tick-tam - Tumblr blog

tick-tam · 2 days ago

Text

I read this one after the other especially bcuz I liked your other work. I am so happy I checked this out. I love the concept and the execution is even better(both are amazing). The slight ways you inculcate the subtle traits and habits into the story. The love and understanding from all side. This has to be the sweetest mafia story excluding the violence. But still the kids really do bring a certain innocence. I hope everyone reading this decides to give this a try. A wonderful piece.

Finding Yourself - C.SC [Part 3]

🐢Who: Choi Seungcheol (Seventeen) x female reader 🐢What: 18+. Dark themes. Mafia au. Angst. Fluff. Suggestive. Slow burn. Mafia Boss Seungcheol. Single parent Seungcheol. Strangers to friends to lovers. Chan is reader’s little brother. Hansol is Seungcheol’s son. 🐢Word count: 13.7k 🐢Warnings: Characters with autism/ADHD. Selective mutism. Mentions and depictions of being overwhelmed/sensory overload and meltdowns. Mentions of smoking. Hospitalisation and medical stuff that will not be accurate (I have no experience with that other than TV shows). Blood and various injuries. Suggestive content & sexual conversations. Gang typical content: threats, violence, torture (including with water), weapons, injury, blood, morally fucked up characters, mentions of past forced sex work, death. Mentions of being branded. Degrading language, including mental disability slur. Mentions of past child abuse/abusive parents. Mentions of past forced medical sterilisation. Mentions of nightmares. Discussion of past murder-suicide. 🐢Summary:“In an attempt to protect your little brother, you run away from home and the gang your father forced you into as a teenager.

You truly thought you were done with that life. But months later, when members of the Centaurs gang find you and your brother squatting in their property mid gang-fight, they take you back to their headquarters and force you right back into it.

Suddenly, you find yourself living in the home of the leader of the oldest, most famous gang in the entire country, and you very quickly realise that he isn’t the ruthless monster everyone thinks he is.”

Minors do NOT interact, which means reblogging and/or commenting on this story. I WILL block any account that interacts without an age indicator in their bio.

Masterlist Finding Yourself Part 1 – Finding Yourself Part 2

A/N- Here is it! The third and final piece to Finding Yourself. I just want to take the chance real quick to say I genuinely never expected this story to receive the love it has, and I truly appreciate every single one of you who has commented/reblogged. Thank you for supporting this story.

Also, a giant thank you to my beabie @ourdawnishotterthanourday for being so supportive throughout the entire process of writing and posting this, and of course, taking the time to read this all and correct my often-atrocious grammar and dumbass way of speaking being reflected in my writing. Love you bby 💗

Disclaimer: Okay, so I feel like I need to point out that I do have both autism and ADHD, and I have done a lot of research around both during my own discovery/diagnosis periods; even now I’m constantly learning that more aspects of myself are very common in people with autism/ADHD so there is truth behind how the characters are portrayed in this fic. Yet, with that being said, both autism and ADHD are very vast in that you can have a room full of people with both disabilities and yet every single one of those people are incredibly different, which means that the characters in this story who have autism or ADHD are not accurate portrayals of every single person with either. There are 4 clearly stated autistic people in this fic throughout and they are each different personalities and how their disability affects them. So please don’t leave comments or send rude asks accusing me of misrepresentation or anything like that just because a character you’ve watched in a movie isn’t written the same as these characters, thanks.

Accidents happen, especially around children; you’re very aware of that and you’ve always said that you won’t blame anyone if Chan gets hurt due to a genuine accident. But saying it is one thing, remembering the words when faced with the sight that makes your heart momentarily stop beating is another thing entirely.

“Oh, come on, I’m the boss, baby, if I say that you can take five minutes off to make out with me in the backseat of my car, nobody can say shit,” Seungcheol murmurs against your ear, both of his hands firmly holding your hips to keep you pressed back against him, even as you try to return to work.

Roughly twenty minutes ago, you had joined Jihoon out the front of the garage as he took a mid-morning smoke break when Seungcheol happened to arrive to get his oil changed. You had taken charge of the simple task while the pair talked between them about the new cars due to come in any day now, as an upgrade for the current ones used to travel around the estate. The whole time, you could feel Seungcheol’s eyes glued to your ass as you bent over his car, and Jihoon obviously noticed too and wasn’t subtle about leaving you two in peace.

Now, Seungcheol is pressed against your back and trying to convince you to stay with him, which honestly, you want to do. But seeing the big, scary gang boss all whiny and needy just for you is very entertaining; so, you keep wiggling away, only to let him pull you back.

“Jihoon’s my boss,” you remind him with an innocent hum. “You’re my boyfriend.”

Seungcheol grins against your neck. “Yeah, I am,” he confirms, then abruptly turns you to pin between his body and the side of his car. “And you haven’t kissed your boyfriend yet today.”

“Haven’t seen my boyfriend until now,” you point out while running your hands over his arms in his leather riding jacket appreciatively. “Why are you wearing your bike jacket when you’re not going out on it today?”

“Because I’m a considerate boyfriend.” You raise a questioning eyebrow at him. “You very blatantly checked me out when I was wearing this the other day. You like me in this.”

“Like you out of it too.”

“Babe,” he complains. “Don’t wind me up; you know I wanna fuck you a fucking ridiculous amount, but we haven’t had the chance.”

“Almost a whole month together and you haven’t put your dick in me.” You tut disapprovingly. He makes a suffering sound and presses closer to you, while his hands smooth around your body to your back to pull you in at the same time as he gets nearer. “Haven’t even tried to either, but you always stop me.”

“I don’t want our first time to be rushed or anything, baby. I want to lay you out and fucking worship you,” he reasons in a quiet voice while leaning down to brush his nose against yours gently. “I want to be certain we’ll have no interruptions so I can focus entirely on you, like you deserve.”

“That does sound nice,” you concede in a thoughtful murmur that makes him hum approvingly before pecking your lips sweetly. “But also, so does getting fucked in general.” He sighs and slumps while giving you a flat, unimpressed look. “What? You never know what could happen! What if last night in the locker room was the only chance we have?”

“I’m pretty fucking sure I’ll get another chance that doesn’t involve fucking you against the lockers, sweetheart.”

“How sure?”

“Shut up,” he chuckles then tilts in to kiss you, uncaring for who is around or that his phone starts to vibrate in his jacket pocket pressed between your bodies.

Before you can even push him away to tell him to either answer the call or reject it as it’s annoying you, Jihoon bursts out of the garage frantically. “Pearl!” He runs over with his phone against his ear. “You need to get to house right fucking now.”

“What? Why?” You worry, nudging Seungcheol aside so that you can give Jihoon your full attention.

“Squirt’s hurt and-” he doesn’t get to finish talking before you yank open the driver’s door of Seungcheol’s car to start it up.

Seungcheol barely manages to run around and get in the passenger side before you’re pulling away, kicking up dust and gravel in your rush. With one hand, Seungcheol slams his door shut as he calls the gate security for the inner wall with the other hand and tells them to open the gate right now.

When you approach less than a minute later, you don’t have to slow down and can speed right through thanks to his forethought.

As you pull up to the house, the front door pulls open and Hansol’s terrified screaming reaches you despite the car still being tightly closed up.

Neither you nor Seungcheol think before getting out without putting the car into park or the handbrake on, so that you can run over to where Junhui is carrying a small figure towards you. Your whole body comes over cold as you register that it’s Chan in his arms. Your little brother, covered in blood.

Your little brother laid motionless in a hold that should be your own.

Seungkwan is rushing along at Junhui’s side while holding a wad of blood-stained cloth to Chan’s head, with his hands coated in your brother’s blood too. Though you barely register him, or Jeonghan on the porch with a screaming, writhing Hansol in his arms as the little boy tries to follow after his best friend.

All you can see is your precious little brother. Your too pale little brother. Your too still little brother.

“What happened?” You ask weakly as your shaking hands lift to touch Chan’s tiny dangling hand when Junhui passes by you to climb into the backseat of the car once Seungcheol opens the door. Seungkwan tries to follow, but you grab him by his jumper to shove him against the back of the car so he’s facing you. “I said what the fuck happened to my brother, Seungkwan?!” You demand, your gaze burning into his wet, scared one. You don’t know what your expression is doing but it must be something evil as the fear in Seungkwan's eyes grows when he takes in the fury on your face.

“H-he fe-fell down the fr-frame,” he stammers, blood-soaked hands trying to remove your grip on him but you’re holding on too tight, and his hands are too slippery; all he’s doing is smearing blood over your exposed arms. Your little brother’s blood.

“How?! Why the fuck weren’t you watching him and doing your fucking job, huh?!”

“That’s enough, baby, that’s enough,” Seungcheol says in a placating tone as he tries to pull you away from Seungkwan, but he’s being too gentle and refusing to use his strength against you. “I’m sure it was an accident; it wasn’t Kwan’s fault.”

“You wouldn’t fucking say that if it was Hansol!” You snap, shoving Seungcheol away and not paying attention to the fact he stumbles back having not expected you to push him so harshly. You turn back to Seungkwan and find him crying against the car, scared; both of your wrath, and for the little boy he truly utterly adores.

“I-I’m sorry!” He sobs. “I-I didn’t m-mean to le-let him get hurt! I’m sor-sorry!”

“You fucking should be,” you hiss and finally let him go to shove him aside, not caring that he falls to the stones harshly on his hands and knees. You don’t look at him and instead look in the car at Junhui. He nods at you, silently confirming that he’s got Chan safe in the back and allowing you to move to the driver’s door with the knowledge that your brother is as okay as he can be right now.

But before you can pull the door open, Seungcheol grabs you and opens the back door again to sit you inside. “I’m driving,” he declares and shuts the door before getting in the driver’s seat and immediately pulling away, even if his heart yearns to comfort his distraught, screaming son.

At least when he glances in the rearview mirror at the manor while driving away, he sees Seungkwan joining Jeonghan in trying to calm Hansol, and Seungcheol knows that his son is in good hands.

Seungcheol’s gaze flickers to you where you’ve taken Chan into your own arms, looking down at him with tears on your cheeks and whispering to him, pleading for him to wake up and not leave you alone. He presses down harder on the accelerator.

It’s hours before you leave Chan’s room; only once Jisoo has triple checked everything that the other doctors have done to stabilise your still unconscious brother and has run all possible tests, plus some more just to be safe.

Jisoo hadn’t been available when you had arrived at the hospital, he had been in the middle of assisting a surgery on another child, so although you wished the man had been the one to initially look after your brother, someone else had to do it.

Yet the moment Jisoo had checked his phone after the surgery and noticed Seungcheol’s text stating what had happened and the room Chan is in, Jisoo had rushed right over and took over from the others. All those he dismissed were grateful to not have to face S.Coups where the man remained in the corner, watching everything intently and only talking to tell the staff that he’ll foot the bill.

Still, it takes a while longer for you to feel able to leave your brother. Only once he has most of his colour back and Jisoo promises that Chan’s more than stable enough for you to get some air, do you step out of the room and leave Seungcheol to watch over your little brother while you go outside.

You’re barely out of the doors of the building before your legs grow weak as the adrenaline leaves you and takes all strength with it.

It’s quiet at this entrance as it’s not near the garden or main wings, so there’s no-one to watch as you drop to the ground and drag yourself a few metres over to the wall to lean your back against it as tears stream down your cheeks.

Not that you’d care if anyone saw you cry right now; you’re too worried that Chan won’t wake from his head wound, or that when he does, he will be permanently affected in a way that will make his life even harder. You’d do all you could for him, of course, and you’d love him all the same, nothing could make your love for your brother lessen. But you don’t want him to have to suffer more than he has from simply being born to parents who chose to abandon him due to a disability he never asked for.

All you want for him, all you’ve ever wanted for him, is a genuinely happy, healthy life and now you’re not even sure he’ll wake and get the chance to make one.

You have no idea how long you’re sitting there, crying into blood-stained hands, and getting smears of red over your cheeks, before you hear another person.

At first, you think nothing of the footsteps nearing from down the path and ignore it entirely. But then you hear a distinctive click and something hard presses against the top of your head firmly. Instantly, your tears cease as you’re faced with the reality that there’s a gun held to your head.

“Been looking for you,” the newcomer announces. Your blood runs cold as recognition settles in your mind and fear in your heart.

Why did he have to show his face now? You could deal with him at another point, in another place, but not right now. Not when your brother is so vulnerable. Not when you can’t take him and run as far and fast as you can until he’s hidden away somewhere safe.

Slowly, you lower your hands to your sides and start to tilt your head upwards. “Dad,” you mutter when he removes the gun to let you look up at where he’s standing in front of you, backlit by the early evening sun. Even with the light behind him and shadowing his face, you can see his sick grin.

“Oh, so you do know what fucking family you belong to, huh?” He moves aside his suit jacket as he puts the safety back on his gun, to tuck the firearm back in the holster and instead pulls out his favourite knife from the pocket he has sewn into all of his tailor-made suits to allow him to carry the lethal blade.

“How did you find me?” You ask, glancing around quickly and noticing the figures standing on guard at the other end of the path at the side of the building; the only entrance to this little area other than the building itself. You know he must already have men standing inside too, so that nobody walks out into the small yard while he’s here, confronting you with a knife.

“Got men posted all over,” he reminds you as he squats down in front of you and taps the knife against your bent knee mindlessly. “You know that. And I know that you’re the only fucking person other than me and Jisung who has access to as much information as someone’s clearly been giving out lately to have Centaurs fucking destroying my men, one group at a time. Gotta admit, kid, didn’t expect you to turn on me.”

“Then you’re even dumber than I thought.” As soon as the words are out of your mouth, he’s shoved you roughly against the wall and presses the sharp side of his blade against your throat. Even with the minimal pressure he’s using, you can feel your skin splitting under the knife’s edge, your blood trickling down to mix with Chan’s already staining the collar of your overalls.

“Fucking say that again, bitch,” he hisses in warning. “See where it fucking gets you.”

“If you wanted to kill me, you wouldn’t wait around,” you point out, talking carefully to not jog the knife against your throat and risk drawing more blood. “What do you want from me?”

“You are going to come back home and tell me every fucking thing you know about S.Coups and his pathetic gang.”

“What makes you think I know anything?”

“Don’t play innocent with me, bitch. You fooled me for thirty years, letting me think you’re stupid and unable to retain or understand important information, just to fucking stab me in the back and hide away.” He sneers at you and pulls his hand back, only to lift the knife and touch the tip against your left cheek just below your eye. “I didn’t fucking believe you would betray me. I thought family meant something to you, but my men sent me photos of you with S.Coups himself; being held in this hospital by my fucking enemy and I realised you have no fucking family loyalty.”

“You’re no family to me.”

“Mm, I can see that,” he watches as he lets the weight of his knife tilt enough to drag the blade down your tear-sticky, and already blood smeared, skin; scoring a thin line an inch or so long as you try not to wince at the pain of being cut over delicate skin, before he pulls the knife away entirely and looks at you properly. “But I know that idiot fucking child in there is.”

“He used to be important to you too.”

“Then I realised he’s a retarded little fuck and will never be of use to me. Except, to blackmail you.”

“If you hurt him-” you start to warn, glaring at the man as he gets up with an amused chuckle that makes you cut off.

“I won’t, if you come with me. I’ll pull back my men and even forget that the man I want dead is here without any guards and I could easily go in and spray the room with the motherfucker’s blood.”

“He’s a far more competent fighter than you’ll ever be, much younger too,” you goad, only to get his knife stabbed into your shoulder in retaliation. You immediately slap your hand over your mouth to stop the yell of pain leaving and being heard inside the building. The last thing you want is for an innocent person to hear and try to help only to get hurt. You’d rather just grit your teeth and bear the pain alone.

“Keep talking shit and I’ll go up there right fucking now and slit both their throats, and even that skinny fucker with them too. And the pretty doctor doting on your dumbass little brother,” he threatens, pulling the blade from your shoulder slowly, just to prolong the pain of the serrated edge of one side of the blade catching and dragging through the shallow amount of skin and flesh he imbedded it into.

Once the blade is out, you take a second to catch your breath, then lower your hand. “If I leave with you right now without fuss, you swear you’ll have all of your men retreat and not harm them? That you’ll leave them be until Chan has been discharged and is safe at home again?”

“Swear on your mother’s grave,” he retorts with a smirk as his empty hand presses over his equally empty heart.

“You never gave a fuck about her,” you hiss. “Swear on your own mother’s grave, or better yet, your own life; you’re the only person you truly give a fuck about, anyway.”

He sighs but concedes. “I swear on my life that I will pull all my men back and leave the retard alone if you come with me right now; I have no interest in him anyway.”

“And the others? Coups, the other man, and the doctor? You won’t touch them until Chan is home?”

“Yes, yes, whatever, just get your ass up now, I’m done talking here. I fucking hate hospitals.”

“I’m well aware,” you grunt as you get up, doing your best to not use your left arm as you don’t want to exacerbate the shoulder wound you feel oozing blood down your torso. “You’re the reason I almost died from a chest infection.”

“You got better.”

“No thanks to you.”

“Get over it, you’re a grown ass woman.”

“And I was eight fucking years old then!” You exclaim as you reluctantly take a step forward to walk at his side down the path. You’re glad that the weakness has left your body now, either thanks to the rest and air, or that there’s a much more imminent threat hanging over not just Chan’s head and forcing your body and mind to toughen back up to endure it and do what you need to.

As you get into the car with your father, you can only hope that Seungcheol will do what he once promised to and look after Chan without you around.

It’s strange being back in your family home. Strange to be marched past men you once worked with and trained alongside, only to now be strapped to a chair in the basement as your father watches his right-hand man pull out all the stops to torture you for information that you refuse to give.

“This is fucking ridiculous,” Jisung grunts when he gives up trying to get you to tell them how to work around the Centaur estate’s security in hopes that Vultures can sneak inside and slaughter the members in their sleep, something at least half of them will be doing right now.

You have no idea what the time is exactly, there isn’t a clock down here, or a window to see the progression of the sun and moon in the sky, but you know it’s been hours.

Vultures are known for their sick joy of slowly pulling apart their victims; it’s part of the reason for the name, after all. The other part is the tendency to cause havoc amongst other gangs to have them do most of the hard work, then swoop in at the last minute and take over. Like a vulture circling a struggling animal in the wild only to finish the job when the animal is too weak to go on. It’s a fitting moniker for your father, you think.

Although the man is more than capable of getting his hands dirty, he’s proven that many times, he often lets his right-hand man do most of the work and only steps in to finish the job if he deems it worth his time.

Up until now, he hasn’t deemed you worth his time.

Something about seeing the man remove his jacket, gun holster and shirt to leave him in his plain white tank top makes a sick sense of pride travel through you. For your dad to remove not just his suit jacket, but his shirt too so that they don’t get dirty, you know it means he has no intention of going easy on you and deems it necessary to get as dirty as possible. You’ve only seen him remove his shirt to work someone once before, and that hadn’t ended well for his victim.

You know that you won’t come out of this in one piece, if you even come out of it at all; but you don’t let that scare you, only strengthen your resolve to not give him a single piece of information about Seungcheol and his gang. There’s only so much torture he can force you through before death is the next step. At this point, you fear death far less than the thought of putting the family you’ve been making for yourself the past months at risk. It’s a no brainer, but your father is too pissed off to realise that.

“You trained me well, Uncle Jisung,” you tease as blood drips down your body from various open wounds, saliva, and blood blending together and spilling from your open mouth, nose too broken and swollen to be possible to breathe through. Though you think that maybe your jaw might be broken too, or at least fractured, based on the searing pain when you talk. Still, you persist.

“She’s right, you know,” Jisung comments as he drops down to sit on the stool your father previously occupied to watch.

Now, your dad is standing by the rack to decide which tool to use against you. There are a few new items hanging on display compared to when they took turns forcing you through torture training as a teen, but you’re not worried; you’ll withstand it all for the sake of those you love.

It’s only now, as you feel the sudden burning pain of a heated blade carving into your palm and sealing wounds shut to make sure they scar under your father’s guidance, that you realise that you do love the group of men and the little boy who have shown you what it means to be a family.

You love Mingyu for being the first person to ever truly be kind to you and Chan.

You love Junhui and his tendency to feed everyone at any chance he gets while cracking stupid jokes.

You love Seungkwan and his ability to remain calm even when Hansol has his energy bouts and Chan gets overloaded and has a meltdown. You regret how you treated him earlier and hope that he doesn’t hold it against you; you’d hate for the last time you saw him to taint his memories of you forever.

You love Jihoon and his straightforward method of talking and teaching you everything you’ve never before been allowed to know about mechanics and every tool he can get his hands on.

You love Seokmin and Soonyoung, for their endless optimism and joint skill of making everyone laugh.

You love Wonwoo, Minghao, Jisoo and Jeonghan, even if you don’t see them that often; but they’re always such gentle, supportive presences when you do, even with Jisoo and Jeonghan’s joint endless teasing of Seungcheol.

You love Hansol so fully that he was the first to enter your heart and make you realise that you want to extend your family to include him. You love how he has been the single best thing to happen to Chan in, perhaps, his entire life, and you know he will continue to be. You love him for being so gentle, yet not condescending, as he guides your little brother through life. You love him for loving Chan, and you truly hope with everything in you that the pair will always remain together and have one another to rely on.

And you love Seungcheol, maybe not in the romantic sense yet, but you think if given the chance, you would’ve fallen head over heels for the beautiful man with a heart so big and warm that you’ve never felt like there isn’t space for you there. You wish that you have more time with him, more time to learn how to love him with everything in you, but you don’t. You’ve never been a person to have regrets, but you think you will end your life with just one before a new day dawns.

You don’t scream as the knife drags through your skin; it truly doesn’t hurt that much, not when you think the pain centre of your brain has mostly shut down after these hours of torture. It hurts more to see the winged V being crudely carved into your skin as if the old brand on your thigh isn’t enough to prove the years of pain and suffering forced onto you from the man who was supposed to love and cherish you more than anyone in the world.

“I think she’s done,” Jisung comments, watching with a frown as your eyes glue unseeingly to your palm with no sign that you’re being carved and burned at once in the rest of you. “She’s shutting down, boss.”

“I’ll wake her the fuck up,” your dad seethes and throws the knife aside before walking behind you to the back of the room.

You don’t bother trying to follow him with your eyes, you can hear him running the tap and the water filling the bucket. You know what’s coming, yet when he stands in front of you and throws the bucket of ice-cold water at your face hard enough it stings, you’re still shocked by the temperature and sudden liquid.

Before you can finish gasping from the onslaught, he pulls your head back by his fist in your hair and shoves a soaked cloth into your mouth; forcing you to inhale freezing water, sucking it into your lungs and causing your body to shake and shudder as your lungs fight to expel the water yet only succeeding in gaining more cold liquid from the cloth. It’s not much water at all, only a little really, but you can’t breathe without dragging more droplets into your lungs and giving yourself no relief.

You try to force yourself to stop breathing, to calm down and press the cloth out of your mouth with your tongue, but you can’t. Your body is panicking from being unable to breathe, and you can’t tilt your head up with your dad’s fist in your hair, leaving your throat at an angle so awkward that you can’t even swallow to get the water down the correct pipe.

Just when you think you’re about to pass out as your vision grows blurrier than your facial and head injuries already have it, your dad lets you go and rips the cloth from your mouth.

Immediately, you double over as you try to suck oxygen into your lungs while drooling saliva and blood over the already blood-stained concrete between your spread feet.

“Now,” your father starts as he condescendingly pats the back of your head too harshly. “You’re going to tell me every fucking thing you know about Choi Seungcheol and his Centaurs, or you’re going to spend the rest of your life fighting for breath.” He walks away to grab the bucket from the floor ready to refill while you try your best to get enough breath to respond.

The moment your lungs are no longer screaming for oxygen, and you can breathe somewhat normally, you start to laugh and slowly look up, gaze locking with Jisung’s where the man is staring at you as if you’re some kind of unidentifiable creature he wishes he can escape and never see again.

“What the fuck?” He whispers. “Boss…I really don’t think she’s human.”

“Stop with your fucking bullshit!” Your dad exclaims and throws the first thing to hand, which isn’t the bucket of water, at Jisung. The man doesn’t move and accepts the wooden scrubbing brush to his head without complaint knowing that your dad would certainly punish him if he tried to dodge. You all learned that a long time ago and wear scars for proof.

“Just let me exorcise her, just once. You should’ve let me when she was a kid and then all this wouldn’t be happening,” Jisung reasons a little desperately, making you laugh harder.

“She’s not a fucking demon, I’d prefer she was one than a fucking retard,” your father grunts while resoaking the cloth with water from the bucket as he approaches you.

As he tips your head back ready to shove the dripping cold rag into your mouth, you grin as best as you can at him when your whole face hurts to move in any way. “How does it feel to have a retard be the reason half your gang’s dead, Vulture?” You taunt.

Just as he roughly presses the cloth to your open mouth, there’s a noise so loud from somewhere upstairs that all three of you look towards the ceiling in shock.

“Was that an explosion?” Jisung mumbles as he gets up to his feet, then steps back while ducking down instinctively when there’s another explosion, followed by the sound of gunfire. “Fuck, we’re under attack.”

“Well don’t just fucking stand there, go find out who dares to come to my home!” Your dad demands, thankfully removing the cloth from your mouth as he uses his hand to gesticulate.

“I don’t need to go outside to know,” Jisung declares and turns to look at you. “They’re here for her.”

“No, there’s no fucking way S.Coups would launch an attack for a retarded whore,” he argues and lets you go to walk over and shove Jisung towards the door. “Stop being a pussy before I strap you to that chair and let her get her own back. You trained her yourself, remember.”

“Yes, sir,” Jisung concedes and rushes out of the room, making sure to lock it behind him to protect his boss as much as possible without being present.

“If you believe his words, you’re as stupid as I initially thought,” your dad taunts as he moves over to his belongings to retrieve his gun from the holster and tuck it into his waistband ready to use if the fight makes it down here.

You know that a part of him must think that there’s weight to Jisung’s assumption, that your father also believes, even a little, that Seungcheol has launched an attack on the Vulture’s headquarters to get you back. The realisation that he’s scared makes you laugh.

“Oh, daddy dear,” you sneer through blood coated lips. “I don’t think I’ve seen you scared before.”

“I’m not fucking scared. There’s no fucking way it’s Centaurs, just some pissy little gang with too much fire power for their own good. My men will deal with it while I finish what I started here.” He pulls the stool away from the wall and over to your side before sitting with the bucket between his feet to soak the cloth in the freezing water.

“Better make it count, you’re on limited time,” you remind and drop your head back to stare up at the ceiling.

He stares at you for a moment too long; the silence makes you glance at him and notice the growing fear on his features. He knows that if you’ve accepted him causing you to almost pass out with water tickling your lungs, that he truly is at the end of his time, both in regard to getting information from you, and his life.

“Cold feet, daddy?” You taunt, smirking when you hear yelling and gunfire getting louder, getting closer. “Tick tock, there’s no numbers left on the clock, time to make a decision.”

“If only I knew you’re this fucking tough and relentless, I would’ve rated you higher,” he mutters in stubborn admittance.

“If you had rated me higher from the start, things would be very different right now.”

“How different? You would’ve remained and not sold me out?”

“Only if you rated Chan the same.”

“That boy is fucking worthless; the sooner you learn and accept that, the better. You could be something special with your resilience and skills without him weighing you down.”

“Finally admitting that I’m useful for more than just seducing your enemies into a false sense of security?” You scoff a laugh. “Too fucking little too late, old man. I know my worth, always have despite how much you tried to literally beat me down, and it’s more than you’ll ever be worth.”

He glares at you. “You’ll never inherit all this; everyone who knows you’re my daughter is too loyal to me to let you take over.”

“Why would I want anything to do with this poor excuse of a gang when I’m by the side of the Choi Centaur?”

“So, you admit it, you’ve fucking sold yourself to him like some cheap, nasty whore.”

“No. He doesn’t own me in any way, but he’s accepted me and Chan entirely. He’s shown us what it’s like to have a real family.”

“He’s not your family, he’s not blood.”

“Blood means nothing when it’s spilled by the hands of those who are supposed to love you.”

With all of your injuries, you don’t hear anyone nearing the room, but your father clearly does as he pulls out his gun and aims at the door before there’s a loud bang and the door rattles in the doorframe.

“Time’s up,” you whisper tauntingly and only laugh when he brings his hand around to hit you hard enough in the face with the side of his gun that your head jerks back and your chair tips a little before falling forward again with a loud clunk. And something loosens.

While your father moves forward slightly and steadies the gun in both hands with eyes glued to the door, you blink through the blood trickling into your eyes and lean forward to peer down at your feet. It takes a lot of concentration and sheer will power before you can see clearly enough to realise that your limbs are no longer tied to the chair legs. The chains are still circling your ankles and pooling around your feet, but they’re no longer attached to the wooden legs of the chairs.

The pounding on the door doesn’t stop; someone is clearly trying to break it down, and judging by the way you can spot your father shuffling his weight from foot to foot just in front of you, he can tell that whoever is on the other side is close to getting in.

Part of you hopes it’s Seungcheol, but the other part of you hopes that it’s not; you don’t want him to be here risking his life when he’s got two young boys to look after.

Though you know that logically, Seungcheol will be right here with his men if this truly is the Centaurs skipping a whole bunch of steps in the plan that the two of you had made to destroy the Vultures. You both had wanted to make sure that by the time your father is dealt with, there is no chance of his underlings rebuilding up what he once had, so Seungcheol has been making carefully curated moves for the past two months to be thorough.

Although storming the Vultures’ headquarters and home was never part of the plan, you think it can be forgiven if Seungcheol has made the order to be ruthless with whoever they cross paths with and leave no man alive by the time the dust settles.

You wish you can see the look on your father’s face, that you can see the realisation setting in that it’s over for him as the door crashes to the floor to reveal the seething head of the Centaurs.

“Get the fuck away from her,” Seungcheol demands while stalking into the room. He’s covered in blood, some of which you can tell is his own based on the injuries on his body, but he’s upright and able to go on, so you don’t let yourself focus on it and worry. You need to keep your attention down on your own task, otherwise you fear you will lose the last grip on your consciousness that you’ve been fighting to hold onto since your father’s gun clad hand collided with your face.

“Come closer and I’ll shoot,” your father warns.

“Fucking do it, I’ll still rip your fucking throat out,” Seungcheol growls threateningly and steps closer, yet stops frozen in his tracks when your father moves his gun into his left hand and points it at you blindly.

You only notice because the barrel suddenly comes into your vision where you’re leaning forward with your head bent to watch as you wiggle your bare feet out from the chains as quietly as you can to not draw your father’s attention. The sudden weapon in your face makes you lean up a little and raise your head to look at your father, who is still looking at Seungcheol, and then the man himself, who is staring at you with pain and fear on his features; not for himself, but for you.

You don’t know what you look like, but your body has reached a cold numbness that you know means that you’re only conscious out of sheer spite; the moment you’re done, you know you’ll pass out. And frankly, at this point with all the injuries that have made a home of your body, you think you’ll be lucky to wake any time soon, if at all.

Although it takes more energy than you’d like to expel when you have other things to be doing, you do your best to smile at Seungcheol reassuringly. Somehow, it only makes his expression worsen.

With a little frown at your attempts to soothe the man failing, you turn your head back down, both to focus and because honestly, even holding your head up is too much for you to handle any longer. Your energy and strength are rapidly depleting.

You don’t have much time left.

“Just-just let her go, you’ve hurt her enough,” Seungcheol suddenly pleads, reluctantly looking back at your father. “Please, just don’t hurt her anymore.”

“Oh, are you weak for this dumb whore, S.Coups?” Your father mocks, gun wavering as he laughs.

You hear Seungcheol respond; hissing at your father about something or other; you assume he’s defending you, but everything sounds too muffled all of a sudden that you couldn’t make sense of his words even if you tried.

It’s now or never. There’s no time left.

Even though there’s still some chain left around your swollen ankles, you lift your legs as quickly as you can, ignoring that the rattling will alert the man in front of you of your movements, and bring your soles down against the back of his knees, knocking his legs out and sending him to his knees with what you’re sure would be a sickening crunch if you could hear clearly.

As it is, all you hear is a muffled bang before your legs wrap around him, to force his neck into the crook of your right knee and then your other free limb traps your own leg to keep your grip tight to choke the man.

There’s another bang and you see blood spurt up from your left knee, making you realise that both bangs were gunshots. As Seungcheol drops down in front of you to wrestle the gun from your father’s grasp, you rapidly look him over in concern as best as you can when your vision is rapidly turning black and your head spins.

“Baby,” he breathes out upon turning to you, tossing the gun away and pressing his hands against your stomach with wide eyes of fear. You blink at him and try to discern what he says next but he’s talking too fast, and a buzzing is growing in your ears. He removes one hand from your stomach to untangle your legs, prompting you to look at the lifeless figure with the bleeding hole in his head.

You hadn’t even heard the bang of Seungcheol shooting your father, ending the life of the man who spent three decades making your life a living hell. You always assumed you’d feel something the day your father died, relief, joy; but you don’t feel anything right now.

You let Seungcheol move your legs until your father’s corpse drops to the ground, and then Seungcheol is kneeling directly in front of you and pressing on your stomach again. Your head drops heavily to look at what he’s doing, and you now realise that the first gunshot must’ve entered you, even if you didn’t notice it. You’re too numb after everything to feel the pain, even now as you see your blood spilling out over Seungcheol’s hands.

“Oh,” you slur and force your head up with the last of your strength to ask the one thing you need to know before succumbing. “Chan?”

Seungcheol responds, opens his mouth to talk but you can’t hear a word he’s saying. His eyebrows furrow with worry before he nods rapidly, telling you that Chan is okay.

You just about manage a relieved smile before you let go.

The Choi estate hasn’t been this quiet in a long time.

The Centaurs haven’t faced such loss in so long that it touches every inch of the estate; from the entrance gates to the centre of the manor, no-one is left unaffected.

Although the Centaurs came out on top and entirely wiped out the Vultures two weeks ago, nobody has been able to celebrate the win when their numbers have dwindled enough to leave homes empty and rooms unoccupied all over the estate.

News of the battle at the Vultures’ estate had spread quickly, and although it’s not hidden information of the losses suffered amongst Centaurs, there has been an added respect and fear for the surviving gang members.

Seungcheol had gone in guns blazing and eradicated a giant pest from the country, not just the city. Vultures had their grimy talons all over the country and now, although Seungcheol hadn’t managed to send his men out to all of them to deal with them before the battle, nobody has heard anything about any Vulture since; and many have even switched sides to other gangs in hopes of gaining protection from Centaurs knowing that should they remain in their affiliation with Vultures, they won’t have their lives for much longer.

Many gifts and signs of support have arrived at the Choi estate over the past two weeks, but none make it to the manor; with Seungcheol not showing his face on the estate once in the two weeks, nobody has had the permission to send anything to the manor.

Although Mingyu is in charge when Seungcheol isn’t around, he hasn’t wanted to deal with any of that and has been entirely focused on handling everything for the gang itself; arranging funerals, overseeing the still ongoing work, supporting the men as best as he can with a guilt in his heart for not having been at the battle, even if it had been Seungcheol’s orders for Mingyu to remain and protect the estate. Mingyu thinks he’s the wrong person to comfort the men who returned when he hadn’t seen the bloodshed and faced injury himself.

At least Wonwoo, who had been at the battle, returned with only a few injuries and has been standing as Mingyu’s right-hand man, while the tall man is the pseudo leader until their true leader can face coming back when he saw so much loss that day. When he is still suffering so much.

They hope and send out prayers to deities that they don’t believe in that their leader will return to them soon; his son has been crying every day, begging for his father and little brother back while they can only do their best to soothe him and try to convince Seungcheol via call to come home, at least to hug Hansol.

But he doesn’t. He makes sure to tell Hansol that he loves him, and he will be home as soon as he can, but it’s not possible yet. Then he doesn’t answer another call until the same time the next day just to talk to his son and tell him he loves him. It’s a small relief, but a relief all the same that Seungcheol isn’t too gone that he won’t talk to his son.

It’s better than nothing, at least.

After a month, the Choi estate has healed enough that things are almost back to normal, at least as normal as they can be without the Choi Centaur around.

He came back once, just to fetch Chan’s turtle while Hansol was in a fitful sleep curled up in between Seungkwan and Jeonghan in his father’s bed. Seungcheol hadn’t possessed the strength to even look in on his son as he knew he wouldn’t be able to leave if he did, and he couldn’t risk it.

But now, after a month of watching Hansol get worse and worse with every passing day; refusing to take his medication and vitamins, barely eating or sleeping, and only talking to sob out pleas to bring his family back, Jisoo can’t let it continue and picks him up one day, even with the boy weakly fighting the hold, and carries him to his car.

“What are you doing? You know we can’t take him anywhere,” Seungkwan worries, but he’s not stopping Jisoo and climbs into the back of the car at Hansol’s side to strap him in while the boy cries and tries to go back into the house to wait for his father to return, but he’s too weak to do anything more than slap his hands against Jisoo’s strong arms as he’s held in place for Seungkwan.

“I’m doing my job as his godfather,” Jisoo grunts and moves back to shut the door and get into the driver’s seat.

“It’s okay, Solie, it’s okay, Uncle Soo is taking us somewhere. It’ll be fine, we trust Uncle Soo, don’t we?”

“Bu-but d-daddy!” Hansol wails, scrambling at the door but Jisoo has already put the child lock on so Hansol’s little fingers tugging at the handle doesn’t do a thing.

“I’m taking you to him,” Jisoo informs as he drives through the grounds.

Hansol immediately falls quiet and looks at Jisoo with wide, wet eyes. “T-to daddy?”

“Yes. It’s about time he sees what he’s doing to you; I should’ve done this already.” The doctor sighs regretfully, guilt heavy in his exhausted tone. “And I’m going to make you healthy again, okay? But you need to promise me you’ll eat, Sol.”

“I wi-will! I j-just wan-wanna see my da-daddy,” Hansol sobs.

“I know, buddy, I know.”

Seungkwan wraps his arms around the little boy to comfort him for the rest of the drive out of the estate and through the city.

Seungkwan doesn’t recognise the building they pull up to and grows confused yet remains quiet and simply gets out to follow Jisoo inside as the doctor carries the little boy.

It’s not until they’ve passed a few security checks and Jisoo has signed them in, that Seungkwan realises that this building is a very private hospital; so private that he didn’t even know that it exists until now.

Although Jisoo works at the main public hospital, he clearly has experience here as the staff greet him as Dr Hong and he walks confidently through the halls to a wing that is full of men who are somewhat familiar to Seungkwan. Some are in hospital wear and recovering from various injuries, and some are wearing dark clothing with obvious weapons attached to their bodies as they patrol the halls and stand alert at various intervals throughout the wing on guard.

“Who-who are they?” Hansol whispers, clutching Jisoo tighter as many of the men look in surprise at the little boy, clearly knowing who he is yet not having expected to see him here, before looking away respectfully.

“They’re part of daddy’s team; they’re here to guard everyone,” Jisoo answers without slowing as he leaves the busiest part of the wing behind and walks further away from the various men until the section that he stops in only has a couple of guards at the entrance of the hall at the opposite end. Jisoo puts Hansol down, then knocks on the door in front of them before sliding it open and leading the pair into the large room.

“What are you doing?” Seungcheol mutters from where he’s sprawled on one of the two hospital beds in the room with Chan laid on his chest fast asleep. His wide eyes dart from Jisoo to his son, then back and forth as Hansol rushes over, already sobbing and calling for them while tries to climb up. “Sol.”

“Daddy!” Hansol wails and crawls over to lay against him with his arm over Chan’s back to hug them both once Jisoo lifts the boy up onto the bed.

Seungkwan remains back, almost by the closed door, knowing that it’s not his place to be here and he certainly can’t go against his boss’ strict orders to keep Hansol at the manor and not disturb Seungcheol. But Jisoo has always been perhaps the only person, until you, who can dismiss Seungcheol’s words where Hansol is concerned.

Jisoo has been Hansol’s godfather since stepping into his life and it’s a position that Seungcheol respects too much, even if he’s not religious, that he will accept Jisoo’s actions knowing they’re what the doctor truly believes is best for the boy.

“Look at your son, Seungcheol,” Jisoo demands and Seungcheol winces, already staring at his son with pained, guilty tears in his eyes and his hand gripping onto his small body as tightly as he can without risking hurting the slim boy. “This is your fault; he’s not eating or sleeping because of you.”

“I’m so sorry,” Seungcheol whispers brokenly.

“You need to come home.”

“I can’t,” Seungcheol replies as he looks over to the other bed where you’re laid perfectly still as your body fights to heal while your mind refuses to come back. He doesn’t know if you will return to him, but he knows that Chan won’t leave your side and as the only adult the boy truly trusts, he can’t leave, as much as he wants to be with his son.

You trust Seungcheol to do right by your brother and he can’t let you down. He needs to show you that Chan has recovered from his head injury, and although the boy has withdrawn a lot and mostly just stares at you silently in wait for you to wake, he’s alive and healthy. You need to wake up and see that.

Seungcheol knows that if he went home and saw Hansol, he wouldn’t want to let him go. Now that he’s tucked up against him and already almost asleep just from being in his father’s safe hold and able to see Chan sleeping safely under his own hold, Seungcheol knows that he’s not going to be able to let him leave. He’s missed him too much; his heart has ached too much, but now it hurts a little less seeing Hansol.

Though the gaunt condition of his son does grip Seungcheol’s insides with guilt, more than he already feels from just knowing his son was suffering without him.

He knew it was an impossible decision to make, staying to support you and Chan, or going home to his son. He had tried to be logical about it; that Chan only has you and him to trust so much, whereas Hansol has ten men ready to do everything and anything to make him happy. But seeing Hansol’s condition now, Seungcheol wonders if he should’ve let his heart win, not his head.

“Get another bed in here and go get Hansol’s favourite blanket and supplies for him,” Seungcheol orders, looking at Jisoo and then Seungkwan, who nods quickly and backs out of the room.

“Finally, you’re not being a giant dumbass,” Jisoo sighs in relief and reaches out to squeeze Seungcheol’s arm in approval. “I’m getting him hooked up though, I don’t know the last time he ate a decent meal.”

“Thank you, Jisoo, seriously.”

“Just being a good godfather.”

“And friend.”

“Yeah, but I’m always that, I think it’s time I focus more on the godfather duties like I should’ve been. I should’ve brought him here much sooner.”

“Maybe, but I don’t think I would’ve accepted it so easily. I fucked up here, big time.”

“I think no matter what you chose to do, you would’ve fucked up. Abandoned one child for the sake of the other when neither deserves that and both need you.”

“Yeah,” Seungcheol tips his head back to stare at the ceiling and blink away the tears that trickle down his temples onto the pillow. “What do I do?” He whispers desperately, broken. “I-I can’t make the boys live in this room for the rest of their lives, but Chan won’t leave her and honestly, I don’t want to either.”

“It’s another impossible situation. But have faith, her vitals have been stable for a week straight; she’s breathing on her own and I have a feeling it’s only going to get better.”

“If you’ve jinxed it, I’m going to make you pay,” Seungcheol promises while turning his head to look at Jisoo, who just chuckles and pats his arm again. “I mean it.”

“Typical of you to only be superstitious when it suits you,” Jisoo tuts as he turns and heads to the door. “I’ll get that bed, and everything ordered, then I will be back.”

“Thank you.” Seungcheol watches Jisoo leave before he turns his head to kiss each slumbering boy on the head, then turns his head even further to look over at you. “Please wake up soon, sweetheart. I need you; our family needs you.”

It’s not dramatic when it happens, there are no racing monitors, no sudden jolts, just a flutter of eyes and a steady chest.

Everything aches and you’re oddly tired for just waking up, but you feel okay, all in all.

The sound of soft giggling draws your attention to where the two boys are sitting on the bed a few metres on your right. Hansol is reading to Chan, using all of his best voices and dramatic gestures to act out the story he’s reading from the book. Chan is utterly entranced, staring at Hansol with his mouth open in awe and big eyes glued to the older boy.

You can see the scar on Chan’s forehead, a scar that wasn’t there the last time you saw him conscious, and it makes you frown as you recall the condition you last saw your little brother in. Though, at least he’s awake and seems like his normal self now, judging by the sparkle in his eyes as he watches Hansol make fishie faces at him while pretending to swim.

Suddenly, Hansol glances past Chan to you and straightens with a gasp while dropping the book on his lap. “Aunt Pearl!”

Chan spins around and shrieks at the sight of you looking at them. He tries to rapidly get down but luckily, Seungcheol is already on his feet between the beds despite having been dozing on the other bed across the room until Hansol’s exclamation, so he grabs Chan before he can fall and carefully deposits your brother onto your bed to allow Chan to scramble forward to hug you tight.

“Careful, Squirt,” Seungcheol reminds, gently pulling back Chan with one hand as he stops Hansol climbing onto your bed with the other. But you weakly bat Seungcheol’s right hand away to pull Chan as close as humanly possible with the monitors attached to your body.

“I wanna hug her too!” Hansol whines.

“There isn’t space, she isn’t well enough to have you both on her right now,” Seungcheol reminds and picks up his son to hold and hug himself to try and comfort the seven-year-old’s sad frown away.

You want to argue with Seungcheol and tell him to hand over Hansol too, but you’re already feeling too weak just from wrapping your arms around Chan and you know you really don’t have the strength any longer. You lace your fingers together behind Chan so that your arms won’t fall when your eyes flutter closed, and sleep takes you seconds later.

“Aunt Pearl!” Hansol exclaims in worry, trying to lean forward towards you, but Seungcheol holds him tighter.

“She’s fine, she’s fine,” Seungcheol promises, putting one hand to Chan’s back when he starts to writhe and make distressed noises seeing your eyes closed again upon leaning up. “She fell asleep. Her body and mind need lots of rest to get better. Look, the monitors say everything is fine,” he reminds them while pointing to the monitors above the bed on the wall, prompting both boys to look up.

After spending the past two weeks in this room, they are both familiar enough with those monitors to know what they should look like, and seeing them now, they both relax.

“She’s just sleeping?” Hansol checks.

“Yeah, she’s just sleeping. How about you finish reading that book, yeah?” Seungcheol suggests as he puts Hansol down on the bed the boy has been sharing with Chan for two weeks now. Though he doesn’t try to remove Chan from you and instead carefully rearranges him into a position that he hopes won’t cause you any problems while still allowing Chan the range of motion to look at Hansol.

As Hansol picks the story back up from where he got to, Seungcheol climbs up onto the bed behind him to lay down with his gaze glued to you. Relief fills his chest from seeing you awake for the first time in six weeks, since he saw you pass out in the basement as he tried to stop the wound in your stomach from bleeding out.

There’s hope mixed in with that relief filling his body, hope that this means you will be able to return home soon; return to where you all belong, together.

Almost three months after last stepping foot in the manor, you finally return, though not on foot, much to your dismay.

Although you can walk, you’ve been put on rest by the doctors, Jisoo included, until your knee recovers more. You can’t truly blame them considering the fact you had been shot through it and your kneecap shattered to the extreme that they entirely replaced it with a synthetic one, leaving you with a consistent strange sensation in your knee and general constant aching they said may never leave. But still, you really wish you didn’t have to be wheeled around.

Though, having your strong boyfriend carry you when you refuse to use your wheelchair is a happy little advantage you discover over the first few days being home. You’re pretty sure that he knows you refuse on purpose sometimes, just so that he’ll pick you up in his strong hold and move you to where you want to go with a little smirk on his face as your hands appreciatively smooth over his bulging arms.

Part of you thinks that whatever happened to your head that day in the basement has seriously altered your brain chemistry because your libido has never been so active. What makes it worse is that even though Seungcheol is around the house more than he ever has been to keep an eye on you; while also making up for lost time with his son, he still refuses to have sex with you.

So, you endlessly pine, admittedly not so silently when you pout at him whenever he pulls away from a kiss too soon, but it falls on deaf ears, so you may as well be complaining to a brick wall.

Despite the never-ending simmering in your veins, you get better and better with every passing day.

But Chan, on the other hand, seems to be suffering in your place.

Since the four of you returned home, you’ve been sleeping in Seungcheol’s bed with him and the two boys in Hansol’s room. At first, all four of you had shared the bed, but then the boys moved into Hansol’s room and always seem to be so excited to share the bed and have endless sleepovers.

Yet, every single night, Chan wakes a few hours after going to sleep; screaming and writhing in fear that only settles once Seungcheol has fetched him and brought him to tuck up against your chest. Your tear-stained brother falls back to sleep only once he’s gently patted his hands over your face as if to check it’s really you and has his head resting on your chest to be lulled into slumber by your healthy heartbeat.

Come morning, Chan never remembers what happened or how he got to the bed, or Hansol sleepily joining at his father’s side not wanting to be alone and also to make sure that Chan is okay. So, as much as you want to ask Chan what happens, what his nightmares are about, you can’t because he truly doesn’t remember. Though, you think it’s pretty obvious that they’re always about losing you.

Seungcheol had told you that Chan had a lot of nightmares at the hospital; some were really bad and Seungcheol couldn’t calm him no matter what he tried, even putting Chan at your side hadn’t helped. So Seungcheol could only pace, bouncing Chan in his arms and rubbing his back like an unsettled baby until the boy wore himself out and passed out on Seungcheol’s shoulder.

Your heart aches for your little brother, and you wish you could do something to help, but other than giving him sleeping medication to make him sleep deeply enough that he isn’t plagued by nightmares, which is something you don’t want to do if you can help it, the only option is therapy. Though with Chan’s refusal to be far from either you or Seungcheol at any given point, you don’t think it’s a viable option. Plus, Chan has stopped talking to even Hansol, so you know that there’s not a chance in hell he’ll talk to a stranger.

You’re at a loss and can only hope that with time, your brother’s fear of losing you will lessen, and he can go a single night not at your side without waking in petrified tears.

At least Hansol is back to himself now, entirely healthy and sleeping as best as he can when Chan wakes him almost every night screaming. But at least he sleeps in on those mornings, both boys do, to catch up on the sleep they missed overnight.

Those few hours with the boys fast asleep morning and night are the only times you and Seungcheol get to be entirely alone, which doesn’t make much of a difference as mostly, you simply carry on like normal, just with more kissing as you don’t have to worry about the boys seeing.

But sometimes, it means Seungcheol wakes you with soft, minty kisses to your cheek and coaxes you into the bathroom half asleep where you let him brush your teeth then strip you down to place into the large bathtub of perfectly warm, soothing scented water.

At first, he had been shy about stripping with your sleepy, yet very interested, gaze stuck on his body. But after you’d pointed out that he’s now seen you naked many times from being the one to wash you at the hospital for almost three months, he sucked it up and quickly got naked to join you in the tub to hold you and enjoy the peaceful early mornings with you.

Of course, you had tried to initiate some physical intimacy a few times, but by now, you’ve given up and just enjoy the calm of a quiet house with him as you softly talk about things that neither of you think to ask or bring up at other times.

It’s like these mornings in the tub leaning into one another open you both up, heart and mind, and allow you to discuss topics that are usually silently left out of sight. Mostly, you talk about your pasts, your families, and the fucked-up shit you’ve both done being raised in ruthless gangs. Comparing scars both figuratively and literally.

“This one,” Seungcheol murmurs, tracing his fingers over a scar barely visible behind your left ear.

“Mm, I don’t know,” you admit; a worryingly common response for both of you when the other questions scars that you can’t recall the root of. You both have too many scars, too much trauma to remember it all clearly. “How old does it look?”

Seungcheol hums thoughtfully and leans in closer to peer at the scar. “Very.”

“Maybe from torture training.”

“I hate that they did that to you.”

“So did they, in the end. The very thing they taught me is the same thing that made me able to withstand all the shit they did that day in the basement.”

“They didn’t even want you, why did they fucking punish you like that for leaving?” He grunts and nuzzles into your messily tied up hair for his own comfort. He does that a lot; gets closer to you when he’s upset about your past, how you were treated. He knows that you don’t hold on to anything in the past, and those things that linger in your mind you fix however you can; like how you treated Seungkwan that day even if Seungkwan had tried to bat away your apology and insisted you didn’t need to say sorry when he didn’t hold it against you. So Seungcheol doesn’t do it for your sake, but entirely his own; to soothe his aching heart at the thought of all you were forced to endure, all the scars on your skin that he wishes you never had to gain.

“They weren’t punishing me,” you point out, earning a confused noise. “They wanted information on you, the estate.”

“What?” He straightens up and holds your face to turn you to look at him. “They tortured you like that to get information out of you?” You nod. “Fuck, I’m so sorry, baby.”

“It’s fine, I’d endure anything to protect my family.”

Seungcheol’s expression softens before he leans in to press a tender kiss to your lips. “I hope you never have to face anything like that again.”

“Me too, I don’t think the doctors will be impressed if they have to give me another fake kneecap.”

Seungcheol laughs and shakes his head a little yet says nothing more and just settles back down with you in his arms.

You sit for a little while longer before a question you’ve been wondering for a long time comes to your mind. “Cheolie?” He hums to show that you’ve got his attention, not that it was anywhere but on you already. “What happened to your parents?”

“Ah, I guess you were bound to ask one day,” he understands with a sigh. “I don’t know the details, nobody does really, and I really don’t want to know either. I just know I came home one day and found my dad’s body on the floor outside of the kitchen with the door closed, his gun in one hand and a note in the other addressed to me.”

“What did it say?”

“That he had to take his own life because he knew he wouldn’t be able to live without my mother, or the guilt of knowing that in a moment where his mind had run away, he killed her. He told me not to go into the kitchen and to call his right-hand to deal with their bodies, and that from now on, it’s all mine.”

“Oh��”

“Mm, yeah, despite what people think, I didn’t murder my own fucking father to get all this quicker. I didn’t even want it really. I always wished they would pop out another kid and last long enough that the kid would be an adult by the time I had to take over, just so I could pass it right over to them. But I was twenty when they died and no kid in sight.”

“You didn’t want the gang?”

“No, I knew what all this meant; the danger and pressure of leading the Centaurs. I never wanted it, but I didn’t have a choice.”

“Couldn’t you have passed it to his right-hand, or someone else who knows how to run it all?”

“Technically, I suppose I could’ve, but my family started this gang centuries ago; back when they used to ride horseback and gained the name for how in tune with their horses they were, how no-one could beat a Choi on horseback. It’s a legacy and even though part of me hates it all, all the blood on my family’s hands, I’m also too proud of all my ancestors built and kept going for these years that I can’t let it go.”

“Hansol will inherit it.”

“Oh, I purposely misspelled his name on his birth certificate, so he has a valid excuse not to if he doesn’t want to.”

“You did what?” You sputter a laugh and look at him. “You misspelled his name?”

“Yeah, you didn’t know that?”

“I’ve never seen his name written down.”

“Oh, well, yeah, Choi is C-H-O-I but his is C-H-W-E.” You can’t help but laugh again. “It’s kind of stupid, huh?” He chuckles and pulls you back against his chest, tucked up under his right arm side by side.

“It is, but it also makes sense. Has he questioned it?”

“Yeah, I blamed his mother being American and barely knowing Korean.” You can only laugh harder. “He’s asked for me to change it to the correct spelling, but I told him I can’t do that, I only get one chance to name him, and I used it up so it’ll have to wait until he’s an adult and can do it himself.”

“Oh, that’s kind of evil, but also genius.”

“I have my moments.”

“You do,” you agree and shuffle around so that you can face him. “I was wondering if you’ll do something.”

“What?”

“Adopt Chan with me.” Seungcheol’s eyes widen in surprise. “I don’t want either of us to be associated with our father anymore so I want to change his surname and well, I’m going to adopt him anyway, so he’s legally under my care and if you adopt him with me, he can take your family name. We can spell it C-H-W-E and Hansol can officially have that little brother he wants.”

“Are you serious?” He whispers and you nod. “He would legally be our son.”

“Well…legally I guess, but I’m his sister and I have no intention of changing my title to mama, I think that’d probably be a little weird. You’d still be his Sunny.”

“His what?”

“Oh, I didn’t tell you that?” Seungcheol shakes his head slightly, looking a little baffled. “He struggles to say Seungcheol, so he’s been calling you Sunny since pretty much the start.”

“Oh…that’s so fucking cute.” He grins.

“It is,” you agree. “Suits you, cutie Cheolie.”

“Ah, shut up,” he blushes and tries to turn you away from him so you can’t see his shyly pinkened cheeks, but you refuse and instead climb onto his lap. “Baby,” he warns, gripping your hips to keep your body on his lower thighs and prevent you getting closer.

“What?”

“Don’t play innocent, you can’t sit on me when we’re naked, it’s too risky.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it, you don’t wanna fuck me.” You roll your eyes with a long-suffering sigh.

“That’s really not the issue here. I’ve given up on getting to make our first time how I wanted to back then, we never have time to. And you were right, we never know what’s going to happen and I’m not going to blue ball myself for the sake of being a romantic sap.”

“What?” You deadpan. “Are you saying that there is no viable reason we haven’t already fucked?”

“It’s risky, we only have alone time and privacy in here and it’s not possible to put a condom on under water, not that I have any in here anyway.”

“We don’t need that,” you wave a dismissive hand and try to move closer, but he grips you tighter. “Cheol, come on, before the boys wake.”

“Sweetheart, I don’t want to risk it.”

“Risk what? You know my health; you know I don’t have anything transmissible!”

“I do,” you immediately lean back from him with a concerned expression. “Not like that, I worded that really fucking wrong. I have no diseases or anything either, all good to go in that sense.”

“Okay, then what do you mean?”

“I don’t want to have another baby.”

“Great, I don’t want one either, glad we cleared that up.”

“Baby,” he groans and pushes you even further away when you try to get closer, making you give up and slump against the side of the tub on your right.

“I just want your cock, why are you so mean to your girlfriend, Choi Seungcheol?” You complain forlornly.

“Trust me, I want to give it to you, but I don’t want to risk getting you pregnant, baby.”

“Ohhh,” you finally understand what he’s been trying to say and straighten up. “I’m sterile.”

“What?”

“Medically, dad sent me to do it as soon as I was old enough, he didn’t want me to breed and sully the family name further than my existence already does.”

He gawps at you appalled. “What the fuck? Your dad forced you to have that done?”

“Yeah, but I’m honestly glad now, even if I hated him for it as soon as I realised what he had done to me. I used to want kids, but then I realised that I’d be bringing a child very likely like me into this world and I don’t want to force that on anyone. I’ve faced enough shit being born with a disability I have no control over that I wouldn’t wish it on anyone, especially another innocent kid.”

“Oh…I see.”

“Yep. So, gonna fuck me now?”

“Fucking hell,” he exhales and slumps a little as he closes his eyes for a moment. “You really do have a one-track mind when sex is mentioned.”

“It’s you, I’ve never cared for it before, but I really want your cock, Cheolie.”

“What time is it?” You look over at his phone on the counter beside the tub and read the time out to him, letting him know that you definitely have time before the boys should wake up.

Before you’ve even turned to face him, he’s pulling your body right up against him with every intention of finally giving you what you’ve been wanting for months now.

Over time, Chan’s nightmares lessen, and he opens back up.

It starts with him talking to Hansol one day out of the blue; almost a complete sentence that makes Hansol bounce excitedly and run to tell you as soon as Chan is occupied again.

Then a few weeks later, Seungcheol walks into the playroom while you’re sitting with the boys playing a board game and hears Chan talking away and tries to leave rapidly so as to not discourage your brother, yet he falls and draws attention. Chan simply gets up and walks over to check on Seungcheol with a soft “you okay, Sunny?” and ever since, he’s talked to Seungcheol at every opportunity and the man never fails to give him his attention with big, awe filled eyes.

The very first time Chan talks to Seungkwan, the man has to leave the room, overcome with emotions and cries happily into Junhui’s chest as the cook pouts, wishing to be blessed with Chan’s voice too.

And Junhui is the next person Chan talks to, then Mingyu, then all of the other men one by one until his voice can be heard happily yelling and giggling with Hansol all around the house with no fear of who will hear him.

Though, he still goes nonverbal sometimes, so everyone in the house learns sign language. With everyone trying their best and often opting to use sign language instead of talking, you all pick it up quickly. It becomes so natural to walk past rooms with silent conversations happening within, even without Chan present.

So much has changed in the house and although you had been worried that it would be too much for the occupants, you can’t deny that everyone seems to be so happy and content with the changes, enough that you even admit to them all over dinner one day that you’re autistic too, which most of the men are simply pleased that you trust them enough to tell them.

However, Jihoon is utterly bewildered by the news. Apparently, he thinks you two are very similar in many ways, so he truly didn’t expect to hear you say as much, yet his own words just lead the men to teasingly suggest he see a professional and get his own diagnosis.

Then a few days later, Jihoon approaches you with some papers shyly and asks you to sit with him in his office, where he shows you the papers: print outs and research about autism in adult males. There are a lot of sections highlighted or circled and when you ask, he tells you those are the bits he relates to, so he thinks that maybe the guys might be right and he’s autistic too.

Though even after talking to him and walking through it all with Jihoon and telling him some bits of what it’s like for you, much of which he relates to, he decides not to get an official diagnosis. He says it’s enough to just know and have you to talk to and finally understand why his mind works in ways he once thought were normal yet discovered in his adult life aren’t typical for every person like he assumed.

When Jihoon tells the group a few nights after making his decision to not get a diagnosis, they all look at him in surprise and admit they were joking but they’re happy for him and glad he finally feels like he knows himself better.

Which is something you think is constantly happening with you too; that every now and then since moving into this house all those months back, you discover something new about yourself, something you had never been allowed to learn before coming here.

You now know that you do love cars; the mechanics of them and working out how to fix them all like a giant 3D puzzle that you could spend hours mulling over with Jihoon without either of you noticing the time fly by.

You now know that despite what your father tried to drill into you, you are fully capable of loving and being loved; your found family proves that every single day just by accepting you in your entirety.

And perhaps most importantly, you now know that even if you’re still figuring things out, even if you spend the rest of your life finding out who you are little by little, it’s okay. No matter what version of you wakes up in the morning, there can be another version of you by the time you go to sleep.

Some days, the version of you that you wake with struggles a lot, and some days you don’t struggle at all. Some days you think you’ve got yourself all figured out only to realise the next day that you don’t know yourself as well as you thought you did.

But every day, you know that it’s okay; it’s okay to struggle and to not understand, it’s okay to have days where you don’t feel right in your own skin and where you feel like you never will feel right, because they don’t last forever. They come and go, just like the sun and moon, they rise and fall, leave and come back; sometimes they’re gone for longer, other times they remain for longer. But you know that for every bad day, every struggle, there will also be good.

You’re learning a lot about yourself and the world around you and you hope that through it all, through all you discover, you will be able to remember at your core that every version of yourself is completely valid, and no matter what you were once told and tricked into believing for so long, you are not worthless in any way.

You are worth more than the cruel words of an irrelevant asshole and so long as you remember that and keep those words burning bright in your chest, you will always be able to rise above whatever life throws at you and keep moving forward to learn exactly who you are.

No matter what this big, often painfully cruel world forces upon your weary shoulders, as long as you stay true to who you are, you will always be okay in the end.

Don’t forget to reblog if you liked to help spread the story and let others read it too! And don't be shy to leave comments or send an ask so I can see your thoughts 🥺 💖

Permanent taglist: @okiedokrie, @tusswrites, @svtiddiess, @codeinebelle

Finding Yourself taglist: @syluslittlecrows, @gaslysainz, @whoisbaek15, @cherry-zip, @minhui896, @choco-scoups, @coupsvi, @reiofsuns2001

#svt #svt fic #scoups #choi seungcheol #choi seungcheol x reader #choi seungcheol fluff #choi seungcheol fanfic #scoups x reader #scoups fluff #seungcheol x reader #mafia au #mafia svt

193 notes · View notes

tick-tam · 3 days ago

Text

OKAY! I'm sat. I didn't start with much expectations but you have exceeded all others. The dialogues are soo engaging and the storyline is interesting. It's certainly a fresh concept in the common mafia au's and I can't get enough of it. The mc has my heart. She is the kind of funny you aspire to be when you are totally not.

Whatever You Want [Part One] - J.WW

💎Who: Jeon Wonwoo (Seventeen) x female reader 💎What: Mafia/gang au. Dark themes (check warnings). Angst. Fluff. Humour. Strangers to friends to lovers. Suggestive (18+). 💎Word count: 17.7k for part one. 31.8k total 💎Warnings: Kidnapping. Violence. Injury and blood. Morally grey characters. Joke about drugs. Alcohol consumption (nobody gets drunk at all). Suggestive dialogue. Wonwoo is a handful of years older than reader. 💎Summary: “To be honest, you’re surprised it’s taken this long to happen. Truly, you thought you would’ve been kidnapped years ago, so you’re not surprised when it happens.

What does surprise you, however, is the reason why, and what happens when you meet that reason.”

Minors do NOT interact, which means reblogging and/or commenting on this story. I WILL block any account that interacts without an age indicator in their bio.

Masterlist Part Two

A/N- Part two will be available April 24th. Thank you to @lovetaroandtaemin for beta reading and helping me out with the warnings! I appreciate you endlessly, my love 💗

It’s typical, really; the one time you actually have cash on you to give to the homeless man you’ve befriended, who always waits around for you to finish work, you don’t get the chance to give it to him.

Just like every night when you’re done closing up the restaurant, you see Sangmin waiting on the other side of the road, sitting patiently on the bench there, ready to walk you home.

You wave at him as you near the edge of the path, one hand carefully holding the takeout container of a freshly made double serving of his favourite meal that you cook at the restaurant. Sangmin gets up from the bench with a bright smile, always so happy to see you, and waves, making you smile just as brightly, even if you’re exhausted from the long hours cooking away in the kitchen. But Sangmin always cheers you up.

He’s such an upbeat guy despite his unfavourable circumstances, and you genuinely enjoy these walks home listening to him tell you about his day and telling him about yours in return. You can’t wait to hear if he made a new friend at the dog park today, where he likes to hang around and offer to play with the dogs of the elderly folk who can’t run or throw balls and sticks for their pets. Sometimes, the owners even give him some cash in return or buy him a coffee or ice cream from the stands, weather permitting. It’s a reminder that there is still good in this shitty world.

Just as you’re about to cross the street, a couple of cars get close enough that you remain in place to let them pass and intend to cross after they’re gone, when it’s safe.

The chance doesn’t come as both cars suddenly swerve to pull up in front of you, making you take a few steps back as you stare at the vehicles suspiciously. The engines don’t turn off, and the doors on the side closest to you open to allow masked, suited men to get out.

“Shit,” you curse under your breath and hold your free hand up as they approach. “Wait, wait, wait!” You exclaim, kicking out as they reach out to you with clearly every intention of stealing you away. “I said wait!” You glance over to Sangmin as you hear him yelling your name, voice getting closer. “Stay there, Sangmin!” You warn loudly. “Stay out of this!” You crouch, still with your free hand up so that you can put the container on the floor. “Okay, I’ll go with you, just leave him alone,” you inform and let out a breath of relief when the bulky man directly in front of you stops trying to reach towards you and signals his men to wait. “Give me a sec, seriously, I’ll go,” you promise and shuffle aside to peer around to where Sangmin is being held back by a couple of the men. “It’ll be okay, Sangmin. Enjoy your dinner, okay. I’ll see you soon.”

Sangmin murmurs your name brokenly, clearly not trusting these men to bring you safely back, and honestly, neither do you. But he stops struggling to get to you and stumbles back when the men let him go with a little shove to create more space. “Be safe,” he pleads as you follow the men to get into the closest car.

“You too.” You give him a soft smile before you’re in the car between two burly men and the door is shut. You want to watch Sangmin as the car pulls away, want to see him pick up his meal so you know he will eat well, at least tonight, but you can’t. Just as you turn your head to watch through the rear window, something sharp jabs into your leg. You yelp, turning to look down at the culprit and find a needle stuck in your leg. “You asshole,” you mutter.

Moments later, you’re unconscious.

Something about this woman is familiar to you, but you really can’t tell what it is. It doesn’t help that her cronies have given you one swollen eye, and the other eye’s vision is blurred with blood that trickles down from your split eyebrow.

Whoever this woman is, though, she clearly doesn’t want to get her own hands dirty, even if she looks very pleased with the bruised and bleeding state of you.

“Okay, okay,” you groan once you’ve caught your breath from the round of beating you’ve just received. “I give. Who the fuck are you?” You question, peering at her.

Despite not being able to see her clearly, you can see the way her whole posture changes; from smug to dumb, offended shock. “Who am I?”

“Yes; who are you?” You repeat, almost rolling your eyes.

“How dare you?!” She stalks over and one of her men grabs a fistful of your hair from where he stands behind you, to make you look up at her as she leers over you. “I am the most powerful woman in this whole city!”

“Pretty sure I’d know who you are if that’s true,” you retort and choke out a laugh when she finally hits you herself; an open-handed slap that drags the multiple rings on her fingers across your already bruised cheek, drawing shallow gouges in your skin.

“How dare-!” She starts to screech, yet the door opening behind her cuts her off as she looks over.

Curiously, you look over too, and the tall man who enters looks vaguely familiar to you too. At least, the leather jacket and glasses he’s wearing do because he’s too far away for you to make out clearly.

“What the fuck is going on here?” He demands.

Ah, you recognise his deep voice and suddenly understand why he’s familiar to you. He’s a regular at the restaurant and favours the same dish as Sangmin, though this guy worked his way through the entire menu before settling on that particular one.

You’ve only talked to him a few times, when it’s late enough that the wait staff have already been sent home, but the owners always stay open for this guy; meaning, if they’re busy, you have to deliver his meal to him. He always compliments your cooking and thanks you genuinely, but other than that, you’ve never said much to one another. Other than last Christmas when he asked if you would consider making him something special off menu and gave you a wad of cash to sweeten you up.

Even before the suspicious stack of cash was handed to you, you just knew in your gut that this guy is in shady dealings and seeing him walk into this room and not even flinch at the battered condition of you, it only confirms it.

“Teaching your little whore a lesson,” the woman sneers and turns back to you. “She needs to learn that she can’t get away with touching what’s mine.”

“I still don’t know who the fuck you are,” you point out.

Just as her hand is about to come down to connect with your cheek again, the newcomer grabs her wrist. “Don’t you fucking dare,” he warns. “She’s not done shit wrong. I’ve told you before that I’ve never fucking cheated on you. She’s just a fucking cook.”

“Don’t lie to me, Jeon Wonwoo,” she hisses.

“Don’t be fucking delusional, Ahn Yerim,” he retorts and looks at the man behind you. “Untie her.”

“Sir, Miss Ahn said-” the thug starts, yet shuts up and releases his grip on your hair when Wonwoo glares. The man behind you quickly moves to untie your arms and legs from the chair.

“You don’t listen to him! You listen to me! You both work for me!” Yerim exclaims.

“We work for your father, not you, sweetheart,” Wonwoo reminds and lets her go to approach you and carefully help you up. “Come on,” he encourages as he puts his arm around your waist to support you.

“I am your wife! Treat me with the respect I deserve!”

“I treat you with more than you deserve,” Wonwoo grumbles as he pretty much half carries you out of the room. You’re trying to walk, but they had tied your ankles to the chair legs so tightly that your feet are sparkling painfully with every dragging step as the blood rushes back in. “Did they break your legs?” He wonders concernedly as he stops and adjusts his left arm behind your back as you grip onto his shoulders for stability.

“No, extreme pins and needles.” He makes a noise of understanding and sweeps you up into his arms, hooking his right arm under your thighs to carry you.

“Do me a favour and shut your eyes; you shouldn’t see where we are.”

“Can’t see the gang HQ?” You muse, and snigger when he glances at you with a flat look. “Alright, whatever, Mr Jeon Wonwoo.” Obligingly, you shut your eyes and decide to lean your head against his broad shoulder and rest a little.

“What’s your name?” He wonders.

“Don’t even know the name of the woman your wife accused you of cheating with?” He sighs, making you snigger again before you tell him your name, which he only hums at. “Your wife is a real fucking bitch, you know?”

The sigh he lets out sounds like he more than knows how true those words are.

Instead of taking you home, or back to the restaurant, or a hospital, or a random fucking street corner to leave you to figure out your way from there, Wonwoo drives to the outskirts of the city; to a building site that you know got abandoned after only one block of fancy apartments were built. The company, who still owns the land, had a lot of issues with permits and tried to sell the project on, yet no-one wanted to take over from their immense fuck up, so it’s been abandoned for at least a year now.

At least, you thought it was, but perhaps Wonwoo likes to take advantage of the lack of witnesses at the edge of the city and bury his victims here. It’d be a smart move. There doesn’t seem to be any security around; even the road leading to the site is far enough out of the way that there are no traffic cameras along the stretch.

“I hope you don’t like burying your victims alive,” you murmur as you eye the abandoned building materials still piled up along the partially finished, dust covered road you’re travelling down.

“What?” Wonwoo glances over at you but you’re staring out of the window with a displeased pout. “I’m not going to fucking bury you alive.”

“Ah, good, I’m in the firm belief I would not enjoy that at all.”

“You… No, I don’t think you would. I don’t think anyone would.”

“I dunno, some people are into some shit, Wonwoo. You’d be surprised.” You look over at him and notice a strange expression cross his features. It’s one you’re familiar with from other people and know it means they’re suddenly questioning their decision to be in close proximity to you.

After shaking his head slightly and letting out a strong exhale as he looks back to where he’s driving, Wonwoo speaks again. “Look, I didn’t bring you here to kill you, but to protect you.”

“What?”

“My wife is a fucking psycho. You saw that, and I know she’ll have people looking for you to steal you away again. So, I’m putting you in one of my safe houses so she can’t do that. Understand?”

“She doesn’t know about this safe house?”

Wonwoo scoffs and shakes his head. “No. She doesn’t know about any of them. Nobody does; just me. You’ll be safe here, trust me.”

“I really don’t think trust comes into this, more like I don’t have a fucking choice.”

“That too,” he confirms simply.

There’s nothing more that can be said on the topic, so you both remain silent for the last short section of the drive. Even when Wonwoo parks up in the underground parking of the only complete building, then leads you into the lift up to an apartment on the sixth floor, neither of you say a word.

That changes when you step into the apartment and look at the sparse décor for the modern apartment. “Wow, a true minimalist, aren’t you?” You muse, glancing at the sofa you can see from the entrance hall, then over to the kitchen perfectly within view due to the open layout of the bottom floor of the apartment. There’s a glass staircase on the other side of the living area, with a short hallway behind it, but other than that, there truly is not much to look at.

“It’s just a safe house; it’s supposed to be functional, nothing more.”

“How can you function in such a lifeless place?”

Wonwoo sighs and nudges you from behind, so you’ll move out of the way and let him pad across the expensive marble-look flooring in his socks to the kitchen. “Just take your shoes off and get your ass over here.”

After putting his shoes neatly aside and putting your own next to them, you shuffle over to the kitchen and perch yourself on one of the stools at the breakfast bar, where he’s rummaging through an extensive medical kit, which you hadn’t even seen him procure.

“Got the good stuff?” You joke, leaning over to peer into the bag. “Wait, is that morphine?” You gasp, reaching for the packet of pills, but he slaps your hand away.

“You don’t need morphine.”

“I’m in pain, Wonwoo,” you try, pouting at him, but he gives you a disbelieving look. “Ow.”

“You can have ibuprofen or paracetamol.”

“What kind of a gang member won’t give the good stuff?” You huff and turn away to peer at the kitchen. Honestly, you don’t even want morphine. You just wanted to see if he would give it to you, but you have your answer now and have no reason to push it.

“Are you an addict?”

“No, just bored.”

“So, you want drugs?”

“No. Just seeing how you’d react.”

“You’re very fucking weird, you know?”

“Yes,” you confirm and look at him before pointing to the fridge. “I’m guessing that’s empty?”

“Yeah, there’s long life stuff in the cupboards though, some military rations and instant ramen.”

“Good ol’ instant ramen.”

He just hums, then finally has everything he wants from the kit set up on the counter. “Alright, face me; let me get a look at the damage.” Obediently, you turn on the stool to face him as he moves closer while removing his jacket to toss onto the counter, leaving him a simple black t-shirt and jeans.

“How come you’re not in a suit like those assholes?”

“I’m off the clock.”

“Then why did you turn up?”

“My wife sent me a video of them beating you,” he informs, gently turning your head from side to side with one hand on your jaw delicately, to not aggravate the bruises on your skin. “Couldn’t let her do that to an innocent person.”

“Aw, how noble of you, Mr. Thug.”

“Not a thug.”

“Mm, sure.”

“I’m not.”

“I’ve seen your bruised knuckles when you’ve come into the restaurant, Wonwoo, the split lips and bruised cheeks. Even seen the outline of your weapon under your clothes. By that, I mean your gun.”

“What else could you mean?” You just giggle, and he sighs, understanding the euphemism, though he doesn’t grace you with a further reaction, not wanting to focus on that subject at all. “Don’t make me regret saving you.”

“No promises.”

Despite his stern expression and stiff posture, Wonwoo is gentle as he tends to your wounds attentively; talking as softly in his low voice as he can to warn you when he’s about to do something that might sting or asking you to move in various ways to give him better access.

“Alright, all done,” he declares sometime later when he straightens up and steps back from you, eyes still darting over your seated form for any wounds he’s missed.

“Thanks.”

“Mm, my fault anyway.”

“It is,” you agree, earning an unimpressed look from the man before he turns to start tidying up. “Is there anything to drink?”

“The tap water is safe,” he informs before opening one of the cupboards to pull out two glasses, which he fills from the cold tap then puts one on the counter in front of you. “I’ll get groceries in tomorrow. Write a list of whatever you want or need for the next week.”

“I’ve got to stay here for a week? I have a job, you know,” you point out before gratefully picking up the glass to gulp down the contents as he finishes cleaning up, his own glass of water barely touched.

“I know. Write a resignation and I’ll post it through the door tomorrow.”

“I don’t want to resign! I like that job!”

“They won’t hold out until you’re back, and I don’t know when that will be yet. We need to wait it out until my wife has given up tormenting you.”

“How long will that be?”

“No fucking clue, she’s been tormenting me for years.”

“I don’t understand why people stay with someone they don’t love anymore.”

Wonwoo doesn’t respond, and you think this is one of those circumstances where it’s really not your place to push, so you drop the topic.

Once Wonwoo is done cleaning up, including both of your drinking glasses, he leads you upstairs to one of the bedrooms. To your surprise, it looks fully furnished, even if there’s not any décor, but it’s more liveable than downstairs.

“Wow, a dresser and TV,” you whistle, eyeing the items as Wonwoo pulls the bedding off of the large bed.

“It came partially furnished,” he explains.

“There’s no TV in the living room.”

“I said partially.”

“Weird they put a TV in the bedroom before the living room.”

“The sockets are all there, they just didn’t get around to it. They were going to get custom TVs made for all the apartment living rooms, but didn’t get the chance before the project got shut down.”

“I didn’t know anyone bought an apartment.”

“Bought is a stretch,” he muses, piling the stale bedding by the door before grabbing another set from a drawer under the bed to sniff at, then shrugs and starts to make the bed.

“Is this technically squatting?”

“No.” He huffs a short laugh. “It’s my apartment, just more of a gift. The whole building is mine.”

“Ooh, check you out, Mr fancy property owner.” You move over to help fix the fitted sheet to the mattress, earning a grateful nod from the man. “What did you do to get this gift?”

“Let the CEO keep his life.”

“And he only gave you a single building in an unfinished building site? The audacity! If he values his life that much, he should’ve given you a lot more.”

“He offered me any building of his I wanted, he owns a lot in the city centre too, but I asked for this; I knew it’s out of the way. He promised to not try hard to get the site up and running again, so I’ll have privacy. Which, to me, is the most valuable thing anyway.”

“Mm, fair,” you concede and work alongside him to finish setting up the bed.

“I’ll be right back, don’t go anywhere. The front door is already locked, and you won’t be able to unlock it. You can’t leave, so don’t bother trying,” he warns seriously before turning and leaving the bedroom.

With a sigh, you perch on the edge of the bed and wait, rubbing your feet over the fluffy rug below you, to twist your socks around and around your feet in boredom until he returns.

It’s almost ten minutes before he returns with a pile of fabrics in his arms and a basket of what looks like toiletries, with a toilet roll perched on top.

“You look like a maid,” you comment amusedly.

Wonwoo just sighs then puts the items on the bed. “Here, bathroom stuff. I’ll get you scents you like tomorrow, but you’ll have to use mine for now.” He hands you the basket, so you look at the toiletries curiously, popping the caps to sniff the contents and making pleased sounds.

“I like these.”

“Okay, saves me buying toiletries tomorrow.”

“I need sanitary items.” He looks at you. “My period is due soon.”

“Ah.” He blinks at you a few times dumbly before nodding. “Okay, just write down what you want, and I’ll get it.”

“Sounds like a plan; you know, provided you give me something to do that with.”

“Oh, right.” He chews on his lip thoughtfully before sighing and moving around to sit beside you as he pulls his phone from his pocket to unlock. “You’ll have to write it in a note on my phone, but I can’t let you use my phone blindly, so I’m going to watch.”

“Understandable,” you agree, accepting the device once he has his notes app open on a blank note, so that you can start typing out a list of items for him to buy at the shop tomorrow.

“Write your clothing sizes too. I have limited clothes myself here and just gave you one set to wear to bed. Oh, put detergent down, there isn’t any here. Put the brand if you’re particular about that stuff.”

“Nah, I’m good with whatever smells good and does the job,” you assure, while typing down ‘laundry detergent (nice smelling one)’. “Are there cleaning supplies?”

“I’ll get more,” he promises then motions to the list, so you write it down.

Although it should not be this easy to sit side by side and make a grocery list together, it is. It’s domestic, even, in a very, very, very weird fucking way. The man’s wife is out for your blood, due to her own delusional accusations against the pair of you, yet you’re sitting here making a grocery list together as if you’re actually roommates who regularly do this. Very strange indeed.

“Alright, that’s all I can think of,” you decide, after looking over the surprisingly extensive list one last time, before handing his phone back.

“I’ll go shopping in the morning before work,” he declares as he gets up and tucks his phone back into his pocket. “I’ll let you get some sleep now; you must be tired after all this shit.”

“Kinda pretty awake, actually. Does the TV work?”

“Should do, the one in my room works at least. There’s no Wi-Fi here though, so it’s just satellite channels.”

“If this one doesn’t work, we’re swapping rooms.”

“No,” he replies in a firm tone before exiting the room, pulling the door up behind him and leaving you in silence.

“Well, fuck you too,” you mutter and get up to use the bathroom. You change into the sweatpants and t-shirt he left for you before climbing into the slightly dusty smelling bed to turn on the TV.

Although you aren’t tired when you climb into bed, that quickly changes as you curl up under the covers with your eyes on the 90’s rom com playing on the TV, soon lulling you into a dreamless sleep.

In the morning, or whatever time it is when you tiredly trudge downstairs, you discover that Wonwoo is a man of his word.

There are various bags of shopping in the kitchen, all full of items from the shopping list. From clothes in the sizes that you wrote down, to perhaps far too many packets of sanitary towels; it seems that either Wonwoo has no idea how periods really work, or he intends to keep you for longer than just this cycle length. Either way, he listened and must’ve really tried hard to get everything on the list, with no regard to his financial state, as every piece of clothing has a brand name attached, not just cheap stuff from a superstore like you had expected him to buy.

Although you genuinely would be okay with the cheap stuff, and never quite see the appeal in such expensive clothing for daily wear, you appreciate it and make a mental note to thank him when you next see him.

A few minutes later, when you’re done perusing the contents of the bags and have moved to the fridge, you finally notice the brand-new magnetic whiteboard on the front with a note scrawled in black ink from Wonwoo.

It’s simple; just him telling you that he will be back in a few days to check on you, while also reminding you to not try to leave the apartment and also keep out of his room. You had no intention of going into Wonwoo's room, but now that he’s told you not to, you kind of want to.

For now, you just focus on making yourself something to eat before taking the shopping bags up to your room to make yourself at home for the foreseeable future.

It’s only been two days since Wonwoo left you all alone and you’re already so bored and restless that the moment you hear the beep of the lock disengaging on the front door, you’re rushing over from the kitchen to greet him like an excitable puppy.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” He mutters with a bewildered frown as you crowd close and peer up at him.

“I’m bored, Wonwoo,” you whine, eyes flickering over his tired features. “You look like shit.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem.” You finally back out of his personal space and take the bag from his hands as he works on removing his shoes and leather jacket, suit beneath today. The contents of the bag clinks as you take it, making you peer inside curiously. “Are you planning to mix wine and whiskey?” You wonder.

“No, just didn’t know what you’d prefer.”

“So, you bought wine for me?”

“No, that’s mine. I thought you’d be a whiskey girl, seem like the type to like the burn.”

“Ha,” you snigger. “You got me, but I’ll drink anything.” You take the bag into the kitchen, where you had been starting to make yourself dinner. “Hungry?”

“Fucking starving,” he confirms when he follows you a moment later, unbuttoning his suit jacket to remove and toss onto the dining table carelessly, eyes on the ingredients you have laid out on the kitchen island.

“Pour out,” you say, pointing to the wine bottle on the counter as you focus on getting extra ingredients out to cover Wonwoo’s portion too. He just hums and moves around to get out the wine glasses from the cupboard and corkscrew from the drawer.

As you cook, Wonwoo sits at the breakfast bar, head propped on his left fist and wine glass he’s slowly emptying, in his right. He hasn’t said a word since sitting down, just watches you work, and you’re honestly not even sure he’s entirely present. He looks like he could fall asleep any second, and you don’t think the wine he’s drinking is helping.

“Hey,” you call, tossing the cork, from where it lays on the counter, at him. He jerks back when it hits him on his forehead. He blinks at you dumbly, eyebrows furrowed in displeased surprise while you cackle at his expression. “You look like you’re going to fall asleep upright.”

“I’m fine,” he argues and drinks the last of the contents of his glass before reaching for the bottle to refill his glass, then your own, even if yours is still basically full.

“Bullshit.”

“Just focus on the fucking food.”

“Mm, alright, but if you fall asleep, I’m eating your share too.”

“Do that, and I’ll take you right back to my wife and let her do whatever the fuck she wants with you,” he warns, entirely serious.

“Wow,” you mutter, eyebrows raising as you take in the dangerous tint in his eyes. “You’re serious about your food, huh?”

“Only when it’s your cooking.”

“Damn, you must be sleep deprived to say shit like that.”

He sighs and slumps a little in his seat as he realises that you’re right. “It’s why she thinks I’m fucking you.”

“What?”

“Because I eat your cooking, go out of my way to eat it, and I never eat hers.”

“Ah, yes,” you hum, a sarcastic edge to your voice. “That age old saying; the way to man’s bed is through his stomach.”

Wonwoo lets out a chuckle and leans back on his fist as his eyes tiredly track your movements. “Knowing her dumbass, she actually thinks that’s right.”

“It obviously wasn’t her method.”

“She can’t cook for shit. It’s no wonder I don’t eat it.” His expression turns disgusted. “Even I cook better than her, and I can’t cook shit either.”

“That’s fucked up man; everyone should be able to cook at least two decent meals.”

“Never needed to and don’t exactly have the chance to learn how. She thinks she’s some kind of trophy wife and won’t let me in the kitchen to try.” He sighs and lets go of his glass to free his right hand so that he can rub at his eyes under his glasses. “She knows I’m hiding you, won’t stop fucking bugging me. Can’t get a minute’s fucking peace in that house at the moment.”

“Ah, that’s why you look like you haven’t been sleeping.”

“She doesn’t shut the fuck up when I’m there, so I’ve been avoiding it as much as possible. But at the end of the day, she’s my wife, so I can only avoid her so much.”

“Wild thought right here, but have you considered a divorce?” You muse and point to the plate cupboard, prompting him to get up and reach down two dinner plates to place on the side near you.

Instead of sitting back down, he starts to load up the dishwasher with the dishes, which you’ve been putting in the sink to deal with after dinner once you’ve finished using them. “Not as simple as that,” he mutters.

“Why not?”

“Just isn’t, and it’s none of your fucking business.”

“Thanks to you and your delusional wife, I have no business of my own anymore, so I have to be up in yours.”

“Well, don’t.”

“I’m fucking bored, Wonwoo.”

“Read a fucking book.”

“Nerd.” You don’t even look at him, but you don’t need to in order to know that he’s giving you a very unimpressed look; you can practically feel his gaze burning into the side of your face from over your left shoulder. “Either you give me all the gossip every time you visit, or you get me something to entertain me.”

“Like what?”

For a second, you almost say a sex toy or twelve, but you think he really would stop talking to you then, and he’s your only method of socialisation, so you hum thoughtfully instead. “I guess seeing as there’s no internet, and you wouldn’t trust me with access to the outside world even if there was, a games console with a bunch of games on disc to play will do.”

“You like video games?”

“Not really.” You shrug and finish plating up dinner. “I’ve been intrigued, but I’ve always been more into cooking and baking. That’s just not as fun when I’ve got no-one to share it with. I can game on my own, at least.”

“You like to bake too?” You hum in confirmation. “I didn’t know that.”

You can’t help but laugh shortly as you look at him incredulously. “Why would you know that? We don’t know shit about each other, Wonwoo,” you remind him.

“Ah, right.” He nods and takes the last pan to rinse then put in the dishwasher, while you take your plates to the table to set down. Wonwoo follows moments later with the wine and sits down opposite you. “This looks amazing, thank you.”

“Mm, of course. Not going to let the only person who can entertain me starve, am I?”

“Guess not,” he huffs a quick laugh and picks up his fork. “What kind of games do you want?”

“I don’t really know; a variety, maybe, so I can try different types.”

He makes a noise of understanding. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“You’re the best.” He gives you a raised eyebrow look. “At least the best I can do with no other option.” He scoffs a laugh, lips turning into a more genuinely amused smile as he turns back to his food yet says nothing and eats, so you do the same.

A few days later, Wonwoo is back just in time for dinner with his hands empty, making you squint at him sulkily as he nears where you’re setting the dishes on the table.

Last time when he left, it was the morning, and you were asleep in your room, so he had written another note on the whiteboard telling you when he’d be back; so today, you had made his favourite meal and sides from the restaurant. You had planned the timing for when he said he would be back, and thankfully, he is still a man of his word and arrived perfectly on time.

At least, with this, he is a man of his word, because he had said he’d bring you a games console and games, yet here he is, empty handed.

“What? I’m on time,” he defends as he sits down. He’s not in a suit today, but jeans and a plain black t-shirt. It must be nice to be so unfairly attractive that even such a simple outfit looks effortlessly incredible.

“And empty handed,” you mutter sulkily and drop down into your seat.

“It’s in the car,” he informs, rolling his eyes a little as he grabs his cutlery and immediately scoops a mouthful of food into his mouth.

You watch as he makes strange sounds as he tries to exhale the heat from his mouth while still chewing. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” You wonder, prompting him to look at you. “There is literally steam, of course it’s hot.”

“I’m starving,” he replies, only just managing to cover his mouth as he talks, so that you don’t see his partially chewed food. “Barely eaten since last time.”

“What the fuck? Why?” You gawp.

“Told you; she won’t let me in the kitchen, and I refuse to eat her cooking.”

“There are plenty of restaurants, even fucking convenience stores to get a sandwich or instant ramen!”

“Can’t eat that shit after having your cooking.” He shrugs. As if it’s no big deal. As if he hasn’t just essentially admitted he’d rather go hungry than eat food that you haven’t made.

Perhaps to him it’s nothing, but no one has ever sounded so committed to any aspect of you before, even if it’s a byproduct of you, not actually a part of you. But it still hits you right in the chest and makes you unable to do anything but stare at him dumbly as he continues to shove too much food in his mouth before it’s cool enough to be practical.

“I’ll bring it up after dinner,” he declares a few moments later, snapping you back to reality without looking up at you, still too focused on his food.

“What?”

“The shit in the car.”

“Oh, why didn’t you just bring it up with you?” You wonder as you pick up your cutlery to get started on eating your own serving.

“There’s too much shit for one trip, and I wanted to eat.”

“Too much shit?” You give him a questioning look when he glances at you. “How much did you buy, Wonwoo?”

“It’s not that.” He waves a dismissive hand. “You’ll understand later.”

After dinner, once he’s finished cleaning up, and while you sprawl over the still far too big couch in wait, Wonwoo goes down to the car and returns with a hand truck hauling multiple cardboard boxes. He unloads them into the lounge then leaves, after telling you to wait for him to be back. He locks you in the apartment once again before making another trip down to his car and returning without the hand truck, but now he has a suitcase that you recognise and a duffle bag you do not.

“Hold, did you break into my fucking apartment?!” you gawp as you sit up, pointing accusingly at the man.

“No. I have your keys.” He pulls your keys from his jacket pocket then tosses them onto the side console with his own as he removes his shoes.

“What the fuck, how?”

“My wife had them, remember?”

“Oh…” You nod a little in understanding. “I assume you will not be returning my phone to me.”

“No. It’s off and somewhere else. Can’t risk you turning it on and getting tracked,” he answers simply before walking over to start opening the biggest of the boxes, while you pout at his back.

It’s only when he pulls an old, boxy TV from the box, spilling packing foam everywhere, that your interest is pulled away from grieving the, hopefully temporary, loss of your phone.

“The fuck?” you mutter, rolling off of the couch to shuffle across the rug on your knees until you’re peering over his shoulder as he sets the TV up on the unit. “Excuse you, sir, but we are in the modern age.”

“Shut up, the console doesn’t work with our TVs,” he retorts.

“What console did you even buy?”

“I didn’t buy it. It’s one I’ve had since I was a kid, so you better fucking look after it,” he warns, giving you a stern look.

“I can respect other’s property, unlike you.” He gives you a bewildered look. “You broke into my apartment.”

“I had your fucking keys,” he reminds with a roll of his eyes before turning back around to return to setting up the outdated TV before pulling over another box to open.

“I didn’t give you permission to go there; you broke in.”

“I thought you’d want some of your own shit. Last time I try and do something fucking nice for your ungrateful ass.” You stare at him for a moment before shuffling closer to abruptly hug him from behind, making him jolt then tense up. “The fuck are you doing?”

“Being appreciative.”

“Well stop it; it’s fucking weird. Just go back to being an ungrateful shit.”

“No. You smell really nice, what cologne do you use? I want some.”

“I brought your perfume from your apartment, wear your own shit.”

“No, I like yours. Let’s swap.”

“Fuck off.” He shakes you off of him, making you snigger before you move over to open the last box, which looks brand new, to peer inside and notice random items from your apartment inside.

You don’t know why Wonwoo thought you’d want the novelty beer mat, which you stole from a bar, that you kept on your coffee table, but it’s in the box and makes you giggle when you see it. All the other items are much more understandable; your jewellery box, makeup bag, perfume, the blanket from your couch, and the teddy bear that sleeps with you.

“You got a boyfriend you didn’t mention?” He wonders, when he glances over and spots you holding the teddy and brushing your fingers over the soft fur. His eyes land on the love heart pattern of its t-shirt then he turns away.

“No.”

“Caught up on an ex?”

“What’s it to you?”

“Just wondering, damn.”

“Oh, so you get to dig into my love life, but I can’t yours?”

“Never fucking mind,” he grunts, all but glaring at the console as he sets it up.

You peer at him and sigh. “Fucking idiot man.” He turns his head to shoot you a warning look over his shoulder. “What? You are!”

“Watch your fucking mouth.”

“No.” You raise a challenging eyebrow when he turns further towards you; a clear attempt to silently intimidate you. “I know you’re not going to hurt me. If you were willing to let me get hurt, I wouldn’t still be here,” you reason logically.

Wonwoo continues to glare at you for a moment before he turns away with a grunted curse, making you snigger. “Stop being a brat, or I won’t be so nice from here on out.”

“Kinda sounds like a challenge to me, if I’m honest.” Your words make Wonwoo stop what he’s doing to sigh heavily, eyes closing as he takes a moment to gather himself. Deciding to leave Wonwoo alone, lest you actually make him lose his temper with you, you turn and look at the bear in your hands.

A bittersweet little smile lifts your lips as you think about Sangmin. He had gifted you the bear on Valentine’s day; he wasn’t hitting on you and made a big effort to let you know that. He had simply seen the bear and decided to use all the change he had in his pocket to buy it for you, as the most heartfelt thank you and sign of his appreciation for all the meals you make for him.

At this point, Sangmin really is your best friend, perhaps your only friend. You value him so greatly and constantly find yourself wondering and worrying over the man since Wonwoo’s wife kidnapped you a week ago. You’ve been his only source of stable sustenance for months now; you dread to think of how much he’s struggling to feed himself without you handing him a hot meal every night.

“Hey, uhm Wonwoo?” You call, tone quieter and uncertain. It makes Wonwoo stop what he’s doing to look over at you, but you’re still looking at that bear and don’t notice.

Wonwoo stares at you contemplatively for a moment; takes in the concerned furrow of your eyebrows and the tender way you handle the bear. “What is it?” He asks, his own tone softer now, noticing that whatever is on your mind is serious for you. He wasn’t aware you even know how to be genuinely serious like this. Even when you were tied to a chair by thugs getting bruised and battered, you didn’t seem like you were taking the situation all that seriously.

“Will you do me a big favour?”

“Depends.”

You sigh softly and look at him. “There’s a homeless man who I feed every night after work. He meets me outside of the restaurant and walks me home. He’s… I’m the only stable source of food he has. Will you check on him, buy him a meal? And assure him that I’m okay. He was there when those assholes took me.”

“Oh.” He silently watches you for a moment longer, in surprise at your genuine, selfless request, while you keep your sincere gaze glued to him. “He means a lot to you, doesn’t he?”

“He’s my only friend, all I have here. He’s really a good guy; he’s got a giant heart and will always put others first. It’s how he lost everything; ran himself thin and got his kind nature taken advantage of. I need to know that he’s okay and will continue to be until I can go back and look after him.”

“Okay,” he agrees softly with a nod. “I’ll look out for him until it’s safe for you to leave.”

“Thank you.” You relax a little as you give him a grateful smile.

“You’re welcome.”

Although it’s usually a few days before you see Wonwoo, he turns up the day after you ask him to check on Sangmin.

When he enters the apartment, you’re sitting on the floor close to the boxy TV in the lounge, playing one of the games on his childhood game console.

“Oh, didn’t expect you today, would’ve started dinner if I knew you’d be here,” you comment, after flickering your gaze over to him, then focus back on the screen.

“Why does that sound like you won’t eat dinner if I don’t turn up?” he accuses, approaching, sans shoes, to sit on your left, grab the other controller from in front of the console, and immediately jumps into the game with you.

“When I get hungry, I’ll eat. I don’t have any kind of schedule to keep, you do.” Wonwoo makes a noise of understanding in response yet says nothing more.

Until the end of the level, you’re both focused entirely on the game and only talk when Wonwoo gives you tips and guidance. He played this game many times in his youth, so he knows it far better than you, even if it’s been some years since he last played it.

“What’s for dinner then?” Wonwoo prompts, plucking the controller from your hand to place down as the level ends.

“Uhh, fuck knows,” you answer with a shrug before getting up and shuffling to the kitchen. “Why are you here, anyway?”

“In case you forgot; it’s my fucking apartment,” he scoffs, turning off the TV, after saving the game properly. Once the console and TV are both turned off, Wonwoo saunters over to the kitchen to lean on the island at the opposite side to you, with his forearms laid flat on the granite surface and fingers casually laced together.

“You got a thing for cooking, or something?” You wonder upon realising that he’s watching you with the same interest he always does when you’re cooking. Then again, maybe he’s just making sure you don’t slip poison into his portion. It’s only been just over a week since you met, so you wouldn’t blame him for being cautious.

“Just curious. I told you; I can’t cook for shit.”

“Then wash your hands and get around here,” you demand. “No better way to learn than by doing.”

“You serious?” he mumbles as he straightens up. You just hum. Wonwoo stares at you for a moment before moving to roll up his shirt sleeves, wash his hands and then join you for his first ever cooking lesson.

It’s hours after Wonwoo arrives that you find out why he broke what you thought was going to be the schedule for his visits.

Cooking dinner takes almost three times as long as normal with him at your side; for a gang member he’s ridiculously cautious with the kitchen knife you instruct him to use. Then, the two of you get distracted talking about the video games you’ve tried, so eating dinner takes longer than normal too.

So, here you are, four hours after he arrived, returning to the lounge to relax on the couch. You’re both very glad to have a comfortable seat after the past four hours of sitting on the hard floor, standing to cook and clean, and barely cushioned dining chairs.

“Oh, I went to the restaurant while I was in the area today,” he informs, drawing your attention to him, instead of staring at the little spread of video games on the floor by the TV unit as you try to decide what to play next. Wonwoo is already looking at you and when you look at him, he continues talking, knowing that you’re now paying attention. “Met Sangmin.” You straighten up a little, eyes widening slightly in silent question, silent concern for your friend. “He…well, I won’t lie; he looks like shit.”

“How bad?”

“He’s barely eaten or slept since you were taken,” he answers. “He’s been looking for you, asking around where he can and got into some trouble a couple days ago; so, he looked fucked up too.”

“Fuck.”

“Mm.”

“You gotta let me go see him.”

“Don’t be fucking stupid,” Wonwoo scoffs and shuffles to slouch down and let his head rest on the back of the couch as he turns his face skywards, looking at nothing in particular on the ceiling. “My wife is still after you; you’re staying right fucking here.”

“I can’t let him suffer!”

“I know,” he rolls his eyes before tilting his head just enough to peer at you lazily from the edge of his vision. “I told you that I’d look out for him until you can do it, and I’m a man of my word.”

“What did you do?” You ask softly, your worry starting to melt away. Something about Wonwoo really does make you believe him, at least about this; that he’s a man of his word. You trust him about this, as crazy as it is to trust the husband of the woman who fucking kidnapped you and had her minions beat you up because of her delusions.

“Put him up in a motel and gave him some cash for food. It should last him a couple weeks, provided he doesn’t fucking waste it.” He turns his face to the ceiling again, no longer looking at you as he yawns. “I’ll check on him in a few days and keep you updated.”

“Ah.” Your head bobs a little in approval as relief swims through your veins and warms your chest. “Thank you, Wonwoo, seriously.”

“Mm, I’m counting this as it makes us even for my fucking psychotic bitch of a wife kidnapping and beating the shit out of you.”

“She didn’t beat the shit out of me. That would’ve been entertaining. Does she even know how to fight?” Wonwoo’s scoff is answer enough that no, his wife doesn’t know the first thing about fighting. “She would’ve broken her hand trying to break my face or something.”

“Doesn’t do shit with her hands, anyway, wouldn’t make a fucking difference if she broke them.”

“Oh?” You grin slyly at him, even if he isn’t looking at you. “She’s more of a mouth kinda girl, huh?” Now Wonwoo looks at you, utterly unimpressed and borderline glaring, making you giggle. “What?”

“My sex life is none of your fucking business.”

“Never mentioned you,” you muse with a shrug. “A lot of people who accuse others of cheating tend to be projecting their own misdeeds.”

“Know from experience?”

“Mm, yeah, been accused of cheating many times. I guess we’re similar in that regard; loyal to our partners even if they don’t believe it.” You shrug and get up to turn the TV on, then sit in front of the console to eject the cartridge to put away in the correct case.

“Not playing that one anymore?” he murmurs, rolling his head to watch you peruse the selection of games.

“How tired are you? You’ve yawned like three times since sitting down.”

“I can go a few rounds, if you’re asking.” You immediately smirk over your shoulder at him. “Keep it in your fucking pants, pervert.”

“I respect the sanctity of marriage, even if it’s a loveless one,” you assure and turn back to the games, to select one to put into the slot and boot up the console. “I tried to play this earlier, but I kept dying, and it pissed me off. I think it’ll be easier in multiplayer though.”

“Mm, it is,” he confirms and stretches noisily before joining you on the floor, handing you a pillow to sit on while sitting on one himself, and accepts the controller you give him. As the game loads up and the start credits play, Wonwoo explains the basic idea of the game to you in a low voice, adding little tips about the controls and secret moves that will help you survive the beasts and tricks designed to overwhelm single players.

With Wonwoo at your side, the game is so much easier, and you enjoy yourself so much that you don’t realise the time pass, until Wonwoo declares that it’s close to sunrise, and he needs to get at least a couple hours of sleep before work. He leaves you to try some bonus levels that you unlocked together, but it’s not as fun alone, so you give up and go to bed as the sun rises, while silently looking forward to Wonwoo’s next visit.

Even though, most of the time, the apartment is pretty boring alone, you manage to keep yourself busy gaming, cooking, and cleaning every inch of the apartment repeatedly. Sometimes, it feels like time drags, yet it also feels like you merely blink, and it’s been over a month since Wonwoo locked you up here. You can’t tell exactly how long it’s been with your lack of sleeping schedule without the man around, but an educated guess puts it at, roughly, almost five weeks.

At first, every time you see Wonwoo, you ask if his wife has stopped being a psycho yet and if you can go home. You’re never surprised when he says no, to both questions, and tells you that you need to stay a while longer.

Then, the man’s visits change, and it’s not three days between visits; sometimes it is, but sometimes it’s less. Though soon enough, Wonwoo is at the apartment every single day. If not to stay the night in his bed and take advantage of not having to share a bed with his wife, then to simply spend a few hours with you to eat and game.

Though sometimes, he turns up and just lays on the couch to nap for no more than an hour before he leaves without a word. He always looks utterly exhausted on those days. You can’t help but wonder if this apartment is the most practical place for him to crash when he needs a nap during the day. Surely, the man has safe houses closer into the city centre; ones easier to get to and that don’t take as much of his time with travel. But you never bring it up; honestly, you’re just glad for the company, however wordless it is.

For a little while, you stop asking him when you can leave. It clearly annoyed him that you asked every time he visited, but it also frustrated you to never have an actual answer as to when you can go home. There’s only so long you can live in this apartment before you lose a grip on yourself and get reckless.

It’s probably been almost two weeks since you last asked, so you think it’s about time you bring it back up again, even if it’s 3pm and Wonwoo has clearly arrived with the intention of napping.

You’re in the process of making yourself lunch when he enters the apartment, so he’s drawn to the kitchen after removing his shoes and jacket, where he slouches at the island and gratefully starts to eat the sandwich you place in front of him. It was supposed to be yours, but you can make another, he looks like he needs it.

“When can I go home?” You ask bluntly, causing Wonwoo to stop chewing mid bite and look over at you, but you’re focused on your task and don’t notice, until you flick your gaze up at his silence. “Well?”

Wonwoo lets out a heavy breath through his nose and gets back to chewing. Once he’s swallowed, he answers in a way you hadn’t expected. Usually, he always says either ‘not yet’ or a flat ‘no’. Yet today, he finally gives you a more solid answer, “depends.”

It’s just one word, but it makes hope start to flutter in your chest.

“On?” you ask, with your full attention on him, suddenly not all that hungry when faced with the potential sweetness of freedom just around the corner.

“If you’re willing to learn how to use a gun and carry one on you at all times.”

Just like that, the fluttering in your chest ceases and the excitement that had started to warm your veins is sucked away as if it had never known a home in you in the first place. “You’re insane, aren’t you?” you accuse with a scoff and turn back to making your lunch.

“I can’t let you leave if you can’t defend yourself; I’ll end up following you all the fucking time to make sure you’re safe,” he reasons, waving a hand vaguely before taking a bite of his sandwich.

“It’s not really any of your business,” you point out while looking at him. “I appreciate that you protected me in the first place, but you’ve done the noble thing; you don’t have to do anything else.”

Wonwoo looks up at you as if you’re stupid. “I do if I want you to be safe.”

“As long as she’s alive, I won’t be safe, not really.”

“Are you suggesting I kill my wife?” he baulks in disbelief at the potential insinuation within your words.

You shake your head and pull a face as if he’s the stupid one this time. “No…” your expression morphs into something considering as your head tilts slightly, while pondering his words. “Though, it would be a two birds one stone situation.”

Wonwoo’s whole expression furrows. “Fucking hell, all this time locked up with only an asshole like me for company has warped your mind. You’ve gone fucking insane.”

“Always been there.” You shrug casually. “I don’t think a man who goes against his wife to protect another is an asshole, anyway.”

“I’m literally in a gang,” he deadpans.

“Yeah, and?” You give him an unwavering look. “I’ve met much worse people than you in my life, Wonwoo, and I will again. You’re sweet in comparison.”

“I’ve really fucked your head up, haven’t I?”

“Told you, I’ve always been like this”.

“Calling gang members sweet?”

“Once or twice.”

He raises a disbelieving eyebrow as if he isn’t even sure if he heard you correctly. “What?”

“Look, let’s not get off track,” you decide, while waving a hand dismissively. Wonwoo eyes the knife that you wave around vaguely but you don’t pay his borderline concerned expression any attention. “I want to go home. I have people waiting for me, and there’s only so long until they come looking, so, I’d like to go before that happens.”

“You live alone; I’ve seen your apartment, it’s barely big enough for you. And your neighbours definitely wouldn’t notice if you don’t return; they say you’re never home,” he points out.

“Stalker. Maybe your wife did have reason to worry, huh?”

He rolls his eyes. “Don’t start that shit; you know we never had an affair because we had never even fucking met properly until she kidnapped you!”

“Defensive,” you tease.

“You’ve really fucking lost it,” he declares flatly.

“Then let me fucking leave, and you won’t have to deal with me anymore!” you exclaim frustratedly.

“I want to deal with you!” he returns immediately, before you both fall silent and stare at one another. You’re both surprised by the sheer honesty in his words, that they even fell from his lips in the first place.

You gather yourself and manage to speak first, deciding to make a joke to try and break the strange tension that’s appeared in the air between you. “Better not let your wife hear that; she’ll jump to conclusions. Unless you mean the permanent ‘sleep with the fishes’ kind of ‘deal with’, then she’ll probably suck your dick in joy.”

Just as Wonwoo opens his mouth to respond, eyes intense on you, his phone starts to ring in his inside blazer pocket. He sighs heavily before pulling it out and walking down the hall to talk privately in one of the empty rooms.

When he returns, you’re sitting at the table eating your lunch and have packed up the rest of his into a container, already knowing that he’s being called into work.

“We’ll finish that talk later,” he declares as he grabs the container from the island behind you.

You don’t even look over at him as you respond, “pointless circles don’t end, Wonwoo.”

You don’t see him leave, or hear his socked footsteps walk away, but a few moments later, you hear the front door open and close before the lock engages, and you’re left alone wondering just what the fuck your life has come to.

You just hope that he gives you control of your life back soon; before things get even more fucked up.

Never would you have thought Wonwoo to be the type of person to avoid difficult situations or topics; you thought he’s far too straightforward to ever do such a thing. But when he doesn’t turn up the day after your interrupted discussion in the kitchen, you start to wonder if you got him wrong.

Then he doesn’t turn up the next day either, and you really think that’s being a little bitch and avoiding returning so that he doesn’t have to pick up that conversation with you.

Yet, on the third day, you recall that he was the one who had said you’ll finish the talk another day and as he’s proven; Jeon Wonwoo is a man of his word. You believe him, and suddenly, you don’t think he’s avoiding you but has likely grown very busy with work or his psychotic wife.

However, when day four rolls around, you start to get worried that something has happened. Admittedly, you’ve grown fond of Wonwoo over the past weeks; his stupid smug smirk when he beats you at a game, his proud little shy smile when you praise his very gradually improving cooking skills, his soft snoring when he naps on the couch in the middle of the day.

Sometimes, you truly do wonder if this is what Stockholm syndrome is: growing to actually like the person who has locked you up and genuinely wanting to spend time with them. You think others would probably say it is and that you shouldn’t care for the man. But he makes it easy, as much as you don’t want to have this attraction for him. You think that if you had got to know him under different circumstances, you’d probably feel the same way, anyway.

Regardless of if the man is technically holding you hostage or not, he’s married, and you respect that commitment and vow too much to ever want to have feelings for a married man.

Still, you can’t help how you feel, and you worry when it’s past dinner time on the fourth day, yet Wonwoo still hasn’t shown his face.

Now that you’re worried about Wonwoo, you can’t face gaming because it makes you think of him. So, you spend most of the day scrubbing the apartment from top to bottom, until everything that can sparkle, does. You even clean the rooms neither of you use.

You’re in the middle of putting the freshly washed and dried pillow covers back on the couch pillows when the sudden sound of the front door lock disengaging pings through the quiet apartment.

Immediately, you look over, and your eyebrows lift as Wonwoo shuffles into the apartment, covered in blood. He doesn’t notice you at first as he locks the apartment back up one handed. His right hand is shoved into his trouser pocket suspiciously, like he’s trying to not move it, or perhaps not let you see it.

“What the fuck?” You speak, making Wonwoo’s head lift quickly.

Worry floods into his eyes, and he lifts his left hand placatingly towards you, after tossing his blood smeared car keys onto the side unit. “It-” he cuts off when you point firmly at his feet as soon as he takes a step forward, making him fall still in confusion.

“Stay there,” you order before turning and walking off, leaving Wonwoo staring after you puzzled.

You go to the laundry room to grab the stack of spare, dark grey towels, then go to the kitchen to get the roll of bin bags, before returning to the entrance hall. Thankfully, Wonwoo is still standing where you left him, though he’s removed his shoes now, and they’re haphazardly shoved aside.

“Strip,” you demand, while dropping the towels onto the floor so that you can pull a bag from the roll and shake it open.

“What?” he mumbles.

“You’re covered in blood, and I spent three hours scrubbing these fancy ass floors of yours today; you’re not getting blood on them,” you warn, giving him a stern look.

He scoffs but obediently starts to do as told and moves both of his hands to his belt to start working it open. His right hand is bloodied, but it doesn’t look that much worse than his left hand, so you assume he wasn’t hiding it from you. “May as well be your floors, you’ve lived here more than me,” he mumbles as he works with a tense expression on his face, which tightens every time he moves his right arm even minutely.

“Well then, I’m definitely not letting you fuck up my floors with your blood. Don’t be rude and bleed on my fancy ass floors.”

Once Wonwoo’s belt is open, along with the button and zipper of his trousers, he starts to try and push them down his legs, but the blood oozing from the stab wound on his left thigh is making the material stick to his thighs. Plus, now that he’s moving it more, you can see that there is definitely something wrong with his right arm, as he can barely move it. In fact, he’s only moving the lower part of his arm, but even that is limited.

Realising that you’ll be here all night, if not longer, if you leave Wonwoo to strip himself, you sigh and put the bin bag down to get to your knees in front of him, so that you can peel his trousers down his legs for him. Wonwoo says nothing, but he lets out a relieved little breath, clearly glad for your help, and steps out of his trouser legs in turn as you hold them open. Once they’re entirely off, you make sure the pockets are empty before tossing them, including the belt, into the bin bag.

Silently, you work to remove Wonwoo’s socks, then get up to get him out of his blazer and previously white, now half blood-red shirt; all of the clothing you throw into the bag to throw out and put everything from his pockets on the side unit.

As Wonwoo stands in front of you in his black boxers and previously white vest, you can see the strange shape of his right shoulder. It’s very clear to you what’s wrong with it.

“It’s dislocated, isn’t it?” you question; Wonwoo wordlessly hums and nods in confirmation. “Alright, I’ll cut your vest off,” you decide, knowing that getting Wonwoo to lift his arms up is very impractical. You move over to the side table to grab the knife, which you had removed from a hidden inside pocket in Wonwoo’s blazer, and remove the little leather sheath from the blade, before turning to approach him with the knife.

Wonwoo steps back slightly, holding his left hand up between you with slightly alarmed eyes. “Whoa, what the fuck? You can’t just approach a man with a knife like that.”

You can’t help but scoff at his obvious hesitance and concern about you holding a knife only half an arm’s length away from him. “Don’t be a wimp. You’ve clearly been stabbed already tonight; what’s another flesh wound?”

“You’re more psychotic than my wife,” he deadpans, left arm lowering to his side, deciding that you’re no threat now that the immediate worry has left. You’re right; he’s definitely already faced much bigger threats to his safety than you tonight.

“Careful, sweetheart,” you coo and tap the tip of the knife against the centre of his chest. You can’t help but notice the way he swallows thickly at your action and his eyes darken a little with interest. “Insult me again like that and my hand might slip.” You abruptly lower the knife to the hem of his vest and use it to ping the elastic of his boxers. His eyes darken further, and you smirk amusedly. “That’s an interesting reaction to having a knife aimed at your dick.”

“That’s not my dick,” he murmurs, voice a little lower than usual.

“Huh, right.” You look down as you drag the knife down to touch the tip to where his dick is obviously sitting snug in his boxers, before looking back up at him. “Better?”

He takes a moment before responding, eyeing you intently; you can practically see the thoughts whirling behind his eyes, “you’re not the woman I thought you are, are you?”

You shrug. “Depends who you thought I am.”

“A sweet, innocent cook, who makes the best food I’ve ever tasted.”

“Well, some of that is true,” you giggle before lifting the knife to cut down the centre of his vest. Now that it’s served its purpose, you toss the knife onto the side table and remove the stained and ruined material from his body to put in the bin bag. “Alright, let’s get a look at you,” you say, before walking around him in a slow circle to carefully inspect his injuries, and silently appreciate his well looked after body while you’re at it. “Let’s put your shoulder back in place, get you cleaned up, and then I’ll patch you up,” you announce once you’re back in front of him.

Wonwoo raises a questioning eyebrow. “You know how to do all that?”

“Yep,” you answer simply without a single slither of hesitation. It’s enough that Wonwoo doesn’t question you at all and just nods in agreement.

Honestly, it’s not the first shoulder you’ve put back into place, or joint in general, so even though it’s not the most pleasant sensation in any way, you easily make short work of the task.

While Wonwoo catches his breath back and gathers himself, you lay a towel on the ground in front of him, to minimise the amount of blood that ruins your hours of hard work cleaning the floor.

Once he’s ready, Wonwoo doesn’t have to be prompted to step onto the towels. He does so quietly and then looks at you in wait.

“What?” you ask.

“How the fuck am I supposed to move from here if you don’t move the towels? Unless you want blood on your floors?” he reasons, raising a blood smeared eyebrow at you.

“Oh, honey, there’s only one reason I get on my knees in front of a man, and that’s not gonna happen,” you point out with a scoff. “Shuffle.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Either stand there until you’re entirely dry and won’t get my floors dirty, or you can shuffle.” You shrug carelessly and pick up the rest of the towels to take to the stairs, so that you can lay the material out over the steps protectively.

When you turn around on the stairs, once all of the towels are laid in place, you spot Wonwoo awkwardly shuffling along the floor in a way to keep the towel under his feet. You can’t help but crack up laughing at the sight of this tough, blood covered and injured, high-ranking gang member dragging his feet across the floor; silently obeying your demands to keep the floor clean. And you hadn’t even had to threaten to make him clean any mess he creates with his own toothbrush in the morning; though that definitely would’ve been the next step if he had been a stubborn ass.

Wonwoo hears your laughter and glares over at you shortly before looking back down to focus on his efforts to get to the staircase. It only makes you laugh even harder, hard enough that you have to sit down so you don’t fall down the stairs.

A handful of moments later, when he passes you on the stairs, he flicks your head. You just giggle then get up to follow behind him up the rest of the steps. There’s already a towel waiting on the floor at the top, so Wonwoo, once again, shuffles across the shiny floor on a dark towel to get to his destination.

Even once in his bathroom, Wonwoo remains on the towel and follows you to the shower, which you turn on, on his behalf.

Once you’ve made sure he has everything he needs close to hand and a clean pair of boxers waiting for him on the counter, you turn to look at him with a teasing grin. “Can I trust you to shower on your own, or are you going to pass out from blood loss?”

“I haven’t lost that much blood,” he huffs, rolling his eyes.

You giggle and nod, backing up to the door. “Alright, I’ll wait outside, though.” Wonwoo just nods in understanding, so you step out of the bathroom and pull the door up most of the way just in case he needs you.

Leaving the door open seems to have been a very smart move, because not long later, you hear Wonwoo call your name awkwardly. You can only just hear him over the water, so you know that if the door was shut, there would not have been a chance you’d be able to hear him.

“Yeah?” You ask, sticking your head into the room to find him standing out of the stream of water, with his still bloody back mostly to the door, and his hands holding a small towel in front of his crotch, even if you can’t see anything from this angle regardless of the cover.

“I can’t reach my back well enough with my arm like this,” he admits, making short eye contact with you as he indirectly asks for your help.

Without a word, you enter the room and grab the soapy washcloth he offers, so that you can diligently scrub all of the blood from his back, then notice he’s missed patches on his left upper arm, so you clean there too.

“Alright, inspection time,” you declare before looking over the back of him from head to toe and back again, to thoroughly check for injuries that need to be dealt with and any blood he missed. “Turn,” you demand once satisfied with his backside, and also taking a moment to appreciate his backside.

Obligingly, Wonwoo turns to face you and watches you as your gaze travels over his body from this angle, stepping closer to get a better look at certain injuries or run the cloth over his skin diligently.

When you’re done with all of the exposed skin, your attention moves to the towel he’s clutching over his crotch before you grin amusedly and meet his dark gaze. “What if you’re injured there, Wonwoo?” you tease with a dramatic gasp.

“Don’t,” he warns. “I’m not giving any truth to my wife’s delusions about us, so don’t…don’t say and do stuff like that when I’m in no position to handle it.”

“I’m curious what exactly that means,” you admit.

“Then be curious, I’m not elaborating.”

You stare at him curiously for a moment before nodding. “Finish up and get those on.” You point to the clean boxers on the counter as you head to the door. “I’ll be back with the medical kit.”

It only takes you a few minutes to go to the kitchen and get the very extensive medical kit from the secret compartment hidden in the kitchen island, plus a bottle of water and an apple.

Deciding to be kind to Wonwoo’s currently somewhat limited movements, you clean up the dirty towels from the stairs, putting them all in the bin bag, plus Wonwoo’s shoes, before tying it off and leaving it near the front door for Wonwoo to take out tomorrow.

Figuring that Wonwoo must be in a decent state by now, you wander upstairs with the necessary items and enter the bathroom, to find him leaning against the counter with his boxers on and a small towel in his left hand as he rubs his hair.

He pauses when he notices the bag slung on your left shoulder. “The fuck did you get that?”

“Did you forget where you left it?” You tease, putting the items on the counter beside him.

“I know where I hid that. How the fuck did you find it?”

“I know every inch of this apartment, Wonwoo; I’ve cleaned it enough the past month.” You scoff then take the towel to toss aside so that you can hand him the apple. “Eat that.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“I don’t give a fuck; eat that and drink the water,” you demand, already rummaging in the bag to take out everything you need to play doctor.

Wonwoo stares at you for a few seconds, then looks between the items you’re setting up and your at ease yet confident expression, a few times before giving in with a soft sigh and taking a bite of the apple.

The first wound to deal with is the stab wound on his left thigh; there’s still a little blood trickling from it, but it doesn’t run past his knee, so you know he’s clotting well, and there isn’t any worry really. Still, it’s the biggest of his injuries, so you handle it first.

As soon as you get on your knees in front of him, Wonwoo makes a comment, “thought you only get on your knees for one reason?” he teases with a little smirk, which quickly leaves when you slap his leg right beside the wound, making him hiss. “Fuck you.”

You only smile too sweetly at him before getting to work sewing up the wound as quickly yet efficiently as you can. There’s anaesthetic in the medical kit, but Wonwoo insists he can handle getting stitches without it. Still, being repeatedly stabbed with a needle and having the thread pulled through skin is not a nice or pain free sensation for anyone, so you want to get it over with as quickly as possible.

After cleaning up the blood and covering his thigh, you get up to work on disinfecting and covering all of his other wounds. Most of them are small, and many don’t even require plasters, but there’s a cut across his chest; slicing thinly over his left pec with a starting point over his heart, where the wound is slightly deeper. You’re pretty sure that whoever inflicted this wound had tried to stab him in the heart and kill him, but either Wonwoo or someone else stopped them before they could succeed.

You don’t linger on it, but it does hurt your heart to see, far more than the wound on his thigh, despite that one requiring stitches, and this one only some gauze to prevent infection. At least the thigh wound wasn’t an attempt on Wonwoo’s life.

Once all of the open wounds are dealt with, all you have to do is wrap his right shoulder to support the joint as it recovers from being dislocated, and then you’re all done.

“You’re really fucking good at this; are you trained or something?” Wonwoo comments as you wash your hands and he’s eyeing your handiwork impressed.

“Or something,” is your dismissive response.

He scoffs and looks over at you. “Now who’s evading questions.”

“Don’t owe you shit,” you point out and move to dry your hands.

“I saved your life.”

“Because your delusional wife put it in danger in the first place. That’s not on me.”

“Not on me either.”

It’s you who scoffs this time as you think about the tension that keeps appearing between the two of you lately and how he didn’t even try to hide how holding his knife to him earlier had turned him on. It all seems so natural for him; being this way with you. “You can’t expect me to believe she’s accusing you of cheating for no reason.”

He frowns at you offendedly, and you’re not surprised; you’ve kind of had this conversation before. “Yeah, she’s fucking crazy and projecting her own failings on me. I have never been unfaithful to her or anyone. Never will be either.”

For a few tense moments, the pair of you just stare at each other and the whole time, Wonwoo’s expression doesn’t change; the burning sincerity in his eyes doesn’t waver. You think maybe you might trust this man too much, because it makes all of your doubts about his relationship morals leave. “Huh, okay,” you respond simply with a nod and move to zip up the medical bag.

“You don’t believe me, do you?” his voice is a little quieter now, a hint of hurt at your doubt of him showing.

“No, I do, which is why I’m surprised,” you assure and turn to lean against the counter and look at him, so that he can see the honesty in your own eyes. It’s only fair, after all. “Gang member with morals; kinda not the norm.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t see the point in it. If I wanted to fuck other people, I wouldn’t be committed to someone.”

“Even if it’s someone you don’t want to be with in the first place? Obviously, there’s no love lost in you for her, no love in the first place,” you comment.

“That’s not your place,” he reminds firmly.

“Just following the conversation. Your pathetic excuse of a marriage isn’t of any concern of mine.” You shrug and push off of the counter to head towards the door.

“Don’t insult the man in charge of your freedom,” he warns lowly, making you turn to look at him with a scoffed laugh.

“Why? What else are you going to do, Wonwoo? Send me back to her and let her have her fun?”

Wonwoo’s expression softens slightly, and he shakes his head a little. “No. Never that,” he responds without a hint of hesitation or doubt in his tone. It sounds something like a promise.

“Then are you going to keep me and have your own fun?” you challenge, raising an eyebrow at him pointedly.

“I told you not to say things like that,” he rushes, gaze turning intense as he eyes you where you stand in the open doorway. His eyes flicker downwards; a quick drag of attention over your entire form, and his tongue darts out to lick his split lip mindlessly.

You can’t help but laugh. “Look whose mind is in the gutter,” you taunt. “I meant fuck me up yourself, not fuck me.” You back out into the hallway slowly, while giving him a significant look. “Think you need to remind yourself of your loyalty moral, Wonwoo. A lot of people consider looking or thinking bad enough to be cheating. If you don’t want your darling wife to be right, you should get a handle on that.” Your gaze flickers over the bathroom quickly before landing back on him. “Oh, and clean the bathroom before you go to bed; I won’t cook for you tomorrow if I see a single drop or smear of blood in here tomorrow.”

With that, you leave Wonwoo watching you leave him all alone with his mind whirling and a growing ache in his chest that he doesn’t think is entirely from the wound you so tenderly cared for.

The very next day when you wander downstairs, it’s gone midday, and to your surprise, Wonwoo is in the kitchen, serving up take out onto two plates.

“Oh, you’re up, good,” he comments when he hears the rustle of your clothes as you get closer. He glances over at you, gaze flickering over you quickly before focusing back on his task. “I was about to come and wake you.”

“You picked up lunch on your way over?” you mutter confusedly, Wonwoo never brings food when he visits, except groceries after picking up a list from you the day before.

“No, I went and got lunch when I realised you’re not going to come down, and I’m too fucking hungry to wait any more.”

“That sounds like you didn’t go to work today.”

“Called off for a few days to recover,” he informs and takes the plates over to the table. “Sit,” he says while pointing to your seat, before moving to get you both cutlery and drinks.

Not one to refuse free food, you sit down, and thank him when he hands you your cutlery before digging in; he quickly joins in.

“So,” Wonwoo starts after a little while of the usual comfortable quiet that falls between you if neither of you are talking. It’s strange how easy the silences between you have always been; even before you became whatever kind of vague friends you currently are.

“Mm?” you respond with your mouth closed as you chew, looking up at him curiously.

“I was thinking that as I’m going to be off work for a few days, you can give me more cooking lessons.”

You straighten up to look at him in questioning surprise. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, why are you surprised? You know I want to learn.”

“Yeah, but that sounds like you intend on spending your days off here instead of at home.”

“She’s there,” he responds as if it’s the obvious answer, while pulling a displeased face.

You snort an amused laugh at his expression. “Good point. Alright, sure, I’ll teach you, but you gotta call me Chef.”

“What?”

“Chef.”

“You’re fucking ridiculous.”

“Oh, looks like you’re going to forever burn eggs, Wonwoo,” you sing.

“Alright, fine, I’ll fucking call you Chef, but only while we’re cooking, understand?”

“Yes, sir.” He gives you a flat look that makes you giggle. You turn back to your food and ignore the flash of interest in his gaze.

Over the following days, Wonwoo is always up before you and quickly realises that you need to be woken up if he wants something other than takeout or a sandwich for lunch.

A routine of sorts quickly gets established; Wonwoo wakes you before lunch, so that you can cook together, then he cleans up, at his own insistence, while you get the medical kit ready in the lounge to check and redress his wounds once he joins you. The afternoon consists of a mix of chores and gaming. In the evening, it’s time for another cooking session for dinner before he once again cleans up. Then, the two of you sit in the lounge to game or watch the videos on the video player, which he brought back on his first day off; another one of his childhood items he’s had safely stored away.

It all falls into place so seamlessly that it’s like the two of you have always existed like this, even if the seemingly endless personal questions that Wonwoo likes to randomly bring up prove otherwise.

Sometimes, you answer honestly, but others you don’t, and it’s endlessly entertaining watching Wonwoo try to decipher if you’re being honest or just fucking with him.

It starts with the very first question on the very first day he’s off work, when you’re expertly handling his wounds and the medical supplies. “Where’d you learn to do this?”

“What’s it to ya?” you tease.

“Just curious about you.”

“Why?”

“Because I’ve known you over a month, and I don’t know shit about you, despite you living in my apartment, and that shit’s going to keep up for the foreseeable future. So, it’d be nice to know some shit,” he huffs.

You hum consideringly as you ponder his words, before answering while continuing to clean and redress his thigh wound. “When I was fifteen, I was out with my sister, and we got caught in the middle of some gang shit. She got hurt bad, really bad, and I couldn’t do anything to help her. I couldn’t save her; I didn’t know how. She bled out in my arms, and I decided then that I wasn’t going to be so useless again. I learned how to handle most wounds with both real medical supplies, and whatever is to hand in case of an emergency.”

“Oh…”

“If I was home, I would’ve put on my latex nurse’s outfit too,” you add as you look up at him and spot the softness around his eyes; the sympathy and understanding pain.

It abruptly leaves at your words, and he lets out a frustrated, disbelieving sound. “You fucking asshole; I actually believed you,” he grunts disapprovingly, and you just snigger, returning back to your task.

Despite knowing that you’re actively messing with him, Wonwoo still insists on asking you personal questions to try and get a clearer image of you and your story. It’s a great source of entertainment for you, personally, so you don’t mind. Plus, he’s always so helpful; offering his assistance and cleaning dishes before you can even think about it, that you think he deserves the chance to poke around a little.

On the fourth day of Wonwoo being off work, you wake when Wonwoo knocks on your bedroom door then lets himself in. You eye him blearily as you shuffle up to sit against the headboard, while he walks further into the room.

“Are you ever going home?” you mumble, while rubbing at your eyes. When you lower your hands, he’s placing a tray, which you somehow didn’t even notice him holding, on the duvet at your side and sitting on the other side. You notice the plate piled with steaming food, two mugs and two sets of cutlery on top “Oh, breakfast in bed?” you tease with a grin as he hands you a set of cutlery and holds the other, while he picks up his usual mug to sip at his steaming coffee.

He rolls his eyes before answering as you start to eat, “don’t say something weird; I just know you won’t come down to eat it. So, unless I want my hard work going to waste, I need to bring it to you. I’ve had enough of you digging your fucking fingers into my wounds when I try to pick you up to move you when you’re being a stubborn asshole.”

You ignore his comments about your stubborn streak and your habit of playing dirty and using his healing injuries against him. “How lucky am I?” you coo, entirely ignoring his warning to not say something weird. Teasing him is just too much fun. “Well, I imagine your wife is luckier. You seem like the type of man to go all out on your lucky lady’s birthday; fancy breakfast in bed, whatever gifts she wants, romantic dinner at her favourite restaurant and a day being spoiled.” Wonwoo doesn’t answer, just keeps his gaze on the tray between you as he works on eating his share of the breakfast that he so carefully cooked for you both. “Well shit, you’ve never done that for her?” you baulk surprised. He truly does seem like the doting, romantic type.

Even this; bringing breakfast to you so that you’ll eat the food he obviously tried very hard to cook, as he hadn’t burned any of it this time, even if it’s pretty bland and under seasoned, just proves that he’s a very doting man when he wants to be. Plus, he waited for you to take a bite first before making any attempt himself. It makes you realise that he always makes sure you go first with everything and quietly goes along with whatever you want; the game you want to play, the food you want to cook, the video you want to watch, he never complains.

It seems crazy to you that Wonwoo has never gone all out for his wife; the woman he promised forever to.

He scoffs. “Why should I? I tried to do nice things at first, but she was always expecting more and bitched.”

“Has she ever done anything for you?”

“Other than be a pain in my ass? No.”

You pull a disgusted yet puzzled face. “Why the fuck did you marry her?”

“Took one for the team,” he answers honestly for the first time, paired with a casual shrug. Before now, every time you’ve asked about his relationship, Wonwoo has always told you it’s not your business or avoided answering by changing the topic or simply stayed silent.

“What does that even mean?” you wonder, giving him a curious look as he lifts his gaze to look at you.

“Means that she’s the oldest kid, but as she’s a woman, she can’t take over the gang when her dad dies; so, it would go to her brother, who is even more fucking useless and entitled than she is.” The repulsed twist of Wonwoo’s expression gives away his clear disdain for his brother-in-law. “He’d fucking destroy the gang and everything we’ve put so much blood into creating. But the boss will give his son-in-law the position if he’s proven himself, and well, I’ve been in the gang since I was fourteen, so I’ve definitely proven myself after 20 fucking years.”

“Well…shit,” you mumble, eyes wide as you absorb his unexpected words; unexpected for more than one reason.

“Mm,” he hums in agreement as he chews on another mouthful.

“I did not realise you’re so old!” you gawp, making him look at you with a miniature version of your shocked expression.

He quickly finishes chewing and swallows the food in his mouth so that he can talk. “Seriously? That’s what you took from that, my fucking age?”

“What?” You shrug defensively. “I thought you’re my age, not eight years older.”

Wonwoo stares at you dumbly for a few long seconds before he mumbles, “you’re 26?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.” He licks his lips a little awkwardly. “I didn’t realise.”

“Are you saying I look old?!” you sputter in offense.

He quickly shakes his head and holds up his hands placatingly. “No. Just, I guess I’m more used to women like my wife. All her friends are immature as fuck, all spoiled little princesses. She’s older than me, you know? By three years, yet you’re more mature than her. So, I thought based on that, you’re closer to my age at least,” he reasons. It’s a very understandable thought process and assumption, so your posture relaxes again.

“Huh, okay, I’ll accept that, but don’t disrespect princesses like that,” you warn.

“Should I call them spoiled little daddy’s girls then?” he jokes.

“No.” You pout. “Don’t lump me with them.”

“You’re a daddy’s girl?” he baulks in genuine shock.

“Yeah.”

“Didn’t even know you have family, honestly,” Wonwoo admits, making you look at him as if he’s the dumbest person you’ve ever met.

“Did you think I grew out of the fucking ground?” you deadpan.

“Obviously not; I know how human biology works, brat.” He rolls his eyes. “Just…there’s no sign of family in your apartment; not a single photo or anything that could be deemed a family heirloom.”

You shrug and pick up your mug. “I don’t need those things to remember; I have plenty of reminders on me at all times to remind me of family.”

“Like what? That necklace you wear?” He points to the chain of the necklace you never take off, where it’s just about poking out from the collar of your pyjama t-shirt.

“No, this is just a cheap thing I got to replace another cheap one and so on and so forth because I just hate not wearing a necklace.”

“I don’t see you in any other jewellery.”

“Don’t own any.”

“Really?” he asks surprised, slightly raising his eyebrows curiously. “Not a single thing?”

“No. I used to have earrings, but I lost the back of one, so I stopped wearing them and just never got around to replacing them.”

“Then what do you mean you have reminders on you all the time, if not jewellery?” he sounds genuinely confused and very curious as his attention remains solely on you.

You motion to the plate as you lean back towards it yourself, dismissing the topic with a simple, slightly firm, “breakfast is getting cold.”

Wonwoo gets the hint and doesn’t try to push you anymore, just leans in and gets back to eating.

The very next morning after Wonwoo brings you breakfast in bed, he doesn’t wake you with another tray, nor does he wake you to make lunch with him. You get up feeling very off kilter at waking naturally without him being the first thing you see once the sleep leaves your eyes.

It only gets worse when you go downstairs, and he’s nowhere to be found.

Bewilderedly, you waddle to the fridge to get the juice and notice a new note on the whiteboard from Wonwoo. It’s a short note, like always, and says that he’s gone back to work and won’t be back tonight, so don’t worry about cooking dinner for him.

All day, you move around the apartment feeling oddly lost.

Wonwoo was only home for four days, yet it already feels so strange not having him following you around to ask questions as you complete chores together or peering over your shoulder to learn how to cook or playfully shoving you when you’re playing against each other in a game instead of as a team. You don’t really know what to do without him.

When it comes to dinner, you don’t think before cooking and only realise that you’ve naturally made enough for Wonwoo too when you’re putting a plate in his usual seat and remember that he won’t be here to eat it.

It feels pathetic to sit staring at an empty seat with a full plate on the placemat in front of it opposite you, as you eat your dinner, but there’s something in you that refuses to let you take his plate away, even knowing his note says he won’t be home tonight.

Only when you can’t handle being in the lounge as it feels so empty without him, do you remove his covered plate from the dining table to box up the leftovers to put in the fridge and put the dishes in the dishwasher.

It’s only 9pm when you crawl into bed freshly showered and turn on your TV to watch something, hoping to distract yourself from the hollow feeling in your chest.

Although you were in bed early last night, you didn’t manage to fall asleep until your usual time, so you’re up after midday again.

Today when you wander downstairs, you don’t expect to see Wonwoo, as his note said he’ll be back this evening, but clearly, he had already returned and left again. When you enter the kitchen, you spot a little gift bag on the island.

Curiously, you approach and inspect the bag, trying to find a logo on the packaging, but there isn’t one, though you do find your name on the tag in Wonwoo’s surprisingly pretty handwriting. He doesn’t usually write so neatly; it seems as if he focused on writing your name in a visibly appealing way, instead of the usual scrawls he puts on the whiteboard.

Now that you know that it’s for you, you open the bag, and after moving aside the neatly packed dark blue tissue paper, you spot a black jewellery box. You hesitate before reaching out to pick out the box and open it.

Immediately, your breath catches, and your heart skips a beat.

Within the jewellery box, seated neatly on a cushioned display covered in dark silk, is a truly stunning necklace and earring set. They sparkle in the light; silver chain and clear jewels polished to perfection as they stare up at you tauntingly. You know they’re diamonds; you just know with everything in you that Wonwoo had purposely gone out and bought you an expensive, extremely high-quality necklace and earrings set to replace your own. And it hurts.

There is no way that this is nothing; that Wonwoo would go out of his way to pick such a beautifully crafted set for any other friend. You’re pretty positive that he wouldn’t even pick such a nice set for his wife. It feels like he’s putting you higher than her, ranking you as more important, more meaningful to him than the woman he is lawfully devoted to, and that hurts.

It's all too much. You close the box and place it back in the bag, cover it with the tissue paper and leave it there.

As you reheat the leftovers from last night for your lunch, your gaze keeps returning to the gift. Even with your back to the island as you sit at the table to eat, your mind keeps reminding you that it’s there; keeps shouting at you to pay attention to it.

Unable to handle it, as soon as you’ve cleaned up after lunch, you go up to your room to spend the rest of the say sitting on your bed watching TV and pretending that Wonwoo hasn’t royally fucked with your head and implied far too much without saying a word.

When Wonwoo returns, you’re still sitting on your bed watching TV, or at least pretending to. You’ve been restless for the past half an hour, knowing that he’ll be home at any moment and there will have to be a conversation to be had; about the necklace, about him, about you.

Only a handful of minutes after hearing Wonwoo enter the apartment, he wanders into your room through the open door, holding the gift bag in one hand with a genuine frown on his features. He looks both confused and a little upset. “Haven’t you been in the kitchen today?”

“Of course I have, you think I like starving myself? I enjoy food too much,” you answer without looking away from the TV, even if your full attention has been on him since before he entered the room, before he even entered the apartment.

“Okay, then why aren’t you wearing this?” He lifts the bag slightly.

You hesitate before letting out a defeated sigh and looking at him. “Why did you buy that for me, Wonwoo?”

“Because you never replaced your earrings and wear a cheap necklace that will break easily and make you buy another. This one will last a long time and has a lifetime guarantee, so you can get it replaced if it does break, but it shouldn’t.” It all sounds so logical, so reasonable, but you know it isn’t. Wonwoo is far too smart of a man to be that dense.

“Take it back,” you order.

“You don’t like it? Tell me what you like and I’ll-”

“You’re a married man, Wonwoo; you can’t buy another woman jewellery.”

“It’s just jewellery,” he mutters, a hint of defensiveness to his tone.

“No, it’s not, and you know it.”

He stares at the bag for a few moments then nods slowly in agreement; admittance to knowing exactly what you’re saying, what he said by buying the jewellery in the first place. “I’ll return it tomorrow.”

“Thank you.” You relax a little, relieved that he’s agreed to return the gift.

“I didn’t mean to overstep or make things uncomfortable between us; I just wanted to do something nice for you,” he says, talking softer than you’ve heard him before. It makes it hurt even more; the honesty in his voice, the truth to the depths of his care for you. It needs to stop before it burrows deeper in either of you.

“Well, you shouldn’t. I’m just your hostage. We’re not friends, Wonwoo,” you say, in reminder, even if it hurts you as much to say it as it clearly hurts him to hear it. You can see it in his eyes. But you have to say it; to remind the both of you of the boundaries and moral obligations in place. The reasons why you can’t be anything more than how this all started.

“Right, yeah, just my hostage,” he scoffs and looks at you, eyes harsh and jaw tense. “Maybe I should treat you that way, huh? It’d make things easier.”

“I think this is way past the point that you could treat me that badly, Wonwoo,” you point out. “You bought me diamonds; that clearly isn’t the type of thing a man capable of doing bad things to me would do.”

“Would if I’m trying to get my way with you. Buy you pretty things to sweeten you up and make you crawl willingly into my bed,” he reasons and lets his gaze drag over you as if he’s making his point that it’s a very real possibility. Even if you both know that Wonwoo is not that kind of man, despite his status and how easy it would be to get his way with whatever woman he wants if he was cruel in that way.

“You could buy me all the pretty things in the world, and I wouldn’t do that,” you inform firmly.

“Don’t act like you haven’t checked me out; you’ve even said I’m attractive,” he reminds, letting his intense eyes lock with yours.

“And married; I’m not a homewrecker, Wonwoo,” you scoff. “If she wasn’t an issue, I think we both know things would be very different right now.”

“Would you be wearing the necklace?”

You hesitate before answering, not wanting to lie but knowing what you’re clearly admitting to otherwise and knowing that it’s not something you ever thought you’d say to a married man. Still, you do. You can’t help but be honest with Wonwoo about this; about the two of you. “Yeah, and not much else.”

Don’t forget to reblog if you liked to help spread the story and let others read it too! And don't be shy to leave comments or send an ask so I can see your thoughts 🥺 💖

Permanent taglist: @okiedokrie, @tusswrites, @svtiddiess, @codeinebelle

#svt #wonwoo #mafia au #svt imagines #wonwoo x reader #wonwoo imagines #wonwoo x you #wonwoo x y/n

251 notes · View notes