🔮 preview. “Well,” Wonwoo takes a deep breath, meeting your gaze. “You see, before I was Mister Tech Entrepreneur, I went to high school with this girl. She was kind, always so kind, to everyone, even me. And she was smart, way smarter than she gave herself credit for. And for some stupid reason, she was with this bonehead of a quarterback. I know that was ten years ago, but I guess part of me has always wondered: what if? Now you’re here, right in front of me, and against all of the anxiety inside of me that is screaming for me not to tell you this, I suppose I’m wondering if, after all of these years, maybe you’d be interested in giving me a chance.”
tw/cw. Unprotected sex, exhibitionism (fucking in a classroom in a deserted school during a high school reunion), trying to be quiet during sex, sex on a desk, clothes on sex, fingering, multiple reader orgasms, manhandling, pleasure dom!Wonwoo, praise, dirty talk, hair pulling, etc… I pet names: (hers) pretty girl.
👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 5k
🍭 aus. Slice of life au, high school reunion au, nerd high schooler to sexy tech entrepreneur adult. etc…
☀️ mlist + an. We love a nerd who is obsessed with you in high school, then becomes super rich and fucks you at your ten-year reunion.
Prologue:
The football field is full of students, newly graduated, their whole lives ahead of them. Yearbooks are being absolutely defaced with notes of good wishes, and all sorts of multicoloured pens scribble kind words and hopes of the future.
You’ve been here for over an hour, saying goodbye to classmates and hearing about summer and university plans. But there is one person you’re keeping an eye out for; Wonwoo has been your math tutor for two years now, and without him, your grade point average may not have been high enough to get into your dream school, so you refuse to leave today without saying one final thank you to the nerd who made your future attainable.
He’s an elusive guy, the kind of dude who doesn’t really have many friends, keeps his head down, and is always the top of the class. You suppose you’re not surprised he’s missing from the football field; crowds have never been his thing, but then, you spot him by the bleachers.
Excusing yourself from your friends, you head over to Wonwoo. “Hi!”
“Oh, hi.” He looks up at you, glasses slightly crooked, closed yearbook in hand.
“Can I sign that?” you ask, motioning to his book.
“Oh, yeah, sure.”
You take the yearbook from him, and when you open it to the first page, you find it empty. Your heart drops. Although Wonwoo has always been the studying type, you’re sure it must hurt to have not one note written in his yearbook.
Wonwoo has extreme social anxiety, but he’s a kind person, and he was more than patient with you when he was your tutor.
‘Wonwoo, thank you so much for helping me with math. I’m not sure what I would have done without you. You’re the smartest person I’ve ever met, and I know you’re going to go extremely far in life. I can see you being a CEO at some biotech company or running Silicon Valley. Don’t ever stop using that amazing brain of yours, and I’d say good luck, but I know you won’t need it. Xoxo y/n’
You give the yearbook back to him, and as Wonwoo looks down at your note, a hand wraps around your forearm.
“Come on, babe, everyone else has already left to go to the fair.” It’s your boyfriend, Seungcheol, his varsity jacket draped over one arm.
“Oh, sorry, I was just finishing up.” You swallow thickly, looking back at Wonwoo. “A bunch of us are going to the fair if you want to come.”
“It’s more of a football team and their girlfriends sort of thing,” Seungcheol interjects quickly.
You sigh. It’s no secret that your boyfriend can be a bit of a bully, especially when it comes to the more nerdy types, and while you’ll swear up and down that Seungcheol is a good guy deep down, he sometimes has a funny way of showing it.
“It’s okay, I don’t really like crowds,” Wonwoo says quietly.
You open your mouth, wanting to say more, but Seungcheol tugs on your arm again. “Have a great summer, Wonwoo,” you blurt out, overwhelmed by the urgency your boyfriend is exhibiting. “And I know you’ll kill it at MIT."
One:
“Okay, so little black dress, or the blue?” you ask, holding up each option so your high school friend Sumi can see it through FaceTime.
“It depends. Are you trying to get laid at our ten-year high school reunion?” Sumi laughs. “I heard Seungcheol is single again.”
“Yeah, and he has an ex-wife that sued him for half of what he made when he was in the NFL before he tore his ACL and had to retire at the ripe age of twenty-five,” you scoff.
“Okay, maybe too much drama,” your friend acquiesces. “Go with the black. Getting laid or not, we both have to look super hot.”
“It will be fun to see what everyone is up to,” you nod, putting your chosen dress in your suitcase. “I can’t wait for us to be in the same city again.”
You and Sumi had attended university together, but then you’d gone your separate ways, chasing job opportunities in different cities.
“Our Airbnb is a no-boy zone, though, I hope you know,” Sumi teases.
“We’re not going to the reunion to hook up with ex-classmates,” you agree.
“Speaking of ex-classmates who would want to fuck us at the reunion…” Sumi grins into the camera. “Is Wonwoo coming?”
“Wait, Wonwoo was into you?” you ask.
Sumi lets out a laugh. “Not me, you ditz. Wonwoo was always clearly into you.”
“Was he really?”
“It was so obvious!” Sumi insists. “But you were with Seungcheol, and everyone knows Seungcheol kind of bullied Wonwoo. I think he was jealous that Wonwoo was smart enough to help you with classes where you struggled, and Seungcheol couldn’t.”
You frown, memories of high school flooding back.
Wonwoo was always adorable, but his lack of social skills made it difficult for him to get close to anyone. You had a soft spot for him back then, but you were in love with Seungcheol before you parted ways for university, and he dumped you in the first week when he joined a frat.
“Hey, I’ve gotta run,” Sumi sighs. “But I will see you at our Airbnb in twenty-four hours.”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” you smile, saying goodbye to your friend. As the call hangs up, you do a Google search for Wonwoo’s name.
You’re a reporter now, and part of the reason you’re so good at your job is that you’re curious.
There’s no harm in looking up an ex classmate.
Two:
The first thing you find about Wonwoo is that he made the Forbes top 30 under 30 list, which nearly knocks you off your bed. The man in the picture is no longer the nerd who helped you with his homework. Adorned in a dark suit, Wonwoo looks regal in his photographs, and you’re shocked at how handsome he’s become.
It seems he launched a startup after graduating from MIT and has since founded his company, which runs out of Silicon Valley.
It takes you a few minutes to wrap your head around this information, because… well, you’d guessed this was his career path when you were a teenager. Although you’d known he was capable, you never expected him to actually follow through with his talent.
From Forbes, you find a few news articles. They describe Wonwoo as an elusive visionary, a master of all things related to computer science, the man to watch.
That’s when you find his TED Talk, and you spend the next twenty minutes watching this gorgeous nerd talk about AI, tech, the language of computers, and things you can’t even wrap your head around.
This man, who once hated crowds, who once dreaded doing presentations in class… he’s come so far, and it makes your heart melt with happiness to see that Wonwoo is doing well.
You love the way his lips still quirk into this silly grin when he speaks, the grin that says ‘I know way more about this subject than you, but that’s fine because I will teach you so you can understand what I’m talking about.’
It feels like you’re graduating high school again. Possibilities seem endless when you listen to Wonwoo talk. He makes the seemingly unattainable feel within reach.
God, you are so extremely proud of him.
Three:
So far, the reunion feels a bit lackluster. You spend the first half an hour dodging Seungcheol, and another half an hour listening to ex-classmates talk about all the children they’ve been having. The baby pictures are endless.
You finally pull away to get a breather, stepping outside the gymnasium to escape the scent of perfume and sweat that is beginning to overtake the crowded space.
It feels so weird to be back at your high school, and you take a moment to consider how far you’ve come. When you graduated, life seemed like a clear shot. You would go to university to become a teacher, marry Seungcheol, be a wife to an NFL player with a long career… funny how none of that ended up happening.
“Y/N?”
You whip around and come face to face with your old tutor… your now extremely hot and successful old tutor.
“Wonwoo?” you gasp.
“Thought that was you,” he smiles, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck.
“I-” you swallow thickly. “Have you gone inside yet?” You’re pretty sure he hasn’t, because you’ve been looking for him the whole time.
“No, I got a phone call when I arrived and had to manage something, and then, well, then I wondered if going inside would be worth it.”
“Oh.” You can’t help the dejected feeling that washes over you.
“I wasn’t sure you’d be here,” he continues.
“Me? I wasn’t sure you would be,” you laugh. “Mister Silicon Valley.”
“I suppose you’re not surprised,” Wonwoo smirks. “You guessed this would happen.”
“You were the smartest guy I knew in high school, and I wouldn’t be shocked if you’re still the smartest man I know now.”
“I wish I’d had the confidence in myself that you had in me back when we were students,” Wonwoo admits, releasing a sigh. “Maybe things would have been a little different.”
You tilt your head to the side, trying to understand him. “What kind of things?”
Wonwoo shrugs, his tailored suit showing off the broadness of his shoulders. “I guess it doesn’t matter now. Anyways, you’re a reporter, huh. That’s not the career I would have envisioned you in.”
“No?”
So he looked you up, too.
“You always used to talk about being a teacher, dating a successful man, having kids, that sort of thing.”
“Well,” you consider his words, “I was young then. Being a reporter allows me to share information with a wider range of people, and I learned that I didn’t need a man; I could be successful all on my own.”
“Are you happy?”
“I’m very happy. And you?”
Wonwoo cocks his head, opening his mouth, then closing it. “There’s a lot about my life that makes me happy, but there are also a few things… missing.”
“I can understand that,” you nod, not wanting to pry even though pushing for information is your job. You’re not on the clock right now, and you want to provide friendship to a man who is probably used to intrusive questions.
Wonwoo studies you. “So other than being a reporter, what have you been up to? Sounds like you’re not with the ‘star quarterback’ anymore.”
A laugh immediately escapes you. “No! It’s been almost ten years since I dated Seungcheol.”
“Oh?” Wonwoo grins. “You always seemed so confident that you two would be together forever.”
“I started dating him when we were fourteen. When we graduated a couple of years later, I had no idea what real life would be like.” You shake your head, hating how naive you were. “How about you, Mister Tech Entrepreneur? I bet all the girls are trying to slide into your DMs.”
“I’m single, very single, unfortunately,” Wonwoo laughs awkwardly. “I guess lately I’ve been thinking about the one that got away.”
Your body surges at the notion of gossip. “Okay, I was trying not to pry before, but now I have to ask. Tell me the story.”
“Well,” Wonwoo takes a deep breath, meeting your gaze. “You see, before I was Mister Tech Entrepreneur, I went to high school with this girl. She was kind, always so kind, to everyone, even me. And she was smart, way smarter than she gave herself credit for. And for some stupid reason, she was with this bonehead of a quarterback. I know that was ten years ago, but I guess part of me has always wondered: what if? Now you’re here, right in front of me, and against all of the anxiety inside of me that is screaming for me not to tell you this, I suppose I’m wondering if, after all of these years, maybe you’d be interested in giving me a chance.”
Your heart is racing in your chest. For the first time in a very long time, you don’t know what to say.
You’d always thought Wonwoo was adorable, and he treated you so well. He was patient and gentle, and he never got exasperated with you over math homework. He was quiet, but when he did talk, he was always insightful. Wonwoo always allowed you to be completely yourself, free of judgment, and he cheered you on for every math test, watching your grades improve as a result of his encouragement.
A part of you had known you were interested in him, even back when you’d thought your life was figured out with Seungcheol.
“I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about this too,” you admit.
“And?”
“And… If we don’t take this chance… maybe we’ll continue to regret it.”
Your words hang thick in the air, and you can see Wonwoo digesting them. He swallows thickly, taking a step toward you.
You’re drawn to him, and you also close the distance, until there’s only a foot between you.
He’s truly become so handsome, but he’s still just Wonwoo, your Wonwoo. There’s something special about the fact that you knew this man before his worldly successes, that you knew and cared for him when he was the dorky nerd who ate lunch in the library and had only your signature in his yearbook.
You still feel bad for him, for the way his high school years panned out, but look at him now.
Thank God that Sumi told you to wear your sexy little black dress.
“Is it bad that I want to kiss you for the first time here, of all places?” Wonwoo asks with an awkward chuckle.
“Oddly enough, it feels right,” you laugh, taking his hand and guiding it to your hip. “If I’d never been with Seungcheol…”
“Let’s not even think about the past like that,” Wonwoo sighs, tugging you flush to his body. “We’re here now, that’s what matters.”
You nod, and then you lean forward, pressing your lips to Wonwoo’s for the very first time.
It’s like a jolt of electricity surges through you, and nothing has ever felt this right.
His lips are so soft, and he holds you in such a careful way, as if he’s afraid this is a dream.
But this is not a dream, that much is clear from the way your panties are already sticking to your core.
You press yourself closer, one hand grasping the nape of his neck as the kiss deepens in the most delicious way imaginable.
Wonwoo definitely knows how to kiss. It’s not an obnoxious style, no, he’s careful, calculated, but his movements still betray the fact that he’s been longing for you for ten years. It’s as if he’s dreamed of this moment a million times, and now you’re actually here, and he’ll be damned if he fucks it up.
His tongue gently glides against your own, and you stifle a moan at the feeling, your body tingling delightfully.
You thread your fingers through his hair, wanting him even closer, although your chests are pressed together and there’s no room between you.
You want to feel him, all of him, and the realization makes a shiver run through you.
“Wonwoo,” you gasp, breaking the kiss.
“Yeah?”
“I know a place.”
“You know a place?” he laughs.
“Follow me.” You grab his hand, chasing your fantasies as you lead him to a door that takes you to the rest of the school. Running through the halls with Wonwoo feels like a fever dream; it’s as if you remember every locker, every linoleum tile that paves the hallways that echo with each footstep.
“Where are we going?” Wonwoo asks, a chuckle escaping him.
“The math room.”
“Why are we going there?”
“Because that’s where I realized I liked you as more than a tutor, more than a friend,” you tell him, your voice bouncing off the walls like a tantalizing reverie.
You can’t believe you’re doing this, but there’s no turning back now, and you wouldn’t want to either.
You whisk Wonwoo into your old math classroom, and the memories come flooding back. Your teacher would allow Wonwoo to tutor you here when the library wasn’t available, and you spent many hours alone with the handsome nerd in the confines of these four walls.
Maybe Seungcheol did bully Wonwoo because he could see what you were blind to until recently. It’s clear you had a connection with your tutor, one that was lost on you at the time.
“Do you remember this?” you ask, turning to face Wonwoo. “All the time we spent here?”
“Like it was yesterday,” he laughs.
“I thought you were the smartest, cutest guy I’d ever met,” you tell him, leaning back against one of the large tables.
“And I thought you were the kindest, most gorgeous girl I’d ever know,” Wonwoo retorts, approaching you. His hands make contact with the desk on either side of you, blocking you in while you look up at him.
His eyes are twinkling with joy, and you’ve never seen him this happy. He was handsome before, but now, he’s absolutely radiant, and you grab the back of his neck, pulling his lips to yours.
It’s a frenzied kiss, both of you pouring all of your longing into the meeting of your mouths. You thread your fingers through his hair, and Wonwoo reaches down, lifting you onto the table. Your legs wrap around his hips, pulling him flush to your body while a whimper escapes you.
Wonwoo grins, one of his hands slipping up your thigh and under your dress.
Confidence is radiating off of him, and it’s the sexiest thing you can imagine. His thumb strokes the waistband of your panties, and you wiggle your hips, a wordless invitation.
Wonwoo’s fingers make contact with your core over your panties, and you gasp.
“You’re soaked, pretty girl,” Wonwoo tells you, and your whole body shivers at his words.
“I want you,” you confess, swallowing thickly.
“You have me,” Wonwoo promises, rubbing your clit while his lips move to your throat.
You groan, throwing your head back and tugging gently on his hair. You love being worshipped like this. Most of the men you’ve been with have been self-centered in bed, but you suppose nerds always have something to prove.
Or maybe it’s just that Wonwoo actually cares about you, even after all this time.
You grind down against his hand, moaning louder when he applies more pressure to your sensitive bud. “Just like that,” you tell him. “Fuck, it feels so good.”
“I’m Mister Tech Entrepreneur,” Wonwoo says in your ear. “I type code and use my fingers for a living.”
God, why is that so hot?
He pushes your panties to the side, and two of his fingers enter your drenched pussy.
Wonwoo sucks your earlobe into his mouth as he curls his digits, immediately finding your G-spot.
“Right there!” you tell him, clenching your eyes shut.
“Be a good girl for me and try not to be too loud,” Wonwoo warns. “I’d hate for anyone to walk in on this.”
You’d kind of forgotten that you’re in a math classroom at your old high school during a reunion. It’s not like people are roaming the halls, but if Sumi were to come looking for you, or even Seungcheol…
You shiver at the idea of your ex walking in on this. There’s something so exciting about exhibitionism with Wonwoo, especially in a classroom that holds so much history for the two of you.
His palm makes contact with your clit, and you slap a hand over your mouth to quiet yourself, whimpering desperately.
“Good girl,” Wonwoo praises you, and your core throbs from his words.
His lips find yours again, and you kiss him eagerly, wiggling your hips to grind against his hand while he works you up.
He definitely knows how to use his fingers, and each targeted stroke of your G-spot takes you closer to the edge.
Your heart is racing in your chest, your mind is fuzzy with lust, and your body is beginning to feel like it’s swelling with pleasure.
Your whimpers are muffled by the meeting of your lips, but as your orgasm approaches, you break the kiss. “Wonwoo,” you whimper, stroking the nape of his neck and looking into his eyes. “Please.”
“You can cum for me,” he assures you. “I’m not into orgasm denial.”
You can’t help but laugh, but your giggle quickly turns into another moan as he finger fucks you even harder.
“Keep your eyes on me,” Wonwoo tells you. “I want to see you cum.”
You bite your bottom lip, trying to force your eyes to stay open even as your orgasm builds. You continue to wiggle your hips, grinding against his palm while his fingers coax you to the edge.
Finally, you can’t hold back anymore, and your orgasm slams into you. Your back arches, lips parting as a cry escapes you. Your pussy clamps down on Wonwoo’s fingers, your entire body flooded with pleasure. With curled toes and muscles that are screaming, you do your best to keep your eyes open, your attention fixed on his handsome nerd, who seems to know exactly what to do to make you feel ecstasy in a way no other man has.
“That’s it,” Wonwoo grins, watching you closely. “You’re such a pretty girl when you cum on my fingers.”
Another wave of pleasure erupts at his words, and you twitch, core absolutely throbbing as he continues to work you through your orgasm.
As your high subsides, Wonwoo pulls his fingers out of your soaked pussy. You watch with bated breath as he licks them clean, groaning sinfully. Then, he grabs the back of your neck, drawing your lips to his so you can taste yourself on his tongue.
You reach between your bodies, cupping his cock as it presses against his pants.
“Fuck me,” you instruct. “I need you.”
“If you only knew how many years I waited to hear you say that…” Wonwoo lets out a shaky breath. “This is going better than I expected… I didn’t bring protection-”
“I’m on birth control,” you laugh. “And I’m assuming we’re both clean.”
“As a whistle,” he confirms
God, he’s so stupidly adorable.
You lean forward, letting your lips ghost past his ear as you whisper, “Then fuck me.”
“Whatever you want, pretty girl.”
Wonwoo reaches for his belt, and the two of you make quick work of it. Then you push his pants and underwear down.
“I’m not usually a fan of clothes on sex,” you tell him, swallowing thickly and pushing your panties to the side. “So you’ll just have to make it up to me later.”
Wonwoo laughs, grabbing the base of his cock and giving it a pump. “I’m not usually a fan of exhibitionism,” he muses. “So I guess we’re both outside of our wheelhouse tonight.”
“It’s worth it,” you insist as he lines his tip up with your core. “And it feels grossly fitting that this is where we’re having our first time.”
“Grossly fitting?” he prompts as he pushes into you.
“Yeah, sex on a desk in a math classroom, we’re being delinquents,” you groan, falling back against the table as inch after inch of cock invades your most sensitive area.
“I guess so,” Wonwoo chuckles, fully sheathing himself inside of you.
You let out a sigh of relief, loving the full feeling. Wonwoo isn’t the thickest cock you’ve ever had inside of you, but he’s long, and he’s curved slightly, his tip nudging against a sensitive spot that makes your toes curl.
“Fuck,” you whimper, lifting your dress so you can reach down and rub your clit. Your body jolts, still sensitive, but fuck, it feels good, and you can tell Wonwoo likes the way your core clenches around him because he releases a groan.
“You feel amazing,” Wonwoo tells you.
“I’ll feel even better when you start to move,” you counter, feeling cheeky and desperate.
Wonwoo laughs. “You got it, pretty girl.”
He grabs your hips, anchoring you to the table so he can begin to fuck you.
His cock glides against your inner walls deliciously, and you close your eyes, letting your head fall back against the wooden table with a soft thunk. You continue to rub your clit, muscles twitching at the pleasure that’s already beginning to blossom inside of you again.
His pace increases, and your whimpers fill the classroom. Your free hand moves to grab your own breast through your dress, and you hear Wonwoo let out a shuddery breath.
He’s bewitched by you, and it makes you feel powerful, alive, in a way you haven’t felt in a very long time.
You open your eyes and look up at him, loving the rosy tint to his cheeks. His tie is loose, and he looks frazzled in the sexiest possible way.
You rub your clit harder, your core squeezing Wonwoo like a vice as you work yourself closer to the edge, loving each drag of his cock inside your core.
“Just like that,” you tell him, biting your bottom lip to focus on the pleasure.
“You gonna cum for me again, gorgeous?” Wonwoo lets out a half-chuckle, but you can see the effort he’s putting in to remaining composed.
“If you’re lucky,” you tease.
“If I’m lucky,” Wonwoo repeats, his pace slowing as he shakes his head. “Thought you said you’d be good for me.”
He pulls out of you suddenly, and you squeak as he drags you off the table, flipping you so your back is to him. Then he pushes your upper body onto the desk, dropping your panties to your knees and lifting the skirt of your dress to slide back into your core again.
“Try to be cheeky again, I dare you,” he says, his breath hot against your bare shoulders.
You shiver, wobbling a little in your high heels, but his hands on your hips pin you to the desk. “I’ll be good,” you promise, loving the dominance that’s radiating off of him.
“That’s what I like to hear.” Wonwoo lets up a little, allowing you to slip your hand between your thighs again. It’s an awkward position, your arm pressed between your body and the table, the fabric of your dress a mess, but you manage to rub your clit again, and you both groan desperately.
“I want to cum with you,” you tell him, loving the feeling of the cool wood against your hot cheek.
“That can be arranged.”
Dominant, confident, and oddly formal in a very sexy way… this is crazy.
He begins to rut into you again, but this time, you know he’s not holding anything back. Your hips repeatedly push against the edge of the table, and it hurts a little, but there’s pleasure in the pain, pleasure in the knowledge that Wonwoo is coming completely undone.
He’s groaning more now, and the sounds are music to your ears, egging you on to rub your clit harder, to chase the orgasm that he’s clearly on the brink of.
“Don’t stop,” you whimper, clenching your eyes shut, your muscles tight and ready-
Wonwoo suddenly grabs a fistful of your hair, forcing your head back. “I wouldn’t dream of leaving you unfulfilled,” he tells you. “Now cum on my cock, pretty girl.”
His words are the last prompt you need, and your pussy explodes around him, throbbing desperately while your guttural moans fill the classroom.
Wonwoo lets out his own groan, his thrusts becoming erratic. You feel him filling you up, his cock throbbing deep inside of you as your walls milk him for every drop that he’s worth.
Your heart is racing in your chest, and you struggle slightly, which is when he releases your hair, allowing you to collapse against the cool table again.
His hands find your hips, and his motions stop.
You lay there, your upper body flopped on the desk, while you both recollect yourselves.
Finally, Wonwoo clears his throat. “I’m sorry if I got a bit rough at the end there.”
“No, I liked it,” you assure him.
“Usually, if we were in my own home, I’d clean you up in the shower, and give you proper aftercare-”
“We’re at a reunion, and I’m not planning on showering in the girls' locker room by the gym, no worries,” you laugh.
“I have a penthouse suite at a hotel nearby,” Wonwoo continues. “How about we say our goodbyes to everyone, and I take you back with me.”
He pulls out of you carefully, lifting your panties back into place as you begin to feel his cum dripping out of you.
“You did promise to fuck me without our clothes on.”
“Without the exhibitionism,” Wonwoo agrees with a laugh.
“Let’s do it,” you decide. “We live in different cities now, and even if it’s just for tonight… let’s make the most of it.”
“I hope it’s not just for tonight,” Wonwoo chuckles awkwardly, helping you off the table. “But let's talk about that later, there’s no rush.”
It’s interesting, there hadn’t been a rush for ten years, but the moment you saw him tonight, you wanted things to speed up. He may say there’s no time constraint on considering a future after this, but your mind is already spinning with possibilities. You feel like a love-struck teenager again, but now, you’re not as naive as you once were.
It will be interesting to see where tonight leads, but you suppose you just have to be patient. You waited ten years, one more night to figure things out won’t hurt you.
☀️ mlist + an. thank you for reading! This fic kind of gave Sapiosexual vibes with the whole smart businessman thing. Killed me to make Seungcheol a bully but it had to be done for plot!
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🔮 preview. His thumb finds your clit, and you throw your head back, spreading your legs wider for Wonwoo. There’s nothing remotely alluring or seductive about the numbers he’s spitting out aggressively on the phone, but his voice just does something to you, and as always, he knows how to use his fingers.
cw/ tw. Unprotected sex, oral (pussy eating & blow job), handjob, exhibitionism, foreplay, foreplay while Wonwoo is on an important phone call, dirty talk, multiple reader orgasms, fingering, praise, etc… I petnames. (hers) pretty girl.
👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 2.4k I teaser wc. 130
🌙 starring. Wonwoo x afab!Reader
bonus
Some days you wake up and wonder if you’re still dreaming. You’ve been with Wonwoo for two years now, and life has changed in the most magical of ways. As much as you enjoyed being a successful woman who didn’t need a man, becoming aligned with Wonwoo has shown you that sometimes, having a partner who is equally - if not more driven - than you are, can be the biggest blessing.
You live with him in his swanky house, and he supports you as you build your career as a reporter in San Fransico. He’s still the CEO of his own company, and you both pour yourselves into work, which fulfills both of your spirits and allows you to be your best selves when you’re together at home.
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SUMMARY: You can tolerate a lot. You don’t care when someone messes up your documents or when your situationship ghosts you after two dates or when your manager is drowning your work in red ink. It was annoying, but survivable. If someone steals your lunch, especially the one you woke up early to make for yourself, that's where you draw the line. No one is hot enough to be forgiven for food theft. Not even the annoyingly calm, morally upright, infuriatingly handsome attorney from the legal department. And you’re about to catch him.
add tags❦︎: attorney! wonwoo, reader is in pr team, strangers to lovers, food puns (intended), wonwoo is kinda of an asshole here, minghao side quest, booseoksoon mentioned ft. mingyu, jeonghan you piece of shit, crackfic, dom!wonwoo, implied inexperienced reader, happy ending aye.
a/n: i'd like to think that im creative. also pls don't play with your food guys, inspired by one of the indie VN games i played.
No one is hot enough to be forgiven for stealing food.
And you’re about to catch that rat in action.
There’s nothing more infuriating than someone eating your lunch, especially when you made it that morning. With your own groceries. Your own money and your own time.
Your blood, sweat, and tears.
Oh, you’re about to be devastatingly mad. You want to throw the trash bin across the pantry, curse at the manager, maybe even consider resigning on the spot.
But did you?
Obviously not. Moment of weakness, as we speak.
Two hours earlier.
…
Work-life balance? Don’t know her.
Your life had been mundane as usual, and honestly, you didn’t mind that. You just wished your corporate life would stop trying to actively ruin it. Ever since the new CEO took over the man who stepped in after his father—you weren’t sure what to think of him. What you did know was that the company had been overworking its employees nonstop.
You wouldn’t even complain if they at least upgraded the cafeteria menu.
The new caterer didn’t seem to care about repeating the same dishes over and over to the point that one of your coworkers ended up with a stomachache. Not to mention the coffee drip machine sucked. Like, genuinely sucked. Thousand-dime company, yet they never bothered to upgrade the damn coffee machine.
No one wanted to drink that brown liquid. You’d rather dehydrate than willingly swallow it.
Since then, most people have started going out for lunch. Some just kept working through it, to the point of developing gastritis or borderline malnutrition.
But not you.
You refused to starve yourself.
Your mother always said: never be stingy with money when it comes to food. Money comes and goes.
That’s what she said.
Nothing beats a home-cooked meal. You’d choose that over takeout any day, unless you were really busy.
Just in time, it was finally lunch.
You had been anticipating this. Your lunch. Your heavenly five-star meal that you poured your whole heart into this morning.
Heck, you didn’t even eat breakfast. Just that cheap black coffee from the café downstairs.
Today’s packed treasure? A hamburg steak with a molten cheese filling in the center, paired with soft, fluffy rice.
You didn’t forget the fiber either broccoli and roasted potatoes to balance the meal. You swore nothing beat homemade meat: freshly ground beef, breadcrumbs, and spices that actually made sense together.
You’d like to think you’re very good at pounding meat.
The mental image of that juicy steak, gravy cascading over the top and soaking into white rice, made your stomach growl loudly.
God, you couldn’t wait to devour the whole thing. It was your self-reward after hours of sitting in your office chair to the point your ass might permanently imprint into it.
Sure, you couldn’t eat it fresh off the stove but at least the microwave here was more competent than the company’s infrastructure.
With a small, happy hum, you walked to the pantry fridge.
Around this time, the shelves were usually emptier. Only one or two transparent containers remained, so spotting yours should’ve been easy, the pink lunchbox. Your trusted Tupperware.
Of course your food deserved the best of the best. Duh.
You picked it up.
And immediately, something felt… off.
There was a sauce stain around the lid. And now that you thought about it somehow felt lighter than it had that morning.
You frowned but didn’t overthink it.
Until you opened it.
Your steak was…
Gone.
Like, all gone.
Your thick, juicy steak. Your fluffy rice. Your vegetables drowned lovingly in gravy.
Vanished.
Your stomach growled again as you blinked down at the empty container.
You weren’t just hungry. You were starving.
A small, devastated wail almost slipped out of you.
How could someone steal another person’s lunch? That was straight-up cruel. There was absolutely no excuse to think someone needed it more than you.
If anything, you needed it the most.
Because you deserved it. After all the prep. The early alarm. The effort.
You inhaled slowly, trying to be rational.
It would be wildly unprofessional for someone from the PR team to crash out over stolen food. So fine. You’d handle this professionally.
You pulled out your phone and speed-dialed HR. It was important to keep essential contacts ready. That’s what Seungkwan always said.
The call connected.
“Hello, this is Hyunsuk from Human Resources,” a flat voice answered. “How may I help you?”
“Hi, Hyunsuk. I’d like to report a theft.”
“Okay,” he replied. “What was stolen?”
You didn’t hesitate. “My lunch.”
There was a brief pause.
“Was it during company hours or on company property?”
“Yes and yes.”
“Unfortunately, we cannot compensate for your loss.”
You frowned. “I don’t want compensation, Hyunsuk.”
You swore you could hear him sigh. “An employee’s lunch is considered personal property.”
“Yes, but isn’t it concerning that theft is happening on company grounds?”
“We have cases like this happen very often,” he said. “The company is not responsible for them.”
“Yes, I know, but—”
“If you have anything else to report, please send an email,” he cut in. “My lunch break is starting.”
The line went dead.
Hyunsuk hung up.
You stared at your phone in disbelief. “…But my hamburg steak…”
Your eye twitched.
He just said it happens often.
Then do something about it?
“Whatever. Nobody even likes Hyunsuk.”
In fact, you weren’t sure he liked anyone at all.
With nothing else you could do, you begrudgingly poured yourself a lukewarm cup of coffee and returned to your desk with empty stomach, extra caffeine, and a growing vendetta.
The next day, you decided to let it go.
Okay, maybe you were being too forgiving. But hey, you were just hangry yesterday. Surely it was a one-time thing.
Still, the way Hyunsuk said these “theft incidents” happened often baffled you. As if they were normalizing it.
Like, what’s even the function of all those security cameras around the office?
If they can draw a hard line on “no inappropriate office activities,” then surely they can give justice to your stolen lunch too.
Crazy.
The last time people went into the pantry, they literally saw used condoms in the bin. Goodness gracious, as if the toilet didn’t exist. You’d rather not walk past and hear… unwanted noises either.
You did consider writing a company-wide email and CC’ing everyone. After all, who the hell knew who ate your lunch?
You refused to take this as egg-ceptance.
…Maybe not yet.
Despite yesterday’s tragedy, you still brought your lunch today.
After all, you made mapo tofu. And you were not backing down.
How did you make it again?
Oh, right.
Sichuan peppercorns.
While you weren’t a huge fan of overly spicy food, the spice of life played an important role in cooking. You could never forget the nose-numbing aroma of roasted Sichuan pepper. The thick red oil from the fermented bean paste. The firm, bouncy cubes of tofu holding heat so intense it transcended taste buds.
The Mapo Tofu.
You paired it with plain white rice but nothing could overpower the fragrance of chili oil and peppercorns.
It reminded you of that business trip, when Minghao introduced you to mala hotpot and a whole new universe of Chinese spices. You even brought souvenirs back, mostly seasonings to experiment with.
Bless him and his encyclopedic knowledge.
But today’s version?
Different.
Just in case, you doubled the heat. Twice the ground peppercorn. Extra chili flakes. A spice level too powerful for the mortal tongue.
Right before sealing the lid, you sprinkled a little more pepper.
If anyone dared to open your lunch, a red powdery explosion would await them.
Maybe you did this on purpose.
If they stole it again, you hoped their ass would explode in the toilet like that scene in White Chicks.
Serves them right.
…
Lunch break came.
You approached the fridge like a soldier returning to war.
You prayed the thief hadn’t struck again.
But the moment you picked up your Tupperware, the weight or lack of it—felt ominous.
You opened it and found it was already gone.
Again.
Empty.
But how? Why?
First of all, what the fuck? Second of all, who the hell devoured that hellishly spicy mapo tofu? Surely their stomach would declare war soon.
And third…
What. The. Fuck.
Who was this food-crazed glutton?
“…Wait,” you muttered to yourself. “If someone ate my super spicy Sichuan mapo tofu, their lips should be bright red right now!”
You didn’t hesitate.
Within the remaining minutes of your break, you scanned the entire floor like a detective on a mission.
Red lips. Red lips. Red lips.
But to no avail.
Your pepper-kissed burglar was nowhere to be found.
Much to your annoyance, there were simply too many employees in this company. Half of them wore bold red lipstick anyway. You couldn’t tell if it was spice-induced inflammation or just cosmetics.
You didn’t care.
You just wanted the rat-stealing-food burglar.
It was almost time to go home but unfortunately, a major project was in peak season. Several departments had to stay for overtime.
Including yours.
No one liked overtime.
Sure, you got paid. But was it worth it?
Maybe you should start your own business one day. Open a brunch café. Lower stress. Maybe finally use your bachelor’s degree properly.
You sighed.
Seokmin had given you a small box of macarons earlier after seeing the fury on your face but you hadn’t eaten them. You refused to fill your stomach with pity sweets. Too busy drowning in despair and caffeine as you typed aggressively at your keyboard.
The loud clacking and flipping of papers earned you a few glances.
You didn’t care.
Your food had been stolen. Twice.
Why should you care about their peace when they didn’t care about yours?
Fair is fair.
Eventually, you brushed it off and went downstairs to the convenience store before returning to the office. Instant noodles and sausages.
How classic.
You weren’t alone though.
There was a guy sitting a few seats away. Still in work clothes. His blazer hung over the back of his chair, sleeves rolled just above his elbows. He was eating two cups of buldak ramen, the spicy kind.
It reminded you of your Sichuan mapo tofu.
You felt like you were mourning a loss.
And for some reason, you caught a faint scent of pepper clinging to his suit.
Maybe you were imagining it.
People had been avoiding you all day anyway, some even spraying air freshener after you walked past.
Still, you kept glancing at him.
Was it common for two people to coincidentally crave spicy food on the same day? Watching him slurp down two buldak ramens made your stomach twist.
Noticing your stare, he paused.
He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and turned to you. “You got some staring problem?”
His voice was deep and calm but the tone carried an edge.
“What?”
“I said,” he continued, face still stoic, cheeks slightly puffed with noodles, “got some staring problem? I know I’m a sight for sore eyes, but didn’t anyone teach you it’s rude?”
You blinked.
“Excuse me?”
Now it was your turn to feel offended.
You almost apologized earlier. Good thing that you didn’t.
This guy is insufferable.
Judging by his face alone, of course he was. The only good thing about him was his face. And unfortunately, the bad thing was also his face. What a waste of something that pretty.
You couldn’t help but hope there was at least one imperfect thing about him. Maybe his personality was rotten. Maybe he snored. Maybe—
Whatever.
You just hoped his dick is ugly. Then again, no dick is ever pretty anyway.
“Rude…” you muttered under your breath before returning to your convenience-store “meal.”
After a while, you finished dinner and headed back into the company building, americano in hand.
And much to your surprise—
The guy was there too.
Walking in the same direction.
For a second, you almost thought he was a creep.
And then came the real disappointment.
He fucking worked here.
You nearly lost it on the spot.
Of course he did. Why wouldn’t he? People in this company were either painfully dull, aggressively gray, or casually insufferable. If you were lucky, you’d meet someone with a decent moral compass.
Rare species.
Standing in the same elevator as him didn’t help. You had a talent for meeting the worst people at the worst possible times.
What’s new?
Still, you caught it again.
That scent. It was faint now but familiar.
The lingering peppery aroma. The same one from your stolen mapo tofu.
Okay. Maybe you were slightly unhinged, grieving over lost lunch.
But still.
You sniffed subtly and shifted a little closer.
The man frowned at you like you’d just malfunctioned.
“Hypothetically speaking,” he said flatly, “if you want to fuck me, you could just say so.”
You blinked.
Excuse me?
Oh, you would absolutely fuck him up alright but that was a different story.
He was insufferable. And irritating him suddenly felt therapeutic.
You scoffed and stepped back into your space.
“You have your entire life to be a jerk,” you shot back. “Why not take today off?”
Now it was his turn to look at you properly.
“I don’t know what your problem is,” he replied calmly, “but I’m guessing it’s difficult to pronounce.”
Oh, he was annoying.
“If I wanted to hear from an asshole,” you said sweetly, “I’d fart.”
There was a brief silence.
He stared at you.
You stared back.
He genuinely looked like he was calculating whether you were capable of doing it.
The elevator doors slid open.
You stepped out first.
“See you not later, Mr. Hodenkobold.”
He looked like he was about to fire back but the doors closed before he could.
For once, it felt nice to rage-bait someone else.
Especially after your lunch had been stolen.
So you decided.
For the next two days, you were going to catch the rat-stealing-lunch and end this once and for all.
For a brief, dangerous second, you did consider rat poison. But the thought of going to jail?
Absolutely not.
As tempting as it was, you couldn’t risk it. You had a baby to feed back at your studio apartment.
Your cat.
While you were suffering over your stolen gourmet lunches, your cat—Wonton, the name you lovingly gave her, was happily eating premium-grade cat food.
It was unfair. Really.
So you came up with a plan.
This time, you packed a cute bento-themed lunchbox: omelet nori rolls and rice balls.
Except—
They were made of wax.
Yes. Wax.
You followed a YouTube tutorial. Styrofoam base. Acrylic paint for texture. You even added gloss to make it look freshly glazed. Turns out, you had raw talent for this.
It looked absolutely gouda. An egg-cellent fake lunchbox.
You were certain the food stealer was souper hungry right now.
Okay. You really needed to stop hanging out with Seokmin and his endless food puns.
You even added a faint pepper scent to make it smell convincing. Surely no one was dumb enough to fall for fake food.
…Right?
But if they did? It would be hilarious.
…
When you returned at lunch break and opened the lid, you froze.
“….”
There was one—no, two chunks missing.
A bite taken out of the fake omelet.
You blinked.
What kind of unhinged human gluttony was this?
You couldn’t brie-lieve it.
They actually ate the wax.
The next day, you switched tactics.
You made curry fish head, rich curry paste blooming in oil, coconut milk thickening the broth just the way you liked it. You had to thank Minghao again for that Southeast Asia culinary expedition.
This time?
Untouched.
The container was slightly shifted, the lid smudged but the food remained intact.
You assumed the thief wasn’t a seafood fan.
Or maybe allergic.
That theory lasted exactly twenty-four hours.
The following day, you packed creamy rosé pasta with shrimp and clams. Garnished with basil. Sprinkled with oregano. And, of course, little octopus-shaped cocktail sausages.
For insurance, you taped a note to the lid:
you
do not touch.
i will find you. bon appetit, mf.
You stuck it firmly on top of your Tupperware.
Surely this would intimidate them.
Surely.
...
You returned during lunch break and immediately noticed the note had slipped to the floor.
You picked it up.
Your handwriting stared back at you.
And underneath—
you.
do not touch.
i will find you. bon appetit, mf.
"𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐘"
You stared at it in disbelief at the bold, neat handwriting.
Slowly, you lifted the paper then tore it to shreds with your teeth, pure rage simmering in your veins.
The audacity must be on clearance sale.
When you opened the container, your jaw tightened.
Your pasta? Gone. The noodles devoured and the octopus-shaped sausages? Missing.
The shrimp and clams?
Only to be left behind.
Oh.
So they weren’t allergic.
They were picky.
You clenched your jaw, saliva dampening the dry paper as it scraped against your tongue. “Wow. Tasty, indeed,” you mocked under your breath.
This needs to end now.
You honestly need to lock the fuck in this time, to catch that rat-stealing-food burglar. You just hoped they stepped on dog shit today, that both their pillows smelled horrible, and that they’d have the worst fucking nightmare the moment they woke up.
“Hey,” Seokmin approached you with Soonyoung beside him. “Rice to meet you today.” He greeted cheerily, but the moment he noticed your moody face, he faltered. “Okay… berry sorry for that.”
Both of them leaned against the railings beside you. Soonyoung offered you a lollipop. You needed that so much instead of lighting up tobacco, which you’d quit back in your college days.
“Is it about the lunch stealing again?” he asked. “I carrot believe that person’s kept the stealing streak going this far.”
You gave him a look. It seemed like Seokmin had rubbed off on him with all those food puns.
He raised his hands in surrender. “In my defense, I’m feeling saucy today. It’s alright, we can grab dinner after this—my treat, of course.” Soonyoung tried to reassure you, knowing how furious you get when your food gets stolen.
“Yeah, let’s meat up for dinner!” Seokmin chimed in, making you roll your eyes.
Wait.
That’s it.
You have to meet that fucking rat-stealer face to face.
...
This time, you made your well-crafted most scrumptious, katsu sandwich. Cut in halves, three thick slices stacked neatly inside your Chiikawa-pattern container. Minghao had given it to you after his business trip to Japan, and you gladly accepted it since the cartoon was trending everywhere lately.
You liked the yellow rabbit character. It reminded you of yourself because he’s a big back.
Just like you.
Anyway.
You were not about to let your lunch get taken away this time.
And this time, you were going to protect it like it mattered more than your own life. For the sake of your health insurance, you tried not to pounce on that food burglar.
You were not about to let your money, sweat, and time go to waste again.
Now that you think about it, you probably should’ve shown up ten minutes earlier before catching the culprit.
Standing from your seat, you headed toward the office pantry and peeked inside.
You couldn’t believe your eyes.
Someone was hunching over the fridge, hand hovering over the transparent containers then toward your Chiikawa lunchbox.
“Hm, this is new…” he murmured. “…and tacky.”
Excuse me?
You weren’t about to back down when someone literally mocked your precious lunchbox pattern. So what? You liked when your mom packed your food in a Hello Kitty container with those little fruit picks shaped like cat ears.
You cleared your throat to catch his attention. He jumped slightly, straightening up.
“Isn’t it too early for lunch break?” you asked, slowly approaching him, arms crossed.
He blinked.
It was the same four-eyed dude who inhaled two fire spicy bowl ramens the other day. You almost scoffed.
“You again,” he echoed. “And who are you?”
He still stood there, relaxed like he hadn’t just been caught red-handed.
“Me?” you repeated nonchalantly. “I’m not that important. Rather, why don’t we start with you, buddy.”
He looked like he didn’t want to continue this conversation. Probably hoping you’d leave.
Fine.
You indulged him for a moment and gave your name. When he finally replied, you learned his.
Jeon fucking Wonwoo.
You plastered a smile on your face. He turned away, ignoring you. The two of you just stood there for a few tense seconds.
“Don’t you have work to do?” he asked, sounding impatient.
“How’s that coffee?” you shot back, blatantly ignoring his question.
Wonwoo frowned, more like bristled at it, as if offended.
“Why would I drink that slimy brown liquid?” he said. “Don’t tell me… you drink that thing?”
“It’s not that bad,” you shrugged.
(It absolutely sucks.)
He chuckled, clearly mocking you. “You sound like you hate yourself.”
Oh, he’s so cocky.
Three days. Three days you’ve suffered because of this stealing bitch.
“Actually…” you stepped closer. “What did you do these past few days?”
He cocked an eyebrow and leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “Why? It’s a workweek. What else would I be doing?”
You weren’t buying it. “Do you always come to the pantry this often?”
“…I mean, I have to eat,” he replied like it was obvious. “Of course I come here.”
“Wow, me too!” you exclaimed sarcastically. “I have an idea—why don’t we eat together then?”
That made him falter.
He suddenly looked uneasy at your smile. Like you were plotting something.
“…No, thank you. I prefer eating alone. Now can you leave?”
“Why not?” You stepped closer, almost chest to chest even though he was much taller.
He stiffened but tried to maintain composure, clearing his throat before a grin slowly spread across his face.
“I see. If you wanted me so much, you shouldn’t have thrown yourself at me like that,” he chuckled lowly, eyes dragging down your figure. “All you had to do was ask.”
Your smile dropped instantly and stepped back.
You wanted to wipe that stupid grin off his face. That smug look made you want to chop off all his limbs.
“Oh, don’t lose that smile,” he tutted. “I’d rather think that mouth could do better. Maybe you’d be my cup of tea. Either way, it’s cheesed to meet you, Miss ____.”
Hell nah.
You were not backing down either.
Smiling sweetly, you replied, “You know what else my mouth could do, Mr. Jeon?”
His eyebrow lifted.
“Hurt your feelings. I think dildo is a perfectly acceptable insult. I’d call you a dick—but you’re not real enough.”
That caught him off guard.
He opened his mouth. Closed it again.
For the first time, Jeon Wonwoo didn’t know what to say.
“Cat got your tongue?” you smiled. “Or maybe my words are true—your dick isn’t that real.”
His eyes darkened as he stepped forward.
“Watch it. Say that again and I’ll put that mouth to good use.”
And then—
A sudden loud gasp from behind.
Both of you turned toward the doorway to see Seungkwan, Seokmin, and Soonyoung frozen in place, hands dramatically covering their mouths.
“You heard that, guys?!” Seungkwan gasped. “What the fudge—she was about to get dicked down!”
Seokmin clutched Soonyoung’s arm. “Look at them pudding up against each other! They’re both nuts!”
“That’s tea-rrific,” Soonyoung added, “but whisk I’m willing to take for a pear like this!”
“GET OUT OF HERE!” you and Wonwoo barked simultaneously.
In the end, you shared your katsu sandwich with him.
Somehow, it turned into a mutual rant session about Hyunsuk. No one likes him anyway. Glad you’re both on the same boat.
He ended up taking you to dine at a downtown French bistro. Claimed it was “compensation.” Not that you were entirely forgiving about it.
You learned he works in the legal department. Recently promoted. Employee of the Month. Overworked to death.
“So, do you not have a life then?” you asked, noticing he’d loosened two buttons of his dress shirt, sleeves rolled up.
He’s handsome.
Annoyingly attractive.
If only he’d shut up.
But again, no attractive person should be forgiven for food stealing. Especially your lunch.
“I did,” he said, sipping his wine. “Until they put me to work.”
You nodded slowly. Then circled back.
“You could’ve just ordered takeaway. Why my lunch?”
He grinned, leaning back. “Why? Your lunch, of course. Yours is the best I’ve tasted so far.”
The audacity.
Rich in audacity. Poor manners.
“So… what would you like to order?” the waiter asked.
“Right. Food.” Wonwoo skimmed the menu.
“What do you recommend?” you asked.
He hummed, closing the menu and looking directly at you. “Anything that tastes good.”
Your throat dried slightly. Maybe you’re imagining things.
“Oh? Like what?”
“Meat.”
Silence.
“…Okay. I’ll just get ratatouille.”
“But that’s all vegetables.”
“Shut up, meathead.”
The waiter coughed. “How cooked would you like your steak, sir?”
Wonwoo was still looking at you.
“Make it medium rare. And make it two,” you smiled. “I’d like a piece of meat too.”
The waiter jolted and left immediately.
“How long have you been stealing?” you circled back.
He sighed. “Look, I didn’t mean to do that—well, that was until I met you.”
“M-me?”
“Your lunch.”
Oh.
“I don’t like takeaways. I used to live with my roommate, Mingyu. He cooked for both of us until I moved into my own apartment,” he said. “And I can’t cook for shit.”
“Can tell,” you replied smoothly. “Your personality is probably as shitty as your cooking.”
He glared.
You smiled.
“Watch that,” he warned. “I’m definitely putting that smart mouth to good use—”
“Shut up. Save it for later. I’m not riding that fake dick.”
“…”
Silence.
You took a sip of wine, scanning the dim lights of the restaurant. Fine dining. Expensive plates. His salary was probably double yours anyway.
“Here’s the deal,” you said. “Stop eating my lunch. That’s it.”
He considered. “Fine. I’ll pay for your groceries. How about that?”
“Nah.”
Wonwoo frowned, fingers lacing together. “Okay, I’m sorry. But I really don’t like the dripping coffee machine. And the cafeteria sucks. And I hate that the caterer keeps slipping her phone number onto my tray.”
“All I ate were ham and cream cheese bagels,” he continued. “Depressing, I know.”
You raised a brow, unimpressed. “Why not? For an attention whore like you, I thought you’d enjoy it.”
“She’s married. With five kids.”
“….”
Okay. Fair enough.
“Alright,” you sighed. “I’ll bite.”
His eyes lit up.
He almost reached across the table, close to your hand then thought better of it and grabbed the napkins instead.
“Can I go to your place after this?” he asked suddenly.
You nearly choked on your wine. “Excuse me? Aren’t we going too fast?”
“To inspect your goods,” he deadpanned. “Your fridge.”
Yeah.
He’s definitely messing with you.
You did let him come back to your studio apartment, after all the groceries were paid for by him, of course. In return, you taught him how to make the katsu sandwich he’d been annoyingly edging about all night.
And yes, it turns out he really doesn’t like seafood. Wonwoo said it upsets his stomach, and once was enough for him to swear it off forever.
You set the groceries aside just as your cat greeted you, weaving around your ankles while you washed your hands, Wonwoo hovering awkwardly behind you.
Your place was cozy. Very you, he thought.
“Who’s this little companion?” he asked, crouching down to pet your white Persian cat. “Got a name?” He glanced up at you, finally noticing the frilly apron you were wearing.
“Wonton,” you said, peeling onions as you passed him another apron, this one reading Kiss the Cook.
He slipped it over his head without complaint. “That’s funny. Do you have a food phase or something?”
Now that you thought about it… yeah.
“Yeah. I got dumpling takeaway that night, and she was inside the box when she was still a kitten. So I named her Wonton.”
The rest of the time, you walked him through each step carefully.
“So,” he said casually, “how often do you pound the meat?”
Silence.
You looked up.
He looked back, utterly oblivious. “The fried chicken sandwich yesterday was delectable.”
“Not much,” you muttered, going back to chopping potatoes. “Other than salty food—do you like sweets?”
He hummed while dipping the meat into egg batter and breadcrumbs. “Not really to be exact. I had it during a business trip in Europe. I don’t remember what it’s called. Something like… quickie?”
Your knife froze mid-chop.
“…Quiche,” you corrected. “It’s called quiche, Wonwoo.”
His face lit up, nodding like he’d just learned a new word.
For a moment, you wondered if he was messing with you but the genuine reaction told you otherwise.
“Are you messing with me?”
He blinked. “What? Did I say something wrong?”
You didn’t push it. It was pointless.
“Why can’t you cook?” you asked instead, lowering the coated meat into hot oil.
“Well, there’s this thing called ‘I just don’t,’” he said. “I once almost ate half-burnt scrambled eggs and decided never again.”
You scoffed. “It costs nothing to be kind with your words, you know.”
“Some days it costs me my fucking sanity, honey,” he shot back, eyes sharp.
Which would’ve been intimidating if he weren’t wearing that Kiss the Cook apron.
Your mom was right. There’s nothing romantic about cooking together. Move the fuck away.
“You know what?” you said. “Let’s split up to cover more ground. I’ll go left, and you go fuck yourself.”
“Don’t mind if I do,” he grinned. “Just don’t ogle me when I pound my meat. I’d know myself for the whole course of the meal.”
He’s so hot. If only he shut up.
“Calling yourself a meal when you’ve had an STD?” you said, setting the fried cutlet aside. “Okay, food poisoning.”
He frowned. “I’d have you know I’m very healthy and clean. So you’re safe.”
“No one said I’d fuck you.”
“Fuck you.”
“Gladly,” you replied. “But after we finish this, I’ll have my way with you later.”
“…..”
“So,” he said, scanning your apartment. “You live like this while working at a million-dollar company?”
“I live alone,” you shrugged, cutting the sandwich in half and handing it to him. “No reason for a big place. I do need a spacious kitchen, though.”
He nodded, biting into it. “Fair. What about a boyfriend? Girlfriend?”
“Don’t have time for that.”
“It’s alright,” you added. “At least I get to rest on weekends. What about you? Hobbies?”
He hummed. “I dissociate. I play games. And lately, my bed is the only thing calling me.”
“Oh,” you said. “Then… hookups?”
He leaned closer, smirking. “Are you offering?”
“Hell no,” you said immediately. “I don’t have the energy.”
“For what?”
You gestured at him.
He rolled his eyes. “Yeah. Half of your personality is just symptoms.”
“Your mom.”
“My mom passed away four years ago,” he said simply.
Well. That rhymed.
Silence stretched between you.
You swallowed. “…Sorry to hear that.”
“It’s okay,” he said, finishing his sandwich. “It’s been a while. I still miss her.”
Another quiet beat.
“So…” you said carefully, “wanna catch up on Bridgerton?”
...
That night, you both sat on the couch with a noticeable gap between you, a cushion clutched to your chest like a shield.
The room was dim, lit only by the TV. Surprisingly, he was fully invested in Bridgerton. What was supposed to be one episode turned into a full marathon.
For some reason, it felt intimate.
Jeon Wonwoo, your coworker. The man who stole your lunch for a week. Also, the cause of your suffering.
Insufferable. Infuriating. Hot as fuck.
It would be a lie to say you’d never found him attractive. Well, except for that foul mouth. Not that you were any better.
The problem with this show was the sex scenes.
You’d completely forgotten how many there were.
Every time one came on, you felt the urge to skip it but Wonwoo didn’t move. He watched with the same unreadable expression, completely composed like poker-faced.
It was impossible to tell what he was thinking inside his head.
Another scene started.
Just great.
You were very aware of how you shifted slightly, how your fingers tightened around the cushion, how your knees pressed together. The small breath you exhaled without meaning to.
The couch shifted.
He turned his head toward you.
He definitely noticed and yet, he said nothing. That somehow made it worse.
Because he remembered the way you talked to him.
The insults. The degradation. The way you never backed down.
Fuck.
Maybe that’s what did it.
Maybe Jeon Wonwoo was turned on by the way you spoke to him like you weren’t afraid.
“Do you want to make out and make noises?” he asked suddenly, looking at you like it was the most normal thing in the world.
You blinked.
For a moment, your brain short-circuited.
Then you thought: when else are you going to get the chance to make out with a disgustingly attractive man like this?
Exactly.
“Thought you’d never ask,” you muttered, dropping the cushion before swinging a leg over his lap.
“Hell yeah,” he breathed.
His hands found your hips instantly.
The kiss wasn’t gentle.
It was messy. Almost clumsy at first, teeth knocking, breaths uneven but it quickly deepened. His mouth moved slowly against yours, deliberate now. One hand slid up to the back of your head, fingers threading into your hair, holding you there.
You let out a soft sound against his mouth without meaning to.
Your body pressed closer.
He let out a low groan, restrained but it vibrated against your lips. You could feel his hardness pressed against yours, and it’s big.
When his tongue brushed yours, it wasn’t rushed. It was slow and intentional. Like he was testing how much you’d let him have.
You were already giving too much.
Time blurred.
When you finally pulled back, it wasn’t far. Just enough to breathe. A thin string of saliva caught in the dim light before breaking.
He looked up at you, and whatever was in his eyes now wasn’t smugness.
It was hunger.
Like he hadn’t had enough.
His head leaned closer until the tip of his nose brushed yours as he murmured, “…I want you,” he breathed. “Please. I need to have you tonight.”
Your heart pounded at the sound of his voice. The way his ragged breath fanned against your lips.
His hand wandered, softly caressing your back before sliding lower to grip your ass, making you jump slightly.
He grinned at your reaction. “Is that a yes?” he chuckled lowly, squeezing more firmly this time, drawing a gasp from you as your hands instinctively gripped his shoulders.
“Cute,” he murmured, kissing the corner of your lips before looking up at you again. “…I need that pretty mouth of yours working now, since you’ve been such a smartass with me the whole time.”
Something about his piercing gaze made the heat pool low in your stomach. God, his commanding voice alone was enough to make you melt like chocolate left out too long under the sun.
You’re not a masochist, of course.
His thumb traced slowly over your lips before pressing gently, parting them as he slid the pad of his thumb just inside. His voice dropped.
“Get on your knees. Now.”
Did you listen? Hell yeah.
“Normally, I wouldn’t get on my knees for a man, but here I am,” you muttered as you moved between his thighs, while he spread his legs slightly, working at his belt and the sleek pants he’d worn earlier to dinner.
“I’m flattered to be the first man,” he chuckled. You could see the damp, slight pre-cum stain against his boxer. Then pulling the underwear down to reveal his shaft.
Giving a few pumps as he strokes his dick, groaning as his head goes over the couch. “Fuck, now go make use of that pretty mouth, baby.”
You breathe out, seeing that shafts make you hesitate a bit. Okay, that was a real dick; you take that back for insulting and calling his stupid dick fake.
Slowly wrapping your delicate hands around his shaft, you glance up to see his head thrown over the couch as you give a kiss on the tip of his cockhead.
His breath hitched as he watched you kneel between his legs, those soft eyes looking up at him with a mix of nervousness and determination. The sight alone made his cock throb harder in your gentle grip.
"Fuck..." he breathed out, his head tilting back against the couch cushion as he felt your lips brush against his sensitive tip.
His fingers instinctively tangled in your long wavy brown hair, not pulling but just... holding on. Grounding himself. The way your hands wrapped around his shaft made him stroke himself slower, more deliberately, letting you set the pace.
"You're so fucking pretty like this," he murmured, his voice rough and low as he watched your every move. "But you know what... I don't want your hands right now."
He gently guided your head down, his cock pressing against your lips as he guided you to take him in. Not all at once, he didn't want to make you gag or feel uncomfortable. Just... enough to feel you.
"Mmm... that's it," he groaned softly, his other hand moving to cup the back of your head possessively. "Use that pretty mouth of yours now. I want to hear from you."
His hips gave a subtle thrust, not demanding but encouraging. His eyes stayed locked on you, watching the way your lips stretched around him, the wet sounds filling the room.
"Christ... you're incredible," he breathed, his thumb stroking along your jawline tenderly despite the rough situation.
You stiffen slightly, feeling his whole length around your mouth. Slowly making your jaw work as you bobbed your head, sucking him good.
He stopped you mid-blowjob, pulling you up by your waist with surprising strength. The way you were panting, lips swollen from worshipping his cock, made him nearly lose control entirely.
"Fuck... you look so good like this," he growled, his voice strained as he guided you toward the bed.
Setting you down gently on the mattress, he immediately followed, positioning himself between your thighs. His hands pushed your skirt up slowly, deliberately, savoring how exposed you were for him.
"Shit…" he breathed, his eyes darkening as he stared at your glistening core. "So fucking wet for me already."
Without hesitation, he leaned down and buried his face between your legs, his tongue immediately seeking out your clit. The taste of you made him groan against your sensitive flesh.
"Mmm... fuck, you taste so good," he murmured against you, his tongue working in slow, deliberate circles. "Let me eat you properly before I take you."
His fingers gripped your thighs gently but firmly, spreading you wider as he feasted on you with renewed focus, determined to make you come on his tongue first.
You gasped sharply, your palm flying to your mouth, feeling his mouth dive in like a starved man. He knows exactly what you need to push you over the edge. Your fingers tangled in his hair, holding him close.
He laughs against your core, feeling your fingers tangle in his hair. It made him groan with satisfaction. The way your body trembled beneath his mouth, your gasps growing louder.
It was fucking intoxicating.
He continues to lap on your cunt, wanting you to come undone by his tongue. He could feel you’re coming close as he works closer and closer to the edge. His fingers thrust in and out of you, over and over again.
“Fuck— you’re so close already,” he murmured against your soaked folds, his tongue working faster now. “Let go baby, let me taste it.”
You could feel your orgasm coming closer as he kept pumping into you. When you finally came, his fingers still pumping inside you, he felt your walls clench around him rhythmically. The sight of you completely undone, head thrown back as pleasure washed over you— it made him nearly lose control too.
You swore you almost saw stars and later, he was going to make you see the entire fucking galaxy once he was inside you.
“God, you look so beautiful like this,” he breathed, slowly pulling his fingers out of you with a soft, wet sound. “So fucking beautiful when you let go.”
You gave him a weak tap, blinking as you tried to catch your breath. God, you hadn’t felt this good in a long time. Or maybe no one had ever made you feel this good.
It was embarrassing to let him see you like this. Kind of pathetic, honestly, to get so worked up just from being eaten out.
Wonwoo chuckled, settling himself between your thighs as he looked down at you, almost menacingly. “Take your time, sweet pea. I’m not done with you yet.”
Then, surprisingly, he said something reasonable. “Just to make sure—give me a safe word.”
You blinked, finally propping yourself up on your elbows against the mattress as you considered it.
“Strawberry,” you said.
He raised an eyebrow. “Make it shorter. Do you think you can say that before I pound you like dough?”
You huffed. “Cherry, then.”
“Fair enough.” He leaned in to kiss you again but stopped midway. “I don’t have condoms, though…”
And you weren’t on pills. You couldn’t blame him. No one had expected this to happen.
You checked the drawer beside your bed. It had probably been sitting there for two years, back when you never expected there’d be a man in your life again.
When you handed it to him, he bristled, letting out a laugh and flashing a cocky grin. “This isn’t my size, sugarplum. It’s alright—I’ll pull out immediately,” he promised, pressing a kiss to your temple then running his hands along your curves possessively.
He sheathed himself slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. There was no hesitation in his movements, yet something raw, almost vulnerable flickered across his expression.
“I’m clean,” he murmured, his voice more serious now. “And I’ve never done this without protection before. So… yeah.” His gaze softened just slightly. “I’m trusting you, too.”
You let out a small whimper, feeling himself positioned at your entrance, his cock pressing against your wet heat. His thumbs framed your face, cradling it gently.
“Tell me you want this,” he said softly, eyes searching yours. “Tell me you want me inside you bare.” His hips gave a small thrust, just teasing waiting for your answer.
Almost cussing out at him for purposely made you feel this way, you breathe out almost pleadingly despite your bite. “...you asshole, stop playing—” you sharply inhaled when he thrusted his cock inside you.
He felt you gasp as he pushed inside, his cock stretching you open slowly.
Fucking hell.
The way you clenched around him immediately made him grit his teeth, might as well come inside you at this point.
“Fuck…” he breathed out, his hands moving to grip your hips. “So tight…fuck, you’re so fucking tight.” He didn’t slam in, he took his time, letting you adjust to him. The way your walls squeezed him rhythmically was almost too much, but he forced himself to stay controlled.
And you—you never felt so fucking amazing right now. You think you might ascend to heaven. Eyes rolling over with your grip tightens on the sheets.
“Still with me, sweet pea?” he asked, voice strained as he hilted himself completely inside you.
You nodded slowly at him, murmured softly, “...yeah…you can move faster now.”
His fingers dug into your skin slightly, not quite bruising but definitely holding on tight. Breath hitched when you finally gave him permission, that single nod making his control slip dangerously. The way your walls were already clenching around him was driving him insane.
“Thank fuck,” he breathed out, hips already starting to move. He pulled back slowly, feeling every inch of you squeeze around him then thrust forward with more purpose. The wet sounds of your tangled bodies filled the room.
Your poor cat, Wonton, is already scurrying away somewhere.
He could feel your body trembling beneath him, and it made something possessive ignite in him. He wanted every gasp, every moan and every shudder of pleasure entirely for himself.
His thrusts became faster, more desperate as his breath came in harsh pants against your neck. “Tell me how it feels,” he demanded softly, one hand moving to cup your chin, fracking you to look at him. "Tell me when you’re close.”
His cock throbbed inside you, pre-cum leaking out but he was determined to make this last. To make you feel as good as you made him feel earlier with that perfect, needy mouth.
“You’re killing me,” he admitted breathlessly, his forehead resting against yours. “But I’m not pulling out until I see you completely destroyed…”
...on my cock.” you heard him finished, his voice thick with need.
God, you can’t even talk properly with him. Did he just fucked you this good?
His hips snapped against yours, making you gasp. The change in rhythm was almost punishing— harder, faster and deeper. Each thrust he gave, sent pleasure spiraling through your waves, making your toes curl and your visions blur.
“Fuck…fuck— Wonwoo! You cried out, back arching off the bed slightly as he drove into you relentlessly.
One of his hands moved from your hip to your hair, fisting it rough;y and tilting your head back. His lips crashed against yours in a desperate, messy kiss that tasted like desperation and need.
“Say my name while I fuck you.” He demanded between kisses, his other hand moving to your throat, just barely pressing, not choking but claiming.
“Wonwoo!” you sobbed into the kiss, voice breaking.
It was all too much. His mouth on yours, hands on you and the way he was fucking you like he wanted to imprint himself on your very soul. Your orgasm built faster than you could handle, climbing higher and higher until you were breathless and dizzy.
“I’m—oh god— I’m—” you couldn’t even finish the sentence as pleasure crashed over you in waves, your inner walls clamping down around him.
He felt you come, your body shaking and clenching around his cock, and it was his undoing. With a guttural groan, he buried himself deep inside then immediately pulled out as he promised. His remains spilled on your stomach, giving a few last pumps as he stays there.
“Fuck… fuck…” he breathed against your neck, his body collapsing onto yours as aftershocks rippled through both of you.
You stayed like that for a while, limbs tangled, your body slowly growing heavy with exhaustion.
But goddamn. That was the best sex you’d ever had.
(You’d only had, like, two back in school, but whatever.)
Just when you thought he was finished, he lifted his head and looked down at you before finally shrugging off the dress shirt that had been hanging open. He pulled it over his broad shoulders, revealing the hard planes of his chest and the lean muscle beneath.
God, you silently thanked the heavens for giving you an asshole that looked like him.
Grinning cockily, he hovered over you, his voice dropping into a husky murmur. “Oh, I’m not done yet, honeybun. That was just the appetizer. We still have the full course and dessert.”
Okay, maybe you should’ve bought the condoms and pills when you were grocery shopping with him.
“Now strip bare before I devour you for real.” He smacked your ass and squeezed, making you yelp.
The rest was history.
The next morning. Thank heavens it was Saturday. You would not have survived this if it were Monday and a workweek.
You fumbled beneath the comforter, still half-asleep. Then it hit you.
You’d been dicked down by the most insufferable, food-thieving man alive.
Slowly, you sat up, immediately feeling the soreness between your thighs.
Thanks a lot to that bastard for bottoming you out so good.
And you loved every single second of it.
Noticing the empty space beside you, your gaze drifted across the room—only to find him in nothing but his boxers, crouched beside Wonton, your cat. It looked like he’d already fed her.
Wow.
The sight of him watching your cat eat was almost… innocent.
Was that really the same person who pounded you like a beast last night?
Whatever.
You looked down and realized you were wearing his dress shirt. He probably cleaned you up before you passed out.
Pushing yourself out of bed, you shuffled toward the kitchen. You were starving, might as well whip something up.
He noticed you rummaging through the fridge and followed after you.
“Morning,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around your waist as you worked at the counter. “What’s for breakfast?”
“Me,” you joked.
He immediately groped your chest, making you yelp as you slapped his hands away.
He didn’t look sorry at all. “You said it. I’m just taking what I want,” he grinned against your ear, pressing a soft kiss there.
“Let’s get married,” he suddenly said. “I need you for a lifetime.”
You hummed thoughtfully while whisking the pancake batter. “For what? The food or the sex?”
“Both,” he confirmed easily. “I already paid for the groceries. I’m basically your wallet at this point. Marry me and you get both—my dick and my money.”
You had to stifle a laugh.
His arms tightened around you as he added, “Then I can finally fuck you without using those damn condoms and pills.”
That made you turn to look at him, eyebrow raised as he flashed that stupidly annoying grin.
“Was that a threat?”
“A promise,” he corrected. “We’d make a great pear. And I wouldn’t mind putting a few little peanuts in you.”
He nuzzled your nape like an oversized cat.
You stared at him in disbelief.
“You’re crazy.”
“Yeah,” he said smoothly. “I’m nuts for you, sweetie pie.”
Since that day, you kept seeing Wonwoo during lunch breaks at work.
With a price, of course. The lunch arrangement.
For some reason, you couldn’t help but notice the change in his personality. Well… he’d been a lot nicer lately.
And it scared the shit out of you.
You’d rather have him insufferable as always, wearing that stupid cocky grin.
Okay, maybe not. That was too annoying. You weren’t sure you could restrain your fist from connecting with his majestic face.
“Have you been sitting in all that sugar you bake with? Because you’ve got a sweet butt,” Wonwoo suddenly said.
A loud crash echoed through the kitchen as you dropped the baking tray in your hands, staring at him in horror.
Noticing your mortified expression, he took a step back. “Sorry. Too forward?”
He’d been crashing at your place again, insisting on driving you home as an excuse to spend more time together.
“Have you been laying in sugar, sweetheart?” he tried again. “Because you’re looking pretty sweet. Is that better?” he asked, almost apologetically.
You honestly didn’t know what to say, setting the meatloaf aside.
“I mean…” you started slowly, “…you always smack my ass whenever you get the chance, but I’d appreciate it if you didn’t do it when I’m about to get into the passenger seat.”
He waved a dismissive hand. “I think all of you are sweet, really.” Then he added, “I can tell your parents were bakers—they’d have to be to make a cutie pie like you.”
You blinked, finally turning to look at him. “…Well, my mom was a baker. And my brother owns a café, so yeah. Technically.”
“Wait, really?” he asked, momentarily dropping the act. “Why didn’t I know that?”
“You never asked,” you replied simply, waving him off. “By the way, what’s with all these cheesy pick-up lines? Where did you even learn them?”
Completely ignoring your question, he continued, “Are you bread? Because you’re the loaf of my life.”
Your lips twitched. “Okay, now you’re up to something. Did you lose a bet?”
“I think I’ve got cavities, because you’re too sweet.”
You chuckled, leaning against the kitchen counter in your pink frilly apron. “If you’re trying to seduce me into baking cookies, you could’ve just asked.”
“I don’t know about cookies,” he shot back smoothly, “but you and I would bake a great couple.”
Your smile widened as you pushed off the counter and slowly walked toward him. “Oh? Is that what you think?”
He audibly gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he watched you approach.
“Did you just come out of the oven?” he continued weakly. “Because you’re hot.”
You let out a soft giggle, stopping in front of him and placing your hands on his shoulders. “I don’t know if I’m scared of you or attracted to you.”
His hands naturally found your waist. “Marry me, please. Let me be your husband. I’ll take care of you… and our little peanut. Soon.” He nuzzled into your neck.
Smiling, you couldn’t help but laugh. “Hey, Won,” you murmured, “if you want something sweet, there’s plenty of sugar right here.”
You tapped your lips playfully. He didn’t hesitate before pressing his mouth to yours.
A moment later, you both pulled back, laughing and giggling like idiots, foreheads resting against each other.
“By the way,” you asked softly, “where did you even learn those pick-up lines?”
He paused, thinking for a second.
“Jeonghan,” he said simply.
Ah.
Of course.
You never liked him. Same department as Wonwoo…just more obnoxious.
He definitely put him up to this on purpose.
One thing you actually learned from your mother's advice that surprisingly worked was that the fastest way into a man’s heart was through his stomach.
Turns out, he stopped stealing your food. He found something sweeter to keep instead.
FIN.
A/N: once again, thanks a lot for staying until the end, apples!! finally we've come to the end. if you're interested in more of my fics, feel free to check my page and my masterlist, if any of you guys are interested include in my taglist, feel free to sign in the form link.
feedbacks and comments are appreciated!! (for future purposes, so that i will improve my writings more.) pls do support me if you found this entertaining! ˙𐃷˙ here
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
Smut Warnings: Explicit sexual acts - Phone Sex - Mutual Masturbation - Dom! Wonwoo - Brat! F. Reader - Biting - Choking - Hairpulling - Semi Public Sex - PIV - Unprotected intercourse
This story is intended for an adult audience only. Minors do not interact.
You are going to die here.
That’s the thought that keeps drifting through your head as you blink at the same line of dialogue for the twelfth time, the blue light from three mismatched monitors painting your apartment in shades of insomnia. Your eyes burn and your spine feels like it’s been replaced with poorly implemented ragdoll physics, but your fingers keep moving anyway, muscle memory dragging you forward.
Your desk is a war zone. Empty energy drink cans stand around your keyboard. Sticky notes cling to the edge of your monitor in neon layers, covered in half-legible scribbles about branching choices and emotional beats, little arrows connecting one colour to another as if you thought that would actually help at the time. There’s a cold slice of congealed pizza on a plate somewhere under a pile of printed scripts you swore you’d recycle three days ago. A hoodie you don’t remember taking off is half on your chair, half on the floor. Somewhere under it all, your phone vibrates and then gives up when you don’t bother to check.
You crack your knuckles, stretch your neck until it pops, and reread the dialogue you just typed. You grimace. Too melodramatic, not enough specificity. Too “late-night drama,” not enough “player agency.” You delete the line and start again, fingers clattering, a soft plastic storm in the quiet of your apartment. The clock in the corner of your screen informs you, very helpfully, that it’s 02:43.
You were supposed to send the final script for this indie client six hours ago. But they pushed new requirements yesterday – “a more emotionally resonant, cinematic ending, you know, like that huge AAA title but different enough that we don’t get sued” – and then attached a list of notes that made it clear they had no actual idea what they wanted. Typical.
You scroll through the feedback again, jaw tightening at the last line: We know you’re really good with feelings and stuff, so just sprinkle some of that magic on there. We’ll worry about the “real” game bits. You don’t need a mirror to know your expression right now could curdle milk.
Sure. Feelings. Sprinkle some on. Like parsley. Like you’re not the one who also mapped their entire progression path because they didn’t hire a systems designer and hoped you wouldn’t notice.
Your cursor blinks. You type, erase, retype. The story in your head is broader than what’s making it onto the screen; it always is. Your brain wants to build a whole trilogy, and your contract only pays for four endings and twelve unique dialogue paths. You keep catching yourself jotting down ideas that go way beyond scope, then crossing them out hard enough to rip the page.
You force yourself to focus. Deep breath. Okay. You can do this. One last pass. Then maybe, if you’re lucky, three hours of sleep and a shower that doesn’t involve you crying silently under the hot water. You promise yourself an actual breakfast, too, even though you already know that’s a lie.
Your inbox tab flashes with a new email.
You almost ignore it. Nothing good ever lands in your inbox after midnight. It’s either a passive-aggressive reminder, a bug report, or your mother sending you a link to yet another “stable career path in marketing or UX writing.” Still, the notification icon is glaring at you like a boss’ health bar at 2%. You sigh, swipe the cans aside enough to find your mouse, and click over. The sender field makes your brain stutter.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Invitation to Discuss Potential Collaboration
The logo is crisp and tiny next to their domain, the stylised anvil-and-flame you’ve seen a thousand times on splash screens, posters, and awards shows. Titan Forge. The company that basically defined your teenage years, the one whose GDC talks you watch on YouTube when you need inspiration, the one that other studios name-drop in their “inspired by” decks. The name people drop into conversations with a certain reverence, like it’s a magic spell that can open doors. You click the email open with hands that suddenly don’t feel entirely attached to your body.
Dear,
Titan Forge is exploring potential collaboration opportunities with select external developers for upcoming projects. Your previous work has come to our attention, and we would like to invite you to our offices to discuss a possible partnership.
Please find attached a mutual NDA for review and signature, along with the proposed date for an in-person meeting at our studio.
We look forward to speaking with you.
Best regards,
Titan Forge Talent & Partnerships
You reread it once. Twice. Five times. Your heart thumps so hard you can hear it in your ears. The words blur, then snap back into focus. Your previous work has come to our attention.
You glance around your apartment like someone might be standing in the corner with a camera, waiting to yell “Pranked!” But there’s only your dying plant, your dirty mug, and your mess of cables. The plant droops accusingly, like it knows you’re about to forget to water it for another three days.
You check the sender carefully. It’s a real Titan Forge domain. The signature block looks clean, not one of those obvious scams with Comic Sans and bad logos. There’s an NDA attached, and it’s long and boring and full of legalese about confidential information and non-disclosure, and no, you may not tweet anything. This is real.
You scroll back up, suddenly hyper-aware of the film of sweat on your palms. There are no details about the project. No indication of what “upcoming projects” means. Just “potential collaboration” and a date in three days’ time, in an office you’ve walked past more than once, telling yourself someday you’d get inside. You remember stopping across the street once just to stare at their lobby, watching badge-wearing employees scan in like it was nothing.
Doubt slinks in like a glitch through a wall. Maybe they sent this to the wrong person. Maybe they meant it for someone else, and your email got autocomplete’d by accident. Maybe they think you’re your own more impressive clone, the version of you who’s already shipped a breakout hit and has a hundred thousand followers on whatever platform is currently eating Twitter’s corpse.
You’re painfully familiar with being underestimated. Conferences where you’ve been asked if you’re “here with your boyfriend.” Panels where your questions get redirected to the guy next to you. Clients who praise your “soft skills” and then hand combat design to some dude whose portfolio is three jam entries and a YouTube channel. This… doesn’t feel like that. This feels like someone, somewhere, actually noticed. Like they played something you wrote and cared enough to remember your name. Which, obviously, means there’s probably a trap.
You scroll again to make sure you haven’t missed the part that says “participation unpaid, for exposure only.” There’s nothing. Just an address, a time, and the NDA. Your cursor hovers over the “Reply” button.
If you accept and it’s a mistake, you’ll die of embarrassment in their lobby while security escorts you out and some bored receptionist makes a note never to let you back in. You can already picture yourself walking home with your laptop bag feeling heavier than your entire body. If you don’t accept and it’s real, you will never forgive yourself.
You drag a hand over your face, pressing your fingers into your eyes until sparks dance behind your eyelids. Your pulse is jittery, too fast, like pre-boss-fight music when you haven’t found the health pickups yet. You open the NDA attachment again, scroll to the bottom, and type your name in the signature field. You attach the signed document, and before you can talk yourself out of it, you type a reply.
“Thank you for reaching out. I would be happy to visit the studio to discuss potential collaboration. The proposed date works for me.”
You hover over the send button. Your stomach swoops like you’re staring down a boss arena. You hit send.
The email flies out into the void. There’s no explosion, no confetti, no immediate follow-up saying “Sorry, wrong person.” Just the quiet hum of your PC and the soft, endless buzz of the fridge in the corner. You lean back in your chair, staring at the ceiling.
You’ve been here before. This is the part where your brain tries to speedrun every possible worst-case scenario. It’ll tell you the competition is all men in expensive hoodies with more followers than you; that they’re going to look at you and see someone who likes “feelings and stuff” but doesn’t know real game design. You’ve survived this industry long enough to recognise the voice in your head that doesn’t belong to you. The one that sounds suspiciously like a collection of panel mansplainers and Reddit threads.
You take a breath. You can panic later. After the deadline you’re about to miss. You spin your chair back to your script and drag the current scene to the side, opening your notes. The feedback doc sits there, smug and bullet-pointed.
You let your forehead drop gently onto your keyboard. The keys imprint little squares into your skin. You exhale into the plastic. “Okay,” you mutter to yourself, words coming out muffled against the spacebar, then lift your head. “Fine. One more pass, then I send this, then I freak out about Titan Forge in a controlled manner.”
Promise made, you rework the scene until your eyes sting. You adjust lines, trim redundancies, and add that one small choice that ties back to an earlier conversation and makes everything hurt more. By the time you hit send on the revised script and attach the build notes, the sky outside your window is shifting toward that pre-dawn grey that feels like a graphics engine with no lighting baked in.
You watch your sent email slide into the folder and sit there, accusing you. There will be more notes. There are always more notes. But for now, you are free. Free, and buzzing with too much adrenaline and too many energy drinks in your bloodstream to sleep. You check the time: 04:19.
Sleep would be the sensible choice. Like good posture, or actually leaving your apartment sometimes. You open your game launcher instead.
The Aetherion icon glows in the centre of your screen, your most-used app after your engine and your writing software. The familiar loading animation swirls, the orchestral theme swelling in a way that still hits you in the chest, even after hundreds of hours. You’ve written breakdowns of this intro just to figure out why it works so well; you still don’t know, not really.
The login screen fades in. You type your password by muscle memory, fingers moving faster than conscious thought. Your username materialises in the corner: MidnightNyx
You select your main.
Nyx appears in a burst of light — slim, dark armour etched with faintly glowing sigils, twin daggers strapped across her back, a hood shadowing her face. She stands in the middle of the Iridescent Wilds, crystalline trees rising around her, their branches tinkling softly as pixelated wind passes through. Wisps of colour drift like fireflies between the trunks.
For a second, you just breathe.
The tiny floating UI elements, the faint shimmer of particle effects, the distant silhouettes of other players moving like fireflies through the forest — it all feels like stepping into a version of reality that fits you better than the one with rent and deadlines and emails that may or may not change your entire career.
You move Nyx forward with the lightest touch on your keys, listening to the soft thud of her boots on glassy ground. Her cape sways; the gems in the trees refract light in shifting patterns. Somewhere overhead, a dragon’s silhouette cuts across a distant moon. Your chat box blinks with system messages. A friend request from someone you don’t remember grouping with; a guild recruitment spam; a global shout about some rare world event spawning in fifteen minutes.
Your guild status still reads [Solo]. You’ve been invited to join groups before, but there’s something comforting about logging in alone, slipping into the world without anyone expecting you to talk. No cameras, no commentary, no one asking you to justify your design decisions in real time. The raid finder icon pulses.
You roll your neck, stretching the knot at the base of your skull. The Titan Forge email sits behind all of this like another open window in your brain. You’re not going to be able to stop thinking about it. But you can redirect the energy. Screw sleep. You guide your cursor to the raid queue and hover over “Crystal Depths – Mythic.”
Probably a bad idea. Your reaction time is trash on this little sleep. But Crystal Depths is your favourite: a dungeon carved entirely out of luminous gemstone, mechanics built around light refraction and shadow phases. Elegant, punishing, beautiful. The kind of encounter you secretly wish you’d designed. You click the queue button. A small confirmation pops up. Enter matchmaking as: [DPS] [Healer] [Tank]
You smirk despite yourself and tap DPS. The queue timer starts ticking up, numbers creeping higher in the corner of your screen.
You tug your blanket off the back of your chair and wrap it around your shoulders like a cloak, pulling your knees up under you. The fabric smells like coffee and takeout and you. Under your breath, you murmur, half to Nyx, half to yourself, “No pressure, right?”
The words hang in the air, small and wry, and you can’t tell if you’re talking about the raid you just queued for or the meeting you just agreed to with a company that could rewrite your career. Probably both.
The timer ticks past 01:23. Somewhere in the world, other players are also hitting “Join.” Different screens, different lives, all funnelled into the same encounter, the same boss arena, the same glowing loot. You watch the spinning icon and let your heartbeat settle into a steadier rhythm.
Here, you know what you’re doing. Here, you’ve already proven yourself a hundred times, in clean pulls and perfect dodges and clutch saves. Here, nobody cares what you look like or whether your voice sounds like it belongs on a panel. They care if you can play.
The screen flickers. Match found. Joining raid…
You straighten automatically, fingers finding their place on the keys. For the next hour, you’ll transform into Nyx, shadow-stepping through the Crystal Depths, blades flashing, dancing on the edge of failure and victory with nine strangers.
The loading screen swirls into a new scene of glittering caverns, light bouncing off mirrored walls. The raid frames populate on the left side of your UI, names appearing one by one in a quick cascade of colour and guild tags. You barely glance at them. You’re already moving Nyx forward, ready to work, ready to fight, ready — for just a little while — to exist in a world where your enemies are clearly labelled, and your objectives are simple.
Kill the boss. Don’t die. Don’t let your team down. Everything else can wait.
Titan Forge’s lobby looks just as intimidating as the outside.
It’s all polished concrete and matte-black metal, warm wood accents, and big green plants that are somehow alive despite being indoors. Screens on the walls loop trailers and dev diaries on mute, flashes of monsters and magic and UI mock-ups reflecting across the gleaming floor. The company logo glows behind the reception desk: the stylised anvil-and-flame, bright enough to make your heart skip. You clutch your laptop against your chest like a shield.
The receptionist gives you a professional smile, scans your ID, and hands over a visitor badge on a lanyard. “You’re here for the partnerships meeting?” she asks. “Yeah,” you manage. Your voice sounds surprisingly normal. That’s something.
“Great. Take the elevator to the fifth floor. Someone will meet you at the door.” You clip the badge to your shirt and head toward the elevator bank. The doors slide open with a soft whoosh, swallowing you into a box of brushed metal and your own reflection. You stare at yourself in the mirrored panel: dark circles under your eyes, hair pinned back in a way you hope reads as competent instead of I did this in a rideshare. Your reflection adjusts her grip on the laptop. “You belong here,” you whisper to yourself, barely audible. “Act like it.”
The elevator dings, and the doors slide open onto a hallway that smells faintly of coffee and expensive hardware. A guy in a Titan Forge hoodie greets you, scans your badge with his phone, and leads you past rows of open-plan desks and glass-walled meeting rooms. Everywhere you look, people are in motion — standing meetings around whiteboards covered in diagrams, clusters of devs staring at screens, someone testing a game build on a massive TV with a controller, laughing when something clearly breaks. Snatches of conversation float past: fragments about shaders, telemetry, and patch notes. It’s like walking through a highlight reel of your dream job.
You’re so busy trying not to gape that you almost miss it when your guide stops and holds a hand out toward a door. “Here we are,” he says. “They’re just getting set up. You can go right in.” You adjust your grip on your laptop again and push the glass door open.
Five heads turn.
There’s a long table in the middle of the room with sleek chairs around it, a wall-mounted screen at one end, and floor-to-ceiling windows that pour light over everything. Four people are already seated, each with their own laptop, each looking like they could front a different marketing campaign for “diverse, talented developers.”
Your gaze skims across them on autopilot — sharp-bobbed woman with a blazer and glitter eyeliner, guy with blond hair and suspiciously perfect skin, dude in a designer jacket scrolling on his phone, woman with a messy ponytail and sharp eyes — and then snags on the fifth chair. On him. Jeon Wonwoo.
You’ve seen him on stage more times than you care to admit — accepting awards, giving talks about combat pacing and enemy AI. You’ve seen his name on leaderboards, on credits, on headlines in trade blogs. You’ve seen his face across convention hallways, in green rooms, on tiny Discord icons. You’ve argued with him on panels, quote-tweeted his threads, DM’d him memes, and fought with him about difficulty curves at three in the morning in a group chat full of other devs who should also have been asleep.
You know him. Unfortunately.
He looks up as the door clicks shut, eyes flicking over you. The bored expression shifts just enough to register recognition, like the game has finally loaded the correct asset. “Well, shit,” he says, voice low and dry. “They really are scraping the bottom of the barrel.”
It’s almost a greeting. Heat spikes in your chest. You arch a brow, forcing your feet to keep moving. “Funny,” you say. “I was just thinking they must have lost a bet if they invited you.”
The corner of his mouth twitches. Not quite a smile, but familiar.
“Pixie,” he says, and there it is. “Try not to set anything on fire before the coffee break, yeah?”
It’s absurd that one stupid nickname can make your spine straighten and your heartbeat pick up, but here you are. You’ve heard it from him before, of course. He started using it after he saw your avatar in some game’s credit reel and decided you looked “like trouble but also like you’d fit in a backpack.” You hated it then. You still do. Mostly.
You walk past him to an empty chair across the table, two seats down. You sit, set your laptop down, and busy yourself with the charger cable like that little exchange didn’t just light up every competitive synapse in your body. He goes back to spinning his pen like nothing happened. It infuriates you. The others introduce themselves in polite murmurs while you’re pretending to check your email.
“Mina Myoi. Freelance designer.”
“Lee Felix. Systems and combat.”
“Byun Baekhyun. Creative direction, mostly.”
“Kim Yoohyeon. Narrative and content design.”
When it’s your turn, you look up and give them your name, a quick summary of “freelance narrative, RPG focus, some systems overlap.” They nod, murmur “Nice to meet you,” and then, inevitably, all eyes slide toward the last man at the table. He doesn’t bother to look up from his laptop. “Jeon Wonwoo,” he says, like he’s reading his own name off a bug report. “Combat design. Freelance.” He glances up then, eyes catching yours for half a heartbeat.
It’s really not long enough to be meaningful, but the overall effect is the same as always: he’s not surprised you’re here with him. He’s not impressed by it either. You want to throw your laptop at his head.
The door opens again before you can consider how bad that would look on a Titan Forge security report.
David Lee walks in like he owns the building, which, to be fair, he kind of does. Not literally, but close enough. You recognise him from interviews and presentations — sharp suit, white sneakers, the kind of charisma that could probably sell microtransactions to people who hate microtransactions.
Behind him: a woman in a Titan Forge narrative hoodie you recognise instantly as Jisoo, a tall guy with warm brown skin and a lanyard full of enamel pins who must be Raj, and a neat, prim man carrying a tablet who can only be Kaito. David claps his hands once, loud enough to snap everyone’s attention to him, and grins. “Look at this table,” he says. “If a bus hits this meeting room, half the indie scene is screwed.”
There’s a ripple of laughter. You feel your shoulders loosen a fraction.
He moves to the head of the table but doesn’t sit, pacing slowly instead, remote in one hand. “You all know who we are,” he continues. “You’ve cursed our patch notes, you’ve argued about our balance passes, you’ve probably watched at least one of our trailers and thought, ‘I could do better than that.’” He winks. “Good. That’s why you’re here.”
The wall screen behind him flares to life with the Titan Forge logo, then shifts. Mythfall: Eclipse
The font is big and clean, the art behind it a swirl of dark sky and shattered constellations. You feel your stomach drop and your veins light up at the same time. David sees the reaction around the table and smiles like a wolf. “This,” he says, gesturing at the title, “is our next big mistake waiting to happen. Co-op action RPG, mythic collapse, gods dying, all that good cheerful stuff.”
He clicks, and a new slide appears: Five Trials
Vision
Versatility
Co-op
Fire
Fallout
You blink. “Cute naming scheme,” Felix mutters under his breath. David hears it and grins wider. “We’re not hiring an ‘idea person,’” he says. “We’re not hiring a code goblin who can’t talk to another human without breaking out in hives. We’re looking for someone who can lead. That means having a clear vision and the ego to defend it, but also the humility to throw it away when it’s wrong.” He ticks off the words on his fingers as he talks, energy crackling in the air.
“Trial One is vision. We give you a very thin prompt, and you tell us what the hell Mythfall: Eclipse actually is. Pillars, tone, the kind of player who’s gonna lose a hundred hours to it.” Click.
“Trial Two is versatility. You’re all specialists. We’re going to shove you out of your lane and see if you drown or learn to swim sideways.” Another click.
“Trial Three is co-op. You’ll be paired up to build a vertical slice together. We get to see how you share the wheel, who hogs it, who knows when to let go.” His gaze flicks meaningfully between you and Wonwoo for a second before moving on.
“Trial Four is fire. Live playtests, live feedback, live iteration. No hiding behind ‘we’ll fix it in post.’” Click.
“Trial Five is fallout. Long-term vision, live-service thinking, crisis rescoping. Because everything goes wrong eventually, and we want to see how interesting your solutions are when it does.”
The slide lingers behind him, the words stark against a dark background.
“You’ll be judged by people who actually ship this stuff,” David says, nodding toward the others. “Jisoo on narrative, Raj on combat, Kaito on production. They will not be nice to you. If they’re nice, it’s because they’re worried about HR.” Jisoo grins. Raj gives a little finger-wiggle wave. Kaito inclines his head, expression politely deadly.
“We’ll talk structure, expectations, and all the fun paperwork after this,” David adds. “But the short version is: over the next few weeks, we’re going to see what you do under pressure. We’re going to see how you handle failure and how you handle each other. At the end, we decide whether Mythfall gets one of you as a lead…” He pauses, letting the silence stretch. “…or whether we go back to the drawing board and pretend this never happened.”
Your chest tightens. You’re not used to people talking about your career like it’s a boss arena you can win or lose in one shot. It’s always been incremental for you — contract by contract, line by line, tiny gigs stacking into something that looks like a trajectory. This is not tiny.
David’s gaze sweeps the table. “You’re here because I watched your work,” he says. “Because people on my teams argued about your stuff in meetings. In a good way.”
Wonwoo shifts slightly in his chair, eyes never leaving the screen. Of course, he’s interested. This is basically a love letter to everything he’s good at — combat, pacing, spectacle. If anyone in this room is a natural fit, it’s him. If anyone is currently feeding your imposter syndrome like it’s a Tamagotchi, it’s also him.
David wraps up with a reminder about discretion, a joke about “no leaks unless you want to see our legal team level up,” and dismisses you with instructions to check the portal for your first brief after lunch.
Chairs scrape. Laptops snap shut. You shove your notebook and laptop into your bag with maybe a little more force than strictly necessary and follow the others out into the hallway, heart still racing. The corridor hums with office noise: distant chatter, the clack of keyboards, the faint soundtrack of some game test playing behind a closed door. You’re halfway to the elevators when a familiar voice drawls behind you.
“So,” he says, “if you try to speedrun your burnout any faster, you’ll glitch through the floor, Pixie.” You stop. You turn slowly.
Wonwoo is leaning against the wall by the water cooler, hands in his hoodie pocket, head tipped slightly back. He looks like he’s been standing there for hours, even though you know you just left the same room. His badge dangles against his chest, tilted sideways. You lift your chin.
“Bold of you to comment on my burnout when your sleep schedule is a cryptid,” you say. “Do they know you only log off Twitter when the servers catch fire?” He arches a brow, mouth twitching.
“At least I don’t subtweet the people who might sign my checks,” he says. “Interesting strategy, by the way.”
You snort. “If Titan Forge kicked out everyone I’ve subtweeted, you’d be giving this little lecture to an empty hallway,” you shoot back. “You’re not that special.”
The corner of his mouth curls into that infuriating half-smirk. “Afraid of the competition, Pixie?” Your pulse jumps at the nickname, annoyingly traitorous. “Afraid you’ll finally have to notice it,” you shoot back. Something flickers across his face — brief, almost too quick to catch — before his expression shutters back into lazy.
“Don’t worry,” he says. “If you do something worth noticing, I’ll let you know.” Your jaw tightens. “Wow,” you say lightly. “I forgot how charming you are in person.”
“That’s okay,” he says. “I’m sure the internet reminds you all the time.”
You want to hit him and high-five him at the same time. It’s deeply annoying that his insults land with the same precision as his combat balancing. “Enjoy your temporary head start,” you tell him, stepping past. “I’m sure it’ll make losing more dramatic.”
His low chuckle follows you down the hall, threading under the murmur of office noise. “We’ll see, Pixie.” You don’t look back.
You have the sudden, vivid memory of losing that one industry award to him — the way he accepted the trophy with quiet grace, the way the cameras lingered, the way your agent patted your back and said “Next time,” like that fixed anything. You remember starting the stream of his thank-you speech at home later, getting thirty seconds in, and closing the tab because it was easier to resent him than admit he was good.
Now you’re sharing a hallway. A project. A shot at something you’ve wanted since you first saw the Titan Forge logo on a much smaller screen. You ride the elevator down with your heart still hammering against your ribs, the weight of the badge on your chest suddenly heavier.
By the time you get home, your brain feels like it’s been run through a blender and poured back into your skull wrong.
You drop your bag by the door, toe off your shoes, and stand in the middle of your living room for a full thirty seconds, just… buffering. The Titan Forge badge is still clipped to your shirt. You unclip it carefully and set it on your desk. Then you flop into your chair and stare at nothing.
You scrub your hands over your face, then reach automatically for the one thing that always helps when your thoughts are too loud. Aetherion boots up with that same familiar swell of music. You log in on autopilot, fingers flying over the keys.
Nyx materialises in the centre of a bustling hub, other players darting past like bright, restless birds. You roll your shoulders, mirroring the way Nyx stretches when she loads in, and open the raid finder. You don’t even care which one. You just need something that isn’t your own brain.
The queue pops faster than you expect. Raid ready. Joining in 5… 4… 3…
The loading screen dissolves into a vast, gleaming arena — all massive stone platforms and swirling magic, a boss at the far end already roaring in place. Your raid frames fill up in a neat list on the side of your screen, health bars stacking. Most of the usernames blur together as you skim them, all variations on edgy nouns and misspelt Latin. One stands out: KadeLocke.
Your gaze catches on the little sword icon next to the name. Melee DPS. Greatsword type, if you remember the class symbol right. You move Nyx into position near the group, bouncing on her heels while the raid leader pings markers. Chat scrolls by with the usual chaos. A message pings in party chat.
[Party] KadeLocke: First time for anyone? Mechanics are simple, but I can call them out as we go.
You smile despite yourself at the calm confidence in that one line. Not cocky, not plz listen to me, just… sure, like he expects people to follow because that’s what happens when he talks. Someone types first time here with a crying emoji. Someone else sends same lol.
You hesitate for a second, then type. [Party] MidnightNyx: I’ve done it, but I won’t say no to free carry commentary.
[Party] KadeLocke: Not a carry. Just prefer killing things efficiently instead of watching everyone panic.
You huff a laugh, shoulders relaxing a little. Same, you think. The pull timer starts counting down. The boss fight erupts into motion. Magic flares. Health bars dip. The arena shakes under heavy footsteps and explosions. In the middle of it all, Kade moves like he’s playing a different game. His greatsword arcs through animations with ruthless precision. He doesn’t waste a step. He doesn’t flail. His positioning is textbook. More importantly, his callouts are good.
[Party] KadeLocke: Stack centre for slam. Don’t touch the glowing tiles.
[Party] KadeLocke: Nyx, you and I take left adds? You’ve got the burst.
You blink. Nobody ever singles you out like that in randoms unless it’s to yell about aggro. You flick your camera and see him — his avatar, at least — already pivoting toward the left flank, greatsword resting on his shoulder as he waits for the next wave. You dart after him, Nyx’s daggers flashing as you fall into rhythm without even meaning to.
He pulls, you erase. He knocks enemies into the air, you chain combo off the juggle. Twice, you see a stray hit coming for him and dive in to interrupt, your fingers moving before you consciously decide to. You don’t have to think about where to stand. He’s always half a second ahead, his movements almost telegraphing what he’s going to need from you. The boss drops to one knee. Final phase.
[Party] KadeLocke: Everyone on boss. Save big cooldowns. Nyx, go crazy.
You grin, feeling the rush of it — the permission, the trust from a stranger. You burn everything you’ve got, weaving in and out of danger, leaving the boss’s health bar in ragged chunks behind you. When the thing finally goes down in a burst of light and loot, the chat floods. You lean back, letting your pulse slow, a stupid little spark of pride warming you as the victory fanfare plays.
A private message pops up. Kade: Nice damage. You’ve got good instincts. You stare at it for a second, lips tugging up. Nyx: You’re welcome for my hard work.
There’s a long enough pause that you wonder if you were too sharp, if text doesn’t carry your grin. Then, Kade: Bratty. Bold choice for someone who almost stood in the death beam twice.
Your mouth falls open in a laugh. Nyx: Almost stood in. Keyword. That’s called “living on the edge.”
Kade: That’s called “giving your healer a heart attack.” You wiggle your mouse, making Nyx circle in place. Nyx: They lived. Boss died. Sounds like a win to me.
Kade: Can’t argue with results, I guess.
He adds, a beat later, Kade: Queue another? Could use someone who knows how to improvise without completely ignoring mechanics.
Warmth pricks at the edges of your tired brain. This is just random matchmaking. You don’t owe him anything. You should probably log off, drink water, and stare at your notes for the first trial tomorrow.
Instead, your fingers are already moving. Nyx: Sure. But if we wipe, I’m blaming you in global chat.
You imagine Kade on the other side of the screen, wherever he is, reading that and maybe smiling. Maybe rolling his eyes. Maybe, like you, relieved to just play with someone who gets it.
Kade: Deal. I’ll try not to ruin your reputation, Nyx.
You feel a tiny, stupid flicker of warmth at the way he uses your name — not player or rogue or some generic label, but the one you picked, the one that feels a little more like you than your real one does some days. It’s nothing. Just a stranger in a game being mildly charming. The loading screen swirls, and the world pulls you forward.
In one life, you’re preparing to go head-to-head with Jeon Wonwoo for the biggest opportunity of your career. In another, you’re running into battle beside a stranger with a greatsword and good instincts. You don’t yet know how these two lives will collide.
For now, you tighten your grip on your mouse, flex your fingers over your keys, and step into the next fight.
The email arrives at 06:12, which is frankly rude.
You wake up to your phone buzzing itself off the nightstand, grope for it, and squint at the screen through one half-open eye.
You groan into your pillow. Sleep was not your friend last night. Every time you closed your eyes, your brain projected the Mythfall: Eclipse title card onto the back of your eyelids and ran a mental speedrun of Jeon Wonwoo being effortlessly competent in every possible scenario. You crack one eye fully open, tap the notification, and drag yourself upright against the headboard as the portal page loads.
TRIAL ONE – VISION
Objective: Articulate a concise, compelling core vision for Mythfall: Eclipse.
Deliverables (max 1 page total):
– 3–5 clear game pillars
– A short scenario synopsis (1 key story moment)
– A high-level combat loop outline
Deadline: 48 hours
You stare at the “max 1 page” line and make an offended noise. They want your entire brain in 500 words or less.
You swing your legs out of bed and immediately step on a sticky note. Of course. You peel it off your foot and squint at the scribble: “Player choices = emotional scars, not stats.” You have no memory of writing that, but past you was onto something. You decide: coffee first. Then vision.
Two hours later, your apartment looks like a crime scene where the victim is “scope control.” Your whiteboard is crammed with phrases in different colours, circled, underlined, connected by frantic arrows:
“All myths collapsing into one dying world.”
“Co-op = emotional co-dependency, not just DPS checks.”
“Players as unreliable narrators of their own legend?”
You pace in a tight loop between the board and your desk, marker tapping against your palm, trying to distil everything into something clean enough to fit on one page without losing what makes it interesting. You can practically feel Raj threatening to fall asleep if you don’t mention anything with numbers, so you scribble in:
“Synergy skills: co-op abilities that get stronger the more you ‘trust’ your party member.”
You add a quick note about positioning mattering, about telegraphed attacks that tell a story instead of just glowing red on the floor. You hate yourself a little for writing “visceral,” but it fits. You step back, chewing the end of the marker cap, and imagine Wonwoo in his apartment somewhere, sitting down with a notebook, pen in hand, completely unbothered. One neat, clean page. Probably annotated. Probably infuriatingly good. The thought lights up your competitiveness. No way, you think, turning back to the board. You are not letting him walk in with a cleaner pitch. You drag a line down the centre of the whiteboard and force yourself to pick. Three pillars. Just three. You write, slowly, in big letters:
Shared Fate, Shared Story – Co-op choices that bind players’ destinies together.
Myths in Freefall – Colliding pantheons, broken rules, consequences that reshape the map.
Every Fight Tells a Story – Combat as character expression, not just math.
Underneath, you sketch out one scenario: a boss fight where a dying god refuses to let go of power, and players have to decide whether to kill them outright or siphon what’s left to save a village. Either way, something breaks. Either way, the world remembers what they did.
You stare at it until the words swim, then force yourself to sit down and turn the chaos into a one-page doc. You trim, condense, murder your darlings. You cut a whole paragraph about mythological canon because nobody has time. You wrestle the combat loop into three sentences: anticipation, reaction, pay-off. You squeeze in one line about accessibility without making Kaito’s eye twitch from imagined budget creep. Every time you get stuck, your mind flashes a quick image of Wonwoo in that glass room — pen spinning, expression unreadable, sitting there like all of this is just another Tuesday. You type a little harder.
Titan Forge in the early morning feels like a level before enemies spawn.
The corridors are quieter, the lights a little softer. Most desks you pass are still half-empty, monitors waking up, a couple of early birds nursing coffee the size of your forearm. Somewhere, someone is yawning loud enough to echo. It’s almost peaceful.
You’re one of the first to reach the meeting room. The door is propped open. Inside, Jisoo is already there, leaning over the table with a notebook, pen moving in quick, looping strokes. Raj sits near the end with a massive mug, scrolling through something on his tablet with the kind of frown that usually precedes a refactor. Kaito has his laptop open, fingers flying over the keys, expression composed in that I’m already thinking three steps ahead of all of you way. You hover a second in the doorway, then step in. “You’re early,” Jisoo says, glancing up with a quick smile.
“Figured I’d get my panic out of the way before the others show up,” you reply, sliding into a chair near the middle of the table and setting your laptop down. Raj huffs into his coffee. “If you’re not panicking a little, you’re not respecting the process,” he says. You’re pretty sure that’s his version of encouragement.
People filter in over the next few minutes. Mina arrives with a neatly organised folder under her arm and a latte in a reusable cup. Felix stumbles in behind her, earphones around his neck, hair still damp like he showered in a hurry. Baekhyun saunters through the doorway, looking like he woke up directly into that outfit. Yoohyeon slips in quietly, tablet hugged to her chest, eyes already scanning some document. You watch them all take their spots, the party assembling.
Wonwoo is one of the last to appear. He walks in without hurry, hoodie thrown on over a plain T-shirt, badge clipped crookedly to the pocket. He’s got his notebook in one hand, pen in the other, as if he’s been taking notes on the way over. He takes in the room with one quick sweep, then his gaze lands on you. For a moment, his eyes soften — not enough that anyone else would notice, but you do. “Look at you,” he says, heading for the empty chair across and one over from you. “Almost human in daylight.”
You snort. “Careful. If you keep flirting with me in front of your future employers, people will talk.” He drops into his seat, flips the notebook open, and spins his pen between his fingers.
“Relax, Pixie,” he says. “I only flirt with people who can actually beat me.” You open your mouth, ready to bite back, when he adds, almost offhand, “But, you’re closer than most.”
It takes your brain a second to decide whether that was a dig or a compliment. By the time you land on both, David makes an entrance like the room has been waiting expressly for him. Probably because it was.
“All right, legends,” he says, grinning. “Trial One: Who actually knows what game they’re making?” He moves to the head of the table but doesn’t sit, pacing slowly instead, remote in one hand.
“Here’s the deal,” he says. “No slides, no mood boards, no thirty-page bibles. You get five minutes to convince us Mythfall: Eclipse is worth sinking the next several years of our lives into. Imagine I’ve just stepped into your Discord call and I’m one bad pitch away from cancelling the project and making a mobile idle clicker instead.” A reluctant chuckle moves around the table. Your palms are sweating.
“Keep it focused,” David adds. “Pillars, a moment that sells the fantasy, and how it plays. Make us feel it. We’ll ask questions. We’ll argue. If you’re lucky, Raj will try to break your combat loop. If you’re very unlucky, he’ll succeed.” Raj lifts his coffee cup in a little salute.
“Who’s going first?” David asks. Silence. You feel your hand lift before your brain fully catches up. “I’ll go,” you hear yourself say.
Wonwoo huffs a soft laugh under his breath, like, of course you will. You ignore him. You stand, unplug your laptop and move to the front of the room. The screen behind you is blank, your reflection faint in the glass. Five minutes. You breathe once, in and out, and begin.
“Mythfall: Eclipse,” you say, “is a co-op action RPG about what happens when the stories that shaped your world break… and you and your friends have to decide what replaces them.” That gets their attention.
Words fall into the space between you and the table. You talk about colliding pantheons and a sky full of dead constellations. About player characters who grew up praying to certain gods and now have to fight them. You anchor everything in co-op — not just as a feature, but as the heart of the experience. “Every big decision,” you say, “isn’t just ‘press A or B.’ It’s something you have to live with together. If you sacrifice a city to save a god, that’s not just a cutscene. That’s a thing your party remembers, brings up later, colours how NPCs talk to you.”
You outline your three pillars in plain language, watching their faces as you do. “Shared fate, shared story,” you say. “The game remembers what you and your friends did together, not just what you did alone.”
“Myths in freefall. The world is collapsing under the weight of all these pantheons smashing into each other. You’re not chosen ones so much as… the last ones who still care.”
“And every fight tells a story. Combat isn’t a separate thing from narrative; it’s where your character’s beliefs show up. A healer who’s lost faith in their god doesn’t cast the same way as one who’s still devout.”
You walk them through one key moment: a crumbling temple, a dying war deity chained to their own throne, a village on the edge of starvation outside. The choice: channel the last of the god’s power into the land to save the harvest, effectively killing the deity… or spare them, preserving a dangerous, wounded god whose followers will remember your mercy.
“Either way,” you say, “the map changes. The way enemies behave, the rumours you hear in taverns, the dreams your characters have — all of that shifts based on that choice. And because it’s co-op, there’s space for people to disagree. Maybe one of you wanted mercy and got outvoted. That friction is part of the story.” Then you ground it in play.
You outline the combat loop: learn, react, retaliate. Fewer inputs, more meaningful windows. You sketch how co-op skills could kick in — one player pinning an enemy in a beam of starlight while the other shatters it, the timing requiring communication, not just number crunching. You don’t look at your notes. You don’t look at Wonwoo. You look at Jisoo.
Her eyes have warmed, that faint, sharp smile tugging at her lips when you describe co-op dialogue that unlocks only if players have made certain choices together. You see little sparks of oh, I could write that lighting in her gaze. Raj’s expression is harder to read, but he leans forward when you talk about fights evolving based on past choices — enemies adapting to your party’s habits, not just their level. You make it clear you’re not pitching a bottomless pit of bespoke encounters; you’re pitching a framework. You wrap up just shy of five minutes.
“…Mythfall: Eclipse should feel like you and your friends carved your own constellation into a broken sky,” you finish. “And you’re the only ones who know what you sacrificed to make it shine.”
For a second, the room is quiet in a way that isn’t empty. Then Jisoo speaks. “I like the emphasis on shared memory,” she says. “A lot of co-op games are about sharing a space, but not a story. This would give us… teeth.” You blink. Your lungs remember how to work.
Raj taps his pen on the table. “If we start tying combat AI behaviour to narrative choices,” he says, “how many distinct states are you imagining?” There it is. You don’t pretend you have every answer, but you talk through modular behaviours, categories of outcomes instead of one-off snowflakes. You frame it as adjustable: test with a smaller matrix, expand if it works. Raj doesn’t smile, exactly, but he stops tapping.
Kaito’s questions are all about scope and pipeline. You acknowledge the risks, point to places the system can scale, and promise you’re not secretly trying to kill his schedule. David hasn’t looked away once. When you’re done, he tilts his head. “You’ve thought about this,” he says. “Good. I hate vague.” You sit down on legs that feel faintly like someone swapped your bones for jelly.
Wonwoo doesn’t say anything as you slide into your chair, but his pen stops spinning for a heartbeat. His gaze flicks over your face, then back to his notebook. The tiniest nod, like he’s marking down “respectable.”
One by one, the others present. Mina’s pitch leans into exploration and environmental storytelling — ruins that tell their own myths if you’re paying attention. Felix’s is systems-heavy, all elegant loops and progression paths. Yoohyeon’s is full of mood and texture, leaning into horror edges. Then it’s Wonwoo’s turn.
“Mythfall: Eclipse,” he says, “is a game about learning to read an enemy that doesn’t want you to.” He goes straight for the jugular: combat.
Not just numbers and cooldowns, but rhythm. He describes enemies as “conversations you have with violence.” Bosses who “remember” what you did last time and punish you if you try the same trick twice. Patrols whose route changes if you’ve been sloppy, mini-bosses that gain new abilities when their god dies or survives. If you talked about consequences on the macro level, he’s drilling into the moment-to-moment. “The core loop is simple,” he says. “See. Survive. Solve. First attempts are about staying alive long enough to understand what the hell this thing is doing. Once you’ve read it, you start rewriting the fight. That’s where mastery lives.” You watch Raj’s eyes brighten like someone plugged him in. To your surprise, Wonwoo doesn’t ignore narrative entirely. He frames it differently.
“The story is what explains why the enemies change,” he says. “If players killed a storm goddess in one region, storms everywhere get weirder. Enemies with lightning-based attacks behave differently. We tie myth states into the AI so the world’s response to what you’ve done isn’t just flavour text; it’s trying to kill you in new ways.”
There it is: the overlap. Where your pitch leaned into the emotional and social consequences of shared choices, his leans into the mechanical consequences. You’re talking about the same coin from opposite sides. You hate how satisfying that is.
From your angle, you can see his one-page document on the table — clean, dense handwriting, a little sketch of a boss arena with arrows showing attack patterns shifting over time. You clock phrases that echo your own thoughts: “player habits,” “party behaviour,” “myth-state driven modifiers.” You also notice what isn’t there: no mention of specific character arcs, no example of how two players might feel differently about the same fight based on their backstory. His story is the world. Yours is the people in it.
“So in your version,” David says when he’s done, “the gods die, the weather freaks out, and the world starts fighting back using your own habits against you.” Wonwoo lifts a shoulder. “Players get lazy if we let them,” he says. “We shouldn’t.” Raj looks openly delighted. “Punishing predictable play is my love language,” he says. “I like this. A lot.”
Jisoo’s expression is thoughtful. “It’s very strong on the ‘what you fight,’” she says. “I’d want to make sure we don’t end up with a technically brilliant game where players can’t remember a single character’s name.”
“We wouldn’t,” Wonwoo says easily. “As long as someone who cares about that is in the room.” His gaze flicks, briefly and unmistakably, toward you.
David sees it. Of course he does. “Interesting,” he says, clasping his hands. “We’ve got one pitch where story is the skeleton and combat is the muscle…” His attention moves to you. “…and one where combat is the skeleton and story is the connective tissue.” He looks back at Wonwoo. “If I locked the two of you in a room and told you to come out with a single vision, would we get a masterpiece or a murder trial?”
“Depends who gets the whiteboard,” you say before you can stop yourself. A couple of people laugh. Wonwoo’s mouth curves. “She can have the whiteboard,” he says. “I’ll take the controller.”
David’s smile says he got exactly what he wanted out of that. “Noted,” he says. “Either way, that was fun. Go eat. Check the portal this afternoon for Trial Two.”
By the time you get home, you feel like someone stretched your nerves out on a rack and then told you to “just relax.”
You drop your bag by the door, kick off your shoes, and slide bonelessly onto the couch while your brain replays the day on loop: your own voice pitching into the room, Jisoo’s interest, Raj’s questions, the way Wonwoo’s ideas slotted uncomfortably well next to yours without actually overlapping. Combat as conversation. Shared fate as story.
It should be validating that your instincts line up with his on the big picture: myths reacting, world state changing, co-op actually mattering. Instead, it makes your chest feel tight. You need to stop thinking. Or at least think about something that can’t email you back.
You get up, shuffle to your desk, and boot up Aetherion.
You log in, watch Nyx shimmer into existence in the middle of a crowded plaza, the usual swirl of players flitting past, and feel your shoulders loosen a notch. You don’t move her right away.
Your fingers hover over the keys as you stare at the minimap, debating. You could run a quick dungeon, do your dailies, mindlessly farm materials while your brain chews on David’s smug face and Raj’s questions. You could wander the fields alone and pull too many mobs just to feel something. Your friends list blips. KadeLocke is now online. Almost immediately, a whisper pops up. Kade: You look like someone standing in town and pretending they know what they’re planning to do.
You blink. You hadn’t moved. You hadn’t typed. The accuracy is unsettling.
Nyx: Wow, psychic. Or are you stalking the login feed now?
Kade: You log in at weird hours and then stand still for a full minute. I’m allowed to draw conclusions. A beat. You busy?
You glance at your very empty, very Mythfall-filled real-life calendar and snort softly. Nyx: Busy spiralling. Why?
Kade: Tower challenge unlocked for me today. Two-player run. Want in?
You pull up the dungeon list automatically. The Tower icon pulses at the edge of the map – high difficulty, recommended party size: 2–3. You’ve never clicked it before. Nyx: Never done it. Thought it was one of those “sweaty tryhard” things.
Kade: It is. I’m inviting you anyway. A party invite pops. You hesitate for half a heartbeat, then accept. The UI shifts to show just two frames: KadeLocke and MidnightNyx.
Kade: Ready?
Nyx: Define “ready.”
Kade: You know your buttons. I know the layout. I’ll tell you where to stand and what to stab. Try not to improvise too much on the first pull.
You roll your eyes even as you move toward the teleport glyph. You step into the portal. The world dissolves in a flare of light, then reforms as a high tower lined with glowing runes and platforms suspended in midair. Far below, mist swirls in a bottomless drop. Above, you can just make out the silhouette of something huge moving in the clouds. You tighten your grip on your mouse. Nyx spawns beside Kade’s avatar on a wide, circular platform. His greatsword rests casually against his shoulder; his cape flutters in some dramatic wind the engine insisted on rendering.
Nyx: Okay. Mildly terrifying.
Kade: It’s worse if you look down. Don’t look down. A pause. First rule: stay on my left unless I tell you otherwise. Second rule: if the floor glows, move. Third rule: if you’re not sure what to do, ask. Don’t guess. You bristle automatically. Nyx: You know I’ve played this game before, right?
Kade: I know you have good instincts and a bit of a chaos streak. I’m accommodating both.
You open your mouth to type something sharp and entirely unconvincing about not having a chaos streak, but the pull timer appears before you can. You exhale, shake your hands out, and ready your daggers.
The first wave hits like a test you didn’t study for: enemies blink into existence around the edge of the platform, beams of light sweep across the floor in predictable-but-not-obvious patterns, and runes start charging under your feet. You dart forward on reflex.
Kade: Left. Now. You jerk Nyx in the indicated direction just as a beam carves through the space you were about to occupy. A rune explodes where you had been standing, showering the area with crackling energy. Okay. Maybe letting him lead isn’t the worst idea. He moves with that same calm precision you remember from the raid — no wasted motion, no panic. He kites enemies into tidy clusters; you slip in and out of their blind spots, carving them down. Every time something new appears — floating orbs, tether mechanics, lines aiming at your feet — his text pops up a fraction of a second before your brain finishes parsing what’s happening.
Kade: Ignore orbs, they’re bait. Hit the casters. Platform’s going to tilt in 3… 2… jump on my ping.
You jump when he pings. The platform shifts on its axis like a seesaw. For a sick second, you’re sure you mistimed it, and you’re going to slide off into the void, but Kade’s avatar slams his sword into the stone at the edge, anchoring himself, and your character bumps into his collision box instead of gravity. You land in a heap against him, metaphorically speaking. Nyx: Did you just body-check physics for me?
Kade: You were about to meet the bottom of the tower. I need you alive for at least one phase.
Your cheeks heat even though there’s nobody here to see you. You push off him and keep going, adrenaline slowly shifting into something steadier. The higher you climb, platform by platform, the less you hesitate, and the more you anticipate where he’s going to be. He calls less; you move more. When he does call, you listen, even if you grumble about it in chat.
On one particularly nasty platform, lines of magic crisscross the floor like a laser grid while enemies fling projectiles from the far side. You start to dart through an opening that looks safe.
Kade: Stop. You halt Nyx mid-step. A beam slices through the space in front of you a heartbeat later. Nyx: You’re no fun.
Kade: Fun is surviving long enough to brag about this. Move when I move.
He waits. You wait with him. When he lunges forward, you follow, toes skimming the edge of danger, heart thudding. It works. It’s infuriating. By the time you reach the top platform, your palms are slick, and your pulse is high, and you kind of hate how much you… trust him?
The final boss materialises in a flare of light and thunder: some towering construct woven from broken runes and discarded god-armor, eyes burning bright. You swallow. Nyx: So what’s the fun surprise here?
Kade: Don’t die. And when it splits into three, take the one that mirrors you. Shadow twin. You’ll know it when you see it.
You want to argue that this is unhelpfully cryptic. Then the fight starts, and you don’t have time. The construct slams its fists down, platforms appear and vanish, the whole top of the tower becomes a dance floor for people with a death wish. Halfway through, the boss shatters into three smaller versions; one of them moves exactly like you do — same skills, same dash, a twisted echo of Nyx. You swear under your breath and go after it. Kade doesn’t micromanage. He tanks his own twin with grim efficiency and throws you the occasional text when something truly unfamiliar appears, but otherwise, he lets you figure it out. You make mistakes, you adjust, you get better fast. When the last shard of the boss explodes, and the Tower falls quiet, your hands are shaking a little.
Loot appears in a tidy chest at the centre. You exhale slowly, the adrenaline high morphing into something warm and fizzy. A private message pops. Kade: You handle vertical runs better than most. Didn’t even try to swan-dive off the top platform once.
You let Nyx idle, daggers sheathed, while you reply. Nyx: I like to keep my dramatic exits for when someone deserves it.
Kade: Good to know. I’ll make sure I’m never standing near the edge if I piss you off. You pause, then let your fingers wander a little closer to the line. Nyx: Bold of you to assume you’d see it coming. I’m sneaky, remember.
Kade: Then I guess I’ll just have to keep you where I can see you.
A flicker of heat runs through you at that, entirely disproportionate to a handful of text characters. You push it, just a bit. Nyx: That sounds suspiciously like you enjoy being in charge.
You hesitate, thumb hovering over Enter, then hit it anyway, heart ticking up a notch. If he gets weird about it, you can always blame it on sleep deprivation and never queue with him again. The reply comes faster than you expect. Kade: I enjoy it when people follow instructions. Everything else is a bonus. And you strike me as someone who needs very specific directions, or you’ll start trouble on purpose.
You stare at that, surprised laughter bubbling up in your chest. He’s… not wrong. Nyx: Are you calling me a handful?
Kade: I’m saying if I tell you “stand here, hit that, don’t lick the glowing floor,” you’ll do the first two and then ask what I’ll give you if you obey the third.
Your face heats. Okay, you walked into that one. Nyx: Depends. What are the rewards for good behaviour?
You send it before you can talk yourself out of it, suddenly very aware of how quiet your apartment is. There’s a longer pause. Long enough that you wonder if you pushed too far, if you’ve misread the tone and he’s going to bail. Then, Kade: Clean clears. No repair bills. Maybe I’ll even say “good job” without sarcasm. Another line appears before you can respond: Start with that. We can renegotiate your perks later if you behave.
Something tightens pleasantly under your ribs. It’s not explicit. It’s barely suggestive. But there’s a shape to the way he phrases things — steady, teasing, a little bossy — that hits a very particular switch in your brain you try not to examine too closely. You type with fingers that feel slightly less steady. Nyx: Wow. High praise. Guess I’ll have to earn it.
Kade: You’re doing fine so far. But don’t let it go to your head.
You open his profile without thinking about it this time, skimming raid stats and titles. Whoever he is, he’s good. Better than good. The kind of player you’d happily trust to lead you through something brutal. He sends another whisper before you can fall too deep into the numbers. Kade: You on around this time often? I’d rather stack the party with people who can take a joke and a mechanic.
You roll your eyes even as your chest warms. Nyx: I keep weird hours. Freelancer life. But yeah, I’ll probably be around. Why, miss me already? You wince the second you hit Enter. That was… bolder than you meant it to be. The answer comes back, cool and easy.
Kade: I miss not wanting to yeet half my raid into the sun. You make that easier. I’m being practical. A half-second later: But if your ego needs the other answer, you can have that too. Your mouth curves helplessly.
You glance at the clock in the corner of your screen. It’s later than you thought. Tomorrow’s brief will hit. Trial Two will start. David will smirk. Raj will poke holes. Wonwoo will be there, spinning his pen, acting like pressure is something that only happens to other people.
Right now, though, your world has shrunk to a little chat window and a name glowing quietly on your friends list. You tap out one last message. Nyx: Fine. Be practical. Just remember you asked for more time with me when I start “accidentally” pulling extra mobs.
Kade: If you do that, I’m putting you on callout duty so everyone knows exactly who to blame. Deal?
Nyx: Deal.
You sit there for another moment, watching the empty chat box, the way Nyx shifts her weight from foot to foot on the screen, Tower music still echoing faintly in your head. Then you log out. The game melts away into your desktop. Your room is quiet again, save for the soft whir of your PC fans.
You close the laptop with a soft click and let your head fall back, eyes slipping shut, the phantom sensation of standing on a narrow platform with nothing but open air below you lingering just long enough to make your stomach flip.
Raj is waiting for you when you walk into the meeting room the next morning, which is not a sentence you ever expected to think.
He’s usually glued to his seat beside Jisoo and Kaito, half a step removed from everyone, eyes sharp behind his glasses. Today, he’s leaning back in a chair at the far end of the table with a tablet in his lap and a coffee cup that says “I BREAK LOOPS FOR FUN” in chipped letters. He looks up as you come in. “Good timing,” he says. “Sit.” You obey mostly because your body is too tired to disobey this early.
“Did I miss an email?” you ask, dropping your bag and sliding into the chair next to him. “Portal update at six,” he says. “I thought I’d save you the joy of reading through production boilerplate and just give you the actual task.”
He hands you the tablet. On it, a document is open with a single bold title: TRIAL TWO – ROLE SWAP
FOCUS: COMBAT ENCOUNTER DESIGN
Design a self-contained combat encounter for Mythfall: Eclipse.
Deliverables (max 2 pages):
– Encounter fantasy
– Enemy types & abilities
– Arena layout
– Difficulty curve (phases, tuning goals)
Narrative dressing is optional but not required. Encounter must stand on its own as a “fun fight” in test harness.
You reread “narrative dressing optional but not required” three times, like if you stare at it long enough, it will turn into “please write us a monologue.” It doesn’t.
“So,” you say slowly, “you want me to design a fight with no story.”
Raj shrugs. “You can hang some story on it if you want,” he says. “But if I strip all your flavour text out and drop this into a greybox test build, it should still be fun. That’s the assignment.”
It’s like asking you to write a symphony using only drums. You like drums. You respect drums. You just also like… melody. Lyrics. Feelings.
“And I assume Wonwoo is writing a heartwarming branching quest about a puppy,” you say before you can stop yourself. Raj’s mouth twitches, like he’s trying not to smile. “You said that, not me,” he replies. “But yeah. He’s on narrative. You’re on combat. I want to see you both out of your comfort zones.” That stings. Because he’s not wrong.
You scroll further down. At the bottom, in small text:
Evaluation focus: clarity of encounter vision, readability of mechanics, pacing, difficulty curve, player learning moments.
No mention of “did this make anyone cry in a good way.” No space for your usual metrics. “Duration?” you ask.
“Short,” Raj says. “Think single dungeon boss or a set-piece fight. Ten minutes tops for an average group. Ideally, less.” You nod, throat tight.
“You’ve got two days,” he adds, standing. “Ask questions if you need to. I mean about the doc. Not about your feelings.” You blink. “What if my feelings are about the doc?” He gives you a flat look that softens at the edges. “Then write a good fight,” he says. “It’ll help.”
Trial Two is like being handed someone else’s toolkit and told to build the same house.
Your next forty-eight hours are a blur of spreadsheets, dev wikis, and documents with titles like “Enemy AI Behaviour: Beginner-Friendly Patterns” and “Damage Per Second Tuning – Internal Guidelines (Do Not Share Externally).” You learn how Raj and his team talk about fights: openings, checks, punish windows, soft enrages. You learn there are words for things you’ve always felt when playing, but never had to label in quite this way. You also learn that half your instincts are illegal.
Your first draft has three enemy types, a shifting arena floor, and a mechanic where the boss “remembers” which player took which action in earlier phases and punishes patterns. You show it to Raj in a one-on-one review. He skims, eyebrows rising. “This is cool,” he says. “It’s also three encounters stapled together and a QA nightmare.”
“I like to aim high,” you mutter. He pushes the tablet back across the table. “Cut it in half,” he says. “Then cut it in half again. Think of it like writing — this is your first draft. You’re not killing the idea; you’re putting it on a diet.” You go back to your desk and put it on a diet. Reluctantly.
You strip out one mechanic, then another, until what’s left is a tight, focused fight: a fractured avatar of a god of echoes, a circular arena with shifting safe zones, a loop that teaches players to listen and watch before punishing them for flailing. You still sneak story in. You can’t help it. The boss’s abilities are named like lines of a poem. When it splits into mirrored copies, you note how they repeat players’ own moves back at them. Raj might not care, but it helps you care. You fall asleep on your keyboard once and wake up with ASDF imprinted on your forehead.
In between coffee refills, you hear whispers. Someone mentions in the kitchen that “Jeon’s questline wrecked Jisoo.” Someone else says, “I heard she had to leave the room for a second.” You pretend not to listen as you stir powdered creamer into your mug. Later, you pass Jisoo in the hall. Her eyes are a little pink. She’s smiling, though. Wonwoo walks behind her, one hand in his hoodie pocket, notebook tucked under his arm. He looks like he always does — composed, maybe a little tired, hair falling into his eyes.
“Nice work,” Jisoo says to him as they head toward a meeting room. “I’m stealing at least half of that, just so you know.” He huffs a quiet laugh. “As long as you make it better,” he replies. You walk by them with your mug, heart doing something unpleasant. He doesn’t look your way; you don’t give him the satisfaction of glancing over your shoulder. It doesn’t bother you. It absolutely, one hundred percent does.
Two days later, you present your combat encounter to Raj and a couple of designers he’s dragooned into a small review. You stand at the front of a smaller room this time, whiteboard behind you, your spec open on the screen. No David. No David-related theatrics. Just Raj, Jisoo, and one gameplay engineer with tired eyes.
“Echo Warden,” you say, and launch in.
You outline the fantasy first: a broken fragment of a god that repeats everything it hears, stuck in a loop of its own prayers. You emphasise the mechanics more than the lore. Phase one: teach players to follow safe zones. Phase two: punish them if they just chase the same pattern. The boss starts mimicking the party’s positioning, forcing them to break their habits. You talk tuning goals: a group that learns quickly clears in five minutes; a group that doesn’t dies in three. You talk about telegraphs that are readable but not clownishly obvious. You talk about giving melee and ranged different jobs so nobody feels useless. Raj interrupts with questions. You’re ready for most of them. The ones you’re not, you attack sideways, using examples from other games and the internal docs you memorised at three in the morning. At the end, he nods once, slowly.
“You overcomplicate things,” he says. “But you cut back. That’s good. The core loop is solid. Pacing might need adjustment — I’d want to see it in a prototype — but this is… yeah. This is real combat design.” A strange warmth spreads through your chest at that last sentence.
Jisoo chimes in. “I like how you’re already thinking about what the fight is saying about the god,” she says. “Even without story text, you’d still feel like this thing is… stuck. That’s useful for us later.” You exhale. Your shoulders drop half an inch. It’s not your natural habitat, but you didn’t drown.
By the time you drag yourself home that night, your brain is buzzing with numbers instead of feelings. Every time you close your eyes, you see telegraphs and phase transitions and Raj actually called it solid playing on repeat. You should sleep. You open Aetherion instead.
Nyx appears in a familiar city square. Before you can decide whether to do anything, your friends’ list pings. KadeLocke is now online. Right on cue, a whisper pops. Kade: You’re logging in later and later. Should I be worried you got abducted by “real life”?
You huff, but it comes out more like a sigh than a laugh. Nyx: Real life would have to pry my keyboard from my cold, carpal-tunnelled hands. Just… long day.
There’s a longer pause than usual before his next message. Kade: You sound tired even in text. That’s a talent.
Kade: Was gonna ask if you wanted to do something dumb and dangerous, but I’m downgrading that to “chill and mildly hazardous.”
Despite yourself, your lips twitch. Nyx: My brain is soup, but I could maybe manage “mildly hazardous.” Nothing too sweaty, or I’m just going to feed the floor.
Kade: Noted. Come somewhere quiet with me, then. Less chaos, more me telling you where to go while you complain about it.
You hesitate over the keys, then type, Nyx: Bossy and comforting. Multitasking, huh?
His reply comes almost immediately. Kade: Text is slow if you’re wiped. You wanna try voice in-game? I use a modulator. Keeps things less weird. You can just follow my lead and save your energy for being a menace.
You stare at the message. You’ve been running content together for days now — raids, dungeons, the occasional open-world nonsense when you both needed to switch your brains off. You’ve talked about sleep schedules (bad), vague “projects” (worse), favourite snacks (you argued for a solid ten minutes about the correct ratio of chocolate to cookie in ice cream).
You know his timing, his playstyle, the way he reacts when things go wrong. You know he’s steady, that he doesn’t tilt, that he doesn’t yell at people when they screw up. You do not know what his voice sounds like. Or where he lives. Or his real name. Sharing your voice feels… weirdly intimate. Like handing over a piece of yourself you can’t take back. You chew your lip, fingers hovering over the keyboard. He’s been respectful. Funny. Reliable. Never once pushed when you dodged personal questions. Never once got gross when you made a joke that could have gone sideways. If this goes weird, you can hang up. You can mute. You can block. You are not trapped. You take a breath.
Nyx: Sure. If you sound like a 12-year-old, I’m disconnecting.
Kade: Fair. Join party. I’ll drag you through something interesting while we test it. A party invite appears. You accept before you can overthink it.
The party UI slides into place; a little voice icon glows to indicate an open channel. Your pulse kicks up a notch. You drag your headset over your ears, thumb hovering over your mouse for a second, then click to join.
There’s a soft crackle, the faint hiss of open mic, and then his voice comes through — filtered by the modulator, a touch lower and smoother than it probably really is. You can hear the whisper of fabric, a chair creaking as he shifts. It still sounds like him somehow. Calm. Steady. Threaded with that quiet amusement you’ve already learned to recognise in his text. “Nyx?” he says.
“Yeah,” you answer, aiming for casual and landing somewhere near it. “Hey.” There’s a small pause, like he’s calibrating. “Okay,” he says. “Not twelve. Good start.” You huff a laugh, the knot between your shoulders loosening just a little.
“Neither are you,” you say. “You sound like… the voice of a very smug tutorial.” He laughs, low in your ear. The modulator doesn’t hide the warmth. “I’ll take ‘smug tutorial’ over ‘nasal gremlin,’” he says. “You sound more awake than your messages.”
“Lies,” you reply. “I’m eighty percent caffeine and bad decisions right now.”
“Then no raids,” he says, matter-of-fact. “Come outside the city gate. I’ll show you something low-effort and pretty. You can pretend it’s a walk and not a carry.”
“Wow,” you say. “Already planning to drag me around?”
“You said your brain’s soup,” he reminds you. “You point, mash a few buttons, I’ll do the heavy lifting. It’s called party synergy.”
You make an exaggerated little tsk noise. “Bossy,” you say. “Functional,” he counters, and you can hear the smile.
You guide Nyx out through the city archways, past the usual crowd of players advertising dungeon runs and trading items. A ping appears on your map, marking his position just outside the walls. He’s waiting on a small hill overlooking the road, his greatsword planted tip-down in the grass, his avatar leaning on the hilt like it’s a posing stick. When Nyx jogs up, he turns to face you, gives a short bow emote, and then starts running toward the far-off line of cliffs. You fall into step beside him. “So,” you say, eyes on the screen. “Where exactly are we going, oh mysterious guide?”
“There’s a glade most people ignore because it doesn’t drop gear,” he says. “Fireflies, skybox, zero pressure. You can stab a few things if it makes you feel better.”
“You say that like I have a problem,” you protest. “You logged in to hit things after a long day,” he points out. “It’s not exactly a mystery, Nyx.” You open your mouth to argue, then close it again.
Bits of countryside roll past as you run — ruined stone arches, wandering NPCs, the occasional player sprinting by on some oversized mount. Every so often, a stray enemy spawns too close; Kade lazily swings once and deletes it before you can even target it. “I could’ve handled that,” you say eventually. “I know,” he replies. “Tonight you don’t have to.”
The words land heavier than they have any right to. You clear your throat and nudge Nyx closer, hip-checking his avatar with yours. On screen, your character brushes his shoulder, the collision box making him shift a step. “Careful,” you say. “Keep shielding me like that, and I’ll get spoiled.”
“You already are,” he says mildly. “You just hide it behind all that ‘I can do it myself’ energy.”
You want to argue. You don’t. He leads you off the main road, through a narrow canyon that opens into a hidden hollow: a small lake ringed with luminous trees, their branches glowing softly in blues and purples. Fireflies drift in dense clouds over the water, reflecting like scattered stars. The in-game soundtrack shifts to something softer — strings, a lone flute. You stop Nyx at the edge of the lake. “Okay,” you admit. “This is… obnoxiously pretty.”
“Mm,” he says, and the sound through your headset is oddly pleased. “Sit.”
“Excuse me?”
“Hit the sit emote,” he clarifies, unbothered. “Before you decide to jump in and aggro the fish or something.”
You scoff. “I’m not that bad.”
“You pushed a cursed button just to see what would happen last time,” he reminds you. “I’m learning from experience.”
You roll your eyes, but Nyx drops into a sit at the water’s edge anyway, knees drawn up, daggers resting across her lap. Kade’s avatar sits beside her a heartbeat later, sword laid on the ground within arm’s reach. On screen, their shoulders almost touch. There’s a small, quiet space in your chest that you hadn’t realised was clenched until now. It eases, just a fraction. “So,” you say. “Do you bring all your exhausted carries here, or am I special?”
He hums thoughtfully. “You’re the first one who complains this much and still shows up for hard content,” he says. “Makes you… unique.”
“Wow,” you say. “Swoon.”
“Careful,” he replies. “Your standards are showing.”
A few low-level mobs wander near the tree line. When they stray too close, he stands, dispatches them with lazy efficiency, and sits back down without comment. “You know, you don’t have to nanny me,” you say, watching him.
“I’m not,” he says. “I’m optimising. You’re not at full capacity. No point wasting resources.”
“Reducing me to resource management. How romantic.”
“You want romantic, go stand under the virtual moon,” he says. “You want to log off less cranky than you logged on, listen to me.”
You feel your lips curve despite the words. “You realise you’re bossing me around while also telling me to relax,” you point out. “It’s a confusing brand.”
“You logged in sounding like you’d faceplant mid-raid,” he says calmly. “So I brought you somewhere you can sit down while I kill things. It’s not that complicated, Nyx.” There’s your name again, familiar now.
You watch the fireflies drift, tiny particles dancing across your monitor. After a while, you realise you’re just… sitting there. Not tabbing out to check your email, not mentally rehearsing how you’re going to defend your tuning decisions tomorrow. Just existing, with his voice a steady background presence as he talks about nothing and everything.
He tells you about some spectacular bug he saw that turned every enemy in a dungeon into spinning cubes. You rant about a client who decided you now care deeply about damage spreadsheets. You argue the merits of crunchy versus chewy cookies. You laugh more than you mean to. At one point, you yawn, the sound pulled out of you before you can smother it. He stops mid-sentence. “There it is,” he says. “That’s my cue.”
“I can keep going,” you protest automatically. “I’m—”
“Tired,” he cuts in, not unkindly. “You’re clipping the ends off your sentences. Your camera movements slowed down by, like, half a second. Go to bed.” You blink. “You were timing my camera moves?”
“I was watching my party member,” he says simply. “I don’t need a wipe to tell me when someone’s out of gas.” Something in your chest twists at the casual way he says “my party member,” like that’s a position with responsibilities attached. You try to deflect with a joke. “You’re very bossy for a stranger on the internet,” you say.
“You keep logging in at stupid o’clock and following me into content,” he replies. “At some point, that becomes my problem too.” You stare at Nyx and Kade sitting side by side on the bank, fireflies drifting lazily around them. Your cursor hovers over the disconnect button. You don’t click it.
“Hey, Kade?” you say. “Yeah?”
You hesitate, then lean in anyway. “You give surprisingly good directions,” you say. “For a control freak.” He laughs, the sound low and warm in your ears. “And you follow them better than you pretend to,” he answers. “For a menace.” You grin, too tired to hide how much that pleases you.
“Don’t get used to it,” you warn. “Too late,” he says.
You disconnect from voice before you can say something softer and more dangerous, then log out of the game entirely.
Your room is suddenly too quiet. No ambient lake sounds, no modulated baritone in your ears, no bright UI demanding decisions. You shut your laptop and stretch out, the day replaying in flickers: Raj calling your fight “real combat design” with that reluctant approval, Kade’s calm “Tonight you don’t have to,” when he helped you relax. You’re not sure which one is going to echo louder in your head as you finally, finally drift toward sleep.
David waits until everyone’s seated to drop it on you.
The room is smaller this time, with fewer chairs. The roster has already been whittled down; Mina and Felix are gone, casualties of Trial Two. Nobody says it out loud, but the absence sits heavy at the edges of the table. You, Wonwoo, Baekhyun, and Yoohyeon sit opposite Jisoo, Raj, and Kaito. David leans against the screen at the front like he’s about to introduce a new trailer instead of your impending breakdown.
“Trial Three,” he says, smile bright and sharp. “Vertical slice.”
The screen behind him flickers to life, showing a simple list:
TRIAL THREE – CO-OP VERTICAL SLICE
Duration: 5 days
Teams: 2
Deliverable: Playable slice + pitch
“We’ve seen what you can do in your own lanes,” David continues. “We’ve seen you swap lanes and not crash the car.” His gaze flicks over you, then Wonwoo. “Now we want to see if you can drive together without killing each other.” You do not like where this is going.
David lifts his tablet, scrolling. “Team one…” he says. “Baekhyun and Yoohyeon.” They exchange a quick look — a mix of nerves and determination.
“Team two…” David’s eyes find yours. “…our favourite civil war: Wonwoo and his Pixie.” For a heartbeat, the room feels too small.
You feel Wonwoo’s attention like a prickle on your skin. You turn your head; he’s already looking at you, expression unreadable, pen still in his hand. “You’re kidding,” you say before you can stop yourself.
David’s smile widens, all teeth. “If either of you wants to lead at Titan Forge,” he says, “you need to show you can co-lead. This is a co-op game. We’re not hiring a lone wolf and letting them dictate from a tower.”
Raj snorts quietly. Jisoo hides a smile behind her coffee cup.
“You’ll each get a war room,” David goes on, tapping his tablet to bring up a diagram. “Whiteboards, pinned builds, your own branch in our repo, access to a small strike team for support — programmers, artists, whatever you need within reason.” He slides a folder across the table toward you and Wonwoo.
“The slice is a single mission,” he says. “Fifteen, twenty minutes tops. We want to see combat, story, co-op mechanics, and how you onboard players to your weird ideas. Five days. Internal playtest at the end. Don’t embarrass us.”
You flip open the folder. There’s a loose prompt on the first page: “First contact with a failing god. Co-op decision. Mid-tier difficulty. Must support two players and scale to four.” You glance sideways at Wonwoo. His jaw is set. He taps his pen against the folder once, twice, then stops, catching you looking. “Don’t worry, Pixie,” he says under his breath. “I’ll use small words when we talk about frame data.”
You smile sweetly. “That’s cute,” you murmur back. “I was just wondering how I’m going to explain to you what feelings are.”
David claps his hands once. “Keys to the war rooms at the front,” he says. “Shared drives are already set up. Go figure out if you’re soulmates or mutually assured destruction.”
Your war room looks like a crime board from a detective show. By the end of the first day, anyway.
It starts clean: a long table, three whiteboards, a couple of monitors on rolling stands, a window that looks out over the city and the neighbouring rooftop gardens. Two chairs on opposite sides of the table, like you’re about to negotiate a hostage release. You dump your laptop bag on one chair. Wonwoo drops his notebook on the other. For a few seconds, you just… look at each other. “Ground rules?” you say finally.
He tilts his head. “Don’t waste time,” he says. “Don’t sand down anything interesting just to be polite.”
“I wasn’t planning to be polite,” you reply.
“Good,” he says mildly. “Then we’re aligned.”
You start by carving the prompt up into chunks. A god that’s failing. First contact. Co-op choice. You sketch a rough mission spine on the whiteboard: approach, first fight, narrative beat, second fight, choice, fallout. Wonwoo marks combat beats in red over your black storyline. That’s where the friction starts.
“Your cutscene here is too long,” he says, tapping the section you’ve labelled “confrontation.” “Players will be mashing skip.”
“It’s thirty seconds,” you say. “They can survive thirty seconds of emotional context before they go back to hitting things.”
“Thirty seconds before the boss, thirty seconds after the boss, a dialogue choice in the middle,” he says. “Pacing matters. They’ll feel the drag.”
You plant the marker on your hip. “Maybe if your boss fight had any emotional stakes,” you shoot back, “they’d want to see what they’re fighting about.”
His mouth tugs sideways. “It has stakes,” he says. “Failing god, collapsing arena, co-op mechanics that change based on who takes damage and when.”
“Mechanical stakes,” you counter. “I’m talking about something more than ‘health bar go down.’”
He watches you for a heartbeat, then sighs. “Okay,” he says. “Sell me.”
You blink. “What?”
“Sell me,” he repeats, leaning back against the table. “Why should I care about this cutscene when I’m the player? Don’t say ‘because narrative.’”
Fine. You pace once in front of the board, words lining up in your head.
“Because this is the first time the players see a god scared,” you say. “Up until now, gods are this untouchable environmental thing. Here, the god is cracked. Their voice glitches. They offer the players a deal — keep the worship flowing and they’ll keep the sky from falling over this region.”
You sketch with your marker as you talk, lines turning into rough silhouettes. “One player wants to take the deal. The other doesn’t,” you continue. “Or they both disagree with each other about how. That’s conflict before you start swinging. So when they do, it’s not just ‘we’re killing a thing.’ It’s ‘we’re killing something we might have needed.’ That makes the fight feel different.”
Wonwoo’s gaze tracks your motion, thoughtful. “What’s the co-op hook?” he asks. “Beyond ‘we voted differently.’”
You grin. “In the fight, the god only targets the player who argued against them,” you say. “The one who refused the deal takes more aggro, more direct hits. The other player gets all the buffs — damage, shields, healing. Narratively, the god is punishing the defiant one and rewarding the obedient one even as you’re killing them.”
He goes still. You see the exact moment it clicks in his head. “So if I was the one who told the god to fuck off, I’m the one getting smashed into the floor,” he says slowly. “And if my co-op partner told them ‘yes,’ they get to feel strong because I’m suffering.”
“Exactly,” you say, heart beating faster as the pieces line up. “It creates friction between players beyond ‘you didn’t dodge.’ They chose this dynamic.” He exhales once, sharply, like a laugh he doesn’t want to give you. “That’s… not bad,” he admits. He reaches past you, uncaps a red marker, and starts annotating the fight beats you’d sketched in black.
“If we do that,” he says, “we need to make sure the punished player isn’t just miserable. Give them tools. Let them redirect some of that damage back, or convert pain into a big finisher if their partner times something with them.”
You blink. “Hurt/comfort but make it gameplay,” you say.
The corner of his mouth twitches. “You would put it that way,” he says.
The rest of the day goes like that. Friction, then connection. You argue about enemy counts, about how much information to put in UI versus VO, about whether the god should recognise each player individually or just the party as a unit. He tells you your first draft of encounter callouts sounds too “pretty” and not enough “actionable.” You tell him his initial co-op mechanic reads like a spreadsheet and needs one emotional hook, or you’ll fall asleep. Underneath the barbs, you start to spot the pattern.
His arenas carve out little pockets of story space for you — choke points that feel like altars, environmental hazards that tie into the god’s mythology. Your characters give his systems purpose — lines of dialogue that make the co-op mechanics feel personal instead of arbitrary. At one point, you’re both standing in front of the monitor, watching a quick blockout build one of the level designers put together from your notes: rough geometry, grey textures, placeholder god model. The fight’s barebones, but the shape is there.
The god slams a hand down. The floor fractures. One player’s health spikes; the other’s buffs flare. Kaito’s borrowed QA guy moves both characters through the motions while you and Wonwoo talk over each other, calling changes. “That spike is too harsh, they won’t recover—” you say. “Make the tell on the second slam clearer, they’ll think it’s random—” he says at the same time. You both stop. You look at him. He looks at you.
It should feel like you’re clashing. Instead, weirdly, it feels like you’re harmonising. Different instruments, same song. You hate how satisfying that is.
By the end of the day, your war room smells like coffee and whiteboard marker. The walls are covered in diagrams and snippets of dialogue, sticky notes stuck at every angle. A shared drive full of docs and reference videos hums on the monitor. You should probably go home and sleep. You go home and log into Aetherion instead.
Nyx appears in the city square. Before you can move, your voice channel pings — Kade inviting you into a call as casually as if he’d nudged your elbow. You accept.
“Hey,” he says, modulated voice sliding into your ears as the game finishes loading. “You sound like ten percent less dead today.”
You flop back in your chair. “That’s because I’m currently powered by spite and a very unhealthy amount of validation,” you say. “How’s your evening?”
“About to improve,” he replies. “Queue up. There’s a new story chain. Co-op only. Figured I’d try it with my resident menace.”
You smirk. “Flatterer,” you say. “Lead the way, Tutorial.” He laughs, low and warm.
You follow his party ping to a quest giver on the edge of the map — an old NPC Hermit perched near a cliff, exclamation mark hovering over his head. Text scrolls about “shadows gathering” and “only those bound by trust may face what lies ahead.”
“Subtle,” you say. “Very understated writing.”
“Some narrative designer got paid by the metaphor,” Kade says. “Accept it. Let’s see how deep this rabbit hole goes.”
The quest chain takes you both through a series of short encounters — ambushes where you have to cover each other’s blind spots, puzzles that only trigger if you step on pressure plates at the same time. At the end, a prompt flashes: New Campfire Scene Unlocked: “Between Battles”. [Play now with your party member?]
“Ooh,” you murmur. “Fancy.”
“Hit yes,” Kade says. “If it’s boring, we can bail.” You both confirm.
The world fades out and reforms in a small, quiet clearing — a tucked-away grove beneath a massive tree, moonlight pouring through the branches. A campfire crackles at the centre, logs placed around it. Your UI melts away until only minimal prompts remain. Nyx and Kade stand a few feet apart, idle animations softer now, shoulders relaxed.
A prompt appears at the bottom of the screen: [Press X to sit]
You hit it. Nyx crosses the distance and drops onto one of the logs by the fire. Kade’s avatar moves a second later, taking the space beside her. Your characters’ knees almost touch. A dialogue choice pops, classic Aetherion style — three options on a radial wheel, each with a short line.
You read them out. “Option one: ‘Long day.’ Two: ‘Nice spot.’ Three: ‘Don’t get used to sitting this close.’” You say.
Kade huffs. “Three,” he says immediately.
“Of course you’d pick the one with attitude,” you reply. “Look who I’m sitting next to,” he says.
You select the third option. Nyx shifts, leaning back on her hands, eyes half-lidded as she glances sideways at Kade. Text scrolls at the bottom.
Nyx: Don’t get used to sitting this close. I might decide you need personal space.
Kade: You say that like you didn’t pick this log when there were others.
You can’t help the small smile tugging at your mouth. “Wow,” you say. “They coded mutual calling-out. I feel seen.”
“You feel attacked,” Kade corrects. “Which, to be fair, is your baseline.”
Another set of options appears. You read them out again, more amused now. “Okay, new choices: ‘Is that your way of saying you like me here?’ / ‘Don’t read into it.’ / ‘Shut up and enjoy the fire.’”
You hesitate, thumb hovering over the wheel. The safest one is obvious. You don’t pick it. “First?” you suggest, feigning lightness. “Or is that too forward for you?”
“No,” he says, almost before you finish. “Hit it.” Surprise fizzes in your chest. You choose it. Nyx shifts a little closer, one shoulder bumping his.
Nyx: Is that your way of saying you like me here?
Kade: If I didn’t, you’d be on the other side of the clearing.
The camera pans in slightly, framing their profiles, the glow of the fire casting warm light over armour and skin. Under your headset, your heartbeat ticks up. “Didn’t know this game had romance options in co-op,” you say, half joking, half not.
“Apparently, we unlocked the DLC,” Kade replies. His voice is lighter than usual, but there’s something under it — a note you haven’t heard before. “You complaining?”
Your mouth is suddenly dry. “No,” you say. Your voice comes out softer than you meant. “I’m not.” On-screen, another prompt fades in, different this time — a single, simple option on its own little button: [Lean closer]-[Change subject]
You stare at it. You could click away. Laugh. Make a bit out of it. Your finger moves almost of its own accord. You choose [Lean closer].
Nyx shifts, folding her legs under her, turning to face him more fully. Their shoulders press together now; the firelight makes the metal of his armour gleam where it brushes the leather of hers. The camera lingers. You can hear your own breathing in your headset. “Oh,” you say, eloquent as ever.
Another prompt: [Touch his hand] - [Nudge his shoulder]
“They really went all in, huh?” Kade says, a low thread of laughter in his voice. “What do you want to do, troublemaker?”
You swallow. “You choose,” you say. “You’re the one who dragged me out here. Take responsibility.” There’s a faint noise through the modulator — a small exhale. “All right,” he says. “Hit the hand.”
You select: [Touch his hand].
Nyx’s fingers slide over, resting lightly on the back of Kade’s gauntlet. His avatar turns his hand palm-up, their fingers slotting together for a brief, deliberate squeeze before they relax against each other.
It’s a ridiculously simple animation. No moaning violins, no sparkly hearts. Just two characters sitting too close by a fire, hands touching. Your heart is hammering like you’re about to present a pitch to David again.
And then, like the game has been waiting for this moment, the real option appears: [Kiss Kade] - [Stay like this]
You suck in a breath. “Oh,” you say again, even less eloquent. Kade chuckles softly. “Panicking?” he asks. “No,” you lie.
You stare at the screen. It’s pixels. Animation. A pre-written scene. This is not actually doing anything in the real world. But it feels like choosing something anyway. You drag the cursor to [Kiss Kade] and hover.
“If this is weird, we can back out,” Kade says gently. “Pick the other one, we’ll tease the game for being thirsty and move on.” The fact that he gives you the out makes something in your chest unclench. You think about the way he’s been with you in runs — never pushing when you joked around a boundary. The way his voice softened last time when he said, “I brought you somewhere you can sit down while I kill things.” The way he calls you menace like it’s a compliment.
“I’m not panicking,” you say, more certain now. “I’m… deciding.” A beat passes. “Decide faster,” he says quietly. “You’re killing me here.”
The words send heat curling low in your stomach. You click.
Nyx leans in first, which you appreciate on a spiritual level. She tilts her head, eyes fluttering half-shut, and presses her mouth to Kade’s in a slow, clearly animated kiss. He meets her halfway, hand lifting to rest at the back of her neck. The camera pulls in, then stops just shy of full close-up—enough to see it, not enough to make it awkward. The fire pops in the background. Fireflies drift lazily overhead. It’s all code. Your heart doesn’t seem to care.
The scene lingers for a few seconds, then eases them back into their seated positions, shoulders still pressed together, fingers still loosely linked. Text scrolls at the bottom.
Kade: You know this means I’m going to expect you to stick around after the next raid, too, right?
Nyx: Guess you’ll just have to keep giving me reasons.
You let out a breath you didn’t realise you’d been holding. On the other end of the call, Kade clears his throat. “Well,” he says, tone light but a shade rougher. “That’s one way to test co-op features.”
You laugh, a little shaky. “Think we passed?” you ask.
“You tell me,” he replies. “How’s the pacing?”
“Honestly?” you say. “Pretty good.” You don’t add: and I kind of want to hit replay.
You sit there a moment longer, watching your avatars by the fire, heat still simmering under your skin for no good reason.
You just watched your character close the distance with someone whose voice you only just learned this week — someone who keeps catching you when you’re about to fall into traps, in-game and out, and acts like it’s just part of the job.
You’re not sure what this is yet. You are sure, when Kade quietly says, “Queue another campfire after the next raid?” That your answer comes a little too quickly. “Yeah,” you say, smiling at your monitor. “Yeah. I’d like that.”
Trial Three crunch is the kind that eats time. Five days sounds generous on paper. In practice, it’s a blink.
Morning to night, you live in the war room with Wonwoo. Whiteboards fill, empty, fill again. Builds go up, crash, and get patched. You mainline Titan Forge coffee and half-stale pastries, your brain flickering between dialogue and damage numbers.
Raj wants the boss to be tougher. “Phase two is a victory lap,” he says in one review, flicking through the combat log. “If they don’t feel like they might wipe, they’ll get bored.”
Jisoo wants the scene more grounded. “The god doesn’t need a monologue,” she says, brow furrowed. “A few sharper lines will hurt more. Right now they sound like they’re auditioning for ‘Tragic Deity of the Year.’”
Kaito wants it all yesterday. “You are stacking new systems on new systems,” he tells you both, expression pinched. “We cannot build an entire religion and its AI in five days. Pick the one thing you want to prove and cut the rest.” Every note is fair. That doesn’t make them hurt less.
By the evening of day four, you’re frayed down to the wire.
The internal playtest build judders on the big screen while David and the others watch, controllers in hand, QA driving. The fight plays. The cutscene hits. The fight plays again. When the lights come up, you’re already braced. The feedback comes in low blows and body shots.
“Telegraph on the second slam is still muddy.”
“I don’t buy the god switching on the player that fast emotionally.”
“If this were a real milestone, I’d be yelling about scope creep.”
You nod. You take notes. You feel each comment slot into your already-overloaded brain like another brick on a tottering Jenga tower. Then Kaito says, almost offhand, “Right now, it feels like we’re playing two different slices stapled together. It’s… disjointed.”
Something in you snaps. “Because we keep cutting connective tissue,” you say, sharper than you meant to. “Every time we add a mechanic, something has to give, and it’s never the numbers.”
Raj’s brows lift. You can feel Wonwoo go still beside you.
“We don’t need more connective tissue,” Wonwoo says coolly. “We need the fight to feel coherent. The narrative padding is what’s making it drag.”
You turn to him. “Padding.”
“You know what I mean,” he says, jaw tight. “If players are dying because they’re watching a god act instead of reading the floor, they’re gonna get pissed.”
Heat flares in your chest. “If players don’t care why they’re fighting, they won’t remember the encounter in a month,” you fire back. “But sure, let’s just make it another pretty arena to wipe in.”
“I’m the one making sure they don’t wipe in the first thirty seconds,” he snaps. “Yeah, and I’m the one making sure they don’t alt-tab during the cutscene.”
The room goes very quiet. You realise, too late, that you’re arguing in front of David and the leads like this is a Slack thread and not your entire future. Kaito clears his throat.
“Okay,” David says lightly, but there’s steel under it. “This is good. Passionate. I’d rather see you fight for the slice than shrug at it.” You can’t tell if he’s sincere. “Take the notes,” he continues. “Cut one thing each. Combat, narrative. Meet in the middle like grown-ups. You’ve got… twelve hours.” You swallow down the sting. The meeting breaks. Chairs scrape. People file out. You stay long enough to collect your laptop, keeping your eyes glued to the table. You can feel Wonwoo’s presence like static beside you. “Pixie—” he starts.
“Don’t,” you say, sharper than you intend. You sling your bag over your shoulder. “I have to go make my padding less offensive.” You don’t wait for an answer.
You don’t remember the commute home.
One minute, you’re in Titan Forge’s elevator, badge still clipped crookedly to your shirt. The next, you’re in your apartment, keys on the counter, shoes half-kicked off, the room dim except for the glow from your monitors. You don’t change. You don’t shower. You don’t even take your badge off. You sit. You boot Aetherion.
Nyx materialises in a familiar forest — the crystalline one where you first really noticed Kade’s calm callouts. Fireflies bob between trees; particle-lit leaves sway in an endless digital breeze. The moment you load in, your voice channel pings. You accept on instinct.
“Hey,” he says, modulated voice sliding into your ears like you’ve been waiting for it. Then he goes quiet for a beat. “Rough day.”
It’s not a question. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. “You have no idea,” you breathe.
“Try me.”
You move Nyx forward a few steps, then let her stop under a glowing tree. Your fingers hover uselessly over your keys. You don’t give details. You talk in vague, jagged shapes. “There’s this boss,” you say. “And he won’t stay dead the way I need him to.”
“Bad tuning?” Kade asks.
“Bad… everything,” you say. “Every time we fix one thing, something else breaks. And my co-lead—” you bite the word. “He’s brilliant and infuriating and somehow always exactly where the problem is, but he makes me feel like I’m just sprinkling glitter on top of his work.”
Silence, but not empty. Nyx idles on the screen, cloak fluttering. “Sounds like the boss isn’t the only thing that needs tuning,” Kade says eventually.
“He just… got under my skin today,” you admit. “We snapped at each other in front of everyone. I know better. I’m supposed to be… professional. Cool. Whatever.”
“You’re supposed to be human,” he says. “News flash, menace: humans lose it sometimes when they’re pushed.”
You swallow. “They’re only seeing the cracks,” you murmur. “Not the hundred things we did right. And he’ll be fine. He always is. I’m the one who looks… emotional.”
The word tastes sour. Kade exhales quietly.
“You’re carrying different things,” he says. “Both matter. One’s just easier to chart in a spreadsheet.” You blink back an unexpected burn in your eyes. “You’re very wise for someone who threatened to report me to floor safety,” you say. He laughs, low and warm. “I contain multitudes,” he says. “Come on. Walk with me.”
He pings a direction. You follow, letting Nyx fall in beside his avatar as he leads you off the usual path, deeper into the forest where the crystals grow taller and the ambient sound softens. He doesn’t try to fill every silence. He lets you vent in half-sentences and unfinished metaphors about bosses and deadlines and the way it feels to pour your whole heart into something and then watch people poke holes in it. When you crack a self-deprecating joke about “maybe I’m just not as good as I thought,” his voice cuts in, flat and sure.
“No,” he says. “That’s not it.”
You falter. “You don’t even know what I do,” you say.
“I know how you talk about it,” he replies. “I know how your brain works when we’re learning a fight. You look for angles other people miss. You see the story, not just the pattern. That doesn’t sound like ‘not good enough’ to me.”
Heat pricks behind your eyes. You tilt your head back in your chair, stare at the ceiling, and blink hard. “You’re very… soothing,” you say, trying to make it a tease so it doesn’t feel like a confession. “Don’t tell anyone,” he says. “They’ll expect me to start a support group.”
You laugh, real this time. The sharp edge in your chest shifts into something else. Softer. Sharper, too, in a different way. You’re aware of him in your ears, of the low rumble of his voice, of the way he keeps nudging you gently out of spirals and into smaller, safer topics — food, a bug he hit in another game, an NPC you both hate. The flirting that’s been threading through your conversations lately doesn’t disappear. It just evolves. When you grumble about your co-lead always being right in the most annoying way, Kade says, “Sounds like you need someone else to listen to you for a change.”
You shoot back, “Oh, so you’re volunteering for the job?” He doesn’t miss a beat. “Already doing it,” he says. “You’re just slow to accept my application.”
Later, when you call yourself “a disaster with a keyboard,” he says, “You’re not a disaster. You’re… high difficulty content.” You snort. “Is that your way of telling me I’m a pain in the ass?”
“It’s my way of telling you you’re worth the effort,” he says.
There’s a beat of quiet. Your heartbeat stutters. You find yourself wanting… more. More of that voice closer in your ear. More of his attention focused squarely on you and not filtered through a game lobby. More of this feeling of being guided and held together when you’re fraying apart. You don’t say it. You hover on the edge of it, teeth worrying your lower lip, fingers playing with your headset cord.
He gets there first. “Check your whispers,” Kade says suddenly.
You frown at your screen and open the chat. A private message blinks at the bottom. Kade: If I give you my number, you gonna use it?
Your pulse spikes. It’s reckless. It’s also the first thing you’ve wanted all week that feels like it’s just for you. Your fingers shake a little as you type. Nyx: Maybe. If you’re not a serial killer.
Kade: Too busy raiding to murder anyone.
You huff, breathless. You trade a few more lines — nothing identifying, just a string of digits and a “don’t be weird” from you, answered with a dry “no promises” from him.
When you finally log off, the forest dissolving into your desktop, the number is already in your contacts under: Kade. You stare at it for a long time.
Later, you lie in bed in the dark, in your T-shirt and panties, hair a little damp from the shower you barely remember taking. Your badge is on the nightstand, the screen of your phone the only light in the room as you scroll through nothing, thoughts chasing themselves in useless circles.
You flip to your contacts. Kade sits there like a dare. You should not. You really, really should not. Your phone vibrates in your hand.
Kade – Incoming call.
Your heart jumps so hard it almost hurts. You stare at the screen for two rings, three. You swipe to accept. “Hey,” you whisper, voice smaller in the dark than it ever is in daylight.
There’s a crackle, a breath, then his voice — softer than in-game, the modulation gone but worn down to a quiet rasp by the late hour and whatever he’s feeling. He’s whispering too, low enough that the edges of his words blur, like he’s sitting just out of sight instead of however many miles away. “Hey,” he says. “Couldn’t sleep either?”
You huff out a breath that isn’t quite a laugh. “Is it that obvious?”
“You still sounded wired when you logged off,” he says. “Figured you’d either be lying in the dark replaying everything, or doomscrolling. Thought I’d offer a third option.”
You shift onto your back, staring at the ceiling. “What option is that?” you ask. When he speaks again, his tone is different — lower, careful, edged with something you’ve only heard in brief flashes before.
“Let me get you out of your head for a while,” he says quietly. “If you want.” Heat curls low in your belly at the way he says it. Not pushy. Not coy. Just sure. You swallow. You could laugh it off. Make a joke. Change the subject. You don’t.
“And how exactly are you planning to do that, Tutorial?” you murmur, aiming for teasing and missing the mark, landing somewhere breathier.
You hear the faintest hitch in his breathing. “You trust me?” he asks.
The question hangs there, heavy and electric.
You think of how easily your body has learned to respond to his voice in-game — left, now, wait, with me — and how today, when everything else felt like it was slipping, that steadiness was the only thing that made you feel held together. You swallow. “Yeah,” you whisper. “I do.”
There’s a quiet exhale on his side of the line, like something in him unwinds. “Good,” he murmurs. “Then here’s what you’re going to do for me, Nyx.” Your name in that tone sends a shiver racing down your spine.
“Lie back,” he says softly. “All the way. Head on the pillow. I want you comfortable.” You obey, shifting until you’re sprawled on your back, phone resting against your ear, the cotton of your T-shirt whispering against your skin. “Done,” you say, a little breathless already.
“Close your eyes,” he murmurs. “No screens. No ceiling. Just your body and my voice. Okay?” You let your eyes slip shut. The darkness comes in, thick and soft. “Okay,” you whisper.
“Good,” he says. “Now breathe for me. In… and out.”
You inhale slowly, chest lifting, then exhale, letting it all out. He counts it out for you, low and steady. “Again,” he says. “In… hold… out… Good.”
You focus on his voice, on the rhythm he sets. Gradually, the edges of your thoughts blur, the endless loop of feedback and whiteboards and sharp looks fading to background static. When your breathing has evened out, his tone shifts again — still soft, but more deliberate.
“Put your hand on your throat,” he says quietly. “Not hard. Just… there.”
Your fingers lift, drifting up to rest lightly against the hollow at the base of your throat. You can feel your own pulse hammering under your touch.
“Feel that?” he asks. “That’s how wound up you are. You’ve been holding everything right there all day.” You swallow under your own hand.
“Slide down,” he murmurs. “Slow. Over your neck. Your collarbones.”
You obey, fingertips gliding down, following the line of your skin, over the small dip at the centre of your chest. The simple motion sends a shiver through you; you’re too keyed up for anything to feel casual. He hears the tiny intake of breath you make. “Yeah,” he says under his breath. “Just like that. Take your time.”
Your hand drifts lower, skating over the top of your chest. Even through your shirt, every brush feels magnified. You hesitate there, fingers resting, not quite squeezing. “You know what’s next,” he says, voice gone rougher. “Go ahead. Touch yourself how you like it. Over your shirt first.”
Your cheeks flame, alone in the dark, but you do it — carefully cupping your breast through the fabric, testing how sensitive you are. The answer is: very. Your back arches a little without your permission. A soft, involuntary sound slips out of you. He hears it.
You hear him react — a muffled curse, the kind you’ve only ever seen as text, now breathed into your ear. “Fuck,” he mutters, like he didn’t mean to say it out loud. Your stomach tightens. “You okay over there?” you whisper, voice shaky. There’s a rustle of fabric, the faint drag of something over skin. “Yeah,” he says, but the word comes out rough. “Just… appreciating the audio.”
You can picture him, suddenly, lying on his own bed somewhere, phone at his ear, hand not exactly idle. The thought sends another jolt of heat through you.
You roll your nipple gently between your fingers, breath catching, everything buzzing. “Spend a minute there,” he tells you. “You’ve been ignoring your own body. Make it up to yourself.”
You follow his lead, letting each slow touch build on the last until it’s almost too much. You’re panting softly now, the room feeling smaller, heavier.
“Lower,” he says at last, voice a little strained. “Hand down. Over your ribs. Your stomach.” Your palm drifts down, gliding over your torso, skin hot beneath the thin shirt, the muscles there jumping under your touch.
“Under the waistband,” he adds, quieter. “Don’t rush. Just get your hand where it wants to be.”
Your heart kicks hard against your ribs. You slip your fingers beneath the elastic, the contrast between air and warmth making you shiver. Just having your hand there, grazing lightly over your clit, pulls a soft, helpless sigh from you. “Yeah,” he breathes. “I can hear how badly you needed this.”
Your fingers start to circle on instinct, ready to chase what’s coiled so tight inside you, but his voice stops you. “Slow,” he says. “Start with just… exploring. Light pressure. See how sensitive you already are.”
You obey, fingers gliding in careful, teasing passes over the already sensitive nub. It’s not much, but it turns the volume up on everything; even the smallest stroke makes your thighs tense, your toes curl.
Your breath grows uneven, little gasps hitting the speaker.
On the other end, his breathing changes with yours. You hear the faint rhythm of movement, the slightest catch in his inhale now and then.
“You touching yourself too?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.
There’s a pause. Then: “Yeah,” he says, honest and low. “I am.”
The admission sends a sharp pulse through you. You press down on your clit a bit harder, your hips giving a tiny jerk. He groans quietly, like the image in his head just shifted into focus. “Tell me what you’re doing,” he murmurs.
Your face burns, but you give him something — that your hand is moving in slow, careful circles over your clit, that every pass makes your breath stutter, that it’s not enough and somehow already too much.
It stays like that for a while.
You touch yourself the way he tells you to: small circles when you want to drag your hand, slow passes between your folds when your instinct is to grind down, the occasional shallow dip of your fingers into your heat that makes your whole body jump. Every time you try to speed up, he reins you back, murmuring “Not yet,” and you find yourself obeying even as you whine. The restraint makes everything sharper.
At one point, when the need to move harder is almost painful, he says, “Put me on speaker.”
You blink up at the ceiling. “What?”
“Speaker,” he repeats, steady. “Phone on the pillow. You’ll want both hands in a minute.”
Your pulse spikes again, but you do it — pull the phone slightly away, tap the screen until his voice fills the room instead of just your ear, set it on the pillow beside you. He sounds closer now, somehow bigger, every sound magnified. “Good,” he says. “Now you don’t have to hold back.”
You slide your other hand down to join the first. Where your left stays on your clit, the digits of your other hand move through your folds and over your entrance. The extra freedom makes your movements bolder, less restrained. Finally, you dip two of them inside, feeling the wetness and your tightening walls around them. When you curve them upwards, rubbing the spongey part on your upper wall, another sound escapes, something between a raw little gasp and a broken sigh.
“You hear yourself?” he asks, voice gone almost hoarse. “You have no idea what that’s doing to me.”
You do, actually. Because you can hear him now, too — the slick rhythm of his hand, the quiet curses slipping between his teeth, the way he has to stop talking for a second when you moan a little too loudly. “Tell me what you’re doing,” you manage, turning his earlier request back on him. “I want to know.”
He hesitates, then gives you just enough: “My hand’s around my cock,” he says, the vulgarity somehow making your whole body heat. “Palming the head, slowly. I’m trying to not let myself get ahead of you.”
The mental picture hits you like a punch. Your next moan comes out louder than you meant; you bite your lip, but it’s too late. He swears again, softly, like he’s the one being wrecked by the sound.
The tension builds and builds, each deliberate stroke of your fingers inside your hole dragging you closer. Your legs are trembling now, stomach tight, breath catching with every movement of your hands. You’re not even really thinking anymore; you’re just chasing what you need, guided by his voice.
“Kade,” you whisper, almost shocked at how wrecked you sound. “I’m… I’m close.” There’s a raw exhale from the speaker.
“Yeah?” he says, voice shredded around the edges. “Me too.”
You can hear it — the way his breathing has gone shallow, the way his rhythm has gone a little messy, like he’s barely holding on.
For a few seconds, neither of you talks. You just move, the room filled with the sounds of your shared urgency: your ragged breaths, his groans, the faint slide of skin on skin, the muffled wet squelch of your pussy.
You’re right on the edge, everything inside you drawn tight as a bowstring. He must hear the change in your breathing, because he finds his voice again, pushing the words out around his own impending end.
“All right,” he says, low and rough. “Now. Give it to yourself. Come for me.”
The command tips you over. You break apart with a soft, strangled cry, thigh muscles locking, back arching off the mattress as pleasure slams through you in sharp, blinding waves. Both hands stutter and then keep moving, drawn along by sheer momentum and his voice in your room saying, “That’s it. That’s it. I’ve got you.”
Somewhere in the middle of your own unravelling, you hear him let go. A rough, bitten-off groan, a rush of air, a muttered curse that blurs into a sound you’ve never heard from him before — not a word, just a noise dragged up from somewhere deep.
For a few long moments, all that exists is the echo of that peak and the sound of both of you trying to remember how to breathe. Slowly, your body loosens, muscles unwinding, hands falling still. You collapse back into the mattress, chest heaving, every inch of you feeling oddly light and heavy at the same time. His breathing is still coming hard through the speaker, a little ragged, but softening. You stare at the dark ceiling, fingers still twitching faintly, heartbeat pounding in your ears.
He’s the first to speak, voice softer now, edges sanded down.
“You back with me?” he asks.
You swallow, licking your lips. “Yeah,” you whisper. “I… yeah.”
You hear him smile “Good,” he says.
There’s a pause. Then, lightly: “On a scale from one to ‘still thinking about your boss,’ where are we?” You let out a breathless laugh that feels more like a sob turned sideways. “I have no idea what my boss looks like,” you admit. “Or my own name.” He chuckles, warm and smug and weirdly fond.
“Mission accomplished, then,” he says.
You lie there in the dark, sweat cooling on your skin, pulse slowly working its way back down. The knot between your shoulders feels looser. The buzzing panic in your chest has been swapped out for a warm, heavy ache. Guilt tries to poke its head in — about work, about lines you’ve blurred, about how you’re letting a stranger talk to you like this.
It doesn’t stick. Mostly, you feel… lighter.
“You okay?” he asks after a stretch of quiet. “Yeah,” you say, this time without hesitation. “Better than okay.”
“Good,” he says again, a little hum in the word. “Then you’re going to drink some water, maybe wash up, and then you’re going to sleep. That’s an order.”
“Bossy,” you murmur.
“Effective,” he counters, back in that dry, familiar cadence. “Can you do that for me, menace?” Your chest squeezes. “Yeah,” you say quietly. “I can do that.”
“Text me if your brain starts doing the spiral thing again,” he adds. “I can’t promise I’ll always pick up, but… I’ll try.”
Warmth blooms under your sternum. “Kade?” you say.
“Mm?”
“Thank you,” you murmur. “For… all of it.” You hear the smile in his reply. “Anytime,” he says. “Now hang up before I start liking you too much and say something embarrassing.” You laugh, soft and stunned. “Too late,” you say.
You end the call before you can hear his response.
You drag yourself up, drink water straight from a glass, stand under too-hot water until your skin prickles and your legs feel a little weak for more than one reason, then crawl back into bed, phone on the pillow beside you. As sleep starts to pull at you, you glance at the screen one last time.
One new message: Sleep, Nyx. You’ve got bosses to kill tomorrow.
You fall asleep with his words in your ear and the ghost of his voice still telling you what to do, for once not minding in the slightest.
The morning after, you’re wrecked and glowing in equal measure.
You wake up to your alarm feeling like someone unplugged your bones and put them back in slightly wrong, every muscle loose and heavy. Your body is tired; your brain is oddly quiet. Like somebody cleared the cache overnight.
You drag yourself through a shower and into vaguely clean clothes on autopilot, trying very hard not to think about how you got here — the way Kade’s voice had wrapped around your nerves, the way he’d pulled that earth-shattering orgasm out of you over the phone, like it was nothing.
You fail, obviously.
Every time you close your eyes too long in the elevator up to Titan Forge, you hear him again. “Give it to yourself. Come for me.” You almost miss your floor.
Wonwoo’s already in the war room when you walk in, standing by the whiteboard, one hand braced on the table, the other wrapped around a coffee like it’s the only thing anchoring him to this plane of existence.
He looks tired. Not his usual “up late thinking about enemy AI” tired. His hoodie is rumpled, hair messier than usual, dark circles under his eyes like he lost a fight with sleep and caffeine is only barely keeping him upright.
When you step inside, he glances up. Your gazes catch.
Something flickers across his face — a flash of something unreadable— before he looks away a fraction too quickly, taking a long swallow of coffee. You tell yourself the weird lurch in your chest is leftover vulnerability from last night, not anything to do with him.
“Morning,” you say, dumping your bag in your usual spot. “Barely,” he mutters, not quite meeting your eyes. You arch a brow. “Did the combat doc keep you up that late?” you ask.
He shrugs one shoulder. “Something like that,” he says, voice a shade rougher than usual. “You ready to make this god bleed for the playtest?” You grab a marker, capping it off with more force than necessary. “Born ready,” you say. “Let’s go break our own hearts before everyone else gets a turn.”
Between bug reports, tuning passes, and Jisoo poking her head in to ask for “just one more line” that will “totally make that cutscene land,” you barely have time to breathe. On your first coffee break, your phone buzzes in your pocket as you stand in the kitchen staring at the sad remains of a pastry tray. You fish it out.
Kade: “How’s your ‘colleague’ today?”
Your lips twitch. You glance at the doorway, half-expecting someone to be watching you. The kitchen is empty except for the hum of the fridge. You lean your hip against the counter and type back.
You: “Annoying. Smug. Infuriatingly good at his job.”.
Kade: “Sounds like you want to strangle him or sit on his lap.”
Heat flashes under your skin so fast you almost drop your coffee. You bite your cheek, thumbs moving before your brain can meddle.
You: “Bold of you to assume it’s not both.”
Kade: “There’s that bratty streak. Save some attitude for tonight.”
Your stomach does a slow, traitorous flip. You stare at the screen a second too long. A voice behind you makes you jump. “Coffee machine’s not a puzzle, you know.” You twist around.
Wonwoo’s standing in the doorway, mug in hand, watching you with that flat, unreadable look. Up close, the tiredness is even more obvious — the way his shoulders slump a little, the faint redness at the corner of his eyes, like he rubbed them too hard. You thumb your phone screen off and push the kettle button. “I was psyching myself up,” you say. “Trial Three, final day. Feels like a boss rush.”
He moves past you to the machine, sleeve brushing your arm. It shouldn’t register. Your skin registers it anyway. “At least on boss rushes you get loot,” he says. “If we survive this, I demand loot,” you reply. “Bare minimum: one nap and something with melted cheese.”
He huffs something that might resemble a laugh. “Aim high, Pixie,” he says. You don’t let your brain linger on how your nickname sounds in his sleep-rough voice.
The hours blur. You and Wonwoo fall into an uneasy, surprisingly efficient rhythm. He tweaks timings in the fight script; you adjust lines to match the new pacing. You suggest one more tiny reaction shot on the god when the choice lands; he grumbles about scope and then works the animation team to squeeze it in anyway. At one point, when Raj swings by to ask about the spike damage in phase two, you start to answer, and Wonwoo cuts in. “That tuning pass was mine,” he says before you can open your mouth. “If it feels unfair, blame me, not her.”
You blink at him. Raj squints, then shrugs. “It’s not unfair,” he says. “Just mean. I like it.”
He leaves. You glance sidelong at Wonwoo. “You didn’t have to do that,” you say. He keeps his eyes on his laptop. “You didn’t,” he says, “when they said the cutscene was too long. You argued it down to shaving five seconds instead of twenty. Call it even.”
You don’t have an answer to that, so you pretend to be very invested in your line spacing. You press your lips together, refusing to smile. It doesn’t work.
By midday, the war room looks like you detonated a design doc bomb.
Sticky notes bloom in clusters on every available surface. One whiteboard is entirely “CUT” and “KEEP” columns; another is scribbled with a half-dozen variations of one line of god dialogue.
You stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Wonwoo in front of the build monitor as the latest version of the fight plays back. The QA tester controlling the characters executes your “punished vs. rewarded” dynamic perfectly — one player glowing with buffs, the other staggering under repeated hits.
When the god finally falls, the cutscene triggers. The new, sharpened version hits harder than you expected.
The god looks directly at the defiant player and whispers the line you fought for — the one about “you’ll carry this choice even when my voice is gone.” The look they give each other just before the screen fades out punches you in the chest.
You glance sideways. Wonwoo’s lips press together in what might be grudging satisfaction. “It works,” he says.
“You sound surprised,” you say.
He shrugs, eyes still on the screen. “I’m surprised we got it to work in time,” he says. “Not that it works.”
You’re definitely too sleep-deprived, because your brain momentarily short-circuits at that. Before you can unpack it, your stomach growls loud enough to be embarrassing. He actually cracks a small smile at that.
“Go eat,” he says. “I’ll push this build to the playtest branch.”
You hesitate. “You should eat too,” you reply. “You look like you might ascend if someone breathes on you too hard.”
His mouth twitches. “If I ascend, you don’t get your cutscene,” he says. “Go.” You point two fingers at your eyes and then at him in a “this isn’t over” gesture, then back out of the room, phone already in your hand.
In the hallway, the fluorescent lights are a little too bright as you unlock your phone.
You: “We’re almost at presentation. I’m fifty percent adrenaline, fifty percent spite.”
You: “If this goes badly, I’m blaming you retroactively.”
He doesn’t make you wait long.
Kade: “Bold, blaming your emotional support raid lead.”
Kade: “How bad on a scale from ‘mildly annoying’ to ‘I need to set something on fire’?”
You glance down the hallway toward the war room and smile despite yourself.
You: “Hovering around ‘light arson.’”
You: “But the project is finally behaving. The flow feels good. It might actually… be something.”
Kade: “Of course it is. You touched it.”
Your breath catches. You stare at that for a second, feeling something warm and weird spread under your ribs. The dots keep bouncing.
Kade: “You pour yourself into things. It shows. Even from here.”
Kade: “Worst case, if they don’t get it, they’re wrong.”
You: “You’re dangerously close to being sappy.”
You: “That’s my job.”
Kade: “Relax, menace. I can be sappy and tell you what to do.”
Kade: “Speaking of. Deep breath. Shoulders down. Drop your jaw.”
You roll your eyes but follow the instructions, exhaling slowly, unclenching muscles you didn’t even realise were clenched.
Kade: “Better?”
You: “Hate that you’re effective from another timezone.”
You: “But yeah. A little.”
The reply this time is slower, the dots lingering.
When it comes, the tone has shifted — lighter, teasing, the kind of playful edge that makes your pulse tick up.
Kade: “Good.”
Kade: “Now go impress them so I can ruin your composure again later.”
You choke on nothing.
You: “You’re very confident.”
Kade: “Last night says I’m allowed to be.”
Heat streaks through you at the reminder. You lock your phone before you can type something incriminating in the middle of Titan Forge’s hallway.
The internal playtest and presentation take place in the same big conference room where your earlier trials happened, but it feels different with a build you actually believe in. QA runs the slice while David, Raj, Jisoo, Kaito and a handful of other leads watch, controllers in their hands. You and Wonwoo stand side by side at the front, laptops open to your notes, pretending your hearts aren’t banging against your ribs in sync.
The fight plays. The mechanics land. There are wipes, but fair ones. The co-op dynamic between the “defiant” and “obedient” players sparks arguments and laughter in all the right places. The cutscene at the end hits; you see it in the way Jisoo goes very still, in the little “ohhh” murmured around the room when the god spits their last line.
Lights up. For a moment, nobody talks.
Then Raj lets out a breath that sounds suspiciously like he’s been holding it the whole time. “That phase two pattern is nasty,” he says. “In a good way.” He looks at Wonwoo. “I like how the punished player gets just enough tools that you want to be the one taking the hits.”
Wonwoo nods once. “Pain loop needed a reward,” he says.
Jisoo looks at you. “And the choice,” she says. “Tying the aggro mechanic to who argued with the god—that’s mean. I love it.”
You smile, shaky and a little relieved. “It felt right,” you say. “If they’re going to commit to defiance, the world should respond. Even if it’s inconvenient.” Kaito scrolls through notes on his tablet. “For a five-day slice,” he says slowly, “this is… ambitious. But it’s coherent. The systems and story are actually talking to each other.”
David has been quiet, watching you both instead of the screen. Now he straightens from where he’d been leaning against the table.
“It’s good,” he says. “Rough around the edges, sure, but the spine is strong. I can see the game in this.” Relief washes through you, sharp and dizzying. Then he smiles that sharp little smile that makes you nervous.
“Whose idea was the punished/rewarded co-op split?” he asks, eyes flicking between you and Wonwoo. “Combat or narrative?”
You open your mouth automatically. Wonwoo beats you to it. “Both,” he says. You blink at him. “She pitched the emotional hook,” he continues, nodding in your direction. “I built the numbers around it. You rip either side out, and it falls apart.” You catch up, mouth catching up to brain. “He’s the one who made it actually work,” you add. “If I’d tuned it alone, it would’ve been a story beat that accidentally killed everyone.”
David’s gaze moves back and forth between you like a metronome. “Cute,” he says. “You’ve discovered teamwork.” There’s a faint edge there you can’t quite parse. “If we had to ship this slice as-is,” he goes on, “I’d be yelling at you about scope, but I wouldn’t be ashamed of it. That’s… not nothing.”
Raj closes his notebook. “You two actually managed to make co-op feel like it matters,” he says. “That’s the thing I was most worried about when we started this project. I’m… impressed.”
You glance at Wonwoo. He’s looking straight ahead, jaw relaxed for the first time in days. When he notices you watching, he flicks a brief look your way. You share a small, tired smile. It feels oddly like a truce.
Later, after the room has emptied and the war room is in that strange limbo between “still yours” and “soon someone else’s mess,” you sit at the table with your laptop open, mostly for show. You know you should go home. Sleep. Eat real food.
Your phone buzzes. You don’t even pretend you’re not waiting for it.
Kade: “How’d it go?”
You: “We didn’t crash and burn. Presentation played all the way through. People made noises, I think, that were good.”
You: “Someone difficult even said he was impressed.”
You: “I might frame that sentence.”
Kade: “You should.”
Kade: “Told you. You touch something, it turns into something good.”
Heat creeps up your neck.
You: “Careful. I’ll start believing you.”
Kade: “Good.”
Kade: “I want you thinking about what you did right today when I tell you what else I want you to do later.”
Your breath hitches. You glance reflexively at the door. Still empty.
You: “You’re very sure there’s going to be a ‘later.’”
Kade: “I believe the odds are in my favour.”
Kade: “Unless you regret it?”
You chew your lip and type.
You: “No.”
You: “Definitely not.”
You: “You?”
The answer comes fast.
Kade: “Not even a little.”
Kade: “But if you ever do, we stop. No questions. That’s the deal.”
You: “That’s very responsible of you, Tutorial.”
Kade: “Don’t get used to it.”
Kade: “I still plan on bossing you around mercilessly.”
You grin at your screen. Footsteps sound in the hallway. You lock your phone on reflex just before Wonwoo pushes the door open, a folder tucked under his arm, his phone in his hand. “Jisoo wants our notes for the presentation doc,” he says, crossing the room as he types something. “She’s doing a postmortem write-up.”
You nod, closing your laptop. Your phone buzzes again on the table, screen lighting up with Kade’s name for a second before going dark.
Wonwoo’s eyes flick to it, then away just as quickly, expression unreadable. “Big plans tonight?” he asks casually. You swallow, hoping your face isn’t doing anything incriminating.
“Sleep,” you say. “Maybe forgetting my own name for ten hours.”
His mouth twists like he’s suppressing a comment. “Try not to die before Trial Four,” he says instead. “I’d hate to have to steal your ideas posthumously.” You snort. “You’d miss me.”
He doesn’t look at you when he answers, putting his phone away instead. “Yeah,” he says softly. “I think I would.”
Before you can respond, he drops the folder on the table and leaves again, the door swinging shut behind him. Your phone buzzes one more time. You pick it up, a little faster than before.
Kade: “Tonight I want you on call, no game. Just you and me.”
Kade: “Think you can be good for me twice in a row?”
You stare at the words, heat flooding your lower stomach. Between two fires, you think. One rival who makes you want to prove yourself every time he looks at you. One disembodied voice who sees right through you even without a name.
You: “No promises on being ‘good.’”
You: “But I’ll pick up.”
You set your phone down, the war room spinning quietly around you, and realise that, for the first time in days, you’re not just surviving the crunch. You’re looking forward to something. Even if you have no idea how dangerously tangled those two parts of your life could get.
Trial Four comes and goes in a blur of pitch decks, leadership questionnaires, and David using phrases like “scalability of vision” until the words mean nothing.
By the time the dust settles, the roster has shrunk again. Baekhyun and Yoohyeon are cut post-Trial Three, with a quick “thank you for your time” and corporate smiles that don’t reach anyone’s eyes. Now it’s just you and Wonwoo. Two names on the board. Two badges in the war room. You thought it would feel triumphant. Mostly, it feels like the world is narrowing to a single point.
You notice it slowly at first — little shifts around the edges.
In one review, David circles your cutscene outline with a red pen. “We could trim here,” he says. “Skip straight from the god’s first line to the choice prompt. Keep the pacing tight. What do you think, Jeon?”
Wonwoo twirls his pen once between his fingers, eyes flicking from the page to the whiteboard where your emotional beats are mapped out. “If you cut that line,” he says, “the god’s turn comes out of nowhere. The player needs the hesitation to believe the threat.”
David lifts his brows. “We can show that in gameplay,” he says. “No need to over-explain.”
“We are showing it in gameplay,” Wonwoo replies, tone even. “That line lets them feel it before they see it. It’s doing work. I’d cut the second reaction shot instead.” David looks between you, clearly weighing how much blood he can squeeze from both stones.
“You okay with that, Pixie?” he asks you. You’re still stuck on the we in “we are showing it.”
“Yeah,” you say, clearing your throat. “We cut the second reaction shot, we keep the line.”
David’s mouth twists. “You two are getting very good at presenting a united front,” he says lightly. “Dangerous.”
Later, in a systems meeting, David tries again. He leans back in his chair, hands steepled. “If we were going to ship this,” he says, “I want to know whose name goes on the credits as lead. Narrative or combat. You can’t both be in charge.” He watches the words land, eyes bright like he’s waiting for sparks. You open your mouth, defences already snapping into place.
Wonwoo speaks first. “Pick whoever pisses you off less,” he says dryly. “It won’t change how we designed this. The slice is both of us.” You blink at him, caught flat-footed. David’s gaze sharpens. “You’re really okay with that?” he asks. “Even if the role lands on her?”
Wonwoo doesn’t flinch. “If she’s lead, I still get to build fights,” he says. “If I’m lead, she still gets to make people cry. Either way, you get a better game using both.”
You just stare at him. He feels it, finally glancing your way. “Don’t look so shocked, Pixie,” he says, shrugging one shoulder. “I’m not a complete villain.” Your mouth opens. Closes. You look back at your laptop because looking at him suddenly feels dangerously complicated.
The days grow stranger by degrees. You and Wonwoo still bicker, but the barbs land softer now, wrapped in a layer of something almost like fondness. He still pokes holes in your logic, still rolls his eyes when you get too poetic on a first pass, still mutters “scope” under his breath whenever you pitch something ambitious.
But when David tries to pin a problem on you alone, Wonwoo steps in with a steady “that one’s on me.” When someone suggests cutting a narrative beat you love, he backs you up with combat justification. When you’re too fried to translate Raj’s tuning complaints into story terms, he quietly rephrases them until they make sense. You keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. For him to pull away, to remind you this is still a competition, that only one of you walks away with Titan Forge on your CV. He doesn’t.
Meanwhile, your phone has become a second heartbeat. You don’t text Kade in the war room. Not when Wonwoo’s there. Not when anyone’s there. But the second you step away — into the hallway, into the stairwell, outside to gulp cold air on the rooftop — the buzz starts.
Kade: “Project update?”
You: “Internal politics worse than external action. Send help.”
Kade: “Kill them with charm. Or, failing that, numbers.”
You: “Charm stat is low. Spite stat is maxed.”
Kade: “Spite is a perfectly valid build.”
The sexting thread slithers between the jokes now, woven through the mundane.
Kade: “What are you wearing?”
You: “Corporate casual and despair.”
Kade: “Hot.”
Kade: “Lose the despair later. Keep the rest on until I tell you.”
Your cheeks burn on the rooftop, wind biting at your ears. You type with your back to the door.
You: “You’re very sure I’ll do what you say.”
Kade: “You say that every time, and then you do exactly what I tell you.”
Kade: “Eventually.”
You hate how true that feels. You love how true that feels. You delete three responses that are essentially variations of “fuck you” and settle on:
You: “You’re lucky you’re good at this.”
Kade: “I am. And so are you.”
You go back inside with your pulse racing for reasons that have nothing to do with the final trial brief sitting on your desk.
In Aetherion, the boundary between “game” and “something else” keeps dissolving.
You and Kade finished the main story content weeks ago, but the devs keep patching in co-op vignettes — little side scenes, optional story nodes that only trigger if two players have a high enough “bond” score. You’ve unlocked almost all of them.
Campfires under different skies. Quiet nights in hidden shrines. Short quests where your characters work together to fix small, almost domestic problems — an NPC’s broken cart, a haunted well, a lost kid who won’t talk to anyone but Nyx. Tonight, you’re tucked into your usual corner of the crystalline forest, Nyx and Kade sitting on a log, a new “Between Wars” scene flickering to life around them.
You’ve both set your controllers down. At some point, the active playing stops and the two of you default to just talking. The conversation drifts like it always does.
Music first — soundtracks you love, tracks you loop when you’re playing or working. Then favourite boss designs, the ones that made you swear out loud in the best way. “The first time I beat that fight,” Kade says, “I screamed so loud my neighbour knocked on the wall.”
“Did you apologise?” you ask. “No,” he replies. “I asked if they wanted the build.” You laugh until your sides hurt.
That slides into childhood games — cartridges and cracked CDs, memories of borrowed consoles and staying up too late, the first time you realised you could be in a story instead of just reading it. You describe playing an ancient fantasy RPG on a hand-me-down system with a broken save battery, having to keep it paused for hours because turning it off meant losing everything. “That explains so much about your personality,” Kade says. “Early exposure to high stakes.”
“Says the man who thinks floor traps are a fun learning tool,” you shoot back. “They are,” he insists. “Pain is an excellent teacher.”
His voice is warm, amused, threaded with that intimacy that comes from too many hours spent comfortingly in each other’s ears.
At some point, you realise you’re lying sideways on your couch, phone in one hand, controller barely touched in the other, just watching Nyx and Kade’s idle animations flicker by the campfire. The game has become scenery. He has become the main thing.
The thoughts that have been circling for days finally break the surface three nights later.
You stall for a bit — talk about a minor NPC, toss a few jokes out, let them fall. Then, before you can talk yourself out of it, you blurt: “There’s someone at work I can’t stand.”
You hear him go quiet, the soft crackle from his mic shifting as he settles more fully into listening mode. “The same one you mentioned before?” he asks. “The ‘annoyingly talented’ one?”
You exhale, long and uneven. “Yeah,” you say. “Him.”
You pick at a loose thread on the couch with your free hand.
“He drives me insane,” you continue. “He’s smug, and infuriating, and he always seems… collected. Even when I’m falling apart. He used to act like I wasn’t even a threat. Like I was just… there.”
“Used to?” Kade prompts gently.
You think of Wonwoo taking the blame in front of Raj. Of him backing your line against David. Of his quiet “If she’s lead, I still get to build fights” like your success doesn’t diminish his. Think of the way he said, “Yeah. I think I would,” when you joked he’d miss you.
“Lately he’s been… different,” you say slowly. “Backing me up in meetings. Deflecting shit that isn’t my fault. It’s like he decided not to be an ass overnight, and my brain hasn’t caught up.”
You swallow. The words feel like they’re scraping on the way out.
“And I think I might also…” You force yourself to say it, “…be kind of into him, which is very annoying.”
When Kade finally laughs in reply, it’s not cruel. It’s strained, like he’s trying very hard to keep something steady. “Enemies-to-lovers is a classic trope for a reason,” he says lightly. You groan, dropping your forearm over your eyes. “This isn’t a romance novel,” you protest. “He’s— I mean, we’re competing. For the same project. He’s my rival.”
“Rivals to lovers,” Kade corrects. “Also a classic.” You make an inarticulate noise of despair. “You’re not helping.”
There’s a soft exhale on the other end. When he speaks again, his voice has dropped — not into the commanding cadence he uses when he’s telling you where to stand, but into something lower, more careful. “You sure?” he asks.
“Sure about what?”
“That this isn’t a romance novel,” he says quietly. “Feels like it from over here.”
You want to argue. You also want to crawl into your own hoodie and never come out. “You’re romanticising this,” you grumble. “You don’t know him.”
“I know you,” he says. “You light up when you talk about work. Even when you’re pissed off. You wouldn’t waste this much energy on someone you didn’t… care about, on some level.”
You chew on that, on the word care, on the possibility that your anger has been hiding something else. It’s too much. So you dodge. “So what, I’m just supposed to confess my undying love in the next meeting?” you say. “Wear a shirt that says ‘I hate how attractive your brain is’?”
He laughs, the tension in his voice easing a fraction. “I mean, I’d pay to see that,” he says. “But no. I’m saying you don’t have to have it all sorted right now. You’re allowed to want to throttle someone and kiss them at the same time.” The worst part is that you’ve already told him that exact thing — about your colleague — in texts. You’ve practically written your own trope label. You sigh, scrubbing a hand over your face. “You’re infuriatingly reasonable,” you say.
“I contain multitudes,” he replies.
You can hear him smile, but there’s still something tight underneath, like holding this conversation is scraping against a nerve you can’t see.
On screen, Nyx shifts closer to Kade by the campfire, their idle animation nudging them nearly shoulder to shoulder. You watch them, heart thudding, as Kade says, almost too casually, “For what it’s worth?”
“Yeah?”
“Whoever he is,” Kade says, “he’s an idiot if he doesn’t see what he’s got in front of him.”
Your throat closes up for a second. You swallow around it. “Yeah, well,” you say, voice coming out softer than you like. “Good thing you’re not an idiot, then.” There’s a tiny, startled pause. Then he laughs, low and a little shaky. “Working on it,” he murmurs.
You log off hours later with your head spinning, your heart sore, and a growing suspicion that you’re in way over yours.
In one world, you’re gearing up for the final trial against the man who’s been an accidental measuring stick for your entire career, who has started quietly stepping into your corner when it counts.
In another, you’re falling asleep with your phone on the pillow beside you, waiting for a notification from the voice that can pull you apart and put you back together from miles away.
The lines between them blur a little more every day.
Trial Five doesn’t feel like a trial. It feels like a war of attrition.
You and Wonwoo are basically living at Titan Forge. Someone wheels a spare couch into your war room; it becomes a graveyard for hoodies and half-finished coffee cups. The blinds stay half-closed because the outside world is starting to feel like an optional DLC you didn’t purchase.
The brief is simple and cruel: “Pitch a three-year roadmap for Mythfall: Eclipse and then, in a live scenario, rescope that roadmap when we throw crises at you. Show us how you think, how you cut, how you lead.”
You’re not just designing a game anymore. You’re designing a future.
And David is done pretending he’s rooting for you both.
It starts with the one-on-ones. He frames them like standard check-ins.
“Just to make sure you’re both supported,” he says, smiling bright and harmless. “We don’t want you burning out before you even get the job.”
You go first.
David’s office is smaller than you thought it would be. Crammed with shelves, concept art pinned everywhere, a whiteboard full of half-erased scribbles. His desk is cleared, though — tablet, a little stack of sticky notes, your file. He leans back in his chair, fingers steepled. “You’ve done good work, Pixie,” he says. “Mythfall’s heartbeat? A lot of that is you.”
The compliment lands, then immediately feels suspicious. “Thanks,” you say carefully. He nods, like he expected the caution. “But you know how this works,” he goes on. “We can’t have two leads on one title. Someone has to own the final call. Someone has to be willing to say ‘no’ when everyone wants ‘yes.’”
“I can do that,” you say. “If that’s what you’re asking.”
“I’m asking if you’re willing to out-think Jeon,” David says, sharp now. “Because he’s very good at what he does and he’s talking about a solo vision in his meetings.” Your heart stutters. “Solo vision?” David shrugs, casual. “Not in those words,” he says. “But you know how combat people are. Systems-first. He’s got strong opinions about how this game should play and end. I need to know you’re not going to just… orbit him. That you can bring something equally sharp to the table.” You sit a little straighter, pulse beating in your ears. “I’m not orbiting anyone,” you say before you can soften it. “I have a vision. Our slice works because I fought for it. I can fight for the larger picture too.” His eyes warm. “Good,” he says. “Show me that tomorrow. Show me where you would push back if he gets stubborn. We need different perspectives. That’s the best-case scenario — not two versions of the same mind.” You leave feeling like you’ve swallowed a live wire.
You don’t see Wonwoo’s one-on-one. But you see him come out.
You’re walking past the row of glass offices with a printout in your hand when his door opens. He steps into the hallway, face set in that neutral, unreadable way you’re starting to recognise as his version of upset.
David’s voice carries through the cracked door, too loud to pretend you don’t hear. “—just don’t get blindsided, okay? She’s smart. She’s already talking about pitching a separate direction. I’d hate for you to assume you’re on the same page when you’re not.”
Heat floods your face. You don’t stop walking. You don’t look at either of them. You keep going until you’re around the corner, then press your back to the wall and stare at the printer paper in your hand without seeing it.
Separate direction. You replay the conversation in David’s office. The way he framed his concern. The way he twisted “I need you to be strong” into “he wants to lead alone.” The way he’s now telling Wonwoo you might split.
The next two days are a mess of splinters.
You and Wonwoo are still working together, but the soft goodwill that started to build after Trial Three now has hairline cracks running through it. When you push for a narrative-heavy arc in Year Two, you catch him hesitating before he backs you up. When he sketches a system for rotating co-op alliances in Year Three, you hear yourself ask, sharper than you meant, “And where exactly does that leave story continuity?”
You both apologise, quickly and awkwardly, but the apologies feel thin over the tension buzzing underneath. Tiny misunderstandings, yesterday’s nothing, turn into petty frustrations today. You find out, during a review, that he moved one set piece on your Year One roadmap to fit a boss he’s been dreaming up. He finds out, during a call, that you rewrote some flavour text for his combat trees without telling him because “it fit better tonally.” Each time, you both say “It’s fine,” and neither of you sounds like you mean it.
The blowup happens at 1:17 a.m.
The war room is lit only by two desk lamps and the blue glow of the big screen. Everyone else on your floor went home hours ago. Even the cleaning staff have passed through twice and left. There’s an empty pizza box on the table, three coffee cups, two energy drink cans, and one very frayed patience between you. You’d crashed on the couch for “ten minutes” and woken up forty minutes later, neck stiff, mouth dry. You push yourself up, scrub a hand over your face, and stagger toward your laptop. Wonwoo’s already there.
He’s standing at your side of the table, eyes on your screen, fingers moving over your keyboard. For a moment, your half-sleeping brain can’t parse it. Then your stomach drops. Your roadmap document is open. The Year Two narrative section — your section, the one you stayed up to write, the one about fractured pantheons and co-op betrayals — is on the screen.
Words have changed. Sentences shortened. Bullet points rearranged. One of your carefully built emotional beats has become a single bland phrase: “relationship fallout.” Something hot and ugly surges up your throat. “What are you doing?”
He looks up, startled. “Editing,” he says. “The wording was a little—”
“I didn’t ask you to touch that,” you snap, stepping closer. “That’s my section.” His brows draw together. “You were asleep on the couch,” he says. “The deck needs to go to Kaito by eight. I was trying to make sure it’s coherent.”
“By stripping all the specificity out of my pitch?” you demand. “Turning ‘the party has to live with the cost of sparing a god’ into ‘relationship fallout’?” You jab a finger at the screen. “Do you have any idea how hard I fought for that arc when Jisoo thought it was too dark?”
He sets his hands on the table, jaw tightening. “Yes,” he says. “I’m the one who backed you when she wanted to cut it.”
“And now you’re rewriting it while I’m unconscious,” you throw back. “So which is it, Jeon? Support or sabotage?” The air between you goes very still.
He straightens slowly. “You can’t be serious,” he says.
You laugh, harshly, too loud in the small room. “David told me you’ve been talking about your ‘solo vision,’” you say, the words spilling out before you can stop them. “That you need to know you can lead this game on your own.”
Something flickers across his face — genuine surprise, then anger. “And he told me you were considering pitching a separate direction so I shouldn’t get blindsided,” he says, voice cool. “So forgive me for wanting to make sure our names are attached to something that actually fits together.”
You stare at him. You’re too tired. Too raw. Too used to being made to feel like the emotional one, the one who can’t take criticism, the one whose work is “padding” until proven otherwise. All you see is your document on the screen under his hands.
“If you wanted to ‘make sure it fits,’ you could’ve woken me up,” you say, hurt sharpening every syllable. “Instead of quietly sanding down my work until it looks more like yours.”
His expression shutters. “If I’d known you were going to accuse me of sabotage every time I tried to help,” he says, voice flattening, “maybe I shouldn’t have started helping at all, Pixie.”
The nickname lands like a slap. You cross your arms over your chest, nails biting into your skin. “Nobody asked you to start,” you shoot back.
He flinches. It’s small. A tightening around his eyes, a tiny shift in his stance. If you weren’t staring at him, you might miss it.
For a second, neither of you says anything. The war room hums quietly around you — computer fans, the faint buzz of fluorescent lights, the ghost of someone’s laughter from three days ago stuck in the walls.
You break first. “I’m going home,” you say, snatching your laptop cord out of the wall. “You clearly have this under control.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he says, exasperation slipping into his tone. “We have a deadline. We don’t have time for—”
“For me to be upset about you rewriting my work?” you cut in. “No, of course we don’t. That would be inconvenient.”
You stuff your laptop into your bag, way rougher than necessary.
He runs a hand through his hair, visibly struggling for patience. “What do you want me to say?” he asks. “That I won’t touch anything that isn’t mine, even if the whole thing sinks because of it? Congratulations, you’re lead then. Alone.”
The worst part is that a piece of you hates how much that hurts. You yank your bag onto your shoulder. “Goodnight, Jeon.”
You’re halfway out the door when he says, quieter, “You know that’s not what I meant.” You don’t look back. If you do, you might crumble.
Your apartment feels foreign when you stumble in.
You drop your bag by the door, kick your shoes off hard enough that one skids under the table. Your Titan Forge badge lands on the counter with a clatter. You pace the length of your living room three times, pulse still hammering in your ears. You’re furious. You’re exhausted. You’re hurt.
That last one feels like betrayal.
You scrub a hand over your face, breathing hard. Your gaze lands on your PC. You know you should just go to bed, let the anger burn itself out, deal with the fallout tomorrow like a professional adult.
Instead, your fingers move on autopilot. You boot Aetherion.
Nyx materialises in the crystalline forest, same as always. The world is quiet, glowing, almost gentle. Your voice chat icon lights up almost immediately. You accept before you can reconsider.
“Hey,” Kade says. Usually, there’s a smile in his voice when he greets you. Tonight, there’s something else too — a thread of concern.
“You’re on late,” he adds. “Even for you.”
You don’t bother pretending otherwise. “Big surprise,” you say. “Work imploded.” You move Nyx without thinking, running her in circles under the trees, needing the motion.
“Walk or hit things?” he asks.
“Both,” you say. “At the same time.”
He chuckles softly. “Come on, then,” he says. “There’s a patrol route with some elites that deserve it.” He pings a spot. You follow, falling into the familiar pattern — Nyx at his flank, his greatsword a constant weight at the edge of your vision.
Your hands know what to do. Your brain does not. You take a hit you normally would’ve dodged. Miss an obvious telegraph. Overextend into a pack and eat a stun to the face. Kade notices.
“Nyx,” he says, after you faceplant into the same cone twice in a row. “You’re playing like someone swapped your dexterity for salt.”
“Maybe I did,” you mutter. He keeps his tone light, but there’s a hint of steel underneath now — the same edge he uses when a raid is one mistake away from a wipe.
“Talk to me,” he says. “What happened?”
You don’t want to talk. You also kind of want to scream. Instead, you give him the redacted version: the project, the roadmap, the one-on-ones that feel more like trap rooms, the late-night scene in the war room with your “colleague” at your laptop. You still can’t say Wonwoo’s name here. It doesn’t matter. You talk in silhouettes; Kade connects the lines.
“He rewrote my work while I was asleep,” you say, fingers tight on your mouse. “Then acted like I was overreacting for being pissed about it.”
On screen, Nyx lunges forward at the wrong moment. You notice too late; a phantom’s blade kisses her health bar. Kade swings in, intercepting, catching the enemy’s attention before it finishes the combo. “Of course you’re pissed,” he says. “Anyone would be. That’s your name on the doc.”
“David’s already trying to pit us against each other,” you push on, anger rising with your words. “I’m supposed to be his co-lead, and I feel like I’m constantly fighting for my own oxygen. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.”
You take another hit. Kade yanks the mob off you again, but his voice is less smooth now. “You know exactly what you’re doing,” he says. “You’ve been holding half the project together by force of will.”
“Hasn’t felt like it,” you say bitterly. “Feels like I’m either in the way or being used as decoration.” You rush into the next pack too early, ignoring the patrol path you usually follow. Three enemies turn at once, converging on you. Kade curses under his breath and dives in after you, sword flashing. “Nyx,” he says, firmer now. “Back up. You’re going to get yourself killed.”
“Maybe I don’t care,” you snap, dashing anyway. Your screen floods with damage numbers. He burns cooldowns to keep you from eating dirt. “I care,” he says. “Fall. Back.” Something in you bristles at the command.
You do it anyway, because your health bar is screaming and he’s clearly not about to let you die on his watch. You kite backward, breath too fast in your own ears. “You can’t keep charging red telegraphs and then get mad when you get hit,” he says tightly. “That’s not how this works.”
“Wow,” you say, the bitter laugh scraping out of your chest. “Thanks for the life lesson.”
“You wanted to hit things,” he reminds you. “I’m trying to make sure you don’t wipe in the process.”
The words land wrong tonight. You hear I’m trying to show you how to do it right. You hear you can’t handle this without me. You know that’s not what he said. It doesn’t matter.
“Maybe I’m just an idiot,” you say, fingers clenching around your mouse. “For talking to someone I don’t actually know. For letting some guy on the other end of a phone tell me what to do like he knows best.”
There’s a small, sharp silence. You hear his exhale, short and disbelieving. “Wow,” he says quietly. “Okay.”
You push on, because it’s easier than stopping. “You’re not the one who has to deal with the fallout if this blows up in my face,” you say. “You’re not the one with your real career on the line while you—” You cut yourself off before you say too much. The damage is done anyway. “Nyx,” he says, and there’s a warning in it now. “That’s not fair.”
You laugh, the sound sharp. “What part?” you demand. “The part where I rearrange my sleep to match your raid times? The part where you tell me how to breathe, how to touch myself, how to—” you choke on the memory, “—and I just… listen, because you’re so calm and sure and it’s easier than trusting my own judgment?”
Your vision blurs for a second. You blink hard. On screen, the last enemy dies. Loot explodes around you in a shimmer of colour. Neither of you moves to pick it up. His voice comes back, rougher. “You know me better than you think,” he says. “This isn’t just some game to me.”
You freeze. Something under your ribs twists. He keeps going, words tripping a little. “I’ve been here,” he says. “Every night you’ve wanted to scream. Every time you’ve doubted yourself. I know how you think about fights. I know how you talk when you’re stressed, when you’re happy, when you’re about to do something reckless. I know you.”
The hurt from the war room flares again, now tinged with something like panic. “Do I?” you ask, voice low and shaking. “Know you?”
You stare at Nyx and Kade on the screen — two avatars shoulder to shoulder, weapons sheathed, both idle animations breathing in sync. You realise, abruptly, that if he disappeared tomorrow, you don’t have a last name. You don’t have a face. You don’t have anything but a voice, a handle, and the mess he’s made of your heart. “Because from where I’m standing,” you say, “you’re just another guy who gets to be mysterious and in control and take what he wants and call it ‘help.’”
You can hear his breath on the line, sharp once, then pulled in. When he speaks, his voice is very, very controlled. “That’s what you think I’m doing?” he asks quietly. “Taking?”
You don’t answer. You don’t trust what will come out if you open your mouth. You hit escape. The menu fills your screen. You see his avatar turn toward you, as if he knows what you’re about to do even without mechanics for it. “Nyx,” he says, and there’s something in his tone you haven’t heard before — not command, not teasing, something brittle. “Don’t log off angry. Talk to me.”
Your cursor hovers over “Log Out.” Your eyes sting. You do it anyway. The world blinks out to the character select screen, then to desktop. His voice cuts off mid-breath.
Your room rushes in — the hum of your PC, the tick of your wall clock, the too-loud sound of your own heartbeat. You sit there in the dark, headset still on, fingers pressed white-knuckled into your thighs, breathing like you just wiped to a boss at one percent. You tell yourself you’re justified. That it’s good to remember you don’t really know him. That you’re protecting yourself. You tell yourself a lot of things. None of them makes your chest hurt less.
You rip the headset off and toss it onto the couch, then crawl into bed without showering, without brushing your teeth, without turning your phone face-up on the pillow like you usually do. You don’t want to see his name. You don’t want to see if it doesn’t appear.
In the dark, with your eyes burning and your throat tight, one thought echoes louder than the rest: In one world, you just accused your co-lead of trying to cut you out. In another, you just shoved away the only person who’s been holding you together when you felt like you were coming apart.
For the first time since this all started, it feels like you might have done real damage in both.
The next day, the whole building feels off-kilter.
The air in Titan Forge’s hallway is too dry, the fluorescents too bright, the hum of servers too loud. Every sound seems to scrape along your nerves. You step into the war room and feel it immediately: the shift.
Wonwoo’s already there, standing by the big screen, flipping through printouts. His hoodie is cleaner than yesterday’s, hair pulled back off his face, badge clipped straight. He looks composed. You do not feel composed. He glances up when you enter. For one suspended heartbeat, you meet each other’s eyes. There’s a flicker there—regret, maybe, or just the echo of yesterday’s fight—but he’s the one who looks away first, gaze dropping back to the paper in his hand. “Morning,” he says, neutral. “Sure,” you answer, just as flat. You take your seat at the table. He stays by the screen. You talk only when you have to.
“We’re missing milestones for Year Two.” “Check the second tab.”
Voices clipped, eyes skimming past each other, never lingering. On paper, nothing is wrong. The deck is getting done. The roadmap is tightening. The final trial is tomorrow. Underneath, it’s all shattered.
Last night sits between you: you finding him over your document; his face when you accused him; your own words, sharp and ugly. The slam of the door when you walked out. You don’t know what to do with any of it.
You don’t know what to do with Kade, either. Your phone stayed face down on your nightstand, buzzing once, then silent. You didn’t look. You can’t now. Not with Wonwoo ten feet away. You dig your nails into your palm and focus on the work.
Today is “final prep day,” according to David. Polish. No surprises. Dot the i’s, cross the t’s, make sure the build and the deck and your brains all say the same thing. It feels less like polish and more like threading a needle during an earthquake.
You and Wonwoo spend the morning in the war room scrubbing the roadmap slides until they gleam. You tighten the wording on your emotional beats; he reworks a couple of graphs so they’re legible from the back row. You trim one story example; he trims two features and then adds a line to your slide so you can point to how story and systems saved scope together. In the afternoon, you move to the big conference room you’ll use tomorrow. Kaito’s assistant booked it for your “tech check and rehearsal.” It feels like walking onto a stage before the curtain.
You plug in the laptop. The title slide for your deck—Mythfall: Eclipse – Three-Year Vision—fills the big screen. You and Wonwoo take turns at the front, clicking through, talking to empty chairs. “Year One is about promises,” you say, gesturing to the map. “We teach players what this world honours and what it punishes.”
“Year Two is about consequences,” he adds, when the slide shifts. “We start cashing checks we wrote in Year One. Systemically and emotionally.”
You time yourselves. You tweak transitions. You add two backup slides for the live Q&A. You scribble a list of potential “crises” they might throw at you tomorrow and argue through how you’ll answer each one so you don’t contradict each other in front of the leads. Sometime around nine, David sticks his head in. “You two still here?” he asks, sounding more amused than surprised. You click out of slideshow mode; the fluorescent lights feel harsher when the screen isn’t filling your vision. “Just making sure nothing explodes when we hook it up tomorrow,” you say.
He glances at the screen, at the neatly ordered thumbnails in the sidebar, at the whiteboards with timelines still half-erased. “Looks thorough,” he says. “Get some rest. Don’t over-rehearse. I want your brains sharp tomorrow, not fried.” You fight the urge to snort.
“We’ll head out soon,” Wonwoo says instead. David gives you both a quick, bright smile that somehow still feels like a test. “Big day,” he says. “Try not to think about it.” Then he’s gone, door swinging shut, leaving you in the echo of his advice. You and Wonwoo run the deck one more time anyway. Just once more.
By the end of it, your throat is scratchy and your shoulders ache. The clock on the wall says 11:34 p.m. The rest of the floor is dark. You start packing up—closing your laptop, stacking your printouts into a neat pile that immediately slouches sideways, capping the last dry-erase marker. Chair scrapes as you push yours in. “See you tomorrow,” you say, without looking up. You don’t wait for an answer. You head for the door, letting it swing shut behind you, never checking whether his footsteps follow or if he stays behind in the empty room.
You make it all the way down the hallway before you realise something’s missing. You stop dead. Your phone. You remember setting it on the table beside your laptop before you started rehearsing. You remember telling yourself you’d deal with Kade’s existence later. You did not remember picking it back up. “Fuck,” you mutter under your breath. You pivot and head back.
The corridor is dark now, most of the floor already shut down for the night. Only the conference room door glows with light under the frame. You hesitate for half a second, then push it open. Your phone sits near the far end of the table, exactly where you left it. Right next to Wonwoo.
He’s in the chair you vacated, hunched over the table, elbows braced, face in his hands. His phone lies just off to the side, screen dark.
He jerks upright when the door opens. You both freeze. For a moment, you just look at each other, lit by the overheads and the flicker from the screensaver on the big monitor. You open your mouth to say something neutral—forgot my phone, or didn’t know you were still here—when you notice your screen is already lit. You cross the room automatically, reaching for it, then stop when you see what’s on the lock screen. A text preview, right there in familiar formatting.
Kade: “I’m sorry about last night, Pixie. I pushed too hard.”
You stare at the words, at the nickname. Pixie. You feel it like a physical impact: the word, the timing, the apologetic tone that matches the one you’ve come to know from his texts and calls. Your head snaps up. Wonwoo is watching you. You catch the movement as he slides his own phone into his back pocket, the guilty tension in his shoulders, the way his hand lingers there a second too long, like he’s just shoved something incriminating out of sight.
The puzzle pieces don’t fall into place so much as smash together.
The nickname. The way Kade has always understood your stress too well. The raid schedule that magically fit your crunch. The little phrases that echoed things Wonwoo said in person. The way he knew how fried you were before you even spoke some nights. Your stomach drops, molten and cold all at once. You reach for your phone with numb fingers, staring at the message, praying it might rearrange itself if you look hard enough. It doesn’t. Your voice, when it comes, sounds distant to your own ears. “It was you.”
You swallow, throat burning. “This whole time,” you whisper, “it was you.”
He flinches like you hit him. “Pixie—”
“Don’t,” you snap, the word cracking on the way out. “Do not call me that right now.” Silence slams down. You can hear your own heartbeat pounding in your ears. Somewhere, faintly, the elevator dings in the distance. Wonwoo stands slowly, palms flat on the table like he’s afraid to move too fast. “I was going to tell you,” he says, voice low. “I just—”
You laugh, short and ugly. “When?” you demand. “Before or after we fucked on the phone again? Before or after I cried about you to you?” His jaw tightens. “You didn’t use my name,” he says. “You never said it was me.”
“Because I didn’t know,” you spit. “Because I thought I was safe there. That Kade was—” You break off, biting the name in half. He winces.
“I figured it out after Trial Three,” he says quietly. “When I brought Jisoo’s file, and you left your phone on the table.”
Images slam into your mind: that evening in this same room, your phone lying next to your laptop, the soft buzz as a notification lit the screen; Kade’s name flashing for a heartbeat; the way you’d flipped it facedown a second too late as Wonwoo walked in with a folder under his arm. You grip your phone tighter, knuckles white.
“So you knew,” you say slowly, “for days, that I was Nyx.”
“Yeah,” he says. “And you didn’t say anything?”
He deflates a little, shoulders sagging. “You hated me,” he says simply. “Here.” He gestures around the room. “You barely tolerated me during Trial One. I thought if I told you I was Kade, you’d cut me off in both places. I… didn’t want to lose you.”
Something in your chest twists. “So you lied instead.”
“I never lied,” he says. “Not to you. I just… didn’t correct your assumptions.”
You stare at him. The distinction feels paper-thin. “You let me talk about you,” you say, voice shaking now. “You let me complain about my ‘colleague’ being dismissive and infuriating and… and you listened as if you were someone else. You didn’t even—” you swallow hard, “—you didn’t even try to defend yourself.”
He swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing. “I liked how you talk about me when you forget you’re supposed to hate me,” he says, so quietly you almost don’t hear it. “I liked hearing what I was getting wrong. I wanted to fix it.”
You shake your head, anger spiking through the hurt. “You wanted to have it both ways,” you snap. “You wanted me as your rival and your raid partner. You got to be the asshole who made me doubt myself and the voice who put me back together at night. Do you have any idea how messed up that is?” His expression breaks, just a little.
“Of course I do,” he says. “You think I haven’t been calling myself every name you just did? I thought I’d get a chance to explain before… this.”
He waves a hand between you, helpless. Your eyes burn. You take a step toward him before you realise you’re moving. “Explain, then,” you say, bitter. “Explain the part where you also decided to sext me for weeks without telling me who you were.”
Colour climbs his throat. He doesn’t look away. “I didn’t plan that,” he says hoarsely. “I wasn’t sitting here thinking, ‘how do I trick her into phone sex?’ I was already gone for you before I knew you were Nyx.”
You choke on a disbelieving sound. “Gone for me,” you repeat. He nods once.
“I’ve had a crush on you for years,” he says, words coming faster now like he’s afraid that if he stops, he won’t be able to start again. “Back when you were doing little indie visual novels, and everyone wrote you off as ‘the feelings girl.’ I watched you eat people alive with your writing. I watched you win awards I wanted and clapped for you from the back row.” Your heart lurches, confused. He keeps going, voice rough.
“And every time I tried to talk to you at a con, I said something stupid, and you looked at me like I was bored. So I did the only thing I know how to do when I don’t know what the fuck I’m feeling.”
He gives a humourless huff. “I acted like you weren’t a threat,” he says. “Like I barely noticed you. It was a shitty defence mechanism. I thought if I kept you at arm’s length, I’d stop thinking about you every time I opened a new brief.” You stare at him, chest heaving. Something cracks open under your ribs. “Spoiler,” he adds quietly. “It didn’t work.”
You let out a wild, half-hysterical laugh. “So instead,” you say, “you went with secret alt and made me fall for you there.”
“I didn’t think you’d…” he trails off, eyes closing briefly. “I just liked talking to you without the history. You liked me there. Or at least you didn’t hate me.” His gaze finds yours again, raw. “I meant every word I said to you as Kade,” he says. “Every apology, every compliment, every time I told you I was proud of you. That was me. I just… didn’t know how to be that guy with my own face.”
He looks wrecked—eyes too bright, shoulders hunched like he’s braced for impact. You feel like you’re going to fly apart. Anger, betrayal, want, old hurt, new hurt—it all churns inside you until you can’t tell one from the other. “You don’t get to do this,” you whisper. He frowns. “Do what?”
“Be both,” you say, gesturing wildly. “You don’t get to be the man who made me feel small for years and the man who held me together in my headphones and—” your voice cracks, “—and the man who made me come late at night with his voice and then text me like nothing happened. You don’t get to be all of that and expect me to just… slot it into one person and be fine.” You see his hands curl into fists at his sides, like he’s physically stopping himself from reaching for you.
“I don’t expect you to be fine,” he says, quiet and fierce. “I expected you to be furious. You should be. I deserve that.”
You close the distance between you without meaning to. You’re close enough now to see the faint stubble on his jaw, the way his pupils are blown wide, the tension in his neck. You want to hit him. You want to kiss him. You hate him. You want him. The contradictions tear at you, each one feeding the other. Your hand moves before your brain catches up. You shove at his chest. He rocks back a step, not because you’re strong enough to move him, but because he lets you.
“You made me feel crazy,” you say, shoving him again. “I thought I was losing my mind because I was falling for a guy I’d never seen while I couldn’t stop thinking about kissing my rival at work.” He catches your wrist before you can shove him a third time—not hard, just enough to halt the motion. “You’re not crazy,” he says. “You were falling for the same idiot twice.” That does it.
You surge forward, grabbing the front of his hoodie, and crash your mouth into his. The kiss lands messy, teeth clacking, too much force and no finesse. It feels less like affection and more like a collision. He makes a low sound in his throat, like he’s been waiting for this and is still somehow surprised. Then he’s kissing you back, just as rough. His free hand comes up to cup the back of your head, fingers threading into your hair. He yanks you closer, mouth moving over yours with an intensity that borders on feral. You bite his bottom lip, hard enough to make him gasp. He hisses between his teeth, grip in your hair tightening just shy of painful.
“Careful,” he murmurs against your mouth. “You keep that up, and I’m not going to be gentle.”
“Maybe I don’t want gentle,” you snap.
Something in his eyes darkens. He searches your face, breathing ragged. “You sure?” he asks, voice low. “You say ‘stop’, and we stop. I don’t care how pissed you are.”
Your whole body is buzzing, every nerve screaming. Logic tells you that this is a terrible idea—that you are too angry, too hurt, too everything. Your mouth doesn’t listen. “Don’t you dare stop,” you whisper.
Whatever thin leash he had on himself snaps. He backs you up until your hips bump the edge of the conference table, never breaking the kiss, hands all over you now—at your waist, your ribs, sliding up your sides like he’s trying to memorise every inch. You tug his hoodie down his shoulders, grabbing at cotton and heat, needing him closer, needing something to hold onto before you come apart. He obliges, stepping between your legs, his body slotting against yours like it was always meant to fit there. Your hands find his hair, sinking in, tugging hard. He groans, the sound vibrating against your mouth. “Brat,” he breathes. “Of course you are.”
He drags his mouth down your jaw to the spot under your ear that makes your knees threaten to give out. His teeth graze your skin; his lips soothe the sting. The conference room around you falls away. There’s only the harsh sound of your breathing, the scrape of his stubble against your neck, the solid weight of him pinning you to the table. One of his hands slides up, skimming your throat. He doesn’t squeeze. He just rests his fingers there, a firm, possessive circle that makes your pulse trip under his touch. You shudder. He feels it. “Okay?” he asks, voice suddenly very careful. You nod, too fast, words tangling. “Use your words,” he says, even now, even like this. You exhale shakily. “Yeah,” you manage. “I’m… good.”
His answering sound is halfway between relief and hunger. “That’s my girl,” he murmurs. Your insides twist. You grab his wrist, not to pull him away but to anchor yourself, nails digging into his skin as his other hand finds your hip, fingers biting in.
Clothes shift and tangle. Buttons fumble as both your pants come undone. There’s the thud of your back hitting the table, the drag of his hands over your newly bared skin, the rasp of his breath as he curses softly into your mouth.
At one point, you spin him, shoving him back against the table, palms flat on his chest. “You don’t get to be in charge of everything,” you pant. His mouth curves, even now. “You keep saying that,” he says, “and then you keep doing exactly what I tell you.” You answer by biting his shoulder. He laughs, short and breathless.
He pushes you back to the table anyway, rougher now, turning you, bending you forward until your palms hit the cool surface. Your heart rabbit-kicks against your ribs. He pauses. You feel his hand splay over your lower back, steady and warm, holding you in place without holding you down. “Last chance to tap out,” he says, voice wrecked. “Tell me if this is just anger and you’ll hate me for it tomorrow.” You look back over your shoulder, hair wild around your face, lips swollen, eyes blazing.
You’ve never wanted anything as much as you want him in this exact, terrible, perfect moment. “I already hate you,” you say, breath shaking. “Do something about it.” Something breaks in his demeanour. He bends over you, his chest warm at your back, his cock hard against your ass cheeks, breath ghosting over your ear as his hand slides from your spine down, around your hip. His fingers slip between your thighs, knuckles brushing your sensitive, aching core he’s already worked up. You jolt, a broken sound catching in your throat. “God—” He groans quietly, like the confirmation hurts him.
“You’re shaking,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. “Look at you.”
He starts to touch you there, fast and deliberate, drawing tight little circles on your clit that make your legs shake. It’s too much and not enough, heat building in dizzying waves. “Wonwoo,” you gasp, fingers clawing at the edge of the table. “I— I’m ready, just— please, I need—”
You don’t finish the sentence. You don’t have to. He stills instantly. “Yeah?” he asks, voice wrecked, checking one last time. “You sure?” You nod frantically, words tumbling. “Stop teasing,” you snap, desperate. “Now.”
He swears under his breath, the sound rough and reverent all at once. Then he presses forward, fitting his hard cock against your entrance in one slow, inexorable push that knocks the air from your lungs. The stretch, the pressure, the sheer presence of him hits you like a shockwave. You choke on a strangled moan, fingers white-knuckled on the table. He exhales a ragged curse.
For a second, he just holds there, buried deep inside your cunt, both of you shaking. “Fuck,” he breathes. “You feel—” He cuts himself off with a shaky laugh. “Of course you do. Of course you’re like this.”
You rock back on instinct, testing him. He gets the hint. The first thrusts inside you are measured, like he’s making himself count. Each snap of his hips drives you forward, your palms sliding on the smooth surface, the bite of the table’s edge at your thighs grounding you even as everything else spins. He’s not gentle. You didn’t ask him to be. He’s not careless, either.
Every time your breath stutters wrong, he eases up. Every time your fingers claw at the table like you’re slipping, he steadies you—one hand banded tight around your hip, guiding you back to meet him; the other roaming, finding your ribs, your stomach, the base of your throat, touch firm and anchoring. You push right back, refusing to just take what he gives you. You meet every thrust with your own, gasping curses into the tabletop, chasing your own pleasure as fiercely as he drives you toward it.
The room fills with it: the obscene slap of your bodies meeting, the creak of the table, the scrape of a chair knocked sideways, your broken little sounds spilling out despite your best effort to stay quiet, his low, filthy praise in your ear. “Look at you,” he grits out at one point when you turn your head enough to catch his eye over your shoulder. “Still arguing with me even when you’re about to fall apart.”
“Shut up,” you gasp, words punched out of you. He laughs, breathless, sweat-dark hair falling into his eyes. “Make me,” he says.
You try. You shove back harder, changing the angle, dragging a ragged groan out of him that sounds suspiciously like surrender. He adjusts his grip, and suddenly his hand is fisting in your hair again, not cruel, but firm enough to tip your head back. He uses the hold to pull you upright, peeling you off the table until your spine is flush to his chest, his mouth at your ear. The new angle punches a startled cry out of you. He swallows it with a groan, hips jolting. “That’s it,” he murmurs against your skin, voice shredded. “Take it. You’re doing so fucking well for me.”
The hand in your hair loosens, slides down, wraps back around your throat—fingers spread, thumb under your jaw, holding you there. Not choking, just owning, a perfect, unbearable collar. You whine, the sound high and broken. He feels it vibrate under his palm and shudders. “Okay?” he manages again, even now. You nod, too far gone to be anything but honest. “Harder,” you whisper. “Please.” You feel, more than hear, the way he swears at that, the way his control frays.
His free hand drags back down, over your chest, your ribs, your stomach, until he finds your clit again, fingers slipping down to work in ruthless counterpoint to his thrusts. You almost come right then. The pleasure spikes so sharply you have to grab his wrist, nails digging into his skin to keep yourself tethered. Your moans get louder, spilling out of you unchecked, echoing embarrassingly off the glass walls. Panic and arousal tangle. Without thinking, you grab his wrist where it’s banded around your throat and drag his hand upward, pressing his palm over your own mouth.
It muffles the next broken sound that tears out of you. It also gives you something to bite. You clamp down when the first wave of your orgasm hits—teeth sinking into the heel of his hand as your body seizes, vision sparking white at the edges. He groans, the noise punched out of him, hips stuttering. The combination—the way your walls clamp around him, the way your teeth mark his skin, the way you tremble against his chest—is what finally yanks him over the edge with you. He spills into you with a hoarse curse against your shoulder, thrusts stuttering, both of you shaking through it, riding out the aftershocks tangled together—your mouth still pressed to his palm, his chest a rough, solid drum against your back.
For a while, there’s nothing but the ringing in your ears, the burn in your lungs, and the heavy, shuddering weight of him braced around you as the storm you both started finally, finally breaks.
Slowly, the world comes back into focus. Your hands hurt from how hard you’ve been gripping the edge of the table. Your knees feel unreliable. Your clothes are a mess. You become acutely aware of exactly where you are: Titan Forge conference room, table still scattered with notes and printouts. Security cameras might be off at this hour. You don’t know and don’t particularly want to know.
Wonwoo eases back, gentle now, hands suddenly careful like he’s afraid you’ll shatter if he moves too fast. He helps you straighten, fingers automatically reaching to adjust your shirt, pull up your pants, smooth your hair, thumb barely brushing the marks he left on your throat. You flinch away from the touch like it burns. His hands fall. “Pixie,” he says softly.
You shake your head, staring at the table, at your phone lying there with that text still on the lock screen. Your body is humming, boneless, satisfied in a way that makes your brain want to crawl out of itself.
Your heart is a wreck. “Don’t,” you say, voice raw. “I can’t— I don’t know what any of this is, okay? I don’t know how to be around you when you’re… all of that at once.”
He looks at you like you’re the only thing in the room. “Then let’s figure it out,” he says. “Talk to me. Yell at me. Ask me anything. Just… don’t walk away without giving me a chance to be honest with you, for once.”
You want to. Some part of you wants to curl up on this stupid table, let him confess every stupid feeling, let yourself admit your own. The rest of you is too raw, too exposed, nerves stripped bare. If you stay, you’re going to say something you can’t take back. You scoop up your phone with shaking fingers and shove it into your pocket. You don’t look at Kade’s apology again. You don’t look at Wonwoo.
“I can’t do this right now,” you whisper. You grab your bag from the chair, sling it over your shoulder, and head for the door. He doesn’t try to stop you. He just stands there, chest heaving, watching you go with something like devastation in his eyes. “I’m not going anywhere,” he says quietly, just before you cross the threshold. “In either place.”
You don’t answer. You leave him in the conference room—hair mussed, hoodie askew, notes scattered, the ghost of you still on his skin—while you walk out into the empty hallway, legs unsteady, mouth still tasting like him and your heart a tangle of love and fury you’re not ready to name.
The elevator doors slide shut in front of you. Your phone buzzes in your pocket. You don’t look.
You last exactly three minutes in front of your bathroom mirror before you decide to quit.
The first thirty seconds are just an assessment. Your eyes are ringed with exhaustion. There are faint bruises on your hips where his fingers dug in; a scatter of marks along your throat that your collar can almost hide. Your lipstick from last night is long gone, but your mouth still looks swollen, like your body remembers what it was doing on that conference table.
Your brain insists on replaying it in high definition: Wonwoo’s hand in your hair. Kade’s voice in your ear. The same man, the same mouth, the same hands. Your rival. Your crush. Your online almost-boyfriend. All stacked into one very real, very complicated person.
You press the heels of your hands into your eyes until little sparks dance. This was supposed to be simple. Titan Forge was supposed to be simple: win the contract or don’t. Get the credit or move on. Instead, you’ve acquired:
One crushed childhood dream brand
One emotional disaster of a dual-identity situationship
One very vivid mental catalogue of Jeon Wonwoo’s dick
You stare yourself down in the mirror. “Fuck my career,” you tell your reflection. You mean it. You’re not doing this. You’re not going to chain yourself to a project where the director pits you against your partner, and your partner is also the person who knows exactly how you sound when you come apart for him. You’re going to go in, tell David he can keep his title, and walk. You throw on the first halfway-clean shirt that doesn’t show your throat, yank your hair up, and head out.
By the time you swipe into Titan Forge, your resolve is layered over with a thin film of nausea. The lobby is its usual sleek, intimidating self. The Mythfall: Eclipse key art looms on the big screen—your god, your pantheon, your systems and story, all rendered in glossy concept art that now makes your stomach twist. You ride the elevator up alone, rehearsing lines. “I’m withdrawing from consideration.”/ “I’m grateful for the opportunity, but this isn’t the right fit.”/ “No, I don’t want your NDA-locked ‘consultancy’ crumbs, thanks.” The doors slide open onto your floor.
Before you can head for the war room, your phone buzzes with a calendar notification. Mandatory check-in – 15 min. Of fucking course. You sigh, stuff the phone back into your pocket, and change course for the big conference room. If nothing else, you can quit with an audience.
Everyone’s already there when you arrive. David stands at the head of the table, tie loosened, hands clasped like a man who’s about to deliver Very Important News™. Raj sits halfway down, arms folded, expression wary. Jisoo has a notebook open, pen twirling in her fingers. Kaito’s tablet is on the table in front of him, screen dark for once. Wonwoo is at the far end, one elbow on the table, fingers pressed to his mouth. His eyes flick up when you walk in. For one suspended second, everything that happened last night flashes between you like a glitch—his hands on your hips, your teeth in his palm, the way you’d both been shaking after. The way you’d walked out anyway.He looks wrecked and put-together at the same time: freshly washed hair, clean hoodie, bruised half-moons under his eyes. You take the empty chair at the other end of the table. You don’t look at him again.
David clears his throat. “Thanks for coming in early,” he says. “I’ll keep this brief. I know you’ve both been burning hard.” You fold your hands in your lap to stop them from balling into fists. This is it, you think. You open your mouth. He beats you to it.
“First,” David says, “I want to thank you both for your incredible contributions over the past weeks. What you’ve built for Mythfall: Eclipse is—genuinely—some of the strongest design work I’ve seen at this studio in years.” Your heart doesn’t even have the decency to flutter at the compliment. It just waits.
“Unfortunately,” he continues, and there it is, “due to some… unexpected shifts in budget and restructuring at the executive level, we’re not going to be hiring an external lead for this title after all.” For a moment, you’re sure you misheard him. The words land, rearrange themselves, refuse to make sense. He keeps talking. “The board has decided we’ll be internalising direction for Mythfall,” he says. “We’ll fold the frameworks you’ve both developed into our existing leadership structure.” Internalising. What the fuck?
“That doesn’t mean your work isn’t valued,” David adds quickly. “Far from it. We’ll absolutely be discussing consultancy fees, maybe ongoing advisory roles as things progress. Your names will be in the ‘Special Thanks’ without question.”
Special Thanks. You hear your own heartbeat in your ears. Five trials. Weeks of unpaid crunch. Your systems. Your narrative. Your fights. Your god. No lead role. No credit that actually matters. Just a vague promise of “maybe” money and a scroll at the end of the credits where your names get a half-second of blur. You realise, very calmly, that he never planned to hire either of you. The trials weren’t auditions. They were an extraction.
You feel your chair scrape back before you realise you’ve pushed it. “So that’s it?” you ask, your voice eerily steady. “We put everything on the table for you and you just… internalise it?”
David’s smile tightens. “I understand this is disappointing,” he says. “But this is the reality of triple-A right now. We have to make hard calls. You’ll still have the prestige of having shaped a Titan Forge flagship title.”
“Without a title,” you say. He shrugs, palms up. “Titles are fluid,” he says. “Impact is what counts.” Your vision goes a little white around the edges.
Maybe this is where you flip the table. Maybe this is where you walk out without another word. You’re right on the verge of one or both when Wonwoo speaks. His chair doesn’t scrape. He doesn’t raise his voice. He just says, very calmly, “No, you won’t.” Every head turns. David blinks. “Excuse me?”
Wonwoo straightens, rolling his shoulders back, and for the first time since you met him, he looks like he’s stepped fully into a role that fits: not the aloof rival, not the bored genius, but someone who knows exactly what he has and exactly what he’s willing to do to protect it. He reaches into his bag and pulls out a thin folder, a sheaf of stapled printouts, and his phone. “I had a bad feeling about this,” he says, flipping the folder open. “So during Trial Three, I filed provisional patents on the co-op systems we built, and registered copyright for the narrative framework and key beats.” He slides one of the pages down the table toward David. Your name is on it. So is his.
You blink. “You what?” He doesn’t look at you yet. “Under both our names,” he says, still watching David. “As joint creators. As independent contractors, not employees. The NDA you had us sign is for evaluation, not work-for-hire.” David’s expression curdles. “That IP was developed on our premises, using our tools,” he says. “With our staff overseeing. It belongs to Titan Forge.”
Kaito shifts in his chair. “Not automatically,” he says mildly. “Not without a specific assignment clause, which isn’t in the documents you had Legal send them.” David throws him a look. “Kaito—”
“I read what I sign,” Kaito replies. “And what I ask others to sign.”
Wonwoo taps his phone, bringing up an email thread. You can see the subject line from here: Re: Provisional Filing – Cooperative Risk/Reward Narrative Loop. He angles the screen toward David.
“My lawyer timestamped the submissions and acknowledgements,” he says. “We filed on the underlying mechanics and the specific expression of the narrative—two-player punished/rewarded dynamic, pantheon collapse beats, branching co-op romance structure, the whole package.”
He finally glances your way. There’s apology in his eyes, but also something like pride. “Titan Forge can’t legally ship this game as pitched without us,” he says. “Not without paying through the nose and crediting us as co-creators.”
The floor tilts under your feet. You grab the back of your chair, knuckles whitening, brain scrambling to catch up. He did this. Quietly. During Trial Three. When you were still trying not to kill each other over cutscenes and boss patterns. And he put your name on everything.
You turn to David. Your anger sharpens into something clean. “You used us,” you say, and your voice doesn’t shake this time. “You dangled a title every developer in the city would kill for, made us jump through hoops, pitted us against each other, and you never intended to hire either of us.”
His jaw tightens. “That’s not—”
“You thought we’d be grateful for scraps,” you cut in. “For ‘Special Thanks’ and ‘maybe some consultancy fees’ while you shipped our work under someone else’s name.” You take a breath that feels like stepping off a ledge. “We’re not.”
A beat of silence. Then, unexpectedly, Raj speaks up. He leans forward, forearms on the table, gaze fixed on David. “I signed on for a tough evaluation,” he says. “Not for exploiting candidates’ work and cutting them out of leadership entirely. If we ship their design without them, I’m not putting my name on it.”
Jisoo’s pen, which has been motionless for the last few minutes, starts to move again. “And I’m not rewriting their story to make it just different enough to dodge the legal filings,” she says calmly. “You’d feel every compromise. The players would too.”
Kaito sighs, rubbing his temples. “We can’t afford this,” he says quietly. “If they walk and this goes public, the narrative becomes ‘Titan Forge runs unpaid lead design gauntlets and steals pitches.’ That’s a PR nightmare. Especially with the way hiring practices are under a microscope right now.” David looks between the three of them like he’s suddenly found himself outnumbered on a board he thought he controlled. “Nobody is talking about stealing,” he says, too quickly. “We were always going to compensate them—”
“With what, exactly?” you ask. “Because all I’ve heard is ‘maybe’ fees and ‘special thanks.’ No title. No real ownership. Just enough to shut us up.”
Wonwoo’s voice is quiet, but it carries. “If Titan Forge wants Mythfall: Eclipse as it exists now,” he says, “we talk proper contracts. Co-lead or co-director credits. Ownership percentages. Real money. Otherwise, we take our ideas somewhere else, and we call it something else.”
David snorts. “Good luck getting this scope off the ground without our resources,” he says. “You’ll be pitching for years.”
“Maybe,” you say. “Maybe not. But here’s the thing, David: we’d rather spend years pitching than hand you the keys to something you don’t respect enough to pay for.” You meet his gaze, steady.
“And if we do go somewhere else, we’ll have a hell of a story to tell about how this process went. About five ‘trials’ that were really free labour. I’m sure a few outlets would be very interested.” His face goes chalk-white, then mottled. “Are you threatening me?” he asks.
“We’re outlining consequences,” Wonwoo says before you can answer. “Which is what good designers do.” Silence stretches.
David looks at each of you. He sees no allies. Just a narrative lead, a combat lead, and a producer who don’t want their names on a theft; two designers who own the skeleton of the game he wants; and a potential scandal breathing down his neck. The fight goes out of his shoulders all at once. He exhales, long and disgusted. “Fine,” he grinds out. “We’ll revisit the roadmap internally. Shelve this version for now.” He flicks a tight look at you and Wonwoo. “Legal will be in touch about formalising whatever we used,” he adds. “If we use it.”
You know what that means. They’re not going to ship your blueprint. Not like this. They might try to rebuild something from scratch later, but it won’t be your pantheon, your punished-and-rewarded co-op dynamic, your particular mix of systems and story. They can’t, not without you. Good. “We’ll look forward to hearing from them,” Wonwoo says, polite and icy.
The meeting dissolves in slow motion. Raj gives you both a short, respectful nod on his way out. Jisoo squeezes your shoulder as she passes, eyes soft. Kaito mutters something about “coffee and a long talk later” and follows David out, tablet already in his hand, damage control mode engaged. Then it’s just you and Wonwoo and the ghost of a game that doesn’t belong to Titan Forge anymore. You stare at the empty doorway. You feel hollow. Furious. Relieved. Terrified. Weirdly, also free.
You’re ready to walk. You head for the door. He falls into step beside you without asking. The lobby is quieter on the way out than it was coming in. No one stops you. No one knows yet that a whole possible future just imploded on the top floor. You swipe your badge one last time. The reader beeps green. The turnstile clicks. You step through. So does he.
Outside, the city air is cool, cutting through the leftover heat in your skin. People move past on the sidewalk, oblivious. Cars hiss by on wet asphalt. The Titan Forge logo glows above you, massive and smug. You stare up at it. Then you flip it off. Wonwoo huffs out a laugh beside you.
“That’s mature,” he says. You lower your hand. “Thanks,” you say. “I work with what I’ve got.”
For a moment, neither of you speaks. It’s just you and him, side by side on the pavement, not as candidate and rival, not as winner and loser, but as two people who just told one of the biggest studios in the industry to choke. Your pulse hasn’t quite settled. Your brain hasn’t picked a lane on him yet. He shifts his weight.
“So,” he says quietly. “Do you hate me?”
You let out a breath that’s almost a laugh, almost a sob. “I tried to,” you admit. “Really hard. For a long time.” You meet his eyes. “It’s not… working out.”
Something in his expression loosens. The corner of his mouth lifts, small and disbelieving. “Good,” he says. “Because I don’t think I can do this solo mode thing anymore.” You snort. “You’re not exactly built for it,” you say. “Mr. ‘let me tune the whole fight around my co-op partner.’”
He shrugs, a little helpless. “You’re not exactly built for it either,” he says. “Ms. ‘I accidentally wrote a love story into every mechanic.’” You roll your eyes, but your chest warms. “What do you want?” you ask, before you can overthink it. “With… all of this. The game. Us. Whatever we are.” He looks at you like he’s cataloguing every possible answer, then discarding all but the most honest one.
“I want to build something with you,” he says. “That nobody else gets to claim. Not a company, not a director, not some faceless board.” His gaze drops to your mouth, then back up. His voice goes quieter. “And I want to see where this goes,” he adds. “All of it. If you’ll let me.”
You think about all the versions of him you’ve known: the dismissive rival at cons; the bored genius in black hoodies; the stranger in a fantasy forest who told you where to stand and who to stab; the man who just stood up to his own dream job for you. You think about yourself, too, and how you’ve felt more seen in the last few weeks—by him as Kade, by him as Wonwoo—than you have in years.
“Professionally,” you say slowly, “we already have a game. We just can’t call it Mythfall: Eclipse.” He nods. “Different pantheon,” he says. “Numbers filed off. Better anyway.”
“Indie scale,” you add. “Smaller scope. Tighter focus. No trials where people try to steal it.” His mouth twitches. “Co-op studio,” he says. “Just us. Maybe a few other masochists.” The thought scares you. It also lights you up in a way Titan Forge never quite managed to, even at its brightest. You take a breath.
“Romantically,” you say, and the word feels huge in your mouth, “we’re a mess.” He winces, accepting it. “Accurate,” he says.
“You lied by omission,” you go on. “You hid behind an alt. You let me say things to you as Kade I never would’ve said to you as Wonwoo.” He nods, jaw tight. “I know,” he says. “And I’ll spend as long as it takes proving I can be the same person in both places.”
“You… also backed me in every meeting you didn’t have to,” you say quietly. “You filed IP under my name without telling me because you wanted to protect my work. You sat on calls with me at stupid o’clock and told me I wasn’t crazy when I felt like I was.” His eyes go soft, stunned, like he hadn’t expected you to list his good points out loud.
“You make me better at what I do,” you say. “You piss me off. You challenge me. You make me feel… big. Not small. I haven’t had that in a while.” His breath leaves him in a shaky exhale. “So,” you finish, heart hammering, “no, I don’t hate you. I just need you to be honest. No more masks. No more secret alts.” He nods immediately. “Deal,” he says. “Full co-op mode. No splitscreen bullshit.” You snort, a startled laugh bursting out of you. “You’re such a nerd,” you say.
“You knew that already,” he replies.
You stand there, facing each other in the shadow of the building that just rejected you and tried to rob you, and realise that for the first time since this whole thing started, you’re not waiting for someone else’s verdict.
You get to decide. “So,” you say, voice lighter now, “are you going to kiss me like my rival or my raid lead?” His grin flashes, small but real. “Both,” he says. “If you’ll let me.”
You don’t say yes. You step into him instead, fisting your hand in the front of his hoodie and tugging him down. He meets you halfway.
The kiss is nothing like the one in the conference room. It’s slower. Softer. Still a little messy—your noses bump, you both smile into it—but there’s no desperation in it this time. Just warmth, and the dizzying feeling of your two lives finally, properly slotting together. Rival and partner. Kade and Wonwoo. Nyx and you.
When you break apart, you’re breathing a little harder, but the world hasn’t tilted off its axis. It’s just bigger. More possible. He rests his forehead against yours. “We really did just tell Titan Forge to fuck off,” he murmurs.
“We did,” you say. “And we still have a game.”
“And a name,” he adds. “For the studio.” You pull back, brow arching. “Oh?”
“Co-Op Mode,” he says. “Seems on the nose.” You roll your eyes, but your smile is helpless. “We’ll workshop it,” you say. “We will,” he agrees. “Together.” You lace your fingers through his, turn your back on the giant Titan Forge logo, and start walking.
You might have lost the contract. But as you step into the future with him—equal, chosen, finally on the same side—you have a strong suspicion this is the biggest win of your career.
A/N: Thanks to 76% of the 130 votes on my last poll, I present you my latest fic. I was inspired after finishing Ali Hazelwood's 'Two Can Play' and thought this would be an easy write. Joke's on me because I had to restart it three times. Oh well, hope you like this version. 💟
Taglist: @igetcarriedawaywithyou - @amazinggraxia
Send me your thoughts - feedback/fangirling is always welcome. Want to be tagged in future works? Let me know.
(Collage created by me. Credits to owners of the pictures taken from Pinterest.)
genre: smut, angst, fluff, coworkers to lovers, friends to lovers
summary: being technologically averse, yet a complete control freak to your core, you tend to annoy senior IT specialist, jeon wonwoo, to no end. but after an apology brings you two closer together, wonwoo finds himself reaching out to you more often than not. on and off slack. despite what you two had originally perceived, you find yourself thrown into feelings that neither of you could've ever prepared for.
warnings: handjobs, fingering, oral (f!recieving), unprotected sex, missionary position, belly bulge, grinding, praise, wonwoo is a service top!!, multiple sex scenes, jerking it in an corporate office bathroom lol, drunk horniness, miscommunication, reader is learning how to open up<3, mutual pining. nsfw (minors / ageless blogs dni).
word count: 19.2k
note: hello new ppl, welcome to the first goldenhourology one shot ✨ I've written things in the past, but this is my first really long one shot. the longer it got, the more I stressed out lol. but I've seen a lot of people do this 20k word one shots, so I thought I'd try my hand at it! also idk much about tech, so if I got anything wrong in this, pls ignore it. thank you to anyone who gives this a read!!
in rotation: picture you, chappell roan / dress, taylor swift / valentine, laufey / diamond boy, sza
Some said your late 20s were the last few years of fun before you fully allowed yourself to be an adult, so why were you always drowning in work?
It didn’t help that you were an executive assistant in one of the biggest software companies in the U.S. When you took the job, surely, you should’ve known that you’d be signing up for an exorbitant amount of work, ranging from invoice management, planning travel for your boss, to even research for senior managers. Despite the constant stress you were under, you liked this job. You liked the trust that your boss had in you. You liked that they let you be independent and figure things out on your own.
And when you couldn’t … you simply contacted IT.
It helped that a senior IT specialist sat right across from your cubicle.
Jeon Wonwoo wasn’t the most talkative cubicle buddy, nor was he the most pleasant. He did his best to give you a smile every once in a while, but he had to fight the urge to throw his head in his hands whenever you send him a message on Slack. You didn’t typically need help with anything, except in the area of tech. You were so organized and incredibly smart – it didn’t take an idiot to see that – but god forbid, sometimes … you could be so technologically averse.
Maybe he just had too many years of schooling under his belt – he was 28 now with both a Bachelors and Masters in Software Engineering – but you surprised him with some of your requests. Sometimes, you’d delete files by accident, need to renew your subscription to important apps, even locked yourself out of your own computer once. He had interns underneath him that could be available to help you, but you had consistently messaged him. And he sat directly across from you. No matter what, it was always going to be Wonwoo that had to help you. Fate had made sure of that.
There were times that you realized you were bothering him. Either you heard him curse from behind his extremely large monitor or he adjusted his glasses so much that you thought he might break them in half. And to be honest, you liked being in control of your own work, so you’d try to find a solution. Typically, solving your own tech problems left your computer in more disarray.
And there was Wonwoo to save the day yet again.
You [10:58 AM]: Morning, Wonwoo!
You [10:58 AM]: I screwed up
You [10:59 AM]: Boss sent me some documents that were password protected, but he’s away for the next two days and not answering his phone
You [10:59 AM]: So I might’ve downloaded some software to help me unlock it and I think it’s attempting to hack my email as we speak
You [11:01 AM]: I’m so so sorry! I didn’t want to bother you
Jeon Wonwoo [11:01 AM]: I’ll be right over.
Luckily for you, Wonwoo was able to fix the problem and stop your email from getting hacked. Whoever was the owner of that virus-filled program you tried to download didn’t gain access to those password-protected documents before Wonwoo secured your computer. But it was close. Too close.
Not only that, but he had a multitude of other projects today. He had to train two new interns … have one of those annual performance reviews with the head of IT … change over a dozen new passwords for people … and then he found out that they’re changing servers. Which meant everything backed up on their former server had to be transferred over to the new one. Fucking great.
He wasn’t sure how many times he sighed today, but it had to be over a hundred. When he couldn’t stand to be sitting anymore, he stood up and paced around the third floor of the building. Today felt like the longest day of his life. And there was a mustard stain on his green sweater vest. And he got a shitty haircut a few days ago. And he probably needed new glasses because he was getting headaches.
It was time for a coffee. As well as a day off.
Coincidentally, you were also headed to the break room that afternoon in need of a green tea. You were about to walk in when you heard your cubicle mate letting out a frustrated breath while talking to another IT specialist. He was clearly fed up about something, or maybe just tired of this day. You hid next to the doorframe, and just when you thought it was safe to step out, you heard your name fall from his lips.
“I don’t understand how she does it,” Wonwoo complained, hands smacking against his sides. “Seriously, it’s mind boggling. I’m pretty sure she has her Masters in Business Administration, but she does this shit that just makes me … Oh my god, she literally tried to download some faulty software off the internet today, instead of just asking me or someone else for help.”
“Oh, yeah, everyone wants to turn to you when you got that attitude, man,” someone – Lee Seokmin, maybe? – joked.
“You get what a mean.” Wonwoo watched the first couple drips of shitty office coffee fill his cup. “I was able to save her computer, yeah, but it would be nice to avoid an emergency for a day.”
Seokmin slapped him on the back. “The joys of working in IT.”
You huffed, stalking away from the break room and back to your desk. There was only so much office gossip you could take, especially when it involved you. As soon as you sat down, you finished typing up an email at the loudest volume possible, your fingers basically punching themselves into the keys. You heard Wonwoo slide back into his desk chair, the fresh smell of burnt coffee wafting across to you, and he didn’t say a thing. Not that he would ever know you had eavesdropped. But not a “hello” or “how has computer been after this morning?” He went back to work, burning his tongue on the overly hot liquid.
Maybe Wonwoo was right; maybe you did need to just stop overthinking and ask for help instead of figuring stuff out on your own. Or maybe this asshole needed an attitude check.
You decided to not bother him for the rest of the week, complaining to your friends that Friday night about your shithead of a coworker. They said he might be looking out for you in his own fucked up way. You said he might just be an asshole.
Come Monday morning, you had realized your ignoring hadn’t effected him at all. He still sent you the same small smile as he walked in and sat down across from you. Could he really not see how pissed you are, or had the facade you’d crafted for so long as the perfect corporate employee work too well?
You should just be upfront with him, take control of the situation. Like always.
You [9:44 AM]: I heard you in the break room a few days ago.
You [9:44 AM]: I just didn’t want to bother you. That’s why I had tried to figure out the issue on my own. Didn’t realize that was a crime
Jeon Wonwoo [9:46 AM]: Crap.
Jeon Wonwoo [9:46 AM]: You weren’t supposed to hear that.
You [9:47 AM]: Well, I did
Jeon Wonwoo [9:50 AM]: Listen.
Jeon Wonwoo [9:50 AM]: Not that it excuses anything, but there’s so much going on at work. It wasn’t all about you. I was complaining just to complain and I didn’t mean any of it.
Jeon Wonwoo [9:50 AM]: I’m sorry.
You [9:51 AM]: Wow
Jeon Wonwoo [9:51 AM]: What?
You [9:51 AM]: You’ve never come across as someone who can apologize well
Jeon Wonwoo [9:52 AM]: Are you sure you aren’t projecting right now? We sit across from each other. I’ve seen how stubborn you are.
You [9:53 AM]: I thought you were apologizing to me????
Jeon Wonwoo [9:56 AM]: I’m sorry. Again.
You [10:01 AM]: Okay, you’re forgiven
Jeon Wonwoo [10:09 AM]: Can I make it up to you with a coffee?
You didn’t go out on dates. The last one you went on was … years ago, probably in undergrad. Once you go for your Masters, all energy to date goes out the window.
Not that this was a date. This certainly was not a date.
This was an apology coffee after work, since the two of you seemed to have an affinity for caffeine at late hours.
Even if, per chance, he thought this was a date … you’d eventually have to let him down easy. It probably wasn’t in your best interest to date someone like Jeon Wonwoo, but you’d also closed yourself off from love for far too long. It wasn’t that you didn’t get lonely – you did, very much, especially on late nights where it was just you and your favorite vibrator – but it was just … scary. Opening yourself up. Losing just a small semblance of control. You weren’t even sure you could physically allow yourself to do that after being alone for so long.
Your heart had been tucked away so many years ago, locked inside a box, and then in another box, and so on. With the final lock being so complicated that only someone who knew the last four of your social security number could answer. No one was opening up that box. Your heart was safe from the outside world.
You were independent, reliant on only yourself, and you liked it that way.
Once he had gotten both your coffees, he sat down next to you at a hightop table, folding his winter coat over the back of his chair. He had managed to remember your latte order and it tasted perfect. Your eyes flitted up, ogling him for a moment. When you’re not under the fluorescent lights of the office, Wonwoo was … attractive. To say the least. Maybe he always had been and you were too blind to see it. Maybe his face was perpetually hidden by his monitor.
His hair was tousled in the way that it looked effortless, even if he hadn’t brushed it after rolling out of bed. He had a tendency to wear sweater vests with white t-shirts underneath, or button-downs with jeans. But it was only when he showed off his forearms that you realized he was surprisingly built underneath his oversized clothes. He was tall and his shoulders were broad. You liked his glasses too; they always sat on the edge of his nose. A thin line was etched into both lenses, suggesting age, but they framed his face well.
Yeah, you thought to yourself, he is handsome.
“Why are you staring at me?” He asked, knocking you out of your stupor.
You blinked and looked down at your coffee, removing the lid. “Oh, I … uh … good question.”
“Listen,” he started, eyes flickering to his hands, “I’m really sorry about what I said –”
“You don’t have to keep apologizing.”
“– And I understand if you want to go to HR about this –”
You shook your head. “Wait, what? Why would I do that?”
He glanced around, until finally, his eyes were on you again. And suddenly, you were wondering if his eyes were dark brown or the color of cinnamon. “Isn’t that what any rational person would do?”
He had you stumped there. If this were a different situation … you probably would do that. “I’m not going to tell HR about this, Wonwoo. You apologized and said you didn’t mean it. I have to trust that.” And you didn’t trust lightly – hardly at all – but something about Wonwoo made you feel like it could be easy with him.
“We all have shit days,” you added, taking a sip of the scalding hot latte. “You have a ton of stuff on your plate. Doesn’t give you an excuse for what you did, but we all say things in the heat of the moment that we don’t mean. I have so many things to organize throughout the day, and sometimes it gets the better of me. Remember when I had book that last minute trip for our CEO and I was on the phone for hours with Delta and Suzanne in finance had the nerve to start bothering me about some invoice? I lost it on her for a straight minute.”
“Oh, my god, yeah,” he chuckled, pinching the bridge of his nose as the memory resurfaced. “Her eyes almost came out of her skull at your reaction. To be fair … Suzanne needs to be knocked down a peg sometimes. She always blames IT when she can’t get into her email, but it’s because she’s constantly typing her password with one letter off.”
You couldn’t help but giggle. Your hand hit the tabletop a few times as you let your workplace personality fade in front of your coworker. “Those new IT interns don’t know what’s coming once Suzanne comes for them,” you joked.
“The IT interns don’t know anything. Period.” He jabbed his finger onto the table. “I mean, they’re interns, but it takes so much time to train them. If I have to teach them JavaScript one more time …”
“Say it, Jeon Wonwoo,” you egged him on, a chuckle filtering at the end. “What will happen if you have to teach those good for nothing interns JavaScript?”
A slow smile made it’s way onto Wonwoo’s face, and … damn, you were actually a really cool person. “Well,” he cleared his throat, “I’ll tell you what will happen …”
Jeon Wonwoo [12:13 PM]: Did you bring lunch today?
Jeon Wonwoo [12:13 PM]: I just found this new cafe down the street and was thinking about grabbing something there in a few. Did you wanna come?
You [12:14 PM]: Do you think they have a chicken salad sandwich on the menu
Jeon Wonwoo [12:15 PM]: I can only assume so?
You [12:15 PM]: SOLD
You both go out for more coffees, before and after work. You found yourself excited to wake up early, to meet up with Wonwoo at the coffee shop located in the lobby of your work building. Always getting there before him, you typically ordered two coffees – remembering his order to a T – and when he walked in five minutes late, he promised to buy the next round. You never let him.
You began planning lunches over Slack, discussing what was on special at that cafe he found last month. In fact, you two talked most of the day on Slack. A message from you had once gotten on his nerves, and now … he was eager for it. Eager to hear your thoughts throughout the day, excited to talk about what new dumb question an intern asked him today or to see more pictures of your grandma’s cats.
And Wonwoo … Wonwoo was easier to get along with than you thought. You just had to peel back the layers before he finally got comfortable, and honestly, you could relate. To be fair, you had a few more layers than he did, but he was slowly learning that you were more than what he perceived. After that first coffee, he realized how funny you were, and then a couple lunches later, he learned you were an avid romance and thriller reader – and nothing in between. It wasn’t until last week that he finally cracked you open enough to learn about your love for Elder Scrolls Online. He was sure you were joking at first, but when you clarified how serious you were, he almost fell off his chair.
“I’m not shocked that you play it,” he said over coffee one morning. “What I’m shocked at is that you’d rather play Elder Scrolls Online and not Skyrim.”
“Of course, you would say that,” you replied, rolling your eyes. “I don’t really have an interest in the game universe. I started playing Elder Scrolls Online to relieve stress while applying to colleges, and then I just … didn’t stop.” You shrugged.
Much to his own surprise – even with your take on Skyrim – Wonwoo thoroughly enjoyed your company. It was insane that you both had spent almost two years sitting across from each other before realizing how much you liked each other. Words always left unsaid. Eyes staying glued to computers. It had been a routine for you both that you had never strayed from – until now. So many tech requests over Slack … and now he was actively looking forward to work everyday. To seeing you. To talking with you.
You.
Jeon Wonwoo realized how much he liked stockings. Specifically, he liked the way you looked in them.
And that’s when things got dangerous.
He started to notice the days you would wear them, and then concluded which day you did laundry. You liked wearing blouses with a pencil skirt and stockings on Mondays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays. Those were now his favorite days.
Wednesdays you’d wear dress pants and maybe a sweater, whereas on “Casual Fridays,” you were clad in a t-shirt with a cardigan layered and jeans. You always looked nice at the office, but those stocking days … they were getting to him.
Sometimes, he’d watch the way you walked away from your desk – either to the Boss’ office or to the finance department – and he couldn’t help but let his eyes trail down your legs. You had these stockings that had a slight tear in the back, and he wondered if you realized, or was he just too much of a perverted loser to be the first person to notice? He wanted to purchase a new pair for you. He wanted to replace all your stockings and buy you enough that you could wear them with a skirt everyday, just so he could see you in them.
Maybe he was a loser.
You looked up at him, even in heels, and you had this way of smiling at him that left him questioning why you liked hanging out with him in the first place. His personality couldn’t be that charming to warrant your attention. But you were warm – even when your hands were perpetually cold – and kind, never straying once he was in front of you. And you had this lip gloss that stained your lips magenta and made them shine. Even in the dim fluorescent lights. When his chair turned just slightly and he let his eyes glaze over you, one finger rubbing at his top lip, he couldn’t help but be curious if the gloss had a flavor to it … and then, he’d get distracted by your legs again. And your blouse, and your hair.
Don’t even get him started on the way you smelled.
Maybe he was a loser. No, he was most definitely a loser.
It was a Thursday night. Almost 7 PM and you were still at the office. You had plans to go out tonight to celebrate your friend’s new job, but you ended up having to cancel when the Boss placed a stack of paperwork on your desk before leaving the building at promptly 6 o’clock. Why he couldn’t have given you all these invoices and memos hours ago was beyond you, but you weren’t even halfway through this stack and the janitor was now mopping beside you.
When a Slack notification appeared on the side of your monitor, you didn’t even read it before spinning around in your chair. There Wonwoo was, leaning back in his own chair while a progress window ticked on one of his dual monitors. You raised a brow. “I didn’t even hear you over there,” you commented. “Why are you still here?”
“A month or so ago, the IT head told me that we’d soon be transitioning servers, so all of our backups and data need to be transferred over to this new server.” He explained, adjusting his glasses and glancing over at the progress window. It changed from 23% to 24% finished. “Someone had to be the lucky person to stay after hours and make sure it all went smoothly.”
You twirled a pen in your two fingers and crossed your legs. “Oh, that sucks.” Your skirt hiked up a little, and just that small flash of exposed skin had Wonwoo averting his eyes.
“Yeah,” he said, clearing his throat. “I’m assuming you’re still here because of that.” He nodded towards the pile of paper.
“No, no, obviously I love being here after hours with you,” you replied, sarcasm dripping from your tone, but it still ignited a short spark of hope within him. (Wonwoo, can you chill the fuck out? He chastised.) “You know the Boss has a penchant for letting invoices pile up. He just so happened to let that pile end up on my desk before he left today. And some of these needed to be filled out …” Your eyes skimmed the first paper on your desk. “Oh, yesterday!”
Wonwoo offered to help you while also keeping watch of his computer – 28% finished – but you insisted you could handle it. “I already bother you enough during work hours,” you said before turning back to your desk. He knew by now that you were simply too stubborn to give up control of the project. Once you had started it yourself, you needed to see it through. He wasn’t sure if you two were close enough that he could be completely honest, that he could tell you that it was fine to let go this independence that you kept on a tight leash. He was willing to help. (God, was he willing.)
But he chocked it up to telling you once that you were “so fucking stubborn.”
Your reply had come in the form of a swift kick to his knee.
Wonwoo glanced at his monitor. 67% finished.
It was 10 PM and you were just about finished with the paperwork, but you were running on fumes. Just a few memos left and you’d be done. To get you through the next hour, you needed something. So you headed to the break room, suddenly craving some burnt workplace coffee. (What was it about this coffee maker that gave it such a distinct burnt flavor? You’d never know.) After placing the pod of coffee grounds in the slot and filling the water, you pressed the start button, turning around with a huff to see Wonwoo striding into the break room. A crushed, styrofoam coffee cup was clutched in his large hand before he tossed it in the barrel beside you.
“How’s your transfer going?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest. Coffee had started to pour from the machine and into your cup.
He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s at 88% now. Hopefully should be done in the next hour.”
“Me too, if all goes well.” A sigh escaped your lips. “I still have a few more papers to fill out. Shouldn’t take me more than an hour, but I haven’t looked through them all yet.”
Wonwoo stepped forward, reaching in the direction of the styrofoam cups. “If you had let me help you –”
You tried sidestepping out of the way to give him some room, but his hand brushed against your arm anyway. Your chin tilted up as your eyes met his, back pressing against the counter. “It wouldn’t have helped,” you finished for him.
His arm paused mid-air, and he looked down at you. Eyes narrowing, he replied, “You’re one of the most stubborn people I’ve ever met. You have this desperate need to be in control of everything.”
“And why is that a bad thing?” Your tone took a hard edge. The last thing you wanted right now was to put effort into arguing, but you were tired and already on the edge of a breakdown. “I’ve relied on myself for as long as I can remember. I like being in control. I like being stubborn. If I didn’t do most things myself –”
“You ask me to fix something on your computer at least once a day.”
“That’s different.”
“You’re right,” he agreed, and you noticed then just how close he was. Your chests were practically touching. “Sometimes you do try to figure things out yourself and almost break your hard drive.”
His progress window was probably at 93% finished now. He should head back to his desk, but his feet stayed planted right where they were.
“Why does it matter?” You exhaled loud, your hands slapping against your hips. “Do you want an award or something? You have your way of doing things, and I have mine. I’m not perfect, but I … I like things the way they are.” Change is scary, you thought to yourself, but didn’t dare voice it out loud.
He was so close that he could smell your perfume. The scent of lavender mixed with orange blossoms and vanilla filled his nostrils, swirling around his brain. He could get addicted to this smell, to you. Maybe he already was. When his eyes roamed down to your legs and he saw his favorite pair of stockings on you, he damn near collapsed. In fact, he hadn’t even realized the soft groan had left his lips until your gaze found his, your pretty irises growing wide.
You were just so … captivating.
His hands were on both sides of you, pressing your back further into the counter. Your black coffee steaming and fully abandoned in the coffee machine. He was holding himself back, his knuckles going white with restraint. But he wasn’t like you. He could only keep himself in control for so long. And with you here right now, your perfume surrounding him, your stockings-clad thigh brushing against his leg, your a hand placed on his chest … he was a goner.
“Wonwoo,” you whispered, palm still resting on his shirt, “we …”
When your voice trailed off, Wonwoo’s instincts got the better of him. “Please, just …” One hand came up to smooth against your cheek, and he was almost out of breath as he pulled your face to his. “Let me do this.”
He gave you enough time to shove him back, to yell at him, to tell him you didn’t like him in that way. But your neck was craning towards his, and he took that as a sign to crash his lips onto yours. They were softer than he expected, and the taste … your gloss tasted like – well, like nothing. But if he pretended, he could’ve sworn there was a slight cherry aftertaste. His glasses bumped into your nose, but he’d been too overwhelmed to remember to take them off. Mouth moving against yours, his hips crammed you more against the counter, hard enough to leave a bruise on your spine. You didn’t care though. His shoulders were so wide that they shielded you, inviting your body into his, and your fingers fisted into his button-up. Tongues tangled, eager to taste more and more of each other.
Wonwoo could kiss you forever. You didn’t want him to stop.
But all good things must end. Because when he instinctively placed his leg between yours, he knew this was going too far. Especially because you two were still at work. In the break room.
He instantly removed his leg, his lips breaking from yours. Your eyes connected, the room filled with only the sounds of heavy breathing, before you wiped a trail of spit from your chin.
Wonwoo’s head spun behind him. Thank god, there was no CCTV camera by the coffee maker.
Jeon Wonwoo [9:09 AM]: Good morning.
Jeon Wonwoo [9:09 AM]: I shouldn’t have done that last night.
Jeon Wonwoo [9:10 AM]: Still friends?
You [9:14 AM]: We probably shouldn’t be talking about this on Slack
You [9:15 AM]: Here’s my number: 855-777-0821
You [9:18 AM]: But yes friends :D
Wonwoo did not want to be just friends. But he was utterly terrified of what you would say if he voiced that. You had kissed him back, yes, but … hadn’t you agreed to be friends far too quickly? You had both hung out post-kiss – he liked to call this period of time A.T.K. (after the kiss) – and you didn’t seem to be ruminating on it like he was. Of course, he didn’t know what you were thinking, and you could be so hard to read sometimes when your layers weren’t stripped back enough. But …
Could it really have meant nothing to you?
If that were the case, he didn’t know how it was possible for you. He couldn’t stop thinking about the kiss even if he tried. When he saw you the next day – Friday, January 9, A.T.K. – the first thing he noticed was your lip gloss and all he wanted was to have it smeared over his mouth again. He noticed the way your hair fell over your shoulder, remembering how soft the strands felt when his fingers had slipped between them. He noticed that you were wearing those jeans that hugged your ass just right, and – god, now he was wishing that he had touched more than just your cheek. Wonwoo wanted to touch you everywhere. And vice versa. He didn’t care if your hands were constantly freezing or if they were dry during the winter. He wanted you to touch him however you pleased. He wanted to grab you and kiss you and hold those cold hands in his warm ones –
Oh, my god. He had a boner. At work. Just the mere memory of a kiss had him shifting himself in his pants underneath his desk, hoping no one noticed.
Eventually, he stood up, trying to keep a casual hand over the bulge in his pants as he fast walked to the bathroom. Nobody batted an eye, but you did steal a glance over at him once his back was turned. Your brow raised at the way he was practically sprinting for the elevator, not realizing that he was heading for the second floor restrooms. He must be excited for something. Probably a package, you thought before turning back to your computer.
Wonwoo felt like he could finally breathe once he was inside a stall. He rested his head against the cool tile wall, feeling the ache start to settle in his groin. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this way. What 28-year-old gets a boner from a kiss? You had him acting like a goddamn teenager.
What had you done to him? Just one kiss and he was completely under your spell.
(Or maybe he’d been this way all along.)
His fingers fumbled with the zipper on his jeans as he finally pulled himself out of his jeans, stroking from base to tip. Thankfully, no one was in the bathroom. He couldn’t believe his life had come to this. The last thing he ever wanted was to be that guy who jacked off in the bathroom. But you had to wear those goddamn jeans –
Wonwoo wasn’t good at hiding his feelings, but he was doing a pretty good job even as this was killing him inside. He wasn’t like you; he found it hard to restrain himself, to ignore everything that was bubbling up inside him. He could feel himself cracking. What would be the thing that finally broke him?
The answer was simple: alcohol.
Lee Seokmin [11:26 AM]: Dude lol. Why’d you run away from your desk like that
Lee Seokmin [11:26 AM]: I think you could win the Olympics with that kind of sprint!
Jeon Wonwoo [11:39 AM]: Don’t ask.
Lee Seokmin [11:40 AM]: Alrighty then ;)
Lee Seokmin [11:41 AM]: On another note … you free next Thursday? My buddy in the marketing department, Josh, finally has a night off from his kid so we were thinking of getting a group together for drinks after work. Interested?
The last thing you ever expected was to be invited to drinks with Seokmin and some of the managers in marketing, but Wonwoo said you should come. “In fact,” he had clarified, “you should come so I don’t have to deal with DK’s drunk antics all night.” Who were you to deprive him of your presence when he was that desperate? Plus, there was a nice girl in marketing that was also invited; maybe tonight was the night to befriend her.
But the marketing people knew how to party. You were only halfway through your second beer whereas the rest of your group was on their fourth. And three tequila shots deep. Wonwoo, seemingly, had an affinity for tequila, unlike yourself. He was able to throw them back like it was nothing; he didn’t even need a chaser. When Seokmin had requested they all get a fourth, he was met with a round of cheers, and even Wonwoo – quiet, introverted Wonwoo – threw his hands up with excitement. You placed a hand on his shoulder, whispering in his ear, “Are you sure about that?”
Wonwoo felt his whole body freeze when your hot breath reached his ear. A pale, pink flush appeared on his cheeks, but you chocked it up to how drunk he was. Eventually, he waved away your worry with his hand. “I’m fiiiiiiiiine. Hey, how about I get you another beer?”
“Are you even coherent enough to get me another –”
“HEY! Bartender! Can I get one more of these?!” He shouted, waving your empty glass in the air. “Oh, and more tequila!”
Seokmin slapped a hand on his friend’s shoulder, laughing along with him. As you made friends with the rest of the marketing department, you found yourself glancing at Wonwoo every so often. His cheeks were so rosy now, and his glasses kept slipping down his nose. To be fair though, everyone in this dive bar seemed to be in the same state of mind. Seokmin was singing along to the Sabrina Carpenter song blasting through the speakers. Josh was so drunk that he was crying about how much he loved his friends. They had even gotten Suzanne in finance to come out, and she was making friends with everyone for once. And Wonwoo … oh, god, Wonwoo’s head was now on the bar top and he was closing his eyes –
You abandoned your beer and walked over to your friend, shaking his shoulders. His eyes instantly opened, expecting to see Seokmin, but when his gaze met yours, he instantly felt all warm and fuzzy. “Okay,” you said, trying your best to hoist this 6 foot man off the barstool, “you’ve had enough. I’m taking you home.”
It was like pulling teeth to get him to tell you his address, but you guessed you shouldn’t be surprised when the man on your arm was blackout drunk. After flagging a taxi, you shoved him in the seat next to you and rubbed your hands together to get them warm. Wonwoo’s head was on your shoulder the second you sat down, his eyes fluttering closed as the taxi sped off into the night. You watched his fingers twitch on his thigh as he whispered sleepily, “I think my family would really like you.”
“Is that so?” You chuckled, squeezing his arm for reassurance, but little did you know just how much your touch effected him. “Why’s that?”
“Because you’re you,” he replied, and then yawned. “Only you and Mingyu would do this for me.”
Your brow furrowed. “Who’s Mingyu?”
The taxi pulled up to a brick apartment building then, and your cold fingers struggled to get cash out from your pocket while Wonwoo was practically laying on top of you. Finally, you did your best to haul him out of the seat, thanking the taxi driver before gathering an arm around Wonwoo’s shoulders. The building was definitely old with vines of ivy crawling up one side. There was a dead tree with snow covering it’s branches directly by the door, spilling snowflakes on your head as you struggled to input the code Wonwoo managed to remember. And then, you were pulling him up two flights of stairs, which took far longer than you estimated. You had basically ripped his keys from his hand once you reached his apartment and continued to drag him inside, laying him on the old couch that was conveniently right near the door.
Wonwoo grumbled as soon as his head hit the armrest, and he almost fell off the couch if it weren’t for you catching him and rolling him back onto the cushion. “I’m going to go get you a glass of water,” you said, quickly rushing off to his kitchen. “Please, for the love of god, don’t fall off the couch again.”
He whined for you to come back, but you pretended you didn’t hear it, because if you did, you’d have to reckon with the tingle that bloomed between your legs at the sound of his desperation.
The entrance of his kitchen was right in front of a small hallway that sectioned off two ways. There was a bedroom door on each side of the hall, and once you walked inside the kitchen, you found a tiny table from the 80s and the dishwasher currently running. You didn’t have time to contemplate that now, and instead pilfered through his cabinets until you found a glass and filled it with tap water. Rushing back to his side, Wonwoo was already laying halfway off the couch and you sighed.
You set the glass of water on his coffee table and lifted him back up. With a little bit of help from you, you both managed to shrug off his winter jacket and you tucked a throw blanket over him to prevent him from falling off again. A heavy exhale slipped past your lips as you knelt by his side, and you couldn’t help but reach out to pushed back his hair from his forehead. His eyes were closed, but you knew he wasn’t sleeping. You smiled to yourself.
Were coworkers supposed to show this much affection for each other?
“Wonwoo,” you said softly, and he cracked one eye open. “Do you want some water?”
He shut that eye again, grimacing at the thought of anything entering his body right now. “Ab…absolutely not.”
“It’ll make you feel better,” you persuaded, but he still shook his head. “Okay, so what do you want right now?”
His breath stilled for a moment. “Can I be honest?”
“That’s never stopped you before.”
“I …” No, he couldn’t be that honest. “I want you to … keep p–pushing back my hair. It’s … relaxing.”
You chuckled, “Okay, you got it.” Your fingers were at the crown of his head again, smoothing back the strands. You hadn’t noticed until now that he had a freckle on the left side of his forehead; maybe you’d just never been this close to notice. Well, actually, you had. There was this thing you two did called a kiss –
“If you’re going to fall asleep, I’m going to take off your glasses,” you informed him, slipping his glasses off and setting them by his glass of water. It was late, much later than you anticipated on staying out, and you both still had to go to work tomorrow.
But then his hand was grabbing your wrist, his grip surprisingly firm for how intoxicated he was. “Can I b–be honest again?” He slurred, his eyes half open to meet yours.
You sighed, placing your hand on top of his, thumb brushing over his knuckles. “Just know whatever you say will be used to make fun of you tomorrow –”
“I can’t … I haven’t …” He took a breath to formulate the words in his head. “… Stopped thinking about our kiss.”
You blinked down at him, watching the way his eyes began to close again as he relaxed into the old couch cushions. “You can’t just say shit like –”
He scoffed dramatically. “I’m noooot,” he defended, his hand slipping off your wrist to curl underneath the blanket.
“Wonwoo …” Your voice trailed off, the words dying on your tongue.
“Who the hell are you?”
You immediately got to your feet at the sound of another person’s voice behind you. Eyes growing wide, you took in the sight of the man in front of you wearing nothing but a towel around his waist, droplets of water trailing down his chiseled abdomen as he shook a smaller towel through his hair. He might’ve been taller than Wonwoo, only by a little bit, and his skin was a golden tan that reminded you of summertime even in this harsh winter. Why was Wonwoo hiding handsome men in his apartment? The man looked at you, waiting for an answer, his brows raised.
“Oh,” you cleared your throat. “Um …”
“Leave her alone, Mingyu,” Wonwoo groaned from the couch, turning away from them to lay on his side.
So this was Mingyu, you concluded. This slightly god-like dude that looked like he walked straight out of a porno was the only other person who’d help Wonwoo when he was blackout drunk. Interesting.
Mingyu raised his hand awkwardly for you to shake. “His roommate,” he clarified.
“Oh,” you replied, grasping his hand for a moment and telling him your name.
Mingyu instantly grinned, laying the small towel over his neck, holding both ends. “So you’re her.”
You blinked, not knowing how to respond to that. Perhaps there was no way to respond; the silence was comfortable enough. You decided to keep that in mind for later though.
“He’s … well, he got very drunk,” you informed Mingyu, gesturing to a now-sleeping Wonwoo with both thumbs. “I wanted to make sure he got home okay.”
Mingyu nodded, and then sighed. “I’ll take care of him. Don’t worry,” he promised, opening up the door for you. “Get home safe, okay?”
Wonwoo: Sorry about that the other night. I won’t get drunk like that again. It doesn’t happen very often
You: it’s okay! I’m used to handling drunk people
You: don’t get me wrong, I like to have my fun but it’s easier for me to take care of other people than like … be incoherent and anxious lol
Wonwoo: By the end of the night I was starting to feel that way. Not fun
You: DRINK WATER
You: your roommate is hot btw. does he always walk around without a shirt?
Wonwoo: Of course, he didn’t have a shirt on when you met him
Wonwoo: Everyone likes Mingyu
You: well, I like you [UNSENT]
The bi-annual sales meeting was started to boost morale and talk with other departments that you didn’t see as often. It was typically held at a hotel in the downtown city, with the company flying in all the sales reps from across the country. There were even a few from overseas. In reality though, this was usually the week where coworkers made mistakes. At least one person was let go after these sales meetings, and HR had their eyes peeled for an entire week.
You never made a mistake at one of these. And you didn’t expect to any time soon.
This was a week of rubbing elbows with slimy sales reps and making sure some old man hadn’t spiked your drink. For most, this was a week to slack off, but a woman working in corporate couldn’t relax in these settings. You’d been making corrections to your boss’ presentation for the entire company for what felt like forever. (Realistically, it’d been almost two weeks.) You probably went through the 50 slides at least twice as much, checking for spelling mistakes and making sure it was in the right place on your desktop. Not on some random external hard drive. Not in the trash.
But it was finally the day you’d been dreading. Presentation day, and everyone at the company was eager to hear the Boss reveal if they hit their goal for the year, amongst other things. You checked the slides another time, and then made sure no one would trip over the HDMI cord connected to the projector. The Boss gave you a reassuring smile, and then it was go time.
Your boss could be a shit bag – what CEO wasn’t? – but he had a way of speaking that made everyone so excited for the future. He was probably the reason why morale was always so high, and everyone looked forward to his presentation at these meetings. Your finger hovered over the right arrow button as he went through his speech, pointing out company statistics and what he wanted them all to accomplish this year, before finally getting to the goal reach. And his answer was nothing short of what the audience wanted to hear. He congratulated all of them, and everyone clapped together at the good news.
When you looked out at the crowd that had gathered, you realized almost every seat in the ballroom was filled. Some were even standing near the door and – wait, there was Wonwoo, leaning against the wall in the back. IT didn’t need to be here for this presentation. In fact, they were encouraged to be doing other things, like manning a table near HR and offering on-the-spot tech help. A smile made it’s way to your lips, watching the way Wonwoo was listening intently.
Once the presentation was over and the room erupted in small talk, your boss came over and thanked you for helping out yet again. “Of course,” you replied, as if there was anything else to say. He gave you a comforting squeeze of the hand before walking off to talk to some of his favorite sales reps.
As you shut your laptop and began to place your things in your backpack, Wonwoo slipped into the chair beside yours. Just the sight of his grin set you at ease, but also made you nervous at the same time. Why were you suddenly so nervous? This was just Wonwoo.
Just Wonwoo. Just Wonwoo. Just … your Wonwoo.
“Congratulations,” he beamed, giving you a high five. “I know you’ve been working on this all week, but you did it!”
You always stressed so much about this presentation, but at the end of the day … “All I did was press a button,” you shrugged.
Wonwoo rolled his eyes. “Well, yeah, but you didn’t accidentally delete your file like every other time you’ve messaged me on Slack.” He chuckled, and you scoffed at his teasing. “I’d call that a win.”
The second to last night of sales meeting week was the longest night of the year. It was a tradition for everyone to go out to a bar the company rented out, drinking whatever alcohol they could get their hands on while celebrating a job well done. You only saw half these people twice a year, and half of the time they’d have a beer in their hands.
You did your best to ignore every sales rep that tried to speak with you without slurring their words, but that was damn near impossible when some were already on their second cocktail. However, no matter how embarrassing it was, you did allow them to compliment you and your hard work. Who were you to turn down the validation? And when the time came, even your boss came over to compliment you again, and you realized there was truly nothing like being good at your job.
Just for a moment, everything felt okay. It was like the loneliness dissipated, the sting of years without pleasure or having someone by your side … it all faded when you were rewarded for your hard work.
Maybe tonight was the night you had fun for once.
When you finally found Wonwoo later that night, he was surrounded by a few younger members of the IT team, debating what computer language everyone should be obligated to learn. You waved to him from where you stood by the bar top, and that was all it took to have him walking away from his team and towards you. He wrapped one arm around your shoulders, insisting to buy you drinks for the rest of the night, and you didn’t hesitate to agree. If there was anyone here you trusted enough to hand you a drink, it was Wonwoo.
Just Wonwoo.
The hour was reaching midnight now, and you weren’t sure how many martinis you had, but you were hiccuping a storm. That was a telltale sign that you were totally, thoroughly drunk. Wonwoo was only drinking beer and pacing himself, unlike that night at the dive bar, but he was enjoying the sight of you finally letting loose. You hung on his arm, staring up at him with your big eyes, glazing over from all the alcohol coursing through your system. He didn’t like how this effected him; he shouldn’t be attracted to the way your gaze looked while you were intoxicated. But he couldn’t help but wonder if your eyes held the same shine while your lips were wrapped around his –
No, this was too much. He should take you back to the hotel.
The two of you glanced around the bar, realizing it was mostly cleared out. You definitely needed to leave now.
He tugged on your arm, wrapping one of his around your waist to support you. “C’mon now,” he grunted, helping you walk out. “Let’s get you back.”
“I didn’t f–finish my drink thoooooough,” you argued, despite letting him lead you out of the bar. “And I can walk … on my own. Swear!”
“Listen, you took care of me once,” he said as you two walked into the brisk cold air. The hotel was, thankfully, only a block away. “Let me take care of you.”
Even with the alcohol pumping in your veins, just the sound of those words falling from his mouth made you grip him tighter. You felt like your bones were made of jelly, and it wasn’t just from the vodka. It was him, and the way he made you feel, and how secretly warm he was, and the way he took care of you as you took care of him, and – oh, god, you wanted to cry because you liked Jeon Wonwoo so much.
So, so much.
It was much easier to get you back to your hotel room than his apartment, seeing as this hotel had a working elevator. You slumped beside him, tripping over your feet every so often, as he hauled you down the hallway to your room. You gave him your keycard easily, and once the door was open, he squeezed your hand to silently let you know it was time to move again. He helped you into the room, shutting the door behind him, before laying you down on your bed with the clumsiness only he could have.
You were laughing now, hiccuping from the alcohol, but laughing nonetheless. And he was laughing at your hiccups. Or maybe he just liked the way you grinned at him.
He assisted with taking off your boots and jacket, too embarrassed to remove anything else. And it definitely wasn’t appropriate to either. Tearing back the covers, he nestled you underneath them, and said, “You got everything, right? I’m a call away if you need me.” He grabbed one of the small trash cans in the room and placed it at your bedside. “If you need to vomit and can’t make it to the bathroom, just use the trash can here –”
You hand came out to wrap around his forearm. “Stay, Wonwoo.”
Your sleepy eyes were killing him, making his inhibitions melt and his cock throb at the same time. He sighed, sitting on the side of the mattress, and before he could stop himself, he was tucking hair behind your ear. “You know I can’t do that,” he said, his voice like a caress. “You know how it would look if someone saw me leave this room tomorrow morning. HR is on all our asses this week.”
“I know,” you slurred, and then pressed your flushed cheek into his palm. “I j–just thought you … were taking care of me thoooooooough …”
His resolve crumbled into a million pieces. This was complete, utter torture. You had to know how you effected him, but of course you didn’t, because you were stretching under the covers and yawning like you didn’t just make his heart stop.
That’s how he ended up in your bed, shutting off the lights and settling underneath the comforter. Until you came closer and rested your head on his chest. Despite how fast his heart was beating, he felt so at peace, and you both fell asleep in the clothes you wore out tonight.
Only a few hours later, you woke with a clear head and the beginning of a hangover. Your head was pounding like crazy, and it took everything in you to slip out from the comfort of your bed and pad your feet over to the bathroom. The bright light was burning your eyes, but you needed it to find the Tylenol you left by the sink. Filling a cup with water, you took the medication and prayed it worked sooner rather than later.
You squinted at yourself in the mirror, realizing you were still in the outfit you wore yesterday. With a sigh, you picked up the big t-shirt you left on the floor yesterday morning and stripped yourself until you were in nothing but your underwear. You pulled the t-shirt on and slumped against the wall, pressing your forehead against the cold tile. Now this felt like heaven for your headache.
It took a couple of minutes to get yourself to move again, feet slapping against the floor as you walked out of the bathroom. You noticed Wonwoo was awake too, in the midst of slinking back under the covers, and you saw his jeans abandoned by his bedside.You crawled back to your cocoon of blankets, and he instantly wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you against his chest. And you … you didn’t move away. In fact, you pressed yourself closer, finally hearing how his heart raced. Wonwoo didn’t care if it was probably 4 AM and he probably had to leave in a few hours – before anyone else woke – because he was holding you and smelling you hair. You smelled … god, you smelled so good that it made him hard almost instantly.
You felt his hand splay against your spine, as if trying to hold himself back, and it was then that your eyes opened. The room was dark, but you knew when his gaze was burning into yours only seconds later. You slipped one hand out from the covers, cupping his cheek as your thumb brushed over his lower lip. Under his breath, he muttered a soft, “Shit,” because you both knew where this was going.
You agreed you wouldn’t do this again. You agreed to be friends.
But now you’re kissing again.
Your hand moved from his face to his neck, and his hands are gripping your cheeks to make sure your mouth stayed on his. His fingers were shaking. He kissed you desperately, as if he needed this just to be able to breathe again, and maybe he did. You were like putty in his hands, molding yourself to his body as your tongue tangled with his. Whatever ache you felt in your temples drifted between your legs, causing you to moan into his mouth. And fuck, just the sound of you made his cock swell, precum soaking through his boxers.
The room felt so hot all of a sudden, but your cold hands came in handy as they rested on his neck. His left hand slid down to your ass, finally giving it a firm squeeze after kicking himself for not doing it when he first kissed you. That made you moan again, and he decided he’d never stop touching you like this, just so he could hear these sounds fall from your lips.
He slid his knee between your legs on instinct, and you didn’t hesitate to start grinding against his thigh. The friction felt delicious and soothing. You both kissed each other slower, a little messier, focusing on touching each other everywhere you dreamed about all these months. Your fingers traced down the column of his neck, down the thin cotton of the shirt he was still wearing from yesterday, while bucking against his thigh. His lips left yours, dragging across your cheek so he could nibble on your earlobe, feeling it grow warm and red from all the attention. “You have no idea how long I’ve needed you,” he whispered, and you damn near almost came from that confession.
You weren’t used to this; you couldn’t remember the last time you experienced pleasure like this with someone, but you couldn’t imagine stopping. Not when he angled his thigh just right, the muscle in his leg rubbing against your clit, your panties completely soaked. You cupped him over his boxers, feeling his bulge throb in your palm, and you cooed, “Can I …”
He groaned. You didn’t need to say more; Wonwoo was smart enough to know what you were insinuating. He felt disoriented, drunk off of you and your touch, smell, everything. “Are you … are you sure you don’t want to …” His voice was giving out, but from the way your fingers were slipping under the waistband of his boxers, you knew you wanted just this, and he’d give you whatever you wanted. “Yes. Yes, of course. That’s fine,” he finished.
You chuckled softly. He smiled against your neck. Pulling his cock out and wrapping your palm around it, you began to stroke him slowly. “Oh, god,” he was sighing into the crook of your neck, his brain in such a state of disarray when you resumed grinding against his leg while also pumping him from base to tip. This couldn’t be real; he had to be dreaming, but he could feel your wet panties sticking to his thigh. He could feel himself shake as he clung to you and pressed sloppy, wet kisses to your throat. It was all too much, but not enough at the same time.
“Wonwoo,” you whimpered, and he dragged his lips back to yours just to feel how your mouth moved when you said his name. You bucked your hips faster, your arousal coating his thigh, and warmth bloomed between your legs. When your hand on his cock reached his head again, you rubbed the pad of your thumb over his slit, making more precum bead onto your knuckles. “Wanna cum with you,” you begged, stroking him faster and in time with your hips.
“I know you do, I know,” he breathed against your lips. “Just a little faster … yes, just like that. Fuck.”
Only a moment later were you trembling, hips stuttering as pleasure took over your body. You came hard, squeezing his thigh between your legs, and your cry was swallowed by Wonwoo’s lips. If he didn’t kiss you, he knew he’d moan so loud it would wake the entire hotel. Because – oh, god, he was cumming now, and he was sighing against your mouth as he erupted in your hand, ropes of cum staining your t-shirt. He could’ve swore he saw white. He’d never felt a release like this before; not with anyone else. Not even when he jerked off. But maybe it was because this was your hand and you were cumming on his leg, and fuck –
You were still shaking in each other’s arms, minds blank and reeling, bodies coming down from the high. It took the kind of strength that moved mountains to slip from his arms and clean yourself up. But by the time you came back from the bathroom and cuddled up next to him, Wonwoo was already fast asleep.
Jeon Wonwoo [6:08 AM]: I had to leave early this morning before anyone woke. But if you want, I’d like to see you at breakfast this morning :)
You [7:31 AM]: Jeon Wonwoo, I’m begging you to just text this to me
You [7:31 AM]: Also, was your phone hacked? Since when do you use emojis?
There wasn’t much to do on the last day of sales meeting week. The only things on your plate were to make niceties with some of the new reps, and probably attend a few presentations by HR. When you had finally woken up this morning to just you in the bed, you almost considered skipping the HR presentations, feeling too guilty and like they might see right through you. It was irrational, but you were sure that this was the only way to feel after realizing that you hooked up with your coworker and friend.
Not that you hadn’t wanted to. Not that you hadn’t been thinking about it since your kiss. No, it wasn’t like that at all.
So why were suddenly terrified to see him at breakfast?
You got ready as quick as you could – but of course, making sure you wore that V-neck sweater that showed off your cleavage just right – and threw your hair up before leaving your hotel room. The line for the breakfast buffet was packed, but you waited patiently and decided to sit near the bar once you plate was full. The rest of the dining room was filled with people and you weren’t awake enough to make shitty small talk. Sitting here at the bar top was peaceful and quiet –
“Is this … seat taken?”
Your eyes met his instantly, and you noticed the way Wonwoo was cringing at the line he threw at you. You decided to forget it, for his sake, and gestured for him to sit down. Fuck, you were so goddamn nervous, even though you had agreed to meet him in the first place. You wore this low-cut sweater for him. You both sat in silence for a bit, crunching awkwardly on the burnt bacon, and shifting in your seats.
“Did you …” You were surprised that your mouth was moving on it’s own volition, spilling any words that came to your head. “… Do anything this morning since you were up early?”
Wonwoo choked a bit on a strawberry, but recovered quickly. “Uh … yeah, yeah, sure. Once I came down here, one of the IT interns found me in a panic because he couldn’t set up one of the rep’s new work phones. Created a whole scene over nothing.”
You snorted and sipped your coffee. “Is that intern still breathing?”
His eyes flickered to yours, a slow smile growing on his face. “Yes, actually.”
You fell into sync then, letting the awkward silence melt away as you joked about Wonwoo’s interns. He wasn’t meant to teach college students, god help them. But as your plates became empty and a server came around to take them, you two were left with only the mugs in your hands, strangely reminiscent of that apology coffee he bought for you so long ago.
Wonwoo sighed. “Hey, so about last night – or I guess, this morning …”
“Thank you for taking care of me,” you interjected, setting your coffee down. “I have a hangover, but I am thriving.”
He blinked. “Well, that’s good. But I was referring to –”
You almost couldn’t look at him when you said, “The fact that we’re definitely not just friends anymore?”
He chuckled. “Yeah, that part.”
“I …” You licked your lips as you gathered yourself. There was this … terrifying flutter in your chest. You’d never felt something like this before, but you weren’t keen on letting it go. Not yet. “I would like to see you again. Like that. Definitely not during work hours. If you catch my drift. This is awkward.”
Wonwoo had to turn his head so you wouldn’t see him trying to hold in his laughter, but it was clear as day. You sighed loud and hit his arm, making him look at you once again as he snickered to himself. “You know, you could just ask me if I want to hang out.”
You leveled a look at him and huffed. “Okay, Wonwoo, do you –”
“Yes,” he beamed. “Always, yes.”
You found yourself at Wonwoo’s side more often than not. What used to be work get togethers transitioned to meeting up at a bar, or checking a new restaurant on the weekends. Sometimes he’d ask you to come over so you could taste test a new recipe he found. (Unfortunately for both of you, Wonwoo wasn’t very good at cooking, but he was getting better. Somewhat.) Those recipe nights, however, always led to him lifting you up on his creaky kitchen counter and kissing you so hard that you almost forgot to breathe. Until Mingyu came into the kitchen, making a gagging sound, and you two instantly detached from each other.
Friday nights were known as Mingyu’s Movie Nights, and Wonwoo began inviting you to those. He had said that this would help knock a few movies off your Letterboxd Watchlist, but you knew that was just an excuse for wanting to see you. You probably saw him more than anyone now, but you couldn’t deny that you … wanted to see him too. Having him in your life made everything suddenly better. He was kind and smart and thoughtful. He made you laugh in ways you couldn’t explain, and obviously … he didn’t have to do much to make you want him. He’d simply have to look at you and you’d get on his lap. If Mingyu wasn’t there, of course.
Wonwoo seemed to blossomed with you. He was more excited to leave his apartment, more eager to become a better cook. He spoke up often, whether it be at work or out with you, rather than letting someone talk. He wanted to learn all the things that you liked, wanted to touch you exactly where you needed it, wanted to find new ways to leave you breathless. Because it was for you.
Even Mingyu noticed a difference in his friend. He’d known Wonwoo for so many years now, but he’d never made this much of a change for anyone. One night, when you and Mingyu were alone in the kitchen, he mentioned, “He’s different around you.” And then kept pouring wine in three glasses while Wonwoo picked a movie from the living room.
There were also times where Wonwoo was a booty call, of course, and neither of you had any problems with that. Some nights, Wonwoo would call you after Mingyu went to bed, begging you to come over, but ended up settling for phone sex. His attraction to you in stockings only went up, and it was difficult for him to contain his arousal at work when you strutted around just knowing how it affected him. There was days where all he wanted to do was pull you into a janitor closet and fuck the living daylights out of you. But it wasn’t like you’d let him anyway.
You had your fair share of desperate moments too. Especially tonight, as you were out drinking with your friends at a local spot you’d been coming to for years. The live band was loud and you’d had your fair share of shitty margaritas already. One of your friends was tugging on the arm of some rando she met on the dance floor, yelling over the music that she was leaving and she’d text you when she was home safe. That left you shit out of luck for a ride home, and suddenly very lonely. The last thing you wanted was to drink alone at a shitty bar on a Saturday night.
Wandering outside, your heeled boots crunched in the snow as you looked for the nearest Uber. The fastest one around would take over 20 minutes to get to you, and as you looked around the empty city streets … wait, didn’t Wonwoo live around here? Maybe all the tequila was just getting to you. But you called him anyway, and despite the time reaching 1 AM, he answered instantly. He heard the slight lisp in your voice, and once he got out of you exactly where you were, he realized you were right. It only took him about 10 minutes to get to where you were, parking on the side of the road.
He sighed at the sight of you sitting on the curb, shivering and hugging your jacket around you. Various drunk people filtered in and out of the bar, but none of them checked on you – a freezing girl just sitting on the side of the road. “Why didn’t you wait inside for me?” He asked, his breath hot against your cheek when he pulled you up in his arms. Your dress rode up a little, and his hands were quick to yank it back down. “It’s the middle of winter.”
“I jusssst thought … the cold air would sssssober me up,” you slurred, letting him place you in his passenger seat before running back over to the driver’s side. His car was warm, making you bury yourself in your jacket, but his hand on your thigh was even warmer somehow. If your fingers weren’t so cold, you’d wrap your hand around his wrist, inching his palm up higher as he drove.
Once he was parked, he wasted no time getting you out and helping you up the stairs to his apartment. Mingyu was passed out on the couch, an old movie from the 80s playing on the TV, but you could hardly register it because your brain was spinning and Wonwoo was practically dragging you to his bedroom. He was grateful that all the lights were off so you couldn’t see how messy it was, but honestly, it was a miracle if you could see anything clearly right now.
He sat you down on the bed and you looked up at him with bleary eyes, which made you so fucking hard to resist. All the tequila you drank was pumping through your bloodstream, and you couldn’t help but fist your hands in his t-shirt and try to kiss him. He evaded your lips though – no matter how much he wanted to – and you whined, “Whyyyyyy won’t you kiss me?”
“Shhh …” He whispered, yanking off your boots. “Inside voice. Mingyu’s sleeping.”
You smacked your hands against his mattress. “He’s sleeping in the living room!”
Wonwoo got back to his feet, gesturing as he instructed, “Arms up.” You were too intoxicated to do anything but oblige, lifting your arms as he struggled to pull your dress over your head. Once it was off and thrown to the side with your boots, your hazy vision caught him looking through his drawers for clothes for you to wear. But didn’t he just take your clothes off? You could’ve sworn he did that because he wanted you too right now.
You protested when he tried putting you in one of his simple white tees, but your body felt too limp to fight. He slipped the shirt over your head before pulling back his comforter and wrapping you in it. With your eyes half open, you watched him come to the other side of the bed, yanking his pants down and crawling in bed beside you. He reached over you and set his glasses on the side table. You sighed dramatically. Now he was just torturing you. Wonwoo simply chuckled to himself, realizing what you were angry about.
His arms instantly wound around you, his lips pulled into a smile at your hairline. You looked up at him with a scowl and your voice slurred, “Whysss your eyes closed?”
Wonwoo snickered under his breath. “Because it’s late and I’m tired.” His hand on your lower back traced circles, attempting to coax you to sleep.
“I thought you wanted meeeee,” you complained. Your hand reached in between you two, smoothing your palm against his groin as he slowly started to harden under your touch. You heard his breath hitch slightly, so you kept going, a soft ache beginning between your own legs at just the thought of putting him in your mouth.
“Sweetheart, I always want you.” He then grabbed your wrist, moving your hand away from him, and then lacing your fingers together. Pressing a kiss to the side of your forehead, he sighed sleepily, “But you’re much sexier when you’re sober.”
You started to realize why you didn’t usually do this, why it had been so long since you let someone see every part of you. What you looked like completely stripped down – both inside and out – completely vulnerable for your person. How your face contorted during pleasure, and how it relaxed when you were taken care of.
Catching feelings like this meant giving up control.
You didn’t work on the weekends unless you had to, and when the Boss sent you a high priority email on Saturday morning, you didn’t hesitate. He had transferred over a bunch of sensitive files that were needed for a board presentation first thing Monday morning. But of course, something just had to go wrong: the files were corrupted and you had no way of figuring out what to do. And it wasn’t like your boss was on call like you were on a Saturday.
This was how you ended up at Wonwoo’s apartment.
You had called him in a panic, explaining what had went wrong, but he didn’t seem too fazed. He was used to your tech emergencies by now. But by the time you got to his apartment, out of breath after running from the train station, he had realized just how serious you were taking this. You both sat down on his couch and you let him work his magic. His fingers moved across the keys as if he were a musician, and you couldn’t stop biting your nail nervously.
Mingyu came back to the apartment after grocery shopping, waving at you before putting all the food away. Seeing as you were here, maybe they could all go out and have fun tonight. He went into the living room, ready to mention a band that was playing at a local venue later, but upon seeing the stressed look on both your faces, he exhaled. “It’s a Saturday,” he stated matter-of-factly. “Why do you two look like that?”
“Corrupted documents,” Wonwoo answered quickly, not even looking up from the monitor.
“I don’t even want to know more,” he said, grabbing his leather jacket from the coat rack and tugging his arms through the sleeves. “Just your faces are making me anxious. I’m heading out. Don’t wait up.”
You gave Mingyu a wave as he left, but Wonwoo was too focused to even say goodbye. It took about another hour and one cup of coffee, but Wonwoo eventually figured out how to uncorrupt the files. You let out a sigh of relief as he handed the laptop back to you and you were able to open each of them without issue. Thank god, you had managed to figure this out before Monday morning. And … having Wonwoo wasn’t too bad either.
“Thank you,” you beamed, not being able to resist pinching his cheek. “My hero.”
Silence engulfed the room as you both noticed how the sky was already getting dark. You cleared your throat, slipping your laptop back into your bag and muttering, “Thanks again. I know I kind of barged in and wasted your Saturday afternoon –”
Like the saint he was, Wonwoo simply smiled at you. “No time with you is a waste.”
Whatever words you were about to say clogged in your throat. You swallowed hard, attempting to hide your fluster, but you ended up choking out, “I … should go.”
“You don’t have to.” He stood from the couch, walking over to you and running his hands down your arms. His brow lifted. “Do you want to?”
You let the strap of your bag fall to the floor as your hands cupped his neck. “No, not particularly.”
Wonwoo chuckled, leaning in and letting his lips just lightly graze yours. “We have the place to ourselves,” he hummed, slowly dragging you backwards with him. “Mingyu’s gone … probably won’t be back until midnight.”
You bit your lip to suppress a giggle, letting him lead you to his room, as limp as a rag doll. Once he shut his bedroom door behind you, he flicked the light on. You pressed your back against the door and your eyes roamed around the space. This was the first time you saw his bedroom with the light on; every other time had been pitch black. You liked that his walls weren’t bare – they were filled with posters of his favorite musicians or photographs. On his desk was a large monitor and a gaming set up, but also a camera with stacks of film next to it. His furniture was old – probably from the 90s, probably passed down from his family – but the scratches within the wood told a story. And unlike most men, his sheets were gray.
Wonwoo realized you were scanning his room, and he became acutely aware of the clothes scattered amongst his floor. He muttered something to himself, beginning to pick up the clothes piles and chuck them into his hamper. “Sorry,” he murmured. “I wish I inherited the organized gene like Mingyu.”
You tilted your head, striding over and pulling him up, making him halt his actions. Your hands went to his face as you brought him closer. With a smile, you whispered, “I don’t want to talk about Mingyu,” before pressing your lips to his.
The kiss became deep far too quickly, or maybe time was passing faster than usual. Your lips crashed so hard against his that they’d bruise. He took off his glasses, setting them on his drawer, before his fingers hooked into the belt loops of your jeans. You stepped forward, making him step back, then another, and another – until you had him falling back on his bed. You straddled him, arching your back so you could lick into his mouth just how he liked. Hands sliding up his shirt, you felt his abdomen flex underneath you. His fingers in your belt loops jerked you closer, pressing your hips to his, and it wasn’t long before he was moaning into the kiss.
You smiled against his mouth, dragging your lips down his neck, and then even further, as you slinked down his body. Your eyes were trained on his, and he was trying his best not to look like a complete idiot in front of you. But it was difficult when you were looking at him with those eyes and – oh, now you were pulling down the waistband of his sweatpants, practically salivating when you noticed how hard he was already.
But … this was what you guys always did. Not that he had an issue with you giving him blow jobs, but none of this felt particularly intimate. You never really let him worship you; you took control of the entire situation. As if you were bringing your professional stubbornness to the bedroom.
“Wait,” he choked out as you palmed his growing bulge. “Can we … can we try something different?”
Your brows furrowed and you continued pressing sloppy kisses above his groin. “Why would we do that?”
Wonwoo let out a frustrated sound, and before you could prepare yourself, he was yanking his pants back up and pinning you underneath him. You blinked up at him in surprise, and he was gripping your wrists above your head now, his bodyweight pressing you into the mattress. He almost looked shocked that he had the strength to push you back, but his blown-out pupils gave away his true desire.
“What was that for?” You asked incredulously. Nerves clouded your thoughts, making you stutter. “I thought … I thought you liked …”
“No, trust me, I do,” he assured you, and then tipped his head as he gazed down at you. “I just … why won’t you let me take care of you?”
You scoffed then, trying to cover up how petrifying this conversation was becoming. Were you that transparent now, or did he simply know you far too well for your own good?
“I have no idea what you’re –”
Wonwoo gave you one of his infamous leveled looks, and you sighed. “You’re in constant need of seeking control when it’s always at your fingertips. It’s okay to let it go; it won’t slip away.” He let go of your wrists then, but kept his body hovering over yours, holding himself up by his elbows resting near your head. “Please, just … surrender it for once. Let me take the lead.”
You glanced down at your hands on your chest, twiddling your thumbs. Eventually, you murmured, “It’s hard. I’ve never done that before.”
“Can we try? I like …” He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, then let his head fall as he chuckled to himself. “This is so awkward. I just – I like prioritizing your pleasure. It feels much better for me and I think it will for you too. And if you don’t like it –”
“I’m not good with change,” you blurted.
“I know,” he whispered, his voice taking on that husky tone that made warmth pool in your stomach. His eyes flickered to your lips now, noticing how swollen they still were. “I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to do. It was just a suggestion, and I probably ruined the mood.”
You shook your head immediately, allowing your fingers to tenderly sweep over his shirt. “No, I …” A voice in the back of your head told you this was a good thing, and you did want this, but the fear of change was overwhelming. You wanted to step out of your comfort zone, desperately, for once. You were allowed to do this; you were allowed to be happy.
Your gaze met his again. “I want to try.”
His eyes softened with affection, but then he asked, “You’re not just agreeing for my sake, right?”
“Now when have I ever done that?” You laughed, making him smile along with you.
But as soon as his mouth met yours, that awkward, giggling persona seemed to melt away. Jeon Wonwoo morphed into an entirely different person, someone that possessed your jaw in his large hand, pulling at your bottom lip before kissing you harder. It was enough to leave you gasping for air once he pulled away, spit connecting you two, and he continued to suck and nip his way down your throat. He made sure to leave marks in places that could be covered up for work, but he’d know exactly where they were. God, would he even be able to control himself at his desk, knowing where his bites were hiding under your clothes?
Tugging your sweater over your head, he practically whined at the sight of your breasts, constricted in the bra that you told him was too old once, but you kept wearing it anyway because he said it was cute. He lifted you for a moment, expertly removing it with one hand, before licking the valley between your breasts. You arched into him, sighing into your arm when he swirled his tongue around your taut nipple. He glanced up and realized you were hiding your face, so he pushed your hand off. “I want you to look at me while I do this,” he cooed, but it sounded more like a demand.
Despite the embarrassment, you did as he asked, feeling completely bewitched as you watched him cup the swell of your breast, tugging on your nipple. This felt like a goddamn Pornhub video. You two have had sex before, yes, but not like this. Never like this. Wonwoo had always let you do what you were comfortable with, keeping his other side at bay while you rode him hard on the couch. But this … this felt like something else entirely. The way he was lavishing both your nipples, coating them with his spit, demanding you to watch … Expletives filtered softly from your mouth, wetness gathering between your thighs. It suddenly felt too hot and your jeans were still on.
Wonwoo was taking his time with you though, and it was very clear to you that this wouldn’t just be one of those nights where you had sex for 10 minutes before ordering pizza. When he lifted his mouth from your left nipple, he asked calmly, “Do you like this or do you want more?”
You sneered, “Well, of course, I like –”
His hand came up instantly to pinch your other nipple, and you couldn’t stop the whimper that came out of your mouth. “No teasing,” he said, lowering his head to flick that nipple with his tongue. “Just answer me.”
“More,” you choked out, your hips arching off the bed, seeking friction. “Please, more.”
He chuckled, pressing a kiss between your breasts once again, before lowering himself down your body. His eyes never left yours as he dragged his lips down your stomach. Eventually, he had to stand from the bed so he could finally unzip your pants, tugging when they got stuck around your ankles. When the cold air hit between your legs, you realized how soaked you were already. Wonwoo smirked to himself, slowly rolling your panties down your legs.
“Don’t let it get to your head,” you joked, kicking your panties off into a pile by his bed.
He lifted your ankle, nipping playfully, and replied, “Told you that you’d like me taking the lead.”
You rolled your eyes as he settled between your thighs, bending your knees back so your feet rested beside his head. You bit your lip as he placed sloppy kisses on your inner thigh, biting hard enough to make a bruise. Wonwoo fought hard to maintain a sense of composure, but god, the sight of your pretty pussy oozing slick made him wonder if he could cum untouched. You had let him finger you before, but had never been in the mood for this. And this was something Wonwoo had been fantasizing about since the day he noticed that tear in your stockings. He could jump for joy if that didn’t make him look like an absolute fucking loser.
He pushed your folds apart with two fingers, running a hand down his face as he attempted to school his expression. It was just so fucking hard to act cool when you were this aroused. Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip. You reached out and brushed his hair back from his forehead, deciding to quip, “Wonwoo, can you even find the clit without your glasses on –”
Without warning, he spit on your pussy and buried his face between your thighs. The words died on your tongue immediately, and you let out the loudest whine he’d ever heard in his life. He smiled, but that didn’t deter him from circling his tongue around your clit. He wound one of his arms around your thigh, holding you in place as he pressed his face further.
Wrapping his lips around your clit, he sucked and drew out the prettiest sounds from you, using his free hand to slip two fingers inside you. You tasted exactly like he dreamed about, sweet and tangy and so unmistakably you. He looked up at you from between your legs, curling his fingers in the spot that made tears prick at your eyes, and when your gaze found his, it was like something in him snapped. “Fuck,” he muttered, his voice muffled, feasting at you like he’d been starved for days.
Your fingers were in his hair now, pressing his head more into you, which only made this more enjoyable for him. He nearly came in his pants when your hips began to buck against his face, but this was about you. And him experiencing you cumming on his face. But mostly you. His fingers pumped faster inside you and his tongue was now flicking your clit, allowing more of your arousal to invade his mouth. He’d never get tired of this taste; he was obsessed. Now that he finally got a taste of you … he never wanted to not be doing this. Never wanted his face too far from the apex of your legs. Not when you had the sweetest taste that could move heaven and earth between these thighs.
And when you finally came on his tongue, he noticed that your legs shook like an earthquake. Your essence flooded his mouth, and he moaned – god, did he moan – lapping at you, never missing a drop of what you gave him. His fingers kept curling inside of you, making your orgasm feel like forever. When he finally removed them with a wet pop, he didn’t miss the opportunity to have more of you, wrapping his mouth around those two fingers and licking off the last of your release. You watched him, completely mesmerized by the way he savored you, even darting his tongue out to capture the whatever seeped out of you. Your hips jolted, suddenly so sensitive, and he grinned up at you.
You hardly caught your breath before he crawling up your body, kissing you hard and letting you taste yourself on his tongue. Your hands fisted in his t-shirt, and when you ripped your lips away from his, you arched a brow. “You are still fully clothed,” you reminded, and then swiped at the spit lining his bottom lip.
Wonwoo simply smiled, ghosting his lips over yours before trailing them to your ear. “I’m getting to that part. Patience,” he whispered, nibbling on your earlobe. “You must really want me inside you.”
“I want to not be the only one naked.”
“Say it,” he prodded in a weirdly casual tone.
“What?”
“Say you want me inside you.”
“This is ridiculous –”
He lifted his head from your jawline. “I can easily leave this room and order a pizza,” he teased, and you blinked at him. He was actually being serious. He would completely ignore what looked like a throbbing erection in his pants, just to make a point. You knew he wasn’t trying to be mean; he wanted to get you out of your comfort zone. This was so stupid, because you did want him inside you. Embarrassingly so. He had just given you one of the best orgasms of your life, but you still had this … aching need to be filled. Your cheeks heated just at the thought of it.
“I …” Your eyes closed for a moment, trying not to make your whole face turn bright red. With a sigh, your eyes connected again, and you answered, “I want you inside me, Wonwoo.”
He rewarded you with a kiss, pulling away before it could get too heated again, and stood from the bed. “Well, when you ask nicely …” He smiled, that dominating demeanor slipping for a moment as he pulled his shirt off. You’d never get tired of the way Wonwoo looked without a shirt. He didn’t let anyone see it very often – he wasn’t like his roommate – but the moments he did, you felt eternally grateful. His torso was toned, with defined abs and pecks that made your mind boggle. You liked that his arms were long and muscled; his hands large and slightly calloused.
You liked everything about him.
When he finally went to kick off his sweatpants, he noticed a large precum stain on the gray fabric from just eating you out. Which was probably the biggest jab to his calm and collected attitude right now, but he didn’t let it slip. He simply threw the sweatpants to the side, coming up close to the bed again, where your legs were now hanging off the edge. You gazed up at him as if he held the world in his palms, watching the way he reached into his boxers and pulled out his cock. Your eyes widened at the sight, never used to the size. He was slightly thicker than average, but long. Longer than you ever expected. With a pretty pink head leaking sticky precum.
It was killing you how long he was taking. Your legs shifted, ready to make a move to yank him underneath you, but he was faster than you. He pinned your wrists about your head with one hand this time, using his other to keep a firm grip on his cock. “You want to be in control that badly, huh?” He asked, tilting his head.
His hand was moving up and down his shaft now, letting precum dribble on your stomach. Your eyes flickered from his cock back to his eyes. “I just … I need you, Wonwoo,” you begged, your voice taking on a new tone. And somehow … wanting him so bad like this was ten times more arousing than riding him on the couch. “Please, please, Wonwoo. Please, fuck me.”
Your pleas had him falling apart, and he sighed, letting go of your wrists to discard his boxers too. His cock flopped against his stomach, hard and aching and – fuck, had he always been veiny? He got on top of you again, cooing against your lips, “I know, baby, I know.” His rubbed the underside of his length against your wet folds, moaning at the slightest bit of friction. “I’ll fuck you real good. I promise.”
Pressing the head of his cock at your entrance, his breath hitched at just the feeling of your arousal coating his shaft. You both had never taken your time with sex. But he was doing that tonight now that he was in control, letting himself slowly push inside you, feel you completely stretch open for him. You mewled, slinking your arms around his neck and carding your fingers at the nape. And when he finally buried himself to the hilt, his lips fell open and he groaned. You felt so good he could cum right now, but he needed to get a grip. The last thing he needed was to cum too fast.
Not that you would like him any less if he did.
“Wonwoo,” you cried, your hips arching up to meet his. “Please.”
Your voice snapped him out of whatever trance-like state he was in. He settled more on top of you, resting his elbows on both sides of your head, and pulled all the way out so only the tip remained. You whined at the emptiness, which soon changed to a gasp when he bullied his cock back in. Your fingers tugged at his hair; your legs crossed around his waist, drawing him deeper inside. “Fuck,” he muttered, still feeling how tight you were, how you molded yourself for him. “So fucking … god, so wet.”
His restraint could only last so long. He’d gotten his fill of feeling you adjust around him. He couldn’t take this anymore, or he was going to cum before you both had even started. With a deep breath, he set a brutal pace inside of you, his hips snapping forward. Tears rolled down your cheeks; how could something feel so good that you cried? Wonwoo seemed to be thinking the same thing, because he was burying his face in the crook of your neck and groaning, “God, so good … you feel so good … how can anyone feel this good?”
The only word you could choke out was, “Ditto,” which you’d regret for hours after this. But now was not the time.
He was fucking into you so hard that you were already sore, but you were holding onto him for dear life, clinging to him as that warmth burned in your gut. The way his cock curved and grazed your g-spot perfectly, making you tremble and whimper his name like a prayer. He placed a hand on your stomach, feeling how deep his cock nestled inside you, and you noticed him shiver in your arms. He was trying desperately to fight off his release. That coil in your gut began to tighten, and from the way Wonwoo was breathing, you knew he wasn’t going to last much longer. He wanted you to cum first though – like always – wanted to feel you clamp around him, squeeze him so tight that he saw white.
So he did what he did best: reached in between your bodies, finding your swollen, sensitive clit so easily, and rubbed slow circles. He lifted his head from your neck, wanting to see that familiar look in your eyes when you saw stars. “Are you gonna cum for me?” His voice was so deep that it reverberated against your chest.
And finally, as he pressed his thumb down hard and pushed into you just right, you felt your orgasm crest. “Fuck, Wonwoo,” you sobbed, body shaking as you came undone.
But Wonwoo wasn’t stopping. He kept fucking into you, making your eyes roll to the back of your head. And when your walls squeezed him so tight, he buried himself completely and came hard, a generous amount of fucks leaving his lips. His cheek pressed against yours; his groans muffled by the comforter. You held him close as he filled you to the brink with his release, and it almost felt like hours before he realized he finished.
You exhaled together, allowing your heart rates to settle. He turned his head slightly, pressing a kiss to your cheek, and then to your nose, and now he was kissing all over your face. Your cheeks instantly tinged pink, but you let him do as he pleased. He didn’t even make a move off you, letting his cock soften inside your warmth. When your eyes opened, he was staring down at you like you were the sun. You searched his eyes, “What?”
His dark gaze flickered to your lips for a moment, and then he asked, “Did you really say, ‘Ditto,’ during sex?”
You and Wonwoo had gotten into a routine. Of course, you saw him 5 days out of the week at work, but you wanted more of him. You figured out Mingyu’s schedule, coming over most nights when he wasn’t home – besides Mingyu’s Movie Nights. You would let Wonwoo cook for you, and he promised he was getting better, before he led you to his room with kisses to your neck and a firm grip on your hand.
He always went with whatever you were comfortable with, but you found yourself letting him take the lead more often than not. You liked letting him prioritize you; you liked being selfish with him. Giving up control felt … much better than anticipated. Everything about this felt too good to be true. But you couldn’t help yourself, and you didn’t want to spoil it by asking him the dreaded, “What are we?” For now, you’d exist in your safe little bubble, where he would smile at you at work and then fuck your brains out after hours. It felt perfect, simple.
You approached sex through a different lens now. Instead of simply riding him on that godforsaken old couch, you let him go at his own pace: placing you on his lap, having his way with you and making you cum at least 3 times before he sunk you down on his cock, bouncing you up and down as you clung to him, practically letting him use you as a flesh light. Even when he let you sit on his face, it was on his terms: his hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave a mark, trying to suffocate himself with your pussy, not allowing you to cum until he said so, no matter how much you needed to. But it felt too good to stop. You didn’t want this to stop. You liked the lack of control, liked the way he took care of you. The way he bent your knees back as he slid into you, keeping eye contact, so you’d feel him that much deeper … the way he could feast on you for hours, never getting enough of your taste … there was something about it that made you feel more than beautiful.
Especially when he looked at you as if you were his world.
Especially when he fucked into you and you realized you might be in love with him.
You tended to get lost in thought while laying in bed on an early morning. The birds chirped outside, your phone chimed along with each new notification. Curling underneath your comforter, you held your pounding head, reminiscing on last Sunday. You had gone over Wonwoo’s apartment and he had surprised you with a spaghetti dinner. Mingyu promised that it was “more edible than usual” before he left you two alone in the apartment.
You had noticed the shine in Wonwoo’s eyes, how excited he was to do this for you. He had never bothered to learn anything for anyone, but all he wanted to do was please you. To make you happy. And you could see that in the way he gazed at you, making your stomach do flip flops. Letting him have all this control over you, letting him see past the fortress you’d kept up for who knows how long … it was scary and exhilarating all at the same time.
He taught you how to play his favorite video game after dinner, placing you in between his legs on the couch and letting you lean back against his broad chest. His arms cocooned around you, nestling your body in his embrace. Sometimes he would nibble on your ear as you fought to maintain hand-eye coordination with the controller. Eventually, you had given up and asked to watch him, but that led to his hand dropping the controller as the enemy killed him off. And then his fingers were slowly slipping down the waistband of your leggings, rubbing your slit over your panties. You had arched into him, your ass pressing against his hardening erection as he pulled your panties to the side, already finding you wet and ready for his touch. He chuckled in your ear, “How long have you been thinking about this?” His index finger rubbed tight circles on your clit, and all that you could formulate for a response was a moan as he –
You cut yourself off from the memory before it could end you.
Your stomach churned. Despite your better judgement, you had completely fallen head-over-heels for senior IT specialist, Jeon Wonwoo, and that was terrifying. He had seen your personality unfold, seen the most vulnerable parts of you. But nothing was more scary than admitting to yourself how much you liked him, maybe even loved. You were frantic to the point of exhaustion, so stressed that you felt sick. Soon you were shivering, your head pounding as a fever came on, and you stayed home from work for a few days. Your phone notifications be damned – you stayed in your bedroom with the blinds closed, sleeping the days away.
Every so often, you would hear your phone chime. Your phone screen would light up with another text message. But … you couldn’t bring yourself to answer him. This behavior was illogical and stupid; you just simply couldn’t help yourself. You were an avoidant. The only thing you knew how to do was slowly push him away before he saw all the layers underneath your carefully crafted facade.
What if he finally saw how anxious you were all the time?
What if he knew how you secretly craved to be loved your entire life, but you looked for it elsewhere, in places like workplace praise or crowded bars where you couldn’t see another person’s face?
What if he knew you weren’t as organized up in your head as you were at your desk?
Or worse … what if he didn’t like you back?
TUESDAY, APRIL 22
Wonwoo: What’s going on?
Wonwoo: I managed to find out that you’re sick. I can make you soup, if you want? I know my cooking is terrible. But what if this time it’s good and it cures you?
Wonwoo: If I threaten to message you on Slack, will that make you reply?
Wonwoo: I promise I won’t. Unless … lol
Wonwoo: You’re not dead, right?
Wonwoo: Please, answer me.
FRIDAY, APRIL 25
UNKNOWN: hey, it’s Mingyu. I found your number in Wonwoo’s phone. he’s really messed up right now and worrying about you.
UNKNOWN: idk what’s going on between you two, but I don’t like seeing him like this.
UNKNOWN: just … call him. or text him. or something.
Jeon Wonwoo [10:13 AM]: Did your computer die and you need a new charger?
Jeon Wonwoo [3:21 PM]: I miss you.
When you finally returned to work, it’s on a day that your cubicle mate had decided to work from home. You couldn’t decide if that was a blessing or curse until the next day, when you wished that he decided to work from home forever. It was on a Tuesday morning that you finally faced him again, locking eyes with him from across the boardroom table in an all-hands meeting. You weren’t sure what to say, weren’t sure what you could say, but … he didn’t speak to you any way. In fact, even when you both got back to your desks, he kept quiet, throwing on his headphones and focusing on whatever task was at hand. His attitude change wasn’t exactly surprising, but you couldn’t bring yourself to speak to him either.
All your other coworkers looked bewildered. The silence between you two made just about everyone feel awkward. They all saw how close you and Wonwoo had become, and now everything just felt … flat. Silent. Empty. It was like you two were strangers. Maybe you had never really known each other in the first place, if you could both discard each other so easily.
But that just seemed too good to be true. You thought about him everyday, despite yourself, and he had to think of you too. You caught his eyes on you every once in a while, and you couldn’t help but yearn for him in silence. It was probably time for you to take charge again and make the first move, but you found yourself hesitating. Again. You were overwhelmed with thoughts of rejection.
This was why you never gave up control with someone before. It left you suddenly so, so doubtful.
You [1:34 PM]: I can’t get into my Outlook. I think I’ve locked myself out
Jeon Wonwoo is now offline.
You [1:36 PM]: I miss you too
It was a busy Sunday, the first notes of Spring evident in the air. You needed to go to the post office today, the supermarket, probably check in on your parents … but that was all discarded when you made the sudden decision to take a taxi to Wonwoo’s apartment. Your hands were shaking more than his when he first touched you. Your leg was bouncing with anxiety, and when the taxi finally pulled up to his building, you considered never getting out.
But you couldn’t continue being a coward. Besides, this driver had places to be, with the way he was arguing for you to pay in cash.
You were lucky enough to slide in through the building’s entrance while someone was walking out. The less you had to embarrass yourself by calling Mingyu to let you in, the better. The walk up those two flights of stairs was long and tiring, and it wasn’t because you always hated them. You physically couldn’t make yourself go faster, too frightened of what he was going to say when he saw you. Maybe he wouldn’t say anything; maybe he’d slam the door in your face. And you couldn’t blame him, because now you were at his door and – oh, god, you wanted to hurl.
The door was opening before you could even catch your breath. When you caught that first glimpse of Mingyu, you realized how much of a mistake this was. You could always turn back, run down the stairs before anyone could say a word.
But as soon as you both locked eyes, Mingyu raised his brow, but not in a mocking sense. It was as if … he expected you to be here. He sighed, leaning against the door, and without looking back, he called out, “Wonwoo! You got a visitor.”
Your eyes went wide, and then Mingyu was pushing past you, leaving the door open and muttering, “Good luck.” He was rushing down the stairs two at a time before you could even say a word back. But then you were seeing him, and you wondered if it had always been this hard to breathe around him.
Your fingers played absentmindedly as you both stared at each other. His glasses were slipping down his nose, but he made no move to fix them. His own hand was too busy dropping the controller that had been in his grip, now clattering to the floor. His hair was messed up and he was wearing his favorite comfy sweatsuit, and you … you were put together, as always. Your hair unwashed, but pulled up in a ponytail, and wearing that cardigan he liked so much on you. If he wasn’t so hurt, just the sight of you would have him on his knees right now, begging to have you.
He had to turn around and walk away. If he didn’t right now, he’d just –
“Wait,” you said, walking in and closing the door when he spun away. “Please, don’t. I –”
“What could you possibly say?” He snapped, facing you once again. You had never heard his voice at this octave before, never seen so much distress on his face. “I thought we knew each other well enough that you wouldn’t cut me off out of nowhere. As if I’m just some guy you met at a bar last weekend.”
Your mouth opened, and then closed.
“Do you … do you even understand how worried I was about you?” He ran a hand through his hair, voice cracking for the first time in forever. You took a step closer to him. “You weren’t answering me and I just … my head went to the worst. I thought Mingyu was gonna kill me the next time I mentioned your name. And then, to see you at work and realizing that you were actually just ghosting me was a fucking punch to the gut. I didn’t get it. I still don’t get it. But I’m so pissed at you for hurting my feelings that I’m not even sure if I wanna know.”
“Wonwoo –” You started.
“Please, don’t say my name like that,” he sighed and pinched his nose. “I realize that you came all this way to finally break the news to me, but I’m good. It’s very obvious to me now that you don’t like me as much as I like you, and to save us the pity party, let me get you home –” He reached for his wallet to grab some cash for your next taxi.
But you interrupted before he could finish.
“I love you.”
He paused, looking up and making sure he heard you right. “What?”
“I’m in love with you,” you said it again, and it felt so freeing to have this weight lifted off your shoulders. You moved closer, now standing a foot away, but refusing to touch him for your own good. “And I’m not just telling you that as an excuse. Ignoring you was cruel and I can never forgive myself for hurting you. I just … when I realized how deep my feelings for you were …” Your throat closed up, as if your body was acting on instinct, preventing you from being vulnerable with him.
Wonwoo closed the distance. “Hey,” he whispered, tucking a hair behind your ear. “I’m right here with you.”
His voice was so reassuring – as always – opening you up like a blooming flower. And suddenly, your mouth didn’t feel so dry anymore and your nails stopped making crescent-shaped indents in your palm.
“I got scared,” you confessed, your gaze locked on his. “And I ran away, because that was the easiest thing to do. I thought ignoring you would be best for both of us, and I stubbornly didn’t want to hear your opinion on any of this. What I did was wrong and I … I hate myself when I do stuff like this to people I care about.”
Tears pricked at the corner of your eyes, but he wiped them with his thumb before they could fall. You sniffled, noticing the hurt in his eyes had faded, replaced only by adoration. Your lips pursed as you searched his gaze.
“I’ve just … never allowed anyone to open me up like this. I’ve never given my feelings to someone and let them care for me.” You blinked, your eyes rimmed red. “I’ve hardly been able to comprehend my own feelings because I’ve been scared shitless of them in the first place. But I can’t … I can’t justify pushing you away anymore. Because I love you. I don’t like being alone anymore and all I ever want to do is see you. Sometimes I’m afraid if I stop holding you, you’ll disappear. You do so much for me; you literally fix something on my computer everyday. I think if I let you go right now, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life, and I –”
Wonwoo cut you off by pressing his lips to yours. You couldn’t remember the last time he kissed you like this: so gently with his palm cupping your jaw. You felt yourself relax when he slipped an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him. His tongue licked into your mouth, sighing with relief when the familiar taste of you entered his orbit again. The taste of coffee and peppermint gum and the peanut butter and jelly you definitely had for lunch today. It was everything he loved about you, and he smiled into the kiss.
When he finally pulled away, he said, “Sorry, I interrupted your monologue.”
“It’s okay. Someone needed to before I got into the Hamlet soliloquy I prepared.”
He chuckled, grinning from ear to ear, and just that had a blush creeping to your cheeks. “I forgive you,” he whispered, leaning back in to ghost his lips all over your face. Your warm breath fanned his mouth. “Just don’t do that again. I know I don’t show it very often, but I’m secretly very …” He smiled softer this time, pecking just slightly on the corner of your mouth. “Sensitive.”
Your fingers hooked into the waistband of his sweatpants, wanting him all the more closer. “I know. I promise.” You brushed your nose over his. “If I ever ignore you for even a couple hours, you have full permission to annoy me on Slack.”
Wonwoo had to cover his mouth from letting out the loudest laugh possible, but it made you feel all the better to see him happy. You could spend forever seeing him this happy. You got up on your tiptoes just to stare at him more, to press yourself closer and feel his grin against your cheek.
But he was holding your face now, sighing down at you with a smile that almost made you swoon. “For the record,” he replied, “I love you too.”
You couldn’t contain the maniacal laughter that escaped your throat as Wonwoo choked on his drink, a coughing fit erupting as he reached for the closest napkin he could find.
“I’m sorry… what did you just say?” He held his forearm to his mouth, desperately trying to contain any remaining coughs still threatening to escape.
“You heard me.” You leaned back against the foot of the couch, your legs sitting criss cross on the floor while you knocked your head back to take another shot. You giggled afterwards, wiping any leftover soju from your lips. “No man has ever made me come. Not even Si-woo.”
It was an embarrassing thing to bring up in retrospect, especially to your roommate of three years who up until now you’d only ever sparingly told the details of your intimate life to. But who the hell even cared about pride anymore?
Certainly not you… and certainly not the copious amount of alcohol currently traversing your system.
“But… you two were together for so long?” The confused expression on Wonwoo's face was downright adorable, and the subconscious urge to pinch his cheek was immediately pushed down.
“All relationships take sacrifice, mine just so happened to be any chance of ever achieving orgasm.” You cringed outwardly as you thought back to a particularly tough memory. “I remember one time he rubbed my inner thigh for like fifteen minutes thinking it was my—“
“STOP!” He croaked out, cheeks flushing brightly as you released a loud cackle, your eyes tearing up at your precious best friend.
You and Wonwoo had first properly met at the start of college, which was baffling considering you both had gone to the same highschool for four years without uttering so much as a single word to one another. It wasn’t to say you'd been completely blind to his existence that entire time, he had just always been much more reserved and quiet back then.
Not to mention way too handsome for you to even think about approaching.
If anything, the only people he ever really spoke with was your current mutual group of friends. You remembered meeting Seungkwan junior year, but it wasn’t until you were actually partnered as lab buddies in college that you’d grown close enough to get invited over for a pool party at his friend Soonyoungs place. Kwan had been in the middle of introducing you to Jihoon when a few people shouting from across the yard had stolen your attention, you could hardly recognize the goofy grinned boy who was getting flicked after losing a punishment game to be the same shy Wonwoo whom you’d only ever snuck spare glances at for the past four years.
The first thing you noticed was just how effortlessly funny he secretly was. Never in your life would you have guessed that Wonwoo, who only a few years prior refused to even make eye contact as you borrowed his pen, would’ve been right in front of you borderline screaming his lungs out into a karaoke machine. You and everyone else couldn’t breathe laughing as he strained to sing as high as his uncharacteristically deep voice could manage, all in an attempt to beat Soonyoung's high score. The entire night he continued to crack the most absurd one liners, which somehow felt even funnier because of just how impassive he usually was at school. You couldn’t contain the fit of giggles that escaped you practically every time he spoke, all while his hyungs encouraged him and wheezed in fits of laughter by your side.
The second thing you noticed was just how much the two of you actually had in common, your first real conversation sparking from an in depth discussion of FPS games, resulting in a borderline nerd off between the two of you for the rest of the party. You both got along so well that you had made plans for a duo match later that night, which then led into exchanging numbers, and then discord tags. You soon discovered a mutual love of classic movies, which turned into weekly film nights, then sleepovers, which led to grabbing breakfast together, then lunch… The two of you eventually spent so much time together that Wonwoo suggested you become roommates.
It was an offer that you agreed to almost instantly.
It worked perfectly. You each liked to have your own space, but not too much as you both got lonely pretty frequently. And the best part about two introverts living together meant that you also understood each other's social battery, which for some reason never really drained around Wonwoo. It wasn’t uncommon for one person to knock on the other's door out of boredom, asking to have a movie night or a meal together, or even just relax quietly in each other's presence. He was easy to talk to, listened to your ramblings and never judged. You’d rant to him whenever anything bothered you or made you upset, but you always made sure not to take it too far as you never wanted to risk making him uncomfortable.
But you were feeling a bit too loose tonight, maybe it was the alcohol buzzing through your system or the fact that you had just dumped your boyfriend a few days prior. Maybe it was the frustration you’d been bottling up at how shittily your, now ex, treated you for the past year. Everything was slipping through your lips a lot easier than usual, even the information you typically kept close to your chest was pouring out without any filter.
As was evidenced by the abrupt confession about your sex life.
“I thought things were, um, really good between you two on that front?” Wonwoo let out, his brows furrowing together in pure confusion. “I mean you never really talked to me about that stuff, but the noises coming from your room—“
“Fake. All of it.” You snorted, and the look on Wonwoo’s face was so comical you had to force your dizzy head not to fall over laughing. “What can I say, I’m one hell of an actress.”
Wonwoo had to practically wrench his gaping mouth shut, taking a swig of his beer as he seemed to mull over that information. You knew he wasn’t a big drinker, but after you came home practically begging to have a few drinks together to get your mind off of the hellish week you’d had he couldn’t just say no. Letting him have a few beers was the best you could compromise, as you were left to down the harder alcohol sitting in front of you both.
“Is that why you guys broke up?” He asked carefully, testing the waters. Your eyes widened slightly, realizing you’d never actually explained the details to Wonwoo, partially because the wound was still fresh but also because it was yet another embarrassing situation that made you feel small and vulnerable. You gave him a gentle smile and shook your head no, allowing the alcohol to explain for you.
“He’d been texting other girls for the past three months.” You sighed, pouring yourself another glass. “Wasn’t even careful about it either, he got a tinder and a hinge notification while I was over one night. What a dumbass.”
You downed the shot, this one burning your throat slightly more than the rest and you scowled at the feeling. It pissed you off, the fact that you wasted a year of your life with such a shithead and there was nothing to show for it in the end. Wonwoo’s silence might’ve been your cue to shut up if you’d been sober, but your inebriated brain just took it as an invitation to continue.
“I think the part that confused me the most was that I actually felt so relieved when I found out.” You put the shot glass on the coffee table, Wonwoo raised a brow in surprise. “I mean yeah, I was fucking furious about it. Woke that asshole up by dumping a cup of water directly on his head, packed my stuff and didn’t look back once.”
You fidgeted with the soju bottle, thinking over all the conflicting feelings you’d been working through the past few days. “But once I saw those notifications on his phone it really just kinda put everything into perspective for me, I guess. I don’t think I ever once actually imagined a future with the guy. I think, secretly, I always wanted some kind of excuse to end things.”
You adjusted your hand, even all the alcohol in your system suddenly wasn’t enough. “It probably makes me a bitch to say this, but I don’t think I meant it a single time I told him I loved him.” You winced slightly at your own words, a sliver of guilt trailing up your spine. “I would’ve felt bad if I didn’t say it back, you know? We were together for a while, and it’s not like I’m getting any younger.”
Wonwoo shook his head. “You’re not a bitch.” Your eyes shifted to study his face, his expression concerned but his eyes soft. “I’ve been here the entire time, every fight and every argument. The guy was a douchebag.”
You offered him a grateful smile, Wonwoo was always there. He comforted you and listened to you during even the absolute worst moments of your relationship, but never once did he tell you to break up with him. It confused you, since most of your friends came to that very same conclusion any time you so much as brought Si-woo’s name up.
“... Why don’t you ever… talk bad about him?” You remembered sniffling into a crumpled tissue, leaning into Wonwoo’s shoulder after finishing a particularly rough venting session. You’d just bawled your eyes out after the usual spat with Si-woo, and Wonwoo was rubbing slow, comforting circles on your back.
He furrowed his brows together and paused his motions. “What do you mean?”
“You listen to me cry and complain about him so much, usually Hao or Jihoon get sick of it and tell me to just dump him already.” You hiccuped slightly, and you noticed his lip curl up in amusement. “But you never say anything… Doesn't it bother you? That I still stay with him even after all of this?”
“I hate that you’re hurting, and I don’t like seeing you sad.” He frowned slightly, and brushed a strand of hair from your tear stained cheeks. “But if you have to cry, I’m just glad I can be here so you’re not feeling these things alone.”
He playfully placed his index finger between your eyebrows and pushed your head back softly, you laughed and another hiccup escaped “I trust that you would leave him if you felt like it was the right thing to do. I don’t think offering up solutions and badmouthing him while you’re in so much distress will help anything.” His gentle smile practically froze you in place, the genuineness in his tone melting away any lingering tears.
“I’m always here, if you ever need someone to just listen.”
That singular moment provided you more comfort than you could ever remember receiving from someone. You weren’t scared to talk about your feelings anymore, you didn’t have to hide your emotions around Wonwoo like you might’ve done around the other guys. But it also disappointed you to a certain degree, because in all honesty if there was anyone you wanted to tell you to end things with Si-woo… It was him.
You knew you’d developed feelings for Wonwoo about a month after meeting him. It wasn’t hard, with how easily the two of you had bonded and how breathtakingly handsome he was. It was more difficult to actually keep it a secret, as you were both practically inseparable and he was always looking at you with such kind eyes and the prettiest smile.
The thought of confessing never so much as crossed your mind. You never dared even speak about it aloud, not even to your friends, but the feelings involuntarily stuck around longer than you anticipated. One month of friendship turned into two, then three turned into four, and when you hit a year was when it all came to a crashing stop.
Your friend Mingyu had set Wonwoo up on a blind date with someone from his job, and they ended up becoming official not long after.
Hana was her name, gorgeous with long dark hair and wispy lashes, she had a model figure and the most charming Daegu dialect. She suited Wonwoo well, the two of them immediately becoming an absolute powerhouse of a couple in terms of visuals. You congratulated your friend and his new girlfriend with smiles and squeals of course, but it did nothing to stop the silent cries you’d given your pillow the weeks following. It took time, it took effort, and it took a lot of strength, but you eventually got past it.
Si-woo was your first venture into dating after properly getting over your little crush, about a year after Hana and Wonwoo got together. He treated you like a princess in the beginning, and you had to admit it helped soothe that leftover ache.
It was the small moments, the good moments with Si-woo where you felt yourself properly moving forward, moving past all those lingering feelings. But it was the bad moments that made you regret it, the ones where he would search through your phone while you went to the bathroom, the ones where he would ignore you for days because you were laughing a little too much at one of Dokyeom’s jokes, the ones where he wouldn’t take you on any dates unless you agreed to pay for them.
It wasn’t right, all your friends knew it and you did too, but routine can be a scarily addictive thing.
You remember being proud of yourself for not feeling much when Wonwoo had told you he and Hana had broken up, roughly a month into your own relationship with Si-woo. Obviously you felt concern for your friend’s wellbeing, for his mental state and whether or not he was heartbroken over it all. But you didn’t squeak in concealed excitement, you didn’t jump for joy behind closed doors, and you didn’t go to bed picturing yourself and Wonwoo’s first date like you probably would have a year prior.
You might’ve felt a little bit of happiness. But only a little.
“Look at you, finally saying something bad about him.” You chuckled, watching your own hand pour soju into a glass as if you had no control over it. “I’m surprised you held back for so long, Hao always had lots of creative words to describe Si-woo. “
“I’m not gonna lie, keeping it in was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.” You snickered outwardly as he exhaled. “But you needed someone to listen. That was much more important than making it known how badly I wanted to shove his head into a wall.”
“Tell that to Cheol, he almost strangled the guy when I told him half the shit he did.” A sigh escaped and you softly swished the soju against the shot glass. “I mean honestly, when he used to get mad at me for hanging out with the guys? Calling the video games I played childish, nagging me if I wore something even slightly revealing to class, the list goes on and on.”
Wonwoo shook his head with a huff. “I never knew how you dealt with him, I respected it, but I never understood it.”
“I honestly have no idea either, dude.” You exhaled, your cheeks puffing as you leaned your head back to look at the ceiling fan. “What’s even worse is I faked so many orgasms for that fucker just so he wouldn’t feel bad, I gave the performance of a goddamn lifetime too!”
“You were doing charity work honestly.” He chuckled, sipping his beer once more. “I don’t think I remember you ever saying a single good thing about the guy while you were together, isn’t that crazy?”
“That’s because there wasn’t.” You snickered, your eyes glancing to look at Wonwoo once more. “The worst was when we fought about you, though.”
His brow furrowed in confusion. “Me?” You nodded, smiling at his expression. “You never once mentioned you guys having arguments because of me?”
“I never wanted you to feel bad because of it.” You shrugged a single shoulder, the rest of your muscles completely relaxed. “You’re my roommate. You’re also an attractive guy. He was a controlling and jealous asshole. It’s pretty easy to put two and two together with how he’d react.”
Wonwoo seemed conflicted, as if unsure whether to apologize for causing issues or to agree with the sentiment of Si-woo being a terrible partner. Your next words came out like an echo, and your mind was much too slow to stop them from spilling out before they reached your tongue.
“To be fair, he was right to be worried.”
A stifling silence fell upon the cozy living room, and you weren’t even able to fully process what you had actually said because you were too busy taking another shot. The movement of it made you feel fuzzy, and the look Wonwoo was giving you made you giggle.
“What? What’s that supposed to mean?” His eyes were slightly narrowed, and his mouth looked oh so attractive at the moment you just wanted to crawl over and nibble on it. A stray laugh escaped your mouth.
“I had a crush on you, dumbass.” You hiccuped, using your hands to emphasize something large. “A biiiiig one, a long time ago~”
You reached down to pour another shot but Wonwoo stopped your hand. You frowned, watching as he brought the soju bottle and glass to his side and away from you.
“If you’re just gonna sit there drinking your little beer like a baby, one of us has to at least finish all the real alcohol!” You whined, pushing your arm out and attempting to snatch the bottle back weakly.
Wonwoo was still for a moment, and instead of giving in to your complaints proceeded to take a long swig from the bottle itself. You couldn’t hide the dumb grin growing on your face as he drank it all down in one go, a couple of coughs escaping to show his unfamiliarity with the drink.
“There, all gone. No more for you.” He spoke while clearing his throat, and your head was barely able to comprehend the fact that he was right. The bottle Wonwoo had just finished was the last, everything else on the table being empty or with just enough to fill a cap full. You groaned.
“We should go get moreee, you need to get on my level so we’re even.” You grunted, attempting to stand up from your seat on the floor but stumbling and falling back down in your original spot.
“I don’t think any amount of alcohol would ever get me to the state you’re in right now.” Wonwoo chuckled, his voice low and deep, practically giving you goosebumps. “You should get ready for bed before you black yourself out.”
“You promised you’d distract me from my shitty week, if you send me to my room all I’m gonna do is drive myself insane thinking about everything.” You pouted, swaying slightly and giving your roommate a questioning brow. “Are you going back on your word? Abandoning your drunk, sad, pitiful friend like this?”
Wonwoo let out a deep sigh and you knew you had him, he grabbed his beer once more and took his final sip of it before placing it on the coffee table. “Fine, what do you want to do?”
“Games.” You clapped excitedly, shaking your head when Wonwoo started crawling over to set up the PlayStation a few feet from you both. “Not video games, board games! Or a card game or something.”
“I’m pretty sure we left all our physical stuff at Jun’s place last time we all hung out.” Wonwoo frowned after peering through the glass cubbies of your media cabinet. “I’m not sure we have anything here to play with.”
You thought for a moment, eyeing down the empty shot glass when the idea sprang up almost instantly. “What about ‘Questions’? We haven’t played that in so long!”
“A drinking game? Did you forget that I just downed the rest of the alcohol?” Wonwoo motioned to the table, scratching the back of his neck. “The whole point is to drink if you can’t answer.”
“We can just answer everything then!” You snickered, watching as Wonwoo rubbed his eyes under his glasses, no doubt exhausted by your behavior tonight. “Orrrr we can bet. Whoever doesn’t answer first has to do whatever the winner wants.”
He looked at you for a moment, considering. Those spare seconds allowed your delirious mind to subtly ogle your roommate, your mouth drying up just from a mere once-over of him. He picked out the most basic, comfortable clothes he owned, a plain cotton black tee with loose fitting black sweats, and yet it always baffled you how he still managed to look runway ready. His long black hair was messy, and the itch to run your hands through it all was interrupted when Wonwoo moved to settle in and leaned his elbow on the table, his chin resting in his palm.
“Fine, deal. You first then.” He nodded towards you and you couldn’t help the feelings of excitement and happiness that bubbled up in your stomach. You sat up straight to think.
“If you had to make out with one of the guys, who would you choose?” You cackled loudly as Wonwoo scrunched his face in disgust at the question. He hesitated for a while, and you grinned thinking you might’ve already won.
“Jeonghan, but specifically when he had his long hair.” You let out a noise of approval but he visibly shivered at the thought. “I’d simply close my eyes and try not to think about it.”
“Hot.” Wonwoo threw a stray couch pillow at your face in retaliation and you snorted a laugh. “Jokinggg~ It’s your turn.”
“… So, when exactly did you have that little crush on me?” You rolled your eyes.
“Not letting that confession slip past, I see?” You scoffed at his small self satisfied smirk, the urge to kiss it off fighting every nerve in your intoxicated head. “You’re so obvious, trying to fluster me… but I’m over it buddy. Those dazzling charms don’t work on me anymore!”
“I’m not hearing an answer.” Wonwoo hummed, the corner of his eyes crinkling to match his smile. “Should I take that as me winning? Or~”
You sighed and gave in reluctantly. “A few weeks after becoming friends.” His smile turned to a look of genuine surprise and you suddenly felt a bit self conscious at airing it all out.
“That early on?” He spoke uncharacteristically gently, and you nodded slowly. His brow furrowed. “Why didn’t you ever tell me—“
“Woah there buddy, not your turn anymore!” You laughed a bit anxiously, already trying to think of a question that would get him to lose lest he keep pressing the subject. “My turn now!”
Wonwoo appeared disappointed but motioned a hand for you to continue. The hammering in your chest was a little too hard, and you weren’t sure if it was just because of the soju anymore.
“Why did you and Hana break up?” You spoke softly. In your head it was a sure fire way of winning, he had never told anyone the reason, not even the guys. You respected his privacy enough not to prod the subject, but you figured if there was any time to casually ask about it, it was while the soju was still thrumming strong in your veins. He stayed quiet for a few beats, and right when you were sure you had won, he sighed before answering.
“We never actually loved each other.” He spoke quietly, almost to the point where you had to strain to hear him. “We distracted each other for a decent amount of time, but that’s pretty much it.”
You knitted your brows together, shocked at how his one answer managed to cause a million other questions to run through your mind. What on earth did he mean by that? Him and Hana were a match made in heaven as far as you were able to see, both of them practically glowing whenever they had each other around. They never fought, always went on dates, hell she even stayed over at the apartment a few times.
“When did it stop?” Wonwoo’s voice tore you out of your own racing thoughts, and you looked at him dumbly.
“What?”
“The feelings you had for me.” He specified, his tone a lot more serious compared to when you began. “When did they stop?”
You swallowed dryly. If you were to be completely honest with yourself, they never went away. The overwhelming crush you had on him had been gone for a while now, but nothing ever really stopped those lingering feelings that still sat heavy in the back of your chest. If they were gone, why were you still finding him as gloriously kissable as the day you’d met.
“When you started dating Hana. I officially gave up around that time.” You let out whatever the liquor allowed you to, trying not to ponder too hard on it. “I mean, I couldn’t exactly have feelings for a taken guy, what would that make me?” An awkward chuckle escaped as you did your best to diffuse the tension a bit.
Wonwoo’s expression was unreadable, and your brain wasn’t even focused on the game anymore. Your head simply became muddled with questions, barely able to remember that you were only allowed to ask one at a time.
“What do you mean by ‘distracted each other’?” It was an odd thing to say no matter how you put it, and there was no guarantee that even if Wonwoo felt that way that Hana did as well. And maybe it was a delusional one track minded bias towards your roommate, but you didn’t want to think that he was just using her either.
“When Mingyu set us up, I had feelings for someone else at the time.” Your eyebrows raised in surprise at the new piece of information, Wonwoo distracted himself by picking at his fingernails. “And when I met Hana, she told me she had feelings for someone else as well. But she said that it would never work out, she was extremely resigned to that fact.”
It took you all but a minute to put the pieces together.
“… Mingyu?” You asked, Wonwoo nodded.
“The person she liked most set her up on a dozen blind dates, how much harder can you really friendzone someone?” You nodded in understanding, feeling a heavy amount of pity for the poor girl. “My own self confidence was pretty low at the time, so we kind of just saw ourselves in one another. We did actually try dating at first but it never really felt right, it became more like a mutual partnership than anything else. We talked a lot, mostly about how hard it was to bottle everything up. We’d go out but would never hold hands, we’d sleep over but I would always take the floor, I’d pat her back while she sobbed over Mingyu and she’d listen to me vent till we knocked out. We just… helped each other. Distracted ourselves for a bit.”
You nodded in thought, noticing a small weight lift off your chest. What he had with Hana was companionship, it was sweet and caring but never romantic. It slightly fascinated you that they were able to maintain such a platonic relationship for an entire year, and baffled you even more that neither even came close to falling for each other when they were both such attractive people inside and out.
“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” Wonwoo’s voice came out slightly strained, prompting you to give him your full attention. He suddenly seemed… frustrated? Upset? You weren’t sure, but the tightening of his jaw and downward gaze made your heart clench just from looking at him.
You could’ve lied, you could’ve said a half truth like being scared of ruining your friendship or that you just hadn’t thought about all that in forever. The alcohol flowing through your bloodstream had other plans though, and you had no restraint as you felt the real answer pour out without a second guess.
“What? And embarrass myself?” You laughed airily, watching Wonwoo’s expression tighten slightly. The most you could offer him was a shrug. “It was more like a fantasy to me, something I used to daydream about. Trust me, I am very self aware of where I rank on the attractiveness scale, especially compared to you. Telling you would’ve done nothing but humiliate the shit out of me, and getting rejected would have sent me spiraling.”
Wonwoo frowned, looking up at you with his brows scrunched in concentration. “Did I do something to come across as unapproachable to you? I hope you know I’d never ever make you feel bad over something like that.”
You shook your head immediately. “Nothing like that at all.” The fuzziness in your brain made your words slur a bit, and you paused before continuing. “I just meant I’ve always thought of you as way too out of my league to even consider—“
Silence.
Wonwoo’s conflicted expression dropped altogether, a small smile forming not too long after. Fine, maybe you’d just hinted that you still thought that way now. But what did you have to lose at this point? He knew about the crush, and there wasn’t much else for you to really expose about yourself. The feeling was oddly liberating, not having to hide or keep it all in anymore. Surely your sober self will be mortified in the morning, but right now you were simply enjoying the freedom that came with your inebriated state.
Just when you were about to scoff out something about never boosting his ego like that ever again, you noticed that the smile that had appeared faded just as quickly. You held your breath, his gaze becoming stone serious.
“I never want to hear you bringing yourself down like that, you have it completely backwards.” The sudden sincerity in his tone took you by complete surprise. “I’m sorry if I’ve ever come across as indifferent to you, but I do think you have severely underestimated just how breathtaking you are.”
Your eyes widened, utterly dumbfounded by the abrupt admittance. In the past three years Wonwoo had only explicitly called you attractive a handful of times, each one forever being burned into your memory as something to cherish. Granted it wouldn’t exactly have been appropriate for him to constantly be calling you hot while he had a girlfriend or when you had a boyfriend, but it just made the flattery he did give that much more heartfelt and genuine.
You felt your cheeks burn warm and you suddenly became incredibly overwhelmed by the temperature of the living room, pressing the back of your palm to your forehead briefly in a half-assed attempt to cool your face. You offered him a small smile, trying to play off how affected you become just from his praise alone.
“Jeon Wonwoo,” you begin, a mock warning in your voice. “You’re not sly, I know you’re still trying to fluster me.”
“Maybe my goal is to get you to fall for me all over again~” He wiggled his brow, and you felt your eyes roll back for the millionth time that night. “Your turn, go.”
You tried to think of anything other than the one real question that kept stubbornly pushing its way into the front of your mind. You knew it had the power to either help you move on, hurt you, or… something else. You weren’t sure, but one look at Wonwoo and it felt almost as if he knew what you were thinking. Without wasting another second, the question tumbled out without a spare thought.
“You mentioned having feelings for someone when you started dating Hana…” You licked your lips, trying to sound as casual as you could but failing miserably. “Who was it?”
The stare you gave Wonwoo was anything but subtle, but you didn’t care. Your heart pounded, palms sweated, face heated as you found that you didn’t care to hide it anymore. It had been years since the “end” of your crush and you had already spilled everything tonight, the least he could do was give you the closure you’d been craving all this—
“You.”
You froze, your breath catching in your throat as Wonwoo offered a genuine smile. You simultaneously wanted to smack it off and kiss it off at the same time. You had to remind yourself that this was years ago he was talking about, not now. It was the only thing grounding you to the spot and keeping yourself from lunging at him.
“You’re such a dumbass.” You let slip, making Wonwoo’s smile fall slightly from his face. “What kind of idiot gets into a relationship with another girl when he has a crush on someone else? Talk about self sabotage.”
“Now how the hell was I supposed to know you liked me too?”
“Dude, you really think I actually enjoyed just sitting there and watching you play League for five hours straight?”
“Do you think I enjoyed driving you to the official Sanrio store every week to look at the same five plushies you were never gonna buy?”
“… Touché.”
You both let out a stream of chuckles, but your muddled mind couldn’t let go of the fact that at one point in time, you both had feelings for one another. The guy who you dreamt and fantasized about for a year straight had liked you. Not only that, but he’d liked you even when he was with Hana, one of the most beautiful girls you’d ever seen. Your heated blood combined with the temperature of the room grew to be almost unbearable.
“If you don’t mind me asking, then…” You picked at a stray thread coming from the bottom of your shorts to keep yourself busy. “When did the feelings stop? On your end, I mean.”
You looked up at Wonwoo when he remained quiet, his expression unreadable. You raised an irritated brow at him when you couldn’t handle the silence anymore, and he grinned mischievously.
“I would answer, but it’s not your turn~” He hummed, you groaned.
“Fine, go.” He didn’t even hesitate to ask his next question, your entire body tensed.
“You said the thought of us together was like a fantasy to you,” your finger that had been picking at a thread pulled it out a little too harshly, “what kinda stuff did you fantasize about?”
The copious amount of alcohol in your bloodstream wasn’t nearly enough to answer any easier than if you were sober. You couldn’t quite look at his face, but felt only a portion of the truth slip past your lips. It took every ounce of strength in your body to restrain yourself from exposing more than needed.
“Just, you know, stuff that everyone thinks about when they like someone.” You shrugged, fighting the blush creeping up your neck. “Going on dates, holding hands, sometimes kissing…”
“Being intimate?” Wonwoo asked and you froze, indirectly answering the question for him. “Was I good at it? In those fantasies?”
You didn’t need to look at him to realize he was probably just messing with you now, and you suddenly felt a small rush of regret for the potential ammo you’ve just given him to tease you for the years to come. Sure, he’d confessed his past feelings too, but that was still nothing in comparison to just how much you’d spilled about yourself tonight.
“Have you ever thought about me? When you were—“
“It’s my turn!” You interjected, eager to get a break from embarrassing yourself further. “You need to answer my question first.”
He shut his mouth and nodded, sitting back slightly with his hands relaxing in his lap. Perhaps it was wishful thinking or the soju clouding your brain, but after finally looking at his face again you noticed he seemed to be more genuinely curious than joking. His posture was straight, and his demeanor was surprisingly serious for someone who only meant to tease you.
“Same question I asked before.” You spoke softly, looking him up and down. “When did your feelings stop?”
Your heart practically stopped beating when he shook his head, his posture still stiff and seemingly anxious. You crinkled your brow, unsure if you actually understood the meaning of his response.
“They didn’t.” He spoke a bit shakily with a nervous grin plastered on, you felt a clump form in the back of your throat. “I ended things with Hana because I started feeling bad. We used to be pretty balanced when it came to communication, but after you started dating Si-woo… Let’s just say she listened to me vent a lot more than was healthy for either of us.”
You stayed quiet and unbearably still, afraid that moving would wake you from the potential dream you were currently experiencing.
“No matter how hard I tried, I’ve just never been able to stop thinking about you.” He mumbled carefully, eyeing your reaction. “But that’s not to say I can’t suppress it, as long as I have you in my life at all I’m more than happy. Even if it’s just as friends—“
“I used to go to sleep imagining what your lips would feel like.” You croaked out before you could stop yourself. Wonwoo’s eyes widened. “They just… they always looked so soft… I wanted to kiss you until I felt like I couldn’t breathe anymore.”
“Wh— What…” He stuttered out, swallowing loudly. “Um, what else did you think about?”
“Whenever I went into your room while you were playing a game, I’d imagine you grabbing my waist and pulling me into your lap.” You shuddered slightly, watching Wonwoo’s eyes darken. “I thought about h-how your hand might feel squeezing my thighs, my waist… brushing under my shirt.”
“You remember that heat wave we had a few months ago? The one where our AC broke for a week straight?” He tilted his head slightly as he looked you up and down, you nodded your head slowly. “I lied about the maintenance guy being booked. I just wanted to see you walking around the apartment in that skimpy little tank top and those silk short-shorts a little longer.”
You smiled at that, your blood pumping faster at the thought that you might’ve affected him just as much as he affected you. Your eyes locked on the pair of lips that had plagued your mind for years and your mouth went dry.
“I used to think to myself a lot, about how hot you look in those glasses.” You spoke dumbly, biting your bottom lip as if to reign it in for the time being. “I always wanted to know if they stayed on. Whenever you…“
His brow raised almost instantly at your question, he smiled a little and adjusted the pair of glasses almost instinctively. You all but drooled at the sight, finding it nearly impossible to control anything at this point.
”They tend to either fall off or fog up, so I typically just take them off.” Wonwoo said, seeming to think over his next sentence carefully. “But I guess I wouldn’t mind trying to keep them on, if it was something my partner was into.”
You had to force yourself not to nod subconsciously, your veins thrumming at the very familiar fantasy of a half naked Wonwoo holding himself above you in his dorky little glasses. Instead you chose to shift your position to sit on your hands, lest your arms decide to reach out and touch the very tempting man seated across from you.
“Have you ever thought about me?” You scrunch your nose at Wonwoo, making it clear you didn’t fully understand his question. He let out a slightly shaky breath but spoke in a voice that oozed seriousness. “When touching yourself… Did the thought of me ever make you…”
You grinned and bit down the blunt ‘orgasm?’ that attempted to spring from your throat haphazardly. You looked towards the floor, still a slight bit anxious despite everything already having been aired in the open.
“I’d say nearly every time.” You chuckled softly, the silence that followed not going unnoticed. “I felt really guilty and awful, especially since I was dating Si-woo at the time and I also felt like I was objectifying my best friend. But then somehow it kinda ended up being the only way I could get that release, it’s fucked up I know… I should’ve just tried porn or something—“
“I thought you said you stopped liking me after I started dating Hana?”
You froze, gaining an entire arms worth of goosebumps at the note of realization in Wonwoo’s tone. You licked your dry lips, willing your voice not to crack.
“Uh, y-yeah. I did.”
“But you started seeing Si-woo after me and Hana got together.”
“O-oh, yeah you’re right I was probably just confused—“
“So you lied then?” Wonwoo’s posture was arrow straight, not a single hint as to what could possibly be happening in his brain. “You still liked me, even after I started dating Hana?”
You looked him in the eyes, mouth opening and closing but the words remained stuck in the back of your throat. He waited patiently, eyes locked in and tracking every move you dared to make, from the ragged breaths you took to your fidgeting fingers gripping the carpet fibers.
“… I lied.” You nodded, unable to look away from his piercing gaze. “I-I mean the enormous crush I had on you disappeared but… those feelings are still—“
Wonwoo didn’t wait for you to finish, he stood from his place across the coffee table and walked over to sit next to you. Your eyes followed his movements nervously, shifting awkwardly to give him a few inches of space.
Both of you now sat with your backs to the foot of the couch, your bodies facing forward with your heads turned towards one another. Wonwoo studied your face carefully and you swore you felt your cheeks burn an impossible shade of red.
“You know I won, right?” Wonwoo smiled softly, causing your intoxicated brain to stutter at the sudden shift in topic.
“What?”
“You lied to me. That counts as refusing to answer a question.” He shrugged slightly. “That means I won the game.”
You huffed out in mild annoyance, acknowledging that there was some validity in his reasoning. You were the one who rattled on yourself, there was no sense in fighting him.
“Fine, you won.” You admitted with a sigh, pouting out your bottom lip. An act that immediately caught Wonwoo’s gaze, and you felt your heart pick up its pace slightly.
“I believe there was a bet in place too,” Wonwoo spoke slowly, inching slightly closer to your side, “the loser has to do whatever the winner wants,” he brought his hand to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his finger grazing your cheek and causing you to shiver, “do you remember?”
You nodded softly, anxiety and nervousness and excitement all bubbling up together in one big mesh of feelings within your chest. The proximity of your face to Wonwoo’s was close, but he was hesitating slightly and you were itching to pull him into you already.
“Is this okay?” Wonwoo asked shakily, cupping your chin and pressing his forehead to yours. “Is it okay if I kiss you?”
You nodded once more, a little too enthusiastically this time. Your hands slid up to wrap around his neck and lock him in place, as if subconsciously terrified of him changing his mind.
“God yes…” You practically whispered, Wonwoo smiled softly at your words. “Please, I—“
The kiss was gentle, at least at first. Nothing but the soft feeling of pressing lips together and the closeness it provided. And yet at the same time it felt like a gong being smacked in your head, ringing throughout your ears and reverberating throughout your entire body. The motion of his lips moving against your own combined with his scent, the feeling of his calloused thumb stroking your cheek so carefully, it made you feel lightheaded. It was as if you were floating on nothing, completely weightless, the only thing grounding you being Wonwoo’s lips on yours.
He pulled away too quickly, looking at you seemingly for some kind of confirmation that what you both were doing was still okay. You gave him another quick nod, and he immediately dove back in.
The second time was much more intense, both of your eagerness quickly surpassing Wonwoo’s original intent to keep it slow and steady. Your lips moved languidly, opening slightly in an attempt to deepen the kiss to which he hungrily accepted. His hand hurriedly shifted to the back of your head to grab a handful of hair and tug it gently, it lowered to your neck, to your shoulders, to your arms, your waist. He gave you a squeeze and pulled you closer, almost like he couldn’t feel enough of you as quickly as he wanted. You clung on to the back of his neck like your life depended on it, relishing in the firm grip of his hands on your waist.
Your blood was on fire, every inch of you burning to be touched and to get closer to him. Your head grew dizzy from the very thought that any of this was actually happening, that Wonwoo was kissing you like he needed it to survive, that you were kissing him back. You almost didn’t believe it was real, that any moment now you’d wake up in a puddle of sweat in your bed and panting like a damn dog. If your hands weren’t the only thing steadying you from the exhilarating feeling of Wonwoo’s lips on yours you might’ve tried pinching your thigh to wake yourself up.
After a few breathless moments Wonwoo pulled his mouth away, moving to kiss your jaw up and down, his favorite spot being right below your ear. The sound of his heavy breathing caused your entire body to shiver and you practically felt his smirk press into your skin. His mouth moved to the crook of your neck, licking slowly and sensually before sucking the places he especially liked. His mouth trailed back up your neck to nibble on a particularly sensitive spot and you involuntarily let out a small whine.
Wonwoo froze, and you started panicking.
“Oh god I-I’m so sorry, I can’t believe I sound like that I’ll be more quiet—“
He dove back in to kiss you with a renewed fervor, his hands gripping your sides as if to anchor him as he let out a muffled groan. You gasped into his lips as he kissed you roughly, drinking you in as much as physically possible.
You couldn’t stop the satisfied smile that grew on your lips as you climbed yourself into Wonwoo’s lap, causing him to release an incredibly strained moan. His arms tightened around you, and his hands dipped under your sweater to make skin to skin contact with your waist. You arched into it, encouraging him as those same hands trailed up your back and down your spine, sending waves of tingles throughout your body.
The two of you continued to kiss heatedly as Wonwoo proceeded to explore your stomach and upper ribs, not allowing himself nor you the pleasure of touching just a little higher and causing you to whine repeatedly. He seemed to partially enjoy being a tease, partially hate torturing himself by holding back.
“I-I can’t… Touch…” Wonwoo mumbled out between wet kisses, you eventually detached yourself from his mouth to return the favor of sucking and licking his neck, somewhat allowing him to get a few more words out. “I can’t touch you…”
You frowned slightly and nibbled on his collarbone before pulling away to face him. His hair was a wreck and sticking up everywhere, his glasses were fogged and barely hanging off the edge of his nose, his pale skin was beginning to flush and his eyes were lidded and dilated. If you hadn’t known that the guy had been sipping the same beer for the past two hours you might’ve thought he was completely hammered.
“Why? Why not?” You crinkled a brow, placing your hands around his own that had been gently stroking the skin just above your stomach. “It’d feel so nice, soft, sensitive…” You slowly inched his hands higher, and felt his fingers subconsciously brush against the underside of your breast. Wonwoo let out a surprised grunt and you silently celebrated your choice of going braless beneath your oversized sweater. You tilted your head all the way back and leaned into his touch with a whimper, trying to get him to do it again.
“Fuck, fuck…” Wonwoo practically whispered, his breath hitching as he closed his eyes in an attempt to regain his control. He took a few deep breaths but froze his motions completely much to your irritation, you huffed out in frustration and wiggled in his lap impatiently causing whatever remaining strings were left in him to snap.
He removed one of his hands and used it to pull you closer to him. His hand roughly gripped the back of your head to rest on his shoulder while his other traveled to your sternum, still not quite close enough to touch your breasts but enough to make you audibly groan out.
“Are you trying to fucking torture me, huh?” He choked out, his already deep voice managing to go two octaves lower. “I’ve thought about this moment for years. You know how easily I could make you come right here? Right now?”
You whined and nodded quickly, feeling his hand sliding back downwards toward your navel. His mouth was pressed right against your ear, and the sound of his heavy breathing was fueling the boiling ache between your legs like nothing else.
“But no. I’m gonna take my time. I want to spend hours on you. I want to make sure you come back begging for me to touch you again.” His fingers trail the outline of your panties, causing you to shiver. “I’ll fuck you so good and dirty that it’s all you think about for months. You’ll be coming to my room in the middle of the night craving my tongue, and I guarantee my face will be buried between those thighs till you’re dumb and limp.”
Your entire body tensed up as the fire in your blood burned hotter, your whimpers became desperate as the desire to grind down on Wonwoo grew exponentially stronger. He seemed to catch on to this, immediately moving his hands to your hips to stall any movement. You groan out in irritation.
“But, I refuse to do any of that when you’re drunk.” His once incredibly lustful tone turned into one of gentleness and patience. You moved back from his shoulder to meet his eyes, gleaming with sincerity. “I need you to be completely aware of what we’re doing. I need you to be one hundred percent certain that this is something you want. And you definitely can’t do that right now.”
You pouted and were about to argue when you felt a spell of dizziness hit like a slap to the face. You gripped his shoulder to stabilize yourself, and his hold on your waist hardened to help steady you.
“See I know you’re right, but part of me is even more turned on that you’re being a good person and not taking advantage of me.”
Wonwoo laughed audibly, his goofy smile warming your heart and instantly reminding you of how you came to fall for him in the first place. You leaned in to offer another slow, languid kiss to which he accepted. The fact that you could do that now, just kiss him whenever you wanted to, it was genuinely like a dream you never wanted to wake up from. You sneakily attempted to escalate the kiss before you felt your head being tugged back.
“That’s enough, bedtime.” You whined.
“Now tell me why the hell you riled me up that much if you were just going to send me to bed.” You frowned, pouting as Wonwoo chuckled.
“I held back for three years, do you have any idea how much self control it’s taking just for me to stop?” He smiled, fidgeting with a loose strand of your hair. “I can wait one more day, but first I need to make sure you don’t wake up regretting all this.”
You shook your head quickly, not wanting that thought to plague his mind for even a second. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and leaned in to hug him, nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck.
“Never. I could never regret any of this.” You murmured, feeling your eyes flutter shut. A rumbling from his chest that indicated a soft laugh reverberated through your body, and you distantly felt yourself getting picked up off the ground and taken into your own bed.
As you felt the familiarity of your blankets and sheets being tucked in tightly around you, you realized he had no intention to stay. It took ninety nine percent of your inebriated brain’s capacity, but you managed to quickly snatch one of his hands before he turned to go to his own room.
“Stay tonight..” you mumbled out without even opening your eyes, you felt his hand tense. “I won’t do anything, just stay…”
The last thing you felt was the feeling of the bed sinking in next to you as you drifted into a dreamless sleep.
-
You were hot.
Extremely hot.
Did you forget to take off your clothes before bed last night? You typically slept in your underwear for that exact reason.
You shifted your legs slightly and grunted out when you felt the thick lining of your favorite sweatpants rub against one another. No wonder.
You adjusted your position in an attempt to remove the pants when you suddenly found yourself locked in place, a heavy weight over your shoulder pressing down and restricting you from moving freely. Not only that, a warm, soft hand was gently wrapped around your own.
Your eyes flew open as you suddenly became extremely aware of the predicament you’d put yourself in. His breathing felt slow and steady, indicating that the former still hadn’t woken up yet. His mouth seemed to be directly behind your neck, if the warm air continuously tickling the back of it was any indication. You let out a small shiver at the feeling.
And to make matters even worse, the hard length that seemed to be poking into your leg definitely belonged to none other than the guy you viciously made out with last night.
IT WAS REAL?!
The splitting headache you’d initially felt completely dissipated as you instead focused on your actions last night. Your first thoughts began with denial, the truth that you’d spilt the entirety of your guts and more to your roommate and best friend who’d just been trying to cheer you up… it was humiliating. Not only that, you practically threw yourself into his lap and shoved your tongue down his throat.
You closed your eyes tightly as you held back the urge to sneak out of bed and run to the nearest airport. Maybe you could vacation to America for a bit, you spoke a decent amount of English, you could get by. Just long enough for Wonwoo to forget how desperate you had behaved last night—
I will never recover from this…
Next came the anger at yourself for drinking that much in the first place, what did you think was going to happen?? You were freshly single, drinking an absurd amount of alcohol around the guy you’d been fantasizing about since you MET him. You could barely control your hormones when you were sober, nevermind when you’re completely wasted.
Yeah, big genius you were.
Not only that, the two of you are roommates. What if things got awkward now? What if you had to avoid each other, what if he’s grossed out—
Wait.
…
He wasn’t grossed out.
In fact, if you remembered correctly, he had muttered absolute filth into your ear about what he wanted to do with you. He’d even been encouraging it as much as you were egging him on, he liked you back. He admitted it himself—
OH MY GOD?!
WONWOO LIKED YOU BACK?!
Your eyes opened once more and your jaw dropped slightly in realization, the soft snores from the man behind you had slowed to a halt and you felt your body tense. His limbs stirred and he lifted his head groggily to check if you were awake.
“Good Morning…” His raspy morning voice caused a tingle to run through your spine, and he didn’t even hesitate to offer a small kiss on your temple before laying back down. Your heart melted, and you slowly moved to pinch yourself slightly just to double check.
It seemed he was hit with a reality check of his own too though, because not long after the kiss you felt his entire body stiffen. He stuttered out, trying to form a sentence but struggling.
“I— uh… are you? O-OH!! Oh I am so sorry—“
He cleared his throat and shifted back slightly, enough so that you wouldn't be able to feel his “morning problem” against you. Your face flushed as you found yourself disappointed by its absence.
“I—it’s okay…” you coughed out, voice hoarse and mouth dry from all the alcohol you’d consumed the night prior. “I didn’t really mind…”
Wonwoo hesitated for a beat but never removed his arms from being wrapped around you, which you took as a good sign. You placed your free hand atop his and squeezed, boldly snuggling further back into his arms to let him know you were okay with being held by him. His muscles relaxed, squeezing you tightly in return and nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck.
“Do you… Remember last night?” Wonwoo mumbled into your skin, goosebumps prickling your arms at the feeling. “You drank so much, I wouldn’t be surprised if you blacked any of it out…”
“… I remember everything.” You confirmed in a small voice, still a bit anxious for some reason. “At least I think I do? I could have definitely just imagined some portions, I’m not too sure what was fantasy and what was reality.”
Wonwoo laughed softly and you had to admit it was a bit embarrassing, knowing that he was practically sober all night while you had drowned your sorrows in soju and were unable to trust your own recollections.
“How about you tell me what you remember and I’ll let you know if it happened or not then?” Wonwoo suggested, and you felt your heart rate quicken at having to say it all aloud again. You knew that at least some of your memories had to be real, judging from the forehead kiss he’d given you and the clinginess he’d been showing, but what if you had completely imagined the steamy parts? It would be even more embarrassing…
You were way too sober to go through this again.
You sucked in a breath and started easy. “I confessed that I used to have a crush on you last night.”
“Wrong.” Your heart stopped briefly. “You confessed that you still have a crush on me last night. Present tense.”
You elbowed his side softly, causing a deep chuckle to escape his chest. “You know what I meant.” Still, a small bit of pressure was slightly lifted off your shoulders at his confirmation. “You told me you have feelings for me too.”
Wonwoo nodded his answer, his head still buried into your neck. You smiled at that, never once thinking that him returning your crush was even a possibility in the past.
“We—“ you paused, treading into dangerous territory. “We kissed… a lot. I got on your lap.”
You felt him clench his fingers around your own slightly. And before he could confirm or deny the claim, you rushed to get the rest out as well.
“You said some things… Some really, really dirty things…”
“I did.” Wonwoo spoke stiffly, probably embarrassed in his own way. You felt a rush of excitement at the confirmation, and a bit of nervousness as his rigid body tensed up behind you.
You both stayed that way, still and quiet for a few minutes, processing everything that had happened and where to continue from there. It was a lot easier and a lot less nerve wracking when you were drunk, but you gathered enough courage to softly press your behind into Wonwoo’s front.
A grunt of surprise escaped his throat and you sucked in your lip, hoping that it wasn’t too late to collect on last night's promises. You pressed back again, this time rolling your hips slightly in encouragement.
“Y-you… you still want…” Wonwoo groaned, his hand instinctively clinging on to your lower waist to pull you closer into him.
“Yes.” You sighed, wiggling slightly as you heard him suck in a sharp breath. “And for fucks sake touch me this time.”
Wonwoo didn’t need to be told twice, his hand immediately dipped under your sweater, once again exploring your navel, your sternum. An incoherent moan forced its way from your throat when his hand finally cupped your breast, kneading and prodding.
“It fits so perfectly in my hand, doesn’t it?” He gave a soft squeeze, using his index finger to play with your perked nipple. “God what I would give to see them bounce while I pound into you…”
You couldn’t do anything but whine when he moved his mouth to kiss your neck, never once stopping his ministrations on your chest. The feeling of his tongue traveling up to your earlobe then back down to your shoulder was almost enough to make you scream into your pillow, you clung to his bicep desperately as you practically melted into his arms.
You could barely register this was actually happening, hell you would’ve thought you’d been dropped directly into one of your dirty dreams if it weren’t for the fact that his physical presence around you was so strong. His scent, his weight, his voice… God you would have never imagined Wonwoo would be so vocal in bed.
.. Not that you were complaining one bit.
“Speaking of…” He spoke directly into your ear, causing a pool of heat to rise in your lower belly. His hand released your breast, finally exploring lower and dipping beneath your underwear. “Let me see just how fucking wet you get for me baby.”
You were practically panting at this point, and the soft pressure he provided as he prodded your folds almost made you come on the spot. You were getting impatient and he knew it too, proceeding to circle your clit with a deliberate smirk as he moved his hand faster, his eyes observing every detail of your desperate expression.
“Are you gonna look like this when I put my dick in you? God I bet it would just slide right in…” He let out a hollow chuckle as he inserted a single finger, making sure to also put pressure on his palm. You instinctively attempted to grind into it, shivering when he let out a deep groan. “What kind of noises do you make when you come, huh? I wanna hear them all.”
You gasp as his hand picks up its pace and he curls his fingers inward to find the perfect spot. You attempt to ground yourself by gripping the sheets, crying out and pleading for any kind of release from the intense pressure threatening to burst.
“Wonwoo… fuck! Pleaseeee!” You whined out, any leftover teasing in his voice seemed to dissipate at that.
“You’re gonna come on my fingers, then on my face, then on my cock.” He spoke carefully, inserting another digit and causing you to hum out in relief. “Then we’re gonna repeat it, over and over until you’re completely satisfied and your legs can’t even function anymore.”
You were gasping for air, eyes screwed shut as you focused in on the strings in your body tightening enough to snap any godforsaken second. He used his other arm to shift you from your side to your back, his face right above yours as you involuntarily spread your legs even wider to grant him better access. He chuckled darkly.
“You look so fucking good all desperate like this.” He mumbled, slamming his digits into you as he watched your reactions. “Open your eyes. I want you to look at me while I make you come.”
You struggled to focus but eventually your lids fluttered open, finding Wonwoo’s direct eye contact nerve wracking at first but soon realizing how much more intense it made everything feel. His finger curled once more and you arched instinctively, reaching a hand up to grip onto his muscular shoulder as an anchor.
“You like that baby?” He smiled slightly, eyes darkening with every small reaction you let out, you nodded quickly. “When you told me no one’s ever made you come I took that as a challenge, you know?”
You whimpered as he shifted to use his free hand to lift your top, nipples hardening as they made contact with the cold morning air. He took a moment to quietly admire their shape and size, but before you could begin to feel even slightly self conscious Wonwoo had leaned down to take one eagerly into his mouth.
You squeaked in surprise as the pleasure began to overwhelm you, your eyes screwing shut against your will and your mouth forming a giant ‘o’ as Wonwoo flicked his tongue around your breast, nibbling softly all while pressing his palm onto your clit.
“F-fuck!!” You cried out, moving your hand to grip the back of Wonwoo’s hair in encouragement. “Please please pleaseeee!! You’re gonna make me comeee!”
Wonwoo picked up his pace and sucked harder, causing you to scream out as all the sensations combined into a height you’d never even come close to replicating with your own fingers. You tugged Wonwoo’s head back suddenly to pull him off your breast, opting instead to pull him into a sloppy, messy kiss that was all tongue and teeth.
Your breathing staggered and an embarrassingly throaty noise escaped as the pressure finally burst into a feeling of complete euphoria. Your entire body twitched involuntarily and you groaned as Wonwoo pulled away from your lips to watch you ride through the sensation.
His fingers never stopped toying with your clit and his whispers of encouragement kept coming, creating an orgasm that felt more intense than anything you’d ever experienced before.
“That’s it baby, I want you to feel so fucking good, I want you to feel everything.” He muttered softly, not once slowing his fingers' pace. “I’m gonna make it so you feel this good whenever you want. You look so perfect like this, you’re so good for me.”
You whimpered when the stimulation grew too intense, and Wonwoo removed his fingers carefully. He leaned down to kiss you softly, sweetly and your heart fluttered at how gently he placed his hand on the back of your neck to pull you into it.
“Did you feel good?” He asked, pulling back to observe your face, scanning for any sign of regret or hesitation. “Was that okay for you?”
You breathed deeply, body limp with barely any energy remaining but you managed to nod enthusiastically. He chuckled and you immediately leaned in to kiss him once more.
“God, yes.” You murmured into his lips, using both your hands to pull him in deeper. “I could’ve probably come just from you speaking to me like that.”
He laughed heartily into the kiss and your chest warmed as he held you close, as if afraid you’d disappear if he let go. You bit his bottom lip and prodded his mouth open, meeting each other's tongue once more.
A needy whine escaped your throat when his mouth's pace remained steady against your own, you decided that he was way too calm for how hard he had just made you cum. He finally let out a deep growl when you gripped the back of his hair tightly and you felt the corners of your lips quirk up into a satisfied smirk.
“I want you to feel good too…” you muttered in an attempt to be sultry, moving your hands down his body to graze his hard length. He groaned loudly, pulling you in tightly as you ushered him on to his back, moving to straddle him.
“I thought I told you.” He grinned and pulled back from the kiss, using his own hand to stop yours from unbuttoning his pants. “This is for you. You already came on my fingers, now I want to taste you.”
You tensed at the idea of Wonwoo putting his mouth on you, a spark of both excitement and nervousness flooding the pit of your stomach in a dangerous mixture. The instant pooling of moisture between your legs was your body’s own indication that it had no qualms with his suggestion, but Wonwoo could sense your hesitation almost immediately and sat up to look at you.
“I hope you know I would never do anything you’re uncomfortable with though, are you okay?” His concerned expression softened your resolve almost immediately, and you nodded your head.
“I’m okay, it’s just… No one’s actually ever done something like that to me, down there…” Your face reddened slightly and Wonwoo’s eyes widened in pure shock. “I'm just worried it might, you know, smell or taste weird or something.”
“So it’s not just that Si-woo was bad at sex, but he never even tried something as simple as that either?” Wonwoo questioned in disbelief, you nodded with an embarrassed chuckle. “… Two years together, and the guy never even thought about eating you out?”
You felt your neck beginning to flush at his reaction. “I asked him if we could try once or twice, but he was kinda grossed out by it. I just gave up on the idea after a while.”
Wonwoo’s jaw went slack in a mixture of horror and incredulity, and you couldn’t help a stray giggle from escaping as he didn’t even hesitate to flip the two of you around. Your back was once again flat against the mattress, and you bit your lip in anticipation as he wasted no time in pulling your sweats down.
“I’ve wanted to do this for three fucking years…” He muttered, his tone giving your arm goosebumps at how deep and serious his voice was. “The amount of times I’ve thought about how you might taste… And that fucker couldn’t even be bothered to— You know what, I’m not going to bring him up right now.”
Wonwoo leaned down to take your mouth in his for a desperate kiss, his tongue circling yours and tingling deeply as if cherishing the closeness and intimacy. He pulled away slowly, trailing his tongue down your cheek to your neck and up to your ear while nipping at your most sensitive spots.
“Right now, all I want is for you to think about how good I’m making you feel,” he whispered, you let out a pathetic whimper as he traced the outline of your soaked panties with his fingertips. “I want you to scream out my name while I fuck you with my tongue.”
He leaned back and pulled up your sweater, taking a moment to blatantly admire your chest once again before diving in to take your left breast into his mouth, his hand palming the other. You squeaked at the sudden stimulation, arching into his wandering tongue as he proceeded to lick lower, and lower.
His kisses peppered along the top of your underwear and you tensed, he looked up at you reassuringly and brushed his lips softly along your inner thighs, squeezing and licking. You held your breath in anticipation but noticed his kisses had softened as if to soothe your very obvious nerves. You held his gaze as he nuzzled his cheek into your thigh, he was very obviously waiting for your approval to proceed any further and all it did was turn you on even more.
“Please…” You whispered, nerves on edge and the heat in your stomach only growing hotter. You wanted him to rip your underwear off already, to finally feel what someone’s mouth would feel like down there. His warm breath grazing against your heat was already exciting you even more, and you held your breath as a teasing grin bloomed on his face.
What you weren’t expecting was Wonwoo to lick you directly over your panties, right where your lips were. Your eyes widened and a guttural groan left your throat without meaning to. The feeling sent an electric shock shooting straight down your spine, and you braced yourself as he teased you, pressing his hot mouth and wet tongue against the already soaked barrier of your underwear.
“Oh… oh my god…” you gasped, shocked that simply feeling his mouth kissing you down there could elicit such a strong reaction from your body. Your mouth was stuck open in silent screams as he finally pushed your underwear to the side and began devouring you without restraint.
You barely even recognized the noises you made as your own, mind going completely blank as your muscles tensed at the vibrations of Wonwoo humming into your pussy. He seemed to be genuinely enjoying himself, lapping up from top to bottom, swirling his tongue and licking up every single crevice like he was a man starved.
It was an experience you’d never felt anything like before, your skin and blood on fire from the heat his mouth emanated. Every lick stoked a flame that burned hotter and hotter until you were practically chanting his fucking name over and over again.
“Fuckkk, Wonwoooo!!” You cried as his pace slowed down, his desperate slurps turning into long, slow licks right down your slit. The tip of his tongue circled the nub atop your sensitive folds and you were groaning at how you could feel him smirking into your cunt.
“Hmmm.. I love when you say my name~” He mumbled darkly as he continued to flatten his tongue over your folds, chuckling as you blindly reached for the back of his hair to steady yourself. “When you come I want you to scream it out for me, okay baby?”
You nodded exasperatedly, eyes practically rolling into the back of your head when Wonwoo decided to insert a single digit. You cried out as you felt your walls clench around it, the feeling of something filling you almost enough to send you over the edge. His pace quickened, and you swear stars blinded your vision once his tongue began to flick your clit in time with his finger.
If your brain wasn’t currently MIA you might’ve been embarrassed at how quickly he was about to make you come again.
“Pleaseeee, Wonu!“ you opened your eyes to look down and realized he’d been observing you the entire time. You arched helplessly and released a strained moan. “Please I’m so fucking closeeee!”
His speed picked up slightly at your desperate tone, but it was him inserting a second digit along with his tongue lingering a little too long over your clit that sent you finally careening over the edge.
And fuck did you feel weightless.
Your entire body shuddered, your eyes scrunching shut as you felt your orgasm plummet you off a cliff and free falling into the air. Waves of unbridled pleasure crashed through you as Wonwoo continued his ministrations the entire way through it, and you heard in the far distance the sound of your own voice screaming his name out deliriously.
Your eyes opened to a blurry ceiling, your head and body still reeling from the aftermath of bliss you’d just experienced. Wonwoo remained between your legs, peppering soft kisses against your thighs and you couldn’t help the actual audacity this man had to be so talented with his tongue.
“Come up here before I ask you to do that all over again.” You pant out, completely spent and only half serious. Wonwoo smiled giddily and you couldn’t help but smile back.
“You might need to pry me away… Because fuck if I could eat this every day—”
You tugged on his shoulder insistently with an exhausted giggle, and he reluctantly came up to your side to wrap his arms around you. You burrowed your face into his chest with a content sigh, smiling to yourself as you timed your breaths to the sound of his heartbeat.
“Good?” He questioned as if he didn’t already know the answer, you scoffed but nodded anyway.
“Phenomenal, outstanding, unparalleled!“
“Same goes for how you taste~” Wonwoo grinned. “Delicious, exquisite, absolutely delectable—“
“Next time I want to taste you too~” You teased, tracing the outline of his muscles, watching them tense up as you neared his nipple. You looked up as his expression suddenly strained, and you mentally smacked yourself as you noticed his obscene hardness poking into your side.
“Please don’t worry about it.” He shrugged casually, snuggling you further into his chest with a happy cat-like grin. “Close your eyes, let’s enjoy the rest of the morning and sleep in.”
You frowned, you knew he was trying to allow you ample time to rest and recover. Two orgasms back to back was practically unheard of when it came to your sex life after all, and your body was definitely not used to it. But three years of sexual tension was a long time to wait, and you were not about to blue ball him after everything he just did for you.
“I thought you said you were gonna make me come three times?” You questioned boldly, reciting his words from earlier this morning. Your hands trailed down to the top of his sweats and you noticed his jaw clench. “First on your fingers, then your face, then your cock—“
His mouth was back on yours instantly, his fervent kisses already winding you up and sparking a dim heat in your belly once more. You knew it wasn’t likely for you to finish again, but you also knew your body was aching to feel Wonwoo inside you. It was a carnal desire that went past pleasure, you just needed him as connected to you as physically possible.
“We don’t have to, we can just relax if you want instead.” Wonwoo mumbled out as he pulled away from your lips. His eyes were dark and heavy but there was still enough clarity in them to show he was still able to control himself. “I know you’re tired, if this is just for me I don’t want you to feel obligated—“
“I want you.” You interrupt, watching his molten eyes dilate and most of the clarity disappear all too quickly. Your hand reached lower, gripping the hardness of his length through his pants and he inhaled a sharp breath. “I need you inside me. I’ve never needed anything more—“
It was the last confirmation he needed to hear before attacking your lips again, crawling above you while sliding his sweats off easily. You grinned into the kiss and let out a gasp as he prodded your entrance with his finger, swirling your clit with his thumb.
A mewl escaped you as your sensitive bud was played with gently, you released his mouth and he immediately dipped down to flick your nipple with his tongue playfully. He kissed and sucked at your breast until you were careening into him once more, a faint rush of heat pulsing in your core as he slid his finger inside.
“It’s so soft in here.” Wonwoo breathed out, his patience very obviously wearing thin. You shivered at the sound of his voice, knowing that he definitely felt the swell of wetness that came just from hearing him talk. “Are you gonna let me fuck you nice and good, baby?
You cried out at the overbearing stimulation combined with his words, moving your hips in time with his fingers thrusting inside you. He entered another digit and you immediately knew it wasn’t going to be enough.
“Put it in. Fuck!” You groaned as he put a bit more pressure on your still recovering clit. You felt him shuffle with his underwear, kicking it off somewhere that you couldn’t be bothered to think about at this moment. “Put it in me right now. Fuck a condom, I’m on birth control.”
Wonwoo stuttered in his motions and let out a shaky exhale, muttering curses under his breath as he tried to keep his composure at the new information. You needed him raw, you needed to feel every inch of him pounding into you and you needed it immediately.
You relaxed your body when you felt him lining himself up to your entrance, and you both moaned cohesively as he rubbed his tip along your folds to moisten it up. He pushed in softly, slowly, carefully as you felt yourself fill up inch by inch.
He was big. Not too girthy but exquisitely long, and the further he entered you the more you were shocked at how easily your body allowed him to slide right in. You could feel the veins pulsing alongside his length and your walls clamping down around him, effectively keeping him locked in place. The two of you breathed out deeply as he finally bottomed out, and you’d never felt more full in your entire life.
“Oh… fuck! Oh my god…” Wonwoo gasped shakily, his hand gripping your waist so tightly you wouldn’t be surprised if it was bruised in the morning. You groaned as you clung to his shoulders, itching for him to move already. “You’re so fucking tight… I can feel everything…”
“Wonwoo please…” you all but begged, he took one more deep breath and proceeded to thrust downward, resulting in an obscene moan from the both of you. “Please! Fuck meeee!”
Any semblance of self control remaining in Wonwoo seemed to have snapped at that, as he proceeded to drill you into the mattress furiously until you let out the most animalistic groan either of you had ever heard. It did nothing to quell the fervor in which he rammed into you, if anything causing his passion to escalate tenfold.
“Oh yeah? You fucking like that?” He grunted out, the slapping noises of your bodies meeting making you feel lightheaded. “You like when I fuck you like this? Raw and hard?”
You whined out and nodded exasperatedly, gasping as he paused to lift your legs over his shoulders, grabbing you by the waist to lift and pull your body up into his. A strangled cry escaped at the new angle, his length deliciously hitting you right in the sweet spot as he plunged himself into you full force once again.
“Tell me you fucking want it.” He panted out, a light sheen of sweat forming on his chest and his eyes locked in on where your bodies were connecting, in and out, in and out. “Tell me you want me to fuck you like this over and over again.”
You screamed as he brought his hand down to play with your clit once more, and you found yourself absolutely overwhelmed by the fact that you were yet again on the brink of orgasming for the third time this morning.
“Pleaseeee Wonwoo, I want you to fuck meeee!” You begged out, your words pitching up with every thrust he gave. His free hand reached down to play with your breast, your other one bouncing liberally as he proceeded to pound into you.
“You look so fucking hot like this…” He muttered, practically to himself which only fueled the ever growing knot in your stomach. “F-fuck!! I’m gonna—“
“Cum in me, pleaseeee fucking fill me up—“ You cried out, and it was the last thing both of you needed to hear before finally climaxing together.
If your last orgasm was like a free fall, this one was like being hit with a freight train. Wonwoo’s thumb on your clit combined with his last full force thrust shoved you over the edge so hard and fast you swear you stopped breathing for a moment. The added feeling of him filling you up simultaneously was so intoxicating that you swore from then on that you would always let him come inside.
Wonwoo collapsed atop you, panting heavily into your shoulder as you stroked his back, equally as breathless. The aftermath of your body spasms calmed down after a few minutes, your simultaneous heaving settling down into long, deep breaths.
Taking a second to gather some energy, you couldn’t help but wince as Wonwoo pulled himself out slowly and slumped to your side. You nuzzled up to him, throwing your weak limbs around his body and practically melting into the mattress. You heard him exhale loudly.
“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.” Wonwoo murmured tenderly, obviously still dazed and reeling. You let out an airy laugh.
“And now we have all the time in the world.” A cheesy grin grew on his face at your words as he squeezed you tightly, and you’d never felt more comfortable and safe than you felt in his arms at that moment.
“You’re right.” He smiled, gently stroking the back of your head. He ran his fingers through your hair sweetly, kissing your forehead as your eyes fluttered shut and his last words echoed in the distance.
“And I’m never letting another second with you go to waste.”
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ genre / tags: fluff, light angst, smut, established relationship, doting!boyfriend wonwoo, slightly possessive!wonwoo, light comedy, soft but intense makeout sessions, lap-sitting & straddling, emotional intimacy, domestic sweetness, wonwoo being obsessed with reader™, mild tension but nothing too serious, clingy!wonwoo (unintentionally), wonwoo official lipstick tester & lip plumper
ੈ✩‧₊˚ warnings: NSFW WARNINGS UNDER THE CUT ! wonwoo being so whipped it's unfair, excessive cuteness & boyfriend material behavior, a little bit of yearning
୭ ˚. ᵎᵎˎˊ˗ nsfw warnings: oral (f!receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, overstimulation, semi-public sex, reader doesn't get pregnant, heavy & passionate makeout sessions, straddling wonwoo’s lap, deep kissing, light grinding, soft!but still kind of desperate!wonwoo, possessive whispers, needy touches, some lip biting, breathy moans, heated tension but still very loving
ੈ✩‧₊˚ wc: 11,809
ੈ♡ a/n: i'm never going to shut up about wonwoo fics. i love this one and yeah, it's my favorite now. i don't even know if i want to end it, so i made a part two cause i love this way too much. if you don't like it, DON'T READ>>>don't steal my happiness.
It was a Friday—a perfect day to go outside, breathe in the fresh air, and maybe even touch some grass. But Wonwoo? He was planted in his chair, fingers flying over his keyboard, eyes locked on his screen as he dove deeper into his game. Sunlight streamed through his window, but he barely noticed. His entire focus was on his mission.
Then, of course, his phone rang.
The sudden vibration made him flinch, just in time for his in-game character to take a fatal hit. A sigh slipped past his lips, long and resigned, as the screen dimmed to black. Game over.
Annoyed, he reached for his phone without checking the caller ID. "What."
"Hey, Wonwoo!" Mingyu's voice rang through, far too cheerful for his liking. "You remember that money you owe me?"
Wonwoo leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temple. "I paid you back."
"Yeah, like, half. You still owe me ₩103,000."
Wonwoo scowled. "What do you want, Mingyu?"
"I'll cancel the debt if you pick up my sister from her hagwon."
Wonwoo blinked. He could practically see Mingyu's smug face through the phone. "...Are you serious?"
"Dead serious. Think of it as a fair trade. You get out of debt, and I don't have to leave my photoshoot early. Win-win, right?"
Wonwoo exhaled sharply, glancing at the gaming laptop he had been saving up for. A hundred thousand won wasn't something he could just brush off. And really, what was so hard about picking someone up? He'd just drive there, wait, and drop her off. No big deal.
"Fine. Send me the details."
"Knew I could count on you!" Mingyu cackled before promptly hanging up.
Wonwoo stared at his phone, regretting everything.
Later that evening, Wonwoo pulled up in front of the hagwon (cram school), resting his arm on the window frame as he scrolled mindlessly through his phone. The street was packed—students flooding out, parents calling names, engines revving. He ignored all of it, his attention on the notifications lighting up his screen.
A knock on the window pulled him out of his trance. He looked up.
There you were, bright-eyed and smiling. Mingyu's sister. You had the same features as him, Mingyu was handsome, there was no second guessing you'd be really pretty as well.
It really runs on the family huh, but your energy was a complete contrast. Where Mingyu was overbearing, you seemed naturally lighthearted.
Wonwoo unlocked the door, watching as you slipped inside. "Hey, thanks for picking me up! I could've taken the bus, but this is definitely an upgrade."
He put his phone down and shifted into drive. "Mingyu made me."
"Obviously." You laughed, buckling your seatbelt. "If it were up to you, you'd rather be home playing some game, right?"
Wonwoo glanced at you briefly before focusing back on the road. "...Something like that."
You stretched out in the passenger seat, completely unfazed by his short responses. "Figures. My brother said you never leave your house unless it's life or death."
"He exaggerates. I go out when I need to."
"Mmm-hmm. Like now?"
"Like now."
You laughed again, shaking your head. "Unbelievable."
You both drove in silence for a bit, though it wasn't uncomfortable. You hummed softly to whatever song played on the radio, while Wonwoo kept his eyes on the road, appreciating the fact that you weren't forcing conversation.
Then, after a few minutes, you turned to him. "So, what's the real reason Mingyu couldn't pick me up?"
"I told you. Photoshoot."
You raised a brow. "And you believe that?"
Wonwoo hesitated, then shrugged. "Not really, but it's not my problem."
You grinned. "Smart man."
He smirked slightly but didn't comment.
When you pulled up in front of your house, you unbuckled your seatbelt and turned to him with an easygoing smile. "Thanks again, Wonwoo. I owe you one."
"No, you don't. Mingyu does."
You laughed. "True. But still, I appreciate it."
Wonwoo just gave a small nod. "It's fine."
As you stepped out of the car, you waved. "See you around!"
He didn't respond, but after you disappeared into the house, he lingered for a second longer than necessary before finally driving off.
Maybe the day hadn't been a total waste after all.
A couple of days later, Mingyu called Wonwoo again, but this time it wasn't for any money or favor. Instead, he was inviting him over to his apartment for a casual hangout.
"Yo, you coming? I'm having a few friends over tonight, including Joshua, Seungkwan, Vernon, and Minghao. It's nothing special, just wanted to hang out."
Wonwoo was about to decline—he had a ton of work to do—but then Mingyu dropped the one detail that made him reconsider.
"Oh, and my sister will be here too. She's staying with me for the weekend, so I figured you could catch up with her."
Wonwoo didn't immediately respond. It wasn't the idea of seeing Mingyu's sister that stopped him—it was more the fact that he wasn't entirely sure how to act around you yet. The two of you hadn't really had a chance to talk much after that brief car ride. He had no idea what you'd be like outside of that moment, and Mingyu always had a way of making everything a little awkward when it came to his little sister.
"...Fine," Wonwoo finally relented, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'll stop by."
When Wonwoo arrived at Mingyu's apartment, the atmosphere was relaxed. Joshua was already lounging on the couch, casually scrolling through his phone, and a few other friends were scattered around, chatting. Mingyu was in the kitchen, preparing snacks—probably to feed his giant appetite. The usual loud energy that always accompanied Mingyu's presence was alive in the air.
But there was no sign of you.
Wonwoo made his way to the living room, greeting Joshua with a nod, but the silence between them was noticeable. Joshua shot him a playful glance, but before they could talk much more, Mingyu called out from the kitchen.
"Yo, Wonwoo! Help me with these drinks!"
Wonwoo reluctantly walked into the kitchen, but as soon as he stepped through the doorway, he froze.
There, standing at the counter, was you—completely at ease, casually chopping vegetables as if you'd been there the whole time. You looked up at him, your eyes lighting up in surprise.
"Oh, you're here!" you exclaimed with a smile, your hands still busy at the cutting board. "I didn't think you'd be the first one to show up."
Wonwoo blinked, a bit caught off guard. He hadn't expected to see you in the kitchen, especially not so comfortable.
"You're... here?" he said, unsure of how to react. "I thought you were... uh, I don't know... staying in your room or something."
You let out a small laugh, your eyes sparkling with amusement. "I was, but then Mingyu didn't have enough snacks. He asked me to help out." You gestured to the plates you had already prepped, your movements smooth and confident, as though you'd done this a thousand times. "I figured you'd all be hungry."
Wonwoo was honestly impressed. The last time he saw you, you were cheerful and talkative, but he didn't expect this... domestic side of you. He felt a little out of place in the kitchen, but he didn't want to act awkward.
"I'm sure Mingyu can handle it," he replied, trying to mask his surprise with a nonchalant tone.
You smirked, clearly catching onto his tone. "Yeah, but I'm sure he'll make a mess of it. You know how he is." You shook your head, looking back at your brother as Mingyu popped his head around the corner, grinning.
"I heard that!" Mingyu called, sticking his tongue out before retreating back to the living room.
You chuckled at his antics before focusing back on the food you were preparing. "Anyway, I'm glad you made it. I figured we'd finally have some time to talk," you said, your voice light and welcoming, making it clear you weren't bothered by the sudden interruption.
Wonwoo nodded, still trying to shake off the initial surprise. "Yeah, I guess we never really got to chat much." He leaned against the kitchen counter, unsure of where to go from there.
"You're a bit of a man of few words, huh?" you asked with a teasing grin, raising an eyebrow as you slid the plate of veggies aside. "Mingyu always talks about how you're so quiet, but I didn't realize it was this bad."
Wonwoo gave you a half-smile, feeling slightly embarrassed. "I don't talk much unless I have to," he said, his usual dry tone creeping through.
You just laughed, the sound easy and warm, making him feel less self-conscious. "Well, I'll make sure to fill the silence then," you said cheerfully, as if you were on a mission to make him feel comfortable. "You're kind of a hard nut to crack, but I think I can manage."
The tension that had been there earlier started to melt away, and Wonwoo found himself talking a little more than he usually did. You asked him questions, talked about school, and even joked about how overprotective Mingyu could be at times. As the minutes passed, he realized how much easier it was to talk to you than he initially thought.
By the time he moved back into the living room with the snacks, there was no awkwardness between the two of you anymore. You had succeeded in doing what few could—making Wonwoo feel at ease.
A few days later, Wonwoo had stayed at Mingyu's apartment, slacking off on the sofa while playing some horror games on Mingyu's television.
"You're really bad at Identity V, Mingyu," Wonwoo teased, getting a little frustrated at how Mingyu had to be revived multiple times.
"Just switch the game already, this one's boring," Mingyu groaned, throwing the controller to the side.
Wonwoo just chuckled, not even pausing the game.
Then, the doorbell rang.
Mingyu groaned, dragging himself off the couch. "Ah, right. I forgot—my sister was dropping off some kimchi from Mom before she heads to cram school."
When you stepped inside, you flashed Mingyu a quick smile before handing him the containers. "Mom said to eat it while it's fresh."
Mingyu took them with a nod, already peeking inside. "Smells good." Then, without looking up, he asked, "You want me to drop you off at cram school?"
You shook your head. "Nah, I'll just take the bus. It's not that far."
Wonwoo, who had been watching from the couch, found himself unexpectedly... disappointed? He wasn't sure why, but he had kind of looked forward to talking to you again. You were easy to be around—bubbly, charming, and not at all fazed by his quiet nature. Not many people could handle his silence so effortlessly.
Mingyu, meanwhile, was still leaning against the doorway, arms crossed. "You sure? It's getting late."
"I'll be fine," you insisted, adjusting your bag on your shoulder. "It's just cram school, not a different planet."
Wonwoo hesitated for a second before speaking up. "Hey."
You turned toward him, raising an eyebrow. "Yeah?"
He cleared his throat, feeling a little out of place but saying it anyway. "I can walk you."
You blinked, clearly surprised. "Oh? Why, so you can chat me up again?" you teased with a wink.
Mingyu snorted, looking between the two of you. "Since when do you offer to walk people places, Wonwoo?"
Wonwoo shot him a look but didn't bother responding. Instead, he turned back to you, waiting for your answer.
You grinned, clearly amused by the whole situation. "Alright, alright. But no awkward silences, got it?"
Wonwoo nodded, grabbing his jacket as he followed you out the door. Mingyu watched the two of you leave, shaking his head with a grin. "Well, that's new."
Mingyu leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, watching the scene with growing amusement. Wonwoo wasn't the type to jump at social interactions, especially not when it came to people outside their usual circle. And yet, here he was, offering to walk you to hagwon like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Mingyu's brows furrowed, suspicion creeping in.
No way. Does Wonwoo... like my sister?
The thought nearly made him laugh out loud. He knew Wonwoo well—too well, in fact. His best friend wasn't the type to wear his emotions on his sleeve, let alone make some grand romantic gesture. But still, the way he lingered, the way his gaze flickered toward you, even the fact that he was putting in the effort to talk—something was definitely up.
Mingyu smirked, but he kept his mouth shut. For now.
"So," he drawled, pushing off the doorway, "you two gonna be alright?"
Wonwoo shot him a look, equal parts unimpressed and knowing. Meanwhile, you just rolled your eyes. "We'll survive, Gyu."
Mingyu chuckled. "Alright, alright. Have fun, lovebirds."
"Bye, Mingyu," you deadpanned, grabbing Wonwoo's wrist and tugging him down the hallway before your brother could say anything else. Wonwoo barely had time to process it before he was matching your pace, hands stuffed into his pockets.
The air between you was light, easy. You glanced up at him with a grin. "Didn't think I'd ever get you to walk me to hagwon. Kinda fun, huh?"
Wonwoo huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "Not what I expected to be doing today, that's for sure."
You nudged him lightly. "What, hanging out with me is that bad?"
He glanced at you—really looked this time. You were different from Mingyu's usual crowd. Where his friends were loud and chaotic, you had this effortless energy that didn't demand anything from him. You just... talked, and somehow, he found himself talking back. It was weird, but not in a bad way.
"You're different," you mused, tilting your head. "I mean, I knew you were quiet, but you're not as... closed off as I thought you'd be."
Wonwoo smirked slightly, gaze forward. "I'm still quiet."
"Mm, not with me," you pointed out, eyes twinkling. "Why's that?"
Wonwoo hesitated, not because he didn't have an answer, but because he wasn't sure how to say it. Instead, he settled for the truth, plain and simple. "I don't feel like I have to try so hard with you."
Your steps slowed just slightly, your expression softening. "Huh. That's kinda nice."
He exhaled a small chuckle. "Guess you're a special case."
"Ooo, so I'm special?" you teased.
"Don't get ahead of yourself," he muttered, but the faint smile on his face gave him away.
The conversation drifted into easier topics, laughter and playful jabs exchanged as the hagwon came into view. Wonwoo still didn't know what exactly made him want to be around you, but he didn't mind figuring it out along the way.
Meanwhile, back at the apartment, Mingyu leaned against the window, watching the two of you disappear into the distance.
Yeah, something was definitely up.
And as your older brother, he was gonna keep an eye on it.
A few days after that walk, Wonwoo found himself running into you more often than he expected. At first, it was innocent enough—quick encounters while he was out running errands or grabbing coffee with Mingyu. But soon, those moments stretched longer, turning into something he actually started looking forward to.
It didn't help that teasing you had become his new favorite pastime.
You'd be minding your own business, walking down the hallway in Mingyu's apartment building, when suddenly, you'd sense a presence behind you. Turning around, you'd find Wonwoo leaning against the wall, arms crossed, a smirk playing at his lips.
"Going somewhere, princess?"
The nickname never failed to make you flush, though you'd gotten better at rolling your eyes in response. Still, it was the way he said it—so effortlessly teasing—that made your stomach flip, like you were missing the punchline to some inside joke.
At first, you chalked it up to friendly chatter. But the more it happened, the harder it became to tell if he was just being playful or if there was something else beneath it.
Then came the café incident.
You were sitting with your friends, chatting about classes, when one of them suddenly perked up, nodding toward the entrance. "Hey, isn't that your boyfriend?"
You blinked in confusion, following their gaze—only for your breath to catch slightly when you saw Wonwoo stepping inside, exuding that quiet, effortless confidence he always carried.
"What? No way," you sputtered, your voice catching as you waved off the idea.
Your friends exchanged knowing looks. "Come on, we've seen you two together all the time lately," one of them pointed out. "And let's be real, you'd make a cute couple."
Your face went hot. "He's not my boyfriend!"
"Then why do you look so guilty?" Another friend smirked.
Before you could form a coherent response, Wonwoo approached the table, sliding into the seat next to you as if he belonged there. "What's all this talk about me?" he asked, his deep voice laced with amusement.
"Nothing!" You nearly choked on the word, sitting up straighter.
Your friends weren't buying it. "We were just saying how cute you two look together," one of them supplied, grinning mischievously.
Wonwoo, the absolute menace, didn't even flinch. Instead, he leaned back lazily, his lips curving into that smirk that made your heart stutter. "Cute, huh?" he mused. Then, with a glance in your direction, he added, "She's already shy around me. You think she'd survive being my girlfriend?"
You gawked at him. "Wonwoo!"
He chuckled, clearly enjoying the way you flustered so easily. "Relax," he murmured, leaning in slightly, just enough to send your brain into overdrive. "I'm just helping you out. You should be thanking me for making you so popular."
You shot him a glare, but your friends were eating it up, laughing as they nudged each other. "Honestly, you two are like an old married couple already."
You groaned, burying your face in your hands, half-expecting the ground to swallow you whole. Meanwhile, Wonwoo looked way too pleased with himself, the playful glint in his eyes only growing stronger.
And from that day on, it only got worse.
Every time he ran into you, your friends' words echoed in your mind, making you hyperaware of every smirk, every lingering glance, every low chuckle. You weren't sure if it was all just a joke to him, but the real problem was—you were starting to hope it wasn't.
Because, teasing aside, there was something about the way he looked at you lately. Something softer, something unreadable. And that? That was the most confusing part of all.
Over the next few days, it became a pattern—these little run-ins, the teasing, the way Wonwoo always seemed to appear right when you thought you'd get a break from his smug remarks. If you were being honest, it was starting to feel less like coincidence and more like... something else.
Like right now.
You had just finished your class at the hagwon and were walking home when you heard footsteps behind you. At first, you didn't think much of it. But then—
"Hey, princess."
You nearly tripped over your own feet. Whipping around, you found Wonwoo standing there, hands in his pockets, looking entirely too smug.
"Seriously?" you huffed. "Do you have a tracker on me or something?"
He chuckled, falling into step beside you. "Nah. Just good timing."
"Suspicious timing," you muttered under your breath.
He grinned. "What, you don't like seeing me?"
You opened your mouth, ready to give a snarky reply, but the words stuck in your throat. Because, truthfully, you did like seeing him. You liked how he always managed to sneak into your day, turning normal moments into something else—something charged with a kind of tension you weren't sure how to handle yet.
But you weren't about to admit that.
"Did you just happen to be in the area, or are you stalking me now?" you teased instead, nudging him lightly with your elbow.
Wonwoo made a thoughtful sound, tilting his head. "Hmm. I guess I should start charging for my services if I'm going to be your personal bodyguard."
You rolled your eyes. "Bodyguard? Please. What are you protecting me from? My own two feet?"
He smirked. "You almost tripped earlier. Maybe you do need me."
Your mouth opened, then closed. He had a point, but you weren't going to let him have the satisfaction of winning this round. Instead, you crossed your arms and shot him a playful glare.
"You're insufferable, you know that?"
"And yet, here we are," he mused, his voice low, almost amused. "Walking home together. Again."
You faltered. There was something about the way he said it—like he was reminding you that these weren't just coincidences anymore. That maybe, just maybe, he was seeking you out just as much as you were looking forward to seeing him.
The thought made warmth creep up your neck.
The walk continued, the air between you shifting—still lighthearted, but tinged with something heavier, something unspoken. At some point, you felt the faintest brush of his hand against yours. It was barely anything, just a fleeting touch, but it sent a jolt up your spine.
You glanced at him, half-expecting him to be smirking at your reaction, but instead, Wonwoo was looking ahead, his expression unreadable.
The silence stretched between you for a beat too long.
"You're quieter than usual," you finally said, your voice softer now.
Wonwoo hummed, glancing at you. "Just thinking."
"About what?"
He hesitated, then shrugged. "You."
Your breath hitched. You blinked, caught completely off guard by the casual way he said it—like it wasn't something that would send your heart into a tailspin.
He must've noticed your reaction because his lips twitched into something close to a smirk. "Surprised?"
You scoffed, desperate to regain some control over the conversation. "You say that like I should just expect it."
"Maybe you should," he said, voice smooth, teasing, but with a weight behind it that made your stomach flip.
And just like that, the game between you shifted. It wasn't just harmless teasing anymore. It was charged, loaded with something more than just playful.
You were in trouble.
And worse? You weren't sure you minded.
Wonwoo should've seen it coming.
He was halfway through his iced americano when Mingyu—who had been rambling about his fantasy basketball team for the past fifteen minutes—suddenly leaned forward with a serious look. The shift in his tone was so abrupt that Wonwoo nearly choked on his drink.
"Don't date my sister."
Wonwoo blinked. "...Huh?"
Mingyu crossed his arms, leveling him with a look that was rare for him—stern, like he wasn't just joking around. "I'm serious. I know how you are, Wonwoo."
Wonwoo raised an eyebrow, feigning nonchalance. "How am I?"
"You don't do relationships," Mingyu shot back. "You flirt, you have fun, and then—poof—you're gone."
"That's not true," Wonwoo muttered, looking away.
"Dude. Jiwoo? Jiekyo? Mijin?" Mingyu listed off names, counting on his fingers. "You get bored too easily. My sister's not just some girl you can play around with."
That one stung.
Wonwoo clicked his tongue, tapping his fingers against his coffee cup. "You make me sound like some heartless asshole."
Mingyu exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Look, I'm not saying you're a bad guy. I know you, Wonwoo. You just... don't take these things seriously. And I don't want her getting hurt because she thinks you do."
Wonwoo didn't answer. He could argue—say that things were different this time, that maybe he didn't know why, but the usual rules didn't seem to apply whenever you were involved. But he also knew Mingyu had a point.
Did he even know what he was doing?
Mingyu must've taken his silence as agreement because he nodded, looking satisfied. "Good. I just wanted to clear that up."
And that should've been the end of it.
Except... you had other plans.
The problem was, you were very aware of Wonwoo's usual avoidance tactics. And yet, despite Mingyu's warning (which you totally overheard, thank you very much), you weren't about to back off. If anything, it made things more fun.
So, naturally, you decided to corner Wonwoo after one of his gym sessions.
You found him outside, sitting on a bench, scrolling through his phone like he wasn't sweating buckets from lifting weights for an hour.
"Hey," you greeted, plopping down beside him.
He glanced at you, then back at his phone. "Hey."
Silence.
You smirked. "You're avoiding me."
His thumb hovered over the screen. "No, I'm not."
"You so are." You leaned in, trying to peek at his phone. "What, are you texting my brother to report my suspicious activities?"
He sighed, locking his phone and shoving it into his pocket. "Your brother would kill me if he knew we were talking right now."
You tilted your head. "Funny, I don't see Mingyu around."
He shot you a flat look. "That's not the point."
"You're acting like he owns me or something," you teased, nudging his arm with your shoulder. "What, are you scared of him?"
Wonwoo exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. "It's not about that—"
"Then what's it about?"
He paused.
You took the chance to scoot closer. "Let me guess," you hummed, tapping your chin dramatically. "You think you'll break my heart? That you'll flirt, we'll have fun, and then poof—you're gone?"
Wonwoo visibly stiffened.
Bingo.
You grinned. "What if I told you I like a little risk?"
He groaned. "Don't say stuff like that."
"Why? Is it making things harder for you?"
He looked at you then, really looked at you—like he was trying to figure out if you were messing with him or if you actually meant it. And that's when you knew you had him.
"Relax, Wonwoo," you said, leaning back with a smug smile. "I just wanna grab coffee. Not a wedding ring."
He exhaled, shaking his head, but you caught the small smirk tugging at his lips. "You're impossible."
"And you are running out of excuses."
He stared at you for another beat before groaning, rubbing his face like you were the biggest headache of his life. Then—finally—he let out a short laugh, shaking his head.
"Fine," he muttered. "One coffee."
Your grin widened. "I knew you liked me."
"Shut up."
And just like that, the game was back on.
You should've known.
One coffee turned into another. Then into late-night calls. Then into hanging out at Wonwoo's apartment, always under the pretense of studying or just chilling.
Which was a huge lie. Because, really, what kind of studying involved Wonwoo's knee pressed against yours, his fingers grazing yours every few minutes, and him murmuring things in that low voice that made your brain short-circuit?
The worst part? He knew what he was doing.
And the proof?
Right now.
You were hanging out at his place after a long day, claiming his couch like it was yours while he sat beside you. Some dumb multiplayer game was on the screen, and you were so sure you were winning.
Until Wonwoo conveniently lost at the very last second.
"You're so bad at this," you teased, laughing as you nudged his arm.
Wonwoo, who had been sitting back lazily just seconds ago, suddenly leaned forward. "You made me lose on purpose."
You gasped dramatically. "How dare you accuse me—"
Before you could finish, he moved.
Fast.
One second you were playfully bickering, and the next? You were flat on your back, pressed against the couch, with Wonwoo hovering above you—his hands trapping you on either side of your head.
Your brain short-circuited.
"W-Wait—"
Wonwoo's knee nudged between your thighs, pressing down just enough to make you hyperaware of every single point of contact between you. The air shifted, playful teasing melting into something heavier.
Something that made your skin burn.
The way he looked at you—half-lidded eyes roaming over your face, his smirk growing as he took in your reaction—made your stomach twist into knots.
The corner of his lips curled. "What's wrong?"
Your throat was so dry. "You're—you're too close."
He hummed, tilting his head slightly. "Am I?"
And then—because this man had no mercy—he dipped even lower, his nose brushing against yours as he whispered against your lips,
"You started this."
A second later, his lips crashed onto yours.
Soft but demanding, like he had been holding himself back for too long. His hands slipped down, gripping your waist, fingers digging into your sides as he pulled you impossibly close. The kiss was slow at first—just a gentle press of lips—but then Wonwoo tilted his head, deepening it, his mouth moving against yours with a languid, intoxicating rhythm.
You melted.
Your hands, which had been gripping onto his hoodie for dear life, moved on their own—one slipping into his hair, tugging slightly. The groan he let out against your lips sent a shockwave down your spine.
Wonwoo's hands moved lower, resting on your thighs before effortlessly pulling you up onto his lap.
The sudden shift made you gasp, your hands flying to his shoulders to steady yourself. But before you could even think, his lips found yours again, this time more urgent, more needy.
And you?
You couldn't even pretend to fight it.
Because Wonwoo kissed like he meant it. Like he was making up for all the stolen glances, the teasing touches, the lingering tension that had built up between you for weeks.
And you let him.
Because, honestly?
You wanted it just as much.
From that night on, it was impossible to pretend you weren't completely wrapped around each other's fingers.
Sure, Mingyu didn't know yet, but Wonwoo made it really hard to act normal.
Like when he'd pick you up from hagwon (cram school) at night, leaning against his car like some effortlessly hot drama lead, hands in his pockets, waiting for you. And when you walked up, flustered and mumbling about how someone might see?
He'd just smirk and lean down, murmuring, "Let them."
Or when he'd help you study at the library but deliberately lean in too close—his breath warm against your ear as he whispered, "You're not focusing."
As if he was helping??
And the worst part? He loved seeing you flustered.
Like the time he casually pulled you into an empty library aisle, tilted your chin up, and kissed you right then and there.
"You keep getting distracted," he murmured against your lips, eyes gleaming with amusement.
And you?? You just stood there, clutching your book like your life depended on it.
But hey. What Mingyu doesn't know won't kill him, right?
...Right?
---
Honestly, you and Wonwoo had been too good at sneaking around.
The stolen kisses in empty library aisles. The late-night study sessions that turned into him pulling you onto his lap just to mess with you. The way he'd casually lean against his car outside your cram school, hands shoved into his hoodie, waiting like some effortlessly cool drama lead.
Y'all really thought you were slick.
Until one night.
You were saying your goodbyes outside your house, the streetlights casting a golden glow over the both of you. Wonwoo had driven you home like always, but this time, instead of the usual quick peck and see you later, he leaned in, his hands resting on your waist, his breath warm against your lips.
"You're so cute when you're nervous," he murmured before pressing a lingering kiss to your lips, tilting his head just right so you felt it all the way down to your toes.
And that was the moment your soul left your body.
Because the second Wonwoo pulled away—both of you breathless, smiling like lovesick idiots—you heard it.
A slow. Dramatic. Clap.
You froze. Wonwoo froze.
And then—
"Well, well, well. Look what we have here."
Your blood ran cold.
You turned around so slowly you swore time slowed down.
And there, standing in front of the house, arms crossed, wearing the most betrayed expression you'd ever seen, was Kim Mingyu.
"Oh, shit," Wonwoo muttered under his breath.
"OH SHIT IS RIGHT, JEON WONWOO," Mingyu roared, stalking forward like an older brother about to ruin your entire existence.
You instinctively stepped in front of Wonwoo like that was gonna protect him from the absolute storm that was about to hit. "Mingyu, listen, before you freak out—"
"BEFORE I FREAK OUT???" Mingyu's voice cracked, eyes darting between you and Wonwoo. "YOU'RE KISSING MY BEST FRIEND ON OUR FRONT PORCH LIKE IT'S A K-DRAMA AND YOU WANT ME TO STAY CALM???"
You opened your mouth. Closed it. Looked at Wonwoo for help.
Wonwoo: 😬
You: 😭
Mingyu let out a deep sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose before turning to Wonwoo with the deadliest glare known to man.
"You. Follow me. NOW."
Wonwoo shot you a look—part this is it, I'm gonna die and part I regret nothing. And then he followed Mingyu inside like a man walking to his execution.
You just stood there, hands on your head, wondering if you should start preparing a eulogy.
Because one thing was certain.
Kim Mingyu was about to ruin your entire love life.
You had never paced so much in your entire life.
Standing outside your front door, you tried to listen in—tried being the keyword. But Mingyu's voice was booming from inside the house, and you could already tell from his tone that he was about to make Wonwoo regret all his life choices.
You pressed your ear against the door.
"What the hell is wrong with you?"
Oop. You winced. That was not a good start.
"Mingyu, calm down—" Wonwoo started, but Mingyu was having NONE of it.
"CALM DOWN? OH, SORRY, SHOULD I THROW YOU A PARTY INSTEAD? CONGRATS, YOU'RE DATING MY BABY SISTER??? BRO, I TRUSTED YOU!"
There was a pause. A deep sigh. Then:
"I told you to break up with her."
WHAT.
You slammed the door open so hard it bounced off the wall.
"EXCUSE ME??"
Both of them turned to you like deer caught in headlights.
"YOU WHAT???" you yelled, pointing at Mingyu like he'd just confessed to murder.
Mingyu blinked at you like he just realized what he said. "Uh—wait. No, that's not what I—"
Wonwoo was dying. You could see it. He was looking between the two of you, lips pressed together, trying so hard not to laugh.
You turned to Wonwoo, still pointing at Mingyu. "DID YOU KNOW THIS?"
Wonwoo immediately held his hands up. "Nope. No idea. But honestly, this is the best plot twist I've ever witnessed."
"Mingyu," you hissed, grinning like an absolute menace. "Wonwoo's a great guy. Make him break up with me and I'll never talk to you again."
Mingyu let out the loudest groan, dragging his hands down his face. "I DIDN'T MEAN IT LIKE THAT. I meant—I don't know! I just didn't want you dating Wonwoo of all people!"
Mingyu whirled on him. "I'M SORRY, BUT DO YOU KNOW YOUR OWN HISTORY? YOU'RE A HEARTBREAKER, BRO. I'M NOT LETTING YOU BREAK MY SISTER'S HEART."
Wonwoo's face immediately darkened. "Mingyu," he said, voice low.
And just like that, the room shifted.
Because that tone? That was not Wonwoo the sarcastic asshole. That was Wonwoo the serious guy who doesn't mess around when it comes to things that matter.
Mingyu must've felt it too, because his whole demeanor changed.
"I'm not playing around with her," Wonwoo said, steady and clear. "I'm not screwing this up." His gaze flickered to you—soft, almost apologetic, like he hated that this conversation was happening in front of you.
"I like her," he continued, voice quieter now. "A lot. More than I probably should." He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "And I get it. You're looking out for her. But Mingyu, you have to know—I wouldn't start something with her if I wasn't serious about it."
...
DEAD. SILENCE.
You held your breath, watching Mingyu's expression shift.
He looked at you. Then back at Wonwoo.
Then back at you.
And then—he sighed the biggest sigh of his life.
"Ugh. Fine." He dragged a hand through his hair, groaning. "Fine. If you two wanna make out and be disgusting, whatever. But," he said, suddenly deadly serious, "if you hurt her, Wonwoo, I swear on my life—"
"I know," Wonwoo cut in, smirking. "You'll kill me."
"No," Mingyu said. "I'll make you wish I did."
WELL.
You weren't sure whether to be relieved or terrified.
But at least you and Wonwoo weren't hiding anymore.
And the best part?
Mingyu would never find out just how much sneaking around you two had already done.
Mingyu had no idea what he had just unleashed.
Because the second he begrudgingly gave his approval, Wonwoo had decided on a new mission in life:
Make. You. Flustered.
And he was very good at it.
---
EXHIBIT A: THE COUCH INCIDENT
Mingyu was in the kitchen, completely unaware of what was happening in the living room.
You were sitting cross-legged on the couch, a controller in hand, fully focused on the game—or at least, you were trying to be.
Wonwoo, on the other hand?
Oh, he was definitely not focused on the game.
He was watching you. Studying you like a predator stalking its prey.
And the moment you made a mistake in the game, he pounced.
"HAH—GOTCHA," he laughed, tackling you onto the couch.
You yelped, the controller flying out of your hands as Wonwoo pinned you down, his arms caging you in.
"W-Wonwoo—!" you stammered, wide-eyed.
"Cheaters don't deserve to win," he teased, leaning closer. His weight was warm, his cologne intoxicating, and his smirk was nothing short of sinful.
And just when you were about to absolutely combust, he dipped his head—
And kissed you.
Deep. Slow. Lingering.
Your hands fisted his hoodie, a helpless whimper slipping from your lips as he tilted his head, kissing you deeper.
His lips moved against yours like he had all the time in the world. Like this was something he'd wanted to do for so, so long.
And then—
"WHAT THE ACTUAL FU—"
MINGYU.
Mingyu. Was. Here.
You froze.
Wonwoo froze.
Mingyu's scream could have shattered glass.
"WONWOO, GET YOUR FILTHY HANDS OFF MY SISTER RIGHT NOW."
But Wonwoo?
Wonwoo smirked.
And he didn't move.
Instead, he pressed another slow, deliberate kiss to your lips—just to spite Mingyu.
"OH MY GOD, YOU—YOU—"
You didn't even know who moved first—Wonwoo scrambling off you or Mingyu lunging at him like a wild animal.
All you knew was you were absolutely dying of embarrassment.
EXHIBIT B: THE STUDY SESSION FROM HELL
You should've known studying with Wonwoo was a terrible idea.
Not because he wasn't helpful—he was. Very helpful.
But his idea of helping you study was apparently making you flustered as hell.
You sat across from each other in the library, a pile of textbooks between you. Wonwoo was supposed to be quizzing you, but instead—
Instead, his foot nudged yours under the table.
You ignored it.
Then his foot slid up your calf.
Your breath hitched.
And when you finally looked up at him, the bastard was smirking.
"W-what?" you stammered, gripping your pen so tight you thought it would snap.
Wonwoo propped his chin on his hand, voice low and teasing.
"Nothing," he murmured. "Just wondering how long you can focus before I distract you."
Oh. Oh.
You gulped.
And then—you felt a shadow loom over you.
MINGYU.
Again. AGAIN.
His arms were crossed. His expression? A mix of pure disgust and betrayal.
"...Am I interrupting something?" he asked flatly.
You and Wonwoo both jumped apart like you'd been electrocuted.
"N-no!" you squeaked.
Mingyu's eyes narrowed.
"...Are you two seriously making out in the LIBRARY???"
Wonwoo, without missing a beat: "Wouldn't be the first time."
Mingyu died on the spot.
Mingyu was 100% sure he was living in his own personal hell.
Because every time he turned around, Wonwoo was doing something to make his little sister blush like crazy.
A hand on her waist. A whisper in her ear. A kiss on the cheek.
AND IT WAS DRIVING MINGYU INSANE.
He started setting rules.
"NO KISSING IN FRONT OF ME."
But then, Wonwoo would smirk and kiss you on the forehead instead.
"NO TOUCHING."
So Wonwoo would lace your fingers together behind his back, out of Mingyu's sight.
"NO SECRET GLANCES—OH MY GOD, I SAW THAT, YOU THINK I CAN'T SEE YOU TWO STARING AT EACH OTHER??? STOP IT. STOP IT RIGHT NOW."
Wonwoo, grinning like a menace: "I don't know what you're talking about."
Mingyu was this close to throwing himself off a cliff.
The moment Wonwoo got you alone in his apartment, there was no hesitation. The second the door clicked shut, his hands were already on you—warm, firm, desperate in a way that sent shivers up your spine. His fingers trailed along your waist, pulling you flush against him before he backed you up against the kitchen counter, his dark eyes locked onto yours, filled with something dangerous—something hungry.
"Do you have any idea what you do to me?" he murmured, voice low and rough, the heat of his breath fanning over your lips.
Before you could answer, his lips crashed onto yours, devouring, claiming, stealing every last ounce of air from your lungs. His hands roamed, fingers sliding down the curve of your back, gripping, exploring, pulling you closer until there was no space left between your bodies. Your knees nearly buckled from the intensity, the sheer heat of it all, but Wonwoo held you firm, like he'd never let you go.
His lips trailed down, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, your neck, sucking lightly until you whimpered—until he had you melting for him, hands gripping onto his shirt like you needed something to hold onto or else you'd fall apart.
"Wonwoo," you gasped when he suddenly hoisted you up onto the counter with ease, spreading your thighs so he could step between them, his hands sliding under your dress, fingers tracing the sensitive skin along the inside of your thighs.
You barely had time to react before he tilted your chin up with his fingers, his lips brushing yours as he whispered, "Tell me to stop."
But you didn't.
You couldn't.
Instead, you pulled him in, kissing him with all the desperation you felt in your body.
He groaned into your mouth, deep and guttural, and suddenly, the warmth of his hands was gone—but only so he could hook his fingers around your dress and unzip it, painfully slow.
The fabric slid off your shoulders, pooling around your waist as Wonwoo's eyes darkened. His fingers traced down your bare skin, mapping out every inch of you, as if memorizing the way you shivered under his touch.
Then, in one swift motion, he lifted you off the counter with ease, his lips never leaving yours as he carried you through the apartment—straight to his neatly arranged bedroom.
You barely had time to take in your surroundings before Wonwoo pinned you onto the bed, hovering over you, his weight pressing you into the mattress, his eyes burning into yours.
"You have no idea how long I've wanted this," he muttered against your lips before kissing you senseless— deep, slow, and thorough, like he was savoring every second.
His lips trailed lower, down your neck, your collarbone, his hands exploring, teasing, making you squirm under his touch.
He was taking his time, driving you insane, and when his fingers finally dipped lower, teasing at the edge of your underwear, you let out a shaky breath.
"Wonwoo," you pleaded.
He smirked, dragging his lips back up to your ear. "Patience, princess."
But patience was the last thing on your mind when he finally, finally touched you.
The second his fingers slipped past the band of your underwear, featherlight but deliberate, you shivered beneath him. Wonwoo took his time, tracing along your soaked heat with the slightest pressure—just enough to make you tremble, but not enough to satisfy the aching need building in your core.
He was cruel like that.
His lips brushed against your ear, his voice low, deep, and intoxicating.
"Look at you..." he murmured, dragging a single finger down your slick folds before circling your entrance—just barely pushing in. "So wet already. Is this all for me?"
Your breath hitched, your fingers tightening in his shirt.
"Wonwoo, please—"
A sharp gasp left your lips when he suddenly pushed in one finger, slow and deliberate, letting you feel every inch before curling it just right, pressing against that sensitive spot inside you.
"Please what, baby?" His smirk was dangerous, his movements even more so as he added a second finger, stretching you, filling you, setting an excruciatingly slow rhythm that made you feel helplessly desperate.
Your hips bucked instinctively, seeking more, but Wonwoo only chuckled, his free hand pressing you down against the mattress.
"Needy little thing," he muttered before dipping down to kiss you again, swallowing every whimper, every broken moan as his fingers moved faster—deeper.
You were barely holding onto reality at this point. The heat, the pleasure, the way his voice sent shivers through your spine—it was too much and not enough all at once.
Then suddenly, he was gone.
You whined at the loss, blinking up at him in frustration, but Wonwoo only chuckled as he pulled his shirt over his head—revealing his lean, toned body, his sharp jaw, his intense gaze locked onto yours like you were the only thing he could see.
"Relax, baby," he whispered, crawling back over you, caging you in beneath him. "I'm not done with you yet."
His lips trailed lower, down your neck, your chest, your stomach— his tongue and lips teasing, tasting, claiming every inch of your skin until you were gasping beneath him.
By the time he reached your soaked heat, you were already a mess—whimpering, squirming, aching for more.
And when he lowered his head between your thighs, his dark eyes flickering up to meet yours just before his tongue flicked against your most sensitive spot—
You swore you saw stars.
The first stroke of his tongue sent a full-body shudder through you, your fingers immediately tangling in his hair as he dragged the flat of his tongue along your soaked heat.
Wonwoo hummed at the taste, his hands gripping your thighs to keep you still as he set a slow, torturous rhythm—kissing, licking, sucking—his tongue swirling around your sensitive bud before flicking against it in teasing little strokes that left you gasping for air.
Your thighs trembled, threatening to close around his head, but he only chuckled against you, the vibrations sending another wave of pleasure through your already overwhelmed body.
"Already shaking, baby?" he murmured, lips brushing against your core, voice dripping with amusement and hunger. "Thought you wanted more?"
You barely had time to answer before his tongue plunged inside you, and that was it—your head fell back against the pillow, your back arching off the bed, your grip in his hair tightening as he ate you like he was starving.
Deep, slow strokes.
Messy, wet kisses.
His nose brushing against your clit just right.
It was filthy. It was heaven.
Wonwoo knew exactly what he was doing, and he was doing it so well it had you a whimpering, moaning mess beneath him, your legs trembling as he took his sweet time ruining you.
The heat in your stomach coiled tighter and tighter, your thighs twitching with every sinful movement of his mouth, until—
"Wonwoo—I'm—"
He didn't stop. If anything, he devoured you harder, one hand reaching up to lace his fingers with yours while the other pinned you down as you cried out, your orgasm crashing over you so hard your vision went white.
Your whole body tensed, shook, melted all at once as he licked you through it, riding out your high until you were twitching from oversensitivity.
Only then did he finally pull away, lips and chin glistening, looking up at you with dark, satisfied eyes.
"You taste so fucking good," he muttered, crawling back up, his body hot and solid against yours as he captured your lips in a messy, heated kiss—letting you taste yourself on his tongue.
And just when you thought you couldn't handle any more, you felt it.
The hard press of his cock against your thigh.
Heavy. Hot. Desperate.
Wonwoo groaned against your lips, his hips grinding against you in slow, torturous drags.
"I need you, baby," he whispered against your lips, his voice wrecked with hunger, want, need.
He reached down, gripping himself, lining up against your still-throbbing heat—
"Tell me you want this."
His voice was gravelly, deep, wrecked, his forehead resting against yours, his breath hot against your lips.
You exhaled, still dizzy, still trembling, but you knew exactly what you wanted.
"Wonwoo..." You cupped his face, brushing your lips against his, meeting his dark, burning gaze.
"I want you. All of you."
That was all he needed.
With a low, guttural groan, he pushed in—
The stretch of him had you gasping—a slow, deliberate push that filled you inch by inch, his cock dragging along your walls so deep, so hot that your nails dug into his shoulders.
Wonwoo groaned against your throat, his breath ragged as he stilled inside you for a moment—his fingers gripping your thighs tightly, almost trembling.
"Fuck—you're so tight, baby," he muttered, voice wrecked, strained, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your neck as he bottomed out.
The feeling was overwhelming. The stretch. The heat. The way his hips were pressed flush against yours, his cock pulsing inside you.
"You okay?" he whispered, kissing your jaw, your cheek, your lips.
You barely had time to answer before he rolled his hips, dragging himself out before pushing back in with a slow, deep thrust that had you moaning into his mouth.
And then he did it again. And again.
Slow. Deep. Hard.
His hands gripped your hips tightly, pulling you against him with every thrust, burying himself so deep you felt him everywhere.
"You feel so fucking good," he groaned, forehead pressed against yours as his pace quickened, the slow drag of his cock turning into harder, deeper strokes.
Your body arched beneath him, chasing the friction, your legs wrapping around his waist as you gasped, whimpered, moaned, nails raking down his back as he thrust into you harder.
The room was filled with the sound of skin against skin, of breathless gasps, of desperate moans.
The pleasure built fast and hot, your body tightening around him, your thighs trembling as his movements turned desperate, hungry.
"Wonwoo—" you moaned his name, voice wrecked, needy, broken.
His pace stuttered at that—his grip on your hips tightening as he buried himself deeper, faster, harder, hips snapping against yours in deep, punishing thrusts.
"Say it again," he growled against your lips, his hand slipping between your bodies, fingers pressing against your sensitive clit, rubbing tight, slow circles.
"Wonwoo—oh my god—"
The heat coiled tighter, your body tensing, trembling, shattering—
And then you were falling apart.
Your orgasm crashed over you in waves, your body tightening around him as you cried out, gasping his name, trembling beneath him.
Wonwoo groaned, cursing under his breath, his thrusts turning erratic, deeper, rougher as he chased his own high—until with one final, deep thrust, he buried himself inside you, his body shuddering as he came, moaning your name against your lips.
For a moment, the room was silent, heavy with heat, with breathless gasps, with the aftershocks of pleasure still running through both of you.
Then, slowly, he pulled out, pressing a lazy, lingering kiss to your lips, his hands still holding your body so close, so tight.
You were dazed, boneless, completely ruined.
And so was he.
Wonwoo chuckled, breathless, tucking your hair behind your ear as he smirked down at you.
"Think Mingyu's gonna kill me if he finds out?"
You groaned, shoving him playfully, but he only laughed, kissing you again, slower this time, softer.
"You're mine now, you know that, right?"
And with the way he was looking at you, you knew there was no going back.
The aftermath was warm, quiet, and dangerously comfortable. Wonwoo was still half on top of you, his body radiating heat, his breath slow and steady against your shoulder. His arm was firm around your waist, keeping you close, like he wasn't ready to let go.
"You good?" he murmured, his voice deep, low, still wrecked from what just happened.
You hummed, nuzzling closer, feeling the soft press of his lips against your forehead.
This was nice.
Too nice.
And then your phone vibrated.
Wonwoo groaned, burying his face in your neck. "Don't answer it."
But you had to. Because when you reached for it, Mingyu's name was staring back at you.
Shit.
You shot up so fast that Wonwoo barely had time to react before you were scrambling for your clothes, your heart pounding.
Wonwoo, still half-naked and looking so effortlessly wrecked, just lay there, watching you in pure amusement.
"Relax," he said, grinning like a menace. "He doesn't know you're here."
You shot him a glare, still clutching your phone like it was a ticking bomb.
"He will if I don't answer," you hissed, and before Wonwoo could make another smart remark, you swiped to pick up the call.
"Mingyu?"
"Where the hell are you?"
You froze. Shit.
Wonwoo was watching you closely now, eyes dark with amusement, but he didn't move—just propped himself up on one elbow, looking like sin itself.
You cleared your throat, desperately trying to sound normal. "I—I'm at the library."
Wonwoo bit his lip, shaking his head.
Liar.
"The library?" Mingyu sounded skeptical. "You never stay this late."
Think. Think.
"Uh, yeah, well—Wonwoo said he'd help me study," you blurted out before you could stop yourself.
The silence on the other end was deafening.
Wonwoo raised an eyebrow.
"Mingyu?" you tried again.
"You're with Wonwoo?"
Your stomach dropped.
Wonwoo, the absolute devil that he was, just grinned, running a hand through his messy hair like he wasn't literally in bed with you.
"You—" Mingyu let out a sharp exhale. "I swear to god, if that bastard tries anything—"
"Relax!" you cut in quickly, forcing out a laugh. "It's just studying."
Wonwoo snorted.
Mingyu sighed. "I don't trust him."
"Gee, thanks, Gyu," Wonwoo said loudly, just to be annoying.
You glared at him, mouthing 'shut up' before turning back to the call. "I'll be home soon, okay?"
Mingyu grumbled something under his breath but eventually let you go.
The moment you hung up, you turned to Wonwoo, scowling.
"You were not helpful."
Wonwoo only smirked, sitting up, the sheets sliding down his torso, revealing even more of his very distracting body.
"Studying, huh?" he teased.
You threw a pillow at him.
"Shut up."
Sneaking around was thrilling.
Maybe it was the risk of getting caught, or maybe it was the way Wonwoo would sneak touches when no one was looking—his fingers grazing your waist, his lips brushing your ear just to whisper the most unnecessary things.
But Mingyu was getting suspicious.
And Wonwoo? He was making it worse on purpose.
Like now.
You were sitting across from Mingyu at a café, trying to act normal, when Wonwoo slid into the seat beside you—so close that your knees bumped under the table.
"Gyu," he greeted casually, stealing a fry from Mingyu's plate.
Mingyu narrowed his eyes. "What are you doing here?"
Wonwoo just shrugged, unfazed. "Saw you two and thought I'd join."
Liar.
You knew for a fact that he had been waiting outside the whole time, texting you the filthiest things under the table, just to watch you squirm.
Now, he was acting innocent.
And he was way too close.
So close that you could feel the heat of his thigh against yours, the brush of his fingers as he reached for another fry.
Mingyu was still watching him suspiciously.
And then Wonwoo did it.
His hand, sneaky as hell, slid under the table.
Onto your thigh.
You froze.
Your breath caught in your throat as his fingers pressed against your bare skin, teasing, stroking, inching higher.
You shot him a warning look, trying not to choke on your drink.
He only smirked, looking way too entertained.
Mingyu, completely unaware, was rambling about something—basketball? A movie? You weren't even listening. Because Wonwoo was dragging his fingers along the hem of your skirt, toying with it, barely slipping underneath.
You squeezed your legs shut, but it only trapped his hand there.
His gaze flickered to yours, dark, teasing.
'Relax,' his eyes seemed to say. 'Unless you want him to notice.'
You bit your lip so hard it almost hurt.
Mingyu frowned. "Why do you look weird?"
Shit.
You cleared your throat, forcing a smile. "I—I don't?"
Mingyu narrowed his eyes.
Wonwoo, the absolute menace, just chuckled and leaned back, finally pulling his hand away.
"You should eat more, princess," he murmured, just loud enough for you to hear.
Your entire face burned.
And Mingyu? Oblivious.
For now.
Your voice was barely a whisper, heart pounding as you felt Wonwoo's breath against your ear.
"That's what makes it fun," he murmured, voice low, teasing.
This was dangerous. Reckless, even. But you couldn't stop yourself.
It started as a simple study session. Wonwoo had picked you up after hagwon, claiming he'd "help" you with your assignments.
Total bullshit.
Because now?
You were pressed up against the library bookshelf, the dim glow of the emergency exit light barely illuminating the mischief in his eyes.
Your breath hitched as his lips brushed over your jaw, slow, calculated. "You're so easy to mess with, princess."
You swallowed, trying to act indifferent, but your body betrayed you.
Because his hands were already on your waist, sneaking under your oversized hoodie, fingertips grazing your skin, making you shiver.
"Wonwoo," you warned, voice wobbly. "Someone might see—"
He kissed you.
Cut you off completely, swallowing any argument you might've had. It was deep, consuming, with just enough desperation to make your knees buckle.
And he knew.
He gripped your thighs, lifting you effortlessly, pressing you harder against the shelves. You gasped, wrapping your legs around his waist instinctively.
His lips traveled down to your neck, kissing, sucking—leaving marks in places only he would see.
Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging slightly, earning a low groan from him.
"You're gonna be the death of me," he murmured against your skin, his voice sending heat straight to your core.
And then, his hand slipped under your skirt.
You gasped, back arching as he dragged his fingers along your soaked panties, teasing.
"Already wet for me?" he whispered, grinning when you squirmed in his grip.
"Wonwoo," you hissed.
"Shh," he hushed, lips finding yours again, muffling your soft whimpers. "Unless you want someone to catch us."
Fuck.
This was so, so wrong.
But god, it felt too good to stop.
His fingers moved against you, slow, deliberate, applying just enough pressure to make you tremble.
And then—
"Hello? Is someone there?"
A voice.
Somewhere in the library.
You froze.
Wonwoo, however?
He didn't stop.
His fingers kept moving, rubbing slow, lazy circles against your clothed heat.
"Wonwoo," you pleaded, voice barely a breath.
He just smirked.
The footsteps got closer.
Your heart pounded as Wonwoo kissed you again, swallowing your gasps as he slipped his fingers past the fabric, stroking your bare heat.
And then—
The footsteps faded.
Whoever it was, they were gone.
And you were falling apart in Wonwoo's arms.
He didn't stop until your body was trembling, until your head fell against his shoulder, until you were gripping onto his sweater like it was the only thing grounding you.
And then, finally, he pulled back.
He grinned, watching you struggle to catch your breath. His fingers—still wet from you—slid up your thigh, leaving a teasing trail.
"You were so loud, princess," he whispered against your ear. "I almost thought you wanted to get caught."
FUCK.
---
There were no fancy words, no grand declarations.
But when Wonwoo loved, he showed it in every little thing he did.
It was the way he kept your water bottle filled when you were too busy studying. The way he brought you warm meals when you forgot to eat. The way he let you borrow his headphones, knowing you liked his playlists better than yours.
Even now, as he sat in his gaming chair, his fingers absentmindedly traced circles on your bare thigh, pulling you closer onto his lap.
"You're too busy for me," you pouted, resting your chin on his shoulder as he adjusted his headset.
Wonwoo smirked, clicking a button on his keyboard. "I just spent two hours helping you study, princess. What do you mean?"
You huffed, nuzzling into his neck. "I mean, you're always playing games or working. I miss you."
His fingers paused on the keyboard.
A moment later, he let out a sigh and removed his headset, turning to face you.
"You're clingy," he teased, but the way his hands slid up your arms, the way his thumb brushed your cheek, said otherwise.
"You like it," you shot back.
He chuckled, pulling you in for a soft kiss. It was lazy, unhurried, like he had all the time in the world for you.
Maybe he did.
Because after that, he turned off his PC.
You blinked. "You're done?"
"Yeah." He stood, effortlessly carrying you to the bed. "I'd rather spend time with you."
Your heart melted.
"But your game—"
"It's just a game," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. "You're more important."
Fuck.
That did things to you.
You clung to him tighter, burying your face in his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.
Wonwoo wasn't the type to say 'I love you' a hundred times a day.
But he showed it. In the way he adjusted your blanket at night. In the way he massaged your shoulders after a long study session. In the way he never let you walk on the side of the road.
And in moments like this, where he'd drop everything just to hold you.
"You don't need anything but me, right?" he whispered against your hair, voice warm, teasing.
You smiled, pulling him closer.
"Right."
You were curled up on the couch, drowning in an oversized hoodie that—surprise, surprise—smelled like Wonwoo. The weight of your laptop sat in your lap, screen glowing with the absolute horror that was your unfinished assignment.
Two thousand words. Due tomorrow. You had written ten.
A dramatic sigh left your lips as you flopped onto the cushions, staring at the ceiling like it held the answers to life.
Wonwoo, who had been watching you from his desk, barely glanced up from his monitor. "You're sulking."
"You're ignoring me," you shot back, hugging a pillow.
"I'm working," he replied, but there was a teasing lilt in his voice. "And you should be too."
You groaned into the fabric. "I can't. I have no motivation."
Finally, he turned his chair around, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he studied you. His dark eyes flickered with something unreadable—fond amusement, exasperation, love, all tangled into one.
"You're acting like a baby," he murmured, but the way he got up and walked toward you said otherwise.
And then—before you could process it—he was lifting your legs and settling himself between them, pulling you into his lap with ease.
"W-Wonwoo?" you stammered, hands instinctively gripping his shoulders.
"You don't have to ask, princess," he said, voice soft, low, knowing. "I already know what you need."
Your breath hitched.
And then his lips were on your forehead—one slow, lingering kiss.
Then another on your cheek.
Then your temple.
Then your nose.
The kind of kisses that weren't just physical, but something deeper. Like he was pouring everything he felt into them without saying a single word.
Your heart felt like it would burst.
"W-Wonwoo," you whispered again, but this time, it came out softer, more delicate.
"Mm?" He hummed, resting his chin on top of your head.
You swallowed. "You're distracting me."
He let out a soft chuckle. "Good."
You wanted to be mad, but how could you be?
Especially when he wrapped his arms around you tighter, rocking you slightly, like he was trying to comfort you without even realizing it.
Like you were his whole world.
---
Wonwoo didn't like extravagant gestures.
But spoiling you? That was different.
He'd do anything to make your life easier.
Which is why, when you walked into your apartment after a long day, you stopped in your tracks at the sight of takeout containers neatly placed on the table.
Your favorite food. From your favorite restaurant.
And beside them—a brand new necklace, delicate and subtle, but undeniably expensive.
You blinked.
"Wonwoo?"
From the couch, he looked up from his book. "Yeah?"
You pointed at the table. "What is this?"
"Food," he deadpanned. "And a gift."
You narrowed your eyes, crossing your arms. "Why?"
He shrugged. "You had a long day."
Your heart faltered.
You took a slow step forward, staring at him. "Wonwoo, I told you not to keep buying me things."
"And I told you to stop acting like you don't love it," he murmured, flipping a page.
You huffed, but your face was already burning. "That's not the point!"
"You're so spoiled, you know that?" he said, tilting his head. "If I don't do this, you sulk."
"I do not."
"You do," he smirked, and before you could argue, he was standing up, taking slow steps toward you.
Your breath caught.
"You like being taken care of," he murmured, stopping just inches away. "And I like taking care of you."
Fuck.
Your pulse skyrocketed.
"Wonwoo," you whispered, and his hands slid up your arms, featherlight, teasing.
"Mm?"
"You're not being fair."
He leaned in, lips brushing your jaw, sending shivers down your spine.
"Neither are you," he whispered, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth.
And just like that, you melted.
Wonwoo wasn't a morning person.
But when he woke up to the empty space beside him, his eyes narrowed instantly.
You were supposed to be asleep in his arms, tangled in his sheets, where he could keep you safe and warm.
Instead—
He blinked blearily, pushing the covers off. The faint glow from your laptop illuminated your silhouette, hunched over at the desk.
"Baby?" His voice was gravelly, hoarse from sleep.
You turned, blinking at him. "Did I wake you?"
Wonwoo ran a hand through his hair, eyes flickering between you and the glowing screen.
He didn't say anything. Just stood up, walked over, and gently closed your laptop.
You gasped. "Wonwoo, I need to finish—"
"Later," he murmured, voice low, commanding. Not angry, not strict. Just firm.
You opened your mouth to protest, but then—he was lifting you effortlessly, carrying you back to bed.
"W-Wait—"
"Shh," he whispered, tucking you back under the sheets before crawling in beside you.
Then his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you against his bare chest, his lips grazing your shoulder.
"Come back to bed," he murmured.
You shivered. "But—"
"You can finish in the morning," he whispered, pressing a soft, open-mouthed kiss to your neck. "Just stay with me right now."
And really, how could you say no to that?
"You're exhausted. Just sleep, princess."
The dull ache in your shoulders was killing you.
It had been a long-ass day, and all you wanted to do was collapse.
But your laptop blinked back at you, merciless and taunting, deadlines creeping closer.
Wonwoo watched you silently from across the room, arms crossed, brows furrowed. You could feel his stare, heavy and knowing.
"You need to sleep," he finally murmured.
You didn't even look at him. "I'll sleep after this."
A beat of silence.
Then—before you could react—arms wrapped around you from behind, lifting you with ease.
"W-Wonwoo?! Put me down—!"
"No." Deadpan. Unbothered.
And just like that, you were in bed.
He pressed you into the pillows, throwing the blanket over you like tucking in a child.
"W-Wait—"
"You're exhausted," he muttered, climbing in beside you. "Just sleep, princess."
You tried to fight it. You really did.
But then—his arms tightened around you, his lips ghosted over your forehead, and his warmth melted into your body.
And suddenly... your eyelids were too heavy to keep open.
Damn him.
"Give me your bag, princess."
College was draining you.
You had just finished a three-hour lecture, your brain barely functioning, your bag heavy as hell.
And then—there he was.
Waiting outside, tall and gorgeous in a black hoodie and sweats, hands in his pockets, eyes softening the second he saw you.
Wonwoo, your personal chauffeur.
You sighed in relief, grateful for his presence alone.
Until—he took one look at your slouched shoulders and frowned.
"Give me your bag."
You blinked. "Huh?"
He nodded at your shoulder. "Your bag. Give it."
You clutched it instinctively. "It's not that heavy—"
Wonwoo didn't even let you finish.
He gently pried it from your grip, slinging it over his own shoulder like it weighed nothing.
"Wonwoo—"
"You looked tired, princess," he murmured, taking your hand. "Let me take care of you."
Your heart skipped a beat.
...Yeah. You weren't arguing with that.
"Sit still, princess. Let me take care of you."
You sighed in bliss, eyes fluttering shut as Wonwoo's fingers worked through your damp hair, massaging your scalp.
God, he was good at this.
His touch was gentle, slow, firm—soothing every little knot of tension you didn't even know you had.
"You're going to fall asleep," he murmured, amused.
"Mm," you hummed, barely awake, tilting your head into his hands.
He chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to your temple. "You're so easy to please."
You smiled, eyes still closed. "Only when it's you."
Wonwoo paused.
And then—you felt his lips on your neck, slow and deliberate, his voice dropping into that low, teasing drawl.
"I like the way that sounds, princess."
Shit.
Suddenly, you weren't sleepy anymore.
"Stop looking at me like that, princess, or I'll take you right here."
Wonwoo knew what he was doing.
The man had zero shame when it came to making you blush, and he thrived off of it.
Which is why—when you were in the middle of a crowded restaurant, surrounded by people—he had the audacity to run his hands up your thighs under the table.
Your breath hitched.
"W-Wonwoo—"
He smirked, taking a casual sip of his drink. "Something wrong, princess?"
You shot him a glare, but your face was burning.
"I hate you," you muttered under your breath.
"Liar," he whispered back, his fingers tracing slow, lazy circles on your skin.
You gulped, shifting in your seat. "We're in public."
He leaned in, lips brushing your ear.
"Stop looking at me like that, princess," he murmured, voice deep, teasing. "Or I'll take you right here."
Your breath caught.
And the worst part? You knew he meant it.
"I missed you, princess."
The night was quiet, the air cool, the city lights glowing softly through the window.
Wonwoo had been away for a few days—a work trip, nothing major—but God, you had missed him.
And apparently—he had missed you too.
Because the second he got back, he grabbed you by the waist, pulled you into his lap, and buried his face in your neck.
"You good?" you laughed, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.
He didn't answer.
Just... held you.
Long. Deep. Like he was soaking in your warmth, grounding himself in your presence.
And then, after a few moments—he whispered against your skin, voice low, hoarse.
"I missed you, princess."
Your heart melted.
You pressed a kiss to his temple. "I missed you too."
His arms tightened around you.
"I know."
"Stay close to me, princess."
Crowds were overwhelming.
Wonwoo didn't care about them much—he was good at blending into the background, unbothered.
But you? You were a whole different story. One talk with a stranger, you'd be friends with them almost too immediately.
Which is why—his arm was always around your waist, keeping you pressed firmly against him.
"Wonwoo, I can walk by myself, you know," you teased, looking up at him.
He just hummed, pulling you closer. "I know."
You rolled your eyes, but secretly?
You loved it.
Because as long as he was there, holding you like this, you never had to worry.
Not about getting lost.
Not about anything.
The night was warm, suffocating with tension, electric with something neither of you could fight.
It started innocent enough.
A late-night drive. The city lights flashing past. His hand on your thigh, firm, possessive, always touching.
You had been teasing him all night. Unintentionally, of course.
Or maybe not.
Because when you leaned in, whispered something soft, something sweet—
He snapped.
Before you could react, he pulled into a secluded parking lot, turned off the engine, and turned to you with dark, burning eyes.
"Out," he ordered, voice low, rough.
Your breath hitched. "Wonwoo—"
"Now, princess."
You gulped. Obeyed.
The second you stepped outside, he was on you.
He pinned you against the car, one hand in your hair, the other gripping your waist, his lips crashing into yours—hot, desperate, consuming.
"You drive me insane," he growled against your mouth, pressing his body against yours, forcing you to feel just how much you affected him.
Your fingers curled into his hoodie, tugging him closer, chasing his warmth, his touch, his everything.
"I need you," you breathed, and that was all it took.
The world disappeared.
Nothing existed except him—the way his hands roamed your body, the way his lips marked your skin, the way he whispered, 'Mine. All mine.'
And when he finally—finally—gave you what you both needed, it wasn't just lust.
It was love.
Raw. Overwhelming. Unshakable.
And as he held you close, forehead pressed to yours, breath uneven but laced with affection—
You knew.
You would never belong to anyone else.
And neither would he.
Your back hit the cool metal of the car. Wonwoo's body pressed against yours, solid, burning, intoxicating.
"You've been teasing me all night," he murmured, trailing kisses down your jaw, his breath hot against your skin.
Your lips parted, a shaky breath escaping when his hands slipped under your dress, fingers skimming up your thighs.
"I wasn't teasing," you whispered, but your voice betrayed you.
Wonwoo chuckled darkly. "Liar."
His fingers dipped between your legs, pressing against the heat that had been building all night.
You squirmed, gripping his hoodie, your body arching into his touch.
"Wonwoo—"
He swallowed your plea with a kiss, deep and desperate, his tongue sliding against yours, stealing every thought from your head.
"Tell me how much you want me."
Your breath hitched as he pushed your panties aside, his fingers stroking slow, deliberate circles that made your knees buckle.
"I—" You gasped, gripping his shoulders. "I want you. Please."
That was all he needed.
With one swift movement, he spun you around, pressing your front against the car, his hands exploring, teasing, making you beg.
"You love being touched like this, don't you?" he whispered, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. "Needy little thing."
You could barely breathe, let alone answer.
And when he finally—filled you, stretching you with a slow, deep thrust—
You shattered.
Your nails scraped against the car's surface, your moans mixing with the night air, his name falling from your lips like a prayer.
Wonwoo didn't stop.
Didn't slow down.
Didn't let you come down from the high before pulling you back against his chest, one hand gripping your jaw, forcing you to look at him.
"Open your mouth," he murmured.
You obeyed without thinking—and he kissed you, deep and messy, swallowing your moans as he drove you to the edge again.
"Mine."
His voice was a growl, his arms tightening around you, his thrusts turning erratic, desperate.
And when you finally fell apart with him, gasping, trembling, completely undone—
He didn't let you go.
He held you close, pressed kisses against your skin, whispered against your lips—
"I love you."
And for the first time, you realized—this wasn't just desire.
This was obsession.
This was forever.
The night was warm, suffocating with tension, electric with something neither of you could fight.
It started innocent enough.
A late-night drive. The city lights flashing past. His hand on your thigh, firm, possessive, always touching.
You had been teasing him all night. Unintentionally, of course.
Or maybe not.
Because when you leaned in, whispered something soft, something sweet—
He snapped.
Before you could react, he pulled into a secluded parking lot, turned off the engine, and turned to you with dark, burning eyes.
"Out," he ordered, voice low, rough.
Your breath hitched. "Wonwoo—"
"Now, princess."
You gulped. Obeyed.
The second you stepped outside, he was on you.
He pinned you against the car, one hand in your hair, the other gripping your waist, his lips crashing into yours—hot, desperate, consuming.
"You drive me insane," he growled against your mouth, pressing his body against yours, forcing you to feel just how much you affected him.
Your fingers curled into his hoodie, tugging him closer, chasing his warmth, his touch, his everything.
"I need you," you breathed, and that was all it took.
The world disappeared.
Nothing existed except him—the way his hands roamed your body, the way his lips marked your skin, the way he whispered, 'Mine. All mine.'
And when he finally—finally—gave you what you both needed, it wasn't just lust.
It was love.
Raw. Overwhelming. Unshakable.
And as he held you close, forehead pressed to yours, breath uneven but laced with affection—
You knew.
You would never belong to anyone else.
And neither would he.
Your back hit the cool metal of the car. Wonwoo's body pressed against yours, solid, burning, intoxicating.
"You've been teasing me all night," he murmured, trailing kisses down your jaw, his breath hot against your skin.
Your lips parted, a shaky breath escaping when his hands slipped under your dress, fingers skimming up your thighs.
"I wasn't teasing," you whispered, but your voice betrayed you.
Wonwoo chuckled darkly. "Liar."
His fingers dipped between your legs, pressing against the heat that had been building all night.
You squirmed, gripping his hoodie, your body arching into his touch.
"Wonwoo—"
He swallowed your plea with a kiss, deep and desperate, his tongue sliding against yours, stealing every thought from your head.
"Tell me how much you want me."
Your breath hitched as he pushed your panties aside, his fingers stroking slow, deliberate circles that made your knees buckle.
"I—" You gasped, gripping his shoulders. "I want you. Please."
That was all he needed.
With one swift movement, he spun you around, pressing your front against the car, his hands exploring, teasing, making you beg.
"You love being touched like this, don't you?" he whispered, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. "Needy little thing."
You could barely breathe, let alone answer.
And when he finally—filled you, stretching you with a slow, deep thrust—
You shattered.
Your nails scraped against the car's surface, your moans mixing with the night air, his name falling from your lips like a prayer.
Wonwoo didn't stop.
Didn't slow down.
Didn't let you come down from the high before pulling you back against his chest, one hand gripping your jaw, forcing you to look at him.
"Open your mouth," he murmured.
You obeyed without thinking—and he kissed you, deep and messy, swallowing your moans as he drove you to the edge again.
"Mine."
His voice was a growl, his arms tightening around you, his thrusts turning erratic, desperate.
And when you finally fell apart with him, gasping, trembling, completely undone—
He didn't let you go.
He held you close, pressed kisses against your skin, whispered against your lips—
"I love you."
And for the first time, you realized—this wasn't just desire.
This was obsession.
This was forever.
a/n: aeya here ! BELATED HAPPY VALENTINE'S EVERYONE ! i hoped y'all like this because if you did, i already have the part two ready. it's march, and i hope this fanfiction will make up for the long stop i've been. i'm back to being a stranger ig, but hey, count this as a celebration for my 500+ followers. i love yall sm please never stop expressing yourselves from supporting me. also, I PROMISE i will eventually get to y'alls reqs because i love yall too much mwuahhh
*˓͏͏ ✤ 𝐒𝐀𝐅𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐁𝐎𝐑 ⎯⎯ 𝐖𝐂 : 𝟓.𝟑𝐊 ㅤ꒰ Sweet husband! Wonwoo, gentle romance, married couple, emotional comfort, fear of motherhood, pregnancy (secret/reveal), soft reassurance, family moments, friends gathering, slight angst. ꒱
POSITIVE : 2 - 3 WEEKS.
You let out a heavy sigh the moment you finish looking at the result on the pregnancy test you’ve been nervously holding between your fingers.Getting pregnant was the last thing you needed or wanted to happen. The idea of a human life depending on you and every decision you made terrified you more than anything else in the world. Not even having a fully established life and financial stability made it appealing.
Becoming a mother simply wasn’t something that genuinely excited you. But this was about a tiny being, one conceived during one of those countless passionate nights with the man you had loved for years. It wasn’t just about your traumas and fears your life partner’s opinion mattered just as much as yours. You could already picture his happiness when he found out. Unlike you, he had always wanted a baby of your own.Just then, you hear the man in question clearing his throat from the other side of the door, in the shared bedroom.
“He’s awake,” you think to yourself.
For a moment, panic takes over and you don’t know what to do. But as soon as you hear his knuckles knocking on the wood, you finally snap into action: you quickly get rid of the pregnancy test and hide it somewhere Wonwoo would never find it, not even by chance.
“Baby, can I come in?” he asks. Even after years of living together, he’s still careful and respectful of your space.
“Um… Yeah! You can come in, honey,” you reply, your nerves completely on edge.Wonwoo opens the door and walks in casually, finding you sitting on the sink brushing your teeth. What he doesn’t know is that you’re trying your best to act normal and calm your racing heartbeat. Still, he finds it a bit odd how you keep avoiding his gaze and refusing to make eye contact. Even so, he doesn’t question you and simply leans in to kiss your forehead before grabbing his own toothbrush to do the same.
“How are you feeling this morning?” he asks with genuine interest, before bringing the toothbrush with toothpaste to his mouth.You take a moment to finish your oral hygiene routine and then answer his question.
“I’m better. The nausea and dizziness are gone. After I took that pill last night, I felt much calmer. I got up a while ago and didn’t feel anything strange,” you assure him, trying to sound as natural as possible. Of course, you left out the part where you woke up so early because of a sudden, intense urge to vomit. You also skipped mentioning the pregnancy test. He didn’t need to know that at least not yet.
“I’m going to prepare what we’re taking to the picnic. Seungcheol said we didn’t have to, but I know the others are planning to bring something too, because Mingyu told me days ago. So it wouldn’t feel right to show up empty-handed,” you complain, frowning in distaste just imagining the awkward situation. “While I take care of that, you can go shower and get ready,” you tell him as you start to leave the bathroom.
“What if we shower together instead? It’d be faster and I could come down to help you in the kitchen,” he suggests in a teasing tone, watching you through the mirror reflection.His deep voice and the intensity of his dark gaze make you shiver. You’re about to nod in agreement, but the reminder that an unconscious little intruder is now growing inside you fills you with fear, and you decide against it.
“No. We both know that when we shower together, we do anything but try to get out quickly,” you counter, pointing toward the shower cabin. And your words weren’t far from the truth. “Plus, I’d be embarrassed walking funny in front of the guys and having them ask what happened to me,” you add, narrowing your eyes at him while he pretends to be innocent about it.
“Alright, you win, my love,” he says with a defeated smile, raising both hands in surrender. You smile back, satisfied that he fell for your excuse. You don’t say anything else and reach for the door again, intending to finally leave the bathroom, but once more your beloved husband stops you. “Hey, baby, I didn’t mention this last night because you weren’t feeling well and went to bed early, but I was thinking about going to the cemetery after we spend time with the guys. I’d like you to come with me to take flowers to Mom.”
His invitation catches you off guard. Until now, you had only gone with him once, since he usually preferred to go alone or with his dad and younger brother.
“Okay, honey. I’ll go with you, gladly,” you reply, stepping closer to give him a quick kiss on the lips. “Now let me go or we’ll be late.”
With that final warning, you finally manage to escape. You sigh in relief once the door closes behind you, running both hands over your face to clear your mind. You grab your phone from the nightstand, pick it up, and head out of the bedroom toward the kitchen.
A while later…
The good thing about preparing something simple was that you finished quickly. You left your husband packing the containers into a bag while you went to shower.Once you were done, you started looking for something to wear. Everything was fine until you tried to put on a pair of jeans and they wouldn’t close. You were about to let out a string of curses when the possible reason why your clothes were starting to not fit crossed your mind.
“It’s only been a few weeks. You can’t possibly be taking up that much space in there already,” you grumble indignantly at the living being currently residing in your uterus. “Now I’ll have to wear a dress, and it’s all your fault.” You complain, clearly annoyed, and reluctantly head to your closet to find a summer dress.
Just as you finish slipping the light garment over your body, Wonwoo opens the bedroom door and walks in to let you know everything is ready and he’s just waiting for you so you can leave. Even though his words weren’t meant to pressure you, that’s how they felt, and it only heightened your already turbulent emotions.
“If you’re in such a hurry, just go without me,” you snap in the sharpest tone possible, leaving him frozen in place, confused and unable to understand what he had said to make you this angry.
He stands petrified at the doorway. A heavy, awkward silence settles between you as he tries to figure out if his words had really come across as pressuring.
You deliberately ignore him and continue getting ready, feeding the bad mood gnawing at you inside, though guilt quickly settles in your chest. You feel terrible for reacting so defensively when all he was trying to do was say something completely innocent.
After what feels like an eternity, Wonwoo gently clears his throat.
“I’ll wait for you in the car, baby. Take all the time you need, there’s no rush,” he murmurs calmly. Without another word, he leaves, once again leaving you alone with your thoughts.
As soon as you hear his footsteps fade away, you let out a long, heavy sigh. You go to get your sandals, leave them within reach, and put on some light accessories before doing a bit of makeup. While your hands work on autopilot in front of the mirror, your mind is already rehearsing a proper apology. You hated being rude to him, especially when he had always given you nothing but love, respect, and treated you like a true queen.
You place one hand on your abdomen and, in a very soft voice, speak to the small, unknown life inside you : “It’s your fault I just snapped at the person who loves me most in this world… and who I’m sure is going to adore you too once he knows you’re in here,” you murmur with affectionate annoyance, almost pouting at someone who has no idea what’s really happening.
Once you’re finished getting ready, you grab your bag, your sandals in the other hand, and finally leave the room. You head downstairs and confirm that your husband has already taken the things from the kitchen out to the car.You take the opportunity to grab a couple of special items you want to bring to his mother’s grave and pick up the house keys.
You’re just about to walk out when a fleeting but impossible-to-ignore thought suddenly hits you with full force.
From inside the car, Wonwoo watches you through the windshield, completely confused as he sees you stop with the door half open and then suddenly hurry back into the house. You rush upstairs to do something quick and come back down a minute later. He sees you come out again, calmly put on your sandals on the porch, lock the door, and finally walk toward the car. Once you get in, he leans over to buckle your seatbelt with his usual gentleness. But before he can sit back, you wrap both arms around his neck, stopping him from pulling away. His body tenses for a second in surprise, but you quickly speak in a soft, low voice:
“I’m so sorry, honey… I didn’t mean to speak to you like that earlier. I was just a little irritated and took it out on you. I really am sorry.” You offer him a sincere apology. As he listens, the tension in Jeon’s shoulders completely melts away.
He reaches out to caress your leg over the light summer dress, then cups your face with both hands and brings his lips to yours. It’s a deep, slow, lingering kiss, the kind that makes you melt, completely captivated by the man in front of you. He even smiles when he hears the soft sigh that escapes you as you kiss him back. Then pulls away gently and leaves a sweet little kiss on the tip of your nose.
“Don’t worry, my love. It did catch me by surprise, but I wasn’t upset with you. I understand you were probably overwhelmed by everything you did since early this morning and the pressure of going to a social event. These things happen,” he assures you with an understanding look. You smile, touched by his endless patience and maturity.
Tough, your smile tenses a little as you secretly remember the real reason behind your emotional imbalance. You give his cheek a gentle caress followed by a quick peck on the lips, then straighten up. Wonwoo settles into the driver’s seat, starts the engine, and pulls away, beginning the drive to where the rest of the guys are already waiting.
The drive passes in a cozy calm. Soft music plays from the stereo, creating a serene atmosphere that matches the steady movement of the car. Jeon drives with his usual quiet ease, keeping one hand intertwined with yours on the gear shift thumb against thumb in a gesture as everyday as it is intimate. Outside the window, the scenery rolls by in shades of green and morning light, simply beautiful.
The road is remarkably flat, with no sharp curves or bumps, so it makes no logical sense for a sudden wave of nausea to settle in your stomach. You choose not to say anything. You shift a little more against the seat, close your eyes for a few seconds, and try to find a comfortable position, convincing yourself it will pass soon… even though deep down you know exactly why it’s happening. By the time you finally arrive and Wonwoo turns off the engine, the silence inside the car feels a bit heavier. He soon turns to look at you.
“Is something wrong? You seem a little off… Do you need anything?” he asks softly, searching your eyes with concern.
“I’m fine, really. Maybe I just need to eat something soon, or the car ride didn’t sit well with me,” you reply, giving him a small smile and trying to sound normal.Wonwoo watches you in silence for a couple of seconds.
You can practically see the gears turning in his mind. He knows you too well to miss that something isn’t quite right. He senses something is on your mind, but he doesn’t want to press you or ruin the moment right before joining everyone. Without pushing further for now, he gets out of the car, walks around the front, and opens your door. He offers his hand to help you out with extreme care.
“Are you sure you don’t want a minute before we go in? Once we’re inside with everyone, it’s going to be chaos,” he murmurs with a slight smirk, checking your face again.
Instead of answering with words, you step closer and wrap your arms around his waist, resting your chin on his chest to look up at him. He immediately wraps you in his arms, pulling you against him. For a moment, the two of you stay like that, gazing into each other’s eyes and silently acknowledging the emotions you’re both carrying though the source and intensity of yours are completely different from his.
“I’m okay, my love. Really… thank you for being so attentive,” you insist sweetly, rubbing his back in an attempt to reassure him. He lets out a resigned but tender sigh and leans down to place a warm, lingering kiss on your forehead.
At that exact moment, the sound of another engine interrupts. A car parks just a few meters away. Junhui steps out with his wife and their two children: the older one and the youngest, a baby girl named Meilin. Smiles appear instantly as they realize how long this reunion has been overdue. Wonwoo walks over to greet Jun and exchanges a few words with the little boy while they start unloading things from both cars. Meanwhile, Jun’s wife comes straight to you for a warm hug, carrying little Meilin nestled in her arms. As her godmother, your eyes light up when you see the girl and you naturally reach out for her, as you always do.
“Come here, beautiful!” you say affectionately. But to your surprise, Meilin suddenly shrinks back against her mother’s shoulder.It doesn’t seem like she doesn’t recognize you. Rather, your mere closeness seems to deeply upset her. The moment you try to get a little closer to hold her, the baby starts whimpering, squirms uncomfortably in her mom’s arms, and desperately reaches her tiny hands toward Junhui. He quickly steps over and takes her to calm her down.
“That’s weird… She always gets along so well with you. I don’t know what got into her,” Jun comments, holding his daughter against his chest and gently patting her back.
“Kids have their days sometimes. I’m sure she’ll be fine in a bit,” his wife replies, looking a little embarrassed by her daughter’s behavior.
You simply smile understandingly and say it’s okay, but inside, your stomach flips. You remember that old myth about babies and animals being able to sense a new life before anyone else. Your gaze discreetly drops for a second to your abdomen, confirming the secret you’re carrying. No one pays much attention to that detail, and so everyone prepares to go inside.
But before you can move toward the entrance, a familiar commotion sounds in the distance. Soonyoung arrives with his little family, making his usual loud and energetic entrance, with his kids running alongside his chaos. Almost at the same time, Joshua arrives with his wife, and Seokmin with his fiancée. It seems you’re the last to join, because by the time you finally walk through the doors of the country club, the rest of the guys and their families are already settled.
The greeting is a beautiful mix of tight hugs, booming laughter, and overlapping conversations. The reason for the gathering is simple and ordinary: a group of longtime friends and colleagues who just want to catch up, reminisce about old times, and share the present with the special people who are now part of their lives.
Seungkwan and Seokmin waste no time starting the first round of jokes and uncontrollable laughter. In the middle of all the festive chaos, Wonwoo doesn’t let go of your hand for a single second. Everyone knows you well and there’s deep trust in the group, but the way he keeps you close feels almost instinctive, subtly making sure you feel comfortable at all times.
Little by little, everyone settles into the grassy area they had reserved. Picnic blankets are spread out, spaces filled with homemade dishes, fresh fruit, desserts, and drinks passed from hand to hand. The atmosphere becomes light and warm, filled with constant jokes, years of camaraderie, and genuine laughter echoing under the open sky.
The two of you were sitting together on the blanket, enjoying the gentle sun. Very close by were Mingyu, his wife who was sporting a very noticeable advanced pregnancy and their first child. While your husband and Mingyu chatted animatedly, catching up on everything, Yerin shared some of her pregnancy stories with you. You asked plenty of questions, genuinely interested in every detail of how she was feeling. No one suspected a thing; after all, you had always been just as curious with the other wives in the group during their previous pregnancies.
At some point later in the conversation, Yerin insisted you try some of the homemade kimchi Mingyu had prepared, swearing it turned out spectacular. You accepted with a polite smile, holding the container while handing her some of the meat you had made before leaving. When the two men noticed the exchange, they turned their attention toward you.
That was exactly when Wonwoo noticed. The moment the tray with kimchi was in your hands, all the color drained from your face. A pale tint washed over your skin, and you had to make a superhuman effort to suppress a treacherous gag that threatened to rise in your throat. Unable to hide it any longer, you quickly handed the tray back to him and stood up in a hurry, slipping your sandals on awkwardly.
“I forgot my phone in the car… I’m going to get it so I can take some pictures,” you excused yourself in a rushed voice. Without waiting for a reply, you practically fled toward the exit of the country club.
Yerin watched the path where you had just disappeared, then turned to your husband, puzzled. “Is everything okay with her? She seemed a bit off… or maybe it’s just my imagination.”
“She’s been a little sick since yesterday. But this morning she woke up feeling better and assured me she was well enough to come,” he answered calmly, trying not to raise any suspicions.
Mingyu, who had been quietly observing the scene while chewing, tilted his head and asked, half-joking but also genuinely curious: “And you’re sure it’s just a sickness? Or could it be something else?”
Wonwoo visibly tensed. His heart lurched violently as Mingyu’s words hit exactly on the suspicion he had been quietly carrying all day. “I’m going to check on her,” he declared without hesitation, excusing himself immediately and standing up.
When he reached the parking lot of the country club, he didn’t find you near the car. He walked a few steps further and spotted you coming out of a more secluded, discreet area. Your face was pale, your forehead covered in a light sweat, and your breathing was heavy. The world dropped from under his feet the moment he saw you in such a vulnerable state. Anguish tightened his chest, and he instinctively closed the distance between you in long strides.
“Baby, what’s wrong? What’s happening?” he asked, his eyes scanning you for any sign.
“I really needed to throw up. I’ve been holding it in for a while and couldn’t anymore,” you murmured, your voice breaking with exhaustion. Wonwoo didn’t say a single word in response.
Instead, without hesitation, he gently gathered you in his arms, carrying you so you wouldn’t have to walk. He took you straight to the car, opened the back door, and sat you carefully on the edge. Then he leaned in to search for your bag on the floor. He knew exactly what you always carried with you, so he carefully rummaged until he found your usual cloth handkerchief, the small portable fan, and some mints. He returned to you, crouched down to your level, and faced you directly. With incredibly gentle movements, he wiped your face with the handkerchief, slipped a mint into your mouth, and then turned on the portable fan, directing the cool air toward your sweaty skin.
“Would you rather we go home?” he asked, searching your eyes with a look full of devotion and genuine concern. “If you’re not feeling well, we can leave right now. There’s nothing we need to force, and we don’t have to risk your comfort. Or if you want, we can go straight to the doctor so they can check you…” He raised one hand and felt your forehead for fever. When he confirmed your temperature was normal, he didn’t pull away. Instead, he cupped your cheek, cradling your face. You leaned into his touch, letting out a long sigh of relief at the unique comfort that only his contact could bring you in a moment when you were battling not only physical discomfort but also the whirlwind of emotions surrounding your secret.
Wonwoo softly stroked your skin with his thumb. He hesitated for a moment, but finally spoke in a whisper full of tenderness and absolute sincerity.
“My love… Please be honest with me. Tell me what’s really going on. Does this have anything to do with the pregnancy test you hid in the bathroom this morning?” He paused briefly, his eyes flicking down to your bag. “The same one you’re now carrying in here…”
You froze. Surprise, horror, and shame flashed across your face in milliseconds. You felt as if a bucket of cold water had been poured down your back at being caught, completely stunned and at a loss for words. He offered you a small, closed-lip smile, looking slightly apologetic about how everything had come to light.
“I admire so much the effort you made today trying to handle something this overwhelming and much bigger than you on your own,” he continued, breaking the silence before panic could take over. “I respect your fear, because I know exactly how terrifying this is for you. But I would have loved to find out because you chose to tell me because you wanted to share what you were feeling with me… not because I found something you clearly didn’t want me to see.” He moved a little closer, still caressing your face.
“I’ve known since this morning. Actually… I suspected it even before you did, a few days ago. I just didn’t want to say anything because I know how difficult this topic is for you and how much the idea of motherhood has always scared you. But you’re not alone in this. You have me. I’m the dad of this baby, and I’m also your husband.”
Hearing his words, the heavy weight on your shoulders finally crumbled. You instinctively leaned into him, wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your face in the crook of his shoulder, seeking refuge.Without a second’s hesitation, he held you firmly. With a smooth, careful movement, he shifted positions: he sat where you had been and gently pulled you onto his lap. He pressed you against his chest and began rubbing your back with slow, soothing strokes.The silence stretched for several seconds, dense but strangely comforting until you finally stopped hiding.
You lifted your head to look at him and, in a whisper laced with slight frustration, asked: “How did you find it? I… was sure I had hidden it well.” Wonwoo let out a soft, deep chuckle. There was no mockery in it, only pure tenderness at the little disappointed pout on your face.
“Hiding it at the bottom of the clean towels drawer wasn’t your brightest plan. I just went to grab a towel to dry my face and saw the edge sticking out. I picked it up and… well, I saw the result,” he revealed with a spark of amusement, giving your hip a light squeeze. You closed your eyes and pressed your lips together in pure bewilderment before burying your face in his neck again. He chuckled once more, patting your back lovingly, though his tone grew much softer when he admitted, “I got a little scared at first too, you know? Seeing that clear, real result. But then I thought about how you felt last night, your strange behavior this morning, everything… and all the pieces fell into place. I wanted to wait for you to tell me, to give you your space. But when I saw you feeling so bad out here, I just couldn’t hold back anymore without knowing how you really were.”
You let out a long sigh and pulled back just enough to look him straight in the eyes.
“Wonu… yes, I’m pregnant,” you finally admitted out loud, letting the words take life in the air. And suddenly everything felt more real than ever. “But I really didn’t know how to process it at first. I panicked and thought the easiest thing was to hide it until I could figure out what to do. Though now I know that was really silly of me. Because you’re right it’s your baby too, and you’re my husband… I shouldn’t have hidden something so important from you, like the fact that we’re going to be parents. I’m sorry for reacting like that.”
Wonwoo gently shook his head and cradled your cheek. “You don’t have anything to apologize for. Everything is okay between us,” he assured you, a sincere smile lighting up his eyes and making the atmosphere feel much lighter. “I’m really grateful you’re telling me now. Because, to be honest… I’m incredibly excited about this. I was just trying to be patient and discreet because I know what this means to you.”
This time it was you who let out a soft laugh, the first genuine one all day. You shifted to straddle his lap so you could hug him tighter, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing your body against his. He returned the hug eagerly, holding you close to his chest as both of you released a sigh of pure relief.
“I love you so much, Jeon Wonwoo. I really do,” you murmured against his skin, kissing his jaw.
“And I love you, with all my soul,” he replied close to your ear, pulling you even closer. Then he pulled back just enough to look at you properly. “But this conversation doesn’t end here, okay? When we get home, we’ll sit down and talk calmly about everything: medical check-ups, monthly appointments, and the steps we’re going to take. Together, the way it should be.”
You nodded immediately. For the first time in hours, the idea of motherhood didn’t feel like a terrifying abyss. And then your heart literally melted as you watched him slowly lean down, his gaze dropping to your body. With a reverence that took your breath away, he lifted the fabric of your summer dress just enough to reach your abdomen. There, he placed several gentle kisses, tracing a warm path over your navel while caressing the subtle curve with his fingertips. He looked genuinely adorable like this, loving you and loving this little creation of his. He was happy, truly happy, and you could feel it. It was beautiful. It made you wonder how you could possibly be scared of something so wonderful? especially when this was your husband and his reaction.
After a good while of cuddles, caresses, and comforting words, you both straightened up a little and returned to the country club. The rest of the afternoon went wonderfully; the physical discomfort had eased, and the heaviness in your chest had completely disappeared.
Near the end of the gathering, while everyone was sharing dessert, Wonwoo held your hand firmly and they decided to share the big news. The reaction was a genuine explosion of joy. The guys made a beautiful commotion: there were tight hugs, congratulations mixed with laughter, and a wave of jokes directed at Wonwoo for officially joining the group’s “dad line.”
Later, amid well wishes, recommendations for a healthy pregnancy, and affectionate goodbyes, the lively gathering came to an end. Now you were heading back in the car, the atmosphere inside completely peaceful. You rested your head against the seat and, without anxiety or fear stirring inside you, fell deeply asleep, lulled by the soft hum of the engine and Wonwoo’s free hand gently caressing your abdomen. However, it wasn’t a very long rest. When you opened your eyes, the car was already parked. Looking out the window, you immediately recognized the place: you were at the memorial columbarium where your husband’s mother’s ashes rested.
“We’re here, baby,” he told you in a calm voice as he unbuckled his seatbelt. He got out, walked around the car, and opened your door, warmly offering his hand to help you out.
You walked together, fingers intertwined, through the silent and solemn hallways of the building. The atmosphere was serene, lit by warm lights and surrounded by small urns protected behind glass cases. He guided you effortlessly to his mother’s memorial niche. Once in front of the glass plaque, you opened your bag and took out the special items you had prepared with so much care: a small bouquet of fresh flowers and an artificial candle. He looked at you with infinite tenderness and kissed your forehead before helping you arrange the offerings in the niche. Then he gazed at the photograph of his mother behind the glass.
“Hi, Mom…” he greeted softly, briefly resting his hand on the glass as if caressing her face in the photo. “I hope you’re well, wherever you are. I came to visit you, just like I originally planned. But it turns out I’m also bringing you some very special news.”
He turned slightly toward you, wrapped his arm around your waist, and pulled you to his side. His hand easily covered the subtle curve marked under your dress. He also gave you a quick kiss on the crown of your head.
“We’re going to be parents. This wonderful woman beside me is carrying our little baby, and that makes me happier than words can say. I want to ask you to please watch over us from up there… especially this little person who is now joining our family. And who will come to say hello once they’re here with us.”
You also leaned slightly toward the glass case, offering your mother-in-law some sweet and sincere words, promising to take care of her son and the new life on the way. Wonwoo gave her a summary of how his younger brother and dad were doing, and how they still remembered her with the greatest love. The moment was filled with pure, transparent emotion.
Eventually, after a few final minutes of respectful silence, you said your goodbyes and slowly walked back toward the exit.
Once outside, under the afternoon sky beginning to tint with orange hues, Wonwoo stopped and pulled you into a long, deep embrace, breathing in the scent of your hair.
“Thank you, my love…” he murmured, his voice thick with raw emotion. “Thank you for being my partner, for loving me the way you do, for always taking care of me, and for giving me the most beautiful honor in the world, becoming a dad by your side.”
You smiled against his chest, feeling your heart fill with absolute fullness. You rose onto your tiptoes to reach his lips.
“Thank you. For being exactly the incredible person you are.”
He smiled against your lips, sealing the promise of a shared future with a slow, sweet, unhurried kiss as the evening breeze wrapped around you in a perfect moment.
