Hey!
I was wondering if I could request a Wonwoo x Reader — something with a strangers-to-lovers theme where the reader falls first, but Wonwoo falls harder. I'd love it to have an intense romantic vibe with some angst and emotional depth. Maybe some possessive (but respectful) kind of love, and eventually them building a family together.
I'm not sure if my request makes sense, but if it does, I’d really appreciate it if you could give it a try — even if it takes time! I'll be looking forward to it. 🩵🩷
BREATHE ME
(Jeon Wonwoo x FemReader)
*Romantic angst, strangers-to-lovers, emotional, slow-burn*
I never believed in fate not until the day I met Jeon Wonwoo.
It was a rainy afternoon, the kind that made people rush through the streets, duck under umbrellas, and curse the sky. I, however, welcomed the cold drizzle. It gave me an excuse to slow down, to breathe amidst a life that often felt too loud, too fast. I was on my way to the bookstore a tiny one, hidden in the corner of an old alley near campus. The kind of place no one really noticed unless they were looking for it.
I had just finished a long shift at the library where I worked part-time. The dust of centuries-old books clung to my skin, and the dull ache of standing for hours throbbed in my legs. Still, I walked. My tote bag was weighed down by textbooks and dreams I hadn’t quite given up on yet.
That’s when I saw him.
He was standing inside the bookstore, a book in one hand, his fingers lightly brushing over the edge of a page like it was a piece of art. He didn’t notice me, not then. But I noticed everything about him. The way his brows furrowed in concentration, the curve of his lips as he muttered something under his breath, the gentle shake of his head when he decided the book wasn’t what he was looking for. I remember thinking he looked like a painting still, quiet, timeless.
It’s strange, isn’t it? How someone you’ve never met can suddenly become a character in the story you tell yourself every night before sleep.
I didn’t talk to him that day.
But I went back.
Again. And again.
At first, it was coincidence. Then it became intention.
He’d come every Wednesday at the same time. Always alone. Always browsing the literature section. And I… I would pretend to be lost in books, stealing glances like a teenager with a hopeless crush.
He never noticed.
Until he did.
It was a Thursday. I almost didn’t go because of a deadline. But something in me tugged, told me to skip the library and head straight to the shop. He was already there, dressed in all black, a cap pulled low, fingers dancing along the spines of new arrivals. I made my way to the poetry shelf, pretending not to look.
Then I heard his voice.
“You always pick that one.”
My heart dropped into my stomach. I turned, stunned, blinking up at him. His voice was low and rich, like velvet over gravel. He wasn’t smiling, but his eyes… they held something recognition, amusement, warmth.
“I-I like this author,” I replied, gripping the book in my hands a little too tightly.
He nodded. “You’ve read it five times. At least. I’ve been counting.”
My face burned. “You… noticed?”
He looked down for a second, then back at me. “Hard not to.”
That’s how it began.
From that moment, something changed.
I started going to the bookstore not for the books, not even for the poetry I claimed to love but for him.
Wonwoo.
That was his name. He told me the next time we bumped into each other, casually slipping it in like it wasn’t going to rearrange my entire world. He didn’t ask for mine right away. He just nodded when I introduced myself, then went back to the fiction shelf with that quiet smile that never quite reached his eyes but made something flutter in my chest anyway.
Our conversations were brief at first. Soft and hesitant. Like two people afraid to speak too loud, afraid to pop the bubble that somehow formed around us. He had a calm aura, but it wasn’t cold it was grounding. Like a forest. Like shade on a summer day. And he listened. God, he listened. Like every word I said mattered.
“I work in publishing,” he told me once, though I later learned he was far more than just an editor. He’d authored books, quietly helped build the careers of some bestselling writers, and was known in circles I only dreamed of stepping into. But he never boasted. If anything, he always downplayed himself.
That made me fall harder.
And I was falling. Hard.
The crush was no longer a secret I whispered into my pillow. I couldn’t help it. I looked for him in crowds, smiled when my phone lit up with his name, read into every soft touch of his fingers when he handed me a coffee.
But I didn’t tell him. I didn’t dare.
Because he was… Wonwoo.
And I was just me.
Still, he kept showing up. Not just at the bookstore, but at the art gallery I mentioned in passing. At the same café I worked at on weekends. Coincidences became too specific. One night, he even showed up with a scarf I’d mentioned loving weeks ago and said, “It looked like something you’d wear.”
That night, I cried into my pillow, unsure what the hell we were becoming but praying, hoping it was more.
And then came the day I realized he was falling too.
It was late autumn. The bookstore was about to close, and we had sat on the floor near the back wall, flipping through a novel we both loved, arguing over its ending like we hadn’t just spent hours doing this already.
I was laughing. Not a soft laugh but a real, throw-my-head-back one.
And he was staring.
I felt it. The weight of his gaze. When I looked at him, his eyes didn’t move away.
He was still.
Too still.
And then his hand reached forward, gently brushing a strand of hair behind my ear.
“I think I’m in trouble,” he whispered.
I blinked. “Why?”
“Because I didn’t mean to feel this much.”
He didn’t kiss me that day.
But his words did.
After that, everything changed. The air between us charged with something electric, something dangerous. I couldn’t sleep that night. Neither could he he texted me at 3AM: Can I see you tomorrow?
We started spending every evening together. In silence. In bookstores. In hidden cafés. In the park under fading lamplight. He was thoughtful. He never rushed me. Never pushed. He asked questions that mattered. Looked at me like I was a mystery worth solving. Held my hand like it was a vow.
But there was something in him I couldn’t reach.
A shadow behind his eyes.
He told me he’d been hurt. That he didn’t believe in “forever” because it always came with a deadline. That the last time he let someone in, he watched them leave anyway.
“I’m scared of ruining things,” he admitted one night, his voice raw.
“You won’t,” I whispered, resting my forehead against his. “I’m not asking for forever. Just... stay for now.”
That was the night he kissed me.
It wasn’t fireworks. It was something quieter. More intimate. Like a prayer.
But with every passing day, I saw it he was falling. Slowly. Deeply.
And the way he looked at me… like he was memorizing me. Like he had already imagined a life.
He fell quietly, but hard.
Harder than I ever expected.
It started small. The shift.
At first, I told myself I imagined it because I always do that when I’m scared of losing something good. The overthinking. The second-guessing. The flinch when something beautiful starts to tremble.
But Wonwoo was different.
He’d made me feel safe. Sure. Steady. Like he’d catch me even before I fell.
So when the silence between texts stretched longer, I pretended he was just busy.
When he stopped showing up at the café like he used to, I convinced myself he needed space.
But then, the first real silence happened.
He left me on read.
For an entire day.
No explanation. No excuse.
And it crushed me more than I’d like to admit.
I sat on the steps outside my apartment building, phone in hand, reading our past messages like some kind of love letter eulogy. I replayed his voice in my head, his laughter, that night under the stars where he told me, “I didn’t mean to feel this much.”
And now he was acting like he didn’t feel anything at all.
When I finally saw him again, it was by chance.
or fate.
I was walking home from the bookstore, arms full of paper and poetry, when I saw him across the street. Frozen. Like he didn’t expect to see me either.
Our eyes met.
And there it was that old look again.
The one that used to undo me.
He crossed the road in slow steps. Didn’t say anything at first. Just stared.
“I’m sorry,” he said finally, voice rough like he hadn’t used it in days.
I didn’t reply. I didn’t know how.
“I’ve been... off. I know.”
I waited.
“I started overthinking,” he admitted. “How serious this is. How much I want you. How scared I am to want this much and still not be enough.”
That was when I broke.
“You already were enough, Wonwoo,” I whispered, my voice cracking. “You were more than enough. I didn’t need perfection. I needed you to show up.”
“I know.” He took a breath like it hurt. “And I didn’t. I got so scared of falling deeper, I started pulling away. I thought if I stepped back first, I could soften the blow.”
“And you think hurting me like this softens anything?” I choked out, tears falling.
He looked wrecked. And I hated that I still wanted to pull him into my arms.
Then, in a moment of desperation—he did it.
He wrapped his arms around me, tight. Desperate. Like he was anchoring himself.
“I didn’t know I could feel this much,” he whispered against my hair. “You made me feel everything, and I panicked.”
I didn't move. But I felt the warmth of him seep into my bones.
I wanted to stay there. But I needed to protect myself too.
I gently pushed him back.
“I love you, Wonwoo,” I said, voice trembling. “But I can’t keep being the only one willing to stay when it gets hard.”
His eyes widened. Like that was the first time he realized what he was about to lose.
And he broke. Right there.
His knees hit the pavement. Mine followed. We didn’t care about the people passing by.
We clung to each other like lifelines. Both crying. Both shaking.
He pressed his forehead to mine. “Let me fix this. Please. I’ll do anything.”
After that night, things didn’t magically heal.
But he showed up.
Every day.
He made coffee for me before I woke up. Showed up at my class presentations with quiet pride in his eyes. Walked me home when it rained. Sat with me during my breakdowns and said nothing just held me like I was allowed to fall apart.
And when he asked me to move in with him months later, he didn’t make a speech. He just handed me a key and said, “Let’s start writing our story together, not just visiting chapters.”
We learned each other’s fears. Our triggers. Our love languages. Our silences. And we chose to love anyway.
Wonwoo became mine.
Not just in words but in the way he lived his days around me.
He was possessive, yes but in a way that always respected my space. Protective, not controlling. His love was quiet but all-consuming. He’d touch my lower back in crowded rooms. Glance at me a second longer if someone else made me laugh too loud.
And one night, years later, while sitting on the floor with photo albums and our newborn sleeping nearby, he whispered,
“Remember when I told you I didn’t believe in forever?”
I nodded.
He took my hand, pressing a kiss into my palm. “I was wrong. I just hadn’t met you yet.”
I noticed it before I admitted it.
The way Wonwoo’s hand tightened slightly whenever someone complimented me. How his arm slid around my waist like a quiet claim, even when the conversation was harmless. The way his gaze lingered on anyone who laughed a little too loud near me.
I knew he loved me. That was never the problem.
The problem was when it started to feel like he didn’t know how to let go.
It came to a head one evening after a long day of classes and studio time. I was exhausted. He had picked me up, like always, and we went back to his place. The silence in the car had been thick.
He glanced at me when we got inside.
“You’re quiet.”
I shrugged, kicking off my shoes. “Just tired.”
He followed me into the kitchen, leaning against the counter as I poured myself water. “Something happened?”
I took a slow sip. “No. Not exactly.”
He waited.
And that’s when I said it.
“Wonwoo, do you trust me?”
His brow furrowed. “Of course I do.”
“Then why does it sometimes feel like you don’t trust anyone else around me?”
There. I said it.
The air shifted.
He didn’t respond right away. Just stared at me, eyes searching mine like he wasn’t sure what I meant or maybe he did, and didn’t want to face it.
“I’m not accusing you,” I added quickly, softer this time. “It’s just… sometimes, it feels like you’re always on guard. Like you’re constantly trying to prove something.”
He looked away for a moment, jaw tightening.
“I’m just protecting what’s mine.”
“I’m not something you own, Wonwoo.”
That was the first time I’d ever raised my voice at him. It wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be.
His shoulders tensed. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I know you didn’t,” I said gently. “But I can’t always feel like I’m being watched, like I’m being hovered over. I love you. I come home to you. Isn’t that enough?”
He was quiet for a long time.
And then he said, “I’m scared.”
That cracked something open in me.
“I’ve never had someone like you before,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “And when I see people looking at you, laughing with you, getting close… I feel like I’m holding something I don’t deserve. And I’m terrified one day you’ll realize that.”
Tears pricked my eyes.
I stepped closer. “Wonwoo… you do deserve me. And I deserve you. But love doesn’t mean you have to hold on so tightly you forget I’m standing right beside you.”
He swallowed hard, eyes glassy.
“I don’t want to lose you.”
“You won’t,” I whispered, voice cracking. “But if we don’t talk about these things… if we keep letting silence do the talking, we’re going to break something we can’t fix.”
He looked at me then really looked.
And when I opened my arms, he stepped into them like he was falling. We sank to our knees, holding each other like we were the last people on earth. My fingers in his hair. His arms wrapped tightly around me. My tears soaking into his hoodie.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured over and over. “I’m sorry I made you feel like that.”
“I know you didn’t mean to,” I whispered. “But you have to let yourself breathe too. Love doesn’t have to hurt to be real.”
And in the silence that followed, we held each other until the shaking stopped.
Until his grip softened.
Until we remembered that we were on the same side.?