They lay together in comfortable silence, processing the day and preparing for whatever tomorrow would bring. Probably more craft projects, definitely more questions about magic tricks, possibly another impromptu gathering of uncles bearing gifts and chaos.

“Hey,” his wife said suddenly, her voice soft in the darkness.

“What?”

“We’re really good at this, aren’t we? The whole family thing?”

Seungcheol thought about his daughter’s laughter, about the easy way his bandmates had folded themselves into their domestic life, about the casual miracle of ordinary happiness. “Yeah,” he said quietly, “we really are.”

And in the room down the hall, a five-year-old princess slept peacefully, dreaming of magic shows and royal tea parties, secure in the knowledge that she was the center of a universe built entirely from love. Tomorrow there would be more adventures, more laughter, more opportunities to learn that family wasn’t just about the people you were born to, but about the people who chose to show up, day after day, with cake and crowns and an endless capacity for making the ordinary feel magical.

It was, Seungcheol reflected as sleep finally claimed him, the best kind of fairy tale – the kind that was absolutely, perfectly true.

668 notes · View notes

joonsytip · 1 month ago

Text

Beyond the Transcripts || Wonwoo [Teaser]

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

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

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

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

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

Drop Date: Anyday next month.

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

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

TAGLIST is closed.

Main story out now checkout here!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How have you been, Y/N?”

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

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

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

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

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

“And this is what you want to know?”

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

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

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

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

“But I don't–”

“I request you to conduct one.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Would you have stayed?”

Silence falls upon.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

987 notes · View notes

moonlightwonu · 8 months ago

Text

전원우 // Jeon Wonwoo Fic Recsᡣ𐭩

나에게 어떤 슬픔도 없는 세상은 너니까~

Main Recs Masterlist

➣Part I // Part II

MINORS DNI!!!!!!!

Please like and reblog the fics to show the creators love and support~

“Play Again” by @shuarush

Fem!reader || Friends to coworkers to lovers, mutual pining, fluff, mild angst || W.C: 37.6k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･after ten years of not seeing your high school crush you find yourself partnered with him at the company you work for. Since you've been rejected before, you try your best to not let any feelings flourish, but Jeon Wonwoo's charms make that attempt especially hard for you.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✮

“Underlying Pretense” (Part of the Game Over series) by @lovelyhan

Fem!reader || Streamer au, enemies to lovers, smut, fuck buddies || W.C: 10.3k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･being two of the most popular streamers across the board, your subscribers often speculate if your constant bickering with wonwoo has some underlying pretense. little did they know, the two of you have everything on display on a single, unsuspecting twitter account.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✮

“Favorite Poison” (Part of the Game Over series) by @/lovelyhan

Fem!reader || Streamer au, enemies to lovers, smut, angst, fuck buddies || W.C: 15.5k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･no strings attached sex is easy. catching feelings for a person you supposedly hate is hard. it's in times like this when wonwoo wishes he can set the dial to his life on easy mode forever, but everyone knows he's nothing if not stubbornly competitive.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✮

“Endpoint” by @highvern

Fem!reader || Uni TA au, FWB to idiots to lovers, fluff, smut, angst || W.C: ~19.5k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･Senior year of college is meant to be full of celebration and smooth sailing. Years of work culminating in the final semesters that will send you off into the real world where clubs, sports, and weekends packed with hungover volunteering to pad your resume no longer mattered. It’d be a piece of cake if it wasn’t for your fuck buddy turned coworker having the same plan. But only one of you can get the department’s most coveted recommendation that all but guarantees your acceptance. Tension rises and the nearly four year thing you’ve had with Wonwoo approaches its endpoint.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✮

“Heart of the Sea” by @/highvern

Fem!reader || Pirate au, Royalty au, Angst, Romance, Adventure || W.C: 22k

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✮

“34.6037° S, 58.3816° W” by @the-boy-meets-evil

Fem!reader || Strangers to lovers, enemies to lovers, smut, fluff, angst || W.C: ~22.8k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･your latest assignment has you jetting off to argentina hoping to finally catch the infamous art thief that's escaped your agency one too many times already. you know what's at stake if you lose your focus. enter the beautiful stranger that has you questioning everything you know

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✮

“HER” by @chocosvt

[Series] || fem!reader || Uni au, slowburn, strong angst, drama, romance, smut || Total W.C: 140k || Parts: 6 || Status: Completed

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ wonwoo, a heartbroken and burnt out writer nearing the end of his math degree, wants nothing to do with the seemingly perfect, intimidating girl who has everyone under her thumb. you. unfortunately, his literary talent has got him shoved him between a rock and a hard place when you want to write a book and require his expertise. you two are the furthest from compatible. wonwoo can’t see this going well. at all.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✮

“Payment Due” by @solarwonux

Fem!reader || Uni au, sexworker au, fluff, angst, smut || W.C: 56.1k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･HYBE U one of the top highly prestigious universities in the country. A shit hole, a total money making scam that liked to sucked the life out of its students. Not being able to meet the funds to pay for your tuition your best friend lets you in a little secret. A way he’s been keeping afloat for years now, easy money. The problem is you want in.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✮

“Cats and Coffee for Two” by @multi-kpop-fanfics

Fem!reader || Coworkers to lovers, fluff, comedy, smut || W.C: 12.2k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･Job hunting is a tough sport and Wonwoo has experienced it to its core. One fine autumn day comes where he's finally free from the shackles of unemployment, but he will soon find himself in the shackles of coffee, tea and cat hairs, But most importantly, he will have to share these shackles with you.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✮

“Flower” by @wonwoonlight

Fem!reader || Exes to coworkers au, angst, slice of life, fluff || W.C: ~13k

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✮

“Wanna be yours” by @viastro

Gn!reader || Uni au, childhood friends to strangers to loversish, angst, fluff, humor || W.C: ~9k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･you thought that growing up as best friends meant you’d stick together for as long as you could. you never thought of that exact chance for you and wonwoo until entering university, where you were nothing but his driver when he was out partying for too long. so why do you still pick up the phone when he calls you if he’s the one who left first?

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✮

“Twisted Fate” by @smileysuh

Afab!reader || Vampire au, soulmate au, enemies to lovers, smut || W.C: 14.3k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･“He deserved it,” Wonwoo assures you, reaching out to grab you by the back of the neck, pulling you closer. He’s covered in blood, and he looks like a sexy, wild monster. But he’s your monster, and you can’t help but react, leaning in- “Jesus Christ,” you hear Jeonghan breathe, turning to give you and Wonwoo privacy while he presses his lips against yours hungrily. At first, you can try to ignore the wet liquid on your fingertips as you grab at his strong shoulders, but you can’t ignore the taste on his tongue. Your body goes rigid and Wonwoo pulls back with a sigh, resting his forehead against yours. It’s an oddly peaceful moment amongst the chaos.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✮

“My Way to You” by @/wonwoonlight

[Series] || fem!reader || heir/heiress au, best friends to lovers, fluff, drama, angst || Total W.C: ~47k || Parts: 13(+1 epilogue) || Status: Completed

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･You don’t remember a time when you don’t have Wonwoo by your side. But when things happen and you’re left to deal with your feelings, you can’t help but wonder if what you have with him can be framed under the name of friendship after all. or, alternatively, Wonwoo’s been in love with you for as long as he can remember and he doesn’t know if he should be thankful or not that you’ve never suspected him for it.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✮

“By the Moon” by @/wonwoonlight

Werewolf au, fantasy au, angst, fluff, hurt comfort, action, suggestive || W.C: ~18k

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✮

“All My Love” by @pepperonidk

[Series] || Fem!reader || High School au, fluff || Parts: 10 || Status: Completed

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･He's cool, smart, attractive... and completely out of your league. But that won't stop you from falling head over heels for him. (alt. jeon wonwoo is mr. darcy incarnated… a fumbling nerd turned popular kid)

Please let me know if the links have any problems~

1K notes · View notes

hoshifighting · 9 months ago

Text

wonwoo!best friend's brother

— your best friend's older brother, the guy who dropped out of university a long time ago but still shows up once in a while at your and your best friend's dorm. the thing is, she's in a tutoring class right now, leaving you and him alone after all these years of having a huge crush on him.

WARNINGS: +18, smut, making out, almost getting caught, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, fingering, blowjob, spiting.

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST

you hear the door click as you wipe down the last bit of the counter, the smell of cleaning products lingering in the air. wonwoo’s here again—because of course, he is. once a year, like clockwork, he pulls up outside your dorm building, car keys in hand, sipping some energy drink like he’s the busiest man alive, even though he’s been out of university for, what? two years now? maybe more. it’s almost funny, how he thinks showing up in his beat-up car, leaning against the doorframe, makes him look cool.

your best friend’s not even here. she’s in some tutoring session because she "really needs to pass this bio class." but, of course, she told you, warned you, that wonwoo might drop by.

“hey,” he says, leaning against the doorframe like some kind of model, downing a sip from the can like it's giving him more life than it should.

“she’s not here,” you say, wiping your hands on your shorts. you’re pretending like you’re not even thinking about the way they’re barely covering anything right now. it’s just cleaning clothes, but you catch his eyes flick down for half a second, and your heart skips a beat.

“oh? what, she ditch me or something?” he teases, eyes sparkling with that casual cockiness he always carries around.

you laugh, shaking your head. “nah, she’s at a tutoring session. bio, i think? she’s stressing hard. she said she’d be back in a couple hours, so you can wait if you want... or leave. i won’t stop you.”

“tutoring? she actually studying? i thought she gave that up ages ago,” he snickers, leaning against the couch, tapping his foot like he’s been there forever. “reminds me of my sister, always freaking out about school... only she actually tries.”

you snort, rolling your eyes. “yeah, well, not everyone’s like you, mister ‘dropped out but still thinks he runs the place.’”

“i’m just here for the vibes,” he shrugs, eyes settling on you for a little too long, way too comfortable. way too focused. “plus, i wouldn’t call it ‘dropping out’... i just, y’know, found my path elsewhere.”

you shake your head, pretending not to care. but fuck, that grin? dangerous. absolutely dangerous. the guy is too good-looking for his own good, and the fact that he’s here, all casual like he’s just dropping by, is making your heart race in a way you’re desperately trying to ignore. and those eyes—yeah, you can feel him looking at you.

you turn, grabbing a water from the fridge to cool down because jesus, he’s looking right through you. you twist the cap and take a long gulp, trying to ignore the heat rising in your cheeks, trying to play it cool.

“you good?” his voice cuts through the silence. casual, like it’s no big deal.

you choke a little on the water and turn around, trying not to look flustered. “yeah, yeah. why wouldn’t i be?”

he raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “dunno, just... you’re kinda tense. cleaning stress?”

you laugh it off, but the sound’s more nervous than you want it to be. “something like that.”

fuck, why is this so hard?

he takes another sip of his red bull, his eyes flicking over your legs again, slower this time. it’s like he knows exactly what he’s doing, and you’re just... standing there, pretending you don’t feel it, but inside, you’re absolutely losing your mind. freaking out.

“you always this... jumpy around me?” he asks, smirking like he already knows the answer.

“shut up,” you toss a dish towel at him, more as a distraction for you than him, but he catches it easily, his grin widening.

“what, can’t take a little teasing? you’ve been dodging my questions all day.”

all day? he’s been here for twenty minutes. still, your stomach flips at the way he’s just standing there, so confident, so sure. it’s unfair how hot he is when he’s like this, leaning against the counter, arms crossed like he’s just waiting for you to crack.

“i’m not dodging anything,” you lie, crossing your arms, even though you know your face is giving you away. “you’re just being annoying.”

“am i?” he steps closer, his voice dropping slightly. “or am i just... distracting you?”

“wonwoo,” you start, your heart’s pounding, your skin tingling. “don’t.”

“don’t what?” he’s closer now, and fuck, he’s standing way too close, his breath brushing your cheek as he leans in. “i’m just talking, y/n.”

just talking, but the way his eyes drop to your lips says otherwise, and you’re not sure how much longer you can pretend this isn’t happening.

you’ve never been this close to him before, and it’s making your pulse race, your head spin. his hand hovers near your hip, like he’s waiting for permission, waiting for you to crack. it’s not fair how good he smells.

“you used to play dolls with my sister, you know,” he mutters, his lips brushing your ear. “now look at you.”

his fingers graze your waist, light at first, but the way his eyes lock on yours? there’s no going back. you shiver, heat pooling in your gut, and his hand slips lower, gripping the curve of your ass like it belongs to him. he laughs softly when you gasp, his other hand trailing up your side, fingers brushing the thin fabric of your top.

“wonwoo, you can’t just—” your words cut off as he cups your tit, thumb running over your nipple through your shirt, the sensation making your knees go weak. it’s so subtle, but you feel everything—his breath on your neck, the rough texture of his palm, the way his body presses against yours like he can’t stand the distance anymore.

“what? can’t just what?” his voice is low, mocking, as he leans down, his lips inches from yours. “you’ve been staring at me like that for years, y/n. you think i didn’t notice?”

your brain short-circuits as he presses his mouth to yours, starting slow, teasing, like he’s waiting for you to snap. and when you kiss him back—hard, desperate, craving more—he groans against your lips, his tongue immediately slipping past them. he sucks on your tongue like he’s savoring the taste, his hand squeezing your ass, pulling you closer as you try to remember how to breathe. it’s wet, sloppy, and so fucking messy, the sound of your lips meeting, tongues sliding against each other, filling the small kitchen.

you moan into his mouth, gripping his shirt, trying to keep up with the way he devours you, his other hand now fully under your shirt, palming your bare tit. it’s so much—too much, and you arch into his touch, losing yourself in the heat of it all.

and then you hear it.

keys, fumbling at the front door. shit.

you push him away so fast he stumbles back, eyes wide, lips shiny and swollen from your kiss. his fingers are still brushing his bottom lip, eyes flicking to the door in disbelief as the knob turns.

“fuck,” you whisper, trying to catch your breath, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, but you can’t stop shaking. you dart back to the sink, pretending to scrub some nonexistent spot, heart racing a mile a minute.

the door flies open, and your best friend bursts in, barely even noticing the two of you. “i forgot this fucking book,” she mutters, rummaging through her stuff on the couch. her back is to you both, and wonwoo’s standing there, hands in his pockets, trying his best to look casual.

he smirks at you, and you glare back, your mind racing, heart pounding. does she know? she can’t know.

“you two good?” she asks, barely glancing your way as she grabs her stuff. “i’ll be back in like, fifteen minutes. sorry. tutor’s gonna kill me if i don’t bring this. see you in a sec.” and just like that, she’s gone again, the door slamming shut behind her.

the second the door clicks, wonwoo bursts out laughing, dragging a hand through his hair, and your face is burning.

“did you just shove me away?” he teases, stepping closer again, his hands now resting on the counter behind you, trapping you. “scared of getting caught, huh?”

you shove at his chest, but you’re laughing too. “you’re insane. she could’ve seen us, you idiot.”

“what, and ruin the fun?” he grins, biting his bottom lip, and your stomach flips at the sight. “you should’ve just let her. i think she’d approve.”

you roll your eyes, but before you can say anything else, his mouth is on yours again—rougher this time, more desperate. it’s like he’s making up for lost time, kissing you like you’re the only thing he’s ever wanted, hands roaming over your body like he’s been dying to touch you. you’re pressed back against the counter, trapped between him and the hard surface, and it feels so fucking good.

“wonwoo, the couch,” you murmur between kisses, pushing at his chest just enough to make him move. he gets the hint, pulling you toward the couch, his hand never leaving your waist, never giving you a chance to breathe.

the second your back hits the cushions, he’s on you again, kissing you so hard it leaves you dizzy, his hands wandering everywhere—your thighs, your waist, your tits. he’s fucking everywhere, and you can’t think, can’t breathe, all you can feel is him, everywhere.

his fingers slide under the waistband of your shorts, teasing the edge, but you grab his wrist, pulling him back. “not yet,” you whisper, eyes locked on his. “let me…”

you trail off, sliding off the couch, sinking to your knees between his legs. wonwoo’s eyes widen, the teasing smirk on his face replaced with pure shock. “wait—”

“shh,” you murmur, already tugging at his belt, pulling his jeans down just enough to free him. your mouth waters at the sight of him, long, hard and already dripping. you can’t help but smirk up at him before leaning in, taking him into your mouth in all in once, in the most greedy way.

wonwoo groans, his head falling back against the couch, his fingers threading through your hair as you start to move. you take him like your favorite popsicle, hollowing your cheeks, loving the way his hips buck up into your mouth, the way he can’t control the sounds he’s making.

he pants, his voice strained, and it only spurs you on, sucking harder, swirling your tongue around the tip before taking him all the way down again. the sound of your mouth, wet and sloppy, fills the room, and it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever heard.

he tightens his grip in your hair, guiding you as he thrusts into your mouth, his eyes squeezing shut as he moans your name again, louder this time. you can feel him getting close, his thrusts making you gag slighty, his hips jerking up more urgently.

“fuck, i’m—” he chokes out, but before he can finish, his hips stutter, and he comes with a loud groan, spilling into your mouth. you swallow every drop, not slowing down until he’s completely spent.

you pull back, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, grinning up at him.

his hand wraps around your wrist, pulling you back on his lap. “c’mere,” he mutters. and before you know it, his lips are on yours again, urgent, like he needs to taste you all over again. the mix of your spit and his cum lingers, and when his tongue swipes along the side of your mouth, to catch more of the taste of him.

his hands slide down to your shorts, fingers curling around the waistband like they’ve been itching to take them off from the second he walked in. you flinch when he pulls them off, showing your panties. his fingers brush against it, and then pulling to the side, and you’re already losing it, but then he spits.

right on your pussy.

you tense when two fingers slide inside you rough, curling just the way you like—coincidentally. you clench around him, moaning, but it’s not enough. you need more, and he knows it.

“so fucking wet for me,” he groans, his other hand pushing your legs open wider. “you’ve wanted this for how long, huh? wanted me to fuck you like this?”

you can’t even answer, your brain is mush, overwhelmed by the way his fingers pump in and out of you, quick and dirty, making you arch into his touch. and then—without warning—he pulls his fingers out and lines himself up, slipping inside you so easily, you gasp.

he’s still sensitive, you can tell by the way his breath catches, how his hips jerk forward a little too fast, but the way his dick stretches you out? it’s perfect. too perfect. your eyes roll back, a shaky moan leaving your lips as he starts thrusting, slow at first, like he’s trying to control himself, but that doesn’t last long.

you’re in his lap, legs spread, every little reaction of his face right there in front of you—the way his eyes squeeze shut, his mouth falling open, all the little groans and curses spilling from him as he fucks into you. it’s like he can’t hold back anymore, can’t resist, but still needs to fuck you, to please you.

he lays you, grabs your knees, pulls them up to your chest, bending you in half so he can get even deeper. the angle’s brutal, his cock hitting that sweet spot with every rough thrust, and the room’s filled with the sound of skin slapping against skin, his low grunts, your breathless moans.

you’re a wreck under him, fingers clutching at the couch cushions, barely able to keep up with the way he’s pounding into you. his thrusts are rough, fast, almost desperate, like he’s chasing something he can’t quite reach, and every time he slams into you, your whole body shakes.

“wonwoo—fuck, i’m—” you try to warn him, but the words don’t come out right. everything’s too much—the way his hands hold you down, the way he’s fucking you so deep, the pressure building low in your belly until you’re falling apart. you clench around him, your orgasm ripping through you hard, your back arching off the couch as you moan his name.

he watches you, watching that smile on your face, that one that you have when you win a prize, how satisfied you look by being fucked—especially by him, how your eyes roll in ecstasy, nd how you spasm around his cock. is enough for him.

and then it’s over. you’re both panting, bodies spent. he pulls out slowly, leaving you feeling empty. you’re barely conscious as he reaches over, grabbing the nearest blanket and draping it over you, his touch surprisingly gentle for how hard he just fucked you.

“don’t move,” he mutters, smirking at you as he gets up, still zipping up his jeans. “you look good like this.”

you’re too tired to respond, sinking deeper into the couch, eyes half-closed. the door opens again—shit—and your best friend barges in, completely unaware of what just happened.

“ugh finally,” she mutters, tossing it onto the table. “you two good?”

he just grins, wiping his bottom lip with his thumb as he leans against the counter, casual as hell. “just keeping y/n company, we were waiting for you” he says, winking at you when your best friend isn’t looking.

you’re still sprawled out on the couch, barely able to move, trying to act normal, like you weren’t just fucked within an inch of your life, like you weren't just fucked with jeon wonwoo. your best friend glances between the two of you, raising an eyebrow, but she doesn’t seem to notice the way you’re completely knocked out.

“whatever,” she mutters, grabbing her stuff. “i’m going to take a bath.”

the door of the bathroom slams shut, and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. wonwoo walks back over to you, chuckling softly as he sits down beside you, leaning in to kiss your forehead, the teasing smirk never leaving his face.

“you should’ve seen your face when she walked in,” he murmurs, his voice low. “but don’t worry. you looked so innocent.”

2K notes · View notes

minniesfiles · 3 months ago

Text

BLOOM WITH YOU | month 1

After years of heartbreak and disappointment, you and your husband’s dream of starting a family seemed out of reach. But miracle was a beautiful thing.

❧ PAIRING; wonwoo x reader

❧ GENRE; angst, fluff, mild smut

❧ WARNINGS; mention of fainting and hospitalisation, mention of past miscarriages, deep talk, mentally and physically drained reader, medical talks

❧ WORDCOUNT; 5.3k

▁▁▁▁▁▁

series masterlist

𐚁₊⊹

▍5 JANUARY 2026

Your period was late. In fact your periods were never on time — rather always irregular.

But unlike before, there was no rush of excitement, no flutter in your chest, no anxious anticipation. There was only exhaustion.

It wasn’t a surprise, not anymore. The first time it happened, you felt the thrill, the rush of hope. The second time, that hope turned into nervous excitement. By the third, fourth, fifth and sixth, it became a cruel cycle of expectation and heartbreak.

And now, the seventh time, all you felt was exhaustion.

There was no point in wondering, no reason to let yourself feel anything at all. You had done this before. You had taken tests before — stared at little plastic sticks with trembling fingers, held your breath as you waited for a result, then felt the crushing weight of reality settle in when the inevitable happened.

But Wonwoo never blamed you. Not once, and that was what made it harder. If anything, he loved you more and more.

If he had been angry, if he had shown even a flicker of disappointment, maybe you would have had someone else to direct your frustration toward. But he never did. He never looked at you with anything less than love.

His way of showing that love changed over time. In the beginning, he would whisper reassurances, hold you close, and promise you that there was no rush, that everything would be okay. But when words failed, he turned to actions instead.

Lately, his way of showing love to you was to make love to you.

It wasn’t about trying again or about chasing the dream of a family you had once wanted so badly. It was about reminding you that you were enough, that your worth wasn’t measured by your ability to carry a child.

Not even six miscarriages could make him love you any less. And you wished you could believe that.

The sound of a dramatic OST played in the background as you sat on the sofa, absently stuffing grapes into your mouth. You weren’t really paying attention to the show playing on the screen — it was just white noise, something to fill the silence that had settled into your apartment.

“Don’t you think you should take a test?”

You barely heard the words at first, so immersed in your own thoughts that they barely registered. It wasn’t until the screen in front of you shut off, leaving the room in silence, that your brain caught up.

You blinked at the dark screen.

Saehee stood beside you with the remote still in her hand as she braced herself for a reaction. You knew why. Normally, you would have snapped at her and thrown a pillow at her head, or at least groaned in frustration for interrupting your show.

However, today, you didn’t have the energy. Instead, you exhaled slowly as your shoulders sagged. You didn’t turn to face her.

Saehee didn’t move either. She stood there with her arms crossed, watching you with that concerned look that made you feel both grateful and irritated at the same time.

“I don’t want to take a test,” you admitted with your voice quieter than you intended.

Saehee didn’t respond right away. You knew what she was thinking. She was probably choosing her words carefully, and tried to figure out the best way to talk to you without pushing too hard.

Besides Wonwoo, she was there for you through everything — every loss, every tear, every sleepless night where you had collapsed into her arms because you hadn’t wanted Wonwoo to see you break again. She knew better than anyone how fragile this topic was for you.

“Why not?” she asked eventually.

You swallowed. “Because I already know how this ends.”

“But what if…” she hesitated as her fingers fidgeted in her lap. “What if this time is different?”

“You know what my doctor said, Saehee. My uterus is abnormally shaped, which makes it very difficult for me to carry a pregnancy to full term” you almost snapped.

“And your doctor also said that some women have successfully given birth with the same condition as you. What if this is the one time it actually works out? Wouldn’t you want to know?” she tried to reason.

You stared down at the grape stem in your hand, picking at the tiny ends where the fruit had been. You wanted to believe her. You wanted to cling to the hope she was offering. But hope, you painfully came to learn, was dangerous. Hope had crushed you more times than you could count.

“I can’t go through that again,” you whispered.

“I can’t get my hopes up just to lose another—” you cut yourself off, the lump in your throat making it impossible to finish the sentence.

Saehee walked over and sat down next to you. She reached over and took your hand in hers, squeezing gently. “I know,” she said softly.

“But you deserve to know. Even if it’s scary.”

“You aren’t alone in this Y/n. The medical world today has advanced so much. There’s still options out there that could help your case” she went on to say. You swallowed hard, your gaze still fixed downward. You wished it were that simple.

You remembered the three-page letter that Dr. Jung had sent you two months ago that gave you answers and information you needed. It detailed your condition, which you learned was called ‘Uterine Hypoplasia’, a condition where the uterus is smaller than the average size for a woman’s age.

Reasons? You didn’t exactly know, but Dr. Jung said it could be due to genetic factors, hormonal imbalances or medical conditions. As far as you and your parents were aware, you didn’t have any known or hidden medical conditions.

The other main thing the letter also explained was the treatment options. Although natural conception wasn’t impossible, it could still be quite challenging. But many women with a small uterus have successfully been pregnant and carried their pregnancies to full term with the right medical support.

Dr. Jung laid out the options for you: hormonal therapy, surgical interventions, and assisted reproductive technologies like IVF and IUI. She suggested that, after thorough examination, that you opt for hormonal therapy.

But you had yet to respond to her letter. Wonwoo suggested giving it a try, so did your mother and Saehee. But your hopes were too down in the gutter to even consider it.

╶╶╶╶╶

[19:45 p.m.]

Saehee left two hours ago, leaving you pacing back and forth in the bathroom. Your arms were tightly wrapped around yourself, and you were biting your lip so hard you could almost taste blood.

You made an unknowing promise yourself that you would never do this again.

After the last time — after sitting on the cold bathroom floor, sobbing as you clutched yet another failed pregnancy test — you swore you were done. No more tests. No more waiting. No more hope. Because hope, you painfully came to learn, was dangerous. Hope had crushed you more times than you could count.

But after Saehee pleaded, and also thinking back to Dr. Jung’s letter, maybe it wouldn’t hurt to find out.

And now here you were.

Waiting.

Dreading.

Your hands trembled as you reached up, gathering your hair into a messy bun. Loose strands slipped free, but you ignored them. The exhaustion in your eyes, the way your lips were pressed together in a thin, almost colorless line reflected in the mirror in front of you.

You looked…tired. Not just physically, but deep in your bones.

You took a slow step toward the sink. Then another. Your fingers spread across the cool porcelain and grounded yourself, inhaling deeply.

It was time.

You turned the test over.

Two red lines.

Positive.

The sight of it didn’t send a jolt of shock through you like it used to. There was no rush of excitement, no nervous flutter in your stomach like there used to be. Just a quiet, heavy acceptance.

Of course.

Of course, you were pregnant.

You knew your body well enough to recognise the signs — the fatigue, the nausea, the way your period never came when it was supposed to. You knew before you even took the test.

And yet…

Your grip on the sink tightened. You should have felt something.

Happiness? No. Not after everything.

Fear? Maybe. But even that felt dull now.

You exhaled slowly, your gaze locked onto those two little lines, as if staring at them long enough would make them disappear. But they wouldn’t.

Because this was real.

And you knew how it would end.

You lived through it six times already.

Your hand lowered to your stomach, pressing lightly against the fabric of your shirt. There was something growing inside you, once again, something fragile. Something that wasn’t meant to stay.

You squeezed your eyes shut as you forced yourself not to cry.

You wouldn’t do this again. You wouldn’t let yourself fall into the same cycle of false hope and devastation.

You had to protect yourself. From the inevitable heartbreak. From the disappointment in Wonwoo’s eyes. From the way he would still hold you still and whisper that it wasn’t your fault, even though it felt like it was.

You breathed in sharply, forcing yourself to open your eyes. The test was still there. The lines were still there. Nothing had changed.

Except, maybe, the way your heart felt heavier than before.

A lump formed in your throat, but before you could let the tears fall, a familiar voice broke through the heavy silence.

“Honey I’m home!”

Your eyes snapped open. You didn’t know why, but you panicked. Without thinking, you tossed it in the bin beneath the sink. You blinked away the moisture in your eyes and forced yourself to breathe steadily. You had to compose yourself.

With one last glance in the mirror, you smoothed your hands down your shirt and stepped out of the bathroom.

You found Wonwoo in the living room setting down his camera bag by the sofa. His dark eyes lifted and a soft smile spread across his lips as you approached.

“Hey baby,” he greeted as he crossed the room in a few long strides. His hands reached for you and pulled you close by the waist as he pressed a gentle kiss to your lips.

You melted instantly and wrapped your arms around his torso. “How was the shoot?” you murmured.

“Long,” Wonwoo exhaled, resting his chin on top of your head. “But good. The couple was sweet, and the venue was beautiful. You would’ve loved it.”

You hummed in response, your fingers absentmindedly tracing small patterns on his back.

“And you?” he asked, pulling back slightly to look at you. “How was your day?”

“Saehee came to visit earlier” you forced a small smile.

Wonwoo’s eyes softened. “That’s nice. Did you two have fun?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, “we just talked and caught up on things.”

It was a partial lie. While you and Saehee indeed talked and caught up on things about life while she was on her business trip to South Africa, Saehee was mainly concerned about you and how you were holding up. In fact she was the one to buy the test after you told her you missed your period.

“That’s good” he hummed.

“Are you hungry? I’m sorry I didn’t cook. If you want I can make something while you shower” you said.

“Hey,” your husband cupped your face, “it’s fine, we’ll just order” he reassured.

“Are you sure? We’ve been having a lot of takeaways lately and I don’t want you to end up having food poisoning” you let out a small giggle.

Wonwoo chuckled as he tucked the strands of hair behind your ear. “This will be the last time, I promise” he said, pecking your lips.

“Shower with me?” he then asked.

You hummed and allowed him to lead you upstairs.

▍6 JANUARY 2026

It wasn’t usual the way Wonwoo’s phone would blow up non-stop while he was in the middle of a shoot like it was right now. The way the vibration inside the pocket of his denim shorts was constant, he knew it was important.

Wonwoo lowered his camera and stood up from his crouching position. Letting the camera dangle around his neck, he fished for his phone and looked at the screen. There were five missed calls and ten text messages from Seahee, and three missed calls from an unknown number.

His brows knitted in confusion. And in that exact moment, his screen lit up with Saehee’s name.

He looked at the couple with an apologetic look. “Sorry, I have to take this” he notified them, and he was grateful they were understanding.

Turning around and walking out of the studio room, he swiped the green button and pressed the phone to his ear.

“Saehee, what’s wrong?” he asked.

Instead of a response, all he heard was muffled cries from the other end, like she was struggling to form words. Whatever it was, Wonwoo couldn’t help but feel his heart pounding. Like something was wrong.

“Saehee—”

“It’s Y/n” she finally spoke up.

And just like that, his heart dropped.

“S-She collapsed at work.”

Wonwoo couldn’t hear anything. His heart was pounding, and his mind was filled with a deafening noise that chanted your name over and over again. Nothing else even existed at that moment. He needed to get to you. He needed to be by your side.

Nothing else mattered.

Without a word to the couple, who stared at his alarmed expression, he turned on his heel and bolted out of the room. They barely had time to say anything before he was gone, disappearing down the hall in an instant.

His breath was ragged and his heartbeat was as he sprinted through the corridors. The moment he pushed through the doors of the building, the cold air hit him, but he barely felt it. His hands trembled as he reached into his pocket, fingers fumbling for his car keys. It took him two tries to get a grip on them before he yanked open the door and threw himself into the driver’s seat.

Wonwoo had never been a reckless driver. He followed every rule. He stopped at every red light, signaled even when there were no cars around. But right now? Right now, none of that mattered.

The tires screeched as he peeled out of the parking lot, and the speedometer climbed higher and higher. He knew he was going too fast. He knew he was being careless. But nothing — no law, no warning signs, no blaring horns from other drivers — could stop him from getting to you.

Because this wasn’t the first time.

It wasn’t the first time he made this drive with his heart in his throat and hands gripping the wheel so tight his knuckles turned white. It wasn’t the first time he received the dreaded call and the voice on the other end telling him to come to the hospital.

The road ahead became a blur as his vision clouded with tears that threatened to escape. He forced himself to blink them away, clenching his jaw so tightly it ached. His fingers dug into the leather of the steering wheel as his entire body tensed with anxiety.

He hated this. He hated the unexpectedness, and the feeling of helplessness.

He swerved into the hospital parking lot, barely managing to park his car correctly before jumping out. The door slammed shut behind him, but he didn’t even notice. His feet thumped against the ground as his legs carried him forwards before his mind could catch up.

The harsh and overly bright fluorescent lights in the hospital made his head ache. But he ignored the discomfort and headed straight for the reception desk.

“I’m looking for my wife, Jeon Y/n. Where is she?” he demanded, his voice rough and uneven.

The young receptionist, who saw Wonwoo more times than she would like to admit, didn’t even hesitate. Her fingers moved quickly across the keyboard as she pulled up your records.

“Room 717, the radiology department,” she told him, looking up with an expression that was all too familiar — pity.

Wonwoo barely managed to nod in thanks before he took off, his feet moving on autopilot down the hallways as fast as they could. His heart hammered with every step with dread creeping up his spine. He memorised this route. He walked these halls too many times before.

And yet, it never got easier.

When he reached Room 717, he didn’t pause. Didn’t knock. Didn’t hesitate. When he shoved the door open, his breath caught in his throat the moment his eyes laid on you.

You were lying on the hospital bed with the white sheets pulled up to your waist. The sight of the IV drip in your arm made something in him twist painfully. You looked so fragile. Your face was pale and your lips were slightly chapped. But what reassured him — what made his knees almost buckle with relief — was the way your chest rose and fell with each breath.

Dr. Jung was standing in the corner, flipping through her clipboard. She looked up at him and gave him a small smile. “She’s stable,” she said quietly.

Wonwoo exhaled sharply as his fingers ran through his hair. His body, which was running on pure adrenaline, suddenly felt heavy. But he didn’t stop moving.

As he walked towards you, he unhooked the camera from around his neck and set it on the small table beside your bed. His fingers hovered in the air for a moment before he finally reached out, a little hesitant.

His fingertips brushed against your cheek, and the coldness of your skin made his breath hitch. His lips parted, but no words came out. Instead, his eyes burned as he fought the lump in his throat.

And then, as if you felt him, your eyelids fluttered.

Wonwoo stilled, and his heart stopped for a brief second before your gaze finally focused on him. “Hey,” you murmured, a small, weak smile tugging at your lips as you leaned into his touch.

Wonwoo let out a shaky breath, feeling his entire body sagging in relief. “Are you okay? What happened?” his voice was hoarse.

He pulled the chair next to your bed closer and sat down before taking your hand in his. He lifted it to his lips and pressed a soft kiss to your knuckles.

You hesitated as your eyes flickered away for a moment. “I was just coming out of the bathroom…and suddenly, I felt really lightheaded. And yeah…” you trailed off, your fingers curling slightly against his palm.

Wonwoo’s grip on your hand tightened. “You fainted?”

You nodded slowly.

A deep crease formed between his brows. Before he could speak, you interrupted him. “I’m fine now, really,” you said softly, trying to reassure him.

“Just a little tired, that’s all.”

But Wonwoo wasn’t convinced. He heard those words too many times before.

“I told you to stop skipping breakfast,” he scolded. “How many times have I told you?”

You blinked at him before breaking into a small, tired giggle. “You’re so cute when you scold,” you muttered. .

Wonwoo sighed, shaking his head, but he didn’t let go of your hand.

Dr. Jung stepped forward, breaking the silence that settled in the hospital room. “Right, are you ready to go ahead with the scan Y/n?” she asked calmly.

Wonwoo’s brows furrowed immediately. He was so focused on your wellbeing that he didn’t even think to ask what kind of tests they were going to run. His eyes darted between you and the doctor as confusion etched across his face.

“Scan? What scan?” he questioned with a sharp, urgent voice as if he missed something crucial.

You stiffened slightly, and your fingers instinctively tightened around the blanket on your lap. Your eyes travelled towards Wonwoo for a brief second before darting away, avoiding his gaze. The room suddenly felt small and suffocating.

Dr. Jung hesitated, looking at Wonwoo before turning back to you. “Y/n, did you not tell him?”

A lump formed in your throat. You couldn’t find it in yourself to answer.

“Tell me what?” Wonwoo asked, sounding frustrated, but underneath it, it was fear.

Silence hung between the three of you. You looked down at your lap, fiddling with the fabric of the hospital gown between your fingers. You wanted to tell him. You really did. But you couldn’t bring yourself to say the words. Not when you knew the kind of hope it would ignite in his eyes.

Dr. Jung sighed, sensing your reluctance. She turned to Wonwoo, who was now looking more anxious than ever. “She’s four weeks pregnant.”

The words slammed into him like a freight train.“What?” Wonwoo whispered, blinking as if he misheard her.

“You probably know it by now, but at this stage, she’s quite vulnerable,” Dr. Jung continued, keeping her voice measured and clinical. “Her blood pressure was low, which is why she fainted.”

Wonwoo’s heart plummeted to his stomach. His body froze, and for a second, he couldn’t move, not could he breathe. His eyes snapped to you, his lips parting as he struggled to find the right words.

“Y/n?” he called out, his voice soft, hesitant.

Slowly, you lifted your eyes to meet his. The moment your gazes locked, he saw it — the fear, the hesitation, the pain. His heart clenched at the sight.

“You’re pregnant?” he asked. You swallowed hard, then gave him a small nod.

His breath hitched, his chest rising and falling with the force of his emotions. Pregnant. The word echoed in his mind.

He should’ve felt elated. After all, this was something you both wanted for so long. But instead of excitement, all he could feel was the crack in his heart as he noticed the way you weren’t smiling, the way you were bracing yourself as if expecting the worst.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” there was a slight tremor in his voice which betrayed how deeply this affected him.

You exhaled, your shoulders slumping. “I only found out yesterday.”

Wonwoo’s breath hitched.

“Saehee convinced me to take a test when I told her I missed my period,” you admitted, still refusing to meet his gaze.

There was no joy in your voice. No excitement.

Only exhaustion.

Wonwoo’s heart ached. He could see it now. You were too scared to tell him. Too scared to believe in this miracle. Because you were here before — six tims. He was there for all of them. He watched you crumble, grieve, and smile through the pain even when he knew you were breaking inside.

And now, as he looked at you, he realised — this time, you weren’t even letting yourself hope.

“But Wonwoo,” you finally said, your voice quiet and fragile. “What if it doesn’t work out this time too?”

He sucked in a sharp breath.

“What if our baby never gets to make it til the end, like all the other six times?” your voice cracked, and the pain in it shattered his heart into pieces.

“No matter how much I pray, it never ends the way I want it to. So what’s the point when I already know how it’s going to end?”

A single tear slipped down your cheek. You bit your lip, trying to hold back the sob threatening to break free.

Wonwoo couldn’t take it anymore. He stood up, his chair scraping against the floor as he moved to sit beside you on the bed. Without hesitation, he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into his chest.

You tensed for a moment before finally melting into his embrace, and your fingers clenched the fabric of his shirt.

“Hey,” he mumbled against your hai. “Don’t do that. Don’t think so negatively.”

You squeezed your eyes shut. “I’m not Wonwoo, I’m being realistic. I’m just so tired.”

His grip tightened. “I know,” he whispered. “I know, baby”

Your body trembled in his hold. “We’ll face this together,” he comforted, leaning back so he could cup your face. His thumbs brushed against your cheeks and wiped away your tears.

“I know you’re scared. I am too. But baby, you’re not alone. I’m right here.”

Your lips quivered. “But I don’t think I can handle losing another one.”

Wonwoo exhaled shakily. “Then we’ll grieve together.” His forehead rested against yours, his eyes filled with nothing but love.

“But for now, let’s hold onto this. Let’s believe in this little life growing inside of you. Please, Y/n.”

You stared at him, his words sinking into your heart. He wasn’t asking you to pretend everything was okay. He wasn’t telling you to ignore your pain.

He was just asking you to try. To hold onto hope — together.

A fresh wave of tears welled up in your eyes, but this time they were softer and less afraid. .

Wonwoo pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Let’s do the scan,” he murmured. You hesitated for only a moment before nodding.

You swallowed hard and your heart pounded against your ribcage as Dr. Jung prepped the machine. This was the moment you were both dreading and anticipating. The moment that would either give you hope or confirm your worst fears.

Wonwoo sat beside you with his firm but gentle grip on your hand. He could feel the slight tremble of your fingers against his own, and he gave them a reassuring squeeze.

“Alright Y/n,” Dr. Jung said softly, offering you a small and encouraging smile. “Let’s take a look, shall we?”

Unable to find your voice, you just nodded.

When the cold gel came in contact with your skin, you shivered slightly. As Dr. Jung pressed the ultrasound probe gently against your abdomen, Wonwoo’s eyes never left the screen. He had been here before, sitting in this exact position, staring at a monitor with bated breath. The memories grazed at the back of his mind. The empty sacs, the weak fetal heartbeats that faded too soon, the silence that followed after each loss.

But this time, he prayed it would be different.

The screen flicked in, and for a few agonising seconds, there was nothing but static. Your fingers tightened around Wonwoo’s, and he could feel the cold sweat on your palm.

Then you both saw it. A tiny, fluttering movement on the screen. A rapid, rhythmic pulsing.

A heartbeat.

Dr. Jung’s smile widened as she adjusted the probe to make the image clearer. “There,” she said softly. “There’s your baby.”

Your free hand flew to your mouth as tears instantly welled in your eyes. Wonwoo felt his own vision blur as he stared at the screen, feeling his heart swelling with a mixture of awe, relief, and overwhelming love.

The small blob on the screen was still so tiny, barely distinguishable, but it was there. And it was alive.

“The heartbeat is strong,” Dr. Jung continued as she adjusted the volume so the rapid thumping sound filled the room. “That’s exactly what we want to see at four weeks.”

Your body sagged in relief, and a sob escaped your lips. Wonwoo reached up and wiped away the tear that slipped down your cheek.

“It’s okay my love,” he whispered. “They’re okay.”

Dr. Jung, however, remained focused as she carefully examined the screen. After a moment, she looked at you with the same kind but serious expression she always wore when discussing your condition.

“Now, I know this is wonderful news, but we need to talk about the next steps.”

The shift in her tone made your heart clench, and Wonwoo’s grip on your hand tightened. “What do you mean?” he asked.

Dr. Jung turned the screen slightly and pointed at the position of the embryo. “Y/n, given your history and your uterine abnormality, we’re going to have to take medical intervention to ensure this pregnancy remains viable.”

Your throat felt dry. You always knew that even if you did conceive again, carrying the baby to full term would be an uphill battle. Your uterus was never a safe environment for a growing fetus, and each miscarriage had been a painful reminder of that.

“Your condition,” Dr. Jung continued gently, “makes it difficult for the embryo to implant securely. There’s a risk of inadequate blood supply, which could lead to complications. Right now, everything looks good, but if we don’t act preemptively, the chances of miscarriage increase significantly.”

You swallowed hard, nodding. “So…what do we do?”

Dr. Jung sighed softly. “There are a few options, but the best course of action would be a combination of hormonal support, regular monitoring, and possibly a cervical cerclage.”

“A cerclage?” Wonwoo’s brows furrowed.

Dr. Jung nodded. “It’s a procedure where we place a stitch in the cervix to help it stay closed and prevent early labor or miscarriage. Given Y/n’s history, her cervix may not be strong enough to hold the pregnancy as it progresses. We wouldn’t do the procedure just yet, but if we see signs of cervical incompetence in the coming weeks, we’ll need to act quickly.”

The words sent a chill down your spine. You read about cerclages before. They were often a last resort, a desperate attempt to keep the baby inside just a little longer. Some women had success with them, but others had not.

Wonwoo felt you stiffen beside him. He turned to you as his eyes searched for yours. “Hey,” he whispered almost as he tilted his head so you would look at him.

“What are you thinking?”

You let out a shaky breath. “I just…I’m scared. I don’t want to go through another loss Wonwoo” your voice cracked.

“I don’t know if I can do it again.”

His heart ached at the vulnerability in your words. He reached up and cupped your face gently. “I know baby,” he whispered. “I know.”

Dr. Jung gave you both a moment before she continued. “We’ll also start you on progesterone supplements immediately. Progesterone is crucial in the early stages of pregnancy to support the uterine lining and help the embryo implant securely.”

You nodded slowly, trying to process everything.

“In addition,” Dr. Jung continued, “we’ll schedule ultrasounds every week to monitor the baby’s growth and the condition of your uterus. If we notice anything concerning, we’ll adjust the treatment plan accordingly.”

Wonwoo turned back to her. “And if we do everything you’re suggesting…what are the chances?” he asked.

Dr. Jung hesitated. “I won’t lie to you,” she admitted.

“There are still risks. But if we’re diligent, and if Y/n’s body responds well to the treatments, the chances of carrying to term increase significantly.”

It wasn’t the guarantee you hoped for, but it was something. A chance. And right now, that was all you could ask for.

You exhaled and glanced at the screen once more. The tiny spark of life continued to beat steadily. Wonwoo leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your temple.

“We’re doing this,” he whispered. “Together.”

You turned to him as your lips quivered. “You still want to try?”

“Of course I do. I want this baby. I want our baby.”

He gave you a look that was filled with so much love and devotion that it made your chest tighten. Tears streamed down your cheeks, but this time, they weren’t just from fear. They were from hope.

Dr. Jung smiled as she sensed the shift between you two. “Then let’s get started.”

She reached for the prescription pad as she got ready to outline the plan that could save your baby’s life. And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe( this time would be different.

a/n; sorry for the long wait🥹

556 notes · View notes

nothoughtsjustfic · 3 months ago

Text

Whatever You Want [Part One] - J.WW

💎Who: Jeon Wonwoo (Seventeen) x female reader 💎What: Mafia/gang au. Dark themes (check warnings). Angst. Fluff. Humour. Strangers to friends to lovers. Suggestive (18+). 💎Word count: 17.7k for part one. 31.8k total 💎Warnings: Kidnapping. Violence. Injury and blood. Morally grey characters. Joke about drugs. Alcohol consumption (nobody gets drunk at all). Suggestive dialogue. Wonwoo is a handful of years older than reader. 💎Summary: “To be honest, you’re surprised it’s taken this long to happen. Truly, you thought you would’ve been kidnapped years ago, so you’re not surprised when it happens.

What does surprise you, however, is the reason why, and what happens when you meet that reason.”

Minors do NOT interact, which means reblogging and/or commenting on this story. I WILL block any account that interacts without an age indicator in their bio.

Masterlist Part Two

A/N- Part two will be available April 24th. Thank you to @lovetaroandtaemin for beta reading and helping me out with the warnings! I appreciate you endlessly, my love 💗

It’s typical, really; the one time you actually have cash on you to give to the homeless man you’ve befriended, who always waits around for you to finish work, you don’t get the chance to give it to him.

Just like every night when you’re done closing up the restaurant, you see Sangmin waiting on the other side of the road, sitting patiently on the bench there, ready to walk you home.

You wave at him as you near the edge of the path, one hand carefully holding the takeout container of a freshly made double serving of his favourite meal that you cook at the restaurant. Sangmin gets up from the bench with a bright smile, always so happy to see you, and waves, making you smile just as brightly, even if you’re exhausted from the long hours cooking away in the kitchen. But Sangmin always cheers you up.

He’s such an upbeat guy despite his unfavourable circumstances, and you genuinely enjoy these walks home listening to him tell you about his day and telling him about yours in return. You can’t wait to hear if he made a new friend at the dog park today, where he likes to hang around and offer to play with the dogs of the elderly folk who can’t run or throw balls and sticks for their pets. Sometimes, the owners even give him some cash in return or buy him a coffee or ice cream from the stands, weather permitting. It’s a reminder that there is still good in this shitty world.

Just as you’re about to cross the street, a couple of cars get close enough that you remain in place to let them pass and intend to cross after they’re gone, when it’s safe.

The chance doesn’t come as both cars suddenly swerve to pull up in front of you, making you take a few steps back as you stare at the vehicles suspiciously. The engines don’t turn off, and the doors on the side closest to you open to allow masked, suited men to get out.

“Shit,” you curse under your breath and hold your free hand up as they approach. “Wait, wait, wait!” You exclaim, kicking out as they reach out to you with clearly every intention of stealing you away. “I said wait!” You glance over to Sangmin as you hear him yelling your name, voice getting closer. “Stay there, Sangmin!” You warn loudly. “Stay out of this!” You crouch, still with your free hand up so that you can put the container on the floor. “Okay, I’ll go with you, just leave him alone,” you inform and let out a breath of relief when the bulky man directly in front of you stops trying to reach towards you and signals his men to wait. “Give me a sec, seriously, I’ll go,” you promise and shuffle aside to peer around to where Sangmin is being held back by a couple of the men. “It’ll be okay, Sangmin. Enjoy your dinner, okay. I’ll see you soon.”

Sangmin murmurs your name brokenly, clearly not trusting these men to bring you safely back, and honestly, neither do you. But he stops struggling to get to you and stumbles back when the men let him go with a little shove to create more space. “Be safe,” he pleads as you follow the men to get into the closest car.

“You too.” You give him a soft smile before you’re in the car between two burly men and the door is shut. You want to watch Sangmin as the car pulls away, want to see him pick up his meal so you know he will eat well, at least tonight, but you can’t. Just as you turn your head to watch through the rear window, something sharp jabs into your leg. You yelp, turning to look down at the culprit and find a needle stuck in your leg. “You asshole,” you mutter.

Moments later, you’re unconscious.

Something about this woman is familiar to you, but you really can’t tell what it is. It doesn’t help that her cronies have given you one swollen eye, and the other eye’s vision is blurred with blood that trickles down from your split eyebrow.

Whoever this woman is, though, she clearly doesn’t want to get her own hands dirty, even if she looks very pleased with the bruised and bleeding state of you.

“Okay, okay,” you groan once you’ve caught your breath from the round of beating you’ve just received. “I give. Who the fuck are you?” You question, peering at her.

Despite not being able to see her clearly, you can see the way her whole posture changes; from smug to dumb, offended shock. “Who am I?”

“Yes; who are you?” You repeat, almost rolling your eyes.

“How dare you?!” She stalks over and one of her men grabs a fistful of your hair from where he stands behind you, to make you look up at her as she leers over you. “I am the most powerful woman in this whole city!”

“Pretty sure I’d know who you are if that’s true,” you retort and choke out a laugh when she finally hits you herself; an open-handed slap that drags the multiple rings on her fingers across your already bruised cheek, drawing shallow gouges in your skin.

“How dare-!” She starts to screech, yet the door opening behind her cuts her off as she looks over.

Curiously, you look over too, and the tall man who enters looks vaguely familiar to you too. At least, the leather jacket and glasses he’s wearing do because he’s too far away for you to make out clearly.

“What the fuck is going on here?” He demands.

Ah, you recognise his deep voice and suddenly understand why he’s familiar to you. He’s a regular at the restaurant and favours the same dish as Sangmin, though this guy worked his way through the entire menu before settling on that particular one.

You’ve only talked to him a few times, when it’s late enough that the wait staff have already been sent home, but the owners always stay open for this guy; meaning, if they’re busy, you have to deliver his meal to him. He always compliments your cooking and thanks you genuinely, but other than that, you’ve never said much to one another. Other than last Christmas when he asked if you would consider making him something special off menu and gave you a wad of cash to sweeten you up.

Even before the suspicious stack of cash was handed to you, you just knew in your gut that this guy is in shady dealings and seeing him walk into this room and not even flinch at the battered condition of you, it only confirms it.

“Teaching your little whore a lesson,” the woman sneers and turns back to you. “She needs to learn that she can’t get away with touching what’s mine.”

“I still don’t know who the fuck you are,” you point out.

Just as her hand is about to come down to connect with your cheek again, the newcomer grabs her wrist. “Don’t you fucking dare,” he warns. “She’s not done shit wrong. I’ve told you before that I’ve never fucking cheated on you. She’s just a fucking cook.”

“Don’t lie to me, Jeon Wonwoo,” she hisses.

“Don’t be fucking delusional, Ahn Yerim,” he retorts and looks at the man behind you. “Untie her.”

“Sir, Miss Ahn said-” the thug starts, yet shuts up and releases his grip on your hair when Wonwoo glares. The man behind you quickly moves to untie your arms and legs from the chair.

“You don’t listen to him! You listen to me! You both work for me!” Yerim exclaims.

“We work for your father, not you, sweetheart,” Wonwoo reminds and lets her go to approach you and carefully help you up. “Come on,” he encourages as he puts his arm around your waist to support you.

“I am your wife! Treat me with the respect I deserve!”

“I treat you with more than you deserve,” Wonwoo grumbles as he pretty much half carries you out of the room. You’re trying to walk, but they had tied your ankles to the chair legs so tightly that your feet are sparkling painfully with every dragging step as the blood rushes back in. “Did they break your legs?” He wonders concernedly as he stops and adjusts his left arm behind your back as you grip onto his shoulders for stability.

“No, extreme pins and needles.” He makes a noise of understanding and sweeps you up into his arms, hooking his right arm under your thighs to carry you.

“Do me a favour and shut your eyes; you shouldn’t see where we are.”

“Can’t see the gang HQ?” You muse, and snigger when he glances at you with a flat look. “Alright, whatever, Mr Jeon Wonwoo.” Obligingly, you shut your eyes and decide to lean your head against his broad shoulder and rest a little.

“What’s your name?” He wonders.

“Don’t even know the name of the woman your wife accused you of cheating with?” He sighs, making you snigger again before you tell him your name, which he only hums at. “Your wife is a real fucking bitch, you know?”

The sigh he lets out sounds like he more than knows how true those words are.

Instead of taking you home, or back to the restaurant, or a hospital, or a random fucking street corner to leave you to figure out your way from there, Wonwoo drives to the outskirts of the city; to a building site that you know got abandoned after only one block of fancy apartments were built. The company, who still owns the land, had a lot of issues with permits and tried to sell the project on, yet no-one wanted to take over from their immense fuck up, so it’s been abandoned for at least a year now.

At least, you thought it was, but perhaps Wonwoo likes to take advantage of the lack of witnesses at the edge of the city and bury his victims here. It’d be a smart move. There doesn’t seem to be any security around; even the road leading to the site is far enough out of the way that there are no traffic cameras along the stretch.

“I hope you don’t like burying your victims alive,” you murmur as you eye the abandoned building materials still piled up along the partially finished, dust covered road you’re travelling down.

“What?” Wonwoo glances over at you but you’re staring out of the window with a displeased pout. “I’m not going to fucking bury you alive.”

“Ah, good, I’m in the firm belief I would not enjoy that at all.”

“You… No, I don’t think you would. I don’t think anyone would.”

“I dunno, some people are into some shit, Wonwoo. You’d be surprised.” You look over at him and notice a strange expression cross his features. It’s one you’re familiar with from other people and know it means they’re suddenly questioning their decision to be in close proximity to you.

After shaking his head slightly and letting out a strong exhale as he looks back to where he’s driving, Wonwoo speaks again. “Look, I didn’t bring you here to kill you, but to protect you.”

“What?”

“My wife is a fucking psycho. You saw that, and I know she’ll have people looking for you to steal you away again. So, I’m putting you in one of my safe houses so she can’t do that. Understand?”

“She doesn’t know about this safe house?”

Wonwoo scoffs and shakes his head. “No. She doesn’t know about any of them. Nobody does; just me. You’ll be safe here, trust me.”

“I really don’t think trust comes into this, more like I don’t have a fucking choice.”

“That too,” he confirms simply.

There’s nothing more that can be said on the topic, so you both remain silent for the last short section of the drive. Even when Wonwoo parks up in the underground parking of the only complete building, then leads you into the lift up to an apartment on the sixth floor, neither of you say a word.

That changes when you step into the apartment and look at the sparse décor for the modern apartment. “Wow, a true minimalist, aren’t you?” You muse, glancing at the sofa you can see from the entrance hall, then over to the kitchen perfectly within view due to the open layout of the bottom floor of the apartment. There’s a glass staircase on the other side of the living area, with a short hallway behind it, but other than that, there truly is not much to look at.

“It’s just a safe house; it’s supposed to be functional, nothing more.”

“How can you function in such a lifeless place?”

Wonwoo sighs and nudges you from behind, so you’ll move out of the way and let him pad across the expensive marble-look flooring in his socks to the kitchen. “Just take your shoes off and get your ass over here.”

After putting his shoes neatly aside and putting your own next to them, you shuffle over to the kitchen and perch yourself on one of the stools at the breakfast bar, where he’s rummaging through an extensive medical kit, which you hadn’t even seen him procure.

“Got the good stuff?” You joke, leaning over to peer into the bag. “Wait, is that morphine?” You gasp, reaching for the packet of pills, but he slaps your hand away.

“You don’t need morphine.”

“I’m in pain, Wonwoo,” you try, pouting at him, but he gives you a disbelieving look. “Ow.”

“You can have ibuprofen or paracetamol.”

“What kind of a gang member won’t give the good stuff?” You huff and turn away to peer at the kitchen. Honestly, you don’t even want morphine. You just wanted to see if he would give it to you, but you have your answer now and have no reason to push it.

“Are you an addict?”

“No, just bored.”

“So, you want drugs?”

“No. Just seeing how you’d react.”

“You’re very fucking weird, you know?”

“Yes,” you confirm and look at him before pointing to the fridge. “I’m guessing that’s empty?”

“Yeah, there’s long life stuff in the cupboards though, some military rations and instant ramen.”

“Good ol’ instant ramen.”

He just hums, then finally has everything he wants from the kit set up on the counter. “Alright, face me; let me get a look at the damage.” Obediently, you turn on the stool to face him as he moves closer while removing his jacket to toss onto the counter, leaving him a simple black t-shirt and jeans.

“How come you’re not in a suit like those assholes?”

“I’m off the clock.”

“Then why did you turn up?”

“My wife sent me a video of them beating you,” he informs, gently turning your head from side to side with one hand on your jaw delicately, to not aggravate the bruises on your skin. “Couldn’t let her do that to an innocent person.”

“Aw, how noble of you, Mr. Thug.”

“Not a thug.”

“Mm, sure.”

“I’m not.”

“I’ve seen your bruised knuckles when you’ve come into the restaurant, Wonwoo, the split lips and bruised cheeks. Even seen the outline of your weapon under your clothes. By that, I mean your gun.”

“What else could you mean?” You just giggle, and he sighs, understanding the euphemism, though he doesn’t grace you with a further reaction, not wanting to focus on that subject at all. “Don’t make me regret saving you.”

“No promises.”

Despite his stern expression and stiff posture, Wonwoo is gentle as he tends to your wounds attentively; talking as softly in his low voice as he can to warn you when he’s about to do something that might sting or asking you to move in various ways to give him better access.

“Alright, all done,” he declares sometime later when he straightens up and steps back from you, eyes still darting over your seated form for any wounds he’s missed.

“Thanks.”

“Mm, my fault anyway.”

“It is,” you agree, earning an unimpressed look from the man before he turns to start tidying up. “Is there anything to drink?”

“The tap water is safe,” he informs before opening one of the cupboards to pull out two glasses, which he fills from the cold tap then puts one on the counter in front of you. “I’ll get groceries in tomorrow. Write a list of whatever you want or need for the next week.”

“I’ve got to stay here for a week? I have a job, you know,” you point out before gratefully picking up the glass to gulp down the contents as he finishes cleaning up, his own glass of water barely touched.

“I know. Write a resignation and I’ll post it through the door tomorrow.”

“I don’t want to resign! I like that job!”

“They won’t hold out until you’re back, and I don’t know when that will be yet. We need to wait it out until my wife has given up tormenting you.”

“How long will that be?”

“No fucking clue, she’s been tormenting me for years.”

“I don’t understand why people stay with someone they don’t love anymore.”

Wonwoo doesn’t respond, and you think this is one of those circumstances where it’s really not your place to push, so you drop the topic.

Once Wonwoo is done cleaning up, including both of your drinking glasses, he leads you upstairs to one of the bedrooms. To your surprise, it looks fully furnished, even if there’s not any décor, but it’s more liveable than downstairs.

“Wow, a dresser and TV,” you whistle, eyeing the items as Wonwoo pulls the bedding off of the large bed.

“It came partially furnished,” he explains.

“There’s no TV in the living room.”

“I said partially.”

“Weird they put a TV in the bedroom before the living room.”

“The sockets are all there, they just didn’t get around to it. They were going to get custom TVs made for all the apartment living rooms, but didn’t get the chance before the project got shut down.”

“I didn’t know anyone bought an apartment.”

“Bought is a stretch,” he muses, piling the stale bedding by the door before grabbing another set from a drawer under the bed to sniff at, then shrugs and starts to make the bed.

“Is this technically squatting?”

“No.” He huffs a short laugh. “It’s my apartment, just more of a gift. The whole building is mine.”

“Ooh, check you out, Mr fancy property owner.” You move over to help fix the fitted sheet to the mattress, earning a grateful nod from the man. “What did you do to get this gift?”

“Let the CEO keep his life.”

“And he only gave you a single building in an unfinished building site? The audacity! If he values his life that much, he should’ve given you a lot more.”

“He offered me any building of his I wanted, he owns a lot in the city centre too, but I asked for this; I knew it’s out of the way. He promised to not try hard to get the site up and running again, so I’ll have privacy. Which, to me, is the most valuable thing anyway.”

“Mm, fair,” you concede and work alongside him to finish setting up the bed.

“I’ll be right back, don’t go anywhere. The front door is already locked, and you won’t be able to unlock it. You can’t leave, so don’t bother trying,” he warns seriously before turning and leaving the bedroom.

With a sigh, you perch on the edge of the bed and wait, rubbing your feet over the fluffy rug below you, to twist your socks around and around your feet in boredom until he returns.

It’s almost ten minutes before he returns with a pile of fabrics in his arms and a basket of what looks like toiletries, with a toilet roll perched on top.

“You look like a maid,” you comment amusedly.

Wonwoo just sighs then puts the items on the bed. “Here, bathroom stuff. I’ll get you scents you like tomorrow, but you’ll have to use mine for now.” He hands you the basket, so you look at the toiletries curiously, popping the caps to sniff the contents and making pleased sounds.

“I like these.”

“Okay, saves me buying toiletries tomorrow.”

“I need sanitary items.” He looks at you. “My period is due soon.”

“Ah.” He blinks at you a few times dumbly before nodding. “Okay, just write down what you want, and I’ll get it.”

“Sounds like a plan; you know, provided you give me something to do that with.”

“Oh, right.” He chews on his lip thoughtfully before sighing and moving around to sit beside you as he pulls his phone from his pocket to unlock. “You’ll have to write it in a note on my phone, but I can’t let you use my phone blindly, so I’m going to watch.”

“Understandable,” you agree, accepting the device once he has his notes app open on a blank note, so that you can start typing out a list of items for him to buy at the shop tomorrow.

“Write your clothing sizes too. I have limited clothes myself here and just gave you one set to wear to bed. Oh, put detergent down, there isn’t any here. Put the brand if you’re particular about that stuff.”

“Nah, I’m good with whatever smells good and does the job,” you assure, while typing down ‘laundry detergent (nice smelling one)’. “Are there cleaning supplies?”

“I’ll get more,” he promises then motions to the list, so you write it down.

Although it should not be this easy to sit side by side and make a grocery list together, it is. It’s domestic, even, in a very, very, very weird fucking way. The man’s wife is out for your blood, due to her own delusional accusations against the pair of you, yet you’re sitting here making a grocery list together as if you’re actually roommates who regularly do this. Very strange indeed.

“Alright, that’s all I can think of,” you decide, after looking over the surprisingly extensive list one last time, before handing his phone back.

“I’ll go shopping in the morning before work,” he declares as he gets up and tucks his phone back into his pocket. “I’ll let you get some sleep now; you must be tired after all this shit.”

“Kinda pretty awake, actually. Does the TV work?”

“Should do, the one in my room works at least. There’s no Wi-Fi here though, so it’s just satellite channels.”

“If this one doesn’t work, we’re swapping rooms.”

“No,” he replies in a firm tone before exiting the room, pulling the door up behind him and leaving you in silence.

“Well, fuck you too,” you mutter and get up to use the bathroom. You change into the sweatpants and t-shirt he left for you before climbing into the slightly dusty smelling bed to turn on the TV.

Although you aren’t tired when you climb into bed, that quickly changes as you curl up under the covers with your eyes on the 90’s rom com playing on the TV, soon lulling you into a dreamless sleep.

In the morning, or whatever time it is when you tiredly trudge downstairs, you discover that Wonwoo is a man of his word.

There are various bags of shopping in the kitchen, all full of items from the shopping list. From clothes in the sizes that you wrote down, to perhaps far too many packets of sanitary towels; it seems that either Wonwoo has no idea how periods really work, or he intends to keep you for longer than just this cycle length. Either way, he listened and must’ve really tried hard to get everything on the list, with no regard to his financial state, as every piece of clothing has a brand name attached, not just cheap stuff from a superstore like you had expected him to buy.

Although you genuinely would be okay with the cheap stuff, and never quite see the appeal in such expensive clothing for daily wear, you appreciate it and make a mental note to thank him when you next see him.

A few minutes later, when you’re done perusing the contents of the bags and have moved to the fridge, you finally notice the brand-new magnetic whiteboard on the front with a note scrawled in black ink from Wonwoo.

It’s simple; just him telling you that he will be back in a few days to check on you, while also reminding you to not try to leave the apartment and also keep out of his room. You had no intention of going into Wonwoo's room, but now that he’s told you not to, you kind of want to.

For now, you just focus on making yourself something to eat before taking the shopping bags up to your room to make yourself at home for the foreseeable future.

It’s only been two days since Wonwoo left you all alone and you’re already so bored and restless that the moment you hear the beep of the lock disengaging on the front door, you’re rushing over from the kitchen to greet him like an excitable puppy.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” He mutters with a bewildered frown as you crowd close and peer up at him.

“I’m bored, Wonwoo,” you whine, eyes flickering over his tired features. “You look like shit.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem.” You finally back out of his personal space and take the bag from his hands as he works on removing his shoes and leather jacket, suit beneath today. The contents of the bag clinks as you take it, making you peer inside curiously. “Are you planning to mix wine and whiskey?” You wonder.

“No, just didn’t know what you’d prefer.”

“So, you bought wine for me?”

“No, that’s mine. I thought you’d be a whiskey girl, seem like the type to like the burn.”

“Ha,” you snigger. “You got me, but I’ll drink anything.” You take the bag into the kitchen, where you had been starting to make yourself dinner. “Hungry?”

“Fucking starving,” he confirms when he follows you a moment later, unbuttoning his suit jacket to remove and toss onto the dining table carelessly, eyes on the ingredients you have laid out on the kitchen island.

“Pour out,” you say, pointing to the wine bottle on the counter as you focus on getting extra ingredients out to cover Wonwoo’s portion too. He just hums and moves around to get out the wine glasses from the cupboard and corkscrew from the drawer.

As you cook, Wonwoo sits at the breakfast bar, head propped on his left fist and wine glass he’s slowly emptying, in his right. He hasn’t said a word since sitting down, just watches you work, and you’re honestly not even sure he’s entirely present. He looks like he could fall asleep any second, and you don’t think the wine he’s drinking is helping.

“Hey,” you call, tossing the cork, from where it lays on the counter, at him. He jerks back when it hits him on his forehead. He blinks at you dumbly, eyebrows furrowed in displeased surprise while you cackle at his expression. “You look like you’re going to fall asleep upright.”

“I’m fine,” he argues and drinks the last of the contents of his glass before reaching for the bottle to refill his glass, then your own, even if yours is still basically full.

“Bullshit.”

“Just focus on the fucking food.”

“Mm, alright, but if you fall asleep, I’m eating your share too.”

“Do that, and I’ll take you right back to my wife and let her do whatever the fuck she wants with you,” he warns, entirely serious.

“Wow,” you mutter, eyebrows raising as you take in the dangerous tint in his eyes. “You’re serious about your food, huh?”

“Only when it’s your cooking.”

“Damn, you must be sleep deprived to say shit like that.”

He sighs and slumps a little in his seat as he realises that you’re right. “It’s why she thinks I’m fucking you.”

“What?”

“Because I eat your cooking, go out of my way to eat it, and I never eat hers.”

“Ah, yes,” you hum, a sarcastic edge to your voice. “That age old saying; the way to man’s bed is through his stomach.”

Wonwoo lets out a chuckle and leans back on his fist as his eyes tiredly track your movements. “Knowing her dumbass, she actually thinks that’s right.”

“It obviously wasn’t her method.”

“She can’t cook for shit. It’s no wonder I don’t eat it.” His expression turns disgusted. “Even I cook better than her, and I can’t cook shit either.”

“That’s fucked up man; everyone should be able to cook at least two decent meals.”

“Never needed to and don’t exactly have the chance to learn how. She thinks she’s some kind of trophy wife and won’t let me in the kitchen to try.” He sighs and lets go of his glass to free his right hand so that he can rub at his eyes under his glasses. “She knows I’m hiding you, won’t stop fucking bugging me. Can’t get a minute’s fucking peace in that house at the moment.”

“Ah, that’s why you look like you haven’t been sleeping.”

“She doesn’t shut the fuck up when I’m there, so I’ve been avoiding it as much as possible. But at the end of the day, she’s my wife, so I can only avoid her so much.”

“Wild thought right here, but have you considered a divorce?” You muse and point to the plate cupboard, prompting him to get up and reach down two dinner plates to place on the side near you.

Instead of sitting back down, he starts to load up the dishwasher with the dishes, which you’ve been putting in the sink to deal with after dinner once you’ve finished using them. “Not as simple as that,” he mutters.

“Why not?”

“Just isn’t, and it’s none of your fucking business.”

“Thanks to you and your delusional wife, I have no business of my own anymore, so I have to be up in yours.”

“Well, don’t.”

“I’m fucking bored, Wonwoo.”

“Read a fucking book.”

“Nerd.” You don’t even look at him, but you don’t need to in order to know that he’s giving you a very unimpressed look; you can practically feel his gaze burning into the side of your face from over your left shoulder. “Either you give me all the gossip every time you visit, or you get me something to entertain me.”

“Like what?”

For a second, you almost say a sex toy or twelve, but you think he really would stop talking to you then, and he’s your only method of socialisation, so you hum thoughtfully instead. “I guess seeing as there’s no internet, and you wouldn’t trust me with access to the outside world even if there was, a games console with a bunch of games on disc to play will do.”

“You like video games?”

“Not really.” You shrug and finish plating up dinner. “I’ve been intrigued, but I’ve always been more into cooking and baking. That’s just not as fun when I’ve got no-one to share it with. I can game on my own, at least.”

“You like to bake too?” You hum in confirmation. “I didn’t know that.”

You can’t help but laugh shortly as you look at him incredulously. “Why would you know that? We don’t know shit about each other, Wonwoo,” you remind him.

“Ah, right.” He nods and takes the last pan to rinse then put in the dishwasher, while you take your plates to the table to set down. Wonwoo follows moments later with the wine and sits down opposite you. “This looks amazing, thank you.”

“Mm, of course. Not going to let the only person who can entertain me starve, am I?”

“Guess not,” he huffs a quick laugh and picks up his fork. “What kind of games do you want?”

“I don’t really know; a variety, maybe, so I can try different types.”

He makes a noise of understanding. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“You’re the best.” He gives you a raised eyebrow look. “At least the best I can do with no other option.” He scoffs a laugh, lips turning into a more genuinely amused smile as he turns back to his food yet says nothing and eats, so you do the same.

A few days later, Wonwoo is back just in time for dinner with his hands empty, making you squint at him sulkily as he nears where you’re setting the dishes on the table.

Last time when he left, it was the morning, and you were asleep in your room, so he had written another note on the whiteboard telling you when he’d be back; so today, you had made his favourite meal and sides from the restaurant. You had planned the timing for when he said he would be back, and thankfully, he is still a man of his word and arrived perfectly on time.

At least, with this, he is a man of his word, because he had said he’d bring you a games console and games, yet here he is, empty handed.

“What? I’m on time,” he defends as he sits down. He’s not in a suit today, but jeans and a plain black t-shirt. It must be nice to be so unfairly attractive that even such a simple outfit looks effortlessly incredible.

“And empty handed,” you mutter sulkily and drop down into your seat.

“It’s in the car,” he informs, rolling his eyes a little as he grabs his cutlery and immediately scoops a mouthful of food into his mouth.

You watch as he makes strange sounds as he tries to exhale the heat from his mouth while still chewing. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” You wonder, prompting him to look at you. “There is literally steam, of course it’s hot.”

“I’m starving,” he replies, only just managing to cover his mouth as he talks, so that you don’t see his partially chewed food. “Barely eaten since last time.”

“What the fuck? Why?” You gawp.

“Told you; she won’t let me in the kitchen, and I refuse to eat her cooking.”

“There are plenty of restaurants, even fucking convenience stores to get a sandwich or instant ramen!”

“Can’t eat that shit after having your cooking.” He shrugs. As if it’s no big deal. As if he hasn’t just essentially admitted he’d rather go hungry than eat food that you haven’t made.

Perhaps to him it’s nothing, but no one has ever sounded so committed to any aspect of you before, even if it’s a byproduct of you, not actually a part of you. But it still hits you right in the chest and makes you unable to do anything but stare at him dumbly as he continues to shove too much food in his mouth before it’s cool enough to be practical.

“I’ll bring it up after dinner,” he declares a few moments later, snapping you back to reality without looking up at you, still too focused on his food.

“What?”

“The shit in the car.”

“Oh, why didn’t you just bring it up with you?” You wonder as you pick up your cutlery to get started on eating your own serving.

“There’s too much shit for one trip, and I wanted to eat.”

“Too much shit?” You give him a questioning look when he glances at you. “How much did you buy, Wonwoo?”

“It’s not that.” He waves a dismissive hand. “You’ll understand later.”

After dinner, once he’s finished cleaning up, and while you sprawl over the still far too big couch in wait, Wonwoo goes down to the car and returns with a hand truck hauling multiple cardboard boxes. He unloads them into the lounge then leaves, after telling you to wait for him to be back. He locks you in the apartment once again before making another trip down to his car and returning without the hand truck, but now he has a suitcase that you recognise and a duffle bag you do not.

“Hold, did you break into my fucking apartment?!” you gawp as you sit up, pointing accusingly at the man.

“No. I have your keys.” He pulls your keys from his jacket pocket then tosses them onto the side console with his own as he removes his shoes.

“What the fuck, how?”

“My wife had them, remember?”

“Oh…” You nod a little in understanding. “I assume you will not be returning my phone to me.”

“No. It’s off and somewhere else. Can’t risk you turning it on and getting tracked,” he answers simply before walking over to start opening the biggest of the boxes, while you pout at his back.

It’s only when he pulls an old, boxy TV from the box, spilling packing foam everywhere, that your interest is pulled away from grieving the, hopefully temporary, loss of your phone.

“The fuck?” you mutter, rolling off of the couch to shuffle across the rug on your knees until you’re peering over his shoulder as he sets the TV up on the unit. “Excuse you, sir, but we are in the modern age.”

“Shut up, the console doesn’t work with our TVs,” he retorts.

“What console did you even buy?”

“I didn’t buy it. It’s one I’ve had since I was a kid, so you better fucking look after it,” he warns, giving you a stern look.

“I can respect other’s property, unlike you.” He gives you a bewildered look. “You broke into my apartment.”

“I had your fucking keys,” he reminds with a roll of his eyes before turning back around to return to setting up the outdated TV before pulling over another box to open.

“I didn’t give you permission to go there; you broke in.”

“I thought you’d want some of your own shit. Last time I try and do something fucking nice for your ungrateful ass.” You stare at him for a moment before shuffling closer to abruptly hug him from behind, making him jolt then tense up. “The fuck are you doing?”

“Being appreciative.”

“Well stop it; it’s fucking weird. Just go back to being an ungrateful shit.”

“No. You smell really nice, what cologne do you use? I want some.”

“I brought your perfume from your apartment, wear your own shit.”

“No, I like yours. Let’s swap.”

“Fuck off.” He shakes you off of him, making you snigger before you move over to open the last box, which looks brand new, to peer inside and notice random items from your apartment inside.

You don’t know why Wonwoo thought you’d want the novelty beer mat, which you stole from a bar, that you kept on your coffee table, but it’s in the box and makes you giggle when you see it. All the other items are much more understandable; your jewellery box, makeup bag, perfume, the blanket from your couch, and the teddy bear that sleeps with you.

“You got a boyfriend you didn’t mention?” He wonders, when he glances over and spots you holding the teddy and brushing your fingers over the soft fur. His eyes land on the love heart pattern of its t-shirt then he turns away.

“No.”

“Caught up on an ex?”

“What’s it to you?”

“Just wondering, damn.”

“Oh, so you get to dig into my love life, but I can’t yours?”

“Never fucking mind,” he grunts, all but glaring at the console as he sets it up.

You peer at him and sigh. “Fucking idiot man.” He turns his head to shoot you a warning look over his shoulder. “What? You are!”

“Watch your fucking mouth.”

“No.” You raise a challenging eyebrow when he turns further towards you; a clear attempt to silently intimidate you. “I know you’re not going to hurt me. If you were willing to let me get hurt, I wouldn’t still be here,” you reason logically.

Wonwoo continues to glare at you for a moment before he turns away with a grunted curse, making you snigger. “Stop being a brat, or I won’t be so nice from here on out.”

“Kinda sounds like a challenge to me, if I’m honest.” Your words make Wonwoo stop what he’s doing to sigh heavily, eyes closing as he takes a moment to gather himself. Deciding to leave Wonwoo alone, lest you actually make him lose his temper with you, you turn and look at the bear in your hands.

A bittersweet little smile lifts your lips as you think about Sangmin. He had gifted you the bear on Valentine’s day; he wasn’t hitting on you and made a big effort to let you know that. He had simply seen the bear and decided to use all the change he had in his pocket to buy it for you, as the most heartfelt thank you and sign of his appreciation for all the meals you make for him.

At this point, Sangmin really is your best friend, perhaps your only friend. You value him so greatly and constantly find yourself wondering and worrying over the man since Wonwoo’s wife kidnapped you a week ago. You’ve been his only source of stable sustenance for months now; you dread to think of how much he’s struggling to feed himself without you handing him a hot meal every night.

“Hey, uhm Wonwoo?” You call, tone quieter and uncertain. It makes Wonwoo stop what he’s doing to look over at you, but you’re still looking at that bear and don’t notice.

Wonwoo stares at you contemplatively for a moment; takes in the concerned furrow of your eyebrows and the tender way you handle the bear. “What is it?” He asks, his own tone softer now, noticing that whatever is on your mind is serious for you. He wasn’t aware you even know how to be genuinely serious like this. Even when you were tied to a chair by thugs getting bruised and battered, you didn’t seem like you were taking the situation all that seriously.

“Will you do me a big favour?”

“Depends.”

You sigh softly and look at him. “There’s a homeless man who I feed every night after work. He meets me outside of the restaurant and walks me home. He’s… I’m the only stable source of food he has. Will you check on him, buy him a meal? And assure him that I’m okay. He was there when those assholes took me.”

“Oh.” He silently watches you for a moment longer, in surprise at your genuine, selfless request, while you keep your sincere gaze glued to him. “He means a lot to you, doesn’t he?”

“He’s my only friend, all I have here. He’s really a good guy; he’s got a giant heart and will always put others first. It’s how he lost everything; ran himself thin and got his kind nature taken advantage of. I need to know that he’s okay and will continue to be until I can go back and look after him.”

“Okay,” he agrees softly with a nod. “I’ll look out for him until it’s safe for you to leave.”

“Thank you.” You relax a little as you give him a grateful smile.

“You’re welcome.”

Although it’s usually a few days before you see Wonwoo, he turns up the day after you ask him to check on Sangmin.

When he enters the apartment, you’re sitting on the floor close to the boxy TV in the lounge, playing one of the games on his childhood game console.

“Oh, didn’t expect you today, would’ve started dinner if I knew you’d be here,” you comment, after flickering your gaze over to him, then focus back on the screen.

“Why does that sound like you won’t eat dinner if I don’t turn up?” he accuses, approaching, sans shoes, to sit on your left, grab the other controller from in front of the console, and immediately jumps into the game with you.

“When I get hungry, I’ll eat. I don’t have any kind of schedule to keep, you do.” Wonwoo makes a noise of understanding in response yet says nothing more.

Until the end of the level, you’re both focused entirely on the game and only talk when Wonwoo gives you tips and guidance. He played this game many times in his youth, so he knows it far better than you, even if it’s been some years since he last played it.

“What’s for dinner then?” Wonwoo prompts, plucking the controller from your hand to place down as the level ends.

“Uhh, fuck knows,” you answer with a shrug before getting up and shuffling to the kitchen. “Why are you here, anyway?”

“In case you forgot; it’s my fucking apartment,” he scoffs, turning off the TV, after saving the game properly. Once the console and TV are both turned off, Wonwoo saunters over to the kitchen to lean on the island at the opposite side to you, with his forearms laid flat on the granite surface and fingers casually laced together.

“You got a thing for cooking, or something?” You wonder upon realising that he’s watching you with the same interest he always does when you’re cooking. Then again, maybe he’s just making sure you don’t slip poison into his portion. It’s only been just over a week since you met, so you wouldn’t blame him for being cautious.

“Just curious. I told you; I can’t cook for shit.”

“Then wash your hands and get around here,” you demand. “No better way to learn than by doing.”

“You serious?” he mumbles as he straightens up. You just hum. Wonwoo stares at you for a moment before moving to roll up his shirt sleeves, wash his hands and then join you for his first ever cooking lesson.

It’s hours after Wonwoo arrives that you find out why he broke what you thought was going to be the schedule for his visits.

Cooking dinner takes almost three times as long as normal with him at your side; for a gang member he’s ridiculously cautious with the kitchen knife you instruct him to use. Then, the two of you get distracted talking about the video games you’ve tried, so eating dinner takes longer than normal too.

So, here you are, four hours after he arrived, returning to the lounge to relax on the couch. You’re both very glad to have a comfortable seat after the past four hours of sitting on the hard floor, standing to cook and clean, and barely cushioned dining chairs.

“Oh, I went to the restaurant while I was in the area today,” he informs, drawing your attention to him, instead of staring at the little spread of video games on the floor by the TV unit as you try to decide what to play next. Wonwoo is already looking at you and when you look at him, he continues talking, knowing that you’re now paying attention. “Met Sangmin.” You straighten up a little, eyes widening slightly in silent question, silent concern for your friend. “He…well, I won’t lie; he looks like shit.”

“How bad?”

“He’s barely eaten or slept since you were taken,” he answers. “He’s been looking for you, asking around where he can and got into some trouble a couple days ago; so, he looked fucked up too.”

“Fuck.”

“Mm.”

“You gotta let me go see him.”

“Don’t be fucking stupid,” Wonwoo scoffs and shuffles to slouch down and let his head rest on the back of the couch as he turns his face skywards, looking at nothing in particular on the ceiling. “My wife is still after you; you’re staying right fucking here.”

“I can’t let him suffer!”

“I know,” he rolls his eyes before tilting his head just enough to peer at you lazily from the edge of his vision. “I told you that I’d look out for him until you can do it, and I’m a man of my word.”

“What did you do?” You ask softly, your worry starting to melt away. Something about Wonwoo really does make you believe him, at least about this; that he’s a man of his word. You trust him about this, as crazy as it is to trust the husband of the woman who fucking kidnapped you and had her minions beat you up because of her delusions.

“Put him up in a motel and gave him some cash for food. It should last him a couple weeks, provided he doesn’t fucking waste it.” He turns his face to the ceiling again, no longer looking at you as he yawns. “I’ll check on him in a few days and keep you updated.”

“Ah.” Your head bobs a little in approval as relief swims through your veins and warms your chest. “Thank you, Wonwoo, seriously.”

“Mm, I’m counting this as it makes us even for my fucking psychotic bitch of a wife kidnapping and beating the shit out of you.”

“She didn’t beat the shit out of me. That would’ve been entertaining. Does she even know how to fight?” Wonwoo’s scoff is answer enough that no, his wife doesn’t know the first thing about fighting. “She would’ve broken her hand trying to break my face or something.”

“Doesn’t do shit with her hands, anyway, wouldn’t make a fucking difference if she broke them.”

“Oh?” You grin slyly at him, even if he isn’t looking at you. “She’s more of a mouth kinda girl, huh?” Now Wonwoo looks at you, utterly unimpressed and borderline glaring, making you giggle. “What?”

“My sex life is none of your fucking business.”

“Never mentioned you,” you muse with a shrug. “A lot of people who accuse others of cheating tend to be projecting their own misdeeds.”

“Know from experience?”

“Mm, yeah, been accused of cheating many times. I guess we’re similar in that regard; loyal to our partners even if they don’t believe it.” You shrug and get up to turn the TV on, then sit in front of the console to eject the cartridge to put away in the correct case.

“Not playing that one anymore?” he murmurs, rolling his head to watch you peruse the selection of games.

“How tired are you? You’ve yawned like three times since sitting down.”

“I can go a few rounds, if you’re asking.” You immediately smirk over your shoulder at him. “Keep it in your fucking pants, pervert.”

“I respect the sanctity of marriage, even if it’s a loveless one,” you assure and turn back to the games, to select one to put into the slot and boot up the console. “I tried to play this earlier, but I kept dying, and it pissed me off. I think it’ll be easier in multiplayer though.”

“Mm, it is,” he confirms and stretches noisily before joining you on the floor, handing you a pillow to sit on while sitting on one himself, and accepts the controller you give him. As the game loads up and the start credits play, Wonwoo explains the basic idea of the game to you in a low voice, adding little tips about the controls and secret moves that will help you survive the beasts and tricks designed to overwhelm single players.

With Wonwoo at your side, the game is so much easier, and you enjoy yourself so much that you don’t realise the time pass, until Wonwoo declares that it’s close to sunrise, and he needs to get at least a couple hours of sleep before work. He leaves you to try some bonus levels that you unlocked together, but it’s not as fun alone, so you give up and go to bed as the sun rises, while silently looking forward to Wonwoo’s next visit.

Even though, most of the time, the apartment is pretty boring alone, you manage to keep yourself busy gaming, cooking, and cleaning every inch of the apartment repeatedly. Sometimes, it feels like time drags, yet it also feels like you merely blink, and it’s been over a month since Wonwoo locked you up here. You can’t tell exactly how long it’s been with your lack of sleeping schedule without the man around, but an educated guess puts it at, roughly, almost five weeks.

At first, every time you see Wonwoo, you ask if his wife has stopped being a psycho yet and if you can go home. You’re never surprised when he says no, to both questions, and tells you that you need to stay a while longer.

Then, the man’s visits change, and it’s not three days between visits; sometimes it is, but sometimes it’s less. Though soon enough, Wonwoo is at the apartment every single day. If not to stay the night in his bed and take advantage of not having to share a bed with his wife, then to simply spend a few hours with you to eat and game.

Though sometimes, he turns up and just lays on the couch to nap for no more than an hour before he leaves without a word. He always looks utterly exhausted on those days. You can’t help but wonder if this apartment is the most practical place for him to crash when he needs a nap during the day. Surely, the man has safe houses closer into the city centre; ones easier to get to and that don’t take as much of his time with travel. But you never bring it up; honestly, you’re just glad for the company, however wordless it is.

For a little while, you stop asking him when you can leave. It clearly annoyed him that you asked every time he visited, but it also frustrated you to never have an actual answer as to when you can go home. There’s only so long you can live in this apartment before you lose a grip on yourself and get reckless.

It’s probably been almost two weeks since you last asked, so you think it’s about time you bring it back up again, even if it’s 3pm and Wonwoo has clearly arrived with the intention of napping.

You’re in the process of making yourself lunch when he enters the apartment, so he’s drawn to the kitchen after removing his shoes and jacket, where he slouches at the island and gratefully starts to eat the sandwich you place in front of him. It was supposed to be yours, but you can make another, he looks like he needs it.

“When can I go home?” You ask bluntly, causing Wonwoo to stop chewing mid bite and look over at you, but you’re focused on your task and don’t notice, until you flick your gaze up at his silence. “Well?”

Wonwoo lets out a heavy breath through his nose and gets back to chewing. Once he’s swallowed, he answers in a way you hadn’t expected. Usually, he always says either ‘not yet’ or a flat ‘no’. Yet today, he finally gives you a more solid answer, “depends.”

It’s just one word, but it makes hope start to flutter in your chest.

“On?” you ask, with your full attention on him, suddenly not all that hungry when faced with the potential sweetness of freedom just around the corner.

“If you’re willing to learn how to use a gun and carry one on you at all times.”

Just like that, the fluttering in your chest ceases and the excitement that had started to warm your veins is sucked away as if it had never known a home in you in the first place. “You’re insane, aren’t you?” you accuse with a scoff and turn back to making your lunch.

“I can’t let you leave if you can’t defend yourself; I’ll end up following you all the fucking time to make sure you’re safe,” he reasons, waving a hand vaguely before taking a bite of his sandwich.

“It’s not really any of your business,” you point out while looking at him. “I appreciate that you protected me in the first place, but you’ve done the noble thing; you don’t have to do anything else.”

Wonwoo looks up at you as if you’re stupid. “I do if I want you to be safe.”

“As long as she’s alive, I won’t be safe, not really.”

“Are you suggesting I kill my wife?” he baulks in disbelief at the potential insinuation within your words.

You shake your head and pull a face as if he’s the stupid one this time. “No…” your expression morphs into something considering as your head tilts slightly, while pondering his words. “Though, it would be a two birds one stone situation.”

Wonwoo’s whole expression furrows. “Fucking hell, all this time locked up with only an asshole like me for company has warped your mind. You’ve gone fucking insane.”

“Always been there.” You shrug casually. “I don’t think a man who goes against his wife to protect another is an asshole, anyway.”

“I’m literally in a gang,” he deadpans.

“Yeah, and?” You give him an unwavering look. “I’ve met much worse people than you in my life, Wonwoo, and I will again. You’re sweet in comparison.”

“I’ve really fucked your head up, haven’t I?”

“Told you, I’ve always been like this”.

“Calling gang members sweet?”

“Once or twice.”

He raises a disbelieving eyebrow as if he isn’t even sure if he heard you correctly. “What?”

“Look, let’s not get off track,” you decide, while waving a hand dismissively. Wonwoo eyes the knife that you wave around vaguely but you don’t pay his borderline concerned expression any attention. “I want to go home. I have people waiting for me, and there’s only so long until they come looking, so, I’d like to go before that happens.”

“You live alone; I’ve seen your apartment, it’s barely big enough for you. And your neighbours definitely wouldn’t notice if you don’t return; they say you’re never home,” he points out.

“Stalker. Maybe your wife did have reason to worry, huh?”

He rolls his eyes. “Don’t start that shit; you know we never had an affair because we had never even fucking met properly until she kidnapped you!”

“Defensive,” you tease.

“You’ve really fucking lost it,” he declares flatly.

“Then let me fucking leave, and you won’t have to deal with me anymore!” you exclaim frustratedly.

“I want to deal with you!” he returns immediately, before you both fall silent and stare at one another. You’re both surprised by the sheer honesty in his words, that they even fell from his lips in the first place.

You gather yourself and manage to speak first, deciding to make a joke to try and break the strange tension that’s appeared in the air between you. “Better not let your wife hear that; she’ll jump to conclusions. Unless you mean the permanent ‘sleep with the fishes’ kind of ‘deal with’, then she’ll probably suck your dick in joy.”

Just as Wonwoo opens his mouth to respond, eyes intense on you, his phone starts to ring in his inside blazer pocket. He sighs heavily before pulling it out and walking down the hall to talk privately in one of the empty rooms.

When he returns, you’re sitting at the table eating your lunch and have packed up the rest of his into a container, already knowing that he’s being called into work.

“We’ll finish that talk later,” he declares as he grabs the container from the island behind you.

You don’t even look over at him as you respond, “pointless circles don’t end, Wonwoo.”

You don’t see him leave, or hear his socked footsteps walk away, but a few moments later, you hear the front door open and close before the lock engages, and you’re left alone wondering just what the fuck your life has come to.

You just hope that he gives you control of your life back soon; before things get even more fucked up.

Never would you have thought Wonwoo to be the type of person to avoid difficult situations or topics; you thought he’s far too straightforward to ever do such a thing. But when he doesn’t turn up the day after your interrupted discussion in the kitchen, you start to wonder if you got him wrong.

Then he doesn’t turn up the next day either, and you really think that’s being a little bitch and avoiding returning so that he doesn’t have to pick up that conversation with you.

Yet, on the third day, you recall that he was the one who had said you’ll finish the talk another day and as he’s proven; Jeon Wonwoo is a man of his word. You believe him, and suddenly, you don’t think he’s avoiding you but has likely grown very busy with work or his psychotic wife.

However, when day four rolls around, you start to get worried that something has happened. Admittedly, you’ve grown fond of Wonwoo over the past weeks; his stupid smug smirk when he beats you at a game, his proud little shy smile when you praise his very gradually improving cooking skills, his soft snoring when he naps on the couch in the middle of the day.

Sometimes, you truly do wonder if this is what Stockholm syndrome is: growing to actually like the person who has locked you up and genuinely wanting to spend time with them. You think others would probably say it is and that you shouldn’t care for the man. But he makes it easy, as much as you don’t want to have this attraction for him. You think that if you had got to know him under different circumstances, you’d probably feel the same way, anyway.

Regardless of if the man is technically holding you hostage or not, he’s married, and you respect that commitment and vow too much to ever want to have feelings for a married man.

Still, you can’t help how you feel, and you worry when it’s past dinner time on the fourth day, yet Wonwoo still hasn’t shown his face.

Now that you’re worried about Wonwoo, you can’t face gaming because it makes you think of him. So, you spend most of the day scrubbing the apartment from top to bottom, until everything that can sparkle, does. You even clean the rooms neither of you use.

You’re in the middle of putting the freshly washed and dried pillow covers back on the couch pillows when the sudden sound of the front door lock disengaging pings through the quiet apartment.

Immediately, you look over, and your eyebrows lift as Wonwoo shuffles into the apartment, covered in blood. He doesn’t notice you at first as he locks the apartment back up one handed. His right hand is shoved into his trouser pocket suspiciously, like he’s trying to not move it, or perhaps not let you see it.

“What the fuck?” You speak, making Wonwoo’s head lift quickly.

Worry floods into his eyes, and he lifts his left hand placatingly towards you, after tossing his blood smeared car keys onto the side unit. “It-” he cuts off when you point firmly at his feet as soon as he takes a step forward, making him fall still in confusion.

“Stay there,” you order before turning and walking off, leaving Wonwoo staring after you puzzled.

You go to the laundry room to grab the stack of spare, dark grey towels, then go to the kitchen to get the roll of bin bags, before returning to the entrance hall. Thankfully, Wonwoo is still standing where you left him, though he’s removed his shoes now, and they’re haphazardly shoved aside.

“Strip,” you demand, while dropping the towels onto the floor so that you can pull a bag from the roll and shake it open.

“What?” he mumbles.

“You’re covered in blood, and I spent three hours scrubbing these fancy ass floors of yours today; you’re not getting blood on them,” you warn, giving him a stern look.

He scoffs but obediently starts to do as told and moves both of his hands to his belt to start working it open. His right hand is bloodied, but it doesn’t look that much worse than his left hand, so you assume he wasn’t hiding it from you. “May as well be your floors, you’ve lived here more than me,” he mumbles as he works with a tense expression on his face, which tightens every time he moves his right arm even minutely.

“Well then, I’m definitely not letting you fuck up my floors with your blood. Don’t be rude and bleed on my fancy ass floors.”

Once Wonwoo’s belt is open, along with the button and zipper of his trousers, he starts to try and push them down his legs, but the blood oozing from the stab wound on his left thigh is making the material stick to his thighs. Plus, now that he’s moving it more, you can see that there is definitely something wrong with his right arm, as he can barely move it. In fact, he’s only moving the lower part of his arm, but even that is limited.

Realising that you’ll be here all night, if not longer, if you leave Wonwoo to strip himself, you sigh and put the bin bag down to get to your knees in front of him, so that you can peel his trousers down his legs for him. Wonwoo says nothing, but he lets out a relieved little breath, clearly glad for your help, and steps out of his trouser legs in turn as you hold them open. Once they’re entirely off, you make sure the pockets are empty before tossing them, including the belt, into the bin bag.

Silently, you work to remove Wonwoo’s socks, then get up to get him out of his blazer and previously white, now half blood-red shirt; all of the clothing you throw into the bag to throw out and put everything from his pockets on the side unit.

As Wonwoo stands in front of you in his black boxers and previously white vest, you can see the strange shape of his right shoulder. It’s very clear to you what’s wrong with it.

“It’s dislocated, isn’t it?” you question; Wonwoo wordlessly hums and nods in confirmation. “Alright, I’ll cut your vest off,” you decide, knowing that getting Wonwoo to lift his arms up is very impractical. You move over to the side table to grab the knife, which you had removed from a hidden inside pocket in Wonwoo’s blazer, and remove the little leather sheath from the blade, before turning to approach him with the knife.

Wonwoo steps back slightly, holding his left hand up between you with slightly alarmed eyes. “Whoa, what the fuck? You can’t just approach a man with a knife like that.”

You can’t help but scoff at his obvious hesitance and concern about you holding a knife only half an arm’s length away from him. “Don’t be a wimp. You’ve clearly been stabbed already tonight; what’s another flesh wound?”

“You’re more psychotic than my wife,” he deadpans, left arm lowering to his side, deciding that you’re no threat now that the immediate worry has left. You’re right; he’s definitely already faced much bigger threats to his safety than you tonight.

“Careful, sweetheart,” you coo and tap the tip of the knife against the centre of his chest. You can’t help but notice the way he swallows thickly at your action and his eyes darken a little with interest. “Insult me again like that and my hand might slip.” You abruptly lower the knife to the hem of his vest and use it to ping the elastic of his boxers. His eyes darken further, and you smirk amusedly. “That’s an interesting reaction to having a knife aimed at your dick.”

“That’s not my dick,” he murmurs, voice a little lower than usual.

“Huh, right.” You look down as you drag the knife down to touch the tip to where his dick is obviously sitting snug in his boxers, before looking back up at him. “Better?”

He takes a moment before responding, eyeing you intently; you can practically see the thoughts whirling behind his eyes, “you’re not the woman I thought you are, are you?”

You shrug. “Depends who you thought I am.”

“A sweet, innocent cook, who makes the best food I’ve ever tasted.”

“Well, some of that is true,” you giggle before lifting the knife to cut down the centre of his vest. Now that it’s served its purpose, you toss the knife onto the side table and remove the stained and ruined material from his body to put in the bin bag. “Alright, let’s get a look at you,” you say, before walking around him in a slow circle to carefully inspect his injuries, and silently appreciate his well looked after body while you’re at it. “Let’s put your shoulder back in place, get you cleaned up, and then I’ll patch you up,” you announce once you’re back in front of him.

Wonwoo raises a questioning eyebrow. “You know how to do all that?”

“Yep,” you answer simply without a single slither of hesitation. It’s enough that Wonwoo doesn’t question you at all and just nods in agreement.

Honestly, it’s not the first shoulder you’ve put back into place, or joint in general, so even though it’s not the most pleasant sensation in any way, you easily make short work of the task.

While Wonwoo catches his breath back and gathers himself, you lay a towel on the ground in front of him, to minimise the amount of blood that ruins your hours of hard work cleaning the floor.

Once he’s ready, Wonwoo doesn’t have to be prompted to step onto the towels. He does so quietly and then looks at you in wait.

“What?” you ask.

“How the fuck am I supposed to move from here if you don’t move the towels? Unless you want blood on your floors?” he reasons, raising a blood smeared eyebrow at you.

“Oh, honey, there’s only one reason I get on my knees in front of a man, and that’s not gonna happen,” you point out with a scoff. “Shuffle.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Either stand there until you’re entirely dry and won’t get my floors dirty, or you can shuffle.” You shrug carelessly and pick up the rest of the towels to take to the stairs, so that you can lay the material out over the steps protectively.

When you turn around on the stairs, once all of the towels are laid in place, you spot Wonwoo awkwardly shuffling along the floor in a way to keep the towel under his feet. You can’t help but crack up laughing at the sight of this tough, blood covered and injured, high-ranking gang member dragging his feet across the floor; silently obeying your demands to keep the floor clean. And you hadn’t even had to threaten to make him clean any mess he creates with his own toothbrush in the morning; though that definitely would’ve been the next step if he had been a stubborn ass.

Wonwoo hears your laughter and glares over at you shortly before looking back down to focus on his efforts to get to the staircase. It only makes you laugh even harder, hard enough that you have to sit down so you don’t fall down the stairs.

A handful of moments later, when he passes you on the stairs, he flicks your head. You just giggle then get up to follow behind him up the rest of the steps. There’s already a towel waiting on the floor at the top, so Wonwoo, once again, shuffles across the shiny floor on a dark towel to get to his destination.

Even once in his bathroom, Wonwoo remains on the towel and follows you to the shower, which you turn on, on his behalf.

Once you’ve made sure he has everything he needs close to hand and a clean pair of boxers waiting for him on the counter, you turn to look at him with a teasing grin. “Can I trust you to shower on your own, or are you going to pass out from blood loss?”

“I haven’t lost that much blood,” he huffs, rolling his eyes.

You giggle and nod, backing up to the door. “Alright, I’ll wait outside, though.” Wonwoo just nods in understanding, so you step out of the bathroom and pull the door up most of the way just in case he needs you.

Leaving the door open seems to have been a very smart move, because not long later, you hear Wonwoo call your name awkwardly. You can only just hear him over the water, so you know that if the door was shut, there would not have been a chance you’d be able to hear him.

“Yeah?” You ask, sticking your head into the room to find him standing out of the stream of water, with his still bloody back mostly to the door, and his hands holding a small towel in front of his crotch, even if you can’t see anything from this angle regardless of the cover.

“I can’t reach my back well enough with my arm like this,” he admits, making short eye contact with you as he indirectly asks for your help.

Without a word, you enter the room and grab the soapy washcloth he offers, so that you can diligently scrub all of the blood from his back, then notice he’s missed patches on his left upper arm, so you clean there too.

“Alright, inspection time,” you declare before looking over the back of him from head to toe and back again, to thoroughly check for injuries that need to be dealt with and any blood he missed. “Turn,” you demand once satisfied with his backside, and also taking a moment to appreciate his backside.

Obligingly, Wonwoo turns to face you and watches you as your gaze travels over his body from this angle, stepping closer to get a better look at certain injuries or run the cloth over his skin diligently.

When you’re done with all of the exposed skin, your attention moves to the towel he’s clutching over his crotch before you grin amusedly and meet his dark gaze. “What if you’re injured there, Wonwoo?” you tease with a dramatic gasp.

“Don’t,” he warns. “I’m not giving any truth to my wife’s delusions about us, so don’t…don’t say and do stuff like that when I’m in no position to handle it.”

“I’m curious what exactly that means,” you admit.

“Then be curious, I’m not elaborating.”

You stare at him curiously for a moment before nodding. “Finish up and get those on.” You point to the clean boxers on the counter as you head to the door. “I’ll be back with the medical kit.”

It only takes you a few minutes to go to the kitchen and get the very extensive medical kit from the secret compartment hidden in the kitchen island, plus a bottle of water and an apple.

Deciding to be kind to Wonwoo’s currently somewhat limited movements, you clean up the dirty towels from the stairs, putting them all in the bin bag, plus Wonwoo’s shoes, before tying it off and leaving it near the front door for Wonwoo to take out tomorrow.

Figuring that Wonwoo must be in a decent state by now, you wander upstairs with the necessary items and enter the bathroom, to find him leaning against the counter with his boxers on and a small towel in his left hand as he rubs his hair.

He pauses when he notices the bag slung on your left shoulder. “The fuck did you get that?”

“Did you forget where you left it?” You tease, putting the items on the counter beside him.

“I know where I hid that. How the fuck did you find it?”

“I know every inch of this apartment, Wonwoo; I’ve cleaned it enough the past month.” You scoff then take the towel to toss aside so that you can hand him the apple. “Eat that.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“I don’t give a fuck; eat that and drink the water,” you demand, already rummaging in the bag to take out everything you need to play doctor.

Wonwoo stares at you for a few seconds, then looks between the items you’re setting up and your at ease yet confident expression, a few times before giving in with a soft sigh and taking a bite of the apple.

The first wound to deal with is the stab wound on his left thigh; there’s still a little blood trickling from it, but it doesn’t run past his knee, so you know he’s clotting well, and there isn’t any worry really. Still, it’s the biggest of his injuries, so you handle it first.

As soon as you get on your knees in front of him, Wonwoo makes a comment, “thought you only get on your knees for one reason?” he teases with a little smirk, which quickly leaves when you slap his leg right beside the wound, making him hiss. “Fuck you.”

You only smile too sweetly at him before getting to work sewing up the wound as quickly yet efficiently as you can. There’s anaesthetic in the medical kit, but Wonwoo insists he can handle getting stitches without it. Still, being repeatedly stabbed with a needle and having the thread pulled through skin is not a nice or pain free sensation for anyone, so you want to get it over with as quickly as possible.

After cleaning up the blood and covering his thigh, you get up to work on disinfecting and covering all of his other wounds. Most of them are small, and many don’t even require plasters, but there’s a cut across his chest; slicing thinly over his left pec with a starting point over his heart, where the wound is slightly deeper. You’re pretty sure that whoever inflicted this wound had tried to stab him in the heart and kill him, but either Wonwoo or someone else stopped them before they could succeed.

You don’t linger on it, but it does hurt your heart to see, far more than the wound on his thigh, despite that one requiring stitches, and this one only some gauze to prevent infection. At least the thigh wound wasn’t an attempt on Wonwoo’s life.

Once all of the open wounds are dealt with, all you have to do is wrap his right shoulder to support the joint as it recovers from being dislocated, and then you’re all done.

“You’re really fucking good at this; are you trained or something?” Wonwoo comments as you wash your hands and he’s eyeing your handiwork impressed.

“Or something,” is your dismissive response.

He scoffs and looks over at you. “Now who’s evading questions.”

“Don’t owe you shit,” you point out and move to dry your hands.

“I saved your life.”

“Because your delusional wife put it in danger in the first place. That’s not on me.”

“Not on me either.”

It’s you who scoffs this time as you think about the tension that keeps appearing between the two of you lately and how he didn’t even try to hide how holding his knife to him earlier had turned him on. It all seems so natural for him; being this way with you. “You can’t expect me to believe she’s accusing you of cheating for no reason.”

He frowns at you offendedly, and you’re not surprised; you’ve kind of had this conversation before. “Yeah, she’s fucking crazy and projecting her own failings on me. I have never been unfaithful to her or anyone. Never will be either.”

For a few tense moments, the pair of you just stare at each other and the whole time, Wonwoo’s expression doesn’t change; the burning sincerity in his eyes doesn’t waver. You think maybe you might trust this man too much, because it makes all of your doubts about his relationship morals leave. “Huh, okay,” you respond simply with a nod and move to zip up the medical bag.

“You don’t believe me, do you?” his voice is a little quieter now, a hint of hurt at your doubt of him showing.

“No, I do, which is why I’m surprised,” you assure and turn to lean against the counter and look at him, so that he can see the honesty in your own eyes. It’s only fair, after all. “Gang member with morals; kinda not the norm.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t see the point in it. If I wanted to fuck other people, I wouldn’t be committed to someone.”

“Even if it’s someone you don’t want to be with in the first place? Obviously, there’s no love lost in you for her, no love in the first place,” you comment.

“That’s not your place,” he reminds firmly.

“Just following the conversation. Your pathetic excuse of a marriage isn’t of any concern of mine.” You shrug and push off of the counter to head towards the door.

“Don’t insult the man in charge of your freedom,” he warns lowly, making you turn to look at him with a scoffed laugh.

“Why? What else are you going to do, Wonwoo? Send me back to her and let her have her fun?”

Wonwoo’s expression softens slightly, and he shakes his head a little. “No. Never that,” he responds without a hint of hesitation or doubt in his tone. It sounds something like a promise.

“Then are you going to keep me and have your own fun?” you challenge, raising an eyebrow at him pointedly.

“I told you not to say things like that,” he rushes, gaze turning intense as he eyes you where you stand in the open doorway. His eyes flicker downwards; a quick drag of attention over your entire form, and his tongue darts out to lick his split lip mindlessly.

You can’t help but laugh. “Look whose mind is in the gutter,” you taunt. “I meant fuck me up yourself, not fuck me.” You back out into the hallway slowly, while giving him a significant look. “Think you need to remind yourself of your loyalty moral, Wonwoo. A lot of people consider looking or thinking bad enough to be cheating. If you don’t want your darling wife to be right, you should get a handle on that.” Your gaze flickers over the bathroom quickly before landing back on him. “Oh, and clean the bathroom before you go to bed; I won’t cook for you tomorrow if I see a single drop or smear of blood in here tomorrow.”

With that, you leave Wonwoo watching you leave him all alone with his mind whirling and a growing ache in his chest that he doesn’t think is entirely from the wound you so tenderly cared for.

The very next day when you wander downstairs, it’s gone midday, and to your surprise, Wonwoo is in the kitchen, serving up take out onto two plates.

“Oh, you’re up, good,” he comments when he hears the rustle of your clothes as you get closer. He glances over at you, gaze flickering over you quickly before focusing back on his task. “I was about to come and wake you.”

“You picked up lunch on your way over?” you mutter confusedly, Wonwoo never brings food when he visits, except groceries after picking up a list from you the day before.

“No, I went and got lunch when I realised you’re not going to come down, and I’m too fucking hungry to wait any more.”

“That sounds like you didn’t go to work today.”

“Called off for a few days to recover,” he informs and takes the plates over to the table. “Sit,” he says while pointing to your seat, before moving to get you both cutlery and drinks.

Not one to refuse free food, you sit down, and thank him when he hands you your cutlery before digging in; he quickly joins in.

“So,” Wonwoo starts after a little while of the usual comfortable quiet that falls between you if neither of you are talking. It’s strange how easy the silences between you have always been; even before you became whatever kind of vague friends you currently are.

“Mm?” you respond with your mouth closed as you chew, looking up at him curiously.

“I was thinking that as I’m going to be off work for a few days, you can give me more cooking lessons.”

You straighten up to look at him in questioning surprise. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, why are you surprised? You know I want to learn.”

“Yeah, but that sounds like you intend on spending your days off here instead of at home.”

“She’s there,” he responds as if it’s the obvious answer, while pulling a displeased face.

You snort an amused laugh at his expression. “Good point. Alright, sure, I’ll teach you, but you gotta call me Chef.”

“What?”

“Chef.”

“You’re fucking ridiculous.”

“Oh, looks like you’re going to forever burn eggs, Wonwoo,” you sing.

“Alright, fine, I’ll fucking call you Chef, but only while we’re cooking, understand?”

“Yes, sir.” He gives you a flat look that makes you giggle. You turn back to your food and ignore the flash of interest in his gaze.

Over the following days, Wonwoo is always up before you and quickly realises that you need to be woken up if he wants something other than takeout or a sandwich for lunch.

A routine of sorts quickly gets established; Wonwoo wakes you before lunch, so that you can cook together, then he cleans up, at his own insistence, while you get the medical kit ready in the lounge to check and redress his wounds once he joins you. The afternoon consists of a mix of chores and gaming. In the evening, it’s time for another cooking session for dinner before he once again cleans up. Then, the two of you sit in the lounge to game or watch the videos on the video player, which he brought back on his first day off; another one of his childhood items he’s had safely stored away.

It all falls into place so seamlessly that it’s like the two of you have always existed like this, even if the seemingly endless personal questions that Wonwoo likes to randomly bring up prove otherwise.

Sometimes, you answer honestly, but others you don’t, and it’s endlessly entertaining watching Wonwoo try to decipher if you’re being honest or just fucking with him.

It starts with the very first question on the very first day he’s off work, when you’re expertly handling his wounds and the medical supplies. “Where’d you learn to do this?”

“What’s it to ya?” you tease.

“Just curious about you.”

“Why?”

“Because I’ve known you over a month, and I don’t know shit about you, despite you living in my apartment, and that shit’s going to keep up for the foreseeable future. So, it’d be nice to know some shit,” he huffs.

You hum consideringly as you ponder his words, before answering while continuing to clean and redress his thigh wound. “When I was fifteen, I was out with my sister, and we got caught in the middle of some gang shit. She got hurt bad, really bad, and I couldn’t do anything to help her. I couldn’t save her; I didn’t know how. She bled out in my arms, and I decided then that I wasn’t going to be so useless again. I learned how to handle most wounds with both real medical supplies, and whatever is to hand in case of an emergency.”

“Oh…”

“If I was home, I would’ve put on my latex nurse’s outfit too,” you add as you look up at him and spot the softness around his eyes; the sympathy and understanding pain.

It abruptly leaves at your words, and he lets out a frustrated, disbelieving sound. “You fucking asshole; I actually believed you,” he grunts disapprovingly, and you just snigger, returning back to your task.

Despite knowing that you’re actively messing with him, Wonwoo still insists on asking you personal questions to try and get a clearer image of you and your story. It’s a great source of entertainment for you, personally, so you don’t mind. Plus, he’s always so helpful; offering his assistance and cleaning dishes before you can even think about it, that you think he deserves the chance to poke around a little.

On the fourth day of Wonwoo being off work, you wake when Wonwoo knocks on your bedroom door then lets himself in. You eye him blearily as you shuffle up to sit against the headboard, while he walks further into the room.

“Are you ever going home?” you mumble, while rubbing at your eyes. When you lower your hands, he’s placing a tray, which you somehow didn’t even notice him holding, on the duvet at your side and sitting on the other side. You notice the plate piled with steaming food, two mugs and two sets of cutlery on top “Oh, breakfast in bed?” you tease with a grin as he hands you a set of cutlery and holds the other, while he picks up his usual mug to sip at his steaming coffee.

He rolls his eyes before answering as you start to eat, “don’t say something weird; I just know you won’t come down to eat it. So, unless I want my hard work going to waste, I need to bring it to you. I’ve had enough of you digging your fucking fingers into my wounds when I try to pick you up to move you when you’re being a stubborn asshole.”

You ignore his comments about your stubborn streak and your habit of playing dirty and using his healing injuries against him. “How lucky am I?” you coo, entirely ignoring his warning to not say something weird. Teasing him is just too much fun. “Well, I imagine your wife is luckier. You seem like the type of man to go all out on your lucky lady’s birthday; fancy breakfast in bed, whatever gifts she wants, romantic dinner at her favourite restaurant and a day being spoiled.” Wonwoo doesn’t answer, just keeps his gaze on the tray between you as he works on eating his share of the breakfast that he so carefully cooked for you both. “Well shit, you’ve never done that for her?” you baulk surprised. He truly does seem like the doting, romantic type.

Even this; bringing breakfast to you so that you’ll eat the food he obviously tried very hard to cook, as he hadn’t burned any of it this time, even if it’s pretty bland and under seasoned, just proves that he’s a very doting man when he wants to be. Plus, he waited for you to take a bite first before making any attempt himself. It makes you realise that he always makes sure you go first with everything and quietly goes along with whatever you want; the game you want to play, the food you want to cook, the video you want to watch, he never complains.

It seems crazy to you that Wonwoo has never gone all out for his wife; the woman he promised forever to.

He scoffs. “Why should I? I tried to do nice things at first, but she was always expecting more and bitched.”

“Has she ever done anything for you?”

“Other than be a pain in my ass? No.”

You pull a disgusted yet puzzled face. “Why the fuck did you marry her?”

“Took one for the team,” he answers honestly for the first time, paired with a casual shrug. Before now, every time you’ve asked about his relationship, Wonwoo has always told you it’s not your business or avoided answering by changing the topic or simply stayed silent.

“What does that even mean?” you wonder, giving him a curious look as he lifts his gaze to look at you.

“Means that she’s the oldest kid, but as she’s a woman, she can’t take over the gang when her dad dies; so, it would go to her brother, who is even more fucking useless and entitled than she is.” The repulsed twist of Wonwoo’s expression gives away his clear disdain for his brother-in-law. “He’d fucking destroy the gang and everything we’ve put so much blood into creating. But the boss will give his son-in-law the position if he’s proven himself, and well, I’ve been in the gang since I was fourteen, so I’ve definitely proven myself after 20 fucking years.”

“Well…shit,” you mumble, eyes wide as you absorb his unexpected words; unexpected for more than one reason.

“Mm,” he hums in agreement as he chews on another mouthful.

“I did not realise you’re so old!” you gawp, making him look at you with a miniature version of your shocked expression.

He quickly finishes chewing and swallows the food in his mouth so that he can talk. “Seriously? That’s what you took from that, my fucking age?”

“What?” You shrug defensively. “I thought you’re my age, not eight years older.”

Wonwoo stares at you dumbly for a few long seconds before he mumbles, “you’re 26?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.” He licks his lips a little awkwardly. “I didn’t realise.”

“Are you saying I look old?!” you sputter in offense.

He quickly shakes his head and holds up his hands placatingly. “No. Just, I guess I’m more used to women like my wife. All her friends are immature as fuck, all spoiled little princesses. She’s older than me, you know? By three years, yet you’re more mature than her. So, I thought based on that, you’re closer to my age at least,” he reasons. It’s a very understandable thought process and assumption, so your posture relaxes again.

“Huh, okay, I’ll accept that, but don’t disrespect princesses like that,” you warn.

“Should I call them spoiled little daddy’s girls then?” he jokes.

“No.” You pout. “Don’t lump me with them.”

“You’re a daddy’s girl?” he baulks in genuine shock.

“Yeah.”

“Didn’t even know you have family, honestly,” Wonwoo admits, making you look at him as if he’s the dumbest person you’ve ever met.

“Did you think I grew out of the fucking ground?” you deadpan.

“Obviously not; I know how human biology works, brat.” He rolls his eyes. “Just…there’s no sign of family in your apartment; not a single photo or anything that could be deemed a family heirloom.”

You shrug and pick up your mug. “I don’t need those things to remember; I have plenty of reminders on me at all times to remind me of family.”

“Like what? That necklace you wear?” He points to the chain of the necklace you never take off, where it’s just about poking out from the collar of your pyjama t-shirt.

“No, this is just a cheap thing I got to replace another cheap one and so on and so forth because I just hate not wearing a necklace.”

“I don’t see you in any other jewellery.”

“Don’t own any.”

“Really?” he asks surprised, slightly raising his eyebrows curiously. “Not a single thing?”

“No. I used to have earrings, but I lost the back of one, so I stopped wearing them and just never got around to replacing them.”

“Then what do you mean you have reminders on you all the time, if not jewellery?” he sounds genuinely confused and very curious as his attention remains solely on you.

You motion to the plate as you lean back towards it yourself, dismissing the topic with a simple, slightly firm, “breakfast is getting cold.”

Wonwoo gets the hint and doesn’t try to push you anymore, just leans in and gets back to eating.

The very next morning after Wonwoo brings you breakfast in bed, he doesn’t wake you with another tray, nor does he wake you to make lunch with him. You get up feeling very off kilter at waking naturally without him being the first thing you see once the sleep leaves your eyes.

It only gets worse when you go downstairs, and he’s nowhere to be found.

Bewilderedly, you waddle to the fridge to get the juice and notice a new note on the whiteboard from Wonwoo. It’s a short note, like always, and says that he’s gone back to work and won’t be back tonight, so don’t worry about cooking dinner for him.

All day, you move around the apartment feeling oddly lost.

Wonwoo was only home for four days, yet it already feels so strange not having him following you around to ask questions as you complete chores together or peering over your shoulder to learn how to cook or playfully shoving you when you’re playing against each other in a game instead of as a team. You don’t really know what to do without him.

When it comes to dinner, you don’t think before cooking and only realise that you’ve naturally made enough for Wonwoo too when you’re putting a plate in his usual seat and remember that he won’t be here to eat it.

It feels pathetic to sit staring at an empty seat with a full plate on the placemat in front of it opposite you, as you eat your dinner, but there’s something in you that refuses to let you take his plate away, even knowing his note says he won’t be home tonight.

Only when you can’t handle being in the lounge as it feels so empty without him, do you remove his covered plate from the dining table to box up the leftovers to put in the fridge and put the dishes in the dishwasher.

It’s only 9pm when you crawl into bed freshly showered and turn on your TV to watch something, hoping to distract yourself from the hollow feeling in your chest.

Although you were in bed early last night, you didn’t manage to fall asleep until your usual time, so you’re up after midday again.

Today when you wander downstairs, you don’t expect to see Wonwoo, as his note said he’ll be back this evening, but clearly, he had already returned and left again. When you enter the kitchen, you spot a little gift bag on the island.

Curiously, you approach and inspect the bag, trying to find a logo on the packaging, but there isn’t one, though you do find your name on the tag in Wonwoo’s surprisingly pretty handwriting. He doesn’t usually write so neatly; it seems as if he focused on writing your name in a visibly appealing way, instead of the usual scrawls he puts on the whiteboard.

Now that you know that it’s for you, you open the bag, and after moving aside the neatly packed dark blue tissue paper, you spot a black jewellery box. You hesitate before reaching out to pick out the box and open it.

Immediately, your breath catches, and your heart skips a beat.

Within the jewellery box, seated neatly on a cushioned display covered in dark silk, is a truly stunning necklace and earring set. They sparkle in the light; silver chain and clear jewels polished to perfection as they stare up at you tauntingly. You know they’re diamonds; you just know with everything in you that Wonwoo had purposely gone out and bought you an expensive, extremely high-quality necklace and earrings set to replace your own. And it hurts.

There is no way that this is nothing; that Wonwoo would go out of his way to pick such a beautifully crafted set for any other friend. You’re pretty positive that he wouldn’t even pick such a nice set for his wife. It feels like he’s putting you higher than her, ranking you as more important, more meaningful to him than the woman he is lawfully devoted to, and that hurts.

It's all too much. You close the box and place it back in the bag, cover it with the tissue paper and leave it there.

As you reheat the leftovers from last night for your lunch, your gaze keeps returning to the gift. Even with your back to the island as you sit at the table to eat, your mind keeps reminding you that it’s there; keeps shouting at you to pay attention to it.

Unable to handle it, as soon as you’ve cleaned up after lunch, you go up to your room to spend the rest of the say sitting on your bed watching TV and pretending that Wonwoo hasn’t royally fucked with your head and implied far too much without saying a word.

When Wonwoo returns, you’re still sitting on your bed watching TV, or at least pretending to. You’ve been restless for the past half an hour, knowing that he’ll be home at any moment and there will have to be a conversation to be had; about the necklace, about him, about you.

Only a handful of minutes after hearing Wonwoo enter the apartment, he wanders into your room through the open door, holding the gift bag in one hand with a genuine frown on his features. He looks both confused and a little upset. “Haven’t you been in the kitchen today?”

“Of course I have, you think I like starving myself? I enjoy food too much,” you answer without looking away from the TV, even if your full attention has been on him since before he entered the room, before he even entered the apartment.

“Okay, then why aren’t you wearing this?” He lifts the bag slightly.

You hesitate before letting out a defeated sigh and looking at him. “Why did you buy that for me, Wonwoo?”

“Because you never replaced your earrings and wear a cheap necklace that will break easily and make you buy another. This one will last a long time and has a lifetime guarantee, so you can get it replaced if it does break, but it shouldn’t.” It all sounds so logical, so reasonable, but you know it isn’t. Wonwoo is far too smart of a man to be that dense.

“Take it back,” you order.

“You don’t like it? Tell me what you like and I’ll-”

“You’re a married man, Wonwoo; you can’t buy another woman jewellery.”

“It’s just jewellery,” he mutters, a hint of defensiveness to his tone.

“No, it’s not, and you know it.”

He stares at the bag for a few moments then nods slowly in agreement; admittance to knowing exactly what you’re saying, what he said by buying the jewellery in the first place. “I’ll return it tomorrow.”

“Thank you.” You relax a little, relieved that he’s agreed to return the gift.

“I didn’t mean to overstep or make things uncomfortable between us; I just wanted to do something nice for you,” he says, talking softer than you’ve heard him before. It makes it hurt even more; the honesty in his voice, the truth to the depths of his care for you. It needs to stop before it burrows deeper in either of you.

“Well, you shouldn’t. I’m just your hostage. We’re not friends, Wonwoo,” you say, in reminder, even if it hurts you as much to say it as it clearly hurts him to hear it. You can see it in his eyes. But you have to say it; to remind the both of you of the boundaries and moral obligations in place. The reasons why you can’t be anything more than how this all started.

“Right, yeah, just my hostage,” he scoffs and looks at you, eyes harsh and jaw tense. “Maybe I should treat you that way, huh? It’d make things easier.”

“I think this is way past the point that you could treat me that badly, Wonwoo,” you point out. “You bought me diamonds; that clearly isn’t the type of thing a man capable of doing bad things to me would do.”

“Would if I’m trying to get my way with you. Buy you pretty things to sweeten you up and make you crawl willingly into my bed,” he reasons and lets his gaze drag over you as if he’s making his point that it’s a very real possibility. Even if you both know that Wonwoo is not that kind of man, despite his status and how easy it would be to get his way with whatever woman he wants if he was cruel in that way.

“You could buy me all the pretty things in the world, and I wouldn’t do that,” you inform firmly.

“Don’t act like you haven’t checked me out; you’ve even said I’m attractive,” he reminds, letting his intense eyes lock with yours.

“And married; I’m not a homewrecker, Wonwoo,” you scoff. “If she wasn’t an issue, I think we both know things would be very different right now.”

“Would you be wearing the necklace?”

You hesitate before answering, not wanting to lie but knowing what you’re clearly admitting to otherwise and knowing that it’s not something you ever thought you’d say to a married man. Still, you do. You can’t help but be honest with Wonwoo about this; about the two of you. “Yeah, and not much else.”

Don’t forget to reblog if you liked to help spread the story and let others read it too! And don't be shy to leave comments or send an ask so I can see your thoughts 🥺 💖

Permanent taglist: @okiedokrie, @tusswrites, @svtiddiess, @codeinebelle

#CosyHomeNet #svthub #kvanity #thediamondlifenetwork #keopihausnet #dovenet #jeon wonwoo x reader #jeon wonwoo mafia au #jeon wonwoo fluff #jeon wonwoo angst #jeon wonwoo comedy #jeon wonwoo fanfic #seventeen x reader #seventeen fanfic #seventeen mafia au #seventeen fluff #seventeen angst #seventeen comedy

498 notes · View notes

synity · 1 month ago

Note

can i request for a mafia/ceo wonwoo fanfic!

BILLIONAIRE

(mafia boss!Jeon Wonwoo x FemReader)

*MafiaAU, slow-burn, intense yet romantic setup, romantic*

They called him The Billionaire Ghost. Jeon Wonwoo, the man who owned half the city yet remained a shadow within it. He didn’t attend galas. He didn’t sign his name. And no one who crossed him ever did it twice.

You hadn’t meant to meet him.

You weren’t supposed to be anywhere near his world.

But when your brother got into debt with the wrong people, and you stormed into their headquarters demanding they not lay a finger on him he was there.

Sitting behind a marble desk in a sleek black suit, sipping wine like a king in his court.

"Brave," he murmured, looking you up and down. "Or stupid."

You didn’t flinch. “He didn’t mean to cross you.”

“I don’t care what he meant.”

Silence.

Then, slowly, he set his glass down.

“But I’ll make you a deal.”

That was the beginning.

You worked for him now not as a maid, not as a secretary, but as his. You ran errands, sat beside him in meetings, traveled with him, and, slowly, became something of a confidante. Others feared him. You saw something different.

How he carried grief in his quiet moments. How he drank coffee only after 10 a.m. How his voice dropped when he was tired. How he looked at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention.

He never touched you. Never crossed a line.

But his eyes whispered things his lips never did.

And it was driving you insane.

One night, the city was silent under the weight of a summer storm. You were in his penthouse, curled on the velvet couch as thunder cracked the sky. He stood near the window, a cigarette between his fingers, staring into the dark like he owned it.

“Why did you let my brother go?” you asked quietly.

He didn’t turn around.

“Because you walked in.”

“And that’s enough reason?”

“It was for me.”

He faced you then dark hair messy, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and something unreadable swimming in his gaze.

“I don’t care about debt,” he said. “I care about loyalty.”

“And do you think I’m loyal?”

“You haven’t run yet.”

A beat.

Then two.

You rose from the couch, walked over, and stood beside him, shoulder to shoulder.

“I’m not afraid of you,” you said.

“I know.”

Another beat.

“I’m afraid of how I feel around you.”

His voice was so quiet you almost missed it.

Your heart tripped.

But before you could reply, a knock shattered the moment.

Wonwoo’s face hardened. Business again.

Days passed.

Things changed.

He kept you close, closer than ever. Every night he returned home to you. You shared space, laughter, even silence. But something kept pulling him back. A line he wouldn’t cross. You felt it when your hands brushed, when he leaned in too close only to pull away.

Until one night

Gunshots.

He came home bloodied, hands trembling, barely able to stand. You screamed his name, catching him as he stumbled.

“Wonwoo!”

“I’m okay,” he whispered. “Just a scratch—”

“Lie down, now!”

You stitched him up with trembling fingers, tears falling silently down your cheeks. He watched you.

“I’m not letting you die on me,” you snapped.

“I won’t,” he said. “Not until I tell you.”

You paused.

Tell you what?

His hand gripped yours.

“I’m in love with you.”

The world stopped.

“I’ve been in love with you since the day you walked into my hell and made it feel like home.”

You didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

So you kissed him instead.

And he kissed you like he was starving.

Since that night, everything changed.

He still ran the empire. Still made enemies disappear. But now he had you.

He bought you your favorite pastries every morning.

Told you you were the only person who could look into his soul and not flinch.

Built you an art room in the penthouse because he saw you sketching once.

And whenever he had to leave, he’d whisper, “You’re the reason I come back.”

But the world didn’t like seeing him happy.

One night, a hitman sent a message your name written in red across his car windshield.

Wonwoo was gone in an instant, hunting the traitor, setting fire to everything in his path.

When he returned, blood on his hands and a storm in his chest, you waited by the door.

You didn’t ask what happened.

You just hugged him like he wasn’t a monster, but a man.

And he broke in your arms.

“I thought I lost you,” he whispered.

“You never will.”

He proposed in the least dramatic way possible.

A quiet dinner.

Your favorite dish.

A single black velvet box.

“I could buy the world,” he said, “but I only want one thing.”

You opened the box simple, elegant, perfect.

“Yes,” you breathed.

And he smiled, finally, like he had everything.

411 notes · View notes

jinmindeulle · 3 months ago

Text

brother's bff | jeon wonwoo

you're dating your brother's bff! wonu's version ft. woozi

taglist

@sarai-ibn-la-ahad

¸.·✩·.¸¸.·¯⍣✩ seventeen masterlist ✩⍣¯·.¸¸.·✩·.¸

497 notes · View notes

scarletwinterxx · 1 month ago

Text

in his orbit - jeon wonwoo imagine

girlie is back with another fic, can you tell i love writing slowburns? in case it wasn't obvious yet i love writing slowburn fics😅🤣 buckle up you're about to fall inlove (i mean i did so maybe you will too)🫠🤭

you can follow me on x i usually rant there, niniramyeonie 😊🌻

for my other svt fics, check them here

All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2025 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(pics not mine, credits to rightful owner)

You stand just behind the sleek glass walls of the boardroom, the hum of tense conversation vibrating through the air like static. The executives are already seated, each with their tablets, papers, and rehearsed reports all waiting for the same thing.

For him.

The door opens precisely at nine.

Jeon Wonwoo enters the room. His tailored black suit fits with surgical precision, every line sharp enough to draw blood. He doesn’t greet anyone, doesn’t have to. He simply walks to the head of the table, sets down his folder, and looks up.

Conversation dies mid-sentence.

You follow behind him, your steps two beats behind, practiced and measured. By the time he sits, you're already at your place beside the wall, tablet in hand. You don’t need to ask. He hasn’t even looked your way, but you know the exact schedule, the order of presentations, and judging by the faint twitch in his jaw, he’s already displeased.

Someone’s stalling.

“Begin,” he says, voice like cut glass.

The CFO starts talking, fumbling slightly under the weight of Wonwoo’s attention. He doesn’t yell. He never does. But his silence is worse than shouting. Midway through a shaky statistic, Wonwoo shifts in his chair.

Your cue.

You tap into the live data feed from the financial team. A graph updates in real time, and you cast it to the screen before anyone even notices the CFO is behind. Wonwoo doesn’t glance your way, but he no longer drums his fingers against the table.

Success.

It’s been three years since you started working for him. You remember the exact moment he stepped into this role . Barely older than some interns, yet the air seemed to lock in place around him. Most people are shaped by power. Not Jeon Wonwoo. He wears it like skin.

The meeting wraps with a sharp, clipped nod from him. No formal dismissal. Just the subtle scrape of his chair against the floor and that’s enough. Everyone starts packing up in a flurry, heads ducked, voices low.

Wonwoo stands.

So do you.

You’re already a step behind him, speaking low enough that only he hears. “You’ll need a summary of the revised Q3 forecasts from finance, I’ll have the file before lunch. The director of marketing rescheduled her one-on-one for Thursday at nine, I moved your investor call accordingly. Legal flagged two issues in the new vendor contracts. I’ll highlight them in your next review.”

He doesn’t answer. He never does when you run through his day unless you miss something.

You never miss.

You match his pace effortlessly as he strides down the hall, nodding once to the intern who nearly drops their tablet scrambling to open the elevator. Once inside, the doors close, sealing the two of you in silence. The mirrored walls catch the cold gleam in his eyes, unreadable as always.

You speak again, tone measured. “Lunch with Chairman Ryu at twelve. The chef from Verité confirmed your usual. Security’s updated on the venue change.”

His gaze shifts not quite to you, but close. “What about the Shanghai brief?”

“It’s on your desk. Summarized, annotated, with the risk assessment.”

He gives the barest of nods. But what most people don’t realize is that he doesn’t waste words when silence will do. That’s where you learned to read him.

The elevator dings open. He walks. You follow.

You’ve been in his orbit long enough to know every little thing about him. You knock once and when there’s no response, you step in anyway. He expects it.

Wonwoo’s at his desk, sleeves rolled to his elbows, tie slightly loosened. His glasses rest low on the bridge of his nose as he flips through a thick report, one hand turning pages while the other taps a pen against the wood.

You walk in without pause, tablet in hand, your steps soft against the expensive flooring. “You’ll want to look at the shareholder report before your dinner with Chairman Ryu,” you say, placing the file on the edge of his desk you already know how he likes things arranged.

“There’s a discrepancy in the voting record. I flagged it.”

“You read the full report already?”

You nod once. “Twice. Once for detail, again for tone.”

That gets his attention. Slowly, he lifts his head. The weight of his stare lands heavy, but you’re used to it by now. That sharp gaze that makes board members stutter and interns nearly cry — you’ve seen it a thousand times.

“Do you want a printed version for the meeting?”

“No.” He leans back, the leather creaking faintly. “Just the highlights.”

Already done. You offer the printed brief without a word. He takes it, brushes your fingers as he does. A light touch. Accidental. Maybe.

He doesn’t apologize. Neither do you.

The silence stretches as he skims the top page, glasses catching the light. You watch the slight tightening in his jaw a sign only you would notice. He’s annoyed. Probably with the numbers. Or the people behind them.

You shift your weight. “I can delay the Chairman by twenty minutes if you want more prep time.”

He exhales through his nose, sets the brief down. “No. He can wait if I’m not done.”

Of course. You should’ve known. Jeon Wonwoo doesn’t adjust for anyone. The world adjusts for him.

You nod once and turn to go, but his voice stops you.

It’s sometime after two when your phone buzzes with a simple message from him.

JWW: Come in.

When you step into his office, he’s seated behind his desk, sleeves rolled up again, reading glasses pushed onto his face.

“You need something?” you ask, tablet in hand, thumb already hovering over the agenda notes.

“Sit.”

The small table near the window. Two covered trays. Bottled water. A fresh set of chopsticks laid out neatly beside each plate.

Your brows lift before you can catch the reaction. “You—”

“You didn’t eat.” He doesn’t say it with concern, not exactly. Just fact. Like he’s stating a poor business decision you made, and he’s correcting it. “Neither did I.”

Wonwoo finally removes his glasses, setting them down with a soft click. “Eat. We have fifteen minutes before the next briefing.”

You hesitate only a second longer, then get up and walk toward the table. You sit, open the tray. your usual. Exactly how you like it.

He joins you, pulling out the chair beside yours without a word. You both eat without rushing. The only sounds are the quiet clink of chopsticks.

Halfway through, he speaks without looking up. “You need to stop skipping meals.”

You give a soft huff. “You’re one to talk. If I start eating regularly, I expect it’ll be written into my contract.”

Wonwoo’s reply is smooth, almost quiet. “I’ll have legal draft the clause.”

You look at him. He’s already resumed eating, expression calm. As if this is just another business item on his to-do list. But it’s not.

You feel it in the small things. The way he ordered for you. The exact meal. The timing.

You eat in silence but the air between you is no longer just charged. It’s laced with something else now.

Something like care.

You steal a glance at him between bites sleeves still rolled, tie loosened, It’s the most unpolished version of him anyone ever sees. Just you.

And maybe that’s why you risk it.

“You know,” you say, tone casual as you pluck a piece of radish from the tray, “you keep telling me to take care of myself, but I’ve seen your calendar. You’ve had four hours of sleep in the past two days. That’s not impressive. That’s a health hazard.”

“You’re lecturing me now?”

“Not lecturing, lightly nagging. There’s a difference.”

His brow lifts. The corner of his mouth quirks so faintly, you almost miss it.

You press on. “You always tell people to be efficient, but you’re running yourself into the ground. I’ve seen cyborgs take more breaks.”

“I function fine.”

You snort. “You’re functioning on caffeine and willpower. That’s not a personality, it’s a warning sign.”

He leans back, arms crossing, watching you now with more amusement than reprimand. “You’re getting bold.”

“I’ve earned it,” you say, popping the last bite into your mouth. “Three years of anticipating your every micro-expression buys me at least five minutes of sass.”

“Four minutes,” he says, deadpan.

You grin. “You’re soft.”

His eyes narrow. “Careful.”

“See?” you say, standing to clear the trays, “That right there? That’s the face you make when you're trying not to smile.”

“I’m not smiling.”

“You’re not not smiling.”

He exhales through his nose, shaking his head once. But the curve of his lips betrays him just a little. As you gather the empty containers, you glance at him over your shoulder.

“You should nap after your 3 p.m. I’ll move the export briefing.”

“Don’t push your luck.”

You give him a bright, unapologetic look. “Nagging clause. Already in the contract, remember?”

He says nothing, just watches you again with that same unreadable gaze. But this time, the weight of it doesn’t feel like pressure.

It feels like gravity.

It’s late. Most of the lights on the executive floor are off.

Except his.

You’d just finished clearing the last round of emails, already mentally sorting through tomorrow’s prep, when your phone buzzed.

JWW: Come in.

You enter his office without hesitation. You’re about to ask what he needs when he speaks first.

He doesn’t look at you. Just nods toward the small sofa across the room.

“On the couch.”

You follow his line of sight. There’s a paper bag sitting there. Neatly folded at the top. No logo, no tag. Just unassuming and out of place in the otherwise sterile precision of his office.

You walk over, eyebrows pulling together. “What is—”

Your voice fades when you open it. Inside, nestled in soft protective paper, is the bag. The one you’d joked about for months half-teasing, half-dreaming. The limited edition one that sold out in hours. The one with a price tag so high, you always added, “That’s my endgame motivation. When I can afford this, I’ve made it.”

You reach in slowly, fingertips brushing over the material like you’re afraid it’ll vanish.

Then you turn, eyes wide. “This is—how did you—”

Wonwoo finally looks at you. His expression is unreadable, as always, but his gaze is steady. “You kept saying it was your motivation, Consider it... early congratulations.”

Your heart stumbles. “Wonwoo, this bag is—it's not just expensive, it’s impossible to find. There’s a waitlist.”

He doesn’t reply. Just leans back in his chair like he’s already decided the conversation is over.

“You were listening,” you say, quieter now. Not accusatory. Just stunned.

“I always listen.”

You blink, still holding the bag in your hands, overwhelmed with the weight of it—not just the price, but what it means.

“Thank you,” you say, voice steadying.

He nods once. Then adds, almost like an afterthought, “Don’t cry. I won’t know what to do with that.”

You let out a breath half laugh, half something else. “I’m not crying. Just... processing. This is insane,” you murmur, your hands hovering just above the bag.

“Like actually insane.” You reach in again, fingertips brushing the handle like it's fragile. Like it might vanish if you touch it too long.

His voice cuts through the quiet. “You forgot.”

You blink, looking up sharply. “Forgot what?”

Your mind starts racing. did you miss a meeting? An investor call? Something urgent? Your tablet is already lighting up in your hand, but then—

“It’s your work anniversary.”

You freeze.

“…What?”

“THree years,” Wonwoo says plainly. “Today.”

You stare at him. For a second, you don’t know what to say.

You’d lost track. too busy chasing deadlines, organizing his schedule, holding everything together. It slipped past you like so many other personal milestones.

But not him.

“This is way too much,” you say, laughing under your breath as you shake your head. “I mean—this bag? We can’t accept gifts this expensive. It’s in the handbook, page thirty-two”

Wonwoo lifts a brow. “I’m the CEO.”

“Right. But even you—”

“What are they going to do?” he asks, tone flat, but laced with something you can’t quite place. “Fire me for bending a rule or two?”

And that hits differently.because you know who he is.

Jeon Wonwoo doesn’t bend.

He doesn’t indulge.He doesn’t move unless it’s efficient, calculated, strategic. His life is systems and structure. Precision down to the second.

And yet this. He bent a rule.

For you.

You don’t let yourself sit in that thought for long. You can’t. Not when it threatens to stir something too deep, too real.

So you set the bag down gently, like it’s sacred. Like you’re afraid of what holding it too long might reveal.

“You didn’t have to do this.”

“I know.”

“But you did.”

You glance up. He’s looking at you again. You look away first. You always do when it’s like this. When the air feels too heavy, too loud for two people standing in complete silence.

Wonwoo stands. He shrugs on his coat, slow and deliberate, then moves to your side to retrieve something from the table. You can feel him without looking. The warmth of him. The tension.

Neither of you says anything.

“I’ll have the car brought around,” he says quietly. “It’s late.”

You nod, still not trusting your voice. “Okay.”

He walks past you, heading for the door. Then stops. Doesn’t look back. Just says, low and even, “Three years is a long time. You’ve earned it.”

The door clicks shut behind him.

The city lights blur past the car window, streaks of gold and blue washing across the glass like motion smeared in silence.

Wonwoo sits in the back seat, coat open, tie loosened slightly. He doesn’t say much. Never does with his driver. But his mind isn’t still.

He leans his head back against the seat, eyes closing for a moment. The hum of the engine fills the space between his thoughts.

Three years.

He remembered. Of course he did. Dates are easy. Predictable. Clean. But that’s not why he got the bag.

He heard you mention it once. Then again. And again, like a joke you didn’t realize you kept repeating when the days got long and the pressure sharpened around the edges.

“That bag is the dream. That’s my finish line.” “If I survive Q3, I’m buying it. Manifesting.” “Maybe in my next life when it doesn’t cost a kidney.”

Each time, you said it like it didn’t matter. Like it was a throwaway thought, just something to lighten the mood.

But he remembered not because it was important in the grand scheme of things. But because you said it. And he listens when you speak.

He always listens.

Wonwoo opens his eyes, watching the reflection of the streetlamps skim over his reflection in the glass.

You looked at the bag like it wasn’t real. Like you didn’t quite believe you were allowed to have something that wasn’t earned through exhaustion or sacrifice.

He hated that look.

You’ve given everything. More than anyone in that building. And still, you doubt if you deserve even the smallest indulgence.

You’d told him it was too much. That it broke rules. That gifts like that weren’t acceptable.

He said, “I’m the boss.”

It was a joke. But not really because it wasn’t just about the rules. It was about what he could control. And for someone like him, that’s everything.

The car slows as it turns onto the private street leading to his penthouse tower. His building looms ahead, lights on near the top floor.

But he doesn’t move.

He stays there for a second longer. Letting himself sit with the quiet thought he won’t say aloud. That he doesn’t care about the bag. Doesn’t care about the price, or the brand, or what it might look like to anyone else.

He got it because it made you smile. Even if only for a moment.

And because it let him give you something — for once — without it being part of the job.

The elevator ride up is silent. Smooth. Efficient.

But his thoughts stay with you. Like they always do, lately.

You, with your sharp eyes and steady voice. You, who can answer his questions before he even speaks. You, who always knows when he hasn’t eaten, when he needs to be pulled back from the edge, when silence says more than words.

He steps into the penthouse. It’s spotless. Quiet. Exactly the way he likes it.

He thinks of your expression tonight. The way your voice faltered. How quickly you looked away. He didn’t say anything then.

He won’t tomorrow, either.

But the rules? He’s already bent them.

And that’s not nothing.

The next few days settle into rhythm. Or at least, the shape of one.

You’re back to the usual: synchronized movements, shared silences, decisions made with nothing more than a glance. The bag now lives on a shelf in your apartment, untouched but not forgotten.

It’s business as usual.

Except not really because something has shifted.

It lives in the pause between your words, in the way he looks at you when he thinks you’re not watching. An elephant in the room dressed in tailored suits and polished restraint.

This morning is no different.

You’re in his office early, already running through his schedule with a practiced efficiency.

“First meeting at nine with Strategy, followed by the call with Tokyo. After that, the product review with Marketing, then the lunch briefing with legal.” You scroll through your tablet, tapping quickly. “Afternoon is clean aside from the quarterly report with Accounting. Oh, and someone from the Chairman’s office—”

You pause when you notice it.

He’s standing in front of his mirror, silent as usual, but there’s a small crease between his brows. His left cuff is fastened, but the right dangles open, the cufflink still on the tray nearby. His fingers brush the fabric, slow and stiff, trying again.

Jeon Wonwoo, youngest CEO in the country. Mind like a scalpel. Composed down to the breath.

And yet here he is — struggling with a cufflink.

It’s not unusual, exactly. You know him well enough to know his hands go a little rigid when he’s deep in thought, when the numbers won’t sit right, or when he’s slept less than three hours, which has been more often than not lately.

But it’s distracting. The way his fingers fumble. The way he doesn’t ask for help, won’t ask for help so you don’t ask either.

You set your tablet on the table quietly and alk across the room without a word.

You pick up the cufflink from the tray, then gently reach for his wrist.

Your fingers curl around it. You’ve done this before, in passing, in chaos, during ten-second scrambles between meetings.

His arm stays still as you fold the fabric, press the metal through the slit, fasten it in place. It’s mechanical. Thoughtless. You’ve done it so many times.

But then you glance up nd that’s when it hits you.

Just how close you are.

You’re standing barely a breath away, your hands still on his wrist, your face tilted toward his collar. His cologne is subtle, expensive, and now impossibly near. The warmth radiating from him sinks under your skin before you can steel yourself against it.

He’s watching you.

You drop your gaze quickly, fingers brushing against his skin as you pull back.

“All done,” you say, and you hate how your voice feels thinner than usual.

You turn back toward your tablet, moving before he can respond, needing the space like you need oxygen.

Business as usual but not really.

And both of you know it.

You stare at the door of the penthouse for a beat longer than necessary.

Jeon Wonwoo does not miss mornings. He does not run late. And he definitely doesn’t go silent.

You had called his driver when his office remained empty well past his usual arrival.

“He hasn’t come down,” the driver had said, voice tinged with something close to concern. “He always texts. He didn’t today.”

That’s all it took. One missing signal in a man who never forgets a beat.

So now you’re here, using the emergency access card he gave you over a year ago. For security protocols, he’d said. Just in case.

You’d never had to use it until now.

The lock beeps. The door opens. You step inside.

It’s quiet. Too quiet.

You walk in, shoes barely making a sound against the sleek floors. T You pass the kitchen, untouched. No coffee. No breakfast. And then, finally, you find him.

His room is dim, curtains drawn halfway, Wonwoo lies on the bed, half-covered by the sheets, body curled slightly in a way that makes your stomach twist.

His face is pale except for the red burning high across his cheekbones. Sweat at his temples. Hair stuck slightly to his forehead.

He’s burning up.

“Sir?” you say, quietly, cautiously.

No response.

You step closer, heart picking up now, each second tightening your chest a little more. You place a hand lightly on his forehead. It’s scalding.

“Wonwoo,” you say again, firmer this time.

His eyes open barely but when they land on you, something in his expression shifts. Like he’s seeing something impossible. His voice is hoarse, dry.

“You’re here.”

“You didn’t show. No text. I called your driver.” You pause, kneeling beside the bed now. “You’re sick.”

“Didn’t mean to sleep through…”

You shake your head, already reaching for the blanket, pulling it higher over him. “You didn’t just sleep through — your body shut down. God, you should’ve called someone.”

His eyes close again, brows twitching as if the thought of arguing with you costs more energy than he has. “Didn’t want to—” he exhales — “make it your problem.”

Your fingers still for half a second, then move again, tugging the covers with more care this time.

“Too late for that. I’m making it mine.”

You move around the room, switching on the bedside lamp, searching for a thermometer, medicine, anything. When you find none, you grab your phone and start making calls, his doctor, your contacts, the concierge for extra supplies.

You’re in work mode, the same precise, efficient tone you use in meetings and under pressure, but your hands shake slightly as you dial. You return to his side, pressing the back of your hand to his cheek again.

Wonwoo opens his eyes a sliver. “…You mad?”

You scoff quietly. “Furious.”

His lips twitch into the ghost of a smile, dry and weak but still him. “Figured.”

“You’re the CEO of a multi-billion won company and you can’t even tell someone when you’re sick? What kind of example—”

“I was tired,” he mutters. “Didn’t think it was that bad.”

“You have a fever of 39.4. That’s bad, Wonwoo.”

You don’t realize you’ve dropped the title until it’s already said. His name. Not sir, not CEO Jeon . Just… Wonwoo.

“I’m staying,” you say before he can argue. “Don’t bother telling me to go back to the office. You’re not dying alone in here just because you’re pathologically stubborn. Next time, just text. Like a normal person.”

You went out for a moment to grab something. balancing a small bag in one hand and a bottle of water in the other. You’re mentally rehearsing how to convince a man like Jeon Wonwoo to eat more than three spoonfuls of congee.

Then you see him.

Sitting up in bed, back against the headboard, glasses on and right there on the nightstand, his phone, which he’s just reaching for.

Not on your watch.

You move fast, stepping across the room and snatching the phone before he can grab it. He blinks, caught in the act.

“Hey—” his voice is still rough but clearer than earlier, more him now.

You raise an eyebrow. “Nope.”

“You do remember I’m still your boss, right?”

You roll your eyes and toss the phone gently onto the dresser, far out of his reach. “And you remember you’re running a fever and nearly passed out alone this morning, right?”

“I’m fine now.”

“You sat up. That’s not a full recovery.”

He exhales slowly, jaw flexing as he rests his head back against the headboard. “I need to check on a few things.”

“You’ll live if you don’t answer emails for six hours,” you say, placing the food down on the nearby table. “In fact, so will the company. Miraculously.”

Wonwoo watches you, eyes narrowed behind his glasses, expression unreadable. It’s not that usual sharp gaze — it’s quieter now, like he’s studying you rather than challenging you.

You ignore it. You move to pour water into a glass and set it down on the nightstand next to him. “Drink first.”

He doesn’t move.

“Seriously, don’t make me spoon-feed you,” you add dryly.

That gets the smallest quirk at the edge of his mouth. “You’d do that?”

“Try me.”

His eyes meet yours, something soft flickering there. “You’re being very bold today.”

“You left me no choice. I wasn’t about to let Jeon Wonwoo become a tragic headline: Youngest CEO in Korea dies alone in penthouse because he refuses to text assistant back.”

His laugh is barely a breath, but you catch it. Low, quiet. Real.

“Eat. Slowly.”

He takes the spoon, finally, and you watch as he takes a bite. You don't miss the small win when he doesn't grimace. Instead, he nods. “It’s…decent.”

“High praise.”

“You didn’t make it, did you?”

“Rude.”

After a few moments, he says, “You came all the way here.”

You glance at him, surprised. “Of course I did.”

"Did you at least call my driver?" he asks, voice low but calm.

You freeze for half a second, then busy yourself with the water bottle, unscrewing the cap like it needs your full attention. You don’t answer. He already knows.

His expression shifts subtly. Jaw tensing just enough. "You didn’t."

"Before you start," you say quickly, holding up a hand without meeting his eyes, "you cannot nag me right now. You’re sick. You're literally under a blanket and still half-burning up."

"You took the bus." He says it like it’s a crime.

"It’s not like I walked across the Han River. It was two stops, and it was faster than calling someone. What did you expect me to do, wait?"

“I expected you to be smarter about your safety.”

You glance at him then, lips twitching in dry amusement. “That’s rich coming from the man who was about to go to a board meeting while actively dying.”

“I wasn’t dying,” he mutters.

“You were sweating through your mattress.”

He glares, but it lacks real heat. “You know I’ve been trying to get you to learn to drive.”

“And I’ve been politely declining,” you counter.

“You’re going to keep declining even if it means riding a crowded bus to the top of a private skyscraper in the middle of Gangnam?”

“If it means making sure my boss doesn’t collapse alone in his overly minimalist bedroom, yes.”

“You’re impossible.”

You smirk. “I’ve been told.”

He shifts slightly in the bed, resting the bowl of soup on the tray. “I just don’t get why you won’t—”

“Wonwoo,” you interrupt, tone firm but not unkind.

“You work late hours. Some nights you leave past midnight. You don’t tell anyone when you head home—”

“And what, you’re gonna start putting a tracker on me next?” you joke, trying to cut the tension, trying not to think about how this doesn’t sound like a boss worrying about his assistant anymore.

He doesn’t even blink. “If that’s what it takes.”

You stare at him, unsure if you’re more shocked that he said it, or that he said it so seriously. You stand abruptly, clearing your throat.

“Okay, you’re clearly fever-delirious. That, or you’re confusing me with a younger sister you don’t have.”

“Stop deflecting—”

“Stop sounding like someone who has a say in how I get home.”

The air tightens between you, tension stretched taut and sharp, until a buzz from the panel near the door. The intercom.

You breathe out in relief, practically speed-walking to answer it. “Doctor’s here.”

You open the door before he can say anything else, and the on-call physician walks in, polite and efficient with his small case in hand. Wonwoo sighs and settles deeper into the pillows as the doctor greets him and begins unpacking instruments.

You feel his gaze on you as the doctor checks his vitals, asks him routine questions but you don’t look back. You can’t.

Not when your heart’s still catching up to what it all means.

The doctor left just before sunset, giving you a few instructions and a prescription list you already knew you'd handle yourself.

The apartment lights are dimmed to a soft gold. Outside, the city is easing into the deep hues of early evening, the skyline humming behind the wide windows.

Wonwoo rests against the headboard again, he looks much better than how you found him this morning. You sit in the armchair across from the bed, fingers tapping your knee rhythmically, tablet balanced in your lap.

You're pretending to go over tomorrow’s briefings.

He’s pretending not to stare.

“Are you hungry again?” you ask finally, not looking up.

“No.”

“Thirsty?”

“No.”

“…About to say something else about bus safety?”

He speaks again after a moment, voice softer this time. “You always do this.”

You tilt your head. “Do what?”

“Act like you’re fine. Like you didn’t just spend the last six hours worried sick and micromanaging every detail of my care.”

“I’m your assistant,” you say, slower now. “That’s what I’m supposed to do.”

You shift in the chair and glance toward the side table. “I should prep the meds. You’ll need to take something before bed.”

You stand, already turning toward the counter when he says quietly, “You really weren’t going to tell me you took the bus, were you?”

You pause mid-step. “Nope.”

“I’m going to hire you a driver.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I’m going to try.”

You turn halfway, eyebrow raised. “Good luck with that.”

You’re lining up the pill packet with almost militant focus when his voice cuts through the quiet again.

"Okay, fine."

You glance over. He doesn’t even open his eyes. Just says, calmly, like it's the most reasonable thing in the world:

"Either you let me hire a driver for you… or I’m driving you home myself."

The sound of the pill bottle cap clicking shut is the only thing between you and the complete whiplash you feel.

"I'm sorry, what?" you ask, turning fully now, arms crossed.

One eye opens lazily. “You heard me.”

"You’re literally sick in bed."

"I'm not that sick."

"You had a fever of 39.5 like—" you check your watch, "—four hours ago."

"I'm recovering. Fast. As usual."

“You just had soup and nearly fell asleep between spoonfuls. And now you want to play chauffeur?”

“I wouldn’t have to if you'd let me hire a driver like a normal high-ranking executive assistant.”

"I'm not normal, though," you fire back, smug. "That’s why you keep me around."

"And because of that, I have no choice but to personally ensure you don't commute like you're still in college.”

You squint. “You’re threatening me. With a ride.”

“I’m offering you one,” he says, voice all false sweetness now. “As your extremely thoughtful boss.”

“No, this is extortion.”

He shrugs — or tries to. It’s barely more than a weak lift of his shoulder. “You either accept a company-assigned driver... or you accept Jeon Wonwoo, flu and all, behind the wheel.”

“You can't just hold your own sickness over me like that. It’s emotional blackmail.”

“It’s logical consequence.”

“You’re delirious.”

“You’re stubborn.”

You throw your hands up. “You can't drive me home! What if someone sees?”

“Let them.”

You stare at him. He stares back, perfectly calm, perfectly composed, like he didn't just casually declare social war on your carefully constructed boundaries.

“I can’t even begin to imagine what the tabloids would say if you got papped driving your assistant home in your Aston Martin.”

“That you finally caved and accepted a ride like a rational adult?”

“You’re impossible,” you grumble, turning back toward the kitchen.

“You say that, but you still haven’t said no.”

About an hour later you’re holding your phone, thumb hovering just above the call button, eyeing the door like it’s somehow going to open by itself and grant you escape. You’ve done the math. Checked the timing. Calculated the route. You could sneak out. Technically.

But you also know this man.

You know how he notices every detail, how he reads every flicker of hesitation like it’s printed in bold. And unfortunately for you… that road goes both ways.

“Don’t even try it.” His voice cuts through the quiet, low and unbothered.

You groan “Fine. I’m calling the driver.”

He arches a brow without even looking up from the bottle of water you gave him. “Only took you an hour”

You point a warning finger at him. “Only for tonight.”

He hums. “So you’re negotiating with me now?”

“Yes,” you snap back. “Because you’re being like an overprotective boy—”

You freeze.

He freezes.

You clamp your mouth shut so fast you feel your teeth click.

The room goes dead silent. Not even the city noise outside dares to interrupt this moment of sheer, horrifying clarity.

Wonwoo slowly sets the water bottle down, eyes narrowing just slightly as he looks at you — not in irritation, not in mockery, but in something far worse.

Amusement. No. Worse.

Interest.

“Overprotective… what?” he asks, far too calmly.

You shoot to your feet like the chair burned you. “Boss. BOSS. That’s what I was going to say. Obviously.”

“Were you?”

“Yes.”

“You sure?”

“So sure.”

He leans back into the pillows again, arms crossed like he’s settling in to enjoy the chaos. “Sounded like something else.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You clear your throat, aggressively casual. “You're obviously still running a fever.”

He gives you a long, unreadable look. And then, in the most infuriatingly smug tone:

“Just saying. Boyfriends do tend to worry about their girlfriends taking late-night buses alone.”

You look at him like he just grew a second head.

“Excuse me?”

“But I’m not saying anything,” he adds, shrugging one shoulder.

“Good. Don’t.”

“You already said it.”

“No, I didn’t.”

He gestures toward you. “It was right there. Almost out.”

“Almost doesn’t count.”

“It does to me.”

You groan again, dragging your hands down your face as you spin around toward the counter, muttering something unintelligible into your palms.

You end up calling the driver but somehow you still feel like he won this round.

The next morning he texted you at 6:47 a.m.

JWW: I’ll be back today. Resume as normal.

Now it’s 9:03 a.m., and you’re standing across his desk, scrolling through your tablet as you list off the day’s schedule like always except today, there’s a weird hitch in the rhythm because he’s not responding.

No confirming nods, no subtle gestures, no hmm or okay. Not even his usual corrections when you list the sequence slightly out of order.

You glance up — and freeze.

He’s not signing anything. Not reading. Not checking his watch, or his emails, or multitasking the way he usually does with quiet precision.

He’s just… staring at you.

“...The quarterly partner dinner has been moved to next Wednesday,” you continue, a little slower now, narrowing your eyes. “They requested the Hangang Room instead of the main hall, and the guest list is—”

“Why didn’t you argue with me this morning?”

You blink.

“Because I knew you’d win,” you deadpan, eyes narrowing further. “Also, I like having a job.”

“That’s not usually what stops you.”

You close your tablet with a sharp little snap. “Okay. What’s going on.”

“Nothing,” he says, still watching.

“You’re not doing anything.”

“I’m listening.”

“No, you’re staring. There’s a difference. One feels like work, the other feels like…” You trail off, suspicious. “Did the fever damage your frontal lobe? Blink twice if you need me to call the doctor back.”

His mouth twitches — that almost-smile you’re starting to clock more often than you used to.

“I was just thinking,” he says.

“Dangerous.”

He huffs a laugh. “About how strange it is.”

You raise a brow. “What is?”

“This. You.” He tilts his head slightly. “You’re doing exactly what you’ve always done — running through my day, anticipating every need, already knowing what I’ll ask before I ask it — and yet...”

“And yet?”

“It feels different.”

“Maybe because you’re still half-recovering and emotionally compromised by your own mortality,” you say lightly, trying to diffuse it.

But he doesn’t let it go. He just rests his chin in one hand, elbow on the desk, and says plainly:

“Maybe it’s because I can’t stop wondering what you were about to call me last night.”

You freeze. Then slowly, very slowly, you tuck your tablet under your arm, straighten your posture, and say

“I was going to say ‘boiling.’ Like boiling overprotective CEO.’ You know. Because you had a fever.”

Wonwoo stares at you and ou stare right back.

It’s silent for two seconds too long before he exhales a breath that sounds suspiciously like a laugh and mutters, “You’re a terrible liar.”

You turn sharply on your heel, muttering, “Resuming normal schedule,” and make for the door.

The car ride back to the city is quiet. You’d both just finished a site visit, checking on progress for a high-profile expansion project. he’s halfway through reviewing the day’s minutes when you mention needing caffeine before heading back into Seoul traffic.

He doesn’t even argue. Just mutters a dry, “Fine, but only if you don’t insist on that sugar-water vanilla thing you call coffee.”

“It’s not sugar-water. It’s comforting.”

“It's a dessert.”

“You wear suits to construction sites. What’s your point?”

The café is small and tucked at the edge of a quiet road, with warm wood interiors and soft lighting. A little too charming, honestly. The kind of place couples probably stop by on dates after hiking.

“I’ll take a hot americano,” he says, pulling out his card.

Then the barista turns to you, smiling. “And for your girlfriend?”

Before you can answer, Wonwoo beats you to it.

“She’ll have an iced vanilla latte. And one of those croissants to go.”

The words hit the air like a glass shattering on tile. You gape at him, every muscle in your body seizing. He doesn’t even blink. Just calmly taps his card, like he didn’t just commit social assassination.

You don’t even think, your hand moves on instinct, pinching his side with a sharp “are you crazy” kind of vengeance.

He grunts and looks at you out of the corner of his eye. “Ow.”

You hiss under your breath, leaning in. “What the hell was that?”

“What?”

“Girlfriend?”

“Mm.” He moves aside so you can grab your coffee. “Didn’t feel like correcting him.”

“That’s not how correcting works!”

He takes a sip of his americano, completely unbothered. “He assumed. I went with it. You were going to order an iced vanilla latte anyway,” he adds, like that justifies everything.

“That’s not the point—”

“Croissant too?”

You stare.

He smirks, that tiny half-quirk of his lips that always means trouble. “You always eye them. Never buy them.”

You blink. “...You watch me eye pastries?”

“You make it very obvious.”

You grip your cup like it might keep you grounded in this reality. “You’re insufferable.”

“Yet,” he says casually, holding the door open for you, “you still show up every morning.”

You walk past him without looking. “Because I’m contractually obligated.”

He follows. “Is that all?”

“Don’t push your luck, CEO Jeon.”

Later taht evening. You get home and drop your bag like it weighs ten kilos. Which, to be fair, it might — emotionally, at least.

Your heels come off with two exhausted kicks by the door, and you shuffle in like a ghost that's been overworked and emotionally blindsided in the span of a single car ride and a café order.

Your thoughts are spiraling again. Replaying the moment on a loop like your brain’s refusing to let it go.

My girlfriend will have an iced vanilla latte.

You groan, dragging a hand down your face.

He didn’t even flinch. Said it like he orders for you all the time. Which he doesn’t. Because he’s your boss. Your boss. The youngest CEO in South Korea. The man who built empires with one look and shuts entire boardrooms up without raising his voice.

You should not — cannot — be thinking about how sharp his jaw looked when he turned slightly in the café light. Or how the corners of his eyes crinkled just the tiniest bit when you pinched him.

You’ve lasted this long. Years of working beside him, through sleepless nights and global deals, through power plays and gala events and 3 a.m. emergencies. You’ve survived his deadpan sarcasm, his overachiever control freak tendencies, even the subtle ways he remembers your coffee order and favorite pastry.

You cannot fall for—

“Unnie.”

You scream.

Your little sister Minjeong blinks up at you from the couch, a blanket around her shoulders and a bag of chips halfway to her mouth. “Whoa! Are you okay?!”

You clutch your chest, gasping like you just ran a marathon in your own hallway. “Minjeong! What the hell—what are you doing here?!”

She shrugs like she lives here, which, okay, technically she does. “I finished class early. You didn’t text back, so I figured you were still working late. But you’re early.”

You slump onto the armrest of the couch, still trying to get your heart rate back to normal. “Early is a strong word. I’ve just… had a day.”

She squints at you. “Wait. Are you blushing?”

You stare at her. “I am not.”

“You so are. Your ears are red. That only happens when you’re embarrassed or thinking about something you shouldn’t be thinking about—oh my God, is it work guy?!”

“Stop calling him that.”

“You never give me a name! So I just assumed ‘mysterious hot boss you won’t talk about’ means he’s secretly your forbidden office love.”

You groan, burying your face into the blanket she left on the side of the couch. “I hate you.”

“You do not. Spill. Right now.”

You mumble through the blanket. “He called me his girlfriend in public.”

Minjeong gasps so loudly it sounds fake. “WHAT?!”

“In front of a barista. Like it was nothing”

Minjeong slaps the couch cushion beside her. “Did he wink? Was there hand-holding? Did he look at you like you’re the only woman who’s ever understood his trauma?!”

You lift your head. “What drama have you been watching—?”

“This is real life drama! What did you say?”

“I didn’t say anything! I pinched him! Pinched. In public.”

Minjeong’s mouth falls open. “Scandalous.”

You groan again, collapsing fully onto the couch this time. “He’s my boss, Minjeong. This is a nightmare.”

She leans over you, her eyes wide. “Or it’s the best plot twist ever.”

You throw a pillow at her. your face is still warm and the word girlfriend won’t leave your head.

Wonwoo can pinpoint the exact moment it shifted.

It wasn’t some dramatic, earth-shattering realization. No lightning bolt. No slow-motion scene from a movie.

It was simpler than that. Quiet, like most important things in his life.

You were leaning over his desk, rattling off his schedule without looking at your tablet — because you’d already memorized it. You were adjusting his tie, the fifth time that month because he couldn’t be bothered to fix it right

You had this look on your face and you didn’t even flinch when he gave one of his sharper remarks. You just quipped something under your breath and moved on.

And that was it.

That was the moment. He still remembers thinking, God, I’m in trouble.

He’d always been good at structure. It was how he survived becoming CEO at twenty-eight. How he controlled rooms full of people twice his age and didn’t blink. His life was systemized, every minute accounted for, every decision calculated.

But you… you snuck in between the seconds. You made space where there wasn’t supposed to be any. And worst of all — you never asked for it.

You never asked for special treatment. Never tried to charm your way into anything. You just showed up — on time, prepared, infuriatingly perceptive — and somehow made the chaos manageable. Made him manageable.

He tried not to think too hard about it. Especially in the beginning. You were his assistant. That line was immovable. He’d built too much to risk it.

But then you started noticing the little things too. That he skips lunch when he’s stressed, that his coffee order changes depending on how his meetings went. That he gets tension headaches after long phone calls in Japanese. That he breathes a little easier when you’re around.

You never said anything about it. But you adjusted for him, anyway. Quietly. Naturally.

When the word “girlfriend” slipped out, he expected panic. Maybe a scandalized look or a stammer. He didn’t expect a sharp pinch to the side.

And God, if that didn’t make him want to smile.

Now, sitting in his living room after watching you nearly combust from your own embarrassment, he can’t help but let the smirk tug at his lips. The one he only ever lets slip when no one’s around.

He knows it’s risky. Knows the lines are still there, waiting.

But he also knows something else now — something he’s known for a while but only recently let himself admit:

You aren’t just part of his life.

You are his life.

The quiet in the storm. The thread in the chaos. The one person who never demanded anything, and somehow ended up meaning everything.

The door opens with a heavy click, and you glance up from the stack of files on your lap. Wonwoo walks in, loosening his tie with one hand, the other clutching his tablet. His jaw is tight, movements sharper than usual.

He doesn’t speak at first, just tosses the tablet onto the desk and shrugs off his jacket. Eventually, he turns, leaning back against the edge of the desk with his arms crossed. His eyes find yours, unreadable but heavy. He doesn’t say anything for a long moment.

You tilt your head, voice soft. “Bad meeting?”

He scoffs, low and humorless. “Understatement.”

“Do you want me to reschedule anything for tomorrow? Push a few things so you get a breather in the morning?”

He shakes his head, looking down at the floor for a beat. “No. I’ll handle it.”

You eye him for a second, then lean forward, sorting through another file. “You say that like you’re not running on caffeine and spite.”

“Spite’s effective,” he murmurs.

You glance up again. “Not sustainable.”

He walks around the desk slowly, finally moving toward you. You expect him to stop at his chair, but he doesn’t. Instead, he comes to where you’re sitting and wordlessly drops down on the couch beside you, close enough that his thigh brushes yours.

You don’t say anything at first but then, voice quiet you say “Was it something I can fix?”

He exhales through his nose, then turns his head to look at you. “You fix more than you know.”

Your chest tightens, but you force a small smile, bumping his knee with yours. “Yeah, well. That’s what you pay me for, right?”

He hums, eyes still on you. “I don’t pay you enough.”

You glance away before you can look too long, heart tripping slightly. You’re too aware of how close he is. Of the tension from earlier meetings still lingering in his shoulders, the tired look in his eyes, the quiet way he always softens when it’s just the two of you in moments like this.

“You hungry?”

His lips quirk faintly. “Only if you are.”

You smile at that, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “We’re both going to end up eating crackers from the vending machine again, aren’t we?”

“Classy dinner for two.”

You laugh under your breath, and he watches you. A little too long. A little too hard.

Then he leans forward, elbows on his knees, voice quieter now. “You should’ve gone home earlier.”

You tilt your head, meeting his gaze. “You know I don’t leave until you do.”

He looks at you for a moment more, something in his eyes you can’t place.

And then softly, under his breath: “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

You blink. “What?”

But he’s already standing again, brushing off his pants, like he didn’t just say something that made your stomach twist.

“I’ll call the driver,” he says. “We’re done for today.”

And just like that, the moment is gone.

Minjeong flops down next to you on the couch, dropping her backpack with the kind of dramatic sigh only college students and people who’ve had three back-to-back group projects can muster. “God, if I hear the word ‘presentation’ one more time, I’m throwing myself into the Han River.”

You grunt from under your blanket, fully cocooned. “Mood.”

She turns to look at you. “Why do you look like a defeated burrito?”

“I am a defeated burrito.”

Minjeong raises a brow. “Rough day?”

You pause. Then with a long, tragic sigh, you mumble, “Hypothetically…”

“Oh boy.”

“…what does one do,” you continue, voice muffled from under your blanket, “when they’re… possibly… kind of… maybe… starting to like someone they’re not supposed to like.”

Minjeong’s eyes light up like a crow who spotted something shiny. “Ooohhh. We’re finally talking about it.”

You sit up just enough to glare at her. “Talking about what? I said hypothetical.”

“Yeah, sure. Hypothetical,” she echoes, with full air quotes. “Let me guess. Is this hypothetical person tall? Powerful? Smart? Obsessed with order? Wears tailored suits that scream ‘please emotionally damage me’?”

You scowl. “You know too much.”

“I live with you. You literally talk in your sleep.”

You throw a pillow at her. She catches it with a smirk. “So what happened? Did he brush your hand? Did he breathe too close?”

You sigh again, flopping back dramatically. “He ordered coffee for me. Then today he drove me home, well his driver did but you get what i mean right?”

Minjeong stares. “Wow. Scandalous. I hope you recovered from that very erotic experience. so what’s the problem?”

You groan, throwing your hands over your face. “The problem is: 1. He’s my boss. 2. I’m his assistant. 3. He’s objectively terrifying. 4. I’m very good at pretending I don’t find him absurdly attractive. 5. I don’t want to die.”

Minjeong leans in like she’s hosting a gossip podcast. “But you do like him.”

“No! Maybe. I don’t know. Shut up.”

She’s grinning so wide now you want to kick her. “This is so fun for me.”

“Good. Glad one of us is thriving.”

“You know,” she says, suddenly thoughtful, “for someone who’s always in control and totally unflappable at work, you really are spiraling like a romcom heroine right now.”

“I am not—”

“Next thing I know you’ll be running through the rain in heels crying about how you can’t be with him.”

“First of all, I would never ruin good heels like that. Second, I hate you.”

She grins, leans over, and flicks your forehead. “You love me. And you totally love him.”

You flop back into your blanket. “God, I need a lobotomy.”

“Nope,” she chirps, standing up. “You need a plan. Operation: Seduce Scary CEO.”

You peek from under the blanket. “I will call mom.”

“And tell her what? That I’m encouraging you to get your rich, hot boss to fall in love with you? She’ll ask why it hasn’t happened already.”

You sigh like it’s your last breath on Earth and scrub your hands over your face. “I’m serious, Min. I can’t do this.”

She pokes her head back into the living room like a nosy meerkat. “Do what, exactly?”

You groan, flopping back down on the couch. “Function like a normal human being when he does these things! Like, he’ll look at me — just look! — and for a solid three seconds my brain just. Stops working. Completely.”

Minjeong is smirking again, the menace. “So... like how you look at carbs after a diet?”

“Worse!” you wail. “Because bread doesn’t make me think about HR policies!”

Min walks over, sits back down beside your burrito form, and raises a brow. “That’s a very specific guilt.”

You wave your hand like you’re shooing away the ghost of professionalism. “It’s one hell of a long letter to HR, Min. One hell of a letter. ‘Dear HR, I accidentally had a daydream about my boss shirtless again. It was a Tuesday. There was nothing I could do.’”

She snorts. “Again?!”

“Don’t judge me, I’m fragile.”

Min is full-on laughing now. “You’re spiraling.”

“I am!” you cry dramatically. “He said I was his girlfriend to a stranger! In public! With his CEO face on like it was just another bullet point in the agenda!”

“And you’re sure it wasn’t just to mess with you?”

You glare. “Oh, he was absolutely messing with me. But then he does that thing where he holds eye contact a second too long, or says something kind of sweet but in his emotionally constipated CEO tone, and I just— I lose my ability to form words.”

Min makes a fake sympathetic noise. “Poor thing. Falling for your terrifying boss who buys you luxury bags and remembers your coffee order.”

You grumble into the blanket. “He’s too powerful. It’s like being in a boss battle with feelings. And I can’t even use any of my attacks because he already has all the cheat codes!”

Min pats your head. “You need therapy.”

“I need to quit.”

“You won’t.”

You sigh. “I know. I’d just end up crying on the street while LinkedIn roasts me with passive-aggressive rejection emails.”

Min grins and stands. “I’ll go start popcorn. Let me know if you plan to make out with him in a boardroom so I can clear my evening.”

Wonwoo noticed it immediately.

It was subtle at first barely-there shifts only someone who’d spent nearly every waking moment with you the last three years would even register. But for someone like him, whose job required reading rooms, reading people, reading you, it was impossible not to see it.

You still handed him his coffee just the way he liked it. Your reports were still precise, your scheduling still impeccable, and your presence still reliable as ever.

But that was the thing. That’s all you were now.

Reliable. Efficient. Distant.

You no longer stood too close. No light teasing, no under-your-breath comments when you passed each other in tight hallways. No quiet, shared glances from across a boardroom when someone said something ridiculous.

But oddly enough… it wasn’t like you were distracted. Not the usual kind.

You were sharper. Every task executed with ruthless precision. Every deadline met before he even brought it up. It was as if you’d turned all your energy inward, redirecting it completely to your job. Like a shield. Like a wall.

And Wonwoo hated it.

He hated the unfamiliar cold that came with your new distance. He hated that you didn’t argue anymore, didn’t nag him over meals or mutter things under your breath that made him stifle a smirk in the middle of a meeting. The version of you that made his world feel a little less mechanical.

He sat behind his desk one evening, watching you through the glass as you stood outside, briefing a junior team member like your voice didn’t used to soften when you spoke just to him.

And for the first time in a while, Wonwoo didn’t know what he was doing.

Because he could face boards, competitors, the press, entire industries with calm precision—but facing this version of you?

He didn’t know where to begin.

The rain was merciless, pounding the windows with a steady rhythm that usually lulled you to sleep. But tonight, it sounded like a warning. Something in the air had felt off since evening fell, like the silence was heavier than it should be.

You had tried to brush it off.

Minjeong had noticed your restlessness, teasing you lightly before retreating to her room. But even she had paused before closing her door, glancing back with a furrowed brow like she sensed something too.

You were just about to crawl into bed, hair still damp from your shower, oversized sweatshirt hanging off your shoulder. The kind of night where you should’ve been half-asleep already, but instead you stared at your phone like it might suddenly buzz.

And then it did.

The name flashing across the screen made your chest tighten instantly

Kang, security detail.

You answered on the first ring. “Hello?”

“Miss—” the man’s voice cracked slightly, something in it strained. “There’s been an incident. Mr. Jeon’s convoy—on the return from the site. There was an accident. He’s—he’s conscious, but we’re still assessing. Paramedics are on site. We’re bringing him back to the penthouse for further monitoring. Doctor will be on standby.”

You didn’t hear the rest.

Your body moved on instinct—keys, shoes, phone—your sweatshirt was soaked in seconds as you dashed through the rain, adrenaline silencing the voice in your head screaming for answers. You didn’t call anyone. Didn’t text. Didn’t stop.

You just ran.

By the time you got to the penthouse, it was chaos. His head legal counsel was there, murmuring in tight tones to someone from security.

A private doctor stood near the hallway, suitcase open and ready. The elevator dinged softly behind you, someone rushing past with documents in hand. Every face was tense. Quiet.

You stood there, dripping wet, your lungs burning not from the run but from what came next.

“Where is he?” you asked the moment one of the security team spotted you.

“They’re just bringing him in—”

And then the door opened. Two guards came in first, followed by the doctor, and then—

Wonwoo.

He was walking, which gave you the tiniest ounce of reliefmbut barely. His face was pale under the dim light, soaked in rain, one arm pressed tightly to his side, the other bracing against a guard’s shoulder.

His eyes scanned the room and landed on you.

Everything stopped.

You wanted to go to him, throw your arms around him just to make sure he was real, breathing, alive but you froze. He didn’t say anything. Just kept looking at you like you were the only thing grounding him.

And somehow that look alone nearly shattered the wall you had built this past week.

You followed as the doctor led him to the couch, gloves already on, checking his vitals. Someone handed him dry clothes. He didn’t speak through any of it. He just winced when the doctor touched a bruised rib, hissed softly when antiseptic hit a gash on his arm.

Still, his eyes found you again, as if making sure you were still there.

You stood behind the couch, hands clenched into fists. You needed to stay calm. Needed to be his assistant, not this panicked, helpless version of yourself shaking in place.

“How bad is it?” you asked quietly when the doctor finally stepped back.

“He’ll need to rest some bruising. A few minor cuts. Thankfully nothing internal.” The doctor looked to you, then back to Wonwoo. “But he shouldn’t be left alone tonight.”

“I’ll stay,” you said, before anyone else could offer.

Wonwoo didn’t argue. His team slowly began filtering out, murmuring about statements, follow-ups, documents to file. You barely registered them.

When everyone else finally cleared out, and it was just you and him in the dim quiet of the penthouse, you finally moved. Walked to him slowly. Sat down on the table in front of him.

“You’re an idiot,” you said quietly. Your voice cracked.

He blinked. “...You’re soaked.”

“You almost died, and that’s your concern?”

“You’re shaking.”

“I ran here through the rain!”

A pause then he reached forward, slowly, fingers brushing yours. You flinched—not from fear, but from everything inside you that had been bubbling and cracking and breaking since the call.

He didn’t pull away.

“I told them to call you first,” he said.

You swallowed. “You did?”

“I knew you’d come.”

Of course you would. Even if it killed you.

You exhaled, shoulders finally sagging as you leaned your forehead gently against his shoulder.

“Just—don’t ever do that again,” you whispered.

“I didn’t plan on it.”

The tears came before you even realized it. You tried to blink them away, wiped at your cheeks quickly with the sleeve of your hoodie like that would make it less obvious, but it was already too late.

Wonwoo was staring at you with something unreadable in his eyes, something that wasn’t just concern or guilt or pain. Something softer.

“Are you… crying because you almost lost your boss?” he asked, tone dry but quiet, like he wasn’t sure if joking was allowed yet.

You sniffled. “Shut up.”

And he chuckled. That low, rare laugh of his that always caught you off guard. The kind that never lasted more than a second but managed to settle under your skin.

You didn’t pull away when he reached for you. You didn’t step back or pretend to be fine or make another sarcastic comment. Instead, you let yourself be tugged forward, into the warmth of his chest, your knees slipping between his as you pressed your forehead to his shoulder again.

His arms came around you, one a little tighter than the other with the bruised rib, but it didn’t matter.

You melted into him.

“You’re shaking,” he grumbled, voice muffled against your hair. “Why would you run through the rain like that? Do you even know how dangerous—”

“Wonwoo.”

“It would have been better to take the bus than this—”

“You were in a car accident,” you muttered against his shirt, voice hoarse. “You could’ve—”

“But I didn’t,” he said. And his tone dropped, lost the teasing edge. “I didn’t.”

You didn’t answer, just gripped his shirt tighter in your fists.

He sighed softly, adjusting to pull you in closer despite the dull ache in his side. “You’re going to catch a cold.”

“Still your assistant,” you mumbled. “Technically part of my job description to panic when my boss almost dies.”

“That’s not in any contract I’ve signed.”

You scoffed against him. “You bend rules, remember?”

That made him pause. Then he murmured, “Only for you.”

It hung in the air between you, heavier than the silence before it but you didn’t back away. Not this time. You stayed exactly where you were, your cheek pressed to his chest, his arms wrapped around you like he wasn’t planning to let go any time soon.

“Are you seriously doing this right now?” you deadpan, arms crossed as you stand by his office door, glaring at the man who was very much in a car accident less than twenty-four hours ago and now sat at his desk like nothing happened.

Wonwoo didn’t even flinch. He adjusted the sleeves of his dark shirt—he’d forgone the tie today, probably the only concession he made to his condition—and started tapping through emails like you weren’t shooting daggers at him from across the room.

“I already told you,” he said calmly, “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine, you’re stubborn.” You stomped over to his desk, grabbed the edge of it like you might flip it just to make your point.

“Your shoulder’s bruised. You’ve got stitches on your hand. You limped into the building this morning, and you have a team of people who can handle things for you while you rest.”

“Yet here you are,” he replied, not looking up. “Still here. Still managing my schedule.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Because I knew you’d pull this.”

“Sit down,” you said, exasperated, reaching over to grab his laptop. “You’re getting too comfortable pretending you’re indestructible. I should start locking your office when you're not fit for duty.”

Wonwoo leaned back in his chair slightly, wincing just a little. “That would be an abuse of power.”

You raised a brow. “And giving yourself a concussion from working too much isn’t?”

He blinked slowly. “It was a collision, not my laptop falling on my head.”

“Same difference.”

That made him laugh—quiet but real—and you hated how your heart did a stupid little stutter at the sound.

“Fine,” he said, finally closing the laptop. “An hour. Then I’ll rest.”

“You said that two hours ago.”

He huffed a soft laugh again behind you, then called your name, quietly.

“You didn’t have to stay last night,” he said.

“I know.”

“And you didn’t have to come running when they called.”

“I know.”

“And you still did.”

You shifted slightly under his gaze, biting your lip. “Don’t make it weird, Jeon.”

His eyes softened just enough. “I won’t. Not today.”

“Don’t say it,” you mutter, voice barely above a whisper.

Wonwoo doesn’t reply, just tilts his head slightly, waiting. You glance down, hands gripping the edge of the file you’re holding like it might anchor you to the ground.

“I—I don’t know what this is,” you say, finally meeting his eyes. “What we are. And maybe it’s nothing. Maybe it’s just… blurred lines. But I’m not going to do something that can put your position at risk.”

There’s a flicker in his expression. A faint crease between his brows. Like something in your words bruised a part of him.

He still doesn’t speak. Doesn’t try to convince you, doesn’t argue or joke or push.

But what you don’t know—what he doesn’t say out loud—is that the moment you stepped into his life, everything shifted. He’s not just willing to bend the rules anymore. No, in his mind, he’s already rebuilding the whole system. Brick by brick. Quietly, meticulously.

If the rules don’t allow room for you, then the rules need to change. Simple as that.

To him, it’s never been about risk.

It’s about you.

You, who showed up through every storm. You, who know how he takes his coffee better than the barista at his usual café. You, who still argue with him about cufflinks and vitamins and going home at a reasonable hour.

You, who looked like you were going to fall apart when you saw him after the accident—and then pulled yourself together for his sake anyway.

So no—he doesn’t speak. Not yet. But as he watches you retreat across the room, back to your usual spot like nothing just passed between you, he knows.

This silence won’t last forever.

The summons came just after you got back to your desk. A message from him

JWW: Come in. Now.

You groan quietly and bang your forehead lightly against your desk twice before pushing yourself up. Of course he found out. Of course someone from HR opened their mouth.

You tried to handle it discreetly, but nothing ever stays secret for long in this building. Especially when it comes to you and Jeon Wonwoo. When you enter, he’s behind his desk, sleeves rolled to the elbows, glasses on, the expression on his face unreadable.

That’s somehow worse.

“Sit,” he says simply.

You do, because what else can you do? You sit, and the air feels a little too heavy for your liking.

“So,” he starts, folding his hands together on the desk. “Are you going to tell me what this is about or are you planning to run away without saying anything?”

You blink. “Define ‘run away’ because technically I didn’t quit—yet.”

His jaw ticks. “You went to HR.”

“I was just exploring options,” you say quickly, too quickly. “I wasn’t resigning or handing in a letter or—you know, flinging myself dramatically off the metaphorical cliff. I was just—curious.”

“Curious about replacing yourself?”

You open your mouth. Then close it. Then open it again and sigh.

“Okay. Fine. Look. I am at the point where I’m tired, okay? Tired of pretending I don’t like you more than I should. More than I will ever admit again after this, by the way. Because I can’t—we can’t—this whole thing, it’s just—”

You stop for a second, gesturing vaguely at him like he’s part of the problem (he is), then at yourself (you are), then just give up and drop your hands on your lap.

“I don’t know how we got here,” you mutter. “One minute you’re just Jeon Wonwoo: Scary CEO, walking PowerPoint presentation, likes black coffee and dark suits and the sound of his own silence. And the next minute, you’re showing up in my brain in the middle of the night like—like some tragic K-drama male lead with a concussion and tailored pants.”

You inhale sharply. “And do you know how annoying it is that you're actually nice underneath all the CEO brooding? I was fully prepared to keep ignoring my feelings for the rest of my life. I had a plan! I was emotionally repressed and everything!”

He just watches you, still too quiet, still too calm. That, more than anything, starts to unravel you.

“I thought if I started the process of finding a replacement, I could… create some distance. I mean, if I’m not your assistant anymore, then maybe—maybe I’ll stop being the person who knows what color your mood is just from how you set your coffee cup down. Or the person who notices every time you look for me in a meeting. Or—God—forgets to breathe every time you wear those damn glasses—”

Wonwoo finally stands.

You freeze.

Oh no. You crossed a line. Several lines. You practically did the tango over them.

But he doesn’t speak. He just walks around the desk and stops in front of you.

“I wore the glasses today on purpose,” he says, voice lower than before.

You blink up at him, stunned. “What?”

“I knew you’d be avoiding me. I figured it’d be the fastest way to get your attention again.”

“You—” You gape. “You manipulative, calculating—glasses-wearing menace!”

A corner of his mouth twitches.

“I told you once I don’t bend the rules for anyone,” he says. “But I would for you. I already have.”

Your breath hitches. He kneels slightly to be at your level.

“If we’re really doing this…” you start, voice quieter now, softer after all the chaos you just unloaded.

Wonwoo’s still crouched in front of you, looking like he’s got all the time in the world. His eyes haven’t left yours once. You try not to fidget. Fail. Fidget anyway.

“…And the past few minutes, days, moments weren’t just my imagination,” you continue, “then I think I want to… I mean, I would like to… resign.”

His eyes narrow a little, and you raise a hand fast.

“Not like that! I don’t mean…” You inhale and press your palms against your knees, steadying yourself. “I mean, if we’re actually doing this, the… you and me thing, or whatever this is, I don’t think I can keep working for you.”

You rush on before he can interrupt, knowing that look on his face is the quiet before the storm. “I’m serious! If it turns out we’re just a momentary cliché, if something blows up, if we break up—”

“We haven’t even started,” he says dryly.

“Exactly!” you say, flailing slightly. “And still I’m spiraling. Imagine what I’d be like if we actually dated. I’d be hiding under every Monday morning or sobbing in the elevator and calling HR with a fake voice—‘Yes, hello, it’s not me, but I think Jeon Wonwoo is dating his assistant.’”

His lips twitch. “You’d sabotage yourself?”

“In a heartbeat,” you admit shamelessly. “And then I’d call myself to schedule the investigation.”

That earns a short laugh from him, low and warm.

“I’m not saying this like I want to end anything before it starts,” you say. “But I want to keep the work stuff clean. I don’t want you to have to explain to the board or media why your assistant gets heart eyes during your presentations.”

He’s quiet again.

Still.

Too still.

“Say something. Please. Or blink. You’re staring like you already have my resignation letter drafted.”

Wonwoo finally stands. Walks around his desk. You watch, thinking he’s about to sit. He doesn’t. Instead, he pulls out a drawer, retrieves a black folder, opens it slowly… and pulls out a paper.

Your paper. Your résumé. The one you handed in three years ago, now carefully stored in his private drawer.

Your eyes go wide. “You kept that?”

“I keep records,” he says calmly.

You sputter. “Is that romantic or terrifying?”

“Both.”

“If you want to resign,” he says, voice steady but a little rough around the edges, “I won’t stop you. But not because you’re afraid of being a cliché.”

“Then why?”

“Because I want to ask you out,” he says plainly. “Not as my assistant. Not as part of work. Just you.”

“You said you don’t know what we are,” he says, “but I do. I’ve known for a while.”

Your heart is hammering in your chest.

“So,” he says, walking over and placing the folder on the coffee table in front of you. “Take your time. Think about it. Resign or don’t. But I’m not letting go just because this is complicated.”

You stare at the folder, then up at him. He looks impossibly calm, like he’s already built a ten-year plan around whatever your decision ends up being.

“…So,” you say weakly. “If I do resign, does this mean I can start sending flirty emails to your work account?”

His mouth twitches again. “You already do.”

“Excuse me?”

“Yesterday’s ‘Don’t forget to eat or I’ll come drag you out of that meeting myself’ email? Very romantic.”

You gasp. “That was threatening! That was a threat!”

“Exactly,” he says smoothly. “Romantic.”

God help you.

You’re falling in love with a terrifying CEO and apparently… he’s already ten steps ahead.

The days that followed felt both painfully normal and wildly new. You still arrived before him, arranged his schedule, reminded him of appointments, sent out emails like clockwork, and somehow anticipated every unspoken instruction without skipping a beat. You were still you, still the best assistant he’s ever had—and both of you knew it.

But now, tucked between all the efficient workflow and clinical professionalism, you were also… interviewing your potential replacements.

“I’m not saying she wasn’t qualified,” you muttered once, shuffling candidate files across your tablet as you stood beside him during a short elevator ride, “but she called you ‘Mr. Jeonwoo’ twice, and I refuse to subject the office to that level of chaos.”

Wonwoo didn’t even look up from his phone. “So you’re screening for people who can pronounce my name?”

“I’m screening for people who won’t accidentally get fired on their first day.”

That earned a glance. A small smile.

He didn’t say it out loud, but you could see it in the way his jaw tightened every time you walked into his office with an updated shortlist.

You also learned very quickly that flirting from Jeon Wonwoo was dangerous because it didn’t come in loud declarations or showy gestures. It came quietly, smoothly, when you least expected it.

You didn’t even glance up from the stack of resumes in your hand when you spoke, but your voice was quieter this time. Less joking. “You hate it, don’t you. Interviewing my replacements.”

There was a beat of silence, just the sound of a soft sigh and the scratch of his pen stopping against paper.

Then, low and almost reluctant, he mumbled, “I do.”

That made you look up.

“I hate it. Every time I sit across from them and they talk about time management and efficiency and how good they are at color-coding calendars, I just—” He paused, jaw tightening. “—I want to ask them if they’d know to cancel a meeting just from the way I shift in my seat. Or if they’d remember I like my coffee black when the forecast says rain.”

You stared.

He finally looked at you then, straight in the eye.

“But,” he continued, quieter now, “if that’s what it will take for us to work… if you think I’m worth the risk… then I’m okay with it.”

You felt your heart thump once—loud and sharp—before catching in your throat. There it was.

That steady, no-nonsense Wonwoo voice. The one he used when finalizing major business deals. The one that didn’t entertain doubt.

But this time it was about you.

Your hands folded the resume in your lap without realizing, and you whispered, “That’s not fair.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What’s not?”

“You saying stuff like that—” You gestured vaguely at him, at the air, at the space between you. “—like you didn’t just casually drop an emotional landmine across my perfectly organized work brain.”

Wonwoo almost smiled. “So now I’m a distraction?”

“The biggest one.”

A beat. Then a low chuckle.

“Then it’s only fair,” he said.

You narrowed your eyes. “What?”

“You’ve been distracting me for years.”

You groaned, tossing the resume at the table like it offended you. “You were supposed to be emotionally constipated, not—whatever this is.”

He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees, the edge of his mouth tugging up just a little. “Surprise.”

You blinked at him, unsure if you wanted to slap his shoulder or kiss him.

Probably both.

“I still don’t know if this is smart,” you muttered. “We’re walking a very thin line, you know.”

“I know.”

“It’s going to be messy.”

“I’ve seen worse.”

“And if we crash and burn, I’m not just risking my job, I’m risking my pride. And I have a lot of pride.”

He leaned in a little closer. “I know.”

“You’re really not going to try and talk me out of this?”

“Why would I? I’ve waited long enough.”

That shut you up. Completely.

Finally, you mumbled, “You should come with a warning label.”

“I do,” he said. “You just ignore it.”

You shook your head, trying not to smile. “You’re annoying.”

“Still worth the risk?”

You glared.

He smirked.

He stood up slowly, smooth and deliberate, walking around the table until he was in front of you. You tilted your head back slightly to follow his movement, heart ticking up a notch when he crouched down at your side, eyes leveled with yours.

“I don’t want you to give up anything for me,” he said, voice low and steady. “Don’t choose between me and your career if that’s what’s happening here.”

You opened your mouth. Then shut it. Then tried again.

“But…” You hesitated, the word hanging on your tongue like it weighed more than it should.

“But that’s the thing,” you said, voice quieter now. “I’d choose…”

His gaze didn’t move. Didn’t push or pressure. Just waited. Calm. Patient.

“I’d choose you,” you finally said, barely louder than a whisper.

Wonwoo didn’t move at first. Just blinked—slow, like he had to take in every word. Then his mouth lifted at the corner, the smallest, softest smile.

You added quickly, “But I’m still finishing this project, okay? Don’t get all weird and noble. I’ve worked too hard to leave everything half-done.”

His brow arched in amusement. “So you’re choosing me but with conditions.”

You scowled. “Obviously.”

A soft laugh escaped him then, low and genuine. His hand reached out, carefully, fingers brushing yours before curling around them. “Okay,” he said. “Conditions accepted.”

And there, in the middle of your chaotic work desk, his knees probably going numb from crouching and you blinking back whatever overwhelming feeling was trying to crash over your chest—you smiled.

Really smiled because you knew this wasn’t just about choosing him.

He was choosing you, too.

You were half-kneeling by the side cabinet in his office, going through the rack of emergency suits and coats he kept in there. As usual, muttering to yourself as you folded one of the sleeves more neatly.

“Who just shoves an Armani jacket like this? The hanger is right there—why do I even bother—”

You were so caught up in your organizing and light scolding that you didn’t hear him approach. Didn’t notice the soft thud of his polished shoes on the carpet.

Until you felt arms slowly wrap around you from behind.

You froze.

Completely, utterly froze.

“Jeon Wonwoo,” you said slowly, voice already filled with warning, “what do you think you’re doing?”

He didn’t let go. In fact, he just rested his chin lightly on your shoulder and sighed. “It’s after hours,” he mumbled, voice lower, deeper, rougher from fatigue. “And I’m tired.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Blinked.

“Okay, first of all,” you started, heart beating way too fast for your liking, “you can’t just sneak up on people and hug them like that—this is still your office. Technically still a place of work.”

He didn’t budge. Just nuzzled a little closer and sighed again.

“Wonwoo,” you said, more breathless this time. “Let go.”

“No.”

“I’m not kidding.”

“Neither am I.”

“This is not professional,” you tried.

“Good thing it’s after hours,” he replied easily.

“I could file a complaint.”

“You could,” he said, finally leaning back just a little—but his hands stayed firmly on your waist. “But you won’t.”

You turned around slowly to face him, hands still awkwardly stuck between you and his chest. He looked tired, yes, but there was something else in his eyes. Something soft. Something dangerous.

You swallowed. “Why are you doing this now?”

“Because you’re leaving soon,” he said simply. “And I… don’t want to miss any more moments I could’ve had.”

“So this is your plan? Surprise-hug me into staying?”

He smirked, just a little. “You always did respond to blunt gestures.”

You laughed despite yourself, pressing a palm to your face. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re still here,” he said.

You scowl at him, cheeks burning as your palms press lightly against his chest, trying—and failing—to keep some kind of distance.

"Once I’m not your secretary," you mutter, almost too fast, your eyes darting everywhere except at his, "I can be… I don’t know. Whatever you want me to."

Wonwoo blinks, caught off guard—but only for a second. Because then, he smiles. That rare, boyish smile. The one that softens every sharp angle of his intimidating face. The one you’ve only seen a handful of times and never this close.

Then, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, he pulls you into an even tighter hug. His arms wrap around you securely, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of your head gently.

You immediately panic.

"Yah—Jeon Wonwoo!" you squeak, muffled slightly against his chest. "I just said not yet! What are you doing?!"

"You said 'once you’re not my secretary'," he says, completely unbothered, his voice warm and annoyingly smug. "Not that I couldn’t get a head start."

"That’s not what I meant and you know it!"

He chuckles low in his throat. "You're rambling again."

"Because you’re hugging me! Like this!"

"I’m practicing."

"For what, exactly?!"

He leans his chin on top of your head, his voice a low hum. “For the moment I can finally call you mine without crossing any lines.”

You go quiet. Your entire face burns hot, your mind frantically searching for a snarky comeback—but nothing comes. Because deep down, maybe you don’t want to deflect this time.

After a long moment, you sigh, defeated, forehead gently bumping against his chest.

"You’re really good at this, you know that?"

"Only when it comes to you," he murmurs, and now you really want to scream.

But you don’t. Not tonight.

Instead, you let him hold you for just a little longer.

The office is quieter today.

Not because the work has stopped—Jeon Corporations doesn’t sleep—but because it’s your last day, and everyone knows it. People greet you with bittersweet smiles. The ones who have worked closest to you offer their heartfelt goodbyes, some even trying to convince you to reconsider.

But your decision was already made.

You spend the morning tying up the final pieces of the major project you've been overseeing. Your replacement shadows you through the day, still stiff and nervous under Wonwoo's piercing gaze. You catch yourself shooting the poor kid a sympathetic smile more than once.

By lunch, you’ve cleared out your desk. The clock ticks toward the end of the day, and for once, you don’t rush to meet him outside his office when his final meeting wraps. You don’t straighten his tie, or hand him his coffee, or recite the rundown of his next appointments.

You just wait quietly at your desk, finishing the last bit of documentation before sending the final email.

You hear him call for you from his office so you go in.

Wonwoo stands there, in his suit and tie, every bit the composed CEO the world knows him as. But his eyes are different. There’s something quieter in them. Something only you have ever seen.

“So… this is it.”

You nod. “This is it.”

He walks to his desk, pulls open the drawer, and places a sleek black envelope on the table between you. You blink down at it, puzzled.

“It’s a… contract? A letter? A declaration” he says casually. “Nothing official. Just something I’ve drafted. It outlines your new role.”

Your heart stops. “My what?”

He smiles faintly. “Girlfriend. Possibly more later. Benefits included. No office politics. No need to call me ‘sir’ anymore, unless you want to.”

You laugh, a sound that comes out half-hysterical, half-teary. “You made a contract?”

“Would you expect anything less from me?”

You roll your eyes, trying to pretend you’re not fighting the urge to cry again. “This is ridiculous.”

“I wanted to do this the right way,” he says. “I didn’t want to take a single risk with you while we were still bound by titles. But now... there’s nothing in the way.”

You look up at him—your now former boss, the man who made you fall so impossibly hard without even trying.

“I’m off the clock,” you whisper.

His lips curve. “Then I can do this.”

And he kisses you.

No more tension, no more pretending. Just him. Just you.

Finally.

When the two of you break apart, you’re both smiling. This right here should feel scary, stepping into this unknown with the man who knows you best.

You look at the letter again, smiling bigger “You reall drafted a whole contract like this is some business deal?” you tease him

“What? Were you expecting a heartfelt love letter stating every reason why I’m choosing you? I can make a whole book of that if you want”

You laugh at that, Wonwoo watches you like you’re a sight he’ll never get tired watching.

“So let’s say I’m interested in this vacancy… as your girlfriend…” you trail off.

Immediately his arms tightens around you, lifting you slightly off the ground making you laugh again before he settles you back on the ground without letting you go

“You’re overqualified, I’d promote you straight to wife” he says with the kind of seriousness hed use in the boardroom.

You roll your eyes but ending up grinning and blushing anyways. You stand on your tiptoe, your lips capturing his again.

And as the day ends, a new one will begin.

You might not be there beside him during the work hours, but now you’ll be there with him for a lifetime.

2 YEARS LATER

His office looked exactly the same.

Same towering bookshelves, same minimalist elegance, same silent efficiency humming in the walls—but if someone paid enough attention, they’d notice the change. They’d see it in the framed photo on his desk, the faintest hint of a smile that used to never be there, and the soft black velvet box in the drawer closest to him, now empty.

Jeon Wonwoo had just ended another brutal, back-to-back meeting with the overseas partners. He leaned back in his chair, rolling his sleeves up slightly, the sharp lines of his suit jacket discarded on the coat rack. The meeting had run long—again—and now he was due for a dinner event in exactly thirty minutes.

He glanced down at his cufflinks and sighed.

Of course.

He grabbed one, trying to angle it just right, but it slipped from his fingers. The sound it made hitting the desk was soft, but his jaw clenched. It wasn’t about the cufflinks. It was the fact that you used to do this for him—quietly, without asking, without needing a cue.

Before he could try again, his new secretary knocked once and stepped in. “Sir, your—”

He didn’t even look up. “Let her in.”

The secretary blinked. “Ah, yes. Of course.” She stepped back.

And then you walked in.

Not in workwear. Not with your tablet or schedule. But in an elegant blouse tucked into black trousers, a soft leather handbag slung over your shoulder, and a ring—his ring—glinting proudly on your finger.

“Wow,” you said, raising a brow as you shut the door behind you. “Still fighting with the cufflinks?”

Wonwoo didn’t smile, but there was that look—eyes softening just a fraction, the corners of his mouth threatening a curve.

“I had it under control,” he said.

You snorted, crossing the room with the same confidence you had when you worked under him—but this time, it wasn’t duty guiding your steps. It was something else entirely.

“Sure, Mr. CEO,” you teased, reaching for his wrist. “Let me help before you bend another rule and go to a black-tie dinner with rolled sleeves.”

He extended his arm wordlessly, watching the way your fingers expertly slid the cufflink into place.

“How was the meeting?” you asked.

He exhaled through his nose. “I’d rather have been anywhere else.”

“Even stuck in traffic with me singing off-key?”

He gave you a side-glance. “That’s not nearly as bad as you think.”

You smirked, moving to his other cuff. “You’re just saying that because you proposed after one of those car rides.”

“And because you said yes,” he said quietly. Remembering that night just a few weeks ago.

Your hands faltered for a moment, not because you were unsure—never that—but because it still floored you, how easily you could fall for him all over again in small moments like this.

“Yeah,” you said softly. “I did.”

The second cufflink clicked into place. You smoothed the sleeves of his dress shirt and adjusted his collar. When you looked up, he was already watching you again.

“I can’t believe it’s been two years,” you murmured, voice almost lost in the room’s quiet. “Sometimes I still feel like I’m going to hear my name called out over the intercom, or get a panicked email because you refused to reschedule three back-to-back meetings.”

“Sometimes I miss having you around the office,” he admitted. “But then I remember I get you all to myself now.”

You laughed, eyes rolling. “Is that your way of saying you miss me managing your life?”

“Maybe,” he said, brushing a strand of hair from your cheek. “But I prefer you managing our home.”

That made your heart skip.

“I’m still adjusting to that,” you said. “Every time I walk past your closet, I think, ‘Wow. The Jeon Wonwoo actually shares closet space.’”

He gave you a dry look. “Barely. You’ve taken over the left half.”

You grinned. “I make you better, admit it.”

He didn’t hesitate. “You always have.”

There was a knock on the door again—his driver this time.

Wonwoo didn’t look away from you. “Give me five minutes.”

The driver left. You turned to grab your bag but paused as he caught your wrist, gently pulling you back to him.

“I have ten minutes before I need to smile for cameras and pretend I care about golf again,” he said, voice lower. “That gives me enough time to tell you something.”

“What’s that?” you asked.

“That no meeting, no title, no company… will ever mean more to me than you.”

You blinked once. Twice.

He leaned in, his forehead resting against yours.

“I loved you when you were my assistant,” he whispered. “I love you now. And I’ll still love you when you're yelling at me because I left the fridge door open again.”

“You mean when,” you mumbled, lips curving.

“When,” he agreed.

He kissed your temple. “Now come on, fiancée. You’re making me late.”

“You love it when I make you late,” you quipped.

He smirked. “Only for you.”

And just like that, you walked out of his office—not as the woman behind the CEO, but as the woman beside him.

Jeon Wonwoo was nothing if not sure.

And he was sure of you.

There would be whispers. There always were. To some, this story was a fairytale—the secretary who fell for the CEO. To others, it was scandal—a power imbalance, manipulation, an easy narrative painted by people who didn’t know the first thing about the truth. Some would say he gave you everything.

But they’d be wrong.

Because you were there when nothing was certain. You were the one behind the early days the quiet, ugly, unglamorous chaos no one ever saw. The nights you stayed until 3 a.m. running numbers, making calls, stitching together crises before they unraveled.

They didn’t know that without you, Jeon Wonwoo didn’t function—not the way they knew him.

They didn’t know how many nights you reminded him to eat, to sleep, to rest his eyes. That you were the one who taught him how to slow down. How to feel.

And now, years later, you were no longer the assistant with your name tucked under his email threads. You were the woman standing beside him in a room full of sharks, still the calm at the center of his storm.

357 notes · View notes

kissbyoon · 4 months ago

Text

⠀𖼥ৎ⠀“wedding ring” ₍ svt ₎

───── ABOUT how svt would react to you removing and leaving your wedding ring before heading to shower.

⋆ 𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆: fluff, humour, married au, headcannons ⋆ 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: husband!svt x gn!reader ⋆ 𝒄𝒘: mentions of skinship, kissing, petnames ⋆ 𝒘𝒄: 0.6k in total

A/N: all thanks to @wonkierideul for helping me out♡ ily oomfie

⑅ Jeonghan, Woozi, Minghao, Vernon, Wonwoo

I feel like for these five, it really won't be a big deal. Because as far as they can remember, he didn't do something that would upset you. They are also aware of the fact that—no matter how mad you are, you would never take your ring off. But if you ever did, their heart will stop beating and it's not even a joke. They would often tell you how the ring is a symbol of your marriage that is filled with love and happiness, and it means alot to them. So there's no way you would never do that to their poor heart.

But one plus point for Jeonghan—this man would definitely be like “Phew, I thought you were mad at me for eating the last piece of the cake…” then get on his knees to beg for forgiveness when you actually get mad.

⑅ Joshua, Junhui, Dokyeom, Chan

These four wouldn't be a big problem, but they would definitely be a bit worried. I feel like they would ask you “Why did you take your ring off? Did I do something wrong?” As soon as you step out of the bathroom. Especially Chan and Dokyeom—this man would be worried. He is thinking of all the things he did the whole day and is ready to fall to his knees as soon as you step out of the shower. But once you reassure them with the real reason why you left it there, they would be relieved and happy again. (OUGHHH CHANNIE MY BABYYY)

⑅ Seungcheol, Hoshi, Mingyu, Seungkwan

Now I present to you… the most dramatic group of men. You definitely weren't thinking of it much when you left the ring there, but now, you better be prepared to face the most pouty hubby ever. And it's only fair I give you an idea of how the four of them would be dramatic in their own special ways.

Especially Seungkwan—he is throwing a tantrum. “This is torture to our 5 years of marriage… it's heartbreaking, I'm heartbroken!” Better shower him kisses because he is just waiting for that before throwing a kick in the air with happiness.

And we have Mingyu—the six feet man with all the buffiness becomes a puddle of sadness when you walk out of the shower and see him curled up on the bed, staring at the ring in front of him with a frown. No matter how much you reassure him, he is clinging to you and mumbling apologies for nothing. (STOP OMG I HAD TO COVER MY FACE WITH A GIGGLE IN THE MIDDLE OF WRITING THIS)

Well, now. Hoshi. Oh my god this horanghae guy is a menace. He looks at you with the most adorable sad puppy eyes ever when you walk out of the shower. And when I say the most adorable, I mean the most adorable sad puppy eyes. “Just say you hate me,” he would pout his heart out. But when you tell him, “Okay, my big baby, put the ring back in my finger yourself,” he would JUMP back up with the biggest grin ever that made his eyes close and kick the air with his feet at the petname. You shall call him ‘my baby’ everyday now. He accepts it more than ‘horangi’!

Sighs. Now, the worst of all—Seungcheol. This man’s hotness and buffiness is all wasted in front of you. He doesn't give a damn if he's looking like the biggest loser right now, but he would whine and pout about this the whole day. He would try to refuse physical touch throughout the day, but would eventually give up and come running to you himself. “Please hug me,” he would say while suffocating you in a hug.

1K notes · View notes

fairyhaos · 3 months ago

Text

◈ raspberry and pistachio cake // jeon wonwoo

wonwoo x gn!reader, 1.6k+ words

tags: non-idols, fluff, soulmates(ish), established relationship, wonwoo watches yn paint by the river :3

warnings: pet names (baby), yn is of a skin colour that can get sunburn

summary: you're raspberry pink, and wonwoo is pistachio green.... unfortunately (not), that's all it takes for his soul to be permanently bonded to yours.

Soulmate.

You’ve never really liked the word. There’s always been something rather—disappointingly predetermined, about it. Like a soulmate is someone that you simply find one day and, suddenly, you realise they’re your other half. The last puzzle piece to your life. Like you were imperfect, incomplete, missing something, before you met. That always felt wrong.

Despite this, Wonwoo is most certainly your soulmate.

“What do you think?”

Wonwoo looks up at your voice, leaning over to peer over your shoulder, and he pauses contemplatively as he considers.

“Very pretty,” he says finally, the smile warm in his voice. “I like the pink you used.”

He points at your painted blossoms, dark pink and delicate, alive against the flat yellow page of your half-finished painting. The compliment earns him a brilliant smile from you, and his own smile widens, pleased.

You’ve been at this for a while now, hunched over your mini sketchbook as Wonwoo twiddles his thumbs on the bench beside you. To any passersby who see you painting by the river, lost in your own world, it looks like you’re cruelly ignoring your boyfriend on a picture-perfect day on the picture-perfect date, but it’s actually quite the opposite.

In fact, Wonwoo offered to bring you here to do just this.

Today is quite honestly the most gorgeous day of the entire year, with the sunlight a dainty white-gold, spilling over the water and making even the grass glow. The cherry blossoms are in full bloom, and by some miracle, they haven’t disappeared even though the weekend has arrived. They rustle quietly in the spring breeze, soft as marshmallows, pink as cherub’s lips. Some of their petals snow down when the wind hits them just right, and you lift your head in wonder at the sight of the pink blending with the green blades of grass.

Your head is blissfully quiet, devoid of any whispers of worry or stress. All that exists is you, the beautiful landscape, and your sketchbook.

Oh, and Wonwoo, of course.

Wonwoo, who read your mind like it was nothing, who had known, even before you did, that you wanted to leave the house today and take some time to empty your brain and paint mindless landscapes by the river and let the hours pass you by.

Beautiful, wonderful Wonwoo, who had done all of that with a simple “Shall we go out today?” and a beautiful, wonderful shine in his eyes.

It’s like he really does know you. In a way that only a soulmate would.

He watches you now, quiet, taking in the way you dip your paintbrush into your paints, brushing tiny strokes across the page, pausing every now and then to observe your own movements before carrying on. He can’t help the smile that permanently lifts the corners of his lips: you’re so obviously in your element, relaxed and happy, and he’s so pleased to see you so content.

Wonwoo quite honestly has nothing to do right now. He didn’t bring anything to occupy himself, and it doesn’t feel right to go on his phone when nature is bright and alive all around him, so he just watches you.

It’s quite nice. You’re very pretty. Everything about you is so—pretty, and from the twitch of your eyelashes to the frown of your brow when you concentrate, there’s something so uniquely you about it that he adores. You have the prettiest, kindest, loveliest soul he’s ever seen, and he loves seeing the way you practically glow whenever he’s by your side. He loves knowing that he can make you feel that way, that you feel comfortable enough to be so soft and vulnerable with him in a way you never are with others.

Makes him feel like he’s your soulmate, almost. He knows you don’t believe in that kind of thing, but for him, you really are his soulmate. So he hopes he’s yours, too.

“I really like these blossoms,” you say abruptly, and Wonwoo blinks back into the present. You’re not looking at him, instead squinting at the blossom trees on the other side of the river, but Wonwoo gives you his full attention anyway, wide-eyed and attentive.

“Really? Why these ones?”

“They’re raspberry pink,” you say, mixing more of the dark pink to paint your flowers. You look up and meet Wonwoo’s gaze, a smile crinkling the corners of your eyes. “It’s rare to find blossoms that are this kind of pink. It’s so pretty.”

Wonwoo softens. “I see,” he says thoughtfully. “You’re right, we don’t see this colour of blossoms very often. They really are rare and pretty.” Then he smiles, the frames of his glasses glinting in the sunlight. “But nothing is as pretty as you.”

That makes you laugh, head tilted back, laughter like bright bursts of light, and Wonwoo’s heart swells.

“You’re just obligated to say that, ‘cause you’re my boyfriend,” you say teasingly. Both of you know that’s a lie, however. Wonwoo would love you to the ends of the world, even if you didn’t feel the same.

Wonwoo goes along with it anyway.

“You’re right,” he says solemnly, abruptly stoic-serious, and it makes you laugh again. “I’m contractually bound to call you the prettiest being in existence.”

You rub at your cheek with a paint-stained hand, grinning. “Damn right you are. I made that contract.”

“Yes, you did,” Wonwoo says, and he can’t help the fondness that seeps in as you go back to your sketchbook. He can see the way you begin to disconnect from the world again, can see the exact moment his own voice becomes muffled to your ears. Wonwoo smiles, fond. “And I was so infatuated with you that I signed it right away.”

───────────── 🍰

When the heat finally gets too much for you, you finally stretch and set your paints aside, giving your boyfriend a smile.

“Finished?” Wonwoo asks, and you shake your head.

“No way. If I could paint more, then I would, but I think I have sunburn on my wrists now,” you say with a laugh, and Wonwoo chuckles.

“That’s plausible. We’ve been sitting here for a while,” he says, and begins helping you pack away. Gently, you blow against your still-wet pages as Wonwoo gathers your brushes and paints. You turn to him once he’s finished, a pout on your lips.

“I don’t think this is dry,” you say sadly, as Wonwoo packs your things away into a bag he brought with you. “I’m gonna have to hold the book like this all the way home.”

Wonwoo smiles. “Don’t worry. I’ll shield you from any strong wind.”

You laugh. “Thank you, baby. You’re the best. I was more worried that I wouldn’t be able to hold your hand, though.”

“Ah.” His smile drops comically fast as he contemplates this oh-so serious matter. “It’s okay. In the name of art, I’ll go home with my hands empty. It’s fine.”

“Thank you for your noble sacrifice,” you say, and Wonwoo laughs. “Come on, let’s go home.”

You have no idea what time it is as Wonwoo turns you by your elbow and slowly walks you home. The sun is still out, and there’s still a light breeze rustling the grass, so time has done that weird thing where it feels like it’s stopped. But you don’t really have a desire to know how long you’ve spent by the river. It’s not like it really matters.

There are worse things in life than spending 6+ hours painting by the riverside, anyway.

“Say,” you say abruptly, and Wonwoo looks over. “Do we have any cake at home?”

Wonwoo hums. “I’m afraid not. But I can stop by the store and get some, if you want.”

“Oh, definitely,” you say. “This is certainly cake-eating weather. We need to have some cake and eat it, Wonwoo.”

He laughs. “Alright. Let’s put the paints away and I’ll go get a cake, then. Which one should I get? Pistachio, as usual?”

“As usual,” you confirm. “Though…” Your voice trails off, and you look down at your painting in your hands, the bright splashes of raspberry pink blinking up at you.

It’s like Wonwoo reads your mind.

“Shall I get some raspberries to put on it, too?” he asks, and smiles when you brighten in excitement. “Okay, I’ll do that.”

You sigh happily. “God, Wonwoo, you really are my soulmate.”

Wonwoo stumbles a little, tripping over air. “I—really?”

“Of course,” you say, and laugh when his eyes widen in disbelief. “Hey, I might hate the concept of soulmates, but I’ll still love my own. You’re like, literally the love of my life. I wasn’t broken before I knew you, but you make me feel even happier than if I was just by myself.” You gesture with your head to the sketchbook in your hands. “You let me paint by the river, you buy me cake without batting an eye, you literally love me with every fiber of your being. Never before have I felt so loved until I met you.”

Wonwoo is—he’s your boyfriend, but he’s also more than that. He’s your carbon copy, your polar opposite, your safe space, your happiness, the light in your life. He’s the green of new growth, the warmth of spring, the softness of baby ferns against your sharp, citrusy pinks.

He’s your soulmate, in the fact that his soul was made to reside next to yours: both whole, both perfect, both beautiful, but all the more overjoyed with one another by their side.

Wonwoo looks a bit teary-eyed at your words, to be honest. There’s a shine to his eyes that makes them sparkle in the pale sunlight, soft with adoration, and you can feel the way his heart is melting.

“You’re my soulmate too,” he says, warm as love. “I want to make you happy for the rest of your life.”

And as you walk with him, under the spring sun, an open sketchbook in hand as he carries your paints, promising to buy you the cake you wanted, the word soulmate leaving his lips, light as flowers—you find yourself knowing that he really will.

fics tags: @jeonginssa @weird-bookworm @minhui896 @slytherinshua @haowrld @belladaises @moonlitskiiies @mirxzii @zozojella @kawennote09 @a-wandering-stay @abibliolife @wonranghaeee @icyminghao @sweet-like-caramel @your-yxnnie @odxrilove @kyeomyun @crackedpumpkin @kellesvt @eightlightstar @onlyyjeonghan @aaniag @starshuas @raevyng @isabellah29 @hrts4hanniehae @mcu-incorrect @dokyeomkyeom @suraandsugar @tulsa24 @melodicrabbit @dokyeomkyeom @hopeless-foolery @aaa-sia

412 notes · View notes

archivegyu · 3 months ago

Text

masterlist

invisible string

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4

There’s a golden softness to late afternoons in Seoul. The kind that melts into the floorboards and sneaks into the corners of rooms. In Seungcheol’s apartment, it spills in through the wide living room windows, lazily painting everything with that hazy warmth only spring can offer. It catches in the ridges of your coffee mug, glimmers against the silver edges of your ruler, and warms the back of your neck as you hunch over the center table.

The apartment is quiet, save for the low hum of your laptop fan and the occasional scribble of your stylus across the screen. Your project , fills the display in layers of blueprints and notes. Post-its clutter the table’s edge, reminders of measurements and deadlines, and in the middle of it all, there’s you; oversized hoodie, glasses slipping down your nose, hair pulled back in a lazy bun.

And next to you, lying belly-up with a kind of careless peace you envy, is Kkuma.

She lets out a little huff, tail twitching as if in a dream. You reach over to scratch behind her ear with your free hand, lips twitching into a tired smile.

This is what most of your evenings look like lately. Half-finished sketches, cold takeout, and a drowsy dog keeping you company while your best friend dances himself to the bone in some faraway practice room.

You hadn’t meant to stay here long. When Seungcheol first offered his spare room, you’d told yourself it was just for a few months — until your life calmed down, until rent became less of a monster, until breathing felt easier.

But the months stretched, and the apartment never stopped feeling safe. He never made you feel like a guest, either. It wasn’t his place. It became yours too. The kind of home that smells like coffee and fabric softener, where the walls are filled with memories neither of you ever had to say out loud.

The front door clicks open a little past eight.

You don’t look up. You don’t need to.

The soft shuffle of sneakers on tile. The familiar thud of a duffle bag hitting the entryway floor. Then the drag of tired footsteps across the wood, slow and heavy, like gravity itself decided to cling to him today.

“I’m home,” he calls, his voice quieter than usual. Rough around the edges.

Still, you smile without looking. “There’s kimchi fried rice on the stove.”

He pauses, then: “Did you cook or order again?”

“Define ‘cook.’”

He laughs under his breath. A real one. Not the polite, camera-ready kind.

You finally glance up and find him standing a few feet away, hoodie soaked through, bangs sticking to his forehead, sweat glistening at his collarbone. Exhaustion clings to him like second skin, but his eyes are gentle, warm when they land on you.

“You’re still working?” he asks, nodding toward the screen.

You shrug. “Final review is next week.”

“You said that last week.”

“I meant it then, too.”

He shakes his head, kneels to pet Kkuma. She perks up, tail wagging in sleepy little thumps against the floor.

“She’s spoiled now,” he mutters. “Doesn’t even greet me at the door anymore.”

You hum without thinking, eyes drifting back to your screen. “She likes people who feed her on time.”

He snorts. “I’m taking a shower. Don’t pass out on the floor again.”

You raise a hand in lazy salute, already tuning back into the chaos of your canvas.

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

You’re fast asleep by the time he finds you again.

Curled up on the center table, cheek pressed to your folded arms, a pencil still tucked between your fingers. Your laptop screen has dimmed to black, casting the room into a warm hush. Kkuma lies beside you, paw resting near your knee like she’s been guarding you all evening.

Seungcheol exhales quietly from where he stands in the hallway, towel slung around his shoulders. His hair is still damp, shirt clinging slightly to his skin from the shower. His body aches from practice, but his chest aches for something else entirely.

He steps forward, careful not to wake you. There’s something fragile about the scene; the way your face is turned toward the window, the way your brows are relaxed, mouth slightly parted, like the weight you always carry has finally slipped off for just a moment.

And God, you still wear that hoodie he gave you two winters ago— fraying at the sleeves, too big for your frame, swallowed by the fabric.

He kneels beside the table.

“You weren’t supposed to fall asleep like this,” he murmurs softly, reaching to brush a stray hair out of your face.

You don’t stir. You never do, not when you’re this tired. It’s something he’s learned from the years. How you give everything you have until your body stops you. How you always say you’re fine even when you aren’t. How you carry the weight of the world in silence.

He hesitates, then gently scoops you up in his arms. You sink into his chest instinctively, head resting against the hollow of his shoulder. You smell like shampoo and his vanilla lotion you pretend not to like.

Your fingers twitch once in your sleep, curling lightly into the fabric of his shirt.

And that’s what does it; that tiny movement, that subconscious reach for him. Like something inside you knows, even now, even half-asleep, that it’s him.

He carries you to your room, nudging the door open with his foot. Lays you down slowly, carefully, like you’re something precious. Something breakable. His fingers linger on your wrist for a second too long before he pulls the blanket over you.

Then, without thinking, he reaches up and grazes the back of his knuckle along your cheek.

“Night, pretty girl,” he whispers, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Even your dreams deserve rest.”

He closes the door quietly behind him.

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Back in the living room, Seungcheol sinks into the couch, rubbing his hands over his face. The quiet presses in; thick and full of everything he’s never said.

Kkuma climbs up beside him, paws light on the cushion. She flops down, tail flicking once, then still.

He chuckles softly, leaning back. “She’s gonna burn herself out before she even graduates.”

Kkuma yawns.

“She doesn’t take care of herself unless someone makes her. It’s annoying,” he says, his voice softer now, gentler. “But… I wouldn’t want anyone else to be the one who reminds her.”

Silence stretches between him and the dog.

“You know, I’ve been trying to ignore it. For years, maybe. Told myself it was just comfort, or familiarity. Like she’s just… always been here.”

He stares up at the ceiling, eyes half-lidded.

“But it’s not that. It’s never been that.”

His voice wavers just a little.

“I’m in love with her.”

There. He says it. Not to you. Not to anyone who can answer. Just to the only soul in the room who might understand.

Kkuma lifts her head slightly, ears twitching.

“I don’t even know when it started,” he continues, his eyes growing distant. “Maybe it was when she stood up to my bully. Maybe when she shared her candy and said I could have the red one.”

A soft laugh escapes him, short and breathless.

“Maybe I’ve always known.”

He reaches down and pets Kkuma’s head again, more to ground himself than anything.

“I don’t know what she’d say if I told her. I don’t know if she’d laugh, or freeze, or leave.” His voice turns quiet. “But I’d rather have her here, like this, than risk losing her at all.”

He looks toward your closed bedroom door.

“So maybe I’ll just wait a little longer.”

The city hums quietly outside the windows. And in this in-between, not quite night, not quite morning; he sits in the golden aftermath of everything unsaid, gently held by the thread that’s tied you to him all this time.

867 notes · View notes

joonsytip · 2 days ago

Text

Beyond the Transcripts || Wonwoo - Part 1

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

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

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

Warnings: Themes of co parenting, mentions of past difficult pregnancy, misogynistic slurs being used at workplace, wonwoo suffers from hyperventilation once, reader suffers from gastroenteritis, reader questions herself a lot, secret identity, workplace jargons.

Word Count: 11k

This fic is a part of THAT'S SHOWBIZ, BABY! Collab which also marks my first time participating in an event. Please support all the fics in the Collab!

Thanks again to @lovetaroandtaemin , Ally for coming up with this beautiful banner!

[ SVT Masterlist ] [ SVT Flick - Fic Masterlist]

“What are you doing here alone, little guy?”

Wonwoo wasn't supposed to visit the headquarters today but a sudden rescheduling of an important meeting had him rushing in.

With the meeting ending sooner than expected, he decides to spend some time in the gaming zone, in hopes of not to be seen by any of the employees.

And to his surprise, it isn't an employee he bumps into, it is a little boy wearing specs bigger than the size of his face.

And he reminds Wonwoo so much of himself.

Wonwoo crouches down to his level and asks, “Are you lost? Who did you come here with?”

The boy looks at him wide eyed.

“I'll contact the security team.”, his secretary, Mr. Jung informs promptly.

Wonwoo smiles as he ruffles the boy’s hair. It's astonishing, the way he feels extremely inclined towards the tiny human.

“What's your name?”

Seeing the reluctance, he decides to approach the boy with something that might pique his interest.

“Do you like playing games?”

And that works, the boy nods politely as his eyes light up and Wonwoo fights off all his urges to squish his cheeks.

“Let's play until that uncle”, he points towards Mr. Jung, “finds your family or relatives to get you.”

It was supposed to be a normal busy day at the company. The edifice echoes constant clicking of shoes, hushed murmurs and flipping of pages.

It is all good so far until a phrase starts spreading floor by floor, gets passed up in the canteen, being told in the cubicles.

‘Did you see a kid roaming in the building? He looks like a little carbon copy of our CEO, Mr. Jeon.’

Your heart thumps as you overhear your colleagues from behind the closed bathroom door. It can't be, you say to yourself. You pull up your phone to read the clauses stated in the company portal under the tab ‘Policies’. You are not allowed to bring your family to the premises unless there's an occasion or you're explicitly required and instructed to do so, states the rules.

Relief floods your senses, there's no way your son would be brought and led inside the building on a regular workday, that too without your knowledge or consent.

The day goes on as you submerge yourself in preparing a lawsuit against an accuser for trying to damage the reputation of the company and sabotaging the career of an artist under it by staging false allegations.

It's lunchtime and you're still reviewing the drafts when there's a knock on the cabin door. Your gaze doesn't even lift from the screen when Mr. Joo enters. You suppress your urge to roll your eyes, preparing yourself to be bombed with another set of misogynistic slurs being inserted after each line the old man says.

You've been recruited as the head of the legal department for unarguably the best in the entertainment and music industry, The Carat Company, eight months ago. And Mr. Joo who was so sure about getting promoted as the head, the position he eyed for (more than worked for) couldn't quite accept an outsider that too a woman who's much younger than him to snatch something from him which was never his to begin with.

You wonder how long until your tolerance runs dry and the man in front gets slammed by a lawsuit which wouldn't only end up with him losing his job.

After a draining ten minutes conversation with Mr. Joo, you head towards the canteen. You find your group at the table, as always saving you a seat.

“My son has a fancy dress competition at his school today. He went dressed up as Harry Potter.”, Sunjae from the IT department recites, taking out his phone and showing the pictures his wife has sent him. Everyone at the table coos at the cuteness.

The chattering continues with you all catching up on work, workplace gossip and family tales.

“My daughter hasn't been feeling well, I'll be clocking out early today.”, Sooji from the marketing department says, concern evident in her voice. You all nod in unison, even urging her to leave post lunch.

A sad smile splits onto your lips. You too want to show how cute Wonjae looked when you dressed him up for the picnic you both went to last week. Everyone knows that you're a single mother and that you've a son. That he's an intelligent kid, that he's the bundle of joy that shines in your life. But that's all they get to know because you want to keep it lowkey.

How could you show him to them when he looks exactly like his father? That he's more like Wonwoo than Wonwoo himself. Same Wonwoo, who's also the CEO of the company you are working at. Records would give away that you both attended the same university, practically batchmates, shared lectures. You're afraid of any digital footprints either of you could have left behind. You can't afford to shake up any rumours.

Prior to applying for this job, you had taken time, there were months of mental preparation before you sent across the application. You had no choice but to succumb to this economy and walk into the lion’s den.

Now everyday before leaving the house, you pray not to cross paths with Wonwoo. You wonder if he'd even recognise you, you don't want him to but there's an ache in your heart at the thought of it.

“I saw a kid roaming in our block. You won't believe at a glance I thought he's the son of Mr. Jeon.”, Sunjae recollects.

“Mr. Jeon isn't even married.”, Yoongi, from finance deadpans, “Though you don't need to be married to make a–”

Collective shushes make him shut up.

It piques your interest, you wonder who it could be until your phone buzzes with a call from Jihoon, the HR Manager.

And you're panting, down on your knees as you see your son, Wonjae standing in front of you.

“How did you get here?”, you ask the little boy, who stares at you with glossy eyes and jutted lips.

“Are you angry at me, mama?”, he asks with a quiver in his voice and your heart sinks.

You give him soft kisses on his forehead, patting his arms gently, “Jae, I'm not angry, I just want to know what happened.”

“I brought him here, Y/N.”, Jeonghan steps up and says with his head hung low, “I'm sorry.”

You sigh and get up rubbing your temples.

“Jae said he wanted to see the place where you work. I thought I could give him a quick tour, as getting permission won't be a problem.”, Jeonghan continues, “I brought him here only after confirming that Wonwoo won't come to office today.”

“And you didn't think of informing me?”, you ask using your strict voice, causing Jeonghan to cower a bit, “How did he end up roaming alone around the entire office?”

“I got a call when I was walking him through the gaming zone and it went on for a while. When I hung up, he was gone. After searching for a bit, I had to run by the security division and found him through the CCTVs.”, Jeonghan grimaces, “I'm really sorry, Y/N.”

Jeonghan and you, go way back. He's a prominent and popular artist under the company but you were friends, well to be precise he was Wonwoo's friend and you knew Jeonghan through him during the university days. Then circumstances caused you to cut ties with him. It was two weeks ago when Jeonghan (another person you wanted to avoid) found you while taking the same elevator.

And he didn't let you slip away. You hated how persuasive he was because he made you spill your life out which you don't do with others. It enraged you that he didn't even have to be perceptive to know who Wonjae’s father was.

“The entire office is talking about him, Jeonghan.”, you whine out in defeat.

“And that's not the worst part, Y/N.”, Jihoon who was watching the scene, the one who called you, the only one in the office who without any prior connection to you knows about your situation, articulates, “I found Wonjae inside the CEO’s office. He was playing Jenga with Mr. Jeon. I took him by saying he's the son of one of the new crew members.”

The ground beneath you slips. Everyone watches you holding their breaths. Your mind runs miles, producing hundreds and thousands of thoughts. And this moment of truth makes you question everything.

Were you too numbed by the pain of your miseries that you neglected your son's wants? What if he wants his father in his life? What if he hates you for not letting him be with his father? What if–

A little pair of hands grabbing yours, breaks your reverie.

“Mama, I'm sorry.”, Wonjae cries, waddling a bit towards you, hugging your legs.

You collapse on the floor, embracing your son tighter, letting your own tears fall. You rarely cry, tears are a luxury, you think. But today, maybe the tears are falling because you can't bottle up anymore.

You pull away, wiping his tears, “Shhh. Don't cry, I'm not upset.”

The trembles subsides and Wonjae hugs you again, face planted against your chest. It's a habit, he hides his face and complains, “Papa bumped into me, I almost fell.”

You listen quietly, caressing his back.

“Then he took me to his office.”, you see him swaying his right hand in the air, “I told him my name and age but I didn't tell him about you, mama.”

Wonjae takes a lot after his father, in his appearance, stances and habits. He is calm, patient and has better intelligence and emotional quotient compared to the kids of this age. He knows about his father, he understands that there must be a reason behind his parents not living together unlike his friends’.

And most importantly, he trusts you. He knows whatever you do, it will be for his good, so he's compliant and obedient.

“Mama, can we go home?”, he says yawning, “I want to sleep.”

You understand, you get it. Wonjae has seen his father countless times on the screens and the covers but today was the first time he met him. Knowing your little guy, you know that he has used all of his brain capacities today in spending time with his father. So you'd let him rest today.

The conversation you want to have with him, has to be shelved tonight. It's something you'd have to thread carefully with Wonjae.

And after dinner when your son falls asleep, you stay wide awake.

Maybe, you can't avoid Wonwoo all your life. And maybe, you shouldn't avoid Wonwoo anymore.

You wonder if certain strings of incidents are bound to happen. It was last week only when your son met his father and today, it seems you'd be meeting your past lover.

A sudden allegation about copyrights being charged against the company, an emergency board meeting and now a briefing about the legal action items to dissolve the matter.

And being the legal head, you'd be leading the meeting. You look at your reflection in the mirror, chanting the same words in your mind. You understand the gravity of the situation, the urgency it holds because within the months of your joining, this is the first time you'll be directly reporting to the CEO.

You think Wonwoo wouldn't recognise you. A mere fling, that's what you were to him after all. And even if he does, it would be best in his interest to ignore.

Wonwoo enters the meeting room and you find your gaze fixated upon him and it brings back all the memories.

You don't meet his eyes when his secretary introduces you both but you do feel the touch of his hand lingering longer on yours.

The meeting goes on and you're proud of yourself for not becoming a mess under his gaze. There are no questions from him, he just listens to what you offer and you take it as a good sign.

“I'll prepare the draft version of the clauses and send across to you, Mr. Jung.”, you say standing up from your seat while sizing the papers laying on the table, “It shouldn't be a major threat because I have found some discrepancies in their lawsuit, they most probably want to stir up some buzz about themselves and make some money out of it.”

Mr. Jung nods, “I'll be expecting the final draft today, we can discuss it further.”

You take it as a sign to take a leave. You walk out of the meeting room only to slide into the next empty one you found because your legs almost give up. You take deep breaths, drink water and assure yourself that it's not a big deal. You're sure that Wonwoo would want no business with–

The door opens and you freeze.

It's Wonwoo who's standing on the threshold.

“Y/N”, he calls out your name with so much vulnerability that it makes your heart twist with an ache.

“I never thought I'd find you again.”, he says almost breathlessly.

“Sorry, I know seeing me again caused a lot of disappointment.”, you blurt out even before thinking and sigh, “I did apply here knowing that it's your company but be assured I didn't come here because of you.”

You could see his face drop and he's about to open his mouth to speak again but you beat him, saying, “Mr. Jeon, if you'd excuse me, I have a meeting in five minutes.”

Wonwoo says nothing but just as you cross him to walk out of the room, he grabs your arm.

And he looks at you holding an unspoken plea in his eyes, while yours glare back at him. Your eyes hold the same intensity, Wonwoo thinks.

“I don't think what you're doing is appropriate, Mr. Jeon.”, you articulate, trying to free your arm from his firm grip, “Let me go.”

While you successfully yank out your arm, his next words leave your head spinning.

“I'll let you go now but we'll be seeing each other often from now on, Y/N.”

And he is true to his words.

The employees are confused, the legal department is in uproar. Why is the CEO visiting their department every other day?

“Y/N, is there something serious going on within your department?”, Yoongi asks oneday, during lunch, “I thought the copyright allegation lawsuit was resolved.”

You feel like banging your head on the very first surface you lay your eyes on. Wonwoo has been trying to talk to you and honestly if he wanted he could summon you anytime and you would have no other choice but to oblige. But you don't get what he's trying to establish by making trips throughout the office, especially the legal department.

“There are some ongoing issues which might escalate if not taken care of right now, so we're having rounds of discussion.”, you lie through your teeth, hoping for Yoongi to believe it.

Yoongi nods but he in fact does not believe it. Because you may not be aware, but he is, aware of the fact that you have a son, about whom when asked you always dodge the topic. He has seen Wonjae one night walking down the streets of the market with you. It wasn't something very peculiar until he found out that you have studied at the same university as Wonwoo, the graduation year matching as well. He didn't make his presence known, he just watched. He has a hunch that there's a past that you've been trying to bury so earnestly. That's why he doesn't pry.

Work is done for the day and you drive to your favourite spot, in hopes of getting a breather, a break from all the chaos.

“Sorry to interrupt your alone time.”, you hear a very familiar voice and smile instantly.

“You're not interrupting anything if we had decided to meet here, Chanie.”

Chan walks upto beside and leans against the railing, watching the city lights blaze underneath.

“How's everything going?”

“I don't know, but one thing for sure, this is something I don't want to do at all.”, he answers with a tinge of agony in his voice.

Lee Chan is the CEO of Sebong Corp., the company known to be a rival of The carat company. He is definitely someone who shouldn't have anything to do with you but you both go way long back. When he was still a student and you were just a law major who was working multiple part times while searching for a job.

You took pity on a student who always looked lost and saved him the food packets hiding from your boss only to give it to him when he made a routine tour to the store.

And that student almost cried out of gratitude whenever the pregnant worker sneaked him food late at night.

It goes on for a few months, until Chan reveals that he's actually a chaebol and in line to inherit the family business.

You were rendered speechless. But Chan was annoyingly sticky, he appeared whenever you worked begging for forgiveness until you gave in.

You wonder if you attract these kinda people.

Apart from Mina, he's the one who stayed by your side, always offering help if you ever needed and spoiling Wonjae whenever you would let him.

You are proud of how Chan is handling everything and still staying rooted to the ground.

“Next time, let me take you and Jae to a nice restaurant to eat.”, he suggests but frowns the next moment, “I doubt he'd even remember his one and only favourite uncle, it's been so long since we met.”

“True, why don't you come home over this weekend? I'll make you your favourite dishes.”

“Deal done.”, he beams and you turn to him and open your arms.

He instantly hugs you and you pat his back, “I'm so proud of you, Chanie. You're doing so well.”

He sighs, all the tension leaving his body, “Needed to hear this today, thanks.”

Not every bond has to be blood related, some go beyond everything.

“What's going on, Mr. Jeon?”, Mr. Jung asks as he notices Wonwoo spacing out again.

“You can drop the honorifics, Uncle.”, Wonwoo says in a lite tone. He slumps against the chair, his eyes fixating against the white wall of the ceiling, “It's her, Uncle. I had no idea she was working here.”

Mr. Jung’s expression solemns, “It explains your erratic behaviour. Did you get a chance to talk to her? Instead of going around the office, you could just summon her.”

“I have a lot to tell her, but where do I start?”, Wonwoo grimaces, “Wouldn't it be an abuse of authority to summon her for any personal agenda.”

Mr. Jung just nods.

“I have so much to say but at the same time I don't have any words that I could give out.”, He rubs his eyes, they're glistening, “Maybe, I just want to know how she has been because I am a selfish prick who needs to hear that the girl he dumped back then is unscathed so that he can be guilt ridden.”

He lets out a chuckle, “Honestly, I am just parading around the legal department because I get to see her, hear her voice and sometimes we even have a conversation because of work.”

“You say that you don't regret the choices you made. It certainly doesn't seem so.”

Wonwoo doesn't reply, he doesn't have an answer. He was doing just fine, living his life, doing his work diligently non stop for years. So what changes now?

It's late in the evening as the office empties out. There's a cramping pain in your stomach and you curse out when you discover that you've forgotten the medicines at home. You feel nauseous, there's a throbbing ache in your head and it intensifies everytime you look at the long chains of emails that sit inside the folders, all labelled with high importance and needing to be made some progress today.

You walk out of your cabin and enter the cafeteria to get some cookies as you call your son to inform him that you'll be going home late tonight. You tell him to do his homework and heat the food before eating. You also tell him to not wait for you and go to bed.

“Check the monitor first. Don't open the door to strangers.”, you remind him, “I love you, Bye.”

You hang up and get the fright of your life when you see Wonwoo standing beside you.

“Who was it?”, Wonwoo asks, his brows raised and arms crossed over his chest.

“W-What are you doing here?”, you ask panicked as you try to peep behind him, hoping no one sees the two of you.

“Let’s go to your cabin, I need to talk to you.”, he says and waits for your rejection because he knows there's no way you're willing to talk to him.

But you agree and now you're both inside your cabin, standing facing each other.

“What do you want?”, your voice comes out strained as you clutch your stomach, supporting yourself against the table.

“Are you okay?”, Wonwoo asks, concerned, “You're sweating and–”

“What did you want to talk about?”, you cut him off, “It’s surprising because I thought we're done for this lifetime. You made it pretty clear that time.”

Wonwoo winces at your verbal jab.

“And if it's something trivial, if you're trying to apologize or bring up our past then don't. I have moved past everything and I'm quite content in my life now, Mr. Jeon.”, you try to speak, emphasizing each word but they come out in ragged breaths.

The more Wonwoo observes you, the more he gets worried, he picks up the water bottle from the table and uncaps it to hand it to you, urging you to sit down.

There's a sharp sting in your stomach and you crouch down. When your vision fades you manage to utter, “M-Mr. Jeon, Amaris Hospital...”

And that's what Wonwoo hears before he watches your body go limp as you collapse on the floor.

Wonwoo watches your unconscious figure laying on the hospital bed as he stands outside the VVIP ward. His mind races miles after the conversation he had with the doctor.

He gets to know that you've been suffering from severe gastroenteritis which you've acquired post pregnancy. He is baffled, his mind can't comprehend and in the heat of the moment he makes an unethical request to have your medical records, the request which he takes back immediately, apologizing.

Mr. Jung rushes to the hospital with the information Wonwoo has asked him to get.

“Y/N, has only one person registered as her family in the records.”, he informs, “It's her son. She has her friend as an emergency contact and I've called her. She should be here anytime.”

What comes as a greater shock to Wonwoo after sometime is seeing Jeonghan rushing towards the ward, holding hands with a little boy whom even though he has seen only ones but remembers vividly.

“How is Y/N, Wonu?”, Jeonghan asks as he pants.

Wonwoo is frozen, he's not present at the moment. There are gears running in his head, there's vigorous thumping in his heart.

“She's fine now. The doctor said she'd be discharged tomorrow. She'll wake up once the effects of sedation wears off.”, Mr. Jung answers.

“Thanks for admitting her. I'm Mina.”, your friend says.

Jeonghan picks up Wonjae in his arms, they both look at your sleeping form from outside the ward.

“Mama will be okay right uncle Jeonghan?”, Wonjae asks and Jeonghan and Mina assure him immediately.

“Wonjae… Jeon Wonjae….”

All heads turn as Wonwoo keeps on mumbling the name. Every dot connects. Wonjae carries his surname, he looks like him and he's seven years old. The last time he saw you, before he left you, was eight years ago.

He walks towards Wonjae as Jeonghan lets him down.

“He is mine, isn't he?”, Wonwoo asks Jeonghan before crouching down in front of him.

Jeonghan stays quiet, so does Mina when Wonwoo looks at her.

And when he finally locks his gaze on his son, he breaks down in tears. He sobs hugging him.

Wonjae, seeing his father, cries as well.

“Don't cry, Papa.”, he says as his tiny hands try to wipe the tears from his father's face. And the more Wonwoo sees him, hears him call him as father, the more his sobs turn into wails.

Your body feels heavy, your head feels weighed. There are some whispers that reach your ears but you can't quite make sense out of it. Slowly opening your eyes, you see the white ceilings, the monitor beeping and then Wonwoo.

And by the demeanor, you guess that he has figured out something.

“Mr. Jeon...”

Wonwoo perks up at your voice and when your gazes meet, you see a fresh bout of tear pooling in his eyes.

And all he says is, “We have a son, Y/N. Wonjae is mine, he's ours…”

You inhale shakily. Out of all the possible ways you imagined that he'd react when he finds out about Wonjae, this isn't the one you thought of. Why does the CEO of the most successful entertainment company seem in distraught? Definitely, he's unpredictable and you're scared of what's to come next.

You crane your neck to look at Wonwoo, “Mr. Jeon, I'd like to discuss some things with you, could you please make some time out of your schedule for me?”

Wonwoo feels the distance between you two. It twinges, it gnaws at him.

“Get rest first. I have sent Wonjae with Jeonghan, he'll be staying at his house. Mina is still here and we'll talk once you get better.”, Wonwoo assures you, “You can find me anytime.”

You close your eyes, mind pondering about what's to come.

Your fingers hover against the door. You could feel the weight of the documents clouding over the entire span of you've spent to raise your son.

On the opposite side, behind the closed doors, waiting for you, is the man you once loved. The father of the child you birthed seven years ago. The chief executive officer of the company you're currently working at.

Also the man, who had broken your heart, had left you alone to pick up the pieces on your own.

You knew that this day would come. You have spent years preparing to face him one day. Over the years you've seen this face everywhere, be it on magazines or billboards or be it glorified on media but why is your chest caving in as you stand on the threshold, a moment away to see him again?

Taking a deep breath, you pitch your face into the most neutral expression you could bear. You won't deter, you won't step back.

Your knuckles give two swift knocks on the door and the secretary opens it for you, letting you in and stepping out once you enter.

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

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

Because this time unlike all the previous encounters, you are not avoiding him. This time you take time to observe him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How have you been, Y/N?”

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

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

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

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

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

“And this is what you want to know?”

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

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

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

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

“But I don't–”

“I request you to conduct one.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Would you have stayed?”

Silence falls upon.

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

“What if I have something important to tell you? Would it make you stay?”

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

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

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

“Do you have anything else to ask, Mr. Jeon? If not I'll be taking my leave.”, you say arranging all the documents, “I'll leave the documents here with you. We can meet once you have gone through these and made a decision.”

Wonwoo observes you, he can't even fathom the hurt you've gone through. He knows he's the reason for your suffering, he's grateful that you've been raising his son with so much love.

“I'll get back to you, Y/N.”

That's all he says and expects you to leave but what you do next tears him apart.

You are kneeling down, in front of him. Your head hangs low as you plead, your voice quivering, “Mr. Jeon, you can have everything you want at your feet but Wonjae is the only one I have. You have the power, money and capability to do anything. So I beg you, please don't take my son away from me, he's the sole reason I'm living this life.”

Wonwoo fists his hands, he feels insulted. How low do you think of him? But again, is it your fault that you don't trust him, because if it was in the past you used to trust him more than yourself.

He bends and holds your shoulder firmly as he helps you get on your feet.

“I'd rather perish than to do something like that to you or our son.”, Wonwoo grabs your chin to make you look at him, “We made him with love, Y/N.”

A tear falls down your eye, “Did you ever love me?”

His hands leave you, he looks at you with dejection.

“Love is built on trust but you never trusted me. Not enough to let me know your actual identity. You hid the fact that you are an heir to the Jeon estate. I get it, you didn't slip initially but we dated for 4 years. You even knew about my cousin’s best friend but I didn't even know about your closest family.”

You let out a bitter chuckle, “It's all in the past now. Let's focus on Wonjae, if you want to be a part of his life.”

“I want to be a good father to him.”, Wonwoo says sincerely, “Help me, Y/N, please.”

You nod while wiping your tears, “Jae is just like you. It's like my genes didn't even try.”, you breathe out a smile, “He likes you, I can see the way he lights up when he sees you on the Tv or covers. Please don't disappoint him, please be there for him. If you're going to do it, please do it right.”

And Wonwoo is determined.

“I already got your number from Jeonghan, I'll call you later.”, you tell him, “And if you want to meet Jae, come over this weekend, I'll text you my address.”

“Thanks, Y/N.”

“You're welcome.”

It's going well, though Wonjae was hesitant initially, he is delighted to have his father in his life which makes you wonder if all these years you have been doing things right. You'd admit that you're jealous seeing the father-son duo because they blend in so well, it's like they've never been apart. But you're happy for Wonjae.

“Don't spoil him too much.”, comes your warning one day when you spot Wonwoo setting up the new gaming devices in your son’s room, which you recollect your son has been wanting for long.

“I'll keep it in check.”, Wonwoo answers, “But let me make up at least a little for the lost time.”

Your heart swells when you enter the room an hour later only to see your son perched on his father's lap, both of them equally invested in the game, same face, same expression and same mind.

“He goes to karate classes every friday.”, you say rummaging through the drawers one evening and Wonwoo adds it as a reminder in his calendar.

“He goes to painting class on Tuesdays and his music classes are on Wednesday and Saturday. He learns to swim on Mondays and he rests on Thursdays. Sundays are reserved for his weekly shenanigans, he suggests random activity and we do it throughout the day.”

Wonwoo is half amused, half concerned and you see it on his face vividly.

“And no he doesn't get tired, it's not too much for him. It's his idea to explore all the fields and go ahead with the ones he finds interesting. The list of curricular activities was way long, we have trimmed it down to these and it may shorten further.”, you explain in a breath and hand him the timetable you finally found after almost turning the room upside down.

“He may look like me but he's just like you, Y/N.”, Wonwoo smiles looking at the paper in his hand, “You used to be like this.”

Used to be, not anymore, you think. The past you were totally a different person, she wouldn't even recognise the present you, you're so different now.

Wonwoo lays the paper flat on the table as he meticulously inputs each activity in his calendar. You watch him in silence, watch the man you had once wanted to spend your entire life with.

“Are you planning to let everyone know about Wonjae?”, you ask Wonwoo, later that night anxiously after he puts your son to sleep.

It had been gnawing at you relentlessly. Wonwoo notices the nervousness, he walks into the kitchen and makes you a cup of coffee.

“You’re the favourite celebrity of the nation, a long line of influential people are waiting to get their daughter married to you and if you suddenly declare that you have a child…”, you look at him with glassy eyes, “I'm afraid that people will target Jae. I don't care if I am subjected to any kind of ridicule or threat–”

“Y/N, calm down.”, he says calmly, “For now I have decided it to be not known. I have tightened the security and been careful but”, he assures you, “if it gets known I'll protect you both.”

“You don't have to protect me, Mr. Jeon.”, your voice drops an octave, a sign of your defensiveness, “Just take care of Jae.”

“I'm sorry, Y/N.”, he just says it, for the present, for the past, “I had a reason to leave though it wouldn't justify what I did. I'm really sorry.”

“Jae has fallen asleep, I think you should leave now.”, you get up from where you're sitting, “You're my employer and let's try to stick to the dynamics.”

Wonwoo watches quietly as you retreat back to your room. You have changed, a lot, thanks to him.

“Won! You won't believe what happened.”, you jump onto his lap as soon as you spot him sitting on the sofa.

Wonwoo smiles, ruffling your hair as he secures his arms around your waist, “What happened, love?”

You press a quick kiss to his lips, smiling, “While returning back from the University I saw an old man selling some stuff at a very cheap price. And I was shocked when I saw the limited edition cassettes, you know the ones I've been collecting recently. I bought all of them! My collection is complete!”

“Woah, I'm so proud of you.”, Wonwoo kisses the side of your head.

“I got you a metal pick, because you keep losing them. Also, I got us matching rings!”

Wonwoo looks at you in awe as you put the ring on his pinky.

He puts his hand over the suit pocket and feels the ring as he presses over it through the layers of fabrics. A look at the closed door and he's out the next moment.

“I am guessing the matters are resolved now.”, Yoongi says one day during lunchtime, “Mr. Ceo is not seen as much around the office nowadays.”

“Yes, it is resolved.”, you say monotonously.

Yoongi hums, “Good then. Let me know if you need my help for anything.”

You squint your eyes, smiling, “You don't know shit about law, Yoongi.”

“Oh but I do know about a thing or two outside law, Y/N.”

“You have a misconception about yourself, I see.”, you chuckle when Yoongi glares at you.

And that glare turns into a fond smile while you eat off his ears about a character of the show you don't like.

Wonwoo, who happens to pass by the area, doesn't quite like the way whoever the guy sitting beside you is looking at you. That afternoon, he didn't have lunch, apparently due to loss of appetite.

He has been trying to make space for himself in your life but you're rigid. He shudders at the thought of your angry face whenever he subtly tries to bounce off the wall you've built around yourself. You only pay him mind when you discuss about Wonjae with him, otherwise he's just sidelined.

He has zero interest in work today, his mind keeps playing the incidents from the previous night.

He was supposed to drop by your apartment as usual to spend some time with Jae and you.

He punches the passcode and is met by a startled you.

“Jae would be staying at Mina’s tonight, I had already sent you a text regarding this.”, you say and wait. Wait for him to leave.

“Oh sorry, I didn't get a chance to check my phone.”

Lies. Wonwoo is at your place today with just one motive, to talk to you.

There's a moment of silence and you're just about to show him the way out, he asks, “Can we talk?”

“We don't have anything to talk about, Mr. Jeon–”

“Stop calling me that!”, he hisses and closes the distance between the two of you, “Call me Wonu, Won, Woni anything, please.”

You look at him incredulously, “But that's not what I should be calling my employer, isn't it?”

“I'm not just your employer.”, his voice drops an octave, “I was your lover, I am the father of your child.”

“What are you doing?”, you ask wearily when he grabs your arm and pulls you closer, wrapping his arms around you.

He rests his forehead against you, closing his eyes, “Please, let me hold you for a moment.”

You are confused, you don't want yourself anywhere near him but your body betrays you, it seeks comfort into the embrace of your past lover, it's just like returning to an old habit.

“I never stopped loving you, Y/N.”, he confesses, opening his eyes to see your wide ones, “I did leave you at my own will but it wasn't because I fell out of love.”

“It doesn't matter anymore.”, you say trying to push him away but his grip is too strong, “All I wanted was a closure when you left but you didn't even consider me worthy of that. I didn't know who you actually were, didn't get the reason behind your abrupt decision of breaking up and now you decide you wanna do the truth drop just because we have a son.”, you shake your head, “That's not how it works. I know I'm just a baggage that comes with Jae, I know my place, you had made it clear then, so you don't have to do all of this.”

He frees you, his eyes holding depths of oceans before retreating to stand by the window, facing away from you.

“I am the youngest within the Jeon household. I was loved, always getting what I wanted and never put on the pedestal because I have an older brother. I was always used to getting away with whatever, while he was dumped with all the expectations, afterall he was supposed to take over the Jeon empire.”

There's a pause before he continues, “He looked like he belonged to the limelight while I was the opposite, always preferred to be in the shadows. It was a blessing, to have a big brother like him, to have such loving parents who never tried to load their expectations on me. I expressed my desire to get enrolled into the University under the plain disguise and pursue a degree I wanted.”

He turns to look at you, “That's when I met you and we fell in love. I was so happy, happiest I'd say because you saw me for me, I was grateful that you made me a part of your life but it kept bugging me that I was hiding my identity.”, his voice cracks, “I was afraid, what if after learning everything, you make a decision to leave me? But that's when the incident happened.”

“My brother finally snapped. He couldn't take the pressure, couldn't bear the heaviness of the expectations anymore so he tried to step down. But my parents wouldn't let him, for them their pride mattered the most. They couldn't just let people think that they raised a failure in the Jeon household.”

You listen silently.

“My brother left. He disappeared without any trace, no goodbyes, nothing. I was heartbroken, my parents were inconsolable. Until a few months passed and they recovered. And that's the first time I got to witness the true nature of my parents. They only saw me as a replacement to my brother. It was so evident, I was thrusted into grooming sessions to be the acting director. It was so sudden, it felt nauseous because I have always seen myself out of those scenes, to me they were for my brother. No one cared, the expectations were projected onto me and that's when I started missing the classes and I got to see you less. My mind started to shift, it was messed up and after pondering for weeks, I chose to be an obedient child to my parents and leave behind everything I was associated with, including you.”, he looks at you apologetically, “I'm sorry.”

“I can't forgive you.”, comes your immediate and stern reply, “I hope you realise that out of all the things you could have done, you decided to abandon me.”

Wonwoo freezes at your words, the truth hits him in the gut.

“You didn't even seek for me for all these years.”, your voice cracks with the hurt, “You know about Jae because I decided it to be known. So don't you dare come here pretending like a good person as the world believes you to be. I know who you are, what you are.”

“You're right.”, Wonwoo says, more to himself, “I am really an awful person.”

And then he leaves and doesn't come back for days until your son calls him just because he misses his father.

The weekend follows and the doorbell rings. Before you could reach, you see your son jumping towards the door, his smile widening when he sees his father on the monitor.

It's a mundane Saturday, except you're building a fort in the living room with your son and Wonwoo. It's simple actually, you've built it for Wonjae many times but today something is hindering it and you figure out that the reason is Wonwoo.

He's absolutely clueless, he's not helping, he rather needs help.

“Papa, you are so bad at it.”, Wonjae calls him out and you bite your lips to suppress the laugh bubbling in your throat.

Wonwoo with a very childish frown on his face, refutes the claim, “I am just giving you both a chance to showcase your skills.”

You roll your eyes, focusing on assembling the fort while the two guys bicker on the backdrop.

“Mama, save me!”

You turn back to see Wonjae tackled on the ground as Wonwoo tickles him. A laugh bubbles out of your throat, you feel good in the moment. After all, this was something you've always wanted, to get married and start a family with the man you once loved so much.

“Woni, let's get married.”, you declare, out of nowhere, “I want to marry you immediately.”

Wonwoo laughs, “You speak out the very first thought that comes to your mind.”, he caresses your cheeks fondly, “Let’s get married once we settle in our careers.”

“You don't have to work, I'll take care of you.”, you say sincerely, “Just be mine, please.”

“That's not what you said last time, as far as I can recollect.”, Wonwoo squints his eyes at you, “You said that you don't want to work, you just want to be my wife, the mother to my kids.”

“And I meant it!”, you cross your heart.

“Which one did you mean? Because both are pretty contradictory to me.”

“I’ll be whatever you want me to be.”, you admit, a soft smile spreading on your lips.

And in the moment, Wonwoo falls in love with you all over again. He leans in, eyes never leaving yours as he closes the gap between you two.

The phone rings and you both groan.

“It's my dad, let me take this one.”, you say, pulling back as you check the caller Id.

He nods but does exactly the opposite by pulling you by your neck and planting his lips on yours for a kiss that takes your breath away.

The ringing of the phone eventually stops but Wonwoo doesn't.

A soft sigh escapes from within you and your mood shifts. There's no point in dwelling in the past now.

Yoongi paces nervously as he awaits you. A sudden click and he sees you entering through the door and from behind you, emerges Jihoon.

Yoongi pulls you aside and whispers, “What's the HR guy doing here, Y/N?”

“He's trustable.”, you assure him and introduce them to each other.

Yoongi exhales sharply, he sweeps a glance at the two of you and speaks, “I think there may be some fund embezzlement going on and for long.”, he takes out his phone and shows some the snaps he has taken, “While I was accessing some documents for the recent staffing activities, I came across this.”

“How did you get access to this? Shouldn't this be requiring credentials of Senior Managers?”, Jihoon asks, eyeing Yoongi suspiciously.

Yoongi scoffs and looks at you, “Look at your trustable guy, he's doubting me.”

You glare at Jihoon and then look back at Yoongi, “Don't mind him, Yoongi, tell us the entire thing.”

He nods, “So the exchange receipts you're seeing, on the surface they're all going to different accounts but when I traced back the companies turned out to be paper companies. Someone has to be in the directorial position to pull this without getting noticed. I had even dropped an anonymous tip to the auditor's office but surprisingly or not, no action was taken.”

“This is concerning.”, Jihoon ponders over, “Does anyone else know about this?”

“I'm not aware.”, Yoongi answers truthfully, “This shouldn't be of my concern but I can't get it out of my head and I think if I try to poke again they'll be on my tail.”

“We definitely need someone from the Audit team on our side, someone who's trustworthy and holds power.”, you say, “But it doesn't seem plausible.”

“I'll see what I can do.”, you assure both of them, “Yoongi, please send those evidences and Jihoon, could you check if you could link any of these account owners to anyone from the company?”

While you walk out of the room with a lot on your mind, you get a call from your son and he has some requests.

Wonwoo punches the code hurriedly as his heart races after getting a sketchy text from his son. He manages to enter your apartment only to find it pitch black and eerily silent.

“Y/N? Jae?”, he calls out through the passage and he keeps calling as he makes his way to the hallway.

Suddenly the light goes on, the whistles blow and confetti flies.

Wonwoo stands wide eyed, as he sees the banner reading a ‘Happy Father's Day!’ and looks at Jae holding a cake smiling while you, Jeonghan and Mina stand behind him each wearing a party hat and funny accessories.

You observe quietly, the way your son is beaming in happiness when his father appreciates and voices out all the praises on receiving the gifts.

You're proud of your son, he's empathetic, he's kind and he's all you could ever want. When he called you at work, which was rare, with a hesitant voice and a wish to celebrate the day because he recently learnt that his father's birthday had already passed, you agreed immediately, because he loves to celebrate special days.

You're setting the table, faint sounds of laughter reaching your ears.

“Thanks, Y/N.”

You look up to see Wonwoo looming over your frame.

“It was all Jae’s idea, you should be thanking your son.”, you say light heartedly, “I didn't even remember.”

Wonwoo looks at you surprised, “You forgot? Didn't uncle always nag when you don't wish him? You should give him a call–”

He halts when he sees you go stiff.

“Is everything alright, Y/N?”, Wonwoo asks, now alarmed, “Are your parents fine?”

“They should be.”, you answer vaguely, before busying yourself back on plating the food, “You should go back, Jae must be looking for you.”

The dinner is going well with Wonwoo mostly talking with Jae and Jeonghan while Mina chimes in only when she feels like it.

Your mood has dampened ever since Wonwoo has brought up your father so you're just present, not involved in whatever is being discussed.

When Jae hops off to take a washroom break, Jeonghan takes the chance to ask you, “Are you seeing someone, Y/N.”

You shake your head, “There's a lot on my plate already and I'm content with Jae in my life.”

Though it is an open secret, Wonwoo feels relief flood in his chest.

“Didn't even seek?”, Jeonghan probes further.

You sigh, “Actively no. But I did go on a couple of dates, even the blind dates Mina set me up for, but”, your gaze drops, “All of them backed out as soon as they learnt about Jae. Guess, no one wants a woman like me. So I have given up on it.”

There are words on the tip of Wonwoo's tongue, he wants to say that you're everything one could ever want, then why did he leave you in the first place?

Your mind lingers back to that phase where your self esteem had hit rock bottom because of some failed dates with men you didn't even know. Might sound funny but the canon balls life had thrown at you combined with ‘nothing has ever gone right’ made you falter.

Jae comes back and the topic is dropped off the table, it's all laugh and chatters until Jeonghan decides to tease you for fun, with the help of his beloved nephew. He loves teasing the heck out of people whom he dear and has engulfed the little boy into this as well. He murmurs something into Jae’s ear without you noticing.

Jeonghan gives a sly grin as he sweeps a gaze round the table and asks Jae, “Jae, tell us who you love more, Mama or Papa?”

A classic trick question to which people tend to avoid answering.

But Jae is giggling as he answers almost immediately, “Papa!”

It is supposed to be a stick to tease you but your heart drops. There's a sudden shift in your demeanor and it's noticeable.

There's a screeching sound as you stand up abruptly and walk into your room, closing the door behind.

“Everything is not made to be a joke about.”, Mina hisses, glaring at Jeonghan.

“Did I hurt, Mama?”, Jae asks, tears already pooling in his eyes.

“Yes, you did. This is not something I expected from you.”, Mina answers him, trying to tone down her anger, “Go to your room, we'll talk tomorrow about it.”

Wonjae follows obediently.

“I'm sorry, I was just trying to–”

“You should leave if you're done.”

It hits a nerve and Jeonghan tries to defend himself which leads to a heated exchange between both.

“Aren't you being too much here, Mina?”, Jeonghan raises his voice with accusations.

“Oh maybe I am because you and him”, she sweeps a glance at Wonwoo, “weren't there during her pregnancy phase. Neither of you are aware of what she had to go through, that her parents disowned her, that she almost lost her life while giving birth to Jae due to excessive bleeding and all other complications.”

Both the men freeze and Mina heaves out a breath.

“You might think, Y/N is getting sensitive over a joke but you guys need to understand that she has her entire life built around Jae, she has always tried to be the best parent to him so if he suddenly says he loves his found father more over her even as a joke, she would begin questioning whatever she has ever done for Jae and whether she went wrong somewhere.”

“Can I go and talk to her?”, Wonwoo asks, his voice shaky holding the pleading tone.

“Do whatever you want, just don't hurt her anymore.”, she says, grabbing her belongings and exiting the apartment.

“Go talk to her.”, Jeonghan adds, “I'm leaving, call me if you need me.”

You sit quietly at the corner of your bed, your mind empty. Your fingers fidget among themselves and all you are trying to remember is why you left the table. Why did it sting so much? Wonjae has always longed for his father ever since he knew about him so it was given and there's nothing to be upset about it.

But maybe you're easy to be left behind, maybe not choosing you is easier than staying. You feel tears streaming down your face, you feel your heart constricting in pain.

Wonwoo enters the room crouches in front of you.

“I'm sorry”, you say, as soon as you feel his presence, avoiding his gaze, “I overreacted over a small matter–”

And you halt when you hear a choked sob.

“No I'm so so sorry.”, he hiccups through every word he tries to speak, “I– You had to suffer so much and I wasn't even by your side. I can't even turn back time, I can't take away your pain.”

You wipe his tears and he leans against your palm.

“I left when you needed me the most. You had to make a lot of sacrifices, while I was just– I'm sorry, Y/N.”

Wonwoo's crying and you watch in shock as he goes into hyperventilation. He grasps at your arm as he tries to breathe but it doesn't work. You hurriedly take off his glasses, loosen his tie and unbutton the first few buttons of his shirt.

“Wonwoo, calm down”, you say, grabbing his face, “Look at me and try breathing. Inhale through your nose and exhale slowly through pursed lips as if blowing out a candle.”

“I-I can't–”, he manages to speak between the ragged breaths.

Then you do what your mind prompts you to, you press your hands near to his mouth which makes his lips pucker and you plant yours on them.

You kiss him tenderly, caress his arms gently with the motive of calming the neurotransmitters in his brain and it works, you feel Wonwoo taking slow breaths as his mind distracts and body eases in the moment.

You pull away, searching for his eyes, “Better now?”

He nods, breathing heavily. You don't let him leave in the middle of the night, offering him to sleep in your bedroom. Once you both kiss your son’s sleeping form goodnight, the two of you settle in an awkward stance.

“Jae doesn't like sharing his bed, so you take my bed and I'll take the couch.”

But somehow you end up in your bed with Wonwoo as he invades your personal space and holds you in his arms like he always used to do.

There's intimacy in the moment which makes you spill your heart out, you tell him how your orthodox parents cut ties with you when you told them about your pregnancy. They never reached out to you after that. You tell him how haunting it was for you to go through it alone. How tiring it was to support yourself by working multiple part time jobs while preparing for interviews and managing the pregnancy and that you believe that Mina is godsend because she's the nurse at the hospital you were brought to when you had fainted at work once and since then she stayed and looked over you like a godmother.

“Aren't you uncomfortable in those clothes?”, you ask, eyes droopy.

“With you in my arms, these clothes are the least of my concern.”, he smiles stroking your hair, “I could do this all my life.”

“I missed you, Won.”, the nickname slips out of you naturally, “When it was unbearable, when I had something to share but no one was there to listen, when while giving birth I thought I wouldn't be able to live through.”, you hide your face in his chest, trying to blink away the tears, “I wished you were there when I held Jae in my arms for the first time, when he grew up to be so much like you.”

Your words turn into sleepy mumbles until they stop.

And once you fall asleep, his floodgates open again, Wonwoo cries the more he looks at you, apologizing a thousand times. He promises to keep you and Jae safe and now all he wants is to take the weight off your shoulders.

Morning comes with the rays of sun peeking through the curtains. You turn within the sheets, having the best sleep in a while as you hug the side pillow, throwing a leg over it. Ten more minutes you promise to yourself as you snuggle closer, a familiar Cologne hitting your nose. You frown, running your hands over the pillow only to find it moving as well.

Your eyes fly open and reality comes crashing down, the pillow you're grabbing is a certain Jeon Wonwoo, who is currently staring down at you with fond eyes and a soft smile.

“Good morning.”, he greets and all you try to do is get away from the proximity. But your baby daddy has other plans.

With a swift swig, he pulls you closer by your middle and pecks your forehead. You go stiff as he eyes your lips and leans in but you don't stop him.

“I think Jae is calling me.”, you say, getting your senses back and wriggling out of his grip, running out of the room.

Wonwoo sits disappointed but his heart is eased.

“Are you sure, you don't wanna inform Mr. Jeon yet?”, Jihoon asks as his eyes almost pierces through the documents, “I got hold of Jimin from the Auditor’s team and he's digging up the history it seems.”

“We can't go up to him just with these documents. We need concrete proof because seemingly we are up against a bunch of influential people. Let Jimin come back with something.”

As you fish out your phone to call Yoongi, the said man appears looking very distraught.

“Guys, it's not only embezzlement, they're planning to upsurge the ownership of this company.”, he informs, leaving the rest of you shocked, “They are on move to convince the shareholders about transferring the shares but given our CEO’s clean image, it won't be easy, what could they be upto?”

“How do you know so much?”, Jihoon asks Yoongi and the latter rolls his eyes.

“Put your mind to come up with something useful.”, comes Yoongi’s snarky remark.

And while the two snide at each other, you ponder on whether to inform Wonwoo about the matter or wait a bit more.

But time doesn't wait and so doesn't the conspirators because a few days later all you see is yours and Jae’s face on every article, all the news bulletins linking the two of you with Wonwoo.

And your heart drops when you realize they're going to use you to tarnish Wonwoo's image.

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

501 notes · View notes