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the accidental one-night stand

summary: the consequences of sleeping with your best friend while drunk include waking up with no memory of how you ended up in his bed and the awkward realisation that your friendship is irreparably damaged. but avoiding it only works for so long—especially when feelings you’ve both been hiding begin to bubble to the surface.

⇢ pairing: jeon wonwoo x fem!reader ⇢ contains: fluff, angst, best friends to lovers au, college au, idiots to idiots in love, debatable attempts at comedy, implied sexual content, nudity, profanity, alcohol consumption, injuries & hospital visits ⇢ word count: 10.0k ⇢ note: this was written for the lonely hearts café collab hosted by @camandemstudios! thank you so much for letting me be a part; please check out the other authors’ fics as well. i hope you enjoy :)

There were many things that you expected would happen after you and your friends went out drinking to celebrate the end of the semester.

Waking up next to a naked Jeon Wonwoo was not one of them.

The first thing you notice is the sunlight. It filters through the cheap blinds, casting uneven slats of light across the room. The scent of stale beer and leftover pizza lingers faintly in the air. Normally, you would’ve groaned, turned over, and buried yourself in your blanket to fend off the cruel reminder that mornings exist. For a moment, you’re convinced you’re back in your own bed, with nothing more pressing than to decide whether you should get breakfast or sleep in till noon.

The second thing you notice is the peculiar warmth of someone pressed against you. A shoulder brushes your arm; a leg, bent at an awkward angle, leans uncomfortably into your thigh. When you squint, you see a pink piece of fabric hanging off one of the blades of the ceiling fan. That’s new.

Your eyes widen. When you turn your head, you are subject to the horrifying revelation that your best friend is lying in bed next to you—Jeon Wonwoo, sleeping on his stomach, bare back exposed to the world like it’s a perfectly normal occurrence in the three years you’ve known him.

You must be dreaming. But then you see his glasses, folded neatly on the nightstand and placed on top of your phone. Oh no.

“Oh no,” you say aloud, because, apparently, merely thinking it isn’t enough.

Wonwoo stirs at the sound, a soft groan escaping his lips. His head turns slightly on the pillow, and you freeze, praying to every deity you can think of that he doesn’t wake up. Unfortunately for you, whoever is in charge of karma seems to be in a particularly spiteful mood.

“Mm?” His voice is groggy, muffled by the pillow. His eyes flutter open. It takes him a second to focus on you. When he does, his brows furrow. “Why are you in my bed?”

Silence. You blink at him. He blinks at you.

What can you say? There is no eloquent explanation for waking up in your best friend’s bed—especially when he’s naked and you’re one hasty movement away from unraveling whatever fragile composure you’re clinging to.

“I, uh— I was hoping you could tell me that,” you croak out.

He shifts, the sheets slipping lower on his body, and you immediately avert your eyes. “Are we—” Wonwoo pauses, glancing down at himself, then back at you. His face flushes a deep pink. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” you whisper, pulling the sheets tighter around you. “Oh.”

“Are you…?” He starts, then clears his throat awkwardly. “You’re not… y’know…”

“Naked?” you supply, struggling to maintain whatever shreds of dignity you have left. “No. Thank God. I think I’m, uh, wearing your shirt, actually. But my, um, bra is hanging off of your fan.”

If a pair of eyes happens to wander up there, neither of you acknowledges it.

There’s another long pause, filled only with the sound of your combined breathing and the hum of traffic outside. You can feel him staring at you; it takes all your willpower not to bury yourself into the mattress.

Wonwoo blinks at you again, his hair mussed and sticking out in every possible direction, a faint sleep line on his cheek from where the pillow was pressed into it. It would almost be endearing were you not teetering on the edge of an existential crisis.

“Do you remember anything?” He finally asks.

You consider lying, but what good would that do, anyway? You shake your head. “Um, not a lot. Do you?”

He hesitates, and somehow, it’s worse than an outright no. “I remember… karaoke,” he says slowly. “And shots. A lot of shots.”

“Karaoke?” you repeat, horrified.

“Yeah.” Wonwoo looks faintly amused despite the whole situation. “You sang ABBA. Badly.”

“I always sing ABBA badly,” you mutter, pinching the bridge of your nose. “That doesn’t explain anything.”

“I don’t know either,” he says, sounding genuinely baffled, which is both a relief and a disappointment for reasons you refuse to examine. “Do you think—”

“What?” you prompt, though you already know the question.

Your best friend gestures vaguely between the both of you, the tips of his ears turning red. “Do you think we—?”

“Oh, my God, don’t say it,” you hiss, feeling your own face heat up.

“Well, something happened! You’re in my bed, and I’m—”

“Naked,” you finish for him, grimacing.

Wonwoo clears his throat again, suddenly very interested in the ceiling—though he pointedly avoids staring at the fan above your heads. “Yes. That.”

“Maybe we should just… not talk about it.” Your voice sounds weak to your own ears. You pick at your cuticles underneath the covers.

Wonwoo snorts. You stare at him.

“What?” you demand.

“You think we can just pretend?” The smile tugging on his lips is humourless. “Yeah, okay, good luck with that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Soonyoung was there last night,” he says grimly.

Your stomach drops.

“Oh no,” you say again, because there’s really nothing else to say.

You thought you were successful in avoiding Jeon Wonwoo and Kwon Soonyoung. You were not, and this must be the universe’s idea of a cosmic joke, because you’re currently crouched behind a dumpster while your two best friends are having a frantic, hushed conversation a few feet away from you.

The smell is an assault on every sense you possess—a vile concoction of rotting leftovers, moldy cardboard, and something acidic you can’t begin to identify. You shift uncomfortably, regretting everything that possessed you to follow Wonwoo and Soonyoung to this cold, putrid place. Your sneakers sink into what you pray is just old soda.

“...I didn’t tell her because she looked so freaked out,” Wonwoo says, voice tight. He doesn’t sound angry, exactly—more like he’s restraining his frustration, the kind of tone that demands silence from anyone with half a brain.

Except Soonyoung doesn’t have half a brain. “You didn’t mention to her that you remember everything? That’s… kind of a big deal.”

“Of course I remember,” your best friend mutters. “I was drunk, yes, and extremely stupid, but it’s her. I remember everything about her.”

You instinctively press a hand to your mouth, breath catching in your throat. He remembers? All this time, you’d convinced yourself that the foggy gaps in your memory extended to him too—that’s what he’d said, hadn’t he? You were convinced that the awkward morning after was borne out of shared ignorance. Evidently not.

Soonyoung snickers. “You? Stupid? Sure, and I’m fucking Albert Einstein.”

“Can you be serious for once? It isn’t funny.”

“It’s a little funny.” You can practically hear Soonyoung’s grin, though his face remains elusive. “I mean, come on. You’re usually so—I don’t know—emotionless and now look at you. This is gold.”

You want to throttle him. You’re pretty sure Wonwoo wants to throttle him, too. He settles for a long, exasperated sigh instead. “I’m not emotionless. I’m just… worried.”

“Worried?” Soonyoung echoes, curious. “About what?”

“About her.” Wonwoo’s voice softens; the change is so startling that you lean forward without thinking, the damp ground squelching underneath you. “She looked so freaked out, Soonyoung. Like she couldn’t get out of my bedroom fast enough. How was I supposed to bring it up?”

You should leave. You need to leave, but your legs stay rooted in place, a strange combination of morbid curiosity and pure panic keeping you locked in place. 

“Fair enough,” your other friend acquiesces. “She was kind of a mess when I saw her that morning.”

“Exactly. So I kept my mouth shut. I didn’t want to make things worse.”

“But now you’re making it worse by not saying anything,” Soonyoung points out. “Come on, Wonwoo. You’ve liked her for years. You finally get her alone and you don’t even—”

“Don’t,” Wonwoo cuts him off, the word laced with quiet steel. “I didn’t plan for any of that to happen. You think I wanted to wake up next to her and realise it was all just… an accident to her?”

Your stomach twists painfully. There’s no way this is real. There’s absolutely no way you’re hearing this conversation right now.

“I left ‘cause I thought you would finally grow a pair of balls and confess,” Soonyoung says defensively.

Wonwoo scoffs. “Congratulations. Now it’s a fucking disaster.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” his companion chides gently. “She’s your best friend. She’ll understand if you talk to her.”

“She doesn’t feel the same,” Wonwoo says, so quietly that you nearly miss it.

Your heart nearly leaps out of your throat.

“You don’t know that,” counters Soonyoung.

“I do.” The resignation in Wonwoo’s voice carves something hollow in your chest. “She wouldn’t have been so freaked out if she did. That night—it wouldn’t have been an accident to her.”

Is this how Wonwoo saw it? Is this how you made him feel? The words linger in the air, heavy and unforgiving, until they slip through the gaps in your rib cage and squeeze your heart tightly.

“...I think you’re wrong,” Soonyoung says slowly. “You should give her more credit than that.”

Wonwoo doesn’t respond immediately. You hear the sounds of footsteps shuffling on gravel and hold your breath, waiting for their voices to fade before daring to move. Your muscles scream in protest when you stand up. Your legs wobble, and you don’t move the hand clamped over your nose and mouth. 

Wonwoo remembers. He likes you. He thinks you don’t feel the same. Standing in the shadow of a dumpster and reeking of garbage and despair, you’re faced with one inescapable truth: You have no idea what to do next. 

The coffee shop is too bright, but it’s the only place where the owner gives out a free chocolate chip cookie with every purchase. You nibble at the cookie, brushing away the crumbs that fall onto your lap. Your cup of coffee is untouched, steam curling out of it in lazy spirals. Xu Minghao sits opposite you, occasionally stirring his tea. The spoon clinks against the ceramic; it’s a little bit annoying, but you can’t tell him that when he’s almost certainly called you over to interrogate you.

You can’t remember why you agreed to meet Minghao. You can barely remember how you even got here, your legs on autopilot while your brain went through a series of catastrophes all involving Jeon Wonwoo. Minghao’s eyes bore into you, quietly observing. He doesn’t say anything, but he always seems to be one step ahead of you—always knows things before you’re ready to admit them, which is why you’ve been avoiding him, as well. 

Yet here you are, because Minghao’s persistence is a force of nature. Finally, you break. “What?”

“You tell me.” Minghao’s reply is immediate. He leans back in his chair and crosses one leg over the other with the sort of poise that makes you feel like a feral raccoon in comparison. “You’ve been acting weird all week.”

“You’ll have to be more specific.”

He merely narrows his eyes at you.

“Okay, fine.” You sigh and lean back, dropping your half-eaten cookie next to your coffee. “What do you think is so weird?”

“The fact that you’ve been avoiding everyone like the plague. The fact that your good mood about our finals ending lasted for, like, thirty seconds. The fact that you look like you’ve seen a ghost whenever someone mentions Wonwoo.”

You wince. “I don’t look like that.”

“You do,” he says.

“I don’t. I’m just tired.”

“Sure,” Minghao drawls, “and I’m the Pope.”

You glare at him, but he merely smiles at you, like he’s sitting on a cloud of smug superiority and you’re some lowlife staring up at him. He continues, “Do you want to tell me why I had to hear about your night with Wonwoo through six degrees of separation?”

“What— Huh? What are you talking about?” you flounder helplessly.

“Wonwoo told Soonyoung,” he explains without missing a beat, “who told his roommate Jihoon, who told his girlfriend Sana, who told her best friend Miyeon, who told her roommate Jihyo, who told her boyfriend Seokmin—who just so happens to be my roommate, as you’re aware. And now I know.”

You stare at him, utterly aghast. “What a small fucking world.”

“It is,” Minghao agrees, nodding sagely. “Don’t worry too much about it. They all mean well.”

You pick up your cookie and shove the whole thing into your mouth, before burying your face in your hands. “Kill me. Just do it. Right here. Please end my misery.”

“I’d consider it,” he says, “but then I wouldn’t get to hear your side of the story.”

“There is no story,” you say, voice muffled by your palms.

“Interesting,” your friend muses. “But according to all six of my sources, there’s quite a story. Something about you waking up next to Wonwoo? Naked?”

You peek at him through your fingers. “Are you enjoying this?”

“Immensely.”

Groaning, you drop your hands onto the table. “It’s not what it sounds like.”

“Enlighten me.” Minghao’s smile widens in the way it does whenever he’s truly intrigued by something.

You resign yourself to the sad fate of telling your friend about what happened that fateful night. “We went out to celebrate the end of the semester. There was drinking. A lot of drinking—” you hesitate, voice catching in your throat— “and then I woke up next to him.”

“Naked,” Minghao supplies.

“I was wearing a shirt!” you say a little too loudly. A few heads turn in your direction, and you lower your voice, cheeks burning. “Okay, yes, he wasn’t wearing a shirt. Or anything else. But nothing happened!”

“Mm.” His noncommittal hum feels worse than outright disbelief.

“I mean it,” you insist. “We talked about it. Sort of. And he said he didn’t remember anything, so—”

You swallow, remembering the conversation you weren’t supposed to hear. It sits in the depths of your stomach, hot and heavy and gnarly. You don’t want to bring it up. You really don’t.

Minghao arches a brow. “Did he?”

“Did he what?”

“Not remember anything.”

You swallow again, the aftertaste of your freebie dessert turning from sweet to bitter. “Why would he lie?”

“Why does anyone lie?” Minghao shrugs. “To spare someone’s feelings. To avoid awkward conversations. To hide the fact that they’ve been hopelessly in love with their best friend for years.”

“That’s not true,” you say, far too quickly. “That’s not… It can’t be true. If he’s liked me for years then—then remember when he had a girlfriend in our freshman year? He really liked her.”

You would know. You’d been there when he broke up with her, when you had to haul him to the nearest soju tent and let him get batshit drunk while you sipped on water and tried not to let your heart crack. Wonwoo had been heartbroken about it—enough for you to think that he’d loved her, and if his heart could have so much love bursting out of its seams, then what would it be like if you were given even a fraction of it? You’d squashed the thought immediately afterwards; he was here crying about his ex-girlfriend and you were a truly selfish person if you wanted to acknowledge your crush on him.

Minghao’s sharp gaze turns sympathetic. “I remember. But did you ever ask him about why they broke up?”

“No, I—I didn’t,” you admit. “He was crying his lungs out the day they broke up. I wasn’t gonna be insensitive. We never spoke about it afterwards.”

“So that’s why you think he can’t have feelings for you?”

“He’s Wonwoo. He’s not… He can’t— He isn’t—” Your words crumble under Minghao’s knowing smile.

“He is,” Minghao says, quiet but certain. “You’re just too busy panicking.”

“I am not panicking,” you say, panicking.

“Right,” your friend says drily, “and this is you at your most composed. Are you going to talk to him?”

“No,” you say immediately.

Minghao blinks, finally taking a sip of his nearly-cooled tea. “No?”

“No,” you repeat, crossing your arms. “I’m going to avoid him until graduation and then pretend this never happened.”

“That’s a terrible plan,” he deadpans. “It’s a great plan,” you counter. “Completely foolproof.”

“It’s cowardly.”

“Po-tay-to, po-tah-to.”

Minghao rolls his eyes, not unkindly. “Just drink your damn coffee. I’m paying for it.”

“Thank you, Minghao.” You smile gratefully at him. “I knew you would understand.”

Xu Minghao clearly did not understand.

It starts with him, obviously, because who else would take your very serious declaration to avoid Wonwoo until graduation and turn it into prime gossip material? By the time it reaches you again, it’s mutated beyond recognition. Sana texts you, asking if you’re okay because she heard you and Wonwoo had a “tragic lover’s quarrel.”

You stare at her message, then at your coffee, briefly debating the merits of deleting every single app on your phone. Then you sigh, and type back who told you that? and steel yourself for whatever reply you’re going to get. Her response is almost instant: Soonyoung said Minghao said you’re avoiding Wonwoo for dramatic reasons?? idk, call me.

You do not call her.

Instead, you stew in mild indignation until she finally ropes you into Taco Bell plans for the afternoon, promising that the food is on her. But the second you walk in, you know it’s a trap. Sana’s sitting by the window, her expression brighter than the fluorescent lights. She waves you over. You feel like you’re walking into a very elaborate sting operation.

“Hey!” she greets you, grinning. “Come sit! I already ordered drinks for us.”

“What’s gotten you so happy?” you ask warily, already exhausted.

“Nothing,” she says cheerfully. “I’m just so glad to see you.”

“Hm.” You eye her suspiciously. “And you picked Taco Bell because…?”

“Because it’s delicious, affordable, and deeply underrated,” she says in one breath. You want to scoff—everything she just spouted out about Taco Bell is false—but she continues, “Also, Jihoon’s coming. He said he was starving, and I thought, why not make it a group thing?”

“Right. Because I love being the third wheel.”

“Can’t you let me admit that I enjoy your company for once?”

Your response is immediate. “No.”

Sana’s face brightens when she glances behind you at the door. Jihoon walks in—but he’s not alone.

Jeon Wonwoo is with him.

You feel your stomach flip in that terrible, rollercoaster-drops-out-from-under-you way. Jihoon, for his part, looks completely unbothered as he scans the restaurant, but when you glance at Sana, you find her trying and failing to hide her triumphant smirk.

“Oh, my gosh,” she says in the fakest tone of surprise you’ve ever heard. “Wonwoo! What are you doing here?”

You glare at her, and she has the audacity to look innocent. Wonwoo, meanwhile, approaches the table with slow, deliberate steps; his hands are stuffed in his jacket pockets and his mouth is set in a thin line.

“Hi,” he says, glancing at you briefly before looking anywhere else.

“Hi,” you echo, willing your voice to stay normal. Jihoon takes the seat across from you, shoving Wonwoo into the booth next to you. The space feels smaller than it is, like Wonwoo’s presence is some sort of gravitational force you can’t ignore.

“What’s everyone in the mood for?” Jihoon asks, leaning back in his seat like a bizarre talk show host.

“Tacos,” you say immediately. “And to leave.”

Jihoon ignores the last part, turning to face his girlfriend. “Want to help me order for everyone?”

“Absolutely.” Sana is already standing, grabbing Jihoon’s hand. “We’ll be back in a sec.”

“Wait—” You try not to sound desperate. “Why can’t we all just go and order together?”

“No need! We know what you guys like.”

With that, they disappear, leaving you alone with Jeon Wonwoo.

The silence is instant and crushing. Your fingers pick at the edge of a napkin like it’s some kind of lifeline, the paper shredding under your nails. Next to you, Wonwoo shifts slightly, the sound of his jacket brushing against the booth unnervingly loud.

“You don’t have to—” he starts, then stops. “The napkin. You don’t have to do that.”

“I’m not doing anything,” you reply automatically, still shredding the paper to bits.

He sighs. “You’re going to tear it apart.”

Your hands still for a moment, then resume. “If Taco Bell runs out of napkins, I’ll buy them new ones,” you say, only a little sarcastic.

Wonwoo doesn’t say anything to that, but out of the corner of your eye, you see him shift again, squaring his shoulders. Something in your chest tightens, wound up like a spring.

“This is weird, isn’t it?” he says finally.

You laugh, short and humourless. “What gave it away?”

He doesn’t reply. You glance at him, but he’s staring down at the table, fingers tapping idly on the edge. You take a deep breath, gaze dropping back down to your hands. “It doesn’t have to be weird,” you offer tentatively—though it sounds unconvincing even as you say it.

“I agree. But you’re kind of making it weird.”

Your head snaps up. “...Me?”

“Yeah,” he says, looking at you now. “You’ve been avoiding me for, what, days? That’s not exactly normal behaviour.”

“...I wasn’t avoiding you.” Heat crawls up your neck.

Wonwoo raises an eyebrow.

“Okay, fine. I was avoiding you,” you admit, voice dropping into a mutter. “But I, um, had a good reason for it.”

“Yeah?” he asks, leaning forward slightly. “What was it?”

You stare at him, throat tightening. How are you supposed to put it into words? That you’ve been avoiding him because every time you see him, your brain replays that morning and his conversation with Soonyoung in painstaking detail, and it makes your stomach twist in ways you don’t understand? That you don’t know how to act around him anymore, and it’s easier to run than to face him?

“I don’t know,” you say slowly, shrugging. It’s a lie, and it feels thin and flimsy, but you can’t manage anything else. “It just felt… easier.”

Wonwoo’s expression doesn’t change, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—disappointment? Understanding? You can’t tell.

“Easier,” he repeats, like he’s testing the word. “Do you think it’s easier now?”

“Not really,” you admit quietly.

“Exactly.” He leans back again, running a tired hand through his hair. “Look, I get it. That night was—it was a lot. But I don’t want to lose our friendship because of it.”

There’s a lump in your throat now. You swallow hard, trying to push it down. You want to tell him that it’s not that simple, that every time you think about him, you feel like you’re standing on a cliff’s edge, terrified of falling. But the words stick to your tongue, and all you can manage is a small, “I don’t want that either.”

Wonwoo nods. “Okay. Good. That’s—that’s good.”

You don’t respond right away. Instead, you focus on the napkin in your hands—or what’s left of it, at least. Your thoughts spiral. You think about the way he looked at you that morning, the way his voice softened when he said your name, the way he resigned himself to the fact that you wouldn’t like him back. The way everything feels like you’re teetering on the edge of something permanent and irreversible.

Now, sitting here with him, you wonder if you’re still on that edge—or if you’ve already fallen.

“I just—” Your voice cracks slightly; you clear your throat. “I don’t know how to go back to being normal with you.”

Wonwoo doesn’t hesitate. “That’s okay. I don’t know, either. We can work it out.”

It’s such a simple thing to say, but it cuts through the static in your head. You look at him, really look at him, and for the first time, you see not just the calm front he’s putting up, but the uncertainty that bleeds through—the way his fingers fidget against the table, the way his gaze flickers briefly before meeting yours again.

You exhale slowly. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah.” You nod, more to yourself than him. “Okay.”

His lips twitch into the faintest smile, until it is immediately obliterated by Sana’s shriek as the four Baja Blasts she was balancing in her arms plummet to the floor in a tragic display of carbonation and crushed dreams. 

The walk back from Taco Bell is stiffer than it needs to be. Wonwoo had offered to walk you home—mostly because both of you weren’t keen on intruding between Jihoon and Sana—but you’re acutely aware of the distance between you and Wonwoo, an awkward, invisible chasm neither of you seems eager to cross. You fiddle with the crumpled receipt in your pocket, sneaking glances at him every few steps. Each time, you catch him doing the same, though you don’t acknowledge it.

You didn’t think your awkwardness with Wonwoo would fade away immediately, though you have to give him credit for trying. It still clings to the space between you like stubborn static. Even the distant hum of traffic and the occasional rustling of leaves doesn’t drown it out.

“My cousin is graduating high school the day after tomorrow,” he says finally, breaking the long stretch of silence between you both.

“No way,” you reply, kicking a loose pebble on the ground. You watch it skitter away from you, and say, “They grow up so fast.”

“Yeah. It’s insane. I’m going back to Changwon tonight.”

“Really? I bet your aunt will be happy to see you.”

He smiles. “She’s going to screw me for not eating enough homemade food,” he says, and for a moment, it feels normal—but silence falls again, heavy and stilted.

It isn’t until you hear a soft, high-pitched cry that the spell finally breaks.

At first, you think you imagined it, a stray sound swallowed up by the evening breeze. But when you hear it again, clearer this time, you stop dead in your tracks, your head swiveling towards the source.

“Did you hear that?” you ask.

Wonwoo comes to a halt beside you. “Hear what?”

“That!” you exclaim as the sound repeats, urgent and mournful. You point towards the trees lining the edge of the parking lot. “There’s something over there.”

He squints. “Probably just a bird or something.”

“That’s not a bird,” you insist, already veering off the footpath. “It’s a kitten.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah,” you say, craning your neck to locate the source of the sound. Sure enough, a tiny ball of fur is clinging to a branch halfway up one of the trees, its pitiful cries echoing through the still evening air. “It’s stuck.”

“It’s a cat,” Wonwoo says flatly.

“It’s a baby. Wonwoo, it’s going to fall!”

“It’s not going to fall. It’s a cat.”

“Look at it!” you counter, gesturing wildly. “It’s hanging on for dear life. Do you want that on your conscience?”

He stares at the kitten, then back at you, shoulders sinking with impending responsibility. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“Not a chance,” you say, folding your arms.

“Fine,” he mutters, shrugging off his jacket. “Only ‘cause you asked.”

Wonwoo reaches for the lowest branch, testing its sturdiness before hoisting himself up. His movements are deliberate, cautious, and yet somehow still awkward—like someone who’s watched enough action movies to think he knows what he’s doing but has never actually climbed a tree in his life.

“Careful,” you call out, wincing as the branch creaks under his weight.

“Really? That’s the advice you’re giving me right now?”

“I could’ve said, don’t fall,” you point out.

The kitten, meanwhile, is less than thrilled about the rescue operation. It hisses and fluffs up its fur as Wonwoo inches closer, its tiny claws digging into the bark.

“You’ve got this,” you say.

“Oh, do I?” He grunts. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

With a final, determined stretch, he manages to grab the kitten by the scruff of its neck, holding it up triumphantly. It lets out one last indignant yowl before going limp in his grip, big, yellow eyes blinking up at him.

“Got it,” he says, holding it up like a trophy.

“You’re a hero,” you deadpan.

But before he can descend, the branch beneath him gives a menacing crack.

“Wonwoo—”

The sound is followed by a split-second of stillness, and then gravity takes over.

Wonwoo plummets to the ground with a thud. The kitten, miraculously unscathed, wriggles free from his grip and bolts towards the bushes, leaving the two of you in stunned silence.

“Oh, my God,” you gasp, rushing to his side. “Are you okay?”

He groans, propping himself up on his elbows. His glasses are somewhere on the ground next to him; you fumble for them and hand them to him. He puts them on and says, “No. I’m not okay.”

“You fell out of a tree,” you say, as though he might need reminding.

“Yeah, I noticed.” His voice is tight, laced with pain. When he tries to stand, he immediately winces, clutching his ankle.

“Don’t move,” you say, panic creeping into your tone. “You could’ve broken something.”

“It’s just a sprain,” Wonwoo mutters, though his face says otherwise.

“How do you know?”

“Because I can still feel my foot,” he replies, like that’s the definitive test for a sprain versus a fracture.

You hover uncertainly, hands flitting uselessly between him and his phone. “I’m calling for help.”

“It’s fine—”

“No, it’s not fine,” you snap, voice shaking. “You’re injured, and it’s my fault because I made you climb that stupid tree for that stupid kitten—”

Wonwoo interrupts by saying your name softly. “It’s not your fault. I could’ve said no.”

“But you didn’t,” you mutter, blinking back the ridiculous sting of tears.

He huffs a weak laugh, leaning back against the tree trunk. “Yeah, well. You’re really persuasive.”

“Just don’t—don’t move, okay?”

“Okay. I won’t. You… You will come with me to the hospital, right?” He is quieter now, as though the adrenaline is finally wearing off.

“Of course,” you say immediately.

When you drop down onto the ground next to him, waiting for Sana—who you’d called earlier—to come drive you both to the hospital, you catch a glimpse of the kitten peeking out from the bushes, its wide eyes reflecting the streetlights. You shake your head. “Ungrateful little thing.”

“Worth it,” Wonwoo says, surprising you.

“What?”

He shrugs. “It was worth it. You were worried about it.”

Oh. You don’t really know how to respond to that, but the words are sweet as honey, and despite the chill brought about by the setting sun and the rising moon, you feel warm throughout.

The fluorescent lights of the hospital flicker faintly while you wait for Wonwoo to finish his discharge paperwork. You stand a few feet apart in the waiting area, unsure of what to say. Arms crossed tightly over your chest, you rock back on your heels. Wonwoo leans on his crutches, shoulders hunched.

“I, uh, brought my car while Sana and Jihoon were with you,” you say, not daring to meet his eyes. 

“You’re driving me to Changwon?” he asks, sounding more resigned than questioning. “You don’t have to.”

You lick your lips. Half the reason Jeon Wonwoo climbed up a tree and sprained his ankle badly is because you asked him to. The least you can do is drive him back to his hometown so he can attend his little cousin’s graduation ceremony.

“Yes,” you reply, a little too quickly. His eyebrows twitch upward, but he doesn’t say anything. You shift from one foot to the other under his gaze, feeling self-conscious. “What, you think women are bad drivers?”

He huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “I don’t think women are bad drivers. I think you’re a—” He pauses. “Wait, that’s a trick question. You’re going to kick my ass regardless.”

“Exactly. So you can just get comfortable in the passenger seat and think about the systemic oppression of women in the workforce while I drive.”

The lightheartedness helps, but only marginally. When his name is called, Wonwoo limps toward the discharge counter, his crutches squeaking against the polished tile floor. You follow, stuffing your hands into your jacket pockets because you don’t know what to do with them. The nurse hands him a clipboard, and he scrawls his signature on the dotted line. 

You glance at his profile—the curve of his mouth, the faint shadow of stubble on his jaw, the way his glasses are perched on the bridge of his nose. It’s all so familiar, and you hate the fact that you feel like a stranger standing next to him. You know he likes you, and it’s eating you up inside, gnawing at your brain, because telling him you like him, too, would ruin everything.

Not that everything isn’t already hanging by a thread, but what if something happens that makes it impossible to fix? What if you break up, and the friendship you’ve been clinging to falls apart completely? What if everything changes even more than it already has, and you can’t stop it? What if you lose one of the most important people in your life, and no matter what you do, you can’t find your way back to him? What if, what if, what if—it’s a thought that echoes endlessly.

“You don’t have to look so worried,” Wonwoo says without looking up, startling you out of your thoughts. 

“I’m not worried,” you lie, chin jutting out defensively.

He glances at you, then. “You look worried.”

“Well, I’m not.”

“Noted.” He hands the clipboard back to the nurse.

By the time you’re both outside in the parking lot, you’re back to being awkwardly polite, dancing around each other with all the grace of a baby giraffe. You watch as Wonwoo fumbles with his crutches, maneuvering them clumsily toward your car.

“I can carry those,” you offer, holding out a hand.

“I’ve got it.”

“Oh. Um. Okay.”

He doesn’t say anything after, but his jaw tightens as he leans into the passenger seat. It takes some effort—his crutches clatter against the doorframe, and he winces, trying to angle his injured foot without bumping it. You pretend not to notice his struggle, letting him preserve what little dignity he has left.

Sliding into the driver’s seat, you adjust the mirrors, stalling for time. Wonwoo doesn’t try to break the silence festering in between you both. The only sounds are the click of your seatbelt, and the soft hum of the engine.

The first few kilometres pass like this—with a quietness so thick, it’s suffocating. You grip the steering wheel a little too tightly, focusing on the road ahead as though it holds the answers to all your questions.

“So,” you begin after a while, when it becomes too uncomfortable to not speak, “your cousin’s graduation. Big family gathering?”

“Something like that,” Wonwoo says. “Everyone’s making a big deal out of it. She’s the youngest, so…”

“That’s nice.” You glance at him briefly, his face half-hidden in the shadows. “It’s good to celebrate milestones.”

He snorts. “Spoken like someone who’s never had to sit through hours of small talk about what you’re doing with your life.”

“Oh, I’ve been there. My relatives love to remind me of all the ways I’ve failed to meet their expectations.”

“And here I thought you were the golden child.”

You laugh dryly. “As if. My aunt still brings up the time I failed my learner’s permit test. Twice.”

“Twice?” he repeats, raising his eyebrows. “And you wonder why I think you suck at driving.”

“It was hard,” you defend, though your cheeks flush with heat.

The corners of his mouth lifts, the closest thing to a smile you’ve seen from him lately. It’s fleeting, but it stays with you, lingering between you both.

Conversation ebbs and flows after that, accompanied by long stretches of quiet. You focus on the road, stealing the occasional inconspicuous—or so you hope—glance at Wonwoo. At some point, his head leans back against the headrest and his eyes flutter shut. 

It doesn’t take long for his breathing to even out, his features softening in his sleep. You glance at him more openly now, heart tugging at the sight. He looks younger like this. The lines of tension on his face have disappeared, leaving only the quiet rise and fall of his chest. His glasses slip down the bridge of his nose, and you resist the urge to push them back up.

You grip the steering wheel tighter, an unexplainable warmth blooming in your chest. It’s ridiculous, really, how easily he manages to disarm you without even trying. 

But it’s not the first time you’ve seen him like this. The memory sneaks in, unbidden—the morning you woke up beside him, the sunlight filtering through the blinds, casting golden streaks across his skin; his hair mussed against the pillow; his face so close to yours. The disorientation, the rush of emotions you couldn’t name, the way your heart stuttered because of his proximity.

The warmth in your chest turns cold. You inhale shakily, tearing your eyes away from him.

Wonwoo stirs slightly, his head turning a fraction towards you. You glance at him again, your resolve faltering for a split second. You wonder if he would laugh if he knew what sort of thoughts are running through your head right now, or if he’d give you one of those infuriatingly expressionless looks of his—the kind that makes you want to simultaneously punch and hug him.

When Google Maps announces the next turn, you straighten in your seat, forcing yourself to focus. The road stretches ahead, long and winding, illuminated only by the yellow glow of your headlights and the streetlights on the sides.

It’s a long drive, you remind yourself. Plenty of time to figure out what you’re doing. Or avoid it entirely.

For now, you simply drive.

The moment you step foot into Wonwoo’s aunt’s house, a wave of warmth welcomes you—the aroma of something sweet baking in the kitchen, faint perfume, and the hum of cheerful conversation. Wonwoo limps slightly beside you, leaning more heavily on his crutches than he probably wants to admit, holding his duffel bag with his other arm.

You glance at him, frowning. “Are you sure you’re okay to walk around like this?”

“I’m fine,” he replies. You eye the faint wobble in his step but let it go for now.

Before you can dwell on it further, his aunt sweeps into view, her face lighting up like fireworks. Her hair, pinned back with a colourful bandana, curls in ringlets around her heart-shaped face. “Wonwoo!” she exclaims, hurrying over. Her gaze quickly shifts to you, and she clasps her hands together. “Oh, and who’s this?”

“This is—” Wonwoo begins, but his aunt isn’t waiting for an introduction.

“Oh, what a lovely young lady!” she gushes, stepping closer to you. “Are you two…?”

“No,” you blurt out, shaking your head vehemently. The tips of your ears burn as the word tumbles out of your lips. “We’re just friends.”

Wonwoo’s aunt looks mildly disappointed for a second before her smile reappears with renewed vigour. “Ah, well, it’s a shame,” she says. “You two would make such a beautiful couple.”

“Really, we’re just friends,” you repeat, your voice a little bit higher this time, as though saying it twice will make it truer.

Wonwoo shifts uncomfortably next to you, adjusting the crutch under his arm. His lips part like he’s about to add something, but he closes them again, opting for silence instead.

His aunt seems unconvinced, but thankfully doesn’t press further, instead ushering you both further inside. “Come in, come in! Everyone’s been waiting to see you, Wonwoo. And don’t worry, sweetheart,” she says to you with a pat on your arm, “you’ll fit right in.”

“Oh, actually, I—I think I should head back,” you say, lifting up your thumb and jerking it backwards.

“Don’t be silly,” Wonwoo says, unexpectedly. “It’s dark. You can’t drive back alone.”

“I—”

“He’s right, dear,” his aunt adds. “Stay for the weekend. I have a spare bedroom you can sleep in.”

You try to backtrack, shaking your head. “I didn’t— I don’t have any clothes, or toiletries. I didn’t pack anything.”

“That’s quite alright,” his aunt says. “We have extra toothbrushes, and I’m certain I have clothes that could fit you. Consider it a little vacation, if you will.”

You open your mouth to protest, but Wonwoo nudges your shoulder with his and gives you a pointed glare. Pressing your lips together, you—still a little unwilling—follow her into the living room. The sound of Wonwoo’s crutches tapping against the hardwood floor draws attention. A dozen pairs of eyes swivel towards you, curious but welcoming.

“Wonwoo’s here!” someone exclaims. His cousin bounds over to greet him, carefully navigating his crutches.

“Holy shit, what happened to you?” she asks, eyes wide.

“Language,” he chides, offering her a smile nonetheless. “And it’s just a sprain.”

But her attention quickly flicks to you. “And who’s this?”

Before you can answer, another voice cuts in. “Is this his girlfriend?”

You freeze. Wonwoo sighs.

“No,” you manage to say, laughing nervously. “I’m just a friend.”

Wonwoo nods in agreement, but it's too late. The murmurs have already begun.

“Really?” another middle-aged lady—another aunt, you suppose—asks, eyebrows raised. “Just friends? You two look so comfortable together.”

Hah. As if. You’ve spent the last few weeks avoiding Wonwoo so rigorously that your friends had to shove you both together into a Taco Bell booth for you to start talking to him again. Comfortable, your ass. Of course, you can’t say that aloud, so you turn to Wonwoo, silently pleading for him to step in, but he seems more focused on shifting his weight into his good leg. His family’s scrutiny, it seems, doesn’t faze him nearly as much as his sprained ankle does—which is understandable, to be fair. Just not for you at the moment.

“Seriously, we’re not—”

“But why not?” his cousin pipes up. “He’s handsome. You’re pretty—it’s like fate.”

Heat rises to your cheeks again, and you resist the urge to crawl into the nearest decorative vase and never come out. Wonwoo finally takes pity on you, clearing his throat.

“Can we all calm down? She’s here because I needed a ride,” he says measuredly.

“Sure,” his uncle mutters, and it’s followed by a smattering of chuckles.

“Alright, alright,” his aunt finally interjects. “Let the kids sit down before you lot grill them to death.”

Reluctantly, everyone’s attention shifts to the basketball match playing on the television. Wonwoo hobbles toward the nearest loveseat, and you instinctively reach out to steady him when he wobbles a little. He doesn’t say thank you, but the way he lets your hand linger on his arm feels like silent acknowledgement.

“You’re not going to make me carry you if this gets worse, are you?” you murmur, settling into the seat next to him, careful not to jostle his injured leg.

“Not unless you want to,” he deadpans.

You roll your eyes—but the moment your knees accidentally bump, the room feels a touch too small, too warm.

Conversations begin again, and occasionally, someone makes another comment about how “nice” you two look together, and you muster up a strained smile each time. Wonwoo, meanwhile, remains utterly unfazed, answering questions about college and his injury like he isn’t the centre of his family’s romantic speculation.

“Your family is… nice,” you whisper, when the room quietens finally.

“They’re just excited to see someone new,” he says.

“Excited to marry you off, you mean.”

He hums. “Maybe.”

His aunt hands out warm plates of brownies topped with ice cream, and you gratefully dig in. You’re mid-chew when his uncle asks, “How did you two meet?”

You groan inwardly, resting your spoon on your plate and barely restraining yourself from banging your head on the coffee table. Wonwoo’s lips twitch like he’s trying not to laugh. He shrugs and says, “We met through a mutual friend. Simple enough.”

“Very simple,” you echo, nodding your head prudently, hoping to end the conversation there.

“But was it love at first sight?”

Wonwoo tilts his head slightly, as though he’s genuinely considering the question. You elbow him hard, ignoring his startled oof. “No,” you answer quickly. “We didn’t even like each other at first.”

“Didn’t we?” Wonwoo asks, lips curving upwards.

“No,” you say firmly. “You were too quiet, and I didn’t know how to talk to you.”

“Maybe you just weren’t trying hard enough,” he quips.

You gape at him. “That’s—”

“Adorable!” someone cuts in, and everyone—except you—bursts into laughter.

You bury your face in your hands, utterly defeated. Wonwoo, on the other hand, seems entirely too pleased with himself, his soft laugh barely audible over everyone else’s.

You glance at him once again, dropping your hands and letting them rest on your lap. He’s resting back in his seat, his injured leg stretched out in front of him. The tiniest furrow creases his brow, a sign he’s not as comfortable as he’d like everyone to believe.

“You should’ve stayed off your feet,” you say softly, leaning closer.

“And miss all this fun?” he says, smiling softly. He’s quieter, now, seemingly tired of all the socialising, but he watches his relatives bicker over something stupid with fondness.

You shake your head, biting back your own smile.

It’s only later, as everyone disperses to their rooms, that silence befalls upon you both yet again—though not quite as awkward as before. Standing outside the guest room, you turn around to face Wonwoo, who leans heavily on his crutch now, fatigue evident in his every movement.

“You okay?” you ask.

He nods, face impassive. “You?”

“Ask me again tomorrow.”

His lips quirk upwards for the smallest of moments before he nods towards his door. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” you say, slipping into your room and closing the door behind you.

Sleep, that night, is a stubbornly elusive thing. You toss and turn, unable to close your eyes for more than a few minutes. Each time your mind refuses to quiet, you assign a new reason for your restlessness—the bed is too firm, the covers are unnaturally warm, the pillow is too lumpy. But you know, deep down, that the true culprit lies just down the hallway.

Jeon Wonwoo.

The thought of him—his silent steadiness, the way his mouth twitches up slightly when he finds something amusing, the fact that you’re in the same house as him—makes your pulse flutter in ways that you’re sure aren’t good for your heart.

You sigh, staring up at the ceiling. The faint creak of a floorboard breaks the stillness, and your heart jumps before logic catches up. It’s an old house; it makes noises. Then, there’s another creak, a softer one, like when someone is careful and doesn’t want to disturb anyone else.

Curiosity—and the undeniable urge to see him—wins over your hesitation. You slide out of bed, the floor cool against your bare feet, and pad to the door. When you open it, you nearly collide with Wonwoo in the dimly-lit hallway.

“Oh,” you whisper, pretending to be startled. “What are you doing here?”

Wonwoo shifts his weight to his better foot, leaning against his crutch. He’s dressed in a loose t-shirt and sweats, hair slightly mussed. “Couldn’t sleep,” he murmurs. “You?”

“Same,” you admit, wrapping your arms around yourself.

“Your room’s closer,” he says.

You step aside, holding the door open for him. “Come in.”

Once inside, he maneuvers carefully to the bed, his movements slow to avoid jostling his injured foot. He sits down on the edge of the mattress with a soft groan, stretching his leg out.

“You sure you’re okay?” you ask, hovering awkwardly near the desk chair.

“I’m fine,” he replies, leaning back on his palms. “Don’t hover.”

“I’m not hovering,” you mutter, sinking into the chair opposite him.

The quiet stretches, each second feeling longer than the last. You wonder if this is how it’s going to be for a long time—awkward, but unavoidable, because not being by each other’s sides isn’t an option. You fiddle with the hem of your sweatshirt, glancing at him and then quickly looking away when his eyes meet yours.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Your fingers still. “Talk about what?”

Wonwoo tilts his head. “Whatever’s keeping you awake.”

You chew on your lip. Maybe it’s because it’s so silent that nothing seems intimidating anymore, or maybe it’s everything you’ve pushed down so far finally reaching a tipping point, or—and perhaps the most likely reason—maybe you’re just incredibly, terribly, immensely stupid, but the words spill out faster than your mind reacts.

“I heard you,” you blurt out.

He straightens a little. “Heard me?”

“The other day,” you clarify, voice wavering. “In the alley by the dumpster. With Soonyoung.”

The shift in his demeanour is subtle, but you notice it—his shoulders tense, his fingers curl around the covers on the mattress. “Oh.”

You take a deep breath and force yourself to continue. “You told him you remembered. That night. The… you know.”

Wonwoo doesn’t immediately respond, his gaze fixed somewhere near the desk lamp.

“I’m not mad,” you add quickly, feeling the need to fill the silence. “I was a little confused, but—but I get why you lied. I just—” You hesitate, wringing your hands. “I feel stupid. You remember everything, and I… don’t.”

His eyes snap to yours. “You’re not stupid. We were drunk. It’s only natural that you don’t remember.”

“I don’t even know what I said to you,” you say, barking out a short, bitter laugh. “Or what I did. I’ve been over analyzing it for days, and you’ve just… known.”

“Because it was important,” he says, voice low.

Your heart stutters. “Important?”

He nods. “Yeah.”

The air feels too thick, like the walls of the room are closing in on you. You swallow hard and muster up a weak smile. “You didn’t think to, um, bring it up?”

“I thought about it,” he admits. “A lot. But I didn’t know how you’d react. I didn’t want to mess things up.”

“Wonwoo,” you say, “we’ve already messed things up.”

“Fair point.” He gives you a small, rueful smile.

You let loose a soft exhale. It feels like a weight off your chest, somehow, as though partially revealing the truth eased some of the static in your head. Wonwoo shifts on the bed, adjusting his position with a wince. Without thinking, you stand and move closer, grabbing a pillow to place under his leg.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Making sure you don’t injure yourself even more,” you say, propping his foot up gently.

“Thanks, doctor.” He’s teasing you, and you know it, but his voice is soft when he says it. Your heart, that traitorous organ, speeds up a little.

You straighten up, but something about the way he looks at you pins you in place. His eyes roam over your face, searching, and it makes your skin feel too warm.

“You don’t have to feel embarrassed,” he says after a moment, “about not remembering.”

“...I can’t help it,” you admit, barely more than a whisper.

He leans forward slightly; his hand brushes against yours. “Then let me help you.”

“What are you—”

Before you can finish, he reaches up and removes his glasses, setting them on the nightstand. His movements are deliberate, his eyes fixed on you. When he says your name, it sounds like a plea, and then, “C’mere.”

You sit down next to him. Your heart pounds so loudly, you’re sure he can hear you. “Wonwoo,” you whisper, voice trembling.

“Do you want to remember?” he asks.

Your throat feels dry; your hands clench into fists at your sides.”I—”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, leaning in slowly, his gaze dropping to your lips. You don’t move away. You can’t, so you nod instead. When his mouth meets yours, it’s anything but tentative.

Wonwoo’s lips mold against yours insistently, sending sparks shooting through your veins. His hands find your waist, pulling you closer, and you instinctively reach up, threading your fingers through his hair.

You gasp when he deepens the kiss, his tongue brushing against yours unhurriedly, in a way that makes your knees weak even though you’re already sitting. He tilts his head, exploring your mouth with a thoroughness that leaves no room for hesitation. His hand slides up to cup your jaw; his thumb brushes against your cheek. The combination of his touch and his kiss is overwhelming. Every nerve in your body feels like it’s on fire.

When you pull back for air, he doesn’t let you go far. His breathing is ragged, his fingers still gripping your waist like he’s afraid you might disappear.

“Do you want to stop?” he asks hoarsely.

You hesitate. “I— Your foot is still injured.”

“So?” Wonwoo counters, lips twitching. “That doesn’t mean I have erectile dysfunction.”

“Wonwoo,” you groan, half-laughing, half-mortified as you push at his shoulder.

He chuckles, warm and low. “Okay. No sex. But kiss me again.”

So, in the darkness of the night, in the quietness of his childhood home, you do.

There was a time when you thought Jeon Wonwoo was going to ask you out.

It never happened, of course—you wouldn’t be in this pitiful state if he had, wouldn’t be rotting in bed in layers of your own misery and heartache. 

You remember the way he’d looked at you that night. His gaze lingered just a second too long, his expression soft in such a way that made your heart flutter and your stomach twist into thousands of tight knots. You’d caught yourself staring at his lips, wondering what they’d feel like against yours, and immediately looked away, cheeks burning. He’d seemed nervous, too—words stumbling over each other like he was rushing to get them out. For one foolish, fleeting moment, you’d thought that he was going to say it.

When he told you about his girlfriend, you’d plastered on a smile and congratulated him. Still, something in your chest had sunk that day. What had you expected, really? For him to sweep you into his arms and confess that you were the one? He had always been kind, but kindness does not equate love.

Except it does, because Jeon Wonwoo had told Kwon Soonyoung that he likes you. It’s impossible—it has to be, because he had been devastated when he broke up with his girlfriend. But you remember the accidental one-night stand, and the night spent in Changwon, and the fact that he climbed up a tree to save a measly kitten just because you asked, and you know you’re lying to yourself.

And you? When he broke up with his girlfriend, you felt… relief. His sadness wasn’t something that you wanted to enjoy. No, you hated that he was hurting. But the other part of you, the part of you that had waited for this moment without ever acknowledging it, was thrilled.

The truth always finds a way to slip out. You’ve always been bad at hiding it, but the truth is this: You’ve loved Jeon Wonwoo for as long as you’ve known him.

The consequences of an accidental one-night stand go something like this: 

It starts with Kwon Soonyoung. Of course it does.

When Soonyoung gets drunk—really drunk—he becomes the type of mess no one really knows how to handle. He laughs too loud, stumbles too much, and becomes emotional over the smallest of things. The only difference tonight is that he has, apparently, outdone himself. He had, in his drunken state, managed to get himself stuck in the worst part of town with a phone number he couldn’t remember dialling, and no one had the heart to tell him he probably should just stay the night.

Somehow, Sana managed to rope you and Wonwoo into picking him up, much to Xu Minghao’s glee. 

And somehow, equally confusingly, you are on Jeon Wonwoo’s lap in his car, his foot fully healed now. The seat belt buckle digs painfully into your thigh, but it’s forgotten quickly—simply due to the fact that Wonwoo’s lips are on yours.

His hands are gentle as they rest on your back, holding you closer, almost like he can’t believe this is real. The softness of his lips, the careful yet urgent way he kisses you—it’s enough to make you forget the world outside of his car, enough to make you forget about your late-night rescue mission.

It’s dizzying, intoxicating, and when he pulls back for a brief moment to catch his breath, you barely let him before you’re leaning in again, eager for more. Your hands move on their own, finding his shirt’s collar and gripping it as if it’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

You forget that you’re both in a car, in the middle of the night, on some random dark street far from home. You forget that there’s so much you’ve buried underneath layers of friendship and years of yearning. 

It all blurs out, except for the one question nagging you ever since Minghao posed it to you back in the coffee shop.

“Wonwoo,” you murmur against his lips, and his kisses slow, just enough to listen. “Why did you break up with your girlfriend in freshman year?”

He pulls back, brows furrowed slightly. “Because of you,” he says simply, as though it was obvious all along. 

Your breath hitches. The words settle into your chest, fluttering like wings, wrapping around your heart. Because of you.

“I don’t— I don’t understand,” you whisper. “Why?”

Wonwoo doesn’t answer immediately. His hands move to your face, fingers brushing away stray strands of hair from your forehead, his touch gentle. His thumb traces the curve of your cheek. He leans forward, just enough to close the distance between you both, and kisses you again.

It’s different this time. The kiss isn’t frantic or urgent. It’s slow. His lips move tenderly against yours, hands slipping down to the small of your back, pressing you against him. When he pulls back this time, it’s only by a fraction.

“You’ve always been there, you know?” he murmurs. “It was hard, trying to get over you. I didn’t want something to happen and for our friendship to end ‘cause of something stupid.”

It turns out you and your best friend are a pair of idiots, juggling the same worries about toeing the carefully-drawn line between friendship and the forbidden zone beyond it.

All at once, the confession you didn’t even realise you were dying to make slips past your lips. “I’ve liked you from the start,” you say, a little breathless, and before you can stop yourself, you’re laughing lightly. “I never thought I’d—” You cut yourself off, shaking your head while your hands find their way back to his shirt, tugging him close.

His lips return to yours, his kiss deeper this time, more insistent. There is no hesitation this time. The kiss spirals between soft and demanding, his teeth nipping your lower lip and your tongue sliding against his. His hands are everywhere, pressing you to him as if trying to make up for lost time, and you let him, falling into the moment with a fervour you didn’t know you possessed.

You pull back only when your lungs burn for air, lips swollen and kiss-bitten. Wonwoo’s hands settle on your hips, warm and gentle.

“I think,” he says, gruffly, “Soonyoung’s probably passed out by now.”

“Priorities,” you tut, but a laugh bubbles out of your throat anyway.

The consequences of an accidental one-night stand also include dealing with an irate Kwon Soonyoung the next morning, when he barges into your apartment without warning. You and Wonwoo, with identical bedheads and noticeable embarrassment, stand in a corner together while he paces your living room.

“You’re telling me,” he says, turning around so violently, he nearly trips over his own heel, “that you forgot to pick me up because you were too busy sucking face in Wonwoo’s car?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” you say, at the same time Wonwoo says, “How crass of you, Soonyoung.”

Your friend splutters, flabbergasted. “Wow. Maybe I should quit college and start a matrimony service instead.”

⇢ a/n: this entire fic was inspired by two of my favourite kdramas: business proposal, and love next door. thank you to skye, @etherealyoungk, & kae, @ylangelegy, for beta reading this fic & leaving sweet comments! thanks for reading & i hope you have a wonderful day!

[cheolaholic]

bound to you; jww

summary; With a subtle fire growing between two vastly different souls, are they doomed to surrender to a bond that binds them together? Or... are they exactly what each other need?

abo universe • mafia au • arranged marriage • fluff, smut, angst • hurt-comfort

pairing; jeon wonwoo x f!reader | wc; 22k | rating; 18+ explicit nsfw

contains; mafia boss! wonwoo, florist! reader, alpha! wonwoo, omega! reader, reader knows how to fight back/stand her ground even though she’s submissive, right hand man! woozi, beta! svt members (cheol, woozi, gyu, vernon & chan), mentions of JxW, wonwoo is unhinge but not too unhinged, woozi encouraging/supporting wonwoo to be more unhinged, wonwoo wears glasses, very subtle “where is my wife!?” trope, not really sure who fell first and who fell harder, unplanned pregnancy, the honeymoon scene is sweet AND nasty

mature/trigger warnings; dom! wonwoo, sub! reader, big dick! wonwoo, knotting, biting/marking kink, size kink, use of sex toys, g-spot stimulation, breeding kink, unprotected sex (wrap it before you do the nasty), mating press, implied sex marathon when reader is in heat, somewhat of an aftercare, reader is extremely horny when in heat, wonwoo doesn’t mind bcs he’s just as horny and has really high stamina, tummy bulge, creampies, squirting, that one business proposal scene, drugs (heat inducers, heat/rut suppressants), forced drugging, weapons (guns, knives, needles etc), abduction, violence (it’s a mafia au so, yea), mentions of miscarriage, etc

petnames; his (Nonu, Alpha), hers (Doll, Babydoll)

a/n; RAHH, new fic !! hope yall enjoy this because i sure as hell stressed over this fic way more than i should’ve- was also sick as i tried to finish this out and get it out (by its very overdued deadline rip) big thanks to rae ( @nerdycheol) and supi ( @supi-wupi) for beta reading and sharing their thoughts on it hehe ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡

✨ support me by becoming a patreon (enjoy exclusive perks & content) OR tip me on kofi !! 💜 if you are unable to do so, you can also show support by reblogging your favourite works of mine !!

In this universe, there exists a city called Ashville.

A modern city that’s under the rule of an infamous Mafia family that’s been around for generations.

In this universe, each individual is born into one of three dynamics: Alpha, Beta, and Omega. These roles are usually found out before they become teenagers, typically around the ages ten to twelve. Not only do they dictate one’s instincts, but it also determines their place in the social hierarchy.

Alphas stood at the very top of the hierarchy, their presence commanding and unyielding. Known as protectors and leaders, their strength and resolve made them pillars of stability and order. They exude an air of confidence, their pheromones carrying an unmistakable weight that both enthralls and intimidates. An Alpha’s instinct could be a double-edged sword – their need for dominance paired with their sense of responsibility.

Betas occupy the middle grounds, acting as stabilizers so that the world doesn’t get thrown into a world of instinctual chaos. Neither driven by the dominating urges of an Alpha nor bound by the vulnerabilities of an Omega, they serve as the mediators. The voice of reason, if you will. Their neutrality is what makes them the glue that holds society together, but could also be the cause of its downfall if they were to commit treason.

Finally, the Omegas, whose roles are often misunderstood due to their vulnerabilities. They’re the heart of the societal order, their instincts centered on nurture, connection, and to a few, rebellion. They are similar to Alphas in terms of pheromones, but what set them apart would be that an unclaimed Omega’s pheromones could attract unwanted attention from unclaimed Alphas, drawing them in like moths to a flame.

Claimed Omegas would bear the bonding bite of their Alphas. But, in the event an Omega is without a mate, either by choice or tragic events; they are forced into prostitution. It is a sad reality and possible outcome to many. Hence, many Omegas forged paths of quiet defiance, proving that they too are strong without a mate.

Click.

"Can you, please, get a bit closer?" The photographer asks, practically begging at this point.

Wonwoo heaves out a sigh while your shoulders slump, tired from having spent the entire morning posing for your wedding portrait. While it was true that you were somewhat excited to have finally found your mate, let’s just say of all the possible occupations you’ve come up with, a mafia boss was not on that list.

Hell, not even the Jeon Wonwoo was on your list.

The mob boss takes a step closer, placing both hands on your hips and the photographer beams at the sight. “Yes, yes! Just like that!” he exclaims, pulling out his camera as he continues to snap more portraits. Wonwoo feels your body tense up from the close proximity so he leans in close to your ear. “Relax, doll,” he whispers, “You’re tense and you look terrified. Nobody is going to believe that we’re ‘in love’ if you keep this up.”

Click.

“I-I’m sorry,” you squeaked, the grip you had on the bouquet of flowers tightening slightly, “ ‘M just nervous…” “Oh, I know you are, doll.” Wonwoo turns his head slightly, nuzzling his nose into your hair and you let out a quiet gasp, “I can smell it. Do I scare you that much, hmm? Having second thoughts because your mate is the infamous mob boss?” He lets out a low chuckle when you shake your head profusely, clearly enjoying the effect he has on you. “Keep your eyes on the camera, darling. Once this is over, you can go right back home.”

Click.

“Shouldn’t we make preparations for the ceremony?” you asked, “What about the cake? The venue? The–”

“Don’t stress your pretty head, doll,” Wonwoo says, giving your hips a light squeeze, “I’ve settled everything and your preferences have been taken into account, too. I’ll contact you for the cake tasting and venue checking.”

“And, it’s a wrap!” the photographer announces with a wide smile, “Thank you so much Mr and Mrs Jeon! I promise you won’t be disappointed with the results!”

You weren’t sure if the photographer was always this… enthusiastic with his clients. Or if he was holding himself back from pissing himself. ‘I’d be terrified too if the Jeons were my client…’

Not one soul didn’t know who the Jeons were. What started off as a small group of delinquents had eventually grown into one of the largest mobs to run Ashville. The man who started it all, Jeon Wonsoong, was a man who could send even the Devil running with its tail between its legs. While most mobsters were practically built on wealth, the Jeons’ were quite the opposite.

Jeon Wonsoong had built the mob of the Jeon family from scratch – from the literal blood, sweat and tears of his companions and oftentimes, those who had crossed him. The Jeons had their respect earned, not given on a silver platter. Many have mocked Wonsoong when he began building a name for the family – claiming that he was too ambitious, that he’d be better off as an underling.

They were the very same people he’s overthrown.

Just a mention of the Jeon family name was enough to drain anyone’s face of their colour.

Decades later, enter Jeon Wonwoo, the one and only beloved grandson of Jeon Wonsoong. Wonwoo already had the responsibilities of being the next mob boss ever since his mother’s pregnancy was announced. Wonwoo grew up watching how the “family business” worked, seeing his father fire bullets through heads after heads of rivals or anyone and anything that could be a threat to the family.

The poor boy was terrified at first but by the time his teenage years rolled around, he’s pretty much grown numb to the fear and squeamish feeling of seeing piles of bloodied dead bodies.

He’s watched the drug dealings, the smuggling – the most atrocious crimes or businesses known to man would be committed by the Jeons’, yet they would refuse to inflict any form of harm onto women and/or children for pleasure.

Wonwoo remembered bringing it up to his father when he was 16.

“Your grandpa is a family man, son. He’d never harm a child for the wrongdoings their parents have done – that’s why he takes them into the family and raises them to be his men.”

“What about crimes against women?”

“Crimes against women is unfortunately something that cannot be stopped, regardless whether or not the perpetrators are in a mob,” Wonsoong replies as he enters the room, one hand linked with his grandmother’s while the other held onto his walking stick, “We may be mob bosses, crime lords – whatever it is they call us, Wonwoo, but, causing harm to women and children for pleasure is a monstrosity I will not allow this organisation to ever commit. Your grandmother was assaulted for choosing me over some rich bastard – your uncles and I broke their arms, castrated them before making them kneel in front of her family to beg for forgiveness.”

“His heart is in the right place,” Wonwoo’s grandmother added on, “While being a mob boss or part of a mob gang is less than ideal for anyone, at least your grandfather shows some levels of decency as a human being.”

“So… in the scenario one of our members has assaulted, or caused harm to women or children in any way, what happens to them? Do they get their bones broken and then castrated?”

“That was back in the good old days, my dear grandson,” Wonsoong chuckled, “Now, they are battered and bruised, fingers cut, and castrated – before being shot thrice.”

Sure, it’s terrifying to have the entire nation’s economy in the palm of a mafia family.

Yeah, the occasional stumbling upon a body being dumped in certain areas could be traumatising. Hell, it even caused mass panic.

But, citizens soon learnt one saying, “Don’t cause the Jeons trouble, and trouble won’t find you”. A fancy way of saying, “If you don’t want to be the next corpse, don’t fuck with the Jeons”.

Because all the bodies found were individuals who have crossed them.

You stare at the wedding venue, brows furrowed as you take in the sight. You knew the Jeons had a taste for dark aesthetic, but you weren’t expecting the wedding decorations to be all black.

You weren’t exactly a superstitious person, but you did believe in the superstition that the colour black brings misfortune.

“Are the decorations up to your expectations, Mr Jeon?” the receptionist nervously asks, “We’ve followed the reference pictures and instructions you’ve given us.”

“Umm… Could I –” your breath catches in your throat when both men turn their attention to you. Wonwoo raises an eyebrow, “Not to your liking, doll?”

“No! No! The decorations are beautiful and the venue itself is grand,” you began, “But… Could we add a little bit of colour?”

The alpha crosses his arms, “Colour? You want to add colour?” He gestures to the venue, “You do realise that everything here is decorated with intention, right? Black represents strength, power, control. It’s to show dominance –”

You cut him off, “This is my wedding, too. Don’t I get a say in this?”

Wonwoo’s gaze hardens at your interruption, clearly not used to anyone defying him; much less an Omega that’s his soon-to-be wife. He narrows his eyes, a way to get you to back down without being too dominating so as to not scare off the beta of a receptionist; but you stood your ground. The air thickens, charged with tension.

“A little colour won’t hurt this black theme you have going on, Mr Jeon,” you state, crossing your own arms and taking a step forward, “You can have all the power and control you want, but I also deserve a say in how this day looks because it’s also my day.”

The silence hangs between you both, the weight of your words settling in. The receptionist watches with a bated breath and for a moment, you wonder if you’ve pushed too far. But then Wonwoo shifts, uncrossing his arms and turns to the receptionist, “Accommodate whatever requests the missus has.”

The receptionist visibly relaxes, nodding quickly as he whips out his tablet and moves to stand beside you as you walk around the venue, listing out the changes you wanted done.

“I love the black roses bouquet you’ve lined up down the aisle, but please add in some red roses. Switch out the black ribbons on the vases for white ones; you can barely see anything!”

Approaching the tables, you pick up one of the black napkins that’s been folded into a rose. You turn to the receptionist, “I want all the black napkins gone. Replace them with a burgundy red.” The receptionist jots down every detail, his fingers moving swiftly across the tablet screen as you continue to inspect the venue. Wonwoo watches you silently, impressed as you move with purpose and an air of confidence – something he rarely sees in an Omega.

You stare at the chairs that are draped in black fabric. “Are we welcoming death? I get the whole idea of this wedding to let it be known that you’re a mob boss, but at least have something that shows you have taste.”

Wonwoo raises an eyebrow at your bluntness before the corners of his mouth twitch into a small smirk. There’s a glimmer of amusement in his eyes, but his gaze still holds a steady weight, almost as though he’s studying you.

“Taste…” he echoes, his voice low, as if contemplating your word. “This is a wedding, doll, not some fashion show.”

You gently graze your fingertips over the black fabric, “Exactly, a wedding. I get that this whole… dark and mysterious aesthetic is your thing, Mr Jeon, but at least have a bit of sophistication.”

You turn to face him fully, “I’m not asking for colourful flowers or for them to be placed everywhere or even pink ribbons. Just a little bit of refinement so it doesn’t look like a funeral.”

Wonwoo’s eyes narrow slightly, and he watches you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. He takes a step forward, his hands shoved into his pockets as he peers at the receptionist's tablet. “You’re changing everything, aren’t you?”

You meet his gaze, letting out a shaky breath as you try to maintain your confidence, “Not everything. Just enough for it to… look more like a wedding.”

The air remains thick, but there’s no hostility; just a slow understanding that’s beginning to form. After a few seconds, the Alpha lets out a quiet breath and gives a slight nod. “Alright, doll. I trust your judgement.”

He turns and walks out of the venue, saying he has a business call he needs to answer. The receptionist turns his attention back to you, “What would you like to be done with the chairs, um… Mrs Jeon..?”

You give the receptionist a small smile, “You can call me Miss Park. I’m not yet married to him to be called Mrs Jeon.”

The receptionist chuckles nervously, “Not exactly a chance I would want to take, umm… Missus.”

“Hmm, I’ll accept that term. Back to the chairs – let’s switch the black fabric for a red fabric, similar to the napkins. Have a black sash tied into a bow at the back, is that doable?”

The receptionist nods excitedly, tapping away at the tablet as he realises his commission for this wedding may be enough to seal him a quick vacation. “Yes, of course it is, Missus! Would that be all?”

You take one last look at the venue, glancing up at the chandeliers, “Just soften the lighting and we’re all settled.”

That was approximately six months ago, which means it’s been six months since your marriage to Jeon Wonwoo became official.

Park ___. That's your name, that’s who you are.

A small corner shop florist that was everyone’s go-to for event planning or last minute flowers. Everyone knew you by your flower shop. They knew you by your smile. They knew you as "the flower lady who always got your back!”.

Never in a million years would you think that you’d now be known as Jeon Wonwoo’s wife. Jeon Wonwoo’s Omega. Jeon Wonwoo’s mate.

To be frank, you hated the fact that all your years of hard work were being overlooked now that you were married or bound to Ashville’s most nefarious and powerful mob boss.

Your name, once synonymous with ambition and independence, was now whispered in hushed tones, attached only to his. Your achievements, your sacrifices, all the blood and sweat you had poured into carving your own path no longer mattered. To them, you were nothing more than an Omega claimed by an Alpha who took whatever he wanted.

The weight of your new… identity settles on your shoulders in tons. You imagined several shackles were locked around your limbs, cold and unyielding. It didn’t matter that you had built a name for yourself. Now, you were just his.

And the entire city knew it.

You hated the look people would give you – some with fear, some with pity. Others had a look of cruel amusement, as though they were watching a wild animal realising its cage had no door. That the cage was its new home.

It made your blood boil. You weren’t some weak, whimpering Omega who would roll over and get all submissive at the mere scent of their Alpha. You fought to stand where you were. But damn it all, thanks to the stupid bind fate had planned.

Wonwoo sat beside you in the limousine, both of you having just left a dinner event that was hosted by one of Wonwoo’s allies that was meant to celebrate his wedding. Not both of your weddings, just his. The entire night, you had been paraded around as though you were nothing more than an extension of him – his Omega, his possession, his wife. No one toasted to you, no one acknowledged you beyond hushed whispers and fleeting glances.

You clenched your fists, fingers curling into the fabric of your dress.

“You’re upset,” Wonwoo states, his voice smooth and calculating, the corners of his mouth lifting in a faint, amused smirk. “What’s bothering you, doll?”

“Don’t,” your tone came sharper than expected, so you took a deep breath to calm your nerves. Your voice was less hostile when you spoke again, “Don’t call me that, please.”

Wonwoo’s smirk didn’t falter, but there was something in his eyes – amusement mixed with the faintest hint of challenge. He tilts his head, studying you as if you were some artifact or priceless painting that’s been put up for display. “Don’t call you what?” he asked, his voice now softer, but the command in his words can’t be missed.

You swallowed thickly, trying to mask the storm inside you as you held your ground. “Don’t call me doll,” you repeated, this time with more conviction. There was a slight tremble in your voice, betraying the raw emotion you were trying to suppress. “I… I’m not a doll, or some object. I’m a person.”

Wonwoo’s remains unreadable, though the intensity of his gaze and his posture didn’t change. But, there was a subtle shift, a quiet acknowledgment in his eyes. “I see my Omega bites back,” he chuckles, his tone teasing but there was a hint of respect behind it. “I must say, it’s quite… refreshing… Or, entertaining, for lack of a better word.”

You frown, “Entertaining?”

His eyes scanned your face, but there was no mockery in his gaze. Instead, there was something more akin to admiration, though when it comes to Jeon Wonwoo, deciphering any of his words or looks was like trying to get pigs to fly. “Well, it’s not every day you see an Omega go head-to-head with an Alpha. Especially if the Omega is now under the Jeon Family.”

“I can play that pretty little housewife you’re picturing,” you mumble, releasing your clenched fists in favour of crossing your arms, looking out the window, “Just don’t expect me to be all pliant and submissive twenty-four seven.”

Another deep chuckle leaves his lips. Something about his words, about how he says you were the first Omega to not heel to traditions makes you feel oddly proud. It was clear he still had his guard up, but at least in this moment, you could tell he’s trying not to push your boundaries or you too far.

“Relax, babydoll.”

Hmm… Perhaps you could accept that pet name. It’s much better than being called ‘doll’.

His voice is less teasing but there was still that underlying sharpness. “You’re still you, despite what society says. That defiance you have there? There’s power in that. Not many dare to challenge the expectations placed on them. Especially Omegas.”

His words sunk in, not as an insult, but as an observation; a praise. It was one that left you feeling both uncertain yet strangely affirmed. It’s the first time in a while that someone, aside from your parents, recognised your rebellion, your defiance as something more than just a nuisance. Let alone an alpha like Jeon Wonwoo.

He reaches out a hand, finding purchase on your thigh. You tense at his touch, the heat of his hand sending a jolt of electricity through your body. But, you don’t pull away, feeling the warmth of his fingers through the fabric of your dress.

“I see that fire you’ve got in you, ___,” he continues, his fingers slowly tracing the curve of your thigh, “And it’s not just for show, too.”

Your tone came out sharper than you intended when you replied, “You think you can control that?”

A sly smirk tugs at his lips, “Control? It’d be fun to break you, sure, but… I quite like the idea of having a feisty Omega by my side. Believe me, babydoll, I know what it’s like to prove yourself to be seen and acknowledged. I had to do the same to prove it to my father and grandfather. You didn’t think I was handed this position just like that, did you?”

"I don’t doubt you had to fight for it," you say quietly. "But I’m not here for a power struggle. Not with you, not with anyone."

He shifts slightly, giving your thigh a firm squeeze. “Look, babydoll, I don’t expect you to bend over my desk or lap whenever I tell you to. But, I do expect you to listen to me when it comes to your safety or if you’re ever caught in the crossfire of my dealings. Is that understood?”

You meet his gaze, feeling a shiver run down your spine. The grip he had on your thigh had goosebumps rising, but the touch wasn’t just possessive; it was also protective. A silent reminder.

“I know you’re more than capable of handling yourself, babydoll. But being capable doesn’t mean you have to face every danger alone, and in my world, in my life, it’s not kind to the unprepared despite their capabilities to be able to stand up for themselves.”

You bite back the words you want to say, about how you weren’t some fragile porcelain doll. That you didn’t need him to look after you like you’re some helpless Omega –

“I’m not asking you to give up the control you have over your life. I can see as clear as day that you’ve been able to manage just fine without an Alpha.” Oh.

“What I’m asking from you is to trust me when it matters. I know this marriage is out of convenience, for the sake of the mating bond, but you’re not someone I’m willing to let slip through the cracks either. Not without a fight.”

His words pulled your defenses down just a little, but you still held on tight to the edges of your resolve. Perhaps it was because of the many judgemental and snide comments you’ve received from others, especially Alphas, in the past that made you want to argue with him. The way he speaks, so calm and measured, you were itching to fight back.

But, something in his eyes stops you. There was no sign of mockery, no superiority – just a raw honesty you’d never thought you’d see in an Alpha. Much less the one that practically rules over the entire city.

“I didn’t ask for any of this…” You voiced out, sounding quieter than you’d intended. “I didn’t ask for you to be my mate. I didn’t ask for you to try and protect me.”

While he doesn’t flinch at your words, there’s a shift in his posture, a subtle tense in his shoulders that tells you he isn’t completely unaffected by your words.

“I know, babydoll,” his tone now tinged with something that feels like understanding, “But, believe me when I say that I am not asking for your submission. I’m asking for your trust. If I wanted to control you, I would’ve made that clear six months ago.”

“Can’t believe those bastards had to wait six months to do this stupid party…” you mumbled, cheeks heating up as you realised you sound like a girl throwing a little tantrum.

Wonwoo chuckles, “Well, our schedules have been overlapping. I think they expected us to go on a honeymoon for a while.”

“Tch, as if I’d ever want to be on the same bed as you.”

“Moving back to the topic earlier, I’m not asking for a leash, babydoll,” his voice is low, almost soothing. “I’m asking you to let me stand by your side when the world gets too heavy. Because it will. And when that happens... I don’t want you to face it alone. All I ask for is your trust and to let me understand you.”

You’re unsure of what to say next, the weight of his gaze making it difficult to think clearly. You’ve spent almost your entire life resisting the idea of relying on anyone, but here he is, asking for something as simple as your trust.

The sincerity in his words linger, and for the first time, you wonder if you’ve misjudged the Alpha. Maybe he wasn’t like the others that were trying to force their way into an Omega’s life. Maybe he wasn’t looking to bend or break an Omega so they’d be solely dependent on their Alpha.

Maybe he too was looking for something different. Something that goes beyond fated bonds and forced relationships.

You look at him, and for the first time, you allow yourself to wonder if there’s a part of you that could trust him.

He pulls his hand away from your thigh, fingers lingering for just a second longer than necessary, as if reluctant to break the contact.

“But, there’s clearly something bothering you, babydoll. C’mon, out with it.”

You hesitate, lips parting, but no words come out. You’re not sure where to start or if you even want to start. Part of you still wants to keep everything bottled up, to keep your walls firmly in place. But then there’s him, sitting beside you with that quiet patience, the intensity in his gaze softened just enough to make you believe he might actually care about what you’re about to say.

You shift slightly in your seat, arms tightening around yourself. “That… That Juyeon guy at the dinner…”

Wonwoo's expression darkens almost instantly, the warmth in his gaze snuffed out like a candle. His jaw tightens, and though he remains still, you can feel the way his entire body tenses at the mention of another Alpha’s name.

“And, what about him, babydoll?” His voice is calm, a little too calm. It’s the kind that you know he won’t like your answer.

You swallow hard, “He… The way he spoke to me…”

You sigh, “Look, I know it’s inevitable that people will start addressing by ‘title’ instead of my name. Wonwoo’s Omega. Wonwoo’s wife. But, I don’t like it being said in a condescending tone. The way he called or referred to me as Wonwoo’s little Omega felt as though I was just another weapon or gun you’ve added to your already large collection.”

You shift a little, the frustration simmering beneath your skin as you try to put your feelings into words. “I don’t want to be reduced to that. To just another thing you own. It’s already hard enough that I had to not cuss him out for trying to feel me up the entire time…”

Wonwoo stills.

For a moment, there’s nothing but silence. Heavy. Suffocating.

The air between you crackles with something dangerous. His expression doesn’t change, doesn’t twist in anger or morph into something openly furious, but the sheer stillness of him is enough to make the hairs on your arms stand on end.

“Say that again, babydoll” he orders, and though it’s barely above a whisper, it’s the sharpest you’ve ever heard his voice. “What did you just say?”

For a moment, you wonder if you’ve screwed up by making such an accusation or statement about his associate. But, you pushed on, “Juyeon… He kept brushing up against me on the table. Placing his hand on my knee, my thigh. He’d touch my back too when he had the chance.”

Wonwoo doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move.

But then, he slowly exhales through his nose, running his tongue along the inside of his cheek as if trying to keep his composure.

“I see.”

Two simple words. And yet, something about the way he says them sends a cold shiver down your spine.

“Wonwoo–”

“Mingyu,” he calls out to the driver.

“Yeah, boss?”

“Tell Jihoon to pass a message to Juyeon. I’d like to have dinner with him tomorrow night. Just the two of us.”

“You got it, boss.”

“Wonwoo!”

“I told you I’d stand by you when it matters,” Wonwoo repeats his earlier statement, his voice softer now, but no less intense. “And this matters.”

You swallow, finding it harder to resist the pull of his words than you care to admit. The stubborn part of you wants to fight him, wants to tell him you don’t need his help, but you can’t deny how much relief it brings to know he won’t just stand idly as you get disrespected.

For the first time, you allow yourself to believe that he might actually be a good guy.

“You… run a clothing line?”

Wonwoo looks up from his desk, his eyes on you as you stand by one of the many shelves he’s lined up on the walls. In your hands was a photo frame with a photo of him and a blonde man standing side-by-side in front of a building.

“Is that very surprising, babydoll?” he asks, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Just because my family runs the mafioso doesn’t mean I have to just run that business.”

Behind the pair was a store with the sign J&W. Wonwoo said it’s a combination of their initials, a collaboration of some sorts. When you asked why he can’t just open one under his own name, his reply was simply, “You really think people would dare to set foot into a shop that’s under my name?”

“This man… Is he a business partner? Shareholder?” A shadow looms over you and tilting your head backwards, it sits comfortably against his broad shoulder. Wonwoo hums, “You could say that. He’s… I consider Jeonghan a friend and if you know me well or long enough, I don’t offer my trust easily.”

“I’m guessing that trust also applies to the hiring process of your bodyguards?”

You’ve counted a maximum of… six bodyguards during your stay at his mansion. Well, excluding his right-hand man, Jihoon, that makes five. “Some… unfortunate incidents happened when I was younger that started my trust issues.”

His voice drops just a little, one hand coming up to rest on your waist. You don’t miss the way his jaw clenches briefly before relaxing, as though catching himself before slipping too deep into memory.

“Jihoon and I have known each other since childhood. Family relations all that so it’s natural I came to trust him.”

“The others?”

“They’ve earned their place and my trust.”

You look down at the frame before tilting your head back up, raising it a little, “And Jeonghan?”

Wonwoo takes the item from your hand, as if examining it before handing it back to you. “Ah, Jeonghan…” A quiet chuckle slips past his lips, “Let’s say he’s a different story… I actually met him through Seungcheol, one of the bodyguards. You’ve probably seen him around – buff, kind of gray-ish hair.”

“The one that’s always butting heads with Mingyu?”

A flicker of surprise crosses his features, “So you’ve been paying attention.” Amusement laces his tone, clearly not expecting you to do so. You narrowed your eyes, “Well, if I weren’t aware of my surroundings, I wouldn’t have been able to survive this long until you showed up, can I?”

He gives your waist a firm squeeze, pressing a kiss to your temple, an action that catches you off guard. “I suppose you have a point, babydoll,” he concedes, voice low. “And I suppose it’s hard to ignore the two when they’re at each other’s throat.”

You roll your eyes. “Well, they’re not exactly subtle… Or quiet. It is interesting to see Mingyu surrender or lower his head, though…”

Wonwoo chuckles, taking the frame off your hands and setting it back on the shelf. “They’re both betas, but Seungcheol does have more of a… I guess more dominant nature. We’d suspected him of being an Alpha initially, but tests proved otherwise.” He adjusts the frame slightly before turning his attention back to you. “Still, that doesn’t stop him from acting like one.”

“And Mingyu just… lets him?”

The Alpha shrugs his shoulders. “Mingyu respects strength. He may not always like it, but he knows when to back down.”

You hum in thought. “And Jeonghan? Where does he fit into all of this?”

“He and Seungcheol go way back if I’m not mistaken. I don’t know the full details, but from what I’ve gathered and from what they’ve told me respectively, they used to work together before Seungcheol decided to have a change in career paths.”

Another squeeze to your waist, “Jeonghan… plays by his own rules. Always has.”

You frown slightly, clearly confused by his words. “What do you mean?”

“He’s a businessman,” Wonwoo says simply, though there’s something guarded in the way he says it. “And like all businessmen, he knows how to get what he wants.”

That doesn’t quite answer your question, but you know better than to push too hard.

“Is he dangerous?”

Wonwoo’s lips curl at the question, but it’s anything but a smile. “He’s charming, I’ll give him that.. And that makes him the most dangerous of all.”

A shiver runs down your spine. You don’t know if it’s from his tone or the way his fingers finally slide away from your skin.

The air in the mansion felt… different.

You couldn’t exactly put a finger on it, but it just felt as though there was a shift to your surroundings. Your heart was racing despite it being a calm and quiet day, Wonwoo was out discussing a fashion deal and majority of the staff in his mansion were given specific orders to not bother you unless needed.

Your heart was racing faster than usual, your senses were heightened in a way that made your skin feel alive – and not in a good way. It was in a way that made your head dizzy. It was subtle at first, a warmth curling in your lower belly, an uncomfortable tingle spreading across your limbs that makes your skin far too sensitive to the air around you.

You ignored it at first – or at least, you tried to.

The mansion was eerily quiet. The grand halls, lined with cold marble and towering windows. Despite housing the most dangerous mafioso and his bodyguards, it felt safe. But, it could be because of Wonwoo’s presence and his pheromones.

Now, each step you took felt heavier, every breath felt sharper, and the very air felt charged with something oppressive.

You knew this feeling. You had been trained to recognise it.

But it was too soon. Far too soon.

You’ve kept track of your heat since it was revealed that you were an Omega. You’ve made sure to take your suppressants on time to prevent any mishaps, never missing a single dose. Yet, despite your careful planning and discipline…

Could it be Wonwoo’s pheromones?

It had to be – your cycle wasn’t due for another week, give or take.

You pressed a sweaty palm against the nearest wall, a sudden wave of dizziness washing over you. It started as a slow burn in your veins, a heat that swirled in your stomach and spread outwards.

It was definitely your heat. You could feel it creeping up, threatening to consume you if you didn’t act fast.

“Missus..?”

Mingyu.

“Missus, you don’t look so well,” the Beta points out, taking a step forward.

It was times like these that you were grateful for Wonwoo insisting that his staff were Betas. Before you came into the picture, it was to ensure no crossfires ever happened between him and an Alpha staff. Two or more Alphas under the same roof with some kind of “power imbalance” could lead to a hostile environment, and Wonwoo prefers peace and quiet… despite the field of work he’s in.

After you came into the picture, Wonwoo would answer that he didn’t want any unclaimed or stray Alphas pouncing on his Omega.

Mingyu sniffs the air and his ears perk up as he catches a whiff of sweetness in the air. It was sweet like candy and he instantly knew what was going on. Thankfully, his training somewhat prepared him for scenarios like this, albeit it was catered more towards Alphas.

“Missus, do you have any suppressants?” Mingyu, taking a cautious step forward so as not to agitate you. You shook your head, letting out a small sniffle, “I ran out of them… I-I was planning to get them some time this week because it isn’t due for another–”

“Okay, well, I could text Boss to pick some up for you once he’s done with his meeting,” the giant suggests, reaching out a hand to steady you when he notices the slight wobble in your stance. “In the meantime, you shouldn’t be out and about, Missus��� Let’s get you–”

“What’s going on here?” Jihoon, Wonwoo’s right-hand, interrupts Mingyu’s sentence. The tall beta freezes, his hand hovering near your arm but not quite touching. His jaw clenched, glancing over his shoulder, meeting Jihoon’s sharp, assessing gaze.

Unlike Mingyu, who was all warmth and concern, Jihoon carried an air of cold efficiency, his presence cutting through the charged atmosphere like a blade. The right-hand man’s eyes flicker to you, his nostrils flaring slightly as he picks up on 

Jihoon’s eyes flicker to you, nostrils flaring slightly as he picks up on what Mingyu already had. His brows furrow, and a barely-there sigh escapes his lips. “Shit,” he muttered, noticing the way you swayed slightly against the wall, trying to regain your balance.

Mingyu lowered his hand, deciding that it was best to keep a respectful distance from you. “Missus is having a bit of a… situation,” he said, his tone careful. “She’s early and ran out of her suppressants. I was gonna text Boss–”

“Call him.” The right-hand man’s voice carried an authority that was impossible to ignore. While his eyes softened just a touch as your discomfort, they still held that calculative gaze.

The tall giant was hesitant, his thumb hovering over the screen of his phone. Every one of Wonwoo’s staff knew that calling him while he’s in any sort of meeting was serious. Texting was discreet, something that could be swept under the rug or dealt with later. But a call meant urgency. It meant that Wonwoo would have to drop everything, no matter what he was doing, to deal with the situation.

But a look from Jihoon has Mingyu cursing under his breath, tapping the call button and pressing the phone to his ear.

“Missus,” Jihoo’s tone while still authoritative, was softer than before. His gaze flickered to your hands that were trembling at your sides and against the wall. “Give me your hand.”

You’re momentarily confused, blinking up at him then lowering your gaze to his outstretched hand. His voice carried a quiet but insistent command, and despite the overwhelming wave of hormones washing over you, you obediently did so.

“You’ll be okay,” Jihoon murmured, though it seems he was reminding you rather than comforting you. “All the staff here are Betas, I’m sure Boss told you that. Your heat won’t affect us so there’s no need to fear us jumping on you.”

His gaze returns to Mingyu who’s speaking on the phone. “Won’t be long before Boss gets back. I’ll take you back to your room.” You nod your head, though you weren’t sure if it was in response to his reassurance or because you knew that your legs couldn’t walk without someone guiding you.

The walk through the halls felt like an endless blur, the air thick with both the scent of your heat and the tension of the situation. Your heart pounded in your ears, your breaths coming in short, uneven pants. The mansion, usually cold, felt suffocating now.

You barely registered when Jihoon pushed open a door, guiding you inside the room. You entered without a second thought, freezing when the scent hit you.

This wasn’t your room.

Your body recognised it before your mind did – the faint traces of musk, crisp cologne, and something that was deeply ingrained in your instincts. Your entire being tenses as you realised exactly where Jihoon had brought you.

Wonwoo’s room.

You let out a whimper, the lingering remnants of the Alpha’s pheromones made your entire body tense. He wasn’t even here yet, and you were already drowning in him. You stared at the king-sized bed, your body wanting to sink into it, to bury yourself in the softness of the sheets that still held the imprint of his presence. But, the rational part of your mind knew better.

Your sluggish thoughts tried to fight through the dizzying fog, “Jihoon, this- this isn't–”

“I know, Missus,” he interrupts cooly, “But, I'm going to assume this is your first heat that's induced by an Alpha’s pheromones. It'd be best to get used to Boss’ pheromones – not just for your heat, but for your well-being too.”

“Well-being?”

With surprising gentleness, he guides you to the edge of Wonwoo’s massive bed, lowering you to sit onto the cool sheets. It was a stark contrast to your fevered skin. Your mind screamed for you to leave, to fight the Beta and make a run for it to your room – but your body betrays you as it reacts to the lingering scent of Wonwoo’s pheromones. 

Before you can do anything, you instinctively crawl onto the bed, your fingers clutching at the sheets beneath you as you’re pulled towards the only source of comfort in your current suffocating haze. You somewhat collapsed onto the mattress, burying your face into it and inhaling deeply, a pathetic whimper slipping past your lips as your thighs clench with need.

Your fingers curled into the fabric, your entire body as the Alpha’s scent wrapped around you like a vice.

You shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t be reacting like this.

You should be fighting this, clawing your way out of this haze and demanding to be taken back to your own room where you can suffer through this alone. But your instincts don’t care for logic. Instead, you’re in Wonwoo’s room, trembling and desperate, drowning in a need so raw it leaves you gasping.

You hated how easy it was to succumb.

And then it happens.

A shift in the air.

A choked noise left your lips as his scent filled the room completely, no longer just a lingering trace but a full, undeniable presence.

You sit up immediately, turning your head back to the door behind you before you can even think. It was an instinct, your body responding to an unspoken command before your mind can even have time to process anything.

“Nonu…”

Wonwoo definitely broke several speed limits on his way back to base.

The second he saw Mingyu’s name flash across his phone screen – not a text, but a phone call – he knew something was wrong. He brought the device to his ear, nothing more than a clipped ‘Speak’. Once Mingyu announced ‘Missus is early’, he ended the call and left the meeting without a word.

He didn’t care who was speaking. Didn’t care about the confused stares or hushed murmurs as he strode out the boardroom.

The only thing that mattered to him was getting back to you.

He stopped by a pharmacy, picking up several bottles of heat suppressants and a few cooling patches before speeding the rest on his way home.

Wonwoo storms through the halls of the base, his coat thrown onto the couch, his tie loosened and his jaw set tight.

Everyone knew they had to stay the hell out of his way.

His staff, the Betas, moved to the sides, pressing their back against the walls as he passed. Nobody dared to meet his gaze, not even Seungcheol – especially when the Alpha’s scent was laced with irritation – thick and suffocating in the air.

Grabbing a bottle of suppressants and a packet of heat patches from the plastic bag, he tosses the bag to a nearby staff. “Chan, store the suppressants in the missus’ bathroom cabinet. Cooling patches go in the mini fridge for her skincare.”

Chan nodded quickly, following the instructions.

Approaching his room, Jihoon steps aside from the door and slips past him without so much as a glance back. There was nothing that needed to be said. The right-hand man had done his job. Now, it was Wonwoo’s turn.

He entered the room and his expression was unreadable as he took in the scene before him. His nose twitched as your pheromones had practically covered every corner of his room. Sensing his presence, he watches as you sit up on your knees, head turning back and making eye contact with him.

“Nonu…”

He hears your breath hitch as he draws closer, his footsteps slow and deliberate.

“You really are a handful…” His voice was smooth, almost lazy. But, there was something else beneath it, something dark. It caused a shiver to run through you. Whether from arousal or fear, you’re not sure.

He steps closer, footsteps slow and deliberate. With each step he takes, a spike of awareness shot throughout your body. Your body reacts instinctively to his presence, knees pressing together in an attempt to soothe the ache inside your stomach. But, you knew it wouldn’t work.

Nothing did.

Not the cool sheets, not the distance that grew shorter and shorter.

By the time Wonwoo reaches the edge of the bed, your entire frame is trembling. He tilts his head to the side and exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair.

“Nonu…”

Fuck. Your voice sounded so wrecked that the Alpha’s breath stuttered for just a second.

It sounded so needy, trembling with something raw that managed to slip through the cracks of Wonwoo’s self-restraint. His fingers twitched at his side before crossing his arms in front of his chest, the black button up straining slightly against his forearms and chest.

Your mind grew foggy as his scent grew thicker, wrapping around you completely. Before your mind could even process it, your body moved on its own – crawling to the edge of the bed to be closer to where he stood.

Wonwoo didn’t understand why Jihoon would bring you to his room (he does, he just doesn’t want to acknowledge it). You should be locked in your room, alone and away from him. Yet, here you were – right in the center of his personal space, clinging to the sheets like they were the only thing anchoring you to your senses.

The worst part of it all?

You looked like you belonged there.

He reaches out, cupping your cheek and tilting your head up. A small, needy whimper slips from your lips before you even realise. He orders you to stay still and you do, opening your mouth and sticking out your tongue. Wonwoo presses the pill to your tongue and the bitter taste barely registers past the haze in your mind.

“Swallow.”

You obey instantly, throat bobbing as you swallow the suppressant without protest. You opened your mouth again, showing him that you had done exactly as he ordered.

Wonwoo’s jaw tightened.

The fact that you took the suppressant without much fight should have relieved him, but it didn’t.

Because your lips trembled.

Because your pupils remain dilated.

You close your mouth, another whimper slipping free as you nuzzle your cheek into the palm of his hand that cupped your cheek. Both of you knew the heat won’t subside immediately, that it would take up to hours for the suppressant to actually kick in.

After a few moments, Wonwoo pulls his hand away and lets out a slow, measured breath.

“Good girl.”

Two words.

Just two simple words.

And yet, your entire body shudders.

His eyes darkened for a brief second before he stood to his full height, pulling his hand away as he took a step back. You whine at the loss of his hand against your kin, blinking up at him and Wonwoo swallows hard.

“Don’t.” His voice came out tighter than he intended, “Don’t look at me like that, babydoll.”

Like he was the only thing you needed.

Like he was the only one that could save you.

“Nonu, please,” you whined, “Make the pain go away.”

Wonwoon’s self-control snapped and before he could even think, he was on you. One hand came up to cup the back of your neck, fingers threading through your hair as he tilted your head up.

And then he kissed you.

Hard.

It wasn’t soft and gentle.

It was desperate – a clash of heat and hunger, of pent-up frustration.

You gasped into his mouth, fingers fisting into his shirt and his grip tightened. Wonwoo presses his lips harder against yours as he swallows every whimper, every soft plea. Your heat was drowning him, making him forget every single rule he had set for himself.

He knew this was reckless. Knew that this could have dire consequences.

But when you moaned against his lips, the noise soft and needy, every ounce of logic flew out the window. His tongue slid against yours, deepening the kiss as if he was attempting to steal the breath from your lungs. His hands moved, sliding down your thighs and gripping them just enough to make you gasp again.

Wonwoo thinks he could still salvage what little control he had as he presses you deeper into the mattress – at least until he hears you whisper his name. The sound was soft, pleading – ruined, even. And he realises that it was already too late.

He’s gone.

“I’ll only help you this one time,” Wonwoo’s voice was low, dangerously low. He sounded controlled, but the way his hand gripped your thighs; the way his gaze dropped to your lips betrayed the inner turmoil he was facing. “Understood?”

You nodded immediately and he narrowed his eyes. But there was no mistaking the way your body arched towards him like it already knew what it wanted. His hands slid up your sides and under your shirt – his rough, calloused hands running against your smooth skin.

Just this once, he told himself.

Just tonight.

Just until the suppressants kicked in.

“Nonu!”

Fuck. The way you cried out so prettily for him had him curl his fingers deeper inside you. He was supposed to be in control, not let his instincts take over. But, damn it, the way you begged his name in that desperate, pleading tone had him losing focus.

Truth be told, Wonwoo always had a distaste for the heat and rut cycles. They were messy, primal; a reminder of how little control he had when it came to instincts like this. His body screamed for release, for dominance, but discomfort clawed at his mind.

But, God, the way you reacted to him. Every touch, every whine of his name, it ignited something he couldn’t deny.

Your back is pressed against his chest, the fabrics clinging to your skin damp with sweat and fever, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. All you could feel was how good his fingers were working inside you – skillful and relentless.

The fabrics between you only intensified the ache. Your night shorts were thrown somewhere into the corner of his room, the shirt somewhat bunched around your hips while Wonwoo, still fully dressed, sat behind you with his back against the headboard. His chest felt warm against your back, the steady breaths he let out betraying the tension vibrating through his body.

You keened, one arm thrown back to hold the back of his neck in an attempt to ground yourself. “Nonu…” You whimpered, voice cracked and ruined. “N-Need more. Please, I–”

“I know,” he growls against the side of your neck, voice strained. His lips brushed your skin, not quite a kiss, but the warmth made your entire body shudder. “I know, babydoll. Your poor pussy needs more, right? Your heat has you all hot and aching, doesn't it?”

His free hand rests on your waist, anchoring you against him as his fingers curled again – this time slower, as though he’s searching for something. “She’s begging, babydoll. Dripping and sucking my fingers in like she knows who she belongs to.”

A sharp gasp leaves your lips and Wonwoo feels your body tremble. Your legs try to snap shut and he whispers into your ear, “That the spot?”

You nodded, back arching as his fingertips continue to bully your g-spot. You could feel him pulsing hard through his pants, pressed flush against your ass. Every clothes rut of his hips against you has you crying out – needy, frustrated.

Your thighs are trembling violently now, the tension coiling deep in your gut and it was ready to break. Wonwoo continues to stimulate that spongy spot, his fingers working to open you up with expert precision. “You’re close, aren’t you, babydoll?”

You could only nod, not trusting your words as your mouth parts to let out a high pitched moan as your body surged towards the edge. He presses his fingers until they’re knuckle deep inside you, curling up right against that spot as his thumb circles over your swollen clit.

“C’mon,” he rasps into your ear, “Cum for me.”

Your body obeyed before your mind could catch up.

White hot pleasure crashes over you like a tidal wave. Your vision blurs and your entire body seizes as you cried out, body jerking against the Alpha behind you as a gush of wetness spilled over his hand and soaking the sheets beneath you.

Wonwoo doesn’t move. Instead he holds you tighter, hands still resting between your legs but his thumb circles your clit in a manner that was meant to ground you. You're gasping and shaking in his arms, hands trying to push at his wrists, desperate but weak. You aren’t sure if it was overstimulation or if you wanted him to give you more.

His voice was low, full of something far too tender for the way his heart was racing – for the way he’d always acted. “Good girl. Did so well for me.”

Wonwoo looks down at you only to be met by you looking up at him, eyes glassy and lips parted in a silent plea. You were flushed and panting in his lap, slick coating his fingers.

Despite his distaste for these cycles, he knew he’d do it again.

He hated how much he realised he loved this, how he could pull those sounds from you.

But, he loved how he was the only one who could pull those noises from you.

Loved how you trusted him through it.

Wonwoo carefully pulls out his fingers, ready to move you back to your room – then you whimper out his name like it was a prayer meant just for him.

“Babydoll,” he growls lowly, voice rough and filled with warning. “Don’t look at me like that.”

Yet you did.

Maybe it was the scent of your heat. Maybe it was the way you clung to him, silently begging him. Maybe it was the way that nickname you called him rolled off your tongue like he was your God.

He’s quick to have you pressed against the mattress, hips flushed against yours as he finally gives in to the carnal pull. You hear him fumbling with his belt and the sound of his zipper coming undone. The sudden shift in the situation knocks the air straight from your lungs.

One moment he’s cradling you in his arms, the next you’re sprawled beneath him; his hands on either side of your head to not just keep himself up, but to keep you right where he wants you.

Where you need to be.

You gasp out his title – not his name or that cute lil nickname you just gave him, but his title. Your eyes fluttered shut as your fingers claw into the bedding, silently begging for him to just fill you up.

And he does.

In one thrust, he buries himself to the hilt and savours the way you cry out to him, body arching as your pussy clamps down on him.

He leans over you, chest pressed against yours, lips brushing over the shell of your ear. “Feel that, babydoll? That’s me shaping your pussy so that it only knows how to take my dick.” He pulls his hips back, just until only his tip remains inside before slamming forward, making sure you feel him in your womb. “Wanted me to fuck you? Well, I’m gonna give it to you.”

A needy sob escapes your lips as he sets a punishing pace; and he chuckles lowly, hot breath against your neck. His lips part and he bites down on your neck, hard, claiming the spot with a bruising mark. You gasp, the sting sending a jolt of pleasure through your core, causing your pussy to squeeze him tighter.

Wonwoo growls, hips stuttering for just a moment before he thrusts even deeper, harder – making sure your walls remember every vein, every inch.

“My sweet Omega,” he grunts against your skin, voice rough and possessive. His tongue darts out to soothe the bite. You mewl, feeling the imprint of his teeth as though he was trying to brand you as his.

Your hands scramble for purchase, settling on his back and your nails dragged down his back as he fucks you through every tremble, every whimper.

“You like that, dontcha babydoll?” he sits up, knees digging into the mattress as his hands grip your hips so tightly you were sure it’d start to bruise. All you could do was nod, tears gathering in the corner of your eyes.

“C’mon, babydoll,” he coos condescendingly, one hand sliding up your body to wrap itself loosely around your throat. He didn’t apply any pressure, just letting it sit there as a reminder of his control, his claim.

And it was like a switch flipped.

A sharp gasp escapes your lips, back arching off the mattress as more slick drips out of your pussy, creating a white ring of cream around the base of the Alpha’s cock.

You didn’t mean to react the way you did, and Wonwoo felt it.

The way your walls clenched around him tighter, the sudden wetness coating where your hips met.

“Oh?” his tone was dark with approval, “You like that?”

“S-So good, Alpha,” you choked out, mind growing hazy from your heat and the pleasure, “Love.. Love it so much! Feels s’good!”

His thrusts grew rougher as something primal took over. He removes his hand from your throat, sliding it down your body to rub tight circles over your clit. Your back arches as a sharp cry tears from your throat, body trembling uncontrollably. Slick gushes out from your pussy as you squirt again, drenching his shirt and milking his cock.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he growled, hips stuttering at the milking compression of your cunt. “Shit, I’m close, babydoll. And you're gonna let me fill you, isn’t that right?”

You nodded through the haze, words slurred by pleasure, “A-Alpha!”

That was all it took. With one final thrust, Wonwoo buries himself to the hilt as his cock twitches inside you as he cums deep inside you. 

The room was thick with the scent of your heat and sex, but all Wonwoo could hear was the sound of your soft, uneven breaths – body still trembling from the aftershocks of pleasure, barely conscious of anything except for the way he filled you to the brim.

He stayed buried inside you for a moment longer, reluctant to leave the warmth of your creamed pussy. But when he hears your soft whimper, noticing the way your body twitching from oversensitivity, he’s snapped back to reality.

Wonwoo groans as he carefully pulls out, a groan escaping his lips at the sight of his cum spilling out from you – coating the insides of your thighs and dripping onto the sheets beneath you. You whimper at the emptiness, at the sudden cold air on your overheated skin.

He doesn’t say anything, only tucking himself back into his pants and stands up.

For a moment, you thought he’d leave you in his room – maybe even go as far as to sleep in one of the guest rooms.

But then, you hear the faint rustling of the plastic bag before the mattress dips beside you.

Wonwoo leans over, gently brushing away the sweat-damp strands of hair from your forehead. You can barely keep your eyes open, the heat and aftermath pulling you under.

Then, coolness.

A soothing, mental chill spreads over your fevered skin as he places a cooling patch on your forehead. You let out a shaky breath, weakly reaching out for him.

Wonwoo takes them in his.

“Shh,” he murmurs, his voice no longer holding that sharp or commanding tone. Instead, it sounds softer. “I’ve got you babydoll.”

His other hand adjusts the sheets around your body, tugging the blanket up to your waist after retrieving your night shorts from the floor. He made sure your legs weren’t tangled, made sure you were comfortable.

You blinked up at him sleepily, cheeks still flushed a shade of red and lashes slightly damp. “Please stay, Nonu…”

He freezes.

For a moment, the only sound was his breath, still a little uneven. You could tell he was torn between his old habit of keeping you at arm’s length and giving into his instincts.

Without uttering a word, he eases under the covers beside you, gently pulling you into his chest. His arms wrapped around you, strong and warm, as he nuzzles his face in your hair. “Of course, babydoll. You’ll sleep easier if I’m here.”

Wonwoo never stays. Once he’s made sure you’re in good hands, he'd leave.

But, tonight wasn’t like the others.

Tonight, he stayed – not to keep his distance, but to keep you close.

Tonight, he stayed to protect you.

His.

You felt it then– the way he held you. Not like a favour, but like someone claiming what’s his.

Weeks after that incident during your heat, you and Wonwoo went on with your lives as though nothing had happened. The mansion returned to its usual rhythm – quiet mornings, the hum of the electric kettle.

Wonwoo buried himself in work, occasionally checking up on you as per his mother’s command, occasionally picking you up from your flower shop instead of leaving it to Mingyu. They were… small efforts into making the marriage look less of a business arrangement, but you appreciated it nonetheless.

You busied yourself with your own work, too. But, you’d still go grocery shopping and prepare meals for the people of the mansion (which frankly, was a task you overestimated because cooking for 6 people proved to be a difficult task). They’d thank you, of course – you went through all the time and effort – it’d be wrong for them not to appreciate it and clean up after themselves.

However, you were careful to not let yourself brush against the Alpha for too long. Nor would you let your thoughts drift back to the night where tangled limbs and breathless whispers once filled the space.

While you both went on with your lives, acting as though nothing had happened – there was a subtle shift in the air.

Mingyu was the first to notice it.

Being one of the bulkier guards, he had been stationed at the mansion to keep an eye on things during your off days. It was a simple routine he took a liking to – he gets to have a nice conversation with less scarier missus and it was considered low stake.

That morning started out no different than the others. You passed him in the hallway, offering a soft habitual “Morning, Gyu” as you balanced a basket of laundry against your hip. He nodded in return, returning the smile and his eyes followed you until you turned a corner.

His nose twitched as he picked up the smell of something… sweet. Like the first bloom of spring in the middle of winter.

It was far too faint for it to be a heat cycle, but it still lingered in the air.

Mingyu couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. You looked the same, moved the same. But there was something different about your aura.

Wonwoo only noticed the sweetness of your pheromones once Mingyu brought it up.

He’d pause a little longer when he passed you in the hallway, fingers twitching just a little when your scent clung to the couch after sitting on it for hours. His jaw would flex when you leaned over him to grab something from the kitchen shelf.

Yet, he didn’t say anything.

Neither did you.

You hear the door open just past midnight.

Muted voices. Heavy boots.

You catch a whiff of the faint, metallic tang of blood and turn your head towards the front door.

Wonwoo was the first to enter, as always. His expression is calm, unreadable. His coat hung open, dark with flecks of something you didn’t need to guess. Jihoon followed close behind, quieter than usual. His shirt was stained too, though he’d slug his jacket over his arm to conceal most of it.

He looked… calmer. The tiredness in his eyes were evident, but he didn’t have that frenzied look he always had. There was no smirk, no offhand remarks about which body part he sliced off, where he left it or if he convinced Wonwoo to break every bone of their rivals.

You stayed curled on the far end of the couch, a soft blanket on your lap with a book in hand. “Hi, boys. Long night?” You asked, tone casual but laced with something warmer

“Hey, Missus,” Jihoon responds, brief but polite. “Kinda.. But, we got it under control.”

He disappears down the hallway without another word, tugging off his bloodied gloves. Wonwoo follows a beat later, slinging his coat over one shoulder, a faint dark red smear on his jaw. “Have you had dinner, babydoll?” His voice was oddly warm.

You nodded your head, “Gyu made some aglio olio with steak. There should be some leftovers in the fridge for you.”

Wonwoo nods in response. He continues to stand there, looking at you like he was still figuring out he’s supposed to get used to coming home to this – to you.

You look back at him, and he notices the subtle way your nose wrinkled at the scent clinging to his nose, how your fingers twitched against the cover of the book you’re holding.

“I’ll go shower,” he mumbles, voice lowering. It almost sounded like an apology in disguise.

He walks up the stairs, halting momentarily to look back at you. That scent of yours still hangs in the air – sweet, distracting. Wonwoo stands there for a few more seconds before disappearing in the halls of the house, leaving silence and a rising heat in your chest.

He reappears moments later, now in a loose shirt and pyjama pants – looking more like a sleep-deprived graduate student than a man capable of unspeakable violence. He heads towards the kitchen and you follow him, feet quiet against the hardwood floor.

The house felt too big at that moment, the silence stretching between the walls like it was listening. The Alpha doesn’t say anything, just moving with the practiced ease of someone who’d done this a hundred times – opening the fridge and grabbing a bottle of chilled wine. It was like he belonged in the silence.

The overhead light pooled golden over him, catching in the soft fall of his hair, the sharp line of his jaw. The loose fabric of his shirt clung to the curve of his shoulder, just barely damp from the shower he just took, and you caught yourself staring – longer than you should have.

“You’re not gonna eat what Gyu made?” you asked, breaking the silence between you both before it could swallow you whole.

Wonwoo didn’t look back at first, popping the cork with one clean motion and pouring himself a glass with a kind of ease that spoke about how often he did this – like he was numbing or avoiding something.

“It’s cold now,” he answers, voice quiet but not dismissive. The wine filled his glass with a smooth swirl of deep red.

Then, without a word, he reached for another glass.

Not for wine.

He filled it with water from the chilled filter on the fridge, the sound soft and steady in the stillness of the kitchen. He sets it down on the counter near you and you blinked. There was no eye contact nor explanation, but the gesture settled somewhere deep in your chest.

You take a step closer, fingers brushing against the cool glass as you pick it up. “Thanks..” You take a sip and set it back down, leaning against the counter with your arms folded loosely. “But, just because the food is cold means it’s bad.”

“I’m not hungry.”

You watch him bring the glass to his lips, taking a slow sip before setting it down with a soft clink. His gaze lingered on the dark liquid, as though he was contemplating something.

“You didn’t even look at the plate,” your voice wasn’t accusatory, it was just gentle – just there.

Wonwoo lets out a breath, not exactly a sigh. “Didn’t need to.”

The silence that followed felt different – it felt tighter.

Then, without thinking, you moved a little closer. Just enough to feel the warmth radiating off him. Just enough for your voice to come out quieter when you asked, “Do you ever let yourself take a break, Nonu?”

Wonwoo’s jaw tensed. He doesn’t look at you when he answers, “I take a break when I sleep.”

“You barely sleep…”

You see a flicker in his eyes – you touched something.

He knew it.

You knew it.

But he didn’t run from it, at least not this time.

“Then I guess I don’t stop,” his reply was low, maybe a little bit more honest than he meant it to be.

You stood there for a beat, the glass cool in your hands – the silence wrapping around you both like a blanket that was too heavy to shake off. Your eyes dropped to the way his fingers held the wine glass, knuckles still faintly pale from tension. The condensation on your own glass trickles down your fingers, as though it was trying to ground you in the moment.

“Are you hurt anywhere, Nonu?” The question came out softer than you meant it to be – it sounded warm and it lingered in the air. You didn’t look at him directly, just watching the condensation slide down the side of his glass.

“No.”

It was clipped. Cold. Dismissive.

The kind of answer that was meant to end the conversation before it could even start. You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat. Of course – you weren’t supposed to ask. You weren’t supposed to care – not like that. Not out loud.

He didn’t move at first. Just standing there, knuckles pale against the glass as his eyes locked on some distant point past the kitchen tiles. The silence stretched, heavy and humming, until he sniffs your sweetness in the air again. The sweet scent relaxed his posture, his shoulders dropping just a little and his grip around the glass loosened.

You watched him carefully, heart thudding in your chest and your voice caught before you even knew you were going to speak again.

“Can… Can I sleep with you tonight, Nonu?”

The words hang in the air, delicate and trembling.

It was too soft to take back. Too honest to ignore.

His fingers stilled around the glass, the sound of the fridge humming filled the silence that followed. You hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but it had. Your heart thudded in your chest, loud enough to drown out the quiet.

Wonwoo stares at you, his expression unreadable. His eyes seemed darker tonight, shadowed by something you couldn’t quite place a finger on. He looked tired – not just physically-bone-deep tired, but it was like the world had taken a little more from him than he was willing to admit. Whatever he and Jihoon did out there, it still clung to him like smoke.

“Trouble sleeping lately, babydoll?” His voice was surprisingly soft, low and quiet like he didn’t want to wake the others in the house.

You nodded, looking at the glass in your hand. “The air’s been… weird lately. A-And, it’s hard to sleep without you lately.” Your fingers tightened slightly around the glass, voice barely above a whisper – shaky and raw, “I-I don’t know why but it is… Especially when you’re gone.”

He was still staring, and you couldn’t bring yourself to look up – not when you knew his expression is all it takes to undo you.

Another beat of silence.

One second.

Two.

Then, you hear a quiet breath escape him. His glass clinks on the counter as he sets his drink down.

His voice was soft, “Come on, babydoll.”

His response caught you off guard. When you looked up, he was already turning away, walking toward his room – but his pace was slower than usual. As though he was waiting for you to catch up to him.

Your heart flutters, warmth flooding your chest even as your legs carry you forward. Wonwoo doesn’t say anything when you slipped into his room behind him, the bed dipping under your weight. The mattress sighs softly when you settle in beside him – it wasn’t the first time you shared a bed, but it was the first time you asked to.

You lay on your side, back facing him as you clutched the edge of the blanket like it was the only thing anchoring you. Wonwoo doesn’t move for a while, but you could hear his breathing – steady, though it was a little too measured to be natural. Awake. Thinking.

Maybe regretting this decision.

Your throat tightens, tears brimming in your eyes as you start to overthink.

But then, quietly, just barely there, you feel the blanket shift. The mattress dips again, and your back feels warmer as his body inches close. It doesn’t touch, though it was there.

There was a beat of silence, the tension in the air so thick that you could feel it pressing against your skin.

Then, slowly his arm slips around your waist. It was slow enough to almost break you. Your breath hitches, but you don’t stop him. You don’t move, letting yourself sink into him. His hand rests lightly on your stomach, not in a possessive manner; just there, offering you a grounding presence.

“I don’t sleep well because I worry of the danger you’re in by being my mate,” he murmurs, voice almost buried against the back of your neck. “Not when I come back from that kind of work. Not unless I know you’re safe.”

You close your eyes, something in your chest tightens at the vulnerability in his voice, a kind of raw honesty he rarely ever let slip.

“I am safe, Nonu,” you whispered, “With you.”

He doesn’t say anything, but the way his arms wrapped themselves around your waist, the way his forehead lightly brushes against your shoulder… It was enough.

You didn’t say another word. You didn’t need to.

Sleep came slowly that night, but this time – when it did, it came easier.

And for the first time in what felt like weeks, neither of you woke up alone.

Wonwoo stayed late at the office one night. The quiet hum of the city through the floor-to-ceiling windows did little to distract him from the glow of his screen or the dull ache that was beginning to form behind his eyes.

Numbers blurred, reports repeated themselves – he was going through the motions, more out of habit than necessity.

His phone buzzed. His mother.

“Mother?”

“Wonwoo,” her voice was soft, but there was a certain sharp edge to it. “You’re working late again?”

“I am,” he said flatly, not annoyed – just a little confused as to why his mother was calling him.

“Go home, Wonwoo. Be with your mate. She needs you.”

The words stung more than it should have.

“She has Mingyu and Chan looking after her–”

“She doesn’t need them, Wonwoo.” Her voice firmer, “She needs you. Her Alpha.”

“What’s this about, Mother?”

“It’s hard for me to explain this over the phone, Wonwoo. Just… Just go home and be with ___, okay?”

The line disconnects before he could respond. Staring at his phone, his thumb hovers over the redial button, demanding answers.

He never got the chance.

His phone rang again – this time, Mingyu’s name flashes across the screen.

It was never a good sign when his men called him.

He picks it up on the first ring. “What?”

“Boss– Wonwoo– fuck,” Mingyu’s voice was shaking, breathless. “Where are you? Missus is gone. The door was busted in, Chan’s unconscious near the stairs and– fuck– there’s blood.”

The words don’t register at first.

“She’s gone.”

Wonwoo froze in his seat, phone pressed to his ear – Mingyu and Seungcheol shouting on the other end. Something about getting Chan medical help for a GSW to his abdomen. The office lights hummed quietly and everything around him felt… wrong. Too still. Too normal.

It was so… eerie.

Blood. Mingyu said there was blood.

“How messy is the place? How’s Chan?”

He finally stands up from the desk, papers fluttering off his desk, forgotten. His grip tightens around the phone until his knuckles whitened.

“It’s bad, Boss. This place is trashed, fuck.” Shuffling can be heard before Mingyu speaks up again, “Chan said she fought. Oh fuck, one of the guy’s face is clawed off.”

“Gyu!” Seungcheol’s voice rings through the background, “We got a survivor! Tell Wonwoo to come back quickly!”

Mingyu didn’t need to relay the message, already hearing Wonwoo starting up his car.

The Alpha’s jaw clenched so tightly that it started to ache. A sound clawed its way up his throat, something raw and ragged. But, he swallowed it down. “How long ago?”

“About an hour. Maybe less. Cheol and I went out to get some groceries and when we got back, we found the place like this.”

“Chan and Vernon?”

“Chan’s wound up pretty bad, but he’ll be okay. Vernon’s helping Cheol prepare the bastard that survived.”

Wonwoo exhales through his nose. He feels sick. His body wants to move, to run, to destroy something – but his mind was spiraling, trapped in the memory of your last interaction. Cold, casual and detached. Like you were just a roommate. Like he hadn’t felt the way you cling to him during that heat. Like he hadn’t felt you snuggle up close to him when you both fell asleep in the same bed weeks after.

He should’ve listened to his mother.

He should’ve come home.

“Make sure that bastard lives until I get there,” he ordered Mingyu, voice now low and lethal. “Tell Jihoon to get his switchblade ready.”

He ended the call and drove through the streets. The engine roars to life like it felt his fury, the sound tearing through the night as he shot out of the compound. Tires screamed against the pavement, and the city blurred past him – buildings, lights, the occasional flash of red as he burned through the intersections without hesitation.

You were his.

And someone had taken you.

He was going to make sure he’d put an end to those bastards.

Your head pounded.

The room swayed as you blinked awake, wrists bound behind your back and there was a coppery tang in your mouth. A single overhead light buzzed above you, like a spotlight focusing on the main lead, and the rest of the space was swallowed in the shadows.

Concrete walls. Damp floor. Industrial. Underground? Maybe.

You shifted, testing the restraints. You could move, but it’d take some effort to break free from them. Then you hear it.

Footsteps.

You stilled, keeping your head low as several men stepped into the room. You didn’t recognise their scents. They weren’t of anyone familiar to you. They weren’t Wonwoo.

One of them circled you, stopping somewhere behind you. “She’s smaller than I thought…”

“Yeah, but she’s feisty,” came another, his voice sharper. “Don’t let her face or size fool you. Bitch fucking bit me when we took her in. Had to knock her out to make things easier.”

One knelt in front of you, just out of kicking distance but you held back. “You’re awake.”

“Such amazing observation skills,” you snorted, blinking the haze from your vision. “What gave it away? My eyes being open or the fact that I’m glaring back at you?”

It was a shame they didn’t laugh.

“If you’re smart and behave, maybe we’ll go easy on you.”

You scoff, “Please, if you were smart, you’d know you made a grave mistake the moment you busted my front door in.”

The figure leans in slightly, expecting fear but all you offered was a tilt your head. “So, what’s the plan? Some kind of ransom? Revenge?”

The masked man tilts his head, brows furrowed in confusion. “You’re not exactly acting like a scared little Omega.”

“Yeah, funny thing about that – I bark and bite. If you assholes think you can–”

Smack.

A sharp slap landed across your cheek as you were mid-sentence. The sting flared, but you didn’t flinch. Instead, you take a deep breath and straighten your posture, licking the copper from the corner of your mouth. “Oh, my bad…” your voice was low, “But you really should’ve known better than to think I’d be the damsel in distress type.”

There were at least three of them when they returned after leaving you alone for hours. They still wore those black face masks, as if that was supposed to scare you.

One carried a metal case and the other cracked his knuckles, another move that was meant to scare you. But what was scaring you the most was how terrible their intimidation tactics were. You sat upright the best you could, back straight against the wooden chair, chin lifted like you hadn’t been bound for hours. Like you weren’t aching in places you hadn’t known could ache.

They didn’t speak at first, only opening up the case. Silver tools gleamed under the low light.

You arched a brow. “Wow. Dontcha think that’s a little dramatic? What happened to just asking nicely?”

One stepped forward and backhanded you, hard. Your head snapped to the side, cheek screaming from the impact, but you refused to give them the satisfaction of crying out in pain.

“Tell us everything you know about the Jeon clan,” demanded the man that opened the metal case. “Security. Other bases. Codes, if you know any.”

You spit at his face.

They didn’t like that.

The first hit was to your stomach – brutal and deep, knocking the breath from your lungs. Then another to your ribs, then your face again. You lost count after five, maybe six.

Still, you didn’t scream.

“Damn, this bitch can take hits.”

Pain blurred the edges of your vision, but you clung to consciousness with everything you had. You thought of Wonwoo. Of how he looked at you when you didn’t think you were watching. Of how he subtly showed his affection thinking you wouldn’t notice.

You thought about how furious he’d be if he were to see you in the state you were in. Wonwoo’s mother had previously mentioned their stand on crimes against women, how if their own had even a strand of hair plucked, the perpetrators would face dire consequences.

When they paused, panting like they’d been doing real work, one leaned in and grabbed a fistful of your hair, tugging on it hard. “Last chance. Talk.”

The smile you gave had one of them flinching. Not because of how badly beaten up you looked, but because it bordered on the line of a psychotic smile.

“The Jeons don’t break, and neither do I. We fucking burn.”

These bastards sure as hell loved leaving you alone. Though you’d consider it to be a mistake on their end.

Your body was wrecked – ribs aching, lip split and bruises were already to form everywhere. But you were still breathing, still alive and that was enough.

You tilt your head back, blinking up at the ceiling through the haze of the pain. Blood dripped down your chin, but your hands were slick now – whether it was from blood or sweat, you couldn’t tell. You twist your wrists again, angling against the metal cuff just the way Wonwoo had shown you during one of his late-night, paranoid self-defense lessons. “If they bind you with steel, look for tension. Give it slack, then break it where it’s weakest. Everything has a weak point.”

It hurt like hell, but you kept going. The metal bites deeper into your skin before it snapped.

You stifle a gasp as the cuff breaks loose with a sharp clink. Your left wrist was bleeding freely now, but you didn’t waste a second. You made your way to the door, and to your surprise, it was unlocked. Either they didn’t you’d try, or they thought you couldn’t.

You slid out silently, stating low. You hear footsteps and muffled voices somewhere down the hall. Realising you needed a weapon, you decided to find their weapons storage. Your head spun, but you pressed forward and duck into the first door you saw.

Luck must’ve been on your side because it led you exactly where you wanted.

Guns were lined up on the tables, the overhead lighting making it seem more ominous than it already was. Your fingers shook as you picked up a semi-automatic handgun – sleek, back, loaded. Wonwoo’s voice echoed again, “Don’t ever hesitate to shoot. That gives them a room to attack. You pull the trigger the moment they come into view.”

You hear footsteps approaching and pressing your back up against the wall, breathing through your nose, waiting. You hold the gun close to your chest, and when the masked man steps inside, you don't hesitate.

Bang.

He dropped like a sack of potatoes, the sound of the shot echoes through the hallway.

There was no going back now.

Shouts echoed down the hall and you made a run for it. Turning a corner, you came face-to-face with two more men. They hadn’t expected you to be armed, by the time they noticed the gun in your hand and reached for theirs, you had already pulled the trigger.

You ran past their motionless bodies, trying to figure out where you were. The layout and interior – you knew you were in some kind of warehouse. Then you smell it – the night air, you were close to an exit.

You burst through a door, grunting in pain from the sheer force you had put on your shoulder to get the damn thing to open. Your knees almost gave out, the adrenaline making your hands shake.

You kept the gun raised, every shadow looked like another threat.

But you didn’t stop.

Not until you were safe. Not until you got back to Wonwoo.

But you weren’t able to get far.

The alley had opened into a dead-end loading yard and your heart dropped the second you saw the rusted fence, the padlocked gate.

A black van screeched to a halt behind you. You spun, gun raised – but hands grabbed you from both sides before you could even aim. You bit, clawed and kicked, but there were too many. They slammed you face first down onto the ground, a heavy knee to your back following. Your cheek scraped against the pavement and the gun slipped out of your hand.

“Hello, ___.”

You froze, your blood went cold.

Juyeon.

You turned your head enough to see him step into view. His suit was stained, fingers missing from both hands – four gone entirely with pink scars crusted where they’d once been. He flexed what was left, grimacing slightly as if the sight offended him.

Wonwoo had done that. You knew it because Jihoon had told you – how he encouraged your Alpha to cut off the fingers on his left hand so they were more… symmetrical.

“You fucking bastard,” you spat, “I’ll have them dismember you–”

His laugh cuts you off. “Still got some fight in you, I see,” he mused. “That’s what my men meant by you’re no ordinary Omega.” He crouches down, eyes glinting with a dangerous edge. “But you’re more useful to me if you shut the fuck up.”

You snarled, bucking under the weight holding you down. One of his men shoved your head back down as Juyeon took out a syringe from his suit. The liquid was thick, glowing a faint blue under the alley lights.

“You know what this is, little Omega?” he asked conversationally, “The labs call it Phase Nine. It’s new. Not on the market nor the black market.”

You went still.

“It’s a liquid heat inducer that’s designed to have your primal instincts override your rationale. It could even break bonded cycles.”

You thrashed, “Don’t you fucking touch me with that! I swear I’ll–”

“Hold her,” Juyeon ordered.

“No!” You kicked wildly, but the hands clamped down harder.

“I said hold her!”

You screamed when he jabbed the needle into your neck and depressed the plunger.

A cold, burning sensation spreads through your veins like ice catching on fire. Your limbs trembled violently and your lungs burned with every breath you take. You heard Juyeon chuckle as darkness begins to swallow your vision.

“Take a little nap,” he whispers, “And when you wake up, your body won’t resist anymore.”

You wake  to the sound of voices – low, mocking laughter. Your head throbbed, and your body felt… wrong. It felt as though weights were chained to your body and your head felt fuzzy. The heat inducers were still coursing through your veins, but you fought the haze, clinging to the remaining sharpness you had in the chaos of your mind.

You feel the fire burn from inside out, every nerve in your body screaming for release.

The door to the room opened and Juyeon stepped in, his fingers twitching where they were still missing. He wore that sharp, predatory grin on his face and how you wished you could slap it right off of his face. His presence was suffocating and the pheromones he was releasing stank up the room so bad you wanted to throw up.

You gritted your teeth and pushed yourself up from the cool, concrete floor. Your limbs felt like lead, but you couldn’t let him get close.

Only Wonwoo could touch you.

Not this disgusting bastard.

He notices the faint fight in your eyes and pauses, a cruel smile crept onto his face as he observes your struggle. “Shit, you are a tough one to break. Lucky for me I got more of those inducers to break you.”

He takes another step forward and your body tensed. “C’mere, Omega,” Juyeon coaxes, his voice so syrupy that it twists your stomach the wrong way. “Let me help you with that heat of yours, yeah? I’ve got something far better than the inducer you’re desperately fighting. Something real.”

You growl, throwing your body into him. Your actions startled him – he hadn’t expected you to fight, not with the drugs clouding your senses. But you didn’t need to be at your best. You needed to make him understand that you were more than just an Omega.

You got a punch in, a brutal hook to his jaw and knocking him back. Juyeon staggered, but he didn’t fall. His men moved, one lunging towards you; but you managed to catch his wrist, twisting it behind his back with a vicious snap, making him grunt in pain.

Another went for your throat, but you kicked up, shoes hitting him in the stomach that had him doubling over, gasping for air. It’s a shame you weren’t wearing your heels, would’ve left a mark on the bastard.

You moved again, a blur of motion and rage. You weren’t thinking nor did you care, you only had one goal – to survive.

Another man reached for your arm. You spun, elbowing him in the face then slamming your knee into his ribs. He staggers, gasping for breath. You were covered in sweat, heart pounding as your body rebels against the inducers.

One of Juyeon’s man was quick enough to grab you from behind, pinning your arms to your sides. “That’s enough,” Juyeon sneers, wiping the blood from his mouth. He grabs another syringe from the table, the liquid inside glowing a sickly blue. “You want to fucking fight? Fine. Let’s see how long you’ll last.”

You hissed, struggling against the man holding you, but the inducers were still tearing through you. The heat was unbearable, your vision swimming in and out of focus. You were starting to lose control.

“Fight all you want, sweetheart,” his voice was mocking as he approached with the needle. “But you’ll break eventually.”

Your hands were still unrestrained, and in that final moment of desperation, you grabbed an old pipe that lay on the ground. You swung it with all your might, hitting the nearest man across the skull. He collapsed with a sickening thud, and you barely had time to register the victory before Juyeon was on you again.

Your body was trembling, soaked in sweat as blood was smeared across your face and hands. The pipe clattered to the floor beside you, slick with someone else’s blood. Juyeon stood across from you, staggering as his face twists into something monstrous. The second that syringe slipped from his grasp during your scuffle, it shattered across the cement.

“You little bitch,” he spat, pulling out a switchblade from his pockets. “You think you’ve won?”

You didn’t answer, hands scrambling for the gun from one of his men on the floor. Your hands shook, but you raised the weapon anyway. Just like Wonwoo taught you.

Never hesitate when it comes to your life.

Juyeon takes a step forward and you pull the trigger.

Bang.

The scream that tore out of his throat was inhuman.

He dropped to his knees, clutching his crotch as the front of his pants soaked red. He writhed, gasping and cursing through clenched teeth. It wasn’t a clean shot, but you didn't want it to be.

Your hands were still trembling as you kept the gun trained on him. “Never… Never underestimate an Omega. Especially me.”

The door slammed open behind you. Boots thundered in, guns drawn and you hear voices yelling commands.

You didn’t turn. You didn’t have to.

You already know who it was.

“Clear the room!” Seungcheol’s voice echoed like thunder. “Get the Missus to safety and lock up any survivors!”

Vernon was quick to reach you, kneeling beside you as his hands tried to gently guide the gun down. “Hey, Missus…” he said quietly, “You’re okay now. We’ve got you.”

But you couldn’t bring yourself to lower the gun. It was as though you feared that if you did, Juyeon would get up.

Then you smelled him.

Wonwoo appears through the smoke of bodies, his eyes immediately locking on yours. The sight of you, his mate – bloodied, shaking and bruised – had him on his knees by your side in the blink of an eye. Sure, you were alive; but you were hurt.

He doesn’t say a word, only pulling you into his arms and holding you like you were the last thing in the world that mattered. You didn’t even realise how cold you were until Wonwoo wrapped his arms around you.

His warmth crashed into you like a wave, and what very little strength you had left was gone as your body collapsed into his. You could feel the way his body shuddered as he held you, his breath ragged against your hair, like he hadn’t been breathing until that moment. His hand held the back of your head, fingers tangling in your messy hair like if he let go – you’d disappear.

“I’ve got you, babydoll,” he whispered, voice cracking. “I’ve got you now.”

You dropped the gun.

And finally, your body let go.

Wonwoo carefully knocks on the door, a way to announce his presence before sliding it open. His eyes meet yours and his shoulders slump when you give him a small smile. “Hey…” was all you managed to say before his giant stature envelops you in a tight embrace. The Alpha nuzzles into the crook of your neck, a quiet whine leaving his lips as he takes in your scent. It’s grounding, calming – proof that you’re here, safe, and his.

You melt into his warm embrace, your hands instinctively finding their way to his broad back. His tense muscles slowly relax under your touch, his soft whines turning into soft hums of contentment.

“I… I was so scared,” Wonwoo admits, “Scared I couldn’t find you, couldn’t reach you in time… I –”

“Nonu,” you call out softly, one hand moving up to comb through his dark locks, “I’m here now, aren’t I?”

He nods and pulls away, the crease in his brow not fully gone. “Yeah, but… I can’t help to think of the worst case scenario of what could’ve happened had we gotten there any later… ___, the doctors said you were practically battered. There’s even still traces of that heat inducer in your blood.”

You shudder at the memory of having the liquid injected into you, Wonwoo tightening his hold on you. “They didn’t touch you did they?”

“Well, it depends on what you mean by touch..?” It was more of a question than a statement, “They didn’t put their dicks in me if that’s what you’re wondering. I was drugged up and a little woozy, but I managed to fight them off until you guys showed up.”

“So, they did touch you,” he sighs, pressing a gentle kiss to your template. “I’ll deal with those bastards once I head back.”

He cups your face in his large hands, his eyes scanning your face as if committing every detail to memory. “How are you feeling, babydoll? Feeling any better?”

You manage a faint smile at Wonwoo’s concern, your fingers brushing gently over the back of his hand where it cradles your cheek. “I’m feeling better,” you murmur, though the ache behind your ribs and the lingering exhaustion paints a different story. “Just… Just need to pee real quick…”

Wonwoo looks hesitant, but he nods, reluctantly removing his hand from your face.

You swing your legs over the side of the bed and push yourself up, determined to manage the short walk to the bathroom without assistance. But the moment you stand, a sudden jolt of pain rips through your lower abdomen. You let out a strangled gasp that makes Wonwoo instantly alert. Your knees give out before you can even call out to him.

You clutch your stomach as your body crumples to the cold tile floor.

“___!” Wonwoo is quick to drop to his knees beside you, arms wrapping around you before you hit the ground. “Babydoll, hey, what’s the matter?”

“It hurts,” you wheezed, eyes squeezed shut as another wave of pain twists through you. “Nonu, it… My stomach hurts.”

He feels his heart shatter at the sight of you writhing in pain, his arms tightening around your waist as he gently tries to ease you onto his lap. “Fuck, okay. I’m calling the nurse–”

“No, don’t go,” your breath was shallow, hand clutching the fabric of his shirt tightly. “Stay. Please.”

“Shit, shit… I’m here, babydoll. I’m not leaving.” Wonwoo’s voice is firm but trembling, his free hand fumbling for the call above him. He presses it repeatedly, urgency written all over his face. “Nurses! Doctors! We need help in here!”

He cradles you closer, rocking you slightly as if trying to soothe you through the pain. “You’re gonna be okay,” he murmurs over and over, lips brushing against your forehead. “I’ve got you, babydoll.”

Moments later, the door bursts open and nurses rush in. Wonwoo doesn’t let you go, not until they gently urge him aside to check your vitals and prepare to move you. Even then, his hand never leaves yours.

And when they wheel you away for tests, his gaze follows you – haunted and fierce – already blaming himself for letting you get off the bed in the first place.

“I’m terribly sorry, Mrs Jeon… It seems you had a miscarriage.”

The words hung in the air. The silence that followed felt suffocating, like a weight pressing down on your chest. Wonwoo’s and your mother wrapped their arms around you in an instant, offering you comfort; but everything felt so… distant. Their voices were muffled and the doctor’s face was blurred as the word ‘miscarriage’ echoed in your mind.

Your hands instinctively moved to your stomach, as though you were trying to hold onto something that was no longer within reach.

Meanwhile, Wonwoo’s tense body stood behind you as if he were a statue that’s freshly carved from stone. His emotions were frozen in place and his silence was louder than anything else in the room.

Suddenly, the pieces began to fit in place.

Why his mother kept nagging him to return home instead of doing overtime in the office.

Why his father kept urging him to look into a bigger home.

Why his mother and mother-in-law kept visiting you while he was away.

Hell, that even explained why Jihoon was more tame.

You were pregnant.

Pregnant with his child.

Your mom and Wonwoo’s mother tried to comfort you with soft reassurances murmured in your ear, but they couldn’t pierce through the thick glass that’s been erected around you. Your mom’s hand stroked your hair, a gesture that was meant to soothe you. But it only reminded you of the ache, of a loss so sudden that it felt as though a piece of you had been ripped away.

Wonwoo’s shaky voice brought you back to reality, “How… How could this have happened? W-When– How long has she been pregnant? She wasn’t displaying any symptoms or even showing!”

The doctor shifts, looking at the clipboard in his hand. “Mrs Jeon was around… seven weeks into the pregnancy. It’s not uncommon for the symptoms to be minimal, especially in the early stages. We suspect that what Mrs Jeon had experienced was a cryptic pregnancy, where the pregnancy goes undetected or unnoticed.”

You feel the Alpha shift his gaze from the doctor to you. “Seven weeks…” His voice was laced with confusion and guilt as he tries to recount every moment he’s spent with you, searching for signs he might have overlooked. He runs a hand down his face, resting it over his mouth as he mutters, “Fuck… No wonder your scent was sweeter…”

“As for what could’ve caused her miscarriage… We can only assume that it was due to the recent… uneventful incident that the Missus has experienced. The emotional, mental and physical distress coupled with the absence of an Alpha must’ve increased her stress levels to a point where it significantly affected her well-being.”

The doctor lowers his head in condolences and exits the room. Both yours and Wonwoo’s parents left soon after, deciding to give you both some privacy.

“Nonu…” you croaked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Your broken voice seemed to crack something within him and his rigid frame finally moved. Wonwoo sinks down to his knees in front of you, his hands hesitantly reaching for yours. He held them gently, and despite his warm touch, you could feel the tremble in them.

“Babydoll…” You finally forced yourself to look at him, and the sight added another weight to your already heavy heart. His jaw was clenched as his lips were parted slightly, his lips trembling slightly while his eyes glistened with unshed tears. He’s quick to cup your face when you sniffle out his name again, wiping away the tears that began to spill from your eyes.

“No, no, no…” he murmurs, wiping away your tears. “Don’t cry, babydoll… This isn’t your fault, yeah?”

His tender words only made the tears fall harder. The pain in your chest was unbearable, and the sound of his voice made it harder for you to hold yourself together. You shook your head, “N-No… Nonu, it was my fault. I-I should’ve been more alert or at least aware as to why I was –”

“Hey, hey…” He interrupts gently, “Don’t do this, babydoll, please. Don’t be so hard on yourself. You didn’t know, and even if you did, this is something out of your control.”

His thumb continues to stroke your cheeks, wiping away the endless tears that streamed down. “B-But… I-I should’ve.. hic… told you that I wasn’t feeling… hic… like myself.. M-Maybe i-if you’d known, you could’ve –”

Wonwoo presses a gentle kiss to your lips, leaning his forehead against yours once he pulls away. “Babydoll, please, don’t blame yourself… I… I should’ve been a better husband… I shouldn’t have just left you all alone again after your heat. I shouldn’t have kept my distance from you thinking it’d be a good decision… I should’ve been paying more attention to you, been home with you..”

His confession made your heart ache further. You reached up, your hands trembling as they covered his. “No, Nonu… Please, don’t say that… You've been the perfect husband and –”

“Babydoll, I wasn’t there to realise something was up. Our parents knew it before we did and –”

“We could… We could try again, right..?” Your voice was shaky, filled with uncertainty and carried a weight as though speaking it out loud could shatter what little hope you were clinging to. Wonwoo’s breath hitches, his eyes carrying the same raw, aching vulnerability you felt.

“Oh, babydoll…” he whispers, his lips trembling as he pecks your lips, “Of course we can. We can try as many times as we want, but that’s for when you’re ready – when we’re ready. Right now… Let’s… I… Let me make sure you’re okay.”

You nodded, hands moving from covering his to clutch the fabric of his shirt; as if holding onto him would stop the pieces of your heart from falling apart any further. “We’ll try again,” you echoed, voice trembling but filled with a quiet determination. “When we’re ready.”

Wonwoo hums, tilting his head to the side so he could capture your lips in a tender kiss. His lips moved against yours gently. It was soft, unhurried, and full of unspoken promises. When he pulls away, his forehead rests against yours once again, and his hands move to cradle your face, thumbs brushing softly against your cheeks.

Snow muffled the world outside the cabin, layering the landscape in a blanket of silence and softness. The fire crackled lowly, casting shadows on the wooden walls and painting flickers of gold across the thick blanket tangled around your legs.

It’s only been days since you left the hospital, body still aching quietly – your ribs would hurt just a little when you breathed in too deeply, you could even feel the stiffness in your limbs when you moved too fast. But here, tucked away in the mountains with no one but Wonwoo, the pressure to be okay all the time faded just like the hush of falling snow.

Wonwoo sits beside you on the edge of the bed, his presence warm and steady. He’d just come back from gathering more firewood, snow melting in his hair and a few flakes clinging stubbornly to his coat. You watched him shrug it off, mouth watering at the way his muscles ripple under the thick sweater as he crossed the room to tend to the fire.

God, he looks so good you just wanna pounce on him.

He returns to the bed, slipping under the covers with you like he belongs there – like he’d always been there. One of his arms snakes around your waist, drawing you against his side with practiced ease, careful to not press too hard against you.

He smells like warm cedar, a touch of pine, and that deep, grounding Alpha musk that seeps into your senses like a balm. He exhaled softly, rubbing slow circles into your hip with his thumb.

“Is it too cold?”

You shake your head, almost purring into him. “Not with you here.”

Wonwoo’s expression softens, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Good. I was worried it’d be… well, something you wouldn’t like. The snow, the isolation…”

“You picked it for a reason,” you whispered back, nuzzling into his chest. “It’s quiet up here. I like that.”

He held you closer, his heart beating steadily beneath your cheek. “I needed us somewhere no one could reach. Just for a little while.”

“Because I’m still healing?” Your voice was smaller than you meant for it to be.

“No.” His answer was immediate. “Because I need time with you. Alone. Not shared. Not interrupted. Just… us.”

You hum, closing your eyes and letting yourself be embraced by the most fearsome man of the city. In this moment, where the world was blanketed in snow, where nothing existed but the steady beat of Wonwoo’s heart and the feel of his body against yours, you were safe.

“Nonu?” 

Wonwoo looks down, still curling against his side beneath the blanket, hand pausing on your waist. “Yeah, babydoll?”

You hesitated, feeling your pulse thudding against your ribs. You feel the warmth of his body pressed against yours and the subtle way his scent thickened the longer you laid together in the quiet cabin. Maybe it was the isolation, or the cold outside – or maybe it’s just him.

The sense of safety he gives.

You swallowed, “What… What do you think about knotting me?”

Wonwoo stills, his hand splaying wider on your waist as a means to ground you in place, as though you’d float off if he didn’t. He leans down slowly, brushing his nose against your cheek. “Are you asking me if I thought about it?” his voice is now laced with some darker, thicker. “Or if I want to?”

Your face burned, and you tried to look away, but his hand caught your chin, gently coaxing you to meet his eyes. His gaze flickers down to your lips, then lower, and back. “You know I’ve thought about it, babydoll. Especially that time during your heat, but I had to stop because we were still getting used to each other.”

“What about now?”

His voice drops, “You’re still healing. Not now, okay?”

You let out a shaky breath, “I feel okay, Nonu. Better. And… I want it. I want you”

His hand tightened slightly at your hip, not enough to hurt, but just enough to let you feel the echo of what he was holding back.

“You sure, babydoll?” he asks quietly, “Because once I do that, there’s no going back to pretending I don’t need you. I’m going to be all over you, y’know?”

You reach for your Alpha, fingers curling into his sweater, voice barely steady. “Then let it.”

For a moment, Wonwoo just stares at you. And then the alpha in him stirred – quiet and hungry – as he shifts to hover above you, mouth grazing yours. “My feisty Omega can’t help but to be all soft for me now, hmm?” his voice was rough with barely checked restraint and it was enough to have you dripping. His breath ghosts over your lips, his nose brushing yours as his eyes darken. “Always biting back, but the second I touch you like this…”

His hand slides down your thigh, his touch possessive and curls it under your knee, spreading you open just a little more before pulling down the pyjama pants you were wearing.

“...you melt.”

Your breath catches, fingers curling into his sweater as heat coils low in your belly. Wonwoo wasn’t just teasing, he was marveling.

“Oh, babydoll,” he continues, enjoying the way your thighs tremble when his cold fingers trail up the skin of your bare thighs. “I’m going to bury myself in you and let my knot swell so deep that you’ll forget where I end and where you begin.”

“You’ll take good care of me, right, Alpha?”

Wonwoo groans softly, pressing his forehead to yours. “I’ll take good care of you, my sweet Omega.”

He kisses you slowly, soft at first – the deeper, hungrier, like the dam had cracked and he could finally taste what he’d been starving for. His palms slid down your sides, memorising every curve, every shiver. He doesn't rush, deciding to not strip you out of the sweater you were wearing to keep you warm.

Pulling away just enough, Wonwoo slides off his glasses and settles them aside on the nightstand. His eyes, dark and intense, were focused entirely on you. The familiar weight of his gaze sent a shiver up your spine. It was as though without the barrier of his glasses, he could see straight through you.

“You’re so beautiful, babydoll,” he murmured, breath brushing against your lips before he kissed you again, deeper, like he couldn’t stop himself. He groaned against your mouth, the soft drag of his lips against yours. His fingers traced the line of your jaw., down your neck and over the curves of your body, like he was committing the shape of your body to memory.

You let out a shaky whimper, hands trembling as you reached for him, tugging him closer. His entire being invades your senses, filling the space between your bodies as his kiss grew more intense, more desperate. You can’t help but respond to his hunger with your own, pulling him closer against your body.

You barely registered the way Wonwoo moved, only the warmth of his body that left yours for a moment. You hear the quiet click of the drawer opening beside the bed. Your voice wavered between surprise and something breathless, eyes widening just a little as your Alpha pulls out a slee black toy from it. It gleamed in the firelight, deceptively elegant. It wasn’t flashy, obviously neither you nor Wonwoo liked flashy. It was plain black, smooth, curved, and obviously meant for one purpose.

"You brought a vibrator on our honeymoon?"

Wonwoo shrugged, “More like Jihoon and Mingyu told me to. They’re… invasive to say the least.”

“How did they even know we’d be doing this?”

Wonwoo gives you a dry, amused look, like you’d just asked why the sun rises. “They’re nosy and overconfident. Honestly, since that night of your heat and when you’d ask to sleep with me, Mingyu said he can smell some kind of budding romance.”

You stared back, “That’s… That’s not a real thing, right?”

He shrugs again, “God knows. Jihoon just enables him. I have a feeling they packed it themselves when I wasn’t looking.”

A pause.

“You don’t check your luggages?”

“They probably hid it under my clothes.”

You snort, “I’m surprised it even made pass customs.”

Wonwoo chuckles, “Wouldn’t be the weirdest thing they’ve smuggled through airport security.”

You raise an eyebrow, “Do I even want to know?”

He tilts his head like he’s genuinely considering it. “Probably not.”

You stare at the vibrator in his hand, “So… What use is this to us and did you at least sanitise it?”

Wonwoo sits back on his heels, the firelight casting him in gold and shadow as he pushes the sleeves of his sweater up to his forearms. “Of course I sanitised it, babydoll. As for what use, I’m sure you have that figured out.”

You let him part your legs slowly, his eyes instantly dropping to your wet cunt. He caresses your thighs, coaxing them wider and when his scent changed, thickening with quiet arousal, your body responded like it knew what was coming.

“I’d consider my knot to be big,” he said, voice low and even. “It’s gonna take more than just my fingers to open you up.”

He doesn’t wait for a response. He eases two fingers into your cunt, tongue darting out to wet his lips when your breath gets stuck somewhere between your ribs and your throat. The drag of his knuckles felt cruel, like he wanted you to know exactly how he’d take you apart.

When he pushes in a third finger, you whimper. The stretch burns at first, before it fades into a more consuming ache. Your hips buck instinctively, his hand on your waist kept you pinned down like you were nothing more than a body to be used.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, shifting closer so his lips brushes against your jaw, “You keep clenching like that and I’m going to think you like being stretched out like this.”

His fingers curled again, and you choked on a cry.

“Atta girl,” he praised, smiling against your skin.

The air was heavy with the smell of sweat, arousal, and something more dangerous. You were trembling underneath him, not just from pleasure but from the oppressive weight of his presence, the way he looked at you like you’re something fragile yet can’t help but want to break you at the same time.

Every curl of Wonwoo’s fingers leaves you breathless, the coil in your lower belly growing tighter. “You’re dripping, babydoll,” he says flatly, drawing his hand back just enough to spread your wet folds with two of his fingers before plunging them back inside. “You’re making a mess and I barely touched you.”

With one final curl of his fingers, your back arches involuntarily as his fingertips press hard against your g-spot over and over. “C’mon, babydoll,” he murmurs, voice filled with arousal. “Cum for me.”

Your body obeys, a loud cry of his name tearing through your throat as your body seizes, pussy walls fluttering around his fingers. Your nails dig into his arm, thighs trembling around his wrist, and all you can do is ride it out as he coaxes every last tremble from your body. He doesn’t stop until you’re twitching, breathing hard, and sweat sticking to your skin.

Only then does he ease them out, slowly. He lifts his slick covered fingers to his lips, tongue flicking out to taste you as he keeps his eyes on your ruined expression with a dark glint.

“You taste sweeter than I thought,” he mumbles. Leaning down, he presses a gentle kiss on your lips before spreading your thighs again. “Gimme one more and I’ll knot you, yeah?”

He turns on the vibrator, the black toy humming to life. You watch with wide eyes as he brings the toy to your slick, pulsing entrance. The moment the curved tip presses inside you, your hips jerked. It zeroed in on that spongy spot deep inside you, making your vision blur and your thighs tremble.

One hand keeps your hips still while the other begins to move the toy inside you. Your breath stutters, back arching as the toy presses up and in, vibrating relentlessly against your gspot. Your legs twitch, thighs trembling as you try to squirm away from the intense pleasure, but Wonwoo won’t let you.

He keeps you in place, spread open while he grinds the toy mercilessly against your gspot, your pulsing walls clenching and unclenching around it rhythmically. Slick, wet sounds fill the room, echoing between your moans and the relentless hum of the vibrator. Your knuckles turned white as your hands clutch the sheets, the coil in your lower belly tightening up again.

“Nonu!”

“Gonna cum again?” he asks, voice low and taunting. He pushes the toy deeper and your vision goes black around the edges. A broken sob claws its way out of your throat as the pressure becomes unbearable. “C’mon, babydoll. Show me how greedy this pussy is. I want you soaked for my knot. Wanna feel you gush all over me.”

He twists the vibrator just right, thumb rubbing tight circles on your clit and your body convulses around the toy. A loud cry rips from your throat, sharp and raw as your pussy squirts, hips arching off the bed – drenching his wrists, the toy and the sheets beneath you.

Wonwoo groans, eyes dark as they lock on the way your body submits to him so beautifully. “Fuck, babydoll” he breathes, tossing the wet vibrator aside. “You’re ready to take me now. Gonna stretch you around my knot just how you’re meant to.”

He doesn’t even bother to wipe his hand, sliding them under your thighs and guiding them around his waist, lowering himself over you. You can feel the heat of his cock, flushed and heavy, grinding his length against your slick folds. “Gonna knot you so good, babydoll. Fill you so full that everyone who smells you knows you’re taken.”

You lick your lips at the weight of his knot that’s already swelling at the base. You lock your legs around his waist, heels digging into the curve of his back pulling him closer.

That was all the permission he needed.

Wonwoo lines himself up, holding back a growl as the blunt head of his cock bumps against your clit. His jaw clenches, holding back a guttural growl as he pushes in, inch by inch. Your eyes flutter shut as he stretches you, your slick walls sucking him in greedily.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he grits out, kissing your jaw. “So fucking wet. Pussy feels so warm that I could die happy right now.”

You whimper, back arching as he bottoms out, his knot pressing against your entrance. He rolls his hips experimentally, letting you feel every vein of his cock, the way his cock drags against your soaked, swollen walls.

His head dips to press his mouth against the curve of your jaw, your throat. “Taking me so well. Fuck, you feel so good.”

His hands tighten on your thighs, pushing them up so your knees are pressed against your chest, angling your hips just right so he can sink even deeper. His leaking cockhead bullies your sweet spot, making you cry out with each thrust.

“Feel how deep I am, babydoll?” He slides a hand between your bodies, pressing down on your lower belly. You moan at the pressure, nails scratching down his clothed back and Wonwoo starts to roughly thrust into your sloppy cunt. The drag of his cock against your walls sends aftershocks through your twitching body.

Wonwoo groans loudly, biting down on your shoulder – not hard enough to break the skin nor the sweater you wore, but enough to have your wet walls squeeze around him. “Shit, babydoll. Your pussy tightens up when I bite you. You like that, huh? Like it when I mark you up?”

You can’t answer. You’re shaking and gasping, all thoughts wiped out by the way his leaking cockhead grinds into your cervix with every thrust, body starting to bounce from the sheer force.

He presses down on your belly again, palm flat and firm. The pressure makes you clench reflexively, his eyes focus on the way your pretty cunt is stuffed snugly around his dick – entranced with the way your puffy lips coat his thick cock with your sweet cream.

“Nonu,” you whine out, feeling a jolt of electricity run up your spine when his abdomen rubs against your clit. “Please! Want your knot!”

Wonwoo growls, forcing his knot past your rim with one brutal thrust and stretching your pussy wide. You cry out in pleasure and pain, nails digging into the fabric of the sweater that he thinks you’d shred it into pieces. You feel it pop past your entrance and lock inside you, your vision going white.

He pulls out halfway only to slam back in, so addicted to how tight and wet you are around him. He loves how your gummy walls are taking his knot, how the lewd sounds of skin slapping and the wet squelching of your pussy fills the cabin. Wonwoo’s thumb finds your clit again, rubbing it hard and fast; grunting in approval when he feels your arousal drip out your stuffed cunt.

“N-Nonu, ‘M gonna cum!” you moan, head thrown back against the pillows as he fucks you harder into the mattress.

“I know, babydoll,” he murmurs, “Can feel your pussy milking my cock.”

Your walls flutter wildly against him. His knot throbs, snug and swollen inside you, ready to fill you up. “Cum for me, my Omega,” he groans into your neck, planting wet kisses as he chases his own climax. “Make a mess on my cock.”

Your orgasm slams into you, white, hot and all-consuming. Your entire body convulses underneath him, pussy creaming his dick. Wonwoo curses under his breath, hips jerking as your pulsing walls trigger his own release.

“Take it,” he pants, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he spills his cum deep inside. Ropes and ropes of hot cum flood your womb, and you mewl as your mind wanders back to the first time he filled you up.

Your Alpha stays buried inside you, knot locked tight as he releases your legs, hanging them over his forearms. One hand has a possessive grip on your hip while the other rubs your overstimulated clit in slow, teasing circles with just enough pressure to make you jolt.

He grinds his hips against you, knot fully lodged inside you. It’s said that Alphas cum more than they usually do when knotting their bonded mates, and sure enough, Wonwoo was indeed filling your pussy with load after load of his hot cum. Not that you were complaining though. You happily take every drop he gives you with a blissful smile.

The fire had burned down to glowing embers, casting the room in a dim amber. You’re still lying beneath Wonwoo, still stretched wide around his knot, both of you soaked in sweat and slick. You could still feel him twitching inside you, some of his cum slipping past the tight sleeve of your cunt around him. 

He releases his hold on your legs so he can bury his face into your neck, pressing soft kisses to the skin, teeth nipping over your scent gland. His voice was soft when he praised you, “My babydoll did such a good job at taking my knot.”

His hands slide under your sweater, caressing your body in gentle touches. You both stay like that until his knot deflates. But, your body hasn’t had enough yet. Your hips shifted without thinking, instinctive, needy.

Wonwoo chuckles when he feels it, pulling back to look at you – his eyes dilated and darker than before. “You still want another round, babydoll?”

You bit your lip, squirming just a little as your walls flutter helplessly around his girth. “Well, you’re still hard, Nonu~”

His grin is wolfish, but there’s a glint of fondness in his eyes that makes your heart flutter. He hums, rolling his hips just enough for you to feel the slow drag of his length still nestled inside you. “That’s ‘cause your greedy little pussy won’t let go of me.”

He leans down again, pressing a kiss just below your jaw, tongue darting out to taste the salt of your skin. “Keep squeezing me like that and I’ll knot you again, babydoll.”

You purr, bucking your hips up to meet his.

Wonwoo hisses, shifting his weight and hooking his forearms beneath your knees. In one swift motion he folds you in half, sinking his cock deeper into your pussy. He kisses you hard, tongue sliding against yours as he pounds your soaked cunt, thick cockhead repeatedly knocking against your cervix so hard it knocks the breath right out of your lungs too. You gasp into his mouth, body starting to tremble from the stimulation.

“Fuck,” he moans, “Pussy still so fucking tight. Look so fucking hot full of my cock.”

You cry out when you feel his knot start to swell inside you again. You can only moan and cry as he keeps hammering his cock into your sensitive hole. “Bet you’d take every load I give you, huh? Stuff you so full you’ll be dripping for days.”

Your head lolls back against the pillows, lips parting in a breathless moan. You feel everything – the stretch of his knot forcing you wider, locking you in place, the way his cock drags along your swollen walls.

“Nonu–” you whimpered, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes. “Full! Too full–”

“But you can’t help but to want me to fill you again,” he groans, gripping your hips with a bruising grip. He shifts the angle of his thrusts, feeling him in your guts as his thick cock pummels into you relentlessly. Wonwoo groans when he feels your pussy constrict around him again. “Ohh, fuck, babydoll. You gonna cum again? Gonna squirt all over my cock like the needy little Omega that you are?”

You can’t answer, the only sounds leaving your lips are your filthy moans. You wail every time he drives his dick in and out of you, grinding his thick knot right against that spongy spot inside you until you reach another climax.

Your whole body seizes as you cum hard, the air being punched out from your lungs. You gush around your Alpha, liquid splashing between your thighs – soaking his sweater and the sheets beneath you. Wonwoo is mesmerised by the sight of you squirting all over his cock, how your eyes screwed shut while your sweet cries filled the room.

“Fucking hell, babydoll,” he growls, throwing his head back as he feels his own climax approaching. “Squeezing my cock so fucking good.”

The milking compression of your walls around him, clenching and unclenching around his knot, like your body was begging for him to creampie you was what drove him right to the edge. With a loud roar of your name, his whole body goes tense. His fat cock twitches and throbs inside you, flooding your already wrecked cunt with spurts of his hot cum. His knot swells further, making sure to keep your soaked pussy filled to the brim.

You cry out, nails digging into his forearms as you feel droplets of his cum drip down your thighs. Wonwoo groans when he feels your walls flutter around his length, grinding his hips slowly to try and push his cum deeper.

When he releases your legs from the mating press he had you in, you let out a moan of relief. Your muscles are barely able to hold up after being held up in that position for so long. Your thighs fall limp on the bed, trembling, and slick with sweat and a mixture of your bodily fluids.

Wonwoo doesn’t move, his cock still buried inside you as he continues to release more ropes of thick cum, coating your walls. He places his palm flat against your belly again, right over the small swell of where his cum is filling you – where his knot is. Then he presses down on it.

You gasp, your entire body jerking.

Your cunt tightens reflexively, milking his cock for more of his cum, and he groans at the squeeze. You whimper, eyes glassy, and droplets of tears cling to your lashes.

Your body goes limp beneath him as Wonwoo hovers above you, back hunched as he tries to come down from the delicious high he had just experienced. He’s still sheathed inside, cock still pulsing, his cum sloshing inside your pussy that he can already feel it dripping down your thighs.

But, fuck, the way you were tightly holding onto him – his pretty Omega all wet and stretched and stuffed to the brim, it had his instincts just snarling beneath the surface.

“Shit, babydoll,” he murmurs, voice thick with pride and affection, “Knotted you twice and you’re still squeezing me like you want a third.”

You let out a shaky chuckle, looping your arms around his neck. “I might,” you whisper, giving him a dazed smile.

Wonwoo shakes his head, “You’re insatiable.”

When he leans down to pepper kisses to your throat, you whimper out his name. “Shh, I got you, babydoll. Let’s wait til my knot deflates before we do anything else.”

You hum, clinging to him as your legs weakly wrap themselves around his waist, body still trembling from pleasure and emotions.

And as the snow continues to fall outside, blanketing the surrounding world in white, you and Wonwoo stay tangled together in the heat of the cabin, arms holding each other like you’d never let each other go.

taglist @livelaughloveseventeen @mrsjohnnysuh @luvjichang @peachytokki @arusio @wooingmandy @scoupsonlycherry

[mingumis]

redemption | jww

it's a beautiful thing, to be a protector.

on the day of her fifteenth birthday, a neglected princess disappears without a word, and when she returns to the court of her family and friends after almost a decade, they find that she has been sharpened into a lethal blade in desperate need of saving.

please refer to this lore drop for descriptions of the noble families and their roles within the royal court!

pairing: jeon wonwoo x f!reader genres/themes: angst, fluff, romance tags: older brother!seokmin, sworn siblings!hoshixreader, princess!reader, generally set in a joseon-esque kingdom but medical technology is somewhat advanced (bc i'm too lazy to come up with period-specific alternatives aha), nothing suggestive beyond kissing tw: neglectful parents, reader has some (many) issues, violence, mentions of killing and death, injuries and blood a/n: this took so long to complete sorry,, redemption is the longest completed thing that i've ever written aaaaaa it's quite rough around the edges, but it is my brainchild so i hope you will enjoy! wc: 13.8k

From your earliest memories, you’ve known that your parents haven’t loved you. It was no secret that while your mother had been ever-present during your older brother’s infancy, attentive to a fault, you had been reared by a nanny, an older great-aunt in a lesser branch of the clan whom you loved very much, but at the hands of another nonetheless. Despite your father’s assurance and your brother’s affection, there had always been a simmering hatred in your mother’s eyes whenever she’d looked at you, and you had known it, even as a child. 

At first, you wondered if it was because you were born a girl, but she had had Seokmin as a perfectly happy, doting son by the time of your birth. You wondered if it was because you had been too late to receive a spot on the throne, but your cousin, Chan, had already been born a year prior, receiving the birthright of Voice and completing the Triumvirate, so your mother had had no logical reason to despise you for merely that. 

You wondered if it was because you looked nothing like Seokmin, and consequently, nothing like her. Instead, everyone always insisted that you were the spitting image of your father’s youth. Adults of the royal Inner Circle and members of the court had insisted that siblings didn’t always have to look similar. After all, take a look at the Head, Heart, and Voice of the current generation; don’t each of them vary in height, looks, and demeanor? 

Seokmin remains the joyful, caring child that he was, while you, tainted by your father’s disinterest and your mother’s loathing, grow withdrawn and cynical. 

It’s no wonder that the court murmurs with rumors of your illegitimacy. 

To Seokmin’s credit, he has never once forsaken you. He shields you from your mother’s wrath, shares your father’s brief moments of attention, pulls you into the Inner Circle as if your place within is your birthright. Despite only being a few years older, he becomes your protector. 

But a brother’s love can nurture a young girl’s soul only so much. When you’re deemed too old to simper out from under your old nanny’s skirts, they send her away from the estate, back to her humble shack of a home. You remember howling and begging to be sent from the palace grounds with her, sniveling for days on end until finally, your own mother silently shot you the iciest of glares and put an end to your tantrum for good. 

Neglect turns a child resentful, and in you, the hatred grows inward. There’s a tempest that brews deep inside your stomach, churning like the eye of a storm. A fear that you’ll be forgotten by all, an anger that you’ve been overlooked by the ones who should love you most in this world, a longing for a larger role than the unwanted second daughter of a second son. 

On the eve of your fifteenth birthday, you slip from your room, with nothing but a single cloak in your possession, and disappear from the only world you’ve ever known. 

–

“Ready for your big, dramatic entrance?” 

You barely stir from your meditative state, legs folded tightly beneath you as you sit atop a neatly made bed. The inn had been clean enough, but the sounds of the other patrons had kept you awake all night. Not that your writhing nerves would have let you sleep at all, even if it had been quiet as a church. 

Gathering a shallow breath, you open your eyes against the early morning darkness, spying Kwon Soonyoung in the corner through the first beams of dawn trickling through the slits of the window. The First Blade of the kingdom, of your family’s dynasty, looks like a mere boy, facial features smudged and softened by the shadows. The only thing about him that gleams through the dim are his eyes, burning intensely, the gaze of a tiger. 

Your sworn brother gives you what you’re sure he considers an easy smile, but it looks like the taunting grin of a hunter watching its prey fall into a trap. It’s been eight years since you’ve run from home and arrived at the Kwons’ doorstep, begging for shelter and a chance to become a Blade. It’s been eight years that you’ve spent beside Soonyoung, training and bickering and bleeding with him. He’s the one who picked you up whenever you stumbled during the rigorous training regimen, the one who mended your bumps and scrapes and cuts and bruises. Sometimes, you still feel shivers at the realization of what a lethal weapon he is, despite it all. 

“Dramatic,” you echo through a scoff, finally detangling yourself from your pose and rolling the stiff muscles of your neck. “We’re going for my father’s funeral, not to cause a scene. Besides, I doubt there’ll be much fanfare for the likes of me.” 

Soonyoung shrugs, hands shoved deep into his pockets as he ambles up to the side of your bed. When he drops to a crouch to peer up into your face, you catch the barely-there concern, tugging at the corner of his mouth. 

Despite everything, it makes you smile. “Why? Are you worried for me?” 

It’s the man’s turn to scoff as he shoots up to his feet, turning his back on you to stare out the window towards the ever-brightening sky. “The First Blade doesn’t worry about anything except the choice of his weapon when he kills.” There’s a slight jut to his lips as he speaks, and not for the first time, you wonder how he has ever become the bloodiest killer in the kingdom. 

“Well, good.” You rise and stalk over to the wooden wardrobe, where a single cloak, a relic of your past life, has been hung up. “Because I’m about two seconds away from hurling everything in my stomach up.” 

–

It’s strange, you think to yourself, how you’ve forgotten the way from the city to the palace grounds to the inner quadrants that belong to your family, but the moment you step foot past the threshold of your ancestors’ estate, your body seems to remember every footpath, every tree and its roots, every door and where it leads. 

Soonyoung slows his pace when he notices that you’ve fallen behind, eyes darting from the golden gingko trees lining the paths, to the intricately carved dragon gargoyles on every point of the ancient rooves, to the ripples that have been raked into the gravel meticulously by the servants. Everything is so familiar yet foreign, as if you have stepped into a world that once belonged to you but you no longer belong to. 

“Come on, Tigress.” Soonyoung prompts, voice not urging but firm. “The Circle awaits, and Jihoon hates to be kept waiting.” 

You nod absentmindedly and quicken your pace to catch up, nerves all but anxiously frayed now. 

Soonyoung leads you to a grand pagoda beside the glassy pond in the gardens. Your mother had loved it there, so as a child, you had avoided it at any means possible. As you approach closer, voices of varying pitch and volume and enthusiasm peal from the structure, and you try not to look at the various figures of the people within it. 

The First Blade stalks forward, calling out to his gathered friends. Thankfully, you’re still obscured behind him so it gives you a moment to catch a few breaths and still the hummingbird that seems to have gotten trapped inside your chest. 

A tiny voice in your head reminds you of the person you are now, the one that you have trained to become in the past eight years. You’ve completed the training that it takes to become a Blade, worked your way up from the bottom, in rudimentary lessons beside five-year-old Kwon boys and girls. You are no longer the spineless, vapid girl made small by every hateful glare from your mother. 

You force your head up, rolling your shoulders back and swallowing away the fear that threatens to make your knees buckle. 

Killing is like dancing, Soonyoung had once told you the words of his family. The battlefield is your stage. 

You were never a dancer. As much as you could keep up with Soonyoung’s intricate maneuvers in disarming, paralyzing, maiming, you could never follow through with a simple box step, feet tangling up with one another until you tripped and crumpled to the ground, glaring as he cackled. You were never a dancer but you are a performer, and you think that you finally understand the Kwon words when you walk up the steps to the pagoda and it feels like entering the fray of war.

Instantly, twelve pairs of eyes clap onto you, like lightning striking a tree. You look straight ahead, cooly meeting the stare of Lee Jihoon, the Ruby Dragon, future Head of the Triumvirate. Your cousin’s face betrays no emotions, and if he’s surprised, he doesn’t show an ounce of it. Merely, his eyes narrow so imperceptibly that only the trained vision of a Kwon Blade would catch. 

Soonyoung squares his own shoulders, clasping his hands behind his back like a soldier. In the firmest First Blade’s voice you’ve ever heard from him, he announces, “Might I introduce to the Ruby Dragon, Head of the Triumvirate, and the Blessed Inner Circle, her Royal Highness, the Diamond Dragon."

You slowly pull yourself into the same stance as your sworn brother, back and head straight, hands twined together behind your waist to keep them from trembling. A quick inhale and then the words that you’ve practiced over and over in your head since the day that you left home tumble from your lips. 

“I am the second child and only daughter of the late Heart. Upon completing the training as a Blade from the Kwon Clan, I have come to offer myself to the services of the Triumvirate as they see fit, if the Ruby Dragon and His Blessed Inner Circle will have me.” 

You’ve had the hood of your cloak pulled tightly over your head, but you tug it down, revealing yourself. You keep your attention on Jihoon, afraid that if it wanders through the crowd, you’ll seek out Seokmin and his face will be the undoing of your bravado.

Only a few feet before you, Jihoon, the Head of the Triumvirate, sovereign prince of the kingdom and all its lands and people, holds his head up high, slender neck straight. His carriage has remained as impeccable as you remember from your childhood, having been groomed into every bit the regal figure he is supposed to be. He’s swathed in layers of red, his color. You expect him to open his mouth, voice powerful and commanding, as he demands you to grovel at his feet for entrance into the court, but the silence stretches for a moment too long and you lift your gaze from his chin to his face proper. To your surprise, Jihoon merely grins impishly, as if he’s just caught you within an inside joke. 

“I was wondering when you’d make your appearance.” The Ruby Dragon’s voice lilts delicately, as if speaking in melody. 

You clamp your jaws shut tightly to prevent any hasty words from slipping through. Instead, you turn your head to Soonyoung, where the First Blade still stands at attention, expression impassive aside from a tiny twitch of his lips. You should have known. Soonyoung and Jihoon have been thick as thieves since birth. 

“You knew.” It’s a confirmation, rather than a question. 

Jihoon shrugs a single shoulder. “I’m the Head of this kingdom. I tend to know most things.” 

More and more memories come back to you as you sweep your gaze across the Inner Circle and recall the families, their callings. Of course. The Yoon Clan and their Whisperers would have caught news of your disappearance even before you landed at the Kwons’ doormat. The Boo Singers would have coaxed the secrets out of even the wind with their song. 

The realization that you might have not completely disappeared from your past life then begs the question. Did your brother–

Finally, finally, your defenses crumble and you’re seeking out the face of someone who existed as a god, radiant and warm, in the memories of your childhood. He’s there, much taller than when you last saw him, slender yet strong, like a taut bowstring. He’s older, and so are you, but he looks the same as he did when you left his side without so much as a goodbye. 

Seokmin stares right back at you, gaze hardened and unyielding. The shadows underneath his eyes clue you in to how sleepless the recent nights must have been for him, mourning the death of your father, handling the responsibilities that come with being the first son, the Heart of the Triumvirate, the only child left. No, not only the recent nights, every night past for the eight years of your absence. 

Suddenly, you feel your heart thudding, heavy in the pit of your stomach. Guilt trickles into your veins and poisons the bloodstream. You have no choice but to tip your head to your brother, in reverence, in apology, in condolence. 

Because the irrefutable truth in the tears clinging to his lashes is that until mere moments ago, Seokmin had believed that you had been all but dead. 

–

You wince at the deep pulsing ache in your head, pressing firmly and incessantly against your forehead. The lack of rest you’ve gotten the night prior finally catches up to you, but it’s too early to let go of your resolve. Once the Inner Circle had been dismissed by the Head and before he took off with Soonyoung, Seokmin had requested your presence at his wing of the estate, where you now stood, hovering before the doors to his living quarters, catching the trail ends of a conversation coming from within. 

“You kept my sister away from me for eight years.” Your brother’s voice comes clipped short, a bridled emotion simmering beneath the smooth placidity of his unwavering tone. If there’s one thing that you know well, it is anger, and the myriad of ways it appears in people. 

Soonyoung knows it well, too. He is the one who taught you to read it in others, after all. The First Blade waits a breath before he responds as gently as he can muster. 

“I did as the princess bade me. It was her wish for nobody to know. The others who acquired this knowledge did so of their own means; I did not tell a soul.”

“You watched her grow into a young woman while I was left to think that she died a child.” 

Seokmin isn’t listening. He’s losing the grip he holds over himself, throat warbling with more and more ire. Even as a child, he had been emotional, which, as the future Heart, their mother had celebrated. To be aware and cognizant of one’s feelings, understand their origins, and be able to apply them to rulings, was the mark of a wise and judicious Heart. Their father, however, had worried that Seokmin would be poignant to a fault. 

You understand his concerns now. Rage at the hands of someone who knows it well could be shackled like a wolf, kept at bay until the apt time came to loosen and utilize it. Rage at the hands of a stranger is nothing but a lit candle in the middle of a forest, wick nearing the end of its life, flame lapping at the kindling at its feet.

A wildfire waiting to happen.

You rap your knuckles against the heavy wooden door that divides you from the murmured argument. Both men on the other side fall silent until you clear your throat. 

“Brother, you called?”

You hear the hiccup of a heavy sigh. “Come in.”

As you swing open the entrance and press yourself inside cautiously, Soonyoung passes, stalking his exit briskly. You briefly catch a glimpse of his jaw ticking, but the First Blade merely nods at you before disappearing without a sound. 

Inside, Seokmin stands before his desk, back turned towards you and head bowed. The line of his shoulders quivers as he gathers his breaths, and you wait patiently, taking in the presence of your brother for the first time in a long time and marveling at how instantly you feel at home. 

When he finally shifts, looking at you over his shoulder, his eyes are guarded, careful. As if he doesn’t trust that you really are his sister. You cannot blame him. 

“You’ll have to excuse the state that I am in,” Seokmin sighs again, lifting a palm to drag across his face. “It has been a whirlwind of a few days.” 

You dip your head. “And I’m sure I haven’t made things any easier,” you try to break the ice delicately, but your voice sounds too thin against the gravity of the atmosphere. Instead, you offer, “My sincerest condolences for your loss of the former Heart. I cannot begin to imagine the grief you must feel.” 

Your brother’s face twists into a mask of confusion to hide the contortion of pain in it. “He was your father, too,” he reminds quietly, as if allowing you the grace to mourn. 

When word of your father’s death had echoed through the palace, arriving in the Kwons’ courtyards on the wings of a Songbird, you had felt no grief. Merely, your heart ached for your brother, who you knew had loved your father, from leagues away, wondering if he could hear your words of comfort for him on the breeze. 

Gently, you say, “He loved you more than he ever loved me.” 

No matter how kind of a lie it would be, Seokmin never holds an untruth on his tongue, so he elects to remain quiet instead. He takes another stretch of silence as a pause, and you watch as your brother gathers himself, slowly but steadily, into the prince that is required of him. For the first time since morning, his eyes are wiped dry, spine pulled into a straight, solid column, as he struggles to press his lips into a smile.

“I am glad that you are not dead, my sister.” 

You bow your head again. “I’m sorry for leaving.”

“I’m sure you had your reasons.” Seokmin’s words come kindly, but his gaze searches yours, imploring for answers. Out of a primal, animal instinct, you throw your walls back up, the tiny hairs on your nape bristling. Perceptive as ever, your brother gives the smallest of nods and backs off. 

“I’m sorry for deceiving you for so long,” you continue your litany of regrets, nerves grating raw until you get every single one on your list off your chest. 

Your brother’s expression flickers with hurt, and he holds a hand up, halting you in the midst of your next sentence. “We–” He winces, “We’ll have to continue talking about that another time.” Seokmin exhales heavily, and you wonder if his lungs will fare alright with all this sighing. “I called you here because I thought we might discuss some family matters.” 

You blink in surprise, first at the sudden formality of his tone, then at the inclusion of you within the topic. Sure, technicalities make you part of the family on paper, but you had lived the past eight years, denying your membership in the Lee dynasty, taking on Soonyoung’s dumb nickname for you in a defiant act of renouncing your given name. Just a few hours ago, your brother had thought you good and dead. You cannot help but feel unworthy of his ready acceptance of your return. 

You shift nervously from foot to foot, watching impatiently as Seokmin circles the corner of his desk and sinks into his seat on the opposite side of the wooden counter from you. He tilts his head curiously, nodding at the chair before you to sit. 

“I–” You start, but your voice gets caught somewhere in your throat as you realize that you’re not sure what exactly to say. Obediently, you awkwardly settle onto the cushioned armchair, grasping for some semblance of intellect. The Kwons had been a clan of few words, choosing to speak with their fists or weapons whenever they could. You’d grown out of practice in the solemn palatial manner of speaking. 

Seokmin waits until he seems sure that you have nothing left to say. “The late Heart’s funeral is set to take place in two days, and almost all of the preparations have been completed. His body will be held by the Redeemers until the pyre is lit. Would you like to view him in private before the ceremony?”

Your eyes flutter shut. In the swirling depths of your childhood recollections, you catch fleeting glimpses of your father, who everyone claimed you looked like. Whenever you stared in the mirror at yourself, you pored over every feature, wondering if your father scowled the way you did, frowned the way you did, glowered the way you did. From the few snatches of memories, you had decided that he did, in fact, carry the same mask of gloom as you. You never remember your father’s smile in your own. 

“No.” The word escapes before you can even think to hold it in, for the sake of sparing your brother’s feelings, at least. “No need to go through all that trouble for a wayward daughter,” you quickly amend. 

To your brother’s credit, he simply moves on. “We, obviously, did not expect your presence in the processions,” Seokmin says with an apologetic grimace, as if he is the one at fault for being unprepared. “But the Kims have a daughter, Mingyu’s sister, who I believe is roughly the same build as you, and she has offered to lend you some of her clothing for the ceremony.” You nod along to his words gratefully, until he quietly murmurs, “I don’t think Mother’s old clothes would work.” Your breath hitches. Blurred edges narrow the scope of your vision, clouding your brother’s face, and suddenly, you’re back in the body of the apprehensive, frightened little girl, who trembled like a leaf at every little thing that reminded her of her mother. For all of the agonizing that you had done over reuniting with your brother, attending your father’s funeral, you had, somehow, neglected to consider the presence of your mother in all of this. Perhaps you hadn’t wanted to. 

Seokmin calling your name wrenches you back into your current body, the sound of your given name and on the lips of your brother, no less, startling you into the present. He examines you wordlessly, prompting a response. 

“Mother.” The name lodges in your throat until you clear it and spit it out into existence. “Is she well?” It pains you to ask. 

Your brother frowns, forehead creasing and fingers coming up to knead at his temples. “Not entirely,” he hesitates. “She lives, but I’m afraid that Father’s passing has caused her a lot of mental distress. She requested for a royal pardon from the Head to be absent from the funeral processions and has left for her family’s estate.” 

You suppose that you should be relieved, having been spared a reunion with your mother, the phantom that has haunted your every nightmare since childhood. Instead, a wash of disappointment bitters your tongue. 

“A pity,” you say, hollowly. 

There’s a knowing shadow that flickers across Seokmin’s expression that you just barely notice before it’s gone. Neither of you acknowledge the moment before your brother proceeds with his agenda. 

–

“Your Highness,” the boy indulges you with a quick dip of his chin before brazenly hurrying away, as if he could not stand another moment accompanying you. The servants of the palace, overwhelmed with the preparations for your father’s funeral, had already been buzzing here and there, and your appearance, you’re sure, had not been a welcome one at all. Just within a night’s stay, you could almost taste their wariness in the few interactions you had had with them. 

Fortunately, you’d been able to grab hold of a passing stableboy for the brief walk it took for him to escort you westward to the physician’s pavilion, where Seokmin had insisted you at least receive a glance over from the First Redeemer. “To ease my mind in the matters of your wellbeing, at least,” he had said with wide, pleading eyes. 

You couldn’t have refused him that. 

As you climb the steps to the pavilion, you reach into your oldest memories, recalling everything that you know about the clan of Redeemers. Your father’s physician had been the figurehead of the Jeon family, a man just a few years older than him, with a thin, friendly visage and the heavy twang of a dialect from the outer provinces. Satisfied with the expectation of the faint image conjured up in your mind, you turn the corner into a hallway and announce your arrival with a knock into the first door on your left, as instructed by the rude attendant. 

“Come in.” The voice that answers rumbles low and deep, with barely a lilt of the accent that you thought you remembered. 

When you slip past the sliding doors to the vast room that awaits on the other side, your attention lands onto the silhouette of a man in the far corner, as he attends to a large shelf almost as tall as him. From your vantage, all you can catch is his side profile, a delicate pair of eyeglasses perched atop the bridge of his nose. Black hair cropped short, face like a dagger, all of his features angled and sharp. He’s young, much younger than the blurred memories of your past, and you blink in surprise when he shifts to look up at you. 

“Ah.”

“I’m looking for the First Redeemer. The Heart scheduled a meeting for me.”

The man slides a book onto the shelf from the crook of his arm, nodding a few times before fully turning towards you. “That would be me,” he finally speaks more than a few words at a time, lips quirking into a smile that looks a little innocent compared to the previously aloof expression he had been wearing. “Jeon Wonwoo.” He crosses over the distance between in a few strides, holding a hand out in greeting. 

You clasp his palm with yours, admiring the slide of his smooth skin against your own, uncouth with callouses. Back in the early days of your residence at the Kwon estate, you had practically lived with a blade in your hands, determined to shed off your clumsiness and catch up to the children who were eternally more graceful than you. When your blisters popped and your raw palms tore and you cried for the first time since you ran, Soonyoung had wrapped them up in strips of cloth, muttering, “Stop crying. Soft hands make for soft people. This is you getting stronger.” 

Despite his smooth, soft palms, your first impression of Wonwoo is not that he would be weak. Your face warms a little at the thought, and you lower your gaze to stare at his nose, murmuring, “I remember my father’s Redeemer being much older.” 

Wonwoo laughs, a quick bark of mirth, as if he hadn’t expected to be humored, and you can’t help but grin too. “That would be my father,” he responds, pulling his arm back to his side, much to your disappointment. “I took over his position just a year ago, when he stepped down to handle the enterprises.” He gestures for you to take a seat in an armchair placed beside a massive work desk, made of glass and metal. 

You obey and sit, skin prickling with anticipation. The Redeemer shuffles around his desk, pulling drawers open and picking out various items, not many of which you’re familiar with. Watching the wide expanse of his back, flush against his silken robes of violet as he moves, you swallow the tight knot in your throat, mouth dry. You drop your gaze shamefully, before the cinch of the sash accentuating his narrow waist greedily takes over your attention again. 

It’s not like you haven’t been in the presence of a grown man before. Though the Kwons had provided you a private room of your own, you had preferred the barracks of your fellow Blades in training, hopelessly lonely in a silent room, leagues away from home. Once Soonyoung had offered you his blood and his life and you had promised yours to him, he had cleared away a corner of his own quarters, shoving a cot into it for you to sleep in instead. You’d seen the First Blade through most things, as he sweat through his shirts during training, as he opted to sleep bare chested during the humid summer nights, as he sagged against you, bleeding from a nasty slash that split his skin in half and left a canyon of a scar across his back. 

You shut your eyes against that image, suppressing a shudder and trying to shake away the memory of panic and despair that had consumed you, imagining the possibility of losing another brother. 

“Nervous?” 

You jerk your head up, unexpectedly meeting his gaze, and all thoughts scatter beneath the scrutiny of his sharp eyes. Wonwoo has shut all of the drawers of his desk and carefully arranged the array of tools that picked out onto a neatly folded towel. There’s a slight furrow to his brow, which you puzzle over until you realize that your breath has caught shallowly in your chest, turning your inhales and exhales into quick, accented huffs. 

Embarrassed, and a little shy, at having lost the hold you try to keep over your emotions, you give a sheepish shake of your head. “No, I just got lost in my thoughts for a moment.” 

“Does that happen often?” 

The man’s demeanor shifts ever so slightly, but it’s enough for you to realize that he has reoriented himself into the First Redeemer. Belatedly, you pull yourself into a proper sitting form, putting on airs to at least look the part of the royalty you’re supposed to be. 

“Sometimes,” you shrug. “It’s something Soonyoung says I have to work on. Keeping my emotions under control.” 

Wonwoo snorts, before muttering, “Rich, coming from him.” 

You’d agree with him, but the curiosity sparked by his familiarity of scoffing at the First Blade grows stronger than the desire to tease Soonyoung out of earshot. “Are you two close? He…never really mentioned the palace to me while I lived with the Kwons.” 

Wonwoo reaches for his desk, picking up a stethoscope as he hums. “Sure, we grew up together,” he smiles as he plugs his ears and holds the bell firmly against your chest. “Blades are always getting hurt, and they’re always in need of Redeemers. Breathe in.” The instruction he ends with dips low in pitch and sends a shiver up your spine, and an inhale snags within your throat in a hasty attempt to comply. 

In, out, in, out, he directs, and you follow as steadily as you can manage, trying desperately not to look up at his face, down at his hands, ahead at his chest so close to your own. It feels like an eternity later when he leans back, pulling the stethoscope off. When you can finally manage to sneak a glance, Wonwoo’s nose is scrunched in concentration as he counts numbers in his head. 

“Heartbeat’s a little faster than what’s considered average,” he thinks out loud, and you’re mortified, cheeks immediately flushing hot. You shift in the armchair, wondering if you should say something, pull some excuse out of your ass to explain for it, something, anything. 

“There you are!” 

The doors slide open, and you heave a sigh of relief when the sudden crashing of noises shatters the stifling silence that has settled over the room. You whip around to find Kim Mingyu at the entrance to the room, his giant hulking frame crumpled as he catches his breath. 

An exasperated sigh eludes Wonwoo, “What is it, Mingyu?” 

The Sentinel lifts from where he’s bent over, hands against his knees. “Well, I was supposed to escort the princess here, but when I got to the estate, the servants told me that you harassed a stableboy to take you instead.” You roll your eyes at your brother’s best friend, amused at the wrinkles in his clothes in his rush to find you, at the hiss of a lisp that he doesn’t seem to have corrected since childhood. “I waited fifteen minutes for you. I wasn’t going to be late on account of you.” 

Mingyu pulls over a wooden chair from a corner of the room with much familiarity, clicking his tongue. “Five more minutes, and I would’ve been there.”

Wonwoo muses, “You probably overslept.” He dips his head towards you like he’s sharing a secret, and you marvel when his cheek dimples slightly. “It’s his fatal flaw.” When Mingyu huffs, “It’s my only flaw,” you barely pay him any mind, the image of Wonwoo’s smile etched into the back of your eyelids. 

–

“Heard you and the First Redeemer are friends,” you ponder mildly, sidestepping a well-placed sweep that Soonyoung crouches to throw out. 

The First Blade makes a satisfied hum before he straightens. “Wonwoo?” The name that he calls out curiously makes your stomach warm. 

“Mmhm.” 

“Yeah, why?”

“Just wondering.” “I’m telling Seokmin.” “Telling him what?”

“That it has been two days since you’ve reentered the palace and that you’re already eyeing pretty boys.” 

You bite, like a fool. “You think Wonwoo’s pretty?”

Thwack. 

Soonyoung cuts you a glare, but his mouth curls into a satisfied grin. He clears his throat, pulling his arm back from the smack he’s landed on your shoulder. 

“We are mere hours from burning your father’s body,” your sworn brother deadpans, clicking his tongue in mock disappointment. “Have some decorum.” He pulls away, wiping the sweat off of his forehead with the hem of his shirt. 

You wrinkle your nose in offense, spitting, “Fuck off. Low blow.” 

The First Blade snickers, which makes you snort, and for once, you’re glad for the daily schedule that he keeps that requires you to spar with him at dawn. If others had overheard the crass conversation ringing through the courtyard, they surely would have condemned the lack of grief you displayed for your recently deceased father. 

After the training session, you barely have enough time to scrub and wash the sweat from your skin, before attendants are swarming over you, brushing your hair, smearing powder against your sun-burnished face, pressing you into a wardrobe of lended clothes. Mingyu’s little sister must have grown a yard in your absence because her clothes drape onto the floor, and the servants flutter about, fastening metal pins here and there to match the length to your height.

The skirt and overcoat are cobalt blue, your brother’s color, and you run your fingertips against the imperceptible pinpricks, where you’re certain that the red wolf of the Kims have been ripped from the cloth. A skilled embroiderer has hastily replaced the image with the stitching of a dragon in a white thread that shimmers silver when you pull it up to glance at the details in the lighting. As a child, you had always hated being born under a Diamond moon, feeling left out even in the assignment of a personal color. Now, as you admire the handiwork, you warm a little at the artisan’s attempt to represent your color in a manner that goes beyond just the color white. 

Once the pampering has been completed, the attendants place you before a mirror before leaving your room in a flitter. The woman that reflects back at you looks misplaced in such an ornate robe, meant for noble ladies. You trace your gaze from head to toe, contemplating the face that everyone claims you inherited from your father, attention catching at the top of your cheekbone, where they caked a bunch of powder to obscure a tiny scar that Soonyoung gave you as bickering teenagers. Your hair, brushed to a shine for the first time since you’ve left home, holds only a single white pin, meant for the chief mourners to wear. You feel absurd, having dressed up for an affair that doesn’t involve you, wearing a dutiful daughter’s symbol of grief when your bleak heart doesn’t even stir for your deceased father. 

You stand in front of the mirror for a long time, unmoving, until a quiet cough from outside announces Mingyu’s presence to escort you to the pyre. Mumbling out a response, you take one last breath, grasping at all the ugly thoughts that threaten to spill out from you and swallowing them back in, hoping that they’ll stay contained in the depths of your stomach at least until the day is over. 

When you emerge, Mingyu beams at you so brightly that you wonder if he knows that he’s bringing you to a funeral. “My sister’s dress seems like it worked out,” he inspects, nodding thoughtfully. “She’s tall,” you comment, lifting at the hem of the skirt to reveal where it's been pinned back. “The attendants were all but convinced I was doomed and the gods would condemn me for wearing a dress too long for my legs.”

Mingyu chortles, “Well, I suppose it runs in the family.” He preens, puffing out his own chest to stretch his own height out taller before tripping over a tiny pebble, and he’s so ridiculous that it makes you laugh. 

The Sentinel merely flashes you a grin, as if relieved.

As is tradition, the funeral takes place in the innermost courtyard within the palace grounds, strictly out of public view in the rear gardens that are considered sacred and visited by the gods. The pyre has been constructed extravagantly, out of large slabs of red pine, fit for a member of the Triumvirate. Onto the uppermost slab, your father’s body, wrapped tightly in white strips of cloth, has been laid. From the ground, he looks tiny, insignificant in the vastness of the world. You avert your eyes quickly, discomfort pricking at your nape. 

The attendance is kept small, meant only for members of the royal family and their Inner Circle, but that means that the Kwons have trekked their way up to the city for the ceremony. Mingyu leads you beside them, making sure that you’ve been delivered safely to the clan of Blades before he slips away to his own family with a wink. 

Lady Kwon breathes a quiet gasp when you tug at her sleeve with a smile before she pulls you into an embrace. In the years of your residence at the Kwon estate, she had never once complained of your imposition, taking you in effortlessly as if simply gaining another child. She now fusses over you, despite only having been apart for a few days, brow furrowed, the spitting image of her son. 

“I’m alright,” you assure with a quiet chuff, leaning around her to greet Lord Kwon with a quick dip of your head. 

“Mom, you coddle her too much,” Soonyoung grumbles as he also steps in line beside you. He, for once, has cleaned himself up, dapper in the gold and black of his clan. Though he tugs at the tight collar of his overcoat uncomfortably, he looks more at ease in the formal wear than you, the proper image of a First Blade. He completes his own inspection of you, lips curling in amusement, “Guess you are a princess after all, huh?” 

The window of opportunity for you to retort back closes with Jihoon’s appearance and the subsequent sweeping of everyone dipping towards the Head in reverence. When you straighten from your bow, your gaze jumps across the gathering, as if lured by a silent call, to where Wonwoo stands beside his father, both wearing violet. When Wonwoo lifts his head up, he notices you too and offers a polite nod, which you return with a flutter in your stomach. 

Jihoon calls the ceremony to a start, and the first order of business brings in a shaman to lead a series of rituals to exorcise evil spirits that may attach themselves in the presence of death and to help guide the spirit of the deceased to a peaceful afterlife. Once the rites have been completed, the gathering parts for one of Jihoon’s higher court historians, who has been granted the role of recording down the details of the ceremony. The attendant stands before the crowd, holding a scroll out and reading from it. “We mark today as a most sorrowful day as we part with the former Heart of our exalted Triumvirate. The late Heart is survived by the subsequent Heart, the Sapphire Dragon, his first son.” A hush settles over the gathering as the historian hesitates and hastily adds, “And, er, her Royal Highness, the Diamond Dragon, his daughter.” 

You prickle at the unwanted designation, keeping your gaze cast low towards the ground. From your left, Soonyoung offers you his hand, palm faced up. You reach for it, fingers twining tightly around his. 

Once the formal announcements have been made, Jihoon wordlessly hands over his post to Seokmin, and you watch as your brother takes his place at the center of the gathering, right in front of the pyre. He looks nervous, you think, and your heart aches for him, for the tint of red in his watery eyes. Before he starts, Seokmin looks towards you, and you try to press your lips into a reassuring smile. 

Your brother, who loved your father despite all of his shortcomings, lets a single tear fall. “I speak before you all today so that I may impart my father’s legacy within you as witnesses. My father, the former Heart of the Triumvirate, was not a perfect man, but I knew that he loved me and that I loved him.” 

You listen to Seokmin’s stories of your father throughout his childhood. Of when he broke your mother’s favorite vase and your father helped him sweep the shards away and took the blame for it. Of when Seokmin fell asleep at the desk during his Heart lessons and your father let him sleep for the rest of the session. Despite it all, you find yourself smiling at his memories of the loving father that you never got to experience. 

Your brother had asked, if you had also wanted a chance to speak at the ceremony. At that time, you had instantly refused without much thought. Now, as you hear Seokmin’s speech, you realize that you wouldn’t have a single fond memory of your father to share. 

The proceeding comes to an end with Seokmin, calling for whoever wants to say a personal farewell to come up to the pyre. The Kwons make their way up, leaving you and Soonyoung behind. 

You watch the queue of the former Inner Circle members go up one by one to dip their head to your father’s body, murmuring quiet words to send him off to the afterlife. Curiously, you note that all of these people seem to have a myriad of things to say, while you, his child, cannot come up with a single kind word for him. 

“Oh, man,” Soonyoung groans softly, “Mom’s crying.” 

You follow the crook of his finger, where Lady Kwon, sure enough, dabs at her eyes as she waits for her turn, whereas you, his daughter, cannot even squeeze out a single tear for him. 

The First Blade squirms at your silence, squeezing at your fingers still clutched in his. “Tigress, you alright?” 

You’re mute as everyone says their goodbyes, as Seokmin receives the lit torch and presses it against the pyre, as the flames leap from slab to slab until it consumes your father’s body and swallows it whole. 

Your father who leaves you, in a giant plume of smoke and ashes, with nothing but his face to remember him by. 

–

You’re in a dream. You know that you’re in a dream because although it hasn’t happened in years, you’ve been here before, in this dark, directionless world with swarming shadows that bind over your body and cut you with their sharp edges. There was a time when you’d grown quite adept at identifying the illusion and had been able to force yourself awake and into reality within a mere handful of minutes. 

You suck in a deep breath, hold it in your chest, and shudder as it releases, but there’s no signs of waking up. In fact, the shadows grow clearer, sharper, and bite into your arms and legs and torso with more conviction. You hold back a yelp, trying to gather your concentration into escaping. It gets harder and harder to focus when the pain shifts from stinging to burning and more and more blood sluices from the wounds. 

Weak. 

The first of the voices hisses, and you realize that you’ve lost the opening to escape. When the whispers start, you sink one level deeper into the darkness, rendering you paralyzed with fear and leaving you to endure through the dream until your body wakes on its own. 

Useless. Worthless. 

Your own parents abandoned you. What makes you think that the Kwons won’t too?

The poor Heart only has you left as his remaining family. 

The First Blade is a fool for swearing his life to yours. You’ll get him killed one of these days. 

Because you’re weak. 

Because you’re weak. 

Because you’re weak. 

You wince feebly, straining against the tethers that the shadows have formed into, unable to do much but lie there, suspended in a web of the truths you’ve been desperately trying to outrun. 

It could have been hours or days later when you open your eyes again, this time to a darkness that glows blue, not black. Moments pass as you blink at the sky above, and another handful of seconds later, you recognize the pattern of wood as the ceiling of your room. You’ve woken up from the nightmare in the midnight calm of your childhood bedroom, and suddenly, you relive the early morning of your fifteenth birthday, when you had woken up from a similar dream and decided that you had to run. 

You wrench yourself out of bed, detangling your limbs from where the sweat-soaked blankets have wound themselves around you. 

Soonyoung is your first coherent thought. The few times that he had witnessed your nightmares, he had sat awake with you for the rest of the night. A silent but steady presence. But he left after the funeral earlier to accompany his parents back home. He won’t be back for a few days. 

You think about Seokmin, but he had all but disappeared into his quarters upon lighting the pyre, looking withdrawn and exhausted. Your brother deserves his rest and his peace. 

There’s nobody to seek out, nowhere to go. You can’t stay here in the confines of your mind. You slip out into the frigid night, breath crystallizing in a white cloud that reminds you of the smoke from earlier that day. Your vision flashes with the red and orange and gold of the flames on the pyre. 

Washed white under the moonlight, the courtyard flickers hazily, as if you’re still stuck within a world of dreams. The thought unsettles you. You take off, feet frantic as it leads you somewhere, anywhere. The recognition of the paths within your family’s estate when you first returned quickly dissipates as you round corner after corner. In your desperation and the confusion that the cloak of night brings, you find yourself losing your way, deeper and deeper in the bowels of the palace grounds. The palace is silent and still, punctuated only by the rough drag of your lungs as you take painful gulps of the freezing air. 

Where am I? What am I doing here? Why am I back at Court? Did I really think that they’d welcome me that easily? 

You slow your pace, shaking your head in hopes of defying the voices that have followed you out from the dreams. The shadows are here too. You can feel their edges tightening and nipping into your skin. It’s no longer an illusion but real life. 

“Princess?” 

A voice, a real human voice, shatters the ever-darkening night, and you latch onto it greedily, desperately. When you lift your head, panting all the while, he’s there, like a savior gleaming in the moonlight. The sight of him shocks you awake because there’s no way that something so gentle, so alluring would exist in your nightmares. You return to yourself haltingly, unable to look away as your heartbeat settles and then steadies. 

Wonwoo has discovered you, wandering before the physician’s pavilion in the dead of night, feet and shoulders bare, having neglected a cloak to drape over your nightwear. You barely notice that you’re trembling until the Redeemer crosses over the courtyard to where you stand, pulling at his own coat to place around you, wrapping you in a swell of warmth and the scent of lilac that instantly begin to seep into your bones. 

The man doesn’t say anything as he winds an arm around your shoulders and begins guiding you forward. You keep your head dipped low, eyes glued to the ground, as you follow in shame. The brief journey ends with Wonwoo tucking you into a hallway and closing a door behind the both of you. For a moment, there’s nothing but darkness and you feel the stab of panic again until you hear the strike of a match, see a tiny flame tossed into a furnace. The room that appeared as a yawning void opens up with light, and you peer around, gathering details and piecing together an impression. 

Along the leftmost wall, you catch the counter of a tavern, fashioned from a long, polished slice of wood. Beneath the surface lines an array of barstools, each standing at varying heights. On the opposite end of the room, a cluster of armchairs and lounge chairs have been gathered, a hodge-podge collection of furniture. The fabrics and leathers of the seats are worn and sunken in with use, which is a comforting thought, as if people have lovingly used them as intended, unlike the pristine condition of everything else in the palatial rooms. 

“Where are we?” You croak, wincing at the sound of your own voice, cold and ragged, in the warmth of the mysterious room. 

Wonwoo remains quiet, pattering around the room to throw more kindling into the fire, to strike another match and start up the stove, to shake some leaves into a pot for tea. When he finally stops bustling, he returns to your side, an arm a steadying brace again at the small of your back, as he guides you to sit in one of the couches. 

You sink into the plush seat, staring up at him patiently, while he busies himself to fasten the cloak still over your shoulders tighter, tugging over a blanket from another chair to pull over your lap. You want to tell him to stop, stop moving, stop fussing, but there’s such a determination set to the clench of his jaw and the crease in his brow that trying to stop him feels like a transgression. 

Instead, you decide to steal this opportunity for yourself, slowly observing the man that you’ve already become so inclined towards. Without his overcoat in the way, the strong line of his shoulders outlines his figure, giving way to lean arms, narrow waist, an expanse of legs. The short clipped style that he wears his hair in, his angled face, his slender yet strong build, everything about him leans towards the image of a soldier, much like the ones who you trained as Blades beside. And yet, you recall the dimpled smile as he quietly teased Mingyu, the soft skin and slender wrists of a hand that has never felt the heft of a weapon, the lingering touches that have been nothing but gentle. The juxtaposition bewitches you, and you fall headfirst into the charm. 

Beautiful, the thought forms effortlessly. 

The Redeemer comes over, finally, dipping to a knee in front of you to close your fingers around a clay vessel, hot and fragrant with tea. He insists with a nod until you take a sip, hold the mouthful to savor its warmth, before swallowing it. Ever so slightly, the tension in the grit of his teeth eases, and he takes a drink from his own cup, motionless in his kneel at your feet. Several heartbeats of silence follow until he breaks it with a murmur. “This is the safe haven I’ve created, away from the court, away from the nobility.” Wonwoo wears a modestly proud smile. “It’s meant for all of us. The Circle and the Triumvirate, I mean. Though Soonyoung likes to take advantage of it as his own personal clinic.” He adds the last bit with a fond scowl. 

You contemplate his words, taking another analysis of the space. Tucked away into a corner, there is a trunk, not unlike the one in his office at the pavilion. You guess that it would similarly contain a supply of medical equipment. 

With every subsequent sip, the tea that Wonwoo brewed brings you an inch closer to reality. Once you near the bottom of the cup, the Redeemer finally ventures to ask. “What happened?”

You think that you would be able to answer him, if he wasn’t so earnestly peering up at you from the floor. With a sobering surge of courage, you tell him so, motioning for him to come up beside you on the cushions. Wonwoo sits so close that your shoulder brushes his and you smell the lilac that seems to cling to him like a second skin. 

It’s not hard to find the words to say. After all, you’ve had this conversation once already. A few years ago, when Soonyoung had caught you readying yourself to run again, on a night so dark that the shadows swirled and suspended in the air, like ink in water. He had held you at arm’s length by the shoulders, demanded what was required of him to stop you from disappearing from your family and life for the second time. 

“I have these dreams. These nightmares. Shadows cut into my skin and make me bleed, but they’re not as bad as the voices. They tell me the things that I want to avoid accepting.” 

Wonwoo takes it all in stride, politely keeping his eyes off of you as he stares down into his mug and inquires, “What kinds of things?” 

“That I’m not enough. That I’m going to let everyone down.” 

He considers this in silence, leaving the space for you to continue talking, as if now that you’ve started, you can’t seem to stop. 

“They tell me that Soonyoung is a fool for swearing an oath with me because I’m weak. Inevitably, he’s going to die because I’m going to fail to protect him. They tell me my parents didn’t love me because I’m no use to them.”

Wonwoo bristles against you, his entire body growing taut and still. “Do you really believe that?”

You close your eyes. 

“It doesn’t matter if I believe it or not. It’s the truth.” 

Whether intentional or not, the conversation lulls to an end, and the warmth of the room drains the adrenaline from your restless night, easing you into the blurred boundary of being conscious and asleep. 

When you wake, you find yourself in an unfamiliar room, cheek pressed against a warm, worn leather. Haltingly, you come to each of your senses. The soft cotton of a blanket that has covered you overnight. The musty scent of a secret room and the drying peels of oranges laid out to combat it. Water babbling as it boils in a kettle. Pale sunlight filtering through the window slits. 

You press yourself up to sit, seeking out the one presence in the room that you couldn’t stop thinking about even as you dozed restlessly. Wonwoo, despite having spent the night in this stale room, looks as undisturbed as always. He doesn’t look up from his hunch over the tea that he’s meticulously tending to when he calls, “I’m to report to the Head’s living quarters later this morning for a routine check-up. Would you like to accompany me?” 

You blink, stunned at the request from the Redeemer, who has actual responsibilities within the court, unlike you. You should politely deny the offer. You should pretend to be preoccupied with other prior commitments, play the false part of a princess who is beloved and desired and important. Instead, your heart betrays your head, and you nod wordlessly. 

Later, when Wonwoo has completed his business, the two of you amble through Jihoon’s courtyard, enjoying the rare sunlit morning. 

“Plum blossoms,” Wonwoo says thoughtfully, tall enough that when he reaches up, his fingertips brush against the buds that are beginning to sprout their white and pink petals. “They flower in the late winter. You’re supposed to prune them right after they flower, to help them grow better.” You hum curiously, craning your neck to admire the massive tree stretching wide above. “The symbol of the Lee Clan,” you muse, “And yet only Jihoon’s yard gets to have them planted in it.” 

“He probably doesn’t even realize that they’re here,” Wonwoo’s laughter makes his voice trill, and you beam at the branches, fighting to hide it away from him. 

“When I was a kid, I used to beg my nanny to sneak me away from home and come over to see the flowers here,” you reminisce, the taste of the memory bittersweet on your tongue. “Our yard only has gingkos, so everything was bare during the wintertime.” 

A smile plays at the man’s lips. “A nanny? That’s very princess-y of you.” 

You snort in response before you can even think to hold it in, “Only because my mother didn’t want to have anything to do with me.” Wonwoo’s face falls, and you snicker at his dismay. “Don’t worry, everyone’s known this for decades at this point.” 

The Redeemer’s mouth twists in deliberation as he tips his head to the side, wondering if it’s the truth or if you’re just trying to make him feel better. He flusters on, choosing to change the subject. 

“My parents refused to let anybody intervene with their parenting,” he shrugs. “They didn’t let anybody coddle or reprimand us. They decided that the best and the worst should always come from the parents.” Wonwoo laughs, but there’s a misty rasp to it, as if nostalgia threatens to steal him away. Shaking his head, he reaches overhead and pinches to pluck a tiny blossom off, delicate in his lithe fingers. 

You feel like Wonwoo hesitantly opens up about his own childhood as a response; you shouldn’t pry further. 

“How do you know so much about flowers?” You inquire instead, absentmindedly holding a palm out when Wonwoo gestures to you and drops the blossom into your hand. 

Almost instantly, the defenses come up in his expression, and you understand, feeling the walls as fervently as if they were your own. The straight line of Wonwoo’s shoulders grows taut, a shadow flickers across his gaze, and he responds through his teeth, “My mother loved flowers.”

You nod once, guilty for asking, and that’s that. 

–

“There’s a whisper in the wind.” You stare back at the Yoon man, who Jihoon has appointed as his chief Whisperer. You hadn’t met him in your childhood before you left, but you’ve gathered that your brother and cousins trust Jeonghan with their lives. Nevertheless, you’re a little wary of the man whose innocent visage, you know, obscures a mischievous streak within. Even the way he got ahold of you, slipping in step right beside you as you took your late afternoon stroll amongst the barren trees unsettles you. 

Whisperers, in general, have always discomforted you. Your uncle’s chief Whisperer had been a snake of a man, with an easygoing smile and eyes that flashed like lightning. Even as a child, you had squirmed even being in the same room with the man. The moment you had landed eyes on Jeonghan upon your return, you had known that he was the spawn of the serpent in your memories. 

“What do the whispers say?” Your curiosity triumphs over your unease. 

For once, Jeonghan’s lips aren’t upturned into a smile. Instead, there’s a slight crease to his forehead, and he looks the proper part of a man burdened with the secrets of the entire kingdom. “Lord Jeon has broken a longstanding deal with the Park clan, regarding the private ownership of their clinics, and the Parks aren’t happy.” Your head twinges, unused to the politics of business-dealing. “Why did he do it?”

Jeonghan shrugs a shoulder, dipping his head closer to you. “The Parks have always coveted the Jeons’ proximity to the Triumvirate. They think that once Lord Jeon passes, they can topple his empire.” 

You frown but still don’t understand where this leads. The Whisperer’s gaze softens at your confusion before he delivers the objective. 

“The whispers tell me that they want to exterminate his sons, so that there will be no heirs to inherit the empire.” 

There’s a high-pitched ringing in your ears that deafens you from your own voice asking, “How do they know?”

You return to your senses just as you catch the tail end of Jeonghan’s response. “They recently hired a band of bloodswords. The whispers say that they’ve been bustling all night and morning, and they suspect that they’ll make their move soon.” 

You should’ve listened to Jeonghan. 

The sky had been red as blood when you woke that morning. Usually, it reads as an omen of a storm, but it had felt like something worse. Your mind had gone to Jeonghan’s words instantly, but Wonwoo is securely tucked into the palace grounds. Surely not even bloodswords are capable of slipping past the Sentinels. 

You should’ve listened to Jeonghan. 

When the incessant alarm in your head doesn’t let up, you decide to check in on the physician pavilion with Mingyu, who isn’t hard to wrangle up at all. Soonyoung, on the other hand, tosses sleepily in his bedsheets, grumbling something about having taken an overnight shift for Seungcheol. You frown, unimpressed, but leave him in his room with a mutter that if you, and Jeonghan, turn out to be right and Wonwoo really is in danger, he’ll be sorry for it. 

Wonwoo’s not in his office. The chairs have been thrown, overturned here and there. The glass top of his desk shattered to oblivion. 

Immediately, your concern rots away into dread, and it rises in the back of your throat as bile. Mingyu’s quick on his feet, already lisping through his next thoughts out loud, but you can barely hear what he says, your own mind reeling in panic and fear and despair. 

“Tigress,” Mingyu barks, fingers bruising as he grips your shoulder, “pull yourself together. We need to find Wonwoo.” 

You nod, mumble out your agreement. The Sentinel takes off, and you follow closely, barely aware of where he leads. Mingyu makes quick work of his hunt, like a hound closing in on a scent, and it feels like only a few heartbeats when he skids to a pause in the gateway to a secluded courtyard, one hidden away from most of the palatial grounds, most frequented by servants. The night swarms in, dark and smothering, and there’s barely a sliver of the moon in the sky to provide light but you see him. 

You see Wonwoo, crumpled on the floor and trying to shove himself deeper into the corner that he’s been backed into. There’s a man merely a few feet in front of him, much farther away from you, who inches closer and closer to Wonwoo, a sickly sardonic laugh rattling out of his chest. Like a hunter, triumphant as his prize awaits. 

There’s a horrid cut splitting the pale flesh of Wonwoo’s cheek, weeping blood. Staring at the man before him, he holds out the dagger that Soonyoung gave for protection in their childhood, but it’s too loose in his trembling grip. You see the Redeemer as he once was: a gentle boy, raised by a healer and a nurturer, who grew up wanting nothing but to care for others, the way he was cared for by his parents. Wonwoo couldn’t kill anyone, let alone harm them, even if he wanted to, and the thought makes your insides burn like wildfire. 

“Wonwoo.” Your voice barely comes out, but he hears you, jerking his chin up. His eyes, stretched wide with terror, land on you, and the world around you tips on its axis. They hurt him, put a mark on a man who would never wish harm on another. “No,” you whisper, fingers curling tighter against your weapon, clinging to something desperately so that you don’t lose yourself in the storm. “No. You don’t get to lay a hand on him. You shouldn’t have done that.” The words escape as a sigh from miles away. 

The bloodsword swivels his head over his shoulder before barking out another scoff. “Get lost, little girl. The grown-ups are dealing with business.” 

The man’s words fall innocuously on deaf ears. There’s half a thought forming in your head that maybe you should just disarm him, incapacitate him just enough to have him out of the way so that you can check on Wonwoo. You look back at the Redeemer, see the cut on his face, and a roaring starts up in your ears, as the thought sputters and fizzles out. 

Without a word to Mingyu, you surge forward, but you know that he’s there, hot at your heels. The man puts up no real fight; after all, bloodswords are amateur assassins. The man swivels on his feet, just in time to meet you as you reach him. You barely duck under the swing of his knife, but his movements are clumsy and unpracticed. He tries to lash out several more times, but you weave through each of his attempts. 

You should kill him quickly–there’s Wonwoo to get to–but the grating noise of his awful laugh echoes in your head. How dare he laugh at the thought of hurting Wonwoo, of killing him? Your head gets loud again, you shift to the right a little too slowly, and the man’s swipe catches you across the chin, jerking your head to the side. It doesn’t hurt, you only feel the force of it and nothing else, but it’s enough. You drop into a crouch and slash at his calves with your blade, smiling when his muscles tear and his knees buckle beneath his weight. 

A pitiful yelp of a cry spills from the man, but it’s too late for you to care. You wrench his shoulder, flip him around so that he’s crumpling onto his back, as you loom over him. He has no choice but to look at you now, standing before him with the blade steadying your hands. There’s a slow satisfaction that bubbles in the pit of your stomach, before spreading, warm in your veins, as you see the man’s face contort from anger to despair to finally fear. It delights you, knowing that he has realized his mistake. 

The man dies screaming, and you revel in the way his voice gurgles as he chokes on his own blood before it cuts out entirely. 

Other bodies thud to the floor around you as Mingyu takes care of the hoards that continue appearing, and the reprieve allows you to crouch beside Wonwoo, pressing a quivering palm to his unmarred cheek. 

“Are you alright? Are you hurt?” You demand firmly, searching his eyes and any visible part of his body for signs of injury. “You’re okay now,” you whisper fiercely, feeling your heart tear at the sight of blood slipping from his face, over his jaw, and down his pale throat, of the panic in his usually unruffled expression. “We’re here now.” 

The Redeemer shakes his head, and the dagger clatters out of his fingers as he tugs at you and you crash into his chest. “You’re safe,” he mutters, but you can barely hear his voice over the hammering of his heartbeat against your ear, the blood rushing furiously through your head. 

You want nothing more than to stay in the warmth of his embrace, but you force yourself to push away and up. “You’ll be safe with Mingyu,” you promise, for the sake of yourself, if not for Wonwoo’s. You hear him call your name, a frantic howl of a noise, but rage pulses through your veins and it calls you back, back into the throng of the violence. 

You advance, cutting through the outbreak of invaders like stalks of grass with a scythe. The anger, the fear that Wonwoo could’ve been hurt even worse blinds and deafens you. You move ceaselessly, bending and crouching and lunging and slashing. You dip to slice at the heels of one man, shoot yourself up and twist to tear the throat of another. A constant rhythm that never lets up, just like the Kwons taught you to, because a motionless warrior is a corpse. This is what dancing must feel like. 

Just a bit up ahead, there’s another figure whirling and carving down the rest of the men with his twin blades. You take the moment to catch your breath, reel in the emotions that have gotten too unruly, fraying the edges of your minds and taking control of your body. In the middle of counting to a hundred, eyes squeezed shut, a gentle weight lands atop your head, grounding you. You don’t need to see to know that it’s Soonyoung, heat and the stench of iron nearly vibrating off of his body. 

“Wonwoo?” The First Blade prompts quietly, and you can still hear malice in his voice because no matter how much more control he has over himself, you and Soonyoung are cut from the same bloody cloth. While your rage consumes your entire body in a deafening inferno, his fury makes his world go silent, like he’s swimming in frigid, subzero waters. 

“We got to him just in time. I left him with Mingyu.” The words coming out of your throat sound like they’re coming from another person. They’re quiet, but the rest of your body is still so loud. Buzzing with the need to kill, kill, kill. 

A muted sigh escapes Soonyoung. He drops his hand from your head to your face, fingers brushing at a spot on your jaw that smarts at his touch. “Tigress. He’s safe. That’s all that matters for now,” the man mumbles gently. “Go see him. We’ll kill the rest of the Park bastards another day.”

His promise is not enough. Your body yearns for more bloodshed, here and now, but you force yourself to nod and let yourself be tugged away from this battlefield to the next. 

–

The physician pavilion has been wrecked, so there’s only one place that Mingyu could have taken Wonwoo. 

The speakeasy-turned-clinic welcomes you like a second home as you step into its dim warmth, followed closely by Soonyoung. Only once you pass the threshold into the main holding room and see for yourself that Mingyu and Wonwoo are truly alive and well, you let yourself go lax, shoulders sagging as the weight of the world releases you. 

Wonwoo sits on a barstool as the Sentinel hovers before him, stitching up his cheek with deft fingers. You’re so relieved that your knees threaten to buckle beneath you. There’s a moment when Wonwoo realizes your arrival and glances up, expression raw and melting with relief. You struggle to say something, anything, but your head swarms with loud thoughts of mine, mine, mine. It’s a bizarre feeling, wanting him so viscerally, when all your life, you’ve denied yourself. Distantly, you feel the stick of blood on your palms at the carnage you’ve just rendered, and guilt festers, reminding you of how undeserving you are of him. 

“Tigress.” The sound of Soonyoung’s nickname for you sounds foreign and clumsy on Wonwoo’s tongue, and it startles you into stumbling a few steps forward. 

You shake your head, no, as your feet crash into the stool Wonwoo sits on. Somewhere in your mind, you recognize that Mingyu’s arms come up around your shoulders to right your body as it careens forward, but all you can think is my name, my name, my name until the Redeemer calls you by your name and the infernal world around you finally hushes and settles. 

He got hurt because of you, because you didn’t get there on time, because you didn’t take Jeonghan’s whispers seriously at first. All because of your own shortcomings as a Blade. The thought unravels you. 

“I’m sorry.” The words spill faster than the tears do. “I’m sorry.” 

Wonwoo’s nose crinkles with concern. “What are you sorry for, princess? You saved my life.” 

You want to reach up, you want to hold him, but there’s so much blood on your hands. You’d only be tainting him. Like how you ruin everything else. 

You get knocked into the darkness, it rushes in and sucks you under like a tidal wave, and you don’t know how to swim out. 

“–ey. Hey.”

Another call of your given name. Still foreign after all this time. It rattles your entire being, and the words, barely formed and uncouth, fight their way off of your tongue clumsily. 

“I let you get hurt,” you despair, fingers clenching and unfurling around empty air. “I’m not enough. I’ll never be enough to protect you. I need to be perfect–” 

“Stop.” 

You flinch at the anger brimming in Wonwoo’s voice. It’s foreign in your ears, and you’re not sure that you like it very much. Unlike yours and Soonyoung’s, the Redeemer’s rage feels not like a weapon but more like a manacle. Your throat burns with the desire to free him from it, so you clamp your jaws shut obediently, swallowing down the rest of the venom. 

Wonwoo stands, knocking the stool backwards. The noise as it topples over and clatters through the floor returns you to the present, just enough for you to glance up and around the room, discovering that both Mingyu and Soonyoung’s presence have disappeared. You’re both relieved and anxious for it, unsure of what demons the privacy might lead you to bare next. The thought barely skims through your mind, before there’s a heat pressing into you. Confused, you look back forward, and it’s all Wonwoo. Wonwoo, clasping a hand to your cheek, the other settling heavy on your hip. Wonwoo, searing an inspection along the perimeter of your face, where you’re barely aware of a cut steadily weeping blood. Wonwoo, mumbling quietly, breath soft and warm and sweet against your mouth. 

“You’re hurt,” he says simply.

It’s everything and nothing all at once. It’s so trivial that you want to brush him off. It’s so profound that you want to wholly consume the moment, greedily swallowing it away for yourself. As you dither, Wonwoo makes the decision for you. 

He only tips his head back, lips brushing faintly against yours like a question, like a promise. 

Once offered, you have no mind to do anything but take, take, take, and you’re pressing forward desperately, wanting nothing but Wonwoo’s touch to be burnt into your skin like a brand. In response, a quiet whine escapes him, pitched high with delight. He reciprocates with a relentless fervor, mouth melded to yours, breathing fire down your throat. 

You swallow it eagerly. When your chest feels close to tearing apart from lack of air, you resentfully pull back for a moment to suck in a breath. In the lapse, the Redeemer smiles down at you, a gentle thumb sweeping over your face. 

“I don’t need a perfect you,” he professes, soft and earnest. “I have never expected perfection.” As you grasp for shallow breaths, you puzzle over his words, as his polite smile widens into blatant amusement. “You don’t remember, do you? I’ve seen you before, when we were children. Multiple times, in fact.” 

You frown. There’s nothing of Wonwoo in your faint recollections of your childhood, aside from the blurred images of his father. Try as you might, not a single picture of what he might have even looked like in boyhood exists in your head. After all, if he had been in your life back then, maybe your childhood wouldn’t have been as miserable as it was. 

As if he notices your dejection, the Redeemer soothes you with a chaste kiss against the forehead. “No matter,” he whispers delicately. “It was always from afar anyway, whenever my father had me tag along to the palace with him. I was too quiet and shy to say anything to you.” 

Despite yourself, you quip, “Even quieter than now?”

Wonwoo grins, “Hard to believe, isn’t it?” He continues a bit more seriously, brows drawn together, “You were younger than me, and the princess, but you always looked so unhappy. It was strange.” Shaking his head slightly, he corrects, “It was concerning.” 

“I was unhappy,” you concede, but you don’t want to think about it, at least not right now. There will come a time when you bare your whole heart to Wonwoo, you decide then and there. He will witness the deepest and ugliest parts of your soul, and you will leave it up to his judgment if he deems you worthy of saving, of his redemption. Until then, you think that you’ll have to make do with being less than perfect for him. To have him and to give yourself to him as you are. 

Wonwoo meets your gaze, knowingly, as if he understands your resolution and acknowledges it for himself as well. You smile, grow lax at the weight taken off of your chest finally, and lean in to kiss him again. Straining up to reach his height isn’t enough, despite the sharp angle that he crooks his neck at, so you urge him backwards, still clutched within his embrace, until the backs of his knees meet the edge of an armchair and you’re falling forward into him, into the seat. 

He huffs out a breath, as his fingers trail along your ribcage, hot, like flames licking along your skin. You hold yours, afraid that if you move or make a sound, the spell will break and the moment will shatter. It’s not enough, the slow, intentional sweep of his hands that hold you like fragile glass. 

“My mother grew flowers,” he pants into your mouth, words nearly going unnoticed by the haze in your head. “Kept flowers that grew in every season, every color of the rainbow. Raised her boys as she would her flowers, she would say.” Wonwoo’s murmurs rattle you to the core, and you wish that he had told you this when you were in a state to receive it more appreciatively. 

You press a palm against his chest firmly, wincing as you deny it when he dips his head back low to get closer. Working hard to reel in your ragged breaths, you hook a finger beneath his chin, lifting his face to examine it. His pupils grow wide, darkening his gaze, and you watch it happen curiously. 

Wonwoo rasps out a laugh, which sends your stomach tumbling, but you’re too far gone to care. You recognize it for what it is. He continues speaking in that quiet rumble of his, and all of your senses amplify, seeking out his voice and hanging on every word. 

“I was scared that I would grow weak,” he admits like he’s telling a secret, “Flowers are pretty, but delicate. I envied Soonyoung and Mingyu, who were raised as warriors.” Wonwoo smiles and brushes his knuckles against the bruise blooming across your jaw. “Of you, even. A princess who was brave enough to become a Blade.” 

You smile back, remorse bitter in the back of your mouth. “It’s not a proud thing, to be a weapon.” 

“It’s a beautiful thing, to be a protector.” He argues fiercely, and his gaze burns so intensely that you think you might believe him. 

–

Every passing day, every passing moment that you find yourself unable to tear your gaze away from Wonwoo, you think of your mother. You don’t glance at him because he prompts you to, you don’t pore over every shift of his expressions to gauge his emotions, you simply look for looking’s sake. The mere sight of him brings a calm that you never thought you would know in life. 

Your attention is wholly yours to have and to give as desired. Without even thinking to, you give your attention to Wonwoo, even when he doesn’t demand it, because your head and your heart are magnetized to him. You realize, slowly, begrudgingly at first, then rapidly all at once, that this is what love must be. 

You’ve always known that your parents never loved you. As a child, you had writhed and twisted and bent over backwards to get them to glance your way even for the slightest of seconds and see that you were smiling as angelically as you could to gain favor. You understand now that there would have been nothing that you could’ve done to receive their attention because there was no love in their heart for you. You know it but don’t think that you’ll ever comprehend it. Not when your concentration slips away from you so effortlessly, like sand through a sieve, and your thoughts scatter away from your mother to the Redeemer, merely a few feet across of you atop a barstool, head crooked into his book, fingers playing at the edges of the next page. 

Love. The word tingles on the tip of your tongue and your mouth waters at the taste of it. 

“You’re staring.” Wonwoo doesn’t move as he speaks, and for a moment, you wonder if you’ve imagined his velvet soft voice. 

Cheeks flaring hot at getting caught, you stubbornly turn your head away, looking at anything but him. 

You think that Wonwoo might love you, too. 

For when you can’t last longer than a few seconds staring at the wall and your gaze draws back to him inevitably, like a moth to a flame, his mirthful eyes are already on you, ready to receive your attention. 

[jjjjeonww]

masterlist (1)

fluff - ᥫ᭡ angst - 𝜗𝜚 suggestive/smut - 𖧷 ...XDINARY HEROES... GUNIL - "a step into your heart" .. ᥫ᭡ JUNGSU - "your amore mio and his mon ange" .. ᥫ᭡ O.DE - "the quietest moments speak the loudest" .. ᥫ᭡ JOOYEON - "your number one boy" .. ᥫ᭡ + 𝜗𝜚

...SEVENTEEN... OT13 - ex trainee!reader x idol!svt .. ᥫ᭡ SEUNGCHEOL - "red, bloody days." .. ᥫ᭡ "i should move on, i know." .. 𝜗𝜚 JEONGHAN - "a military husband." .. ᥫ᭡ + 𝜗𝜚 "married; but they hate eachother?" (2) .. 𝜗𝜚 yoon jeonghan and his ridiculous ways of trying to make you his valentine .. ᥫ᭡ hard launch + soft launch .. ᥫ᭡ "legos and books." .. ᥫ᭡ "compliment me!" .. ᥫ᭡ "Habit" .. 𝜗𝜚 JOSHUA - "matching rings." .. ᥫ᭡ (𝜗𝜚?) "happy birthday my cinnamoroll." .. ᥫ᭡ "random texts" .. ᥫ᭡ "Dear Diary. Damn my academic rival." .. ᥫ᭡ + 𝜗𝜚 JUNHUI - "it was all a bet." .. 𝜗𝜚 cuteness aggression .. ᥫ᭡ hard launch + soft launch .. ᥫ᭡ "silent boarding gate" .. 𝜗𝜚 (ᥫ᭡?) HOSHI - "don't stop the rain" .. ᥫ᭡ "how you left me" .. 𝜗𝜚 WONWOO - "i'd wanna be next to you." .. 𝜗𝜚 "bittersweet" (kmg and jww) .. ᥫ᭡ + 𝜗𝜚 "a café heartbreak" .. 𝜗𝜚 (ᥫ᭡?) "the eyes, they never lie." .. ᥫ᭡ "Executive Secret" .. ᥫ᭡ WOOZI - "what kind of future" .. 𝜗𝜚 untitled .. 𝜗𝜚 "random texts" .. ᥫ᭡ + 𖧷 "me or vernon?" .. ᥫ᭡ DOKYEOM - "bad influence" .. 𖧷 "hard launch + soft launch" .. ᥫ᭡ "touch grass dude" .. ᥫ᭡ MINGYU - "a very clumsy man." .. ᥫ᭡ "bittersweet" (kmg and jww) .. ᥫ᭡ + 𝜗𝜚 "i miss my lover." (2), (3) .. ᥫ᭡ + 𝜗𝜚 MINGHAO - "A beach proposal" .. ᥫ᭡ "bad influence" .. 𖧷 "drawn to you" .. ᥫ᭡ SEUNGKWAN - "keep staring and you might fall for me." .. ᥫ᭡ VERNON - "how do lesbians make out like?" .. ᥫ᭡ (𝜗𝜚?) DINO - "is this love? is this a game? a game of love?" .. 𝜗𝜚 "i don't understand but i luv you" .. ᥫ᭡ + 𝜗𝜚 hard launch + soft launch .. ᥫ᭡ what your svt bias says about you! (maknae line) what your svt bias says about you! (hyung line) hard-launching the svt members

...P1HARMONY... KEEHO - "random texts." .. ᥫ᭡ JIUNG - "the sight of you leaves me weak" .. ᥫ᭡ INTAK - "i love the puppies, i love you too" .. ᥫ᭡

dividers are from @kodaswrld !! 2nd masterlist ---> here !

[camandemstudios]

camandemstudios Seventeen TA collab taglist

@woozidanisms @haneulparadx @aaniag @intoanothermind @abibliolife

@thepoopdokyeomtouched @jnginlov @chanichanvhan

@baalkoo @odevote118 @jenowithjaem @Scoupsjin @dreamsbloomout

@asyre @hopelessromanticbella @tacosandbitch @mankidoll @wonhannie

@vlbi @cookiearmy @lllucere @soonsgrl @leemoonna

@beautifully-excused @futuristicenemychaos @bobathi @tigerhoshii @dxntletmegxyoonie

@lukeys-giggle @z0mh0lic @shiannprincess101 @dawgyeom @coffeesweetx

@milkyruins @leticiaesteveslp @idk13me @quiescentlyme @monamipencil

@bspoju @ahuiahoe @min-has-trusttissues @atinyinateezverse @cowboydk

@avocifera @allieyaaa @chrollo-s-princess @sourkimchi @gyukissr

@impossiblecollectivekoala @wqnwoos @ourkivee @wondrousies

@cheoliehansoliereblogs @svtrightherekids @weakformingyu @kwonshiho @sarabencze

@wwjagabeee @taesungx @moonjeonhui @black-swan-blog27 @leahhhher

@gyuguys @c-oupsie @nahyuckism @bittersweet-folder @hyeisssante

@variety-is-the-joy-of-life @lizza2001 @svteensworld @leigh-darling @roidagobertlvr

@Sheilogreen @livinlikelarry2934 @napipope-ta @awritersescape

endpoint

Pairing: Jean Wonwoo x f!reader

Genre: fluff, smut, angst, FWB to idiots to lovers

warnings:  cumshot/facial, unprotected sex, multiple sex scenes, oral sex (m & f receiving), rough sex, breath play (choking), mentions of exhibitionism, face fucking, virgin wonwoo mentions, idiots in love, edging (emotionally), impact play, sir kink (brief), alcohol consumption

Length: ~19.5k

Note: thank you to @gyuswhore my love, my life, for suffering through this with me. this fic is set in the same universe as her gyu fic for this collab so check it out (threat). also thank u @haologram and everyone else who beta'd this for me bc im sensitive. follow @camandemstudios for more fics!!! i will come back later and tag the people who commented on the teaser but rn im getting day drunk hehehe

summary: Senior year of college is meant to be full of celebration and smooth sailing. Years of work culminating in the final semesters that will send you off into the real world where clubs, sports, and weekends packed with hungover volunteering to pad your resume no longer mattered. It’d be a piece of cake if it wasn’t for your fuck buddy turned coworker having the same plan. But only one of you can get the department’s most coveted recommendation that all but guarantees your acceptance. Tension rises and the nearly four year thing you’ve had with Wonwoo approaches its endpoint.

collab m.list || m.list

This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked.

“What’s the difference between a proton and an electron again?”

“Shoot me in the fucking head,” Wonwoo whispers harshly.

He’s a seat over, a laptop covered in gaming stickers and a coffee cup containing a lethal amount of caffeine occupying the space atop the narrow lecture desk. It’s a feign to productivity. His screen is split between thesis notes and a countdown to a new video game release that unfortunately hits 0 in the middle of lecture. 

Dr. Wagner’s intro to chemistry  course isn’t difficult – freshman aside – which is why you and Wonwoo agreed to be her teaching assistants. Easy money and a way to get in her good graces come grad school application season. You’ve TA’ed the same course since sophomore year for different professors but it’s all the same; the metaphorical killing field before hopeful freshmen become cannon fodder in the real trial of will: O Chem. 

“Me first,” you whisper back. 

Wonwoo slumps in his chair, opening the shared drive keeping track of problem areas to touch on in lab hours, and typing “check for basic brain activity” under the class To-Do list. 

Fair enough. If they can’t understand the basics this far into the semester then you two are in for a world of hurt for the next practical. You're in for a world of hurt come next study hall when half of them will complain about failing their quiz this morning despite having the answers spoon fed straight from the notes.

[09:48] You:  be nice

[09:48] wonwoo: if they were smarter, id be nicer

[09:48] You: maybe they’re scared stupid

It wouldn’t be too far off. One time a freshman burst into tears while asking Wonwoo to check their practice work during lab hours. Wonwoo swears he didn’t say anything and the kid looked on the verge of a mental breakdown if the wind blew the wrong way.

[09:48] wonwoo: from what?

[09:48] You: the fact ur trying to kill them with your mind

[09:49 ]wonwoo : i wouldn’t kill them

[09:49] wonwoo: just maim or seriously injure so they dont come to class and say dumb shit

Dr. Wagner fields more questions in front of the powerpoint. More ‘dumb shit’ Wonwoo rolls his eyes at with such obvious disgust even you feel chastised. Luckily, no one can see his face from the front row besides you.

[09:49] You: you wonder why they like me more

[09:50] wonwoo: i know why they like you more

[09:50] You: oh?

Stifling an eye roll of your own you throw a glance his way as the next message comes through,

[09:50] wonwoo: nice ass

“Alright, Y/N and Wonwoo will be passing out the study guide for the next exam. We still have a few weeks so don’t worry about the back half but try and review the modules we’ve done so far and bring questions for them during study hours,” Dr. Wagner prattles off.

The gigantic stack of printouts is split in half for you and Wonwoo to disperse around the massive lecture hall. Over one hundred students sit in this lecture; the unfortunate ones who were forced to take a 9 AM course three days a week. Half look like their brain is melting out of their ears, other’s clearly haven’t paid attention at all, and a few are sound asleep. It’s Friday after all. They probably didn’t get back from their Thirsty Thursday night out until a few hours ago.

You wouldn’t even be here if Wonwoo wasn’t a built in insurance policy.

Dr. Wagner collects her things and heads towards the front exit with a cheery, “Have a good weekend!”

“There's a party at Sigma tonight,” Wonwoo shares as you both pack your own bags. The next class is already shuffling through the doors to claim their seats.

“I have work until eleven.”

“After?”

Shouldering your bag, you head towards the door where the next class is already trickling in to find their seats. “Don’t you have a tournament tomorrow?”

“I only have to be at the party for like an hour. I can come and walk you home.”

“Fine,” you nod. “But bring your laptop. I think Chan fucked up the last set of results and we need to fix them.”

It’s not unusual for Wonwoo to spend his Friday nights with you; or another night for that matter. He lives in a dingy frat house on the edge of campus with twenty other guys. It’s an act of mercy. A long standing tradition from the week before freshman year when you two were the only chemistry majors in your orientation group and that turned into a clumsy hook up at an upperclassman’s party. You didn’t know he’d be a virgin and he didn’t know your high school boyfriend dumped you less than twenty four hours before you left for college (but not before you lost your own virginity in the backseat of his car). 

It’d been…not good. 

Wonwoo was awkward and you were unsure. But he was sweet under the bravado; walked you home that night, pretended he wasn’t interested in the fact your roommate never moved in, leaving the suite empty. But he wasn’t a good enough actor to feign nonchalance when you invited him upstairs. Turns out sex was a lot better the second time around, in a bed that didn’t belong to an unknown upperclassman who could’ve burst in any minute. 

Wonwoo isn’t your boyfriend. You’re too busy piecing together the ten year plan concocted since junior year of highschool to even think about such frilly ideas. There’s barely enough time as it is; you’ve got work, a full class schedule, TAing, and all the random clubs you’ve wiggled your way into to pad your resume. 

And he’s busy too. Navigating a sports scholarship and one of the hardest majors left barely enough time for him to wipe his own ass, let alone date. Then came research hours and TAing and the fact volleyball, apparently, wasn’t just a one semester sport, there were scrimmages, workouts, and tournaments out of season. 

It’s been over three years of your arrangement which works best because you don’t have to spend precious brain power deciphering if some random guy you went out with once is playing hard to get or just straight up not interested. You have Wonwoo. He’s simple. 

So what you have now, friends. Who hook up. And work together. Who also happens to be applying for the same PhD program for next year. Not together but at the same time.

The application website stares back from your laptop with horror. 

It’s still too early to submit any materials but it’s been highlighted in bold red in your calendar since two years ago. Everything is ready to go the second it opens—except Dr. Wagner’s recommendation. It’s the sole reason you (and Wonwoo) agreed to be her TAs this semester; she’s one of the program’s most notorious alum, her words as good as gold in securing a spot. 

Someone hacks a cough and shatters the eerie silence of the library. The backtrack of sparse typing and the custodian shuffling around to have been the only company throughout your shift. No one would choose to rot at any of the weathered study tables late on a Friday night so early in the semester. 

With the abundance of free time, you fixed Chan’s mistakes in his set of trials easily, no thanks to Wonwoo who still hasn’t shown up. It’s good though. Your stoichiometry homework is submitted three days before the deadline and the mountain of emails clogging your inbox from hopeless undergrads is in the single digits. Half the labs from last week are graded for Dr. Wagner’s approval, the other half can wait until Sunday night. A long weekend of sleep awaits once the clock hits eleven and you’re free to run home.

Wonwoo stumbless in five minutes before the clock runs out. His duffle for tomorrow is slung over his shoulder and he’s already dressed for bed, rumpled sweats and a hat he definitely wore to the party with high hopes to cut out early. 

“You’re late,” you acknowledge, cramming your belongings back into your bag. He’s close enough to get a whiff of. “And you’re drunk.”

“I am not drunk,” he argues.

The lazy smile tugging at the corner of his lips says otherwise but it isn’t an argument worth having. All you want to do is get home and pass out.

He shoulders you bag, presenting his hand when you insist you can carry it on your own. The dry warm of his palm against your cold is pleasant enough you don’t argue as you tug him towards the automatic doors.

“Have a goodnight, Mr. Lee,” you call towards the security desk.

The guard, old enough to be your grandfather, calls back, “You too, sweetheart.”

Out in the balmy night, you tug Wonwoo down the street in the direction of your apartment. Two blocks and then a right turn leaving you outside the dowdy building with hallways that constantly reek of weed and new paint smell.

A pack of freshmen girls heading somewhere, marked by their matching uniform of jeans and black tops of various coverage, crowd the sidewalk straight ahead. Someone is crying, one is on the phone, and a few others stand dumbly waiting for their next movie like zombies — all incredibly wasted. You barrel through them without acknowledgement. A few drunken bitter ‘bitch’s hit your back but you ignore them to focus on the man struggling to push through the crowd without accidentally shoulder checking any of them.

On the other side, you ask, “Have fun at the party?”

“Some pledge puked on Jihoon’s stuff,” he huffs, nose scrunching.

“May he rest in peace.”

Wonwoo sways from side to side from the weight of your bag but also whatever radioactive mix was served at the party. The stairs provide an extra challenge since the elevator has been broken for weeks but thankfully it’s a short trip to the second floor.

He presents your belongings with routine ease once the front door of your apartment looms ahead. Music from the floor above shakes the walls; hopefully you can make up for the lack of sleep tomorrow morning.

There isn’t much space inside the four walls you call home – the ‘kitchen’ which is a single counter with a stove and fridge you’re barely around to use, fifteen feet away your bed in the corner, bordered by your desk at the foot cramped with a spray of errant papers and books you’ve been too busy to deal with. The monitor doubles as a TV and finally a tiny loveseat with a broken leg replaced by a stack of hard covers completes the room.

You beeline for the bathroom to wash away the filth of a long day and Wonwoo, keeping on trend, follows into the cramped space.

“Can I help you?” you ask, shirt tossed into the bin in the corner.

Wonwoo’s shirt goes the same and then his pants after a brief struggle. “You know I sleep better when I shower.” 

True.

“And I doubt you're gonna let me in your bed if I’m dirty.”

Even truer.

The water is still cold when you step in but the man glued to your back fights the worst of the chill away. Goosebumps prickle along your skin but have nothing to do with the vent that points directly into the stall (whoever designed the apartments must have had a sick sense of humor) and everything to do with Wonwoo’s mouth tracing the curve of your shoulder.

Forcing the heat blooming between your legs down to a simmer, you focus on washing up and getting into bed before it rolls into a boil and you do something stupid that’ll only leave you and Wonwoo struggling for balance. 

Shower sex is a dangerous sport. Shower sex with Wonwoo has left you both with bruises. Drunken shower sex with Wonwoo will get you both killed.

Soft hums tickle your neck as you clean up. There isn’t enough room for two people to stand in the spray at once so you take turns hogging the steamy water and braving the frigid cold until the last bits of soap swirl the drain.

Even when drying off you stay in each other’s orbit until the need for clothes and sleep drive you both out of the bathroom and back into the equally cramped space of your room.

It’s not until you’re laying on the mattress, darkness snug on all sides, that you feel Wonwoo roll atop you with purpose.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” Wonwoo hums into your stomach, fingers crawling up your bare legs.

“That,” you inhale at the nip of his teeth on the curve of your thigh, “doesn’t feel like nothing to me.”

Wonwoo doesn’t answer but gives you plenty of time to brush him off while bruising your skin. You don’t. Instead you sink deeper into the blankets and let him push your shirt up until you're bare once more.

The fuzziness of alcohol lingers in his veins – just enough that he smiles into the strip of skin above your panties as you sigh and arch under the delicious weight of wandering hands and mouth at your nipple.

“Wonwoo,” you sigh and he’s up and kissing you with eager clumsiness.

A familiar prod at your core through his boxers crashes bubbles through your veins. You felt it in the bathroom but now is when you finally get to indulge with subtle grinds Wonwoo meets in his own search for friction. 

“Don’t you need to be up—ugh—early tomorrow?”

He kisses you slowly, tongue dragging along your bottom lip until your mouth opens under his. It burns you from the inside out. Mindlessly you shift your legs to frame his hips better but Wonwoo kisses deeper and all you can think about is giving in to whatever scheme he’s working up to have you both naked and panting.

He leans back a fraction to speak, giving in when you chase his lips before ducking to nip at your ear and mumbling a response. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I will worry about it when you snooze twenty alarms and your team hunts me down because I smothered their star player with a pillow,” you snort but heat under a squeeze of his fingers at your sides.

“Sleep when I’m done with this.”

“And what is ‘this’ exactly?”

A harsh suck at your jaw has your stomach tight. heavy and thick until need drips down your spine to coil in your gut and the emptiness between your thighs becomes unignorable. He hides pleased groans in the curve of your neck until you force a hand under the band of his underwear. Eyes opening, you watch the muscles of his back tense and flex as he rocks against you, fucking your fist greedily.

It doesn’t last long. Wonwoo gets antsy under the taunting pressure of your thumb and descends back down your body with burning lips. “Take your shirt off.”

“It’s cold,” you complain but do as he asks. 

He traces your figure clad in nothing but your glasses and a soiled pair of panties; damp at the crotch from his attention and Wonwoo slips a finger under the hem to tease you that inch closure to depravity.

Wonwoo laves against the hickey on the inside of your thigh from a week ago, it’s yellowed and perfectly shaped like his mouth. It’s tender under his attention, even the gentle tracing on his nose forcing you to wince in discomfort. 

He coos, kissing it before skating back to the hem of your panties, lips vibrating against your skin. “Sorry I didn’t come earlier.”

Why he brings it up now is a mystery. Or the fact he brings it up at all. Life happens. You’ve blown him off more than once for a late night in the library; no hard feelings.

“It’s fine,” you sigh as he tugs the last scrap of fabric off your body and pushes your knees up to display you like a meal.

Spreading you apart, he lands a wet kiss at your entrance before teasing with the heat of his tongue. 

In a beg for sanity you twist a tight grip in his hair; a tangled mess from his drunk endeavors. Wonwoo pushes harder, drowns in your taste with enthusiasm as you moan and sigh. 

“F-fuck.”

He won’t ask if it’s good. He knows it is. Nearly four years of hook ups attunes him to your pleasure, a well rehearsed routine that has you both ache in the best way. 

You lose yourself in shaking breaths, feet planted to drive up into his mouth for more. He sucks your clit and nearly gets his head crushed by your thighs. It doesn’t take much and he knows it. 

You chant ‘gonna cum’ in choked groans that almost die at the edge of your teeth but Wonwoo hears and takes it as permission to pull out the stops, hand at your thing with a harsh grip and fingers sinking home.

He’s memorized all the signs of your want; the wrecked echo of your throat and the sounds he pulls from you a clear tell. He flattens his tongue, holding steady as grind straight into mindless bliss. Spit pools and drips and slips down onto the sheets. Wonwoo hums praise, unintelligible but you vaguely know it’s something that’d make you blush you could hear it over the pounding in your ears.

Back arching, your vision flares white at the edges and when Wonwoo realizes what's happening he makes it last until your fist ball up and you’re floating.

Wonwoo backs down as you twitch through the tail end, sloppy kisses to your clit that could knock into another fit if he isn’t careful. But even as you tremble the only thing you want is the weight of his cock in your mouth, or inside you. You aren’t picky as long as you get to feel him cum too.

You finally manage to pry Wonwoo from between your legs with an ankle to his ribs. You’re not done with him despite the fatigue hanging around your shoulders like dead weight. He angles over top of you for a kiss that tastes too much like pussy for your liking but it’s hot knowing he’s covered in you so you push until his shoulders meet the sheets and you can claim his lap.

His dick strains through his underwear, preening when you rock back into the heat. His nostrils flare when you grab for it, stiff enough to sink onto easily. 

“Oh god,” he groans, head digging back into the pillows to watch you like a goddess.

His fingers web across the tops of your thighs, a harsh grip keeping you flat as he grinds up into the wet heat of your pussy. You whimper and sigh for him; all the sounds he loves to hear. You squeeze your chest, taut nipples framed between the slants of your fingers to entice him until he reaches around and knocks you forward for the sole purpose of taking one in his mouth.

Your eyes roll back, jaw locked open, drowning in the stretch and the bite of his mouth and the hands squeezing your ass so hard it hurts. Wonwoo groans, throaty and desperate. “Gonna cum. Wanna cum in you. Holy shit.”

He gets you on your back. Too absorbed in his own end, he’s dead weight with his tongue between your lips and harsh thrusts that take him right to the edge. It gives that grit against your clit that means you’ll come too, soaked in cum and spit and sweat.

You wish he’d flip you on your front and fuck you with a hand between you shoulder blades and the other tangled in your hair. That’s the kind of fuck that’d leave you satisfied the entire weekend he’s busy but he’s running out of steam just doing this, picking up speed in his thrust, the clap of bodies filling the room.

Chanting his name like a broken record, ‘Wonwoo, Wonwoo, Wonwoo’ breathy but loud enough your neighbors will leave another passive aggressive note on your door come morning, all you can think about is his cum. On you, in you. A sick part wants him to pull out and cum on your face – he hasn’t, not in a long time because priorities and responsibilities and you're usually lucky to have even five minutes alone before someone needs either of you. But you want it. God do you want it.

“Cum on my face,” you whimper. There’s drool on your lips and sweat in your hairline. Even if he doesn't, you'll need another shower anyway.

A strangled noise escapes from between his teeth at your neck. Then he’s driving forward so hard you burn; painfully so, mouth locked in a silent choke. Your orgasm rips through your insides, jagged at the edges where Wonwoo fucks himself into your guts. 

“Fuck yeah,” he grunts, pulling away and replacing the grip of your pussy with a tight fist as he straddles your chest. 

The taste of cock floods your tongue, heady and intoxicating. You get one, two drags against the stiff head and then he’s cumming, dripping his spend over your lips, then your cheek, then your glasses because he’s a sick freak. Even in the dim light from the window he twitches at the sight. You open your mouth and replace his hold, moaning as more comes to the surface. You swallow down as far as he’ll go which isn’t much in this position but it’s the thought that counts.

Wonwoo grinds to halt with an occasional kick of his hips that leaves you choking – rigid limbs locking in place until he melts with sticky satisfaction. 

He’s up and off, your glasses in hand for a thorough cleaning, not even bothering to flick on any of the lights but you hear the sink running in the bathroom before he comes padding back.

“God,” you whimper in disgust. “That’s so gross.”

“You’re the one who asked for it,” Wonwoo snorts, soft passes of a damp cloth on your skin focused on getting you clean enough to sleep.

“Because it’s hot but you aim for shit.”

Wonwoo tosses the rag somewhere, flopping down and pulling you close as possible with a kiss on your forehead. “Next time I’ll aim for your hair.”

“Bitch.”

The sound of music from upstairs pulses through your head as you drift off, Wonwoo asleep on your chest, fingers laced together on the sheets beside your indecipherably intertwined bodies.

Your week is divided into a simple pattern. Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays you wake bright and early to attend Dr. Wagner’s chem lecture and then stay on campus attending every other class you could find to fill the gap between your evening shift at the library. Tuesdays and Thursdays are void of responsibility until your afternoon lab with the freshman near tears while learning basic titration for four hours, followed by office hours where said freshman finally come to actually cry about their grades. Those are the nights you, Chan, Wonwoo and a handful of other lab techs work on research that carries the same threat of waterworks. 

It’s there Dr. Wagner pulls you and Wonwoo aside.

“I know you both are applying to Dr. Collins lab for your PhD studies,” she starts. 

Her office reflects the same disarray as her personality; warm and lived in. Papers and exams are organized in chaos, thick stacks lining her desk waiting for you and Wonwoo to enter them into the online grade book. Books, some leather, some paperback, some the glossy cover of a textbook with cracked spines and yellowing pages are crammed into the bookshelves lining the walls until they threaten to collapse from the weight. It smells like coffee, plants, and the candle she always has burning. It’s a cozy hovel overlooking the rear courtyard of the science building that resembles the sterility of a hospital. 

Wonwoo occupies the other barrel chair with worn upholstery. You’ve barely seen him in the past three weeks, too busy with volunteering and working and classes while his own responsibilities keep him so exhausted it’s truly a miracle he’s even here. Dark stains ring his eyes beneath his glasses and he looks paler than usual. You’ll ask about it tonight when he comes over to work on your most recent stoichiometry project (which will be forgotten in favor of passing out during a movie while you play with his hair if history is anything to go by).

“I don’t think I’ve ever met two students who belong more in his lab,” she continues.

You try not to preen, but academic validation is a hell of a drug to caffeine addicted undergrads. Wonwoo perks up too. Three and a half years of barely being people for this moment and it’s finally in reach.

“However,” Dr. Wagner clasps her hands atop the dark wooden desk. “I’m writing only one recommendation this semester. It might seem unfair but I want to commit to the student that deserves it the most since my schedule doesn’t allow me much free time.”

It’s like being underwater. You hear her words but nothing registers, blinking rapidly in case this is a hallucination from falling asleep in the lab again.

“I know it might not be the news you hoped for but I know senior year is a lot, especially for students as involved as you all, and I thought this could alleviate some of the stress. You two are the only students I’m considering. So please, keep up the incredible work and we can talk again at the end of the semester when I have a more holistic evaluation of your progress.”

She stands to leave, snagging her purse and blowing out the candle with finality before abandoning the shit storm in your lap for whatever else she has to do on a Thursday night. Probably retell the events of the last five minutes to other professors in the department, laughing at the way you’ve turned purple from holding your breath.

“Have a good night you two! See you tomorrow!”

The office, once warm, feels hollow. You feel hollow. 

“What the fuck?” Wonwoo hasn’t moved either, glued to his seat as he stares at Dr. Wagner’s now vacant chair with his mouth wide in shock.

“Did that just happen?” you scoff in disbelief. “Is she serious?”

Wonwoo collapses over his knees with his hands scrubbing at his face like he also might be hallucinating. “I needed that recommendation.”

“Well, so do I,” you argue.

“I know. This is bullshit.”

“Did Changkyun say anything like this happened last year when she wrote one for him?”

“No, all three people who asked her got one.”

“Oh, so it’s just us she hates. Great!” you throw your hands up, sinking deeper in the chair. Maybe it’ll swallow you whole and the entire ordeal will cease to exist.

“She’s probably just trying to get in our heads so we don’t slack off this semester.”

“Have we ever slacked off any semester? I’ve been on the President’s Honor List since freshman year. You’ve been on the President’s Honor List since freshman year. We’re those people.”

Since starting college, since that one night during orientation where you and Wonwoo became a ‘we’. Not in the relationship sense, but in the way two lines merge. Same path, same goals, same classes, same PhD program prospects. There was plenty you two did separately but more you did together. Neither competing, but working together. 

But now that’s over.

Because only one of you can get into Dr. Collins lab, only one of you can get the recommendation, and only one of you can have what you both worked tirelessly for over the past three years.

“Listen—” you stand up and scrub at your own face. “It’ll be fine. We’ll figure it out.”

“We? Only one of us can get her recommendation. What’s there to figure out?”

Your face goes hot. He’s right. “Well, I need that recommendation.”

“So do I,” Wonwoo argues, eyes cold.

“Fine.”

That recommendation is mine.

“Fine!”

We’ll see about that.

Wonwoo stays in her office, flinching as you slam the door and flee.

The issue with fighting with Wonwoo is that as mad as both of you are, there are a million responsibilities you share that require close proximity.

Presently, it’s grading the last batch of exams. Seventy eight packets. And because Dr. Wagner doesn’t believe in convenience, it all has to be graded by the hand of two TAs running on nothing but caffeine and spite.

Which means it’s past midnight and the couch has a permanent impression of Wonwoo’s ass while you both silently fume and scratch through wrong answers with a heavy hand in red ink.

The weather reflects the atmosphere; pouring rain and thunder loud enough to shake the windows. The power has flickered in and out since the rain started but you're both too stubborn to call it quits – if there is nothing to keep you occupied then you might rip his throat out.

Wonwoo doesn’t even ask if you want more coffee before he snags your empty mug and moves to the kitchenette. You don’t look up when he sets it back down, and only grab it and take the first sip of perfectly steaming hot sweetness when he flops back on the couch without another word. 

Then the power goes out again, and doesn’t come back.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

Using the flashlight on your phone, you search the drawers of your desk for candles. There nowhere to be found amongst the stacks of unopened sticky notes and tangled cords. 

Wonwoo shuffles behind you, papers landing on the coffee table completely abandoned. “We’ve been at this for hours. Let’s just go to sleep.”

“I have them in here somewhere,” you bite, another handful of chargers and a stapled you’ve never used and other things you didn’t even realize you own fill the drawer. You move to the second. “There’s only a few tests left.”

“We can do them tomorrow. It can wait.”

“No,” you spit like a curse.

Whatever Wonwoo was planning to say dies on his lips. “Fine.” 

His shirt lands over your head, you rip it off only to find him half naked in the dark, huddling under one of the throw blankets you keep on the back of the couch. “What are you doing?”

“I’m sleeping.”

“On the couch?” 

“Yep.”

“You’re too tall.”

“Well,” he draws like a pouty kid. “I don’t feel like sharing the bed with you.”

In a way it’s safer to argue about something trivial like this versus the entire reason you’ve iced each other out since that day in her office. Because at least like this, you won’t lose him. It’s stupid and petty but at least you’re speaking to each other; breaking through that wall of silence that’s been steadily growing more and more unnavigable as the inevitable draws nearer.

“Fine, then I’ll sleep on the couch and you take the bed.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No. N. O.”

Fine.

It’s difficult to navigate in the dark. Your knees end up a victim to the edge of the coffee table and you trip over the edge of the rug, but you find the couch. Reaching down, you find his chest, then his shoulder. And once you’re sufficiently oriented you sit on him.

“Ow,” Wonwoo grunts as you flop down, elbow in his gut and his chin hitting your forehead. “What are you doing?”

You wedge in closer, slipping between his body and the cushions, bracing to kick him off by force if needed. “Sleeping.”

“Here?” he asks. Too aware of your plan, he turns as well, grabbing the back of the couch overhead to stay put.

“You’re too tall to sleep here.”

“And we’re both too big to sleep here together. Take the bed.”

“No,” you huff.

“No?”

“No. N.O. I believe you’re familiar with the word,” you spit.

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“If you keep talking then neither of us will sleep.”

“Neither of us are gonna sleep anyway. You move too much to be comfortable like this.”

He’s right of course. Your hips already ache but if you move then he’ll find some way to pull you off. “I’m fine.”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

You do the mature thing and bite him. 

The muscles corded around his pec twitch under your mouth as he flinches. “What the hell was that for?” 

You do it again.

“Stop.”

“Or what?” you ask, muffled in his skin as you move to leave another bite.

Wonwoo also does the mature thing and pins your wrists in one hand, maneuvering until you're sandwiched between the couch with his chest flat to your back.

“I can’t breathe like this,” you muffle into the cushions.

“Oh, how tragic.” You feel his words tickle the back of your neck rather than hear them. 

Wonwoo releases your wrists pinned to your stomach. His hand finds its way under your shirt, his shirt from some stupid frat fundraiser you’d been coerced into attending, flat to your belly with soothing circles. His calf hooks over your own to tangle your bodies together. He kisses the back of your neck, a simple brush of his lips that lingers.

It’s easier to feel everything in the dark. Your annoyance and frustration forged over the past weeks melts away and all that’s left is the need to have Wonwoo close. Just like this. Where there are no deadlines, or responsibilities. Where you both can drown in each others’ presence and everything else is washed away in the heavy drops pounding the windows outside.

Here, everything is uncomplicated.

The next rumble of thunder is loud enough to send you both in the air. Unfortunately, Wonwoo drags you backwards off the couch and to the floor. You land relatively unscathed but he knocks his elbow into the coffee table.

“Are you okay?”

Wonwoo groans and curses, cradling his elbow.

“Aw, tell the doctor where it hurts,” you coo, prodding his side.

He snatches your hand and pins it to his chest but not before lacing his fingers through your own. The gentle rise of and fall of breathing and the thud of his heart reverberates down your arm and straight into your own chest where something frozen softens. “Has anyone told you you’re annoying when you’re tired?”

“Yes. You. Lots of times.”

“Good. Wanna make sure you’re aware.”

Lighting turns everything white, a quick flash highlighting the room. There and gone and leaving you more disoriented than before. Rolling over, you hook a thigh over his lap which he welcomes, tugging you closer and absorbing the proximity like second nature. You’re a glutton for warmth –  Wonwoo’s warmth specifically – even in his sweater and his sweat shorts and his shirt, you still want more of him.

“We can’t sleep like this.”

You don’t want to move – laying like this, in the dark, nose dug into his chest as you twisting your fingers in his, squeezing and glowing pathetically when he squeezes back – all you want is to drown in him a little longer. Until you're forced to come up for breath.

But the sore spot between you two is still raw like a fresh bruise.

“Then sleep in the bed,” his lips drags over your knuckles as he speaks.

“No. You sleep in the bed, you’re too tall to sleep on the couch.”

“Fine.” Wonwoo jumps up from his place on the floor, grabbing your hands once again before dragging you around the coffee table towards the opposite side of the room. It’s ridiculously childish, especially in the dark where he bounces off the desk and the rug roughens the back of your legs.

He shimmies you around a corner and a cloud of laughter puffs between your lips. “What are you doing?”

“I’m sleeping in the bed, and you’re sleeping in the bed with me.”

“What if I don’t want to sleep next to you?”

“Then I’ll cry. Like that time we watched Steel Magnolias.”

“Have mercy,” you whimper.

“Then get your ass in bed.”

Deflating like a balloon, you stand. Wonwoo keeps his hands on you the entire time, guiding you down to the mattress and covering your body with his own just in case of an escape. He bunkers down in the safety of your neck, dragging your hands to his hair, mimicking the motions he craves until you take up the action and gently comb through the tangles.

A part of you wants to cry. Preemptively mourn the end of this – whatever this is. Late nights with Wonwoo, whispering in the dark about clueless underclassmen and annoying professors. Taking turns scrolling through adoptable cats at the local rescue. Cooing over them, rolling your eyes when Wonwoo finds Pixel still listed as available for adoption, a sign to him that he’s meant to have her except he lives in a frat house. Or the nights neither of you can sleep and take a trip to the local diner and tuck yourselves away in a corner booth to watch drunk people cling to consciousness over waffles and hash browns. 

There will be no more of that. Not by the time winter break comes. One of you is getting the gold ticket and the other will be up in the air with the hundreds of other people competing for the same handful of slots. And if one of you doesn't get in? 

“Was that so hard?” he whispers into your collar.

When you don’t answer, he looks up at. In the cast of lighting coming through the window he’s the same Wonwoo. The one you’ve been best friends with for years now. The one who is practically glued to your side whenever possible. 

The one who you’ll have to say goodbye to.

He meets your kiss lazily. Like he still thinks you have all the time in the world.

It makes the urge to cry that much worse.

The rain is gone by morning. 

The room glows from the orange light of the first minutes of sunrise. Sometime in the night you rolled to your side and Wonwoo pressed tight to your back. He’s awake, drawing shapes on your hip beneath the fabric of your shirt.

“Morning.” 

You hum and roll over to burrow in his chest, the crown of your head digging into his neck and away from the sun. “Morning.”

The warmth of his hands trace the curve of your back, pulling you closer; hiding his own discontent with such an early break in the tentative truce that only seems to exist in the late hours of night and earliest minutes of dawn. Days of sleep deprivation with nothing but sterile lighting in the lab leaves you both needy and vulnerable. So he hugs you tighter and sighs when you do the same.

He’s hard against your thigh. Clearly a result of biology more than need because he’s snoring against your hairline. Flashes of dreams rush forward – him beneath you, on top of you, behind you. It’s been weeks since you two last fucked. When you called him an idiot and he called you stubborn and next thing you were on the table with your legs spread for Wonwoo’s hand in a clumsy bump and grind while arguing about which one of you fucked up the biosensor callibration through gritted teeth and needy whimpers.

You’re wet. With his thigh pressed between your own the fact becomes more evident as the urge to curl into it nags.

Taking advantage of the exposed curve of skin beneath your mouth, you kiss and suck with lax intent until Wonwoo tips his chin up and gives a silent green light.

A heavy hand drags down his front, nails scratching bluntly through the fabric until it can slip beneath the waistband of his sweats and the curve of his cock sits pretty in your palm. Commando for convenience and comfort. More the latter because there’s no shot in hell he’s been getting laid lately.

His breath is sticky in his throat, vibrating beneath your teeth from thin pants as you work him through a loose fist. “Can I?”

“Yeah,” he huffs. “Yes.”

Slouching down, your head rests on his stomach, sweatpants bunched around his thighs. The first lick sends his hips up in search of more and you eagerly supply the soft suction of your mouth; lips catching around the flared head. A hand on the back of your skull keeps your hair from interfering as he plumps against your tongue. 

Eagerness fails to penetrate this moment slowed down by the greater need to drag this out. To savor every second because who knows when you’ll both stop being petty enough to just enjoy one another’s presence again.

“Might cum—fuck— don’t stop,” he grunts.

With the sun filling the room even more you’re running out of time, the warmth growing to leave sweat at the small of your back. He pushes harder into the curve of your throat and you let him, gagging wet with a lewd mix of spit and pre-cum that has you both moaning at the choked sound. Jaw slack, Wonwoo fucks your mouth with slow ruts; stomach tightening and the hand in your hair fisting tight enough you moan.

“Shit, babe—c-cumming,” he whines with a pathetic groan you’d make fun of him for later but all you can think about is the thick taste of cum and if there’s enough time for some attention between your own legs before life becomes unignorable. Not enough time for a real fuck but Wonwoo has a few tricks up his sleeve that promise satisfaction.

You bounce back down next to him and Wonwoo pounces, rolling on top of you, thing between your spread legs. He doesn’t shy away from your tongue against his teeth, dips a thumb beneath your chin and slips his tongue right along with it, sucks your lips until the swell, backing off only to bunch your shirt up. Lazy drags of his mouth on yours – not the ‘I need you’ kisses after a late night but the ‘I miss you’ ones after weeks of passive aggressive silence.

He licks down your front, goosebumps blooming from the draft as he sucks a nipple until you arch and twist a hand in his hair. You give a lax stretch and sigh while his hand slips beneath the edge of your panties.

Taking the morning for what it is, you fall into the motions until the blare of the alarm clock signals the beginning of the end.

You push away and swipe blindly at the night stand to make it stop but Wonwoo has other plans. 

He pins your hips down, tongue flat to the crotch of your underwear with a pant. “Ignore it.”

“What?” You look at him and find tired eyes watching back from over the edge of your wrinkled shirt. His hair is a mess, stuck to the side of his head from sleep and your eager hands and all you want to do is comb the tangles out while he pulls your strings like a puppet master.

But you can’t.

“We’ve got class,” you gasp through a hot kiss on your clit.

A groggy groan of, “skip,” vibrates on your skin.

Fingers curling in the sheets, you grasp for disagreement only to find a moan as he pulls your hips closer and works a finger where you need it most.

“We can’t.”

“We can,” Wonwoo grunts, focusing on peppering greedy kisses to the sensitive insides of your thighs. “We’ve been early every time this semester.”

The hand not curling in your guts runs down the back of your calf, bending until it hooks over his shoulder.

“Fuck, Wonu,” you whine over the crude sounds of his mouth. You want to. God, do you want to. But you open your eyes again and they land on the stack of exams on your desk. Ungraded. Because Wonwoo said you could do them this morning. And now he wants you to skip class despite how important it is. 

You close your legs only for Wonwoo to take it as a challenge, pinning your hips in place and celebrating his perceived victory with a throaty moan as he rocks against the bed.

“Stop.”

He pulls back, mouth wet and brows furrowed. “Huh?”

The alarm on your phone pings again. Swiftly silenced this time as you roll out from beneath him and land beside the mattress on unsteady feet. “We can’t skip. We have to give exams back.”

“It’s not that big of a deal,” he argues, flopping down into the warmth you left vacant.

The room is too bright, a clear sign your morning routine is behind. “You think now is the time to start slacking off?”

“It’s not slacking off.” Wonwoo snags his glasses. He looks more annoyed with them. “It’s a break. You clearly need one.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Just forget it. I’m not arguing with you about stupid shit.”

“And what's stupid shit? The job we signed up for? With the professor who controls our futures?”

Wonwoo fixes his pants and rolls out of bed. On the opposite side. As far away from you as possible. “Whatever.”

“Fine.”

“Fine!”

“Good!”

“Good!”

You slam the bathroom door shut with finality. When you come back out, any trace of Wonwoo is long gone.

There aren’t many people in class. A benefit of Halloweekend is the partying starts Wednesday and doesn’t stop until the following week. Even with last night's rain plenty of students are battling hangovers which leaves a third of the usual lecture attendance to witness you and Wonwoo go head to head while Dr. Wagner sits at home with a mysterious illness she announced in an email three minutes after nine AM.

The few that are there snag their papers, lips curled in disgust at the plethora of red ink spilled on white pages. Their own faults for not paying attention during lecture but maybe the scarlet gashes were a little dramatic. Wonwoo’s jaw is tight, pointedly ignoring you except to hand exams over that someone is waiting for with dread in their eyes. 

You could’ve skipped. It wouldn’t even count as skipping because class is canceled and there’s no award for hauling ass at the crack of dawn when your advisor isn’t even here to see it. You could be tucked away in your apartment with him under your skin; firmly in the place between dreams and waking where you liked him best, nothing but warm skin and rough hands with his lips on your hairline and your head burrowed in his chest. 

There are too many witnesses to just drop the act and wrap your arms around him from behind until he gives in. Apologize for the stupid shit he rightfully called you out on. But as your courage grows with each student’s exit, Wonwoo makes to leave before you can make use of it. 

Barely an hour of fighting and it already feels like an eternity.

“Hey,” you call.

He freezes by one of the desks near the back of the room, like he’s shocked you’re even there in the first place. But he doesn’t turn around; just tilts his head so you know he’s listening even if he doesn’t want to.

“Sorry about this morning. I-I think the stress is getting to me.”

And the fact that I can’t be mad at anyone besides the universe for this incredibly shitty situation. And I miss you. Even when you’re right next to me.

“Okay.”

“That’s it?” you fidget with the strap of your bag; a million pounds heavier even without the weight of ungraded tests that Wonwoo snatched before you could divide the remaining work.

He turns around, eying you with an exasperated look. “What else should I say? You called me a slack off and implied I don’t do my job.”

“I didn’t,” you argue but it’s salt in the wound because—

“You did.”

“But—”

“It’s fine. I’ll finish grading the exams over the weekend.”

And then you're alone.

You’re alone in the study room you both usually occupy to work on the Nanochemistry project due at the end of term. The shared document has updates, the blink of his cursor mocking your from wherever he hunkered down. Away from you. The temptation to type ‘I’m sorry’ over and over again disappears once he logs out barely a minute after you logged on.

You’re alone at the circulation desk of the library through your shift, head whipping around to every squeak and cough only to find someone who isn’t Wonwoo. There’s an email from him, to Dr. Wagner with you CC’ed, about class averages and exam questions that should be thrown out.

You walk home alone. Other students in various states of dress and intoxication crowd the sidewalks, a few you recognize but they feel a million miles away.

Alone in your apartment, the two mugs from last night clean in the sink.

The good part of being alone is when you start crying, no one is there to see.

It’s near midnight and the chill of the breeze whipping down the street bites at your exposed skin. Already the should-be-condemned frat house pulses with life, the promise of a long night ahead thrumming through the symphony of drunk screams and music.

It’s not unusual for you to attend frat parties. Wonwoo’s favor guarantees free booze and a perch at the top of the staircase where underclassmen are barred from entering. But you’ll settle for watching drunk underclassman stumbling over the front lawn from one of the couches on the front porch (which are so broken in, no one sinks into the cushions – they just fall straight down until the worn springs catch them) because the inside of the house is too hot, and too crowded, and far too loud. 

A hail Mary apology is the only thing on your mind. Yesterday had been the nastiest spat in recent history between you two; notwithstanding sophomore year when Jeonghan asked you for tutoring and Wonwoo insisted on helping. “Helping” meant cutting off every question Jeonghan dared ask with a series of snorts and huffs until you left and refused to talk to him for a week.

He’d apologized in the most Wonwoo fashion – completing your Thermodynamics assignments for the rest of the semester and before going down on you until you threatened to kick him in the head through sensitive sobs.

Wonwoo is here – somewhere. Shuffling up the past, past the line of eager party goers looking for a way in, you scan the front porch, he’s not in his usual waiting spot to whisk you upstairs where the older members hang out with better drinks and better music. Not that he would be. He doesn’t even know you considered coming to this.

Instead, poor Chan, dressed in yellow and black stripes, mans the door with pilot Jihoon by his side.

“Jihoon,” you greet, before looking at the younger man. “Speed bump.”

Chan mumbles something under his breath but lays on the ground regardless. When Wonwoo went through the same hazing you only got a few chances to enjoy the ridiculousness before he dragged you upstairs and shut you up himself.

“Can you not torment the kids?” Jihoon grunts.

“I could. But, where’s the fun in that?” 

“Your boyfriend is inside. If you see Jun, tell him it’s his turn to watch the door.”

“Got it.”

Stepping over the underclassman still laying on the ground, you head inside and straight for the packed kitchen to get a drink. There’s barely any space between the hoard of bodies, forcing you to shuffle forward everytime there's a gap in the crowd; but it’s more like swimming against a rip tide. 

It’s difficult to see with nothing but a few strobe lights and some strings of Christmas lights to clear the dark. One glance up towards the upper landing of the staircase is all it takes to find him right next to Mingyu. Matching costume, two bean poles standing out from the crowd of shorter men. Mingyu makes a brief nod in your direction but before you can see Wonwoo turn you’re off into the kitchen.

It’s an even tighter fit in here. A pledge pours drinks from a cooler, for a brief second you’re tempted to indulge. The last time you did, freshman year, you ended up crying in Wonwoo’s room mid-hookup. You scan the slim pickings and settle on an unopened beer. The shots you took while getting ready are already catching up.

Forced between anxious isolation and drinking, a few of your friends come up and briefly make conversation. You feign interest, eying over their heads for a familiar mop of dark hair without success.

A few guys stop to compliment your costume. They give themselves away in glazed heavily lidded stares, single minded focus on your legs. They ask what your major is, boast their status as pledges to your disinterested grimace, and move on when you finally put them out of their misery and fib about your “boyfriend” being “president or something” but “I don’t pay attention to those things,” and they all disappear significantly paler than when they first appeared.

You bite the bullet of your pride and turn to leave, only to find Wonwoo barely an inch away.

His eyes burn over your figure, the short toga covering just enough for you to avoid public indecency. Good. It’s the entire reason you wore this stupid costume in the first place. He’s a horny loser for nerdy shit and this is the best thing you could’ve worn other than one of those video game character costumes forcing your boobs in your throat and leaving you at serious risk for public indecency.

It’s not the first time you’ve wrapped yourself in barely enough fabric to constitute an outfit for the sake of his forgiveness and it probably won’t be the last.

Wonwoo pins you to the counter with his hips, hands bracketing your figure on either side. The green hat with an ‘L’ is lopsided on his head but at least he didn’t wear the fake mustache. “So, what is your costume?” he hums into the space just below your ear with a kiss.

“Guess.” You tilt your chin, cocky.

“And if I get it right?” he asks, lips at your ear.

Heart pound, you ditch the beer and reach for his hips with purpose. “Whatever you want.”

“Dangerous words.”

“Think of it as my apology for being a huge bitch yesterday.” 

He sighs into your neck, arms tight around your waist in a loose semblance of a hug. It’s a farce. Your ass meets the counter with minor effort and Wonwoo claims the space between your legs before you can pretend to object.

He still hasn’t kissed you.

You want more than kisses. You want to feel him, all of him. Want to drag him to the living room serving as a makeshift dance floor and sink into the heat of his body pressed flat against your own for everyone to see. You want to pull him into that closet off the main hall, familiar from that hot night of freshman year when a drunk make out turned into a timid fingering and eventually Wonwoo handing over his first time on a silver platter. Or even run back to your apartment, pluck through the leftover Halloween candy you bought on discount and watch whatever horror movie has become his recent obsession. You just want him.

“Mingyu thought you were Socrates.”

Pressed this close on the sticky counter, his body is the only thing protecting what little of your dignity is left. Even then, there's enough of the slippery warmth of alcohol to tempt you into rutting against him right here for those stupid pledges to see. “Mingyu is an idiot.”

“Clearly,” he chuckles. “The rubber chicken gave it away.”

You shake it at eye level. “Behold, man.”

“Lame,” his kissing gets bold down the shaft of your neck, teeth scraping your collarbone.

“Oh please, I feel your boner.”

He doesn’t resist you when you nuzzle along the bare parts of his neck, a tease of soft kissing usually reserved for quiet moments tucked away in your apartment. Even in the chaos of the party, body heat turning the air uncomfortably warm, you crave more of his closeness. 

His hands feel nice on your legs. None of the timid gentleness of years prior when he’d touch you like it’d burn if he wanted it too much; trailing higher and higher but never under the short hem of the bedsheet turned dress. His fingers flex into the muscle at the outside of your thigh, hook behind your knees and drag you to the edge of the counter. 

You're sweating through your own skin when he kisses you. 

The need in your gut blooms at full force. Your mouth loosens, welcoming his tongue and teeth and whatever else he’s generous enough to give while you tug at the loose fabric around his hips to force more close proximity; the zipper of his pants is hot against your core and if you fucked him right here it wouldn’t look that different than the PG-13 make out happening right now. 

“Wanna show me your room?” You blink like some moony eyed freshman, glassy, pupils blown from vivid images of all the possibilities in the solitude upstairs. Wonwoo is fine with the game of whatever your apology entails even if it means you throw cheesy lines like that.

He ushers you off the counter, flat to your back as he pushes through the crowd with you ahead. Even in a drunken haze people part out of his way because of the mastery of resting bitch face only he seems to have despite the complaint putty that lies behind it. A private smile splits your lips. He can’t be that mad. Not with how he pulls you closer, in the protective way he so often does in the buzz of a single minded crowd with more alcohol in their veins than blood. 

Mingyu is standing on the landing. Girls in scraps of fabric eye him up and down, even in his stupid costume with the mustache but he ignores them in favor of pouting straight into a red cup.

“Why is your boyfriend moping?” 

“Fuck if I know.” Wonwoo focuses on sucking another bruise on your neck like no one's watching. 

You’re loose enough not to care about Mingyu’s annoyance as Wonwoo ushers you by. “Cheer up buttercup, I’m sure there’s a Peach here into charity fucks!” 

It’s meant to be encouraging, but Mingyu looks like he’s torn between strangling you and throwing himself over the banister.

Maybe you did lie about being Wonwoo’s girlfriend, but he is president and his room is the biggest and furthest away from chaos. Up on the top floor where the music isn’t as loud and the only people on this floor are other members and their guests for the night.

Wonwoo pushes you inside, kicking the door shut loud enough you wince before crowding you against the wood. You throw his hat away somewhere into the darkness, hand twisted in his hair as he kisses you. Sloppy and gross until he rocks into the softness of your stomach, gasoline on the flame.

“Turn around.”

He barely gives you enough space to do so, pressing you flat once again, cheek squished to the door and a rough pull at your waist. 

“If you’re thinking about touching my asshole, don’t. I have shit to do tomorrow,” you warn. 

On the other side of the door you hear footsteps but they pass by without stopping.

“Noted, but not what I’m going for,” he jokes. 

Your skirt flips up and a draft against the damp crotch of your panties sends a tremor straight through your core. “Share with the class.”

“It’s a surprise.”

“I’m shaking in my toga.”

“And you call me a loser.”

“I can call you some other things,” you grit, pushing back into the heat of his covered cock. “They aren’t as nice though.”

“Yeah, yeah. Take your panties off.” 

He’s a little bit of a freak. Sometimes he enjoys fucking you in nothing but your underwear and others he wants you in everything but. Maybe because of how this entire thing started; when you wouldn’t even take your bra off and he survived on the barest flash of nipple.

The flimsy soiled fabric barely passes your knees before he’s on you again, easily tempted by the arch of your spine. You hum content as he presses a finger into your cunt, then two. His other hand forces the neckline of your dress down and lo-and-behold your lack of bra delights like you knew it would.

Whatever bright idea that fluttered in Wonwoo’s brain is forgotten as he spins you back around for an eyeful of naked skin; a mouthful of your chest and your leg hooked around his hip for a pathetic dry hump into the heel of his hand.

“Oh, fuck,” you moan with extra emphasis and a caved stomach because there’s teeth and he makes it hurt. “Kiss me.”

Another rut into your thigh and his teeth are back at your bottom lip. It’s not exactly what you anticipated when you showed up tonight but there are far worse places than having a doorknob in your back while Wonwoo leaves a hickey below your ear; a perfectly good bed ten feet away but neither of you can be bothered to move much more than forcing Wonwoo’s pants down enough his cock leaks in your grip, head nestled at your entrance.

You surprise him by sinking to your knees. Head tipped back against the door, you tilt your mouth open to welcome him on your tongue. Wonwoo stares down at you; tits out, hand between your legs as you suck his cock in quick motions until he takes over and fucks into the curve of your throat. 

“Holy s-shit,” he hisses and you flatten your tongue to help him along. It feels good; seeing him reduced to so little just from the wet suck of your mouth on him. 

A choked gag forces Wonwoo back into his body, hips curving away so you can swallow air before leaving a sloppy kiss on the tip. Seizing him in a tight grip, you use the spit to jerk him off until he cringes with another pathetic moan. 

Someone giggles in the hallway, close enough you both hear. They’re far enough away you can still whisper to Wonwoo. “Remember that time we fucked in here last year?” 

“When you almost got us killed?”

Last year, at the same party, when you showed up in a skin tight Shego costume, Wonwoo pulled you to the only available room: Seungcheol’s. It’d been hot. Fucking when you aren’t supposed to, having Seungcheol pound at the door while Wonwoo came down your throat (no condoms and no hope to clean up).

“Do it again.”

His hand creeps into a loose collar around the base of your throat. You keep rubbing between your legs, working up a slick slide until your nails dig into the skin of his thighs.

“Really?” There’s no need for muffling the noise when it's his room and the only people at risk of hearing anything have done far worse. He pulls you to your feet, forces your cheek against the door and slides right behind you. Like he was made for you.

“Choke me,” you gasp before digging into the sick part of your brain that likes seeing him strung out, extra breathy just to see his eyes go wide. “Sir.”

Your skin sticks to the door, shamefully squeezed as he drags his cock through the mess of your pussy. “You can’t just say that.”

“Why not?”

“Because—”

“Because what?” you goad. “Gonna punish me?”

“You’d like that wouldn’t you? Show up wearing this,” he grits, tugging at the white fabric bunched around your waist, using the hand on your throat to squeeze your cheeks tight with authority you drool for.  “Asking to be choked and now you probably want me to spank you and call you a good girl.”

You grunt through the raw thrust at your gut, sending your head back from sheer enthusiasm. “N–not my fault you fuck me so good.” 

Wonwoo almost can’t control himself, hearing nothing but praise fall from your mouth as he fucks you limp against the door. “God.”

Someone screams, “Leave room for Jesus!” from the other side of the door and you almost rip it open to kill them if Wonwoo wasn’t dragging you to the bed. 

He folds you onto your front, both standing at the foot of the bed. A deep roll of his hips and you’re filled completely. 

“O-oh, fuck me,” you moan, uncaring if the idiot outside the door is still listening. Wonwoo has a hell of a hand and puts it to use against the curve of your ass. The coil in your gut pulls taunt as he delivers one after another.

He fucks deeper, a the hand not burn against your bottom between your shoulders. “You look so good— ah —taking my cock like this.” His voice waivers with the same stunted rhythm of his hips. 

“W-want,” you choke on spit, drooling into the comforter. “Wanna taste you.”

The animalist need to suck both your flavors off his cock nearly sends you into a fit but Wonwoo’s there, hooking his hand back around the front of your neck with a subtle squeeze. You want the stupid dress off, you want Wonwoo’s clothes off, you want to fuck him where there’s no one around to catcall in the hallway like twelve year old boys. Want. Want. Want.

What you get is enough pressure from his fingers that your mind blanks. Wonwoo gets a tight enough squeeze on his cock that he’s forced to a grinding halt. 

Then his rhythm goes deeper, harder. Course curls against the resistance of your ass until you almost collapse against the edge of the bed. His cock hits that spot like it was made for your body. “Touch yourself.”

You comply without further command. You’re wet, soaked, arousal smeared down your thighs from Wonwoo’s treatment. Your fingers bump against his length as you match the pace of his strokes. “Fuck, Wonwoo — hmmm.” 

“Tell me how it feels,” he gasps like it’s his first breath in hours.

“Wet, so wet,” you croon, arching harder, joints locking. “Gonna cum. Oh my god.”

He reaches low, grabbing your hand from between your thighs and pulling it to his mouth for a taste. His tongue slides between your digits, liquid slick with a soft suction your crave on your clit. 

“Beg for it.” Wonwoo bites your shoulder hard enough you cry. 

Stuffing your hand back between your legs, you play with your clit clumsily. Until pink crowds the edge of your vision and it hurts. “Please, please! I need—Want it. Wanna come for you. Please, sir.”

Wonwoo strains to hear your pleas over the clap of bodies. He’s worked you near the middle of the bed, practically laying on top of you as he fucks in quick succession. 

“Harder, fuck me,” you demand. “Yes, yes, y–yes!”

If you were on top you’d fall straight off, jerking tightly under Wonwoo’s weight, turning your face to greet his tongue between your teeth and mewling sensitivity. He doesn’t show mercy, continuing to fuck you through the worst of it.

“Holy shit,” you whimper, head throbbing. Wonwoo forces you back on your knees and you fight through sore muscles and sensitivity to preen under the weight behind his hips. 

“Can I come in you?” he asks in a shivery breath.

You nod with closed eyes, tugging the hand around your throat to your lips and sucking his fingers like it’s a cock. He finishes with a choked breath, flooding your insides with sticky warmth you’ve never gotten used to in all the months you’ve fucked without condoms. 

His breath fans against the nape of your neck, another swivel of his hips from the sensitivity. Your walls squeeze as Wonwoo pulls away. 

You roll onto your back with a bounce, Wonwoo jostling you when he joins. Shoulder to shoulder, you stare up at the ceiling while catching your breath. “Do you think you’ll pop a boner when your students call you a sir next year?”

Wonwoo heaves a long breath, amusement in his voice. “I come inside you and that's the first thing you think of?”

Immediately you regret the joke. Since Dr. Wagner’s announcement weeks ago neither of you had broached on the topic of what happens after graduation. Mostly from fear. But also because it’s a long discussion you’re not exactly sure what you want out of.

“Answer the question.”

“I hope not.”

The bed shifts beneath your knees as you crowd over Wonwoo, laying with his arms behind him to keep from sinking flat. The tired lines of his face look deeper in the lamp light. He’s nothing more than a big softie that wants to cuddle half naked in his bed while you play with his hair until sleep finds its place.

“It’s our last Halloween party.”

“Wow, just like old times,” you snort. “Should I start crying? Then it’ll be just like freshman year all over.”

Wonwoo laughs, his hand snatching yours and lacing your fingers together. “You wore a bra and bunny ears freshman year so if you’re gonna whip that out too – by all means.”

“God, we were so lame,” you announce matter of factly. Crying in lingerie and animal ears in one of the supply closets downstairs all because—

“Don’t rope me into that, miss ‘crying-because-she-didn’t-know-how-to-suck-dick’.” Wonwoo rolls on top of you, hoping to silence whatever argument bubbling in response with a teasing press of his lips. You're still sticky with sweat and spit and cum, nipples and pussy out and the thought of his dick, limp against your thigh, makes you sensitive all over.

“That’s former miss ‘crying-because-she-didn’t-know-how-to-suck-dick’,” you trail off into his mouth. “And you’re one to talk. Remember the time you cried about how happy you were that we were friends.”

He bites your lip in retaliation. “I didn’t.”

“You did. I have the video from Mingyu.”

“I thought he was an idiot.”

“He is but he’s good for blackmail.”

You might consider staying the night if he keeps tracing his nose along the arch of your collarbone. But a shrill giggle and some pornographic moans ring through the walls of the neighboring room. Not the side Seungkwan occupies. Hoshi’s. And it’s only the start.

“We can’t sleep here.”

Wonwoo collapses, tugging you with him. “I can’t ditch again, I’m on pledge duty.”

“You’re hiding in your room with me.”

“Okay, technically I’m on pledge duty.”

He wouldn’t stay here if he wasn’t required. Wonwoo hates party nights, especially Halloween. Too many variables requiring all hands on deck; too many needy people demanding his presence for some issue that could’ve been handled if they used their brain to think farther than the tip of their nose. Rarely, if ever, does he sleep in his own bed when you have a perfectly good one tucked away in a private apartment without thirty other men tripping over each other. 

“Well, I’m not sleeping with that.” On cue, another whimper, clearly a man’s, breaks through the tentative silence. Are they fuck against the shared wall?

Wonwoo sighs, scrubbing his face before moving for his phone. “I’ll send one of the kids to walk you.”

“Wow, a pledge escort. How thoughtful,” you sneer.

He huffs again, unwilling to start a fight that’ll leave neither of you satisfied. “Text me when you get home.”

You don’t.

There is an unspoken habit between you and Wonwoo that Sunday mornings are spent at the only reasonably priced coffee shop just near your apartment. A charming hole in the wall, with hanging shelves displaying layers of tchotchkes, paintings lining whatever free space between them, and wobbly tables with equally unbalanced chairs. It’s always packed because the coffee is decent and they have outlets. After last night, you hope he’s too exhausted to even think about showing up.

Mugs click against dark lacquered tables, the dull murmur of conversation churns over the music swelling softly through the speakers. The smell of pastries and espresso wake you enough to slide into a vacant table in the corner and set to work. 

Or you would’ve if someone didn’t sit down first.

“Oh.”

Wonwoo already has a mug and a little brown bag as he looks up at where you stand dumbly.

“I can just go…sit somewhere else…” You turn to leave, except there are no other tables. Couples and groups claim every single seat except the one across from Wonwoo.

“Why would you do that?”

“I don’t know, probably because I’m mad at you.”

He unpacks his laptop, shaking his head. “You’re not mad at me.”

“Yes, I am,” you emphasize. 

“You’re a bad liar.”

Neither of you are good at lying. Even worse at fighting. Incapable of committing to real anger when it takes all your energy to stand up straight and not fall asleep in a pile of ungraded papers and half finished assignments. Besides, you're only pouting because he passed up a night at your place to clean up pledge vomit. 

You can’t tame the annoyed grin cracking your face.  “Fine, I’m not that mad at you. Buy my forgiveness in the form of coffee.”

“Too much caffeine will kill you.”

“I can only hope,” you sigh, arms cradling your head against the hard wood of the table while he joins the queue at the register.

Wonwoo orders your drink and a cheesy pastry the size of your head, the smell of greasy carbs first thing in the morning softening the ice in your veins. He knows your weaknesses too well. 

“Is this penance?” 

“Something like that.” He tears the crispiest corner off and pops it into his mouth.

“Did you look at the study guide for Calc yet?”

Two hours later you approach the counter for a second round of coffee and snag one of the jammy tarts Wonwoo likes but rarely buys for himself. Whatever chaffs between you two melts under the constant stream of note checking; Wonwoo’s hand on your knee under the table helps too. 

“If I look at this anymore, I’ll run into traffic.”

“We’ve got the Nano project that needs some work,” you suggest. 

He stretches wide, a sliver of skin visible between the hem of his sweater and the band of sweat pants. “I’ve got practice in an hour. We can do it tonight when I’m done.”

You try not to stare and instead return to focusing on the screen of your laptop burning your retinas.“I’m tutoring Seungkwan.”

“After?”

“He’s gonna be a bitch and the last thing I wanna do is look at more school stuff.”

“Then no school stuff,” he decrees with finality. “I’ll bring mushroom pad thai from that place on Market.”

“Are you trying to bribe your way in?”

“Is it working?”

You hum a dismissal but watch him through your lashes. He looks good – washed in late afternoon glow, hair a mess with glasses and a sweater that hangs off his shoulders. It all screams ‘drag me to bed and nap the rest of the day’ which is trouble for you because you still want to be mad at him if only to see how fair he’s willing to go for your forgiveness.

“We can watch Yellowjackets,” he barters, packing his bag.

Another group eyes your table with hope to claim it the second it’s available. Sadly, your ass is firmly planted for the rest of the afternoon. With or without Wonwoo.

“You’re really trying to butter me up, aren’t you?”

“I cannot sleep in that house,” he deadpans. “Please take mercy.”

“Oh, so you’re just using me for a place to sleep. Even after I wore that stupid Halloween costume?”

He pauses, eyes glazing like it’s a distant memory and not less than twenty four hours ago. “You looked hot.”

“You made that pretty clear.”

“Anyway, I’ll come over after practice. You can bitch about Seungkwan until you pass out.”

“Fine, but if there is no pad thai then don’t come.”

“Whatever my woman demands,” he snorts, dropping a kiss to your lips before turning towards the door.

Two hours and another coffee later, Seungkwan occupies Wonwoo’s abandoned chair. There’s no reason for him to be taking an intro chem class as a Creative Writing major other than the fact he’s a bit of a masochist. He’s not half bad at it and doesn’t really need any tutoring but you get paid for showing up even if it’s complete silence as you pick your nails until he needs something.

You’re marking through his latest attempt when he finally speaks up, “You're dating Wonwoo, right?”

Red pen scratches through the edge of the paper. “What?”

“You and Wonwoo.”

What is the absolute configuration of the two carbon atoms in this compound? More red ink.

“What about me and Wonwoo?”

Seungkwan rolls his eyes with exasperation, like you’re on the outs of some obvious joke. “Dating.”

If an alkene has 24 hydrogen atoms, how many carbon atoms does it contain? Another X.

“No.”

“Oh, I thought—”

“We’re just friends.”

When 10 g of 90% pure lime stone is heated completely, the volume (in litres) of is liberated at STP is… Wrong, again. Which makes no sense because Seungkwan is good at this level. He’s fucking with you on purpose.

“Huh,” he comments, grabbing the worksheet back from your claws.

“‘Huh’ what?”

“I heard a rumor he had a girlfriend last night, that’s all.”

It's not the first time someone assumed there's more between you and Wonwoo then there actually is, your fib last night clearly fanned the flames of even more speculation. But neither of you date; not enough time, willpower, or patience to entertain someone around packed schedules. If you and Wonwoo didn’t have the same life within the chemistry department then you’d never see each other. It’s convenient as it can possibly be. 

Maybe at one point there was. Summer of sophomore year when he studied abroad in Spain and the usual substance of correspondence morphed from memes and jokes to something softer; I miss you’s and you’d like it here’s. Late night phone calls that lasted hours, refusing to hang up first until one of you fell asleep and the other finally canceled the call. 

But the opportunity to tip over the edge came and went without coalescing into whatever was on the other side. 

Seungkwan can pretend it’s an innocent suggestion but he stares you down until you crack with your own curiosity. “Who told you that?”

“Some pledges said they accidentally hit on his girlfriend. I don't even think he knows another girl beside you. Plus you were at the party last night.”

Stupid fuckers, you mutter under your breath. “We’re not dating.”

“But you guys are always together.”

“We work together. You and Vernon are always together, are you two fucking?”

“My room is next to his and it doesn’t sound like work to me.”

“How does me failing you sound?” you spit. 

Seungkwan doesn't so much as flinch at the threat but returns to the practice sheet with a smile nonetheless. 

Typically, fall break is spent hidden away in a pile of blankets with you and Wonwoo alternating movie choices throughout the weekend. Dead Poets Society (him), When Harry Met Sally (you), Over the Garden Wall (him), Fantastic Mr Fox (you), and so on and so on.

This year, you have a strong feeling Dr. Wagner’s favorite pastime is seeing her TAs squirm. It’s the only explanation for the unique brand of humiliation she subjects you and Wonwoo to. Tonight, Friday and technically your first night off for the long weekend, she decides to engage in a new sort of torture. A fancy dinner that neither of you could ever hope to afford, and even as her treat, you still eye the menu prices nervously. 

But Dr. Collins sits across the table, in the flesh, so you pull out the skills you learned in the ridiculous theater class you took freshman year to “diversify” your transcript and smile through the anxiety. 

Wonwoo does a little better; in a button up you’ve only seen him wear a handful of times when his usual wardrobe is sweatshirts and free shirts from campus events, he looks more comfortable than you feel.

“Jill, tells me you both work on Epitranscriptomic mapping in her lab?” Dr. Collins asks after another sip of his drink. Two whiskeys at dinner. 

It’s not an official interview. Not anything close to it, according to your advisor. Nothing is set in stone, even if Dr. Collins laughs at Wonwoo’s awkward jokes and nods enthusiastically to your stories about working in the library (he also worked in the library in undergrad, but used it to nap more than actually work). But it feels like a step in the right direction. 

“Yes, sir.” Wonwoo and you nod in tandem.

Dr. Wagner’s research focuses on how different RNA modifications vary across various cell types and states. It’s high level stuff that no one but Wonwoo understands when you rant about the broken Cellraft machine. And his complaints about NovaSec’s constant crashes that leave him without work fall on deaf ears except when they’re directed at you. 

Half the reason you two started speaking during orientation is because the overly enthusiastic intern asked what people were looking forward to the most during school. You and Wonwoo were the only ones who seemed to think she meant school-related and not where to buy a fake ID. Apparently, the best person to get a fake ID from was a junior in Dr. Wagner’s lab that year. Go figure.

“I’ve seen you two listed down the line as co-authors,” he nods. 

The waiter brings dessert, spiced toffee cakes and ice cream. You’re starving but the knot in your stomach from when you sat down is even tighter and all you can do is pick at the plate.

“Well, Y/N does a lot of the troubleshooting for the RNA degradation issues,” Wonwoo shares. 

Your face heats at the unexpected but not undeserved compliment. Dr. Wagner’s work isn’t cheap and the thought of wasting valuable money, money that could line the pocket of an extra set of hands, forced you to run a tight ship. The other researchers in her lab could say what they wanted behind your back but Dr. Wagner nods with fondness and you try not to preen.

“We’d be a mess if it wasn’t for her,” Dr. Wagner agrees. “The lab techs should write her a card.”

Not wanting to leave him out, you shoot a look to your left where Wonwoo pulls at the napkin in his lap. “Wonwoo is the one that made sure the parameters made sense for the last publication.”

“Also true.” Dr. Wagner smiles. “I told you, Harry, they’re my best students. Excel a mile past my TAs last year. They work together exceptionally well. If I could keep them both for next year, I would.” She says it with finality. There might very well be an opportunity to stay here and continue in her lab, even if your ambition has outgrown the place you’ve called home for four years.

The table is cleared, your plate full of mashed cake and melted ice cream with not a single bite missing. You’re exhausted. Mentally, emotionally; physically from the three all nighters you’ve pulled this week. There’d be an earful from Wonwoo about the dangers of sleep deprivation (hypocrite) but he looks like he’s seen a ghost tonight and won’t sleep himself.

Dr. Collins glances at his watch with a muffled yawn, “My, my! Look at the time! My apologies I didn't mean to keep us all out so late. I know you two probably have far more interesting things to be doing than spending the evening with a couple old timers like us.” He winks at Dr. Wagner, who rolls her eyes and hands the check back to the waiter who can’t be more than nineteen. “It looks like I’ll have some tough decisions to make in the upcoming weeks. Best of luck to the both of you.”

Hands shakes all around, and an awkward shuffle at the door and Dr. Collins and Dr. Wagner disappear into the night, leaving you and Wonwoo alone on the long walk back to campus.

You don’t beeline to your apartment for a debrief. Or even to ignore the obvious awkwardness cracking between. A bench to the side of the campus green is where you find yourselves, across from the fountain that upholds the tradition of drunken seniors taking a dip during finals when they’ve given up. 

You want to drown in it.

“Wonwoo,” you whisper. “What happens if one of us doesn't get in?”

“I–I don’t know.” He peers down at you with what you think is grief and the white noise that follows his quiet admission chokes painfully. There’s no plan B for something like this

If you got in, then Wonwoo did too. An unfounded assumption that wherever you went he’d be there too, based on almost four years of something between you. Too much to be friendship but too scared to call it something else. Something more. All the stereotypical college firsts had been with him or witnessed by him, you assumed grad school would be the same.

But it can’t be.

“Then we should end this.”

The words are out like shaken champagne, a dramatic explosion you can’t take back; a mess in the slimmest inches of space between your bodies on the bench in the freezing air.

“What?” he says.

You can’t swallow back down the idea. Wonwoo won’t let you. Maybe you don’t want to. You stare at the fountain across the green with a twitch in your jaw. 

“One of us is gonna move to Boston and the other is gonna have to figure it out and I’d rather not hate you or you hate me when it happens.”

You won’t take it back but you won’t look at him either. 

“You think I’d hate you?” 

He’s staring at you. You can feel the burn of his gaze on your cheek where embarrassment heats as well.

“I would.” You ignore the break in your voice at the complete lie. “I’d hate it if you got in and I didn’t. Even though you deserve it and I couldn’t be mad about it. I’d hate it. All I’ve wanted since freshman year is to go there, and I won’t ruin it for you just because I can’t have it.”

For a painstaking moment, he doesn’t say anything. His shoulders are still rigid and he props his weight into his knees, head bowed so you can’t even see his face in the stark street light. He doesn’t do anything until you do, until you slump with utter defeat.

“Fine.”

“Fine?” Your voice pinches in your throat.

“What else is there? You’ve already decided for the both of us. That stupid fucking program matters more to you than—”

You heat close to explosion.“It’s not stu—”

Wonwoo rushes off the bench. “It is! It is because we’ve been dating for the past three years but you won’t even fucking admit it! You’ll tell some stupid pledge I’m your boyfriend but everytime I think we’ve worked it out – that you’re finally ready to talk about it – you pretend nothing is happening.”

“That wasn’t—” you shake your head.

“It’s fine. I’ll get over it.” 

You move quicker than he does and find his hand, but he doesn’t want to stay and you can’t stop him from leaving. “Wonwoo.” 

“Stop.” His voice is stoic, whatever emotions previously controlling him locked up tight behind faux dismissal. “Just…stop.” 

If you’re going to lie then the smallest favor you can do is obey his command. You hide your face in your hands, cheeks hot and eyes stinging. Because if you look at him then you’ll break into a million pieces. You’d admit to lying to his face; that you could so much as entertain the idea of hating him.

Wonwoo waits but you say nothing. No argument, no final comment. 

When you finally look up he’s far enough down the sidewalk that the pathetic croak of his name is unheard.

Endpoint: a critical moment in a chemical process where a specific change indicates that the reaction is complete. 

Two days later, when you finally get the balls to call Wonwoo and apologize, to tell him he’s right and that you’re an absolute idiot, he’s already blocked your number.

In a game of passive aggressive pettiness, Wonwoo takes gold.

He won’t talk to you outside of class and lab hours. Even then, he refuses to look at you; talks straight around you. Any form of correspondence you receive has Dr. Wagner’s name attached and anything you send without it is loudly ignored. 

Other people notice too.

In study hours, the students notice, whisper to each other when Wonwoo snubs your attempt to discuss a batch of graded homework in favor of focusing his attention on a cowering freshman who looks like he might piss himself when Wonwoo calls him by name. All the others bury their heads in their textbooks in fear he’ll pick them next.

In Nano, when he shows up just in the nick of time to leave his self-assigned seat next to you empty, and instead sitting next to the door. You feel the eyes on you, hair standing on end at the back of your neck when Dr. Lim stutters through his intro with wide eyes at the scene.

Seungkwan shows up to tutoring significantly less interested in your love life. Or he pretends he isn’t. He doesn’t ask outright and there’s pity in his eyes, thick enough you want to burst into the tears you’ve waited to come for the past two weeks. Instead you feel hollow. 

Even Mr. Lee, the night guard at the library, eyes your solitary exit with something like concern. Even going so far as to call campus public safety to escort you the short walk home.

Your other friends try to take you out, get your mind off the tilt in your world axis. You go. Sit at bar tables and laugh when you're supposed to, make empty conversations with strangers but you don’t care. You want to go home and curl up in your own misery like a blanket and cry until your eyes swell shut and pass out from exhaustion. Eventually, they stop asking if you want to come and just leave ice cream and bottles of wine on your doormat as support.

Your grades don’t suffer, and that’s the only thing you can cling to right now.

In Dr. Wagner’s office, an impromptu meeting under the guise of setting final exam expectations and tinkering the schedule, Wonwoo continues the harsh coldness of silence; content to pretend you don’t even exist. 

You work through it easily enough. You and Wonwoo have the same finals so there's only two schedules (Dr. Wagner’s and your shared one) to coordinate for extra study hours. The entire ordeal takes ten minutes to complete the shared calendar, pack it full of final lab meetings and deadlines for grading.

And when it’s over, you move to rise but Dr. Wagner stops you short.

She looks sheepish which is an odd sight. Immediately, you go to the worst. You grit and swallow and sit back down in the same upholstered chair from the last time she dropped a bomb in your lap. 

This is the bandaid rip you’ve waited for all semester. Whatever is at the end of this meeting means you finally know if you’re good enough or not. If karma does justice and gives Wonwoo the spot in Dr. Collins lab next year because you committed the sin of wanting it too much, sacrificed too much.

“It seems my attempt at friendly competition had some…unintended consequences.”

Where sizzling anger would once flourish and bloom, nothing but empty exhaust stutters to life. “What?”

“Last year, the second my TAs found out I’d recommended them, they slacked off. Missing class, incorrect results in the lab. Now I know you two are hard workers but I was afraid senioritis might set in and I’d have to lay down the law. I don’t like being harsh with my students, not directly anyway. I want the best out of them, and I knew I could anticipate the best from you two. I was always planning to recommend both of you to Dr. Collins. I told him he would regret it if he even thought about not making space for you both next year.”

“What?” you repeat again.

There’s a weight on your knee. You don’t even need to look to know it’s Wonwoo’s hand. He doesn’t look before flipping it over when you place yours on top, fingers knotting together; holds it tight like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go. You unconsciously squeeze and he mimics without thought.

“So what does this mean?”

“Dr. Collins can’t outright say it but he’s on the admissions board and decides who gets to join his lab. He was adamant that both of you join him in Boston.”

“But we haven’t even—”

“I know, but the application is a formality at this point.” She waves a dismissive hand. “Your work speaks for itself.”

Wonwoo is still there, clenching your hand for dear life. Waiting for the other shoe to drop because there is no way – no way – it’s this easy. Months at each other's throat from the tension and for nothing. You’re sweaty, heart thumping loud enough it might break from your chest and skitter on Dr. Wagner’s desk. She keeps talking and you still haven’t looked at Wonwoo.

“I’m so proud of you both!” she beams. “And I’m sorry if I’ve…complicated things…for the two of you. It was never my intention. Now, go! Rest! Take the day off and celebrate. Send me the links to your applications and I’ll do my part so you can finally relax before finals.”

The pair of you shuffle outside like zombies. In broad daylight, the world keeps spinning and someone drops their coffee a little further down the street and curses a storm; a car honks at a biker, there's packs of students shuffling around where you stand dumbfounded. Your sweater does little to block the chill of late November wind.

Wonwoo still hasn’t let go of your hand.

“Did that just happen?” he asks.

“What the fuck.”

“What the fuck.”

Your laughing, deranged and fatigued cackles that earn several looks but on the cusps of finals it’s not uncommon enough to stop anyone out of concern. “What the fuck!”

You’re not sure what to do. Celebrate? Cry? 

It’s a little bit of both as Wonwoo swoops in, wrapping his arms around you tight enough to squeeze a surprised scream from your lungs. He’s not done, lifting and spinning you around in a quick circle before crying, “What the fuck!”

You laugh, snorting ugly cackles as he almost drops you with both of you gasping for breath. Completely deranged but what just happened that the rift between you momentarily heals.

Wonwoo sets you down gently but keeps close, his hands your waist like he’s afraid to let go. Like he’s missed you just as much as you’ve missed him. You finally look at him, and it’s the first breath of air after drowning for hours. The creases around his eye, the happy wrinkles around his nose. His hair is long enough it brushes your skin where your foreheads almost touch. His hold is like a cocoon of warmth.

“I’m sorry!” you blurt. “I’m so fucking sorry. I’m stupid and stubborn and I’ve been so caught up in this program that I—”

“No,” he shakes his head, arms tightening as you squirm in his hold.

“Let me finish.”

“No,” he says. “I like that you're stubborn and a pain in the ass. And it wasn’t fair that I expected you to just push aside something like grad school for me. I was being selfish and—”

“I love you.”

You might say it again just to see the way he chokes and turns purple; pulls you closer. He’s at a loss for words and you capitalize on the moment.

“I’ve thought about what would happen if I didn’t get in, like a million different possibilities and never once were you not there. I felt like…I don’t know, honestly. Like I was losing you and it was easier to be upset about the program than admit that. It was stupid and I’m stupid, and I’m really bad at speeches so…feel free to shut me up or whatever.”

You wait for him to process what you’ve said – a million emotions swiping across his face. Ridiculous some people act like he’s the embodiment of stoicism because if you know what to look for then they’d realize he’s terrible at hiding the way he feels.

“You love me?”

All that crying you did in the past few weeks means nothing because you could cry right now. But you don’t look away, you don’t ever want to look away from him again because you’d miss the way his face softens.

“Well, we’ve been dating for the past three years. It’s about time I told you.”

Wonwoo doesn’t speak, facing morphing into confusion before he scoffs with disbelief. “You’re so annoying.”

“Hey!” you stomp but Wonwoo pulls you closer, buries his face in your neck and squeezes so tight something feels on the verge of popping in your spine. His ears burn red as he whispers those three words back quietly enough you strain to hear them. He bites your shoulder just to be an asshole.

“What the hell was that for?” 

He does it again.

“Stop biting me you freak, we’re in public.” You pinch his side for good measure and only then does he smash the side of his face to yours and begin walking you backwards, in the direction of your apartment.

“Whatever, you love me.”

He lets you walk normally at the cross walk, your hand in his, both tangled in the warmth of the pocket of his sweatshirt because it’s fucking cold and the wind isn’t helping. Wonwoo drags you straight home, up the stairs, and crowds you against the door and kisses you until you can’t breathe.

“Why are you crying?”

You are. You don’t even realize it had started until you reach up and feel the dampness on your cheeks.

“Probably because I haven’t slept in two days and I missed you, idiot.” Wonwoo kisses you flat on the mouth again at the confession, smiling big enough it’s less of a kiss and more of teeth pressed together. But it’s good. You like it. You speak into his mouth, “I promise I would have really ‘sloppy I love you sex’ but I’m so tired I think I might throw up.”

“You missed me.” he hums, more of a statement than a question.

“Yeah, big head, I missed you. Now let’s sleep.”

“God,” he moans, biting his lip in mock pleasure. Maybe even real pleasure at the idea of a Friday afternoon full of nothing but hazy dreams in silence rarely found in a frat house. “I love you too.”

You undress straight down to your underwear. Cotton with a conservative cut because in no universe did you think you’d end the day with Wonwoo back in your orbit. Wonwoo who loves you, Wonwoo who you love back. But he eyes you like you’re a grand prize and all he wants is to touch you. But the rush of adrenaline keeping you conscious is burning out quickly.

He strips too, nothing but boxers and circles under his eyes but he’s happy. It radiates off him in waves and if you weren’t part of it, you’d throw something at him because it’d be annoying. You might just be glowing too.

You slip under the covers and Wonwoo snuggles up behind you, a second skin with his hand flat to your stomach to keep you from going anywhere. Not that you would. You don’t even remember falling asleep. 

When you wake up, it’s dark outside; which could mean it’s been minutes or hours since the winter sun likes to deep beneath the horizon early in the afternoon. It’s the best sleep you’ve had in weeks.

Everything is warm; your body beneath the comforter, where sweat sticks at your back, the lips dragging across the curve of your neck, Wonwoo’s crotch firm between your legs.

“Good morning to me,” you sigh.

He hums in happy agreement, tongue traces the shell of your ear before kissing across your cheek and chin and finally landing on your mouth with a kiss that can only be described as sappy.

“Got started without me?” Your hands press under his underwear, two palms full of his ass holding him still enough to grind up into. Something about a sleepy make out has you hungry to lay there and take whatever he’ll offer.

“I’ll catch you up, don’t worry.” 

You snicker, “No wonder those freshmen have crushes on you.”

“What do you mean?” He traces your naked sides with his fingers.

“I’ll catch you up,” you mock, then wince from a razor of his teeth as he shifts down your chest. “If you were my TA, I’d try to fuck you.”

“I’m trying to have’ sloppy I love you sex’ and you’re trying to goad me into some student teacher shit?”

He bites your side, just a nip but you flare and blush anyway. “Ooooo, tell me I’m bad.”

“You’re annoying.”

“You love me.”

“As I was saying,” he whispers into your stomach, fingers tugging your panties off. “Sloppy I love you sex.”

“Okay, okay.” You sink a hand in his hair only for him to tug it away, fingers laced together over your sternum as he strokes you to life. “O-oh, that’s—fuck.”

He hikes a leg up over his shoulder, out of the way for the fingers that satisfy the empty squeeze in your gut. Your tongue prickles with another goad but Wonwoo senses it first and swiftly works to silence you with a hot kiss to your clit that makes your vision bleed red.

The cold of the room works in his favor, pinching your nipples tight until you cave to the need to touch yourself. If the light was on then he’d watch and you get the urge to pause the action just for the chance to watch him watch you.

“Don’t stop,” you grunt. 

He eats it filthy, spit and arousal forming a wet mess slipping down your ass. The way his tongue lashes is nothing short of despicable and you know you’re the one that taught him that and you can’t help but flare with pride. “I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum, I’m—” you chant blindly.

The warmth between your legs surrounds, suffocates until your thighs go numb and your shoulders pull away from the mattress with a groan rivaling porn; but you mean it. Wonwoo means it too. 

You clench harder, revitalized in the stretch of another finger and a clip of teeth on your clit.  You tug at your still clasped hands on your chest, bite into the meat of his palm and let the flood consume you with stiff legs and tears in your eyes. “Oh, Wonwoo – u-ugh. Fuck. Fuck.”

Wonwoo takes it, mouth waiting for every eager roll of your hips; completely unphased until you melt back in the sheets with a pathetic mewl.

He kisses up your body, mouth and cheeks wet and warm. When he reaches your mouth you resist the urge to lick him clean. Something about that feels decidedly unlike sloppy I love you sex. So you slip your tongue between his lips instead and spread your legs until his crotch is level with the raw sensitivity of your own.

“Roll over,” you pant.

Like an asshole, he laughs. And then he drops his weight behind his hips and you actually see stars. “Wanna do it like this.”

“Make love to me,” you croon.

He doesn’t even pretend to stifle the obnoxious snort. “Don’t ever say that again.”

“What happened to sloppy I love you sex?” 

“Getting to it. You like it when I come inside you?” Now he’s the one goading and you’re blushing like you’ve never fucked him before. To be fair, you haven’t fucked him as the man you’re in love with so it’s a first time for the both of you. Wonwoo’s drunk on the power of having you stutter through something so familiar yet new.

“Love it.” 

“Good,” he agrees with a saccharine peck to your nose that makes you feel like a doe eyed virgin again. “I love you.”

Your need for games and pretense dissolves. You just want Wonwoo, all of him, until you can’t take it any more. 

Wonwoo senses the change, noses against your cheek before kissing you. He’s still holding your hand, the other cupping your jaw, thumb tracing the curve of flesh. It’s vulnerable and soft and something you probably could’ve experienced years ago if you weren’t willfully blind.

“I love you, too.”

You whisper the confession so quietly it doesn’t even make a sound but Wonwoo figures it out because he surges into action, pulling you to the center of the mattress in all your naked glory. The flood light from the side of the building reflects back in through the slats in the blinds and Wonwoo sits up to soak in what he can see in the limited light.

Twisting a hand in his hair, you pull him down for a kiss; forcing all the emotions you have to the surface. He doesn’t make you wait. Instead, he drops flat, flat together from head to toe as he slips inside. You’re still tight and sensitive, squirming at the feeling of being stretched so thin with Wonwoo wrapped tight in your arms.

“W-wonwoo,” you mewl. You know he loves the sound of his name, any time, in desperate moans and sleepy coos. You’ll say it as much as he wants to hear if he kisses you like he is now – with something new at the edge. Something needy. “More.”

He wraps your legs around his hips, folding you clean in half with a heavy rut into your pussy you’ll feel for days. You both want to drag this out – take hours to come apart and come together again and again – but Wonwoo is already working a hand between your bodies; stroking you over hot coals just to hear you moan his name again.

In record speed, you feel that familiar burn creeping along your spine. He fucks you into a wet mess and it’s all you can do to hold on and claw up his back. Breaks you into something limp and pliant, hands twisted together over head; tugs at that loose thread over and over until you unravel beneath him and Wonwoo watches like it’s magic.

“Oh- oh, Wonwoo–” you cry. Actually cry. Tears he swipes away with a thumb before pressing his mouth to yours.

You’re swollen and stiff, muscles taunt while they twitch from a rush of complete bliss.

“M cumming, baby – oh my god.” Wonwoo bucks into the tight squeeze of your legs, deeper, harder, more. “Love you—fuck.”

He hides with soft sighs in your neck, skin sticky where you both slide together. You cradle him to your chest, fingers rushing through the sweaty tangles on his hair gently. A kiss to his head, his brow, his nose that wrinkles from pure content.

But you’re not done yet.

You wiggle from beneath him, peeling yourself off the pillows, lower half still numb from one hell of an orgasm. But you want more, insatiable and doped on years of repressed fondness. “Can you go again?” 

Wonwoo looks like you asked him to run a marathon. “You want me to die?”

“Worse ways to go,” you coo, sinking low enough to take his cock in your mouth. It tastes like you and him and it makes your eyes roll.

“God. I didn’t know sappy sex meant you’d try to kill me,” he moans airly under your ministrations, a hand at the back of your head when you show off with a nose to his crotch before sliding off. “You’re evil.”

“I’m in love with a sexy nerd and I'm horny,” you sigh dreamily, thrilled with the way he pulses in your hold.

“Yeah, well…” he gives up on whatever rebuttal under the weight of your body on top of his. Nothing he can argue with in that statement anyway so you tease him with a kiss, smile when he chases your mouth, roll when you realize he can taste the mix of you both off your tongue.

“You know…I’ll need a roommate in Boston.”

“Huh,” Wonwoo feigns. His focus is on the way your tug at his cock, spit and cum webbed between your fingers. This isn’t the best way to have this conversation but you’re both high on sleep deprivation, love, and orgasms and it encourages loose lips.

“Know anyone interested?”

He shudders back into the pillow, leaving his neck open for your teeth with a choked, “Yeah.”

“Who?”

“Me.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah —fuck—wanna wake up to you every morning.”

“Even if I’m a cranky bitch?” Your knees bracket his hips, cunt split on his cock as you grind against the underside.

His stomach caves as he responds with a thin voice, “yeah.”

You like waking up to him too. Falling asleep with him tangled in your body, listening to him hum in the shower when he thinks you aren’t listening. Sometimes he even sings with a little encouragement like those times you were sick and the only thing that got your mind from exploding like thunderclaps was the lullabies from his childhood that he cooed into your hairline.

Starting and ending everyday with Wonwoo sounds nothing short of blissful.

“Okay.” You tangle his fingers with your own, rising on your knees to distract from the sheepish smile splitting your face in two.

“Really?”

“I like having you around,” you admit, sinking down on his cock. “Makes me feel better.”

Weird conversation over the back track of slapping skin and pathetic muffled sobs but you like it. Feels well overdue.

“A-about?”

Everything.

He gives a tender squeeze to your thigh, cradles your face in both hands, eye contact that you fight not shutter away from because it’s terrifying he can see you clearly. 

He’s lost; completely mesmerized by the way you bounce on the length of him, grind back into his lap like you’re possessed.

“Can’t last—” he chokes.

“S’okay,” you press the words into his cheek, his jaw, the bones jutting from around his collar. “Just wanna feel you.”

You bend and strain for his pleasure, to watch it dance across his brow as he cums inside you again, his hands heavy on your ass, your thighs, whatever he reflexively grips in a bid for grounding, nails leaving streaks of color. Twitching and jerking in sensitive painful bliss, his eyes roll back with a quick exhale. “Fuck-k.”

You're sticky and used between the legs but you take comfort in the feeling and bask in the glow on top of him. Nothing but a pile of satisfied boneless goo where you lay with sweaty skin and heat you feel from the top of your head to your toes. “Good?”

“Great,” he hums, pulling into one last toe numbing kiss. 

When feeling returns to your bodies, you spend the rest of the night eating greasy pizza on the couch in nothing but his shirt, drinking wine straight from the bottle in celebration. You kiss Wonwoo whenever you want, which, admittedly, is a lot; a flurry of sappy pecks over his face leaves him blushing and dewy. When you fall asleep after making love once again, the last thing you hear is him saying he loves you too.

Epilogue

4 months later…

There’s a certain level of comfort that comes with receiving an official acceptance email. The words you’ve been waiting to hear since Dr. Wagner all but confirmed your future in a fifteen minute meeting last semester.

On behalf of the Chemistry department, we are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted as a part of…

The big envelope in the mail today helped too.

Wonwoo sends a photo of his, unopened, because you promised to open them together tonight. On your date; which is nothing more than grading assignments and eating leftover take out on the couch like so many nights have been spent already. But this time he’s your boyfriend. And after all the worksheets are graded, and you get to cuddle deep into the worn couch cushions, you get to tell him you love him and he’ll say it back and the flutter in your veins at the thought is nothing short of magical. 

And this time you have a surprise waiting for him and he might just cry. Or you hope so. You’ve got $50 riding on the possibility.

You’re sweating through your shirt from putting the new piece of furniture together for the past three hours by the time he shows up with a bag of takeout, Thai food from the place on Market where they know you by order, and a kiss you’ve been missing since the morning when he left for one of his stupid workouts. 

Wonwoo sets the bag on the counter, immediately pulling you into his arms before sagging like a deflated balloon. “Pixel got adopted today.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” He’s moping. He accepts your placating kiss with a pout, and starts unpacking the food.

You feel the smallest flutter of guilt but it's worth it.  “That sucks.” 

“She needed a good home.” Wonwoo confirms and that's the end of the conversation.

Even in your final semester, your schedules are still packed. Crammed full with meetings, exams, work, Wonwoo’s volleyball stuff that you attend with posters and sit near the other girlfriends. It’s weird but not because its the same stuff you two were doing for years. But it’s exhausting.

So you don’t blame Wonwoo for not noticing the newest addition to your apartment until he’s inhaled his food and the last third of yours.

“Babe.”

“What?” you ask, focusing on cutting another red slash into the white paper.

“What’s that?”

He points at the gigantic cat tower in the corner next to the couch. It’s cramped in tight but in two months you’ll both be in Boston with a bigger apartment with real bedrooms so it’s only temporary.

You shrug and make another mark. “Oh, just something I picked up.”

“You don’t have a cat.”

“Huh. Weird.” Your eyebrows furrow in mock confusion but you keep grading papers or else it’s game over and the need to watch him puzzle together your plans is all you want. “Then what’s the thing in the bathroom?”

“You didn’t.”

“I did,” you confirm.

Wonwoo stares open mouthed, between you and the bathroom door and back to you. He might pinch himself but he flies off the couch with childlike eagerness and your face hurts from smiling already.

Pixel spends the rest of the night curled up asleep on her new dad’s lap and you’re $50 richer. Mingyu’s girlfriend is already offering to catsit despite Mingyu’s pouts about losing money.

Taglist: @tomodachiii @cvpidyunho @miniseokminnies @ddaengpotate @arycutie

@gaebestie @primoppang @gyuguys @mine-gyu @doremifasire

@missminhoe @toplinehyunjin @crvs4vldtn @prettygyuuu @sliceofwoozi

@writingbarnes @dokyeomkyeom @christinewithluv @minwonfairy @idkjustlovingbts

@wobblewobble822 @futuristicenemychaos @seungkw1 @horanghaezone @jespecially

@scoupsjin @isabellah29 @luvseungcheol @crisle19 @iamawkwardandshy

@lukeys-giggle @aaa-sia @tinkerbell460

[friendswithclay]

“Jar with figural decoration

From Karanog, grave 566

Meroitic Period (C. 100 B.C.E.-300 C.E.)

Ceramic and paint, h. 34 cm (13 3/8 in.)

Coxe Expedition, 1908 E818

From a grave in the large Meroitic cemetery at Karanog, this vividly painted jar was part of a set of funerary goods belonging to one of the elite members of Meroitic society. A frieze of foraging giraffes is painted in the midsection and one of undulating snakes around the upper body. Pottery was mass-produced in Nubia by Meroitic times, but its often vibrant and original decoration shows that ceramics were an important avenue of artistic expres-sion. Meroitic pottery contrasts markedly with the drab, utilitarian pottery used in Egypt during the same period.

The Meroites decorated their pottery with an inventive blend of uniquely Nubian, Egyptian, and Greco-Roman themes. This example is one of a number of jars from the Karanog cemetery with a giraffe motif. During Meroitic times, giraffes were not found in the arid environs of Lower Nubia but much farther south, in the savanna lands of southernmost Nubia. The clumsy appearance of the animals on the Meroitic jars suggests that the artists had never seen a living giraffe.

- JWW”

[outofconcheol]

key:

a = angst, f = fluff, s = smut, c = crack

© outofconcheol 2023 [do not AI train/copy/repost/translate]

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : s.coups

|◁ II ▷| stay tuned!

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : jeonghan

|◁ II ▷| stay tuned!

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : joshua

|◁ II ▷| stay tuned!

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : jun

|◁ II ▷| stay tuned!

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : hoshi

|◁ II ▷| stay tuned!

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : wonwoo

bloodline (jww x f!reader) |a,s, f| - vampire professor!Wonwoo x TA!reader, TBD (read the teaser here!)

|◁ II ▷| Cursed to a solitary existence, Wonwoo seeks a cure for his condition - enlisting the help of his diligent teacher's assistant. However, you refuse to let Professor Jeon go through with the cure without first teaching him the wonders of having something worth living for. When your tired souls find solace in your shared loneliness, friendship (and something more) blooms. But what happens when that isn’t enough? When the secrets that both you and Wonwoo have been harboring finally catch up to you? Will you and Wonwoo make the most of every moment, or will the aftermath of his quest leave you both even lonelier than before?

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : woozi

|◁ II ▷| stay tuned!

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : dk

|◁ II ▷| stay tuned!

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : mingyu

|◁ II ▷| stay tuned!

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : the8

Between The Mountains And The Sea (XMH x GN!Reader) |a,f| - detective!minghao, sort-of mystery au, 2.3k

|◁ II ▷| In the seaside city, the ebb and flow of the tides is as constant as the presence of tragedy in Minghao’s life. Until one day, the tides bring him you.

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : seungkwan

|◁ II ▷| stay tuned!

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : vernon

|◁ II ▷| stay tuned!

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : dino

|◁ II ▷| stay tuned!

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : multi-member

|◁ II ▷| stay tuned!

[daechwitatamicrecs]

HI I DONT EVEN LIKE WONU THAT WAY BUT THIS RUINED MY ENTIRE LIFE????

Well you had me from paragraph 1 because “if I don’t try I can’t fail” has gotten me too many times in my life to count. I’m also, since this is a reread, wondering just how MUCH this affects his current situation with reader. I didn’t catch that the first time and it’s honestly fucking masterful that you OPENED by telling us exactly how his mind works and WHY he is the way he is with her and we don’t even KNOW it unless we look more closely. I love writing like this!!! I love craft in fanfic!!!!!

Actually this fic is a masterclass in telling us things without telling us. Readers man dumping her “only” because she took Wonu to an event after he had ALREADY DECLINED? Isn’t that insane? For THAT to be the reason to end something? Right so that means OBVIOUSLY he had already clocked EVERYTHING between reader and wonwoo and this was just the final straw BUT YOU DON’T TELL US THAT YOU MAKE US THINK ABOUT IT dammit bee

I love and appreciate the sneaky ways we get their inner workings, thoughts and feelings – the “are you sad?” telling us so much about him (but also about her ability to see him), her “I want that kind of love” (again, tells about both her AND about them because they ARE root intwined, aren’t they?)

The “so he doesn’t say something stupid” !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

“not before telling you he missed you too” !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The “I don’t run away” uashfiuashfuiash and the way I can’t tell YET, here, if it’s an unspoken accusation of “that’s YOUR move” – did she run away, in their past? Is that why she created distance between them?

HOMESICK?????????????? THEYRE FUCKING WHY AM I CRYING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Not the ex airing her dirty laundry that is SOOOOOO FOULLLLLLLLLLLL if I were her and I found out I think I’d commit crimes!!!!!

Omg stop it do yall call answering machines answerphones I HAVE NEVER HEARD THAT BEFORE and I was too SAD the first time I read this to notice. ANSWERPHONES????

anyway i am OBSESSIVELY waiting for the next installment because this one WRECKED me and rereading it was a DELIGHT

the way we get their past in increments -> he pulled a "if i dont try i cant fail" -> she read it as him not wanting her fully bc he "kept her hidden"/only wanted pieces of her so she suggested the distance -> years of pining UASHFIUASHF THE IDIOTS!!! IDIOTS IN LOVE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i love this fic jadosihawufhqwu

joke me something awful - jww

٠࣪⭑ pairing: jeon wonwoo x fem reader ٠࣪⭑ summary: it's 2002 and you ask wonwoo to take you home. later, he wonders why you haven't been doing this the whole time. ٠࣪⭑ genre: childhood friends to lovers, smut, fluff, angst, college au ٠࣪⭑ rating: explicit. minors do not interact with me, i'll block you. ٠࣪⭑ warnings: swearing, drinking, undefined relationships. not really a situationship tho, it’s very much mutual pining. reader and wonwoo are just stupid regular people who say and do stupid things, it is intentional, please love them anyway. wonwoo is down bad i'm so sorry friends, he is just!!!!!! occasional use of pet names (baby & angel from wonwoo. darling/sweetheart from others), no use of y/n or other variations, porn with plot mostly, ambiguous ending (sorry my beloveds). wonwoo could do with some more confidence ig. a bitter ex (oc) is mentioned and important for the plot! mentions of previous hook ups between wonwoo and reader. toxicity from the ex, but i don’t particularly think reader and wonu are! they just :(((((( feel free to correct me tho. ٠࣪⭑ smut contents: gendered terms, kisses, fingering (pussy + mouths), oral (f receiving), unprotected sex (it's 2002 college students were stupid then ok), dry humping lmao, cum eating, wonwoo on top, cum in pants, sloppy kinda, wet patches <3, soooo much hand holding, morning sex, neediness <333333, all in all they are quite soft and disgustingly into each other. if you think i've forgotten anything please let me know so i can fix my post! ٠࣪⭑ wc: 5.4k - complete ٠࣪⭑ a/n: i listened to fob's from under the cork tree on repeat for like 2 weeks straight and needed to do something with the feelings in my chest. this universe started in a different work that i'll post another time, this is the before. it is complete on its own, can be read without the others, but please note that future fics for this couple will be non-linear and feature different stages of their lives. the title comes from Fall Out Boys I've Got A Dark Alley–. Please consider listening to Air - Yeji, it's the feeling this couple gives me. ٠࣪⭑ thank yous: to my loves, @100vern and @starlightkyeom– thank you for putting up with my screaming over wonwoo, thank u for reading this over and telling me it wasn't gross. to jewel again, thank you for the banner. i appreciate u both so much. to everyone else, thank you for coming to my little corner, i hope you enjoy this one.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

2002

Wonwoo didn’t apply for the fellowship program, despite all your insistence that if you got in he’d be sure to, that he’s smarter than you’ll ever be. At the time he said it felt like too much work, but later he realised he couldn’t take the fear of rejection. This would’ve just been another failed start. Deep down he wondered if he’d even deserve it.

The celebratory dinner for new scholars is supposedly an elitist, snobby, and frankly, horrid affair so naturally you’re going. If only to foster those connections you’re making for your future career. Wonwoo turns his nose up but he agrees to be your date nonetheless. You don’t have to beg, just ask the question and say he wouldn’t embarrass you like the man you’ve been dating for four months, and that fills him with some strange sense of achievement. 

Of course, once that guy hears you’re taking Wonwoo instead of him, he dumps you without ceremony. And now Wonwoo sits on your bed in a rented suit far too expensive for him to feel entirely comfortable in, watching your reflection choose which earrings to wear, and he wonders if you’re even bothered. He doesn’t know how to talk to you about this. Partners are off limits, usually, but since he had some involvement in the break up, in some roundabout way, he thinks maybe he should at least check. He wets his lips.

“How are you feeling?” he asks. “Since Hongseok?”

You meet his eyes in the mirror. “Fine,” you say. “I don’t think it was going anywhere. He wanted something more traditional. I started to get the impression he was setting up to cheat on me, actually.”

Wonwoo is unsurprised, sounds like you are too. “You’re better off without him,” he says, picking at bits of fluff from your blanket clinging to his trousers. It’s one his mother knitted for your sixteenth birthday. “You’ll meet someone new in no time.”

“Yeah, I don’t know,” you start. “I think I’ll stay single for a while.” 

Wonwoo lifts his eyebrows in surprise and you catch him in the mirror. With a laugh you say, “Don’t look at me like that.”

“You’ve been a serial dater since we moved to this city and you’re stopping now?” Wonwoo’s lips twist into a grin. Teasing is easier than edging too close to real. “Just when you’ve hit your prime?”

You scoff. “Rude. I’ll hit my prime in my thirties. Just watch.”

Wonwoo watches as you apply your usual lipstick and thinks about the time you didn’t wear any. You were just kids but it didn’t seem so long ago. You’re almost the same. Eighteen years of your starkly different lives intertwined and somehow still as close as you ever were. Still the sharpest person he’s ever known, still the sweetest if only in private. Still his parents' favourite person, still his. (His stomach twists). 

You’re giving yourself a final appraisal in the mirror before turning to Wonwoo and asking how you look. 

“Good,” he says, with a nod. Breathtaking, really. “Pretty.” 

“Thanks,” you say, smiling relieved, moving to sit next to him on the bed and linking his arm. “We scrub up well, don’t we?”

“Mm,” he agrees, following your gaze into the mirror, pinpricks creeping over his skin. You look like you’re together, he thinks, as he notices you’ve chosen earrings that go with his tie. Anyone could make that assumption. 

“You look sad, Wonwoo,” you say, quiet and soft. “Are you sad?”

“No,” he says, throat tight and feeling like his back is pressed against the wall. “What would I have to be sad about?” He lets you slip your hand into his, lets you lean your head on his shoulder for a moment, because this is how you make him feel better. Because you know that he can’t be pushed to talk about things he hardly understands. Barely a minute goes by before he sucks in a breath and says, “Shall I call us a taxi?” 

“Sure, number’s in the book next to the telephone,” you say. “Want a drink? I need one for this.”

“Water for me, someone’s got to get you home.”

“Aw, come on. Don’t make me drink alone.” You laugh when Wonwoo rolls his eyes. “I’ll be on my best behaviour, I promise. My reputation’s on the line.”

“One beer,” he offers. You pout and he can’t stop his smile.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

It went like this:

Both of you had no less than three drinks before the taxi showed up.

Your peers kept thinking that he was your “elusive boyfriend” and upon correction that he was ‘just Wonwoo’ their eyes lit up and exclaimed “oh we’ve heard so much about you!” 

The way he blushed made you want to kiss him silly (you had another drink instead).

Drink five? Four? Everyone here is obliterated, no one notices you and Wonwoo readying to leave.

He looks so pretty like this, tie undone, glasses slipping down his nose, pulling off his jacket and draping it over your shoulders, watching your lips as you talk.

The taxi you pre booked won’t be here for another ten minutes but the room was so stuffy (in both the literal and figurative sense) that as soon as you tell Wonwoo you need to get out of there, he’s nodding and pulling you out into the street. It’s so busy– of course, it’s OT week– that you struggle to find a spot where you won’t be bumped into for a while, eventually settling against the wall of the building opposite, in good view of the road. The noise around you is hectic, and you’re desperate for something less bothersome. Wonwoo looks drunk, looks fucked out. Cheeks flushed and lips parted. Eyes closed, he tips his head back against the brick and exposes the column of his throat. Pretty.

“Hey,” you say, slipping your arms around his waist. “Thanks for coming with me.”

Wonwoo hums. “Yeah, ‘course.” A pause– he wraps his arms around your shoulders. He’s so heavy but you like how it feels. “Anything for you.”

There’s a saccharine sweetness stirring in your stomach. You ask him to tell you the story of Baucis and Philemon again, press your body against his and hope he can still read you like he used to. It’s been years. Maybe he won’t want to.

“Why do you like that one so much?” he asks. You take in the smell of his soap. You know you shouldn’t want to go down this road again. “It’s hardly even a love story.”

“They’re the ultimate love story,” you insist, looking up at your friend to find him already watching you. “They’re precious to each other. I want that kind of love.”

It’s more than that. Baucis and Philemon have a timeless love. Their lightness oozes out of them, their love is both infectious and tender. So devoted they choose to die together. Never without the other even after they’re gone– turned to trees, and their branches and roots weave together so tightly that you can’t tell where either one of them starts and they stay like that, as relics of a lost ancient world. 

There is something ancient about Wonwoo, too. For as long as you can remember he has been older than his years, telling stories of places long buried, of deities forgotten about. You think maybe he was meant for then and not now, the cusp of the twenty-first century. He keeps echoes within him. Carries heavy stones to turn over in his hands and spend time memorising the marks. He is deliberate in the way he moves, no ill-perceived rush, and Wonwoo’s silence carries more weight than his words. 

So when his eyes flicker to your lips again, and he still doesn’t move, you know it’s on you. You know you’re going to have to be the one to shift the sands, change the direction of the tide. You’ve been lovers before. Neither of you have ever said never. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

He’d been thinking about it all night but you were the one to press your lips against the corner of his mouth, eyes on his and holding the proximity. Are you thinking about it like he is? Is your heart thrumming in your chest like his? 

“I can feel you thinking.” 

“Uh huh.” His mouth goes dry. He can’t kiss you with a sandpaper tongue. 

You run a finger between two buttons on his shirt, eyes up, watching his reaction. “Can I stay at your place tonight? Hansol’s at his parents' house this weekend, right?” 

Wonwoo’s mind goes blank and he can feel the pink creep over his cheeks. “Did you squeeze your Pompompurin pyjamas in that little bag?”

Your lips twitch in an almost smile, lean in to ghost a kiss against his bottom lip. Wait to see if he pulls back– he doesn’t. His hands just slip down your back, touching the skin under the strap of your dress. Didn’t imagine when he helped you zip up earlier that he’d be the one invited to pull it off you. Has he hidden his desire so poorly? “Do you wanna fuck me in those pyjamas, Wonwoo?”

The street noise is drowned out when you kiss him properly, and it’s embarrassing the way he’s breathless, gripping at your waist and pulling your body closer. Humiliating that this is in full view of strangers, doesn’t want them to see how you lick into his mouth, doesn’t want them to hear your sharp gasp as his teeth drag over your bottom lip. He spins you on the spot, crowds you against the brick and blocks out the world with his shoulders. You pull on a button and slip your hand through the gap. The touch burns. Your kisses are suffocating, loves the way you smile into it, the way you make him chase your lips, run your fingers along the waistband of his trousers an– fuck– he’s gonna get hard in the middle of the street. 

Desperate, he pulls off you and whips his head around to look for the taxi, you’re already complaining. “Not here–,” he says, words rasped, catching in his throat. He can see the taxi rounding the corner, and in a beat he’s pushing off the wall and dragging you toward it by the hand. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

He doesn’t touch you in the taxi. Hopes you know it’s not because he didn’t want to, he just doesn’t want to lose himself. His fingers flex eager on the leather seats, wanting something he won’t take. As the driver fiddles with the radio, you lean over to lay your hand across his, to whisper in his ear, “do you still lick your fingers after you’ve made someone come on them?” Wonwoo doesn’t answer, but he can feel the way you watch him swallow– thick– and stare hard out the window at the passing lights. He never did that with anyone but you.

Now you’re paying for it. He’s more confident in the privacy of his bedroom, in the dark. Cages you in his bed, doesn’t bother to turn on the lights before smothering you with his body. Your mouth on his– wet, and eager, and bruising. His hands move to your face, in your hair, angling your head to give his lips access to the tender spot behind your ear. He’s got your dress bunched up around your waist. Takes up all the space between your legs, still too much fabric separating you. One of Wonwoo’s hands cast over the swell of your breast, his thumb tracing circles over your nipple through the thin fabric. You melt into the touch, rolling your hips against him, he sighs into your skin. “Can feel how hard you are,” you gasp, hands pulling at his hair. Makes his skin electric. 

He moves faster, desperate, and you trap his body between your legs, angle your hips so his cock can rub against your clothed cunt just right. “Gonna ruin your trousers,” you whisper. Yeah yeah yeah, fuck it, he’ll pay for dry cleaning for once. The warmth, the wet, seeping through makes him insane. Needs it more than ever, needs you just like this, breath ragged and pupils blown. Needs you needing him so bad you can’t even get out of your clothes before you come. Needs you whining, needs you telling him how badly you want it. Won’t ask for anything, but you know what he likes. It’s always been easy with you. 

“Feels good,” you say. Wonwoo nods into your neck, the pressure building so fast it’s blinding. Hips thrusting rough, rutting like an animal against your clit, desperate for you to get off before he falls apart but he’s so cl–”Missed you so much, Wonwoo.”

“Ah, fu- fuck–” You’re sucking a mark into his neck and Wonwoo can’t stop. Comes hard, breath catching and his rhythm is all fucked up, so fucking embarrased that he couldn’t draw this out. You’re talking him through it– sounds like heaven whispering how good he is, how good this feels, how you love how he sounds when he forgets himself. Didn’t realise he was groaning. A mess of a person reflected in the cum staining through the fabric of this horribly expensive rental. 

Shit.

Needs to get out of this fucking suit. Needs to press his face into your cunt. Wants to ruin you for everyone else. Four years– you wasted four years with other people when you could’ve been doing this. Pushes away thoughts of you being someone else's not even a week ago. Some sick, possessive slice of him wants to reclaim you, mark you up and present you as his to the world. Wants to take the cum in his underwear and push it into your body. Look, see, she’s mine mine mine. Wonwoo’s chest aches.

Your clothes shed in silence. You lay him back against the pillows, kneeling next to him with spread legs, he loves when you let him see. You take one of his hands in yours and work circles into his palm as you pull two of his fingers into your mouth. Get them slick with spit, work your tongue over the tips of his fingers. He can hardly breathe watching you manoeuvre his hand down your body against your cunt, using him like a toy, until his remaining brain cells start to work and he takes over the movement. He’s half hard again already. 

“Shit, you’re so wet,” he rasps. Crooks his fingers and you whine. Wants to eat the sounds spilling from your lips. Needs to do something with his mouth so he doesn’t say something stupid. “Sit on my face?” he asks, obvious urgency in his voice. 

“N-no, like this first,” you say, almost like you’re begging. “Missed your hands so much.”

You look at him through hazy eyes as he works you quickly to the edge, pulling whimpers from your throat every time he plays with your clit. Feels you get impossibly wet when he slips his fingers in deep and moans unashamed along with you. You buck into his palm, head tipping forward to watch his soaked long fingers fucking into you agonisingly slow. Your breath stutters in your throat as he uses his other hand to tease your skin, trailing gently over the meat of your thigh, your ribs, cupping your breast and then dragging you over him to take a nipple in his mouth. Flicks his wet tongue over until it pebbles between his teeth, and you gasp. 

“M’close already,” you whisper. “Gonna come, Wonwoo.” He ruts his hard cock into the air, chasing heat that isn’t there. Fucking loser. You don’t even notice with the way he’s got your breaths coming in fragments. You come undone like lightning, cunt soaking and pulsing around his fingers, your body collapses on top of him, your forehead pressed into his chest. Wonwoo wants a taste but wants to work you through the aftershocks first. He teases slow circles over your clit until you fall apart with a sob, and have to drag his hand out from between your legs.

He waits until you sag to your side– catches sight of your cheeks, flushed and sweat sticking to your skin, your pupils blown out and breathing shallow, more beautiful than he’s ever seen you– before he brings his fingers to his mouth to taste you on them. 

“You’re indecent,” you laugh in disbelief. He almost feels gross until you’re babbling about how hot he is. How he makes you insane. You laugh again when he rolls you onto your back and settles between your legs. It’s been so long he needs to do this right. Starts by pressing a gentle kiss to your clit, ghosts more over your centre, waits for the sound of your gentle sigh before laving a thick stripe over you. Knows just the way to make you molten. He laps at your core until you’re almost sobbing. You jolt whenever his nose slips over your clit, and you’re begging for him to stop the tease. He’ll never deny you what you want. His tongue flicks fast over your clit, his face wet with you now. His moans sound muffled against your cunt when his name falls from your lips in staccato breaths. 

Things have hardly changed. Four years and now, it’s just the fucking same. Your fingers still find purchase in his hair the same way. Mouths at your inner thighs to give your cunt a break. Shit, you’re so hot. You’re clenching around fucking nothing. Pulls the skin between his teeth and you’re writhing, trying to get his tongue back where you need it. Love when you get desperate like this. 

Your nails drag over the nape of his neck and he’s close to losing control– fucks his cock against the mattress and almost cries at the pressure. You grind against his face, Wonwoo knows you’re close. Blacks out as he eats you like he’s been starving, his face so slick with spit and you it drips down his chin to the sheets. Doesn’t dare stop to breathe as he feels your legs begin to shudder over his shoulders. He watches the way you look down at him, brows pinched pleasure, waits for your lips to fall apart with a broken sob before licking into you so deep. He can’t tell who comes first, can’t tell who the enormous wet patch on the mattress belongs to, doesn’t fucking care, just wants to keep you. 

He moves over you when you’re done, pressing chaste kisses to the corner of your mouth, to your cheeks, to your temple, before you’re giggling and pulling his body next to yours. 

“Shift over,” he says, tapping at your hip. “Don’t wanna sleep in the wet patch.”

“Did you come again?” you ask, moving to the side to give him space.

Wonwoo nods, cheeks instantly flushing with heat. But there’s no need for embarrassment because you’re sucking in a breath. Seriously, you say “You have no idea how much I like that.”

He doesn’t reply, just fits his body against yours and presses a kiss to your shoulder. Lets your words wash over him. Sleep comes for him quicker than he wants it, but not before he slides his hand into yours, not before telling you he missed you too. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Mascara stains Wonwoo’s pillowcase but right now he doesn’t care. It’s still too early, still dark outside, but this room is hot, his breath is hot, your leg thrown over his waist is hot, and he’s considering just how monumental this is. It’s been almost four years since you touched him like this. In school it started with a ‘one kiss won’t ruin us’ and ended just before university with a ‘are we still friends?’ Way back then you both swore blind that you could just go back to your regular scheduled programming and nothing had to change. An agreement that those brief months you had (not quite) together in high school were just two best friends helping each other out. A mutual understanding that the love you share is completely and utterly platonic, and platonic friends can totally kiss/touch/fuck for a few months without it ruining something more special than sex. Except he didn’t really mean it. The trouble was that Wonwoo knew even then that he wanted something all consuming. Felt it with you. Wasn’t sure if you wanted the same.

Wonwoo is absolutely not spiralling. 

You’re still sound asleep (always are after nights like the last), and his arm is trapped. Back then he’d use this time to bask in you. With you wrapped up in him it was easy to feel like you were completely his. He used to feel like he could do anything to you, and you’d let him. You’d want it, even. Didn’t actually want to take you over but knowing that he could– the intensity of that scared him. Now that feeling doesn’t come, maybe because you’ve had the separation of time and different lovers, he doesn’t know really. He still doesn’t understand what happened before university. Doesn’t get why you stopped coming over when he was so close to unbottling the feelings in his chest. Just knows that the conversation took him by surprise even after a week of distance. Just knows how his chest ached even as he agreed that it’d be sensible to put it all to bed before leaving your sleepy town for the big city. Knows how his gut twisted sharp when you said that just because you were going together didn’t mean you should go together. Maybe he should’ve protested then, showed you how much he needed you. Impossibilities stretch out before him– if it went that way, last night wouldn’t have happened, he wouldn’t be tracing tiny figures of eight on the small of your back right now. If you’d been together then, young and stupid, would you have stood the test of time?

You stir, half roused, and Wonwoo swallows the lump in his throat, choosing to be grateful for the now. He pulls your waist closer, runs his hand under your thigh to gently adjust the weight. Your eyes are still closed but you make a soft sound of surprise. 

“What time is it?” you ask, voice thick with sleep.

“Too early,” he whispers back. “Go back to sleep.” 

“I was dreaming,” you murmur. 

“What about?” 

Your smile is lazy against his skin. “Can’t tell you,” you say. “You’d run away.”

Wonwoo thinks hard about this. “I don’t run away,” he says, quiet and serious. 

You blink open soft eyes to look at him, and Wonwoo feels too much. “Your face is all frozen, Wonwoo,” you say, gentle. “Are you okay?”

“Kiss me. Wish me good morning.” Wonwoo’s voice comes out with more edge than he intends. Doesn’t sound like his own. Feels cheap, something sleazy. Feels tragically guilty about it until he sees the look on your face. Like you want to eat him.

Your gaze is dark when you lock eyes with him. Push up with your hands, straddling his hips, his cock against your rear. You take his hands, larger than yours, place them on your ribcage, push them down down down, making goosebumps pebble along in his wake, until he’s using his thumbs to spread you apart. A little wet already, leaves a slick mark on his skin. He sighs at the sight of it. Your breath comes harder when he plays with your clit. You lean over, say– “Good morning, Wonwoo.” Press a delicate kiss to his top lip. “You’re gonna come inside me this time, okay?”

Wonwoo isn’t religious, but he feels like angels made you for him. Tells you so, and you gasp against his mouth. The way you kiss him this time is anything but angelic. Wet. Messy. Sharp teeth leaving imprints on his lips. It hurts. Nice in a way it shouldn’t be. A relief– the way the hurt makes his mind stop. You roll your hips against him and he makes a desperate sort of noise. Keeps his eyes focused on his fingers drawing circles on your clit. Your hands reach behind you to stroke his hardening cock and he arches into your touch. “Needy,” you chastise. Wonwoo nods. 

Doesn’t want it like this. Wants you under him, wants to fuck you slow. Tells you so, the words come anguished, almost– and you nod dumbly. You don’t drag out the build up. Lay on your back, open your legs for him, spread them wide and line his cock up with your wet heat so quick he doesn’t have time to overthink. He makes a strangled sound when he pushes inside. The slide is agonisingly slow. He’s being so careful, as if you’d crack like china - fragile beneath him. You clench around his cock, thick and scalding- God, it’s sweet torture. Wants more of it. 

You pull, desperate, at his waist, rolling your hips against him but he’s pulling out. This time he just slides the head in, hisses, teases, and back out. He does it again, and again, doesn’t know who this teasing is for. He’s licking into your mouth, pressing hungry kisses on your open lips, eating up all your noises, your whines, your soft moans. Things are still the same. He likes going so so deep into you, bottoming out and grinding his skin against your clit, likes when your moan comes muffled in his open wet mouth. It’s the same. Likes when your hands find purchase in the sheets, fist them in desperation, likes when you feel it’s not enough so you grab at his, intertwine your fingers and let him fuck you like this. Like you’re in love. It’s still the same.

“How do you feel, angel?” 

“Uh–” A pause to suck in a fractured breath.

“Tell me how you feel,” he says. Almost begging. Would be mortifying if he whispered that against anyone else’s cheek. Can feel the wetness there too. 

“Homesick,” you gasp. “I feel homesick.”

He fucks you harder then, driving into you so deep he could be part of you. Melt in, blend together, blur the lines, weave the fucking branches. You’re full of spells, he thinks. Made of magic. Doesn’t realise until after that he’s said it aloud. Wet starshine eyes on his as you come apart, pussy pulsing around his cock, impossibly wet, telling him come with me baby, babbling nonsense about how you want it inside, how you need it so bad, how he makes you feel so good. 

Wonwoo really looks at you before he comes. Takes a moment to commit your face to memory. Any time could be the last and he needs this– needs you– to stay with him. Doesn’t know if he’ll ever be the same. 

“Like that, Wonwoo” you’re saying, all breathy and high-pitched as he spills into you with a choked whine. “Like when you–” Cum slips out around his cock and he gathers it up on his fingers. Pushes them into your mouth to stop you talking. Can’t bear it. Can’t bear the way your pupils blow out and you lick the cum from his fingers. Can’t stand how his name sounds in your mouth, sweeter, more precious, because there’s something like love coating it. God, he wants to be yours. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Wonwoo likes your apartment better. Likes the way your sheets start to smell like him too. You’ve always carved out space for him but this time it’s deeper. Likes showering with you here, not to fuck, just to wash away the mess you make of each other. Likes holding you in his arms under the stream, running the lather across your skin, loving kisses pressed against your forehead. Lately he stays here more often than he goes home.

You haven’t said the words yet, neither has he. Doesn’t want to push too much too soon. 

It’s just after nine on Sunday morning, and you’re out of– well, pretty much everything. He offers to go but you insist he stays in bed, hair messed up, sheets pooling in his bare lap, glasses slipping down his nose while he rereads Kafka on the Shore. “Stay just like that,” you say it like a demand, but you’re smiling, pulling a scarf around your neck to run down the street to the shop, maybe stop at the deli for breakfast. “Back in a bit, don’t move an inch.”

A few minutes go by when the shrill of the telephone in the living room punctuates the silence. Wonwoo doesn’t get up to answer, it’d be improper, what if it was your mother? So he lets it ring through to answerphone, and when it clicks on it takes him a moment to recognise the voice calling your name. 

“Are you there? Pick up, darling, pick up.” Wonwoo knows Hongseok has been trying to get back together with you. You’d mentioned it a few weeks ago, how he’d sent flowers. You don’t even like roses.

“I saw you by the river yesterday,” he says. Wonwoo looks up, stares at the wall. You’d insisted on getting out of the apartment, pulled your bodies from soft sheets and into soft sweaters, and Wonwoo only complained a little bit. In truth he loved walking with you. That he can hold your hand in public and no one bats an eye. Loves that you can be his here, that you claim him too. “You’re with him now? How long, darling? Does he fuck you like I do? ” 

Wonwoo scoffs. Hongseok is just jealous. Wonwoo gets it. He does. Even if he’d never dream of saying it.

Hongseok’s voice turns nasty now. “Do you think he’ll stay this time? Does he know you’ve been in love with him this whole time? Everyone else knows. He won’t love you properly, you know. He’s just using you like last time, is he still keeping you a secret? You don’t deserve that, darling. You don’t deserve to be hidden–”

 Is that what you thought? That he hid you? Bile swirls in Wonwoo’s stomach. Does he do that? Did he hurt you?

“–he’s just gonna fuck you up again and you’re gonna be miserable. But he won’t let you be happy with anyone, will he? Selfish fucking prick, he’s so cruel to you. You don’t see it, do you? It’s pathetic how fucking dumb you are for him–”

Wonwoo didn’t think he was cruel. There is spit pooling in his mouth, his stomach churns. Is he cruel to you?

The line clicks off as Hongseok spits out every name under the sun, but Wonwoo doesn’t hear the rest as he retches into your bathroom sink. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Forty minutes later, you’re calling out to Wonwoo that you’re home as you kick off your shoes. “I got us bagels, do you want the salmon cream cheese or the egg and ba- oh! You’re up.”

Wonwoo sits on your sofa in soft sweats and a baggy white t-shirt. His skin and hair are damp from the shower. The whites of his eyes are bloodshot. “You okay?” you ask, tentatively. 

“Hmm,” he says. “Didn’t feel too good earlier.”

“Poor you,” you say. “Will breakfast make you feel better?”

“No, sorry,” he says, his voice uncharacteristically stiff. “I think I should head home. Don’t wanna give you a bug.”

You laugh softly, unpacking the groceries from the bags. “You spat in my mouth last night, if you’ve got something then I’ll have it in no time,” you say. “C’mon, stay. I’ll look after you. I’ll make soup.”

But Wonwoo is already standing, pulls a little money from his wallet and leaves it on the table. “What’s that for?”

“Breakfast,” he says. “Feel bad you bought all this and I need to go.”

You frown. “Stop being strange, I don’t care about the food, just get the next one.”

Wonwoo sighs. He’s annoyed, you realise. This is weird.

In the end you let him leave without drama, but not without a kiss to his cheek. He leans into it a little longer than usual. Closes his eyes as he hugs you goodbye. 

You eat breakfast alone. TV on, sound off, wondering what the fuck even happened before you notice the light of your answerphone flickering. 

New message, left 09:21: 

Hi Sweetheart! It’s your aunt’s birthday next week, just calling to remind you to send a card. Call me back, okay, love you, bye!

End of messages.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

sorry about the ending there :( if it helps, it does get better for them. thank you so much for reading! if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging so my fic can get seen outside my own little space <3 i love seeing your feedback. if you'd prefer to scream at me directly, feel free to send me a message <3 ily, goodnight!

[allthingstaekook]

my cute, cinnamon roll baby needs all the love in the world. ٩(`ω´٩ ) please love and support jeon wonwoo of seventeen 🍀🌹 (and while you’re there u might as well share your love and support with the other 12 yaknow?) ¬᎑¬

[bibinnieposts]

➸ SEVENTEEN : imagines + headcanons

ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ all members ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ

♡ see linked post here!!

ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ hyung line ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ

♡ love languages 

♡ romantic gestures

♡ terms of endearment

ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ maknae line ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ

♡ romantic gestures

♡ terms of endearment

ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ 95 line ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ

♡ how they love

♡ lost & confused

♡ you give me sixteen

ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ 96 line ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ

♡ nothing here yet!!

ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ 97 line ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ

♡ cozy and cared for

 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ 98+99 line ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ

♡ nothing here yet!!

ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ hiphop unit ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ

♡ love languages

♡ scenes of serenity

♡ little things about being in a relationship with them

♡ as college boyfriend

♡ how they interact with your sticky notes

♡ hand holding

♡ s/o with another member’s photocard

♡ you pampering them + they’re pretending to be asleep

♡ cute things bf! svt’s s/o does

♡ how will they react around their crush

♡ they’re too tall so you kiss their neck instead

♡ action they did that made your heart flutter while you two are just friends

♡ when you kiss them then run away

♡ how they know that they have truly fallen in love with you

♡ ‘this one’s for you’

ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ performance unit ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ

♡ love languages

♡ little things about being in a relationship with them

♡ as college boyfriend

♡ how they interact with your sticky notes

♡ hand holding

♡ you pampering them + they’re pretending to be asleep

♡ how will they react around their crush

♡ they’re too tall so you kiss their neck instead

♡ action they did that made your heart flutter while you two are just friends

♡ when you kiss them then run away

♡ teaching you choreography

ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ vocal unit ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ

♡ love languages 1 | 2

♡ the moment they realize they like you

♡ as romantic tropes

♡ saying i love you

♡ playing with their hair

♡ when you’re an innocent clingy

♡ cheering you up

♡ being comforted

♡ little things about being in a relationship with them

♡ how they interact with your sticky notes

♡ hand holding

♡ you pampering them + they’re pretending to be asleep

♡ how will they react around their crush

♡ they’re too tall so you kiss their neck instead

♡ action they did that made your heart flutter while you two are just friends

♡ when you kiss them then run away

♡ you catch them staring at you (because they have a crush on you) 

ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ random units ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ

♡ forgetting errands [bsk, chs, lc]

♡ reaction to you constantly touching/playing with their hands [yjh, jww, bsk, chs]

♡ simple things you find cute [wjh, kmg, xmh]

♡ their habits when it comes to you  [csc, yjh, hjs]

♡ fluffy headcanons [yjh, jww, lsm, kmg]

♡ talk of shame [platonic! csc, ksy, jww]

♡ s/o praising them for unseen skills [csc, yjh, jww]

♡ oh its love moment [csc, yjh, jww, lsm, kmg]

♡ ways they say i love you [csc, yjh, ksy, jww, kmg]

ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ choi seungscheol ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ

♡ older brother! scoups ; reaction to you dating another member

♡ carrying your bags 1 | 2

ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ yoon jeonghan ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ

♡ falling in love with a foreign idol/celebrity

♡ imagine jeonghan asking you to take photos of him...

♡ best friend seventeen a-z

♡ svt as your boyfriend 

♡ play fighting w jeonghan

♡ jeonghan having a crush on you

♡ boyfriend! jeonghan 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

♡ absentmindedly cuddling

♡ types of kisses

♡ dating with..

ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ hong jisoo ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ

♡ best friend seventeen a-z

♡ e2l? acappella captains au

ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ wen junhui ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ

♡ junhui muttering a joke under his breath...

ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ kwon sooyoung ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ

♡ 7:32pm / imagine hoshi apologizing profusely because...

♡ boyfriend! soonyoung

ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ jeon wonwoo ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ

♡ getting tour first tattoo done with tattoo artist! wonwoo...

ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ lee jihoon ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ

♡ imagine jihoon placing a framed picture of you...

ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ lee seokmin ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ

♡ seokmin trying to huddle close to you...

ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ kim mingyu ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ

♡ boyfriend! mingyu

♡ bf! mingyu being mad at himself for accidentally...

ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ xu minghao ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ

♡ nothing here yet!!

ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ boo seungkwan ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ

♡ nothing here yet!!

ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ chwe hansol ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ

♡ 2:05pm

♡ vernon sending you lyrics...

♡ boyfriend! vernon 1 | 2

♡ dating vernon..

ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ lee chan ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ

♡ subconsciously looking for you

> ©bibinnieposts ~ 2022  

[chldfthnvrs]

𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒂 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒚 // 𝒋𝒆𝒐𝒏 𝒘𝒐𝒏𝒘𝒐𝒐

𝑻𝑯𝑰𝑺 𝑰𝑺 𝑱𝑼𝑺𝑻 𝑨 𝑺𝑻𝑶𝑹𝒀! 𝒀𝒐𝒖'𝒍𝒍 𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆 𝒎𝒆𝒂𝒏𝒔 𝒐𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒈𝒆𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒆𝒏𝒅. 𝑵𝒐 𝒔𝒑𝒐𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒔, 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉! 𝑲𝒆𝒚𝒃𝒐𝒂𝒓𝒅 𝒔𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒉𝒆𝒔 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒅𝒐.🤣

Word Count: 4k+

Genre: Angst -> Fluff

Pairing: JWW × reader

Tropes: forbidden love

icons from @attracteric and @11h26s! I edited wonu's icon a little bit to match the other icons' colors

🍁🍁🍁

Before he came, you were living in a town dotted with colorful stone houses, vineyards, farms, windmills, and white-sailed yachts that breezed around a huge lake everyday. 

You were content with hiking around beaten paths and soaking in hot springs with friends while sipping cocktails. You wore satin dresses, partied all night, dyed your hair in outrageous colors, and sailed away every weekend wearing nothing but bikinis to go diving away into an underwater world that fascinated you. 

You didn't care much about studying but figured that you were maybe into art and colors and the seasons. You skipped classes and made out with teachers' assistants and flunked your driving tests three times before finally reading the signs right. You dated every handsome sailor that stepped foot on the town docks or prolific teen celebrities that came to while away their summers in wineries. 

You lived like time was nothing, and you were careless about everything and cared less about the consequences. News about your escapades always ran around town like wildfire and everyone didn't know whether to hate you or to love you for breezing through life the way you do.

But you belonged to a family with old money that was looking to preserve the wealth in its by marrying off family members to young blood who came to town with cash, investments, and the possibility of owning more.

Your brothers and sisters have all been engaged or whisked off to wealthy businessmen, heirs and heiresses, magnates, start-ups, and even royalty. Your cousins all had degrees and doctorates and charities named after them, and some owned pieces of land in other places similar to your hometown. 

You knew that your parents have been eyeing you for a long time, wondering what you would be doing with your life and who would be able to tame you. 

"We have been able to marry off Bora," your mother had said nonchalantly as she traced the rim of her wineglass one night. She was referring to Bora, your older sister who had to be dragged into her engagement party and walked by security officers to her own wedding. "We will be able to marry her off, too."

For your family, preserving your status as a wealthy scion was the most important duty in life. And they had expected you to be committed to doing the same. 

Until your father hosted a gala where everybody was supposed to know everybody, but somebody had unexpectedly invited somebody that was not known by anybody. 

"And he looks like a nobody, if you ask me," Sana, your other older sister, had remarked while peering at the unwanted guest beneath her long lashes. "Handsome, yes. But without a dossier telling Father he has even but a dime or a nugget to his name, what does that matter?" 

You were not listening to Sana, though. 

Because you were already entranced with the guest with wine-red hair and the most boring tuxedo and cufflinks you have ever seen in your life. 

Everything glittered and gleamed in that ballroom. An orchestra was playing a waltz and the marble floor was filled with people wearing heavy makeup and perfume, diamond-encrusted gowns, silk suits, golden jewelry, and pearls.

Rare flora and food and wine made the place even more magical. And five hours before midnight, the guests would be invited to sit down to listen to a new ballad from famous opera singers in town. 

Everything around you looked magical and rich, but your eyes were fixed on him. On plain, wallflower-like him. 

You didn't know how someone with such a toned-down appearance could catch your eye and pique your curiosity like this. 

"Can you get my list, please?" your father's butler had said to a maid who happened to be nearby. But you had already approached the unvetted man standing by the entrance and said in a voice that didn't seem to be yours, "Can I get you something?", your eyes never leaving his face. 

While walking towards him, you had thought he had been wonderstruck by the glitz and glamour around him, seeing that he looked so handsome but so plain. You had thought that he was probably uncomfortable, as some of the other guests weren't even hiding their scorn and judgment of his appearance and the fact that nobody knew him.

But up close, you saw that he was neither wonderstruck nor uncomfortable. 

He just looked…normal. And thoughtful. 

And quiet.

All the things that you had never seen in anybody around you. 

"No," he had replied politely after a few moments of looking at you. "I do not need anything at the moment. But can I know your name?" He then bowed quickly in greeting and held out a hand. 

In that moment, as you somehow found the voice to tell him your name, you found yourself spellbound by how unimpressed he was of the gala and how just casually, so casually said your name.

You, the social butterfly who turned heads and broke hearts and made the news everytime. You, the daughter of the man who was throwing this extravagant party.

You couldn't make yourself speak as you watched him smile politely and make his name known. "My name is Jeon Wonwoo. Librarian." 

"New in town?" you had asked, barely able to breath. In that moment, there had been a flush that crept onto your cheeks that wasn't because of the wine.

"Yes. I got called in by an uncle to keep watch over a library here for a while." 

"For a while."

"For a while. Until my uncle is in good health and can run his beloved haunt of books again."

"For a while."

"For a while, yes." It was only then that you felt him truly look at you. And smile. Not politely, but in a way that further introduced you to who he was inside. "It's nice to meet you."

And then and there, Jeon Wonwoo captured your heart.

. . .

The world became sepia-toned when he stepped into your life. 

Golden, as if nothing would ever fade into grey, as if nothing was incapable of rust or decay. 

When he came, you no longer saw the town as a map of colorful stone houses, vineyards, farms, windmills, and white-sailed yachts that breezed around a huge lake everyday. Instead, you saw places where Wonwoo would wander around to get the feel of the place, to get to know the faces and the stories behind those faces. 

You suddenly became aware of which coffee shop he loved to stop by for a cup of latte and a bagel. You began listing the names of every person he would ever approach and would mark in red the ones whose eyes would gleam with even a spark of romantic interest towards him. You got to know the corners where he loved turning on the way home. 

You took him hiking up paths you felt you were discovering anew and would shyly invite him to bathe in hot springs with you. You no longer had cocktails, but you were intoxicated all the same...intoxicated with Jeon Wonwoo. 

Your satin dresses would shimmer against the moonlit night as you met Wonwoo in rose gardens and in greenhouses where midnight flowers bloomed. You stayed up all night listening to the steady beat of his heart as you lay on his chest while he read the new books that he wanted to include in the library. You lost friends and got uninvited to the summer parties you used to immerse yourself in as you lost yourself to Wonwoo and spent every hour you could spare with him.  You still dyed your hair but only in colors that would complement his, and your father's yachts became docked forever as Wonwoo preferred to cliff-dive with you or get cooped up with you in the stone house next to the library. You were in a world that was far more fascinating than the deepest parts of the town lake, and you loved this new world that you had discovered.

A world where only you and Wonwoo existed, and everything else was mere backdrop. 

You began to love books and board games and surprised your father by taking art classes, where your only subject was Wonwoo: his fingers, the sharp angles of his face, the kind look of his eyes, and the color of his calming presence. Everyone else was uninteresting or unimportant. Everything fell away except him. You became tamed, anchored, secure. And slowly, the town got used to the new you…the persona you now had that didn't involve sleeping with the hottest new stud or messing around with wild-child crowds. 

Your world had only three seasons when he became the sun you revolved around: autumn, summer, and spring.

Autumn for the wine-red colour of his hair that matched the ruby chain he had hung around your neck; for the rose blush makeup that blended well with the flush on your cheeks because you were so happy; for the burnt-orange leaves where he laid you and kissed you for the first time. 

Summer for the flecks of gold that gleamed in your eyes as you looked up at his face while resting on his lap during picnics spent in a grassy knoll overlooking the town lake; for the streets that become bathed in honey-colored light as he kissed your forehead on the walk home; and afternoons spent down the lake's cool water, soaked in summer sun and in him.

Spring for the time all the flowers that bloomed as he told you for the first time that he loved you.

Before he came, you lived like time was nothing, and you were careless about everything and cared less about the consequences. News about your escapades always ran around town like wildfire and everyone didn't know whether to hate you or to love you for breezing through life the way you do.

But when he came, your world became a photoset of memories where time was frozen, in no rush, infinite, and bathed in the warm glow of a spell that no one seemed capable of breaking.

Except the dreadful truth that you belonged to a family with old money that was looking to preserve the wealth in its coffers by marrying you off to the next young blood who came to town with cash or who was keen on investing in your father's wine or fishery business. 

Your brothers and sisters have all been engaged or whisked off to wealthy businessmen, heirs and heiresses, magnates, start-ups, and even royalty. Your cousins all had degrees and doctorates and charities named after them, and some owned pieces of land in other places similar to your hometown. 

You knew that your parents have been eyeing you for a long time, wondering what you would be doing with your life, and who would be able to tame you. 

Your mother still thinks of the success she had with rebellious Bora, who has now settled in France with a man that came from a line of French barons. Locked up in a gilded cage but still contributing to the name of the family, and will possibly give grandchildren in the near future.

"Bora got married," you overheard your mother say one night before retiring for bed. "She will, too. And to someone with a name and a dowry to last for generations." 

For your family, preserving your status as a wealthy scion was the most important duty in life. And they had expected you to be committed to doing the same. 

But for all their gratefulness that you were no longer running around as a subject for salacious gossip, they were not thrilled at all that Wonwoo was your lover.

As you watched the gears on your parents' heads turn and turn each day, you steeled yourself and made your own plans

It seemed like you would be more rebellious than Bora, after all.

. . . 

On the night that the sepia-toned skies of your world came crashing down, you told Wonwoo in the rose garden by his uncle's library that it is now time for you both to run away. 

"Someone is coming," you told him in a voice stretched raw from crying, "someone that they want me to marry."

"Is it the Italian duke this time?" Wonwoo's tone was worried, but soothing at the same time. This was not the first matchmaking attempt that you had to tell him. There had been many since he came. And a lot more before he had. This was how your family worked and he had known better than to act out against it.

"No. Someone…someone from the oil business, supposedly. A son of an old friend of his from the city. But none of that matters. I don't care. I don't fucking care. I just want to be out of here before they take their plan any further." Your tears outshone your satin nightdress in the moonlit night. "We have to leave now, Wonwoo, before it is too late."

You pleaded with him to listen to you. 

This new marriage proposal was not like the others. 

This new marriage proposal sounded sure. And agreed upon. On black and white, between your parents and the other family. 

"We do not have anything planned yet. Let's give it a week," Wonwoo had said, unsure of how to respond. "And I still want to tell your parents that I love you and I will marry you. I have enough money to build a life for us–"

"–but not enough money for them," you broke in, sobbing. "We can't win this fight. You have to listen to me. We have to leave town. Tonight. Now."

"We have not thought this through–"

"–I have. And you have to listen to me." 

Flashlights shone around the rose garden, probing every inch of it for traces of you. You hear your father's guards calling for your name, and other voices that you do not know also doing the same. 

"Your father's guards," Wonwoo had said with a voice as cold as the death of stars described in his books at the library.

"And his men," you had said woodenly. "The other family's men." 

"I have to talk to your father." 

"It's not going to work that way, Wonwoo." You forced him to look you in the eye. "Because you are in a place where everybody is supposed to know everybody. You are in love with a woman that cannot be married to someone like you because my family will not recognize you. And the only way we can be together is if we run away now."

"No." For the first time, the icicles in his voice were aimed at you. "There has to be another way." 

"Let's just go, please. A car is waiting–" 

"I will not take you away from your family like this. They have to accept us and the love that we share." 

"This isn't a storybook, Jeon Wonwoo!" you screamed. "If we do not run away now, my family will take you away from me. Can't you understand that?"

"I don't want our love to be something that stands between you and your family. There has to be a way–"

"–Jeon Wonwoo, I am in love with you! And I am willing to leave everything behind for you! Shouldn't that be enough?!"

"There has to be another way to resolve this–"

–the rose garden wasn't enormous, and it was only a matter of time before they found you and Wonwoo, seated on a bench overlooking the library and the town. Holding hands. Praying that explanations and consideration will be given. 

You held onto that hope, which bloomed inside you. You clung to its vibrant color and you prayed desperately.

But the last flash of red you saw was Wonwoo's blood staining your nightdress as he was wrenched away from your arms. And your screams filled the night as the man you loved disappeared.

. . .

Like ashes scattered into the wind, you felt colors leave the canvas of your life. Everything was replaced by winter-like cold and starless skies. Obsidian thorns embedded themselves into your bones, and roses that bloomed in your heart dried up and died as the cold seeped in. 

After Wonwoo disappeared, you still lived in the same town dotted with its stone houses, vineyards, farms, windmills, and yachts. The landscape was still the same, and the townspeople only aged but did not change at all.

You stopped hiking around beaten paths and soaking in hot springs, but you drank every bottle and glass of wine you could get your hands on, hoping to at least feel numb from the ache in your bones that says Wonwoo's name over again. You discarded your satin dresses for tight, velvet ones and raised hell at nightclubs until the sun made your hungover eyes sting. You went back to dyeing your hair in outrageous colors, and sailed away every weekend wearing nothing but bikinis to go diving away into an underwater world that you hoped would suck you in and pull you away from the misery you felt in the surface world.

You stopped taking your art classes, made out with every teacher you could get your hands on, and got your driver's license revoked for too many DUIs and jail time. You became the nightmare of every handsome sailor that stepped foot on the town docks or became the subject of heartbreak songs written by celebrities that came to while away their summers in your father's wineries. 

You lived like time was nothing, and you were careless about everything and cared less about the consequences. News about your escapades always ran around town and the cities like wildfire and everyone didn't know whether to hate you or to pity you for the downhill ride your life was leading you. 

You still belonged to the same dysfunctional family who made the man you loved disappear and locked you inside your bedroom until your engagement with some oil-magnate old friend's son was finalized on paper.

Your brothers and sisters are still trapped in loveless engagements and marriages with wealthy businessmen, heirs and heiresses, magnates, start-ups, and even royalty. Your cousins continued accumulating degrees and doctorates and charities named after them, and some owned pieces of land in other places similar to your hometown. 

You knew that your parents are still keeping their eye on you, bent on sealing the deal they have gotten through you.

"We have been able to marry off Bora," your mother still says every night after downing glasses of rosè. Bora, your older sister, who is now filing for divorce that involved millions of dollars of property and money to be divided. "We will be able to marry her off, too."

For your family, preserving your status as a wealthy scion was the most important duty in life. They had expected you to be committed to doing the same. 

Until your father hosted your engagement party, where everybody was supposed to know everybody but somebody had unexpectedly come uninvited–somebody whose name was worse than nobody's. 

"After all these years," Sana, your other older sister, remarks dryly as she peers at the unwanted guest beneath her long lashes. "He still looks so plain. Handsome, yes. But without a dossier telling Father he has even but a dime or a nugget to his name, what does that matter? Will anything change?" 

You are not been listening to Sana, though. 

Because you are once again entranced with the guest with wine-red hair and the most boring tuxedo and cufflinks you have ever seen in your life.

Everything once again starts to glitter and gleam around you. Another orchestra is filling the ballroom with music and the marble floor is filled with dancing people wearing heavy makeup and perfume, diamond-encrusted gowns, silk suits, golden jewelry, and pearls.

Rare flora and food and wine make the place even more magical. And five hours before midnight, the guests will be invited to sit down to listen to a new ballad from famous opera singers in town. 

Everything around you looks magical and rich, but your eyes are–once again–fixed on him. On plain, wallflower-like him. 

You still do not know how someone with such a appearance could catch your eye and make your heart drum a hundred beats at once.

"Where are the guards?" your father's butler says to a maid who happens to be nearby. But you are already approaching the man standing by the entrance, reminiscing a similar scene from before in which you said in a voice that didn't seem to be yours, "Can I get you something?"

While walking towards him, you see that he is still not wonderstruck by the glitz and glamour around him. And he wasn't uncomfortable, even as some guests and your fiance's family members openly show their scorn and judgment of his appearance and the fact that he was some librarian's nephew who dared to be your lover.

Up close, you see that he had aged. But he was neither wonderstruck nor uncomfortable. 

He still looked as if he just stepped into some absurd museum of extravaganza. He still had that thoughtful gaze.

His spirit could still quiet down all the passion and anger and bitterness that simmered in yours. Even after all these years, he still had that power over you.

He still possessed all the things that you had never seen in anybody else around you. 

You wait for him to speak as his eyes meet yours, as you remember how spellbound you had been before because of how unimpressed he was of parties like this and how he just casually, so casually said your name. 

You, the madwoman who turns heads and breaks hearts and makes the news every time for all the wrong reasons. You, the daughter of the parents who are throwing this extravagant engagement party, the daughter who is locked in this gilded cage and in an engagement with a man you did not love.

You couldn't make yourself speak as you watched him. 

"Back in town?" you ask, barely able to breath. In that moment, the same flush from years ago that wasn't because of the wine crept into your cheeks–a color you did not think would ever come back to paint your face.

He speaks with the same soft and deep voice that you came to love. "For a while."

"For a while."

"For a while." You feel his face with your hand, the one with the ugly diamond clinging to your ring finger like a snake. Jeon Wonwoo flinches–an introduction to the pain that he must have been suffering from all these years. "Until I can leave this town with you holding my hand. But until then…" he cupped your face with his hands–to the rage of your parents and guards who were swooping in to take him, to the exclamations of everyone present– and whispered before claiming your lips with a kiss that has missed you for years, "...I will not leave you ever again."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Wonwoo looks up from the manuscript you gave him, brows furrowed. He drains his coffee while looking at you quizzically.

"You don't like it?" you bite your lip, studying his face. It is already midnight, and you have been cajoling Wonwoo to read your story.

"This is such a weird ending, babe."

"But...but I want the ending to be sad!"

"This is not sad. This is depressing. What happens when the guards get me after that 'I will never leave you again' line? The readers will go crazy if you end it this way!" He shakes his head and laughs before roping you into his arms as you make cute protests about how he's such a killjoy. "And I am not a killjoy. You are. You are planning to make all the readers sad."

"It's the 'I will not leave you ever again' line, Jeon Wonwoo. Jeez!" You roll your eyes and take the manuscript from his hand. "Didn't you like how romantic it was?"

"It's depressing," Wonwoo still maintains, burrowing his face into your back. "Besides, I don't think your parents will like how you made them look like crazy people who make you and your sibs marry for money. And your mom doesn't drink, babe!"

"I wasn't working on my biography, for goodness' sake!!!" you pout, screaming as he laughs and kisses you on the neck. "I was writing a story–"

"–based on our love story, but only I am this unwanted pauper and your parents are such assholes and your are this wild child that only I can tame but I die in the end when the guards pounce on me like it's football season?"

"Wow, Jeon Wonwoo," you snap sarcastically, "so many words tonight, huh?"

"How about you just tell the truth?" He continues kissing your neck. "That my uncle got sick and I stood in for him during your dad's birthday party. And we fell in love, dated in every coffee shop and library in this town, that your family adores me, and that we are already six months into our wedding?"

You stare at the manuscript in your hands, a smile forming in your face. "But..."

"...it's a happier ending and I don't die at the end."

You laugh and turn to him, dropping the manuscript on the floor. As you claim Jeon Wonwoo's lips and catch sight of how your wedding rings glinted beneath the chandelier of your family's library, you think about rewriting the story all over again.

This time, with the true events that unfolded. No longer fiction, as you promised your publisher–but a biography, a celebration of a love story that you were lucky to have.

A true love story with a happy ending.

- 4.

[sanussy]

Navigation

Here you can find a navigation of all my tags for all the fandoms I reblog! If a link doesn't work please let me know and I will fix it ASAP

All group and member tags are under the cut! Basics are above the cut

Basic Key:

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☆: smut

♤: angst

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¤ fem

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Fandoms I may read for: marvel, dc, house of the dragon, the witcher, star wars

[ksywoo]

currently working on...

ask me about anything im working on >:) it's easy to coax me into giving snippets/spoilers

titles subject to change

♡ orange hearts are ones i'm most excited about :)

SEVENTEEN

♡ no title - csc #1

choi seungcheol x reader - fwb, exes to lovers current wc: 6k

♡ no title - ksy #1

kwon soonyoung x friends sibling!reader- partial smau (most likely), fake dating, reader is one of svt's sibling current wc: 4.3k

♡ no title - jww #1

jeon wonwoo x reader - friends to lovers, wonwoo is obvious and reader is oblivious current wc: 1.2k

♡ the us before

jeon wonwoo x reader - college exes to adult lovers, single dad wonwoo, reader is cheol's sibling, reconnect a decade after breaking up, big city to small town (gilmore girl vibes), reader has some Issues but reader and wonwoo both learn things from each other it's very healthy current wc: 8.7k

♡ no title - kmg #1

fratboy!kim mingyu x good student!reader - (possible smau), stranger to friends to lovers, lots of shy and clumsy gyu, reader is very focused on their studies but gets distracted by cute tall boy current wc: 1k

♡ can you love me?

xu minghao x reader - bffs to lovers, inspired by side to side by the8, basically hao just wants to hold readers hand for the entire fic current wc: 6k

♡ no title - bsk #1

boo seungkwan x reader - bffs with seungkwan, fake dating with cheol, NOT A LOVE TRIANGLE !!!! current wc: 855

♡ no title - bsk #2

slytherin!boo seungkwan x hufflepuff!reader - hogwarts au, one sided enemies to lovers, fake dating current wc: 11k

NCT (all units)

♡ no title - ml #1

mark lee x bff's sibling!reader - reader is donghyucks younger sibling, readers friends dates mark, lots of confusion and drama current wc: 4.8k

♡ no title - lyy #1

liu yangyang x reader - smau, wrong timing trope, partial jaehyun x reader bc they date but not really a love triangle if the third wheel (jaehyun) knew they were doomed from the beginning current wc: 3k + texts/tweets

STRAY KIDS

♡ is that my mom?

seo changbin x reader - yns mom loves changbin (bc i fully believe any and all moms love changbin) basically just 3 times changbin and yns mom talk on the phone and the 1 time they meet in person current wc: 700

♡ look into my eyes and touch my hand

han jisung x reader - mind reading ?? different than im used to but kinda love it ngl, reader can hear people's thoughts when they touch, han has a different secret ability too current wc: 3k

♡ what it takes for you to notice

kim seungmin x fem!reader - felix's older sister!reader, fake dating han but it's fake flirting so seungmin notices reader current wc: 1.3k

all groups reactions

SVT - all members drunk phone calls (leaders already posted)

SVT - hhu with s/o with similar personality (requested)

SVT - vocal unit comforting you when you've had a bad day (requested)

SVT - vocal unit being jealous (requested)

SVT - gn!reader doesn't want kids (requested)

[cheolaholic]

bound to you; jww (trailer !!)

the world will burn before he lets you go.

abo universe • mafia au • arranged marriage • fluff, smut, angst • hurt-comfort

pairing; jeon wonwoo x f!reader | wc; 22k | rating; 18+ explicit nsfw

summary; With a subtle fire growing between two vastly different souls, are they doomed to surrender to a bond that binds them together? Or... are they exactly what each other need?

contains; mafia boss! wonwoo, florist! reader, alpha! wonwoo, omega! reader, reader knows how to fight back/stand her ground even though she’s submissive, right hand man! woozi, beta! svt members (cheol, woozi, gyu, vernon & chan), mentions of JxW, wonwoo is unhinge but not too unhinged, woozi encouraging/supporting wonwoo to be more unhinged, wonwoo wears glasses, very subtle “where is my wife!?” trope, not really sure who fell first and who fell harder, unplanned pregnancy, the honeymoon scene is sweet AND nasty

mature/trigger warnings; dom! wonwoo, sub! reader, big dick! wonwoo, knotting, biting/marking kink, size kink, use of sex toys, g-spot stimulation, breeding kink, unprotected sex (wrap it before you do the nasty), mating press, implied sex marathon when reader is in heat, somewhat of an aftercare, reader is extremely horny when in heat, wonwoo doesn’t mind bcs he’s just as horny and has really high stamina, tummy bulge, creampies, squirting, that one business proposal scene, drugs (heat inducers, heat/rut suppressants), forced drugging, weapons (guns, knives, needles etc), abduction, violence (it’s a mafia au so, yea), mentions of miscarriage, etc

petnames; his (Nonu, Alpha), hers (Doll, Babydoll)

a/n; was lowkey stressing about this fic for a bit ngl but WOOHOO NEW FIC COMING SOON !! read it now on my patreon, or you can wait til 30th April 2025 KST for it to be released here & ao3~ taglist is closed !! see you all in my next work !!

Your tone came out sharper than you intended when you replied, “You think you can control that?”

A sly smirk tugs at his lips, “Control? It’d be fun to break you, sure, but… I quite like the idea of having a feisty Omega by my side. Believe me, babydoll, I know what it’s like to prove yourself to be seen and acknowledged. I had to do the same to prove it to my father and grandfather. You didn’t think I was handed this position just like that, did you?”

"I don’t doubt you had to fight for it," you say quietly. "But I’m not here for a power struggle. Not with you, not with anyone."

He shifts slightly, giving your thigh a firm squeeze. “Look, babydoll, I don’t expect you to bend over my desk or lap whenever I tell you to. But, I do expect you to listen to me when it comes to your safety or if you’re ever caught in the crossfire of my dealings. Is that understood?”

You meet his gaze, feeling a shiver run down your spine. The grip he had on your thigh had goosebumps rising, but the touch wasn’t just possessive; it was also protective. A silent reminder.

“I know you’re more than capable of handling yourself, babydoll. But being capable doesn’t mean you have to face every danger alone, and in my world, in my life, it’s not kind to the unprepared despite their capabilities to be able to stand up for themselves.”

You bite back the words you want to say, about how you weren’t some fragile porcelain doll. That you didn’t need him to look after you like you’re some helpless Omega –

“I’m not asking you to give up the control you have over your life. I can see as clear as day that you’ve been able to manage just fine without an Alpha.” Oh.

“What I’m asking from you is to trust me when it matters. I know this marriage is out of convenience, for the sake of the mating bond, but you’re not someone I’m willing to let slip through the cracks either. Not without a fight.”

His words pulled your defenses down just a little, but you still held on tight to the edges of your resolve. Perhaps it was because of the many judgemental and snide comments you’ve received from others, especially Alphas, in the past that made you want to argue with him. The way he speaks, so calm and measured, you were itching to fight back.

But, something in his eyes stops you. There was no sign of mockery, no superiority – just a raw honesty you’d never thought you’d see in an Alpha. Much less the one that practically rules over the entire city.

“I didn’t ask for any of this…” You voiced out, sounding quieter than you’d intended. “I didn’t ask for you to be my mate. I didn’t ask for you to try and protect me.”

While he doesn’t flinch at your words, there’s a shift in his posture, a subtle tense in his shoulders that tells you he isn’t completely unaffected by your words.

“I know, babydoll,” his tone now tinged with something that feels like understanding, “But, believe me when I say that I am not asking for your submission. I’m asking for your trust. If I wanted to control you, I would’ve made that clear six months ago.”

“Can’t believe those bastards had to wait six months to do this stupid party…” you mumbled, cheeks heating up as you realised you sound like a girl throwing a little tantrum.

Wonwoo chuckles, “Well, our schedules have been overlapping. I think they expected us to go on a honeymoon for a while.”

“Tch, as if I’d ever want to be on the same bed as you.”

“Moving back to the topic earlier, I’m not asking for a leash, babydoll,” his voice is low, almost soothing. “I’m asking you to let me stand by your side when the world gets too heavy. Because it will. And when that happens... I don’t want you to face it alone. All I ask for is your trust and to let me understand you.”

You’re unsure of what to say next, the weight of his gaze making it difficult to think clearly. You’ve spent almost your entire life resisting the idea of relying on anyone, but here he is, asking for something as simple as your trust.

The sincerity in his words linger, and for the first time, you wonder if you’ve misjudged the Alpha. Maybe he wasn’t like the others that were trying to force their way into an Omega’s life. Maybe he wasn’t looking to bend or break an Omega so they’d be solely dependent on their Alpha.

Maybe he too was looking for something different. Something that goes beyond fated bonds and forced relationships.

You look at him, and for the first time, you allow yourself to wonder if there’s a part of you that could trust him.

[camandemstudios]

taglist for pane-ting you a picture:

@LexyRaeWorld @jup1ter11 @Toplinehyunjin @choco-scoups  @aaniag 

@Hipsdofangirl @Quiescentlyme @star-wingz  @gyuhao365 @cookiearmy  

@Codeinebelle @samsemsame @blaycke @Nightshadeblooming @ybimoon

@jrinbb @Jihoonsbbygirl @heeambi @izzyy-stuff @baekjiiisbagel 

@wooahaee @gyuhao365 @gyubakeries @yenalololol @elegancefr

@mngyulvrs  @mooniewrld @ochidize @secretgwenstacy @Notmels 

@minwonwoozi @lilylikesthat @hoshis-wave @fancypeacepersona @ts19009

@choco-scoups @wonsivq @Spookykryptonitegardener @cookiearmy @Ateez-atiny380

@intoanothermind @lllucere @leechanniee @iamawkwardandshy @min-has-trusttissues

@vnstennis @bokk-minnie @mrsjohnnysuh 

@wonuskie @ourkivee @palmsugr

pane-ting you a picture

An @camandemstudios winter collaboration Pairing: wonwoo x gn!reader Genre: romcom, fluff, slight angst Word count: 6.1k rating: pg tags: Artist!reader, shorter!reader, mentions of food, mentions of jobs loss, mentions of loneliness, snowed in, penpals, yearning, slice of life Summary: Snow is beautiful—when you’re not trapped in it. After days of relentless snowstorms that left your family without electricity—let alone entertainment—you found an unexpected refuge: sketching on the condensation of your windows. What began as idle doodles soon turned into shared exchanges with someone in the neighboring cabin. Though you don’t know who they are or even what they look like, the icy walls and snow couldn’t keep them out your head. author note: thank you @highvern @haologram @gyuswhore @lovetaroandtaemin with brainstorming, banner development, and finalizing this very fluffy piece of work for me. I hope that everyone that reads enjoys. Happy holidays 💗

Tag: @shiningstar-byulxx @misssugarlips @tommolex @hoeforhao @dkakapizzaboy @junhui-recs @svtup @buffhoshi @meowmeowminnie @caratochan @lovebot4han @camisun93 @emmmui @toruro @jeonride @novalpha @nvmrljk @feat-sun @tinkerbell460 @aaniag @tacosandbitch @kyeomiis @wonwooz1-blog @horanghaezone @stagefrjghts @pantumin @aaniag @mochisdayone @gyuguys @idubiluranghae

You expected the holidays to feel lonely this year—just not in the way you imagined.

Instead of the dreaded reality of working through Christmas again, like you had the past couple of years since moving away from home, you’ve found yourself right back where you started. Living with your parents, grappling with the weight of feeling like you failed at adulthood. Paying the bills had become a distant fantasy, leaving even your dreams to taunt you with the craving for a livable wage. It all became too much—and yet somehow, not enough. Moving back home felt like the only option left.

Your parents were thrilled, to say the least—ecstatic, even—to have their eldest back under their roof, having the whole family under one roof again. But for you, it wasn’t the homecoming you had envisioned. You had hoped to return someday with something to show for your time away, some proof that you’d made it on your own.

To mark the occasion, they planned a family getaway, a trip to the mountains surrounded by endless snow. It had been years since the last time you did anything like this together, long before the separation. You had looked forward to it—briefly—until the melancholy of the weather seeped into your chest the moment you arrived. The “lots and lots of snow” your parents had promised quickly turned into an unavoidable obstacle.

Not even a day after you settled in, the whole unit was told that the power had gone out in all the nearby cabins. A widespread blackout had left you stranded in the middle of nowhere, with snow flooding the roads to the nearest businesses. It would be a while before you could even dream of grabbing a snack or anything hot that wasn’t water or those sickly sweet instant hot chocolates.

And now, you were starting to remember just how hard it could be to live with your family again—especially under such trying circumstances. The constant back-and-forth over the tiniest matters, the unsolicited lectures about concepts that were commonsensical, and now the pitying glances. Worse yet were the relentless offers from your parents to set you up with jobs through their friends. If you had to hear about mom’s friend, Barbara, needing an office assistant at her day care center again, you feared you’d lose it.

The weight of it all was becoming harder to bear. Overwhelm was no longer a passing feeling but a constant companion. Your only reprieve was retreating to your bedroom, a cramped space with a single window that came off cozier than anticipated.

You were grateful to have a space of your own again after going without it for as long as you did. If there was one thing you had loved about living alone, it was the solitude—even in the brief moments when your roommate was out. At least then, you could find ways to entertain yourself. Sadly, one of those distractions, your sketchbook, was left behind in the city, abandoned alongside your ambition, your will.

You resorted to tracing shapes in the frost on your windows, the delicate squeak of condensation yielding beneath the pad of your finger the only sound breaking the serene stillness around you. Through the fleeting transparency of your doodles, once tracing the outlines of distant mountains, you spotted another cabin buried under just as much snow as yours.

Curiosity piqued, you press your hands against the cold glass, wiping away the condensation for a clearer view. A window in the other cabin stood nearly parallel to yours, like a portal into another world just out of reach. Before you could even imagine what might lie beyond, a hand suddenly slammed flat against their glass, startling you—a moment straight out of a horror movie.

You nearly yelp but quickly clasped your hand over your mouth to stifle the sound, regaining confidence to look back at the window. Through the neighboring window, the figure with a blurry mop of dark hair began tracing something in the rapidly forming frost. A sloppy ‘hello’ took shape on their side of the glass—backward, but unmistakable.

You chuckled at the sight, assuming the person on the other end was some bored kid, just as restless and bored as you were. Deciding to play along, you traced a reply—a proper, right-sided ‘hello’—before adding a smiley face for good measure. It was a lighthearted exchange, the wholesome moment making you genuinely grin for the first on this trip.

‘Name?’ you drew on the glass, the letters quickly fading as the frost crept back.

‘Wonwoo,’ appeared in shaky but right-side-up letters this time. You couldn’t help but smile at the effort. ‘You?’ they added beneath it, their hand pausing as though waiting with bated breath.

Your finger hovered hesitantly over the fogged-up window as you traced your name, watching the letters slowly take shape. There wasn’t much time to second-guess your decision before they replied with a simple, ‘Nice,’ making it harder to regret it.

Though it was hard to decipher much of what they were trying to communicate, one thing was clear: they loved to talk. And talk they did through endless doodles and barely decipherable scribbles against the glass, turning this serendipitous encounter into a game of charades. From your side, though, most of it looked like nonsense.

Still, it didn’t matter. You were having fun—exchanging prolonged moments with an unseen stranger on the other side of a different window.

A moment stretched into minutes, hours, even days. Long enough that it no longer mattered who was on the other side—though, judging by the look of their hands, it was definitely no kid. Slowly but surely, you found yourself starting to see them as a friend, a routine while you were stuck in the depths of snow.

‘Dinner?’ You’d ask one night, depending on the dim lighting powered by solar energy, listing up the shadows that would lift the surface of Wonwoo’s window.

‘Spaghetti,’ he replied, adding a clumsy doodle of noodles on a plate. ‘You?’  

‘Beef stew,’ you answered, following it up with your abstract attempt at drawing a cow.  

‘LOL, COW?’  

‘Yeah, why?’  

‘Kinda sucks.’  

You scoffed, a grin spreading across your face at the unexpected insult. ‘Rude.’  

‘Honest...pretty bad.’  

You couldn’t help but laugh, enjoying these exchanges far more than you expected. The two of you had learned to condense your conversations into quick, simple words, racing against the frost that always made its speedy return. But that made your efforts more of a game, adding a bit of challenge to an otherwise simple conversation.

Your parents were starting to notice how much time you spent cooped up in your room, often calling you out for quality family time—which, in your opinion, you were already doing enough of stuck inside. They seemed to see your alone time—if you could call it that—eating time away at their opportunity to bond. Even your sister, normally so self-involved, had begun making remarks, wondering if the downfall of your life in the city affected you now to have you become such a recluse.

Still, a small part of you wondered if they had a point. Maybe you were spending a bit too much time at the window. But if you were being honest, talking to Wonwoo had become addictive. It was turning into a deliberate decision—to spend every available morning, afternoon, and night tracing words and shapes on the frost, granted the time allowed it.

What began as a way to cope with the isolation, a means to burn through the endless hours, had become a light in the pit of your self-loathing and your emotional turmoil. The more you learned about your mysterious pen pal, the more you found yourself wanting to meet him, eager to put a face to the distraction that took your mind off the snow and things beyond.

“The snow’s finally letting up, sweetie. Why don’t we take a trip to the grocery store, hmm?” Your mom’s hand rested gently on your back, her warm, soothing tone wrapping around you like a blanket.

You glanced at her, your features softening at the tender smile she offered. “Why about Jan?” you suggested, nodding toward her bedroom door, knowing it awaited your sister past it. “She might want to go.”

“But I want you to go.” Her voice had that unmistakable motherly insistence. “I think it’ll do my baby some good to get some fresh air. You can take Dad’s car.”

You hesitated, your gaze drifting toward the window as curiosity tugged at your thoughts. What might he be doing now that the weather was finally clearing? You’d waited for a response, wondering if his family had roped him into another board game or if he was outside, just as your mom was trying to get you to be. Either way, you missed him—but perhaps not enough to keep waiting around.  

“Sure,” you said with a small sigh. “Why not.”

The roads were still rough but manageable, and it was admittedly refreshing to see more than just the endless expanse of white that had dominated the past few days. The sun beamed down, its warmth seeping into the interior of the unheated car, a welcome change from the cold.

The grocery store sign loomed ahead, bright and almost obnoxiously loud against the snow-covered landscape as you eased into the parking lot. As expected, the place was bustling with an influx of customers eager to take advantage of the forgiving weather. Every aisle seemed occupied—parents with children, couples, or solo shoppers—shuffling between essentials and indulgences to make the most of their outing.  

You clutched the list your mom had handed you, systematically rummaging through shelves and coolers, tossing the requested items into your cart aisle by aisle. You were almost finished, having gathered just about everything your family needed, when something unexpected caught your eye.  

In the kid’s toys section, tucked between vibrant miniature trucks and rows of Barbie dolls, a single sketch pad stood out. It was plain but familiar, similar to the one you had lost so long ago. It would be useful in your attempts to communicate with the neighboring cabinet and perhaps revive a passion that you were quick to give up then.

You decided to inconspicuously maneuver your cart closer, as subtle as one could with its squeaky wheels, and reached for the pad as you moved away from the cart. At that same moment, another hand landed on it, fingers brushing the cover in perfect synchronicity with yours.

You met his eyes, shielded by a single pair of eye frames, but nonetheless deep and warm. His hair, a dark and familiar but common shade of black, fell slightly over his forehead as the two of you crouched face-to-face. Rising in unison, the sketchpad still clutched between you, you offered a polite smile.  

“Sorry, but do you mind letting go? I found it first,” you said with as much civility as you could muster.  

“Not to be rude,” he replied, his voice low and mellow, “but I’m pretty sure I saw it first. We just happened to grab it at the same time.”  

“Ha. Well, I wouldn’t know that, seeing as all I saw was my hand reaching for it.”  

“And that’s why spatial awareness is so important,” he pointed out casually. 

You sighed, feeling an almost tangible heat simmer behind your temples. “Look, I think it’d be really kind of you to just let me have this—”  

“And what if I don’t?”  

“It’s a sketchpad, not water, not batteries, not a ham radio. A sketchpad. They’re a dime a dozen.”  

He raised an eyebrow, a playful challenge glinting in his eyes. “Then why don’t you go find another one?”  

“Because it’s here, and I happen to need one.”  

“As do I.”  

“Well,” you huffed, “I’m an artist.”  

“As am I.”  

You groaned in exasperation, tightening your grip on the pad. “This isn’t going anywhere.”  

“Agreed.” His expression shifted, resolute yet calm, his features almost annoyingly defined and symmetrical. “I take the sketchpad, and you find something else.”  

“You—” You stopped yourself, drawing a deep breath, trying to suppress the steam threatening to escape your ears.  

He chuckled softly, the sound light but deliberate, as if enjoying the minor conflict he’d stirred. When you opened your eyes, his slight smile met you—subtle but undeniably captivating, his amusement as clear as the sky was blue, free of storm clouds.

“There has to be a way for you to give this up,” you said, attempting to negotiate. “What do you want?”  

“For starters,” he said, nudging the sketchpad in your hands with insistence, “this.”  

“What else?” you pressed, rolling your eyes. “Something you’d want in exchange.”  

He paused, considering, his large hand still gripping the sketchpad like it was a lifeline. “How desperate are you for this notebook?”  

The hairs on the back of your neck stood as you instinctively took a step back. “I’d like it very much…”  

“Why do you look scared?”  

“Why are you behaving creepy?”  

“Creepy?” he echoed, sounding almost offended.  

“Well, what else am I supposed to think when you ask questions like ‘how desperate are you’ over something as mundane as a sketchpad? I should be running away screaming right now.”  

“But you’re not,” he pointed out smugly. “Because of this so-called mundane thing.”  

“Well, it’s all I want,” you said firmly. “So.”

“Fine,” he said, his tone shifting. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll let you have it—”  

“Really?” You perked up in excitement.

“—if…”  

“…If?”  

“If you draw me.”  

You blinked at him, utterly baffled as you repeated after him. “Draw you?”  

“Yeah,” he confirmed, shrugging as if it was an easy task. “Draw a picture of me, and it’s yours.”  

You stared at him, skeptical. “Are you some kind of egotistical maniac who makes people sketch his portrait before killing them?”  

He scoffed. “No. I’m just bored. You said you were an artist, didn’t you? Seems fair. Besides, we’ve got time to kill. Draw me.”  

You eyed him cautiously, weighing whether this sketchpad was truly worth lingering in the presence of this weirdo—an undeniably good-looking weirdo, but a weirdo all the same.  

“What? Worried about the ice cream melting?” he teased.

You shot him a glare before snatching the sketchpad from his grip as he finally relented. “You want a profile or full body?”  

“Full body, of course.”  

“Of course, you do,” you muttered, rolling your eyes.  

After finishing your purchases and loading up your cars, the two of you set off in search of a private, scenic spot. The cold bit the sliver of skin that was exposed, and the snow crunched beneath your feet as you trudged through the frosted terrain. Fortunately, you stumbled upon a small clearing, tucked away and shielded from the relentless winds. The landscape, blanketed in untouched snow and dappled with soft sunlight, offered a rare moment of peace, tranquility—perfect for capturing the stranger in his essence.

"Wow," you murmured, stepping out of your car and taking in the breathtaking scene before you.  

"Wow is right," the stranger echoed, towering over you in his thick winter coat, a snug layer of wool wrapped around his neck and top of his head. His presence felt larger than life against the serene backdrop, a picture-esque image. A perfect muse. "Almost feels like a waste, setting all this up for little ol’ me. But hey, not my problem."  

He unraveled his scarf slightly, the crisp air brushing against his now-exposed features, sharp and striking in the natural light of the beaming sun. Casually, he settled onto a rock perfectly positioned in the clearing, leaning back as if it were a throne made just for him.  

“Your call,” he urged, flashing a playful grin. “Draw me like one of your French girls, Jack.” 

You let out a soft chuckle, taking a few steps back to put some distance between you and your subject. With the pencil you’d serendipitously scavenged from your car, you raised it to eye level as if you were a seasoned artist with half an idea of what they’re doing, squinting slightly as you angled it toward him, pretending to search for the best perspective to capture his features. “I have a feeling you’re gonna be hard to work with.”

“Only if you're doing it wrong.”

Finding your stance, you began visualizing his figure on the first page of your newly acquired sketchpad. You focused on the broadness of his shoulders beneath the thick fabric of his coat and the subtle shift of his boots scuffing the snow. He remained still with little effort, making him all the easier to sketch.

“You’re getting my good side, aren’t you?” he asked, his grin nonchalant, but clearly amused as he adjusted his scarf towards the direction of the wind.

“I met you today. How am I supposed to know which side is your good side?”  

“Well, I figured you’ve been looking at me long enough to figure it out.” He leaned back slightly. “But that’s a trick question—all my sides are good sides.”  

You shook your head, shading in a bit of shadow on the outline of your sketch. “You’re insufferable,” you commented, not looking up.

“Well, God is fair.” He sighed exaggeratedly, his breath visible in the crisp air. “If I were humble too, I’d be too perfect, don’t you think?”  

“I think you’d make a better model with your mouth shut,” you replied, glancing up briefly as his grin widened.

The flow of the conversation felt familiar, inviting—weirdly amusing unmatched most conversations you’ve had the past couple years, except perhaps your exchanges with Wonwoo. That is, if you could ever manage to say more than three words at a time to him through the frosted traces on the window. Perhaps your gravitation for either of these men stemmed from the absence of a partner in your life all these years, a quiet longing projected onto them. Either way, there seemed to be no harm in indulging in the attention.  

This stranger exuded a certain kindness—an audacious, unconventional amicability that defied explanation but felt undeniably real. It radiated through the harsh winter winds and the ever-deepening snow, a humanity that seemed to drip effortlessly onto your sketchpad. As you captured his form in the way your hands could manage in this damning weather, you found yourself rediscovering your passion thanks to an entitled no-name.

"How's it going?" he asked, curiosity coloring his tone.  

"Almost done," you replied, focusing on penciling in a few final details.  

"Let me see."  

Before you could respond, he hopped off the rock and stepped closer, leaning over your shoulder—his presence towering over you. "Huh. Not bad. But you're missing the defining features on my face,” his hand swept over his face, “you know—the eyes, my cheekbones. My distinct features."  

You tilted your head, fixing him with a deadpan stare. "Okay, well, your glasses are in the way, so I can only do so much."  

"Fine," he said with exaggerated resignation. Without warning, he took your wrist, his fingers brushing over your surging pulse, and gently guided you to sit against the cold, weathered rock behind him. He crouched in front of you, his face now level with yours, the sharp angles of his features highlighted by the pale, wintry light. The mischievous glint in his eyes was undeniably captivating, the blood pumping through your veins in a way the cold never could. "Here. A closer look—for accuracy."  

"For accuracy?" you echoed, raising an eyebrow.  

"Just don’t get any funny ideas," he added, his frost-touched breath, lingering the remnant of hot chocolate, making that smile on his face sweeter than you’d like it to be.

"Wouldn’t dream of it," you retorted, shifting your grip on the pencil on the sketchpad as you tried to ignore the way his proximity set your nerves buzzing.

As your eyes moved from the stranger to the sketch, you could notice as he stared back at you just as intently, as if looking directly into your soul, taking note of you and tracing you from memory. Perhaps that was his task as a self-assigned model, to familiarize themselves with their creator—or in his case hostage. 

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, drawing attention to the slender curve of his neck, bare and delicate. The smooth skin there traced a path upward, leading to the sharp features of his face—his soft lips, the high bridge of his nose, and his keen, fox-like eyes. Your breath was caught, unbidden, as you took a moment to take him in. Your eyes locked with his—just for a fleeting second—before you quickly returned to your sketch, pretending as if you weren’t for a moment thinking more than an artist should.

“Okay. Done,” you concluded with the tap on the page.

The stranger looked it over, holding the sketch pad towards him, smiling. “Don’t forget to sign it.”

”Oh, yeah that’s right,” you said, adding your initials in a prominent spot. “Been so long since I’ve had to do that.”

“Haven’t drawn in a while?”

You shook your head. “Not of people no, not as seriously either.”

”Well, it’s good. Keep it up.”

As you started to tear off the sheet with the sketch—holding the first page reluctantly between your fingers—you hesitated for a moment, then decided to gather the first half of the pages from the sketchbook. You tore them off in one satisfying swift motion and handed the stack to him. “Here.”

His eyes slightly widened in surprise, and he took the papers from you cautiously. “Are you sure?”

“There’s hundreds of pages.” You shrugged, “What do I need the whole stack for?”

He snickered, dusting off the eraser shavings as he admired the sketch again, he grinned happily with his exchange, making him a satisfied customer. “I wonder how much I can sell this for.”

“Maybe your mom will buy it off you,” you playfully retorted.

He, still unnamed, tucked his drawing in his bag, closing the passer door to his car, he walked back toward you, a lingering wistful smile on his face. 

“I guess this is where I leave,” he said, a raise and fall to his voice, something dramatic in his tone. “Never to be seen again.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Yep. All's well that ends well, I guess.”

Before you could retreat to your car, his voice stopped you. “That’s it?”

You turned back, meeting his expectant gaze. “What?”

“I thought we had a moment here. Shared something special.”

You tilted your head, feigning confusion. “What? You want a scout badge for it?”

“No…”

“Then say what you mean.”

He scoffed, loosening the scarf around his neck to reveal the faint pink flush coloring his skin. “You’re really just gonna leave without saying goodbye?”  

You grinned, tilting your head. “We’ve known each other long enough for goodbyes?”  

“Why not?” he replied with a shrug that was meant to seem casual but instead came off surprisingly endearing.  

You mirrored his shrug, the flutter in your chest quickening as you met his gaze. “Then…bye, I guess,” you said softly, the words carrying a weight only got heavier.

“Bye,” he murmured, his voice barely audible, the word almost lost in the cold air between you. His smile lingered, faint but visible.

As you climbed into your car, you glanced back to find his silhouette watching, hands stuffed in his pockets. His expression was unreadable but unmistakably drawn to you, even as you moved out of view. Driving away, the sight of him standing there etched in your mind, like a ghost of regret, leaving you wishing there was more you could’ve done. You tapped against the wheel, shaking your head side to side, trying to decipher the significance of the encounter—what it meant and what it meant to you.

By the time you got home, the sun was already dipping below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of gold and pink. The day had slipped away before you even realized it, leaving you drained as you ushered your family to help with the groceries. Your sister, begrudgingly helpful, carried a single bag into the kitchen, while your parents, far more efficient, managed the rest with ease. They smiled at you as they asked about the store run.  

“It was fine,” you answered casually, omitting any mention of the fleeting encounter with a strange man and his self-absorbed request. Instead, you clutched the sketchpad tucked inside your puffer jacket, its presence comforting as you moved quickly to avoid further questions.  

After thanking everyone for stocking the groceries, you huddled inside, wasting no time darting to your room. Solitude awaited, and with it, the opportunity to test out your new sketchpad. And there was no better subject than Wonwoo. 

You wrote something in bold block letters, loud enough to catch his attention and you pressed the pad against the window.

‘Look who found something to write on!’

You held onto the sketchpad for a few minutes, waiting for a response that never came, wondering if Wonwoo was still out for the day—or maybe even the evening. Shrugging off the silence, you decided to put it to other uses, taking it to the living room as the familiar dynamics of your family unfolded before your eyes.  

By the time you got home, the power had returned. Jan had powered her phone, attached to the charging cable on the couch. The fridge, no longer relying on the backup generator, hummed with life as Mom filled it with everything cold. Meanwhile, Dad, his hankering for a beer quenched as he finally cracked one open, releasing a sigh of satisfaction.  

You settled on the stairs, sketchpad in hand, and began to recreate the scene before you. Each line brought their motions to life—the way Mom gestured animatedly, how your sister rolled her eyes with a whine, and Dad chimed in with his usual lecture in support of Mom. Their interactions flowed like a motion picture, filling your pages effortlessly.

A smile crept across your face as your pencil scratched vastly against the surface, then rapidly. You envisioned the warmth of their voices, how it would play with the lines of their shapes, drawing them how your eyes saw them. The small but welcoming chaos that was your family began to feel less like an obligation and more like something precious. What you had once dreaded, you now basked in, appreciating it for what it was. And on your sketchpad, it thrived, living through your fingertips and onto the paper. 

It was a fun little show and tell to share at dinner that night, bringing smiles to your family as you broke bread together. Even Jan, usually hard to impress, couldn’t help but seem genuinely happy for you.  

After the meal, with the house settling into its usual rhythm, you decided to try reaching out to Wonwoo again. You used the sign you had first had to catch his attention, holding it up against the glass, grasping at straws. This time, you waited longer, your breath fogging up the window as the evening chill seeped in. When nothing happened, you knocked lightly, the sound dull against the barrier between your world and his.

Just as you were about to give up again, something caught your eye—shadows of a moving figure, then a scrawl appearing faintly on what looked like a blank surface. It wasn’t elegant—messy even, like chicken scratch, but the message was somehow comprehensible:  

‘I found some paper too!’

It was hurried, uneven, written in an excited rush, and it made you break out in the biggest of smiles.

Despite the electricity restored and the household bustling again, your amusement in the simplest forms of communication never ceased to amaze you. There was a charm in it, something oddly intimate and endearing about written notes—just like Wonwoo. 

‘Where have you been all day? You weren’t here this morning,’ you interrogated.  

‘Errands. The power came on, and my parents kinda pushed us all out of the house,’ he replied.  

That answered your question well enough, not giving you much reason to doubt it—until Wonwoo threw a question of his own your way.  

‘What did you do to entertain yourself without me? Bet it was boring,’ he wrote.  

You rolled your eyes, a small grin tugging at your lips, before scribbling a reply. The more lengthy phrasing really let his personality shine. Although it didn't even take half a mind to know a mind to know Wonwoo was both silly and amicable, seeing the development was something you didn’t realize you longed to see ‘Mine kinda did the same thing. Was out grocery shopping for most of the afternoon.’  

‘Shopping took up the whole afternoon? The market’s only 30 minutes away. Something happen?’  

You hesitated, chewing on the end of your pen. Was there any point in telling Wonwoo about your encounter? Did it even matter? After a moment of thought, you decided there was no harm in sharing.  

‘Met some weirdo. An okay guy, I guess.’  

‘Interesting. Weirder than me?’

‘Up for consideration.’

‘Funny we were out at the same time. Maybe we passed by each other without knowing,’ he responded.  

‘Maybe,’ you agreed, looking back at all the people that have passed that could’ve possibly been him. 

Your exchanges had come a long way from simple signs and one-word notes, now flowing effortlessly into full sentences. There was an ease in your back-and-forth, a connection that felt as natural as breathing. You would miss this interaction when it’s time to go. And admittedly, you’d miss Wonwoo.

After playing catch up with him until the late hours of the night, scribbling your heart’s content on paper until every inch of a page was filled, you eventually grew tired, falling asleep and waking up again unsure of the time of day. You rubbed your eyes of sleep, attempting to perk yourself up, before looking at your phone for the time, the only reason you look at your phone as of late.

5:45pm. Just about plenty of time before dinner. 

When you came out of your room, it was vacant, almost eerily quiet how the living area was. “Hello,” you resonated out in the open space, legs trodding over to the kitchen.

Your gaze flickered over to a note, plucking it off the stainless steel. “Letting you sleep, some lunch in the fridge, and coming back with dinner. Love, Mom,” you recited, smiling.

It seemed your family had granted you some alone time, which you were more than happy to take advantage of. Grabbing your sketchbook from your room, you flipped through the filled pages, relieved to find a couple still untouched. The beauty of the day caught your eye, and you decided to capture it—particularly the landscape of the mountains, now finally visible beneath the layers of snow.

You flipped to any empty page, twirling a pencil between your fingers before starting out with an outline, tracing over the peak of the mountains and down its slope. You could get used to this feeling, this inspiration. Your smile widened when the picture was coming together: the shading, the rocks, the snow, even the birds that would sometimes linger on nearby trees. Your heart swelled in bliss like nothing else, any other sensation unmatched.

As you let out a frost bitten breath, presenting your picture to view as the sun was beginning to set in front of you. 

“Wow,” a deep voice called out from the darkness, startling you so badly that you dropped your book and pen.

A figure stood under the overhang of the neighboring cabin, tall but obscured by a blanket of shadows. “Who goes there?” you called out, your voice firm despite your unease.

“Who goes there? Are you a troll under a bridge?” he teased, clearly not taking your alarm seriously.

“I’m being serious. Who are you?” you demanded, stepping back cautiously.

“You can’t see me?” he asked, his voice tinged with genuine confusion.

“You’re standing in the dark like Slenderman. Of course, I can’t see you!”

“Oh. My bad.”

”Oh?! Why are you just standing there in the dark like a weirdo?”

“How am I being weird? I’m not being weird!” he protested, his voice rising slightly.

“Stop with this creepypasta crap—you scared the hell out of me! Are you a pervert or something?”

“Pervert?” he repeated, sounding offended. “Are you saying that just because I’m a man?”

“I’m saying that because you’re standing in the fucking shadows you have a knife behind your back!”

The shadowy figure finally started to get to the point and stepped out of the darkness, revealing himself to be more than a mere stranger. You blinked in surprise, recognizing him right away.

”You’re the guy from the grocery store.” You pointed out, your tone flat. “You stalking me or something?”

He narrowed his eyes, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “How do I know you’re not stalking me?”

”So, you’re saying I found you so alarmingly attractive that after drawing your picture that you requested I do, that left first to follow you all the way to your cabin, and then decided to draw mountains for fun in the middle of my stalking. Sure.”

”…Can I see them?”

You held out a cautionary hand. “Stay where you are, I have an orange belt.”

The man let out a long sigh, and your name rolled off his tongue so naturally it stopped you in your tracks. “Seriously, how do you not get it yet?”

Your eyes widened. “How do you know my name? Oh my god. You are a stalker.”

He slapped a hand against his chest in mock offense. “I’m Wonwoo, you clueless loser. The person you’ve been talking to for the past—what, week and a half?”

“…Huh.” You blinked, the pieces starting to fall into place. “That would make a lot of sense.” Still, a flicker of doubt lingered. “Prove it.”

He rolled his eyes. “You may be a good artist, but you can’t draw cows.”

You bristled. “I tried my best.”

“Your best sucked,” he quipped without hesitation.

You crossed your arms, narrowing your eyes at him but feeling the corners of your mouth tug upward despite yourself. “Hmm. Maybe you are Wonwoo.”

He crossed his arms to match yours, a grin spreading across his face at your acceptance. “I kinda had a feeling it would be you.”

You stepped closer, tilting your head. “Oh yeah? How?”

“Well…” His grin grew wider. “I was more so hoping it’d be you. You’re just as interesting in person as you are through…messages? Notes? Can we even call them that?”

You laughed, his words bringing back every ridiculous attempt you’d made to communicate—doodling, caveman vocabulary, the chicken scratch that was already hard enough to read with the condensation on the window.

“Well, it’s good to finally meet you,” you said, extending a hand. “Wonwoo.”

He glanced at your hand, amused. “A handshake?”

You shrugged, smiling. “What’s a better way to officially say hello?”

He shook his head, chuckling, and clasped your hand. The handshake started innocently enough, but then he tugged you forward, pulling you against him. Your breath caught as your bodies pressed together, the warmth between you defying the winter chill. His gaze locked onto yours, holding on to like and suddenly, the world around you seemed to fade.

You weren’t sure how to react, your heart pounding like it was trying to break free, leaving you standing there, suspended in what felt like a hallmark film annoyingly enough. And with that thought, you broke from the spell, finding the courage to speak. “What was that for?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Couldn’t help myself,” he replied, his gaze fixed on you as if time had frozen, a lingering smile playing on his lips.

The corners of your mouth twitched upward despite yourself, almost melting under his playful watch. “Funny.”

“What?”

“We just met, and you’re already hitting on me?”

He scoffed, practically beaming at you falling seamlessly into his rhythm. Thought that was a given, considering the time you’ve known each other. “Actually, we’ve met a total of three times. And, as they say, the third time’s the charm.”

You mused up at him, for a moment entertaining the idea, seeing the picture he was trying to paint. “For what exactly?”

He nonchalantly shrugged, gaze softening as they fell over your features lower, arms sliding up your sides, “Well, ever since you drew me on that rock, I’ve wanted to hug you because I didn’t know if I would ever get the chance to.”

”And now?”

His hand reached up to brush the top of your head, and fingers delicately found themselves through your hair, weaving through with a slow reverent touch. “I hadn’t gotten that far yet,” he softly admitted, “but if you’ll let me, maybe I can make you a part of my art one day.”

”You know…that doesn't make you sound any less like a serial killer.”

”You can’t let me have one serious moment, can you?”

“I think you’ve known me long enough to answer that question yourself,” You grinned.

[nu-reads]

circulation desk inquiry: search by members

━━ members -> #m: [initials]

✏︎ [csc] seungcheol

✏︎ [yjh] jeonghan

✏︎ [hjs] joshua

✏︎ [wjh] junhui

✏︎ [ksy] soonyoung

✏︎ [jww] wonwoo

✏︎ [ljh] jihoon

✏︎ [lsm] seokmin

✏︎ [kmg] mingyu

✏︎ [xmh] minghao

✏︎ [bsk] seungkwan

✏︎ [hvc] vernon

✏︎ [lc] chan

✏︎ [svt] all members

━━ from the librarian:

this section is only filtered by members. there will not be any genre or fic type differentiations available for mobile and the desktop site. nsfw and sfw are grouped together.

━━ notes:

made for mobile

links will be added when I start adding to the library

updated: oct.20.23