— Synopsis: Where you “unfortunately” caught your best friend's roomate—your unsaid enemy—masturbating in their shared apartment.
— WC: 4.6k
— WARNINGS: smut, monster cock!seungcheol, explicit language and content, overstimulation, dry fucking, oral as a tongue massage (f. receiving)—a reward <3, body fluids (cum), dry humping, cock riding, dumbfication, degradation, aftercare, exhaustion, and DIRTY TALK.
here’s how it always goes with seungcheol:
you walk into a room, he immediately finds something to scoff at. maybe it’s the way you dress, maybe it’s the way you talk, maybe it’s just the fact that you exist in his general vicinity. but it doesn’t matter what you do—he hates you. or, at the very least, that’s what he insists on showing you.
joshua, your best friend and possibly the only person in the world who can tolerate both of you without losing his mind, always tells you to be the bigger person. “he’s not that bad,” he says, as if seungcheol didn’t practically hiss at you last week for sitting on his side of the couch.
but whatever. you don’t go out of your way to piss him off, and he doesn’t go out of his way to be nice. that’s just the way it is.
which is why you hesitate when joshua calls you:
“i swear, i wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. i left my keys at your place before i flew out, remember?”
“okay, but i literally don’t want to step foot in his apartment,” you stress, cringing at the thought.
“it’s my apartment, too,” joshua deadpans.
you groan, already feeling a headache coming on.
“just go in, grab the folder on my desk, and leave,” he insists. “cheol probably won’t even be home.”
which is how you find yourself standing outside their apartment door, holding joshua’s keys and hyping yourself up like you’re about to enter enemy territory. which, in a way, you are.
you unlock the door, push it open,
and immediately wish you hadn’t.
seungcheol. on the couch. fisting his cock.
your brain short-circuits. like, full shutdown, blue screen, cease all functioning mode.
the man is spread out—legs wide, head tipped back, theres a drop of sweat that drips from his neck aand land in the middle of his chest. hes exposing his toned abs that clench with every up and down of his hand. and his cock is huge. thick from the base to the top and flushed deep red at the tip, veins prominent as his fist works over it.
he’s so lost in it that he doesn’t even register your presence at first, not until he finally cracks his eyes open and sees you standing there, frozen stunned into silence.
the next few seconds happen in slow motion.
his eyes widen. his entire body stiffens. his hand stops.
“WHAT THE FUCK—”
seungcheol scrambles to cover himself, reaching for the nearest thing—which, unfortunately for him, is a shirt that does nothing to hide the absolute tent he’s pitching. his face goes red, splotchy from the neck up, and he looks so flustered that for a split second, you almost feel bad.
“why the fuck are you here?!” he practically barks at you, voice ragged from whatever the fuck he was doing before you ruined his life.
you blink, still processing the image that’s now burned into your brain for eternity. “uh. joshua?”
“what about joshua?!”
“he… he needed a document.”
seungcheol lets out a sound that is so frustrated, so exasperated, that it almost doesn’t register as human. “and you didn’t think to knock?!”
“why would i knock?! i didn’t think anyone would be jerking off in the living room like a fucking pervert—”
“IT’S MY APARTMENT.”
“IT’S JOSHUA’S TOO.”
“HE’S NOT HERE.”
“WELL, NEITHER AM I, NOW.” you turn on your heel, hand reaching for the doorknob. “i’ll just get the doc later—”
but before you can escape, he rasps, “don’t you dare tell joshua about this.”
you pause. smirk. oh, this is fun.
back still facing him, fingers still wrapped around the doorknob. you should leave. should pretend none of this ever happened. but something—some sick, wrong part of you—doesn’t want to.
so you turn. lean back against the door. cross your arms.
“what?” he snaps, shifting on the couch, the shirt still pitifully draped over his lap.
you tilt your head, dragging your gaze slowly down his body—his hard nipples, the taut muscles in his arms, the way his thighs tense like he’s fighting the urge to close them. you can see the way he twitches under the shirt.
“you’re still hard,” you note, your voice syrupy sweet, but your eyes gleam meanly.
seungcheol tenses. “so?”
“so… you’re mad at me for walking in,” you say, cocking a brow, “but you’re still hard as fuck.”
he grits his teeth, but his silence is loud as hell.
so you take a step forward. just one.
his breath hitches.
“cheol.” you coo at him. “you sure you hate me?”
he glares, but it’s weaker now, faltering under your scrutiny. you can see it—the slight tremor in his fingers, the way his pulse jumps in his throat, the way he’s not telling you to stop.
so you take another step.
and another.
until you’re standing right in front of him, the shirt the only barrier between his cock and your eyes.
his jaw tightens. “don’t.”
“don’t what?” you murmur, reaching forward to trace your fingers over his wrist—the one that was just wrapped around his cock. “don’t call you out? don’t get closer? don’t—”
in a flash, he grabs your wrist, yanking you down.
you gasp as you land on his lap, his hands firm on your hips, his cock pressing against your ass through the thin barrier of the shirt and your clothes.
his lips are right by your ear when he growls, “don’t fucking test me.”
you shiver, but you’re not scared, you’re thrilled.
so you shift, pressing back against him, and smirk when he lets out a sharp breath through his nose.
“or what?” you whisper.
his grip tightens. “you really wanna find out?”
your fingers curl into his hair, tugging just enough to make him hiss.
“yeah,” you breathe, lips brushing his jaw. “i do.”
he snaps.
the shirt under you is gone.
his mouth crashes into yours, hot and angry, his hands gripping your waist like he’s trying to burn the shape of you into his palms. his teeth nip at your bottom lip, his tongue prying your mouth open, swallowing the gasp you let out when his fingers dig into your hips.
you grind down, moaning into his mouth when you feel just how fucking thick he is, leaking against your skirt.
his hands are rough when he yanks your skirt up, bunching the fabric around your waist with no intention of letting it fall back down. you barely have a second to breathe before his fingers push past your thighs, finding the front of your panties hooking his thumb into the damp fabric and pulling it to the side.
the rush of cold air makes you gasp, thighs trying to snap shut, but his thighs pins them open. and maybe, he has a shred of decency in him, because he lets out a low breath and murmurs, “this is gonna be rough.”
no warning. just that.
you should stop him. you should tell him to go slow, to prep you, to at least spit on it—but you don’t, you need to feel this big cock stretching you until every single thought inside your head gets completely erased.
there’s no lube, no prep besides the mess between your thighs, just the torturous process of sinking down.
seungcheol watches all of it. watches the way your lips part, how your lashes flutter, how your nails dig into the skin of his shoulders the lower you go. he’s leaning back against the couch, one hand gripping the plush of your ass, the other wrapped around his base, guiding you onto him like you’re something delicate. like he’s trying to help.
but he’s not.
because he knows what he’s doing when he taps his cockhead against your clit first, dragging the tip through your slick, coaxing out little whimpers that make him smirk. he knows what he’s doing when he presses up, just the tip slipping inside, barely enough to be satisfying but more than enough to make your thighs twitch.
your breath catches in your throat, your whole body twitching up as you take the next inch too fast. your brain is empty, your body is working on instinct, thighs shaking as you brace yourself against him, trying—failing—to push down further.
and he sees it. sees how you’re struggling, sees how your muscles twitch like you’re about to give out, sees how you want to take it but your body is fighting the stretch.
so he helps.
his hands clamp down on your waist.
and then he slams you down.
the sound that leaves your throat is so ruined that he cant help but feel a bit of compassion.
because suddenly you’re full. suddenly you’re sitting completely in his lap, completely engulfed in him, your thighs flush against his, his cock buried so fucking deep that you can feel it pressing up against every nerve inside you.
but when you try to move, try to lift yourself even an inch—nothing.
your thighs won’t cooperate. your muscles won’t listen.
you can’t move.
“oh?” seungcheol tilts his head, smug grin curling at his lips as he grinds up, watching the way your mouth falls open at the sensation.
“too big for you, baby?”
you whimper.
“thought so.”
and then he takes control, because you can’t move—so he does it for you. his hands lift you effortlessly, dragging your hips up before slamming you back down, setting the pace, forcing your body to take what it’s given.
and you can’t think straight anymore. every thrust knocks the air from your lungs, every time he slams you down it punches little whimpers from your throat that only make him hungrier.
“awww… thought you were so tough. but you can’t even fuck yourself on my cock, huh?”
you cry out, body giving up, melting against his chest as you desperately try to follow his rhythm, hips twitching with little, pathetic attempts to keep up. your body isn’t even yours anymore—just a toy, something for seungcheol to use, something he’s breaking in with every brutal roll of his hips.
his fingers dig into your waist, gripping you so tight it hurts, but the pleasure drowns it out. you’re so deep into it, into him, that every ounce of shame has left your body, every shred of dignity gone. because you can’t do anything but take it, can’t do anything but let him use you like you were made for this.
he tilts his head, watching you fall apart, watching how your thighs tremble with every slap of his hips against yours.
“damn,” he laughs, licking his lips, voice mocking. “you’re making such a fucking mess of yourself.”
you whimper, forehead pressing against his collarbone.
and then he grabs your chin, forcing you to look at him.
“mm-mm, don’t hide now,” he says, smirking. “be a good girl and let me see that dumb little face while i ruin you.”
a sob rips from your throat, high-pitched and wrecked.
he groans, grinding up into you.
“fuck. bet the neighbors can hear you, huh? joshua’s gonna be so fucking embarrassed when he gets a noise complaint for his dumb little best friend getting dicked down like a whore.”
your whole body jerks, a whimper escaping your lips at the humiliation, the filth dripping from his tongue.
and he sees it.
his grin turns cruel.
“oh, you like that?” he taunts, thrusting up so deep your back arches. “you like knowing that you’re loud enough to make it everyone’s fucking problem? that you’re such a good little fucktoy for me that i can’t even keep you quiet?”
you nod, because you can’t lie. his fingers tighten around your jaw, his lips brushing against yours as he coos.
“poor little thing.”
he thrusts up again, so hard, so deep that your whole body bounces, hands scrambling against his chest, voice cracking in a choked-out sob.
and he moans, deep and satisfied, because you’re so fucking perfect for him. because your body is his to use, to mold, to ruin.
“joshua’s gonna kill me c-cheol.”
his hips snap up again, knocking the breath from your lungs.
“but you’ll tell him it was worth it, won’t you, baby?”
he smooths one over your back, pressing down so your tits rub against his burning skin, while the other stays firm on your hip, keeping you still. your body jerks with every pulse of his cock inside you, twitching as you flutter around him, so overstimulated you can’t tell where the pleasure starts or ends.
“s-seungcheol—” his name is nothing but a broken cry, muffled against his neck, but he’s relentless. he doesn’t even let you finish, just shifts his knees slightly and thrusts up into you with all the power in his core.
“fuck,” he hisses when you clamp down, crying out into his skin, and he wraps an arm fully around you to hold you up. “shh, baby, you’re being so loud.”
his hand snakes up your back, fingers tangling into your hair, forcing you to lift your head. you meet his gaze, and it knocks the breath from your lungs. he looks fucked, mouth parted, sweat dripping from his hairline, chest heaving, but he still manages to look at you like he’s about to devour you whole.
“c’mon,” he coos, tilting his head, his grip tightening just enough to make your scalp tingle. “tell me it was worth it. tell me how good my cock is.”
he punctuates it with a sharp snap of his hips and you keen, trying to lift yourself, trying to relieve some of the intensity, but your thighs betray you. seungcheol laughs, breathless but smug, and his fingers press bruises into your skin as he maneuvers you like you weigh nothing.
“see? can’t even move, huh? my poor baby,” he murmurs, voice syrupy sweet, his free hand cupping your cheek now. “you’re just gonna sit here and take it like the perfect fucktoy you are.”
heat prickles at your skin at the words, your brain too fogged up to be embarrassed, too fucked out to do anything but let him guide you. he rocks you against him, making sure you feel every inch of him dragging against your walls, rubbing at all the right places, pressing into you deeper than you thought was even possible.
“you take me so well, baby,” he praises, leaning in to press his lips against yours, just enough to tease. “so fuckin’ tight, so warm—fucking heaven.”
his hand slides between your bodies, two fingers finding your swollen, neglected clit, rubbing slow, deliberate circles over it. the sensation makes your thighs twitch, your nails dig into his back, a fresh wave of tears pooling at the corners of your eyes.
“shhh, i got you, baby,” he whispers, kissing your jaw now, your temple. his fingers on your clit work in time with the slow, torturous grind of his hips. “i got you, yeah? you gonna cum for me? hm?”
he kisses you full on the mouth when you sob, swallowing the sound like he wants to keep it forever. and then he speeds up just a little, rolling your clit with more pressure, meeting every rut of your hips with a firm thrust up.
you shatter.
your whole body seizes, a strangled moan tearing from your throat as you clamp down so tight on him that it sends him tumbling over the edge with you. he groans, long and low, holding you so tight against him that you can feel every pulse of his cum inside you, hot and deep. his hips jerk once, twice more before he stills, forehead pressed against yours as you both gasp for air.
it’s quiet for a moment, the only sounds are the distant hum of the city outside the window, and the soft squelch when he finally shifts, making you both moan.
your body trembles like a leaf caught in the wind, and seungcheol drinks it in, the heat of your overstimulated form twitching against his chest as he presses slow, lingering kisses into the curve of your neck. his lips move down, sucking at the pulse point that hammers beneath your skin. your breath stutters. his fingers, nails just barely grazing, trail down the arch of your spine, featherlight but enough to make you shiver. you barely even realize you’re moving, the last bit of strength in your boneless limbs used to weakly push yourself up, to let his cock slip free from where it’s buried inside you.
the second it leaves you, your body gives out. you collapse right into his chest, heavier than before, spent and trembling, the exhaustion hitting all at once. you can’t even pretend to be embarrassed about it. you just sigh, your lips brushing the base of his throat as you settle against him, body limp.
seungcheol holds you steady with both hands, like he’s afraid you might melt right into the couch and disappear. his broad palm cradles the back of your head, fingers splaying across your scalp, scratching at your roots. he keeps the other hand wrapped around your waist, thumb stroking absentmindedly against your ribs. the tension in his body hasn’t left yet. his shoulders are still tight. you know him well enough to know what’s coming before he even says it.
“you good?”
you hum in response, nuzzling into his chest as your fingers curl weakly against his pecs. “just a little sore.”
he exhales through his nose. shifts beneath you. you can feel his fingers flex where they rest on your waist, like he wants to squeeze but holds himself back. then, with zero effort, he grips the back of your neck and lifts you up, just enough to force you to look at him. your lids are heavy, half-lidded, dazed, and fuck, that shouldn’t make him feel so possessive, but it does.
his thumb sweeps across your cheek, his jaw tensing. “shit. i’m sorry,” he murmurs, eyes scanning over your features like he’s searching for anything more than just exhaustion. “lemme take care of you, hm?”
you don’t have it in you to resist, don’t even want to. you let him move you, let him handle you like you weigh nothing as he lifts you from his lap and shifts you onto the couch, laying you down as if you’re something delicate. and maybe you are, now, after the way he ruined you. maybe that’s why you don’t fight him when he presses your thighs apart, watching as they just fall open on their own, spread wide like a doll.
you don’t have the strength to do much else than whimper softly as his thumbs spread you further, gaze locked onto your swollen cunt, still so slick from where he fucked you. his jaw clenches.
you don’t even get a warning before he moves in, before his hands grip your thighs to keep them open as he dives between them, mouth sealing over your clit in one slow stroke of his tongue.
you jolt, a weak little gasp punching from your lungs. your fingers barely find the energy to tangle into his hair, and the grip is nowhere near as firm as it usually is, but he groans anyway. whether it’s from the feeling of your grip or from the way you instantly react to him, you don’t know. but he doesn’t stop.
his tongue moves slow, warm and so fucking wet as he licks broad, flat strokes over your sensitive flesh, working you open again with patience. he isn’t trying to overstimulate, isn’t trying to get you off again—though you can already tell it wouldn’t take much. his focus is entirely on easing the ache, on massaging every tender inch of you with his mouth, his lips, his tongue.
“feels good?” his voice is muffled against you, but it vibrates in just the right way.
you nod, breath hitching when he sucks your clit into his mouth, tongue rolling it in slow circles. your body twitches, heat curling at the base of your spine. “cheol…”
he moans against you, and presses you down harder against his face. your hips jump, an embarrassing whimper breaking free as his tongue dips lower, tracing around your entrance before dragging back up, collecting every bit of slick along the way.
you whine, fingers curling tighter in his hair. he doesn’t tease. doesn’t prolong it. just keeps his pace slow and steady, gentle enough to soothe, firm enough to keep you on the edge of something, even if you’re too sensitive to chase it. and if the way he’s grinding his hips into the couch tells you anything—it’s that he’s just as affected as you are.
he’s not eating you out to get himself off, but fuck if it isn’t working.
the obscene sounds of his mouth working between your thighs filling the entire apartment, mixing in with your breathless moans and the way he groans right into your cunt. you don’t even have it in you to be embarrassed about the way your cum is smeared all over his chin, his jaw, his cheeks—how it drips down onto the couch below with every intentional roll of his tongue against your entrance.
his tongue works in circles, pressing flat to your hole before dragging up again, tasting every bit of your arousal as it gushes out onto his lips. his mouth is open the entire time, tongue rolling and flicking, nose nudging against your clit as he angles his head lower. he flattens his tongue, groaning as he drags it up through your folds before plunging it into you, so messy that you swear you see white behind your eyelids.
your back arches, chest rising in sharp, hiccupped gasps, every single nerve in your body on flames. your thighs twitch in his grasp, and he squeezes them tighter, keeping you spread open just for him. his hands slide up, one wrapping firmly around your waist, keeping you pinned in place, while the other travels up, up—his fingers finding the stiff peaks of your nipples.
your eyes snap open, a gasp catching in your throat as he rolls one between his fingertips, twisting just enough to make your eyes roll. you swear you hear him chuckle against you, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.
“breathe,” he murmurs, lips brushing against your clit before sucking it between his teeth, tongue rolling in lazy, teasing circles on the swollen bud. “breathe for me, baby.”
you try. you really do. but the way his mouth moves, the way his fingers tweak and pull, it’s too much. you’re spiraling. you feel another orgasm creeping up so fast it steals the air right out of your lungs.
he sees it. he knows.
his grip tightens on your thigh, his tongue flicking faster, working you open as his free hand continues to play with your tits, kneading the soft flesh, fingers rolling your nipples in rhythm with the lazy grind of his tongue against your clit.
your moans turn high-pitched, desperate. your body twists beneath him, unable to keep still as the pleasure builds, climbing higher and higher.
but then—a whimper.
not from you.
from him.
you force your heavy lids open, head lolling to the side as you try to focus on him. and fuck, the sight that greets you is almost enough to make you cum then and there.
seungcheol is rutting against the couch. grinding, fucking humping it like a damn dog, his hips rolling in slow thrusts, his rock-hard cock straining against his stomach, smearing precum all over his abs and the fabric beneath him.
he whimpers again, this time louder, his brows furrowed, his breath coming in short, uneven pants.
“fuck,” he groans, mouth still pressed against you, voice muffled by the way his tongue keeps working you over. he pulls back just enough to speak, his lips glistening, his chin soaked. his eyes are dark, glassy, pupils blown wide as he looks up at you. “can’t—fuck, i can’t stop. you taste too good.”
your chest tightens, a desperate, aching cry slipping from your lips as you clutch at his hair, thighs twitching in his grasp. “cheol—gonna—gonna cum, oh my god—”
he moans, actually fucking moans, his hips grinding down harder against the couch as he redoubles his efforts, tongue circling your clit in precise, teasing flicks, his fingers pinching your nipples just hard enough to send you over the edge.
your body locks up. your back arches. your mouth falls open, a silent scream tearing from your throat as your orgasm crashes over you, all-consuming.
seungcheol doesn’t stop. doesn’t slow down. he works you through it like it’s his mission, licking you clean, his tongue rolling over your entrance, collecting every last drop as your body trembles violently beneath him.
your chest heaves, your vision blurring, but even through the haze, you can feel him still grinding against the couch, still so fucking hard and desperate, all because of you.
your brain is slow. dial-up connection slow. everything feels like it’s underwater, your body floating somewhere between consciousness and the best orgasm-induced coma of your life. it’s warm, so warm, like your body is still riding out the fever of your high, tongue pressed against the roof of your mouth, throat dry, muscles heavy like they’re full of sand.
you don’t even remember when it happened—when you blacked out, when you got moved. just flashes of cool wipes dragging over your skin, a damp cloth pressed between your thighs, seungcheol’s hands gentle, careful, murmuring something you were too gone to comprehend. like déjà vu, like something out of a dream.
but you’re awake now. sort of. and you’re in his bed.
the sheets are soft, cool against your fevered skin, and it feels so good that you can’t help the tired, pleased moan that slips past your lips, involuntary, barely conscious.
but it’s enough to make him look at you.
you blink, vision still a little hazy, but yeah, that’s definitely seungcheol, sitting at his desk, dressed in a loose shirt and sweats, hair damp, probably from a shower. there’s a slight smirk on his lips, but his eyes are soft as they sweep over you, taking in the way you’re still half-buried in his sheets, limbs heavy, body relaxed.
then it hits you.
the documents.
joshua.
fuck.
your eyes widen, and you jolt up too fast, regretting it immediately when the soreness between your thighs protests, a sharp ache shooting up your spine. “fuck—”
seungcheol’s already up, one hand pressing to your shoulder, guiding you back down before you can do any more damage. “hey, hey, relax. you’re gonna hurt yourself.”
“the—documents,” you mumble, eyes fluttering shut again as the exhaustion creeps back in. “joshua.”
he chuckles, and you open your eyes just in time to see him shaking a small stack of papers in his hand. “yeah, yeah. i got it. sent them over while you were passed out.”
you frown, groggy. “i was supposed to send them.”
“and joshua needs to get used to me handling shit for you,” he says, grinning as he sets the papers down. “besides, he’d probably prefer not to get another noise complaint under his name.”
your face heats up instantly. “oh my god.”
“mhmm,” seungcheol hums, tilting his head. “wanna know how loud you were?”
“no.”
he laughs, reaching out to brush a stray strand of hair from your face, thumb tracing your cheek. “then go back to sleep, baby.”
you glare at him. or, at least, you try to. it’s weak, and he knows it, because all it takes is one more stroke of his thumb before your eyes flutter shut again, body sinking further into his bed.
yeah. you can fight him about the joshua thing later. maybe. probably not.
"Just because I'm right, doesn't mean I'm being helpful" is a vastly underrated thought process that I strongly encourage others to get comfortable with
anomaly from the deepspace: you’re our future… WHAT?!
synopsis: you meet your kids from the future. the catch? you and him aren’t dating.
character/s: zayne, sylus, rafayel, xavier, caleb x f!reader (separate)
warning/s: none!
note/s: same names used from my previous dad!lads fic bc i honestly can’t be bothered to think of new ones. also, it’s been a while and i know i’ve disappeared for months but!! i’m back now <3. i hope yall enjoyed this one <3
zayne:
the doctor sat at his desk, typing away whilst simultaneously taking down notes from the thesis that he was reviewing. his hazel green eyes were focused on medical terms that he jotted down.
a soft knock interrupts his trance as a confused greyson enters the office holding the hand of a little girl who seemed to have finished crying.
zayne raised one of his brows as he silently asked greyson who the little girl was.
“it’s… she said she’s your daughter?” greyson asked, just as confused.
huh?
“daddy!” the girl runs to his chair, jumping on his lap, sniffling and nuzzling against zayne. she couldn’t be older than seven.
zayne awkwardly places a calm hand on her head as he softly shushes the scared child.
“i… i tried checking the pediatric ward, i thought she was confusing you with someone else, but her name wasn’t on the list of admitted patients. she was adamant on seeing you.”
greyson pauses, seeing the resemblance before he clears his throat. “i’ll leave you two alone.”
zayne nods as he softly turns to the child.
“hello there, can you tell me who you are and where you’re from?” the girl pulls away from her chest and zayne’s eyes slightly widen at the resemblance.
the girl has dark hair, hazel-green eyes, and her lips form into a pout the same way that yours did when you didn’t get your way. but zayne says nothing, not wanting to assume anything. she pulls away, sniffling. zayne plucks out a few tissues on his desk and dabbing it gently to her tear-stricken face.
“i-i’m zia.” she says through hiccups, clutching at zayne’s coat. “i’m from—” zia recites his address, causing zayne’s comforting hand to freeze on her back. nothing was adding up.
she recited his address perfectly yet zayne has never seen her even within the neighborhood much less in his house.
“when is… your birthday?” zia answers, but zayne furrows his brows as she cites a year that was a decade from now.
“and your parents?” zayne didn’t know why his heart started beating quickly, greyson said that he was a father—although he was just as confused about the situation, an answer from the girl before him would clarify his questions.
“my daddy’s name is zayne li… my mommy is—”
the door to his office opens.
“dr. zayne? greyson told me you had company over, i brought you lunch!” you say as you walk in the office, stopping at your tracks as you see a little girl with him.
you open your mouth, ready to ask a question only to be interrupted by little legs running towards you.
“mama!” she latches on your legs, you let out a surprised sound before letting zayne take the food that you brought, you kneeled down, gently petting her hair.
“hey there.” you say gently, not wanting to startle her. she looks up at you and you bit back a gasp as a carbon copy of zayne’s eyes stared back at you.
“mama…” her eyes welled up with tears once more. jumping to hug you properly, the motion caught you off-balance, landing on your butt with a dull thud as you embraced the little girl properly.
you looked up at zayne for answers, his face mirrored yours, you were both clueless. zia turns back to zayne as if she remembered something.
“my mama… my mama’s name is (y/n) li…” she said.
your eyes widened, warmth flooding onto your cheeks.
you looked at zayne to see a faint redness steadily rising to his face.
you say nothing.
zia jumps off of you, a locket bobbing out from her shirt catching your attention.
the heart-shaped locket opens due to the force of zia’s actions, showing a picture of an older you and zayne holding her as a baby.
you freeze, the action does not go unnoticed by zayne who helps you stand up. his eyes flit towards the direction that you were looking at before he freezes as well.
“mama? papa?” zia’s innocent voice cuts through the silence. you and zayne look at each other, not knowing what to say.
zayne coughs awkwardly, eyes not meeting yours as he gestures towards the food you brought.
“how about we eat for now?”
the three of you settled by his desk, asking zia questions, nothing too complex as to overwhelm her, but enough to grasp the current situation.
zia explains that she was playing outside the house when suddenly she was floating through space, and suddenly in linkon park. but she didn’t recognize any of the stores that surrounded it. only the street names so she did her best to look for the hospital.
“but why the hospital?” you asked, wiping a stray crumb by the corner of her mouth. zayne was entranced at the sight of you falling into the role of her mother. his heart thumping in his chest that he refuses to acknowledge.
“papa said… if i ever get lost in linkon, find a way to make it to akso. akso is safe. because papa is there.” zia recites her dad’s words. while zayne may not know her now, it did seem like something he’d say in the future.
it was silent for a few seconds before zia talked about herself, from her interests to her school life, to her life at home to which zayne couldn’t help but ask her a few questions about it. mostly to make her forget that she was scared and mainly purely selfish intentions.
he can see you raise a brow but he pays no mind as he asks zia.
“are you happy?”
a big grin breaks out of zia’s face as she nods with vigor.
“yes! mama and papa always give me cookies and candy whenever i ask!” she beams and lists off everything she loved about her parents. how they always read her stories before bed. how they always showed up to her recitals, how zayne always tutored her with utmost patience while you intervened with snacks and a quick game to take a break…
“—and mommy and daddy alway do kissies!” zia shudders in mock disgust. “they think i don’t notice but daddy’s cheeks always show.” the little girl giggles.
you and zayne don’t look each other in the eye. but you could tell that he was having the same reaction as you.
you perk up as you feel a different vibration in the air. wary of wanderers, you subtly twist your wrist to activate your hunter’s watch. zayne seems to feel the same disturbance as he flicks his hand, tiny particles of ice flurrying through the air.
a portal warps open and you instinctively push zia behind you, your arm raised to cover her as the portal materializes.
“zia! are you here, baby?” you gasped. you hear your voice. slightly older but undoubtedly you.
your suspicions were confirmed as you see yourself through the portal, you looked older yet the same. beside your future self stood zayne who looked restless. worried for his daughter. aside from that, zayne looked healthier. his cheeks looked fuller and his eyes brighter.
zia lets out a happy noise as she ducks under your arm and runs towards the portal. you instinctively reach out, fearing that the portal was a trap but your version’s zayne pulls you back, letting the girl run to her parents.
“mommy, daddy!” your future selves kneeled down to her height to embrace her. your future self couldn’t help but place a tender kiss on her cheek while a tear slips from your eye. the older zayne looks at the two of you.
a look of realization flashes in his face, but he says nothing, only smiling at his past self and letting out a nod before he focuses on his daughter, his hand overlapping yours, the gleam of a wedding ring catches your attention before the portal slowly closes. zia’s tiny “bye mom and dad!” the last thing the both of you hear before the portal closes shut.
silence.
neither zayne nor you could find the words to say, to talk about what happened. it takes a while for the both of you to realize what had occurred.
“well…” you cut the tension with an awkward laugh. “quite an eventful lunch, huh? what a spoiler for the future.”
with zia’s voice gone, you can hear your heartbeat pound loudly. three years from now, you would be a mother to zayne’s child. you would be a family. you would be his as he would be yours in holy matrimony. you can’t say the thought doesn’t make you giddy. you hoped that zia wasn’t an elaborate prank that you and zayne were the unlucky victim of.
zayne stays quiet, as if thinking of his next words.
“i…” zayne starts, clearing his throat and adjusting his tie, cheeks flushed red.
“if zia is truly from the future then…” he looks deep into your eyes. “i can’t wait.”
you couldn’t help the bashful smile that breaks out on your face.
“neither can i.” you admit.
zayne’s lips twitch upwards into a small smile as he gains courage from your words.
“then… would you like to get dinner with me later, after my shift?”
you nod, smile still on your face.
“of course, doctor zayne.”
sylus:
“stop pretending, sylus. you know why i’m here.” you say, gun raised at him. sylus smirks and raises his arms in mock surrender.
“the protocore you needed was faulty, i had to get rid of it. there was no poi—” “i’m not kidding around, sylus!” you cut him off, finger on the trigger, ready to pull at any moment.
“i know, sweetie.”
“don’t call me that.”
you hated the way sylus chuckled at your response, clearly not taking you seriously.
the two of you freeze as you hear a commotion from outside the room, sylus pushes you behind him, his evol flaring up as his energy-infused tendrils are on display, waiting for whatever intruder awaits the two of you.
deciding not to waste time, sylus follows the sound of the noise— where luke and kieran could be heard grunting, fighting against the intruder with a tone of disbelief.
intrigued, sylus pushes the door open with you in tow, the two of you anticipate a crowd of delinquents who managed to get through sylus’ top notch security, or underworld leaders that had unfinished business with the head of onychinus.
what the two of you weren’t expecting was a teenage girl who looked amused as the mask-wearing twins dangled in the air with what looked to be a replica of sylus’ energy evol.
rarely does anything manage to catch sylus off guard. but seeing a teenager with your hair color and the color of his eyes made his mouth drop for a split second.
the teenager looks at you then at sylus, a soft smile forming on her face.
“i knew i’d find you guys here.”
sylus glances at you with his peripheral. your jaw was dropped, hands shaking as you clutched your gun by your side.
the teenager raises her arms in mock surrender before letting luke and kieran down with a thud.
“i can explain.” the teenager says. “don’t be alarmed…” she starts.
“my name is athena. i’m… i’m your daughter from the future.”
“and we’re supposed to believe you just like that?” you couldn’t help the defensiveness in your tone as you move to raise your gun after seeing her reach into her pocket.
athena pulls out her wallet, opening it with a soft smile before facing the wallet front, showing the family picture that was displayed on the leather. in order to not cause alarm, she uses her evol. her energy manipulation making it float towards sylus’ direction, he takes it without much fanfare.
in the picture was a family.
where an older you and an older sylus stood in the middle, his arm was wrapped around your waist, pulling you close against him, athena stood on your right, a soft smile on her face as she raised her hand into a peace sign. sylus looked at the camera with a real smile on his face as he had a toddler perched up onto his hip— who seemed to be his carbon copy but with your eyes. if you squint, you can see a small bump on your stomach— possibly a third.
“looks legit.” you hear luke whisper over to kieran. you didn’t even need to glance back to know that kieran smacked the back of luke’s head, the startled ow! told you enough.
sylus’ face remained blank as he scans the picture before he closes the wallet shut, tossing it back to his future daughter with a steady aim.
for a while there was silence, before your eyes widened. you become the wife of onychinus’ leader? the very man you swore you hated?
“you’re meaning to tell me… i let him…” you point insultingly at the brute beside you, who scoffs at your reaction. “make a family with me?”
athena raises a brow, an upturn on her lips as if she was smirking. “i did not expect you to be like this before having me.” she walks around the base, as if she were at home and plops down at the sofa.
“pray tell, how do we act around you?” sylus asks, clearly invested in talking about his future with you.
“gross.” athena rolls her eyes as the word leaves her lips in a playful way before looking at the two of you with a soft smile. “but… our family is really happy. we’re safe, healthy, most importantly, happy… but.”
“but?” you echoed, she smiles bitterly.
“mom, the reason i’m here is because a deal went wrong.” sylus freezes from beside you.
athena breathes in deeply before explaining. she nods slightly in gratitude as she is served tea by luke and kieran, who you did not notice has left the room to get refreshments.
“sherman...” you perk up at the familiar name. one of sylus’ pawns, a dealer within the n109 zone, someone that sylus kept because he was useful.
“dad never really let us in his business, he kept us safe and informed yet never within the circle of operations, so i didn’t know who he really was.” athena looks up to stare sylus down.
“sherman betrays you in the future, dad. that’s the reason i’m here.” sylus nods slowly, gesturing for her to go on.
“he sided with EVER, he wanted us to be weakened so he decided on making sure that if he were to strike against you, it would be where it hurt the most. it wasn’t supposed to be me here, it was supposed to be simeon.” athena looks down on her lap, fists closed tightly, slightly shaking. the two of you could only assume that simeon was the child that sylus was carrying in the picture.
“simeon is barely five. sherman knew that the gun would transport him to the deepspace tunnel with no direction. he expected simeon to die in the tunnel because what knowledge does a toddler have to navigate the deepspace?” athena laughs bitterly.
“right at the last second, i threw myself in front of him. i’d rather it be me than my baby brother.”
you and sylus look at each other, then back at athena who didn’t want to face either of you.
sylus walks slowly towards her, his hand placed on her head gently causing her to look up at him. he gives her a nod of acknowledgement.
“you did well. i’m proud to have you as my future daughter.” athena shakes her head, a smile on her face as she laughs slightly. “don’t get sappy on me, dad.” athena looks to luke and kieran before a smirk appears on her face.
“you guys were weak, by the way. but don’t worry, you will get better in the future.” the twins let out offended gasps.
“we could’ve attacked harder, but when we saw your eyes, we were shocked.” kieran explains as luke nods. “it was scary! we’ve fought off many people but we froze when we saw you.” athena nods before she looks at you.
you still slightly as she stands and walks towards you. you didn’t know what it was, maybe it was instinct that you opened your arms and welcomed her into a hug that she fell into. it felt familiar and warm, something pounded in your chest that you were too terrified to acknowledge.
“give dad a chance, okay? he’s not all that bad… a bit… much. but he always had our best interests.” athena whispers and you hummed, taking in her words as she pulls away.
she winks at you. “you and dad are disgusting together.” you let out a short laugh at that.
truthfully, as much as you hated to admit it, sylus was good looking. he was also reliable and strong and— you were not about to look at him with a different light right now. snap out of it.
a disturbance in the air crackles before a tunnel opens.
“missus, are you here?” luke jolts as he hears himself through the tunnel, he was about to step closer when kieran pulls him back.
athena drags you and sylus closer before she embraces you both tightly.
“i’ll see you on the other side, okay?” athena pulls away with a smile, the expression contagious as you find yourself smiling back at your future daughter.
“can’t wait.” you reply as she pulls away to call back at the tunnel.
“yea! i’m here, luke.”
you can hear a sigh of relief from the other side as athena steps inside the tunnel, a serene look on her face as she waves goodbye at the two of you. the tunnel fizzles closed until only stray sparks remain and silence ensues.
sylus turns to look at you, an amused glint at his deep ruby eyes.
“can’t wait, huh?”
“i will kill you where you stand, sylus.”
“no need for violence, sweetie. i too, can’t wait to see where the future leads to.”
rafayel:
you noticed her before he did.
it wasn’t unusual for adults and children to be fixated with rafayel’s artwork, admittedly, at times you find yourself entranced by a few, attempting to interpret its meaning only for rafayel to brush you off and say that you’re overthinking it, cutie.
but this was different. in front of rafayel’s painting stood a viewing bench that was occupied by a girl that couldn’t have been older than thirteen. she had her hood pulled up, hiding her features. she didn’t seem to be bothering or paying attention to anyone as her body was fixated in front of rafayel’s painting.
longing. as per rafayel’s title. you once questioned him about it to which he only smiled and shook his head, expression solemn.
“i don’t know… it just felt right.” you only nod, agreeing with his logic.
art didn’t have to be complicated, it just had to portray meaning, despite whatever interpretation it was.
“raf.” you poke at the artist who was scanning the room, grateful to have finished making his rounds and rubbing elbows with the rich.
“bored already, cutie?” he teases. you shake your head as you point towards the direction of his painting.
“you want me to talk to you about the painting techniques i used? oh, cutie. i knew you were interested in my technique.” you scoffed, shaking your head as you clarified.
“no, rafayel. i’m referring to her.” you say as you point out the little girl in a soft tone. “she’s been looking at the painting since we’ve arrived.” rafayel takes a closer look, squinting his eyes.
“are you sure she isn’t asleep? maybe she’s just appreciating my artistic techniques, unlike someone i know…”
you shake your head before rolling your eyes at him. “still. it’s been hours… did she come with anyone?” rafayel furrowed his brows.
“i didn’t even notice her here.”
the more rafayel looks at her, the more he feels the pull to approach her. and without even realizing it, he sat beside her on the bench.
he tilts his head at the painting, squinting his eyes to see if there was a misplaced smudge or dirt that he didn’t notice. just to get an idea of what she was looking at.
“what’re you looking at, buddy?” he asked, finally turning to the hood-covered girl.
the little girl stays silent for a few seconds before opening her mouth.
“the painting…” rafayel perks up, listening intently to the child.
“is it about me?”
huh?
“hehe~ of course!” rafayel attempts to appease the kid, not wanting a crying child in his exhibit.
“anything can be about you if you put your mind to i—” he gets cut off as the child finally faces him.
his eyes stared back at him and deep strands of purple framed her little face. from her neck, rafayel could see scales, scales that he knew all too well.
and with a closer look, he realizes that the scales match the colors he used for the painting.
rafayel stares wide-eyed at the girl. he’s known every surviving lemurian, but not her. and what are the odds she had the same eye and lip shape as you?
the girl, seeing where rafayel was looking, quickly slaps a hand on her neck, covering the exposed scales.
rafayel coughs once, before his eyes search for yours. he quickly does so and he signals for you to get to where he was to which you do with a quick stride.
“this is miss bodyguard… she can help you look for your parents. you’re lost, right?”
you bit back a gasp as you take in her appearance. she was adorable, her face shows that she grew up with the finer things and that she was not told no in her life.
“i’m not lost…” she mumbles, yet she takes your hand and squeezes it tightly. you were surprised at how cold her hand felt, the child’s breathing was slightly panicking by the second as more scales appear on her face.
your eyes widened, clearly seeing that the new scales were affecting her. you looked at raf and he nodded, wordlessly leading the way as you carried the little girl to the room allotted for him.
“do you know what’s happening… ms…?” rafayel asks as he kneels in front of her as you settle her on the couch.
“mira.” she says softly, voice almost a whisper. “what a pretty name.” you say, smiling softly as if to assure the child.
mira looks around the room, her gem-colored eyes scanning the room meticulously before she stops at the gemstone that was halved and turned into powder, most likely as pigment for rafayel’s work.
her feet take her there and before she could touch it, rafayel’s hand stops her.
“raf—”
“you’ll burn your hand if you touch it, missy. only lemurians can touch this.” rafayel says, his tone playful but you knew that he meant it.
mira shakes her head and reaches out for it once more.
“miss mira, you’re–” “i’m the sea god’s daughter.” mira cuts him off.
rafayel freezes in shock. mira takes the opportunity to get ahold of the gemstone on his desk.
a bright light blinds the three of you as mira takes out a fishtail that she kept hidden in her small satchel.
“the sea god’s daughter…” rafayel trails off, you look at her then back at raf as a sharp pang hits your chest.
you knew that what you and rafayel had was strictly business, yet you couldn’t overlook the fact that the two of you flirted here and there… and with all the time spent together, how come rafayel never told you.
but as you look at rafayel and see the look of confusion in his face, you begin to wonder if the child is only confused.
mira falls to her knees, her breaths quickening and you find yourself supporting her with a hand on her back.
“mama…” she whispers at you, you shake it off, thinking that the haze of the scales growing on her was hindering her mind. you let her clutch your hand, only to be shocked that she triggered your resonance, the two of you feel the progression of scales slow down.
“papa…” she reaches for rafayel who still seemed lost in thought, but at the sound of mira’s voice, he shakily holds his hand out.
“...feel weak— …need to go back…” you and rafayel were confused at the words leaving mira’s mouth, she gestures towards the gemstone that she dropped. rafayel takes it with his free hand. mira tells him to coat the fishtail with the gemstone powder and rafayel does so, albeit hesitant.
a blinding light blinds the three of you, and you find yourselves transported under water. you can hear rafayel let out a gasp as the three of you were inside a bubble.
looking outside, you can see why rafayel gasped, you were in lemuria or what could only be described as such place based on rafayel’s previous stories.
you see mira swimming away and the bubble follows her lead.
you suppress a gasp as you see her swim towards a merman that was gigantic. before you could express your shock to the lemurian beside you. you see him focused, it was on the second look at the merman did you realize that the two of you were staring back at an older— no, another version. older for sure, yet this version had long hair and a tail that was almost your size.
“papa! mama!” you turned your head to the woman approaching the duo, you finally gasped as your familiar features mirrored your own, yet it was older, softer.
you can barely hear what mira was saying but you can see as she points to the bubble that you and rafayel occupied, the parents— which you now concluded was a future version of you followed her finger, and with a softened smile, your future self waved at you, causing a deep feeling to settle in your chest, yet you couldn’t pinpoint which emotion it was.
it takes a second for the two of you to be thrown back into your current timeline. the same bright flash brought you back to rafayel’s waiting room.
from a distance, you can hear thomas’ calls for the artist, whose hand you were holding tightly.
the two of you looked at each other, not saying a word, before he broke it with a small smile.
“so… looks like you liked me a little too much, cutie.”
“if that timeline is real, you’re the one carrying her. like a seahorse” you say your face burning as you turn around and leave him in the waiting room.
“?! that’s not how it works, cutie!”
xavier:
the wanderers were closing in. backup was coming but you and your partner had no idea when. the battlefield felt like a hydra wherein one dies, three more take its place and at this point, it wasn’t a battle of strength, but of stamina.
the wanderers were weak, yet there were so many that you felt your composure slipping.
it took a sloppy shot for the wanderer you were up against to charge at you with an angered cadence.
you grunt as you managed to finish it off, finding yourself back to back with xavier who was busy with another luminivore.
“are you alright?” xavier asked as the wanderer evaporated. you turn to face him, giving him an acknowledgement before you braced your hand on his shoulder to fight the fast moving luminivore behind him. a shot resounded from your hunter’s gun.
xavier immediately pushes you off to fight off the other wanderers that spawned.
it seemed endless. you lost count how many the two of you fought. the call for back-up felt like hours ago.
the two of you were so caught up with fighting that none of you felt the crackle in the air.
“mom watch out!” you turned around to see a man, pushing early twenties with the tip of his sword right by your face, an evaporating wanderer caught in the middle of it.
mom? you were confused but had no time to think as you shot another wanderer. you sense another hunter in the area, you turn around to see another man with a sword similar to the other stranger’s.
confused, yet grateful for the added manpower, the four of you cleared the hunting zone. the gigantic luminivore, having no smaller ones to absorb, was weakened and taken down without a hitch. the protocore it released clasped tightly in your hand.
when the adrenaline wore off, you thought back to the man who called you mom. you looked at him with a confused expression, having never seen him in your life.
he bore platinum hair, his eyes the same color as yours and his sword looking to be made out of luxurious alloy. beside him, stood another man who looked like him but with a different hair color, his cheeks were rounder and he was slightly shorter, but it was clear to you that they were twins.
“w-who are you?” you didn’t mean for your voice to falter but it was surreal to see a set of twins that eerily looked like your partner in crime.
speak of the devil, xavier hurried to your side once he made sure all wanderers were nowhere to be found in the perimeter.
xavier pauses as well, his grip on the lightblade that was hidden in his back, prepared to strike if your back-up was actually enemies in disguise.
the shorter twin raises his hand and rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, a shy smile on his face as he looks at you with a guilty expression.
“okay so…” he trails off, as if trying to find an explanation to who they were. “you're not gonna believe this but…”
he places an arm around the taller twin.
“we’re your sons from the future.”
what the fuck?
you could feel the strength in your legs falter for a split second and xavier had to support your back as you stared at the twins with a widened gaze.
sons? future? with… xavier???
your blue-eyed partner only looks at them warily, seeming to not believe the twins, only for his eyes to flit towards the tassels of their swords, his eyes slightly squinting as he recognizes his family’s insignia. it wasn’t concrete evidence, yet it was enough for the hunter to hear them out.
“and you are?” xavier asked, the older twin stepped forward, his head dipped down before he tilted up, looking xavier right in the eye, blue eyes mirroring his.
“lumiere.”
silence.
the atmosphere was tense and you felt xavier tense up from beside you. xavier’s mouth opened but before he could say anything, the younger twin bursted out laughing.
“leo, that was good!” the twins gave each other a high-five before turning to face the two of you once more.
it seemed like even in the future, xavier still cannot hide his disdain for his alter ego.
“i’m milo.” the younger twin introduces himself in between his giggles before he gestures to the older one who looked at xavier straight-on with a smug expression on his face.
“this is leo.” milo gestures to him. you nod slightly, still starstruck before introducing yourself and xavier.
milo nods. “we know. you’re our parents in the future after all.”
you furrowed your eyes, still confused at his statement. yet with the way their uniforms were slightly different and how the two of them did look like they lived in a different era, you bit your tongue.
you wanted to find out more yet before you could, a gasp escapes your lips as a lightblade was pointed at your sons.
“xavier!”
“who sent you?” xavier asked, not joking around.
the twins hold up their arms in surrender, not making any violent reactions.
“we don’t know how we got here ourselves. but, we suspect it was the protocore.” milo explains. “this isn’t our timeline—” that much was obvious. “we’ve been lost for the past week, we believe the key back to our timeline is in the protocore in your hand, mom.”
being called mom by a pair of twins that look your age was definitely unsettling.
“and why should I believe you?” xavier asks, the grip on his lightblade tightening.
the twins look at each other then back at xavier before they gestured towards their own swords.
“you gave us these swords when we expressed that we wanted to be like you.” milo sheepishly explains, flustered at expressing admiration towards their father.
xavier’s careful eyes examine the markings of their swords before they fall towards the star-shaped tassels that decorated the handle.
he lowers his sword, convinced but not entirely.
you flinch and let out a yelp as the protocore you held turned hot. your partner immediately turns to your side as you throw the protocore to the ground.
the yellow gemstone twitches before it cracks, interrupting the air with a tunnel that showed another timeline from the side.
“leo, milo, are you here?” you hear a feminine voice call out. you see her step out a moment later and you gasped at how much she resembled you, same eyes, same lips and same puffy cheeks.
“stella, it’s dangerous out here.” leo, being the eldest, scolds. stella pouts before she realizes that you and xavier watched as the siblings bantered.
“mom, dad!” stella launched herself into your arms, a smile appearing in her face.
“that is stella… the youngest… she’s a great marksman like you, mom.” milo introduces, you concluded that he was the chattier twin– inherited most likely from you and leo stays silent on the side, more xavier than your genes.
“you’re so, so pretty mom, i knew i got your genes.” stella teasingly winks and you couldn’t help the chuckle that leaves your lips.
the tunnel crackles once more and the three snap out of their trances.
“it was nice meeting you, young mom and dad!” milo teases before he grabs stella away. “we have to go now, we’ll see you for dinner!” stella waves goodbye before the two of them enter the tunnel.
leo saves himself for last, ensuring that his two younger siblings have entered fully before giving the two of you a gentle smile paired with a wave.
“i’ll see you soon, mom, dad.”
then the tunnel closes shut, leaving you and xavier in the now quiet battlefield.
without your children’s presence, you can hear your heart beat get louder at the thought that in the future you would be married to your coworker.
“so… that happened.” you tried breaking the awkward tension.
xavier only replied with a hum, one that you tilted your head at, wanting to know his thoughts.
“i always thought we’d have more.”
what?!
“do you wanna get hotpot after we report this to captain jenna?” xavier asked you, yet you only looked at him with disbelief.
“are you not weirded out about our future children appearing in front of us? how are you so calm about this? weren’t you just doubting them minutes ago?” xavier shrugs at your question.
“i’ve got sufficient proof that they were telling the truth.”he responds. “besides. them appearing makes fighting for the future worth it.” he indirectly confesses.
“what?” bless your soul.
xavier shakes his head before walking away. a secret smile on his face.
he’d face a thousand more wanderers if it meant that his future would be the way he saw, hopefully stella wasn’t the last.
caleb:
caleb feels like you’re being watched.
which was rich coming from him.
but he’s already taken two detours, yet the eyes on your backs only seemed to stare harder.
he smiles at you. his hand gently patting your head. “how about you go and buy us some slushies, pips?” you tilt your head in confusion, looking at the long line for the slushie stall before pouting.
“‘leb the line’s too long.” you whined, caleb only chuckles. “come on, pips. you know i love their honey apple soda. plus, you can use your charms to get a free upgrade.” you roll your eyes at him before huffing and begrudgingly agreeing.
once you turned around, caleb walks away with a calm cadence, away from the crowd and somewhere most civilians wouldn’t walk near.
he could hear footsteps trailing behind him, for an untrained ear, it wouldn’t be alarming, but caleb has tracking every small sound his ears could pick up. once he reaches a point in the forest beside where the pop-up fair stood, he unleashes his evol, he hears the stranger grunt as the force of gravity settles on their shoulder.
for a little fun— also a bit of a power trip, he wills his evol to lift the stranger up by one foot while one dangles in the air.
caleb counts three seconds before turning around, only for deep purple eyes to stare back at him.
“what the fuck.” caleb says as he looks at the stranger who could pass off as his sibling.
no. it couldn’t be real. this is a sick experiment that EVER sent as a last ditch effort to catch him off guard and take you away from him. he won’t let them.
he won’t let th—
“wow, you look stupid hanging out like that, flynn.” caleb flinches as he hears another voice speak up, in his shock, he waves his other arm to attack the stranger, only for the stranger to skillfully dodge his offense.
what?
“woah, nice try there, dad!” he hears the stranger mock him. he faces the second stranger, his evol raring to go once more only for him to accidentally release the first one dangling.
the second stranger had your eyes.
a loud oof! was heard as the first stranger fell on a patch of leaves that were conveniently on the ground.
the second stranger laughs and taunts the first. only for the two of them to let out a yelp as caleb uses his evol to pull the two of them together, in front of him.
“who are you?” caleb asked. the two strangers look at him then at each other, debating on how to answer.
yet when seconds passed and none of them spoke up, caleb tightened the invisible restraints like a snake’s chokehold.
“alright, we give!” the older one says, caleb raises a brow but eases the hold, just a little.
“i’m flynn.” he introduces himself then turning his head towards his brother. “this is axel.”
“and why were you following us around? what do you need from us?” caleb’s voice hardens once more at the thought that the two boys would be after you.
“we mean no harm, promise!” axel says, grunting as the hold tightens once more. “let us go, we’ll explain!”
caleb, knowing that he could easily take down the two of them if they showed any violent tendencies, let them go. the two of them heaved deep breaths before smirking.
“damn dad, never thought we’d be on the receiving end of that.”
“i’ll do it again if you don’t start explaining right now.” caleb threatens and axel lets out a sound of defiance, not wanting to feel restricted again.
“okay. don’t be scared.” axel starts, only to get nudged by flynn in the ribs. “that’s a terrible start to an explanation, axe!”
flynn shakes his head before clearing his throat. “he’s right though, dad.” caleb’s brow twitches at the title, yet he bites his tongue for now.
“don’t be alarmed… we’re from the future–”
“what?!” the three of their heads snap towards a new voice— you.
due to your shock, you almost dropped the sodas, had it not been for caleb’s evol stopping the spill.
his evol seems to be working overtime today.
you marched towards the three men before stopping in front of axel, your expression in awe as you reached out to touch his cheek.
“wow… you look like me.” you say without thinking, flinching backwards as you realized how weird it sounded.
“i’m saying!” axel agrees, smiling the same way you did. you turned your head to flynn before gasping. “holy shit you’re a mini caleb.” flynn smiles and lets his hair be ruffled by you.
“pips… you can’t be serious.” caleb says, exasperated at how easily you believed the two strangers who did look like the two of you combined. but with the way you grew up with wanderers and evols, you weren’t about to think that time travel wasn't real.
“caleb, you can’t be serious.” you retorted, caleb’s mouth drops open at the audacity of you to make him look like he was the crazy one for not accepting.
“look at him! he’s a cuter version of you!” you say, pinching at flynn’s cheeks. the aforementioned laughs and caleb fights the urge to roll his eyes.
“pips—” you ignore him in favor of making the two sit down on the clearing, your hands occupied by theirs as you asked them how their current life was.
caleb, with a frown on his face, sits down close behind you, your back pressed against either of his thighs as he listens to your conversations.
from there, he notes that flynn was born nine years later, and axel followed after two. flynn trained to be a pilot yet axel followed your steps into becoming a hunter. caleb mindlessly traces circles on your knee as you listen intently to their stories.
“and auri is—” “auri?” caleb voices out, the first time he made a move to show that he was listening to the conversation.
“woooow dad.” flynn said sarcastically. “you decided that now was the time to contribute?”
“i will ground you.” caleb threatens, flynn rolls his eyes, a habit he most likely got from you.
“auri is the youngest… for now.”
“auri— aurielle is the family’s princess.” axel explains. “right now, she looks like you, mom. she has a bit of an age gap between us.”
“for now?” you echoed, eyes widening.
"for now." axel nods. "dad's been wanting another mini-you... he's practically begging for another girl."
you glare at caleb who was innocent for now.
caleb perks up, wanting to know more about his future princess, begins asking questions regarding the youngest.
the two boys could only roll their eyes at their future father’s enthusiasm.
“wow, she’s not even here but she already has you wrapped around her finger.” axel teases as flynn shows the two of you a picture of her.
indeed, they were right. aurielle looked like you at the moment but her eyes were the shade of caleb’s eyes. the picture depicts her lips in a bright grin as she bites a gold medal between her teeth, an achiever. just like you.
caleb’s lips form into a small smile as he stares at the picture then back at the two boys.
“are you happy?” caleb asks, making the two sons look at each other. “with your lives. i mean.”
the boys nod, getting the meaning behind caleb’s words.
“we’re happy, we’re safe and protected.” flynn answers.
“and we grew up loved.” axel adds. your lips formed into a pout at his words.
“and auri?” the two boys groan playfully.
“for sure a princess. you threatened her junior high dance date once.” you snort at that statement.
it definitely sounded like something caleb would do.
a beeping sound interrupts the future family’s banter. axel looks at his hunter’s watch before looking at the two of you apologetically.
“it was really nice meeting the two of you when you were young. but…” axel gestures towards the watch’s countdown, the time blaring a bright 00:00. “we have to go.”
you pout but let go of their hands once the four of you stood up.
“we’ll see each other in a bit, mom.” the boys pull you into a hug.
if caleb didn’t know that they were your future children together, they would’ve been suspended once more in the air. he didn’t get to say that as a joke as after you, the two of them jumped on caleb’s arms, laughing as the disgruntled colonel lets out a groan.
“see you, dad.”
“say hi to auri for me.” caleb teases, the two boys roll their eyes before agreeing.
not even a second later, a portal opens. from the other side, you and caleb could see how comfortable the atmosphere was, it looked warm, a home. your future home.
from the side, caleb can see a family portrait on the wall, the five of you with big smiles as you posed funnily for the camera.
the two of them enter and the tunnel closes without fanfare.
when the tunnel finally fizzles out, you feel a light smack on your head.
“ouch, caleb! what was that for.”
“you trusted them too easily, pipsqueak.” caleb clicks his tongue as you pout.
“well excuse me for being excited about my future.”
caleb.exe stopped responding.
you. the girl he protected all his childhood and grew up with, was excited for a future with him?
caleb never let himself imagine that kind of future. he never thought he deserved it.
you tilt your head, an ugly frown on your face.
”it’s only natural, right?” your tone turned cold, both of caleb’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.
“why, did you want to marry anyone else?” you asked, your lips forming into a pout that caleb knew was the one you use when you wanted your way.
yet he couldn’t help but indulge you.
“of course not, pipsqueak.” caleb smiles and pats your head.
“it’s only ever been you.”
the bright smile on your face that followed his response was all the answer he needed. all his actions will have been worth it in the end, and today’s event was proof of it.
note/s: would ya'll believe me if i said this has been stewing in my drafts since july 2025... i swear the plot has always been there yet i never found the inspiration to write it (damn writer's block) hopefully! i'm back into writing, i still have a lot in store so i hope ya'll anticipate <3
Imagine the way Zayne Li remembers the first time he saw you with a clarity that hurts.
Imagine it was winter, of course it was. The North never introduces anything without frost. His father returned from the border war with blood on his cloak and a child at his side. You.
Imagine you were small, too thin, eyes hollowed out by something no child should have survived. Your clothes were scorched at the hem and your hands clenched so tight around the strap of a satchel that your knuckles were white. You did not cry. You did not bow. You simply stood there, spine straight, gaze lifted not defiant, but determined in a way that unsettled him. A child who had lost everything and chosen to stand anyway.
Imagine, Zayne was still a boy then, fingers numb from cold, thoughts too sharp for his age. He watched you from the steps as his father spoke. "This one will stay." The Duke said. "They will be raised with you." Zayne did not know why, but something in his chest shifted. You looked broken. But not empty.
and Imagine in that moment, Zayne knew, without reason, without proof, that you would matter. That your presence would carve itself into his life until he could no longer imagine it without you. And he was right.
Imagine the way you grew together. You trained until your hands blistered and your bones ached. You fell into the snow and got back up without complaint. You learned the North's language, steel, silence, endurance, faster than anyone expected.
and Imagine the way Zayne learned you the same way. He learned the way your mouth twitched when you were about to smile but refused to. The way you went quiet when anger replaced grief. The way you lingered over wildflowers despite pretending not to care for them. He learned which scars you hated being asked about, which memories still made your hands shake when you thought no one was watching. He learned how to breathe around you.
so Imagine when his parents were murdered, betrayed by those they trusted, Zayne stood in black before the pyres, the future of the North crushing down on his shoulders. He did not cry. But you were there. Standing just behind him, armor too large for your frame, jaw clenched hard enough to crack teeth. Your presence was a constant pressure at his back, solid and unyielding.
Imagine the way Zayne learned then that love did not always look like warmth. Sometimes, it looked like staying. And he loved you long before he had words for it. But love was a liability.
Imagine after that night, after blood stained the palace floors and trust died screaming. Zayne buried it. He wrapped himself in frost and distance and let the world believe he was cold. It was safer that way. For you.
and Imagine, on your eighteenth birthday, your debut as a knight, he gave you the necklace. He had made it himself. Cast the charm late at night, fingers shaking with exhaustion, magic woven carefully into silver. Protection. Reinforcement. A quiet promise disguised as metal and thread. You smiled when you accepted it. Zayne looked away.
because Imagine, that was the closest he ever came to saying I love you.
Imagine when the Saintess came with her proposal, Zayne's first instinct was refusal. Marriage was a chain. A spectacle. A vulnerability. But then she spoke your name. She spoke of visions. Of whispers in the capital. Of how his enemies had begun to notice that the Duke of the North did not walk alone. She told him she had seen you die.
Imagine Zayne did not sleep that night. By dawn, he accepted the proposal. It was strategic. Logical. Cruel in the way only necessary things could be. Marrying her would redirect attention. Assigning you as her guard would put distance between you and his enemies, and between you and him. Zayne told himself this was protection. That this was love.
Imagine the way he watched you train from the council balcony that morning. Your movements were sharp, precise, relentless. You always pushed too hard. "They're going to melt if you keep staring at them like that." The Saintess said lightly. Zayne startled, turning away too quickly. His ears burned red, easily mistaken for cold. She smiled knowingly.
Imagine the way they spoke of you. Of your discipline. Your loyalty. Your absurd refusal to rest. Zayne laughed. It surprised them both. The Saintess already knew his heart was not hers. Their marriage was temporary, an arrangement, a shield. When her role was fulfilled, she would leave. Zayne believed, foolishly, that you would still be there when she did.
Imagine the report came during a blizzard briefing. Ambush. Fire. The duchess's envoy was attacked on their route to the capital. And Zayne's first thought was not his wife. It was you.
Imagine he rode until his lungs burned and his hands bled. Every possible outcome ran through his mind, and none of them spared you. Zayne reaches the edge of the battlefield just as the snow begins to fall harder, ash and frost blurring the world into shades of white and red.
then Imagine, he sees you. You are running. Staggering, really. One shoulder slumped, blood dark against your armor, boots slipping in the churned snow, but you are still moving forward, still upright, still you. For one heartbeat, relief crashes into him so violently it steals the breath from his lungs. You're alive. You're alive.
Imagine you are carrying her, cradled close to your chest, her head lolling against your shoulder, unharmed. You did it. You protected her. Of course you did. That is who you are. And Zayne does not realize he has spurred his horse forward until it is already happening, until his body is moving before his mind can catch up. His hand lifts, mouth opening to call your name. And then the world slows.
Imagine it was not magic. It is terror. His gaze sharpens, the way it always does in battle, cataloguing details he wishes, desperately, he could miss. The way your steps falter for half a second. The way your grip tightens instinctively around her. The shadow behind you. Someone moves out of the smoke. Too close. Too quiet. Zayne sees the blade before he sees the man.
Imagine the way it catches the dying light, a brief, almost beautiful flash of steel. "No-!" The word tears itself from his throat, raw and useless, because he is too far away. Because the snow is too thick. Because time has decided to be cruel.
Imagine you turn your head. Not enough to see what's behind you, but enough that your eyes meet his. For the smallest fraction of a moment, recognition flickers across your face. Relief. Like you are thinking, He's here. It's done. I can stop now. Zayne's heart stops.
Imagine the blade drives forward. There is no dramatic arc. No warning swing. Just impact. Your body jolts sharply, breath punched out of you in a soundless gasp. The Saintess slips lower in your arms as your knees buckle, the world snapping back into motion far too fast.
Imagime the way Zayne screams your name. He does not remember dismounting. He does not remember drawing his sword. Only the way the man behind you falls moments later, blood spraying hot against the snow as Zayne barrels forward, too late, too late, too late-
Imagine Zayne catches you before you completely collapse. Your weight hits his arms wrong, too sudden, too light, like something already slipping away. He drops to his knees in the snow with you clutched against his chest, armor clattering, breath tearing out of him in a sound he does not recognize as his own.
Imagine there is too much blood. It seeps through his gloves, slick and warm, spreading fast, soaking into his sleeves as he presses his hands over your chest. His fingers shake violently. He cannot find where to press, where to fix, there is a blade, still embedded, impossibly real, impossibly deep.
"No." He says, voice low, already breaking. "No. Look at me." Your head tilts slightly at the sound of his voice. Your eyes flutter, unfocused at first, then slowly, painfully, settle on his face. And something in your expression eases. That is what breaks him. You look relieved. Zayne swallows hard, throat burning. "I'm here." He says quickly, desperately. "You're going to be fine. Just, stay awake."
Imagine he does not believe the words even as he says them. Your breathing stutters beneath his palm, short, uneven, wrong. Each attempt at air looks like it costs you more than the last. Panic claws up his spine, sharp and feral. You try to move. Your hand lifts weakly, fingers trembling as they brush against his breastplate. Zayne grabs it immediately, gripping too tight, afraid you will disappear if he loosens his hold even for a moment.
"Don't." He whispers. "Don't move." Your lips part. Nothing comes out. You swallow, chest shuddering, eyes squeezing shut for a heartbeat like it takes everything you have just to stay conscious. Then "It's…" The sound barely exists. Zayne leans in instinctively, forehead nearly touching yours. "What?" He begs. "Say it again."
Imagine your eyes open again, dull but stubborn, fixing on him with a faint crease between your brows, as if he is the one being unreasonable. "O… kay." The word hits him like a physical blow. "No." He says immediately, shaking his head, voice splintering. "No, it's not okay. Don't- don't do this." Your fingers tighten faintly around his, a weak, fleeting pressure. His chest tightens so violently it hurts.
"She…" Zayne shakes his head. "She's safe." He says quickly, too quickly. "She's alive. You did it. You protected her." Your gaze flickers, unfocused now, drifting past him, then back. "Sa… fe."
Imagine the way understanding lands like a blade between his ribs. You are not asking. You are reassuring him. Zayne lets out a broken sound, something dangerously close to a sob. His hands glow faintly as magic surges, reckless and unrestrained, pouring into you in desperate waves. The spell burns his palms raw. Nothing closes. Nothing heals.
"You're not allowed to do this." He whispers, voice cracking completely now. "You promised me." You never did. Your grip loosens. "No-" Zayne tightens his hold instinctively, pulling you closer, pressing his forehead to yours as if proximity alone can force life back into you. "Stay. Please. You always stay."
Imagine the way your body goes slack in his arms. The weight changes. The warmth remains but the tension is gone, replaced by something devastatingly still. Zayne freezes. For one unbearable second, he waits for your chest to rise again. It doesn't.
"No." He whispers. It is not loud. It is not dramatic. It is a command.
then Imagine someone reaches for him. Zayne snarls and shoves them away without looking, curling over your body protectively, armor clattering as he shields you with his own. Another hand grabs his shoulder. He lashes out.
Imagine it takes three knights to pry him away, their voices strained, boots slipping in the blood-soaked snow as he fights them like a wounded animal. Rage sharp, uncontained, terrifying. "Don't touch them." He roars, voice tearing apart. "Don't-" They pull him back anyway. Your body slips from his grasp.
Imagine that is when the North sees it. Not their Duke. Not their commander. Not the cold, unbreakable ruler of frost and steel. But a man on his knees in the snow, hands empty, breath broken. Holding nothing. That is the first time the North sees their Duke break.
Imagine when your body returns to the North wrapped in his cloak. Not linen. Not ceremonial white. Not a banner meant for heroes.
Imagine it was his cloak, heavy with his scent, still marked by old cuts and frostbite seams, the fabric worn thin where his hands always clenched it closed against the cold. It is clasped around you as if even now he is trying to keep you warm, as if the North itself might still hurt you if he does not.
Imagine no one argues with the choice. No one would dare. Zayne walks behind your bier alone. Not at the head. Not beside you. Behind.
Imagine his hands are bare in the snow, fingers red and cracked, unmoving at his sides. He does not look at the people lining the path. He does not look at the banners lowered in mourning. His gaze stays fixed on the dark edge of his cloak where it drapes over your feet, as if that is the only proof left that you are still real.
Imagine the way the Saintess follows at a careful distance. Her tears do not make a sound when they fall. They soak silently into the fur collar of her robes as she clutches the necklace you once wore, the chain tangled around her fingers like a prayer she does not know how to finish.
Imagine she tries to speak to him once. Just once. His name leaves her lips, thin and breaking in the cold. Zayne does not turn. Does not slow. Does not answer.
Imagine you are buried at the highest point of the North. Where the wind never stops. Where the snow scours stone down to bone. Where you once stood beside him and said quietly, almost shyly, that you liked the quiet up here. That it felt honest. That nothing could pretend to be gentle when it wasn't.
Imagine they lower you into the earth beneath a sky the color of steel. Your sword is placed beside you, edge facing outward. Not as a symbol. As an instinct. As if even in death, they cannot imagine you unarmed. As if part of them believes you are still guarding something. Or someone.
Imagine when it is over, when the last rites are spoken and the ground is sealed, people begin to leave in ones and twos. No one tells Zayne it is time. No one touches him. He kneels in the snow long after the wind has erased the last footprints. The cold gnaws at his knees, creeps through his boots, climbs his spine, but he does not move. Snow gathers slowly in his hair, melts against the heat of his breath, freezes again.
"I never told you." He says at last. His voice is hoarse, scraped raw by days of silence. "I never told you because I thought you would stay anyway." The wind does not answer. "I thought..." He continues, swallowing hard. "That you understood. That you knew I-" His breath stutters.
"I was ready." He says quietly. "To spend my life beside you as Duke and knight. As commander and vice. As friends, if that was all the world would allow us." His breath fogs the air. "Because I knew you would choose duty over yourself. Just like I would."
"I thought we had time." The words fracture there, small, helpless. "If I had known." Zayne whispers, voice finally breaking. "How little time you were given… I would have risked it all." His shoulders shake once. Just once. "I will live with that." And he does.
Imagine the North changes after your death. Not all at once. Not loudly. It hardens. Zayne becomes colder. Sharper. The pauses disappear. The restraint that once made his judgments terrifying is replaced by certainty. Orders are shorter. Mercy becomes rare. Traitors vanish. Borders bleed red. Those who oppose him learn fear not from his blade but from the silence that follows their names being spoken.
Imagine he never laughs again. Not privately. Not drunk. Not in moments when victory should demand it. The Saintess remains his wife in name only. They do not share a bed. They do not share secrets. They share an understanding carved from grief and guilt and things neither of them will ever say aloud. She never asks for his affection. He never pretends to offer it.
Imagine on the anniversary of your death, she climbs the mountain alone. She places flowers at your grave, wild ones, stubborn enough to survive the cold. She kneels only briefly. Long enough to press her forehead to the stone. The necklace is returned to the earth beside you. It glows once. Soft. Brief. Then fades forever.
Imagine Zayne visits you at night. Not always on important dates. Not always with purpose. Sometimes because sleep will not come. Sometimes because the silence inside the keep becomes unbearable. He tells you things he never told anyone else. That the North is peaceful now. That no one questions his rule. That the borders hold.
Imagine he tells you he still waits for you to argue with his decisions. Still listens for your footsteps behind him. Still turns, sometimes, convinced he has heard your voice carried on the wind.
"There is no one left." He admits once, voice barely more than breath. "Who calls me by my name without fear." His gloved hand rests on the stone above you. "I would give them all back." He murmurs into the endless white. "If it meant you were still here." The snow answers for you. It always does. It covers the mountain. It dulls the world. It preserves what it buries.
and Imagine somewhere beneath it, the one who stayed finally rests. While the Duke of the North lives on, not haunted by a love he failed to see, but by one he understood perfectly, and protected so carefully that it cost him everything.
[ⓒdark-night-hero] 2026°
: uhm- this is not the spin off, but that also doesn’t mean that spin off has a happy ending, maybe, maybe not, idk- I'll update in days to come, the spin off.
Summary: Raised in an abusive family, you were thrown into an arranged marriage that overwhelmed you. Can you survive all of these?
Once you got into the cab and felt a hand cover your mouth with a cloth, a wave of dread swept over you. This was it, you thought. This was the end of your miserable life. You fought with every ounce of strength left in you, but as the world began to fade, your mind drifted to regrets you’d been holding on to. You could’ve accepted Mr. Seo’s offer for a date. You could’ve been kinder to your colleagues—especially Mrs. Chae. You could’ve treated your students with more warmth, if only you had known this was how it would end. Your end.
But then, somehow, you woke up.
You blinked against the dim light, disoriented, and slowly took in your surroundings. The posters, the bookshelves, the scent of lavender… You were in your old bedroom, the one you’d left behind four years ago. This was your parents' house.
You shot up from the bed, a dozen questions firing off in your mind. Hadn’t you been kidnapped? How were you here, of all places? You struggled to process, but then realization hit. This had to be your parents' or your brother's doing. They had found you...and forced you back.
"Welcome home," a low, familiar voice drawled.
You turned sharply to see Seungcheol standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame with an infuriatingly smug look on his face. So, it was him—your brother. It had been his doing all along.
A dry scoff escaped your lips. "Real classy," you muttered, rolling your eyes. Kidnapping you? A dramatic, underhanded stunt. But of course, it was nothing new—your family always preferred control over conversation.
Seungcheol’s eyes glinted as he strolled toward you, a self-satisfied smirk curving his lips. "Four years away from home, and look at that attitude." He reached out and roughly cupped your chin, lifting it so you had no choice but to meet his gaze.
"Don’t touch me!" you snapped, wrenching yourself free from his grasp. Seungcheol simply chuckled, an arrogance radiating off him that only made you bristle more. That glint in his eye was something darker, something that reminded you just how ruthless he could be.
But it was his next words that made the room go cold. "Don’t worry," he sneered, “you won’t be here longer than a week. We’ve got everything arranged."
You frowned, trying to make sense of his cryptic statement. "What are you talking about?"
"Oh, forgive me for breaking the news so bluntly.” His voice was laced with mockery. “You’re going to marry into the Jeon family."
The words echoed in your mind, each one twisting like a knife. Marry into the Jeon family? Arranged…by them?
You barely managed to whisper, "The Jeons…?"
Seungcheol nodded, and before you could pull away, he patted your head with a mockery that felt almost sinister. "That’s right. Finally found you a purpose in this family." He dropped his hand, then suddenly grabbed a handful of your hair, yanking your head back so you were forced to look him in the eyes.
“And don’t think for a second you have a choice, Choi Y/n. Run as far as you want, but we’ll find you. Just like today."
A bitter chill settled over you as his words sank in.
This was how it would end, after all.
Weeks later, you sat at the dining table the night before your wedding, feeling like a ghost in your own life. Your father, mother, and brother sat around you, talking about the wedding, the Jeons, and your future—as if you weren’t sitting right there with them. Your father steered the conversation with a business-like precision, his words detached and clinical, while your brother chimed in with cold, calculated suggestions on how you should conduct yourself once you were officially part of the Jeon family. His every word seemed to emphasize your role as nothing more than a tool to cement a family alliance. And your mother? She just sat there in silence, powerless, not even a whisper of comfort to ease your loneliness.
You longed to go back—to your apartment, your sanctuary. The one place where you’d fought so hard for your independence, the place that held all your dreams of a life free from the shadows of your family’s influence. All the effort you’d put in—studying relentlessly through high school, earning a place at a prestigious university, fighting tooth and nail to live on your own, even moving to Busan to work like an ordinary person—all of it felt wasted. You would never be “normal” as long as you bore the Choi name, as long as Choi blood flowed through your veins.
The family’s construction company, the empire your father had built, was struggling. Business had slowed in recent years, and not even Seungcheol, with all his skills and clever maneuvers as a director, could salvage it alone. So, they played their last card: you. A political marriage, sealing your fate to secure the future of the family. It was nothing new in the Choi lineage—almost every member had been born into a marriage of convenience, a bond made for power, not love. It explained a lot. No one here was truly happy. Not even your parents.
“Make sure she doesn’t make a scene tomorrow,” your father said coldly, his words like a verdict. “Station guards around her room tonight. I don’t want her pulling any stunts. Ensure there’s no way she can run.”
With that, he rose from the table, his final words echoing in the air, suffocating you with their weight.
You let out a sigh, barely audible, a silent plea. Couldn’t they just leave you alone, even for a single moment?
*
The first time you saw your groom’s face was at the altar. You knew almost nothing about this underground world your father and brother had dragged the family into, this illegal network where alliances and debts seemed to rule over any shred of morality. But one thing was clear: the Jeon family was no better than yours. They were villains in this twisted world, and your husband could be just as dangerous.
Now, you stood in front of him, heart racing, every nerve on edge. His face was sharp, his jawline defined, and his expression unwavering. His brows conveyed a strong-willed intensity, and his eyes held a kind of passion that only unsettled you further. You hated it—they were far too similar to your father’s eyes, filled with ambition and control. Something was off, you could feel it.
Would he treat you the way your father treated your mother?
Would he hit you? Swears?
Would he belittle you, try to break you down until you were nothing?
You took a shaky, nervous breath before placing your hand in his, the cold weight of inevitability settling on your chest. Your head spun, each breath feeling more difficult than the last. Was this real? Were you seriously about to be married today?
You premised your students that you’d grade their tests by the weekend!
A sudden, firm grip tightened around your hand, yanking you from your thoughts. Jeon Wonwoo—his name, all you knew of him—stared down at you with an intensity that bordered on piercing, his gaze unwavering as if he could see right through you.
You’d never imagined yourself in a situation like this. You had vowed you’d never end up in a marriage of convenience like your parents, trapped by arrangements you didn’t control. You’d sooner die, you’d thought, than ever agree to be a pawn in their twisted game.
As the ceremony unfolded, his grip never loosening, your mind wandered to a single thought, dark and sharp like a knife’s edge.
How to escape this. Even if it meant finding your own way out—even if it cost your own life.
*
Wonwoo watched you intently during the dinner that followed the wedding. This was the first time the Jeon and Choi families had gathered together for a meal, but the tension in the room was thick and unrelenting. This marriage was a business deal, nothing more, a simple contract that would benefit both families as long as it remained intact. Divorce was out of the question. Everyone involved had too much at stake—including him.
He was grateful that the proposal had been accepted by your family; it meant he could finally begin building his own empire, a chance to distance himself from the family business that never suited him. But it was clear you didn’t share the sentiment. From the moment he laid eyes on you today, he could see it in the slump of your shoulders, the hollow look in your eyes. You were more than just unhappy—you looked utterly defeated.
He couldn’t exactly say he enjoyed the day either. Playing the perfect son for his father’s business associates, mingling with your family—well-known figures in the construction underworld—was draining. Thinking of it as a business transaction helped him get through it, masking the discomfort with a polished facade.
He had done his research before today, reading through the sparse details in your profile. The only daughter of the Choi family, you were an interesting puzzle. What intrigued him most was that you’d run off to Busan after returning from studying abroad, quietly taking a job at a university there, far from your family’s influence. That move was one he hadn’t expected.
Why did you leave?
His gaze shifted to your mother across the table. She looked as stoic as you, her face giving nothing away. Perhaps it was a family trait, this quiet, expressionless mask. Or maybe it was something else, a grief frozen in time—he recalled reading about your brother’s drowning a decade ago, a tragedy that seemed to cast a shadow over the Choi family even now. Whatever the reason, she, like you, appeared detached, locked away behind a wall of silence.
Wonwoo considered if he liked the idea of a “submissive” wife—someone like your mother, who seemed to blend into the background, supporting her husband’s dominance without question. Was that what he had expected of you? But there was a fire in your eyes, even buried beneath the sadness, that told him you weren’t going to be as easy to control.
“Honey, isn’t it time for Wonwoo and Y/n to go?” his mother asked, looking over at her husband and reminding everyone of your planned departure for Jeju Island. The Jeon owned a private villa there—a family vacation spot that had been chosen for the three-day honeymoon trip.
Wonwoo cleared his throat, glancing over at you. When your eyes finally met his, he was struck by the deep brown depths beneath your lashes. He wondered if they would ever show him anything other than wariness, whether he’d ever see any warmth or trust there.
He rose from his seat, his voice steady as he addressed the table. “I think it’s time we head out. Thank you all for today.”
He reached for your hand, feeling the cold sweat of your palm. Bowing to both families, he caught your brother Seungcheol’s pointed remark about being a “good wife.” You didn’t even flinch, giving him no reaction, no indication that you’d heard him at all.
It only made Wonwoo more curious. Just how close—or how distant—were you from this family that claimed to control you?
*
Wonwoo spent the day subtly observing, trying to piece together what kind of person you were. During the flight, he’d tested the waters—asking if you were cold, offering his jacket, holding your hand during a patch of turbulence just to see if you would react. But you remained composed, barely acknowledging him. Fewer than five words had escaped your lips the entire time, as though you were carefully crafted to reveal nothing.
As the two of you disembarked from the Jeon family’s private jet, Wonwoo kept hold of your hand, guiding you toward the grand villa where you’d be staying. The sight brought back memories—he’d spent countless childhood vacations here, running around with his cousins, exploring every corner. But those days were long gone, buried beneath responsibilities and the family business. He never thought he’d return under these circumstances, with a wife by his side. It struck him how fast time had passed.
“Are you tired?” he asked as you sank into a plush couch in the villa’s main room, exhaustion clear on your face. “You can head to bed first. I’ll join you after I make a call—”
“Can we have separate bedrooms?” You cut him off, your voice quiet but firm. He turned, eyebrows raised in surprise. So, you could speak, he thought, intrigued.
“Why?” he asked, genuinely curious. He hadn’t expected such a direct request—especially on your wedding night.
You shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. “It’s just… I have trouble sleeping when there’s someone else in the same room.”
He tilted his head, an amused smile tugging at his lips. This was the first real conversation the two of you had, and it was about where you’d sleep. “But we’re married. Aren’t we supposed to share a bed, even if we’re… not exactly on good terms?”
“But this is a business marriage,” you replied, voice steady yet distant. “I don’t think we need to sleep in the same room.”
So that’s what you’ve been thinking, Wonwoo mused. You saw this marriage as nothing more than a transaction, as if intimacy were just another formality you could avoid. He studied you for a moment, then nodded.
“Alright.” His agreement came quickly, almost to his own surprise. He was tired, too tired to debate it further.
“You can take the master bedroom,” he said, gesturing to the hall. “I’ll take the room next to yours.”
Without waiting for a reply, he walked out onto the balcony, pulling his phone from his pocket. There was a call he had to make, business that couldn’t wait—if he wanted even a chance at resting tonight.
As he stepped outside, he glanced back, catching a glimpse of you alone on the couch, your expression unreadable. The distance between you two felt vast, yet something about your quiet defiance intrigued him.
“Happy wedding, man,” a familiar voice greeted Wonwoo as his call connected.
Wonwoo scoffed, “How’d you know? I didn’t tell you.”
The other person chuckled. “I have my sources everywhere. So, is that why you were asking about a house in Busan? Are you moving?”
“Yeah, I am,” Wonwoo replied, glancing at the villa. “My people are stationed there, and it’ll be easier to manage things from that side.”
“Got it. I’ll send over some listings. Just let me know if you have any specific requests,” the voice on the line replied smoothly. “And by the way, enjoy your wedding night,” he added with a teasing tone.
Wonwoo let out a laugh as he ended the call, quickly opening his email to find the property listings his friend Mingyu had just sent. As he scrolled through the catalog, he couldn’t help but think it was a lucky coincidence that you were already working in Busan.
Perhaps, for once, things were aligning in his favor.
*
You opened your email first thing in the morning, only to find it oddly filled with congratulatory messages from your colleagues and students. What’s going on?
Just then, a text came in from Mr. Seo, offering his own congratulations on your marriage. He even apologized for asking you out a few times without realizing you were already taken. He thanked you for the parcel—something you hadn’t sent but were sure was Seungcheol’s doing. At least he was responsible enough to help cover the work you’d had to leave behind on such short notice.
A knock at the door pulled you from your thoughts. It was Wonwoo, his head peeking in, a faint smile appearing when he saw you were awake.
“Breakfast is ready. Come join me,” he said warmly.
You left the bedroom and made your way to the dining area, where a spread of food awaited. Wonwoo sat with his coffee, his other hand scrolling through something on his tablet.
“How’d you sleep?” he asked, glancing up from his screen as he sipped his coffee.
“Great,” you lied, forcing a small smile.
The truth was, you hadn’t slept at all. The image of Wonwoo walking off to the balcony last night lingered in your mind. Was he mad? Would he get angry if you made another request like that? Would he—like everyone else in your family—end up getting tired of you?
“I asked if you wanted coffee or milk,” Wonwoo said, bringing you back to the present. You blinked, realizing you’d been lost in thought.
“Oh, coffee, please. Thank you,” you muttered, feeling a little embarrassed. You caught a glimpse of a quiet laugh on his face as he poured coffee into your glass.
Wonwoo set down his tablet, his attention now fully on you. “Did you see the closet yet?” he asked, and you shook your head.
“My mom picked out a few things for the honeymoon. I hope you’ll like them,” he said, taking another sip.
“Thank you,” you mumbled, nodding politely.
As you watched Wonwoo during breakfast, he seemed calm and collected—so different from your brother, who always wore a smug, confrontational expression, or your father, whose look always seemed to say everyone owed him something.
It was a relief, but it frightened you, too. You couldn’t read him, couldn’t guess his next move. He was smiling as he spoke to the maid now, but could that change in a flash? Would he end up yelling or even hurting you the way your father had with your mother?
A chill ran down your spine at the thought. It had been years since you’d witnessed that kind of violence, at least until you’d been pulled back to your family’s house three weeks before the wedding. You remembered your brother grabbing you by the hair, your father screaming at your mother. You knew about Seungcheol’s revolving door of relationships—a habit he’d probably picked up from your father’s infidelities.
Would that be your life, too?
You better come up with some plans.
*
The calm and collected, the submissive and innocent—those were the labels Wonwoo had instinctively assigned to you when he first met you. Yet, who could have predicted your next move? Running away, just a day after your honeymoon ended.
Wonwoo was at work—his first day back after a four-day absence—engrossed in an important meeting when his right-hand man, Lee Seokmin, discreetly approached him. Leaning down, Seokmin whispered, “Your wife ran away.”
Wonwoo’s fingers drummed against his lap as he processed the words, a wave of irritation rolling over him. Now, seated in his car, he was on his way to Busan. Good thing he’d asked Seokmin to plant a tracker in your wedding ring; otherwise, finding you would have been far more complicated. He glanced at his phone, tracking your movements. You were at work—of course.
“You didn’t tell her you were moving to Busan next week?” Seokmin asked, his tone laced with mild amusement. Wonwoo sighed tiredly, rubbing his temple.
“No, I didn’t,” Wonwoo muttered, exasperated. “I didn’t think I needed to. This whole situation is ridiculous.”
Seokmin glanced at his boss but wisely chose to remain silent. He had witnessed Wonwoo’s growing frustration during the honeymoon. Despite the picturesque Jeju scenery, the trip had been far from enjoyable for either of you. Wonwoo had spent most of his time working, glued to his phone or laptop, even forcing Seokmin to turn on airplane mode during moments when Wonwoo couldn’t resist calling him. The honeymoon wasn’t just a disappointment—it was a disaster.
Wonwoo barely saw you during those four days. You had breakfast long after him, skipped lunch entirely, and dined early, ensuring your paths rarely crossed. It was clear you were actively avoiding him, and it grated on his nerves more than he cared to admit.
This marriage isn’t just inconvenient for you, he thought bitterly as he watched the road ahead. I’m stuck in this mess too.
And now, you’d decided to make things worse by running away from his house to Busan just to get back to work. All of this could’ve been avoided if he’d simply told you about the plan to move next week. The thought irritated him further.
“This entire situation could have been avoided if you’d just communicated better,” Seokmin remarked, half-joking. Wonwoo shot him a sharp look.
Seokmin raised his hands in mock surrender. “I’m just saying. Maybe next time, a simple conversation will save you both the trouble.”
Wonwoo didn’t respond, his jaw tightening as the car sped down the highway. One thing was clear—he needed to get you back, not just physically but emotionally. Because while this marriage had started as a business arrangement, the chaos you brought into his life was beginning to feel far too personal.
"Why are you here? How the hell did you open my door?!"
You stood in front of him, your voice sharp with fury, yet it was nothing compared to the storm brewing in Wonwoo’s dark eyes. He had been waiting for nearly four hours, watching every move you made—from university to a café, to a restaurant, and everywhere but home. Each passing hour had only fueled his frustration.
He had his men tail you, making sure nothing happened, but every moment you were out of his sight left his mind racing with worst-case scenarios. He could already picture the wrath of your father and brother, their faces etched with rage if something had gone wrong.
"Took you long enough to get home," Wonwoo drawled, leaning back on the couch. His tone was calm, but the anger simmering beneath was unmistakable. He glanced at his watch—23:44.
"I asked you, how did you get inside?!" you snapped, your frustration growing as you saw him lounging on your couch like he owned the place.
Wonwoo didn’t bother answering. Instead, he casually propped his legs on your coffee table, ignoring your glare.
"Why are you here?" you repeated, this time with more control, though your patience was wearing thin.
Wonwoo let out a low scoff, his lips curving into a faint smirk. "Why are you here?" he shot back, his voice carrying a challenge.
Your brows knitted in confusion. "What are you talking about? I was working. You're not the only one who has a job."
His expression darkened at your response, his jaw tightening as his irritation reached a boiling point. "You could’ve told me. There was no need to run away and make me chase you here."
You crossed your arms defiantly, tilting your chin up. "I didn’t ask you to chase me."
Wonwoo’s eyes narrowed as he leaned forward, dropping his legs to the floor. The air between you grew heavy with tension. "Oh, but you did," he said, his tone dangerously calm. "The moment you stepped out of my house without a guard, you asked for this. You're my wife. Remember that."
Your laugh was humorless, bitter. "So what are you going to do now? Run crying to my father? Or are you going to beat the shit out of me because I can’t be your perfect little wife?"
Wonwoo stilled, caught off guard by your words. His eyes scanned your face, searching for any hint of sarcasm, but instead, he found something that made his chest tighten—a raw, painful truth hiding behind your defiance.
"What are you even talking about?" he asked, his voice lower now, laced with confusion.
You exhaled shakily, dropping your bag to the floor. Your shoulders slumped as if the weight of the world had finally broken you. "What are you waiting for, then? Slap me. Swear at me. Call me useless. I’m used to it all by now."
The tears that slipped down your cheeks caught him off guard more than your words. Something twisted in his chest, a deep ache he couldn’t quite name. How could you say that? What kind of life had you been living before this?
Wonwoo looked away, unable to meet your eyes as guilt crept up on him. Midnight struck. The sharp chime of the clock broke the silence, but it did little to ease the tension in the room.
He stood abruptly, his movements controlled but deliberate, and walked toward the balcony. Before stepping outside, he paused, speaking over his shoulder. "Prepare a bed for me. I’m staying here tonight. The house will be ready tomorrow. Sleep well."
With that, he slid the door shut behind him, letting out a heavy sigh as he leaned against the railing. His fingers reached into his pocket, pulling out a cigarette. The faint flicker of the lighter illuminated his face for a moment, revealing an uncharacteristic weariness in his expression.
The first drag of smoke filled his lungs, and for a second, he let the tension in his body dissipate. He’d thank Seokmin later for slipping a pack into his suit—it wasn’t often he needed one, but tonight was different. Tonight, everything felt heavier.
As the city lights stretched before him, Wonwoo stared into the distance, the bitter taste of nicotine lingering on his tongue. Your tears haunted him, replaying in his mind. He had thought he understood you, but now he realized he hadn’t even scratched the surface.
What the hell happened to you? he wondered, the smoke curling around him like a ghost of unanswered questions.
*
You woke up in bed. The soft mattress beneath you was a surprise; you were certain you’d left it for Wonwoo last night and made yourself comfortable on the couch. Had your husband moved you here? Husband. The word felt foreign and heavy in your mind, like trying on a coat two sizes too big.
Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you sat up and glanced at the clock. Two hours before your first class—plenty of time to get ready. You swung your legs off the bed and stretched, pushing away the lingering haze of confusion.
Freshly dressed, you stepped out of your room, planning to grab a quick breakfast. A slice of bread and some milk might hold you over until lunch. But as you walked into the living area, you froze.
Wonwoo sat at the dining table, arms crossed, his posture as commanding as ever. Across from him stood Lee Seokmin, his ever-efficient assistant, carefully plating food from plastic containers onto dishes that looked too fancy for your humble kitchen.
"Good morning, ma’am," Seokmin greeted you warmly. "Please have some breakfast before heading out."
Your eyes wandered to the table, laden with an array of nutrient-packed dishes. It was an impressive spread for such an early hour. Your gaze flicked to the couch, where the pillow and blanket you’d used were already folded neatly. Of course, he’d tidied up. Your husband was nothing if not meticulous.
"I’ll have the house ready by this afternoon. You can start moving your things tonight," Wonwoo said, breaking your thoughts as you hesitantly joined him at the table.
Your brows furrowed in confusion. "What house?"
"Our house," he replied simply, sipping his coffee like it was the most natural thing in the world. "We were supposed to move next week, but I pushed them to finish it earlier."
Your confusion turned to irritation as you stared at him. "You’re moving here?"
Wonwoo nodded, his tone calm but firm. "My business was originally centered here. I used to travel back and forth between Seoul and here frequently. Now it’s easier for me to stay permanently."
You sighed, frustration bubbling in your chest. All your carefully laid plans to create some distance between the two of you—gone. "Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?"
He scoffed, a hint of amusement in his otherwise serious expression. "Do you think I had the chance to tell you?"
His sharp gaze locked onto yours, a subtle reminder of the days you spent in your room during the honeymoon, avoiding him entirely while binging dramas. The pointedness of his words stung more than you cared to admit.
Seokmin cleared his throat, cutting through the tension. "Please eat before it gets cold," he said politely, excusing himself soon after.
As he reached the door, Wonwoo added, "Tell Jun to get the car ready. Y/n will be driven by him today."
Seokmin nodded and left, leaving you to frown at Wonwoo. "I can go to work by myself," you argued, your voice firm.
"I know," he said nonchalantly, picking a piece of meat from one of the dishes and placing it on your rice bowl. "But I’ve assigned Jun to drive you. He’s excellent at martial arts."
You sighed, knowing there was no point in arguing further. Wonwoo always seemed two steps ahead, and resisting him felt like fighting the tide. You reluctantly picked up your spoon and began eating.
The silence that followed wasn’t entirely uncomfortable, though your mind was still racing. He had tracked you down, shown up at your apartment like he belonged there, and even had a home ready for the two of you. He had already begun dismantling the semblance of independence you’d clung to, piece by piece.
You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye. Did he also handle your apartment lease? You dreaded the possibility. He's crazy if he did.
As if reading your mind, Wonwoo spoke, his tone neutral but direct. "I’ll talk to your building owner about the lease after breakfast. Don’t worry."
You stared at him, caught between disbelief and reluctant gratitude. At least he wasn’t entirely crazy. Your husband, as infuriating as he was, wasn’t heartless.
*
You didn’t remember asking him to pick you up from work.
As you walked out of the building with your colleagues, the lively chatter surrounded you. Among them was Mr. Seo, Seo Myungho, who had asked you out a few times in the past. He strolled beside you, quietly attentive as the others babbled about your sudden wedding.
You had already explained to them, in the simplest terms possible, that it was an introduction followed by a quick marriage. Yet, their curiosity remained insatiable, likely fueled by the unexpected month-long leave you'd taken—something orchestrated by Seungcheol. At least he'd sent gifts that bolstered your professional reputation, though it didn’t make the constant questions any less exhausting.
"I do understand why the Dean approved her leave for almost a month," Mrs. Chae remarked, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "She’s her favorite, after all."
The comment hung in the air, and you chuckled softly to yourself, resisting the urge to fire back. Wasting energy on Mrs. Chae's barely veiled resentment wasn’t worth it.
"She’s been doing excellent work on her research projects this year," Myungho interjected kindly, his tone steady and polite. He smiled at you briefly before addressing Mrs. Chae. "I think she’s more than earned her time off."
You felt a small wave of gratitude toward Myungho. His support didn’t go unnoticed, and it seemed to shift the mood slightly, with the others murmuring their agreement. Everyone, except Mrs. Chae, of course—her disdain was as predictable as ever. You were younger, more competent, and rising through the ranks faster than she could handle, and she hated every second of it.
Then, you saw him.
Wonwoo.
Your husband stood tall, casually leaning against his sleek car. He was a striking figure, dressed impeccably, yet looking oddly out of place in front of your university building. The sight of him felt surreal. Wonwoo didn’t seem like the type to wait outside for anyone, let alone you. It was baffling—and slightly annoying.
"Who’s that guy?" one of your colleagues asked, their curiosity piqued.
You barely heard them as you quickly turned to bid everyone goodbye. "I’ll see you all tomorrow!" you said hastily before jogging over to Wonwoo.
When you reached him, you glared up at him. "Who asked you to come here? Let’s go!"
Wonwoo raised an eyebrow, clearly taken aback by your urgency. Before he could respond, you grabbed his arm, pulling him toward the car. He moved with you, a bemused expression on his face as you opened the door and pushed him inside.
You quickly slipped into the passenger seat, taking a deep breath. Turning back to your colleagues, who were still watching, you forced a polite smile and waved. They waved back, but their curiosity had undoubtedly turned to outright speculation.
Your marriage had already become the hottest topic of gossip among your peers. Now, seeing you leave with a man as striking as Wonwoo—and in a car as luxurious as his—would only pour fuel on the fire.
You sighed heavily, sinking into the seat as the car pulled away. "This is exactly what I was trying to avoid," you muttered, more to yourself than to him.
Wonwoo glanced at you, his lips quirking into the faintest of smirks. "You're welcome," he said dryly, eyes flicking back to the road ahead.
You scowled at him, but there was no denying the slight flutter in your chest. For better or worse, your life was now entangled with his—and there was no turning back.
You glanced at Wonwoo as the car smoothly merged into traffic, the tension between you two lingering like an uninvited guest. You finally broke the silence, your voice low but sharp. "Where are we going?"
Wonwoo didn’t take his eyes off the road as he replied calmly. "To our new house."
You frowned. "Why? I thought we weren't moving until next week."
"I wanted to make sure everything you need is settled before you move in," he explained, his tone as matter-of-fact as if he were discussing the weather. "I’ve also arranged for a moving agency to pack and transfer your belongings tonight. It’s all scheduled."
You blinked at him, stunned by his efficiency—and, admittedly, a little irritated. "You scheduled my move without asking me?"
He finally looked at you, his dark eyes steady. "I didn’t think you’d agree if I asked. And whether it’s now or later, you’ll have to move in anyway. So why delay it?"
You sighed deeply, leaning back against the seat and closing your eyes. He wasn’t wrong. Now or later, this situation wasn’t going to change. Fighting him on it felt pointless, and you were already drained from the day.
"Fine," you muttered, surrendering to the inevitable. "But don’t expect me to be excited about it."
Wonwoo smirked faintly, his focus returning to the road. "Noted."
As the car wove through the streets, you gazed out the window, trying to calm the swirling thoughts in your mind. The idea of living with him, under the same roof, felt surreal. You weren’t ready to call this man your husband—let alone share a home with him.
But what choice did you have?
The car eventually pulled into a gated neighborhood, the homes large and modern, with sprawling lawns and tall hedges. You glanced at Wonwoo as he parked in front of a sleek, minimalist house.
"This is it?" you asked hesitantly.
"Yes," he said, stepping out and opening the door for you. "Come on. I’ll show you around."
You followed him reluctantly, stepping into the house. The interior was just as polished as the exterior—clean lines, neutral colors, and high-end finishes. It felt luxurious but cold, like a place designed for appearances rather than comfort.
Wonwoo gestured toward the open kitchen. "I’ve made sure it’s stocked with everything you might need. If anything’s missing, just tell me."
You nodded silently, your eyes scanning the space. It was beautiful, but it didn’t feel like yours.
He led you to the living room, then upstairs to the master bedroom. "This will be your room," he said, pushing the door open.
You turned to him, raising an eyebrow. "My room?"
"Yes," he said firmly. "You need your own space. I’ll take the guest room."
His unexpected consideration threw you off. You nodded slowly, unsure how to respond. "Okay."
Wonwoo checked his watch. "The movers should arrive in an hour. I’ll stay here to supervise."
You sighed again, the weight of it all settling in. This was your new reality. No matter how hard you tried to run, you couldn’t escape the situation you were in—or the man standing in front of you.
"Fine," you said quietly, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "I’ll unpack when they’re done."
Wonwoo studied you for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he turned and left the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts.
You sat on the edge of the bed, trying to make sense of everything when Wonwoo walked back into the room, his expression calm but purposeful.
"By the way," he said, leaning casually against the doorframe, "I changed my mind about the room."
Your head snapped up. "What do you mean?"
Wonwoo crossed his arms, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "There’s only one master bedroom in this house, and it’s ours. We’re married, Y/n. It’s only right that we share it."
You stared at him, your mouth falling open slightly. "You’ve got to be kidding me. There are other rooms here. You could easily take one of them."
He shrugged nonchalantly. "I could. But I won’t. I want us to share this space."
The way he said it, calm yet unyielding, made it clear this wasn’t up for debate. Frustration bubbled up inside you. "What about what I want? Did you even think about that?"
Wonwoo’s eyes softened slightly, though his resolve didn’t waver. "I did. That’s why I set up an office for you."
You blinked. "An office?"
He nodded, gesturing for you to follow him. Reluctantly, you got up and trailed behind him as he led you down the hall to a smaller room. Inside, you found a neatly arranged workspace with a sleek desk, bookshelves, and a comfortable chair. The shelves were already filled with reference books and stationary supplies, and a corner was decorated with a small potted plant.
You took a hesitant step inside, running your fingers along the edge of the desk. "You set this up for me?"
"Of course," Wonwoo said, standing by the doorway with his hands in his pockets. "You’re a lecturer, and I know you need a space to work. This room is yours to use however you want."
Despite your frustration over the bedroom situation, you couldn’t help but feel a twinge of gratitude. The office was thoughtful—more thoughtful than you’d expected from him.
Still, you turned back to him, narrowing your eyes. "That doesn’t make up for the fact that I don’t get my own bedroom."
Wonwoo tilted his head, his smirk returning. "You can decorate the office however you want. Think of it as a trade-off."
You crossed your arms, glaring at him. "This isn’t a negotiation, Wonwoo."
"It’s not," he agreed, his tone maddeningly calm. "It’s a compromise."
You sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of your nose. Living with him was going to be impossible.
"Fine," you muttered. "But if you snore, I’m moving to the couch."
Wonwoo chuckled softly, his gaze following you as you stepped past him to head back to the master bedroom. "I don’t snore. But you’ll have to deal with my early mornings."
You shot him a glare over your shoulder. "And you’ll have to deal with me slamming doors if you wake me up too early."
His laughter followed you down the hall, light and warm, making your heart twist unexpectedly. As much as he infuriated you, there was something undeniably disarming about the way he carried himself.
But you weren’t ready to admit that. Not yet.
*
Wonwoo sat at his desk, scanning the report he had asked Seokmin to gather. As he read through the details, something shifted inside him. Your words from yesterday echoed in his mind.
"Slap me, swear at me. I'm used to that."
The sheer pain in your voice as you said those words—how could anyone ask to be treated like that? And the worst part was, you cried. Tears had slipped down your cheeks, and he stood there, frozen, unable to comfort you. The helplessness stung, and for a moment, he questioned his own worth.
His mother had taught him better than that. She hadn’t raised him to be passive, to stand idly by when someone needed help. Yet, in that moment, he had failed you.
Determined to understand the depths of your suffering, Wonwoo had asked Seokmin to dig into your past—specifically, your family. He needed to understand how you had come to be the person you were, how you had been shaped by the world around you. What kind of upbringing had led to someone like you being so broken, so wary of affection?
He already knew about your father. Reckless, cold-hearted, a man who did business as though he owned the world. His methods weren’t just questionable; they were downright illegal. Everything about him was transactional, and it was no surprise that he had built his empire on those very practices.
But it wasn’t just your father. Your brother, too, was no better. Wonwoo had heard the rumors—how your brother had a reputation not only as a businessman but as a lover, a man who seemed incapable of loyalty. Infidelity ran deep in your family, and it had left its mark. Wonwoo recalled the look on your mother’s face during your wedding—distressed, distant, like she knew more than she was willing to let on. It made sense now.
The report mentioned something else that struck him deeply. "Her brother was drowned in the Han River."
It clicked. The pieces fell into place. He had suspected there was something more to your past, something you hadn't fully confronted, and now he understood.
The report also mentioned the PTSD you had suffered, a trauma so deep it had robbed you of the memory of the incident. Your brother’s death had happened right in front of you. It was no wonder you struggled to cope with intimacy, with trust. That level of violence, loss, and betrayal—how could anyone emerge unscathed?
Wonwoo let out a heavy sigh. Now he understood. This was why you had built walls around yourself. Why you flinched at kindness, why you kept everyone at arm’s length. You hadn’t just been shaped by your family’s actions; you had been destroyed by them.
But the weight of that realization didn’t make him resent you—it made him want to protect you more fiercely. His heart ached for you, for the girl who had been forced to grow up in such brutality. He wanted to be the one to help you heal, to show you that not all men were like the ones who had scarred you.
And though it was clear that your past had shaped you in ways he hadn’t fully realized, he was more determined than ever to be the man you deserved—one who wouldn’t walk away when it got hard, one who wouldn’t stand by and do nothing.
He closed the report with a soft exhale, a sense of resolve settling in his chest. Now that he understood, now that he knew the truth, there was no turning back. This knowledge would shape his actions moving forward, guiding him in a way he hadn’t expected.
Just as he leaned back in his chair, his phone rang. It was his mother.
"I heard you're in Busan. Have you moved already?" she asked, her voice carrying a note of concern.
"Yes, mother. My wife had to attend to her work immediately, so we moved earlier than expected," Wonwoo replied, trying to keep his tone casual.
He heard a faint hum from the other side of the line, a sign that his mother was deep in thought. "How's life as a husband? I’m worried you won’t be able to treat her right."
Wonwoo chuckled softly, a warm but tired sound. "We're both fine, really."
There was a long sigh from his mother, the kind that spoke volumes. "I’m sorry, Wonwoo. I knew this marriage wouldn’t be easy. I should have known better than to pitch a marriage to the Choi family. I’ve heard so much about them. But your father insisted."
Wonwoo smiled, a wry but understanding expression crossing his face. "Mother, I told you it was okay. I accepted this, and here I am."
"I know, I know," his mother said, her voice thick with regret. "You couldn’t refuse. But I just... I feel guilty for you, and for Y/n, of course."
Her words made his chest tighten a little, the weight of everything settling on him once again. He wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince her or himself, but he said, "It’s not as bad as you think. We’ll figure things out."
There was a brief pause before his mother spoke again, her voice softening. "Just... say hi to her for me, okay? Tell her I’m thinking of her."
Wonwoo’s smile grew a little more genuine as he replied, "I will, mother. Take care."
Wonwoo had started the project with small gestures: a kiss on your temple every morning at breakfast. The first time he did it, you gave him a surprised, almost startled glance, like it was an unfamiliar gesture. But Wonwoo simply smiled, brushing aside your reaction as if it were nothing. Sometimes, his hand would gently brush your hair while you shared a meal, and you'd look at him like he was out of place, unsure of how to react. Still, it gradually became a part of your routine, and everything began to run smoothly.
But then your brother, Seungcheol, came to visit. He stayed for dinner, and immediately, the tension in the air thickened.
"You should leave after dinner," you told him flatly, already anticipating the clash.
"Why would I? It’ll be more comfortable for me to stay here than in some hotel," Seungcheol replied, shooting a glance at Wonwoo.
Now, Wonwoo found himself caught between two siblings, each offering their own persuasive arguments as to why he should stay or leave. Every word from either of them felt like a debate, and Wonwoo couldn’t bring himself to find the right words to settle it. Could he just vanish into thin air?
Before he could respond, a sigh escaped his lips, and he glanced at you, his voice rising to ease the tension. "How about we all stay in a hotel? It’s been a month since our honeymoon. I think my wife deserves a bit of a rest."
Wonwoo immediately regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. He cursed himself mentally for the slip-up.
Seungcheol raised an eyebrow. "Whatever, I’m not gonna stay here," he said nonchalantly. "You satisfied?" He turned his gaze to you, and you wiped your mouth with a napkin, stoic as ever.
"Your house is beautiful, with a beach view," Seungcheol continued, trying to steer the conversation in a different direction. "It’s only a 10-minute walk to the beach?"
Wonwoo nodded, trying to ignore the tension building in the room. "Yes, hyung. Only five minutes by car, but the waves are pretty strong at this hour."
Seungcheol chuckled lightly. "Guess I shouldn’t go near the water, then. Your wife might just drown me."
That’s when you froze mid-motion. Your hand, which had been holding your utensil, suddenly dropped it with a loud clatter onto the plate. You stood abruptly from your chair, your eyes hardening.
"It’s just a joke," Seungcheol quickly added, watching you intently.
You didn’t even flinch. "You better go after your meal," you said in a cold, steady tone. "I don’t want to see your face in my house again."
Seungcheol smirked, unfazed by your words. "You’ve got some nerve after joining the Jeon family, Y/n. Don’t forget I’m your older brother."
Your steps paused mid-stride as you turned back to face him, your expression hardening. "Don’t forget I killed my own brother 20 years ago. Older brother."
The room fell silent.
Wonwoo’s heart raced. His hair stood on end at the chilling words that hung in the air. He wasn’t sure if the coldness in your voice was from the past, or if you were daring Seungcheol to test your limits now. Either way, he realized he had stepped into something far more complex than he had anticipated.
*
It was just you and Jisoo sitting on the deck when it happened. The details were blurry, fragments lost in the haze of suppressed memories. They said you pushed him, that you shoved him off the vessel, causing him to fall into the water and drown. That’s what everyone believed. And because they believed it, so did your 12-year-old self.
You didn’t remember anything from that day. No arguments, no screams, no malicious intent. But their words were louder than your own doubts. "You killed him," they said. The accusation clung to you like a heavy chain, dragging you into a guilt you couldn’t escape.
It changed everything. You stopped attending school, retreating into the isolation of homeschooling, where whispers and judgment couldn’t reach you. But even home was suffocating. The weight of the incident lingered in the air, heavy and unspoken, a ghost haunting every corner of your life.
When you decided to enroll in a university abroad, it wasn’t just for education. It was an escape. An escape from the house that felt like a prison, from the suffocating presence of your family. Especially your mother.
She never said much about the incident. No accusations, no consolations. Just silence. But in her silence, you saw her resentment. She didn’t need to say the words for you to know. She hated you. You could see it in her cold stares, in the way she avoided your presence.
Every time your father or Seungcheol raised their hands against you, she stayed silent. She didn’t flinch, didn’t intervene. She just watched, her indifference cutting deeper than any bruise. And what other reason could there be for her silence, besides hate?
You told yourself leaving was for the best. Putting distance between you and them was the only way to breathe, to survive. But even thousands of miles away, the shadows of your past followed you, whispering the same accusation: You killed him.
"I hate Father so much, Y/n. I wish I could have been born into a different family."
"NO!"
Your voice echoed in your ears as you jolted awake, your breath hitching and your chest heaving. The remnants of the dream clung to you, vivid and suffocating. Your heart pounded wildly, its rhythm frantic and uneven as you tried to steady your breathing. Slowly, you sat up, pressing a hand to your chest in an attempt to calm yourself.
The faint sound of movement brought your attention to Wonwoo, who had just stepped out of the walk-in closet, already dressed for work. His hair was still slightly damp, the crisp lines of his suit adding to his composed appearance. He offered you a small smile at first, but it quickly faded when he noticed the tension in your expression.
"Hey," he called softly, his voice laced with concern as he walked toward you. "What’s wrong?"
You shook your head, unable to meet his gaze, and glanced at the clock on the nightstand. There was still an hour before you had to leave for work.
Wonwoo crouched beside you, his eyes scanning your face for answers. But you avoided his gaze, focusing instead on the sunlight beginning to seep through the curtains. After a moment of silence, he stood and spoke gently. "I’ll drive you to work today."
Before you could protest, he leaned down and pressed a lingering kiss to your temple. The simple gesture carried more warmth than you expected, easing the tension knotted in your chest.
And then he was gone, his footsteps retreating down the hall as he left the master bedroom.
You exhaled shakily, the earlier panic slowly fading. For reasons you couldn’t quite explain, the touch of his lips on your skin and the sound of his voice had calmed the storm within you.
When Wonwoo said he would drive you to work, you assumed Jun or Seokmin would accompany him. But as you approached the sleek car parked outside, you were surprised to find him alone, sitting calmly in the driver’s seat, waiting for you.
He rolled down the window and smiled at you. “Ready?”
Sliding into the passenger seat, you greeted him quietly as he started the engine. He asked about your sleep, and you gave him a vague response, deliberately skipping over the part about the strange nightmare that had jolted you awake.
He also mentioned your brother. “Seungcheol left early this morning to Seoul. ”
You muttered a soft, “Good,” relieved that you wouldn’t have to deal with him any longer.
As the car glided smoothly down the road, Wonwoo suddenly glanced at you. “Can I hold your hand?”
You blinked, caught off guard by the question. “But… you’re driving.”
A soft smile spread across his face. “I can manage. I just want to hold your hand, even if it’s just for a minute.”
You hesitated, your gaze shifting between his outstretched left hand and his calm expression. “Is this part of the ‘training’ to get comfortable in public later?”
He nodded, his eyes briefly meeting yours before returning to the road. “It is. So… can I?”
After a moment of hesitation, you slowly lifted your right hand and placed it over his. His hand was warm and steady as he gripped yours gently, holding it securely even as he maneuvered the car.
“It’s nice,” he murmured, his voice soft but sincere.
When the car came to a stop in front of your campus building, he reluctantly let go. “See you at dinner?”
You nodded, stepping out of the car, and walked away without looking back.
“Good morning, Ms. Choi,” a few students greeted you as you made your way through the halls to the lecturers’ room. You offered them polite smiles, your thoughts still lingering on the warmth of Wonwoo’s hand.
Your first class of the day was about Ship Security and Regulations. Standing at the front of the classroom, you scanned the faces of your students as they settled in.
Since you were young, you had known that the world of business wasn’t for you—especially the kind your father conducted. You had always loved the sea: the gentle breeze, the endless horizon, and the calming rhythm of the waves. But that dream of becoming a seafarer had been buried long ago when you realized you had developed a paralyzing fear of water.
As the class progressed, one of your students raised a hand with a cheeky grin. “What if there’s a passenger who wants to jump overboard?”
Laughter rippled through the room at the seemingly absurd question. You sighed, trying to maintain your professionalism. “Is that even possible?”
Another student chimed in, still grinning. “It could happen, Ms. Choi, if someone wanted to end their life.”
You shook your head firmly, your tone growing serious. “Let’s not entertain that idea. There won’t be any cases like that. Focus on preventing real risks, not hypothetical ones.”
The class nodded, the humor subsiding, but you couldn’t shake the unease their words stirred.
As the session ended and the students filtered out, you found yourself staring out the window at the distant ocean. Despite your best efforts, their question lingered in your mind, unsettling thoughts creeping in like waves crashing against the shore.
*
Days later, Wonwoo learned that his wife had registered for a psychiatric consultation. He had known about the abusive environment you grew up in, but he hadn’t realized it had reached a point where professional help was necessary. The news unsettled him, lingering in his mind until dinner that evening, where he cautiously brought it up.
“You visited a psychiatrist, I heard,” he said, carefully watching your reaction.
You nodded casually, as though it wasn’t a big deal. But to him, it was.
“Why?” he asked, his voice steady but tinged with concern.
“I’m trying to face my phobia of water,” you replied, your tone neutral. “It’s for one of my research projects.”
Wonwoo didn’t press further, but a knot tightened in his chest. He suspected it wasn’t as simple as you made it seem. A fear of water? Yet, you had graduated in Maritime studies and built a career in the same field. The contradiction puzzled him.
The following month, Wonwoo received word that your parents were hosting their anniversary party on a cruise ship. That explained it. Was this why you were trying to cope with your phobia? He couldn’t help but wonder.
The drive from Busan to Seoul was quiet. Jun handled the wheel while Seokmin sat in the front passenger seat, briefing Wonwoo on the event’s details. You sat beside Wonwoo in the back, your eyes fixed on the window, your hand intertwined with his.
“Anyone I should keep an eye on?” Wonwoo asked, his voice calm but measured.
Seokmin shook his head. “It’s just an anniversary event. Nothing serious is expected.”
Wonwoo glanced at you, leaning in slightly to whisper. “Are you okay?”
Your gaze shifted to him, startled for a moment before you nodded with a soft sigh.
“You know I’m always here for you,” he murmured. “You don’t have to worry.”
You gave him a small, grateful nod before turning your attention back to the passing scenery.
When you arrived at the cruise ship, Wonwoo followed Seokmin’s briefing, greeting everyone with effortless charm. He introduced you to the guests with a protective arm around your waist, keeping you close by his side.
“This is my wife, Choi Y/n,” he said warmly, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries.
“I’m Jeon Wonwoo,” he added, offering his business card to a few attendees.
As the ship set sail, everyone gathered on the deck for a brief speech from your father. Wonwoo noticed the way your gaze hardened, a glare fixed on the man speaking so highly of your mother. The words seemed hollow, a facade masking the truth you both knew—of abuse, violence, pressure, and threats. Yet, like your mother, you remained silent.
Wonwoo’s grip on your waist tightened subtly as your father shifted the focus to you and him, the newlyweds. Smiling for the crowd, he leaned closer to you, whispering, “Do you want to rest?”
Before you could answer, your father’s voice carried over the murmuring crowd.
“And to my second child, Jisoo… He left us too soon, but we will always remember him. Rest in peace, my son.”
Wonwoo felt your body tense beside him, your breathing growing heavier. He could hear the whispers that began to ripple through the crowd.
“His sister killed him.”
“She was only 12.”
“Is that the sister?”
“Poor kid.”
He leaned in again, his voice firm yet gentle. “Let’s go somewhere quieter.”
As he began to guide you away from the deck, the ship suddenly lurched, causing a man standing near the edge to lose his footing. Gasps and screams filled the air as the man slipped and fell overboard, the security team springing into action.
Wonwoo felt your grip tighten on his arm, your nails digging into his sleeve as your body went slack. He steadied you immediately, shielding you from the chaos.
“Hold onto me,” he whispered, his voice low and soothing. “Let’s get you to your room.”
Without waiting for a response, he wrapped an arm securely around you and led you through the crowd, his protective instincts taking over.
*
What you had witnessed brought back the haunting memory of Jisoo falling from the vessel, a memory tied to the very same cruise ship you were now aboard. You were only 12, and he was 15. It had been a family vacation—a week on a private cruise ship arranged by your father. On the final night, you remembered noticing something different about Jisoo. He hadn’t smiled once that day. Troubled by his mood, you gathered the courage to visit his cabin late that night.
"You look sad," you had said softly, standing in the dim light of his room.
Jisoo turned to you, a faint smirk on his face that didn’t reach his eyes. "Wanna go outside?" he asked, his voice low and conspiratorial.
“Going to the deck past 9 p.m. is prohibited,” you replied, hesitating. “Father will get mad at us.”
“We’ll figure it out,” he said with a glimmer of rebellion, gesturing for you to follow him.
The memory felt so vivid that it sent shivers down your spine, yet there was a fog of uncertainty around it. Was it real, or was it just a false memory conjured by your fractured mind?
Wonwoo’s voice pulled you back into the present. He had guided you to the edge of the bed, his eyes filled with worry as he crouched before you. “Hey, you’re okay,” he whispered, his hands steady on your arms as if anchoring you to reality.
But you weren’t sure you were okay. Your mind replayed the image of Jisoo falling into the dark, endless water, his body disappearing into the calm yet terrifying abyss. That night had marked the beginning of your fear of water—its deceptive stillness, its unrelenting strength. And Jisoo had never come back.
Tears escaped your eyes, and it was only when Wonwoo gently cupped your cheeks that you realized you were crying. His thumbs brushed away the wet trails, his touch grounding yet unbearably tender.
“Hey, hey,” he murmured, his voice a soothing balm against the chaos in your heart. “That’s okay… You’re fine. I’m here.”
You looked at him, the warmth of his gaze pulling you out of the suffocating hold of the past. For a moment, you weren’t a scared 12-year-old on a dark deck—you were here, in the present, with someone who cared.
The weight of years of bottled-up emotions surged forward—anger, sadness, guilt, disappointment. It was overwhelming, and all you wanted was to let it out, to empty the well of pain you had carried for so long.
“Can I hug you?” you asked in a quiet, trembling voice, your vulnerability bare.
Wonwoo didn’t hesitate. He climbed onto the bed beside you and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest. His embrace was strong, protective, and warm—everything you hadn’t realized you needed.
“I’m here, Y/n,” he said softly, his voice steady in the dim light of the room. “I’m here.”
And for the first time in years, you allowed yourself to cry without restraint. Your makeup smudged, your breaths hitched, but it didn’t matter. In Wonwoo’s arms, you felt a strange sense of safety amidst the storm inside you. You clung to him as the emotions poured out, the weight of them finally starting to lift.
In his embrace, you found solace, a quiet assurance that you weren’t alone. And even though the past still haunted you, for this moment, you could let it go, piece by piece, in the arms of someone who refused to let you face it alone.
*
Breakfast with your family was as tense as ever. Wonwoo had joined late after handling an emergency call from his father, leaving you to endure the table’s strained atmosphere without him for a while. Your father, mother, and Seungcheol sat together as the cruise ship quietly sailed back to Seoul, the polite murmurs of other guests filling the air.
“You went to your room early last night,” your father said, his voice breaking through the quiet as you chewed your food.
“She was unwell,” Wonwoo replied smoothly as he settled into his seat. His hand found your shoulder, a protective gesture. “I should have informed you earlier.”
“Unwell, or?” Seungcheol interjected with a smirk, his tone dripping with mockery. His pointed glance at you made your stomach twist. The tension between you and Seungcheol hadn’t eased since the last altercation Wonwoo had witnessed.
To divert the conversation, Wonwoo placed a bottle of expensive, aged wine on the table. “Congratulations on your anniversary. I didn’t get a chance to say it last night, but I brought this as a gift.”
Your father’s expression softened momentarily. “You didn’t need to, son-in-law. Taking care of my daughter is gift enough for us.”
Then, as if on cue, he added with a smirk of his own, “Though it would be even more amazing if you gave us a grandchild.”
Wonwoo faltered, momentarily caught off guard by the statement. But before he could respond, you calmly put down your utensils, your tone icy and resolute. “We won’t have a child.”
The air seemed to freeze. Wonwoo turned to you in surprise, but your expression was unreadable, your demeanor cool and composed. In that moment, he was reminded that your marriage was a business arrangement—and you, perhaps more than him, treated it as such.
Your father’s jaw tightened, his attempt to suppress his anger painfully evident. He glanced at the nearby guests, clearly aware that this was no place for a scene. “You should have a child if you want this marriage to last,” he said, his voice low but firm.
You met his gaze without hesitation, your words cutting through the air like ice. “So you can hit them? So you can scream at them? Threaten them like you did to me?”
The tension at the table became unbearable. Wonwoo could feel the weight of your father’s fury, his grip tightening on the tableware before setting it down a bit too forcefully. Other guests turned their heads, sensing the disturbance.
Your mother looked at you, her wide eyes betraying shock. It was as if she couldn’t believe the words you had just spoken, the defiance in your tone so unlike the quiet obedience she had come to expect from you.
“I’m going,” you said sharply, pushing back your chair and standing without another glance at your father.
Wonwoo quickly rose from his seat, offering a hasty apology. “I’m sorry. She’s been under a lot of stress from work. I’ll go check on her.”
As you disappeared toward your cabin, Wonwoo began to follow, but he stopped when a hand gently caught his arm. Turning, he found himself face-to-face with your mother.
“Mother-in-law,” Wonwoo greeted, bowing slightly out of respect, though her unexpected presence caught him off guard.
“Y/n…” she began, her voice soft but unsteady. “Is she alright?”
Wonwoo nodded, his tone calm as he tried to reassure her. “She’s fine. She was just a bit tired last night. You don’t need to worry.”
But your mother shook her head, her eyes glistening with something that looked like guilt. “I mean after last night. Was she alright? She hasn’t set foot on a ship for years. Not since…” She trailed off, her words hanging heavy in the air.
So, she knows, Wonwoo realized.
“She was nervous,” he admitted, his voice careful. “But she handled it well. She’s stronger than you think.”
Your mother looked away, her expression clouded with emotions she seemed reluctant to voice. After a moment, she took his hand in hers, her grip trembling. “My husband… he can be harsh. Especially toward Y/n. Please…” Her voice cracked slightly. “Take care of her, for me.”
Wonwoo stared at her, taken aback by the vulnerability in her words. For the first time, he saw beyond her composed exterior, glimpsing a mother who, despite her silence, harbored regrets and perhaps even a desire to protect you in her own way.
“I will,” Wonwoo promised, his voice steady. “You don’t have to worry about that.”
Your mother released Wonwoo’s hand, her eyes lingering on him for a moment before she stepped away. The silent plea in her gaze lingered in his mind as he made his way back to your shared cabin. But his thoughts were soon interrupted by a call from his father earlier that morning, asking if the two of you could visit their home since you were already in Seoul. Wonwoo suspected there was more to the request—his parents had missed the cruise’s anniversary celebration, and now this sudden urgency hinted at something serious.
When you both arrived at their home, Wonwoo’s suspicions were confirmed. His mother was unwell, lying in bed looking pale and fatigued. Neither his father nor the house staff had told him what was wrong, and the uncertainty gnawed at him. A sense of dread settled in his chest. Was it something serious? Something incurable?
You sat quietly by his mother’s bedside, holding her hand and offering her comforting words. Wonwoo stood to the side, his eyes darting between his mother and father, frustration simmering beneath the surface. Finally, when he couldn’t take the silence anymore, he followed his father to the living room.
“What’s going on?” Wonwoo demanded, his voice sharper than he intended. “What’s wrong with her? Why hasn’t anyone told me?”
His father sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Don’t be mad at me,” he started, his tone hesitant. “She doesn’t want anyone to know.”
Wonwoo’s patience wore thin as he watched his father’s lips tighten, clearly debating whether or not to reveal the truth.
“She…” His father hesitated again, and Wonwoo’s heart raced.
“She’s dehydrated because of diarrhea,” his father finally admitted, the words tumbling out in a rush.
Wonwoo blinked, stunned. “What?”
“She ate something bad, and that’s what happened. She doesn’t want anyone to know—not even you or Y/n. Says it’s not ‘fashionable.’”
Wonwoo exhaled heavily, running a hand down his face in exasperation. “I thought it was something chronic! For goodness’ sake, I was preparing myself for the worst!”
His father shrugged nonchalantly. “If it were serious, she’d be in the hospital. She’s just embarrassed.”
Wonwoo groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “But I’m her son. I should know these things, whether they’re ‘fashionable’ or not.”
His father offered a faint smirk, leaning back into his chair. “There are a lot of things children don’t need to know about their parents, kid.”
Wonwoo stared at his father, incredulous. “This isn’t about need-to-know; it’s about being family! I’ve been worried sick, thinking it was something life-threatening.”
His father patted his shoulder lightly, as if to dismiss the tension. “She’ll be fine in a day or two. Just don’t bring it up, or she’ll never forgive me for telling you.”
Wonwoo sighed deeply, shaking his head. “Unbelievable,” he muttered, heading back toward the bedroom where you were still sitting with his mother.
When he returned, you glanced up at him, your expression concerned. “Is everything alright?” you asked softly.
Wonwoo gave you a tired smile, sitting down beside you and gently taking his mother’s other hand. “She’ll be fine,” he said, his voice calm now. “Just a little dehydration.”
His mother’s weak smile told him she knew exactly what had happened in the living room. “Don’t make a big deal out of it,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.
Wonwoo chuckled lightly, the tension easing from his shoulders. “I won’t. But only because you asked nicely.”
*
The two of you decided to stay an extra day in Seoul as Wonwoo had a business matter to attend to. That evening, as you settled into bed, Wonwoo joined you with a book in hand. He leaned against the headboard, his focus on the pages, while you lay beside him, staring at his profile. You wanted to speak, the words swirling in your mind, but hesitation kept them locked inside. Sensing your unease, Wonwoo spoke without looking up.
"Speak," he said simply, his voice calm and inviting.
You shifted your position, sitting up slightly to face him. "Is your mother okay? She looked really unwell today," you said, your voice tinged with concern.
Wonwoo closed his book and set it on the nightstand. His gaze softened as he turned to you. "Why? Are you worried about her?"
"Of course, I am. She's my mother-in-law," you replied earnestly, your words earning a faint smile from him.
"She mentioned something earlier, and I’ve been feeling conflicted about it ever since," you admitted, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of the blanket.
Wonwoo’s brow furrowed slightly, curiosity piqued. "What did she say? Did she ask you for something ridiculous? You know you don’t have to take it seriously if—"
"What do you think about having a child?" you blurted out, cutting him off mid-sentence.
Wonwoo froze, the words hanging in the air between you. He blinked at you, his expression shifting from surprise to something unreadable. "Sorry? What did you just say?"
You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. "Everyone has been talking about us having children. It’s only been three months, but people are already questioning if we’re serious or if this is just another typical business marriage."
Wonwoo tilted his head, a teasing glint in his eye. "You said it yourself this morning—you don’t want a child," he reminded you, his tone lighthearted.
You sighed, your fingers now twisting the hem of your pajama top. "I know. But seeing your mother today... and hearing what she said, it made me think again. What if it’s something we should consider?"
Wonwoo leaned back, studying your face carefully. "What exactly did she say to you?"
"She didn’t explicitly ask for anything, but she hinted that a grandchild would make her happy. And I—I don’t know, it felt serious," you admitted, your voice faltering slightly.
Wonwoo chuckled softly, shaking his head. "You’re overthinking. My mother will be fine with or without a grandchild. She just enjoys the idea, like most parents do."
"But wouldn’t having a child make this marriage... I don’t know, feel more stable? Last longer?" you asked hesitantly.
He raised an eyebrow. "You think a child will stabilize a business marriage?" His tone was skeptical but gentle.
"I don’t know," you muttered, feeling suddenly foolish. "It’s just... everyone seems to expect it. Your family, my family. It’s like they see it as the ultimate proof that this marriage isn’t just a facade."
Wonwoo sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Look," he said softly, "if you’re reconsidering this because it’s something you want, then we can have a serious conversation about it. But if it’s just because of external pressure—what they expect from us—then I don’t think it’s a good enough reason."
His words hung in the air, grounding you. You nodded slowly, his reasoning settling over you like a balm.
"You don’t have to decide anything now," Wonwoo continued, his voice steady. "We’re still figuring this out, you and me. Let’s take it one step at a time."
You exhaled, feeling the weight of your thoughts ease slightly. Wonwoo reached over, placing his hand gently on yours. "For what it’s worth," he added with a small smile, "you’re doing great. You don’t have to carry everyone’s expectations on your shoulders."
His reassurance brought a faint smile to your lips, and you nodded. "Thanks, Wonwoo."
"Anytime," he replied, picking up his book again. But before he reopened it, he glanced at you. "And if you ever want to talk about this again, just let me know. No rush."
His understanding made your chest ache in a way that felt unfamiliar but comforting. "Okay," you whispered, settling back into bed beside him.
*
The moment you received word that your mother was in Busan, everything else faded into the background. Dropping your work immediately, you rushed to your house. The news was jarring—your mother had signed the divorce papers and was now in your house.
"She did what?" you whispered in disbelief, your hands trembling slightly as you clutched your phone.
Jun, who was driving you, glanced at you briefly in the rearview mirror. "Mr. Jeon is on his way as well," he informed you calmly.
When you arrived, you found your mother sitting on the couch, sipping tea with a composed air. Across from her sat Wonwoo, his demeanor calm and understanding, as if he were holding the room steady with his presence. In stark contrast, you felt like a storm raging inside.
You didn’t speak right away. Instead, you walked to the couch and sat beside Wonwoo, your eyes fixed on your mother, who looked more at ease than you ever remembered.
Sensing your need for privacy, Wonwoo leaned over, his hand briefly brushing your arm. "I’ll excuse myself," he murmured before standing and stepping out of the room.
The silence that followed his departure was thick, heavy with unspoken words.
"I signed the divorce papers," your mother finally said, setting her teacup down on the table with deliberate care. "I’m sorry it took me so long."
"Why are you apologizing?" you asked, your voice sharper than you intended. Your eyes were locked on her hands as they fidgeted in her lap.
"It’s just..." she hesitated, her voice dropping to a near whisper, "you’ve wished for this for a long time."
Your brow furrowed in confusion. "I wished for this?" you repeated, your voice incredulous. "I don’t understand."
She bit her lip, her gaze flickering to the floor. "You might not remember," she began hesitantly. "After Jisoo... after he left us, you tried to explain what happened. That he fell off the vessel. But no one believed you—not your father, not Seungcheol. No one."
The memory stirred faintly in your mind, like a forgotten dream just out of reach.
"And in your frustration, in your pain, you told me you wished I’d leave him." Her voice cracked slightly, the weight of the revelation pressing down on both of you.
You leaned forward, stunned. "Why would I say that?"
She let out a shaky breath, her hands trembling as she clasped them tightly. "Because you believed I was the only one who truly trusted you. And you were right. I knew—I knew—you would never harm Jisoo. He was your best friend. Your brother. You loved him more than anything."
A heavy silence hung between you, broken only by the faint ticking of the clock on the wall. Her belief in you, her unwavering trust, hit you like a tidal wave.
"I didn’t leave back then," she continued, her voice thick with emotion. "Because I had no power. The only thing I could do was try to give you strength. To help you build a life where you’d never have to depend on anyone else."
Her words struck a chord deep within you. "You helped me get my job," you said, realization dawning.
She nodded. "The dean is an old friend of mine. She told me you were impeccable, that you’d make an excellent lecturer. I used every connection I had to make sure you had opportunities I never did."
"Why?" you asked, your voice trembling with the weight of so many unanswered questions. "Why did you do all that for me?"
Her gaze softened, tears welling in her eyes. "Because I wanted you to have your own power. I wanted you to be free, to stand on your own two feet, so no one could ever control you the way your father did to me."
You swallowed hard, her words sinking in like stones in water. You wanted to ask if this was why you had chosen to marry Wonwoo, but the question felt too raw, too invasive.
Did I fail her? The thought struck you like a sharp pang in your chest. She had believed in you when no one else did, but had you done the same for her? Or had you been so consumed with your own pain that you hadn’t noticed hers?
You bit your lip, your vision blurring as tears welled in your eyes. "I don’t even remember saying that to you," you admitted, your voice cracking.
Her gaze softened, and she reached out to place her hand over yours. "You were just a child," she said gently. "You didn’t mean it the way you think you did. But those words... they stayed with me. They reminded me that someone saw me, even when I didn’t see myself."
The conflict within you deepened. You didn’t know whether to feel grateful or guilty, proud or ashamed. All you knew was that your mother had spent years trapped in a cage she hadn’t built alone, and you had unknowingly become the key she needed to escape.
Her next words shattered what little resolve you had left. "When I saw you stand up to your father on the cruise, I realized that it’s never too late to find my own power. You showed me that."
Her tears spilled over then, and for the first time in years, you saw her cry. Not from fear or despair, but from a release—a shedding of years of silent suffering.
You didn’t know what to say, so you didn’t say anything. Instead, you reached for her hand, gripping it tightly as if to anchor both of you in this moment of raw, unfiltered truth.
"Is she alright?" Wonwoo asked as you entered the room. You nodded, exhaustion clear on your face as you walked toward him. Without hesitation, he opened his arms, silently inviting you into his embrace. You stepped closer, sinking into his chest, letting his warmth surround you.
"She’ll be fine with us," Wonwoo murmured, his voice steady and reassuring as he tightened his hold around you. The weight of the night seemed lighter, though your heart still carried the storm brewing within.
"My father..." you began, your voice trailing off before the bitterness returned. "He’s such a menace. I just hope he doesn’t find Mom here."
Wonwoo nodded, his chin brushing the top of your head as he whispered, "I’ll tell Seokmin to add more guards around the property. You don’t have to worry. We’ll handle this, and we’ll find a way to keep her safe."
His words gave you a fragile sense of peace, enough to let you rest your head against him, trusting in the certainty of his promise.
The next day, Wonwoo left for Seoul to have a word with his father. The situation with your mother’s divorce wasn’t just a family matter—it had the potential to create ripples in the business world. Ji Construction, your father’s company, was already in a delicate position, and any negative press could trigger a chain reaction. As a major supporter of Choi Construction, the Jeon Group couldn’t afford to ignore the fallout.
Wonwoo sat in the polished meeting room, tension thick in the air. His father’s trusted advisor, Mr. Park, laid out the details of the situation. "If news of the divorce goes public, it will undoubtedly impact the market. Choi Construction’s stocks could plummet, and given their illegal dealings, there’s a risk of further exposure."
"That’s a problem for Seungcheol to fix," Wonwoo’s father interjected, his expression impassive as he leaned back in his chair. "He’ll have to make a move immediately."
Wonwoo scoffed, unable to hide his disdain. "Seungcheol isn’t capable of handling this. He’s nothing more than a copycat of his father—arrogant and reckless."
"Which is precisely why we need to prepare," Mr. Park said, clearing his throat. "Jeon Group holds the largest share in Choi Construction at the moment. If the Choi family crumbles, we’ll need to decide who will take the reins and stabilize the situation."
His father turned to him, a calculating look in his eyes. "What about Y/n? Does she have any interest in the business?"
Wonwoo shook his head firmly. "No. She’s focused on her career, and I won’t let her be dragged into this mess."
There was a moment of silence before Mr. Park spoke again, his tone measured. "The best step forward is to begin preparing a new leader—someone who can step in if the Choi family fails to recover."
Wonwoo leaned back in his chair, the weight of responsibility pressing against him. He wasn’t just thinking about the company or the market. He was thinking about you—how you had suffered enough under your father’s shadow, and how your mother was finally free. This was his burden to carry now, and he would ensure you wouldn’t have to bear it.
"We’ll prepare," Wonwoo said, his voice firm. "But I’m not letting Y/n or her mother get dragged into this chaos. We’ll find a way to stabilize things without jeopardizing them."
The next day, chaos erupted at the Jeon residence. Wonwoo was in the middle of an important meeting when he received your frantic call. Your father and brother, Seungcheol, had shown up unannounced, demanding to see your mother. Sensing danger, Wonwoo didn’t hesitate to cancel everything and rush home.
The scene he walked into was worse than he imagined. Standing at the front door, you were blocking the way, arms spread protectively in front of your mother. Seungcheol’s face was contorted with rage as he swung his hand toward you, ready to strike. Wonwoo’s heart stopped for a second, but his body reacted instinctively. He intercepted Seungcheol’s hand mid-air, gripping it tightly.
You stood frozen, the shock and fear rendering you speechless. Wonwoo’s jaw tightened as he threw Seungcheol’s hand away with a forceful movement. He stepped in front of you, shielding you with his own body as he turned to face your father and brother.
"No one is allowed to harm my wife," Wonwoo said, his voice calm but dangerously firm as his eyes locked on Seungcheol. "That includes you."
"Get out of our way! This is a family matter. It’s none of your business, Jeon," Seungcheol spat, trying to push Wonwoo aside. But Wonwoo didn’t budge.
Your father, with an air of cold authority, interjected, "Let me speak to my wife, son-in-law."
Wonwoo’s expression didn’t falter as he shook his head. "I’m sorry, but when my mother-in-law sought protection under my roof, it became my business too. She’s safe here, and I suggest you go home before things escalate further."
A smirk twisted your father’s lips, but his eyes burned with malice as he stepped closer to Wonwoo. "Are you doing this because you know what will happen?"
Before Wonwoo could respond, you stepped forward, your voice trembling but determined. "Enough, Father. This is our home, and you need to respect its owner. Isn’t that the lesson you’ve always preached to everyone else?"
Your father’s gaze snapped to you, his expression darkening. What happened next stunned everyone. Without warning, your father grabbed your arm and pulled you toward him, his hand tightening around your neck. You gasped for air, your hands clawing at his grip as your brother, Seungcheol, stared in shock, clearly not expecting things to escalate this far.
"Father, stop!" Seungcheol’s voice broke through the chaos, but his words did little to deter the enraged man.
Wonwoo’s blood ran cold as he lunged forward, shouting your name. "Let her go!" He fought to pry your father’s hands off you, his panic turning into fury. Seokmin and the guards rushed in to assist, finally managing to wrest you free from your father’s grasp.
Your body went limp, collapsing to the floor. Wonwoo dropped to his knees, scooping you into his arms with a shaky breath. "Y/n," he whispered, his voice thick with worry. "Stay with me."
Turning to Seokmin, Wonwoo barked orders. "Call the police! Get all the CCTV footage as evidence."
Seungcheol tried to calm your father, whose anger hadn’t abated, but it was clear the situation was spiraling out of control. As your father continued to shout about his wife, Wonwoo carried you inside, his arms tightening protectively around you. His mind raced with thoughts of your safety, but one thing was clear—he wouldn’t let anyone hurt you again, no matter who they were.
*
You woke up in the hospital to the sound of quiet sobs. Your eyes fluttered open, and you turned your head to see your mother sitting beside you, tears streaming down her face. The moment she noticed you were awake, she gasped softly, clutching your hand tightly.
"You're awake," she whispered, her voice thick with relief.
You blinked, disoriented. The sterile white of the hospital room was unfamiliar, and a dull ache in your neck brought back fragments of what had happened. "How...how did I get here?" you asked, your voice hoarse and shaky.
Your mother wiped her tears and took a deep breath before answering. "We got you checked. You fainted after...after what happened. The doctors said you’ll be fine with some rest." Her voice trembled as she continued, "We’re going to file charges against your father. He tried to kill you, Y/n."
The weight of her words hit you like a ton of bricks. Your breath hitched as your hand instinctively reached for your neck. The memory was vivid, and you could still feel the ghost of his grip—the warmth of his hand, twisted with the terrifying force that had robbed you of air.
"Wonwoo..." you whispered, panic creeping into your tone. "Is he okay? Did he get hurt?"
Your mother shook her head quickly, trying to reassure you. "He’s fine, sweetheart. He’s outside talking to the police. Do you want me to call him for you?"
Before she could leave, the door opened, and Wonwoo stepped into the room. His eyes immediately found yours, and a wave of relief washed over his face as he crossed the room in a few swift strides.
"Y/n," he murmured, his voice soft but full of emotion as he leaned down and pulled you into his arms.
The strength of his embrace brought you an immediate sense of safety, and you buried your face against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. His hand gently brushed through your hair, his voice a comforting whisper against your ear. "You’re safe with me now. You’re going to be okay. I promise."
Tears welled up in your eyes as the reality of the moment sank in. For so long, you had felt powerless—trapped in the shadow of your father’s control, just like your mother. But now, something had shifted.
You thought back to the confrontation. Despite the fear, you had stood up to your father and brother. You had protected your mother. And when it all became too much, Wonwoo had been there, steadfast and unyielding, shielding you from harm.
The realization hit you like a spark igniting a flame. It wasn’t just that Wonwoo had given you strength—it was that he had shown you the strength you already had within yourself. His unwavering support had become the foundation for your courage, and in standing up for yourself, you had also empowered your mother to take a stand for her own freedom.
You pulled back slightly, looking up at Wonwoo. His gaze was filled with concern, but also with pride, as if he could see the shift within you.
"Thank you," you whispered, your voice steady despite the tears.
Wonwoo cupped your cheek, brushing away a stray tear with his thumb. "You don’t have to thank me. We’re in this together, always."
In that moment, you felt a profound sense of clarity. You weren’t powerless anymore. With Wonwoo by your side, you had the strength to face whatever came next—for yourself, for your mother, and for the future you were determined to build.
*
With help from Mingyu, a friend who worked in property, Wonwoo unearthed substantial evidence of your father’s corrupt dealings. As he collaborated with the police to ensure your father faced justice, he simultaneously engaged in discussions with Seungcheol regarding the future of Choi Construction.
“My father hates her because she’s a girl. That’s it,” Seungcheol admitted bluntly, providing the answer to Wonwoo’s lingering question about your mistreatment within the household.
Wonwoo’s patience had long worn thin, and any remaining respect he might have held for your family was gone. To him, your father and brother were just men he had to deal with, not figures deserving of courtesy. As he sat across from Seungcheol, his tone was firm, devoid of negotiation.
“I’ll hand over the rights to the Singapore branch. But in return, you and your family will leave my wife and her mother alone. Permanently.”
Seungcheol stared at the table, his head bowed. “You’re right. I’ve always been too insecure to run the company properly,” he confessed, his voice carrying the weight of years spent under his father’s oppressive shadow. The realization of his inadequacies seemed to dawn on him, leaving him vulnerable and exposed.
“Were you close to Jisoo?” Wonwoo asked, breaking the heavy silence.
Seungcheol shrugged, his face devoid of emotion. “I wasn’t close to anyone, not even my mother. My father was too focused on molding me into the perfect businessman. I’ve always been just a puppet.”
Wonwoo let out a deep sigh. “Your family is a wreck,” he said bluntly, his frustration barely concealed.
Seungcheol gave a bitter chuckle. “Tell me something I don’t know. Could you say that to my sister, though?”
Wonwoo glanced at him, his expression softening slightly. He shook his head, unwilling to voice such harsh words about you.
“You love her,” Seungcheol muttered, nodding as if confirming it to himself.
The court’s decision was finally made—your father was sentenced to 25 years in prison for engaging in illegal business practices and attempting to murder both you and your mother.
With Choi Construction left without a leader, Wonwoo was appointed as its new director, while his younger brother took over his former position in their father's company. Wonwoo wasted no time making sweeping changes, rebranding the company as Jeon Construction and reshaping its operations from the ground up. As months passed, he found himself buried in work, barely able to make time for you.
Realizing the imbalance, Wonwoo finally texted you, deciding to pick you up from your mother's house, where she had recently moved to Busan. But before he could leave, Lee Seokmin, his assistant, delivered a very pointed lecture on the importance of "dating your wife properly."
"Bring flowers," Seokmin had added, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
So now, here he was, standing outside his car, waiting for you with a bouquet in his hands. When you stepped out, he felt the corners of his lips lift involuntarily.
"Where are we going?" you asked, eyeing the flowers before taking them with a soft smile.
Seokmin had already booked a restaurant—a fine dining spot that happened to be one of your favorites. Wonwoo wasn’t sure how Seokmin knew that, but he’d figure it out later. Tonight, he wasn’t going to waste a single thought on anything but you.
Over a candlelit dinner, you savored every bite of your meal while Wonwoo enjoyed watching you unwind. As the evening progressed, he raised his glass slightly and asked, "How’s the food?"
You exhaled, setting your fork down with a satisfied smile. "Perfect… actually, amazing. I had a tough day today, and this just made everything better. Thank you."
Wonwoo’s lips curled into a rare, genuine smile. He lifted his glass towards yours, eyes locked on you.
"A toast?" he asked.
You clinked your glass against his, and for the first time in a long while, the two of you enjoyed a quiet moment—just the two of you, no business, no burdens, just the warmth of each other’s presence.
As you took a sip of your wine, the warmth of the moment settled in. The quiet hum of the restaurant, the dim glow of the candles, and the way Wonwoo’s eyes never strayed far from you made the evening feel almost surreal—like a small pocket of peace after the storm.
He set his glass down, fingers tapping lightly against the stem before he finally spoke. "How are you feeling… after everything?" His voice was calm, but there was something deeper in his tone—concern, curiosity, maybe even guilt for not asking sooner.
You placed your glass down and thought for a moment. The past few months had been a whirlwind. Your father’s sentencing had been all over the news—a powerful businessman brought down by his own crimes. Twenty-five years behind bars, stripped of everything he once controlled. But despite everything, a part of you still felt unsettled.
"I don’t know," you admitted, fingers tracing the rim of your glass. "Some days, I feel relieved. Other days… it still feels unreal." You exhaled, meeting his gaze. "He’s still alive, still out there somewhere. Even if he’s locked up, it’s like he still has a grip on me."
Wonwoo nodded slowly, his expression unreadable, but his eyes held a quiet understanding. "He took too much from you for you to just move on overnight," he said simply.
You swallowed, nodding. "Maybe." A pause. "But I don’t want to keep living in that shadow. I want to move forward. I want to build something new for myself… for my mom."
Wonwoo leaned back in his chair, observing you. "And for us?"
Your breath hitched slightly at his words, your eyes flickering to his.
A small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "I didn’t go through all this trouble to protect you just to watch you walk away."
You let out a soft chuckle, shaking your head. "I didn’t say I was going anywhere."
His smirk faded into something softer. He reached across the table, his fingers brushing against yours. "Good," he murmured. "Because I need you here."
The weight of his words settled between you, heavier than the wine in your glass, more intoxicating than anything you had tasted tonight.
"Then I guess we’re staying," you whispered.
And for the first time in a long time, the future didn’t seem so uncertain.
*
As soon as the door closed behind you, Wonwoo backed you against it, his hands settling on your hips as he leaned in to capture your lips in a searing kiss. Yourur tongues tangled eagerly, the flavors of wine and dessert mingling as your mouths moved in perfect sync.
As your lips parted, Wonwoo's breath tickled your ear as he whispered sultry nothings, his warm words sending shivers down your spine. "God, I want you," he rasped, trailing open-mouthed kisses along your jawline and down the column of your throat. Each nip and lick sent sparks of pleasure through your veins, making you arch into his touch.
As Wonwoo's lips trailed reverently along your skin, his whispers grew softer, sweeter. "You have no idea how much I crave you." His fingertips danced across your chest, tracing patterns that left goosebumps in their wake. "You're all mine," he breathed, punctuating his words with a gentle kiss to the hollow of your throat.
As Wonwoo laid you down on the soft cushions of the sofa, a soft moan escaped your lips at the feel of the cool leather beneath you. Your senses were heightened, attuned to every brush of fabric against your skin and the heat emanating from the man towering over you. You could feel the rigid outline of his arousal pressing insistently against your thigh, a tangible reminder of his desire.
"Please, Wonwoo," You whimpered, reaching up to cradle his face in your palms. "Kiss me again, taste me...touch me everywhere," You begged, your voice thick with need. Your hips lifted off the couch, seeking friction against the solid length prodding your leg. "Make love to me, right here, right now," You pleaded, your eyes locked onto his, filled with lust and adoration.
Wonwoo's fingers found the dampened lace at the apex of your thighs, teasing the sensitive flesh through the thin barrier. A gasp slipped past your lips at the intimate caress, your hips canting up involuntarily to press closer to his touch. "Mmm, so wet for me already," he purred, rubbing the pad of his thumb over your clit through the soaked material. The sensation shot straight to your core, leaving you trembling and desperate for more.
"Please, Wonwoo," You whimpered, spreading your legs wider in invitation as his fingers resumed their playful exploration of your most sensitive area. He obliged without hesitation, slipping a digit beneath the drenched lace to stroke through your slick folds, gathering the evidence of my arousal on his fingertip before circling your entrance teasingly. You arched off the couch, a needy moan spilling from your lips at the delicious pressure building inside you.
Wonwoo's husky whisper sent shivers down your spine. "You're breathtaking, my love. Just as I imagined, dreamed of, a thousand times." His hand stilled for a moment, letting you relish in the praise before resuming his tender touch. Slow, deliberate strokes coaxed out more of your essence, each movement pushing you closer to the edge. "Let go for me," he urged, his breath hot against your ear.
As Wonwoo's fingers continued their maddening tempo, the coil of tension inside you snapped. You cried out his name, back arching off the couch as waves of ecstasy crashed over you. Pleasure pulsed through your veins like liquid fire, your inner walls clenching around nothing as the orgasm ripped through you. Distantly, you heard Wonwoo's approving groans, felt his body tense above you as he watched you come undone in his skilled hands.
He picked your naked body to the bedroom effortlessly as laid you down softly. Wonwoo's nimble fingers worked their magic, effortlessly shedding the barriers between you, you gazed at him in awe. The soft lighting of the bedroom illuminated his chiseled features and the moonbeams danced across his skin, making him look like a deity descended from the heavens.
He stood before you, glorious, as you ran your hands reverently over the contours of his torso. His body hovered yours. As your lips met, the world around you melted away, leaving only the intoxicating sensations of the kiss and the warmth of each other's bodies.
Wonwoo's mouth slanted over yours, demanding and possessive, claiming you with every brush of his tongue against you. You melted into the embrace, returning his ardor with equal fervor, your moans mingling in the stillness of the room as you lost yourselves in the passionate dance of desire.
Wonwoo's hands roamed the curves your body as he kissed a path along your neck, his touch igniting sparks wherever he touched. He cupped your breast, thumb grazing the pebbled nipple through the thin fabric of your bra, sending jolts of pleasure straight to the core. "So soft, so perfect," he murmured against your skin, nipping and sucking gently as he explored the sensitive terrain of your throat.
"Once I get a taste of you, I may not be able to let you go," he admitted hoarsely, his voice trembling with need. The vulnerability in his words only heightened your excitement, your body arching instinctively to draw him closer.
With a gentle yet insistent pressure, Wonwoo guided himself into your waiting depths. A soft gasp escaped your lips as he filled you inch by exquisite inch, stretching and accommodating his impressive girth. Once he was buried to the hilt, he paused, allowing you to adjust to the incredible fullness before beginning to move within you. Each deliberate thrust sparked a cascade of pleasure, the sound of skin meeting skin and your ragged breaths filling the air.
"You're so big.."
Wonwoo's smug grin only added to the erotic charge between you as he drew back and pushed in again, his thick length stroking deep inside you. "Big enough to satisfy this greedy little pussy, isn't it?" he purred, his voice a low, husky rasp. He set a steady, pounding rhythm, each powerful thrust driving him impossibly deeper.
Wonwoo's praise was a velvet caress against you ears, heightening the euphoria coursing through your veins. "Fuck, you feel amazing wrapped around me," he growled, punctuating each word with a deep, forceful stroke. "Like you were made for me, custom-fit just to take my cock and beg for more."
Wonwoo's fingers found your throbbing clit with ease, applying just the right amount of pressure to send shockwaves of pleasure surging through you. Each stroke harmonized with his relentless pace, the dual sensations threatening to unravel you completely. You clenched tighter around him, the snug, velvety grip of your walls milking his thickness with every thrust.
Wonwoo groaned deeply as he felt the telltale fluttering of yout inner muscles, signaling your impending climax. "That's it, baby, let go for me," he urged, his voice roughened with lust. He rubbed your clit in swift, targeted circles, pushing you precariously close to the edge. With one final, searing plunge, he triggered your orgasm, the waves of ecstasy crashing over you in intense, overwhelming bursts.
With a guttural moan, Wonwoo plunged deep, his hips jerking as he spilled his hot seed inside you. You elt each pulsing wave of his release, his thick cock throbbing and twitching as he emptied himself within your clenching depths. The sensation was decadently intimate, making you shudder with pleasure as you rode out the aftershocks of your own climax. Your bodies moved in tandem, lost in the primal dance of sex and satisfaction.
As you collapsed together in a tangle of limbs, panting and sated, Wonwoo pressed his lips to yours in a tender, lingering kiss. "I've waited so long for this moment," he breathed against your mouth, his words muffled but heartfelt. "Half a year of longing, of craving your touch... and now it's finally real." He nuzzled you temple, his warm breath fanning across your skin.
"I love you."
*
The morning light filtered softly through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room. The air was still, heavy with the remnants of last night—shared breaths, whispered confessions, the quiet surrender to something neither of you had spoken aloud but had felt for so long.
You stirred slightly, the cool sheets contrasting against the warmth of the body next to you. Wonwoo’s arm was draped over your waist, his breathing slow and even. His grip was loose, but even in sleep, he held onto you like he wasn’t ready to let go.
Your mind was quiet for the first time in a long while. No thoughts of your father, no weight of the past pressing down on your chest. Just this—just him.
As if sensing your thoughts, Wonwoo shifted, his fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns against your skin. He hummed lowly, his voice still thick with sleep. “You’re awake?”
You turned slightly to face him, your lips curving into a soft smile. “Mmm.”
His eyes cracked open, hazy and laced with something unreadable. He studied you for a moment before exhaling, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Are you okay?”
The question made your chest tighten, but in a good way. He wasn’t just asking about last night—he was asking about everything.
You nodded, shifting closer until your forehead rested against his. “Yeah… I think I am.”
His fingers slid up your arm, his touch grounding. “Good.”
Silence settled between you, comfortable and warm. Then, a small smirk tugged at his lips. “Seokmin’s going to give me hell when he finds out.”
You let out a laugh, shaking your head. “You mean he hasn’t already?”
Wonwoo groaned, rolling onto his back. “He probably sent me twenty messages by now. That guy’s too invested in my love life.”
You propped yourself up on your elbow, looking down at him with amusement. “Maybe he just wants to make sure you’re treating me right.”
He turned his head to meet your gaze, something softer in his eyes now. “I don’t need Seokmin to remind me to do that.”
Your breath hitched slightly, but before you could respond, he pulled you back into his arms, burying his face in the crook of your neck. “Five more minutes,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your skin. “Then I’ll deal with whatever disaster Seokmin has planned for me today.”
You smiled, closing your eyes as you let yourself sink into the warmth of him. “Five more minutes,” you echoed.
You traced small patterns on his bare chest, enjoying the way his skin tensed under your touch. “So… last night,” you murmured, your voice teasing.
Wonwoo cracked one eye open, his lips twitching. “What about it?”
You tilted your head, pretending to be deep in thought. “You talk a lot when you’re in the moment.”
His brows furrowed slightly before realization dawned on him, and for the first time in a while, you saw a hint of red creeping up his ears. “I—” He cleared his throat. “That’s just—”
You smirked, leaning closer. “No, no, I liked it.” You let your fingers dance over his collarbone, your voice dropping slightly. “Didn’t know you had a thing for dirty talk, though.”
Wonwoo groaned, covering his face with his hand. “You’re really going to bring that up first thing in the morning?”
You laughed, enjoying how flustered he got despite everything. “I mean, I just think it’s cute,” you teased, nudging his side. “You’re usually so composed, but last night—”
He suddenly rolled on top of you, pinning you beneath him in one swift movement. His expression had shifted, his teasing smirk returning. “If you keep talking, I’ll have to remind you exactly how much I like talking.”
Your breath hitched as he dipped his head closer, lips ghosting over your jawline. The way his voice dropped sent a familiar shiver down your spine.
Wonwoo rested his forehead against yours, his breath warm as he held you close. The night had unraveled things between you—vulnerability, passion, and something deeper that neither of you had dared to name until now. His fingers traced soft patterns on your back, and for a moment, it was just the two of you, wrapped in warmth and unspoken words.
Then, he spoke.
“I love you.” His voice was steady, unwavering, but you could hear the slight nervous edge in it. Like he had been holding onto those words for a while, waiting for the right moment. “I don’t think I realized how much until I almost lost you.”
Your heart clenched, remembering everything you had been through. The fights, the fear, the way he stood by your side through it all. Your hand found his cheek, thumb brushing over his skin as you took in the sincerity in his gaze.
“I love you too,” you whispered, watching the way his eyes softened, his lips parting slightly as if surprised despite everything. “And… thank you, Wonwoo.”
His brows furrowed slightly. “For what?”
“For staying. For fighting for me. For always making sure I’m safe.” Your voice trembled slightly, emotions catching up with you. “For giving me a reason to feel strong.”
Wonwoo exhaled slowly, his grip on you tightening as he buried his face into the crook of your neck. “You were always strong,” he murmured. “I just reminded you of it.”
You smiled, running your fingers through his hair. “Well, either way, I still want to thank you.”
He pulled back slightly, his lips curving into that rare, genuine smile you loved. “Then let me thank you too,” he murmured, pressing a slow, lingering kiss against your lips.
And in that moment, you knew—this wasn’t just a marriage of convenience anymore. This was real.
OT13 Reaction -- when you ask them for an absurd amount of money as a prank
SCOUPS:
will transfer you the money, no questions asked. unless it's like an insane amount of money - like enough to buy a car - then he'd be concerned and ask why you need it. are you in trouble? are you being blackmailed? what can he do? he's ready to assist you in anyway possible and will be sulky when he finds out it's a prank. relieved, but a little sad that you'd even feel the need to test his loyalty to you.
JEONGHAN:
his immediate reaction is no. have you guys seen that interview where one of the members (i think it was dino? mingyu? my memory is so bad) said that jeonghan doesn't play when it comes to money and it lowkey stingy? yeah that. he'll definitely be hesitant and might even just flat out say no. extremely proud when you reveal it was a prank all along. i knew it was a prank, baby~ the student can't fool the teacher~
JOSHUA:
his immediately worried something terrible has happened. it's uncommon for you to ask him for money, usually its small enough sums that you don't even have to ask - you have his card anyways. stressed and annoyed when you tell him its all a prank. ai~ you know my weak heart cannot take you stressing me out.
JUN:
a little confused why you're asking him for money. he's the type to not catch on, you being in danger isn't the immediate thought when you ask him for 300 thousand dollars. will not react when you tell him it was a prank, the request for the money hasn't even properly computed in his head yet.
HOSHI:
he's going to complain he doesn't have that much money even though we all know he does. he'll agree to transfer it to you, but will whine and nag the whole time that this is his hard earned money! he loves you but why are you taking it away! another type to get sulky when you tell him its a prank and you don't actually need the money.
WONWOO:
ummm...why? he'll ask a shit ton of questions before agreeing, he needs to know why, when, what, where, who? all the details. this is his money after all, he needs to know where its all going. it gets to the point where you give up, just telling him its a prank cause his questioning isn't making it fun anymore. he tsks and asks if you have too much time on your hands to be pranking him.
WOOZI:
the money is in your bank account before you even finish asking. he's lowkey surprised you haven't asked sooner, he's always open with how much he's making and constantly tells you he'd just rather you guys have a joint bank account so he can spoil you. refuses to let you return the money once you admit its a prank. he makes more than enough anyways.
MINGHAO:
another one that's immediately worried. money's never been a topic you guys have ever talked about so he knows there must be something wrong. asks a boatload of questions trying to make sure you're okay and not getting scammed online or something. ends up just chiding you for even falling into a trap where you need that much money and narrows his eyes at you when you tell him its a prank. he thinks you're crazy and has too much time on your hands.
DK:
poor baby's scared. sure he makes a lot of money but he's never needed that much. eyes are popping out of his head when you tell him the sum of what you need. he agrees, of course, anything for you, but his hands are shaking as he reaches for his wallet. dramatically flops onto the floor when you tell him its a prank, begging you to never do that again - he might be rich but in his mind he's got like 5 cents in his bank account.
MINGYU:
blinks. pretends to think about it, but really he's been waiting for this day. the only possibility in his mind as to why you need the money is only for good things, and who is he to not spoil his baby? begs you to take his card anyways when you tell him its a prank. it's literally the only reason why i work, baby. just take my card.
SEUNGKWAN:
he's dramatic, screeching about how that's an insane amount of money and that he wouldn't even drop that kind of money on himself- and he loves himself very very much! calms down and genuinely sits your ass down to ask why you even need it. feels extremely betrayed when you tell him its a prank and vows to get revenge.
VERNON:
he sighs. he knows this trend and he's not having it. baby, you know i'd do anything for you right. you've got me like wrapped around your finger. you literally don't need to test my loyalty. apologizes when you get sulky over him already knowing the prank and offers to let you try again - this time he'll play along. ohmygod that's a lot of money are you being blackmailed? shopping in the black market? getting us a house in Bali? shrugs when you complain about his reaction being ingenuine and over the top. there is only so much he can do.
DINO:
his jaw is dropping at how large the sum is. yeah, he's got that money, and he'll show you his bank account just to prove it. but he'll start listing out what everything is for. that sum's set aside for our house, that one's to send our kids to school - we never said how many we'd have but i set aside enough to four university tuitions, and- you'll cut him off cause he's going to make you cry with how thoughtful he is. scolds him for ruining your prank. prank? he's confused. what do you mean prank? he got so invested in telling you everything he's saved up for your shared future he kinda forgot the original question.
The idea of soulmates always felt a bit too fantastical for you, but right now, it didn’t seem so far-fetched. The way Jihoon had known exactly what you needed, without you even having to ask, made you feel a connection that went beyond words. (fluff // comfort ,, mentions of being soulmates but not a soulmate au)
The sound of your keys jingling as you unlocked the door was the only noise you could focus on as you trudged inside your apartment, your body heavy with exhaustion. The day had been relentless, and though you normally found solace in coming home and taking care of the house, tonight was different. The mere thought of scrubbing dishes or cooking dinner felt like an insurmountable task.
You paused just inside the door, taking a deep breath. Normally, the thought of seeing Jihoon’s relaxed face when he came home made all your efforts worth it. But tonight, your feet ached, your head pounded, and all you wanted was to collapse into bed.
Yet, as you stepped into the living room, you were greeted with a surprising sight. The house was immaculate, the usual clutter nowhere to be seen. The floor was spotless, and the cushions on the couch were perfectly arranged. You took a few more steps, and that’s when the scent hit you—your favorite dish, its aroma wafting through the air, pulling you toward the kitchen.
Your heart skipped a beat. There was no way Jihoon could’ve known how drained you felt before you even walked through the door. He was always the last to come home, often later than you, yet here he was, clearly having done all of this.
“Jihoon?” you called out, your voice tinged with confusion and a hint of awe.
Jihoon appeared from the kitchen, a warm smile lighting up his face. His apron was still tied around his waist, and he had a towel draped over his shoulder, as if he’d just finished cleaning up. “Hey,” he greeted you cheerfully, “You’re home earlier than I thought.”
You blinked at him, still processing what you were seeing. “How… how did you…?”
He chuckled at your confusion and walked over to you, taking your bag and setting it down by the door. “I got off work early today,” he explained casually, “So I thought I’d get everything done before you got home. I figured it’d be nice to have more time together tonight.”
His words warmed you from the inside out, but you still felt a lingering surprise. “But how did you know I had a rough day? I didn’t even message you about it.”
Jihoon’s eyes softened as he looked at you, a small smile playing on his lips. “I didn’t know,” he admitted, “But I just thought it might be nice to switch things up. And, well… maybe I had a feeling.”
You stared at him for a moment, the exhaustion in your body suddenly feeling a little lighter. “A feeling?”
He shrugged, almost sheepishly. “I don’t know… maybe we’re just in sync like that.”
A laugh escaped you, and you shook your head, leaning into him. “You’re making us sound like soulmates.”
Jihoon wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close and pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Maybe we are,” he murmured into your hair, his voice low and comforting.
You closed your eyes, letting yourself relax into his embrace. The idea of soulmates always felt a bit too fantastical for you, but right now, it didn’t seem so far-fetched. The way Jihoon had known exactly what you needed, without you even having to ask, made you feel a connection that went beyond words.
“You didn’t have to do all this,” you whispered, your voice filled with gratitude. “But I’m really, really glad you did.”
Jihoon gently tilted your head up, looking into your eyes. “I wanted to,” he said simply. “You take care of me all the time, and I know how hard you work. It’s only fair that I do the same for you when I can.”
Your heart swelled with love for him, and you couldn’t help but smile, feeling tears prick at the corners of your eyes. “Thank you,” you said softly.
Jihoon leaned in and kissed you, slow and tender, as if he was pouring all his feelings into that one moment. When he pulled back, he was smiling again. “Now, come on, dinner’s ready. You just sit back and relax tonight, okay?”
You nodded, feeling a warmth settle in your chest that had nothing to do with the food waiting for you. As Jihoon led you to the table, you couldn’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, you were soulmates after all.
Even if it was a little too good to be true, you liked believing it—because Jihoon was your person, the one who understood you in ways no one else did, even when you didn’t have to say a word. And tonight, that was enough.
HIIII, i just want you to know every content of yours has always been my fav ,i always anticipate every single writing of yours .
I would like to request reader who is in a relationship with s coups , they have been dating for a very long time. in this scenario, he admires the reader being friends with all of Svt, and how she also loves them and treats them like her little brothers, the rest of Svt enthusiastically greeting her. scoups observes from a distance admiring you with the people he cherishes . he can't help but wonder how he became so lucky to have all these people in his life.
content: bf!seungcheol, established relationship, fluff, afab reader, etc.
wc: 749
a/n: thank u so much im so glad u enjoy my content :D!! hope u like what i came up with c:
masterlist
seungcheol knew he was lucky.
after putting his career on the line at a very young age by joining an unknown company and seeing himself forced to endure all types of trials to succeed, he was now showered with accolades on a daily basis.
he had his twelve brothers, a successful career, a healthy family, a daughter (in the form of kkuma), a loving fanbase, riches and wealth. he had everything a man could possibly want. and just when he thought he possessed every luxury known to man, you came along.
you were the most beautiful creature he had ever beheld. he had met you only by a chance, in a fleeting encounter when he caught sight of you during one of his schedules. he had been bewitched from that moment by not only your beauty, but also the demeanor of your person. seungcheol didnt know you then, but he knew he needed to.
one thing led to another and he somehow made you his. this, however, did not come without much effort. seungcheol fought tooth and nail against any and every obstacle that separated him from you, with the end result being your current relationship, which had been going strong for a few years now.
everything was at ease now. now seungcheol truly had everything he could ever want. not only did he have all the aforementioned luxuries, but he also had you to share them with.
you were practically another member of his family by now. his mother had easily adopted you as a daughter, and his family had welcomed you with open arms, practically treating you as his wife – something which always made seungcheol's heart soar and cheeks warm up.
not to mention kkuma, who claimed you as her mom from the moment a smitten seungcheol introduced you to her. nothing made seungcheol's heart fill up more than playing family with the two of you, merely practicing for what would come next in your relationship. providing for the both of you in ways he always hoped to do for the wife and kids he always envisioned was something that filled him with indescribable pride.
and lastly, his brothers, who had now become your own.
seungcheol never tired of seeing you with his friends, always having to fight the embarrassing grin that always invaded his face when he brought you around to play with them.
you had a special friendship with each member; each of which seungcheol was always attentive to (from a distance, as he liked to enjoy the view).
with jeonghan, you had developed a sibling rivalry, always fighting over ownership to seungcheol's heart (and wallet). the two of you would banter often, claiming that there was only space in seungcheol's heart for one of you.
"i was here first!", jeonghan would smirk
"but im the one he takes to bed," you'd counter.
"are you sure about that?", jeonghan would tease.
and the argument would go on and on as seungcheol rolled his eyes and feigned annoyance at your friendly rivalry.
sometimes you'd be occupied by chan, who would try and entice you into dealing with seungcheol's moods in order for the members to slack off and go play rather than practice.
"c'mon! he likes you, just distract him so we can go get some tteokbokki! we'll bring you some," would promise chan, thinking his friend was none the wiser.
"bring me some soju and we have a deal", you'd always join in on the scheme, knowing your boyfriend could use a break after all.
at other times you'd join him and his friends at the gym, always up for a challenge against the gym rats in the group.
"bet i can deadlift more than you," would challenge mingyu.
"well, no shit, you're like seven feet tall!", you'd counter.
"bet i can deadlift your whole weight", joshua would join in.
"no one's deadlifting my girlfriend!", now seungcheol would intervene.
seungcheol had countless instances in which he would watch from afar and enjoy the view. the fruits of his labor accompanied by all the people who made it there with him, with you being a huge contributor.
in moments like these, there was no way for seungcheol to hide the happiness he felt at having his favorite people be each other's favorites in return. seungcheol wasn't sure what he'd done in his past life to end up here, but he'd do it a thousand times over if it meant this was the outcome every single time.