𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 ➙ You call tech support expecting help, not butterflies. The guy on the other end has a voice that could fix ANY problem — except the one where you can’t stop calling just to hear him talk.
𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬 ➙ Fluff, I.T.! Wonwoo x Not techy! Reader, Office Romance, Meet-cute, Strangers to lovers (real), Reader be a little obsessed with deep voices, 18+, Porn w/ Plot
𝐖𝐂 ➙ 9k
𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ➙ MDNI, explicit sexual content, explicit language, finger fucking (f. receiving), masturbation (f. doing with ‘somehow’ the help of other), public-risk intimacy (I’m so sorry..), grinding, protected sex, rough sex, neck grabs/choking, restraining hands, voice kink, mirror sex, coming untouched, body worship, dirty talk, praising, spanking, hair pulling, multiple orgasms, hail your queen position, doggy style, pinning her, mentions of bar and alcohol, intoxicated sex, smoking, shotgun scene, aftercare
🎧 ➙ Kiss me thru the phone by Soulja Boy, Sammie ⋮ Shut up and listen by Nicholas Bonnin, Angelicca
𝐀/𝐍 ➙ Heyy, advance happy halloween (or happy halloween if it’s already that time in your zone)!! I’m not sure if I’ll be active tomorrow since I'll be out (guys have fun too😭) — but anyways!! thank you so much for all the love and support lately. I had so much fun doing kinktober this year. I hope you enjoy this one!! I also wanted to thank @svthub nothing I really am just happy to be part of it and everyone for being so welcoming and nice!!
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“Welcome to the necessary weekly meeting!” Soonyoung announced dramatically, arms wide as you walked into Jihoon’s condo. Jihoon, sitting cross-legged on the floor with a laptop and a frown, didn’t even look up. “It’s literally just us hanging out because you two can’t function without supervision.”
“Exactly!” Soonyoung grinned, patting the seat beside him. “Necessary.” You dropped your bag on the couch, laptop under your arm, and sighed. “If this is a meeting, I’d like to file a complaint. My wi-fi’s been dead for three hours.”
Jihoon groaned. “Oh no.” Soonyoung perked up. “Don’t-” But you were already reaching for your phone. “I think I’ll just call-” “Don’t say it,” Jihoon warned.
“-tech support,” you finished innocently.
Soonyoung threw a pillow at you. “You don’t need tech support for everything! Last time your charger wasn’t even plugged in!” “It was plugged in,” you argued. “Just.. not all the way.” Jihoon muttered, “You’re single-handedly keeping that hotline employed.”
“They’re nice people!” You defended yourself, booting up your laptop. “Besides, they actually help instead of mocking me.” “Oh please,” Soonyoung teased, leaning closer. “Just say you have a voice fetish”
“I do not?!”
Jihoon snorted. “Your face says otherwise.” You huffed, glaring at both of them. “You’re just jealous because no one picks up when you call for help.” “Yeah, because we don’t break technology by existing,” Jihoon shot back.
The argument went in circles until Jihoon ordered takeout just to shut both of you up. When it arrived, everyone ended up sprawled in front of the TV, eating noodles and teasing each other between bites.
By the time you headed home, Soonyoung made you promise — hands clasped together dramatically — “Don’t. Call. Tech support. Tonight.” You rolled your eyes. “If you just helped me with my problem-” “I can’t help you, Y/N.. I have my own problems,” he said, feigning exhaustion. “You’re so dramatic.” “Just promise.”
“Ok.. ok jeez I promise not to call them.”
You did.
When you got home, your apartment felt unusually quiet. Too quiet. You dropped your keys, kicked off your shoes, and flopped onto your bed, staring at your laptop like it was your sworn enemy. The wi-fi symbol blinked mockingly at you. Still dead. You worked at Jihoon's. What's wrong with you?!
You tried everything: restarted, reconnected, even whispered, “Please work, I’m begging you,” like it owed you emotional support. Still nothing.
Soonyoung’s voice echoed in your head — Don’t call tech support tonight. You sighed, staring at your phone. He didn’t have to know. “Just one call,” you muttered, already pressing the number.
Beep. Beep.
You leaned back, half-asleep, bracing for the hold music and robotic voice menu. Then.. “Good evening, this is Jeon Wonwoo from customer support. How can I help you tonight?”
You were stunned.
God damn the voice.
Low, calm, a little tired but velvety — the kind of voice that could make tax advice sound seductive. “Oh. U- Hi,” you managed, blinking at the ceiling. “My laptop refuses to connect to the wi-fi. It’s being dramatic.”
A small laugh slipped through the line. “Let’s see what we can do. Are you sure it’s your wi-fi and not your laptop? Have you tried connecting it to another network?” “Positive,” you said confidently. “I’m very tech-savvy.” “ok..,” he said, amused. “Can you check your network list? What do you see?”
You peered at your screen. “Uhm-” You frowned. “I don’t see my wi-fi name. Just.. my neighbour’s? And something called ‘NETGEAR32’..what the fuck is this?” You whispered the last sentence, but figured he heard it, the way he laughed on the other line. Wah! The laugh is even hotter.
“Hmm. Could you tell me what your router looks like?” “It’s that little black box with the blinking lights, right?” “Yes,” he said slowly. “Where is it?” You turned your head toward your bedside table. “It’s right here. Wait..” you reached out and realised it wasn’t blinking at all. Just off.
You picked it up and froze. “Oh my god.” “What’s wrong?” “It’s- ahm.. uh- huh” you coughed. “It’s not plugged in. Because I moved it earlier so I could vacuum.” There was a pause. Then his voice came through again, thick with restrained laughter.
“You vacuumed your wi-fi?” “Don’t say it like that,” you protested, cheeks burning. “It sounded responsible at the time!” He chuckled — a low, genuine sound that made your stomach twist. “You’re the first caller I’ve had tonight who turned off their wi-fi for cleaning purposes.”
“See? I’m helping the world one spotless floor at a time.” “Sure,” he said. “Totally not creating your own emergencies.” You pouted even though he couldn’t see you. “You’re judging me.” “I’m observing,” he teased. “With admiration.”
You couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re rude. But also kind of charming.” “That’s a first,” he said softly, and you could hear his smile through the line.
The wi-fi reconnected instantly once you plugged it back in, but neither of you hung up. At one point, he asked, “So do you always call tech support after vacuuming?”
“Only when I make life decisions that backfire,” you said. “Which is often.” “Good to know,” he murmured, voice lower now. “Guess I should keep my line open then.” Fucking voice.. fucking hellllll- this is testing me.
You laughed, heart racing a little too fast for a call that started with a wi-fi crisis. When the line finally went quiet, you didn’t move for a while. Your wi-fi was back.
But you had a new problem
you couldn’t stop replaying his voice in your head.
“Believe me, Soonyoung, the voice. I just know he looks hot.” You were sprawled across your couch, phone on speaker, while Soonyoung sat at the edge of the coffee table, eating crisps and giving you a look that screamed disbelief.
“There are literally thousands of tech support agents, Y/N,” he said, crunching loudly. “How confident are you that you’re even gonna get-”
“Good evening,” the speaker crackled, and that low, familiar voice filled the room. “This is Jeon Wonwoo from customer support. How can I help you tonight?” Soonyoung froze mid-bite. Then he mouthed, damn.
You grinned, triumphant. “Hi,” you said, trying not to sound too excited. There was a pause — and then, that voice again, soft and amused “You again?” Soonyoung slapped a hand over his mouth, trying not to laugh.
You cleared your throat, pretending to be professional. “Yes, me again. I, um.. I think my keyboard’s stuck.” Soonyoung buried his face in a pillow. Stuck? Really? he mouthed, horrified. You whispered back, “What?! That’s the only thing I could think of!”
Wonwoo must’ve heard the shuffling because he asked, “Keyboard stuck how?” You blinked at your laptop. “Like- it’s not typing?” “Did you check if it’s connected properly?” You poked at the keys. “Yes?” “Okay. Is it wireless?” You squinted. “I mean it doesn’t have a wire.”
Soonyoung groaned into the pillow. “Alright,” Wonwoo said, patient as ever. “Can you check the little switch under it? It might be turned off.” You flipped it over. The red light was off.
“Oh.”
“Found the problem?” he asked, amusement dripping through the line. “..Possibly,” you admitted, turning it back on. Soonyoung whispered, “You’re gonna die alone.” “Don’t be jealous,” you muttered back.
“What was that?” Wonwoo asked, still smiling through his words. “Nothing! I, uh, I fixed it. You’re a genius.” “I do my best,” he said modestly. “Though you might be setting a record for repeat callers this week.”
You snorted. “Oh come on, I’m not that bad.” “I didn’t say bad,” he teased. “Just dedicated.” Soonyoung mouthed, oh my god he’s flirting. You kicked him under the table. “Well,” you said lightly, leaning back. “Thank you again for your very professional assistance, Mr. Wonwoo.”
“My pleasure,” he said smoothly. “But I should tell you — you’re gonna get me fired if you keep calling this much.” You grinned. “Then I’ll have to find another HOTline to talk with.” That made him grin — a low, surprised sound that sent goosebumps up your neck.
Before he could say anything else, you hung up, giggling, tossing your phone onto the couch like it was on fire. Soonyoung stared at you, jaw dropped. “You did not just hang up on him after saying that.”
“I did,” you said proudly, hugging a pillow. “You’re insane.” “I think I’m in love with his voice,” you ignored him. “Yeah.. definitely insane.” Soonyoung groaned, throwing himself back dramatically. “Jihoon’s never gonna believe this.”
Meetings were bad enough on their own.
Delayed meetings, however, were a special kind of torture.
You sat in the conference room with your coworkers, nursing your second cup of terrible coffee while everyone complained about the same thing.. the company’s internal program being down.
“This is the third time this week,” Hansol muttered beside you, spinning his pen like he was auditioning for a stress commercial. “Didn’t the IT promise to fix this permanently?” You sighed, leaning back. “Apparently the main IT guy’s out of town. They’re sending someone else from the other branch.”
“God,” Hansol groaned. “If this takes longer, I’m fake fainting just to go home early.” A few desks away, someone joked, “Maybe we should just call tech support!” Hansol smirked and nudged you. “Hey, that’s your thing, right?” You gave him a look. “Shut up.”
Before he could tease you again, the conference room door swung open. “Sorry for the delay,” a deep, calm voice said. “I’m from the external IT department — I’ll be fixing the system today.”
You froze.
No way.
The pen slipped from your hand. Hansol glanced at you, confused, as you slowly turned toward the door. And there he was.
Jeon Wonwoo, in the flesh.
Tall. Dressed in an office lanyard, white button-down shirt, rolled-up sleeves, soft eyes framed by dark-rimmed glasses. The same low, polite tone — the same one that had once asked, You again? through your phone speaker.
He didn’t even look in your direction, busy setting his laptop bag down near the projector. But you were already spiraling. Hansol whispered, “What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” You grabbed his sleeve, dragging him closer, whispering, “That’s him.”
“Who-” “Tech support voice guy.”
Hansol blinked. Then his eyes widened. “No way.” “Way,” you hissed. “Oh my god, he’s real. He’s here. I’ve literally flirted with him over my wi-fi and fake keyboard issues.”
Hansol’s face twisted between amusement and disbelief. “You’re kidding. The guy you said had a voice that could fix your life? That’s him?” “Shut up,” you whispered harshly, elbowing him as quietly as possible.
But of course, Wonwoo glanced up right at that moment — and his eyes landed on the two of you whispering near the door.
You panicked and pretended to cough. Hansol, because he loved chaos, gave you the most suspiciously innocent smile possible. Wonwoo tilted his head slightly. Then, with that same even tone, said, “Sorry, could someone show me where the main server is located?”
Hansol grinned, standing immediately. “Y/N can show you.” Your head whipped toward him. “I- what?!” “She’s great with.. tech support,” Hansol said, barely holding back laughter.
You shot him a death glare before plastering on the fakest smile known to man. “Right. The server. Of course.” You led the way down the hallway, pulse hammering, mentally screaming the entire time. Behind you, you could hear the faint sound of Wonwoo’s footsteps — steady, unbothered.
And when he finally spoke, the air shifted. “You work here?” he asked casually. You swallowed. “..Apparently.” There was a hint of amusement in his voice when he replied, “Guess I should’ve known. You sound familiar.”
Your brain short-circuited. Does he recognise me?! IS THAT POSSIBLE?? Fuckk! Oh my- do I even look good today?! You laughed a little too quickly. “Do I?”
He hummed softly. “Yeah. Can’t quite place it though. Maybe I’m wrong.” Good. Keep it that way. You stopped by the room, pushing the door open and praying your soul wouldn’t just exit your body on the spot.
“Here it is,” you said, stepping aside. “The, uh.. problematic area.” Wonwoo smiled faintly — professional, polite — but something about it made your heart stutter anyway. “Thanks.”
You nodded, pretending to check your phone just to avoid melting under his presence. Hansol’s text popped up almost immediately
Hansolie: 👀 sooooooo how’s ur ‘wifi’?
You typed back furiously while walking back to the conference room.
Y/N: shut. up. hansol.
—
The elevator doors slid open to the scent of roasted beans and caramel syrup — the unofficial perfume of your company’s lobby. You needed caffeine. And possibly divine intervention. After all, you’d just spent the entire morning trying not to think about your crush slash former tech support.
“Hey, Y/N!” the barista chirped as you reached the counter. “The usual?” You nodded, rubbing your temples. “Yeah, but can you, like.. make it extra strong today? Emotionally and spiritually?”
He laughed. “Got it. Double shot, emotional damage edition.” “Perfect,” you sighed. “Oh, and can you add a little cinnamon instead of cocoa powder this time?” “Got you.” He scribbled the note on your cup. You stepped aside to wait — and that’s when you heard it.
“Can I get a flat white, please?”
That voice.
You turned, and there he was — standing just a few feet away at the other end of the counter, sleeves still rolled up, work lanyard hanging loose around his neck. Wonwoo.
He looked effortlessly calm, one hand in his pocket, the other holding his phone while he thanked the barista with that same low tone that made you weak in the knees.
You blinked, heart stuttering. “Oh,” you blurted before your brain caught up. “You- uh.. coffee?”
Smooth. Very eloquent.
Wonwoo glanced up, a little confused. “Me.. coffee,” he echoed, lips curving. You wanted to melt straight into the tile floor. “Hi,” you said, trying to be casual. “Again.”
“Hi,” he returned, equally casual. His voice softened. “You on break?” “Yeah, trying to survive another meeting that could’ve been an email,” you joked. “You?” “Running system checks upstairs. Thought I’d double check whether the server is plugged before your company crashes again.”
You gasped in mock offense, not fully understanding what he meant. “Hey! It wasn’t my fault this time.” He chuckled, stepping closer as the barista called both your names. You picked up your drink at the same time he reached for his — your fingers brushed for half a second.
And you definitely felt that.
“Thanks,” you mumbled, gripping your cup a little too tight. He tilted his head, smiling teasingly. “So.. how’s your technology lately?” You froze. “What-”
“That wi-fi working fine?” he asked innocently, sipping his coffee. “Keyboard behaving?” Suddenly your jaw could hit the floor.. hiding your face with your hand. “Oh my god. You know it’s me.” “I just figured it out after you showed me the room earlier,” he admitted, smirking. “You have a very.. recognizable voice.”
Oh yeah..? and you have a hella attractive voice.
“Great,” you muttered. “So now the tech guy knows ‘the girl who vacuumed her wi-fi’s’ work address..” He laughed quietly. “Could’ve been worse.” “I was trying to clean responsibly!” you protested, half laughing, half dying inside.
He leaned a little closer, eyes glinting with amusement. “You really do make my job interesting, you know that?” You tried not to look at his mouth when he smiled like that. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” “It is,” he said easily.
For a second, neither of you said anything — the buzz of the lobby filling the space between you. Then your phone buzzed with a message from Hansol
Hansolie: boss asking where u r 👀
You sighed. “Duty calls.” Wonwoo held up his cup. “Same here.” You both started toward the elevators, walking side by side until the hall split. “Guess I’ll see you around, I’ll be the IT for weeks, fortunately.” he said.
You grinned, stepping backward. “Fortunately?” He smirked, tone low and teasing. “Yeah.. this time, you don’t have to press any keys to talk to me.” You turned away, trying not to smile too hard — and totally failed.
It’s been a week.
A very long, very confusing week.
Because somehow, ever since that coffee encounter, your team and the IT team have been glued together. Every project update? They’re there. Every department sync? They’re in the room. Every “quick check on the system”? It’s him.
You tried to act normal — really, you did — but it was hard to stay composed when his voice kept floating across the room. Smooth, professional, occasionally teasing when he’d call out, “Y/N, can you test the connection for me?” Yeah. Connection. Sure.
And of course, Hansol noticed. He noticed how you’d suddenly straighten in your chair whenever Wonwoo spoke, how you’d take exactly 0.5 seconds too long to respond. “You’re down bad,” he whispered during one meeting, and you kicked him under the table hard enough to rattle his pen.
Even worse, Wonwoo didn’t seem fazed by any of it. He’d walk past your desk with that tiny, unreadable smile — the kind that made your brain lag. He’d drop by for “routine checks,” which, suspiciously, only seemed necessary near your cubicle.
By Friday, your nerves were shot. You’d memorised the sound of his footsteps, the shape of his laugh, and the way he said your name like it was something erotic. Or maybe that’s just me who’s thinking that..
You weren’t sure which was worse — that he might notice, or that he already had.
—
You’d left the office hours ago, but Wonwoo’s voice lingered in your mind like a ghost. Back in your apartment, you changed into comfortable clothes — an oversized shirt and didn’t even bother to put on some shorts. You poured yourself a glass of wine, settling on the couch with your laptop, trying to focus on a show. But your thoughts kept drifting back to him.
His smile, his laugh, the way his hair fell across his forehead. You remembered the sound of his voice, the way it echoed through the empty office, wrapping around you like a warm blanket.
You took a sip of your wine, feeling the cool liquid slide down your throat. This is ridiculous. Is the aircon even on?!
You shifted uncomfortably on the couch, feeling a warmth spread through you. You couldn’t believe you were getting turned on just by thinking about his voice. You felt embarrassed, foolish even. But the warmth didn’t go away. Instead, it grew stronger, pooling between your legs.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” you muttered to yourself, but your hand was already sliding beneath the waistband of your underwear. You weren’t even touching yourself yet, just pressing your palm against your core through the fabric. “I’m getting horny over someone’s voice..?”
Just say you have a voice fetish — Soonyoung’s voice suddenly echoing in your head that made you feel an overwhelming rush of embarrassment and arousal. You pushed your underwear to the side and slipped a finger inside yourself, that deep voice. “Fuck..”
Slowly pushing it in and out as you imagined Wonwoo’s voice whispering dirty things in your ear. Your other hand reached up to pinch your nipple through your shirt, twisting it gently. You were getting wetter by the second, all from thinking about a man’s voice.
Your mind started playing tricks on you. You pictured his long fingers as he fast-typed on a keyboard. You bit your lip, moaning softly. “God,” you whimpered. Your hips lifted slightly, pushing your finger deeper, thinking it was Wonwoo who was finger-fucking her.
One finger wasn’t enough. You needed more stimulation, more pressure. You cursed under your breath, frustrated that your own hand wasn’t enough to get you off when just thinking about Wonwoo’s voice had you soaking wet. “Damn it..”
—
I stopped moving my finger, my heart racing as reality crashed back in. What the actual fuck was wrong with me..? Getting turned on over a voice?! What the hell. Over Wonwoo’s voice specifically??! Ughh god.. I quickly pulled my finger.
“Maybe I should..” my heart raced at the thought. “Hmm.. should I?” I don’t know what to do. But I’m burning and it hurts already, I need to get by.
This is insane. “No. I won’t do it,” but the thought only lingered on me and I’m going crazy. This is desperate.. yet also fucking hot.
My fingers trembled as I slowly dialed a number.. his number. Each digit felt like a step closer to crossing a line I wasn’t sure I could uncross. The phone rang once, twice, three times. Fuck.. fuck.. fuck! My heart is pounding so much and my free hand is already sliding back into my underwear.. ok maybe I’m not that good of a person- but I need this! I’m gonna go nuts!
—
“Hello?” His deep, husky voice came through the phone, sending a jolt straight to your core. You let out a shaky breath, your finger now slowly circling your clit as you held the phone between your shoulder and ear. “Hi..” You whispered, already lost.
“Hey,” he said softly, unknowingly pushing you further towards the edge. “Everything ok?” He asked, you could hear the concern in his voice. Your hips lifted slightly, pushing your finger inside your clit. “Mhm,”
“You sound distracted.” He paused, you could hear him moving around. “Where are you? I can barely hear you.” His words sent a shiver down your spine. You were silent for a moment, your finger moving faster. “I'm.. in bed,” you whispered, your voice hoarse.
Wonwoo hummed, “It's late. You sleeping?” You bit your lip, debating whether to tell the truth. “No,” you admitted quietly, your hand moving frantically now, your legs spreading wider. Wonwoo’s voice was just too good, too enticing.
“What are you doing then?” He asked, suddenly curious. His voice dropped lower, unaware that he was talking to a woman on the verge of orgasm on the phone. “Because- I’m alone," you confessed, your breath hitching as your finger rubbed faster.
“Aw, are you bored?” He asked gently. “Kind of-” You whispered, your other hand squeezing your breast through your shirt. “Need someone to talk to?” He offered, making small talk while you edged closer to coming.
“Actually- hmm” You started, then bit your lip hard to stop yourself from moaning. Your finger was slowly pressing onto your G-spot, your thumb circling your clit exactly how you liked. “Yeah?” Wonwoo encouraged conversationally, “What is it, Y/N?”
“Nothin- ahh.. mhmm” You whispered quickly, trying to hide the fact that you were about to cum hard on the phone with him. “Just- just thinking about stuff.” Your legs were shaking now, your hips moving in time with your hand. “Like what?” He asked, genuinely interested.
“Stupid stuff..” You breathed softly. “Like.. Like-” You trailed off, getting closer. “Yeah?” He chuckled, unknowingly pushing you towards your orgasm with his deep voice. “Random stuff” You moaned softly, then covered your mouth quickly.
He hummed on the other line, pressing, “Random stuff like..? Y/N.. are you ok?” You were so close now, your hand moving desperately. “Shit-!” You whimpered into the phone, your body tensing up as you came hard, silence filling the line except for your quick pants.
You quickly ended the call, your cheeks burning red as you tried to catch your breath. You cursed yourself, throwing your phone aside and collapsing back onto your bed. “What the fuck did I just do?” You hissed at yourself, feeling both embarrassed and satisfied from that crazy spontaneous orgasm.
He didn’t catch me right..?
—
He looked at his phone, a slow smirk spreading across his face. The call ended abruptly, and he knew exactly why. His mind filled with images of you touching yourself to his voice, coming undone alone in your room. He chuckled lowly to himself, getting hard.
“Y/N L/N, what are you even planning to do?”
He said, dragging a hand over his face, clearly flustered and unsure of what to do next. No.. correction, he is sure of what he’s gonna do that night.
The week after Wonwoo’s temporary contract with her company ended felt weirdly quiet. No passing glances in the hallway, no low voice echoing across the conference room, no reason to hang around the break area pretending you needed another coffee.
Work picked up, deadlines piled, and life moved — or at least pretended to. You told yourself it was fine. Totally fine. People came and went, right? He was just one of them. Except your brain didn’t seem to get the memo. Especially with someone, you had an intense orgasm without him even knowing, or that’s what she thought.
Every time someone with a low voice spoke during a call, your heart did that stupid thing — the half-second jolt before realising it wasn’t him. You hadn’t texted, hadn’t even tried. It wasn’t like you owed him anything. Also, you’re too embarrassed to contact him anyways.
And so, you buried it — until Soonyoung decided to ruin your emotional stability for sport. “It’s Friday,” he declared, barging into your cubicle with the enthusiasm of a man who’s never known shame. “We’re going out. Jihoon’s coming. No excuses.”
“I have emails to-” “Nope,” he cut you off, snatching your mouse and dramatically logging you out. “You’re touching grass tonight, whether you like it or not.”
Which is how you ended up at a crowded downtown bar, squeezed between Soonyoung’s chaos and Jihoon’s eternal disapproval. The music was loud, the lights warm, and the air smelled like beer and bad decisions. You were halfway through your drink when Soonyoung suddenly went still. “Don’t panic,” he said.
Your stomach dropped. “Why?” “Because.. hot people incoming. Specifically, men who look like they pay taxes on time.” You turned and froze. Him. Again.
He was walking in with two other guys — one with long hair and a mischievous grin.. definitely trouble, the other already laughing at something. Wonwoo looked the same — relaxed, slightly tired, effortlessly attractive in a black long sleeves that fit a little too well. Of course. The universe had a sense of humour.
Jihoon noticed your expression instantly. “Oh no,” he muttered. “Who’s that?” You tore your gaze away too quickly. “No one.” Soonyoung squinted. “That’s tech support voice, isn’t it? You mentioned before that you met him already!!” “Lower your voice!” you hissed, smacking his arm.
But fate, being a little shit, made eye contact inevitable. Wonwoo’s eyes swept across the bar — and landed right on you. A flicker of recognition passed through his face, followed by something dangerously close to a smile.
You panicked and looked away. Pretended to study the drink menu like it held the secrets of the universe. “Oh my god,” Soonyoung whispered gleefully. “He saw you.” “Shut up.”
He didn’t. He wasn’t wearing his glasses.
A few minutes later, laughter rippled from the next table — Wonwoo’s group had settled just a few seats away. You tried not to stare. Really, you did. But when you heard his laugh — that same quiet, low sound you remembered from the phone — your whole chest ached, and also down there..
Jeonghan, his long-haired friend, caught you looking. His lips curved into a knowing smile before leaning toward Wonwoo to say something. Wonwoo’s gaze flicked your way again, he’s now wearing his typical glasses, that you swear you just want him to wear while-. Soonyoung caught that, too. “Yup. He’s looking. He’s so looking.”
You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “I hate this. I actually hate this.” Jihoon sipped his drink calmly. “No, you don’t.” And maybe he was right — because when Wonwoo finally stood up, drink in hand, and started walking toward your table, your pulse went wild.
You straightened instinctively, heart hammering. Soonyoung muttered, “Oh my god, he’s coming over-” “Hey,” came that familiar voice — smoother than you remembered, and a lot closer.
You looked up, every thought in your head dissolving into static. Wonwoo smiled. “Didn’t expect to see my favourite caller here.” Soonyoung choked on his drink. Jihoon muttered, “I need another round.”
And you? You just tried to remember how to breathe.
You blinked up at him, trying to play it cool even though Soonyoung was grinning beside you like a proud parent. “Oh, hi.” Wonwoo’s lips curved slightly. “You don’t call anymore.” You tilted your head, shy but smiling. “Well, I don’t need help with anything regarding my technologies, so..”
He took a small step closer, the corner of his mouth lifting. “I meant my personal number. After you ended the call, leaving me behind, you never called again.” You froze. The words hit like a slow echo, sinking into the quiet thrum of music around you. You blinked at him, unsure if you heard right, if he was teasing or serious — until you saw the faint glint in his eyes.
And suddenly, the flash of that night came rushing back. The memory of his voice. The way your breath had hitched, every pressed your fingers made, every moan, every shiver.. everything. The stupid thoughts that followed. Your chest felt hot.
“I- excuse me,” you muttered quickly, voice a little too thin as you slipped past him. The cool air outside hit like a reset button, sharp and grounding. You walked to the bar side, where the noise softened into background static, and pulled a cigarette from your bag with shaky fingers.
The flame flickered when you lit it. You inhaled, letting the smoke fill your lungs before slowly exhaling toward the empty road. The night air wrapped around you, quiet, still. Then.. a low chuckle behind you.
“You smoke?”
You turned slightly, startled. Wonwoo stood a few steps away, hands in his pockets, the faint streetlight catching in his hair. He looked amused — but not judgmental, just curious, his tone lazy and warm. You blinked. “Only when I’m trying to forget embarrassing things.”
He laughed quietly, walking closer. “So that’s what I am?” You took another drag, eyes flicking toward him. “No.. fuck- sorry. I really just am trying to forget something I did”
He tilted his head, smirking faintly. “Like.. touching yourself with the help of my voice?” Your jaw almost hit the floor. You believed it did. You couldn’t even move nor talk, cigarette on your fingers, smoke curling in the space between you.
He took a step closer, closing the gap between you both. His smirk grew wider as he reached out and gently took the cigarette from your fingers. He brought it to his own lips and took a drag before exhaling slowly. “You know what I think?”
“I think you should do something for me. You left me aching that night” He took another drag before offering the cigarette back to you. When you didn’t take it as how shocked you are, he held it there teasingly. “Shotgun.” He said lowly, his face inches from yours. “Can you do a shotgun?”
The sudden request snapped you out of your stunned silence. You blinked rapidly, processing his words. “Shotgun?” You repeated dumbly, finally taking the cigarette back from his fingers. Your hand brushed against his briefly, sending a spark through you. “You want me to-” You paused, then laughed nervously.
He chuckled, his eyes never leaving yours. “Yeah, you know what I mean.” He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Come on, don’t tell me you’ve never done shotgun before.. you even played without who you’re thinking of”
You raised an eyebrow, ego rising, and took a long drag of the cigarette before exhaling slowly in his direction. As you did, you reached up and wrapped your hand around his nape, giving it a gentle but firm squeeze. His eyes widened slightly at the sudden contact, a small jolt running through him.
You brought the cigarette to your lips again, taking a deep drag before sealing your lips around it and hovering around his mouth. You held the smoke in your mouth for a moment before exhaling slowly into his mouth, sharing the hit with him in a perfect shotgun pass.
Wonwoo’s eyes remained on yours as the smoke filled his mouth, your lips dangerously near his. It was intimate and unexpected, the act of sharing a cigarette like this. His hand instinctively gripped your wrist where it still rested on his nape, holding you there.
Before you could pull away, Wonwoo’s free hand suddenly gripped your hip possessively, pulling you closer as he went in for a kiss. The cigarette fell forgotten to the ground between your feet as his other hand tangled in your hair, tilting your head back to gain better access to your mouth.
The smoke from the cigarette was intoxicating, but it was nothing compared to the taste of his mouth. Wonwoo’s lips moved urgently against yours, his tongue pushing past your lips to explore your mouth with an intensity that left you breathless. The taste of tobacco mixed with his own unique flavour drove you crazy.
—
Fuck, this girl can kiss. My mind was spinning as I devoured her mouth hungrily, my hands gripping her tightly. The taste of cigarettes and something uniquely hers exploded on mine, making my head swim. * deepened the kiss further, my tongue dominating hers as I pulled her flush against me.
This is driving me insane. She’s insane.
Ever since that night, I couldn’t just take her off my mind, much worse, she didn’t even bother to reach out. She made sure she got the pleasure she needed and threw me. Now that’s hot of her.
I broke the kiss briefly as my hands framed her face. I quickly removed my glasses and set them aside. My vision was indeed blurry, but it only seemed to heighten my senses haha, this is driving me crazy. I captured her lips again immediately, my touch turning almost desperate as I kissed her.
The taste of her mouth feels like I needed her to survive.
And I’m not even gonna complain about that.
—
Wonwoo forced himself to break the kiss, his chest heaving as he looked at you through his blurry vision. Your lips were swollen and kiss-stained, a few strands of hair sticking to your flushed cheeks. He blinked rapidly to clear his sight, needing to see your expression clearly.
Your soft voice asking “What do you want to do.. Wonwoo?” snapped something inside him. His hands suddenly gripped your face harshly, thumbs pressing into your cheeks as he groaned possessively before crashing his lips back onto yours brutally. He wanted to fuck you right there against the wall. But he controlled himself.
He broke the kiss again, his face inches from yours as he panted heavily. His hand slid down from your face to your neck, then lower to your collarbone before pausing at the hem of your skirt. “Can I..” He swallowed hard, his fingers curling slightly into your thighs. You nodded.
His eyes darkened as he watched your expression. His hand slid, then lower, pushing past your panties easily. He checked once more if you were okay with this — non-verbal, just watching your body language. You widened your thighs slightly, giving him better access. His mind went blank.
He pushed two fingers deep inside you without warning, his other hand gripping your hip possessively as he pinned you against the wall. His eyes never left your face, watching for any reaction. Like how your pleasure is his pleasure.
Your eyes fluttered closed as you gasped sharply at the sudden action. Your back arched slightly, pushing you further onto his fingers. A small whimper escaped your lips as he began to move his fingers in and out of you, his thumb pressing down on your clit.
“Did you imagine my fingers fucking you like this when I called you and hung up without saying a word?” He asked gruffly, his voice laced with jealousy on your fingers. His fingers curled inside you, finding that sweet spot that made your legs tremble. “Fuck, you’re so wet.”
“Fucking your own pussy thinking it was me? Hm?" He growled, his face hovering over yours. He picked up the pace, his fingers moving in and out of you at a brutal pace. You could only whimper and shake your head, too overwhelmed to speak, too scared to be caught.
He noticed the change in your insides immediately, your folds tightening around his fingers as you began to clench. His eyes darkened with lust and satisfaction. “Won- I.. I’m close” You barely managed to say, his thumb pressing harder on your clit.
One of your legs lifted completely off the ground, wrapping around his waist instinctively as you gripped his shoulders for support. Your fingers dug into his muscles, holding on for dear life as he finger-fucked you against the wall. “Damn, look at you,” he groaned.
Just as you were on the verge of coming apart, Soonyoung’s voice echoed down the street. “Y/N! Where are you?” His fingers froze inside you, your orgasm hovering right at the edge but not allowed to fall over. You froze completely, looking into his eyes, shocked.
You quickly shushed Wonwoo, your hand pushing gently against his chest. “Pull out!” He pulled his fingers out immediately, his other hand quickly adjusting your clothing back into place. You smoothed down your hair and shirt before stepping away from him, your leg still slightly trembling. “Coming!”
Wonwoo chuckled softly against your ear as he whispered just loud enough for only you to hear “You are indeed coming..” His smirk was pure sin. You let him be and walked towards your friend and acted like nothing happened.
“Where have you been? Jihoon thought you got kidnapped,” Soonyoung said the moment he spotted you. “I’m not even that drunk yet,” you replied, looping your arm through his. “Oh, I know,” he said with a grin. “and I thought you were busy, you know.. fucking.”
You choked on your own saliva and smacked his arm. “Soonyoung!” “What?” He just laughed and slowly pushed you inside the bar again.
And before you even went inside totally, you swore you spotted Wonwoo standing against the door, his head tilted back slightly as he slipped two of his fingers into his mouth, sucking it clean. His eyes locked onto yours, his smirk widening as he watched your mouth go open.
“Where’s Soonyoung?” Jihoon asked, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. You giggled, already drunk. “Probably busy making out with someone,” you replied, downing another shot. “Jihoon.. I’m going to sit at that table,” you pointed at one across the room. “Oki?! Don’t find me.. ehe”
Jihoon just shook his head, a small smile on his face as he watched you jog away giggling. “Have safe sex.” He called out after you, his voice getting lost in the loud music of the bar. You waved him off without looking back, your giggles echoing as you made your way to the table alone, a man on the couch, smirking, eyebrows raised as he watched you walk towards him.
“Drunk enough to come at me, Y/N?” Wonwoo said, his arms spread on the back of the sofa, looking intently at you as you sat on one of his thighs and leaned into him. “But sober enough to know what I’m doing..”
Wonwoo chuckled, his arms wrapping around your waist. “Even hotter,” he murmured against your hair, his fingers gently tracing patterns on your back.
He leaned in for another kiss, but you pulled back slightly. “How did you know I was touching myself during our call last time?” You asked softly, searching his face for answers. His smirk returned slowly as he pulled back slightly too. “Love.. it was so obvious” He paused.
His fingers gently scanned your face, his voice low and husky as he continued, “I could hear you whimpering softly, your breaths hitching. I knew exactly what you were doing.” His thumb lightly brushed against your jaw as you opened your eyes again to look into his.
You pulled him into a heated kiss, your lips pressing urgently against his. Wonwoo groaned instantly, his arms wrapping around you tightly as he pulled you closer. The kiss was demanding, passionate, and full of unsaid words. You could feel his erection pressing against your hip, hard as a rock.
The kiss became more intense, tongues dancing aggressively. You started grinding against him slowly, feeling his hardness through his pants. He broke the kiss only to trail open-mouthed kisses down your neck, one hand gripping your hair while the other squeezed your ass, pulling you harder against him. “Your place or mine?”
“Yours..” You said as you leaned wanting to continue the kiss, yet he stopped the kiss as he pulled you up and guided you towards his car. He quickly unlocked his car and pushed you gently inside, he held onto your jaw, kissing you torridly, then pulled away and closed your door.
He walked around the car and got in the driver’s seat, his heart pounding with anticipation. The drive to his place was a blur of speeding streets and red lights. His hands gripped the steering wheel and your thighs, dangerously close to your cunt, tightly, trying to focus on the road instead of the throbbing in his pants.
—
Your jacket hit the living room floor. His shirt was thrown somewhere between the kitchen counter and the hallway. Your bra was tossed near the stairs while his belt buckle echoed loudly. Your pants were kicked off near his bedroom door. His boxers hit the floor just as you slammed him against the wall for another deep kiss.
You pushed him backwards onto the bed, naked except for your underwear. His hard cock stood up proudly, leaking pre-cum. Instead of straddling him immediately like he expected, you climbed on top of him slowly, grinding your covered pussy against his cock teasingly. “Y/N.. stop torturing me.”
He went feral as you positioned yourself on the bed with your hands above your head, giving him full access and a clear view of your body. “Good idea.. how about torture me instead,” you smirked.
“I’m going to torture you so good,” he muttered as he ripped your underwear completely off while kissing you. Before you could even move, he was positioning you in front of the full-length mirror in his bedroom, making you sit on his lap with your legs spread wide.
You could see your entire body reflected in the mirror — your spread legs, his muscular arms wrapped around your thighs keeping them open. Your breasts were beautifully free as he kneaded them slowly from behind. You watched yourself being used in this position. “Look at yourself,” he whispered. That made you shiver.
“God, I love this view,” he whispered against your neck, making you arch your back slightly to press your ass against his cock. “You see how wet you are? How your pussy is just dripping?” He pulled your hips back slightly so your reflection showed your wet slit clearly.
“And your perfect tits..” He squeezed them harder, leaving red marks. “I could fuck you like this all night, watching you watch yourself get destroyed.” His hands slid down to your inner thighs, spreading you wider, you shut your eyes and exhaled a very shaky one.
He slapped your breast hard enough to leave a handprint, making you gasp and your eyes fly open instantly. “Uh-oh.. eyes on the mirror, love” He kissed and bit your earlobe roughly. “Watch how wet you are and I’m not even holding you”
“You know I’m not going to touch your pretty little pussy until you beg,” he whispered, his hot breath fanning across your neck. He proceeds to rub himself against your back, teasing you with the head of his cock. “You want me to touch you?” You nodded desperately. “Then cum.”
He chuckled darkly, his voice seductive. “You’re shaking so bad, love.” He pinched your nipple, making you gasp and your body tremble even more.
“Wonwoo.. please” You begged him. “Imagine what it would feel like inside you.. but no, love. You’re gonna cum from my words alone.” He rubbed against your back again, his voice like a drug, making you whimper. “Mhmm- ughh.. ah Wonwoo-”
“You’re so close, I can tell,” he murmured, his hands slowly sliding up your body from your nipples, over your collarbone, until his fingers wrapped gently around your neck. He applied the slightest pressure, not enough to hurt, but enough to make you feel owned. “Go on, princess. Cum then I’ll fuck you senselessly,” he whispered.
His breath on your neck, sucking on it, at the same time watching your back arch, your hips tilt back instinctively looking for friction, your fold lips swelling and getting wetter by the second without being touched. “I can see your clit throbbing, Y/N.”
“Then.. d-do something about it..” “Shhh.. moan for me... arch that beautiful back... your cunt is twitching so fucking adorably, you’re making me want to put it inside already” His grip on your neck tightened slightly as he watched you fall apart from his words alone.
You let out a desperate whine, your hips moving on their own now, searching for something to grind against. He leaned in closer, his tongue flicking out to lick the inside of your ear, making you shiver even more intensely. “Such a good girl for me,” he whispered.
Fucking voice of yours.
Your body snapped tight as if electrocuted. You threw your head back with a silent cry. Your cunt twitched hard, releasing wetness down your thighs without anything inside you. Your back arched sharply, breasts pushing out, neck exposed as you rode out your unexpected orgasm from just his voice and minimal touch. “Jesus..!”
“Ughh- ahh fuck.. mhmm-hmm” He chuckled as he watched your reflection in the mirror, his eyes intense and hungry. Your moans echoed through the room, desperate and needy sounds that only turned him on more. He kept his hand gently wrapped around your neck even after your orgasm subsided.
“My turn,” he groaned, pushing you down onto your knees without warning. He spread your legs wide apart with his knees, using his cock to spread your cum-coated fold lips open. Without hesitation, he pushed inside you hard and deep. When did he even put on the condom?? “Fuck,” he groaned loudly, feeling your warmth inside that almost made him feral.
He gripped your hips tightly, pulling you back onto his cock as he kneeled behind you. Your reflection in the mirror showed your flushed cheeks, swollen lips, and your breasts bouncing with each thrust. “You’re tight like how I imagined you to be,” he grunted, slapping your ass hard.
“So fucking wet and sticky from your cum,” he groaned, watching his dick disappear inside your slit in the mirror. “And it’s gripping me so fucking tightly.” He reached around to press your clit, making you whine and push back onto his dick harder.
You’re long gone.You felt his cock stretching you open again after cumming so hard from just his words earlier. Each slap on your clit sent electric shocks through your sensitive body, making your walls flutter around him even more tightly. You watched helplessly in the mirror as he fucked you ruthlessly from behind.
Your breasts bounced heavily with each thrust, your hair messy and wild. You felt his balls on your slit with every deep push inside you. He was hitting that spot deep within you that made stars explode behind your eyes. You moaned loudly without inhibition, pushing back eagerly onto his cock.
Suddenly, he grabbed a handful of your hair roughly and pulled your head back, forcing you to arch your back and lean onto him. His other hand reached around to squeeze your throat gently as he started fucking you even harder and faster. The mirror reflected your desperate face, mouth open in a scream of pleasure and pain.
“Wonwoo..” you moaned, eyes shut. “That’s right.. moan the name of the guy inside you right now.” He said, not letting his eyes leave the mirror even for just a second.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he whispered on your ear, his fingers tightening around your neck as his hips snapped forward, burying his wrapped dick deep inside your folds, which tightened as well along with his orgasm. You felt his hot cum shooting inside the condom. I wonder what it feels like without the condom..
He let out a few more hard thrusts, making sure both of your orgasms are satisfied. Pull out, throw the condom, and put on a new one, your eyes solely on the mirror, watching his movements from behind.
Then, suddenly, lifted you up in his arms. Without a word, he pinned you against the mirror, your leg wrapping around his arm and the other one on his shoulders instinctively. “Fucking hell- Wonwoo! Didn’t even wa-wait..” He started pounding into you with brutal force. The sound of skin hitting skin filled the room along with your moans and his heavy breathing.
His cock was rock hard again inside you, hitting that spot deep inside that made your vision blur. Now it’s not just him who has a blurry vision. He leaned in, crushing his lips against yours in a fierce, hungry kiss.
His tongue invaded your mouth, mimicking the movements of his dick as he continued to make love with you. You could taste the saltiness of his sweat and the faint hint of tobacco on his lips.
You were overstimulated beyond belief, your body shaking and twitching with every thrust. Your cunt was so sensitive from the multiple orgasms that even the slightest touch made you cry out in a mix of pleasure and pain. His kiss was suffocating, his tongue overwhelming your mouth.
Your nipples were hard and aching, rubbing against his chest with every rough thrust. You felt your cunt clenching around him uncontrollably, milking his cock for more cum. Your entire body was on fire, every nerve ending sparking with intense pleasure.
He pulled back from the kiss to watch you with heavy-lidded eyes, his gaze flicking up to the mirror behind you. The glass shook and rattled with each thrust, reflecting your contorted face and the way your body bounced against his. He grinned, seeing how thoroughly fucked out you looked.
“Fucking look at yourself,” he growled lowly, his voice rough and commanding. “See what a mess you are? Getting destroyed by my dick.” His hand reached up to your face, pushing his thumb to open your mouth. “You like that?” You sucked on his thumb, making him smirk.
Your eyes rolled back, your body convulsing as you came suddenly on his cock. “Shit-” your pussy clamping down so tightly he swore he thought his dick’s gonna be cut in half. He watched in the mirror as your entire body shook with pleasure. “Cuming without saying, huh?”
“You like my voice so much?!” He groaned, not slowing down his thrusts even as you spasmed around him. He adjusted his angle slightly, hitting that spot that made you scream even through your sensitivity. He’s catching his high as well.
His hips are moving slower but more deep now. “Still squeezing my cock like you’ve never cum before.” He bit your lip hard as he felt his orgasm building. “Gonna fill this condom so fucking much..”
“Ahh-!” He moaned loudly, screaming your name, burying his face in your neck as he started coming hard, his hips jerking forward as he pumped his cum into the condom. You could feel the warmth even through the rubber, his thick cum filling it to the brim again, like he hadn’t just filled you minutes ago.
Morning light filtered through the curtains — pale gold, slow, almost shy. You stirred against the sheets, the faint scent of coffee and clean linen hanging in the air. The space beside you was warm.
Wonwoo lay on his side, propped up on one elbow, scrolling lazily through his phone. His hair was messy, eyes soft when he noticed you blink awake. “Goodmorning,” he murmured, voice lower than usual — rough with sleep. What the fuck.. he’s voice could be deeper????
You only hummed in reply, burying your face halfway into the pillow. The ache in your body made everything feel heavy but oddly peaceful. You shifted a little, noticing the fresh bottoms you had on, the faint scent of soap clinging to your skin. “Did you..?” you started.
He chuckled quietly. “Yeah. You knocked out last night. I didn’t want you waking up sticky, so I took care of it.” You groaned softly, covering your face with one hand. “You really didn’t have to-” “I wanted to,” he said simply, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Your glasses didn’t fall last night..” You said, trying to prove a point. “Oh is my glasses, one of your fantasies as well?” He teased that made you and him laugh.
Silence stretched for a moment — comfortable, slow. Then you reached across the bedside table for your phone. He watched you, eyebrow raised. “Already checking your emails?” “Nope.” You grinned sleepily, fingers already dialing.
He frowned. “Are you seriously calling someone right now?”
You pressed the speaker button and looked at him. The phone rang once before his phone, somewhere on the nightstand, began to buzz. Wonwoo’s brow furrowed even more. “Are you calling me?”
You smirked as his screen lit up with your name. He picked up, lips curving. “What is this..?”
You smiled into the receiver, eyes still on him. “Just making sure I don’t have to press one again for tech support.” He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he leaned closer.
“Good,” you said softly. “Because when I dial a number, I like it when it’s your voice that answers, not an automated machine.” Wonwoo chuckled, setting his phone down and brushing his thumb along your jaw. “Then I guess I’ll keep the line open for you.”
You met his gaze — lazy morning sunlight spilling over both of you — and smiled. “Mhmm. Because I think I might need tech support again.” He laughed against your lips. “For what?”
“For whatever’s wrong with my heart,” you teased.
Wonwoo only kissed you in reply.
𝐀/𝐍 ➙ reblog with tags and feedbacks are so much appreciated, it motivates me a lot ❤️ See y’all in my next one (part 2 of ..shhh)
pairing: wonwoo x fem reader
rating: R, 18+, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
wc: 4.9K
warnings: angst about a breakup, smut: kind of public sex (it happens in a room but it's technically in a public space), dirty talk, slightly possesssive, reader likes wonu's hands, thumb sucking, unprotected sex, he cums on her stomach, fucking from behind
synopsis: : heartbreak means tying yourself back up in the hopes that someone will kindly unravel you again. you don't expect your unraveling to come in the form of the grandson of the lady who runs your local film developing studio.
a/n: this is for the candy hearts collab hosted by @svthub
this is for @lovelylonelinesssvt who was my lovely valentine for this collab!
hi ella! surprise it's me your valentine. i sincerely hope you enjoy reading this as much as i had fun writing this <3 i hope you had a lovely valentine's day (sorry i'm a lil late!)
You feel the ache in your body as you wake up from another cry-induced nap on your couch. The feeling of your dried tears cracking across your cheeks. You look to your left and see that there's a mug with a sticky note attached to it on your magazine covered coffee table. A groan comes from you as you're leaning over to grab it.
"Drink this and stop thinking about him xx"
You smile at the kind gesture of your best friend. Sending her a quick thank you text, you stand up and peer into the mug. The smell of your favorite warm drink hits your nose and you're filled with a sense of comfort.
After letting the steaming mug wake you up, you decide to take her advice. You shouldn't think about your ex anymore. You remind yourself that sometimes things just don't work out. Surveying the state of your studio apartment, you wrinkle your nose at the result. Walking into the kitchen, you grab a sticky note and write the things that need to be done:
throw trash away
put clothes away
vacuum
Crouching down under the sink, you pull out two garbage bags. You replace the bin that's sitting in your kitchen and take the other empty bag to walk around your studio. There are empty candy wrappers and popcorn bags that litter the side of your couch, a reminder of your coping skills from the night before. Once you've filled it, you tie it up and set the two bags by the door. You strike a line through the first task.
You set out to tackle the second task: putting away the mountain of clothes that have accumulated. Deciding that you didn't want to work in silence, you pick a vinyl off the shelf to play. You've been a fan of analog media for most of your life, you don't remember what exactly started it but the fascination followed you into adulthood. The soft melodies of the first track flow through your speakers and you plop yourself at the foot of your bed to start sorting. You begin arranging the clothes in piles and fall into a rhythm: clothes being donated fell into a pile on your right and the ones you were keeping were being folded neatly into a stack. As you get to the end, a navy blue cardigan catches your attention. Gingerly you pick it up and fold it into your lap. This was the cardigan you wore the first time you confessed your feelings to Seungcheol.
You hold up one of the sleeves and see that the red star you'd stitched into the sleeve had a loose thread. You'd stitched the shape into the cardigan after Seungcheol noticed it when you were holding hands. In a cruel twist of fate, it was the also the same one you wore when he broke your heart. That was six months ago.
A laugh bubbles out of your throat at the timing the universe has. There's a small ache that knocks in your chest as you fold the sleeves in and you're confronted with the choice of keep or donate.
Before the ache can consume you, a loud thud outside your apartment breaks you out of your thoughts. The first thought in your brain is that the sweet old lady from across the way must have dropped something heavy. Your eyes flit to the trash bags by your door and figure you can inspect the source of the noise on your way out to the dumpster. You make your way outside with the bags of trash hooked onto your left arm.
What's outside your door is not the usual nice elderly woman that you're accustomed to, instead a man, an incredibly cute one, who is silently cursing himself. There's also a mess of groceries that have spilled out into hallway. The two of you make eye contact and he apologizes for the mess, you shrug and step around the mess to head downstairs and throw your trash out. Your mouth moves before your brain does and you tell him that you'll be back to help. There's a slight skip in your step as you bounce back up the stairs. You round the corner and find the stranger on his knees, carefully placing the groceries back into the brown paper bag. Rushing over, you grab the rest of the items and hand them to him. He takes them gratefully and offers you a smile that warms you on the inside.
"Thanks again, you didn't have to," he says sheepishly. The baritone in his voice taking you a bit by surprise.
"Oh, no worries!" You shoot back a smile.
The two of you stand up at the same time, but there's barely any space between the two of you. You pick up the scent of cherries and something musky that makes you melt. You wish him a good day and head back inside. There's a smile on your face as you press your back against your door. Shaking your head, you pad over to your bed to finish the second task on your list. Picking up the pile of folded clothes, you swing open your closet door with the back of your heel. You place things in their designated spaces until you're finished. Padding over to the kitchen you cross off the task as you're pulling out a bin for the pile of clothes you've decided to donate. You leave it right by the door, so you don't forget it the next time you're out.
There is one last task left and you head back to your closet to dig out the vacuum. You make sure that most of the larger things on the floor are picked up and out of the way. You also take a second to pause the record that's playing since you won't be able to hear it over the roar of the vacuum. Thankful that you had a cordless vacuum, you begin the final task on your list.
As you're moving around, you hit your coffee table and some of the magazines on it fall to the floor. Switching off the vacuum, you kneel down to stack the magazines together. One of them slid a bit under your couch, so you reach in to swipe it back out. As you're reaching in, you feel a small plastic cylinder at the edge of the magazine. Wrapping your fingers around it, you pull your arm back to find a film canister. The label on it is pretty much smudged off so you have no clue how dated this thing is. You place the newly found item on your coffee table and finish vacuuming.
When you finally finish, you find yourself quite hungry. Opening your fridge, you are pleasantly surprised when you find a tupperware filled with your favorite food. The glass container decorated with another sticky note, which you can only assume is from your best friend. You take the container out, peel the note off and pop the food into the microwave. While waiting for your food, you take a look at the note she left behind.
"Because sometimes, we just need our favorites to cheer us up xx"
You smile and send her yet another thank you text. She responds by calling you. Your phone rings at the same time that your microwave beeps — you quickly put her on speakerphone, grab the food, and ask about her day. As you let her ramble about her job and the incompetence of her coworkers, you're shoving food into your mouth. The heat of it burning your tongue and you're quick to shout a curse. You hear her giggle on the other end and pout at the fact that she's laughing at your pain. She turns the conversation on you and asks what you did with your day. You run through the task list— talked about the cute guy who spilled his groceries in front your door, the fact that your navy blue cardigan was part of TWO emotional heights in your relationships, and the random film canister you found. You even ask her if the canister was hers. She replies that she doesn't remember leaving a canister at yours and suggests that you take it over to Carat Lab. Hitting your kitchen countertop, you squeal at her good idea, bringing up that you'd been meaning to get over there to get your camera looked at. The two of you wrap up your conversation after making plans to see each other.
It's the following morning and you decide, that it was time to get your camera checked out. On your last trip, it had slipped out of your hands and since then the shutter has been acting wonky. You take a quick shower and get dressed.
You walk into Carat Lab expecting to find the small old lady that usually runs the counter (who also happens to be your neighbor) but instead you find the incredibly cute stranger from yesterday. He has a film camera taken apart and he's tinkering with it. Immediately you notice his hands and how gentle they are while he's holding the camera. What really pulls your attention, is the vein that runs along his thumb when he has to apply a bit of force to close the camera. You don't even notice yourself biting your lip until you feel the pain of your tooth digging into your skin. Surveying the shop, you find that no one else is working the counter so you're stuck walking up. The stranger with the nice hands doesn't notice you immediately, so you lightly knock on the glass display. He looks up with a slightly shocked look on his face, that forms into recognition.
"Stalking me now, are we?" He says with a smirk perched on his face. Shooting back a look of disbelief, you immediately launch into your story to dispel any notion that you had followed him. Opening up your purse you fish out your camera, making sure to be careful, and place it on the glass.
"See? I have a perfectly good, non-creepy reason to be here. If anything I should be asking you that question!" You huff at him, questioning where the grandma who usually works the store is. Chuckling to himself, he gestures at a framed picture behind him on the wall.
"Who? Her? That's my grandmother," while he explains his relationship to her, he continues to work on the camera from earlier. Your eyes move back to his hands and you're mesmerized by the meticulousness and gentleness he has. While you're watching him, you recollect that Mrs. Jeon had talked about her grandchildren before. She'd shown you pictures, but they were all from when the kids were younger, so you didn't really know what they looked like.
Until now. And god, did this grandkid age well.
Pulling yourself out of your thoughts, he introduces himself with a hand extended to you.
"I'm Wonwoo, and you are?" Taking his hand, you shake it and give him your name. You don't miss the small bit of heat that settles at the bottom of your stomach when your hands touch.
"Well, for the record, if you were stalking me, I wouldn't have minded." He says as he gives you a wink. The tips of your ears go red. Finishing up with the camera he'd been working on, he asks you to hand yours over. Gently, you slide it to him. He picks it up, giving you a compliment on the model you own.
"I don't see this one too often, she's an oldie." He smiles and it's blinding. After placing the camera on a mat, he turns and grabs a small toolbox from behind him. Popping it open, he plucks a small screwdriver to open the body of your camera. Once he has it open, he bends down to take a look at the camera. After a few moments, he picks up some other tools and starts to perform what looks like surgery on your camera.
"Your shutter is definitely broken. I can fix it but I'll need to order a specific part to replace the spring mechanism. It'll take me a bit of time…" He continues telling you that since your camera is quite niche, finding spare parts can be difficult. You nod and reply that you don't mind waiting. He puts your camera back together and places it on a working table behind him. He asks if there's anything else that he can do for you and you fish out the film canister in your left pocket.
"I found this the other day and I honestly have no clue what's on it so I'd love to get it developed," you offer him a kind smile and the plastic. He takes it with a nod and informs you that both your camera and this roll of film will be ready in between one and a half to two weeks. Pulling out a form from a shelf behind him, he slides it to you.
"It's just so we can call you once your things are ready. Don't worry, totally professional," he jokes with a wink. Smiling as you take the form, you quickly fill it out. After you slide back the piece of paper, he tells you that he'll see you soon and you reply with a quick nod. You begin to make your way out of the shop, but call out to him just before you exit.
"For the record, if you decided to be unprofessional, I wouldn't mind," you say with a wink that mirrored his from earlier.
A few hours after you leave the shop you hear a ping from your phone. You roll over from your bed and see a text from an unknown number.
Is asking you to dinner tonight also unprofessional?
There is a cheesy grin on your face as you reply to him.
Maybe. But like I said I don't mind ;)
The rest of your day is spent flirting through text messages with Wonwoo. Eventually you settle on the details. You calculate that you have about two hours to get ready. You thank the stars that you'd washed your hair that morning. You pull out a black dress that you know makes you look incredible. You lay it on your bed and continue to get ready. As the clock nears six, you're doing one last check in the mirror.
A knock interrupts you. Sauntering over to your front door and the sight that greets you is delectable. Your date is dressed in a black long sleeve button up and black pinstripe pants. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, showing off the hands that you've become enamored with. You begin to feel a bit of shame that you're checking him out with the same energy of a starved bear and a piece of meat, but then you notice he's doing the same to you. His eyes are dark as they rake up and down your figure. The feeling of heat between your thighs making itself known again.
"You look… Wow." He admits. Flashing a confident smile you share the same sentiment. Distracted by his gaze, you grab a random cardigan off the back of your door and make your way outside. As you walk down the stairs, you swear you can feel the heat of his gaze.
Dinner is filled with pleasant conversations with an underlying tension so hot and heavy that you have to excuse yourself to the restroom.
When you return back to your table, you find that not only has Wonwoo ordered the two of you a dessert, he's also paid the bill. You chastise him and he retorts back that his grandmother would never let him hear the end of it, if he let you pay a cent. You oblige him by accepting this gesture on the condition you pay for the next date.
"A second date? Consider me lucky," he muses as you're taking a bite of the chocolate cake he ordered. You chuckle as this happens and this leaves a bit of frosting on the corner of your mouth that you don't notice.
He does.
"Oh you've got-" he points to his face. Mortified you try and wipe at the spot. By the look on his face, it doesn't seem like you've gotten all of it.
"Here, let me." Scooting closer to you, he brings his had to your face and his thumb swiped at the spot you missed. It grazes your lip and the tension in the room comes to a head when you suddenly take his thumb into your mouth. You swipe at the frosting with your tongue, and you meet his eyes as you do. Taking note of Wonwoo, you see him just as flushed, but his eyes are dark.
Releasing his thumb with a slight pop, you flash him a smirk. "Thanks."
He nods, taking a small breath. There's a split second of frenzy before the two of you are rushing to his car. Wonwoo guides you in front of him, his large hand warm and possessive on the small of your back. Still a gentleman, he opens the car door for you and you slide in. The entire drive, his hand is on your thigh, gradually rising higher.
Giggles are shared as you race up the stairs to your studio. As you fumble with the key, Wonwoo is pressing into you from behind, nipping at your ear and clawing your cardigan off. He gets it halfway off when you get your key into the door and unlock it. You move forward but find yourself pulling on something heavy. Looking down you notice that your cardigan is caught on his belt. Giving it a slight tug, you hear the sure snap of the thread. The ruined cardigan was tomorrow's problem.
It had been six days since your dinner date and it had been radio silence from Wonwoo. Pondering what could've gone wrong, you recount the night.
Dinner was great.
The sex was even better.
The morning after was pleasant as you shared a cup of coffee. Hell you even walked him to his car after he said he had to go back to the photo lab.
You frown as you toss your phone on your bed, as you've refreshed your notification center another time with no new messages. Flopping back on your bed, you land with a soft thud and a small exhale. Six seconds later, there's a ping to break the silence. If anyone else was around, you would be embarrassed at how fast your hand shoots out for your phone.
Hi this is Wonwoo from Carat Lab
The smile doesn't last long once you read the rest of the message.
Your items are ready for pick-up. We'll send another reminder in 3 days. Thank for you choosing us for your photo needs!
You scoff at the message and get dressed to go collect your items. As your walking out you almost slip on a cardigan that was lying on the floor. Picking it up, you inspect the fabric and there's a confused look on your face when you see the navy blue cardigan on your floor.
The one that you'd been thinking about getting rid of. The one that Seungcheol broke your heart in.
As you fold the cardigan, you look at the sleeve and see that the heart you'd stitched was pretty much pulled loose. For what feels like the hundredth time your brows scrunch up in confusion. You don't remember how it could've gotten this way.
Then the memory hits you. The sound of the snap from the night with Wonwoo rings clear in your ears. You laugh to yourself but it's cut short when you remember that the other half of your tango has been ignoring you for some reason.
Pushing the door open, you expect to see Wonwoo but you're greeted with an empty shop. You reason that he's likely developing film in the back. As you come up to the register you notice a sign that says "Press this button if no one's at the front". Before you're able to push the button, Mrs. Jeon greets you.
"Hi honey! You here to pick up your film? I thought I saw your name on a receipt earlier!" She coos at you while opening a binder. As she flips through, she asks how you've been and what you'd been up to. While you're updating her, you look for any sign of Wonwoo being around. Your shoulders slightly slump when you come up empty.
"Hmmm, I don't see your film but your camera is definitely ready. I'm about to head out for the day, but one of my grandkids is probably in the back working. Give me a second dear." She smiles at you sweetly and yells something towards the back.
You hear the unmistakable baritone of Wonwoo's voice, yelling back, the sound getting louder as he appears. The two of them speak in Korean, you don't understand much of what they're saying, but based off the tuts of her tongue and the way he pleads with her you can tell he's not exactly happy to see you.
"I'm heading out dear, but Wonwoo here will help you," she shoves him towards the register. She gives your hand a light squeeze as she leaves.
The anger must be radiating off you because he speaks with caution.
"Your film is taking a bit to develop, but your camera's ready if you wanted to pick it up now. Or you can come back later-"
Not wanting to dance around each other, you jump the gun.
"What happened? Didn't peg you to be a hit and quit it kind of guy." Your tone is cold and your arms are crossed.
Instead of answering, he backs up and opens the door to the developing lab. Your interest is piqued so you follow him in. The room is pretty dark, save for the red light that helps the film develop. Following Wonwoo, your jaw drops when you make out the image of the hanging negatives. Strung along the room are pictures of you and Seungcheol. Your heart sinks when you realize that these were from last summer, when the two of you took a trip to a small beach town nearby to celebrate your anniversary. The tears begin to pool at the corners of your eyes.
"I can explain," you whisper softly, trying to hide the shakiness in your voice.
"Oh this I've got to hear," you flinch at the his tone. But it doesn't stop you from telling him the truth.
"I swear I didn't know what was on that roll. I wouldn't do something like that." You admit as you finish explaining. You're sniffling by now and swaying on the balls of your feet. When he doesn't immediately respond, you take it as rejection.
Dejected, you start to turn around to find the exit, but you feel his hand cup your cheek. He leans his forehead against yours, the red light reflecting off his glasses, and softly mutters.
"Well, now I feel like a capital A asshole."
You silently giggle and it forces the tears out from your eyes, which he immediately swipes away with his thumb.
"I'm sorry," he whispers. You squeeze the arm that's cupping your cheek in acknowledgement.
"For what it's worth, I do still like you. Honestly seeing these made me jealous that someone else had your heart," he confesses. You couldn't see, but you could tell he was blushing. Remembering the other pictures you'd taken on that trip, it was your turn to blush.
"Have you finished developing all the pictures on the roll?" You ask timidly. You could hear the smirk on his face. Dropping his hand from your face, he takes your hand and leads you to the sink where they held the stop bath. Hanging from a string, fully illuminated by the red light, is a picture of you from behind in a dark colored bikini. At this angle, you looked like Venus herself.
"I gotta say," Wonwoo says from behind you, breath hot against your neck, "this one is my favorite."
"Not mad about this one huh?" You tease, pressing your ass against him. His hands fly to your hips and squeeze. Your pulse quickens and you feel your heartbeat thrum at your core. His hand snakes along your front and grazes your lip, without even asking, you take it into your mouth and suck. You twist around and run your hands along his front, squeezing him through his jeans and he lets out a groan that sounds like music to your ears.
He pulls away from you for just a second and in that second everything stands still.
"You sure about this?"
Grabbing his belt you pull him towards you and kiss him. Everything happens in a frenzy. Your hands fighting to take off each other's clothes. When he wins, he growls at the sight of you wearing nothing underneath. He takes your boobs in his large hands and squeezes, eliciting a moan from you.
"Fuck these look so good in my hands pretty." You whine for him.
The sound conveying a simple message: I need you now.
He gets the hint and flips you around. Pushing you against the counter, he wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you flush against him. Slipping his free hand down your back, he spreads your legs and plays with your wet pussy. He groans at the sensation, which only furthers your desire. You whine once more and start to voice your frustration but then he slams himself to the hilt. The stretch burns deliciously and you find yourself squeezing around him.
"Taking it so good pretty girl, this what you wanted," he taunts and your only response is a high pitched moan. Your sounds spur him on and he pulls you even closer, forcing you to arch even more for him.
You grip the counter for balance with your left hand and the force of Wonwoo makes the pictures along the wall shake. Your right hand is gripping the hand that's splayed across your belly. The angle at which he's pistoning into you, makes white spots dance across your vision.
"Fuck, fuck Wonwoo!" You moan and feel the band in your belly start to tighten up. One of the pictures falls off the wall and it's a picture of you and Seungcheol. Wonwoo crumples it and throws it in a random direction. Somehow this random accident, sets something off in him. Nipping at your ear, he waxes poetic about fucking you so good that you can't think about anything but him and his dick. You thought it was impossible but you get even wetter at his words.
He pulls out of you and you whine at the loss of contact. You felt like he was defying time with how quick he spins you around and hoists you onto the counter. Slipping back in with ease, he continues to ram into you. He grips your thighs so forcefully, that you're sure they'll leave marks and this brings you to a higher plane of pleasure. You throw your head back and scream his name.
He grips your neck and angles your head down, forcing you to look at him. In red shadows, you see the raised lines of his veins bulging from the way he's holding you and you can't help but drool. Your pussy gushes and flutters around him. He eggs you on, lacing praise in between kisses. Cocking his head back towards the pictures and utters a line that gets the band in your belly to snap.
"I can't wait to take you there and fuck you so good that you'll never think about anyone else but me at that beach." He says in a register so low and sinister that you can't help but cum around him. As you're riding through your orgasm, you clamp down on him and he lets out a deep guttural groan. Arching into him, you tell him to chase after his own high. By the sounds coming from him, you can tell he's close.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck, I'm gonna cum," he moans into your neck. You tell him to cum on your stomach and he pulls out just in time to spill on your tummy. Your breaths are heavy and your chests are heaving. Pulling out of you with a slick sound, he brings over a tissue to clean you up. The two of you get dressed, giggling as Wonwoo peppers your cheek and neck with kisses.
The reality of your location dawns over the two you at the same time and you break out into laughter. The two of you slip out of the darkroom to see the "OPEN" sign on the door flipped and a note on the counter.
"Closed up for you. Hope you were safe ;)
- Grandma"
A squeal comes from you as Wonwoo hangs his head in embarrassment.
"Your camera is actually ready. Did you want to take it home?" He asks sheepishly. You giggle and give him a peck on the cheek.
"Bring it by mine later? I have some pictures I wanna take," you say with a wink as you walk around the counter to leave. Pushing the glass door open, you turn and call out to him.
"Bring my developed film too?" You tease. As you close the door, you hear him yell that you weren't funny. You shake your head and laugh as you make your way home, excited for what else the night could bring the two of you.
taglist: @livmarauder @mellowamour @lunaxgyu @cherrymayz @choco-scoups @luvrung @chogiwaw
special thanks to: liv and may for beta reading for me, @hopecutie and liv for helping with my banner!
NSFW 18+ MDNI + silly ending // WHAT IF you were wonwoo’s gf and almost got caught during NANA TOUR surprises…
'w-wonu--ngh,' you gasp voice half-moan, as he continues to guide your hips to grind on his cock. your hands are in his hair, tugging, trying to stay strong on top as you ride him.
it was 4 am but tired was beyond the opposite you both felt in this moment. it had been ages since you've been able to have sex during his busy schedule, and now each other's pleasure was all you could think of.
'fuck, you feel so good baby,' he murmurs, voice low as he moves his hands from your hips to your chest. his thick cock is stretching you wide, the wet slap of hips against your ass echo in the room as he fucks you roughly and needily. he's missed you so much.
you both don't hear the small knocks on the door until the lock beeps and clicks open.
your eyes fly open. wonwoo's glasses slide crookedly down his nose as he jolts. you look at each other — eyes wide, breath caught — and panic.
“shit shit shit,” you whisper, frantically scrambling off him and diving under the thick white covers. wonwoo yanks the blanket over you with one hand, rips off his glasses with the other, and dramatically flops back onto the bed, feigning deep sleep.
the door creaks open. and then, that dreaded voice.
"wonu-ah, it's time to go~!”
PD-nim.
you swear under the covers. of course it’s him. of course he brought the cameras. many sets of footsteps shuffle into the room — the loud ones definitely hoshi’s, the ones with fake whispering seungkwan and mingyu.
“you alive?” someone snickers.
“is he naked?”
“looks like he’s hiding something.”
wonwoo lets out a painfully awkward giggle, trying to stretch across the bed, his hand accidentally elbowing your side under the covers. you bite your lip to keep from squealing.
you squeeze your eyes shut under the blanket, holding your breath. the bed dips — someone’s sat down near your feet.
“room’s kinda warm,” mingyu says, fanning his shirt.
“thick blankets, probably,” vernon offers with a small shrug. “looks cozy though.”
“always is,” wonwoo says, rubbing his eyes. his voice is calm, casual — but there’s the tiniest hint of tension.
PD-nim chuckles from behind the camera. “you were sleeping well.”
“yeah, i guess i was really out,” wonwoo murmurs. “didn’t even hear the door.” seungkwan feels your ankle under him and he sighs, this guy..
there’s a small pause as the members glance between each other, reading the moment. it’s subtle — but they know.
still, they keep it moving, light and easy.
“hyung, no way your own magazines are next to your bed,” seungkwan jokes. everyone laughs and starts to plan what room to go to next.
they decide together to go to jun's room but wonwoo signals them to leave and he'll be right out behind them.
PD-nim pans one last shot of the room, then backs up. “alright~ we’re heading to the next room. don’t take too long!”
the door closes.
you don’t move until the footsteps have faded.
then a soft voice, right above the covers: “you okay?”
you peek your head out. wonwoo looks at you, glasses back on, face half amused and half horrified.
“that was... too close,” you whisper.
he nods, exhaling deeply. “they helped. did you notice?”
“not a single weird question. not even a glance,” you say. “but they knew.” he smiles, pulling you into his arms.
buzz
“let us know next time ㅋㅋㅋ"
a/n; hi my lovelies ૮₍˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ₎ა finals are officially over!! im so happi and will be continuing my older!bf seventeen series.. sorry for the long wait but it is comingggg. also i was rewatching NANA tour and thought of this scenario so i wrote it in like 10 minutes lolol
pairing: wonwoo x fem reader
rating: R, 18+, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
wc: 4.9K
warnings: angst about a breakup, smut: kind of public sex (it happens in a room but it's technically in a public space), dirty talk, slightly possesssive, reader likes wonu's hands, thumb sucking, unprotected sex, he cums on her stomach, fucking from behind
synopsis: : heartbreak means tying yourself back up in the hopes that someone will kindly unravel you again. you don't expect your unraveling to come in the form of the grandson of the lady who runs your local film developing studio.
a/n: this is for the candy hearts collab hosted by @svthub
this is for @lovelylonelinesssvt who was my lovely valentine for this collab!
hi ella! surprise it's me your valentine. i sincerely hope you enjoy reading this as much as i had fun writing this <3 i hope you had a lovely valentine's day (sorry i'm a lil late!)
You feel the ache in your body as you wake up from another cry-induced nap on your couch. The feeling of your dried tears cracking across your cheeks. You look to your left and see that there's a mug with a sticky note attached to it on your magazine covered coffee table. A groan comes from you as you're leaning over to grab it.
"Drink this and stop thinking about him xx"
You smile at the kind gesture of your best friend. Sending her a quick thank you text, you stand up and peer into the mug. The smell of your favorite warm drink hits your nose and you're filled with a sense of comfort.
After letting the steaming mug wake you up, you decide to take her advice. You shouldn't think about your ex anymore. You remind yourself that sometimes things just don't work out. Surveying the state of your studio apartment, you wrinkle your nose at the result. Walking into the kitchen, you grab a sticky note and write the things that need to be done:
throw trash away
put clothes away
vacuum
Crouching down under the sink, you pull out two garbage bags. You replace the bin that's sitting in your kitchen and take the other empty bag to walk around your studio. There are empty candy wrappers and popcorn bags that litter the side of your couch, a reminder of your coping skills from the night before. Once you've filled it, you tie it up and set the two bags by the door. You strike a line through the first task.
You set out to tackle the second task: putting away the mountain of clothes that have accumulated. Deciding that you didn't want to work in silence, you pick a vinyl off the shelf to play. You've been a fan of analog media for most of your life, you don't remember what exactly started it but the fascination followed you into adulthood. The soft melodies of the first track flow through your speakers and you plop yourself at the foot of your bed to start sorting. You begin arranging the clothes in piles and fall into a rhythm: clothes being donated fell into a pile on your right and the ones you were keeping were being folded neatly into a stack. As you get to the end, a navy blue cardigan catches your attention. Gingerly you pick it up and fold it into your lap. This was the cardigan you wore the first time you confessed your feelings to Seungcheol.
You hold up one of the sleeves and see that the red star you'd stitched into the sleeve had a loose thread. You'd stitched the shape into the cardigan after Seungcheol noticed it when you were holding hands. In a cruel twist of fate, it was the also the same one you wore when he broke your heart. That was six months ago.
A laugh bubbles out of your throat at the timing the universe has. There's a small ache that knocks in your chest as you fold the sleeves in and you're confronted with the choice of keep or donate.
Before the ache can consume you, a loud thud outside your apartment breaks you out of your thoughts. The first thought in your brain is that the sweet old lady from across the way must have dropped something heavy. Your eyes flit to the trash bags by your door and figure you can inspect the source of the noise on your way out to the dumpster. You make your way outside with the bags of trash hooked onto your left arm.
What's outside your door is not the usual nice elderly woman that you're accustomed to, instead a man, an incredibly cute one, who is silently cursing himself. There's also a mess of groceries that have spilled out into hallway. The two of you make eye contact and he apologizes for the mess, you shrug and step around the mess to head downstairs and throw your trash out. Your mouth moves before your brain does and you tell him that you'll be back to help. There's a slight skip in your step as you bounce back up the stairs. You round the corner and find the stranger on his knees, carefully placing the groceries back into the brown paper bag. Rushing over, you grab the rest of the items and hand them to him. He takes them gratefully and offers you a smile that warms you on the inside.
"Thanks again, you didn't have to," he says sheepishly. The baritone in his voice taking you a bit by surprise.
"Oh, no worries!" You shoot back a smile.
The two of you stand up at the same time, but there's barely any space between the two of you. You pick up the scent of cherries and something musky that makes you melt. You wish him a good day and head back inside. There's a smile on your face as you press your back against your door. Shaking your head, you pad over to your bed to finish the second task on your list. Picking up the pile of folded clothes, you swing open your closet door with the back of your heel. You place things in their designated spaces until you're finished. Padding over to the kitchen you cross off the task as you're pulling out a bin for the pile of clothes you've decided to donate. You leave it right by the door, so you don't forget it the next time you're out.
There is one last task left and you head back to your closet to dig out the vacuum. You make sure that most of the larger things on the floor are picked up and out of the way. You also take a second to pause the record that's playing since you won't be able to hear it over the roar of the vacuum. Thankful that you had a cordless vacuum, you begin the final task on your list.
As you're moving around, you hit your coffee table and some of the magazines on it fall to the floor. Switching off the vacuum, you kneel down to stack the magazines together. One of them slid a bit under your couch, so you reach in to swipe it back out. As you're reaching in, you feel a small plastic cylinder at the edge of the magazine. Wrapping your fingers around it, you pull your arm back to find a film canister. The label on it is pretty much smudged off so you have no clue how dated this thing is. You place the newly found item on your coffee table and finish vacuuming.
When you finally finish, you find yourself quite hungry. Opening your fridge, you are pleasantly surprised when you find a tupperware filled with your favorite food. The glass container decorated with another sticky note, which you can only assume is from your best friend. You take the container out, peel the note off and pop the food into the microwave. While waiting for your food, you take a look at the note she left behind.
"Because sometimes, we just need our favorites to cheer us up xx"
You smile and send her yet another thank you text. She responds by calling you. Your phone rings at the same time that your microwave beeps — you quickly put her on speakerphone, grab the food, and ask about her day. As you let her ramble about her job and the incompetence of her coworkers, you're shoving food into your mouth. The heat of it burning your tongue and you're quick to shout a curse. You hear her giggle on the other end and pout at the fact that she's laughing at your pain. She turns the conversation on you and asks what you did with your day. You run through the task list— talked about the cute guy who spilled his groceries in front your door, the fact that your navy blue cardigan was part of TWO emotional heights in your relationships, and the random film canister you found. You even ask her if the canister was hers. She replies that she doesn't remember leaving a canister at yours and suggests that you take it over to Carat Lab. Hitting your kitchen countertop, you squeal at her good idea, bringing up that you'd been meaning to get over there to get your camera looked at. The two of you wrap up your conversation after making plans to see each other.
It's the following morning and you decide, that it was time to get your camera checked out. On your last trip, it had slipped out of your hands and since then the shutter has been acting wonky. You take a quick shower and get dressed.
You walk into Carat Lab expecting to find the small old lady that usually runs the counter (who also happens to be your neighbor) but instead you find the incredibly cute stranger from yesterday. He has a film camera taken apart and he's tinkering with it. Immediately you notice his hands and how gentle they are while he's holding the camera. What really pulls your attention, is the vein that runs along his thumb when he has to apply a bit of force to close the camera. You don't even notice yourself biting your lip until you feel the pain of your tooth digging into your skin. Surveying the shop, you find that no one else is working the counter so you're stuck walking up. The stranger with the nice hands doesn't notice you immediately, so you lightly knock on the glass display. He looks up with a slightly shocked look on his face, that forms into recognition.
"Stalking me now, are we?" He says with a smirk perched on his face. Shooting back a look of disbelief, you immediately launch into your story to dispel any notion that you had followed him. Opening up your purse you fish out your camera, making sure to be careful, and place it on the glass.
"See? I have a perfectly good, non-creepy reason to be here. If anything I should be asking you that question!" You huff at him, questioning where the grandma who usually works the store is. Chuckling to himself, he gestures at a framed picture behind him on the wall.
"Who? Her? That's my grandmother," while he explains his relationship to her, he continues to work on the camera from earlier. Your eyes move back to his hands and you're mesmerized by the meticulousness and gentleness he has. While you're watching him, you recollect that Mrs. Jeon had talked about her grandchildren before. She'd shown you pictures, but they were all from when the kids were younger, so you didn't really know what they looked like.
Until now. And god, did this grandkid age well.
Pulling yourself out of your thoughts, he introduces himself with a hand extended to you.
"I'm Wonwoo, and you are?" Taking his hand, you shake it and give him your name. You don't miss the small bit of heat that settles at the bottom of your stomach when your hands touch.
"Well, for the record, if you were stalking me, I wouldn't have minded." He says as he gives you a wink. The tips of your ears go red. Finishing up with the camera he'd been working on, he asks you to hand yours over. Gently, you slide it to him. He picks it up, giving you a compliment on the model you own.
"I don't see this one too often, she's an oldie." He smiles and it's blinding. After placing the camera on a mat, he turns and grabs a small toolbox from behind him. Popping it open, he plucks a small screwdriver to open the body of your camera. Once he has it open, he bends down to take a look at the camera. After a few moments, he picks up some other tools and starts to perform what looks like surgery on your camera.
"Your shutter is definitely broken. I can fix it but I'll need to order a specific part to replace the spring mechanism. It'll take me a bit of time…" He continues telling you that since your camera is quite niche, finding spare parts can be difficult. You nod and reply that you don't mind waiting. He puts your camera back together and places it on a working table behind him. He asks if there's anything else that he can do for you and you fish out the film canister in your left pocket.
"I found this the other day and I honestly have no clue what's on it so I'd love to get it developed," you offer him a kind smile and the plastic. He takes it with a nod and informs you that both your camera and this roll of film will be ready in between one and a half to two weeks. Pulling out a form from a shelf behind him, he slides it to you.
"It's just so we can call you once your things are ready. Don't worry, totally professional," he jokes with a wink. Smiling as you take the form, you quickly fill it out. After you slide back the piece of paper, he tells you that he'll see you soon and you reply with a quick nod. You begin to make your way out of the shop, but call out to him just before you exit.
"For the record, if you decided to be unprofessional, I wouldn't mind," you say with a wink that mirrored his from earlier.
A few hours after you leave the shop you hear a ping from your phone. You roll over from your bed and see a text from an unknown number.
Is asking you to dinner tonight also unprofessional?
There is a cheesy grin on your face as you reply to him.
Maybe. But like I said I don't mind ;)
The rest of your day is spent flirting through text messages with Wonwoo. Eventually you settle on the details. You calculate that you have about two hours to get ready. You thank the stars that you'd washed your hair that morning. You pull out a black dress that you know makes you look incredible. You lay it on your bed and continue to get ready. As the clock nears six, you're doing one last check in the mirror.
A knock interrupts you. Sauntering over to your front door and the sight that greets you is delectable. Your date is dressed in a black long sleeve button up and black pinstripe pants. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, showing off the hands that you've become enamored with. You begin to feel a bit of shame that you're checking him out with the same energy of a starved bear and a piece of meat, but then you notice he's doing the same to you. His eyes are dark as they rake up and down your figure. The feeling of heat between your thighs making itself known again.
"You look… Wow." He admits. Flashing a confident smile you share the same sentiment. Distracted by his gaze, you grab a random cardigan off the back of your door and make your way outside. As you walk down the stairs, you swear you can feel the heat of his gaze.
Dinner is filled with pleasant conversations with an underlying tension so hot and heavy that you have to excuse yourself to the restroom.
When you return back to your table, you find that not only has Wonwoo ordered the two of you a dessert, he's also paid the bill. You chastise him and he retorts back that his grandmother would never let him hear the end of it, if he let you pay a cent. You oblige him by accepting this gesture on the condition you pay for the next date.
"A second date? Consider me lucky," he muses as you're taking a bite of the chocolate cake he ordered. You chuckle as this happens and this leaves a bit of frosting on the corner of your mouth that you don't notice.
He does.
"Oh you've got-" he points to his face. Mortified you try and wipe at the spot. By the look on his face, it doesn't seem like you've gotten all of it.
"Here, let me." Scooting closer to you, he brings his had to your face and his thumb swiped at the spot you missed. It grazes your lip and the tension in the room comes to a head when you suddenly take his thumb into your mouth. You swipe at the frosting with your tongue, and you meet his eyes as you do. Taking note of Wonwoo, you see him just as flushed, but his eyes are dark.
Releasing his thumb with a slight pop, you flash him a smirk. "Thanks."
He nods, taking a small breath. There's a split second of frenzy before the two of you are rushing to his car. Wonwoo guides you in front of him, his large hand warm and possessive on the small of your back. Still a gentleman, he opens the car door for you and you slide in. The entire drive, his hand is on your thigh, gradually rising higher.
Giggles are shared as you race up the stairs to your studio. As you fumble with the key, Wonwoo is pressing into you from behind, nipping at your ear and clawing your cardigan off. He gets it halfway off when you get your key into the door and unlock it. You move forward but find yourself pulling on something heavy. Looking down you notice that your cardigan is caught on his belt. Giving it a slight tug, you hear the sure snap of the thread. The ruined cardigan was tomorrow's problem.
It had been six days since your dinner date and it had been radio silence from Wonwoo. Pondering what could've gone wrong, you recount the night.
Dinner was great.
The sex was even better.
The morning after was pleasant as you shared a cup of coffee. Hell you even walked him to his car after he said he had to go back to the photo lab.
You frown as you toss your phone on your bed, as you've refreshed your notification center another time with no new messages. Flopping back on your bed, you land with a soft thud and a small exhale. Six seconds later, there's a ping to break the silence. If anyone else was around, you would be embarrassed at how fast your hand shoots out for your phone.
Hi this is Wonwoo from Carat Lab
The smile doesn't last long once you read the rest of the message.
Your items are ready for pick-up. We'll send another reminder in 3 days. Thank for you choosing us for your photo needs!
You scoff at the message and get dressed to go collect your items. As your walking out you almost slip on a cardigan that was lying on the floor. Picking it up, you inspect the fabric and there's a confused look on your face when you see the navy blue cardigan on your floor.
The one that you'd been thinking about getting rid of. The one that Seungcheol broke your heart in.
As you fold the cardigan, you look at the sleeve and see that the heart you'd stitched was pretty much pulled loose. For what feels like the hundredth time your brows scrunch up in confusion. You don't remember how it could've gotten this way.
Then the memory hits you. The sound of the snap from the night with Wonwoo rings clear in your ears. You laugh to yourself but it's cut short when you remember that the other half of your tango has been ignoring you for some reason.
Pushing the door open, you expect to see Wonwoo but you're greeted with an empty shop. You reason that he's likely developing film in the back. As you come up to the register you notice a sign that says "Press this button if no one's at the front". Before you're able to push the button, Mrs. Jeon greets you.
"Hi honey! You here to pick up your film? I thought I saw your name on a receipt earlier!" She coos at you while opening a binder. As she flips through, she asks how you've been and what you'd been up to. While you're updating her, you look for any sign of Wonwoo being around. Your shoulders slightly slump when you come up empty.
"Hmmm, I don't see your film but your camera is definitely ready. I'm about to head out for the day, but one of my grandkids is probably in the back working. Give me a second dear." She smiles at you sweetly and yells something towards the back.
You hear the unmistakable baritone of Wonwoo's voice, yelling back, the sound getting louder as he appears. The two of them speak in Korean, you don't understand much of what they're saying, but based off the tuts of her tongue and the way he pleads with her you can tell he's not exactly happy to see you.
"I'm heading out dear, but Wonwoo here will help you," she shoves him towards the register. She gives your hand a light squeeze as she leaves.
The anger must be radiating off you because he speaks with caution.
"Your film is taking a bit to develop, but your camera's ready if you wanted to pick it up now. Or you can come back later-"
Not wanting to dance around each other, you jump the gun.
"What happened? Didn't peg you to be a hit and quit it kind of guy." Your tone is cold and your arms are crossed.
Instead of answering, he backs up and opens the door to the developing lab. Your interest is piqued so you follow him in. The room is pretty dark, save for the red light that helps the film develop. Following Wonwoo, your jaw drops when you make out the image of the hanging negatives. Strung along the room are pictures of you and Seungcheol. Your heart sinks when you realize that these were from last summer, when the two of you took a trip to a small beach town nearby to celebrate your anniversary. The tears begin to pool at the corners of your eyes.
"I can explain," you whisper softly, trying to hide the shakiness in your voice.
"Oh this I've got to hear," you flinch at the his tone. But it doesn't stop you from telling him the truth.
"I swear I didn't know what was on that roll. I wouldn't do something like that." You admit as you finish explaining. You're sniffling by now and swaying on the balls of your feet. When he doesn't immediately respond, you take it as rejection.
Dejected, you start to turn around to find the exit, but you feel his hand cup your cheek. He leans his forehead against yours, the red light reflecting off his glasses, and softly mutters.
"Well, now I feel like a capital A asshole."
You silently giggle and it forces the tears out from your eyes, which he immediately swipes away with his thumb.
"I'm sorry," he whispers. You squeeze the arm that's cupping your cheek in acknowledgement.
"For what it's worth, I do still like you. Honestly seeing these made me jealous that someone else had your heart," he confesses. You couldn't see, but you could tell he was blushing. Remembering the other pictures you'd taken on that trip, it was your turn to blush.
"Have you finished developing all the pictures on the roll?" You ask timidly. You could hear the smirk on his face. Dropping his hand from your face, he takes your hand and leads you to the sink where they held the stop bath. Hanging from a string, fully illuminated by the red light, is a picture of you from behind in a dark colored bikini. At this angle, you looked like Venus herself.
"I gotta say," Wonwoo says from behind you, breath hot against your neck, "this one is my favorite."
"Not mad about this one huh?" You tease, pressing your ass against him. His hands fly to your hips and squeeze. Your pulse quickens and you feel your heartbeat thrum at your core. His hand snakes along your front and grazes your lip, without even asking, you take it into your mouth and suck. You twist around and run your hands along his front, squeezing him through his jeans and he lets out a groan that sounds like music to your ears.
He pulls away from you for just a second and in that second everything stands still.
"You sure about this?"
Grabbing his belt you pull him towards you and kiss him. Everything happens in a frenzy. Your hands fighting to take off each other's clothes. When he wins, he growls at the sight of you wearing nothing underneath. He takes your boobs in his large hands and squeezes, eliciting a moan from you.
"Fuck these look so good in my hands pretty." You whine for him.
The sound conveying a simple message: I need you now.
He gets the hint and flips you around. Pushing you against the counter, he wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you flush against him. Slipping his free hand down your back, he spreads your legs and plays with your wet pussy. He groans at the sensation, which only furthers your desire. You whine once more and start to voice your frustration but then he slams himself to the hilt. The stretch burns deliciously and you find yourself squeezing around him.
"Taking it so good pretty girl, this what you wanted," he taunts and your only response is a high pitched moan. Your sounds spur him on and he pulls you even closer, forcing you to arch even more for him.
You grip the counter for balance with your left hand and the force of Wonwoo makes the pictures along the wall shake. Your right hand is gripping the hand that's splayed across your belly. The angle at which he's pistoning into you, makes white spots dance across your vision.
"Fuck, fuck Wonwoo!" You moan and feel the band in your belly start to tighten up. One of the pictures falls off the wall and it's a picture of you and Seungcheol. Wonwoo crumples it and throws it in a random direction. Somehow this random accident, sets something off in him. Nipping at your ear, he waxes poetic about fucking you so good that you can't think about anything but him and his dick. You thought it was impossible but you get even wetter at his words.
He pulls out of you and you whine at the loss of contact. You felt like he was defying time with how quick he spins you around and hoists you onto the counter. Slipping back in with ease, he continues to ram into you. He grips your thighs so forcefully, that you're sure they'll leave marks and this brings you to a higher plane of pleasure. You throw your head back and scream his name.
He grips your neck and angles your head down, forcing you to look at him. In red shadows, you see the raised lines of his veins bulging from the way he's holding you and you can't help but drool. Your pussy gushes and flutters around him. He eggs you on, lacing praise in between kisses. Cocking his head back towards the pictures and utters a line that gets the band in your belly to snap.
"I can't wait to take you there and fuck you so good that you'll never think about anyone else but me at that beach." He says in a register so low and sinister that you can't help but cum around him. As you're riding through your orgasm, you clamp down on him and he lets out a deep guttural groan. Arching into him, you tell him to chase after his own high. By the sounds coming from him, you can tell he's close.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck, I'm gonna cum," he moans into your neck. You tell him to cum on your stomach and he pulls out just in time to spill on your tummy. Your breaths are heavy and your chests are heaving. Pulling out of you with a slick sound, he brings over a tissue to clean you up. The two of you get dressed, giggling as Wonwoo peppers your cheek and neck with kisses.
The reality of your location dawns over the two you at the same time and you break out into laughter. The two of you slip out of the darkroom to see the "OPEN" sign on the door flipped and a note on the counter.
"Closed up for you. Hope you were safe ;)
- Grandma"
A squeal comes from you as Wonwoo hangs his head in embarrassment.
"Your camera is actually ready. Did you want to take it home?" He asks sheepishly. You giggle and give him a peck on the cheek.
"Bring it by mine later? I have some pictures I wanna take," you say with a wink as you walk around the counter to leave. Pushing the glass door open, you turn and call out to him.
"Bring my developed film too?" You tease. As you close the door, you hear him yell that you weren't funny. You shake your head and laugh as you make your way home, excited for what else the night could bring the two of you.
taglist: @livmarauder @mellowamour @lunaxgyu @cherrymayz @choco-scoups @luvrung @chogiwaw
special thanks to: liv and may for beta reading for me, @hopecutie and liv for helping with my banner!
He loudly clears his throat. “So… you’re like a camgirl?”
You wince. “I prefer streamer with benefits, but yeah.”
the one where reader is a camgirl and asks her roommate to fuck her on stream.
౨ৎ roommate!wonwoo x cam girl! mc
౨ৎ w.c: 4.9k
౨ৎ genre: pwp. minors do not interact.
౨ৎ warnings: explicit content🔞, wonwoo's a little too good at playing pretend, also he's a little mean in this (during sex), sex on livestream, use of sir (like three times), mingyu is reader's friend, uhh i think that's it? please tell me if there's anything i missed im not good at this.
౨ৎ date posted: june 07, 2025
౨ৎ notes: title from the song novacane by frank ocean! this is also my first fic on tumblr so please be nice to me i will cry okay. i haven't written fic in ages 😭 please come to my blog and hang out i want to make friends !!
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“Hey, Wonwoo-yah,” you softly call, knuckles taping gently against his half-open door.
Wonwoo looks up from his desk, pausing his game and slipping his headphones down to hang around his neck. His brows lift in that quiet way he always greets you — surprised but gentle, like he’s glad you’re there. The light from the hallway outlines your silhouette, casting a soft glow behind you.
You step in slowly, hands twisted nervously in the sleeves of your oversized sweater. It's one of his, though you’ll never admit that out loud. Your fingers fidget in the fabric as you search for the right words.
Wonwoo tilts his head, “What’s up?” he asks gently prodding you to speak whatever is making you nervous.
You open your mouth, close it again, then finally manage, “I… have kind of a weird favor to ask.” You finally admit as you plop yourself down on his bed, grabbing one of his pillows to wrap your arms around it, a makeshift shield.
He leans back in his chair. “Yes.”
You blink, face contorting in astonishment. “You don’t even know what it is.”
He smiles, soft and sincere. “Doesn’t matter. I’d do anything for you.”
That makes your stomach flip, and you have to look away for a second. “That’s… really sweet. But you might want to hear it first. I need you to…” You suck in a breath and rush it all out: “Pretend to be my boyfriend.”
There’s a beat of silence.
“Sorry?” he says, blinking like he didn’t hear you right.
You force yourself to slow down, squeezing his pillow for comfort — and not that you'd ever admit it, take a massive whiff of his cologne, something that always seems to calm you. “I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend.”
Wonwoo stares for a second, face blank in that quietly-processing-everything way of his. You can tell he’s trying to decide whether this is a prank, a cry for help, or some unspoken code he’s supposed to understand.
You let out a frustrated sigh and flop down on his bed, clutching his pillow tighter. “Okay. Context. Remember how I told you the pay from the studio isn’t amazing? Like, I love it, but it’s not really paying all my bills?”
Wonwoo nods, clearly still confused.
“Well, the pay is actually, really bad, like I don't make enough to cover my portion of the rent—”
Wonwoo cuts you off, “If you need me to pay more I can, it's really no problem, I just got a huge bonus for the—”
“No!” This time you interrupt, “I've got it covered, that's the point. I was complaining to a friend, and well she told me about this website…” Your words trail off giving Wonwoo a look like he's meant to use that big brain of his and fill in the blanks.
“You have a sugar daddy?” He guesses. God, for someone so smart he is also completely clueless.
“I'm a sex worker.” You admit, staring at him, waiting for his reaction.
There’s a very long silence. You wait for the judgment. The discomfort. Anything.
Wonwoo looks like he's trying to remember how to breathe,
“Uhm,” His voice is startlingly high when he speaks, in a way you've never heard, he clears his throat, “So someone you uhm…” you can see the tips of his ears going red, “had business with is being a creep so you need me to scare them off.”
You can't help the burst of laughter that bubbles out—Wonwoo? Intimidate anyone?
“No, no.” You shake you head, laughter still on your lips, “Look, I, I don't fuck any one. I'm a streamer, people pay to watch me, fuck myself, that is.”
You can feel the heat flushing to your face but at least Wonwoo isn't in better shape, the red has creeped its ways from the tips of his ears down his neck and touches his cheeks.
He loudly clears his throat. “So… you’re like a camgirl?”
You wince. “I prefer streamer with benefits, but yeah.”
“And… the fake boyfriend?”
You sigh, “I like started this false narrative around this boyfriend I had, so people wouldn't get too lost in the fantasy, because my friend shared all types of horror stories about doing this. And I guess I kind of just get myself off and tell them stories about this imaginary boyfriend I don't have and well on my last stream for reaching a fuckton of subscribers I said I'd do a request to the highest donation and well… they want my nonexistent boyfriend to fuck me. And I just, I can't ask anyone else because I can't even imagine how they would take it, like can you imagine if I asked Jihoon? That would be so embarassing. God, or Mingyu? He'd say yes but I don't think he's capable of having sex without catching feeli—
“I’ll do it.”
You slow down from your spiral, startled. “Really?”
Wonwoo nods, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “Of course.”
౨ৎ
A few days later, you're at the kitchen table, half-draped over it in shame, while Mingyu sits across from you absolutely losing his mind.
“You—” he chokes out between wheezes, “you asked Wonwoo to fuck you. On camera. In front of an audience. I—god, I’m gonna pass out. This is the greatest day of my life.”
You groan into your arms. “Stop saying it like that.”
“Like what? Like the truth? Like the guy you’ve been crushing on since forever is going to dick you down live in front of thousands of horny strangers?”
“It’s not like that—”
“It is exactly like that,” he howls. “You asked your crush to clap you like a goddamn cymbal monkey for money. What is this, fanfiction?”
You glare at him, snatching the spoon from your tea and brandishing it like a knife. “I swear to god, if you don’t shut up, I will FaceTime Yuna right now and tell her exactly why you broke up with her.”
Mingyu pales instantly, hands in the air. “Okay. Truce. Fuck, Noona. Harsh.”
You slump back into your seat, pressing your fingers to your temples. “This sucks.”
“Correction,” he says smugly, “this is your origin story. You’ve been in love with him since he "fixed" your wifi, and now you're gonna get railed on stream by him. It's the slowest burn friends-to-lovers-to-livestream-fuck arc I’ve ever seen.”
“It’s not romantic,” you mutter, glaring into your cup like it might drown you.
“Really?” Mingyu raises a brow. “So you’re telling me you're going to let the guy you’ve been mentally undressing since 2022 fill you up on camera, and then what — fist bump and call it a night?”
You don’t answer.
He grins. “That’s what I thought.”
“…Shut the fuck up, Mingyu.”
౨ৎ
Friday.
Wonwoo walks into your room just as you're adjusting the camera angle and checking the lighting. He's wearing a simple black shirt, chain at his neck, hair slightly mussed like he just rolled out of bed looking unfairly perfect.
You swallow.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” he replies, then nods toward the bed. “You ready?”
Your heart is pounding. “Only if you are.”
He steps closer, eyes flicking over your outfit—an oversized sweater, one of his, and shorts so short you can barely see them—his Adam’s apple bobs slightly as he swallows.
“You look nice,” he says.
You force a laugh. “Thanks. You do too.”
That gets a real smile out of him, and your stomach flips.
You go live, and watch as the first messages roll in.
Your usuals, the ones who know you don't like to go right into.
You let yourself forget that Wonwoo's there as you fall into another version of yourself—slipping into the role like a second skin. Your eyes flicker across the screen reading the message until you find one worth responding to
tigersgaze: god i needed this, work deadlines are killing me. hope your week was better than mine.
“Aww, I'm sorry, tiger. I hope stream will help you relax.” You say leaning back, with the practiced ease of someone who's been doing this for ages.
angelface666: is this finally the stream where we meet the elusive boyfriend?
mommyplease: show us your perfect tits please mommy?
cumslut44: i like your sweater baby
singledad95: please show me your cunt, i miss it so bad.
“Hmm, my boyfriend is here. Maybe if you're good I'll let you meet him.” There's an unspoken request in your words, and the viewers seem to get it clearly. The donations start flowing in.
You spentd a few more quiet moments just talking with your viewers, letting more people come in.
You glance to your left. He’s just out of frame, waiting. Calm. Cool. You reach out and tug him into view.
You know exactly the vision he looks on screen—his hair falls in his face, just brushing against the frames of his glasses, the sharp jawline. He sits beside you on the bed, one hand possessively on your thigh.
You watch as the chats roll in.
angelface666: oh. he's pretty.
justherefory/n: god i know his dick is big.
tigersgaze: i bet you look so pretty on him.
You can’t help but laugh softly. “You're right tiger, I do look pretty on him.”You slide closer to him, deliberately swinging a leg over his lap, your hips settling just against his. “They’ve been very curious about you,” you say it like it's a confession between lovers and not like it's your best friend simply playing a role.
Wonwoo’s fingers flex on your thigh. “I don't share well.” And you know he's playing his part but the truth in the statement makes you giggle, Wonwoo's never been good at sharing.
You shift your hips slightly in his lap, just enough friction to draw a sharp inhale from him.
You lean in, brushing lips against Wonwoo’s ear again.
“Ready to give them a show, baby?”
His reply?
A hand around your throat and a dangerous smile.
Wonwoo leans in. You tilt your head. And then his lips meet yours. It’s not for show. It’s not practiced.
It’s soft. Deep. Slow. Like he’s wanted to do this for a long time. You’re too breathless to keep pretending.
Your thighs clench involuntarily.
Wonwoo pulls back just far enough to brush his nose against yours. “Color?”
You blink, dazed. “Green,” you breathe.
He hums in approval, a low sound that rumbles in his chest and vibrates through you. His hand slips lower, fingers tracing the hem of your shorts, and your pulse spikes.
You look back at the chat to distract yourself.
facefucker29: hurry up and fuck already
dirtywhitetee: i knew you'd look pretty with a hand around your throat
y/nsdirtylittleslut: i want him to make a mess of you
mommyplease: that should be me mommy i'd treat your so well
You gasp a little when his hand sneaks beneath the fabric and settles possessively on your thigh. He doesn’t move further — not yet — but the message is clear: mine.
He leans in again, lips ghosting over your ear. “You’re doing so well for me,” he whispers, just loud enough for the mic to catch. “You want me to keep going?”
You nod. Then realize they can’t see that, and breathe out, “Yes. Please.”
His laugh is low and dark. “Then beg.”
The room spins. You forgot you asked for this. You forgot you wanted him to play rough — like the dominant boyfriend your viewers fantasized about. You forgot that Wonwoo could look at you like that — hooded gaze, parted lips, one hand gripping your thigh, the other loose around your neck like he owns every inch of you.
“I said—” his voice dips, something low that has you clenching around nothing, his grip on your throat just the slightest bit tighter, “—beg.”
You almost forget the camera is even there.
“Please, Wonwoo,” you whisper, and it’s more than a performance now. “Touch me. I need you to.”
He pats your thigh gently. “Good girl.”
The words hit you like a freight train. You whimper, openly this time.
Your eyes shift back to the chat again, trying not to get lost in him—a small part of you fears it's already too late.
singledad65: i knew you'd make such a pretty sub. what a pretty mess already
tigersgaze: fuck i'm so hard already. wanna see you choking on his cock baby.
mommyplease: mommy show us your tits please please please i'm so hard.
Wonwoo shifts slightly, demanding your attention, enough for his knee to knock your legs apart, spreading them just enough for the camera to catch view of the blooming wet spot on your cotton shorts.
You feel dizzy. You’re wet — obviously, hopelessly wet — and every part of you is pulsing, aching, desperate for more. You don’t even care about the stream anymore. You only care about him.
And then, without warning, he grabs your wrists and pins them gently above your head, pushing you back onto the bed.
It’s not rough — not really. Just firm enough to make your whole body light up.
“Keep your hands right there,” he says, voice like velvet-wrapped steel. “Let me take care of you.”
You nod helplessly. “Yes, Won-.” you gulp stopping yourself from saying his name aloud. You never discussed if he was okay with his name being used on stream.
He kisses down your neck, slow and deliberate, pausing just above your collarbone as his fingers graze the curve of your waist.
You can't imagine how you must look on camera right now, the image of you splayed out just for him. You almost whimper at the thought, your hips rolling up to chase friction.
But before anything else can happen, he pauses.
Pulls back just slightly. Meets your eyes.
“This okay?” he asks, quietly this time. “You sure?”
Your heart clenches.
God. Even now, with your legs spread and your body shaking and the camera still rolling, he’s checking in.
“I’m sure,” you whisper. “I trust you.”
His smile is soft. And just like that, you're ruined all over again.
“Good.” Wonwoo kisses you again — deep, filthy, and completely in control.
Your hands twitch against the pillow beneath your head, instinct screaming at you to touch him, to grab his shoulders, tangle your fingers in his hair, something — but but the larger part of you is begging you to listen, to be rewarded for being a good girl.
“You stay right there,” he murmurs. “You take what I give you.”
You nod, panting. “Yes, W-sir.”
His free hand slides slowly beneath the hem of your sweater, palm splaying flat over your stomach. He doesn’t move higher. Not yet. He waits — lets the silence stretch until your back arches off the mattress and your hips squirm beneath him.
And then he laughs, low and mean. Almost cruel, if not for the affection in his eyes.
“You’re already so needy,” he taunts. “I haven’t even touched you yet.”
His thumb brushes your bottom lip. You suck it in instinctively and the growl that slips from his throat makes your thighs clamp together.
He sees it. Of course he does.
"Open."
You do. Without question.
He pushes his thumb between your lips, slow and steady, eyes fixed on your face the whole time. You swirl your tongue around it, moaning as you suck, and the flash in his eyes makes your whole body light up like a warning sign.
He pulls his thumb free with a wet pop, then brings it down between your legs, slipping it just inside the waistband of your shorts — not enough to touch you, but enough to make your hips buck toward him.
"You're gonna be good and cum for me like this," he murmurs. "Still wearing your pretty little shorts. Think you can do that?"
“I—yeah,” you pant. “I can.”
“Good girl.”
The two words hit harder than any touch. Your whole body clenches at the sound of it. He starts to rub, slow firm circles over your panties, and your head drops back against the bed.
You’re so wet it’s humiliating. You can feel the damp fabric clinging to you, feel the friction sparking with every motion of his fingers — and you dig your nails into into your palms to keep yourself from reaching out for him.
You’re moaning now, high and choked, not even bothering to hold it in. You can’t. His voice, his hand, his weight on top of yo —it’s all too much.
“Keep your hands up,” he growls, and there’s no mistaking the real edge in his voice now. “You want to cum? You earn it.”
You nod, frantic. “Yes, yes, please—”
“You don’t get to cum until I say so.”
“Sir—!”
He presses harder. You cry out, thighs trembling, hips jerking uselessly as he works you faster. Your breathing is ragged. You’re so close it hurts.
And then—
He stops.
Your eyes fly open.
“Wonwoo—!” You cry out in shock, not even pausing to think about using his name, the nager clear in your tone.
“Shh,” he soothes, lips brushing your cheek. “You’ll get it. But first…”
His hands slip beneath your sweater, and this time he doesn't hesitate. He pushes it up, exposing your bare chest to the camera.
You had honestly forgotten about the stream—about the chat, and clearly they had noticed. Your eyes rake the comments:
singledad95: poor baby she's gone already
dacefucker69: fuck i'm gonna cum.
mommyplease: thank you daddy, look at mommy's perfect tits. can i cum please?
tigersgaze: god i think she forgot about us, but i don't care you look so good like this baby
You gasp. You should feel embarrassed, but you’re so deep into this you don’t even care. You just want his hands back on you.
Wonwoo doesn’t say anything at first. Just stares. His lips part slightly. There’s something reverent in the way his gaze drags across your skin.
Then he looks up — into the lens. Into the eyes of everyone watching.
“She’s mine,” he says, voice low and lethal. “You can look, but you don’t get to touch. Ever.”
Then he looks down again, and he smiles — slow, devastating, like a man who knows exactly how fucked you are.
“Now beg again, baby. Real pretty for the camera.”
You choke on your own breath.
“Please, Wonwoo,” you whisper. “I need to cum. I—I need you so bad, please, I’ll be good, I swear.”
His hand slips back between your legs.
And this time, he doesn’t stop.
You don’t know if you’re begging in words anymore or just making sounds — the kind of half-choked whines you never thought would leave your mouth outside of your most desperate dreams.
And he’s still touching you, still working tight, devastating circles against your clit through the soaked fabric of your panties. Your hips buck wildly beneath him, your legs trying to close, but his free hand pins your thigh open with ease.
“Don’t fight it,” he murmurs. “You wanted to cum so bad—so do it. Cum for me, just like this. Let them all watch how sweet you sound when I ruin you.”
You gasp, a high-pitched sob, and your fingers claw into the sheets beside your head, straining to obey his earlier command to keep your hands to yourself. You're on fire, every muscle drawn tight and twitching, a livewire underneath his touch.
“You're so wet," Wonwoo growls. "You really were gonna cum for me in your shorts like a little slut, huh?”
Your whimper is confirmation enough. Your body is spiraling out of your control now.
And then he leans in — mouth brushing your ear, voice so low it’s filthy.
“I'm not even inside you yet and you're already a fucking mess.”
Something in you snaps.
Your mouth drops open in a silent scream as your orgasm slams into you. Your thighs shake, your breath catches, and your entire body locks up beneath him as he works you through it, never slowing down — rubbing mercilessly until you’re twitching and gasping and trying to twist away from his hand.
But he doesn’t let you go.
“Oh no, no, baby,” he coos, voice suddenly cruel again, deceptively sweet. “You can cum more than that.”
“Wonwoo—” you plead, voice broken.
“You’re gonna cum again. For them,” he says, nodding toward the camera, “and for me.”
Your body is oversensitive now but his hand doesn’t stop. It changes. Slower now, deeper pressure, coaxing you through the aftershocks.
You try to speak. It’s just a stuttering, useless gasp of air.
“Come on,” he says gently now. “One more. Be good.”
And then he bites you, open mouth, right over your collarbone, and that's all it takes for you to fall apart.
The second orgasm crashes over you before you’re fully recovered from the first. It drags a low moan from your lips this time, ragged and raw, and you sob out his name like a prayer as your body convulses underneath him.
Your vision goes blurry for a second.
The only thing anchoring you is the press of his hand between your thighs and the sound of his voice — murmuring quiet praises you’re barely coherent enough to understand.
“Just like that. That’s my girl.”
And you're just coming down from the last waves of your orgasm when Wonwoo shifts you, until you're once again his lap, laying with your back against to his chest, your legs hooked on both sides of his thighs, he pushes your shorts down and off. He removes your sweater too, you're completely bare, body flushed and looking all too fucked out and he hasn't even fucked you yet. Exposed and bare on his till clothed form.
You don’t even notice the camera at first.
He turns his gaze to the camera and smiles. He smirks, really — eyes heavy-lidded, lazy with satisfaction.
You're too fucked out to really pay attention, he says, “If you want more, you know what to do.”
The dings of incoming donations flood the room, one after another until Wonwoo is seemingly satisfied.
He trails a finger up your thigh, playing with your dripping pussy. He looks at the chat for confirmation, you try to, too, eyes still unfocused from pleasure as his fingers tease your core.
“You're so dirty baby, I haven't even got my fingers in you yet and you're dripping.” A sharp whine leaves your lips at his words. His finger teases your opening, before pulling away to brush lightly against your abused clit.
"Tell me, what do you want? Do you want me to touch you here?" He pauses, his breath warm on your skin as he whispers near in your ear, "Or maybe somewhere else?"
His hand slowly moves upwards, caressing your stomach, then higher to cup one of your breasts. He squeezes softly, feeling the weight and shape of it in his palm, brushing a finger against a peaked nipple. “Use your words, baby.”
“Wonwoo,” You whine, rocking your hips softly, feeling his cock, thick and hard beneath you, you feel oh so empty, “Please.”
Wonwoo slowly pushes a finger inside you, he groans softly, the sound vibrating against your skin as he continues to place gentle kisses along your neck and collarbone. "Mmm, so tight," he murmurs, slowly pumping his finger in and out, building a steady rhythm.
With his free hand, he reaches up to tangle his fingers in your hair, and pulls, hard enough to sting. He trails his lips over the sensitive skin, nipping and sucking gently as he works another finger into your slick heat, stretching you out.
"Does that feel good?" he asks, his voice rough with need. "Do you like having my fingers inside you, stretching you open?"
You nod, mouth open in a moan—you're so lost in your own world, in the pleasure, it's easy to forget that this is all for show, that this moment is just an act and Wonwoo isn't yours. But in this moment he is.
“More, please.” You whine rocking your hips, simultaneously grinding down on his clothed cock and against his fingers inside you.
His fingers fuck into you with a purpose until—“Ahhh” you moan, shaking, when he pushes against your g-spot with a determined persistence.
His eyes go sharp again as he stares down the camera, he's staking his claim. You're his.
“What do you think? Should I make her cum again like this?” He asks, a smirk on his lips as he stills his hand, you rock your hips shamelessly chasinging your release.
“Wonwoo please please please please please.” A litany of pleas leave your lips, tears nearly forming in your eyes. You're so close you can taste it.
“Don't ask me, baby.” He chuckles low and deep, unbelievably sexy. “Ask them.”
You catch a glimpse of yourself in the viewfinder, fucked out, a mess, eyes heavy lidded. You look debauched, and pretty.
“I want to cum,” Your voice is raw from all the moaning, your lips are plump from biting on them, you look the very essence of sin, “please.”
The chat explodes with tips and that seems to be enough for Wonwoo.
He kisses you like he owns you.
And maybe, in this moment, he does. The way he’s touching you says it — the way he’s holding your hips down, dragging his fingers up your thigh, says it. You can feel the tip of his cock brushing against your entrance — you hadn't even noticed he'd pulled it out of his sweatpants, and it’s not even in yet but your body is already begging.
“Ready?” he murmurs low against your throat, lips brushing your skin like a tease.
You nod, wordless. Already wrecked, slick and throbbing under him, your thighs trembling with every shallow breath.
“Words,” he reminds you, and you feel the tip press just slightly inside.
“Yes. Yes, Wonwoo, please.”
He groans like he’s been waiting to hear that all night. “Good girl.”
And then he pushes in.
Your gasp catches high in your throat, nails clawing at the sheets beneath you as he splits you open, inch by inch, his hips slow and deliberate. He’s thick, the stretch almost too much—almost, but then he bottoms out, presses flush against your body, and you swear you see white.
Wonwoo pauses there, buried inside you. His voice is a low growl when he speaks.
“Let them see you like this,” he says, staring down the camera with a smirk. “Stuffed full of me.”
You don’t even care that they’re watching. Not when he starts to move.
His thrusts are deep from the start, slow at first, but with that tight rhythm that makes your brain melt. One of his hand wraps around your throat, thumb resting just under your jaw, and the contact makes your whole body tense beneath him. The other steady on your hip, moving you like a ragdoll, his personal fuck toy as he lifts you up and down on his lap, meeting his every thrust.
“You like that?” he says, almost mockingly sweet. “Getting fucked in front of a live audience?”
“Wonwoo—” you gasp, already spiraling.
“You’re taking me so well,” he praises. “Look at that. So tight. So fucking wet.”
Each thrust punches a little sound out of you, his cock hitting that sweet spot over and over, and when he pulls your hips down to meet his, the slick slap of skin echoes off the walls. You don't even try to stop the sounds falling from your lips anymore—you're beyond pride, beyond shame.
“Gonna cum already?” he teases, kissing along your jaw, grinding deep. “Not even halfway done with you, baby.”
“I—I can’t—” you whimper.
“Yes, you can,” he growls. “You’re gonna cum around my cock like a good girl.”
The orgasm builds fast, your body tight, trembling, every muscle locking up as you struggle to hold back. But his voice is right in your ear, coaxing you through it.
“Let them watch you fall apart for me,” he whispers. “Now. Be good. Cum.”
You shatter.
It’s too much. Your vision goes white, your body clamps tight around him, and your orgasm tears through you like a storm. You cry out, maybe even sob his name, but it’s all blurred in the wave of pleasure. You can’t think, can’t breathe.
Wonwoo groans low in his throat as you tighten around him, and it’s like a switch flips. His hips snap into yours harder now, faster. His grip on your throat tightens as he chases his own release.
“You feel too fucking good,” he hisses, fucking into you like he’s about to lose control. “So perfect. Gonna cum inside you. Fill you up. You want that?”
You nod frantically, barely coherent, and that’s all he needs.
He slams in once more and holds there, hips pressed hard against you as his body trembles, his breath catching in a deep, guttural groan. You feel the heat of it, the way he pulses inside you, and it only makes your body twitch around him again.
Silence.
Except for your ragged breathing, the camera still rolling in the background, and the sound of his heartbeat thudding against your chest.
Wonwoo finally exhales.
He gently eases out of you, hand trailing softly down your thigh, and your body gives a full-body twitch—overstimulated and still shaking.
Your eyes meet his, no teasing now. Just something real.
The camera light is still on.
He gives it a final look, then leans forward, and with the same casual dominance as before, clicks it off.
Then he looks back down at you. Smirking. But softer now.
“You okay?” he asks quietly.
You nod.
But your voice is hoarse when you whisper back, “Yeah. But that didn’t feel fake.”
He just brushes the damp hair from your cheek and says, “Because it wasn’t.”
SUMMARY: Your nephew won’t stop complaining about his strict superior at work. What you weren’t expecting was that said superior happens to be your hottest hookup, the one you had a one-night stand with. Did you like it? Obviously, yes. But morally? You should’ve buried yourself in dearth at this point.
PAIRING: jeon wonwoo x f!reader
GENRE: drama, comedy, fluff, smut, oneshot
WARNINGS: suggestive content (MDNI), dirty talk, strong language, mildly toxic family (mentioned), one-night stand, attempted quickie, sexual tension, heated kissing, homoerotic cuz i can, dick jokes (im sorry), bantering, arguing (in a fun way), little angst hinted about parents' separation.
WC: 12.5k
ADD TAGS❦︎: cafe owner! reader, pr specialist! wonwoo, kim sunoo as your nephew, wonwoo is a jerk but a hot one, barista! boochan, reader is kind of a fujoshi (this was supposed to be a joke), domestic fluff if you squint, invisible string theory hinted, co-enemies to lovers, they're both idiots, teacher! jeonghan mentioned, i do think i am hilarious, roommate! mingyu, hot n cold dynamic, strangers to lovers, secret relationships, this was probably a bad idea.
a/n: hi. we are sooo back in this diamond crack.
The fact that you’re legally an adult is hysterical. If people asked whether you’re an adult, you’d say “yeah”, but not with confidence or anything.
People always say, “there’s plenty of fish in the sea.” You’ve heard that a ton, but your eyes are fixed on that one specific, emotionally distant salmon commitment issues, mommy issues, and absolutely no idea how to function like a normal human being.
There’s plenty of fish in the sea, but you know what else is there? Trash. There is a lot of trash in the sea. You even switched out your plastic straws for one-hundred per cent plant-based, edible rice straws made from rice, tapioca, and cornstarch. They’re designed to be sustainable, turtle-friendly, and technically safe to eat. It was often described as having a neutral, pasta-like texture. They were a popular eco-friendly alternative to plastic, even though some people complained that they got soggy in drinks.
You like to think that you have saved the turtles. Maybe even the ocean.
Unfortunately, that still doesn’t stop people especially at family gatherings from bringing up marriage every chance they get. You were perfectly fine living like this. You run your own cafe. You’ve got a side hustle as a web novel writer and webcomic creator though of course they don’t know that.
Your single life has been nothing but peaceful. In this century, it’s a choice. But that doesn’t matter when your relatives keep asking when it’ll be your turn, especially at someone else’s wedding. God forbid a woman enjoys her life without a partner.
They love to hint, no—insist that you’ll end up lonely, growing old like some miserable hag.
Puh-lease. You’ll never be intimidated by people with no class. What are they going to do? Gossip about you with their equally insecure, trashy little circle?
You don’t care. You’d rather die than get married. At least you won’t end up as some miserable wife stuck with a douchebag husband and his broken ass.
The only thing that kept you alive and sane was none other than your beloved nephew, your very first one. Oh, the things you would do for him. You still remember the first time you held him, just a newborn, tiny in your arms. That was the moment you became an aunt at the age of seventeen.
Now, he’s all grown up, living like a proper young adult. Still, you can’t help but see him as a kid. Not that you mind, considering you once gaslit eight-year-old Sunoo into believing he was six just so he could get freebies at a diner when you first babysat him.
“You look like you’re about to cry,” you said, wiping a glass as you watched your twenty three-years-old nephew clutch his head, face buried against the counter.
“Give my regards to the devil,” he sighed, rolling his eyes in exhaustion.
“I will.”
Sunoo groaned again, downing another shot of espresso you had made earlier. That was probably his third cup. You gently took it away from him, earning a frown.
“Oh, come on. I didn’t raise you to be a quitter,” you said, sliding a glass of water toward him instead. “I raised a burnt-out perfectionist who occasionally gets bludgeoned into settling for mediocrity.”
Your nephew stared at you incredulously. Sometimes he wondered if he was even related to you. But in the end, he’d take you over his nosy, borderline-stranger aunties who wanted a full autobiography of his achievements. He still didn’t understand why his mom, your sister had trusted you to raise him all these years, well into adulthood.
“Okay, I’ve experienced academic validation, and I’ve experienced academic downfall, and I highly recommend being born into generational wealth—”
“It’s not about that,” he cut you off. “It’s my superior. He’s… I don’t know. Everything about him is just so cranky.”
“What?” You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed as you continued stacking cups. “Is he a bully or something?”
“Not exactly. He’s just… kind of mean. Well—he’s just that good at his job.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“That is the problem,” he confirmed.
He continued, “He’s so good at what he does that it stresses everyone out on the planning team. If something goes wrong, he gets intensely serious about it—like, terrifyingly committed.”
There was a brief silence as you listened to your nephew ramble. This was probably just a moment of weakness. He likely just needed to vent.
“No one likes him,” he scoffed, taking a sip of water. “In fact, I don’t think he likes people at all. He probably hates himself too.”
He sighed again. “I made it through the day without throwing a chair at anyone, but this coffee tastes more bitter than usual.” He clicked his tongue. “Probably because I carried his bitterness all the way here.”
After a moment, you looked up at him.
“Feeling better now?
“Yeah,” he finally exhaled.
You’d think his toxic trait was believing another cup of coffee could solve literally anything. Honestly, you couldn’t tell if he was just being dramatic, but considering this was his second week complaining about his “toxic” workdays, you hoped it was only one insufferable person making him miserable, and not HR tearing him apart. Senior colleagues could be worse. You just hoped he wasn’t being bullied.
You, on the other hand, could drink three cups of coffee and go straight to sleep, one of many things fundamentally wrong with you as a person. In your defense, you buried those bad habits back in university. You’re a changed woman now. At your age, you just wish people would stop asking about your likes and dislikes. It gets old—those endless, generic questions on dates.
You like money and food. You dislike not having money and being hungry.
Please. Don’t add more stress to your life.
Adulting is hard, but it’s okay. At least you don’t need to prove and explain why a triangle is a triangle anymore.
Nobody is busier than someone who isn’t interested in you. And when you say, “I’ll figure it out,” it usually just means you’ll adapt to whatever new level of hell is coming next. You either juggle five tasks at once or stare at a wall, wondering what scene to write for your next update, there is no in-between.
You know you’re hot, but you’re also aware you’re not a full-time hot person. You’re hot when you want to be, depending on the mood. You choose your own hours, make your own schedule. Honestly, it’s freelance hotness.
Just because you live like this doesn’t mean your life is boring. Sure, you’ve had your fair share of hookups—but they’re rare.
Today, however, is different. You went to your usual bar—Velvet Ruby. Mostly because the owner, Jihoon (as you’ve come to learn), is annoyingly attractive. You’re not even utterly shameless at that, the first time you met him (that time you haven’t yet to know he was the owner), throwing flirts here and there, you were tipsy, okay? Still, he finds it amusing despite himself. You usually prefer someone taller than you, but somehow, he still caught your attention.
Tonight, though, you were determined. You wanted a distraction. A release.
The only problem? You’d been sitting there for almost an hour. You were practically waiting for a main character’s entrance, but it seemed the owner had better things to do. Swirling your glass, you watched the wine move lazily inside it, your fingers brushing through your hair as you leaned your cheek against your palm, and then you noticed him.
Sitting right beside you.
You didn’t even try to hide the way your gaze lingered on his side profile. The sharp nose, the way his lips brushed against the rim of his glass as he took a sip of whiskey. His sweater was pushed just enough to reveal his forearms, the fabric stretching slightly. You could tell he was well-built underneath. His veiny hands, steady as he held the glass with ease, a watch sitting perfectly on his wrist.
God.
You really wanted him so bad.
As a matter of fact, you even dressed up for tonight—something chic, something that worked both at your cafe and for this. Chan, one of your employees, kept staring earlier. You didn’t say anything out loud, but you did threaten to cut his pay if he kept slacking off.
You feel sexy today, feel good and confident. There was no way you were wasting this night.
As if sensing your stare, the man suddenly turned toward you. His eyes narrowed slightly, not threatening, just… observant. His gaze lingered, taking you in without shame.
Jackpot.
Honestly, you don’t care. You were convinced you could hold your liquor pretty well, but you only lived once. You didn’t look away. Instead, you offered a soft smile, teasing as you leaned your chin on your palm, crossing your legs.
“Do you know what bees make?” you asked casually.
He raised an eyebrow, clearly making sure you were talking to him. There was a pause before he answered, humoring you.
“Honey?”
You smiled wider. “Yes, dear?”
A soft chuckle left your lips, you were definitely tipsy now. He looked amused, the corner of his mouth lifting as he took another sip, his gaze still on you appreciatively, unhidden.
“Can I buy you a drink?” He asked.
Your lips curved in quiet victory.
Got him.
...
It didn’t take long for the two of you to fall into easy conversation. The small talk here and there, laughter slipping in between. One thing led to another. You have learned that his name is Wonwoo. He mentioned something about work, some company but you barely processed it, too distracted by his deep voice and the way his cologne lingered in the air.
By the time you reached the hotel, neither of you had the patience to pretend otherwise. The door barely closed before he pulled you close again, lips finding yours in a kiss that was far from hesitant. His coat was gone in seconds, yours not long after as you were guided back with your breath catching and thoughts slipping.
His touch was warm, firm, leaving a trail that made it harder to think straight. Your head tilted instinctively, giving him more space, more access, your fingers gripping onto him as the moment blurred into something hazy and overwhelming.
A quiet sound escaped you, your mind already spinning, senses dulled except for him.
You stumbled toward the bed, everything felt so messy and impatient. Both of your clothes were scattered somewhere on the floor. It was clear that you’re both extremely attracted to each other, and you never felt so turned on right now. Maybe it’s been a while since you have felt this good.
Straddling him, you leaned down, kissing him again with intense neediness. Wonwoo grunts into the kiss, chuckling softly against your lips at how impatient you are, clumsily pressing on him. He kisses you back fiercely, his tongue delving into your mouth to stroke along yours, gripping your hips tightly. He grinds up against your core, large hands sliding up your bare back, fingers digging into your soft skin as he pulls you flush against his muscular chest. He didn’t forget to lavish your neck with hot, open-mouthed kisses, teeth grazing your pulse point as he bucks his hips up sharply.
You let out a soft sigh and moan at how intense it feels, catching your breath as your hands come up to grip his soft locks. Your hips instinctively grind on him, rolling your hips down as you feel the thick length of his cock rubbing against your slick folds through the thin fabric of your panties.
A low groan tore from his throat at the feeling, his grip on your hips tightening. He slides his hands down to grip your ass, squeezing the plush globes roughly as he grinds up against you—meeting your slow, sensual movements. “You’re so fucking hot like this, baby.” He murmurs, leaning up to capture your lips in a deep sensual kiss. Drowning in his own needs, he tore your panties away and didn’t hesitate to put the tip of his cock inside your bare cunt.
The sensation itself had left your mouth hanging open, trying to catch yourself at how amazing it feels like. Your grip on him tightened as you slowly sinked yourself down on his dick, mewling at the way he’s stretching you out. “F-fuck—Wonwoo…” you whimper out softly as you started to move your hips.
Wonwoo let out a low guttural moan as your tight walls clenched down around him like vice, gripping his throbbing shaft so deliciously. He literally needed to pause for a moment, savouring the incredible feeling of being fully sheathed inside you before he started to move. “Fuck, baby… so fucking tight.” He murmurs, looking up at you with dark, lust-filled eyes. You start to roll your hips, working yourself on his thick length. “That’s it—just like that… nice and slow.” Hands slide up your sides to cup your breasts, squeezing the soft mounds and kneading the flesh as he watches your face intently. Taking in every little flicker of emotion and pleasure that crosses your features.
He growls, feeling your pussy clench and squeeze around his pistoning length. God, even his voice is so damn hot, your mind was too drowned by how sexy he was until you felt a sharp slap on your ass, making you squeal. “Ride me harder, baby. Fuck yourself on my cock until you can’t take it anymore.” Wonwoo leans up to bite at your neck, sucking a dark hickey into your skin as he feels your movements turning more desperate and needy.
You started to bounce on his cock with increasing fervour, your ass smacking against his balls with each downward grind. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoes obscenely in the room, spurring him on to fuck into you even harder and deeper.
Your knees tremble on either side of him, digging the sheet for support. Nails digging further into his shoulders to keep yourself upright. You knew he wouldn’t last much longer, not with the way you’re writhing and mewling so sweetly above him. Your cunt milking his cock for all it’s worth.
And it’s so fucking hot.
Wonwoo slams up into you one last time, burying himself to the hilt as his cock pulses and throbs inside your spasming cunt, throwing his head back with a loud groan rumbling from his chest at his release. You moaned out loud too, mouth hanging as you held him tight. The feeling of his release seems to trigger your own, and you feel your body stiffening beneath him as your climax crashes over you.
With one last shuddering breath, he finally pulled back, taking in your blissed-out expression with a satisfied smirk. He peppered soft kisses across your face, his touch unexpectedly tender after everything that had just happened. You could feel your heartbeat racing, matching his.
“More?” you murmured against his lips, a playful smile tugging at yours.
“Thought so.”
Without warning, he flipped you onto your back against the mattress, earning a small yelp from you followed by breathy laughter as he settled himself between your legs. Your little escapade with him continued into the night. After all, the night was still young.
How to say “I hate you" in a nice way? It’s simple. “You are the Monday of my life.” Seungkwan always bristled whenever you said that, usually while you were asking him to clean the grease. It wasn’t even his turn, which would inevitably lead to him bickering with Chan about whose turn it actually was. At this point, you might as well be your own employee at your own cafe.
But hey, you like to think you’re a good boss.
The older you get, the more you understand why roosters just scream to start the day. Back in college, you used to wake up and sit there, contemplating whether to skip class. Maybe cry a little. Your greatest joy was waking up without the crushing sense of responsibility.
Now? You’ve never felt so good. You were actually… happy.
Even your nephew had asked Chan and Seungkwan why you were in such a good mood today. You were practically glowing.
There was no denying it, that one-night stand with that ridiculously attractive man had put you in an excellent mood. It was a shame you didn’t get his contact, though. When you woke up, tangled in the soft comforter, he was already getting ready to leave. He seemed in a rush. You were far too sore and far too comfortable to chase after him. Too much hassle, you thought.
Like some kind of Cinderella, he disappeared just like that. And honestly? You didn’t think you’d ever experience sex the same way again. Not that you were mad or anything. You hate being mad. It takes you almost two and a half years to calm down.
So for now, it was just you and your coffee beans, trying to figure out whether today was even necessary. According to the weather, though—it was bright and sunny. You greeted your customers with a warm smile (which you rarely did), and for once, everything felt… light.
Sunoo stared at you with concern as he blended the coffee beans beside you. “Did she win the lottery or something?” he whispered, leaning toward Seungkwan.
“I don’t know, kid,” Seungkwan shrugged, not even looking up as he handled the pre-orders. “She’s having one of her episodes. I’m not getting involved.” He paused, then added dryly, “It’s either her inner peace is sponsored by caffeine… or sarcasm.”
Your nephew just shrugged it off, continuing to help with the brewing. “By the way, remember when I told you I’d be having a meeting at your cafe? It’s going to be tomorrow.”
You hummed in response, packing cookies as you glanced up slightly. “Yeah, I remember. The place is spacious enough—you can come by around noon.”
“Great. Then I’ll get going… with my daily intake of coffee, as usual.” He smiled, picking up the book he had tucked under his arm.
You paused briefly. Because that cover looked painfully familiar. That was your work, your webcomic. The one that went viral back when you were in college.
“Where did you get that?” you asked, eyeing the cover before looking up at him, suspicion clear in your expression.
You were pretty sure it was old. There shouldn’t even be active copies of it anymore. You had buried that part of your life a long time ago.
“Oh, this?” he gestured casually. “My team’s working on a big project right now. It’s for a campaign we’re handling.” He took a sip from his drink, completely oblivious to your reaction.
It wasn’t like you were sweating, or panicking.
Or internally screaming.
It was just your own damn book—the one your nephew had no idea existed. You wrote it back in college. It was stupid, honestly, and you weren’t proud of it. You literally wrote about two dudes who were roommates and… well, got very close.
Unfortunately, it went viral back then. You had no idea how it resurfaced now, and frankly, you wanted nothing to do with it.
Sunoo glanced at his phone as he headed for the door. “I’ve gotta go now. Don’t forget about tomorrow! My team and that mean senior will be there too.”
And just like that, he left. Leaving you standing there, wondering what kind of disaster was about to unfold.
...
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Collaboration Inquiry with Carrot Publication.
Hi Belububbles,
I hope this message finds you well. On behalf of my team, our company has previously reached out to your agency regarding a potential collaboration. We were advised to contact you directly; however, we have yet to receive a response to our emails or direct messages.
As this matter is time-sensitive, I would like to request a face-to-face meeting tomorrow at our office, should you be available. Please let us know your availability by today. If we do not hear back from you we will proceed with further steps to move this discussion forward.
Looking forward to hearing from you.
Best regards,
Going Company PR team
+ 82 013-xxx-xxx
You bristled the moment you read the email in your inbox. Just when you were having a perfectly good day, which is ruined. That tone alone was enough to irritate you. Sure, you did ignore unknown callers and random emails. Most of them were spam or obvious scams, and you never bothered checking unless they came through your publication agency.
Still… the audacity.
Come to think of it, Sunoo did mention that his team was dealing with a particulary demanding client. Which probably meant his “superior” had grown a second set of horns by now. You could already imagine someone breathing down his neck, especially with how much he’d been fumbling lately. Not that you could blame him, the expectations sounded ridiculous and apparently, his superior had decided to take it on anyway.
Good thing none of that had anything to do with you.
Honestly, you wouldn’t even be surprised if one day Sunoo quit his job and showed up at your cafe asking for a position. You were short-staffed anyway, it might actually work out.
And now here you are. Standing in front of the Going Company. You had replied to their email yesterday, and they wasted no time contacting you again today. Still, you didn’t appreciate the tone—less of a request, more of a thinly veiled demand.
You rarely made any public appearances for your work. That’s what aliases were for. Working behind the scenes, under your publication agency was exactly how you liked it. You just hoped, really hoped that you wouldn’t run into Sunoo here.
It was a big building after all. Surely, you wouldn’t. Now seated in a waiting room, you crossed your legs
Now seated in a waiting room, you crossed your legs, fingers tapping lightly against your arm. One of the staff had already ushered you in, leaving you alone as you waited for the so-called “representative.” Something about this felt off. And you had a feeling that this meeting was about to get a lot more complicated.
Did you burn your toast today? Nah. That couldn’t be it. But you did burn the cookies. Which meant Seungkwan ended up cleaning the mess after you told him you had an appointment to get to. This is exactly why you have employees. Even if you treat them more like your nieces and nephews despite being around the same age.
The door then opened. Someone had arrived, but of all people you didn’t expect him. You lifted your head lazily, bored and later froze at the sight.
Jeon Wonwoo.
He also stopped mid-step too, one hand still on the chair he was about to pull out, eyes locked on you. Then, slowly he sat down with his hands clasped and composed. Professional. Like nothing had happened. For a second, neither of you moved.
He was dressed in a black turtleneck, lanyard hanging neatly around his neck and glasses. You almost didn’t recognise him at first. He hadn’t worn them the night you met. The two of you just stared for a moment.
Silence filled the air. Awkward and heavy.
Later, you both looked away at the same time, and he cleared his throat. God, you hoped this was just someone who looked like him.
“Belububbles, right?” he began, voice painfully familiar. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. As you’ve probably realized, I’m the one who emailed you.”
Your brows furrowed. So he was the one behind that email.
“I’m Jeon Wonwoo, part of the PR team. I look forward to working with you. Let’s get started.”
Well. Fuck me.
Just your luck. Your one-night stand, your very recent one-night stand was now sitting across from you, acting like a corporate robot.
You offered him a polite smile. Too polite. It didn’t reach your eyes. “Of course. Now, what is it that you’d like to discuss?”
Wonwoo clasped his hands again, diving straight into the explanation, laying out the project, the campaign, the planning. Every detail, every step. Thirty minutes later, he finally finished. He slid a contract across the table toward you. You raised a brow at that. It was all the NDA, policies and terms whatever it was. You hadn’t even agreed yet and they already prepared all this?
Persistent. Just like his email. What kind of passive-aggressive person was this?
“I’m not going to agree to this,” you said with a sigh, placing the document back on the table. “I don’t do public appearances. I thought you already knew that. My agency always consults me first.”
“I’m aware,” he replied smoothly. “That’s why we’re only proposing pre-recorded interviews. No face reveal—just voice, with filters if necessary.”
You were listening. It is intriguing but you need a lot more convincing to do.
“We just want you to participate in our campaign event,” he continued, confidence steady. “We’re gathering artists and writers involved in the project. You’d have your own merchandise, a chance to expand your audience—”
“I don’t really care about that,” you cut in lightly. “But I do like money.”
He blinked. Clearly not expecting that.
“…Right.” He adjusted his glasses. “Then would you reconsider? I’ve read your current work—the one you’re still updating. Wouldn’t you want more people to see it?”
You leaned back slightly, thinking. “I’ve considered it. But I don’t want the kind of exposure that comes with it. People dig. I value my privacy. And I have a real-life job too. A big one.”
He exhaled slooowly, clearly trying to stay patient. “What about physical sales?” he pressed. “Printed copies. You mentioned profit—this is an opportunity to maximize that.”
You wave your hand dismissively. “I’ve had enough of that. My agency handles most of it anyway.”
Honestly, you didn’t need them. You had your own ways, holding out your own event, your own marketing. You knew what you were doing.
Wonwoo momentarily paused. Finally, he tried again. “What do you want?”
You met his gaze. He was stubborn as hell. You hadn’t even planned to negotiate. You just came here to make one thing clear. You weren’t interested at all. With a quiet exhale, you stood up. “Mr. Jeon,” you said, already reaching for your bag, “I came all the way here to inform you that I’m not interested. Also, your email? That sounded more like a threat than a request.” You turned toward the door. “Have a great day.”
“I’m trying to be nice here,” his voice cut in, sharper now, “but you’re making my job difficult.” His voice made you pause as he stood up. “You don’t want fame, money—whatever it is. People like you are always so demanding, and yet here you are—”
You turned your back slowly. His gaze locked onto yours.
“…Though I didn’t expect it to be you,” he added, voice dropping slightly. “Not only are you a brat in bed, but apparently in general too.”
Ah.
There it was.
You smiled sweetly, stepping dangerously closer. “Why?” you tilted your head. “Was audacity on sale this year?” He scoffed quietly at that.
“Listen,” you added, voice light, “acting like a dick doesn’t make yours bigger.” you paused. “…Though, unfortunately, in your case—”
Except that he is.
His eyes narrowed, a low, sardonic chuckle slipping out. “You already know what I’m like,” he said. “Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy it.”
You glared at him. He didn’t back down either. The silence stretched, until you broke it with a frustrated groan.
“Yeah. I’m leaving,” you muttered, turning back to the door. Then you stopped mid-step, glancing over your shoulder. “For the record?” you added flatly, “It was good dick.” A beat. “But it was a one-time thing. I wouldn’t survive with a dickhead personality like yours.”
You pulled the door open. “It was terrible to meet you, by the way.”
And then you left. Leaving him standing there, rendered speechless, and completely thrown off. You refused to let anyone ruin your day. So, you naturally decided that you did it yourself.
…
Your mood stayed soured the entire day after that meeting with your stupidly, insufferable, annoying, dickhead one-night stand. Chan and Seungkwan exchanged a look the moment you walked in. They were very aware of your mood swing, and very determined not to become your next victims. It was fine, though. They were used to it.
Chan tried first. “You look extra pretty today.”
“I’m not raising your pay. Go to work.” you said flatly, not even looking up as you handled the cashier.
“Alright,” he nodded, but lingered for a second. “I mean it, though. You’re really pretty today.”
You hummed, then lifted your head slightly. “…You know what? Hell yeah. I am pretty. Being frowny doesn’t make me ugly—it makes me extra hot pretty.”
Seungkwan and Chan exchanged another look again. Seungkwan shook his head and went back to restocking the pastries.
Ah.
Very normal.
A little while later, Sunoo walked in with his planning team. Just like he mentioned yesterday. You flashed them a bright smile as they approached the counter.
“These are my colleagues,” Sunoo introduced casually. “And this is my aunt. No weird comments.”
“Hello, it’s lovely to meet you all.” you greeted warmly, slipping into your customer-service persona. “Thank you for taking care of my nephew.”
They greeted you back, placing their orders before heading off to their reserved table. Then, two guys lingered. Both are a couple inches taller than Sunoo, one with a sharp jawline, the other with pale skin and mischievous grin.
The pale one smiled a little too confidently. “Hi. You’re really beautiful. Are you single?”
You blinked, then let out a soft chuckle. “Oh—I mean… depends on the day, and fortunately today is a yes.”
Sunghoon and Jongseong snickered, nudging each other, while Sunoo rolled his eyes so hard it was practically audible. He hated when people did this, especially his own friends.
“Yeaahhh, we’re done here,” Sunoo cut in quickly. “Three iced americanos.” He dragged them away before they could say anything else.
You just watched them go, already ringing up the order. Just as you were about to take the next customer, a deep voice spoke.
“I’d like to pay for their order, and one iced cafe latte.” You didn’t even look up at the person.
“Okay, that would be—” as your eyes finally met with the face, and about to take his card. You immediately screamed. Like you had just seen a cockroach. Hands flew to your mouth, eyes wide in pure horror.
The entire cafe went silent. Heads turned at the scene. Seungkwan and Chan snapped their attention toward you. Wonwoo, just stood there—card still in hand, eyes slightly widened in confusion.
Meanwhile, from across the cafe, Jongseong leaned toward Sunoo and whispered. “Man, I knew Mr. Jeon could be intimidating, but I didn’t think he was that scary. Your aunt looks traumatised.”
You still didn’t move. Didn’t even blink or breathe. Seungkwan slowly walked over, glanced between you and Wonwoo. He immediately took over, seeing that you remained unmoved. “Thank you,” he said smoothly, taking the card and finishing the transaction.
Wonwoo didn’t say anything. He just kept staring at you oddly, and suspiciously. He finally turned and walked straight towards Sunoo. Your eyes followed him. And landed right on your nephew’s table. On his team. He was sitting at the centre like he owned the place.
Oh no.
What the hell.
That was the “mean” superior he’d been talking about?
Sunoo cannot know. He absolutely cannot know about your side hustle. And definitely not about that night. Your nephew had no idea that you and his senior had met not just this morning, but very, very personally before that. He had no idea you and his senior had jumped each other like a trampoline in a hotel room.
You only stood there, frozen. Completely mortified at how insanely small the world was. You could’ve slept with anyone, but certainly not this. Not only did you sleep with him, you also argued with him like cats and dogs this morning.
Great. How amazing.
You wanted nothing more than to dig yourself a grave and lie in it. You could scream or maybe cry a little. You know that feeling when you meet someone and your heart skips a beat? Yeah. That’s arrhythmia. You could literally die from that. From the very first moment you laid your eyes upon him, you knew that you wanted to spend the rest of your life AVOIDING him.
Seungkwan calmly stacked cups while you crouched behind the counter like a fugitive. “You know,” he started casually, “when I used to work at a corporation, I learned a very professional way to say things.” You didn’t even look up. “I’m assuming something bad happened between you and that mean-looking guy over there,” he added, jerking his chin toward Wonwoo’s table.
“I wasn’t.” you sneered.
“It is,” he corrected immediately, like he already knew, and annoyingly, he did. “This was identified early on as a likely outcome.”
“What does that even mean?” Chan popped his head out from the back.
Seungkwan didn’t miss a beat. “It means ‘I told you’ but professionally.”
You abruptly stood up, pretending to busy yourself while sneaking a glance at their table. Wonwoo was speaking behind his laptop, the rest of the team listening intently. Right on fucking cue, his eyes met yours and stayed there. Your gaze hardened, sending him a very clear message, close to a warning or threat. What the fuck are you doing here? Wonwoo merely tilted his head slightly toward his team and mouthed a simple, “Work.”
Oh, he was hilarious. Strangely calm too. Like he was used to handling crises like this. Before your silent rentless fuck you exchanged could continue, you saw Sunoo heading toward you. Instantly, you plastered on a smile. A little too wide.
Your nephew grabbed your arm. “What was that?” he hissed, glancing between you and his table. “Did you really have to scream in his face? I already feel like my soul leaves my body every time he looks at me—if he asks why my aunt is acting like a lunatic, I’m done for.”
You frowned, whisper-yelling back like you were negotiating something illegal. “That was a reflex. He looked too much like my ex.” You blatantly lied, as if you never do that with your nephew through the years of babysitting him.
Sunoo scoffed, grabbing a couple of water bottles. “Yeah, right. You’ve been saying that since I was six. Please don’t embarrass me. For the love of God.” And just like that, he walked back to his meeting.
You exhaled sharply. So much for easy-peasy lemon squeezy. This was more like stressy, depressy, lemon fucking zesty. Life didn’t hand you lemons. It handed you a caffeine addiction, trust issues and zero patience for dickheads like Wonwoo.
So when you noticed him heading toward the restroom, you followed after him. A moment later, he was at the sink, rinsing his hands. He turned around until he was immediately met with you slamming your hand against the tiled wall beside him. He paused, slightly caught off guard. Despite being taller than you, it seems like your anger towards him was taller.
“Did it hurt,” you said sweetly, a sharp smile on your lips, “when you fell out of someone’s asshole and into toilet water, you piece of shit?”
Wonwoo didn’t even flinch. By now, he seemed immune to it. “Not really,” he replied calmly, crossing his arms, “but I know shit when I see one.”
You groaned under your breath, pacing slightly. God, he was insufferable. “Did it have to be my cafe?” you snapped. “Seeing you this morning was already bad enough, and now you just show up here too?”
“I didn’t choose the location,” he said simply. Then, after a beat, “Though now that I think about it… I didn’t know that ray of sunshine was your nephew.” He let out a dry chuckle, stepping a little closer. “It’s ironic, really.”
You shot him a glare sharp enough to cut glass. “Well, it’s nice to finally meet the devil everyone’s been talking about,” you shot back. “Didn’t realise it was someone that I used to suck his dick—”
You stopped yourself. Barely.
Wonwoo stiffened slightly, adjusting his glasses. Yeah, that landed. You were not sure if he was taken aback by being a worse senior colleague, or that part when you mentioned of sucking his stupid dick.
He clicked his tongue, gaze steady. “Do I look like someone who goes around flaunting his sex life? Exactly. No way in hell.” You didn’t answer. He stepped closer again, voice lowering. “If you agree to the proposal from this morning, I’ll agree to keep things… civil between us.” Then he stepped back, giving you space.
Silence fell. You studied him for a moment. However, he didn’t look like he was hiding anything. Just a straightforward goal. He gives off that impression of a guy that has no time for relationships, probably terrible at it. A stubborn, workaholic guy with a nasty temper. Possibly hates himself a little.
Not that you were one to judge. You weren’t exactly easy either. Honestly, you didn’t care about him but your nephew? That was a different story. If Sunoo found out—if he ever found out there was no doubt he’d snitch to your sister. You’ll be dead for sure.
You exhaled slowly, reluctantly even. “...Fine,” you muttered.
Life is like a helicopter sometimes. To begin with, you don’t even know how to operate one. One could argue that you're one step closer to death than to having a stable relationship. Some people belong to the streets, but you’d like to think that you belong to the ponds because you’re just a silly goose.
At this point, you don’t think coffee even wakes you up anymore. You just like the idea of having coffee. That is, until someone had abused your apartment doorbell. At this rate, they might as well have broken it and got arrested for it. This place isn’t cheap, you paid a ridiculous amount of money to live here.
Grudgingly, you swing the door open and there he is. Wonwoo, looking completely unimpressed as he casually steps inside like he owns the place. Meanwhile, you’re standing there in your tousled hair and beluga-pattern pajamas.
“I called you multiple times. You didn’t answer,” he said, crossing his arms, eyeing your outfit. “Did you get my text and throw your phone into the Pacific Ocean?”
You let out a scoff, already walking back to your bedroom, which of course he followed. “I was busy. Why are you even here?” you muttered, flopping back onto your bed.
“Busy doing what?” he shot back dryly. “Sleeping at noon?”
“I can be in bed and still be busy,” you mumbled into your blanket. “Busy gathering my strength.”
Wonwoo stared at you incredulously. For a second, it genuinely looked like he was trying not to slam his head into the nearest wall.
“How’s the progress?” he asked instead.
You didn’t answer immediately. Just hummed in against the comforter.
He rolled his eyes, exhaling sharply then pulled— no, he freaking suddenly yanked the blanket off you. The cold air hit instantly.
“Okay—what is wrong with you, you psycho?” you snapped, sitting up and glaring at him. “First of all, get out of my room. Second, get out of my house.”
Before he could lunge forward at you, ready to claw his paw at you. Your phone buzzed, signing as you answered without even checking the caller ID.
“I’m heading to your place now,” Sunoo’s voice came through. “I don’t feel like eating cafeteria food—”
Your eyes snapped wide open. “Right now?” you blurted, panic immediately setting in. Wonwoo watched you as you scrambled out of bed, suddenly moving like a hurricane.
Oh, hell no.
Sunoo cannot see him here. Not in your apartment, your room. Just anywhere to be honest. You tried to grab clothes, then froze because this jerk was still here. “Shit—okay, you can’t be here,” you grabbed his arm, pulling him toward the door. “My nephew is on his way.”
“What—” Before he could finish, you shoved him out of your room, but the front door unlocked.
Without thinking, you pushed Wonwoo right back into your room and slammed the door shut. Perfect timing. You turned around just as Sunoo walked in and flawlessly smiled.
“Why are you still wearing that at your age?” he said immediately, eyeing your pyjamas.
You ignored that. He walked straight to the kitchen, already opening the fridge, while you trailed behind him. Your eyes dart back toward your bedroom door every two seconds.
“You could’ve asked Seungkwan or Chan to bring you food,” you said, leaning against the counter. “Didn’t your mom give you side dishes?”
“She did,” he replied, rummaging through your fridge. “But my roommate ate everything.”
You scoffed. “Just take what you need and go.”
“Why? Do you have a special somebody over?”
Rolling your eyes, you agreed anyway, “Yes, me. I’m amazing and I enjoy my own company.”
Sunoo stared at you for a second. “...Then explain why there are men’s leather shoes at the entrance.”
You momentarily froze at that. How did you fucking forget about it?
Before he could say anything else, you snatched the container from his hands, shoved food into a bag, and pushed it into his chest.
“Okay—out,” you said, dragging him to the door.
“What about—" The door shut in his face. You exhaled in relief, leaning your forehead against the door and turned to see Wonwoo was already out of your room.
“Is he gone?” he asked, peeking out.
“Yeah. Thank God he didn’t ask more questions,” you muttered, rubbing your face. “How did you even get my address?”
“Your agency.”
You groaned, pacing around again.
“Look, I don’t hate you,” he said after a pause, “I’m just not particularly excited about your existence in my life.”
Turning to shoot another nasty glare, you start. “Put yourself in my shoes, idiot. I wouldn’t care if you got hit with—”
“I wouldn’t wear those shoes if I were you.”
You were utterly speechless at the sheer amount of cockiness this guy had. Whenever he was around, you had the overwhelming urge to claw at him like a cat whose tail had just been stepped on.
“I know, why not ask yourself,” you snapped. “Is my dick big enough to match your attitude?" His brows furrowed at that. “Exactly!” You clapped once.
Aaaand just like that, you were arguing again with him. Neither of you noticed the door opening. Sunoo stepped inside and froze. His gaze moved from you then to Wonwoo.
Back to you, then to Wonwoo again.
Wonwoo was the first to notice. You followed his gaze and stopped. There was a thick, almost heavy silence that filled the atmosphere.
“…Hate that you had to find out like this,” you said slowly.
Sunoo blinked, stepping back slowly. “…Okay,” he said carefully, already putting his shoes back on. “I didn’t know you two were… dating.”
Dating.
Dating???
He gave a small, polite bow. Probably directed to Wonwoo. “Goodbye, Mr. Jeon. I’ll see you after lunch.”
The door closed later. And you just stood there, still processing everything that happened. Your nephew now thinks you’re dating the biggest man of shit in your life. You might actually need to fake your death this time.
...
“I think I’m forgetting something.”
“Morals, probably?” Wonwoo said without even looking up from his tablet.
“No, it’s something important,” you insisted, about to rise from your seat. “I think I need to go back to the cafe before Chan sets the place on fire.”
Wonwoo’s head snapped up. “Wait—no. Sit down. We just got here… oh my God.” He dragged a hand down his face beneath his glasses. “For the love of God, can you sit still for one moment? It took almost two hours to get you here, and I already helped drop your twins off at school.”
You sat back down reluctantly. “How long is this interview going to take?”
“Depends,” he replied dryly. “If you decide to be difficult, probably more than thirty minutes, and I’ll have to work overtime.”
“I can’t do that,” you shot back. “I have to attend the twin’s family day. Their dad bailed at the last minute.”
He sighed again, looking seconds away from tearing his hair out. Mostly because you had completely missed the sarcasm.
“Nevermind. Let’s just start.”
He set the voice recorder on his phone and straightened in his chair. “First of all, thank you very much for agreeing to work with us. We’re very delighted.”
“Thank you. It’s my pleasure too,” you answered flawlessly.
“How did you decide to create such interesting characters in most of your stories?”
You thought for a moment. “I honestly didn’t think too deeply about it. I started writing back in college. I met a lot of different people, so I borrowed certain traits here and there.”
“What made you shift from writing novels to illustrating them?”
“I had a lot of free time back then, and writing gave me plenty of ideas. I knew readers enjoyed the stories too. I didn’t want to stop writing, so instead I adapted them into manhwa so readers could visualize them.”
Wonwoo typed something down before continuing. “On a different note—do you wish to publish another novel one day?”
You crossed your arms, considering it. “I don’t think so. I already have too much on my plate, and illustrating takes time. Maybe after I finish my current project, I’ll think about writing again.”
“How did you feel when you learned your first work, And They Were Roommates, rose in sales again?”
You stiffened slightly. “Uh… well, I didn’t expect it to go viral again this year. I guess I was delighted? It was unexpected, but I received a lot of positive feedback too.”
Wonwoo nodded and flipped to the next page. “This is a special question from your readers. How did you come up with so many hilarious dialogues? They found the comedy really engaging.”
“Ah.” You visibly relaxed. “At first, I never meant for it to become a comedy. I just like writing characters who are witty, so I guess readers found that funny.”
“I can see that,” he said, then continued. “Another fan question: did you base your character’s personalities on real people?”
You made a face. “Well… they’re not wrong. I’ve met my fair share of terrible people and let too many assholes into my life. Real-life suffering became entertainment.”
His eyes narrowed. “Language.”
“What? I speak nothing but the truth.”
He only shook his head. “We’re getting nowhere if you keep doing this. I’ve done some self-reflection—if you cooperate, this can end faster.”
“Oh, so you did have a talk with your dick last night?”
Wonwoo immediately paused the recording and stared at you with a long, exhausted sigh. “Can we put that aside? And no, I did not talk to my dick.”
You crossed your arms. “Fine. Next question.”
He resumed recording. “Another fan question: how did you come up with such funny dialogue and plots?”
“Actually,” you said, “I’m not that funny. I think I’m just an asshole, and people assume I’m joking. That’s how I ended up making rude characters everyone somehow loves.”
He paused the recording again. “Would it kill you to give me one normal answer?”
“What? That is my honest answer.”
“It’s not appropriate for the media.”
“Then make it appropriate. That’s literally your job.”
Yeah. The two of you were getting absolutely nowhere.
After the interview, Wonwoo somehow found himself babysitting your niece and nephew, the twins, who were now sprinting around his office. He needed a bucket of caffeine, a fever patch, and divine intervention. Not because of the kids, because you had very clearly dumped them on him like he was a free daycare service.
“What’chu doin’?” Wonhee asked, propping her chin on his forearm while he typed.
“Work,” he answered flatly.
“Oooo. About what?”
“Work.”
“What kind of work?” Wonjun asked this time.
“Work,” he repeated.
“I want Auntie’s cheesecake after this!” Wonhee cheered, bouncing excitedly before both twins ran circles around his desk.
God, just kill me. He was screaming internally.
A knock came at the door. It opened to reveal Sunoo, holding finalized planning documents. Wonwoo nearly saw heaven.
“Sunoo!” the twins yelled in unison, rushing him immediately.
“Sorry, guys, I’m at work right now, so I can’t play,” he said, patting their head before looking back at his superior. “Yeahhhh… I actually have plans with the team after this,” Sunoo added awkwardly, already stepping backward.
Even Sunoo knew better than to get involved. He quickly shut the door. Wonwoo turned back to his computer and resumed typing aggressively.
“Uncle Won. Uncle Won. Uncle Won,” Wonjun repeated, tugging at his sleeve.
“What?” he replied flatly, eyes still on the screen.
“I need to go potty.”
Wonwoo finally looked down.
“Now?” The boy nodded desperately.
“If you don’t take him now, he’ll tinkle in his pants,” Wonhee informed him with complete sincerity.
Wonwoo muttered something under his breath, then immediately scooped the boy up and marched out of the office.
The entire team watched in stunned silence. From across the room, Jongseong leaned toward Sunoo. “I think you’re getting another playmate soon, dude.”
Sunoo scoffed, scowling as he scrolled through his laptop. “Stop that. It’s not funny. I don’t care. Even if they break up, I still lose.” He pointed dramatically in each direction. “They break up—I still have to see his face at work. They stay together—I still have to see his face at work.” He slumped in defeat, “My life has no winning route.”
...
“Baby.”
Wonwoo looked at you as the twins zoomed around your cafe, clearly bothering your two staff members.
“What?” you shrugged. “You want me to call you fellow associate instead?”
He was one step away from crashing out. First, you made his work life hell. Second, you had dropped the twins off at his office not once, not twice, but three times. Wonwoo was good at his job. Great, even. Then when you walked into his life. The tragedy followed.
“Aunty! Aunty!” Wonhee bounced on her feet, reaching up. You picked her up easily. “Tomorrow I have a soccer match! Teacher Yoon said we can bring our parents!”
“But Papa said he can’t come,” Wonjun huffed, stomping lightly. “Something about work.”
Your heart softened instantly. Your brother was busy running his law firm, and even though he and his ex-wife were divorced, they were still co-parenting well. With their busy lives, complicated timing—that was all.
“Oh, alright then. I’ll go,” you said, giving in easily.
“That’s unfair—I wanna see them play!” Seungkwan popped up from behind the counter.
“Wait—count me in!” Chan added.
You rolled your eyes, setting Wonhee down and placing your hands on your hips.
“No. I need both of you to take care of the café while I’m gone. And Chan, I know you’re just using that as an excuse to slack off.”
Chan dropped the cloth dramatically onto the counter. “Aw, man.”
“Will Uncle Won come too?” Wonjun asked, clinging to Wonwoo’s leg and staring up at him with wide, hopeful eyes.
Wonwoo stiffened, his gaze flicked to you. You smiled in return, a little crooked and suspiciously sweet.
“Umm… he’s kinda busy,” you said, brushing imaginary dust off your shoulder. “He has a big adult job. He might not make it.”
Both twins immediately started whining loudly. For a second, you remembered just how insufferable they could be. The last time you babysat them, they threw a full-blown tantrum over Haribo marshmallow chocolate.
“Okay, stop,” you deadpanned, staring at Wonjun, who had dramatically sprawled onto the floor. “You don’t demand things from someone you barely know. Show some respect to your elders. And get off the floor—it’s dirty.”
“I just mopped that,” Chan added.
You ignored him.
“You and Papa always say the same thing!” Wonjun protested, sitting up. “He says, ‘respect your elders,’ but he never comes to my singing or storytelling!”
…Ouch.
“Yeah!” Wonhee chimed in. “Papa says stuff like that because he’s old and forgetful. Aunty, you’re becoming like Grandpa too.”
“Hey now,” you crossed your arms. “If anything, I’m better.”
Wonwoo nearly rolled his eyes. Wonhee suddenly turned to him, already halfway climbing into his arms. “Uncle Won, please come! I want to show you my super cool kick!”
He froze completely. He looked at her, then at you and then back at her. He said nothing. Mostly because he knew what would happen if he refused. Flashback from his office with all the screaming, he was sure people from the outside could heard that loud and clear.
You caught his eye and subtly shook your head.
Don’t. Encourage. Them.
“Aunty,” Wonjun said suddenly, frowning, “why don’t you want Uncle Won around? It’s like Mama and Papa.”
Your expression faltered. “…Hey. I’m nothing like them,” you said, quieter this time.
That one hit a little too close. You sighed, then reached out and ruffled his hair.
“Fine. We’ll see tomorrow. If we can make it.”
That was enough to make the twins lit up instantly.
From across the cafe, three figures watched the entire scene unfold like a live drama. Seungkwan leaned on the counter. Chan mirrored him. Sunoo stood between them, looking deeply troubled.
“I don’t like where this is going,” Sunoo muttered.
Seungkwan shook his head. “No, no—let them keep going. This is good.”
Sunoo turned to him slowly. “…Good?”
“Would you rather they take their frustration out on us?” Seungkwan pointed out.
Chan nodded immediately. “Fair. Also, there’s a chance our boss might raise our pay if she’s in a good mood.”
He clasped his hands together dramatically. “I will pray for that. I refuse to suffer in a cafe with emotional damage and no bonus.”
Sunoo stared at both of them. “…Yeah. That checks out.”
The exhibition was going well so far. Wonwoo liked to think all his hard work had finally paid off. Unfortunately, he had forgotten one thing.
You.
Your mere presence alone was enough to test the last thread of his patience. He just needed to keep his shit together for one day. Just this once.
“You didn’t wear your glasses today,” you remarked, openly scanning him from head to toe, and annoyingly enough, he looked devastatingly handsome. If only he kept his mouth shut. “You’ve stared enough, perhaps?”
His head snapped toward you, brows knitting together. “It’s nine in the morning,” he hissed. “Stop fucking testing me.”
“Ah, ah,” you interrupted, waving your VIP lanyard around obnoxiously. “I’m the important guest here.”
“I should’ve thrown fertilizer at you so you could grow the hell up,” he muttered, trying very hard to remain professional.
“Oh yeah?” You scoffed. “Sometimes I wish I were an octopus so I could slap you with all eight tentacles at once.”
He already looked tired. You continued anyway.
“Actually, maybe I’d use them to peg you down so you’d finally learn how to bow your head.”
Wonwoo blinked, once then twice. He genuinely didn’t know how to respond to that. So he just stared at you in silence, expression unreadable, wondering how you always managed to hit new levels of insanity before ten in the morning.
Right on cue, another familiar figure approached.
“Hey, Wonwoo—oh.”
The man halted when his eyes landed on you. “I didn’t know you were here,” he grinned brightly. “It’s been forever.”
It was Mingyu.
You froze.
Oh, for the love of God.
“O-oh… yeah. Haha.” Your laugh sounded faker than the fake Chanel bag you once bought online. “What an… unexpected reunion.”
Mingyu had been your junior back in college. And unfortunately, very unfortunately—your old BL series was heavily inspired by him. Mostly because he never shut up about his roommate constantly invading his personal space. At the time, you were just a broke college student trying to survive. You never expected And They Were Roommates to blow up the way it did.
People would read shit anything.
Mingyu casually slung an arm around Wonwoo’s shoulder. Wonwoo, meanwhile, looked between the two of you suspiciously. He did not like where this was going.
“I work here,” Mingyu explained cheerfully. “Different department though. Remember that roommate I used to complain about all the time?”
He pointed directly at Wonwoo. “Yeah. It’s this guy.”
Your smile twitched violently.
Oh.
Oh, this was bad.
Out of all people, the world really was disgustingly small.
“Real question is,” Mingyu continued, narrowing his eyes playfully at you, “why are you here?”
You absolutely could not tell him you were the main guest of the entire event. So instead, you smoothly covered your VIP pass with your hand and flashed a dazzling smile.
“Oh, you know…”
Before your brain could stop you, you looped your arm through Wonwoo’s.
“Unfortunately,” you sighed dramatically, “for someone who treats life like a joke, I’m being serious this time.”
Mingyu looked unconvinced, very unconvinced. He glanced between the two of you like he was trying to solve a math equation with missing numbers. To him, this pairing made absolutely no sense. You, whose personality is like a hurricane, and Wonwoo—who somehow managed to be equally unbearable in a completely different flavor.
Birds of a feather really did flock together.
“…Good for you guys?” Mingyu finally said slowly. “I mean… wow. Match made in heaven.”
The way he said it sounded less like support and more like disbelief.
Before he could ask more questions, you immediately cut in.
“I’d love to continue this questionnaire, Gyu, but Wonwoo and I have somewhere to be.”
You tugged Wonwoo’s arm tighter. “Right, baby?”
“No? What are you—”
“Oh yes, you do, baby,” you cut him off sweetly, already dragging him away. “I know you can’t wait to see the twins.”
With that, you escaped while Mingyu simply stood there, watching the two of you disappear into the crowd. Hands shoved into his pockets, head tilted slightly, he frowned to himself.
How the hell did that happen? Because as far as he knew, both of you were disasters individually.
...
Here you were, sitting beside Wonwoo while watching the twins’ soccer match. Honestly, he didn’t know how he ended up tangled in all of this. Not once or twice, but somehow—every single time he crossed paths with you, his life became increasingly complicated.
At first, he told himself it was only because of the contract, mainly because of work.That staying close to you made things easier professionally. But somewhere along the way, the lines blurred.
Your routines somehow became his problems too, and the worst part? He could’ve said no at any point. So why the hell was he still here?
You nudged his arm excitedly while cheering for the twins. “Take pictures,” you whispered. “They’re gonna ask for them later.”
Wonwoo blinked before adjusting the camera lens in his hands and taking several shots without complaint.
At this point, he was more involved than the twins’ actual parents.
“You could at least smile or look excited,” you sighed, finally turning to face him.
The lively noise of families and cheering echoed around the field.
“You look like a robot. What if the twins notice?”
He lowered the camera slowly and looked at you instead. He stared at you with silence, and blank-faced as always.
You narrowed your eyes. “Do you need smiling lessons?”
You turned toward him properly, using your fingers to demonstrate. “Okay, look. Make your eyes curve like little shrimp—then lift your cheeks up like this—and…”
Grinning brightly, you continued, “S.M.I.L.E.”
For a moment, Wonwoo just stared at you, quietly. The noise around him faded into the background. The wind brushed past gently, making strands of your hair sway under the sunlight in a way that almost looked unreal.
His chest flutters at the sight. It felt oddly similar to the tiny happiness of a stray cat approaching him first, or when his favorite buldak noodles were finally restocked after disappearing for weeks.
It was small and unexpected, but enough to steal his breath away. Wonwoo immediately buried the feeling before it could settle deeper. He cleared his throat, looking away quickly and lifting the camera back toward the field.
You, completely oblivious, muttered under your breath.
“Jerk.”
Then immediately went back to loudly cheering for the twins.
...
By the time all of you arrived back at your place, Wonwoo was carrying your niece while you carried your nephew, both twins completely passed out after dinner with your parents.
At this point, he was involved way too deeply in your family functions.
What made it worse was the fact that your parents didn’t even seem surprised by his presence anymore. It was almost like they had already accepted him and had simply been waiting for the day you finally brought a man home.
Honestly, they probably saw him more often than some actual relatives. He still remembered how your mother kept asking when you were going to get married. And knowing you, of course you only gave half-assed answers.
It reminded him of Mingyu’s grandfather, whose dementia was apparently so bad that he kept asking whether his cousins had jobs.
Ten times.
And ten times, they had to admit they were still unemployed. Honestly, Wonwoo didn’t even think it was dementia anymore. The old man was probably just in disbelief that they were still jobless.
The twins were quickly settled into their room, exhausted after burning through all their energy earlier. You let out a long sigh, stretching your limbs—only to find Wonwoo sprawled across your sofa like a man who had already given up on life.
“Go sleep at your own place, dude.”
“I’m too tired to drive anymore.”
“Not on my sofa.”
His eyes cracked open immediately.
“Let a man rest, would you?” he groaned dramatically, sinking deeper into the cushions.
“Ooookay,” you dragged out teasingly, already walking toward your room. “I was just wondering if you wanted to join me.”
You paused by the doorway and peeked back at him.
“…In my bed.”
Wonwoo sat up instantly. His interest was fully restored.
“You’re messing with me.”
“Yeah,” you answered easily. “I’m fucking with you.”
You casually started unbuttoning your blouse, shrugging it off your shoulders and letting it fall carelessly onto the floor.
Wonwoo’s gaze lingered on your bare shoulders. The loose strap of your camisole slipping against your skin. The atmosphere shifted almost immediately. You disappeared into your attached bathroom, beginning to remove your makeup.
“Don’t joke around like that,” he muttered from behind you.
Before you could react, his arms wrapped around your waist as he buried his face against your neck, breathing you in.
“I survived your family all day. I deserve proper compensation.”
A soft laugh escaped you as you tossed the makeup wipe into the bin.
“Sleep outside. I’m keeping the bed to myself.”
Wonwoo groaned against your skin, lips brushing along your neck before trailing to your shoulder.
“Seducing me like this isn’t going to work,” you teased, nudging him lightly with your hip while watching him through the mirror.
“Then I’ll make it work,” he murmured.
He nipped lightly at your ear while kicking the bathroom door shut behind him.
You found yourself kissing him again. The kiss was warm and messy, arms slid around his neck, pulling him closer as both of you melted into each other like you had been waiting all day for this exact moment.
The bathroom filled with nothing but mingled breaths and quiet laughter between kisses. His hands slipped beneath the fabric of your skirt, rough palms gliding over your thighs as he pulled you impossibly closer. Like he wanted to press himself into every part of your life.
Then, a sudden knock came.
“Aunty…”
Both of you froze instantly.
Wonjun’s sleepy voice came muffled through the door.
“I need to potty.”
You blinked, slowly turning toward Wonwoo. He stared back with the exact same exhausted disbelief.
“Just…” you struggled, trying not to laugh as his hands remained stubbornly on your waist. “Just use the guest bathroom, baby.”
“But I don’t know how.”
You nearly rolled your eyes.
Of course this was happening.
“Wonjun,” you sighed, “you’re five. You absolutely know how.”
Then came soft sniffles. Apparently being woken up from sleep was enough to trigger a minor emotional crisis.
You groaned quietly, resting your forehead against Wonwoo’s shoulder.
“Wonwoo,” you hissed under your breath, “remove your dick from the situation for one second.”
He actually laughed at that before finally stepping away.
The moment you opened the bathroom door, a sleepy-looking Wonjun stood there with watery eyes and messy hair.
You sighed immediately. There went the mood.
After helping him and reminding him to wash his hands properly, you finally walked back into your room—only to find Wonwoo was already under the duvet. He was shirtless, with his eyes closed. Looking entirely too comfortable in your bed.
“Aunty,” Wonjun asked innocently, “why was Uncle Won in the bathroom with you?”
You swore you heard Wonwoo choke back a laugh.
Keeping a perfectly straight face, you gently patted Wonjun’s head.
“Uncle Won has potty problems too,” you replied smoothly. “I was helping him. Just like you.”
A muffled snort came from the bed.
“Now go back to sleep,” you added. “Aunty needs beauty sleep before she turns into a beast.”
Wonjun nodded seriously and shuffled away.
The moment the door shut, Wonwoo opened one eye.
“Potty problems?”
“Shut up.”
You changed into your pajama pants before climbing onto the bed.
Wonwoo’s hands immediately found your waist as you settled onto his lap, his thumbs tracing slowly against your sides while he looked at you like he wanted to devour you whole.
He kissed you again, slower this time. Somehow even worse for your sanity. His palms are kneading your ass, almost tender with his touch. You melted into him instantly, fingers tangling into his hair while he pulled you closer—
right before the bedroom door burst open again.
“AUNTY!”
You yelped in shock, shoving Wonwoo away so hard he smacked against the headboard.
Wonhee stood at the door clutching her teddy bear dramatically.
“She won’t stop crying,” Wonjun complained from beside her. “And I can’t sleep.”
You and Wonwoo stared at the twins in complete silence. Then at each other. Just like that, the rest of the night ended with all four of you cramped together in one bed.
...
The next morning came far too quickly. The entire night had left both you and Wonwoo restless and unsatisfied, but at least everyone had slept peacefully. That was until Wonwoo’s snores woke everyone up, and your nephew loudly declared that he sounded like a car engine.
After throwing together something quick for breakfast before dropping the twins off at your brother’s place, you set the plates down on the table while Wonjun sat comfortably on Wonwoo’s lap, inhaling an entire cup of instant ramen. You genuinely wondered if he even chewed those.
“Thank you for the food!” the twins chorused in unison.
Wonhee sat beside Wonwoo, already picking up her food so she could eat in front of the TV in the living room. You shook your head at the sight.
Then your eyes landed on the little boy sitting comfortably on Wonwoo’s lap.
For once, you had never been jealous of children—except maybe that one time you realised you couldn’t order a Happy Meal in your mid-thirties anymore, which you now used as an excuse to buy them for the twins.
“Wonjun, can you go eat somewhere else? There are plenty of seats around here.”
Your nephew looked up curiously, pancake stuffed halfway into his mouth. “Nope.”
Your eyes narrowed. “You’re five. You don’t need to be babied anymore. Yesterday was one thing.”
Wonwoo didn’t seem bothered at all, still securing the boy comfortably in his arms. “Let him be. Why are you so worked up?”
“Of course I’m worked up. That was my spot before they took it over.”
Both Wonwoo and your nephew stared at you. The silence only broke when Wonhee suddenly ran over holding a handmade card.
“Look! Look!” she squealed excitedly. “I made this yesterday at school. Happy Mother’s Day!”
Your heart melted instantly as you accepted the card with a soft smile, patting her head affectionately. “Aw, that’s so sweet of you, darling.”
Wonjun immediately scrambled off Wonwoo’s lap and ran toward their room to grab his own version.
You took the opportunity immediately, settling yourself onto Wonwoo’s lap instead. A small “oof” escaped him at the sudden weight.
“Thank you, sweetheart, but I think you should give this to your mom.”
Wonhee leaned against both you and Wonwoo, shaking her head. “I made two! One for mama and one for you because teacher Yoon said Mother’s Day isn’t strictly for biological mothers. You took care of me when I was little, so you have a motherhood role too. You’re basically my mom!”
Then Wonjun returned, proudly handing over his own handmade card filled with messy scribbles and barely readable words.
The twins kissed both your cheeks before running back to the living room.
“They sure love you a lot for someone like you,” Wonwoo muttered.
“It’s a shame I can’t officially be called a mother.”
His palm slid gently against your lower abdomen as he leaned closer, voice dropping lower.
“I can change that.”
You immediately slapped his hand away. “Wow, look at you. I’m surprised kids are drawn to an asshole like you,” you replied nonchalantly while taking a bite of your pancake.
“The genes never lied then,” he murmured while squeezing your waist. “There’s a reason you ended up with me in the first place.”
You nearly choked at that, refusing to acknowledge how true it sounded.
“Did you know belugas don’t chew their food? Yeah, it reminds me of you inhaling those noodles. Who the hell eats like that?”
Wonwoo shrugged as he continued inhaling the noodles. “It tastes better this way.”
“Only a psychopath would eat like that.”
“Then tell me who the hell gets jealous over a kid sitting on my lap?”
You stared at him, and he stared right back just the same.
“I’m not jealous,” you replied a little too quickly.
“Who said it was you?” A shit-eating grin spread across his face, and you immediately wanted to slap the hell out of him.
“Anyway,” you quickly changed the topic while sipping your tea, “did I know you from somewhere? How did you and Mingyu know each other aside from being roommates?”
He thought for a moment, adjusting himself while you still sat comfortably on his lap. “We went to the same school and university. He doesn’t like sharing spaces with strangers.”
You mused at the information. “You went to the same school as me? Why did I never see you around?”
“I was in the Faculty of Business and Management. Maybe that’s why. Mingyu took architecture before changing to finance and accounting.”
You paused mid-bite and turned toward him. “Oh, I was in the Faculty of Applied Science… something like that. I guess that’s probably why I never saw you.”
“What did you major in?”
“Food science,” you answered simply.
After a brief silence, you spoke again.
“I’m surprised you and Mingyu haven’t kissed each other’s asses yet.”
“I know I’m an asshole, not an assfucker.”
You burst out laughing at that while reaching for his wallet and flipping through his ID picture and cards.
“What do you call a baby whale? A little squirt!”
“You’re not funny,” he deadpanned. “Give me that. Don’t go checking what’s inside.”
Did you listen? Of course not. When have you ever listened to anyone anyway? You barely listened to your parents, so why would you start with him?
“Knock knock,” he suddenly said.
You raised a brow but played along anyway. “Who’s there?”
“Whale,” he answered simply.
“Whale who?”
“Whale…” He paused before immediately snatching the wallet away from your hands. “That’s enough of that.”
You rolled your eyes before shamelessly eating half of the ramen that clearly belonged to him.
“I hope your entire generation experiences bad luck in every possible streak.”
He narrowed his eyes on you. “I’ll just marry you then. We’re going down together whether you like it or not.”
“Give me your card.”
“No. Use your own, you have money.”
“You said you’d marry me. I want to be spoiled,” you whined dramatically while leaning against him like an oversized cat. “I’ve had enough of being the alpha woman all year long.”
“I don’t want you using my money to buy your own diamond ring. I want to buy it for you.”
You turned your head toward him properly this time.
He looked completely serious.
“Unfortunately,” he continued, “I’m not being sarcastic today. Maybe tomorrow, though.”
Before you could even process that, the twins suddenly came running over excitedly. Wonhee repeatedly called your name as if you weren’t literally sitting right there.
“When can I see you become a princess one day?” she asked excitedly, twirling around while showing you a picture of a bride on her tablet.
You hated admitting it, but every year you were reminded that maybe you would never become one—though you were certainly close to becoming a witch.
Still, you smiled softly.
“Oh, maybe soon.”
The little girl gasped excitedly, eyes sparkling. “Does that mean Uncle will be your prince? And I want to stay with you the whole time when you become a princess!”
“I think he’d be more like the villain who stole the princess away rather than Prince Charming.”
“Villains are way cooler,” Wonjun added confidently.
Wonwoo merely rolled his eyes at your comments.
“Besides…” you trailed off, leaning closer until your lips brushed against his. “The evil ones are always hotter…”
You chuckled softly before kissing him, earning a smirk from Wonwoo almost immediately.
The twins loudly made gagging noises before scurrying away to continue playing around the living room. You and Wonwoo watched them go before falling back into your own little world together, spending the rest of the morning tangled up in each other before the weekend truly began.
Unfortunately, your love life never unfolded like those Prince Charming fairytales. Instead, it felt more like a ridiculous romcom sitcom filled with stupidity, arguments, and way too many unfortunate coincidences.
Unfortunately, you never met him sooner back in school. Maybe if you had, you wouldn’t have spent so long giving up on love.
Fortunately, though, you loved the way invisible strings worked.
It was beautiful that way. And fortunately, this piece of shit was yours forever to keep.
FIN.
a/n: omg, i'm finally free!! now i can focus on cheol's fic. it wasn't supposed to be so long, i spent the entire time writing shit in here. i tried eating noodles without chewing btw, almost left me choking to death and never again. it's always the shitty fic that everyone enjoyed, goodday apples! comments, reblogged are appreciated :)
Omg I love your works so much and I just saw your bts post on the trend of where like husbands come up behind their pregnant wife and lift their bellies to like help with the weight (?) and I would love to request if your could write one for svt (thank youu)
warnings: mdni, 18+, fluff, husband! svt x reader, pregnant! reader, softness, comfort, pet names, etc.
A/N: Y'all, I know nothing about pregnancy lmao, so your girl tried. [not proofread yikes]
SEUNGCHEOL - You were irritated, but not really, actually, maybe. Your hormones seemed to be flipping back and forth between the little annoyance of feeling your lower back ache by just standing, and the awe that you were actually growing a baby inside of you.
Right now? Annoyance prevailed, and your waddles throughout your home didn't help convey your simmering feelings.
You huffed, puffed, and pouted your way to the kitchen in search of something that could soothe you. You were hoping to find sweets, maybe dessert, but much to your added aggravation, you found nothing.
You bristled, already thinking about the offense you'd feel having to drive yourself to the nearest grocery store, and the fact that you'd have to see people while feeling like the size of a whale.
And that's how your husband finds you.
You were stewing in your thoughts, arms crossed with an adorable pout that makes him want to provoke you into something worse, just because he found it so cute - but survival instincts kicked in first, and he gently moved closer. "How are my babies doing?"
Seungcheol asks this while hugging you from behind, his palms sliding under your round stomach, and automatically picking up the extra weight without a second thought.
Your dull ache minimizes, and so do your negative feelings, your body naturally relaxing into your husband's. "It'd be better if you order dessert to our house in the next twenty minutes."
Your husband laughs, his kiss sweet against your shoulder as he nods his head in agreement.
Whatever you want, he's happy to provide, but he's going to hold you the whole time.
JEONGHAN - Jeonghan is staring at you, but that's pretty normal.
He always seemed to stare at you even back when you two were just dating, but now that you're pregnant with his kid?
"You could take a picture, y'know?" You teased. You had just stepped out of the shower, still naked, as you met Jeonghan's eyes through the mirror.
He was looking at you with soft eyes, a little smile playing on his lips as he leaned against the doorframe that led to your shared bedroom.
"And who said I haven't?" Jeonghan mused, earning an affectionate eyeroll from you. You felt normal, just bigger, rounder - especially in the stomach and breasts, but that was a given. Your body was changing, growing, and it made sense why your husband would stare lovingly.
He always told you that you were glowing, but you're pretty sure it's just him developing dad-brain. So, you shake your head, continuing your after-shower routine as your husband watched.
But it wasn't long before his self-control waned and he came up closer, grabbing your full hips as you combed your hair. His hands rubbed, massaging your hips, your waist, up to your breasts - giving them a squeeze. "So pretty," he praised, and your cheeks flushed as he dipped lower towards your round stomach.
When he lifted your belly softly, his arms flexed, holding the weight you carried daily now as his kid grew and his eyes softened even more.
"I love you."
JOSHUA - Ever since you got pregnant, you couldn't get your husband's hands off of you. He had become glued to you like your own personal bodyguard who had to have his hand on you somewhere, anywhere, at all times.
You wanted to go grocery shopping? Joshua had his large hand on your lower back, slowing his steps to your adorable waddle as you insisted on pushing the cart yourself.
You were washing dishes after a lovely dinner for the two of you? He's drying the clean dishes right next to you, his biceps brushing your shoulder every few seconds like your personal bubble was his.
He'd always accompany each touch with a compliment, telling you how beautiful you were, how much he loved you. It had seemed your pregnancy had only made him more smitten as time went on, and you were definitely not complaining. Especially when he'd twirl you around in his arms, his hands coming down to your stomach to caress as he pointed his next compliments to his child with soft eyes.
He'd tease your kid that they needed to be nice to you while you carried them, and like your kid could hear their dad, you felt your baby stretch into your ribs. "Oh, already doing the complete opposite, they must be yours." You teased, and Joshua rolled his eyes with a happy grin.
"More like they're like their mama, stubborn." He bantered, and his hands lowered, lifting your growing stomach with ease. His forearms flexed, and the weight on your hips eased, letting you melt back into your husband's chest with a happy noise.
"If I recall correctly, I'm pretty sure you told me you liked my stubbornness." You mused, and Joshua's little scoff of laughter tickled your neck before he gave the curve of your ear a soft peck.
"Yeah, and I will be lucky if my kid inherits anything of yours. Whether it's stubbornness or just your love, I'll love you both with all my heart."
JUN - Jun's love language had always been acts of service.
It didn't matter if he came home from a long, exhausting day at work; the moment he saw you, he'd drag you onto the couch with him, your feet pulled onto his lap, and ask you to tell him about your day as he started to massage the curve in your foot.
That was just who your husband was. Caring to a default, and he'd become even more doting when you two had found out you were pregnant.
Suddenly, it went from foot massages to him insisting he could take care of the chores. He'd already taken out the trash, you had deemed that a "boy job", and as you moved into your third trimester, he had become more stubborn in taking on your chores too.
It was like you were some delicate flower when you only felt like an elephant with how much your body changed as your baby grew, and Jun was nothing but loving every step of the way.
He never complained when you stole his pillow to use under your back when you two slept; he never said anything when you woke him up at three am, craving something that brought you out of your sleep and close to tears until he gave you a soft kiss, letting you know he'd get it for you, no matter what time it was and how much sleep he had.
He'd do anything for you, so when he notices that you hold your stomach every now and then, a little discomfort displaying on your face, he turns to the internet to figure out what's going on.
He finds his answer in the first link he's shown, and his eyes soften as he realizes just how much you had to deal with, even when he tried to make everything easier for you.
So, he does his best to help more.
It becomes routine for him to seek you out whenever you two are home, or even when you two are out and about - he'd simply bring you close, kissing your shoulder briefly before he picked up the extra weight in your stomach with his two hands.
It never failed to make him grin as you melted in his arms, sighing in relief as he held you, and he would stay like that for as long as you'd let him before you two continued with whatever you had been doing prior, but not before you gave him another kiss as a thank you.
HOSHI - "Just five more minutes," you sighed. Your eyes were closed as you spoke the words, your body tilting more into Hoshi's as you held onto his forearms. You could feel the veins that ran down to his wrists, and the way his forearms flexed along with his biceps as he held you close.
You could probably fall asleep just like this, standing up, with Hoshi holding your stomach. It's a relief you didn't know you needed during your pregnancy until your husband was telling you he wanted to try something out.
Supposedly, one of his friends mentioned this trend for pregnant women, and Hoshi all but perked up like a dog hearing their favorite words.
If there was anything, anything at all, to help you during your pregnancy, he was going to do it. He'd scoured the internet for tips for new parents, he read baby books in between work, and when he was home, he cornered you like you were going to run from him as he gave you a look that made you raise your eyebrows sceptically.
But as soon as his strong arms wrapped around you, holding your stomach, and letting the dull ache from your lower back disappear? You were putty in his hands.
"We could do more than five minutes, my love," Hoshi said softly, right by your ear, and a shiver ran up your spine as you felt his fingers flex, squeezing you affectionately. "I can do this all night, I mean- you've been doing this every day for the last six months. Let me take over for you."
WONWOO - When you approach your husband, Wonwoo's entire attention reverts to you. His eyes soften, taking in your lovely smile, the glow that he liked to claim was there way before you ever got pregnant, and then finally to your growing stomach.
His heart skips a beat, fluttering in his chest with a warmth that leaves him lost for words, before his eyes flicker back up to yours. "Hello, my love," He hums, and you get a kiss before you can greet him back. "What can I do for you?"
Ever since you got pregnant, Wonwoo had been adamant about providing for your needs even more than he already did. He was the one to go out at any time of the day for whatever your pregnancy craved. He was the one to bring your legs up to his lap, massaging your muscles until you were putty in his hands. He was the one he wanted you to turn to for anything, regardless of whether you were pregnant or not.
So, when you ask him to hold you with flushed cheeks, he can't help but smirk at such an easy request.
"Of course, my love." But before he gets the chance to reach for you, you're shaking your head, a giggle escaping as you move his hands lower.
"No, hold me here, my love."
And then it clicked, and his smile grew as he stepped closer to you.
"Oh?" He hummed, and his hands caressed your growing stomach with soft rubs, lowering until he could lift the extra weight with ease, and the relief was immediate for you. Your lips parted with a cute little "oh!" and your gasp came out before you could stop it.
His large hands barely had to flex to hold your stomach, and he watched with an amused grin as your shoulders sagged in happiness, your hands resting on his chest as you shuffled closer to your husband.
"Just for a few minutes, please." You were so cute asking him with wide blinks, and he couldn't help but lean down, kissing you with a slow kiss that had you melting even further into him.
"Anything for you, my love. I can do this all day."
WOOZI - Woozi was hovering. He was always hovering around you ever since the two of you found out you were expecting. It was like he was in fight or flight mode, trying to be there for you as a partner, but not sure how he could help you the best.
He seemed to have a permanent furrowed brow, his lips set in determination for something you weren’t entirely sure of. It was like he waiting for something, anything, with a tense body that actually distracted you from the way the baby inside your stomach was stretching its little limbs against your rib cage.
Motherhood, how magical.
Seven months along, and you felt like a whale. Your breasts were fuller, your stomach was rounder, your hips ached with your lower back - and there was your husband, hovering like you might let out a warrior cry before running away to leave him dazed and confused. It made you snort, rolling your eyes affectionately as you folded the clean laundry.
“If you’re going to be a helpful baby daddy, at least make yourself useful.” You teased, and your lover blinked, staring at you, dumbfounded for a moment.
“Huh?”
“Come here, make your hands useful for me.” You nodded your head in one direction, beckoning him closer as you folded a towel. You figured he’d either help you fold or help you put away the folded laundry. What you didn’t expect was for him to stand behind you and easily lift your stomach, instantly relieving you of the weight you carried every day now. “Oh!”
“Does this help? I saw it somewhere.”
Your head tilted back, your body naturally leaning back towards him. “Oh my god, never let me go.”
“Never dreamt of it.”
MINGHAO - You were grumpy, and you honestly didn't even mean to be. It was just everything.
You felt bloated, a little hot, a little overstimulated, a little tired, and a lot hungry. Pregnancy had been smooth sailing until you reached your third trimester, but after that, you felt a little crazy. You were ready to get a full night's sleep without a mountain of pillows to assist. Or better yet, if you didn't have to waddle everywhere. You felt like a penguin about to go exploring just to make it to your kitchen.
And you had decided no one could ever complain about back pain other than you. Your child was something you truly felt was testing your body as its own personal martial arts studio, or gymnasium, and you were ready for it all to be done.
The little app you had for your pregnancy said it was the size of a large cantaloupe, and you could feel it. Your hips and lower back ached, and that was just from standing still. So, yeah, you were grumpy, and your husband seemed to be getting the brunt of your sassiness as he greeted you with a smile.
"How are my beautiful loves?" He hummed, stepping into the kitchen to get closer to you.
Normally, you'd match his grin, give him a kiss, but all you could do was pout, stopping him in his tracks as you gave him a pointed look. "Don't even play with me right now."
Your husband was lucky you had missed the way he bit his lip to hold in his laugh, or you'd surely explode in your feelings.
Pregnancy, in his eyes, had made you even cuter than before, but he might be biased since it was his kid you were carrying. "Tell me what you need, let me take care of you." Hao mused, and you couldn't help but melt a little at his words, even if your pout remained the same.
"If you could carry your kid the rest of the way, I'd appreciate it." You didn't mean to be sarcastic, but your emotions had been a whirlwind since you woke up, and it came out before you could stop it.
Luckily for you, Minghao was your husband, and his smile only grew fonder as he moved closer. He took your words literally, and his hands wrapped under your stomach, easily lifting it, and relieving your little aches as he gave a little laugh. "Always. You just need to ask, my love, and I'll do anything for you."
Only your husband could turn your mood around in less than three minutes.
MINGYU - It has become somewhat of a routine between you and Mingyu when it was time for you to get up from wherever you may have been sitting previously.
Whether you were relaxing on the couch in the living room or simply getting out of the car, it had become increasingly more difficult now that you were pregnant. You felt bloated more towards your third trimester, and it took a lot of energy to move if you didn't get some kind of assistance.
It wasn't that you were unable to do things on your own; it was more that your face would pinch into a little wince whenever you did. The weight of your kid pressing into your ribs or back is enough to make you suck in a sharp breath and for your husband to almost insist you spend the rest of your pregnancy bedridden.
Which, if anyone knew you, that would be ridiculous - so you came up with a compromise.
Your husband, Mingyu, would become your anchor. He was always hovering around you anyway, mumbling about "need to protect both my loves." So, it became instinctive to reach for your husband's hand when getting around.
You still waddled and still insisted you could do it yourself, but nevertheless, your hand would go to his, and you were rewarded with kisses to your temple once you were standing on your own two feet.
"I know you can, but let me take care of you anyway," Mingyu murmured, and before you could rebut, his warm hands slid around your waist and underneath your stomach, lifting the weight from your hips and giving you further relief.
All sass left your body as you sighed, relaxing into your man's strong arms with a dreamy smile that matched his. "Fine, but don't let me go then."
"I wasn't planning to."
DK - Computer? How do I get my very pregnant wife out of the bathtub? She won't leave.
DK was kneeling on the right side of the bathtub, eyebrows furrowed with slight worry as he watched you. You had been in this tub of water for an hour, and you were pruning. "C'mon, Baby, get out, and I'll dry you off. Any longer, our baby is going to turn into a mermaid."
This made you snort, your lips curving up as your eyes flickered to the swell of your stomach poking out of the water. You were eight months pregnant and bath time was the only time the small ache of carrying his kid was relieved off your back and hips.
You waddled, you slept with eight pillows, and you were tired. You honestly weren't sure if you could lift yourself up, which made another round of sleepy giggles erupt from you as you stared at your husband with love. "Baby, I might just sleep here."
You watched with amusement as Seokmin brought his phone out, typing into the little screen with another furrow of his eyebrows, and you snorted at his search.
"Help me?" You asked with a grin, and Dokyeom was already snaking his hands around your hips, using a firm but gentle touch to help you. He didn't care if his clothes got wet; he was always happy to be your anchor as you leaned on him.
When you stood up, his hands naturally caressed your tummy, still in awe at how strong you were to carry his kid. And when he lifted your tummy a little, carrying the extra weight, your lips parted.
"Oh!" Dokyeom found a new favorite pastime for you, other than bath time, and he was perfectly happy with it - he wanted the extra practice before he carried his kid everywhere anyway.
SEUNGKWAN - It was no surprise that the moment your husband came home and saw you, he'd launch into a rant about his day like he'd been dying to since the moment he had to leave your side. You and he were truly best friends and lovers all wrapped up in one. You were the first person he wanted to tell anything to, and you felt the same.
It was a routine at this point that if one of you came home, you'd drag the other onto the sofa, giving a play-by-play of the day with the utmost seriousness. You got the gossip, the missed funny moments, everything - and when you became pregnant? Well, now it was a party of three.
But instead of your husband leading you to the couch like normal, he'd simply drop everything as soon as he crossed through the door and dropped to his knees before you. It had progressed to you barely getting a kiss in greeting before your baby, who snuggled into your ribs with a little annoyance for your comfort.
Seungkwan would simply kiss your growing stomach, his eyes sparkling as he flickered from your tummy to you, then back to your fuller stomach. "Have you been being nice to your mom while I was away?" He would hum, and your eyes rolled affectionately as you fought to keep your smile at bay.
"No, your little tangerine actually has been tiresome since you left - I think they know you're gone, they get restless." You teased, and Seungkwan's eyes sparkled brighter, his lips pressing another kiss to your tummy as he shook his head.
"Well, we can't have any of that." His hands move under your stomach, lifting the extra weight and relieving your hips of the little ache you got from carrying his child throughout the day. You sighed happily, and Seungkwan grinned up at you. He was still on his knees, carrying your stomach gently, and his hum was soft as he launched into his day.
He told his growing family all about his workday right in the middle of the entrance way, never once letting go of your stomach as he talked more to your belly than to you.
Eventually, you three would make it to the sofa, but for now, if he could hold you both, he didn't mind the bite in his knees as he kneeled on the wooden floors, his heart full and warmed with love.
VERNON - You don't even realize Vernon is watching you until he's suddenly right behind you.
You're seven months pregnant with his child, and it's beginning to take a toll. Mornings have become more difficult to roll out of bed. You've got at least six pillows tucked into you to try and ease the discomfort your lower back pings to you, but it's still there. It's become this little ache that accompanies you even when you waddle throughout the house.
Yes, waddle. Vernon says you don't waddle, but his opinion is now irrelevant while you carry his kid.
That's why you don't even notice him step behind you as you clean off the table. Dinner was done, and Vernon had insisted you rest while he cleaned up everything, but old habits die hard, and you're a little winded after a few swipes of the table.
"I told you to rest," Vernon murmurs softly and gently, and you're about to retort back before his hands slide around your round stomach, lifting the weight and immediately rendering you speechless.
"Oh!" You're mouth drops, and the back ache is momentarily gone as your husband holds you up.
It makes Vernon grin to see you like this, and he kisses your shoulder as you melt back into his body. "That's it, let me take care of you, Mamas."
DINO - Ever since you got pregnant, your husband has been online more than usual.
It's usually accompanied by a furrowed brow and multiple looks in your direction, but you figured he was trying to learn as much as he could about being a first-time parent. All you cared about were the actual doctor visits and the little app on your phone that told you your baby was the size of a mango today.
The thought was hard to process, but it made you motivated to eat fruit when you saw the message, so you found yourself pacing through your kitchen. You brought out fruit, the cutting board, your favorite knife, which you believed could probably cut through anything, and got to work making two bowls.
And it wasn't because you were eating for two. You rolled your eyes at the silly thought, your lips curving into a grin before you flickered your eyes to your left, where your husband had followed you.
That was the other thing: if your husband wasn't at work, he seemed to be your personal shadow, following you into each room, regardless of whether he had been in the middle of doing something.
You could feel him approach quietly, and you hummed as you put the same fruit equally between the two bowls. "I'm making you one, too."
You can hear him set his phone on the counter, his body coming closer from behind, before you feel his lips brush the back of your neck. "I saw something online-" and just as you go to ask him for more details, his large hands slide under your stomach, lifting the extra weight with ease.
The relief to your lower back is instant, and the knife falls onto the cutting board as you gasp. You can feel yourself melt in relief, leaning more into your husband as Dino grins against your shoulder.
"Does that feel good?"
Your little happy noise you make with an eager nod makes him hold you closer, his smile growing fonder by each second that passes.
대박 - you made it to the end!
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You wake up to a city that has completely stopped moving, cars frozen in the middle of the road and streets empty like everyone just disappeared overnight. When you find a newspaper dated yesterday with the headline “TRUE LOVE CAN SAVE THE DAY,” you keep it even though it feels ridiculous, because it’s the only thing that suggests time didn’t break for no reason. You spend weeks living in your own thoughts before you run into a man at the newspaper stand. A real man. As the two of you try to understand what happened, you start to realize the world only holds itself together when you’re together and you both wouldn't want it any other way.
Pairing: Jeon Wonwoo x f!Reader
Genre: sci-fi-ish, angst, true love, dystopian-ish world, NO SMUT!, wonwoo is so whipped for her, happy ending!, true love, found lovers, lost souls, right person right time, idiots in love, awwww love love love love
Word Count: 11.6k
Warnings/Things to make note of!: mention of suicide attempts, mention of abandonment, mention of abuse, heavy topics, use of perscription medication, anxiety, angst, panic attacks, i dont know if im missing anything but let me know LOL
A/N: hello!!! This is such a different story for me, i did a lot of unnecssisary scientific research for this story because i wanted to tap into the sci-fi elements in it! This is like loosely kinda sorta based off of the last of us / a quiet place like that kinda vibe. Wonwoo is such a sweetheart in this too like omfg im melting help. Anyway i hope you love it im really proud of it! i also didnt proof read oopsies sorryyyY!
The thing that you gave but never seemed to get back. The thing your mother said she hated you gave too much of, before she left.
You couldn’t help but blame yourself for her leaving. You were overzealous, ambitious, she wanted no part of the big life you had planned for yourself.
Abandonment.
After your mom, your dad cut contact. You never got along with him, he hated you from the start. It was better off this way.
Or at least, that was the story you told yourself.
When there was nothing left to hold you where you were, you packed what little mattered and moved to the city. You told everyone it was for opportunity, for work, for the future. The truth was less inspiring. You left because every street carried a memory, every familiar face knew a version of you that you couldn't stand to look at anymore. The city was loud enough to drown out the echoes.
Deep down, beneath the ambition and stubborn determination, there was a hatred you never spoke about. Not for your parents. Not for the town. For yourself. You would never admit it out loud, never give it shape with words, because saying it would make it real. So you buried it instead. You carried it quietly through every achievement, every stupid relationship, every sleepless night. It sat inside you like a slow poison burning you inside out, unseen by everyone but you.
There were years when the weight of it nearly won. Years marked by hospital rooms, rehabilitation, concerned voices, and moments you rarely allowed yourself to remember. More than once, you had tried to disappear entirely, convinced the world would keep turning without noticing the absence. Somehow, you survived each attempt, though survival never felt like victory. It felt like being handed another day you weren't sure you wanted.
So you ran.
Not because you believed a new city could heal you, but because distance was the closest thing to mercy you knew. If you couldn't become someone new, maybe you could at least leave the old version behind. The girl who spent her nights wondering why she wasn't enough. The girl who blamed herself for every goodbye. The girl who looked in the mirror and saw someone impossible to love.
You left her there, or at least you tried to.
April 16, 2026. You woke up late.
Sunlight spilled through the blinds, warming the floor beside your bed. Your head throbbed faintly, full of memories from the night you spent alone prior. For a few seconds, everything felt normal. Another workday. Another morning spent pretending you were someone who belonged here.
You reached for your phone. Dead. The screen stayed black no matter how many times you pressed the power button.
"Great."
You rolled out of bed and shuffled toward the kitchen. Something felt off, quiet.
The neighbors upstairs weren't stomping around. Nobody was arguing in the hallway. No distant sirens drifted through the city air. No music from the apartment next door.
Nothing.
You frowned and walked to the window.
The city beyond the glass stole the breath from your lungs.
Cars sat motionless in the middle of intersections. A city bus was frozen halfway through a turn, blocking multiple lanes at an awkward angle. Near the curb, a discarded coffee cup lay on its side while dark liquid hung suspended in the air beside it, droplets frozen as if time itself had forgotten to let them fall.
The street was empty.
Not early-morning empty.
Not holiday empty.
Empty. No pedestrians. No drivers. No movement anywhere.
And no sound. That was what truly terrified you.
A complete and unnatural silence that pressed against your ears until your own heartbeat sounded impossibly loud.
Within minutes, you were outside. The apartment lobby stood abandoned. The front desk sat unattended. The revolving door groaned beneath your push before releasing you into a city that looked less like reality and more like a photograph.
You started walking. Then jogging. Then running.
"Hello?"
No answer.
You searched block after block. Restaurants stood open with meals left unfinished. Storefronts remained unlocked. Traffic lights cycled endlessly above empty roads. It looked as though the entire world had been interrupted in the middle of a sentence.
Then, finally, you saw someone.
A figure stood at the far end of a crosswalk. Your chest tightened with relief.
A person. An actual person.
"Hey!"
The figure remained still.
You broke into a sprint. "Hey! Wait!"
At the sound of your voice, they turned.
For a moment, you thought you saw their face.
Then reality came apart.
Their features twisted and distorted like a corrupted video file. Their body fragmented into jagged pieces that flickered in and out of existence. The image of them stretched, warped, and collapsed as though something unseen was struggling to render them correctly.
You stumbled to a stop.
The figure glitched once. Twice. Then vanished.
One moment they were standing there.
The next, they simply weren't, as if they had never existed at all.
The crosswalk stood empty, the city remained silent.
And for the first time since waking up, you felt genuine fear.
Because this wasn't an evacuation.
It was something wrong with reality itself.
You ran back to your apartment, panic setting into your chest rapidly.
The empty crosswalk blurred beneath your feet as you sprinted through silent streets. Every reflection in every darkened window made your pulse spike. Every shadow looked wrong. By the time you reached your apartment building, your lungs burned and your hands were shaking so badly you nearly dropped your keys.
"Get it together."
The words came out breathless.
You slammed the apartment door behind you and locked it. Then locked it again.
The panic attack arrived like an old friend. Your chest tightened. Your heartbeat accelerated. The room suddenly felt too small. Too hot. Too loud despite the silence.
"No. No. No."
You knew the routine. You'd learned it years ago. Before the city. Before the new life. Before you'd convinced yourself the past was buried.
You stumbled into the bathroom, opened the medicine cabinet, and grabbed the orange prescription bottle waiting exactly where it always was. The familiar rattle was strangely comforting.
One pill. A glass of water. A shaking hand.
Routine. The same ritual you'd repeated so many times it no longer felt alarming. Just maintenance.
Eventually your breathing slowed.
Your thoughts followed. You sat on the edge of your bed staring at the wall for nearly an hour before making a decision.
Sleep.
This had to be a dream. A breakdown. Some bizarre neurological event.
You pulled the curtains shut, crawled beneath the blankets, and forced your eyes closed.
When you woke up, the sunlight had shifted. Your phone was still dead. The apartment was still silent. And outside the window, the coffee still hung in the air.
Exactly where you had left it when you closed your eyes. Reality hadn't fixed itself.
Whatever had happened was still happening.
The next time you went outside, you moved carefully. You stopped yelling for help. Stopped expecting answers. Instead, you started looking for information.
What day was it? What time was it? What had happened?
The city offered nothing.
Days passed. Or what you assumed were days.
Without working phones, broadcasts, internet, or people, time became slippery. You tracked it with sunrise and sunset and marks scratched into the wall beside your bed.
On what you estimated was the fourth or fifth day, you found the newspaper stand.
Most of the papers had spilled onto the sidewalk.
At first you almost ignored them.
Then something caught your eye.
The date.
August 16, 2026.
You grabbed another copy. Every paper dated August 16, 2026.
For the first time since waking up in the silent city, you'd found something current. Something recent. Something connected to the last normal day on Earth.
You unfolded the nearest copy. The headline stretched across the front page in absurdly large letters.
TRUE LOVE CAN SAVE THE DAY
You stared at it.
Then laughed.
The sound startled you. It was the first time you'd heard yourself laugh in days.
"What kind of stupid headline is that?"
It looked like one of those ridiculous human-interest stories newspapers ran when nothing important was happening. The kind of article people skimmed while drinking coffee before forgetting it existed five minutes later.
But your smile faded as your eyes drifted back to the date.
Carefully, you folded the paper and tucked it beneath your arm.
Not because you believed the headline. Not because you thought it meant anything.
But because it was a piece of the last day. A message in a bottle from a world that no longer existed. That night, back in your apartment, you read the article.
Then you read it again. And again. Not searching for truth, just searching for something human. Something alive.
In the weeks that followed, the newspaper never left your side. You carried it through empty streets. Kept it beside your bed while you slept. Read it whenever the silence became unbearable.
The folds softened. The corners bent. The ink slowly faded beneath your fingers.
Yet somehow, it became the closest thing you had to company.
You called your mother despite knowing she wouldn't answer. You called your father despite not speaking to him in years. You left voicemails. Sent texts. Called again. Then again. When that failed, you started driving. You drove through every district of the city, screaming for people through rolled-down windows. You searched hospitals, police stations, subway tunnels, government buildings, office towers, anywhere an explanation might be hiding. You kicked in locked doors. Pulled open emergency exits. Dug through abandoned desks and filing cabinets.
You found nothing.
No notes. No warnings. No evidence anyone understood what had happened. Just absence.
The second week became survival.
The panic burned itself out and practical concerns took over. Food. Water. Electricity.
You started treating grocery stores like your own pantry. The first time you took supplies, you left cash at the register. It felt wrong not to. The second time you did the same thing. The third time too.
Then one afternoon, while setting a twenty-dollar bill beside an abandoned cash register, you stopped.
You stared at the money.
The money stared back.
"Who's taking it?"
Nobody.
Nobody was counting inventory. Nobody was checking security cameras. Nobody was here.
You left the bill there anyway. The next day you didn't. For some reason, that hurt more than breaking into the store.
The third week became experimentation. If there was a cause, there had to be a solution. You spent days trying to force reality to react.
You shut down sections of the power grid and turned them back on. You moved frozen vehicles from intersections. You smashed clocks. Collected watches. Compared timestamps. Stayed awake for nearly forty-eight hours. Slept through entire days. Read scientific journals. Religious texts. Philosophy books. Cached conspiracy forums on dead computers.
Nothing worked. Nothing changed.
The coffee still floated in the street. The city remained silent.
The fourth week was acceptance.
Not peace. Just acceptance.
You stopped expecting answers. Instead, you built routines.
The apartment building across the street became Marley. The abandoned bank became Kim. The bookstore with the shattered front window became Greg.
Every morning, you greeted them. Talking to buildings should have felt insane.
Instead, it helped.
The silence felt smaller when someone was speaking, even if that someone was you.
Every morning, you visited the same coffee shop. The machines still worked. You made the same drink. Sat at the same table. Stared through the same window. Not because coffee mattered. Because routine mattered. Routine made you feel human.
The newspaper became part of the routine too. Every night before bed, you unfolded it.
TRUE LOVE CAN SAVE THE DAY.
The headline had become burned into your memory. You reread the article so many times you practically knew every sentence by heart. The smiling faces in the photographs. The ridiculous optimism.
You didn't believe it, but it was the only thing in the world connected to the last normal day.
So you kept reading.
Some nights you searched for hidden meanings. Other nights you laughed at yourself.
"Maybe the answer really is true love."
The joke never landed.
There was nobody around to hear it.
And during that month, strange things kept happening. Every few days, you would see someone. A figure standing at the end of a street. A silhouette reflected in a storefront window. A person waiting at a bus stop. Always distant. Always alone. Your heart would leap into your throat every single time.
At first you ran after them. Always. The result never changed. The figure would disappear before you arrived. Sometimes they vanished around corners. Sometimes they flickered first. Sometimes their bodies distorted like damaged footage before collapsing into nothing.
Once, you watched a man standing beneath a traffic light fragment into static and disappear so completely it felt like your brain had imagined him.
After enough encounters, you stopped running immediately, because disappointment was exhausting.
But deep down, a part of you wondered if someone else was out there.
Someone who hadn't disappeared. Someone who was seeing the same impossible things. Someone who was still surviving. You just hadn't found them yet.
The worst part wasn't the fear anymore. It was the isolation.
You had spent most of your life convincing yourself you preferred being alone. You told yourself people left eventually, so it was safer not to need them too much.
Now you understood the difference between being alone and being the only person in existence. The silence wasn't peaceful, it was suffocating.
You talked to yourself more than you would like to admit. To the non-existent people in the driver’s seats of cars, the humans in the ads in store windows.
One afternoon you spent nearly twenty minutes telling a mannequin about your childhood before realizing what you were doing.
You laughed. Then cried. Then laughed again. The line between the two was becoming difficult to find. The thoughts you'd spent years outrunning started catching up.
Old thoughts, old habits, old wounds. The version of yourself you had tried so hard to leave behind when you moved to the city began resurfacing piece by piece.
You remembered hospital rooms. Therapists. Long nights spent fighting your own mind. You remembered what it felt like to hate yourself. Really hate yourself.
Some days the loneliness became so overwhelming you found yourself slipping back into destructive patterns of thinking you hadn't struggled with in years. It scared you how familiar they felt, as though those parts of you had never truly disappeared.
You'd sit on the floor of your apartment staring at nothing for hours hoping you would regret the things you had done. The newspaper resting in your lap. The headline staring back.
TRUE LOVE CAN SAVE THE DAY.
"What does that even fucking mean?" You laugh lightly to yourself, smile on your face tears streaming from your eyes.
Manic.
That's what the psychiatrist said to you in middle school. You were manic. Destructive.
And now you were feeling the exact same way. You were being handed another day you knew you didn’t want.
The seasons still changed. Somehow, everything natural kept obeying its rules. Trees filled out with leaves. Light lingered longer in the evenings. The air softened in a way the frozen city never could.
But the city itself never moved.
You were exhausted by now. Not in the way sleep could fix.
Something deeper had worn you down—days of searching every possible place, every office, every station, every building that might hold an answer. There were none. Only silence. Only absence.
So you walked again. Same route. Same habit. Same pull toward the newspaper stand you no longer believed would change.
Not hope. Just routine.
The folded paper was still tucked under your arm. The same headline you’d memorized weeks ago. TRUE LOVE CAN SAVE THE DAY. You didn’t even look at it anymore. You just carried it because it was something that still belonged to the world that used to exist.
The stand came into view at the end of the street.
And you stopped.
Someone was there.
A man stood with his back to you, completely unaware of you. He was reading a newspaper from the stand, holding it casually in both hands. He didn’t flicker. Didn’t distort. He was just… there.
Your breath caught painfully in your chest.
Slowly, carefully, you moved forward. Each step felt louder than it should have in the silence. You didn’t call out. You didn’t risk it. You stopped just behind him.
Your hand lifted.
You hesitated.
Then you placed it gently on his shoulder.
Warm. Solid. Human.
Under your palm, you could feel him immediately—the weight of muscle, the tension of a living body, the undeniable fact of someone occupying space in the same world as you.
Real.
The moment your hand made contact, he whipped around.
“Hey—!”
It was sharp. Instinctive. Startled.
He stumbled back into you without meaning to, and the sudden movement knocked you off balance. Your feet slipped and you fell hard onto the pavement, breath punching out of your lungs as the impact echoed too loudly in the empty street.
For a second, neither of you moved.
Then you looked up.
He was standing over you, breathing fast. Chest rising and falling sharply like he couldn’t decide whether to run or fight. Shaggy black hair slightly messed from the sudden turn. Perfect glasses still somehow sitting straight on his face. A black shirt clinging slightly from tension, dirty jeans scuffed like he’d been living through the same abandoned world for just as long as you had.
His eyes locked onto yours.
And neither of you disappeared.
That realization hit both of you at once.
His voice came first, cautious, broken with disbelief.
“…You’re real.”
It wasn’t a question.
You swallowed, still sitting on the ground. “So are you.”
He stared harder, like he was trying to find the trick. “No, that’s not—” He stopped, shaking his head once. “I’ve been alone. For weeks. Months. I don’t even know anymore.”
Your laugh came out uneven. “Yeah. Same.”
A pause.
The silence between you felt different now. Not empty. Just heavy.
He slowly crouched down a little, still not fully trusting what he was seeing. “You touched me.”
“I had to,” you said quietly. “Everything else… disappears.”
His expression tightened at that. “I know.”
That made you freeze slightly. “You’ve seen them too?”
He let out a slow breath, eyes flicking briefly past you down the empty street. “People. Figures. Whatever they are. They don’t stay. They glitch, or vanish, or… I don’t know. Like the world rejects them.”
Your throat tightened. “Same.”
For a moment, neither of you spoke again.
Finally, he shifted his weight, still crouched slightly in front of you. “I thought I was the last one.”
Your voice came softer than you expected. “I thought I was too.” You felt tears prick at your eyes.
Behind him, the newspaper still lay half-unfolded on the stand, pages rustling slightly in a breeze that felt suddenly too real.
Neither of you were alone in it. You knew that now.
You brought him to the coffee shop without really thinking about it. It was just where you went. Every morning. Same route, same silence, same routine that had started to feel less like comfort and more like something you were trapped inside of. He followed you through the frozen streets without asking questions.
Inside the café, nothing had changed. It never did. You moved behind the counter automatically, muscle memory taking over as you made two coffees. The machine hissed and clicked in a way that felt almost too loud now that there was someone else here to hear it. When you turned around, he was sitting near the counter, posture a little too straight, hands loosely folded, eyes tracking you whenever he thought you weren’t looking.
You noticed it immediately. Every time you glanced away, his gaze flicked toward you, quick and careful, like he was still half-expecting you to glitch out of existence the way everything else in this world eventually did. And you hated that you were doing the same thing. Watching him. Checking. Making sure he was still real.
Eventually, you walked over and sat down across from him. Then, after a second of hesitation, you shifted your chair closer instead of staying across the table. The distance suddenly felt unnecessary.
Neither of you spoke for a while.
Just looked.
It wasn’t comfortable silence. It was the kind that came from too much disbelief packed into too little time.
Finally, he let out a breath and leaned back slightly. “Okay,” he said quietly, like he was trying to convince himself more than you. “This is… actually insane.”
A small laugh slipped out of you before you could stop it. “Yeah. That’s one way to put it.”
His eyes stayed on you for a moment longer than necessary before he nodded once, like he’d made a decision. “I’m Wonwoo.”
You hesitated for half a second, like saying your name out loud would make this real in a way you weren’t ready for. “Y/N.”
“Y/N,” he repeated softly, like he was testing how it sounded in a world that had almost forgotten how to say anything at all.
Then he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a worn notebook and a pen. It wasn’t dramatic. It was just… natural, like this was something he’d been doing for a long time. The notebook looked overused in a way that made you realize he hadn’t just been surviving this alone, he’d been working through it.
He opened it and slid it slightly toward you.
Pages filled with equations, diagrams, timing logs, maps of the city, notes layered over notes. Some pages were carefully structured, almost elegant in their logic. Others were frantic, overwritten, like they belonged to nights where he hadn’t slept in too long.
“I tried to treat it like a system,” he said, tapping a page with the pen, voice calm but tired in a very specific way, like someone who had explained this to himself so many times he could no longer tell where certainty ended and coping began. “At first I thought it was some kind of temporal stasis field or perception lock. Then I tried entropy mapping, then gravitational inconsistency models, then—” he paused briefly, almost embarrassed, “I even tried tracking decay rates of ambient objects to see if anything was still aging normally.”
He glanced up at you quickly, like he was checking if that was too much. Then added, softer, “Nothing worked.”
He flipped a page. More notes. More spirals of logic.
“I kept thinking if I just added one more variable, it would click,” he said. “Like the world was a puzzle I hadn’t assembled correctly yet.” A faint, almost sheepish exhale left him. “At some point I realized I was just… documenting my own breakdown with better handwriting.”
There was a small pause. He leaned back slightly, running a hand through his messy black hair, glasses catching the light as he did. He looked annoyingly put together for someone who was describing the end of the world, like his brain had decided chaos still needed structure.
“I’ve been feeling absolutely fucking insane,” he admitted more honestly now, voice quieter. “Like I was the only person left who didn’t freeze, and maybe I just… wasn’t processing it right.”
His eyes flicked to you again, sharper this time, but not in accusation. More like curiosity mixed with relief he didn’t fully trust yet.
“And then you were just there,” he said. “So I guess either I’m not crazy… or we’re both equally crazy.”
A beat.
Then, almost awkwardly, like he hated how sincere it sounded, he added, “I’m leaning toward the first option.”
You took the notebook more carefully than you meant to, like it might still be tied to the strange rules of the world itself. The paper felt worn in a way that made it obvious he’d been using it constantly—pages softened at the edges, ink layered in different pressures, some sections neat and structured, others messy from long nights of thinking too much.
As you flipped through it, your expression slowly changed. At first it was curiosity, then confusion, then something closer to disbelief. He wasn’t just guessing. He had actually been trying to understand it in a structured way.
You frowned slightly, flipping another page. “This doesn’t make sense,” you murmured, more to yourself than to him. “How did none of this lead anywhere?”
That was what unsettled you. Not that he was wrong, but that he had been this thorough and still ended up with nothing concrete.
You lowered the notebook and finally looked up.
Wonwoo was already watching you.
His expression had shifted while you were reading. Still cautious, but softer now. Concern threaded through it in a way that felt uncomfortably gentle. His eyes moved over your face like he was trying to figure out whether what you were seeing was helping you or breaking you further.
“Are you okay?” he asked quietly.
It wasn’t intrusive. Just careful.
You closed the notebook a little too quickly and slid it back toward him. “Yeah,” you said too fast, then corrected yourself, forcing it steadier, “I’m fine. It’s just… a lot.”
He didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t push.
You shifted slightly, needing something else to focus on. “I’m from North City,” you said.
That got his attention immediately.
“North City?” he repeated.
You nodded. “Yeah.”
He leaned back slightly, processing it. “I’m from South City,” he said after a beat, like he was double-checking it in his head. “Grew up there.”
That landed between you in a strange way. Like geography still mattered even when reality didn’t.
“So…” he added quietly, eyes flicking up to you again, “you weren’t that far.”
You gave a small, uncertain shrug. “Doesn’t feel like it matters anymore.”
“It does to me.” He gives a light, charming smile.
You didn’t argue. He looked at you for a moment longer, quieter now, and you realized, uncomfortably, that while you had been reading his work, he had been trying to read you too.
At first it was careful—small questions, fragments of back-and-forth about the city, about routines, about what life had been like before everything stopped. Then it drifted into everything and nothing at once. Random thoughts, shared observations, ridiculous theories that didn’t need to be true just to be said out loud. A few light laughs slipped in without either of you really noticing at first. Then more. It felt strange, almost disorienting, how natural it was to talk to someone again.
There was a point where the exhaustion and loneliness seemed to blur at the edges, replaced by something warmer, almost intoxicating in its own way. Like your brains were overcorrecting for weeks of silence, suddenly flooding you both with noise that wasn’t empty. You both started laughing harder at things that probably weren’t that funny, until it spiraled into genuine fits of laughter neither of you could really control.
Wonwoo leaned back in his chair, still catching his breath, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe it. “You are really funny, you know?” he said, smiling in a way that looked unpracticed but real. “How did I never stumble upon you in the city?”
You let out a breathy laugh, shrugging. “I don’t know. Guess we just missed each other.”
He tilted his head slightly, still looking at you like he was trying to make sure you were actually there. Then, a little softer, a little braver, he added, “And you’re really pretty too.”
You blinked at him for a second, caught completely off guard. The fluster came too fast to hide, creeping into your face before you could stop it. “No one’s ever been that forward with me before,” you admitted, half-laughing as you looked away for a moment like it might reset your brain. Then, quieter but still smiling, you added, “You’re… kind of pretty too, actually.”
That did it.
For a second there was silence, and then both of you broke at the same time, laughter spilling out awkward and genuine, building on itself until it turned into something almost uncontrollable. It felt ridiculous and light in a way neither of you had felt in a very long time, like your bodies had forgotten how to do anything except exist in that moment.
Eventually, it settled, the laughter fading into soft breaths.
Wonwoo tilted his head slightly, still smiling a little. “Where did you grow up?”
The shift was subtle, but you felt it immediately. Something in your expression changed before you even answered. The air didn’t feel as light anymore.
“About five states over,” you said slowly, picking at the edge of your sleeve. “I left because I needed a fresh start.”
He didn’t interrupt. Just listened.
You hesitated, then kept going anyway, like once the words started they didn’t really belong to you anymore. “My mom left when I was younger. Said I was… too much, I guess. My dad cut contact after that. I don’t really blame him.” You gave a small, humorless breath. “After that it was just… endless nights. Hospitals. Mental rehab stays. More hospital visits. Trying to get through one day at a time without everything falling apart.”
The words hung in the space between you.
Wonwoo went quiet.
Not awkwardly. Just… still. Like he hadn’t expected you to hand him something that heavy so easily.
You looked down at the table, suddenly aware of how much you’d said. “Sorry,” you added quickly, voice softer. “That was a lot. I just— I don’t know. I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable.”
He shook his head slightly, but it took him a second to speak.
“No,” he said quietly. “No, you didn’t.”
A pause stretched out before he leaned back a little, looking at his hands for a moment like he was organizing his thoughts.
“I get it,” he said finally. “Not exactly the same, but… I’ve had my own stuff.”
You looked up.
He exhaled, slower now. “I didn’t really know how to deal with my head most of the time, so I just… went into math. Science. Anything that had answers. If there was a problem, there was a solution. That made it easier to breathe.”
His fingers tapped lightly against the edge of the notebook on the table.
“But when the world stopped like this,” he continued, voice quieter, “it didn’t have a solution anymore. And I kept trying anyway. Kept building models, theories, anything that made it feel like I still had control over something.” A faint, almost tired laugh slipped out of him. “And when none of it worked… I started losing myself in it a bit.”
He glanced up at you then, more honest now.
“I think I was just trying not to feel hopeless but… after meeting you, I don’t feel too hopeless anymore.”
The rest of the day didn’t feel like time passing so much as time dissolving.
You talked about everything again, then nothing again, then somehow looped back into things that made you laugh until your stomach hurt. The kind of laughter that came easier the longer you forgot to be alone.
At some point, neither of you noticed when afternoon became evening.
The light outside dimmed slowly, painting the empty street in soft gold and then deeper blue. Shadows stretched across the café floor. The world outside didn’t move, but the sky still changed like it was trying to pretend things were normal.
Eventually, the silence between sentences grew longer. Not uncomfortable. Just full.
And then it was dark.
Wonwoo was the first to stand. You followed a moment later. Neither of you said anything as you stepped out into the street together. The frozen city looked different at night, colder somehow, even though nothing had actually changed.
You walked a few steps in silence before both of you slowed.
Then stopped.
You turned to face each other at the same time.
For a second, neither of you spoke, like you were both waiting for the other to break something that felt too delicate to touch.
Finally, Wonwoo exhaled. “I should probably head back to mine.”
You nodded slowly. “Yeah. Same. Mine’s… that way.”
Another pause. It didn’t feel like goodbye. But it felt like something close enough to it that it hurt anyway.
Then Wonwoo stepped forward.
Without warning, he pulled you into a hug.
It wasn’t hesitant. It was firm, immediate, like something in him had decided words weren’t enough anymore. For a second, your entire body locked up in surprise—then it melted, because suddenly there was weight. Real weight. Another person. Another heartbeat against yours. Something warm and solid and undeniable.
And it wrecked both of you instantly.
The silence you’d lived in for so long made the contact feel overwhelming, like your nervous systems didn’t know how to process it anymore. Your hands gripped the fabric of his shirt before you even realized you were moving.
After a moment, his arms tightened slightly, like he didn’t want to let go just yet. Like letting go would mean going back to being alone again. You could feel his chest rising unevenly against you, breath unsteady in a way he couldn’t hide anymore.
And then he started crying.
Quiet at first. Barely there. Like he hadn’t meant to.
That was what broke you.
You tried to hold it together for half a second longer, but it didn’t last. The soundless weight of everything you’d both been carrying just came out all at once.
You were both shaking slightly by the time it settled into something real.
Eventually, he pulled back just enough to breathe. He took off his glasses with one hand, wiping his eyes quickly, awkwardly, like he was trying to fix something that couldn’t be fixed. Then he put them back on, exhaling shakily as he looked at you again.
He didn’t let go of your hands when he reached for them.
Both of them, gently held in his.
Facing you properly now, still a little unsteady, he said quietly, “Thank you for finding me.”
Your throat tightened immediately.
You squeezed his hands back. “Thank you for finding me too,” you said, voice breaking just slightly. Then, softer, like it mattered more than anything else in the world right now, you added, “You know where to find me tomorrow. Or… when we wake up.”
A small, shaky breath left him. He nodded once. Neither of you wanted to be the one to let go first.
it became routine without either of you ever deciding it would.
You started meeting at the café every day when you woke up, and somehow—almost unnervingly—you always arrived at the same time. No matter how irregular sleep had become in a frozen world, your rhythms synced. It was like your days had quietly agreed to align around each other without asking permission. The first thing you’d see each morning was him already there, or you arriving just as he pushed the door open, both of you stopping for a second like it still surprised you.
From there, you stopped staying in one place.
You explored the city together, block by block, building by building, still trying—out of habit more than hope—to understand what had happened. You checked abandoned offices again, revisited frozen intersections, studied the same impossible stillness from different angles like perspective might change the answer. But even as the mystery stayed unsolved, something else started filling the space it left behind.
Being around him felt… easy.
Not because the world made sense, but because he made it quieter inside your head.
There were moments that stayed with you in a way nothing else did. The way his eyes scrunched up when he laughed, soft and unguarded, like a cat reacting to something warm. The way he’d look at you sometimes like he still couldn’t quite believe you were real, even after days of proving it. The way he started reaching for you without thinking when you ran through the empty city at night, pulling your hand into his so you could both move faster between buildings, breathless and half-laughing as your footsteps echoed through streets that never changed.
It didn’t fix anything.
The world was still frozen.
The mystery was still there.
But it didn’t feel like drowning anymore.
It felt like two lost souls who had found each other at the worst possible time—and somehow decided to stay anyway.
A full month of waking up into the same frozen city and still choosing to meet each other anyway. June 16th arrived like all the other days—silent, suspended, unchanged—but it still felt marked in a way neither of you said out loud.
You met at the café like always, arriving at the same time without ever planning it. Wonwoo reached for the door handle out of habit, but before he could open it, you grabbed his hand. “I’m bringing you to my place,” you said.
He paused, then smiled a little, soft and easy. “Okay.” No questions. Just agreement, like he trusted you more than the world made sense.
The walk back felt different this time. Less like surviving and more like existing alongside someone else. When you got to your apartment, you opened the door and led him in, suddenly aware of how strange it felt to show someone your space after so long of it only belonging to you.
Above your bed hung a slightly crooked paper banner.
HAPPY TWO MONTHS GETTING STUCK-AVERSARY!
Wonwoo stared at it for a second before laughing, genuinely surprised. “You made a banner?”
“It felt important,” you said, defensive but smiling anyway.
He shook his head, still laughing as he sat on the edge of your bed, palms pressing into your comforter like he was checking if it was real. The way he relaxed without thinking made something warm settle in your chest. The bed smelled like you, and he noticed, even if he didn’t say it.
You sat beside him after a moment, picking at the blanket. “I kept the newspaper,” you said suddenly.
He looked over.
“The one with the headline,” you added. “TRUE LOVE CAN SAVE THE DAY. I thought it was stupid. Like actually stupid.”
He gave a small nod. “It is kind of stupid.”
That made you laugh quietly, but it faded fast. “I’ve never been in a real relationship,” you said after a pause. “And I don’t think I’ve ever really been… loved. My mom used to say I was unlovable. And I guess I just believed it for a long time without even realizing it.”
The air shifted immediately, not dramatically, just enough to feel heavier. Wonwoo’s expression softened in a way that erased any remaining humor. He took your hand gently and started rubbing slow circles on the back of it, steady and grounding like he was trying to undo years of silence through touch alone.
“That’s not true,” he said simply.
You didn’t respond, just swallowed and looked away for a second.
Then you pulled the folded newspaper out and showed it to him.
He looked at it, then after a beat, reached into his pocket and pulled out an identical copy.
You froze.
He noticed immediately. “I kept it too,” he said quietly. “At first I thought it was just noise. Something my brain clung to because I needed meaning somewhere. But it was the only thing from the last normal day that felt real.”
He turned it slightly in his hands. “Before I met you, it was the only thing keeping me from losing it completely.”
His gaze lifted to yours. Softer now.
“And then you showed up,” he added, “and I didn’t need it the same way anymore.”
The newspaper still sat between you for a moment after that, both copies folded loosely now, no longer feeling like proof of anything—just something you both had carried too long alone.
You traced a finger along the edge of yours before looking at him. “Have you ever been in love?”
The question landed softly, but it changed something in his expression immediately. Not defensive. Just thoughtful, like he was actually sorting through memories he didn’t often open.
“There have been… two times,” Wonwoo said slowly. “Where I think I actually felt it. Love.”
You stayed quiet, letting him take his time.
“The first was in high school,” he continued. “My first girlfriend. It was… real, in that way you only realize later. First everything. First person I ever really let myself care about like that.” A faint, almost nostalgic exhale left him. “But we were different in ways we didn’t know how to fix. It didn’t work out. We let it end before it got worse.”
He glanced down at your hands still loosely held in his, then back up.
“The second time…” He paused, a little longer this time. “Is more recent. So recent I don’t really know what to do with it yet.”
You blinked at him, not fully sure how to hold that answer, your chest tightening in a way you didn’t want to name. But you didn’t push it. Instead, you just nodded slightly, like you were giving him room to leave it there if he needed to.
And then, because silence suddenly felt too heavy, you started talking.
“I really love coffee,” you said, a little too quickly at first, then settling into it. “Like, actually love it. Not just because I need it. The smell, the routine, the way it feels like a start to something even when nothing changes.” You glanced around his apartment absentmindedly, then back at him. “And movies. I love movies. And music, especially physical copies. Like CDs, vinyls, anything you can actually hold. Streaming feels… temporary.”
He was watching you closely now, but not in a way that interrupted. In a way that made space.
You kept going.
“I love poetry too. And songwriting is honestly the coolest shit in the world,” you said, a small laugh slipping out as you leaned back a little. “Like how someone can just… turn a feeling into something you can hear. That’s insane to me.”
As you spoke, Wonwoo didn’t look away once.
Not even for a second.
It wasn’t intense in a way that made you nervous. It was quiet. Anchored. Like every word you said was something he was choosing to keep.
His eyes softened the longer you talked, shoulders relaxed, expression shifting into something almost unguarded. Like he wasn’t just hearing you—he was seeing you.
Not because you were the only person in the world.
But because, in that moment, that was how he was looking at you.
Like if the city was full again, if time started moving properly again, if everything went back to normal, it wouldn’t change the fact that this was where his attention would always land.
On you.
And you didn’t know it yet, but he was pretty sure that wouldn’t change even if they weren’t stuck at all.
The city stayed frozen, the routines stayed familiar, but something between you and Wonwoo started to feel… different. Conversations had a lingering edge to them now, like they didn’t fully end when the words stopped. They hung around in the silence afterward, warm and strange, like unfinished thoughts neither of you wanted to close.
You noticed more things about him without meaning to.
The way he talked faster when he got excited, words slipping out like his brain couldn’t keep up with itself when he was explaining something he cared about. The way his handwriting was ridiculously neat, especially when he was writing out equations in that notebook of his—precise lines, careful spacing, like even his thoughts needed to be organized before they were allowed to exist on paper.
Now you were sitting in his room, watching him.
He was at his desk, slightly hunched over a sheet of paper, sketching something absentmindedly while thinking out loud under his breath. You weren’t really listening to the content anymore. At some point, your attention had shifted without permission.
You were just looking at him.
The way his hair fell slightly over his forehead when he leaned forward. The quiet focus in his expression. The small pauses he made when he was thinking too hard. The way even his stillness felt… intentional.
It hit you slowly, like something you weren’t supposed to notice.
He was beautiful.
Not in a loud way. Not in a way that demanded attention. In a way that made you realize you’d been paying attention without realizing it. And kind. Genuinely, quietly kind in a way that didn’t ask for anything back.
You weren’t sure when that realization turned into something heavier.
Something warmer.
Something that made your chest feel tight in a way you couldn’t explain yet.
You laughed softly to yourself before you could stop it.
Wonwoo paused mid-line, looking up slightly. “What?”
You blinked like you’d been caught doing something you weren’t supposed to. “Nothing.”
He didn’t look convinced.
You reached into your pocket out of instinct and pulled out the folded newspaper again, like it could anchor you back into something simpler. You unfolded it halfway and glanced at the headline you already knew by heart.
TRUE LOVE CAN SAVE THE DAY.
“I was just thinking about this,” you said casually, trying to smooth out whatever had just happened inside your head.
He watched you for a second, then gave a small, soft smile—one of those ones that didn’t feel like it was fully controlled. A “pretty” smile, unguarded in a way that made your stomach drop slightly.
“Oh?” he said lightly, turning back to his paper, pen moving again. “Still trying to figure out if it’s propaganda or destiny?”
You let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “Something like that.”
He hummed, clearly amused, not looking up this time. “Careful. You’re starting to sound like me.”
That made you smile before you even realized it.
And as he went back to his drawing, pen scratching softly against paper, you stayed sitting there a little longer than necessary, pretending you were still thinking about the newspaper when really you were just trying to understand why looking at him felt like that now.
The rest of the night settled into a quiet kind of rhythm. You stayed on his bed with a notebook in your lap, writing poetry in scattered lines and half-finished thoughts, while Wonwoo sat at his desk working through equations and diagrams like he could reason the world back into motion if he just didn’t stop trying. The room wasn’t loud, but it also wasn’t empty anymore. It felt shared in a way neither of you had experienced since everything stopped.
Every so often you’d glance up at him without meaning to. He was completely focused, glasses slightly slipping down his nose, pen moving carefully across the page, hair falling forward in soft, messy strands that made him look less like the person trying to solve the impossible and more like someone just trying to hold on. And every time you looked away again, your chest felt strangely full in a way you didn’t want to name yet.
At one point he leaned back in his chair and tilted his head toward you. “What are you writing?” he asked, already half-standing like he was going to come over.
“Nope,” you said quickly, swatting at him before he got too close. “Don’t even try.”
He leaned in anyway, and you instinctively pushed his head back gently, your fingers catching in his hair for a second longer than you intended. It was softer than you expected, slightly messy in a way that made your heart react faster than your brain could explain. You pulled your hand away too quickly, pretending it meant nothing, and went back to your notebook while he cleared his throat and sat down again like nothing had happened, though the faint color on his cheeks betrayed him.
After that, the room fell into silence again. Not uncomfortable, just steady. You writing. Him thinking. The world outside completely still.
Then, after a few minutes, the silence shifted.
You heard him breathe differently.
You looked up.
Wonwoo wasn’t writing anymore. His shoulders were tense, head slightly bowed, and when he finally lifted a hand to his face you saw it—he was crying, quietly, like it had slipped out of him before he could stop it.
You moved immediately. “Wonwoo?” you said softly, sliding off the bed and kneeling in front of him. Moonlight from the window spilled across both of you, catching on his face, on the tear tracks he tried to wipe away too late. Your hands came to rest gently on his legs, grounding him. “Hey, look at me. What’s wrong?”
He shook his head at first, like he didn’t want to say it, but then it all came out anyway.
“I can’t do it,” he said, voice breaking. “I keep trying and nothing works. Every model, every equation, every theory—it always ends the same. I can’t fix it. I can’t understand it. And I feel like I’m losing myself trying to solve something that doesn’t want to be solved.”
His breath stuttered.
“And I feel like I’m letting you down.”
That hit harder than anything else.
He looked at you then, really looked at you, eyes red and exhausted. “All I want is for you to get out of this,” he said more quietly. “That’s it. If I can’t fix it, then I should at least—”
“Don’t say that,” you interrupted softly, shaking your head.
He paused.
You tightened your grip slightly on his legs. “Don’t talk like that.”
“It’s true,” he said anyway, voice unsteady but honest. “You’ve helped me so much. The least I can do is get you out of this.”
You stared at him for a moment, then leaned in a little closer, your voice softer but firm. “You’re not letting me down.”
He blinked at you like he didn’t know how to believe that.
Wonwoo looked at you through glassy, tear-lined eyes, still breathing unevenly like he was trying to steady himself in real time. For a moment, he didn’t speak. Just stayed there, hands hovering uncertainly before slowly settling over yours where they rested on his legs, like he needed to anchor himself to you to stay present.
His voice came out quiet, almost unsure of itself. “Can I kiss you?”
The question hit you harder than anything else that night. It didn’t feel like impulse—it felt like something careful, something honest, something he’d thought through even in the middle of everything breaking down inside him. And for a second, you didn’t think at all. Your body moved before your mind could catch up, closing the small space between you.
The kiss wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t uncertain. It was real in a way everything else in this frozen world had stopped being. Like all the silence, all the waiting, all the searching finally collapsed into something simple and undeniable.
It just made sense.
You shifted slightly on your knees to meet him properly, and his hands instinctively found your waist, holding you there like he was afraid you might disappear if he loosened his grip. Your fingers moved into his hair without hesitation this time, no second-guessing, just instinct and feeling and warmth where there hadn’t been warmth in too long.
And when you finally parted, it wasn’t distance that remained between you.
It was understanding.
Wonwoo pulled you into a tight hug first, like he couldn’t stand the space between you anymore. His arms wrapped around you firmly, pulling you into his chest as if the world outside of this moment didn’t exist. “I don’t want to let you go,” he said quietly, voice still rough from everything that had just happened.
That cracked something open in you again. You clung to him, tears slipping down before you could stop them. “Then don’t,” you said, voice breaking. “I don’t want you to leave either. You don’t have to let me go. Not ever.”
For a while, neither of you moved.
Eventually, you pulled back just enough to breathe. The night had grown later without either of you noticing, and the exhaustion of everything settled in all at once. “I should go,” you said softly, even though you didn’t want to. “It’s a twenty-minute walk.”
Wonwoo hesitated, then nodded. He understood, even if he didn’t like it. He walked you to the door, hands lingering like he was memorizing the moment. Neither of you spoke much—there wasn’t anything that needed to be said right then.
You stepped outside alone.
The city was still frozen, still impossibly quiet, but the air had changed. Heavy clouds had gathered overhead sometime while you weren’t looking. A few minutes into your walk, the first drops of rain started falling, slow at first, then all at once.
Within minutes, you were completely soaked. Hair dripping, clothes clinging, shoes heavy against the pavement. The cold didn’t matter as much as it should have. It just blurred into everything else.
You were about ten minutes in when you heard it.
“Y/N!”
You froze.
The voice cut through the rain like it didn’t belong in this world anymore. You turned around quickly, heart snapping in your chest.
Wonwoo was running toward you.
Soaked completely. Hair damp and clinging to his forehead, glasses streaked with rain, shirt darkened by water, breath uneven as he closed the distance like he couldn’t afford to lose you even for a few minutes.
When he reached you, you grabbed him immediately—hands on his shoulders, then his waist, checking him like he might disappear again. “Are you okay?” you asked quickly, breathless, searching his face.
He was smiling.
Wide. Relieved. Almost breathless with it.
“I figured it out,” he said.
You blinked through the rain. “Figured out what?”
He lifted the folded newspaper in his hand. It was soaked too, edges curling from the water, ink blurring slightly. “This,” he said like it was obvious.
You let out a short laugh, shaking your head. “Wonwoo, it’s just a stupid headline.”
He shook his head immediately. “No. Listen.”
You stared at him, rain dripping down your face.
“What if it wasn’t just a headline?” he said, voice rising slightly over the storm. “What if we’re the only two people still here because everything else requires connection to persist? Not in a magical way. In a cognitive way. In a relational way. Reality stabilizes through perception, through emotional anchoring—through people being meaningfully recognized by others.”
You frowned slightly. “I don’t—what?”
He stepped closer, excitement and urgency blending together in his expression, but softer too, like he wasn’t afraid anymore. “I know it sounds insane, but think about it. Everything else is frozen, erased, or collapsing. But we’re not. We only became real when we found each other. When we were seen. When we mattered to someone else.”
You shook your head slightly again, confused but listening.
Then his expression softened completely, the intensity giving way to something simpler, something honest.
“I’m in love with you,” he said.
Your breath caught.
He didn’t hesitate. “I am so in love with you that I can’t think straight anymore. And I think you feel it too. I know you do. I think that’s why this works. That’s why we’re still here. Because we’re connected.”
The rain poured around you, soaking everything, but neither of you moved away.
For a second, you just stared at him.
Then you laughed once, disbelieving, shaking your head—but your eyes were wet for a different reason now.
“You’re insane,” you whispered.
“Probably,” he said immediately, stepping closer again.
He grabs both sides of your face pulling you in tightly like he doesn’t want to let go, crashing your lips together once more. You wrap your hands around his neck playing with the wet strands of hair on the back of his neck. He snakes his arms down from your face to wrap around your back, once again pulling you in closer.
When you finally pulled apart, both of you were still smiling like you couldn’t believe any of it was real.
“Come on,” you said breathlessly, grabbing his hand. And together, you ran back toward your apartment through the rain, like the world had finally started moving again just to keep up with you.
When you got back to your apartment, you both took off your soaking wet shoes, leaving them at your front door.
You made it back to your apartment soaked through, both of you laughing a little breathlessly as you stumbled inside. The warmth hit immediately, muffled and soft compared to the rain outside. Shoes came off at the door almost in sync, wet footprints left behind on the floor as you kicked them aside.
“Okay,” you said, brushing damp hair out of your face, “you’re gonna be so uncomfortable if you stay in that.”
Wonwoo glanced down at himself like he’d just realized how completely drenched he was. “That’s… fair.”
You gave a small nod toward your bedroom. “I have clothes you can change into. They’ll be big on you, but they’re clean.”
He followed you without hesitation, still a little dazed, like the last half hour hadn’t fully settled into reality yet. You moved to your closet immediately, rifling through it with quick, familiar motions while he stood a few steps back, dripping water onto the floor and trying very hard not to make a mess of anything.
“Found it,” you said, pulling out a soft hoodie and a pair of shorts for yourself, then another set of oversized clothes you didn’t care about as much. You turned and tossed his clothes lightly toward him. “Here.”
He caught them a little awkwardly, nodding. “Thanks.”
You were already halfway out of your wet shirt, switching quickly into the dry hoodie, movements practical and unbothered. Wonwoo immediately turned slightly away out of instinct, giving you space even though the room was already casual and familiar in its own way.
Still, despite looking away, his thoughts betrayed him. He found himself thinking—almost frustratingly simple and clear—that you were the most beautiful person he had ever seen. Not just right now. Not just in the rain. Just… always. Like it wasn’t something the world had to be frozen for him to notice.
When you finished changing and turned back around, the air between you felt warmer than before.
“Okay,” you said, pulling your hoodie sleeves over your hands. “You good?”
Wonwoo nodded, still a little quiet, but softer now. “Yeah. Better.”
When you finally settle under the covers, he follows, and somehow you end up tangled into the same space without really discussing it. You end up resting against his chest, and after a second of hesitation, his arm settles around you like it belongs there.
His fingers move into your hair gently, slow and absent-minded, while the other hand traces steady circles on your back. It grounds you more than you expect.
After a while, you ask quietly, “Do you really think you’re right about all of this?”
He lets out a small breath, almost a laugh. “About reality being held together by emotional attachment and us being the center of some cosmic relationship experiment?” He pauses. “I’ve definitely gone insane, so I’m not the most reliable source.”
That makes you smile into his shirt.
But his hand doesn’t stop moving as he continues, softer now. “But I do think something changed when we found each other. Whatever this is… I don’t feel like I’m alone in it anymore.”
You go quiet after that.
You shift slightly so you can look up at him. The dim light from the room softens everything about his face—his eyes, his expression, the way he looks at you like you’re something he still can’t fully believe is real.
“I love you,” you say before you can second-guess it. Your voice doesn’t shake, even though everything inside you does. “I love you in ways I don’t even know how to say properly. More than I’ve ever loved myself. You brought back something in me I thought I lost a long time ago.”
He doesn’t answer right away.
His hand pauses in your hair like he needs a moment to process it. Then he leans down and presses a soft kiss to your forehead—careful, steady, real.
“I love you too,” he says quietly.
You exhale slowly, letting yourself settle back into him as his arms tighten just slightly, like he’s afraid you might disappear if he relaxes too much. His hand resumes its slow rhythm on your back, steadier now, calmer.
At some point, you stop thinking about the frozen world outside.
And at some point after that, you fall asleep without meaning to—still held by him, still real enough to stay.
The next morning doesn’t feel like waking up—it feels like being pulled out of something too deep too fast. You wake to noise. Not silence.
A car horn cuts through the air, sharp and real, followed by another, then overlapping voices rising from outside the window. For a few seconds you just lie there, staring at the ceiling, your brain refusing to connect the sound to anything it remembers.
Then you sit up.
You rub your eyes hard, like that might reset the world, but the noise doesn’t go away. It only gets clearer. Louder. More layered.
You move fast.
You run to the window.
And you freeze.
The world outside is moving.
Cars are driving again. People are walking on sidewalks. A couple passes holding hands. A group of friends laughs at a crosswalk. Everything is alive in a way that feels almost overwhelming after so long without it.
Your hands press against the glass.
“Oh my fucking god,” you whisper.
You stare harder, like it might break if you look at it wrong, but it doesn’t. It stays real.
“Wonwoo,” you say suddenly, spinning around, relief hitting you all at once. “Oh my god—Wonwoo! It worked! You were right it—”
You stop.
The bed is empty.
No movement. No warmth. No trace of him.
Your stomach drops immediately.
“Wonwoo?” you say again, quieter now. Confused.
You rush out of the bedroom, checking the apartment quickly, moving from room to room, your bare feet hitting the floor too loudly in the new world of sound. “Wonwoo?” you call, louder this time. “Hey—are you here?”
Nothing.
The apartment feels wrong without him in it.
You step into the hallway, and suddenly everything is too loud. Neighbors talking. Doors opening. Life spilling back into the building like it had never stopped. It overwhelms you all at once, crashing in after months of silence.
You call his name again, voice breaking as it echoes down the hallway. “Wonwoo!”
Still nothing.
You move faster now, checking stairwells, corridors, every space you can think of, panic rising with every empty second. The world is full again, but he isn’t in it.
“Wonwoo…” you whisper, barely audible now, before it breaks completely.
Your knees weaken as you sink against the wall, sobs finally spilling out while everything around you keeps moving forward.
You stand up too fast.
The second you’re on your feet, you’re already moving, already running out of the building like your body has decided before your mind can catch up. The air outside is full of sound—cars passing, people talking, life everywhere—and you’re yelling his name before you even realize you’re doing it.
“Wonwoo!” you scream, voice cracking as tears blur your vision. “Wonwoo!”
People turn to look at you.
Some slow down. Some stare. A few step out of your path as you push past them, not gently, not carefully—just desperately. Your shoulder bumps into someone, then another, but you don’t stop. You don’t apologize. You don’t care.
“Wonwoo!” you shout again, louder, like volume could force reality to give him back.
But he isn’t there.
He isn’t anywhere.
You keep running anyway, breath tearing in your chest, until your legs carry you back to the only place that ever felt consistent—the newspaper stand.
The stand is still there.
Still absurdly normal.
Still unchanged.
A boy stands behind it now, different from the ones you remember from the frozen time. He looks up immediately when he sees you, startled by how wrecked you look.
“Hey—are you okay?” he asks quickly. “Do you need help? My name’s Chan, I can—”
“What day is it?” you cut him off, breathless, shaking, barely holding yourself up. “Just tell me what day it is.”
Chan hesitates, clearly worried. “Hey, I think you should sit down first, you look—”
“That’s not what I asked,” you say again, voice breaking harder now. “I asked what day it is.”
He pauses, then answers carefully. “June 28th, 2026.”
Something in your chest drops.
You turn without thinking, grabbing a newspaper from the stand. Your hands shake so badly the paper crinkles immediately. The date is clean. New. Real. And the headline stares back at you in bold print:
Researchers Confirm Reality Stabilized Following Reconnection of Isolated Cognitive Nodes.
Your vision blurs instantly.
“No,” you whisper.
Then again, louder, breaking apart completely as tears spill onto the paper. “No—Wonwoo. Wonwoo, no…”
You say his name like it’s something that might still answer you if you repeat it enough times. Like a prayer. Like repetition could rebuild him into the world.
“Wonwoo… Wonwoo…”
Chan watches you helplessly, unsure what to do.
You force yourself to breathe, wiping your face quickly even though it doesn’t help. “Thank you,” you manage, voice barely stable. “I’m sorry.”
He nods slowly, still concerned, but doesn’t stop you as you turn away.
You walk back toward the crosswalk, toward nothing in particular, just trying to figure out where to put yourself now that everything is moving again without him.
And then—
A hand lands on your shoulder.
You freeze so hard it feels like the world stops again.
For a second, you can’t breathe.
You turn.
Slowly.
And the moment you see him, you already know.
Black hair slightly messy. Glasses catching the light. The same quiet expression that looks like he’s just barely holding onto disbelief.
Wonwoo.
Standing there like he never left at all.
And said with that same cat like smile that you thought you had lost,
You wake up to a city that has completely stopped moving, cars frozen in the middle of the road and streets empty like everyone just disappeared overnight. When you find a newspaper dated yesterday with the headline “TRUE LOVE CAN SAVE THE DAY,” you keep it even though it feels ridiculous, because it’s the only thing that suggests time didn’t break for no reason. You spend weeks living in your own thoughts before you run into a man at the newspaper stand. A real man. As the two of you try to understand what happened, you start to realize the world only holds itself together when you’re together and you both wouldn't want it any other way.
Pairing: Jeon Wonwoo x f!Reader
Genre: sci-fi-ish, angst, true love, dystopian-ish world, NO SMUT!, wonwoo is so whipped for her, happy ending!, true love, found lovers, lost souls, right person right time, idiots in love, awwww love love love love
Word Count: 11.6k
Warnings/Things to make note of!: mention of suicide attempts, mention of abandonment, mention of abuse, heavy topics, use of perscription medication, anxiety, angst, panic attacks, i dont know if im missing anything but let me know LOL
A/N: hello!!! This is such a different story for me, i did a lot of unnecssisary scientific research for this story because i wanted to tap into the sci-fi elements in it! This is like loosely kinda sorta based off of the last of us / a quiet place like that kinda vibe. Wonwoo is such a sweetheart in this too like omfg im melting help. Anyway i hope you love it im really proud of it! i also didnt proof read oopsies sorryyyY!
The thing that you gave but never seemed to get back. The thing your mother said she hated you gave too much of, before she left.
You couldn’t help but blame yourself for her leaving. You were overzealous, ambitious, she wanted no part of the big life you had planned for yourself.
Abandonment.
After your mom, your dad cut contact. You never got along with him, he hated you from the start. It was better off this way.
Or at least, that was the story you told yourself.
When there was nothing left to hold you where you were, you packed what little mattered and moved to the city. You told everyone it was for opportunity, for work, for the future. The truth was less inspiring. You left because every street carried a memory, every familiar face knew a version of you that you couldn't stand to look at anymore. The city was loud enough to drown out the echoes.
Deep down, beneath the ambition and stubborn determination, there was a hatred you never spoke about. Not for your parents. Not for the town. For yourself. You would never admit it out loud, never give it shape with words, because saying it would make it real. So you buried it instead. You carried it quietly through every achievement, every stupid relationship, every sleepless night. It sat inside you like a slow poison burning you inside out, unseen by everyone but you.
There were years when the weight of it nearly won. Years marked by hospital rooms, rehabilitation, concerned voices, and moments you rarely allowed yourself to remember. More than once, you had tried to disappear entirely, convinced the world would keep turning without noticing the absence. Somehow, you survived each attempt, though survival never felt like victory. It felt like being handed another day you weren't sure you wanted.
So you ran.
Not because you believed a new city could heal you, but because distance was the closest thing to mercy you knew. If you couldn't become someone new, maybe you could at least leave the old version behind. The girl who spent her nights wondering why she wasn't enough. The girl who blamed herself for every goodbye. The girl who looked in the mirror and saw someone impossible to love.
You left her there, or at least you tried to.
April 16, 2026. You woke up late.
Sunlight spilled through the blinds, warming the floor beside your bed. Your head throbbed faintly, full of memories from the night you spent alone prior. For a few seconds, everything felt normal. Another workday. Another morning spent pretending you were someone who belonged here.
You reached for your phone. Dead. The screen stayed black no matter how many times you pressed the power button.
"Great."
You rolled out of bed and shuffled toward the kitchen. Something felt off, quiet.
The neighbors upstairs weren't stomping around. Nobody was arguing in the hallway. No distant sirens drifted through the city air. No music from the apartment next door.
Nothing.
You frowned and walked to the window.
The city beyond the glass stole the breath from your lungs.
Cars sat motionless in the middle of intersections. A city bus was frozen halfway through a turn, blocking multiple lanes at an awkward angle. Near the curb, a discarded coffee cup lay on its side while dark liquid hung suspended in the air beside it, droplets frozen as if time itself had forgotten to let them fall.
The street was empty.
Not early-morning empty.
Not holiday empty.
Empty. No pedestrians. No drivers. No movement anywhere.
And no sound. That was what truly terrified you.
A complete and unnatural silence that pressed against your ears until your own heartbeat sounded impossibly loud.
Within minutes, you were outside. The apartment lobby stood abandoned. The front desk sat unattended. The revolving door groaned beneath your push before releasing you into a city that looked less like reality and more like a photograph.
You started walking. Then jogging. Then running.
"Hello?"
No answer.
You searched block after block. Restaurants stood open with meals left unfinished. Storefronts remained unlocked. Traffic lights cycled endlessly above empty roads. It looked as though the entire world had been interrupted in the middle of a sentence.
Then, finally, you saw someone.
A figure stood at the far end of a crosswalk. Your chest tightened with relief.
A person. An actual person.
"Hey!"
The figure remained still.
You broke into a sprint. "Hey! Wait!"
At the sound of your voice, they turned.
For a moment, you thought you saw their face.
Then reality came apart.
Their features twisted and distorted like a corrupted video file. Their body fragmented into jagged pieces that flickered in and out of existence. The image of them stretched, warped, and collapsed as though something unseen was struggling to render them correctly.
You stumbled to a stop.
The figure glitched once. Twice. Then vanished.
One moment they were standing there.
The next, they simply weren't, as if they had never existed at all.
The crosswalk stood empty, the city remained silent.
And for the first time since waking up, you felt genuine fear.
Because this wasn't an evacuation.
It was something wrong with reality itself.
You ran back to your apartment, panic setting into your chest rapidly.
The empty crosswalk blurred beneath your feet as you sprinted through silent streets. Every reflection in every darkened window made your pulse spike. Every shadow looked wrong. By the time you reached your apartment building, your lungs burned and your hands were shaking so badly you nearly dropped your keys.
"Get it together."
The words came out breathless.
You slammed the apartment door behind you and locked it. Then locked it again.
The panic attack arrived like an old friend. Your chest tightened. Your heartbeat accelerated. The room suddenly felt too small. Too hot. Too loud despite the silence.
"No. No. No."
You knew the routine. You'd learned it years ago. Before the city. Before the new life. Before you'd convinced yourself the past was buried.
You stumbled into the bathroom, opened the medicine cabinet, and grabbed the orange prescription bottle waiting exactly where it always was. The familiar rattle was strangely comforting.
One pill. A glass of water. A shaking hand.
Routine. The same ritual you'd repeated so many times it no longer felt alarming. Just maintenance.
Eventually your breathing slowed.
Your thoughts followed. You sat on the edge of your bed staring at the wall for nearly an hour before making a decision.
Sleep.
This had to be a dream. A breakdown. Some bizarre neurological event.
You pulled the curtains shut, crawled beneath the blankets, and forced your eyes closed.
When you woke up, the sunlight had shifted. Your phone was still dead. The apartment was still silent. And outside the window, the coffee still hung in the air.
Exactly where you had left it when you closed your eyes. Reality hadn't fixed itself.
Whatever had happened was still happening.
The next time you went outside, you moved carefully. You stopped yelling for help. Stopped expecting answers. Instead, you started looking for information.
What day was it? What time was it? What had happened?
The city offered nothing.
Days passed. Or what you assumed were days.
Without working phones, broadcasts, internet, or people, time became slippery. You tracked it with sunrise and sunset and marks scratched into the wall beside your bed.
On what you estimated was the fourth or fifth day, you found the newspaper stand.
Most of the papers had spilled onto the sidewalk.
At first you almost ignored them.
Then something caught your eye.
The date.
August 16, 2026.
You grabbed another copy. Every paper dated August 16, 2026.
For the first time since waking up in the silent city, you'd found something current. Something recent. Something connected to the last normal day on Earth.
You unfolded the nearest copy. The headline stretched across the front page in absurdly large letters.
TRUE LOVE CAN SAVE THE DAY
You stared at it.
Then laughed.
The sound startled you. It was the first time you'd heard yourself laugh in days.
"What kind of stupid headline is that?"
It looked like one of those ridiculous human-interest stories newspapers ran when nothing important was happening. The kind of article people skimmed while drinking coffee before forgetting it existed five minutes later.
But your smile faded as your eyes drifted back to the date.
Carefully, you folded the paper and tucked it beneath your arm.
Not because you believed the headline. Not because you thought it meant anything.
But because it was a piece of the last day. A message in a bottle from a world that no longer existed. That night, back in your apartment, you read the article.
Then you read it again. And again. Not searching for truth, just searching for something human. Something alive.
In the weeks that followed, the newspaper never left your side. You carried it through empty streets. Kept it beside your bed while you slept. Read it whenever the silence became unbearable.
The folds softened. The corners bent. The ink slowly faded beneath your fingers.
Yet somehow, it became the closest thing you had to company.
You called your mother despite knowing she wouldn't answer. You called your father despite not speaking to him in years. You left voicemails. Sent texts. Called again. Then again. When that failed, you started driving. You drove through every district of the city, screaming for people through rolled-down windows. You searched hospitals, police stations, subway tunnels, government buildings, office towers, anywhere an explanation might be hiding. You kicked in locked doors. Pulled open emergency exits. Dug through abandoned desks and filing cabinets.
You found nothing.
No notes. No warnings. No evidence anyone understood what had happened. Just absence.
The second week became survival.
The panic burned itself out and practical concerns took over. Food. Water. Electricity.
You started treating grocery stores like your own pantry. The first time you took supplies, you left cash at the register. It felt wrong not to. The second time you did the same thing. The third time too.
Then one afternoon, while setting a twenty-dollar bill beside an abandoned cash register, you stopped.
You stared at the money.
The money stared back.
"Who's taking it?"
Nobody.
Nobody was counting inventory. Nobody was checking security cameras. Nobody was here.
You left the bill there anyway. The next day you didn't. For some reason, that hurt more than breaking into the store.
The third week became experimentation. If there was a cause, there had to be a solution. You spent days trying to force reality to react.
You shut down sections of the power grid and turned them back on. You moved frozen vehicles from intersections. You smashed clocks. Collected watches. Compared timestamps. Stayed awake for nearly forty-eight hours. Slept through entire days. Read scientific journals. Religious texts. Philosophy books. Cached conspiracy forums on dead computers.
Nothing worked. Nothing changed.
The coffee still floated in the street. The city remained silent.
The fourth week was acceptance.
Not peace. Just acceptance.
You stopped expecting answers. Instead, you built routines.
The apartment building across the street became Marley. The abandoned bank became Kim. The bookstore with the shattered front window became Greg.
Every morning, you greeted them. Talking to buildings should have felt insane.
Instead, it helped.
The silence felt smaller when someone was speaking, even if that someone was you.
Every morning, you visited the same coffee shop. The machines still worked. You made the same drink. Sat at the same table. Stared through the same window. Not because coffee mattered. Because routine mattered. Routine made you feel human.
The newspaper became part of the routine too. Every night before bed, you unfolded it.
TRUE LOVE CAN SAVE THE DAY.
The headline had become burned into your memory. You reread the article so many times you practically knew every sentence by heart. The smiling faces in the photographs. The ridiculous optimism.
You didn't believe it, but it was the only thing in the world connected to the last normal day.
So you kept reading.
Some nights you searched for hidden meanings. Other nights you laughed at yourself.
"Maybe the answer really is true love."
The joke never landed.
There was nobody around to hear it.
And during that month, strange things kept happening. Every few days, you would see someone. A figure standing at the end of a street. A silhouette reflected in a storefront window. A person waiting at a bus stop. Always distant. Always alone. Your heart would leap into your throat every single time.
At first you ran after them. Always. The result never changed. The figure would disappear before you arrived. Sometimes they vanished around corners. Sometimes they flickered first. Sometimes their bodies distorted like damaged footage before collapsing into nothing.
Once, you watched a man standing beneath a traffic light fragment into static and disappear so completely it felt like your brain had imagined him.
After enough encounters, you stopped running immediately, because disappointment was exhausting.
But deep down, a part of you wondered if someone else was out there.
Someone who hadn't disappeared. Someone who was seeing the same impossible things. Someone who was still surviving. You just hadn't found them yet.
The worst part wasn't the fear anymore. It was the isolation.
You had spent most of your life convincing yourself you preferred being alone. You told yourself people left eventually, so it was safer not to need them too much.
Now you understood the difference between being alone and being the only person in existence. The silence wasn't peaceful, it was suffocating.
You talked to yourself more than you would like to admit. To the non-existent people in the driver’s seats of cars, the humans in the ads in store windows.
One afternoon you spent nearly twenty minutes telling a mannequin about your childhood before realizing what you were doing.
You laughed. Then cried. Then laughed again. The line between the two was becoming difficult to find. The thoughts you'd spent years outrunning started catching up.
Old thoughts, old habits, old wounds. The version of yourself you had tried so hard to leave behind when you moved to the city began resurfacing piece by piece.
You remembered hospital rooms. Therapists. Long nights spent fighting your own mind. You remembered what it felt like to hate yourself. Really hate yourself.
Some days the loneliness became so overwhelming you found yourself slipping back into destructive patterns of thinking you hadn't struggled with in years. It scared you how familiar they felt, as though those parts of you had never truly disappeared.
You'd sit on the floor of your apartment staring at nothing for hours hoping you would regret the things you had done. The newspaper resting in your lap. The headline staring back.
TRUE LOVE CAN SAVE THE DAY.
"What does that even fucking mean?" You laugh lightly to yourself, smile on your face tears streaming from your eyes.
Manic.
That's what the psychiatrist said to you in middle school. You were manic. Destructive.
And now you were feeling the exact same way. You were being handed another day you knew you didn’t want.
The seasons still changed. Somehow, everything natural kept obeying its rules. Trees filled out with leaves. Light lingered longer in the evenings. The air softened in a way the frozen city never could.
But the city itself never moved.
You were exhausted by now. Not in the way sleep could fix.
Something deeper had worn you down—days of searching every possible place, every office, every station, every building that might hold an answer. There were none. Only silence. Only absence.
So you walked again. Same route. Same habit. Same pull toward the newspaper stand you no longer believed would change.
Not hope. Just routine.
The folded paper was still tucked under your arm. The same headline you’d memorized weeks ago. TRUE LOVE CAN SAVE THE DAY. You didn’t even look at it anymore. You just carried it because it was something that still belonged to the world that used to exist.
The stand came into view at the end of the street.
And you stopped.
Someone was there.
A man stood with his back to you, completely unaware of you. He was reading a newspaper from the stand, holding it casually in both hands. He didn’t flicker. Didn’t distort. He was just… there.
Your breath caught painfully in your chest.
Slowly, carefully, you moved forward. Each step felt louder than it should have in the silence. You didn’t call out. You didn’t risk it. You stopped just behind him.
Your hand lifted.
You hesitated.
Then you placed it gently on his shoulder.
Warm. Solid. Human.
Under your palm, you could feel him immediately—the weight of muscle, the tension of a living body, the undeniable fact of someone occupying space in the same world as you.
Real.
The moment your hand made contact, he whipped around.
“Hey—!”
It was sharp. Instinctive. Startled.
He stumbled back into you without meaning to, and the sudden movement knocked you off balance. Your feet slipped and you fell hard onto the pavement, breath punching out of your lungs as the impact echoed too loudly in the empty street.
For a second, neither of you moved.
Then you looked up.
He was standing over you, breathing fast. Chest rising and falling sharply like he couldn’t decide whether to run or fight. Shaggy black hair slightly messed from the sudden turn. Perfect glasses still somehow sitting straight on his face. A black shirt clinging slightly from tension, dirty jeans scuffed like he’d been living through the same abandoned world for just as long as you had.
His eyes locked onto yours.
And neither of you disappeared.
That realization hit both of you at once.
His voice came first, cautious, broken with disbelief.
“…You’re real.”
It wasn’t a question.
You swallowed, still sitting on the ground. “So are you.”
He stared harder, like he was trying to find the trick. “No, that’s not—” He stopped, shaking his head once. “I’ve been alone. For weeks. Months. I don’t even know anymore.”
Your laugh came out uneven. “Yeah. Same.”
A pause.
The silence between you felt different now. Not empty. Just heavy.
He slowly crouched down a little, still not fully trusting what he was seeing. “You touched me.”
“I had to,” you said quietly. “Everything else… disappears.”
His expression tightened at that. “I know.”
That made you freeze slightly. “You’ve seen them too?”
He let out a slow breath, eyes flicking briefly past you down the empty street. “People. Figures. Whatever they are. They don’t stay. They glitch, or vanish, or… I don’t know. Like the world rejects them.”
Your throat tightened. “Same.”
For a moment, neither of you spoke again.
Finally, he shifted his weight, still crouched slightly in front of you. “I thought I was the last one.”
Your voice came softer than you expected. “I thought I was too.” You felt tears prick at your eyes.
Behind him, the newspaper still lay half-unfolded on the stand, pages rustling slightly in a breeze that felt suddenly too real.
Neither of you were alone in it. You knew that now.
You brought him to the coffee shop without really thinking about it. It was just where you went. Every morning. Same route, same silence, same routine that had started to feel less like comfort and more like something you were trapped inside of. He followed you through the frozen streets without asking questions.
Inside the café, nothing had changed. It never did. You moved behind the counter automatically, muscle memory taking over as you made two coffees. The machine hissed and clicked in a way that felt almost too loud now that there was someone else here to hear it. When you turned around, he was sitting near the counter, posture a little too straight, hands loosely folded, eyes tracking you whenever he thought you weren’t looking.
You noticed it immediately. Every time you glanced away, his gaze flicked toward you, quick and careful, like he was still half-expecting you to glitch out of existence the way everything else in this world eventually did. And you hated that you were doing the same thing. Watching him. Checking. Making sure he was still real.
Eventually, you walked over and sat down across from him. Then, after a second of hesitation, you shifted your chair closer instead of staying across the table. The distance suddenly felt unnecessary.
Neither of you spoke for a while.
Just looked.
It wasn’t comfortable silence. It was the kind that came from too much disbelief packed into too little time.
Finally, he let out a breath and leaned back slightly. “Okay,” he said quietly, like he was trying to convince himself more than you. “This is… actually insane.”
A small laugh slipped out of you before you could stop it. “Yeah. That’s one way to put it.”
His eyes stayed on you for a moment longer than necessary before he nodded once, like he’d made a decision. “I’m Wonwoo.”
You hesitated for half a second, like saying your name out loud would make this real in a way you weren’t ready for. “Y/N.”
“Y/N,” he repeated softly, like he was testing how it sounded in a world that had almost forgotten how to say anything at all.
Then he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a worn notebook and a pen. It wasn’t dramatic. It was just… natural, like this was something he’d been doing for a long time. The notebook looked overused in a way that made you realize he hadn’t just been surviving this alone, he’d been working through it.
He opened it and slid it slightly toward you.
Pages filled with equations, diagrams, timing logs, maps of the city, notes layered over notes. Some pages were carefully structured, almost elegant in their logic. Others were frantic, overwritten, like they belonged to nights where he hadn’t slept in too long.
“I tried to treat it like a system,” he said, tapping a page with the pen, voice calm but tired in a very specific way, like someone who had explained this to himself so many times he could no longer tell where certainty ended and coping began. “At first I thought it was some kind of temporal stasis field or perception lock. Then I tried entropy mapping, then gravitational inconsistency models, then—” he paused briefly, almost embarrassed, “I even tried tracking decay rates of ambient objects to see if anything was still aging normally.”
He glanced up at you quickly, like he was checking if that was too much. Then added, softer, “Nothing worked.”
He flipped a page. More notes. More spirals of logic.
“I kept thinking if I just added one more variable, it would click,” he said. “Like the world was a puzzle I hadn’t assembled correctly yet.” A faint, almost sheepish exhale left him. “At some point I realized I was just… documenting my own breakdown with better handwriting.”
There was a small pause. He leaned back slightly, running a hand through his messy black hair, glasses catching the light as he did. He looked annoyingly put together for someone who was describing the end of the world, like his brain had decided chaos still needed structure.
“I’ve been feeling absolutely fucking insane,” he admitted more honestly now, voice quieter. “Like I was the only person left who didn’t freeze, and maybe I just… wasn’t processing it right.”
His eyes flicked to you again, sharper this time, but not in accusation. More like curiosity mixed with relief he didn’t fully trust yet.
“And then you were just there,” he said. “So I guess either I’m not crazy… or we’re both equally crazy.”
A beat.
Then, almost awkwardly, like he hated how sincere it sounded, he added, “I’m leaning toward the first option.”
You took the notebook more carefully than you meant to, like it might still be tied to the strange rules of the world itself. The paper felt worn in a way that made it obvious he’d been using it constantly—pages softened at the edges, ink layered in different pressures, some sections neat and structured, others messy from long nights of thinking too much.
As you flipped through it, your expression slowly changed. At first it was curiosity, then confusion, then something closer to disbelief. He wasn’t just guessing. He had actually been trying to understand it in a structured way.
You frowned slightly, flipping another page. “This doesn’t make sense,” you murmured, more to yourself than to him. “How did none of this lead anywhere?”
That was what unsettled you. Not that he was wrong, but that he had been this thorough and still ended up with nothing concrete.
You lowered the notebook and finally looked up.
Wonwoo was already watching you.
His expression had shifted while you were reading. Still cautious, but softer now. Concern threaded through it in a way that felt uncomfortably gentle. His eyes moved over your face like he was trying to figure out whether what you were seeing was helping you or breaking you further.
“Are you okay?” he asked quietly.
It wasn’t intrusive. Just careful.
You closed the notebook a little too quickly and slid it back toward him. “Yeah,” you said too fast, then corrected yourself, forcing it steadier, “I’m fine. It’s just… a lot.”
He didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t push.
You shifted slightly, needing something else to focus on. “I’m from North City,” you said.
That got his attention immediately.
“North City?” he repeated.
You nodded. “Yeah.”
He leaned back slightly, processing it. “I’m from South City,” he said after a beat, like he was double-checking it in his head. “Grew up there.”
That landed between you in a strange way. Like geography still mattered even when reality didn’t.
“So…” he added quietly, eyes flicking up to you again, “you weren’t that far.”
You gave a small, uncertain shrug. “Doesn’t feel like it matters anymore.”
“It does to me.” He gives a light, charming smile.
You didn’t argue. He looked at you for a moment longer, quieter now, and you realized, uncomfortably, that while you had been reading his work, he had been trying to read you too.
At first it was careful—small questions, fragments of back-and-forth about the city, about routines, about what life had been like before everything stopped. Then it drifted into everything and nothing at once. Random thoughts, shared observations, ridiculous theories that didn’t need to be true just to be said out loud. A few light laughs slipped in without either of you really noticing at first. Then more. It felt strange, almost disorienting, how natural it was to talk to someone again.
There was a point where the exhaustion and loneliness seemed to blur at the edges, replaced by something warmer, almost intoxicating in its own way. Like your brains were overcorrecting for weeks of silence, suddenly flooding you both with noise that wasn’t empty. You both started laughing harder at things that probably weren’t that funny, until it spiraled into genuine fits of laughter neither of you could really control.
Wonwoo leaned back in his chair, still catching his breath, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe it. “You are really funny, you know?” he said, smiling in a way that looked unpracticed but real. “How did I never stumble upon you in the city?”
You let out a breathy laugh, shrugging. “I don’t know. Guess we just missed each other.”
He tilted his head slightly, still looking at you like he was trying to make sure you were actually there. Then, a little softer, a little braver, he added, “And you’re really pretty too.”
You blinked at him for a second, caught completely off guard. The fluster came too fast to hide, creeping into your face before you could stop it. “No one’s ever been that forward with me before,” you admitted, half-laughing as you looked away for a moment like it might reset your brain. Then, quieter but still smiling, you added, “You’re… kind of pretty too, actually.”
That did it.
For a second there was silence, and then both of you broke at the same time, laughter spilling out awkward and genuine, building on itself until it turned into something almost uncontrollable. It felt ridiculous and light in a way neither of you had felt in a very long time, like your bodies had forgotten how to do anything except exist in that moment.
Eventually, it settled, the laughter fading into soft breaths.
Wonwoo tilted his head slightly, still smiling a little. “Where did you grow up?”
The shift was subtle, but you felt it immediately. Something in your expression changed before you even answered. The air didn’t feel as light anymore.
“About five states over,” you said slowly, picking at the edge of your sleeve. “I left because I needed a fresh start.”
He didn’t interrupt. Just listened.
You hesitated, then kept going anyway, like once the words started they didn’t really belong to you anymore. “My mom left when I was younger. Said I was… too much, I guess. My dad cut contact after that. I don’t really blame him.” You gave a small, humorless breath. “After that it was just… endless nights. Hospitals. Mental rehab stays. More hospital visits. Trying to get through one day at a time without everything falling apart.”
The words hung in the space between you.
Wonwoo went quiet.
Not awkwardly. Just… still. Like he hadn’t expected you to hand him something that heavy so easily.
You looked down at the table, suddenly aware of how much you’d said. “Sorry,” you added quickly, voice softer. “That was a lot. I just— I don’t know. I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable.”
He shook his head slightly, but it took him a second to speak.
“No,” he said quietly. “No, you didn’t.”
A pause stretched out before he leaned back a little, looking at his hands for a moment like he was organizing his thoughts.
“I get it,” he said finally. “Not exactly the same, but… I’ve had my own stuff.”
You looked up.
He exhaled, slower now. “I didn’t really know how to deal with my head most of the time, so I just… went into math. Science. Anything that had answers. If there was a problem, there was a solution. That made it easier to breathe.”
His fingers tapped lightly against the edge of the notebook on the table.
“But when the world stopped like this,” he continued, voice quieter, “it didn’t have a solution anymore. And I kept trying anyway. Kept building models, theories, anything that made it feel like I still had control over something.” A faint, almost tired laugh slipped out of him. “And when none of it worked… I started losing myself in it a bit.”
He glanced up at you then, more honest now.
“I think I was just trying not to feel hopeless but… after meeting you, I don’t feel too hopeless anymore.”
The rest of the day didn’t feel like time passing so much as time dissolving.
You talked about everything again, then nothing again, then somehow looped back into things that made you laugh until your stomach hurt. The kind of laughter that came easier the longer you forgot to be alone.
At some point, neither of you noticed when afternoon became evening.
The light outside dimmed slowly, painting the empty street in soft gold and then deeper blue. Shadows stretched across the café floor. The world outside didn’t move, but the sky still changed like it was trying to pretend things were normal.
Eventually, the silence between sentences grew longer. Not uncomfortable. Just full.
And then it was dark.
Wonwoo was the first to stand. You followed a moment later. Neither of you said anything as you stepped out into the street together. The frozen city looked different at night, colder somehow, even though nothing had actually changed.
You walked a few steps in silence before both of you slowed.
Then stopped.
You turned to face each other at the same time.
For a second, neither of you spoke, like you were both waiting for the other to break something that felt too delicate to touch.
Finally, Wonwoo exhaled. “I should probably head back to mine.”
You nodded slowly. “Yeah. Same. Mine’s… that way.”
Another pause. It didn’t feel like goodbye. But it felt like something close enough to it that it hurt anyway.
Then Wonwoo stepped forward.
Without warning, he pulled you into a hug.
It wasn’t hesitant. It was firm, immediate, like something in him had decided words weren’t enough anymore. For a second, your entire body locked up in surprise—then it melted, because suddenly there was weight. Real weight. Another person. Another heartbeat against yours. Something warm and solid and undeniable.
And it wrecked both of you instantly.
The silence you’d lived in for so long made the contact feel overwhelming, like your nervous systems didn’t know how to process it anymore. Your hands gripped the fabric of his shirt before you even realized you were moving.
After a moment, his arms tightened slightly, like he didn’t want to let go just yet. Like letting go would mean going back to being alone again. You could feel his chest rising unevenly against you, breath unsteady in a way he couldn’t hide anymore.
And then he started crying.
Quiet at first. Barely there. Like he hadn’t meant to.
That was what broke you.
You tried to hold it together for half a second longer, but it didn’t last. The soundless weight of everything you’d both been carrying just came out all at once.
You were both shaking slightly by the time it settled into something real.
Eventually, he pulled back just enough to breathe. He took off his glasses with one hand, wiping his eyes quickly, awkwardly, like he was trying to fix something that couldn’t be fixed. Then he put them back on, exhaling shakily as he looked at you again.
He didn’t let go of your hands when he reached for them.
Both of them, gently held in his.
Facing you properly now, still a little unsteady, he said quietly, “Thank you for finding me.”
Your throat tightened immediately.
You squeezed his hands back. “Thank you for finding me too,” you said, voice breaking just slightly. Then, softer, like it mattered more than anything else in the world right now, you added, “You know where to find me tomorrow. Or… when we wake up.”
A small, shaky breath left him. He nodded once. Neither of you wanted to be the one to let go first.
it became routine without either of you ever deciding it would.
You started meeting at the café every day when you woke up, and somehow—almost unnervingly—you always arrived at the same time. No matter how irregular sleep had become in a frozen world, your rhythms synced. It was like your days had quietly agreed to align around each other without asking permission. The first thing you’d see each morning was him already there, or you arriving just as he pushed the door open, both of you stopping for a second like it still surprised you.
From there, you stopped staying in one place.
You explored the city together, block by block, building by building, still trying—out of habit more than hope—to understand what had happened. You checked abandoned offices again, revisited frozen intersections, studied the same impossible stillness from different angles like perspective might change the answer. But even as the mystery stayed unsolved, something else started filling the space it left behind.
Being around him felt… easy.
Not because the world made sense, but because he made it quieter inside your head.
There were moments that stayed with you in a way nothing else did. The way his eyes scrunched up when he laughed, soft and unguarded, like a cat reacting to something warm. The way he’d look at you sometimes like he still couldn’t quite believe you were real, even after days of proving it. The way he started reaching for you without thinking when you ran through the empty city at night, pulling your hand into his so you could both move faster between buildings, breathless and half-laughing as your footsteps echoed through streets that never changed.
It didn’t fix anything.
The world was still frozen.
The mystery was still there.
But it didn’t feel like drowning anymore.
It felt like two lost souls who had found each other at the worst possible time—and somehow decided to stay anyway.
A full month of waking up into the same frozen city and still choosing to meet each other anyway. June 16th arrived like all the other days—silent, suspended, unchanged—but it still felt marked in a way neither of you said out loud.
You met at the café like always, arriving at the same time without ever planning it. Wonwoo reached for the door handle out of habit, but before he could open it, you grabbed his hand. “I’m bringing you to my place,” you said.
He paused, then smiled a little, soft and easy. “Okay.” No questions. Just agreement, like he trusted you more than the world made sense.
The walk back felt different this time. Less like surviving and more like existing alongside someone else. When you got to your apartment, you opened the door and led him in, suddenly aware of how strange it felt to show someone your space after so long of it only belonging to you.
Above your bed hung a slightly crooked paper banner.
HAPPY TWO MONTHS GETTING STUCK-AVERSARY!
Wonwoo stared at it for a second before laughing, genuinely surprised. “You made a banner?”
“It felt important,” you said, defensive but smiling anyway.
He shook his head, still laughing as he sat on the edge of your bed, palms pressing into your comforter like he was checking if it was real. The way he relaxed without thinking made something warm settle in your chest. The bed smelled like you, and he noticed, even if he didn’t say it.
You sat beside him after a moment, picking at the blanket. “I kept the newspaper,” you said suddenly.
He looked over.
“The one with the headline,” you added. “TRUE LOVE CAN SAVE THE DAY. I thought it was stupid. Like actually stupid.”
He gave a small nod. “It is kind of stupid.”
That made you laugh quietly, but it faded fast. “I’ve never been in a real relationship,” you said after a pause. “And I don’t think I’ve ever really been… loved. My mom used to say I was unlovable. And I guess I just believed it for a long time without even realizing it.”
The air shifted immediately, not dramatically, just enough to feel heavier. Wonwoo’s expression softened in a way that erased any remaining humor. He took your hand gently and started rubbing slow circles on the back of it, steady and grounding like he was trying to undo years of silence through touch alone.
“That’s not true,” he said simply.
You didn’t respond, just swallowed and looked away for a second.
Then you pulled the folded newspaper out and showed it to him.
He looked at it, then after a beat, reached into his pocket and pulled out an identical copy.
You froze.
He noticed immediately. “I kept it too,” he said quietly. “At first I thought it was just noise. Something my brain clung to because I needed meaning somewhere. But it was the only thing from the last normal day that felt real.”
He turned it slightly in his hands. “Before I met you, it was the only thing keeping me from losing it completely.”
His gaze lifted to yours. Softer now.
“And then you showed up,” he added, “and I didn’t need it the same way anymore.”
The newspaper still sat between you for a moment after that, both copies folded loosely now, no longer feeling like proof of anything—just something you both had carried too long alone.
You traced a finger along the edge of yours before looking at him. “Have you ever been in love?”
The question landed softly, but it changed something in his expression immediately. Not defensive. Just thoughtful, like he was actually sorting through memories he didn’t often open.
“There have been… two times,” Wonwoo said slowly. “Where I think I actually felt it. Love.”
You stayed quiet, letting him take his time.
“The first was in high school,” he continued. “My first girlfriend. It was… real, in that way you only realize later. First everything. First person I ever really let myself care about like that.” A faint, almost nostalgic exhale left him. “But we were different in ways we didn’t know how to fix. It didn’t work out. We let it end before it got worse.”
He glanced down at your hands still loosely held in his, then back up.
“The second time…” He paused, a little longer this time. “Is more recent. So recent I don’t really know what to do with it yet.”
You blinked at him, not fully sure how to hold that answer, your chest tightening in a way you didn’t want to name. But you didn’t push it. Instead, you just nodded slightly, like you were giving him room to leave it there if he needed to.
And then, because silence suddenly felt too heavy, you started talking.
“I really love coffee,” you said, a little too quickly at first, then settling into it. “Like, actually love it. Not just because I need it. The smell, the routine, the way it feels like a start to something even when nothing changes.” You glanced around his apartment absentmindedly, then back at him. “And movies. I love movies. And music, especially physical copies. Like CDs, vinyls, anything you can actually hold. Streaming feels… temporary.”
He was watching you closely now, but not in a way that interrupted. In a way that made space.
You kept going.
“I love poetry too. And songwriting is honestly the coolest shit in the world,” you said, a small laugh slipping out as you leaned back a little. “Like how someone can just… turn a feeling into something you can hear. That’s insane to me.”
As you spoke, Wonwoo didn’t look away once.
Not even for a second.
It wasn’t intense in a way that made you nervous. It was quiet. Anchored. Like every word you said was something he was choosing to keep.
His eyes softened the longer you talked, shoulders relaxed, expression shifting into something almost unguarded. Like he wasn’t just hearing you—he was seeing you.
Not because you were the only person in the world.
But because, in that moment, that was how he was looking at you.
Like if the city was full again, if time started moving properly again, if everything went back to normal, it wouldn’t change the fact that this was where his attention would always land.
On you.
And you didn’t know it yet, but he was pretty sure that wouldn’t change even if they weren’t stuck at all.
The city stayed frozen, the routines stayed familiar, but something between you and Wonwoo started to feel… different. Conversations had a lingering edge to them now, like they didn’t fully end when the words stopped. They hung around in the silence afterward, warm and strange, like unfinished thoughts neither of you wanted to close.
You noticed more things about him without meaning to.
The way he talked faster when he got excited, words slipping out like his brain couldn’t keep up with itself when he was explaining something he cared about. The way his handwriting was ridiculously neat, especially when he was writing out equations in that notebook of his—precise lines, careful spacing, like even his thoughts needed to be organized before they were allowed to exist on paper.
Now you were sitting in his room, watching him.
He was at his desk, slightly hunched over a sheet of paper, sketching something absentmindedly while thinking out loud under his breath. You weren’t really listening to the content anymore. At some point, your attention had shifted without permission.
You were just looking at him.
The way his hair fell slightly over his forehead when he leaned forward. The quiet focus in his expression. The small pauses he made when he was thinking too hard. The way even his stillness felt… intentional.
It hit you slowly, like something you weren’t supposed to notice.
He was beautiful.
Not in a loud way. Not in a way that demanded attention. In a way that made you realize you’d been paying attention without realizing it. And kind. Genuinely, quietly kind in a way that didn’t ask for anything back.
You weren’t sure when that realization turned into something heavier.
Something warmer.
Something that made your chest feel tight in a way you couldn’t explain yet.
You laughed softly to yourself before you could stop it.
Wonwoo paused mid-line, looking up slightly. “What?”
You blinked like you’d been caught doing something you weren’t supposed to. “Nothing.”
He didn’t look convinced.
You reached into your pocket out of instinct and pulled out the folded newspaper again, like it could anchor you back into something simpler. You unfolded it halfway and glanced at the headline you already knew by heart.
TRUE LOVE CAN SAVE THE DAY.
“I was just thinking about this,” you said casually, trying to smooth out whatever had just happened inside your head.
He watched you for a second, then gave a small, soft smile—one of those ones that didn’t feel like it was fully controlled. A “pretty” smile, unguarded in a way that made your stomach drop slightly.
“Oh?” he said lightly, turning back to his paper, pen moving again. “Still trying to figure out if it’s propaganda or destiny?”
You let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “Something like that.”
He hummed, clearly amused, not looking up this time. “Careful. You’re starting to sound like me.”
That made you smile before you even realized it.
And as he went back to his drawing, pen scratching softly against paper, you stayed sitting there a little longer than necessary, pretending you were still thinking about the newspaper when really you were just trying to understand why looking at him felt like that now.
The rest of the night settled into a quiet kind of rhythm. You stayed on his bed with a notebook in your lap, writing poetry in scattered lines and half-finished thoughts, while Wonwoo sat at his desk working through equations and diagrams like he could reason the world back into motion if he just didn’t stop trying. The room wasn’t loud, but it also wasn’t empty anymore. It felt shared in a way neither of you had experienced since everything stopped.
Every so often you’d glance up at him without meaning to. He was completely focused, glasses slightly slipping down his nose, pen moving carefully across the page, hair falling forward in soft, messy strands that made him look less like the person trying to solve the impossible and more like someone just trying to hold on. And every time you looked away again, your chest felt strangely full in a way you didn’t want to name yet.
At one point he leaned back in his chair and tilted his head toward you. “What are you writing?” he asked, already half-standing like he was going to come over.
“Nope,” you said quickly, swatting at him before he got too close. “Don’t even try.”
He leaned in anyway, and you instinctively pushed his head back gently, your fingers catching in his hair for a second longer than you intended. It was softer than you expected, slightly messy in a way that made your heart react faster than your brain could explain. You pulled your hand away too quickly, pretending it meant nothing, and went back to your notebook while he cleared his throat and sat down again like nothing had happened, though the faint color on his cheeks betrayed him.
After that, the room fell into silence again. Not uncomfortable, just steady. You writing. Him thinking. The world outside completely still.
Then, after a few minutes, the silence shifted.
You heard him breathe differently.
You looked up.
Wonwoo wasn’t writing anymore. His shoulders were tense, head slightly bowed, and when he finally lifted a hand to his face you saw it—he was crying, quietly, like it had slipped out of him before he could stop it.
You moved immediately. “Wonwoo?” you said softly, sliding off the bed and kneeling in front of him. Moonlight from the window spilled across both of you, catching on his face, on the tear tracks he tried to wipe away too late. Your hands came to rest gently on his legs, grounding him. “Hey, look at me. What’s wrong?”
He shook his head at first, like he didn’t want to say it, but then it all came out anyway.
“I can’t do it,” he said, voice breaking. “I keep trying and nothing works. Every model, every equation, every theory—it always ends the same. I can’t fix it. I can’t understand it. And I feel like I’m losing myself trying to solve something that doesn’t want to be solved.”
His breath stuttered.
“And I feel like I’m letting you down.”
That hit harder than anything else.
He looked at you then, really looked at you, eyes red and exhausted. “All I want is for you to get out of this,” he said more quietly. “That’s it. If I can’t fix it, then I should at least—”
“Don’t say that,” you interrupted softly, shaking your head.
He paused.
You tightened your grip slightly on his legs. “Don’t talk like that.”
“It’s true,” he said anyway, voice unsteady but honest. “You’ve helped me so much. The least I can do is get you out of this.”
You stared at him for a moment, then leaned in a little closer, your voice softer but firm. “You’re not letting me down.”
He blinked at you like he didn’t know how to believe that.
Wonwoo looked at you through glassy, tear-lined eyes, still breathing unevenly like he was trying to steady himself in real time. For a moment, he didn’t speak. Just stayed there, hands hovering uncertainly before slowly settling over yours where they rested on his legs, like he needed to anchor himself to you to stay present.
His voice came out quiet, almost unsure of itself. “Can I kiss you?”
The question hit you harder than anything else that night. It didn’t feel like impulse—it felt like something careful, something honest, something he’d thought through even in the middle of everything breaking down inside him. And for a second, you didn’t think at all. Your body moved before your mind could catch up, closing the small space between you.
The kiss wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t uncertain. It was real in a way everything else in this frozen world had stopped being. Like all the silence, all the waiting, all the searching finally collapsed into something simple and undeniable.
It just made sense.
You shifted slightly on your knees to meet him properly, and his hands instinctively found your waist, holding you there like he was afraid you might disappear if he loosened his grip. Your fingers moved into his hair without hesitation this time, no second-guessing, just instinct and feeling and warmth where there hadn’t been warmth in too long.
And when you finally parted, it wasn’t distance that remained between you.
It was understanding.
Wonwoo pulled you into a tight hug first, like he couldn’t stand the space between you anymore. His arms wrapped around you firmly, pulling you into his chest as if the world outside of this moment didn’t exist. “I don’t want to let you go,” he said quietly, voice still rough from everything that had just happened.
That cracked something open in you again. You clung to him, tears slipping down before you could stop them. “Then don’t,” you said, voice breaking. “I don’t want you to leave either. You don’t have to let me go. Not ever.”
For a while, neither of you moved.
Eventually, you pulled back just enough to breathe. The night had grown later without either of you noticing, and the exhaustion of everything settled in all at once. “I should go,” you said softly, even though you didn’t want to. “It’s a twenty-minute walk.”
Wonwoo hesitated, then nodded. He understood, even if he didn’t like it. He walked you to the door, hands lingering like he was memorizing the moment. Neither of you spoke much—there wasn’t anything that needed to be said right then.
You stepped outside alone.
The city was still frozen, still impossibly quiet, but the air had changed. Heavy clouds had gathered overhead sometime while you weren’t looking. A few minutes into your walk, the first drops of rain started falling, slow at first, then all at once.
Within minutes, you were completely soaked. Hair dripping, clothes clinging, shoes heavy against the pavement. The cold didn’t matter as much as it should have. It just blurred into everything else.
You were about ten minutes in when you heard it.
“Y/N!”
You froze.
The voice cut through the rain like it didn’t belong in this world anymore. You turned around quickly, heart snapping in your chest.
Wonwoo was running toward you.
Soaked completely. Hair damp and clinging to his forehead, glasses streaked with rain, shirt darkened by water, breath uneven as he closed the distance like he couldn’t afford to lose you even for a few minutes.
When he reached you, you grabbed him immediately—hands on his shoulders, then his waist, checking him like he might disappear again. “Are you okay?” you asked quickly, breathless, searching his face.
He was smiling.
Wide. Relieved. Almost breathless with it.
“I figured it out,” he said.
You blinked through the rain. “Figured out what?”
He lifted the folded newspaper in his hand. It was soaked too, edges curling from the water, ink blurring slightly. “This,” he said like it was obvious.
You let out a short laugh, shaking your head. “Wonwoo, it’s just a stupid headline.”
He shook his head immediately. “No. Listen.”
You stared at him, rain dripping down your face.
“What if it wasn’t just a headline?” he said, voice rising slightly over the storm. “What if we’re the only two people still here because everything else requires connection to persist? Not in a magical way. In a cognitive way. In a relational way. Reality stabilizes through perception, through emotional anchoring—through people being meaningfully recognized by others.”
You frowned slightly. “I don’t—what?”
He stepped closer, excitement and urgency blending together in his expression, but softer too, like he wasn’t afraid anymore. “I know it sounds insane, but think about it. Everything else is frozen, erased, or collapsing. But we’re not. We only became real when we found each other. When we were seen. When we mattered to someone else.”
You shook your head slightly again, confused but listening.
Then his expression softened completely, the intensity giving way to something simpler, something honest.
“I’m in love with you,” he said.
Your breath caught.
He didn’t hesitate. “I am so in love with you that I can’t think straight anymore. And I think you feel it too. I know you do. I think that’s why this works. That’s why we’re still here. Because we’re connected.”
The rain poured around you, soaking everything, but neither of you moved away.
For a second, you just stared at him.
Then you laughed once, disbelieving, shaking your head—but your eyes were wet for a different reason now.
“You’re insane,” you whispered.
“Probably,” he said immediately, stepping closer again.
He grabs both sides of your face pulling you in tightly like he doesn’t want to let go, crashing your lips together once more. You wrap your hands around his neck playing with the wet strands of hair on the back of his neck. He snakes his arms down from your face to wrap around your back, once again pulling you in closer.
When you finally pulled apart, both of you were still smiling like you couldn’t believe any of it was real.
“Come on,” you said breathlessly, grabbing his hand. And together, you ran back toward your apartment through the rain, like the world had finally started moving again just to keep up with you.
When you got back to your apartment, you both took off your soaking wet shoes, leaving them at your front door.
You made it back to your apartment soaked through, both of you laughing a little breathlessly as you stumbled inside. The warmth hit immediately, muffled and soft compared to the rain outside. Shoes came off at the door almost in sync, wet footprints left behind on the floor as you kicked them aside.
“Okay,” you said, brushing damp hair out of your face, “you’re gonna be so uncomfortable if you stay in that.”
Wonwoo glanced down at himself like he’d just realized how completely drenched he was. “That’s… fair.”
You gave a small nod toward your bedroom. “I have clothes you can change into. They’ll be big on you, but they’re clean.”
He followed you without hesitation, still a little dazed, like the last half hour hadn’t fully settled into reality yet. You moved to your closet immediately, rifling through it with quick, familiar motions while he stood a few steps back, dripping water onto the floor and trying very hard not to make a mess of anything.
“Found it,” you said, pulling out a soft hoodie and a pair of shorts for yourself, then another set of oversized clothes you didn’t care about as much. You turned and tossed his clothes lightly toward him. “Here.”
He caught them a little awkwardly, nodding. “Thanks.”
You were already halfway out of your wet shirt, switching quickly into the dry hoodie, movements practical and unbothered. Wonwoo immediately turned slightly away out of instinct, giving you space even though the room was already casual and familiar in its own way.
Still, despite looking away, his thoughts betrayed him. He found himself thinking—almost frustratingly simple and clear—that you were the most beautiful person he had ever seen. Not just right now. Not just in the rain. Just… always. Like it wasn’t something the world had to be frozen for him to notice.
When you finished changing and turned back around, the air between you felt warmer than before.
“Okay,” you said, pulling your hoodie sleeves over your hands. “You good?”
Wonwoo nodded, still a little quiet, but softer now. “Yeah. Better.”
When you finally settle under the covers, he follows, and somehow you end up tangled into the same space without really discussing it. You end up resting against his chest, and after a second of hesitation, his arm settles around you like it belongs there.
His fingers move into your hair gently, slow and absent-minded, while the other hand traces steady circles on your back. It grounds you more than you expect.
After a while, you ask quietly, “Do you really think you’re right about all of this?”
He lets out a small breath, almost a laugh. “About reality being held together by emotional attachment and us being the center of some cosmic relationship experiment?” He pauses. “I’ve definitely gone insane, so I’m not the most reliable source.”
That makes you smile into his shirt.
But his hand doesn’t stop moving as he continues, softer now. “But I do think something changed when we found each other. Whatever this is… I don’t feel like I’m alone in it anymore.”
You go quiet after that.
You shift slightly so you can look up at him. The dim light from the room softens everything about his face—his eyes, his expression, the way he looks at you like you’re something he still can’t fully believe is real.
“I love you,” you say before you can second-guess it. Your voice doesn’t shake, even though everything inside you does. “I love you in ways I don’t even know how to say properly. More than I’ve ever loved myself. You brought back something in me I thought I lost a long time ago.”
He doesn’t answer right away.
His hand pauses in your hair like he needs a moment to process it. Then he leans down and presses a soft kiss to your forehead—careful, steady, real.
“I love you too,” he says quietly.
You exhale slowly, letting yourself settle back into him as his arms tighten just slightly, like he’s afraid you might disappear if he relaxes too much. His hand resumes its slow rhythm on your back, steadier now, calmer.
At some point, you stop thinking about the frozen world outside.
And at some point after that, you fall asleep without meaning to—still held by him, still real enough to stay.
The next morning doesn’t feel like waking up—it feels like being pulled out of something too deep too fast. You wake to noise. Not silence.
A car horn cuts through the air, sharp and real, followed by another, then overlapping voices rising from outside the window. For a few seconds you just lie there, staring at the ceiling, your brain refusing to connect the sound to anything it remembers.
Then you sit up.
You rub your eyes hard, like that might reset the world, but the noise doesn’t go away. It only gets clearer. Louder. More layered.
You move fast.
You run to the window.
And you freeze.
The world outside is moving.
Cars are driving again. People are walking on sidewalks. A couple passes holding hands. A group of friends laughs at a crosswalk. Everything is alive in a way that feels almost overwhelming after so long without it.
Your hands press against the glass.
“Oh my fucking god,” you whisper.
You stare harder, like it might break if you look at it wrong, but it doesn’t. It stays real.
“Wonwoo,” you say suddenly, spinning around, relief hitting you all at once. “Oh my god—Wonwoo! It worked! You were right it—”
You stop.
The bed is empty.
No movement. No warmth. No trace of him.
Your stomach drops immediately.
“Wonwoo?” you say again, quieter now. Confused.
You rush out of the bedroom, checking the apartment quickly, moving from room to room, your bare feet hitting the floor too loudly in the new world of sound. “Wonwoo?” you call, louder this time. “Hey—are you here?”
Nothing.
The apartment feels wrong without him in it.
You step into the hallway, and suddenly everything is too loud. Neighbors talking. Doors opening. Life spilling back into the building like it had never stopped. It overwhelms you all at once, crashing in after months of silence.
You call his name again, voice breaking as it echoes down the hallway. “Wonwoo!”
Still nothing.
You move faster now, checking stairwells, corridors, every space you can think of, panic rising with every empty second. The world is full again, but he isn’t in it.
“Wonwoo…” you whisper, barely audible now, before it breaks completely.
Your knees weaken as you sink against the wall, sobs finally spilling out while everything around you keeps moving forward.
You stand up too fast.
The second you’re on your feet, you’re already moving, already running out of the building like your body has decided before your mind can catch up. The air outside is full of sound—cars passing, people talking, life everywhere—and you’re yelling his name before you even realize you’re doing it.
“Wonwoo!” you scream, voice cracking as tears blur your vision. “Wonwoo!”
People turn to look at you.
Some slow down. Some stare. A few step out of your path as you push past them, not gently, not carefully—just desperately. Your shoulder bumps into someone, then another, but you don’t stop. You don’t apologize. You don’t care.
“Wonwoo!” you shout again, louder, like volume could force reality to give him back.
But he isn’t there.
He isn’t anywhere.
You keep running anyway, breath tearing in your chest, until your legs carry you back to the only place that ever felt consistent—the newspaper stand.
The stand is still there.
Still absurdly normal.
Still unchanged.
A boy stands behind it now, different from the ones you remember from the frozen time. He looks up immediately when he sees you, startled by how wrecked you look.
“Hey—are you okay?” he asks quickly. “Do you need help? My name’s Chan, I can—”
“What day is it?” you cut him off, breathless, shaking, barely holding yourself up. “Just tell me what day it is.”
Chan hesitates, clearly worried. “Hey, I think you should sit down first, you look—”
“That’s not what I asked,” you say again, voice breaking harder now. “I asked what day it is.”
He pauses, then answers carefully. “June 28th, 2026.”
Something in your chest drops.
You turn without thinking, grabbing a newspaper from the stand. Your hands shake so badly the paper crinkles immediately. The date is clean. New. Real. And the headline stares back at you in bold print:
Researchers Confirm Reality Stabilized Following Reconnection of Isolated Cognitive Nodes.
Your vision blurs instantly.
“No,” you whisper.
Then again, louder, breaking apart completely as tears spill onto the paper. “No—Wonwoo. Wonwoo, no…”
You say his name like it’s something that might still answer you if you repeat it enough times. Like a prayer. Like repetition could rebuild him into the world.
“Wonwoo… Wonwoo…”
Chan watches you helplessly, unsure what to do.
You force yourself to breathe, wiping your face quickly even though it doesn’t help. “Thank you,” you manage, voice barely stable. “I’m sorry.”
He nods slowly, still concerned, but doesn’t stop you as you turn away.
You walk back toward the crosswalk, toward nothing in particular, just trying to figure out where to put yourself now that everything is moving again without him.
And then—
A hand lands on your shoulder.
You freeze so hard it feels like the world stops again.
For a second, you can’t breathe.
You turn.
Slowly.
And the moment you see him, you already know.
Black hair slightly messy. Glasses catching the light. The same quiet expression that looks like he’s just barely holding onto disbelief.
Wonwoo.
Standing there like he never left at all.
And said with that same cat like smile that you thought you had lost,
no warnings just fluff and a very tired and clingy cheol 😛
author’s note: just wanted to write this bc i cant stop thinking about tired cheol who is super touchy and clingy and needy and soft and warm and and and *explodes*
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tired!cheol who becomes unmovable as soon as he makes contact with you and just needs to touch you. his hands and legs and whole body must be on you the whole time because he feels like he deserves it after a day of no you 💔
tired!cheol who is literally the biggest baby ever like this. if you try to move away or even if you stop like rubbing his back or something for a split second he’s letting out a little grunt or a whine for you to keep going. if you don’t respond to his noise he will look at you with a pout slowly growing across his face
tired!cheol who genuinely knocks out in the span of ten minutes laying on you and then he sleeps like a rock until you coax him back awake to which you will be met with more complaints from him
tired!cheol who likes to lie on you like full on dead weight. his head has to be on your chest or tummy or in the crook of your neck he literally wants to inhale you and feel you everywhere and you let him bc who doesn’t love a big and soft and warm blanket of cheol on you 😮💨
tired!cheol who demands either head scratches or back scratches when he’s like this or both because he’s a princess and you can’t deny him when he looks so sleepy and cute
tired!cheol who is too tired to eat until you force him to sit up and eat whatever food that's prepared and he complains at first but legit gobbles the food down bc he's starving but stubborn
tired!cheol who can't wait to finally freshen up and get in bed with you for the ultimate cuddles and softness. the both of you are wearing matching pajamas and he is either behind you and hugging you like you're his stuffed animal or you're facing each other either way you are locked in his arms and his face is in your neck
summary: loving a man the whole world loves is a specific kind of complicated. good thing he's very, very good at reminding you that you're the only one he comes home to.
genre: romance, light angst (idk, i don't think it's angsty but i'll just put it here), fluff, established relationship, smut, canon compliant universe with canonically accurate member dynamics, but the relationship is fictional
additional tags: wonwoo is emotionally intelligent (we love our men like that don't we), insecure reader, post-concert scenarios, members being supportive and chaotic, tender smut, edging (multiple), orgasm denial/delay, praise kink, oral (female), penetrative sex, aftercare, minors dni, there i said it
word count: 10.5k because i love you all
a/n: a bit late, i'm sorry! i was supposed to post this two days ago but then i had this eureka moment about the smut that allowed me to connect it to the emotional theme of the whole story.
also the four times thing at the end? that was wonwoo's idea. i just wrote it down. if you made it all the way to the end of this very long, very self-indulgent oneshot—thank you. genuinely. i hope it felt like being held.
as always this is fiction, a product of too many feelings and too much (wild) imagination. be kind to real people. and if you're new here, hello, this fic is the product of a poll i had a month ago 🩷
sending love to my taglist 🌷 @deathby-lost @chocolate-cake-enthusiast @eskoupe
The thing about loving Jeon Wonwoo was that it was the easiest and the most complicated thing you had ever done, sometimes within the same breath.
It’s easy, because he made it easy. It’s easy because he was steady and quiet and consistent in all the ways that mattered, because his love for you wasn't loud but it was deep. It’s easy because when he looked at you—really looked at you—you never once doubted that you were seen.
But it’s also complicated because of days like today.
The stadium was enormous.
You'd been to concerts before, obviously—you'd been to his concerts before—but there was something completely different about being inside one before it became a concert. The raw, skeletal version of the night ahead. Crew members moved in every direction with the urgency of people who knew exactly what they were doing, cables snaking across the floor, eerily empty seats that fill the venue, lighting rigs being adjusted overhead, the sound system emitting occasional booming test tones that reverberated through you.
You stood a little to the side of the organized chaos, just close enough to the stage to have a clear view, but far enough back to feel like you weren't in anyone's way. You had a laminated ID around your neck—Guest, All Access—and everyone had been perfectly polite but there was still that awareness that prickled at the edges of your consciousness.
It’s a low, quiet hum of not quite belonging.
Everyone here had a job. Everyone here had a purpose, a direction, somewhere to be. You were the only one standing still, watching, waiting.
Wonwoo's girlfriend, you imagined them thinking whenever they glanced your way. You told yourself to stop being ridiculous. You smoothed your hands down the front of your jeans and focused on the stage.
Seventeen were running through their soundcheck with efficiency that came from years of doing this together. Even from here you could see the difference in Wonwoo—the way he held himself on a stage versus how he held himself anywhere else. There was an ease to it, a quiet confidence that settled over him like second skin the moment he stepped under the lights. He wasn't performing yet but even now there was something magnetic about him that you couldn't explain.
Then, like he felt it, he looked up.
He found you immediately without searching and smiled.
It’s not his stage smile; it’s not the practiced, brilliant one that sent stadiums full of people into hysterics. This smile is his other one. It’s the small, private one that lived only at the corners of his mouth, that he gave to very few people and most often to you.
It’s the one that said I know you're there. I'm glad you're there.
You smiled back and he held your gaze for one more second before the music started again.
You watched the rest of the soundcheck from your spot and it was easier after that. You watched him work—watched all of them work, really—and felt that familiar swelling pride that came with loving someone who was genuinely extraordinary at what they did.
Seungkwan hit a note that bounced off every wall in the venue and grinned at his own reflection in the stage monitor. Mingyu tripped over a cable, caught himself with grace, and looked around immediately to see if anyone noticed. Chan had noticed. He was already laughing.
And Wonwoo—Wonwoo stood at his position, ran his lines, hit his marks, and every few minutes without fail, his eyes would find the wings where you stood.
Every single time.
The break came about an hour in. The members scattered: some toward water bottles, some toward staff with questions, some collapsing dramatically onto equipment cases. You were checking your phone, composing a reply to a message when you felt it.
You looked up and Wonwoo was crossing the stage toward the steps, his eyes already on you.
"Hey," he said when he reached you, his hair slightly damp at the temples.
"Hey yourself," you said. "Don't you have a break?"
"This is my break." He said it like it was obvious.
Something warm unfurled in your chest. "Wonwoo, you should be resting—"
"I'm rested." He stepped close enough that he had to look down slightly to hold your gaze. His hand came to find yours. "You okay? You've been standing this whole time. Did anyone get you a chair?"
"I'm fine," you laughed softly. "I don't need a chair."
"I'll have someone get you a chair."
"Wonwoo—"
"A tall one," he decided, "so you can see the stage better."
You looked up at the quiet determination on his face and felt something pull tight and sweet in your chest. "I can see the stage perfectly fine."
"Mm." He studied your face for a moment in that way he had, like he was reading something between the lines of your expression. Whatever he found there made something in his eyes soften further. "You sure you're okay?"
"I'm sure," you said and you mostly meant it. "Go focus."
He didn't move right away. His thumb traced a slow arc across your knuckles. "You have water? Did you eat?"
"Yes and yes. I'm not a plant, I can take care of myself for an hour."
The corner of his mouth twitched. "That’s debatable."
"Jeon Wonwoo—"
He reached up then and the teasing dropped from his expression into something gentler. His fingers found a piece of your hair that had come loose. He tucked it carefully back into place. Then his eyes dropped to your collar where a small part of your jacket had folded awkwardly at the lapel and he straightened it without comment. He just fixed it with gentle and certain fingers.
You stood very still and let him. Your heart did something entirely disproportionate to the simplicity of the gesture.
"There," he murmured more to himself than to you.
You looked up at him. He was already looking at you.
"I have to go back," he said quietly.
"I know."
He didn't go back.
His hand came up to cup the side of your face instead, tilting your chin up slightly, and then he kissed you. He kissed you like he meant it: slow and deep and thorough, his other hand finding your waist to draw you closer. It was the kind of kiss that made you forget for a moment that you were standing in the wings of a massive venue surrounded by crew members.
When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours for a moment.
"I'll find you after," he murmured.
"You'll find me after," you confirmed, a little breathless.
He straightened, held your gaze for one more beat, and then turned back toward the stage. You watched him go and it was only when he'd disappeared back into the chaos that you became aware of the crew member approximately three feet to your left who had very professionally found something extremely interesting to look at on their clipboard.
Your face went warm.
The hours between soundcheck and the actual concert had a texture all their own. There was a kind of electric waiting in the backstage corridors, a kind of energy that you could feel like a change in air pressure. The crew moved faster. Voices got sharper. The whole enormous machinery of a concert started pulling itself into final position.
You'd been settled into a better spot—Wonwoo had, true to his word, quietly arranged for someone to bring you a chair near the stage left wing with a clear sightline—and Jeonghan had found you approximately twenty minutes after all this happened and planted himself beside you like he'd been invited.
"He set up a chair for you?" Jeonghan said looking at it, then at you, with an expression of great delight.
"He mentioned it in passing," you said.
"He arranged it. I watched him arrange it." Jeonghan settled in beside you, apparently unconcerned with wherever he was supposed to be. "Did he also check whether you'd eaten and hydrated?"
You said nothing but you smiled.
Jeonghan looked extremely pleased with himself. "Right. I've known that guy for over a decade and I've never once seen him arrange seating for anyone." He paused thoughtfully. "Or check if I'm hydrated."
"You're a grown adult, you can check yourself."
"That's not the point."
Despite yourself, you laughed. This was the thing about Jeonghan. He had a particular gift for making you feel at ease without making a show of it. He just slotted himself into your space and made it warmer.
Chan appeared on your other side twenty minutes later because apparently the pre-show ritual now included adopting you. He was in his stage outfit, already restless with pre-concert energy, bouncing slightly on his heels.
"You nervous?" you asked him.
"I'm never nervous," he said immediately, then, "I'm always nervous. How does Wonwoo look so calm? He always looks so calm. I don't understand it. I've been standing next to him for years and I still don't understand it."
"He's not calm," you said, thinking of the way Wonwoo's jaw had set slightly during the final run-through, the barely perceptible tension in his shoulders that you'd learned to read. "He just keeps it very quiet."
Both Chan and Jeonghan looked at you with varying degrees of fond consideration.
"You really know him," Chan said like this was something he'd just confirmed rather than already known.
It hit you somewhere soft. "I try to," you said.
It was somewhere in that pre-show hour, while the energy backstage continued to build and the venue began to fill with the distant roar of thousands of people finding their seats, that the feeling crept back in.
It’s not loud. It never came loudly. It was more like a slow tide. It’s gradual enough that you didn't notice until you were already ankle-deep in it.
You watched a group of staff move past, talking rapidly in the shorthand of people who'd worked together for years. You watched the way everyone here operated as part of a system, a world that had existed long before you entered it and would continue long after tonight. It’s Wonwoo's world. The one he lived in for years and had shaped him into who he is now.
And then, from further down the corridor, you heard the members getting louder and above the noise you heard a fan chant drifting in from the venue—thousands of voices in perfect unison calling their names—
You thought about the ending ment. You didn't know why your mind went there specifically. You hadn't even heard tonight's yet. But you'd heard enough of them across videos and past concerts to know what they sounded like. Wonwoo’s voice telling a stadium full of people that they were the most important thing.
Carats will always be the number one in my heart forever.
You pressed your lips together and told yourself, firmly, to stop it.
Because you were not foolish enough—or at least you were trying very hard not to be foolish enough—to be genuinely threatened by this. You understood, intellectually, that there was a distinction between what Wonwoo felt for the people who had loved him across his entire career and what he felt for you. You understood that they were different categories, different kinds of love that are not comparable or competing.
You understood this. Rationally.
And yet.
There was something different about being the person who loves him privately, quietly, in a world that couldn't know. It’s something that made the public enormousness of his other life feel, sometimes, like standing outside a lit window in the dark. You could feel the warmth. You just weren't quite inside it.
And sometimes on days like this, surrounded by evidence of how extraordinary he was, how beloved, how necessary to so many people—sometimes a small, treacherous part of you wondered if you were enough. If what you offered in your ordinary, private, unspectacular way, could possibly measure up to all of this.
He chose you, you told yourself with some firmness. He chose you and keeps choosing you.
The rational part of your brain acknowledged this. The irrational part remained unconvinced.
A hand appeared in front of your face holding a bottle of water.
You looked up. Minghao was watching you with an expression that was softer than his usual brand of performative nonchalance. He nodded toward the water and you took it automatically.
"He talks about you constantly," Minghao said without preamble. His voice was quiet under the backstage noise. "I don't mean in a sentimental way—though he does that too but you'll never get him to admit it." He paused. "I mean in the way where you've just become part of how he thinks. It’s like you're a given… a variable he calculates around." He tilted his head. "I don't think he even notices he does it anymore."
You looked at Minghao.
"I'm just saying," Minghao continued in his easy and unbothered voice, "whatever you're thinking right now—" He tapped his temple meaningfully. "—you should probably think about something else instead."
You didn't ask him how he knew. You just breathed in through your nose and nodded and looked back at the stage being set for the night.
"Thank you," you said quietly.
"Obviously." He twisted the cap back on his own water bottle. "Also, he'd be devastated if he knew you were sitting here feeling like that and then I'd have to deal with a devastated Wonwoo so really I'm being entirely self-serving."
You laughed and the tightness in your chest eased a fraction.
Nothing could have fully prepared you for watching Wonwoo from the wings.
You'd seen footage. You'd been in the audience before. But this—standing close enough to feel the bass in your ribs, close enough to see the shift in his expression as the music swelled and the lights blazed—this was really different.
The moment they walked onto that stage, the sound from the crowd hit you like a physical blow, a wave of human love so enormous it almost staggered you. Thousands of people, all of them carrying pieces of these thirteen men's work inside their own lives.
And Wonwoo—
Wonwoo walked out and became something else.
He’s not a different person, of course. It’s still him, still the man who had kissed you in the wings three hours ago and arranged a chair for you. But expanded somehow. It’s like the stage gave him permission to take up more space than he usually allowed himself. His shoulders were back, his movements were certain, his expression carried intensity that made it impossible to look away.
You gripped the edge of the barrier in front of you and watched.
He was extraordinary. You had always known this—but knowing it in the abstract and standing fifteen feet away watching it happen in real time were two entirely different things. The way he moved with the music. The way his voice, when it came, hit something in your chest that had nothing to do with volume and everything to do with resonance and with the frequency of a sound you loved.
The crowd sang every word back at him. Thousands of voices completed his sentences, filled in the spaces he left, loving him in that bright way that a fandom loves its artists.
And there it was again.
You felt it move through you even as you watched—even as your whole chest was full of pride and awe and the aching tenderness of loving someone who was worth loving—the shadow of that earlier feeling returned, slipping in through the cracks. Because Wonwoo was extraordinary. He was magnificent. And he belonged, in some real and significant way, to all of these people who were screaming his name.
What do you offer that this doesn't? the small traitorous voice whispered. What could you possibly be to him that all of this isn't?
You watched him move across the stage, watched him turn toward the wings for just a moment, and even though the lighting was such that he almost certainly couldn't see you clearly—his eyes found you.
He found you like a compass finding north.
He held his gaze for half a second, barely long enough to be visible, and then he was turning back to the crowd with that larger stage smile.
But the half second had been enough.
He finds you first, you told yourself. Even here. Even in all of this. He finds you first.
You breathed in slowly.
He chose you. He keeps choosing you. He crosses stages during breaks to make sure you've eaten. He tucks pieces of your hair back into place. He kisses you like he means it.
He means it.
You exhaled and let yourself enjoy the rest of the concert.
The ending ment came the way they always did—the music fading, the lights softening to something warmer, the members gathering in a loose formation at the center of the stage. The crowd quieted from a roar to a reverent hush that was honestly even louder in its own way.
Wonwoo spoke with the same careful deliberation: his voice low in the mic, words chosen with the gravity of someone who doesn't speak carelessly. He talked about gratitude, about what this meant, about the people in front of him.
Carats will always be number one in my heart. Forever.
You heard it. Felt it land somewhere tender. Watched the crowd respond like a field of flowers turning toward the sun—thousands of people feeling seen and claimed and loved by these words.
You bit the inside of your cheek.
You reasoned with yourself. You knew the difference. You knew what existed between you and Wonwoo in the private quiet of ordinary life and you knew what existed between him and this stadium full of people and they were not the same thing. They were not competing for the same territory.
You knew this.
But it didn't entirely stop the small ache.
But you breathed through it and you watched him and when his eyes found the wings one more time in those final moments, you let yourself be found.
The last note fell and the lights changed and then the concert was over.
The members came offstage in a wave of noise and sweat and adrenaline. Seungkwan was already talking at full volume about something. Chan was still vibrating with energy. Joshua and Mingyu were shoulder-to-shoulder, laughing about something you didn't catch.
And Wonwoo came off the stage and scanned the wings immediately—not the crew, not the staff, not his members. The wings.
He crossed the space between you and the look on his face was just relief. Quiet, private, enormous relief.
"Hey," you managed.
"Hey," he said and then his arms came around you and he was warm and solid and real and he held you like you were something he'd been wanting to get back to all night.
You pressed your face into his shoulder and let him.
The van was loud.
Specifically, the section of the van containing Jeonghan and Chan was loud, which was unfortunately the section directly behind you and Wonwoo.
"I'm just saying," Chan was saying with the energy of someone making a very important point, "that you started it."
"I did not start anything," Jeonghan replied with the serenity of someone who absolutely started it and had no intention of acknowledging this.
"You absolutely—hyung, you told me to—"
"I suggested. Suggesting does not mean ‘starting.’"
"That is not—that's not a real distinction!"
"It's a very real distinction. Would you like me to explain the distinction?"
"I would like you to be normal for five minutes—"
"Chan-ah, that's just not something I can offer you."
You pressed your lips together to contain a smile. Beside you, Wonwoo's head was tipped back against the headrest, his eyes closed, a faint crease between his brows that meant he was somewhere between awake and asleep. He'd changed out of his stage clothes, washed his face, let the production coordinators do their post-show rundown with him but the exhaustion had settled visibly now that the adrenaline had worn off. He looked tired and was now running on the dregs.
The van moved through the city. You were looking at your phone, not really reading anything when you felt it.
His hand finds yours in the dark.
He didn't look at you. His eyes were still closed, his head still resting back. He didn't say anything. He just reached across the space between you and found your hand and held it.
His fingers threaded through yours. His thumb settled against your knuckle. That was all.
You looked at his profile for a long moment—the line of his jaw, the shadows under his eyes, the stillness of him even in sleep's wanderland—and felt something in your chest settle with a completeness that made the earlier doubts seem very far away.
He finds you first, you thought again.
Behind you, the Jeonghan and Chan situation had escalated into what sounded like a disagreement about proper van etiquette that neither of them would be conceding anytime soon.
You squeezed Wonwoo's hand gently. His fingers tightened around yours without him waking. You looked back out the window and let the city lights carry you home.
The hotel bathroom was still humid from Wonwoo's shower. You leaned against the doorframe, watching him towel-dry his hair. His hair stuck up in soft, damp spikes, and without his glasses, there was something even more gentle about the way he looked at his own reflection.
Then he caught your eye in the mirror and gave you that smile—the one that was just for you, small and warm and utterly sexy despite how exhausted he must be.
"Wonwoo-yah," you called softly at the exact same moment.
He turned slightly, towel still in his hands, dark eyes curious.
"Do you love me?"
The question came out smaller than you'd intended.
Wonwoo went completely still. The towel lowered slowly from his hair. "Of course I do," he said and there wasn't even a heartbeat of hesitation in his voice.
But you bit your lip and something uncertain flickered across your face.
That was all it took. Wonwoo crossed the small bathroom in three strides. He stopped right in front of you, close enough that you had to tilt your head back to meet his eyes, close enough that you could smell his shampoo and the faint scent of his skin.
Your hands moved on instinct—reaching up with his glasses that you'd been holding, unfolding the arms with careful fingers. Wonwoo immediately dipped his head lower, bending at the knees just enough to make it easier for you. It was such an automatic thing between you now, this little choreography you'd developed. You slid his glasses gently onto his face, adjusting them at the bridge of his nose, and his eyes came into sharper focus behind the lenses.
"What is this about?" he asked quietly.
Your fingers lingered on the frames for a moment before dropping to your sides. You felt silly now but the words tumbled out anyway. "It's just... your ending ment tonight. You said Carats will always be number one in your heart forever and I know it's ridiculous but I—" You huffed a small, embarrassed laugh. "I got jealous."
Wonwoo's expression transformed. His eyes went impossibly soft and something like wonder and tenderness washed over his features. He looked at you like you'd just said something precious.
"YN," he whispered and his hands came up to cradle your face with a gentleness that made your chest ache. His thumbs brushed along your cheekbones. "You are my heart."
And then he leaned down and kissed you; so soft it was barely there, just a whisper of his lips against yours. When he pulled back, it was only enough to speak.
"They are important to me," he murmured against your mouth and kissed you again. He lingered a little longer this time. His lips were warm and careful. "But you..."
Another kiss, this one to the corner of your mouth.
"You are the person I come home to."
A kiss to your cheek, feather-light.
"The person I want to share everything with."
He pressed his lips to your forehead and you felt him breathe you in.
"When I'm on that stage—" Another gentle kiss to your temple. "—and I say those things—" A kiss to your other temple. "—it's because I'm grateful."
His nose brushed against yours as he tilted his head and he kissed you properly again, slow and sweet. Your hands had found their way to his waist, fingers curling into the soft fabric of his t-shirt.
"But when I come back here," Wonwoo whispered, his breath warm against your lips, "when the lights go down and the crowds go home..."
He kissed you again and this time his hands slid from your face to wrap around you, pulling you closer.
"You are what I think about."
Kiss.
"You are who I miss."
Kiss.
"You are the one I love in a way that's just..." He paused, seeming to search for words, and settled for kissing you again instead—deeper this time. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours. "Completely different."
"Wonwoo," you breathed and you didn't even know what else to say.
His hand came up to cradle the back of your head, his fingers threading gently through your hair. "What we have—what you are to me—it's not something I could ever say on stage," he murmured. "It's too big. Too private. Too... mine."
He kissed your closed eyelids, one and then the other.
"They have my gratitude and my dedication," he whispered against your skin. Another soft kiss to your cheek. "But you—"
Wonwoo pulled back just enough to look at you. His eyes searched for yours with such open affection that you almost couldn't breathe.
"You have all of me."
The kiss that followed was different from the others.
It started the same way: slow and tender. But there was something underneath it now, something that had been building all day without either of you naming it. Soundcheck. The dark of the van. The words he'd just pressed into your skin like promises. You have all of me.
You felt it shift.
His hands moved from your face to your waist, pulling you closer than before and the quality of the kiss deepened—still gentle but with a warmth that spread through your whole chest and downward. You made a soft sound against his lips without meaning to and something in him responded to it, his arms tightening, his breathing changing.
He pulled back just enough to look at you.
His eyes behind those glasses were very dark and very warm, and the look in them was so tender.
"Hey," he said quietly.
"Hey," you whispered back.
He reached up and took his glasses off again, setting them on the counter beside him and then he looked at you again, softer without them, the way he always was. His thumb traced your cheek once.
"We don't have to," he murmured. "You know that."
"I know," you said. And then softer: "I want to."
He held your gaze for a moment with that careful, searching quality. He was making sure before he nodded, barely perceptibly, and kissed you again.
He walked you backward out of the bathroom and into the low-lit warmth of the room. His hands were everywhere in the quietest way—at your waist, at your face, at the back of your neck—attentive in the way he was attentive to everything, noticing things, responding to things, adjusting. He was always adjusting, always paying attention.
When you sat on the edge of the bed and looked up at him, something about the moment made your chest feel very full. He was looking at you like he had in the wings after the show—that same quiet relief, that same recognition—and you understood, in a way that bypassed the rational and settled straight into your bones, that this was what he came home to. Not a stage. Not a crowd. This. You.
"What are you thinking?" he asked, sitting beside you, his hand finding yours.
"That I'm sorry for doubting," you said honestly.
He shook his head slowly. "Don't be sorry." His fingers tightened around yours. "I understand it. I know what my life looks like from the outside."
"It's not really about the outside."
"Probably not entirely." He turned toward you, expression open. "It's about whether I'm really here. Whether I actually—" He paused, trying to find the word. "Whether I'm really yours."
The accuracy of it hit you. Your eyes stung slightly and you blinked it away.
"Are you?" you asked, barely audible.
"Yes," he said, without hesitation. "Completely."
He kissed you again and this time it carried the full weight of everything: all the things he'd whispered in the bathroom, all the small gestures of the day, all the ways he reached for you in the dark without looking because he already knew exactly where you were. The kiss was slow and deep and certain and he kissed you like he was trying to leave no room for doubt.
You let it fill all the places the doubt had lived.
His hands were careful with you. Wonwoo had always been this way. Always deliberate, always present, always paying the kind of attention that made you feel like the most significant thing in whatever room you were in.
He laid you back against the pillows and looked at you for a moment before following and the look on his face was so unguarded that you had to reach up and pull him down to you because you couldn't bear the distance.
"I've got you," he murmured against your hair.
"I know," you whispered. "I know. I've got you too."
He pressed his lips to your temple. Your cheek. The corner of your jaw.
"You have all of me," he said again against your skin. "You've had all of me for a long time."
And in the low warm dark of that hotel room, with the city humming somewhere below and the rest of the world at a comfortable distance, you believed him completely.
"You're wearing my shirt," he said, his eyes surveying your body.
"You said you liked it better on me."
"I do." He reached out and touched the hem of it, his fingers brushing your thigh. "I also want to take it off you."
"Then do it."
Wonwoo’s eyes met yours. "Not yet."
What followed was the most deliberate undressing of your life.
Wonwoo didn't rush. He never rushed but this was different—this was him taking his time with intention. He started with the shirt but not by pulling it off. Instead he leaned down and pressed his mouth to the bare skin just above the collar, a slow, warm kiss that made your breath catch. Then another, slightly lower. Then another, and another, each kiss a punctuation mark, each one a word in the language he'd been speaking all night.
I am here. I am yours. I am not going anywhere.
"You're so warm," he murmured against your collarbone. His fingers found the hem of the shirt and pushed it up slightly, exposing a strip of your stomach. He kissed there too and you felt the muscles beneath his lips jump.
"Wonwoo—"
"Shh." His breath was warm against your skin. "Let me."
He pushed the shirt higher and you lifted your arms so he could pull it off entirely. The cool air of the hotel room met your bare skin but before you could react to it, his hand was already there—his palm warm and broad, spreading across your ribs, his thumb tracing the underside of your breast with maddening slowness.
"How long has it been," he said, almost to himself, "since I've taken my time with you?"
You tried to think. The words came out uneven. "We've been—busy—"
"Way too long." He kissed the hollow of your throat. "Too busy. I've been too busy." His mouth moved lower and his hand moved higher and when his thumb finally brushed across your nipple, you made a sound that was half gasp, half his name. "I want to make up for it."
"You don't have to make up for anyth—oh."
The interruption came because his mouth had found the spot just below your ear that he knew about. He smiled against your skin—you felt it—and his hand continued its slow exploration.
"You were saying?" Wonwoo asked with a soft smirk.
Your brain has officially turned into mush. "I forgot."
"Hm." He lifted his head to look at you and his expression was so tender and so focused that it made your chest ache. "I want you to stop thinking. All those thoughts from today—all those doubts. I want them gone." He kissed you, slow and deep. "Can you do that?"
"Yes," you breathed. "Yes.
Wonwoo spent an eternity on you.
There was no other word for it. He mapped your body with his mouth and his hands and his quiet, undivided attention. When he kissed down your stomach, he paused to press his lips to the curve of your hip with reverence. When his fingers hooked into the waistband of your underwear, he looked up at you first—checking, always checking—and only continued when you nodded.
"Tell me if you want me to stop," he said.
"I won't want you to stop."
"Humor me."
"Wonwoo." You reached down and touched his face. "I'll tell you."
He held your gaze for a beat and then he pulled the fabric down and away and then he settled between your thighs like he was coming home.
The first touch of his mouth made your back arch.
Wonwoo was so gentle. So impossibly, devastatingly gentle. His tongue moved against you in slow strokes, learning you all over again even though he already knew your body better than anyone ever had. He was patient but this was patience deployed with intent, with the goal of dragging you toward the edge and then pulling you back, over and over, until you were trembling.
"You taste so good," he murmured against your skin and the vibration of his voice made you gasp. His hands were holding your thighs open, his thumbs tracing circles on the sensitive skin there and when he pressed his tongue flat against you and then drew it up slowly, you reached down and gripped his hair.
He made a sound. Low and pleased. Encouraged.
"Wonwoo—please—"
"Please what baby?" He lifted his head just enough to look at you and the sight of him—his mouth wet, his eyes dark, his hair disheveled from your fingers—made something clench tight in your stomach.
"Please don't stop."
"I wasn't planning to." He pressed a kiss to your inner thigh. "But I want you to wait. Can you wait for me?"
"I've been waiting—"
"I know." Another kiss, higher this time. "Just a little longer. I want to feel you fall apart on my tongue." His mouth returned to you and this time his fingers joined it—one sliding inside you with the same careful slowness he brought to everything, and then two, curling exactly the way you liked. "Like that?"
You couldn't form words. You nodded, frantic, your grip on his hair tightening.
"Good," he breathed. "Good. Let me take care of you."
Wonwoo adjusted when your breathing changed, responded when your hips lifted, learned in real time what made you gasp and what made you moan and what made your thighs tremble around his head. When he added a third finger, his mouth never stopped moving and when your sounds became higher and more breathless, he stayed exactly where he was, pushing you steadily toward the edge.
"Close," you managed. "Wonwoo, I'm—"
He stopped.
His mouth lifted. His fingers stilled. He looked up at you with those dark eyes and the expression on his face was almost apologetic.
"Not yet," he said softly.
"Wonwoo, what the—"
"I know." He pressed a kiss to your hip. "I know, baby. But I want you to come around me. Not yet."
You made a sound that was somewhere between a groan and a laugh. "You're torturing me."
"On the contrary, I'm loving you." He said it so sincerely, with so much quiet conviction, that the protest died in your throat.
He crawled up your body, kissing his way back to your mouth, and when he settled against you, you could feel how hard he was through the fabric of his sweatpants.
"You've been holding back this whole time," you realized.
"Yes."
"Why?"
He looked down at you, his forehead nearly touching yours. "Because I wanted to focus on you. I wanted to show you—" He paused, searching for words. "—that you're worth taking time over. That you're not something I rush through. That you're the one person I want to pay attention to the most."
Your eyes stung. You blinked it away. "I know that. I've always known that."
"I know you do." He kissed the corner of your eye where the dampness had gathered. "But I still wanted to show you."
He didn't move from where he'd settled above you.
His forehead still nearly touched yours, his breath still warm against your lips, and the weight of him pressed you into the bed in a way that felt less like containment and more like being held together.
"How many times?" you whispered.
His eyes searched yours. "How many times what?"
"How many times were you going to stop before you let me finish?"
Something flickered in his expression. It’s not guilt but something closer to recognition. "I hadn't decided."
You groan but also chuckle. "Wonwoo."
"I was reading you." His thumb traced the curve of your jaw. "Watching your breathing. Listening to the sounds you made." A pause. "You were close twice. Did you know that?"
You hadn't. The realization made something flutter low in your stomach. "You can tell?"
"I can tell." He said it simply. "I know your body better than I know my own at this point. I know what your breathing does seconds before you come. I know that little sound you make right before—the one you don't even realize you're making. I know when you're holding back and when you're letting go and when you're somewhere in between." His thumb moved down to your lower lip, tracing it with the same attention. "So yes. I can tell."
You stared up at him.
"Why do you look surprised?" he asked quietly.
"Because I didn't know you paid that much attention."
"YN." He said your name like it was the beginning of a sentence he'd been writing for years. "Paying attention to you is the most natural thing I do."
He kissed you then—slow and thorough. When he pulled back, there was something new in his expression. Something resolved.
"Three times," he said.
"What?"
"You asked how many times I was going to stop. I've decided." He shifted his weight, settling more deliberately between your thighs. "Three times. I stopped you twice already. One more."
Your breath caught. "Wonwoo—"
"Unless you want me to stop entirely." His voice was very gentle. "If this is too much—if you need to come now—tell me. I'll take care of you. I meant what I said earlier. I want to show you that you're worth taking time over but I don't want to push you past what feels good." He held your gaze. "Is this still good?"
Your throat was tight. "Yes."
"Are you sure, baby?"
"I'm sure." You reached up and touched his face. "I trust you."
Right then and there, Wonwoo’s expression shifted. It softened and sharpened at once and he turned his head just enough to press a kiss to your palm.
"Okay," he murmured against your skin. "Then let me show you just how much I love you."
Wonwoo didn't go back down immediately.
Instead he shifted to lie beside you, pulling you onto your side to face him and the change in position made everything feel more intimate somehow. Face to face. Eye to eye. Nothing between you but the few inches of hotel sheets and the weight of what he was about to do.
"I want to watch you this time," he said and his hand slid down your stomach with deliberate slowness. "I want to see your face when you get close. I want to see you try to hold back for me."
You shivered. "You're going to make me hold back?"
"I'm going to ask you to try." His fingers found the crease of your thigh and traced along it, maddeningly light. "And if you can't—if it's too much—then you don't. That's the rule. You try, but you don't suffer. Okay?"
"Okay."
"That’s my girl." He kissed your forehead and then his hand moved where you needed it. "Now tell me what you feel."
His fingers parted you with the same care he'd used for everything else tonight. Slow. Intentional. Learning you all over again even though he already had the map memorized. You were still sensitive from earlier but he touched you like that sensitivity was something to be honored rather than avoided.
"You're so warm," he murmured. "So soft here. I forget sometimes exactly how you feel. And then I touch you again and it all comes back." His middle finger circled where you were most sensitive, not quite touching, just skating around the edge of where you wanted him. "Tell me."
"You're teasing me."
"I'm asking you a question." That small, private smile again. "Tell me what you feel."
"Frustrated."
Wonwoo laughed, low and warm, and the sound of it vibrated through you. "Besides that."
"Wanted." The word came out before you could stop it. "You make me feel wanted."
"Hm." He pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth. "That's the point." His finger finally, finally touched you where you needed it—a single stroke, feather-light, that made your hips jerk. "Because I do want you. Every part of you. Every sound you make. Every way you respond to me." Another stroke, slightly firmer. "I wanted you through the entire concert tonight. Did you know that? I was up there doing my job and half my brain was down in the wings with you, wondering if you were watching, wondering if you were comfortable."
His finger circled again and this time he let it dip lower, let it gather the evidence of your arousal before sliding back up. "I could tell from the stage. Even with the lights in my eyes, I could see you standing there and I knew something was bothering you."
"How—"
"Because I know you." He said it simply. "The same way I know that sound you're about to make."
His finger pressed down more firmly and you made exactly the sound he'd predicted—a small, surprised gasp that turned into something needier.
"There it is," he breathed. "That one. I love that one."
He worked you slowly but this time it was different. This time you were facing him and he was watching your face with an intensity that made you feel completely seen. Every flutter of your eyelids. Every catch of your breath. Every time your lips parted and your hips shifted and your hands gripped the sheets or his arm or whatever solid thing they could find.
"You're getting close," he said after a while. It wasn't a question.
"Yes."
"Already?" He sounded almost impressed. "I've barely touched you."
"You've been touching me for—" Your voice broke as his rhythm changed slightly. "—for a while."
"Not long enough." But he didn't slow down. His fingers continued their deliberate work, sliding through your wetness, circling and pressing and retreating in a rhythm that was starting to make your thoughts blur. "Can you hold it? Just a little longer? I want—" He paused and something shifted in his expression. "I want to see if I can take you all the way there and back again. Will you let me?"
You were trembling. The pleasure was building in that familiar way—the tightening, the heat, the sensation of your body preparing toward release. You could feel it approaching and you could feel your muscles starting to tense in preparation.
"I'll try," you managed.
"That's all I ask." He kissed your forehead. "Tell me when you're close. Tell me before—"
"Now," you gasped. "Wonwoo, now, I'm right—"
He stopped.
His hand stilled completely, fingers resting motionless against you, and the loss of sensation was so abrupt that you made a sound somewhere between a groan and a sob. Your hips bucked against his hand, seeking friction, and he let you—let you press against his fingers without moving them, let you chase the edge that had been right there a moment ago and was now retreating.
"Shh," he murmured and his free hand came up to cup your face. "Breathe. I've got you. Just breathe."
You were breathing—or trying to. Your chest was heaving and your skin felt too tight and the space between your legs was throbbing with a need that had been denied three times now. Three times he'd taken you to the very edge. Three times he'd pulled you back.
"That was three," you said, your voice rough.
"I know." He pressed a kiss to your temple. "You did so well. You did so beautifully for me."
"Why do you sound like it's over?"
"Because this part is." His hand finally moved again to cup you gently, holding you in his palm like you were something precious. "The edging part. I told you. Three times."
"And now?"
Wonwoo shifted, rolling onto his back and pulling you with him in one smooth motion. Suddenly you were on top of him, your thighs caging his hips, your hands braced on his chest, looking down at his face. He gazed up at you with an expression of such open tenderness.
"Now," he said, "you're going to come. And I'm going to feel every second of it."
His hands settled on your hips.
"Ride me, baby," he said quietly. "Take what you need. I want to feel you fall apart."
You positioned yourself above him with trembling thighs.
Wonwoo was already hard—had been hard for what felt like hours. You reached down and guided him to your entrance and the first brush of him against your over-sensitized flesh made you both inhale sharply.
"Slowly, babe," he said but it came out strained. "Take it slowly. You've been close so many times. I don't want it to be over before you're ready."
"I've been ready for an hour." But you followed his instruction anyway, sinking down onto him by inches, feeling every ridge and vein and breath of him filling you. Your body welcomed him, opened for him, and by the time he was fully seated, you were both trembling.
"God," he breathed. His eyes went very dark. "You feel—I can feel how close you are. You're already—"
"I know." You didn't move yet, just stayed there, feeling the fullness of him inside you. "You did that."
"I did." His hands tightened on your hips. "I wanted to. I wanted you desperate for it. I wanted you so close that the first time I let you have me, you'd—" He broke off, his jaw tightening. "Move. Please, baby. I can't—I need you to move."
You did.
The first roll of your hips made you both groan. You were so sensitive—three denied orgasms had left you on a hair trigger and every movement sent sparks cascading down your spine. You set a rhythm that was slow but deep, grinding down onto him in a way that made the base of him press against where you needed it most.
"That's it," Wonwoo managed. His head fell back, his throat exposed, and you watched the muscles in his neck work as he swallowed. "Just like that. Take what you need. I'm—I'm not going to last long."
"Good." You leaned forward, bracing your hands on his chest, changing the angle. "I don't want you to last long. I want you to let go."
"I've been letting go." His voice was rough and fraying at the edges. "I've been letting go all night. You have no idea—" He broke off as you rolled your hips again. "—no idea how hard it's been to hold back with you. To stop when all I wanted was to keep going. To watch you get close and not let myself follow."
"Then don't hold back now." You picked up the pace slightly and his hands flew to your hips just to hold on. "I want to hear you. I want to feel you. I want you to come with me."
"Sweetheart—"
"I'm close." You were. The pleasure was building again, that familiar tightening, and this time no one was going to stop it. "Wonwoo, I'm—"
"Look at me." His voice was suddenly urgent. "Look at me. I want to see your face when it happens."
You opened your eyes—you hadn't realized you'd closed them—and met his gaze.
What you saw there undid you.
Wonwoo was looking at you like you were the only thing in the universe. His eyes were dark and wet and so full of love that it felt like its own kind of touch. His mouth was slightly open, his breathing ragged, his hands gripping your hips with a desperation he'd been holding back all night. He was completely unguarded. Completely present.
Completely yours.
"Come for me," he breathed. "I've got you, YN. Let go."
The permission hit you like a wave.
The pleasure crested and broke. It rushed through you in a flood of sensation that made your back arch and your rhythm stutter and his name tear from your throat. You felt yourself clench around him, felt the way your body gripped him and released in waves and through it all his eyes never left your face.
He watched you come apart like it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
"God," he groaned and then his own control shattered. His hips bucked up into you, once, twice, and then he was coming too—a broken sound, your name tangled up in his breathing, his fingers gripping your hips hard enough to leave marks. You felt him pulse inside you, felt the warmth of his release, and the sensation triggered another aftershock that made you clench around him again.
For a long moment, neither of you moved.
You stayed there on top of him, both of you trembling. His hands were still on your hips. Your hands were still on his chest. His breathing was harsh and uneven and yours wasn't much better.
Then he laughed.
It was a small sound, breathless and disbelieving, and he let his head fall back against the pillow with a soft thump.
"Three times," he said. "I edged you three times and you still—" He shook his head slightly. "You're incredible. You know that?"
"You're the one who held back through all of that." You were still catching your breath. "I just lay there."
"You didn't just lie there." He reached up and touched your face, his thumb tracing your cheekbone with that same care. "You trusted me. You let me take you to the edge three times and pull you back and you didn't fight it and you didn't get frustrated and you let me show you what I wanted to show you." His eyes were very soft. "Do you understand what that means to me? That you trust me like that?"
"Of course I trust you."
"I know." He pulled you down against his chest and you went willingly. You settle against him with your head in the hollow of his shoulder. "I know you do. But it still—" He paused. "It still hits me sometimes that you let me love you like this."
You tilted your head to look up at him. "Like what?"
"Completely." He said it simply. "Without holding back. Without making me feel like I'm too much or not enough or any of the things I worry about being." His hand traced slow circles on your back. "You just let me love you and you love me back the same way."
"That's because you're easy to love."
"I'm not." He pressed a kiss to your hair. "I know I'm not. I'm quiet and I'm in my head too much and I have a job that takes me away for months at a time and makes you stand in the wings feeling like you don't belong. I know all of that. And you love me anyway."
"Wonwoo—"
"Let me finish." His arm tightened around you. "I edged you three times tonight because I wanted to show you something. I wanted to show you that I pay attention. That I know your body. That I know exactly how much you can take and exactly when to stop and exactly what you need to get there." He paused. "I wanted to show you that you're the person I want to spend time with. The person I want to focus on." Another pause, longer this time. "Did it work?"
You lifted your head to look at him. "Did what work?"
"Did I convince you? That you're the most important person to me? That the ending ment are just words on a stage and this—" He touched your face again. "—you, here, in my arms—is the one thing that actually matters to me?"
Your eyes stung. You didn't try to blink it away this time. "Yeah," you whispered. "You convinced me."
"Good." He kissed your forehead, soft and lingering. "Because I meant every word. I have never loved anyone the way I love you. I didn't know I could love someone the way I love you. You're it for me." He held your gaze. "You're it."
You kissed him then because you didn't have words, because sometimes the only adequate response to being loved like that was to love back in the same language. He kissed you back with the same tenderness, the same certainty.
When you pulled apart, both of you were smiling.
"We should probably clean up," you whisper against his lips.
"Probably."
Neither of you moved.
"In a minute," he amended.
"In a minute," you agreed.
The aftercare was slow like everything else tonight. Wonwoo insisted on taking care of you—a warm washcloth, a fresh t-shirt from his bag, a glass of water that he watched you drink before he let himself do anything else.
"You're fussing," you said as he adjusted the blanket around your shoulders.
"I'm taking care of you."
"Same thing, really."
"It's not the same thing." He climbed into bed beside you and immediately reached for you, pulling you against his chest with the ease of long practice. "Fussing implies it's unnecessary. This is very necessary."
"For who?"
"For me." He said it without embarrassment. "It's necessary for me. I need to take care of you. It's how I—" He paused a beat. "It's how I settle after a day like today and after being on stage and giving everything to everyone else. I need to come back here and take care of you. It reminds me who I actually am."
You were quiet for a moment. Then: "Who are you actually?"
He considered the question. "Yours," he said finally. "Before anything else. Before the stage and the music and the fans. I'm yours." He pressed a kiss to your hair. "That's who I actually am."
You closed your eyes and let that settle into you—the words, the meaning, the weight of his arm around your shoulders and the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear.
Later when the city outside had gone quiet and the only sound was the soft hum of the hotel heating system, you spoke one last time.
"Wonwoo?"
"Mm?"
"The three times thing."
"What about it?"
"Next time, can we try four?"
His hand stilled on your back. Then he laughed—a real laugh, surprised and delighted, the sound of it filling the quiet room. "You want me to edge you four times?"
"I'm just asking."
"You're just asking." He shifted to look at you and even in the dark, you could see that small, private smile. "What happened to 'you're torturing me'?"
"That was before I knew what the payoff felt like."
He kissed you, still smiling. "Four times, huh?" he murmured against your lips. "I'll see what I can do."
"Okay."
"Still jealous?" he asked after a long comfortable quiet and you could hear the smile in his voice.
You laughed, muffled against his chest. "Shut up."
His arm tightened around you, delighted to have made you laugh. "Still mine?"
You tilted your head to look up at him. He was looking down at you, his hair thoroughly disheveled, his eyes warm and dark and certain.
"Still yours," you said.
"Just making sure." He kissed your forehead. "Because that was—" He paused, searching for a word. "—the best I've ever had."
"Wonwoo."
"I'm serious."
"You say that every time."
He shifted to look at you and there was something very earnest in his expression. "I do but I mean it every time. It keeps getting better because you keep being you." He tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. "I love you. You know that, right?"
You pressed closer to him. "I love you too."
"Wonwoo," you said softly, reaching out to touch his wrist as he adjusted his glasses and opened to their bookmarked page. "You don't have to read tonight. You must be exhausted—you need to rest."
He looked down at you and that gentle smile played at his lips—the one that made the corners of his eyes crinkle softly behind his frames. "I'm fine," he said, his voice that low, soothing rumble. "I want to."
"But—"
"YN." He shifted, moving the pillows so he could lean back comfortably against the headboard, and then he opened his arm in invitation. "Come here."
You went without further protest, curling into his side. Your head found its home on his chest, right over his heart where you could hear the steady, reassuring thump of it. Wonwoo's arm came around your shoulders, holding you close, his hand settling warm and secure on your upper arm. With his other hand, he held the book at an angle where he could read comfortably.
"Ready?" he murmured and you felt the word rumble through his chest.
"Mmhm," you hummed, already relaxing into him.
Wonwoo started to read, his voice quiet and measured. There was something hypnotic about his reading voice—the deep timber, the way he knew exactly when to pause, how he gave different characters subtle variations in tone without it ever feeling performative.
You listened, your fingers absently tracing patterns on his stomach through his t-shirt. When the protagonist's twist revealed itself, you gasped softly.
"No way," you breathed.
You felt more than heard Wonwoo's quiet chuckle. His arm tightened around your shoulders and he pressed a lingering kiss to the top of your head before continuing.
Three pages later, there was a moment of unexpected humor—the protagonist's internal monologue taking a self-deprecating turn that was both relatable and perfectly timed. You laughed a soft, delighted sound before tilting your head to look up at Wonwoo's face.
He was already looking down at you, his reading paused, and the expression on his face was so unbearably tender it made your heart flutter. The corner of his mouth quirked up in that small, private smile and he leaned down to kiss your forehead, his lips lingering there for a long moment.
"Keep reading," you whispered, settling back against his chest.
"So bossy," he murmured but there was so much affection in it. His fingers traced absent patterns on your arm as he found his place again and continued.
The story unfolded in Wonwoo's steady voice. You made small sounds of acknowledgement when something particularly poignant happened and each time, you felt him respond—sometimes his hand would squeeze your arm gently, sometimes he'd adjust his hold to tuck you closer, sometimes he'd pause long enough to press another soft kiss to your hair. It was like a conversation communicated in touches, in the language you'd privately developed that didn't need words.
He continued reading but you were fighting a losing battle with consciousness now. The exhaustion of everything was pulling you under in long, gentle waves. Your hand had stilled on his stomach, your breathing deepening and slowing.
Wonwoo noticed. He'd been reading for another few minutes when he felt your weight change. He paused mid-sentence, tilting his head to look down at you.
Your face was peaceful, your lips slightly parted, your lashes dark crescents against your cheeks. One hand was still resting on his stomach, the other curled up near your face. You looked so young this way and he held the sight of you for a long moment.
Carefully, moving with painstaking slowness, he marked the page and set the book on the nightstand. Then he reached up and removed his glasses. He folded them beside the book.
He shifted slowly, sliding down until he was lying flat, adjusting everything with the patience of someone who would rather contort himself into an awkward position for an hour than disturb you. You made a small sound in your sleep and burrowed closer, your nose pressing into the hollow of his throat and his heart did something quiet and enormous at the same time.
He tucked the blanket around your shoulders before spreading his hand warm and wide on your back.
"You fell asleep on me again," he whispered into the darkness. "I don't mind. I never mind."
His thumb moved in slow circles.
"I meant everything," he murmured. "Everything from tonight. In the bathroom and after. All of it." He pressed his lips to your forehead, soft and lingering. "You are the person I think about when I'm up there. You are who I'm coming home to. You are—" He exhaled slowly. "You are the part of my life that's entirely mine. That no stage can have."
You shifted in your sleep, your hand sliding to rest over his heart. He caught it gently and threaded his fingers through yours.
"I'm going to marry you someday," he breathed into the quiet. "When the time is right. I'm going to make it so you never have a single doubt again."
He brought your joined hands to his lips and kissed your knuckles, one by one.
Wonwoo watched you sleep for a long while after that—the way the city light from the curtains touched your face, the slow rise and fall of your breathing, the furrow between your brows that appeared even in sleep like you were concentrating on your dreams.
He memorized it.
"Sweet dreams, my love," he murmured finally before pressing one last kiss to your hair.
He let his eyes close, his hand still moving in those slow gentle arcs on your back, matching your breathing, following you down into quiet.
The last thing Wonwoo was aware of was your heartbeat against his chest—steady and sure. And the weight of you in his arms is the best weight he'd ever known.
age gap arranged marriage with wonwoo. takes your virginity months after the wedding day. thinks you’re all innocent and naive but once you start dirty talking him he realizes you’re a freakkk. 🙈🙈🙈 love your writing btw!!
Thank you for saying that about my writing, I love your request 😏 I hope you like it!! i LOVE a good age gap
18+ content, MDNI
Arranged marriage Wonwoo who really didn't want to get married at all but his parents need him to have an heir to the Jeon fortune. They said 35 is a ridiculous age for a man of his place in society to be unmarried and so he had to leave his bachelor lifestyle behind him.
Arranged marriage Wonwoo who isn't mad when he meets you a few days before the wedding. You're fresh out of university and the heiress to a fortune, add that to your classic beauty, he knew he could've fared a lot worse from this little arrangement.
Arranged marriage Wonwoo who senses that you're maybe not entirely comfortable with him yet, he gets it, he doesn't know you either and this is only a marriage of convenience after all. And so he doesn't try to make anything happen between the two of you, he's aware you're a virgin and he knows you'll be worried about the whole sex thing.
Arranged marriage Wonwoo who one day a few months after your wedding brings up the awkward conversation he'd just had with his father. "Any news on an heir yet? You firing blanks or something?" was what his father said to him and he knew it was time to finally do something.
Arranged marriage Wonwoo who is a little taken aback when you say yes straight away, even somewhat eagerly. He's used to you tripping over your words a little with him and, if anything, he finds his ability to fluster you pretty endearing. You're so gentle around him that he's a little worried that you're going to shy away from him when it comes to actually doing it.
Arranged marriage Wonwoo who is laying against the headboard that same evening, not expecting anything to happen straight away. Losing your virginity is a big thing and he doesn't want to rush it.
Arranged marriage Wonwoo whose book nearly flies out of his hand when you crawl up the bed and into his lap, freshly showered and in the skimpiest little black silk nightgown he's ever seen.
Arranged marriage Wonwoo who feels his dick stir straight away against his pyjamas when you sit on him, nightgown so far up your thighs that if he really looked closely he'd see you've nothing on underneath it, and so low that he can almost see your nipples from the way it's clinging round your perfect tits.
Arranged marriage Wonwoo who if he was shocked by the way you've just crawled up his body, is completely baffled by the way you pout innocently, your finger tracing patterns on his chest, and ask him to please please fuck your needy little pussy, you've been waiting so long for him to finally make you his.
Arranged marriage Wonwoo who doesn't stop you when you move down his body, taking his pyjama bottoms with you and begging him to choke on his big dick, telling him that you've being thinking about what it'd feel like to have him in your mouth for so fucking long.
Arranged marriage Wonwoo who was expecting anything but this from the timid little virgin he married a few months ago, especially when you lick a long strip up his fat dick and tell him you can't wait to find out what it feels like to taste him.
Arranged marriage Wonwoo who really wants to be kind about this, its your first time, but somehow your mouth is like fucking heaven on his dick and he can't resist holding the back of your head and shoving you down on his hard length. When you moan from the grip he has on you he starts to realise even more that you're NOTHING like he expected.
Arranged marriage Wonwoo who smirks wickedly at you when you finally come up for air from the best blow job of his life and pout, it that same fake innocent way that you did earlier, telling him that you really want him to cum down your throat but your pussy is so desperate for him, that you want him to fuck you into the mattress.
Arranged marriage Wonwoo who can do nothing but stare at you in awe when you throw your nightgown off and lay spread out for him, begging him to fill your tight little virgin pussy up with his big delicious dick. Telling him about how you've always wanted an older man to take it because they really know how to fuck and asking him does he not want to know how good your younger tighter body feels around him?
Arranged marriage Wonwoo who lines himself up with your dripping core but just as he's about to ask if you're really ok with this, you tell him to hurry up and fuck you, you just want to know what it feels like to be full of him.
Arranged marriage Wonwoo who feels like he's hit the fucking jackpot when you tell him how fucking good he feels inside you and you're going to be such a good fucking wife for him, that you'll be the best fuck he's ever had and how fucking good he feels inside you. The fact that you're pussy feels better than any other he's ever had is just an extra bonus.
Arranged marriage Wonwoo who growls in your ear when you beg him to fuck you harder, harder until you're moaning like even the best pornstars and your pussy is just a wet, squelching mess.
Arranged marriage Wonwoo who thinks the sound of you cumming around him might be the best sound he's ever heard.
Arranged marriage Wonwoo who quickly changes his mind about that the second he hears you begging him to fill you up. Your filthy fucking mouth telling him again and again how much you want his hot sticky cum deep inside you. And who is he to refuse?
Arranged marriage Wonwoo who can't help but think he might really love you when you say thank you for filling you up so well, that sweet innocent look back on your face after you've just been one of the filthiest fucks he's ever had.
Arranged marriage Wonwoo who can't help but chuckle when you both get cleaned up and get back into bed and you seem somewhat shy when he opens his arms to cuddle a bit before you go to sleep, wondering where on earth the dirty minded virgin has gone.
Arranged marriage Wonwoo who thinks that his parents may have inadvertently found the love of his life and promises himself he's going to eat you out so fucking well in the morning, just to hear what other filth might stumble out of your pretty little mouth.
𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 ➙ You call tech support expecting help, not butterflies. The guy on the other end has a voice that could fix ANY problem — except the one where you can’t stop calling just to hear him talk.
𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬 ➙ Fluff, I.T.! Wonwoo x Not techy! Reader, Office Romance, Meet-cute, Strangers to lovers (real), Reader be a little obsessed with deep voices, 18+, Porn w/ Plot
𝐖𝐂 ➙ 9k
𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ➙ MDNI, explicit sexual content, explicit language, finger fucking (f. receiving), masturbation (f. doing with ‘somehow’ the help of other), public-risk intimacy (I’m so sorry..), grinding, protected sex, rough sex, neck grabs/choking, restraining hands, voice kink, mirror sex, coming untouched, body worship, dirty talk, praising, spanking, hair pulling, multiple orgasms, hail your queen position, doggy style, pinning her, mentions of bar and alcohol, intoxicated sex, smoking, shotgun scene, aftercare
🎧 ➙ Kiss me thru the phone by Soulja Boy, Sammie ⋮ Shut up and listen by Nicholas Bonnin, Angelicca
𝐀/𝐍 ➙ Heyy, advance happy halloween (or happy halloween if it’s already that time in your zone)!! I’m not sure if I’ll be active tomorrow since I'll be out (guys have fun too😭) — but anyways!! thank you so much for all the love and support lately. I had so much fun doing kinktober this year. I hope you enjoy this one!! I also wanted to thank @svthub nothing I really am just happy to be part of it and everyone for being so welcoming and nice!!
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“Welcome to the necessary weekly meeting!” Soonyoung announced dramatically, arms wide as you walked into Jihoon’s condo. Jihoon, sitting cross-legged on the floor with a laptop and a frown, didn’t even look up. “It’s literally just us hanging out because you two can’t function without supervision.”
“Exactly!” Soonyoung grinned, patting the seat beside him. “Necessary.” You dropped your bag on the couch, laptop under your arm, and sighed. “If this is a meeting, I’d like to file a complaint. My wi-fi’s been dead for three hours.”
Jihoon groaned. “Oh no.” Soonyoung perked up. “Don’t-” But you were already reaching for your phone. “I think I’ll just call-” “Don’t say it,” Jihoon warned.
“-tech support,” you finished innocently.
Soonyoung threw a pillow at you. “You don’t need tech support for everything! Last time your charger wasn’t even plugged in!” “It was plugged in,” you argued. “Just.. not all the way.” Jihoon muttered, “You’re single-handedly keeping that hotline employed.”
“They’re nice people!” You defended yourself, booting up your laptop. “Besides, they actually help instead of mocking me.” “Oh please,” Soonyoung teased, leaning closer. “Just say you have a voice fetish”
“I do not?!”
Jihoon snorted. “Your face says otherwise.” You huffed, glaring at both of them. “You’re just jealous because no one picks up when you call for help.” “Yeah, because we don’t break technology by existing,” Jihoon shot back.
The argument went in circles until Jihoon ordered takeout just to shut both of you up. When it arrived, everyone ended up sprawled in front of the TV, eating noodles and teasing each other between bites.
By the time you headed home, Soonyoung made you promise — hands clasped together dramatically — “Don’t. Call. Tech support. Tonight.” You rolled your eyes. “If you just helped me with my problem-” “I can’t help you, Y/N.. I have my own problems,” he said, feigning exhaustion. “You’re so dramatic.” “Just promise.”
“Ok.. ok jeez I promise not to call them.”
You did.
When you got home, your apartment felt unusually quiet. Too quiet. You dropped your keys, kicked off your shoes, and flopped onto your bed, staring at your laptop like it was your sworn enemy. The wi-fi symbol blinked mockingly at you. Still dead. You worked at Jihoon's. What's wrong with you?!
You tried everything: restarted, reconnected, even whispered, “Please work, I’m begging you,” like it owed you emotional support. Still nothing.
Soonyoung’s voice echoed in your head — Don’t call tech support tonight. You sighed, staring at your phone. He didn’t have to know. “Just one call,” you muttered, already pressing the number.
Beep. Beep.
You leaned back, half-asleep, bracing for the hold music and robotic voice menu. Then.. “Good evening, this is Jeon Wonwoo from customer support. How can I help you tonight?”
You were stunned.
God damn the voice.
Low, calm, a little tired but velvety — the kind of voice that could make tax advice sound seductive. “Oh. U- Hi,” you managed, blinking at the ceiling. “My laptop refuses to connect to the wi-fi. It’s being dramatic.”
A small laugh slipped through the line. “Let’s see what we can do. Are you sure it’s your wi-fi and not your laptop? Have you tried connecting it to another network?” “Positive,” you said confidently. “I’m very tech-savvy.” “ok..,” he said, amused. “Can you check your network list? What do you see?”
You peered at your screen. “Uhm-” You frowned. “I don’t see my wi-fi name. Just.. my neighbour’s? And something called ‘NETGEAR32’..what the fuck is this?” You whispered the last sentence, but figured he heard it, the way he laughed on the other line. Wah! The laugh is even hotter.
“Hmm. Could you tell me what your router looks like?” “It’s that little black box with the blinking lights, right?” “Yes,” he said slowly. “Where is it?” You turned your head toward your bedside table. “It’s right here. Wait..” you reached out and realised it wasn’t blinking at all. Just off.
You picked it up and froze. “Oh my god.” “What’s wrong?” “It’s- ahm.. uh- huh” you coughed. “It’s not plugged in. Because I moved it earlier so I could vacuum.” There was a pause. Then his voice came through again, thick with restrained laughter.
“You vacuumed your wi-fi?” “Don’t say it like that,” you protested, cheeks burning. “It sounded responsible at the time!” He chuckled — a low, genuine sound that made your stomach twist. “You’re the first caller I’ve had tonight who turned off their wi-fi for cleaning purposes.”
“See? I’m helping the world one spotless floor at a time.” “Sure,” he said. “Totally not creating your own emergencies.” You pouted even though he couldn’t see you. “You’re judging me.” “I’m observing,” he teased. “With admiration.”
You couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re rude. But also kind of charming.” “That’s a first,” he said softly, and you could hear his smile through the line.
The wi-fi reconnected instantly once you plugged it back in, but neither of you hung up. At one point, he asked, “So do you always call tech support after vacuuming?”
“Only when I make life decisions that backfire,” you said. “Which is often.” “Good to know,” he murmured, voice lower now. “Guess I should keep my line open then.” Fucking voice.. fucking hellllll- this is testing me.
You laughed, heart racing a little too fast for a call that started with a wi-fi crisis. When the line finally went quiet, you didn’t move for a while. Your wi-fi was back.
But you had a new problem
you couldn’t stop replaying his voice in your head.
“Believe me, Soonyoung, the voice. I just know he looks hot.” You were sprawled across your couch, phone on speaker, while Soonyoung sat at the edge of the coffee table, eating crisps and giving you a look that screamed disbelief.
“There are literally thousands of tech support agents, Y/N,” he said, crunching loudly. “How confident are you that you’re even gonna get-”
“Good evening,” the speaker crackled, and that low, familiar voice filled the room. “This is Jeon Wonwoo from customer support. How can I help you tonight?” Soonyoung froze mid-bite. Then he mouthed, damn.
You grinned, triumphant. “Hi,” you said, trying not to sound too excited. There was a pause — and then, that voice again, soft and amused “You again?” Soonyoung slapped a hand over his mouth, trying not to laugh.
You cleared your throat, pretending to be professional. “Yes, me again. I, um.. I think my keyboard’s stuck.” Soonyoung buried his face in a pillow. Stuck? Really? he mouthed, horrified. You whispered back, “What?! That’s the only thing I could think of!”
Wonwoo must’ve heard the shuffling because he asked, “Keyboard stuck how?” You blinked at your laptop. “Like- it’s not typing?” “Did you check if it’s connected properly?” You poked at the keys. “Yes?” “Okay. Is it wireless?” You squinted. “I mean it doesn’t have a wire.”
Soonyoung groaned into the pillow. “Alright,” Wonwoo said, patient as ever. “Can you check the little switch under it? It might be turned off.” You flipped it over. The red light was off.
“Oh.”
“Found the problem?” he asked, amusement dripping through the line. “..Possibly,” you admitted, turning it back on. Soonyoung whispered, “You’re gonna die alone.” “Don’t be jealous,” you muttered back.
“What was that?” Wonwoo asked, still smiling through his words. “Nothing! I, uh, I fixed it. You’re a genius.” “I do my best,” he said modestly. “Though you might be setting a record for repeat callers this week.”
You snorted. “Oh come on, I’m not that bad.” “I didn’t say bad,” he teased. “Just dedicated.” Soonyoung mouthed, oh my god he’s flirting. You kicked him under the table. “Well,” you said lightly, leaning back. “Thank you again for your very professional assistance, Mr. Wonwoo.”
“My pleasure,” he said smoothly. “But I should tell you — you’re gonna get me fired if you keep calling this much.” You grinned. “Then I’ll have to find another HOTline to talk with.” That made him grin — a low, surprised sound that sent goosebumps up your neck.
Before he could say anything else, you hung up, giggling, tossing your phone onto the couch like it was on fire. Soonyoung stared at you, jaw dropped. “You did not just hang up on him after saying that.”
“I did,” you said proudly, hugging a pillow. “You’re insane.” “I think I’m in love with his voice,” you ignored him. “Yeah.. definitely insane.” Soonyoung groaned, throwing himself back dramatically. “Jihoon’s never gonna believe this.”
Meetings were bad enough on their own.
Delayed meetings, however, were a special kind of torture.
You sat in the conference room with your coworkers, nursing your second cup of terrible coffee while everyone complained about the same thing.. the company’s internal program being down.
“This is the third time this week,” Hansol muttered beside you, spinning his pen like he was auditioning for a stress commercial. “Didn’t the IT promise to fix this permanently?” You sighed, leaning back. “Apparently the main IT guy’s out of town. They’re sending someone else from the other branch.”
“God,” Hansol groaned. “If this takes longer, I’m fake fainting just to go home early.” A few desks away, someone joked, “Maybe we should just call tech support!” Hansol smirked and nudged you. “Hey, that’s your thing, right?” You gave him a look. “Shut up.”
Before he could tease you again, the conference room door swung open. “Sorry for the delay,” a deep, calm voice said. “I’m from the external IT department — I’ll be fixing the system today.”
You froze.
No way.
The pen slipped from your hand. Hansol glanced at you, confused, as you slowly turned toward the door. And there he was.
Jeon Wonwoo, in the flesh.
Tall. Dressed in an office lanyard, white button-down shirt, rolled-up sleeves, soft eyes framed by dark-rimmed glasses. The same low, polite tone — the same one that had once asked, You again? through your phone speaker.
He didn’t even look in your direction, busy setting his laptop bag down near the projector. But you were already spiraling. Hansol whispered, “What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” You grabbed his sleeve, dragging him closer, whispering, “That’s him.”
“Who-” “Tech support voice guy.”
Hansol blinked. Then his eyes widened. “No way.” “Way,” you hissed. “Oh my god, he’s real. He’s here. I’ve literally flirted with him over my wi-fi and fake keyboard issues.”
Hansol’s face twisted between amusement and disbelief. “You’re kidding. The guy you said had a voice that could fix your life? That’s him?” “Shut up,” you whispered harshly, elbowing him as quietly as possible.
But of course, Wonwoo glanced up right at that moment — and his eyes landed on the two of you whispering near the door.
You panicked and pretended to cough. Hansol, because he loved chaos, gave you the most suspiciously innocent smile possible. Wonwoo tilted his head slightly. Then, with that same even tone, said, “Sorry, could someone show me where the main server is located?”
Hansol grinned, standing immediately. “Y/N can show you.” Your head whipped toward him. “I- what?!” “She’s great with.. tech support,” Hansol said, barely holding back laughter.
You shot him a death glare before plastering on the fakest smile known to man. “Right. The server. Of course.” You led the way down the hallway, pulse hammering, mentally screaming the entire time. Behind you, you could hear the faint sound of Wonwoo’s footsteps — steady, unbothered.
And when he finally spoke, the air shifted. “You work here?” he asked casually. You swallowed. “..Apparently.” There was a hint of amusement in his voice when he replied, “Guess I should’ve known. You sound familiar.”
Your brain short-circuited. Does he recognise me?! IS THAT POSSIBLE?? Fuckk! Oh my- do I even look good today?! You laughed a little too quickly. “Do I?”
He hummed softly. “Yeah. Can’t quite place it though. Maybe I’m wrong.” Good. Keep it that way. You stopped by the room, pushing the door open and praying your soul wouldn’t just exit your body on the spot.
“Here it is,” you said, stepping aside. “The, uh.. problematic area.” Wonwoo smiled faintly — professional, polite — but something about it made your heart stutter anyway. “Thanks.”
You nodded, pretending to check your phone just to avoid melting under his presence. Hansol’s text popped up almost immediately
Hansolie: 👀 sooooooo how’s ur ‘wifi’?
You typed back furiously while walking back to the conference room.
Y/N: shut. up. hansol.
—
The elevator doors slid open to the scent of roasted beans and caramel syrup — the unofficial perfume of your company’s lobby. You needed caffeine. And possibly divine intervention. After all, you’d just spent the entire morning trying not to think about your crush slash former tech support.
“Hey, Y/N!” the barista chirped as you reached the counter. “The usual?” You nodded, rubbing your temples. “Yeah, but can you, like.. make it extra strong today? Emotionally and spiritually?”
He laughed. “Got it. Double shot, emotional damage edition.” “Perfect,” you sighed. “Oh, and can you add a little cinnamon instead of cocoa powder this time?” “Got you.” He scribbled the note on your cup. You stepped aside to wait — and that’s when you heard it.
“Can I get a flat white, please?”
That voice.
You turned, and there he was — standing just a few feet away at the other end of the counter, sleeves still rolled up, work lanyard hanging loose around his neck. Wonwoo.
He looked effortlessly calm, one hand in his pocket, the other holding his phone while he thanked the barista with that same low tone that made you weak in the knees.
You blinked, heart stuttering. “Oh,” you blurted before your brain caught up. “You- uh.. coffee?”
Smooth. Very eloquent.
Wonwoo glanced up, a little confused. “Me.. coffee,” he echoed, lips curving. You wanted to melt straight into the tile floor. “Hi,” you said, trying to be casual. “Again.”
“Hi,” he returned, equally casual. His voice softened. “You on break?” “Yeah, trying to survive another meeting that could’ve been an email,” you joked. “You?” “Running system checks upstairs. Thought I’d double check whether the server is plugged before your company crashes again.”
You gasped in mock offense, not fully understanding what he meant. “Hey! It wasn’t my fault this time.” He chuckled, stepping closer as the barista called both your names. You picked up your drink at the same time he reached for his — your fingers brushed for half a second.
And you definitely felt that.
“Thanks,” you mumbled, gripping your cup a little too tight. He tilted his head, smiling teasingly. “So.. how’s your technology lately?” You froze. “What-”
“That wi-fi working fine?” he asked innocently, sipping his coffee. “Keyboard behaving?” Suddenly your jaw could hit the floor.. hiding your face with your hand. “Oh my god. You know it’s me.” “I just figured it out after you showed me the room earlier,” he admitted, smirking. “You have a very.. recognizable voice.”
Oh yeah..? and you have a hella attractive voice.
“Great,” you muttered. “So now the tech guy knows ‘the girl who vacuumed her wi-fi’s’ work address..” He laughed quietly. “Could’ve been worse.” “I was trying to clean responsibly!” you protested, half laughing, half dying inside.
He leaned a little closer, eyes glinting with amusement. “You really do make my job interesting, you know that?” You tried not to look at his mouth when he smiled like that. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” “It is,” he said easily.
For a second, neither of you said anything — the buzz of the lobby filling the space between you. Then your phone buzzed with a message from Hansol
Hansolie: boss asking where u r 👀
You sighed. “Duty calls.” Wonwoo held up his cup. “Same here.” You both started toward the elevators, walking side by side until the hall split. “Guess I’ll see you around, I’ll be the IT for weeks, fortunately.” he said.
You grinned, stepping backward. “Fortunately?” He smirked, tone low and teasing. “Yeah.. this time, you don’t have to press any keys to talk to me.” You turned away, trying not to smile too hard — and totally failed.
It’s been a week.
A very long, very confusing week.
Because somehow, ever since that coffee encounter, your team and the IT team have been glued together. Every project update? They’re there. Every department sync? They’re in the room. Every “quick check on the system”? It’s him.
You tried to act normal — really, you did — but it was hard to stay composed when his voice kept floating across the room. Smooth, professional, occasionally teasing when he’d call out, “Y/N, can you test the connection for me?” Yeah. Connection. Sure.
And of course, Hansol noticed. He noticed how you’d suddenly straighten in your chair whenever Wonwoo spoke, how you’d take exactly 0.5 seconds too long to respond. “You’re down bad,” he whispered during one meeting, and you kicked him under the table hard enough to rattle his pen.
Even worse, Wonwoo didn’t seem fazed by any of it. He’d walk past your desk with that tiny, unreadable smile — the kind that made your brain lag. He’d drop by for “routine checks,” which, suspiciously, only seemed necessary near your cubicle.
By Friday, your nerves were shot. You’d memorised the sound of his footsteps, the shape of his laugh, and the way he said your name like it was something erotic. Or maybe that’s just me who’s thinking that..
You weren’t sure which was worse — that he might notice, or that he already had.
—
You’d left the office hours ago, but Wonwoo’s voice lingered in your mind like a ghost. Back in your apartment, you changed into comfortable clothes — an oversized shirt and didn’t even bother to put on some shorts. You poured yourself a glass of wine, settling on the couch with your laptop, trying to focus on a show. But your thoughts kept drifting back to him.
His smile, his laugh, the way his hair fell across his forehead. You remembered the sound of his voice, the way it echoed through the empty office, wrapping around you like a warm blanket.
You took a sip of your wine, feeling the cool liquid slide down your throat. This is ridiculous. Is the aircon even on?!
You shifted uncomfortably on the couch, feeling a warmth spread through you. You couldn’t believe you were getting turned on just by thinking about his voice. You felt embarrassed, foolish even. But the warmth didn’t go away. Instead, it grew stronger, pooling between your legs.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” you muttered to yourself, but your hand was already sliding beneath the waistband of your underwear. You weren’t even touching yourself yet, just pressing your palm against your core through the fabric. “I’m getting horny over someone’s voice..?”
Just say you have a voice fetish — Soonyoung’s voice suddenly echoing in your head that made you feel an overwhelming rush of embarrassment and arousal. You pushed your underwear to the side and slipped a finger inside yourself, that deep voice. “Fuck..”
Slowly pushing it in and out as you imagined Wonwoo’s voice whispering dirty things in your ear. Your other hand reached up to pinch your nipple through your shirt, twisting it gently. You were getting wetter by the second, all from thinking about a man’s voice.
Your mind started playing tricks on you. You pictured his long fingers as he fast-typed on a keyboard. You bit your lip, moaning softly. “God,” you whimpered. Your hips lifted slightly, pushing your finger deeper, thinking it was Wonwoo who was finger-fucking her.
One finger wasn’t enough. You needed more stimulation, more pressure. You cursed under your breath, frustrated that your own hand wasn’t enough to get you off when just thinking about Wonwoo’s voice had you soaking wet. “Damn it..”
—
I stopped moving my finger, my heart racing as reality crashed back in. What the actual fuck was wrong with me..? Getting turned on over a voice?! What the hell. Over Wonwoo’s voice specifically??! Ughh god.. I quickly pulled my finger.
“Maybe I should..” my heart raced at the thought. “Hmm.. should I?” I don’t know what to do. But I’m burning and it hurts already, I need to get by.
This is insane. “No. I won’t do it,” but the thought only lingered on me and I’m going crazy. This is desperate.. yet also fucking hot.
My fingers trembled as I slowly dialed a number.. his number. Each digit felt like a step closer to crossing a line I wasn’t sure I could uncross. The phone rang once, twice, three times. Fuck.. fuck.. fuck! My heart is pounding so much and my free hand is already sliding back into my underwear.. ok maybe I’m not that good of a person- but I need this! I’m gonna go nuts!
—
“Hello?” His deep, husky voice came through the phone, sending a jolt straight to your core. You let out a shaky breath, your finger now slowly circling your clit as you held the phone between your shoulder and ear. “Hi..” You whispered, already lost.
“Hey,” he said softly, unknowingly pushing you further towards the edge. “Everything ok?” He asked, you could hear the concern in his voice. Your hips lifted slightly, pushing your finger inside your clit. “Mhm,”
“You sound distracted.” He paused, you could hear him moving around. “Where are you? I can barely hear you.” His words sent a shiver down your spine. You were silent for a moment, your finger moving faster. “I'm.. in bed,” you whispered, your voice hoarse.
Wonwoo hummed, “It's late. You sleeping?” You bit your lip, debating whether to tell the truth. “No,” you admitted quietly, your hand moving frantically now, your legs spreading wider. Wonwoo’s voice was just too good, too enticing.
“What are you doing then?” He asked, suddenly curious. His voice dropped lower, unaware that he was talking to a woman on the verge of orgasm on the phone. “Because- I’m alone," you confessed, your breath hitching as your finger rubbed faster.
“Aw, are you bored?” He asked gently. “Kind of-” You whispered, your other hand squeezing your breast through your shirt. “Need someone to talk to?” He offered, making small talk while you edged closer to coming.
“Actually- hmm” You started, then bit your lip hard to stop yourself from moaning. Your finger was slowly pressing onto your G-spot, your thumb circling your clit exactly how you liked. “Yeah?” Wonwoo encouraged conversationally, “What is it, Y/N?”
“Nothin- ahh.. mhmm” You whispered quickly, trying to hide the fact that you were about to cum hard on the phone with him. “Just- just thinking about stuff.” Your legs were shaking now, your hips moving in time with your hand. “Like what?” He asked, genuinely interested.
“Stupid stuff..” You breathed softly. “Like.. Like-” You trailed off, getting closer. “Yeah?” He chuckled, unknowingly pushing you towards your orgasm with his deep voice. “Random stuff” You moaned softly, then covered your mouth quickly.
He hummed on the other line, pressing, “Random stuff like..? Y/N.. are you ok?” You were so close now, your hand moving desperately. “Shit-!” You whimpered into the phone, your body tensing up as you came hard, silence filling the line except for your quick pants.
You quickly ended the call, your cheeks burning red as you tried to catch your breath. You cursed yourself, throwing your phone aside and collapsing back onto your bed. “What the fuck did I just do?” You hissed at yourself, feeling both embarrassed and satisfied from that crazy spontaneous orgasm.
He didn’t catch me right..?
—
He looked at his phone, a slow smirk spreading across his face. The call ended abruptly, and he knew exactly why. His mind filled with images of you touching yourself to his voice, coming undone alone in your room. He chuckled lowly to himself, getting hard.
“Y/N L/N, what are you even planning to do?”
He said, dragging a hand over his face, clearly flustered and unsure of what to do next. No.. correction, he is sure of what he’s gonna do that night.
The week after Wonwoo’s temporary contract with her company ended felt weirdly quiet. No passing glances in the hallway, no low voice echoing across the conference room, no reason to hang around the break area pretending you needed another coffee.
Work picked up, deadlines piled, and life moved — or at least pretended to. You told yourself it was fine. Totally fine. People came and went, right? He was just one of them. Except your brain didn’t seem to get the memo. Especially with someone, you had an intense orgasm without him even knowing, or that’s what she thought.
Every time someone with a low voice spoke during a call, your heart did that stupid thing — the half-second jolt before realising it wasn’t him. You hadn’t texted, hadn’t even tried. It wasn’t like you owed him anything. Also, you’re too embarrassed to contact him anyways.
And so, you buried it — until Soonyoung decided to ruin your emotional stability for sport. “It’s Friday,” he declared, barging into your cubicle with the enthusiasm of a man who’s never known shame. “We’re going out. Jihoon’s coming. No excuses.”
“I have emails to-” “Nope,” he cut you off, snatching your mouse and dramatically logging you out. “You’re touching grass tonight, whether you like it or not.”
Which is how you ended up at a crowded downtown bar, squeezed between Soonyoung’s chaos and Jihoon’s eternal disapproval. The music was loud, the lights warm, and the air smelled like beer and bad decisions. You were halfway through your drink when Soonyoung suddenly went still. “Don’t panic,” he said.
Your stomach dropped. “Why?” “Because.. hot people incoming. Specifically, men who look like they pay taxes on time.” You turned and froze. Him. Again.
He was walking in with two other guys — one with long hair and a mischievous grin.. definitely trouble, the other already laughing at something. Wonwoo looked the same — relaxed, slightly tired, effortlessly attractive in a black long sleeves that fit a little too well. Of course. The universe had a sense of humour.
Jihoon noticed your expression instantly. “Oh no,” he muttered. “Who’s that?” You tore your gaze away too quickly. “No one.” Soonyoung squinted. “That’s tech support voice, isn’t it? You mentioned before that you met him already!!” “Lower your voice!” you hissed, smacking his arm.
But fate, being a little shit, made eye contact inevitable. Wonwoo’s eyes swept across the bar — and landed right on you. A flicker of recognition passed through his face, followed by something dangerously close to a smile.
You panicked and looked away. Pretended to study the drink menu like it held the secrets of the universe. “Oh my god,” Soonyoung whispered gleefully. “He saw you.” “Shut up.”
He didn’t. He wasn’t wearing his glasses.
A few minutes later, laughter rippled from the next table — Wonwoo’s group had settled just a few seats away. You tried not to stare. Really, you did. But when you heard his laugh — that same quiet, low sound you remembered from the phone — your whole chest ached, and also down there..
Jeonghan, his long-haired friend, caught you looking. His lips curved into a knowing smile before leaning toward Wonwoo to say something. Wonwoo’s gaze flicked your way again, he’s now wearing his typical glasses, that you swear you just want him to wear while-. Soonyoung caught that, too. “Yup. He’s looking. He’s so looking.”
You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “I hate this. I actually hate this.” Jihoon sipped his drink calmly. “No, you don’t.” And maybe he was right — because when Wonwoo finally stood up, drink in hand, and started walking toward your table, your pulse went wild.
You straightened instinctively, heart hammering. Soonyoung muttered, “Oh my god, he’s coming over-” “Hey,” came that familiar voice — smoother than you remembered, and a lot closer.
You looked up, every thought in your head dissolving into static. Wonwoo smiled. “Didn’t expect to see my favourite caller here.” Soonyoung choked on his drink. Jihoon muttered, “I need another round.”
And you? You just tried to remember how to breathe.
You blinked up at him, trying to play it cool even though Soonyoung was grinning beside you like a proud parent. “Oh, hi.” Wonwoo’s lips curved slightly. “You don’t call anymore.” You tilted your head, shy but smiling. “Well, I don’t need help with anything regarding my technologies, so..”
He took a small step closer, the corner of his mouth lifting. “I meant my personal number. After you ended the call, leaving me behind, you never called again.” You froze. The words hit like a slow echo, sinking into the quiet thrum of music around you. You blinked at him, unsure if you heard right, if he was teasing or serious — until you saw the faint glint in his eyes.
And suddenly, the flash of that night came rushing back. The memory of his voice. The way your breath had hitched, every pressed your fingers made, every moan, every shiver.. everything. The stupid thoughts that followed. Your chest felt hot.
“I- excuse me,” you muttered quickly, voice a little too thin as you slipped past him. The cool air outside hit like a reset button, sharp and grounding. You walked to the bar side, where the noise softened into background static, and pulled a cigarette from your bag with shaky fingers.
The flame flickered when you lit it. You inhaled, letting the smoke fill your lungs before slowly exhaling toward the empty road. The night air wrapped around you, quiet, still. Then.. a low chuckle behind you.
“You smoke?”
You turned slightly, startled. Wonwoo stood a few steps away, hands in his pockets, the faint streetlight catching in his hair. He looked amused — but not judgmental, just curious, his tone lazy and warm. You blinked. “Only when I’m trying to forget embarrassing things.”
He laughed quietly, walking closer. “So that’s what I am?” You took another drag, eyes flicking toward him. “No.. fuck- sorry. I really just am trying to forget something I did”
He tilted his head, smirking faintly. “Like.. touching yourself with the help of my voice?” Your jaw almost hit the floor. You believed it did. You couldn’t even move nor talk, cigarette on your fingers, smoke curling in the space between you.
He took a step closer, closing the gap between you both. His smirk grew wider as he reached out and gently took the cigarette from your fingers. He brought it to his own lips and took a drag before exhaling slowly. “You know what I think?”
“I think you should do something for me. You left me aching that night” He took another drag before offering the cigarette back to you. When you didn’t take it as how shocked you are, he held it there teasingly. “Shotgun.” He said lowly, his face inches from yours. “Can you do a shotgun?”
The sudden request snapped you out of your stunned silence. You blinked rapidly, processing his words. “Shotgun?” You repeated dumbly, finally taking the cigarette back from his fingers. Your hand brushed against his briefly, sending a spark through you. “You want me to-” You paused, then laughed nervously.
He chuckled, his eyes never leaving yours. “Yeah, you know what I mean.” He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Come on, don’t tell me you’ve never done shotgun before.. you even played without who you’re thinking of”
You raised an eyebrow, ego rising, and took a long drag of the cigarette before exhaling slowly in his direction. As you did, you reached up and wrapped your hand around his nape, giving it a gentle but firm squeeze. His eyes widened slightly at the sudden contact, a small jolt running through him.
You brought the cigarette to your lips again, taking a deep drag before sealing your lips around it and hovering around his mouth. You held the smoke in your mouth for a moment before exhaling slowly into his mouth, sharing the hit with him in a perfect shotgun pass.
Wonwoo’s eyes remained on yours as the smoke filled his mouth, your lips dangerously near his. It was intimate and unexpected, the act of sharing a cigarette like this. His hand instinctively gripped your wrist where it still rested on his nape, holding you there.
Before you could pull away, Wonwoo’s free hand suddenly gripped your hip possessively, pulling you closer as he went in for a kiss. The cigarette fell forgotten to the ground between your feet as his other hand tangled in your hair, tilting your head back to gain better access to your mouth.
The smoke from the cigarette was intoxicating, but it was nothing compared to the taste of his mouth. Wonwoo’s lips moved urgently against yours, his tongue pushing past your lips to explore your mouth with an intensity that left you breathless. The taste of tobacco mixed with his own unique flavour drove you crazy.
—
Fuck, this girl can kiss. My mind was spinning as I devoured her mouth hungrily, my hands gripping her tightly. The taste of cigarettes and something uniquely hers exploded on mine, making my head swim. * deepened the kiss further, my tongue dominating hers as I pulled her flush against me.
This is driving me insane. She’s insane.
Ever since that night, I couldn’t just take her off my mind, much worse, she didn’t even bother to reach out. She made sure she got the pleasure she needed and threw me. Now that’s hot of her.
I broke the kiss briefly as my hands framed her face. I quickly removed my glasses and set them aside. My vision was indeed blurry, but it only seemed to heighten my senses haha, this is driving me crazy. I captured her lips again immediately, my touch turning almost desperate as I kissed her.
The taste of her mouth feels like I needed her to survive.
And I’m not even gonna complain about that.
—
Wonwoo forced himself to break the kiss, his chest heaving as he looked at you through his blurry vision. Your lips were swollen and kiss-stained, a few strands of hair sticking to your flushed cheeks. He blinked rapidly to clear his sight, needing to see your expression clearly.
Your soft voice asking “What do you want to do.. Wonwoo?” snapped something inside him. His hands suddenly gripped your face harshly, thumbs pressing into your cheeks as he groaned possessively before crashing his lips back onto yours brutally. He wanted to fuck you right there against the wall. But he controlled himself.
He broke the kiss again, his face inches from yours as he panted heavily. His hand slid down from your face to your neck, then lower to your collarbone before pausing at the hem of your skirt. “Can I..” He swallowed hard, his fingers curling slightly into your thighs. You nodded.
His eyes darkened as he watched your expression. His hand slid, then lower, pushing past your panties easily. He checked once more if you were okay with this — non-verbal, just watching your body language. You widened your thighs slightly, giving him better access. His mind went blank.
He pushed two fingers deep inside you without warning, his other hand gripping your hip possessively as he pinned you against the wall. His eyes never left your face, watching for any reaction. Like how your pleasure is his pleasure.
Your eyes fluttered closed as you gasped sharply at the sudden action. Your back arched slightly, pushing you further onto his fingers. A small whimper escaped your lips as he began to move his fingers in and out of you, his thumb pressing down on your clit.
“Did you imagine my fingers fucking you like this when I called you and hung up without saying a word?” He asked gruffly, his voice laced with jealousy on your fingers. His fingers curled inside you, finding that sweet spot that made your legs tremble. “Fuck, you’re so wet.”
“Fucking your own pussy thinking it was me? Hm?" He growled, his face hovering over yours. He picked up the pace, his fingers moving in and out of you at a brutal pace. You could only whimper and shake your head, too overwhelmed to speak, too scared to be caught.
He noticed the change in your insides immediately, your folds tightening around his fingers as you began to clench. His eyes darkened with lust and satisfaction. “Won- I.. I’m close” You barely managed to say, his thumb pressing harder on your clit.
One of your legs lifted completely off the ground, wrapping around his waist instinctively as you gripped his shoulders for support. Your fingers dug into his muscles, holding on for dear life as he finger-fucked you against the wall. “Damn, look at you,” he groaned.
Just as you were on the verge of coming apart, Soonyoung’s voice echoed down the street. “Y/N! Where are you?” His fingers froze inside you, your orgasm hovering right at the edge but not allowed to fall over. You froze completely, looking into his eyes, shocked.
You quickly shushed Wonwoo, your hand pushing gently against his chest. “Pull out!” He pulled his fingers out immediately, his other hand quickly adjusting your clothing back into place. You smoothed down your hair and shirt before stepping away from him, your leg still slightly trembling. “Coming!”
Wonwoo chuckled softly against your ear as he whispered just loud enough for only you to hear “You are indeed coming..” His smirk was pure sin. You let him be and walked towards your friend and acted like nothing happened.
“Where have you been? Jihoon thought you got kidnapped,” Soonyoung said the moment he spotted you. “I’m not even that drunk yet,” you replied, looping your arm through his. “Oh, I know,” he said with a grin. “and I thought you were busy, you know.. fucking.”
You choked on your own saliva and smacked his arm. “Soonyoung!” “What?” He just laughed and slowly pushed you inside the bar again.
And before you even went inside totally, you swore you spotted Wonwoo standing against the door, his head tilted back slightly as he slipped two of his fingers into his mouth, sucking it clean. His eyes locked onto yours, his smirk widening as he watched your mouth go open.
“Where’s Soonyoung?” Jihoon asked, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. You giggled, already drunk. “Probably busy making out with someone,” you replied, downing another shot. “Jihoon.. I’m going to sit at that table,” you pointed at one across the room. “Oki?! Don’t find me.. ehe”
Jihoon just shook his head, a small smile on his face as he watched you jog away giggling. “Have safe sex.” He called out after you, his voice getting lost in the loud music of the bar. You waved him off without looking back, your giggles echoing as you made your way to the table alone, a man on the couch, smirking, eyebrows raised as he watched you walk towards him.
“Drunk enough to come at me, Y/N?” Wonwoo said, his arms spread on the back of the sofa, looking intently at you as you sat on one of his thighs and leaned into him. “But sober enough to know what I’m doing..”
Wonwoo chuckled, his arms wrapping around your waist. “Even hotter,” he murmured against your hair, his fingers gently tracing patterns on your back.
He leaned in for another kiss, but you pulled back slightly. “How did you know I was touching myself during our call last time?” You asked softly, searching his face for answers. His smirk returned slowly as he pulled back slightly too. “Love.. it was so obvious” He paused.
His fingers gently scanned your face, his voice low and husky as he continued, “I could hear you whimpering softly, your breaths hitching. I knew exactly what you were doing.” His thumb lightly brushed against your jaw as you opened your eyes again to look into his.
You pulled him into a heated kiss, your lips pressing urgently against his. Wonwoo groaned instantly, his arms wrapping around you tightly as he pulled you closer. The kiss was demanding, passionate, and full of unsaid words. You could feel his erection pressing against your hip, hard as a rock.
The kiss became more intense, tongues dancing aggressively. You started grinding against him slowly, feeling his hardness through his pants. He broke the kiss only to trail open-mouthed kisses down your neck, one hand gripping your hair while the other squeezed your ass, pulling you harder against him. “Your place or mine?”
“Yours..” You said as you leaned wanting to continue the kiss, yet he stopped the kiss as he pulled you up and guided you towards his car. He quickly unlocked his car and pushed you gently inside, he held onto your jaw, kissing you torridly, then pulled away and closed your door.
He walked around the car and got in the driver’s seat, his heart pounding with anticipation. The drive to his place was a blur of speeding streets and red lights. His hands gripped the steering wheel and your thighs, dangerously close to your cunt, tightly, trying to focus on the road instead of the throbbing in his pants.
—
Your jacket hit the living room floor. His shirt was thrown somewhere between the kitchen counter and the hallway. Your bra was tossed near the stairs while his belt buckle echoed loudly. Your pants were kicked off near his bedroom door. His boxers hit the floor just as you slammed him against the wall for another deep kiss.
You pushed him backwards onto the bed, naked except for your underwear. His hard cock stood up proudly, leaking pre-cum. Instead of straddling him immediately like he expected, you climbed on top of him slowly, grinding your covered pussy against his cock teasingly. “Y/N.. stop torturing me.”
He went feral as you positioned yourself on the bed with your hands above your head, giving him full access and a clear view of your body. “Good idea.. how about torture me instead,” you smirked.
“I’m going to torture you so good,” he muttered as he ripped your underwear completely off while kissing you. Before you could even move, he was positioning you in front of the full-length mirror in his bedroom, making you sit on his lap with your legs spread wide.
You could see your entire body reflected in the mirror — your spread legs, his muscular arms wrapped around your thighs keeping them open. Your breasts were beautifully free as he kneaded them slowly from behind. You watched yourself being used in this position. “Look at yourself,” he whispered. That made you shiver.
“God, I love this view,” he whispered against your neck, making you arch your back slightly to press your ass against his cock. “You see how wet you are? How your pussy is just dripping?” He pulled your hips back slightly so your reflection showed your wet slit clearly.
“And your perfect tits..” He squeezed them harder, leaving red marks. “I could fuck you like this all night, watching you watch yourself get destroyed.” His hands slid down to your inner thighs, spreading you wider, you shut your eyes and exhaled a very shaky one.
He slapped your breast hard enough to leave a handprint, making you gasp and your eyes fly open instantly. “Uh-oh.. eyes on the mirror, love” He kissed and bit your earlobe roughly. “Watch how wet you are and I’m not even holding you”
“You know I’m not going to touch your pretty little pussy until you beg,” he whispered, his hot breath fanning across your neck. He proceeds to rub himself against your back, teasing you with the head of his cock. “You want me to touch you?” You nodded desperately. “Then cum.”
He chuckled darkly, his voice seductive. “You’re shaking so bad, love.” He pinched your nipple, making you gasp and your body tremble even more.
“Wonwoo.. please” You begged him. “Imagine what it would feel like inside you.. but no, love. You’re gonna cum from my words alone.” He rubbed against your back again, his voice like a drug, making you whimper. “Mhmm- ughh.. ah Wonwoo-”
“You’re so close, I can tell,” he murmured, his hands slowly sliding up your body from your nipples, over your collarbone, until his fingers wrapped gently around your neck. He applied the slightest pressure, not enough to hurt, but enough to make you feel owned. “Go on, princess. Cum then I’ll fuck you senselessly,” he whispered.
His breath on your neck, sucking on it, at the same time watching your back arch, your hips tilt back instinctively looking for friction, your fold lips swelling and getting wetter by the second without being touched. “I can see your clit throbbing, Y/N.”
“Then.. d-do something about it..” “Shhh.. moan for me... arch that beautiful back... your cunt is twitching so fucking adorably, you’re making me want to put it inside already” His grip on your neck tightened slightly as he watched you fall apart from his words alone.
You let out a desperate whine, your hips moving on their own now, searching for something to grind against. He leaned in closer, his tongue flicking out to lick the inside of your ear, making you shiver even more intensely. “Such a good girl for me,” he whispered.
Fucking voice of yours.
Your body snapped tight as if electrocuted. You threw your head back with a silent cry. Your cunt twitched hard, releasing wetness down your thighs without anything inside you. Your back arched sharply, breasts pushing out, neck exposed as you rode out your unexpected orgasm from just his voice and minimal touch. “Jesus..!”
“Ughh- ahh fuck.. mhmm-hmm” He chuckled as he watched your reflection in the mirror, his eyes intense and hungry. Your moans echoed through the room, desperate and needy sounds that only turned him on more. He kept his hand gently wrapped around your neck even after your orgasm subsided.
“My turn,” he groaned, pushing you down onto your knees without warning. He spread your legs wide apart with his knees, using his cock to spread your cum-coated fold lips open. Without hesitation, he pushed inside you hard and deep. When did he even put on the condom?? “Fuck,” he groaned loudly, feeling your warmth inside that almost made him feral.
He gripped your hips tightly, pulling you back onto his cock as he kneeled behind you. Your reflection in the mirror showed your flushed cheeks, swollen lips, and your breasts bouncing with each thrust. “You’re tight like how I imagined you to be,” he grunted, slapping your ass hard.
“So fucking wet and sticky from your cum,” he groaned, watching his dick disappear inside your slit in the mirror. “And it’s gripping me so fucking tightly.” He reached around to press your clit, making you whine and push back onto his dick harder.
You’re long gone.You felt his cock stretching you open again after cumming so hard from just his words earlier. Each slap on your clit sent electric shocks through your sensitive body, making your walls flutter around him even more tightly. You watched helplessly in the mirror as he fucked you ruthlessly from behind.
Your breasts bounced heavily with each thrust, your hair messy and wild. You felt his balls on your slit with every deep push inside you. He was hitting that spot deep within you that made stars explode behind your eyes. You moaned loudly without inhibition, pushing back eagerly onto his cock.
Suddenly, he grabbed a handful of your hair roughly and pulled your head back, forcing you to arch your back and lean onto him. His other hand reached around to squeeze your throat gently as he started fucking you even harder and faster. The mirror reflected your desperate face, mouth open in a scream of pleasure and pain.
“Wonwoo..” you moaned, eyes shut. “That’s right.. moan the name of the guy inside you right now.” He said, not letting his eyes leave the mirror even for just a second.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he whispered on your ear, his fingers tightening around your neck as his hips snapped forward, burying his wrapped dick deep inside your folds, which tightened as well along with his orgasm. You felt his hot cum shooting inside the condom. I wonder what it feels like without the condom..
He let out a few more hard thrusts, making sure both of your orgasms are satisfied. Pull out, throw the condom, and put on a new one, your eyes solely on the mirror, watching his movements from behind.
Then, suddenly, lifted you up in his arms. Without a word, he pinned you against the mirror, your leg wrapping around his arm and the other one on his shoulders instinctively. “Fucking hell- Wonwoo! Didn’t even wa-wait..” He started pounding into you with brutal force. The sound of skin hitting skin filled the room along with your moans and his heavy breathing.
His cock was rock hard again inside you, hitting that spot deep inside that made your vision blur. Now it’s not just him who has a blurry vision. He leaned in, crushing his lips against yours in a fierce, hungry kiss.
His tongue invaded your mouth, mimicking the movements of his dick as he continued to make love with you. You could taste the saltiness of his sweat and the faint hint of tobacco on his lips.
You were overstimulated beyond belief, your body shaking and twitching with every thrust. Your cunt was so sensitive from the multiple orgasms that even the slightest touch made you cry out in a mix of pleasure and pain. His kiss was suffocating, his tongue overwhelming your mouth.
Your nipples were hard and aching, rubbing against his chest with every rough thrust. You felt your cunt clenching around him uncontrollably, milking his cock for more cum. Your entire body was on fire, every nerve ending sparking with intense pleasure.
He pulled back from the kiss to watch you with heavy-lidded eyes, his gaze flicking up to the mirror behind you. The glass shook and rattled with each thrust, reflecting your contorted face and the way your body bounced against his. He grinned, seeing how thoroughly fucked out you looked.
“Fucking look at yourself,” he growled lowly, his voice rough and commanding. “See what a mess you are? Getting destroyed by my dick.” His hand reached up to your face, pushing his thumb to open your mouth. “You like that?” You sucked on his thumb, making him smirk.
Your eyes rolled back, your body convulsing as you came suddenly on his cock. “Shit-” your pussy clamping down so tightly he swore he thought his dick’s gonna be cut in half. He watched in the mirror as your entire body shook with pleasure. “Cuming without saying, huh?”
“You like my voice so much?!” He groaned, not slowing down his thrusts even as you spasmed around him. He adjusted his angle slightly, hitting that spot that made you scream even through your sensitivity. He’s catching his high as well.
His hips are moving slower but more deep now. “Still squeezing my cock like you’ve never cum before.” He bit your lip hard as he felt his orgasm building. “Gonna fill this condom so fucking much..”
“Ahh-!” He moaned loudly, screaming your name, burying his face in your neck as he started coming hard, his hips jerking forward as he pumped his cum into the condom. You could feel the warmth even through the rubber, his thick cum filling it to the brim again, like he hadn’t just filled you minutes ago.
Morning light filtered through the curtains — pale gold, slow, almost shy. You stirred against the sheets, the faint scent of coffee and clean linen hanging in the air. The space beside you was warm.
Wonwoo lay on his side, propped up on one elbow, scrolling lazily through his phone. His hair was messy, eyes soft when he noticed you blink awake. “Goodmorning,” he murmured, voice lower than usual — rough with sleep. What the fuck.. he’s voice could be deeper????
You only hummed in reply, burying your face halfway into the pillow. The ache in your body made everything feel heavy but oddly peaceful. You shifted a little, noticing the fresh bottoms you had on, the faint scent of soap clinging to your skin. “Did you..?” you started.
He chuckled quietly. “Yeah. You knocked out last night. I didn’t want you waking up sticky, so I took care of it.” You groaned softly, covering your face with one hand. “You really didn’t have to-” “I wanted to,” he said simply, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Your glasses didn’t fall last night..” You said, trying to prove a point. “Oh is my glasses, one of your fantasies as well?” He teased that made you and him laugh.
Silence stretched for a moment — comfortable, slow. Then you reached across the bedside table for your phone. He watched you, eyebrow raised. “Already checking your emails?” “Nope.” You grinned sleepily, fingers already dialing.
He frowned. “Are you seriously calling someone right now?”
You pressed the speaker button and looked at him. The phone rang once before his phone, somewhere on the nightstand, began to buzz. Wonwoo’s brow furrowed even more. “Are you calling me?”
You smirked as his screen lit up with your name. He picked up, lips curving. “What is this..?”
You smiled into the receiver, eyes still on him. “Just making sure I don’t have to press one again for tech support.” He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he leaned closer.
“Good,” you said softly. “Because when I dial a number, I like it when it’s your voice that answers, not an automated machine.” Wonwoo chuckled, setting his phone down and brushing his thumb along your jaw. “Then I guess I’ll keep the line open for you.”
You met his gaze — lazy morning sunlight spilling over both of you — and smiled. “Mhmm. Because I think I might need tech support again.” He laughed against your lips. “For what?”
“For whatever’s wrong with my heart,” you teased.
Wonwoo only kissed you in reply.
𝐀/𝐍 ➙ reblog with tags and feedbacks are so much appreciated, it motivates me a lot ❤️ See y’all in my next one (part 2 of ..shhh)
Summary: In the opulent kingdom of Hesperos, Jeon Wonwoo, the humble baker's son, is pulled into a life of service when the unconventional Princess Y/N arranges for him to become a Page at age eight. Bound by duty, Wonwoo works his way up through the ranks, his childhood promise evolving into the fierce, silent protection of a knight. As adults, their inseparable closeness deepens into a fierce, unspoken love. However, the political demands of the crown intervene when Y/N is forced to accept an arranged marriage, leaving Knight Wonwoo torn between his sacred vow of Honor to the kingdom and his desperate, hidden devotion to the Princess he swore to protect.
A/N: not BETAD. So any mistakes are my fault 😆🫡
The Realm of Celestra in the Kingdom of Hesperos. 1532.
Jeon Wonwoo had always been a caring person.
Especially when it came to people he loved. Everyone around the village knew him as the baker's boy. The one who would hand out stale bread at the end of the day, the one who tried to treat everyone around him with kindness, but the thing that people really talked about was his relationship with the princess of Hesperos.
She would come down to the bakery everyday at dawn and buy two loaves of bread from them. It was on Wonwoo’s eighth birthday that they met for the first time. His mother and father were preparing a particularly large order from the princess the day before, leaving Wonwoo to tend to the counter.
“Who are you?” She asked Wonwoo. He slightly blushed at her question but knew that it was rude to not answer the princess.
“I’m Jeon Wonwoo, your highness. I’m the baker's son.”
The princess nodded as she watched him look towards the kitchen where his parents hadn't emerged yet.
“Your order is almost ready, but it’ll be twelve dollars,” he informed as the princess nodded and handed him a pouch of coins. He opened the pouch and started to count the coins when the princess interrupted him.
“You can have all the money.”
“What?” Wonwoo asked, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise.
“You can have all the money. I sure don’t need it,” she said again, smiling watching Wonwoo struggle to say anything back to her.
“Well… umm.. Thank you, your highness,” he said, bowing his head as his parents came out of the kitchen with the bread in a basket.
“Princess!” His mother exclaimed, a big smile coming across her face, “here’s the bread you ordered.”
“Thank you Mrs. Jeon.”
“What are you doing with all the bread?” Wonwoo’s father asked, watching the princess struggle to carry the basket.
“It’s for my brother, he asked for some more so that we can have some for lunch,” she huffed trying to look around the basket.
“Wonwoo, why don’t you help the princess and carry the basket for her?” His father asked. Wonwoo nodded and gently took the basket from the princess’ hands as she sighed.
“Thank you,” she smiled, “do you mind coming to the castle?” Wonwoo looked at his parents who smiled and nodded. “I’ll have the coach-man escort you back home.”
Wonoo nodded and followed the princess out to the carriage. His parents waved from the carriage as it took off leaving him and the princess in silence for a majority of the ride to the palace.
“It’s my birthday today,” Wonwoo stated.
“Wait, what?” Y/N gasped, turning around quickly to face him, her braid nearly hitting her cheek, “how old are you turning?"
“Eight,” he smiled.
“Well happy birthday Wonwoo!” Y/N smiled back at him, as the carriage glided up to the castle.
“Follow me!” she said excitedly, tugging open the door and hopping out. Wonwoo remained seated for a beat, letting the sudden silence wash over him, a warmth blooming in his chest that settled into a gentle smile.
The kitchen was at the back of the castle, which meant Wonwoo got to walk around a bit before he left. Y/N led Wonwoo through a magnificent archway, stopping where a handsome older boy, Prince Jeonghan, was waiting.
“Brother!” Y/N announced, catching the attention of the young prince, “the bread is here!”
Jeonghan glanced at the basket, then his attention settled on Wonwoo, “and you are the one who bore this weight. You must be the baker's son.”
Wonwoo immediately lowered his gaze and bowed his head low. “Your Highness, Jeon Wonoo, at your service. It is my honor to deliver the order.”
Jeonghan raised an eyebrow, noting Wonwoo’s polite deference and the ease with which he held the basked, which was clearly far heavier than the boy his age should carry without strain.
“An honor, you say?” Jeonghan mused, circling Wonwoo slowly. “Most children who visit the bakery simply take the coin. You seem quite humble to volunteer for the delivery.”
“I didn’t volunteer your highness,” Wonwoo admitted, “my father asked me to deliver the bread.”
Jeonghan waved a dismissive hand, “regardless. You show good strength for your age, better manners than most squires we currently employ, and you were honest with me instead of taking the credit for yourself.”
He paused, looking Wonwoo up and down. “I imagine the palace life is a world away from the village bakery. Tell me, Wonwoo, are you fond of horses?”
Wonwoo, still holding the basket in the middle of the hallway, looked up, surprised by the sudden shift in topic.
“I—I have only seen the royal horses from the edges of the stable yard, Your HIghness,” Wonwoo admitted, his voice soft. “But they are magnificent. My father always said a healthy horse is the kingdom's true wealth.”
Jeonghan gave a rare, sharp smile, “a practical outlook. Good. Our stable master is short on reliable hands, and a boy with strong arms and good manners is a valuable commodity. Tell me Wonwoo, how would you like to see that wealth up close? We are in need of bright, strong, lads for our stable service.” He gestured to the castle towering above them. “The opportunity is there. We would offer you a place as a Page, you would care for the royal mounts and run errands throughout the palace. It is hard work, but it offers a proper education and a future far greater than flour dust.”
Y/N’s eyes lit up with excitement, “say yes, Wonwoo! You can stay!”
Wonwoo looked from the Prince to the Princess, his head spinning with the weight of the proposal. He knew this was a monumental chance for his family. He bowed again, the bread basket dipping slightly, “if my parents agree, Your Highness, I would be honored to accept that position and serve.”
Prince Jeonghan was satisfied enough with the answer and nodded. He reached out, gently rubbing the tops of his sisters head, messing up her hair, and gave a brief, sharp smile before turning away and leaving the hallway, his footsteps echoing as he walked away.
Y/N immediately smoothed her hair down, ignoring her brother and turned to Wonwoo with a wide smile, “they will agree! This is wonderful, Wonwoo! We’ll see each other everyday!”
Wonwoo nodded, but didn’t say anything else. He knew that it would be hard for his parents to lose him at the bakery and wasn’t sure if they’d agree. He just let Y/N lead him to the kitchen and placed the bread basket on the table, looking around the room at all the food that was being prepared for the day.
“Would you like to stay for breakfast?” Y/N asked Wonwoo, noticing the hungry look in his eyes as he stared at the spread, but he shook his head and politely bowed.
“Thank you for the offer Your Highness, but I must get back to the bakery. Not only do I have a big decision to make, but I have some bread to prove.”
Y/N nodded her head in understanding, before smiling wide. “I’ll see you tomorrow. I can’t wait to hear your decision!”
Wonwoo offered her one final, quick bow before she led him back through the sprawling hallways and out to the front courtyard where the couch-man was waiting. He climbed into the carriage, the warmth of her smile still blooming in her chest. Knowing that tonight, his simple life as the bakers son was about to change forever.
As soon as the carriage pulled up to the bakery, his parents were waiting for him. He thanked the couch-man who had opened the door for him and slowly approached his parents, who had big smiles on their faces.
“So? How was the castle?” His father asked, as his mother reached out to hold his hand.
“It was nice,” he quietly responded, avoiding their eyes.
His mother squeezed his hand, sensing his sudden reserve, “only nice? You were gone for a while. Did something happen at the castle?”
Wonwoo took a deep breath, trying to be brave. He pulled his parents towards the front door, “could we go inside? I have to tell you something big,” he said, “while I was at the castle I ran into the prince.”
His father’s expression sharpened instantly at the mention of the prince, “the prince?” His father pressed, “What did he say? Did he have a message about the order?”
“He offered me a job,” Wonwoo explained, sitting down between them. “He said I could be a Page at the castle. I would help with the horses and run messages and they would teach me things.” He looked earnestly at his mother, “he said it was a chance to have a great future.”
Both his parents exchanged a shocked look, their faces betraying their astonishment. They had not expected such high regard to be shown toward their son.
“He was impressed that I could carry the bread basket at my age and said that I had good manners.”
His mother smiled warmly at the mention of her son’s kind heart. She sighed, and tenderly brushed some of his messy hair away from his eyes, taking a close, worried look at him. She knew that her son had a kind spirit and a loving heart. She was scared that the politics of the royal family would ruin him.
“What do you think about the offer, son?” His father asked, sitting down next to his mother and taking Wonwoo’s other hand, so they were connected in a tight circle.
Wonwoo sighed. He knew that his parents would miss him, but he really wanted to study and live in the castle.More than anything, he wanted to get to know the kind and lively spirit that was the princess. He looked up towards his mother and squeezed her hand.
“I want to go,” he stated, his voice quiet but a little firm.
His mother inhaled sharply, a single tear sliding down her cheek, but nodded in understanding. “Oh, my dear boy,” she murmured, squeezing his hand tightly. “We know you do. It’s a chance for you to see the world beyond our bakery door.”
His father squeezed his hand as well, his eyes fixed on the future. “It is an immense opportunity, Son. A gift the Jeon family could never buy,” he looked at his wife. “If we agree, we must set rules. He is only eight. We will insist on weekly visits, and we will insist they treat him fairly.”
“I won’t be alone,” Wonwoo said, looking up at them both, his eyes earnest. “The princess said she would see me everyday. She’ll look out for me.”
His parents looked at each other, the name of the Princess, cutting through their fear and striking at the core of the offer. They knew that the unlikely spark between the princess and their son was the very thing that made this impossible dream possible.
His mother sighed once more, before wiping the tears rolling down her eyes, before looking at her husband who nodded.
“Alright son,” his father said, his voice thick with pride and gravity. “You can be a Page in the castle.”
Wonwoo knew the castle was big from the distant view he had everyday, but he didn’t think it would be this big on the inside. The halls went up so high they almost touched the sky. The vast space gleamed with gold and marble, and every chamber felt like walking into a cold, beautiful treasure chest.
It felt like the opposite of the warm, cozy bakery he grew up in.
He was led up into one of the servants quarters in the east hall. His room was at the top of the tower, which meant he had to climb a lot of stairs every morning. But when he looked out, the view across the kingdom was truly beautiful.
He was given the morning to unpack his things and change into his new uniform. The simple, slightly rough fabric felt stiff and heavy compared to his soft cotton clothes from the bakery. When the time came, another Page, older and silent, led Wonwoo through the echoing stone corridors, down into the lower grounds and toward the immense Royal Stables. The air changed instantly, replacing the cold marble scent with the rich, earthy smells of hay, leather, and horses.
The Stable Master, a large, weathered named Lord, Baek, stood in the central yard, directing a flurry of activity. He did not look up when Wonwoo approached.
“Lord Baek, the new Page, Jeon Wonwoo,” the older Page stated curtly.
Lord Beak finally looked down, his gaze sharp and assessing. He didn’t smile, but he didn’t scowl.
“You are small,” Lord Beak said simply, his voice a low rumble. “And you are new. That means you listen, you do not talk, and you work twice as hard as everyone else. The palace does not pay us to make friends, boy.” He pointed to a large pile of intricate leather bridles piled in the corner. “Your first task: those bridles need cleaning and polishing until they shine like the Princess’s jewels. Then you will sort that pile of curry combs. I want the bronze separate from the steel. Go.”
Wonwoo immediately lowered his head. He knew this was not a place for smiles or softness.
“Yes, sir,” he replied quietly, already moving toward the dirty pile of bridles. He spent the whole rest of the day, even missing supper to finish the work Lord Baek had given him. Only eating when it was almost all the rest of the servants had gone to bed.
He hadn’t even seen the princess his first day, like the thought he would.
The next day was different, he learnt quickly that during the week he would attend school and then help in the stables after school and work purely in the stables during the weekend, leaving almost no time for leisure.
He would attend classes quickly, change and then work until he went to bed. It was the same thing everyday. It wasn’t until almost a month into living in the castle did he see the Princess.
He was making his way to the stables with a couple of horses when he heard her voice. It was bright and clear, cutting through the usual drone of the courtyard like a silver bell. He recognized the sound immediately.
"There you are, Wonwoo! I've been looking everywhere!"
He froze mid-step, causing the horses behind him to shuffle restlessly. He looked up, and there she was, walking towards him, in a fancy gown and flowers all throughout her hair, a clear sign that she had been in the garden. Her face lit up with a usual lively smile at the sight of him.
He immediately dropped his gaze and tried to bow as best as he could while still holding the reins.
“Your highness,” he said, “I apologize. I am still on duty.”
Y/N simply walked right up to him, entirely ignoring the horses and his formal bow.
“Duty? You look like you haven’t slept in a week! Don’t worry, I told Lord Beak I needed help finding the best apples for my pony, Cloud. Come on, I’m rescuing you.” She reached out a hand to take one of his reins, ready to pull him along.
Wonwoo smiled, thankful that he didn’t have to do chores right away. He sighed, and handed her one of the reins. The tension in his shoulders seemed to lift immediately.
Y/N beamed, now walking side-by-side with him, leading the horses away from the crowded stable yard and toward a sunny, secluded path near the royal orchards.
“What were you supposed to be doing right now?” Wonwoo asked softly, unable to help the smile in his voice.
She leaned toward him, lowering her voice so no adults could hear her. “Etiquette lessons with Madame Balm. She always makes me walk lines and corrects my posture even though my posture is perfect!”
Wonwoo chuckled, the sound slightly rusty from a month of hard work and silence. The idea of Y/N forced into rigid formality was both ridiculous yet familiar.
“Walking straight lines sounds terribly difficult,” he murmured, shaking his head.
She tightened her grip on the reins. “It’s a nightmare. But anyway, I haven't seen you around at all! Why did it take you so long to come find me? Did Lord Baek put you in the deepest part of the stables?”
Wonwoo sighed, he also was disappointed that he hadn’t had free time to do simple things like explore the castle or spend time with the princess.
“I’ve been busy from the moment I wake up until the moment I go to sleep,” he explained, pulling the horses to a gentle stop near a large apple tree. “There is school, and then the stables. Everyday Lord Beak doesn't let us stop,” he looked at her then the smile gone, “I thought I would see you sooner.”
Y/N’s bright smile softened into an expression of immediate sympathy. She dropped the reins letting the horses graze freely, and turned fully toward him
“Oh Wonwoo,” she said gently, reaching out a hand to touch his sleeve, “I missed you too. I told you I would see you everyday, and I promise I’ll come to the barn to see you after you're done with school.”
The simple assurance was like warm balm after a month of cold stone and hard labor.
“You will?” he asked, the hole in his voice undeniable.
“Y/N nodded firmly, “every weekday. We can talk while you polish tack or muck stalls. We have to be quick, but we’ll be together. You need a friend here, and so do I.” She gave his sleeve a final squeeze before handing him a basket and turning toward the orchard. “Now, let’s go find those apples. Cloud will be crossed if he misses his snack.”
The simple, quiet ritual established from there became the fixed point in their lives. The early years were defined by shared secrets and easy comfort. Wonwoo polished the tack while Y/N read him chapters from grand adventure novels she was supposed to be studying.
Everyone in the castle found their relationship quite sweet, quite wholesome, seeing it as a lovely display of the Princess’s kind heart and the Page’s steadfast loyalty.
As they started to grow out of their childish features and into their blossoming young teenage years, the comfortable ease began to break down, replaced by a strange, charged awareness. The first big shift between them was when Wonwoo, now transitioning from Page to Squire, had a sudden growth spurt. He was no longer the small baker boy. His shoulders had broadened, and his hands, once small enough to fit inside hers, were now rough and large from endless drills with practice of swords and dealing with hard leather. Their interactions were less about childish games and more about unspoken emotions and feelings of discovery.
There was less time for them to work with horses and run around the gardens, and Princess Y/N could keenly feel the change between them. Instead of watching him clean the stables and helping with the horses, she would now watch him from the palace balcony. Below, he was training, his form becoming sharper, and she watched him make friendships with the older boys and men among him, who were quickly becoming his peers. The stables were no longer their private sanctuary; they were a training ground preparing him for a world she couldn't fully reach.
He had just finished a brutal evening training session and was scarfing down his supper in a quiet corner of the Squire's mess hall when she appeared.
“Are you having fun at least?” She asked Wonwoo, watching him chew quickly.
Wonwoo paused, holding a piece of bread mid-air. His face was smudged with dirt and sweat. He was exhausted, but he shook his head slightly.
“Fun isn’t what it’s for Your HIghness,” he replied, swallowing hard. “It is an honor. I need to be ready to protect your brother, and you, when the time comes.”
Y/N sighed, leaning her elbow on the table. She looked at his tired eyes and the determination etched onto his face. The playful boy she had rescued was now a soldier in training.
“I know it’s necessary, but you used to laugh more,” she murmured, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t forget the simple things Wonwoo.”
Wonwoo quickly looked away from her, his gaze locking onto the rough wooden table. He was painfully aware of how close she was, how sweet the scent of her perfume was compared to the stink of sweat and steel clinging to him.
“I don’t forget anything your highness,” he said, his voice a little bit more playful. Trying to reassure her that the boy she once knew was still in there. “But the simple things don’t keep the castle safe. Duty comes first. Always.”
He deliberately avoided looking at her again, using his rigorous schedule as a shield to hide the truth. Every moment spent training, every drop of sweat, was purely for her sake. The duty was the only thing he was allowed to love.
Y/N huffed and stood up from the table, clearly frustrated at the sudden, cold distance he created. She didn’t want to cause an argument with her best friend. She leaned down quickly and pressed a sharp, quick kiss to his grimy cheek before turning and leaving the dining hall.
Wonwoo froze entirely, his fork clattering against the plate. The immediate shock was overwhelming. He looked up, but she was already gone, leaving him alone, heart hammering against his ribs, his duty almost completely forgotten in the face of her reckless affection.
Wonwoo’s sixteenth birthday was quiet, marked by the heavy anticipation of his final years as a Squire. By royal decree, he received a small ceremony in the yard where Prince Jeonghan presented him with a beautifully weighted, custom-fitted-sword, his first piece of truly good steel, a visible sign of his imminent knighthood. While the court cheered his merit, Y/N found him later that night in the armory, the heavy scent of metal and oil surrounding them.
She gave him no gift, but instead, she reached out and traced the sharp line of th new sword resting on his hip. Her touch, far more intimate than any metal, made him hold his breath. He knew his sixteenth year meant the line between them was hardening, he was closer than ever to become her official protector, a position that demanded he be nothing more, and everything less, than the boy she loved.
“Have you given it a name?” She asked, as Wonwooran his thumb lightly along the spine of the blade, careful to avoid the edge.
“No, Your Highness,” he replied. “It’s not mine yet. Not truly. Not until I’m sworn in.”
“But it will be yours,” Y/N insisted, his eyes fixed on the reflective metal. “And it will be the thing that keeps us safe. It deserves a name.”
He looked from the sword to her, and the protective, desperate love he felt for her was momentarily reflected in the cold steel.
“Celestra's Mark.” He said, after a few moments of thinking.
Y/N smiled, a quiet, knowing smile. “It suits you, Wonoo. It suits the shield you are becoming.” She reached out and ran a fingertip over the steel, a daring, silent acknowledgement of the sacrifice he was making for her home.
He quickly re-sheather the blade, the sound a sharp, final click in the quiet armory, marking the end of their sixteenth birthday moment and signaling the return to the strict boundaries they both observed.
He quickly re-sheathed the blade, the sound a sharp, final click in the quiet armory, marking the end of their sixteenth birthday moment and signaling the return to the strict boundaries they both observed.
“How’s Wonwoo’s training going?” Prince Jeonghan asked.
Y/N jumped, a small cry catching in her throat, at the sudden presence of her older brother. Her entire body recoiled, and her hand flew instantly to cover the sudden, frantic pounding of her heart beneath her gown. She took a sharp, necessary breath to regain control.
“Brother! You startled me,” she managed, turning to face him from her balcony she was watching Wonwoo from. “I didn’t hear you come in. Why are you sneaking around?”
Jeonghan raised a skeptical eyebrow at her obvious shock.
“I wasn’t sneaking, Y/N. You were simply daydreaming. You shouldn’t look so guilty when asked about my top Squire,” he jested, his gaze lingering on her flushed cheeks. He walked to the railing and followed her gaze down to the training yard. “Don’t tell me you’re getting sentimental about the baker’s boy?”
Y/N whipped her head around to scowl at her brother before smacking him lightly on the shoulder.
“Don’t call him that, Jeonghan. You know he’s going to be Knight Wonwoo soon,” she retorted, though her cheeks remained pink. She adjusted the fabric of her sleeve, gathering her composure. “His training is excellent, he is ready for his oath next month, isn’t he? Even Lord Baek admitted he’s the sharpest they’ve had.”
Jeonghan smiled, pleased by the quick defense and the confirmation of Wonwoo’s skill.
“He’s the sharpest, which is why I’m making sure he protects what matters most. Once he’s knighted, he won’t be mine. I”ve assigned him to you, Y/N. KNight Wonwoo will be your personal guard. Which, speaking of the future, is why I came looking for you.” He turned, the playful smile fading, signaling the shift to official business.
He leaned against the cold stone railing, his eyes fixed on the distant peaks of the kingdom.
“The political envoys arrived late this morning from the Northern March.” Jeonghan took a long, heavy breath. “The alliance is confirmed, Y/N. You are formally engaged to Prince Mingyu. The betrothal will be announced next month, and the wedding will take place when you both come of age.”
The simple announcement, delivered without fanfare, landed in the quiet afternoon like a shattering pane of glass. Below them, Wonwoo was practicing a flawless disarming maneuver, the first knight assigned to guard his Princess and her new fiancé, completely unaware that the duty he was training for was about to destroy the only thing he truly cared for.
“No,” she whispered, the denial a desperate, raw sound. “No, you can’t - I won’t”
Her composure was utterly fractured. She let out a frustrated, wounded cry, a loud, immature sound completely inappropriate for a Princess, and shoved past Jeonghan, he silks catching on the railing. She didn’t bother with the proper entrance, instead hiking up her skirts and bolting from the balcony entrance, her footsteps echoing loudly down the stone corridor in a frantic dash to escape.
Down below, in the middle of a perfect disarming drill, Wonwoo stopped. The jarring sound of the Princess's unmistakable cry and the panicked rush of her footsteps had cut through the focused chaos of the training yard. He looked up instantly, following the sound to the East Hall balcony. He didn't see the reason, but he clearly saw Prince Jeonghan standing alone at the rail, looking grieved and defeated, and he saw a flash of the Princess's distinctive blue skirt disappearing rapidly into the castle interior. Something was terribly wrong.
Y/N ran without caring who saw her or how undignified she looked. Tears steamed down her face, blurring the marble halls as she raced toward the seclusion of her private chambers. The words formally engaged to Prince Mingyu run in her ears and slammed into her mind, suffocating her. This wasn’t a choice, it was a decree. The cold duty she had always feared had finally snatched her future. She only wanted the comfort of her home, the one she had found in the stables with Wonwoo, but now that home felt impossible far away.
Hours later, long after the curfew bells had sounded and the last of the squires were asleep, Wonwoo crept out of his quarters. He ignored the aching fatigue from his training and followed a familiar, shadowed route through the silent castle grounds. His destination was the stables, the only place he could think she might retreat when the palace felt too large and cold.
He found her exactly where he expected: huddled on a bale of hay in front of her horse Cloud’s stall, the smell of the clean straw a stark contrast of the despair across her face. She was not crying, but her shoulders we slumped and her face was drawnb, illuminated only by the faint silver light spilling in from the high stable windows.
Wonwoo didn’t speak a formal greeting. He simply sat down beside her, the movement quiet and deliberate. The cold hilt of Celestra’s Mark pressed against his hip, a silent reminder of the position that now separated him from her pain.
“Your Highness,” he said softly, his voice barely a murmur, and turned his head to look at her. “What happened this afternoon? What made you run?”
Y/N didn’t lift her head. She picked nervously at a loose piece of straw.
“It doesn’t matter, Wonwoo. It’s palace business,” she mumbled, attempting to push him away from the formal tern.
“It matters to me,” he insisted, his tone gentle but firm. “I saw you run. And I know the difference between palace business and when my Princess is truly hurting.” He waited, allowing the quiet space to fill with the steady breathing of the horses and placed his hand on top of hers a gesture that shattered the distance between them.
Y/N finally lifted her head, her eyes wide and red-rimmed. She didn’t pull her hand away.
“They did it, Wonwoo,” she whispered, her voice cracking, the grip on his hand tightening. “The alliance is confirmed. I am formally betrothed to Prince Mingyu.They said the wedding will be when we come of age. They just sentenced me to years of waiting for a life I don’t want.”
The words Prince Mingyu hit Wonwoo with the force of a solid steel blow. His meticulously constructed inner world, the one built on the fragile hope that his silent dedication would somehow earn him a future near her, shattered instantly.
His breath stopped in his chest. His training, honed over a decade, forced him to remain physically still, but internally, panic seized him. Betrothed. He, her assigned personal guard, had just been sentenced to stand beside her, day in and day out, while she belonged to another man. Celestra's Mark, the sword of his honor, felt suddenly heavy and cold, a permanent weight of irony pressing against his side. The irony was a cruel joke: he had worked tirelessly to earn the right to protect her, only to find that his first and most sacred duty was to escort her to the man she was forced to marry. His grip on her hand tightened involuntarily, not in comfort, but in a momentary, silent plea.
His breath stopped in his chest, but his training forced him to remain physically still. His grip on her hand tightened involuntarily, a momentary, silent plea before he forced his features into the neutral mask of the Squire. He released her hand slowly, pulling back only inches, but the distance felt like miles.
“This is why I must be knighted next month, Your Highness,” he said, his voice low and utterly devoid of emotion, though his heart was hammering a furious rhythm against his ribs. He deliberately focuses on the duty, the only thing he was allowed to acknowledge. “It is necessary for the stability of the crown. It is necessary for the safety of Hesperos.”
He lifted his hand, not to reach for her, but to gently touch the hilt of his sword.
“But I swear to you this,” he continued, his eyes finally meeting hers, intense and burning with a controlled fire. “Until the day they bind you to him, and for every moment after, you will never be alone. I am your shield. I will guard your happiness even if it means sacrificing mine.”
The sheer weight of the unofficial oath hung heavy in the stable air. Y/N watched his face, searching for any flicker of the boy who used to share her forbidden sweets, but saw only the frigid determination of the future knight.
“Wonwoo..” she began, her voice ran, reaching out to him again, perhaps intending to ask the question of their shared past that they both had always avoided.
But Wonwoo didn’t let her finish. He knew that one more word, one more touch, would shatter his discipline he had spent years on, that he needed to survive the years ahead. He quickly stood up, his movements stiff and practiced.
“I must go, Your Highness,” he said, the formality of the title now sounding like a deliberate, painful barrier. “I have an early morning training session, and I cannot be found here.”
He gave her a quick, deep, formal bow. The bow of a future guard, not a friend, and without another word, he turned and melted back into the shadows. He did not look back, even as his heart screamed in protest. He left her sitting alone on the hay bale, holding the cold, empty space where his hand had been, acutely aware that the silence he left behind was the sound of their fate sealing shut.
Two years passed in an agonizing, slow motion defined by duty and proximity. Wonwoo, now eighteen, was no longer a youth. He was a disciplined warrior, lean and stoic, prepared for the oath that would officially bind him to the crown.
Bind him to her.
For the past two years, his life had been a singular exercise in control. The memory of Y/N’s tearful face and the unspoken desperation of their final meeting in the stables fueled his training.
He had mastered the Knight’s Oath and the use of Celestra’s Mark, going over every rule of honor and servitude until his emotions were buried beneath the hard, cold surface of military perfection. He had to be perfect because he was now bound to the Princess in a daily, professional capacity, forced to witness the life he couldn’t have.
Meanwhile, Prince Mingyu had become a fixture at the court. He was everything a future King Consort should be: handsome, genuinely kind, and popular within the court and the people. Crucially he was good with Y/N.
Y/N and Mingyu’s betrothal was treated as a gentle, long-term courtship. They spent time together formally. Attending state dinners, riding, and sharing lessons. Mingyu was attentive and funny, clearly enjoying her company.
Y/N was unfailing courteous to Mingyu, fulfilling her duty, but her heart had not shifted. She still sought out the quiet comfort of Wonwoo’s presence whenever their duties overlapped, replying to his silent understanding, but it killed Wonwoo.
He was always there. Standing two steps behind her as she laughed at Mingyu’s jokes, watching her hand brush Mingyu’s arm, and witnessing the natural ease of a relationship that was publicly accepted. He had to suppress every jealous instinct and every desperate desire, knowing that his primary duty was to ensure the safety and happiness of the man who would take his princess.
“What do you mean you don’t want me there at your knighting ceremony?” She had quietly pleaded, trying not to cause any attention between them in the halls of the servants quarters.
It was almost midnight and if they were seen together, punishment would be brutal. So being quiet was crucial.
“I mean that you have previous commitments to the prince at the time of my ceremony,” Wonwoo sighed, hating the tears slowly falling down her cheeks. “I will ask sir Baek to attend with you in my absence.”
“But I don’t want Sir Baek.”
“I cannot miss my own knighting ceremony,” Wonwoo scoffed.
“Then I will miss the tea ceremony,” Y/N pushed back, trying to step closer to the almost knight. Wonwoo shook his head and held out an arm to push her back slightly.
“We both know you cannot. Your parents would be furious.”
“They should be. They knew your ceremony was tomorrow, why did they have to schedule it on the same day?”
Wonwoo sighed, and allowed himself to have one selfish act of affection towards you. He raised his hand and gently cupped her cheek, wiping the tears falling down her cheeks.
“I know. I’m sorry,” he whispered. “But you cannot miss the tea ceremony.”
Y/N wheeped, but didn’t try to argue more. Instead she leaned into his touch a little bit, allowing him to cup her other cheek. “Promise me that you’ll re-inact the entire thing once I get back?”
Wonwoo chuckled at the request. Only she would ask him such things, but reluctantly agreed by shaking his head. “I’ll skip the nonsense and just show you the badge.”
Y/N gasped and pulled away from him, watching him laugh some more. “You will do no such thing Wonwoo!”
Wonwoo just smiled and watched as she wiped away a few of her own tears before trying her best to put on a smile for him.
The smile that could make twelve hours of training worth it.
The smile that he would kill for.
The smile that saved him from a life of bread and baking.
The smile he loved.
He still thought about how weird it was being in front of the whole royal family and not having her present.
It was ironic. The person he was swearing to protect wasn’t even here.
Prince Jeonghan was the one knighting him, he was the one he was giving his oath to when it should have been the princess.
His princess.
His parents were at the ceremony. It had been almost a month since he had last seen them, and the prince was kind enough to allow them to spend the rest of the day together after the ceremony.
His mother was crying the whole entire ceremony and his father had been standing beside her with a proud look on his face.
The day of the knighting ceremony arrived. The cathedral was packed, the air thick with incense and the sound of solemn music. Wonwoo knelt before Prince Jeonghan, the active royal authority for the ceremony, wearing the heavy formal armor, the weight of the steel a physical manifestation of his sacrifice.
He still thought about how strange it was being here in front of the whole royal court without the Princess present in the royal box.
It was bitterly ironic.
The entire reason he had pushed himself, the person he was truly swearing to protect, wasn’t here at this pivotal moment. Prince Jeonghan was the one administering the oath, the one he was dedicating himself to, when in his heart, that commitment belonged to his Princess.
He found solace only in the sight of his own family. His parents were seated near the front, guests of the royal family for the day. His mother was quietly crying the whole entire ceremony, utterly overwhelmed with pride, while his father stood beside her, his face set in a proud, unwavering expression. It had been almost a month since he had last seen them, and Prince Jeonghan had been kind enough to allow them to spend the rest of the day together after the ceremony.
Prince Jeonghan’s voice boomed as he placed the blunt side of a ceremonial sword, the King's own great sword, on Wonwoo’s shoulder.
“Do you swear loyalty to the Crown of Celestra, upholding its laws, its alliances, and its sovereign lines, with Honor as your sole guide?”
Wonwoo met Prince Jeonghan’s eyes, his resolve absolute.
“I swear,” Wonwoo affirmed, his voice ringing clearly through the cathedral.
The final pronouncement was made, the assembly cheered, and the heavy ceremonial robes were swiftly replaced with his new, bespoke knight's uniform. Celestra's Mark, his sword of honor, felt balanced and light on his hip, despite the immense weight of the oath he had just taken.
As the cathedral began to empty, Prince Jeonghan gave him a respectful nod, releasing him. Wonwoo moved immediately toward the section where his family waited.
His mother, dressed in her best Sunday clothes, rushed forward. She didn't bow or curtsy; she simply enveloped him in a fierce, tearful hug, pressing her cheek against the cold steel of his shoulder plate.
“Oh, my beautiful, clever boy,” she wept quietly into his uniform. “You did it. You are a Knight.”
Wonwoo hugged her back fiercely, inhaling the comforting scent of baked dough and lavender that always clung to her. For a moment, he wasn't Knight Wonwoo, sworn protector of the Princess; he was just her son.
His father approached, a man of quiet strength whose own rough hands had shaped hundreds of loaves of bread. He didn't embrace Wonwoo, but instead placed a large, calloused hand on his newly armored shoulder, right where the King's sword had touched him.
“Honor,” his father said, his voice thick with pride. “That is the only thing we ever asked you to carry, son. Carry it well.”
Wonwoo nodded, swallowing the sudden lump in his throat.
“I will, Father,” he promised, his voice regaining the steady confidence of his rank. “Always.”
He pulled back, smiling at them both, knowing that their pride was the one shield he was truly glad to carry.
Wonwoo pulled back, smiling at them both, knowing that their pride was the one shield he was truly glad to carry.
They settled at a small, reserved table in a quiet corner of the outer hall, where the noise of the main celebration couldn’t reach them. His mother fussed over his untouched plate of food, while his father sipped water, still watching him with that look of intense pride.
“And the Princess, Wonwoo?” his mother asked softly, resting a hand on his forearm. “Is she well? We heard she has been... very busy with state duties this past year. You two still spend time together, yes?”
The question was innocent, delivered with the easy familiarity of someone asking after a well-loved niece. Wonwoo felt a sharp, internal twist.
“The Princess is excellent, Mother,” he replied, his tone immediately defaulting to the cool, formal respect required of his rank. “As her personal guard, my duty is now to ensure her safety at all times. I am constantly near her, though our interactions are strictly professional.”
His father frowned slightly at the formality. “Professional? What happened to the young lady who used to quiz you on your lessons? I trust the steel hasn't made you forget your manners, son.”
“No, Father,” Wonwoo murmured, avoiding their eyes and focusing on slicing his food with precise, stiff movements. “Her Highness is betrothed to Prince Mingyu now, and my position requires absolute discretion and honor. She is the future of Celestra. I am simply her shield.”
Both of his parents gave each other a knowing look, a silent agreement passing between them not to push any further to upset him. They sensed the rigid, painful distance he had put up around himself. They understood duty, but they didn’t understand the price he was paying for it.
Prince Mingyu was always kind towards Y/N. He never treated her like a possession or a political prize, but rather as a friend he genuinely respected. In the long two years since their formal betrothal, he had come to understand the sad truth of their union.
He knew that she wasn’t in love with him.
This awareness didn’t make him cruel or resentful. Instead, it lent his patience and courtesy a layer of profound maturity. He valued her well-being above their alliance, a face that only deepened the quiet agony for both Y/N and the knight sworn to protect them.
Which is precisely how Mingyu knew that something was wrong with Y/N quickly into the tea ceremony.
She was performing her required courtesies flawlessly, speaking the correct diplomatic language, offering measured smiles, and accepting the exquisite gifts from the Northern March delegation with grace. Yet, Mingyu noticed the minute details.
The way her gaze drifting past the delegates to fix on the reflection of the silver tray before quickly snapping back. She was present, but her mind was clearly elsewhere.
He waited until there was a lull in the ceremony before saying anything.
“Are you alright?” He asked, making sure that the other occupants of the ceremony were busy and not interacting with them.
“Pardon?” Y/N asked, her gaze unfocused for a beat too long.
Mingyu leaned closer, his expression earnest.
“Your hands are shaking,” he whispered, eyes quickly darting down to her shaking hands. “If you need air, I can excuse us. Tell me what’s wrong.”
Y/N felt a fresh wave of despair. It wasn’t the political pressure, it was the unbearable weight of not being there for her best friend. She looked at Mingyu’s kind, concerned face, the man who was trying so hard, and the guilt that she had forced Wonwoo into this impossible, painful position crushed her. She had to deny her reality to the one man who sincerely wished her well.
“It’s nothing, Prince Mingyu,” she replied, forcing a brief, brittle smile. “Just the tediousness of the negotiations. I assure you, I am perfectly well.”
Mingyu sighed, a soft and heavy sound that seemed to carry the wright of both their roles, and nodded his head slowly. In that single gesture, he acknowledge the unspoken truth of her heart without judgement or resentment. He wasn’t just a prince at that moment, he was a man who saw the bars or the cafe they were both trapped in.
With a determined look in his eyes, he began trying to plan an escape for them both, his mind already working though ways to slip away from the prying eyes of the delegates and the stifling atmosphere of the embassy. He knew they couldn’t run forever, but for her, and for his own peace, he was willing to find a way to claim even just a few hours of freedom from the suffocating demands of the crown.
Mingyu moved with a calculated grace, guiding Y/N back toward the interior of the hallway rather than the main ballroom. He knew the embassy's layout well enough to know that the servants’ corridors and the garden exits were currently unguarded, as all security was focused on the front gates and the main reception hall. With a quick, conspiratorial wink, he draped his heavy traveling cloak over her shoulders, effectively hiding her shimmering dress and the royal crest of Celestra. As they reached the heavy wooden door, Mingyu paused, his hand on the iron latch. He looked back at Y/N, the moonlight catching the determined set of his jaw. He wasn't just giving her a few hours of peace; he was risking a minor diplomatic scandal to ensure she didn't break under the weight of her own crown.
“Once we step through this door, we aren’t royals,” he whispered, the cold air turning his breath into a white mist. “Just for tonight, Y/N. No princess, no fiancé, no duty. Just two people walking in the snow.”
Y/N felt a surge of genuine gratitude. For the first time in years, the crushing pressure in her chest eased. She reached out and took his hand, not out of duty, but out of a shared need for air. As the door creaked open, they stepped out into the night, leaving the world of politics and silent knights behind them, if only for a moment.
Once they were alone, Mingyu didn't push or accuse. He simply leaned against the cool stone railing, respecting the space between them.
“I know it wasn’t the tediousness of the negotiations,” he said softly, turning to face her. “You are far too composed for that. Please, Y/N. Tell me what is weighing so heavily on your heart.”
Y/N wrapped her arms around herself, watching the frost gleam on the sculpted bushes below. The air was crisp and clean, offering a small reprieve from the stifling political atmosphere.
“You are too kind, Mingyu,” she murmured, the sincerity in her voice making her throat tight. “That kindness is why this is so difficult.”
She didn’t dare speak Wonwoo’s name, but the heavy implication hung between them. Mingyu already understood.
“Is it still difficult because of the distance?” he asked, his voice low and sympathetic. “Because of what you had to leave behind in Celestra? I never asked you to forget your past, only to share the future with me.”
Y/N finally met his eyes, her own filled with guilt and sorrow.
“I am fighting every day to be the Princess Celestra needs,” she confessed, her voice barely a breath. “But I cannot help but feel like I am giving up some part of myself to do so. Prince Mingyu…. You deserve someone who doesn’t feel like they are breaking just to stand beside you.”
She saw the hurt and confusion in his eyes, but she couldn’t bring herself to explain the true source of her fractured heart. Instead, she quickly recovered, forcing a brief, brittle smile.
Mingyu nodded slowly, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer than protocol allowed. He was trying to understand, searching her expression for the piece of the puzzle she was clearly withholding. He wasn't a fool; he could hear the finality in her tone, the way she spoke of their union as if it were a sentence rather than a beginning.
"I understand duty," he said softly, his hand retreating from the railing but his presence remaining heavy beside her. "But I do not wish to be another burden you have to carry, Y/N. If standing beside me feels like breaking, then we are starting on a very fragile foundation."
The Northern March delegates laughed at a joke across the table, the sound jarringly loud against the quiet tension between the Prince and Princess. Y/N kept her eyes fixed on the snow falling, terrified that if she looked up, he would see the truth, not just that she didn't want him, but that her heart had already been given to someone else.
Mingyu straightened his posture, shifting back into his role as the perfect diplomat as the delegates turned their attention back toward them. He didn't push her further, but the concern hadn't left his eyes.
"The Court Dance begins shortly," he murmured, his voice returning to a formal, neutral tone for the benefit of their audience. "Perhaps the movement will help settle your nerves. I would be honored if you would grant me the first set."
The following days were not filled with the frantic energy of the ceremony, leaving a hollow silence in the private royal gardens. Y/N walked the stone path alone, her fingers trailing over the dew-covered hedges. The heavy silks of the ceremony had been traded for a simpler gown, but the weight of her check remained unchanged. She stopped at the edge of the fountain, watching her own distorted image in the water.
The conversation with Mingyu still echoed in her mind. She had seen the way he looked at her, not with cold calculation of the Council, but with a genuine desire to be the partner she needed. It made the lie heel even more jagged. Every step toward the wedding felt like a step further away from herself, a slow erasure of the woman she used to be before the needs of the kingdom became a cage.
A soft rustle of gravel nearby signaled that her solitude was coming to an end. She turned, her shoulders instinctively tensing for another diplomatic confrontation, but the air in her lungs finally felt light again when she saw Wonwoo.
He was standing a respectful distance away, his expression calm and his posture as steady as the ancient stone walls of the palace. He didn't offer a platitude or a royal greeting; he simply stood there, a quiet anchor in the midst of her internal chaos. Seeing him, the one person who knew the woman behind the title, the suffocating weight of the crown seemed to lift just enough for her to breathe. The brittle, defensive mask she had been wearing since the night before finally softened, and for a fleeting moment, she didn't feel like a Princess fighting for Celestra. She just felt like herself.
“How did you find me?” She asked, looking back to the fountain, not wanting him to see the slight flush on her cheeks.
“You forget my lady, that it is my job to know where you are at all times of the day,” Wonwoo replied, his voice carrying a rare, light trace of amusement. There was a faint, teasing ghost of a smile on his lips that she usually only saw when the palace was fast asleep. It was a subtle, joking tone. One that reminded her he wasn’t just a shield in polished armor, but the person who knew her better than anyone else.
The small smile on his lips didn’t last long; as he stepped closer, his keen eyes swept over her, noting the tension in her shoulders that even the morning air couldn't melt away. The joking tone vanished, replaced by the quiet, intense focus he reserved only for her.
“The levity doesn’t suit the look in your eyes, my lady,” he said softly, his voice dropping to a more private register. He moved to stand near the edge of the fountain, his gaze following hers to the dancing water. “Something happened during the ceremony. Your composure was... different. What is bothering you?”
Y/N felt the familiar urge to deflect, to give him the same brittle smile she had given Mingyu. But with Wonwoo, the lie always felt heavier. He didn't just see the Princess; he saw the girl who was terrified of losing herself.
"Mingyu noticed," she admitted, her voice so low it was almost lost to the splashing water. "He saw my hands shaking. He offered me a way out, and it only made the guilt worse. He’s a good man, Wonwoo. That’s what’s bothering me. He is a good man, and I am standing there lying to him with every breath I take."
Wonwoo’s expression shifted, a shadow of pain crossing his features at the mention of Mingyu’s kindness. For a long moment, the only sound was the rhythmic splashing of the fountain. Then, defying every rule etched into his training since the day he was knighted, he took a step forward, closing the gap that protocol demanded he maintain.
He didn’t just stand behind her as a shadow. Instead, he reached out, his hand hesitating for a fraction of a second before his fingers brushed against hers. He gently took her hand, the one that had been trembling during the ceremony, and folded his palm over it. The leather of his glove was cool, but the pressure was firm and grounding.
“Then stop looking at him as the Prince of a rival house, and stop looking at yourself as a piece of a treaty,” he whispered, his voice thick with a sudden, raw honesty. He didn't pull his hand away, even though a single wandering eye from the palace windows could cost him his position. “You are not a lie, Y/N. You are a woman being asked to carry the weight of an entire world on your back. If you cannot be honest with him, at least be honest with me. You don't have to be the Princess of Celestra within these four walls.”
The touch was a silent rebellion, a brief erasure of the line between a knight and his sovereign. For that heartbeat, they weren't a political tragedy in the making; they were simply two people holding onto each other in the quiet of a fading dawn.
Y/N didn't pull her hand away. Instead, she turned her palm upward, lacing her fingers with his as if anchoring herself to the only real thing left in her life. The cool morning air bit at her skin, but where their hands met, there was a heat that made the rest of the world feel distant and blurred.
She looked up at him, her eyes searching his for a sign of the same fracture she felt in herself. “And what if being honest with you is the most dangerous thing of all?” she whispered. “Every time I look at you, I remember exactly who I am, and exactly what I have to give up to keep this kingdom whole.”
Wonwoo didn’t flinch. His grip tightened almost imperceptibly, his thumb brushing over the back of her hand in a slow, rhythmic motion that felt like a silent vow. The distance between them had vanished, and in the stillness of the garden, she could see the golden flecks in his eyes and the way his jaw was set in a hard line of restrained emotion.
“Then let it be dangerous,” he murmured, his voice strained. “Let the world fall apart outside this garden. For once, just once, don’t worry about the Council or the Prince or the peace. Just stay here. Just breathe.”
For a long, suspended moment, the political machinery of Celestra ceased to exist. There were no impending weddings, no trade routes, and no heavy crowns. There was only the sound of their shared breath and the terrifying, beautiful realization that the person she was supposedly "giving up" was most alive when she was standing right here, in the shadow of the man who was never supposed to touch her hand.
The air between them seemed to vanish as the silence grew heavy, charged with years of unspoken words and shared glances. Y/N looked up at him, her heart hammering against her ribs, not with the cold anxiety of the palace halls, but with a desperate, frantic longing.
Wonwoo’s gaze dropped to her lips, his breath hitching. The logic of the knight, the duty to the crown, and the fear of the Council all seemed to dissolve in the pale morning light. He moved slowly, giving her every chance to pull away, to remember her station, to be the Princess again. But she didn't move
She leaned in, closing the final inch of the distance that had felt like a chasm for far too long. When his lips finally met hers, it wasn't the polished, formal grace of a royal courtship. It was a collision of relief and suppressed grief. It was the taste of a secret they had both been dying to tell, a soft and tentative touch that quickly deepened into something more certain. His free hand came up to rest against the side of her neck, his thumb grazing her jawline, holding her as if she were the only thing keeping him grounded.
For that one moment, the wedding to Mingyu felt like a ghost story from a distant land. There was no Celestra, no Northern March, and no duty. There was only the warmth of him, the scent of the garden, and the terrifyingly beautiful reality of a love that could never be spoken of in the light of day.
Wonwoo let out a sharp, ragged breath against her skin, the instinct of a soldier suddenly warring with the hunger of a man. The reality of their situation seemed to crash back into him, and he began to pull away, his hands sliding from her waist to her shoulders to create distance. He was the protector, the one meant to keep her safe from the very scandal they were currently creating.
But Y/N wasn’t ready to let the world back in.
As he retreated, she stepped forward, her hands tangling in the heavy fabric of his tunic to pull him back. She chased his lips, refusing to let the warmth vanish, her movements desperate and unyielding. She didn't want the safety he offered; she wanted the fire that only he could provide.
A low, pained sound caught in Wonwoo’s throat as he felt her persistence. His resolve, built over years of rigid discipline, crumbled in the face of her touch. His hands moved from her shoulders to her face, his fingers threading through her hair as he stopped retreating and met her with an intensity that matched her own.
For a few breathless seconds, he stopped being her guard and simply became hers. He kissed her with a ferocity that spoke of every time he had been forced to stand three paces behind her, every time he had watched her smile at Mingyu, and every night he had spent patrolling her door knowing he could never enter.
It was a beautiful moment, fueled by the knowledge that every second they spent like this was a betrayal of the crown she wore, and the life they were both expected to lead.
Finally, it was Y/N who pulled back, though only by an inch. Her breath came in short, jagged hitches, the heat of the kiss still burning on her lips. She didn't let him go completely; her hands remained anchored to his chest, feeling the frantic, heavy thud of his heart beneath the heavy fabric of his uniform.
Wonwoo stood perfectly still, his eyes dark and clouded with a mixture of adoration and agony. He didn't try to step back again, nor did he reach for her. He simply waited, his head bowed slightly, yielding entirely to her. In this quiet corner of the garden, the power dynamic of the court had inverted. He wasn't the guard commanding her safety, and he wasn't the soldier following a vow; he was a man placing his entire existence in her hands, waiting for her to decide what happened next.
He was giving her the control, the one thing she never had in the council rooms or at the tea ceremonies. If she told him to leave, he would disappear into the shadows. If she told him to stay, he would burn the world down to keep her.
Y/N looked up at him, her fingers curling into the embroidery of his tunic. For the first time, the silence between them didn't feel like a burden. It felt like a choice. She could see the vulnerability in the set of his shoulders, the way he was breathing only when she did, completely attuned to her next move.
"You're not going to stop me?" she whispered, her voice trembling with the weight of the moment.
"I am yours to command, my lady," Wonwoo murmured, his voice rough and low. "In this, and in everything else. If this is what you want... I have no will to fight you."
Y/N blushed, but before she could say anything the heavy, metallic thud of the Great Terrace doors echoing across the stone gallery acted like a bucket of ice water. The spell shattered instantly.
Wonwoo was the first to react, his soldier’s instincts overriding his heartbeat. He stepped back with a sharp, fluid movement, putting the required three paces of distance between them before Y/N had even fully processed the sound. By the time the heavy doors creaked open and the rhythmic click of heels on marble grew louder, he had already straightened his tunic and clasped his hands behind his back, his expression smoothing into a mask of professional indifference.
Y/N turned toward the fountain, her heart still racing so violently she was sure the approaching attendants would hear it. She frantically smoothed her skirts and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, her lips still tingling from the pressure of his.
“Princess? Your father is requesting your presence in the solar for the finalization of the wedding guest list.”
The voice of a young page reached them, followed shortly by the boy himself as he rounded the hedge. He stopped and bowed low, oblivious to the fact that he had walked into the aftermath of a quiet revolution.
“I am coming,” Y/N managed to say, her voice steadier than she expected, though she didn't dare look back at Wonwoo yet.
As she began to walk toward the terrace, she passed Wonwoo. For a split second, their eyes met, a flash of raw, shared memory that burned through their masks. He bowed his head as she passed, the perfect picture of a loyal, stoic guard, but the slight tension in his jaw told her everything she needed to know.
The three years leading up to Y/N’s wedding changed everything, even if they never spoke about it. That morning in the garden was still there, hanging between them like a secret they both remembered but never dared to bring up. To talk about the kiss would mean admitting they had broken the rules, so they just lived with the memory of it, letting it sit in the silence of every room they shared.
In those three years, Wonwoo grew into a man who didn't need words to understand her. He became a master of noticing the small things that everyone else missed. He knew that when she was stressed about the wedding, she would twist the ring on her finger until her skin was red, and he’d quietly step into her line of sight to catch her eye and keep her grounded. He noticed that she hated the heavy, suffocating scent of the lilies the Queen favored, so he would make sure the windows in her sitting room were cracked open just enough to let in the fresh air before she arrived.
For Y/N, Wonwoo was the only person who actually saw her. She noticed how he always seemed to know when she had a headache, standing in a way that blocked the harsh glare of the sun from her desk. She watched him change, too, his shoulders got broader, his face more serious, and his protective streak grew even stronger. He didn't have to say anything for her to know he was looking out for her. Every time he handed her a cloak before she felt a chill, or stepped closer when a stranger got too near, it was his way of staying close to her without breaking the silence they had maintained since they were fifteen.
Despite the fact that her wedding to Mingyu was now only weeks away, they continued their quiet routine. They were experts at pretending they were just a Princess and her guard, but the way Wonwoo noticed every small change in her mood said otherwise. He was still the person who knew her best, even if they had to act like that kiss in the garden had never happened.
The training grounds were thick with the scent of kicked-up dust and oiled leather as Wonwoo and Mingyu circled each other. Now at twenty one, both men had grown into their frames; Mingyu with the broad-shouldered, effortless grace of a future king, and Wonwoo with the lean, lethal efficiency of a high-tier guard. The clash of their practice swords echoed against the stone walls, a rhythmic, violent dance that usually ended in a draw.
"You're distracted," Wonwoo remarked, his voice steady even as he parried a heavy blow from Mingyu’s blade. He didn't wait for a response before stepping into Mingyu’s space, forcing him to adjust. "Your footwork is sloppy on the left. You’re overextending because you’re tired."
Mingyu laughed, a short, breathless sound as he wiped sweat from his brow. "Maybe. The wedding preparations are exhausting. My father has me reviewing trade routes until dawn." He lunged again, but Wonwoo deflected the strike with a flick of his wrist. "But how would you know? I thought I was hiding the fatigue well enough."
"You are," Wonwoo said, his eyes focused and sharp. "But you’re moving the same way the Princess does when she’s had a long night of council meetings. You both get a slight tension in your shoulder, the right one. It makes your strikes heavy but slow."
Mingyu stopped mid-swing, his sword dropping an inch. He tilted his head, looking at Wonwoo with a sudden, piercing curiosity. The silence on the field stretched out, suddenly heavy.
"The right shoulder?" Mingyu repeated, his tone thoughtful. "I've known her since we were children, and I never noticed that. I didn't even know she had a tell when she was tired. She usually just hides behind that perfect, icy smile."
Wonwoo realized his mistake instantly. The "little things" he had spent three years cataloging were supposed to be his private map of her, not something he shared with her fiancé. He tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword, his expression smoothing back into a mask of professional neutrality.
"It is my job to notice," Wonwoo said, though the words felt hollow in his own ears. "A guard who doesn't recognize when his charge is fatigued is a guard who misses a threat. She hides it well from the court, but she can't hide it from the person standing three paces behind her for twelve hours a day."
Mingyu didn't go back to the sparring stance. He sheathed his practice blade and stepped closer, his gaze searching Wonwoo’s face. "You notice a lot, Wonwoo. You knew her favorite tea yesterday before she even asked for it. You moved her chair away from the draft in the solar without her saying a word. You seem to know her better than I do, and I’m the one she’s supposed to marry."
Mingyu didn't reach for his sword again. Instead, he leaned against a wooden training post, watching Wonwoo with a look that was more analytical than angry. There was no heat in his eyes, but there was a new, sharp focus, the kind a hunter uses when he realizes he’s been looking at a map upside down.
"It’s more than just the shoulder, isn't it?" Mingyu asked, his voice dropping to a conversational level that felt far too intimate for the middle of a training field. "Yesterday, at the banquet, she started to reach for the wine, but you swapped her glass for water before her fingers even touched the stem. You knew she had a headache before she’d even admitted it to herself."
Wonwoo felt a cold pull of dread in his stomach, but he kept his posture rigid. "The Princess is prone to migraines when the hall is too crowded, Prince Mingyu. I was simply anticipating a need to keep her present for the toast."
"And the way you stand?" Mingyu continued, ignoring the excuse. He stepped toward Wonwoo, circling him slowly, much like they had been doing during the spar. "You don't just stand behind her. You stand for her. You adjust your position based on the sun to keep her in the shade. You move when she breathes. It’s almost like you’re wired to her."
Mingyu stopped in front of him, looking Wonwoo straight in the eye. There was no malice in his expression, Mingyu wasn't a cruel man, but there was a dawning realization that he was stepping into a space that was already occupied by someone else.
"I’ve spent three years trying to learn her favorite colors and her favorite poets," Mingyu said with a faint, almost sad smile. "And here you are, knowing the rhythm of her breath. It makes me wonder, Wonwoo... is that level of devotion something they teach in the Guard, or is it something you taught yourself?"
The silence that followed was deafening. Wonwoo knew that any answer he gave now would be a confession. He could see Mingyu waiting, not for a lie about protocol, but for the truth about why a common guard looked at the future Queen as if she were the only fixed point in a turning world.
Wonwoo didn’t blink. He kept his gaze level, matching Mingyu’s stare with a calm that he didn't actually feel. He knew he was standing on a thin ledge. One wrong word could end his career or, worse, put Y/N in a position she couldn't explain.
"Every person has a rhythm, My Lord," Wonwoo said. His voice was low and steady, lacking any of the nervous energy that might give him away. "When you spend every waking hour ensuring someone stays alive, you stop seeing them as a person and start seeing them as a series of patterns. I know when she is tired because a tired Princess is a vulnerable one. I know when she has a headache because a distracted Princess doesn't see a threat coming."
Mingyu hummed, a small sound of acknowledgement, but he didn't look convinced. He picked up a cloth to wipe the sweat from his neck, his eyes still fixed on Wonwoo.
"Patterns," Mingyu repeated. He sounded like he was testing the word out to see if it rang true. "That’s a very clinical way to describe it. But I’ve watched you when she isn't looking. You don't look like a man watching for assassins. You look like a man who is afraid the world is going to break her."
Wonwoo tightened his jaw. He could feel the heat of the afternoon sun on his neck, but he felt cold. Mingyu wasn't being aggressive, which made it harder to deflect. He was being observant, and that was far more dangerous.
"She is the future of this kingdom," Wonwoo replied. He chose his words with extreme care. "It would be a failure on my part if she were to break under the weight of it. If I know her better than most, it is only because I am the only one allowed to see her when the mask slips. That is the burden of the guard, not a choice of the man."
Mingyu stayed quiet for a moment, tossing the cloth aside. He looked out toward the palace balcony where Y/N often sat.
"I hope you're right, Wonwoo," Mingyu said. He didn't sound angry. He sounded almost worried. "Because if I am going to be her husband, I would like to think I could eventually understand her the way you do. But standing here, I feel like a stranger trying to read a book in a language I haven't mastered yet."
He turned back to Wonwoo, his eyes searching. "It makes me uneasy. I do not want to lose her before our life together even begins simply because I am too blind to see what she needs. You have had three years to learn every breath she takes, and I am starting to realize that if I do not catch up, I will never truly have her."
Wonwoo felt a sharp pang of guilt mixed with a dark, possessive spark he tried to shove down. He realized that Mingyu wasn't just suspicious; he was afraid. He was afraid that no matter how many titles he held or how many provinces he brought to the marriage, he would always be the second person in the room when it came to Y/N’s heart.
"You have time, My Lord," Wonwoo said, though the words felt like a lie on his tongue.
"Do I?" Mingyu asked with a small, hollow laugh. "The wedding is in a month, Wonwoo. You have a three-year head start. I just hope that by the time I learn her patterns, she hasn't already decided that you are the only one who truly knows her."
Mingyu offered a final, lingering look at the palace before turning away without another word. The sound of his boots retreating across the gravel felt like a countdown, each step emphasizing the month remaining before the wedding. Wonwoo remained exactly where he was, his hand still gripped tightly around the hilt of his practice sword. The silence of the training grounds rushed back in, but it offered no comfort. He realized then that Mingyu’s lack of anger was actually more dangerous than a confrontation. A jealous man could be handled with protocol, but a man who recognized the truth was a man who might eventually demand it.
Wonwoo looked down at his calloused hands, the same hands that had caught Y/N’s tears and adjusted her cloaks for years, and felt the crushing weight of his position. He was the keeper of her secrets, but as Mingyu had pointed out, he was also the one standing in the way of her future. He stood alone in the settling dust, realizing that his devotion was no longer just a shield for the Princess, but a growing threat to the very peace he was sworn to protect. The map of her heart that he had spent three years drawing was no longer his alone to keep. Mingyu was looking for it now, and Wonwoo knew he couldn't hide the trail forever.
Later that evening, the palace had fallen into the hushed, rhythmic stillness of the night watch. Wonwoo stood outside Y/N's chambers, his back to the door, but his mind was still on the training grounds. He waited until the final patrol of the hour passed before he risked a soft, rhythmic knock on the wood behind him. It was a signal they had used a handful of times over the years, one that bypassed the formal "My Lady" and spoke directly to the girl he had once kissed in the garden.
The door opened just a crack, and the warm glow of candlelight spilled into the dark hallway. Y/N looked up at him, her hair down and her face tired, her eyes immediately searching his for the reason behind the late-night interruption. She noticed the tension in his jaw before he even spoke.
"We need to be more careful," Wonwoo whispered, his voice barely audible. "Mingyu is not as blind as we thought. He is starting to see the patterns."
Y/N stood up from her desk by the window. The moonlight lit up her face just enough that Wonwoo could see the worried expression she was wearing. “See the patterns? What do you mean?” she asked, reaching out. Wonwoo sighed and took her hands, his rough palms a stark contrast to her soft skin.
“We were training together today and I was foolish enough to share an observation about you with him,” Wonwoo admitted. He looked down at their joined hands, realizing how easily this simple gesture would confirm every suspicion Mingyu held. “He noticed how I look after you. He mentioned the way I know your favorite tea or how I move to block the draft before you even feel the cold. He told me he feels like a stranger reading a book in a language he hasn't mastered yet.”
Wonwoo squeezed her fingers gently, his voice dropping an octave. “He isn't angry, Y/N. That is the problem. He is observant, and he is starting to realize that I have a three-year head start on knowing your heart. He told me he’s afraid he will never truly have you because I am already standing in the space he is supposed to occupy.”
Y/N felt a chill that had nothing to do with the night air. The three years of silence they had maintained suddenly felt fragile, like a glass bridge beginning to crack under the weight of Mingyu's gaze. They had spent so much time perfecting their masks in public that they had forgotten that a man who loved her would be looking for the person behind the mask.
“If he knows,” Y/N whispered, her eyes searching Wonwoo’s, “then he knows that my marriage to him will be a lie. What do we do, Wonwoo? If he tells my father, or if he decides he cannot marry a woman who is already spoken for in every way that matters, what happens to you?”
Wonwoo pulled her closer, his hands moving from hers to cup her face. The professional distance he had maintained for years finally snapped. He looked at her with a raw intensity that made her breath hitch, the mask of the stoic guard completely gone.
"He won't tell your father," Wonwoo said, his voice low and urgent. "Mingyu is a good man, but he is a man who wants to be loved. He will keep watching us, and eventually, the truth will destroy all three of us. I cannot stand by and watch you walk down that aisle knowing I am the reason your heart is breaking."
As he spoke, a single tear escaped and traced a slow, shimmering path down her cheek. Wonwoo didn't hesitate. He reached out and caught the drop with the pad of his thumb, wiping it away with a tenderness that felt more intimate than any word he had ever spoken. He let his hand linger there, his thumb resting against the corner of her mouth.
"I have spent the last three years watching you prepare for a life that is going to suffocate you," he continued, his voice softening. "I have made arrangements. I have a way out of the city, and I have friends across the border who do not care about alliances or crowns. I am not telling you that we have to go tonight, but I am telling you that the door is open."
He stepped back just an inch, giving her space to breathe, though he didn't let go of her hands. "You have two weeks before the final ceremonies begin. Use them. Look at the life they have built for you, and then look at me. If you decide that you cannot go through with it, tell me. We will leave everything behind, and I will spend the rest of my life making sure you never regret it. But if you choose the crown, I will stay. I will be your guard, and I will never speak of this again."
The silence in the room was heavy with the weight of the choice he had just laid at her feet. For three years, they had been trapped by fate, but now, Wonwoo had given her the one thing she thought she had lost forever: a way out. He was offering her a life of anonymity and struggle, but one where he could finally love her in the light.
"Think about it, Y/N," he whispered, his eyes lingering on hers. "Don't answer me now. Just know that you don't have to be the person they are forcing you to be. You just have to decide if the woman you are is enough for the life I can give you."
The days that followed were a slow torture of divided loyalties. Every time Y/N looked at Mingyu, she saw a man who was genuinely trying to bridge the gap between them. He brought her books he thought she might like and made self-deprecating jokes during formal luncheons to try and coax a real smile from her. At twenty one, Mingyu was everything a princess should want, kind, handsome, and earnest. Yet, every time he reached for her hand or asked her a question about her childhood, Y/N felt a wave of guilt so cold it made her fingers go numb. She was watching a good man fall in love with a ghost, while the man who actually held her soul stood three paces behind her, a silent shadow in silver armor.
Her internal struggle became a physical weight as the wedding preparations reached a fever pitch. She spent her afternoons in fittings for a gown that felt more like a shroud, surrounded by seamstresses who praised her beauty while she felt like she was disappearing. During these moments, her eyes would instinctively find Wonwoo’s reflection in the tall pier glasses. He remained the perfect picture of professional indifference, but she could see the slight, familiar tension in his jaw that Mingyu had pointed out. She realized then that Wonwoo wasn't just waiting for her answer; he was suffering through every second of the countdown alongside her.
The contrast between her two lives grew sharper with every passing hour. With Mingyu, there was the promise of a stable, powerful future, a crown, a duty fulfilled, and the safety of her kingdom. With Wonwoo, there was only the unknown. She thought about the horses at the south postern and the gold he had saved, and she wondered if she was brave enough to be the woman he believed she was. She was terrified of the war her departure might spark, but she was even more terrified of the person she would become if she stayed. Every time Mingyu laughed or tried to "learn her patterns," it only served to remind her that those patterns had been woven by Wonwoo’s hands.
By the end of the week, the pressure had become nearly unbearable. Y/N found herself standing on her balcony late at night, looking out toward the dark horizon where the border lay. She thought about the life Wonwoo had offered her, a life without titles, where they could finally speak about that morning in the garden without fear. The choice was no longer just between two men; it was between the Princess of Hesperos and the woman who had once been kissed behind a hedge. As the moon climbed higher, she realized that the more Mingyu tried to know her, the more she realized that only one person truly did.
The dining hall felt far too large for just the two of them, the flickering candlelight casting long, distorted shadows against the tapestries. Mingyu had dismissed the servants earlier than usual, leaving them in a silence broken only by the clinking of silverware. Wonwoo stood at his post by the heavy oak doors, a silent statue whose presence seemed to vibrate in the air between Y/N and her fiancé.
“You’re doing it again,” Mingyu said quietly, setting his wine glass down with a definitive click.
Y/N looked up, her fork pausing halfway to her plate. “Doing what?”
“You’re here, but you’re not,” Mingyu replied, his voice devoid of anger but heavy with profound sadness. He leaned forward, the light catching the gold embroidery of his tunic. “I have spent the last hour trying to talk to you about the music for the ceremony, about the flowers, about our future home in the North. And every time I speak, you look right through me as if I am a ghost.”
Y/N felt a lump form in her throat. “I am just tired, Mingyu. The preparations are a lot for anyone.”
“It’s not just the fatigue,” Mingyu countered, his gaze shifting briefly to the shadow by the door before returning to her. “I’ve tried to learn your patterns, Y/N. I’ve tried to be the man who knows when you’re stressed or when you need a moment of quiet. But every time I think I’ve found a way in, I realize that the door is already locked from the inside. There is a wall around you that I can’t climb, and I think we both know who holds the key.”
The air in the room became suffocating. Y/N glanced toward Wonwoo, but he remained perfectly still, his eyes fixed on the far wall, though she knew he was hanging on every word.
“I want to love you,” Mingyu said, his voice cracking slightly. “I want to be the person you turn to. But how can I marry a woman who looks at her guard with more recognition than she looks at her husband? How can I build a kingdom with someone who treats my presence like a sentence she has to serve?” He reached across the table, his hand hovering near hers but not quite touching. “Tell me the truth, Y/N. If I walked out of this room right now and called off the wedding, would you be heartbroken, or would you finally be able to breathe?”
The silence following Mingyu’s question was so heavy that the crackle of the fireplace sounded like a thunderclap. Y/N looked down at his hovering hand, then slowly shifted her gaze to the doors where Wonwoo stood. For three years, she had carried the weight of the crown and the secret of the garden like a leaden cloak, but looking at Mingyu’s pained, honest face, she realized she couldn't let him shoulder the burden of a lie any longer.
“I would breathe,” she whispered, the words coming out as a shaky, jagged confession.
She looked up, her eyes swimming with unshed tears. “I would breathe, Mingyu, and that is the most terrible thing I have ever had to admit. You are a good man. You have been nothing but kind, and patient, and everything a Queen could ever ask for. But my heart was never part of the alliance. It was never mine to give to you in the first place.”
Mingyu’s hand dropped to the table, his fingers curling into a fist. He didn't look surprised; he looked like a man watching a storm he had seen on the horizon finally make landfall. He followed her gaze to Wonwoo, who had finally broken his stance. Wonwoo’s hand was resting on the hilt of his sword, his expression a mix of terrifying protectiveness and profound grief.
“It’s him, then,” Mingyu said, his voice a hollow echo. “It’s been him since the beginning. Every time you tripped, every time you sighed, every time you looked for a reason to leave a room, it was always toward him.” He let out a sharp, bitter breath that wasn't quite a laugh. “All this time, I thought I was failing to win you over. I didn't realize I was trying to win a battle that had already been lost years ago.”
Y/N stood up, her chair scraping harshly against the marble floor. “It wasn't a choice I made to hurt you, or the kingdom. It just... it happened. And we spent three years pretending it didn't. We tried to be what everyone needed us to be, Mingyu. But I can't do it anymore. I can’t walk down that aisle and promise to spend my life with you when every piece of me belongs to the man standing three paces behind me.”
Mingyu sat in silence for a long time, his eyes fixed on the flickering candle flames. The betrayal clearly hurt, but his anger seemed to be eclipsed by a weary sense of clarity. He looked at Y/N, then shifted his gaze to Wonwoo, really looking at him for the first time not as a shadow, but as a rival who had already won.
"I will not be the one to go to your father," Mingyu said, his voice sandpaper-dry. "I have no desire to be the reason a man is executed for the crime of being loved by a Princess. And I have too much pride to drag a woman to the altar who is mourning someone else while she holds my hand."
He stood up, his movements stiff and formal. He walked toward the door, stopping just a few feet from where Wonwoo stood. The height difference between the two men was negligible, but the tension was immense.
"I will tell the Council and the King that I am the one who wishes to call off the wedding," Mingyu stated, looking Wonwoo directly in the eye. "I will tell them that I have realized our temperaments are not a match, and that the alliance would be better served through trade agreements rather than a hollow marriage. I will take the blame, and I will return to my own lands."
He turned back to Y/N, a shadow of a smile touching his lips, one that didn't reach his eyes. "But understand this: my protection ends the moment I leave. The King will be furious. He will look for someone to blame for my departure, and he will look at your guard with fresh eyes once I am no longer here to distract him. You have the freedom you wanted, but it is a fragile thing."
Mingyu reached for the door handle, pausing one last time. "I won't tell your secret, but I won't help you keep it either. If you are going to run, you should do it while the court is still reeling from my announcement. Because once I am gone, you will be the only target left for his rage."
With a final, sharp nod, Mingyu exited the hall, leaving the heavy doors to swing shut behind him.
The silence following Mingyu’s departure was thick and suffocating. Wonwoo didn't wait more than a heartbeat before he was across the room, his hands finding Y/N’s shoulders. The professional mask had completely shattered, replaced by an urgency that bordered on desperation. He knew the clock was ticking; once Mingyu delivered his news to the King, the palace would transform into a cage of suspicion.
"We leave tonight," Wonwoo insisted, his voice a low, frantic rasp. "Do not pack a trunk. Do not look for jewelry. We take only what we can carry on a horse. Mingyu has given us a window, but it is closing with every step he takes toward your father’s study. Once the King realizes the alliance is dead, he will look for a reason, and he will look at me first."
Y/N nodded, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. They moved through the servant passages, ghosts in the corridors they had walked for years. Wonwoo led the way, his hand never leaving hers, his eyes scanning every shadow. They reached the heavy iron gate of the south postern, the air smelling of damp earth and freedom. Wonwoo pulled the heavy bolt back, the metal screeching just slightly, and for a moment, the open woods lay before them, dark and inviting.
"Just a few more steps," Wonwoo whispered, stepping out into the cool night air and reaching back to pull her through.
"Is that as far as you thought you would get?"
The voice was like a blade of ice cutting through the dark. Torches flared to life all at once, illuminating the stone archway and the line of royal guards standing with crossbows leveled. Standing in the center of the light was Y/N’s father, the King. He looked older in the torchlight, his face twisted in a mask of cold, controlled fury. He didn't look at his daughter; his eyes were fixed entirely on Wonwoo’s hand, which was still gripped tightly around Y/N’s.
"I trusted you with her life," the King said, his voice dangerously quiet. "I gave you the honor of standing in her shadow for years, and you used that proximity to rot the very foundation of my kingdom. Did you truly believe I wouldn't notice the way you looked at her? Or did you think my daughter’s duty was so cheap it could be stolen by a common soldier in a garden?"
Wonwoo didn't let go of her hand. Instead, he stepped in front of her, shielding her body with his own as the guards moved in to circle them. The freedom of the woods was only ten feet away, but it might as well have been on another continent.
The King took a step forward, the orange light of the torches dancing in his eyes. He ignored the crossbows and the tension in the air, focusing entirely on the man who had dared to touch the crown’s most precious asset. He didn't order an execution, not yet. Instead, he looked at Wonwoo with a terrifying, quiet curiosity.
"You have thrown away your life, your honor, and the safety of your family for this," the King said, gesturing vaguely to the dark woods behind them. "A common guard, raised in the barracks, believing he could steal a Princess. Tell me, soldier, before I have you stripped of your rank and thrown into the black cells: why? What could you possibly see in my daughter that was worth the certain death you are facing now?"
Wonwoo didn't flinch. Even with the tips of the crossbow bolts glinting in the light around him, he stood tall. He felt Y/N’s fingers tremble in his, and he squeezed them once, firmly, before finally speaking.
"It wasn't a choice, Your Majesty," Wonwoo began, his voice surprisingly steady. "I didn't look at her and see a Princess or a political alliance. I saw a girl who was forced to grow up in rooms full of people who only wanted something from her. I love her because I am the only one who knows what her silence sounds like. I love her because I have seen the weight she carries every single day, and I wanted to be the one person she didn't have to be strong for."
He took a small breath, his eyes meeting the King’s without a shred of apology. "I love her because I noticed the things no one else cared to look for. I know how she breathes when she’s afraid, and I know exactly how much she has sacrificed for a crown that only feels like a cage. You see a legacy, My Lord. I see a person. And if loving her as a person instead of a puppet is a crime, then I am guilty a thousand times over."
The King’s expression didn't soften; if anything, his jaw tightened at the raw honesty in Wonwoo's voice. He looked at his daughter, seeing the way she was looking at Wonwoo, not with the practiced grace of a royal, but with a desperate, heartbreaking devotion.
Y/N stepped forward, her movement so sudden and determined that the guards with the crossbows shifted their weight. She did not let go of Wonwoo’s hand; instead, she used it to pull herself level with him, standing shoulder-to-shoulder against the light of the torches.
"He is right, Father," she said, her voice ringing out with a clarity she had never possessed in the Council chambers. "You ask why he loves me as if it is a mystery, but the real question is why you never bothered to know me well enough to ask that yourself. For years, I have been a piece on your board. I have smiled when told, spoken when prompted, and agreed to a marriage that would have withered my soul just to keep your peace."
She looked at her father, seeing the king first and the parent second, and for the first time in twenty one years, she didn't look away.
"You see his devotion as a betrayal of his rank, but it is the only honest thing in this entire palace," she continued, a single tear silvering her cheek but her gaze remaining steady. "Wonwoo didn't steal me. He saved me. He saw the girl you forgot existed beneath the silk and the titles. If you punish him for loving me, then you are punishing the only person in this kingdom who actually knows who your daughter is. You can throw him in the cells, or you can take his life, but you cannot undo the fact that he has already given me more freedom in his silence than you ever gave me in your halls."
She took a shaky breath, her grip on Wonwoo’s hand tightening until her knuckles were white. "If he is a criminal for seeing me as a person, then so am I. If he goes to the dungeons, I will follow him. If he is exiled, I will walk beside him. You taught me that my life belongs to the crown, but tonight I am telling you that my heart belongs to him. You can keep the Princess, Father, but you will never truly have me back."
The King stood motionless, the flicker of the torches casting deep, unreadable shadows across his face.
The King stood motionless, the flicker of the torches casting deep shadows across his weathered face. He looked at his daughter, really looked at her, and saw not a political pawn, but a woman whose spirit he had nearly extinguished. He saw her hand gripped tightly in Wonwoo’s and realized that the "loyalty" he had demanded from his guard was nothing compared to the devotion Wonwoo had actually given her. The silence stretched, the guards waiting for a command to strike, but it never came.
"I have spent my life building walls to protect this kingdom," the King finally said, his voice losing its iron edge and sounding, for the first time, like that of a tired father. "I thought that by securing your future through alliances, I was protecting you as well. But standing here, seeing the way you look at him... I realize I have only succeeded in building a prison for my own child." He let out a long, heavy breath, his shoulders sagging slightly. "If I force this, I lose my daughter. And if I lose you, what was the point of the kingdom?"
He signaled to the archers, and with a collective rustle of leather and wood, they lowered their crossbows. The King stepped forward, stopping just a few feet away. He looked Wonwoo in the eye, not with fury, but with a searching, heavy solemnity. "You say you know what her silence sounds like. You say you know the person beneath the crown. That is a burden heavier than any sword, soldier. If I allow this, you are no longer just a guard. You are the guardian of her happiness. If you fail her, there is no corner of this world where you can hide from me."
He turned back to Y/N, reaching out a hesitant hand to brush a stray hair from her forehead. "The alliance with the North will be difficult to mend, and the Council will scream for blood. There will be no secret flight into the woods tonight. If you want this man, you will have him, but you will do it properly. We will find a way to make him more than a soldier in the eyes of the court. It will take time, and it will be a scandal that tests us all, but I will not be the man who broke my daughter’s heart to save a border."
He looked at their joined hands and gave a small, weary nod. "Go back inside. Both of you. We have a great deal of work to do to explain why the Princess is marrying her shield instead of a Prince."
The transition from being hunted fugitives to an officially recognized couple happened with a dizzying speed that left the palace reeling. After the King’s public dismissal of the guards, the heavy atmosphere of the courtyard evaporated, replaced by the hushed whispers of the court. But for Y/N and Wonwoo, the noise of the world didn't matter. They were led not to a cell or a hidden path, but back to the private solar overlooking the moonlit gardens, the very place where their secret had lived in the shadows for so long.
As the heavy oak doors clicked shut behind them, the silence was no longer a weapon used against them; it was a sanctuary. For a long moment, they simply stood in the center of the room, the space between them finally free of the "three-pace rule." The torchlight from the hallway was gone, replaced by the soft, silver glow of the moon spilling across the floorboards. Wonwoo was the first to move. He unbuckled the heavy leather vambraces from his forearms, the metal clattering onto a side table, a sound of a soldier finally laying down his arms.
"It doesn't feel real," he whispered, his voice thick with a vulnerability he had never been allowed to show.
Y/N crossed the room, her silk skirts rustling like a long-held breath finally released. When she reached him, she didn't just take his hand; she leaned her forehead against his chest, listening to the steady, rhythmic thrum of his heart. It was beating fast, matching her own. Wonwoo wrapped his arms around her, pulling her so close that the cold metal of his remaining armor was the only thing between them. He rested his chin on the top of her head, his eyes closing as he inhaled the scent of jasmine in her hair, a scent he had inhaled from a distance for years, but could finally claim as his own.
The relief was a physical wave, washing away the exhaustion of the last few days. Wonwoo pulled back just enough to look at her, his hands sliding up to cradle her face. There was no urgency now, no four-minute timer, no shadow guards lingering in the doorway. He traced the line of her jaw with a slow, reverent thumb, his gaze lingering on her eyes as if confirming she was truly there. "For three years, I thought the only way I could love you was in the dark," he said, his voice dropping to a low, intimate rasp. "I thought I would spend my whole life being the man who stood behind you, never the man who stood beside you."
Y/N reached up, her fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him down until their lips were inches apart. "You were always beside me, Wonwoo. Even when you were standing at the door."
When they finally kissed, it was slow and deep, a silent vow exchanged in the moonlight. It wasn't the frantic, desperate kiss of a doomed couple; it was the quiet, steady beginning of a life lived in the light. They had a long road ahead, angry councilmen, broken treaties, and a court that would never truly forget, but as Wonwoo pulled her back into the safety of his embrace, Y/N knew that for the first time in her life, she wasn't just a Princess. She was home.
The walk to the royal chambers felt entirely different than it had for the last three years. Usually, Wonwoo followed several paces behind, his eyes scanning the corridors for threats, his presence a comfort but a distant one. Tonight, as they climbed the grand spiral staircase, his hand remained firmly in hers. There were still guards posted at the turns of the halls, but as the couple passed, the men didn't move to intervene; they simply lowered their heads in a new, uncertain kind of respect.
When they reached the heavy, gold-inlaid doors of her bedroom, Wonwoo paused. It was the threshold he had stood outside of for a thousand nights, guarding her sleep while he sat in the cold silence of the hallway. He looked at the handle, then back at Y/N, a trace of his old professional hesitation flickering in his eyes. Y/N smiled and tugged on their interlaced hands, an invitation to further break the boundary that the crown had set.
"I have spent three years imagining what it would be like to walk through this door with you," he whispered, his voice low and private. "And now that it’s open... I find I’m almost afraid to step inside. As if the dream might break."
Y/N didn't say a word. She simply squeezed his hand and pushed the door open.
The room was bathed in the warm, amber glow of a dying fire in the hearth. The scent of cedar and dried lavender hung in the air. As the door clicked shut behind them, the finality of the sound felt like a seal on their old lives. The palace, the King, and the looming scandal were all on the other side of that wood. Inside, there was only the soft crackle of the embers and the two of them.
Wonwoo turned to her, the firelight catching the sharp planes of his face and softening the intensity in his dark eyes. He reached out, his fingers slowly unlacing the heavy cloak from her shoulders, letting the fabric fall to the floor in a pool of silk. He moved with a reverence that made her heart ache, his touch light as if he were handling something incredibly fragile.
"No more doors between us," he murmured, stepping into her space until their shadows merged against the far wall. He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, his hand lingering there, his thumb brushing against her temple.
For the first time, he wasn't looking for assassins or listening for footsteps in the hall. He was only looking at her. He leaned down, his lips ghosting against her forehead before he pulled her into a slow, deep embrace. In the quiet of the room, far above the rest of the world, they finally let the weight of the crown and the sword fall away, ready to face the first night of a future they had finally earned.
In the quiet of her chambers, the adrenaline of the confrontation finally broke, and the reality of their survival crashed over her. Y/N looked up at Wonwoo, her eyes shimmering in the dying firelight, and a single, heavy tear escaped, tracing a slow path down her cheek. It wasn't a tear of sadness, but of a profound, overwhelming relief that had been three years in the making.
Wonwoo’s expression softened instantly, his heart aching at the sight. He reached out with a hand that had spent years gripped around the hilt of a sword, but now moved with the most delicate tenderness. Using the pad of his thumb, he caught the tear before it could reach her jaw, wiping it away with a lingering touch. He didn't pull his hand back; instead, he let his palm cradle her face, his thumb brushing over her skin as if to ensure she was truly real and truly safe.
"No more tears, Y/N," he whispered, his own voice thick with emotion. "The fighting is over. We don't have to hide anymore."
He leaned down, his eyes searching hers for a brief second before he closed the distance. The kiss was slow and deep, a quiet anchor in the middle of their changing world. It tasted of salt and the lingering heat of the hearth, a soft promise that he was no longer just her guard, but her partner. As he pulled her closer, his arms wrapping around her waist to pull her flush against him, the last of the tension left her body. In the safety of her room, with the world outside finally silenced, they stayed like that for a long time, two people who had finally found their way home.
Y/N wrapped her arms around Wonwoo’s neck to also pull him closer, before slightly pushing him towards her bed.
“Your Highness,” Wonwoo breathed against her lips, the habit of three years of service flickering in his voice even now.
But Y/N didn't let him finish. She pressed her fingers gently to his lips, shaking her head as a fresh tear of relief welled in her eyes.
“No titles,” she whispered, her voice a soft command that had nothing to do with royalty and everything to do with the woman she had finally become. “Just Y/N. From tonight on, it’s just Y/N and Wonwoo.”
Wonwoo let out a shaky breath, his forehead resting against hers. A small, genuine smile finally broke through his stoic mask, the kind of smile he had only ever saved for her in the shadows of the garden. He reached up, his thumb catching the tear on her cheek and wiping it away with a lingering, tender touch.
“Y/N,” he repeated, the name sounding like a prayer in the quiet room.
He leaned down again, his lips meeting hers in a kiss that was no longer a secret, but a beginning. There were no ranks between them now, no barriers of stone or silk; there was only the steady heat of the fire and the two of them, finally whole.
When Y/N started fiddling with the latchings on his armor, his heart stuttered, “are you sure?” He asked, looking down at her with nothing but love in his eyes.
“I’ve been in love with you the moment you offered to carry that huge bread basket for me when we were children,” Y/N confessed in between pressing kisses all over his face. “I don’t want to wait any longer.”
Wonwoo chuckled at the confession and nodded before undoing the latches on his chestplate. Y/N watched him undo his left shoulder and when he was finished, undid the right for him. Letting the metal arm pieces fall to the ground. They worked together to take the rest of his armor off, from the chestplate to the leg pieces until there was just Wonwoo in the simple shirt and pants.
“There’s the boy I fell in love with,” Y/N sighed, before wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him into a kiss.
Wonwo quickly moved his hands from cupping her jaw to the lace of her dress, trying his hardest to undo the laces without looking and not accidently knotting them.
Y/N chuckled and reached behind her own back to remove Wonwoo’s hands to undo the laces herself. Wonwoo’s cheeks flushed in embarrassment but went back to cupping her cheeks as she quickly undid the laces of her dress and then pushed the heavy fabric off her shoulders when it was loose enough, leaving her in a light frock.
He cupped her ass and slightly nudged her with his legs causing Y/N to lift both of her legs and let Wonwoo carry her while making his way toward the bed. Once he felt his legs hit the edge of the bed, he gently lowered her onto the bed.
Y/N gasped when he disconnected their lips and slowly started kissing all over her face. Her nose, her eyes, her forehead, then started moving down towards her jaw and neck. She sighed, reveling in his attention and moved her hands from around his neck to in his hair.
Wonwoo groaned, when she started pulling on his hair when he started pressing kisses to her collarbone and started pushing the straps of her frock off her shoulders and slowly pulling it down to reveal her chest.
“You’ve always been beautiful,” Wonwoo confessed, his voice dropping to a low, rough velvet that made her heart skip. He pulled back just enough to look at her, his dark eyes tracing every curve of her face in the firelight as if he were seeing her clearly for the very first time. “But tonight, here with the truth between us... you’ve never looked more like yourself. And that is what I’ve always been in love with.”
Y/N felt a fresh wave of warmth spread through her chest, her fingers tightening in his hair as he peppered kisses along her chest and stomach.
Wonwoo looked up in between kisses to her nipples to watch her glistening face melt at the pleasure he was giving her, before giving a particular harder suck to her left nipple. She let out a moan and tightened her grip on his hair.
“Wonwoo,” she panted as his hand went to spread her legs and started moving his kisses lower. She finally let go of his hair so he could move further down her body, grasping the bed sheets feeling him settle between her legs.
“I don’t exactly know what I’m doing here,” Wonwoo said, pressing kisses against her hip bones. “If anything doesn’t feel right, tell me.”
Y/N nodded, and reached down to lace her hand with his, “You weren’t out bedding every maiden that looked your way?”
Wonwoo scoffed and squeezed her hand, “I was sworn to celibacy when I became your knight, lest you forget.”
Y/N chuckled, and squeezed his hand back, “I trust you Wonwoo.”
Wonwoo smiled up at her before moving his other hand to her hip to keep her in place and lowering his lips to her core.
He wasn’t quite sure what he was doing, but the other knights had shared stories about pleasuring women. They talked about tasting women and the sounds that they made, so he knew that the moans Y/N was making when he was kissing her earlier was what should happen as well.
He started licking through her folds, tasting the arousal that was nestled between her legs, and noticed that the spot at the top of her mound made her moan the most. He moved his attention towards the top of her cunt and started rubbing his tongue in circles feeling her whimper and buck her hips gently.
“Does this feel good love?” He asked, the vibration of his low voice causing waves of arousal shoot through her body, causing her to wrap her legs around his shoulders, locking him in place.
He switched between rubbing her sex and sucking the pebble before she squeezed their interlocked hands again.
“It feels good Wonwoo,” she trembled, hips stuttering before releasing all over his face. Wonwoo continued licking her through her release, eager to taste every last drop of her.
“You taste devine,” he praised, running his tongue all around her, triggering another build up. “Can you do it again for me? Please?”
Y/N whined, tightening her legs around his head, the overstimulation on her clit turning from discomfort to pleasure again. After a few more hard sucks to her mound she fell apart on his tongue again, back arching this time and moved her free hand to try and pry his head away from her in case he wanted another orgasm.
Wonwoo licked his lips, not wanting to waste a single drop of her arousal before slowly kissing his way back up her body. A kiss to her kip, below her belly button, her rib, below her breasts, her nipple, her sternum, her jaw, and then finally her lips.
She moaned into his mouth, not used to the sweet taste of what she could only assume was herself, before tugging his shirt off him.
Wonwoo’s training had done him well. He was no longer the skinny baker's boy she had known in their youth; he had grown into all his features quite well. His chest was broad, a testament to the grueling years spent on the training grounds and the heavy toll of his duties, his shoulders strong enough to carry the weight of her safety for years, and the solid muscle of his arms provided a sense of security that no stone wall ever could. The lean, awkward teenager had been replaced by a man of formidable presence, forged by the discipline of the guard and the silent fire of his devotion to her.
She ran her hands across his chiseled chest, before tugging on his pants. He chuckled, and nodded sitting back to take them off.
As she watched him remove his pants and reveal his cock. Y/N’s cheeks flushed at the size of him, as Wonwoo's breath also hitched at the cool air flooding the room from the open window. He leaned back down over her, interlacing one of their hands together and pinning them by her head. His other hand went back between her legs to make sure she was wet enough to take him without any pain.
When his hand came in contact with her wetness he lined himself up with her before looking back up into her eyes.
“I love you,” he softly smiled, connecting their lips before slowly pushing himself into her.
“I love you too,” she sighed, trying to adjust to his size. Wonwoo winced, as Y/N tried to adjust to his size, clenching his cock a few times, panting heavily, rubbing her hard nipples against his own, and holding onto his bicep.
Once Wonwoo was all the way in her, Y/N moaned, and squeezed his bicep harder. Wonwoo groaned at how tight she was, before pushing his hips back, taking a second to catch his breath and rocking his hips back into hers.
Y/N threw her head back into the pillows as Wonwoo continued to move, the pleasure building up in her stomach before she gently put her hands onto his chest, asking him to stop.
“What? What’s wrong?” He asked, a concerned look spreading across his face.
Y/N batted her eye lashes up at him before turning onto her stomach and propping herself up on her elbows and knees, the sheets catching under her. Wonwoo groaned before leaning over her and interlocking their hands again before sliding back into her. This time thrusting into her harsher.
“I’m close,” Y/N panted against the pillows. Wonwoo would have almost missed it, if he wasn’t so focused on the noises she was making. He smiled and squeezed their interlocked hands before moving to cup her breast and squeezing her nipple.
The stimulation was enough to cause Y/N to climax, her walls fluttering around his cock, causing Wonwoo to also climax, emptying himself into her. As Wonwoo’s climax finished, he smiled and slowly pulled out of her, pressing kisses along her spine as she stayed propped up on her elbows and knees to catch her breath.
Once he finally noticed that her breath was evening out, he laid down beside her, arms under his head to look up at her glowing face. Her eyes were closed, but she was smiling. He chuckled and reached out to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear.
“Where did you learn all of that Sir Wonwoo?” She panted, finally opening up her eyes and slowly moved her legs so that she was laying on her stomach. She turned her head toward him to see him reaching towards the floor to grab something off the ground before coming up with a rag to wipe her down.
“I have only heard stories from the other knights I trained with. Although they never told me how the deed is done, they did tell me what their lovers enjoyed,” he smirked.
Y/N smiled, rolling on to her back so he could clean between her legs, before spreading them. “Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t complaining. More so in awe of how good it felt for our first times.”
Wonwoo carefully opened her legs and gently pressed the rag between her legs, dabbing the remaining release from between them and pressing a kiss to her clit.
Y/N gasped, at the contact before nudging him with her foot. “Give me some time to recover.”
Wonwoo chuckled, “sorry. I couldn’t help it.”
He moved back up to lay beside her, the mattress sinking slightly under his weight. With a gentle, inviting smile, he patted his broad chest, signaling for her to lay on top of him. Y/N didn’t hesitate; she shifted closer, resting her head against the steady thrum of his heart and draping her arm across his torso, finally feeling the warmth she had only been allowed to imagine for years.
“I can’t believe that we get to be together,” she whispered, her voice muffled against the soft fabric of his tunic. The words felt fragile, as if saying them too loudly might wake her from a dream. “For so long, I thought the only way I could keep you safe was to keep you away. I thought our lives would always be lived in glances and whispers.”
Wonwoo’s hand found her hair, his fingers stroking the tresses with a slow, rhythmic grace that acted as a balm to her nerves. “The wait is over, Y/N,” he murmured, his chest vibrating beneath her cheek as he spoke. “No more hallways between us. No more watching you walk away into rooms I wasn’t allowed to enter.”
He tilted his head down, resting his chin atop her hair, his other arm wrapping securely around her waist to hold her flush against him. In the quiet of the room, the only sound was the crackle of the fire and their synchronized breathing. The baker’s boy who had become a soldier, and the Princess who had become a woman, were finally just two souls sharing a bed and a future.
“We have the rest of our lives for it to feel real,” Wonwoo promised, his voice a low, steady anchor in the dark. “And I’m not going anywhere.”
The palace was no longer a labyrinth of secrets, but a home filled with the sound of celebration. The scent of orange blossoms and expensive wine lingered in the air, drifting up from the courtyard where the kingdom was still toasted to the health of the newly titled Consort and his Princess. But inside the royal chambers, the heavy oak doors had been shut against the world, finally granting the couple the one thing they had fought the hardest for: a moment of absolute peace.
The transition from a disgraced guard to the Grand Commander of the Royal Guard was a transformation that changed the very foundation of the kingdom. The King, recognizing that no man was more capable of defending the crown than the one who loved its heir, officially placed the silver seal of the Knights into Wonwoo’s hand. He was no longer the skinny baker’s boy or the silent shadow; he had become the kingdom’s most formidable pillar. His broad chest now filled out the midnight-blue velvet and silver-plated armor of his station, a physique forged by years of discipline and the heavy weight of a responsibility he took with absolute gravity.
Under Wonwoo’s leadership, the atmosphere of the palace shifted. He replaced the atmosphere of surveillance with one of brotherhood, training a new generation of knights who looked at him with the same reverence the common people did. In the war room, he sat at the King’s right hand, his directness as a soldier cutting through the political noise of the Council. He had become a man of such presence that the Northern factions no longer dared to test the borders; they knew the Princess was guarded by a man who had already proven he would face death for her.
The ceremony had been a masterclass in royal spectacle, yet for Wonwoo, it felt like a dream occurring in slow motion. As he stood at the altar in his formal whites, the sunlight filtering through the stained glass caught the sharp, handsome lines of his face. When Y/N walked down the long stone aisle, the room fell into a hush that wasn't born of protocol, but of genuine awe. She wasn't just a Princess being wed; she was a woman reclaiming her life. When they finally stood face-to-face, Wonwoo didn't wait for the priest's prompting. He reached out and took her hands, his large, calloused fingers enveloping hers with a grounding strength that said, I have you.
The reception had followed with endless toasts and the clinking of crystal, but the true wedding happened in the small, stolen glances they shared across the high table. Every time a lord addressed him as "Lord Consort" or "Commander," Wonwoo would feel a phantom weight of his old armor, but then he would feel Y/N’s knee brush against his under the table, anchoring him. They danced once—a slow, sweeping waltz that cleared the floor. In that moment, with his hand on the small of her back and her hand on his broad shoulder, the "patterns" of their love were on display for the whole kingdom to see. They moved as one, a seamless harmony that proved their souls had been married long before the rings were ever exchanged.
Now, hours later, the echoes of the cheers had finally faded, replaced by the crackle of the fire in their private suite. Wonwoo finished unbuckling the last of his formal gear, the heavy silver-trimmed cloak hitting the chair with a dull thud. He stood in his simple linen undershirt, his chest broad and rising steadily with his breath as he looked at Y/N by the hearth. The transition from the public hero to the private husband was visible in the way his shoulders finally dropped, the tension of the day melting away.
He moved toward her, his bare feet silent on the rugs. He didn't say a word as he reached her; he simply wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, pulling her back against the solid warmth of his chest. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling the lingering scent of her wedding perfume and the familiar, sweet warmth of her skin. "I thought the day would never end," he murmured, his voice a low, vibrating rumble against her back. "I spent the whole night wanting to spirit you away from the crowds and bring you back here, where it’s just us. I think,” Wonwoo began, his voice raspy from a day of formal vows and political pleasantries, “that if I had to shake one more Duke’s hand or hear one more toast about 'border stability,' I might have actually seized the crown and run for the hills.”
Y/N laughed, the sound bright and clear in the quiet room. She stepped toward him, reaching up to help him with the stubborn silver fastenings at his throat. “And here I thought the Grand Commander was supposed to have infinite patience. You looked so stoic at the altar, Wonwoo. Like a statue carved from marble.”
“I wasn't being stoic,” he admitted, his hands coming up to rest on her waist, pulling her flush against his broad chest. “I was terrified that if I moved too quickly or breathed too loud, the illusion would shatter. I kept waiting for a guard to tap me on the shoulder and tell me to get back to my post at the door.”
He leaned down, resting his forehead against hers, his eyes closing for a moment as he breathed her in. “But then you took my hand, and your skin was so warm. That was when I knew it was real.”
Y/N leaned back just enough to look at him, her fingers tracing the sharp, familiar line of his jaw. “No more posts at the door, Wonwoo. From now on, you’re the one inside the room. With me.”
“It’s a strange promotion,” he murmured with a small, lopsided smirk, the one he only ever showed her. “I went from guarding your life to being your life. I think I prefer the new title.”
“And what title is that?” she teased, her heart thudding against her ribs as his grip on her waist tightened.
Wonwoo didn't answer with words at first. He swept her up into his arms, his strength effortless as he carried her toward the bed. He laid her down against the silk pillows before settling beside her, patting his chest in that silent, sacred invitation. Once she was tucked against him, her head rising and falling with his breath, he whispered into her hair.
“Just Wonwoo,” he said softly. “Your Wonwoo.”
“That’s the only one I ever wanted,” she replied, closing her eyes as the peace of their new life finally settled over them both
PAIRING: Chauffeur! Wonwoo x Mafia!Reader
SUMMARY: Wonwoo has been your loyal driver and security details for years now. But before that, he was your friend - someone you loved, even. Now, you spend most nights in silence, wishing you could go back to the way things were.
WC: 5,089
AU: 1920s, Mafia
GENRE: Childhood Friends to Lovers, Mild Angst, Smut
RATING: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.
WARNINGS: Mafia/criminal activity, gun violence including shootouts and non-graphic murder, car chases and bullet impacts, blood and injury (mild depictions), car crash as a result of the car chase, some mild angst and tension, explicit language, mild power imbalance because reader is the daughter of a mafia boss and Wonwoo is her driver, near death experience, a little bit of pining, explicit sexual content including vaginal fingering, mild body worship, unprotected sex, mildly emotional sex, a little bit of dirty talk, some scratching... umm I think that's it!
A/N: Don't even ask how this fic came about. Here is your random, unplanned Wonwoo from me for the Puttin on the Ritz collab for @studiosvt. Yes I wrote three fics for this, please don't look at me right now lmfao. I can do all things through the Vietnamese coffee that strengthens me.
A/N 2: This is not only written quickly, but is un-beta read. I did skim through it but there are going to be errors and some of this is a bit rushed. We ride, alright. Please look past any glaring mistakes and instead enjoy this infuriating (inside joke read the fic) Wonwoo!
MAIN M. LIST | ASK | PUTTIN’ ON THE RITZ COLLAB | NOW PLAYING: YOU AND I
I KNOW IT'S WARMER WHERE YOU ARE
AND IT'S SAFER BY YOUR SIDE
BUT RIGHT NOW, I CAN'T BE WHAT YOU WANT
JUST GIVE IT TIME
-
WONWOO IS INFURATING. Infuriatingly good at doing his job, infuriatingly good looking, infuriatingly quiet, and infuriatingly good at keeping a respectable distance. He is watching you with that same infuriating calm he always does as you step out of the Sapphire Room into the cool night, his umbrella steady as he stretches his arm to shield you from the Autumn drizzle.
He's dressed in his usual all black coat, dark hair slicked back, leather gloves pulled over his hands. He doesn't speak when you glance at him - he never does. Not unless you speak first, which is one of the many infuriating things about him.
The rain is light but persistent, a fine mist that darkens the shoulders of his coat in soft patches. You pause in the alley, letting the false door swing shut behind you. It smells like wet brick and the faint, lingering smoke from the speakeasy behind you. Streetlights and neon signs catch in the shallow puddles, the faint tang of the dumpster behind you in the air.
Wonwoo waits as you slide your gloves on to keep the chill off. He's as patient as ever, the umbrella angled perfectly to cover you without crowding, his body positioned between you and the alleyway - always protective. Always a barrier between you and anything or anyone who might desire to do you some harm.
And there's plenty of people who would, given the chance. Rival bosses to your father, men you've rejected, women who'd love to get close only to stab you in the back. The list of enemies is as endless as Wonwoo's silence.
You glance at him. His eyes are on the street ahead, scanning the alley's mouth. When he feels your gaze, he flicks his attention back to you for a beat. His eyes are dark in the evening's mist, calm as ever, unreadable as ever. Something tightens in your chest - annoyance, maybe. Often annoyance. Or the sharper, more volatile thing that lives under it, the thing you refuse to give a name.
Without warning, you step forward. He matches your pace without a word, keeping the umbrella tilted so not a single drop of rain touches you. Your heels click against the wet pavement as you both walk to the idling car. He opens the reader door one-handed, keeping the umbrella over you as you slide into the interior.
The leather seat is cool through the thin silk of your dress. He closes the door firmly, popping the umbrella shut as he rounds the car to slip into the driver's side. You wait for him to glance at you in the rearview because you know he will. He always does, eventually, a quick check on you, eyes meeting yours in the reflection before he starts driving.
It's been three years of this routine. Three years of him driving you from charity halls to hidden jazz cellars, from rainy streets and across the bridge from Brooklyn to Manhattan. Three years of you sitting in the back of this car, watching his steady hands on the wheel, wondering what it would take to make him break that maddening silence.
You lean your head against the window, letting the cool glass press to your temple. Rain traces slow paths down the glass, turning the lights beyond into a smear of color. He adjusts the rearview mirror, drawing your attention back to him. Your eyes meet in the glass and he doesn't look away for a moment, eyes steady.
Finally, he breaks your gaze. Your heart pounds as he shifts the car into gear and pulls out onto the street, tires hissing in the rain. Your gaze is still fixed to the mirror, watching his side profile, the way he turns his attention from you to the road. So easily dismissed, so easily uninterested.
It makes your blood boil.
The car is silent as Wonwoo turns onto Fifth Avenue, the rain tapping on the roof steadily. Traffic thins to a handful of yellow cabs and the occasional black town car cutting through the dark, the neon marquees from the theaters glowing like phantoms beyond the misty window.
You watch the back of Wonwoo's head for a while, studying the near line where his hair meets the collar of his coat, the faint tension in his shoulders. You've watched him like this more times than you can count, always from the back set, always just out of reach.
"Do you remember," you say, breaking the silence, "the summer we were fourteen? When you used to sneak into the garage after your shift and we'd sit on the running board of your father's old Ford?"
He doesn't answer right away. You ignore the twist of irritation in your gut and push on anyway. "You told me once you'd drive me to California yourself. You'd hot-write a car just so we could leave - even drew a map on the back of one of dad's ledgers."
A muscle flickers along his jaw. Barely. You catch it in the reflection of the side window, lit for a moment by the glow from a corner drugstore still open, its window display of patent medicines and Lucky Strike posters shining wetly.
“You laughed when I said I’d marry you if we made it to the ocean,” you add.
The car slows for a red light at 57th Street, the wet gold from the Plaza Hotel’s canopy lights bleeding across the hood. A doorman in a long coat stands under the awning, cigarette glowing.
"That was a long time ago, Miss." Wonwoo says finally, voice low and careful.
It's the same measured tone he uses when he's handing you your stole or confirming your schedule with your father's secretary. Professional. Polite. Infuriating. The light turns green. He accelerates smoothly, eyes fixed on the road ahead.
"It really wasn't."
"I'm not a silly little boy anymore."
You sit back, arms crossing over your chest. "Yeah, you're an ass now."
"Is my service to you unsatisfactory this evening, Miss?"
His tone hasn't changed, but for once, he sounds annoyed. It's the closest he's come to the Wonwoo you grew up with, the boy who used to blush when you brushed shoulders on the back steps of your family's brownstone, the boy who could go from quiet to sharp at the drop of a hat. That boy had vanished when your father assigned him to your personal driver and security detail. New role, new rules.
You hated it.
"How can I be unsatisfied, Mr. Jeon?" You clip. "You're so good at treating me like I'm just some passenger."
His eyes flick to the rearview. "You are a passenger, Miss."
The urge to scream claws up your throat. Instead, you rot in anger, streaming in the backseat as you stare sullenly out the window. The rain drums harder now, streaking the windows in long silver lines.
"You know what," you say, turning to him to continue your tirade. "I think-"
"Hold on."
Wonwoo's demeanor changes immediately. His shoulders square, hands tightening on the wheel. His eyes dart to the rearview again - not casual to check on you this time, but alert and focused. You turn in the car, a needle-like awareness pricking at the back of your neck. You see it too - a dark car, tailing at a distance.
Your pulse kicks. The annoyance drains away, replaced by the cold clarity that comes with years of living under your father’s name in this city. Your heart kicks, instinct taking over as you turn around, glancing at Wonwoo, who is rippling with tension, eyes on the rearview.
“Tail?” you ask, already reaching for the small .32 automatic tucked inside your coat.
“Looks like it.”
He accelerates just enough to test them. The city blurs past faster now, empty sidewalks glistening under the arc lights, the dark bulk of the Plaza sliding by on your left, shuttered storefronts along the avenue, rain sheeting across the windshield in sheets.
"Tail," he confirms.
"Take the next right onto Central Park South," you order. The weight of the gun in your hand is familiar, a security blanket. "Cut through to Sixth if we need to lose them. If they follow-"
"They're going to follow."
His eyes meet yours in the mirror again. Not the professional glance this time. Something raw flickers there, just for a second, and then it's gone again.
The engine growls as Wonwoo speeds up, switching lanes carefully down the narrow streets. You turn in the seat, watching as the black cars keep pacing, looping through the thin traffic to keep pace. Wonwoo curses under his breath, one hand on the wheel, the other reaching for a gun.
"They know we know." He puts the gun on his thigh, calm as ever. "No point in playing coy."
You grip the edge of the seat, the small .32 already in your hand, thumb brushing the safety. The rain has turned the city into watercolor, beautiful in a way that feels at odds with the promise of violence that shivers through you.
Central Park South looms ahead, the dark wall of trees on your left a potential escape or a trap, depending on how this plays out. Wonwoo doesn’t wait for your input. He cuts the wheel hard right onto the park drive, the big car leaning into the turn.
A crack splits the night and the rear window shatters. You duck on instinct, heart slamming against your ribs. Wind and rain rip at you, the sound of the city and the engine filling the interior of the cab immediately.
"Stay down," Wonwoo commands.
You drop lower, folding yourself against the leather seat, pistol still clutched tight. Your pursuers get another two shots off, one after the other. You hear the punch of bullets in the metal trunk and roll forward toward the floorboards, not eager for one to hit you through the back of the seats.
Wonwoo doesn’t flinch. He yanks the wheel left, darting across the empty lanes toward the narrow service road that skirts the park’s southern edge. The car fishtails for a moment, your heart leaping before the tires catch and it levels out.
Two more shots ring out and Wonwoo ducks as the rearview mirror shatters. You growl and lean up, twisting in the seat as you lift the pistol and fire twice through the shattered rearview. The recoil jars your arm but you keep your elbows locked, squeezing off another shot.
The car behind you swerves and Wonwoo takes advantage, jerking into a sharp left of another service lane. It throws you against the door and you yell, a tangle of limbs and curses as you right yourself in the backseat, gripping his headrest, furious.
"A warning, if you please! I have a gun back here!"
"Here's your warning that I'm hitting the brakes!"
You barely have a moment to brace yourself as he does. The car slides sideaways across the narrow lane, blocking the path like a barricade. You both scramble from the vehicle as the pursuing car slams into your car, metal crunching on metal.
Rain sluices as you and Wonwoo turn as one, arms pressed together, guns raised. You feel the kick of your gun as you squeeze the trigger, both of you raining gunfire through the frontview window of their car. The driver and passenger are pinned, exchanging fire back once. Twice.
The return fire ceases, and for a moment, there's just silence except for the rain and the dying tick of the engine and sirens in the distance. Wonwoo is breathing hard at your side, the .38 still raised. He steps in front of you, walking with one foot in front of the other, careful as he examines the pursuers.
He drops his gun and turns back to you, moving quickly. "Dead. Let's go."
You don't argue. He takes your wrist and pulls you into a run, both of your breaths fogging in the night. The rain is cold and relentless, plastering your dress to your skin and turning your shoes to weights. You kick them off after a block, your bare feet cutting against rough stone and pavement. It bites but you ignore it, following Wonwoo as he leads you through back alleys and overflowing rain gutters.
Five blocks later, he slows, breathing steadily as you pant. You're both drenched and shivering, the cold so severe that you feel it in your bones as he stops in front of a narrow brownstone on a quiet cross street. The gun is shaking in your hand, more from the cold than the adrenaline pumping through you, breaths coming fast.
There are no lights in the windows, no sign of anyone home. You watch in surprise as he fishes out keys from his pocket and unlocks the door, turning back to grab you by the arm and yank you inside. You stumble as he does, immediately losing your sight in the dim of the room.
The dim room smells of dust, old wood, and the faint metallic bite of coal ash from the stove that hasn’t been lit in weeks. Wonwoo flicks on a single bare bulb overhead. You stand dripping in the entryway, water pooling around your bare feet. The cold has sunk so deep your teeth won’t stop chattering. He looks you up and down, gaze freezing at your feet.
“Fuck,” he mutters, the word slipping out before he can catch it. Not the polished chauffeur. Just Wonwoo, raw and unguarded for half a second.
You look down. The cobblestones and broken glass have left thin, angry slices across the arches and balls of your feet. Blood mixes with rainwater, staining the worn floorboards. You hadn’t felt the worst of it until now as the adrenaline wears off, leaving behind the sting.
He’s already moving. “Upstairs. Now.”
You don’t argue. He takes your elbow, his grip gentle but firm. He guides you up the staircase, careful of your steps, the wood creaking under your weight as you go. At the top is a short hallway with two closed doors. He pushes open one to reveal a bathroom, hand dropping from your elbow.
"Shower," he murmurs. "Hot as you can stand. There are towels and clothes in the cabinet. I'll be right outside."
You nod, too cold to argue as you shuffle into the bathroom. It's tine and tiled in cracked white, a single clawfoot tub and a showerhead rigged above it. You're shaking as you strip out of the silk dress, the wet fabric clinging like second skin. You turn on the faucet, listening to the pipes whine for a second until the water kicks on.
Naked, you stand shivering, occasionally putting a hand under the stream of water until it's warm enough to stand. The water is scalding at first and you hiss, a ripple of pleasure-pain going through you. You force yourself to stay under the water until the shivering stops, replaced by the relief of warmth. You wash quickly, mechanically, scrubbing away blood and alley grime.
Your mind reels as you scrub. You have no idea if your would-be killers followed you from the club or long before that. You'd been to a few hidden bars tonight, making deals and collecting assurances on your father's behalf, signing off on agreements for guns brought in through the harbor and liquor shipping to Chicago under the guise of cleaning supplies.
It isn't the first time someone has tried to kill you, but it's the first time Wonwoo has had to step in. You think of him in the rain, wet and slick, standing next to you like a dark guardian, rattling off shots in tandem. Once upon a time you'd been kids in sync like that, practicing on coke cans in the back yard or teaming up against your parents when playing cards.
Tonight had been different. The weight of it presses down on you, the reality that Wonwoo has just saved your life. You swallow, looking down at the water that runs pink, your feet cut up, still stinging but warm.
When you shut off the tap, you find the promised clothes in the cabinet, pulling on a men's cotton undershirt that fits all wrong and drawstring trousers too long for your legs.
Opening the door, you're surprised to see Wonwoo lingering. He's shed his soaked coat and vest, white shirt clinging to his shoulders and chest. His hair is no longer slicked back - the rain has loosened it, dark strands falling across his forehead. He looks younger like this. More like the boy you remember.
He beckons to the bedroom where a small tableside lamp burns dim and gold. "Sit."
You do. The mattress dips under your weight. The room is sparse, with just a bed, the small table, and a single window with heavy blackout curtains drawn tight. A safehouse, unmistakably. One of your father’s bolt-holes, probably. You’ve never been here, but you know the type, anonymous homes fully stocked and often forgotten.
Wonwoo disappears for a moment before returning with a battered tin box that must live under the sink. He sets it on the bed beside you and kneels, popping the lid with a metallic click. It's full of bandages, iodine, tweezers and a small bottle of alcohol.
"Arm," he says gently.
You look to where he points, realizing your arm is bleeding. You extend it, peering at the shallow cut alongside the outside of your bicep. Glass, you think, from the shattered window. He dabs alcohol on a cloth and presses it to the wound, earning a hiss from you. His fingers are careful and warm, his thumb brushing the inside of your elbow as he wraps the wound with gauze. It makes you shiver, a thin ripple of pleasure going through you at the contact.
“Cold still?” he asks quietly.
"No."
He doesn’t comment. Just moves to your right arm, then your hands, checking each finger for splinters or cuts. When he’s done with your arms, he shifts lower.
"Feet, please."
You hesitate, then lift one onto his knee. He cradles your heel in his palm, so gentle that it makes your heart skip. The cuts are worse here, deeper with dirt ground in despite your shower. Wonwoo works methodically, using the tweezers to pull out tiny shards of glass, using alcohol to clean each wound.
It is maddening, the way he handles you. Every graze of his fingers against the arch of your foot is hell, his touch electric. Your lids flutter as you watch his face for any sign that he's as affected as you are, but there's nothing. He's focused, jaw tight, brows drawn.
When he finally sets your foot down, he doesn’t move away. He stays kneeling between your knees, hands resting lightly on your calves, finally - finally - looking at you. His gaze is dark, pupils blown, for once staring at you with more than polite restraint.
You swallow. “I missed this.” You watch his jaw tick as he adverts his eyes. His hands are still on your calves, like it's the only thing grounding him. "Having your hands on me. Even like this."
“Don’t say things like that.”
“Why not?”
"Because I'm not the same little boy you were friends with splitting ice cream and learning how to play cards." He swallows. "And I am trying very hard to obey your father's rules. You make it difficult - you always make it fucking difficult."
You stare at him, the words hanging between you. The glow of the lamp casts long shadows across his face, sharpening the line of his jaw, the faint scar just above his left eyebrow from that time you both got into a scrap with some dock rats when you were sixteen. He’s still kneeling between your knees, hands warm and steady on your calves, but his eyes are finally open. Vulnerable.
Your heart is hammering so hard you can feel it in your neck. The room smells of rain and iodine and him - of the faint trace of the cedar cologne he’s worn since he was old enough to steal it from his father’s dresser. You’re shivering again, but not from the cold anymore.
“Difficult,” you echo, voice low. “That’s what you’re calling it? You’ve been driving me around like I’m a goddamn package for three years, Wonwoo. Looking at me in the mirror like you want to say something and then shutting it down every single time."
He exhales sharply through his nose, fingers flexing against your skin. “I’m doing my job.”
“Your job,” you spit, leaning forward so your face is inches from his. “Your job is to keep me alive, not to treat me like I’m made of glass and forbidden to touch. We almost died tonight, Wonwoo. And you still want to hide behind my father's rules?"
“You’re the boss’s daughter. I’m the driver. One slip and I’m at the bottom of the East River."
"I'd never let that happen to you. You know that, right?" He swallows and you reach down to cup his face with both hands. "I was willing to run away with you. I would do it."
"We were children."
"And now we're adults with the means to make it real."
"Don't tell me to do this. I wouldn't give you back."
Your fingers tighten on his face. "I wouldn't ask you to."
He makes an agonized sound and surges up from his knees. His mouth crashes into yours. It's not gentle - it's years of restraint snapping all at once, his mouth warm and demanding. One hand cups the back of your head, fingers threading into your damp hair, the other sliding down to grip your waist, grip tight.
You kiss him back just as fiercely, tongues sliding, teeth clicking. Your hands fist in his damp white shirt, yanking him closer until he’s half on the bed, one knee between your thighs. Your head is full of him, of the way he groans into the kiss, the way he smells. You whimper and he breaks the kiss, panting.
“Careful,” he murmurs against your lips. "You're hurt-"
“I don’t care,” you whisper, tugging at his shirt buttons. "I’ve been hurting for three years while you stared at me in a fucking rearview mirror. Please, Wonwoo. Please."
He curses softly, and helps you, shrugging out of the shirt to reveal lean muscle from years of hauling crates and working on cars, a faint trail of dark hair disappearing into his trousers, old scars you recognize and new ones you don’t. You trace one with your fingertip and he shudders.
Then he’s kissing you again, slower this time - worshipful. He maps your mouth with his tongue before trailing down your jaw, your throat, sucking lightly at the pulse point on until you're arching into him, whining. His hands slide under the hem of the undershirt, palms warm and calloused against your bare skin. He lifts the fabric slowly, pausing to kiss every inch of new skin he reveals.
When the shirt is gone, tossed somewhere on the floor, he sits back on his heels and just looks. His eyes are black with want, pupils blown wide. “God. Look at you. So fucking perfect. Always were. Even when we were teenagers and you were stealing my ice cream."
You laugh breathlessly, but it turns into a moan when he leans down and takes one nipple into his mouth. He sucks gently, tongue swirling, while his hand cups the other breast, thumb brushing the peak. But his mouth is greedy, moving from one breast to the other, teeth grazing just enough to make you gasp.
His name drips from your mouth, your fingers winding in his hair. He hums against your skin, the vibration shooting straight between your legs. He kisses lower, down the plane of your stomach, pausing at the drawstring of the trousers. His eyes flick up to yours, asking. You nod frantically.
Wonwoo unties them with steady fingers and peels them down your legs gently. He looks up at you, eyes fucked out as he kisses the inside of your knee, then higher, careful not to brush the worst of the cuts on your feet. His mouth finds the soft skin of your inner thigh and he lingers there, sucking sharply. Your legs twitch, knees pressing against his shoulders as he nips the soft flesh of your thighs.
His fingers trace up your other thigh, leaving goosebumps in their wake until they reach your cunt where he brushes his fingers through your folds. You're soaked already, aching, hips coming off the bed. He groans, middle finger tracing an idle circle around your clit, sparking pleasure in your gut.
“All this for me?” he murmurs, voice wrecked.
"Yes, fuck."
He circles your clit slowly, watching the way your breath catches, the way you arch off the bed, head digging into the mattress, eyes fluttering shut. Two fingers press inside you, curling just right, and you cry out, hips jerking. He holds you down gently with his other hand on your hip as he works you open slowly, his mouth pressing wet, spit-slicked kisses to your thighs.
“You’re so tight,” he whispers, lips brushing your thigh. “Been dreaming about this for years. About making you come on my fingers, cock - anything. About hearing you say my name like that.”
You’re babbling now, hips rolling, chasing the pleasure. The stretch is perfect, his fingers long and thick, scissoring and stroking that spot inside you that makes stars burst behind your eyelids. You hear him laugh as he presses his fingers deeper into your cunt, working that spot inside of you that had you clenching around his fingers hard, thighs clamping suddenly as you come without a warning.
He doesn’t stop, drawing it out, murmuring praise against your skin until you’re trembling and oversensitive. When you finally go limp and lift your head, he withdraws his fingers and brings them to his mouth, licking them clean while holding your gaze.
He stands long enough to strip out of his trousers and underwear. His cock is thick, flushed dark, curving slightly up, a bead of precome glistening at the tip. You reach for him but he catches your wrist gently.
“No,” he says, voice rough. “I need to be inside you. Need to feel you.”
He settles between your thighs, one hand bracing beside your head, the other guiding himself to your entrance. He rubs the head through your slick folds, teasing until you curse and bite his shoulder angrily. He laughs and pushes in, inch by inch, both of you groaning as he slides home. The stretch is exquisite, almost too much, but you want it more than anything, fingers digging into his lower back, pushing him closer - always closer.
Fuck,” he breathes. "You feel so fucking good. So hot. So wet. Made for me.”
You wrap your legs around his waist and pull him deeper. “Move, Wonwoo. Please.”
He does. Slow, deep rolls of his hips, grinding against your clit with every thrust. He pulls back a little to look at you, pupils blown, eyes darker than ever. His gaze doesn't leave yours, watching you as your breathing becomes uneven, heart fluttering in your chest.
The wet sound of him moving inside you is obscene in the quiet room. The rain outside is louder now, a steady roar that matches the blood rushing in your ears. His mouth finds yours again, tongue tangling with yours as one hand slides under your ass, tilting you just enough to change the angle, and the new depth makes you cry out into his mouth.
“Right there?” he pants. “Yeah? Feel me there, baby?”
You nod frantically, nails digging into his back. “Don’t stop - holy shit please don't stop."
He doesn’t. He keeps that same devastating rhythm, slow and deep and relentless, until the pleasure coils so tight in your belly you can barely breathe. His free hand cups your breast, thumb brushing your nipple, then slides down to where you’re joined. His fingers find your clit and circle it with the same slow precision.
“Come on my cock,” he breathes against your ear. “Let me feel you fall apart around me. I’ve dreamed about it so many times, wanted to know what you sound like when you come with me inside you."
The words tip you over. Your orgasm crashes through you, sudden and devastating. You clamp down around him, soaking him as your walls flutter. You sob his name, thighs locking around his hips, back bowing off the bed. He keeps moving through it, drawing it out, whispering praise into your skin until the last tremor fades and you’re boneless beneath him.
Only then does he let himself go a little harder, chasing his own release. His hips snap forward, deep and urgent, the bed creaking beneath you. His mouth is on your neck, your collarbones - anywhere he can kiss, tongue darting out to lick the sweat from your skin, to taste you.
You urge him, nails raking across his shoulders, his back, his thighs, trembling as you claw him closer to you, heart hammering so hard you think your ribs might crack.
When he finally comes, it’s with your name on his lips and his face buried in your shoulder. You feel the hot pulse of him deep inside, the way his whole body shudders, the broken groan that vibrates against your skin. He keeps moving through it, slow and shallow now, like he can’t bear to stop, until he’s spent and trembling.
For a long moment the only sounds are rain and ragged breathing. Then he lifts his head, eyes soft.
“I love you,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “I’ve loved you since we were kids. I’ll love you even if your father kills me for this.”
"He'd have to get through me first," you growl, pulling him closer. "I'm not letting him keep you away from me anymore. We can run away and I can marry you by the ocean like I said I would. Or we stay and fight with my family - I don't care. As long as it's you and I."
He smiles, the professional veneer gone after years of suffering through it. "You and I," he agrees, pressing his lips to yours. "I can live with that."
He loudly clears his throat. “So… you’re like a camgirl?”
You wince. “I prefer streamer with benefits, but yeah.”
the one where reader is a camgirl and asks her roommate to fuck her on stream.
౨ৎ roommate!wonwoo x cam girl! mc
౨ৎ w.c: 4.9k
౨ৎ genre: pwp. minors do not interact.
౨ৎ warnings: explicit content🔞, wonwoo's a little too good at playing pretend, also he's a little mean in this (during sex), sex on livestream, use of sir (like three times), mingyu is reader's friend, uhh i think that's it? please tell me if there's anything i missed im not good at this.
౨ৎ date posted: june 07, 2025
౨ৎ notes: title from the song novacane by frank ocean! this is also my first fic on tumblr so please be nice to me i will cry okay. i haven't written fic in ages 😭 please come to my blog and hang out i want to make friends !!
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“Hey, Wonwoo-yah,” you softly call, knuckles taping gently against his half-open door.
Wonwoo looks up from his desk, pausing his game and slipping his headphones down to hang around his neck. His brows lift in that quiet way he always greets you — surprised but gentle, like he’s glad you’re there. The light from the hallway outlines your silhouette, casting a soft glow behind you.
You step in slowly, hands twisted nervously in the sleeves of your oversized sweater. It's one of his, though you’ll never admit that out loud. Your fingers fidget in the fabric as you search for the right words.
Wonwoo tilts his head, “What’s up?” he asks gently prodding you to speak whatever is making you nervous.
You open your mouth, close it again, then finally manage, “I… have kind of a weird favor to ask.” You finally admit as you plop yourself down on his bed, grabbing one of his pillows to wrap your arms around it, a makeshift shield.
He leans back in his chair. “Yes.”
You blink, face contorting in astonishment. “You don’t even know what it is.”
He smiles, soft and sincere. “Doesn’t matter. I’d do anything for you.”
That makes your stomach flip, and you have to look away for a second. “That’s… really sweet. But you might want to hear it first. I need you to…” You suck in a breath and rush it all out: “Pretend to be my boyfriend.”
There’s a beat of silence.
“Sorry?” he says, blinking like he didn’t hear you right.
You force yourself to slow down, squeezing his pillow for comfort — and not that you'd ever admit it, take a massive whiff of his cologne, something that always seems to calm you. “I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend.”
Wonwoo stares for a second, face blank in that quietly-processing-everything way of his. You can tell he’s trying to decide whether this is a prank, a cry for help, or some unspoken code he’s supposed to understand.
You let out a frustrated sigh and flop down on his bed, clutching his pillow tighter. “Okay. Context. Remember how I told you the pay from the studio isn’t amazing? Like, I love it, but it’s not really paying all my bills?”
Wonwoo nods, clearly still confused.
“Well, the pay is actually, really bad, like I don't make enough to cover my portion of the rent—”
Wonwoo cuts you off, “If you need me to pay more I can, it's really no problem, I just got a huge bonus for the—”
“No!” This time you interrupt, “I've got it covered, that's the point. I was complaining to a friend, and well she told me about this website…” Your words trail off giving Wonwoo a look like he's meant to use that big brain of his and fill in the blanks.
“You have a sugar daddy?” He guesses. God, for someone so smart he is also completely clueless.
“I'm a sex worker.” You admit, staring at him, waiting for his reaction.
There’s a very long silence. You wait for the judgment. The discomfort. Anything.
Wonwoo looks like he's trying to remember how to breathe,
“Uhm,” His voice is startlingly high when he speaks, in a way you've never heard, he clears his throat, “So someone you uhm…” you can see the tips of his ears going red, “had business with is being a creep so you need me to scare them off.”
You can't help the burst of laughter that bubbles out—Wonwoo? Intimidate anyone?
“No, no.” You shake you head, laughter still on your lips, “Look, I, I don't fuck any one. I'm a streamer, people pay to watch me, fuck myself, that is.”
You can feel the heat flushing to your face but at least Wonwoo isn't in better shape, the red has creeped its ways from the tips of his ears down his neck and touches his cheeks.
He loudly clears his throat. “So… you’re like a camgirl?”
You wince. “I prefer streamer with benefits, but yeah.”
“And… the fake boyfriend?”
You sigh, “I like started this false narrative around this boyfriend I had, so people wouldn't get too lost in the fantasy, because my friend shared all types of horror stories about doing this. And I guess I kind of just get myself off and tell them stories about this imaginary boyfriend I don't have and well on my last stream for reaching a fuckton of subscribers I said I'd do a request to the highest donation and well… they want my nonexistent boyfriend to fuck me. And I just, I can't ask anyone else because I can't even imagine how they would take it, like can you imagine if I asked Jihoon? That would be so embarassing. God, or Mingyu? He'd say yes but I don't think he's capable of having sex without catching feeli—
“I’ll do it.”
You slow down from your spiral, startled. “Really?”
Wonwoo nods, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “Of course.”
౨ৎ
A few days later, you're at the kitchen table, half-draped over it in shame, while Mingyu sits across from you absolutely losing his mind.
“You—” he chokes out between wheezes, “you asked Wonwoo to fuck you. On camera. In front of an audience. I—god, I’m gonna pass out. This is the greatest day of my life.”
You groan into your arms. “Stop saying it like that.”
“Like what? Like the truth? Like the guy you’ve been crushing on since forever is going to dick you down live in front of thousands of horny strangers?”
“It’s not like that—”
“It is exactly like that,” he howls. “You asked your crush to clap you like a goddamn cymbal monkey for money. What is this, fanfiction?”
You glare at him, snatching the spoon from your tea and brandishing it like a knife. “I swear to god, if you don’t shut up, I will FaceTime Yuna right now and tell her exactly why you broke up with her.”
Mingyu pales instantly, hands in the air. “Okay. Truce. Fuck, Noona. Harsh.”
You slump back into your seat, pressing your fingers to your temples. “This sucks.”
“Correction,” he says smugly, “this is your origin story. You’ve been in love with him since he "fixed" your wifi, and now you're gonna get railed on stream by him. It's the slowest burn friends-to-lovers-to-livestream-fuck arc I’ve ever seen.”
“It’s not romantic,” you mutter, glaring into your cup like it might drown you.
“Really?” Mingyu raises a brow. “So you’re telling me you're going to let the guy you’ve been mentally undressing since 2022 fill you up on camera, and then what — fist bump and call it a night?”
You don’t answer.
He grins. “That’s what I thought.”
“…Shut the fuck up, Mingyu.”
౨ৎ
Friday.
Wonwoo walks into your room just as you're adjusting the camera angle and checking the lighting. He's wearing a simple black shirt, chain at his neck, hair slightly mussed like he just rolled out of bed looking unfairly perfect.
You swallow.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” he replies, then nods toward the bed. “You ready?”
Your heart is pounding. “Only if you are.”
He steps closer, eyes flicking over your outfit—an oversized sweater, one of his, and shorts so short you can barely see them—his Adam’s apple bobs slightly as he swallows.
“You look nice,” he says.
You force a laugh. “Thanks. You do too.”
That gets a real smile out of him, and your stomach flips.
You go live, and watch as the first messages roll in.
Your usuals, the ones who know you don't like to go right into.
You let yourself forget that Wonwoo's there as you fall into another version of yourself—slipping into the role like a second skin. Your eyes flicker across the screen reading the message until you find one worth responding to
tigersgaze: god i needed this, work deadlines are killing me. hope your week was better than mine.
“Aww, I'm sorry, tiger. I hope stream will help you relax.” You say leaning back, with the practiced ease of someone who's been doing this for ages.
angelface666: is this finally the stream where we meet the elusive boyfriend?
mommyplease: show us your perfect tits please mommy?
cumslut44: i like your sweater baby
singledad95: please show me your cunt, i miss it so bad.
“Hmm, my boyfriend is here. Maybe if you're good I'll let you meet him.” There's an unspoken request in your words, and the viewers seem to get it clearly. The donations start flowing in.
You spentd a few more quiet moments just talking with your viewers, letting more people come in.
You glance to your left. He’s just out of frame, waiting. Calm. Cool. You reach out and tug him into view.
You know exactly the vision he looks on screen—his hair falls in his face, just brushing against the frames of his glasses, the sharp jawline. He sits beside you on the bed, one hand possessively on your thigh.
You watch as the chats roll in.
angelface666: oh. he's pretty.
justherefory/n: god i know his dick is big.
tigersgaze: i bet you look so pretty on him.
You can’t help but laugh softly. “You're right tiger, I do look pretty on him.”You slide closer to him, deliberately swinging a leg over his lap, your hips settling just against his. “They’ve been very curious about you,” you say it like it's a confession between lovers and not like it's your best friend simply playing a role.
Wonwoo’s fingers flex on your thigh. “I don't share well.” And you know he's playing his part but the truth in the statement makes you giggle, Wonwoo's never been good at sharing.
You shift your hips slightly in his lap, just enough friction to draw a sharp inhale from him.
You lean in, brushing lips against Wonwoo’s ear again.
“Ready to give them a show, baby?”
His reply?
A hand around your throat and a dangerous smile.
Wonwoo leans in. You tilt your head. And then his lips meet yours. It’s not for show. It’s not practiced.
It’s soft. Deep. Slow. Like he’s wanted to do this for a long time. You’re too breathless to keep pretending.
Your thighs clench involuntarily.
Wonwoo pulls back just far enough to brush his nose against yours. “Color?”
You blink, dazed. “Green,” you breathe.
He hums in approval, a low sound that rumbles in his chest and vibrates through you. His hand slips lower, fingers tracing the hem of your shorts, and your pulse spikes.
You look back at the chat to distract yourself.
facefucker29: hurry up and fuck already
dirtywhitetee: i knew you'd look pretty with a hand around your throat
y/nsdirtylittleslut: i want him to make a mess of you
mommyplease: that should be me mommy i'd treat your so well
You gasp a little when his hand sneaks beneath the fabric and settles possessively on your thigh. He doesn’t move further — not yet — but the message is clear: mine.
He leans in again, lips ghosting over your ear. “You’re doing so well for me,” he whispers, just loud enough for the mic to catch. “You want me to keep going?”
You nod. Then realize they can’t see that, and breathe out, “Yes. Please.”
His laugh is low and dark. “Then beg.”
The room spins. You forgot you asked for this. You forgot you wanted him to play rough — like the dominant boyfriend your viewers fantasized about. You forgot that Wonwoo could look at you like that — hooded gaze, parted lips, one hand gripping your thigh, the other loose around your neck like he owns every inch of you.
“I said—” his voice dips, something low that has you clenching around nothing, his grip on your throat just the slightest bit tighter, “—beg.”
You almost forget the camera is even there.
“Please, Wonwoo,” you whisper, and it’s more than a performance now. “Touch me. I need you to.”
He pats your thigh gently. “Good girl.”
The words hit you like a freight train. You whimper, openly this time.
Your eyes shift back to the chat again, trying not to get lost in him—a small part of you fears it's already too late.
singledad65: i knew you'd make such a pretty sub. what a pretty mess already
tigersgaze: fuck i'm so hard already. wanna see you choking on his cock baby.
mommyplease: mommy show us your tits please please please i'm so hard.
Wonwoo shifts slightly, demanding your attention, enough for his knee to knock your legs apart, spreading them just enough for the camera to catch view of the blooming wet spot on your cotton shorts.
You feel dizzy. You’re wet — obviously, hopelessly wet — and every part of you is pulsing, aching, desperate for more. You don’t even care about the stream anymore. You only care about him.
And then, without warning, he grabs your wrists and pins them gently above your head, pushing you back onto the bed.
It’s not rough — not really. Just firm enough to make your whole body light up.
“Keep your hands right there,” he says, voice like velvet-wrapped steel. “Let me take care of you.”
You nod helplessly. “Yes, Won-.” you gulp stopping yourself from saying his name aloud. You never discussed if he was okay with his name being used on stream.
He kisses down your neck, slow and deliberate, pausing just above your collarbone as his fingers graze the curve of your waist.
You can't imagine how you must look on camera right now, the image of you splayed out just for him. You almost whimper at the thought, your hips rolling up to chase friction.
But before anything else can happen, he pauses.
Pulls back just slightly. Meets your eyes.
“This okay?” he asks, quietly this time. “You sure?”
Your heart clenches.
God. Even now, with your legs spread and your body shaking and the camera still rolling, he’s checking in.
“I’m sure,” you whisper. “I trust you.”
His smile is soft. And just like that, you're ruined all over again.
“Good.” Wonwoo kisses you again — deep, filthy, and completely in control.
Your hands twitch against the pillow beneath your head, instinct screaming at you to touch him, to grab his shoulders, tangle your fingers in his hair, something — but but the larger part of you is begging you to listen, to be rewarded for being a good girl.
“You stay right there,” he murmurs. “You take what I give you.”
You nod, panting. “Yes, W-sir.”
His free hand slides slowly beneath the hem of your sweater, palm splaying flat over your stomach. He doesn’t move higher. Not yet. He waits — lets the silence stretch until your back arches off the mattress and your hips squirm beneath him.
And then he laughs, low and mean. Almost cruel, if not for the affection in his eyes.
“You’re already so needy,” he taunts. “I haven’t even touched you yet.”
His thumb brushes your bottom lip. You suck it in instinctively and the growl that slips from his throat makes your thighs clamp together.
He sees it. Of course he does.
"Open."
You do. Without question.
He pushes his thumb between your lips, slow and steady, eyes fixed on your face the whole time. You swirl your tongue around it, moaning as you suck, and the flash in his eyes makes your whole body light up like a warning sign.
He pulls his thumb free with a wet pop, then brings it down between your legs, slipping it just inside the waistband of your shorts — not enough to touch you, but enough to make your hips buck toward him.
"You're gonna be good and cum for me like this," he murmurs. "Still wearing your pretty little shorts. Think you can do that?"
“I—yeah,” you pant. “I can.”
“Good girl.”
The two words hit harder than any touch. Your whole body clenches at the sound of it. He starts to rub, slow firm circles over your panties, and your head drops back against the bed.
You’re so wet it’s humiliating. You can feel the damp fabric clinging to you, feel the friction sparking with every motion of his fingers — and you dig your nails into into your palms to keep yourself from reaching out for him.
You’re moaning now, high and choked, not even bothering to hold it in. You can’t. His voice, his hand, his weight on top of yo —it’s all too much.
“Keep your hands up,” he growls, and there’s no mistaking the real edge in his voice now. “You want to cum? You earn it.”
You nod, frantic. “Yes, yes, please—”
“You don’t get to cum until I say so.”
“Sir—!”
He presses harder. You cry out, thighs trembling, hips jerking uselessly as he works you faster. Your breathing is ragged. You’re so close it hurts.
And then—
He stops.
Your eyes fly open.
“Wonwoo—!” You cry out in shock, not even pausing to think about using his name, the nager clear in your tone.
“Shh,” he soothes, lips brushing your cheek. “You’ll get it. But first…”
His hands slip beneath your sweater, and this time he doesn't hesitate. He pushes it up, exposing your bare chest to the camera.
You had honestly forgotten about the stream—about the chat, and clearly they had noticed. Your eyes rake the comments:
singledad95: poor baby she's gone already
dacefucker69: fuck i'm gonna cum.
mommyplease: thank you daddy, look at mommy's perfect tits. can i cum please?
tigersgaze: god i think she forgot about us, but i don't care you look so good like this baby
You gasp. You should feel embarrassed, but you’re so deep into this you don’t even care. You just want his hands back on you.
Wonwoo doesn’t say anything at first. Just stares. His lips part slightly. There’s something reverent in the way his gaze drags across your skin.
Then he looks up — into the lens. Into the eyes of everyone watching.
“She’s mine,” he says, voice low and lethal. “You can look, but you don’t get to touch. Ever.”
Then he looks down again, and he smiles — slow, devastating, like a man who knows exactly how fucked you are.
“Now beg again, baby. Real pretty for the camera.”
You choke on your own breath.
“Please, Wonwoo,” you whisper. “I need to cum. I—I need you so bad, please, I’ll be good, I swear.”
His hand slips back between your legs.
And this time, he doesn’t stop.
You don’t know if you’re begging in words anymore or just making sounds — the kind of half-choked whines you never thought would leave your mouth outside of your most desperate dreams.
And he’s still touching you, still working tight, devastating circles against your clit through the soaked fabric of your panties. Your hips buck wildly beneath him, your legs trying to close, but his free hand pins your thigh open with ease.
“Don’t fight it,” he murmurs. “You wanted to cum so bad—so do it. Cum for me, just like this. Let them all watch how sweet you sound when I ruin you.”
You gasp, a high-pitched sob, and your fingers claw into the sheets beside your head, straining to obey his earlier command to keep your hands to yourself. You're on fire, every muscle drawn tight and twitching, a livewire underneath his touch.
“You're so wet," Wonwoo growls. "You really were gonna cum for me in your shorts like a little slut, huh?”
Your whimper is confirmation enough. Your body is spiraling out of your control now.
And then he leans in — mouth brushing your ear, voice so low it’s filthy.
“I'm not even inside you yet and you're already a fucking mess.”
Something in you snaps.
Your mouth drops open in a silent scream as your orgasm slams into you. Your thighs shake, your breath catches, and your entire body locks up beneath him as he works you through it, never slowing down — rubbing mercilessly until you’re twitching and gasping and trying to twist away from his hand.
But he doesn’t let you go.
“Oh no, no, baby,” he coos, voice suddenly cruel again, deceptively sweet. “You can cum more than that.”
“Wonwoo—” you plead, voice broken.
“You’re gonna cum again. For them,” he says, nodding toward the camera, “and for me.”
Your body is oversensitive now but his hand doesn’t stop. It changes. Slower now, deeper pressure, coaxing you through the aftershocks.
You try to speak. It’s just a stuttering, useless gasp of air.
“Come on,” he says gently now. “One more. Be good.”
And then he bites you, open mouth, right over your collarbone, and that's all it takes for you to fall apart.
The second orgasm crashes over you before you’re fully recovered from the first. It drags a low moan from your lips this time, ragged and raw, and you sob out his name like a prayer as your body convulses underneath him.
Your vision goes blurry for a second.
The only thing anchoring you is the press of his hand between your thighs and the sound of his voice — murmuring quiet praises you’re barely coherent enough to understand.
“Just like that. That’s my girl.”
And you're just coming down from the last waves of your orgasm when Wonwoo shifts you, until you're once again his lap, laying with your back against to his chest, your legs hooked on both sides of his thighs, he pushes your shorts down and off. He removes your sweater too, you're completely bare, body flushed and looking all too fucked out and he hasn't even fucked you yet. Exposed and bare on his till clothed form.
You don’t even notice the camera at first.
He turns his gaze to the camera and smiles. He smirks, really — eyes heavy-lidded, lazy with satisfaction.
You're too fucked out to really pay attention, he says, “If you want more, you know what to do.”
The dings of incoming donations flood the room, one after another until Wonwoo is seemingly satisfied.
He trails a finger up your thigh, playing with your dripping pussy. He looks at the chat for confirmation, you try to, too, eyes still unfocused from pleasure as his fingers tease your core.
“You're so dirty baby, I haven't even got my fingers in you yet and you're dripping.” A sharp whine leaves your lips at his words. His finger teases your opening, before pulling away to brush lightly against your abused clit.
"Tell me, what do you want? Do you want me to touch you here?" He pauses, his breath warm on your skin as he whispers near in your ear, "Or maybe somewhere else?"
His hand slowly moves upwards, caressing your stomach, then higher to cup one of your breasts. He squeezes softly, feeling the weight and shape of it in his palm, brushing a finger against a peaked nipple. “Use your words, baby.”
“Wonwoo,” You whine, rocking your hips softly, feeling his cock, thick and hard beneath you, you feel oh so empty, “Please.”
Wonwoo slowly pushes a finger inside you, he groans softly, the sound vibrating against your skin as he continues to place gentle kisses along your neck and collarbone. "Mmm, so tight," he murmurs, slowly pumping his finger in and out, building a steady rhythm.
With his free hand, he reaches up to tangle his fingers in your hair, and pulls, hard enough to sting. He trails his lips over the sensitive skin, nipping and sucking gently as he works another finger into your slick heat, stretching you out.
"Does that feel good?" he asks, his voice rough with need. "Do you like having my fingers inside you, stretching you open?"
You nod, mouth open in a moan—you're so lost in your own world, in the pleasure, it's easy to forget that this is all for show, that this moment is just an act and Wonwoo isn't yours. But in this moment he is.
“More, please.” You whine rocking your hips, simultaneously grinding down on his clothed cock and against his fingers inside you.
His fingers fuck into you with a purpose until—“Ahhh” you moan, shaking, when he pushes against your g-spot with a determined persistence.
His eyes go sharp again as he stares down the camera, he's staking his claim. You're his.
“What do you think? Should I make her cum again like this?” He asks, a smirk on his lips as he stills his hand, you rock your hips shamelessly chasinging your release.
“Wonwoo please please please please please.” A litany of pleas leave your lips, tears nearly forming in your eyes. You're so close you can taste it.
“Don't ask me, baby.” He chuckles low and deep, unbelievably sexy. “Ask them.”
You catch a glimpse of yourself in the viewfinder, fucked out, a mess, eyes heavy lidded. You look debauched, and pretty.
“I want to cum,” Your voice is raw from all the moaning, your lips are plump from biting on them, you look the very essence of sin, “please.”
The chat explodes with tips and that seems to be enough for Wonwoo.
He kisses you like he owns you.
And maybe, in this moment, he does. The way he’s touching you says it — the way he’s holding your hips down, dragging his fingers up your thigh, says it. You can feel the tip of his cock brushing against your entrance — you hadn't even noticed he'd pulled it out of his sweatpants, and it’s not even in yet but your body is already begging.
“Ready?” he murmurs low against your throat, lips brushing your skin like a tease.
You nod, wordless. Already wrecked, slick and throbbing under him, your thighs trembling with every shallow breath.
“Words,” he reminds you, and you feel the tip press just slightly inside.
“Yes. Yes, Wonwoo, please.”
He groans like he’s been waiting to hear that all night. “Good girl.”
And then he pushes in.
Your gasp catches high in your throat, nails clawing at the sheets beneath you as he splits you open, inch by inch, his hips slow and deliberate. He’s thick, the stretch almost too much—almost, but then he bottoms out, presses flush against your body, and you swear you see white.
Wonwoo pauses there, buried inside you. His voice is a low growl when he speaks.
“Let them see you like this,” he says, staring down the camera with a smirk. “Stuffed full of me.”
You don’t even care that they’re watching. Not when he starts to move.
His thrusts are deep from the start, slow at first, but with that tight rhythm that makes your brain melt. One of his hand wraps around your throat, thumb resting just under your jaw, and the contact makes your whole body tense beneath him. The other steady on your hip, moving you like a ragdoll, his personal fuck toy as he lifts you up and down on his lap, meeting his every thrust.
“You like that?” he says, almost mockingly sweet. “Getting fucked in front of a live audience?”
“Wonwoo—” you gasp, already spiraling.
“You’re taking me so well,” he praises. “Look at that. So tight. So fucking wet.”
Each thrust punches a little sound out of you, his cock hitting that sweet spot over and over, and when he pulls your hips down to meet his, the slick slap of skin echoes off the walls. You don't even try to stop the sounds falling from your lips anymore—you're beyond pride, beyond shame.
“Gonna cum already?” he teases, kissing along your jaw, grinding deep. “Not even halfway done with you, baby.”
“I—I can’t—” you whimper.
“Yes, you can,” he growls. “You’re gonna cum around my cock like a good girl.”
The orgasm builds fast, your body tight, trembling, every muscle locking up as you struggle to hold back. But his voice is right in your ear, coaxing you through it.
“Let them watch you fall apart for me,” he whispers. “Now. Be good. Cum.”
You shatter.
It’s too much. Your vision goes white, your body clamps tight around him, and your orgasm tears through you like a storm. You cry out, maybe even sob his name, but it’s all blurred in the wave of pleasure. You can’t think, can’t breathe.
Wonwoo groans low in his throat as you tighten around him, and it’s like a switch flips. His hips snap into yours harder now, faster. His grip on your throat tightens as he chases his own release.
“You feel too fucking good,” he hisses, fucking into you like he’s about to lose control. “So perfect. Gonna cum inside you. Fill you up. You want that?”
You nod frantically, barely coherent, and that’s all he needs.
He slams in once more and holds there, hips pressed hard against you as his body trembles, his breath catching in a deep, guttural groan. You feel the heat of it, the way he pulses inside you, and it only makes your body twitch around him again.
Silence.
Except for your ragged breathing, the camera still rolling in the background, and the sound of his heartbeat thudding against your chest.
Wonwoo finally exhales.
He gently eases out of you, hand trailing softly down your thigh, and your body gives a full-body twitch—overstimulated and still shaking.
Your eyes meet his, no teasing now. Just something real.
The camera light is still on.
He gives it a final look, then leans forward, and with the same casual dominance as before, clicks it off.
Then he looks back down at you. Smirking. But softer now.
“You okay?” he asks quietly.
You nod.
But your voice is hoarse when you whisper back, “Yeah. But that didn’t feel fake.”
He just brushes the damp hair from your cheek and says, “Because it wasn’t.”
