✧✎ synopsis: wonwoo knew what it was like to meet your parents - a total shit show. unfortunately, he doesn't have the best rapport with his family, either. but you're already in seoul, changwon is just one car ride away, and you need to wear your new wardrobe somewhere.
pairing: fem!reader x wonwoo
word count: 10.1k
genres/tropes: meeting parents for the first time, angst, emotional soup, comfort, smut
(!) warnings: tense family dynamics, arguing, reader throws up - likely more but it's pretty light in terms of my usual angst xD
✧✎ a/n: this is the epilogue i vaguely mentioned releasing for my wonwoo series, HER, posted summer 2024 :D consequently 🤓☝️ i will say it's important to have read the series first bc inevitablyyy the epilogue references back to the series. who woulda thunk.
this kinda sprung abt unexpectedly but i needed a teensy break from my seungcheol fic which hahahahah is NOWHERE NEAR DONE but i'm steadily chipping away at it (not really).
AS ALWAYS, one thing you need for this raggedy ass blog is patience and for that - my meandering, dilly-dallying self thx you!
PLEASE NOTE: bolded text implies the characters are conversing in korean! just like the og series!
❤️ LASTLY - GIVING BACK ❤️
as it is the holidays, and in the merry fairy spirit of generosity, i am including a donation aspect to this fic, similar to ghost ride! for every comment this fic receives (including comments in reblogs obvs) from today to dec 31st, i will make a $1 donation to The Ottawa Mission! during this time period, the mission matches ur donation!
i've seen firsthand how rapidly disseminating the homeless population has become in ott. donations help the campaign continue to provide support, resources, and shelter to the homeless!
ty everyone <3 🎊
When Wonwoo saw his older brother standing across the expanse of bright, sinisterly white airport, a part of him caught fire like a sleeve held too close to a candlestick. Bohyuk, already grinning without end (a perfected grin at that) as Wonwoo maneuvered his way between the crowds, hauling along his single, practical suitcase meanwhile his arms burned with the strength of also carrying your numerous bags. But he wouldn’t complain. You were slicing through the airport like you owned it, your brisk, intentional walk the same kind of perfect as his brother’s smile.
You reached Bohyuk, then paused, staring over your shoulder in demanding question until your eyes stuck to the diligent boyfriend readjusting a backpack slipping off his shoulder.
“Wonwoo!” you called, waving him over.
He wanted to drop all the bags to the floor the second he joined you, his arms continuing to ache. Bohyuk was still smiling—more of a smirk, now—when you helped Wonwoo untangle all the dangling weight, arranging the bags around your feet in that typical prim nature. Quickly, you dusted his hair off, like you were attempting to make him presentable to meet his own brother. Like Bohyuk hadn’t been the one to give Wonwoo a haircut in their aunt’s washroom when they were children. A haircut that resulted in Wonwoo’s entire head getting a rabid-looking chainsawed buzzcut.
Wonwoo sighed. “Stop smiling.”
And Bohyuk grabbed him, pulled him in tight with a guttural slap on the back that caused Wonwoo to cough up half an oatmeal cookie he ate on the plane. The embrace was awkward at first, but then Wonwoo started to relax. He could hear the passing flitters of his birth language. Recognize his brother’s heartbeat. Smell the faintest tinges of a native Korean dish lingering on Bohyuk’s clothes.
His brother’s big hand immediately ruffled the hair that you had just brushed into place. “A face I thought I would only see over screens for the rest of my life,” Bohyuk hummed, at last giving Wonwoo some space. “Good to see you.” He then proceeded to eye you, surrounded by bags, waiting calmly for your introduction.
You had been practicing your Korean quite piously. It frustrated you, turned your mouth in circles, had you jumping up and down on his bed, screaming at your language app like there was someone underneath your phone screen cowering in peril for making the lesson too confusing. But you stuck with it, Wonwoo doing his best to teach you what mattered and not all the complicated frills.
Bohyuk smiled when your pronunciation was just right.
“Very good,” he commended, firmly shaking your hand. “Lots of practice here. Has my brother been a pleasant teacher?”
You nibbled your lip for a moment. Bohyuk repeated himself and your face lit up. “Oh! Yes! He is a good teacher!” you replied, bobbing on your heels, clearly a bit proud you understood.
Bohyuk laughed. He then bent down, gathering your bags. “Great. You can tell me how he really is in English.”
Although his older brother still carried a thicker accent, he was pretty well-versed in English as a second language. Wonwoo had almost lost his accent entirely at that point, although it slipped out between particular words on occasion, or during jumbled, heated arguments (often, with you), over stupid things. “My family always played stacking! It makes the game more fun!” – “Fun? I don’t wanna have the entire deck in my fucking hand after five minutes.” – “Then be more skilled!” – “It’s chance. Not skill.” – “That’s exactly what an unskilled person would say.”
You and Wonwoo followed Bohyuk toward the exit. He felt your hand nudge his and he promptly interlaced your fingers.
“Well?” Your eyebrows wriggled. “Are you feeling alright?”
Wonwoo nodded. “Yeah.”
“He seemed happy to see you.”
“I’m sure he’s missed bullying me.” He couldn’t help but deflect from the intimate moment, tonguing the inside of his cheek.
“Don’t deflect.”
How acute.
Wonwoo sighed. “I know he’s happy. We’ve talked a lot on the phone about things. He’ll dig into me more later. He’s surgical.”
You squeezed his hand, always the gentle cue to rewire his mind from being cynical to human. “He cares,” you pitted tenderly.
For the first week, Wonwoo and you were staying with his older brother and wife, Nari, at their chic, top-floor, two-level penthouse amongst a lavish hub in Seoul.
They both made good money, the kind that earned them gaping glass windows, a kitchen fit for an entire brigade of chefs, silk-sheeted bedrooms, and a washroom with a large enough counter that you physically gasped upon peeking inside. Dinner was on them, Bohyuk insisted, and the fragrant smells of fresh spring onion, roasted sesame oil, and steaming salmon pulled the travel sickness straight from his stomach and replaced it with hunger.
You relaxed on the bed, toes twiddling, taking in the room, while Wonwoo zipped open his suitcase, pulling out his laptop.
“Nari is so kind. Did you see the hot towel she gave me?”
He nodded, unwinding his charger. “She loves having people over. I think they haven’t had guests in a while.” Reaching under the desk, he plugged his block into the outlet. “And, uh…” Wonwoo grunted, attempting not to bang his head. “Via my passing anecdotes of you, they may possibly have the impression you’re… high maintenance.” Wonwoo was back on his feet, about to grimace.
But your lips were pursed, and you merely shrugged. “I am.”
“I know you are.”
“Why did you say it like it’s a bad thing?”
“It’s not,” Wonwoo responded, wandering back to his suitcase and pulling out a camera you had bought him. “It’s just different to what Jeanie was like. I think I was giving them a little whiplash.”
“Well, I’m glad they know,” you declared, clucking. “That’s why I got a hot towel and you didn’t.” He watched in amusement as your tongue poked out at him, your foot toeing his arm. “Loser.”
“Say cheese,” Wonwoo said, bringing the camera to his eye, taking a brief second to focus the lens. The shutter snapped. “Great. I now have a photo of your beautiful smile right after degrading me.”
“Degrading men makes me smile. And you like it.”
“Why don’t you see if Nari needs any help with dinner?”
“Why? Because I’m a woman? And women belong in the kitchen?” you teased, beginning to shuffle off the bed, unhurried.
“Please go ask.”
“Now you’re bossing me around. I’m not your doormat.”
He stuck a kiss to your cheek on your way past him. “Thanks.”
Although you had left the bedroom, Bohyuk replaced your presence a few minutes later. He waltzed toward Wonwoo, his slicked hair not moved an inch, hands tucked into the pockets on his ironed pants, white t-shirt sculpted to his torso in a way that wouldn’t work for anybody else but him. Bohyuk was always so put-together. It was like he came that way, straight from a manufactured box. That had always consistently annoyed Wonwoo because on the contrary he felt as though he came disassembled and had spent his entire life looking for his own instructions. But Bohyuk was his brother, and despite their arguments, their differences, petty squabbles, he was once the steadfast compass Wonwoo took guidance from.
“Still shoving everything into one suitcase?” Bohyuk humoured. “You’re here for more than a month, you know.”
Wonwoo shrugged. “I don’t wear that many things.”
“You’ve always been quite minimalist.”
He pulled out a tiny toiletries bag. “Mom’s ways.”
“It’s great that you’re here,” Bohyuk said, staring at his younger brother with a sunny warmth Wonwoo pretended not to feel.
“Yeah.”
“Means you’re healing.”
Wonwoo scoffed, smirked a little. “Shut up, Bohyuk.”
He moved past the tender insult in a heartbeat. “I was so worried about you over there, even when you were staying with Uncle Geom. Even when you became so capable, I still couldn’t stop worrying. I would try to call you, even though I knew you wouldn’t answer, because at least you’d decline me and I’d have some semblance you were managing. Now you’re here. Not just a name.”
Wonwoo flipped his suitcase shut, rubbing into his eye so that his brother became uncoordinated stars. “You’ve told me this already, over the phone,” he sighed cumbersomely. “I know, Bohyuk.”
“But I wanted to say it to your face,” he affirmed. “Your stupid, silly, oddly mature little face,” Bohyuk started teasing, reaching out to pinch Wonwoo’s slender cheek. “Not as much fat here.”
Consequently, Wonwoo swatted his hand away.
“I can see you’re trying,” Bohyuk noticed. “Not hiding. Not pretending. Not dipping in your toe and calling it quits. You’re trying.”
Wonwoo nodded, hoping he wouldn’t flush. Bohyuk’s compliments were always purposeful. There wasn’t any gaudiness, or flattering. He could deconstruct the one thing you wanted to hear and roll it out at your feet before you even took stock. Wonwoo could feel his smile flickering. He promptly rubbed the back of his neck and let the smile take over despite his coyness; his way of thanking Bohyuk without forcing awkward, stilted acceptance from his teeth.
“I’m looking forward to understanding more about this eclectic girlfriend of yours who was walking through the airport like a runway,” Bohyuk pointed out, not bothering to minimize his smirk. “She has presence. I like that.” Glancing at his glitzy watch, Bohyuk proceeded to mumble about checking on dinner. Before he left Wonwoo to continue sorting through his suitcase, he paused at the door, tapped the frame. “By the way, upstairs is more soundproof than you think. Take that as you will.”
Nari certainly hadn’t skimped on the cooking. The dining table was intricately organized; an assortment of dishes that were colourful, steaming, and painfully familiar to Wonwoo in a way that almost made him teary-eyed as he pulled out his seat next to yours.
She had prongs in her hand, pointing out every dish, some not as cultural compared to the hearty budae jjigae stew, others a little easier to palate for a newcomer, such as the geotjeori that Bohyuk was already eyeing. There was a sweet salmon dish. Classic mashed potatoes. Glistening pork dumplings. Wonwoo felt like he was at the forefront of a personalized buffet and his appetite-dappled-homesickness was pulling all the strings. Still, he collected your plate and served you first, making sure to explain everything a little more thoroughly in his hushed English while Nari and Bohyuk began filling their plates. Of course, you were willing to try everything.
Upon Wonwoo’s first bite of warm stew, he melted back in his chair, tempted to moan because the flavours were destined bliss on his tongue and his body felt the immediate surge of comfort. Bohyuk was smiling at him, watching, knowing his brother like a fingerprint.
“Fuck me. Oh, fuck.”
Everyone paused in their slurping and chewing.
Your eyes widened subtly. “Oh, sorry. Um—this here—I can’t remember the name. It’s just really good. Pardon my language.”
Bohyuk laughed, exchanged a tender glance with Nari as she shook her head in amusement and went back to her spicy noodles.
“It’s a dumpling soup,” Bohyuk added.
You nodded. “It’s delicious.”
“Do you drink wine?”
As if you weren’t sated enough, you grinned. “I do.”
“Perfect,” Bohyuk said, excusing himself from the table. “I’ll grab some. We have a friend who makes their own wine, actually. We were sent this new flavour.” He opened the double-doored fridge and pulled out a chilled white bottle. “Oh, strawberry mango. Does that sound good? Honey, have you tried this one yet?”
Nari shook her head.
Bohyuk fetched everyone glasses.
“Oh, Wonwoo, are you drinking?” his brother asked upon pausing the perspiring bottle just above his crystal.
“I won’t have any right now.”
“Tea, Wonwoo?” Nari questioned; her expression thoughtful, considerate, always attentive. “I can make green tea.”
“No need. We can finish eating first.”
Dinner was everything Wonwoo needed. It wasn’t too conversation heavy, which he was thankful for. He just wanted to stuff his face with childhood delicacies and not have to worry about threading together his entire story since leaving Korea. Still, there were some questions every now and then, mostly directed at the newcomer, you, already on your second wine glass, your plate a decorated mess, your leg twitching with the urge to pull it up onto the seat and tear the food apart with your hands—or as Wonwoo called it—“goblin mode”—when you were at your most comfortable.
Bohyuk would have loved it.
Nari, however, was a bit more buttoned-up.
Everyone did their part in washing dishes, putting containers away, and wiping down the table after supper was done. Rather than a late night, there was an unspoken decision to turn in early, a general sense of fullness, laziness, deep in the atmosphere like a thick snow.
Wonwoo poked back into the upstairs bedroom. You were fanned out over the seafoam sheets, one of your clay face masks brushed to your skin, fitted in a pink headband to keep your hair away.
“I’m about to go comatose,” you muttered, fighting a yawn.
“It’s possible you ate more than Bohyuk.”
“I think he was avoiding the potatoes for me.”
He chuckled, coming to sit next to your ankle, still fixed with a delicate bracelet you forgot to remove. “Well, Nari makes excellent mashed potatoes. But I think he’s cutting back on starch.”
“It was all so good,” you hummed.
Wonwoo nodded, sliding the bracelet off your ankle. “It was.”
Settling an arm behind your head, you peeked down at him, the beginnings of a faint smile wrinkling under the clay mask. “You looked happy… really happy,” you murmured. “I’m glad we’re here.”
He shifted your ankle into his lap, began to rub the sole of your foot with firm movements from his thumbs. “Me too,” Wonwoo agreed, enjoying the manner in which your body mellowed even further. “I’m glad you came with me. It takes some of the pressure off, you know? There’s another person. Way more interesting than me.”
You giggled, wriggled your toes. “No problem.”
“They like you,” he decided to assure.
You shrugged. “Bohyuk does.”
“There’s just more of a language barrier with Nari,” he reasoned, pressing along a sinewy groove of your bare foot that made your chest arch in delight. “Her English is around the level of your Korean. And you’re quite bold. She’s not exactly like that, so it’s something you have to give some time.” Wonwoo then leaned forward, close to your face, studying the wide, observant wells of your eyes before softly brushing his lips to yours. “You’re doing great.”
“Thanks,” you whispered, placing a hand to his cheek and running your thumb just under his glasses. “I should wash this off.”
He smiled, giving you space to squirm off the bed.
The week to follow was a whirlwind for Wonwoo, although he already knew you would be keen to explore as opposed to staying most days in at his brother’s penthouse. He brought a book to read during his downtime. Since he stepped foot in Seoul, into his brother’s opulent, twinkling home, Wonwoo hadn’t read more than ten goddamn pages.
Nonetheless, he still brought the novel everywhere he went, hoping he could be afforded just one paragraph.
He was in and out of shopping centres, cosmetic shops, shoe stores, cafés, and tourist attractions as though he were tethered to your hip, but you needed somebody to hold your bag, help you slide into heels, give you advice on which perfume smelled best even when his head was an aching hurricane of rose and vanilla and hibiscus and sandalwood. You needed someone to take your photograph. Carry even more shopping bags. Buy your lunch. Help translate ingredient lists. Turn you in the right direction. Fetch your credit card.
Wonwoo spotted Bohyuk seated outside a clothing store you were currently surfing, guarding your hoard of bags while drinking leisurely from his coffee. At last, you had dismissed him, because evidently, he was not educated enough on the nature of cool versus warm tones, gold versus silver, summer versus winter, and whatever the hell that amounted to when choosing a halter top. The salesclerk helping you could speak English, anyway. He wasn’t really needed.
He slipped into the chair adjacent to his brother’s.
“Does she want to return something?” Bohyuk asked.
“No. Apparently I don’t know anything about colours,” Wonwoo sighed, feeling ever so slightly bitter.
“Oh—” Bohyuk grunted, setting down the book he brought with him and folding his slim reading glasses into a pocket on his t-shirt, “—cool versus warm?”
“Why does everyone know about this but me?”
“I didn’t know either until I met Nari. She used to work in retail. Knew a lot about that colour-matching stuff.”
Upon eying his older brother’s coffee, Bohyuk nudged it toward him. The flavour was slightly sweet, caramel-like, akin to something you would enjoy. Wonwoo preferred his coffees straight. Still, he needed the caffeine. The mall was desiccating his energy.
“No need to be hard on yourself,” Bohyuk reassured, swiping a hand along the clean groove of his gelled hair. “You’ve been quite submissive to all her whims this week.”
Wonwoo scooted the coffee away. “I like helping her.”
“You’re something like an unpaid personal assistant,” his brother humoured, leaning forward on his elbows, meaning to impose his younger brother in a way he knew would irk him.
But Wonwoo shrugged, uninterested, tired.
“Not the reaction I was expecting,” Bohyuk chuckled.
“Because I know what you’re doing.”
“What’s that?”
Wonwoo proceeded to throw Bohyuk a dry, coarse look.
His older brother smirked; lip pursed. “It’s nice that you’re not so defensive. There was once a time I’d say something far less provocative and you'd nearly be at my throat."
“I’m well aware.”
“You know how much worse it will be with Mom.”
At that, Wonwoo tensed. With you keeping him busy all week, such thoughts only skimmed the surface of his ruminating without ever puncturing. But now there was a lapse. Now Wonwoo was remembering how straightforward his mother could be, a knife that always hit its target no matter the angle it was thrown from. He still felt the sharp winces in his spine from some of her previous comments—mostly judgements about his decisions, comparisons to his successful older brother who ‘didn’t need to go grovelling somewhere afar because he knew where home was’, how Wonwoo’s apathetic pallid was laziness, never depression—and he felt the nail of his index finger automatically push against the scar on his thumb.
Wonwoo exhaled, scratched his head. “I know.”
“But I’ll be there,” Bohyuk mollified, softening his expression. “She thinks your defensiveness has always been proof she’s right. You can’t give her that. I think, honestly, what she wants is for you to stand up to her, show her you’re confident and trying. Otherwise she’ll just peck and peck. And…” Bohyuk glanced across the mall, toward the store you were now leaving with a tiny bag hanging from your wrist. “You know she’ll have something to say about her.”
Wonwoo started bouncing his knee. “I know.”
“Hey, hey—guess what?!” you squeaked, throwing yourself into another chair at the table. “I got the perfect halter top! That lady really knew a lot about colours. She had this sheet, full of swatches, and she damn near gave me a full consultation for free!”
Bohyuk nursed his coffee. “Colour-matching is big here.”
“Seems so. Hey—where did you get that drink?”
He pointed down the mall. “There’s a small café.”
“Really? Is yours good?”
“Try it,” Bohyuk said, passing you his now communal cup.
After an inspecting, throaty sip, you nodded. “I love that.”
“I can get you one.”
“Really? Okay. That would be awesome. Thank you.”
Bohyuk offered you a polite, dazzling smile, then tucking his book away into his favourite cross-body bag before leaving you alone.
You glanced at Wonwoo. “You okay? I noticed your leg.”
“Just trying to keep myself awake,” Wonwoo hummed. He didn’t quite feel like bringing up the tribulations with his mother amidst the noisy mall. “Sorry that I couldn’t help out in there.”
He felt your soft, smooth hand settle over his. “You don’t have to apologize for that. I figured you needed a moment anyway when you almost walked straight into a mannequin and didn’t notice.”
Wonwoo smiled a little, shaking his head.
You scooted your chair in closer, your knee pushing purposefully into his under the table. “Once Bohyuk grabs my coffee, we’ll head back. I promise no shopping or wandering tomorrow.”
“No, you don’t need to promise that,” Wonwoo chuckled, wrapping his finger around yours. “I want you to get the most out of this trip; do whatever makes you feel happy.”
“Yes, shopping obsessively and bossing you around does make me happy,” you agreed, nodding factually. “But when it’s just us, I’m even happier.” The hand slipped from over his and found Wonwoo’s knee instead, fingers squeezing, a shiver lingering along his neck.
He smiled at you, loving how lissomly you made the world around him fall away until the ache in his head flurried.
“I can’t wait to see the top,” Wonwoo murmured, flirtatiously pushing his knee into yours. “You’ll have to show me tonight.”
“Just the top?”
He shrugged; a bit cocky. “Up to your discretion.”
As promised, the next day was lazy.
Neither of you set an alarm. There was no urgency to wake up early and cram the day with costly adventuring and sightseeing.
Yesterday’s shopping bags swarmed your side of the room.
The bedsheets were a tangled, sloppy mess. Wonwoo was just coming to, feeling the spry behind his eyelids, faintly overhearing your muttered, unconscious ramblings that drifted in and out of sensible. He rolled onto his other side, sliding his arms deep underneath the cool, silk pillow, and enjoyed observing the bare curve of your exposed back. The sleep talk never really bothered him. He liked listening to the odd drawls that your sluggish mind somehow managed to communicate, even when you were impossibly asleep.
“Not that… no… not… I want it there… not that…”
Wonwoo rubbed into his eye, half-smiling.
“There… when you go over, it’s not there. Please.”
It rarely made sense.
“I’m going… turn it off, then tell me to go.”
Sometimes he would try to interpret. Give your unconscious ramblings a real story. You were never aware of what you said. The sleepy haze of your morning discussions always spread with laughter as you brayed in disbelief at his retellings—“I did not say that! You stupid liar!”—followed by a pillow smacked ungraciously against his face. Nonetheless, it turned Wonwoo’s general lacklustre for mornings into something ineffably fond. A moment of hearing your groggy voice, feeling your skin warm and rubbing against his, smelling your soap. It was poetic. Love sharpened to a point, but still soft. Wonwoo reached for his glasses, giving your frame pronunciation. When you didn’t set an alarm, you could sleep well past lunch. There was no indication you were going to wake up.
Wonwoo decided to leave you be, parting ways from the bed with a chaste kiss to your shoulder. He got dressed, picking up discarded clothes from the night before, at last sliding into an oversized quarter-zip that smelled more like your signature strawberry scent than his own cologne. Down in the kitchen, Nari was already preparing breakfast. She was typically the first one awake, of the same productive, neat, steady nature as Bohyuk.
“Need any help?” Wonwoo queried, his voice still hoarse.
She turned, baring her seraphic smile. “Sure.”
He helped Nari cut some vegetables for an omelette. There was already coffee brewing, a nutty dark roast, and the smell stuck comfortingly in his nose. A few minutes later, she slid him a mug.
“Thanks.”
Nari had a quaint, fragile-looking cup in her hand, stirring around a teabag. “I can’t believe this week is almost over.”
He pushed aside some chives with his knife. “Yeah.”
“I really do hope the two of you have enjoyed your stay. We’ve been looking forward to it all summer.”
Wonwoo smiled, briefly adjusting his glasses before chopping a pepper. “It’s been amazing, Nari. We’re so grateful.”
She nodded, accepting the compliment, although her fingers rubbed together for a moment, a bit stiff. “Has she been enjoying her stay, too? I can’t read her very well. I suppose it’s the language barrier. She’s been out of the house so much.”
He decided to put the knife down, figuring this conversation might spring up when you weren’t around. “I can assure you she’s been enjoying her stay, Nari,” Wonwoo laughed. “I promise you. It’s not often we get to be this downtown in Seoul, and there’s a lot she wanted to do and see. But she’s very grateful. Just like I am.” He swung his coffee closer, blowing at the steam and appreciating that first careful sip.
Nari nodded, seeming at ease. “Thank you, Wonwoo.”
After eating breakfast together, admiring the Seoul cityscape, and catching up on some Bohyuk lore he probably shouldn't know, Nari at last sent Wonwoo upstairs with some sort of fruity green tea she brewed especially for you. But when he pushed open the bedroom door, wondering if he should wake you, he was abruptly caught off guard by your hushed, tentative crying, the bedsheets pulled into a large lump over your lap. Wonwoo hurried to your side of the bed, leaving the hot tea next to your water bottle on the nightstand.
“What’s wrong?” he urged you in a gentle tone, leaning in close and instinctively reaching for your damp, blotchy cheek.
You huffed, shoulders limp. “I’m fucking nervous.”
“Okay,” Wonwoo murmured. “About what?”
Another big, quivering huff. You met his eyes, and there was a vulnerable, sensitive energy he seldom saw from you. “About meeting your parents,” you confessed, another tear hitting his hand. He stroked it away, listened to your congested fears. “I’m afraid they’ll think I’m terrible for you. That my Korean isn’t good enough. I thought I was doing well but I can hardly hold a conversation with Nari. And they’ll probably think I’m so materialistic and shallow. I mean, look at all the fucking shit I have to bring to Changwon—” you flung out a hand toward the cluttered shopping bags, “—I look like a gold digger! And what if I say something stupid? Or do something stupid? I don’t want to give them any reason that I’m not good enough for you, but I’m so fucking scared I’ll do it anyway, Wonwoo.”
You shook your head and leaned over, losing the warmth of his hand against your supple cheek. “It’s making me think back to my mom, you know. How everything had to be so perfect. How much it tormented me. And I want to be myself. I want to be honest with your parents. But what if they hate that? What if they don’t like the fake me or the real me? Then what? I’m just fucking screwed, aren’t I?”
Wonwoo squeezed beside you on the bed.
“Come here,” he whispered.
Although you were hesitant, rigid with worry and the looming uncertainty of the Changwon trip, you were never any good at neglecting his touch. Gradually, you unwound. You climbed into his lap, reached an arm around his neck, felt the thick fleece of his blue quarter-zip especially fluffy against your bare skin. Wonwoo held you close, one hand settled on your knee with familiar steadiness.
“My dad’s pretty mellow,” he sighed. “My mom isn’t the easiest to win over. She’s got teeth. But do you remember what I said to you when you were freaking out at your family dinner last year?”
Sniffling, you nodded. “I’m not going to abandon you.”
Wonwoo gripped your knee. “Exactly. Nothing’s changed.”
“I know…” you mumbled in begrudging acceptance. “But my own family doesn’t even like me that much. I don’t know what the fuck I’m supposed to do if your family doesn’t like me either.”
“Bohyuk and Nari are my family, too,” he chuckled. “They like you. They’ll be on your side. Whatever happens, you’ve got us.”
“Yeah… I guess.”
He kissed your forehead sweetly in the centre. “Okay?”
You nuzzled into his neck, finding the crux of an attractive musk that dilated your chest with stillness. At last, your shoulders unpinned.
“Okay.”
“Nari made tea for you, by the way.”
“She did?” you perked up; your breath warm on his skin.
“Yeah. Green tea. Pomegranate or mango or something.” He helped hand you the mug from the nightstand, tucking some matted hairs away from your forehead and cheeks as you took a tiny sip.
During the drive to Changwon, you were quieter than usual, keeping your hands tucked together in the lap of your floral white sundress. Bohyuk was driving with his window down, Nari beside him in the passenger seat, eating chopped dragon fruit using a toothpick, her hair occasionally fluttering amongst the stronger gusts of a summer breeze. Wonwoo had his book. It was a good opportunity to read, but his mind couldn’t have been less interested. Every time your shoulders rose, every time you scratched your face, every time you toyed with the heel of your sandal, Wonwoo’s concern was blistering.
Although he tried not to make it obvious.
He would mostly side-eye you, or give you a proper glance and a stupid, smudgy little smile that you blinked weirdly at because why the hell are you staring at me like a Cabbage Patch Doll?
Then his phone buzzed.
A text message from you: i’m okay stop staring
His reply: 👎
“Any places you two will be visiting, hm?” Bohyuk asked from the front seat, his steely designer sunglasses glinting in the rear-view.
Wonwoo shrugged. “The waterpark, maybe.”
“It’s closed now, you know.”
You scratched your nose again, ankle bobbing. “Like no one’s ever trespassed before.” He could sense an undertone of impatience.
Bohyuk guffawed. “True. Don’t say that to our Mom, though.”
“There’s lots of lovely parks,” Nari added. “There’s a hot spring, isn’t there, dear? And you took me to Yeojwacheon Romance Bridge on my first visit.”
“Lots of beautiful parks,” Bohyuk agreed, catching his brother’s eye in the mirror. “They’ll manage just fine.”
However, the closer everyone came to Wonwoo and Bohyuk’s childhood home amongst the rural greenery of Changwon, the stranger you started to act. You had rolled down your window, practically gulping in the wind as it came scything through, clinging to the verdant smell of the creeks, the sun-warmed dirt kicked up by Bohyuk’s SUV, the late blossoms losing their colour. Nari kept eying you. Bohyuk offered you water at least three separate times. Wonwoo knew you didn’t want to be bothered, so he sucked back his worry.
Less than a kilometer from his parents’ house, however, you inexorably cracked, suddenly imploring Bohyuk to pull over along the bush-stippled road. The second the car stopped, you damn near kicked open the heavy door, rushing off behind a tree.
“God—is she okay?” Nari warbled, cupping her mouth.
Bohyuk gripped the steering wheel hard. “I noticed she was looking pretty ill about half an hour ago. Poor thing.”
A moment later, you stepped away from the tree, the back of your hand wiping winsomely against your mouth, your skin shining with perspiration when you returned under the August sun.
“Don’t say anything,” Wonwoo warned sharply. “Bo, give me the water.” His brother stuck the bottle backward.
You gripped the car door left ajar.
“Here,” Wonwoo offered.
Without a word, you snatched the plastic bottle from his hand, tore the cap off, and took a large swig that filled your cheeks.
Then you turned around and spat it all out.
Another wipe of your mouth. A very feeble, “thanks.”
You settled back into the car, the door pulled shut.
“Fuck. Anyone have gum?”
Bohyuk passed you a container of mints.
Not a word was said until Wonwoo and Bohyuk were home.
It was all a bit incongruous, to stand in the poorly lit, slim entryway of a home he had nearly exiled, feeling like he didn’t quite belong despite the surging memories that proved otherwise. That one stained, foggy photograph of his maternal great-great grandparents hadn’t moved from the wall. His mother’s slippers were even more worn than he remembered, the heels somehow flatter than paper. Even the air persisted to smell the same: like a plain wax candle melted down to a glossy lump, washed starch, and an aged oil his mother rubbed on her hands every morning.
Their single washroom was tinier to Wonwoo. His head was half cut-off in the mirror above the sink. The kitchen hadn’t experienced this many bodies tightly minnowing around each other since a childhood Christmas party. Nari and Bohyuk weren’t staying for more than a few days. They had important jobs in Seoul. True professionals. No time to avoid work and make people wait.
“My beautiful, handsome sons!” his mother had professed, practically squishing Wonwoo and Bohyuk’s heads together as she kissed each of their cheeks. “And my effortlessly gorgeous Nari!” Another hug to her only daughter-in-law.
“Nice to see you didn’t forget us,” Wonwoo’s father hummed amidst their more personal embrace in the living room, his body feeling bonier, thinner, and yet Wonwoo hugged him tighter anyway, grateful to hear that dry, familiar rasp in his ear.
You introduced yourself to Wonwoo’s father first. He was immensely pleased, smiling wide the entire time, gripping both your hands in his and offering a fairly steep bow despite his knotty back.
“Welcome to our home. It’s not much, but anything we can do to accommodate you, please let us know.”
Wonwoo briefly translated for you.
All you could earnestly repeat were cheerful thank you’s.
There was much settling to do. Spaces to figure out. As children, Wonwoo and Bohyuk shared a single bedroom at the end of a hallway, but as they grew older, more defiant, keen for individualism and independence, Wonwoo moved upstairs into a sun-baked room with a slanted ceiling that had once been a storage space.
He took you inside.
Thankfully his father had installed an air conditioning unit just outside the window a month before the trip. Unlike the brutal, sweltering summer days of his childhood spent wriggling around in his own sweat, the space was much cooler. It seemed some stray boxes had been moved back into the room, piled up in a corner.
However, not much of Wonwoo remained inside.
Nothing but a crude, crayon drawing of his old cat.
You dumped yourself onto the creaky bed.
He sat beside you. “Feeling any better?”
“I don’t know…” you muttered, thumbs massaging underneath your eyebrows. “I mean, your Dad seemed to really like me. He looked super happy I’m here. But your Mom has hardly breathed my way. She was all over Nari. I wanted to introduce myself but she was so busy helping us move shit from the car.”
Wonwoo huffed, amused. “She hustles.” He then settled his hand onto your thigh, breathed in the room’s coolness and your sweet, peachy sunblock. “I’m sure she wants to talk to you. I know she does, actually. There’s always a moment. She waits for it.”
“Yeah…” you sighed; cheek slumped on his shoulder. “Sorry I was being so moody during the car ride. I was trying to talk myself down but that somehow only made my nerves expand.”
“I get it,” Wonwoo said with an easy smile. “I sorta felt the same when I was meeting your parents. I snapped a little at Vernon.”
You splintered into laughter. “What is it about meeting parents that makes us fucking demonic? They’re just people, really, like us. Albeit people we’re trying to impress, but still people. My mom has a goddamn DUI. Who cares about impressing her?”
Wonwoo’s grin pressed against the crown of your head, still a bit warm with lingering nausea, his fingers wrapping thick around your inner thigh. “I know. It’s cruel, isn’t it? But I couldn’t even be bothered to care if you don’t impress them. I’m fucking impressed by you.” He nuzzled a kiss to your temple, started to chuckle. “Was it weird that you made throwing up stomach acid look attractive?”
“No. Not at all. Hey—should I go goblin mode at dinner tonight?”
“Yes. Definitely.”
“Alright... now you’re just setting me up for failure.”
He shrugged, his fingers dancing along your spine. “Failing in front of my parents is nothing I haven’t already done. Go ahead.”
Dinner was almost over. Plates were rather bare, nothing but streaks of sauces, clean bones, and crumpled wrappers from the chilled plantain tarts Wonwoo’s mother prepared. The conversation started loud and animated, then slowly peddled into a languorous lull the more people ate. Subsequently, amongst the slaked silence, his mother at last let her eyes fall over you for more than a thin moment and she offered a smile bereft of the softness everyone else received.
She said your name in an inquisitive, accented coo.
At once you snapped into complete alertness, distracted from licking some sauce off your finger. You straightened, looked calm.
“What’s your family like?”
You blinked. Wonwoo knew you understood the question but the moment was so sudden that the words were strictly foreign.
Bohyuk murmured a translation into your ear and Wonwoo almost glared at him for not giving your brain the chance to click.
“Uh… selfish, I think. And opportunistic. Which I guess might fall under the category of selfish. Childish, too. Rarely organized, although from the outside that sounds unbelievable. I don’t really enjoy being around them, and they don’t like being around me, so we haven’t spoken a lot. But… it’s right. I can’t give in because then I would be enabling everything. How they treat me. Uh, yeah.”
Immediately, Bohyuk’s eyes were beading into his younger brother with an unspoken question of are you actually going to translate that? Wonwoo returned his brother a simplistic half-shrug.
He translated every word, as precise as possible.
His father nodded along, his face attentive but sympathetic.
“It seems like you don’t communicate well,” his mother was quick to reply. “Wonwoo knows about that,” she said, lifting up a wrinkled finger and slightly pointing across the table at her son with a deceivingly kindred look. “I can see your connection.”
Bohyuk shot Wonwoo another hard glance, the type of subtle, non-verbal conversing only siblings could master: don’t get defensive.
“I can be like that,” Wonwoo hummed, only mildly accepting to keep the conversational flow in favour. He translated for you: “She says you must not communicate well.”
“Oh? With my parents? Not at all,” you nearly bellowed. “But it’s not due to ineptitude on my part. I am a good communicator, actually. Maybe it’s weird to say about yourself, but I do wear my heart on my sleeve. But my parents are so… unyielding. They can’t possibly stomach making a mistake, saying the wrong thing, having their shortcomings pointed out. It’s suddenly an attack. And I can communicate well all I want, but if they don’t hear me… then why should I waste my effort on them? I have a life of my own. Goals of my own. Family’s important. But it’s not my only value.”
Bohyuk pursed his lip, nodded, as if to say good answer.
While Wonwoo translated your response, his mother’s eyes drew slimmer, never straying from the newcomer her youngest, misguided son brought to her home. It was a needling stare he was familiar with, the kind that felt like an insatiable itch you writhed to scratch but could not because the itch would only burn back worse.
“Then what are your values?”
Wonwoo translated.
“I value individualism. Courage. Freedom. Authenticity. I value your son,” you added, and Wonwoo’s lips twitched with the urge to smile. “His patience, determination, and reliability.”
He began to translate, although his mother cut through, keeping you focused under her silver fox-like stare. “What kind of life are you planning to live with my son? He’s always suffered from a lack of clear direction. He won’t thrive with someone who lives too nonsensically.”
Bohyuk was sedating Wonwoo from a trenchant reply with his stern gaze. Settle. You know what she’s going after. Don’t bite yet.
So he swallowed, translated for his mother with diligence.
You glanced sharply at Wonwoo, and then back at his mother, clearly attuned to the backhanded slipperiness of her question.
“A fucking good one,” you answered in exasperation, a fist curled up like a rock in your lap. “A happy one. I love him. I’d do anything for him.” Your eyes were now of the same tactful knives as his mother. “Would you?” you dared ask, furrowing your brow.
There was a palpably sticky silence.
Something in Wonwoo’s gut told him he didn’t need to translate what you had said. It was Bohyuk who cleared his throat, stood from his seat, and started collecting dishes.
“It’s been a long day. Lots of travel,” he mitigated with his usual smile, attempting to push ease into the pressure, just one more hairsbreadth from a landslide. “I think it’s biting nerves. Mom, I’ll help you clean with Wonwoo, okay?”
At that, she nodded.
Nari was already up, gesturing for you to follow her because the length of your fuse was already short and the cutting remarks from a cynical, testing parent did nothing but singe its length.
When it was just Wonwoo, Bohyuk, and their mother alone in the kitchen, a molasses sunset staining through the windows, the conversation kicked up again. Bohyuk was stood at the sink, scrubbing and rinsing soapy dishes, meanwhile Wonwoo helped his mother wipe down the table.
He breathed out, relaxed his jaw.
“You don’t like her.”
His mother chuckled. “Wonwoo, I know the kind of woman she is. I've been watching closely all day. She will make everything harder for you.”
“We’ve been dating for almost a year, Mom.”
“Should it last longer than that, I’ll be surprised.”
Bohyuk called out from the sink, placing another plate into the dry-wrack. “Mom, you’ve had one conversation with her, okay? And you were slighting her the entire time.”
“She’s lightning in a bottle,” she reasoned, rubbing a particular spot on the table with unceasing vigour. “And not in a good way. Wonwoo, I want the best for you. I want someone who has a strong, clear vision of their future. Keep you in line. So you don’t get upset again. But with this girl, her bruteness, her dangerous flare, that temper. She’ll knock you right over. We’d never hear from you again.”
Wonwoo scoffed.
Bohyuk took off his rubber gloves, carefully ready to be his brother’s armour, to stop him from getting bulldozed.
However, Wonwoo shook his head, and Bohyuk paused.
“Mom, you know why you’re saying this? You don’t understand her because you don’t understand me.”
She merely grunted, walking over to the kitchen countertop, cleaning up the messy splashes of water by the sink.
Wonwoo continued. “You make me out to be something tragic and frail. And at one point, I was like that. But I’m far away from that now. I’m here to try and repatch our relationship and have you meet the girl who’s the biggest reason for my growth, but you’re shunning her. You’re treating me like I’m the same kid. How come I’m the one whose done all this reflection, stretched myself so thin to understand you, but you just… can’t do the same? Why is that so hard to ask? Why can’t you bother to meet your son halfway?” He slicked a hand along his hair, then folded his arms, chewed his lip with the itch to let his emotion bubble over. But he folded it down, remembered his purpose. “I’m going out there to spend time with my girlfriend.” Wonwoo was on the verge of slipping out the room, but he fixed his hand on the threshold. “If you won’t give us any grace, we can be gone by tomorrow. It’s your choice.”
He then left Bohyuk alone in the kitchen with their mother. She was still rubbing the countertop, although the spot was already bone-dry.
Neither you nor Wonwoo slept well that night, and it certainly wasn’t because his bed was a puny twin abrasively creaking upon the slightest movement, although such factors certainly hadn’t helped.
You were both restive, holding onto the uncomfortable vestiges of supper and the laconic evening that followed.
Wonwoo’s mother hadn’t joined the rest of the family in the living room for an old movie courtesy of his father’s collection. Instead, she traipsed off to her room where she kept the door open the smallest degree, probably knitting or reading or occupying herself with any task that might distract her from the fact her typically downcast, desultory son had finally put his foot down. Before bed, as Wonwoo brushed his teeth, his had father pulled him aside for a quiet conversation about how: you know she wants the best for you; she’s still feeling hurt by your departure all those years ago and tonight she can’t help but let it show.
Rather than accepting face value, Wonwoo could only shrug.
At a certain point Dad, it can’t be my problem anymore.
Wonwoo wasn’t sure what the time was. There was no clock apart from your phones charging on the windowsill behind him. His arm had gone numb an hour ago from the weight of your warm body.
He breathed in, “I’m sorry.”
You wriggled, and the bed creaked.
“There’s nothing to apologize for…” your murmur was half-swallowed by the pillow. “M’not mad at you. I’m proud.”
Wonwoo stared at the back of your head, an inky silhouette in the juvenile bedroom. “We won’t stay if she can’t give us a chance.”
The bed heaved dramatically. You had shifted your body around to face him, and he could ever so slightly trace the glossy whites of your eyes. “Your parents feel different than mine…” you said. “And I think there’s something deep in your Mom that wants to drop the toughness. I can see it. Through the guise of whatever she has going on. Her love for you is just too strong. I think she’ll realize it.”
Gradually, his vision began to adjust, and your expression was clearer, starker than the bedroom's shapeless shadows. “She hasn’t seen me in forever. I suppose it’s a clusterfuck of feelings.”
“You were one way when you left and now, you’re something completely different. You showed her that and she felt it.”
He sighed, shaking his head a little. “I wish she would just project all her bullshit onto me instead of you… I wish my parents could somehow heal the wounds from your parents, be this perfect little nook, you know? I hate that it’s more alienation.”
There was a fragile, sweet smile that graced your face. A hand reached out, brushing against Wonwoo’s cheek. “Hey—in a perfect fucking world—we wouldn’t have been this screwed up, and we wouldn’t have ever found each other. I don’t want that,” you clucked, running your fingers in a tender sweep along his jaw. “I want this version. I would choose it every time.” With a simple stretch forward, your mouth slotted against his and Wonwoo smiled quite foolishly into a kiss that was still reminiscent of your melon lip balm.
He proceeded to pull his phone off the windowsill to check the time. The screen was bright and stinging, although through his abrupt squinting he noticed it was just past two in the morning. Everyone should be sleeping, unless they were still chewing the gritty atmosphere and drinking the bleeding awkwardness of supper like you were. Contrarily, however, Wonwoo didn’t particularly care.
“You bored?” he asked.
Resting your cheek against your fist, you shrugged. “I guess.”
His arm was finally loose from underneath your hip and the rush of needled prickling was beginning to subside. Wonwoo pulled his glasses off the sill and the room took more shape than just ebbing blobs. You hadn’t stopped gazing at him, waiting for the ball to drop.
He bit his inner cheek. “Wanna ride me?”
The request had you sitting up, leaning on your arm instead of a lazy elbow, eyes narrowed at the boy through the indigo.
You scoffed. “In this fucking loud insufferably creaky bed?”
“Uh… yeah?”
There was less than a second of contemplation.
“Sure.”
It was a rather perfect storm—stress, family, travel, and an upstairs bed that would most certainly betray any indication of movement—one that Wonwoo was surely grateful for in the strangest way. There was something about your kisses that shut off the world, almost like a mental remote control. There was something about the tender warmth of your thighs bracketing his hips that plucked an electric cord deep in his gut, something about your circular, smooth, perfectly sensual grooves against his erection that made him want to become more than just pathetic. The bed creaked. Scraped. Sounded like it might buckle apart into pieces every time your hips undulated.
But it didn’t matter.
Wonwoo had you close. He had your long t-shirt pulled up and over your head. His hand desperately scratched the wall for the shutter string so he could slant them open and allow the beautiful glow of late summer moonlight to ignite your bare skin.
There was no thinking involved—only carnality—as his head practically thunked forward into your soft breasts, eagerly inhaling the faint scent of your day’s perfume and hearing your heartbeat.
You giggled, always eager to be the seductress, helping push your breasts against your simpering boyfriend’s face. His mouth strayed and his tongue licked, the hard, cold edges of his glasses somewhat biting but not nearly enough to care. He always wanted to see you. Every inch. Every crease and fold. A nipple was deep in his mouth, fingers captured around your other breast and squeezing relentlessly. Wonwoo didn’t understand how he could have you on his tongue and between his teeth. Sometimes it still didn’t feel real. A cruel dream he hadn’t woken up from yet. He might die if he did.
“Enjoying yourself?” you teased as Wonwoo suckled his way across the expanse of your chest to tongue your other pert nipple.
“Mmm,” was all he could grunt, too concentrated to speak.
Something about his desperation, his neediness, he knew, always made you fawn. Your doting fingers came to brush away his satin-black tresses while he purred in throaty satisfaction around your stimulated breast. Every sweep of your fingers was akin to a magic wand, alighting his scalp, neck, and spine with shivers.
“You’re such a good boy…” you breathed unsteadily into the moonlit room, enjoying the sensation of his heated palms sliding along your bare back. “Always make me feel so damn good.”
“Inside now?” Wonwoo whispered into your ear, his breath warm and damp, his mouth so close, so soft, against your skin.
Your fingers combed through his hair again, purposeful with their every tug and graze. “Want me to ride you, sweetie?”
His tone was huskier, fractured at the edges. “Please.”
Upon biting your lip, you murmured, “please, what?”
“I want to feel your pussy wrapped around my cock, how fucking perfectly you grip every inch,” Wonwoo groaned, his thumbs digging at your hips. He had never surmised himself to be very submissive, especially not when he was dating Jeanie. Then, his words were few and far between. But you were a domineering livewire, sometimes punishing, sometimes sweet, or an infuriatingly arousing mix of both that he couldn’t help but writhe for.
Consequently, your giggle proceeded to flutter around the room like a windchime. “You’re so fucking pathetic.”
His length pulsed stiffly underneath his sweatpants.
You then cupped his dazed face in your hands, grasped his cheeks tight, leaned in close, your lips just ghosting his in a way that made his adam’s apple tense. “Will you lay here nice and pretty for me while I fuck myself on this desperate cock of yours?”
Wonwoo swallowed tight. “Y-Yes.”
As he leaned into the rather thin, inadequate pillow propped against the wall, you gave his cheek a loving caress. “Good boy.”
In fact, maybe you should have been a bit more cognizant of Wonwoo’s frail childhood bed. But you were fierce, hungry, and your every wicked slap down to the base of his exhausted length was a ruthless pressure that tested the bedframe. It’s not like Wonwoo had any idea the top right bed leg was going to snap—not with your breasts shimmering and bouncing so hypnotizingly, your hair a sweaty, matted mess, your thighs inadvertently trembling and clenching hard whenever you managed to hit the sweet spot, tired breaths escaping your mouth with each effort to milk him dry.
“FF-Fuck, Wonwoo—m’gonna cum s-so fuckin’ hard!” you cried, nails stinging along his chest. Another powerful slap enveloped his erection deep inside and you careened, gasping in a way that could almost sound painful, as he felt your muscle undeniably furl and a gush of something liquid leak from between your bodies.
Snap!
The bed tilted ever so slightly.
Yet neither of you noticed.
He caught your body in his arms. The slipperiness of your sweat was sticky, uncomfortable, but Wonwoo only pressed you closer into his chest, breathing the sex-soaked humidity thick in the air.
“God…” you croaked a few minutes later. “So fucking good...”
Wonwoo smiled against your forehead. “You’re insane.” Then his hand smoothed over your tangled, frizzed hair. “Fuck. I love you.”
With what little strength you had left, you raised the weight of your shaking head and just managed to half-plant your lips against his mouth. “Love you too, baby,” you sighed, inevitable tire creeping in. “Didn’t realize I was holding onto all that stress. Sorry.”
He smirked. “I like when you use me, my love.”
“Hey—what was that sound, by the way. Did you hear it?”
Wonwoo kissed his teeth. “Uh… yeah. You broke the bed.”
“Me?!”
“I mean—we—us,” he amended, chuckling nervously.
While Wonwoo and you slept upstairs, the rest of the family awoke one by one. There was breakfast, a sunny walk throughout the neighbourhood, visiting little nostalgic landmarks: the cobble well that Bohyuk lost his first paycheck down during a windy day; the shrunken creek where the brothers used to catch frogs; a rotting gazebo in a forgotten park, once the place of numerous birthdays.
Morning melted into late afternoon.
Bohyuk and Nari went out shopping in order to handle dinner for that evening. Wonwoo’s father took his daily nap lazed along the living room couch while his mother watched the fat bumblebees sway drunkenly from flower to flower in her tiny garden.
His bedroom shutters rattled against a gentle breeze, fragrant with pollen, and Wonwoo’s eyes creaked open in reluctance. Light glowed through the slants, bathed his bedroom, reintroduced him to dusty shelves, your assortment of bags, and the miscellaneous stack of boxes propped in the corner. His mouth felt dry. When he rubbed his head, he thought his hair must be a stubborn, rumpled mess.
Then Wonwoo glanced down to the weight steady against his shoulder, thinking you might still be sleeping, except your eyes were already open and twinkling.
He attempted to wriggle, remember his limbs.
“And for how long have you been ogling me?” Wonwoo questioned, his voice hoarse from the thickness of sleep.
Your finger tapped a bruise on his collarbone. “Not long. I think your mom is sitting outside. I heard her sneeze.”
“Oh, yeah. Her patented Garden Time.” His head flopped toward the window. Though the stained shutters, he could visualize lines of a bright, cloudless sky, perhaps the purest blue he had seen.
You whispered against his neck, “it’s past noon.”
“Fucking Christ—really?”
Then you snorted. “Yeah.”
He scrunched his nose. “Surprised we didn’t get woken up.”
“Well,” you huffed, pushing up onto your arm and staring down at Wonwoo from between fluttering lashes, “we weren’t exactly quiet and behaved.” The tip of your finger traced a scratch on his chest, carved by your nail the night before. “I don’t blame them.”
“God—” he smeared hands down his face, bumping off his glasses such that they slid onto the covers, “—why did we do that?”
“If it wasn’t last night, then probably tonight.” You shrugged.
Wonwoo chuckled in disbelief. “No wonder they left us alone.”
You leaned down, your nose hovering above his, breath a skittish willow’s tickle against his lips. “Are you saying you regret it?”
He kissed you. “No. We’re stuck here for quite a while. I guess they should get used to it. Not that I’ll be any less embarrassed.”
“You’re so cute,” you giggled, grabbing firmly onto his jaw and shaking it as though he was your pet. “Not their fault their son likes to be mercilessly dominated by none other than myself.” Picking up his glasses, you carefully nudged them back onto his face. “Or maybe it is? Because, you know, butterfly effect and all that.” You then stretched, arms curving high into the sunlit air, your chest arching forward with a gentle groan, and Wonwoo thought you could be a goddess worthy of immortalization into the finest marble.
“Hey, mind passing me the camera?” he asked.
You pulled the compact Nikon off the windowsill and handed it to him. He removed the lens cap and turned the camera on, then fiddled with some of the settings to help mend the glaring lighting.
“Spotted something worth taking a picture of?” you couldn't help but lilt knowingly while staring down the lens, your fierce eyes pinning his through the tiny screen.
Wonwoo smiled. “Care to pose for me?”
“Pose how, exactly, Mr. Photographer?” You leaned closer toward the camera, your smirk no less than sinful and your tone a slithering, smooth snake. “I'm capable of many poses, you know?”
“Raise your arms again, like when you were stretching," he decided to instruct, willfully ignoring the jarring spike in his heartbeat.
You followed his request, somehow managing to enhance your radiance and beauty in a manner Wonwoo couldn't possibly calculate while he snapped a few photos, trying not to get lost in where he was subsequently aiming the camera.
“Beautiful,” Wonwoo hummed. “Thanks.”
“Can I try?”
He shrugged, passing you the Nikon.
You quickly swung an arm around his neck, tugged him into your bare, sun-warmed skin, and held the pose of a kiss being pressed against his cheek. Wonwoo's skin crawled with heat and he couldn't help the slightly dazed, star-spotted look he must have been giving the camera. But his feelings for you were impossible to ignore or deny or reshape in any way. He shyly readjusted his glasses as you handed him back the camera, any ounce of dialogue caught in his windpipe.
“Should we eat?” you groaned. “I'm feeling ravenous.”
Wonwoo cleared his throat with an obvious cough. “Sure.”
The kitchen was bright and quiet. Wonwoo’s father was still napping on the couch, completely oblivious to the noisy squeaking of the wooden stairway. You were back in one of Wonwoo’s oversized shirts that you pestered him to pack. Leftover fruit was sitting in the fridge and some dried pieces of silver-looking fish were left out on a napkin.
“Not much,” Wonwoo sighed. “We can always go out.”
“If I don’t eat before going out, you’re going to be very miserable and upset,” you warned while pulling out a chair at the dinner table, sitting with your foot curled up on the edge.
That wasn’t a lesson he cared to relearn.
“Where’s Bohyuk and Nari?” you wondered, yawning.
“Dunno.”
When Wonwoo closed the fridge door, he was surprised to see his mother standing on the other side, dressed in her favourite lounge dress and his father’s old fisherman’s hat to help keep the sun off her face. At first, he was frozen. There was a stick lodged in his throat. But she didn’t carry the same toughness in her small shoulders, nor the stubborn glint in her grey eyes. She was smiling a little, perhaps nervous, and Wonwoo noticed an envelope in her hand.
“Bohyuk and Nari are shopping,” she said. “They should be back soon. I have dumplings in the freezer I can reheat if you’re hungry.” Wonwoo glanced at you briefly from across the kitchen as his mother took the dumplings out. “These ones here. There’s some honey sauce in the fridge.”
“That sounds good,” Wonwoo replied. “What’s that?” He then pointed to the envelope she placed on the countertop.
“Will you get a pan ready for me, Wonwoo?”
“Sure,” he complied, swallowing uncertainly.
While he dug a scraped-up pan out from the crowded cupboard, he watched peripherally as his mother approached you, holding the white envelope close to her bodice. Once he clanged the pan onto the stove and started the clicking gas, Wonwoo quickly moved to stand behind the chair you were crouched on.
He watched his mother extend the envelope to you.
“Please, take this,” she offered, smiling. “I’m sorry.”
You blinked. Rubbed your lips together. But when you accepted the envelope, Wonwoo could see that both your names were written across its surface with an elegant, practiced cursive.
“I asked Bohyuk to help me translate a lot into English,” she added, her tiny, wrinkled hands wringing together and some part of Wonwoo hated to see her this nervous, doubtful. “I wanted you both to be able to read it simultaneously. It doesn’t need to be opened now. Whatever you want to do.” Tentatively, her hand settled on your shoulder. “Please accept my apology,” she entreated of you, her smile worrisome but earnest. “And welcome to our family.”
Wonwoo’s heartbeat was hot lead in his throat.
He thumbed the back of the kitchen chair.
You returned a gentle smile, a polite dip of the head. “Thank you.”
His mother then reached out, brushing Wonwoo’s cheek in that solacing, careful manner, her old way of saying goodbye to both him and his brother before they would leave the house for school. The touch was more than just nostalgia. It felt like acceptance. He wished it hadn’t been so painful getting to this point, but he remembered what you told him the night before—your rejection of a perfect world if it meant you could be together—and that eased his soul.
“I’ll get the dumplings ready,” his mother said.
Wonwoo pulled out a chair for himself at the dinner table, enjoying the smitten smile you angled his way. There was a notable wateriness lining your eyes, and Wonwoo wondered if his mother’s apology and acceptance might possibly mean even more to you.
happy new years everyone! i thought i’d share some good parts of 2025 with you all and if you want, please share your accomplishments with me thru my ask box! 𐔌*ˊᵕˋ*𐦯
2025 was a travel year for me! i went on 3 amazing trips!!
- paris in february, korea in may and a carribean cruise in auagust ♡⸜(˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)⸝♡
I also spent the last of 2025 working full time while also finishing up my second to last year of my undergraduate degree while maintaining a fairly high gpa (for my standards lol)
i worked 2 jobs while being a full time student and i was definitely burnt out by the end but i feel proud of myself to getting through all of it (˶' ꒳ '˶)
i got a job that i absolutely love, and finally decided on what type of masters degree i want after my undergrad!
working at a non profit in my city that creates programs for equity deserving youth, and striving towards an MEd with a concentration in guidance counselling (,,>ヮ<,,)!
okay, that’s all for me! i want to hear about everyone else’s year, good, bad, and everything in between ♡
hbd to in front of me 🥹 I love that fic so much !!!! (it was also the reason i started sending asks in the first place lol)
- 🍊
thank you tangerine anon! and so true omg i rmbr all of that happening 🥹 i always get so excited when u send me asks!! i love it too, im thankful im able to share my writing with you and everyone that enjoyed the fic
sorry if this feels like an odd or rude question but do you not write x readers anymore? ik you’ve been talking abt ship fics (which im sat for) but i was just wondering!
hello anon! this isn’t an odd or rude question at all so dw abt that!
and yes i don’t write x reader anymore, i think i’ve just lost my interest in writing or even reading it :< idk, after a while i just got tired of writing in second person and i love love loveeee yaoi in general so the fact that i get to write about yaoi with my fav group is also what really interests me now.
tbh i don’t even rmbr the last time i read a long x reader fic, personally i had just grown out of it 🥹 the writing on tumblr is amazing but im a fujoshi at heart ig lol
i did make a twitter and an ao3 and am currently working on a soonwoo fic but i do have drafts for a few wonhui fics too!
thanks for the ask :) if anyone wants to know what my usernames are for my ao3 or my twitter for my mxm writing pls lmk!
