—𖨆♡⃛𖨆 calmbf!seungcheol x f!reader genre: SMUT. established relationship synopsis: a long makeout session turns into something so so much more rating: 18+ minors do not interact!!!! warnings/content: makeout sesh, floor sex, unprotected sex(irl wrap it up ppl), softdom!seungcheol?, praising, creampie, different positions, p in v, multiple orgasms, eye contact, shower sex, bit of edging, bit of dirty talk, bit of oral f!receiving and m!receiving authors yap note: guys it’s been SOOO long hope everyone’s doing good i’ve had so many exams but few weeks ago they finished so now im finally free🙏(not for long tho.). since its been a while i decided to js bless u guys w smut and a whole damn lot of it my brain is so fried ik my descriptions are fine but lets hope my smut writing isn’t rusty enjoyy mwah <3 requests are always open xxx
MASTERLIST
the sun had dipped below the seoul skyline, painting the city in hues of amber and violet. seungcheols apartment living room was bathed in dim, warm light—only a few lamps switched on, casting long shadows across the plush carpet. music drifted from the speakers, some moody R&B playlist y/n had put on an hour ago, the bass low and thrumming through the floorboards.
she was lounging on the massive sectional, legs folded under her, scrolling through her phone. she’d changed into a loose, oversized sweater—one of seungcheol's actually—and tiny black shorts that disappeared beneath the hem. her hair was still slightly damp from her shower.
seungcheol walked in from the kitchen, a glass of water in hand. he’d changed into a simple gray t-shirt and joggers, his feet bare. his hair was still a little messed from the day.
"you’re wearing my sweater," he observed, settling onto the couch beside her.
"i’m stealing your sweater."
"clearly."
she grinned at him. "it’s comfortable. you should be flattered."
"i am." he set his glass on the side table and leaned back, arm draping along the back of the couch behind her. "what are you listening to?"
she angled her phone toward him. "that new R&B album I found. the one with the really good beat."
he listened for a moment. a slow, sultry track was playing—a woman's voice layered over a pulsing beat. the kind of song that made you want to move slow and close.
"good choice," he said.
they sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the music washing over them. y/n’s head drifted to rest against his shoulder. his hand found her hair, fingers threading through the damp strands, playing with the ends.
the next track started. slower. heavier. the bass vibrated through the floor.
y/n shifted, turning to face him. she straddled his lap in one fluid motion, settling onto his thighs, her knees pressing into the cushions on either side of him. the sweater rode up, exposing the skin of her thighs.
seungcheol’s hands found her hips instantly, a reflexive grip.
"hi," she said, voice low.
"hi." his eyes traced her face in the dim light. "what’s this?"
"i felt like being close."
"you’re always close."
"closer, then."
she didn't wait for his response. she leaned in and kissed him.
it started soft—just a brush of lips, testing. but the air shifted between them, thickening. when she pulled back slightly, her breath ghosted over his mouth.
his hands tightened on her hips.
she kissed him again, harder this time. her mouth opened against his, tongue sliding along his lower lip. a low sound rumbled from his chest—not quite a groan, not quite a hum.
her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging gently at the short strands at the nape of his neck. his hands slid up her back, pulling her flush against him, the thin cotton of his t-shirt the only barrier between them.
the music rose, a woman’s voice crooning about wanting someone so badly she could feel it in her bones. it matched the beat of y/n’s pulse.
she moaned into his mouth, a soft, breathy sound that made seungcheol’s grip tighten. he kissed her deeper, slanting his mouth over hers, tongue sweeping inside. she tasted like mint from her toothpaste, and something warmer underneath.
minutes passed. five. ten. neither counted.
their bodies moved together, instinctive and unthinking. y/n rocked her hips forward, a slow, deliberate grind against his lap. the friction sent a spark through her, even through the layers of fabric.
seungcheol’s breath hitched.
he broke the kiss, forehead pressed to hers, breathing hard. "y/n."
"mhm?"
"that’s—" he inhaled sharply as she did it again, a slow, circular roll of her hips. "that’s not helping me stay calm."
"who said I want you calm?"
she kissed his jaw, then his neck, lips dragging over his pulse point. his head fell back against the couch, eyes fluttering shut. her teeth grazed his skin lightly, and his hands flew to her hips again, gripping, guiding.
and then he did it.
he started grinding back.
it was subtle at first—just a small counter-movement as she rolled her hips. but then he took control, his hands firm, pulling her into a rhythm. slow, deep, deliberate. the pressure built between her legs, a delicious ache.
y/n gasped, her mouth falling open against his neck. "fuck, seungcheol."
his response was a low growl, his hips pushing up to meet hers. the friction was maddening—just enough pressure to tease, not enough to satisfy. the fabric of his joggers and her shorts created a frustrating barrier, but the heat between them was undeniable.
she kissed him again, messy and desperate. their teeth knocked together once, but neither cared. her hands roamed—up his chest, over his shoulders, into his hair. his hands slid down to grip her ass, pulling her harder against him.
the music shifted to another track, equally slow, equally heavy. the bass vibrated through them.
fifteen minutes. twenty.
they were both breathing hard now, the air between them thick and hot. y/n’s sweater had ridden up to her ribs, exposing the smooth skin of her stomach. seungcheol’s hands slipped under the fabric, palms flat against her back, pulling her closer.
"fuck," she breathed against his lips. "this is—"
"don’t stop."
she wouldn't dream of it.
half an hour in, her legs were trembling from the sustained position, but she didn't want to move. didn’t want to break the rhythm. his hands were everywhere—her hips, her thighs, the curve of her waist, slipping under the sweater to trace her spine.
she moaned, the sound swallowed by his mouth.
he responded by grinding harder, his hips pressing up into hers with more force. a sharp gasp escaped her, and she bucked against him involuntarily.
"jesus, y/n." his voice was rough, strained.
"don’t stop," she echoed, throwing his words back at him.
he didn't.
forty-five minutes. the music played on—a new song, then another. time had lost all meaning. the only thing that existed was the heat of his body, the slide of his tongue, the pressure building and building with no release in sight.
y/n was soaked. she could feel it through her shorts, the fabric growing damp. and judging by the way seungcheol’s breathing had gone ragged, the way his grip had turned almost bruising, he was in no better shape.
she pulled back just enough to look at him. his eyes were dark, pupils blown wide, lips swollen and red. his hair was disheveled from her fingers. he looked wrecked.
and he was looking at her.
"this is new," she murmured, voice husky. "you finally continuing the grinding."
he exhaled a shaky laugh. "you’re a bad influence."
"good influence." she rolled her hips again, slow and teasing. "i think it's hot."
"yeah?"
"yeah." she leaned in, lips brushing his ear. "you losing control a little. makes me feel powerful."
his hands tightened on her hips, almost painfully. "you feel powerful, huh?"
"mmhm."
he flipped them.
one moment she was on top, the next she was on her back, seungcheol hovering over her, his body pressing hers into the cushions. the surprise of it made her gasp, and then laugh, her hands coming up to frame his face.
"that’s one way to regain control," she said.
"regain?" he leaned down, lips ghosting over hers. "i never lost it. i just let you think you had it."
"liar."
"prove it."
she kissed him again, fierce and hungry. his thigh slid between hers, pressing against her core, and she arched into the contact with a stifled cry.
an hour. maybe more. they’d lost track completely.
the music was still playing—soft, sultry, a backdrop to the sounds of their breathing, their moans, the rustle of fabric. the living room was dark except for the lamplight. outside, the city glittered.
seungcheol’s mouth found her neck, kissing, sucking, teeth grazing. her head fell back, eyes closing, a long moan escaping her.
"fuck, cheol. just the making out is—" she couldn't finish the sentence. didn’t have the words.
"i know." his voice was a rumble against her skin. "i know."
he kissed her again, deep and slow, and she melted into him completely. her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer, grinding up against him. the pressure was maddening, perfect, terrible.
another hour could have passed. or ten minutes. nothing existed except his mouth, his hands, the weight of his body pinning her down.
when they finally broke apart, gasping for air, both of them were a mess. her lips were swollen, his were red. her sweater was twisted around her torso, his t-shirt was bunched up around his ribs. her shorts were damp, and she could feel the evidence of his arousal pressed against her thigh.
he looked down at her, breathing hard, a strand of hair falling across his forehead.
"over an hour," he said, his voice hoarse.
"i know." she grinned up at him, flushed and breathless. "new record, maybe."
he let out a sound halfway between a laugh and a groan, dropping his forehead to her shoulder. "you’re going to kill me."
"but what a way to go."
he lifted his head, meeting her eyes. the look in them was intense, reverent.
"worth it," he murmured, echoing his thought from that morning. and then he kissed her again, slow and deep.
behind them, the music played on.
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
by the time the playlist had looped twice, every article of clothing had been abandoned to the floor, and seungcheol had lifted her—her legs wrapped around his waist, mouth still locked on his—carried her to the rug in front of the cold fireplace.
the city glittered beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. the bass from the speakers thrummed through the floorboards. but neither of them heard it anymore.
the only sound that mattered was her.
seungcheol had her beneath him on the plush rug, her hair a halo around her face, her eyes glazed and unfocused. he was propped above her, his forearms bracketing her head, his hips nestled between her thighs.
he was still. just for a moment. feeling her.
she was already dripping, soaking, her body slick and ready. her cunt pulsed around nothing, clenching and releasing, desperate for him.
"cheol," she breathed, her voice wrecked already. "please. don’t make me wait."
he usually would. he usually made her beg, made her squirm, made her tell him exactly what she wanted. he usually drew it out until she was shaking.
but tonight, something was different.
the control he guarded so carefully—the measured patience—it was fraying at the edges. the way she looked up at him, flushed and wanting, her lips swollen from their earlier kissing, her body open and ready.
he couldn't hold back.
he entered her in one smooth, deep thrust.
not slow. not teasing. a single, decisive stroke that buried him to the hilt.
y/n’s back arched off the rug, a cry torn from her throat. "fuck—seungcheol—"
he groaned, his head dropping forward, his forehead pressing to hers. the heat of her. the tightness. the way she gripped him immediately, her walls clenching.
"y/n." her name was a prayer and a curse.
then he started to move.
there was no rhythm at first. no deliberate pacing. just pure, consuming need. he pulled back and drove in again, hard enough to make her gasp, hard enough to make the rug shift beneath them.
she took it. all of it. her legs wrapped around his waist, her heels digging into his lower back, pulling him deeper.
"like that," she moaned. "just like that."
"fuck, y/n, you feel—" he couldn't finish. the words dissolved into a groan as she clenched around him.
six minutes in, his composure was gone.
his thrusts had found a tempo, but it wasn't his usual measured cadence. it was rougher, hungrier. his hips slammed into hers, the sound of their bodies meeting loud and wet.
squelch. squelch. squelch.
the sound was obscene. every time he drove into her, the evidence of her arousal coated his cock, a thick, milky white ring visible at the base. it smeared across her inner thighs, pooled beneath her. the noise of it filled the room—a slick, rhythmic suction that matched his pace.
y/n’s head was thrown back, her mouth open, her moans incoherent. "cheol—cheol—fuck, cheol—"
"right there?" his voice a strained growl.
"yes—yes—don't stop—please—"
he hit something deeper. that spot only he had ever found. the one that made her vision white out and her toes curl. her eyes flew open, finding his, and she sobbed his name.
"seungcheol!"
"there." he drove into it again, harder. "right there, baby. i’ve got you."
the talk was fragmenting. he was supposed to be the one whispering praise, guiding her through it, keeping his voice steady and calm. but now he was groaning with every drive, his own control slipping, his own pleasure building faster than he could manage.
"y/n. fuck. you’re gonna make me—"
"please," she begged, not even knowing what she was asking for. more? release? both? "please, cheol—"
he couldn't answer. he just fucked her. harder. faster. the squelch grew louder, obscene and wet, her cream coating him entirely now, dripping down his balls, soaking into the rug beneath them.
her face was a picture of pure surrender. eyes rolled she, lips parted, cheeks flushed. She was gone. completely gone. just a vessel of pleasure, taking everything he gave her.
"cumming," she gasped, the word a broken whisper. "i’m cumming, cheol—"
"hold on," he managed, but his voice cracked.
she didn't hold on. she came—hard. her walls clamped down around him, pulsing, milking, and the sound that escaped her was a high, keening moan that dissolved into his name.
"fuck," he groaned, her climax triggering his own, threatening to pull him over the edge.
he pulled out.
it took every shred of willpower he had left.
her body shuddered, empty, her eyes flying open in confusion. "why—"
"i need—" he was breathing like he'd run a marathon. “i need to see you. i need—"
he pulled her with him, rolling them onto their sides so they faced each other. he lifted her leg over his hip, guided himself back inside, and sank into her warmth again.
the angle was different. deeper. sweeter.
her arms wrapped around his neck. his hand cupped her jaw.
and they started to kiss.
hungry. desperate. open-mouthed and messy. their tongues slid together, and she moaned into his mouth, and he swallowed every sound she made. his hips rocked into her, slower now but no less intense. every stroke was a statement, a need, a craving.
"cheol," she breathed against his lips.
"y/n." he kissed her again, then broke away to press his mouth to her neck. his teeth grazed her pulse, then clamped down—a sharp, possessive bite.
she gasped, her hips bucking.
he sucked a mark into her skin, hard enough that it would bloom purple by morning. a reminder.
"seungcheol," she moaned, her fingers threading through his hair, holding him there.
he moved lower, kissing her collarbone, biting again, marking her. she didn't stop him. she pushed into it, offering her throat to him like an altar.
"good girl," he whispered against her skin, and the praise made her clench around his cock. "such a good girl for me."
she was trembling. her moans were breathless, broken, staccato bursts against his ear. "cheol—i’m close—I'm so close—"
"me too." his voice was raw. "come with me."
he kissed her again, deep and consuming, and she moaned into his mouth as her second orgasm crested.
but he held on. just barely.
"i’m gonna fill you up," he growled. "gonna fill you up so good. take it. take all of it."
"yes—yes—cheol—now—please now—"
they broke the kiss at the same time. foreheads pressed together. Eyes locked.
she shattered.
her body convulsed around him, her moan a long, desperate cry of his name. and he followed her instantly, the sight of her face, the sound of her voice, the grip of her body—it pulled him under.
he groaned, long and low, his hips pressing into her, burying himself deep. he pulsed inside her, hot and thick, filling her exactly the way he'd promised. "good girl... take it all..."
they stayed like that. joined. breathing. shaking.
his forehead rested against hers. her hands were tangled in his hair. her legs were still wrapped around him, keeping him close.
he pulled out slowly, carefully, a trickle of his release escaping her. but he didn't move away. he stayed beside her, pulling her into his arms, her back against his chest, both of them slick with sweat and the evidence of what they'd done.
for a long moment, there was only breathing.
then she turned in his arms, facing him, and kissed him.
soft this time. lazy. a slow, tender exploration. her lips brushed his, gentle, reverent. he kissed her back, his hand sliding into her hair, cradling her head.
"love you," she murmured against his mouth.
"love you more." he kissed the corner of her lips. "so much."
she smiled, her eyes already heavy. the adrenaline was fading, replaced by a bone-deep exhaustion. the warm weight of his body, the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath her ear.
she kissed his chest, just once, a featherlight press of lips.
his hand traced lazy circles on her back.
the music had ended. the speakers were silent. the only sound was their breathing, slowing, deepening.
"should shower," he mumbled, his own voice thick with sleep.
"mm." she didn't move. "in a minute."
"just a minute," he agreed, his eyes already closing.
she tucked her face into the crook of his neck. his arm tightened around her. the city glittered beyond the window, but inside, they were cocooned in warmth and each other.
sleep came quietly. unexpectedly. without permission.
they didn't make it to the shower.
they didn't even make it to the bed.
they fell asleep right there on the rug, tangled in each other, his release still cooling on her thighs, her marks blooming on his neck and shoulders, the room still smelling of sex and love and surrender.
his last conscious thought was the feeling of her soft breath against his collarbone.
hers was the sound of his heartbeat, steady now, finally calm again.
and they slept.
⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹
the first thing y/n registered was the sunlight.
not the dim, moody glow of the city at night, but the soft golden wash of a seoul morning filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows. it painted the room in pale warmth, catching the dust motes floating lazily in the air.
the second thing was the ache.
a deep, pleasant soreness settled between her thighs. a pull in her lower back. the tender sting of teeth marks on her neck when she shifted against the pillow. every nerve ending felt raw and satisfied, like she'd been taken apart and put back together.
the third was seungcheol’s arm, heavy and warm, wrapped around her waist from behind.
she blinked awake slowly, her lashes sticky. the rug beneath them was rumpled, tangled, the evidence of last night's chaos pressed deep into the fibers. a dried slickness clung to her inner thighs—his release mixed with hers, a physical reminder of how thoroughly they'd broken each other.
she turned her head carefully.
seungcheol was awake. of course he was. work hours had permanently rewired his internal clock—he could function on four hours of sleep and still wake up at dawn. he was propped on one elbow, looking down at her with that calm, steady expression she knew so well. his dark hair was mussed, and neck marked with scratches from her nails.
"how long have you been watching me?" her voice came out rough, sleep-thick.
"long enough." he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. "good morning, beautiful."
"good morning, mr. choi." she stretched, wincing pleasantly as her muscles protested. "i think you broke me."
his mouth curved into that quiet, possessive smile. "i think you broke me first."
she laughed softly, the sound raspy. "you let go last night. i’ve never seen you like that."
"i couldn't help it." His thumb traced her cheek, featherlight. "You were so perfect."
"don’t apologize. it was incredible."
"i’m not apologizing." he kissed the corner of her mouth. "i just... i usually keep myself in check.“
she smiled, reaching up to touch his face. "well, i like what I bring out of you."
she tried to sit up and immediately regretted it. every muscle in her lower body sang with overuse. her thighs ached. her hips ached. even her abs ached from the way she'd wrapped herself around him.
"oh, wow," she breathed, pressing a hand to her stomach. "i’m sore."
seungcheol’s smile deepened. "good."
"you’re insane."
"you love it." he sat up, then stood, offering her his hand. "come on. let’s get you cleaned up."
she took his hand, and he lifted her effortlessly—of course he did, with that build—her feet dangling as he carried her toward the bathroom bridal-style. she laughed, wrapping her arms around his neck.
"uhm i can walk."
"i know." he kissed her temple. "i don't want you to."
the bathroom was warm, steam already starting to rise as he adjusted the water. he set her down carefully on the edge of the massive tub, then stepped into the shower to test the temperature.
y/n watched him, this tall, composed man who spent his days working hard for others, standing under the spray completely naked, his back still marked with her scratches. the ridges were pink, raised. she’d gripped him hard last night.
"you have some new decorations," she said.
he glanced over his shoulder. "you mean the marks you left on me?"
"mmhm." she stood, walking toward him. "i think they suit you."
"you think everything suits me."
"it does."
she joined him under the water, the heat cascading over her shoulders, washing away the dried sweat and cum from the night before. she sighed, tilting her head back, letting it soak her hair.
seungcheol moved behind her, his hands finding her waist. he guided her under the stream, then reached for the body wash. he used her sponge and spread the soap across her shoulders, down her arms, over the curve of her hips.
he washed her slowly. deliberately. the same measured care he applied to everything.
"this is nice," she murmured, leaning back against his chest.
"i like taking care of you." his lips pressed to her wet shoulder. "you let me take care of you."
"always."
he turned her around to face him. the water streamed over them, steam swirling, their skin slick and warm. she looked down, then back up with a knowing smile.
"someone's feeling better already."
he was hard. thick and heavy between them, pressed against her stomach.
"you have that effect on me." his voice was calm, but there was heat underneath it. "every single time."
she sank to her knees.
the tile was cool against her skin, the water warm on her back. she looked up at him, her eyes meeting his, and wrapped her hand around the base of his cock. he was already slick from the water, heavy in her grip.
she took him into her mouth slowly. deliberately. mirroring his own patience.
his hand found her wet hair, fingers threading through it, not guiding—just holding. he let her work him at her own pace, her tongue sliding along his length, her lips sealing around him. she took him deep, her throat relaxing to accommodate him, and the sound he made was a low, appreciative groan.
"fuck, y/n."
she looked up at him while she sucked him, keeping eye contact the way he loved. his jaw was tight, his composure fraying at the edges again. but he didn't push. he let her control the pace.
after a long minute, he pulled her gently to her feet and pressed her back against the cool tile, the contrast making her gasp. then he dropped to his knees, lifted one of her thighs over his shoulder, and buried his face between her legs.
"cheol—"
"shhh." his voice was muffled against her flesh.
his tongue found her clit immediately, slow and deliberate, circling it with a precision that made her knees buckle. she grabbed the shower caddy for support, her knuckles white, her head falling back against the tile.
he ate her like a man savouring a meal. groaning against her flesh. his fingers slid into her, curling, searching, finding that deep spot that made her vision blur.
"fuck—seungcheol—" Her voice cracked. "right there—"
he doubled down, his tongue working her clit in tight, steady circles while his fingers fucked her slowly, pressing into that spot over and over. her hips bucked against his face. she was already trembling, already close.
he backed off.
just barely. pulled his fingers out. lifted his head, water streaming down his face, and looked up at her.
"not yet."
"you’re a monster."
"as i always say, you love it." He stood, pressing his body against hers, his cock sliding along her slick folds. "i want to feel you come around me."
he lifted her other leg. she wrapped both around his waist, her back against the tile, completely supported by him. he guided himself to her entrance and pushed in.
inch by inch.
her mouth fell open, her eyes fluttering. he filled her completely, paused at the hilt, letting her adjust to his girth. the stretch was perfect. the fullness was everything.
"this," he said, his voice strained, "is how i wanted to fuck you last night. so i could feel every part of you."
he pulled out almost all the way, then pushed back in with a smooth roll of his hips. the water sluiced over them, steam swirling, their skin slick and sliding. he kept the rhythm measured, controlled, exactly as his body craved.
"look at me."
she forced her eyes open. met his gaze.
"pretty girl.”
"ah-cheol-" she moaned.
"good girl." he kissed her forehead, her nose, her lips. "you’re taking me so well. squeezing me so tight."
the pace stayed slow. torturous. every stroke was a declaration, a promise. he filled her completely, paused at the hilt, let her feel the weight of him, then withdrew and repeated the motion. the wet sound of their bodies meeting echoed off the tiles, obscene and rhythmic.
"please," she begged. "please, cheol—i’m so close—"
"i know." he was breathing hard now, his control wavering. "but i want you to hold it for me."
she nodded, biting her lip, her face contorted with the effort of holding back. her nails dug into his shoulders. he kept fucking her. slow. deep.
his mouth found her neck. he sucked a fresh mark into her already branded skin, hard enough to ache, hard enough to bruise.
"mine."
"yours."
"tell me you're mine."
"i’m yours, cheol." her voice broke. "fuck—I'm always yours."
"that’s right." he kissed her, open-mouthed and hungry, swallowing her moans. "come for me, baby. come on my cock. now."
she shattered.
her orgasm tore through her, violent and total. her walls clamped around him, pulsing, milking, and her cry was swallowed by his mouth. he drove into her twice more, deep and hard, then followed her over the edge with a groan that vibrated against her lips.
he pulsed inside her, hot and thick, holding her tight against the tile until he was completely spent.
they stayed like that for a long moment. joined. panting. steam curling around them.
he pulled out slowly and set her down, her legs shaky beneath her. she leaned into him, her face pressed against his chest.
"i’m never going to walk again," she mumbled.
he laughed, the sound vibrating through his chest. "i’ll carry you everywhere."
WARNING: This story contains heavy dark romance and mature themes, like severe domestic abuse (historical/backstory), physical violence, kidnapping, coercion and hostage situations, intense gun violence, and grief/loss of a parent. It features a stark power dynamic and characters driven by vengeance.
sypnosis:
Left behind to answer for the millions stolen by her ruthless, deceased father, YN is dragged from her cellar prison straight into a gilded cage controlled by Kim Mingyu, the unforgiving leader of the elite syndicate Seventeen. To protect her frail, hospitalized mother, she is forced to play the part of a cold mafia princess, signing away her family's territories to a man who claims he has no use for a conscience. As the heavy weight of her family’s dark inheritance presses down on her, the unyielding ice between captor and captive begins to fracture in unexpected ways.
Mingyu’s POV
The smoke in the underground lounge of The Diamond Room always tasted like expensive tobacco and cheap loyalty.
I leaned back against the leather sofa, resting my ankles on the mahogany coffee table. Beside me, Wonwoo was silently flipping through a ledger, the glow of his tablet casting a sharp, clinical light over his glasses. Across the room, Hoshi was aggressively arguing with DK about the perimeter security for our northern territory, their voices a chaotic hum against the low jazz playing from the speakers.
"Boss," Coups said, stepping into the room. The heavy oak door clicked shut behind him, cutting off the muffled bass from the club upstairs. His expression was tight, the kind of look that meant a headache was coming. "The Han family is moving assets again. The old man is trying to claw back the west side docks."
I paused, a gold lighter hovering inches from the tip of my cigarette. "He still has men to spare? I thought we bled him dry five years ago."
"He’s desperate, Mingyu. A desperate beast is sloppy," Coups replied, pouring himself a drink from the crystal decanter on my desk. "Ever since his son, Minjun, died back then, the Han organization has been a sinking ship. The old man’s lost his mind, burning through money and men just to keep his reputation alive."
Minjun. I remembered him. He was a decent kid smart enough to know his father was a tyrant, but stupid enough to die for him anyway in that border skirmish years ago. His death was the turning point that broke the Han family’s back and solidified Seventeen’s control over the city.
"Is there anyone left in his bloodline to inherit what's left?" I asked, clicking the lighter closed without lighting the cigarette.
Wonwoo shook his head, not looking up from his screen. "No. Minjun was an only child. Han's wife is still alive, but she’s a recluse never leaves the mansion on the hill. As far as the syndicates are concerned, the Han line dies with the old man."
I stared at the unlit cigarette in my hand. To me, the Han family was just a dying empire, a ghost town we had already conquered. I didn't know, and frankly didn't care, about the inner workings of their house. All I knew was that Chairman Han was a dead man walking, and I was just waiting for him to take his final, fatal step.
"Keep an eye on the docks," I commanded softly, tossing the cigarette onto the table. "If he wants to throw the last of his men into a meat grinder, we’ll be happy to turn the crank."
Y/N POV
The grandfather clock in the grand hallway ticked like a countdown to an explosion.
Five years. It had been five years since Minjun’s body was brought home in a satin-lined casket, his chest torn apart by a mafia war you had never understood. Your older brother had been your shield, the only person who stood between you and the suffocating darkness of this house. When he died, the world outside forgot you even existed. Your father took your name off every public record, locked the iron gates, and hid you away like a shameful secret. To the world, the Han family had no daughter. You were a ghost.
"You're pathetic," your father’s voice boomed from the dining room, followed by the terrifying, sharp clink of silver hitting porcelain.
You sat frozen in the armchair in the library, your knees pulled tightly to your chest. Through the cracked door, you could see your mother. She looked like a porcelain doll someone had repeatedly dropped and glued back together. Her eyes were hollow, staring fixedly at her plate while your father towered over her, his face contorted in a volatile, drunken rage.
"Look at me when I'm speaking to you!" he roared, slamming his fist onto the table. The wine glasses rattled. "Your son is dead because he was weak, and you... you give me nothing but silence! I am surrounded by useless women!"
Your mother didn't flinch. She had passed the point of flinching years ago; she had gone completely numb. That was what terrified you the most. She let him hurt her just so she wouldn't have to look at him.
Suddenly, your father’s heavy footsteps echoed across the hardwood floor, turning toward the library. The door swung open, and his bloodshot eyes locked onto you. The stench of expensive whiskey and rotting malice rolled off him in waves.
"And you," he spat, walking over to grip your chin in a rough, bruising hold. He forced your face upward, his fingers digging deep into your jaw line. "Sitting in the dark like a ghost. You look just like him. Every time I look at you, I remember that I lost my heir and I'm left with a parasite."
"Then let us go," you whispered, your voice raw, tears pricking the corners of your eyes but refusing to fall. You wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing you cry. "If we are so useless to you, let me and Mom leave."
Slap.
The force of his palm against your cheek knocked you completely out of the chair. You hit the thick Persian rug, your shoulder radiating sharp pain as your lip split against your teeth. The metallic taste of blood immediately filled your mouth.
"Leave?" your father laughed, a chaotic, manic sound that made your skin crawl. He kicked a fallen book out of his way, towering over you like a demon. "You belong to this house. You will stay here, and you will endure whatever I give you, because without my name, you are absolutely nothing. If either of you tries to step foot outside these gates, I'll make sure you end up next to Minjun."
He turned on his heel, slamming the library door shut behind him, leaving you alone in the dim, suffocating silence.
You crawled over to the wall, pulling your knees back to your chest, wiping the blood from your lip with the back of your hand. You stared out the high, barred window of the library, looking past the iron gates of the estate toward the glowing lights of the city skyline below.
Somewhere out there was Kim Mingyu the man your father cursed every single night, the head of the organization that had broken the Han family empire. You had never met him. He didn't even know you existed. You were just a nameless girl trapped in a burning house, praying for the fire to finally consume everything.
The morning after was always the quietest. The sun would filter through the heavy velvet drapes of the mansion, casting long, dusty beams across the expensive furniture, making the house look almost peaceful. But it was an illusion. The air still held the faint scent of stale whiskey and the suffocating pressure of a storm that had only temporarily passed.
I stood at the top of the grand staircase, my hand gripping the cold marble balustrade. My jaw throbbed, a dull, deep ache from where his hand had clamped down the night before, and my lower lip was swollen.
From below, I heard the faint, rhythmic sound of a porcelain teacup rattling against a saucer.
I hurried down the stairs, keeping my footsteps light, almost weightless. I found my mother sitting in the morning room. The breakfast table was immaculately set for three, though my father’s chair was empty he was likely still asleep in his wing of the house, dead to the world after his binger.
My mother sat perfectly rigid, her frail frame swallowed by a silk dressing gown. Her face was stark white, save for the dark, purple-yellow bruising peeking out from beneath the thick layer of foundation she had frantically smeared over her cheekbone. Her hands trembled so violently that the tea she was trying to drink splashed over the rim of the cup, staining the white linen tablecloth.
"Mom," I breathed, rushing to her side. I gently took the cup from her fingers and set it down before she could burn herself. "Mom, look at me."
She didn't look up. Her glazed eyes remained fixed on the stain on the tablecloth. "He’s going to the docks today," she whispered, her voice sounding like dry leaves scraping against concrete. "He was screaming about the Kim family all night, YN. He said they took everything from him. He said Minjun is looking down on him, calling him a coward."
A cold dread pooled in my stomach. When my father got like this obsessed with the ghosts of his past and the empire he had lost to Kim Mingyu the violence always escalated.
"We need to go," I urged, grabbing her cold, frail hands. "While he's asleep. We can take the old sedan from the back garage. We can go to the countryside, change our names-"
"Go where?!"
The voice boomed from the doorway, shattering the fragile morning silence like a brick through a window.
My heart violently stopped. I turned to see my father standing there. His silk shirt was unbuttoned, his hair disheveled, and his eyes bloodshot, radiating a chaotic, volatile malice. He was holding a leather crop he usually kept in the stables.
"You think you can run from me?" he sneered, his voice dropping into a terrifying, gravelly register as he walked into the room. His heavy footsteps seemed to shake the very foundations of the house. "You think you can take my property and just walk away?"
"Please," my mother whimpered, finally looking up, her voice cracking as she threw herself in front of me. "Please, Han. She didn't mean it. She's just a child, she doesn't know what she's saying-"
"Shut up!" he roared, swinging his arm out.
The heavy leather crop struck my mother across the shoulder. She screamed, collapsing to the floor, her hands flying up to cover her head.
"Don't touch her!" I screamed, a sudden, desperate surge of adrenaline overriding my terror. I lunged forward, grabbing his arm, digging my fingernails into his skin. "Stop it! You monster! Kill me instead, just stop touching her!"
His gaze snapped to me, completely devoid of any human emotion. "Kill you? No. Death is too good for a disappointment."
He grabbed a handful of my hair, ripping me away from my mother with a force that made my scalp feel like it was tearing open. I gasped, choking on a sob as he dragged me across the dining room floor. The heels of my shoes dug uselessly into the hardwood. My mother was on her knees, crying out, reaching for me with trembling hands, but she was too weak, too broken to stop him.
He dragged me down the dark, narrow hallway toward the basement stairs the place where he kept the wine cellars, and the cold, windowless storage rooms.
"You want to act like a ghost, YN?" he hissed, shoving me violently down the wooden stairs.
I tumbled down the first few steps, my elbows and knees cracking painfully against the wood before I slammed onto the cold concrete floor of the basement. The darkness down here was thick and smelled of damp earth and rot.
"Then live like one," he shouted.
The heavy oak basement door slammed shut above me. A second later, the loud, definitive click of the deadbolt echoing through the wood signaled my imprisonment.
I lay on the freezing concrete, gasping for air, the darkness pressing down on my chest like a physical weight. High up on the wall, a tiny, rectangular coal chute window showed a sliver of the grey, overcast sky.
I pulled my bruised knees to my chest, a single tear finally escaping and tracking through the dust on my cheek. I was buried alive. And out there, in the city, the war between my father and the Kim organization was reaching its boiling point. I just didn't know that the explosion would soon blow the doors of my prison wide open.
Mingyu’s POV
"He’s completely unhinged," S.Coups said, tossing a bundle of surveillance photographs onto the polished glass of the conference table.
I looked down. The photos showed Chairman Han’s remaining enforcers loading heavy crates into unmarked vans. But what caught my attention was Han himself. In the grainy, long-lens shots, his face was manic. He was sweating, pacing back and forth, holding a firearm openly in broad daylight. He looked like a man who had lost his grip on reality.
"Our scouts at the west docks say he’s moving his entire remaining arsenal there tonight," Wonwoo added, adjusting his glasses as he looked over a digital map of the city. "He knows we've choked out his supply lines. This isn't a strategic move, Mingyu. This is a suicide mission. He’s looking to take out as many of our men as possible before he goes under."
I leaned back in my chair, tapping my fingers rhythmically against the armrest. The rest of Seventeen sat around the table, their expressions a mix of boredom and lethal readiness.
"He's trying to force our hand," Hoshi muttered, leaning forward, a dangerous spark in his eyes. "He wants a bloodbath. Let's give it to him. I can have the strike team ready in ten minutes."
"No," I countered, my voice quiet but commanding enough to instantly silence the room. "If we hit him in the open, the police will have to get involved, and that’s sloppy. We wait until he’s at the docks. We let him think he’s setting an ambush. Then, we cut off his exits."
"What about his estate?" Joshua asked from the corner, swirling a glass of water. "The mansion on the hill. It’s completely unguarded right now. All his men are deployed to the docks."
I paused. For some reason, the image of that dark, isolated fortress flickered in my mind. The rumors of the reclusive wife, the ghost town of a family.
"Leave a small clean-up crew to secure the mansion after we finish Han," I ordered carelessly. "Search his office for any leftover ledgers or offshore accounts we can seize. If there’s anyone inside, clear them out. I want the Han name erased from this city by sunrise."
"Understood," S.Coups nodded, standing up and checking his firearm. "Let’s go end this."
I stood up, pulling on my heavy black overcoat, the leather smelling of rain and impending ash. I didn't care about the Han family. I didn't care about the old man’s madness. But as we walked out toward the convoy of black SUVs, a strange, prickling sensation washed over the back of my neck.
Chaos was coming, and the city was about to burn.
The rain didn't wash away the smell of copper. It only made it heavier, pressing the scent of blood and cheap gasoline deep into the fabric of my black overcoat as I walked away from the shipping containers.
Behind me, the warehouse was a graveyard of Han’s final, desperate gamble. His body lay twisted on the concrete, the single bullet hole between his eyes staring blankly at the corrugated iron ceiling. S.Coups was already signaling the cleanup vans, his voice a low, steady rumble over the encrypted comms channel. Dokyeom and Seungkwan began the grim process of sweeping the floor for any stragglers, their boots splashing through puddles of rainwater and spilled fuel.
"Get the cars ready," I muttered to Joshua, wiping a mixture of rain and sweat from my forehead with the back of my leather glove. "I want to be back at The Diamond Room before the docks are crawling with flashing blue lights."
"Already on it," Joshua replied, nodding toward the open rolling steel doors where our fleet of black SUVs idled, their exhaust pipes spitting white plumes of steam into the freezing night air.
I climbed into the back seat of the lead vehicle, the leather cold against my thighs. S.Coups slid into the front passenger seat, pulling out his tablet to monitor the city’s police frequencies. The engine purred, the tires splashing through the deep puddles of the industrial district as we pulled away from Warehouse 4, leaving the ghosts of the Han syndicate behind us.
For ten minutes, the city was nothing but a blur of grey concrete and bleeding neon signs through the rain-streaked glass. The silence inside the car was comfortable the silence of a completed job. The Han family was gone. The West Docks were ours. The ledger was clean.
I pulled out a cigarette, flicking my gold lighter. The small flame illuminated the interior of the SUV, catching the sharp angles of S.Coups’ jaw as he checked his watch.
"We should look into Han’s personal accounts tomorrow," S.Coups murmured, not turning around. "The old man was bleeding cash, but he must have hidden assets somewhere. A mansion like that doesn't run on air."
"Let Wonwoo handle it," I replied, exhaling a thick plume of smoke that swirled against the bulletproof glass. "He can strip the estate down to the bone. I want the deed transferred by the end of the week."
Everything felt perfectly in place. The city belonged to Seventeen. We had dismantled a decades-old crime family in a single evening, and yet, as I watched the streetlights blink past, a strange, hollow feeling settled into the pit of my stomach. Han had broken too easily. For a man who had ruled the northern borders with an iron fist, his final stand at the docks felt... theatrical.
Beside me, the car's built-in tactical monitor flickered. A notification popped up from our central distribution hub the high-security facility where we housed our primary drug shipments, the synthetic formulas, and the offshore ledger keys that held the names of every corrupt politician on our payroll.
I glanced at the log. The names listed for the rotation were under S.Coups' direct command. Everything looked normal. The timestamps matched, the digital signatures were valid. But something buried deep in my gut, an instinct sharpened by years of surviving in the dark, flared up.
I leaned forward, tapping S.Coups on the shoulder. "Call the hub. Check in with the front gate."
S.Coups frowned, tapping his earpiece. "Mingyu, it's fine. Hoshi's guys are holding the perimeter there while we're out." He clicked the line anyway. "Hub command, this is Coups. Give me a status report on the sector four vault."
Static.
S.Coups adjusted the dial on his wrist console. "Hub command, do you copy? This is Leader One."
Nothing but the empty, white hiss of a dead frequency filled the car.
S.Coups’ face went taut. He frantically began tapping his tablet, trying to force open the live CCTV feeds of our own headquarters. The screen buffered, a spinning red circle mocking us before a bold text flashed across the screen: CONNECTION TIMED OUT. SERVER ACCESS DENIED.
"What the hell is this?" S.Coups hissed, his fingers flying across the glass. "The firewall is completely locked out from the inside. Mingyu, the system says my encryption codes are invalid."
"Try the backup servers," I commanded, my voice dropping into a dangerously calm register. I threw my half-smoked cigarette onto the floorboard, crushing it beneath my boot. The dark, chaotic realization was slowly beginning to piece itself together in my mind.
"I can't," S.Coups muttered, a bead of sweat breaking out near his temple. "It's a total blackout. I can't reach the guards. I can't reach the vault."
It wasn't a system glitch.
At that exact moment, the lead SUV’s dashboard console didn't just beep; it screeched. A harsh, high-pitched frequency tore through the speakers, overriding our primary encrypted network.
"Mingyu!"
It was Minghao. His voice was usually a smooth, unshakeable river cold, precise, and entirely unbothered by violence. Tonight, it was a jagged blade, his breathing ragged and heavy over the line. In the background, I could hear the distinct, deafening roar of a modified motorcycle engine pushing its absolute limits, tearing through the downpour.
"Minghao, report," I said, my knuckles turning white as I gripped the back of S.Coups’ seat. "Are you at the Han estate?"
"No," Minghao hissed, a blast of wind distortion cutting through his words before his voice stabilized. "Mingyu, listen to me very carefully. Do not go back to the club. Do not trust the security detail currently guarding your vault. Turn the convoy around right now!"
"We're already locked out of the hub, Minghao," I growled. "What happened?"
"It’s a trap, Mingyu! The whole night was a setup!" Minghao shouted over the mechanical scream of his bike. "We were setting up the perimeter at the Han mansion, preparing to search the offices, when Jun noticed something wrong with the security logs. Three of the tactical vans that were supposed to be reinforcing your docks tonight? They never arrived at the harbor. We tracked their GPS spikes manually through a secondary satellite."
"They went straight to my private estate," I finished for him, the blood in my veins turning to absolute ice.
"They're already inside your vault, Mingyu," Minghao explained, his tone dropping into a terrifyingly rapid whisper as he took a sharp turn, the sound of tires screeching against wet asphalt bleeding through the mic. "Han didn't bring thirty men to the docks tonight. He only brought twenty. The other ten? They’ve been wearing our tactical gear for three weeks. They infiltrated our lower ranks during the northern docks raid. They didn't show up to the harbor because they were waiting for you to leave The Diamond Room completely unguarded."
The pieces fell into place with a sickening, heavy thud.
Chairman Han hadn't been manic out of madness; he had been manic out of theater. He had stood on top of those shipping containers, screaming my name like a lunatic, drawing every high-ranking member of Seventeen to the water's edge just to act as a massive, bloody distraction. He had sacrificed his own remaining loyal soldiers he had sacrificed his own life just to buy his moles enough time to gut my empire from the inside out.
"They’re stripping the vault right now," Minghao continued, the urgency in his voice cutting through the shock in the car. "The money, the synthetic formulas, the blackmail ledgers on the senate they're taking everything. And they aren't using the main roads to escape. They’re routing the stolen cargo back through the old industrial sewage tunnels beneath the city. The tunnels lead directly into the private underground garage of the Han mansion."
"They're taking my own product back to the old man's house," I whispered, a white-hot, chaotic rage narrowing my vision.
"Yes! They think because Han is dead, we won't bother checking their house until tomorrow morning," Minghao said. "They're going to load the transport vans from his private basement and cross the state border before sunrise. If they get those ledgers across the line, the entire syndicate is exposed to the federal courts. We have less than fifteen minutes before they load the trucks."
I didn't waste another millisecond. I lunged forward, slamming my fist against the driver’s headrest. "Turn the car around! Now!"
The driver slammed on the brakes. The heavy, armored SUV skidded violently across the slick, rain-soaked asphalt, the tires screaming in protest before the traction caught, swinging the massive vehicle in a chaotic, whiplash-inducing 180-degree turn. The rest of the convoy behind us followed suit in a flawless, terrifying synchronization, their headlights cutting through the dark like a pack of hunting wolves.
"Seungcheol," I barked, my voice sounding like a gunshot in the cramped space of the car. "Get Hoshi and the strike team on the line. Tell them to abandon the dock cleanup entirely. I want every single weapon we own pointed at the Han estate. If a single one of those moles tries to leave that hill, I want them torn to pieces."
"And the family? The wife?" S.Coups asked, his hands trembling slightly as he loaded a fresh, high-caliber drum magazine into his automatic rifle. "If they're still inside that house-"
"I don't care who is inside that house," I snarled, looking out the window as the distant silhouette of the Han mansion loomed on the highest hill of the city, a dark, skeletal crown beneath the flashing lightning. "If they are touching my possessions, they die with them."
Your POV
The basement was getting colder, or maybe it was just my mother's skin.
She was leaning heavily against my shoulder, her breaths coming in short, rattling gasps that cut through the absolute silence of the coal cellar like a blunt saw. The single, bare lightbulb hanging from the rafters flickered occasionally, casting long, trembling, skeletal shadows across the damp concrete floor.
"YN..." she whispered, her fingers weakly clutching the fabric of my torn red dress. "Listen... listen to the house."
I went perfectly still, tilting my head toward the wooden ceiling boards above.
For the last two hours, the mansion had been completely dead. No heavy footsteps. No manic screaming. No broken glass. But now, a new sound began to vibrate through the foundations. It was a low, rhythmic thrumming that shook the dust from the rafters, settling into my hair like grey snow.
It was the sound of heavy engines. Many of them.
"Is he back?" I whispered, my throat so dry it felt like it was coated in thick sand. "Did he... did he survive the docks?"
"No," my mother murmured, her eyes glazed as she stared at the rusted iron chain padlocked around her bruised ankle. "That's not his car. He always... he always hits the iron gates when he's drunk. Those cars are quiet. Too quiet."
Suddenly, a heavy, metallic thud echoed from directly behind the brick wall the entrance to the private underground garage.
The heavy wooden doors of the cellar room next to us were thrown open with a violent crash. Then came the voices. They weren't my father’s usual enforcers. They sounded frantic, terrified, speaking in sharp, hurried whispers as the heavy scraping of wooden crates being dragged across the floorboards shook the ceiling.
"Move it!" a man shouted from the hallway directly above the basement stairs. "The Kim family realized what happened at the hubs! Minghao’s motorcycle team is already tracking our tunnel exits! We have less than ten minutes to get these ledgers into the transport vans or Kim Mingyu will skin us alive!"
The Kim family.
I held my breath, my heart hammering against my ribs so hard it felt like it would burst through my skin. Kim Mingyu’s men were here? No... they said they were running from him. They were stealing from the shadow king himself.
"Get the synthetic crates loaded first!" another voice barked from the basement floor. "If we lose the formulas, the buyers in the north won't protect us!"
Before they could drag another crate, the heavy oak basement door at the top of the stairs didn't just open it was blown entirely off its hinges with a deafening, explosive CRACK.
The sound of splintering wood echoed down the stairwell like a bomb going off, immediately followed by the sharp, rhythmic, terrifying patter of automatic gunfire from the main floor of the house. The screams began almost instantly.
"They're here!" someone shrieked from the garage area. "The main convoy is through the gates! Kim Mingyu is-"
A brutal blast of gunfire cut the man’s sentence short. The sound of a heavy body hitting the floorboards directly above my head sent a fresh shower of white plaster down into my face. I pulled my mother closer, shielding her head with my arms, tucking her face into my chest as the chaos exploded through the mansion like a wildfire.
The house was screaming. The very walls seemed to bleed with the sheer volume of the violence the deafening, bass-heavy boom of tactical shotguns, the glass windows shattering in the rooms above, the desperate, dying curses of the men who had tried to play a game with the devil.
Then, the footsteps started down the basement stairs.
They weren't the hurried, frantic steps of the thieves. They were heavy, slow, and terrifyingly deliberate. Each step on the wooden stairs sounded like a countdown, steady and entirely unbothered by the roaring gunfire and bleeding bodies on the floors above.
I squeezed my eyes shut, pressing my back against the damp brick wall of the coal cellar, holding my mother as tight as my trembling arms would allow.
"Please," I prayed into the dark, hot tears finally breaking through my eyelashes, tracking through the dust and dried blood on my cheeks. "Please, just let it be quick. Just don't let him hurt her anymore."
The footsteps stopped at the bottom of the stairs.
The yellow light of the bare bulb was suddenly blocked out by a massive, towering silhouette. The man stood in the narrow doorway of our cellar, the scent of fresh rain, expensive tobacco, and burnt gunpowder rolling off him in a suffocating, alpha wave. In his right hand, he held a long, silver-plated automatic pistol, the barrel smoking slightly in the cold basement air.
I forced myself to look up.
Through the dim, flickering light, my eyes met his. He was incredibly handsome, with sharp, aristocratic features and eyes that looked like two pieces of polished black glass utterly devoid of human warmth, but burning with a quiet, lethal intelligence. His long black overcoat was damp from the rain, his leather gloves stained with fresh, dark smears of blood.
Kim Mingyu.
He didn't look at me at first. His eyes scanned the room, instantly identifying the heavy wooden crates of synthetic drugs and the leather-bound ledgers that the thieves had piled near the door. A cold, satisfied smile touched his lips.
"Found them," he said quietly, his deep baritone voice sending a shiver straight down my spine.
Then, his gaze shifted. He looked into the dark corner of the coal cellar.
He looked at me.
He looked at the torn red velvet dress, the deep purple bruises blooming across my jaw, the split lip that had only recently stopped bleeding, and the frail, half-conscious woman chained to the wooden support beam beside me.
The cold smile vanished from his face instantly. For the first time tonight, the absolute, deadly certainty in his eyes flickered, replaced by a dark, dangerous confusion.
He stepped into the cellar, the heavy leather of his boots crunching against the gravel. He lowered the barrel of his gun just an inch, his eyes locked onto mine.
"Who the hell are you?" he murmured.
"Who am I?" I whispered, my voice scraping against the raw skin of my throat. The terror that had kept me pinned to the floor for hours suddenly burned away, replaced by a reckless, volatile spike of adrenaline. I glared up at him through the tangled mess of my hair, my fingers digging into my mother’s torn gown. "Who the heck are you instead? You walk into my house, slaughtering people, acting like you own the world."
Mingyu’s expression didn't soften. Not even a fraction.
If anything, his jaw clenched, his eyes hardening into stone as he looked down at me. He didn't look like a savior; he looked like the executioner who had just finished off the rest of the building. The silver-plated automatic in his hand didn't waver. He raised it slightly, the barrel pointing directly at the space between my eyes.
"You're in no position to ask questions, sweetheart," Mingyu said, his voice dropping into a low, lethal register that vibrated through the small, damp room. "This isn't your house anymore. Your father died at the docks twenty minutes ago, and everything he owned including whatever is left in this basement belongs to me."
Behind him, S.Coups stepped into the doorway, his tactical rifle held at low-ready. He wiped a splatter of blood from his cheekbone, his eyes shifting from the stolen crates to me and my mother. "Mingyu, we don't have time for this. Hoshi is clearing the garage, but the perimeter isn't completely secure yet. Who are they?"
"I'm trying to find out," Mingyu muttered, not taking his eyes off me. He took another predatory step forward, the heavy leather of his boot coming down inches from my hand. He didn't care about the bruises on my face. He didn't care that my mother was shivering, semi-conscious against my shoulder. To him, we were just unexpected variables in a high-stakes raid. "Han didn't have a daughter on the payroll. Wonwoo's files said the bloodline ended with Minjun."
At the mention of my brother's name, something inside me snapped. "Don't you dare speak his name," I spat, my voice trembling with a chaotic mix of grief and unadulterated rage. "You killed him five years ago. You broke this family. You did this."
Mingyu tilted his head, a cold, entirely humorless smirk touching his lips. "Your father broke this family, girl. I just cleaned up the debris."
He reached down, his grip locking around my upper arm like an iron vise. He didn't pull me up gently; he yanked me to my feet with a brutal, careless force that made my swollen knee buckle. I gasped, choking on the pain as he held me upright, forcing me to face him. His eyes scanned the heavy iron chain padlocked around my mother’s ankle, then traveled back to the split lip and the deep welts on my skin.
He didn't show pity. He showed a calculating, clinical interest.
"Coups," Mingyu commanded, his voice echoing off the brick walls. "Get the bolt cutters for the old woman. Pack the crates into the lead SUV. We’re taking both of them to the headquarters."
"No!" I screamed, twisting violently against his grip, trying to claw at his leather gloves. "Leave her alone! Don't touch her!"
Mingyu didn't even flinch at my struggle. He tightened his hold on my arm until it bruised, pinning my back against his chest so tightly I couldn't breathe. "Listen to me very carefully," he whispered directly into my ear, his breath cold against my skin. "You are the daughter of my enemy, found hidden in a room full of my stolen property. Right now, you are a hostage, an asset, or a liability. Which one you end up being depends entirely on how quiet you keep your mouth on the ride over. Do you understand me?"
I bit my tongue so hard I tasted copper again, glaring at the flickering lightbulb above us as S.Coups walked back up the stairs to fetch the tools. The house above was still bleeding, the distant sounds of Seventeen securing the perimeter a haunting reminder that I hadn't escaped the nightmare at all. I had just been handed over to a different kind of monster.
The cold iron of the bolt cutters bit through the padlocked chain with a sharp, heavy snap. My mother collapsed back against the wooden support beam, gasping, her frail body entirely spent. She couldn't even stand.
"Coups, take the crates," Mingyu ordered, his voice cutting through the damp air like a blade. "I’m taking these two in my car. I want them where I can see them."
"Mingyu, that’s unsafe," S.Coups countered, wiping his brow as his men began hoisting the heavy ledgers. "Let the clean-up crew handle them. We don't know what the girl is carrying."
"She’s carrying nothing but a mouth she doesn't know how to close," Mingyu spat, shoving me toward the basement stairs. He didn't offer a hand to my mother; he simply nodded toward two of his enforcers, who hoisted her up by her arms like a ragdoll.
The walk out of the mansion was a blur of violence. The grand hallways I had grown up in were ruined, the marble floors smeared with dark streaks of blood, the walls riddled with bullet holes. The remaining thieves lay dead or groaning in the shadows. Seventeen had moved through this house like a plague, and Mingyu was the king presiding over the ash.
He dragged me out into the freezing downpour, throwing open the heavy back door of his private, armored sedan. He shoved me into the leather seat first, then watched coldly as his men slid my semi-conscious mother in beside me. The door slammed shut, sealing us in a suffocating, expensive silence that smelled of premium leather and ozone.
A second later, the front door opened, and Mingyu slid into the driver’s seat. He didn't look back at us through the rearview mirror. He started the engine, the powerful V8 motor roaring to life with a low, menacing purr, and threw the car into drive. The tires spun through the mud of the estate, tearing down the hill away from the burning wreckage of the Han empire.
The city lights blinked past the bulletproof glass, a chaotic blur of blue and neon. Inside the car, the air conditioning was crisp, biting into my damp skin, making the welts on my back sting fiercely. My mother’s head slumped against my shoulder, her breathing dangerously shallow, her skin entirely translucent under the passing streetlights.
I looked at her, then looked at the back of Mingyu’s broad shoulders. My chest ached with a mixture of terror and pure desperation. I had to swallow every single ounce of my pride, every bit of the rage that had made me scream at him in the cellar.
"Please," I whispered, my voice cracking, barely audible over the hum of the tires.
Mingyu didn't answer. His large hands remained steady on the steering wheel, his eyes fixed on the dark road ahead. He didn't even adjust the mirror.
"Please," I said louder, my hands trembling as I clutched my mother’s freezing fingers. "Well... at least... can you give my mom some water? She ain't drink nor eat for months. Please... if I may ask that."
For a long, agonizing moment, the only sound was the rhythmic slap of the windshield wipers against the glass. Mingyu didn't soften. His posture remained rigid, his jaw locked in a hard, unyielding line. He didn't look like a man who felt pity; he looked like a man calculating his next move.
Without breaking his gaze from the road, he reached into the center console between the front seats. His gloved hand pulled out a chilled, glass bottle of mineral water. He didn't hand it back gently. He tossed it blindly over his shoulder into the back seat. It hit the leather next to my thigh with a heavy thud.
"Keep her alive until we reach the hub," Mingyu said, his deep baritone cutting through the dark, entirely devoid of warmth. "If she dies in my back seat, you’ll be cleaning the leather with your own hands."
The glass bottle was freezing against my trembling fingers. I frantically twisted the cap off, my knuckles aching, and pressed the rim against my mother’s cracked, bleeding lips. She choked at first, her frail body shuddering as she managed to swallow a few small drops, her eyes remaining closed. I wiped a stray trickle of water from her chin with the edge of my torn red dress, holding her closer against my chest.
Up front, the windshield wipers kept up their rhythmic, hypnotic slap against the glass. Mingyu’s eyes flickered toward the rearview mirror, finally locking onto my reflection in the dark.
"Months?" his voice drifted back, low, rough, and entirely stripped of any empathy. He was analyzing the data, breaking down my words like a puzzle piece that didn't fit. "A mafia boss's estate doesn't run out of food. Why didn't she eat or drink?"
I went perfectly still.
The silence inside the car became heavy, suffocatingly loud. The truth was a jagged, horrific thing the memory of my father locking the pantry doors, the weeks spent surviving on tap water and whatever scraps I could smuggle into the cellar, the systematic starvation he used as a weapon to break my mother’s spirit until she simply stopped asking for food entirely. It was a humiliating, dirty secret. A reality I had endured in the dark while the rest of the city thought the Han family was living in luxury.
I didn't say a word. I clamped my jaw shut, staring fixedly out the side window at the passing neon blur of the industrial district, refusing to give him an answer. I wouldn't give my father’s enemy the satisfaction of knowing just how pathetic and broken we really were.
Mingyu watched me through the mirror for a few more seconds, his dark eyes boring into the side of my face, expecting me to crack. When I kept my gaze locked on the window, his expression hardened further. He didn't ask again. He didn't coax, and he certainly didn't care to comfort me.
"Suit yourself," he muttered, turning his eyes back to the road and stepping harder on the gas. The V8 engine roared, pushing us faster into the dark. "You’ll talk eventually. Everyone talks at the hub."
The car sliced through the torrential rain, ascending a hidden concrete ramp that sloped deep into the belly of an unmarked industrial fortress. The heavy steel blast doors of Seventeen’s central hub rolled down behind us with a definitive, mechanical thud, sealing out the thunderstorm and locking us into a world of polished concrete, bright fluorescent lights, and armed men.
Mingyu threw the sedan into park. He didn't come around to open our door. Instead, he flicked a switch on the dashboard, and the heavy locks clicked open.
"Out," he commanded, stepping out into the cold garage air before the word had even finished echoing in the cabin.
The door was ripped open from the outside by Vernon, who stood ready with a medical stretcher, flanked by Wonwoo and a quiet, imposing man with long hair (Jeonghan) who was already donning latex gloves.
"Get the mother onto the gurney," Mingyu ordered, walking past them without looking back, his heavy boots clicking rhythmically against the floor. "Put her in the medical wing under third-tier lockdown. Keep her alive, but chain the bed to the floor bolts. I don't trust a single thing that breathes out of the Han estate."
"What about the girl?" Wonwoo asked, his eyes sweeping over my torn red velvet gown, the dirt caked into my skin, and the stubborn defiance still burning in my stare.
"She’s coming with me to the interrogation block," Mingyu said, his voice a flat line. "If she won't talk about why her father was starving them, she can explain what else Han was hiding before he died."
Two guards grabbed my shoulders, hauling me out of the leather seat. My swollen knee buckled instantly, sending a sharp, nauseating jolt of pain up my spine. I staggered, but the guards didn't check my stride; they dragged me forward, my heels scraping helplessly against the concrete.
"Mom!" I cried out, my voice cracking as I twisted my head around. I watched through the haze of my tears as Jeonghan and Vernon wheeled her away down a sterile corridor, her frail hand falling limply off the side of the mattress. "Don't touch her! Please!"
"Save your breath," Mingyu growled from ahead of me.
He led the way down a long, white hallway lined with reinforced steel doors until we reached a room marked Sector 4-B. The guards shoved me inside. The room was stark just a cold metal table bolted to the floor, two matching chairs, and a massive two-way mirror that hummed with the silent recording of security cameras.
The guards forced me into one of the chairs. A heavy iron cuff was clamped around my left wrist, securing me to a metal ring embedded in the center of the table.
Mingyu walked in behind them, tossing his blood-stained leather gloves onto the metal surface with a sharp slap. He didn't sit down. He stood directly over me, his massive frame completely blocking out the harsh overhead light, casting me in his shadow.
"We can do this two ways, YN," he said, leaning forward until his sharp, aristocratic face was inches from mine. The smell of rain and burnt gunpowder still clung to his collar. "You can tell me exactly what your father's true contingency plan was, or I can let my interrogation team find out. And let me assure you, they aren't interested in your family history."
I glared up at him, my jaw clenched so tightly it throbbed, completely silent.
Mingyu stared back, his dark eyes like ice, refusing to soften even a fraction. The chaos of the night was over, but my nightmare under the shadow king was just beginning.
"Well, I don't know anything," I said, my voice dropping into a flat, exhausted whisper. I leaned back into the cold metal of the chair, my eyes tracking the tiny, slow drip of blood falling from my split lip onto the front of my ruined red gown. "So it's a waste of your time."
Mingyu didn't move. He didn't blink. He just stayed leaned over the table, his shadow swallowing me whole, his face perfectly still like a statue carved out of malice.
"A waste of time," he repeated, the words rolling off his tongue slowly, tasting like a threat. He tilted his head, a terrifyingly quiet, humorless smile breaking the corner of his lips. "You think your ignorance protects you, YN? In my world, knowing nothing just makes you useless. And useless things get thrown away."
He stood up straight, pulling a heavy silver pen from his breast pocket and tapping it lazily against the steel table. Click. Click. Click. The sound echoed sharply in the sterile room.
Behind the two-way mirror, I could hear the faint, muffled hum of the hub's ventilation system, a reminder of how deep underground we were. No one was coming for me. My father was dead, my brother was a ghost, and my mother was chained to a hospital bed down the hall.
"Let's look at the facts," Mingyu said, his voice entirely clinical as he began to pace the length of the room, his heavy leather boots dragging with a slow, predatory rhythm. "Your father ran a multi-million dollar syndicate. He managed to hide a daughter from Seventeen’s intelligence network for five years. He successfully infiltrated my lower ranks with ten moles who almost walked away with my life's work tonight. And you want me to believe that you the person living under his roof, breathing his air know absolutely nothing about his offshore contacts?"
"I was locked in a basement!" I screamed, the last string of my composure snapping. The iron cuff around my wrist rattled violently against the steel ring as I lunged forward as far as the chain would allow. "He starved us! He beat us! He looked at me every day and told me he wished I had died instead of Minjun! Do you honestly think he sat down and discussed his business strategy with a daughter he treated like a parasite?!"
The outburst left me panting, my chest heaving against the tight fabric of my dress, the hot tears finally spilling over my lower lids and tracking through the grime on my face.
Mingyu stopped pacing. He turned slowly, his dark, impenetrable eyes scanning my shaking frame. He looked at the frantic, desperate rage in my eyes, then down at my bleeding lip, and finally at the bruised wrist straining against his iron cuff.
He didn't look sorry. He didn't look horrified by what my father had done. He simply walked back to the table, picked up his leather gloves, and pulled them back over his large hands, smoothing down the leather with meticulous care.
"Sounds like an effective way to keep a secret," Mingyu murmured, his voice cold and entirely unbothered by my pain. He turned toward the heavy steel door, his overcoat swirling behind him. "We'll see if your memory improves after a few hours of isolation. Don't get too comfortable, sweetheart. The night is still very young."
The heavy door slammed shut behind him, the mechanical lock throwing into place with a definitive, crushing sound that left me completely alone in the blinding white light.
The ticking of the digital clock on the interrogation room wall was the only proof that the world hadn’t stopped entirely. One hour. Two hours. Three.
The blinding fluorescent lights didn't flicker; they just hummed, a low, maddening vibration that drilled straight into my skull. My swollen knee had gone completely numb, replaced by a dull, throbbing ache that radiated all the way up to my hip. Every time I tried to shift my weight, the iron cuff around my wrist would bite deeper into my skin, leaving a raw, bloody ring.
I closed my eyes, leaning my forehead against the freezing metal table. In the dark of my own mind, the chaos of the night replayed like a broken film reel. The sound of my father’s palm cracking against my face. The sickening snap of the bolt cutters. The smell of rain and expensive tobacco on Kim Mingyu's coat.
“Useless things get thrown away.” His voice echoed in my head, cold and precise.
Suddenly, the heavy mechanical lock on the door disengaged with a loud, echoing thud.
I didn't lift my head immediately. I didn't want to give them the satisfaction of seeing the terror in my eyes. But the footsteps that entered the room weren't Mingyu’s heavy, slow strides. They were lighter, more measured.
"Get her up," a voice commanded. It was Wonwoo.
Two large guards stepped up to the table, unlocking the iron cuff from the steel ring. Before I could even attempt to stand on my own, they grabbed my upper arms and hauled me out of the chair. My legs instantly gave out, my bad knee buckling beneath me, but they simply dragged me across the floor, my ruined red velvet gown trailing behind me like a bloodstain.
They didn't take me deeper into the interrogation block. Instead, they dragged me down a series of sterile, white corridors, eventually stopping in front of a pair of heavy double doors guarded by two heavily armed men.
The doors swung open, and I was thrown inside.
I hit the floor hard, my elbows scraping against a plush, dark carpet. I gasped for air, pushing myself up with trembling hands. When I looked up, I realized I wasn't in a prison cell. I was in a massive, sprawling private office. The walls were lined with dark mahogany bookshelves, and a floor-to-ceiling glass window overlooked the rain-slicked skyline of the city.
Sitting behind a massive desk was Mingyu.
He had taken off his heavy black overcoat and rolled his white dress shirt sleeves up to his elbows, revealing the sharp, muscular lines of his forearms. He was looking over a glowing tablet, a glass of dark amber whiskey sitting untouched beside a stack of leather-bound ledgers—the very ledgers his men had recovered from my father's basement.
Standing around the room were the other members of Seventeen. S.Coups was leaning against the wall by the door, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes fixed on me. Jun and Minghao stood by the window, their expressions unreadable, while Joshua quietly poured fresh water into a crystal glass near the bar.
"The medical report just came back," Wonwoo said, stepping up to Mingyu's desk and dropping a digital folder onto the wood. His voice was entirely devoid of emotion, though his eyes flickered toward me for a fraction of a second. "The mother is stable, but severely malnourished. Organ stress, severe muscle atrophy, multiple healed fractures across her ribs and collarbone that were never properly set. The daughter’s file is similar. Soft tissue damage, a hairline fracture in the left patella, and chronic starvation markers."
The room went completely silent.
I kept my eyes glued to the carpet, my fingers clutching the fabric of my dress. Hearing my own abuse read aloud like a clinical grocery list by my father's executioners felt like a brand new kind of torture.
Mingyu didn't look at the folder. He slowly raised his eyes from his tablet, his dark, impenetrable gaze locking onto my shivering frame on the floor. He didn't soften. The grim medical reality of what we had endured didn't bring a single ounce of pity to his face. To a man like him, pain was just a currency.
"So you weren't lying about the basement," Mingyu said, his deep baritone cutting through the quiet of the office. He picked up his whiskey glass, swirling the amber liquid slowly. "But that still doesn't mean you're useless to me, YN."
I forced my jaw to clench, lifting my chin to look him dead in the eye despite the hot tears pricking the corners of my vision. "I told you. I don't know anything about his accounts. Kill me if you're going to do it, but leave my mother alone."
"Kill you?" Mingyu tilted his head, a cold, calculating smirk playing on his lips as he set the glass back down. "Dead people don't pay debts, sweetheart. Your father stole tens of millions of dollars worth of my product, and he died before he could return it. The Han syndicate is liquidated, but the debt remains."
He rose from his chair, his massive frame instantly dominating the room as he walked around the desk. He stopped just a foot away from where I knelt on the floor, towering over me like a dark god.
"Your father might not have trusted you with his ledgers," Mingyu murmured, his voice dropping into a low, lethal whisper that made the hairs on my arms stand up. "But the syndicates in the north don't know that. To them, you are still the last living blood of the Han family. You are a token. An asset."
He reached down, his large, gloved hand gripping my chin tightly, forcing my face upward. His thumb brushed right over the deep purple bruise on my jaw, his grip firm enough to keep me from pulling away, entirely unbothered by the fact that I was trembling.
"From tonight on, you and your mother belong to Seventeen," Mingyu stated, his eyes boring into mine with a terrifying, absolute authority. "You will live under my roof. You will breathe my air. And you will do exactly what I tell you to do until every single cent your father stole is paid back in blood. Welcome to your new cage, YN."
The pressure of his thumb against my bruised jaw was a brutal reminder of where I stood. I didn't pull away I couldn't. I just stared back into those bottomless black eyes, my breathing shallow, my heart thudding against my ribs like a trapped bird.
"I'd rather die," I whispered, the words tasting like copper and ash on my tongue.
Mingyu didn't blink. He didn't tighten his grip, but he didn't loosen it either. His face remained a mask of pure, unyielding stone. "Death is a luxury you haven't earned, YN. And frankly, I don't give a damn what you'd rather do."
He abruptly let go of my chin, tossing his hand out as if he had just touched something insignificant. He turned his back to me, walking over to the floor-to-ceiling window where the rain was still violently lashing against the glass. The city lights below reflected off his white shirt, making his broad shoulders look like a silhouette against a burning skyline.
"Wonwoo," Mingyu called out, his voice cutting through the quiet hum of the office. "Take her to the residential block. Third floor, end of the hall. Put a guard on the door twenty-four-seven. If she so much as looks at a window the wrong way, lock her in the holding cells."
"What about her medical treatment?" Wonwoo asked, his fingers already hovering over his tablet to log the command.
"Fix her knee," Mingyu said coldly, not turning around. "Feed her. I have no use for an asset that breaks before I can use it. But the moment she can walk on her own, she starts working off what her father owes me."
"Understood," Wonwoo replied. He nodded to the two guards standing by the double doors.
Before I could even attempt to prepare myself, the guards grabbed me by the arms again. The sudden movement sent another nauseating spike of agony through my fractured kneepiece. I choked back a scream, my teeth digging into my lower lip until it bled afresh, my feet dragging limply across the plush carpet as they hauled me toward the exit.
As the heavy mahogany doors of his office began to swing shut, I cast one last look over my shoulder.
Kim Mingyu hadn't moved. He stood there, staring out at his empire, a king entirely unbothered by the lives he crushed beneath his boots. He didn't look back at me. He didn't care. To him, my mother and I weren't people who had survived hell; we were just salvaged property from a house he had burned to the ground.
The guards dragged me down a separate elevator bank, the metallic walls reflecting my ruined state a girl in a torn red velvet gown, covered in dirt and bruises, being escorted into a brand new prison.
The residential block didn't look like a jail, which somehow made it worse. It looked like a luxury hotel, all muted grey tones, soft carpet, and recessed lighting. But there were no handles on the inside of the heavy oak doors, and every hallway was monitored by high-definition cameras.
They threw open the door to the last room at the end of the corridor and shoved me inside.
I collapsed onto the floor, the heavy wooden door slamming shut behind me with a definitive, motorized click. A second later, the heavy thud of a deadbolt sliding into place echoed through the room.
I lay there in the dark for a long time, the silence of the room pressing into my ears. Slowly, agonizingly, I dragged myself over to the large bed in the center of the room, pulling my body up using the crisp, expensive sheets. I crawled to the headboard, curling my bruised knees back up to my chest, burying my face in my hands.
The house on the hill was gone. My father was dead. My brother was a ghost. And now, my mother and I were entirely at the mercy of the most ruthless organization in the city. I pulled the blanket tightly around my shoulders, shivering violently in the dark, wondering how much blood it would take to finally pay off a dead man's debt.
Seven days passed in a blur of sterile silence and the sharp tang of antiseptic.
The residential block was a gilded cage, but it was functional. A quiet doctor from Seventeen’s medical wing had visited twice to bind my fractured kneecap, pumping fluids and nutrients into my collapsed veins until my skin no longer looked translucent. They brought food three times a day heavy, protein-rich meals that my shrunken stomach initially rejected, cramping in violent protest before finally accepting the nourishment.
My mother was still in the medical wing below. They wouldn't let me see her, but every morning, Wonwoo would slide a printed vitals sheet under my door. She was recovering, but she was still a prisoner, a tether keeping me entirely compliant.
On the eighth night, the motorized deadbolt on my door clicked open at precisely midnight.
I was sitting on the edge of the mattress, wearing the plain, oversized black clothes they had provided to replace my ruined red gown. I braced my hands against the mattress as the door swung inward.
Mingyu stepped into the room.
He had discarded his formal suit jackets, wearing only a tailored charcoal dress shirt with the top two buttons undone, his dark hair slightly messy as if he had been awake for days. He didn't look tired, though. His posture was as commanding as ever, his eyes sweeping over me with the same cold, assessing gaze he used on the ledger books. Behind him, S.Coups stood in the hallway, arms crossed, keeping watch.
Mingyu didn't say hello. He walked to the center of the room, pulled out a heavy leather folder from under his arm, and dropped it onto the small wooden table near the bed.
"A week is enough time to heal a hairline fracture," Mingyu said, his deep baritone cutting through the quiet room. "Your mother's vitals are stable. The debt hasn't shrunk, YN. It’s time to see what you can bring to the table."
I looked at the folder, then looked up at him. The physical pain had lessened over the week, but the raw, suffocating unfairness of everything we had endured bubbled right back to the surface. My hands clenched into fists against the bedsheets.
"Why are you doing this?" I demanded, my voice trembling but sharp, breaking the quiet air. "We ain't even a part of my father's organization. We didn't touch your money. We didn't know about your drugs. You're evil."
Mingyu didn't flinch. He didn't blink or show a single flicker of guilt. He simply tilted his head, looking down at me as if I were a child crying over a broken toy.
"Evil?" he repeated, a low, humorless huff escaping his lips. He stepped closer, towering over the edge of the bed, his shadow instantly falling over my lap. "Evil is a word for people who have the luxury of a conscience, YN. I run an empire. Your father stole from that empire, and in my world, bloodlines carry liabilities. You carry his name. That makes you his proxy."
"I was his prisoner!" I yelled, staring up at him with unadulterated rage. "He would have killed us if you hadn't! We had nothing to do with him!"
"The Northern syndicates don't care about your domestic trauma," Mingyu said, his voice completely flat, stripped of any empathy. He tapped the leather folder with his index finger. "To them, you are the sole surviving heir of the Han family bloodline. Tomorrow, Han’s remaining political allies are holding a closed-door meeting to redistribute his old territories. You are going to walk into that room, sit beside me, and sign those territories over to Seventeen."
He leaned down slightly, his dark eyes locking onto mine with an ironclad intensity that made my breath catch.
"You think I'm evil? Fine. Call me whatever helps you sleep at night," Mingyu whispered, his face inches from mine. "But you will put on a clean dress, you will look like a mafia boss's daughter, and you will do exactly what I say. Because if you don't bring those territories to my table tomorrow, I will stop paying for your mother’s medical care by noon. Am I making myself clear?"
The silence that followed my submission was heavier than the darkness that had suffocated me in my father’s cellar. I stared up at Kim Mingyu, my hands clenching the rough fabric of the oversized black shirt they had given me until my knuckles ached. The raw, animalistic rage that had carried me through the past week was entirely gone, replaced by a cold, paralyzing dread that pooled deep in my stomach.
"Okay," I whispered. The word felt like broken glass scraping against the raw lining of my throat. I lowered my head, my shoulders slumping as the last remaining wall of my defiance crumbled into dust beneath his gaze. "Okay. I’ll do it. I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll sign the papers. I’ll sit in the room. I’ll be whatever puppet you need me to be."
Mingyu didn't move. He stood perfectly still at the edge of the mattress, a towering silhouette against the minimalist luxury of the room. He didn't offer a nod of approval; he merely watched me, his dark eyes analyzing the exact moment my spirit broke, ensuring it was a genuine surrender and not a tactical retreat.
I swallowed hard, forcing myself to look back up into his handsome, unyielding face. The tears were burning hot behind my eyelids now, but I refused to let them fall in front of him. I reached out, my fingers hovering just inches from the edge of his immaculate trousers, a silent, desperate plea hanging in the air between us.
"But don't hurt my mom," I begged, my voice cracking, dropping into a frantic, breathless register. "Please... don't involve her anymore. She has absolutely nothing to do with this, please. I am asking you, if you have any shred of humanity left in you, just leave her out of it. Even though she was married to him... it was a forced marriage. Her family traded her to the Han organization when she was barely older than I am now. She was a trophy. A punching bag. She didn't choose him. She didn't choose the syndicate. So technically... she did not want to have his name. She hated it. She spent twenty-five years wishing she could erase it. That makes her kinda clean. She’s completely innocent, Mingyu. She’s just a victim who survived."
Mingyu listened to my desperate explanation without a single flicker of emotion crossing his features. The tragic history of my mother’s stolen life didn't move him; it didn't soften the hard, clinical lines around his mouth. To a man who calculated empires in bodies and drug supply routes, the concept of a "forced marriage" or being "clean" was an irrelevant emotional variable.
He slowly reached into his pocket, pulling out a sleek silver cigarette case. He clicked it open, pulled out a dark clove cigarette, and lit it with his gold lighter. The sharp, sweet scent of cloves and premium tobacco immediately filled the sterile air of the bedroom, a hauntingly familiar luxury that reminded me entirely of the night he raided my father’s house.
"Nobody in this city is clean, YN," Mingyu said, exhaling a thick, grey plume of smoke that swirled into the space between us, partially obscuring his cold eyes. "Innocence isn't a shield; it's a liability. Your mother’s trauma doesn't erase the millions of dollars your father took from my vaults. The syndicates don't deal in morality. They deal in blood and assets."
He stepped closer, the polished leather of his boots crushing a stray thread on the carpet. He leaned down, his massive frame completely cutting off the ambient light from the hallway, forcing me to look up at him through the haze of smoke.
"But I am a businessman, not a sadist," he continued, his deep baritone dropping into a terrifyingly steady whisper. "I don't waste my resources or my time torturing broken women who can't fight back. I have no desire to hurt your mother."
A tiny, fragile breath of relief started to leave my chest, but Mingyu caught it, cutting it short as he tapped the ash from his cigarette onto the small wooden table beside the folder.
"However," he murmured, his eyes locking onto mine with the absolute, unshakeable authority of a tyrant. "Her comfort is entirely dependent on your performance. Tomorrow is a theater production, and you are the main actress. You will put on the dress I provide. You will let the stylists cover every single bruise your father left on your face. And when you sit beside me in that boardroom, in front of the northern bosses, you will look like the proud, untouchable heir of the Han family bloodline."
He reached out, his long, gloved fingers gently brushing a stray lock of hair away from my face. The touch wasn't affectionate; it was the clinical handling of a painter adjusting a canvas. His thumb lingered just an inch above my split lip.
"If you hesitate for even a fraction of a second when I tell you to sign those deeds," Mingyu warned, his voice entirely devoid of warmth, "if a single tear falls down your cheek in front of those men, or if you try to signal anyone in that room for help... S.Coups will receive a text before you can even leave your chair. He will walk into the medical wing, and he will pull the plug on your mother's machines. She will suffocate in that sterile room, and her death will be entirely on your hands. Am I making myself completely clear?"
The sheer weight of the threat pressed down on my chest, making it impossible to take a full breath. He wasn't just holding her hostage; he was making me the executioner if I failed to play my part in his twisted game.
"Yes," I choked out, staring at the dark leather of his gloves. "I understand."
"Good," Mingyu said, straightening up to his full, imposing height. He turned his back on me, smoothing down the front of his charcoal dress shirt with a terrifying casualness, completely unbothered by the psychological destruction he had just detailed.
He walked toward the heavy oak door, his long legs moving with a slow, predatory grace. S.Coups moved aside in the hallway, his face an unreadable mask as he waited for his boss.
"A styling team will be at your door at exactly five o'clock in the morning," Mingyu muttered, his hand resting on the brass doorknob. He didn't look back at me as he delivered his parting words. "They will transform you into a queen for the morning, YN. Just make sure you remember who holds the crown. Get some sleep, sweetheart. The shadow king doesn't like to be kept waiting."
The heavy oak door swung shut, cutting off the light from the corridor. A second later, the loud, motorized grind of the deadbolt sliding back into place echoed through the room like the turning of a key in a tomb.
I collapsed backward onto the pillows, burying my face in the expensive, crisp sheets that smelled faintly of the laundry chemicals and cold isolation. The nightmare of my father’s house had ended, but the golden cage Kim Mingyu had built for me was infinitely more terrifying. I lay there in the dark, shivering violently, listening to the distant, rhythmic hum of the facility’s ventilation, praying for a morning that I knew would bring nothing but my own beautifully orchestrated ruin.
The motorized deadbolt didn't slide back at five in the morning. It clicked with a muted, clinical snap that signaled the absolute end of whatever fragile sleep I had managed to pull over myself like a shroud.
The door swung open to reveal three people. Two women dressed in stark, severe black trousers and a quiet man holding a heavy, garment bag made of opaque plastic. They didn't speak to me. They didn't ask how my knee felt or if the bruises under my oversized shirt still burned when I breathed too deeply. They simply went to work with the cold, mechanical efficiency that seemed to run through the veins of everyone under Kim Mingyu’s command.
For two hours, I was a mannequin.
They washed the stale scent of the basement from my skin, their hands surprisingly gentle but entirely detached. Then came the makeup. Layer after layer of thick, professional-grade concealer was pressed into the deep purple crest of my jawline, smoothing over the split in my lower lip until the skin looked flawless, radiant, and entirely fake. They pulled my hair back into a sleek, low bun, pinning it so tightly it felt like a physical anchor keeping my head high.
Finally, the garment bag was unzipped.
Inside was a tailored long-sleeved dress made of heavy, midnight-blue silk. It had a high neckline that completely covered the dark welts on my collarbone, and the structure of the waist was rigid, forcing my posture into an elegant, aristocratic frame. When they slipped the matching heels onto my feet, a sharp jolt of pain shot up from my fractured kneecap, but the heavy fabric of the skirt hid the slight tremor in my left leg perfectly.
I looked into the full-length mirror they rolled into the center of the room.
The girl in the mirror didn't look like someone who had spent the last five years listening to her mother scream from the kitchen floor. She looked like a Han. She looked like a proud, untouchable mafia princess stepping out of a high-end salon. It was a beautiful lie, wrapped in silk and painted with blood.
The door opened again at precisely seven-thirty.
S.Coups stepped in, wearing a sharp grey suit that entirely hid the tactical holster beneath his arm. His eyes swept over me, a brief flash of clinical approval crossing his rugged features before his face went entirely blank.
"The car is waiting downstairs," he said, his voice flat. He didn't offer an arm. He simply turned, expecting me to follow.
I walked down the long, carpeted hallway of the residential block, focusing every ounce of my willpower on forcing my bad knee to move smoothly. If I limped, if I showed weakness, the theater would collapse before it even began. And down in the medical wing, a single text message could turn off the machines keeping my mother anchored to this earth.
We descended via a private elevator straight into the underground garage. A different car was waiting today a massive, heavily armored black limousine with tinted windows that swallowed the bright fluorescent lights of the facility.
The rear door was held open by Vernon. I stepped inside, the plush leather interior wrapping around me like a velvet coffin.
Sitting in the far corner of the wide seat was Mingyu.
He looked like the god of this underworld. He wore a flawless three-piece black suit, a silver silk tie pinned with a dark sapphire that matched the color of my dress perfectly a sickening little detail that made my stomach turn. He was reading a physical folder, a gold fountain pen resting between his long, elegant fingers.
The door slammed shut behind me, and the limousine pulled out of the garage, ascending into the gray, rain-slicked morning of the upper city.
Mingyu didn't look up from his papers for the first ten minutes of the ride. The only sound inside the cabin was the low, muffled hum of the tires against the wet asphalt and the occasional rustle of the documents he was turning over.
"You look like your brother," he said suddenly. His voice was a deep, gravelly baritone that seemed to vibrate through the leather seat.
I kept my eyes fixed on the rain tracking down the tinted glass window. "Don't talk about him."
"Minjun was a fool, but he had a presence," Mingyu continued, entirely unbothered by my response. He finally closed the folder, setting it on the leather seat between us, and turned his dark, impenetrable eyes toward me. He scanned my face, tracing the perfect camouflage the makeup team had done over my bruises. "The northern bosses are old men. They are traditionalists. They believe in bloodlines because it gives them an illusion of continuity. When you walk into that room, you will give them that illusion."
He reached out, his hand bare this time. The warmth of his skin was an unexpected, terrifying shock against my freezing jawline as his fingers hooked under my chin, forcing me to turn my head to face him. He tilted my face toward the gray morning light filtering through the glass.
"Your name is the only thing your father left behind that has any value," Mingyu murmured, his eyes dropping to my painted lips, searching for even a microscopic tremor of fear. "Today, you give it to me. Every single acre of the northern docks, every offshore warehouse, every corrupt precinct captain your father paid off you sign it over to Seventeen."
"I told you I would do it," I whispered, my jaw rigid against the pressure of his fingers. "Just leave my mother out of it."
"She’s already out of it, as long as you don't ruin my theater," Mingyu said, his thumb brushing lightly against my cheekbone with a cold, terrifying gentleness that felt worse than a slap. He let go of my chin, leaning back into his seat, his broad shoulders throwing a long shadow across my lap. "The meeting is at the Grand Plaza Hotel. We enter through the back elevators. S.Coups and Hoshi will be behind us. If anyone speaks to you, you look at them, you nod, and you let me do the talking. You are the silent partner. The grieving heir."
The limousine slowed down, turning into a private, underground tunnel beneath the luxury hotel. Armed guards wearing the standard security uniforms of the hotel but carrying the distinct, lethal posture of Seventeen’s enforcers stood at every pillar.
The car stopped. Vernon opened the door, the cool, subterranean air rushing into the warm cabin.
Mingyu stepped out first. He smoothed down the front of his vest, then turned around, extending his large, manicured hand toward me.
I looked at his open palm. It was the hand that had pinned my father to the wall. It was the hand that held the keys to my mother's hospital room. I swallowed the bitter, suffocating lump of pride in my throat, placed my small, trembling hand into his iron grip, and stepped out into the lions' den.
Eight months can fundamentally alter the landscape of a cage.
For the first four months, the theater had continued with brutal efficiency. I sat beside Mingyu in leather-bound boardrooms across the city, a beautifully dressed ghost signing away the remnants of my father's empire piece by piece until the Han name was nothing but a footnote in Seventeen’s financial ledgers. I did exactly what I was told because the digital monitor on my vanity still showed the steady, rhythmic heartbeat of my mother down in the medical wing.
Then, four months ago, a blood clot in her brain tore the tether away.
It hadn't been an execution. It hadn't been a text message from Mingyu to S.Coups. It was just a quiet, sudden stroke in the middle of a Tuesday night. The doctor said her frail body, broken by decades of systematic abuse, simply lacked the resilience to keep fighting.
I remembered that night with an agonizing, sharp clarity. I had screamed. I had shattered every porcelain vase in my residential suite, tearing at the sheets until my hands bled, demanding that they let me go down to her body. The guards had pinned me down, but they hadn't been rough not like before. Because when the heavy oak door had opened, Mingyu hadn't stepped in with a leather folder or a threat. He had walked in silently, signaled the guards to release me, and sat on the edge of the bed while I completely unraveled.
He hadn't hugged me. He hadn't offered empty, hollow condolences. But he had let me scream until my throat was raw, his massive frame standing between me and the cold, watching eyes of the facility. And the next day, he had quietly arranged a private burial in a quiet cemetery on the outskirts of the city, far away from the Han family plot.
Since then, the gravity in the room had shifted. Just a tiny bit.
"You're staring at the glass again," a deep, smooth baritone cut through the quiet of the office.
I blinked, pulling my gaze away from the floor-to-ceiling window of Mingyu's private suite. The July rain was smearing the city lights below into long, bleeding streaks. I turned around slowly. I was no longer wearing the rigid, suffocating silk dresses of the Han empire. Tonight, I wore a simple, tailored black sweater and trousers clothes that actually let me breathe.
Mingyu was sitting behind his massive mahogany desk, but he wasn't looking at a tablet or a ledger. His dark eyes were fixed entirely on me. The unyielding, lethal frost that usually defined his expression wasn't completely gone, but the sharp edges had blunted.
"I was just thinking it's quiet tonight," I murmured, my voice steady. Eight months under his roof had taught me how to speak to the devil without my voice shaking.
"The northern territories are officially integrated," Mingyu said, leaning back in his leather chair, swirling a glass of dark amber whiskey. He didn't sound triumphant; he just sounded finished. "The debt your father owed is technically cleared as of this afternoon's audit."
I froze, my fingers tightening against the fabric of my trousers. "So... what happens to me now?"
The silence that stretched between us was different from the suffocating quiet of the interrogation room. It was heavy, but it lacked the threat of a guillotine.
Mingyu set his glass down with a soft, deliberate clink. He rose from his desk, his towering frame casting a long shadow across the plush carpet as he walked over to where I stood by the window. He stopped just a foot away. He didn't reach out to grab my chin; he didn't force my posture. He just looked down at me, his sharp features softened by the dim, warm amber lighting of the office.
"You're free to leave, YN," he said quietly. The words felt foreign coming from his mouth, entirely devoid of the calculating malice I had grown accustomed to. "I'll have Wonwoo set up an account with enough capital to ensure you never have to look back at this city again."
I stared at his chest, watching the steady rise and fall of his breathing. For eight months, escaping this fortress had been the only thought keeping me alive. But now, with the iron gates metaphorically thrown wide open, a strange, chaotic hollow opened up in my chest. My mother was gone. My brother was a ghost. The only person left in the world who truly knew the depth of the hell I had survived... was the man standing directly in front of me.
"And if I don't want to leave?" I whispered, looking up to meet his impenetrable dark gaze.
Mingyu tilted his head, a microscopic, almost imperceptible shadow of a smile touching the corner of his lips. It wasn't the cold, arrogant smirk of the shadow king; it was something quieter, grounded, and human.
"Then you stay," Mingyu murmured, his voice dropping into a low, resonant register that seemed to close the distance between us without him moving an inch. "But if you stay, you aren't an asset anymore, YN. And you definitely aren't a prisoner."
I kept my eyes locked on his. The silence in the room stretched out, no longer a suffocating prison but an open expanse, waiting for a decision. My mind raced through the ghosts of my life Minjun’s broken promise to protect me, my mother’s silent endurance, and my father’s heavy, merciless hands. For twenty-three years, I had been an object. A variable. A victim.
"Teach me how to fight," I said.
The words didn't tremble. They cut through the quiet air of the office with a sharp, desperate clarity that surprised even me.
Mingyu didn't answer immediately. He slowly leaned his shoulder against the heavy glass windowpane, his dark eyes narrowing as he studied my face. He looked for a trace of a bluff, a flicker of temporary madness, or a childish desire for revenge. But he found nothing but the cold, hardened sediment of survival.
"Fighting in my world isn't about throwing a tantrum in a ring, YN," he said, his deep baritone dropping into a quiet, gravelly register. "It’s about endurance. It’s about being willing to break a bone to tear out a throat. You’ve spent your whole life being hurt. Are you ready to be the one who inflicts it?"
"I’ve spent my whole life watching the people I love get destroyed because they couldn't fight back," I countered, stepping closer into his space, my voice rising with a raw, chaotic intensity. "My brother died in the mud. My mother died piece by piece in a house she couldn't escape. I want to know that if someone reaches for me again, I can take their hand off. Teach me."
Mingyu stared at me for three long heartbeats, the amber light of the desk lamp catching the sharp, dangerous angles of his jawline. Then, he set his whiskey glass down on the table with a firm, definitive thud.
"Tomorrow morning. Six o'clock. The lower sub-basement gym," he muttered, turning his back to me as he walked back to his desk. "Wear something you don't mind ruining. And don't eat breakfast. You'll just see it again."
The sub-basement gym smelled of industrial rubber, sweat, and cold iron. Unlike the polished, carpeted upper levels of Seventeen’s headquarters, this space was raw concrete, illuminated by harsh fluorescent tubes caged in wire.
When I arrived at exactly five-fifty-five, wearing a gray tank top and black sweatpants, Mingyu was already there. He had wrapped his hands in thick black cotton tape, stripped down to a dark compression shirt that showed the massive, powerful lines of his shoulders and back.
He didn't greet me. He tossed a roll of black handwraps at my chest.
"Wrap your wrists. Tight enough to keep the bones from shifting, loose enough to keep your fingers from turning blue," he commanded, gesturing to a heavy leather punching bag hanging from a thick steel chain in the center of the ring.
My hands shook slightly as I tried to mimic the pattern I had seen my brother use years ago, winding the thick cloth around my knuckles and wrists. Mingyu watched me for a moment before letting out a low, impatient huff. He stepped into my space, his large, warm hands taking mine without a word. He unraveled my sloppy work and rewrapped it himself, his touch firm, methodical, and entirely clinical.
"If you punch with a loose wrist, the force travels backward and shatters your own radius," he murmured, his face close enough that I could smell the faint scent of mint and the cedarwood soap he used. He pulled the velcro tight with a sharp rip. "Done. Get in the ring."
I climbed through the ropes onto the canvas. The space felt incredibly small with him inside it. He stood opposite me, his posture relaxed but predatory.
"Hit me," he said simply.
I blinked. "What?"
"Hit me. Anywhere you want. Show me what you do when you're angry," he countered, crossing his arms over his chest. He looked completely exposed, but his eyes were mocking me testing the boundaries of my fear.
I swallowed hard, stepping forward, and swung my right fist toward his jaw with all the pent-up rage of the last eight months.
Before my knuckles could even graze the stubble on his cheek, his left hand shot out like a striking viper. He caught my wrist in an iron grip, twisted his hips, and used my own momentum to hurl me sideways. My feet lost their grip on the canvas, and I hit the floor hard, my bad knee barking in agony as the breath was violently knocked out of my lungs.
I lay there for a second, gasping, staring up at the caked fluorescent lights.
"Too slow," Mingyu's voice drifted down, cold and entirely unbothered by the heavy thud of my body. He stood over me, his hands back on his hips. "You telegraphed that punch from three miles away. Your shoulder dropped, your chin came up, and you left your ribs completely open. Get up."
I bit my lip, tasting the familiar metallic tang of copper as I forced my shaking limbs to push me off the canvas. I stood up, my breath ragged, my vision blurring slightly with frustration.
"Again," he commanded.
This time, I tried to stay low, lunging for his midsection. Mingyu didn't even move his hands. He simply pivoted on his heel, letting my swing hit empty air, and planted his forearm against the back of my neck, driving me headfirst into the padded turnbuckle. Plaster dust rattled off the ceiling.
"Your balance is garbage," he growled, his voice right next to my ear as he held me pinned against the ropes for a brief, suffocating second. "You're throwing your weight forward because you think rage makes you heavy. It doesn't. It makes you clumsy. In a real fight, a man with half my size would have put a knife in your kidney by now."
He let go, stepping back into the center of the ring. I leaned against the ropes, panting, sweat dripping down my forehead, mixing with the grime of the canvas. Every muscle in my body throbbed, and my bad knee felt like it was on fire.
"Are we done?" Mingyu asked, his eyes dropping to my trembling legs. The tiny hint of softness from the night before was completely gone, replaced by the ruthless instructor who ran a criminal syndicate. "If you're going to cry, go back to your room. I don't have time to train a corpse."
I looked up at him through the tangled strands of my hair. The image of my father towering over my mother in the morning room flashed behind my eyes. The sound of the basement door locking. The absolute powerlessness that had defined my entire existence.
"No," I hissed, wiping the sweat from my eyes with the back of my wrapped hand. I stepped away from the safety of the ropes, squaring my shoulders, forcing my center of gravity down just like he had murmured during my first fall. "We aren't done. Do it again."
A dark, genuine spark of satisfaction finally flickered deep within Mingyu’s black eyes. It wasn't pity. It was respect.
"Good," he said, his voice dropping into a low, menacing purr as he raised his hands into a defensive guard for the first time. "Keep your chin down, YN. Protect your throat. Because this time, I'm hitting back."
Four more months passed, the brutal chill of the training ring slowly bleeding into the crisp, golden arrival of autumn.
The sub-basement gym remained a fixture of our routine, but the nature of our mornings had changed. I no longer hit the canvas with a breathless thud every three seconds; my movements had become leaner, sharper, grounded by a quiet gravity Mingyu had systematically built into my bones. He had taught me how to shift my weight to protect my vulnerable knee, how to throw a punch that carried the force of my entire torso, and how to read the slight, telling twitch of an opponent’s shoulder before they even struck.
But the biggest shift wasn't in my technique. It was in him.
The unyielding, clinical frost that had defined Kim Mingyu for the first eight months of my captivity had begun to melt at the edges. It happened in microscopic increments the way his hand would linger on my wrist for a second too long after correcting my stance, or the way he would personally slide a glass of ice water onto the ring apron without a word. He no longer kept me confined to the residential block. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, my presence had expanded into his daily life.
During the chaotic daytime hours, I was almost always next to him sitting quietly in the corner of his private office while he tore through logistics with Wonwoo, or riding in the back of his armored limousine as a silent, comforting shadow. And during the quiet evenings, when the weight of running an empire grew too heavy, he would always find me in the estate's glass-enclosed conservatory. It was a massive, humid sanctuary filled with dark green ferns, white orchids, and the earthy, grounding scent of rich soil.
Today was one of those quiet evenings. A soft autumn rain was tapping against the glass panels overhead, casting long, fractured shadows across the stone path. I was sitting on a low iron bench, tending to a small jade plant, when the heavy glass door clicked open.
Mingyu walked in, his tailored charcoal suit jacket slung carelessly over one shoulder, his white dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar. He looked tired the deep lines between his eyebrows telling a story of a long, frustrating negotiation with the southern shipping docks. But the moment his dark eyes found me among the greenery, the tension in his shoulders visibly loosened.
He didn't say anything at first. He just walked over, his massive frame blocking out the cool draft from the glass, and sat down on the opposite end of the bench. He leaned his head back against the brick wall, closing his eyes as the humid, warm air of the garden washed over him.
I set the gardening shears down on the stone path, wiping my hands on a cloth. I looked at the sharp, aristocratic profile of his face the man who had killed my father, saved my life, and built a brand new version of me out of the ashes.
"Mingyu?" I asked softly, my voice barely louder than the patter of the rain above.
"Yeah," he murmured, not opening his eyes.
"Can I ask you something? Something about before."
He went entirely still for a beat, his jaw tightening slightly before he opened his eyes, turning his dark, penetrating gaze toward me. "Depends on the question, YN."
I swallowed the sudden lump in my throat, forcing myself to hold his stare. "What happened? Between you and my father... to make you hate each other so much. I know he stole your product at the end, but the hatred... it felt older than that. It felt personal."
The silence that settled over the conservatory was heavy, thick with the scent of damp earth and old blood. Mingyu didn't snap. He didn't tighten his jaw or tell me to go back to my room. He simply reached into his pocket, pulling out his silver cigarette case, lighting a clove cigarette with a slow, deliberate flick of his lighter. The sweet, spicy smoke drifted up into the green canopy above.
"It was personal," Mingyu said, his deep baritone dropping into a quiet, gravelly register that seemed to match the rhythm of the rain. He took a slow drag, staring out at the dark glass. "Before I took over Seventeen, when I was still learning the ropes under S.Coups' father, the Han syndicate ruled the northern borders. Your father wasn't just a businessman, YN. He was a butcher. He thought the only way to maintain control was through absolute, public degradation of anyone who crossed him."
He paused, a dark, dangerous shadow crossing his features as the memory took hold.
"Ten years ago, my younger cousin a kid who had nothing to do with the syndicate, who was just working a summer job at one of the northern shipping docks witnessed one of your father’s enforcers executing a courier," Mingyu whispered, his voice turning into a lethal, quiet thread. "The kid panicked. He went to the police. But your father owned the precinct captain."
I felt the blood in my veins turn to ice. I knew exactly what my father did to people who went to the police.
"Your father didn't just kill him," Mingyu continued, his dark eyes snapping back to mine, burning with an old, unquenched rage. "He had him beaten, starved for three weeks in a basement not unlike the one I found you in, and then dumped his body on the steps of Seventeen's central hub as a message to S.Coups’ father. A message that said the northern docks belonged to the Han family, and anyone who looked too closely would be erased."
Mingyu took another drag of his cigarette, his knuckles turning white as he clenched his fist against his knee.
"I was twenty years old when I carried my cousin's body to the morgue," he murmured. "I looked at what your father did to him, and I promised myself that I would dismantle the Han name piece by piece. I didn't care how long it took. I didn't care how much blood I had to spill. I wanted to see Chairman Han lose everything his territory, his money, his power... and his mind."
He turned his head fully toward me, his expression softening just a fraction as his eyes scanned my face, tracing the faint, fading shadows of the abuse my father had inflicted on me.
"When I raided that mansion four months ago, I thought I was just clearing out the last of the infection," Mingyu said, his voice dropping into a low, resonant whisper that vibrated through the small space between us. "I expected to find a fortress of loyal soldiers. I didn't expect to find... you. I didn't expect to find that the monster had been butchering his own bloodline inside the walls."
I looked down at my lap, my throat tight with a sudden surge of emotion. The puzzle pieces had finally fallen into place. The decades of violence, the horrific war between our families it hadn't just been about drugs or territory. It had been a cycle of vengeance, and my mother and I had been trapped in the middle of it, paying for a man's sins we had never asked to share.
"I'm sorry," I whispered, the words slipping out before I could stop them. "For what he did to your cousin."
Mingyu didn't answer immediately. He reached out, his large, warm hand moving slowly across the iron bench until his fingers gently covered mine. He didn't grip my hand tightly like a captor; he just held it, his thumb brushing against my knuckles with a quiet, grounded warmth that sent a shiver straight down my spine.
"You don't owe me an apology for his ghost, YN," Mingyu said softly, his dark eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made the rest of the world fade away. "He's dead. The debt is paid. And you are the only good thing that ever came out of that house."
The weight of his words hung in the warm, humid air of the conservatory, blending with the scent of damp earth and the sweet, spicy smoke of his cigarette. His large thumb continued its slow, deliberate sweep over my knuckles. It was a rhythm I had come to rely on over the past few months a steady anchor in a life that had otherwise been entirely uprooted.
"A good thing," I echoed, my voice barely a breath. I looked down at our joined hands. His skin was warm, crisscrossed with faint scars from a decade of violence, entirely contrasting my smaller, smoother hand. "I don't think anyone has ever used that word to describe me. To my father, I was just a waste of space after Minjun died."
Mingyu’s grip tightened just a fraction, pulling my attention back up to his face. "Your father was a blind fool who didn't know the value of what he had," he said, his deep baritone carrying a fierce, absolute conviction. "He thought strength was about how many people you could terrify. He didn't understand that true survival is holding onto a shred of your humanity when you're buried in the dark. You did that. Your mother did that."
At the mention of my mother, a familiar, quiet ache bloomed in my chest, but it no longer carried the sharp, suffocating panic it used to. It had settled into a dull, manageable sorrow, smoothed over by the fact that she had died in a clean bed, free from the chains of the Han estate.
"I used to hate you," I admitted softly, looking directly into his dark, bottomless eyes. "The night you brought us here, when you told me that useless things get thrown away... I wanted to kill you myself."
A genuine, low chuckle vibrated through Mingyu’s chest. He didn't look offended; if anything, the ghost of an amused smile touched his lips as he flicked the ash from his cigarette onto the stone path. "I know. I saw it in your eyes in the interrogation room. You looked like a feral cat ready to tear my throat out despite the cuff on your wrist."
"You weren't exactly making it easy to think otherwise," I countered, a small, tentative smile tugging at the corner of my own lips a rare, fragile expression that felt entirely new on my face.
"I couldn't," Mingyu said, his expression sobering as he leaned in slightly closer, his shadow enveloping me. The amusement faded from his eyes, replaced by a raw, unshielded gravity. "In my world, softness is a death sentence. S.Coups, Wonwoo, Hoshi... they watch every move I make. If I had shown a single ounce of hesitation or pity toward Han’s daughter on night one, the syndicates would have smelled weakness. I had to make you an asset to keep you safe from the clean-up crews. I had to make you look like a weapon so they wouldn't try to discard you."
The realization hit me like a physical blow, sending a sudden rush of warmth through my veins. He hadn't just been exploiting my name; he had been building a perimeter around me using the only language his world understood leverage.
"So the training... the boardrooms..." I trailed off.
"All of it," Mingyu murmured, his voice dropping into a low, intimate register that seemed to narrow the universe down to just the two of us on this iron bench. "I needed you to be untouchable, YN. Not just from them, but from the memory of what happened to you. I wanted to give you the tools to ensure no one could ever put you in a basement again."
He dropped the remains of his cigarette, crushing it beneath the heel of his polished leather boot, and reached up with his free hand. His long, elegant fingers gently traced the line of my jaw, his touch entirely devoid of the clinical detachment from our early days in the gym. It was tender, lingering over the spot where my father's ring had once left a jagged scar.
"But the debt is cleared now," he whispered, his eyes scanning my face with a quiet intensity that made my breath hitch in my throat. "The theater is over. You don't have to be a Han princess anymore, and you don't have to be my asset. So I'll ask you again, without the walls, without the guards... why are you still here?"
I looked at his hand on my jaw, then back up into the eyes of the man who had torn my old world down and meticulously helped me construct a new one. The city outside was still bleeding under the autumn rain, but inside the glass walls of the conservatory, the air was warm, safe, and entirely ours.
"Because the girl who walked out of that basement died months ago," I said, my voice steady, my heart pounding a fierce, unbroken rhythm against my ribs. I reached up, placing my hand over his where it rested against my cheek. "And the one standing here doesn't want to be anywhere else."
Two weeks later, the peaceful isolation of the conservatory was completely shattered. A rogue cartel faction operating out of an opulent, fortified estate in the hills had intercepted a vital shipment of Seventeen's heavy weaponry. It wasn't just a financial hit; it was a direct challenge to Mingyu’s authority.
When the schematics were laid out on the mahogany desk in the war room, my blood ran hot. I stood at the edge of the table, looking at the security blind spots, my fingers twitching.
"I'm coming with you," I said, my voice cutting through the murmurs of Wonwoo and Hoshi.
Mingyu stopped mid-sentence, his dark eyes snapping up from the digital map. The rest of the room went deathly silent. "No," he said, his voice dropping into that flat, unyielding register I hadn't heard in months. "It’s too volatile. We don't know the exact count of the security detail."
"I am strong enough, Mingyu," I stepped closer, refusing to let the coldness in his eyes back me down. "Four months in the ring with you. I’m agile, I’m fast, and I know exactly how these old cartel factions operate under pressure. I can fight alongside you."
"I said no, YN," Mingyu growled, standing up to his full height, his massive frame instantly dominating the space. "I didn't spend the last four months putting you back together just to watch you get torn apart in a crossfire. I can't risk losing you."
The raw confession hung heavily in the air, surprising even S.Coups, who shifted uncomfortably by the door. I looked at Mingyu, seeing the deep, frantic protectiveness buried beneath his hardened exterior.
"Please," I whispered, stepping into his personal space, my eyes pleading. "Just for today. Let me prove that the weapon you built works. Don't leave me behind in the dark again."
Mingyu stared down at me, his jaw clenching so tightly a muscle ticked. He looked at S.Coups, then at Wonwoo, who gave a slight, pragmatic nod. Finally, a heavy, defeated sigh left his lips. "Fine," he muttered, his voice thick with a dangerous promise. "But you follow the script to the absolute letter."
The mission was a high-stakes heist wrapped in a chaotic bloodbath. The target was a lavish, black-tie masquerade party hosted by an older, corrupt cartel boss named Victor. While the main house was a glittering sea of diamonds, silk, and expensive champagne, the sub-levels held the stolen Seventeen weapons and a vault of uncut diamonds.
My role was the bait.
I was disguised as an elite foreign buyer, wearing a backless black silk gown with a high slit that concealed a tactical dagger strapped to my inner thigh. My hair was swept up, and a silver filigree mask covered the upper half of my face.
The moment I stepped onto the ballroom floor, I spotted Victor across the crowded room. He was a bloated older man, precise in his arrogance the exact kind of monster my father used to entertain. I caught his eye, offering a slow, calculated smile, and tilted my glass toward him before walking purposefully toward the private upper corridors.
It worked instantly. He followed me like a dog on a leash, away from the noise of the party and into a dimly lit, velvet-lined private lounge.
Through the hidden earpiece pressed deep into my ear canal, I could hear the faint, erratic rhythm of Mingyu's breathing. He was stationed in the rafters of the main ballroom, his sniper rifle trained on the courtyard, but his attention was entirely fixed on my audio feed.
"He's in the room," I murmured quietly, pretending to adjust my earring as I turned to face Victor.
"I don't like this," Mingyu’s deep baritone crackled through the static, rough and laced with a terrifying undercurrent of jealousy. "Keep your distance from him, YN. I mean it."
I didn't answer. I had a job to do.
Victor closed the heavy mahogany door behind him, a greasy smile spreading across his face as he took off his mask. "An exquisite creature like you shouldn't be wandering the halls alone," he purred, stepping into my space, his hands reaching for my waist.
I leaned into him, letting my touch trace the lapel of his suit jacket, my eyes wide and heavy with a false, seductive warmth. I laughed softly, a low, melodic sound that made his pupils dilate with greed. It was remarkably easy to manipulate an old man who thought his wealth made him invincible.
Down in the comms, I heard a sharp, heavy thud the sound of Mingyu slamming his fist against a concrete beam. He hated every second of it, but he forced himself to stay silent as the plan moved forward.
Simultaneously, deep in the lower vaults, Jeonghan, Dino, and Woozi were moving through the shadows, bypassing the laser grids to secure the crates of firearms and sacks of uncut diamonds. Jeonghan’s gloved hands were lightning-fast, bypassing the security terminal while Dino kept watch.
But Victor’s security wasn't entirely incompetent. A secondary, analog pressure sensor under the main diamond case tripped.
ALARM SIRENS WAIL
A loud, screeching red light began to pulse through the entire mansion, fracturing the luxury into instant chaos.
In the private lounge, Victor froze, his greasy smile evaporating. "What the hell is that?" he muttered. He looked at me, suspicion suddenly darkening his eyes. He tried to politely but firmly push me toward the door, his grip turning rough. "The party is over, sweetheart. Get back to the ballroom. I have business to attend to."
"We aren't finished," I said, the seductive warmth completely vanishing from my voice.
Before he could even register the shift, I drove the palm of my hand directly upward into his nose. A loud, satisfying crack echoed through the room as blood spurted across his white shirt. He stumbled back, howling in pain, but he was a cartel boss for a reason he swung a heavy, panicked fist at my head.
The blow caught me squarely on the cheek. The sheer force of it sent me spinning into a glass cabinet, expensive crystal shattering around me like ice. Pain exploded across my face, and the earpiece ripped from my ear, bouncing away into the wreckage.
Victor lunged at me like a wounded animal. I scrambled up, but he was fast, his heavy boot catching my side, sending a sickening jolt of pain through my ribs. I gasped for air, tasting copper as my own blood began to smear my lipstick.
“YN! Report!” Mingyu’s voice was a distant, frantic echo from the tiny piece of plastic on the floor. “YN! Talk to me!”
I couldn't answer. I was fighting for my life.
Victor grabbed my throat, trying to pin me to the wall, his fingers digging into my skin. Through the haze of pain, my training took over. I slammed my hands between his arms to break his grip, then drove my knee sharply into his groin. As his hold loosened, I grabbed a heavy silver candlestick from the mantelpiece and brought it down with everything I had left, smashing it hard against the side of his skull.
He collapsed sideways, completely unconscious, his blood pooling into the plush velvet rug. I fell to my knees beside him, clutching my bruised ribs, my breath coming in ragged, painful gasps.
Downstairs, the mansion had devolved into an absolute, cinematic bloodbath. The moment the alarm tripped, S.Coups, Hoshi, Jun, and the rest of Seventeen blew the front doors off their hinges. Gunfire ripped through the ballroom, sending elite guests screaming into the night.
But up in the rafters, Mingyu had gone completely feral.
When the audio feed went dead after the sound of shattering glass, a cold, suffocating panic had seized him. He didn't just descend from the ceiling; he dropped like a shadow of pure vengeance.
"YN! Report! YN!" he screamed into the comms, his voice cracking with a terrifying, uncharacteristic desperation. When nothing but static answered, his heart shattered. He lost his mind.
He charged through the cartel guards with a fluid, terrifying brutality, painting the marble walls red. He didn't take cover; he didn't care about the crossfire. His only focus, his only desperate, panicked thought, was reaching that second-floor lounge. He fired until his rifle clicked empty, dropped it without breaking his stride, and pulled his sidearm, blowing through anyone who stood between him and the girl he couldn't afford to lose.
The heavy mahogany door of the lounge was kicked entirely off its frame.
Mingyu stormed in, his chest heaving violently, his face splattered with blood, his eyes wide and frantic as they scanned the room.
He froze.
The room was completely destroyed. The cartel boss was bleeding out on the floor, and there I was, leaning against the sofa. My gown was torn, a dark bruise was already rising on my cheek, and a thin trickle of blood ran down my neck but my eyes were open. I was alive.
The sheer relief that washed over his fierce features was so intense it looked like pain. The terrifying, murderous king of Seventeen vanished, replaced by a man who had just looked into the abyss and survived. A low, gravelly growl escaped his throat.
He closed the distance between us in two massive strides, his large hands grabbing my waist and pulling me flush against his chest so violently it knocked the remaining air from my bruised ribs.
"You magnificent, reckless creature," he whispered fiercely against my skin, his voice trembling with the aftershocks of his panic. "Don't you ever do that to me again."
Before I could even speak, his mouth crashed down onto mine.
The kiss was rough, chaotic, and brimming with the adrenaline of the bloodbath raging just outside the door. It was passionate, almost bruising, born from the terrifying certainty that he had almost lost me. He tasted like copper and smoke, his teeth grazing my lower lip as his fingers dug into my hair, pulling me closer and closer until there was no space left between us. It was a possessive, desperate declaration a testament to the fact that I was no longer just an asset or a survivor, but the only thing that could truly make the shadow king fall to his knees.
A sun-drenched afternoon by the pool leaves Seungcheol’s drenched white t-shirt burned into your mind. But when the villa finally goes quiet, the playful tension shifts into something far more intense, loud, and impossible for the rest of the group to ignore.
PAIRINGS | Choi Seungcheol x F. Reader
GENRE | smut, pwp
RATING | Mature, NSFW, EXPLICIT, MDNI, 18+, Any Minors and Ageless Blogs will be blocked
CONTENT/WARNINGS | non-idols au, swearing, kissing, caressing, unprotective sex (wrap it up folks), oral sex, penetrative sex, hair grabbing, body worship, dirty talk, creampies,
AUTHOR’S NOTE | Because I've been feral for Cheol lately.
Seventeen Masterlist | Main Masterlist
The midday heat at the villa is intense, but nobody seems to care. Seungcheol’s friends—all twelve of them—has turned the backyard pool into an absolute battleground of splashes, chaotic chicken fights, and echoing laughter. You're sitting on the edge of a lounge chair, nursing a cold drink and just taking it all in, when Seungcheol finally hauls himself out of the water.
He's wearing a simple, thin white t-shirt that he foolishly left on when he got pushed into the deep end earlier. Now, the fabric's completely drenched, turning entirely translucent and clinging relentlessly to every line of his chest and abs. As he walks towards you, running a hand through his dripping hair, the wet fabric stretches tight across his broad shoulders.
He stops right in front of your chair, blocking the sun, a breathless, boyish grin plastered on his face.
"Having fun just watching?" he teases, his voice a little raspy from yelling over the music. He leans down, pressing a deliberately cold, wet kiss to your cheek, leaving a damp patch on your skin.
You swallow hard, your eyes involuntarily darting down to the way the wet cotton traces the definition of his torso, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. Your heart does a sudden, violent flip.
"Yeah," you manage, your voice a little tighter than usual as you look back up into his dark eyes. "A lot of fun."
He chuckles, entirely oblivious—or maybe entirely aware—of the effect he's having, before being dragged back into the chaos by Seokmin and Mingyu. But for the rest of the afternoon, no matter how loud the guys got, your eyes keep tracking that damp white shirt.
Hours later, the villa finally went quiet. The guys crashed in their respective rooms, exhausted from a day in the sun and a heavy dinner.
You're sitting on the edge of the bed in the room you and Seungcheol share, the cool air conditioning humming softly in the background. The door clicks open, and Seungcheol walks in, freshly showered and wearing nothing but a loose pair of gray sweatpants. His hair is damp again, but this time it smells of the villa’s sharp, clean soap.
He lets out a long sigh of relief, stretching his arms over his head before looking at you. "Man, I love them, but they are exhausting. I'm so glad we finally have some quiet—" he stops mid-sentence, noticing the way your gaze was fixed on him. "What?"
"Nothing," you say quickly, but your eyes betray you, tracing the lines of his chest and stomach, the memory of the wet t-shirt still burning into your mind.
He moves closer, a slow, knowing smile spreading across his face. The air in the room suddenly feels thicker. "No, it's not nothing," he says, his voice lower now. "You've been looking at me like that since this afternoon. Ever since the pool."
Heat floods your cheeks. You open your mouth to deny it, to say something, anything, but he's already closing the distance between you. He kneels in front of you, his hands resting on your knees.
"Tell me," he murmurs, his thumbs stroking slow circles on your skin. "What were you thinking about?"
You swallow, your breath hitching. "The... the wet t-shirt," you admit, the words barely a whisper.
His smile widens, a flicker of pride and amusement in his eyes. "Just the shirt?" he pushes, leaning in until his lips are just a breath away from yours. "Or what was under it?"
You let out a shaky breath. "Both."
"Good," he whispers against your mouth before finally kissing you. It isn't soft. It's deep and hungry, a kiss that's been waiting all day to happen. His hands slide from your knees up your thighs, pulling you to the very edge of the bed.
When he finally pulls back, both of you are breathless. He looks at you, his eyes dark with a question he doesn't need to ask. You answer by reaching for the hem of your own shirt and pulling it over your head in one smooth motion. His gaze drops, and the last of the playful energy in the room evaporates, replaced by something much more intense.
"Much better," he breathes, leaning in to press a trail of kisses down your neck, his hands exploring the newly exposed skin of your waist and back.
"Cheol, the guys—" you start, your head tipping back to give him better access.
"Don't care," he mumbles against your collarbone, his hands moving around to your stomach, tracing the edge of your shorts. "Let them hear. They should know what happens when my girlfriend comes on a trip with me."
You can't help the small laugh that escapes, but it's quickly cut off by a gasp as he lifts you effortlessly, moving you further back on the bed and hovering over you.
He looks down at you, his expression a mixture of adoration and raw desire. "Now, where were we?" he asks, but he doesn't wait for an answer before leaning down to kiss you again, slow and deep, while his hands work to remove the last barriers between your skin and his.
His thumbs hooks into the waistband of your shorts, dragging them down your legs with a deliberate slowness that made your breath catch. The fabric whispers against your skin before being discarded onto the floor. The cool air of the room is a stark contrast to the warmth of his body, and you shivered, though not from the cold.
Seungcheol’s eyes followed the path of his hands as they travels back up your legs, skimming over your knees, your thighs, settling on your hips. He watches you, cataloging every tiny reaction—the way your stomach tightens, the soft sigh that escapes your lips.
His touch is reverent, almost worshipful, as he leans down to press a kiss just below your navel. Then another, lower still, on the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. You tangle your fingers in the damp hair at the nape of his neck, a silent encouragement.
He responds by parting your legs gently, settling between them, as he looks up at you. "I'm okay with you screaming for me, baby," he murmurs, his breath warm against your most sensitive skin. "But if you really need to muffle your screams, we can use your pretty panties." he says before he hooks a finger into your panties, pulling them down your legs. "Love eating you out," he confesses, his voice vibrating against you. He then dives in, eating you out like a starved man.
"Cheol," you gasp, your back arching off the bed as he set a devastating rhythm.
He's relentless, using his tongue, his lips, every part of himself to push you higher. He eats you out with the same focused intensity he applies to everything else, as if making you fall apart is the most important thing in the world. One of his hands slide up your body, finding yours, and your fingers lace together, a grounding anchor in the sea of sensation he's creating.
The sounds you're making are uninhibited now, soft cries and gasps filling the quiet room. You can feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter in your stomach, a delicious, dizzying spiral. "Cheol, I—"
"I know, baby," he mumbles against you, not stopping. "Let go. I've got you."
His words are the final push you need. The tension snaps, and pleasure crashes over you in a blinding wave. You cry out his name, your body shaking as he works you through it, drawing out every last bit of sensation until you're limp and breathless on the bed.
He kisses his way back up your body, pausing to lavish attention on your breasts before finally reaching your lips. The kiss is slow and deep, tasting of you and him.
When he pulls back, he's smiling, a soft, triumphant look in his eyes. He's still wearing those damn gray sweatpants, and you're suddenly overwhelmed with the need to get rid of them.
"You're still wearing too many clothes," you whisper, your hands sliding down his back to the waistband of his sweatpants. He lets out a soft hum of approval as you tug them down, freeing him.
Your eyes widen slightly at the sight of him, hard and ready for you. You wrap your hand around him, stroking him slowly, watching as his head tips back and a low groan rumbles in his chest.
"Fuck," he breathes, his hips bucking slightly into your touch. "Keep doing that and this'll be over before it starts."
You smile, a slow, satisfied smirk. "We can't have that, can we?"
With a strength that never fails to surprise you, he flips you over, pulling your hips up until you're on your hands and knees. He runs a hand over the curve of your ass, a low, appreciative sound in his throat.
"Seungcheol," you breathe, pushing back against him.
"I'm right here, baby," he murmurs, positioning himself at your entrance. He pushes in slowly, a shared gasp filling the room as he stretches and fills you completely. He pauses for a moment, giving you time to adjust, before starting to move.
The pace he set is deep and deliberate, each thrust hitting that perfect spot inside you that makes your toes curl. The sounds of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mingling with your moans and his harsh breaths.
"God, you feel so good," he grits out, one hand gripping the headboard for leverage, the other splayed across your back. "So fucking good."
You can't form words, can only push back against him, meeting him thrust for thrust. The bed's rocking beneath you, the headboard hitting the wall with a soft thud, thud, thud that's a perfect counterpoint to the rhythm he's setting.
You bury your face in the pillows to muffle your cries, his hand skimming up your spine. "I know you feel good baby, but don't forget to breathe," he says, leaning down to press a kiss between your shoulder blades. "I want to hear you."
You turn your head to the side, taking a deep, shaky breath. "Harder, Cheol," you manage to get out. "Please."
Your plea seems to flip a switch in him. The careful control he's been exercising shatters, replaced by a raw, primal need. With a guttural groan, he tightens his grip on your hips and drive into you, the force of it stealing the air from your lungs.
The pace is punishing, a relentless rhythm that has the headboard slamming against the wall with a new, desperate urgency. The sound is loud, unmistakable, and a tiny, hazy part of your brain hopes the villa walls are thicker than they seem. But the rest of you, the part being utterly consumed by Seungcheol, doesn't care at all.
"That what you wanted, baby?" he rasps, his voice straining with the effort. His hands move from your hips, one wrapping around to find your clit, the other tangling in your hair, gently pulling your head back. "You wanted me to fuck you so hard the whole house hears?"
"Yes," you choke out, the word almost unintelligible. "Yes, Cheol, don't stop."
He growls in response, a low, possessive sound from deep in his chest. He doesn't stop. The pressure on your clit is perfect, circling in time with his brutal thrusts, and you can feel yourself hurtling towards the edge again. Your knuckles are white where you're gripping the sheets, your entire body wound tight with anticipation.
"I want you to come for me," he commands, his breath hot against your ear. "Come on my cock, baby. Let me feel you."
His words are your undoing. The world splinters, your vision going white as your orgasm rip through you. You scream into the pillow, your body convulsing with the force of it, your inner walls clamping down around him.
He follows you over the edge seconds later. With a final, deep thrust, he buries himself inside you and come with a hoarse shout of your name. His body shudders against yours, and for a long moment, the only sound in the room is the ragged sound of your breathing as you both come down from the high.
He collapses beside you, pulling you into his arms and spooning you from behind. He's still inside you, a warm, heavy weight that's surprisingly comforting. He presses a soft, lingering kiss to your shoulder.
"You okay?" he murmurs, his voice rough and spent.
You hum contentedly, wiggling back against him. "More than okay," you whisper, turning your head to look at him. His face is flushed, his hair a mess, and he has the most ridiculously satisfied smile on his face.
"Good," he says, kissing you softly. "Because I'm not done with you yet."
And the moment the words leave his mouth, you both hear a banging on the door.
"For the love of God, will you two please shut up!" came Joshua's muffled, but very annoyed, shout from the hallway. "Some of us are trying to sleep!"
Seungcheol just laughs, a deep, rumbling sound that you feel in your own chest. He pulls the covers over both of you, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Next time, we get a private villa," he whispers. "No friends."
You cuddle closer to him, a lazy smile on your face. "Next time," you agree, already looking forward to it.
pairing: lee jihoon x f!reader
trope: cyberpunk au, s2l
description: Part of @studiosvt 's Cyberpunk: Reload collab
On a trip to the Wastelands, you don't expect to find much that's intact. Definitely not an escape pod or a man still inside it. Lee Jihoon seems to be unregistered, unchipped and jarringly not from this century. In a city held together by a network no one can escape, he is the only thing it cannot read, cannot follow, and cannot override.
As details about a mission that predates everything you’ve ever known begin to surface, you realise Jihoon’s existence is more than just an anomaly. Somewhere within the structure of the megacorp that controls the city lies a failsafe: a kill switch tied to an authority long believed dead. Except maybe it isn’t.
warnings: cyberpunk dystopia, body modification, loss of autonomy, vomit/nausea, drugs and alcohol, mild body horror, injury, violence, explicit language, human experimentation, torture, grief and trauma
w/c: 22k
a/n: first time writing this genre but i couldn't be more excited bcs it's been so fun doing this!! big thank you to the number #1 woozidan @shinysobi for betaing <33 as always comments/asks/reblogs are always appreciated!!!
In the thirty minutes you’ve been in the Wastelands, your respirator has transitioned from rhythmic clicks to irregular, mechanical whirs—dry and grating sounds that suggest the internal fans are choking on the dust they're supposed to filter.
You stop, bracing one gloved hand against the jagged, rusted ribcage of a downed freighter. Using your other hand to tighten the seal around your nose and mouth, you take a slow, rattling inhale, tasting metal, and wonder for the thousandth time why you haven't just shot Vernon yet.
It would be so much easier to just hike to a Sector 4 market and buy a sleek, pre-calibrated arm for Aki. But then you’d be handing Lazarus Tech a direct line into your hideout. Vernon isn't just being a prick. He’s the one who showed you the code—the hidden "sleeper" malware Lazarus bakes into every piece of consumer tech. One wrong handshake with a corporate server and your entire crew becomes a collection of meat-puppets, their locations pinged to a tactical team before the limb is even finished calibrating.
“Find me something old but still salvageable,” he’d scowled, eyes bloodshot as he pointed a soldering gun at you.
“And don’t bring me rusted junk this time. Even I can’t do anything with that,” he’d added, like you were doing this for fun and not because Aki couldn’t even hold a cup without the current joint locking halfway through.
You shove off of the freighter’s hull with a quiet curse, adjusting the weight of your pack. The metal creaks under the shift, brittle with age, flakes of rust coming away against your glove.
“Yeah, yeah,” you mutter to yourself. “I’ll just pull a factory-fresh elbow out of the dirt for you.”
The wind drags across the flats from the rain clouds hanging over the inner city. It catches on the broken skeletons of machines and spits dust through the gaps, fine enough to slip through anything that isn’t sealed tight. Your respirator whirs again, a warning this time.
You ignore it. There’s two more warnings, and they’re usually timed to be thirty minutes apart each. There’s a second one in your pack—equally old, but it’ll run for a while if this one gives up on you.
You pick your way through the wreckage. Most of what’s left out here has already been stripped down to nothing worth taking, but every now and then something gets missed. A sealed joint or a pre-Link actuator if you’re lucky.
Your boot catches on something half-buried. You crouch automatically, brushing away grit until an old generator comes into view. Vernon could use the copper coil wirings in this, you think as you dust it off and throw it into your pack.
You’re about to stand up again when the scrap pile on your right begins to vibrate violently. The tremor that runs through the pile follows into your knees, the sound of metal scraping against metal being droned out by a sudden deafness.
You sit still for half a second, tilting your head to listen to the wind before your chest starts to tighten because of an inexplicable force, like a heavy weight is being pushed onto you.
Rising to your feet just as the sound of impact follows, punching through the air and almost bringing you down to the ground again, you look up to see a cloud of dust and smoke not much farther from you.
Well, that’s new, you think as you cough, already moving.
A fresh fall means untouched, and untouched means you might actually find something Vernon won’t immediately throw back at your face in a stim-induced stupor.
You trudge through at a steady pace first, and then faster once you notice that the ground's fallen through where the impact was made. Still unable to see through the cloud, you cross your fingers and hope that it's some of the debris in the planet's orbit. You'd heard that there'd been sightings of remnants of age-old spaceships dropping down to earth because of gravity.
Judging by how much smoke actually surrounds the place, you're not sure if it's all burnt or still intact. By the time you reach the small crater that's formed, the plume has mostly settled.
You sigh in relief. You weren't sure if your respirator would make it through and out of that mess anyway. But the sight in front of your eyes makes you pause.
The object is rather too big to be called one. It looks something like a pod, too intact for something that just tore through the sky and slammed into the ground hard enough to shake the bones out of your legs.
You slow without meaning to, boots skidding slightly at the edge of the crater as loose gravel shifts under your weight, your eyes dragging over the surface in quick, assessing passes. No scattered pieces or broken plating blown outward. The outer shell still holds shape and sits mostly upright, vents along the sides pushing out thin streams of vapor that curl and vanish into the air.
“Okay,” you breathe out, a grin pulling at your lips before you can stop it. “Okay, that’s—”
That’s good. Really good.
You slide down the slope a little too fast, catching yourself against the side of the thing with your palm, the heat still trapped in the metal bleeding through your glove just enough to make you hiss under your breath.
Up close, the white coating of the pod is dulled by soot but intact, scored in long, dark streaks where it burned on the way down. You drag your glove across one of them without thinking, clearing a narrow strip.
There’s writing underneath—not the heavily stamped branding you’re used to seeing on anything that comes out of the city. This is smaller and blends into the surface. Embossed in small, cleanly spaced letters are the words HERMES (I) MISSIONS.
You lean in, eyes narrowing as you try to make sense of it. The name doesn’t ring a bell.
More markings run along the curve of the hull, broken by seams and panels you hadn’t caught from a distance. Arrows, numbers, and small blocks of text that look like instructions. Your attention shifts to the seams instead.
There’s one running along the side, faint but continuous, a thin interruption in the otherwise smooth surface. You follow it with your eyes first, then with your hand, brushing away the dust until your fingers catch on the edge.
A door.
You reach for your pack without looking, flipping the latch open and pulling out the slim pry-bar Vernon built for jobs exactly like this. As you work at the door, you think about how Vernon’s going to lose his mind over this. Once you open this thing up and tell him about it, he’ll be coming here in no time to tear the place apart and take what he wants.
You lean your weight onto the bar, forcing the gap wider bit by bit. The seal holds for a bit longer than you expect, then breaks all at once.
Air rushes out of it immediately—sharp, cold, and too clean for this place, hitting your mask hard enough to make you flinch back a step. Your respirator stutters while trying to adjust to the sudden flood, the filters whining as they struggle to keep up.
You turn your head instinctively, letting it pass over you until the pressure eases enough to breathe properly again.
You push the door open the rest of the way.
The inside is untouched.
With clean, padded walls—pale and smooth with no corroded metal or dust settling into the corners—it doesn’t look like something that belongs out here at all. You’d expect something stripped down, maybe a few intact panels if you were lucky, but this is closer to a cockpit than scrap. Narrow and compact, with everything within arm’s reach of everything else. There are panels along the sides, small screens flickering on and off, thin bundles of wiring tucked and arranged neatly.
You step in, slow at first, your boots sounding muffled against the floor, eyes moving over it all in quick glances, trying to figure out what’s worth taking first and what you’re going to have to come back for once Vernon inevitably drags himself out here.
And then you see it.
Set into the center, bolted low and running along the length of the pod, there’s something that looks like a chamber. Or a pod, even. Long and enclosed, the casing curves over it like it’s meant to protect whatever’s inside.
You stop, the earlier excitement turning into caution before you force yourself to move towards it.
The casing seems to be made of glass or some clear material, but it’s fogged over, although not opaque just yet. There’s movement in the liquid inside, disturbed just enough that it doesn’t sit still, and for a second your brain tries to place it as coolant, or some kind of preservation system Vernon would spend hours ranting about.
Then the shape beneath it resolves.
A face.
You jerk back a step so fast your shoulder clips one of the panels, a dull thud echoing in the tight space.
No. No, absolutely not.
The body—seemingly a man—doesn’t move.
He’s submerged almost entirely in the fluid filling the chamber, his body held in place by it, and his face tilted just above the surface. His eyes are closed. There’s no visible movement beyond the faint ripple in the fluid.
You stare.
For a second, you consider leaving—pretending you never saw this, and letting Vernon come deal with whatever the hell this is. You’ve handled a ton of things for him, but a dead body dropping out of the sky is not one of them.
Instead, you step closer.
It doesn’t feel like a good decision, but it’s the one you make anyway, your gaze dragging from his face to the side of the chamber where a small panel sits half-lit, flickering in and out like it’s running on whatever scraps of power the pod has left.
You crouch beside it, wiping a thumb across the surface.
It’s something that looks like a readout. There’s a heart rate monitor, and his pulse is slow but present. The screen also shows oxygen saturation levels, temperature and something else that might be neural activity.
You lean back slightly, eyes flicking to him again.
“Great,” you mutter under your breath. “So you’re alive. That’s… good for you.”
You must’ve pressed something accidentally, because the panel suddenly displays a new message in bright red.
ACCESS RESTRICTED.
Below it, a smaller prompt blinks at you with a row of empty boxes following it.
ENTER AUTHORIZATION CODE.
Great. So this is locked too.
Leaving isn’t really an option anymore, so you drop your pack to the floor and begin to rummage through and pulling out one of Vernon’s toys—a thin, flat chip slotted into a grip the size of your palm, wires branching out from it in short, flexible threads with magnetic tips at the ends. Crude-looking, but you’ve seen it crack locks that were supposed to be unbreakable.
You press the main plate against the panel and let the leads find purchase along the edges, the magnets snapping lightly into place where the casing meets the screen.
The row of empty boxes flickers once before the first digit fills in, the number changing almost immediately, then again and again, fast enough that it stops being readable and turns into a continuous blur of motion. The second box follows, then the third, each one cycling just as quickly, the entire line running through combinations at an aggressive speed.
When the final box fills, for a brief second the entire row stays fixed and just when you think it’s going to reject the code again, the screen flashes green.
ACCESS GRANTED.
The red text disappears, replaced instantly by a flood of new data that pushes the old interface aside, columns of information sliding into place faster than you can process them.
A controlled hiss cuts through the space as the seal disengages, followed by a series of tight clicks that run along the length of the casing. The fluid inside shifts in response, a heavier movement this time, disturbed by the change in pressure as the top section begins to lift.
You pull your hand back from the panel as the casing opens and wait. But it only opens enough to break the seal and then a little more, so you push it up and out of the way, eyes locked in on the man beneath it.
For a moment, nothing happens.
The silence in the pod is heavy, thick with the sterile smell of the fluid and the dirty air from outside infiltrating the clean air inside the pod. You stay crouched, muscles coiled and ready to bolt if this turns south, watching the way the remaining liquid beads off his skin like oil.
Then, the man’s chest hitches with a jagged, desperate intake of air that sounds like a rusted hinge being forced open. His throat works, a hard swallow that looks painful, and his fingers—pale and pruned—twitch against the bottom of the chamber.
You find yourself holding your own breath as his eyes twitch before they snap open, pupils blown wide for a fraction of a second before they struggle to adjust to the light inside the pod. He inhales again, harder this time, the sound tearing out of him as his back arches slightly, the movement sending what’s left of the fluid sloshing against the sides.
Your hand lifts anyway, hovering for a second like you’re going to grab him, then stopping short when you realise you don’t actually know what you’d do if he bolts or collapses or starts swinging. You shift your weight instead, bracing one knee against the side of the chamber, close enough to catch him if he tips the wrong way, far enough that you can still move if you have to.
“Hey—” you start, the word coming out sharper than you mean it to, more instinct than anything useful. “Don’t—just—”
He doesn’t hear you.
His head lolls forward as vomits a mouthful of the pale liquid onto the floor. The shivering sets in immediately after, violent enough that it runs through him unchecked, his shoulders hitching, teeth knocking together hard enough to be audible even over the low hum of the pod. His sopping wet clothes stick to him in all places.
You grimace before reaching for your pack again, fingers closing around the spare respirator. He already seems to be struggling and after being unaccustomed to breathing for a while, he’ll find it harder without one of these.
You yank it free, shaking it out once before stepping back in, catching him by the arm as he sways. He’s worse up close like this—skin slick with fluid and cold to the touch.
“Hold still,” you mutter, although you don’t expect him to listen as you bring the mask up and press it over his face, sealing it tight along his nose and mouth.
Your thumb finds the switch and forces it on.
The filter kicks in with a rough, uneven whirr, louder than it should be in the confined space, and for a few seconds you keep your hand there, making sure it’s actually drawing air before you let go.
He drags in a breath through it immediately, sharp and unsteady, before lifting a trembling finger to point at something behind you. You follow the direction of it automatically, your gaze flicking over your shoulder to where he’s pointing.
There’s an orange box that’s screwed to the walls. You hesitate for half a second, then reach for it.
It opens easily enough. Inside, everything is packed tightly. Folded clothes sit stacked in clean rows along with dried packets of what seems to be food and pouches of water. You reach for the thickest fabric of them all—a towel—before shaking it out once and coming back to wrap it around the man.
He stares at it for a moment like he doesn’t quite recognise what it is, then brings it up awkwardly, pressing it against his face and then his neck.
You step back to give him some space and take him in properly, now that the initial panic has settled.
Other than landing from the skies, being asleep in some liquid-filled pod and looking pale and wrinkled up like a prune, there are other things—or rather, the lack of other things that makes him strange.
There’s nothing on the man. No ports, no visible implants or surgery scars or embeds under his skin. Even the usual scarring from old mods—bad installs, cheap replacements, anything—none of it is there.
You frown slightly, your gaze lingering a second longer than it should as he drags the towel down his arms, wiping off the remaining fluid in shaky motions.
His clothes too. The ones he’s wearing right now, the ones in the box all look different from what you’ve seen before. The fabric is thinner than anything you’d trust out here, softer too, without any embedded mesh or tech woven into it.
You glance at the man again as he swallows again, his grip tightening against the chamber walls as he steadies himself to look at you properly.
“Th—thank you,” he manages, the words rough and dragged out of a throat that clearly isn’t ready for them yet, his breath catching halfway through as a cough follows.
His hand comes up to his face almost immediately after, fingers fumbling clumsily over the mask you’ve strapped on him, tracing the edges of it like he’s trying to understand what it is without pulling it off.
“What—what is this,” he asks, voice muffled now, the words breaking slightly as he breathes through it. “Why—”
He doesn’t finish.
Instead, he shifts, bracing one hand against the side of the chamber as if that alone is enough to get him out, his body moving on instinct more than control. For a moment it almost works. He pushes himself upright and tries to swing his legs onto the ground, sending drops of the liquid across the floor.
But his balance fails him immediately as gravity catches up. His knees buckle under him, the rest of his weight pitching forward so quickly, it would’ve sent him straight to the floor if you weren’t already close enough to catch him.
He grabs at you without meaning to, fingers tightening around your arm.
“—sorry,” he mutters quickly, his grip loosening just as abruptly. “I—just—”
He exhales hard through the mask, another cough following, less violent this time.
“…food,” he adds after a second, the word coming out slower, like he’s picking it out through the fog in his mind. “And water. Please.”
The pod is mostly quiet now.
The low hum of whatever systems are still clinging to life runs underneath everything, and the occasional rustle of the food packet breaks through the silence, but neither of you speak.
The worst of the shaking has passed. He sits with his back against the chamber’s walls, one knee drawn up slightly, the other stretched out awkwardly. The empty water pouch sits beside him.
You eye the packet, wondering if it’s the real deal or the lab grown stuff from the lower markets. It looks real enough, and you’re hungry too, but it feels wrong to ask this man about food while he sits looking like that.
He doesn’t look at you right away.
For a while, his attention stays on smaller things—the food in his hands, the way his fingers still tremble when he lifts it, the slow way he chews, like he’s making sure his body remembers how to. Every now and then his gaze drifts, to the panels along the walls, the flickering screens and strips of light slipping through the hatch behind you.
Then to you. Like you’re the one thing in the room he hasn’t accounted for yet. His brows tighten. You can’t tell if he looks alarmed or suspicious. He glances away again, dropping his attention back to the food. Another bite. Then, like he can’t leave it alone—
“…are you part of the recovery crew?” he asks, throat finally softened by the water.
“What?” Your brows furrow.
“The recovery crew,” he repeats, slower this time, like it's obvious and you’re the one missing it. He gestures vaguely around the pod. “Where’s the rest of them? Has mission control been notified?”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
His face twists in confusion too. Great. Neither of you knows what the other's saying.
“This,” he says, knuckles weakly tapping the side of the chamber. “The pod. We were supposed to—” He stops, jaw tightening. His gaze flicks past you, to the door, the sliver of grey sky and scrap beyond it.
“This isn’t a water landing,” he says, more to himself than to you, “We didn’t…”
His eyes lock onto you, running up and down before his lips purse.
“What are you wearing?”
The confusion deepens, tipping into disbelief. “Where did I land? Some kind of… themed zone? Convention or something? Are we at Comic Con?”
You blink at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I don’t—” He shakes his head. “I don’t know what else this is supposed to be.”
That’s enough.
You bring your wrist up, the interface flickering to life across your skin in a soft blue, thin lines of light forming a curved display just above your hand.
“Name,” you demand. “Tell me your name.”
He stares at the hologram first with widened eyes and a dropped jaw.
“Hey!”
“Jihoon,” he says. “Lee Jihoon.”
You type it in and the system scans through the city’s registry faster than you can follow.
NO MATCH.
You frown and try again.
Still nothing.
You lower your hand, the projection still hovering. Jihoon hasn’t moved, his attention still locked on your wrist.
His eyes move from the display to your face and then back. “We didn’t have—” He stops himself.
A few seconds pass before he speaks again, more careful this time
“The time dilation. If I’m back now, it must have been…” The cogs turn visibly. “About fifteen years? Is it 2047?”
“Are you on something?” you scoff, starting to get annoyed. “if this is some sort of a stim trip, you picked a bad place to ride it out.”
The words come out sharper than you mean them to, but it feels like someone’s pulling a prank on you.
“No, wait—” Jihoon splutters, raising a hand. “What year is it? How long has it been since the launch?”
“What launch? Lazarus hasn’t sent anything to outer space in decades.” You scowl.
“What year is it?” He asks again. “Please.”
You exhale sharply, massaging your temple before turning back to him. “Fine,” you roll your eyes, feet tapping on the ground. “It’s 2226.”
There’s a brief pause where he looks at you like he’s waiting for you to follow that up with something else—something that makes it make sense—before a faint crease forms between his brows and his gaze drops, his tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek.
“Right,” Jihoon says after a few seconds. He nods multiple times before tilting his head up to look at you again, trying to figure out if you’re serious or just committed to whatever this is. “Okay.”
You say nothing.
He drags a hand through his damp hair before settling it at the back of his neck. It makes him look casual enough. Maybe even awkward, if it wasn’t for the way his cheeks are hollowed with irritation.
“That’s funny,” he adds, without any real humour. “Did they tell you to say that, or—”
“They?” you cut in.
“The recovery team,” he repeats, making you groan. “Or whoever got here first. I don’t know what the plan was, but this—” he nods faintly toward you, “—this isn’t how you debrief someone coming out of hypersleep, sorry.”
You stare at him, the earlier annoyance settling back in.
What are you going to do with him?
“Listen, I’m not pulling a fucking prank on you, or whatever,” you start, reaching for your pack. “If you don’t believe me, you can come look for yourself. Or you could stay here and be found by people who aren’t going to be as nice or patient.”
When Jihoon doesn’t move or answer right away, you continue.
“You’re running out of time. Light drops fast out here. If we don’t move now, it isn’t going to be easy to find your way out of here,” your tone flattens out as you step closer, your eyes dropping briefly to his legs.
He follows your gaze, like he’s only just registering it again, then shifts, bracing one hand against the side of the chamber before pushing himself up.
It goes about as well as before.
He exhales sharply through his teeth, frustration flickering across his face before he tries again, slower this time, like he can force his body into remembering how to stand up or walk.
“Give it a second,” Jihoon mutters, more to himself than you. “It’s just—”
He stops, jaw tightening as he finally stands on his feet, although more than half of his body leans against the chamber.
“I’ve been in microgravity,” he grunts out, “for—if what you say is true—a long, long time. My body needs time to get used to earth’s gravity again.”
“Are you telling me you can’t walk?” You ask, laughing in disbelief.
“I can walk,” he says, a little too quick for it to sound convincing, shifting his weight off the side just enough to prove a point. It lasts for all of three seconds before he has to hold onto something again.
“…I can walk,” he repeats, quieter this time and less defensive. “Just not… properly.”
“Great,” you mutter, dragging a hand down your face before letting it drop back to your side.
“It’ll come back,” he adds after a moment, more to fill the silence than anything else, his gaze flicking briefly to you before dropping again. “Muscle memory doesn’t just disappear.”
“Whatever,” you sigh, jerking your chin at the door. “I’ll help you walk. I’m going to leave, so try to change out of your clothes if you can. It’s going to get cold outside and you seem to have some in that box.”
He nods, and you take it as a sign to move. Stepping back toward the door, you reach for the respirator where he left it and hold it out to him, waiting until he actually takes it before continuing.
“Put that on before I open this,” you add, already walking to the door. “Air out there’s worse than you can imagine.”
He doesn’t argue and fumbles the mask into place, the seal sitting slightly off before he adjusts it with a clumsy press of his fingers.
You watch for a second, making sure it’s actually running, then nod toward the box.
Stepping out of the pod, you drag the door mostly shut behind you, leaving just enough of a gap for air to cycle through while giving him some privacy.
The temperature hits immediately.
Colder now, the sharp wind drags across the crater in uneven bursts that carry dust and grit along with it, settling into the seams of your clothes and the exposed parts of your gear.
You take a few steps up the slope, boots slipping slightly against loose gravel before finding stable ground near the edge, your eyes scanning the stretch of wreckage. Then you look back around at the distance you’d have to cover to get him out of here.
Yeah, that’s not happening.
You bring your wrist up again, tapping the interface twice until it flickers to life, the projection stabilising quickly in the low light. The signal takes a few seconds to connect. The lines are pretty far from the Wastelands, and you try not to use them most of the time.
“Hoshi,” you say, not bothering with any greeting when it connects.
A beat of pure static.
“—you done?” his voice cuts through, rough but clear enough.
“Yeah,” you reply, shifting your weight from one foot to the other as another gust of wind pushes through. “I need a pickup now.”
“Cool. Vernon’s asking if you got everything he asked for.”
“Tell him to shut the fuck up,” you roll your eyes, glancing back toward the pod as a dull thud echoes faintly from inside, followed by the sound of something scraping against metal and what might’ve been a muffled curse. He’s the reason I’m in this mess anyway. “Oh, and bring Wonwoo. Tell him to bring his bike too.”
A pause. “Why? He says he’s busy.”
“Come on! I don’t ask for shit that’s not required, you know,” you shoot back, tone flattening.
Another pause.
Then a short exhale on the other end.
“Give us ten.”
“Sending my location, make it five,” you say, already lowering your wrist before he can argue, cutting the line clean.
“Hey?” Jihoon’s voice calls out, weak and muffled, from inside the pod. “I’m done. I’m sorry, but can you help me out here?”
You let your hand drop fully, the interface fading back into your skin as you turn toward the pod.
“Yeah,” you call back, already stepping down the slope. “Give me a second.”
By the time you reach the door and push it open, he’s already halfway there. As he moves, he uses one hand to drag along the wall for balance, the other catching whatever edge he can reach. It’s messy, inefficient, and stubborn in a way that makes you pause for a second at the threshold, watching him close the distance on his own instead of stepping in immediately.
He’s going to fall.
You can see it before it happens but he catches himself again, letting out an exasperated noise as he forces the correction through.
Right.
You step forward then, closing the last bit of space and catching his arm before he can argue, your grip firm enough that he doesn’t have to fight it.
The climb out isn’t graceful, but it works through slow, uneven steps, his weight leaning heavier into you than he probably realises. You don’t comment on it though, and neither does he.
By the time you reach the edge, his breathing’s picked up again. He huffs out in relief before finally looking up.
As evening sets in, the sky is a bruised gradient of violet and burnt orange, but the neon lights in the skyline almost manage to drown out the natural light. The city on the skyline, Jihoon notices, doesn’t sit against the horizon so much as cut through it—tiered and overbuilt, towers stacked into each other in ways that don’t look structurally possible, their surfaces sheathed in glass that no longer reflects the sky so much as advertises over it.
Massive vertical panels climb the sides of buildings, cycling through ads that stutter and glitch mid-transition, faces stretching and reforming, text bleeding into symbols before snapping back into place. Entire sections of towers are wrapped in moving light, brands crawling up their surfaces.
Thin lanes of traffic cut through the air in streams, vehicles reduced to streaks of light that thread between towers in intersecting paths, some dipping lower toward the shadowed base, others climbing higher into clearer air.
None of it makes sense.
Jihoon stares wordlessly, breath catching behind his mask.
“Where are we?” He asks, a few moments later..
“The Wastelands,” you say, already starting forward again, forcing him to move with you. “Outside Phoenix.”
“Phoenix,” he repeats, brows furrowing. “Like the American city?”
You glance at him, frowning. “What?”
“Phoenix, Arizona,” he means to state it, but it comes out like a question.
“No,” you sigh flatly. “Just Phoenix. We’re in Asia.”
“Asia…? How is this possible?” Jihoon mutters to himself. “If I was gone for—” He cuts himself off with a harsh exhale, before he begins to ramble, rerunning the calculations with different variables.
“If recovery failed and I stayed in orbit… no, decay wouldn’t—two centuries is too long. Fluid degradation alone would—unless they compensated, but that would require—” his hand lifts slightly, fingers flexing like he’s trying to grab hold of the thought and keep it from slipping. “Or drift, but not at this scale. That doesn’t—”
He lets out a loud groan. “Doesn’t make sense. None of this does.”
Behind you, the low, familiar hum of an engine builds gradually under the wind, cutting through the open stretch of the Wastelands. You turn your head slightly this time, already knowing what you’re going to see.
Two bikes roll up along the ridge, the engines tuned low enough that the noise doesn’t carry far. The frames are mismatched in that way everything out here is, with reinforced plates welded over older builds, exposed wiring running along the sides where casing’s been stripped back and never replaced. Thin light strips run under the chassis instead of headlights, casting a narrow glow across the ground instead of lighting up the whole area.
They stop a few feet away.
Hoshi swings off first, helmet coming off with him, his expression already set in something between expectation and impatience, until he looks at you and then at Jihoon, and his face falls.
“Where’s the rest of the haul?” He asks.
You nudge Jihoon lightly. “Here.”
Hoshi shoots you a look, one eyebrow cocked. “You’re joking.”
Wonwoo pulls his helmet off too, still sitting on his bike, eyes moving over Jihoon slowly, over his face, his clothes and footwear. Then, he glances at you.
“Who is he?”
“Don’t know,” you say finally, “Found him in that thing.”
Hoshi follows your line of sight to the pod, then back to Jihoon, his expression flattening further.
“That’s not helping.”
“That's all I’ve got. Nothing he says makes any sense.”
There’s a brief pause where neither of them look convinced.
Jihoon’s grip tightens on your arm slightly before he pushes off and tries to stand on his own, which he manages to do for a good few seconds before he reaches for you again. He opens his mouth to speak, but Wonwoo beats him to it.
“Why’s he holding onto you?”
“He can’t walk properly,” you sigh, using your free hand to massage your temple. “I found him in some weird sleeping pod, man. He’s apparently been in space for a long time.”
Hoshi lets out a short exhale. “You believe that?”
Jihoon exhales through the mask, sharper this time, like he’s choosing whether to argue or not.
“I’m not—” he starts, then stops, eyes scrunching closed before he corrects himself. “I’m not from here.”
“Sure, bud. You’re from the Upper City then, huh? One of Lazarus’ stupid experiments maybe?” Hoshi laughs humorlessly.
Jihoon ignores him.
“I was part of a deep space expedition mission,” he says instead, forcing the words out. “It was called the Hermes Missions. There was a problem and we had to abandon it and return to earth. It would take a while, so we went into hypersleep, but the time dilation…” he trails off, voice cracking behind the mask.
“What is that? You keep saying it, but what does it mean?” you groan.
“In space, time doesn't work the same way,” Jihoon explains, his voice thin and strained. “To put it simply: the faster you move out there, the slower time passes for you compared to everyone else. For me, it’s only been a few years since I left. To you…” He looks at the glowing skyline, his eyes wide and hollow.
“Listen,” he continues, glancing at the three of you. “This may be hard to digest, and it’s hard for me too. But I left earth in 2026. I was supposed to be back in around fifteen to twenty years, not—”
“Two hundred?” Hoshi shakes his head slightly like he’s already decided what to do with all of that. “Yeah, no. I’m not buying it.”
Wonwoo finally speaks again. “I don’t think he’s entirely lying though. Look at him. He doesn’t look like he’s from here.”
“That doesn’t make the rest of it true.”
“No,” Wonwoo agrees. “But it makes him a problem either way.”
“And he’s unchipped too,” you add. “Got absolutely nothing on him. Either way, I think it’s best to take him back home and then have Vernon or someone look at his pod. I didn’t recognize most of the tech, but maybe he could.”
Hoshi lets out a quiet scoff, dragging his hand down his face as he looks between you and Jihoon again, like he’s trying to decide which part of this is worse.
“You’re serious about this,” he says, more a statement than a question.
“How can we leave him here? He’s pure.”
The wind cuts through again, kicking dust up around your boots and along the sides of the bikes. For a second, no one says anything.
Wonwoo moves first.
He steps closer, his attention still fixed on Jihoon as he reaches out and takes some of his weight from you without asking.
“I’m Wonwoo,” he tells Jihoon as they trudge over to his bike. “We’ll take you back to the city and you’ll probably be questioned, but it’s safer than being out here.”
Jihoon nods faintly, like the words take a second to land but he understands enough of them.
Hoshi exhales sharply behind you.
“Get him on,” he mutters, already turning back to his bike. “You can get on mine.”
Up close, it’s even more obvious.
No seams under the skin. No faint glow at the wrists. No embedded lines running along the neck or spine. Just unmarked skin, making him stand out more than any modification ever could.
Wonwoo notices it too, but he doesn’t comment on it.
“You need to hold tight.” He says instead.
Jihoon hesitates for half a second, then does as instructed. Wonwoo waits a beat, making sure he’s steady, then reaches back to pull his helmet on, the visor sliding down with a soft click.
You step back, rolling your shoulders once before moving toward Hoshi’s bike.
He glances at you as you swing on behind him, one eyebrow lifting slightly.
“You better be right about this,” he says.
“I am.”
“You don’t sound convincing.”
“Hoshi, stop being a bitch about it and just drive.” you grumble.
The engine hums louder under you as he kicks it fully to life, the vibration settling through the frame and into your leg. Ahead of you, Wonwoo’s bike shifts first, turning cleanly toward the path that cuts back through the wreckage.
Jihoon turns his head slightly, looking back at the pod and the crater, like it might still hold some answers, but he turns forward again when he finds none.
The skyline burns brighter now that the last of the light has dropped out completely, neon bleeding into the dark, stretching higher than it has any right to.
As the bikes pull out in one smooth motion, cutting back across the ridge and into the open stretch of the Wastelands, the wind picking up immediately as they move, Jihoon wonders if there is anything that still anchors this world to his, or if it’s all truly gone.
The first turn into the city is where it starts going wrong again.
Whatever little sense of direction Jihoon had held slips the moment they leave the open stretch behind. The lights come first, sharp and immediate, cutting through his vision in painful streaks. They flare and disappear and flare again from different angles, too bright, too close, and layered over each other until he can’t look at them directly.
He tries to observe his surroundings. He really does, but the glare burns at the back of his eyes, forcing them shut halfway before he can stop it, his grip tightening instinctively as the bike moves again, faster than his body can keep up with. The turns come without warning.
The air feels wrong too. It’s thicker, warmer and every breath he pulls through his mask feels more suffocating than relieving. It tastes like burnt chemicals, a sharp contrast to the sterile air of his spaceship and the pod.
Every time the bike leans, Jihoon feels his stomach lurch.
By the time the roar of the engines finally dies down, Wonwoo shifts, the kickstand hitting the pavement with a sharp clack that vibrates right through Jihoon’s bones.
"We’re here," Wonwoo says, his voice flat. "Get off."
Jihoon doesn't move. He can't. His fingers are locked in a death grip around the jacket in front of him. It takes a second for his brain to send the signal to let go, and when he finally manages to swing a leg over the seat, the world tilts to the left.
His boots hit the wet asphalt, and for a moment, he thinks he’s standing. Then, the ground seems to surge upward. He barely manages to stumble two steps away from the bike before he lunges forward, hands wringing the respirator off, and retches.
He vomits a string of thin, bitter preservation fluid and bile, the sound of his own gagging echoing off the narrow alley walls.
"God," Hoshi’s voice cuts through the dark, sounding more annoyed than concerned. "He’s getting that shit everywhere."
You wince, stepping over to Jihoon and placing a firm hand on his shoulder. He’s cold—so cold it bleeds through your gloves. Up close, his skin looks like translucent parchment under the flickering red sign above you.
"Easy," you mutter, though you’re looking at the alley entrance, checking for scanners. "Just get it out. We need to move."
Jihoon doesn’t respond.
He stays bent forward, one hand braced weakly against the wall, the other hanging uselessly at his side as his stomach keeps trying to turn over on nothing.
He drags in a breath. It doesn’t help much, but it’s better than the respirator.
Swallowing hard, Jihoon squeezes his eyes shut for a second longer before forcing them open. His head throbs, the pressure behind his eyes pulsing in time with the flickering lights.
The alley comes into focus slowly.
It’s narrow and closed in, the walls on either side rising higher than they should for how little space there is between them. Water drips somewhere above, running down along exposed wiring before disappearing into the cracks in the ground.
The move from the alley to your safehouse is a blur of dragging feet and muffled curses. Wonwoo doesn’t complain when you ask him to hold up the man again, taking on most of his weight as you try to get him past the door as quickly as possible. The door seals shut behind you with a pressurized thud that vibrates through the floorboards, cutting the city's roar down to a dull, distant thrum.
“Take him to Vernon,” Hoshi exhales as he moves past the three of you to throw himself onto the sofa. “Let him check the guy again.”
The tone of Hoshi’s voice ticks you off, but you let it pass for now. You can see where he’s coming from, and his instructions are only logical.
Jihoon doesn’t lift his head fully, but he sees enough.
Work surfaces line one side of the room, cluttered but not disorganised, tools laid out in a way that suggests they’ve been used recently and will be used again soon. Wires run along the walls without being hidden, bundled together in places and left exposed in others, disappearing into panels that have been opened and closed too many times to sit flush anymore. There’s a smell here too, different from outside, less sharp but just as present, something metallic and faintly burnt.
“Vernon,” you call out, not raising your voice but letting it carry.
There’s a pause.
Then the scrape of something being moved, followed by a low, irritated response from somewhere deeper in the room.
“What?”
You don’t bother answering him. Instead you signal Wonwoo to move, not checking if Vernon’s preoccupied.
“I’ve got someone for you,” you say as you walk Jihoon in.
There’s a sound, something dragged across a surface, then a dull clatter. A second later, Vernon steps into view.
Jihoon doesn’t look at him properly at first.
He’s too focused on staying upright, on getting his feet to land where they’re supposed to, on the way the floor doesn’t quite feel stable under him yet. His grip tightens against Wonwoo’s sleeve as they move. The lights inside aren’t as bright or hard to look at, but they’re still overwhelming.
“What do you want me to do?” Vernon asks, eyes trained on Jihoon. He steps closer, tilting his head to look around. “Who is this?”
“We’ll tell you later,” you shake your head, dragging Jihoon to what looks like a surgical table in the middle of the room. “Hoshi wants him cleared first. Check for everything. Biomods, chips, sleepers—specifically anything linked to Lazarus. I doubt you’ll find anything, but still.”
Vernon lets out a short, sharp huff of air that might have been a laugh if he didn’t look so frayed. He wipes his hands on a rag that’s more grease than fabric and gestures toward the table.
“Get him up,” he says. “And try not to let him bleed on the scanners if he’s got any open wounds. I just recalibrated the sensors.”
Wonwoo hoists Jihoon up, seating him on the edge of the cold alloy. It’s a sharp bite that seeps through Jihoon’s clothes and makes his spine stiffen.
Jihoon finally forces his head up.
Vernon is standing right in front of him now. He’s younger than Jihoon expected, with features that might have been soft if they weren't sharpened by the jagged energy of whatever stimulants he's running on. His hair is a washed-out, synthetic blonde, messy and catching the overhead light in a way that makes it look like spun glass. There are thin, glowing lines under the skin of his temple.
You watch as Vernon reaches for one of his devices, his fingers twitching before he flexes them once. He starts at Jihoon’s head, his touch clinical and detached as he tilts Jihoon’s chin up. He’s thorough, his fingers pressing into the soft dip behind the ears, then tracing the vertebrae at the base of the skull.
Vernon looks for the tell-tale seams of a Lazarus link—a clean metallic chip that should be fused to the bone—first. If the man’s got it, he’s got to go. His thumb digs into the ridge at the base of Jihoon’s skull, a heavy, probing pressure that forces Jihoon’s head forward.
Jihoon winces, the cold of the probe finally making contact with his skin. It hums in a high-pitched, irritating whine that vibrates against his teeth.
“What are you guys doing to me?” Jihoon gasps out before his eyes land on you. “You said this would be safe.”
“Keep quiet,” Vernon grunts from behind him, gaze fixed on a small monitor to his left.
The screen shows a flat green line. Nothing.
“He’s got no link,” he lets you know, stepping away from the table before you stop him.
“Check his whole body.”
“Well, you’re going to have to tell me something at least, before you want me doing all that,” Vernon rolls his eyes. “Maybe you can start with why he looks so clean.”
Jihoon’s eyes stay locked on yours, his chest heaving under the thin fabric of his suit. He’s a long way from the quiet safety of his pod, and being handled like a machine by a twitchy stranger wasn’t a part of the deal.
You glance at him. “Tell him.”
Jihoon lets out a sharp, jagged scoff. The annoyance is starting to burn through the exhaustion now. But if he’s going to trust what his eyes are seeing, then they deserve an explanation.
“I’m not from here,” Jihoon recites, the words sounding practiced by now. “I mean, I am from Earth, just not from this time. I was on a spaceship. A research vessel, if you’d like to call it that.”
Vernon lets out a laugh. “Right. Lazarus hasn’t sent—”
“—anyone to space in decades?” Jihoon cuts him off, his voice sharper than intended. He feels done with this already. “Yeah, I heard. I don’t know what Lazarus is. I wasn’t sent by them.”
“He says he’s from—” you start, turning to him. “Which year are you from, again?”
“2026.” Jihoon sighs. “Listen, I don’t expect you to believe me. I’m having a hard enough time believing any of this is real myself.”
Vernon scoffs, shaking his head before he looks away. “Yeah,” he says, like that answers something for him instead of raising more questions. “That would do it.”
Jihoon frowns. “What does that mean?”
“Means you’re either the cleanest Lazarus plant I’ve ever seen,” Vernon replies, already turning away from him to grab something else off the work surface, “or you’re exactly what you’re saying you are.”
“So just do the check, won’t you?” You ask.
“Fine,” Vernon agrees. “Have you looked into him on the NetLink?”
“Yup,” you nod. “Doesn’t exist anywhere.”
Vernon pulls a heavy, ring-shaped scanner from its housing above the table, the joints of the mechanical arm screeching in protest.
“Lie back,” he orders.
Jihoon hesitates, glancing at you with a look that’s becoming increasingly weary, before he lets Wonwoo guide his shoulders down onto the metal.
The scanner ring begins to move, a slow, methodical crawl from his head down toward his feet. For a long time, the only sound is the hum of the machine and the frantic tapping of Vernon’s fingers on a glass keyboard. The screens are a wash of blue and green, mapping out details Jihoon can’t make out clearly.
“His lungs are pristine.” Vernon mutters, his brow furrowed. “No heavy metal deposits, no carbon scarring... it’s like he’s lived in a filter.”
The scanner reaches Jihoon’s left leg, just above the ankle, and suddenly a sharp, high-pitched ping echoes through the small room. A section of the monitor flashes a warning in amber.
From the corner of his eye, Jihoon sees the man named Hoshi walk up too.
Vernon taps the screen, pulling up a 3D render of Jihoon’s tibia. Bolted to the bone is a thin, slightly oxidized plate held in place by four surgical screws. “Old-school compression plate and nails. Titanium, maybe?”
“It was a fracture,” Jihoon lets out almost sheepishly.
Hoshi leans over Vernon’s shoulder, his eyes narrowing at the skeletal image on the screen. The annoyance that had been written across his face earlier shifts into a sharp, piercing curiosity. He looks at the metal bolts and then back at Jihoon’s face.
"A fracture," Hoshi repeats, his voice lacking its previous bite. "You broke your leg and they just... put nails in it?"
"It’s what we did," Jihoon mutters, feeling exposed under their gazes.
Vernon reaches out, his gloved fingers hovering just above Jihoon’s skin where the plate is hidden underneath. He almost looks fascinated.
"It’s not even smart-alloy," Vernon whispers, tapping a key to zoom in on the screws. "No bio-syncing. No neural feedback. It’s just dead weight. How do you even walk with these?”
"I just do?" Jihoon says, but it comes out like a question, the simplicity of his own words sounding ridiculous even to him.
Vernon straightens up, the frantic energy around him somehow amplifying.
"Aside from that antique in his leg, there’s nothing,” he confirms, nodding toward the monitor. “No trackers, no sleepers. His blood chemistry is... well, it’s perfect. It’s actually kind of disgusting how healthy he is."
“He’s pure,” he adds before turning to Jihoon. “More than us, too. So you weren’t just making shit up, were you?”
Vernon leans back slightly from the console, eyes still scanning over the data as if it might rearrange itself into something more useful if he stares long enough, his fingers hovering just above the interface before dropping away with a faint click against the glass.
He turns to you.
“So you found him in the wastelands after he—let me get this right—fell out of the sky?”
“Yes.”
“And he’s telling us he’s from two hundred years ago.”
Jihoon lets out a tired sigh. “When you say it like that, it sounds ridiculous.”
“It is ridiculous,” Vernon replies, but he sounds more interested than dismissive like he was before. “But it’s not ignorable.”
You shift from one foot to the other, folding your arms across your chest as you consider Jihoon for a second longer, like you’re deciding how much to say and how to say it without losing him halfway through.
“Out there,” you start, nodding vaguely toward the direction you came from, “everything that still functions has already been stripped, rebuilt, repurposed, and patched together more times than it was ever designed to handle, and that’s just the machines.”
“And people?” Jihoon asks, the question coming quicker this time.
Wonwoo answers without hesitation. “Same principle.”
“You mean—what, prosthetics?” he asks, searching for a familiar concept to hold onto.
“Not just prosthetics,” Vernon cuts in, pushing himself off the console and stepping closer again, one hand gesturing vaguely toward Jihoon. “Replacements, reinforcements, integrations, whatever keeps things running. You lose something, you replace it. Something starts failing, you patch it before it takes something else down with it.”
“Organs, nerves, sensory inputs, structural support. Doesn’t matter what it is as long as it works.”
Jihoon recoils slightly, a wave of revulsion passing over his face as he looks at Vernon’s glowing temples. He swallows hard, trying to anchor himself against the insanity of this conversation.
"You keep using that word," Jihoon mutters, his voice tight. "Lazarus. What the hell is a Lazarus?"
Hoshi lets out a quiet scoff, running his tongue along the inside of his cheek. “They’re a megacorp. They own the city, or close enough that the official wording doesn't even matter anymore. If a light switch flips, a train moves, or a hospital bed turns on, Lazarus takes a cut. If it draws power, they have their hands on the switch.”
“The chips too,” Vernon adds absently, already half-turned back toward his console as he drags windows across the screen with quick, twitchy movements. “Lazarus Link. That’s what everyone’s carrying around in their heads.”
Jihoon’s brows pull together faintly, his hands instinctively tracing up to the back of his bare neck.
“It interfaces with the nervous system,” Wonwoo explains before Vernon can answer in the most irritating way possible. “Originally it was marketed as medical support. Helps monitor your health, synchronising other implants and what not.”
“Cheap too,” Vernon mutters. “That’s how they got everyone.”
Jihoon’s gaze flicks between all of you slowly.
“And people just…” He hesitates. “Agreed to that?”
“At first?” Hoshi shrugs. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t they? It worked.”
“There were already biomods before the Link became standard,” Vernon adds absently. “The problem was compatibility. Different manufacturers built different hardware. Implants would reject each other, and your systems would lag trying to process the conflicting codes. Lazarus solved all of it.
“And now the problem is,” you continue, “that they’re making everyone meat-puppets now by making the Link mandatory.”
Jihoon shakes his head. “What does that mean?”
“To put it simply, they can override humans.”
Jihoon goes quiet after that. Not because he’s accepted any of it, but because there’s only so much horror a person can react to at once before it all starts flattening into numbness.
The scanner continues its low mechanical hum somewhere beside him while lines of data drift across Vernon’s monitors, casting pale blue light across the room. Jihoon stares past them without really looking, his eyes unfocused for half a second before he blinks hard and forces himself back into the conversation.
“And you people?” he asks eventually, voice rougher now. “Who exactly are you supposed to be?”
“That’s complicated.”
“Well, that’s reassuring,” Jihoon mutters.
You catch the way he presses his fingers harder into the edge of the table afterward, like he’s afraid the room might tilt again if he lets go.
Honestly, it might.
He still looks awful. The colour still hasn’t returned to his face, and his damp hair sticks unevenly against his forehead beneath the harsh overhead lighting. Even sitting still seems to take effort now, like he’s holding himself upright through sheer stubbornness.
That is, until Vernon suddenly steps forward again.
At first, Jihoon thinks he’s reaching for the scanner beside him, or maybe adjusting something on the monitor, but then Vernon catches Jihoon’s wrist in one gloved hand with surprising ease and presses something sharp into the inside of his arm before anyone fully registers what’s happening.
Jihoon jerks violently.
“What the fuck—”
Vernon lets go immediately, already stepping back again as he discards the empty injector into a nearby bin like this is perfectly normal.
The room goes still.
“You injected him?” you snap.
Vernon shrugs before glancing at Jihoon. “You might wanna lie down.”
Jihoon stares at him in open disbelief for half a second before the sensation actually starts spreading through him.
The warmth hits first.
It isn’t painful, which somehow makes it worse. It slips through his bloodstream almost gently, slow heat curling up the inside of his arm before settling heavily behind his eyes and at the base of his skull.
“Did you just drug me?” Jihoon rasps out, his brows pulling together as he blinks hard.
You sigh, tired. “Vern, seriously?”
“He’s exhausted and overloaded,” Vernon says, sounding almost bored now that the decision’s already been made. “I’m doing him a favour.”
Jihoon’s thoughts begin slipping strangely against each other, the room around him softening at the edges every time he blinks.
“You should’ve given him a heads-up, at least,” you say, “ease him into it or something.”
“I literally told him to lie down.”
“That was after you stabbed him.”
Jihoon tries to respond to that, but the words never fully form. Instead he fights the awful sensation of the room drifting sideways again.
His expression goes blank for a few seconds, like his brain has finally stopped keeping up with the rest of him, and before you realize what’s happening his entire body tips forward.
He hits the floor face-first with a heavy thud.
“I told him to lie down,” Vernon sighs, making the three of you glance at him in irritation. “Great. Now we can actually decide if we’re believing him entirely and what we’re going to tell him.”
By the time Minghao and Aki arrive, Jihoon’s already unconscious on your sofa with a fresh scrape across his cheekbone and one shoe half hanging off his foot.
Aki stops short the second she sees him.
“…that’s him?”
“The space guy, yes,” Hoshi replies from across the room. “Try not to sound so disappointed.”
“I’m not disappointed,” Aki says slowly, still staring. “I didn’t know what to expect, but it wasn’t this.”
You barely glance up from where you’re crouched beside the sofa, dragging antiseptic carefully across the scrape on Jihoon’s face while he remains entirely unresponsive to it now except for the occasional faint twitch in his brow. The bruise underneath is already beginning to darken beneath his pale skin that still looks absurdly clear under the lights.
“He hit the floor pretty hard,” Wonwoo says from somewhere behind you.
“That was because Vernon drugged him like a psycho,” you reply.
“He’s asleep now instead of having a fucking breakdown in my workspace. I take that as a win.” Vernon says distractedly as he tinkers with the prosthetic he’s put together from the parts you brought. “Aki, let me put this on.”
You press the gauze on Jihoon’s cheek. He flinches faintly when the antiseptic hits the scrape properly this time, his brows tightening for a brief second before smoothing out again immediately.
Aki drops onto the sofa opposite to you, holding her arm out for Vernon, wires and exposed plating glinting as he reconnects something near the elbow joint in practiced moves.
Her gaze drifts back to Jihoon.
You peel the backing off a synth-skin strip with your teeth before pressing it carefully against Jihoon’s cheekbone. Up close, the injury looks even more unfair against his face somehow, the redness standing out sharply beneath skin untouched by chemical scarring or interface seams.
“So we’re going to believe him fully?” Aki asks as Minghao drops onto the floor to sit beside you.
Vernon sticks his tongue out slightly, turning a screwdriver into the plates of her prosthetic. “You know how bad the lower orbits are now?”
Aki shrugs. “Bad enough that nobody goes up there anymore.”
“Yeah, because everything up there’s dead.” Vernon gestures vaguely upward. “Half the satellites crashed decades ago, the rest got taken out by debris collisions. Every time something breaks apart it creates more debris, which breaks more shit apart, and now the entire atmosphere is basically wrapped in a field of metal moving fast enough to cut ships in half.”
She grimaces faintly. “Right.”
Vernon nods once toward Jihoon. “So unless Lazarus somehow launched a fake ancient pod through a collapsing graveyard just to trick six disconnected idiots hiding under Sector 17, I’m leaning toward him being real.”
Then Minghao speaks.
“When we were younger,” he says slowly, still staring at Jihoon, “didn’t there used to be stories about somebody like this?”
Hoshi frowns immediately. “What, like wasteland conspiracy crap?”
“No.” Minghao’s brows furrow. “Not exactly.”
“There was some woman Lazarus wanted brought in alive,” he continues after a moment. “People used to talk about it all the time in the lower sectors. Said she talked about old Earth and missions and space stations and whatever.”
Aki squints. “I vaguely remember people talking about some old drunk in the market levels.”
“No, it wasn’t like that,” Minghao says quietly. “People were actually scared of her.”
Hoshi snorts. “People in the lower sectors are scared of everything.”
“I’m serious.” Minghao’s tone finally pushes the room into silence.
He shifts slightly against the sofa, face set in concentration, like he’s reconstructing the memory piece by piece.
“I don’t remember where she came from, or if anyone even knew. I just remember hearing people say she’d been caught somewhere outside the city after talking about old missions and stations and coordinates and shit nobody understood.”
Wonwoo’s gaze lifts from where he’d been standing near the window.
“And Lazarus wanted her alive?”
“Yeah.” Minghao nods. “That’s why I remember it. Because it was weird. Lazarus usually just erases people.”
Aki folds her arms loosely. “You sure it wasn’t some scavenger making things up?”
“Maybe,” Minghao admits. “But there were bounty notices for her for a while.”
“What kind of notices?”
“I don’t know.” Minghao exhales. “I was a kid. But I remember people talking about how much Lazarus was paying to bring her in alive instead of dead.”
Hoshi frowns. “So she was important to them.”
You glance back toward Jihoon instinctively.
He still hasn’t moved beyond the slow rise and fall of his breathing, one side of his face pressed deep into the worn-out sofa cushion.
Minghao turns to you. “What did you say the name of his mission was?”
“Uh,” you rack your brain. “Hermes. Some old Greek thing, I think. Why?”
“I can look into it,” he replies, glancing at Hoshi. “The chances of finding those bounty posters must be near-zero because Lazarus might’ve made sure to burn them off the planet, but it doesn’t hurt to try. We could see if they’re related.”
Everyone stays silent for a good minute or two.
“None of this matters until he wakes up anyway.” Vernon finally gets up from the sofa with a loud sigh. “Does this mean you guys are going to tell him the truth about us?”
“Yes,” you answer immediately.
Hoshi’s head snaps toward you. “Come on!”
You look back at him flatly.
“He already knows enough to realise something’s wrong. And if he’s really disconnected like Vernon says, then hiding who we are from him doesn’t actually help anything.”
Hoshi opens his mouth again, shoulders tightening like he’s about to argue properly this time, but whatever he sees on your face makes him stop halfway through it. His jaw clenches once instead before he exhales and looks away toward the kitchen.
“Fine,” he mutters. “Whatever.”
Aki watches the exchange silently before glancing toward Jihoon again.
“He’s gonna lose his mind when he wakes up.”
“Nothing’s new,” Vernon almost laughs. “He’s done that already.”
You ignore him and reach down to pull the blanket back up where it had slipped off Jihoon’s shoulder.
“You should check the pod soon,” you say eventually, looking toward Vernon. “If Lazarus hasn’t found it yet, that is. You might know what’s in it.”
“Yeah. I think I should wait for sometime, actually.”
Hoshi frowns slightly. “Why? You think it’s tapped already?”
“No,” Vernon shakes his head. “I think if it’s a part of a space mission then he might have information that could be important. I wouldn’t want to go in there and fuck it up. It’s old tech after all.”
And so, you wait.
Jihoon wakes a few hours later, and before he knows it, the next two days pass too fast to be properly processed.
Every time he thinks he’s finally caught up to one revelation, somebody drops another one into his lap before the first has even settled.
Your people who are hiding beneath the city call themselves pure, which initially makes no sense to him considering Vernon has glowing circuitry in his temples, Aki can peel the skin off half her forearm to expose the articulated mechanics underneath, and Hoshi’s spine has been reinforced so heavily that metallic plating flashes beneath the skin at the base of his neck whenever he moves the wrong way under bright lights. Even Wonwoo’s eyes aren’t fully human anymore, his left pupil occasionally catching and refocusing a few seconds too slowly.
And then there’s you.
You’re less obvious than the others until he notices the thin lines—similar to Vernon’s but fainter—disappearing behind your ear whenever you tie your hair back, delicate enough to pass for jewellery if someone wasn’t looking closely.
“That’s different,” you’d told him eventually after watching him stare at all of you in visible confusion.
“How?”
“Because none of us are linked anymore.”
That explanation somehow raises even more questions than it answers.
He learns quickly that disconnected people rarely survive long unless they know exactly how to disappear. Lazarus systems track almost everything automatically now through the Links: movement, transactions, transport access, medical scans. Most people can’t function without it because the city itself isn’t designed to work without it.
People like you exist anyway.
Hidden underneath it all in dead districts and abandoned maintenance levels and old transit routes nobody monitors properly because there’s nothing profitable left there.
Ghosts surviving inside blind spots.
“Like you,” Minghao offers, like that would make him feel any better.
All Jihoon can think about is how nothing about any of you actually feels human in the way he understands it anymore.
He would’ve liked more time after that.
Time to sit still long enough for the panic to properly catch up to him, maybe. Time to think through the fact that every single person he has ever known is dead, that the world outside no longer functions according to rules he recognises, that corporations apparently control entire nervous systems now and people discuss it over dinner like weather.
Instead, Vernon changes his mind and decides the pod needs to become the immediate priority.
“If Lazarus finds it before we do, we’re fucked,” he says flatly the morning after, already dragging equipment apart across the workshop floor before Jihoon’s even fully awake. “So unless you want your ancient space coffin dissected by scavengers, start making a list.”
And that becomes Jihoon’s next reality.
Sitting at the low apartment table half-dressed and still exhausted while trying to reconstruct the contents of a spacecraft from memory fast enough for people he met less than seventy-two hours ago to retrieve them before a megacorporation does.
At first, the list stays practical—medical kits, power cells, thermal blankets, atmospheric analysers, all his mission data. But soon enough, it wanders into territory he’s not sure he should go.
Jihoon thinks about the personal storage compartments in the pod. Photographs, journals, his phone which are thingsa thing they don’t seem to have anymore. There are coffee sachets tucked somewhere in the lower food drawers, sour candy and other stuff he’d carried from home.
Things that suddenly matter more now than they ever did before because somewhere between launch and impact they went from being ordinary belongings to the only surviving pieces of an entire life nobody else on Earth remembers anymore.
Vernon reads over the list once and immediately asks how exactly he expects them to carry all of that back through the wastelands.
“A vehicle?” Jihoon suggests tiredly. “You don’t have cars?”
That earns an actual laugh from him.
“Yeah,” he says. “Let me just go buy one with my completely legal identity.”
Jihoon stares at him blankly.
It takes several more minutes for someone to explain that people disconnected from Lazarus systems don’t exactly get to make large purchases without immediately attracting attention from the very infrastructure that thinks they’re dead.
After that, the group descends into another argument about transport logistics while Jihoon sits there increasingly aware that he became part of this situation without really agreeing to it.
Eventually they agree on the bikes again.
“If it’s that necessary,” Hoshi mutters while looking over the list, “then we can make multiple trips.”
Jihoon doesn’t miss the way everybody’s eyes linger slightly longer on the mission data section than the rest of the page.
The disguise becomes another problem immediately afterwards. You let him know that he’d stick out like a sore thumb if he went out right now, with his jet-black hair and plain, oversized cotton clothes.
Clean, pure, unmarked. He’s starting to get tired of hearing those words.
The suggestion of actual biomods gets shut down so quickly it almost startles everyone.
“No,” Jihoon says immediately the first time Vernon even vaguely brings it up. “Absolutely not.”
“It’d make this easier.”
“Anything but that.”
The refusal is so sharp and stubborn that he gives up entirely. Instead, they settle for imitation.
Aki makes him wear different clothes first. Layered fabrics, oversized jackets, and dark synthetic pieces stitched into the shoulders and chest to bulk out his silhouette until he stops looking so painfully out of place beside everybody else. Then come the fake external modifications—decorative plating adhered near his throat, metallic wraps around his fingers, and a hideously coloured wig that he’d only ever seen on himself through a filter while playing around with his niece.
When he walks out of the room, Hoshi doesn’t have the decency to hide his laughter.
Jihoon ignores it though. Thinking of his niece was a bad decision.
The memory hits him like a blow to the chest, knocking the breath out of him. He can still picture her sitting cross-legged beside him on the couch with one of those stupid face-filter apps open on his phone, laughing herself breathless every time it changed his hair into something increasingly ridiculous while he complained about looking like an unemployed SoundCloud rapper.
But his eyes fall onto the interface opened up above your wrist and the thought falls away immediately, a strange feeling taking over him.
Vernon goes through the route for what feels like the tenth time, marking dead surveillance zones across a cracked projection screen with irritated precision. Hoshi checks weapons Jihoon still hasn’t fully gotten used to seeing lying casually across kitchen counters, while Aki sits cross-legged on the floor modifying one of the bike storage racks to carry more weight.
Jihoon mostly watches all of it happen around him with the detached feeling that his life has started moving too fast for his mind to follow.
At some point while everyone’s distracted, his gaze drifts toward you instead.
You’re crouched beside one of the bikes tightening something near the fuel line, sleeves shoved up past your elbows. His eyes flicker up to the metallic, glowing lines on your ears.
Human. Not human.
Safe. Unsafe.
He hasn’t figured out how you manage to be both at once yet.
“You’re not coming?” he asks eventually.
You glance up briefly. “No.”
“You’ll move faster with fewer people,” you continue. “And somebody has to stay here in case things go wrong.”
Half an hour later, Jihoon finds himself climbing onto the back of Hoshi’s bike with his heart beating so hard he can feel it in his throat.
The ride out into the Wastelands feels shorter this time.
The city falls away behind them in layers of neon and noise, swallowed gradually by dead land and rusted wreckage stretching endlessly.
Vernon’s bike cuts ahead through the dust, headlights flashing briefly whenever the terrain shifts unevenly beneath them. The cold gets worse the farther they move from the city, sharp wind slicing through the gaps in Jihoon’s jacket until his fingers ache around the sides of the seat.
Jihoon thinks it was hot the day he landed. Maybe the weather’s unpredictable too.
And then the crater appears again. Even from a distance, Jihoon recognises it immediately.
Something inside him tightens so fast it almost hurts.
The pod still sits half-buried where it landed, pale against the dark wasteland.
For a second nobody moves after the bikes stop.
Jihoon stares in silence as dread crawls up his spine. This is the last thing that belongs to his world, and once he’s done retrieving his things, he’s going to let these men ransack it.
“You coming or what?” Hoshi calls out.
Jihoon blinks hard once before climbing off the bike.
Up close, the pod looks smaller than he remembers. Smaller and more damaged too.
The heat scars along the outer shell stand out darker beneath the wasteland dust now, while sections of the hull plating have started cooling into warped shapes. Jihoon reaches out once he gets close enough, fingertips brushing across the surface fondly.
Silently, he thanks it for bringing him back alive, although he’s not sure if it’s a good thing anymore.
Hoshi helps him pull the hatch open again, and the smell of sterile air is enough to make tears prick at the corners of his eyes. For one awful second, it feels like he’s simply returned from maintenance and everything outside the hatch is still normal. Like if he turns around quickly enough he’ll hear mission chatter through the comms again or catch somebody laughing somewhere down the corridor.
But there’s no time to stand there pretending.
Vernon’s already climbing inside behind him before the hatch has fully opened, eyes darting greedily across the walls and control systems while muttering under his breath.
“What the fuck?” he whispers once, almost reverently.
Jihoon moves before he can think too hard again.
The storage compartments come first.
He works quickly now, throwing sealed ration packs into the bags Hoshi brought. Vacuum-sealed meals disappear into dark backpacks one after another alongside emergency medical kits, thermal blankets and stacks of old power cells Vernon nearly rips out of his hands the second he sees them.
“These aren’t linked,” Vernon says, stunned, turning one over in his hands.
Jihoon barely hears him.
His movements slow only once he reaches the lower compartment beneath the sleeping chamber. The personal stuff.
He stares at it for half a second too long before grabbing it anyway.
The old plastic casing of his cassette player looks almost embarrassingly fragile sitting in his hands now, absurd-looking against the sharp glow of the pod systems around him. He runs his thumb once across the scratched surface before placing it carefully into one of the padded bags instead of tossing it with the rest.
His phone goes in next, a dead little brick carrying an entire lifetime inside it.
Hoshi watches him shove another handful of belongings into the bag before frowning slightly. “You seriously kept all this?”
Jihoon lets out a breath that almost becomes a laugh. “We were millions of miles from home. You gotta keep something to get you through all that loneliness.”
After that, he forces himself toward the control systems.
The monitors flicker weakly once he reactivates power, pale blue light washing back across the cockpit in uneven pulses while old diagnostic systems drag themselves awake around him.
The familiarity of it makes his chest ache. These controls he remembers. This he understands.
His fingers move automatically across interfaces while Vernon hovers close enough, practically vibrating while watching every input like he’s witnessing alien technology.
“What are you doing?” Hoshi asks eventually.
“Saving what matters.”
Jihoon slots a transparent sapphire disc carefully into the optical bay beneath the console before opening the archival systems. The pod responds sluggishly at first, old data directories unfolding across the screens in layers of telemetry, mission logs, crew recordings and navigation records stretching back years.
There’s too much to encode onto it and he only has one disc. So he starts cutting pieces away. Research records and mission data stay. He scribbles as many of the important coordinates as he can onto a notebook, but that’s it.
Jihoon operates the pod’s laser manually, jaw tightening in concentration while microscopic lines begin etching themselves silently into the sapphire surface inside the chamber.
Permanent storage that’s untraceable and inaccessible unless someone physically holds it.
Vernon watches the process with undisguised fascination. “You’re burning the data into glass?”
“Sapphire composite,” Jihoon corrects absently.
“That’s insane.”
“Do you reckon you’d be able to build me a machine to read this?” Jihoon asks without looking away from the console. “I can help, but I can’t source materials.”
“…Probably,” he says after a second. “Might take a little time.”
“I’ve got time,” Jihoon mumbles. “Not like I have anyone to report to now.”
Vernon glances at him but doesn’t comment on it.
Jihoon keeps working while it encodes.
There’s still too much left.
The crew logs pull up next across the monitor, years of recordings stacked beside one another in neat chronological rows, and suddenly the pod feels suffocatingly small again.
He stares at the directory before pulling an old tablet from beneath the console storage to transfer the files. He can keep most of it, but he realises that there will still be a few recordings that he has to give up.
Jihoon’s fingers move faster after that, selecting and deselecting folders almost desperately while the transfer bar crawls across the screen in uneven increments. Crew video logs, audio journals, and messages from Earth. Small useless clips captured during transit because they were bored and lonely and millions of miles from home.
“This one?” Vernon asks quietly, pointing towards a file.
The preview frame shows four crew members floating upside down near the galley ceiling with a bright, sparkling light behind them.
Jihoon instantly recognises it as the first time they’d seen the sun in space.
Seokmin had spent the next few hours breaking into song—Here Comes The Sun by the Beatles—because nobody could get him to shut up once he got emotional.
If he tries hard enough, Jihoon can almost hear his clear voice singing along to the track.
Vernon notices the way his expression changes and lowers his hand from the screen without opening the file.
“Keep it?” he asks quietly.
Jihoon swallows once before nodding. Yes.
[The screen is black, but there’s laughter.
The camera swings too fast at first, catching streaks of amber light and dark wooden walls before somebody nearly drops it onto a sticky table littered with empty glasses.
"Careful!" someone yells immediately from across the booth. "If you break that before launch day I’m actually leaving you on Earth. It was expensive."
Rain lashes softly against the windows behind them, turning the city outside into smudged streaks of colour beneath signs and passing headlights. The pub itself glows warm underneath hanging gold lights strung lazily across the ceiling, the air thick with music and overlapping conversations while terrible karaoke echoes from somewhere deeper inside the building.
The camera swings sideways again.
Jihoon’s sitting crushed between two other crew members in the booth, one arm shoved awkwardly over Seokmin’s shoulder, who laughs hard enough to spill beer onto the table.
“Man, stop it!” he complains immediately.]
Vernon gets the projector to work after spending nearly twenty minutes swearing at file formats older than anybody there besides Jihoon. The projector itself sits disassembled beside the television now with half its wiring exposed, humming loudly every few seconds like it resents being alive.
The holograph flickers softly across the apartment walls, warm gold light spilling through the dim room in a way that almost feels unnatural against the cold blue neon usually leaking through the windows.
Hoshi and Minghao have taken over most of the sofa while Aki sits cross-legged against one of the armrests with her chin propped in her palm, and Vernon remains crouched beside the projector in case it stops working again. Wonwoo leans against the kitchen doorway further back, arms folded loosely across his chest.
Jihoon ends up on the cold floor, shoulder to shoulder with you.
He sits with one knee pulled close to his chest, eyes fixed on the video, unsure if this is to sate him or the curiosity of the others.
[A woman behind the camera laughs quietly while panning across a massive room packed with monitors and screens, a huge screen at the front of it displaying multiple tabs of telemetry, mapping and images.
Rows and rows of people move between terminals carrying coffee cups and stacks of paper while conversations overlap into indistinct noise.
“Say bye to the mission control room!” She murmurs. “We’ll see you soon.”]
“You had these many people working on your mission?” Vernon asks.
Jihoon barely looks away from the holograph. “More than this.”
Aki squints. “For how many people?”
“Four.” He purses his lips. “The one holding the camera is Aera. She was our Chief Systems Architect and a senior mission specialist. The men sitting beside me in the first video are Seokmin, who was our astrobiologist and physician, and Jeonghan, who was our Life-Support Systems engineer.”
The others only nod in response, and the room falls into an awkward silence.
You watch as Jihoon laughs on screen, eyes scrunched as he throws his head back in response to something Jeonghan does as they float around somewhere. It looks strange, but he looks… happy.
You break it first. “And what did you do?”
He glances at you once before his eyes flick down to the floor.
“I was the Mission Commander,” he mumbles. “And the astrodynamicist.”
Jihoon doesn’t have to elaborate because the implication arrives on its own.
The holograph flickers softly across the apartment walls again.
[The camera jolts violently before stabilising upside down.
Jihoon groans somewhere behind the lens.
The aircraft cabin is chaotic.
Bodies drift weightlessly through the air while loose straps and packets float toward the ceiling in slow motion. Aera crashes directly into Jeonghan hard enough that both of them spin sideways out of frame immediately afterward.
Seokmin desperately grabs one of the overhead handles while laughing so hard he can barely breathe.
“I hate this,” Jihoon says, although the look on his face suggests otherwise.]
The recordings continue unfolding one after another across the apartment while the room grows steadily quieter around them.
Mission briefings, rain against apartment windows, someone filming city traffic through a taxi windshield late at night, the crew eating takeout containers on the floor surrounded by stacks of paperwork, and Earth still ordinary enough.
At some point Hoshi gets up for water and leaves with Wonwoo.
Then Aki disappears toward the bedrooms after nearly falling asleep against Minghao’s shoulder halfway through a recording. Vernon lingers the longest besides you, crouched near the projector absentmindedly, but eventually even he drifts away too after muttering something about checking the sapphire decryption machine.
The living room quietens once the doors close.
Jihoon doesn’t seem to notice, and if he does, he doesn’t seem to have the energy left to acknowledge it anymore.
You don’t really know what you’re supposed to do with him anymore.
In the four days you’ve known him, every expression you’ve seen on his face has belonged to somebody overwhelmed, disoriented or grieving in ways too large to process all at once. He looks confused, guarded and exhausted all the time.
But the man sitting beside you now couldn’t be more different from the man on screen.
You wonder if calling him a ghost has really seemed to make him one, because the man on the screen is alive and the one beside you looks far from it.
Jihoon looks as pale as the day you found him, the dark circles beneath his eyes fixed in place. You can’t remember the last time you actually saw him sleep properly instead of just passing out from exhaustion somewhere for a few hours at a time.
He barely eats either.
Not your food. Not anything from here.
Every meal has come from those vacuum-sealed ration packets he dragged back from the crash site, dry preserved food he consumes more out of necessity than appetite while insisting his body still needs time to adapt to whatever people eat now.
You’re not even sure if that’s true or if he simply can’t stomach the thought of letting go of one more familiar thing yet.
And somehow, despite knowing him for less than a week, despite the fact that he technically fell out of the sky and brought enough problems with him to destroy all of your lives if Lazarus finds out, you still catch yourself watching him out of the corner of your eye wondering what the hell’s going through his head.
Slowly, you let your eyes fall back to the videos.
[Darkness fills the screen at first.
Then slowly, Earth turns into view beyond thick observation glass.
Deep blue oceans, white clouds stretching endlessly across the curve of the planet.
The only sound comes from the low mechanical hum of the ship itself somewhere behind the recording.
Then, very quietly, a voice full of awe:
“Oh.”]
It takes Jihoon a second to register that it’s also coming from beside him.
He smiles a little despite himself.
“It’s beautiful,” you gasp out. “Is it still like this?”
“I—” he glances at you. “I’m not sure. Maybe not.”
It’s not meant to come out so bleakly, but he doesn’t have the heart to correct himself.
For a second Jihoon can almost trick himself into believing he’s there again.
Not here beneath layers of rusted infrastructure and failing power grids and neon signs that never properly turn off, but there instead, suspended somewhere above Earth with sunlight bleeding across the observation glass while Seokmin argues with somebody in the background and Aera keeps filming things nobody else thinks are important enough to preserve.
The thought hurts too quickly to hold onto for long. He drags one hand slowly across his face before leaning back against the couch.
Footsteps cut through the silence, fast enough for the two of you to glance up immediately, just as Minghao reappears around the corner. He looks more awake than he did when he left.
“There was a woman on your mission!” he exclaims before either of you can speak.
Jihoon’s brows pull together. “Huh?”
Minghao looks toward you instead of answering immediately, like he’s only now realising he probably should’ve led into this differently.
You straighten, glancing at Jihoon with slight concern. “Maybe this can wait until tomorrow—”
“The woman I was talking about before.” Minghao ignores you, gesturing vaguely toward the holograph still glowing across the room. “The one Lazarus wanted alive.”
You try again anyway. “Minghao.”
“What?” he groans. “You don’t think he deserves to know?”
“That’s not what I’m saying.”
“Aera? What about her?” Jihoon asks, holding up a palm to interrupt you guys.
Minghao steps into the room fully, hands slipping into his pockets. You throw a warning glance which he ignores again.
This can’t possibly be the best information to give Jihoon. Not right now, at least. But the usually perceptive Minghao doesn’t seem to understand that today.
“When we were younger,” he starts, “people in the lower sectors used to talk about some woman Lazarus had been hunting for a long time. Nobody knew where she came from exactly, but there were stories about her showing up outside the city talking about missions and stations and things nobody understood properly. Like you.”
Jihoon straightens.
You suppress a sigh immediately.
“At first everybody thought she was insane,” Minghao continues, “but Lazarus apparently wanted her brought in alive, which made people start taking the stories seriously. There were bounty notices for a while.”
“Notices?”
“I don’t remember.” Minghao shakes his head. “I was a kid. I just remember hearing that Lazarus was paying absurd amounts for information on her.”
You finally cut in before this spirals any further. “Hao, we don’t even know if it’s the same person.”
“I know that,” he replies immediately. “I’m just saying—”
“Do you—” Jihoon interrupts, glancing around once he realises how loud his voice has become. “Do you know if there are any of them left? The notices. Could you find them?”
Minghao hesitates.
“I don’t know,” he admits eventually. “Lazarus wipes things constantly.”
He leans one shoulder against the doorway, frowning the more he thinks through it. “But if there were physical posters or old bounty boards instead of just digital notices, there’s a chance something survived somewhere underneath everything else. Old markets still have abandoned walls nobody’s touched in years.”
Jihoon nods immediately, like even the possibility is enough for his brain to latch onto before logic can interfere.
“I’ll try,” Minghao says more firmly this time. “I’m not promising anything though.”
The projector crackles softly behind all of you while another recording shifts uselessly across the walls unnoticed now.
Minghao studies Jihoon for another second before speaking again, quieter now.
“I still don’t really understand why Lazarus would care so much,” he mumbles. “If that woman really was from your crew… what would they even want from her?”
Jihoon thinks for a few seconds, eyes scrunching shut.
“I don’t know. From what you’ve told me, I don’t see what they’d get from our mission.”
“What was it, anyway?” You ask.
“In layman’s terms, we went to the edge of the solar system, right where the sun’s magnetic shield ends and deep space begins,” Jihoon explains. “The goal was to see how that boundary protects us from cosmic radiation, and to sample frozen comets out in the Kuiper Belt to see if the chemical ingredients for life existed before Earth did.”
“We did a lot of things,” he concludes. “It would be hard for me to tell you everything, but I don’t see how Lazarus would make use of any of the data we compiled.”
“So your mission was basically scientific research.”
“Purely.”
“And none of it had anything to do with…” Minghao gestures vaguely toward the city outside. “Whatever this is.”
Jihoon lets out a tired breath through his nose. “No. Hermes was backed internationally. We weren’t military.”
Minghao lingers in the doorway another few seconds before finally pushing himself upright again with a tired sigh.
“I’ll see if I can find anything tomorrow,” he says.
Jihoon nods immediately. “Thank you.”
Minghao only waves him off before disappearing back down the hallway for real this time, leaving the apartment quiet again.
Jihoon stares ahead for a long moment without moving, elbows resting loosely against his knees while the light continues moving faintly across his face in soft colours.
Possibility, or rather hope, is a cruel thing. He knows.
But the thought of someone familiar is exciting. It’s comforting.
So against all logic, he lets himself feel it.
Time passes strangely after that.
Nobody says it out loud, but everyone seems to collectively decide to give Jihoon space after the conversation about his crew, as though they instinctively understand that there are some things a person has to survive privately first before other people can start pulling at them again.
So for the most part, they leave him alone.
Jihoon spends most of his time beside Vernon after that, buried deep inside the workshop corner of the apartment while they work through optical storage designs together surrounded by wires, dismantled parts and sheets of calculations scattered across every available surface. Vernon seems fascinated enough that he asks questions almost half the time, content to absorb whatever Jihoon mutters absently while focused on the sapphire disc.
The rest of the time, Jihoon drifts through the space, only half-present.
He sits on the edge of the sofa, staring into the screen of his phone that he’s somehow managed to charge up. You catch him staring at photographs for long stretches when he thinks nobody’s paying attention. Sometimes the old recordings flicker silently across the walls late into the night after everybody else has gone to sleep, filling the apartment with low voices and warm colours while Jihoon sits on the floor beneath them unmoving for hours.
He barely sleeps too.
The hammock near the window sways at almost every hour of the night now whenever you wake up, and sometimes you’ll find him standing silently beside the blinds at dawn watching the city outside with the same unsettled expression he’s had since arriving here.
The food becomes a problem too.
At first you try not to push him about it because you understand, at least logically, why he reacts badly to most of what’s here. Modern food barely resembles what it used to anymore unless you’re rich enough to afford organic produce from upper-sector cultivators, and Jihoon already looks overwhelmed every time Hoshi cooks something synthetic enough to smell faintly off-putting under the spices.
Still, you’ve peeked at his rations and they won’t last for long.
It gets to a point where even Hoshi notices, talking to you one night with the closest thing to concern you’ve heard from him.
“This is ridiculous,” he mutters after Jihoon disappears back toward the workshop carrying another unopened ration packet. “At this point he’s basically haunting the place.”
“Hoshi,” you warn tiredly from the couch.
“No, seriously.” He gestures toward the hallway. “The guy barely talks, barely sleeps, barely eats anything from here and every time somebody mentions taking him outside he looks like we asked him to amputate a limb.”
“That’s because the fake mods make him uncomfortable,” Aki points out quietly.
“Everything makes him uncomfortable.” Hoshi complains. “I’m sick of it.”
He isn’t difficult, but he seems determined to stay frozen exactly where he is.
He shuts down actual modifications immediately anytime Vernon even jokes about them, and he’s wary enough around the fake external ones that nobody’s pushed him into the city properly yet.
And annoyingly enough, you understand both sides. You’ve tried to be patient. You’ve forced yourself to remember the two-hundred-year gap every time he flinches at something. But patience is a luxury that runs out faster than clean water, and yours has worn down to a thread.
Two nights later you find Jihoon awake again.
For a moment you stand outside your bedroom, watching him stare down at the city below, shoulders hunched beneath one of Vernon’s old hoodies.
You don’t think he notices you at first.
Or maybe he does, and neither of you says anything because this has quietly become routine now.
“You know,” you mumble eventually as you head toward the kitchen, “normal people usually attempt sleeping before sunrise.”
Jihoon glances over from the hammock. “I did sleep.”
“For what, twenty minutes?”
“A whole hour, actually.”
You snort softly despite yourself while reaching for the kettle.
The apartment’s quieter tonight than usual. Vernon finally passed out in the workshop sometime earlier, and even Hoshi’s stopped grunting about the pain through his spine.
Behind you, the hammock creaks again.
You lean against the counter waiting for the water to heat, studying him more carefully now that he’s not looking at you directly.
Hoshi wasn’t wrong.
Jihoon’s gotten thinner. Not dramatically, but his cheeks have started hollowing out and his face looks sharper by the day. Even the clothes Aki had found for him initially are a little too big on him now.
“Did you eat anything other than the dried meat today?” you ask.
“Some fruit earlier.”
“Anything other than the ration packs?”
You don’t get a reply.
The silence drags on just long enough for irritation to flare low in your chest again.
“You know that isn’t normal, right?” you ask, turning around fully now. “People can’t survive off protein strips and powdered fruit forever.”
Jihoon’s gaze stays fixed outside. “It’s food.”
“Sure, but they’re emergency supplies.”
“They were designed to sustain us for years.”
“Jihoon, stop it.” You grit out.
That finally gets his attention. He looks over slowly from the hammock, exhaustion written so heavily across his face that you almost falter.
“I’m eating enough.”
“You’re visibly losing weight.”
“I said I’m fine.”
The response comes quicker this time, flatter too, and something about it immediately grates against nerves that have already been worn raw for days now.
“Okay, well, maybe stop acting like everything here is poison then.”
Jihoon’s brows pull together. “I never said that.”
“You don’t have to.” You gesture vaguely toward him. “You barely touch anything anybody makes. You pick apart food like you expect it to kill you.”
For a second he just watches you quietly.
“The stuff you guys bring in... I've seen the textures. It's all weird and synthetic. It’s far from actually being food. Not real.”
He has a point. You know it. You remember the days where you ate normally grown food too. But maybe it’s the four hours of sleep you’ve gotten, or the fact that you’ve spent your morning dodging Lazarus scanners to buy components for a machine that reads his stupid ancient glass, but you snap.
“The world moves on, Jihoon,” you say, pushing off the counter. "We eat what we can find, take what we can, and what won't ping a chipping team to our front door. Sorry our local cuisine isn't up to your international space mission standards, but this is what reality looks like now."
"I didn't say—"
"You don't get to sit here looking down your nose at this world just because it isn’t the one you came from,” you continue before he can interrupt properly, frustration finally spilling over after days of forcing it back down. “You think any of us like this? You think we enjoy eating synthetic garbage and hiding underground and pretending half our bodies belong to corporations?”
“And honestly, your crew is gone. Your mission is over. There is no recovery team coming down from the sky, Jihoon. We may have built a shit ton of tech, but a time machine isn’t one of them. You need to get used to this world, because you can’t go back.”
The second the words leave your mouth, you know you’ve gone too far, and the silence that follows is heavy and suffocating.
You shouldn’t have said that about his crew.
The sharpness drains out of you almost immediately, leaving behind nothing except the ugly claws of guilt creeping up your throat. He doesn’t rise to it and turns away from you, his face twisting into an unreadable expression.
“Jihoon,” you call out, softer now.
No response.
You push a hand back through your hair roughly before exhaling hard through your nose.
“Listen, that came out wrong.”
“I’m not saying you should just magically stop caring,” you continue more carefully, “I just… You’ve been here almost two weeks and you barely sleep, barely eat, barely leave this apartment. At some point you have to actually let yourself exist here.”
You wait for him to answer. To say something equally mean to you maybe, because it would make you feel better. But Jihoon simply doesn’t.
“...Sorry,” you mutter eventually. “That was rude.”
Still nothing.
Rubbing your eyes tiredly, you walk out of the kitchen to head back towards your room, the tiled floor cold beneath your feet.
You pause at the door, letting out a quiet sigh before looking back. “Try to sleep.”
Jihoon thinks about what you said for longer than he'd like.
Not because he enjoys it, but because there isn't much else to do at four in the morning besides stare through the blinds and watch the city cycle into another day.
The apartment begins waking around him eventually.
The first sign is the bathroom door opening somewhere down the hall, followed by the familiar sound of running water. A little later, somebody drops something in the kitchen. Vernon emerges briefly from the workshop looking exhausted before disappearing again. By the time the advertisements outside begin dimming, enough people have moved through the apartment that pretending to sleep would feel ridiculous.
He waits.
The bathroom door opens and closes several more times before the apartment finally settles into the familiar noise of people making breakfast, hunting for missing tools and arguing over things that probably do not matter.
Only then does he swing off his hammock.
The mirror above the sink is small, scratched in one corner and slightly warped around the edges, but it still reflects enough.
He stares at himself for a while.
His hair is longer than he normally keeps it, hanging into his eyes and curling awkwardly around the back of his neck. Stubble shadows his jaw.
For a moment he feels irrationally irritated by it.
You had a point, whether you knew it or not, and that irritates him too. There is nothing waiting is going to accomplish. There is no version of this where he sits long enough for everything to return to normal.
Jihoon exhales slowly and reaches for the razor.
By the time he's finished, the sink is littered with dark hairs and his jaw feels strangely bare beneath his fingertips when he runs a hand across it.
The shower comes afterwards.
He stays under the water until the bathroom fills with steam and the noise of the apartment disappears completely behind it, letting it beat against the back of his neck while he tries not to think about anything at all.
When he finally steps out again, the mirror has fogged over. He wipes part of it clear with the side of his hand and pauses.
The difference isn't dramatic, but it is enough.
His dark circles haven't gone anywhere, and neither has the hollow feeling sitting beneath his ribs. But the face looking back at him is at least familiar now.
His hair, unfortunately, is another matter entirely and without the stubble distracting from it, it somehow looks even longer than before.
Jihoon stares at it for another few seconds before dragging a towel over his head and giving up.
Ten minutes later, after changing into clean clothes and making a half-hearted attempt to flatten it back into place, he finds Minghao sitting cross-legged on the floor near the couch sorting through documents.
"Do you know how to cut hair?"
Minghao glances up.
His eyes move over Jihoon once, taking in the damp hair, the freshly shaved jaw and—judging by the slight lift of his brows—the fact that Jihoon appears to have made a genuine effort to look like a functioning human for the first time since arriving.
"I do, actually."
"You do?"
"My sister used to make me do hers." Minghao shrugs. "Then Hoshi got impatient with barbers a few years ago and that turned into my problem too."
From somewhere in the kitchen comes an immediate protest. "I can hear you."
“So you won’t butcher it?”
“No promises,” Minghao shrugs.
“Hey.”
The grin that appears suggests he's enjoying this far more than necessary.
"I'm kidding. Let’s go."
Minghao drags a chair into the bathroom and sets it inside the bathtub, cringing at the lingering stuffiness from Jihoon’s shower. The floor of the bathtub is wet too, but Jihoon tries to ignore it as he steps over the ledge to sit down.
Minghao disappears for a moment before returning with a set of clippers, a pair of scissors and a towel that has clearly seen better days.
Jihoon clears his throat before Minghao can touch his hair. “No offence to him, but I’d appreciate it if you didn’t cut my hair as short as Hoshi’s.”
"Don't worry," Minghao laughs. "Hoshi likes looking like he's about to fight someone. You don't have the face for that right now.”
He drapes the towel around his shoulders before combing a hand through Jihoon’s hair.
The first thing Jihoon notices is that he's actually paying attention. Minghao works slowly, separating sections of hair between his fingers before cutting them, occasionally stepping back to study the shape of it before continuing.
"Where'd you learn?"
"At home."
Minghao reaches for another section.
"My sister used to cut hers in the bathroom because it was cheaper than paying someone to do it. Then she got sick of cleaning up afterwards and decided I should learn instead."
Jihoon huffs quietly. "Convenient."
"For her, definitely."
Minghao works in silence after that, occasionally turning Jihoon's head with a hand against his jaw or nudging his shoulder when he needs a different angle. Dark strands continue falling onto the towel and collecting around the bottom of the bathtub.
Eventually he sets everything down and steps back, crossing his arms over his chest.
“There. You’re done.”
The towel comes off, making Jihoon cringe at the hair falling over his feet before he shakes it off and steps over the edge while Minghao starts gathering everything up behind him.
The mirror is still faintly fogged around the edges so he wipes a clear patch into it and looks up.
The hair no longer hangs into his eyes. The sides sit neatly against his head while the top falls naturally forward, longer through the fringe and crown without looking overgrown. The back has been cut short enough that it doesn't curl against his neck anymore.
Jihoon reaches up automatically and pushes his hair back. “You—”
“Hmm?” Minghao glances towards him.
Jihoon looks at him through the mirror. "You cut it the same way?"
He looks like he's been asked a slightly ridiculous question.
"Well, yeah,” Minghao sighs, sounding tired. “You watch those vlogs like a hundred times a day. I've seen you and your friends’ faces projected onto our living room wall enough times that I could probably draw it from memory.”
"At some point I stopped seeing you and started seeing Mission Commander Lee Jihoon from 2026," he continues in a deadpan voice.
For the first time since he’s woken from his two centuries of hypersleep, Jihoon laughs.
Outside the bathroom, the sole of your shoe squeaks against the tiles. You freeze immediately, mentally cursing the worn-out things on your feet.
A second later, the door swings open.
Minghao steps out first with the towel bundled under one arm, stopping briefly when he notices you standing there before continuing past without much thought.
You glance at Jihoon behind him, who has the remnants of a smile on his lips. Something shifts across his face when he notices you. Not quite embarrassment, and not quite surprise either.
For a moment neither of you says anything.
You break the silence. “It suits you.”
His brows furrow. “Huh?”
Awkwardly pointing at his head, you mutter, “The haircut.”
His gaze flicks briefly toward the mirror before returning to you. “Oh. Yeah, thanks.”
For a moment it looks like he might say something else.
Instead, he reaches up, runs a hand through his hair again and shakes his head lightly to himself. Then he walks past you.
The smell of shampoo follows him out into the hallway.
Maybe he’s finally made a normal morning for himself. Or at least as close to one as any of you get.
Jihoon sits on the edge of the couch while you lean over him trying to secure one of the fake mods behind his ear.
The clasp refuses to cooperate. Every time you think you've managed to hook it properly into place, it slips loose again and forces you to start again. He doesn’t complain, however. Maybe because the outing’s for him.
Across the room, the damaged glasses sit folded on the coffee table beside his notepad.
Vernon breaks a lot of things on the daily—cups, plates, doorknobs, and some of the things he tinkers with in his workshop. It isn’t surprising when you see the way he hoards his things in there, stacked high in piles that are navigable to only him.
But it’s pretty inconvenient when he breaks the one thing he can’t repair.
The man in question walks into the room, glances at the two of you and throws a guilty grimace towards Jihoon.
“You’re leaving soon, right?”
“Yes, Vern. As you can see.” You roll your eyes before turning back to Jihoon, biting your tongue in concentration.
“Jun closes early on Fridays.”
You finally manage to secure the clasp.
"I know."
"Just saying."
"You've mentioned it four times already.”
Jihoon’s head lifts from the notebook balanced on his knee. “Who’s that?”
“Ah,” Vernon exhales, “She’ll tell you. Sorry for that, dude. If you wanted me to fix your eyes, I probably could, but old-school glasses aren’t my thing.”
“My eyes are fine—” Jihoon starts, but the man waves him off before disappearing back into his corner, making him sigh.
“You use them for reading, then?” you ask, brushing off your knees as you stand.
He nods, his face disappearing beneath the wide hood of his jacket for a second. “Makes it much easier. Otherwise, my eyes start hurting.”
You tug your boots on beside the door while Jihoon studies the collection of jackets hanging from hooks nearby.
Then he reaches for the handle.
The movement catches him off guard more than he'd like.
He’s been here almost three weeks now, and he’s only been outside once—to the crash site, which barely counts.
Most of Phoenix only exists as fragments in his mind. Things he’s managed to piece together from what he hears from Hoshi and Aki, and what half-finished explanations he gets from you and Wonwoo.
Jihoon doesn’t know what he expects, but as he pushes the door open, he’s glad that he’s doing it on his terms.
The alley is quiet and empty apart from a few overflowing crates stacked against one wall and a maintenance drone sitting motionless in a charging dock near the far end.
You fall into step beside him.
For a while, neither of you says anything.
The city is loud enough even from here. The distant hum of traffic bleeds between buildings while advertisements flash intermittently against the walls whenever something bright enough passes on the street beyond.
“So who are we going to?” Jihoon asks eventually.
You step around a puddle, coming to a halt at the end of the alley where it meets the main road.
People crowd the walkways in both directions while transport vehicles glide overhead between buildings layered so densely together that he can't immediately tell where one ends and the next begins. Advertisements stretch several stories high across entire facades, shifting constantly between products, announcements and faces he doesn't recognise.
You catch his attention drifting almost immediately.
"Eyes forward."
His gaze snaps back to you.
“Wen Junhui. He’s good with lenses and stuff. Whatever you’re going to need, basically.” You tell him. “It’s a dying art, in his words. He’s stubborn and unwilling to let go of the family business, so you’re in luck. You’ll find exactly what you need.”
You start walking again before he can ask anything else, forcing him to follow.
“See, Jihoon—the thing is, we’re not the only disconnected group in Phoenix.”
People part around you as you move through the crowd, some carrying crates, others balancing bags slung over their shoulders. Nobody pays either of you much attention.
"There are disconnected people all over the city," you continue. "Some keep to themselves. Some don't. Jun's group over in Sector 13 is one of them that is in contact with us."
Jihoon frowns. "So, what, you just look out for each other?”
A laugh escapes you. "That’s a part of it."
The crowd thickens slightly as you merge fully onto the main walkway, forcing the two of you closer to the edge where the traffic barriers separate pedestrians from the streams of vehicles moving below.
"People trade information. Supplies. Safe places if somebody needs to disappear for a while." You shrug. "Depends on what's needed."
“And that’s what you do too?”
The question makes you glance at him. "What?"
"You and the others. What do you do when you go out?”
“It’s—” you start, throwing another look at him before the two of you get separated by a passerby. “It’s not that easy to explain.”
Jihoon cocks an eyebrow. “Can’t be as hard as mine, can it?”
You sigh, tugging on his arm to pull him closer before you lose him in the crowd. “You know just how important information can be, don’t you?”
When he nods, you continue, “Some of us didn’t disconnect simply because we wanted to disappear. Vernon and Sora—Jun’s person—spent years figuring out how to break the Link without alerting Lazarus. The solution they came up with was to ‘kill’ us.”
“What?”
“Here, I can show you,” you shrug.
When you search your name on the interface you used on him, Jihoon doesn’t expect to see your face pop up with a bright red DECEASED banner stretching across the top of the screen.
You shut it down as quickly as you’d brought it up. No one pays attention, but it’s best to stay safe.
"If somebody's Link goes inactive unexpectedly, Lazarus notices. They investigate. People start asking questions. It’s easier to be dead."
Jihoon nods again, but his brows knit together and his gaze drifts to the ground for a few seconds before he looks up at you with a slight frown.
“I don’t understand what this has to do with your job, though.”
You breathe in deeply, looking away as he almost bumps into you while trying to avoid a group of delivery bots.
“People who officially don't exist can go places they're not supposed to. It makes it easy for us to dig around, Jihoon,” you admit. “There’s something wrong with Lazarus and their links, and every time we dig into it, we find something that doesn't make sense.”
“And what makes you think that?” Jihoon prods. “I mean, the entire concept of the link is a bit too dystopian for me, but couldn’t it simply be what it promises to be?”
“You forget that the link can override—” you pause, exhaling with slight exasperation. “This is not a conversation we should be having outside. I’ll tell you more when we go back home. We’re almost at Jun’s shop anyway.”
Jun’s shop is wedged between a repair kiosk and a noodle stall, the entrance so narrow that Jihoon would’ve missed it if it weren’t for you pointing out the sign above the door. The E in ‘Wen Optics’ flickers intermittently, and the LED glow is so dull that it looks out of place.
You push the door open, and the small tinkle of the bell overhead takes Jihoon by surprise.
A voice calls out your name. “Is that you? Gimme a minute.”
The shop is deeper than it looked from outside.
From the street, it had seemed impossible that anything substantial could fit between two businesses crammed so tightly together, but the space stretches far beyond the narrow storefront. Shelves climb all the way to the ceiling, packed with boxes, spare lenses and equipment that looks old enough that Jihoon can identify, or at least assume what some of them are.
A thud echoes from somewhere behind him.
Jihoon glances toward the sound just as a figure emerges from behind one of the shelves, still focused on tightening something small between his fingers.
“Hey,” he greets Jihoon before glancing at you. “He doesn’t look as old as I was told he was.”
“Haha.” You roll your eyes. “Do your thing, please.”
The visit ends up taking less time than Jihoon expects.
The shop itself is far more interesting than the examination. Jun spends most of it complaining about Vernon while sorting through drawers full of lenses and frames. The rest passes in a blur of measurements and scans.
By the time it's over, the broken lenses have been replaced and the frames straightened enough that they sit properly on his face again.
“There,” Jun says, stepping back. “Better.”
And it is better.
Not that it matters much. The moment the two of you step back outside, you make him take them off again before anyone notices.
They’ll have to wait till you get home.
The rain starts just as you and Jihoon turn onto the main street leading back to Sector 17.
At first, neither of you pay much attention to it. A few drops strike the pavement, and the ones that fall on you are a reprieve from the humid weather of the last few days.
The vendor nearest to you mutters under his breath and starts covering his stall. Somewhere overhead, water begins dripping from the tangled mess of pipes and cables crisscrossing between the buildings.
Then the sky opens.
"Shit.” You look up instinctively.
Within seconds the street descends into chaos.
People rush for cover as the signs blur behind sheets of rain. Water splashes over the edges of overflowing drains and races down the road in shallow streams. Across the street, a food cart owner is already dragging down metal shutters while cursing at anyone who gets in his way.
"Come on!”
Jihoon barely gets a chance to react before you're grabbing the sleeve of his jacket and steering him across the street.
The rain is already soaking through the shoulders of your clothes by the time you reach the entrance. Water drips from your hair as you shove open the door and step inside.
The difference is immediate. Once the door closes behind Jihoon, the rain is reduced to a distant drumbeat against the windows, buried beneath overlapping voices and the low hum of music coming from somewhere deeper in the pub.
The air is warmer too, carrying the familiar mix of alcohol, fried food and too many people packed into too small a space. Around you, half of Sector 17 seems to have had the exact same idea. Every table is occupied. Damp jackets hang over chair backs. Puddles gather beneath muddy boots near the entrance while a server weaves expertly between customers carrying a tray loaded with drinks.
You pause just inside the doorway and glance back through the window.
The rain only seems to be getting worse.
"Looks like we're staying awhile."
Jihoon follows your gaze before looking back towards the room. His eyes move slowly across the crowd, taking in the mismatched furniture. The walls are panelled with dark wood that he hasn’t seen here before, and the lighting hangs low and amber above crowded tables. Even the smell is familiar. Something fermented and slightly sour underneath the smoke.
Jihyo spots you before you've even fully made it through the crowd. She's already pulling a glass down from the rack above the bar, mouth curving slightly as you slide into one of the stools, Jihoon following close behind you.
"Didn't think I'd see you twice in one week."
"What can I say? I seem to miss you,” you joke, throwing a grin at her.
She rolls her eyes as she sets the glass down and leans her forearms on the counter, gaze moving to Jihoon with curiosity. She's seen enough of your crew cycle through here over the years that she's stopped asking, but this is a new face.
"He’s—" you start. A friend? Or one of your crew?
You glance at Jihoon, who raises an eyebrow, waiting. “—with me.”
"Okay," Jihyo nods and turns to pull your usual.
She slides the glass over to you before attending to somebody else at the opposite end of the counter. You wrap a hand around it before pushing it toward Jihoon first.
"Try it before you decide what you want."
He looks at the glass. "I didn't say I wanted anything."
“You sure?” you ask, eyeing him. “Oh, you don’t drink?”
Jihoon clears his throat. “I mean, I do. But rarely.”
"So try it," you say, nudging the glass closer. "Then decide."
He hesitates for another second before he picks it up and sips. It tastes familiar. He sets it back down and slides it toward you.
"Okay," he says.
"Okay yes, or okay you’ll have something else?"
"Okay yes." He nods toward Jihyo without looking up. "I'll have this."
You motion to her to slide another one over for you. Jihoon takes another sip and turns slightly on his stool to look at the room. Every time the door opens someone comes in looking like they've walked through a wall of water.
"Do you come here a lot?" he asks.
"Friday nights mostly. Sometimes midweek if Hoshi's being unbearable." You lean an elbow on the bar. "It's close enough to walk and far enough from the apartment that it feels like leaving."
"And the others come too?"
"Sometimes. Mostly it’s just me, or Wonwoo tags along, but he’s no fun. He'll sit here for two hours, nurse one drink and not talk to anyone.”
Jihoon sets his elbow on the bar and rests his chin briefly on his hand, looking out at the room. A group near the back has gotten louder in the last few minutes, something escalating into laughter.
"How did you all end up together?" he asks. "Your group."
“Hoshi and Wonwoo grew up in the same sector as me. We went to school together,” you hum, picking at the edge of a splinter on the counter.
"And the others?"
"Vernon and Aki knew each other already and Minghao came with them." You drink. "The three of them showed up basically as a package. Vernon was a coworker of mine, so I knew I could trust him."
Jihoon nods. "And now you're just—"
"Yeah," you say.
He takes that as the whole answer, which it is.
"What about yours?" you ask. "Your crew."
You expect him to lock up, ignore it maybe or just redirect the conversation. But Jihoon smiles softly, glancing down at his glass.
“We didn’t choose each other,” he scoffs lightheartedly, glancing up at you once he realises that you might not know how it works.
"We were all selected separately," Jihoon explains. "You don't just pick your crew for something like that. There's a whole process—evaluations, compatibility assessments, months of it." He turns the glass on the counter. "By the time we actually met each other we'd already been told we were going to spend years together in a metal box millions of miles from home."
"So you had no say in it."
"None at all." He says it without any bitterness. "Aera and I got along immediately. Seokmin took about two weeks before he stopped being weirdly formal about everything." He pauses. "Jeonghan was never formal about anything, which was its own problem at first."
“But it worked out in the end. You also don’t really have a choice when the alternative is making it difficult for yourself for however many years.”
You nod slowly.
Jihoon watches you for a second before turning back to the bar.
"Do any of you have family here?" he asks. "In Phoenix."
It comes out of nowhere but not really, you think. He's been here over three weeks and nobody's mentioned parents or siblings or anyone outside the six of them. You'd probably wonder too.
“We do,” you sigh. “All of us. But it’s safer for them to just believe that we’re dead too.”
Jihoon pauses, sipping from his glass before he sets it down. He looks at you from the corner of his eye. “Well, that’s bleak.”
"Little bit, but we’re used to it.”
After that the conversation stops being about anything in particular, which is how you know it's going well. You ask how someone ends up studying astrodynamics and he gives you an answer that's more interesting than you expected. Then somehow you're talking about the bar snacks Jihyo sets down between you without being asked and how the concept of it has survived two centuries. Jihoon says some things are just too good to disappear, which you think might be the most optimistic thing he's said since arriving.
At some point you notice the door has been propped open and the air coming through is cool and dry.
You glance at the windows. The rain has stopped.
He looks toward the door too, then finishes the last of his drink and sets the glass down. You leave enough on the counter and pull your jacket on and he follows you out.
The streets are quieter than usual. Water sits in puddles at the low points of the road and drips steadily from the cables strung between buildings overhead. Jihoon walks beside you with his hands in his pockets.
The building comes into view at the far end of the street. Vernon's window is lit up, which means he's still awake, which means he'll have something to say about how long you’ve been gone.
Jihoon glances at it before his attention drifts back to you.
"Did you grow up around here?" he asks casually.
"No." You step around a puddle. "I moved here a few years ago. Upper sectors before that."
He glances at you. "Upper sectors?"
"Five, mostly."
Five. Jihoon runs the number against what you told him earlier in the pub—the lower the number, the higher up you are, the better the air and the infrastructure and everything else. Five is well off. Not the top, but well off enough.
He looks at you for a second, at the worn jacket and the boots that have clearly done some miles and the easy way you navigate these streets, and thinks that you don't particularly look like you grew up anywhere else.
But then again, what would he know?
"What did you do?" Jihoon questions. "For work, I mean. To afford to live there."
You're at the door now. The keypad glows faintly beside it. His question catches you off-guard enough to momentarily forget what you were about to do. But you press the code in and push the door open before glancing at him.
“I worked for Lazarus.”
The file sits buried in the queue that none of the higher-ups bother scrolling through, tagged under Atmospheric Anomalies and marked as auto-cleared. It would’ve stayed there indefinitely if the sweep hadn’t landed on it by pure chance this week.
Audits happen twice a year at Lazarus Tech. A random batch is pulled from Security’s cleared files, checked against the raw data to make sure nothing slipped through that shouldn’t have. Most of the time, nothing has. The system doesn’t miss much.
This time however, an issue is found seven files in.
Atmospheric Anomalies aren’t supposed to go further than the ten desks occupied by the Aerial Security department. That’s why it makes the room go quiet the second the door opens without a knock first.
The Director doesn’t sit in on audits. She doesn’t explain why she’s here today either, not with the way she crosses the floor and drops a single printout in front of the analyst who signed off on it three weeks back.
“Talk me through this one.”
The analyst clears his throat, glancing at the two other people seated near him like it might help, but neither of them look up from their screens. Nobody wants to be involved in this more than they already are.
“It’s a bloom,” he says. “Thermal signatures that are very common with re-entries. We get these constantly, ma’am—from the Wastelands. There’s junk falling out of orbit every other week, and it matched the previously recorded debris catalogues, so it got cleared automatically.”
“And you are sure that it matched the records?” she questions, raising an eyebrow.
The analyst shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “It was within variance, ma’am.”
She doesn’t say anything to that, and instead pulls up the raw footage on his monitor, turning it so the rest of the desk can see it too, and scrolls through the shots of the descent slowly enough that the silence in the room starts to feel like its own kind of pressure.
Debris doesn’t behave like this. Everyone in Aerial Security knows what a decaying fragment looks like, the way it tumbles and sheds speed unevenly, nothing about it deliberate.
The footage cuts off before it lands, but it’s obvious enough.
“That is not orbital debris,” she points out, her voice as cold as the sweat beading down the analyst’s neck. “There were corrections in speed and angles as it came down. None of you thought this was worth flagging?”
“The system cleared it,” the analyst tries again, weaker this time. “It's not really built for us to be double-checking every single—”
“It's not built for you to be careless either.” Her voice doesn't rise, but it doesn't need to. “You had a signature that didn’t match the pattern it was compared against, and instead of escalating it, you let the automatic clearance stand because it was convenient.”
She straightens up and looks around the room properly for the first time, at the rest of the desks that have gone quiet, at the people who’ve stopped pretending to work and are just watching now.
“I want every flagged entry from the last six months pulled and reviewed. Not run through the system again. I want actual eyes on it this time.”
Someone near the back starts to say that footage from before would’ve cleared the last audit cycle, then thinks better of it.
“Six months,” she repeats, like she’s already annoyed at having to say it twice. “I want to know if this is the only one we missed.”
She turns back to the analyst last. “You’re done here.”
He looks up properly for the first time since she walked in. “Ma’am—”
She’s already pulling her wrist up, tapping through something on her own display without waiting for a response. “Clear out your desk. Someone will walk you out.”
She’s almost at the door when she stops.
“Oh, and—” she doesn’t turn all the way around, just enough that her voice carries back across the room. “I want that object identified. Whatever it was, I want to know what it is, where it came from, and where it landed exactly.”
Nobody answers right away.
“Send a team to the Scraplands,” she adds. “I don’t care what it takes to get there. Find it.”
Summary: You have one rule: don't catch feelings. But a sunday morning with Choi Seungcheol starts to feel dangerously soft, and when the miscommunication that follows sends you both spiralling—you back into your roster, him into someone else's arms—you're forced to confront the fact that no amount of revenge fucking can fill the ache he left behind.
Word count: 29.1k
Genres/warnings: light angst, hurt/comfort (?), smut/pwp (with some plot actually, wow!), university au, frat boy!seungcheol x camgirl!reader, fwb2l, idiots in love, jealousy and possessive behavior, miscommunication and assumptions, perceived emotional cheating, non-monogamous arrangements (temporary), use of sex as a coping mechanism, emotional vulnerability, public love confession (livestreamed), possessiveness as a love language, mentions of slut-shaming and social isolation, minor blood (biting, scratching), multiple sexual partners (on-page, say hi to mingyu, hoshi and woozi), soft domestic moments, found family (wonwoo & minghao), some alchohol consumption (once); oh, probably some bullshit psychology major representation i'm sorry we sacrificed logic (in other aspects too) in this fic for smut's sake; if i missed anything lmk
Smut warnings: Minors DNI, explicit sex work (solo and partnered cam performances), livestreamed sex, oral sex (f and m rec), deepthroating and facefucking, throatfucking to the point of tears, messy oral (spit, drool, gagging), vag sex, rough sex, possessive sex, creampie, breeding kink (talk of filling up, cum inside), multiple orgasms, overstim, clit stimulation, anal fingering, anal sex, double penetration (vaginal & anal, 2 partners), threesome (mmf), tit-fucking, cum on face and chest, cum eating, spitting as lubricant, degradation (name-calling: slut, cocksucker, etc.), praise kink, daddy kink/roleplay (performative, fan-driven), possessiveness during sex, size kink (implied), impact play (light face-slapping with cock), scratching and biting (drawing blood), pain play (minor), manhandling and being moved into positions, sex on camera with an audience, clothed sex (panties pulled aside), morning sex, semi-public sex (against a door at a party), soft aftercare, showering together, soft and tender sex after reconciliation, use of alcohol (drunk at a party, but all sex is enthusiastically consensual); if anything is missing lmk, i tried to make it more detailed than usual
A/N: i have seriously nothing to add here. maybe because as i prepare this post for queue i'm super fucking exhausted. i am happy to have finally written and posted something. i hope you guys enjoy it. i also thank all of my moots who i've been terrorising with tiny snippers while writing this. a special thanks to my writing wife @pochaccoups you saw the whole thing before it saw the world, including my absurd title joke lol. ly <3 as always, enjoy your read and i’ll be happy to see your feedback in any form you’re comfortable with: comments, asks or reblogs. and i will see you in my next fic ᙏ̤̫
If you see any mistakes: I try to proofread but English isn’t my first language, proceed at your own discretion.
Masterlist.
The bass of another noise song thrums through the floorboards, up through the soles of your shoes, and resonates deep in your chest where the alcohol has already made a warm little home for itself. The frat house is in a state of its standard party disaster—red solo cups scattered across every available surface, bodies pressed together in the living room that's been converted into a makeshift dance floor, the sharp mix of spilled beer and cologne and sweat weaving through the air in various equally sickening combinations. Somewhere in the back, someone's started a celebratory chant that keeps getting louder and then dissolving into laughter before it can really take off.
You're not paying attention to any of it, you're occupied with something else. With someone else.
Mingyu's lap is warm beneath you, his thighs solid and familiar, one of his big hands splayed across the small of your back while the other rests on the meat of your hip, fingers dimpling the soft flesh there. His mouth is hot and eager against yours, tasting like the cheap beer he's been nursing for the past hour, and you let yourself melt into it because Mingyu kisses the way he fucks—enthusiastic, a little sloppy and breathtakingly effective. His tongue slides against yours and you make a soft sound into his mouth, your fingers threading through his damp hair, still wet from the post-game shower.
"You were so good out there," you murmur against his lips, pulling back just far enough to speak, your breath fanning across his mouth. His eyes are half-lidded, pupils blown wide, and he chases your lips with that increasingly more horny desperation, immediately cutting you off before you manage to finish what you were saying. "Watched you the whole time. That tackle in the second half? You looked so hot and strong. Had me clenching in the stands." Distantly, you think that if you weren't a little drunk you'd cringe at your own words right now but since you're slightly intoxicated saying something like this feels easy and right.
He groans, low and wrecked, his grip on your hip tightening. "You can't just say shit like that."
"I can," you tell him, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth, then his jaw, then the spot just below his ear that makes him shiver. "I can say whatever I want. You know why?"
"Why?" His voice is strained.
"Because in about twenty minutes, you're gonna find us somewhere private, and you're gonna bend me over, and I'm gonna let you fuck me so hard you forget your own name." You nip at his earlobe, soothing the sting with a flick of your tongue. "That's your reward for winning. You earned it, big boy."
Mingyu makes a sound that's halfway between a whimper and a growl, both hands now gripping your ass, pulling you tighter against him, and you can feel him getting hard beneath you, the thick line of his cock pressing up against your clothed cunt. You roll your hips just to hear him curse, and he does, a strangled oh fuck that makes you grin.
This is easy. This is comfortable. Mingyu's been on your roster since the middle of your second year, and he's never once made it complicated. He's gorgeous and he knows it, tall and broad with a swimmer's build that's been beefed up by rugby, and he fucks with the kind of athletic stamina that leaves you bow-legged and stupid. But he also knows the rules. He doesn't get jealous, doesn't get territorial, doesn't look at you like he's thinking about keeping you.
Unlike—
"There you are."
The voice cuts through the bass and the noise and the fog of arousal like a blade through silk. Deep. Rough at the edges. Punctuated by that quiet authority of his that makes your spine straighten instinctively, your body responding before your brain can catch up.
You know that voice. You know it in your bones, in the wet heat already starting to pool between your thighs in Pavlovian response, in the way your heart kicks against your ribs like it's trying to break free.
Mingyu's hands loosen on your ass. Not because he's scared—Mingyu's not scared of anyone, even if it's his team captain—but because he knows the rules too. The unspoken ones. He knows what that voice means when it's directed at you.
You turn your head.
Seungcheol is standing in the doorway of the living room, and he's already changed out of his rugby kit into gray sweatpants and a team bomber jacket that does practically nothing to hide how broad his shoulders are or how built he is in general. If anything it only accentuates the fact. His hair is still damp, pushed back off his forehead, and there's a flush high on his cheeks—from the game, from the adrenaline, from the victory still singing in his blood. His chest is rising and falling a little too fast, as if he's been looking for you and came straight here the second he could.
His eyes find yours and something in them flickers. Something dark and hungry and possessive that makes your cunt clench around nothing in response.
"Cheol," you say, and your voice comes out steady and a little bored, just like you intended, despite feeling anything but bored in this moment. "Hell of a game."
He doesn't acknowledge the words. His gaze drops to where you're sitting in Mingyu's lap, to Mingyu's hands on your hips, to the way your lip gloss is smeared from kissing someone who isn't him. His jaw tightens. The muscle there jumps.
"Up," he says. Not to Mingyu. To you.
You raise an eyebrow, unimpressed. "I'm a little busy."
"You're done being busy." He takes a step into the room, and people move out of his way without seeming to realize they're doing it. He has that effect. "Come here."
Mingyu sighs behind you, but it's more resigned than annoyed. "Just go," he murmurs, giving your hip a soft pat. "You know how he gets." You turn to look at the guy and there's a small teasing smirk on his face.
"I don't belong to him," you say, and you're not sure if you're reminding Mingyu or yourself.
"Could've fooled me," Mingyu mutters, but there's no bitterness to it. He presses a kiss to your shoulder, gentlemanly despite everything, and helps you slide off his lap. "Rain check?"
"Of course," you tell him with an easy smile.
Then Seungcheol's hand is wrapping around your wrist—not hard, he never grabs you hard enough to hurt or scare, but firm enough that you know you're not getting away—and he's pulling you through the crowd, past the dancers and the drinkers and the people who pretend not to sneak glances, up the stairs, down the hall, into one of the bedrooms that's mercifully unoccupied.
The door clicks shut behind you. The music muffles to a dull throb and your ears ring a little with the newfound silence.
And then you're being pressed up against the door, Seungcheol's body a wall of heat against your back, his breath hot and uneven against the curve of your neck. His hands find your waist, your hips, your stomach, like he's reacquainting himself with the geography of your body even though it's only been three days since the last time he had you.
"Could smell you throughout the whole house," he rasps against your ear, and the words send a bolt of pure lightning straight to your clit. "That perfume you wear. The one like cherry and rum. Knew you were here before I even saw you."
"Good nose," you attempt something sassy, but your voice is already going breathy, your body already starting to soften and yield the way it only ever does for him. You briefly register your hips pushing backwards, into him. And you don't care to stop yourself from it.
"Good nothing." His teeth graze your earlobe, nipping. "I just know you. You know what else I know?" You hum in response, playing along as if intrigued. "I know the way you smell when you're worked up. And you were worked up, weren't you? Sitting on Mingyu's lap like a pretty little slut, grinding on him, getting him hard."
"He earned it," you say, and it's supposed to come out defiant but lands a lot closer to needy because you are a sucker for degradation when it comes from him. Always so sweet, it makes you feel fuzzy even when you just think about it.
Seungcheol's laugh is dark and low, rumbling through his chest and into your back. "Oh, did he?"
"He won the game."
"And what about me?" His hand slides up your stomach, over your ribs, and stops just beneath the swell of your breasts. "I was on that field too. I scored two tries. I bled for that win." His lips brush the shell of your ear. "What do I get?"
You swallow hard. Your thighs press together, seeking friction, seeking relief. "Depends on what you want."
"You know what I want." His hand moves higher, finally cupping your breast through your top, his thumb finding your nipple even through layers of fabric and pressing down just hard enough to make your breath catch. "I want your mouth. Want to fuck that pretty throat until you're crying, until you can't talk, until the only thing you remember how to do is swallow."
Your knees buckle. He catches you easily, arm banding around your waist, and you can feel him—all of him—pressed against your ass. The thick, heavy line of his cock is already hard, already straining against his sweatpants, and you can feel the heat of it through both layers of fabric like a brand.
"Fuck,” you breathe.
"Yeah," he agrees, and spins you around to face him.
God, he's beautiful. It hits you every time, this stupid, gut-punch of a realization that you never quite get used to despite the fact that your roster is full of gorgeous men. No one hits like that. His eyes are dark and liquid, those big brown eyes with lashes so long they cast shadows on his cheekbones, and they're looking at you like you're something precious and something filthy all at once. His lips are parted, plump and pink and slightly wet, and when he smiles—just a little, just the corner of his mouth quirking up—his dimple appears like a secret.
"Missed you," he says, softer now, and it makes your chest ache.
"It's been three days."
"Three days too long." He cups your face in both hands, thumbs stroking over your cheekbones, and tilts your head up. "You been good?"
You know what he's asking. You know what he means. And a part of you wants to lie, wants to tell him that you've been a perfect little angel, that you haven't let anyone else touch you, that you're his, just his, only his.
But that's not the game you play. That's not the arrangement you have with him or anyone else for that matter.
"Been busy," you say instead, and watch his eyes darken. It brings you its own special kind of masochistic satisfaction.
"Busy," he repeats, flat.
"Jihoon on Thursday. Soonyoung yesterday morning." You hold his gaze, defiant and terrified in equal measure. "They're on the roster too, Cheol. Remember?"
Something flickers in his expression—something that looks a lot like hurt and a lot like jealousy—but it's gone as fast as it appears, replaced by that dark, possessive heat that makes your cunt drip.
"Then I better remind you why I'm at the top of that list," he says, and drops to his knees.
You don't have time to process the sight of him there, on his knees for you, looking up at you with those burning eyes—because his hands are already rucking up your skirt, pushing it up around your waist, and his mouth is pressing hot and open-mouthed against the damp cotton of your panties.
"Cheol—"
"Shh." His breath is warm through the fabric. "Let me take care of you first. Let me taste you. Then I'm gonna fuck your throat until you forget Soonyoung's name and everyone else's except mine."
His tongue presses flat against your clothed cunt, and you moan, head thumping back against the door. Your hips cant against his face, frustrated that there's some sort of barrier between his mouth and you.
This is how it always goes with him, how it's been going since the end of your second year, when you finally collided with him at a party not unlike this one, when you'd already built some reputation and he'd already heard the rumours. Neither of you had been prepared for the way your bodies would fit together like puzzle pieces.
Before that night, you'd known of him, obviously. Everyone knew the rugby team, and Seungcheol was the captain—loud and commanding on the field, quieter off it, with a cute laugh that didn't match his build and a dimpled smile that made you want to do stupid things. You'd seen him around campus, exchanged pleasantries, maybe flirted a little the way you flirted with everyone. But you'd never hooked up with him, partly because your paths didn't cross that way and partly because something in your gut had whispered to wait.
Waiting had been the right call. By the time you finally got your hands on each other, the tension had been stretched so tight it snapped like a rubber band, and you'd spent three hours in his dorm room doing things that still made even you blush when you thought about them too hard. And there weren't many things left that could make you blush anymore.
The difference was that Seungcheol hadn't been satisfied with one night. He'd come back for more. And more. And more. Unlike all your other hookups who followed your lead and showed up or engaged with you only on your demand.
So, somewhere along the way, he'd stopped being just another name on your roster and started being something else. Something you allowed in your content, something you kept allowing more than you allowed anyone else.
"Fuck, you're soaked," he groans against you, pulling your panties to the side and swiping his tongue through your folds. The sensation is electric and sweet, and your hips buck against his face without your permission. "Taste so fucking good. Always taste so good."
"Cheol, please—"
"Hmm?" He looks up at you, chin glistening with your wetness, and the sight is so obscene it makes your brain short-circuit. "Use your words, baby."
"Please—fuck, your mouth—"
"My mouth what?" He's teasing now, the bastard, pressing soft little kisses to your inner thigh, your mons, everywhere except where you need him. "Tell me."
"Eat me out," you breathe, dignity abandoned. "Please, Cheol, please eat my pussy, I need your tongue, need you to make me come—"
"Good girl." And then his mouth is on you, tongue plunging into your hole and nose pressing against your clit, and you gasp.
He eats pussy like he's starving. Like your cunt is the only thing that's ever satisfied his hunger. His tongue is thick and clever, alternating between fucking into your tight opening and flattening against your clit, and his hands are gripping your thighs hard enough to leave bruises, holding you open and steady, pressing you against his face like he wants to crawl inside you.
You're babbling, you realize in a brief blink of clarity. Strings of praise and profanity falling from your lips between whimpers and mewls. "So good, so good, your tongue is so fucking good, Cheol, right there, please don't stop, please—"
Seungcheol doesn't stop. He doubles down, sucking your clit into his mouth and flicking it with the tip of his tongue, and your orgasm hits you like a freight train—sudden and utterly beyond your control, knocking the breath out of your lungs. Your thighs clamp around his head and your fingers fist in his hair and you come with a broken cry that gets swallowed by the bass still thumping through the house.
He works you through it, gentler now, laving at your oversensitive clit until you're twitching and whimpering and trying to push him away. Only then does he pull back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and looking up at you with eyes that are practically black as he licks your juices clean off of it.
"That's one," he says, and rises to his feet.
"One?" You're still catching your breath, still trembling with aftershocks, and he's looking at you like he hasn't even started. In your haze you've totally forgotten what he said he wanted you to do for him.
"One." He cups your jaw, thumb pressing against your bottom lip, tugging it down until your mouth obediently falls open. "Now it's my turn. On your knees, baby. Show me you still know how to worship this cock."
You sink to your knees before he finishes that sentence.
The carpet is scratchy against your skin, but you barely pay attention. Which is fixed on the way he's pulling down his sweatpants, freeing his cock, and there it is—a solid length of thick, flushed, leaking cock, curving slightly upward, the head an angry purple-red that looks almost painful. His balls hang heavy beneath, swaying as he strokes himself once, twice, smearing precum down the shaft.
"You remember this?" he asks, and his voice has gone gravel-rough. Half a step forward and Seungcheol is slapping the thick meat of his cock against your face. They are soft, almost gentle slaps that make you lean in and try to nuzzle, brain going offline on his musky scent. "Remember how it feels? How it stretches your throat? How it makes you choke?"
"Yes," you whisper, and feel your mouth watering, saliva pooling under your tongue. Your eyes are glued to his cock and you barely restrain yourself from trying to follow it and catch with your mouth. "Yes, I remember."
"Then show me."
You don't make him wait. You lean forward and press a kiss to the tip, as gentle and reverent as ever, tasting the salt-bitter tang of his precum. His breath hitches. You do it again, and again, pressing soft kisses up and down his shaft, nuzzling into the thick thatch of hair at the base, breathing him in. He smells like sweat and soap and that unique musk that you have no other description for than just him, and it makes your head spin the more you focus on it. You can probably get off on that alone.
"Stop teasing," he grits out, but his hand comes to rest on the back of your head, gentle, so gentle. Even though you wouldn't mind if he just grabbed your head to steady it and started face fucking you in earnest.
You look up at him through your lashes, make sure he's watching, and then you open your mouth and take him in.
The first inch is easy. The second makes your jaw stretch. By the third, you're breathing through your nose, relaxing your throat, letting muscle memory take over. You've done this enough times—with him, with others—that your body knows what to do even when your brain has gone hazy and dumb with want.
"Fuck," he breathes, and his hips jerk forward just a little, just enough to push another inch past your lips. "That's it. That's my good girl. Taking me so well."
You hum around him, and the vibration makes him curse. Your tongue works the underside of his shaft, tracing and massaging the thick vein that runs from base to tip, and your hand comes up to cup his balls, rolling them gently in your palm. They're heavy, full, and you can't help but imagine how much cum he's got stored up in just three days he hasn't seen you, how much he's going to pump down your throat.
It makes you moan again—the image you drew in your head—and you almost want to whimper and whine but you have a mouth full of cock and instead you just take him deeper, desperate to swallow him whole, to get more of him the only way you know how.
"Been thinking about this all game," he tells you, voice strained. "Couldn't focus during the second half. Kept looking for you in the stands. Kept thinking about your mouth."
You pull back until just the tip rests on your tongue, breath heavy, and then you sink down again, taking him even further this time, until he nudges the back of your throat and your gag reflex flutters. You push past it, breathe through it, and then you're swallowing around him and his cock is buried to the hilt and your nose is pressed against his pubic bone, cushioned with the bush of hairs there.
"Oh, fuck—" His hips buck, involuntary, and you choke but don't pull away. "Sorry, sorry, baby, you just—you feel so fucking good, I can't—"
You reach up and grab his hand, guide it to the back of your head, and press down.
He gets the message.
His grip tightens in your hair, and then he's fucking your throat in earnest, hips snapping forward in a rhythm that's just shy of brutal. You can hear the wet, obscene sounds your own mouth is making—the slurping, the gagging, the choking, the slick slide of his cock through your spit-slick lips—and it's filthy, it's degrading, it's the most liberating thing you've ever experienced. To be reduced to this. No thoughts, no responsibilities, just sucking fat delicious cock.
"Look at you," he grunts, staring down at you with something like awe. "Taking all of it. Taking my dick like you were made for it. No one— no one sucks cock like you do. No one. Fucking— made for this. My perfect little cocksucker."
Tears are streaming down your face, mixing with the drool dripping down your chin, and your mascara is probably ruined, and your throat is going to be raw tomorrow, and you don't care. You don't care about anything except the substantial weight of him on your tongue, the stretch of your lips around his girth, the way his breathing is getting ragged and uneven.
"Gonna cum," he warns, and tries to pull back. "Baby, I'm gonna—"
You grab his hips and pull him closer, taking him so deep your throat constricts around him, and he breaks.
The first spurt of cum hits the back of your throat, hot, thick and bitter, and you swallow on reflex, squeezing your eyes shut before blinking through tears. The second fills your mouth, and the third, and he's groaning like he's dying, like you're killing him, like you're giving him something no one else ever has. His hips jerk through the aftershocks, pumping more and more cum into your waiting mouth, and you take it all, swallow it all, until he's finally, finally still.
He pulls out slowly, and you gasp for air, chest heaving. Your throat feels used, bruised, incredible. Your jaw aches. Your face is a mess of tears and spit and cum, and you've never felt more beautiful. You'd go for another round all over again this very minute if you could.
"Jesus Christ," he breathes, and then he's hauling you to your feet and kissing you, deep and filthy, licking into your mouth like he's trying to taste himself on your tongue. "You're insane. You're fucking perfect. I'm not done with you yet."
"I know," you rasp, and your voice is wrecked, barely a hoarse whisper. "You said something about my tits?"
His responding grin is sharp and hungry. "Take off your top."
You do. Your bra follows, and then your bare breasts are swinging free, heavy and round with puffy inverted nipples that are already aching tight from arousal. Seungcheol stares at them like a man possessed, and then his hands are on you, cupping the weight of them, thumbs circling your nipples until they pop out and he can pinch them between his fingers.
"Love your tits," he murmurs, bending to take one in his mouth and suck on it. His tongue is hot and wet, laving at the sensitive bud, and you moan, arching into him. "Love how big they are. Love how they bounce when I fuck you. Love how pretty your nipples are." He says that in the brief pauses he takes, alternating between the two breasts.
"Cheol—"
"Lie down on the bed." He pulls back, giving your nipple one last lick. "On your back. I want to watch them move while I fuck them."
You scramble to obey, positioning yourself on the edge of the mattress, and he follows, straddling your ribcage. His cock is still half-hard, glistening with your spit, and he strokes it back to full stiffness while he looks down at you.
"Hold them together for me."
You cup your breasts in both hands, pressing them together to create a deep, soft channel. He groans at the sight, and then he's slotting his cock between them, the head peeking out from the top of your cleavage.
"Fuck, that's good," he breathes, and starts to thrust.
The slide is slick from your spit and his cum, and he picks up a rhythm quickly, hips rocking as he fucks the valley of your breasts. His cock drags against your sternum, the head brushing your chin with every thrust, and you tilt your head down to lick at it each time it appears.
"Yeah, that's it," he pants. "Tongue out. Want you to taste me every time."
You obey, sticking your tongue out so the tip of his cock drags across it with every stroke. The angle is awkward and your neck is going to ache later, but the look on his face is worth it—eyes glazed, mouth slack, a flush spreading down from his cheeks to his neck and disappearing beneath the collar of his t-shirt.
"Gonna paint your tits," Seungcheol warns, pace quickening. "Gonna cover them in my cum. Mark you up so everyone knows you're mine."
The possessive growl in his voice makes you moan, and the vibration travels through your chest and into his cock. He curses, hips stuttering, and then he's coming again—ropes of white streaking across your breasts, your collarbones, the lower part of your face. He milks himself through it, groaning, until every last drop is dripping down your skin.
You drop your head back onto the mattress and you wipe your face with your fingers. Cleaning most of the mess only to lick it all from your fingers. Seungcheol collapses beside you on the bed, chest heaving, and for a moment the only sound is both of you gasping for air.
Then he turns his head to look at you, and his expression is soft, so soft, softer than it has any right to be. He reaches out and brushes a strand of hair from your face, tucks it behind your ear, and his fingers linger on your cheek.
"Hey," he says.
“Hey,” you croak back.
"You okay?"
"Yeah. Just—give me a minute."
"Take all the time you need." He leans over and presses a kiss to your forehead. "I'll get something to clean you up."
He disappears into the ensuite bathroom, and you lie there, staring at the ceiling, feeling his cum cool on your skin where you didn't wipe it. Your throat is raw, your jaw aches, your cunt is still throbbing with renewed need. And your chest aches in a completely different way. Which has nothing to do with the physical.
You push the feeling down. You're good at that.
When he comes back, it's with a wad of rough brown paper towels, the cheap kind that feel like tree bark against your skin, but he's somewhat dampened them under the tap and his touch is so fucking gentle as he cleans you up that you barely notice the difference. "Sorry," he murmurs, swiping carefully across your chest, your chin and anywhere else he sees that needs cleaning. "No actual towels. Fucking animals." He says it with so much genuine irritation that you laugh, and he looks up at you with that dimple and that soft, soft gaze, and your heart does the little summersault again.
"I'll survive," you manage.
"You will." He tosses the paper towels into a bin by the desk, then stands there, half-dishevelled, looking at you with his sweats slung low on his hips, showing the band of his boxers where his t-shirt rode up, and that possessive heat still simmering in his eyes. "We should go back down. It's still early, and the boys'll give me shit if I hog you all night."
You raise an eyebrow, even as you're reaching for your discarded clothes. "Since when do you care about that?"
"Since I'm the captain." He shrugs, unrepentant. "Gotta show my face. But—" He steps close, fingers catching your wrist, pulling you up against his chest the second your shirt is back on. His mouth finds your temple, lips warm and soft. "I'm not letting you out of my sight. You're with me tonight. Okay?"
The words shouldn't affect you but you feel the smouldering warmth spill through your body, heating you up from within. If he told you to drop down and fawn and do a puppy pose you would. You swallow. "Okay."
"Good girl." He says it like praise, low and private even though no one else can hear you in this room, and it makes your stomach flip even as you roll your eyes.
You both finish making yourselves look somewhat presentable. He helps you smooth down your skirt, his knuckles grazing the back of your thighs in a way that's more intimate than half the things you've ever done with other people. Then his hand finds yours, fingers lacing together, and he's leading you out of the room and down the stairs back into the controlled disaster of the party.
The bass hits you again, still throbbing through the house, but it's mellowed a little as the night's gone on. It couldn't have been that long and yet people are drunker now, looser, the dance floor more of a tangle of bodies than it was before. The air is thick with beer and sweat and the faint sickly-sweet smell of someone's vape or multiple of them—it's hard to tell. Seungcheol doesn't pause. He threads through the crowd with the same quiet authority he has on the pitch, and like always people just sort of move for him, and because you're with him, they move for you too.
He heads straight for the back corner where the rugby team has claimed a cluster of battered couches and a low coffee table covered in cups and bottles. Mingyu's there, sprawled out with his long legs taking up way too much space, laughing at something Seokmin just said. Seokmin is leaning forward, beer in hand, cheeks flushed from alcohol and the residual high of the win. Joshua's perched on the arm of the couch, drink held delicately between two fingers, smiling his serene, knowing smile and thinking about something else and distant, judging by the slightly absent look on his face. Chan is on the floor with his back against the couch, scrolling through his phone but looking up when he sees you approach.
"There they are!" Seokmin crows, arms spreading wide like he's welcoming royalty. "Captain! And his—" He catches Seungcheol's eye, and whatever word he was about to say dies on his tongue. "—guest. His very special guest."
Mingyu snorts, raising his cup in a lazy salute. "Took your time? We were taking bets on whether you'd come back down at all."
"Put your money away," Seungcheol says, easy but with an edge that says conversation over. He pulls you onto one of the couches—a worn leather thing that groans under both your weight—and situates you directly in his lap, his arm banding around your waist like it's the most natural thing in the world. Like he does it all the time. Like he has every right.
And maybe he does, because no one bats an eye. Mingyu just grins knowingly and takes a sip of his drink. Seokmin launches back into whatever story he was telling, something about a questionable call in the first half. Joshua offers you a faint, warm smile that you really don't want to read into so you don't. Chan goes back to his phone.
And because no one gives any big reactions you just let yourself relax into Seungcheol's chest. His thumb starts tracing slow circles on the jut of your hip, a steady, grounding rhythm. Every so often, he dips his head and presses a kiss to your temple, your hair, the shell of your ear, murmuring things only you can hear.
"You okay?"
"Mhm."
"Warm enough? Want my bomber?"
"I'm fine, Cheol."
"Need water? You should drink some water."
"You're not my mum."
"Doesn't mean I can't take care of you." He says it so quietly, so matter-of-factly, that you don't have a retort, only feel your heart clench painfully tight in your chest.
The conversation around you ebbs and flows. Seungcheol is fully present in it—laughing at Seokmin's jokes, debriefing a specific play with Mingyu that devolves into good-natured bickering because the two like to act like an old married couple, teasing Chan about his post-game ritual of eating an entire pizza by himself and then recalling that one time the youngest almost fought Seokmin when the latter accidentally took a slice. He's easygoing and he's exactly the kind of captain the boys respect because he leads with warmth, not fear. But he also knows where the line is. When one of the boys makes a joke that's a little too crude about a cheerleader, Seungcheol gives him a look—just a slight narrowing of his eyes, a tilt of his chin—and the teammate immediately backtracks, hands up. "Joking, joking. Sorry, Cheol!"
"Mm," Seungcheol says, and the conversation moves on.
Through all of it, his attention keeps circling back to you. His hand never stops moving—stroking your hip, your thigh, the small of your back. He keeps checking in, his lips brushing your ear as he asks, "Still good?" and "Need anything?" and, when you start to flag, "You want to get out of here?" The last one is said with genuine concern, his voice dropping to a register meant only for you.
You shake your head, but your body betrays you. You're slumping heavier against him, your head finding the hollow of his shoulder. The bass is starting to feel less like music and more like an indistinguishable noise causing a headache. The chatter of the team is still warm and funny, but you're not following it anymore. Your eyelids are heavy.
"You're falling asleep," Seungcheol murmurs, amused and tender all at once.
'''M not."
"You are." He shifts, adjusting you more securely against his chest. One hand comes up to cradle the back of your head. "Alright. Time to go."
He says it to you, but the team hears it too. Seokmin starts to protest. "Already? It's not even—" but Seungcheol just glances at him, and the protest dies. Mingyu waves a lazy goodbye, a smirk on his lips. "See you, man. Take care of her."
"Don't drink too much on the weekends. I expect you all on the clock for Monday practice," Seungcheol says sternly, and it's not a throwaway. It's a legit threat. You've heard the boys complain in the past about him making them do various exercises till failure for punishments.
He stands, lifting you with him like you are weightless, and you barely have the energy to be embarrassed. Your legs are jelly, your mind foggy. You manage a vague wave to the group, and then Seungcheol is steering you out of the frat house, into the cool night air, one arm wrapped solidly around your waist.
He takes you home. His car smells like his cologne and an old air freshener shaped like a pine tree, and he keeps the radio low as he drives, his free hand resting on your thigh. At red lights, he glances over at you, and you're too tired to hide the way you're looking at him whenever your eyes are not too heavy to do so.
Your apartment is quiet when you stumble inside. You're barely upright, and Seungcheol doesn't ask if you want him to stay. He just does. He guides you to the bathroom, and there, under the harsh white light that takes some of that sleepiness away, he turns to you with a comically determined focus, considering the task at hand.
"Tell me what to do," he says, gesturing at your face. "Makeup. How do I not mess this up?"
Your chest clenches and if you were a little more drunk and a little less restrained, you'd definitely start bawling your eyes out.
Instead, you point him to the micellar water on the counter, the cotton pads in the drawer. He soaks a pad, and you sit on the closed toilet lid as he kneels in front of you—kneels, like it's nothing, like it's exactly where he wants to be—and carefully, wipes the ruined mascara from under your eyes, the smudged lipstick from the corners of your mouth. His tongue pokes out slightly in concentration, and he's so fucking gentle and adorable it makes your throat tight and your lips twitch with a hint of a laugh.
"There," he says when he's done, sitting back on his heels and inspecting his work. "Good?"
"Yeah." Your voice is a rasp as you turn to examine his work in the mirror. "Good."
Seungcheol helps you undress next. He's done it before, but this time it feels different somehow—more intentional? You're not sure.
He unclasps your bra with practiced ease—and you let out a heavy sigh of relief,—presses a kiss to your collarbone before he strips down to his boxers, and you're both standing there in the dim light of your bedroom, skin to skin, nothing between you but the cool air and the warmth of your skin.
He pulls you into bed. You curl into him instantly, seeking warmth in the still-cold sheets, your head on his chest, his big strong arms wrapped around you. You're both still warm from the party, from each other, and the heat of his bare skin against yours is the most comforting thing you've ever felt.
Seungcheol's heartbeat is steady under your ear. His hand traces lazy shapes on your spine that make your eyes feel heavier with every curl and swirl.
"Sleep," he whispers. "I'm not going anywhere. I've got you."
And you do. With a deep sigh, your heavy eyes close and you immediately drift off.
You wake up to sunlight and the weight of him. He's still curled around you, his body a wall of heat along your back, his arm draped over your waist, his face half-buried in your hair, warm breath fanning quietly against your scalp. It sends weak shivers along your spine the moment your brain focuses on this little detail. And there's something else already—of course there is—the thick press of his morning wood against the curve of your ass, insistent even through his boxers.
Sometimes you think that the two of you should actually be separated and never allowed to interact ever again. There's always a high risk of turning into two horny bunnies and never leaving the bed.
But the thought drifts away as easily as it came in and you shift, just a little, and Seungcheol groans, low and sleep-rough. "Mm. Baby?"
"Morning," you murmur, pressing back against him deliberately. His hips twitch in response, a reflexive grind that makes your cunt pulse with want. You're already getting wet, you realize. Already aching. There's really no preamble with him. There never is.
"Fuck," he breathes, more awake now. His hand slides down your stomach, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your panties, finding your clit with unerring accuracy. It isn't surprising anymore, considering how many times he's been down there by now. He rubs slow circles, and you gasp, your hips bucking into his touch. "So wet already. How long have you been awake?"
"Long enough." You turn in his arms to face him, and his eyes are heavy-lidded but bright, the brown of them almost gold in the morning light. You kiss him, soft at first, lazy. Your hands are resting on his pecs, sliding lower to his stomach and then over to his soft sides. The kiss gets deeper, with your tongue sliding against his as his palms rest on the swell of your ass instead, squeezing you repeatedly like a stress ball, and you know you're bound to have light bruises after some especially passionate grabs. Then his hand glides to the front again, fingers dip lower, teasing your entrance, and you whimper into his mouth.
"Want you on top," he says against your lips. "Want to watch you take what you need."
"Hmm, is that so?"
There's no world in which you say no to that. You push Seungcheol onto his back and straddle his hips, your knees bracketing his thighs. He's already shoving his boxers down, freeing his cock, and it's just as thick and flushed and perfect as it was last night. Even better now that you can see it in broad daylight. You lean forward and spit into your palm—just a quick, filthy little motion—and reach down between your legs to wrap your hand around his shaft, stroking him once, twice, smearing the spit and his own leaking precum down the length.
"Fuck," he groans, head pressing back into the pillow. "You're so hot. So fucking hot."
You shift your panties to the side—can't even be bothered to take them off—and position him at your entrance. The first push is slow, a delicious stretch that makes both of you moan. Your cunt swallows him inch by inch, fluttering and squeezing and adjusting to his girth, and by the time he's seated inside you to the root, you're trembling, your clit throbbing where it's pressed against his pubic bone.
"There you go," he murmurs, his hands finding your hips and gripping tight, massaging soothing circles into the soft flesh there. "Take your time, baby. Ride me however you want. Use me."
You start to move. It's slow at first, a leisurely grind that rolls your hips against his, his cock dragging along every sensitive spot inside you. You brace your hands on his chest, feeling the solid muscle flex under your palms, and he stares up at you with his half-lidded doe eyes like you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. The sunlight catches his face—the strong cut of his jaw, the pretty flush blooming on his cheeks, the way his plump lips part on every exhale.
"You feel so good," you whisper, and the words come out wrecked already. "So deep like this. Fill me up so perfect."
"Made for my cock," he agrees, and there's no arrogance in it, just awe. "This cunt was fucking made for me. Look at you. Look at how pretty you are, taking all of it."
You feel your face heat up in your cheeks and ears. Every time you think you're way beyond getting flustered upon receiving compliments there's Seungcheol with his seemingly personal mission of proving you wrong and successfully making you feel like the shy high school girl everyone made you to be.
You pick up the pace, rolling your hips faster, and the wet sounds of your pussy fill the room—slick and obscene, your arousal dripping down around the base of his cock. He's so deep that every thrust punches a moan from your throat, and you're not quiet, you've never been quiet with him, especially not in the confines of your apartment. The bed frame creaks in rhythm with your movements. His fingers dig into the meat of your hips hard enough to bruise.
"Love your tits bouncing like that," he grunts, eyes entranced on your chest. "Love watching them move when you ride me. Fuck, you're a dream. A fucking dream."
You feel tingles run through your body and rush all into your cunt, making you clench on Seungcheol's dick with a pathetic mewl that escapes before you can stop it.
Seungcheol moans and before another would leaves his mouth you lean down to kiss him, and the change in angle makes him hit even deeper, makes you gasp into his mouth. His tongue slides against yours, messy and hungry, and he fucks up into you now, meeting your rhythm with sharp little thrusts that make your vision go white at the edges. One of his hands leaves your hip and snakes between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit and pressing down in tight, perfect circles.
"That's it," he pants against your lips. "Want you to come on my cock. Want to feel you squeeze me. Can you do that, baby? Can you come for me?"
You can. You are. The combination of his cock driving into you and his thumb on your clit and the way he's looking at you—like you're everything, like you're the only thing—sends you hurtling over the edge. Your orgasm crashes through you in waves, your cunt clamping down on his shaft so hard he has to stop moving just to breathe through it. You cry out, a broken, shameless sound, and he swallows it with a kiss as he fucks you through the aftershocks.
"Good girl," he rasps. "My good fucking girl. Gonna fill you up now, okay? Gonna cum inside you. Want it?"
"Yes," you gasp, still trembling. "Please, Cheol, please fill me up—"
He groans, low and wrecked, and then he's thrusting up into you in quick, desperate strokes, chasing his own release. You can feel him swelling, pulsing, and then he's coming, hot and thick, painting your walls with his cum. The sensation of it—the warmth flooding your insides, the way his cock jerks with every spurt—makes you moan again, clenching around him to milk every last drop.
He collapses back against the mattress, chest heaving, and you slump forward onto him, your forehead dropping to his shoulder. You lie there for a long moment, both of you gasping, his cock still nestled inside you, his seed slowly starting to leak out around it.
"Fuck," he finally says, and you can hear the grin in his voice. "Good morning to me."
You laugh, breathless and boneless, and he wraps his big arms around you and holds you tight.
The shower is a necessity after that. You stumble into the bathroom together, and he insists on washing your hair—sure fingers massaging shampoo into your scalp with a thoroughness that makes you want to melt. You return the favour, soaping up his broad back, tracing the lines of muscle, the bruises from the game that are already starting to purple on his ribs. You kiss every one of them. He pulls you under the spray and kisses you back until you're both completely out of breath and the water runs lukewarm.
Later, dressed in clean clothes that somehow smell like you and him all mixed together (no you don't have a drawer dedicated specifically to his stuff), you walk to the little cafe two blocks from your apartment. It's a Sunday, and the streets are quieter, the air crisp and clean. He holds your hand the whole way. His thumb strokes over your knuckles, and it's such a small thing, but it makes your chest ache in a way you refuse to look closer at.
At the cafe, you get a table by the window. Seungcheol orders a black coffee and a sandwich from their breakfast menu; you get a sweet latte with a syrup and a croissant that flakes all over the table whenever you as much as pick it up from its plate. He steals bites of your pastry and makes exaggerated sounds of approval. You steal a sip of his coffee in retaliation and grimace at the bitterness, audibly judging him for his beverage choices. He laughs, and the sound of it is so bright, so easy, that you feel something loosen in your chest.
You don't think about Monday. You don't think about your roster, or your own rules, or the way this whole thing is supposed to work according to them. You don't let yourself focus on the fact that you've never let anyone stay the night like this, never let anyone wash your hair and clean your face and hold your hand on a Sunday morning like it's the most natural thing in the world. You will have the time to think about it later, to reprimand yourself for it. But it's not now.
You just sit there, across from Seungcheol, your ankle pressed against his under the table, and you let yourself have this.
One more morning. One more slow, golden morning where he looks at you with his shiny boba eyes like you're something rare like the eighth wonder of the world, and you let him, and the world doesn't end.
It can hurt later, you tell yourself. The hurt will come—it always does. But right now, he's smiling at you with a flake of croissant stuck to his lip, and you're reaching across the table to wipe it away, and he's catching your hand and pressing a kiss right to the centre of your palm, lips soft and smooth after you threatened him into using your lip balm, and none of the rest of it matters.
And that's enough. For now, it's enough.
Monday can wait.
Monday morning starts with a text from Seungcheol.
It arrives while you're still half-asleep, face-down in your pillow, one arm flung out across the cold expanse of mattress where he'd been lying thirty-something hours ago. Your phone buzzes on the nightstand, and you grope for it blindly, squinting at the screen through eyelids that feel like they've been glued shut.
hope you got home okay. forgot to text yesterday. still thinking bout that croissant.
There's a pause, then a second message: actually you. mostly you.
You stare at it for too long. Your thumb hovers over the keyboard, and you type out you're such a dork before deleting it, then miss you already before deleting that too, your face heating against the pillow even though no one's around to witness it. Eventually you settle on the safest option, the one that doesn't betray the way your pulse has picked up just from seeing his name on your screen.
Your coffee choices are atrocious.
His response comes almost immediately: brutal. i'm wounded.
Dramatic.
ouch, another wound:(
You don't answer that. You put the phone down and press your face into the pillow and try very hard not to think about the way he'd looked at you at that cafe, sun catching the gold in his eyes, his ankle hooked around yours beneath the table like he couldn't stand even that small of a physical distance. You try not to think about the kiss he'd given you when you'd parted—soft and lingering in the middle of the sidewalk, his hands cupping your face, his thumbs stroking your cheekbones like you were something fragile and precious. "See you later," he'd said, and it hadn't sounded like a request. It had sounded like a promise.
You'd walked away from him with your heart pounding and your stomach in knots, and you'd spent all of Sunday afternoon telling yourself it was fine, it was nothing, it was just breakfast. People have breakfast. People who fuck each other regularly can absolutely have breakfast without it meaning anything.
Except you'd let him wash your hair. Except he'd held your hand the whole walk there and the whole walk back. Except you'd sat there with pastry flakes on your fingers and coffee on your breath and you'd felt a door crack open inside you, the one you'd spent years reinforcing to be locked permanently.
Monday can wait, you'd told yourself on Sunday evening, curled up in bed that still smelled like him. Monday can wait.
Monday, as it turns out, has other plans.
Your first class is Cognitive Psych at nine, and you barely make it on time, sliding into your usual seat near the back with your hair still damp from a rushed shower and your coffee clutched like a lifeline. The lecture hall is one of those big, tiered rooms with creaky seats and inadequate heating, and Professor Hitcher is already droning on about working memory models by the time you get your notebook out. You try to focus with all your might. But your brain keeps drifting back to Sunday morning—the warmth of Seungcheol's hand around yours, the way he'd laughed with his whole chest when you'd gotten powdered sugar on your nose, the way he'd wiped it off with the pad of his thumb and then licked the sugar off his own skin without breaking eye contact.
You're so lost in the memory that you almost miss the notification that pops up on your laptop screen. A Discord message, from the unofficial uni server you're in just like the rest of the university because everyone is hungry for juicy gossip.
so apparently someone saw that camgirl with choi seungcheol at that cafe yesterday morning?? like holding hands and everything??
Your stomach drops.
You close the notification and try to pretend you didn't see it, but the damage is already done. Your phone buzzes. Then buzzes again. By the time the lecture ends, you've got seven messages across three different platforms, all variations on the same theme: Is it true??? Are you and Seungcheol actually DATING???
You don't answer any of them. You shove your laptop into your bag and power-walk out of the lecture hall, head down, earbuds in, dodging the curious glances of the girls who sit two rows ahead of you and always whisper when you walk past.
It's not that you're surprised, exactly. Campus gossip moves at the speed of light, and you've always been a favourite topic. The girl who fucks like a man. The girl who doesn't catch feelings. The girl who's slept with half the rugby team and still walks around with her head held high like she hasn't noticed—or doesn't care—that most of the women on campus treat her like a contagion. You're a fascinating specimen to them. A cautionary tale and a fantasy and a threat all rolled into one.
You've heard the whispers before. You've perfected the art of ignoring them.
But this time it's different. This is Seungcheol, and that makes it feel personal in a way you can't afford it to be.
The quad is bustling when you cross it, students streaming between buildings in that mid-morning rush that always feels vaguely chaotic. You keep your head down, but you can still feel the looks—some curious, some hostile, some just... speculative. A girl from one of your classes catches your eye and immediately looks away, her mouth tightening. Two cheerleaders huddle near the fountain, and one of them elbows the other as you pass, her voice carrying just enough for you to catch: "...seriously, what does he see in her?"
Your jaw tightens. You don't break stride.
This is the part they never understand. The part you've stopped trying to explain. You didn't set out to be the campus villain, didn't wake up one day and decide to become the girl that other girls warned their boyfriends about. You just... refused to be ashamed. Refused to apologise for wanting what you wanted, for taking what was offered, for enjoying sex the way men have always been allowed to enjoy it without consequence. And somewhere along the way, that refusal had calcified into a reputation, and the reputation had calcified into a persona, and now you're the slut, the threat, the cautionary tale—and it's easier to lean into it than to fight it. Easier to pretend you don't care than to admit that sometimes the isolation gnaws at you like hunger.
You'd had friends, once. Back in first year, before everything. Girls who'd invited you to study groups and coffee dates and nights out, who'd shared their make up with you and borrowed your clothes and told you their secrets. But one by one, they'd drifted away. Sometimes it was gradual—a slow cooling, texts left on read, invitations that stopped coming. Sometimes it was abrupt: a boyfriend who'd looked at you a little too long, a rumour that he'd been seen talking to you at a party, an accusation you hadn't even known you were defending yourself against.
The thing is, you've never fucked a taken man. Never. It's a line you've drawn in permanent marker, a rule you've never even been tempted to break. But it doesn't matter. The possibility is enough. The idea of you is enough. You're the stress test for every relationship on campus, and most women decide it's easier to cut you out than to trust their partners not to fail or to blame them for failing.
So you'd built something else. Something stranger and lonelier and, in its own weird way, functional. A network of men who knew the rules and respected them, who didn't ask for more than you were willing to give. Your roster. It was supposed to be simple. Transactional. Safe.
Only two of them had ever slipped past those defences and become something else entirely.
You find Wonwoo and Minghao in the library exactly where they always are at this time on a Monday—the big table in the south corner, near the windows, with a clear sightline to the door that Wonwoo insists helps him concentrate and Minghao insists is just his control issues manifesting. Wonwoo is already buried in a book, his glasses perched on his nose and his posture so perfect it makes your spine ache in sympathy. Minghao is sprawled in the chair beside him, scrolling through his phone with the elegant disinterest that only he can pull off, his silver earrings catching the light every time he moves.
They look up in unison when you approach, and their expressions shift into something that makes you immediately suspicious. It is especially infuriating that Wonwoo haven't even lifted his eyes from the book.
"No," you say, dropping your bag onto the table and slumping into the chair across from them. "Whatever you're about to say, no."
"We haven't said anything," Minghao points out, but the corner of his mouth is twitching.
"You're making a face."
"I'm not making a face."
"You're absolutely making a face," Wonwoo confirms while still reading. "But to be fair, you're also making a face. It's the Seungcheol face."
"I don't have a Seungcheol face."
"You definitely do," Minghao says, setting down his phone and leaning forward with his chin propped on his hand. You scowl but his eyes are sharp and knowing, dark and amused in a way that makes you want to squirm. "It's very specific. Equal parts horny and emotionally constipated. You've been wearing it since you walked in."
"I hate you both."
"You love us," Wonwoo says, and finally closes his book, marking his page with one of those little sticky tabs he carries in his bag. "We're the only ones who'll study with you and not try to get in your pants."
"Jihoon studies with me."
"Jihoon studies with you and then gets in your pants."
"That's—" You pause, and your mouth twitches despite yourself. "Fair, actually."
Minghao laughs—his laugh is a low, elegant sound that rings soothingly in the space between you three—and leans back in his chair. The late afternoon sun slants through the window behind him, catching the sharp angles of his face, the delicate line of his collarbones where his shirt hangs open. He's beautiful, objectively speaking—all fine bone structure and dancer's grace—and you'd tried to sleep with him a few times, early on, before you'd figured out that he was looking for something different from what you were offering. It had been good, because sex with Minghao is always good, but it had also been... quiet. Tender in a way that made your skin itch. Afterwards, he'd looked at you with those perceptive eyes and said, "You don't actually want this from me, do you?" and you'd been so startled by the accuracy of it that you'd laughed and felt a heavy rock drop off your shoulders.
Wonwoo had been similar. A single night, a year and a half ago, after a party where you'd both drunk too much and talked too little. You'd woken up in his bed with a pounding headache and a surprisingly gentle hand on your shoulder, a glass of water pressed into your palm, and a soft voice saying, "We don't have to do this again. But I'd still like to be your friend, if you want that."
You'd cried in front of him. Right in his bed, tears leaking down your cheeks before you could stop them, because he'd offered friendship without conditions and you'd realised, in that moment, how desperately starved for it you were. That happened exactly around the period of time when all your girl friends peaked in massively withdrawing and the new ones already heard too much to take you in without prejudice.
They've been your people ever since. The only two who see past the persona to the person underneath. The only two who call you on your bullshit and save you a seat at the library and don't look at you like you're either a threat or a conquest.
Which is why you know, with a sinking certainty, that they're not going to let this Seungcheol thing go.
"So," Minghao says, and the single syllable is loaded with enough implication to sink a ship. "Sunday morning."
Your stomach tightens. "What about it?"
"Interesting choice of cafe," Wonwoo observes, his voice dry as old paper. "Very public. Very... date-appropriate."
"It wasn't a date."
"Right." Minghao nods sagely. "You just happened to be holding hands with Choi Seungcheol over croissants at ten in the morning on a Sunday. So platonic and casual."
"We were hungry." You can hear how defensive you sound, and you hate it. "We'd just—we'd been at the party the night before, we crashed at mine, and in the morning we were hungry. It's not a big deal."
"The party where he dragged you away from Mingyu like a caveman claiming his territory," Wonwoo says, still in that same mild, unbothered tone. "I saw that, by the way. Everyone saw that. Mingyu complained about it for ten minutes."
"Mingyu's fine."
"Mingyu's very fine," Minghao agrees. "But that's not really the point. The point is that you went from caveman-territory-claiming to hand-holding-breakfast in less than twelve hours, and you're sitting here telling us it's nothing."
"It is nothing." You grab your notebook out of your bag with more force than necessary, flipping it open to a random page. "It's just sex. It's always been just sex. Breakfast doesn't change that."
"Doesn't it?" Minghao's voice is softer now, less teasing. He's looking at you with something that might be concern, and that's so much worse than the mockery. "Because you let him stay the night. You let him take you to breakfast. You held his hand in public, where anyone could see. Those are not things you do with casual hookups. Those are things you do with someone you're—"
"Don't," you warn, your voice coming out louder sharper than you intended. "Don't say it."
Wonwoo and Minghao exchange a glance—one of those silent, loaded looks they've perfected over years of friendship—and you want to throw your highlighters at both of them.
"Look," Wonwoo says, gentler, more careful. "We're not trying to push. You know we're not. But we've been watching you circle this thing with Seungcheol for almost a year now, and you've never looked at anyone the way you look at him. Not even close."
You stare down at your notebook. Your pen has left a small ink blot on the corner of the page, bleeding outward.
"He's different," you admit in a whisper, and the words feel like pulling teeth raw. "I don't know why. I don't know what it is. But he just... he gets under my skin. And I hate it. I hate how much I—" You cut yourself off abruptly, swallow hard. "I hate how much I think about him when he's not there. I hate that I keep breaking my own rules for him without even meaning to. I hate that the idea of him with someone else makes me feel like I'm going to crawl out of my own body."
There's a pause. The library hums around you—the distant click of keyboards, the rustle of pages turning, someone coughing softly a few aisles over.
"That sounds a lot like feelings," Minghao says, but his voice is kind.
"It's terrifying," you murmur.
Wonwoo reaches across the table and puts his hand over yours. His fingers are cool and dry, and the simple, platonic comfort of the gesture makes your throat ache.
"You're allowed to be scared," he says. "You're allowed to want things, too. They're not mutually exclusive."
You don't have an answer to that. So you just sit there, your hand under Wonwoo's, your chest full of something too big to name, and let yourself be scared.
Minghao breaks the silence first, his voice light but measured. "For what it's worth, I don't think Seungcheol is going to hurt you. I've known him for a while—we were in that ethics seminar together last semester, remember?—and he's not the type. He's disgustingly earnest, actually. It's a little off-putting."
You snort despite yourself, a wet, half-laughing sound. "Earnest?"
"Painfully so. He talked about responsibility and integrity for fifteen minutes straight during one discussion and the professor had to cut him off. It was very intense. Very captain-of-the-rugby-team energy."
"He scored two tries on Saturday," Wonwoo adds, withdrawing his hand and picking his book back up like the conversation hasn't just peeled back several layers of your emotional skin. "I don't know anything about rugby, but apparently that's impressive. Soonyoung mentioned it at least four times."
"Soonyoung mentions everything at least four times."
"True."
You look between them—Wonwoo with his glasses and his steady presence, Minghao with his sharp eyes and sharper wit—and something in your chest unclenches, just a little. This is what you'd been missing, in those days when your friends had peeled away one by one. This easy, uncomplicated affection. This space where you don't have to perform, don't have to pretend, don't have to be the persona you've built like armour around yourself.
"Thank you," you say quietly.
"For what?" Minghao asks, eyebrows raising.
"For not—" You gesture vaguely. "For not treating me like I'm contagious."
Something flickers across Minghao's expression, there and gone. "Yeah, well. We've seen how people treat you. It's bullshit."
"It's not entirely unearned," you admit. "I know what my reputation is."
"Your reputation," Wonwoo says glued to his book once more, "is largely the result of a double standard that neither me nor Hao subscribe to. You're a woman who enjoys the healthy pleasures of life and refuses to apologise for it. That doesn't make you dangerous. It makes you honest and real. The fact that most people can't handle that says more about them and the society we live in than it does about you."
You stare at him. He turns a page.
"That's—" You blink rapidly, your eyes suddenly stinging.
"It's just logic," he interferes, but the tips of his ears have gone slightly pink.
Minghao is watching you with something soft and knowing in his eyes. "You've got good people around you no matter what type of relationship you have with them," he says. "Seungcheol. Soonyoung. Jihoon. Even Mingyu, in his own himbo way. The others. You built something that works for you, and you found people who respect it. That's more than most people manage."
"It's not exactly traditional."
"Since when have you ever wanted to be traditional?"
You don't have an answer for that. You've never wanted to be traditional. Okay, at least not since you figured out the world assigned you a role and it wasn't what you wanted for yourself. Ever since then you've never wanted to be the girl who gets the picture-perfect white picket fence and the monogamous fairytale and the happily ever after (even though you don't really mind that last one, who does in their right mind?). You've just wanted to be free. To want what you want without shame, to take pleasure where you find it, to owe nothing to anyone except what you choose to give.
But Seungcheol—Seungcheol makes you want things you never thought you'd want again willingly. Makes you dream about Sunday mornings and hand-holding and someone to come home to. Makes you wonder if maybe the fairytale isn't the trap you always thought it was. Maybe it's just... a story. A story you get to write yourself, in your own way, with whoever you choose.
The thought is so terrifying you have to physically shake your head to dislodge it.
"Okay," you say, and your voice comes out steady while you feel everything tremble inside. "Enough feelings. I have a cognitive psych exam on Friday and I've retained approximately nothing from this morning's lecture because I was too busy dodging stares and whispers about my alleged date."
"Alleged," Minghao repeats, arching an eyebrow, his tone so unimpressed and dry you suddenly want to take a sip of water.
"Alleged."
"Sure." He pulls his notes toward him, but his smile is knowing. "Whatever helps you sleep at night."
You're about to fire back with something defensive once again when Wonwoo, who apparently got disracted to watch you and Minghao talk, pushes his glasses up his nose and opens his book again. "Start with Baddeley's working memory model," he says, and his voice has returned to its usual dry, academic tone, not without a hint of humor though. He lets you off the hook, even if it's just for now. "Central executive, phonological loop, visuospatial sketchpad. You're welcome."
You flip him off, but you're smiling, and when you finally bend your head over your notes and start to actually study, the tight knot of anxiety in your chest has loosened into something almost bearable.
Monday is still Monday. The whispers are still out there, spreading like ripples in a pond, and you know you're going to have to face them eventually. You're going to have to figure out what you're doing with Seungcheol, what you want, what you're willing to risk.
But first, the cognitive psych exam.
The messages from Seungcheol stop on Wednesday.
There is no fight or a slip up you can point to. They just... stop. Tuesday morning you'd woken up to a photo of a very disgruntled pigeon on the quad with the caption this is me when you're not around, and you'd laughed into your pillow, kicking your feet under the blanket, the sound of your giggle bright and unguarded in the quiet of your apartment. You'd typed back tragic, and he'd sent a string of crying emojis, and that had been that. Wednesday you'd sent him something about a professor with an absurd combover, and he'd replied LMAO six hours later, and you'd stared at those four letters for longer than you'd ever admit, trying not to admit to the growing unease twisting your stomach in knots as you kept waiting for the follow up that never came. Thursday was radio silence. By Friday morning you've stopped checking your phone every ten minutes, and the disappointment has settled into something dull and familiar—a low-grade ache at the base of your sternum, easy to ignore if you don't breathe too deep.
You expected it when you allowed yourself the weakness of letting him in closer than you usually have. You knew what you were signing up for.
You want to laugh, remembering Hao's words from Monday. I don't think Seungcheol is going to hurt you. Disgustingly earnest, he'd said. Painfully so. You'd let yourself believe it, just a little. You'd let yourself unclench, open a crack more, imagine that maybe this time it could be different. Even though this is exactly how almost every week went about for the past several months. Only this time you allowed yourself this weakness. And now you're paying for it.
Stupid. You were so fucking stupid.
Friday afternoon finds you walking across campus toward the athletic complex, your bag slung over one shoulder and a half-formed plan in your head. Your subscribers are getting restless—the comments on your last video with Seungcheol have become something of a monument to collective thirst, hundreds of messages demanding Daddy's return, speculating about your relationship, leaving increasingly unhinged declarations of devotion. You'd posted a short clip from your archives on Tuesday night to tide them over—Seungcheol's face out of frame as he fucked you from behind with you in a puppy pose, just the sound of his grunts and the sight of his thick cock disappearing into your cunt—but that kind of content has a shelf life, and you're running out of it. You need fresh material to stock up on. You need him.
Or you did. Before he stopped texting. Before the silence stretched longer and longer.
Now you just need to ask, because asking is practical, because content is content and business is business, and you're not going to let whatever this is—this hurt, this disappointment, this thing you refuse to give name to—interfere with your personal little empire you've built. If he says yes, you'll film. If he says no, you'll figure something else out. Simple and transactional. Exactly the way it's supposed to be.
The rugby pitch is at the far end of the athletic complex, and practice must have just ended because there's a stream of players heading toward the locker rooms, sweaty and grass-stained and loud with the particular brand of masculine energy that comes from an hour of what you sincerely consider to be just sanctioned violence. You scan the crowd for Seungcheol's familiar bulk, his captain's armband, the way he carries himself with that easy authority that makes people unconsciously move out of his way.
You don't see him on the pitch. You don't see him near the benches.
You do see him, eventually, around the side of the building near the parking lot, pressed up against the brick wall with a girl's legs wrapped around his waist.
The first thing you register is his hands. One is tangled in her ponytail—blonde, glossy, the kind of sleek high ponytail that cheerleaders favor—playing with the hair-tie and the other is halfway up her skirt, fingers dimpling the bare skin of her thigh, and even from twenty meters away you can see the way his hips are grinding against her, the way she's moaning into his mouth, the way his tongue is so far down her throat it's a public indecency charge waiting to happen.
The second thing you register is that you can't breathe and your heart may have stopped beating entirely.
It's not like a punch. A punch would be quick, clean, a sharp burst of pain that fades. This is something else—something that creeps in like cold water, starting at your crown and sliding down your spine and pooling in your stomach until you're sick with it. Your vision goes dark at the edges. Your hands curl into fists at your sides, nails biting into your palms hard enough to sting. And somewhere beneath the shock, beneath the hurt, a hot and ugly rage ignites in your chest like a match struck against a rough surface.
You think about Minghao's words again. I don't think Seungcheol is going to hurt you.
Fucking hilarious.
You should walk away. That's what a rational person would do—turn around, go home, nurse your wounds in private, and compose a very firm and very unbothered text about how you won't be needing his services anymore, thank you very much. You should be the bigger person. You should be unbothered, icy, the version of yourself that doesn't care about anyone or anything.
But you've never been rational when it comes to him. And you've never been good at walking away.
So instead, you start walking toward them.
Your footsteps are measured, unhurried, audible against the pavement with a rhythm that announces your approach before your voice does. The girl notices you first—her eyes flutter open, widen, and she makes a muffled sound against Seungcheol's mouth that's more surprise than pleasure. She pulls back, her face flushed and her lip gloss thoroughly ruined, and you allow yourself the brief satisfaction of watching her expression shift from dazed to confused to something that looks a lot like apprehension.
She's young, you realize. A first-year, probably. You can tell by the freshness of her face, the way it's still a little round and naive, the way she still has that deer-in-headlights look that upperclassmen lose somewhere around the middle of second year. She's pretty in a conventional way—big eyes, pouty lips, the kind of body that looks good in a cheerleading uniform—and she's looking at you like she's not sure whether to be scared or defiant.
Seungcheol, still oblivious, has his face buried in her neck. "Mm, don't stop," he mutters, and his voice is rough with arousal, the same voice he uses with you, the same voice that's murmured good girl and let me take care of you and missed you against your skin in the dark.
The sound of it makes your stomach lurch.
"Busy, are we?" you say, and your voice comes out light, almost pleasant, with just the faintest edge of something sharp and deadly beneath it.
Seungcheol's head snaps up so fast you you're surprised he doesn't break his neck.
The look on his face would be almost comical under different circumstances—shock, then recognition, then something that flickers dangerously close to guilt before it's smothered by a mask of composure. He pulls his hand out from under the girl's skirt so fast it's like he's been burned, and the girl makes a small, confused noise, her legs sliding down from around his waist until her feet touch the ground.
"Hey," he says, and his voice is strained. "Didn't—didn't know you were coming by."
"Obviously." You let your gaze slide from his face to the girl and back again, unhurried, assessing. Then you give the girl a once-over—deliberate, slow, the kind of look that makes people feel like they're being measured and found wanting. She shrinks back a little, her hand coming up to wipe at her smeared mouth, and you feel a savage little spike of satisfaction at how easily she folds. "So. This is who you've been busy with all week?"
Seungcheol's jaw tightens. "It's not—"
"Relax, Cheol." You wave a hand, the picture of breezy indifference. "I'm not here to cause a scene. I just came to ask you a question." You pause, letting the silence stretch, watching the muscle in his jaw jump the way it always does when he's uncomfortable and tense. "But I can see you're... occupied."
The girl looks between the two of you, her brow furrowing. "Who is this?" she asks, and her voice is higher than you expected, a little breathy. She's looking at Seungcheol with a proprietary tilt to her head that makes your molars grind together.
"No one important," you say before Seungcheol can answer, and the flicker of hurt that crosses his face is almost satisfying. "Just a friend. We do some work together." You let the word work hang in the air, loaded with innuendo, and the girl's eyes narrow slightly. Adorable.
"I was going to ask if you were free to film this weekend," you continue, directing your words at Seungcheol with the kind of casual professionalism you'd probably use with a business associate if you had any business to begin with. "My subscribers are getting antsy. They miss seeing you. The comments on our last video are frankly obscene." You smile, a sharp little curve of your lips that doesn't reach your eyes. "But I can see your schedule's pretty full."
Seungcheol opens his mouth, closes it. His hands are hanging awkwardly at his sides now, and he looks like a man who's been caught with his pants down—which, metaphorically speaking, he has. "I can—we can talk about this later."
"Oh, don't worry about it." You shrug, another gesture deliberately careless. "I'll find someone else. Mingyu's been asking to be in a video for ages, you know that. He's got the stamina for it… and the subscribers love a fresh face. Maybe it's time I give him what he's been wanting."
Something in Seungcheol's expression goes rigid. His eyes darken, and you can see the possessive thing that lives inside him stirring, the territorial caveman who dragged you away from Mingyu's lap at the party and pressed you against a door and told you you were his. Perfect. Let him choke on it.
"Mingyu," he repeats, flat.
"Yeah." You tilt your head, feigning thoughtfulness. "He's got a great body. Nice cock, too. The viewers would eat him up." You let your gaze drift back to the cheerleader, who's now standing there with her arms crossed and her mouth pressed into a thin line, clearly trying to figure out why this random girl is talking to the guy she was just making out with about another guy's cock. You can't help a humourless smirk creeping in at the thought. "Anyway, I'll let you get back to... this." You gesture vaguely between them. "Enjoy your freshman, Cheol. Hope she's worth the crick in your neck."
The girl's mouth drops open indignantly. "Excuse me—"
"Have a good weekend," you say, and your smile is all teeth. Then you turn on your heel and walk away through the parking lot, your boots clicking against the pavement, your back straight, your head held high.
You don't look back. You don't let yourself. But you can feel his eyes on you the whole way, burning a hole between your shoulder blades, and you hope—viciously, childishly—that his erection has completely wilted and he's going to spend the rest of the evening trying to explain to a confused freshman why some random girl just talked to him about filming sex content.
You hope she asks questions he can't answer. You hope she realizes she's just a stand-in, a placeholder, a warm body he grabbed because he apparently thought you weren't available and he couldn't handle the silence any more than you could. You hope he goes home alone and jerks off to the memory of your mouth on his cock and feels like absolute shit about it.
But mostly, you hope the sick, hollow feeling in your stomach goes away before you have to be around other people.
It doesn't.
By the time you get back to your apartment, the triumph of your little performance has curdled into something darker. The rage is still there, simmering beneath your skin, but underneath it is hurt—raw and throbbing and so much bigger than you want it to be. You slam the door behind you, drop your bag on the floor, and stand in the middle of your living room with your hands shaking and your chest heaving and your eyes stinging with tears you refuse to let fall.
This is why you don't do feelings. This is exactly why. Feelings make you stupid and vulnerable and they give people the power to hurt you, and Seungcheol had promised—he'd fucking promised, hadn't he? I'm not going anywhere. I've got you. Liar. They're all liars in the end when you give them the upper hand.
You pull out your phone and scroll to your contacts with hands that are still trembling. You don't let yourself think. You just press the call button.
Soonyoung picks up on the second ring. "Hey, sweetheart," he says, and his voice is warm and easy, the way it always is. "What's up?"
"You free right now?"
"For you? Always." There's a pause, and then his voice shifts, dropping into something lower, more interested. "What do you need?"
"Bring Jihoon."
Another pause, longer this time. "Both of us?"
"Both of you. My place. Thirty minutes."
He doesn't ask if you're okay, and you're grateful for it. Soonyoung has always been good at reading a room, good at knowing when to push and when to let things lie. He just says, "We'll be there," and hangs up.
You toss your phone onto the couch and start undressing.
By the time they arrive, you've stripped down to a matching set of dark red lingerie—sheer lace that frames your tits nicely and a thong that barely covers anything—and you've lit a quite few candles in your bedroom and put on music, something low and thrumming with bass. You've also poured yourself a drink and you've downed half of it before the knock comes.
You open the door, and Soonyoung's eyes go dark the second he sees you. "Fuck, bunny. You look—"
"I know," you say, and pull him inside by the front of his shirt.
Jihoon is right behind him, quieter, his dark eyes sweeping over you with an intensity that makes your skin prickle as his eyebrows climb up in surprise. You barely get the door closed before Soonyoung's mouth is on your neck and Jihoon's hands are on your hips, sandwiching you between two warm, eager bodies.
"Someone's worked up," Jihoon murmurs against your shoulder, his voice low and knowing. "Rough week?"
"Don't want to talk." You turn your head and catch his mouth with yours, kissing him hard enough to bruise. "Just want to get fucked. Can you do that for me?"
"We can do that. We can do anything you want us to," Soonyoung says, and his hand slides down your stomach, fingers dipping beneath the waistband of your thong and finding your clit with practiced accuracy. You gasp into Jihoon's mouth, your hips bucking forward. "Fuck, she's getting wet already."
"Always so eager for us," Jihoon agrees, pulling back just enough to look at you, his thumb stroking your cheekbone. "That's what we love about you, gorgeous. No games. Just tell us what you need."
"Need both of you. Need to not think. Need to feel so full I can't breathe."
They exchange a glance over your shoulder—something quick and unreadable—and then Soonyoung is spinning you around and walking you backward toward the bedroom, his mouth never leaving your neck, his hands working at the clasp of your bra. Jihoon follows, stripping off his shirt as he goes, and by the time your back hits the mattress, all three of you are naked and the air is thick with the heat of skin and the sharp, musky scent of arousal.
Soonyoung settles between your thighs first, draping your legs over his shoulders and looking down at your cunt with something approaching reverence. "Prettiest pussy," he purrs, running a finger through your folds and watching the way you glisten in the candle- and lamplight. "Look at how wet you are, bunny. This all for us?"
"Yes," you gasp. "All for you."
It's not a lie. It's just not the whole truth. But that's not what tonight is about.
Soonyoung lowers his mouth to your soft pussy, and the first lick is broad and flat, from your dripping hole all the way up to your clit. You moan, your back arching off the mattress, and then Jihoon is straddling your chest, his cock thick and flushed and already leaking, tapping against your lips.
"Open up," he says, and his voice is rough but not unkind. "Want to feel that pretty throat."
You open your mouth and take him in.
The stretch is immediate and familiar, your jaw adjusting to his girth as he slides past your lips and over your tongue. You breathe through your nose and relax your throat the way you've learned to do, and he groans, his hips twitching forward just enough to push another inch deeper.
"Fuck," he breathes. "Your mouth so fucking good. So wet. So warm."
You can't answer—your throat is too full—but you moan around him, and the vibration makes him curse. Below you, Soonyoung is eating you out like he's starving, going all ravenous, his tongue plunging into your hole and then flicking up to your clit, alternating between broad, flat licks and sharp, targeted flicks that make your hips jerk against his face. He sucks your clit into his mouth and pulses his tongue against it, and the dual sensation of his mouth on your cunt and Jihoon's cock in your throat is so overwhelming that your brain starts to go hazy at the edges.
"There we go," Jihoon murmurs, looking down at you with hooded eyes. "There's that glassy look. That's what we want, isn't it? No thoughts. Just our cocks. Just how good we make you feel."
You hum around him, and he groans.
"Gonna fuck your throat now," he warns. "Tap my thigh if it's too much."
He doesn't wait for a response. His fingers thread into your hair, and then he's thrusting into your mouth in deep, steady strokes, the head of his cock nudging the back of your throat with every push. You gag around him, spit pooling and spilling from the corners of your mouth, and he groans like it's the hottest thing he's ever observed.
"Fuck, yes. Take it. Take all of it. Such a good little cocksucker."
Soonyoung pulls his mouth off your cunt just long enough to say, "She's dripping, Jihoon. Absolutely fucking soaked. You should see her pussy—it's clenching around nothing. She needs to be filled."
"Then fill her," Jihoon grunts, still fucking your mouth. "She's got three holes for a reason."
Soonyoung doesn't need to be told twice. He gets up to sit on his knees and positions himself between your legs, the head of his cock pressing against your entrance. He's gets himself slick with your wetness and his own spit, and when he pushes in, the stretch is so perfect it makes you keen around Jihoon's cock even with your mouth full.
"Fuuuuck," Soonyoung groans, burying himself to the hilt in one smooth thrust. "So tight. So fucking tight, bunny. This cunt was made for us."
He starts to move, and the rhythm is brutal-hard, fast strokes that drive the air from your lungs and make your tits bounce with every impact. Jihoon is still fucking your throat, and they find a tempo together, one thrusting into your cunt while the other pulls out of your mouth, so there's never a moment when you're not full. The wet, obscene sounds of your body fill the room—the slick squelch of your pussy getting pounded, the wet gagging of your throat, the sharp slap of skin against skin.
Spit bubbles at the corners of your mouth and runs down your cheeks. Your mascara is definitely ruined. Your cunt is making sounds that would be embarrassing if you had the capacity to feel embarrassment, but you don't—you've gone somewhere else entirely, somewhere where the only things that exist are the two cocks using your body and the music still thrumming through the apartment and the desperate, animal need to be used until you can't think anymore.
"Switch," Jihoon says abruptly, pulling out of your mouth. You gasp for air, chest heaving, and before you can catch your breath, they're maneuvering you like a doll—Soonyoung rolling onto his back and pulling you on top of him, Jihoon positioning himself behind you.
"Both holes," Soonyoung says, looking up at you with eyes that are practically black. "Think you can take us both, bunny? Think you can take my cock in that pretty cunt and Jihoon's in that tight little ass?"
"Yes," you gasp, scrambling with disoriented hands to present your tight puckered hole. "Yes, fuck, please—"
"Please what?" Jihoon's voice is rough in your ear, his chest pressed against your back, the hard length of his cock sliding between your ass cheeks. "Use your words, gorgeous. Tell us what you want."
"Want both of you. Want to be stuffed. Want to be so full I can't breathe, can't think, can't remember my own fucking name—"
"Good girl," Soonyoung growls, and pulls you down onto his cock.
The stretch is exquisite—deeper than before, the angle hitting that spot inside you that makes your vision go white and fuzzy. You're still adjusting to him when you feel Jihoon's fingers at your other entrance, slick with lube you didn't even see him grab from your nightstand drawer—probably too busy processing Soonyoung's dick impaling you,—working you open with careful, practiced pressure. One finger, then two, stretching your tight ring of muscle until you're gasping and pushing back against his hand.
"Ready?" he asks, and his voice is strained from watching you take his fingers while your pussy is already stretched on another cock.
"Ready."
He lines himself up with your anus and pushes in.
The sensation of being filled in both holes at once is indescribable—a fullness so complete it borders on pain but it's exactly what you wished for, two thick cocks separated by only a thin wall of muscle, moving inside you in counterpoint. You're spilling nonsence, you realize, strings of profanity and praise and broken moans falling from your lips. "Fuck, fuck, so full, so good, both of you, ah—please don't stop, don't ever stop—"
"Never gonna stop," Soonyoung grunts, thrusting up into you. "Gonna fuck this cunt forever. Gonna fill you up so good, bunny, gonna pump you so full of cum it's dripping out of you."
"Want that," you gasp. "Want your cum. Want both of you to cum inside me—"
"Fuck," Jihoon grits out, and starts moving faster, his hips slamming against your ass with wet, filthy slaps. Soonyoung matches his pace, and they're both pounding into you now, two cocks filling you completely, and your orgasm is building at the base of your spine like a scorching hot tidal wave, gathering force, unstoppable.
"Gonna come," you whimper. "Gonna come, please, please let me come—"
"Come for us, bunny," Soonyoung grunts, and reaches down to pinch your clit between his fingers. "Come on our cocks. Show us how good we make you feel."
You shatter.
The orgasm is violent—a full-body convulsion that rips through you like a hurricane, your cunt clamping down on Soonyoung's cock and your ass clenching around Jihoon's in spasms so intense you can't breathe, can't see, can't do anything except scream yourself hoarse as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you exactly the way you wished it would.
They fuck you through it, relentless, and then Jihoon is groaning and burying himself deep, his cock pulsing as he pumps his load into your ass—hot and thick, filling you up, and the sensation of it tips you into another orgasm, smaller but no less devastating. Soonyoung follows a moment later, his hips snapping up into you as he comes with a guttural roar, his cum flooding your pussy in thick, hot spurts that you can feel painting your walls.
For a long moment, none of you move. You're sandwiched between them, still impaled on both cocks, your body trembling with aftershocks, your holes dripping with their cum. Your face is a mess of tears and spit and ruined makeup, and your throat is raw, and your jaw aches, and you feel...
Empty.
The moment your mind clears enough for a thought this realization hits you like a cold wave. You're lying there, filled in every possible way, soaked in sweat and cum and spit, and you feel absolutely, utterly hollow. Worse than before. Worse than when you saw him with that cheerleader, worse than when the messages stopped, worse than anything you've felt in a very long time.
Because it didn't work. None of it worked. Even with two cocks inside you, even with two sets of hands on your body, even with two voices praising you and two loads of cum warming you from the inside—you couldn't truly stop thinking about him. About Seungcheol. About the way his eyes had gone dark and possessive when you'd mentioned Mingyu. About the way he'd looked at you like you were the only person in the room at the party. About the way he washed your hair on Sunday morning while taking a shower with you. Everything is just a broken record in your head, spinning on repeat.
You blink, and a tear slides down your temple and into your hair. It startles you and you almost forget to take a breath.
"Hey," Soonyoung says, and his voice is soft now, post-coital and gentle. He reaches up and wipes the tear away with his thumb. "You okay?"
"Yeah," you rasp, and your voice is wrecked. "I'm fine. Just... overwhelmed."
He doesn't look convinced, but he doesn't push. That's not what you invited them for.
They pull out gently, and you wince at the sudden emptiness, at the wet trickle of cum sliding down your thighs. Jihoon disappears into the bathroom and comes back with a warm washcloth, and he cleans you up with the same quiet efficiency he's always had about him, touch careful, eyes unreadable.
"We'll head out," he says when he's done, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Unless you want us to stay."
"No," you say, too quickly. And then reach for them to compensate for it. Both take your hands, hold you with reassuring touches. "No, I'm good. Thank you. Both of you."
Soonyoung looks at you for a long moment, something flickering in his expression. Then he nods and pulls on his clothes. "Text us if you need anything, bunny."
"Will do."
They leave, and the door clicks shut behind them, and you're alone.
The apartment is suddenly too quiet. The pretty candles have burned down to stubs, and the music has stopped somewhere along the way, and the only sounds are your own ragged breathing and the distant hum of the refrigerator. You lie there in your bed, naked and sore and sticky with the remnants of someone else's pleasure, and you stare at the ceiling and you try very, very hard not to cry.
It doesn't work.
The tears come hot and fast, leaking from the corners of your eyes and dripping into your hair, and you don't even have the energy to wipe them away. You just lie there and let them fall, let the sobs build in your chest until they're shaking your whole body, ugly and uncontrollable and nothing like the poised, unbothered persona you've spent three years perfecting.
You think about Sunday morning. The cafe. His hand around yours. The way he'd wiped powdered sugar off your nose and kissed your palm and looked at you like you were something precious.
You think about his messages—the pigeon, the crying emojis, the mostly you—and the way they'd dried up like a river in a drought, leaving nothing behind but silence.
You think about his hands on that cheerleader, his mouth on her neck, and the way it had felt like being gutted alive.
You think about Minghao's words. I don't think Seungcheol is going to hurt you.
You were right to be scared. You were right to keep your distance. You were right to build those walls, to keep everyone at arm's length, to never let anyone close enough to leave a mark.
Because look at what just happened. You let him in—just a crack, just a tiny crack—and now you're bleeding.
You curl onto your side and press your face into the pillow that still smells faintly of his shampoo, and you let yourself be pathetic, just for tonight. Tomorrow you'll put the persona back on. Tomorrow you'll be the campus slut, the heartbreaker, the man-eater, the girl who doesn't care. Tomorrow you'll film content with Mingyu or Soonyoung or whoever the fuck you want, and you'll moan and fuck and smile for the camera and for the whole world around, and you'll pretend that Seungcheol is just another name on your roster. The way he's supposed to be.
But tonight, you're just a girl with a broken heart she didn't even think she had anymore, crying into a pillow that still smells faintly like the boy who broke it.
The text from Seungcheol comes maybe an hour after you've finished crying, maybe two. Your phone buzzes on the nightstand while you're still curled in bed, still naked, still sticky with the cooling remnants of Soonyoung and Jihoon's cum drying on your thighs. You're too weak to force yourself into shower and for once in a lifetime you can't bring yourself to care.
can we talk?
You stare at the screen until it goes dark. Your eyes are swollen and your throat is raw and somewhere deep in your chest, something that was already cracked splits a little further.
You don't answer.
The second text comes Saturday morning.
i know you're pissed. i get it. just let me explain.
You're sitting at your kitchen counter, nursing a coffee that's gone cold, wearing an old t-shirt finally having taken the shower that brought you back to feeling human even if just a bit. You read the message three times. The first time, your stomach clenches. The second time, your eyes sting. The third time, something hardens inside you—a callus forming over the wound, protective and necessary.
You type back: Nothing to explain. You're free to do whatever you want with whoever you want. We never said otherwise.
His response is immediate, like he's been waiting by his phone: can we please just talk in person?
Busy this weekend. Maybe another time.
You don't say what you're busy with. You let him imagine it. Let him picture you with Mingyu, with Soonyoung, with anyone else on your roster who isn't him. Petty? Maybe. Cruel? Probably. But the image of his hands on that cheerleader is still burned into the back of your eyelids, and you're not above making him choke on the same thing he fed you. In fact, you are right on that level.
He sends a few more messages over the next couple of days. i miss you. Read, no reply. can i see you? Read, no reply. please, baby. Read, and the baby sends a spike of something hot and sharp through your ribs, but you still don't answer.
By Monday, your responses have settled into a rhythm of sanitised politeness. When he texts how was your weekend, you reply Fine, busy with stuff and nothing more. When he sends thinking about you, you leave it on read for six hours and then respond with Hope practice is going well like he's a colleague you vaguely tolerate. The messages are so neutral and so utterly bloodless—exactly the way they used to be, back before he'd carved out a space inside you that you didn't know you'd given him. Back when he was just another name on a list, just another warm body, just another cock to chase your pleasure with and send on his way. Actually, scratch that! Back then you had it in you to be sincerely friendly and flirty, to be pleasant. Now it's just hollow.
You're trying to go back to that easiness. You're trying so fucking hard.
It's not working.
The thing nobody tells you about letting someone in is that once they're in, you can't just evict them without causing a deep wound on your heart. They leave things behind—memories, habits, reminders. You catch yourself reaching for your phone to send him a stupid meme and then remembering. You catch yourself thinking Seungcheol would laugh at this and then remembering. You catch yourself waking up in the middle of the night with your hand stretched out toward the empty side of the bed, and the cold sheets under your palm feel like a rebuke.
But you don't text him when you get the urge. You don't call even when you really want to. You don't let yourself crack, because cracking is what got you here in the first place, bleeding out from a wound you'd handed him the knife to make.
Instead, you work.
Tuesday afternoon finds you in your bedroom with the lighting adjusted and the camera rolling and Mingyu's head between your thighs, his big hands gripping your hips hard enough to dimple the flesh, his tongue working your cunt with enthusiasm so strong it borders on devotional. You're propped up against your pillows, legs draped over his broad shoulders, one hand fisted in his dark hair while the other grips the sheets.
"Fuck, Gyu," you gasp, and your hips roll against his face without your permission. You know he loves that type of evidential validation mixed with verbal. "Your mouth—fuck, your mouth is so good—"
He hums against your clit, pleased, and the vibration sends a bolt of electricity straight up your spine, making you arch. His tongue is thick and relentless, alternating between broad flat licks that cover your entire cunt and sharp flicks against your swollen bud, working it in ways you never thought were possible, and he's got two fingers curled inside you, stroking that spot on your inner wall with insistent accuracy. The wet sounds of his mouth on your pussy and his fingers inside it fill the room—obscene and slurping and squelching and perfect for the camera angled at the foot of the bed.
"Taste so fucking good," he groans, pulling back just long enough to speak before diving back in. His chin is glistening with your wetness, his lips swollen and pink, and he looks up at you through his lashes with those eager puppy eyes that have always made you feel like the center of the universe. "Could eat this cunt forever. Swear to god."
"Don't stop," you whimper, grinding down against his face. "Please yes, more of—yes yes yes, fuck, Gyu, I'm so close—"
He doesn't stop. He doubles down, sucking your clit into his mouth and stroking his tongue against it while his fingers fuck into you faster, deeper, and the orgasm hits you in a sudden savage wave that makes your back arch off the mattress and your thighs clamp around his head. You come with a broken cry, your cunt spasming around his fingers, and he works you through it with gentle laps of his tongue until you're twitching and whimpering and pushing at his forehead with whines and pitiful helpless giggles.
"Fuck," you breathe, chest heaving, shaking with breathless laughs. "Okay. Okay, your turn."
Mingyu grins up at you, his mouth still wet with you, and crawls up your body with the kind of athletic grace that always makes your stomach flip. He's so fucking big—broad shoulders and thick arms and a chest that blocks out the light when he hovers over you—and when he kisses you, you can taste yourself on his tongue.
"How do you want me?" he asks, and his voice has gone rough with want.
"Want to ride you," you tell him, pushing at his shoulder until he rolls onto his back. "Want to watch your face when you fill me up."
He groans, low and wrecked, his cock twitching against his stomach where it's lying thick and flushed and already leaking. You swing a leg over his hips and position yourself above him, your hand wrapping around his shaft to guide him to your entrance. He's frankly bigger than Seungcheol—not as girthy maybe, but he's longer and still really thick, and that combination makes your jaw and throat ache just looking at it—and when you sink down onto him, the stretch is so intense you have to pause halfway, your breath catching in your throat.
"Easy," Mingyu murmurs, his hands finding your hips and gripping tight to support your weight. "Take your time, pretty. Don't hurt yourself."
"I can take it," you say competitively, and push down the rest of the way.
The sound he makes is halfway between a groan and a whimper, his head pressing back into the pillow, the tendons in his neck standing out. You brace your hands on his chest—solid muscle and warm skin that looks even hotter with his natural tan—and start to move, a slow grind that rolls your hips against his, his cock dragging along every sensitive spot inside you.
"Hell, fucking hell," he breathes, staring up at you with glazed eyes. "You're so tight. So wet. How are you always so fucking wet?"
"Maybe you just bring it out of me," you say with a sly wink, and pick up the pace.
The rhythm builds quickly—faster, harder, the wet slap of your bodies filling the room along with your moans and his grunts and the creak of the bedframe beneath you. Your tits bounce with every thrust, and Mingyu reaches up to cup them, thumbs circling your nipples and pinching them between his fingers until they pop out of their hiding. The dual sensation of his cock driving into you and his hands on your chest makes you gasp, your rhythm faltering for just a moment before you find it again.
"Love your curves," he grunts. "Love touching them. You're so soft and pretty, beautiful."
"Gyu—"
"Gonna come," he warns, his hips starting to buck up into you, meeting your rhythm with desperate little thrusts. "Where do you want it?"
"Inside," you gasp. "Cum inside me. Want to feel it."
Mingyu groans, and then he's surging up, one arm banding around your waist to pull you tight against him as he buries himself deep and comes. His cock pulses inside you so tanglibly it makes you gasp in surprise—you can never get used to that. He's flooding your cunt with hot thick cum, and the sensation of it—the warmth spreading through your belly, the way he's groaning against your shoulder like you've broken him—sends you over the edge for a second time, your cunt clamping down around his shaft and milking him through the aftershocks.
You slump against his chest, both of you gasping, his cock still nestled inside you. His hand comes up to stroke your hair, gentle despite the bruising grip he'd had on your hip a moment ago. His arms are big and warm and they wrap around you so nicely you feel yourself drift away a little.
"Good?" he asks, and there's something soft in his voice.
"Yeah," you say. "Really good."
And it was. It was good. Mingyu is always good—enthusiastic and eager and athletic in ways that leave you with jelly legs. But as you lie there, sweaty and sated and full of his cum, you can't help but notice that the hollow ache in your chest hasn't gone anywhere. It's still there, nestled behind your sternum like a stone, and no amount of orgasms seems to dislodge it.
Mingyu stays for a bit—helps you clean up, raids your fridge and yaps about his sister being a pain in his ass lately, presses a kiss to your forehead before he leaves—and you let him, because Mingyu is easy and uncomplicated and he's never once looked at you like he's thinking about keeping you. But after he's gone, the apartment is too quiet yet again, and you find yourself staring at your phone, thumb hovering over Seungcheol's contact. It's instinct to reach of him at this point. And you're going to have a hell of a time unrooting it.
So you don't text him. You open your filming schedule instead and start filling in slots that were initially all reserved to him and him alone.
Wednesday is Soonyoung. You film a scene with him in the morning—him fucking you over your desk while the natural light streams through the window, his hips slamming against your ass with a rhythm that's part dancer's precision and part animal hunger—and then you save the footage to your hard drive without posting it. You're not sure yet what you're going to do with all this content. You just know you need to keep making it, keep stocking up, keep yourself busy enough that you don't have time to think about anything else.
"You're different today," Soonyoung says afterward, when you're both lying on your bed, cooling down. His head is propped on his hand and he's looking at you with those sharp eyes that always see more than you want them to.
"Different how?"
"I don't know." He reaches out and traces a finger down your arm, light and idle. "Quieter. More... focused."
"I'm always focused during filming, you just don't know because you never filmed with me."
"I see." He pauses, and you can feel the question coming before he asks it. "Is this about Seungcheol?"
Your jaw tightens, you can't keep the defensiveness out of your voice and you can't meet his eyes either. "Why would it be about Seungcheol?"
Soonyoung shrugs, but his gaze is still too knowing. "Word gets around. Jihoon talks to Mingyu who talks to Seungcheol, and Minghao mentioned something about you and Cheol having a thing, and then Cheol showed up to practice on Monday looking like someone kicked his puppy, and now you're filming with me on a Wednesday afternoon instead of him." He ticks the points off on his fingers and you feel increasingly more embarrassed and defensive. "I'm not stupid."
"There's no thing," you say, and your voice comes out flatter than you'd like. You know it gives you away. But with Soonyoung anything can give you away, the guy has that sixth sense on max stats. "We hook up. He hooks up with someone else, I go through my roster like I always did. That's the end of it. Nothing special. I just needed content and he was busy, so I figured I'd remember that I actually have options."
"Mhm." Soonyoung doesn't look convinced. "And how's that working out for you?"
You don't answer. Just huff in irritation and roll onto your side, facing away from him petulantly, and after a moment he sighs and presses a kiss to your shoulder and gets up to leave.
Thursday is Jihoon, quieter and more intense, his dark eyes tracking your every movement as you ride him on the couch, your hands braced on his shoulders and your head thrown back, doing your best angles for the camera. He doesn't talk as much as the others—Jihoon has always been more about action than words—but when he does speak, it's measured, his voice rough with the effort of holding back.
"You're using me," he says, and it's not an accusation. Just an observation.
Your rhythm stutters. "What?"
"Using me. Using Soonyoung. Using Mingyu." His hands tighten on your hips, guiding you back into motion. "You're trying to fuck something out of your system. I get it. Just... be careful, okay? Whatever it is, don't let it eat you alive."
You stare down at him, at his steady gaze and the unexpected gentleness in his voice, and for a moment you want to tell him everything—the breakfast, the cheerleader, the way Seungcheol's messages had stopped and then started again, the way you can't close your eyes without seeing his face. But that's not what Jihoon is here for. That's not the arrangement you have.
So instead you take a mental note to cut this little moment from the footage later and then lean down and kiss him, hard and desperate, and you fuck him until neither of you can think anymore, and when he comes inside you—thick and hot, his groan muffled against your throat—you let the sensation drown out everything else for a few blessed seconds.
Afterwards, you add his footage to the growing folder on your hard drive. You still don't know if you'll post any of it.
Friday morning, you meet Wonwoo and Minghao at the campus coffee shop—it is cramped and small, tucked between the library and the humanities building, with exposed brick interior and stylish mismatched chairs and the constant hiss of the coffee machine. It's early, the sun is still watery and pale through the windows, and you're on your second almond latte by the time they both arrive.
Minghao slides into the seat across from you with that fluid grace that always makes you feel vaguely graceless in comparison. Wonwoo settles beside him, more reserved, setting his coffee down with the careful precision of someone who's never spilled or knocked off a thing in his life.
"So," Minghao says, and the single syllable is loaded with enough implication to fill a novel.
"So," you echo, and take a pointed sip of your latte, aiming for something nonchalant and lazy.
"We heard," Wonwoo says, and his voice is mild but his eyes are sharp behind his glasses. He begins to list off, matching your vibe. "About last week. Soonyoung and Jihoon. Then this Tuesday with Mingyu… and Wednesday with Soonyoung, and Thursday with… Jihoon again, I believe."
"Ah." You set your cup down, keeping your expression carefully neutral. "That."
"Yeah, that." Minghao leans forward, his chin propped on his hand. "Care to tell us what happened? Because last we talked, you were doing the emotional constipation dance about Seungcheol, and now suddenly you're having threesomes like it's second year again."
You shrug, aiming for casual and landing somewhere in the vicinity of brittle. "Nothing to tell. I wanted to film content, Seungcheol was busy, so I called Soonyoung and Jihoon instead. And Mingyu, he wanted to be in one of my videos for a long time now anyway. It's not a big deal."
"Seungcheol was busy," Wonwoo repeats, and his tone is dryer than the Sahara.
"Apparently."
"Busy with what?"
"I don't know, Wonwoo. I didn't ask." You pick up your almond milk latte again, more for something to do with your hands than because you actually want more caffeine. "Look, it doesn't matter. The point is that I remembered I have options. I've got a whole roster of people who are more than willing to help me out, and I don't need to wait around for one guy to make time for me. That's the whole point of the roster. That's literally why I built it."
Minghao and Wonwoo exchange a glance—another one of those silent, loaded looks that you've come to recognise as their wordless way of saying she's full of shit. You hate when they do it in front of you.
"You saw him with someone else, didn't you," Minghao says. It's not a question.
Your jaw tightens. "Who told you?"
"No one. I'm just good at guessing." He tilts his head, his earrings catching the light. "Also, you're doing that thing where you pretend you don't care, but you're gripping your cup so hard your knuckles are white."
You look down. Your knuckles are, indeed, white. You force your fingers to relax.
"It's fine," you say, sounding so much steadier than you feel. You're almost proud of it. "We weren't exclusive. We were never exclusive. He can fuck whoever he wants. I can fuck whoever I want. That's how this works. That's how it's always worked."
"Except that's not how it's been working," Wonwoo says quietly. "Not for months. You stopped seeing most of your roster. He stopped seeing anyone but you. You were spending weekends together and holding hands in cafes and—"
"And none of that meant anything," you cut in, sharper than you intended to allow yourself to. "Clearly. Because the second he thought I wasn't available, he found a freshman cheerleader to stick his tongue down her throat. Which is fine. It's totally fine. I'm not upset about it."
"You're definitely upset about it," Minghao says.
"I'm not."
"You're doing the Seungcheol face."
"I don't have a—" Your back goes stiff and your voice begins to raise and you immediately stop, exhale hard through your nose. "Okay. You know what? Fine. I was upset. I was upset for like, a few hours. And then I got over it, because I remembered that I don't do relationships and I don't do feelings and I don't need some guy to validate my existence. It was just a good reminder of that, so I called Soonyoung and Jihoon, and Mingyu because I wanted to have a good time, and I had a good time, and that's the end of it. Can we please talk about something else now?"
There's a pause. Minghao is looking at you with something that's equal parts exasperation and affection, and Wonwoo is doing that thing where he pushes his glasses up his nose and says nothing but somehow communicates everything.
"You know it's okay to be hurt, right?" Wonwoo says eventually. "You're allowed to have feelings. You're allowed to want things. Pretending you don't isn't going to make it hurt less."
"It'll make it hurt less than the alternative."
"The alternative being... what? Actually admitting you care about him?"
"Admitting I care about him and then getting my heart broken when he inevitably gets bored or finds someone better or decides I'm not worth the hassle." The words come out before you can think better of it, ugly and honest in a way you haven't let yourself be all week. "That's how it goes. That's how it always goes. People leave. People get tired of you. People decide you're too much work or too much drama or too much whatever, and they leave. And I'm not—I can't—"
Your voice cracks. You stop, swallow hard, and stare at the dregs of your latte like they might contain the answers to the universe. No crying in public, no crying in public, no crying in public no crying in—
Minghao's hand covers yours on the table. His fingers are cool and soft, the rings on them pressing into your skin.
"He's not your bullies from middle school," he says quietly. "He's not your fake friends from high school or the ones who left when you started becoming more of yourself and less of what everyone thought you should be. He's not any of the people who hurt you before. He's Seungcheol. And I told you—he's disgustingly earnest. He's probably been moping all week."
"Then why did he stop texting me?" The question comes out smaller than you want it to, more vulnerable. "Why did he just—disappear for days and then I find him with someone else?"
"I don't know," Minghao admits. "But I think maybe you should ask him instead of trying to fuck the hurt away."
You pull your hand out from under his and cross your arms. "I'm not trying to fuck the hurt away. I'm filming content. It's what I do. My subscribers have been asking for variety."
"Uh huh." Wonwoo's tone is still bone-dry. He's so unimpressed with your antics you begin to feel remotely embarrassed. "And the fact that you've filmed with three different people in the past week and posted none of it?"
"I'm stocking up."
"You're avoiding."
"I'm not."
"You're a mess," Minghao says, but his voice is fond. "A complete and total mess. And we love you anyway."
You want to argue. You want to tell them they're wrong, that you're fine, that you're in complete control of your life and your emotions and your roster. But the words won't come, because they're not wrong, and you're so tired of pretending you're not exhausted.
"If he knows about Friday," you say instead, quieter, "if Soonyoung and Jihoon talked and Mingyu talked and everyone talked... Seungcheol knows too, doesn't he."
"Probably," Wonwoo says. "That group gossips worse than a knitting circle."
Something flickers in your chest—grim satisfaction, maybe, or something darker. You think about Seungcheol hearing about your threesome or any later encounter. You think about him picturing you with Soonyoung and Jihoon. You think about the possessive, territorial thing that lives inside him, the caveman who dragged you away from Mingyu and pressed you against a door and told you you were his.
You want to let him choke on it. Let him feel even a fraction of what you felt when you saw his hands on that cheerleader.
But the satisfaction curdles almost as soon as it arrives, leaving behind the same hollow ache that's been living in your chest since Friday afternoon. It doesn't feel like victory. It just feels like more of the same emptiness, dressed up in different clothes.
You leave the coffee shop with a promise to actually study this weekend instead of just doing it for the sake of distraction and you walk back to your apartment through the thin autumn sunshine, your hands shoved in your pockets and your head full of noise.
That night, you film a solo scene with your favourite vibrator, and you come twice with your face pressed into the pillow that still somehow smells like Seungcheol, and when you're done you lie in the dark and stare at the ceiling and try very hard not to think about anything at all.
By the end of the next week, you've stockpiled enough content to keep your subscribers happy for a few months on end. Solo scenes, paired scenes, one threesome footage that you still haven't decided whether to post or delete entirely. Your hard drive is full, your body is sore in ways that should be satisfying, and you're still waking up every morning with the same dull ache behind your sternum, the same reflexive reach for your phone, the same disappointment when the only messages are from people who aren't him.
You're handling it. You're fine. You're the campus gooner dream, the man-eater, the girl who doesn't care about anyone or anything, and you've got a roster full of gorgeous men who are more than happy to fill whatever role you need them to fill.
But at night, when the camera is off and the only thing in your bed is the memory of his arms around you, you press your face into that stupid pillow and you breathe in the fading scent of his shampoo and perfume and you wonder if he's thinking about you too.
You don't text him. You don't call. You don't crack.
But you want to. God, you want to.
And that's the worst part of all.
You've been live for forty-three minutes when the apartment door opens.
The stream started simple enough—you, your bedroom, the soft amber glow of the ring light you've positioned just off-frame, and the familiar hum of arousal building slow and honey-thick in your lower belly. You'd announced the stream on Twitter an hour before going live, a casual "come keep me company tonight?" with a photo of yourself in the black lace set that always drives your subscribers feral, the one with the filthy cutouts that frame your nipples and leave very little to the imagination. By the time you hit "Start Streaming," you'd already amassed a waiting room of nearly two thousand people, their usernames scrolling past in a blur of anticipation.
Now that number has swelled past five thousand, the chat flying at a pace that makes it nearly impossible to read individual messages, and you're sprawled across your bed in a pose that's equal parts lazy and calculated—propped against your pillows, legs spread just enough to show the damp spot darkening the centre of your panties, one hand trailing idly up and down your stomach while you read comments aloud in the breathy, teasing voice that's become your signature.
"Is that new lingerie? It's so pretty on you." You read it with a small, pleased smile, tilting your head toward the camera. "It's not new, actually. Had this set for a while. Just don't wear it often because—" you pluck at the waistband of your thong, letting it snap back against your hip, “—it's a pain to take off and put on. Too many little straps." A pause, a knowing glance at the lens. "But I figured you guys were worth the effort."
The chat explodes with heart emojis and flame emojis and a flood of tips that make your phone buzz on the nightstand. You let your smile curve wider, genuine despite yourself, because this part never gets old—the rush of being wanted, the validation of knowing thousands of people are getting off to you right now, the power of it.
"Let's see," you murmur, scrolling through the comments with your free hand. "What else are we talking about tonight?"
"Posted the new guy video finally I see"
"Ah, yeah." You stretch, arching your back just enough to make your tits press against the lace, and catch the way your nipples are already tightening beneath the fabric. "Posted that one on Tuesday. You guys seemed to like it—the views went kind of insane, actually. What did you think?"
A cascade of responses floods the chat. "He's so big" / "New daddy??" / "Where's the original daddy tho" / "Love seeing you with new people" / "When is Seungcheol coming back????" / "No one fucks you like he does" / "are you two still together??"
The mention of his name lands like a papercut—small, sharp, surprisingly painful. You've gotten better at not reacting, but you still feel the way your smile tightens at the corners, the way your hand pauses mid-stroke on your stomach. You've been seeing his name in the comments all week, ever since the Mingyu video dropped. Some of your viewers are obsessively loyal to him, the way people get attached to characters in a show they've been watching for months, and they've been demanding to know when he's coming back, why you're filming with other people, whether something happened between you.
You can't tell them the truth. You can barely admit the truth to yourself.
"We're mixing things up," you say, aiming for breezy and landing somewhere luckily close enough. "I was starting to feel like my content was getting a little stale, you know? Same angles, same faces. Figured variety would be good for everyone." You let your hand drift lower, fingers brushing over the damp spot on your panties, and let out a soft, theatrical sigh. "Mingyu was fun, right? He's got great energy. And there's someone else who's been wanting to film for ages, so you might see him soon too, we already recorded some stuff."
"But what about Seungcheol??" / "We miss daddy" / "Is he still on the roster or what" / "You two were so hot together please say he's coming back"
Your jaw tightens. You keep your expression pleasant through sheer force of will help of god. "Seungcheol's great," you say, and you feel like you swallowed some sludge and now the remnants of it won't wash off your tongue. "We're still... we're still friends. He's just busy with rugby stuff. You know how it is." You shrug, a little too casual. "I'm not his only priority. He's got a lot going on."
You don't say he's got a freshman cheerleader to keep him occupied. You don't say he stopped texting me after the best weekend of my life and then I caught him with his hand up someone else's skirt. And you certainly don't say I can't close my eyes without seeing his face and I hate him for it and I miss him so much I feel like I'm drowning.
You just smile, and reach for the vibrator on your nightstand, and say, "Anyway. Enough about boys who aren't here. Let's talk about what we're actually going to do tonight."
The chat, mercifully, lets you redirect. Questions pour in—"Are you going to use the pink one?" / "Please ride the dildo we never see you ride it anymore :(" / "Show us how wet you are first" / "Can you talk about what you think about when you touch yourself"—and you let yourself sink back into the performance, the familiar rhythm of teasing and pleasing and giving them just enough to keep them begging for more.
You're forty minutes in when it happens.
You've worked yourself up slowly, deliberately, drawing it out because you know the anticipation drives your tips up. Your panties are soaked through now, the dark lace glistening with wetness and clinging to your cunt, and you've pushed the cups of your bra down so your tits spill over the top, your nipples hard and sensitive from the cool air of the bedroom. You've got the vibrator pressed against your inner thigh, not quite where you need it, and you're reading a particularly unhinged comment about what someone wants to do to you while you trace lazy circles on your clit through the fabric.
"Someone's feeling creative tonight," you're saying through a chuckle, your voice a little breathier than it was before, a little more genuine. "This one says they want to—"
The apartment door opens.
You hear it clearly over the music—the click of the lock disengaging, the soft creak of hinges, the heavy footsteps in your entryway, the door shutting closed—and your entire body goes rigid. Your heart lurches into your throat, adrenaline flooding your system before your brain has time to catch up, and for one wild, stupid second you think someone's breaking in—
And then you remember.
The key.
Your key. The spare you'd given him months ago, in a moment of trust you'd never quite been able to bring yourself to revoke, not even during the worst of the silence. The key he's never used without asking before, because Seungcheol, for all his possessive caveman tendencies, has always been careful about your boundaries. Has always been respectful. Has always waited for you to invite him in.
Until now, apparently.
Your head snaps toward the bedroom doorway just as he appears in it—broad and solid and so fucking familiar it makes your chest ache. He's wearing gray sweatpants and a black hoodie with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and his hair is damp, pushed back off his forehead like he just showered. His chest is rising and falling a little too fast, like he ran here, like he saw your notification and didn't stop to think before coming over.
He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, and his eyes sweep over you—sprawled on the bed in your ruined lingerie, vibrator in hand, five thousand people watching—with an expression that's equal parts hunger and something softer that looks terrifyingly like hope.
"Started without me," he says, and his voice is casual, almost lazy, but you can hear the tension underneath it. "That's cold, baby."
You glare at him.
You don't mean to. You know, on some distant rational level, that you should be performing right now—should be pasting on a smile, feigning pleasant surprise, playing the role of the girl who's delighted her favourite co-star has shown up unannounced. But your body reacts before your brain can intervene, and the look you throw him is pure venom, scorching and clawing and full of every single thing you've been choking on for the past weeks.
The chat notices.
"LMAOOO THAT LOOK" / "she's PISSED" / "wait is there drama??" / "omg did they break up???" / "She looks like she wants to murder him" / "DADDY'S BACK THOUGH" / "DADDY DADDY DADDY DADDY DADDY"
You don't read any of it. Your eyes are locked on Seungcheol, and he's staring right back at you, and the air between you is so thick with unspoken things you could cut it with a knife and still choke on it. His jaw tightens at your glare—he saw it, he definitely saw it—but he doesn't flinch. Doesn't retreat. Instead, he pushes off the doorframe and walks toward the bed with that easy, rolling gait that's always made your mouth water, and your traitorous cunt clenches around nothing even as your hands itch to curl into fists.
"What are you doing here," you say, and it comes out flat, barely a question.
"Saw you were live." He settles onto the edge of the bed like he belongs there, like he's never left, like the past three weeks haven't happened. His eyes flick to the camera, then back to you, and his mouth curves into that half-smile that makes his dimple appear. "Thought I'd keep you company. You don't mind, do you?"
You mind. You mind so fucking much. But he's already turning to the camera, already addressing your audience with the ease of someone who knows exactly how much they love him, and you're trapped—because if you tell him to leave now, if you cause a scene on camera, the questions will never stop. The speculation will explode. Every single person watching will know something is wrong, and the carefully constructed narrative you've been maintaining—we're still friends, he's just busy, nothing happened—will crumble like wet paper.
"Of course not," you manage, and your voice is almost steady. Almost. "Wasn't expecting you, that's all."
"That's the point of a surprise." He leans closer, close enough that you can smell him—soap and something woodsy, the cologne he's worn as long as you've known him—and your stomach flips. His hand comes up to brush a strand of hair from your face, his fingers lingering on your cheek, and the gentleness of it makes your throat tight. "Missed you," he murmurs low enough that the camera might not catch it.
You want to bite his hand. You want to press your face into his palm and cry. You want to scream at him until your voice gives out and then kiss him until neither of you can breathe.
You do none of those things. You just hold his gaze, and let him see the hurt still simmering there, and say nothing.
The chat, oblivious to the nuances of your silent standoff, is losing its collective mind.
"THE WAY HE TOUCHED HER FACE" / "i'm literally crying they're so cute" / "MISSED YOU 😭😭😭" / "He's so down bad for her look at those eyes" / "Why does she look like she's about to cry though" / "maybe she's just emotional" / "DADDY CAME HOME" / "fuck her already PLEASE" / 'I'm throwing money at the screen TAKE IT" / "someone tipped $100 Imaoooooo"
Seungcheol glances at the chat scrolling on the monitor positioned just off-camera, and his smile widens. "You guys are really excited, huh? Been a while since I was on one of these."
A fresh explosion of caps-lock and emojis. He reads a few aloud, his voice dropping into that lower register he uses when he's playing up the Daddy persona for the audience—"We missed you, Daddy", "Please never leave again", "The content hasn't been the same without you”—and you watch him work with a mixture of resentment and grudging admiration. He's good at this. He's always been good at this. The persona fits him like a second skin, and the viewers eat it up, and somewhere beneath the anger you remember that the first time you ever filmed together, he'd been so nervous his hands had shaken. He'd hidden it well, but you'd felt the tremor in his fingers when he'd touched you, and you'd thought—Oh. He's not just doing this for the camera experience. He actually wants it for me.
You'd been so naive. So willing to believe.
“—right, baby?" Seungcheol's voice cuts through your thoughts, and you blink, realizing he's asked you a question you didn't hear.
"What?"
"I said, you've been having fun without me, haven't you? New videos. New faces." His tone is light, teasing, but his eyes are dark and serious, searching your face for something you're not sure you want him to find. "Mingyu, huh? That's who you replaced me with?"
"I didn't replace you." It comes out colder than you intended, and you see his expression flicker—hurt, maybe, or guilt, or both. You force yourself to soften, to remember the camera, to remember the thousands of people watching this exchange with bated breath. "I told everyone earlier. I'm just mixing things up. Variety is good for content."
"Variety." He repeats the word like it tastes bitter. "Right."
The silence that follows is heavy, loaded, the kind of silence that makes the chat go wild with speculation. You need to do something—need to take control of the situation before it spirals into territory you can't recover from—so you do the only thing you can think of. You reach for him.
Your fingers curl into the front of his hoodie, and you pull him toward you with more force than necessary, your mouth crashing against his in a kiss that's more teeth than lips. He makes a sound of surprise against your mouth, his hands coming up to grip your hips, and then he's kissing you back just as hard, just as desperate, the familiar slide of his tongue against yours sending a bolt of heat straight to your cunt. And you feel the unwanted relief of something tight loosening in your chest just enough to allow you an easier breath.
The chat goes absolutely feral.
"FUCK YES" / "FINALLYYYYY" / "That was so aggressive Imaooooo" / "she's marking her territory" / "THE TENSION WAS INSANE" / "I'm so hard rn" / "look at the way he grabbed her" / "they're literally made for each other" / "DADDY IS HOME"
Your entire world has narrowed to the heat of his mouth, the solid weight of his body pressing you back against the pillows, the way his hands are already sliding up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts where they're still spilling out of your bra. He kisses you like he's starving, like you're the only thing that's ever satisfied his hunger, and you hate how much you've missed this, hate how your body responds to him on instinct, hate that even now—even after everything—your thighs are falling open to make room for him as he leans you backwards onto the mattress and your hips are rocking up to meet the bulge already straining against his sweatpants.
But you don't relax into it the way you usually do. You can't. Every time you start to soften, to yield, your brain supplies an image—his hand under that cheerleader's skirt, his mouth on her neck, his voice rough with arousal as he told her don't stop—and the rage spikes fresh and hot in your chest, and your fingers curl into claws against his back.
He pulls back just enough to breathe, his forehead pressed against yours, his chest heaving. "Baby—"
"Don't." You don't know what you're warning him against. Don't apologize. Don't explain. Don't pretend nothing happened. You just know you can't hear his voice say your name right now without shattering.
His jaw tightens, but he nods, just barely. "Okay." He kisses your forehead, soft and careful, and it makes your eyes sting. "Okay. Whatever you need."
What you need is for him to hurt the way you've been hurting. What you need is for him to understand what he did to you. What you need is for him to hold you and never let go and promise that he'll never, ever put his hands on someone else again.
You can't say any of that. So instead you kiss him again, and this time you bite his lower lip. Hard.
He hisses, his whole body tensing, and you taste copper—the bright, metallic tang of blood welling up where your teeth broke the delicate skin. His doe eyes fly open, dark and shocked, but he doesn't pull away. Doesn't push you off. Just stares at you with something that looks almost like understanding, his tongue darting out to touch the small wound, smearing red across his lip.
"Okay," he says again, quieter this time. "I deserve that."
You don't answer. You just sink your nails into his back and drag them down, hard enough to leave raised red lines that' probably bruise by morning, and he groans—a low, wrecked sound that's half pain and half pleasure—and buries his face in your neck.
"Whatever you need," he repeats against your skin, and his voice is ragged now, strained with something that sounds a lot like guilt. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."
You want to scream at him. You left! You stopped texting. You had your hands all over some freshman bitch with a ponytail and you didn't even think about me! But the words won't come, stuck somewhere between your throat and your tongue, so instead you dig your nails in harder and feel the way his muscles jump beneath his skin, and you tell yourself this is enough. This is revenge. This is you hurting him the way he hurt you.
It doesn't feel like revenge. It just feels like more of the same hollow ache masterfully masked yet again.
"Okay is it just me or is this really intense" / "She's literally clawing him up" / "the way he's just taking it though" / "what the hell happened between them" / "I feel like I'm watching something private" / "this is hotter than any porn or sex scene i've ever watched or read" / "the tension is INSANE" / "why am i crying"
Seungcheol lifts his head from your neck and looks at you. His lip is still bleeding, a small bead of red welling up and threatening to drip down his chin right before he licks it off, and his back is on fire from the scratches you've carved into it, and his eyes are so soft, so impossibly tender, that it makes your chest crack open.
"I'm sorry," he says, and the words are barely a whisper, meant only for you. "I'm so fucking sorry, baby. I was stupid and scared and I fucked up, and I know you're angry, and you have every right to be angry, but please—please just let me—"
"Stop." Your voice comes out broken, cracking in the middle. "Don't. I can't—"
"You can." His hands cup your face, thumbs stroking your cheekbones, and the gesture is so familiar, so achingly tender, that your eyes flood with tears. But you stubbornly refuse to let them fall. "You're the strongest person I know. You can do anything. You built this whole life from nothing, you made yourself into exactly who you wanted to be, and you don't need anyone, and I love that about you. I love everything about you. I love the way you laugh and the way you get excited when you eat good food and the way you get competitive about getting stupid little facts exactly right and the way you frown when you're focused and so many other little things. I love you. I've loved you since the first time you let me stay the night, and I was too scared to say it because I didn't think you'd want to hear it, because I thought I was just a name on your list, just a warm body, just someone you'd get bored of eventually—"
"You stopped texting me," you choke out, and the tears are falling now, hot and fast, tracking mascara down your cheeks. "You stopped texting me and then I saw you with her, I saw your hands on her, I saw—"
"I know." His voice is wrecked, barely above a whisper. "I know, and I hate myself for it. I was scared. Sunday was—Sunday was the best day of my life, and then Monday you went back to being casual, and I thought—l thought that after all it meant nothing to you. I thought I meant nothing to you. And I just—I wanted to feel wanted. I wanted to stop hurting for five minutes. She was there, and she was easy, and she wasn't you, and I couldn't even—" He breaks off, his jaw clenching. "I didn't sleep with her. I couldn't. You left and I stopped. I felt sick. Because she wasn't you. No one is you."
You stare up at him, your vision blurry with tears, your chest heaving. "You didn't sleep with her?"
"No." Seungcheol shakes his head, emphatic, his thumbs still stroking your cheeks. "No, baby, I didn't. I couldn't. The whole time I was just thinking about you. About how much I wished it was you. About how I'd ruined everything with you because I was too fucking scared to just openly tell you how I felt." He presses his forehead to yours, his breath warm and uneven against your lips. "I love you. I'm in love with you. I have been for almost a year. And I know that's not what we agreed to, and I know you've got your rules and your roster and your whole thing about not catching feelings, and if you don't want me like that, if you just want this to be sex, l'll take whatever you'll give me. But I can't keep pretending I don't feel it. Not after Sunday. Not after I got to have you like that and then I thought l'd lost you."
The chat is going absolutely berserk at this point.
"OH MY GOD" / "HE'S IN LOVE WITH HER" / "THIS IS THE MOST ROMANTIC THING I'VE EVER WITNESSED" / "I'M LITERALLY SOBBING" / "HE DIDNT SLEEP WITH THE OTHER GIRL" / "what other girl????" / "SOMEONE EXPLAIN THE LORE" / "she's crying i'm crying we're all crying" / "CONFESSION ON LIVE CAMERA" / "this is better than a drama" / "I'm screen recording this for posterity" / "THEY'RE SO IN LOVE IT HURTS" / "look at the way he's holding her face" / "DADDY IS GONE THIS IS JUST A MAN IN LOVE" / "$500 tip HOLY SHIT"
You don't see any of it. Your world has narrowed to the man above you, his face inches from yours, his eyes wet and earnest and terrified. The man who washed your hair and held your hand and kissed your palm and looked at you like you were the centre of the universe. The man who hurt you, yes, but who's hurting too—who's been hurting this whole time, just as lost and scared and stupid as you've been.
"You love me," you whisper, tasting the words.
"I love you," he confirms, and his voice breaks on the last word. "I love you so much it scares me. I love you so much I did the dumbest thing I've ever done because I thought you didn't love me back. And if you don't—if you can't—l understand. But needed you to know. I needed to say it out loud, at least once, even if it's in front of five thousand strangers."
A wet, hiccuping laugh escapes your throat. You glance at the monitor. "Six thousand. And climbing."
He blinks, then turns to look at it too. A reluctant smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "Oh, fuck."
"Yeah." You reach up and wipe at your tears with the back of your hand, smearing mascara across your knuckles and your cheeks. "We just did this on camera."
"We really did."
"Everyone saw."
"No doubt."
You should probably be mortified and scrambling to shut off the stream, to salvage some shred of privacy, to reclaim control of a situation that's spiralled completely out of your hands. But instead, you just feel... lighter. Like something that's been pressing on your chest for two weeks has finally lifted, and you can breathe again, really breathe, for the first time in days.
"I love you too," you say, and it's so scary to confess to it that your gut twists in a knot. "I've loved you for—I don't even know how long. It just happened and when I noticed it was already too late. I was just too scared to say it. I thought if I said it, you'd leave."
"I'm not leaving." His voice is fierce, almost angry and his big arms wrap tighter around you, as if you could escape. "I'm not everyone. I'm not going anywhere. I told you that on Sunday, and I meant it. I've got you. I'm always going to have you, if you'll let me. And I'm sorry that I made you doubt it but I'm not going anywhere anymore, just say the word."
"Even when I'm a disaster?"
"Especially when you're a disaster." He kisses your forehead, your temple, the tip of your nose. "I love the disaster. I love the mess. I love all of it. I love you."
The chat, which you've been ignoring for several minutes now, is still scrolling at a pace that makes it totally unreadable now.
"THEY SAID I LOVE YOU" / "I'M CRYING IN THE CLUB RN" / "this is the most unhinged livestream i've ever watched and i've been subbed for 2 years" / "FROM CLAWING HIM UP TO LOVE CONFESSIONS" / "the emotional whiplash" / "SO ARE THEY TOGETHER NOW???" / "ask her to be your girlfriend COWARD" / "We just witnessed history" / "someone please tell me they're recording this" / "I'm never going to recover from this" / "BEST LIVESTREAM OF ALL TIME"
Seungcheol glances at the monitor and snorts at something he catches there. "They're telling me to ask you to be my girlfriend."
"Well," you say, and your voice is still watery but there's a smile tugging at your lips now, small and tentative but real, "are you going to?"
He looks back at you, and the expression on his face is so open, so hopeful, so overflowing with love—his baby cow eyes staring at you so intently—that it makes your heart stutter. "Will you? Be my girlfriend? For real this time? No roster, no rules, no pretending we're just casual?"
"Yes." The response comes out before you can overthink it, before you can second-guess, before the fear can creep back in and steal your voice. "Yes, Cheol. I want to be yours. I've wanted to be yours for a while, I just didn't have the courage."
The smile that breaks across his face is so bright it nearly blinds you. His dimples appear like a secret, and his eyes crinkle at the corners, and he looks so genuinely, incandescently happy with that gummy smile of his that it makes your chest ache in the best possible way and you can't help a responding smile that finds its way to your lips.
"She said yes," he announces to your viewers, like it's a victory, like he's just won the championship and the world cup all at once. "Did you hear that? She said yes!"
The chat erupts.
"SHE SAID YES" / "WE HEARD WE ALL HEARD" / "THIS IS THE BEST DAY OF MY LIFE" / "CONGRATULATIONS DADDY YOU DID IT" / "from toxic situationship to marriage in one livestream" / "I'm throwing a virtual wedding RIGHT NOW" / "FINALLY OMFG" / "the slow burn paid off y'all" / "I've been subscribed for 18 months and this is the most satisfying conclusion I could have imagined" / "they're both crying i'm crying we're all crying" / "SOMEONE CLIP THAT" / "this is going to go viral omg"
You laugh, and Seungcheol laughs with you, and then he's kissing you again—soft this time, gentle, mindful of his split lip—and you're melting into him the way you always do, the way you only ever do for him.
"We should probably," you murmur against his mouth, "acknowledge the fact that we just trauma-dumped our entire relationship drama in front of six thousand people."
"Seven thousand now actually," he corrects, and his voice is sheepish but still giddy. "And I think there's more coming in."
"Oh my god."
"It's fine." He kisses the corner of your mouth, then pulls back to look at the camera. "Hey, everyone. Thanks for witnessing my emotional breakdown, I guess. Sorry it wasn't sexier."
"Speak for yourself," you mutter loud enough for the stream to catch, and he laughs again, that bright boyish laugh that makes your heart do backflips and somersaults.
The chat, predictably, disagrees with his assessment.
"This was the sexiest thing I've ever seen and it wasn't even sex" / "emotional vulnerability IS sexy" / "you apologized and confessed your feelings that's better than porn" / "We still want to see you fuck though" / "yeah don't think you're off the hook" / "now that you're officially together give us the makeup sex" / "MAKEUP SEX MAKEUP SEX MAKEUP SEX"
Seungcheol reads the last few comments and raises an eyebrow at you. "They have a point."
You roll your eyes, but the heat is already starting to pool in your belly again, slow and sweet, accelerated by this dopamine rush you just unleashed onto yourselves, your body remembering that you were worked up before all of this started and Seungcheol is still here, still solid and warm and now he's also yours, finally fully all yours. "You're insatiable."
"For you? Always." He kisses your shoulder, your collarbone, the hollow of your throat. "But if you want to stop the stream, we can. Whatever you want."
You consider it. Your makeup is ruined, your emotions are raw, and you've just exposed the most vulnerable parts of your relationship to an audience of thousands. The sensible thing would be to end the stream, crawl under the covers with him, and figure out the rest in private.
But then you look at him—his swollen lip, his flushed cheeks, the way he's looking at you like you're the only thing in the world that matters—and you think, fuck it. You've never been very good at being sensible anyway.
"Let's give them what they want," you tell him, and your voice comes out husky. "If I am going all in then it's all in."
His eyes darken. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." You reach for the hem of his hoodie and tug it upward until he's forced to take it off and throw it somewhere on the floor, revealing the broad expanse of his chest, some fresh bruises from the drills, the fresh red scratches you've just carved into his back. Fuck you missed him like that so much. The urge to crawl under his skin and curl there is gnawing at your sanity. "Show them how you love me. Show them you're mine."
"I'm yours," he agrees, and his voice is a growl now, rough with renewed want. "Always been yours. Always will be."
He captures your mouth in another kiss, and this one is different—deeper, hungrier, the apology and the confession giving way to something more primal and soothingly familiar. His hands find your hips and pull you against him, and you can feel him hard and thick beneath his sweatpants, pressing insistently against your thigh. Your cunt throbs in response, already soaked, already aching for him, and you moan into his mouth, your fingers threading through his hair that already dried up.
The chat, which has been demanding makeup sex for the past ten minutes, gets exactly what it asked for.
Seungcheol strips you out of your lingerie with reverent hands, his mouth following every inch of newly exposed skin—your shoulders, your collarbone, the swell of your breasts, the sensitive undersides where his tongue traces patterns that make you shiver. He takes his time with your nipples, sucking them out of their shy inverted state until they're hard and pebbled and glistening with his spit, and you arch into his mouth with breathy gasps and tiny needy mewls that the camera definitely picks up.
"Love your tits," he murmurs against your skin, and the words are familiar, a call-back to every other time he's said them, but tonight they land differently. Tonight they feel like a premise to something so much bigger than just an arrangement. "Love how responsive you are. Love how you moan for me."
"Cheol—"
"Shh." He kisses down your stomach, his tongue dipping into your navel, his hands gripping your thighs and spreading them wide. "Let me take care of you. Let me show you how much I missed you."
He settles between your legs, draping your thighs over his shoulders, and looks at your cunt with the kind of reverent hunger that always makes your breath catch. You're dripping, your folds slick and puffy and flushed, your clit a hard little pearl peeking out from its hood, begging for attention. He runs a finger through your wetness, spreading it around, and then brings it to his mouth and sucks it clean, his eyes fluttering closed like he's tasting the sweetest syrup on earth.
"Fuck," he breathes. "Missed this. Missed your taste. Missed the way you get so wet for me."
"Then stop talking and eat my pussy," you manage, and your voice is wrecked already, barely a whisper even though you aimed for something more smug and commanding. Still, it doesn't fail to make him get to work.
Seungcheol grins, feral and sharp. "Yes, ma'am."
His mouth descends on your cunt, and the first lick is broad and flat, from your dripping hole all the way up to your clit. You moan, your hips bucking against his face, and he groans in response, the vibration travelling straight through your sensitive flesh. His tongue is thick and clever as always, alternating between plunging into your hole and flicking against your clit, and he's alternating it with wet smooches and filthy slurps, and his fingers dig into your thighs hard enough to leave bruises, holding you open against his face like he wants to crawl inside you and stay there, like he always does.
"So fucking good," he grunts, pulling back just long enough to speak before diving back in. "Best pussy I've ever tasted. Best pussy in the world. My pussy."
"Yours," you gasp, and the word feels different now, heavier, more real. Certainly real, not just cheap dirty talk to throw around. And the notion turns you on so much more. "Yours, Cheol, always yours—"
He groans against your clit, and the sound is so unrestrained, so desperate, that it sends you toward the edge like a speeding freight train going off rails. Your fingers fist in his hair and your thighs clamp around his head so hard you're briefly scared that you're either going to strangle him or squish his scull but the thought is fleeting. You come with a broken cry, your cunt spasming against his tongue while he works you through it, gentler now, lapping at your oversensitive flesh until you're twitching and whimpering and trying to push him away.
Only then does he pull back, his chin glistening with your wetness, his swollen lip beaded with fresh blood from where his mouth stretched too wide. He looks up at you with eyes that are practically black, and the sight of him—ruined by just having you and so beautiful in his want and all yours—makes your spent cunt clench around nothing.
"That's one," he says, and rises to his knees. His cock is straining against his sweatpants, a dark wet spot where his precum has soaked through the gray fabric. "Now I'm gonna fuck you, baby. Gonna fill you up so good and reclaim this pretty pussy. Gonna make sure everyone watching knows exactly who you belong to."
Seungcheol doesn't make you wait. He shoves his sweatpants down just far enough to free his cock, too desperate to care for full undressing. You've seen him so many times and yet the sight of him thick and flushed and leaking at the tip, fat girthy inches of pure, aching need—never fails to make you salivate. He positions himself between your legs. The head of his cock presses against your entrance, and you're so wet that he slides in with one smooth thrust, burying himself to the hilt in your waiting cunt without any resistance.
The sound you both make is obscene—a shared groan that fills the room, fills the stream, fills the ears of eight thousand people who are absolutely losing their minds in the chat.
"FINALLYYYYY THE MAIN EVENT" / "the way he just slid in so easy she was so ready" / "THAT GROAN" / "I need a cold shower after that" / "they're so in love and so hot at the same time" / "this is the best livestream in the history of onlyfans" / "DADDY IS BACK FOR REAL THIS TIME" / "look at how he's looking at her" / "I don't know whether to swoon or be a horndog" / "I'm never going to emotionally recover from this stream"
"I love you," Seungcheol says, and the words are strained, his hips already starting to move in slow, deep thrusts that drag against every sensitive spot inside you. "I love you, I love you, I love you-"
"I love you too," you gasp, your legs wrapping and locking around his waist, your nails digging into his shoulders. "Love you so much, Cheol, please don't stop—"
"Not stopping." He punctuates the promise with a harder thrust, and you moan, your back arching off the bed, feeling the sweet sparks building back up in your belly. "Never leaving. Never letting you go. You're mine. You're finally mine."
He fucks you like he means it—deep and steady and devastatingly thorough, his pubic bone grinding against your clit with every stroke, his cock filling you so completely that you can feel him in your throat. The wet sounds of your bodies fill the room—the slick squelch of your cunt, the sharp slap of skin on skin, the broken praise falling from both your lips. He tells you you're beautiful, tells you you're perfect, tells you you're the best thing that's ever happened to him, and you sob your agreement into his mouth, your orgasm building at the base of your spine like a tidal wave.
"Gonna come," you whimper. "Cheol, I'm gonna—"
"Come for me, baby." His thumb finds your clit and presses down in tight, perfect circles. "Cream on my cock. Show me you're mine."
You shatter.
The orgasm is crushing—a full-body convulsion that rips through you like a hurricane, your cunt clamping down on his shaft so hard he has to stop moving just to breathe through it. You cry out, a broken, shameless sound, and he swallows it with a kiss as he fucks you through the aftershocks, his rhythm stuttering as he chases his own release.
"Gonna fill you up," he grits out. "Gonna cum inside you, baby, gonna pump you so full—"
"Do it," you gasp. "Please, Cheol, please do it inside me, want to feel it—"
He groans, low and wrecked, and then he's burying himself deep and cumming, his cock pulsing inside you as he pumps rope after rope of hot, thick spend against your walls. The sensation of it—the warmth flooding your insides, the way his cock jerks with every spurt—sends you over the edge for a third time, a smaller but no less intense orgasm that makes your pussy milk him dry.
He collapses on top of you, his full weight pressing you into the mattress, and you wrap your arms around him and hold on.
For a long moment, neither of you speak. You just lie there, tangled together, his cock still lodged deep inside you, his cum slowly leaking out around his shaft. His breath is warm against your neck, and his heart is pounding against your ribs in sync with yours, and you can feel every inch of him, solid and real and here.
"We should probably," he says eventually, his voice muffled against your skin, "check the chat."
"Mm." You don't move. "Do we have to?"
"I think we broke them."
"Probably."
He lifts his head to look at the monitor, and his expression shifts through several emotions in rapid succession—surprise, amusement, something that might be embarrassment because his ears begin to turn bright pink. "Uh. There are ten thousand people watching."
"What?"
"Well… ten thousand. And climbing."
You turn your head to look at the monitor, and sure enough, the view count is sitting at 10,247, and the chat is scrolling so fast it's barely legible.
"THEY'RE DONE" / "that was the hottest thing i've ever gooned to" / "HE CAME INSIDE HER" / "I'm crying and horny at the same time" / "This was better than any movie" / "FROM EMOTIONAL BREAKDOWN TO LOVE CONFESSION TO MAKEOUT TO SEX" / "I'm subscribing for life" / "congrats on the sex and the relationship" / "they're just lying there now" / "look at them they're so cute" / "post-fuck cuddling is what we deserve yes"
You laugh at that last one you manage to catch, and the sound is breathless and giddy and maybe a little hysterical. "We just livestreamed our entire relationship drama and then had makeup sex in front of ten thousand people."
"We did," Seungcheol agrees. He looks down at you, his expression soft and wondering. "Any regrets?"
You consider it. You think about the roster, the rules, the walls you've spent three years building. You think about the girls who whisper when you walk past, the boyfriends who look too long, the reputation and a character that's defined you for so long you almost forgot there was a person underneath it. You think about that Sunday morning, the cafe, the way he'd wiped powdered sugar off your nose and kissed your palm and looked at you like you were the most precious thing in his world. And you think about tonight—the confession, the tears, the way he'd let you claw him almost bloody and then held you anyway. The way he'd had ten thousand strangers witness him telling you he loved you and didn't care who heard it. The way he's looking at you right now, like you're the answer to a question he's been asking his whole life.
"None," you say, and mean it. "No regrets."
"Good." He kisses you, soft and sweet, mindful of his split lip. "Because I meant what I said. I'm not going anywhere."
"I know." You reach up and touch his face, your thumb tracing the edge of his dimple. "I believe you."
And you do. You really, really do.
He pulls out gently, and you wince at the sudden emptiness, at the wet trickle of his cum sliding down your thighs. He disappears into the bathroom and comes back with a warm washcloth while you show off for your audience—a little lazy because your bones are all jelly and very smug because you always love to brag about what Seungcheol does to you—and he cleans you up with the same gentle thoroughness he used on your face that Friday night when he brought you home after that party.
"Alright," he says when he's done, turning to the camera with his best captain-of-the-rugby-team authority, which is somewhat undermined by the fact that he's still half-naked and his lip is swollen and his ears are actually burning bright red now that everything's catching up to him. "Show's over. Go drink some water. Go to sleep. We'll see you next time."
You tug him back down to the bed, curling into his side, your head on his chest. "Yeah," you add, addressing the camera with a smile that's genuine for the first time in weeks. "Thanks for witnessing our emotional carnage. Sorry it wasn't the usual programming. We'll be back to regularly scheduled filth soon."
"Very soon," Seungcheol murmurs, and you elbow him in the ribs.
The chat protests, as expected—a flood of "NOOOOO" and "DON'T GO" and "STREAM FOREVER" and "THIS WAS THE BEST NIGHT OF MY LIFE"—but you just laugh and blow them a kiss and reach for the laptop.
"Goodnight, everyone. Thanks for being here. Love you all."
"WE LOVE YOU TOO" / "GOODNIGHT DADDY AND DADDY'S GIRLFRIEND" / "this was unironically the best livestream i've ever watched" / "CONGRATS ON THE RELATIONSHIP" / "see you next time!!" / "sweet dreams you two" / "I'M SO HAPPY FOR THEM"
You switch off the stream.
The silence that follows is sudden and absolute, broken only by the sound of both of you breathing, the distant hum of the refrigerator, the soft rustle of sheets as he pulls you closer. The ring light is still glowing, casting warm amber shadows across the ceiling, and you should turn it off, clean up properly, do a dozen different things that feel very far away right now.
"I love you," Seungcheol says into the quiet, and his voice is soft, private, meant only for you.
"I love you too," you whisper back. "I'm sorry I didn't say it sooner."
"Don't apologize." His hand traces lazy patterns on your spine, the same way it always does, and your eyes flutter closed. "We got there in the end. That's what matters."
"The end," you repeat, and the word feels strange to your ear. You wouldn't call it an ending, really. A beginning—yes. The start of something new and terrifying and maybe—probably—the best thing you've ever been brave enough to try.
"The beginning," he corrects, as if reading your mind. "This is just the beginning, baby. We've got a lot more mornings to figure out."
Your throat tightens. You press your face into his chest, breathing in the scent of him—fresh sweat and soap and home—and let yourself believe it.
"Stay," you murmur, already half-asleep. "Stay with me for the night, don't want to let you go yet."
"Always," he says, and presses a kiss to your hair. "I've got you. I'm not going anywhere."
And this time, you don't doubt it. Not even a little.
*.(๓•͙ ˕ •͙๓).* Please like + reblog + comment if you enjoyed your time reading this! This means a lot and motivates me to continue posting.
okay hear me out, criminal reader and detective wonwoo. i need this in my life and i trust you clem 😭
Caught you, caught your heart
Pairing: detective!wonwoo x thief!reader
Enemies to lovers, forbidden love, smut
In the rain-soaked streets of Seoul, Detective Jeon Wonwoo finally catches the thief he's tried to catch for months, only to find himself trapped in a dangerous game of cat and mouse with a woman who challenges everything he stands for. As secrets unravel and vulnerability surfaces, Wonwoo must choose between justice and the undeniable pull toward the criminal who might just steal his heart.
Wc:~6.7k
Warnings: stealing/robery, smut, unprotected sex, rough sex, power imbalance, handcuff/restraint play, sexual tension, light angst, moral dilemma, strong language, consensual but forbidden encounter, teasing/sassing, emotional vulnerability
A/N: this request was just so good i had to write it first. Detective!wonwoo is just so 😩
The city lights blurred into streaks of neon under the relentless downpour, turning Seoul’s skyline into a glittering maze. Detective Jeon Wonwoo stood on the edge of the rooftop across from the Han Gallery, rain sluicing off his dark coat. His breath came steady despite the adrenaline surging through his veins. Six months. Six goddamn months chasing a ghost known only as Shadow and tonight the ghost was finally going to turn into something solid.
The gallery’s security system had been disabled with surgical precision: motion sensors looped, cameras frozen on empty corridors, alarms silenced like they’d never existed. Classic Shadow. But Wonwoo had anticipated the move. He’d spent weeks studying your patterns: the way you favored high-value, easily transportable art; how you always left a single mocking clue behind, a black feather or a smudged fingerprint in the shape of a crescent. Tonight’s target was the Starlight Necklace, a 47 carat diamond piece worth more than most people would see in ten lifetimes. It was the kind of bait you couldn’t resist.
"Unit two, in position?" Wonwoo murmured into the comms tucked in his ear.
"Affirmative. Perimeter secure. No movement on the east side."
He adjusted the grip on his Glock, the weight familiar and grounding. Most detectives would have called in a full SWAT team by now, but Wonwoo preferred to handle Shadow personally. You were his puzzle. His obsession. The one criminal who had slipped through his fingers four times already, always with that infuriating elegance that made his blood boil and his pulse quicken in ways he refused to examine too closely.
A flicker of movement caught his eye through the rain-streaked glass dome of the gallery’s atrium. There, black tactical gear blending with shadows, a lithe figure scaling the internal scaffolding like she was born to it. Shadow.
Wonwoo’s lips pressed into a thin line. "She’s inside. Moving to intercept."
He didn’t wait for backup confirmation. He vaulted over the narrow gap between buildings, boots slamming onto the gallery’s maintenance ledge. The rain made every surface slick, but he moved with the quiet precision that had earned him his reputation. Inside, the alarms remained silent thanks to your hack, but his own heartbeat thundered loud enough to drown out the storm.
He dropped through an access panel into the upper maintenance corridors, landing softly. The air smelled of polished marble and old money. Ahead, soft footsteps echoed, barely audible, but he’d trained himself to hear ghosts. He followed, gun drawn low, flashlight off. No need to announce himself yet.
The main exhibit hall opened below like a jewelry box. Crystal chandeliers hung. In the center, the Starlight Necklace rested on its velvet pedestal, glowing faintly under emergency lighting. And there you were.
You were crouched on the railing of the second-floor balcony, hood pulled low, a sleek backpack already bulging with tools. You moved with predatory grace, uncoiling a thin rope and anchoring it to the balcony’s ornate stonework. One leap and you’d be swinging down to claim your prize.
Wonwoo stepped out of the shadows. "Game over, Shadow."
You froze for half a second, then whipped around. Even with your face partially obscured by a black mask, he could see the sharp glint of surprise in your eyes, quickly replaced by something dangerously like amusement.
"Well, well" you said, voice low and smooth, carrying just enough edge to send a shiver down his spine. "Detective Jeon. I was wondering when you’d finally catch up."
"Hands where I can see them" he ordered, gun steady. "It’s finished. You’re not leaving here with that necklace."
You tilted your head, rain from a cracked skylight dripping down your hood. "You sound so sure. But we both know how this usually goes."
Without warning, you dropped. Not down to the necklace butsideways, launching yourself toward the emergency exit corridor. Wonwoo cursed and gave chase.
The pursuit turned the gallery into a battlefield of marble and glass. You were fast, faster than your file suggested and agile in a way that spoke of years of parkour and evasion training. You vaulted over display cases, slid under laser grids you must have mapped earlier and kicked a marble pedestal behind you to slow him down. The crash of stone echoed loudly.
Wonwoo leaped over the debris, closing the distance. "Stop! Police!"
Your laughter rang out, genuine, breathless, mocking. "You’ll have to do better than that, Detective!"
You burst onto the rooftop access stairs. The rain hammered harder up here, wind whipping between the high-rises. The city sprawled below you, a sea of lights and moving traffic. You sprinted across the gravel. Wonwoo followed, legs burning, lungs tight. You were heading for the edge, toward a narrow bridge of scaffolding connecting to the adjacent building.
He pushed harder. Ten meters. Five. You reached the scaffolding and started across, balancing like a tightrope walker despite the storm.
Wonwoo didn’t hesitate. He jumped after you, the metal groaning under your combined weight. Rain lashed his face, blurring his vision. You glanced back, eyes wide now, not with fear, but with exhilaration.
A gust of wind hit. The scaffolding shuddered. You slipped.
For one terrifying second, you hand missed the railing. Wonwoo lunged, grabbing your wrist just as you started to fall. The momentum carried you both crashing onto the rooftop of the next building. He rolled, pinning you beneath him before you could recover.
The impact drove the air from both your lungs. Wonwoo’s gun had skittered away somewhere in the chaos, but he didn’t need it. He had you.
You struggled beneath him, strong and slippery from the rain, but he was heavier, trained for this exact moment. He flipped you onto your stomach, yanking you arms behind your back. Cold metal cuffs clicked into place around you wrists with satisfying finality.
"Get off me" you hissed, but there was still that undercurrent of teasing in your voice.
Wonwoo hauled you to your feet, keeping a firm grip on your cuffed arms. You stood chest to chest on the rain-soaked rooftop, both breathing hard. He pulled your mask down.
For the first time, he saw your face clearly.
You were younger than he’d expected: mid-twenties, with sharp, expressive eyes that sparkled with defiance even now. Rain plastered strands of hair to your forehead. You lips, full and slightly parted from exertion, curved into a slow, dangerous smirk.
Your eyes locked.
Time seemed to stretch. The storm raged around you, but in that moment, everything narrowed to the heat of your body against his, the way your chest rose and fell in sync with his own ragged breaths. Wonwoo’s grip tightened instinctively. You didn’t look away. Instead, you leaned in just a fraction, close enough that he could feel the warmth of your breath on his rain-chilled skin.
"Careful, Detective" you murmured, voice husky. "You’re looking at me like you’ve been waiting for this a lot longer than six months."
Wonwoo’s jaw clenched. He could feel the flush creeping up his neck, equal parts anger and something far more dangerous. "You have the right to remain silent" he started, voice low and rough.
You laughed softly, the sound vibrating through your body into his. "Oh, please. Recite it properly. I want to hear how it sounds coming from you."
He ignored the taunt and continued "Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney-"
"Will you be watching the interrogation, Wonwoo?" You interrupted, using his first name like you were old lovers instead of hunter and prey. "I hope so. I’ve got a lot to say… just for you."
He spun you around and began marching you toward the stairwell, one hand on your cuffed wrists, the other steadying your shoulder. The rain continued to pour, soaking you both to the bone. Backup sirens wailed in the distance now, too late, as always, when it came to you.
"You’re under arrest for multiple counts of grand theft, breaking and entering, and evading law enforcement" he finished, guiding you down the stairs. Your backpack had come loose during the struggle; he’d retrieve it later. For now, the weight of your body against his as you walked was distracting enough.
You glanced over your shoulder at him, that smirk never fading. Water droplets clung to your lashes. "You tackled me pretty hard back there. Almost felt personal."
"It was necessary."
"Mm. Sure it was." You tested the cuffs with a small wiggle, brushing deliberately against him. "These are tight. You worried I’ll slip away again?"
Wonwoo didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Because the truth was far more complicated. Six months of chasing you had built something he didn’t want to name. Frustration, respect and now, standing this close, feeling the heat radiating from you despite the cold rain, a spark of raw, unwelcome attraction.
You reached the ground level just as two patrol cars pulled up, lights flashing red and blue across the wet pavement. Officers spilled out, weapons drawn.
"Detective Jeon!" one called. "You got her!"
Wonwoo handed you off to the uniformed officers, but not before you turned one last time. Your eyes met again through the curtain of rain.
"See you soon, Detective" you called, voice carrying over the noise. "Try not to miss me too much in the interrogation room."
He watched as they guided you into the back of the cruiser. You didn’t resist, just sat there with that infuriating, captivating smirk, staring straight at him through the rain-streaked window until the car pulled away.
Wonwoo stood alone on the sidewalk, chest still heaving, rain mixing with the sweat on his face. His hands flexed at his sides. The Starlight Necklace was safe. The case was finally moving forward.
The metal cuffs bite into your wrists as the officers escort you down the sterile hallway of the precinct. Your clothes are still damp from the rooftop rain, clinging uncomfortably to your skin, but you keep your chin high. The fluorescent lights buzz overhead like insects. They push you into the interrogation room without ceremony: a small, windowless box painted in depressing shades of gray, with a heavy metal table bolted to the floor and a large one-way mirror dominating one wall.
"Sit" one officer grunts, shoving you into the chair. They secure your cuffed hands to a ring on the table, then leave you alone with the echo of the slamming door.
You lean back as much as the restraints allow, rolling your shoulders. The adrenaline from the chase hasn’t faded yet. If anything, it’s sharpened into something warmer, more dangerous. Detective Jeon Wonwoo. You’d studied him for months: his cases, his routines, the way he moved like a shadow himself. Tonight was the first time you’d truly been caught. And strangely, you weren’t entirely displeased.
Minutes stretch. Then the door opens.
He steps in alone, carrying a thin file folder. Detective Wonwoo looks exactly like the man who tackled you on that rain-slicked rooftop: tall, broad-shouldered, dark hair slightly tousled from the earlier chaos and those piercing eyes hidden behind a pair of glasses he must have put on for the formal setting. His white shirt is still damp at the collar, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing toned muscle. He closes the door behind him with a soft click.
You smile slowly, letting your gaze drag over him. "Well, hello again. Come to admire your handiwork up close?"
Wonwoo doesn’t smile back. He pulls out the chair opposite you and sits, placing the folder on the table with deliberate calm. His expression is neutral, professional, but you catch the slight tightening of his jaw. Good. You’re already under his skin.
"State your name for the record" he says, voice low and steady. He clicks a small recorder on and sets it between you.
You tilt your head, letting a playful lilt enter your voice. "You already know it. Or at least you think you do. Shadow is what you’ve been calling me in all those late-night reports, right? But since you asked so nicely… you can call me whatever you like tonight, Detective."
He ignores the bait. "Full legal name."
You sigh dramatically, leaning forward until the cuffs pull taut. The movement makes your damp shirt cling even more noticeably. "Fine. But only because you tackled me so enthusiastically earlier." You give him your real name, watching his eyes flick down for a fraction of a second before returning to yours.
Wonwoo opens the folder and spreads out several photos: surveillance stills of your past jobs, blurry shots of you in various disguises and one surprisingly clear image from a gala two months ago. "You’ve been busy. Multiple high-profile thefts over the last two years. The Louvre artifact last spring, the private vault in Busan and now the Starlight Necklace. We have you on camera this time."
You laugh softly, the sound echoing in the small room. "Camera? Please. I disabled every feed. That photo’s from the gala? You were there too, weren’t you? I saw you watching the crowd from the balcony. Looking very handsome in that tux, by the way. Very James Bond. Did you enjoy the champagne?"
His fingers tighten around the edge of the folder. "This isn’t a game. You’re facing serious charges. Cooperate and things might go easier for you. Who are you working with? Who fences the pieces?"
You lean back again, crossing your legs under the table as best you can. The cuffs clink. "Working with? Detective, you wound me. I prefer solo performances. More… intimate that way." Your eyes lock onto his. "Though I have to admit, chasing you around Seoul these past months has been the most fun I’ve had in ages. You’re very persistent. It’s almost flattering."
Wonwoo removes his glasses, setting them aside. He rubs the bridge of his nose, clearly fighting frustration. The dim lighting casts sharp shadows across his sharp cheekbones and full lips. You can’t help but admire the view.
"Flattering?" he repeats, voice dropping. "You nearly fell off a building tonight because of your recklessness."
"And yet here I am" you say sweetly "cuffed to a table across from the man who caught me. Tell me, Wonwoo, do you always pin your suspects down so thoroughly, or was that special treatment?"
Heat flickers in his gaze for a split second before he shuts it down. He slides another photo across the table: the Starlight Necklace in evidence. "Where were you planning to move this? Who’s your buyer?"
You glance at the photo, then back at him, biting your lower lip in mock thought. "Buyer? Hypothetically speaking… maybe someone who appreciates beautiful, rare things that are hard to obtain." Your voice lowers, teasing. "Like you, Detective. You’ve been hunting me for half a year. Tell me, do you think about me when you’re alone in your office late at night? Reviewing my files? Wondering what I look like without the mask?"
Wonwoo’s shoulders tense. He leans forward, mirroring your posture, his forearms resting on the table. The scent of rain and faint cologne reaches you. "I think about bringing you to justice. That’s all."
"Liar" you whisper, smiling wider. "Your eyes say otherwise. They’re very pretty when you’re trying so hard to stay professional. Did anyone ever tell you that you look cute when you’re frustrated? The little crease right here..." You nod toward his brow, wishing your hands were free to trace it.
He exhales sharply. "Enough. This is an official interrogation. Answer the questions. Accomplices. Safe houses. Previous jobs you pulled with help. Start talking."
You shrug, the motion making the cuffs rattle again. "What if I said I work alone because no one else can keep up with me? Not like you, of course. You almost caught me three times before tonight. That rooftop… mmm. The way you grabbed me? Very strong. Very decisive." Your tone turns playful and sultry. "I bet you’re even better when you’re not holding back."
Wonwoo stands abruptly, pacing a few steps to the side of the table. The movement reveals the way his damp shirt clings to his back and shoulders. You track every motion, enjoying how the tension coils in the air between you.
"Stop deflecting" he says, turning back to you. "We recovered your gear. Tools, ropes, the hack device. Forensics is going over everything. Make this easier on yourself. Tell me who you’re protecting."
You watch him with open appreciation. "Protecting? The only person I’m interested in right now is you. Tell me, Detective, how does it feel knowing the criminal you’ve been obsessed with is finally sitting right here? Cuffed. Helpless." You tug lightly at the restraints for emphasis, eyes sparkling. "Or maybe not so helpless. You seem a little… distracted."
He stops pacing and returns to his chair, sitting heavily. His gaze is intense now, darker. "You’re playing a dangerous game."
"I like dangerous" you reply immediately. "Especially when it looks like you. Broad shoulders, sharp jaw, those intense eyes that won’t stop staring even when you pretend to read your little file. Have you been imagining this moment? Me, caught. You, in control." You lean as far forward as the cuffs allow, voice dropping to a husky murmur. "Because I have. More than once."
A heavy silence falls. The recorder continues to hum softly. Wonwoo’s fingers drum once on the table before he stills them. You can see the internal battle: professionalism versus the undeniable pull crackling in the room.
"Names" he says finally, voice rougher than before. "Give me something useful and I’ll talk to the DA about leniency."
You tilt your head, letting your hair fall over one shoulder. "Leniency? How generous. But what if I want something else from you, Wonwoo?" You deliberately use his first name again, savoring the way his eyes narrow. "A conversation that isn’t so one-sided. Maybe after this, when the cuffs come off… or even before. You could uncuff one hand. Just for a minute. I promise I’ll behave."
He scoffs, but there’s no real heat in it. "You’re unbelievable."
"And yet you’re still here. Alone with me. No partner watching through the mirror?" You glance toward the glass. "Or are they? Wave hello for me. Tell them the detective is doing an excellent job staying focused despite how much I’m clearly affecting him."
Wonwoo runs a hand through his damp hair, exhaling. "The Starlight Necklace wasn’t your only target tonight. We found evidence of planning for three more jobs. Talk."
You smile innocently. "Evidence? Or are you just guessing? You’re good, Detective, but I’m better at covering my tracks. Except when it comes to you. I left that feather at the last scene on purpose. Did you keep it? A little memento from Shadow to her favorite pursuer?"
His silence is telling.
You laugh, low and delighted. "You did. How sweet. I knew there was something between us. All that chasing… it’s practically foreplay, don’t you think?"
"Enough" he snaps, but his voice lacks conviction. He stands again, walking around the table until he’s beside you. Close enough that you almost have to hurt your neck to look up at him. The proximity sends a thrill through you.
"Trying to intimidate me with height?" you tease, eyes tracing the line of his throat. "It’s working. In all the best ways. You smell like rain and look very determinate. Very attractive."
Wonwoo places one hand on the back of your chair, leaning down. His face is inches from yours now. You can see the faint stubble on his jaw, the way his pupils have dilated slightly. "You’re under arrest. This, whatever game you’re playing, won’t work."
"Won’t it?" you whisper, holding his gaze without flinching. "Because your heart is racing. I can practically hear it. And mine…" You let the words hang, letting the tension thicken. "Mine hasn’t slowed down since you pinned me on that rooftop."
The air feels charged, heavy. For a long moment, neither of you moves. His breath brushes your cheek. You wonder if he’s about to do something, kiss you, shake you, or storm out. Instead, he straightens slowly, jaw clenched so tightly you worry it might crack.
He returns to his seat, but the professional mask is cracking. "We’re not done here" he says quietly. "Not by a long shot."
You smile, slow and victorious. "Good. I was hoping you’d say that, Detective. I could do this all night."
The interrogation continues, your teasing never letting up, each deflection laced with flirtation that pushes him closer to the edge. The rain from earlier still clings to both of you, but the real storm is building right here in this small, locked room, between the hunter and the woman who refuses to be easy prey.
Hours have passed since the interrogation. The precinct has quieted down for the night, most officers gone home or out on calls. You’re no longer in the main holding cell but in a smaller observation room adjacent to the interrogation area: temporary placement while they process your paperwork. Your wrists are still cuffed in front of you now, chained to a sturdy ring on the wall, giving you limited movement. The room is dimly lit by a single overhead light, the air cool against your skin. Your clothes have dried somewhat, but the memory of the rain and Wonwoo’s body pinning you lingers.
The door unlocks with a heavy click. You lift your head, a slow smile spreading across your lips as Detective Jeon Wonwoo steps inside. He’s changed into a fresh black shirt, but the exhaustion and tension from earlier are etched into his face. He carries no folder this time. No recorder. Just himself, closing the door firmly behind him and locking it.
"Back so soon?" you murmur, voice husky from the long night. "I knew you couldn’t stay away."
Wonwoo doesn’t answer immediately. He stands there, eyes dark and intense as they rake over you: your slightly disheveled hair, the way your shirt still clings in places, the cuffs holding your wrists above the wall ring. The air thickens instantly, the same electric charge from the interrogation room returning tenfold.
"Final questions" he says roughly, but the excuse sounds weak even to your ears. He steps closer, stopping just out of reach. "You didn’t give me nearly enough earlier."
You laugh softly, tugging lightly at the cuffs so they clink. "We both know this isn’t about questions, Detective. You’ve been thinking about me. About this." You shift your stance, letting your hips tilt invitingly. "I could see it in your eyes the entire time. How badly you wanted to stop me from talking by other means."
His jaw clenches. He takes another step, then another, until he’s right in front of you. Towering. Close enough that you can smell his clean scent mixed with lingering traces of rain and coffee. "You talk too much" he mutters.
"Then make me stop" you challenge, eyes locking onto his. Your voice drops to a whisper. "Or are you still pretending to be the perfect, in-control detective?"
That does it.
Wonwoo’s control snaps. One large hand grips your chin, tilting your face up as his mouth crashes down on yours. The kiss is rough, hungry, all the pent-up frustration from months of chasing and the hours of teasing exploding between you. His lips are firm and demanding, tongue sweeping in when you gasp. You kiss him back just as fiercely, nipping at his bottom lip, pouring every taunt and smirk into the contact.
He groans low in his throat, the sound vibrating through you. His free hand slides down your side, gripping your waist hard enough to bruise as he presses you back against the cool wall. The cuffs limit your movement, keeping your arms raised and stretched, leaving you open to him. Vulnerable, yet you’ve never felt more powerful.
"Fuck" he breathes against your mouth, pulling back just enough to look at you. His glasses are fogged, lips already swollen. "You’re impossible."
You smirk, breathing hard. "Yet here you are, kissing the criminal you arrested. How very unprofessional, Wonwoo." You deliberately arch into him, feeling the hard line of his body. "I like it."
He doesn’t reply with words. Instead, he kisses you again, deeper, more possessive. His hand moves from your waist to the hem of your shirt, pushing it up roughly. Cool air hits your stomach as he palms your skin, fingers digging in. You moan into the kiss, the sound spurring him on. He breaks away to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, sucking at the sensitive spot just below your ear until you’re shivering.
"Still think you’re in control?" you tease breathlessly, even as your body betrays you by pressing closer. "Because these cuffs say otherwise."
Wonwoo pulls back, eyes blazing. In one swift motion, he reaches for the chain and adjusts it slightly, giving you just enough slack to lower your arms but keeping them bound together. He spins you around suddenly, pressing your front against the wall, your cuffed hands now above your head. His chest molds to your back, hard and warm.
"You talk too much" he repeats, voice dark with arousal. One hand slides around to cup your breast through your bra, thumb brushing over your nipple until it hardens. You bite back a whimper, pushing back against the obvious bulge in his pants.
"Make me" you gasp, grinding against him deliberately. "Or can’t you handle a little sass while you fuck the woman you’ve been obsessing over?"
The words ignite him. He yanks your shirt up higher, then unclasps your bra with impatient fingers, freeing your breasts. His hands are everywhere: squeezing, pinching, rolling your nipples until pleasure borders on pain. You moan louder, the sound echoing in the small room. His mouth returns to your neck, biting down as he grinds his hips forward, letting you feel exactly how hard he is.
Clothes come off in a frenzy. He spins you again to face him, stripping your shirt and bra completely, then shoving your pants and underwear down your legs. The cuffs make it awkward, but he doesn’t remove them. He wants you like this, bound, at his mercy, yet still challenging him with every look.
You kick the fabric aside, standing bare before him. Wonwoo’s gaze darkens as he drinks you in, one hand sliding between your thighs. His fingers find you already wet, slick with need.
"Fuck, you’re soaked" he growls, circling your clit with practiced precision. Two thick fingers push inside you without warning, curling just right. Your knees buckle, but he holds you up with his body, pinning you to the wall.
"Ah...Wonwoo..." you moan, head falling back. You roll your hips, riding his fingers shamelessly. "Is this what you imagined during all those late nights? Me, dripping for you?"
He pumps his fingers faster, thumb pressing firmly on your clit. "Every damn night" he admits through gritted teeth, finally giving in to the truth. "Thinking about shutting that pretty mouth up."
You laugh breathlessly, the sound turning into a sharp cry as he hits that perfect spot inside you. Pleasure coils tight in your belly. "Then do it. Shut me up. Fuck me like you mean it, Detective."
Wonwoo curses, withdrawing his fingers. You whine at the loss, but he’s already undoing his belt, shoving his pants and boxers down just enough to free his cock. He’s thick, hard, the head glistening. You lick your lips at the sight.
He lifts one of your legs, hooking it over his hip, opening you to him. The cuffs keep your arms raised, stretching your body beautifully. With one hand bracing against the wall beside your head, he lines himself up and thrusts in deep in a single, powerful stroke.
The stretch burns deliciously. You cry out, nails digging into your own palms from the cuffs. He’s big, filling you completely. Wonwoo buries his face in your neck, groaning deeply as your walls clench around him.
"Move" you demand, voice wrecked. "Or are you going to tease me now?"
He pulls back and slams in again, setting a brutal pace. Each thrust rocks you against the wall, the sound of skin slapping skin mixing with your moans and his low grunts. His free hand grips your thigh hard, holding you in place as he fucks you relentlessly. The angle is perfect, hitting deep every time.
You meet him thrust for thrust as best you can, challenging him even now. "Harder, Wonwoo. Is this all the big bad detective has? I expected more after that rooftop tackle."
He growls, the sound primal. He adjusts his grip, lifting your other leg too so both are wrapped around his waist. The new position lets him drive even deeper, pounding into you with raw intensity. Sweat beads on his forehead. His shirt is open, buttons popped in the frenzy, revealing toned chest and abs flexing with every movement.
Pleasure builds fast and overwhelming. You kiss him messily, biting his lip, sucking his tongue. He returns it with equal fervor, one hand sliding up to grip your throat lightly, not choking, just holding, possessive.
"Come on" he rasps against your mouth. "Let me feel you. Come for me, you infuriating, perfect-"
The orgasm crashes over you without warning. You clench hard around him, crying out his name as waves of pleasure rip through your body. Your vision whites out, legs trembling around his waist.
Wonwoo doesn’t stop. He fucks you through it, chasing his own release. His thrusts grow erratic, deeper, more desperate. You watch his face through half-lidded eyes: the furrowed brow, the parted lips, the raw need in his gaze as he stares at you.
With a deep, guttural groan, he buries himself to the hilt and comes hard, pulsing inside you. His hips stutter, body shuddering against yours as he rides out the climax.
For long moments, the only sounds are your ragged breathing and the faint hum of the building. Wonwoo keeps you pinned to the wall, still buried deep, forehead resting against yours. Sweat mixes with the remnants of earlier rain on your skin.
You smile lazily, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. "See? Told you it was personal."
He huffs a tired laugh, the sound surprisingly soft. Slowly, he lowers your legs, keeping an arm around your waist to support you as he pulls out. The loss makes you both hiss. He tucks himself away and helps adjust your clothes as best he can with your cuffed hands, the gesture strangely tender after the roughness.
But the heat in his eyes hasn’t faded completely. He cups your face, thumb brushing your swollen lips.
"This doesn’t change anything" he murmurs, though the words lack conviction.
You lean into his touch, eyes sparkling with challenge and satisfaction. "Doesn’t it? We’ll see about that, Detective."
Morning light filters weakly through the small, high window in the holding room, casting pale rectangles across the concrete floor. Your body aches in the best and worst ways, reminders of last night’s raw intensity lingering in your muscles, between your thighs and in the faint marks hidden beneath your clothes. The cuffs remain, though they’ve been loosened slightly. You sit at the metal table, hands resting on the surface, staring at the one-way mirror. Waiting.
The door opens sooner than you expected. Wonwoo steps in, looking like he hasn’t slept. Dark circles under his eyes, hair slightly messy, wearing the same black shirt from last night but now neatly tucked in. He carries a fresh file, thicker this time and two cups of coffee. He sets one in front of you without a word, then takes the seat across the table.
You wrap your cuffed hands around the warm cup, inhaling the bitter scent. "No recorder today?" you ask quietly. The sass from yesterday has softened; your voice is calmer, almost gentle. The night changed something between you. You can feel it in the way he looks at you now, not just hunger, but conflict.
Wonwoo shakes his head. "Off the record. For now." His eyes search your face, lingering on your lips before flicking away. "How are you feeling?"
A small smile tugs at your mouth. "Sore. Satisfied. Confused about why the detective who fucked me senseless is bringing me coffee instead of charging me with everything he can."
He winces slightly at your bluntness but doesn’t deny it. "Evidence came in overnight" he says, opening the file. Photos, documents and transcripts spill across the table. "The Starlight Necklace had a tracker. We recovered it, but more importantly… we found connections to a larger network. One that suggests you weren’t always working alone. Or at least, not by choice."
You sip the coffee, letting the warmth ground you. For the first time in the interrogation process, you don’t deflect with teasing. "I wasn’t. Not entirely."
Wonwoo leans forward, elbows on the table. The light highlights the sharp line of his jaw and the intensity in his gaze. "Talk to me. Really talk. No games. Why do you do this? The thefts, the risks. You’re smart enough to do anything else."
You stare into your cup for a long moment, the steam curling up like ghosts from your past. The vulnerability feels foreign, but after last night, after feeling him come undone inside you, after the way he held you afterward, you owe him something real.
"My sister" you say finally, voice low. "She got sick when we were younger. Really sick. Our parents were gone and the medical bills… they buried us. I did what I had to. Started small: stealing food, medicine. Then it turned into something bigger. People noticed talent. Offers came in. The kind you can’t refuse when you’re desperate and the hospitals keep sending new invoices." You meet his eyes steadily. "I became Shadow to save her. She’s in remission now, but the debts never really went away. And once you’re in that world, it’s hard to get out. They own pieces of you."
Wonwoo listens without interrupting, his expression unreadable but his hands clenched tight on the edge of the table. "Why not come to the police? Witness protection. Something."
You laugh bitterly. "The people I worked for have reach inside these walls. I’ve seen it. Turning myself in would have gotten her killed faster than any illness." You lean back, the cuffs clinking. "Last night… that wasn’t part of any plan. But you caught me anyway. And now here we are."
Silence stretches between you. Wonwoo rubs his face with both hands, exhaling heavily. The internal battle is clear on his features: the dedicated detective who has spent months building this case versus the man who pinned you against the wall and lost himself in you.
"I should turn everything over" he says quietly. "The evidence is solid. You’d go away for years. But after last night… after hearing this…" He gestures vaguely at the file. "There are gaps. Inconsistencies that could point to coercion. Extortion. I could push for a deal. Reduced charges. Protection."
Your heart skips. You study him carefully. "But that’s not what’s really bothering you, is it? It’s the fact that you want to help me. Not just as a cop. As the man who couldn’t stop himself from coming back here last night."
He doesn’t deny it. Instead, he reaches across the table and covers your cuffed hands with one of his. The touch is warm, grounding. "I’ve never crossed a line like this before. Never. You make me question everything I stand for. Duty. Justice. All of it feels… complicated now."
You turn your hands, interlacing your fingers with his as much as the cuffs allow. "Then complicate it more. Help me disappear. Not forever. Just long enough to cut ties with the people pulling the strings. I have information that could bring them down, real ones, not just me. In return, I disappear. Or…" You pause, letting the words hang. "We find another way. Together."
Wonwoo’s thumb strokes the back of your hand, a small, unconscious gesture that sends warmth spreading through your chest. "You’re asking me to risk everything. My badge. My integrity."
"I know." Your voice softens further. "And I wouldn’t blame you if you walked away right now. But last night wasn’t just sex, Wonwoo. You felt it too. The way we fit. The way you looked at me when you thought I wasn’t watching. Like I was more than just a criminal to catch."
He stands suddenly, pacing the small room like he did during the interrogation. Morning light catches his profile, highlighting the tension in his broad shoulders. "Evidence suggests your sister’s medical records were tampered with, pressure from the network to keep you compliant. I can use that. Build a case against them instead of you. But it would take time. And you’d have to stay in custody. Cooperate fully."
You watch him move, remembering how those same shoulders felt under your hands last night. "Or you could look the other way for one transport. A staged mistake. I vanish and you get credit for dismantling the bigger ring with the intel I give you anonymously."
He stops pacing and turns to you, eyes burning with conflict. "That’s not how this works. I don’t break the law."
"Yet you broke protocol last night" you counter gently, no accusation in your tone. "You came to me. You touched me. You let yourself want something outside the rules."
Wonwoo approaches the table again, bracing his hands on it and leaning down so your faces are close. You can see the exhaustion, the desire, the moral storm raging behind his eyes. "I can’t stop thinking about you" he admits, voice rough. "Even now. Knowing what you’ve been through… it makes me want to protect you. But I swore an oath."
You rise as much as the cuffs and chain allow, bringing your face inches from his. "Then protect me the right way. Not by locking me up forever, but by giving me a chance to make it right. I’m not innocent, Wonwoo. I’ve stolen. I’ve hurt people indirectly. But I’m not the villain you thought I was when you chased me across that rooftop."
He closes the distance, forehead resting against yours. His breath mingles with yours, warm and coffee-scented. For a moment, it feels like last night again, the intensity, the pull, but softer. More real.
"I need time to think" he whispers. "To review everything. There might be a way to get you into protective custody with a deal. Witness status. Your sister safe. You… out of that life."
You nod slowly, pulling back just enough to look into his eyes. "And if there isn’t? If the only way is riskier?"
Wonwoo’s hand comes up to cup your cheek, thumb tracing your jaw. The touch is tender, at odds with the man who fucked you against the wall hours ago. "Then I don’t know what I’ll do. But I won’t let them have you. Not the network. Not the system if it’s unjust."
The confession hangs heavy in the air. You turn your head slightly, pressing a soft kiss to his palm. "That’s all I needed to hear. Whatever you decide… I trust you more than I’ve trusted anyone in years."
He lingers there, thumb stroking your skin, eyes searching yours for answers neither of you fully have. The file on the table represents two paths: one of duty, cold and clear, and another of messy, dangerous possibility: alliance, redemption, maybe even something deeper.
Finally, Wonwoo straightens. He gathers the papers but leaves the coffee. "I’ll be back later today. Don’t do anything reckless."
You smile faintly, the familiar teasing spark returning just a little. "No promises, Detective. But I’ll behave… for you."
MFM | semi-public sex | praise kink | blowjob | cunnilingus | begging | double penetration | anal | creampie | cum on tits
The billiards room hums with a quiet intensity, the overhead lamp bathing the green baize in a warm glow that dances across the polished cues leaning against the wall.
You lean over the table, cue in hand, lining up your shot with deliberate slowness.
‘Five ball, side pocket,’ you sink the ball easily, straightening up with a triumphant grin.
Seungcheol's presence fills the space, his tall, muscular frame towering over you as he positions himself behind your body. His large hands—rough from handling weights and cues alike—settle on your waist, fingers splaying wide to encompass your curves.
'Arch your back a bit more, yeah, just like that,' he rumbles, his voice a deep gravel that vibrates through your chest.
You feel the heat radiating from him, his broad shoulders eclipsing the light as he leans in close, the scent of his cologne mixing with something earthier, more primal.
You're both committed to this game of strip pool, the rules simple and wicked: foul and lose a piece of clothing. The first half a hour went by with plenty of teasing but no clothing lost. Now, you have 4 balls remaining while he only has 3. Stakes are high.
‘Same pocket,’ you gesture and bend over the table to take your next shot, cue in hand, his body presses flush against yours.
His massive chest molds to your back, and you can sense the sheer size of him—how his thighs, thick as tree trunks, bracket your legs. One hand guides your arm along the cue, his grip firm and unyielding, while the other lingers on your hip, thumb tracing lazy circles that send sparks skittering across your skin.
'Eyes on the ball, baby. Don't let me distract you.' But he does, of course. His hips shift forward ever so slightly, the bulge in his jeans—a promise of his enormous cock—nudging against the cleft of your ass. It's huge, even through the fabric, making your pussy clench in anticipation.
Pushing your ass out, you grin as hear a groan. You draw back the cue, but he teasing him has consequences. His free hand slips up under your shirt, palm flat against your stomach, fingers inching toward the underside of your bra. The contact makes your shot wobble; the white ball going wide.
'Oops,' he chuckles, low and filthy. 'That's your shirt, then. Take it off slow for me.'
Heart pounding, you straighten up and face him, his dark eyes devouring you as you grasp the hem of your top. You peel it upward inch by inch, the fabric dragging over your ribs, exposing the soft swell of your belly first. Higher it goes, revealing the lacy edge of your bra, then the full curve of your tits straining against the cups. Finally, you tug it over your head, letting your hair cascade back down. Your breasts heave with each breath, nipples pebbling under his stare.
Seungcheol's gaze locks on them, hungry. 'Fuck, look at those perfect tits. So full and ready.'
He steps closer, his height making you feel small, delicate. His hands—those big, capable paws—cup your breasts gently at first, thumbs brushing over the peaks through the lace. You gasp, and he smirks. 'Good girl, letting me see you like this.'
His turn now. He tips his head to gesture at the corner pocket, lines up a shot effortlessly, potting number 11. But on the next, you slide up to the front of the table and bend down, elbows on the table, face resting on your hands, ‘That’s a tough shot, Cheol.’ You blink innocently as you push your breasts out with your elbows, right in his line of sight.
He scratches the shot, the cue ball flying off the table. You laugh, light and teasing. 'Oh, oppa, is that the best you can do? Maybe I should call Jeonghan or Mingyu to teach me properly. They wouldn't miss like that.'
Seungcheol's eyes darken, a low growl rumbling from his throat. He rounds the table in two strides, his hand coming down on your ass with a sharp spank that makes you yelp and jolt forward. The sting blooms hot across your skin, and you bite your lip to stifle a moan. 'Watch that mouth, baby. Tease me again, and I'll make you regret it.'
His fingers dig into your hip, pulling you back against his hardening cock straining through his pants.
‘Yes sir,’ you whine, breathless.
'Guess I owe you a layer.' He chuckles, stands tall, towering over the table as he grips his shirt.
Slowly, he lifts it, the fabric clinging to his defined abs before revealing the deep V of his hips, the dark happy trail snaking down. Up it goes, over his pecs—solid slabs of muscle that flex under the light—and finally off, tossed aside. His torso is a masterpiece of power, shoulders broad enough to block out the world, arms corded with veins. You can't help but stare at the outline of his cock, straining massively against his jeans, the zipper tented obscenely. He's built like a god, every inch screaming dominance.
Distracted, you miss your next shot, the white ball scratching one of his stripes instead of your solids.
Cheol unhooks your bra with a familiar flick, sliding the straps down your shoulders agonizingly slow, letting the cups fall away to bare your chest completely. Your tits spill free, heavy and round, nipples stiff in the room's chill. He doesn't touch yet, just watches as they rise and fall with your quickening breaths, the weight of them shifting subtly with each inhale.
He easily sets up his next shot but doesn’t pot a ball.
Back to you. Seungcheol’s teaching resumes, but now with your tits bare, brushing the cool edge of the table as you lean down. He presses in again, his bare chest hot against your back, one huge hand sliding around to palm your breast fully. It's dwarfed in his grasp, his fingers sinking into the soft flesh, kneading as you try to focus.
'Squeeze the cue like this,' he whispers, but his thumb rolls your nipple, pinching just hard enough to make you whimper. The distraction works; you miscue badly.
'Skirt next. Show me those legs.' Biting your lip, you hook your thumbs into the waistband, shimmying the fabric down your hips with deliberate slowness. It catches on the curve of your ass, then slides over your thighs, revealing the smooth skin inch by inch until it hits the floor. Now in just panties, your body flushes under his gaze, pussy already throbbing.
Seungcheol's eyes rake over you as you stand, lingering on how your tits sway gently as you step out of the skirt, the natural bounce making them jiggle enticingly. 'Goddamn, you're tiny compared to me. Gonna look so good spread out.'
He takes his shot, pots the remaining stripes and sinks the eight ball with a final, authoritative crack. “I win,” he declares, unzipping his jeans with a predatory grin.
He shoves them down slowly, the denim hugging the powerful muscles of his thick thighs before pooling at his ankles. His boxers follow, and out springs his cock—fucking massive, thick as your wrist, the length curving upward with a fat, plum-colored head already glistening with a bead of pre-cum. It’s an intimidating monument of flesh, veins throbbing visibly along the shaft, his balls heavy and full below. “Be a good girl and let me claim my prize.”
You don’t hesitate, dropping to your knees on the floor. You wrap your lips around the swollen head, sucking eagerly as he threads his fingers through your hair, gripping tight to guide you deeper down his shaft. “That’s it, take it all for oppa,” he groans, his hips giving a shallow thrust.
Your mouth is stretched obscenely wide, your tongue flattening against the thick underside as you suck hard, tasting the salty-slick pre-cum leaking from his slit. You hollow your cheeks, bobbing faster, slurping noisily while your free hand cups his heavy balls, rolling them gently. Between your thighs, your wet cunt throbs, juices already trickling down your inner legs, soaking your panties as you imagine that thick cock splitting you open.
He pulls back slightly, smirking down at you. “Such a greedy little slut, aren't you? Look at you, dripping just from sucking me off.” You nod frantically, mouth full, eyes watering as you take him deeper, gagging softly when the head hits the back of your throat. “Good girl. Keep going, get oppa nice and hard for that tight pussy of yours.” Your tits nipples are hard as rocks, begging for attention as you work him over.
Straightening up, he’s fully naked now, his cock standing straight and glistening with your spit, veins pulsing along its girth. His enormous frame closes in, towering over you. “One more lesson before I taste you.”
He maneuvers you fully onto the table, the green felt scratching your back as he spreads your legs wide, knees hooked over the edges. Your panties are last; he tugs them down torturously slow, exposing your shaved mound, then the slick lips of your pussy, already puffy and glistening.
“Look at my jagi’s pretty little cunt, dripping for my big cock,” he murmurs, voice rough with lust. He kneels between your thighs, his broad shoulders forcing your legs even wider. His hands grip your inner thighs, thumbs parting your folds to reveal your clit, swollen and needy, peeking out like it’s desperate for his touch. “Beg me to eat your pussy, baby. Tell oppa how bad you want my tongue buried in that sloppy hole.”
Your voice trembles, hips bucking up instinctively. “Please, Cheol… oppa, lick my pussy. Make me cum all over your face. I need it so fucking bad.” He chuckles darkly, blowing a hot breath over your exposed flesh, making you shiver. “I can’t hear you.”
You do, voice breaking, hips thrusting up to his face. “Pl-please Cheol-oppa, lick my—no, your dripping slut cunt, I need you so bad. Eat me out, finger me until I squirt. Please!”
He grins wickedly and finally dives in. His tongue—hot and flat—licks a long, slow stripe from your entrance to your clit, savoring your tangy sweetness. You moan loudly, tits heaving on your chest, the bounce more pronounced as your body arches off the table. He latches onto your clit, sucking hard while two thick fingers—his are so damn big—push into your pussy, stretching the walls with a wet squelch. He curls them, pumping lazily, tongue flicking relentlessly. Your breasts jiggle with each thrust of his hand, nipples tracing wild patterns in the air as you writhe, pinching one yourself to heighten the ache.
Foreplay drags on, teasing you mercilessly. He adds a third finger, the stretch burning deliciously, making you gasp and clench around him. “Fuck, so tight for such a slutty cunt. I’m gonna wreck this hole later, fill it with my cum until it leaks out.”
His mouth slurps greedily at your juices, chin dripping as he laps up every drop, alternating between broad licks and pinpoint sucks on your throbbing clit.
Your hips grind against his face, tits bouncing wildly now, nipples hard as diamonds scraping the air. “Oppa, more… please, don’t stop. I’m your dirty little toy, use me, I- I’m going to cum—” you plead, voice hoarse, body quivering on the edge.
He pulls his fingers out abruptly, leaving you empty and whining, then slaps your soaked pussy lightly, the sting making you jolt. “Not yet, baby. You cum when I say.”
His tongue delves back in, fucking into your entrance while his thumb circles your clit, building the pressure slowly, drawing out every whimper until you’re a trembling, begging mess, tits heaving with each ragged breath.
Suddenly, the door creaks open, and Jeonghan steps in, eyes darkening with amusement as he takes in the sight—you splayed out, legs wide, Cheol’s face buried between your thighs. He leans against the wall, already palming his crotch. “Starting without me? That’s no fun.”
Seungcheol lifts his head, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, a possessive growl escaping. “Join if you want, but she’s mine first.” Jeonghan chuckles, stripping off his shirt and pants in one fluid motion, his cock springing free—longer than Seungcheol’s, sleek and veined, tip already beading with pre-cum. “Sharing’s caring, Cheol. Let’s give her what she really wants—two cocks to milk dry.”
You whimper, still riding the edge of your denied orgasm, pussy clenching around nothing. “Please… both of you. Oppa, Cheol… fuck me together. I need your thick cocks stretching me, filling every hole.” Jeonghan’s eyes gleam as he strokes himself, stepping closer. “Hear that? Our little slut’s begging for it. Don’t make her wait, Cheol.”
Seungcheol stands, wiping his slick chin, and flips you onto your back with effortless strength, your tits smacking against your chest from the motion. He lines up his thick cock at your entrance, rubbing the head through your folds, coating it in your arousal. “You want this, jagi? Beg for oppa’s cock in your dripping cunt.”
“Yes! Please, Cheol-oppa, fuck my pussy hard. Stretch me with that fat cock,” you cry, arching back. He thrusts in deep with one brutal snap of his hips, bottoming out, your walls fluttering around his girth as you cry out, tits bouncing from the impact.
Jeonghan climbs onto the table, kneeling by your head, his long cock bobbing inches from your lips. “Open up, baby. Suck me good and get it wet for that tight ass of yours.”
You obey eagerly, mouth watering as you wrap your lips around him, tongue swirling over the veined length while moaning around the fullness. Seungcheol starts pounding your pussy relentlessly, each slam making your body jolt forward onto Jeonghan’s cock, your tits swaying heavily beneath you, nipples grazing the felt.
“Fuck, she’s swallowing me whole,” Jeonghan groans, threading fingers into your hair to fuck your face shallowly. “Such a perfect cocksucker.”
Seungcheol’s pace quickens, balls slapping against your ass, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. “This cunt’s gripping me like a vice. You love being shares, don’t you?”
You can only hum in agreement, spit trailing from your lips as Jeonghan pulls out, strings connecting you.
They switch seamlessly—Seungcheol pulls out with a wet pop, your pussy gaping slightly, and Jeonghan slides into you, his longer length hitting deeper, brushing that spot that makes stars burst behind your eyes. “God, so fucking tight. Bounce on it—show us those tits.”
You do, hips rolling as he thrusts up, your breasts jiggling wildly, nipples erect and begging to be twisted.
Cheol moves behind you, spitting on your ass, rubbing his thick cock against the puckered hole. “Beg for it here too. Tell oppa you want your ass filled while he wrecks your pussy.”
“Please, Cheol… fuck my ass. Both of you, stuff me full. I’m your dirty whore, use every hole,” you gasp, pushing back against him. He presses in slowly, the burn intense as your ring stretches around his girth, inch by agonizing inch, until he’s seated deep. The fullness overwhelms you, cocks rubbing through the thin wall between them, hitting every sensitive spot. They find a rhythm, syncing their thrusts—Jeonghan deep in your pussy, Seungcheol claiming your ass—making your body rock between them.
Your tits bounce erratically with each pound, nipples hardening further as Jeonghan reaches down to pinch and roll them roughly. “Cum for us, slut. Milk our cocks with that greedy body.” Seungcheol spanks your ass cheek hard, the slap echoing, skin blooming red. “Yeah, squeeze tighter. You’re gonna take our loads like a good girl.”
The sensations crash over you—stretching, fullness, friction—building to a shattering peak. You beg incoherently—“Oppa, Cheol, harder… don’t stop, fuck me raw”—as waves crash over you, pussy and ass clenching rhythmically, juices squirting around Jeonghan’s pistoning cock.
They follow soon after, grunts filling the air. Seungcheol floods your ass with hot spurts of cum, pulsing deep inside, while Jeonghan pulls out to paint your tits white, thick ropes landing on your heaving breasts, dripping down your nipples. Panting, they collapse around you, the snooker table a mess of sweat, cum, and satisfaction.
mingyu smiles at his blank screen, colorful text telling him more and more are joining to tune in. the chat is an endless stream of a variety of greetings, ranging from the sweet 'hi how have you been !!!' to the more confident 'i want to gag on ur dick king'. mingyu greets with a soft hi before chuckling about the latter.
"i just thought i'd have a radio live today, just wanted to catch up, nothing too wild." mingyu contemplates sharing the fact that he's in bed, comfortable in his mountain of pillows, only clad in some loose shorts and a hoodie. mingyu decides to hold back for now, still waiting to see that one username he's found himself to be so fond of.
cat3arss: so no head? 😔
cocks1ut: oohh how have you been?
hole4sale: lmao no head 😭😭
pretty.miss: aww thats too bad
pretty.miss: wouldve loved to see you get all messy again
hole4sale: so true pretty miss ma'am!!
mingyu didn't even notice you've already joined, his body suddenly flashing hot as he reread your comments. a warm pink dusts his cheeks, and he clears his throat in an attempt to keep himself together. "what, are you just using me for my body or something?"
pretty.miss: perhaps
mingyu inhales sharply, propping his laptop and mic on his bedside table before shuffling down his bed to be more comfortable, his left hand now toying with the gartered band of his shorts. he feels his cock start to harden, all because of your words.
"tch, perhaps." it's a weak attempt at getting the upper hand, on his own damn live. he spots your username and the little bouncing circles indicating your'e typing. it's like he can only focus on you, his favorite regular.
pretty.miss: hehe. have you eaten yet then?
"y-yeah, I had some tuna mayo riceballs e-earlier." for some reason, mingyu's mind had drifted to how lovely you must sound, asking about his day and talking about yours. the thought sends tingles running down his spine and causing more blood to flow down his body and harden his dick. mingyu knows it's ridiculous, getting off to the mere thought of how your voice must sound, but he can't help himself, not when his eyes flit to the screen and sees you've commented once more. his hand slides past the gartered band of his shorts and is now palming the bulge that has formed in his boxers.
pretty.miss: oh did you make them yourself?
mingyu nods, and upon realizing that you can't actually see him, tries to calm himself down so he won't sound so obvious and get found out. "I-hah- I did." So much for not being caught.
pretty.miss: you okay, babyboy? you sound out of breath
the petname goes straight to his dick; mingyu lets out a shuddering breath, one the viewers most definitely heard, and lets his hand wrap around himself. he gives himself a few languid strokes, thumb brushing the tip to collect the precum pooling there. through gritted teeth, he answers you. "I'm f-fine, pretty."
pretty.miss: you sure? idk it sounds like you're getting needy
hole4sale: oh shit
cocks1ut: wait pretty miss is right?????
skinnyp3n1s: are you touching yourself??
the pinging of the chat turns him on even more, and in the absence of an answer, his viewers start donating. it's like he's been conditioned; mingyu's body turns warmer and he gets needier at the sound of the clinking coins. it's been no more than 10 minutes and he's already reached half of his usual goal.
"i j-just wanted to catch up with you g-guys," mingyu huffs, reaching over his bedside table for the bottle lube. he removes his hand from his dick to squirt a generous amount of lube on it, the slick, wet sound making its way to the mic. "you just had to turn it into something else..."
pretty.miss: oh so you're blaming us now? it's not our fault you get turned on by a little small talk
pretty.miss donated 100 coins!
the chat joins in, crude words teasing him about how needy and easy he is for them. mingyu whimpers when his lubed hand makes contact with his sensitive cock, desperation urging him to fuck his fist already. but he shakes his head, mouth dry as he pleads, "can i touch myself? please?"
pretty.miss: you know i can't say no to you, baby
"f-fuck, thank you!" mingyu's whimpers are endless as he fucks his fist, just the like the coins being donated to him. eyes scrnuched close, miraculously enough, he manages to block out the clinking, his mind coming up with thoughts of how it would feel like to fuck you instead. his breath turns ragged at the thought, convince there's nothing more that could drive him so insane.
then, in a moment of delirium, he thinks of how you're probably getting off to him (or at the very least thinking of him in the most impure of ways), how his voice does the same things to you that your words do with him. mingyu feels his abs contract and his toes curling as his orgasm builds up.
"hng, f-fuck, i'm so close-" a loud, whiny moan rips from mingyu's throat and the chat rolls endlessly, the pinging sound of notifications making his already fuzzy head spin. "p-please let me cum, please!"
gyu cracks one eye open then the other just in time to see your comment of approval before he's seeing stars and spurting ribbons of white all over his fist.
ANAMNESIS. (cyborg!choi seungcheol x human!reader)
synopsis: five years ago, your company became a big enough threat to the existing tech ecosystem to cause an attack on your life. five years ago, said attack killed your husband. after spending so long picking up the pieces, you are quickly racing to the top again, which means your life is threatened once more. but the assassin sent your way is a little too familiar, even if he’s not exactly the same as the day he got “killed”.
warnings: mentions of death and violence, assassination and murder, corrupt business practices, amnesia, brainwashing and manipulation, mentions of mental health, suicidal ideation, sexually explicit content
smut warnings: 18+, multiple orgasms, choking, praise kink, use of petnames, they almost cry (lol), mentions of body modifications (in case of cyborg!seungcheol).
word count: 17.2k
a/n: this is part of the Cyberpunk: Reload Collab hosted by @studiosvt . Thank you to the organisers and everyone involved in the collab, this has been such a unique and stimulating writing experience for me, especially for a concept I’ve never done before. Seungcheol in this is loosely based off the winter soldier, I hope you all enjoy!
Inside the sleek but small building wedged between two skyscrapers, a single light illuminates a window on the second floor. Around it is nothing but darkness, and the streets are strangely quiet for a Friday night. Inside the office, the golden light falls over a keyboard, the clack, clack, clack of the keys rhythmic and continuous. Fingers move deftly over it, and the artificial glow of the monitor adds to the lamp in an unpleasant way. You don’t seem to mind.
A knock on the door does nothing to break your concentration. Your fingers don’t so much as falter. Joshua pokes his head in through a crack in the doorframe, frowns when he sees you, and finally speaks up.
“Any chance you will be wrapping this up soon?”
You don’t look up, but you hum in acknowledgment. “Just a little bit more. I’m just finishing up on….”
Your voice trails off. You don’t attempt to finish the sentence. Joshua sighs.
“It’s Friday night.” He reminds you, gently, still lingering in the doorway. “How about you and I get some dinner? You can sleep in tomorrow.”
He knows his suggestions will fall on deaf ears, but he tries nonetheless. He is hyperaware of his boss at this point. There’s no convincing you to slow down, to take a breather. You won’t allow yourself to. Slowing down means letting your mind wander. And you haven’t let that happen in five years, lest you are reminded of what you have lost.
“It’s okay for you to head home, Josh.” You break him from his thoughts. “I promise, I’m almost done. Maybe an hour more.”
There’s no point in arguing. Joshua sighs and steps out again. He reminds himself to call you an hour later to make sure you have, in fact, left the office. His satchel is already packed, so he just pulls on his coat and steps out.
You know Joshua worries. He’s the only person on staff who can see your struggle. You pride yourself on being composed and shut off from the people around you. If you’re drowning, no one really sees it. Except Joshua, of course. He has been there since the very beginning, so he knows. The rest of the staff though, you did a complete turnover half a decade ago. They don’t know what actually went down or what you’ve been through.
True to your word, you’re wrapping up forty five minutes later. It’s well past midnight, and you know Joshua won’t take kindly to you still working when he inevitably calls in fifteen minutes. There have been occasions where he has dragged you out of the building himself, when he is particularly frustrated. He keeps speaking about ‘work-life balance’, reprimanding you for not having it. You always bite your tongue instead of telling him that you have no ‘life’ to go back to. The only person you ever loved is gone, so your work is all you have.
The drive back is inconsequential. The roads are empty by this point, despite the weekend. Your apartment building is silent and looming as always. You don’t really like your neighborhood, but you had moved here after everything happened for a fresh start, and at the time, you weren’t in any headspace to pick out a nice place. Joshua often complained about how drab and uninspiring your apartment is. You pay him no mind. He has always been all about flowers and rainbows. His desk at the office is so colorful it makes your eyes hurt sometimes.
You leave the light on in the kitchen landing so you don’t have to stumble through the dark to get to the switchboard. Again, you can hear Joshua complaining in your head about how you can easily afford an AI home system, considering how well the company has been doing. You are least interested though. You don’t want to put anything in this apartment that can mean you are planning to live here long term. You don’t even know why you’re still here. Most days, you have no clue where your life is heading anyway.
You toe off your shoes and plop your heavy trenchcoat over the back of the couch. You wonder what you can make yourself for dinner. Something minimal straight out of the packet, probably. You’ve got dozens of those prepackaged meals in your pantry. You beeline for the sink, washing your hands and wondering bleakly what you are in the mood for stomaching. Through the window over the counter, you can see the city’s skyline. Thousands of tiny, yellow dots from people’s windows, the backdrop formed by the sleek, poised buildings of the business sector looming beyond. Straight edges and smooth lines. But one building, not even two blocks away, shows an irregularity.
You squint for a second, hands held under the sink still. It looks like a person. Tall, but very broad. You half think you’re imagining it, but then the silhouette moves, and your eye catches on a gleam of silver over the shoulder.
The water is still running. You shut it off, looking back up. He’s gone.
You blink a few times. Then you glance at the clock. It’s nearly three in the morning. You huff and step away from the sink, shaking off your hands. It’s too late at night for your brain to be functioning properly. You need sustenance. And then you need to sleep.
It’s easy enough to pop your chicken dinner into a dish and slide it into the oven. You set fifteen minutes on the digital counter, and then busy yourself with hopping into the shower for a quick wash. Fifteen minutes on the dot, you’re back in the kitchen, peering into the oven with dripping wet hair and a bathrobe covering your drenched body. Everything around you is silent, so deafeningly still that you immediately hear the click and whir of metal. Right behind you. Too close.
The hair on the back of your neck stands. You whirl around.
Something smashes, hard, against your nose. Pain explodes and you gasp, stumbling back into the counter. Your eyes water, something warm and liquid drips over your lips and down your chin. You’re dizzy, you can’t see properly. You can barely breathe through the excruciating hurt. But alarm bells are ringing in your head, and fight or flight takes over. Backed against the counter for support, you kick your legs out hard. Your feet make contact with something sturdy. There’s a grunt, and the man stumbles backward, his back hitting the refrigerator with what sounds like a deafening crash. You’re already scrambling to run from the kitchen.
You can barely see, but you know the map of this house like the back of your hand. Your ears are ringing, you’re gasping for breath, but panic is fueling you. You’ve had this feeling before, your life has been threatened once, a long time ago, and somehow, the second time around is giving you more clarity.
It also means that you are better prepared this time around.
You can hear the thuds and bangs behind you. Your attacker will be right on your heels soon. You barely manage to wretch your door closed, locking it, before a startling bang shakes it at its very hinges. Your yelp is involuntary. You know you have only bought yourself mere seconds.
Inside your drawer you find what you’re looking for, a tiny, unassuming device, shiny and silver, resembling a lighter. It comes with two silicone ear buds that you shove into your ears. Then, your hand on the solitary button on the device, you turn around.
The door comes down after just two bangs, splintering the doorframe completely. Sawdust rises, clouding the air. You don’t wait to see your attacker, pressing the button immediately.
You can’t hear it, owing to the buds in your ears, but you know a high pitched screeching has filled the air, nearly unbearable because of how high the frequency is. But it does its job. The man howls in pain, dropping what looks like a gun on the ground and using both hands to cover his ears. His knees buckle and he falls on them. You can see, even from a few feet away, the veins in his neck bulge hard, disappearing behind the black mask on his face. He crumples on the floor, clutching the sides of his head. You snatch your phone from where you had thrown it on your bed, frantically dialling three digits.
The man is still writhing, his body, clad in black and silver, contracting and arching painfully as he tries in vain to keep the sound out. As he moves, metal thuds against the ground. There is more clicking and whirring, like machinery buzzing with life. You realise he’s not entirely human. His shoulders tighten as you step closer, trying to make out who it is.
“911, what is your emergency?”
A single brown eye pops open on the stranger's mask-covered face. The other half, you realise, is covered in silver metal. But you don’t care about that, because your blood is running cold.
You would recognise that eye anywhere.
Your grip falters. The device in your hand gets silenced. The man on the ground relaxes, his hands falling down as he quickly tries to scramble to his feet. He is still swaying, his short cropped blond hair matted to his sweaty forehead, the after effects of the sonic attack making him stumble, but for the first time, you register his stature. His height, the breadth of his shoulders. And his one, visible eye.
“Hello? Is anyone there?”
The woman on your phone seems to break your trance. Before you know it, the man is rushing out over the broken wreckage of your door. Your hand shakes, your eyes are still watering from the blow you took. Both your phone and your device fall from your hand. You scramble after him.
“Wait-”
But he’s gone. Out of your living room window, which you didn’t notice was wide open when you first walked into the apartment. You can’t see him on the street below, which is glaringly empty. It’s like he was a ghost, vanishing before you can blink. You are left staring at nothing, blood dripping steadily down your chin now, staining your bathrobe, your hair still damp from the shower, sticking to your face and neck. You can’t even register the pain anymore, can’t think of anything else except the cold depth of his one brown eye.
……………………………
“That’s impossible.”
“It was him.”
“And I’m telling you, that’s not possible.”
“I know what I saw, Josh.”
“Y/N, he’s dead. We had a funeral. We buried him.”
“Only parts.” But your voice cracks. You don’t like remembering that day. “We had an arm and a leg. Some teeth. And this man…. half of him was metal. He’s been modified.”
Joshua doesn’t reply, staring at the TV playing across the room on low volume. You follow his lead, gaze blank. You don’t really register much of anything since the pain in your face is too overwhelming to take in much else.
When you woke up this morning, you almost forgot what happened in your apartment mere hours ago. One look at the broken mess of your door, the twinge in your face that made your eyes water, and all the events came rushing back. The punch you took, running to your room, your door broken down, driving your attacker away.
Clear, brown, almond shaped eye. Just one eye, while the other half of the face was covered in what looked like a metal plate, and a mechanical, white circle where the other eye should have been.
“The Secretary of Defence has a bionic arm.” You add, absentmindedly.
“Just one arm.” Joshua counters. “Not half the entire body.”
“It wasn’t the entire body. I could make out the arm and leg. Some part of the face-”
“My point is,” Your friend cuts you off, “why would it be Seungcheol? And if by some miracle it was him, why would he attack you?”
You don’t answer, because you don’t know. You’ve been mulling over the same questions for hours, long before you finally called Joshua to come over. You know bionic prostheses are very much an emerging field in biotech circles. Everyone is racing towards this kind of technology because of how much revenue there is in the medical applications. The other, more sinister angle is weaponry, and you know that a lot of your fellow developers and companies want to tap into that potential. There have been rumors for months, covert projects underway by both government and private agencies to develop this exact kind of thing.
Maybe what you saw last night was an application of that weapon.
It still doesn’t explain why he would attack you. Doesn’t explain why the person who would never so much as raise his voice at you could hurt you so severely that Joshua balked at the sight of your purple and blue face, nose swollen and bruised in ugly colors that told you that you would have to work from home for the foreseeable future.
The Seungcheol you knew had been so gentle. That’s how you met him, actually, so many years ago that you don’t even recognise that time.
He’d spilled coffee on you, as cliché as it sounds. Thankfully, it missed any part of your skin that was bare, but even through the cloth it burned a bit. He was so apologetic, dark brown hair falling into his eyes, messed up by the wind in a look that reminded you a little bit of a gentle dog. He had panicked, tried to wipe you down, but you were too distracted by this giant of a man who talked so softly, dabbed your sleeve with a grip on your wrist uncharacteristically gentle for such large hands. He wanted to pay for dry cleaning, and you agreed only if he would let you buy a coffee to replace the one he had spilled on you. Of course, he didn’t let you pay even after agreeing to it.
“I spilled it on you.” He argued. “What kind of man would I be if I let you pay for it?”
His lips, full and pink in a way that you immediately wondered about the feel of them, ticked up, and a little dimple dented his right cheek. You felt the squeeze of your heart, fluttering wildly in your chest, a feeling that was replicated every day after that, for Seungcheol never left your side since then. Until the day he died. Or did he?
Joshua is watching the screen more intently now, eyebrows furrowing.
“Yoon Tech is doing a demonstration at the New York Expo? I had no idea.”
You blink to focus on the screen. Sure enough, Yoon Tech’s CEO, Yoon Jeonghan, is speaking to the audience and cameras with that sly, charming smile on his face, talking about unveiling a project that can revolutionise the field of war weaponry and put their military supremely on top of their competition around the world. You know Yoon Tech is the military’s primary contractor, and their focus is weaponry. You know this because before Yoon Tech, your company was approached for a military contract, one that you turned down because your prime focus was not weapons. Joshua still thinks you should have said yes, but you don’t want to take the company in that direction. Besides, things get messy if you have the government as your big boss.
“You know Jeonghan doesn’t say anything about projects until the day he unveils them.” You mumble, only half focusing. “He’s secretive that way-”
“Wait, shut up.” Joshua sits up abruptly, scrambling for the remote to turn the volume up. Behind Jeonghan, several people are stepping onto the stage. He’s introducing them one by one as military veterans, and your eyes catch their forms immediately, breath stilling. Protheses, lots of them.
A man with a bionic arm, quite like the one the Secretary of Defence has. A woman with a below knee prosthetic leg. There’s more, attached limbs and shoulders, half a pelvic girdle, part of a jaw. Jeonghan is still talking, gesturing to the people now lining up behind him. The silver gleams, just like it gleamed on Seungcheol’s body last night. The only difference is the Yoon Tech and Military logos stamped on the ones on your screen. Jeonghan announces a demonstration, steps off the stage, and you watch, completely silent, as all of them demonstrate feats of extraordinary strength, aided by their metal attachments, some even showing installed weaponry between the plates of their limbs.
“A formation of advanced humans,” Jeonghan is saying somewhere off screen. “Man and machine combined, that will allow these soldiers to serve their country in ways they did not even possess before their unfortunate injuries.”
“Josh…” Your voice trails off.
Joshua looks pale, confused, and a little frightened when his eyes meet your beaten and bruised face. It looks like he dared not believe, but you know he has reached the same conclusion as you.
“Jeonghan sent Seungcheol to kill you?”
…………………………
The only sound in the large, swanky office is the tea as it pours slowly into a cup on Jeonghan’s desk. It steams, and the scent of chamomile hits his nose. He watches it absentmindedly, and then waves his hand to dismiss his secretary. She places the tea kettle down gently and leaves without a word, and the room falls into silence. There is only him, and the man sitting opposite to him across his large, mahogany desk. Half his face is shrouded by darkness, the other half reflects the light as it hits the cold, unforgiving metal.
Jeonghan tuts.
“Well, this is definitely a setback.” He hums, picking up the cup so he can take a small sip. It warms his throat, perfect for the cold weather. But his mind remains distracted. “After the demonstration at the Expo yesterday, she will definitely know it was me who ordered the hit. After all, who else is making bionic weaponry?”
The man across from him doesn’t respond. He rarely talks unless directly spoken to, one eye blank and unseeing. Jeonghan doesn’t claim to know much about how the human brain works, but he supposes extensive memory modification can do that to a person.
“You always used to have something witty or crass to say, Seungcheol.” Jeonghan sighs. “Oh well. It was either that, or your willingness to kill her. I will take what I can get.”
Again, no reply. Jeonghan focuses on drinking his tea, thinking. His eyes are trained on his former business rival, the presumed dead husband of his current business rival. The soothing chamomile does nothing to take the bitter taste out of his mouth. He still feels the resentment, the bruise on his ego. For your company to be pursued as a first choice in a military partnership, when his own efforts are much grander, much more advanced, for you to turn that opportunity down (you’re a dumbass, he thinks), for him to be second choice, despite where he stands in tech circles…
A company that was a mere baby not even a full decade ago to beat something it took his family generations to build. It irks him. It burns him.
So he will burn you.
He did it once, in the explosion that took away what you loved the most. It should’ve been enough to deter you, but it clearly wasn’t. No matter, he plans to destroy you directly this time.
“You know what you need to do.” He says, mutely. The man before him stirs, nods. Jeonghan scowls at him.
“Make sure you finish the job this time.”
……………………………..
Seungcheol had always been a mega-nerd about tech. And his dream was to own his own company.
He would tell you about it, both of you sprawled on the uncomfortable rooftop of his college dorm building, staring at the sky. He’d talk and talk about his plans after graduation, about how he wanted to build something from the ground up, something he was proud of. You would listen, not just because the sound of his voice always made you so happy, but because you were genuinely interested in it. You had a business major, and while Seungcheol didn’t know how to run things, you did. Even then, it felt like a match made in heaven to you. Seungcheol knew the substance of the company, you knew how to run it. It almost felt like a no-brainer that eventually you would do this together.
Back in his dorm, you would plop yourself into his lap and look over the little gadgets he had designed, the many, many files in his computer of inventions you didn’t even know could exist. You would tease him, calling him a glorified mechanic.
“Engineer.” He would pout. You would kiss it off him through a million giggles. His laptop would be pushed off the bed, forgotten, as you sunk into each other’s arms.
The company was his baby, truly. While you were CEO because you ran day to day operations and focused on logistics, any product you pushed out was crafted carefully in Seungcheol’s hands. He would bring every prototype to you, you would run it by focus groups and tweak it, and eventually, it would hit the market with great success. Seungcheol always thought it was because of you.
“You run your magic over it, and it becomes a hit.” He would say, kissing your cheek over and over. You would just grin and take it, never ever pushing him away.
It was all Seungcheol, everyone knew this. But when he looked at you so softly, that glint of awe in his beautiful eyes, you would just indulge whatever he had to say.
“You wouldn’t know what to do without me, mister.” You would tease. He would squeeze you so tightly.
“You’re right. I wouldn’t.”
All those memories are ghosts now. The truth is, you don’t know what to do without him either. He was part of you, intertwined with your soul, and he was painfully ripped away after so many glorious years together. Sometimes, you think you imagined that time in your life. It feels so far away. But then you walk into your office, you look at the logo he designed, the furniture you picked out, the many, many unfinished files in your server that you are still working on, his creations, and you would be reminded that he was real. All that time, all that delirious bliss, was completely real.
Jeon Wonwoo is the current head of your Product Development branch, Seungcheol’s previous post. You had brought him in after the tragedy that killed your husband. Well, not you, but Joshua, who suggested overhauling the entire team after the attack. He is brilliant, quiet and a little reclusive, but whip-smart. He became intimately familiar with Seungcheol’s work when you brought him in, and he respected the integrity of it, which made you respect him even more. He’s no Seungcheol, but he’s the closest thing, and you think he might be the only one you can trust to answer the questions in your head.
“Bionic weaponry isn’t exactly novel.” He murmurs. “We know it exists. Not openly yet, but it’s being manufactured in a lot of places. Companies we know as well as around the world. Yoon Tech is just the first one to unveil it publicly.”
Joshua is pacing your living room floor, and watching him makes you feel dizzy, so you close your eyes instead. Your face is still tingling with pain, and you’re so tired that you just want to sleep. But you also need some form of explanation.
“So it’s possible? Modifying Seungcheol’s body like that?” Joshua asks.
Wonwoo hesitates, holding his chin and staring at the far wall. “Theoretically, yes. Practically, I haven’t seen or heard of it yet. Not to the extent you describe. Establishing neural connections in that many body parts and making sure they work in perfect coordination is a huge undertaking.”
Joshua looks at you pointedly, as if to say ‘I told you so’.
“But,” Wonwoo clears his throat, “if anyone can accomplish it, it would be Yoon Tech. Their R&D team is the best in the game.”
You return Joshua’s look the best that you can through your marred face. He huffs.
“What about the fact that he attacked her? Why would he do that?” He asks.
Wonwoo blinks. “Oh, that’s easy. Memory modification. Brainwashing. CIA has been doing it for years. A lot of assassins operate under that frame of mind. It’s easier to control them that way.”
A small silence stretches over the room. Joshua is chewing on the inside of his cheek.
“So he doesn’t know who I am.” You mumble. “I’m just….. what, a target?”
Wonwoo nods. “Likely, yes. And you know Jeonghan way better than me, ma’am. It’s very like him to toy with you by using Seungcheol specifically.”
You can’t argue with him on that. You know how ruthless Jeonghan is about his company, about his standing in tech circles. You’re catching up, dangerously close, and some would say you’ve even surpassed him. You won't put it past him to knock out competition under the table.
You never did find out who ordered the hit on Seungcheol five years ago. But now, you think you know.
“Can we undo it?” You ask. “The memory change, or whatever?”
Joshua stares at you. “What do you mean?”
Wonwoo answers you, though.
“I think so, yes. It’s not my area of expertise, but I know people who can tell us more about it. The memory isn’t the problem, though. He’s basically a walking weapon. Subduing him long enough to do anything about his brain is going to be an issue.”
“Whoa, hold on.” Joshua steps closer to you, cutting off your reply to Wonwoo, holding a hand up. Both of you look at him as he stares at you in bewilderment.
“What the hell are you planning? Are you insane? He almost killed you!”
“What do you want me to do then?” You grit your teeth. “Nothing? Should I just lay down and let him kill me?”
“We need to call the police-”
You laugh dryly. Your face twinges with pain.
“I have no proof. You think any agency in this city is going to mess with Yoon Tech? And by some miracle if they do believe me, do you think any of them are going to spare Seungcheol long enough to save him?”
Joshua’s mouth opens and closes, like he wants to protest, but no words leave him. He huffs and shakes his head, running a frustrated hand through his hair. You turn your attention back to Wonwoo.
“I know you’re not a biotech expert, but you’re the best IT guy I know. Any ideas on how to hack into Yoon Tech’s mainframe?”
Wonwoo looks a little taken aback. “That’s….. illegal.”
You roll your eyes, ignoring the pain that comes with it. “I’m pretty sure trying to get your business competitor killed is illegal too. Jeonghan seems comfortable attempting it twice.”
He nods slowly, still slightly hesitant. “I will need help…”
You stand up, essentially declaring the meeting over. You’re tired, as you often are these days. Your injury might look like it affects your face only, but you feel the exhaustion bone deep in every part of you. You want a soothing cup of tea and then a million blankets to lie down in. That's it.
“Call in anyone you need.”
…………………………
You know he will come again. The only question is when.
The bruises around your nose and under your eyes take a long time to fade. The slow move from a deep purple, to blue, to a sickly green and then yellow surprises you every day. You’re breathing easy now, only a week later, but you know going to the office looking like this will raise serious questions. You can’t risk any eyes on this right now, since getting Seungcheol back needs to be as discrete as possible.
That’s what you plan to do. Get him back.
It’s idealistic, almost. Maybe something out of a movie. He has been altered, mind and body, for years. You don’t even want to imagine how much he was been put through. How convoluted must his mind be now? How dangerous would tinkering with his body be?
Every few minutes, your hand reaches into the pocket of your jeans, toying with the small, rectangular chip that Wonwoo had given you a couple of days ago.
“You need to get close enough to him to get this on any bionic part of him.” He told you. “Arm, leg, doesn’t matter. We can’t hack into Yoon Tech’s mainframe, it’s too secure. But we can isolate him from it. This chip can do that. Once that’s done, we can figure out a way to rewire his mechanics.”
It’s easier said than done, of course. For one, Seungcheol is nearly twice your size. He’s always been massive, but he seems even more so now. You wonder if he has worked covertly for Yoon Tech to do other dirty work. How long has he been their weapon? How much training does he have? Can you, a novice civilian, even get close enough to him to do any lasting damage?
“You managed it once, didn’t you?” Joshua replied to your mind’s worries. “You got out of that alive, somehow. I’m willing to bet you can do it again.”
“He’ll be more careful this time.” Wonwoo mumbled. “For one, he won’t try again until you’re completely alone. For another, he will make sure you are isolated from any weapon you might be able to access.”
So now here you are, meandering in your kitchen, watching your television blankly, staring unseeing at your laptop. Anything and everything to make yourself look as unassuming as possible. He’s watching, you know he is, and every fiber of your body is silently asking him to come to you. You wait, and wait, because you would wait endlessly for him. Somehow, you’re not afraid. In your head, this ends in one of two ways. Either you get the love of your life back, or you die trying. You’re good with both options.
It’s Tuesday by the time he finally shows up.
You think you sense him, because the hair on your body stands. You feel the chill, and then, that very soft whirring sound that comes when he moves his limbs.
You stare at the contents inside your refrigerator. You don’t turn around. And yet, he doesn’t shoot. He doesn’t swing.
“I was expecting you sooner.” You finally say.
When you turn to look at him, your eyes catch his visible brown one. Your breath hitches. He has ditched the mask, and you can see his face. Well, what’s left of it.
Metal pieces are carved into the shape of his right ear, curling forward to form a cheekbone, encroaching all the way over his eye and stopping right before his nose. It covers the ridge of his right eyebrow as well, but spares his forehead. A white, flat circle is fitted where his eye should be, and now that you look closely at it, it swirls and moves, no doubt mapping your every move.
The rest of his face is gloriously, warmly human. It’s him, it’s his left eye, his thick, furrowed eyebrow, the strong bridge of his nose, his lips, set in a hard line on his face. His hair has been cropped right to his skull, dyed a dirty blond with brown roots already growing out, slightly spiked and dishevelled around his head. Finally, your eyes dart down to the pistol in his hand, pointing directly at your chest.
You clench your teeth.
“Shoot me.”
He doesn’t reply, but his mouth tightens. From your chest, the gun rises to your head. The shifting of his aim is your window. Your hand shoots back, grabs and throws the first thing you can find at him. It’s a glass. His metal arm comes up, makes contact, and the glass shatters. His stance does not falter for even a second, but he flinches at the shards of glass, and before it even makes contact, you are sprinting forward, hand curled tight around the chip, and with one leap, you collide into him. Hard.
Your momentum is enough, and you both fall in a mess of limbs. You scramble, finding the edge of the plate in his shoulder, but before you can wedge the chip in it, his human hand reaches up and smashes hard against your jaw. You cry out, the sharp sting blooming, the taste of blood already in your mouth. But your hands are still moving, and before you know it, the chip hits hard against his bicep, immediately lighting up a pale yellow, the tiny spikes on its edges sinking into the metal.
Seungcheol shouts and roughly pushes you off. You fall limply on your side, trying to see through how dizzy you are. Everything hurts, your face is on fire, but your eyes are focused on the pale yellow streaks spreading over Seungcheol’s arm, glowing between the plates making up his leg, part of his face. His arm and leg jerk hard, seemingly out of his control. He shouts again, trying to stand up, but it looks like his limbs aren’t cooperating with him anymore.
The human part is still his though.
You force yourself, despite the excruciating pain and the blood now sliding down your throat, and you rush into the living room. Under your couch, you’ve stored what you need. Electromagnetic cuffs, both for his wrists and ankles, shiny grey steel with a light that blinks on when you press the buttons on them. You can hear Seungcheol stumble onto his feet in the kitchen, and you’re already rushing back before he can stand properly. The cuffs hum, slam hard around his human wrist and the light on them turns red. The arm goes limp on his side immediately. He can’t react, not with his only remaining limb, and you are able to secure the other cuff around his ankle as well.
With that, your husband crumples to your kitchen floor.
He’s motionless from the neck down, but he strains hard. You can see the muscles in his neck bulge. He is flushed with the exertion of it, grunting and snarling. His glare is venomous as you back into the kitchen island, trying not to choke on the blood dripping down your throat as you breathe hard.
You drape yourself over the sink, trying not to throw up, spitting blood into it so you can breathe. Behind you, Seungcheol is still groaning and straining, to no avail. You stay leaning over until the wave of nausea passes, and the bleeding slows. Finally, you grab a bunch of paper towels, wiping your mouth and chin. The metallic taste still lingers.
Your hands leave some streaks of blood on your phone as you dial Wonwoo’s number. He picks up on the first ring, and when he speaks, you realise he was anticipating your call.
“The chip just connected to my server! I’m working on decrypting and isolating him from Yoon Tech’s servers right now.”
“How long is it going to take?” You ask, not recognising your own, broken voice. Your jaw is sore. You’re in so much pain.
“I don’t know yet….” Wonwoo’s voice is more subdued. “Are you okay? Do you need help?”
You shake your head before you realise he can’t see you.
“I’m fine. It’s just a scratch.” Big underreport. “What do I do while you work on this?”
Wonwoo doesn’t immediately answer, but you can hear shuffling in the background.
“What I’m doing only changes the physical.” His voice sounds apologetic. “The mental barrier, his lack of memory, I can’t fix that.”
You know what he is implying. You turn your head to look at Seungcheol, still on your kitchen floor, heaving but no longer futilely straining.
“Thanks, Wonwoo. I can handle that part.”
The truth is, you don’t know if you can. You don’t know what was done to him. You don’t even know if your husband still exists somewhere inside him, or if he was wiped out completely. Are you even cut out for this? With your modest business degree and a company that is successful only because of Seungcheol’s genius, where do you stand in this situation?
As you walk back into the kitchen, watching the man writhing on the floor does nothing to soothe your confidence. Suddenly, all your clarity is gone.
You don’t know what to do.
……………………………..
Seungcheol was a very clingy man.
You always liked that about him. To you, he was like an overgrown bear, curling around you tightly while you chopped vegetables until you complained that you still needed your mobility in order to cook dinner.
“You’re too heavy, Cheolie!” You would whine, but his grip on you would only tighten, pressing your back harder into his front.
“Five more minutes.” He would mumble into your hair. You would laugh incredulously.
You’re reminded of that moment as you drag this immobilised, half human, half robot man into your living room, using every bit of your strength to plop him onto the armchair next to the couch. You’re heaving, your head pounding so severely that it makes you dizzy. There’s no fight in him anymore, and he stares blankly at you as you cough a little, still feeling drops of blood hit your palm as you do so. You huff and go to the bathroom to clean up, rummaging in your medicine cabinet for anything that could ease your pain. You leave him on the chair, knowing he’s incapable of escaping anyway.
Fifteen minutes later, you’re sitting on the couch with a cup of tea, your legs curled under you, a blanket draped over your lap. You stare with bleary vision at the dark, steaming liquid. Seungcheol stares at the ceiling, head thrown back. Neither of you says a word.
“Do you speak?” You muse out loud, not looking at him. “I haven’t heard you talk yet, so it makes me wonder.”
No reply.
“Jasmine tea was your favorite, you know?” You mumble on, not even fully aware of what you are saying. “You were always a coffee person, but when you had tea with me sometimes, it would be jasmine. It’s the only one you could stomach, actually.”
A mirthless laugh leaves you. He still stares at the ceiling. You watch him, the stiff cut of his jaw, the streaks of yellow glowing under the plates of his bionic attachments. There is a distinct, soft hum coming from them, but both of you elect to ignore it.
“Seungcheol.” You whisper. He doesn’t react beyond a small flick of his eyelid.
You’re so tired. You can feel it tug on your limbs, like invisible weights making it difficult to even move. With every ounce of strength in you, you stand up, walking to the closet in your hallway. You return with a pale blue blanket, the one Seungcheol got for himself years ago and never let go, claiming it was a comfort for him. Now, his eye trains on you as you shake it out and drape it over his torso and legs. You don’t look at him, just loosely tucking him in before walking back to the couch, pulling your own blanket around yourself and sinking into the uncomfortable cushion.
You don’t notice his eye on you. You don’t notice anything else as you welcome the pitch black of dreamless sleep. You send out a little prayer that by morning, somehow all of this will be over and you will wake up in bed, wrapped up in your husband’s warm arms.
You’re wrong, sadly. There is nothing but cold.
He’s exactly where you left him before drifting off. He stares into the distance, looking disconnected until you shift and his eye catches the movement. You wince at the crick in your neck, somehow even more tired than you were before sleeping. You sigh and rub your eyes.
“Did you sleep?” You ask.
No response.
You leave him on the couch, opting to putter to the kitchen to make yourself a cup of tea. You eye the cabinet against the far wall, staring at the bottles inside and the amber liquid that gleams in them. A glance at the clock tells you it’s barely noon.
Fuck this.
Seungcheol doesn’t react in any way when you walk into the living room with a bottle of whiskey and a glass that’s too big for a drink like that. He just watches you from the corner of his eye as you sit back on the couch and pour yourself a concerning amount, wincing when your throat protests against the first sip.
“You would not approve of this at all.” You chuckle humorlessly. “You’d be appalled, I think. Drinking this early? Whiskey of all things? That was never my drink. I didn’t have the tolerance for it. You’re the whiskey guy.”
He doesn’t interrupt. You take another sip and stare at the glass. Already, on an empty stomach, you can feel your senses dimming.
“Sometimes I think,” you whisper, “you would really hate the person I’ve become.”
His head lolls in your direction, the only part of his body he can control. His eye meets yours and you feel your heart squeeze.
“I don’t know you.”
His voice is hoarse, a little crack in it from disuse. But it’s his voice, the voice you’ve yearned to hear for so long. You remember laying in your bed at night, wishing you could hear him whisper one last time, maybe even just the sound of your name from his lips, just once more, to hold you over. Your breath hitches, and you can feel your vision blur under newly formed tears.
“I’m your wife.”
“You’re my target.”
You stand abruptly, walking closer to where he sits, or rather, lays sprawled out under the blanket you draped over him. You tug it aside, eye the yellow lines of light that pass over his bionic limbs. You reach down to run a finger over the chip you attached to his bicep.
“If I pull this off you right now,” you stare directly into his eye. “Would you kill me?”
A small silence. Then he nods.
You let out a shaky breath, standing back up. The air is tense, and by now, you’re sick of it. You need to get away from him for a bit, no matter how badly that very thought pains you. Whiskey ignored on the coffee table, you walk to the door to tug your shoes on. You eye the back of his blond head with your hand on the doorknob, feeling a certain sense of defeat.
“Ironic, isn’t it?” You mumble, but he hears you. “You’re the one who created that chip.”
The door closes softly behind you.
……………………………………
There is a mess in his head. A tangled web of wires. He doesn’t know how to begin unraveling it. He can’t even find a single free end to tug on.
In the quiet of the room he is sitting in, he can hear warped voices from inside his own thoughts. He can’t make out any words, only tones, soft and loud both, some conversational, some that sound like laughter. He knows the voice, can recognise it. It’s the woman whose armchair he is sitting on.
Something presses on his temple, like a weighted force, insistent, as if urging him to listen more closely. But he can’t, because it makes pain bloom between his eyebrows, pain so severe it makes his eye water.
Every now and then, he feels intense heat, a kind that’s less uncomfortable and more painful. As suddenly as it comes, it goes away, and the blanket draped over him does nothing but elevate the sensation of it. He sits in the quiet, with the floating voices, the laughter, the weight on his head, the pain between his eyebrows, and the bursts of painful heat that bloom on his skin.
His ears perk when he hears the front door clink open after what seems like hours. He can’t turn himself around to look, so he just listens to the stumbling and mumbled cursing, shuffling and then a soft thud of cloth hitting the ground. Bare footsteps, a quiet sound, and then the woman from before enters his line of sight.
You’re clearly inebriated. He has stalked enough victims before ending their lives to know what alcohol intoxication looks like. He eyes you carefully as you putter around the living room, not doing anything in particular. Then, you look straight at him.
“I don’t know what to do.” You finally speak, and the words are less slurred than he expected them to be. “I don’t know what to do with you.”
He doesn’t reply. You move closer to him, and his face, the only thing he can move, tenses when you pull the blanket back and sink onto the chair by his side. He can feel the press of you against his skin, even if he can’t move. Your shoulder fits under his arm, you head on his collarbone. You drape the blanket over your joined bodies.
“Let’s just pretend everything is okay.” You whisper, your voice cracking slightly. Your arm drapes over his torso. “Just for right now. Just one night.”
He stares at the wall, his side warming quickly under the added weight. It’s different from the heat he felt before, stinging and sudden, disconcerting. It’s different from anything he has felt in a long time. No one touches him. No one has been near him for years, except the people he has taken the lives of, or the scientists that fitted his limbs. This heat right now, it is dull but constant, like how the sun feels on your skin. He hears laughter again, but this time it’s clearer, and it sounds familiar, like something he has heard before. In another life.
He stares at the far wall as your breathing evens out. Your weight doesn’t feel very uncomfortable anymore as time passes. The clock ticks softly, and the rise and fall of your chest is rhythmic. He can feel your heartbeat against his ribcage. There is a whisper in his head. A name. His own. In a voice that is quickly becoming familiar.
He’s tired, but he doesn’t sleep. He can’t remember the last time he slept.
…………………………..
Going into work becomes out of the question immediately, since you can’t leave a brainwashed assassin on your couch unattended for a whole day. Joshua pays you a visit with some stuff that needs taking a look, but otherwise, you sit on the couch, your laptop in front of you, and get through meetings and daily logistics that way. As you work, you think out loud, talking to Seungcheol about random tasks that come up, some hiccup at work you’re fretting over, and how your head of accounting keeps pissing you off. It’s mundane stuff, but it is exactly the things that you used to talk about on the daily. You loved debriefing with your husband, especially because he worked in the same place as you, so he knew all these people just as well, and knew what you were talking about.
Now, he doesn’t respond much. But you’re okay with that. You’re just glad he is here, and not dead like you had assumed for the last five years.
After your moment of inebriated weakness, spending the night curled up in his warmth, you suddenly feel some semblance of hope again. You had heard his heart beat, had felt the twitch and shift of his skin under your touch. He is still your Seungcheol, even if half of him is cold and unfamiliar, you are certain that he is somewhere in there, deep inside. And you’re convinced that if he didn’t remember at all, he wouldn’t have let you sleep on him the way that he did.
(Granted, he had no choice since he was paralysed. But you choose to ignore that reality.)
Joshua has been very wary of this quiet, motionless version of Seungcheol. He steers clear when he visits, not engaging in any way and just choosing to finish up on work with you and leaving. One night, you ask him to stay for dinner, and for the first time, he hesitates. You see his eyes flick to where Seungcheol is sitting, and you sigh in irritation.
“He’s not a piece of furniture, Josh.” You mutter. “He’s still my husband.”
“Is he?” He counters, dryly. “Because it’s been weeks and there’s been nothing. I assumed if he was really in there, we would’ve seen something by-”
“He’s there.” You hiss, cutting him off. Joshua blinks at your harsh tone. “I’ve been here with him every second of every day. I see it in his eyes. He isn’t gone yet-”
The crack in your voice cuts you off. You take a deep breath, blinking vigorously to keep your tears at bay. Joshua has fallen silent, eyeing you with a forlorn expression. After a few seconds, when he realises you won’t continue, he simply nods.
That night, after Joshua has gone, you still have his uncertainty on your mind. You eye the back of Seungcheol’s head, and remember the last few weeks. A seed has been planted in your head, plaguing your brain with doubt and pain. And once again, you feel that bone deep exhaustion that comes and goes frequently these days.
You make up your mind quickly, and your body follows in resignation.
Slowly, you walk back to the living room where Seungcheol sits. You walk closer to him, reaching for his flesh arm, the thick, metal cuff on his wrist. It sizzles a bit, recognises your thumbprint, and clicks, loosening. You don’t look at Seungcheol, despite the fact that he is eyeing you in surprise. You simply kneel down to quickly do the same to the cuff around his ankle before standing up again.
He moves with a little hesitation, stretching his leg and flexing his arm, his fingers. The limbs are stiff, and you’re sure weeks of no activity have left them sore. His bionic arm, and his pants clad leg, both still glow with pale, yellow light, the symbol of your and Wonwoo’s control of them. You reach forward, and yank the chip on his arm hard, disconnecting it. The yellow vanishes, leaving only gleaming, silver metal.
The chip is warm inside your palm. You step back, blinking away tears of what feels like a chapter closing.
“You can leave if you want.” You mumble. “Or kill me, since that’s your mission.”
Slowly, Seungcheol stands. His metal attachments click and whir, buzzing with life again as he twists and moves them, feeling them out. You take a deep breath and realise you can’t stand to look at him anymore. So you head to the kitchen.
You shuffle around mindlessly, just waiting to hear the front door open and close, or maybe you wait for searing pain from wherever he chooses to attack you. You can’t predict what he will do anymore. There was once a time you knew him so well, you could even count his breaths in your head, could mimic the rise and fall of his chest under your palm. Now, you feel like you are lost at sea and he’s nowhere to be found.
There’s shuffling behind you, but you don’t turn around.
“I don’t know you.” He says, and the words hurt just as much as they did when he first spoke them weeks ago. You grit your teeth hard.
“But,” he continues. Hesitates, “I did know you. In another time.”
You feel yourself stiffen, turning just enough to look at him. He fills the doorway, but his figure is hunched, uncertain. You wonder if he is just as tired as you. If he can feel it tug on his limbs like you do, like it’s anchoring him to the floor. How has he felt, watching you for weeks and weeks, nowhere to go but to sit and listen to any word that falls out of your mouth?
“I want to know.” He continues. “I want to remember.”
You stare at him for a long time before you finally move to where he stands. He doesn’t step back, doesn’t react at all, even when you stop just inches from his face. His human eye, brown like the earth, flicks with something you can’t place, and the metal that covers the other half, plain grey, cold and distant. Just where the metal meets his face, the skin is raw and red. Up close, you can see how angry it looks, and you wonder how careless the person was who put him together.
Your heart aches.
“Okay.” You say simply. No promises, no guarantees. Only a commitment, and a hope to see it succeed.
…………………………
It’s a little strange to settle into a routine with this new version of Seungcheol.
For one, he doesn’t do most things humans would. He eats very little, maybe one meal a day, and sleeps even less. He spends a lot of time to himself, mostly silent rumination, something that wasn’t part of his personality at all before. He’s always been loud and jovial, so this change takes some adjusting. You suspect there is a lot about him, maybe all of it, that isn’t the same anymore. The thought hurts you, so you try not to dwell.
You open your spare bedroom for him, since lounging in your living room day and night can’t really be comfortable. You still have his old clothes, whatever you managed to salvage after the explosion in your shared home. He is deeply intrigued by them, and asks, in a low voice, what other belongings of his you held on to.
The answer is: everything.
You make a trip to the storage unit you bought before you moved to your new, drab apartment. You lug back boxes of Seungcheol’s incomplete inventions, designs he was working on at the time, little contraptions that were half functioning, his diaries, his notes. You even bring back his absurdly large collection of watches, every brand and every new, cool tech that existed in the market.
“They were your one vice.” You smile at the memory as he opens the gigantic box. “You actually designed a few yourself too. This one-”
You point to a shiny, square shaped one in the corner. Seungcheol eyes it closely.
“This one was connected to me. You installed something in it that links to the one I wear, and it clicks at the same rhythm as my heartbeat. So it’s not really for telling time.” You shrug.
“I made this?” He asks, lifting the watch from its snug case. It’s not functional anymore, probably out of battery after so many years. It’s strange, because it has no hands and no numbers. There is an engraving of your initials just under the glass, over a black background.
You nod. “You said it made you feel like I was by your side all the time.”
Your voice is low. It almost cracks. He doesn’t say anything more.
You stick to working from home for a prolonged amount of time now, which isn’t difficult, since you’re mostly confined to your office when you go into work anyway. A week or so after Seungcheol asked you if he could stay, you’re due for a site visit. And you offer for him to come with you.
He hesitates.
“No one is going to recognise you.” You reassure him. “For one, it’s an all new staff. And for another, you’re blond now. And short haired.”
He subconsciously runs a hand over his head, his lips pulling together in what can only be a ghost of one of his infamous pouts.
“It doesn’t look bad.” He mumbles.
“I never said it does.” You reply, holding back a smile as you put a plate of eggs and toast in front of him. You tilt your head as you appraise his hair. He’s trying to flatten it down on his head.
“No, don’t do that.” You swat away his hand, running your fingers through the short but soft locks and lifting them up a bit. You mess around with it, distressing it a bit more. You know he’s watching you. It makes your cheeks heat a bit. You try to ignore the feeling.
“There.” You withdraw your hands. “It looks so nice now.”
When your eyes meet his, you realise his ears are tinged pink, and so is the back of his neck. You try to ignore the racing of your heart.
Wonwoo meets you on site, and he’s a little taken aback by Seungcheol being there. His face is covered with a mask, but the metal eye gives it away. After some stumbling, Wonwoo elects to ignore Seungcheol’s presence in favor of just getting work done, and you become immersed in it as well.
“This is where the problem is.” Wonwoo points, handing you the tablet. “There is definitely something wrong, but I can’t tell if it’s because I messed up the configuration or not. I’ve been trying a few different options but they all haven’t worked so far.”
Just over your shoulder, you feel Seungcheol lean in to look at the screen in your hand. You try not to think about him being so close.
“Maybe request a consultation.” You respond. “There is a reason we have engineers on call-”
“The configuration isn’t the problem.” A voice speaks from behind you. “Your base algorithm is wrong.”
You blink and turn your head, eyeing Seungcheol’s human eye, which is right beside you. Wonwoo frowns and steps closer, looking down at the tablet.
“How so?”
You tune it out, only registering his voice and not his words, watching as he points and explains where to make the change. You’re reminded of a time where Seungcheol would do this every day, and you would step back to let him do his thing. You can feel him now, right at your shoulder, his warmth so close you can almost perceive it. As you eye the side of his face, you fight the urge to kiss him. Or hug him. Anything. Your fingers twitch with it. Your heart yearns for it.
It’s over too quickly. And then he steps back.
Wonwoo is already taking the tablet from you, making adjustments as he thanks Seungcheol. You send him a little smile as he walks away, turning to look at the man on your side.
“That was very nice of you.” You say. He just nods a little sheepishly.
“It was an obvious solution.”
You shake your head, patting his arm as you move to walk past him. The metal is rigid and unforgiving under your fingers.
“Don’t be so modest. You were born for this.”
Seungcheol seems to be in a particularly good mood after that.
……………………….
Things get smoother as time goes by.
Something about going into work with you that one time clicks with Seungcheol. With all the material from your storage room, he starts tinkering with his old things again. There’s so many notes and designs, complete and incomplete blueprints keeping him occupied. He does it mostly in the living room, which you don’t mind. You’re glad he isn’t confined to his room. You like seeing him putter around the house or sit crosslegged on the floor, his metal arm whirring and clicking with every turn and movement. Sometimes, he sits out on the balcony when the weather is nice, and you join him with some tea or coffee. You don’t understand most of what he does, you never have, but you listen to him anyway. You bask in the way it lightens his voice, injects life into it. Sometimes, when he has come up with a new idea, he almost sounds exactly like he did before.
Your hope is increasing, tightening around your chest in a way that warms you up but traps you as well. Fear lingers, that this will all go away, that you’re balancing on a poorly strung tightrope and soon enough, you will fall.
And then that moment comes, the inevitable snap.
It’s a bright day, and you’re out for some groceries because you didn’t anticipate living with another person again, and your pantry is getting dangerously empty. You’re actually considering fresh produce instead of all the prepackaged crap you’ve been eating for so long. Seungcheol barely eats one meal a day, so it seems unfair if that one meal comes out of a box.
You’re considering which veggies to buy, lightly squeezing a tomato in your hand, when you feel something at your shoulder. It almost makes you jump, because it feels ominous, and your intuition is correct when you turn your head and come face to face with Yoon Jeonghan.
He’s in a black trenchcoat that nearly swallows his frame, a black cap on his head with dark strands poking out from under it. He looks particularly unassuming, just a casual shopper alongside you. His eyes are not on you, his lips pursed in what looks like consideration as he picks up another tomato, turns it around in his hand.
“This one is firmer.” He finally says, and his voice sounds jovial, casual, like it always does. “It will rot slower. You should get this.”
“What the hell are you doing here?” You grit out, your voice low to make sure no one hears you. One look around the aisle tells you that it’s empty. It’s just him and you. Your nerves are on high alert.
Jeonghan tuts, finally looking at you from the corner of his eye. “Is that any way to talk to a peer? You’ve become so rude, Y/N.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Sarcasm drips from your voice. “I didn’t realise I still had to extend common courtesy to you after you’ve tried to kill me. Twice.”
Jeonghan winces, then chuckles. “Yeah, that was my bad.”
You blink, waiting for him to continue. He doesn’t. He drops the tomato in his hand, picking up and inspecting another.
“That’s it?” You scoff. “‘My bad’? You try to get me killed by turning my husband into a half human killing machine and your response is ‘my bad’?”
“Well, you got him back, no?” He responds. “I would say that’s a huge improvement on whatever sad, bachelorette life you’ve been living all this time.”
You scoff, incredulous. “You’re so…. you’re-”
No words come. You just shake your head. Jeonghan looks at you again, this time, a sly smile crosses his face.
“How about a truce? I don’t try to kill you again, and I don’t demand my asset back from you. Consider it an apology for the attempts on your life.”
You glare at him, feeling anger bubble in you again. “Asset?”
He blinks, like he’s surprised. “Well, yes. Do you know how much Yoon Tech invested in developing him? It wasn’t easy. But it’s fine. I’ve made a lot of progress on bionic weaponry since then. So you can keep him.”
Your rage is boiling over at the way he is speaking of Seungcheol, but you know there’s a reason Jeonghan decided to ‘run into’ you at a public place. You can’t react the way you want to, which is the intense need to strangle him where he stands.
You know there’s nothing you can do about anything Jeonghan has attempted. His company is a mammoth, that and his military contract make him basically untouchable. The only proof you have of his doing is Seungcheol’s own person, and you don’t want to drag him into the legal mess that would ensue. Here Jeonghan stands, offering you a truce because he thinks he has won already, which is new bionic weapons branch going over so well and elevating him to a status no one else would dare to achieve. To him, you are not a threat anymore, and so he is discarding you just like he does with everyone else.
Considering all your options, you think being discarded by him might be the best case scenario here.
“Fine.” You finally relent, watching him smile and step back, almost in finality.
“Great. See you around, Y/N. You should attend next year’s New York expo. I’ve got great things lined up, you know? Maybe it will inspire something in you too.”
He winks and walks a few steps backward, that characteristic smirk on his face still, before turning around and sauntering away, the basket in his head still empty. You watch his back as he leaves, feeling some sense of resolution, no matter how bittersweet it may be.
People like Jeonghan never get justice, because they are too valuable to lose. He has made himself indispensable, which means he will continue to achieve new heights despite whatever operations he conducts in the dark. That’s the reality you live in.
The only saving grace here is that it’s not Seungcheol who will have to do his dirty work going forward.
………………………………….
You’re not really here, Seungcheol can tell.
There’s a distant look in your eyes, like you’re lost deep in thought, as you stir the pot sizzling on the stove. You’ve been like this since you got back with groceries, not greeting him with that usual sweet tone you always use. It’s a little detached, even though he can see that you're clearly attempting to appear normal. He offers to help make dinner, and you take him up on it, so he is quick to begin chopping vegetables as you prepare the rice. You work quietly, which is unlike you. Usually, you don’t stop talking, something he’s grown quite fond of.
The truth is, Seungcheol remembers you, in bits and pieces.
Voices and pictures pass through his brain, like flash cards being held up in front of him. There’s no rhyme and reason to them, no chronological order, like a CD stopping and starting at random intervals. You’re there in so many of them, right by his side, watching him, talking to him, touching him in places he wouldn’t dare let anyone touch. His fingers twitch when he feels it, like a ghost caressing his skin. Sometimes, he thinks he can feel you in his bones, coursing through his veins, and he wonders if he is connected to you in some way.
It scares him.
There’s nothing tangible there, no memory he can reach for and grab. As soon as he tries, it scatters like whisps. He knows he has lived a life, but he has no idea how that life went beyond rusty recollections that come and go. It sets him on edge, and so he never brings them up. He can’t, not when he knows for certain that you will cling onto them with unyielding hope. And he can’t have that burden on him when he already feels like he’s a shell of what he once was.
The only thing solid is you. But today, you’re far away as well.
“Something is bothering you.” He finally says when you’re eating at the kitchen island an hour later. There are dirty pots and pans in the sink. You will clean up after dinner. Right now, you move your food around absentmindedly, and Seungcheol doesn’t like this distance.
You blink and look at him, giving him a small smile that barely reaches your eyes. “Sorry, I’m just thinking about some stuff. Don’t worry about it.”
But he worries. He always worries, because you are all he has. So he pushes.
“Maybe I can help.”
You look a little surprised, and very touched, so your smile this time is more genuine.
“Thank you, Seungcheol, but really, I’m fine. The situation has resolved itself, I’m just going over it. There’s nothing to do.”
Seungcheol hesitates, but his intuition urges him to speak. “Is it Yoon Jeonghan?”
Your shocked expression tells him that he hit the nail on the head.
“How did you know?”
Seungcheol shrugs. He didn’t know, not for certain, but he had a feeling that Jeonghan wouldn’t just give up without one final attack, be it physical or psychological. It appears it was the latter.
“I’ve spent a long time with him.” He replies, pointedly ignoring your stare. “He’s- there’s a lot to him. Most of it isn’t good. I assumed he wouldn’t just leave this alone.”
Your chest rises and falls with a deep breath. “That’s just it, actually. He kind of has.”
Seungcheol’s eyebrows furrow. He listens intently as you finally open up, telling him about the encounter you had with the man at the grocery store. He lets the story linger for a bit after you’re done, absorbing the words.
“So, that’s it.” He finally says, but there’s uncertainty in his voice. He knows you hear it too. You sigh.
“I think, in his head, he’s still won because you’re not who you once were.” You add, turning back to your plate to push your food around. You don’t meet his eye. “He doesn’t think you’re a threat to him anymore because you have no memory. So by extension, I’m not a threat anymore either. I’m sure that to him, you’re-”
You pause, avoiding his stare. “You’re more like something he’s dumped on me. Because you’re not who you once were.”
You immediately look up as you say it, your eyes harder now, more resolute. “Which is not true. You’re still Seungcheol, even if you don’t remember. And I’m so happy you’re here with me, because I thought I would never see you again. Even with half of you still gone, you’re worth ten of him.”
Seungcheol’s heart squeezes, a feeling that is foreign to him, as he takes in the heated determination in your eyes. He realises that his fear, the sense of self he lacks, is not something that is well founded. You wouldn’t care that he remembers just snippets. You’re willing to accept him even as an empty husk.
He makes up his mind.
“You used to pour water into your half full shampoo bottle.” His throat tightens as he speaks. You blink, taken aback. “When we were in college. Because you had to make it last until your next paycheque.”
“And you liked those animal print socks. The pink panther ones. They were so warm. I was pretty annoyed that they wouldn’t fit me. So you got me black panther ones my size so we could match. I loved those so much. Every winter, I had to be careful how often I wore them because I didn’t want them to fray.”
You’re watching him speak, a thin layer of tears is shining in your eyes, and Seungcheol tries to soldier on.
“You got a bird clock for our first apartment that chirped every hour. God, I hated that thing. But you loved it so I never said anything.”
“I knew.” You speak, finally, your voice higher and breaking at the end. “You always got the most annoyed look on your face when it chirped. I thought it was funny to see how long you could take it.”
You let out a wet laugh. Seungcheol gives you a bitter smile.
“It’s only bits and pieces.” He explains, trying not to let guilt overwhelm him. “I don’t remember a lot. It’s just the little things that come to me.”
“It’s enough.” Tears make tracks down your cheeks. You reach forward, and Seungcheol feels the warmth of your hand as it curls around his human one. The contact makes something sizzle. It’s familiar. He remembers this clear as crystal. “It’s more than enough.”
He doesn’t let go. You don’t pull away.
………………………….
Things feel different. They are different now. The hope that felt like a noose around your neck, ready to tighten and kill you, is a much warmer feeling, blooming in your chest and transforming into a joy you haven’t felt in a really long time. You think Seungcheol has noticed. He notices more than you were previously giving him credit for. And it looks like he welcomes the change too.
Despite not eating much, Seungcheol busies himself with making you breakfast every morning. You tell him he doesn’t have to, but he shoots it down.
“I’m not sleeping anyway.” He retorts. “Besides, I used to do this before, didn’t I?”
You nod, smiling as you watch him scramble eggs in a pan. It was always this way back then. He would take care of breakfast, you would have lunch at the office, and then you would do dinner and he would clean up after. The domesticity of it, the harmony, is returning. Sometimes, when you’re getting ready to go into work in the morning and you can hear him hum in the kitchen, it’s almost like nothing has changed. Then, you take in the massive metal arm under his sleeveless tank top, and you’re reminded of what he has been through, and what you two have lost.
Sometimes late at night, you wonder what he would feel like. You wonder if he would let you touch him.
It’s hard being so close to Seungcheol but not being able to physically be too near him. Casual intimacy was always a part of your relationship, and you aren’t used to a version of Seungcheol you have to hold back from. When he often picks up on your moods, like being tired after work or being frustrated when something isn’t going right, you wonder if he can pick up on this, the intense yearning need you have to just feel his cheek on the crown of your head, or his hand curling over your hip like it used to all the time. Or his lips, always so soft and inviting, pressing delicately to yours.
You wonder if he knows. You wonder if he remembers, because he seems to remember so much these days.
A few days later, you ask Seungcheol if he feels at all ready to come back to work. The suggestion catches him off guard.
“Are you sure?”
You nod, shovelling large helpings of chicken into your mouth. You’re usually ravenously hungry by dinner time, and Seungcheol is always amused by it.
“Everything you’re doing at home, working on projects, improving on previous work, you used to do the same things at work. Project Development is all you, and after you helped Wonwoo work out that little algorithm problem, he’s been wanting to work with you more.”
You give him a smile, and it’s more teasing this time. “I don’t know if you remember this, but you were kind of a legend in tech circles before.”
Seungcheol huffs out a laugh and shakes his head. “I don’t remember, but that thought makes me feel a little nauseous.”
You laugh, nudging his shin under the table. Seungcheol has always been shy about attention, but you know he secretly loves being recognised. He’s ambitious, even though he worries often, and acknowledgement from peers and juniors always affirms to him that he’s on the right path.
The next day, he’s getting ready to go into work as well.
He’s nervous, more so about his appearance than anything else. Bionic prostheses aren’t exactly common yet, even if they are getting more talked about recently. You know he’s conscious about the stares he will get, you can see the troubled expression on his face from a mile away.
“We don’t have to tell them you’re my husband. We can tell them you’re an employee.” You offer on the drive there. “From overseas. We’ll make up a story or something.”
His lip quirks up in a half smile.
“You think that's why I'm nervous?” He asks. You shrug.
“That’s the one thing I was never worried about.” He supplies.
Your heart flutters. You try to calm it down. It doesn’t mean anything, you try to tell yourself. But every word from him, every action, weighs so heavy with you. It always has. He’s the most important person in your life.
Seungcheol is relieved when the first person he sees at work is Wonwoo, the one face that is familiar to him. You know he is nervous, but he doesn’t show it a lot. That’s always been him, confident in stature, sure in his stance. All his little worries and doubts would only be reserved for you, and some part of you is elated that you still hold that position.
Unfortunately, you have to leave him for the day when Joshua finally catches up to you with the daily agenda. You’re swept up in work, but he’s always on the back of your mind. You’re just considering making a trip down to PD when a knock sounds on your door. A head of spiky blond hair pops in, and Seungcheol looks a little sheepish as he speaks.
“Lunch?”
For a second, you can’t breathe, swept up in memory after memory of him doing this exact thing since the day you started your company, when it was nothing but two rooms and a dinky office space. It’s so mundane, almost a negligible occurrence, but it was always the highlight of your work day. For five years, you would eat cold lunch at your desk on Joshua’s insistence, or you wouldn’t eat at all, because you no longer had someone to share that precious hour with. But he’s here now, part of his face reconstructed, but he’s here, and it feels like every second of your grief is washed away with one little word he says.
“Hey.” His soft voice breaks you from your thoughts. You blink, realising that your face feels wet. He has stepped inside the room, his face more cautious now.
“Sorry.” He sounds somber. “Did I do something wrong?”
You immediately shake your head, wiping your face hastily. “Not at all.”
Your voice wobbles. You elect to ignore it, standing up and quickly straightening yourself before walking to him. “Come on, let’s go eat.”
Seungcheol’s hand on your arm stops you from walking past him. He holds it softly, pulling you back so you can face him. You’re embarrassed at losing your composure like this. You don’t want to freak him out, or make him worry. You realise that in your happiness of having him back, you haven’t processed at all how overwhelming it is to have the love of your life come back from the dead, half of what he used to be.
It seems that he understands that as well.
Slowly, at an almost glacial pace, Seungcheol’s hand loosens its grip, but it doesn’t move away. Instead, he wraps it around you. His other arm follows, and while the juxtaposition of his arms is noticeable, one warm and forgiving, the other cold and stiff, you barely register it, because you can feel his heartbeat against where your ear presses to his chest. You feel yourself giving into his embrace. You’re starved for anything that is Seungcheol, you’ve been without him for too long. Your face crumples, and the tears come again.
You don’t stop them this time.
………………………………..
“It doesn’t look right.”
“It looks exactly like it should.”
“No, it doesn’t. Look again, I think you went wrong somewhere-”
“If you’re not going to be supportive, get the hell out. I don’t need this energy.”
“I’m just saying, if you had just gone to the store-”
“And I told you, she likes it better this way.”
“Right. And we’re supposed to trust your half-fried brain.”
“Man, fuck you.”
You try to tamp down the laugh bubbling in your throat, but it’s hard to do that when the bickering coming from your kitchen is so amusing. You resolutely keep your eyes on your laptop screen, because you promised not to intervene. But Seungcheol and Joshua keep getting louder the longer they work on baking this cake, and by the sound of it, Joshua is not impressed.
“You’re seriously going to serve this turd-pile to your wife? On her birthday?”
“It’s a turd-pile made with love.”
You know why Joshua keeps nagging Seungcheol. This is an age-old tradition. Seungcheol is not much of a baker, but you’re decent at it. You make all his birthday cakes because you know what flavors and icings he likes. And because you love doing it. Seungcheol always wants to return the favor, no matter how bad he is at it, and it always ends with a spectacularly dense or horrendous looking cake. The difference this time is Joshua dropping in to wish you a happy birthday and give you your present. Unfortunately, that was the exact moment Seungcheol started icing the cake, hence the racket in your kitchen.
But you don’t mind. In fact, you love it. You love that he keeps trying, every single year, and that he blocks off so many hours just to do it. When he had suggested it this time, you were taken aback. While you and Seungcheol had made steady progress in your relationship so far, you didn’t anticipate that he would remember this little tradition of yours. He holds your hand sometimes, he hugs you when he can. You both talk and talk, about previous memories, and about making new ones. You tell him often that you missed him badly, that you love him so much, and that you’re okay with him not saying it back, but you need to tell him because you always felt like you should have said it more before he was gone. Seungcheol is soft with you, careful, letting you explore your emotions as you let him explore his. Now that he’s with you again, you often feel like you have all the time in the world to just be in his presence.
Is it enough for you? Not by a long shot. Do you want to kiss him senseless? Every second of every day. But you will get there eventually. You have faith.
Joshua stays for the cake reveal, and when you gush over it, he merely lets out a pained sigh. You know it’s all an act. He is unbelievably happy for you, but you like it when he teases Seungcheol, baits him enough to irritate, even anger him. He excuses himself pretty quickly afterward, even when you offer for him to stay and have a slice.
“No offense, but I would rather chop off two limbs and let myself get brainwashed than taste whatever this is.”
“That was really offensive, actually.” Seungcheol replies dryly. You laugh, dipping your finger in the frosting to taste it. Coffee. Your favorite.
The cake is dense, almost inedible, but you love it regardless. You eat two whole slices, even though Seungcheol himself can stomach only one. He gives you a pained look.
“Well, you’re always going on about how you love the things about me that are the same as before. Are you glad I’m still a shit baker?”
You giggle and stand up, carrying your dirty plate to the sink. Then you walk over to him and give him a hug, wrapping your arms around his torso. He immediately returns it, and you can physically feel yourself relax.
“I love it even more.” You reply. You can feel his chest shake with a tiny laugh, and you feel his lips on the crown of your head.
“Happy birthday, baby.” He whispers. Your breath hitches at the petname, your old favorite, and you look up at him, your chin on his chest. He’s watching you, eye like a warm pool, soft and inviting. His human hand reaches up, caressing your cheek. You wish, for a split second, that he would just lean down and…..
He does.
When his lips meet yours, they’re hesitant. It’s barely there, like a ghost of a sensation, but you melt into it, pushing up on your toes a little so you can feel him more as you kiss him back. He melts into it, sighing into your mouth, his grip around your waist tightening when he registers your enthusiasm. The metal of his left arm feels solid, and it almost leaves you immobile, but you love it, because it presses every line of your body to every plane of his. Your hands find his neck, his jaw, slipping back to run over the tiny strands over the back of his head. It makes him shiver. You feel it. Your lower stomach stirs.
The kiss gets firmer, hotter. Seungcheol tilts his head, slots his lips deeper into yours. You feel his tongue against the cushion of your bottom lip, and your mouth opens almost out of instinct. You let out your first moan when his tongue slides hot and wet against yours.
“We should-” His voice cracks. Your head spins. “We should slow down.”
He kisses you again, fiercely. Your thighs are already crushing together for relief.
“Yeah.” You agree, pulling him down more by the shoulders, wanting him to curl and wrap around you. He complies immediately, hands sliding lower until he’s tugging on the backs of your thighs and lifting you up onto the kitchen island. You’re level with his face now, not willing to stop kissing him, not willing to take even a breath that doesn’t come straight from his mouth. You tug hard on the hair at the top of his head, the ones long enough to grip. He groans, and the sound makes your hips jerk hard into his.
“Fuck, don’t do that.” He rasps.
You do it again, grinding slower this time, your legs around his waist keeping him in place. He hisses. You can feel the bulge in his jeans, and you clench around nothing, registering how hard he already is. You need him so badly that it makes you dizzy. If he stops now, you think you might cry.
“Cheol-” You gasp, your hands digging into his shirt and tugging hard. You need it off, you need to feel all of him, properly, and it feels like he’s on the same page, because he’s reaching back, pulling the shirt off his shoulders until it’s gone. His hands are quick, sliding under your blouse until it’s bunching up, making you raise your arms. He pulls it off.
Finally, you see him.
Seungcheol was always well built. Broad in all the right places, thick neck, wide shoulders, the large expanse of his chest, his abs. Now, he’s even more cut, and you wonder if it has to do with the life he was living for the last five years. Your eye catches his bionic arm, right at the junction where it meets his skin. Your hands, idly running over his bare skin, follow your gaze, stop just where the skin looks more pink.
“Does it hurt?” You ask, voice low. Seungcheol shakes his head, watching you intently.
“It used to, when it was new. But it’s more numb now than anything.” He mutters. He flexes the arm, the plates click and whir, a low, metallic sound that echoes in the silence of the kitchen. You let your thumb run over the skin, right at the edge. Seungcheol doesn’t react as he watches your fingers except with a tiny laugh.
“I guess if they were more careful, it might have looked a little better.” He mumbles, eyes still on your movements. His own run absentmindedly over your bare waist. You shrug.
“I don’t know, it’s pretty hot.”
He looks up at you, his single eyebrow shooting up in surprise. He barks out a laugh, shaking his head.
“Freak.”
You hum and tighten your legs around his waist again, pulling him closer. “You used to love it.”
Something in his eye gleams, a mischievous little twinkle. The white, flat circle on the other side seems to turn and shift, almost like it’s gleaming too. You wonder what he sees through it. His lip ticks up in a tiny smirk. “Oh, I know.”
He leans down, running his lips over the side of your neck. His hands are more purposeful now, sliding up to fiddle with the buckle of your bra. He unhooks it smoothly, letting his touch float up your arms so he can pull the straps down. You sigh when his tongue runs over your skin, nipping just under your ear, the spot that has always made you shiver.
“I remember a lot of things.” He rasps. “More and more as the days go by. And I like to go over them sometimes, when I lay in bed at night, or when you walk around in just that large shirt of mine you wear when you sleep. You think I don’t know what you’re doing, baby? Goading me, baiting me, testing me.”
“I’m- I’m not-” But your brain is melting at the moment his teeth dig a little harder into your skin. He’s going to leave a mark, not that you give a fuck, and all it’s doing is making you even more lightheaded.
He hums. You know he doesn’t believe you. His hands are already circling around, kneading softly on your breasts, making you sigh. He thumbs over your nipples, nipping at your neck a little harder when they peak under his touch. His touch sends shivers down your spine, one hand soft and warm, the other hard and cold. You’re not used to the contrast, but it feels wonderful. You wonder how it will feel in all the other places you want him to touch, and your impatience grows.
“Cheol, take me inside.” You whimper, clenching around nothing again and feeling your desperation grow. He doesn’t respond verbally, but his hands find your hips, gripping tightly to lift you up. You wrap yourself around him, using that moment to tongue at his neck as he walks you both down the hall to your bedroom. He has been inside only a handful of times, since he still sleeps on his own, but you know that’s about to change today. You’re never letting him leave again.
He doesn’t separate from you for even a second, laying you down on the mattress and joining you on it at the same moment, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that is even more heated, but not any less exploratory. His weight on you feels familiar, glorious, and you bask in the feeling of being pressed down. His tongue runs over any crevice of your mouth it can reach, saliva mixing with his in a way that makes you shiver all over. When you run your hands over his back and feel the familiar muscle shift and tense under your touch, you remember how much you missed this, and it makes your breath hitch.
You want him completely naked against you, and the need feels as urgent as air entering your lungs.
Your shirt and bra are already gone, but his clothes and the rest of yours now quickly follow. He kisses any part of you he can in between every article that gets tugged off by you or by him. Your right calf presses against the cold metal of his leg, and it shocks you back into reality a little bit. You’re aware that while you’ve done this countless times with him, it’s different now. You slow down the kisses, nibbling more indulgently at the plush on his bottom lip.
“Are you okay with this?” You whisper. “I know this is a lot-”
“I was going to ask you that.” He chuckles into your mouth. His eye flutters open, and it has softened, shining with reverence. Your lips twitch up into a smile.
“I’ve wanted this for so long.” You reach up, running a gentle hand through his hair. His metal ear feels rigid and cool. “I’ve missed you more than I can say. I didn’t-”
Your voice catches. Seungcheol waits with all the patience in the world.
“I didn’t think I could ever have this again.”
His forehead rests gently against yours, and your eyes flutter when you feel your breaths mix where your lips touch.
“I know I’m not all the way there.” He whispers. “I know there’s so much missing. And some days, it’s so difficult to reconcile the older version of me with this new reality. But I’m getting better every day. And I…. I miss you too. I miss what we had and who I used to be.”
Your eyes cloud. Seungcheol carefully thumbs under them, not letting the tears spill. When he kisses you again, it feels far more meaningful, like parts of you and him are coming to an understanding together. It’s easy to build up the heat again, and there’s an underlying layer of need in it now that has you writhing and moaning under him in no time.
“Easy, princess.” He hums, carefully running his hands up your thighs before fitting his hips between them. “I’ve got you.”
Princess. You whine. That’s an old favorite bedroom nickname of his. Seungcheol loved to spoil you. He’s a giver at heart, so the name is apt, and one he used to shower you with frequently. He grinds on your core, and you can feel the slide of his hard shaft through your wet folds. It makes you gasp, the slow drag making you feel each and every ridge of him. Your opening clenches hard, you arch into him, and your nails dig into the skin of his back.
“Don’t-” Your chest rattles with your inhale. “Don’t tease me. Please, I’ve waited so long, Cheolie. Don’t make me wait even more-”
When his head catches against your opening on the next grind, you moan low, eyelids fluttering. His nose brushes yours, you know he’s watching, and you bask in the feeling of his gaze on you. He pushes a little more, breaching you, and takes his glorious time sliding in at a snail’s pace. Your walls struggle with his girth, not used to being penetrated, left empty for too long, but you think at this point, Seungcheol is embedded in your DNA. Your body knows him, recognises him, like it’s an old, dormant instinct. You open up for him like he’s meant for you, and when he groans in shaky approval, you know he feels it too.
“Made for me, aren’t you?” He whispers into your mouth, taking advantage of your moaning to lick over your lips, nipping and sucking at them. “Taking me like you’re meant for me. Haven’t fucked you in years, but your little pussy still knows me, right?”
God, he needs to stop talking like that. So vulgar, coming from his mouth, but so sexy that it makes you dizzy. The ceiling is spinning, half from the feel of him, and half from the words he is whispering right past your lips. He bottoms out finally, and stills, throbbing and twitching inside you. You can feel it, it tugs on your walls, sending little sparks shooting through your core.
“Love how tight you are, baby.” He continues, pulling away from you to sit back a bit. You almost whine in protest, but then his thumb finds your clit and rubs tight little circles over it. You sigh, toes curling. “But I need you to loosen up a little bit, okay? Need to fuck you properly and I can’t do that when you’re gripping me like this.”
It’s a combination of his words and the waves of pleasure traveling up from your clit, but he finally feels enough give to rock back and forth, his back undulating with every stroke. He starts off slow, both of you just enjoying the delicious drag of him in and out. Every movement makes him brush up teasingly against your sweet spot, makes stars burst in your vision. You feel like you’re already on the brink, and he has barely started.
“Fuck.” He chokes, and you can see his throat bob as he swallows. A thin layer of sweat coats his porcelain skin, making the light of your bedside lamp shift over him. His hair, not almost fully brown with just the tips of the blond remaining, is matted on his forehead. His eye is closed, eyelid fluttering, mouth slightly parted as his breath rattles in and out. He grunts quietly every few strokes, his abs clenching, his neck and chest flushed a pretty pink.
You could come just looking at him like this.
He picks up the pace finally, and you gasp at the change, arching into him a little. He’s watching you now, but you’re too busy registering how good he feels, the perfect, tight drag of him, now more forceful, hitting every spot that sends pleasurable shocks up your spine. The bed groans, his thrusts get harder. On either side of your head, his fingers fist the bedsheet. Beneath the moans and sighs, you can hear the very low but distinct whir of metal emanating from his moving limbs.
Your brain stutters, and your hands move before you can think about it too much. They find his metal wrist, circling around it slowly and lifting it to place it right at the base of your throat. Seungcheol’s eye widens.
“You’re sure?” He asks. You nod.
“Please.”
Your skin is so heated that the cool contrast of his hand feels relieving and glorious. Something in his wrist clicks, and then his hold on your throat tightens just a bit. Your eyes flutter, mouth dropping open. You whine.
Seungcheol groans and his thrusts get harder, hips now slamming into yours over and over, the tip just gently kissing the cervix in the way that lights your lower stomach on fire. His grip is unrelenting, just tight enough to make you a little light headed and every movement feel even more intense than it usually does. You can’t speak, can’t warn him as your orgasm comes barrelling into you at full speed. You can only clench hard and cry out as it washes over you. Seungcheol doesn’t slow, but watches you with something akin to awe and unbridled lust in his eyes. His hand loosens only as you come down, letting you take in a long gulp of air.
“That was so sexy, baby, fuck.” He sounds as wrecked as you feel. He’s grinding into your pussy, pushed all the way in to the base, letting you feel every inch of him. “Can’t believe I didn’t do this sooner. Could’ve had you under me every night looking like that.”
You find the sides of his neck, tugging him down to kiss him fiercely. “Get your fill now, Cheolie. Make up for lost time.”
Your words spur him on. He pulls out abruptly, but he doesn’t let you miss him for too long, tugging your leg to maneuver you so you’re on your stomach, arms folded under your head, and his body draped over your back, warming your sweat-cooling skin. His knees frame your thighs. He nudges your legs apart just enough to slide inside, and the shift in angle has your jaw going slack. You feel his grip on your hips, one soft, one hard, holding you in place as he immediately sets a brutal pace. You don’t mind, you’ve always loved it when Seungcheol uses all that impressive muscle he has built to manhandle and use you like this. It’s unbelievably hot to you. This position feels even more intense, leaves you even more boneless, and your previous high has left you so sensitive that this one builds up in no time.
His thrusts are getting sloppy, less precise and more like he just wants to plop you into the mattress. His moans are more uninhibited now, his grip tighter to the point you know he will leave bruises that you will wear proudly. His breath hits the back of your neck. He reaches down, biting into your shoulder at the exact moment he groans loud and empties himself in you. The warmth of him, the grind of his head into your walls, is what sends you over the edge for a second time. Both your bodies writhe on the mattress, him pressing you into it until you feel like you are melting into him. He curses low in your ear as his body relaxes, and the sound makes you shiver.
You lay like that for what feels like an eternity, letting the rise and fall of his chest guide your own breathing. When he finally moves, detaching himself, you grumble in protest.
“I was warm.” You complain. You can hear him laugh a little.
“I’ll warm you up again, baby, don’t worry. Come on.”
Your interest is piqued, and you turn your head to the side to peer at him. His whole face seems to have smoothed, soft and glowing in a way you haven’t seen him in a while. It makes a smile tug on your lips, and you turn over slowly to face him. He doesn’t waste any time in lifting you up, another sensation that will take some getting used to. His human arm is warm on your back, but his metal one digs just under your knees. You don’t mind, not at all, it’s part of him, something he got involuntarily but made his own. He has used it to inflict pain in the past, but from now on, he will do nothing but good with it.
You watch him with heavy eyes as he places you on the bathroom vanity and gets to running a warm bath. You admire his back, soft and pale, smattered with little freckles, and slightly pink at the edges where skin meets metal. The plates dig into the skin, and you know he said it doesn’t feel like anything now, but you wonder if it hurts even just a little.
The slightest hint of his pain, even a negligible smidge of it, is unacceptable to you. You make a mental note to ask Wonwoo if he can look into bionic prostheses. Not weapons, like Jeonghan has developed. You have no interest in that. He can have his military contracts and his glory. There’s nothing in it for you.
Everything you want is in this tiny bathroom, dipping his metal fingers into the water to check the temperature, only to realise he can’t feel with that limb. You collapse into giggles and he smiles sheepishly, ears turning red, using his other hand as a toothy grin takes over his face.
PAIRING: Jester!Jeonghan x Princess!Reader
SUMMARY: You've spent your entire life hiding behind the mask of a princess, forced to perform perfection at every moment. There is a single person who see's beyond your mask, but you see beyond his too - and you don't think the jester is as harmless as everyone thinks.
WC: 6,244
AU: Royalty, Implied Magical AU
GENRE: Smut
RATING: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.
WARNINGS: Mild mentions of what's proper/what's not in a royal society, reader being frustrated and having repressed feelings of desire and arousal, sexually explicit content featuring vaginal fingering, some mild dirty talk, mild biting, mild exhibitionism (hooking up where anyone could find them), the use of pet names (love / good girl), Jeonghan being a bit of a menace, some magical ambiguity at the end re: Jeonghan, he's kinda a weird lil guy in this I don't know how to explain it, he's implied to be dangerous but he doesn't do anything necessarily scary on paper.
A/N: This is for my milestone request for @gimmegoodname! And part 8348934 of Hali doesn't know how to keep to a reasonable request word count :) Thank you jesus for landing on Jester and Jeonghan - this actually is not at all what I originally intended to write but fuck it we ball because the other idea would have taken me aprox 40k words lmfao
AN 2: This is not beta read so I’m sorry - there will definitely be mistakes! I did proof read/spelling and grammar check but I often miss a lot!
MAIN M. LIST | ASK | FOR MY MILESTONE EVENT
ORANTE PARTIES ARE PERHAPS YOUR LEAST FAVORITE RESPONSIBILITY AS A PRINCESS.
The castle's grand ballroom has been transformed into a glittering display of excess, the crystal chandeliers reflecting torchlight and dappled shadows across polished marble floors, the heavy velvet drapery covering the walls in hues of crimson and midnight blue - all of it tailored to make the inside of the room feel like something from another world.
You hate every inch of it. You hate the weight of your gown and its scratchy material, you hate how you can feel the bone stitching of the corset digging into your ribs, you hate the brittle laughter and the clink of crystal goblets, the venomous whispers behind delicate gossamer fans. Most of all, you hate the way every eye in the room seems to track your every movement, measuring you, judging you, waiting for the perfect princess to make a single mistake so they can talk about it with practiced smiles.
A bard stands at the center of the hall, his fingers dancing over the strings of a lute as he sings a soulful ballad of lovers lost in the heat of one another, of stolen touches and a kind of passion you'll never understand. You wonder what it might be like to experience something like that, to be touched by someone who wants you so badly they risk everything, to have hands on your skin that aren't bound by protocol and propriety. To do something dangerous and sinful, to have someone hold you the way those lovers in the song held each other, with urgency and desire instead of duty.
You'll never be that, of course. You are forever bound to this kingdom where the entire world is your stage, where you must remain untouched and controlled, and you're constantly expected to perform.
You're not the only one performing tonight, of course. You're halfway through a painfully boring conversation with the Lord of Coin regarding taxes when a burst of laughter cuts through the murmur of the party. Your gaze drifts against your will toward the small crowd forming near the arched windows, and though you can't see the man at the center of their attention, you know he's there.
The court jester's voice drifts toward you, mischief wrapped in pretty velvet clothes and a silly hat. You'd seen him earlier tonight, dressed in his best midnight blue velvet doublet and matching pants, little crystals stitchy to the fabric to make it look like he's lost in a midnight sky. His eyes had been filled with particularly vicious mischief when they'd landed on you, but your father had whisked you away to greet the Lady of Harvest before the fiend could slink your way.
Jeonghan is a fiend. You are perhaps the only person at court who thinks behind the practiced smiles, card tricks and juggling that there's something far more dangerous, but you've never been able to convince anyone of it. And why should anyone agree with you? Jeonghan is favored among the court for his wit, rhymes and tricks, thrilling the men and charming the women as he slides through each party like smoke, taking the shape of whatever his audience desires most.
A fresh wave of laughter erupts from his audience, brighter and more genuine than anything else you’ve heard tonight. It makes your skin itch and you turn away from the crowd, focusing back on the conversation at hand and determined not to let Jeonghan ruin your night like he does at most parties, determined to vex you and make you feel affronted and flushed and-
No.
You shove him from your mind as the conversation drags on while you sip spiced wine from your glass. As the Lord of Coin talks, you wonder what it would be like to leave this room. To go get somewhere lost in the city below. To fall into the bed of someone who would touch you like the lovers in the bard’s song, someone who smells like sandalwood and smoke and whose smile is sharp and familiar.
For now, you stay put and keep your eyes on the lord in front of you, ignoring the growing laughter coming from Jeonghan's corner. You hate that he enthralls them so - hate that even though you’re suspicious of him, he charms you in his own way, worming into your thoughts on lonely days, leading your mind astray to wonder how it is he does those tricks of his.
Your father appears suddenly, the Lord of Coin fumbling over whatever he was saying about inflation as the king puts a hand on your shoulder, grinning jovially. "Lord Hastings, forgive me, but I'm here to steal my daughter and spoil her with the fun part of the night!"
"Of course, Your Majesty!" Lord Hasting bows. "Thank you for the conversation, Your Highness."
"The gratitude is all mine, Lord Hastings," you nod, letting your father spin you away as dread knots in your stomach.
The crowd near the arched windows opens up as you approach, the members of the court bowing as you and your father approach the entertainment. Torchlight flickers on their faces, showing how flushed with delight they are as they watch the spectacle in front of them. Jeonghan stands in the middle of the, his midnight doublet fitting him perfectly as the crystals sparkle with his every movement.
Though the jester hat might look silly on anyone else, Jeonghan makes it look fashionable. His long, dark hair frames his angelic face, all sharp cheekbones and carefully sloped nose. His dark eyes find yours immediately, flashing as he grins. Your heart skips a little but you remain uneffected, staring at him as he juggles three daggers for the crowd as they ooo and ahhh at him.
You watch as the blades flash in the torchlight, each one caught cleanly while people gasp and clap. A lady nearby giggles behind her fan just as Jeonghan makes the daggers disappear into his sleeves with a quick motion. The crowd claps as he grins and bows politely, his dark eyes finding you again.
Irritation simmers, your gaze locking onto his and holding it. While everyone seems impressed, your instincts scream danger, wolf in fool’s clothing. The corner of his mouth tilts upwards as he steps toward you, the smell of his sandalwood and smoke clinging to him.
"Your Highness," he greets smoothly. "You look bored. Let me change that."
You say nothing but your father claps, his laughter booming as Jeonghan starts his performance. Cards fly from his hands in quick patterns and your attention is drawn upward as they flit through the air. He dances away from you and leans toward Lord Jeon, plucking a card from behind his ear before flicking his hand and turning it into a coin. The crowd laughs and claps as you stand there stiffly, watching as he charms his way through the nobles until he comes back toward you.
Jeonghan stops in front of you and holds out his hand, bowing slightly at the waist. The crystals on his double clink together as you stare at him, your stomach twisting when he looks up at you through his dark, silky lashes. To anyone else, the look might be reverent, but you see it for what it is - hunger.
"For the best trick tonight, I need a volunteer," he murmurs. The crowd claps excitedly and when you glance at your father, the king urges you forward, excited. “Your Highness, would you do me the honor?”
Swallowing thickly, you place your hand in Jeonghan's. His skin is warm, sending a spark of heat up your arm as he guides you toward the center of the circle where he spins you in a twirl, the skirts of your dress flaring. The lords and ladies clap, delighted and shouting how beautiful you look, how wonderful their princess is. Jeonghan’s touch lingers a moment longer than necessary before he grins and lets go, eyes glued to you as he circles you like a wolf might its prey.
When he stops, he leans close enough that you can see the silver threading in his collar and the way his sleeves are tailored to allow free movement, probably full of pockets for all of his cards and daggers and other baubles he uses for his performances. He's close enough that the sandalwood and spice makes your lashes flutter, making you think of something dark - not at all the cheery jester he claims to be.
"Try not to look so afraid," he murmurs, low enough that only you can hear him. "The court might think you're afraid of a simple card trick."
"I'm not afraid," you snap.
"No? Then why is your pulse racing?"
You grimace. Ever the observationalist, seeing far more than anyone ever dares to give him credit for.
"Do your trick, jester," you growl.
Jeonghan grins as he produces a deck of cards from one of his sleeves, fanning them out again. "Choose any card but don't show me, love."
Ignoring the casual way he uses a pet name entirely unfit for his station, you select a card from the middle of the deck and when you flip it, you see the seven of swords. You angle it away from him, eyes darting between him and the card. His eyes watch you closely, the heat of them making you fight off a shiver.
"Show the crowd, I'll look away. Cross my heart and hope to die."
You roll your eyes when he turns his back to you. The crowd leans in as you flip the card, showcasing the front to them all. They all nod excitedly, tittering behind hands and fans until you flip the card back around, holding it close to your chest and away from Jeonghan.
"Good," he says when he turns back around, tucking the deck away in one of his sleeves. "Put the card against your palm, card face down."
You follow his instructions, holding your palm out with the card face down to conceal the seven of swords. Jeonghan reaches for your hand, his fingers warm as he presses his palm on top of yours, the card firmly kept between both of your hands. You hate the way your skin responds to the contact, the way the sudden awareness of him prickles up your arm.
"Do you trust me?" he murmurs.
"Hardly."
"Clever." He guides your pressed palms upward so that you're both holding the card between you, each of your hands pressing forward with equal force. "Good girl. Keep your hand steady."
A snarl works its way to your lips at the pet name, but before you can snap at him for the impropriety, Jeonghan shuffles closer and the crowd goes quiet. You realize how far away they seem, the sound dull like it's on the other side of a bubble. Jeonghan is close though - so close you have to tilt your chin up to look up at him, his eyes glittering as they watch you.
"You're quite good at playing a dutiful princess," he notes.
"You know nothing about me."
"Don't I?" His eyes search yours, and there's something sharp in his gaze, something that cuts through the fool's mask he wears. "I know you watch everything. I know you see more than you let on. I know you're the only person in this room who looks at me and wonders what I'm really doing here."
Your heart pounds harder, the rhythm so forceful you're certain he can see it in the pulse at your throat. He's far too close and far too observant for a mere jester. The air between your palms feels charged, almost electric, and you're acutely aware of every inch of space he occupies. You want to step back, to put distance between you and whatever game he's playing, but the crowd is watching and so is the king. So you look onward, staring at him as he smirks.
"Breathe," Jeonghan says, softer now, and there's something almost gentle in his tone that makes it worse somehow. "You're holding your breath, love."
“Stop calling me that.”
"Nervous?"
You glare. "No."
His grin widens a fraction. "Liar."
The word hangs between you, intimate and dangerous. No one else speaks to you like this. No one else would dare, but Jeonghan isn't like the others at court. He refuses to be cowed by your title and your cold shoulder, protected by the silly little performance he puts on, convincing others that he's a fool. It gives him a freedom that feels threatening, and you're the only one who seems to notice.
The hand that isn't pressed against yours moves, tracing a slow circle in the air around where your palms are joined. The movement is hypnotic, and you find yourself following the movement, watching as he repeats the motion a few times. For a moment, you feel a little hazy, eyes fluttering as your thoughts grow foggy. Then, your mind sharpens again, Jeonghan’s intense gaze coming into focus.
"Picture your card," he instructs, loud enough for the crowd to hear. "Imagine exactly what it looks like - the edges, the images. The way it's shaped. The colors used, the details of the card face."
You think of the seven of swords, trying to focus on the image of it, trying to use it as an anchor against the way your pulse races. It's difficult to do so with the warmth radiating from his palm and the way his breath stirs the air between you. He's close enough that you can count every one of his eyelashes and see the way his dark eyes catch the light from the chandeliers overhead.
As you try and picture the curling red numbers on the card and blue paint of the swords, you let your eyes flit over his sleeves. His hands. His pockets. You try to work out what exactly the charade is, ready to catch him in his trickery. You always try, and you always fail, never quite able to pin down the source of the performance.
"You're thinking about the card," he says, dropping his voice again so only you can hear. "But you're also thinking about how I'm doing this. Trying to work it out. Trying to catch me." You don't answer, feeling the heat hit your chest and cheeks as you flush under being caught. Jeonghan smirks, nodding. "You also don’t like being caught. Are you afraid of what I'll see when I look at you?"
"You see nothing, jester."
"Untrue." He tilts his head slightly, studying you with an intensity that makes your skin prickle. "I see someone who's hungry to be wanted. Someone who wants to be touched like those lovers in the ballad the bard was singing, with heat and urgency and desperate desire. Someone who wishes there was a person bold enough to touch her the way a princess is never supposed to be touched. To want her not because of the crown but despite it." His eyes glint with something darker. "And I see someone who looks at me and knows exactly what I am. A wolf in fool’s clothing, right?”
You want to deny it, but the words stick in your throat. You hate that Jeonghan is right and that he sees through you as easily as you see through him. There's a part of you that's always craved this kind of understanding, someone who could look past the crown and what lies beneath, but not like this. Not from him.
Being known by Jeonghan feels like standing naked before a predator, and the worst part is that you're not entirely certain you want to cover yourself. Your chest tightens with the contradiction of it, the simultaneous ache to be truly seen and the primal need to hide from his gaze.
"Now," Jeonghan says, and his voice drops again, intimate and teasing. "I'm going to find your card without ever touching the deck again. Without you saying a word." He leans in, just slightly, and you can feel the whisper of his breath against your temple, warm and deliberate. Your skin tingles where it touches. "Would you like to know how?"
You can't answer. Your throat has gone tight, and you're frozen there, caught between the urge to pull away and the strange, unwanted pull that keeps you rooted in place.
"I'm going to read your mind," he murmurs, and his lips are so close to your ear now that you feel each word as much as hear it. "I'm going to look into those careful, guarded eyes and see exactly what else you're hiding."
Your hands are shaking now, both of them, and you know he can see it. The crowd can probably see it too, but they likely think it's part of the act, part of the performance. They don't know that your heart is hammering so hard it hurts, that every nerve in your body is screaming at you to move, to step back, to break whatever spell he's weaving.
"It's the seven of swords," Jeonghan says, and his voice is soft enough to raise the hair on your arms.
Your eyes widen before you can stop yourself, before you can school your expression into something more controlled. The reaction is instinctive, damning, and you see the exact moment he registers it. See the satisfaction that flickers across his face.
"There it is," he murmurs, so quietly that you almost don't hear it over the blood rushing in your ears. "That's what I wanted to see."
Suddenly he steps back, and the loss of his proximity should be a relief but instead feels like an absence. His hand that was mirroring yours drops away to reveal that the card that was pressed between your palms is no longer there. You frown, mouth falling open slightly as he reaches toward your face. You go still as his fingers brush the edge of your jaw, feather-light and deliberate. It's barely contact at all, the barest whisper of his fingertips against you, but you feel it everywhere.
When he pulls his hand away, he's holding a card between two fingers, flicking it to show you the seven of swords. The crowd erupts in applause and delighted exclamations, the sound washing over you while you stare at him. You want to know how he did it, to know what you missed. Had his whispers distracted you from when he placed it there? Was it a trick of the light?
"Your Highness," Jeonghan says, and his voice is pitched for the crowd now, all performance and charm. He bows deeply, flourishing the card. "Thank you for your assistance."
When his eyes meet yours again, they tell a different story. They say he knows exactly what effect he's had on you. That he planned it, wanted it, enjoyed watching you unravel. It makes you step back, putting necessary distance between you as your heart hammers, your pulse deceiving you.
You excuse yourself as soon as the opportunity presents itself, your father turning to another lord as he laughs about something and the crowd pressing around Jeonghan, cutting him off from you. No one notices when you slip away from the gathered nobles, picking up the skirts of your dress as you rush for the exit, skin overheating.
Cool night air washes over you as you step into the gardens and away from all the noise and eyes. The sound of the ballroom has long since faded behind you, replaced by the gentle rustle of leaves and the soft trickle of water from the fountain somewhere deeper in the garden. You inhale deeply, letting the scent of roses and night-blooming jasmine fill your lungs, trying to steady the frantic beating of your heart.
The gardens are empty. Everyone is inside, drinking and dancing and watching Jeonghan perform his tricks. Out here, there's only moonlight filtering through the branches overhead, casting everything in silver and shadow. The paths wind between tall hedges and rose bushes, their blooms pale in the darkness. Your footsteps are quiet on the stone walkway as you move deeper into the maze, away from the ballroom, away from the noise and the eyes and the suffocating weight of your crown.
You walk without direction, letting your feet carry you past marble statues and flowering vines that climb the garden walls. The moonlight catches on the petals of white roses, making them glow like ghosts. Everything is still and quiet, peaceful in a way the ballroom could never be.
Out here, you can think. Out here, you can try to make sense of what just happened.
Except you can't make sense of it. Can't explain why Jeonghan's proximity affected you so deeply, why his whispered words felt like they were carving themselves into your skin, why the loss of his touch left you aching in ways you don't want to examine. You barely know him. You don't trust him. And yet-
"Running away, Your Highness?"
You spin around, heart leaping into your throat to see Jeonghan standing in the middle of the path behind you as though he's materialized from the shadows themselves. His little hat is nowhere to be found, dressed only in the velvet outfit with crystals glittering like stars. The moonlight above catches in his dark hair, turning it silver at the edges. His eyes gleam, and you become hyperaware of the unnatural quiet of his presence.
"I needed air," you say, trying to keep your voice steady.
"Mm." Jeonghan takes a step closer, his movements fluid and unhurried. "Or you needed to escape me."
You don't answer - can't answer, because he's right and you both know it. He moves closer still, slow and deliberate, and you suddenly feel like he's a wolf giving the sheep time to run if it wanted to. You don't run, your feet planted to the stone path even as your pulse hammers in your throat, even as every instinct screams that you should walk away.
"You know," Jeonghan says conversationally, stopping just within arm's reach, "most people can't wait to be near me. They laugh at my jokes, beg for my tricks, hang on my every word." His head tilts slightly, studying you. "But you? You look at me like I'm something dangerous."
"You are dangerous," you say before you can stop yourself. “Even if I can’t prove it.”
His smile is slow and devastating. "Yes. I am."
The admission should frighten you. Instead, it sends heat curling through your belly, making your breath catch in your chest. He's standing close enough now that you can see the way the moonlight plays across his features. He's beautiful, with a sharp jawline and elegant nose, the curve of his mouth full and dangerous, the kind of beauty that bards say is dangerous, luring people into the spider’s web.
"But that's not why you ran," Jeonghan continues.
"It's not?"
He shakes his head. "You ran because of what I said in there. Because I saw through you, and you didn't like it."
"You don't know anything about me."
He takes another step, and now he's close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from him, can see the way his gaze travels deliberately over your face, your throat, the rapid rise and fall of your chest.
"I already proved that isn't true, love."
Your breath catches. Heat floods your cheeks, your chest, spreading through your entire body. "You're far too presumptuous and entirely impromper."
"I'm observant."His eyes meet yours, and there's something raw in them now, something that makes your stomach flip. "And I know you felt it too. In the ballroom, when I was close to you. The way your breath changed. The way you leaned toward me even as you tried to pull away. The way you're looking at me right now, like you can't decide if you want to run or-"
"Or what, jester?" You demand, huffing. "If you know me so well, just say it."
Jeonghan's smile turns predatory. "Or if you want to stay right here and let me show you what you desire, no matter how improper it is."
Your heart is pounding so hard you're certain he can hear it. "You wouldn't dare."
"Wouldn't I?" He takes one more step, closing the distance until you can feel his breath against your lips, until you're backed against the rough bark of a tree you didn't realize was behind you. "I'm not afraid of your crown, love. I'm not afraid of what anyone would say or do. I'm not afraid of you."
The words send a thrill down your spine that you absolutely should not feel. His hand comes up, not touching you but hovering just beside your face, close enough that you can feel the heat of his palm against your cheek. You grit your teeth, refusing to lean into the hand the way you want to, refusing to give him the satisfaction again tonight.
"Why risk it, then?" You ask. "Only a fool would."
"I am a fool," he agrees. "Let me show you how foolish I am. Let me show you what it's like to be touched and desired. Let me show you what I've wanted to do since the moment I've met you and how I want to make you come undone. Let me make you lose all that polished control you loathe so much."
You should say no. Should push him away. Should remember every reason this is a terrible idea. But your body isn't listening to your mind, and you find yourself leaning toward him, drawing by the magnetic pull you've been fighting all evening.
"What do you say," he asks, hand coming to cradle your face and tilt it upward until you're looking at him with half-lidded eyes. "Do you want your desires answered?"
You lick your lips and his eyes track the movement, pupils expanding. Swallowing dryly, you give the shallowest nod, damning yourself to desire, to the feeling of being wanted and seen.
It's all he needs. Jeonghan's eyes darken, and then his mouth is on yours and the world narrows to just the heat of his lips, the press of his body as he crowds you back against the tree, the rough bark catching on the fabric of your gown. He kisses you like he's starving for it, deep and demanding, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that makes your knees weak.
You gasp into his mouth and he swallows the sound, one hand tangling in your hair while the other grips your hip hard enough to bruise. The kiss is nothing like you imagined. It's not gentle or reverent or careful, but instead it’s consuming, devastating, the kind of kiss that you never knew existed.
He tastes like wine and something darker, something that makes you want more even as your lungs burn for air. His teeth catch your lower lip and you whimper, your hands coming up to clutch at his shoulders, feeling the lean muscle beneath the fabric of his costume.
"I've wanted this for so long," Jeonghan murmurs against your mouth, then trails his lips down your jaw to your throat. "Wanted you. Do you know how difficult it was to keep my hands to myself during that trick? To stand so close and not touch you the way I really wanted to?"
His teeth graze your pulse point and you can't stop the sound that escapes you, half gasp, half moan. He makes a satisfied noise low in his throat, then his hand slides from your hip to your thigh, gathering the heavy fabric of your gown and pulling it up as you pant against the tree, your head digging into the bark.
"Tell me to stop," he says, but his fingers are already tracing the inside of your thigh, moving higher. "Tell me you don't want this. Tell me all my chasing and teasing and prodding is for nothing and that I should leave."
“I can’t.”
"Fuck," Jeonghan breathes against your throat, and the crude word from his elegant mouth sends another wave of heat through you.
His fingers find the edge of your undergarments and he pulls them aside with deliberate slowness, exposing you to the cool night air. When his fingers press against you directly, finding you already slick, you bite down on your lip to keep from crying out. The gardens are secluded and shadowed, but not so far from the ballroom that sound wouldn't carry.
"Don't," Jeonghan says, his free hand coming up to pull your lip from between your teeth. "I want to hear you. Want to know exactly what I'm doing to you. Want to hear every sound you make when I touch you like this."
His fingers slip between your slick folds and you do cry out then, unable to stop yourself. Your hands tighten on his shoulders, nails digging in through the fabric of his costume, and he groans like your pleasure is his own. You feel a shiver go through him and you realize he’s just as affected by you as you are by him and it makes the heat even worse, the knowledge that he wants you this badly turning your blood to fire.
"So wet," he murmurs, his fingers sliding through your folds, exploring you with maddening slowness. "So perfect. Is this what you were thinking about during the bard's song? Someone touching you like this? Making you fall apart?"
You can't answer. Can't form words. All you can do is gasp as his fingers circle your clit with devastating precision, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your entire body. Your legs turn molten and Jeonghan pins you against the tree with his hips, sliding one of his knees between your legs to keep you pried open for his hand.
"Answer me," Jeonghan demands. "Tell me what you were thinking about."
"Yes," you manage, the word coming out broken. "Yes, I was thinking about being touched."
His fingers press harder, moving in tight circles that make your vision blur. His fingers slide lower, teasing your entrance, and you can feel how wet you are, your entrance clenching around nothing as his fingers trace laze circles where you need him most, your hips twitching.
"I'm going to give you exactly what you want," he promises. "Going to make you come so hard you see stars.
He slides one finger inside you and you cry out, your back arching off the tree. He's watching your face with an intensity that should make you self-conscious, but you're too far gone to care, too lost in the sensation of his finger moving inside you, curling just right, finding spots that make you shake.
It feels so good - better than you imagined, even. Jeonghan is precise, leaning forward to leave bite marks and kitten licks up and down your neck as he works you slowly, finger pressing against your front wall in a way that sends you squirming against him. Your breath comes out in short, quick gasps, sweat gathering at the back of your neck as he fucks you with his finger, the wet press of his hand maddening.
"Look at you," Jeonghan murmurs, his voice rough with desire. "So beautiful like this. So desperate. I want to see you fall apart. Want to see your face when you come."
He adds a second finger and you whimper, your hands sliding from his shoulders to grip his arms, needing something to hold onto. The stretch is perfect, overwhelming, and when he curls his fingers inside you while his thumb finds your clit, you nearly sob, rolling your hips forward into his hand, thighs trembling as you clench down on his fingers.
"You're so tight," Jeonghan continues, his voice a dark purr in your ear. "So perfect around my fingers. I can feel how close you are. Can feel you clenching around me. Do you want to come, love? Do you want me to make you fall apart right here in the garden where anyone could find us?"
The thought should horrify you. Instead, it sends another wave of heat through you, making you clench harder around his fingers. You nod desperately, squeezing your eyes shut as your cunt throbs around his fingers and you writhe against the tree.
"You like that," he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. "Like the danger of it. Like knowing that you're supposed to be in there playing princess while you're out here letting the court jester play with this pretty pussy."
His words are filthy and crude, and they shouldn't affect you the way they do, but combined with the movement of his fingers, the pressure of his thumb on your clit, the heat of his body pressed against yours, you feel overwhelmed and strung out, the feeling low in your stomach coiling and coiling and coiling until you're babbling and squirming and squeezing your eyes shut.
"Please," you gasp, and you're not even sure what you're begging for.
"I know what you need." His fingers move faster, harder, curling inside you with devastating precision. "You need to let go. Need to stop thinking and just feel. Need someone to take control so you don't have to be perfect for once in your life."
His thumb presses harder against your clit, circling in tight, relentless patterns, and you can feel the pleasure building to an impossible peak. Your thighs are shaking, your breath coming in desperate gasps. Jeonghan invades your senses - the smell of him, the heat of him, the way his teeth scrape against your neck, the way his hair tickles against your skin.
"You're mine right now," Jeonghan growls. "Not a princess. Not a performance. Just mine. Say it."
"Yours," you gasp. "I'm yours."
"Good girl. Now come for me. Let me feel it. Let me watch you fall apart."
His fingers curl one more time, hitting that perfect spot inside you while his thumb works your clit, and the orgasm crashes over you like a wave. You cry out, unable to stop yourself, your body convulsing against the tree as pleasure floods through you. You clench around his hand, throbbing as your body shakes until you feel like you can't breathe.
Jeonghan works you through it, his fingers never stopping, drawing out your orgasm until you're boneless and gasping and oversensitive. He's murmuring praise in your ear now - how beautiful you are, how perfect, how he wants to do this again and again until you can't remember your own name - and it makes you dizzy, feeling like you're drunk off of him alone.
Finally, the waves subside and Jeonghan withdraws his hand slowly. You feel the loss of him like an ache, your legs still trembling and barely holding you up. He brings his fingers to his mouth, and you watch through hazy eyes as he licks them clean, tasting you. The sight sends another pulse of heat through you despite your exhaustion.
"Delicious," he murmurs, his eyes dark and satisfied. "Even better than I imagined."
Reality begins to seep back in slowly. The cool night air on your heated skin. The distant sounds of the party still going on inside. The rough bark of the tree against your back. What you've just done, and who you've done it with.
You should feel ashamed. Should feel horrified. Should be scrambling to fix your dress and run back to the safety of the ballroom. You don't. You feel satisfied and boneless and strangely alive all at once, like you've finally done something that feels real instead of the pretty performance.
When you look up at Jeonghan, you see him watching you, his expression unreadable in the shadow of the tree. The breeze makes the leaves dance, kissing your cooling skin as his hand comes up to cup your face, thumb brushing across your cheek with surprising gentleness.
"Regrets?" He asks, voices soft as the smoke that clings to him.
You should say yes and that this was a mistake, that it can never happen again and that you need to return to the ballroom and pretend this never happened. You should remind him that this is improper and unacceptable. Yet instead, you find yourself leaning into his touch, lashes fluttering.
"No," you admit. "No regrets."
Something like satisfaction shifts in his gaze, and he leans in and kisses you again. This time it's different - softer and slower, less consuming and more like he's savoring the taste and feel of your lips against his. You kiss him back, your hands sliding up his chest, feeling the crystals click against your skin as his heart pounds beneath your palms.
When he finally pulls back, you're both breathing hard again, and your mind is spinning with questions you're not sure you want answered.
"How did you do it?" you ask suddenly.
Jeonghan tilts his head, a small smile playing at his lips. "Do what?"
"The card trick. In the ballroom."
His smile widens, and there's something dangerous in it now."I already told you. I read your mind."
You shake your head, confusion and disbelief warring inside you. "That would make you something magical. Not just a jester with clever tricks."
"Yes," Jeonghan agrees, his eyes gleaming in the moonlight. "It would."
The implication of his words hits you like a physical blow. Your breath catches, your mind racing through everything you know about him, everything you've seen, the way he seems to move through the world like something other. Like something more.
He's grinning now, watching the realization dawn across your face, and then he's kissing you again, harder this time, more possessive, like he's claiming you. Like he knows exactly what he's revealed and doesn't care. When he pulls back, his lips are still close enough that you can feel his breath against your mouth.
"You thought it yourself earlier, didn’t you?" he murmurs, teeth catching your bottom lip sharply. "I'm a wolf in fools' clothing."
warnings: nsfw‼️‼️‼️, neeeeeeedy cheol, cheol is so obsessed and touchy and ugh so perfect anyways, he begs a little.., mild dirty talk i think, praise(ish), oral sex(fem receiving), implied that mingyu overheard them, sweaty post-show seungcheol 😛, swearing, petnames: baby (hers), cheol, babe (his), lowercase intended
author's note: HI this is for that one request i got a little bit ago about cheol post-performance I FINALLY DID IT but i think.. i think i lowkey hate it BUT WHATEVER 😭😭 perhaps the ending was a little rushed but pls breeze past that 😔 my first time writing reader being eaten out pls be kind #plsdontlaughatme I TRIED MY BESTEST I PROMISE but yes i hope u enjoy though FORGIVE ME IF THERES ANY ERRORS and yes i wrote this about asiatop cheol yall know i dont play holy fuck he was just so fine at the festival holy crap wow i was blessed
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seungcheol always gave his best for any performance. tonight, him and mingyu were the closing act for a festival and after all that, he was exhausted and borderline overheating due to the weather.
they trudged on backstage and back to their waiting room where you were sat waiting. you watched the performance from one of the VIP booths and made your way back when they were saying their closing statements. when you're eyes fell onto your boyfriend, you literally had to stop your eyes from rolling back automatically.
he was all sweaty, black hair wet and sticking to his forehead, his dark shirt damp from his sweat and clinging to his frame. half of you wished it would've ripped. his shoulders looked like they were testing the durability of that fabric. yellow racer jacket—that came off during the first song—in his hand as he walked, head still down, catching his breath.
what a fucking sight he was.
mingyu dropped himself onto the couch, grunting out of tiredness, and seungcheol did the same right next to you. heat radiated off of his body as he slid his arm round your waist and tugged you in for a kiss.
“hey baby,” as his lips met yours. it was deep but not too crazy yet. “did you watch me? did i look good?” he grinned as he pulled away. his eyes were already hooded, a little hazy from his tiredness. high on pure adrenaline.
after he was satisfied with your answers to his prior questions and after he stole several more slightly needier kisses (before mingyu groaned at you two), the both of them started to freshen up and change back into their normal clothes. you couldn't take your eyes off of how good seungcheol looked like this.
his whole body was running on the pump from the performance and he just looked like the most massive, most delicious thing ever. and he was looking at you like you were the same for him. you flashed him a cheeky little smile before returning your gaze to your phone, like a promise of something more back at the hotel.
you guys had a couple more nights here before flying back which felt nice because it meant you didn't have to rush and pack tonight to leave at the ass crack of dawn the next day.
once seungcheol closed the door behind you two in your room, he was on you like a koala. baby this and baby that. arms around your waist, faces centimetres apart as he smiled lazily and walked you backwards to the bed. “saw you looking at me while i was changing,” he teased, his warm hands finding their way up your shirt.
“kinda hard not to,” you retorted before he pushed his lips back onto yours desperately. “mmhf- cheol you and mingyu were gonna eat-” and your attempt of reminding him about properly fueling himself fell on deaf ears.
he let out a deep hum, almost a whine, “don't wanna..” as he buried his face in the crook of your neck where he started kissing and nipping at your skin.
such a cheat. his neck kisses always get you.
“you’re gonna be starving, babe.” you continued, squirming from his hair lightly tickling your neck as he gave you another disagreeing noise of response.
he turned to sit himself on the edge of the bed and pulled you between his knees, looking up at you with his chin propped against your tummy. big eyes glossed over with so much hunger and need for you. “baby, can’t i just eat tomorrow morning?” as his hands rested on your lower back, slowly moving over your ass. “need you so bad right now…” and his eyes fluttered shut when you combed through his hair.
you smiled at his confession, loving how he was always vocal about things like this. seungcheol was genuinely addicted to you and he wouldn't trade it for the world.
“but you haven't eaten since lunch time. and it's like one a.m. right now.” your hands falling to his shoulders as he nuzzled against your tummy, his own reaching the waistband of your shorts. his thumbs dipping below the elastic teasingly, like he already decided that he definitely wasn't gonna leave you right now even for a steaming, fresh bowl of ramyeon or something to satiate the occasional growl of his stomach.
he pouts, “well, i’ve barely seen you since lunch time either.” oh, this man. the pouting was not fair. he rises slowly again, nosing at your jaw before he straightens completely, “i want you so bad, baby, please? i swear i’m not too tired… or too hungry,” he pleads like a child asking for sweets. you can't believe you have this much of an effect on such a large, scary-looking man to have him begging to have you.
without letting you answer, seungcheol’s hands guide you onto the bed to sit you down before pulling your shorts off. he grins, “i’ll eat after baby, i promise.”
seungcheol kisses up your thighs as he tosses your shorts off to the side somewhere, spreading your legs with his massive shoulders. then he reaches for your underwear to tug those off as well. “lay back,” he says with a breathy voice.
in minutes, you’re grabbing at his hair while you arch off the bed. moans and whines of his name tumbling from your lips as he hungrily laps at your cunt. his breath and groans vibrating against your flesh each time he exhales. he has his arms locked around your thighs, keeping you close like he’d die without it and you swear he moans a little whinier as your thighs clench around his head when he closes his lips around your clit, sucking and flicking at your sensitive skin with his stupid tongue.
the sensation has you throwing your head back against the mattress, pulling on his hair harder. “fuck, cheol… don't stop,” you breathe, choking on a moan when he doubles down. the wet noises of his mouth on you getting louder in your room, mixing with both of your voices.
“mmh… taste so fuckin’ good…” he grunts against you. he drags his tongue to your cunt, nose bumping your clit as he licks into you. you're getting closer and he knows it, he feels it. “cumming f’me, baby? c’mon, know you can, mhm?” dead set on making you cum on his mouth first before anything else.
the smallest whine is torn from your throat as you cum hard on his tongue, followed by softer curses and repetitive whispers of his name—your attempt of staying respectful and quiet in this hotel. your thighs shake with the aftershocks and he’s taken to massaging them with his big hands as he licks you clean.
you're catching your breath, still lying down when he pulls off from your cunt and kisses both your thighs before standing to see you. “good?” he says softly with a smile like he wasn't just tongue-fucking you two seconds ago, his body climbing over yours.
“so good,” you panted, mirroring his smile as his face comes closer. your arms wrapping around his neck when he kisses you again.
this kiss isn't as aggressive as earlier, still needy but he’s slower and sweeter with it after he had his fill of you. soft noises of the both of your lips echo around your hotel room, along with the little whispers and giggles of ‘i love you’s while your noses bump against each other.
between his lips chasing yours, you manage to say, “are you gonna go eat now with mingyu?” and he doesn't even answer before he kisses you again, giving you a dismissive hum. his hands roaming up your sides beneath your top.
“mingyu can fuck off,” he grinned into the kiss, “let me have you, baby. don't care about food right now,” he mumbles.
but poor, hungry mingyu heard some things he didn't want to when he came looking for seungcheol.
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‼️ as of right now, all my works can be found in the last tag which is #coupsiessswrites bc i have not made a masterpost/masterlist yet so if you'd like to check out anything else i've written it's under that tag 😆😆
ANAMNESIS. (cyborg!choi seungcheol x human!reader) - TEASER
synopsis: five years ago, your company became a big enough threat to the existing tech ecosystem to cause an attack on your life. five years ago, said attack killed your husband. after spending so long picking up the pieces, you are quickly racing to the top again, which means your life is threatened once more. but the assassin sent your way is a little too familiar, even if he’s not exactly the same as the day he got “killed”.
warnings (for full fic): mentions of death and violence, assassination and murder, corrupt business practices, amnesia, brainwashing and manipulation, mentions of mental health, suicidal ideation, sexually explicit content
word count: 1.1k of ?
a/n: hello hello! it’s been so long I realise that, but I finally have something for you guys! it’s part of the Cyberpunk: Reload Collab hosted by @studiosvt . Seungcheol in this is loosely based off the winter soldier (bec that anniversary live cosplay messed by brain up in catastrophic ways), and it’s a different vibe to stuff I’ve written before, so I hope you all enjoy it!
You leave the light on in the kitchen landing so you don’t have to stumble through the dark to get to the switchboard. Again, you can hear Joshua complaining in your head about how you can easily afford an AI home system, considering how well the company has been doing. You are least interested though. You don’t want to put anything in this apartment that can mean you are planning to live here long term. You don’t even know why you’re still here. Most days, you have no clue where your life is heading anyway.
You toe off your shoes and plop your heavy trenchcoat over the back of the couch. You wonder what you can make yourself for dinner. Something minimal straight out of the packet, probably. You’ve got dozens of those prepackaged meals in your pantry. You beeline for the sink, washing your hands and wondering bleakly what you are in the mood for stomaching. Through the window over the counter, you can see the city’s skyline. Thousands of tiny, yellow dots from people’s windows, the backdrop formed by the sleek, poised buildings of the business sector looming beyond. Straight edges and smooth lines. But one building, not even two blocks away, shows an irregularity.
You squint for a second, hands held under the sink still. It looks like a person. Tall, but very broad. You half think you’re imagining it, but then the silhouette moves, and your eye catches on a gleam of silver over the shoulder.
The water is still running. You shut it off, looking back up. He’s gone.
You blink a few times. Then you glance at the clock. It’s nearly three in the morning. You huff and step away from the sink, shaking off your hands. It’s too late at night for your brain to be functioning properly. You need sustenance. And then you need to sleep.
It’s easy enough to pop your chicken dinner into a dish and slide it into the oven. You set fifteen minutes on the digital counter, and then busy yourself with hopping into the shower for a quick wash. Fifteen minutes on the dot, you’re back in the kitchen, peering into the oven with dripping wet hair and a bathrobe covering your drenched body. Everything around you is silent, so deafeningly still that you immediately hear the click and whir of metal. Right behind you. Too close.
The hair on the back of your neck stands. You whirl around.
Something smashes, hard, against your nose. Pain explodes and you gasp, stumbling back into the counter. Your eyes water, something warm and liquid drips over your lips and down your chin. You’re dizzy, you can’t see properly. You can barely breathe through the excruciating hurt. But alarm bells are ringing in your head, and fight or flight takes over. Backed against the counter for support, you kick your legs out hard. Your feet make contact with something sturdy. There’s a grunt, and the man stumbles backward, his back hitting the refrigerator with what sounds like a deafening crash. You’re already scrambling to run from the kitchen.
You can barely see, but you know the map of this house like the back of your hand. Your ears are ringing, you’re gasping for breath, but panic is fueling you. You’ve had this feeling before, your life has been threatened once, a long time ago, and somehow, the second time around is giving you more clarity.
It also means that you are better prepared this time around.
You can hear the thuds and bangs behind you. Your attacker will be right on your heels soon. You barely manage to wretch your door closed, locking it, before a startling bang shakes it at its very hinges. Your yelp is involuntary. You know you have only bought yourself mere seconds.
Inside your drawer you find what you’re looking for, a tiny, unassuming device, shiny and silver, resembling a lighter. It comes with two silicone ear buds that you shove into your ears. Then, your hand on the solitary button on the device, you turn around.
The door comes down after just two bangs, splintering the doorframe completely. Sawdust rises, clouding the air. You don’t wait to see your attacker, pressing the button immediately.
You can’t hear it, owing to the buds in your ears, but you know a high pitched screeching has filled the air, nearly unbearable because of how high the frequency is. But it does its job. The man howls in pain, dropping what looks like a gun on the ground and using both hands to cover his ears. His knees buckle and he falls on them. You can see, even from a few feet away, the veins in his neck bulge hard, disappearing behind the black mask on his face. He crumples on the floor, clutching the sides of his head. You snatch your phone from where you had thrown it on your bed, frantically dialling three digits.
The man is still writhing, his body, clad in black and silver, contracting and arching painfully as he tries in vain to keep the sound out. As he moves, metal thuds against the ground. There is more clicking and whirring, like machinery buzzing with life. You realise he’s not entirely human. His shoulders tighten as you step closer, trying to make out who it is.
“911, what is your emergency?”
A single brown eye pops open on the stranger's mask-covered face. The other half, you realise, is covered in silver metal. But you don’t care about that, because your blood is running cold.
You would recognise that eye anywhere.
Your grip falters. The device in your hand gets silenced. The man on the ground relaxes, his hands falling down as he quickly tries to scramble to his feet. He is still swaying, his short cropped blond hair matted to his sweaty forehead, the after effects of the sonic attack making him stumble, but for the first time, you register his stature. His height, the breadth of his shoulders. And his one, visible eye.
“Hello? Is anyone there?”
The woman on your phone seems to break your trance. Before you know it, the man is rushing out over the broken wreckage of your door. Your hand shakes, your eyes are still watering from the blow you took. Both your phone and your device fall from your hand. You scramble after him.
“Wait-”
But he’s gone. Out of your living room window, which you didn’t notice was wide open when you first walked into the apartment. You can’t see him on the street below, which is glaringly empty. It’s like he was a ghost, vanishing before you can blink. You are left staring at nothing, blood dripping steadily down your chin now, staining your bathrobe, your hair still damp from the shower, sticking to your face and neck. You can’t even register the pain anymore, can’t think of anything else except the cold depth of his one brown eye.
summary: Before Joshua, your life could best be described as feared, isolated and lonely. Now you had a community because of him, people that loved and accepted you despite the danger you were putting yourselves in for the future of your country. And maybe, if you see another day, Joshua would be yours too.
wc: 22,177
genre: non-idol au | fantasy au
rating: 18+ MDNI
tags: strangers to lovers, non-idol au, fantasy au, romance, fluff, smut the whole shabang, slow burn romance, very storyline driven so a lot of loose ends that will tie itself up later in the collection, usage of magic, explicit violence and mentions of death (one on screen death scene), unprotected p in v sex, fingering (f.receiving)
a/n: the further we get into the collection, the juicier it gets. im SO excited to be sharing the fics with all of you and i'm so grateful for the people who are following along! ^^ i hope you enjoy :D and so much thanks to @livmarauder for proofreading and sprinting with me alongside @yourislandgirl <3
listening to: let it happen - tame impala ; (don't fear) the reaper - blue öyster cult ; berghain - rosalía : house of the rising sun - the animals
On the day that fire burns blue, The One brings forth everything true.
It is her that will rise and destroy what Talon once knew.
There was a strange feeling settling into his chest when he first stumbled across the organisation. Something about it had put him on edge, but he was willing to hear it out anyway. For people like him there was no such thing as community, but it was exactly what the organisation offered. For people like them, there was nothing like a safe haven, but they prided themselves on being exactly that.
Nearly convinced to join himself, he turned around at the last moment and walked away. He lived with the consequences of that action to this day.
He'd always had an inkling that nothing was what it seemed, but up until that moment, their intentions had merely been a speculation. Up until the message was transcripted, he was in the dark, comfortable and unknowing.
When he looked around, his confidants were silent. He could hear a pin drop. There was something etched into their faces that he hadn't seen before, not even when they arrived into his care.
Airu had the guts to speak up first on many occasions, but even they remained silent. Slumped in their seat, hand covering their chin and a part of their mouth, their eyes stared into nothingness.
"This is the first time they mention the 'One,'" Daphne cut through. Her eyes were like a clear crystal, shining in the light but almost unnoticable in the dark. "They preach it to us—" She interrupted herself with a tight smile. "them, but never to the outside."
His arms were crossed as he stared at the message. His mind was racing with possibilities but they flashed by him before he could process it, traded for the next like they were cancelling each other out.
"They're set on finding this person, then," Minsu concluded. "They're talking about someone that will arrive, not someone who has already joined."
The pressure on his chest lifted a little with one possibility eliminated.
His eyes darted to Airu, but they were still in their own head.
"If you look at it that way," Daphne spoke again. "I can't remember what they said about The One other than someone who will liberate us, and now we know that they're looking for a woman." When he looked at her, she had straightened her stance. "With the resources they have, they can get to her in no time."
"Which is why we need to be faster."
All eyes landed on him.
He looked at Minsu and shot a small smile. "I think I don't have to tell you what the next course of action is."
Minsu nodded and got up. "I'll get on it right away."
When he came back that following morning, he'd gotten his hands on a portrait. It was clear that it was all they had and on a continent as big as Talon, she could be anywhere. Minsu theorised that the possibility of her being in Qorath was slim, considering that there was little ground to cover for them here.
Chances of them ever reaching the Veiled Kingdom would mean that the collapse of Talon would follow quickly after. Nytheria was the thorn in everyone's eye, how he'd heard it being described. He'd never visited, but their history gave them all the right to act that way.
"I think I need to be in Thornmere," he finally said.
Minsu bobbed his head slowly. "Could be, but you're losing precious time if you're wrong."
"I'm actually pretty sure I need to be there." He nudged the younger. "I'll make up for lost time in the blink of an eye."
Minsu rolled his eyes, but a small smile tugged at his lips. "Go. There's no time to lose."
With the portrait in mind, he landed in the middle of a small town. The centre was swarming with people and there were overlapping yells coming from the distance. He stretched his neck as he moved along with the crowd, finding himself on a market.
All around him were vendors talking to the customers that were at their stands. He brushed past them, keeping his eyes on everything but the products. He'd spent hours wandering around the market, trying to find the person from the portrait that he memorised. The pressure in his chest was suffocting, but something told him that he came to the right place.
He left the market, following the road that brought him to the edge of town. There were a couple of houses, but the distance between them grew bigger with every house he passed. Kicking a pebble in the road, he felt his steps getting heavier.
Maybe he was just hoping too hard that he was right. That by sheer luck, he was in the right place at the right time and he could at least save the woman that they prophesized to be their saviour, compared to the many that were lost to the organisation.
He halted in his tracks when the door of the last house opened.
A woman walked out, her back faced towards him. A burgundy flowy dress hugged her plump figure, a corset accentuating her waist.
He looked the other way when she turned around and walked down the road. His eyes darted back up as she passed him and he offered a small smile. His heart stopped and he looked over his shoulder, but she picked up her pace.
He came to the right place after all.
“You cannot write this off as an accident, for it was a very deliberate move to make love to her.” You shook your head abruptly. "I will not involve myself in removing a human life, but if what your princess seeks is shelter..."
Vernon stared at you for a good second before his face flushed a furious state of red. “No. No! I have not–” His cheeks tinted a shade as red as your dress. “Gods, lady. What do you take me for? I am no animal!”
Blackspire's crown princess cleared her throat and you looked her way. Her cheeks were a light pink. "Vernon did not… um, insert himself. We are merely here for…" She paused and looked his way.
“A disguise,” Vernon added. “Your magic is strong enough to provide her with one.”
You arched an eyebrow and scoffed. “The princess didn’t even know your plan. I could be a spy for all she’d know, and believe me when I say that there are plenty.”
“This is important,” he insisted, your name rolling off his lips as a desperate plea. He was about to drop to his knees and beg at your feet if you didn’t know any better. “Will you help us or not?”
You eyes darted to the princess before landing on Vernon again. “You owe me. Again.” As you grabbed a book, you wandered to the kitchen. You had proved yourself on many occasions that your non-healing potions could be unreliable, but you weren't going to tell them that. Instead, you told them you were still improving.
It wasn't a complete lie, though.
As you rummaged through your cabinets for the right ingredients, their eyes burned into you. You swallowed and pushed the pressing feeling in your chest away.
Vernon came to you for a reason. It was dangerous and he knew the consequences of being seen with you, but no matter how much you tried to push him away, he always came back to you. You were almost tempted to call him a friend.
With a shaky breath, you closed your eyes and muttered the spell. The content of the pot glowed white and you sighed softly. As you poured it into a pot, you locked eyes with Vernon, who was watching you closely.
“This potion will wear off when you speak your real name out loud," you explained and gave the bottle to the princess. "Nobody will see your true form, except for Vernon. I made sure that he can see you at all times.”
She took it from you and glanced at Vernon. “If she tries to poison me, it’s on you.”
“I will take the fall, princess.” He bowed.
The look in her eyes made your chest sting.
You breathed a sigh of relief when the princess made way for a small, platinum blonde woman, eyes like the ocean peeking at you.
She smiled. "Thank you so much. I owe you."
You walked to your closet and reached for the back, pulling out a blue, purple and pink dress. You put them in a bag and gave it to her. "I don't wear them anymore, maybe it can help you."
The princess took it with a smile and nodded. "I won't forget your kindness."
You pressed your lips together and closed the door behind them.
Vernon was an idiot for seeking you out. He put the princess at risk — you didn't even want to know how or why the Blackspirian crown princess made it to Thornmere instead of sitting on the throne — and he risked his own life by associating himself with you.
You were not to be trusted. He knew that.
Over the following days, you stayed inside tending to your herbs. Your garden looked over the town's square, even though it was far away enough for people to keep their distance. Since they acted like you were a pest anyway, you didn't even bother to mingle with them. The only thing that kept you occupied was the market, where you bought vegetables, fruit and herbs every week.
When the day of the market came, you finally showed yourself.
You ripped your burgundy dress from the washing rack and covered it with a black corset. With your bag over your shoulder, you pulled the front door shut.
As you turned on your heel, a man was coming your way. Your heart stopped, but you pushed through the uncanny feeling crawling up your back. You walked in his direction, right past him like he didn't even exist to you. With calm strides, you made your way to the market.
You always lingered longer than needed, stopping by the stands that you had nothing to do with. You didn't do anything with wooden charms, but you admired the craftmanship that went into it.
Even though the vendors could not care for your opinion much, you still stopped to observe their goods.
As you made your way back, the man was gone. You breathed a sigh of relief and went back into the house, disappearing into the nothingness again.
You couldn't remember when everything shifted. When you were younger, you were surrounded by life. Your mother was the life of the party, your father a silent admirer of her spirit. Both had known the powers that you'd inherited and they taught you to embrace them, but they'd never prepared you for how the town would respond.
When they started to manifest, the people around you grew increasingly scared of what you'd be able to do one day. What your parents described as a blessing throughout your entire life had become your biggest burden.
And unfortunately, you couldn't stop them.
As you put the last of your vegetables on the fire, there was a knock on the door.
Your heart hammered in your chest as you hoisted yourself up. You tiptoed to the door and took a deep breath. Your hand trembled when you put it on the handle, pushing the handle down and peeking your head around the corner.
The man smiled at you, his black hair framing his face in silk curtains. His arms were crossed behind his back and his voice was soft and welcoming when he spoke.
"Am I interrupting anything?"
You swallowed and slowly shook your head.
His smile grew. "Glad to hear. My name's Joshua and I come here with a very urgent request."
"Whatever you heard, I can't help you," you said tightly and pushed against the door. "Good day."
"Your life's in danger." When your eyes fell on Joshua, his smile had faded. "I need you to come with me."
As you arched an eyebrow, you leaned against the door.
"I know you possess great powers," he continued and uncrossed his arms. "There's people out there that want to use them to their advantage, which is why I've come here to—"
You slammed the door shut and walked back to the kitchen. You stomped on the floor, boots clicking against the woodboard.
Joshua pounded on the door, but you ignored it, stirring the vegetables around in the pot. You added some water and let it sit, seating yourself in the chair with your spellbook.
Something that made creepy strangers go away, or turn them into hideous bugs perhaps.
When you were eating your homemade soup, there was another knock on the door. You didn't care how long he would stand there, he could wait for years and you wouldn't pay him any mind. It made you shiver that he knew about you.
The next day as you carefully peeked around the corner, he wasn't there anymore. You kept checking for every day after that until you were sure that he was gone. You tended to your garden, practiced your magic and reogarnised your cupboards.
You couldn't imagine what scared people off. Your magic was nature based, specifically focused on healing and using the earth to do so. Your parents called it elemental magic, and there were only a few people that were strong enough to wield all four elements; earth, water, fire and air. Your mother was one of them, loud and proud and fearless like she'd always been.
Your father was forced to bind his powers when they came after him. A pit formed in your stomach just thinking about it. You hadn't seen him using his magic since you were eleven.
Your parents were thoroughly convinced that you could do it too. The powers had never truly manifested with you and you were left with earth as your element. Grounding, stable and nourishing, that was your destiny in life.
Nothing more and nothing less.
You'd hoped that your parents were right. The elements, the world around you, it had always rumbled a fascination that you could not shake. You felt yourself drawn to the rain pouring out of the sky, to the fire crackling in your hearth, even by the way the wind blew through your hair. Whenever you flicked your fingers, it seemed to dance along with you, but you never followed through with trying again.
Instead, you found great satisfaction in helping others. Healing was something that had always come naturally to you, in any shape or form in fact. When your mother was upset over something, your remedy never failed to work. You credited your importance in her life, but she'd always told you it was something more.
A tear escaped your eye as you sat in the garden, the warm breeze dancing on your skin. Leaving your parents had left a gaping wound that would never mend. You didn't want to. Gods, it was the last thing that you wanted, but your parents needed to know you were safe.
You hadn't heard from them since your mother's last letter before winter came. Countless letters had gone unanswered since then, so you assumed the worst.
The next morning, you decided that the market would do you good. You never went so early in the morning, but you needed to clear your head. With the new stranger in town that seemed to have it out for you, you doubt you could.
There was no harm in trying, you assumed as you opened the door.
Joshua smiled up at you when you stepped outside.
You yelped and clutched your chest. "What—"
"Good morning," he greeted you and got up, brushing his pants off that was clinging to his slender legs loosely. "My apologies for startling you a couple of days ago, but I really need to talk to you."
You scoffed and clutched your bag, stepping on the gravel path. "No, thank you."
"I'm afraid this does not leave much room for choice."
You started walking down the road. There were crunching steps behind you that made your ribcage burn. With a deep breath and a roll of your eyes, you pretended he did not exist. Maybe by closing your eyes and making your wish, you would discover a new power that would make him fuck right off.
"Listen, I know you don't want to hear me out," he started.
With a scoff, you turned onto the market.
He called your name and from the corner of your eye, you saw him reaching for you. You turned around and held your hand out, but he already retreated his arm.
Joshua pushed his brows together before his face relaxed again. He shook his head with a small smile. "I didn't know you could do that."
"I did nothing," you said tightly and grabbed a bag of herbs. You slammed the coins on the table before he could insist otherwise and walked to the next stand.
"I know this must be scary, but at least hear me out," he spoke again, following you on foot. "I have everything to lose and nothing to gain by doing this, I can assure you that."
You shrugged before you turned to him with a smile. "Maybe you risked everything for nothing, then. I'm not interested in whatever you have to say."
Before Joshua could try to change your mind, you walked off. A vendor talked about you, but you tuned it out. Joshua tried once more when you ran into him at the vegetable stand and that was where you left him.
Something inside of you clawed at you when you did. Maybe Joshua was acting out of the best intentions and there you were, writing him off like you'd done with everyone else. He seemed genuine, he kept trying and he looked like he was incapable of losing his temper, unlike what you had almost done.
There was a pit forming in your stomach nonetheless. He might be preaching how he could save your life, but maybe his soft eyes, pretty smile and honey voice would lure you right into the danger he was trying to warn you about.
You pushed the feeling away and barricaded yourself into your home. You watched the clock while biting your fingernails until it stung. The wind blew a fresh breeze through your garden, but with every hour passing it seemed to grow stronger. The hearth was nearly in flames by the time you got to dinner, as if it was too strong to contain itself.
When you looked out of the window, it was pouring. The ground underneath you rumbled, buzzing through your body.
The knock on the door made you jump. A strike of thunder followed, then a muffled voice, but it drowned out by the rain tapping against your window.
You opened the door and your breath caught.
Water dripped from Joshua's hair and nose, his clothes stuck to his body. "They predicted nice weather today," he teased lightly.
"They had it wrong, then." You were about to close the door, but he grabbed it. With a sharp inhale you turned away, your heart hammering on the beat of every step you took inside.
Joshua followed you, but when you turned around, he froze in his tracks. His neck twitched and the smile on his face seemed to cost him more effort than usual.
You arched your eyebrow. "Well?"
He opened his mouth, but it was nothing more than a breathless whisper.
You scoffed and turned away from him.
"Please…" he said hoarsely, almost inaudibly. "let… me… go…"
You froze, flinching when there was a loud thud behind you. You let out a shaky breath and closed your eyes. Tears stung behind them, desperately clawing their way out as you tried to collect yourself.
Joshua coughed loudly, and when you turned around he was crawling up from the floor.
You hurried over to him and helped him up, putting him down on your couch. You avoided his curious looks and swallowed. "Let me make you some tea."
Without room for Joshua to protest, you put the kettle on the fire. You mixed chamomille with tumeric and muttered to the cup, watching it light up. You walked back with the cup of tea and gave it to him. "Drink up. It'll help with soreness."
He offered you a warm smile and wrapped his hands around it. "Thank you."
You brushed the folds of your dress and sat down next to him.
"You have elemental magic, don't you?"
You looked up at him curiously.
He set the cup in the palm of his hand and within seconds, it started floating. The tea stayed in the cup perfectly and when it came back down, he took a sip.
You watched in awe. "You're…"
Joshua smiled again. "I recognise your struggles, and it pains me to see how isolated you are. Not only do I want to get you to safety, but I want to give you the chance to be among your own people."
You swallowed. "What's the danger?"
"Have you ever heard of the Coven of the Silver Star?"
The name sounded familiar, you just couldn't place the feeling settling in your chest. You shook your head and shifted in your seat.
"They're based in Qorath, and they're under protection of the Royal Family," Joshua started and took a sip of tea. "As the name suggests, it's a group of witches just like us. They promote themselves as the place for us, to teach and guide us through our powers, to give us a sense of community."
His brows knitted together, his lips pressed into a thin line.
"You…" You cleared you throat. "…don't look like you're going to say something nice about them."
"I have reason to believe that they're not a coven at all, and when we received a message through one of our spies, I knew that I was right all those years, and that all the efforts I've been making haven't been in vain."
"What do you think they are, if not a coven?"
Joshua put the empty cup down.
You awaited an answer that didn't seem to come. You pressed him again, but he wouldn't budge.
"They believe in the legend of 'The One', their saviour and their salvation," he continued, leaning back in his seat. "Before I came here, we found out who that person is."
Your stomach turned.
Joshua offered you an apologetic smile. "I would never dare to disrupt your life as it is, but for your own safety…"
"You are very kind to say that, but I think you and I both know that coming with you is better than the life I'm leading right now," you replied tightly. You chuckled bitterly. "Everything's better than this, even if that Silver Star club would get a hold of me."
"That's exactly what they pry on, which is why we wasted no time to get to you first." Joshua got up and looked at you. "You can pack some belongings, if you'd like. Travels are not long so you have time to process all of this."
You cocked an eyebrow, but all he did was smile. You bobbed your head and walked to your bedroom, hoarding all the dresses and corsets that you could find. You packed your herbs and potions. Your fingers trembled as they laced in between the fabric of your mother's scarf, stuffing it in your bag.
When you looked at your garden, you could feel yourself shattering.
"There's a chance to grow some where we are," Joshua sounded behind you. "We can use them."
You nodded and hung your bag over your shoulder.
He held his arm out and you took it. "Ready?"
"Yeah, let's just go before I change my mind."
It didn't last more than a second before your living room switched out for an office.
Joshua let go of you and leaned against the desk, a wood so dark it was almost black. It was completely smooth, unlike the furniture in your house. You looked around and through the big windows, you looked out over a forest, trees perfectly aligned.
A pit formed in your stomach. Even if you wanted to, there was no turning back anymore.
Joshua had let you settle in for the week, assigning you to a room where you could stay for the night. Because you couldn't sleep, you'd taken yourself out for a tour and the next moment you had with Joshua, you trailed after him bobbing your head along to his explanation.
He showed you the personal quarters — you could pinpoint the hallway where you got lost on multiple occasions — introduced you to some of the residents and made sure you knew where the living quarters were. It was complete with a kitchen and a space to lay down and unwind, as if you'd stepped into a big inn instead.
Joshua took you to the gardens, where someone was bowed over the herbs and plants. He turned to you. "If you need anything, you can just grab it from here. We all share this space, despite having little healers amongst us."
You nodded and folded your hands over each other.
He motioned his head to the door and smiled. "Let me introduce you to some more members of our network."
Despite the eerie feeling settling in your chest, you followed him. Back through the hallways, but you took a left instead, back to the office you arrived in the day before.
Instead, Joshua opened another door. When he stepped in, three people turned around.
Your eyes immediately fell on a woman with eyes as blue as the Thornmere sky, her dark auburn hair in a thick braid down her back. She offered you a warm smile before she turned to Joshua.
"You managed to locate her," she spoke so soothingly, you feel your worries drifting away. "Well done, Joshua."
"Without your help, I wouldn't have been able to." Joshua's eyes darted to the man next to her. He bowed his head, which the man returned.
His gaze landed on you, but he looked away when you locked eyes.
"Welcome to the hideout," the last one spoke. When you turned to them, they wore a bright grin, strands of red and black hair falling in front of their face. "We'll take good care of you, don't you worry."
"Daphne, Minsu and Airu are my closest confidants," Joshua explained. He puffed his chest out a bit and there was a twinkle in his eyes you couldn't place. "Without them, I couldn't have done any of this."
"What exactly is 'this?'" You asked.
From the corner of your eye, Daphne shot him a glare.
"I couldn't exactly tell her that out in the open," Joshua said calmly. "You don't know what ears were listening."
Airu waved their hand. "Before you start arguing like divorced parents again," they cut in and turned to you, "we're spies. And witches. Spy witches. Spit—"
"We run an underground network that is set to dismantle the Silver Star," Minsu interrupted them and offered you a small smile. "And what Airu said is correct. We're all witches." He patted their shoulder. "Fire magic. You'll notice that it's very fitting for their personality."
"I'm a water witch," Daphne spoke up. "I recently found out I can heal with it."
You smiled and nodded.
She returned it warmly and glanced at her friends.
Airu slapped Minsu's back, who shot them glance. "Necromancer."
"So you can…" You made a kill motion.
Minsu chuckled softly. "My magic involves the usage of the death, through corpses and spirits."
You turned to Joshua, who was smiling.
"I hope you'll feel at home here." He pushed himself up and waved his hand. "We'll leave you to it. Let me know if you find something."
Airu saluted him, but Minsu pulled them back into work. They winked at you, to which you chuckled.
You followed Joshua to his office and stood in front of his window. You felt yourself drawn back to the forest, observing how the tree tops blew in the wind, how the leaves clung unto their branches as if it was nothing. You watched how all of them moved in the same rhythm like it was rehearsed.
You looked at your own hands before tucking them underneath your arms.
"A little too perfect, aren't they?" Joshua stood next to you. "Qorath has never been so keen of mistakes, and its scenery reflects that sentiment."
You hummed. "There is no way in which all those trees can be so perfectly aligned. And the way they're moving, it's unnatural and so…synced? Like they're just a replica of each other."
"You'll come to find that Qorath is unusually perfect." He pointed at the end of the forest, where the trees started thinning out. Right at the top was a tree that moved along with the wind. Not just the tip, not the leaves trying to stick to the branches, it moved with its entire being, unafraid to make the leaves dance in the breezes. "You just have to look for weak points."
You peeled away from the window and cleared your throat.
Joshua turned around to sit in the windowstill. "I want to formally apologise to you, about how I came to your doorstep unannounced."
"And for not leaving me alone," you added.
He rubbed his neck, his cheeks flushing a light pink. "And that, yes. It was very improper of me."
"A bit, yeah." You balanced on the back of your feet. "So, what will happen now that I'm here? You seem to run a very oiled machine in here."
Joshua chewed his lip. "You're at risk if we put you out there. I'm afraid the best I can do for you right now is giving you shelter and protection."
You swallowed the lump in your throat. With a tight smile, you excused yourself and stepped away from him. "I'll be in my quarters if you need me."
"Maybe you can join us for dinner tonight," Joshua suggested. "I'm sure they won't mind."
"I'll think about it." You offered a nod and turned on your heel. "Thank you for the invite, nonetheless."
"Always."
You made your way to the quarters and closed the door behind you. It was small, but it had everything you need: a bed, a desk, even a small closet to store your belongings.
On the desk was a small pile of papers and a quill, but the time when you touched it, you couldn't bring yourself to put the words onto the paper.
You kept looking at it, until the nagging feeling suffocated you. You turned away from it and laid down on the bed, swallowing the tears that had traveled with you since you left your own home.
If it could even be called home.
Your real home was like stepping into a comforting hug. You could remember your parents gushing over the powers you would possess when you were four years of age, but despite the burdens they placed on themselves, you could only feel the warmth spread through your chest. They never failed to make you feel heard and seen, even if your powers would never manifest at all.
They did when you were seven, right around the time most of the powers would completely manifest. In one of the coldest winters you remembered, without much thought, you had made the flowers in your garden bloom. It'd become evident to you and your parents that you had inherited your mother's powers.
Your real home was in the north of Thornmere, right at the border with Nytheria. You'd always been able to look over the mountains in the safety of your cabin, wondering how they got so high. You imagined yourself being on top of the mountain when you closed your eyes at night. One day, you would be so high up, too.
Childlike wonder, your mother had called it. In truth, that fascination had never left you after all those years. You often thought of that mountain and everything that went on behind it, even though you'd never seen it before. One day, you hoped you would.
When you walked into the kitchen, the four had already gathered around the table.
Daphne was the first to notice you and offered you a warm smile. "Please, join us. Dinner's just ready."
You inhaled the scent of a broth and hummed. "It smells nice."
"Joshua's specialty."
You glanced at the man, who'd replaced his black suit with the white collar with a loose blouse and a wide linen pants. His hair was fluffy, as if he'd just washed it, compared to how composed he normally wore it. Nothing about Joshua in that moment screamed that he was planning on getting back to work anytime soon.
"I'm glad you're joining," he said with a smile. He waved his hand before pouring another bowl. "I made enough for all of us."
"Such a mum," Airu teased.
You sat down next to them and their bowl was in front of your nose.
Their smile was small, but genuine. "Rookies first."
You nodded and pulled it towards you, letting the smell engulf you. Dinner was silent on your part. The most you'd done was answer questions that they fired your way, but most of their conversations were about their days, about things they heard and saw.
Work was off the table.
Daphne excused herself when she was done and dusted her flowy dress off. "I have to get some medicine to the children's wing. There's a bad flu again."
You wiped your hands on the napkin and got up. "Let me take care of it."
She offered you a small smile. "There's no need, love. Make sure you're settled in first." She turned on her heel and walked towards the door.
"I'm a healer."
Daphne's hand was on the doorhandle, but it stayed there. She looked over her shoulder and nodded. "Alright then. Follow me."
You excused yourself with a bow and followed her out. "Let us stop by my quarters first. I brought some potions and herbs."
"You possess powers of the earth," she concluded, to which you nodded. She smiled. "It suits you."
You nodded at her and grabbed your bag. As you fell into step with her, you spotted a tattoo of a star in her neck. As you opened your mouth, you were interrupted by a loud scream.
Daphne ran towards the wing and you had no choice but to follow her. She pushed through the doors and froze.
A handful of children, you guessed them no older than ten, were gathered around a bed. You could easily look over them to see a boy, lips almost as blue as ice. His forehead was covered in sweat.
You glanced at Daphne, whose eyes glimmered. As you put a hand on her shoulder, they shot to you like a deer in headlights. "Get the kids away from the bed, okay? I'll see what I can do."
She nodded and walked over to them, putting on a smile and leading them away to a couple of beds away.
You put your bag down by your feet and sat on the edge. When you felt his forehead, he was burning up. Your fingers pressed against the pulse in his neck, but it was barely there.
"Hey," you called out softly. "I'm here to help you."
The boy opened his eyes slowly.
You rummaged in your bag and grabbed a small bottle of light brown liquid. Your trembling hands wrapped around it and the bottle lit up. "I need you to take this for me, okay?" You helped the boy up and took the cork off. "Can you open your mouth for me?"
His jaw unclenched and you poured it in gently, pushing his jaw back shut. He winced, but you told him to swallow. He retched.
"I know, it's very bitter, but you will feel a lot better in the morning." You put the empty bottle back in the bag and caressed his cheek. "Get some sleep. Daphne and I will make sure the other kids know you're okay."
"Thank you," he croaked, his voice a bare whisper. Within seconds, he'd drifted off to sleep.
You looked at Daphne, who had a small boy in her lap. "He'll be okay."
She smiled and nodded. "Thank you."
You walked over to her and the kids and sat down next to her. "He had a very bad flu, but he will feel much better in the morning."
"The kids are still a little shaken," Daphne told you. "We should stay here until they're calmed down."
Your heart jumped when your hand suddenly touched a soft skin. You looked down and a girl traced the folds of your dress. You guessed her around six years old, long black hair in a high ponytail. Her big eyes — still wet from tears — twinkled when they locked with yours.
"You have a pretty dress," she said softly.
"Thank you." You offered her a smile. "I like yours, too."
She returned it shyly and let go of you, sniffling softly.
"Would you like a hug, love?"
She nodded and laid her head in your lap. You picked her up instead and let her press up against you, nuzzling her face in the crook of your neck. You rocked her from left to right gently and hummed. "Don't say no to the sad feelings, dear. They'll only come back stronger."
"I was very scared," she muttered.
"And you have all the right to be sad about that. It was very scary to see." You wiped her tears away as she looked at you. "How are you feeling right now?"
"Better." She smiled weakly. "I'm Yui, what's your name?"
You told her your name and she pressed herself against you again, muttering it back to you.
"Let's get you to bed," Daphne announced. "We'll come to check on you in the morning."
Yui climbed off your lap and shot you one last smile, and a sense of familiarity settled in your chest.
You returned the smile. "Goodnight, Yui."
She ran back to her own bed while you grabbed your bag from the floor, following Daphne out of the wing.
"I didn't know you housed so many children," you said.
"They're mostly saved from parents in Silver Star, or here with older siblings," Daphne explained. "It's not ideal and my heart breaks for them, but Gods know where else they would end up if we didn't take them in."
You hummed and crossed your arms.
"Let's join the others for a drink." She pushed through the doors of the living quarters. "I'm sure we can both use it."
You followed her regardless of your appetite. The room was dimly lit, but you recognised the silhouette of Joshua sitting by the window, a glass in his hand. When you shut the door, he whipped his head around.
"The kids are okay," Daphne told him. She tilted her head slightly. "Are you?"
"I'm fine, Daphne. Thank you." A small smile decorated his face and he put the glass down. "Did something happen? You look… troubled."
She opened her mouth, her eyes darting to you.
"One of the kids laid in bed with cold sweat and blue lips," you answered and folded your hands. "They were a little shaken up by it, but they're okay now. Back to sleep, I assume."
Joshua nodded. "Did you give him anything?"
"One of my potions." You waved your hand. "I use it against the flu all the time and it works like a miracle," you added quickly.
"And the kids love her already," Daphne said. When you looked her way, she grinned.
His smile grew. "Don't be afraid to help them more often, if they need you."
You nodded and motioned to his drink. "What are you having?"
"Homemade elderflower liquor."
"I'll have that, too."
Joshua nodded and got up from the chair. He told Daphne to sit down and poured two glasses. He held them out to both of you and grabbed his own. "Here's to a new chapter for Vault Nine."
You all raised your glasses and as you took a sip, you enjoyed the alcohol burning your throat. You couldn't remember when you dipped out, just that you wanted to look presentable the next morning. Your head pounded lightly as you hoisted yourself in a white blouse and black pants. You accentuated your waist with a black corset and did your hair the usual way.
And a potion or good measure.
As you were on your way to the children's wing, you heard footsteps behind you. You looked over your shoulder and smiled. "Good morning."
Joshua fell into step with you, his attire back to its usual black suit with the white collar. "Good morning, how are you feeling?"
You held up a potion bottle. "Good."
"So that means you were feeling bad before." He nudged you with a grin. "Isn't that considered bending the rules?"
"If I'm able to, why wouldn't I?"
Joshua chuckled. "Very good point." He opened the doors to the children's wing, pressing himself against the door. "After you."
You smiled and walked in, looking around the dormitory. The kids were already up, running around and laughing or they were on the beds talking to each other. Your eyes fell on the sick boy, who halted in his tracks when he saw you.
He offered you a bright smile before one of the other boys tapped him. He shouted and turned around to chase him.
Your name was called and you whipped your head.
Yui skipped over to you, her cheeks flushed red and her chest rising and falling heavily. "You made Vince better!"
You smiled. "I did."
Before she could open her mouth, Vince jogged up to her. His eyes fell on you and darted to Joshua before he looked back at you.
"You look like Yin and Yang," he pointed out.
Yui gasped. "Oh! She's Yin!" She pointed at Joshua frantically. "And Shua's Yang!"
You looked back at Joshua, who was smiling.
"I guess we do," he said and ruffled the boy's hair. "I'm glad to see you out of bed."
"The potion was gross, but it worked." Vince turned to you and smiled. "Thank you."
You returned it with a nod and watched how he walked off with Yui on his trail.
"So, Yin,"
You deadpanned Joshua, but the smile on your face was undeniable. "Yes, Yang?"
He chuckled and gave you a playful push. "I think Daphne was right when she said the kids love you."
"I think love is a strong word for someone they met last night," you countered and walked out of the dormitory. "They take a liking, that is all."
"All of us do."
You froze, and when you looked over your shoulder, he didn't even seem remotely remorseful. With a hard swallow, you walked out of the children's wing but his words stayed with you, no matter how hard you tried to shake them off.
After Daphne had practically disappeared for the day, you assumed she was busy. When she didn't show up for dinner and the frown etched into Airu and Minsu's faces, you took matters into your own hands.
You went into the garden for fresh herbs and took them back with you, combining them with the herbs from your own collection. As you knocked on Daphne's door, you heard shuffling on the other side of the door.
When you called out to her, it stopped.
Daphne opened the door and it was like a burden lifted off her shoulders. She smiled weakly and stepped aside. "Is there something you need?"
"I was hoping for the other way around, actually," you admitted with a small smile. "I haven't seen you today, so I came to see if you were alright."
She swallowed and shut the door. "Yeah, I'm fine." Upon the silence, she shuffled around.
"Can I interest you in herbal therapy?" You held the branches up. "It'll calm the mind, relieve your worries a little."
Daphne observed them closely before nodding slowly.
You sat down on the ground and patted the soft carpet. You muttered to yourself and a bowl appeared in your hand, which you put the herbs in. Your fingers brushed them gently when you let them go. Before you could even ask for a lighter, there was a flame.
You exchanged a glance with the older woman.
"You don't have to tell my anything, but you can if you wish to," you said instead. "All you have to do for me is close your eyes and focus on yourself. Let the scents guide you."
Daphne winced. "Gods, they are strong."
You chuckled. "You'll get used to it."
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
"Would you like to talk about what's on your mind?"
"I feel guilty for freezing up on you last night," she answered softly. "I just… I don't know what came over me, but something transported me back to…" She paused and you could hear her breath catch. "I escaped the Silver Star about a year ago, and it still haunts me. The scared looks on their faces, the way they were are circled around Vince, it was like I was there again."
You rested your hands in your laps. "Did it resemble something you experienced in Silver Star?"
"It was like a ritual, something they do when they let go of members they do not deem worthy anymore." Daphne rolled her shoulders back and shuffled in her seat. "Everyone's there to watch, like it's a warning to everybody what happens if you step out of line, or if you don't follow the rules."
"And the way the kids stood around Vince…"
"Gods… I could only think about what I saw in there."
You told her to take a deep breath. "You're doing well, Daphne. Would you like to continue?"
She opened her eyes and a tear escaped. "They're dangerous, love. If Joshua tells you to stay low, follow his advice. We have no idea what they want to do with you."
You swallowed and nodded. "Okay, I will."
Daphne sniffled and smiled at you. "You're a good one. It would be a shame if someone like you got wrapped up in such a twisted environment."
"What exactly drew you in?" You asked.
"Where I lived, magic was a curse." She shrugged lightly. "I was not welcome in my village, and at one point my parents wanted to bind my powers. At least I could live a normal life, but I chose to ignore their wishes. I didn't want to be hidden… or… or be ashamed of who I was."
Daphne smiled through her tears. "Wouldn't you have done the same? If they came at your doorstep, telling you that your own people were waiting for you to join them?"
You swallowed, looking the other way.
"We can't blame the people for believing it. They pry on the vulnerable and lonely like that."
"If you weren't first…" You sighed and rested your chin on your knee, your eyes darting at the older woman.
She nodded in understanding before scooting over to you. "Thank you for the herbs. I feel better."
"You can ask if you need it another time." You dimmed the flame and got up. "Take your rest, alright? We'll see each other in the morning."
Daphne had returned to her usual duties after breakfast. It had been just you, her and Airu, Joshua too busy to join and Minsu nowhere in sight.
You joined Airu in their office and closed the door. "You wanted to speak to me."
"I need you to understand the gravity of your presence," they said, their voice rid of its usual playfulness. "If they can't find you, and they won't, they know that someone is working against them. They already have their suspicions of the local government, but we're completely independent from them."
You nodded. "I see."
Airu leaned over the desk. "The Silver Star is not just a simple villain in this chapter of our lands," they continued, their sharp eyes gazing at you like a hunter and its prey. "Their goal is much bigger than us witches. If anything, we're simply pawns in their game. You, however," their finger nearly poked your chest, "are their Queen. That was how it was prophesized. And if you're familiar with that branch of magic, you know the dangers of relying on divination."
"It's merely a fraction of the future," you said. "Whatever prophecy they might have seen, it will be only a moment that can still move in a thousand different directions."
They flashed a grin at you. "You know your magic, rookie."
"My father used divination until he bound his powers," you said. "He taught me everything I needed to know."
There was a sliver of recognition in Airu's eyes. "The Silver Star won't rest until their prophecy will be fulfilled."
You stood straight with a single nod. "So tell me what I should know about them."
"They're based here, in Qorath." They waved their hand to the map on the wall. "They reside where the Royal Family does, although we have reason to assume that it's actually the Silver Star. We just lack the evidence."
You observed the map, where the spot was marked with a star. "So they're pulling some strings to appear separate from the royals."
"Probably, yeah." Airu stood next to you and pointed at the castle. "Our theory is that they're puppeteering a fake King and Queen. The real Royal Family has been wiped out when Silver Star seized power and since then, they pretend that the land is ruled by a King and Queen while in reality, it's them."
You bobbed your head and looked at them. "Are you from here?"
"Born and raised." They nodded. "I've seen it all. They are too…"
"Perfect."
Airu looked at you in surprise. "Yeah, actually. It has always rubbed me the wrong way."
You hummed and stepped away from the map. "Do you have any information on what goes on inside?"
"Aside from the royals, they have a council," they told you. "Five high ranking members of Silver Star, each powerful witches. A lot of them are in the dark arts, but there's also an elemental witch. We're still trying to figure out what she can do."
Airu sat down at their desk. "They are like the leaders, but they all take advicd from who they call 'The One'. It's like an entirely new religion was created, apart from the Gods we already answer to."
"And that is me." You shuddered when they nodded. "I don't even know what they see in me, but the thought that I'm that worshipped irks me."
"Us all." They trapped you under their gaze, as if you were going to be killed for moving even a muscle. "They're launching an attack on Blackspire soon, when 'The One' has finally joined their side. The moment that happens according to them is three weeks from now."
"The attack?"
Airu nodded. "That means they're actively searching for you. We have to be wary."
"If it's not a coven," you wondered out loud, your eyes darting at them, "what is the Silver Star?"
"A cult." Their fist was clenched to the point their knuckles were white. "They take everything they can touch and rip it apart, families and lives alike. If I don't live to watch them burn, then this was all for nothing."
The conversation with Airu had stuck with you all the way through dinner. Minsu was still absent and by the way Daphne, Airu or Joshua didn't even remotely bat an eye, it was a common occurrence.
You were already seated when Daphne put the meat on the table. The other witches had joined, but everyone had split off into their own little groups.
Joshua was munching on a piece of meat when you turned to him.
"Where is Minsu?"
"Spying," he answered.
You raised your eyebrows. "He's inside?"
"How else do you think we get our information?" Airu grinned at you. "We can't call ourselves a spy network if we don't spy on them."
"And you all keep preaching to me how dangerous they are," you mumbled and stirred the vegetables.
The table fell silent, but you ignored it and ate your plate clean. All of them had looked at you funny at least once without reciprocation.
You opted for some time alone after dinner and sat behind your desk. The quill felt familiar in your hand, the branch smooth and comfortable to hold. You dipped it in the ink and put it to the paper.
Wherever you are, no matter the distance between us, I think of you every day. If you are able to, please give me a sign that you are safe. It has been a while since I heard from you.
Much love,
Your beloved daughter.
You put the quill down and stared at the words on the paper, drying up right in front of you. You grabbed the scarf from your bag and inhaled the scent, which was merely an afterthought since the last time your mother wore it.
You tore the paper, folded the letter together and placed it on the scarf. There was such a pressure heaving on your chest that it was easy to bleed your sorrows onto the paper. You wanted to tell your parents everything; from Joshua who stood on your doorstep to the network that was working against a cult.
The thought made the adrenaline pump through your veins and sent chills down your spine all at once. If your parents were that sought-after — there was no other reason why your father would take such drastic measures — there was no doubt in your mind that they knew as well.
You opened the letter and grabbed the quill again before you folded it back together. As you muttered the words, the letter lit up and before it disappeared with the blink of an eye, like it was sucked into a completely different dimension.
The herbs in your closet were rearranged as you went over everything you learned so far. It was a cult, based in Argentum. They resided with the Royal Family, or were the Royal Family, if you were to believe Airu. There was a council of five witches, but they all answered to a deity called 'The One'. But the deity was real. In fact, it was going to be you, according to their prophecy.
You slammed your closet shut and made your way to Joshua's office. No answer came when you knocked on the door and the door was locked. His quarters were your next stop, but he wasn't there either. When you arrived at the living quarters, the silence was welcoming and comforting. It was later in the evening, most of them would be asleep or in their own quarters.
Joshua was in his chair with the homemade liquor, the glass against his lips when you walked in. He downed the content in one go.
Watching him swallow, the way he was slouched in his seat with his legs spread and his sleeves rolled up, it made your breath catch.
You waved your hand. "Do you…"
He shot up and shook his head. "No, not at all."
You sat down across from him and placed your hands in your lap. You tilted your head and scanned every inch of his face, the way his lips were pressed together and his eyebrows hung low over his eyes. They were sunken, and drained.
The dim light that hit his face made him light up nonetheless.
"Are you alright?" You asked.
Joshua smiled softly. "You don't need to worry about me. I'm okay."
Against your instincts, you let the conversation dry out and looked out of the window. Even in the darkness, the trees danced in their perfect rhythm. You hummed. "Are you from Qorath?"
"Blackspire," Joshua answered. "I came here for the same organisation I'm now trying to dismantle."
You turned your head.
"Something didn't sit right with me so I backed out, and I quickly learned that it was the right decision." He pulled the cork out of the bottle and poured himself another glass. He held the bottle out to you, but you shook your head.
"How long have you been doing this?"
"Seven years now, I think." He stirred the glass. "It didn't start out this way, but I'm happy to be doing this for other people as well."
"A lot of our decisions don't end up how we made them."
Joshua leaned back in his seat, his fingers gripping the top of his glass as his arm hung over the edge.
You shuffled in your seat and cleared your throat. "I don't mean to pry…"
A small smile tugged at his lips and he closed his eyes. "I can assure you that I feel fine," he raised his head, "but if you have something on your mind?"
You shrugged and leaned on your thighs.
Joshua nodded and looked out of the window.
"Can you remember what your life was like before all of this?"
He turned his head back to you, his eyes scanning you curiously.
"Before I moved into that small cabin where you found me, I had a completely different life." Your gaze flicked to him and you saw him swallow. "It starts fading away from me the more time I spend away from it."
He nodded slowly, almost like he was afraid to say something else. He took a huge swig and let the glass rest in his hand.
You moved closer until your fingers brushed the back of his hand. "I have been here for a week, almost two, and I have learned nothing about you other than that you're the boss and you like to drink elderflower liquor late at night on your own." You offered him a small smile. "I know we started on the wrong foot and my behaviour has been hostile towards you, but I promise, I want to know more about you. You brought me here to safety after all."
You nudged him. "And I just learned you're from Blackspire."
Joshua looked away from you and chewed his lip. "I just…" He shook his head. "I don't really like to talk about it. It hasn't been serving me any good since I came here, reminiscing on the past."
"Yet, something has been troubling you about it."
"You're very good at this."
"I have my experience."
He stared ahead of him and rubbed his chin. "I was born in Blackspire, but nothing special. Just a witch disguised as a merchant, traveling around the lands to sell his goods at the markets, which were homegrown vegetables and fruit. The money was scarce, but we had enough for our necessities."
"Was it just you and your parents?" You asked. You watched how he exhaled shakily, followed by a weak shake of his head.
"An older brother."
You offered a weak smile.
"Our powers were different," Joshua continued, but his voice trembled. "I inherited mine from my mother, but my brother… he's just like you. Nature was his biggest source of inner peace, while I went out and about, often landing myself in situations that he would get me out of."
He chuckled softly. "One time, I got myself to the other side of the lands and just by the vibrations of the earth, he managed to locate me and got me back."
You tilted your head. "Is that how you were able to find me so quickly?" You stifled a laugh. "We got back here like time hadn't even passed."
"It barely had." Joshua inhaled sharply. "But I don't like to use it anymore. Not when I don't have to."
"Thank you for using it for me."
"I couldn't put an innocent life on the line." He shrugged and down the last bit of his drink. "I hope you got what you hoped for."
Before you could even utter a word, he got up and snatched his glass from the table. You got up as well, but Joshua left the living quarters without looking back.
His eyes widened in surprise when you stood in his office the following morning. He quickly closed the file on his desk and got up. "Good morning."
You had your arms crossed, trapping him under your gaze.
Joshua stepped away from his desk. "Before you say anything—"
"I'm not here to lash out at you," you interrupted him and leaned against the doorframe. "It was somewhat improper to leave without another word, but you must have your reasons for leaving so urgently that — despite my curious nature — I will not ask for."
Joshua bowed his head. "That is much appreciated, thank you."
"I am here, however," you stepped in, "to talk business."
He waved his hand.
"I can be of value to your cause."
"I'm very sure of that as well, which is why I won't put you right into the crossfire," he explained, the gentleness of his words crawling into your head like a soothing lullaby. "You have to understand that they have eyes and ears everywhere, and they know more about you than they let on. We have to be careful."
You pressed your lips in a tight smile. "Joshua, I am well aware that I'm at risk, but I'm still well in my right to decide to which extent I want my involvement to go and I'm telling you right now," you stepped up to him and looked him right in the eyes, "you're wasting resources by trying to shield me."
Joshua swallowed, his breath catching. "I don't want anything to happen to you while you're under my care."
"I can still care for myself, thank you."
His eyes clouded over, your name rolling off his lips in a way that sent chills down your spine. "I've spent the past seven years trying to dismantle them and you cannot begin to imagine how many people I've watched losing themselves to their message, or who got discovered and never returned. I cannot forgive myself if the same would happen to you."
You stepped closer until there was no distance left. "I will not let my abilities go to waste because you are too scared. I don't care if you send me out into the field or you'll give me something here. You will give me a task to fulfill so the Silver Star will burn. Once and for all."
Joshua stared at you. It was impossible to make out whether he was going to wrap his hands around your throat and squeeze or he was remarkably impressed by your sudden lack of care. One way or the other, the way his eyes burned into you, made you shudder.
He crinkled his nose and stepped back. "Alright, then. You'll work under me."
You deadpanned him. "Seriously?"
"You want to see them burn, I'm giving you the opportunity to do so." He held his hand out, and your eyes locked in a challenge. "Do we have an arrangement?"
You wanted action, you wanted to be in the crossfire. They were looking for you, after all. Why didn't they use you as bait? Or did they send you in, pretending that you had arrived for them? They worshipped you with every breath you took, wouldn't that make you the perfect person to spy on them?
The job Joshua had made up for you on the spot — or he was going to burden you with the stuff he had no time for — was unideal at best, but you feared it wasn't going to get any better than that.
With one simple handshake, your fate had been sealed.
There was a tension in the air when you first worked with him. Neither of you seemed entirely satisfied with the conditions you'd created for yourself; if anything, Joshua wanted you completely shielded from the things they were doing.
He found out that you already knew about the Silver Star's intentions, that you could only define it as a cult — even despite Airu's confirmations that it was, you didn't tell him that — and that the practices inside were dangerous, to say the least.
It was hard to pinpoint what led Joshua to such protective measures, as if he was going to lose you if he let you out of his sight. You had no doubt that it was why he let you work under him, whatever that would entail.
And from the bits and pieces he'd already told you before he shut his mouth completely, you had a feeling that his brother was involved.
Joshua kept himself occupied with decoding messages from the inside. Minsu was not the only one that had infiltrated the organisation. With him were three others that sent back messages, varying from simple daily routines to more details about their top.
At first, you just hung around in his office. Joshua appeared to be unsure of the tasks he wanted to assign, but if he did, he didn't show any desire to act accordingly.
You excused the first day as a day to settle in.
The next morning, Joshua wasn't even in his office. After turning the entire network inside out, you found him in the garden gathering herbs. You marched up to him, but halted in your tracks.
Instead, you left him alone and lend the second day to a sudden grief about his brother. You took the day to think about your parents as well.
From there on, every day that passed would be without excuses. Joshua was back on track, but all you did was watch him do his job. Once again, he seemed unsure — scared, even — of what he could let you do and you knew the words 'rearrange my office' were on his mind.
He knew better than to treat you as his maid.
You helped him decode a couple of messages by writing down its meaning when Joshua was too busy pondering over its meaning, but that was about it.
After a week of enduring your impatience, you still weren't doing anything meaningful.
The air grew thicker until you felt something snap.
"When you told me we had an arrangement, I best hope that didn't entail playing pretend with me," you told him tightly.
Joshua didn't respond, working through the code that he got from Minsu.
Your fingers were burning up when you stretched them. "If you really didn't want me to do anything, you would've fought harder but you didn't."
"We'll discuss this tonight after dinner."
You clenched your fists.
Joshua looked down and his eyes widened.
"What?"
He nodded his head at your hands.
The flames danced when you lifted them. "I…"
"I guess you were right when you said that resources are going to waste." Joshua pointed at you. "You're letting them go to waste, too."
You closed your hands and took a deep breath, the heat around your hands disappearing. "Are we even now?"
Joshua smiled weakly. "I'm not exactly used to working with someone."
"You're just a wuss."
He blinked a couple of times, to which you smiled. He clicked his tongue and stepped aside. "Alright, so Minsu sent a message about the Divine Priestess."
"Divine Priestess?" You asked. "Is that their leader?"
"We think so," Joshua answered as he scribbled the message down. "It has always been unclear what their top looks like, it seems to change every so often, but this is a name that keeps coming back."
"Would it be reasonable to assume that this Divine Priestess is leading everything, and the Royal Family, the Council, they're all a distraction from her?"
His head turned to your way. He narrowed his eyes and straightened his posture. "Elaborate."
"If we were to assume your theory about the King and Queen is correct," you started and pointed at the name, "who is to say that the Council is real? For all we know, the Divine Priestess could be orchestrating everything."
"It's plausible," he said with a hum and scribbled it down. "Thank you for your input. I think we can ask Minsu to find out more about it."
You nudged him. "You do know how to collaborate."
Joshua rolled his eyes playfully and closed his book. "I'll make sure to get the message back to Minsu. He'll be gone tonight."
"I'm going to check on the kids." You patted his shoulder and slipped out of his office towards the wing. You opened the doors and walked right into Airu sitting on a bed.
They looked up and waved at you. As they got up, a girl's voice told them to sit down. Yui popped up from behind them and shot them a glare.
"For a small girl, you have a loud voice."
"Not funny, Ru. I was braiding your hair."
You chuckled and sat down with them. "Yeah, Airu. You should sit still."
Yui shot them a gummy smile. "See? Yin gets me."
They waved her off and Yui continued on their hair. "How's working with Joshua?"
"Better. I cussed him out." You hummed. "What are you doing here?"
"I came to check if Yui wasn't terrorising the other kids."
"Mean," the little girl called from behind them, to which they grinned.
You looked from the oldest to the youngest and suddenly it dawned on you why Yui looked so familiar before.
Airu shrugged. "Sometimes you have to give your siblings some tough love, Yui. You'll understand when you're older."
Yui scoffed playfully, making you chuckle.
They turned to you, but she snapped their head back to the front. "I'm looking out for her, have been since our parents got wrapped up in the cult."
"Gods, Airu. I'm—"
"There's no need to say you're sorry," they interrupted you. "I'm not looking for pity."
You offered a small smile and placed your hands in your lap. "I know you're not. I just wanted you to know that I admire your courage and determination, by being here and making sure your sister is okay."
Airu's frown disappeared. They lowered their eyes and cleared their throat. "I don't see it as anything else than my responsibility."
"Done!" Yui popped into view with a bright smile. "Do you like it?"
They smiled. "I love it, thank you."
She deadpanned her older sibling. "You didn't even look."
"I don't need to. I know I love it."
That brought a smile to Yui's face. She pressed their cheeks together before pressing a big kiss to it. She slid off the bed and ran through the doors to the garden. Through the window, you watched her join the other kids in playing tag.
Airu looked on as well and hummed. "She can barely remember them. I have to keep their memory alive."
"Sometimes that's all we can do," you replied, to which they sighed.
"Ain't that the truth, rookie."
You offered them a warm smile and pulled the younger against you.
The doors opened and Joshua walked in. He halted in his tracks when he saw the two of you and shot you a small smile. "I… Forgot you were here."
"Rookie mistake," Airu told him with a grin. They got up and dusted their pants off. "Well, I'm going to make sure the kids won't kill each other. Some have discovered they can use magic and they are testing the limits."
They shot you a grateful smile and rubbed your shoulder before turning on their heel.
"I'm here for you, actually."
You looked from Airu to Joshua.
Joshua rubbed his neck. "I don't want to put you on the spot here…"
"She can hear it." They crinkled their nose. "What is it?"
"Minsu was able to locate your parents. Alive." He swallowed and offered a small smile. "I hope you have trained for this. It won't be easy."
They nodded and shuffled in their spot. It didn't take more than a second before they ran up to Joshua and flew around his neck.
He melted into the embrace and held them close. When he locked eyes with you, his brows were pushed together.
Your father told you to not climb the tree in your backyard when you were a child. It was dangerous because you would fall out and end up with a broken leg. You climbed the it anyway, wanting to see how high you could reach. To see what the world above had to offer you. Nothing had happened, until a branch broke on your way down and you fell. You landed on your feet and although it stung, your leg was okay.
A couple of weeks later, you woke up screaming in pain. After careful observation from your mother, she concluded that you had a fractured bone from the impact of your landing.
Minsu had tried. He'd tried until he was practically on his knees begging them not to go. He'd narrowly escaped discovery after locating Airu's parents, only the Gods knew what would happen to Airu themself.
Airu was determined — unsurprisingly — and went to the location that they were spotted at, disguised with help of your potion. As the hours passed and dinnertime came around, Minsu had nearly grabbed his bags when they suddenly stood in the living quarters. Their cheeks had been wet with tears, their eyes so bloodshot that you wondered what else they'd been doing.
Even for someone as unfazed as them, the Silver Star had a way of getting under their skin. Their parents had taken them through everything, they'd even forced their hand and made them stay for a ceremony.
You could only think of Daphne when Airu described the scene and with the recent information of the Priestess, you'd taken a mental note to dive into Joshua's notes.
With a bowl of herbs and a portion of good luck from Daphne and Minsu, you stood in front of Airu's quarters that night.
You knocked on the door softly and called out to them.
It took a while before Airu opened the door, their cheeks stained with tears. "I'm fine, thank you."
"I might have something that can help you take your mind off today."
"I love you and I know Joshua will string me on a tight rope for saying this, but I'm not interest in guru practices."
You set a foot in the doorway before they could close it. "I want to help, Airu. You're obviously plagued by today."
Airu observed you from head to toe before swinging the door open. They plopped down on their bed and watched you settle on their floor. "So, what are you going to do? Bless my room?"
You concentrated on your hands, but nothing was coming out. You tightened your muscles until they trembled, but all it produced was a small sparkle.
"Shit," they slid on the floor with you, "you can wield fire?"
"And air, I accidentally slam doors around here all the time." You shook your hands. "I just… I can't do it actively. The fire happened when I was angry at Joshua and hasn't come back since then."
"Emotionally driven magic is dangerous," Airu told you and opened their palm. A small flame danced in their hand. "You need to feel it inside of you to be able to channel it. Let your soul drive the magic, not your emotions."
You swallowed and opened your palm. "What if I set your room on fire?"
"We'll ask Daphne to put it out." They placed their hand on their chest. "Focus on what's in there."
You closed your eyes. Your mind wandered to your old backyard, to the big tree that you used to climb as a child. To the herbs blowing in the wind.
"Cute stone, but think of the other element."
You thought of the fire crackling in the hearth, the hours you spent in front of it watching it dance specially for you, the way you moved your hands and it would move along with you.
Your palm heated up and when you opened your eyes, the stone was replaced by a flame.
Airu's eyes were widened in surprise. "You turned the stone into a flame! Do you know how awesome that looked?"
"I had my eyes closed, so unfortunately not." You held the hand by the herbs until the flame was carried over. Your eyes flicked up at them. "Now it's your turn to close your eyes."
They did as they were told and hummed. "The scent is… nice, actually."
"Lavender, chamomile and passionflower." You crossed your legs and placed your hands in your lap. "You just focus on the herbs, you don't have to tell me about anything that burdens you, but I know from experience that it can help."
"All I can think about was how weird it was to be there with them," they started, their brows knitted together. "They… they just treated me like they would with anyone else but they were so different from how I remembered them."
"How do you remember them?"
"People who fought for their lives for our freedom and existence," they answered. "They thought, by joining the Silver Star, they would see a better life for me and my sister, but for all of the other witches as well. They weren't vulnerable as much as they were blinded."
You saw their fist clench from the corner of your eye. "Are you angry at them?"
"I was barely eighteen." Their eyes open and to you, spitting almost literal fire. "They told us to pack our bags and go with them, but I refused. I knew something sinister was going on, but my parents were already in too deep. They wanted to take Yui with them, but I told them I would burn the house down with us in it if they tried. Yui was merely a year old and I… I couldn't do that to her."
They chuckled bitterly, their eyes glimmered when the light fell on them. "I don't even know why I bother to let them live in Yui's memory. They don't deserve it."
"Why do you want to go in there?"
"So I can convince them to escape, for Yui. I don't care what lengths I have to go to. They have to be saved before they take part in the ceremony."
You offered a weak smile and nodded. "As long as you come back for your sister, you are well in your right to try."
"I will." They nodded and grabbed the bowl from the ground. "Do you mind if I keep them here?"
"Not at all." You got up. "Thank you for trusting me, Airu. I really appreciate it."
"You just make it so easy to do so." They bumped your hip. "Good night, Rookie."
Your father often showed you what his abilities could lead to, and as a child it was the most beautiful thing you'd ever seen. All you could do now was watch, knowing that the trajectory of fate wasn't something to tamper with.
And sometimes, it was better to do nothing after all.
Since you joined Vault Nine, you'd grown fond of the living quarters. So much so that you felt the walls closing in on you if you spent any longer than two hours in your personal quarters.
You were in the kitchen, bowed over a pot. The herbs were boiling in a brown liquid and a bitter scent penetrated your nostrils until you nearly gagged.
Lavender would do the trick, before nobody would drink it at all. You watched it dissolve before you muttered to it. The content of the pot lit up in a bright white before it returned back to its usual state.
You divided it over the empty bottles and dissolved the rest. As you were grinding the calendula, the door opened.
Joshua smiled and stepped in. "I thought I smelled something coming from here."
Your cheeks flushed and you pointed at the pot. "This is the last thing, I promise."
"You can take your time. I'll wait."
Your heart jumped, racing in your chest like it had somewhere to be. You watched how Joshua walked over to you, joining you behind the counter.
"What are you making?"
"Healing potions," you answered and poured the bowl of calendula in the boiling water. "These are for injuries, calming as well as anti inflammatory."
Joshua bowed over the pot, so close that you could smell the strawberry, white flowers and oud on him. Sweet, fresh and captivating, unable to pull away from. His eyes flicked to you and your breath caught, your cheeks flushing even hotter.
"We are lucky to have you here," he said softly, a warm smile tugging at his lips. His hand was on the small of your back as he reached over for a bottle. "Let me take one of those to our spies. One has a fever."
The heat pooled in your stomach as you nodded. "Of course."
His lips brushed against the shell of your ear and you shuddered. "Come to my office after you're done," he whispered. "I need your help."
You watched him peel away from you, clutching the small bottle in his hand. He tugged on his jacket, revealing parts of his bare chest. You swallowed and nodded. "I will be there as soon as I wrap up here."
Joshua nodded and grabbed the door handle. He looked over his shoulder before he left.
You didn't know how fast you needed to get out of there. If you didn't know any better, you would've left the potions for what it was. You were clueless to your sudden desires, but you credited it to your curiosity. He carried himself a kind of way when he came in, an uncharacteristic way that was. It was not more than natural to want to find out what he was up to.
You delivered the potions to the spies, telling them you'd be back to check on them before they went to sleep. Daphne offered you a thankful smile, but you were out of the wing before she could hold you up.
You fixed you corset and brushed the folds of your dress before you walked into his office.
Joshua was hovered over his book, his brows knitted together as he wrote. Strands of black hair fell in front of his face and you imagined yourself tucking them behind his ear, smiling at him when he looked up at you.
He would wrap his arm around your waist, pull you into his lap and his hands…
You cleared your throat, making him look up.
You couldn't help but notice the white blouse instead of the black jacket. You were sure it was a one time thing. Joshua and his jacket were inseperable, apart from his night attire you hadn't seen him in anything else.
He smiled. "Thank you for being here so quickly," he said and waved his hand. "As my right hand, I need your help making sense of these codes."
You tilted your head with a hum, a knot forming in your stomach. "I… Of course."
"Please, take a seat."
You did and he shoved the messages your way. They laid in your hand while your eyes flicked at him. The air had shifted again. That or you had imagined the way he behaved in the kitchen earlier. Nonetheless, something about Joshua had changed from when he found you in your cabin.
No longer was he the mysterious man trying to shield you from a force that you were unaware of, and no longer were you a damsel in distress to him. You wondered if that was how he'd viewed you in the first place, or that was just what you assumed wrong about him.
The ceremony has succeeded and the Divine Priestess has regained her strength.
"Airu has seen one of these up close," you said. "It's like a sacrificing ritual, something that happens willingly, but Daphne described it as something they do when they don't deem you worthy anymore."
Joshua's head came up. "You talked to Daphne about this?"
"She confided in me, yes, after what happened to Vince and the kids." You hummed. "Maybe they gather members they deem as unworthy — or too powerful, or even dangerous, perhaps — and convince them to give their life to the Priestess."
Joshua ran a hand through his hair with a sigh. "It's very upsetting to have to say it, but I think you're right."
"If she actually rules everything, and the Council and royal family are a pretense, she has to have a source of magic to turn to."
Joshua stayed silent, but his eyes flickered in a way you hadn't seen on him before.
"You and I both know that energy drains if you keep using so much magic at once, so if she has to keep looking for resources…"
"It has to run out eventually." Joshua blew his cheeks. "Gods, this is becoming more sinister by the day. I just fail to understand how we couldn't have found out this information before."
"These are unstable times," you said. "They're using it to their advantage and get as many people on their side as they can, especially now that the Blackspirian Crown princess has disappeared and the land will be under attack."
Joshua placed his hand over his heart. "Let us hope they will live to see another day."
You hummed. "We have a week until they attack and I fear their search for me won't stop anytime soon, since they can't find me anywhere."
"They're growing more and more suspicious of our spies," he told you. "They don't say it out loud but we have all the reason to assume that they're linking them up to their inability to find you. Minsu has even reported that they visited your cabin to find you're not there."
You opened your mouth, but Joshua shot you a look. You deadpanned him. "Maybe I can convince them not to attack, you just have to send me out there."
"No." Joshua took the messages back. "We have to find a way to dry out the Priestess' source of power."
"We have to get them out of there, then," you said and grabbed a piece of paper. "The spies are going back tonight. Give them the task to smuggle them out." You got up. "We can ask Daphne for people. I'm sure she knows a couple of names they can convince to come to us, start from there to thin out the organisation from the inside."
When Joshua stayed silent, you looked at him. There was that same twinkle in his eyes you saw in your first days, the smile on his face reaching his eyes.
You cleared your throat as the heat flushed to your cheeks. "My apologies, I got a little carried away."
"I'll get the message out."
Your head snapped up.
"There's a conviction in your words that I've never seen before, at least not when we first met." Joshua reached over and placed his hand on yours. "I believe you have found a new source of power inside of yourself. It makes you shine brighter than before."
"Are you flirting with me?" You teased.
He shrugged, a small grin tugging at his lips. He took the paper back and grabbed his quill. "Let me write the message. Thank you for your help."
You observed him. Any sign would do; flushed cheeks, avoiding eye contact, even a minor twitch of his lips, but it was like you weren't even there anymore.
As you got up, he lifted his head. His eyes scanned every inch of you until there was nothing left to look at anymore. "Where are you going?"
"I'm not of any help here anymore, so I will stock the potions in the children's wing," you announced and brushed the folds of your dress.
Joshua opened his mouth, but closed it. He smiled and nodded. "Let us meet at dinner tonight, then."
Even Daphne had raised her eyebrows when he walked in without his jacket, but she hadn't said anything. Neither would you.
Something hung in the air then, and that something bled into everything you and Joshua did together. Even a simple conversation made your knees buckle, your eyes wandering wherever he went to.
You walked into the children's wing and the eerie silence that fell over the dormitory made your heart drop. There was a loud scream and your head whipped to the window, a burden lifting off your chest.
In the middle of a crowd of children was Joshua. Still wearing his white blouse and a bright smile, still being his usual gentle and friendly self, but something was different once again.
With small steps, you made your way outside and hovered in the doorframe.
"There's only one rule in this game," you heard him tell the children. As soon as the last word rolled off his lips, he was gone.
The children were silent for a while. Heads turned to each other and soft mutters filled the front part of the garden.
A loud whistle silenced them.
You looked around curiously, your eyes landing on a figure tucked between the branches of a tree. Even from far away, you could see the grin on his face. You blinked and he was gone again.
Joshua appeared in front of the children again. "Catch me if you can."
The children erupted into roars as he made a run for it. At least a dozen footsteps bouldered after him, but Joshua disappeared again, popping up at the edge of the vegetable garden.
"We should split up!" Vince yelled. "He can teleport!"
The group broke off into four little clans, all running into a different direction. Vince ran straight towards the vegetables, but Joshua disappeared again.
You walked into the garden and sat on the porch by the window.
He sat on the roof of the playhouse, his legs dangling off the sides.
"That's unfair!" You heard Yui yelling at him. "Some of us are small!" She groaned when he disappeared again and trailed after the older girls.
Joshua popped up in every inch of the garden; between the herbs, in the playhouse, he even teleported himself up the roof. He was in the greenhouse, near the back entrance, everywhere and nowhere at once.
You watched with a smile, warmth spreading through your entire body.
Joshua appeared in the tree again, higher than he was before. He stayed there when all the children were gathered at the bottom. "What are you going to do now?" His voice echoed through the garden.
Yui flew into the air.
You shot up from the bench. You looked up at Joshua, but he just sat there watching. Your eyes scanned every one of the kids until you saw Vince, holding his hand up with his palm out. The higher he raised it, the closer Yui got to Joshua.
Yelps turned into giggles and soon, she sat in Joshua's lap.
Vince lowered his hand with a nod.
Joshua disappeared out of the tree, rejoining the children while Yui held his hand.
"Can we go again?!" Yui shouted and the children cheered.
He chuckled. "Let's do it another time, before my energy runs out. I need to get back to work anyway."
"Or are you going to Yin?" She batted her eyelashes at him with a sweet smile.
Joshua tapped her nose with a smile. "Yin is probably busy. She's taking very good care of all of us and that takes a lot of time."
"You should take care of her." She nodded determinedly.
"I will, dear." He stroked her hair and excused himself.
The children resumed to their playtime while Joshua came your way.
You waited for him, arms crossed and grinning. "You hear that? You should take care of me."
Joshua shot up, his cheeks flushing a shade as red as your dress. "Were you watching the whole time?"
"I'm happy to see you had fun with them." You bumped his hip before following him inside. "They have the power to let us be carefree again, don't they?"
"Yeah," he offered you a smile, "they do."
You halted him and placed your hand on his arm. "I was serious."
Joshua tilted his head.
"I am happy to see you like this. Less…"
"Stuck up?"
"Guarded."
He swallowed and dragged his foot back and forth.
You squeezed his arm lightly and smiled. "When I came here, I didn't know what to expect and to be surrounded by such… love, and care, it's the greatest gift of all. I have you to thank for that."
He wrapped his arms around you and you melted into his chest. And slowly, the pieces started to fall into place for you and him.
The network had been overridden by fear when one of the spies came back barely clinging onto their life. There was no doubt in your mind that the Silver Star was catching on and it could only mean how dangerously close to the truth you were getting.
You and Daphne spent the entire night doing everything you could to save her. She would be out for a couple of days, but she was alive. It was Minsu's example to Airu what could happen to them, but he proved himself incapable of changing his mind. Vault Nine had never been so close to the dismantling of the Silver Star, they made sure to leave their mark.
Daphne stayed with Minsu for the rest of the night, while you visited the children. The news had reached them as well and one of the members struggled to keep them calm. He sent you and Joshua on your way.
Yui clung onto you immediately alongside three other children.
Your heart shattered, but you kept yourself together for them. You kneeled down in front of them. "She will be okay. Daphne and I have taken good care of her, but she will need rest."
"We're scared…" Yui whispered. A tear rolled down her cheek. "Will they get us, too…?"
"We will protect you with everything we have," you told her. "And if they will get here anyway, you will hide like we talked about yes? Daphne will come and get you when it's safe."
You got up and brushed your dress off. "Alright, who wants to hear a fun story?"
The kids strolled your way, their eyes peeking at you curiously. They sat down in a half circle. Yui was at the front, holding one of the girls' hands.
"Once upon a time, there was a witch," you started and waved your hand.
The children gasped.
You looked next to you and a small figure had formed right where you hand was, shining a bright blue. Your eyes darted to Joshua, who was at the back of the room.
"She lived in a cabin near the woods, with a big tree in her backyard that she loved to climb." You waved your hand carefully and the figure was replaced by a tree, where she was hanging from one of the branches.
The children giggled.
"She had powers of the earth, and over the years she learned that she could do more than that," you continued. "She had the gift of healing. Healing wounds, healing plants, and healing people."
You glanced at Joshua, but looked away again. "But people were scared of her, scared of the things she could do, so she hid."
You created another figure, making the two meet with a wave of your hand. "One day, she met another witch, who saw more in her than she ever did. He made her see that she'd always been destined for more, to do and be more. She was surrounded by people like her, who made her feel pride instead of shame."
The figures disappeared and you closed your eyes. You thought of the crackling hearth, of the warm breeze, of the rain tapping against the window and the tree in your backyard. When you opened your eyes, the elements danced in your hand. When you looked at Joshua again, you smiled.
"She realised that she always had it in her."
The dread settled deeper into your bones with every second that passed. The urgency that Daphne rushed into your quarters with, the fear that flickered behind her eyes, you hadn't been able to shake it.
You had watched how she fell into Minsu's arms, who held onto her like she would disappear as well. They'd looked at you with such desperation and hope that all of your worries had disappeared in an instant. You couldn't afford yourself to crumble, not when they were already doing so.
Joshua showed little, if anything at all. His eyes flicked to you and he nodded. The words that left his mouth were as much a plea as they were an order. Four simple words that snapped you right back into focus.
'Do everything you can'.
You closed your eyes and hovered your hands above their body. They burned the closer you came to their abdomen and you swallowed. You placed your hands on their lower belly and beams of white seeped into their skin.
A faint breath of relief rolled off their lips.
When you felt again, your hands still burned. Their chest rose and fell in such weak motions that every one could be the last, every muscle in their body gradually relaxing.
You straightened up and it didn't take more than a simple look for them to understand.
Daphne collapsed to the floor in loud sobs.
Your eyes flicked to Minsu, who had one fist balled while his other hand stroked Daphne's hair. He gazed at you before looking at them. He peeled away from the older woman and walked up to the table.
You placed a hand on his chest and looked up at him.
Minsu scoffed and pushed your hand away, holding his own above the body.
"Think about what you're going to do now," you told him. When he didn't respond, you bowed your head. "Who is going to take their place? You?"
"If that brings them back, yes."
"You know it's not what—"
"You don't know what Airu would've wanted!" Minsu yelled. His eyes glimmered as his lip quivered. "How could you have known?! You've been here the shortest out of all of us and suddenly you know everything?!"
Joshua stepped forward, but you shook your head.
When you looked at the necromancer, his hands were glowing. "You know the rules, Minsu. The balance of nature is not something to tamper with."
"It'll find a way to repay me," he said tightly and closed his eyes.
"Airu never had plans to come back."
You snapped in Daphne's direction.
She wiped her tears and sniffled, scrambling up from the ground. She trailed over to Minsu, fresh tears rolling down her cheeks. "Airu never wanted to come back from this, you know that as well as I do. If they couldn't get their parents back, they would die trying."
Soft sobs escaped Minsu's lips. "I can't leave Yui all on her own… Airu needs to come back… For her…"
Daphne wrapped her arms around him and placed her head against his arm. "Bringing them back would only result in worse, dear… Leave them be…"
Minsu's pleading eyes locked with yours.
You offered him a weak smile and shook your head.
He ripped himself out of Daphne's arms and stormed out of the room. When she wanted to go after him, Joshua stopped her.
"Let's get the news to Yui before she hears it from someone else."
Daphne nodded and shot you a small smile before leaving the room.
You looked at Airu and crossed your arms over your body. "I didn't have the heart to tell them that there was nothing I could do apart from easing the pain."
Joshua slid a hand on your shoulder. "In that moment, it was everything."
You turned around and nuzzled your head in his chest, letting yourself be engulfed by him.
His fingers brushed through your hair. "Minsu tried to change their mind on many occasions, you know," he told you. "We all knew this day was coming, and inevitably, I think Yui knew this as well. She's a smart girl, and we will all take good care of her."
Your eyes welled with tears. "Gods, this is not how I wanted to spend my day."
"I think that makes all of us." He lifted your chin and cupped your cheeks. "Thank you, truly. Even if it was just to ease the suffering, I know that Airu would've appreciated your efforts."
You looked at Airu again. "We should fare them a proper goodbye."
"Airu wanted us to celebrate them."
"Then that's what we'll do." You peeled away from Joshua and walked up to their body. "We can bury them, but as a Fire witch, I can imagine that they would prefer to leave this land the traditional way."
Joshua pushed his brows together, to which you smiled.
"You'll see tonight."
In the garden, the network had gathered around a wooden construction you made with some of the kids, Airu on top of it. You stood in front, Joshua next to you with Yui holding his hand. The kids sat at the front, the adults standing behind them watching in an odd mixture of curiosity and grief. Only in the eyes of other Fire witches, you saw the recognition and most of all, appreciation.
"Thank you everyone for gathering here on such short notice," Joshua started. "This is not the occasion we would like to meet under usually. And in all honesty, it's still so early to truly grasp what has happened for all of us, I can imagine."
He glanced at you before his eyes flicked to the rest of the group. "I still want to take a moment with all of you to say goodbye to Airu." He looked down at Yui and smiled at her. "Would you like to tell us anything fun about your big sibling?"
Yui nodded. She let go of Joshua's hand and took a small step forward. "Airu is very funny," she started. It didn't take more than hearing her small voice for some to break out into tears. "Sometimes they think they're the funniest person on Earth, but I don't think that's true."
You chuckled weakly, along with the crowd.
"They visit every day and play with us. Sometimes, they stay so long that Minsu has to come get them because they forgot to work." Yui looked up at Joshua, who nodded at her. "Airu is also very sweet, and they do everything to protect me. And they make delicious cookies!"
He ruffled her hair. "Good job, dear." His eyes locked with yours and he nodded, taking Yui to the side with him.
You looked around the crowd. "The sight of what's behind me is probably a bit confusing to most of you," you said. "I didn't know Airu as you did, but I could see how proud they were of their heritage, of their powers and of their identity. When I just came here, I remember how Minsu told me that it would make sense and he was right."
Your eyes flicked to Minsu, who stared at the ground. "Airu embodied what being a Fire witch is all about: passion, adventure and determination. Albeit a bit stubborn, as well."
The crowd murmured and chuckled softly, followed by a choir of sniffles.
"And I've been here only a short time, but long enough to recognise how beloved they were in this network, and how great the impact of their passing will be on all of us."
You glanced at Joshua holding Yui in his arms.
He offered you a nod.
"To honour their memory and their legacy, we're going to do something that is traditional in the community of Fire witches." You locked eyes with some of them and smiled. "It would be my greatest pleasure if they could join me in doing this, for Airu."
Three came forward, one of which you recognised as one of the spies.
She nodded at you and stood in front of the altar.
You stepped aside with a smile, but they beckoned you. You laced your fingers together and stood in a half circle around the wooden altar. You closed your eyes and chanted along with them, the sensation burning in your chest as you watched the altar go up in flames.
The crowd was completely silent, watching the fire engulf Airu. The fire burned for the rest of the night as you lifted everyone's spirits by music, dancing and keeping the passion of Airu's legacy alive. And amidst all the celebration that they would've wanted, two new people had found their way to you by following the flames, as if the community had felt the loss of one of their own.
And when you finally had a chance to greet them, the resemblance had been uncanny.
You hadn't seen Minsu in such a frantic state before, not the way he was when the new people showed up. He had been yelling at Joshua all morning and you heard it all the way from the garden, where you were gathering the ash.
You put everything in an urn that you'd made.
"Thank you."
You jumped up, clutching your chest with a chuckle. "Gods, you scared me." Your face fell upon seeing the two people and you cleared your throat. "My sincere condolences for your loss once again. This must have been a strange sight to walk into."
"We held hope that they would've held out," the woman spoke. Her eyes were sunken in the back of their head, hair tied into a bun that nearly fell apart. Her body loosely hugged by a white dress with silver embroidery. Her breath was shaky when she exhaled. "Goddess, what have we done…?"
Her husband placed a hand on her shoulder as he looked at you. "We cannot do anything to erase or change the past, but we can redeem ourselves at Her mercy by doing what's right."
Your stomach turned upside down.
He held his hand out to the urn, but you held it against your chest. He smiled weakly. "I understand. Our redemption has yet to come."
You watched as they left the garden, the woman's cries fading into the hallway.
You made a mental note to speak to Joshua when you had the chance.
After a week, there was no news of the attack.
Minsu had gone back inside the Silver Star and you soon discovered that — once again — they found themselves in troubled waters with the Divine Priestess.
"That makes the time to strike right now," you said to Joshua. "She's weak. We can take her."
Joshua arched his eyebrow. "And who is 'we' exactly?"
"Me, anyone who wants to join. Who else?"
"I've told you before—"
You waved your hand. "I won't hear it anymore. I've waited long enough in hopes you would change your mind, but we can't just sit here and wait, Joshua. Sending Airu back barely clinging onto life was a message, and there's no doubt in my mind that their parents are our next."
Joshua run a hand through his hair and clenched his jaw.
You hated the way the heat pooled in your stomach.
"I have spoken with them on many occasions," he said gently, "they seem distraught, and most of all, lost. That's what we're here for."
"Then you know that they keep clinging onto their beliefs a little too hard. They're looking for redemption now, at my hands."
He shook his head quickly. "We're drifting away from our point, and mine stands."
"Mine, too." You turned on your heel. "I will leave tonight, and we will end this once and for all."
Before you were out of the office, Joshua's hand wrapped around your wrist. "I will not hear your pleas anymore. You have waited long enough now and we can't afford to wait any longer."
"I can't let you go so easily, not anymore."
Your breath caught, but you avoided his lingering gaze. "You have to," you whispered.
Joshua tightened his grip. "It would destroy me if something would happen to you. Their hold on everyone is so strong and I would never forgive myself if you suffered the same fate." He chuckled. "Gods… in all honesty? I don't know what I would do without you here, or who I would be. Change is already around us, and it's because of you."
He let go of your wrist, his hand moving to caress your cheek. "I have laid awake many nights, but since you have joined our forces I can't remember the last time that my mind was plagued with every little mistake I have made in my life. It's like you reside there, cradling me to sleep without a worry in my mind. Everything is you, and frankly, you are everything."
You felt yourself sinking when you looked up, the world that resided in his eyes swallowing you whole. There were no words that would ever describe the way you pressed your lips to his, ratio making way for desire and desperation. You had never realised the gravity of your statement until you melted into Joshua's touch the way you were meant to.
You clutched onto his white blouse, gripping it so tightly that your knuckles turned the same colour. As if he could come any closer, you pressed yourself against him. His hands traveled over your bare shoulders, brushing your hair to the side, leaving a trail of heat against the cold air.
He pulled away from you and kissed your neck instead, tongue swirling against your pulse. Your fingers laced in his hair and you tugged it softly, electricity shooting all the way to your core.
You lifted his chin and kissed him until your lips bruised. You felt your feet lift, light as a feather, as if the ground beneath your feet disappeared. You held onto his collar as you looked around.
Everything floated in the air, including you.
Joshua's chest rose and fell heavily as his eyes widened. "I…" He set you back on the ground and sat in his chair, pulling you on top of him.
"Let's hope I don't bury us underground," you said and kissed him again. You straddled his lap, your heart spiking when he moaned in your ear.
His fingers tugged at the cord of your corset until it came loose. His blouse followed and your nails trailed his bare chest, his muscles tensing underneath your touch. His hand traveled downwards while the other rested on your back, all the way up your inner thigh.
You lifted your hips, your eyes locked with his. His fingers slid inside of you, his thumb rubbing your clit. A wave of pleasure crashed over as you lowered on his fingers, your grip on his shoulders tightening. Your lips parted in a soft moan when you moved up and down.
"Fuck, you look so good like this," he said breathless. His lips found your neck again and your skin caught on fire.
The knot in your stomach tightened, making you throw your head back.
"Do I make you feel good?"
You responded with a moan, your climax crashing over you like a tidal wave. Your legs trembled when he pulled his fingers out.
"And that was just my fingers," he whispered against your lips. "I imagine what a mess you'll be after my cock and I get off on it."
You tugged on his pants, to which he chuckled.
"Eager?"
"Impatient," you shot back.
Joshua lifted his hips. His cock sprung free and the tip already leaked. He brought his hand down, but you pushed it away.
You stroke the length, twitching under your touch while you trapped him under your gaze. "You didn't need much to get so hard like this."
His breath caught, but he composed himself. The flicker in his eyes was desperate, nonetheless. "It was enough to see riding my fingers until you came."
You let the tip tease your entrance and bit your lip. "And that just your fingers," you whispered and sank onto his cock, feeling your core flutter.
Joshua's hands gripped your hips in a last attempt to keep himself composed. His hair stuck to his forehead, his chest rose and fell in heavy motions and his eyes pierced through you. He closed them when you brushed your hands through his hair.
You moved your hips up and down in a fatal rhythm, skins clashing against each other and your moans increasingly louder and needier. The deeper you felt him inside of you, the deeper you drowned in him.
When your lips connected in a last kiss, everything else around you died out. Your orgasm thundered over you until you saw stars. A broken moan escaped both of your lips and you crashed into his chest.
Joshua caressed your back and gently lifted your hips. Your thighs squeezed together when he pulled out, the heat pooling in your stomach. Your feet hit the floor, silky smooth under your touch. You looked down and tilted your head.
You plucked a flower from the ground and watched it fade in your hand. The rest of flowers disappeared like they had never even existed at all. When you looked at Joshua, your cheeks flushed. "Oops."
"Good to know that this happens."
"For future reference."
He chuckled and tucked a lock behind your ear.
You looked at him while he did. "Joshua, I—"
There was a knock on the office door.
Joshua hummed. He reached to the side and stretched his arm for his blouse. "Give us one moment," he called out and hoisted his arms through the sleeves.
You came off his lap and fixed your dress, tightening your corset around your waist.
He pressed a kiss to your lips and opened his book, his hand resting on the small of your back as he hovered over it.
You followed his example and kept your eyes on the letters dancing in your sight.
"I'm sorry to interrupt," you heard Minsu. Your cheeks flushed.
"What can I do for you?"
"We have to strike now if we want to stop them, Joshua." The pleading in his words struck a chord with you, making you look up. He held a letter in his hand. "I was able to intercept this message from the Council to the government of Qorath. They're going to launch an attack before dawn tomorrow."
You clenched your jaw and looked at Joshua, dread seeping into your bones.
He kept his eyes straight ahead, rubbing his chin absentmindedly.
"Joshua."
His eyes darted to Minsu.
"Now is our chance," he said urgently. "We have to do something."
"We don't have the forces."
You balled your fists, the crackling fire pulsing in your ears.
"Then I will gather them," Minsu told him determinedly. "Our window of opportunity is slim, and taking them by surprise is no option anymore."
Joshua shook his head. "I can't let you do this, Minsu."
"Then close your eyes and ears, because I will not let Airu's passing be in vain." Minsu turned on his heel and a blue light reflected in his face. He halted in his tracks and turned back, but his eyes were on you, blown wide open.
You gazed at him, the fire burning your hands.
"On the day that fire burns blue, The One brings forth everything true," Minsu muttered. His face hardened and he pointed at you. "You are going to destroy the Silver Star. It was prophesised and I'm not one to shy away from fulfilling prophecies."
Joshua grabbed your wrist when you wanted to walk out. He didn't say anything for a while, taking you in like you were the only thing in the world. He kissed your lips delicately and cupped your cheeks. "When you're done with them, search for a man with a golden ring around his neck," he whispered to you. "Tell him his little brother said hi."
The castle was on a suffocatingly high mountain, untouchable above the rest of the city.
From the large window, you looked out over Argentum in all its perfect glory. You refrained yourself from biting your nail, keeping up the appearance that you held yourself together while your heart was about to explode out of your chest. You were completely in white, a flowy dress that reached the floor.
Minsu was by your side, wearing a white cloak with silver embroidery. He held his head high, but his finger tapped against his palm in an unsteady rhythm. When the door opened, he whispered to play along and bowed.
You remained standing, staring right in the eyes of five similarly dressed witches. They all halted in their tracks.
"Council," Minsu greeted them stoically. "I have found her at last."
You looked from one to the other, but nothing seemed to indicate what you had learned before. They looked normal, sounded normal, there was no sign that anything was fabricated, or rehearsed in the slightest.
When you looked at the witch at the very end, his eye twitched. You turned your attention to him and took a step forward. "Good evening."
He immediately bowed.
You turned back around. "I was disturbed for this. Whatever do you need me for, if all people can do is bow at me?"
"Our apologies, Your Divinity," the tallest man said quickly. "We have prayed for your arrival for months, and as you can see we did our best to make your welcome unforgettable."
You lifted your nose in the air and waved your hands. The council came in motion and you followed them through the castle. You passed the Royal Chambers, but they were empty. They showed you the gathering spot for members, where they prayed and made offers to you.
You stomach turned when a statue of your own face stared back at you. They introduced you to members, who fell at your feet like you were their salvation.
When you looked over your shoulder at Minsu, he gave you a small nod.
"I have seen enough," you declared and brushed the folds of your dress. "Bring me back to the meeting room."
The Council formed a shield around you as you made your way back to the south end of the castle. The smaller of the men trailed next to you.
His eye twitched again.
You trapped him against the wall, the vines circling around his arms and neck. As the plants squeezed, he didn't move a muscle, dissolving into thin air.
When you looked behind you, the rest had disappeared as well.
"It can't be long until the Divine Priestess expects us," Minsu told you and grabbed your hand. He ran to the cellars and knocked a rhythm on the door.
From the other side, Daphne appeared.
You wrapped your arms around her neck and she returned the favour. "I'm happy to have you by my side."
"I can't pass up the opportunity to watch this place burn," she spoke and smiled at you. "And your water magic still sucks."
You bumped her hip and followed the two through the dark hallways. As your eyes adjusted, you saw Minsu reaching in his pockets. Something shimmered against the faint light in the distance, followed by a rattling sound. A door opened and Minsu hurried you in. He closed it behind him and pushed you through the hallways until you ended up in front of a big door.
All three of you looked at it.
"This is it, then," Daphne said, her hand squeezing yours. She looked at you with a small smile. "We're right behind you, okay? Nothing can happen to you."
Your heart pulsed in your ears. This was the moment you'd been longing for since you came, but your feet were unable to move. You weren't sure whether the adrenaline that pumped through your veins was excitement or fear, maybe a disastrous mixture of both. You were waiting for the moment that somebody suggested to turn back and leave all of this behind.
You remembered the way Airu laid on that table, how you watched their body go up in flames merely a week before. You remembered Minsu coming apart at the seams, the way he nearly sacrificed himself so that Airu could come back.
There was a burning sensation behind your ribcage when you thought of all the children that were in their dormitory, anxiously awaiting the moment that the Silver Star would dismantle your operation instead. The fear in their eyes as you came to comfort them, until there was no story left to tell them anymore.
You thought of Joshua's endless efforts, of the way he was scared to see anyone go in and not return, just like his brother had done. His brother, if he was even alive at that point.
You stretched your fingers and rolled your shoulders back. You observed the door one more time before you waved your hands. It exploded out of its lock, falling forward with a loud bang.
High upon a throne, tucked near the back of the room, was a figure. A white dress fell over the throne almost ethereally, a big star dangling in the setting sun. It got up at your entrance, long and slender. The swaying of her hips with every step, her bare feet clashing against the stone stairs, you had trouble to look away.
She stopped right in front of you and lifted your chin. Her cheeks were sharp, a pair of doe eyes trapping you where you were standing. Her slender fingers traced your cheeks as a smile decorated her soft face.
She stepped back and bowed until her head nearly touched the floor. "I have prayed for your arrival since the day it was prophesised," she spoke. Her words held a beat of excitement to them that made your stomach turn. "All the sacrifices I have made were all in your name, and now you are standing before me and I can't help but feel I haven't done enough."
You looked down at her and lifted your index and middle finger simultaneously.
The woman rose to her feet, but kept her head bowed.
"Have you ruled this community in my name?" You asked.
She nodded. "With so much love and gratitude."
You nodded and observed her one more time. You stepped back and waved your hand.
Daphne waved her arms and the particles in the air formed a big ball of water around the Divine Priestess. She pushed her hands forward and the water hardened up into ice, trapping her there.
The Priestess chuckled bitterly. "And that after everything I've done for you, sweetheart. I have built an Empire in your name, a solace for all of the witches that are scrutinised, and made out to be vile, and cruel when they're not. Are you really going to let them all down?"
"I am part of a haven as well, and we certainly do not feel as if we should take over an entire continent to prove we are worthy of existing." You walked up to the woman. "And maybe you shouldn't rely so much on prophecies the next time," you whispered to her. "You will be blinded by your own mind."
Amidst the ice, something red started glowing, but the more Daphne pushed back the fainter it became.
"We killed the Council." You shrugged. "We have counted on your weakening powers so the job is much easier for us." Behind you, the vines started to crawl up the block of ice. "Silver Star is going down once and for all."
"I can't hold her much longer," Daphne said to you. When you looked behind you, the blue glow around her hands was fading. "Be ready, sweetheart. It's going to be messy."
You shot Minsu a look. "Take her out of here and save as many people as you can. I'll handle this."
The ice fell down in big waves, nearly sweeping you off your feet. The Priestess took that opportunity to send a flame your way, but you thought of being taken away by the breezes of the wind, floating on the clouds and you flew in the air.
The Priestess followed you and used her fire to create a whip, but you countered with a rock shield, pushing it her way. She was too late to dodge it and clattered back to the ground. A sharp pain shot through your ankle when you landed, but you scrambled up before she did. You wiped a stream of blood from your nose and rolled your shoulders back.
"I've waited for this moment," you limped up to her, "since I was recruited. And still, I feel somewhat merciful despite everything you've done."
She spit some blood on the ground and got up slowly. "Maybe that is the wrong feeling going into this fight." She trapped you the same way Daphne had done to her before. "I have built all of this for you, so you could lead us to greatness and now look at you, corrupted by the wrong side."
You wriggled back and forth, but it only tightened around you. You clenched your fists as you glared at her. "You have never done this for me. There is no doubt in my mind that you hated the prophecy and did everything to delay my arrival. You've never searched for me until you had to, before you would lose your own followers over the promises you made for them."
"You have quite the mouth for someone who has hidden away for so long." The Divine Priestess walked up to you. "Just like the rest of them, you are a nobody. It is why your parents told you to leave and why the village never liked you. You are something they're scared of, such unexplained powers you possess."
Images of the blue hearth flashed, a burning sensation around your hands that was unbearable. You tried to wriggle yourself out one last time, but to no avail.
"You should've stayed in that cabin, where you were safe. And alone. All of this… mingling, has done you nobody any good."
The ice around you evaporated. A sea of blue flames shot from your hands until they engulfed the entire room. Everything around you went up in flames and the screams of the Priestess echoed through every cell of your body. The last thing you remembered was seeing her burning body clattering to the ground before the world around you went black.
A sharp pain shot through your head when you sat up. The mattress formed a dent where your body laid, and the faint scent of lemongrass entered your nose. You got up from your bed and tiptoed out of the room. You stood by the door of the garden, and through the window you could see how your herbs had turned brown. Your vegetables had rotten or been completely eaten away by whatever animal had found them.
You turned on your heel and walked to the living room. The crackling fire made your heart drop and you held your hands in front of you, taking careful steps forwards. Your head pounded and spun all at once, turning your stomach upside down.
In the kitchen was a man, his back turned towards you. His hair was gray at the roots and thinning out at the back, his stump posture covered by a brown jacket and similar pants. He turned around and a pair of deeply brown eyes twinkled in the late afternoon sun.
Your eyes welled with tears as you ran up to him. You fell into his embrace. "Papa…"
"My sweet bug," he muttered in your hair and pressed a kiss to it. "We are so relieved to see you are awake. When we got your letter, we were so worried. We came to your cabin immediately, to find you were not there."
"I'm so sorry," you sobbed. "I'm so, so sorry."
"You saved our community, my darling. I would never ask you to apologise for any of that." He lifted your chin and smiled. "I heard you took after your mother after all."
When you opened your mouth, the door to your cabin opened as well.
Your mother dropped the basket and ran up to you, muttering your name as she cried in your arms. "Oh, my sweet child. I'm so happy to see you."
You eased into her tight embrace and laid your head on her shoulder. Your eyes flicked to the last person, lingering in the doorframe.
Joshua offered you a smile and closed the door behind him.
"We tried to take care of your home as much as we could, but as you can see…" Your mother's eyes wandered to your garden, making you chuckle.
"You never had green fingers, it's forgiven."
She smiled at you and wiped your tears away, pressing a long kiss to your forehead. "I am so proud of you, bug. Our people can live to see another day."
You looked at Joshua. "What about the people inside?"
"Most of them got out," he answered. "The most loyal ones died in the fire alongside the Priestess. The castle went up in flames."
You nodded and stepped away from your mother.
"Let us tend to your garden," your father took the basket from her with a smile, "we'll be there if you need us."
You watched how they walked into the garden and the warmth spread through your chest. When you looked at Joshua, the feeling died out. "I'm sorry I couldn't get to your brother in time."
"You have done everything you could to stop the Priestess," he told you and cupped your cheeks. "We were lucky to pull you from the flames. Daphne nearly killed me over going in, but it was worth it."
Your eyes flicked to his arms. The skin was raw, burning a hot pink. "Joshua—"
"I may not have found my brother, but I couldn't sit and watch you go as well." He offered you a small smile. "I love you. I love you so much that I couldn't bear the thought of doing nothing. Even if it was a mere attempt, I could learn to live with myself."
"I love you, too," you whispered through your tears. You chuckled and your voice got louder. "Gods, Joshua, I love you in spite all of the chaos and suffering we have been through since we met. I don't know if I can ever love someone else."
"I hope you won't," were the words that Joshua kissed you with. His lips moved against yours deeply passionate, but tender all the same. He held you like you would shatter completely, but his grip was firm like he didn't want you to leave.
You held onto his blouse and let yourself drown in him.
"We all sought shelter over the lands," Joshua muttered against your lips. "I hope I can stay with you because your mother already gave her blessing."
"Let me sleep on that."
He smiled and gave you a last kiss before peeling away. "The kids are safe with other members. Minsu has taken Yui with him and once everything has settled down, we will reunite to celebrate."
You placed your hands on his shoulders and rubbed them. "For now, we can lead normal lives again."
"I can't wait." Joshua smiled and tucked a lock behind your ear. "How do I do that, again?"
You chuckled and slapped his chest. "First, you make yourself likable for my parents so you'll be a part of the family. Otherwise I have no choice but to kick you out of there."
"I'm already eligible to marry you in your mother's eyes. I think I have nothing to worry about." Joshua squeezed your shoulders. "Let's join them in the garden. The weather is nice outside."
You were happy to be a family again, but the greatest joy was giving Joshua one to be a part of. And you hoped that, now you lived to see another day, he would find his own one back.
synopsis: A beach summer with your man, Seungcheol.
tagging: @cherryberrycheol from that one blurb I sent you in Discord after you showed me the Dua Lipa pics
warnings: mdni, 18+, pwp, bf! Seungcheol, f! reader, fools in love, smut, oral (m. & f. rec), praise, cock drunk! reader, drool mentioned, Cheol big, mating press, creampie, squirting, praise, dirty talk, unprotected smut, mentions of cum eating, etc
WC: 2.4K +
[BE VERY AWARE, SMUT BELOW THE 'KEEP READING' TAG]
It's the middle of summer, and you're sitting on a little floaty, giggling as the sun rays warm you up and the water cools you off. You're not too far from the beach; the white sands are picturesque with the little beach umbrellas stationed every fifteen feet, and you can barely hear the jingles of the trolley cart being pushed as a man yells "ice cream!" for everyone relaxing on the beach towels. It's perfect- everything you could want- including Cheol.
Seunghceol's hair is wet, dripping with water droplets that slide down his neck and over his chest before rejoining the ocean, and his smile has never been bigger.
All day, he’s been your water boy, keeping one muscular arm looped inside your fruit-patterned floaty, anchoring you to him as he swims you around. The waves lap up his chest, licking up to his collarbones, and his arm is warm against your thigh as he paddles through the beautiful ocean. The sun kisses his skin that's not underwater, giving him a glow that makes it hard for you to look away from, and you want to kiss him, but if you bend over while he pushes up to meet you halfway? You’ll surely fall into the water, and the floaty will toss over both of your heads.
So you are reduced to strictly admiring. Admiring your lover as he carries you around, letting you tan as he keeps dunking his head down to look for the schools of fish that swim by. He'll pop up now and then, a beaming smile on his lips, claiming "it's so beautiful underwater!" or "I saw a fish!" before his arms flex as he pulls your floaty closer, like somehow you'll drift away from him.
You know in about two hours you both will wash up ashore, and you’ll get to see how his swim trunks hug his thick thighs and the way he shakes water out of his hair like some dog. Then you’ll finally get your kiss. It’ll be warm like the sun and a little salty like the ocean, but it’ll fill you up until he leads you to the restaurant you’ll be eating lunch at. You hope there will be fries and more kisses, and you squeeze his hand that holds yours, already requesting another kiss before you two even leave the beach.
Later, when the sun has finally set, and you're back inside your hotel room with Seungcheol, your kisses will linger - lasting longer until they finally deepen, and Seungcheol's hand cups the back of your head. It'll leave you breathless and a little dizzy, shared smiles dancing on your lips in between the kisses before he's got your body flushed against his.
You can still taste a little sea salt on his lips, his neck, and down his chest. And he still anchors you to him as you sink onto your knees.
But it's a different kind of salt you taste when your lips wrap around the tip of his cock, your tongue licking the precum that coats the globular head before you take more of him into your wet mouth. You can feel the way his thick thighs flex under your palms, his hand heavy on the back of your head as you suck and slurp until his cock is nudging the back of your throat.
It makes your eyes water and your jaw ache, but heat pools between your thighs each time your nose brushes his pelvis, and his moans grow louder, choking off between low praise. "Fuck- just like that," he inhales between clenched teeth, his eyes hooded as they meet your watery ones. "You're takin' me so well, Baby."
Your knees dig into the carpet beneath you, and your eyes flutter closed when his fingers twist in your hair, guiding you to take him deeper as his hips start to move. He eventually holds you in place, letting the room fill with the wet sounds of your mouth being filled with his cock over and over again. He fucks your throat slowly and deeply, enjoying the way your tongue massages the veins that pulse down the length of his cock as his precum coats your throat with each thrust.
You let him use you, your brain turning into mush as his chest heaves, and his words fall out faster in between his groans. "You look so pretty with your mouth full of my cock, Baby." His cock twitches and his hips stutter, picking up the pace as you blink up at him with tears on the tips of your eyelashes. "Oh fuck, are you already dumb off my cock, Baby?"
Your tongue swirls around the head of his cock, suckling the sensitive tip in response, and his knees almost give out.
"Yeah? There are no thoughts in that - hah - pretty head anymore, is there? You're only thinking about my cock - ngh, and my cum, huh?" Your nails dug into the sides of his thighs, drool forming at the corner of your mouth, making his cock slip in-and-out of your mouth faster, and his balls finally tense up. "Okay, Baby, I'll -ngh - give you what you want. Be good and take it all f'me."
It's the only warning Seungcheol gives you before his hips push forward, pushing his cock down your throat again until your nose is pressed against his pelvis, and then his cock swells.
He cums with a small "ah fuck!" and a deep satisfied sigh, painting your mouth white with his warm cum. He made sure you took it all, keeping your head down as he rolled his hips forward until his cock twitched with sensitivity, and you've milked him for every last drop. Then he pulled you off with a wet "pop!"
Your lips were coated with his cum and your saliva, and your tongue licked it all up before you showed Seungcheol your empty mouth.
You had done what he’d asked, swallowing his cum with a grin that made him pull you up so he could kiss you again. He didn't care that he could taste himself on your tongue; it only made his hands more feverish against your warm skin as you both stumbled towards the bed.
He pushed you back onto the soft mattress before he took his turn to kneel before you, his eyes meeting yours between your parted thighs. The smirk he gave you had tingles going straight to your core, making you clench around nothing pathetically as his fingers slid up your thighs, filling you with anticipation. "My turn, let me see that pretty pussy, Baby."
He drags your pretty panties down your legs with a slow confidence, tossing them over his shoulder carelessly as he gets an intimate view of your glistening cunt. You're dripping wet, just for him, and his big hands push your legs further apart as his breath fans over your puffy folds with a heavy hunger.
"Is this all for me, Baby?" He asks with a cocky grin, flicking his dark eyes up to yours as you suck in a quick breath. Your dress is pushed up to your waist, your breasts practically spilling from the top as he licks his lips, and a new wave of your slick pools.
"Always for you," you whimpered, and Seungcheol's grin was more than feral. His satisfied smirk is the last thing you see before he's burying his face between your plush thighs, licking a broad stroke up to your clit with his wet tongue. He groans from your sweet arousal dripping down his throat, and his fingers grip your legs tighter as he swirls his tongue around your nub, relishing in the way your hips buck up in response.
His tongue parts your folds, sucking, licking, and swirling until your eyes are blurry and your hands are pressing him closer as your heels dig into his shoulders.
Your moans grow louder when his tongue fills you, stretching your gummy walls around the wet muscle as his nose rubs your clit, overstimulating you and making your legs shake as he devours you like a man starved. He's hard again, and your moans only spur him on as he moves one hand from your leg to wrap around his cock.
He strokes his cock in tandem to his tongue fucking your pretty cunt, squeezing just under the head when you cry out his name like you're looking for salvation.
And when you cum on his tongue, you have both of your hands in his hair, keeping his lips wrapped around your puffy clit as he stops himself from cumming all over his hand like some teenager.
He thinks it's one of the hottest things to see you cum, your eyes get glossy like your cunt, and he's able to mandhandle your body into a nasty mating press as you blink up at him dazedly.
He's got your arousal dripping down his jaw, and he gives you a smirk as you realize he's guiding his heavy cock between your twitching thighs. "You can give me one more, right?"
You don't get the chance to answer before he's rocking the mushroom-shaped tip of his cock against your clitoris, sending pleasurable shocks throughout your body as he lets your arousal coat his shaft. He teases you like this for a moment, dragging his cock through your wet folds, building the same heat as before, low in your abdomen until you lift your hips to meet each one of his slow grinds.
"Please," your plea comes out wrecked and breathless, and Seungcheol's eyes almost roll back from hearing it. You're exactly how he likes you, needy and wanting, and his hand pushes your leg back further as he finally directs his cock to your entrance, letting you feel the stretch that is yet to come.
"Don't worry, I'll take care of ya'," Seungcheol promises, and then he's pushing his hips forward.
The head of his cock bullies its way inside, forcing your gummy walls apart, and your jaw drops. You've had sex with Seungcheol before, but you never could get used to the size of him, and the way he filled you. His cock grazes over every sensitive spot without even trying, and your velvety walls suck him in deeper until all you can feel is him.
His cock splits you open, his hands are warm under the back of your knees, keeping you spread wide for him as his thick thighs press against yours. His heavy balls are flushed against your ass as you take him to the hilt, and your breath comes up short, your mind spinning because you can feel him in your lungs; he's so big.
You end up blinking rapidly to clear the blur in your vision as you look up at Seungcheol. Hearts are already forming in your eyes as his cock reaches the back of your cunt, greeting your cervix with a filthy kiss as he bottoms out.
"Fuck, Baby." He sucks in another breath through clenched teeth, his head tilting up towards the ceiling as your pussy grips his cock in a tight squeeze. "You feel so good around me, fuckk -" Seungcheol's muscles strain, and the fact that if you keep squeezing him like that - he will cum - is swirling in his head like a warning system. He's not ready to tap out just yet, so he moves one hand between the two of you, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing sloppy hearts into the little pearl to get you to open up for him some more. "That's it, open up for me, Baby. Show me just how wet your pretty pussy can get for me."
He has your head falling back into the pillows, your fingers clutching the bedsheets, and just like he wants, your pussy drools heavily with each completed heart he draws on your clit. Your arousal seeps, dripping down his cock and your ass, and when you think he's just going to make you cum on his cock by only playing with your clit, he moves.
His cock drags through your sensitive walls, and the hotel room echoes with the obscene squelches of your sloppy cunt as he pushes forward again. He starts a slow and deep thrust, making you feel each time the head of his cock hits the back of your cunt, and you're forced to take it as he keeps you pinned underneath him.
Seungcheol's so big you can't see over his shoulder, all you can see is him. Him, him, him. His forehead is lined with sweat that drips down his chest. His tongue pokes out a little between his lips, and his eyebrows furrow in concentration when his hips roll in a certain way that makes you clench around him deliciously. It's too much, and you're telling him as such between your cute little "ah!" and "ohs!"
"Cheol! Right there - oh! - yes, yes, yes!" Your tongue sticks out lewdly, and your eyes water as he follows your orders, smacking the fat tip of his cock into your sweet spot - bringing you even closer to the edge.
Your nails dig into his biceps, leaving half-moon crescents into his skin, and your pussy slurps his cock deeper, gushing as your orgasm barrels through you suddenly. You're left speechless, your mouth dropping open in shock, and your eyes glaze over as you cum. You can only hold onto Seungcheol as your arousal comes out in waves, squirting onto his pelvis as he fucks you through it.
"There we go," he praises, and he's quick to rub four of his fingers over your clit messily, smacking the bundle of nerves until you're squirting with a little whimper from the back of your throat.
You make a mess on him, on yourself, and on the bed, and the sight alone has him orgasming right after you. He curses, and his cock twitches, swelling as he grinds into you with possessiveness.
His cum splashes the back of your cunt with white gooey globs of his seed, and it keeps going, filling you to the brim as he cums heavily with a deep groan.
Eventually, there's nowhere else to go but out, and when he sees his cum ooze out, mixing with your slick, he can't help but drag his finger through the mess before bringing it to his mouth to have a taste.
He hums; it tastes like sea salt, and he wants more.
대박 - you made it to the end!
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masterlist • part one • part two
When you inherit your parents' unpaid debt to the Devil, you're given two choices: serve their eternal sentence of servitude in Hell or negotiate a contract of your own. Surprisingly, choosing the latter and accepting a position to become his live-in assistant doesn't exactly dole out the torment you expect it to. As Hell begins to feel more like home than Earth ever did, both you and your impossibly ancient boss find yourselves navigating a far more confusing negotiation: falling in love.
PAIRING: devil!junhui x assistant fem!reader
WC: 19.4K / 40K (complete)
TAGS: crack, humor, roommate/boss to lover
CW: implied demisexual reader, corporate hell, power dynamic, demons, kidnapping, mentions of alcohol, mentions of vomit, mentions of eternal servitude, bad parents, reader has abandonment/attachment issues and is clingy, god is a woman, mentions of torture and people in hell, brief appearance of a cult/cult leader, mention of the orange man, jealous junhui, possessive junhui, he's toxic in this one and threatens to hold reader against her will lol
SMUT: marked at start and end, unprotected piv, creampie, virgin reader, possessive, fingering, oral f. receiving, sniffing? lol, his eyes turn completely black during oral, hickeys, biting, lotus, missionary, idk lmk if i missed anything
A/N: here ya go! lmk what you think! unless u hate it! then just scroll! LOL <3
DAY FIFTY-FIVE
YOU AND YOUR BOSS CALL IT A DAY AND RETURN HOME AFTER THREE SUMMONINGS, ONE AFTER THE OTHER. Today, you negotiated terms for fame and a plea for everlasting beauty. The last one, though, was interesting.
Jun had been summoned to a small apartment, where a single mother waited for him, begging for just enough money to send her only daughter to college.
"She just got into her dream school. She has scholarships, but it's not enough and I can't afford it. She has to go. She's been working for this her entire life.
I'll exchange anything you want. I'll pay every cent back if you want. You can have my soul, too. Anything—please. As long as you take nothing from her."
You were dumbstruck. Her daughter was living a life parallel to yours on the opposite track. Here was a mother who was willing to do whatever she could to secure her daughter's future, while shielding her from their struggles and from the consequences of dealing with the Devil. While yours… yours offered you to him on a silver platter. It was only by Jun's grace that it didn't work and another deal was agreed upon.
And it was by his grace again that this single mother wasn't given a deal at all. Instead, he told her this was a case better suited for God.
"I've already prayed so hard to God."
"She receives millions of prayers a day and does her best to attend to them. But I'll talk to her personally. She'll grant you a miracle that you won't have to pay her back for."
"'She'?!"
It was a short visit, but you know it's one you'll think about for the rest of your life—and maybe even well into your impending demonhood.
"That was really nice, Junnie," you tell him as you two slouch against the sofa, covered in ghost pepper chip crumbs and still in your work clothes—you in your stupid cloak, him in another jaw-dropping outfit—too lazy to get to your respective rooms right now.
"Ugh, don't start."
"What?" you laugh. "It was!"
"Yes, well, I'm not totally incapable of kindness."
"I know that!" you scoff, slapping the couch since he's too far to slap and you don't want to move. "It was just… very touching."
The silence that follows is a little heavy with a lot of unspoken words on your end, but you force yourself to sit in it. You don't know how long it's been when Jun says, "I know it's really gross and selfish, but I'm the literal fucking Devil so I can say this." You smile at the disclaimer. "I'm glad your parents were so shit." The smile is wiped off your face.
"Huh?!" you exclaim, sitting up straight to face him fully. "Why would you say that to me?"
"That's what you were thinking about, wasn't it?" he asks, the picture of composed as he remains unflustered by your outburst. He doesn't even bother looking at you when he says it, eyes lazily zoning out on the marble pillars bracketing the hallway to your suite. "How this girl has one parent who would do anything for her, including damning her own soul… and you had two parents who were perfectly fine with giving you away to the objectively worst person you can give someone away to? You were thinking about what must be so wrong with you that your parents couldn't love you the way that mother could."
It takes you a few moments to truly process what just came out of his mouth, and when you do, you're unexpectedly hurt by the words even though they're the same ones that have been bouncing around inside your head since the summoning ended.
You know he's the Devil. You know that thousands of years of stories and countless cultures have all painted him to be vile and cruel. Ruthless and merciless. But in the few months you've known him now, you've cast those stereotypes aside. It's clear to you that Jun is as good as you suspect God is—maybe even better honestly. After all, he's the one charged with punishing the wicked. He is justice and vengeance and karma, and while he can't deliver any of it while on Earth like God can, he still does it exceptionally well, down here in Hell. But even with how unfeeling his job forces him to be sometimes, he's been soft. He's been kind. He cares.
You would've never expected him to say something like this, and it's why you give him the benefit of the doubt before deciding to immediately start crying and screaming and demanding Hell expense you a therapist.
"What do you mean?" you ask hesitantly.
He shrugs, either missing how badly he's hurt your feelings or ignoring it. "I told you it was gross and selfish… but if they hadn't been so… nauseatingly despicable, you wouldn't have ever wound up here."
You pause, neither inhaling or exhaling—finding yourself kind of incapable of either, actually. You wanted to take a chance that someone wasn't trying to hurt you despite history saying otherwise, and you were right. Jun actually meant the opposite. In a really sad and messed up and yes, slightly gross and selfish way, the Devil was trying to tell you he liked having you here.
"DAD is over, y'know," you point out pathetically.
He chuckles. "Today was unique. You should remember you're appreciated today too." His voice gets stern all of a sudden. "But just DAD and today. Do not even think of feeling valued any other day of the year."
You grin. "Fine. I won't."
"Good."
You feel your muscles relax as you sink back into the cushions, relieved that Jun wasn't pointing out how unwanted you were by your own parents for shits and giggles. How funny—that in the end, you finally do feel wanted. By the creatures of Hell, no less.
"Do you have parents?" you ask quietly.
Jun inhales sharply, heaving a sigh before he answers, "The stars are my mother, the dawn my father."
You glance at him, ready to tell him to be serious, but when you see the wistful, almost sad look on his face, you know he is. You turn over onto your stomach, prop your chin on your hands, and openly stare at him. Feeling your gaze, he turns to look at you, one eyebrow raised.
"Do you miss them?" You don't know if it's a silly question to ask, especially since you can't fully wrap your mind around his parents being so abstract.
His questioning eyebrow lowers as he thinks over the question, those dark brown eyes piercing through you as he does. You think he looks human like this, so pensive and unsure. A world away from the confident, untouchable king everyone views him as. And maybe one time he was—human. You think you're lucky to be able to see him like this.
"It's been a long time," he finally says. "I sometimes think I don't remember them or that period of my life at all. But then I go to Earth at the magic hours just to catch a glimpse of them, and I remember that they named me Junhui—outstanding and bright. And I was loved… and cherished and so carefully raised to take my place here." He smiles a little sheepishly at you and shrugs. "And I don't feel like I need to miss them. They're everywhere I am and in everything I do."
You roll your lips between your teeth to keep them from trembling as your eyes water. He groans and rolls his eyes, pushing to get off the couch and away from you.
"Stop it!" you shout, lunging forward to grab a hold of his bicep and pull as hard as you can. Still, he barely budges and you know you only succeed at keeping him in place because he allows you to. "I'm sorry! That was just really lovely! And I'm already emotional from tonight! I'm only human!"
You mean it as a joke, but Jun looks at you with wide eyes, searching your face like he's making sure you're not going to have a mental breakdown on his sofa. When he sees you're not, he leans back into the cushions with you.
"Junhui," you repeat, saying his full name for the first time. "It's very beautiful. I love it."
He smirks but the blush that creeps onto his cheeks tell you it means more to him than he lets on. "Thanks. Don't go using it in front of everyone, darling."
"No promises," you joke. You won't. You knew the moment he said it, Junhui was something you'd want to keep for yourself.
You only remember your fingers are still wrapped around his bicep when he pries them off. You're about to rip your hand away and apologize, but then he transfers it to his own hand resting against his abdomen, staring down at it like it's the sky—something he'd travel to Earth every day to catch a glimpse of. He cradles your hand in both of his, so gentle, it makes you melt.
"I forget sometimes," he says. "That you're human." He traces the lines in your palms with his fingertips, the sensation sending goosebumps up the same arm. "It feels like you've been here my entire reign."
You laugh nervously, unsure why your palms are suddenly becoming clammy and your heart is thrashing in your chest.
"It's weird, huh? It's only been a few months." Jun nods as you take your hand back and wipe it furiously against your thigh under your stupid summoning cloak, hoping he doesn't notice.
"Do you still feel like you've been kidnapped?"
You blow a raspberry and pretend to think. "Uh yeah, because I was." He scoffs. "It might be gross and selfish to say, but I suppose I'm glad you did." You cringe at yourself. How was he able to achieve this kind of vulnerability without making it sound so cheesy? "At least I wound up here."
The smile that paints his face isn't like any smile of his you've seen before—so big and wide that his gums show and his eyes crinkle in the corners. His mouth makes that pretty heart shape you get to see so rarely, and it's impossible to refrain from mirroring his joy right back.
"Yeah?" he asks for confirmation.
"Mhm." You give it to him.
DAY SIXTY-THREE
"Hold it, please!"
You know from the way the voice doesn't gurgle with the sound of a little blood that it isn't any of the damned souls, so you comply, holding the elevator doors open for whoever asked you to (strictly forbidden for damned souls; in fact, you're expected to hit the emergency close button should any of them ask you to hold the doors). You shove a foot over the threshold without looking up from your tablet.
"Thanks," the man breathes, entering the lift. You hum in acknowledgment but don't bother looking up.
You instead try not to lose your concentration as you search for the best time to fit in grooming for Key, who you were just informed got thrown up on by another Hellhound who'd gotten into some cannibals while at doggy daycare. He will not be coming home with you until either you get him an appointment or Junhui himself cleans him up.
It takes you another minute or two and a few ascended floors to find the perfect gap in your boss's schedule for him to take Key over. You don't care that you're the assistant; you refuse to be near Hellhound puke ever again if you can help it. You send a quick ping to Junhui to let him know he will be taking his dog to the groomer before you finally look up.
"You're Y/N, yes? His Infernal Majesty's business manager?" the stranger asks now that you're not preoccupied.
You're put off more from the title than from the demon knowing your name. You look up to find a tall man, around Junhui's height, with a polite smile and long, luscious, dark hair that frames his face.
"Yes. Though 'business manager' is generous," you laugh nervously.
"That is effectively what your role is, no?" he asks, eyes twinkling as he tilts his head at you. "From what I've seen, you've really whipped this place into shape. You practically run half of Hell at this point."
"I do not!" you insist quickly, still overly sensitive to agreeing to anything that can misconstrue you as Junhui's opposite—or as Soonyoung keeps calling you, his queen. Ugh. "I'm just his assistant."
"Sounds like a gross understatement but fine," he relents. He places the hand not holding his briefcase against his abdomen and bows his head slightly. "I'm Minghao, from—"
"Minghao?!" you shriek, voice bouncing off the marble walls of the elevator. "Minghao from Accounting, Minghao?!"
He just barely subdues an amused smile and nods. "Yes. That would be me."
You fully turn toward him, tuck your tablet under your arm, and grab his hand with both of yours, shaking enthusiastically.
"Oh!" he startles a little.
"Oh my god, I have heard so many things about you," you inform him. "Your work on making filing taxes a never-ending form of torture was so impressive."
"Why thank—"
"I mean, making it so that every single box on the return references another form they're not sure they even have? Genius!" He grins wider as you shake your head in astonishment. "And that exercise at the soul intake window? The one that forces all new damned souls to do the math and figure out how many lives they could have improved if they hadn't carried out every, single bad decision they've ever made—is it true that was your idea?"
He blushes the way only a humble mastermind like him would. He coughs over another laugh and nods. "Ah yes, my first-ever contribution to Hell. I was just an intern back then."
Your mouth makes a small o at that piece of information you hadn't heard prior. "Wow. Truly remarkable."
"Not as remarkable as getting His Infernal Majesty to start an entire department dedicated to building a torture chamber specifically meant for the day that one, orange American arrives in Hell," he shoots right back, inspiring a roll of the eyes from you.
"Oh please. Bare minimum. Any respectable Hell would've already had one."
"Okay. How about creating Hell's first-ever paid holiday?" he points out, raising his eyebrows like he's suggesting it's something you can't refute. He doesn't know you, though. You can refute anything you set your mind to.
"That was more so I could have a day off than anything else."
"Still no small feat."
You shrug, not having much to say to that. If the demon is committed to complimenting you, you're not going to stop him. It takes him clearing his throat and pointedly staring down for you to realize you're still holding his hand in a handshake that's been long over.
"Oh god!" you exclaim, releasing him. "I'm sorry! Didn't mean to hold you hostage. I just got a little excited. You feel like some sort of celebrity."
"Is that so?" Minghao asks, pursing his lips to keep his smile from getting ant larger. "You know, Y/N, I've heard quite a lot about you myself."
"Like what?" you laugh. "I'm really good at annoying the archangels?"
He tucks the hand you released into the pocket of his slacks, and you take a moment to observe just how elegantly out of place Minghao is in Hell.
Every demon you've met here has an enchanting and almost uncanny beauty about them, which is probably mandatory for the job if they're meant to lure humans to Hell. But Minghao doesn't ooze chaos and destruction the way the others do. He doesn't have a frenetic energy that almost vibrates off the surface of his skin and threatens to suffocate you. He seems too mature for that. There's something ancient about him—not unlike Junhui.
"Actually, yes," he confirms, chuckling. "But I've also heard about your very attentive and kind nature."
You look up at him, mortified. "Someone down here called me 'kind'?" You don't take it as an insult, but you know depending on the demon who used that word, it could very much be meant as one. "Who was it? Was it Jeonghan? Because if so, you should know that the other day, that fucker voluntarily beat the shit out of the vending machine until it released my Snickers bar. He's the 'kind' one!"
Minghao laughs freely now and shakes his head. "No. No, it wasn't Jeonghan…" The way he says it makes it sound like he's in on some joke that he has no intention of filling you in on. You narrow your eyes at him, but all he does is smile that disarming smile. "I speak with His Infernal Majesty quite often."
"Oh," you utter, the anger in your posture deflating. "Jun said that?"
He smirks now. "In his own very cagey and obliquitous way, yes."
"Obli… quitous…"
He nods. "Roundabout. Indirect. Honestly, a little bit of a ramble."
"Oh okay. Obliquitous," you repeat.
He nods. "He's right. You're very endearing."
"'Endearing'?" you repeat, even more mortified than you initially were. "He called me 'kind' and 'endearing'?" Your mouth drops and you dazedly bring your tablet back to your chest as the elevator approaches your floor. "Does he hate me?"
Minghao coughs suddenly, waving a hand when you ask him if he's okay. "I'm fine. Just, uh, breathed down the wrong tube. Anyway, all I meant to say was I've heard a lot about you and you seem to be doing a great job. Hell is lucky to have you."
You feel heat rising in your cheeks. and you try your best to accept the compliment, nodding shyly. "Thank you. That means a lot coming from the demon that singlehandedly audited God's spending and actually succeeded in cutting her budget." You frown. "Actually, kind of rude of you. Stop silencing women."
He scoffs then. "She started it." Before you can ask what he means, the elevator dings a few floors below yours, and he sticks his hand out. "Well, Y/N, it was nice officially meeting you."
"You too. Don't go telling people I'm kind, though. I have a reputation to maintain," you grumble, slipping your hand into his and shaking it once more.
"I won't, promise. Just a quick one this time," he laughs, looking pointedly at your joined hands as the doors slide open. "Maybe we'll have more time for you to hold me hostage again another day."
You snort. "I'm—"
"Oh? And what do we have here?"
Junhui stands at the open doors, and even though his words come out light and easygoing, his face is so carefully blank, you're actually not sure you've ever seen him so expressionless. For whatever godforsaken reason, it drives a horrible chill down your spine and right between your legs. And for the first time in a while, you're reminded of what your doctor told you.
Arousal. You immediately rip your hand out of Minghao's, step away, and avert your eyes from your boss's prying gaze.
"Jun!" Minghao greets him happily, a mischievous lilt seeping into his voice. He's officially the first demon you've ever heard call the Devil by his name. "I've finally met your incredibly lovely business manager."
You quietly groan at the title, your face turning even hotter. You feel Junhui's eyes boring holes into your forehead as you busy yourself with the black marble under your feet. Very shiny.
"Hm."
"She's every bit as charming as I expected her to be," he says, confusing you because you're sure you were the opposite of charming. In fact, you might have been borderline embarrassing with the never-ending handshake and all the unsolicited fangirling. He steps forward, making to leave the lift but turns to you one more time and smiles. "Y/N, it's been grand. If you're free next week, I'd love t—ungh!"
Minghao stumbles back as Junhui yanks him by his collar, shoving him away roughly before he can barrel into your boss. He replaces the man in the lift next to you and shoots Minghao an icy glare, who has his own displeased frown on his face.
"She's busy," Junhui answers for you. "And come to think of it, you are too." His subordinate raises an eyebrow at him. "I want a report of how many improved lives the damned souls have counted at the intake window this week, complete with their full names and a brief summary of how their lives would have improved."
Minghao balks at him now, the elegance replaced by sheer disbelief. "We get millions of souls a week."
He finally smiles, but it's all kinds of wrong. Like a predator smiling at food. "I told you you'd be busy."
"Oh come on, dude, it was a joke!" he complains, scratching his scalp violently in irritation. He's also the first demon you've heard call the Devil "dude."
Junhui laughs, cold and forced, even bending over and shaking his shoulders as he does. He points at Minghao as he does. "Good one!" He stops immediately, his glare returning. "Get to work."
The doors slide closed, and the space is engulfed in silence as you rise toward the top floor, where both your and Junhui's desks await. You fidget in the wetness of your underwear, and you decide you will be sifting through that list of therapists when you get home.
"So. Business manager, hm?"
Your eyes widen. "I did not call myself that. He pulled that out of his ass! In fact, you should ask for two weeks of metrics as punishment!"
Junhui hums again but says nothing else, forcing you to exist in the discomfort of whatever just happened.
DAY SIXTY-FOUR
"What's this?" you yawn, rubbing one eye with a knuckle as you sleepily stare at the familiar red glimmer of a contract floating above your bed, where Junhui just woke you up for the day.
"Updated employment agreement," he huffs, turning away from you to leave your room. "Hurry up and sign it so we can get going."
You read the gist of it, scoffing when you finish. You sign as requested before getting ready for the day and meeting Junhui in the kitchen for breakfast and coffee like you always do.
"So. Chief of Staff, hm?" you ask, trying not to let on how pleased you are about your new title.
His cheeks turn a light pink as he shrugs, refusing to look up at you from his phone. "Business manager is a dumb fucking title anyway."
You grin, taking your seat at the kitchen island as he puts his phone down and begins pulling you an espresso shot. "Agreed."
He finally turns to look you in the eye, and when he sees you're serious, he smiles. A real one this time. He extends a hand to you, and you shake it, that same hot sensation taking over as your new deal is cemented in Hell.
"Congratulations on your promotion."
"Thanks, boss."
"Hm."
DAY SIXTY-SIX
"Hi, Minghao. Here for your meeting with Jun?"
"Sorry, so so crazy busy, cannot talk to you ever again, even if it's just a harmless fucking joke," Hell's accountant grumbles as he speed walks right past your desk and allows himself into your boss's office.
You frown, turning as your gaze follows the demon to the chair across from Jun, who simply slouches back in his seat, a smug grin on his face as he stares at an irritated Minghao. His eyes slide to you and his grin just widens. He winks and you turn back to your desk, blindly picking a therapist and making an appointment.
DAY SEVENTY
"So. Therapy, huh?"
It takes everything in you to keep from bolting out of the office. You sink deeper into the plush couch in an attempt to keep yourself grounded. The silver lining is that you're within proximity of God. She is walking these very halls as you breathe. That's it, though.
Heaven is entirely too bright and white and polite and full of talk about the weather (how much can someone talk about clouds?), and you would rather be cleaning up Key's vomit back in Hell.
"Yup," you answer, popping the p.
"And what compelled you to pick me?"
"I didn't. It was like… a blind box of therapists."
"And I'm your therapist Labubu?"
"Yes, Joshua," you sneer, rolling your eyes at the archangel, who's nestled into the armchair adjacent to you, his massive wings tucked in around him like a comfy cocoon. "You're my therapist Labubu."
The archangel nods, his expression surrendering nothing. "Okay, well, you can choose someone else if you're uncomfortable, but I'd like to let you know that should you remain my patient, anything you tell me will be kept between the two of us, and Satan will never have to know."
"What makes you think this is about Jun?" you ask, voice rising and heart rate spiking at the implication that he knows you're here because of the devil.
"I don't," he assures you, doing a fantastic job of not looking at you like you have two heads the way you would have anyone else. "Since our paths cross professionally, I just want you to know that everything that is said here will not leave this room. In case that is a concern for you."
"It's not." It is. It very much is. Junhui meets with Joshua at least once a week. He is the last person who needs to hear about your clammy hands and soiled panties.
"Okay, good."
"Great."
"So do you want to discuss why you're here?"
"No!" you shout suddenly. His eyebrow twitches—the closest it gets to a frown. He still succeeds in keeping his face neutral.
"Alright," he says easily. "We don't have to talk about anything in particular. Is there something you do want to talk about?"
"I… um," you stammer, stopping to chew on your lower lip.
You didn't notice Joshua was even on the list of therapist recommendations when you chose blindly. Why would an archangel be moonlighting as a therapist serving both celestial bodies? Does he not have enough responsibilities liaising between God and Junhui all hours of the day? Or managing idiots like Brayden?
"Why are you a therapist?" you blurt.
He smiles. "I've always liked listening to people and helping them through their thoughts and feelings. So I started with just Heaven. Then, my archangel duties took me to Hell, and I figured I'd expand my services."
"So you just have two jobs?"
"A few more," he admits. "I have many interests."
"And this is not a conflict of any of those interests?"
"Oh, no, it very much is," he confirms, nodding. "We just don't care here. There isn't exactly an abundance of therapists for our hundreds of thousands of angels and demons to choose from. So. We overlook some things."
"Right."
"Again, you're free to choose someone else if you'd like. I can give you a list—"
"No lists!"
He purses his lips and nods. "Okay." He lets the silence sit for a full minute before he finally asks, "Are you feeling alright? You're jittery today."
You exhale through your lips and nod. "Yes. I'm fine. I just… wasn't expecting you to be here."
He nods. "Fair. How long have you been with us now, Y/N?"
"Uh, three months soon," you say, unsure if that's even correct. Your mind is so foggy.
"Wow, time really flew, huh? Feels like there isn't an angel or demon who doesn't know who you are."
"I don't know about that," you refute, shaking your head. "I just have to talk to a lot of people on behalf of Jun."
Joshua nods. "Yes, I imagine you do. Well, either way, you've been doing a really great job. We notice it up here too; since you've arrived, things have been going very smoothly."
It makes you feel proud. "Thank you. I've been having fun."
"Good!" he says, sounding genuinely pleased that you like your job. "Plus, Satan has been in a much better mood these days. Less annoying."
You clear your throat to stop yourself from having a cough attack. You nod but say nothing else.
He smiles. "He's been a good boss?" You nod again. "I know the way you were… hired was a touch unconventional. Does it bother you at all?"
You shake your head. Other than the occasional jibe that Junhui kidnapped you, you wholly view your station in Hell, ironically, as a blessing.
"That's great to hear," Joshua says despite not actually hearing anything. "You fit very well with all of us despite being human. Do you feel at home?" You nod. If he's tired of your nonverbal answers, he doesn't show it. "And are you making friends?"
There's Soonyoung, who is determined to die at the hands of his boss because he never leaves you alone. There's Jeonghan, who frequently comes by to run his ideas for torture by you. There's Jeongyeon, who lets you cut all the damned souls whenever you want water and gives you all the best gossip. Junhui. Junhui, who has become the best of all your friends. You talk to your human friends less and less these days, giving you even less reason to visit your apartment on Earth. You're very much making a life in Hell. And you like it.
"I like it here," you murmur.
"What do you like?"
"Um," you start to rifle through the things that come to mind. In the end, you rattle them all off without much thought. "I like my home. Jun making breakfast. I like my work. I like being around people. My friends. I like Jun's pets."
Joshua shudders, and you stifle a laugh at the thought of all the stories Junhui has told you about the archangel's encounters with Lock and Key.
"I, um, think I enjoy it more than I did my life on Earth," you admit, feeling a little embarrassed to.
"Why do you say it like that?" he asks, eyebrows furrowing.
"Like what?"
"Like you don't want to say it at all."
You shrug.
"What was your life like back on Earth?"
You snort. "I was a bartender at a nightclub. I had a good amount of friends. My parents were absent, but you know that." He nods, giving you a comforting smile.
"It sounds like you had a nice life back on Earth."
"I guess." He makes you sit in the silence again, just softly smiling at you even as you start to feel awkward, picking at the nonexistent lint on your pants. When you can't stand the silence anymore, you tell him, "It was quiet."
"Nothing wrong with quiet."
You correct yourself. "Lonely."
"Ah," he nods. "Why were you lonely?"
"I lived alone. My friends were 'just for fun' friends—people who only hit me up for a good time or to get into the club for free. I didn't really know my coworkers much beyond covering shifts for each other. I was just… living day to day. I felt like if I disappeared, no one would notice." You pause and laugh a little as you come to the realization in real time. "No one did notice. I've been gone for almost three months, and no one has tried to see me outside of a night at the bar."
Joshua studies you carefully, and he must see something because he doesn't speak, allowing you to gather your thoughts before you continue.
"I can go for weeks without hearing my own name. If I didn't have the job I did, I think I could go for months without talking to anyone at all," you tell him, feeling an uncomfortably prickly feeling behind your eyes.
He hums, nodding. "How about now?"
You shake your head. "It's the complete opposite. I hear my name all day. Demons randomly check in to talk about nothing. They invite me places. They ask how I am. Jun always has ghost pepper chips stocked at home. He brings me to Earth to watch a movie I mentioned or visit a place I miss. I went to the doctor's early one morning without telling him, and my absence was noticed immediately. I feel… I feel… I don't know how I feel."
"Wanted, maybe?"
The word punches a hole through your chest. You inhale deeply. "Yeah. Wanted. I feel wanted. Like I matter here. Like…" There's suddenly a knot in your throat and you recognize too late that the prickly feeling are your tears fighting for release. "Fuck."
You turn away from Joshua and wipe at your eyes, mortified to be crying in front of your boss's colleague.
"Here." A tissue box prods at your knee and you take it without looking at him.
"Thanks."
"What's going through your mind?"
You press a tissue to your eyes, and when you're certain you won't start sobbing out of nowhere, you face Joshua once more, crossing your arms and driving your back into the couch as far as you'll go.
"I was just thinking that I feel like I belong somewhere. Like…" You clear your throat and roll your eyes at yourself. "Like, if I disappeared, someone would actually miss me."
"Someone?"
You look up at him, finding that same, neutral, unjudging face. He smiles at you encouragingly, and you only understand now why Joshua is a therapist. He's fucking good at it. You told him you didn't want to talk about why you came here, and now you're doing even worse—you're talking about the real reason why you came here. The reason you weren't even consciously aware existed. Because the truth is, you feel like if you disappeared right now, there isn't anything Junhui wouldn't do to make sure you made it back home. And you've never had that.
Your doctor had it right. It's not so much the things about Junhui you find attractive. It's the fact that you feel like he cares. He cares deeply—enough to want to provide a safe space for you.
"I don't know, this is dumb."
Joshua raises his eyebrows at the sudden retreat back into your shell. "Why do you think so?"
"I'm crying because people notice I exist," you scoff, shaking your head at the ridiculousness. "It's pathetic."
"No," the archangel insists, correcting you gently but firmly. "It's not pathetic. It is innately human—actually, it's not even human. All creatures crave that. Demons and angels included." He adjusts himself in his seat, the feathers of his wings ruffling as he does. "Have you ever thought about the possibility that it isn't that you're crying because people notice you exist? That maybe you're crying because for the first time, existing doesn't feel like something you have to justify?"
You frown. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, before, your existence seemed to hinge on how fun you could be to your friends or how useful you could be to your coworkers—things meant to justify why you should matter to them, right?" You don't answer. "Well, here, you get to experience what it's like to simply… exist, period. You don't have to do anything other than be exactly who you are here, and people still care about you. People still want you around. You don't have to offer anything to feel like you belong." He pauses to let his words land before he eventually asks, "Is it possible that's why you're crying?"
Your tears slide down your face quickly, one after the other, and you groan, plucking several more tissues out of the box and burying your face into them.
"Fuck, you're really fucking good at your job, you motherfucker," you practically wail into your hands.
"I think this has been a very productive first session." His voice is so smug.
"Yeah, I bet you do!" You're met with the melodic chuckles of an angel.
DAY EIGHTY-ONE
You think you're being much too obvious that something fundamental has changed inside you. Junhui watches you carefully these days, a little more than usual.
The man has taken to waking you gently in the morning, simply laying a warm hand on your shoulder and squeezing instead of ripping your blankets and eye mask off. He also lingers a little before going to the kitchen, asking how you slept and if you feel okay. He tells you to take your time in the mornings, blocking out the first few hours of his day so the two of you don't have to rush into work. Throughout the day, he'll poke his head out of his office and ask you how you are, and on more than one occasion, he's forced you on a break to walk with him or even visit Earth for a meal. And weirdest of them all, he cooks dinner for you. He only knows how to do hotpot, but it's still surprising to you.
It isn't that you aren't grateful for the gentle treatment; you love it, actually. You think it's the most regulated your nervous system has ever been in your entire life. It's that now that Joshua has helped you identify how badly you crave stability and safety and unconditional love and care, Junhui's change of pace is inspiring dangerous feelings you don't think you ever learned how to properly feel in the first place.
"Why are you being so nice?" you blurt out over the table.
He looks up at you from the belt of revolving sushi he had been relentlessly staring at. He's been pulling all your favorites without being told, never missing a single plate that crawls by even though you're pretty sure you can't eat anymore. Junhui doesn't answer right away, taking his time watching you like he always does. And usually, that's fine. Today, you fidget uncontrollably.
The Devil shrugs. "I told you. I'm capable of kindness."
You roll your eyes. "Stop. You know what I mean."
"Maybe I don't."
You glare at him before glaring at the restaurant around you pointedly. The restaurant he whisked you away to for lunch in the middle of the day despite having a packed schedule of meetings. Meetings he had you cancel for him.
He smirks, unashamed of being caught so blatantly lying. He reaches for the spicy tuna, popping it into his mouth and leisurely chewing, not-at-all in a rush to answer your question.
"You're being weird."
"Am I?" he asks around his food. "Why do you say that?"
You don't want to have to say it out loud because how do you even explain to your boss that his behavior is weird because it's making you feel valued? "You just are" is the genius answer you settle for.
He sighs when he finishes swallowing, putting his chopsticks down and leaning back. "You've been visiting Joshua a lot."
You nod. It isn't a secret you've been seeking therapy. But try as he might to get you or Joshua to tell him anything, everything else about your appointments has—thankfully—remained a secret.
"Can you blame me if I'm concerned that you've visited a therapist three times in the last 10 days?" he asks, glowering at nothing in particular.
You snort. "Therapy is good for you. You should try it."
"I'm a million years old," he spits your most-used hyperbole to describe everyone in Hell back at you. "I have been in and out of therapy before therapy was even a word." You raise your eyebrows at the admission. "Don't look so surprised." He smirks when he quotes you, "Therapy is good for you."
"Well, I'm fine," you tell him. It's the truth. You're more than fine; you're happy. Your appointments with Joshua so far have revealed that much. Now, you're just sifting through the confusion of being employed by someone you've come to think of very fondly. And that someone doesn't need to know that. "You don't have to worry."
His smirk fades, and he leans forward, openly staring at you as he does. "But I do worry. So that can't really be helped, hm?" You open your mouth, but he doesn't let you respond. "Are you happy?"
You make a surprised noise at the question, but when he sits in silence, waiting for your answer, you nod quickly. "Yes, Junhui. Of course I'm happy. I'm not seeking therapy because I'm unhappy."
"Then, will you tell me why you are seeking therapy?"
"That is sensitive information you shouldn't be asking about!" you admonish him, feeling your cheeks heat up at the mere thought of telling Junhui why you needed an appointment in the first place.
"I'm the Devil. I can ask whatever inappropriate question I want," he grumbles. When that doesn't work on you, he sighs. "Fine. But you promise you're okay?"
It makes your heart want to burst. "I promise. I am very happy."
He smiles a little at that. "And you promise if that changes, you'll let me know?"
You roll your eyes. "Yes. I will let you know. Is that all? Your weird behavior was just you being worried?"
He shrugs but says nothing else. That "weird" behavior you love so much doesn't stop even after Junhui seems to accept your assurances as truth, and you're secretly glad for it.
DAY EIGHTY-NINE
"Congratulations on completing your probationary period."
"Junhui, can you hurry up?" You complain as you open an email invitation requesting his presence at what is essentially Hell's Met Gala—except instead of fashion, they appreciate their own torture methods. "I have, like, 20 Ouija Board calls to screen."
"Please put your tablet down for one minute so I can give you your first performance review."
"Hold on."
He barks a singular, disbelieving laugh but allows you your one moment as you respond "Yes" to the invite. You also make a note to have him fitted for whatever ridiculously attractive outfit he wants to wear to what you've now decided to call Hell Gala. Something with abs showing, you note.
You saw his abs a total of one time. You had woken up early for once after Lock had pounced on your chest and scared the ever living shit out of you. Unable to go back to sleep, you made your way to the kitchen to find Jun dialing in the espresso, nothing on aside from black silk pajamas hanging for dear life on his hips. He'd turned around and made the most interesting noise as he flinched in surprise. You couldn't even make fun of him because your eyes zeroed in on the muscles rippling across his torso. You didn't expect your boss to look like a chocolate bar. And if it were you, you would go everywhere shirtless. You're not sure why he doesn't, but you should probably be glad you don't have that distraction to worry about.
You pucker your lips in thought before adding an extra note: Probably wants to wear black, but let's float the idea of hot pink.
You lock your tablet, rest it against your lap, and smile widely at him. "Alright. Ready."
"Thank you so much for gracing the King of Hell with your attention," he grumbles as he turns to his right. A screen materializes—a shimmery red that displays what you know is information about your performance.
"You're very welcome, Junnie."
He shakes his head, muttering things under his breath before he starts.
"You are a very effective employee," he starts monotonously. "You do your job very well, you have made life very efficient, and the demons all love you. Well, as much as a demon can love, I suppose."
You think it's the Soonyoung-shaped conscience you've unfortunately developed that prompts you to ask, "Can demons… not love…?"
Jun frowns at the question. "They can." Relief, curiously, is the first feeling that washes over you. "It just takes an insane amount of time. Probably more time than it's worth. Y'know… bloodthirst and a general craving for chaos can get in the way of other feelings sometimes."
You snort. "Right."
"Now, let's go over some of your big wins and room for improvement." He reads off the screen. "Big wins: everything you've done thus far… improvements… none." He narrows his eyes as they slide to you.
"Amazing!" you exclaim, clapping and moving to stand. "Thanks, boss! I'll continue doing an impeccable job and get back to screening those c—"
"Sit."
You squeak in surprise as the chair behind you jerks forward, forcing you to fall back down on it. You gasp in disbelief. "What was that for?!"
"I don't know, going into my computer and messing with your review notes, for one? How did you even get into this? It's literally in my mind." He pauses momentarily before muttering, "You're going to make a fantastic demon, it's infuriating."
You roll your eyes. "Why do we even need to do this? Since when have you cared about performance reviews?"
"Demon Resources insisted I at least do your 90-day probationary review so they have it in their records. For what, I do not know, and I do not care. But they did just have a record quarter with their torture retention, so I will give them this one thing as a reward."
You groan. "I have so much work to do!"
"I'm your boss. I say you have no work right now, so you have no work right now. Sit still, let me review you, and this will go faster than it currently is with all of your interruptions!"
You sigh, annoyed that you find his rising voice attractive. "Fine."
"Big wins!" he shouts, emphatically shoving his sleeves up his forearm and leaning toward his screen, glaring at it as it deletes what you'd written. It begins writing new notes as he speaks. "Since your employment, scheduling conflicts have decreased by 96 percent."
You smile smugly.
"Thanks to your help, we've able to hit all our targets on pace, and several demons and department heads have personally reached out to me to tell me you've helped them a great deal."
Your mouth drops open in delighted surprise. "Like who?"
Junhui scrolls for a little. "Ah, here it is. Jeonghan said, 'Thanks for letting us use Y/N for the latest brainstorm on our automated torture project. She's insane and her contributions were better than my useless demons.' Insane used positively, of course."
"Of course," you agree, grinning. "Go on."
He gives you a flat look.
"What? If you're going to review me, you should tell me these things, no?"
"Don't let 'em get to your head, darling," he murmurs, oblivious to how the pet name now makes you squirm. He reads on. "Seungkwan said you're a 'joy' to work and talk shit with." He cocks an eyebrow at you. "Should I be worried?"
"I have never talked shit about you, Junnie."
"Hm." He returns to the screen. "Minghao said—" He cuts himself off, his expression turning dark immediately as he reads on without reciting it.
"What?" you ask. "What did Minghao say?"
"Nothing," he says, skin turning a dark pink as he scrolls back to where he originally was. "Anyway, like I was saying, your contributions are very valuable." He doesn't let you get a word in, barreling on so you don't have the space to. "You do a fantastic job negotiating contracts during summonings. In fact, you would do very well in Contracts and Collections once you're a demon in case that option interests you."
You find that it does and lean forward. "As in, I would only do summonings?"
He hums a yes. "And debt collection. You'd take lower-level calls that don't explicitly ask for the Devil."
"Ah, so no longer with you."
He hesitates but ultimately shakes his head. "No." He takes a deep breath before reminding you, "Your time with me will be complete once your human life ends. You'll be free to do as you wish once you're a demon."
"What if I want to continue being your assistant?" you ask, frowning.
Jun looks confused. "Why would you want to continue being my Chief of Staff?" he asks, subtly correcting you.
"Why wouldn't I…?"
The question stumps him.
"I like this job," you say when he remains silent. "Who knows, I might change my mind since I have quite some time before I die, but I really like doing this."
"Sure, but enough to do it… forever?"
You raise an eyebrow at him. "You know, you're lucky I'm in this role because you would never be able to sell it to anyone else." He continues staring at you blankly. "Yes, I would not mind being your Chief of Staff forever."
Your boss's stare is relentless, and you're almost convinced he managed to completely dissociate while you were talking. After a long, painstaking silence, though, he finally speaks, and when he does, you wish he hadn't.
"That's not a good idea," he announces, leaning away from his computer. The screen disappears altogether.
"Huh? Why not? You just said I'm a very effective—"
"The agreement explicitly states that employment will end upon your human death," he says, clearing his throat uncomfortably. His Adam's apple bobs a few times, and you kind of want to punch it because of how annoying he's being right now.
"The agreement doesn't say anything about me not being allowed to continue working the same role after, though."
"I don't care what the agreement says."
"You're the one that just referenced the agreement!"
"Don't care. I say it's a bad idea."
You glare now. "It's fine if I'm doing it to escape the debt of my asshole parents, but once I actually have the autonomy to choose to work for you, it's suddenly a bad idea?"
Jun exhales slowly. "It's not like that. But even if it were, I'm within my right to choose when it is and isn't 'fine.' I'm literally the—"
"The Devil! We fucking know!" you shout in frustration. Junhui's face settles into an eerily calm expression as he watches you with slightly narrowed eyes. "You're the Devil and you get to do whatever you want—I know. I also know you're never going to find someone better than me for this job."
"That won't be your concern once your contract is over."
You feel a horrible tightness in your chest. Of all the feelings you had been sorting through in therapy, you never considered that fear should be one of them. You never stopped to be afraid you could lose any of this; in your mind, this was eternity. This was it. You exhale a single laugh and shake your head.
"I did do something wrong, didn't I?"
"What?" He tilts his head at you, perplexed.
"When you were sick. I did something wrong." His face falls at the mention and you know you've hit the nail on the head. "Right? That's why you were giving me the cold shoulder, and that's why you're saying I shouldn't work with you anymore once I'm a demon." He doesn't answer, his eyes coming down to his desk as he thinks back to his bout of the Demon Flu. "So what was it? What did I do? I can't properly apologize until you tell me."
"You didn't—"
"Bullshit." He raises an unimpressed eyebrow at you, but it doesn't scare or deter you. "Did I cross a boundary? Maybe I shouldn't have entered your room or helped you eat or… whatever it is you're mad about—"
"I'm not mad."
"—but if that's why you don't want me to be working under you anymore, that's a dumb reason! You love me being your direct report!" you insist. The tips of his ears turn a bright red and he can't meet your gaze, eyes flying about the room. "And I know you would love to have me as your Chief of Staff forever! Now tell me what I did so I can apologize!"
"I have to go to Earth for business," he says abruptly and stands.
"No, you don't. We have 45 minutes left of this stupid review you wanted to do so badly. So review me. Tell me what's so wrong with me being your Chief of Staff."
"I will be back late."
"What?" you ask, voice coming out small and helpless as all of your stubbornness is immediately forgotten. "How late?"
"Not that late," he walks his words back immediately, shaking his head frantically and waving his hands to retract his statement. "Actually, not late at all. Sorry. Uh, I'll be quick. I'll be home before you go to sleep. I just—I'm—yeah, I need to go."
"Junhui, what the fuck is—" He disappears without another word, nothing but red flecks of light and dark smoke in his wake.
DAY NINETY-FOUR
If you thought what happened the week following Junhui's Demon Flu was bad, you were wrong. Because this time, it isn't even fully a cold shoulder, which you can stomach since that's an obviously petty response to something. No, this time, it just feels like you've been put in a box, forbidden to interact with Junhui at all. You hardly see him anymore, and when you do, it's only brief glances as he makes his way to whatever next meeting he scheduled himself. You haven't added anything new to his calendar in days.
You know what you did wrong; you pushed on a boundary that, although he never verbally expressed, he had still drawn clearly. You pushed and pushed and pushed, and he snapped, and now everything that has to do with you makes him uncomfortable. And it deeply hurts your feelings.
You just wanted to keep being his Chief of Staff after death. You thought that would be a good thing—flattering, even. That in your death, you would still choose to sit outside Junhui's office, answering his phone and fielding calendar invitations and spending time with someone who felt like the first real friend you had in ages. Not someone who thought you were a fun time out, or someone who liked that you got discounts at the bar you worked at, or someone that only ever talked about themselves and never cared to know anything about you. But an actual friend.
And that's probably where it all went wrong anyway. Even the Devil understands professionalism. You have no business being friends with your boss. You're his roommate, and that's already so questionable on so many levels. Now that you've had all week to think about it, you recognize that your insistence that you stay his assistant is just another symptom of your fear of being left behind. The Contracts and Collections role didn't sound bad at all until he confirmed he wouldn't be with you. Then, it sounded like the dumbest job in the world.
Junhui could probably sense your desperation for friendship—for his friendship—as you pressed him for an answer during your probationary review. And of course that would be weird and uncomfortable. You put him in an awkward spot, and now you have no idea how to properly apologize, especially because you're still not confident you wouldn't still fall to your knees begging to keep this stupid job once you die.
What has your life come to?
"I don't know, what has it come to?"
You jump, turning to find Soonyoung entering the mail room again. You sigh, putting the fan letter to Jun you were failing to comprehend and respond to back down on the desk.
"I don't know," you mutter. "Sorry, didn't realize I was talking to myself."
He raises his eyebrows. "Whoa, no sarcastic quip? What's wrong?"
You look around. Save for a pair in the corner raiding the supply closet for packing tape to wrap a damned soul in, you and Soonyoung are alone in the room, and you've gotten to know the demon well enough that you think sharing some of your woes with him wouldn't be so bad.
"I have bad abandonment issues."
He freezes for a moment before dumping the packages he came in with into a random cart and taking the seat next to you. "Damn. That's heavy."
"Yeah."
"Parents or a bad ex?"
You snort. "Parents. I've never even been in a relationship."
"Oh. Do you want to talk about it?"
You shrug. "I have a therapy appointment soon."
He laughs, looking at you like you're silly. "Okay, that's nice, but you can still talk to a friend about your feelings. You don't have to wait to see your therapist."
Soonyoung turns his body to face you fully, propping his chin in his hand and giving you all his attention.
"C'mon. Tell Soonie all your woes. I'm listening."
Normally, you'd probably slap him and shove him away, telling him to leave you alone unless he has stories to share about his hot Earthling witch. But you've been sensitive about your review and Junhui's switch-up on you, so instead, you start to weep at the extended kindness.
"Oh!" Soonyoung squeaks, panicked. "Oh devil, don't cry! What's going on?" He scoots his stool closer to yours and wraps an arm around your shoulders. "Hey!" he calls to the other two demons. "Get out of here! We need the room."
They oblige, shooting you worried glances as they scurry out with arms full of packing tape.
"What's wrong?" he asks softly once you're both left alone in the mail room.
"I had my performance review," you tell him, sniffling. "And it was going well, but then—but then, Jun said he doesn't want me as his assistant anymore once my contract is over."
"Huh?" The demon sounds as confused as you feel. "Why not?"
"I don't know!" you wail, startling him a little. "He wants to transfer me to Contracts and Collections once I die! He got so weird and… and… cagey about it, and he just left without having a proper conversation! And he hasn't talked to me since then!
"He doesn't wake me up. He leaves breakfast and coffee, but he doesn't wait for me to go to the office with him. He schedules his own meetings. He doesn't ask me for anything, not even hot pot. He hasn't talked to me—hasn't even looked at me!"
Soonyoung's palm starts to rub circles into your back as your crying becomes more and more hysterical.
"It's like he suddenly hates me!" you hiccup. "And I know that maybe I haven't been the most p-professional because I—I treat him like too much of a friend or a roommate or, or, or—whatever. But I thought we were friends. If he felt like I was crossing boundaries, why didn't he just say that?! He doesn't need to… to transfer me!"
"Hey, it's okay," the demon says soothingly. "He doesn't hate you. Anyone with eyes knows he doesn't hate you. Even the damned souls who've had their eyes gouged out know it. That can't be why he's transferring you."
"What else would it be?!" you shriek. "I kick ass at my job! My performance review said as much, anyway!"
"Why don't you just… ask him?"
"Because he won't talk to me!" you repeat, the words sending your forehead forward until it meets the desk with a thunk. Soonyoung makes a startled noise, his hand hovering over your slumped figure hesitantly. "And I'm scared."
He freezes, a shit-eating grin growing across his face. "You're scared? Of the Devil you swore wasn't scary?"
"Oh fuck off!" you wail, your tears making it impossible to see.
"Okay! Sorry! Sorry! Bad time!"
"What if I talk to him and he just fires me? Then, what? What happens to me? Where do I live? What do I do? Who will care if I'm not there one day?"
Soonyoung inhales sharply and says your name softly. "Do you really think no one else would care if you just… stopped showing up?" he asks, no judgment in the question. When you don't answer immediately, he assures you, "Because we would. We all would. You don't have to stay in that position or be around Jun 24/7 for somebody to care about you."
Your eyes widen at his use of your boss's name, but he doesn't panic or take it back or start stuttering out of fear like you think he normally would. Instead, he just shakes his head at you, brushing your hair out of your face and catching a tear with his knuckle.
"When you become a demon…" he says quietly, "you'll have your own living quarters in any part of Hell you want. You can even move into the lot next to mine. And if that's still not close enough to a friend, you can just be my roommate. Though I have to warn you that I sleepwalk sometimes and have been known to stab a stuffed toy or two during one of the spells."
You stare at him, mouth agape at the idea of Soonyoung stabbing you in his sleep.
"And if you really do get transferred somewhere else, then you'll be transferred somewhere else," he says nonchalantly, shrugging. "You'll get a new job, you'll kill it at that one too, and you'll continue to live your life down here with all of us. We'll keep torturing souls and hiding away from our jobs in the mail room and all the fun things we do now."
You feel your breathing start to slow. "You'd still be my friend?"
He grins. "Wait—" he takes his phone out. "Can you repeat that? I need to record it. What did you just call me?" You roll your eyes and slap his phone out of his hand, ignoring his gasp when it bounces on the table. "See, despite this behavior, yes. I will still be your friend."
"But do you think Jun would be? Do you think he'd have anything to do with me if I weren't working for him?"
"Mmm, it's not about the position, is it?" he asks. "It's about him." You stay quiet, ashamed of the implications of your answer. Soonyoung doesn't tease you or judge you or tell you that whatever it is you're feeling is wrong. He just sighs. "He loves you."
You frown deeply at the words, but the demon is too busy staring at the wall absentmindedly to notice.
"I can't see a world where he wouldn't want to stay your friend. You're the best assistant he's ever had, and he likes you enough to keep you as a roommate. And create a holiday for you."
And get angel cake for you. And decorate the kitchen for you. And take you to Earth whenever you feel like it or he thinks you need it. Constantly ask after your health. Make sure you eat three meals a day even though he needs to be reminded it's time to drink blood and eat organs. Trust you with things he's never told anybody else. Never let you be alone in the house at night even if he's ignoring you because he must know by now how much you hate it.
He's meant to be the most despicable creature in the universe, and he likes you enough to be soft for you.
"Oh my god," you murmur, pushing yourself up off the desk. "You're right."
"Yeah. I usually am."
"Don't push it."
"Fine."
"But… if he doesn't want to fire me, what reason would he have to transfer me out?" To get you farther away from him.
Soonyoung looks at you in amusement. "He may be the Devil, but everyone feels afraid of something." He shrugs. "He's probably scared too."
DAY NINETY-EIGHT
The last person you expect to be in Junhui's office when you barge in is a woman so blindingly beautiful, it makes you want to rip your own eyeballs out of your head and stomp on them for ever having the audacity to look upon her. She's seated across from him, with perfect hair and perfect posture and a perfect manicure and a perfect aura that seems to pulse and glow around her.
"Y/N!" she exclaims, gasping and standing. "I've heard so much about you." She throws Junhui a look before she walks over to you, a stupid and perfect smile on her stupid, perfect lips. "I've been wanting to meet you for quite some time, but I think Jun here has been hiding you from me. Worried I might poach you." She leans in and theatrically whispers, "I can totally make that happen, by the way, if you ever want to cross over to the light side."
"Y/N, meet God," Junhui sighs, waving a hand at the woman. "God, Y/N."
The revelation overshadows the fact that that's the first thing Junhui has said to you in days. You gasp so loudly, your boss flinches, and your eyes widen, quickly darting between the two. "God?! Is that you?!"
"In the flesh!" she says cheerily, brushing her hair behind her shoulders and grinning with all her perfectly white teeth.
"Oh my god—I mean, uh—oh my—holy shit—I mean, what the fuck?!" you stammer. "I've been wanting to meet you since I heard you were a woman."
She laughs and the sound is like choir bells softly ringing in the distance. "Of course I'm a woman. They would never put Heaven in the hands of a man."
"Oh my god—shit, sorry."
She shakes her head. "You can say it. I don't care."
"Oh my god," you say again just to say it. "You're so beautiful. I've literally never seen someone more beautiful."
"Okay, this is ridiculous." Your boss goes ignored.
"What's your skincare routine?"
"I use the tears of incels as my toner."
"Ugh, duh, of course."
"Y/N," Junhui says your name in a way that reminds you he's been busy pretending to hate you all week. "Is there a reason you're barging in here, interrupting my meeting without so much as a knock?"
"I'm going to head out," God announces, smiling. "Y/N, let's get coffee sometime."
"She's busy."
"No, I'm not!" you deny immediately. "Coffee would be amazing!"
"Splendid. I'll have my assistant reach out. See you soon then." She turns to Junhui and raises her eyebrows at him, and when he rolls his eyes but nods anyway, you wonder if they can communicate telepathically. She disappears, leaving nothing but dove feathers and white petals in her wake—both of which dissolve before you can lean down and pluck either off the ground as a keepsake.
You exhale, the rush of meeting God leaving you quite breathless. After a few moments, Junhui clears his throat exaggeratedly, gesturing for you to get on with whatever you rudely barged in here for.
You step forward, taking a seat where God just was. "Wow, God was just sitting here," you mutter. Junhui doesn't entertain you with a response. "Um. Hello."
"Hi."
"Why are you ignoring me?" you ask.
"I'm not," he denies it. You stare at him but he doesn't offer you anything else. He knows he doesn't have to explain himself to you, of all people.
"You are."
"I'm busy. That's all. So if you don't mind…" He tilts his head toward the door of his office. You stay right where you are.
"Are you not going to admit things are weird?" you ask, giving it one last shot before you try your best to make your boss near-homicidal. "That the best thing for the both of us is for me to stay here, as—"
"You don't know what the best thing for me is," he cuts in, face too blank for how cold his words are. "I've been alive longer than you can fathom, and I've fared just fine. I don't need you pretending you know what's best for me."
"You're being cruel, Junhui," you say, squeezing your hands into fists to keep them from trembling.
He smirks. "Yeah. Well. Welcome to Hell, darling."
You have no idea what happened in the last week—what could have caused Junhui to switch on you so fast—but it's clear to you now that you're not going to get an honest answer out of him with civil conversation.
"I've been thinking," you say, trying not to lose your nerve as you lie through your teeth. "If we both know that our time is limited and that you'll release my employment as soon as my contract is over, then maybe we should terminate my contract altogether. Maybe you should just… send me back to Earth."
He freezes, that blank mask falling over his features again. "Repeat that?"
You swallow. "Maybe we should—"
"And why the fuck would I do that?" he snaps before you can do as he asked and repeat yourself. "Your employment replaces the eternal servitude your parents were indebted with. Terminating now, a measly three months into your contract, would not benefit me."
"According to our termination clause," you say, begging your voice not to shake, "I'm under no obligation to deliver the equivalent of eternal servitude at the time of termination. The only requirement for termination is my natural death, the collapse of reality, or a mutual agreement."
"None of which you have," he hisses. "Because you sure as hell don't have my agreement. Now if you're done being a nuisance—"
"The fourth option was a legal challenge by three cosmic authorities and one archangel."
His eyes narrow at you, without a doubt hearing your negotiation voice through your nervousness. "You're aware that the only cosmic authorities are me and God, right? That the inclusion of that in your termination clause is a trick meant to present you with the illusion of choice?"
You scoff. If you were serious about terminating your employment, you'd be seriously pissed.
"I don't know why you keep needing me to remind you who I am," he says, his words landing sharp around the edges. You have no idea why he's so angry, but it's giving you more courage to do what you need to. "It's my job to be deceitful."
"Okay, let's try something new then," you say through gritted teeth, smiling tightly. "I'll remind you who I am. To answer your question, yes, I'm aware that you think the only cosmic authorities are you and God." His eyebrow furrows at the distinction. "So while you were busy throwing a tantrum and ignoring me all week, I have been studying. It turns out there are quite a few authorities I can choose from."
You see it clear as day—the panic that briefly flashes across his face before he schools it back into that careful mask again. His fingers grip the arms of his seat tightly as his eyes search you for some sign that you're bluffing.
"I happen to know a witch," you explain. "She communes with Pagan gods—a number of which she has assured me would be happy to uphold a challenge on my behalf."
"Pagan gods have no authority in Hell," Junhui's voice is low and dangerous, and you think if you were someone he liked even just a little less, your head would already be rolling right now.
"I'd imagine that has no bearing since the clause says 'cosmic authority,' not infernal authority," you point out, delighted when you catch his eye twitch. "But if that's your argument, I have another back-up."
"Wow. You really thought this through, didn't you, darling?" he asks, glaring at you. "So eager to be rid of me?"
"You've reminded me so many times who you are," you say simply. "I wasn't going to bring a knife to a gun fight with the Devil."
He hums in mock amusement, seeming more devilish now than you've ever seen him. His eyes flash a deep red. "Cunning little thing. Fine. I'll play along. Tell me about this back-up of yours."
You smile. "There's no higher authority than the Devil and God."
"Glad you agree."
"Except for the deities that made them."
He stares at you for so long, you'd assume he malfunctioned in any other scenario. You don't know how much time has elapsed when he asks, "You called my mom and dad…?"
You grin. "Yes! With the help of my witchy friend. Very lovely—your parents. Your dad took a little convincing, but with the help of your very understanding mother, we were able to secure his agreement to help." You shrug. "So with all of these options, I'd say I have more than enough authorities to legally challenge my contract."
"Wrong," he seethes. "You also need an archangel, and if God wants to avoid the guarantee of me absolutely decimating Heaven, she will be smart to advise her little, feathered flies to stay far, far, far away from you."
You purse your lips. "Well, that makes this a little awkward because Joshua has already agreed to—"
"Are you fucking kidding me?"
His voice causes a sort of sonic boom in his own office as he stands and slams his hands on his desk. You shriek as your hair is blown away from your face and the marble under his hands fractures into several hairline cracks. The Devil disappears, reappearing at your side and yanking your seat violently away from his desk. You gasp at the motion, the sound of it getting caught in your throat when Junhui hinges at the hips and cages you in with a hand on each arm of the seat. You're almost nose-to-nose as he speaks.
"What the fuck do you think you're playing at, hm?" he asks, his eyes bright red now. "Do you really want to do this with me right now? Because I'll fucking do this."
"Do what, Junhui?" you ask quietly.
"If you think you can leave me before I say it's okay to, you're so mistaken, it's pitiful," he tells you. "I own you. Do you understand? I own you. You belong to me."
"No I don't!" you protest weakly. "We specifically negotiated that when I first came here! It's in my—"
"I do not care," he accentuates each syllable, his voice drenched and dripping in so much venom, it shuts you up. "You think I need words to make you mine?" he barks a laugh out at the thought.
For the first time since meeting him, you truly see the Devil now. You think you understand why the others are so scared of him sometimes. Unfortunately, you don't quite have the same survival instinct they do, because all this does is make way for that familiar ache low in your stomach to return.
"Your contract is binding. If I have the means to leave, then—"
"Oh, baby, I'll have you chained up at home faster than you can ask any of your so-called gods for help," he informs you, snickering as he does. You squeeze your thighs together uselessly. It does nothing to alleviate your pain.
When the sound of his laughter dies, he takes a slow, deep breath, his exhale brushing up against your lips. He clicks his tongue in disapproval as his eyes sweep your face, his face deceivingly soft even though he looks like he's ready to eat you alive.
"I fear I've given you the wrong impression of me," he says quietly, one hand coming up to trace the side of your face as his gaze follows his own movement. The ache inside you grows nearly unbearable as he drags his finger down your cheek, across your jaw, and to your throat. "I'll admit it, though. It is my fault.
"I was nice to you. I cooked for you. Made sure you were happy. Safe. I gave you all my time. All my energy. And now you think because I care about you, that I'm also going to play nice. That I'll play fair, and I'll stop being the Devil."
One by one, his fingers slowly and delicately wrap themselves around the front of your throat. His gaze comes up to meet yours when he feels you swallow under his palm, and whatever he sees just makes his eyes glow a brighter red. He smirks.
"But you've got it all backwards. It's because I care about you that I'm going to play dirty. I care about you more than I've cared about any damn thing in my life," he says, stealing your breath away. "And you think I'd let something as trivial as our fucking signatures keep me from you?"
His grasp goes from your throat to your cheeks, and he squeezes, bringing you right back to the first night he appeared in your apartment.
"I'll tear that contract up right now, Y/N. I don't care. I'll keep you here anyway. You don't get to change everything about my life and then decide to leave it, darling. I don't care how ugly it makes me. I don't care if you think I'm a monster. I don't care. You're going to be here for fucking ever."
You glare at him, wriggling your face until it's free of his hold. He snorts, bringing it back down to the arm of your chair. "So you don't want me to leave."
He narrows his eyes at you. "I barely want you out of my sight. Why would I want you to leave?"
"God, was that so fucking hard?!" you shout, planting both hands on his chest and shoving him away from you. He steps away, clearly baffled as you stand and put space between the two of you before whipping back around. "You want me here! You want me to stay! You want me to be with you!"
His cheeks turn pink even as he looks at you like you're losing your mind. He doesn't confirm it, simply staring at you as you breathe hard at the realization that you and Soonyoung were right. Junhui is scared to lose you. If this isn't a man as equally terrified of being without you as you are of being without him, you don't know what is. It's just infuriating that he could only communicate that once you pretended you were set on leaving.
"I want to be here too," you say breathlessly. "I love it here so much. I love being here. With you. I love being with you. I…" You swallow hard, shaking your head. "Junhui, I love you."
He doesn't move a muscle, doesn't say a word—doesn't really show any sign of life, really. But you force yourself to keep going.
"I'm not even sure what to do with all of it because I've never felt this before. I've never cared like this before either. And if you're being honest… if you care about me too… then I'm confused.
"I don't know why you're trying to push me away. Why you're trying to make me go somewhere else, or have to be without you. I don't know why you want me to leave when my contract is up. If you need space, then say that. But… don't cast me out. Don't make me be without you," you plead pathetically.
You don't register that Junhui is walking toward you until you're done speaking and he's already reaching you, stopping when you're toe-to-toe. There's a split second where he seems to give you the chance to take everything you said back, but it passes too quickly for you to even fully register. Because his patience snaps and his large hands cradle your face, walking you backward until your back hits the wall. You find that he's taken the both of you back home, and you're in his room, pushed right up against his door.
He looks like he's committing your face to memory as one thumb runs across your bottom lip, before it pulls it down enough to open your mouth. He inhales sharply when you take it in, eyes fluttering closed as the warm saltiness of his skin hits your taste buds. He presses his thumb into the center of your tongue, dragging it out of your mouth and groaning at the obscenity of your spit coating his digit and dripping down his wrist. He lifts his thumb off you and you look up at him through your eyelashes, swallowing as you do.
"I wasn't trying to push you away. I'm sorry—I was—I'm…" He falters, unsure where to start. "I don't want you to be without me either," he finally says, voice husky as he stares at you like you're actively torturing him. "I need you. I need you so badly, you have no idea."
"Show me."
Without waiting another moment, Junhui leans down, and his mouth is on yours, hot and commanding as his hand snakes around the nape of your neck to bring you impossibly closer. His other hand comes to your waist, balling your shirt up and squeezing like he's fighting the instinct to tear it off.
You let your body give into its own instincts, kissing him the way it tells you it needs to and grabbing him wherever it wants to. You swear it feels like you spent your whole life doing this. Like you've never done anything other than kiss Junhui senseless. His tongue prods your mouth open, and you surrender, giving him entry to any part of you he wants.
You moan, sighing into it when his tongue meets yours, licking into your mouth so fervidly and getting you so burning hot, you're half worried your body is actually catching on fire.
"Tell me if you want me to stop," he whispers as you break away for a breath, not missing a beat as he starts leaving open-mouthed kisses down your neck.
"Junhui," you gasp, "if you stop, I swear I'll find a way to fucking kill you."
He chuckles against your skin, the mere feeling of his breath causing you to roll your hips into his. He groans at that, roughly pressing his already hard dick against you and pinning you to the door completely. You whimper, immediately trying to create friction on your clit but finding that you can't move under him.
"Be careful, darling," he warns you, his voice vibrating through his chest and into yours, where you're pressed together. "You don't know what you're playing with."
"Please," you whine, throwing your head back and sighing impatiently. "Please, please, please. Need more."
"Ugh, sound so pretty," he grunts, allowing just enough space for him to fit his hand between you and unbutton your pants. "So needy, hm? What do you need, darling? Tell me."
He brings the zipper down, his pointer finger resting against the bare skin right above your panties.
"Need you."
"I'm right here."
"Touch me," you beg, trying to roll against him. He flattens his palm against your stomach and keeps you in place, smirking when you whine in frustration. "Please!"
"Mmm," he hooks one finger into your panties, running it back and forth teasingly. "So impatient." He slips his finger in further, making your breath hitch. "You should know by now…" he whispers, finally slipping his hand down your panties. "That I'll give you anything…" He cups your cunt, holding you steady when the sensation makes your entire body jerk. "Anything you ask for."
You gasp and grip his shoulder tightly as he parts your folds, running two fingers through them and collecting your arousal before he presses your clit firmly.
"Oh fuck," you breathe, head tilting back against his door. "Fuck, fuck, fuck. Junhui."
"Fucking love it when you say my name," he confesses in a broken whisper to your ear, massaging you too slowly. You look up at him, dazed and convinced you'd collapse to the floor if he stepped away from you. He watches you with hooded eyes and a lazy smile. "Will you say it again for me, darling?"
"Junhui," you near cry, gasping when he rewards you with faster, harsher circles. "Junhui, I—"
You squeal as you're suddenly bouncing back in his bed, his tall frame towering over you as he kneels between your legs. You didn't anticipate Junhui using his Hell-given abilities while fooling around, but you find it useful, wasting no time sitting up and whipping your shirt off your body before reaching for the buttons on his and undoing them clumsily.
You're not even through all of them when you shove the fabric off his shoulders frantically, unable to help yourself as you giggle at the sight of a topless Junhui in bed with you. Before you can bring your hands to his bare skin, his fingers circle around your wrists, stopping you.
You look up at him to find him looking at you with wide eyes and parted lips.
"Are… are you okay?" you ask, unable to ask if he changed his mind. You don't think you'll be able to recover from the embarrassment of your eagerness if he's suddenly changed his mind.
He squeezes your wrists, absentmindedly bringing them to his chest and holding them there. You press your palms against his hot skin, exhaling when you feel his steady heartbeat underneath your fingertips.
Junhui utters your name so softly, it almost sounds like a hallucination. You look back up at him, and you're floored by how much reverence he looks at you with, his eyes searching you with an almost panicked energy—like eternity isn't enough time to spend looking at you. You melt into his grip.
"Junnie?"
"I, uh," he starts, licking his lips nervously. "I'm right there with you… I don't know what to do with everything I feel either. It's so—" He swallows. "It's so much. And I've never felt like this."
You swipe your thumb across his heartbeat, giving him an encouraging smile and nod as you wait for him to think through his thoughts. He exhales.
"I can't promise to know what to do at every turn," he admits. "I know I've already messed up. But… I love you too." The side of his mouth twitches up into a brief smile before it opens again to speak. Nothing comes out for a moment. Then, he says it again. "I love you. And you'll never be without me. Never."
You bring a hand to cradle his face, the grasp he has on your wrist sliding down to hang loosely from your forearm. He leans forward to rest his forehead against yours.
"Junhui," you murmur. "Are you going to show me?"
He nods, smiling as he starts to crawl over you until you're pressed flat against his pillows. He reaches down to kiss you, licking, sucking, and biting as he does. Then, he starts making his way down, mouth leaving marks in your skin as he does, and you're too busy getting lost in the pleasure of belonging to someone to protest the hickeys. You know you'll be mortified later, but right now, the thought of everyone seeing what Junhui did to your body makes you so unbelievably wet, you squirm underneath him.
"Junhui," you breathe, hips bucking up into his. "I, um—oh fuck."
His fingers hook into your pants and your underwear, shoving both down as he bites your collarbone. He runs his tongue across his marks before he sits back, pulling your clothes off your legs and tossing them aside carelessly and leaving you naked from the waist down. He rests his hands atop your thighs, massaging the flesh there as he stares down at your pussy, his eyes growing so dark, they're nearly black.
"Perfect," he whispers as he drops to his stomach between your legs, hooking each over his shoulders so he can get as close to you as humanly possible. "Tell me I can. Please."
His eyes don't leave your glistening cunt as he pleads, groaning when you clench around nothing because the ache is threatening to kill you at this point. You nod frantically.
"Ye—" You're cut off by your own gasp because that's all he needs.
He surges forward, his tongue lapping at your clit like he hasn't eaten in ages. You struggle to keep your hips still, your mind reeling as you experience something you never have before. How did people do this? How did people feel this good and keep from completely falling apart in someone else's hands? Because you think you might die tonight. You think you might die right here, in Hell, with the Devil's face pressed tightly against your cunt as he drinks you up.
He holds your legs open, groaning as he licks stripes up your folds, his tongue leaving no part of you unexplored.
"Junhui," you moan, hand slipping into his hair and pulling uncontrollably. The vibrations of his groans against you make your toes curl, and you think you're edging closer and closer to this imminent death. "I'm… I…"
"What is it, baby?" he sloppily speaks against you, refusing to let his mouth completely leave your pussy. He travels further down, until his tongue is poking into your hole, gently massaging its way in until his cheeks are practically welded to your inner thighs and his nose is buried in your folds.
"Holy shit!" you gasp, hips rolling on their own in rhythm with Junhui's tongue as it licks and thrusts into you. "Oh… oh my god… Jun… Jun, I… I… so good. It feels so good…"
He pauses for only a moment to tell you, "Come on my face, darling."
There's no time to respond before his tongue is inside you again, and the words alone are enough to push you toward what you thought was death and realize now was your orgasm. Your fingers close in a fist around Junhui's hair, your other hand gripping his sheets like you'll float right out of your body if you let go.
The noises that leave your mouth are noises you've never made in your life, and they just make Junhui move more aggressively—more desperately. Just before he retracts his tongue, he breathes you in deeply, his hips grinding into his bed as he groans at your scent.
"Jun!" you shriek, mortified as you shove his head away. It doesn't go far; after all, you aren't very strong compared to the literal Devil.
"You smell divine," he informs you, licking the entire length of your slit and taking another deep inhale. "You smell like you're mine. Taste like you're mine."
You whimper at the nearly overstimulating sensation. He lifts his head and when you meet his eyes, you flinch and it makes him smirk. The dark of Junhui's eyes had spread while he was between your legs, and there's no longer any white left of them.
"Are you scared?" he asks, his voice powerful and guttural. Almost wild. He crawls up over you, head tilting as he stares at you and waits for your response.
"No," you say truthfully. You writhe under him, hands reaching for his naked torso. He leans back before you can touch him, though, obviously amused when you're disappointed. "Jun."
"Hm?" he hums, clearly distracted as he's turning his attention back to your pussy. He takes two fingers through your folds before he brings them to his mouth, sucking hard and tilting his head back with a hedonistic moan. "You're delectable, baby."
You breathe hard, even as all you do is lay there, watching the man you've managed to fall in love with in a handful of months taste parts of you no one else has and now never will. It does something to you—knowing that he's consumed a part of you. That you're inside the Devil.
"Mmm, I'm part of you now," you whisper. He lets his fingers fall from his mouth and when he brings his head back down, his black eyes pierce right through you.
"Does the thought of that please you?" he asks, bending down to lick and nibble at the flesh of your inner thigh. You're too busy squirming to answer the question. "Do you like thinking of us as one?"
"Yes, Junnie," you sigh. "Oh my god, yes."
He smirks, two fingers slipping into you without much resistance after he's already made you come. "Do you want a part of me too, darling?" You mewl as he spreads his fingers, scissoring you open leisurely. "You can have my fingers…" He shoves his fingers into you until he's knuckle-deep, pulling a cry out of you before he starts curling his fingers into a spot that has you seeing stars when you squeeze your eyes shut. "You can have my mouth… my tongue…"
"You," you gasp. "Want you."
"Hm. Maybe soon… if you can give me another one," he tells you, fingers moving faster. "Do you think you can give me another one, baby?"
You nod, murmuring incoherently, no idea what you're even trying to say. Your body starts to move on its own, trying desperately to meet Junhui's fingers with so much fervor, you're sure his knuckles will leave you bruised. You don't care, not when you're so close.
"One more." Junhui's voice is suddenly at your ear, his tongue darting out to catch your lobe and suck. You let out a hysterical keen at the two sensations working together to bring you to your second orgasm. When you get there, the feeling pulls you under, and you officially lose yourself in the Devil's bed.
It feels like free-falling through the dark, nothing but the sound of Junhui's praise reminding you where and who you are.
"That's it, baby, that's it," he growls, his fingers becoming frenetic as he pants above you, hips grinding against you. "Oh, you're doing so good. You're fucking perfect."
"Need it," you gasp, finally blinking your eyes open as you register the rock hard body part pressed into your thigh as Junhui's cock. "Need it, please. Please."
You press Junhui away from you, holding your breath as his fingers slip out of you. You prop yourself up on your elbows, letting the straps of your bra fall off your shoulders. Junhui's black eyes drop at the movement as he brings his fingers into his mouth again. His eyes seem to roll into the back of his head momentarily, and you get chills only seeing more black. Once he's swallowed your slick, he leans over you, arm immediately coming up to wrap around your torso. His fingers make quick work of the clasps of your bra, popping it open easily and tossing it aside the same way he did your other clothes.
"Yes, yes, yes, yes," he whispers, chanting the word over and over again as he dips down to take your nipple in his mouth.
"Junhui," you call, clearing your throat when you hear how raspy your voice sounds. He hums but continues circling your nipple with his tongue. "Junhui, hold on."
He immediately releases you, head snapping up to look at you. You watch as his eyes return to normal, allowing you to see the concern in them upon hearing your request to stop.
"Are you okay?" he asks, pushing himself off your body slightly.
"No—yes! I mean yes," you say, laughing a little. "I'm okay. I just…" you reach up to trace the lines of his collarbone, into his pecs, and down his abs, feeling entranced and momentarily forgetting what you wanted to say.
"What is it, darling?" He reaches up to massage your breast and you let your eyes flutter closed.
"I'm… I've uh, never done this," you admit.
He freezes over you, and you open your eyes, a little panicked that he's about to stop before you get to the good part—the part you desperately need. But he looks down at you fondly, a small smile on his lips.
"You've never done what?" he asks teasingly.
You glare at him. "Junnie, please."
He laughs. "I'm just kidding, love." He bends down to catch your lips in a quick kiss.
"I like that."
"What?" he asks, leaning back to look at you once more. "'Love'?" You nod sheepishly and he grins. "Mmm, 'love' it is."
The two of you kiss for a few minutes, just enjoying the feeling of your tongues sliding against each other and your hands caressing each other's bodies. When you start bucking up into him again, he breaks the kiss and presses his hips to yours to stop you from moving. You groan in frustration.
"Are you sure?" he asks. "That you want to… do this? With me?"
You nod. "Yes. Yes. I've never been surer. Are you—"
"Don't even," he scoffs, rolling his eyes. You bite down a giggle. He sits back on his heels, unbuttoning his pants, and your heart leaps into your throat.
You sit up along with him, crawling onto your knees and gently pushing his hands away as you undo his zipper. When his slacks and his underwear are off, your throat suddenly feels dry as you wonder if there's enough room inside you for him.
"Oh my god," you breathe.
"C'mere," he says softly, taking your hand in his and guiding you until you're straddling his lap, his arms wrapped around your waist and hugging you to him. You wrap your hand around his cock between your bodies, pumping a few times before you press it against your clit for you to grind against. "Fuck."
You moan in agreement, your movements growing frantic as you chase the friction, your slick coating the underside of his cock until Junhui is near whimpering underneath you.
"Are… are you ready?" he asks, hand tracing gentle shapes into the skin of your back. You nod quickly.
"Yes, yes, please, I'm ready."
He untangles his arms from you, one hand planting itself on the bed behind him to support the two of you and the other finding yours and intertwining with your fingers. He guides you to lean your weight into your joined hands as you rise onto your knees to line his cock up with your hole.
"Take it as slow as you need to," he reminds you, leading your hand to his shoulder and wrapping his arm around your waist once more. "It might hurt a little at first. We can stop at any point, okay?"
You shake your head. "No, not okay."
He smirks but it quickly falls off his face when you start lowering yourself, the head of his cock sliding into you with ease at first. It quickly meets resistance, though, your muscles tensing at his size.
Your fingers curl against his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin. He doesn't complain, simply leaning forward to leave gentle kisses across your collar and shoulder. He doesn't hurry you, either, saying nothing when you have to pause for a minute or two to adjust to his size. Between the kisses he leaves on you and the caress of his fingers, you relax enough to let him in inch by inch.
Then, finally, he bottoms out, your hips meeting with the delicious feeling of his balls resting against your ass.
He groans loudly, touching his forehead to your shoulder. You cradle his head, trying to breathe through the overwhelming feeling of being full.
"You're so big," you whisper.
"Mmm…" he hums absentmindedly, the hand on your back pressing flat against you like he needs you even closer than you already are. "Breathe, baby."
The command is the only reason you notice you're holding your breath. You try to exhale, struggling with the feeling that if you do, Junhui's dick will quite literally split you in half.
"Breathe…" he coos soothingly. "You're fine, love, you're fine. Just breathe… take your time."
You don't know how long it takes for your abdominal muscles to relax around the feeling of Junhui inside your guts. When you do, though, you know it's okay to move from the fact that breathing finally comes easily to you again.
"Junhui," you call, clearing your throat. "I want to move now."
"Go ahead, baby," he says, nodding. "I've got you."
He supports you, holding you with so much care as you start with rolling your hips to ease yourself into the feeling of him moving inside you. It's only a few more movements before you're lifting yourself off him and coming back down, the drag of his cock inside you pulling moan after moan out of you.
You bring both palms to either side of Junhui's face, tilting his head up. He looks at you through half-lidded eyes, his pupils vibrating erratically like there's a battle happening inside him. You take shallower thrusts to reach down and connect your lips to Junhui's, eagerly swallowing all the whimpers he makes.
Then, when you break apart, foreheads resting against each other, you look into his eyes and tell him, "Let go, Junhui. Let go for me."
Whatever is happening inside him comes to a head, and the black of his pupils start to seep into the brown, and into the white, spreading until his eyes are a bottomless abyss again. But Junhui's pleasure knows no bounds now, and the perimeter of his room also goes up in white hot blue flames. As his moans get louder, the fire pulses, growing and climbing up the walls and across the ceiling but never burning through anything or getting anywhere close to you.
You groan at the thought of you and your cunt being the cause of this burning loss of control the Devil is experiencing, and it suddenly isn't enough. You tilt your head up, eyes barely focusing on the rippling blue flames dancing above your heads as you lift yourself almost completely off him before crashing back down. The room is a cacophony of skin meeting skin, desperate gasps for air, and whines for more.
"Oh, fuck," Junhui curses, leaning back onto the hand on his bed to support himself as he starts to thrust his hips up to meet yours each time you come back down. The flames ferociously lick every surface of the walls.
"Junnie," you gasp when his movements start to get rough, the feeling of being split open no longer scaring you and suddenly becoming a sensation you're actively chasing. "Feels… feels so good."
"You feel fucking amazing," he tells you with a broken moan. "Made for me."
You nod desperately. "I was." You ride him easily now, smiling when you notice him watching your tits as they bounce in his face with every thrust. "Was made just for you."
"Fuck," he whimpers, the glow of blue fire illuminating just how much he enjoys that. "Say that again. Fucking say that again." His grasp on your waist becomes bruising and it makes the burn in your thighs tolerable as you slam down on him repeatedly.
"This pussy was made for you," you tell him, the words followed by a scream when Junhui suddenly turns the two of you over without warning, leaving you no time to adjust as he starts thrusting into you so fast and hard and violently, you're immediately rendered boneless.
"That's fucking right," he grunts, taking both your hands in his and holding them above your head as his hips piston mercilessly. "Just for me, huh?" You nod wildly. "Your first and your last."
"Junhui!"
He kisses you then, his mouth hungry and impatient and sending an electric sensation straight to your cunt. Almost like he knows what's happening underneath him, he starts grinding his pubic bone hard over your clit to drive you even closer.
"Jun…" You squeeze your eyes shut and your nails carve half moons into his hands. "I'm going to… I'm…"
"Me too, love," he breathes. "So close…"
"Please," you beg, though you're unsure what for. Junhui seems to know somehow because he nods at your pleas. "Please, baby."
"Gonna fill you up," he promises. It isn't until he says that that you realize that's exactly what you're begging for. "Is that what you want? Wanna be pumped full of my cum?"
"Fuck, yes. Yes."
It only takes two more thrusts before your thighs are clamping around his torso hard, the heels of your feet digging into the small of his back as you come. Your walls spasm and suck him in, demanding more of him even as you hug him as close as possible with your legs.
He grunts loudly, fucking you through your orgasm for only a few seconds more before his own hits him. The fire roars and the room is bathed in blue. "Take it, baby," he nearly shouts when he comes inside you. It feels never-ending as he fucks his own cum deeper and deeper into you. "You want it, take it all."
"Junhui," you whimper, feeling him beginning to spill out of you when his cum has nowhere else to go. "No, no, no, no. Please." He hums in question. "Keep it in. Keep it… keep—"
The flames slowly fade to red, calming down to a gentle flicker that's more reminiscent of candlelight than the wild Hellfire used to melt flesh off the bones of damned souls. Junhui's thrusts come to a stop, and he makes sure to go as far into you as he can to seal his seed inside you. You sigh happily at the thought of being full of him.
"Thank you," you mutter, hugging him close. "Thank you."
He peppers everywhere he can reach with kisses—your face, your neck, your hair—careful not to move his lower body so you don't start whining that he's letting his cum drip out of you again.
"How are you?" he asks after he feels that you've caught your breath. "Are you okay?"
You nod. Okay is an understatement. You don't think you've ever felt bliss quite like this. Your body is so loose and pliant and relaxed, and you know it's because you've been so thoroughly and carefully fucked.
"I love you." It's the last thing you say before you unintentionally drift off to sleep.
DAY NINETY-NINE
When you wake up, it's dark and warm, and you've been cleaned and changed into your silk pajamas. You don't doubt that all happened with a snap of Junhui's fingers. You take stock of your body, wincing a little at the soreness between your legs and in your thighs.
"Hey." Junhui's voice is gravelly and thick with sleep. His arms follow close behind his greeting, tightening around your waist and pulling you until your back is flush against his chest.
"Hi," you whisper through a yawn.
"How do you feel?" He plants a kiss on your shoulder. "Does anything hurt?"
"Yes, but it feels good," you tell him honestly. "Really good."
"Good. Now come on. You need to eat."
You immediately shake your head. "No."
"Yes."
"No—hey!" Junhui suddenly disappears from the bed, leaving you without his arms wrapped around you. You shriek when the covers are ripped off you and the eye mask you didn't even know you were wearing vanishes, allowing the lights of Junhui's room to blind you. "Jun!"
"Food time," he hisses, hauling you up and into his arms.
You're seated at the kitchen island before you can register what's happening, a breakfast already cooked and ready for you. You blink at it.
"You cooked?"
"Of course I cooked. When have I not cooked you breakfast?"
You frown, realizing the only time he's ever left you without a meal in the morning was when he was sick. You just shared yourself with Junhui in a way you've never shared yourself with anyone, and still, this makes you blush furiously for some reason.
He smirks but doesn't comment on it. "Eat up, love. We have a lot to talk about."
And he doesn't waste any time, starting as soon as you've put away the last piece of bacon on your plate. The dishes disappear and he sits next to you, fully facing you and resting his arm along the back of your seat. He watches you carefully, a soft smile on his lips as he takes in every bit of you.
"Hi," you say pathetically.
"Hi."
"Thanks for breakfast. And… everything else. It was perfect."
His smile widens drastically, eyes raking over all the exposed bits of skin where he can see the marks he left on you with his mouth. Mercifully, he doesn't say anything about them. "You're perfect. Thank you for trusting me. For sharing that with me."
You blush furiously and look away, ignoring the way it makes him chuckle. "Okay, anyway, what do we need to talk about?"
"Ah. Your contract."
Your stomach sours. You'd forgotten that you two had never finished your conversation. You got so lost in Junhui—or rather, he got lost in you—it didn't occur to you that you still had things to discuss.
"It's important to me that you know I wasn't trying to make you leave," he mutters, reaching forward to brush a strand of hair away from your face. "I think I've made it quite clear how much I do not want you to leave."
You nod, trying not to fidget as you think about how much his reaction to the termination of your contract turned you on. "Well, then… so why do you want me to transfer out?"
"Because you were always going to be mine," he says simply. You raise an eyebrow at him.
"Presumptuous of you."
He shrugs nonchalantly. "So be it. But I knew. And you can't be mine if you work directly under me."
You bark out your laughter, looking at him incredulously. "You mean to tell me… you're willing to hold me hostage and chain me up at home, but you draw the line at fucking your assistant?!"
He purses his lips to keep from smiling at the mere mention of sex with you. He rolls his eyes. "Say what you want, but chaining you up and holding you hostage is kind of par for the course in Hell. Fucking your direct report, though—generally frowned down upon. You moving into another department upon your contract completion would take care of that for me. I just… didn't know how to communicate that without having told you how I felt yet.
"So... I kind of panicked and thought if I just stopped communicating at all, maybe that would quicken the process and you'd just want to transfer on your own sooner, then I could explain myself. I didn't anticipate you threatening to leave Hell altogether. But I can see why my behavior would make you feel like I wanted you to. I'm sorry for that."
You hum, nodding as you process this information. "See, this is why you need to go to therapy. You probably could've figured that out before I had a meltdown, sobbing to a demon in the mail room."
He frowns. "You cried?" You shrug. "And who the fuck did you cry to?"
You scoff. "You're such a jealous person."
"I am not jealous."
"You buried Minghao under so much work, the man won't even look at me anymore."
"Good. That's the point."
You roll your eyes but can't help the feeling of satisfaction that blooms in your chest at that. You'll never admit to him how much his possessiveness pleases you.
"I'm sorry again," he says. "For making you cry."
You shake your head. "It was a misunderstanding. I'm sorry for goading you into your own little meltdown."
He glares at you. "Don't ever do that again. I was this close to leaving you mid-sentence to go eviscerate Joshua. That would've been incredibly unfortunate." You raise your eyebrows at the understatement. "Did you really call my parents?"
You nod, smiling. "Yes. They're lovely. I didn't tell them anything, though. Just called under the guise that I was updating all of your contacts."
He laughs, shaking his head. "You're insane."
"I didn't know how else to get you to admit you wanted me to stay."
Junhui sighs, cupping a hand behind your neck and reaching forward to kiss you like he needs to remind you immediately that he does want you to stay.
"Of course I want you to stay," he says as he releases you. "You don't want to see what I'd do if you left."
"I can imagine," you say, amused.
"You can't," he disagrees, shaking his head. The seriousness in his voice doesn't scare you, though. It just turns you on all over again. "But we won't have to worry about that. Right?"
You shake your head. "Nope. Not unless you randomly decide to push me away again." He groans, resting his forehead on your shoulder and sighing. "I'm kidding, Junhui. We're fine. Your ranking of what's immoral is a little skewed, but we're fine."
He raises his head and glares at you. "Chains in Hell are normal."
"Sure."
"Fucking your direct report is not."
"You technically just did."
He winces. "Well, that's what we need to talk about."
Your heart jumps. "What do you mean…?"
Junhui reaches over to hold your hand, threading your fingers together. "You're going to have to transfer before your mortal death, darling."
"What…?" you ask, crestfallen. "But… I…"
"Hey, hey, hey," he calls, standing and pulling your bar stool so that it's facing him. He pushes your legs apart so he can stand between them and take your face in his hands. "You're still going to live here for as long as you want. You're still going to see me as much as you want. You're still going to be mine, and I'm still going to be yours. You're not going to be without me, okay?"
Your breathing slows, the Devil effectively quelling your growing panic before it even becomes anything real. "Okay."
"Yeah?"
You nod. "Yeah… yes. I'm still going to have you and my friends and my job and everything I love." And you're still going to have therapy to help you remember that.
He hums in affirmation. "Yes you are. You're going to have everything you've ever wanted and will want. I'll make sure of it."
Your cheeks grow hot and you turn in a weak attempt to hide it. But your face is still in Junhui's hold, so he guides your gaze back to his. He smiles fondly at the pink dusting your cheeks and bends down to press a kiss to both.
"I love you," he says, looking deeply into your eyes when he says it. "No matter where in Hell you are and no matter what role you're in. I love you and you have me."
You smile up at him, closing your eyes as you nod. You feel his lips touch your eyelids before they press against your mouth. He tastes like coffee and ghost pepper chips and you fight to keep from laughing in his face because of it.
"What?" he murmurs, feeling the amusement in your lips.
"Nothing," you say, shaking your head. "I love you, Junhui. Now take me back to bed."
"Gladly."
DAY ONE HUNDRED
THE INFERNAL ADMINISTRATION OF HELL
Office of Internal Communications
Memorandum
Executive Leave
Please be advised that His Infernal Majesty and his Chief of Staff will be out of office on approved executive leave for the next week.
During this period:
Do not attempt to summon His Infernal Majesty for matters deemed "urgent" unless they are apocalyptic
Matters involving routine damnation, contract approvals, ritual inquiries, plague authorizations, and standard temptations should continue through normal channels
Ouija Board communications from minors should be redirected to and screened by the Community Outreach Desk
Please note that executive leave is not to be interpreted as an invitation to stage a coup.
Additionally, His Infernal Majesty would like to announce an organizational restructuring. Upon her return from executive leave, Y/N will transition from the position of Chief of Staff to Director of Contract Negotiations.
In her new role, Y/N will oversee:
High-value mortal negotiations
Executive-level contract drafting and review
Treaty negotiations with celestial representatives
Appeals involving legacy soul agreements
Cross-departmental bargaining strategy
Y/N will now report to the Chief Torment and Innovation Officer.
A message from His Infernal Majesty:
"Y/N has demonstrated exceptional judgment, professionalism, and integrity throughout her tenure as Chief of Staff. This move reflects not only her accomplishments, but the confidence I place in her continued leadership. She has my full authority in all matters pertaining to infernal negotiations."
Please join Executive Leadership in congratulating Y/N on her well-earned advancement and wishing both executives a restful leave. (Fun Fact: The last time His Infernal Majesty took more than three consecutive days away from the office, the Byzantine Empire still existed!)
We appreciate your patience as he attempts this exciting new experience known as "relaxing."
This memorandum has been reviewed and approved by the Office of Internal Communications and His Infernal Majesty.
it’s not unusual for artificially intelligent robots to blend in seamlessly to society. many years ago you found a robot that was being abused and stole him. you saved him and put him back together, and in the process upgraded his programming to the point both of you often forget he’s not a human. he’s become your companion as you navigate the dark neon city together.
⟢ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞(𝐬): romance, smut, angst, established relationship
⟢ 𝐚𝐮(𝐬): cyberpunk
⟢ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 18.1k
⟢ 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: loss of parents before the story, cussing, angst, drug use, talks of dealing drugs, stealing, hacking, working basically as gang to take down a company, Joshua has a lot of internal conflict struggling with not being human, talks of prostitution, and sex bots, they’re both quite codependent on each other.
⟢ 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: multiple sex scenes I think there is 4, sex with a robot. Soft dom joshua, sub reader, he’s got super strength and uses that to lift and move the mc easily, Unprotected sex, creampie (he has synthetic cum), cum play, cum eating, overstimulation, fingering, oral (fem rec), big dick Joshua (joshua hung if you will), pussy stretching, body worship, hair pulling, spanking, semi exhibitionism, semi public sex, rougher sex, choking, nipple play, panty kink, things are intense between them nicknames: baby, starlight (hers) shua, baby (his)
⟢ 𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: 18+
🎧: agora hills - doja cat | bmf - sza | pov - ariana grande | burning blue - mariah the scientist | intro (end of the world) - ariana grande
⟢ 𝐚𝐧: this is part of @studiosvt’s cyberpunk: reload collab. Thank you @aeristudios for helping me with this one and @jakedustry for beta reading. Divider by @/saradika-graphics.
You haven't lived your whole life in the city of Chroma Nexus. Your life started out very differently than it is now. Your childhood was the stuff of dreams. You grew up in a luxurious city away from this neon hell city has become. You were raised with a silver spoon in your mouth. Your father worked at a bank that handled money for huge companies like FleXeon. Everything shifted when you were freshly seventeen, after a late night at business dinner you lost both your parents in a tragic car accident.
That night shifted everything for you. The house you had grown up in left you feeling haunted. Selling it was the only way you could escape the ghost of your past.
Taking the bullet train to Chroma Nexion changed your life. You realized with the money from your inheritance and your excellent programming skills, you had the ability to never work a mundane regular job.
Meeting Seungcheol made you realize that you could hack just about anything. He took you under his wing and you joined the team that he’s made. You learned Seungcheol had one goal in life, it was to rob the rich and give to people who truly needed the money.
On one of his missions you snuck into a tech corporation. In the basement you were searching around with Wonwoo. You found an android who looked to be a test robot of some sort. With Wonwoo's help, you brought the android to your home that night.
The side of his neck had "J05HU9" tattooed on his human-like skin. It took you two days to fully reprogram him and get him up and running.
Joshua is probably the greatest thing you've ever programmed. From the moment he rebooted you instantly had a connection with your new android.
CYBER SEX
The neon turquoise glow radiates off his pristine skin. You wish you could thank the engineer who crafted him for making him look this beautiful.
Seungcheol has you out a couple blocks down from the FleXeon lab. You're sitting at a computer in the back of a van that Seungcheol set up and Joshua is playing look out with Wonwoo. You've been looking into the FleXeon server nonstop, trying to find errors in their security programming. Seungcheol's goal is to bring down and expose FleXeon and their CEO for their creation of Lavender Haze, and their legal ways of acquiring money.
Whoever designed their security programming is good. Everything is well protected, and their files are fully encrypted. You lucked out and found a kink in their almost impenetrable armor. You were able to access a pretty high up employees’ emails. Sorting through them, you found employee identification information and mentions of blue dust and lavender haze. Reaching into your bag you grab the drive Seungcheol gave you.
You start uploading everything as quickly as possible. Being so close to the FleXeon building you know they have a security sweep in about five more minutes.
Tapping your fingers you watch as the data transfers. The moment it's finished, you hit the door of the van twice. The driver side opens and Wonwoo jumps in. The back door slides open and Joshua joins you in the back.
"Did you get it?" Wonwoo asks.
"Yeah."
"Good job, Starry." It's rare these days for anyone to call you by your actual name. You have a birth on your shoulder that looks like a star, which led to mostly everyone calling you Starry. Joshua is different, occasionally he'll call you Starry, but he mostly calls you his starlight.
"I'll drop you guys off at your place, so you can take your more subtle bike to meet Soonyoung and Jeonghan." Wonwoo says.
"Where are they?" Joshua asks.
"Dumb and dumber went to the lights district." Wonwoo says, rolling his eyes.
The lights district is the scummy part of town. The morally gray and corrupt tend to hang out there. The district is filled with clubs, and even more drugs. You already know why they went there. Soonyoung wants to get blue dust, and he knows a guy who sells it there.
Arriving at your place, you and Joshua quickly jump out of the van. Joshua was smart enough to bring both your helmets.
"I wish we could just take this to Minghao ourselves." Joshua hates when you go to the lights district.
"I would love that too, but you know how Cheol works. He said I have to pass it off to these two."
He helps you put on your jacket and fasten your helmet. He starts the bike with you sitting on the back holding on to him.
Joshua pulls out of the garage. You look at the sky to see it's raining just like it always seems to do these days. Luckily, motorcycle gear works for the rain.
The twenty minute drive to the lights district in the rain isn't pleasant. Arriving at the club you know you would find them at, Joshua parks the bike. He locks your helmets on to the bike. He grabs your hand as you walk up to the crowded club. The bass is booming as EDM music rattles the place.
This place is filled to the brim with people either drunk on Pop Rocks, or high on blue dust. Pushing your way through the crowd you find Soonyoung and Jeonghan in the back. Soonyoung has his tongue shoved down the throat of some girl with pink hair, while Jeonghan is sitting on the couch whispering to a girl with icy white hair. You let out a heavy sigh. This day has been too damn long. You spent hours jumping around locations, trying to get into the FleXeon system and now you're dealing with two of Seungcheol's highest ranked men, who thought it was a good idea to get high out of their minds on Blue Dust.
"Stay back here." You tell Joshua. Him and Soonyoung already butt heads. You don't want anything to unfold between them tonight.
"Soonyoung." You yell, leaving Joshua a few feet behind you leaning on the wall.
He smiles, peeling himself away from the pink haired girl. "Starry, you came!" He shouts. By the wild look in his eyes, and with how blown his pupils are you immediately know he's high.
Soonyoung yelling catches Jeonghan's attention. He pulls himself away from his girl and stands up. His eyes are just as blown as Soonyoung's.
"You guys couldn't make this easy on me, could you?" You huff.
"You're being dramatic." Soonyoung laughs.
You knit your brows glaring at them. They could have been somewhere closer. Instead, you and Joshua had to drive all this way in the rain, after working for hours. These two are already giving you a headache and it's only been a few minutes.
"I'm not being dramatic, you're being inconsiderate." You roll your eyes.
"Ouch, Starry is more sensitive than normal." Jeonghan holds his chest like he's wounded.
"You're just being bigger assholes than normal." You can feel Joshua's eyes burning into the back of you.
"You seem more irritated than normal." Soonyoung points out.
Joshua pushes himself away from the wall, he's already irritated with Soonyoung and his nonsense.
Jeonghan barks out a laugh. "Starry, maybe if you got laid you wouldn't want to kill us all the time."
"She's fucking lover bot over there, getting laid isn't her issue." Soonyoung laughs.
Joshua pushes himself off the wall. This is going to escalate quickly if you don't shut down these idiots.
"Maybe she needs some cock from someone who isn't a machine." Soonyoung laughs. He's definitely trying to get punched. If you knew Cheol wouldn't ring your neck, you would break Soonyoung's nose right now.
"Shut the fuck up. You're just jealous you haven't seen any pussy in months." You poke Soonyoung in the chest. "My issue is that I'm trying to drop off something extremely important and you and Hannie are out of your minds on blue dust."
You reach into your pocket grabbing the drive. "Here." You shove the drive into Soonyoung’s jacket pocket.
"Cheol is gonna fucking love the fact that his edgesunner, and right hand man are high off blue dust is scummy club in the lights district."
Soonyoung reaches for your hand. "Starry, don't be like that."
"Don't touch her." Joshua is standing by your side instantly.
Soonyoung holds his hands up and steps back. "Chill, lover boy. I'm not going to do anything to her. You and I both know I tease her but I love her."
Joshua laces his fingers with yours pulling you back from Soonyoung.
"I think we should go. I better not hear that Minghao and Cheol didn't get that drive."
"We'll go now." Jeonghan says.
Tugging on Joshua's hand, you lead him through the cramped club. Stepping outside, you're hit with the cold breeze. It seems the rain stopped. Releasing Joshua's hand, you zip up your motorcycle jacket. He walks over to your bike, grabbing both your helmets. He steps in front of you, helping you put your helmet on. He buckles the bottom strap before kissing the tip of your nose. Reaching up he slides your visor down before putting on his own helmet.
"Are we going home?" He asks, walking towards you. You push your visor back up. His eyes are shifting around. You know him well enough to know he's upset. Silently, you nod.
You follow him to the bike. He stops in front of it and pauses. You don't want him to drive while he's upset. "Shua?"
"Yeah?"
"Don't worry about Soonyoung. I'm not interested in human men."
"Who are you interested in?"
"An android." You reach up, sliding the visor back down.
Joshua gets on the bike, and holds his hand out. You hop onto the back, wrapping your arms around his stomach. He gives your thigh three pats. Even if he won't say it out loud, you know that's his way of saying "I love you."
He revs the engine before he takes off down the dark alley. The asphalt below blows with the neon lights from above. The drive out the lights district takes about twenty minutes before you're back in the hub of the city.
Driving through, you look around at the video boards that line the tall sky scrapers. There's a clip of the president of FleXeon playing on repeat. That man is corrupt and helps run production of the drug known as lavender haze dust. His side company that people don’t know about. made an extra synthetic blue dust that's extra potent. Seungcheol is disgusted by drugs and will be pissed if he finds out any of you touched it.
Towards the east side of the hub, the less luxurious side, is where your apartment is located. Pulling into the underground apartment, Joshua parks the bike. You hop off and take off your helmet. Joshua takes off his own, and pulls your bag from the side compartment.
The parking garage has a low turquoise haze to it. The light near the elevator hums as it flickers.
Clicking the button you wait silently next to Joshua. Your neighbor who lives three doors down gets out of her small beat up two door car. She's a sweet older lady who works at the hospital on the edge of the hub.
"Late night out for you two love birds?" She's always in such a good mood. You don't understand it sometimes. She sees so much pain and destruction in that hospital and yet, she still smiles.
"Hello, Mrs. Opal. We wanted to go out for a late night ride." Joshua lifts his helmet to show her.
The elevator dings and the doors slide open. You step back until your back is against the cold metal wall. Joshua presses the thirteenth floor button and stands next to you.
"When are you two kids going to get married and have some beautiful babies?" If only she knew that your lover is an android. Marriage and babies aren't something the two of you can necessarily have.
Joshua is one of the most humanoid androids you have ever encountered. His mannerisms and looks make him seem fully human. His tattoo on the side of his neck could be a give away, but most people don't know that the ink on his skin is a model number. You made the choice immediately not to make it common knowledge that he's an android. The last thing you need is people snooping around or trying to hack his programming. Or worse trying to steal him from you.
"Maybe one day, Mrs. Opal."
She looks at you and gives you a sweet smile. "Darling, you're lucky you found such a great man." If only she knew that you quite literally found him, and fixed him.
"I'm very lucky." You finally speak.
The elevator dings signaling your arrival to your floor. Joshua grabs your hand leading you down the hall towards your apartment.
"Have a good night you two." She says.
"Goodnight, Mrs Opal." He responds.
He stops at the door and types in the pin. Stepping inside, you're greeted by the turquoise neon glow of the city outside. You didn't bother closing the curtains to the floor to ceiling window that looks out into the dark city. You live in a one bedroom apartment. It's spacious enough for the two of you to live comfortably together. The high ceiling with exposed metal venting, makes the space look larger than it is.
Joshua grabs your helmet from you, along with your bag and places it on the table that sits by the door. He drops down to his knees to help you remove your boots.
"I need a shower." You sigh.
"Go shower and I'll make you something to eat." For someone who doesn't need food to survive, he's really good at cooking. He often eats with you even though his body just burns up everything.
Heading off to the bedroom, you grab a pair of panties and baggy shirt. Walking into the bathroom, you take your time stripping away your clothes. Your bathroom isn't huge by any means and your lighting is terrible, but the water pressure in the shower is perfect. Your whole apartment has a radiant haze to it, just like the rest of the city.
Opening the glass door, you crank the water on. It's scorching hot the moment you step in. After missions you always feel gross, maybe that's your self-conscious telling you what you're doing is illegal. Closing your eyes, you tilt your head forward, letting the hot water relax your tensing muscles. You were hoping Joshua would join you, but you know he's more worried about making sure you eat.
You're not sure what your life would be like if you didn't have him. Being with him has made your life worth living again. He's sunshine in this dark city with a fluorescent glow, and you're the midnight rain.
Getting out of the shower, you dry off and put on just a thong and a baggy shirt. Looking in the mirror, you realize how tired you look.
Walking out into the living area, you're greeted by the smell of ramyeon. Joshua is busy dishing two bowls. Your bare feet pad across the cold hardwood floor.
Sitting down at the small table near the kitchen area, you watch as he brings over food. While you were showering, he must have changed. He's now shirtless, wearing just a pair of sweatpants that are sitting low on his hips. It's clear he's not wearing anything underneath them.
He sits down across from you. He raises his brow, watching you pick up your chopsticks.
"Are you going to power down tonight?" This is the same question you ask him every single night.
"No." He picks up his own chopsticks.
You let out a heavy sigh, and rub your eyes with your free hand. This conversation is always so frustrating.
"Josh, you need to power down occasionally."
"Why?" He's annoyed by this conversation just like you.
"Because when you turn back on, it reboots. That will help get out any kinks in your system. I have to do the same thing with my tablet."
He puffs out a disgusted sound. "So I'm just like your tablet."
You set your chopsticks down. "Don't do that. Don't act like I'm calling you a robot or a device."
"But you are." His tone is pointed.
"From the first time I powered you on and fixed your software to give you emotions, I have never treated you like a robot. I have always and will always treat you like a human."
His brows soften, he leans back in his chair. A look of defeat plays across his face. "Powering down reminds me that I'm never going to be a human. I'm just an android."
You can't say anything, you just stare at him. You know how desperately he wishes he was a human.
"I sometimes forget that I'm not real."
"You're very real. You might not be human. But you're real, and you matter to me. So that's all that fucking matters." Your emotions are high after today and you know you should have just left this alone tonight.
"I'll power down tomorrow night. I don't want to do it after we just had a fight." It's probably best he doesn't do it tonight. The last thing you need to do is go to bed upset while he's rebooting.
"Okay."
You both eat in silence. You've both forgiven each other but there isn't much left to say about your fight. The food Joshua made is delicious, just like it always is. You get up to do the dishes, but he doesn't let you. He grabs the dish and heads over to the sink.
Standing at the window that overlooks the city you stand there wondering what the people are up to down below. The city is still pretty lively for it being close to four in the morning.
You hear him walking up behind you, but you don't move. His arms wrap around your stomach, pulling you back against him.
His hand taps your stomach three times. Closing your eyes, you rest your hand on his thigh and give it three taps.
"I'm sorry." He rests his chin on top of your head.
"I'm sorry too."
"It's been a long day." He sighs.
"I want to go to bed, but I just want to be with you." You desperately crave being close to him.
"I'm all yours, baby."
Pulling away from him, you turn around. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pull him closer to you. You don't want to think anymore. You want him to fuck every logical thought out of your brain.
Leaning up, you press your lips to his for a heated kiss. You don't need to explain to him what you want, he understands you completely. His hand slips under your shirt, running across the bare skin of your back. His hand roams lower down to the fleshy cheek of your ass. Your lips don't stop moving together. He kisses you like he's trying to say he's sorry a million times over.
Pulling away, you tug on his bottom lip. "Please just fuck me."
He backs you up until your back is pressed against the cold glass window. Pulling back a little, he looks down at you. "Do you want me to take you to bed?"
"No. Fuck me here."
He grabs your hips, spinning you back around. Your chest is pressed up against the cold glass window. Your thin shirt does nothing to prevent your nipples from hardening.
Pushing your hips back against his crotch, you can already feel him hardening. Joshua’s anatomy is very much like human man's. His body reacts the same as anyone else when he's sexually aroused. Technically, his anatomy is different then the average male. Whoever created him, blessed him with a massive cock. You know deep down inside they created him to be a sex bot.
His hand dips down to your core. He pulls your thong to the side. Two of his fingers rub your sensitive clit.
With his lips near your ear, he rasps, "you're already so wet."
He slides his fingers down to your needy core hole. He dips two of them in with ease. You're so desperate for him, you're pretty sure you could take his massive size without any prep.
The palm of his hand ruts against your clit, and he works his two fingers in and out of you. Gasps leave your lips as your head rolls back against his shoulder. One of your hands grip his sweatpants while the other grips the arm that's wrapped around your stomach, holding you against him.
Your high is rapidly approaching. Your body tenses, as you struggle to breathe for a moment.
"So good for me." He moans in your ear.
Your high breaks, and your walls flutter like a heartbeat squeezing his fingers. He rubs your clits, helping you ride out your high.
"Oh—" you pant.
"You sound so pretty." He whispers against your ear.
"Fuck me."
You push your hips back against the erection that's straining against his sweatpants. He presses you fully against the window. He pulls back just enough to push his sweatpants down below his butt. He pulls out his cock, pumping it slowly a few times. Another blessing from his engineer is that his "precum" works as the perfect lubricant.
"Keep your chest against the window, and push your hips back towards me." He grabs your hip and puts you into position.
With his cock in his hand, he runs it through your folds a few times. Each time he brushes your clit, you can't help but moan.
"Please." You have no problem begging him.
The rosy mushroom tip nudges at your weeping entrance. He pushes an inch in and pulls it out. He does it a few times, teasing you. You push your hips back, causing him to slip in further.
"Naughty girl." He gives your ass a quick swat.
"Please, Shua."
He lets out a little laugh. He grips your hips with both hands. He pushes his hips in slowly. He feels you completely, he's so big you can feel every single ridge of his cock. He starts at a slow but deep pace.
Your cheek rests against the cold glass. You could care less if anyone in the sky scrapers that line the sky can see you. Joshua is fucking you so hard, your brain has stopped working. The only thing you can process is the tip of his cock, kissing your cervix over and over again.
You rock your hips back, helping meet him with each thrust. The groans that leave his lips sound sinful. Leaning forward he starts kissing the side of your neck.
"Are you close?" He rasps.
"Yes." You whine.
Without saying a word, he pulls out of you. You can't even react before he’s flipping you around. He uses his enhanced strength to lift you up, as if you weigh nothing. He pulls your panties to the side before sliding you down his massive length. Closing your eyes, you lean your head back against the window. He's hitting a completely different angle in this position.
He thrust into you at a quick pace. His sweats slip further down his thigh with each thrust. Your back knocks against the glass over and over. His lips are anywhere they can reach. He starts by kissing your jaw and then moves down your neck.
Your fingers tangle in his dark hair. Tugging his head back, you desperately want to look at him. His lips part slightly as quiet moans pass his lips.
"Shua—" his name never sounds as sweet as it does falling from your lips in the haze of an orgasm.
His hips don't stop moving. He helps you ride out your high as your walls flutter against his cock.
Your hand talons into his shoulder, lost in a cock drunk haze.
His thrusts get sloppier as he rapidly approaches the edge. He moans your name like a sinful prayer. Similar to humans, he releases a cum like substance when he orgasms. He fills you to the brim, holding you flush against him. Leaning forward, he rests his head against your shoulder.
You're scared if he puts you down, you jelly legs won't work. He leaves a few open mouth kisses against your shoulder before he pulls away.
Slowly he pulls out of you. Gently, he sits your feet on the ground. Your legs feel like they're made of jello. He tugs your thong back over your core that's starting to drip out his release. He leaves you there just long enough for him to pull his pants up and to tuck his softening cock back inside them.
He lifts you up bridal style and carries you to the bathroom. He sits you down on the cold concrete counter. You immediately shiver at the feeling.
"Can you take off your panties?" Your eyes go wide. You aren't sure your abused core can take another orgasm tonight.
"I'm not going to fuck you anymore. I need to clean up my cum."
Lifting your hips you pull off your thong. You hold it out and he grabs it before tossing it in the hamper behind him. He reaches under the cabinet for a cloth.
You take this as your sign to spread your legs. A playful smile tugs at your lips. Dipping your fingers through your sensitive core, you collect some of his release. His cum like substance looks exactly like human cum. It’s thick and milky, but instead of being salty and sometimes unpleasant, his is sweet. It reminds you almost of a subtle simple syrup. Sticking your fingers in your mouth you taste his sweet cum.
Joshua gives you a smile as he shakes his head at you. He runs the cloth under warm water before stepping between your spread legs. He gently cleans up the mess he's made of you.
Before pulling you off the counter, he stands between your legs and leans of kisses across your face. He has one hand on your butt and the other on your cheek. The hand that's on your cheek, he taps three times before pulling back.
"It's almost five, you need to sleep."
He pulls you off the counter and carries you to your room. He lays you down gently on the bed. Crawling under the covers, you wait for him to join you. He's over by the window that looks out into the city. He pulls back the curtains to block a little of the morning sun that will soon be rising.
He joins you in bed and pulls your body close to his. You're laying on your side with him firmly pressed behind you. You smile at the fact that you're no longer wearing panties and just a shirt.
"Sweet Dreams, Starlight."
GLITCHES AND STATIC
It's a night where you finally don't have to work. You contemplated staying in all night and just spending time with Joshua. Somehow Mingyu and Wonwoo convinced you to go out with them. They seem to be the only two that don't cause problems when they go out. Sitting in a bar near your place, Joshua comes over holding a bottle of beer and a weird lime green looking drink.
He slides in next to you. Wonwoo was telling you about a motorcycle he was looking to get soon. Mingyu slides in next to him, holding the same two drinks as Joshua.
"Why did you bring over battery acid?" Wonwoo asks, picking up and examining the drink.
"It's called luminescent." Mingyu responds.
"Please tell me someone didn't make a new drug." You sigh.
"The bartender said it's like PopRocks but more citrusy." Joshua chimes in.
"PopRocks makes me incredibly drunk after one." You've blacked out too many times because of that potent sparkly pink drink.
"I think Starry should drink the beer." Mingyu says. It's the best idea, Joshua can't actually get drunk. He really only drinks to blend in socially.
"What about us?" Wonwoo looks at the fluorescent green drink.
"I'll drink it, you can drive us home." Luckily Wonwoo and Mingyu are roommates and rode here together.
Joshua goes to move his hand to grab his drink, and you immediately catch his hand twitching and locking up. You definitely haven't seen that happen before. Resting your hand on his thigh, you give it a squeeze. He glances at you, moving his hand to his lap. Taking his wrist in your hand you rub slow circles into the underside where his skin is delicate.
Wonwoo and Mingyu are oblivious to what is happening as Mingyu is talks about some cute bartender he met.
Joshua keeps trying to squeeze his hand. Slowly, the glitch works its way out. He grabs your hand, bringing the top of it to his lips for a gentle kiss.
You give him a knowing smile.
"Shua, you need to try this luminescent drink."
"Alright." With his other hand, he picks up the glass filled with the electric liquid.
Soon a very buzzed Mingyu has convinced Wonwoo that they should play darts. You and Joshua are given a moment alone at the table.
Running your finger along the side of the beer bottle, you're mindlessly playing with the condensation. Joshua is still slowly sipping on the electric drink. He opted not to chug it like Mingyu did.
"Is the glitch with your hand new?"
"Kind of." He sighs, flexing the hand that glitched.
"How long has this been going on?" You hate that he didn't tell you the first time it happened.
"About two weeks ago." He looks down at the table, embarrassed. He absolutely hates anything like this that reminds him he's not human.
"Two weeks and you didn't tell me." You stare at the side of his head.
"Yeah. It's fine. It will work itself out." He looks at you and gives you a smile. As if he's trying to convince both of you that it's fine.
"No, it won't. I need to look at your software and fix it."
Mingyu lets out a cheer, catching both your attention. Joshua grabs his drink, taking a big gulp to help cut the tension.
He sets the glass down on the table. "Can we talk about this later?"
"Sure." This isn't a conversation that you want other people to hear necessarily. You don't want the team finding out about him glitching. Seungcheol might not be happy if one of his enforcers are having processing errors and glitches.
After Mingyu's poor decision to drink a beer after the luminescent drink, Joshua helps move a very drunk Mingyu to Wonwoo's car outside. You stand by the bike, watching everything unfold. Wonwoo reaches into the glove compartment and grabs a packet of jolt. It's a sweet substance that helps sober people up from alcohol and blue dust.
Wonwoo pulls the substance into his best friend’s mouth and slaps his cheek. Mingyu shakes his head and from a distance you can see he's already sobering up.
Joshua closes the car door and walks over to your bike. You hold out his helmet for him.
The ride back to your place doesn't take too long. Arriving back at your home, Joshua immediately heads off to the bathroom. You head off to the bedroom and grab something to change into. Opening the bathroom door, you're instantly greeted by steam and the sound of Joshua humming a song.
Stripping away your clothes, you toss them in the hamper. Opening the glass door, you step inside. Nothing is said as Joshua steps aside, giving you room for the water. You stand there, facing the facet. The hot water feels cleaning.
Joshua presses himself against you, wrapping his arms around your stomach. Neither of you say anything as he holds you.
He pulls away and grabs your strawberry scented body wash. He takes his time washing your body, making sure to massage your tense shoulders.
Getting out of the shower, you both take your time drying yourself off. You don't bother getting dressed.
"Why did you not tell me?" You finally break the screaming silence.
"Because I didn't want you to worry."
"Shua, we don't keep secrets." Since the moment you turned him on, you never hid anything from him. Long before you were romantically involved, he was still your friend and your companion. You promised him from the very beginning you would never keep secrets from him.
"I know and I'm sorry."
"Let me look at your software and upgrade you."
"It's fine? If it gets worse you can." You can tell by the look on his face this is a losing battle tonight.
"Fine." You grab your clothes off the counter. You pull on a baggy thin tshirt, and a lacy pink thong, this is the usual attire you walk around at home and sleep in.
You can feel Joshua's eye burning into you as you walk out of the bathroom. You head off to the kitchen. You need a glass of water. You don't want to go to bed upset and you just need a moment to cool off.
Leaning against the counter, you look out at the bright city. You hear Joshua before you see him. You look up and find him dressed in just his tight boxer-briefs.
"I don't want to go to bed mad." He says, stopping in front of you.
"I'm not mad." You're not lying to him. You aren't mad, you're more stressed than anything. "I'm just worried."
"I know you are, and I'm worried too." You both know deep down inside he should at least shut down for the night so he can reboot slowly.
You sit the water down on the counter. Holding your hand out, you wait for him to come close to you. He grabs your hand, stepping right in front of you. He places your hand on his chest. If he was human, you would be able to feel his heart beating.
You drum your finger three times right above the void of where his heart should be.
"It would beat for you." In a perfect world, Joshua wouldn't struggle with feeling inadequate about not being human. Him being an android changes nothing for you. You don't love him any less because of it.
You tap his chest three times again. "Mine beats only for you."
You lean against the counter. You take a moment focusing on him. Recently, he seems to be more emotional. The only reason that could possibly be is he's worried about something going wrong with his programming.
He places his hands on either side of you, caging you in against the counter.
"I'm sorry."
Things between you haven't always been like this. It wasn't until last year when Joshua started fighting shutting down a few times a week at night. He's been with you for about three years and you have been romantically involved since six months after you found him. Things between you have always been intense, but in the last year and half, you noticed how much Joshua struggles with the idea of not being a human.
"We're okay." You whisper.
Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pull his face closer to yours. Your lips touch, and the only thing your brain can think of is getting as close as possible to him. His hand grabs your hips, pulling you far enough away for him to slide his hand down your back, and to grab you butt.
You moan into his mouth, rolling your body towards him. He pulls away and immediately picks you up sitting you on the edge of the counter.
Instinctively, you spread your legs, and pull your panties to the side. He dips down and starts kissing your knee, making his way across your inner thigh. He kisses the top of your mound as he drags two fingers through your wet folds.
He focuses on licking your clit over and over again. Two of his fingers pump in and out of you, helping to stretch you out.
Your fingers tangle in his dark locks, hold his face close to your core. Looking down, you find him looking up at you through his lashes.
He eats you out like you're water in a blazing hot sun. Pushing your hips towards his face, you're growing desperate for your release. You just want him inside you, but you know he won't until you've came at least once.
He moves his fingers in a come hither motion, touching that spot inside of you that has you seeing stars.
The tidal wave hits you hard. Tugging on his hair, you try to anchor yourself. Your walls tug on his fingers and he keeps brushing your g spot.
"Fuck— Shua—" your words are nothing more than a broken plea.
He pulls back smiling. He dips his two fingers in his mouth, cleaning up your release.
"You sound so pretty when you moan." He steps back and takes off his boxers.
He pumps his massive erection, helping to lube it up before he stretches you out. Your kitchen counters sit at the perfect height for him to be able to fuck you while you sit on them.
He leans in close, giving you a wicked grin before kissing you. You moan into his mouth as he runs the tip of his cock through your folds.
He always likes to tease you with just the tip a few times before he slowly pushes his whole length in.
Your legs wrap around him, pulling him fully inside. His rose tip kisses your cervix as he bottoms out.
Wrapping your arms around his neck, you crash your lips into his. He pushes his hips into yours at a slow and deep pace.
Time doesn't seem to exist when you're with Joshua like this. All that matters is just the two of you.
Leaning back, you look down at where you're connected, watching as he stretches you.
"Baby, take your shirt off." He tugs on the bottom of the thin fabric.
Pulling your shirt off and tossing it on the ground, you're left completely bare except for your panties he has pulled to the side.
Reaching forward, he grabs one of your breasts, groping it before he tweaks your nipple.
"Fuck—" you moan.
Leaning back on your hands, you push your hips to the furthest edge of the counter. One of Joshua's hands rests on your core. His thumb rubs circles on your clit. He picks up his pace, thrusting into you.
He lifts your leg up over his shoulder. The new position has him hitting different areas then before.
"I'm close." You moan.
He’s rubbing your clit harder, helping to push you over the edge.
"Oh fuck." Your eyes squeeze shut, and your head rolls back. Your orgasm hits hard. He doesn't stop thrusting or working on your clit. Unfamiliar pressure builds in your core. One specifically hard thrust makes you see stars, and liquid sprays from you, covering his crotch.
He gets a solid two thrust in before he fills you to the brim with his synthetic cum. He stops moving fully. Releasing your leg, he pulls you close to him. Your body is absolutely spent. Your head is resting on his shoulder. His large hand is running up and down your back, helping you soothe you.
"You've never done that before." He finally speaks.
"I don't think my legs can work."
"Let me clean you up and I'll carry you to bed."
Sitting on the counter, Joshua takes his time cleaning up the mess he made between your legs. He lifts you with ease, taking you to the bedroom.
It's not long before you're sound asleep in his arms.
-
It's another late night job. Minghao has a drive for you to look at. There is a meeting on the north side of the hub.
Soonyoung is already with Minghao, and Jeonghan is coming along to make sure no one is following you.
Minghao picked a better meeting place than Soonyoung is known to pick. You're at a little hole in the wall family restaurant. There is a flicking neon open sign at the door.
You're greeted by an older man who just gives you and Minghao a nod. He tends to like to come to this place for meetings. This sweet old lady is used to Minghao and his crew showing up.
He’s at one of those L shaped booths in the back corner. He's got a sea of plates on the table. Soonyoung is next to him, eating from a plate of noodles.
Minghao is tapping away on his tablet. Jeonghan slides into the booth next to Soonyoung. You follow next to him. Joshua sits on the edge keeping guard.
"Jeonghan, did you come just for the food?" Minghao quips not looking up from the tablet.
"No, Cheol sent me."
"Does Cheol not trust us?" Soonyoung responds.
"Well, he knows we have a taste for blue dust, and he threatened to end all of us if we touch it while working." Jeonghan reached for an empty plate.
"You two idiots are the ones who did dust while you were working." You glare at him.
"How did Cheol find out about that?" Soonyoung asks, glancing up.
"I told him." You don't care that you snitched on them. Them being high is a liability.
"Then why did he send you to babysit, you were also high?" Minghao says glancing up from the tablet.
"Because he knows I'll stop it from happening again. He already threatened to throw me off the FleXeon tower if I fuck up again." The thing about Seungcheol is that he's the ring leader and the man in charge, and all of your group loves and respects him, but you all know he's a very capable man and should be feared.
"He’s trying to get into Cheol's good graces by babysitting." You respond. You know Seungcheol is tough on Jeonghan but he cares about him the most.
Jeonghan starts dishing a plate of food. Him and Soonyoung start talking about the noodles.
Joshua reaches into his bag and pulls out your tablet. Minghao set down his chopsticks. Reaching into his jacket pocket he pulls out a drive. With a firm push, he slides it across the table.
Picking up the drive, you connect it to your tablet. Opening the files, you see something unexpected. You open a drive called "the wife", your brows knit together as you scroll through evidence of an affair unfolding.
"The CEO’s wife is cheating?"
"He's blackmailing her." Minghao closes his tablet.
"That's illegal." Soonyoung says between bites.
"We can add it to FleXeon’s long list." Jeonghan rolls his eyes.
"There is some code that's blocking some security footage that I can’t figure out. I'm pretty sure you can break it."
"Should we be discussing this here?" Joshua finally speaks up.
"There isn't a soul in here and Ms. Rose knows to stay quiet. I make sure she's paid well for the trouble." You glance over to see the neon flickering open sign is turned off and the door is shut.
"I'll work on getting in. When do you want the drive back?"
"After you crack the code. Seungcheol wants a team meeting soon anywhere." Pulling the drive out, you hand it and your tablet back to Joshua. You notice immediately his hand glitches as he tries to grab the tablet. He closes his eyes as if he's trying to focus. His hand finally works and he's able to put your tablet away.
Minghao flags over Ms. Rose and hands her a hefty wad of cash. You and the boys all make your way out the door. Soonyoung and Minghao head off to their care and you follow Jeonghan off towards his. Seungcheol put him in charge of being the driver tonight.
Arriving at the apartment, Joshua is holding your bag and your hand. The elevator ride is quiet except for the hum of the elevator. The doors ding and slide open.
Walking into your apartment, you take off your shoes and immediately get your other tablet out. Moving to the kitchen table, you start sorting through all coding.
Joshua disappears for a while before coming back dressed just in a pair of sweatpants. Glancing over into the living area by the window, you see him messing with his hand. He needs to power down and reboot but you don't want to argue with him tonight.
"Are you hungry?" Joshua asks, walking towards the kitchen area.
"Yeah. I didn't really feel like eating at the meeting." In those kinds of setting, you don't normally have an appetite.
"I can cook you dinner."
"Can you make us ramyeon?"
"Yeah."
He moves around the kitchen quietly while you work on finding the coding Minghao mentioned. This job seems bigger than anything your job has ever done. Seungcheol’s goal is to take down FleXeon and to steal money from them. Once this job is done, and if it goes down correctly, you will have enough money for the rest of your life.
Once this job is done, maybe you and Joshua can find a bigger place or take a trip somewhere. You stop typing and just stare at your tablet. Maybe you and Joshua could live a more comfortable life. A life that doesn't involve you constantly doing something illegal. Honestly you don't really need a bigger space. This loft style apartment is perfect for you both. As long as you're together, you don't feel like you need more.
"Starlight?" Joshua sits down at the table across from you.
"Yeah?"
"You're zoning out."
He puts your bowl down in front of you. You close your and pick up your chopsticks. "I'm just thinking about what we can do after this job."
"What do you want to do?" He picks up his own chopsticks
"I don't know. Maybe we could leave the crew and stop working these jobs."
"We can if you want to."
"I thought about even moving."
Joshua glances around the apartment. "But this is our home."
"I know. I love this apartment and it feels like our home. Maybe we can take a vacation. Get some space from this city."
He reaches across the small table taking your hand in his. "I'll follow you anywhere you want to go." Joshua loves you so much, and it's not because you programmed him to love you. You made sure when you fixed his programming after you found him, you gave him emotions and free will. He fell in love with you because he wanted to.
You aren't sure what you want to do, you just know that whatever happens, you want him by your side.
THE NEON GLOW IN YOUR EYES
The lights district is definitely your least favorite part of the city. You finished working another stake out and a handful of the guys convinced you and Joshua to go out.
Standing by the table, you watch the large tv that hangs in the middle. There is a press conference with FleXeon CEO Kang Dohyun. Your eyes focus trying to read the subtitles as they sprawl across the screen. The company is working on putting out another line of androids similar to Joshua. It doesn't sit right with you that people are making androids to basically be worker and sex bots. Next to you are Chan, Soonyoung and Mingyu. Joshua is at the bar with Wonwoo and Jeonghan.
Glancing over, you see Chan pull out a container of blue dust. At this point, half your crew does it during their off time. You tried it a few times when you first joined the crew. The powder feels like instant adrenaline with heightened emotions that fades into relaxation.
You think the only ones in your crew who don’t mess with this stuff are Seungcheol, Joshua, Wonwoo, and you.
Soonyoung nudges your shoulder holding out the vile light blue powder in it. "You want a bump?"
"Soonyoung—"
"Come on, you're stressed and this will help." He raises his brow.
You glance over at the bar, seeing Joshua talk to the boys. He must feel you looking at him, he turns and gives you a smile, tilting his head.
Maybe Soonyoung is right, maybe this will take the edge off. Grabbing the vile from his hand, you pour a small dab on the back of your hand. You lick it off in one quick swipe or the tongue.
Taking a slow deep breath, the high feels like ice rushing through your veins. Your eyes feel incredibly heavy for a moment. The flutter and you instantly see Joshua's eyes locked on yours.
Joshua hands his drink off to Wonwoo and rushes over to you. Every single nerve in your body feels electric. The moment he's in front of you, he rests his hand on your cheek.
"Starlight, what did you do?" He leans in close so you can hear him over the booming music.
"Dust." Your pupils are blown wide as you share him.
Joshua hits Soonyoung's arm capturing his attention. "How much did she take?!" Joshua shouts over the music.
"A small hit, she's fine. Give her an hour and she'll be relaxed."
"I don't want her on the back of my bike in an hour."
Leaning in close Joshua brushes his nose against yours, helping to center you.
"Baby."
"Yes, Shua?"
Wonwoo and Jeonghan join the rest of the group. Wonwoo instantly can tell by Joshua's uneasiness what has unfolded.
"Did she take a hit?" Jeonghan asks.
"Yeah!" Chan shouts over the music.
"She hasn't done dust in years." Jeonghan says, patting Joshua on the back.
"Do you want me to get the jolt out of my car?" Wonwoo asks Joshua.
Joshua takes your face in both hands. There is a neon glow from the lights above shining in your blown pupils. He's seen you drunk before, but he's never seen you high.
"Do you want Wonwoo to get you a jolt?"
"I don't want to think anymore tonight." Between trying to take down FleXeon and worrying about Joshua and his software glitches, for once, you just want to shut down your brain that won't stop spinning.
"Wonwoo, later can you take the bike home and I'll drive your car?"
"Yeah." Wonwoo is a wise man, and he's well aware that something deeper is unfolding.
The booming music feels like it's rattling your chest. Joshua's hand stays on your waist, holding you close. Your eyes find Soonyoung's blown pupils staring back at you. For a while now, Soonyoung has had a love for the shimmery blue dust. He's the type that will take another hit before the relaxation kicks in.
Soonyoung has his eyes on a pretty blonde girl on the dance floor. He starts whispering something in her ear.
Before you start to dip down, you just want to enjoy this feeling. Reaching out, you grab Joshua's hand.
"I want to dance." You say with your lips against his ear.
He just nods. He takes your hand, leading to the crowded dance floor. Soonyoung is already dancing with the blonde, and Chan has found himself a pretty girl.
The whole time you're dancing with Joshua, every single sensation feels heightened to the max. The feeling of his hands on your body is electric.
Your hands are wrapped around his neck, pulling him down to you. Connecting your lips to the side of his neck, you kiss your way across his synthetic skin. Running your tongue along the "J05HU9" that runs down the side of his neck.
"I want you." You say just loud enough for him to hear.
He pulls away and looks at you with big doe eyes. He looks utterly confused as he just blinks at you. "Not like this."
He doesn't like having sex with you when you're drunk. You know there's no way he'll have sex with you while you're high.
"Oh." You pull back.
Shaking his head, he grabs your hand. "Starlight, not like this."
A slow, steady warmth starts taking over you. Your heightened emotions are making you crash. The feeling of rejection is crushing.
"Baby." He takes your face in both hands. "We're okay."
All you can do is blink at him. "You don't want me?"
"I always want you. I just need to take care of you tonight."
He leans in close, resting his nose against yours. He presses his lips to yours for three quick kisses.
"Should we sit down?" You pull back from him.
Taking your hand, he leads you back toward the table where Wonwoo, Jeonghan and quite high Mingyu are sitting.
If you were sober, you might enjoy the fact that Jeonghan is trying to be on his best behavior since Seungcheol clearly put him in his place.
Joshua helps slide you into the booth. He sits down next to you. His hand laces with yours, holding it in his lap.
Slowly, your heightened emotions are starting to dissipate. A jelly-like feeling is starting to take over. You feel incredibly calm and relaxed.
Closing your eyes you lean against Joshua. "I'm ready for bed." You mumble. It's been over an hour since you took a hit and your body is starting to crash.
"I think it's time Starry goes home." Jeonghan says before taking a sip of his beer.
"Do you want my car?" Wonwoo asks.
"How is Mingyu going to get home if you just have the bike?" Joshua asks.
"We all should head out. I'll take the bike, and you can take my car." Jeonghan says.
"Soonyoung and Chan left with those girls. I'm good riding the bike."
Joshua gets out of the booth and picks you up effortlessly. He holds you close, making his way through the crowded club. Mingyu follows behind Wonwoo closely.
Arriving at Jeonghan's car, Joshua sits you in the passenger seat. Looking over at Wonwoo's car, you see him pouring a jolt into Mingyu's mouth. Joshua works on buckling you up before giving Jeonghan his motorcycle helmet and his jacket.
Joshua hops in the car. "We'll be home soon."
The ride back to your apartment feels like a blur. Joshua parks the car and Jeonghan pulls up behind you on the bike. Jeonghan helps Joshua get you upstairs. Joshua lays you in bed and strips away your clothes, leaving you in just your panties. Going over to the closet, he grabs a baggy shirt and helps you pull it on.
"I need to thank Jeonghan, and then I'll be back." He leans down and kisses your forehead.
Heading out into the living area he finds Jeonghan sipping on a glass of water looking out into the fluorescent cityscape.
"I haven't seen her like that since she found you." Jeonghan says. Joshua doesn't say anything. He's not quite sure how to respond. "I used to think what she has with you isn't healthy for her, but I think it's the opposite. You ground her in a good way. You've become a home for her. She loves you so much, and it's clear you love her."
"Jeonghan, I love her so much."
"Did she program you to love her?" Jeonghan glances over at the android standing next to him.
"No. I have free will, emotions and feelings. The only thing she did was program me to make me have normal emotions humans have." Joshua's eyes bounce around the room. "When I first told her I liked her, she asked me if I made that choice on my own. Or if I felt like I owed her something."
"Do you think you owe her something?" Jeonghan loves you and only wants to protect you.
"No. I just can't help that I fell in love with her."
Jeonghan reaches up, patting Joshua on the back. "I used to worry about her all the time. Cheol found her right after she lost her family. She was so lost and lonely. He took her in and she joined our group. She used to live with me in the beginning. I would find her crying sometime in the middle of the night. Those nights used to rip my heart out. I just wanted to see her happy, and I hoped one day she would find someone who could love and care for her like she deserved." He pauses and looks back at the city. "I didn't think it would be an android she found, but finding you made a light start burning inside of her. Falling in love with you made her so bright."
"Jeonghan."
"You don't have to say anything else. Just do me a favor and always take care of her. Even if she wants to walk away from this crew, I just want to know you'll always be with her."
"I will."
"I should go." Jeonghan pats him on his back one more time before heading out.
Joshua stands there for a moment, locked into place. He knows before him you were a mess, and he doesn't remember his life before you turned him on, but he knows what little life he had before you got together, hollow and empty before you fell in love.
His hand feels weird. He looks down and tries to squeeze his hand. He takes a moment, trying to focus on getting rid of the glitch. He's just glad Jeonghan didn't witness this. It takes minutes before he starts feeling normal.
Walking back into the bedroom, he finds you sound asleep in bed. He strips away his clothes and stays just in his boxes-briefs. Pulling the covers back he curls up next to you.
He pulls your body close to his. He kisses the top of your head and whispers, "I love you."
REBOOT AND RESTART
Stationed outside Quantum Tower where CEO Kang lives, you're in the back of a truck with Jeonghan. Joshua is standing outside acting as a guard. Chan is roaming the area with Vernon.
Sitting in the driver’s seat is Seungcheol. It's quite unusual for him to go out on missions. He's got Jihoon at the base, his third in command, with some of the secondary team at FleXeon tower with Minghao looking into their security coding, while Wonwoo, Mingyu, and Soonyoung are running the perimeter there.
"So, the wife is fucking one of the broad members?" Seungcheol asks, looking into the back of the mirror.
"It seems that way." You're tapping away at your tablet. You're trying to access the wife’s financial records.
"It looks like she was being blackmailed by someone anonymous that the CEO hired." Jeonghan chimes in.
"Why is he blackmailing her?" Seungcheol asks.
"Because he's afraid she knows too much." You've managed to find her records and discover she's been paying large sums of money to an unknown account.
"Something else is going on with her." You say.
"What?" Jeonghan asks.
"A different account is sending her large payments from her."
There are two taps on the door, before Joshua slides the door open. Chan and Vernon pile in.
"We got to go. Security is doing a perimeter sweep."
You pull the drive from your tablet and hand it to Seungcheol. "Have Minghao look into this. See if he can figure out who owns this account. "
Seungcheol slides it into this jacket pocket. Jeonghan crawls into the front seat next to Seungcheol. Vernon and Chan buckle up.
"Alright let's head out." Seungcheol nods and shifts the car into drive. Joshua moves into the seat next to you.
Looking down at his lap, you see Joshua's hand is fully locked up. Reaching down, you take his wrist in your hand. You slowly start dragging your thumb across the delicate synthetic skin on the inside of his wrist, helping to soothe him.
No matter what happens tonight, you know that Joshua needs to shut down and reboot.
The ride to Seungcheol place is about twenty minutes. He lives in an apartment on the outskirts of the hub.
Seungcheol parks the car and everyone piles out. Entering the elevator, it's quite full. Joshua is pressed against the wall with your back plastered to his front. His arm is wrapped around you, holding you close to him. Glancing up, you find Jeonghan carefully watching you. Closing your eyes, you lean your head back against Joshua's chest.
The doors dig and Seungcheol steps out. The whole crew follows closely behind. Piling into Seungcheol place, you find the girl that lives with him. You don't know much about her. According to Seungcheol she's a childhood friend he looks after. The moment she sees everyone enter, she scurries off towards her bedroom. The door closes and shortly after Jihoon, Soonyoung and Minghao walk in.
Vernon sits down on the couch with Chan. Jeonghan immediately goes off to the kitchen. Seungcheol is standing by the window with Minghao and Soonyoung scrolling through his tablet.
Joshua is standing next to you. His hand keeps glitching. Looking down, you see him trying to get it to stop. Reaching down, you grab his hand. Maybe if you mess with it, it will help distract him.
"Kang is definitely making lavender haze, and his wife is well aware of it. It's clear he's just not making tech for androids like Joshua." Seungcheol walks over. "I think if we shut down his system, we can copy the software coding he used for his androids, wipe his accounts and set him up."
"How would we set him up?" Jeonghan asks, walking back into the living room.
"We're gonna make sure everyone knows FleXeon created lavender haze."
"I think between me and Starry, we could hack the programming and any of the FleXeon androids can be reset to have emotions and memories like Joshua." You knew at some point the software edits you did to fix Joshua would end up being used again. If Seungcheol wants to fix the FleXeon androids, you will. All the androids he has out in the city being workers and sex bots deserve a chance to feel human like Joshua.
You give Joshua's hand a squeeze. "We could do it."
"Hao, I'm going to have you see who is paying the wife." Seungcheol tosses the drive towards him.
Minghao catches it and salutes him. "Next week I want to send Soonyoung and Vernon into the building. Starry, see if you can shut down their security system for a few minutes."
"Okay." You're pretty sure you should be able to do that no problem.
"Alright, you're all free. I should check on Angel." Angel is the girl who lives with him. She's one of the few people who Seungcheol will show his softer side to.
Joshua walks over to the table and grabs both your helmets. You're exhausted, it's almost three in the morning. This mission tonight has lasted longer than planned.
Heading down to the garage, the elevator is filled with most of the group. Jeonghan and Jihoon stayed behind.
The doors open and everyone immediately starts going their separate ways. Wonwoo and Mingyu head off to Wonwoo's car. Vernon and Chan head off to their cars. Soonyoung and Minghao both walk towards their bikes they took here.
Joshua takes his time helping you put on your helmet.
"How is your hand?" You ask, watching him put on his own helmet.
"It's fine." He squeezes his hand to show you it works. You both know it's not truly fine.
He hops on the bike, and holds his hand out. You hop on behind him. Wrapping your arms around his waist, you hold on. Driving out of the garage, you're hit with the sight of the wet asphalt. It must have rained while you were having your meet. The city neon haze leaves the wet roads glimmering in a glow of turquoise.
The ride back home is short. Joshua seems too quiet. You hate this feeling of impending doom.
Entering the home you share, Joshua takes your helmet before he heads off to the bedroom.
Following behind him, you start getting ready for bed. You get dressed in your normal sleeping attire. Joshua leaves after stripping down to a pair of boxers.
Walking into the living area, you find him staring out into the city below.
"Shua." He turns around.
"I won't fight you on shutting down tonight." You both know there is no point in fighting about this anymore.
"You'll only be down for about two hours. I just need to reboot your system."
"Okay." He lets out a sigh.
Walking off to the bedroom, Joshua lays on his side of the bed. Crawling into the bed next to him, you sit on your knees. He leans up, resting his hand on your cheek. He presses his lips to yours for a kiss.
He rests his hand on your thigh and gives it three taps. "I love you too." You respond.
He reaches behind his left ear and holds down a button that is barely visible. His eyes turn a bright blue before they shut. His whole body goes limp as he powers off.
Your eyes instantly well with tears. Reaching out, you rest your hand where his heart would be located. In order for his system to properly reboot he'll need to be shut down for two hours. You have this sudden feeling of loneliness that takes over. Crawling off the bed, you grab the tablet that controls his operating system.
You open it up and a hologram of his system appears. You go into his power settings, and set it for him to reboot back in two hours.
Closing the tablet, you look at him lying there completely lifeless. You know he needs to reboot every so often, and you even fight him about it, but you hate this.
Crawling back into bed, you curl up against him. Resting your head on his chest, you can't help but cry. Your tears continue to fall until you finally fall asleep.
When Joshua finally reboots, he instantly notices your tear stained cheeks. He knows you've cried yourself to sleep.
"Starlight." He whispers.
Your eyes slowly flutter open. "Shua?"
"I'm awake, and I'm okay."
"Can you hold me?" You whisper.
He moves you both so you're lying on your side and he's pressed up against you. He presses a few feather light kisses to the side of your neck.
He taps your stomach gently three times. "Goodnight, Starlight."
-
It's been five days since Joshua rebooted his system, and he may not want to admit it, but it didn’t fix his glitch with his hand.
You're in the lights district again. Soonyoung and Jeonghan are yapping about something. Mingyu is flirting with a girl at the bar, you're sitting at the table with Wonwoo, and Joshua.
Soonyoung walks over and pulls out a bag of blue dust. He holds it up towards you and gives you a wicked smile.
"Come on pretty girl, you know you wanna hit this." Soonyoung loves flirting with you. Joshua tries not to be fazed by Soonyoung, but it's hard sometimes.
"Soonyoung." You narrow your eyes at him.
"Last time you did this, I thought you and Joshua were gonna fuck on the dance floor." You instantly cringe at the reminder of what unfolded between you and your partner. His rejection still stings, but you understand why he did it.
"Knock it off." You respond.
"You act like you've never done dust before. My sweet Starry, we all know you're not miss innocent." Jeonghan fully focuses on what's unfolding.
"Soonyoung, knock it off. I don't know why you're flirting or antagonizing Starry, but you need to stop." Jeonghan put his hand on his shoulder.
"No drugs tonight." Joshua chimes in. He rests hand on your thigh, before giving it a squeeze.
"It's time for us to leave." You say.
You and Joshua get up and head out of the crowded club. You lace your fingers with Joshua, weaving your way through the club. Stepping outside, you notice the wet asphalt that has a neon glow reflecting off of it. You must have missed the rain while you were in the club.
Joshua releases your hand and grabs your helmet. "Where do you want to go?"
"I'm hungry."
"Do you want to go to Sarks?" Sarks is a little hole in the wall restaurant near your apartment.
"Yes."
Joshua helps you put on your helmet. Hoping on the bike, you sit behind Joshua with your arms wrapped around him. The ride to the restaurant isn't too long. This place has become a place that you and Joshua started coming to after late nights out. The place is located a couple blocks from your apartment. It's on the corner of a twelve story apartment building.
Walking inside, you're immediately told to pick your own table. This place is filled to the brim with people who work late. A few of the servers here are FleXeon androids, just like Joshua. Ever since you changed Joshua's software, you always wondered if you could change your favorite android Cherry's. She's a sweet girl, who was clearly programmed to act like the sweet girl next door. If Seungcheol's plan goes correctly, you want to give her the life she deserves.
She walks over to your booth and takes both your orders. You hand over the menu and watch as she walks away.
"What are you thinking about?" Joshua asks.
"I just hope if Cheol's plan goes correctly, maybe I can reprogram Cherry like I did you."
"She's sweet." Joshua looks over at your waitress putting your order into the system. "Does she just power down here every night?"
"Probably." It makes you sad to think about the fact that all she knows how to do is work. You aren't sure what Joshua's job was before you found him, but based on his original programming you're pretty sure he was supposed to be a sex bot.
"Cheol's plan will work, and we can save her. Maybe she can move in with some of the boys until we can help set her up." Joshua gives you a sweet smile.
"That's a good idea." You hope to help give other androids a life.
SYNTHETIC TEARS AND HIGH STRUNG EMOTIONS
You've both had the day off and you've spent the day locked away in your apartment.
Standing in the shower together, you watch as Joshua scrubs his shampoo into his hair. He stops moving and just stares at you with a blank stare. Immediately, you know his hand and possibly his arm is frozen. In the last couple days his glitch had gotten worse.
You don't want to fight about upgrading him, but you know that’s what you have to do.
His eyes start to dodge yours. He turns around so his back is to you. He finally gets his arm to move again. Stepping closer, you wrap your arms around him. Your cheek rests between his shoulder blades against his wet synthetic skin.
"I don't want to talk about it in the shower." He breaks the silence.
"Okay." You run your hand across the wet skin just below his bellybutton.
Getting out of the shower Joshua dries off quickly and pulls on a pair of sweats. By the way he rushes out of the bathroom you would swear he's avoiding you.
You take your time drying yourself off and applying your sweet scented lotions and oils. You get dressed in a pair of panties and baggy shirt.
Walking into the main living space, you find Joshua at the stove. He's making what you assume is ramyeon.
Heading over to the fridge you grab a bottle of juice. You look at Joshua watching as he's focused on cooking.
"I thought we should eat." He doesn't need food to survive. He only eats so he can feel more human.
"I'm hungry."
"Can you set the table?" It's clear he's trying to distract himself from the necessary conversation you need to have.
"Absolutely."
You grab some napkins and two pairs of chopsticks. Joshua dishes two bowls before bringing them over. He places the bowl in front of you. He sits down across from you.
You both eat in silencehe looming, much needed conversation, hanging over both of you like a dark cloud.
You take your first bite of ramyeon. Placing your chopsticks on the table, you give him a sad smile. He looks down at his empty bowl. Neither of you can avoid this any longer.
"Shua."
He closes his eyes and tilts his head back. "I know."
"You have let me upgrade you. If you keep glitching like this, a systematic error could pop up in your software."
He doesn't say anything, he just stands up. He grabs both your dishes and walks over to the sink. He doesn't bother cleaning them. He just rinses them with water.
"Joshua." You stand you. You don't want to play games right now. You just want him to listen to you.
He walks towards the living area. You follow him closely.
"I don't want you to upgrade me. It's a mild glitch, I'm fine." He sits down on the couch with a huff.
"Clearly you're not fine." You love him so damn much, but sometimes he's too stubborn. "Your mild glitch will lead to something worse if you don't let me fix it."
"No." He leans back pinching the bridge of his nose.
"Joshua—" He stares at for a long moment before standing back up.
He doesn't respond. He just walks over to the big window that overlooks the city. You stand frozen in place near the couch.
"Joshua, stop being stubborn about this." You hate that he never makes this easy on you. "If I don't fix this, the error could be irreparable. If we're not careful, it could corrupt your software, and I could lose you. I need you to realize I don't think I could live without you."
He turns around and you instantly recognize the sadness in his eyes. "What if something happens when you upgrade me? I'm absolutely terrified I'm going to shut down for an upgrade and I won't remember a thing when I wake up." You have this same fear, but you trust yourself enough to know that won't happen.
"You have to trust me." He walks towards you in two big steps.
"I do trust you. Just like you can't live without me, I don’t want to exist if I don't remember everything we have."
He drops to his knees in front of you. He rests his head against your stomach. His arms wrap around you, holding you close. Mindlessly you run your fingers through his hair, helping to soothe him.
"I won't let anything go wrong." You close your eyes as tears slide down your cheek.
"You can do the upgrade." He pulls back, and you see his glossy eyes, slowly leaking tears. Just like humans, androids have the ability to cry. "Should we do it tonight?" He picks himself off the floor.
"Yeah."
He stands in front of you. He leans down pressing his lips to yours. Pulling away slightly his noses rest against yours. "I love you." You both are truly in love, but it's rare you say those three words. Normally, you communicate it by three simple taps on the other person's body.
"I love you too."
He laces his fingers with yours, leading you off to the bedroom. He releases your hand and walks over to the shelf by the window. He grabs your tablet that you use to monitor the software, and the cable that connects behind his ear.
He hands off the equipment and lays down on the bed, in the same spot he sleeps in every night.
He blankly stares at the ceiling. The vice grip on your heart is making you nauseous. This is the last thing you want to do. But you know this needs to be done.
"I'm sorry." You truly are. You wish that you didn't have to do this. Upgrading his system scares you, just as much as it scares him.
"It's okay, Starlight." He reaches out for your hand. He brings it towards his lips and presses three kisses to the top of your delicate skin. "I love you." He releases your hand.
Closing your eyes, you try your hardest not to cry. "I love you too."
Taking the cord, you connect it into the small port hidden behind his ear. Plugging it into your tablet, the hologram of his software pops up. You start taking away the coding of his software.
"The software update should take about four hours."
"Okay. Get some sleep while it updates." He glances over at you.
Crawling across the bed closer to him, you lean down and press your lips to his. You kiss him like this is the last time you might get to kiss him. "I'll be right next to you when you wake." You can't help the salty tears that slide down your cheeks.
He reaches up resting his hand on your cheek. "I'll see you in a little while."
He pulls his hand away. You start the updating process. His eyes turn bright blue before they go completely dark as he shuts down.
For the first hour of his update, you lay in bed next to him, watching the tablet to make sure nothing goes wrong. You stay awake until your eyes have grown too tired to stay open.
You dream of Joshua. You dream of a life away from this neon city. You find yourself laying in the tall grass under the warm sun, curled up in his arms. On your finger is a matching gold band that both you and him wear. There's a warmth that fills your chest, that he's your husband.
You're woken up to the feeling of the bed moving. Your eyes slowly flutter open, and you find Joshua awake, laying next to you.
"Joshua?" You’re terrified he won't have his memories.
"Hi, Starlight."
"Are you okay?" You push yourself up.
He nods and gives you a smile. "All my memories are still there."
All the worries that have been eating away at you instantly disappear. Your eyes instantly start to water.
"Baby, don't cry." He hates seeing you upset.
"I was so worried." You push the blanket off you. You push yourself up and crawl into his lap. He rests his hand on your cheek, brushing away your salty tears.
"I'm okay. No need to worry anymore."
Wrapping your arms around his neck, you crash your lips into his.
His strong hands roam your back under your shirt. You pull away from the kiss, long enough to pull off your shirt.
Joshua maneuvers both of you so you're on your back and he's hovering over you.
He leans in, pressing multiple kisses on your lips before he starts leaving a trail of kisses across your jaw and down your neck.
Not much is said as he kisses away his across your chest, taking his time to toy with each of you nipples. He tags his tongue across your stomach. He stops at the top of your panties.
You're impatient and just want him to touch you. "Shua—" you plead.
Hooking his fingers into the top of your panties, he slides them down your thigh. Lying in the bed, completely bare, you stare at him with a mixture of lust and love in your eyes.
"What do you want, Starlight?" Normally, you would tell him to fuck you, but right now, you don't want that. You want him to be as close as possible as he can be to you.
"I just want you."
A smile tugs at his lips. He hops off the bed and makes quick work of removing his sweatpants.
"I don't need foreplay, I just want you."
He walks over to the dresser and pulls out the little container of lube. Even though his cock is self lubricating, he needs to make sure you're wet enough for him. He crawls on to the bed towards you. Clicking the container open, he pours some of the cool lube onto your core. He takes his time massaging you and helping to prep you for his massive size. He clicks it shut again and starts pumping his length, helping to lube up his cock.
Spreading your legs wide, you welcome him. Sex between you is always passionate, and can sometimes be on the rougher side. Right now you don't want that. You just want things to be nice and slow.
He pushes the tip of his cock in, earning a gasp from you. "You feel so good."
Your hand talons into his shoulder pulling him closer to you. You want him as physically close as he can be. His nose rests against yours as he pushes the rest the way in, the tip of his length is kissing your cervix.
He's resting on his knees, practically plastered against you. Reaching up, you hold his face in your hands. He's not moving, he's giving your body a moment to adjust to his size.
"You're the best thing that's ever happened to me." You say as tears slide down your cheek.
"You're the best thing that could have ever happened to me." He gives you a smile that makes you feel like mush. "I can't imagine a life where I'm not by your side."
He starts moving at a slow but deep pace. The room is filled with echoing sounds of skin hitting skin and your moans and whimpers.
Your hands roam his body, touching anywhere you can possibly reach. His lips are constantly on yours, or kissing the side of your neck. He gently nips at your skin, definitely leaving marks in his wake.
The feeling of his cock stretching you out, with each thrust is intoxicating. Reaching between your bodies, your fingers toy with your clit, helping to push you closer and closer to the edge.
"Baby I can tell you're close." He moans against your neck.
You rub your sensitive clit harder, pushing you closer to the edge. He pulls back so he's sitting on his knees between your spread legs. He lifts one of your legs resting it against his chest. He moves your hand away from your core. He rests his hand on your mound, and with his thumb he starts quickly rubbing your clit. Every muscle in your body tightens. Squeezing your eyes shut, you let out a loud moan. You high hits you like a ton of bricks.
Your orgasm hits hard and fast. Joshua never stops moving. He picks up his pace a little, chasing his own release.
"Please cum." You beg him.
He drops your leg and moves so he's hovering over you again. He crashes his lips into yours as he comes hard. He feels you to the brim with his sweet release.
Slowly, he stops moving, but doesn't pull out. He pulls his face away from yours and gives you the sweetest smile. "I love you."
Gently you tap his lower back three times. "I love you too."
He drags his thumb across your tear stained cheeks.
"I'm sleepy." You sigh.
"Let me clean you up, and then you can sleep."
Joshua slowly removes himself from you, before he takes his time cleaning you up. Neither of you bother getting dressed for bed, you both curl up in bed naked together.
OH THE LAVENDER HAZE
It's three in the morning and everyone is together for the big heist. Everything your crew has been working towards has led up tonight. Standing in Seungcheol's apartment you watch him as he stands in the kitchen area, talking to the girl who lives with him. She looks just as concerned as you would be if Joshua was going on this mission without you. The whole entire crew is here tonight.
Seungcheol walks back in. "Alright, here is the plan."
The plan is to split off into three separate crews. Seungcheol, Jeonghan, Wonwoo, and Joshua will go in Mingyu's car where he'll act as the getaway driver.
Vernon, Chan, Jihoon, are gonna be running security outside the building.
You and Minghao are going to be breaking into the security office with Soonyoung to shut down the whole system and copy all the files.
"Any questions or concerns?" Seungcheol asks.
"Do we have another person with Starry and Hao?" Wonwoo asks. You glance over at Joshua to see he looks anxious. Soonyoung is a very capable person of keeping both of you safe. Soonyoung can be vicious and even deadly if he needs to be. You've seen him get into fights and they're terrifying. Minghao is also extremely capable of protecting both of you. The gun he keeps tucked into his waistband and the knife he keeps concealed is enough to keep you safe. You're pretty confident in your own fighting abilities. When you joined the crew, Soonyoung and Wonwoo taught you to fight to protect yourself.
"We'll be okay." You chime in.
Joshua grabs your hand. He instantly squeezes it and stares at you with the same anxious look.
"Let's go."
"I'm team one, Jihoon you're team two, and Soonyoung you're team three." Seungcheol says.
Everyone starts heading out of the apartment. You and Joshua linger behind for a moment. He takes your face in both hands. He smiles before leaning in for a searing kiss. It definitely feels as if this could be a goodbye kiss and that's scary. Joshua's team is not going to have it easy. They're going to have to take out a lot of guards.
"I love you, be safe." You say with your lips against his.
"I love you too, and you be safe as well. Listen to Hao and Soonyoung. They will both keep you safe."
Following everyone down to the cars, you get in the back seat of the car Soonyoung is driving.
It's pouring outside. The rain leaves the asphalt with a neon turquoise glow.
Reaching into your bag, you pull out Joshua's tablet. You open it up and immediately his hologram pops up. You scroll through his coding, making sure there are absolutely no errors in sight.
Minghao glances into the back seat. "He's going to be fine."
"I know." You close the tablet and stick it back in your bag. "I'm just worried."
"Quit stressing about your robo boy. He's going to be fine." Soonyoung chimes in.
Arriving at the FleXeon building, Minghao already has the cameras up. You're working on shutting down their alarm system. Mingyu's car pulls up behind you. Soonyoung reaches into his bag and pulls out ear pieces for all three of you.
"No matter what happens, you both need to listen to me." He says. You and Soonyoung might butt heads often, but you're well aware he's a good leader. He'll make sure nothing goes wrong. Getting out of the car, the three of you pull up your mask and your hoods. The rain helps your cover.
The alarm system is fully down and Minghao has tricked the system into thinking nothing is wrong. After many nights casing this place, Soonyoung leads you both off to the side door that's near the security office.
He makes quick work, knocking two guards unconscious. The three of you rush down to the hall to the security room. Minghao immediately plugs his device in and works on shutting down the security system.
Soonyoung is standing at the door with his gun drawn. You watch him carefully for a moment before you start sorting through the system coding.
The second you're into the file database you start making copies of everything.
-
The moment Soonyoung gives the signal that everything is clear, Seungcheol leads team one into the building. Seungcheol's goal tonight is to not only steal all the company's data, but to also steal any tech they're storing.
Heading up to the lab is where they encounter their first batches of guards. Seungcheol's original plan was to knock them unconscious, but when one of them sends a bullet slicing through Joshua's synthetic skin, that's when things take a turn. Jeonghan and Wonwoo are both incredibly good shots. The two of them take down most of the guards while Seungcheol and Joshua knock out the others.
Walking up to the lab door, they're relieved to see that the lock’s been shut off. Stepping inside Joshua winces at the sight of different androids like him. Some of them aren't fully built, while others look like they're fully operational.
Joshua walks over towards this. Wonwoo puts his hand on his shoulder. "We'll get them later."
Seungcheol starts searching around. He finds a latch that opens another door. In there they find the machine that makes lavender haze.
"Got ‘em." Seungcheol starts snapping photos of everything. He grabs his duffle bag and starts filling it with close to a million dollars worth of lavender haze. Jeonghan disappears for a while and comes back holding wads of cash.
"Where is that from?" Joshua asks.
"I found a room with a safe in it."
"How did you get the safe open?" Seungcheol asks.
"I shot it, obviously."
Wonwoo barks out a laugh, and Seungcheol just rolls his eyes.
"Wonwoo, go with Jeonghan and start filling all the bags with the money. Joshua, start taking the androids to the van."
-
Through the security camera's tablet, you watch as Joshua moves through the building quickly. He's carrying as many androids as he can to the van Mingyu is in. Mingyu is helping load them into the back quickly.
Tapping away at your computer, you know you probably have another twenty minutes until you have all the data copied over. Your goal once you're done is to send a virus to FleXeon’s system. You and Minghao worked together to make itto nearly impossible to stop viruses.
"How is team one doing?" Minghao asks Soonyoung.
"Cheol says they need another thirty."
"I can keep the system down." You respond, not bothering to look up from your device.
"I found all the hidden files for the formula for lavender haze." Minghao chimes in.
"Make double copies of that."
These passing twenty minutes are some of the most stressful of your life. The data has finished copying and you're making sure to monitor the cameras. Your eyes go wide when you see more security heading towards the room you're in.
"Soonyoung, code red."
"Fuck." He says. "Code red, code red." He says into his com.
"Minghao, are you good?"
"Yeah. We have everything copied."
"Launch the virus." You respond. You start typing away. You launch the virus into the system.
Seconds later, Soonyoung starts shooting down the hall. You hear Seungcheol yelling over the com to clear out. You and Minghao move quickly to grab all your stuff. Reaching into his waistband, he pulls out a gun, and Minghao holds it out to you. Without even thinking, you grab it. He grabs another gun from his bag.
Soonyoung grabs ammo from his bag, reloading the gun. "Hao, guard Starry and get her out of here."
Minghao turns to you. He takes your face in both his hands. You must look terrified. You've been with this group for a long time, and this is the first time you're worried you might die because of a job. "Starry, I promise you won't get hurt."
"Okay."
"Stay behind me, and keep your gun drawn." He keeps holding your face. "Joshua will kill us all if we let you get hurt."
"Fuck what about Shua?" You realize if you're in a gun fight it might not be clear at the lab.
"He's fine." He releases your face. "Just hold my hand until I let go." He takes your hand in his.
"Okay, go." Soonyoung gives you the signal.
Another set of guards are running up. Minghao leads you out towards the door with his gun drawn. He takes two shots by the two guards blocking the door.
"Run." He shouts. You run next to him with your gun drawn.
You practically throw your body against the doo,r breaking your way outside. Soonyoung follows behind you.
Standing in the pouring rain you look over towards Mingyu's van to see him and Joshua soaking wet, loading a machine into the back. The moment Joshua turns and looks at you, he pushes his wet dark hair away from his face. Instantly, you see the tear in his jacket, and the slice in his arm. You're frozen in place staring at him.
Gun fire rings out, startling you. Minghao grabs your hand dragging you towards the car.
You see Jihoon and his team sprinting towards the van. Soonyoung grabs you from Minghao and practically throws you into the back seat. The car speeds away before you can even react. Looking out the window, you watch as team one breaks out of the building with guards following behind them.
Your eyes water thinking about the danger you're leaving behind. It's the dead of night and the fluorescent city, is a buzz with the sound of blaring sirens. Soonyoung drives like a mad man to get back to Seungcheol's place.
Salty tears slide down your cheek as you think about the chaos that has unfolded. Minghao's phone rings and he's quick to answer. He doesn't say much, you just hear him repeat yes over and over. He hangs up the phone and is instantly calling another person.
Soonyoung glances in the mirror looking back at you. Quickly you avert your eyes, the last thing you need is him teasing you about the fact that you're crying.
"Seokmin." Minghao says. That name immediately catches your attention. You know he's a medic. He's stitched up the boys a few times. Your heart sinks, and nausea hits you quickly. "It's Jeonghan and Wonwoo."
The car is silent for a moment outside the sounds of distant sirens and the rain hitting the car.
"Not fatal. Jeonghan was shot in the shoulder and Wonwoo in the ribs." He pauses again. "Cheol said Wonwoo was grazed pretty deeply."
"Soonyoung—"
"They're fine." He quickly responds. "Hao said he's not fatal. Seokmin will stitch them up.”
"Just meet us at Cheol's asap." Minghao hangs up.
Soonyoung pulls into the dark parking garage. Getting out of the car, you grab yourself. Soonyoung looks around making sure you're not being watched. You all rush towards the elevator.
Minghao presses the button and instantly the doors slide open. Stepping inside, Soonyoung quickly hits the close button over and over.
The elevator rattles as it heads up to the tenth floor. You blankly stare down at your shoes.
"They're fine." Minghao finally speaks. "They just need stitches."
The doors slide open. You all practically run down the hall to Seungcheol's apartment. Soonyoung punches in the code, and the door slides open. Sitting on the couch near the window, you find the sweet girl who lives with Seungcheol. She jumps at the sudden intrusion.
Soonyoung puts up his hands letting her know we aren't a threat. "It's just us. Seungcheol is on his way home."
"Is he okay?" You've never actually heard her speak before. Her voice is quiet and full of fear.
"Yeah he is." Soonyoung slowly puts his hands down. Silently she gets off the couch and rushes out of the room.
Minghao grabs his bag and walks over to the table. "Can I have the drive with the lavender haze formula?"
You reach into your pocket and grab one of the two drives that hold the information. You toss it over to him. He plugs it into his computer and starts typing away.
"What are you doing?" Soonyoung asks.
"I'm concealing some of the formula and anonymously leaking it."
There is a knock on the door. Soonyoung grabs his gun and walks over. He pulls the door open with his gun drawn. Instantly he puts it down at the sight of Seokmin.
Seokmin comes in and starts getting out all the supplies he'll need.
The door flings open and the rest of the crew follows in. Wonwoo limps in with the help of Joshua and Mingyu. Jeonghan is being helped by Seungcheol. Jihoon, Chan and Vernon follow in behind them.
Joshua stares at you with wide eyes. Everything is so chaotic that neither of you have time to talk.
"Vernon, do you remember how to do stitches?" Seokmin asks.
"Yeah." Vernon walks towards him.
"Okay, I'm going to need you to take Wonwoo to the restroom and full-clean out his wound and then stitch him up." Seokmin reaches into his bag and pulls out everything Vernon will need. "Mingyu and Soonyoung please help Vernon."
Everyone listens to Seokmin and takes Wonwoo off to the bathroom. Seungcheol brings Jeonghan towards Seokmin.
"We need to remove his jacket and I need to see if there is an exit wound." Jihoon and Seungcheol take a very dazed Jeonghan into the kitchen.
Joshua rushes towards you. He pulls you into his chest and kisses the top of your head. "Starlight, I was so worried about you."
"I'm fine, Hao and Soonyoung kept me safe." You pull away and glance at his torn synthetic skin. "I need to fix this later."
"Okay."
You hear Jeonghan scream. You take off towards the kitchen where you see Seungcheol holding him down as Seokmin is digging the bullet out of his shoulder.
You wince when you see a very obviously in pain Jeonghan let out another scream. You walk closer to him. He's turning his head away from his injury, wincing.
Reaching out, you rest your hand on his cheek. "Hannie, it's okay." His eyes go wide looking at you. "It's okay." You wish there was some way you could soothe him.
"Chan, get me a syringe of numbing meds from my bag." Seokmin shouts.
Moments later, Chan comes rushing in. Seokmin gives Jeonghan a full shot of the numbing meds. His eyes droop slightly as they instantly take effect.
Joshua grabs your hand, leading you away from the chaos. Moving into the living room, you sit on the couch feeling dazed. Wonwoo comes out of the bathroom with the help of Mingyu.
They sit next to each other on the other couch. Seokmin shouts for Joshua's help. He leaves you alone for a moment. Seungcheol heads out the kitchen and instantly heads towards the room Angel is in. He must be going to check on her.
Joshua walks out of the kitchen carrying Jeonghan. Jihoon leads them off towards Seungcheol's room. Seokmin walks out of the kitchen with his shirt stained with blood. Soonyoung walks of the bathroom.
"Is Jeonghan okay?" Soonyoung asks.
"Yeah. We knocked him out because he was in pain, but the bullet is out and stitched up. Luckily, it missed all the major arteries." Seokmin says.
Seungcheol heads back in and gives everyone the run down and then gives everyone a bag with money in it.
"This is just cash. I'll have more coming later." He lets out a sigh and pushes his fingers through his hair. "We can have another meeting in a couple days when Jeonghan is feeling better."
"Breaking news." The tv turns on blaring. "FleXeon is being exposed for producing the very illegal drug known as lavender haze. Police arrived on site now at the CEO house. The company is now under investigation."
Soonyoung barks out a laugh. "Looks like we were successful."
"Everyone keep your heads low for a little while." Seungcheol says.
MEET ME IN THE AFTERGLOW
Arriving back at your apartment, you sit down Joshua at the table and work on fixing his arm that's sliced open.
"They missed your wiring." His wiring is essentially his arteries. "If they hit those I might have had to rewire your arm." You know he's listening to you, but he's completely silent as he stares at the floor in front of him. "This is a simple fix."
"Does this feel weird having to fix your robot boyfriend? If I was human you wouldn't have to worry about my wiring." He glances up at you.
"If you were human, you could have been in bad shape like Wonwoo and Jeonghan." At this point you prefer he's a robot. You never have to worry about him getting sick or hurt like that.
"Do you wish I was human?" There's a deep rooted sadness behind his eyes.
"No, not at all. I promise, I've never once wished you were human." You aren't lying. Never once have you had that thought. You finish working on his arm, and move so you're standing in front of him.
"I wish I was human."
Reaching out you take his face in both hands. "I've never wanted you to be anything else." His eyes are wide and glossy. Slowly you drag your thumb across his cheek. "I love you for who you are."
"I love you too." He closes his eyes leaning into your touch. Leaning down you press your lips into his for a sweet kiss.
Stepping back, you walk off into the kitchen to wash your hands. Looking over, you watch as Joshua stands up. He walked over to the big window that looks out into the city. In the distance, the sun is starting to rise. The sky is becoming shades of cotton candy pink and orange.
"When I heard the first gun shot, I was scared they were going to take you from me." Joshua says as he blankly stares towards the windows.
Walking over, you stand in front of him and wrap your arms around his stomach. "I was scared too, but I knew the boys would keep me safe."
"Starlight, look at me please." You step back and look up at him. "Right now, I just want to be with you."
"Okay."
You aren't surprised when he reaches down and picks you up as if you weigh nothing. Crashing your lips into his, you kiss him as if you need him to breathe.
He pulls his lips away long enough to lead you both to the bedroom. In between kisses, you both strip away your clothes.
Laying on the bed with your legs spread wide, he eats you out like a man starved. He plays with you until you fall apart not once but twice. Your fingers tangle in his hair, holding him close to your needy pussy.
Crawling up your body, he crashes his lips into yours. You can taste yourself on his tongue, and it's absolutely intoxicating.
You aren't sure what his plan is, but all you know is you want him in any possible way. He grinds his already hard length against your core over and over, until you're moaning into his mouth. Practically on the brink of falling apart again.
"Shua—" you whine as he pulls away.
He moves so he's sitting with his back against the headboard. You waste no time crawling across the bed to get to him.
Sitting on his lap, you card your fingers through his dark hair. Lifting your hips, you reach down, lining his cock up with your needy entrance. Ever so slowly, you sink down on his length, inch by thick inch. He's snug inside you, but neither of you move. He looks up at you with needy eyes.
Neither of you seem to have any desire to move. You could sit on his cock for hours, and he would do anything to stay inside you forever.
"I have never and will never love anyone like I love you." You can't explain the love you feel for him.
"We may not be able to get married, but you're my wife." His sweet words earn a smile from you. He's never called you his wife, but you could get used to him calling you that.
"Are you going to buy me a ring with the money we just got?" You hold up your bare hand. You could actually care less about a ring, you honestly just want to tease him a little.
"I'll buy you anything you could possibly want." Leaning forward, he presses his lips to yours for a searing kiss. "Anything my pretty wife could ever want, I'll give her." He says between kisses.
Lifting your hips, you pull yourself off of him, until only the tip is left inside. You tug his hair back so he's looking up at you. Slowly you drop back down. He's so long he's practically bruising your cervix. Rolling your hips, your clit brushes against his pelvis.
Joshua's hands are anywhere they can touch. He doesn't help guide your movements yet. He'll help you move once he knows you're too tired.
Biting your bottom lip, you try your hardest to hold back your moans. His wet lips start leaving a trail of kisses from your jaw down to your breast. He takes his time teasing each of your pert nipples. He gently bites your nipple earning a moan.
"Josh—" you cry out.
He pulls away smiling. "Baby you feel so good."
You pick up your pace, desperately chasing your high. Reaching down your fingers quickly start rubbing your clit.
"I love watching you play with yourself." He moans with his lips against your neck.
Your orgasm is like a white hot ecstasy. Throwing your head back you cry out in pleasure. Salty tears slide down your cheeks at the overwhelming feeling. You two have had a lot of sex, but this feels extra intense. Your walls flutter around his cock like an erratic heartbeat. Your lips are parted as mindless moans pass your lips over and over.
Without saying anything, his large hands grip your hips and he helps guide you up and down his massive length. Your high is barely settled and he's pushing you right to the edge all over again.
"Fuck—" you whine.
"Can you cum again?" He asks.
Wordlessly you nod. He's fucked you to the point you aren't even sure if you can form proper words. He’s guiding you up and down, practically impaling you on his massive length over and over again.
Your orgasm hits both of you at the same time. He holds you down flush against him as he fills you to the brim with his sweet and sticky release.
Your body goes limp leaning against him. His hand runs up and down your back slowly, helping you relax.
"You did so good." He knows exactly how to praise you. Your mind can't process much other than the two mind numbing orgasms you just had back to back.
"Baby, I need to clean you up."
"Just let me lay here." You sigh.
He lets you stay sitting on his lap for about twenty minutes before he forces you to take a shower with him.
After showering you don't even bother getting dressed for bed after he dries you off. Curled up in bed together, your head is resting on his chest. Mindlessly he's drawing different shapes on your back.
"If you want, we could have a little wedding with our group. It doesn't have to be official, but they'll be there to witness us getting married." You say.
"I would like that. I meant it when I said you're my wife."
"And you're my husband."
What you have may not be conventional by any means. But the love you feel for each other is what people dream about finding. You know there is still a lot to be done by making sure FleXeon doesn't come back, and you and Minghao need to work on reprogramming the FleXeon androids. But for just a little while, you want to have time with Joshua. You don't want to think about an evil corporation. You just want to think about the future you have with Joshua.
AN: I love this universe so much I might write something for a couple of the other boys. Let me know if you would be interested.
PAIRING: Detective!Mingyu x f. Reader
SUMMARY: In a city where technology makes it possible to shed your body as easily as changing clothes, Mingyu has built his reputation hunting criminals who disappear behind new faces. So when you become the prime suspect in a brutal string of serial murders, he should have no trouble closing the case. Except... the more he investigates you, the less he's convinced you're guilty.
TEASER WC: 2.3k
AU: Cyberpunk, Mystery, Crime
GENRE: Strangers to Lovers, some angst, smut
RATING: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.
TEASER WARNINGS: This teaser contains vivid depiction of a dead body that has been intentionally disfigured/messed with by a serial killer - I will call this body horror simply because I want to play it on the safe side, mention of dead bodies in general, depiction of gore and blood (in the dead body scene), bodies being referenced to as 'Skins' because replacing the body is possible in this world, lots of commentary on wealth gap, lots of references to how humanity just doesn't care about human livelihood the same way it did once, mentions of deep poverty, mentions of throw away Skins (bodies) being dumped in an alleyway, Mingyu is kind of emo, Mingyu is a cigarette smoker because what is a detective fic without cigarette smoking
A/N: This is for the Cyberpunk: Reload Collab hosted by @studiosvt and I could not be more excited to be bringing this to you! This is heavily inspired by Altered Carbon, Ghost in the Shell, and Blade Runner. This fic is a bit gritty in the visuals so I apologize for the gory bits when Mingyu is investigating murders, but that comes with the genre a little.
AN 2: Thank you to the beautiful, wonderful, talented, show stopping, ground breaking, earth shattering, amazing, beautiful, perfect @joshujin for this AMAZING banner because I hated all the ones I made and Trixie is an angel muah.
DROP DATE: Sunday, July 19
MAIN M. LIST | ASK | CYBERPUNK: RELOAD M. LIST
it has been said that something as small as the flutter of a butterfly's wing can ultimately cause a typhoon halfway around the world.
- chaos theory
"THE BUTTERFLY EFFECT IS A PRINCIPLE IN CHAOS THEORY THAT STATES THAT SMALL, SEEMINGLY INSIGNIFICANT CHANGES IN INITIAL CONDITIONS CAN TRIGGER MASSIVE, UNPREDICTABLE, AND VASTLY DIFFERENT OUTCOMES IN COMPLEX SYSTEMS-"
Mingyu knows what the butterfly effect is. In fact, the exact audio recording playing on loop throughout the penthouse apartment is the same audio that's been haunting his dreams and the moments of almost sleep he's been having at his desk while filling out piles and piles of paperwork at the station.
Now, the audio is playing again at the third crime scene in as many months, and he's had it.
"Turn that shit off," he barks, walking through the flickering holograph of the caution barrier. His legs disrupt the light only for a second, shadows bounding off the walls as he enters the main living area. "I'm tired of hearing about the fucking butterfly effect."
He was tired of researching it, too. Researching why a serial killer would leave the same recording playing at each crime scene over and over again, researching what the murders could possibly have to do with one another. So far, the first five victims have no connection to one another, nothing that clues Mingyu into what's going on beyond the same audio on loop. He doesn't expect this sixth victim will have any connection to their predecessors, but he has to try.
A grisly scene paints the penthouse. It's a nicer home than anything Mingyu will ever afford with floor-to-cieling windows that overlook the neon smear of the city. Rain blurs against the glass, turning the glow beyond to a muted opaque color that clashes with the bright caution banners and the lights of the investigative unit called to the scene.
The penthouse reeks of the metallic tang of blood and the faint tang of the chemicals the collection team uses to take samples all around the apartment. The victim lies splayed across the massive obsidian coffee table in the main entertainment area, arms and legs extended at unnatural angles. It's a male body, the torso filleted open from sternum to pelvis with surgical precision, the ribs cracked outward like grotesque wings.
Mingyu has seen five of these now. Each one has been more elaborate than the last. Each one leaves him with the same hollow frustrating gnawing at his gut.
"Lee," he barks at the lead forensic tech hovering nearby. "Anything different this time? Prints? Core signature? A confession, perhaps?"
Chan shakes his head, his rain-slicked jacket shedding beads of water onto the floor. "Same as the others. No prints, and the audio rig is the same ghost job as the last. The victim owns the building, his name is Harlan Voss. He got a new Skin a few weeks ago at Sync Corp. Nice model, nothing too extreme."
Mingyu crouches beside the table, his boots squelching in the thin layer of blood that has spread across the marble. Through the windows, the city pulses below, bright signs for body rental shops and upgrade clinics flashing in the downpour. Towering buildings disappear into the clouds, connected by old elevated trains that rattle in the distance.
Mingyu looks at the body. Chan had said the Skin upgrade was nothing too extreme, but in a world where people swap bodies regularly, the word extreme has lost most of its value, especially for people like Harlan Voss who are wealthy enough to transfer the Core implanted in their brain stem to a new body anytime they want.
It makes permanent death uncommon for people of this caliber. Mingyu tilts his head to the side, examining the back of Harlan's neck where his Core is. Like the others, it's damaged, which means Harlan is dead dead. No transferring his Core to a new body after the death of this one, no regeneration.
It unsettles something deep in Mingyu like satisfaction, and he pushes it down. He has no time to be disgusted by the Skin jumping of the wealthy while the people below scrap together money to upgrade their Skins to something new or broken just for the prestige of doing it.
Mingyu pushes up to his feet, joints popping and back aching. He groans - unlike the dead victim in front of him, he can't pay to have the tiny device buried in his neck to be transferred to some upgraded flashy skin. One would assume that as law enforcement, he'd get some kind of special discount or offers to enhance his speed, strength or something, but Mingyu has quickly learned that only the wealthy benefit from anything in this city.
He looks around the room slowly, eyes scanning for anything out of place. A broken glass on the bar counter. A half-empty bottle of cheap whiskey tipped over, mixing with the blood into a pink mess. Framed pictures on the walls show vacation spots in brighter cities, the kind most people only see in ads. One frame lies smashed on the floor, exposing basic wiring behind the fancy cover. Typical rich place that looks expensive on top but cheap underneath.
"Why butterflies?" Mingyu mutters to himself. "Chaos theory. One small change leads to big results. Like a butterfly flapping its wings and starting a storm somewhere else."
The killer isn't hiding the message. Each killing has happened once a month - not on a perfect timing, but approximate. Each scene is bigger - more wing shapes, more lights, the same audio. But the victims are never the same and thus far, there's no link between them. No shared friends, no common jobs, nothing on the basic records. A nobody found in a cheap rental unit. An escort pulled from a job. Nothing ties them together except this ritual.
But Mingyu doesn't know what this ritual is.
Frustration burns in his chest. Five months of this, nights bleeding into days at the station, staring at paper files and holoscreens while rain water leaks onto his desk. His own body feels worn out - aches deep in his joints, eyes burning constantly from lack of sleep. Unlike the dead man in front of him, Mingyu can't afford a new Skin on a detective's pay.
"Detective Kim?" Chan calls, voice unsure. Mingyu spins on his heel to find Chan crouched by the body, holding a small device in his hand near the core in the victim's neck. "I think the core is damaged but not dead."
"What?"
Mingyu strides over, his long legs making it easy. Chan crouches lower, the glasses on his face sliding down his sweaty nose. Mingyu leans over, tilting his head as Chan gently nudges the victim's head to turn it more. The Core is exposed to the elements and cut, like the attacker had been cutting it out to kill it, but as it catches the light, there's a small blip of cyan along the side, flickering as it tries to regain connectivity.
"Holy shit," Mingyu whispers. "If it's still alive, can you re-gen this guy?"
"Maybe, but it's potentially damaged enough that he would come back with high-level personality disorders or other cognitive issues. We might be able to repair enough to access memory or information, though." Chan hesitates. "Legal might get involved. If he's got family or others left behind, they might demand the Core be delivered to them to figure out what to do with it or refuse access to us."
Mingyu's hums, thoughtful. The possibility of interference is higher than he'd like to admit. In the few cases that Mingyu has dealt with the elite, their spouses or family left behind have always been nearly impossible in active investigations. He's since learned that those who sit in gilded glass towers have more to hide than the criminals crawling on the ground, and they'd rather a case go cold than unearth their secrets.
"Are we required to notify them?" Mingyu asks, glancing at Chan.
"Yes?"
"What if we only found it was discovered functional later in a proper autopsy."
Chan looks uncomfortable for a moment before nodding. "Yeah. That would make sense."
"Autopsies get delayed, right?" Chan sighs and Mingyu grins, slapping him on the back as he stands again. "Glad we understand each other, Lee. Take care of this while I walk around the area, yeah?"
"Yes, Detective."
Mingyu leaves the apartment and takes the stairs instead of the elevator, his knees protesting with each step. The exercise feels good though, so he jogs down the winding stairs, mind racing. By the time he reaches the ground level, he's sore and his heart is pounding, both reminders that he's human and that he's in his natural body, two things he's grown to be proud of.
The lobby is sleek, made up of polished obsidian and soft blue recessed lighting. Mingyu strolls through the automatic doors, the air locks hissing as he lets himself out into the rain, shoes tapping wetly on the pavement.
Reaching into his pocket, he fishes out a cigarette - an ancient, old world habit in comparison to the sleek vapes most people use - and sticks it between his lips, digging around his pocket for a lighter. He finds it and flicks it, the orange flame licking upward as he lights the cigarette, taking a brief drag. The flame catches and he flicks it shut, taking a heavy drag and lets the smoke settle in his lungs before he exhales into the neon smear of rain.
The street level is quieter this time of night, most of the storefronts closed, their holographic signs still flickering anyway. The street is full of advertising and marketing for Skin modification services, Core implant repairs, temporary Skin rentals for people too poor to own one permanently but desperate enough to spend a night as someone else.
Neon bleeds across the wet pavement in streaks of magenta and cyan, reflecting off the rain to create a blurry kaleidoscope of light that makes Mingyu's eyes water as he takes another drag, flicking ash into a puddle where it melts.
He walks, letting his feet guide him around the perimeter of the building, cool raing tapping down on his head and neck like soft fingers. He doesn't bother with an umbrella, the rain sliding off his jacket as he examines the exterior, cigarette wedged between his lips.
The neighborhood is a mix of high-rises towering over strip malls, luxury boutiques selling pricey mods next to hole-in-the-wall clinics offering illegal and questionable upgrades. It's one of common liminal spaces in the city where the almost wealthy clash with the lower glass, each fighting for dominance on the ground while the megaliths of the city exist in their towers far above.
Mingyu wonders what the rest of them look like from on high. He imagines that they can't even see people like him, rotting beneath the clouds and scurrying around like ants beneath a boot that's constantly waiting to step on them. Mingyu has been stepped on plenty of times, but he hasn't died yet and he doesn't plan on it now, heading to the back alleyway behind the building.
Dumpsters filled with broken tech litter the alleyway, but Mingyu pauses when he sees a bunch of old, rotted Skins. He lifts his arm, covering his face with it to ward off the smell. Skins are still bodies - they're still organic material like any other living organism, and they break down the same way. Seeing tossed Skins isn't uncommon, especially near body-mod shops, but Mingyu is unsettled to see them just tossed, flies buzzing around them.
Pulling out his phone, he dials Chan up stairs. "Send a team down to the back alley, there's discarded Skins. None of them look fresh or functional, but maybe our killer tosses theirs."
"On it."
"Also have someone dispose of these before someone wanders around and tries to take them. They're rotted beyond use, the last thing we need is some kind of infection going around because people are re-genning bad Skins."
"Understood."
Mingyu hangs up the phone and takes the final drag of his cigarette before flicking it toward the dumpster. He continues on his way, searching - for what he doesn't know. Something. Anything. He just wants to find something to help him unravel the mystery upstairs, something he's missed previously.
As always, he finds nothing except the smell of wet concrete and biological decay, the distant hum of an elevated train line cutting through the noise somewhere. He circles back to the front of the building and finds himself looking upward. The building is a vertical monument to wealth that juts up into the rain-soaked sky, but it's got nothing on the monstrosities the corporation owners and mega-rich of the city live in.
The rain grows heavier, coming down in sheets. Mingyu slips under the overhang in front of the building, watching as the world vanishes to a blur of light behind the rain. From here, he knows the city by heart - it spreads out in layers, the commercial district with aggressive neon signage, the old industrial zones still smoking from plants that are ready to collapse any minute, and beyond, the entertainment and wealthy districts.
Trains arc across the space between buildings while autonomous vehicles move through the streets in perfect formation, headlights occasionally cutting through the dark toward him as they pass by the building.
They city pulses on despite the death upstairs, the desperation and money and excess and filth all tangled together, and somewhere in it, is the person Mingyu is hunting, the butterfly that haunts his dreams and all of the hours in between.
Mingyu sighs, jaw clenched as he watches the rain, the same words on loop in his head: The butterfly effect is a principle chaos theory that states that small, seemingly insignificant changes in initial conditions can trigger massive, unpredictable, and vastly different outcomes in complex systems.
