Title :: Future nostalgia
Classification :: Time Travel AU âą Domestic Fluff
Summary :: A little boy arrives at Hogwarts claiming you and Professor Jeon Wonwoo are his parents, turning your lives upside down.
Word Count :: 11k words
series masterlist ⊠svt masterlist
Genre: Hogwarts AU âą Domestic Fluff âą Time Travel âą Parenthood
Trigger Warnings: Child in distress (temporary separation from parents) âąMemory alteration/partial memory loss âą Mention of pregnancy
A/N: Fic's a little cliche, but I wholeheartedly believe in Soft!Dad Jeon Wonwoo. Give me your kids wonu ;p what who said that huh
I actually have no idea how kids are...
The rain had been falling since the afternoon, turning the castle windows into rivers and made the corridors smell of wet stone. You had stayed later than usual in the greenhouses, repotting a stubborn batch of mandrakes for the second-years who would be arriving in a few weeks, and by the time you climbed back up to the staff quarters your boots were soaked through and your cardigan smelled like fertilizer.
You almost didn't hear it, a small sound, like a hiccup, half swallowed by the storm.
You stopped in the corridor outside the professors' wing, wand raised, and found a child tucked against the cold stone wall. He couldn't have been older than five or six, curled into himself with his knees drawn to his chest, dark unruly hair plastered to his forehead, his clothes damp at the shoulders and his cheeks pink from the cold. He was fast asleep despite all of it.
"Oh, dear."
You crouched beside him, carefully brushing the wet fringe away from his forehead. When he didn't stir, your first instinct was to get him warm.
Slipping your cardigan from your shoulders, you wrapped it around the tiny frame before gently lifting him into your arms. He was surprisingly light, his small pruned hands clutching at the fabric as he slept.
You hurried straight to Professor McGonagall's office.
She opened the door before you had even knocked twice. Her eyebrows lifted at the sight of the sleeping child bundled against you.
"I found him outside the professors' quarters," you explained. "He was freezing."
McGonagall's expression immediately hardened into business.
"Bring him inside."
A fire crackled in the grate as you settled the boy onto the sofa, rubbing gentle circles over his back in an attempt to warm him. McGonagall cast several warming charms over the room before turning to Filch, who had appeared in response to the commotion.
"Mr. Filch," she said briskly. "Gather available staff. Immediately."
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It didn't take long. Within a few minutes, half the staff room had gathered, which was really only about nine people. McGonagall stood at the head of the room in her tartan dressing gown, looking like she would very much like to be back in bed. Flitwick hovered by the fireplace. Hagrid took up an entire corner simply by existing.
You looked down at the boy again, and something about him nagged at you. The straight dark hair, the soft feline shape of his eyes, even the slight downturn of his mouth in sleep, all of it reminding you vaguely of someone you passed in the corridors without really seeing. Before you could chase the thought further, he stirred. His nose scrunched, his fists rubbed sleepily at his eyes, and he blinked up at the unfamiliar room.
"Sweetheart, are you oâ"
You never finished the question. He launched himself at you, small arms winding around your neck with startling strength, nearly knocking you backward as he buried his face against your shoulder. You went rigid with shock, hands hovering uselessly over his back, before instinct took over and you held him.
A broken sob escaped him. "Mama..." he hiccupped, the word breaking beneath another sob. "I looked everywhere for you."
Within seconds he was crying in earnest, hot snotty tears soaking into your cardigan, his fingers clutching at the fabric as though letting go would make you disappear. You looked up helplessly at McGonagall, at Flitwick, at anyone who might explain this. Nobody could, and the words you meant to say, that 'there had been some mistake', died in your throat against the completeness of his devastation. You gathered him closer instead, one hand cradling the back of his head, the other rubbing slow circles between his shoulder blades.
"Shh... it's alright," you murmured softly. "You're alright now."
When you pulled back to look at him, his cheeks were wet, his nose pink from crying and cold, and he couldn't have been older than five.
"What happened, sweetheart? Are you hurt?"
He only shook his head against your shoulder, one last shuddering sob escaping before his breathing evened into sniffles.
McGonagall stepped forward, her voice gentler than you had ever heard it. "Dear boy. What is your name?"
He loosened his grip enough to look at her, wiping his eyes on your cardigan sleeve. "I'm Woojin."
The room visibly relaxed. At least he was coherent.
"Woojin. That's a lovely name," you said.
"You named me, Mama," he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, then added, generously, in case you needed the rest, "Appa told me that."
"Do you know where your parents are, Woojin?" McGonagall asked. She was the only one composed enough to keep making sense of things.
Woojin looked around, found you first, and pointed. "Mama." Then his gaze slid past everyone else to the office door, just as another professor hurried in, wand still lit from the dark corridors, and his face lit up entirely.
Professor Jeon Wonwoo had barely crossed the threshold before the boy collided with his legs. "Appa!"
His eyes widened behind his glasses, genuine shock flashing across his usually unreadable face as he instinctively looked up at the people in the room, then back down at the child attached to him.
"Mama found me," Woojin said into his trousers, voice thick with tears, "but I was so scared," his hands tightening in the fabric as if to reassure himself Wonwoo was really there.
"Iâ" Wonwoo started, and had nothing to follow it with. His hand hovered a moment before settling gently on the boy's back. "I've got you."
McGonagall's eyes moved from the child, to Wonwoo, to you, and back again. The only sound left in the room was Woojin's sniffling. She removed her spectacles, pinched the bridge of her nose, and exhaled slowly.
"My office. Now. We have quite a bit to discuss."
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"Home," Flitwick pressed gently, kneeling to Woojin's eye level, though they were nearly the same height already. "Can you tell us where home is, dear?"
The boy gave him a look that suggested this was a very silly question. "Hogwarts," he said. "Obviously."
"And your parents teach here? At Hogwarts?"
The little boy nodded as an answer.
McGonagall let the silence settle for a moment, studying the little boy who had long since abandoned any attempt at sitting properly. Woojin had curled into your side, one cheek resting against your shoulder while his small fingers remained stubbornly hooked around Wonwoo's sleeve, as though he needed to reassure himself that the two of you were still there. Whatever fear had reduced him to tears earlier seemed to have eased now that he was between the people he believed were his parents.
"Woojin," she said at last, her voice gentler than ever, "can you tell us a little about your parents?"
The effect was immediate. His face brightened so completely that it chased away the last traces of tears, and he twisted around to beam at Wonwoo with open admiration. "My appa's the best wizard ever," he said, stretching his arms wide. "Appa teaches defence and all the big kids like him." He giggled to himself before adding in a conspiratorial whisper, "Some people think he's scary, but they're just being silly. Appa's not scary."
A ripple of restrained amusement passed through the room, though Wonwoo looked as though he wished the stone floor might kindly open beneath him.
"Appa used to be a Auror" Woojin's hands flew up to illustrate every word. "He caught lots of bad people and fought bad monsters." He glanced proudly at Wonwoo again. "Mama says he's the bravest." He nodded, satisfied he remembered it right, and declared, "I'm gonna be bravest like him when I'm big."
You felt the weight of every professor's gaze drift toward Wonwoo, whose composure faltered just enough that his eyes lifted, almost involuntarily, to meet yours.
McGonagall let the silence pass before turning her attention back to the child. "And your mother?"
Woojin smiled just as brightly. Without hesitation, he leaned back against you until his head rested comfortably beneath your chin, as though he had occupied that spot a hundred times before. "Mama teaches Herbology," he said happily. "I go to the greenhouses with her sometimes and I help" He puffed out his chest with quiet pride. "I can water the plants all by myself now." Then he sighed dramatically. "But I'm still not allowed near the bitey ones. Mama says I'm too little."
Hagrid let out a booming laugh.
"Yer mum's got the right idea. Best keep away from the chompy ones till yeh're bigger."
A few quiet chuckles escaped around the office despite the increasingly impossible nature of the conversation.
Professor Flitwick smiled warmly, "Do you like living at Hogwarts, Woojin?"
"Mhm!" Woojin nodded enthusiastically, his feet swinging beneath the sofa. "I see Mama every day. And Appa." He began counting on his fingers. âSometimes Appa takes me to the library, and..." His eyes suddenly found McGonagall again. "You always give me biscuits."
For the first time that evening, McGonagall looked genuinely surprised. "I do?"
He nodded so enthusiastically his fringe bounced. "The round buttery ones. You keep them in a tin," His voice dropped into another confidential whisper. "You say not to tell anyone, 'cause then everyone will want your biscuits."
The corners of McGonagall's mouth twitched despite herself. "I see."
Her gaze lingered on the three of you before she rose, smoothing her dressing gown. "I believe it would be prudent to contact the Ministry."
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By the time the initial shock had settled, it was well past midnight. The Ministry had been contacted, preliminary statements had been taken, and despite an office full of brilliant witches and wizards, no one seemed any closer to understanding how a little boy claiming to be your son had appeared outside the professors' quarters.
Woojin, meanwhile, had reached the end of a very long day. His head kept drooping against your side before jerking upright again, only to repeat itself moments later.
McGonagall noticed it too. "I believe that is enough for one evening," she said, closing the folder before her with quiet finality. "The rest can wait until morning." Her gaze softened as it settled on Woojin.
"The poor boy needs sleep."
The question that remained was where, exactly, he was meant to sleep. He couldn't spend the night in an empty classroom, and neither of you thought he should be alone. Instinctively, both of you looked down the corridor beyond McGonagall's office.
Two doors.
Professor Jeon's quarters.
Professor Lee's quarters.
McGonagall rose from behind her desk and crossed the room, crouching carefully until she was level with the boy.
"Come along, dear," she said kindly. "Why don't you spend the night in my quarters? I've a spare room, and we'll have a proper breakfast in the morning, along with the biscuits you like."
Woojin only shuffled closer, wedging himself between you and Wonwoo, refusing to let go of your sleeve. "No," he said, quiet and almost frightened. "I wanna stay with Mama and Appa."
McGonagall didn't seem offended in the least. If anything, her expression only softened further. "I see," she said, and looked between the three of you. "Well. That does complicate matters somewhat."
For the first time that evening the reality of it settled over you differently. You barely knew Professor Jeon. Outside departmental meetings and the occasional polite exchange in the Great Hall, the two of you had scarcely spoken in the two years you had both worked at Hogwarts. He kept to himself, and you had long since accepted that as simply the way he was. And now the two of you were discussing sleeping arrangements for a child who believed he was your son.
"Professor Jeon," you started, awkward. "You've still got to deal with the Ministry tonight, don't you?"
"I'll need to make a few reports and statements," he agreed.
"I'll take him tonight," you said, glancing down at Woojin, who was fighting to keep his eyes open. "I've looked after children before. My younger brother practically lived in my room until he was eight."
âAre you certain?â Wonwoo studied you a moment, that thoughtful, unreadable look of his, carrying the peculiar feeling of being carefully weighed. "You have had a long evening as wellâ
"I'll manage."
His gaze dropped to Woojin, whose fingers had found their way around both your sleeve and his own. After a long moment he inclined his head. "Thank you." It sounded almost strange coming from him. "Professor Lee, if anything comes up..."
"I'll come and find you."
He nodded once. "I'll be awake."
The exchange lasted barely a minute, and yet, as you left McGonagall's office, you realized it was the longest conversation the two of you had ever had. Behind you, his door closed with a quiet click.
You didn't expect the night to be particularly difficult. You had practically helped raise Chris. Children, you thought, weren't entirely unfamiliar territory.
You did not, it turned out, know how this child worked, not yet
The cot took only a flick of your wand to assemble. It was small, comfortable, tucked beside your own bed.
"There we are," you said softly.
Woojin looked at it, then looked at you. Before you could persuade him otherwise, he padded straight past it, climbed into your bed, disappeared beneath your blankets and patted the mattress beside him with sleepy certainty.
"Mama."
With a quiet sigh, you extinguished the bedside lamp and slipped beneath the blankets yourself. You let him sleep beside you today. Tomorrow, surely, things would be less strange.
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He was asleep almost before you settled beside him.
One small hand remained stubbornly fisted in the fabric of your nightshirt, refusing to let go even in sleep. Sometime in the middle of the night he shifted closer, inch by sleepy inch, until his cheek rested against your shoulder as though he'd been searching for it all along.. Then came the tiny sniffle
His brows pinched together and a soft, heartbreaking sound escaped him. A quiet, muffled sob of a child caught in the middle of a bad dream, crying without ever fully waking.
Something inside your chest gave way and you brushed your fingers gently through his dark hair, careful not to wake him.
"Hey," you whispered into the darkness. "It's alright sweetheart, you don't have to be scared."
You drew the blankets a little higher around his shoulders.
"I've got you."
Gradually, the little frown disappeared. His breathing evened out once more, warm against your shoulder.
Sleep never came quite so easily for you.
Instead, you lay awake listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing, unable to stop thinking about the woman somewhere, who had tucked this little boy into bed every night before somehow losing him.
Whoever she was...
She had to be terrified.
You hoped someone was telling her he would be alright.
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Morning came too early. For one disoriented moment you couldn't remember why your shoulder ached, or why someone else's breathing filled the quiet of your room. Then you looked down and remembered everything at once.
Getting yourself ready was one thing. Getting Woojin ready was another entirely. You had barely managed your own cardigan before he darted away from the chair you'd been coaxing him toward for five minutes, hairbrush still useless in your hand.
"Come here, sweetheart. It'll only take a minute."
"No." He stopped just out of reach, arms folding with all the seriousness a five year old could summon. "It hurts."
"I'll be gentle."
"Appa does it better." He patted his own unruly hair. "He makes it look like his."
"I'm afraid I don't know how your Appa does it," you admitted, smiling despite yourself, which only earned an offended huff and a turned away face. With a sigh you reached instead for the toothbrush you transfigured the night before. He accepted it obediently enough, until he looked down and his expression crumbled into disbelief. "This isn't my dinosaur one. Uncle got it for me. I can't brush my teeth without it."
"You absolutely can."
By the time someone knocked, you had given up on your own appearance entirely and opened the door mid argument about whether teeth brushing was optional. Wonwoo stood in the doorway, and whatever he had meant to say caught somewhere behind his teeth. His gaze swept over you, barefoot, hair damp and half brushed, cardigan buttoned askew, as though he couldn't quite reconcile the polished colleague he knew with the woman standing in front of him, harried by an impossible five year old before eight in the morning.
"Sorry," he said after a beat. "McGonagall says the Ministry's arrived. I thought," his gaze slid past you to where Woojin was attempting to hide the toothbrush under a cushion, "..do you want some help?"
"Please," you said, with real feeling, and stepped back to let him in.
He turned out to be considerably better at negotiating with a five year old than you expected, crouching to listen with total seriousness as Woojin explained the importance of the dinosaur toothbrush. Whatever quiet bargain passed between them, worked. Within minutes Woojin had surrendered the hairbrush without complaint, sat patiently while Wonwoo worked through the tangles of his hair, and agreed the substitute toothbrush could be âjust for today.â
"I've been trying to do that for twenty minutes," you said, watching them in mild disbelief.
"He was very reasonable," Wonwoo said.
Woojin, delighted to have both of you in one room, skipped over. "Mama slept in again," he informed Wonwoo happily, without a trace of malice. "She's always late. But I didn't wake her up. I was good." He recited it like a familiar house rule. "'Let Mama sleep. She needs it more than we do.' Appa you always say that."
"Very good," Wonwoo agreed, straight faced, and caught your eye over the boy's head. Heat crept up your neck.
"I don't always sleep in," you muttered, reaching for your bag. "At least, I don't think I do."
You thought you caught the corner of his mouth twitch and you cleared your throat before the little boy could say something even more embarrassing.
"...We should probably head down for the meeting."
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The Ministry officials arrived right away, after reading Professor McGonagallâs letter.
They introduced themselves as members of the Department of Mysteries, though none of them elaborated on what that actually meant. Dressed in unassuming grey robes and carrying curious brass instruments that hummed softly in their hands, they transformed an unused classroom into a temporary examination room and spent the better part of the morning trying to determine exactly whoâor whatâWoojin was.
Woojin, for his part, found the entire experience fascinating.
Outside the classroom, you waited with your arms folded tightly across your chest, listening to the occasional burst of childish chatter through the half-open door. Professor Jeon stood beside you in companionable silence, close enough that your shoulders nearly brushed.
"They keep looking at him like he's a puzzle to solve," you murmured.
"They're trying to understand him," Wonwoo replied quietly. After a pause, he added, âIf any of them are unkind to him, I intend to say something about it, regardless of rank."
You looked at him, surprised by the protectiveness in his voice.
One by one, the possibilities were eliminated.
Memory charms.
Polyjuice Potion.
Transfiguration.
Illusions.
Every test reached the same conclusion.
Finally, the lead official requested a private meeting with you, Professor Jeon, and Professor McGonagall.
"There is no indication," the witch began carefully, "that this child has been altered or fabricated through magic."
She placed two sheets of parchment on McGonagall's desk.
"We also performed a magical signature analysis, and the child's magical signature naturally carries traces of both parents."
She looked between you and Wonwoo. "Woojin's magical signature matches both of yours."
"...No," you said quietly, staring at the parchment for another long moment before shaking your head.
"There has to be some mistake." Your eyes flicked helplessly between Professor McGonagall and the woman seated across the desk. "We've never..."
The words lodged stubbornly in your throat.
Beside you, Wonwoo spoke before you could force yourself to finish.
"...We're just acquaintances."
You looked at him gratefully, and nodded.
"We work together," he said, almost absently, as though saying it aloud would somehow make the conclusion change. "We've never been anything beyond colleagues."
Silence settled over the office.
The official folded her hands neatly atop the desk.
"There is no known spell capable of forging that result," the lead official said carefully, in the privacy of McGonagall's office "As far as the Ministry can determine... this child is biologically yours."
You found yourself reading the report again, despite already knowing exactly what it said, as though the letters might have changed in the last few seconds.
Beside you, Wonwoo removed his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose before putting them back on again.
"Time," McGonagall said eventually, "is the only variable I can think of that would explain a child appearing who is, biologically, already yours, when neither of you has so much as had dinner together."
You, sitting very straight in your chair with hands folded tightly in your lap, felt something in her chest go strange and light and frightened all at once. Beside your, Wonwoo hadn't moved, but anyone could see, in the careful, controlled stillness of him, that he was thinking exactly as fast and exactly as far ahead as you were.
"We'll investigate the how," McGonagall said, not unkindly. "In the meantime, the boy has made his preferences extremely clear, and I see little value in fighting a five-year-oldâs instincts when they've so far been correct about everything else. Professors Jeon and Lee, until we know otherwise, I'm placing him in your joint care."
The meeting dissolved not long after.
Outside, Woojin was exactly where you left him, on the stone bench with Hagrid, legs swinging as the gamekeeper showed him something cupped in his enormous hands. The moment he spotted you both, a wide smile appeared on his face. "Mama! Appa!" He slid down and trotted over, slipping one hand into each of yours as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
Hagrid chuckled as he rose to his feet.
"Kept 'im company while yeh lot were busy," he said. "Good little lad, this one."
"Thank you, Hagrid," Wonwoo said sincerely.
Hagrid waved it off with a smile before lumbering away, leaving the three of you standing together in the quiet corridor.
âFinished?â, Woojin asked curiously, looking up at both of you. "I'm hungry."
You exchanged a brief, helpless glance over the top of his head with Wonwoo. Neither of you had the heart to tell him that nothing was finished at all.
"Come on," you said eventually, squeezing his little hand. "Let's get some breakfast."
After everything the Ministry had just told you, trying to make sense of the impossible on empty stomachs seemed like a particularly poor idea.
Woojin started happily swinging your joined hands as the three of you started down the corridor. You'd barely made it a few steps before he stopped so abruptly that you almost walked straight into him.
"...Mama?"
You looked down. "Hm?"
He shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other, glancing briefly at Wonwoo before leaning closer to you"...I need the toilet."
There was a beat of silence.
Then, despite everything that had happened that morning, you let out a chuckle.
You caught yourself just in time, smoothing your expression before he could mistake it for teasing.
"Right," you said with all the seriousness you could manage. "That does seem rather urgent."
Beside you, Wonwoo cleared his throat, though you caught the faintest hint of amusement softening his otherwise impassive expression. It was such an ordinary problem, contrasting everything the two of you had been dealing with since the night before.
"I'll meet you in the Great Hall," he said.
"We'll be there shortly." You smiled gently at him.
The moment you took a step, Woojin immediately began tugging you along with considerably more urgency than before.
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The Great Hall was mostly empty this early in the term, the students not due back for another week. It was, you thought, the only mercy available to you that morning.
A handful of professors had already gathered at the staff table, breakfast spread lazily before them.
At one end, Quidditch coach, Kim Mingyu was halfway through his toast, chatting idly with Wonwoo.
"So," he said around a mouthful, "I heard something interesting happened last night. They say you've got a kid now." He grinned. "Shame I missed it. Would've loved to witness the birth."
"Shut up and eat your breakfast," Wonwoo said flatly, not looking up from his coffee.
At that moment you stepped in with Woojin marching several paces ahead, waving at each professor as though he'd done it every morning of his life. Then his eyes landed on Mingyu and lit up entirely. "Uncle Gyu!" He barreled straight into him.
Mingyu froze with his toast halfway to his mouth. "Uncle?" He looked from the boy clinging to his side, to you, to Wonwoo. "Jeon. Care to explain why your alleged son thinks I'm his uncle?" But Woojin was already climbing onto him, fists in his robes, and whatever surprise Mingyu felt lasted about two seconds before dissolving into delight.
"You promised you'd take me flying," Woojin reminded him, very seriously. "Yesterday. You said."
"I did?" Mingyu blinked.
"Yesterday," Woojin reminded him very seriously. "You said."
Mingyu looked helplessly towards Wonwoo. "...Did I?" , his attention back to Woojin, who was waiting with unwavering confidence.
"Well... Clearly I'm a man of my word " He grinned. "how about after breakfast?"
Woojin gasped happily before scrambling down again. He hurried straight over to Wonwoo, climbing onto his lap without invitation and cupping his face between both tiny hands.
"Appa," he asked earnestly, "can I go?"
Then he twisted around to look at you.
"Mama?"
For a split second, you froze. Your instinct was to say yes. Then another thought occurred to you.
You had absolutely no idea whether you and Wonwoo had rules about things like this.
"Eat first," you said instead.
Woojin's smile faltered.
"Butâ"
"You've hardly eaten," you said gently. "Finish your breakfast, and then you can go."
You looked across him, at Wonwoo. "Do you think that's alright, Professor Jeon?" The title felt strange after "Appa" only moments earlier.
Woojin's shoulders slumped, appealing wordlessly to the other parent, but Wonwoo only said, "Mama's right," and the boy sighed and hopped down, taking an exaggerated bite of his sandwich.
Mingyu laughed. "He's definitely your son."
You chose not to ask which one of you he meant.
The moment he was done eating, Woojin was on his feet before anyone else had even pushed back their chair.
"I'm done!"
Before either of you could say another word, Mingyu had already scooped him effortlessly onto one shoulder.
"Come on then, Mini-Jeon."
Their laughter echoed across the Great Hall as the pair disappeared towards the doors together.
Which left the two of you alone at the staff table, breakfast half eaten, with a conversation neither of you had quite prepared for.
"We should talk about how this is going to work," you said.
"Yes," Wonwoo agreed.
You looked at each other, two colleagues who three days ago had rarely exchanged more than polite greetings. "Whatever happens, however he got here, however the Ministry sends him back, he's still five," you said. "He doesn't understand any of this. He's frightened. The least we can do is make sure he feels safe until it's over."
"I agree," Wonwoo said, without hesitation, resting his forearms on the table, already thinking ahead. "The students return next week. Until then, one of us can always be with him."
You nodded. "If I have no lessons, he can stay with me in the greenhouses."
"And during my free periods..." His gaze drifted towards the doors Woojin had disappeared through. "...I'll take him."
You let out a breath, some of the panic that had lived in your chest since the boy first wrapped his arms around your neck finally easing. "So we'll just figure it out."
"We will."
For now, at least, neither of you had to figure it out alone.
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The week that followed should have been simple. But, it wasn't.
You settled into the arrangement, Woojin's mornings in the greenhouses, coloring at a little workbench while you repotted seedlings, his afternoons in the Defence classroom with Wonwoo, parchment and crayons spread while lesson plans got written around him. The handovers were brief and polite. Professor Lee. Professor Jeon. A quick word about whether he'd eaten or napped, and then one of you would return to work while the other walked away with his small hand in theirs.
It was practical and organized. Exactly what two colleagues might come up with facing an impossible situation.
It should have worked. Instead, almost without either of you noticing, Woojin began to change.
The chatter went first, the little stories that used to tumble out of him without pause, about Fang, about Uncle Gyu and flying, about Flitwick's levitating feathers, grew fewer and fewer until most meals passed in near silence. Then the smaller things. He stopped reminding you that you supposedly gave him a flower from the greenhouse every day. He stopped correcting Wonwoo when he forgot some detail his Appa should have known. By the end of the week he barely touched his food. There was no tantrum, nothing dramatic to point to, just a boy shrinking a little further into himself each day, his smiles rarer, his laughter quieter, the brightness that had burst into your life outside the professors' quarters slowly dimming.
You noticed it and so did Wonwoo. However, neither of you could figure out why.
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The greenhouses had long since emptied one evening, the last gold light fading from the grounds, when you noticed the silence first. Usually Woojin waited on the bench outside, legs swinging, ready to show off whatever he had drawn. Tonight, he wasn't there. A tiny sniffle carried through the quiet instead. You found him curled against the doorframe, knees to his chest, small shaky sobs escaping into his sleeves.
"Woojin?"
His head lifted just as hurried footsteps rounded the corner, Wonwoo, who had come to collect him for dinner, stopping short at the sight. The two of you exchanged one panicked look before crouching together. Your hand found his shoulder. "Hey, sweetheart. What's wrong?"
That was all it took. He threw himself into your arms, shaking, and you wrapped him up while Wonwoo lowered onto one knee, palm circling slow between his shoulder blades. "What's wrong, buddy? Tell us."
It took a long moment before he could speak. "How long," he hiccupped, "are you gonna stay mad at each other?"
You blinked in surprise. "What?"
"Mama and Appa..." Another sob broke through before he could finish. "...You're mad."
"Weâre not angry," you said immediately, looking helplessly towards Wonwoo before turning back to the little boy. "Sweetheart, I promise I'm notâ"
"Mama liar." The words landed like a slap. He'd never called you that before.
He shook his head, tears spilling fresh. "You call Appa 'Professor.' Mama never calls Appa 'Professor.' You don't eat breakfast together. And Appa doesn't come get you after the greenhouses. You don't read me stories together. You don't say goodnight together." His voice kept dropping. "You don't even sleep in the same house."
His breath hitched high and miserable. "Did I do something? I'm sorry..."
Your heart broke clean in half. Beside you Wonwoo had gone rigid. "You didn't do anything," he said, low and fierce. "Nothing about this is your fault. You didn't make us angry."
"We're not angry with each other," you said, brushing the damp hair from his face. "Do you want to go home? Hm?"
The words hung heavily in the evening air.
Woojin's shoulders trembled as he looked desperately from one face to the other. He sniffled, slipped one small hand into yours, then reached for Wonwoo's with the other and he began walking.
You and Wonwoo exchanged one confused glance before following, letting the little boy lead you through the quiet corridors of the castle, never once hesitating, until he stopped outside a familiar door. Professor Jeon's quarters.
Only then did he look up at the two of you, still holding both your hands.
"...Home."
You went in. There didn't seem to be any other option.
Wonwoo's quarters were, nearly identical in size and shape to yours, and almost entirely bare of anything personal. There was a neat stack of books, a single armchair, a room that looked like it belonged to a man who spent as little time as possible actually living in it. Woojin stood in the middle of it, small and confused, turning in a slow circle.
"Where's my room?" he asked. "Where's my toys?"
There was nothing to show him, no room, no toys, no trace of the boy he was, only two adults trying to comfort a child for the absence of a life that hadn't been built yet.
You knelt and wiped his face with your sleeve. "Sleep for tonight. Tomorrow, I promise, we'll get you new toys. A whole room full, if you want."
He considered this gravely and nodded. "Promise?"
"Promise," Wonwoo said, and meant it in the particular, unshakeable way you were coming to learn was simply how he meant everything.
Satisfied, Woojin rubbed his eyes, yawned, and padded toward the bedroom as if he knew every step by heart, climbing beneath the blankets before either of you reached the doorway. He scooted to the center and patted the empty space on either side. "Can I sleep in the middle tonight?"
The room fell silent. You looked at Wonwoo. He looked at you.
"...The middle?" you echoed weakly.
Woojin nodded, it was the most ordinary request in the world for him.
You hesitated until Woojin had disappeared almost entirely beneath the blankets, only his sleepy little face peeking out.
Leaning towards Wonwoo, you lowered your voice to little more than a whisper.
"...What do we do?"
"He's already distressed," he murmured finally. "If we tell him no now..." He didn't need to finish it. "Stay here until he falls asleep."
You nodded. "Just until he falls asleep."
â ââ đ ââ â
Morning came slowly. You woke first, it taking a long moment to place the unfamiliar mattress, before you felt something warm and heavy draped across your waist. Woojin had migrated in the night until he was sprawled almost entirely over you, one leg thrown across your middle. You smiled, then glanced past him and froze. You didnât realise that you had accidentally fallen asleep last night beside the two boys.
Wonwoo was asleep on the other side of the bed. Without his glasses, without the polished look he carried through every staff meeting, he looked... younger somehow. One arm was thrown over his head, the other resting loosely near Woojin.
And beside him, Woojin slept exactly the same way, the same arm flung above the head, the same slight parting of the lips, even the same faint crease settled between their brows. It was almost unsettling, how alike they looked.
A strand of dark hair had fallen across Wonwoo's forehead, obscuring part of his face. Before you could think better of it, your hand lifted almost on instinct, fingers moving carefully toward the loose strand.
The moment your fingertips grazed his hair, brown eyes blinked open.
You stilled, like a deer caught in headlights. âOhâ
âI was just..observingâ Then, quietly, you murmured, "...He sleeps like you."
His eyes flicked to Woojin's arm still flung over, then back. "Does he?" His voice was rough with sleep, deeper than you had ever heard it.
"The same expression and the same way he throws his arm over his head."
He looked at the boy a long moment. "I never would've noticed," he said, in his raspy voice. Neither of you spoke after that. Between you, Woojin sighed contentedly in his sleep and burrowed closer, anchoring himself to both of you at once.
â ââ đ ââ â
You went to Hogsmaede the very next morning, all three of you, to fulfil previous nightâs promise of getting toys and clothes for Woojin.
The first stop was a children's clothing shop, and within minutes you'd disappeared into the racks. "Woojin, come here." You held a tiny knitted jumper against his front. "Oh, look at you. You're adorable."
"I look handsome," he corrected.
"You look very handsome."
Before you could admire him any longer, the jumper disappeared from your hands. Wonwoo had taken it without a word, turning it over to inspect the label before feeling the fabric between his fingers. Satisfied, he placed it into the trolley while you wandered off again.
"Oh! Woojin, come look at these."
The pattern repeated itself half a dozen times, socks embroidered with broomsticks, robes so impossibly small they made you coo, a knitted hat with bear ears, you and Woojin gasping over each discovery as though it outdid the last, while Wonwoo quietly sorted excitement from practicality behind you, checking sizes and seams before either dropping an item in the trolley or returning it to the shelf.
At one point you and Woojin reached for the same pants at the same moment, looked at each other, and said "in the trolley" in perfect unison. Woojin dissolved into giggles. So did you. Wonwoo paused with another mini sweater halfway to the trolley, watching the two of you laugh over something so inconsequential, and thought, though he didn't say it, that even if Woojin didnât look like you, he had definitely inherited your joyful personality.
Without a word, he set the pants into the trolley and followed after the pair of you once more.
By the time you finished buying clothes, toys, bedding, books, and enough school supplies, the afternoon had slipped quietly into evening.
Dinner was at a little restaurant tucked between a bookshop and an apothecary, warm with the smell of fresh bread. Until your meals arrived, Woojin had already begun drooping where he sat beside Wonwoo.
He lasted about halfway through his dinner before his cheek settled onto the tabletop with a tiny sigh, the glass of pumpkin juice still clutched loosely in one hand.
You smiled fondly. "I think someone's reached his limit."
Wonwoo glanced over and without disturbing him, he quietly slid the abandoned food onto a plate before pulling the glass of pumpkin juice safely out of the boy's reach.
Only then did he look back at you.
"So," he said, the first time he'd ever started a conversation without prompting. "Did you always want to teach?"
You blinked, pleasantly surprised.
"I think so," You traced absent-minded circles around the rim of your mug. "Professor Sprout was my favourite when I was here. She made everyone feel like they belonged in her classroom. I wasn't particularly talented at first. I nearly killed a Venomous Tentacula in second year."
"...Impressive."
"It wasn't on purpose." You laughed. "I just remember thinking, if I could make one student love Herbology the way she made me love it, I'd have done something worthwhile."
"I imagine you already have." He said it so plainly it took you a second to realize he meant it. "And you?" you asked. "Woojin mentioned you being an Auror."
"I joined the Ministry after graduation." He leaned back slightly.
"It felt like the right thing to do. I was good at it." There was no arrogance in his words, just facts.
"But..." His gaze drifted briefly to the little boy asleep beside him, âeventually I realized I couldn't protect everyone. Perhaps I could teach someone else how to protect themselves instead. So I came here."
You looked at Woojin, asleep between you, utterly convinced this thoughtful, reserved man was his father. "I get it why he looks at you the way he does. Like you can fix anything."
"...I hope," he said quietly, "...I never give him a reason to think otherwise."
By the time you started back toward the castle, Woojin had gone entirely boneless with exhaustion, walking between you with a hand in each of yours, until somewhere along the path his feet simply stopped moving altogether and Wonwoo swept him up without breaking stride, settling him against his shoulder and he was asleep before you'd cleared the gates.
"I'll take him tonight," Wonwoo said quietly, adjusting his hold on the boy. "You should rest. You both used up too much energy while shopping.â
You didn't argue. You walked back to the castle beside him in comfortable, unhurried silence, watching and admiring the way Wonwoo had stepped up into his role so effortlessly.
â ââ đ ââ â
Students returned the following week, and it took less than a day for the entire castle to discover that Professor Jeon had, apparently, acquired a child.
Woojin looked so unmistakably like Wonwoo, same eyes, same careful, watchful stillness, the same particular way of tilting his head when he was thinking. The resemblance alone silenced most speculation. It took a little longer for anyone to connect the boy to you, mostly because you and Wonwoo had been so studiously careful in public, but it happened anyway, and by the second afternoon the whole school seemed to know that the small boy trailing Professor Jeon between classes called Professor Lee "Mama."
Your brother heard it from three people before lunch and arrived at your Herbology classroom at a dead run.
He burst through the door mid-lesson, loud and dramatic as ever, and you rounded on him without missing a beat. "I am teaching, Chan, go back to your dormitory or I will hex you where you stand."
But Woojin had already spotted him from his corner table, where he'd been colouring quietly through the lesson exactly as he always did. "Uncle Dino!"
Chan blinked. "Huhâ?" But the boy had already crossed the room and grabbed his sleeve, tugging him down into the corner with the urgent, conspiratorial whisper of a child sharing a secret.
"Why are you at Hogwarts?" Woojin whispered. "You're supposed to be at work."
"What work?" Chan asked, faintly dazed, crouching properly now, studying the boy's face with growing, dawning confusion. The resemblance to Wonwoo really was uncanny. "How old are you kid?"
Woojin held up five fingers. "Five. I'm a big boy."
The class had, by now, entirely abandoned any pretence of working. You dismissed them five minutes early out of pure self-preservation, and the moment the door shut behind the last student, Chan rounded on you with the full, righteous fury of a man who has just done extremely questionable maths.
"Five years?" he demanded. "You hid a child from me for five years? I'm telling Mum and Dad."
You smacked the back of his head without much force and dragged him toward the door, explaining low and fast everything that had happened. His expression cycled through disbelief, alarm, and fascination. "So he just appeared? In a corridor? And nobody's told Mum and Dad?"
"McGonagall wanted to keep it contained until the Ministry understood what they were dealing with," You said, moving down the row of Mandrake pots with the automatic efficiency. "There's nothing to tell them yet. There's nothing certain to tell anyone yet."
"There's a child, noona. That feels fairly certain." He lowered his voice, glancing at Woojin, who was very obviously listening despite pretending otherwise. "Does he â does Professor Jeon know? Properly know? Has he said anything? Because if he's making you handle this on your own while he just stands there being broody and unreadable like he alwaysâ"
"He's been extremely present, actually," you said, sharper than you meant to, faintly surprised by your own defensiveness. "He is good with both of us."
"So you and Professor Jeon..." He said the name like it tasted strange. "He barely talks. Is he good to you? Because I don't care if it's the future or the past or whatever timeline nonsense this is, if he everâ"
"Chan."
"I'm just SAYINGâ"
"Uncle Dino and Appa are best friends," Woojin announced, from where he'd resettled himself contentedly on the crate beside him, "Appa says you're the little brother he never had."
You couldn't help smiling. Somehow, it was comforting to know that somewhere in some timeline, your brother had found a best friend in Wonwoo. You hadn't expected that of all things, but it felt right.
"That's notâ" Chan opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again. "That doesn't sound like Jeon Wonwoo at allâ"
"Was I not supposed to say that?" Woojin asked, blinking up at him, entirely innocent, already sensing from the sudden stillness in the room that he had said something he wasn't meant to.
You closed your eyes briefly and reached for patience.
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Woojin settled, in the weeks that followed, into the rhythm of the castle so completely it became hard to remember what Hogwarts had looked like without him.
One evening the greenhouses had gone quiet, students long gone, the castle settling into its nighttime hush beyond the glass, when the door creaked and Wonwoo stepped inside.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to interrupt."
"You aren't." You glanced up from the moonlily buds you were coaxing open.
"I came to see if you were still here," he said. "Woojin was asking where you were."
Your expression softened. "Is he alright?"
Wonwoo sat on a stool, pulling it closer to your set. "He waited up." said, the corner of his mouth lifting,"..but ended up falling asleep."
You smiled to yourself. "I'll apologise in the morning for making him wait up."
"He won't remember."
His gaze drifted to the flowers. "What are these?"
"Moonlilies. They only bloom after sunset, rather boring during the day." Your fingers brushed a pale blossom as another unfurled beside it, silver petals catching the moonlight through the glass roof.
"They're beautiful," he said.
"They're my favourite." You gestured at the rows stretching deeper into the greenhouse. "They'll keep blooming another hour or so. If you ever can't sleep, you can come see them."
Something unreadable crossed his face. "I'd like that."
The quiet settled again, comfortable, until he spoke. "Hold still." You blinked, and he leaned closer, reaching up to brush his thumb across your cheek. "There. You had mud." Your heartbeat became unexpectedly hard to ignore. He seemed entirely unaffected, or simply very good at pretending otherwise.
After a moment, as though the question had only just occurred to him, âDo you have a partner?"
The question caught you so off guard you laughed. "No."
"No one waiting for you?"
"No."
He nodded once. "I've been thinking," he said. "About Woojin. He still wakes some nights expecting both of us, and we keep sending him between two rooms." He paused. "I was wondering whether we should ask Professor McGonagall if our quarters could be connected. So he has one home."
The thought lingered longer than you expected. It wasn't technically moving in together, just one home, for a little boy who couldn't understand why his parents lived apart. "I think he'd like that," you said.
"I do too."
â ââ đ ââ â
McGonagall agreed the next morning with the look of a woman who'd been waiting rather a while to be asked, and the magic took most of an afternoon, walls softening, a doorway blooming where there had been solid stone, two sets of rooms folding into one home neither of you had entirely built on purpose.
You brought Woojin to see it after dinner. He walked in ahead of you, and the moment he crossed the threshold he simply lit up, spinning in a delighted circle.
You brought Woojin to see it after dinner. He walked in ahead of you and lit up completely, spinning in a circle. "My house is back!" He threw his arms around the couch. "I missed you, home!" then, abruptly, "Where's Seol?" already forgotten in the next breath as he sprinted for the bedroom that had once been yours.
"Mama, Mama, this is my room!" he announced, bouncing on the bed with total confidence, and you didn't have the heart to correct him, didn't particularly want to.
He herded you both through the rest of it with the brisk, self-appointed authority of a very small landlord, and finished by planting himself in front of what had been Wonwoo's door alone,until that afternoon, pointing inside. "Go to your room. Goodnight, Mama." He rose on his toes, pulling you lower and pressed a firm kiss to your cheek, then did the same to Wonwoo, who accepted it with startled, helpless tenderness. Then Woojin stepped back, arms crossed, and looked between the two of you expectantly.
"Now your turn," he said, like this was simply the next obvious step in the routine.
You and Wonwoo looked at each other. A warm flush crept across your cheeks, his ears turning red in similar fashion.
"...Oh," you managed intelligently.
Beside you, Wonwoo looked equally flustered, clearing his throat as though searching for words.
Before either of you could decide who was supposed to move firstâ
"Fast," Woojin giggled, looking at the pair of you like you were being terribly silly. He pointed at his own cheeks with both hands. "Goodnight kisses!"
You closed your eyes for the briefest moment. Wonwoo quietly looked at the ceiling.
"...Right," you mumbled.
Woojin waited patiently while the two of you recovered enough dignity to lean down and kiss one of his cheeks each
Woojin dissolved into delighted laughter. "Silly Mama and Dada," he announced, thoroughly unbothered by the fact that you'd both gone crimson and speechless, and skipped off to his own room without a backward glance, leaving the two of you standing in the doorway in the sudden, charged quiet he had left behind.
Neither of you said very much, after that. There wasn't, really, anything sensible to say.
You ended up in the same room. It seemed the simplest arrangement now that the quarters had become one home instead of two, and neither of you had the energy to overthink what that might mean.
He was careful with you. Quiet, steady, bringing the same attentiveness he brought to everything, and you found you trusted it completely, the way you had found yourself trusting nearly everything about him these past weeks without quite noticing when it started. His hand found yours in the dark. Sleep came slowly, not from discomfort, but from being suddenly, acutely aware of each other in a way you hadn't been before. Eventually, exhaustion won and you both drifted to a quiet sleep.
Woojin woke sometime after midnight.
He padded sleepily into the hallway, rubbing one eye with the back of his fist. The door to the bedroom stood slightly ajar.
He peeked in. Moonlight spilled across the room, and his parents were asleep, your back against Wonwooâs chest, his arm loose around your waist, both of you breathing with the heavy rhythm of people too tired to notice how close you had ended up. His sleepy face broke into the biggest grin. "Youâre back," he whispered, and climbed carefully onto the bed, curling up in front of you instead of between you, pulling your arm over himself with practiced familiarity, asleep again within seconds.
Wonwoo woke first in the morning. Woojin lay between you now, not separating you, but tucked safely in front of you, your arm around him, his own arm still loose around your waist. Three people. One tangled shape on the bed.
He watched you both breathe a moment, then reached up and gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear before settling back against the pillow. For once, he felt no urgency to get up. Morning could wait.
â ââ đ ââ â
With Woojin increasingly absorbed into afternoons with Uncle Dino or Uncle Gyu, you and Wonwoo found yourselves with actual unclaimed hours, and neither of you was quite willing to waste them.
It was Wonwoo who moved first.
He started appearing at the greenhouse door with two steaming cups of tea, lingering awkwardly in the doorway until you looked up from your work.
"Thought you might want company," he'd say, as though that alone explained why he crossed half the castle during his free period.
More often than not, Woojin would toddle over the moment he spotted him, abandoning whatever stick or flower had captured his attention. Wonwoo would wordlessly scoop him with one before handing you your tea. Within a week the gesture had become second nature.
A few days later you found him asleep over a stack of essays, quill still loose in his hand. You slipped his glasses off his face and set them beside the parchment before nudging his shoulder.
He blinked awake, disoriented, and you told him plainly that he needed to go to bed.
"I still haveâ"
"You've been raising an energetic five year old all day," you said, folding your arms. "The essays can wait."
He looked at you for a long moment, and something in his expression softened before he admitted, voice still thick with sleep "I don't mind either of your energies," he stifled a yawn, stretching his arms "..makes me happy."
You had absolutely no idea what to do with that so you said nothing at all.
He still insisted on staying up most nights to finish grading, so eventually you started bringing your own work into his office instead of arguing about it. Neither of you said much once you were both settled. He would shift his chair a little closer, you would spread your parchment across the corner of his desk, and the two of you worked in companionable silence until the candles burned low.
He began walking you to your classroom afterward too, even though the route took him the opposite way from his own. He never explained it beyond insisting he would get to his class eventually, and eventually, it seemed, always meant after he'd seen you safely to your door.
On the colder mornings you were the one who stopped him and Woojin halfway across the courtyard, pointing sternly at the hat dangling forgotten from Woojin's hand until he groaned and put it on. Then you turned the same look on Wonwoo.
"You too."
He blinked in suprise."...Me?"
"You'll both catch cold," you said, and without another word pulled his scarf a little tighter around him.
He noticed things before you did. A quill running low on ink would be quietly replaced on your desk overnight. If you skipped lunch, a neatly wrapped sandwich would turn up in the staff room by early afternoon, and you'd know without asking where it came from.
You noticed things too. Whenever he buried himself in paperwork through mealtimes, you started simply setting a plate down beside him in the Great Hall and waiting until he ate it, ignoring whatever protest he tried to offer. Woojin, already halfway through his own shepherd's pie, took to backing you up without being asked, informing his father solemnly that Mama had said to eat, so he should eat.
Wonwoo accepted defeat every time.
Across the table, Mingyu had taken to watching these exchanges with an unbearably smug grin, and one evening he finally said aloud what he'd clearly been thinking for weeks, âI love your little family
You and Wonwoo looked up in perfect unison.
"We're notâ"
"...a family?" Mingyu finished for you, smiling into his drink. "Right."
â ââ đ ââ â
Slowly, the conversations that had once ended after a polite greeting stretched into long ones. Silence stopped feeling awkward between you. You learned that Wonwoo didn't speak often, not because he had nothing to say, but because he waited until something was worth saying. He learned, in turn, that you talked enough for the both of you, wandering easily from Herbology to your brother's latest letter to a book you read years ago that had suddenly reminded you of a student.
Most people interrupted you eventually. Wonwoo never did. He listened with his attention fixed solely on you. Over time you began to notice the small things about him that anyone else might have missed: the faint lift at the corner of his mouth, the thoughtful hum whenever he disagreed, the way he would bring up something you had mentioned days earlier as though it had never once left his mind.
Somehow, without either of you deciding it, spending time together stopped feeling like an obligation born from impossible circumstances. You began to look forward to it instead.
One evening, while Woojin sat between you at the table stubbornly sounding out a picture book, you found yourself watching Wonwoo rather than the page. He guided the boy through each difficult word with endless patience, never frustrated, never rushing him, and the thought left you before you could stop it.
"I think I understand now," you said, "why I'd marry you."
You looked at him, a little embarrassed after the words left you, and Wonwoo looked completely caught off guard.
"I think I do too." He held your gaze for a long, quiet moment.
Then, almost shyly, he looked back down at the book beside him, where Woojin was still waiting, for his appa to help him with the next word.
â ââ đ ââ â
The best afternoons belonged entirely to Woojin.
They usually started with a game of tag across the grounds, Wonwoo pretending badly not to be fast enough to catch him, until somehow you were running too, laughing while Woojin shrieked with delight between the two of you.
Someone always tripped eventually, usually you, and Wonwoo would stumble trying to catch you before all three of you went down together in the grass, Woojin throwing himself on top of the pile with a triumphant declaration that your pile was now a hamburger.
You and Wonwoo dissolved into helpless laughter beneath the weight of a giggling five year old.
It was in moments like these that you had to remind yourself, gently and every time, that none of it was permanent.
â ââ đ ââ â
The Ministry officials returned in early October with answers at last.
An illegal Time-Turner experiment had torn open a fracture between two points in time. Woojin had wandered too close, slipping through before anyone could stop him. He had never belonged in this timelineânot because he came from another world, but because he came from several years ahead.
Somewhere in that future, two frantic parents had spent weeks searching for the little boy who had vanished without a trace.
"There is a window," the lead investigator explained quietly. "We can safely return him."
The witch hesitated before continuing.
"The timeline will... protect itself afterwards."
You asked her what that meant.
"Everyoneâs memories won't disappear all at once," she said. "But as the fracture closes, they'll begin to blur. Faces first, then conversations. Eventually it will feel more like something you dreamed than something you lived."
Woojin would forget these months too. He would remember growing up exactly as he was meant to. As far as he would ever know, he had never been here at all.
It was supposed to be a kindness, yet it felt unimaginably cruel.
The walk back to the castle was silent.
That night, neither of you slept much. Woojin, blissfully unconcerned, lay between you talking about things that happened that morning-- Uncle Gyu teaching him Quidditch fouls, Uncle Dino taking him along with his friends to Hogsmeade. Every ordinary little story landed somewhere deep inside you, each one another reminder that there was an entire life waiting for him beyond your reach.
Eventually his words grew slower, each sentence interrupted by a yawn, until they dissolved into sleepy murmurs. Within minutes he was asleep between you, one small hand fisted loosely in the fabric of Wonwoo's sleeve.
You watched him for a long time. Then, unable to stop yourself, you gathered him carefully into your arms and pressed your face into his soft hair. The first tear fell before you realized you were crying, and you tried to stay quiet so you wouldn't wake him.
Beside you, Wonwoo didn't say a word. He simply moved closer until your shoulders touched, then wrapped one arm around both of you, drawing you and the sleeping boy against his chest. You felt his chin come to rest lightly atop your head. For a while there was only warmth, and the quiet understanding that for one more night, the three of you were still here. You leaned into him, having a final night with the family you had briefly been allowed to borrow.
â ââ đ ââ â
The Astronomy Tower was quiet at dawn.
Woojin stood between you, one hand tucked into yours and the other in Wonwoo's, looking more curious than frightened.
"Will you be okay?" you asked softly.
He looked up at you with complete certainty. "I'll see you for dinner."
The words caught somewhere behind your ribs. Wonwoo crouched down in front of him and smoothed a wrinkle from his little jumper, telling him gently that his mum and dad had been looking for him. Woojin frowned, as though the sentence didn't make any sense at all
"You are my mum and dad."
You dropped to your knees beside Wonwoo, your shoulder brushing his.
"We are," you whispered, your voice trembling. "Just... a little earlier."
Still not able to grasp the meaning, he wrapped both tiny arms around the two of you together, deciding it probably wasnât that important anyway.
"I'll see Mama and Appa for dinner,â he mumbled into the hug.
The Ministry kept its promise. The memories faded carefully over the following days, lifted away one by one until neither of you could remember the name of the child you loved, only the shape he had left behind.
Some things, however, refused to disappear. Whatever the timeline had taken, it hadn't touched what you and Wonwoo now shared. Somehow, without either of you noticing, Wonwoo had become the first person you looked for at the start of every day, and you had become the place he returned to at the end of it. Neither of you questioned when the castle had stopped feeling like home, and each other had quietly become one instead.
â ââ đ ââ â
Several years later, you stood in the kitchen of the house you shared with Wonwoo and eventually made your own. Morning sunlight spilled across the wooden table, where a list of baby names lay abandoned between two half-finished mugs of tea.
Absentmindedly, your hand rested over the gentle curve of your stomach.
Wonwoo looked up from the list and asked if you had any favourites. You tapped the parchment with the end of your quill, thinking, and the name left your lips before you could even reconsider it.
"...Woojin."
You frowned slightly, almost amused by yourself. "I don't know why," you admitted. "It just... feels right."
He looked at the name for a long moment before a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "I like it too. It somehow feels perfect."
Neither of you questioned it. Some things had long since stopped needing explanations.
Outside, Seol tore happily through the garden after a fluttering butterfly, barking with the same boundless enthusiasm she had since she was a puppy. You watched her through the window until you felt familiar hands settle gently around your waist from behind.
"You've been standing too long, baby," Wonwoo murmured against your ear, pressing a small kiss to your jaw.
"I'm pregnant, not made of glass."
"I know," he said, guiding you back toward your chair anyway, one hand settling over yours where it rested against your stomach.
"You fuss too much, honey," you said, though there was no real complaint in it.
"So I've been told."
You laughed softly and turned in your seat to face him. He knelt without a word, the way he always did lately, resting his cheek on your stomach a moment, like he was listening for something.
You laughed softly and turned in your seat to look at him properly. He caught your gaze almost immediately.
"Baby," he said, kissing over the curve of your stomach, "can you tell your mama to stop staring at me?"
You let out an indignant laugh. "I think Iâm allowed to stare at my handsome husband."
The faintest blush made his ears turn red. You smiled, softer now, and settled your hand over his where it rested against your stomach.
"You're going to be such a wonderful father, Won." You said it so simply, like you already knew, and subconsciously you did. "I just know it."
For a moment he only looked at you, like he couldn't quite find the words for what that did to him. Then he straightened, tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear, before leaning down to meet your lips.
The kiss was slow and careful. One hand cupped your jaw, his thumb brushing gently along your cheek, the other gripping the armrest of the chair to avoid hurting you. When he finally pulled back he only went as far as your forehead, staying close, breathing you in like he wanted to keep this exact moment a little longer.
"I love you," he murmured against your skin, quiet and certain, like it was the easiest true thing he had ever said.
"I know," you smiled, your hand finding his jaw. "I love you too."
His hand found your stomach again unconsciously, just as something shifted beneath it. Both of you went still.
"Did you feel that?"
A small kick answered for him. Wonwoo huffed out a soft and a little disbelieving laugh, and bent down to press yet another kiss to your stomach, murmuring something against it too quiet for you to catch. You covered his hand with yours anyway, content to let him have the moment.
Outside, Seol barked triumphantly at nothing at all. Inside, your home was warm with morning light and love, that the two of you had spent years quietly building.
And somewhere in that warmth, already loved before he had taken his first breath, a little boy was about to come home to the family that had always been his.
End.
đ Before you leave Owl's Library, consider returning this record to the shelves with a reblog so other readers may find it.
pairing: kim seungmin x fem!reader
genre: smut, fluff
word count: 12k
warnings: 18+ minors dni!!! mild jealousy, mean(ish) dom!seungmin (he's mean in a nice way okay), face fucking, hair pulling (f. rec), thigh riding, overstimulation, dumbification, mild degradation/humiliation, aftercare
summary: seungmin is the picture of self control around youâthe perfect gentleman with no interest in you at all. maybe that is why you are so obsessed with seeing how far you can push him before he breaks. OR, hyunjin is convinced that seungmin is into you, and you are determined to prove him wrong.
"Stop looking at him like that," Hyunjin sighs.
"Stop looking at him like what?" You ask innocently.
"Like you want to jump his bones."
"I have no idea what you mean."
"...Two minutes ago you said you wanted to, and I quote, "lick the sweat off of his face.""
"Really?" You ponder. "That doesn't sound like me."
"Yes it does!"
You groan, fanning yourself with your hand. "Whatever! Can you blame me? He just looks so hot!"
The view from where you are sitting on the sidelines is spectacular, glorious evenâso much so that you can almost forget the sun beating down on you as you wait for your friends to finish up their game.
"Nope," Hyunjin covers his ears. "I am not going to agree while you objectify my best friend."
"Okay... Well, it's not my fault that your best friend is the sexiest man on the face of the Earth."
You have always thought that Kim Seungmin looks the hottest when playing sports, and it is rewarding to (yet again) find yourself proven correct. Today, he is the main event: with his brow furrowed in singular determination, his hidden competitive nature full on display, his lean body hidden underneath a deceptive white tee and black joggers...
There isn't anything overtly provocative about him today, and yet you still have to stifle the urge to strut onto that field, grab him by the wrist, drag him behind the bleachers, drop to your knees, and suck him dry.
"I'm literally right here!" Hyunjin cries.
On the field, Jisung clumsily passes to Seungmin, who dribbles the ball down the field and swipes a sharp left, kicking the ball straight into the goal past Chan.
A small, self-assured smirked hooks onto the edge of his mouth when he walks back to his position, and you have to fan yourself to stop the heat on your cheeks from spreading down your neck.
"Oh honey," you tut, only momentarily distracted by the glorious view in front of you. "It's okay, I still think you're cute."
"That is so condescending coming from someone who can't confess their feelings to a guy who is obviously into them," Hyunjin scoffs. "And I'm not cute! I'm sexy."
"I don't know how many times I have to tell you this," you roll your eyes, gaze still trained on the field. "But Kim Seungmin is not into me."
"Yes he is."
"No... He isn't."
"And who are you to tell me that?" Hyunjin narrows his eyes. "I think I know my best friend well enough to know how he feels, thank you very much!"
You swat at the back of his head.
"Hyunjin, you are literally one of the most oblivious people in the world," you point out. "Forgive me for not taking your word for it."
"Okay, b-but!" Hyunjin splutters. "Not when it comes to this. I'm telling you, Seungmin is so down bad for you, it's actually painful."
"And how do you know that?" You ask, mostly just to humor him.
"Because it's obvious!" He exclaims. "Literally everyone knows. Everyone."
"Mhm," you nod along. "And... Has Seungmin ever told you this?"
Hyunjin pauses for a moment.
"...W-Wellâ"
You click your tongue. "That's what I thought."
"He doesn't have to say it for me to know," Hyunjin insists.
"Uh, really?" You snort. "Because it sounds to me like you're just pulling things out of your ass."
Across the field, Jisung cheers as Seungmin scores another goal. By now, they have been playing long enough in the heat for rivulets of sweat to carve their way down his face, and the thought comes to mind once againâyou would love to lick it off his face. Desperately. Maybe if you begged nicely, he would let you have a taste...
Would he like it if you begged?
"Dude," Hyunjin deadpans. "All he has to do is look at you and he pops a boner. I think that's a pretty good indication that he's into you."
"Really?" You ask, momentarily stupefied by the thought of Seungmin's dick.
"Yes."
"No way," you exclaim a moment later, shaking your head. "Seungmin would never."
"Be attracted to someone? Yeah, I used to think so too..."
"No!" You pout, pinching his arm. "I mean he's such a gentleman. There is no way that is true."
"Yeah," Hyunjin scoffs. "If being a gentleman means jacking off as soon as he gets home from hanging out with you, then sure."
"Don't talk about him like that!" You pull him into a headlock. "Just because you are a nasty little shit doesn't mean that he is, too."
"Oh, god," Hyunjin groans in agony. "Yes, he definitely is."
Your grip on his neck tightens and a choked wheeze passes through his lips. A vindictive smile slips onto your face at the thought of making him suffer for putting strange thoughts about Seungmin into your head, and your grip tightens even more.
It is only when you chance a look up at the game and find Seungmin staring in your direction that your chokehold on Hyunjin slackens. Under the heated weight of his stare, the blush that you spent so long trying to fight off comes back in full force.
"See?" Hyunjin hisses. "I told you he's into you! Oh god, he looks like he's plotting my murder."
"I dunno," you sigh. "I think he looks kind of dreamy."
You drop your arm completely, and Hyunjin wrestles himself free from your grip. Seungmin smiles at you before turning back to the match, and you swoon on the spot.
"Wow," Hyunjin wrinkles his nose in disgust. "In the most offensive way possible, I think you two are meant for each other."
"Aw, you really think so?" You beam.
"Unfortunately..."
You frown. "Well... If Seungmin is so into me, why hasn't he made a move yet?"
"Because you're a psychopath?" Hyunjin guesses.
"Hwang Hyunjin, keep it up and I'm going to be the one murdering you," you threaten.
"Okay, okay!" He holds his hands up in surrender. "I dunno. Maybe he's just a pussy?"
"He's twice the man you are," you sniff.
"You're only saying that because you want his dick in your mouth," Hyunjin notes drily.
"No I'm not!" You protest. "...Well, that's not the only reason."
Jeongin runs past you, the ball between his feet as a mischievous cackle escapes his lips, and the slight tailwind he provides only grants you a moderate amount of solace from the heat beating down.
"Rude," you pout. Jeongin misses the goal, and Seungmin runs a frustrated hand through his hair as he turns to face him.
"All I'm saying is that there is a foolproof way to figure out whether or not Seungmin actually wants to fuck your brains out."
"And that is...?"
"He rolls his eyes. "Duh. Just seduce him."
"I'm not going to do that!" You hiss. "He's going to think I'm a gross little gremlin that's trying to get into his pants and then he's going to reject me!"
"But you are a gross little gremlin trying to get into his pants."
"Not true! I like Seungmin for more than just his body, thank you very much."
"Okay..." Hyunjin says. "Well, as I've already said, he's definitely not going to reject you."
"You don't know that." You glare at him. "When was the last time you saw him accept anybody's advances?"
"Literally never because, again, he's into you!" Hyunjin exclaims.
"As if."
"Whatever!" He throws his hands up in the air, his face growing redder by the second. "You know what, do whatever you want. I don't care. I tried!"
Hyunjin pushes himself up from the ground, dusting his pants off in a tight and jerky motions.
"Wait," you begin. "Hyunjin!"
He doesn't spare you a glance as he stomps off towards where the rest of your friends seem toâfinallyâbe wrapping up their game.
"Where are you going? Hyunjin? Come back!"
A nice cold shower is exactly what you need after a morning of watching a sweaty Seungmin in his element.
Which is why the moment that you and the guys make it back to Seungmin and Hyunjin's apartment, you waste no time in claiming Hyunjin's bathroom for yourself.
He refuses to speak to you the entire way back, and you decide to take your revenge by making a break for his bathroom. Maybe it's mean, because you know he's had to pee for the past twenty minutes, but you find a little bit too much joy in seeing him suffer to actually care.
You are grateful to find your shampoo is still in the same spot you left it last week when you stayed over. Hyunjin might be your best friend, but you wouldn't put it past him to use it all upâthat was the fate of your facial cleanser last time you left it at his place.
The steady stream of water pelting your back is soothing as you wash yourself, and the lukewarm water does wonders for your horniness.
"Hurry the fuck up," Hyunjin whines, bursting through the door without a second thought. His irritating voice only helps quash your horniness further.
The shower curtain is solid enough that you can only make out his vague outline through it, but you don't have to wonder what he is doing in here for longâthe sound of him peeing is undeniable, and you wrinkle your nose in disgust.
"You're so annoying," you shout at him.
"Whatever," Hyunjin gripes, washing his hands. "I'm hungry, so like... Hurry the fuck up."
"Yeah, yeah," you dismiss. He lets out a huff, then exists without saying another word.
Your shower lasts a little longer than usualâmostly because you know that it will piss Hyunjin off. By the time you are finished, only five stray thoughts about jumping Seungmin's bones have passed through your head, which you consider an accomplishment.
A warm blanket of contentment settles over you as you towel yourself dry. It is only after a few moments without the stream of the shower dulling your senses that you get the odd feeling that something is off.
It takes another moment for you to realize that the apartment is awfully quiet. The faint buzz of the TV streams in through the walls, but other than that... Nothing.
For a moment, you wonder if your friends have finally learned how to act like normal people and actually use their inside voicesâbut then you remember that Minho and Changbin couldn't shut up even if they wanted to. Which means that either someone has finally snapped and forcibly gagged them, or... They aren't here.
The urge to go investigate is so overwhelming that you decide to skip blowdrying your hair altogether (scandalous, you know), but when you reach for your clothes, you realize they are not where you left them.
In fact, a quick survey of the bathroom reveals that they are nowhere to be found at all.
"What the...?" You gnaw on your lip.
Then it clicks. You knew Hyunjin had been too quiet earlier when leaving the bathroom. He must have taken your clothes...
Which normally wouldn't have been that big of a predicament, considering that you have no shame when it comes to stealing his clothes, except for the little fact that his bedroom is on the opposite side of the apartment.
Great.
You pinch the bridge of your nose before wrapping your towel around yourself resolutely and opening the bathroom door.
"Hyunjin?" You call, only peeking your head out.
In the living room, you hear the distinctive sound of footsteps, but your best friend remains silent.
"Hello?" You try again, but still, silence is the only thing that greets you.
You narrow your eyes, irritation welling up inside of you.
"Hyunjin," you squeeze out through gritted teeth, pushing the bathroom door all the way open. "I'm actually going to kill you. Where did you put my clothes?"
Despite the anger in your tone, he still has the audacity to ignore you. Unsurprisingly, you quickly reach the end of your fuse.
"You're soâ" You seethe, storming into the living room.
And then, you promptly come to a screeching halt.
"Oh!" You squeak out, a rush of embarrassment striking you in the chest. "You're not Hyunjin."
"No," Seungmin says mildly. "I'm not."
He is sitting alone on the couch, his hair damp, and you are not too surprised to notice how sexy he looks like thisâdomestic and relaxed. The black joggers from earlier have been replaced by sinful gray sweats, and you only have a moment to lament how unfair that is before you remember that you are standing basically naked in front of him.
To his credit, Seungmin doesn't seem fazed. In fact, his eyes remain focused on your face, his gaze cool and collected as you flounder for the right words.
You are half-satisfied, half-disappointed by his reaction (or lack thereof) because on one hand, it means that Hyunjin was wrong and Seungmin is decidedly not into you at all... But on the other hand, it means that Seungmin is not into you at all.
"Ahem," you clear your throat. "D'you know where he is?"
"Him and the guys went to get food," Seungmin tells you.
"Bitch," you mutter bitterly.
Seungmin raises a brow at you, and your eyes widen.
"Not you!" You clarify. "I'm talking about Hyunjin. I mean, he's a little bitch who took my clothes while I was showering and then went off to get food without me."
You pause, not noticing the amused look on Seungmin's face.
"Wait," you pause. "Why didn't you go with them?"
He shrugs. "Thought it was kind of a dick move to leave you here all alone."
You perk up. "Aw, thanks!"
"Although," Seungmin points out, "it was also kind of a dick move to eat his last yogurt, so I guess you guys are even."
You gasp. "Seungmin, I thought you weren't going to tell him!"
His mouth turns up in a lopsided smirk. "I never said that."
Your mind flashes back to last week when Seungmin caught you sneaking the last yogurt cup, and you frown. Technically, you realize he's rightâbut you had shared the yogurt cup with you, so you thought you were partners in crime.
Although, it was kind of sexy how ruthless he is...
"You're evil," you pout, crossing your arms over your chest. Then, you remember you are clad in only a tiny little towel, and your promptly uncross your arms.
He cocks a brow. "Would an evil person offer to lend you clothes in a time of need?"
The thought of his clothes, on you, is enough to make your brain short circuit.
"Really?" You exclaim, your voice pitching an octave higher.
He pushes himself off the couch with a nod.
"Kim Seungmin, you are an angel," you gush. "I could kiss you right now."
You trail after him towards his room, not noticing how your words make him freeze.
"Or, like," you blabber on. "buy you ten bags of Hot Cheetos!"
"Only ten?" He teases.
"Eleven." You bargain, and he tilts his head as if he is considering the offer.
It is right as you are considering just how puppy-like he looks that he hands you a stack of clothes.
"You can change in here," Seungmin says, and then like the gentleman he is, he walks out the door and closes it behind you.
It's strangely humbling to be in this positionâin his room, with only a towel wrapped around you, as he walks out and leaves you alone without so much as a spare glance.
It's equally humbling just how hot his indifference is. Instead of making you want to back off, Seungmin's reaction only makes you want to see just how far you can push him...
To distract yourself from your horny thoughts, you unfold the clothes he has given you and take the opportunity to look around his room.
Despite how long you've been friends with Hyunjinâdespite how much time you've spent in this apartment over the past two years, this is the first time you are seeing the inside of Seungmin's bedroom.
Somehow, it looks exactly how you imagined it would. Clean gray linen sheets line his simple bed, which takes up most of the center of the room. Two bookshelves stand flush against the wall, stacked with a plethora of books. His desk is a picture of perfectionâwhite and spotless and so Seungmin, much like the rest of the room.
In a word, it is pristine. Clean. Polished. The mirror of absolute control.
You can't help but wonder if he is this controlled in every aspect of his life. If he was under you, would he still exhibit that perfect restraint? Or would you be enough for him to snap?
The thought is so electrifying that you dress in a record time, slipping out of his room before you have the chance to do something you might regret.
Even the clothes, you notice, are so him. The navy blue shirt is simple yet perfectly pressed, as if he has just bought it, and the gray sweatpants he has given you are the carbon copy of the ones he had been wearing earlier today.
"Thanks again for the clothes," you say as you walk back into the living room.
Seungmin is sitting on the couch exactly where he had been when you first came out of the bathroom.
When he looks up at you this time, however, his gaze seems to linger on you. Under his scrutiny, a flush of heat creeps up your spine and your mind blanks.
If you were a little bit more lucid, you would have registered how absolutely insane it is that one single look from him is enough to turn you on. Instead, all you can focus on is how enticing his calculating stare is.
"Your shirt is on backwards," he says then, and you flush once moreâthis time in embarrassment.
"Whatâ" You begin, looking down in panic. "Oh. Haha, really funny Kim Seungmin."
Your shirt is, in fact, not on backwards. The smirk stretched across his face when you look back up tells you that Seungmin definitely knew that.
You can't find it in yourself to be annoyed at him when he looks so good, so instead of yelling at him the way you would have it if it had been anyone else (ahem, Hwang Hyunjin), you opt to take a seat next to him instead.
For your own mental sanity, you maintain at least a few inches of distance between you, even as you pull your legs onto the cushions and burrow your way deeper into the sofa.
"Do you want to watch something?" Seungmin asks.
"Sure," you nod. "Anything good on?"
You don't actually care what you watchâhe could put on anything for all you cared. Knowing you, you were going to spend the entire time trying not to focus on him anyways.
He says something about some new reality show and you agree immediately. Before you know it, the two of you are three episodes deep and somehow, equally invested in the messy relationships.
It's right as the tension of the episode reaches the peak that the lock of the front door turns.
"Hey guys!" Changbin strolls in, a grin on his face and a takeout bag in his hands.
Seungmin barely nods in acknowledgement. You, on the other hand, leap up from the couch immediately when Hyunjin and his stupid face come into view.
"You."
"Yes?" He responds, unaffected by the way you are glaring at him.
"I'm going to kill you," your murderous gaze narrows.
"Hey now," Jisung interrupts, popping up from behind Hyunjin. "That's not very niceâ"
"Nobody asked you," you turn your glare on him, effectively shutting him up.
Changbin plops down on the couch next to Seungmin, offering the takeout bag to him. Jisung, afraid of your rampage, scurries after him, leaving you and Hyunjin alone in the kitchen.
"Where the fuck did you put my clothes, asshole?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," he shrugs at you.
In the background, the hum of the TV is loud enough to drown out Changbin's voice.
"Really?"
Hyunjin raises a brow at you, giving you a once over. "Well, you seem to have found clothes somewhere. I don't see what the big deal is."
You gasp.
"Hwang Hyunjin, did you do this on purpose?"
"...I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Yes," you say, noticing the red tinge to his ears. "You do!"
"Okay, fine!" He bursts. "You and Seungmin have been so irritating, so I decided to take matters into my own hands. Sue me!"
You are silent for a moment.
"And how exactly does stealing my fucking clothes equate to taking matters into your own hands?"
"Oh, I don't know," he says sarcastically. "How does leaving you, naked, alone with Seungmin factor into my plan to make you seduce him?"
You gape at Hyunjin.
"Literally what the fuck goes on inside your head?"
He glares at you. "I can't believe I set up the perfect scenario for you guys and you still managed to fumble the bag! What do I have to do, fuck Seungmin for you too?"
"Not fair," you pout. "At least let me fuck him first."
"Whatâ?" Hyunjin chokes. "That's like, exactly what I'm trying to make you do!"
You roll your eyes. "Okay, yeah, but again, Seungmin is not into me."
"I don't understand," Hyunjin complains. "Nothing happened when we were gone? Like, for real?"
You think about how Seungmin didn't even spare you a second glance when you came out in nothing but a towel, how he barely even looked at you when he led you into his room.
"No," you roll your eyes. "Because, guess what? He's not into me!"
"Butâ"
"Which," you continue. "By the way, brings me back to my first point. Where the fuck did you put my clothes?"
"They're in the bathroom cupboard," he sighs finally.
You stare. "I literally could kill you right now."
"I don't understand, though..." He mutters to himself, still confused even when you turn to head back into the living room.
When you look up, you find that Seungmin's gaze is focused on you and Hyunjin, staring intently even as Changbin continues to talk to him.
And you swearâwhen his eyes meet yours and hold your gaze without flinching, your heart skips a little.
Only a little.
The next time you see Seungmin is a week later when Hyunjin tells you that clubbing is on the agenda for the night.
Enough time has passed that you are (mostly) no longer pissed at him for stealing your clothes and ditching you to get food, and so you agree without a second thought.
After all, any situation in which Kim Seungmin and alcohol are involved sounds like the situation for you.
When you arrive, you are greeted with a shot at the door (courtesy of Changbin) and a sloppy kiss to the forehead (courtesy of Jisung.) It is only the pregame and yet both of them are absolutely sloshed. The strobe lights have been pulled out of the closet and the music playing inside is so loud you could hear it down the hall when you were coming up.
"Oh, thank god," are the first words Hyunjin says to you when he finds you in the kitchen.
"Nice to see you too."
"Shut up," he waves you off. "That dress is, like, the only thing you've done right recently."
Your fingers automatically go to the hem of your short black dress. When you picked it out of your closet, you did think it was particularly cute, but something about the way he says that makes you worried.
"...What do you mean?"
Hyunjin rolls his eyes. "Black is Seungmin's favorite color. Maybe he'll finally get the hint tonight."
You stare at him.
"I'm so glad to have a friend like you."
"Thank you!" Hyunjin exclaims.
"If I ever feel delusional," you continue, patting him on the cheek. "All I have to do is look at you and then I remember there are people much worse off."
He gasps. "I'm not delusional!"
You reach out and grab Felix's arm right as he is passing by.
"Felix," you ask, "do you think Hyunjin is delusional?"
He looks at you, then Hyunjin, then back to you.
"Oh, most definitely."
"Traitor!" Hyunjin screeches as you let go of Felix and he walks away."
"Anyways," you roll your eyes. "What does one have to do to get a drink around here?"
"Did you say drink?"
As if summoned by your words, Seungmin appears behind you, holding a red solo cup in his hands. He offers it to you without a word, and both your heart and your pussy throb at the thoughtfulness of the gesture.
The visceral effect of his presence is only exacerbated by how fucking hot he looksâsimple jeans and black t-shirt are somehow already a deadly combo on him, but today his hair is up and the unfiltered view of his forehead has your thighs clenching.
"Thanks," you say breathlessly.
Hyunjin looks at you in half-awe, half-disgust, as if he knows how such a simple action has you all hot and bothered. You take a deep breath in an attempt to steady yourself, but when you look down at the cup and see the pink liquid inside, you swear, you swoon.
Of course Seungmin had to be sexy and sweet by remembering your favorite drink.
"No problem," Seungmin responds. "Couldn't leave you without a drink if you plan on spending the night around Hyunjin."
"Good call," you nod seriously.
"What is that supposed to mean?" Hyunjin pouts.
Seungmin shrugs his shoulders right as you say, "that you're fucking annoying."
"You guys always gang up on me," he sniffs. "You know what, I'm going to go somewhere where I'm actually appreciated."
He turns over his shoulder dramatically, glaring at the two of you as he goes, but the sly wink he throws at you right before storming off tells you all that you need to know.
"Glad to see that you haven't lost any more clothes recently," Seungmin says, his eyes trained on your black dress as he says it.
He leans against the counter behind him, a lazy smirk stretching across his lips. He looks so good right now that its hard to thinkâwould he look this composed, this assured, while fucking you? Or maybeâ
You take a quick sip of your drink to distract yourself.
"Who says I haven't?" You say over the rim of your cup after you swallow.
"Oh?"
You shrug even as our heart beats a mile a minute.
"I don't kiss and tell," you say.
For a moment, Seungmin doesn't do anything except watch you, his gaze piercing from under his eyelashes. The attention alone is enough to send tingles down your spine.
And then, he smiles.
"We'll see about that," he says.
You choke on your drink. "W-What?!"
Seungmin raises a brow. "I just meant that if you've lost any more clothing around here, I'm sure it will show up eventually."
Your face flushes.
"C'mon, losers!" Jisung hollers from the living room, saving you from having to come up with a response to that.
"The Uber's coming in five, we're doing shots before it gets here!"
You groan, the cup in your hands still heavy. "But I alreadyâ"
"Chug it!"
You pinch the bridge of your nose, pausing for a moment, but nonetheless do what he says. The sound of Seungmin's laughter accompanies the sharp sting of alcohol in your throat as it burns your throat.
Needless to say that by the time your group actually makes it down to the Uber, the liquor coursing through your veins has started to take effect.
That is probably why you don't notice the current dilemma facing you and your friends until it is too late.
"There's only four seats," you vaguely hear Hyunjin say.
"Someone's gonna have to sit on someone's lap," Changbin agrees.
Jisung, far more drunk than you, wiggles his eyebrows.
"All you had to do was ask," he grins, even as Changbin shove shim away.
The night is dark and cold, but you hardly feel it as you stare cluelessly out onto the lamplit street.
"What about the other Uber?" You ask, thinking about where Chan and the rest of your friends had disappeared to.
"Already left," Seungmin says.
A sneaky smile flashes across Jisung's face.
"Well ,you guys have fun figuring this out," he says gleefully as he climbs into the passenger seat before anyone can stop him.
Changbin sighs. "Well, I guess there's no choice. Hyunjin can sit on my lap."
Hyunjin scoffs, his face twisting as he opens the door to the backseat and shoves Changbin in. "As if!"
Changbin grumbles as he goes, but eventually concedes. Hyunjin follows suit, taking the middle seat.
Which leaves you and Seungmin as the only ones outside the car.
You reach for the door, about to climb in after Hyunjin, when it hits youâyou, Seungmin, and only one available seat.
Fuck.
"Uhhhâ" You begin, your eyes wide. "IâI can justâ"
"You can sit on my lap," Seungmin interrupts.
Your jaw drops. "What?!"
"Unless you want me to sit on your lap?"
The look he gives you is half-teasing, half-reassuring. You bite your lip, considering your options. It isn't fair how he makes such a difficult choice sound so easy.
Eventually, though, you have no choice but to agree. Still, even when he gets into the car, you hesitate.
"Hurry up!" Hyunjin gripes from inside.
"Fine..." You mutter.
Your face blazes as you carefully climb in, barely breathing as you take a seat on the edge of Seungmin's lap.
The heat of his body sends you into overdrive and you barely notice when he pulls the door closed behind you. Blood thrums through your ears, loud enough to drown out the soft melody of whatever song is playing.
"A-Are you sure this is okay?" You crane your neck to look at him.
Seungmin huffs out a laugh.
"Yes. You can sit comfortably, I won't bite."
Even if he did, that wouldn't be a problem for you. Then again, nothing he could do would be a problem for you...
The car eases into drive and you scoot back a little in an effort to relax. You are still gingerly perched on the edge of his lap, however, no matter how hard you try.
Eventually, Seungmin just sighs and wraps his arm around your abdomen, pulling you so that your back is flush with his chest.
"Better, right?" His breath tickles your neck, and you swear, your heart stops beating.
"What's wrong?" He asks innocently, as if he has notices the visceral reaction.
"N-Nothing!" You squeak.
To your right, Hyunjin and Changbin have started bickering. In the front, Jisung has struck up a conversation with the driver about God knows what.
Even though you are surrounded by your friends, it feels as if you are caught in a bubble, just you and Seungmin. It is strangely intimate, and the thought only sends a food of heat through your core.
The drive is ten minutes at most, and yet it feels like a lifetimeâboth excruciating and delicious as you squirm on Seungmin's lap.
The issue isn't that you aren't enjoying this. On the contrary, the issue is that you are probably enjoying this a bit too much. All you want to do is turn around kiss Seungmin senseless, to beg him to have his way with you. Butâdespite how much Hyunjin might claim it to be trueâthere is no way that Seungmin is into you like that.
Even now, the arm wrapped around your waist remains respectful, barely touching you. He doesn't seem flustered the slightest by your proximity... Not the way you do.
The alcohol running through your veins does nothing to help your overthinking or your horniness. It is a weight off your shoulders (and Seungmin's lap) when you finally arrive at the club.
"Woahâ" Seungmin starts when you almost fall onto the pavement in your haste to get off of his lap. "Are you okay?"
"Yup!" Your face is ablaze once more, this time with embarrassment.
It is only by sheer luck that the other guys arrived earlier than you and are almost at the front of the line to get into the club. You almost cry when you see Chanâbecause it means less time waiting outside in the cold, and it means more distance between you and Seungmin before you accidentally do something bad, like try to jump his bones.
"Shot?" You ask Chan when you finally make it through the doors.
"Uh..." He looks around, but the rest of the guys have already branched off through the strobe-lit club, leaving the two of you alone.
"Yeah, sure."
"Great!" You grin, wrapping your hand around his wrist and dragging him towards the bar.
The bass of some awful EDM song thrums straight through your chest, practically shaking the walls as Chan orders from the bartender. You are too busy looking around to pay attention to what he asks forâyou have never been to this club before, and everything is new.
The walls are a melting mural of neon colors, a balcony overlooks the dance floor a few feet away, and there is even a clear slide that snakes through the club.
On the opposite side of the room, across a sea of people, you spot Seungmin and Hyunjin. They are on the outskirts of the crowd, drinks already in their hands, and your heart leaps into your throat.
Even from so far away, Seungmin looks good. Great, even. Yummy might be the right word to describe it, actually...
"So..." Chan interrupts you from your daydreams, handing you a cup.
Your eyes light up and you down the shot in one go. The burn is barely there, masked by the smooth, buttery taste of butterscotch.
"You and Seungmin, huh?"
"What?"
Chan frowns. "Isn't there something going on there?"
"Uh..." You narrow your eyes. "Did Hyunjin say something to you?"
"No? You both just spend so much time staring at each other, so I assumed..."
"Stoooop," you pout. "Don't say things like that. You're going to get my hopes up."
"Say things like what?" Chan asks cluelessly.
You are half-tempted to order another drink, but the edges of your vision have already begun to blur, and you know it probably isn't the best idea.
"Chan," you sigh. "I'm already delusional enough. Why does everyone keep trying to convince me that Seungmin is into me?"
"...Because he is?"
To his credit, Chan doesn't sound half as annoying as Hyunjin when he says it.
"Stop it," you frown.
"Hey, I'm sorry," he says immediately. "We can, um, like, dance or something?"
You nod. "Yup. Dancing! I love dancing."
In truth, you don't care much about dancing, but this is a club and you are just drunk enough that your limbs feel weightless, and you have the strange feeling that you might be able to float if you tried hard enough.
Chan is skeptical as he follows you onto the dance floor, but he remains silent nonetheless. The heat of the crowd is electrifying, and coupled with the drunken haze you have slipped in, you feel invincible.
You roll your hips in time with the music, laughing carelessly as people jostle you from all sides. Chan looks worried as you grab his hand.
"C'mon, let loose a little!"
"I don'tâ" He begins, but the rest of his words are drowned out when the music picks up, blasting even louder through the speakers.
And yet, even as you try your hardest to stop thinking about Seungmin, he remains at the forefront of your mind. Despite your best efforts, you find your gaze drawn towards his corner of the club.
Onlyâthis time when you look at him, you find Seungmin staring back. His dark gaze is piercing even at such a distance and your breath catches in your throat. Even when he realizes you are looking, too, he doesn't look away.
Slowly, he takes a sip of his drink. When he pulls the cup away, the edge of his lips are curved up. you aren't sure why, but such a simple action sends a thrill down your spine.
Your eyes remain on Seungmin as you continue to dance, distracted by the promising look in his eyes. They remain on Seungmin even when someone approaches you, a flirty smile on his face.
"Hey," the guy grins.
"Hi," you say, dragging your gaze away from Seungmin after a long moment.
The guy in front of you is tall andâif you weren't so deeply obsessed with another man (Kim Seungmin)âyou would probably think he was cute, too.
"D'you want to dance?" He asks.
"Already am," you giggle.
"I know," he says bashfully. "Just thought it might be more fun if you were doing it with me."
You shrug, a wide smile still across your face. He takes a step closer to you, close enough that you can see the light smattering of freckles across his nose. Emboldened, you reach up and wrap your arms around his neck. Any distraction from Seungmin is a welcome distraction, and, well, at least this one seems fun.
The guy takes the opportunity to place his hands on your hip, just low enough to be flirty but not low enough to be indecent.
The crowd surges and he stumbles forward, his lithe body pressing against yours.
"So," he asks in your ear. "D'you come here often?"
You laugh, and he has the decency to look embarrassed.
"Not like that! JustâI haven't seen you here before, is all."
"It's my first time."
The music changes tempo, slowing down to a sultry electro-beat.
"Well, I'm glad you came out tonight," he says. "What's your name?"
"Hmm..."
Instead of answering, you unwrap your arms and take his hands into yours, turning around so that you don't have to look at his face. You then take his hands and place them back on your hips.
"Thought you wanted to dance, not talk," you tease.
Your heart stutters when you find him still watching you.
His expression is blank, a puzzling inscrutable look that sends your mind spiraling, and yet his eyes remain on you.
You are astutely aware of the distance between the two of you, even as the blood thrumming through your ears dulls your senses. The only thing you are aware of is his stony gaze. You hardly even notice when the guy behind you asks if something is wrong.
"Sorry..." you say distractedly. "I think I'm, um, going to go to the bathroom..."
"Oh, yeah, of courseâ"
You don't wait for an answer before disappearing into the crowd. It baffles you how you can feel Seungmin's gaze follow you even now.
Your horny thoughts and confused feelings swim through your head, a nasty cocktail of anxiety that is amplified by the alcohol. A bathroom break is exactly what you needâoh, how you wish tonight was a girl's night instead. They would know what to do in this situation, but alas, your only point of reference is Hyunjin...
Yeah, you would rather fend for yourself at that point.
The corridor leading to the bathroom snakes around the back of the club and is considerably more quiet than out in the main room. The muffled bass matches the padding of your footsteps as you continue down the hall.
You stumble slightly when you turn the corner, bumping into a firm, warm body.
"Ohâ" You let out when large hands reach out to steady you.
"Sorry about..." the words die on your lips when you look up to find Seungmin staring down at you.
The same expressionless look is still on his face, but up close, you can see his eyes more clearlyâhow dark they are, piercing, but something more too.
"Y/N," the curve of your name on his lips sends a shock through your system.
"Seungmin," you breathe.
"You okay?" He asks gently.
"Hmm?"
"That guy," he clarifies. "Was he bothering you?"
Seungmin's face remains impassive as he asks, but the way he chews on his bottom lip catches your attention. It seems almost as if he is on edge about something... But what?
"Who?" you ask, momentarily stunned. "Oh! No, he wasn't bothering me."
Seungmin nods once, releasing his lip from where it was snagged between his teeth. Almost imperceptibly, his shoulders relax.
"Okay, that's good."
"Seungmin..." You narrow your eyes. "Were you worried about me?"
His lips purse into a thin line. A moment elapses where he remains silent, and an elated gasp bursts from your lips.
"Oh my god, you were!"
"Didn't know it's surprising that I care about the safety of one of my friends..."
"Nooo, it's sweet that you care!" You coo. "But we were just dancing!"
"I wouldn't call that just dancing," Seungmin mutters.
"What is that supposed to mean?" You pout.
He just shrugs, not responding.
If you didn't know better, you would say that Seungmin is jealous. But of what? Your head spins and all you can think is how good he looks like thisâmildly annoyed, dressed to impress, towering over you. And his hands are still on your waist, which really isn't helping your current situation.
"Seungmin..." You begin. "This is going to sound really crazy, but I have a question for you."
"Everything you say sounds crazy."
"...I'm going to ignore that."
He bites back a smile.
"Do you..." You hesitate. "Are youâor, well, would you say that youây'know, are interested in me?"
"What?"
"It's just that Hyunjin has been telling me for ages that you like me," you blabber. "At least, that you like me the way that I like you, but that's not possible right? I'm probably just making things up in my headâ"
"I do," Seungmin interrupts.
"See, that's what Iâwait, what?"
"I do like you," he says.
Your jaw drops. "Like... as a friend?"
"As more."
He says it so casually you think you have misheard him.
"B-Butâyou've never shown any interest in me!"
He rolls his eyes. "Yes I have. It's not my fault you're so oblivious."
"No I'm not."
"You were eye-fucking me from across the room all night and I was reciprocating," Seungmin says.
"Don't be mean!" You squeal.
His eyes are bright as he takes a step towards you.
"You love it," he murmurs.
Your face warms and you take a step back, the feeling of the cool wall behind you soothing the heat flowing through your body.
"You're... you're not joking with me, are you?"
"I've been dropping hints for literally months," he laughs.
"Seungmin..." You breath. "Can I ask you another question?"
He raises a brow.
"Can I kiss you?"
"I don't know," he teases, his eyes flickering down to your lips. "Can you?"
"You're so annoying," you gripe, pushing yourself up on your tiptoes to wrap your arms around his neck.
"Now who's not being nice?"
He leans down, his breath fanning over your face. Your heart thrums loudly in your chest, and in the background the music from the dance floor changes again right as you lean up and press your lips against Seungmin's.
The kiss is wet and hot as you move your mouth against his, savoring the feel of his plush lips under yours. He tastes of vodka and mint, a strange combination that has you pressing further into him. You lick a strip against the seam of his lips in hopes of deepening the kiss, but Seungmin teases you, pulling back so that your lips are barely touching.
A breathy whine escapes you as you chase his lips. His hands on your hips tighten, holding you in place.
"Min," you pout, your mouth only centimeters from his.
"So needy," he says.
You nod your head eagerly, and Seungmin seems satisfied by your easy admission.
His teeth snag on your bottom lip as he kisses you again, sucking against it in way that feels so delicious you can't stop the moan that bubbles up inside you. Your mouth parts slightly and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue inside, moving so perfectly against yours that your legs shake.
Seungmin's grip on you is the only thing keeping you upright as he crowds you against the wall, kissing you methodically in a way that has you thinking he has perfected the art of kissing. His hips rut slightly against you, the outline of his hard length pressing deliciously against your stomach.
His mouth works its way from your mouth down the column of your neck, and you pant as he licks and bites at your skin. Your legs rub together, your underwear uncomfortably wet.
"Hey, there you are, I've beenâ" a voice interrupts. Seungmin's mouth pulls away from your skin.
You open your half-lidded eyes just in time to see Chan rounding the corner. He freezes in his path when he sees the way the two of you are wrapped around each other, his face paling.
"Um..." you begin.
"I didn't see anything," Chan says, lifting his hand to shield his eyes. "I didn't see anything!"
"We were just making out," Seungmin rolls his eyes, his grip bruising on your hips. "No need to be so dramatic."
"Well," Chan clears his throat. "Um, carry on. I'mâleaving."
"Yes, please do."
"Seungmin!" You hiss.
He just shrugs, not even bothering to look ashamed. He remains pressed against you even after Chan practically sprints down the hall, taking a moment to look at you while considering what to do next.
When he finally pulls away, though, Seungmin looks as composed as ever. The only indication that he had been seconds away from making you come untouched a few feet away from the club bathroom are his swollen lips and his blown out pupils. It sends a shot of arousal through your core when he grabs your hand and says simply, âletâs go.â
âWhat?â You ask, the haze of lust over you clouding your senses.
He raises a brow. âAre you into exhibitionism?â
ââŠNo?â You respond, confused.
âThen letâs go,â he tugs. âBecause Iâm five seconds away fucking you right here for everyone to see.â
âOh,â you breath, your thighs clenching.
âUnless you donât want that,â he says, completely serious.Â
âN-No,â you shake your head. âI want it!â
His mouth lifts in a wicked smirk. âDesperate, are we?â
You hardly notice as he leads you away from the bathroom and out of the club, nor when he orders the Uber back. Your mind is too clouded by the thoughts of Seungmin fucking you and, more pressingly, the way his thumb rubs soothingly over the back of your hand as the two of you wait outside.
It has your heart swelling and makes you want to get down on your knees and show how much you appreciate him. Instead, you decide to exercise self control and instead stare longingly at him with a pout on your face.
âWhatâs wrong?â Seungmin asks.
âNothing,â you mumble.
âReally?â
You nod, the cool night breeze nipping at your arms.
âI donât believe you,â he tells you.
Seungminâs eyes are dark as he leans down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.
âHow can I give you what you want if you donât ask for it, baby?â
Your breath catches in your throat and your eyes are wide when he pulls away, an innocent smile on his face.
âMaybe if you beg, Iâll give it to you. Maybe.â
You are saved from responding by the car that pulls up to the curb. Seungmin, like the perfect gentleman, opens the door for you and lets you slide into the car first. Dumbstruck by his words, you stare blankly at him, before finally noticing that the Uber is here.
The entire drive back, Seungmin doesnât touch you once. He barely even looks at you, in fact. Your underwear is drenched, you can see the outline of his dick through his pants, and yet he pretends like the two of you are nothing more than friends, even as you squirm impatiently next to him.
Itâs humiliating how much his indifference turns you on. Seungmin is already edging you, and he hasnât even laid a hand on you.
Even as you ride the elevator up to his apartment, he remains two feet away from you. The silence is suffocating and heady at the same time.Â
Your heart threatens to beat out of your chest as Seungmin opens the apartment door. He is unhurried, languid even as he slides his shoes off of his feet and places his keys on the counter.
The thrill of knowing he is most definitely going to fuck you senseless tonight, even as he does something as mundane as washing his hands, is almost too much for you to handle. Almost. You feel on the precipice of bursting, of falling to your knees and begging for him.
âDo you want something to drink?â Seungmin asks as you perch on one of the barstools.
You shake your head and then watch as he pours you a glass of water and hands it to you anyways.
His eyes watch you expectantly and you drink it without a word. The water is refreshing after the club, and you find yourself feeling much more sober after the drive back.
âSo,â he says, still standing on the opposite side of the counter as you. âArenât you going to apologize?â
âApologizeâŠ?â You ask, confused.
âFor being such an attention whore earlier.â
Your lips part in astonishment, and yet you canât help the rush of heat that floods your core.
âI-I wasnâtââ
He raises a brow, and you fall silent immediately.Â
âI guess you just canât help it,â Seungmin says.Â
He steps out from behind the counter, holding his hand out for yours.Â
âWeâll just have to fix that, wonât we?â
You stare at his hand for only a second before placing yours into it.Â
âAre youâŠâ Seungmin begins. âAre you sure you want this?â
âI do,â you say shyly. He looks at you for a long moment before sighing, leading you out of the kitchen.
âGreen is for if youâre doing okay,â he says as he pulls you into the bedroom, âand red if you need me to stop. If it gets too much, just say the word. Okay?âÂ
You nod when he sits down on the bed, perfectly made, and he shakes his head.
âUse your words. I know you can.â
âYes,â you breathe, standing in the space between his thighs.Â
âGood,â he says. âBut itâs not going to be too much, is it?â
You shake your head shyly.
âYou still havenât apologized,â Seungmin says, placing one hand on your hips.
âF-For what?â
âFor that stunt back at the club, hmm?â He asks, the other hand still entwined with yours.Â
âWhat was that? You like me,â he mocks, âbut you were ready to fuck anybody who gave you a chance, huh? Are you that easy?â
âNo,â you shake your head, a pout on your lips.Â
âReally?â He scoffs. âYouâre such a slut, I bet you would do this f0r anyone else.â
âWould not,â you insist, eyes wide as you look down at him. âOnly for you.â
âI donât believe you.â
âItâs true!â You insist. âOnly you.â
âHmm,â he clicks his tongue. âProve it.â
His gaze is calculating and cold as he looks at you, and it makes your mind hazy.
âProve this cock is the only one you want. And you better make it believable.â
He takes his hands off of you and places them on the bed beside him. His words have you sinking to the floor slowly, falling to your knees.
Your hands drift up to his pants, hovering over the zipper. Wordlessly, your eyes look up to him for permission, but he doesnât say anything as he stares down at you.
After a moment of hesitation, you slowly drag the zipper of his jeans downwards. One of your hands drifts to palm over the bulge in his pants. You consider your method of action before finally deciding to reach into his boxers.Â
It is awkward, pulling his dick out while he just sits there and watches you, but there is something enticing about the humiliation of it. You can feel yourself growing more wet, and your mouth waters when you take your first look at him. He is long and hard and pretty, and your breath catches in your throat.
Curiously, one hand holds him by the base while the other swipes an exploratory thumb over the head. You look up to see Seungmin with the same expression, almost bored.Â
Still, he doesnât say anything as you continue to get a feel for him.
He is so warm and firm in your hands, and you are having so much fun with your light touchesâbut you have something to prove. You give him one more pump before leaning down and spitting.Â
The spit dribbles out of your mouth and onto him as you look up again, making eye contact with Seungmin. Then, still looking at him, you place a small peck on the head of his cock. The salty taste of his precum invades your sense and sends your mind haywire. Emboldened, you wrap your lips around him, suckling the head lightly before taking him as far as you can into your mouth.
He is so long that you canât fit him all, gagging as he hits the back of your throat, and your hands reach up to wrap around the rest of him. The only indication that he feels anything is his dark pupils, but it is enough to motivate you to continue.Â
Ignoring the burn in your throat, you bob your head on his length, building up a steady pace with your hands and your mouth. The room is silent except for the lewd sounds you make, sucking and squelching as you work. The noises are so erotic they send heat flushing through you, and you clench your thighs together in an attempt to ease the pressure.Â
The silence is interrupted by the buzz of a cell phone. You pull mostly off of his dick, swirling your tongue around the head. Seungmin reaches for his phone and you release him with a pop.
The phone continues to buzz, and he turns his gaze down on you.
âDid I say you could stop?â
Your face flushes and then his cock is in your mouth again. Your eyes look up at him, but instead of saying anything more, Seungmin swipes right on the call and lifts his phone to his ear.Â
âHello?â
You freeze. On the other end of the line, music blares and the fuzzy sound of someone talking reaches your ears.Â
Seungmin keeps the phone against his ear with one hand while he reaches the other down, placing it on the back of your head and pushing you forcefully further down his cock. The sudden movement has you gagging, a choked noise coming from the back of your throat.
You inhale deeply through your nose, trying your best to remain still. Seungmin, of course, has a different idea, and pulls you off for a moment so you can catch your breath, before pushing you down his cock once again.
âYes, Hyunjin,â he rolls his eyes. âYouâre the one who left me for some girl, remember?â
Your eyes water as you choke on his length, overwhelmed by the feeling of him in your mouth.
âY/N?â Seungmin says then, looking down at you. âYeah, I took her home with me.â
You whimper around him, gaze blurry as you look into his eyes.
Another moment passes before he eases you off of him again.
âOkay, bye Hyunjin,â Seungmin says. He ends the call and then tosses his phone away.
His attention turns downwards to you, readjusting his grip on your head. His hand grabs a fistful of your hair, wrapping it around his fingers, and then he yanks so that you are looking up at him.
âYou couldnât even do that right, huh?â Seungmin asks. âI thought I asked you prove that you want this cock.â
âI do,â you whine. âPlease.â
Instead of responding, Seungmin positions you so that your mouth is once again over his dick. His grip on your hair is tight enough to sting, but the pain mixes with the pleasure to make a heady concoction of horniness.Â
Then, he pushes you down. He inhales sharply when your gagging around his cock turns into a drawn out moan, and then pulls you up. His dick twitches in your mouth when you tongue at the slit on the head, and he pushes you down once again.
Seungmin builds a torturous and steady pace, fucking himself with your mouth as you gag and moan around him. The way he uses you is so sexy that you canât help but sneak one hand downwards towards your soaked center.Â
Your dress has bunched up on your waist, which makes it easier for you to slip your hand into your panties and touch yourself. You rub your clit at the same pace he fucks your mouth, sending tendrils of pleasure all throughout your body.
It is only when your moans slowly devolve into whines that he notices.
He pulls you off, his hand leaving the back of your head to smooth down your hair in a surprisingly tender gesture.Â
âWhat are you doing?â Seungmin asks softly, cupping your jaw.
Your hand stills.
âDid I say you could touch yourself?â
âN-No, butââ
âUp,â he offers you his hand. On shaky knees, you rise to your feet.
âClothes off,â he demands, sneaking one finger beneath the band of your underwear and pulling it back so it snaps against your skin.
Your face blazes when he stares at you expectantly. Slowly, your hand reaches up to push the straps of your dress off your shoulder. You shimmy it down your waist, letting it fall into a heap on the floor and leaving you in just your underwear.
Your fingers trail down to the waistband, but you hesitate, feeling shy under his gaze.
âColor?â
âGreen,â you tell him, and then take your panties off too.
Seungmin nods in approval as his eyes darken, but his gaze remains firmly trained on your face. It is almost as if he is punishing you and himself by refusing to look at your body.
âCome here,â he motion. Obediently, you pad over to him.
His hands rise to your hips, pulling you down onto his lap. A yelp leaves your lips as he pushes your core over his right thigh, your feet folding under you onto the bed.
âSince youâre so desperate to get off that you canât even wait for me,â he says, one finger tipping your chin upwards so that your eyes are level with his. âGet off like this.â
You whimper, squirming under his gaze and he raises an eyebrow.
âRide my thigh, and maybe weâll see if you deserve to come.â
As if to prove a point, his hands on your hips pull you closer to him, and the delicious drag of your clit against his thigh has your mouth parting with a breathy moan.
Of their own accord, your hands rise to grip his shoulders. Your fingertips press into the divot of his collarbone as you roll your hips slowly against his thigh. His dick, hard and wet from your mouth, is pressed against his shirt by the waistband of his pants. It doesnât escape you that he is fully dressed while you are completely naked.
The creases of his pant leg create a delicious friction that has you whimpering as you begin to move your hips faster, using your hold on his shoulders as leverage to press your cunt against him. You are so wetâhave been since he first kissed you in the club, especially when you had your mouth on himâand you can feel your slick accumulating below you.
Youâre too embarrassed to look down but you know, undeniably, that there must be a dark, wet spot on his pants. At some point, the thought of embarrassment fades away as the pleasure begins to build, a slow cresting wave inside the pit of your stomach.Â
You roll your hips against him faster, sloppier, and you bit your lip to stifle the loud whines leaving your mouth.
âLook at you,â Seungmin murmurs. âMaking such a mess on my pants. So desperate, hmm?â
âMhm,â you moan in affirmation.
His arm wraps around your back, pulling you closer to him. Your chest presses against his and your hands go from his shoulders to loop around his neck as you bury your face into his neck.
âFeels good?â He asks mockingly.
You nod without lifting your face.
âIâm not even doing anything and youâre already so fucked out,â he sighs. âCould you come like this?â
âYes,â you whimper, âyes, please.â
His hand wraps around the nape of your neck and pulls you back, forcing your face right in front of his.
âYouâre going to come without me?â He pouts.Â
âPleaseâŠâ Your eyes glaze over, the precipice of your orgasm so close that you can taste it. Every nerve is on fire, your cunt clenching on nothing.Â
âIâll let you choose,â he says. âCome now and we can wash up after. Or hold it, and Iâll fuck you the way you need it.â
âMin,â you whine.
âChoose,â Seungmin breathes, his hands taking over for you as he grinds you down against his thigh. âOr Iâll choose for you.â
âNgh,â you choke. âT-The⊠oh, the⊠The second one!â
He smiles at your answer. And then, instead of pulling you off his lap like you think he is going to, he begins to move your hips faster, pressing his thigh upwards to provide even more pressure to your clit.
âSeungââ you start, a loud moan escaping your mouth. The sensation is overwhelming, the pleasure excruciating, and your orgasm hurdles even closer than before. Your moan devolves into a high pitched whine.
âN-No,â you whimper. âIâm going toâg-going to, mmmph.â
You squeeze your eyes shut and Seungmin laughs in your ears.
âYouâre going to come?â He says. âYou donât want me to fuck you?â
âI do,â you whine pathetically. âPlease, donâtââ
âItâs your choice, remember? If you donât want to come, then hold it.â
You shake your head. âI c-canât.â
Your thighs clench, your climax building inside of you.
âHold it.â
Your breath comes out in pants, and you try to think of the unsexiest thing you can, you try to ignore the solid feeling of his thigh underneath youâyou try your hardest to not come.
Seungmin continues to move you against him, but his pace slows down until he is barely dragging your messy cunt over his thigh.
Eventually, he stops completely, watching as you quake in his lap.
âGood girl,â he coos, and he sounds both condescending and comforting. A hand lifts to cup your face, running a thumb soothingly over your face.
You can hardly focus on anything more than his touch, still quaking from the after effects of your almost orgasm. Your mind is blank, a resolute desperation worming its way into your heart as Seungmin lifts you off of his lap and lays you down on the bed.Â
You watch through glassy eyes as he pulls his shirt off in one motion before his hands go to the waistband of his pants.Â
âYou did so good for me,â Seungmin praises. âSo obedient, hmm? Didnât know you could do that. I guess a little desperation works wonders.â
You moan at his words, watching as he pulls his pants and boxers off, leaving him just as naked as you. He produces a condom, unwrapping it in a record time, and you push yourself up onto your elbows to watch him slowly roll it onto his hard length.
Your mouth waters again at the sight of it. He felt so big and full in your mouth, so you canât help but wonder how he will feel inside your cunt. A gush of wetness floods you, and your pussy throbs at the thought of it.
Itâs painful, how slowly he moves as he situates himself in between your legs. You push yourself up further and use your hands to pull your legs apart, watching as his dick gets closer and closer to where you want him the most.Â
He holds himself by the base, and then in one fluid motion, pushes himself all the way into you.
A long moan escapes your lips at the sudden fullness and you collapse flat onto your back, the pure bliss of how hot and big he is inside of you taking over every sense.Â
âSo tight,â Seungmin grunts, bottoming out.Â
You nod your head quickly, not really processing what he says.
He pulls out completely, before pushing into you again. This time, it feels even better than the first as the ridges of his cock slide against your walls. You moan again, this time louder.Â
âFeel good?â He asks, building a slow and torturous pace that has your eyes rolling back into your head.
âS-Soooo good,â you whine.
Seungminâs movements are sharp and controlled, rolling into you with precise depth and force. It is like he knows what you need before you even say it, the head of his cock rubbing against the bundle of nerves inside of you.
His thrust speed up and a string of whimpers, each louder than the previous, fall out of your mouth. The orgasm you had been denied of begins to bubble up inside of you again, this time somehow warmer and more consuming than before. It feels like liquid fire as it burns through your veins, mounting higher and higher still.
You have no control over the noises escaping your lips, a combination of loud whines and moans as Seungmin continues to fuck you so good you see stars behind your eyelids.
Heâs quiet as he fucks you, but the few pants and moans that slip out as he rolls his hips against you are the hottest things you have ever heard. He sounds so pretty as he fucks you, and the image of his furrowed brow, his bitten lips, his sweaty hairâits enough to almost push you over the edge.
A particularly deep thrust has you moaning loudly, your mouth falling open.
âYouâre so fucking loud,â Seungmin grunts, his thumb pressing against your bottom lip. âShut up.â
His words have the opposite of their desired effect as you whimper at the dark tone of his voice. At the noise, his eyes narrow, a dangerous glint in them.
âI said,â he pushes the thumb past your lips into your mouth. âShut up.â
You nod, your lips wrapping obediently around his finger.Â
Your tongue swipes over the pad of his thumb right as he resumes his deathly pace, breathing heavily through his nose. His face remains stubbornly blank except for the slight crease of his forehead.
Trying your hardest to keep your moans down, you suckle on his finger like you had his cock earlier, and he moans quietly at the feeling. The sound spurs you on, and you bite down lightly on it.
Seungmin pulls the thumb out of your mouth and moves his hand downwards, pressing unforgivingly against your clit. He doesnât move it, only applying pressure and he continues to fuck you, but the feeling is enough to push you close to the edge.
âClose?â He asks.
You nod, unable to form the words as your lips part. Your eyes are glassy and your expression fucked out as your brain struggles to catch up with your body.
âSay it,â Seungmin hisses through his teeth and you whine.
âAw, are you being fucked too dumb to speak?â He coos, and you nod again.
âNope. Not good enough,â he tsks, pulling his finger away from you. âBeg me to come, or donât come at all.â
âP-please!â You cry out finally, clenching down on him as he moves.Â
âHmm.â
âPlease, Min, please. L-Let me come, ohââ
âWell,â he pants. âSince you asked so nicely."
Seungmin thrusts speed up, deeper and sloppier in the most delicious way, but what ends up pushing you over the edge is when he leans down and captures your lips with his, his tongue moving in a messy kiss against yours.
He swallows your whimpers as you come, fucking you deep through you orgasm as your cunt spasms around him, and then with one harsh grunt, he comes a moment later.
You collapse boneless on the bed, your legs still twitching as you come down from your orgasm, and Seungmin slumps over you, his sweaty body a comforting weight on your chest.
âOh my god,â you gasp, still the endorphins lighting up even the very tips of your fingers.
âAre you okay?âÂ
Seungminâs question is half-worried, an amusing juxtaposition to the way he was just fucking you.
âYes,â you laugh. âIâm better than okay.â
He frowns at you, his bangs plastered over his forehead, and then he pushes himself off of you.
âNoooooo,â you moan. âCome back.â
âI will,â he says gently. âJust give me a moment.â
You lay there, cold and tired, as Seungmin disappears into the bathroom. He comes back with a wet towel and kneels at the foot of the bed, gently wiping you down.
âYouââ
âAre you sure youâre okay?â He asks. âI didnât do too much, did I?â
You push yourself up, a hand lifting to caress his jaw as he focuses on his task.
âSeungmin, Iâm fine, really.â
âReally?â
âThat was the best sex of my life, so yeah.â
He purses his lips. ââŠOkay.â
âAnd besides,â you say, pulling him up from the ground onto the bed besides you. âDo you think I suck dick like that for just anyone?"
âWellâŠ.â He trails off bashfully.
âThe answer is no,â you giggle. âNow come here and cuddle me!â
He lets out an annoyed huff, but listens anyways, climbing onto the bed and pulling the covers over the two of you before wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you closer to him.
âBy the way,â you begin. âIf I havenât said it already, I like you Seungmin. I really like you.â
A soft smile stretches across his lips. âI really like you.â
Seungmin presses a kiss against your hair. The sound of his heartbeat echoes in your ears and serves as the soundtrack playing as you fall asleep.
And the next morning, after Seungmin eats you out and then fucks you, when you come out of his room wearing nothing but his shirt, Hyunjin almost weeps.
"Finally!"
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The studio lights buzzed overhead like hornets, casting shadows across the sleek white backdrop. You stood just off-camera, arms crossed over your chest, clipboard in hand and tried not to let the growing headache show on your face. This was only your third week as Xu Minghaoâs personal manager and already you understood why three others had quit in the past six months.
"Too cold" Minghaoâs voice cut through the air, sharp and dismissive. He stood in the center of the set in a tailored black coat that cost more than your monthly rent, arms slightly raised as the stylist adjusted the lapels for the tenth time. "The lighting makes my skin look washed out. Fix it."
The photographer, a seasoned professional named Daniel, pinched the bridge of his nose. "Minghao, weâve adjusted the gels twice. The color temperature is exactly what the brand requested-"
"Then the brand has poor taste" Minghao replied coolly, not even looking at Daniel. His dark eyes flicked toward you instead, expectant. "Manager. Handle this."
You felt the weight of twenty pairs of eyes on you: assistants, stylists, the clientâs marketing rep hovering nervously by the snack table. Xu Minghao had a reputation that preceded him like a storm cloud: breathtakingly beautiful, undeniably talented and impossibly difficult. Magazines called him an artist. Colleagues called him a nightmare.
You stepped forward, keeping your voice calm and professional. "Minghao, the lighting setup matches the mood board we approved yesterday. If we change it now, weâll lose another forty minutes on recalibration. The client is already on a tight schedule for the spring campaign."
He turned fully toward you, one perfectly arched eyebrow lifting. Up close, he was even more striking: sharp jawline, porcelain skin and those intense eyes that seemed to look straight through people. His blonde hair, styled in a sleek undercut for this shoot, caught the light. "Are you suggesting I compromise my image for their schedule?" His tone dripped with superiority, as if the very idea was beneath him. "If the photos are subpar, it reflects on me. Not them."
You met his gaze without flinching. "Iâm suggesting we work efficiently so the final product actually meets everyoneâs standards, including yours. Letâs try the next set of shots. If they donât work, weâll adjust."
For a moment, silence stretched across the studio. Someone coughed awkwardly. Minghaoâs lips pressed into a thin line, but he gave a single, reluctant nod. "Fine. But if I look like a ghost in the proofs, itâs on you."
The shoot continued in fits and starts. He was picky about everything: the angle of his chin, the way the coat draped over his shoulders, even the temperature of the water someone brought him between takes. "Too warm" he complained, handing the bottle back with two fingers as if it offended him. "I need room temperature, not bathwater."
You signaled one of the assistants to fetch a fresh bottle from the fridge in the back. As you did, you caught snippets of muttered complaints from the crew.
"Divine, my ass. Heâs impossible."
"Last manager lasted five weeks. Bet this one cracks by Friday."
You ignored them. Your job wasnât to make friends with the crew; it was to make sure Xu Minghao delivered what the brands paid for. Even if he made it feel like pulling teeth from a lion.
Two hours later, the tension had only thickened. Minghao had rejected three outfit changes, insisting the textures clashed with his skin undertone under the current lighting. The stylist looked ready to cry. When the clientâs rep gently suggested they move on to the solo portraits, Minghao sighed theatrically.
"These concepts are uninspired. Who approved this? It feels⊠generic." He gestured vaguely at the minimalist set. "I expected better from a campaign this size."
You stepped in again, this time lowering your voice so only he could hear as you approached. "Minghao. You signed the contract. The brief is clear. We can discuss creative input for future projects, but right now we need to finish todayâs shots. Please."
He looked down at you, taller by a few inches even without the elevated platform, and for a second something flickered in his expression. Not quite anger. Maybe surprise that you hadnât raised your voice like the others. "Youâre new" he said softly, almost to himself. "Still full of optimism."
"Still full of competence" you corrected, holding his gaze. "Letâs get this done. The sooner we finish, the sooner you can go home and stop torturing everyone."
A ghost of a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Torturing? Dramatic."
"Accurate" you shot back.
To your mild astonishment, he actually complied for the next sequence. He moved with fluid grace in front of the camera, every line of his body precise, every expression dialed to perfection. The man was a professional when he wanted to be: ethereal, commanding, almost otherworldly. It was easy to see why brands fought for him despite the headaches. In motion, he transformed irritation into art.
But the moment the photographer called for a break, the mask slipped back into place.
"The coat pinches under the arms" he announced, shrugging it off and letting it fall carelessly. An assistant scrambled to catch it. "And the pants are too tight across the thighs. I told them last week."
You rubbed your temple. "Weâll note it for alterations. For now, change into the next look."
The afternoon dragged on. By the time the final shots wrapped, the studio clock showed nearly eight in the evening. Exhaustion hung heavy in the air. Daniel gave you a weary thumbs-up as the crew began packing lights. "You handled him better than most" he muttered on his way out. "Good luck. Youâll need it."
Minghao emerged from the dressing area in his own clothes: a black silk shirt unbuttoned just enough to hint at collarbones, tailored trousers and a long wool coat draped over his shoulders. He looked annoyingly perfect despite the long day, while you felt rumpled and drained.
"Carâs waiting downstairs" you told him, checking your phone for the driverâs confirmation.
He didnât thank you. Instead, he simply nodded and headed for the exit, expecting you to follow. You did, falling into step beside him in the elevator. The silence was thick, charged with everything unsaid.
As the doors opened to the underground parking, he finally spoke. "You donât seem afraid to push back."
"Someone has to" you replied evenly. "If I let you run wild, the jobs will dry up no matter how talented you are. And despite what people say, I donât think you want that."
He paused beside the sleek black car, one hand on the door. Those dark eyes studied you again, slower this time, tracing your face as if seeing you properly for the first time. "Most managers eventually learn to just nod and schedule damage control."
"Iâm not most managers."
A low chuckle escaped him, quiet, almost surprised. "Evidently."
The driver opened the door. Minghao slid into the backseat and you followed after a momentâs hesitation. The partition was up, giving you both privacy. The city lights blurred past the tinted windows as the car pulled into evening traffic.
You reviewed notes on your tablet, marking down his complaints for tomorrowâs pre-production meeting. Beside you, Minghao leaned his head back against the seat, eyes half-closed. For once, he didnât look superior or untouchable, just tired.
"You did well today" you said after a few minutes, testing the waters. "The solo shots at the end were strong. The client will love them."
He cracked one eye open. "Flattery now? After calling me difficult all day?"
"Not flattery. Facts." You set the tablet down. "Youâre picky because you care about the outcome. I get it. But the way you express it makes enemies. People are already whispering about how hard you are to work with."
Minghaoâs expression hardened slightly. "Let them whisper. Most of them couldnât last one shoot in my position. They donât understand the pressure."
"Maybe not" you conceded. "But alienating the entire crew doesnât help your image either. Youâre talented, Minghao. You could be more than just the difficult one."
He turned his head to look at you fully. The passing streetlights caught the silver in his hair and the sharp line of his jaw. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The air in the car felt heavier, warmer. You became acutely aware of how close you were sitting, the faint scent of his cologne: something woody and expensive, mingling with the leather seats.
"Youâre different" he murmured. It wasnât a question.
You shrugged, trying to ignore the way your pulse quickened under his scrutiny. "Iâm here to do my job. That includes managing you, not just your schedule."
A faint smile played on his lips, genuine this time, small but there. "Weâll see how long that lasts."
The rest of the ride passed in charged silence. When the car finally stopped in front of his upscale apartment building, Minghao lingered for a second after the driver opened the door.
"Tomorrowâs fittings at ten" you reminded him. "Try not to terrorize the stylists too much."
He stepped out, then glanced back at you. "Perhaps Iâll behave. If you ask nicely."
Before you could respond, he shut the door and walked toward the entrance, coat billowing slightly behind him. You watched until he disappeared inside, exhaling a long breath you hadnât realized you were holding.
This job was going to be a challenge. Xu Minghao was arrogant, picky and exhausting.
The fitting room at the agencyâs main studio smelled like fresh fabric, strong coffee and barely contained frustration. Racks of garments lined the walls: silks, wools and tailored pieces from the upcoming editorial spread. You stood near the mirrored wall, arms crossed, watching Minghao systematically dismantle the stylist teamâs efforts for the third time that morning.
"This cut is amateur" he said, tugging at the shoulder of a deep emerald jacket. The fabric draped beautifully over his frame, highlighting the elegant lines of his shoulders and the narrow taper of his waist, but he scowled as if it personally offended him. "It makes me look boxy. I told you last week I wanted something with more structure in the shoulders."
The head stylist, a sharp woman named Lena who had worked with international stars for fifteen years, pinched her lips together. "Minghao, this is from the designerâs final selections. Itâs custom. The proportions were approved-"
"Clearly not by someone who understands my body" he interrupted, voice cool and superior. He shrugged the jacket off with fluid disdain and let it drop onto a nearby chair. "Next."
Two assistants exchanged glances. One muttered something under their breath about "impossible divas". You caught it and shot them a warning look, but the damage was done. Minghaoâs hearing was excellent; his jaw tightened imperceptibly.
You stepped forward before the situation could spiral further. "Letâs take five. Everyone, grab coffee. Weâll resume shortly."
The room emptied quickly, relief palpable in the air. Once the door clicked shut, you turned to Minghao. He stood in front of the mirror in just the fitted black shirt and trousers from earlier, silver hair slightly tousled from changing, looking every inch the untouchable model. But you were starting to see the performance for what it was.
"Minghao" you began, keeping your tone even but firm "you need to stop."
He met your eyes in the reflection, one eyebrow arched. "Stop what, exactly? Doing my job?"
"Alienating everyone whoâs trying to help you." You moved closer, stopping a few feet away. "She's one of the best in the city. The team is exhausted. At this rate, word will spread again and bookings will suffer no matter how good the final shots look."
He turned slowly to face you, arms folding over his chest. The movement pulled the shirt tighter across his torso. "So I should just smile and accept mediocrity? Is that what youâre suggesting?"
"Iâm suggesting you communicate like a professional instead of tearing people down."
Your voice rose slightly despite your best efforts. The long hours, the constant mediation and the way he looked at you, like he was testing how far he could push, were wearing on your patience. "Youâre talented. Exceptionally so. But talent only gets you so far when no one wants to work with you."
For a second, something flashed across his face: irritation, maybe even hurt, but it vanished behind the familiar mask of superiority. "You think you know me after a few weeks?" He took a step closer, voice low and edged. "You see the surface and assume thatâs all there is. The picky model. The difficult one. Everyone whispers it. I hear them."
"Then prove them wrong" you challenged, refusing to back down even as he closed the distance. The dressing room suddenly felt smaller, the air thicker. You could smell his cologne again, that same woody scent mixed with the faint warmth of his skin after hours under hot lights. "Or at least stop making my job harder than it has to be."
Minghaoâs eyes darkened. "Your job is to manage me. Not lecture me."
"And managing you means telling you the truth when youâre sabotaging yourself." You didnât realize how close youâd gotten until you could see the faint flecks of gold in his dark irises. "Why do you do it? Push everyone away like this?"
He laughed, but there was no humor in it, just a sharp, haughty sound. âTrust is a luxury in this world. One bad photo, one leaked comment and your career is twisted into something unrecognizable. People smile to your face and sharpen knives behind your back. I learned that early." His gaze dropped briefly to your mouth, then back up. "Pushing keeps things⊠cleaner."
The admission, delivered in that arrogant tone, still carried weight. You saw it then, the exhaustion beneath the perfection. The way his shoulders tensed, the subtle clench of his jaw. Xu Minghao wasnât just difficult; he was guarded, armor polished to a lethal shine.
"You donât have to push me" you said quietly. "Iâm not here to stab you in the back. Iâm here to make sure you succeed without burning every bridge."
He stared at you for a long moment. The silence stretched, heavy and electric. You could hear your own heartbeat, feel the warmth radiating from his body. His hand twitched at his side, as if fighting the urge to reach out.
"Youâre dangerous" he murmured finally. The words were barely above a whisper, but they sent a shiver down your spine. "Most managers learn to stay at armâs length. You keep stepping closer."
"Maybe someone needs to." Your voice came out softer than intended.
Minghaoâs eyes flicked down again, lingering. The space between you had vanished. His breath ghosted across your cheek as he leaned in fractionally. You tilted your head up instinctively, pulse racing. The almost-kiss hung there: lips inches apart, tension coiling tight enough to snap. You could practically taste the moment, the heat of his body, the promise of what might happen if one of you closed the gap.
Then he pulled back.
A smirk curved his lips, but it didnât quite reach his eyes. It was a shield, quick and practiced. "Careful, Manager. Mixing business with pleasure never ends well."
Frustration flared hot in your chest. You wanted to grab him by the collar and finish what heâd started, but you held yourself still. "Youâre the one who keeps testing the line."
Minghao adjusted his shirt with deliberate casualness, though his fingers trembled slightly. "Perhaps. Or maybe Iâm curious how long youâll last before you run like the others." He glanced at the closed door. "Tell them weâll continue in ten minutes. And⊠have them bring the charcoal suit next. It might work better."
You exhaled slowly, trying to steady your racing heart. "Fine. But this conversation isnât over."
His smirk deepened, arrogant and infuriatingly attractive. "I didnât think it was."
The rest of the fitting dragged. Minghao was marginally more cooperative after your confrontation: still picky, still offering cutting observations, but he allowed a few compromises without full meltdown. The team noticed the shift, shooting you grateful looks when his back was turned.
By the time everything wrapped, the sun had dipped low, painting the studio in golden hour light that made even the cluttered space look cinematic.
You walked him to the car again, just like the night before. This time the silence felt different: loaded, aware. Minghao scrolled through his phone, but you caught him glancing at you more than once.
As the car merged into traffic, he spoke without looking up. "The near-miss earlier⊠that was a lapse in judgment."
"Was it?" You turned toward him. "Or are you just scared of letting someone in?"
He set the phone down, fixing you with that intense stare. "Scared?" The word dripped with disdain, but his voice had an undercurrent of something raw. "I donât get scared. I calculate risks. And youâŠ" He gestured vaguely between you. "Youâre a significant risk."
"Because I push back?"
"Because you see through the act." The confession slipped out, quieter than he probably intended. He recovered quickly, adding in his usual superior tone "Most people prefer the untouchable image. Itâs easier for them. Safer."
You studied him. The city lights played across his features, softening the sharp edges. "I donât want the image, Minghao. I want the person who actually cares enough to fight for every detail, even if he expresses it like an asshole."
A surprised laugh escaped him: genuine, low and warm. It transformed his face, making him look younger, more human. "Bold words. You really arenât like the others."
The car slowed to a stop outside his building. Neither of you moved immediately.
"Come up" he said suddenly. When you raised an eyebrow, he rolled his eyes. "For work. We can review the lookbook for next week. I have notes."
You knew it wasnât just about the lookbook. The tension from the dressing room still hummed between you, unresolved. But you nodded. "Lead the way."
His apartment was exactly what you expected: minimalist luxury. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, sleek furniture in neutral tones and art pieces that probably cost a fortune. He poured two glasses of water, room temperature, of course and handed you one before spreading the lookbook across the low table.
For the next hour, you worked. He pointed out flaws with his usual precision, but he listened when you countered. Vulnerability peeked through in small moments: a quiet admission that certain angles made him self-conscious about a scar on his collarbone from a childhood accident, the way his voice softened when discussing a concept that actually excited him.
At one point, as you leaned over to mark a page, your hands brushed. The contact lingered. Minghao didnât pull away immediately. His fingers traced lightly over yours, almost absentmindedly.
"Youâre still here" he said softly, eyes on the point of contact.
"I told you I wasnât running."
He looked up, expression unreadable. The charged atmosphere from the dressing room returned full force. This time, when he leaned in, there was no smirk waiting to pull back. Your breath caught.
But at the last second, he turned his head, lips brushing your cheek instead of your mouth. "Not tonight" he whispered against your skin. "Not when Iâm still trying to decide if this is a mistake."
You closed your eyes, frustration and desire warring inside you. "Youâre infuriating."
"I know." He pulled away, that superior little smirk back in place, but his cheeks were faintly flushed. "Go home. We have an early call tomorrow."
You gathered your things, heart still pounding. At the door, you paused. "For the record, I see you, Minghao. The real you. And Iâm not scared of it."
His hand rested on the doorframe, close enough that you could feel his warmth. "Weâll see if thatâs still true after a few more weeks."
The door closed behind you with a soft click. As you rode the elevator down, you touched your cheek where his lips had been. The difficult, superior model was cracking, revealing layers you hadnât expected.
The runway show had been a triumph. Minghao moved like liquid silk under the flashing lights, each step precise, each turn commanding the audienceâs breathless attention. The collection received a standing ovation and even the most jaded critics raved about his performance. Yet backstage, amid the chaos of congratulations and popping champagne, you saw the exhaustion etched into the lines of his shoulders. He accepted praise with his usual superior nod, but his eyes kept finding you in the crowd.
Later that night, his text was simple: Penthouse. Damage control drinks. Donât make me wait.
You arrived just after midnight. The city glittered far below the floor-to-ceiling windows as Minghao opened the door in a loose black silk shirt and matching pants, silver hair slightly damp from a shower. He looked devastatingly beautiful and strangely vulnerable without the armor of the runway.
"Successful night" you said, stepping inside.
He handed you a glass of red wine, lips curving into that familiar smirk. "Of course it was. But the team was still insufferable." His tone held less bite than usual. The conversation from the dressing room and his apartment still lingered between you, unresolved and electric.
You sipped the wine, watching him. "You were incredible out there. Every eye was on you."
Something shifted in his expression at the praise. His cheeks colored faintly. He set his glass down and moved closer, crowding you gently against the kitchen island. "Flattery again?"
"Truth" you corrected, placing your hand on his chest. The silk was cool under your palm, but his skin burned beneath it. "You worked hard. You deserved every bit of applause."
Minghaoâs breath hitched. He leaned in, but this time you were the one who closed the distance, kissing him firmly. He melted almost instantly, a soft sound escaping him as his hands gripped your waist. The kiss deepened quickly, hungry and weeks in the making. When you pulled back, his eyes were darker, pupils blown wide.
"Bedroom" you whispered against his lips. It wasnât a question.
He led you there without protest, the apartmentâs low lighting casting long shadows across crisp white sheets. You pushed him down onto the edge of the bed, standing between his knees. Minghao looked up at you, that superior mask cracking further as you slowly unbuttoned his shirt.
"Youâre so beautiful like this" you murmured, sliding the silk off his shoulders. "Responsive. Perfect."
A shiver ran through him at your words. His hands reached for you, but you caught his wrists gently and pressed them to the mattress. "Let me take care of you tonight."
He swallowed hard, nodding once. The arrogance was gone, replaced by something beautifully open and needy. You undressed slowly, letting him watch, then climbed onto his lap, straddling him. His cock was already hard, straining against the thin fabric of his pants. You ground down against him, earning a quiet whimper.
"Tell me what you need" you said, kissing along his jaw.
"Touch me⊠please." His voice was breathy, submissive in a way that sent heat pooling in your belly. The mighty Xu Minghao, terror of the industry, reduced to soft pleas under your hands.
You freed him from his pants, wrapping your fingers around his length. He was long and hot, twitching at the contact. "So good for me already" you praised, stroking slowly. "Look at you, letting me control everything. Such a good boy."
Minghao moaned, head falling back. His hips jerked up into your fist, but he didnât fight for dominance. "Yes⊠I...I like that. Keep talking."
The praise kink hit you like a revelation. You smiled, leaning down to kiss his neck while continuing the slow, teasing strokes. "Youâre doing so well. So hard for me. I love how you tremble when I touch you here." Your thumb circled the head, spreading precum. Another broken whimper escaped him.
You positioned yourself over him, rubbing his cock against your slick entrance. "You want this?" you asked, voice low.
"Please" he begged, eyes glassy. "Want to feel you⊠want you to take me."
You sank down onto him slowly, taking every inch. The stretch was delicious and Minghaoâs hands fisted the sheets as he fought not to thrust up. "Fuck⊠you feel incredible" he gasped.
"So do you" you moaned, settling fully. "Filling me perfectly. Such a good cock for me."
His reaction was immediate: hips twitching, a needy whine leaving his throat. You began to move, rolling your hips in a steady rhythm, riding him with control. Minghaoâs head pressed back into the pillows, lips parted, hair fanned out messily. He looked wrecked already, utterly submissive beneath you.
"Talk to me" he pleaded between gasps. "Tell me Iâm good."
"Youâre so good, Minghao" you praised, bracing your hands on his chest as you rode him harder. "Taking everything I give you. Looking so pretty like this, falling apart for me. I could watch you forever."
Each word seemed to unravel him further. His hands finally moved to grip your thighs, but lightly, seeking permission rather than demanding. You rewarded him by clenching around him, drawing out another moan. "Yes...fuck, yes. More. Please."
You leaned down, kissing him deeply while continuing to move. "My perfect model. So superior out there, but so submissive in my bed. You love this, donât you? Love being praised while I take your cock."
He nodded frantically, eyes squeezed shut. "Love it⊠love when you say those things. Donât stop."
You sat back up, riding him with purpose now, chasing your own pleasure while feeding his need. The sounds he made: whimpers, breathy moans, soft pleas for more praise, were intoxicating. Sweat glistened on his skin. You traced the lines of his abs, telling him how gorgeous he was, how well he filled you, how proud you were of him for letting go.
Minghaoâs praise kink ran deep. Every compliment made him twitch inside you, made his movements more desperate beneath your control. He didnât try to flip you or take over; he surrendered completely, letting you set the pace, letting you use him exactly how you wanted.
"Youâre close, arenât you?" you asked, grinding down particularly deep. "Going to come for me like a good boy?"
"Yes...please, Iâm so close." His voice cracked beautifully. "Need you to tell me⊠tell me I can."
"Come for me, Minghao" you commanded softly, one hand sliding up to cup his cheek. "Youâve been so perfect tonight. Let go. Fill me up while I ride you."
That was all it took. He cried out, body tensing as he came hard, pulsing deep inside you. The sight and feel of him pushed you over the edge moments later, clenching around him as pleasure crashed through you. You rode out both your orgasms, murmuring more praise until he was trembling and oversensitive.
Finally, you collapsed onto his chest, both of you breathing heavily. Minghaoâs arms wrapped around you tentatively, as if afraid youâd disappear. You stroked his hair, pressing soft kisses to his forehead.
"You were amazing" you whispered. "So good for me."
He let out a shaky laugh, still hazy. "I⊠didnât expect that. The way I just⊠gave in."
You lifted your head to look at him. "It suits you. The control you carry every day, you donât have to hold it here. Not with me."
Minghaoâs eyes searched yours, vulnerability clear now that the heat had cooled slightly. "No one else has ever seen this side. I donât let them." His fingers traced patterns on your back. "Donât make me regret it."
"I wonât" you promised, kissing him gently. "The industry can have the difficult, superior Minghao. I want this one too, the one who melts when I tell him heâs perfect."
He hid his face in your neck, embarrassed but pleased. The arrogant mask was gone entirely tonight, replaced by quiet contentment. You stayed like that for a long while, connected and warm, the city lights twinkling far below.
Eventually, you cleaned up and slipped under the sheets together. Minghao pulled you close, uncharacteristically clingy. "Stay the night" he murmured against your hair.
You smiled. "Wasnât planning to leave."
You both stayed like that for a few minutes, silent.
PART I ; PART II ; PART III ; PART IV ; PART V ; PART VI ; PART VII ; PART VIII ; PART IX ; FINAL PART.
( READ ON AO3. )
Your father hires an inconspicuous bodyguard to accompany you at school and supervise you at home. What seems like an innocuous change in routine eventually spirals into a forbidden romance that grows more passionate over the next decade.
Companion series to my sharing the bed one-shot. Follows the relationship between reader&felix from beginning to end. It will be a multi-part series.
pairing: lee felix/reader
content info: eventual smut. violence. parental abuse. situations of intense peril overall. forced proximity. enemies2lovers. angst with eventual happy ending.
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One of your fatherâs disgruntled bodyguards shoves you for walking too slowly. You have enough tenacity to glare at him when you stumble, but even at fourteen years old you are smart enough refrain from retaliation.  You know your father will not take your side as you are already in trouble for sneaking out last night. You met with some school friends and attended a house party like a normal fourteen year old, a punishable offence because your life is anything but normal.Â
You just hope this punishment is a physical one. A few smacks might sting but youâll get over it, whereas you donât want to lose your already limited phone or computer privileges.Â
You walk into your fatherâs office with the expectation you will be alone, so you stop short when you see the back of a strangerâs head.Â
Your fatherâs guests are usually suited old men or pretty young women, not a beanie-wearing teenage boy. Heâs kicking his legs like heâs in an ice cream parlour and not in a chair across from one of the most powerful men in the country. Your father is behind his desk, hands steepled and attention determinedly fixed on you. Punishment time is the only time his attention is so rapt.Â
The door closes behind you, the guard outside slamming it shut. The boy in the chair looks over his shoulder at you. He has a soft face, much too soft for a place like this, his cheeks sweetly freckled and mouth like a pretty pink bow. He has dark eyes, his eyebrows the same shade of dark brown. His hair has been dyed a strawberry blonde, bangs sweeping out from under the beanie. He has to flick them out of his eyes as he looks you over. Â
You stare at him. A change in routine does not bode well for you and this is a massive change.Â
The boy just smiles. It is disarming in its sweetness and it petrifies you. You know how to behave when an ugly brute glares at you but a pretty boy smiling is unnerving.Â
Your father clears his throat. You and the boy both look his way, the boy dropping his gaze in a subservient way while you glare.Â
âDaughter,â your father says coolly. He gestures to the free chair beside the boy.Â
Some days, when you are feeling especially petulant or when your father is distracted with his phone even while meting out punishment, you will stomp your foot and refuse him. Maybe it is your stunned bemusement, but today you oblige without argument.Â
Your gaze drifts to the boy as you approach your seat. The boy does not look at you.
He looks like a normal teenage boy, wearing a hoodie under a flannel and blue jeans ripped at the knee, but you know better. There is always a flaw and this one is immediately jarring: his shoes are army regulation boots, the same as your fatherâs guards, albeit smaller. You have no idea why he would need them. He looks about your age and is a slender, delicate thing.Â
âSit,â your father says.  You realize you have standing there, staring. You look at your father and obey, sinking into the other chair. âGood.â Your father folds his hands on his desk. âMy loving daughter,â he says dryly, âIt has occurred to me that your present circumstances are not the most conducive to your development and well-being.â
You cannot help but scoff. Talk about understatement of the century. Â
The security teams? The constant surveillance? The knowledge that your wealthy father has accrued so many enemies that you can barely step outside without feeling threatened?
The fact you desperately want something bad to happen, because at least it would be different than the bad in here?Â
Your father just frowns.
âDonât test my patience,â he says. âEspecially as I have constructed a compromise according to your whims, young lady.âÂ
Your brow furrows. You have no idea where this is going but you know you wonât like it, because you never like it.Â
âI only want whatâs best for you,â your father says. âYouâre my daughter, after all. My only child and my only heir. I want you protected but I want you capable, and you canât be expected to thrive with the company of my men constantly surrounding you.âÂ
Your heart kicks up with hope even while your brain knows better. Your father is not a generous man and he is clever with his words. There is a reason he has reached the heights he has reached. No one is better than your father and your father settles for no less than the best in turn.Â
You are an agonizing disappointment, but you lash out because you would be a disappointment regardless. Your father does not want a human daughter but a plastic doll that he can lock away until it has use, at which point he expects unending gratitude for your very existence.  Â
This might sound like a concession of freedom but you know him better than that. The vice is tightening, not loosening. You will never be free.Â
âI have a gift for you,â your father says. âThis is Felix.âÂ
You and the boy, Felix, look at each other. Felix smiles again. He has the audacity to wave at you, a little salute and cutesy tip of the head.Â
Your nostrils flare with a sharp intake of breath. You look at your father.Â
âWhat is this?â you ask, so much wrong with this scenario that you donât know where to start.
Your father smiles for the first time since you walked in the room. He needs to be in the position of highest power and that is obtained through making everyone else small. The more visibly uncomfortable you are, the more at ease he feels. He slouches comfortably in his big chair as he stares you down. You feel trapped in the little seat across his desk.   Â
âThis,â your father says, âis your new bodyguard.âÂ
You look at Felix again. He is once more looking at your father like an obedient little puppy. Itâs for the best as you are certain your expression is betraying every single thought. You are angry, confused, frightened. The confusion worsens your other emotions.Â
âBodyguard,â you repeat.  âHe looks like heâs twelve.âÂ
âIâm fourteen,â Felix says, startling you with a deep voice that does not remotely match his face. The rounder sounds are accented with an Australian twang.  âSame as you.âÂ
You look at each other again. You hide your confusion under a piercing glare. Felix draws his mouth into a flat line, not quite smiling, not quite frowning.  He taps his fingers on the arm of the chair, a mismatched rhythm, some song only he can hear.  His leg bounces.Â
You look at your father.Â
âFourteen,â you say. âAnd short. And skinny. Look at him! I could throw him out a window!â
âYou could try,â your father says, drole. âYou wouldnât succeed. Oh, hush.â He swipes a hand through the air when you open your mouth to speak again. âFelix is more than competent, believe me.â Â
Your father would not hire a second rate bodyguard, but there is simply no way this Felix kid is good for anything. You just canât believe it. This is a test of some kind, maybe a mind game.Â
Your hackles are up and they wonât come down. Felix flicks some hair out of his eyes and the motion makes you jump. He doesnât comment. He clears his throat and sits a little straighter, looking like every goody-two-shoes keener you ever gave a sneer.Â
âYou will no longer require a full security detail,â your father says. âNot at home or at school. No where, barring certain occasions under my discretion.â  Â
This has your heart racing again. Currently, your father has guards posted in several places around your school. No one but the school administrators know they are for you, but that doesnât matter because you know. You know they are not general security, that they are specifically watching your every move. If you skip a meal or eat too much, they know. If you talk to one person and not another, they know. If you forget to do homework or flunk a test, they know. If you put on more make-up or roll up your skirt, they know. If you fall, if you laugh, if you flirt, if you breathe a little too hard, they know, and they report it all back to your father.Â
It doesnât end there. They keep you on a schedule for your âprotectionâ and if you stray from that agenda, they are on you. That means no chatting too long after class, no extended bathroom breaks, no stopping to smell a fucking flower. In the car, out the car, through the doors, at your seat, at your locker, upstairs, downstairs, fuck, fuck, fuck. How youâve lasted this long, not even you know.Â
You spend all day suffocating under the extension of your fatherâs eyes, then you return home, flanked by bodyguards, only to be stuck with supervision until you are finally permitted to go to bed. Naturally, this is the easiest time to escape so you are in the habit of breaking out at night. Youâre good at it too. Most nights you move without any detection, having memorized all the chinks in the mansionâs high-tech security armor. Last night was the result of some bad luck.Â
Now you are here, your heart racing, your breath catching.Â
It must be a trick. You look at Felix then your father, trying to hide your eagerness and your suspicion.Â
âIn exchange, you will have Felix,â your father says. âHe will attend school with you as a classmate. He is in all your classes and extra-curriculars. You are to keep him with you at all times of day. He will accompany you everywhere at all times of day.â Your father leans in. âDo you understand that? At all times of day.â Â
It does not sound too different from the security team other than the obvious fact there is only one of Felix.  Even if Felix is the most skilled bodyguard in the world, he is still just one person.   It seems too good to be true so it must be.  Your father is waiting until you are comfortable so he can rip the rug out from under you, to put you in your place, which is flat on your back like a stupid, helpless, needy baby.  Â
You will not give him the satisfaction. Curtly, you say, âI understand.â
âGood,â your father says. âIâm having a new bed installed in your bedroom as we speak. It should be ample space for two people without your privacy being overly encroached. When you get home, you will clear a space for Felix to move his things into your room.âÂ
Despite your effort to remain neutral, obvious surprise blinks across your face.Â
âWait, what?â you ask, darting forward in your seat. âWhat are you talking about?â
Your father tips his head as if perplexed with your outburst.Â
âDid you think you were getting away with something?â he asks. âConstantly sneaking out at night, evading my men. Do you know every time you pull a childish stunt like that, it endangers me and my business just as much as you?â
Your anger bubbles to the surface as quickly as his, cold laughter punching out of you as you say, âOh! Your business! Of fucking course!â
âDonât use vulgar language with me, child!â
âDonât call me a child!â you snap back with as much fervour. âIâm fourteen years old! Iâm not a little kid and I donât need some other idiot kid babysitting me! I donât need anyone fucking watching me!âÂ
Felix is sitting ramrod straight, his eyes flicking back and forth between you and your father. He says nothing. He just sniffs and scratches a little circle on the exposed skin of his knee.Â
âYou are my daughter, this is my house, and I will do with both as I please,â your father says.Â
âThen maybe I donât want to be in this house!â you shout.Â
âYou want to leave?â your father asks.  He smacks a vicious hand down on his desk, rattling his computer. âGo ahead. Pick yourself up and walk out that door. Where are you going to go from here? You have no money and no skills and no protection.  See how long it takes someone to pick you up off the street. You donât want to be my daughter? You want me to ignore you when they put a gun to your head? The least they will do is kill you, you stupid little thing. But go on, since youâre so wise and brave and all grown-up. Walk out that door. I dare you.â     Â
You sit on the very edge of your seat, your hands balled into fists. You long to swing them at his smug face but you can only sit there, vibrating with rage.Â
âDo you have something more to say?â your father asks.Â
You kick his desk, the adrenaline forcing it out of you. He smacks a mug and it smashes on the floor. Felix still does not react, though his gaze does linger on the broken mug.Â
âWhat about him!â you shriek, pointing at Felix. It draws his attention back to you, his eyebrow lifting at your pointed finger. âYouâre going to leave me alone with a boy? In bed?â  You imbue this exclamation with all the suggestive horror you can. âI canât share a room with a boy! What if heâs a pervert!  What if he takes pictures of me! What if he rapes me! You really trust some random boy to be alone with me?!â
The silence that follows is somehow more shrill than the yelling. Your father stares at you, resolutely focussed with such a cold glare that you shiver.Â
Felix shuffles in his seat. His mouth opens and he looks contemplative, weighing his words, but your father speaks before he can.Â
âFelix,â he says, âput your hand on the desk.âÂ
Felix delays only seconds, more surprised by the order than reluctant. He obediently rests his hand on the desk, palm facing up.Â
Without looking away from you, your father grabs that hand and flips it over. Felix jerks, his feet planting, but he manages to restrain whatever instinct rattled him. He looks at his hand, at where your father pins it to the wood.Â
You look there too, fuming, then you look at your father. He is still glaring at you, even when he reaches into his desk. Your brow furrows when he retrieves an enveloper opener, a sleek little knife, shiny and sharp. He smacks it onto the table beside Felixâs hand. It makes you jump.  Â
Felix just looks at the knife, tipping his head as if only mildly curious. Â
âFelix,â your father says. âPick up that knife.â He leans back in his desk chair and crosses his arms, his expression bland and uncaring as he looks at you. You shake less from fury than fear, looking from your father to Felix.Â
Felix picks up the knife with his free hand. He looks at it, his expression revealing nothing.Â
âThank you,â your father says.Â
He has not looked away from you even once, asserting his knowledge that Felix will obey without his supervision. You try to be as steadfast as him. You act like you couldnât care less about the unknown boy and his freckles and beanie. This is between you and your father. You glare just as fiercely. Â
âNow, Felix,â your father says, âI am going to count down from three, then you are going to drive that knife into your hand. All the way through to the desk. I trust you know the spot that will do the least lasting damage.âÂ
Your gaze whips from your father to Felix, staring at him wide-eyed as the stupid boy doesnât even flinch. He just turns the knife over. His brow briefly pinches as he rests the tip of the knife against a soft spot on the back of his hand.Â
Your horrified brain is already several paces ahead, picturing his bloodied hand pinned to the wooden desk. You taste bile and it is only partially for the gore. The rest is for the fact Felix does nothing more than blink at his hand.Â
âThree,â your father says. âTwo.âÂ
You scream, âStop!â at the same your father says, âOne.â
You tackle Felix. The adrenaline flies out of you the same as that kick. The knife clatters to the desk and both your chairs fly out from under you.Â
Felix is fast. He flips you around so he takes the brunt of the fall, your head pillowing on his stomach when you land in a tangled heap on the floor. His beanie falls off when his head hits the ground. He barely winces, looking down at you.Â
You stare back at him, breathing hard.
âAre you fucking insane?â you ask. Tears fill your eyes, much to your horror. You try to suck them in because there is nothing you hate more than crying in front of your father.  You donât even know what is prompting the tears. Maybe itâs the forced recollection of how thoroughly his guards have invaded your life, the revelation that you will be forced to share every living moment with another intruder, or the fact he almost maimed a fourteen year old boy just to make a point.Â
Or, maybe, the fact you fell for it like you always do. Just a stupid little girl, high in her emotions, vulnerable and weak and in need of intervention.Â
You push away from Felix, directing all your emotions at him.Â
âYouâre a fucking lunatic,â you say, spitting when you talk. âWhat did you think you were doing? Freak. Do you think youâre brave? Youâre an idiot.â
Felix props himself up on his elbows, just staring back at you. His gaze flicks up when your father stands. That awful man circles the desk to look down at you.Â
You refuse to look up. You wipe your arm under your nose. Tears blur your vision.
âFelix,â your father says, âthere is a car waiting outside. Take my daughter home. She is not to leave the house tonight.âÂ
You wrench your arm away when Felix tries to help you up. He says nothing to your glare but at least heâs smart enough not to smile again. He gets up and dusts off his pants, then retrieves his beanie.  You clamber to your feet and march toward the door without looking back or waiting. Only when your hand is on the doorknob does your father call your name.Â
You freeze, wanting so badly to ignore him and storm outside, but once the coldness settles in your veins you cannot move.Â
âCome here,â your father says. As if under a spell, you can only move when he demands it. You turn, facing him as he approaches.  You hold still, your eyes full of tears and fists curled at your side.Â
Your father walks up and swiftly strikes you across the face. Tears spill over and you grab your cheek, heaving with frightened breath as your useless new bodyguard just stands there and watches.Â
Your father sighs.Â
âYouâll learn,â he says. âOne way or another.  If I have to chip at you with an axe until you take my shape, Iâll do it. Youâll thank me one day.  Felix. Take her home. Now.âÂ
You let Felix take your arm and guide you out of the room, too drained to fight him. Â
-
You refuse to be accommodating. If youâre unhappy then you will make Felix unhappy too, and if Felix is unhappy then maybe he will leave. Then your father will be unhappy and you finally wonât be.    Â
You glare at the massive new bed taking up space in your room. It is still a big room otherwise, with plenty of space for two people, but your things are spread out everywhere and you have no intention of moving them. Instead, you empty out a single bedside drawer and point to it.Â
âThere,â you say. âThatâs yours.â
Felix is standing in the bedroom doorway wearing a backpack. He looks around the room, not sneering at its lacey, ivory princess-ness but not looking too enamoured either. He is passive as ever, quietly receiving his surroundings. He closes the door behind himself and shrugs the backpack down to the crease of his elbow.Â
âKk,â he says.  He puts his backpack on the floor by the bed then takes off his beanie and puts it in the drawer. He sits on the edge of the bed, hands folded in his lap. He stares at the wall.Â
What a weirdo.Â
You stare at him until he looks at you, then you scoff and roll your eyes. You dump your things on your desk and stalk over to your private bathroom door. Â
âCan I go pee without your supervision, or do you need to hold my hand?â you ask sarcastically.Â
âI donât need to,â Felix says, âbut, uhhh, I guess I can if you need help. But if you have a problem with doing it by yourself then we should probably take you to a doctor. I know first aid but I canât really help with incontinence or like the opposite. Lol.âÂ
He says the word lol out loud, a single grating syllable. You do not dignify his weird humour with a response. You stomp into your bathroom and slam the door shut. Â
There are bars on the bathroom window now. You grab the nearest bottle of soap and chuck it there, furious when tears spring back to your eyes. You feel violated even in your privacy, glaring at those bars as you shower and wash away the day.Â
You look at your reflection in the mirror, touching where your cheek feels tender from your fatherâs strike. He usually doesnât hit your face or anywhere someone could see swelling or a cut. You suppose todayâs slap was more personal than strategic.
You put on a thick sweatshirt and sweatpants. When you step back into your room, the weirdo is standing at the window with his hands behind his back. He is wearing just his ripped jeans and a t-shirt, plus those ugly army boots. He looks at you when you open the door, giving you a brief assessing stare before he smiles.Â
It would disarm someone more naĂŻve. You just glare.Â
âWhere are your things?â you ask.Â
He tips his head like an inquisitive cat. âHuh?â he asks.
âYour things,â you say venomously. âArenât you moving them in here?âÂ
âUh, I did,â he says.  He turns and points to his side of the bed. âYou gave me a drawer, remember?â
This kid unpacked a beanie.Â
Maybe itâs a good sign he isnât fully moving in. Maybe this whole charade is just your father threatening you. He will torture you with this invader until he thinks you have learned a lesson, then things will go back to normal. Felix probably isnât even a proper bodyguard, and how could he be? A skinny, pretty fourteen year old boy? Heâs probably an actor or model or something.Â
You give him a derisive smirk and shove past him. He just shrugs and approaches the bathroom door, pausing before entering. He looks back at you.
âDonât go anywhere, yeah?â he says, then walks into the bathroom and closes the door.Â
You exhale sharply. You had no intention of going anywhere, honestly too exhausted to do anything but putter around on the computer, but fuck this kid. Heâs your fatherâs paid actor or some other nonsense, so who does he think he is to give you any orders?Â
You storm out of the room with the intention of marching around outside, but you stumble when you enter the upstairs corridor. Â
The huge house is eery in its silence. You shudder as you look around. Â
Even when your father is not home, the security team is here.  Someone is always awake, at least one person keeping guard in the corridor, the rest of them scattered in the house and guest house. But theyâre gone. Theyâre all genuinely gone. And because it is late evening, all the housekeepers and cleaners are gone too. You have not been in a house this empty your entire life. It feels uncanny, ghostly even. It completely halts your half-baked plan to leave, not that you planned on going much further than the pool-house.
You stand still, suspended in the unfamiliar emptiness.  Â
âWhatcha doinâ?â Felixâs freaky deep voice is suddenly right beside you. You jump away from with a startled squeak. He just stands there, his mouth in that stupid flat line, his shaggy blonde hair bouncing when he tips his head.Â
âNothing,â you snap, annoyed that he scared you. âIâm just going to the kitchen for a snack. Is that against the fucking law now?â  Â
âItâs not really healthy to eat this late at night,â Felix says, âbut itâs not illegal. Â That would be weird.â
âI hate you,â you say. His even temperament has been driving you insane, so it is satisfying to see a flicker of genuine surprise on his face. âJust leave me alone.âÂ
âSorry,â he says, recovering quickly. His voice is steady. âCanât do that.  Sort of my job, you know?â
You roll your eyes then turn and stomp all the way down the stairs. Felix trails behind you without protest, not making much noise despite the boots but he is impossible to ignore regardless.Â
You go to the kitchen and open the fridge. You arenât hungry but you feel like you have to eat something now just to prove a point. Â
Felix ambles up to the counter and perches himself on a stool. You look over your shoulder at him. He waves.Â
âIâm not making you anything,â you snap.Â
âThatâs fine.â He folds his hand on the counter. âIâm not hungry.  Thank you.âÂ
You reach into the fridge and grab an eggplant out of the produce drawer. It is a ridiculous response, but you decide to out-weird the weirdo, making eye contact as you bite in the raw eggplant. You try to hide your displeasure, chewing the thick vegetable slowly. Felix tips his head very far then straightens. His eyes narrow.Â
âIâm pretty sure thatâs toxic,â he says.Â
You stop chewing.Â
âYeah,â he says. âEggplant, yeah. I think when itâs raw itâs like not good for you or something? I think thereâs like a chemical in it. Maybe itâs only if you eat a lot of it, uhhh, I donât know. Just in case, I wouldnât eat it like that if I were you.âÂ
You stare at him with a chunk of raw eggplant still on your tongue. He could be bluffing. He could be playing mind games. He could be telling the truth, since he delivered each sentence so uncertainly. Maybe heâs just bad at mind games. Youâre good at them. Youâve been playing them since you were a child, so you just stare him down, swallow the eggplant, then take another bite.Â
His brow furrows. You are pretty sure your displeasure is a little more obvious now, your mouth partially open as you chew.  Felix did not balk at stabbing his own hand but he looks very scandalized right now.  You consider it a success.Â
âStop it,â Felix says.Â
You take another bite, ripping into it with a ferocious tear.Â
âWhat are you doing?â he asks. âWhat? Are you trying to commit suicide by eggplant?â
You just shrug, chewing with your mouth wide open now.  His stool scrapes the ground and you brace yourself, shuffling in the opposite direction when he circles the kitchen island.Â
âSpit it out,â he says.Â
âNo,â you say, spitting eggplant as you say it. You very nearly choke.Â
âSeriously,â Felix says. âThis isnât funny.âÂ
You chew obnoxiously big in his direction and he pounces, smoothly intercepting your escape. Â Â He cages you in against the counter, blocking you when you try to move. You drop the rest of the eggplant and push at him, dribbling mushy vegetable and cursing through your mouthful.Â
âSpit. It. Out,â he says, putting his hand under your mouth like a mother to a baby. You shove that hand away, then try to shove his face away. He clearly doesnât want to get too physical with you, but eventually he grabs your chin and holds you still, your face pinched in his hand.  You stare at him, breathing hard through your nose. âStop it,â he says.Â
The house is empty. The house is genuinely, seriously, completely empty.  Your father trusts Felix that much.Â
Who is this fucking kid?Â
You spit the eggplant at him. It spatters on his shirt and wins you an eye roll. Itâs the first expression from him to make you smile.Â
âBed time,â he says, stepping back to brush the mess off his shirt.Â
You cross your arms and lean against the counter. âNo,â you say.Â
âNo?â he asks. His deep voice fractures with a higher-pitched sound of surprise.   âWhy not?âÂ
Because you hate your father and everything he puts you through. Because petty victories are your only victories. Because there is something seriously wrong with Felix if this is his life situation, and there is something seriously wrong with you for the same reason.Â
So you shrug. âMake me,â you say.Â
There is a beat of silence.
Then the world is upside down because Felix picks you up and slings you over his shoulder. You cry out, slapping his back as he marches to the stairs. Where is he even hiding this strength?Â
âPut me down!â You pound on his backside while he carries you up the stairs. âWhen my father hears about thisââ
He puts you down on the landing, swinging up a step to afford him an extra foot of height over you. He holds your wrist in his hand and looks at you very seriously.Â
âWhat?â he asks. âWhen he hears about me doing my job?âÂ
You try to tug your hand back but Felix holds it tight.
âAre you serious right now?â you ask. You continue to squirm your hand in his grip. âWho the fuck are you? What do you even get out of this?âÂ
âWhat do you get out of this - this - everything?â he asks. Â
âI get my life,â you snap. âIn pieces and only for a little bit, but mine.â
âMe too,â he says.Â
A breathless silence follows. You realize you are holding his hand, having twisted and turned so much that he clasped your fingers with his.  You both look there then at each other. You abruptly let go.Â
âCan we go to bed?â Felix asks, softening his voice. âPlease.âÂ
Your lower lip wobbles. You look at the stain on his shirt. You think about his hand on that desk.Â
âAnd what about my other question?â you ask.Â
He tips his head again, but his expression is no longer neutral. He wears his confusion openly, briefly but substantially.Â
âWhat?â he asks.Â
âMy other question,â you say, blinking back your tears. âWho are you?âÂ
âYou tell me first,â he says. âWho are you?âÂ
Itâs easier to fight and scream than plainly express yourself. No one ever listens, so you are not practiced. You have Felixâs undivided attention but it suddenly feels like too much. You do not have it in you to glare anymore. You meet his pained gaze with your own and join him on the next step.Â
âIâm tired,â you say. âLetâs go to bed.âÂ
He goes to check the security system while you get ready for bed. You are already nestled under the covers, shivering despite the thick layers because the house sounds so quiet and you are honestly scared. You jump when the door opens and Felix enters, your eyes meeting in the dim light. He looks away first, going about his own routine. You turn your back to him.Â
The bed is big but you still feel it dip when he gets inside. You look over your shoulder. He is laying on his back with his eyes closed. He is clearly still awake but the semblance of sleep accentuates the natural innocence of his face. You have seen the flicker of a few deeper emotions, none of them childish, but he looks his age while laying there.Â
His eyes open. He glances at you. You wonder what you look like to him.Â
âGood night,â he says, shattering the terrifying silence.Â
You donât argue it. You just nod then turn away, closing your eyes, letting the sound of his breathing lull you to sleep faster than usual.Â
genre & warnings: fluff! a tiny bit suggestive but mostly just fluff...
desc: on the day you met, you both took a photo of each other â a tradition that still lives on seven years later, even on your wedding day.
wc: 1.7k
note: happy wonwoo day! i miss him so dearly, so here is some horrifically sweet fluff for everyone. this is inspired by a tiktok made by @oklikewhatever ! not beta read so any mistakes are allll me :3
đ: pictures of you by the cure
The sun glittered through the swaying willow tree, the spindly arms arching in gorgeous, bespoke spirals above the head. The scene was picturesque, sprawling green in all directions, blossoming botanicals clustering the field, and a dozen or so rows of perfectly dressed chairs.Â
Familiar faces from all the paths your life had taken looked back, real and genuine smiles beaming towards you, chins held high in appreciation.
At the other end of the grassy aisle, the figure of a suit clad man snapped his head up, his body overwhelmed with adoration as he watched you walk slowly.
With each step, your heart became fuller and fuller, your shy smile evolving into a wide grin as you finally let your eyes meet those soft chocolate orbs that never quite left your mind. Those eyes you see in your dreams and in almost every picture you take, those warm coffee-brown eyes that beheld you like you were an angel on earth, descending upon them like a blessing.Â
It all started the day that you met, seven years ago, on a snowy university quadrangle. The weather had gotten unforgivingly bitter in a matter of days, and it had most students grunting and groaning at the biting, icy wind â Including Wonwoo, who swore the cloudy sky would singlehandedly fail his photography assignment for him.Â
The once vivid green of the colossal oak trees was dimmed under grey skies, the camera capturing sullen shadows and blurry undertones instead of the striking light beams and glowing leaves. Wonwoo let his arms slack beside him as he looked up at the colourless clouds, irritation stiffening him grossly.Â
As if things couldnât worsen, tiny specks of white began to tumble lightly from above, settling graciously between his feet. Great, now itâs snowing.
A loud and excitement-fuelled squeal pulled Wonwoo from his self-induced strop and forced him to snap his head to the source of the heinous invasion of noise in his ears. Between two of the ancient oaks, you were jumping with an untameable smile on your face, eyes glowing in delight as you flapped your arms gleefully in the snow.Â
Wonwoo froze, mouth slacking as he watched you â like a vision of pure euphoria, you squealed in the snow like it was the most mind-blowing thing to ever occur. And for some reason, he was enticed, heart pounding as he watched you closely. Like perfect wingmen, his feet led him to you, stopping a few feet away as you held your arm above your head, letting the cool snowflakes land on your palm.Â
âHi.â Wonwoo said, mentally cringing at his lax greeting.Â
âOh, hey!â You turned your head to face him briefly, unable to keep his eye contact as the flourishes of snow wisped past. âIsnât this amazing!âÂ
Wonwoo laughed lightly, his heart screeching within him as he continued to watch your fascination.Â
âDo you think I can take a photo of you?â He asks gingerly, worry consuming him. âSorry, if that seems creepy, I study here, and Iâm trying to complete a project about natural-occurring beauty.âÂ
Maybe you were playing dumb, but you let him believe you thought he was talking about the snow.
âSure.â You agree, âon one condition.âÂ
Wonwoo furrowed his brows, letting his camera lower as you look at him closely. âOkay.âÂ
âIf you let me take a picture of you too.âÂ
Those first two photos developed in time for your first date. Two snowy pictures of wide smiles and anticipation â anticipation for something unknown, something unawaited and new, something that would unknowingly change both of your lives.Â
It was an icy evening in late November when Wonwoo showed up at your door with hand-wrapped flowers, offering you his arm to take you out on a first date. Between his hands were a bunch of gorgeous lilies, close to blooming, wrapped carefully in newspaper â which were delicately placed in a vase before he whisked you off to dinner.Â
Somehow, heâd located the most perfect and intimate restaurant within walking distance of your dorm. The abode was decorated in dark colours and lit dimly to foster closeness between its customers, tiny candlelights flickering on the varnished wooden tables, illuminating faces with golden warmth.Â
Wonwoo did everything right â took your coat, pulled out your chair, called you beautiful, tucked your hair behind your ear. And your heart felt butterflies were gearing up to flutter it away.Â
You hung your head in confusion as he manoeuvred himself back up. âWhat are you talking about, Wonwoo?â You say with a questioning smile.Â
âCan I take a photo of you?âÂ
He materialises the same camera that captured your blissful snowy moment and places it on the table between you.Â
âWellâŠâ You pretend to think, tapping your chin for exaggeration, Wonwooâs soft laugh ringing from opposite you. âOn one condition.âÂ
âOh really?â He plays into the joke, a smile bit into his cheeks as he pretends. Inside, his heart is practically singing, the sight of your eyes glowing under candlelight enough to almost render him speechless.Â
âIf you let me take a photo of you too.âÂ
The second couple of pictures developed in time for Wonwoo to tack them to his wall. The photos under subdued light radiated warmth, from the shy smiles dancing on both of your faces to the subtle knowing looks you both possessed â this was meant to be.Â
On a grassy spring plain, Wonwoo presented a spread of your favourite foods, a soft plush blanket beneath your legs as you sat peacefully, letting the breeze tickle your cheeks lightly. Wonwoo was beside you, stealing sly glances at your side profile as the early-spring sun made your skin glow.Â
âHey,â He said softly, making you turn and hum in response, leaning onto his shoulder on instinct, the closeness familiar over the months of developing feelings.Â
âWhatâs up?â You say as he wraps an arm around your waist, resting his head on yours comfortably. Throughout the months of dating, small touches had flowered slowly, shy pinky-holding evolving into strong arms wrapped around one another.Â
âWant to be my girlfriend?â Wonwoo asked not-so smoothly, letting the biting anxiety slip through his relaxed facade and muddle the beginning of his sentence.
âWant to be your girlfriend?â You repeat back to him, with a baited smile, turning to look at him. âJeon Wonwoo, you can do better than that.â
âDo you want to be my girlfriend?â He rolls his eyes playfully and meets your gaze â your eyes are glistening and as soft as ever, love penetrating as you nod bashfully at him.Â
With a light touch, Wonwoo cups your cheek, running the pad of his thumb across your smooth skin as he drinks your pretty face in. Slowly, his plush lips meet yours, electricity jolting through you as they mould together like two pieces of the same heart. Heat rises through your body as he pecks your lips lovingly, continuing to memorise the texture of your skin beneath his fingertips.Â
âSorry to ruin the moment but,â Wonwoo speaks, his breath still mingling with yours. âCan I take a photo of you?âÂ
With a flushed complexion, you lean your forehead on his shoulder in embarrassment. âYou know my condition, boyfriend.âÂ
Over the years, Wonwoo had collected hundreds of these photos. Each in neat pairs, bright expressions of delight dancing on your faces, backgrounds differing from rural beauty to urban simplicity, some taken in extravagant cities across continents and some in your and Wonwooâs bed, white covers concealing your naked figures.Â
The photographs were famous in your close circle, many of the most important people in your lives witnessing the innocent flash of the camera and the small giggle as you passed it between each other.
Photos from family holidays and photos from mundane work-from-home afternoons, photos from the day Wonwoo got down on one knee and photos from dates gone wrong. Every photo displays a precious memory that you both held close to your hearts.
As you behold the film camera between you both, the audience watching knowingly as Wonwoo leans down to pick it up, just like he did on your first date, and a small, joyful tear slips down your cheek.
âYou already know what Iâm going to ask.â He says quietly, the rows of friends in front of you silently listening along.Â
Without a word, you nod, a grateful smile on your features as he lifts his hand to wipe the tear from your cheek.Â
âCan I take a picture of you?â This time Wonwooâs eyes are beginning to get glassy, the audience swooning calmly as they watch.Â
âOf course you can,â you answer with a sniffle, âon one condition.âÂ
He nods, just as he has many times in the past, your hand meeting his on your cheek to intertwine your fingers.Â
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