TS19009

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REMNANT | xu minghao {part one}

SYNOPSIS. In the year 2197, Xu Minghao works as a government shadow operative, hired to hunt down political dissidents. After surviving a catastrophic accident that should have ended his life, his body had been rewired to become nothing more than a living weapon solely engineered for one purpose: obedience. You live a different kind of double life. By day, a reclusive digital artist curating an elite art gallery; by night, a ghost hacker where you siphon power and secrets from the city’s corrupt core. But when your latest hack uncovers an unsettling truth, a target is painted on your back—and Minghao is assigned to terminate you. PAIRING. shadow operative!xu minghao x ghost hacker!fem!reader (ft. ghost hacker!vernon) GENRE. cyberpunk au, futuristic au, angst, smut (minors dni 🔞), fluff, hurt/comfort, slowburn-ish, enemies to lovers/hunter x hunted dynamic WARNINGS. cursing, drugs, violence (murder, blood, gore, etc), weapons and guns, implied “death”, body modifications/cybernetic enhancements, government corruption, dystopian government, brainwashing/memory manipulation, human experimentation, morally grey characters, mentions and descriptions of dead bodies, minghao experiencing violent cyberpsychosis episodes, shirtless minghao oops, reader goes by a hacker alias, smut warnings in part two WORD COUNT. 13k (for part one)

notes: hello everyone!! this is my fic for the @studiosvt cyberpunk: reload collab! i've had so much fun writing this :) and while i'm kinda not satisfied with this first part + feel like i could've done more due to a lot of stress happening irl which has made writing hard lately, i hope this is still okay! please don't forget to support the other amazing authors in the collab <3

SECTOR TWO — THE VEIL DISTRICTS

The rain showering down from the night sky hisses against the alloy skin of the city. 

Xu Minghao finds himself standing on the narrow maintenance ledge of a building sitting right across from the 47th floor of the Helix Tower, the tips of his combat boots hovering just over the edge as the wind snaps at the tails of his black trench coat. Right below his feet, the neon arteries of the city bleed through the thick layers of dense, permanent fog and rain. 

Tonight’s target is a man named Arthur Kim. Age forty-three, married, with two daughters𑁋assigned to be executed under the orders of the Dominion for illegally accessing financial streams and attempting to sell them to some brokers located in the Undercity. A fatal error that costed him his entire life, and Minghao was sent to deliver the act within a termination window of two hours.

Minghao didn’t need all that time. 

In due time, the ocular implant in his eye pings, immediately locking onto the target’s heat signature through the reinforced glass and walls. Minghao narrows his gaze, heat mapping across his vision, following the man’s dull amber silhouette frantically pacing inside of his dimly lit and expensive apartment, as if already knowing what’s about to come.

A forty metre gap separates the two buildings. Minghao steps into the void without any hesitation. The wind roars past him as he launches himself off the ledge, his coat flaring out like wings. Twin magnetic grapples fire out from the wrist of his right bionic arm with a sharp hiss, cables flying across the chasm until they latch onto the Helix Tower’s exterior frame. 

At the apex of the launch, he releases the grapples and twists his body into a controlled dive towards the window. The second he makes contact, reinforced glass explodes inward as his boots smashes cleanly through Arthur Kim’s window, causing shards to rain across the carpet floor like confetti. 

The man in question spins around too late, eyes blown wide with utter panic, clutching nothing but a half-empty glass of whiskey in his trembling hand and useless revolver in the other that he shakily points directly at Minghao.

“Don’t… don’t come any closer!” he begs, fingers twitching around the trigger. “I have connections𑁋I-I have a family, a wife, two little girls𑁋I can pay𑁋”

Minghao doesn’t speak. He never does on missions like this. Words are wasted on the already dead.

Instead, he crosses the room in three, perfect strides, way faster than any modified human should. Arthur attempts to shoot, but the revolver kicks back into his grip and causes the bullet to go wide and harmlessly punch into the wall directly behind Minghao, barely grazing the edge of his temple. The second bullet misses again and punches a smoking hole through a video holographic family portrait that flickers and dies mid-laugh.

When Arthur tries to bolt towards the door, Minghao cuts him off with a firm seize to his throat with his cybernetic hand, lifting the man clean off the floor and knocking the breath out of his lungs with a choked gasp. The synthetic muscles and servos whirr softly under the plating as Arthur’s legs kicked uselessly through the air, causing the whiskey glass and gun to slip free out of his hands. 

Arthur’s screams are muddled when a sudden boom of thunder vibrates the world outside. Minghao doesn’t budge, even as the man claws at his grip with both hands. Forty-three years of soft living against a body rebuilt for war𑁋there was never a contest. 

Minghao tightens his hold ever so slightly. Not enough to fully incapacitate yet. He wants the man to feel it, to feel the consequences of his actions with a teasing crush to his windpipe. The ocular implant in his left eye feeds him live data: heart rate 179… 203… oxygen saturation plummeting from 97% to 47%. It isn’t long until Arthur’s face bloats and washes into a deep crimson. Veins stand out like ropes along his temples. His eyes bulge, whites shot through with burst capillaries, tears leaking from the corners as his tongue presses thickly against his teeth.

Nothing but a wet, gurgling choke escapes him, barely audible over the storm raging outside and Minghao’s ironclad grip. “Please… my girls…”

The man continues to spew out gargled, pathetic words𑁋about his family who he only wanted to provide for, his wife who didn’t know anything, his innocent little girls𑁋and Minghao doesn’t feel a single ounce of remorse for it. He was assigned a task to complete. There was nothing programmed in him for mercy or pity. 

When Minghao squeezes his fingers a fraction tighter, Arthur’s windpipe collapses with a wet, sickening pop. His eyes roll back completely in his head, his face drained of colour, as one final spasm jerks through his body before his arms drop limp to his side. Minghao holds him suspended in the air for a full ten seconds after the heart monitor flatlines before opening his hand.

Arthur’s body falls to the floor with a thud, sprawling among the glass shards and spilled whiskey. A thin stream of blood leaks from the corner of his mouth and pools beside his lifeless eyes. Updated data swarms through Minghao’s vision.

TARGET: Arthur Kim — TERMINATED ELAPSED TIME: 8 minutes, 53 seconds

Minghao exhales a breath through his nose, rolling his shoulders back. The servos under his bionic arm hum faintly through the movement of his artificial joints, recalibrating itself from the temporary exertion. Eight minutes and fifty-three seconds. It’s somewhat sloppy by his standards, but the noise of the storm did well to hide most of the struggle. Still, the Dominion would be satisfied with his work as they always are. 

He crouches beside the corpse, metal fingers brushing against the man’s neck to confirm zero pulse. Rain pours in from the shattered window, mixing in with the whiskey and the small pool of blood at his feet. This was definitely one of his messier missions, but the cleanup crew will do their task when he leaves.

He does a quick scan around the room, cycling through spectral overlays𑁋motion, thermal, electromagnetic. No alarms or security drones are detected. Arthur Kim had been arrogant enough to hide behind privacy glass and a single biometric lock on his door. What an amateur. 

The apartment is dead silent now, except for the storm outside slowly beginning to dull out. But what catches him for a split second is the glitchy sound of laughter. Minghao shoots a glance toward the broken holographic family portrait that Arthur had shot at just moments ago.

His gaze lingers on the screen as it flickers erratically. What remains is a looping fragment: Arthur Kim smiling wide with his arms looped around another woman, and two small girls in front of them, both of them with equally big grins as if the world had never once been cruel.

The audio stutters with one of the girls saying, “Daddy, look! I drew you a𑁋” before restarting the loop again. 

Minghao forcibly tears his eyes away. He forces out a flat exhale through his nose, turning his back on the portrait entirely. Sentiment was a luxury for the wealthy civilians; for him, it was just irrelevant data. He mindlessly steps over Arthur’s corpse and treads his way toward the shattered window, climbing onto the rain-slicked ledge without looking back. 

The wind claws onto him immediately, trying to sweep him off the building. He activates the magnetic grapples through his hand and anchors onto the opposite structure. With one powerful pull, he’s airborne again, swinging across the forty-metre gap like a shadow trailing through the void. Then he finds himself running across the rooftop before stopping right at the edge.

Below him, the city continues its restless slumber. Minghao watches it all distantly.

Then he jumps down into the void as the rain washes away the city’s sins. 

This time, the fall felt a little longer than it should have.

SECTOR THREE — THE AETHER DISTRICTS

“And what is this one here supposed to represent? The colour palette you chose is truly… evocative.”

You give a polite and charming smile to the gallery patron in front of you. A middle-aged man within the wealthy elitists of the city, too rich to the point he’s probably untouchable. He’s wearing a flashy chrome silver suit, a champagne glass in his hand, and both of his eyes appear obviously augmented. He’s standing a little too close for comfort to you, gaze wandering down your figure instead of the digital artwork displayed in front of him. The gun hidden under your coat suddenly feels ten times heavier. 

“The piece explores the themes of emotional preservation through digital decay,” You explain smoothly. “It showcases how memories become distorted when people try to immortalise them.” 

“How fascinating,” the man hums contemplatively, his eyes gleaming a little too brightly when they switch between the artwork and you. “You must have a tortured mind to come up with this, yeah?”

You resist the urge to laugh out of spite. The elitists adore these kinds of things𑁋seeking out tragically profound artwork to place in their grandly guarded penthouses, far removed from the decay eating away at the city. The wealthy have spent the entire evening complimenting your work.

Little do they know that you created it after watching a beggar get murdered in cold blood in the Undercity last month.

Funny how context changes art. 

“Someone with your talent shouldn’t remain independent any longer,” the man chimes back in, eyes pervertedly trailing over your body once again. “I could introduce you to more people who could help you elevate your career beyond these…” He gestures vaguely around the gallery. “...smaller venues.”

The hook beneath the bait. 

You tilt your head thoughtfully, pretending to be interested in the offer. You subtly adjust your stance, giving you enough room to slide your hand underneath your coat, fingertips brushing against your concealed gun. 

“Generous offer,” You reply lightly. “But I prefer maintaining creative control over my own art.”

“Everyone says that before the right amount of money appears.”

A tight-lipped smile forces its way across your face. If only he knew the amount of money currently sitting in your anonymous offshore accounts you’d siphoned from people exactly like him. 

“I appreciate the offer, sir, but I’ll have to decline,” You say, keeping your tone perfectly neutral. “Would you like to make an offer on the product?”

The man taps his foot pensively on the ground, trailing his amused eyes back to your artwork. 

“Price won’t be an issue,” he states casually, or more so with that lazy entitlement. “Have it delivered privately to my estate this week. I’ll send the coordinates.”

You nod. “Of course. It’ll arrive by tomorrow evening.” 

The man shoots you a wink, raising his champagne glass in the air before taking a slow sip that almost makes you want to gag. “Smart girl.”

You offer him one last polite smile as he walks away. But the moment his back is turned and you watch his figure disappear into the crowd of mingling elitists roaming through your gallery, the smile immediately fades off your face. You retrieve your hand from where it had been hiding underneath your coat.

God, your feet are aching. 

As the day begins to wind down to the night, the last patron finally steps out just after 22:17. You lock the hydraulic gallery doors with a click, dimming the overhead lights to thirty percent until only the neon colours of your digital canvases remain as the only sources of life. 

Then you move behind the counter and slip your heels off, your feet throbbing from hours of walking and pretending to care about rich people’s feelings. It’s time to conduct your closing routine. 

First, the security sweep. You pull up the gallery’s neural interface on your wrist watch, entering a quick code that shows off the holographic display of the building. You check through cameras, motion sensors, and electromagnetic jammers𑁋they all check green. Then a secondary backdoor protocol that scrubs any facial recognition data the elitists might have tried to sneak in on their visit. 

Next, you handle the finances. You transfer tonight’s legitimate sales onto the gallery’s clean account and send a generous amount into your offshore wallets. The piece you sold to the chrome-suited pervert would be delivered by drone tomorrow. You guess it helps to bring you closer to whatever ‘enough’ means anymore. 

After the finances are secured and the gallery’s digital footprint scrubbed clean, a soft ping of your wrist watch grabs your attention. You smile to yourself, realising it’s an encrypted message from Vernon𑁋another ghost hacker who’s been operating in the depths of the Undercity and one of the very few people you trust enough not to point a gun at on sight. 

The man once hacked a Dominion military convoy while actively high, laughed through the entire thing, and he never got caught once. So yeah, that’s how much trust you put in him. 

The two of you have recently formed a partnership together, combining your goals in exposing the corruption rotting through the Dominion from near-opposite ends in the city. Vernon specialised in infiltrating governmental infrastructure and extracting classified data; you specialised in infiltrating the social bloodstreams of the elitists and laundering decrypted data and money to other ghost hackers in your field. 

You can definitely say he’s the closest thing to family, with…whatever family you have left. It’s strange considering that you both carry enough criminal charges to disappear forever if the Dominion ever got their hands on you. If shit ever hits the fan, your existences would be completely erased. 

The Dominion𑁋in most people’s eyes𑁋are basically worshipped like gods. They emerged as the most powerful megacorporation of the city right after the government had basically collapsed in itself and humanity was fighting one another for survival. They were painted as saviours for rebuilding civilisation and spreading advanced cybernetic medicine and technology.

To the people, they promised stability and safety. That promise was never fulfilled, because their only goal was total control. 

You knew pieces of it. Vernon had been feeding you fragments for months.

Together, you both have secretly stolen enough information in the past six months to fill a small data vault. Progress has been slow and time-consuming, but every ounce of corruption pulled from the Dominion’s veins felt like another brick removed from their tower. One day, it would all come crashing down. 

You open Vernon’s encrypted message. 

VERNON yo ghost u alive? heard u had a gallery showing tonight did u manage to manipulate any rich freaks to join ur harem?

You snort quietly to yourself, the sound echoing throughout the empty gallery.

Y/N a few yeah some creep wanted to buy the art and the artist was hella close to kicking him in the balls but i realised that would be bad for business anyway, closing up now. about to head back to the loft

It takes a few minutes for Vernon’s next encrypted message to send.

VERNON cool cool cool got some new toys to play with wanna try them out with me? i got snacks and some fresh ash to smoke

A low laugh leaves you. Vernon always had his own definition of chaos. First step: casually hijack the relays of a Dominion cargo truck. Second: somehow succeed. Then finally: get high off enough ash to think it was funny.

You shake your head in fond disbelief before typing back. 

Y/N say less i’ll be there by midnight

VERNON fuck yeah don’t ditch me for some rich art daddy pls

When your wristwatch slips dark again, you lean back against the counter and allow the silence of the gallery to settle around you for a moment. The gallery looks beautiful at night. Cold, but beautiful. You meticulously slide out of the side exit and trigger the final lockdown sequence on your wristwatch.

The streets of the Aether Districts are still slick from the same storm that must have rolled through earlier this week. The sounds of hover-traffic hum overhead on the nearby skyways that travel throughout each district. The higher tier you are, the more pristine the skyways become; the lower you are, the more grimy and forgotten they are. 

You pull your hood up over your head, shove your hands in your pockets, and head towards the Undercity.

SECTOR SIX — THE UNDERCITY

The Undercity. Home sweet rotting home. The air is thicker here, heavy with the smell of exhaust and street food grease left to rot on the ground. 

Vernon’s current sanctum is an old shipping containers sitting on the eastern side of the Undercity.. Neon kanji flickers weakly above the reinforced door𑁋some half-dead ramen sign he never bothered to fix. You knock twice, pause for a second, then once more in the stupid rhythm he insists on.

After a few moments, the door hissens open. 

“Finally,” Vernon says, a half-eaten protein bar dangling from his mouth. His hair had been recently cut into this punk-rock style mullet, which you’ve constantly teased him about ever since he got it. 

You only roll your eyes and shove past him into the warm and cluttered interior of his little haven. 

The space is so Vernon. The walls are covered with holographic sticky notes overlapping each other, a bunch of half-disassembled drones, candy wrappers, and empty cans scattered on his workbench at the corner of the room, and a sagging couch (and bed) that has seen better days. Near his computer setup, there’s a small mountain of ‘fresh ash’𑁋the glowing, iridescent synth-weed everyone in the underground swears isn’t addictive. 

You plop down on his beaten-up couch with a groan while Vernon sits down in the chair in front of his computer. The screen behind him flashes with lines of stolen data and files and whatever toys he promised to show you. The old chair creaks under his weight as he kicks his feet up onto the edge of the desk. He’s already reaching over to the ash as if he already knows that you’re thinking about it, taking a few quiet moments to pack the joint. The iridescent smoke travels through the air when he lights it and takes a smooth hit, before passing it to you. 

“Rough day at the gallery?” he asks, his voice carrying that familiar drawl as the ash does its work.

You take the joint from his fingers and pull a deep hit. The sweet burn floods your lungs as you exhale slowly, watching the smoke curl through the air. 

“Understatement of the year,” You retort in annoyance. “I love smiling at entitled pricks while they eye-fuck both me and my art.” 

“Well, if it makes you feel better,” Vernon starts, spinning his chair around to face you. “I pulled some shit from the feeds earlier.” 

Curiosity lights up your face as you stand up and settle by his side. He pulls up some surveillance footage from what seems to be in the Veil Districts according to the timestamp and location at the corner of the screen, captured from a mid-level security camera that had barely survived the storm. The footage is heavily corrupted𑁋static glitching eating at the edges and the feed constantly flickering between security overlays like someone tried to scrub the clip out of sight but failed to finish the job completely. 

“Watch this shit,” Vernon mutters. “Storm hella degraded the quality, but it looks like the Dominion sent one of their shadows out recently.” 

At first, you aren’t able to make out what you’re supposed to be looking at. All you see is rain at first before the footage manages to stabilise. You spot a lone figure in what seems to be a black trench coat, but you aren’t able to make out any sort of face. Rain lashes across the screen when the figure suddenly launches across the gap and smashes through a penthouse window like a missile. 

The rest of the footage doesn’t directly capture whatever is happening inside the apartment, but from what you can see, the signs of a struggle𑁋a murder𑁋is abundantly clear from the grainy, violent flashes of movement. When the figure emerges back into frame, you watch them pause briefly at the window, before jumping across the gap once more and disappearing into the stormy night. 

Your eyes grow wide.

“Holy shit.” You grab hold of Vernon’s mouse, rewinding the footage back slightly, trying to zoom more into whoever this mysterious killing machine is. “Who is that?” 

“No clue,” Vernon answers with a shrug. “But whoever was in there must have definitely pissed off the Dominion in some way.”

You can’t tell if it’s the ash or the footage itself that sends a shiver of paranoia down your spine. That faceless killer is enough of a reminder to show what waited for people like you and Vernon if you both ever slipped up somehow. 

You’ve seen murders before.

In the Undercity, death can be considered as common as rain. You’ve watched bodies being dragged into alleyways and witnessed gang disputes end with blood painting the pavement. 

This one shouldn’t feel any different, but there was something about it that sticks to your skin like a vice. 

“Were you able to clean it up at all?” You ask Vernon. 

“Already tried. Tried boosting the resolution, running reconstruction software… Nothing.”

Your fingers clench tighter around the joint, tight enough you feel the burn searing at your fingertips. “Then what the fuck is that thing?” 

“I don’t know,” Vernon responds truthfully, leaning back in his chair with a heavy sigh. “And I don’t really want to find out… if it means ending up like that guy.” 

Passing the joint back to him, you watch the sweet iridescent smoke curl in the air as the frozen footage of the shadow operative sits almost tauntingly on the screen. That faceless killer in the black trench coat has your nerves buzzing harder than the ash.

“Dig deeper,” You urge him, standing up and leaning over his shoulder. “Maybe try crossing it with the financial breach logs we grabbed last week.”

Vernon cracks his neck and dives in, fingers flying across the haptic keyboard. “You got it. Gimme a sec to reroute these fuckass dummy nodes…”

Lines of encrypted data begin to stream past your eyes. You settle into the second chair with tense shoulders, while Vernon’s decryption worms burrow into the deeper layers of the Dominion’s surveillance archives.

However, the moment his proxy hits, the screen blares red. 

INTRUSION DETECTED — COUNTERMEASURE PROTOCOL INITIATED

“Goddammit!” Vernon snaps in panic, fingers flying across the keyboard. “Ghost snare! They’re pinging our location!”

In the blink of an eye, multiple windows on Vernon’s computer flood with aggressive tendrils of red code, trying to latch onto the connection and backtrace to your location. On the secondary monitor, spot a predator Dominion trace icon trying to sneak to your proxy chain.

You’re already moving before you could even think, shoulder-bumping Vernon aside to take one side of the dual controls. “I’ll sever the primary relay, you kill the secondary nodes and flood the pipe with junk! Buy us time!”

TRACE PROGRESS — 27%... 43%... 61%...

The shipping container feels as if it’s shrunk down ten times in size. Your fingers blur across the keys as you snap a series of ghost partitions to secure the logs while Vernon focuses on flooding the connection with junk data to confuse the trace: malicious traffic, Dominion propaganda, and generous sprinkle of black-market porn holos for good measure. The red node countermeasure continues surging angrily, and for a terrifying moment, it feels as if the Dominion itself is breathing down your neck.

“Motherfuckers have teeth,” Vernon growls in frustration as he works on slamming kill switches on the breached connection. One of the cooling fans on the computer screams in protest.

“Sixty-eight percent!” You bark, sweat prickling at the back of your neck while you reroute the last of your active proxies across the other districts. 

TRACE PROGRESS — 75%... 87%... 91%... 

When the progress bar reaches 94%, your heart and stomach drops for a single moment, but it stalls. The predator icon thrashes on the screen as the minutes continue to tensely tick by, glitching from your combined defenses, before finally breaking into static. One final red warning flashes before everything goes dark.

The computer reboots with a low, exhausted hum. Success.

You and Vernon slump back in your chairs. The cooling fans start to quiet down, silence returning except for the sounds of the rain from outside. 

Vernon lets out a shaky laugh, running a hand down his face. “Fuck. That was close.”

“They’re getting better at their security measures,” You say shakily, wiping away a drop of sweat on your brow, heart still hammering behind your ribs. “What was the damage?”

“Lost three dummy nodes, but… we’re back to being ghosts. They were definitely waiting for people stupid enough to dig into that footage.”

It takes a while for the computer to fully reboot. But when it does, Vernon leans in and starts to carefully recover the session. A file tree appears on the interface, containing the collateral files of whatever you both managed to claim. But something catches your eye at the very corner of a tree. 

Another file𑁋at least, one you haven’t seen before.

PROJECT REBIRTH: THE NEXT STAGE OF HUMANITY  — ACTIVE ASSETS

“Was that there before?” You ask, pointing at the screen.

Vernon rubs his jaw, narrowing his eyes at the file. “Shit. No, what is that? It sounds like some fucked-up Dominion wet dream.”

Before he could click on the file, you grab at his wrist to stop him from continuing. 

“Don’t open it yet,” You tell him. “I wouldn’t trust anything, especially after the close-call we had.”

Vernon glances between the file and you, then slowly nods and lets his hand fall away from the mouse. The two of you know that whatever is in these files may cost your anonymity; or worst, your entire lives. And as frustrating as it is, impatience can get hackers killed. 

“...Yeah, okay.” 

You chew at the inside of your cheek. “Should we try to sandbox it?”

“Probably. Might take a day or… longer, depending on how much we need to isolate and decrypt it.”

You twiddle the now-dead joint between your fingers before flickering the burnt filter into the overflowing astray beside the monitor. 

“Let’s do it,” You say with determination. “It’s now or never.” 

SECTOR THREE — THE AETHER DISTRICTS

It happened again this morning. 

Cyberpsychosis is what they call it. An anomaly that happens from the endless cybernetic modifications on the human body; a result of too much steel and too little flesh. Minghao believed he could control it, but the violent outburst he had experienced upon waking up proved otherwise. 

He doesn’t recall much from the morning, only remembering the screams of the ripperdoc running the diagnostic scan on him. For one horrifying moment, he looked at the doctor and felt the same thing he feels when looking at a target. Minghao had apparently lashed out with a phantom urge to tear through anything that moved𑁋his metal fingers crushing the man’s forearm before a sedative was forced through him and his systems were promptly rebooted. The ripperdoc survived, but just barely. 

It’s been happening ever since the Dominion hired him to become a shadow operative, like tiny little fractures that feel as if they’re clawing its way up his body. The handlers had reassured him that these temporary neurological instabilities were just a side effect of the robotic components installed within his system and that it is completely manageable. 

Or rather, more accurately, it’s been happening ever since they brought him back.

The distinction is important. At least, he thinks it is.

Minghao knew he had a life before the Dominion, but whatever was left of that previous life ceased to exist. He doesn’t remember where he was born, what his favourite colour used to be, or whether he had loved someone enough to miss seeing them. There are no parents, friends, or a childhood home waiting for him in the city. 

There was only darkness, and never a point in his current life where he questioned the relevance of his previous existence. The Dominion gave him another chance, because what other choice is there? He isn’t allowed to question the hands that pulled him from the grave. Now, he has a purpose when he had nothing. 

He was saved.

But as a result of his outburst from earlier, Minghao finds himself roaming the Aether Districts without an assigned target for him to eliminate in weeks. A mandatory cooldown window of two hours to allow the city to absorb the heat building inside of him before it becomes reportable deviation. Extra time to let the fractures settle. 

So… he walks with no destination in mind. 

The Aether Districts isn’t like Undercity’s choking rot, nor does it resemble the polished cages of the upper districts. The district exists as an in-between. It’s highly recognised as a hub where creativity and entertainment are showcased and a place where the wealthy often come to feel profound without ever touching the filth and insecurity of the lower districts. 

Minghao moves through like a ghost, taking in the sight of towering billboards glowing with abstract art and Dominion slogans. His ocular implant continues to idle in standby as he walks past passerbys: no targets, no threats, no kill parameters. He strolls by bustling restaurants, casinos, and nightclubs without interest; they’re all simple tools for the complacent, which he is none of those. 

Yet something pulls at the edge of his awareness when he rounds a corner leading to the quieter side of the district showcasing a bunch of curated storefronts. Most stores are closed for the night, but one remains softly lit in the distance. His feet lead him almost curiously in the direction, and he pauses directly in front of the main entrance. 

He doesn’t know why he stops. There’s no mission parameter, no target or odd signature in the electromagnetic field that he detects other than the patrons roaming inside. It appears to only be a simple art gallery, one of many in this part of the city. But still, he remains planted through the ground, staring beyond the reinforced glass to the holographic art that feels as if they’re teasing him from the inside. 

The doors slide open with a hiss. A chime echoes through the dim interior as the gallery’s neural system registers another visitor. When the doors shut behind, the hum of the city is instantly silenced into nothing but background static. His ocular implant cycles through a passive scan out of habit, still detecting nothing out of the ordinary beyond standard security protocols.

He moves deeper into the gallery silently before stopping in front of a particular exhibit. Minghao stares, unblinking, taking in the pulsing colours that appear like they’re almost breathing. The piece in front of him displays two figures standing on opposite sides of what seems to be a shattered mirror, standing close but not quite touching. At his side, his bionic arm hidden under his trench coat flexes unconsciously.

“Are you interested in buying a piece here?” 

His system doesn’t register the unfamiliar yet soft voice. When he turns, his gaze lands on you. You’re standing close enough to be polite, a soft smile to your features as you study him with curiosity. 

Minghao’s implant runs through an immediate scan on you.

IDENTITY: Unknown THREAT LEVEL: LOW SUBJECT PROXIMITY: 0.9 metres HEART RATE: 72 BPM

His eyes linger on your face longer than protocol would ever require, tracing over the lifted corners of your mouth, the slight exhaustion on your face, practically mapping you. You’re staring at him too, noticing the way his outfit doesn’t scream like a typical wealthy elitist that you regularly see drifting through the gallery.

Unusual.

An awkward chuckle leaves you when your question is left unanswered. 

“If you’re interested in any pieces here, feel free to let me know,” You tell him tactfully. “My name is Y/N L/N, the owner of the gallery.” 

Y/N L/N. He registers your name, then holds it for a fraction too long before his system considers it as irrelevant. And yet it does not leave his memory𑁋refuses to leave his memory. 

As you offer a curt smile and begin to turn around, Minghao takes a heavy step in your direction and finally speaks. 

“Are you the artist?” 

Through your ears, his voice sounds like it’s edged with something mechanical. It’s smooth, but not quite human. He clearly has some cosmetic augmentations installed, which you suspected the second you made eye contact with him. 

You turn back to him in surprise. “I am, yes.”

Minghao’s eyes doesn’t waver from you. In your perspective, he appears more striking and almost… unnerving up close. Maybe even familiar. He’s close enough you feel the odd jumps of your heartbeat from his presence. Tall, lean muscle wrapped in a matte black trench coat that drinks in the soft neon of your displays. One of his eyes catches the light with an unnatural, faint crimson ring around the pupil. An ocular implant, clearly; subtle, but you’ve seen enough chrome in your line of work to recognise it. 

His implant registers the spike in your pulse. 

“The gallery is preparing to close in a couple of minutes,” You tell him as casually as possible after clearing your throat. “If you are interested in purchasing something, feel free to stop by anytime this week. My schedule is quite available.”

Then you offer your hand to him.

Minghao glances down at your hand warily, the faint crimson ring in his ocular implant flickering once as if processing an unfamiliar protocol. For a few beats, he doesn’t dare move. Then, after a long, hesitant moment, his right hand emerges from the folds of his black trench coat and stretches out toward you. 

He takes your hand.

The moment your palms meet, you feel it𑁋the cool, unyielding smoothness of engineered alloy. A bionic arm. His grip is almost careful, like he’s internally modulating every servo to avoid crushing your fingers. It’s not entirely cold; the outer layer has been warmed by his body heat (or whatever passes for it in someone like him), but the weight and the quiet power hiding within the handshake sends a shiver racing up your arm.

His bionic hand engulfs yours completely. Your eyes widen slightly at the feeling. You can feel the segmented plating on his knuckles, the data cables running beneath the metal instead of veins. You can tell that it’s strong𑁋impossibly, and inhumanly, strong. Yet he holds you like you’re made of glass. For a moment, you wonder what could have happened for his arm to be put back together like this. 

Minghao feels it too. It’s unlike him to hold something with so much tenderness as he’s killed many humans who deserved far less, but the warmth of your palm seeps too easily through him. His bionic arm’s feedback loops hum faintly, sending a low vibration up through his shoulder joint that he forces down before it can register as a glitch.

His systems flag it as irrelevant; his mind refuses to let it go. You’re undoubtedly human𑁋perhaps more human than others whom he’s interacted with. 

You’re the first to let go before Minghao has time to fully process it. When he lets his arm fall back to his side, his fingers are still subtly curled as if remembering the shape of your hand. Then he lets eyes drift back to the holographic display.

“This art appears incomplete,” he says. 

You turn towards your art, a soft laugh escaping you. “Incomplete?”

“Correct.”

“If it was incomplete, I wouldn’t have it displayed.”

Before he can respond, you step up closer to it. Minghao watches your movements carefully.

“The two people here are the same person,” You explain to him, catching his full attention. “One is who they used to be, while the other is who they’ve become.”

Minghao’s brows furrow imperceptibly. You can tell he’s genuinely thinking. 

“And the mirror?” he questions curiously. 

“The mirror represents memory,” You answer. “because you can’t always put yourself back together exactly as you are.” 

“But people can be repaired.” 

You tilt your head at him, studying him more closely now. 

“I would argue against that,” You say, crossing your arms together. “I believe that people can heal.” 

“Repair implies returning something to its original condition.”

“And healing means accepting that it won’t.” 

The words settle in the air between the two of you like the fractured mirror on the display, and it loops through his neural code uncontrollably. His ocular implant flickers rapidly, logging every microexpression on your face, the way your arms are crossed𑁋not out of defense, but thoughtfully. Threat level: low. His systems insist on it. 

But something buried beneath layers of countless Dominion technology that was placed in him, twists.

“Art is subjective.” Your words make him blink back to reality, a tight-lipped smile at your mouth. “It can come with many different interpretations and meanings. Most people who stroll don’t really care for the depth of it, you know? I guess it’s nice to hear what others think of it. Whatever you believe that real meaning is up to you, at the end of the day.”

Minghao watches you glance down at your wristwatch, a low gasp leaving you at the time displayed on it. 

“Shit𑁋it’s late,” You curse under your breath, running a hand through your hair, before realising that the stranger𑁋Minghao𑁋is still in front of you. “Sorry, I should really get to closing up. But if you’re ever willing to come back again, you know where to find me𑁋”

“Minghao,” he cuts in primly. 

You pause, brow twitching up. “Minghao?”

“My name.”

“Oh.” Even though you don’t have any cybernetic modifications in you, his name settles somewhere in the back of your mind like it belongs there. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Minghao.”

Minghao inclines his head solemnly. Hearing his name from your mouth does something dangerous to his feedback loops, sending a bloom of warmth to spread through the organic parts of his chest. He detects the way your pulse has steadied, a certain relaxation to your shoulders now that your little conversation together has found a natural end. The crimson ring around his iris dims to its idle state. 

SUBJECT EMOTIONAL STATE: Calm

He stores the information away without understanding why.

You offer him one last smile before stepping away.

“Goodnight, Minghao. Stay safe out there.”

Minghao gives you one last lingering look, his implant pulsing faintly as he commits your face to more than just temporary memory banks. When he watches you disappear within the shadows of your gallery, he begins to head toward the exit. 

In the background, you quietly watch the doors hiss to a final close, and it only makes you imagine what kind of ghosts surround him. 

But you shake the thought loose and initiate the security protocols with a simple swipe to your wristwatch. Minghao’s name still echoes in the back of your mind as you slip out of the side exit with your hood up over your head. 

The streets are slick and quiet tonight, yet your thoughts are anything but. 

SECTOR THREE — AETHER DISTRICTS -> SECTOR ONE — THE CENTRAL DOMINION

Minghao wipes the blood off his sleeve. 

Another target had been successfully dealt with. The body of a man lay slumped against a hidden back alleyway of the Aether Districts, blood oozing from the slit across his throat, caused by the small monomolecular blade that Minghao could summon right out of his fingertip. The kill had been precise and quiet, successful under his own terms.

His ocular implant runs one final scan over the man’s body to confirm zero pulse, zero neural activity, and zero threat. Mission complete. 

TARGET: Jung Minjae — TERMINATED ELAPSED TIME: 4 minutes, 31 seconds

Minghao retracts the monomolecular blade back beneath the plating of his index finger before crouching beside the corpse. He reaches into the pocket of the man’s jacket to take out a tiny metallic chip, exactly where the Dominion stated it would be. He tucks it in his own pocket to submit for evidence as later. 

But he still can’t bring himself to leave. 

His eyes take in the sight of the man’s shocked expression, now frozen in time after the blade had done its work𑁋mouth hanging open and eyes blown wide with that final, useless realisation that his life had ended in an alley because he had been too greedy, too loud, too alive. 

Yet something twists in his chest as he stares down at the body. It isn’t exactly remorse, and it isn’t guilt either𑁋that feeling had long burned away𑁋he can’t quite name it. For a miniscule second, Minghao nearly imagines another kind of expression on the man’s face. Perhaps something of another emotion, one that isn’t plagued with fear or greed, but one in the more… positive aspect. Freedom, maybe.

Or happiness. The thought unsettles him more than the kill itself. 

He doesn’t remember the last time he’s ever felt happiness. 

The mission is beyond complete. He should return to the nexus for debrief. But as his feet remain planted on the ground, he finds his bionic arm reaching out, his metal fingers hovering over the man’s face. With a gesture so gentle, he closes the dead man’s eyes shut to erase that final look of terror. 

It was a pointless gesture. The dead didn’t care𑁋the body would get disposed of in a matter of minutes by the meat wagons after he confirms that his mission is complete, but something inside of him insisted on it. 

Minghao straightens back up on his feet and fixes his trench coat, snapping it back against the damp air. The servos in his bionic arm whir softly throughout the dripping alleyway. He stares at his metal fingers for a long moment, flexing them slowly as if testing whether the motion had been a glitch or something else. 

A directive pings across his ocular implant: Return to Nexus for debrief. Priority Alpha.

He accepts the directive. 

But as he travels through the Aether Districts𑁋past all the neon storefronts and vibrant dance clubs𑁋his feet are slower than what protocol demands. Everywhere he looks, he’s reminded of you and the art you display so passionately at your gallery. 

Maybe art had once meant something to him. There was something about it that drew him in like a magnet so easily. Maybe he once wandered around galleries, or held a haptic brush instead of a blade. Or perhaps he hated art altogether. He doesn’t know. 

The possibilities were endless when an entire life had been erased. Each one felt equally true. All he knew is that something inside of him shifted the moment he stepped through your gallery doors the other night and his eyes refused to stray away from your artwork… and refused to stray away from you. 

When he arrives back at the nexus, The Central Dominion building looms above him like a giant monolithic blade in the heart of the city. Tall sterile white towers stained over with black Dominion insignia stand proud and tall while security drones orbit overhead. Minghao passes through the outer checkpoint without issue, his ocular implant syncing automatically with the security grid. Red beams sweep over his body to verify his identity and biometrics, before a heavy security door hisses open

“Operative X-08. Report to Chamber 47-C immediately,” a toneless, robotic voice orders him. 

Minghao’s jaw tightens, but he complies as he steps into the large corridor, his boots echoing against the polished obsidian floors. The hallway stretches endlessly before him. He walks past scientists, engineers, executives, and military officials who move synchronously beneath the watchful eyes of the surveillance systems installed in every corner. 

Nobody wastes time here.

Minghao knows this.

He was built in this place.

Inside the chamber, a Dominion handler is already waiting for him. A woman named Director Han with her back facing the entrance. She’s sharply dressed in Dominion attire, her silver hair tied in a tight updo, and her posture filled with enough authority that Minghao knew better than to question back. 

“Operative X-08,” she calls coldly over her shoulder without turning around yet. “Mission report.”

“Target was properly neutralised within the termination window. I have already sent out orders to the cleanup division,” Minghao responds evenly. He reaches into his pocket to take out the chip he retrieved from the body. “I also have the evidence I was ordered to extract.” 

Director Han finally turns around to meet his gaze, her gold-ringed eyes narrowing as she studies him carefully. She extends a hand out toward him without a word, and Minghao places the metallic chip directly in her palm. She turns the chip over between her fingers, then sets it into a secure scanner on the console. On the holographic display ahead, the stolen data quickly fills the screen in glowing, streaming lines. 

“Clean extraction. No traces left behind. Good.” Her praise is flat, almost bored. “The Dominion appreciates your efficiency, Operative. As always.” 

Minghao gives a solemn nod, however he doesn’t get dismissed right away. Director Han taps another command on the console, causing a secondary feed to bloom on the screen. 

“One more thing,” she begins. “We’ve recently detected a surge of anomalies aiming to breach confidential Dominion files. Ghost hackers. While we are able to contain their attempts most of the time, they’ve been becoming more challenging to identify.” 

Minghao listens with intent. Ghost hackers. He knows that they exist, and most times he’d find it ridiculous that these kinds of people would be bold enough to hack into the Dominion’s network. They were like cockroaches scuttling through the cracks of the city’s underbelly, surviving on scraps of data and dumb luck. 

A small, buried part of him wonders what secrets they might uncover that even he isn’t allowed to see.

“The second we are able to identify them, their termination assignments will be sent directly to you,” Director Han instructs. “Understood?”

“Understood.”

“Good. Head to the sub-levels for recalibration.” Before she leaves, she eyes him warily. “I do not want to see another deviation report on my desk.” 

Minghao unclenches his fist when the door behind him slams shut.

VERNON yo ghost i managed to decrypt a bunch of the corrupted files sending them your way now be careful though

The decrypted files land in your private inbox by the time you sit down at your computer in a secret room constructed within the gallery, a hidden space tucked behind a false wall panel in the back storage room. After an entire week of working torturously hard to decrypt the file tree, it had finally been done. 

You boot up your virtual machine, triple-check your jammers to ensure your signal won’t be caught, and wipe the sweat off your brow. This was it. This was the moment you’ve been waiting for. If the Dominion hid teeth inside the files, they might as well be biting into a corpse instead of you. It couldn’t possibly be worse from anything you’ve ever seen… right?

“Let’s see what you’re hiding,” You say under your breath. 

Taking a deep breath, you drag the decrypted files into an isolated sandbox, and after a singular click, progress bars quickly flash across your screen. PROJECT REBIRTH splits itself into a hundred different folders and directories, all labeled with names with what appear to be procedure codes: Asset Archives, Incidents, Subject Logs, and more.

You click on Subject Logs first. 

At first, the directory hesitates to open, sitting frozen as if silently taunting you. Then rows of files begin to populate your screen one after the other, each one labelled with simple numerical designations that go all the way to eight and a description underneath.

SUBJECT 01, SUBJECT 02, SUBJECT 03…

You scroll through the medical dossiers. 

[SUBJECT 01] Status: DECEASED Cause of Failure: Extensive neural degradation following cybernetic integration Notes: Recover compatible components; dispose of remaining biological material

[SUBJECT 02] Status: DECEASED Cause of Failure: Complete cardiovascular collapse mid-procedure Notes: Mechanical augmentation incompatible with surviving tissue 

[SUBJECT 03] Status: DECEASED Cause of Failure: Persistent identity retention; attempted to defect after regaining memories of pre-procedure life Notes: Subjected to immediate termination 48 hours after procedure; family erased for security 

“Persistent identity retention?” You repeat quizzically. 

That could only mean one thing𑁋some poor soul was trying to cling onto the last bit of their biological identity before the Dominion decided to solve the problem with immediate termination. And if the procedure failed, their bodies would be disposed of as if nothing even happened. 

Your heart sinks into your stomach at the thought. 

The more you scroll through each subject, the more grotesque the details become. One subject was terminated for killing three technicians during a calibration episode, while another one self-terminated themself in an attempt to escape from the Dominion’s controlling hands and got caught. What the hell kind of experimentation was happening? Were they forced?

However, there was one subject that stuck out to you.

[SUBJECT 08] Status: ACTIVE Reconstruction Summary: Full skeletal lattice integration; bilateral limb replacement; cranial, ocular, and spinal reinforcement; neural core reinforced; full neuromuscular overrides Model: X-08 Loyalty Index: 98.7% Observed Anomalies: Recurrent cyberpsychosis episodes that often become violent, cooldown periods and memory suppression recommended Field Performance: Exceptional, has terminated multiple high-profile targets Notes: Continue routine deployment; monitor for emerging behavioural deviations 

A survivor𑁋no, a victim. A victim who had survived through this so-called procedure and became a puppet meant to serve under the Dominion. 

Your gaze drifts lower through the rest of the description, but nothing else informative comes up. There isn’t a name, age, photos, or any family history. Only body measurements, height, weight, and blood type. Whoever Subject 08 was had been reduced to nothing but numbers on a screen. 

And it appears that they are the only person to have survived the procedure so far.

That’s when the file titled Incidents catches your eye next. You hover your mouse over to click on it, and the page expands into what seems to be an official redacted report.

Date: [REDACTED] Location: Sector Four — The Bastion Districts Classification: Level 5 Summary: Eight soldiers operating in an internal resistance cell were involved in a catastrophic accident that declared all KIA. Key evidence shows that a malfunction occurred within the building’s power core, causing an inevitable explosion to erupt over the surrounding area. Intelligence reports indicated they were planning a coordinated defection and strike against key Dominion infrastructure. In the aftermath of this event, the families of the soldiers were offered condolence packages and gifts of remembrance. 

Eight soldiers. Eight rebels. Eight subjects. You continue reading.

As kept confidential, the Dominion orchestrated a detonation in order to eliminate the threat. All bodies were recovered from the scene and immediately placed under inspection for PROJECT REBIRTH. Memory engrams were overwritten with a fabricated narrative to foster gratitude and loyalty. All references to the resistance cell were buried under repeated sessions of memory suppression. If any subjects experienced symptoms beyond recalibration, a lethal safeguard was to be deployed.  The goal of PROJECT REBIRTH is to become what the future requires. Humanity cannot survive as it is with rebellion propaganda spreading. Peace is impossible when choice is presented. If successful, the subjects would be hired to serve permanently under Dominion cause in eliminating threats of rebellion and preserving harmony. 

What the fuck? Your eyes widen in pure shock as you reread the paragraphs once, twice, even three times. The Dominion staged an attack on a group of rebels, used their bodies for experimentation, and forced the subjects to serve under them in order to… preserve peace? To believe that eliminating free will is essential for humanity to survive? 

The irony punches you in the gut. What kind of sick minds thought of this? 

Judging from the subject logs, seven of them did not survive PROJECT REBIRTH. On the other hand, the final subject is… somewhere out there roaming the city and serving the Dominion like a slave, silently eliminating threats that stand in the way of their ruling. 

Just like the surveillance footage that Vernon showed you. 

The next file that you click on is Asset Archives. Your heart is already in your stomach from what you’ve just read from the report, and it only drops even further when a plethora of photos suddenly fills your screen.

The images are beyond brutal. You find high-resolution stills captured in the aftermath of the explosion. Twisted metal beams jutting from collapsed walls. Charred remains fused to concrete. There are pictures of the bodies𑁋or what was left of them at least𑁋scattered across the rubble. One frame shows a gloved hand reaching out from under a fallen support column, fingers frozen mid-grasp. Another captures the moment med-teams in Dominion black pulled a barely-living figure from the wreckage: half his body crushed, left arm and leg gone with his face burned beyond recognition. 

You feel like you’re going to puke. 

Photos of the reconstruction procedures follow. The bodies of the soldiers scattered across operating tables surrounded by ripperdocs, photos showing a before shot, with some almost mutilated beyond repair you’re surprised that the procedure had worked, if only for a moment. Then photos of the after shot, where missing limbs were replaced with bionic prosthetics and cranial platings inserted into skulls. 

You force yourself to look away from the screen for a few seconds, bile rising in your throat like a parasite. Sure, you’ve seen some heavy shit while being a ghost hacker, yet this was basically incomparable to everything you have ever seen. 

There is one photo in particular that catches your attention. Although it was a wider shot, you spot the blurry outline of one of the subjects sitting upright on the operating table post-procedure. He’s draped in patient wear, a ripperdoc standing in front of him blocking the view of his face seemingly testing out the new cybernetic modifications on his body. 

You lean in closer, attempting to sharpen the image. There was something about the subject’s body figure and the shape of his shoulders that strikes a nerve of familiarity through you. Subject 08… and the man in the surveillance video…

But before the realisation can sink in, your entire terminal suddenly explodes with red alerts. 

SECURITY BREACH DETECTED PRIORITY: ALPHA

Panic floods through your senses, your fingers instinctively flying over your keyboard to counterattack the breach.

“No, no, no𑁋fuck!” You seethe out angrily.

You slam with every countermeasure you have against the poison beginning to rot through your systems𑁋ghost reroutes, signal jammers, false data floods, even a desperate worm meant to fry the incoming trace. For a few heart-stopping seconds the alerts flicker and slow, slow enough to let you hear violent pounding of your heart in your ears. 

Endless lines of code scroll past in a blur as you reroute your signal through three dummy nodes in random locations within the Undercity. The breach starts to slow and the red alerts begin to stutter in panic. When the progress bar on your worm reaches 61%, you think you might actually win.

Then everything collapses in the snap of a finger, and the worm begins to count backwards.

61%... 54%... 47%...

“Shit!” You pivot instantly, slamming your hands to induce another layer of heavy encryption and flooding the trace with junk data. “Come on, you bastard! Work with me here!” 

But the alerts only begin to frantically multiply across your screen, your last clean proxy is burned through, and your worm inevitably flatlines at a heartbreaking 19%. 

You desperately try to initiate the self-destruct sequence on your sandbox, hoping it could corrupt everything the Dominion is trying to pull. Your fingers hover the execute command, ready to destroy your entire set-up with just the click of a button.

However, your finger lands on the button a millisecond too late. The entire screen of your computer goes black, shrouding the entire room in a permanent silent darkness. The entire system powers down with a final, defeated whine, leaving you with nothing but the imminent dread crawling up your spine. 

Your entire system is fried. There’s nothing left that you can do. 

With shaky hands, you flick your wristwatch on.

Y/N vernon i think i’m fucked.

VERNON what the fuck did you do y/n?? hello?? shit

NEW TARGET ASSIGNMENT COORDINATES: Aether-03 | X: 483.637 | Y: -115.092 | Z: +02.500 TARGET ASSIGNMENT: Unknown Name | Alias: “Ghost” TERMINATION WINDOW: 3 Hours

Minghao rids of the ocular interface with a flick of the finger as he marches down the Aether District with determination in his step. It’s comical, really, from how often he’s been finding himself drifting to this particular sector of the city. Most times it’s been out of habit, like there’s some sort of half-buried pull toward the curated streets hiding within whatever is left of consciousness. 

He can definitely agree that this is the most beautiful sector of the entire city. The only part that feels more alive. 

The distance to the coordinates continues to grow smaller as he approaches the destination. The sector is mostly empty from how late it is, but he’s learned that the best time to strike his targets is during the depths of the night. His targets don’t sleep because they already know their inevitable fate is coming due to the consequences of their own actions. The Dominion always aims to make that known whenever someone breaks their rules.

Minghao’s footsteps begin to slow when he realises the familiarity of the area that he’s in. He followed the coordinates precisely, and yet… how is it possible that it managed to land him here?

In front of your gallery?

He faces his body toward other directions, thinking it was just some bug or error. The coordinates refresh in his implant and his systems run a forced diagnostic, but it all comes out clean. Same numbers. Same location. No glitch. No error. No misread.

The target is inside your gallery. You’re probably at home during this point, and someone might be attempting to seek refuge inside. 

The monomolecular blade at his fingertip extends as he peers inside through the window. It appears closed for the night, with only a handful of lights illuminating the walls and holographic art displays inside. In the several seconds that pass, he calculates fifteen different entry routes he can use to get inside. 

Front entrance, roof access, maintenance shaft… He could force any of them open; he’s done more destructive things before. Every simulation that runs through his code ends the same way: locate and terminate Ghost; mission success probability of 99.2%. 

Yet his feet remain planted to the ground. The blade stays extended at his side but idle. Minghao never hesitates during a mission. He’s always been the type of operative to get the job done clean and quickly. 

Something about this feels wrong. 

That is, until he catches a heat signature spike moving from inside the rear-end part of the building. The termination window continues to tick down in his implant, causing him to click his jaw. He shakes away the hesitation coursing through him and walks over to the side of the building. The mission comes first always. 

Silently as a ghost himself, he scales up the wall until he lands directly on the roof, his boots making no sound. A light drizzle of rain patters softly against his trench coat as he runs a scan over the roof, detecting a reinforced maintenance hatch near the western corner. Bingo.

Minghao drifts between ventilation units before kneeling beside the hatch. The biometric lock flashes with warning, waiting for an authorised employee to access it. But he lifts up the monomolecular hiding underneath the sleeve of his trench coat and begins to trace a delicately perfect circle around the locking mechanism. 

The thin blade passes through the reinforced steel as effortlessly as pen on paper. He catches the damaged section before it can hit the floor below. Below lies nothing but darkness as he begins to descend into the shaft, night-vision clicking on instinctively, his nose catching the faint scent of ozone and dust. 

By the time he reaches the bottom of the shaft, he finds himself standing in a cramped utility unit corridor hidden between the gallery walls. 

Exposed wiring runs along the ceiling as he moves silently through the space. His implant focuses on the heat signature pulsating more strongly through the walls. He pushes open through a useless door that opens into a back storage room, seeing dozens of empty projection rigs and holotanks scattered across the floor. 

When Minghao nudges another door, he’s finally standing in the main gallery. 

He steps into the silence.

The murmurs of wealthy patrons are long gone by now. The holographic installations have dimmed into their nocturnal state for the night, light lazily rippling through the translucent displays and washing the polished floors in shifting shades of purple, blue, and red. His boots whisper against the ground as he continues walking. 

His gaze tracks the heat signature as it slips silently behind columns and installations before coming to a halt. The silhouette shifts into a kneeling position, its face appearing to be covered heat-to-toe by some thick garments to shield their facial features. The corner of Minghao’s lift slightly into a smirk. 

Behind one of the towering holographic installations, your breathing remains perfectly even. A gun is tightly clenched in your hand underneath your sleeve. Your pulse hammers wildly in your ears. The gallery had never been built to withstand a siege𑁋now it has become a living battlefield. And if the battle has lost, you have another secret weapon hidden directly in the pocket of your coat. 

Earlier, you had killed every power source connected to your hidden room the second the system fried.

You knew the Dominion would come, but you hadn’t expected them this quickly.

Through a narrow gap between two suspended sculptures, you catch your first glimpse of the intruder, and you spot a tall figure standing in the middle of the vast gallery. You’d recognise him anywhere𑁋the Dominion’s one and only shadow executioner is now standing in your territory, scanning for the prey he was assigned to hunt: you. 

Subject 08. 

The next breath that leaves you comes off shaky, and the man’s head tilts curiously as if he hears your heartbeat.

Shit. You can’t stay in this spot any longer. You need an opening.

Minghao starts walking measuredly in the direction the heat signature is taking him, his implant catching the faintest fluctuation of body temperature. His head turns towards the particular holo-display that seems to be the final boundary in the way of accomplishing his mission.

The moment your eyes meet through the narrow gap, you fire your gun.

The bullet slices through the air with a sharp crack, causing Minghao to inhumanly twist away immediately. The round punches through the holographic installation behind him, shattering its projector into a shower of blue sparks. And this time, he doesn’t hesitate.

Sweat beads at your forehead as you fire and fire again, scrambling backward as you squeeze the trigger. A nearby holographic frame splinters in the background from another shot, while a few other bullets clip his bionic arm, causing them to ricochet off it and slam through another pillar. 

Minghao continues weaving and ducking from the onslaught of bullets raining at him, but the distance between him and the target only becomes smaller and smaller. He spots the clothed figure roll behind a pedestal, and in a quick, fluid motion, he vaults over it. The next bullet fires at him point-blank, catching him in his side, a low grunt leaving him as his system registers it as damage, but he shoves it down.

He surges forward like a predator and swings his bionic arm to knock the gun out of the target’s hand, skidding it across the floor and into the shadows. 

Your elbow suddenly slams at his jaw and a knee is driven up into his ribs. Most of the impact is blocked from his strength, but jars him enough for you to wiggle free enough to reach a hand into your coat before letting your other hand drive another punch to his face.

But a painful, strong, mechanical grip grabs your hand mid-punch and drives you down hard. The world spins all in that singular moment. 

You find your body completely pinned to the polished floor and your wrist is slammed above your head. A knee is pressed deeply into your stomach, and no matter how much you try to push him off, you realise you’re completely immobile. A blade hovers just mere inches from your throat, and you feel the hot, unsteady breath of the man above you fanning across your face.

The position causes your hood to fall back in the struggle. The dim, flickering lights of the gallery illuminates your face clearly. And when your gaze draws up to meet the eyes of your killer, your breath catches, and the blade at your throat trembles subtly. 

Minghao?

“...Y/N?” Your name glitches out of his lips. 

For a split second, the Dominion’s perfect weapon freezes and hesitates. 

You don’t waste it.

With every ounce of strength left, you twist yourself out of his hold beneath him, slamming your knee upward and using the momentary distraction to buck him off-balance. Minghao’s grip loosens just enough to let you roll over on top of him. Now you pin him down, straddling his waist, one knee on his bionic arm to keep the blade away from your body, even if you’re aware he has all the power to snap you in half if he wanted. 

You yank out a small cylindrical self-destruct trigger and press it firmly into his chest, thumb hovering over the activator. Just a singular press and the hidden charges throughout the gallery would render the entire building into nothing but a blazing tomb.

Minghao could only stare up at you. His ocular implant flickers erratically, like his entire system is screaming at him to finish this mission. He knows that he can𑁋knows that he can empower you and add you onto his endless list of accomplished directives𑁋but the monomolecular blade at his fingertip twitches useless at his side. 

DIRECTIVE: TERMINATE TARGET LOYALTY INDEX: 91.5% TERMINATION WINDOW: 2 Hours, 21 minutes remaining

“If you kill me, then we’ll both die,” You whisper fiercely, staring at him dead in the eyes as your fingertip lingers over the button. “The whole building, my art, everything, including the Dominion’s favourite puppet.”

The words snake through his system like venom. The servos in his body whine at the conflicting directives tearing at his neural core, his body trembling with the effort. His eyes flicker rapidly over your features, taking in the determination in your eyes and the quiver of fear at your lips. His loyalty index plummets another notch. 

“And if that doesn’t work, the entire gallery is rigged into your neuroport.” A brittle smirk runs across your face. “I could fry you within seconds and you wouldn’t even know.”

Minghao’s jaw clenches tightly. You can tell he’s internally trying to fight himself𑁋a ravenous battle between human and robot. The servos in his bionic arm gripe under the pressure of your knee, but he forces it to keep still. His human hand digs into the fabric of your coat as if he’s trying to cling onto you. The space between your bodies closes even more when your face hovers over his, watching him struggle like you’re both his saviour and executioner. 

LOYALTY INDEX: 86.3%

“But I won’t kill you.” You shove the trigger back into your pocket. “Unless you give me a reason to.” 

You carefully stand back up on your feet and retrieve your gun from the floor, pointing it directly at him. You cock the gun back, and with a small motion, you silently tell him to stand up. When Minghao lifts himself from off the floor, you notice a small pool of blood on the floor. The shot you landed on him earlier seemed to have got him clean. His human side is still there, just leaking out onto the floor.

Something about it tugs at your heart.

You gesture with the barrel toward the back storage room. “Move. And don’t even think about testing me.”

Minghao starts walking to where you’re directing him. You keep a respectful distance away, gun never wavering as you follow him into the backroom. 

The room feels as if it’s shrunk ten times in size when you both step in together. You point toward an empty reinforced crate with the barrel of your gun. He settles himself on top of it with his back against the wall, watching you disappear for a minute to grab a first-aid kit from a nearby shelf.

You hesitate briefly before lowering the gun slightly. “Take it off. Let me see the wound.”

Minghao studies you with a wary look, then glances down at his side. He runs a finger over the wound, seeing real human blood leaking through his shirt. His pain receptors must be dialed down due to whatever the hell the Dominion implanted on him, but the sting still registers somewhere deep in what’s left of his nervous system. To remind him that he’s not entirely a machine. 

He shakes off his trench coat and peels off his undershirt without a single word. A lump forms in your throat as your eyes rake over his toned, bare-chested form. The dim lighting of the storage room illuminates his muscles and old scars plastered over his skin𑁋some clearly surgical, others from targets who wasted their time trying to take him down. His bionic arm gleams coldly from his shoulder and down to his fingertips, twitching against his thigh like he’s physically trying to hold himself back from grabbing you. Though the human side of him… that side is breathing a little harder now. 

Forcing your focus back on the wound, you grab an antiseptic wipe from the medkit and begin to clean the bullet graze. His abs tense involuntarily from your touch on the raw flesh, and he keeps his eyes trained on you as you carefully smooth down a patch over the wound, lingering on the warm skin a little longer than needed.

“Ghost,” he calls out softly. 

You visibly wince at the mention of your alias, shooting him a dry look. “Ouch. Please do not call me that.”

“Y/N.”

You finally meet his eyes. He seems almost… exhausted.

“You’re wanted by the Dominion.”

A humourless smile crosses your face. “And you were sent to kill me, what a way to end the night, am I right?” 

Minghao’s implant runs a subconscious scan over your face. 

IDENTITY: Y/N L/N THREAT LEVEL: ??? HEART LEVEL: 91 BPM

“Why are you helping me?” he suddenly asks. 

You sit back on your heels, gun still within easy reach but pointed loosely at the floor now. A bitter little laugh escapes you.

“I wouldn’t call this ‘helping,’” You remind him, deftly tearing off another piece of medical tape before smoothing it across the patch. “I’m making sure the idiot who was sent to kill me doesn’t bleed out on my floor. I bet you’ve forgotten that you can bleed like a human.” 

Minghao’s eyes narrow down at you. “I’m not human.”

“No?”

“No.”

The reply comes off automatically, like some pre-programmed response engraved in his system. You tilt your head at him and stand back up on your feet, stepping closer to the point you’re almost positioned between his legs. Close enough that he could probably analyse every single tiny crack in your guarded expression.

Without thinking, you reach in to brush a fingertip over a raised scar on his collarbone. Seductive in the slightest, but more so out of curiosity. 

“Right here… this is human,” You tell him as your hands wander again, hesitating momentarily before flattening against the centre of his chest. His breath catches imperceptibly. “And this… still beats. Do you still think you’re not human?” 

Minghao looks down at your hand as if he’s never once noticed the sound sitting beneath his ribs. Ever since the Dominion brought him back, he hardly ever worried about the human heart still beating in his chest. It was just another component of him or another system to monitor. Another thing they could shut off if he ever became too inconvenient.

But right now, he feels it𑁋that rhythmic thump of his heartbeat slamming against your hand that’s still pressed firmly to his chest, daring him to feel the truth. 

Perhaps that remnant of humanity was still part of him. Somewhere, somehow. 

“I’ve hurt people too,” You admit to him, drawing your hand away from his chest but allowing your body to loom over his. “I’ve smiled at monsters to drain their pockets clean. I’ve hacked countless bank accounts, exposed trafficking rings, blackmailed executives, and sold secrets to people who could afford them. My hands aren’t exactly clean either.” 

Minghao absorbs your words carefully. There was something about you that his systems couldn’t exactly process. Usually, a target should be simple, a target should have a weakness. Every person the Dominion has placed on him were always separated into binary categories of morality.

But you don’t seem to fit into either. 

“You’re human, Minghao,” You remind him again, more sharply this time. “I’ve read the files. I know who you are, who you were.”

His ocular implant flickers once.

“Files?” he echoes.

“Yes,” You answer matter-of-factly. “I’ve read all about it𑁋about what the Dominion did to you, how they killed you and made you their slave. PROJECT REBIRTH. Does it ring a bell?”

Minghao’s entire body suddenly goes completely rigid beneath you. The name hits like a kill-switch.

For a fraction of a second, his entire vision flares red. The human warmth in his gaze vanishes and his bionic fingers snap up to grab at your wrist like a vice. He moves like lightning𑁋pain surging through you when your back meets the wall behind with enough force to rattle the surrounding shelves. The monomolecular blade extends out of his fingertip and hovers at the soft skin under your jaw. 

“You𑁋” His voice comes out like a glitchy, guttural snarl. “That name𑁋you can’t𑁋”

LOYALTY INDEX: 95.4%

The pressure around your wrist is almost bone-crushing that you feel the tears sprouting at the corners of your eyes. The blade presses a little deeper into your skin, just enough to draw a thin line of blood, before he forcibly wrenches it away. Raging tremors run up and down his body, like thousands of corrupted and suppressed memories have flooded his system all at once. 

“Fuck, get out𑁋get out of my head𑁋” Minghao grits out hoarsely. “Eliminate𑁋need to eliminate𑁋”

His vision distorts fleetingly𑁋a silhouette, a flash of an explosion, then darkness𑁋causing him to claw at the side of his skull as if trying to rip the implant out of his head. Your body is still pinned to the wall behind, completely frozen and trapped from his weight. 

After a few moments, the violent surge of cyberpsychosis ebbs away as fast as it came.

Both of your breaths come out in heavy pants. The thin cut at your throat stings, a warm trickle of blood sliding down your neck. Minghao’s head slowly comes back up, and when he catches the fear in your gaze, something inside of him fractures. 

For the first time since he’s stepped foot into your gallery, you see him as less the executioner and more the survivor. 

Every instinct within you is screaming to pull away from him before something worse could happen. But your feet remain planted to the floor below; if anything, you inch your face closer to his, your trembling lips hovering just over his. The corners of your mouth rise ever so slightly with a smile that he can’t quite decipher. Compassionate in a way, yet taunting at the same time. 

“If I told you everything the Dominion took from you…” You begin, dragging your words slowly, refusing to break eye contact with him. “...would you still kill me to accomplish your mission, or let me help you get it all back?” 

For once, Minghao doesn’t answer right away because he can’t. It’s as if he isn’t built or programmed to handle a question that cuts straight through every layer of conditioning that was forced upon him. The war plays out visibly across his face, and you notice the sharp twitch of his jaw and how the pupil in his eye widens with something painfully close to recognition. 

The crushing grip on your wrist loosens, only to curl around it again almost… possessively. His touch sends a shiver racing up your arm and the heat of his solid body seeps through the crevices of your coat. 

In his implant, the termination window continues to tick down. His loyalty index plummets once again.

LOYALTY INDEX: 79.7%... 73.5%...

The thrill of the chase has just begun. 

perm taglist (open) ʚɞ

@sn4psh00t @slytherinshua @seungkw1 @etherealyoungk @bananabubble

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[ts19009]

BITCH. IM LITERALLY SPEECHLESS. I LOVE THIS PLOT AND AM ON THE EDGE OF MY SEAT

[100vern]

kingslayer 🗡 chs >>: the intro

it's been years since you worked for the ministry of welfare. since you were partnered with hansol as a rookie inspector in the criminal investigation unit. since the two of you were assigned to a case so devastating it cost hansol his freedom and sent you into hiding. it's been years, but there's no time limit on vengeance—and there's nothing you wouldn't do to protect hansol.

▸️ pairing: enforcer!hansol x hacker!f. reader ▸️ genre: cyberpunk, dystopian, psycho-pass au; (lite) enemies, coworkers to lovers; action, angst, smut ▸️ rating: explicit. minors do not interact with this or any of my work. ▸️ warnings: many references to psycho-pass (which you don't need to have seen to understand but would definitely help), including: a dystopian government, an AI hivemind security system, mentions of crime; swearing, cigarettes, alcohol use; vernon is kind of a jerk; time jumps that are labelled. pls let me know if i missed anything. ▸️ smut warnings: none for this chapter. ▸️ wordcount: 5.1k ▸️ listen to: bring me the horizon - kingslayer (feat. babymetal) ▸️ credits: this was written for the cyberpunk: reloaded collab, hosted by my loves at @studiosvt. tysm for letting me participate! please make sure to check out the rest of the fics as they're posted. big thanks to @imnotshua and @sailorsoons for spitballing ideas with me way back in the day for the original iteration of this story. this chapter was not edited or beta'd, so any mistakes are my own. ▸️ author's note: i wanted to have this done in its entirety by the posting deadline but, as always, working in broadcasting/advertising during world cup was to my detriment. i am actively working on this, though, so i will hopefully have part two posted soon. i hope you enjoy this nonetheless!

[input_TIME >>: the now // input_DATE >>: october 2117.]

Rain pounds the pavement, distorting the view of the city.

Deep puddles reflect blinding neon signs back at you. You cover your eyes at the worst of it, blocking the characters from view. What are typically rigid, geometric lines are now jagged and fragmented; names of businesses disjointed and severed. It all has you feeling out of sorts, off-kilter even though you’re firmly planted on solid ground.

You used to recognize these streets. You used to be able to make a map out of them, all the crooked alleyways and dead-ends forming a knotted ball of yarn in your head. Now, nothing is as it used to be. None of the names feel familiar. The metallic, cartoonish jingles meant to lure you in like a siren song don’t, either, and you try to discern if you’re hearing them for the first time or if, like so much of this city, you forced yourself to forget. You take another step. All the old haunts you used to frequent are either boarded up or long gone. Either sequestered behind rotting caution tape that’s frayed and worn at the edges or nothing but exposed steel and concrete and a memory where a building used to stand.

God, this is fucking with you. Have you finally lost it? Done yourself in for good? You’re certain it used to be here, right where you’re standing. You know it was. Out of everything, you recognize the shape of the crack in the sidewalk—the one that’s shaped like a bolt of lightning. You remember how you used to joke that it was going to strike Hansol, rewire his brain like electroshock therapy, and you can see it so vividly: the way his lip curled as he sneered and said in return that was the only way he’d ever be able to tolerate you as his partner. How he used to turn his head to hide his eyes from view and the way the neon lights of the city swarmed in on him, filling in the contours of his cheeks and the slit in his brow. Another step and you remember the street vendor that used to set up there—the tent the two of you used to sit beneath in the liminal hours of the night to get out of the rain. The way you came to associate the pitter-patter against the cheap plastic with the bitter beer Hansol used to drink.

Even now, the sound of rain reminds you of him. Of stale beer and neon lights and memories you so desperately want to cling to that dissipate like smoke every time you try to reach for them.

As you stand in the graveyard of your old life, it’s clear the world has moved on without you.

Without him.

But you have to be sure.

You need to know there’s some semblance of truth to what you’ve been hearing. If you’re going to go down this path again—if you’re going to stalk these once-familiar streets with your eyes constantly trained over your shoulder, you need to be absolutely certain the incessant whispers have substance. Even now, there’s still an unshakeable weakness in you when it comes to Hansol, and you need to know what you’re walking into, because he makes you vulnerable. And if there’s a puppetmaster—if all of this is just meant to lure you out of the shadows—there you’ll be, dangling hopelessly from wood and string, only moving when you’re made to.

Nothing more than a marionette. A thrall for someone else’s whims.

You sigh and press the palms of your hands into your eyes. This liminal space is giving you vertigo—this world you recognize but don’t, long for but don’t, want to return to but can’t. Unable to tell the difference between remembrance and hallucination. What’d this place used to sound like? Had you sunk into the ambient noise like a warm bath, letting the conversations of strangers pull you just beneath the surface? Had you wrapped yourself in the muted sounds of their laughter? Their anger? Standing here now—the streets empty and devoid of life, nothing but ghosts to keep you company—you don’t remember. Maybe you can’t, or don’t want to. You want to scream until your throat is raw. Want to drop to your knees on the concrete and let the polluted rain seep into your clothes as you ask no one and nothing, What’s the point in any of this?

But you’re terrified the abyss will answer.

You’re terrified someone will tell you the point is Hansol, because nothing else could drag you back into this life. Nothing else could bloody you so badly and still draw you back in. Nothing else could conjure a fear so primal it left you—leaves you—paralyzed and still have you crawling over glass if it meant getting vengeance on every last person who harmed him. If it meant getting it right this time.

A chill runs up your spine.

You already know who will be standing behind you when you turn around. Hansol has always been a viper, preferring the safety of the fringes until it came time to strike. It’s what made him so effective, that you could feel his presence like a syrupy, tangible thing—that you knew there were eyes on you, that you could sense an apex predator camouflaged amongst the shadows, but you couldn’t see him. Not until it was too late. Not until fangs were sinking into flesh.

That’s what you expect now, for Hansol to charge and tear you apart, and you brace yourself. But nothing happens. There’s no movement. No sound except rain on concrete. You turn slowly, your movements stunted by the anticipation of something that never came, and you’d miss him if you didn’t know where to look. Didn’t know all his favorite hiding places.

And that’s what you do, immediately casting your eyes to the darkest corner of this desolate street, finding his silhouette exactly where you expected it to be. Hunched over to obscure his height, hood pulled over his head to hide his eyes. A lone sliver of moonlight slices through the darkness, and casts him in a silver glow, making him look otherworldly. It’s all that keeps him from being entirely disguised by the umbra.

Still, it feels hard to believe after so long—after time and circumstance formed such an insurmountable chasm.

You watch one another wordlessly, and as the minutes tick by you catch yourself counting his breaths. They’re all that tells you there’s a human being standing there rather than one of the many faceless phantoms taking up residence in this part of the city. That he’s real and not some illusion your brain has cooked up in order to cope with the crippling loneliness that accompanies your forced solitude.

There’s the flick of a lighter, a cherry red ember, and a plume of smoke before Hansol speaks. “Didn’t think you’d actually come.”

Why wouldn’t I, when you asked me to? you want to say, but it feels too intimate for a deserted street that reeks of garbage and stale piss. “I could say the same for you,” is what you settle on. “Suffice it to say I was pretty fuckin’ shocked to hear from you.”

He takes another drag of his cigarette. Exhales another plume of smoke. “Yeah, well.” Tosses the butt to the pavement and stomps it out.

That’s all he has to say about that.

[input_TIME >>: the before // input_DATE >>: may 2112.]

You fidget in your seat, silently cursing the bureau’s uniform requirements.

Two weeks out from graduation and you haven’t heard a thing your instructor has said. The bottom-most button of your blazer refuses to sit right, intent on digging into your skin, and you’ve been fucking with it all morning, hissing through your teeth at every stab of discomfort. If you would’ve known you’d have to dress like a middle-aged department store clerk, you would’ve applied to a different department.

That prompts a snort of hushed laughter.

As if you hadn’t been recruited. As if this bureau with the horrible uniforms hadn’t taken one look at your transcripts and handed you your dream job on a silver platter, effectively offering you everything you’d been working towards your entire life. As if it wasn’t a childhood dream that squeezed into a blazer and pencil skirt every morning for the last six months just to spend nine hours a day sitting ramrod straight in an uncomfortable metal chair. As if it wasn’t optimism and the constellation of stars in your eyes that pored over pages upon pages of notes each night, committing them to memory as you washed away ink smears and ignored the ache in your dominant hand.

Just two more weeks, you reassure yourself. Two more weeks and you’ll finally be done with your instructional training. Two more weeks and it’ll finally be real: a real job, a real title, real responsibilities. Two more weeks and you can finally put your education to good use. You can finally start cleaning up the streets.

Start making a real difference.

It’s this thought, more than anything else, that gets you through each day—more than finally earning a salary; more than finally being able to subsist on something more substantial than freeze-fried noodles and whatever’s on sale at the GS25. You’ll tolerate fourteen more days of this cursed uniform if it gets you one step closer to your place in the Ministry, the role waiting for you within it, and finally being able to realize your life’s purpose.

And it arrives in the blink of an eye. One second you’re metaphorically chained to your desk at the training institute; the next, you’re sitting opposite one of the Ministry’s middlemen as he monotonously explains the minutiae of your employment from his side of a glossy walnut desk. You try to listen but it feels like staring at the sun. All you’ve ever wanted is finally within reach, yet you can’t bring yourself to reach out and grab it. You sigh. Wipe your sweat-slick palms on the same pencil skirt you’d been cursing weeks ago, hoping desperately that whatever you’re feeling isn’t showing on your face. That he can’t smell it like a bloodhound.

There’s no one better equipped for this position. No one who wants it nearly as badly.

Some of your classmates had called you a brown-noser. Doesn’t matter now, you think, your broad smile coming easily as this man—someone important; someone who actually matters—uses more flattering words to describe you. Impressive. Hard-working. Ambitious and intelligent. One of the most promising recruits the Ministry of Welfare has had in decades.

He continues shuffling through your paperwork, tongue darting out to wet his fingertips. “Tell me again where you graduated from.”

You clear your throat. “Ewha Higher Education, sir.”

He hums an acknowledgement. “Ah! Yes, yes, here it is. Ewha Higher Education… double-majored in psychology and social welfare… perfect grades… awarded the highest honors... Yes, yes, very impressive, indeed.” There’s a spot of dark sauce on the corner of his mouth you hadn’t noticed earlier. “Inspector Choi could surely use someone of your caliber.”

You know that name. You wrack your brain, trying to remember how, and then—

Another blink of an eye as your field of vision is reduced to the size of a pinhead. Suddenly, your breath hitches, stuck in your throat as you feel your blood turn to ice. Please no, you want to beg, anywhere but there. But there’s no point. Before you can protest, the man pulls a giant rubber stamp from a drawer, officially branding your file.

MINISTRY OF WELFARE, CRIMINAL INVESTIGATION UNIT

The ink is so red it could pass for blood.

[input_TIME >>: the before // input_DATE >>: november 2112.]

“Again.”

You clench your jaw. Try not to spare any concern for the sound your bones make when you roll your neck to the side. You’re thankful that your back is to Hansol so he can’t see the irritated look on your face. Not that he’s paying attention to you, anyway—he’s taken up residence in the corner, slumped in a metal chair as he makes shapes out of the water stains on the ceiling. He’s silent, making absolutely no sound until it comes time to either criticize you or obnoxiously smack his gum.

So yes, you’re irritated. You’ve been at this for hours. Your arms are sore, you’re hungry, and the stench of mildew is bringing on a migraine. But it isn’t like Hansol’s criticisms don’t have merit. Inspector Choi won’t clear you for field work until you get better. Until you can prove you won’t be a liability.

Until your partner feels confident in your ability to save his life and do your job.

“Again.”

Hansol is not feeling very confident, needless to say.

You raise your arms. Press your tongue into the fat of your cheek. Squint one eye as you center the target. The silhouette stares back at you, riddled with bullet holes, numbers demarcating body parts. You aim your pistol at the bright red X on its chest, trying to imagine a reality in which you have to do this. In which the silhouette was real, living and breathing right in front of you—the difference between kill or be killed. Would you take a life to save your own? To save Hansol’s? It made you sick at first, the thought of it. You used to lie in bed and swear there was blood on your hands, viscous and sticky, but every time you’d stumble to the bathroom and flick on the dingy fluorescent light there was nothing there.

Made you wonder if you were turning into a monster.

But you can do this. You have to. The tattered silhouette is not the difference between life or death, not right now, but it is the only thing standing between you and a dream. A duty. You exhale slowly, trying to steady your erratic heartbeat, and place your finger on the trigger. Before this job, there was a foolish naïveté in the way you thought there was a particular weight to this decision, but not now. No, now you think there’s a foolish metaphor in how little it takes to fire a gun. Just the slightest hint of pressure and you can shoot for whatever reason you choose: to paralyze and stun, to contain—and to kill, of course, if necessary.

If the System deems it so.

Nonsense has clearly made its way into your head. You’re safe. The System keeps you safe, as does the Ministry. The same one you work for. The reason you’re stuck down here in this basement shooting at numbers until it’s instinctual, training to keep others safe. Listening to Hansol chew his gum like a cow. Rummaging through the rubble of everything he says, discarding all his snide remarks as you search for feedback you can actually use.

Another exhale. You widen your stance and plant your feet. Focus on that red X. Adjust your aim by nanometers. Finger firmly on the trigger, just a little bit of pressure, you can do this, you can do this, you can, you will—

Pop!

You startle, letting out a sound of frustration more akin to a wild animal. Hansol pays you no mind, just plucks the remnants of the popped bubble from his face and stuffs the wad of gum back into his mouth, no doubt gearing up for a repeat performance. It’s got to feel more like chewing on rubber by now, but you wouldn’t put it past him to saw off his own foot if it’d annoy you.

Sighing, you lower the pistol and put the safety back on, turning slowly as you dig deep, trying to gather whatever professionalism is left in you. “Hansol.”

Pop! That one was bigger than his—

“Headshot.”

You blink. “Excuse me?”

“Head. Shot,” he repeats, tone belying his belief that you’re nothing more than a stupid child. He sits up straight, finally making eye contact with you. Nods in the silhouette’s direction. “You see those circles above his head? Big and red?” You ignore his taunting. “C’mon, they’ve got a big X on ‘em and everything. Not even you could miss that.”

Proverbial fingers stuck in your proverbial ears, you turn back around. The silhouette stares wordlessly. It doesn’t beg for its life as you remove the safety just as quickly as you’d put it back on. Doesn’t start bargaining, desperate and incoherent, as you raise your arm and squint through one eye. Doesn’t do anything at all as you pull the trigger and blow a perfect hole right between its eyes.

Now that you think about it, though, it does start to look a lot like Hansol.

[input_TIME >>: the before // input_DATE >>: february 2115.]

Inspector Choi says he’ll handle the paperwork and bids the two of you goodnight.

Snow falls steadily. It’s rare these days—too warm, not the right kind of precipitation—so you’ll covet it, even though it covers the streets and sidewalks in an unsightly and inconvenient layer of brown-grey slush. As always, Hansol isn’t quite so romantic. He scoffs, hands immediately going to his coat pockets in search of his cigarettes. When he pulls them back out, his knuckles are red from the cold, hands trembling slightly when he tries to use his lighter.

“Give it here.”

With a roll of his eyes, Hansol hands the lighter over and moves in closer, cupping his hands around the tip of the cigarette to block it from the wind. You flick the wheel, a low flame sparking after a few well-practiced tries. Hansol erases more of the space between you. Steps in closer and lights his cigarette, sucking the first pull of it deep into his lungs, a small explosion of cherry red embers. He’s close enough for you to smell the smoke that lingers in the wool fibers of his coat. It’s not a smell you ever thought you’d find comforting, but it’s the one you associate with him the most.

“You heading home?” Each word is reluctant, as if they’re being pried out of his mouth by force. He exhales another drag of his cigarette. Doesn’t move entirely out of your space, but turns his head just enough so that the smoke doesn’t blow directly into your face.

Snowflakes land and immediately melt on his eyelashes.

One of the Sybil drones approaches, whirring as it wheels by you on the sidewalk. Every few meters it slows to a stop, moving side to side as it completes its scans, leaving behind perfectly parallel tracks in the slush. The crowd parts biblically as it continues down its pre-programmed path. Every face you can make out wears a look of trepidation; of anxiety and unease. It’s always the first thing you notice. People don’t look at you and see a savior. Don’t see a protector or a guardian or even a role model. People look at you and see someone responsible for defending and upholding the status quo.

The turning of the tides has been slow, but certainly not subtle.

You can feel Hansol’s eyes on you, his gaze heavy and pointed. “Hey,” he says, dragging you out of your head, “I asked you a question.”

The snowfall is heavier now, the flakes larger and less watered-down. You know the entire city will be covered and iced over soon. You know the government will tell everyone to go home and stay there, that there will be a losing battle mounted against it using plows and shovels; that the public transit systems will stop running and, even though you don’t live far, it’ll be a headache to get home if you don’t get going.

But you stay rooted in place, unable to bring yourself to care.

A half-turn with a shit-eating grin. “No,” you finally answer, feeling a thrill jolt through you as Hansol raises an eyebrow in question, “I’m taking you out for a drink.”

Surprise stuns him into silence, leaving him unable to protest. You take advantage, grabbing onto the lapel of his coat as you drag him down the sidewalk towards the pojangmacha the two of you frequent:  the one that never seems to close; the one that has slowly come to belong to you and Hansol.

“Absolutely fuckin’ not,” he grumbles, using all the strength he possesses to pull himself in the opposite direction but he slips, no traction to be found in the snow. He swears. Starts bitching about how fucking cold it is, it’s getting late, he lives all the way across the city and the fucking trains never run in the snow so how the fuck’s he gonna get home, he’s gonna be fucking stranded here and it’s gonna be your fucking fault.

Perpetually open, the amber lights of the pocha spill onto the sidewalk, contrasting against the harsh neon of the city. The heater is cranked to full-blast; you can hear the gears clanking as it works overtime and you find yourself desperate for the warmth. Pulling back one of the flaps, you snark, “I don’t live that far, so if worst comes to worst you can crash on my couch.” Hansol scoffs, making no attempt to hide the fact that this would not be his contingency plan if there were any other options available.

You move aside and gesture for him to go in.

Soonyoung greets you immediately from his spot at an empty table. He waves you over and relinquishes his seat to Hansol—who’s clearly still sour about this entire ordeal—before disappearing to fetch menus neither of you need. “Come on, it’s your birthday,” you argue, dropping into the seat opposite your sulking partner. “Can you please find it in yourself to stop being miserable for one hour and enjoy one of those shitty beers you always drink?”

The corners of his mouth turn up minutely, blink and you’ll miss it, before he schools his expression back into familiar annoyance. “They’re not shitty.”

You roll your eyes. Soonyoung reappears with sweat dotting his hairline, cheeks ruddy from the heat. A complimentary bowl of tteokbokki is placed between the two of you: seemingly a preemptive apology for the unprompted report of the weather forecast that he launches into. You roll your lips. It’s extremely detailed—you might even dare to call it impressive—but what little patience Hansol had is fading fast. So you politely interject, cutting him off to order, “Two shitty beers, please,” which obviously makes no sense to him. Nevertheless, he nods and disappears once more, two cans of beer cracked open and poured into frosted mugs that make your fingers ache, and when you take a sip of what he sets in front of you, it’s just as metallic and awful as you hoped it’d be.

Your lips pucker from the taste and Hansol laughs, not bothering to tamp down his smile this time.

[input_TIME >>: the before // input_DATE >>: august 2115.]

Discontent is swelling.

What used to exist in the undercurrent has morphed into something palpable, the cells of it multiplying as rapidly as a tumor. What was once communicated through knowing glances shared in the safety of silence is now being spoken into existence. Lone protestors on street corners have become grand-scale demonstrations; the handmade signs, once shoddily painted and nailed into a plank of wood, are now replicated and distributed en masse, printed on paper so glossy it’s nearly blinding. What was once a gentle rain is now thunderous. What once thrived only in the shadows of the underbelly has made its way above ground.

Tension permeates every inch of the city, sparing no one. Your branch of the Ministry feels it heavier than the rest. After all, the system they’re protesting was given life here, born from computers and tangles of wires as thick as jungle vines—the system that was once heralded as the guiding light into a new age of governmental omnipresence. What was once revered as a beacon of safety is now regarded with deep distrust, as yet another oppressor with its fingers crossed behind its back, chains ready and waiting for anyone needing to be contained.

Once that skepticism had taken hold, there was no vanquishing it. No going back. Now it has you by the throat, squeezing increasingly tighter, watching with indifference as you struggle to breathe. As the crowds of protestors jeer at you, spittle flying as they hurl their curses and accusations, call you names. It watches with indifference as Inspector Choi locks himself in his office day after day, lights off, speaking to no one, bankrupt of guidance. As Hansol spends his time pacing between his desk and the large window that overlooks the city, a severe crease between his brows as he stares down at the raucous mob, his fragile, fraying nerves unraveling entirely as he chainsmokes with trembling hands, resolving to throw himself off the rooftop before admitting his worry. It watches with indifference as you step into the elevator and descend into the labyrinthine depths of the building; as you navigate the funhouse maze and pass the biometric scans.

Watches with indifference as the automatic door whirrs shut behind you, sealing you in Wonwoo’s domain. This place has always made you uneasy: the neon green lighting that falls over your skin, making you feel like you’re being bathed in acid; the nonstop humming of the servers; the humid, stale air that the fans try—and fail—to circulate. You don’t know how he works down here. How he copes with the unyielding darkness and the liminal passage of time.

Regardless, this is Wonwoo’s empire, its walls built out of CCTV monitors that oversee every inch of this city, scanning and listening and anticipating. Wires dangle from the ceiling. On every computer screen, endless lines of code rapidly scroll by, jumbled and nonsensical, only having to make sense to one person. And there he sits in the center of the room, his figure illuminated by a silvery-blue aura, fuzzy around the edges as if he’s slowly being absorbed by the technology he spends all his time with. There’s an energy drink in his hand and a pile of empty cans at his feet. Every so often he moves—to alter a line of code, to change the view of the CCTVs, to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose—but otherwise he’s entirely still, a ghost on autopilot, and it only adds to the restlessness you feel here.

“How haven’t you gone blind yet?” you half-joke.

Wonwoo snorts a laugh, spinning his chair 90° to greet you. No one else bothers to come down here. “Here to get away from the hellscape outside?”

“Somewhat,” you admit, stepping in closer. Unsurprisingly, Wonwoo’s got cameras trained on every crowd. The one that has assembled right outside the Ministry’s doors is displayed on its own screen. “Got anything we can use?”

He hums and presses a button. The Ministry protestors now up the entire wall of monitors in front of you. “Not really.” He scratches at the back of his neck. “They aren’t protesting anything new. No new faces, either.”

“They’re relentless,” you mutter. “What’s Sybil saying?”

Wonwoo presses another button and the screen splits in half. The camera trained on the protestors remains on the left. On the right, however, is a familiar array of identifiers, colors, and numbers. “Psycho-Pass levels continue to be heightened, as you’d expect, and all Crime Coefficients have remained within normal range. So far, nothing has even remotely approached clouded status.”

You sigh, forced to live another day in this in-between, unable to do your job. Protesting the government isn’t strictly forbidden, per se. It’s certainly frowned upon, but so long as nothing gets flagged by the Sybil System, it remains begrudgingly legal. It’s not your responsibility to arrest petty demonstrators, anyway—that’s the role of another department entirely, so it’s not the crowds themselves that have you so anxious.

It’s the novelty of it all.

The country (and its capital city, especially) has a long history of protesting, but never before have citizens been able to keep their numbers—stress levels or their overall mental wellbeing—within range. Protesting is directly at odds with neutrality, so it seems to be a foregone conclusion that those levels will inevitably surpass the established ranges dictated by the government. Sybil is almost always flagged. Someone almost always ends up institutionalized, locked away to prevent the spread of dissent.

That’s not happening this time, though.

The numbers remain acceptable, ultimately unactionable despite teetering on the knife’s edge of concern, liable to tip over in either direction. Discord continues to circulate. Animosity and distrust continue to fester, burning every bridge the government attempts to build. A plague continues to take over the city. It’ll reach pandemic status soon, and that’s your fear: that by the time everyone else notices, takes it seriously, it’ll be too late.

It’s too late now, you think, eyes scanning over the monitors. You read all of the signs. Listen to all of the synchronized chants. Try not to let the odious words and malice in their voices send you spiraling deeper. You try to trick yourself into believing this will turn out like the others: a brief period of unrest that barely registers as a blip in the country’s history in the end. A government crackdown that widens the chasm but brings an end to the chaos. A bandage stuck uselessly over a bleeding, gaping wound.

You want to believe this. You have to believe this, because there is no fathomable alternative.

Lost in thought, you miss it but Wonwoo doesn’t: a line of code that doesn’t look right. Doesn’t fit with the rest. He types something into the screen and isolates it, and this time you don’t miss it when all the color drains from his face. When you ask what’s going on and he tries to stutter his way through an explanation. When, in fragments, you make out the system didn’t catch it… don’t know how long… should’ve caught it… I don’t know who or what…

You swallow your panic and ask, “Can you fix it?”

Wonwoo doesn’t bother as he answers, “I don—I don't think so? I don't—”

It’s too late.

It’s too late.

It’s too late.

[wheeboo]

REMNANT | xu minghao {part one}

SYNOPSIS. In the year 2197, Xu Minghao works as a government shadow operative, hired to hunt down political dissidents. After surviving a catastrophic accident that should have ended his life, his body had been rewired to become nothing more than a living weapon solely engineered for one purpose: obedience. You live a different kind of double life. By day, a reclusive digital artist curating an elite art gallery; by night, a ghost hacker where you siphon power and secrets from the city’s corrupt core. But when your latest hack uncovers an unsettling truth, a target is painted on your back—and Minghao is assigned to terminate you. PAIRING. shadow operative!xu minghao x ghost hacker!fem!reader (ft. ghost hacker!vernon) GENRE. cyberpunk au, futuristic au, angst, smut (minors dni 🔞), fluff, hurt/comfort, slowburn-ish, enemies to lovers/hunter x hunted dynamic WARNINGS. cursing, drugs, violence (murder, blood, gore, etc), weapons and guns, implied “death”, body modifications/cybernetic enhancements, government corruption, dystopian government, brainwashing/memory manipulation, human experimentation, morally grey characters, mentions and descriptions of dead bodies, minghao experiencing violent cyberpsychosis episodes, shirtless minghao oops, reader goes by a hacker alias, smut warnings in part two WORD COUNT. 13k (for part one)

notes: hello everyone!! this is my fic for the @studiosvt cyberpunk: reload collab! i've had so much fun writing this :) and while i'm kinda not satisfied with this first part + feel like i could've done more due to a lot of stress happening irl which has made writing hard lately, i hope this is still okay! please don't forget to support the other amazing authors in the collab <3

SECTOR TWO — THE VEIL DISTRICTS

The rain showering down from the night sky hisses against the alloy skin of the city. 

Xu Minghao finds himself standing on the narrow maintenance ledge of a building sitting right across from the 47th floor of the Helix Tower, the tips of his combat boots hovering just over the edge as the wind snaps at the tails of his black trench coat. Right below his feet, the neon arteries of the city bleed through the thick layers of dense, permanent fog and rain. 

Tonight’s target is a man named Arthur Kim. Age forty-three, married, with two daughters𑁋assigned to be executed under the orders of the Dominion for illegally accessing financial streams and attempting to sell them to some brokers located in the Undercity. A fatal error that costed him his entire life, and Minghao was sent to deliver the act within a termination window of two hours.

Minghao didn’t need all that time. 

In due time, the ocular implant in his eye pings, immediately locking onto the target’s heat signature through the reinforced glass and walls. Minghao narrows his gaze, heat mapping across his vision, following the man’s dull amber silhouette frantically pacing inside of his dimly lit and expensive apartment, as if already knowing what’s about to come.

A forty metre gap separates the two buildings. Minghao steps into the void without any hesitation. The wind roars past him as he launches himself off the ledge, his coat flaring out like wings. Twin magnetic grapples fire out from the wrist of his right bionic arm with a sharp hiss, cables flying across the chasm until they latch onto the Helix Tower’s exterior frame. 

At the apex of the launch, he releases the grapples and twists his body into a controlled dive towards the window. The second he makes contact, reinforced glass explodes inward as his boots smashes cleanly through Arthur Kim’s window, causing shards to rain across the carpet floor like confetti. 

The man in question spins around too late, eyes blown wide with utter panic, clutching nothing but a half-empty glass of whiskey in his trembling hand and useless revolver in the other that he shakily points directly at Minghao.

“Don’t… don’t come any closer!” he begs, fingers twitching around the trigger. “I have connections𑁋I-I have a family, a wife, two little girls𑁋I can pay𑁋”

Minghao doesn’t speak. He never does on missions like this. Words are wasted on the already dead.

Instead, he crosses the room in three, perfect strides, way faster than any modified human should. Arthur attempts to shoot, but the revolver kicks back into his grip and causes the bullet to go wide and harmlessly punch into the wall directly behind Minghao, barely grazing the edge of his temple. The second bullet misses again and punches a smoking hole through a video holographic family portrait that flickers and dies mid-laugh.

When Arthur tries to bolt towards the door, Minghao cuts him off with a firm seize to his throat with his cybernetic hand, lifting the man clean off the floor and knocking the breath out of his lungs with a choked gasp. The synthetic muscles and servos whirr softly under the plating as Arthur’s legs kicked uselessly through the air, causing the whiskey glass and gun to slip free out of his hands. 

Arthur’s screams are muddled when a sudden boom of thunder vibrates the world outside. Minghao doesn’t budge, even as the man claws at his grip with both hands. Forty-three years of soft living against a body rebuilt for war𑁋there was never a contest. 

Minghao tightens his hold ever so slightly. Not enough to fully incapacitate yet. He wants the man to feel it, to feel the consequences of his actions with a teasing crush to his windpipe. The ocular implant in his left eye feeds him live data: heart rate 179… 203… oxygen saturation plummeting from 97% to 47%. It isn’t long until Arthur’s face bloats and washes into a deep crimson. Veins stand out like ropes along his temples. His eyes bulge, whites shot through with burst capillaries, tears leaking from the corners as his tongue presses thickly against his teeth.

Nothing but a wet, gurgling choke escapes him, barely audible over the storm raging outside and Minghao’s ironclad grip. “Please… my girls…”

The man continues to spew out gargled, pathetic words𑁋about his family who he only wanted to provide for, his wife who didn’t know anything, his innocent little girls𑁋and Minghao doesn’t feel a single ounce of remorse for it. He was assigned a task to complete. There was nothing programmed in him for mercy or pity. 

When Minghao squeezes his fingers a fraction tighter, Arthur’s windpipe collapses with a wet, sickening pop. His eyes roll back completely in his head, his face drained of colour, as one final spasm jerks through his body before his arms drop limp to his side. Minghao holds him suspended in the air for a full ten seconds after the heart monitor flatlines before opening his hand.

Arthur’s body falls to the floor with a thud, sprawling among the glass shards and spilled whiskey. A thin stream of blood leaks from the corner of his mouth and pools beside his lifeless eyes. Updated data swarms through Minghao’s vision.

TARGET: Arthur Kim — TERMINATED ELAPSED TIME: 8 minutes, 53 seconds

Minghao exhales a breath through his nose, rolling his shoulders back. The servos under his bionic arm hum faintly through the movement of his artificial joints, recalibrating itself from the temporary exertion. Eight minutes and fifty-three seconds. It’s somewhat sloppy by his standards, but the noise of the storm did well to hide most of the struggle. Still, the Dominion would be satisfied with his work as they always are. 

He crouches beside the corpse, metal fingers brushing against the man’s neck to confirm zero pulse. Rain pours in from the shattered window, mixing in with the whiskey and the small pool of blood at his feet. This was definitely one of his messier missions, but the cleanup crew will do their task when he leaves.

He does a quick scan around the room, cycling through spectral overlays𑁋motion, thermal, electromagnetic. No alarms or security drones are detected. Arthur Kim had been arrogant enough to hide behind privacy glass and a single biometric lock on his door. What an amateur. 

The apartment is dead silent now, except for the storm outside slowly beginning to dull out. But what catches him for a split second is the glitchy sound of laughter. Minghao shoots a glance toward the broken holographic family portrait that Arthur had shot at just moments ago.

His gaze lingers on the screen as it flickers erratically. What remains is a looping fragment: Arthur Kim smiling wide with his arms looped around another woman, and two small girls in front of them, both of them with equally big grins as if the world had never once been cruel.

The audio stutters with one of the girls saying, “Daddy, look! I drew you a𑁋” before restarting the loop again. 

Minghao forcibly tears his eyes away. He forces out a flat exhale through his nose, turning his back on the portrait entirely. Sentiment was a luxury for the wealthy civilians; for him, it was just irrelevant data. He mindlessly steps over Arthur’s corpse and treads his way toward the shattered window, climbing onto the rain-slicked ledge without looking back. 

The wind claws onto him immediately, trying to sweep him off the building. He activates the magnetic grapples through his hand and anchors onto the opposite structure. With one powerful pull, he’s airborne again, swinging across the forty-metre gap like a shadow trailing through the void. Then he finds himself running across the rooftop before stopping right at the edge.

Below him, the city continues its restless slumber. Minghao watches it all distantly.

Then he jumps down into the void as the rain washes away the city’s sins. 

This time, the fall felt a little longer than it should have.

SECTOR THREE — THE AETHER DISTRICTS

“And what is this one here supposed to represent? The colour palette you chose is truly… evocative.”

You give a polite and charming smile to the gallery patron in front of you. A middle-aged man within the wealthy elitists of the city, too rich to the point he’s probably untouchable. He’s wearing a flashy chrome silver suit, a champagne glass in his hand, and both of his eyes appear obviously augmented. He’s standing a little too close for comfort to you, gaze wandering down your figure instead of the digital artwork displayed in front of him. The gun hidden under your coat suddenly feels ten times heavier. 

“The piece explores the themes of emotional preservation through digital decay,” You explain smoothly. “It showcases how memories become distorted when people try to immortalise them.” 

“How fascinating,” the man hums contemplatively, his eyes gleaming a little too brightly when they switch between the artwork and you. “You must have a tortured mind to come up with this, yeah?”

You resist the urge to laugh out of spite. The elitists adore these kinds of things𑁋seeking out tragically profound artwork to place in their grandly guarded penthouses, far removed from the decay eating away at the city. The wealthy have spent the entire evening complimenting your work.

Little do they know that you created it after watching a beggar get murdered in cold blood in the Undercity last month.

Funny how context changes art. 

“Someone with your talent shouldn’t remain independent any longer,” the man chimes back in, eyes pervertedly trailing over your body once again. “I could introduce you to more people who could help you elevate your career beyond these…” He gestures vaguely around the gallery. “...smaller venues.”

The hook beneath the bait. 

You tilt your head thoughtfully, pretending to be interested in the offer. You subtly adjust your stance, giving you enough room to slide your hand underneath your coat, fingertips brushing against your concealed gun. 

“Generous offer,” You reply lightly. “But I prefer maintaining creative control over my own art.”

“Everyone says that before the right amount of money appears.”

A tight-lipped smile forces its way across your face. If only he knew the amount of money currently sitting in your anonymous offshore accounts you’d siphoned from people exactly like him. 

“I appreciate the offer, sir, but I’ll have to decline,” You say, keeping your tone perfectly neutral. “Would you like to make an offer on the product?”

The man taps his foot pensively on the ground, trailing his amused eyes back to your artwork. 

“Price won’t be an issue,” he states casually, or more so with that lazy entitlement. “Have it delivered privately to my estate this week. I’ll send the coordinates.”

You nod. “Of course. It’ll arrive by tomorrow evening.” 

The man shoots you a wink, raising his champagne glass in the air before taking a slow sip that almost makes you want to gag. “Smart girl.”

You offer him one last polite smile as he walks away. But the moment his back is turned and you watch his figure disappear into the crowd of mingling elitists roaming through your gallery, the smile immediately fades off your face. You retrieve your hand from where it had been hiding underneath your coat.

God, your feet are aching. 

As the day begins to wind down to the night, the last patron finally steps out just after 22:17. You lock the hydraulic gallery doors with a click, dimming the overhead lights to thirty percent until only the neon colours of your digital canvases remain as the only sources of life. 

Then you move behind the counter and slip your heels off, your feet throbbing from hours of walking and pretending to care about rich people’s feelings. It’s time to conduct your closing routine. 

First, the security sweep. You pull up the gallery’s neural interface on your wrist watch, entering a quick code that shows off the holographic display of the building. You check through cameras, motion sensors, and electromagnetic jammers𑁋they all check green. Then a secondary backdoor protocol that scrubs any facial recognition data the elitists might have tried to sneak in on their visit. 

Next, you handle the finances. You transfer tonight’s legitimate sales onto the gallery’s clean account and send a generous amount into your offshore wallets. The piece you sold to the chrome-suited pervert would be delivered by drone tomorrow. You guess it helps to bring you closer to whatever ‘enough’ means anymore. 

After the finances are secured and the gallery’s digital footprint scrubbed clean, a soft ping of your wrist watch grabs your attention. You smile to yourself, realising it’s an encrypted message from Vernon𑁋another ghost hacker who’s been operating in the depths of the Undercity and one of the very few people you trust enough not to point a gun at on sight. 

The man once hacked a Dominion military convoy while actively high, laughed through the entire thing, and he never got caught once. So yeah, that’s how much trust you put in him. 

The two of you have recently formed a partnership together, combining your goals in exposing the corruption rotting through the Dominion from near-opposite ends in the city. Vernon specialised in infiltrating governmental infrastructure and extracting classified data; you specialised in infiltrating the social bloodstreams of the elitists and laundering decrypted data and money to other ghost hackers in your field. 

You can definitely say he’s the closest thing to family, with…whatever family you have left. It’s strange considering that you both carry enough criminal charges to disappear forever if the Dominion ever got their hands on you. If shit ever hits the fan, your existences would be completely erased. 

The Dominion𑁋in most people’s eyes𑁋are basically worshipped like gods. They emerged as the most powerful megacorporation of the city right after the government had basically collapsed in itself and humanity was fighting one another for survival. They were painted as saviours for rebuilding civilisation and spreading advanced cybernetic medicine and technology.

To the people, they promised stability and safety. That promise was never fulfilled, because their only goal was total control. 

You knew pieces of it. Vernon had been feeding you fragments for months.

Together, you both have secretly stolen enough information in the past six months to fill a small data vault. Progress has been slow and time-consuming, but every ounce of corruption pulled from the Dominion’s veins felt like another brick removed from their tower. One day, it would all come crashing down. 

You open Vernon’s encrypted message. 

VERNON yo ghost u alive? heard u had a gallery showing tonight did u manage to manipulate any rich freaks to join ur harem?

You snort quietly to yourself, the sound echoing throughout the empty gallery.

Y/N a few yeah some creep wanted to buy the art and the artist was hella close to kicking him in the balls but i realised that would be bad for business anyway, closing up now. about to head back to the loft

It takes a few minutes for Vernon’s next encrypted message to send.

VERNON cool cool cool got some new toys to play with wanna try them out with me? i got snacks and some fresh ash to smoke

A low laugh leaves you. Vernon always had his own definition of chaos. First step: casually hijack the relays of a Dominion cargo truck. Second: somehow succeed. Then finally: get high off enough ash to think it was funny.

You shake your head in fond disbelief before typing back. 

Y/N say less i’ll be there by midnight

VERNON fuck yeah don’t ditch me for some rich art daddy pls

When your wristwatch slips dark again, you lean back against the counter and allow the silence of the gallery to settle around you for a moment. The gallery looks beautiful at night. Cold, but beautiful. You meticulously slide out of the side exit and trigger the final lockdown sequence on your wristwatch.

The streets of the Aether Districts are still slick from the same storm that must have rolled through earlier this week. The sounds of hover-traffic hum overhead on the nearby skyways that travel throughout each district. The higher tier you are, the more pristine the skyways become; the lower you are, the more grimy and forgotten they are. 

You pull your hood up over your head, shove your hands in your pockets, and head towards the Undercity.

SECTOR SIX — THE UNDERCITY

The Undercity. Home sweet rotting home. The air is thicker here, heavy with the smell of exhaust and street food grease left to rot on the ground. 

Vernon’s current sanctum is an old shipping containers sitting on the eastern side of the Undercity.. Neon kanji flickers weakly above the reinforced door𑁋some half-dead ramen sign he never bothered to fix. You knock twice, pause for a second, then once more in the stupid rhythm he insists on.

After a few moments, the door hissens open. 

“Finally,” Vernon says, a half-eaten protein bar dangling from his mouth. His hair had been recently cut into this punk-rock style mullet, which you’ve constantly teased him about ever since he got it. 

You only roll your eyes and shove past him into the warm and cluttered interior of his little haven. 

The space is so Vernon. The walls are covered with holographic sticky notes overlapping each other, a bunch of half-disassembled drones, candy wrappers, and empty cans scattered on his workbench at the corner of the room, and a sagging couch (and bed) that has seen better days. Near his computer setup, there’s a small mountain of ‘fresh ash’𑁋the glowing, iridescent synth-weed everyone in the underground swears isn’t addictive. 

You plop down on his beaten-up couch with a groan while Vernon sits down in the chair in front of his computer. The screen behind him flashes with lines of stolen data and files and whatever toys he promised to show you. The old chair creaks under his weight as he kicks his feet up onto the edge of the desk. He’s already reaching over to the ash as if he already knows that you’re thinking about it, taking a few quiet moments to pack the joint. The iridescent smoke travels through the air when he lights it and takes a smooth hit, before passing it to you. 

“Rough day at the gallery?” he asks, his voice carrying that familiar drawl as the ash does its work.

You take the joint from his fingers and pull a deep hit. The sweet burn floods your lungs as you exhale slowly, watching the smoke curl through the air. 

“Understatement of the year,” You retort in annoyance. “I love smiling at entitled pricks while they eye-fuck both me and my art.” 

“Well, if it makes you feel better,” Vernon starts, spinning his chair around to face you. “I pulled some shit from the feeds earlier.” 

Curiosity lights up your face as you stand up and settle by his side. He pulls up some surveillance footage from what seems to be in the Veil Districts according to the timestamp and location at the corner of the screen, captured from a mid-level security camera that had barely survived the storm. The footage is heavily corrupted𑁋static glitching eating at the edges and the feed constantly flickering between security overlays like someone tried to scrub the clip out of sight but failed to finish the job completely. 

“Watch this shit,” Vernon mutters. “Storm hella degraded the quality, but it looks like the Dominion sent one of their shadows out recently.” 

At first, you aren’t able to make out what you’re supposed to be looking at. All you see is rain at first before the footage manages to stabilise. You spot a lone figure in what seems to be a black trench coat, but you aren’t able to make out any sort of face. Rain lashes across the screen when the figure suddenly launches across the gap and smashes through a penthouse window like a missile. 

The rest of the footage doesn’t directly capture whatever is happening inside the apartment, but from what you can see, the signs of a struggle𑁋a murder𑁋is abundantly clear from the grainy, violent flashes of movement. When the figure emerges back into frame, you watch them pause briefly at the window, before jumping across the gap once more and disappearing into the stormy night. 

Your eyes grow wide.

“Holy shit.” You grab hold of Vernon’s mouse, rewinding the footage back slightly, trying to zoom more into whoever this mysterious killing machine is. “Who is that?” 

“No clue,” Vernon answers with a shrug. “But whoever was in there must have definitely pissed off the Dominion in some way.”

You can’t tell if it’s the ash or the footage itself that sends a shiver of paranoia down your spine. That faceless killer is enough of a reminder to show what waited for people like you and Vernon if you both ever slipped up somehow. 

You’ve seen murders before.

In the Undercity, death can be considered as common as rain. You’ve watched bodies being dragged into alleyways and witnessed gang disputes end with blood painting the pavement. 

This one shouldn’t feel any different, but there was something about it that sticks to your skin like a vice. 

“Were you able to clean it up at all?” You ask Vernon. 

“Already tried. Tried boosting the resolution, running reconstruction software… Nothing.”

Your fingers clench tighter around the joint, tight enough you feel the burn searing at your fingertips. “Then what the fuck is that thing?” 

“I don’t know,” Vernon responds truthfully, leaning back in his chair with a heavy sigh. “And I don’t really want to find out… if it means ending up like that guy.” 

Passing the joint back to him, you watch the sweet iridescent smoke curl in the air as the frozen footage of the shadow operative sits almost tauntingly on the screen. That faceless killer in the black trench coat has your nerves buzzing harder than the ash.

“Dig deeper,” You urge him, standing up and leaning over his shoulder. “Maybe try crossing it with the financial breach logs we grabbed last week.”

Vernon cracks his neck and dives in, fingers flying across the haptic keyboard. “You got it. Gimme a sec to reroute these fuckass dummy nodes…”

Lines of encrypted data begin to stream past your eyes. You settle into the second chair with tense shoulders, while Vernon’s decryption worms burrow into the deeper layers of the Dominion’s surveillance archives.

However, the moment his proxy hits, the screen blares red. 

INTRUSION DETECTED — COUNTERMEASURE PROTOCOL INITIATED

“Goddammit!” Vernon snaps in panic, fingers flying across the keyboard. “Ghost snare! They’re pinging our location!”

In the blink of an eye, multiple windows on Vernon’s computer flood with aggressive tendrils of red code, trying to latch onto the connection and backtrace to your location. On the secondary monitor, spot a predator Dominion trace icon trying to sneak to your proxy chain.

You’re already moving before you could even think, shoulder-bumping Vernon aside to take one side of the dual controls. “I’ll sever the primary relay, you kill the secondary nodes and flood the pipe with junk! Buy us time!”

TRACE PROGRESS — 27%... 43%... 61%...

The shipping container feels as if it’s shrunk down ten times in size. Your fingers blur across the keys as you snap a series of ghost partitions to secure the logs while Vernon focuses on flooding the connection with junk data to confuse the trace: malicious traffic, Dominion propaganda, and generous sprinkle of black-market porn holos for good measure. The red node countermeasure continues surging angrily, and for a terrifying moment, it feels as if the Dominion itself is breathing down your neck.

“Motherfuckers have teeth,” Vernon growls in frustration as he works on slamming kill switches on the breached connection. One of the cooling fans on the computer screams in protest.

“Sixty-eight percent!” You bark, sweat prickling at the back of your neck while you reroute the last of your active proxies across the other districts. 

TRACE PROGRESS — 75%... 87%... 91%... 

When the progress bar reaches 94%, your heart and stomach drops for a single moment, but it stalls. The predator icon thrashes on the screen as the minutes continue to tensely tick by, glitching from your combined defenses, before finally breaking into static. One final red warning flashes before everything goes dark.

The computer reboots with a low, exhausted hum. Success.

You and Vernon slump back in your chairs. The cooling fans start to quiet down, silence returning except for the sounds of the rain from outside. 

Vernon lets out a shaky laugh, running a hand down his face. “Fuck. That was close.”

“They’re getting better at their security measures,” You say shakily, wiping away a drop of sweat on your brow, heart still hammering behind your ribs. “What was the damage?”

“Lost three dummy nodes, but… we’re back to being ghosts. They were definitely waiting for people stupid enough to dig into that footage.”

It takes a while for the computer to fully reboot. But when it does, Vernon leans in and starts to carefully recover the session. A file tree appears on the interface, containing the collateral files of whatever you both managed to claim. But something catches your eye at the very corner of a tree. 

Another file𑁋at least, one you haven’t seen before.

PROJECT REBIRTH: THE NEXT STAGE OF HUMANITY  — ACTIVE ASSETS

“Was that there before?” You ask, pointing at the screen.

Vernon rubs his jaw, narrowing his eyes at the file. “Shit. No, what is that? It sounds like some fucked-up Dominion wet dream.”

Before he could click on the file, you grab at his wrist to stop him from continuing. 

“Don’t open it yet,” You tell him. “I wouldn’t trust anything, especially after the close-call we had.”

Vernon glances between the file and you, then slowly nods and lets his hand fall away from the mouse. The two of you know that whatever is in these files may cost your anonymity; or worst, your entire lives. And as frustrating as it is, impatience can get hackers killed. 

“...Yeah, okay.” 

You chew at the inside of your cheek. “Should we try to sandbox it?”

“Probably. Might take a day or… longer, depending on how much we need to isolate and decrypt it.”

You twiddle the now-dead joint between your fingers before flickering the burnt filter into the overflowing astray beside the monitor. 

“Let’s do it,” You say with determination. “It’s now or never.” 

SECTOR THREE — THE AETHER DISTRICTS

It happened again this morning. 

Cyberpsychosis is what they call it. An anomaly that happens from the endless cybernetic modifications on the human body; a result of too much steel and too little flesh. Minghao believed he could control it, but the violent outburst he had experienced upon waking up proved otherwise. 

He doesn’t recall much from the morning, only remembering the screams of the ripperdoc running the diagnostic scan on him. For one horrifying moment, he looked at the doctor and felt the same thing he feels when looking at a target. Minghao had apparently lashed out with a phantom urge to tear through anything that moved𑁋his metal fingers crushing the man’s forearm before a sedative was forced through him and his systems were promptly rebooted. The ripperdoc survived, but just barely. 

It’s been happening ever since the Dominion hired him to become a shadow operative, like tiny little fractures that feel as if they’re clawing its way up his body. The handlers had reassured him that these temporary neurological instabilities were just a side effect of the robotic components installed within his system and that it is completely manageable. 

Or rather, more accurately, it’s been happening ever since they brought him back.

The distinction is important. At least, he thinks it is.

Minghao knew he had a life before the Dominion, but whatever was left of that previous life ceased to exist. He doesn’t remember where he was born, what his favourite colour used to be, or whether he had loved someone enough to miss seeing them. There are no parents, friends, or a childhood home waiting for him in the city. 

There was only darkness, and never a point in his current life where he questioned the relevance of his previous existence. The Dominion gave him another chance, because what other choice is there? He isn’t allowed to question the hands that pulled him from the grave. Now, he has a purpose when he had nothing. 

He was saved.

But as a result of his outburst from earlier, Minghao finds himself roaming the Aether Districts without an assigned target for him to eliminate in weeks. A mandatory cooldown window of two hours to allow the city to absorb the heat building inside of him before it becomes reportable deviation. Extra time to let the fractures settle. 

So… he walks with no destination in mind. 

The Aether Districts isn’t like Undercity’s choking rot, nor does it resemble the polished cages of the upper districts. The district exists as an in-between. It’s highly recognised as a hub where creativity and entertainment are showcased and a place where the wealthy often come to feel profound without ever touching the filth and insecurity of the lower districts. 

Minghao moves through like a ghost, taking in the sight of towering billboards glowing with abstract art and Dominion slogans. His ocular implant continues to idle in standby as he walks past passerbys: no targets, no threats, no kill parameters. He strolls by bustling restaurants, casinos, and nightclubs without interest; they’re all simple tools for the complacent, which he is none of those. 

Yet something pulls at the edge of his awareness when he rounds a corner leading to the quieter side of the district showcasing a bunch of curated storefronts. Most stores are closed for the night, but one remains softly lit in the distance. His feet lead him almost curiously in the direction, and he pauses directly in front of the main entrance. 

He doesn’t know why he stops. There’s no mission parameter, no target or odd signature in the electromagnetic field that he detects other than the patrons roaming inside. It appears to only be a simple art gallery, one of many in this part of the city. But still, he remains planted through the ground, staring beyond the reinforced glass to the holographic art that feels as if they’re teasing him from the inside. 

The doors slide open with a hiss. A chime echoes through the dim interior as the gallery’s neural system registers another visitor. When the doors shut behind, the hum of the city is instantly silenced into nothing but background static. His ocular implant cycles through a passive scan out of habit, still detecting nothing out of the ordinary beyond standard security protocols.

He moves deeper into the gallery silently before stopping in front of a particular exhibit. Minghao stares, unblinking, taking in the pulsing colours that appear like they’re almost breathing. The piece in front of him displays two figures standing on opposite sides of what seems to be a shattered mirror, standing close but not quite touching. At his side, his bionic arm hidden under his trench coat flexes unconsciously.

“Are you interested in buying a piece here?” 

His system doesn’t register the unfamiliar yet soft voice. When he turns, his gaze lands on you. You’re standing close enough to be polite, a soft smile to your features as you study him with curiosity. 

Minghao’s implant runs through an immediate scan on you.

IDENTITY: Unknown THREAT LEVEL: LOW SUBJECT PROXIMITY: 0.9 metres HEART RATE: 72 BPM

His eyes linger on your face longer than protocol would ever require, tracing over the lifted corners of your mouth, the slight exhaustion on your face, practically mapping you. You’re staring at him too, noticing the way his outfit doesn’t scream like a typical wealthy elitist that you regularly see drifting through the gallery.

Unusual.

An awkward chuckle leaves you when your question is left unanswered. 

“If you’re interested in any pieces here, feel free to let me know,” You tell him tactfully. “My name is Y/N L/N, the owner of the gallery.” 

Y/N L/N. He registers your name, then holds it for a fraction too long before his system considers it as irrelevant. And yet it does not leave his memory𑁋refuses to leave his memory. 

As you offer a curt smile and begin to turn around, Minghao takes a heavy step in your direction and finally speaks. 

“Are you the artist?” 

Through your ears, his voice sounds like it’s edged with something mechanical. It’s smooth, but not quite human. He clearly has some cosmetic augmentations installed, which you suspected the second you made eye contact with him. 

You turn back to him in surprise. “I am, yes.”

Minghao’s eyes doesn’t waver from you. In your perspective, he appears more striking and almost… unnerving up close. Maybe even familiar. He’s close enough you feel the odd jumps of your heartbeat from his presence. Tall, lean muscle wrapped in a matte black trench coat that drinks in the soft neon of your displays. One of his eyes catches the light with an unnatural, faint crimson ring around the pupil. An ocular implant, clearly; subtle, but you’ve seen enough chrome in your line of work to recognise it. 

His implant registers the spike in your pulse. 

“The gallery is preparing to close in a couple of minutes,” You tell him as casually as possible after clearing your throat. “If you are interested in purchasing something, feel free to stop by anytime this week. My schedule is quite available.”

Then you offer your hand to him.

Minghao glances down at your hand warily, the faint crimson ring in his ocular implant flickering once as if processing an unfamiliar protocol. For a few beats, he doesn’t dare move. Then, after a long, hesitant moment, his right hand emerges from the folds of his black trench coat and stretches out toward you. 

He takes your hand.

The moment your palms meet, you feel it𑁋the cool, unyielding smoothness of engineered alloy. A bionic arm. His grip is almost careful, like he’s internally modulating every servo to avoid crushing your fingers. It’s not entirely cold; the outer layer has been warmed by his body heat (or whatever passes for it in someone like him), but the weight and the quiet power hiding within the handshake sends a shiver racing up your arm.

His bionic hand engulfs yours completely. Your eyes widen slightly at the feeling. You can feel the segmented plating on his knuckles, the data cables running beneath the metal instead of veins. You can tell that it’s strong𑁋impossibly, and inhumanly, strong. Yet he holds you like you’re made of glass. For a moment, you wonder what could have happened for his arm to be put back together like this. 

Minghao feels it too. It’s unlike him to hold something with so much tenderness as he’s killed many humans who deserved far less, but the warmth of your palm seeps too easily through him. His bionic arm’s feedback loops hum faintly, sending a low vibration up through his shoulder joint that he forces down before it can register as a glitch.

His systems flag it as irrelevant; his mind refuses to let it go. You’re undoubtedly human𑁋perhaps more human than others whom he’s interacted with. 

You’re the first to let go before Minghao has time to fully process it. When he lets his arm fall back to his side, his fingers are still subtly curled as if remembering the shape of your hand. Then he lets eyes drift back to the holographic display.

“This art appears incomplete,” he says. 

You turn towards your art, a soft laugh escaping you. “Incomplete?”

“Correct.”

“If it was incomplete, I wouldn’t have it displayed.”

Before he can respond, you step up closer to it. Minghao watches your movements carefully.

“The two people here are the same person,” You explain to him, catching his full attention. “One is who they used to be, while the other is who they’ve become.”

Minghao’s brows furrow imperceptibly. You can tell he’s genuinely thinking. 

“And the mirror?” he questions curiously. 

“The mirror represents memory,” You answer. “because you can’t always put yourself back together exactly as you are.” 

“But people can be repaired.” 

You tilt your head at him, studying him more closely now. 

“I would argue against that,” You say, crossing your arms together. “I believe that people can heal.” 

“Repair implies returning something to its original condition.”

“And healing means accepting that it won’t.” 

The words settle in the air between the two of you like the fractured mirror on the display, and it loops through his neural code uncontrollably. His ocular implant flickers rapidly, logging every microexpression on your face, the way your arms are crossed𑁋not out of defense, but thoughtfully. Threat level: low. His systems insist on it. 

But something buried beneath layers of countless Dominion technology that was placed in him, twists.

“Art is subjective.” Your words make him blink back to reality, a tight-lipped smile at your mouth. “It can come with many different interpretations and meanings. Most people who stroll don’t really care for the depth of it, you know? I guess it’s nice to hear what others think of it. Whatever you believe that real meaning is up to you, at the end of the day.”

Minghao watches you glance down at your wristwatch, a low gasp leaving you at the time displayed on it. 

“Shit𑁋it’s late,” You curse under your breath, running a hand through your hair, before realising that the stranger𑁋Minghao𑁋is still in front of you. “Sorry, I should really get to closing up. But if you’re ever willing to come back again, you know where to find me𑁋”

“Minghao,” he cuts in primly. 

You pause, brow twitching up. “Minghao?”

“My name.”

“Oh.” Even though you don’t have any cybernetic modifications in you, his name settles somewhere in the back of your mind like it belongs there. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Minghao.”

Minghao inclines his head solemnly. Hearing his name from your mouth does something dangerous to his feedback loops, sending a bloom of warmth to spread through the organic parts of his chest. He detects the way your pulse has steadied, a certain relaxation to your shoulders now that your little conversation together has found a natural end. The crimson ring around his iris dims to its idle state. 

SUBJECT EMOTIONAL STATE: Calm

He stores the information away without understanding why.

You offer him one last smile before stepping away.

“Goodnight, Minghao. Stay safe out there.”

Minghao gives you one last lingering look, his implant pulsing faintly as he commits your face to more than just temporary memory banks. When he watches you disappear within the shadows of your gallery, he begins to head toward the exit. 

In the background, you quietly watch the doors hiss to a final close, and it only makes you imagine what kind of ghosts surround him. 

But you shake the thought loose and initiate the security protocols with a simple swipe to your wristwatch. Minghao’s name still echoes in the back of your mind as you slip out of the side exit with your hood up over your head. 

The streets are slick and quiet tonight, yet your thoughts are anything but. 

SECTOR THREE — AETHER DISTRICTS -> SECTOR ONE — THE CENTRAL DOMINION

Minghao wipes the blood off his sleeve. 

Another target had been successfully dealt with. The body of a man lay slumped against a hidden back alleyway of the Aether Districts, blood oozing from the slit across his throat, caused by the small monomolecular blade that Minghao could summon right out of his fingertip. The kill had been precise and quiet, successful under his own terms.

His ocular implant runs one final scan over the man’s body to confirm zero pulse, zero neural activity, and zero threat. Mission complete. 

TARGET: Jung Minjae — TERMINATED ELAPSED TIME: 4 minutes, 31 seconds

Minghao retracts the monomolecular blade back beneath the plating of his index finger before crouching beside the corpse. He reaches into the pocket of the man’s jacket to take out a tiny metallic chip, exactly where the Dominion stated it would be. He tucks it in his own pocket to submit for evidence as later. 

But he still can’t bring himself to leave. 

His eyes take in the sight of the man’s shocked expression, now frozen in time after the blade had done its work𑁋mouth hanging open and eyes blown wide with that final, useless realisation that his life had ended in an alley because he had been too greedy, too loud, too alive. 

Yet something twists in his chest as he stares down at the body. It isn’t exactly remorse, and it isn’t guilt either𑁋that feeling had long burned away𑁋he can’t quite name it. For a miniscule second, Minghao nearly imagines another kind of expression on the man’s face. Perhaps something of another emotion, one that isn’t plagued with fear or greed, but one in the more… positive aspect. Freedom, maybe.

Or happiness. The thought unsettles him more than the kill itself. 

He doesn’t remember the last time he’s ever felt happiness. 

The mission is beyond complete. He should return to the nexus for debrief. But as his feet remain planted on the ground, he finds his bionic arm reaching out, his metal fingers hovering over the man’s face. With a gesture so gentle, he closes the dead man’s eyes shut to erase that final look of terror. 

It was a pointless gesture. The dead didn’t care𑁋the body would get disposed of in a matter of minutes by the meat wagons after he confirms that his mission is complete, but something inside of him insisted on it. 

Minghao straightens back up on his feet and fixes his trench coat, snapping it back against the damp air. The servos in his bionic arm whir softly throughout the dripping alleyway. He stares at his metal fingers for a long moment, flexing them slowly as if testing whether the motion had been a glitch or something else. 

A directive pings across his ocular implant: Return to Nexus for debrief. Priority Alpha.

He accepts the directive. 

But as he travels through the Aether Districts𑁋past all the neon storefronts and vibrant dance clubs𑁋his feet are slower than what protocol demands. Everywhere he looks, he’s reminded of you and the art you display so passionately at your gallery. 

Maybe art had once meant something to him. There was something about it that drew him in like a magnet so easily. Maybe he once wandered around galleries, or held a haptic brush instead of a blade. Or perhaps he hated art altogether. He doesn’t know. 

The possibilities were endless when an entire life had been erased. Each one felt equally true. All he knew is that something inside of him shifted the moment he stepped through your gallery doors the other night and his eyes refused to stray away from your artwork… and refused to stray away from you. 

When he arrives back at the nexus, The Central Dominion building looms above him like a giant monolithic blade in the heart of the city. Tall sterile white towers stained over with black Dominion insignia stand proud and tall while security drones orbit overhead. Minghao passes through the outer checkpoint without issue, his ocular implant syncing automatically with the security grid. Red beams sweep over his body to verify his identity and biometrics, before a heavy security door hisses open

“Operative X-08. Report to Chamber 47-C immediately,” a toneless, robotic voice orders him. 

Minghao’s jaw tightens, but he complies as he steps into the large corridor, his boots echoing against the polished obsidian floors. The hallway stretches endlessly before him. He walks past scientists, engineers, executives, and military officials who move synchronously beneath the watchful eyes of the surveillance systems installed in every corner. 

Nobody wastes time here.

Minghao knows this.

He was built in this place.

Inside the chamber, a Dominion handler is already waiting for him. A woman named Director Han with her back facing the entrance. She’s sharply dressed in Dominion attire, her silver hair tied in a tight updo, and her posture filled with enough authority that Minghao knew better than to question back. 

“Operative X-08,” she calls coldly over her shoulder without turning around yet. “Mission report.”

“Target was properly neutralised within the termination window. I have already sent out orders to the cleanup division,” Minghao responds evenly. He reaches into his pocket to take out the chip he retrieved from the body. “I also have the evidence I was ordered to extract.” 

Director Han finally turns around to meet his gaze, her gold-ringed eyes narrowing as she studies him carefully. She extends a hand out toward him without a word, and Minghao places the metallic chip directly in her palm. She turns the chip over between her fingers, then sets it into a secure scanner on the console. On the holographic display ahead, the stolen data quickly fills the screen in glowing, streaming lines. 

“Clean extraction. No traces left behind. Good.” Her praise is flat, almost bored. “The Dominion appreciates your efficiency, Operative. As always.” 

Minghao gives a solemn nod, however he doesn’t get dismissed right away. Director Han taps another command on the console, causing a secondary feed to bloom on the screen. 

“One more thing,” she begins. “We’ve recently detected a surge of anomalies aiming to breach confidential Dominion files. Ghost hackers. While we are able to contain their attempts most of the time, they’ve been becoming more challenging to identify.” 

Minghao listens with intent. Ghost hackers. He knows that they exist, and most times he’d find it ridiculous that these kinds of people would be bold enough to hack into the Dominion’s network. They were like cockroaches scuttling through the cracks of the city’s underbelly, surviving on scraps of data and dumb luck. 

A small, buried part of him wonders what secrets they might uncover that even he isn’t allowed to see.

“The second we are able to identify them, their termination assignments will be sent directly to you,” Director Han instructs. “Understood?”

“Understood.”

“Good. Head to the sub-levels for recalibration.” Before she leaves, she eyes him warily. “I do not want to see another deviation report on my desk.” 

Minghao unclenches his fist when the door behind him slams shut.

VERNON yo ghost i managed to decrypt a bunch of the corrupted files sending them your way now be careful though

The decrypted files land in your private inbox by the time you sit down at your computer in a secret room constructed within the gallery, a hidden space tucked behind a false wall panel in the back storage room. After an entire week of working torturously hard to decrypt the file tree, it had finally been done. 

You boot up your virtual machine, triple-check your jammers to ensure your signal won’t be caught, and wipe the sweat off your brow. This was it. This was the moment you’ve been waiting for. If the Dominion hid teeth inside the files, they might as well be biting into a corpse instead of you. It couldn’t possibly be worse from anything you’ve ever seen… right?

“Let’s see what you’re hiding,” You say under your breath. 

Taking a deep breath, you drag the decrypted files into an isolated sandbox, and after a singular click, progress bars quickly flash across your screen. PROJECT REBIRTH splits itself into a hundred different folders and directories, all labeled with names with what appear to be procedure codes: Asset Archives, Incidents, Subject Logs, and more.

You click on Subject Logs first. 

At first, the directory hesitates to open, sitting frozen as if silently taunting you. Then rows of files begin to populate your screen one after the other, each one labelled with simple numerical designations that go all the way to eight and a description underneath.

SUBJECT 01, SUBJECT 02, SUBJECT 03…

You scroll through the medical dossiers. 

[SUBJECT 01] Status: DECEASED Cause of Failure: Extensive neural degradation following cybernetic integration Notes: Recover compatible components; dispose of remaining biological material

[SUBJECT 02] Status: DECEASED Cause of Failure: Complete cardiovascular collapse mid-procedure Notes: Mechanical augmentation incompatible with surviving tissue 

[SUBJECT 03] Status: DECEASED Cause of Failure: Persistent identity retention; attempted to defect after regaining memories of pre-procedure life Notes: Subjected to immediate termination 48 hours after procedure; family erased for security 

“Persistent identity retention?” You repeat quizzically. 

That could only mean one thing𑁋some poor soul was trying to cling onto the last bit of their biological identity before the Dominion decided to solve the problem with immediate termination. And if the procedure failed, their bodies would be disposed of as if nothing even happened. 

Your heart sinks into your stomach at the thought. 

The more you scroll through each subject, the more grotesque the details become. One subject was terminated for killing three technicians during a calibration episode, while another one self-terminated themself in an attempt to escape from the Dominion’s controlling hands and got caught. What the hell kind of experimentation was happening? Were they forced?

However, there was one subject that stuck out to you.

[SUBJECT 08] Status: ACTIVE Reconstruction Summary: Full skeletal lattice integration; bilateral limb replacement; cranial, ocular, and spinal reinforcement; neural core reinforced; full neuromuscular overrides Model: X-08 Loyalty Index: 98.7% Observed Anomalies: Recurrent cyberpsychosis episodes that often become violent, cooldown periods and memory suppression recommended Field Performance: Exceptional, has terminated multiple high-profile targets Notes: Continue routine deployment; monitor for emerging behavioural deviations 

A survivor𑁋no, a victim. A victim who had survived through this so-called procedure and became a puppet meant to serve under the Dominion. 

Your gaze drifts lower through the rest of the description, but nothing else informative comes up. There isn’t a name, age, photos, or any family history. Only body measurements, height, weight, and blood type. Whoever Subject 08 was had been reduced to nothing but numbers on a screen. 

And it appears that they are the only person to have survived the procedure so far.

That’s when the file titled Incidents catches your eye next. You hover your mouse over to click on it, and the page expands into what seems to be an official redacted report.

Date: [REDACTED] Location: Sector Four — The Bastion Districts Classification: Level 5 Summary: Eight soldiers operating in an internal resistance cell were involved in a catastrophic accident that declared all KIA. Key evidence shows that a malfunction occurred within the building’s power core, causing an inevitable explosion to erupt over the surrounding area. Intelligence reports indicated they were planning a coordinated defection and strike against key Dominion infrastructure. In the aftermath of this event, the families of the soldiers were offered condolence packages and gifts of remembrance. 

Eight soldiers. Eight rebels. Eight subjects. You continue reading.

As kept confidential, the Dominion orchestrated a detonation in order to eliminate the threat. All bodies were recovered from the scene and immediately placed under inspection for PROJECT REBIRTH. Memory engrams were overwritten with a fabricated narrative to foster gratitude and loyalty. All references to the resistance cell were buried under repeated sessions of memory suppression. If any subjects experienced symptoms beyond recalibration, a lethal safeguard was to be deployed.  The goal of PROJECT REBIRTH is to become what the future requires. Humanity cannot survive as it is with rebellion propaganda spreading. Peace is impossible when choice is presented. If successful, the subjects would be hired to serve permanently under Dominion cause in eliminating threats of rebellion and preserving harmony. 

What the fuck? Your eyes widen in pure shock as you reread the paragraphs once, twice, even three times. The Dominion staged an attack on a group of rebels, used their bodies for experimentation, and forced the subjects to serve under them in order to… preserve peace? To believe that eliminating free will is essential for humanity to survive? 

The irony punches you in the gut. What kind of sick minds thought of this? 

Judging from the subject logs, seven of them did not survive PROJECT REBIRTH. On the other hand, the final subject is… somewhere out there roaming the city and serving the Dominion like a slave, silently eliminating threats that stand in the way of their ruling. 

Just like the surveillance footage that Vernon showed you. 

The next file that you click on is Asset Archives. Your heart is already in your stomach from what you’ve just read from the report, and it only drops even further when a plethora of photos suddenly fills your screen.

The images are beyond brutal. You find high-resolution stills captured in the aftermath of the explosion. Twisted metal beams jutting from collapsed walls. Charred remains fused to concrete. There are pictures of the bodies𑁋or what was left of them at least𑁋scattered across the rubble. One frame shows a gloved hand reaching out from under a fallen support column, fingers frozen mid-grasp. Another captures the moment med-teams in Dominion black pulled a barely-living figure from the wreckage: half his body crushed, left arm and leg gone with his face burned beyond recognition. 

You feel like you’re going to puke. 

Photos of the reconstruction procedures follow. The bodies of the soldiers scattered across operating tables surrounded by ripperdocs, photos showing a before shot, with some almost mutilated beyond repair you’re surprised that the procedure had worked, if only for a moment. Then photos of the after shot, where missing limbs were replaced with bionic prosthetics and cranial platings inserted into skulls. 

You force yourself to look away from the screen for a few seconds, bile rising in your throat like a parasite. Sure, you’ve seen some heavy shit while being a ghost hacker, yet this was basically incomparable to everything you have ever seen. 

There is one photo in particular that catches your attention. Although it was a wider shot, you spot the blurry outline of one of the subjects sitting upright on the operating table post-procedure. He’s draped in patient wear, a ripperdoc standing in front of him blocking the view of his face seemingly testing out the new cybernetic modifications on his body. 

You lean in closer, attempting to sharpen the image. There was something about the subject’s body figure and the shape of his shoulders that strikes a nerve of familiarity through you. Subject 08… and the man in the surveillance video…

But before the realisation can sink in, your entire terminal suddenly explodes with red alerts. 

SECURITY BREACH DETECTED PRIORITY: ALPHA

Panic floods through your senses, your fingers instinctively flying over your keyboard to counterattack the breach.

“No, no, no𑁋fuck!” You seethe out angrily.

You slam with every countermeasure you have against the poison beginning to rot through your systems𑁋ghost reroutes, signal jammers, false data floods, even a desperate worm meant to fry the incoming trace. For a few heart-stopping seconds the alerts flicker and slow, slow enough to let you hear violent pounding of your heart in your ears. 

Endless lines of code scroll past in a blur as you reroute your signal through three dummy nodes in random locations within the Undercity. The breach starts to slow and the red alerts begin to stutter in panic. When the progress bar on your worm reaches 61%, you think you might actually win.

Then everything collapses in the snap of a finger, and the worm begins to count backwards.

61%... 54%... 47%...

“Shit!” You pivot instantly, slamming your hands to induce another layer of heavy encryption and flooding the trace with junk data. “Come on, you bastard! Work with me here!” 

But the alerts only begin to frantically multiply across your screen, your last clean proxy is burned through, and your worm inevitably flatlines at a heartbreaking 19%. 

You desperately try to initiate the self-destruct sequence on your sandbox, hoping it could corrupt everything the Dominion is trying to pull. Your fingers hover the execute command, ready to destroy your entire set-up with just the click of a button.

However, your finger lands on the button a millisecond too late. The entire screen of your computer goes black, shrouding the entire room in a permanent silent darkness. The entire system powers down with a final, defeated whine, leaving you with nothing but the imminent dread crawling up your spine. 

Your entire system is fried. There’s nothing left that you can do. 

With shaky hands, you flick your wristwatch on.

Y/N vernon i think i’m fucked.

VERNON what the fuck did you do y/n?? hello?? shit

NEW TARGET ASSIGNMENT COORDINATES: Aether-03 | X: 483.637 | Y: -115.092 | Z: +02.500 TARGET ASSIGNMENT: Unknown Name | Alias: “Ghost” TERMINATION WINDOW: 3 Hours

Minghao rids of the ocular interface with a flick of the finger as he marches down the Aether District with determination in his step. It’s comical, really, from how often he’s been finding himself drifting to this particular sector of the city. Most times it’s been out of habit, like there’s some sort of half-buried pull toward the curated streets hiding within whatever is left of consciousness. 

He can definitely agree that this is the most beautiful sector of the entire city. The only part that feels more alive. 

The distance to the coordinates continues to grow smaller as he approaches the destination. The sector is mostly empty from how late it is, but he’s learned that the best time to strike his targets is during the depths of the night. His targets don’t sleep because they already know their inevitable fate is coming due to the consequences of their own actions. The Dominion always aims to make that known whenever someone breaks their rules.

Minghao’s footsteps begin to slow when he realises the familiarity of the area that he’s in. He followed the coordinates precisely, and yet… how is it possible that it managed to land him here?

In front of your gallery?

He faces his body toward other directions, thinking it was just some bug or error. The coordinates refresh in his implant and his systems run a forced diagnostic, but it all comes out clean. Same numbers. Same location. No glitch. No error. No misread.

The target is inside your gallery. You’re probably at home during this point, and someone might be attempting to seek refuge inside. 

The monomolecular blade at his fingertip extends as he peers inside through the window. It appears closed for the night, with only a handful of lights illuminating the walls and holographic art displays inside. In the several seconds that pass, he calculates fifteen different entry routes he can use to get inside. 

Front entrance, roof access, maintenance shaft… He could force any of them open; he’s done more destructive things before. Every simulation that runs through his code ends the same way: locate and terminate Ghost; mission success probability of 99.2%. 

Yet his feet remain planted to the ground. The blade stays extended at his side but idle. Minghao never hesitates during a mission. He’s always been the type of operative to get the job done clean and quickly. 

Something about this feels wrong. 

That is, until he catches a heat signature spike moving from inside the rear-end part of the building. The termination window continues to tick down in his implant, causing him to click his jaw. He shakes away the hesitation coursing through him and walks over to the side of the building. The mission comes first always. 

Silently as a ghost himself, he scales up the wall until he lands directly on the roof, his boots making no sound. A light drizzle of rain patters softly against his trench coat as he runs a scan over the roof, detecting a reinforced maintenance hatch near the western corner. Bingo.

Minghao drifts between ventilation units before kneeling beside the hatch. The biometric lock flashes with warning, waiting for an authorised employee to access it. But he lifts up the monomolecular hiding underneath the sleeve of his trench coat and begins to trace a delicately perfect circle around the locking mechanism. 

The thin blade passes through the reinforced steel as effortlessly as pen on paper. He catches the damaged section before it can hit the floor below. Below lies nothing but darkness as he begins to descend into the shaft, night-vision clicking on instinctively, his nose catching the faint scent of ozone and dust. 

By the time he reaches the bottom of the shaft, he finds himself standing in a cramped utility unit corridor hidden between the gallery walls. 

Exposed wiring runs along the ceiling as he moves silently through the space. His implant focuses on the heat signature pulsating more strongly through the walls. He pushes open through a useless door that opens into a back storage room, seeing dozens of empty projection rigs and holotanks scattered across the floor. 

When Minghao nudges another door, he’s finally standing in the main gallery. 

He steps into the silence.

The murmurs of wealthy patrons are long gone by now. The holographic installations have dimmed into their nocturnal state for the night, light lazily rippling through the translucent displays and washing the polished floors in shifting shades of purple, blue, and red. His boots whisper against the ground as he continues walking. 

His gaze tracks the heat signature as it slips silently behind columns and installations before coming to a halt. The silhouette shifts into a kneeling position, its face appearing to be covered heat-to-toe by some thick garments to shield their facial features. The corner of Minghao’s lift slightly into a smirk. 

Behind one of the towering holographic installations, your breathing remains perfectly even. A gun is tightly clenched in your hand underneath your sleeve. Your pulse hammers wildly in your ears. The gallery had never been built to withstand a siege𑁋now it has become a living battlefield. And if the battle has lost, you have another secret weapon hidden directly in the pocket of your coat. 

Earlier, you had killed every power source connected to your hidden room the second the system fried.

You knew the Dominion would come, but you hadn’t expected them this quickly.

Through a narrow gap between two suspended sculptures, you catch your first glimpse of the intruder, and you spot a tall figure standing in the middle of the vast gallery. You’d recognise him anywhere𑁋the Dominion’s one and only shadow executioner is now standing in your territory, scanning for the prey he was assigned to hunt: you. 

Subject 08. 

The next breath that leaves you comes off shaky, and the man’s head tilts curiously as if he hears your heartbeat.

Shit. You can’t stay in this spot any longer. You need an opening.

Minghao starts walking measuredly in the direction the heat signature is taking him, his implant catching the faintest fluctuation of body temperature. His head turns towards the particular holo-display that seems to be the final boundary in the way of accomplishing his mission.

The moment your eyes meet through the narrow gap, you fire your gun.

The bullet slices through the air with a sharp crack, causing Minghao to inhumanly twist away immediately. The round punches through the holographic installation behind him, shattering its projector into a shower of blue sparks. And this time, he doesn’t hesitate.

Sweat beads at your forehead as you fire and fire again, scrambling backward as you squeeze the trigger. A nearby holographic frame splinters in the background from another shot, while a few other bullets clip his bionic arm, causing them to ricochet off it and slam through another pillar. 

Minghao continues weaving and ducking from the onslaught of bullets raining at him, but the distance between him and the target only becomes smaller and smaller. He spots the clothed figure roll behind a pedestal, and in a quick, fluid motion, he vaults over it. The next bullet fires at him point-blank, catching him in his side, a low grunt leaving him as his system registers it as damage, but he shoves it down.

He surges forward like a predator and swings his bionic arm to knock the gun out of the target’s hand, skidding it across the floor and into the shadows. 

Your elbow suddenly slams at his jaw and a knee is driven up into his ribs. Most of the impact is blocked from his strength, but jars him enough for you to wiggle free enough to reach a hand into your coat before letting your other hand drive another punch to his face.

But a painful, strong, mechanical grip grabs your hand mid-punch and drives you down hard. The world spins all in that singular moment. 

You find your body completely pinned to the polished floor and your wrist is slammed above your head. A knee is pressed deeply into your stomach, and no matter how much you try to push him off, you realise you’re completely immobile. A blade hovers just mere inches from your throat, and you feel the hot, unsteady breath of the man above you fanning across your face.

The position causes your hood to fall back in the struggle. The dim, flickering lights of the gallery illuminates your face clearly. And when your gaze draws up to meet the eyes of your killer, your breath catches, and the blade at your throat trembles subtly. 

Minghao?

“...Y/N?” Your name glitches out of his lips. 

For a split second, the Dominion’s perfect weapon freezes and hesitates. 

You don’t waste it.

With every ounce of strength left, you twist yourself out of his hold beneath him, slamming your knee upward and using the momentary distraction to buck him off-balance. Minghao’s grip loosens just enough to let you roll over on top of him. Now you pin him down, straddling his waist, one knee on his bionic arm to keep the blade away from your body, even if you’re aware he has all the power to snap you in half if he wanted. 

You yank out a small cylindrical self-destruct trigger and press it firmly into his chest, thumb hovering over the activator. Just a singular press and the hidden charges throughout the gallery would render the entire building into nothing but a blazing tomb.

Minghao could only stare up at you. His ocular implant flickers erratically, like his entire system is screaming at him to finish this mission. He knows that he can𑁋knows that he can empower you and add you onto his endless list of accomplished directives𑁋but the monomolecular blade at his fingertip twitches useless at his side. 

DIRECTIVE: TERMINATE TARGET LOYALTY INDEX: 91.5% TERMINATION WINDOW: 2 Hours, 21 minutes remaining

“If you kill me, then we’ll both die,” You whisper fiercely, staring at him dead in the eyes as your fingertip lingers over the button. “The whole building, my art, everything, including the Dominion’s favourite puppet.”

The words snake through his system like venom. The servos in his body whine at the conflicting directives tearing at his neural core, his body trembling with the effort. His eyes flicker rapidly over your features, taking in the determination in your eyes and the quiver of fear at your lips. His loyalty index plummets another notch. 

“And if that doesn’t work, the entire gallery is rigged into your neuroport.” A brittle smirk runs across your face. “I could fry you within seconds and you wouldn’t even know.”

Minghao’s jaw clenches tightly. You can tell he’s internally trying to fight himself𑁋a ravenous battle between human and robot. The servos in his bionic arm gripe under the pressure of your knee, but he forces it to keep still. His human hand digs into the fabric of your coat as if he’s trying to cling onto you. The space between your bodies closes even more when your face hovers over his, watching him struggle like you’re both his saviour and executioner. 

LOYALTY INDEX: 86.3%

“But I won’t kill you.” You shove the trigger back into your pocket. “Unless you give me a reason to.” 

You carefully stand back up on your feet and retrieve your gun from the floor, pointing it directly at him. You cock the gun back, and with a small motion, you silently tell him to stand up. When Minghao lifts himself from off the floor, you notice a small pool of blood on the floor. The shot you landed on him earlier seemed to have got him clean. His human side is still there, just leaking out onto the floor.

Something about it tugs at your heart.

You gesture with the barrel toward the back storage room. “Move. And don’t even think about testing me.”

Minghao starts walking to where you’re directing him. You keep a respectful distance away, gun never wavering as you follow him into the backroom. 

The room feels as if it’s shrunk ten times in size when you both step in together. You point toward an empty reinforced crate with the barrel of your gun. He settles himself on top of it with his back against the wall, watching you disappear for a minute to grab a first-aid kit from a nearby shelf.

You hesitate briefly before lowering the gun slightly. “Take it off. Let me see the wound.”

Minghao studies you with a wary look, then glances down at his side. He runs a finger over the wound, seeing real human blood leaking through his shirt. His pain receptors must be dialed down due to whatever the hell the Dominion implanted on him, but the sting still registers somewhere deep in what’s left of his nervous system. To remind him that he’s not entirely a machine. 

He shakes off his trench coat and peels off his undershirt without a single word. A lump forms in your throat as your eyes rake over his toned, bare-chested form. The dim lighting of the storage room illuminates his muscles and old scars plastered over his skin𑁋some clearly surgical, others from targets who wasted their time trying to take him down. His bionic arm gleams coldly from his shoulder and down to his fingertips, twitching against his thigh like he’s physically trying to hold himself back from grabbing you. Though the human side of him… that side is breathing a little harder now. 

Forcing your focus back on the wound, you grab an antiseptic wipe from the medkit and begin to clean the bullet graze. His abs tense involuntarily from your touch on the raw flesh, and he keeps his eyes trained on you as you carefully smooth down a patch over the wound, lingering on the warm skin a little longer than needed.

“Ghost,” he calls out softly. 

You visibly wince at the mention of your alias, shooting him a dry look. “Ouch. Please do not call me that.”

“Y/N.”

You finally meet his eyes. He seems almost… exhausted.

“You’re wanted by the Dominion.”

A humourless smile crosses your face. “And you were sent to kill me, what a way to end the night, am I right?” 

Minghao’s implant runs a subconscious scan over your face. 

IDENTITY: Y/N L/N THREAT LEVEL: ??? HEART LEVEL: 91 BPM

“Why are you helping me?” he suddenly asks. 

You sit back on your heels, gun still within easy reach but pointed loosely at the floor now. A bitter little laugh escapes you.

“I wouldn’t call this ‘helping,’” You remind him, deftly tearing off another piece of medical tape before smoothing it across the patch. “I’m making sure the idiot who was sent to kill me doesn’t bleed out on my floor. I bet you’ve forgotten that you can bleed like a human.” 

Minghao’s eyes narrow down at you. “I’m not human.”

“No?”

“No.”

The reply comes off automatically, like some pre-programmed response engraved in his system. You tilt your head at him and stand back up on your feet, stepping closer to the point you’re almost positioned between his legs. Close enough that he could probably analyse every single tiny crack in your guarded expression.

Without thinking, you reach in to brush a fingertip over a raised scar on his collarbone. Seductive in the slightest, but more so out of curiosity. 

“Right here… this is human,” You tell him as your hands wander again, hesitating momentarily before flattening against the centre of his chest. His breath catches imperceptibly. “And this… still beats. Do you still think you’re not human?” 

Minghao looks down at your hand as if he’s never once noticed the sound sitting beneath his ribs. Ever since the Dominion brought him back, he hardly ever worried about the human heart still beating in his chest. It was just another component of him or another system to monitor. Another thing they could shut off if he ever became too inconvenient.

But right now, he feels it𑁋that rhythmic thump of his heartbeat slamming against your hand that’s still pressed firmly to his chest, daring him to feel the truth. 

Perhaps that remnant of humanity was still part of him. Somewhere, somehow. 

“I’ve hurt people too,” You admit to him, drawing your hand away from his chest but allowing your body to loom over his. “I’ve smiled at monsters to drain their pockets clean. I’ve hacked countless bank accounts, exposed trafficking rings, blackmailed executives, and sold secrets to people who could afford them. My hands aren’t exactly clean either.” 

Minghao absorbs your words carefully. There was something about you that his systems couldn’t exactly process. Usually, a target should be simple, a target should have a weakness. Every person the Dominion has placed on him were always separated into binary categories of morality.

But you don’t seem to fit into either. 

“You’re human, Minghao,” You remind him again, more sharply this time. “I’ve read the files. I know who you are, who you were.”

His ocular implant flickers once.

“Files?” he echoes.

“Yes,” You answer matter-of-factly. “I’ve read all about it𑁋about what the Dominion did to you, how they killed you and made you their slave. PROJECT REBIRTH. Does it ring a bell?”

Minghao’s entire body suddenly goes completely rigid beneath you. The name hits like a kill-switch.

For a fraction of a second, his entire vision flares red. The human warmth in his gaze vanishes and his bionic fingers snap up to grab at your wrist like a vice. He moves like lightning𑁋pain surging through you when your back meets the wall behind with enough force to rattle the surrounding shelves. The monomolecular blade extends out of his fingertip and hovers at the soft skin under your jaw. 

“You𑁋” His voice comes out like a glitchy, guttural snarl. “That name𑁋you can’t𑁋”

LOYALTY INDEX: 95.4%

The pressure around your wrist is almost bone-crushing that you feel the tears sprouting at the corners of your eyes. The blade presses a little deeper into your skin, just enough to draw a thin line of blood, before he forcibly wrenches it away. Raging tremors run up and down his body, like thousands of corrupted and suppressed memories have flooded his system all at once. 

“Fuck, get out𑁋get out of my head𑁋” Minghao grits out hoarsely. “Eliminate𑁋need to eliminate𑁋”

His vision distorts fleetingly𑁋a silhouette, a flash of an explosion, then darkness𑁋causing him to claw at the side of his skull as if trying to rip the implant out of his head. Your body is still pinned to the wall behind, completely frozen and trapped from his weight. 

After a few moments, the violent surge of cyberpsychosis ebbs away as fast as it came.

Both of your breaths come out in heavy pants. The thin cut at your throat stings, a warm trickle of blood sliding down your neck. Minghao’s head slowly comes back up, and when he catches the fear in your gaze, something inside of him fractures. 

For the first time since he’s stepped foot into your gallery, you see him as less the executioner and more the survivor. 

Every instinct within you is screaming to pull away from him before something worse could happen. But your feet remain planted to the floor below; if anything, you inch your face closer to his, your trembling lips hovering just over his. The corners of your mouth rise ever so slightly with a smile that he can’t quite decipher. Compassionate in a way, yet taunting at the same time. 

“If I told you everything the Dominion took from you…” You begin, dragging your words slowly, refusing to break eye contact with him. “...would you still kill me to accomplish your mission, or let me help you get it all back?” 

For once, Minghao doesn’t answer right away because he can’t. It’s as if he isn’t built or programmed to handle a question that cuts straight through every layer of conditioning that was forced upon him. The war plays out visibly across his face, and you notice the sharp twitch of his jaw and how the pupil in his eye widens with something painfully close to recognition. 

The crushing grip on your wrist loosens, only to curl around it again almost… possessively. His touch sends a shiver racing up your arm and the heat of his solid body seeps through the crevices of your coat. 

In his implant, the termination window continues to tick down. His loyalty index plummets once again.

LOYALTY INDEX: 79.7%... 73.5%...

The thrill of the chase has just begun. 

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[sailorsoons]

Butterfly | Tessellation 1 (k.mg)

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. CHAPTER WC: 9,415 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. WARNINGS: This 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, lots of reference to a terrible justice system, reader is a stripper and there is a brief scene of her dancing on Mingyu, lots of random body modifications but nothing super weird or in detail, Mingyu in general just has a lot of general dislike for the world, explicit language, um.... I think that's it for this chapter? 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 because we all know me. I do not currently have a schedule set for the second chapter, but I am going to try to write the remaining three in total and then post them on a quick schedule basis to shorten the wait between them. A/N 2: No beta we die like Jedi during order 66 BANNER CREDIT: Thank you to @joshujin for the amazing, beautiful banner!

MAIN M. LIST | ASK | CYBERPUNK: RELOAD M. LIST | TESSELLATION TWO

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.

-

 Mingyu stares at the six projected faces in front of him, the cyan of the holoscreen only broken up by the flicker as he switches from viewing all six of them at once to one at a time. The fluorescent lights overhead buzzes, glitching for a moment as it threatens to go out. It's been dying for three weeks now, humming like an insect trapped in a glass. No one has bothered to fix it, of course. The maintenance budget at the precinct is nonexistent, most of the funding funnelling into the new autonomous patrol units they send to patrol through the wealthy districts.

Down here in the bowels of the city, everything is falling apart. Water drips from a crack in the ceiling two desks over, landing in the metal track can with a constant metal drip that drives Mingyu nuts. The air smells like mildew and stale air undercut by the burnt coffee that tastes like battery acid every time he takes a sip. He drinks it out of a chipped mug anyway, needing the extra jolt of energy and unwilling to take any of the stimulants or quick fixes the young deputies prefer.

Mingyu's fingers drum on his mug to the rhythm of the dripping. He cannot unstick his thoughts from the six victims over six months, struggling to find the connection. He drags his finger across the holoscreen to pull up the first victim's file again, despite having read it a million times. The first victim is a male nobody, found in a cheap Skin rental unit in the lower districts, his body laid out with the same surgical precision and same butterfly effect audio playing on loop. The victim had no family, no friends, and the damaged Core had said unclaimed in evidence for two weeks unclaimed and uncared for before being incinerated per protocol.

Sighing, he swipes to the second victim, a female escort pulled from a job in the entertainment district. She'd been with a wealthy client a few hours prior, but the client had a clean alibi and had no problem letting them scan his Core for memories of the entire night. The escorts Core, like the first victim, had been damaged beyond recovery, just like the first, though the job had been done a little cleaner, a little better.

The third victim comes up as Mingyu stares. Mid-level corporate suit who worked in data analysis and had an entirely boring and normal life. No enemies, no debts, no reason for anyone to want him dead. His family had come to claim his Core two days after they'd been notified, and Mingyu was surprised to discover that in a world full of abnormal, the man had been even keel and plain with enough money to provide for himself and his family but not enough to do much else than that.

The fourth and fifth victims' only similarities were their involvement in the black market, though neither had crossed paths. The fourth had been a street vendor selling neural mods, but the fifth had been a retired surgeon who'd started performing illegal Core augmentations that had landed him with a fine and warning - not jail. Never jail.

And now Harlan Voss, the owner of an apartment complex. All of the victims had been from different parts of the city, the only thing linking them together was the ritual by which they had been left for him. Though Mingyu can't prove it, he feels like there's a joking edge to it now, like each death is meant to tease him and his inability to figure it out.

He leans back in his chair, the springs groaning under his weight. His eyes burn. He hasn't slept more than three hours in the past two days, and even that was broken up by the fragmented dreams of the butterfly effect audio bleeding into his fucking subconscious until he woke up gasping, the words echoing in his skull.

There's something he's missing. Mingyu knows he's on a timeline to figure it out now that Voss has been killed. Before, his superiors hadn't thought much of a serial killer stringing together some useless skins - people who didn't matter in the system. Though Harlan Voss doesn't matter, exactly, he's a step closer to the people up top that the city is obsessed with protecting, the people worth protecting.

Mingyu had learned a long time ago that people have become disposable. Bodies are just shells now, things you can rent or buy or discard when they stop serving you. Cores get pulled, transferred, reinstalled into something younger and prettier, and the person moves on. Humanity has been reduced to data, consciousness stripped down to the electrical impulses that can be copied, moved, and erased.

Death is so common to those at the top that it barely registers. But when real death happens - Core death - it turns heads, especially when it's a little too close to the gilded.

Mingyu's jaw tightens. His body aches, knees stiff, lower back throbbing from too many hours in this shitty chair, too many hours in the field in his original Skin. He feels every year of it, and though it makes him feel human, he can't help but be bothered how the wealthy don't age like this. They just buy new bodies by the dozen. Transfer over. Keep going. It's immortality for anyone who can afford it, cheating death over and over again.

Cracking his neck, Mingyu refocuses on the work at hand and pulls up the financial records again, cross-referencing bank accounts, transaction histories, anything that might link the victims. There's nothing, of course. Everyone has different banks and different spending patterns, different lives and different histories. The only thing they have in common is the way they died.

The butterfly effect is a principle in chaos theory…

Mingyu's phone buzzes on the desk. He picks it up to see Chan's name flash across the screen and he answers right away. "Lee, what have you got?"

"Core is ready," Chan says on the other side. "I've stabilized it enough for a read of the memory logs. You should come down."

"How long do we have?"

"Hard to say. It's pretty damaged. Could be an hour, could be less. If we're going to pull anything, it needs to be now."

"Heard. On my way."

Mingyu ends the call and stands. The holoscreen glows faintly in front of him, the six faces of the dead he can't seem to bring justice too staring back at him until he swipes again and they vanish. He grabs his jacket from the back of the chair and heads for the door, shrugging the leather over his shoulders.

The forensic lab is two floors down, a section of the station most detectives like to avoid. Mingyu takes the stairwell, refusing to get stuck in the elevator for a sixth time, leaping down the steps as he takes two at a time.

Bright, sterile light greets him as he pushes into the lab, making him squint. Banks of equipment link the walls, shelves full of neural readers, Core analysis stations, data extraction devices and a section for biopsy and medical analysis. The air smells faintly chemical, kind of like the inside of a machine. He prefers the smell of the burnt coffee and damp upstairs than whatever it is that permeates the forensic floor.

Chan is standing at the far end of the room, hunched over a workstation where a cylindrical containment unit glows with a faint, sickly cyan light. Voss's Core floats suspended in the translucent gel, its surface marred with dark fractures that spiderweb across the neural casing, damaged from the attack. Mingyu watches as the light flickers, pulsing in irregular intervals while Chan tinkers with it.

"Lee," Mingyu greets, crossing the room in a few long strides.

"We've got maybe thirty minutes before this thing goes dark," Chan says without looking up, his fingers tapping on a tablet next to him. A holographic interface appears over the desk, cyan numbers and date reflected in Chan's glasses. "Give me a sec."

"Can we reanimate him?" Mingyu asks, crossing his arms over his chest as Chan works.

The lab technician shakes his head. "No. The damage is too extensive. A system reboot would require full neural integration, and the Core can't support that kind of load. It would collapse the moment we tried to initialize consciousness."

He taps a section of the holographic display, pulling up a three-dimensional model of the Core's internal structure. Half of it is shaded black, dead zones where the neural pathways have been damaged beyond repair. Mingyu sighs, nodding. They're lucky they have anything at all - a damaged Core is better than no Core at all.

"We can access the memory storage," Chan says, tapping something. "It's fragmented and corrupted in places, but there's enough intact data that we can pull maybe a few minutes worth of his life from it. Maybe more if we're lucky."

"How much is a few minutes?"

"Hard to say until we're in. Could be five, could be ten. Depends on how much the Core was actively recording before it got damaged." Chan glances at Mingyu, his expression cautious. "This isn't like interrogating a living witness, Detective. We're pulling raw sensory data that will be from Voss's perception. It'll be disjointed - memory isn't linear."

Mingyu nods. "Do it."

Chan's fingers move across the interface, initiating the connection sequence. The containment unit hums, a low vibration that Mingyu feels in his chest, and the cyan light intensifies, brightening until it casts sharp shadows across the lab.

The holoscreen shifts and for a moment, there's nothing but static and a wash of grey noise that flickers and shifts. Then an image resolves, making both Mingyu and Chan lean forward as Chan tampers with the interface, sharpening the image.

A penthouse. Floor-to-cieling windows. Rain. The perspective shifts as Voss moves, walking across the floor of his apartment to his kitchen and grabs a bottle of whiskey and pours two fingers worth into a glass. Voss takes a swig and then walks back to the living room where Mingyu recognizes the space and the coffee table where Voss's body had been cracked open.

"This is from earlier in the evening," Chan says, his voice quiet. "Before the murder."

Mingyu doesn't respond. He's too focused on the screen, watching as Voss sits down on the couch, picks up a tablet and scrolls. Nothing else seems to happen, nothing that screams he's about to be murdered. Mingyu is about to complain when the perspective shifts again to show a new scene.

Marble floors reflect overhead lights. The sound of Voss's footsteps echo across his memory as he passes a doorman in a crisp uniform and a name tag that reads Martinez.

Rain hits the screen, rippling across the holo in temporary distortion as Voss gets into a car. The driver takes off and Minguy watches as the city blurs past in a mess of lights and umbrellas, the sensory feed blurring and glitching as it tries to accommodate for the sights and sounds and thoughts and feelings of Voss in that moment.

Suddenly the image blurs and shifts so that Voss is standing in front of a strip club. The entrance is unmarked except for a single neon sign that flickers in shades of magenta and violet, hearts climbing up the side as holograms of girls beckon him in. He passes through the door and strobing lights cut through the feed, blinding both Chan and Mingyu like they're seeing it in the flesh.

Heavy base pulses through the feed as Voss moves deeper into the club. A stage dominates the center of the space, and on it, multiple dancers move with practiced precision, their bodies catching the strobing lights in fragmented movements. Here, the feed breaks off into fractal images as the Core flashes - a leg extended, an arch of the back, a turn that sends hair flying.

Mingyu tries to catalogue the faces as he sees them - a woman with pink eyes, someone with a swirling tattoo, another with sharp eyes that seem to track the crowd even as her body ripples across the stage like water. It's your eyes that makes Mingyu pause, cutting him down to the bone, your gaze more present than that of the far-off look of the others.

But then you're gone as the perspective shifts and the image bleeds into Voss in the bathroom, drunk and leaning heavily against the urinal as he relieves himself. Chan makes a disgusted sound as the memory jumps again to a small ramen cart somewhere in an unknown district.

"This is jumping around," Chan says, his voice cutting through the feed. "The Core is pulling fragments non-sequentially. We're seeing his evening out of order."

Another jump. More faces. A man in a leather jacket, arguing with someone Mingyu can't see. A couple pressed against the wall, kissing. A group of young people clustered around a table, their faces illuminated by the glow of their handheld screens.

And then, for just a moment, another face that belongs to a woman standing near the back of the bar, watching the crowd.

Mingyu's breath catches. He knows that face.

"Wait," he says, his hand shooting up. "Stop. Go back."

Chan's fingers freeze over the interface. "What?"

"That woman. The one in the back." Mingyu leans closer to the holoscreen, his exhaustion momentarily burned away by a spike of adrenaline. "I've seen her before. In the club footage. She was on stage."

Chan rewinds the feed, pulling up the earlier memory from the strip club. The perspective shifts back to the moment on stage. A woman with pink eyes, one with a swirling tattoo, one with sharp eyes. Mingyu points.

"Her," he murmurs. "She's in two of his memories."

"Could be coincidence," Chan says, but his tone suggests he doesn't believe it. "She could work multiple venues. Dancers do that sometimes."

"Or she was following him," Mingyu says. The implications settle over the lab like a weight. "Or she was part of it."

The perspective lingers on you for a fraction of a second longer than the others, just long enough for Mingyu to register your face clearly, and then Voss turns away and you're gone, swallowed back into the crowd.

The memory jumps again. Voss is back in his car, then in the lobby of his building, then in the elevator ascending to his floor. The doorman from earlier is talking to someone Mingyu can't see. Security personnel stand near the entrance, their faces blank and professional. A woman in a business suit walks past, her heels clicking against the marble, her face turned toward her phone.

Then Voss is in his penthouse. The perspective shifts as Voss moves, walking across the floor of his apartment to his kitchen and grabs a bottle of whiskey and pours two fingers worth into a glass. Voss takes a swig and then walks back to the living room where Mingyu recognizes the space and the coffee table where Voss's body had been cracked open.

"We're back at the beginning," Chan notes."

In the memory, the doorbell chimes. Mingyu leans forward, his pulse quickening when he realizes this must be it - this has to be the moment the killer entered the apartment. The image flickers and static washes across the holoscreen, distorting the feed. When it clears, the perspective has put Voss back in the living room again as the sound of the doorbell loops.

"It's corrupting," Chan notes, hitting a few buttons on his tablet. "Fuck, it's going to fry."

"Push it anyway. We're right there."

Chan obeys but the containment unit's hum rises to a high-pitched whine as warnings flash across the screen about the Core overheating. The holoscreen sharpens but Mingyu lets out an angry sound when he sees the memory loop back to Voss walking into the apartment building again, ignoring Martinez at the door as he heads for the elevator. The feed glitches, harsh reds and blues blooming across the screen before Voss is back at the club again, with you leaning forward, your eyes piercing even in the corrupted feed.

"No, go back to the apartment!"

"I'm trying," Chan shoots back. "I told you, this thing is damaged and we've got way more out of it than expected."

Audio fragments layer over each other, the pounding bass of the club's music mixing with the ding of the elevator, and the doorman's greeting. It's a mess of sound, too much information compressed into too little time, the Core's final desperate attempt to dump everything before it dies.

"Come on," Chan mutters to himself, trying to sharpen the feed as the containment unit whines. "Fucking come on!"

The doorbell rings again and Voss walks toward the door as Mingyu leans closer, his heart beating in his throat. Voss reaches out with one hand toward the door and the holoscreen goes dark, the containment unit's light dying as the hum cuts off sharply. An acrid smell comes from the Core where it smokes, the electrical wiring fried, filling the air with a metallic, burnt smell.

"Dammit!" Mingyu swears, punching a fist down on the lab table. The containment unit rattles and Mingyu leans on his hands, head hanging between his shoulders as Chan tries to pry the dead, smoking Core out of the unit. "Fuck. Fuck."

"Well," Chan sighs. "At least I recorded it all."

Mingy lifts his head. "What?"

"The data. I recorded it while extracting." He raises his brows. "Do you think I'm an idiot? I put it on a backup file so at least what we have - even if it's fuck all - is on a drive. I can run some facial recognition on everyone who passed through the memory."

Mingyu straightens, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "How long?"

"Couple hours, maybe more. Go home, Detective. Get some rest. There's nothing more we can do for a few hours and you look like shit, man."

Mingyu wants to argue, wants to stay and watch the facial recognition run in real time, but he knows Chan is right. He's been awake for thirty-six hours straight, his body running on caffeine and adrenaline, and his mind is starting to blur at the edges. He nods once, sharp, and turns toward the door.

"I'll call you when I have something," Chan says.

Mingyu doesn't respond. He walks out of the lab, through the sterile white corridor, and back up the stairwell to his floor of the precinct. It's quieter upstairs now, most of the day shift gone with only a few officers still lingering at their desks as they pour themselves over paperwork and their own cases. Mingyu grabs his jacket from the back of his chair, hits the power button on his computer, and heads for the garage.

Fluorescent lights flicker above his head as he jogs down the concrete stairwell, footsteps loud and echoing. The air gets cold and damp as he descends, the rain seeping in through the shitty insulation and clinging to the walls. By the time he reaches the garage level, he feels the moisture in his shirt and hair, clinging to him like a heavy second skin.

The garage is mostly empty, making it easy to spot his bike near the back. It's sleek and shining in the reflection of the light fixture above it, black surface gleaming. It's the single most expensive thing that Mingyu owns and his most prized possession, hours of learning how to take care of it and fix it because tune ups are out of his pay range poured into the machine.

He swings a leg over it and removes the helmet from where it hangs on the handle bars, popping it over his head where a cyan heads up display appears across the face shield. He presses the start button and the bike roars to life under him, vibrating as he nudges the footstand and rolls forward, twisting the throttle until he's coasting through the garage.

Rain hits him as soon as he hits the street level, cold and rushing off his helmet in neon rivulets. The streets are slick as glass beneath him, reflecting the towers of the city on either side of the road, ripping as he gasses it and his bike tears through the street.

He cuts through the lower districts and side streets, avoiding the elevated highways where there's always traffic and road closures because some rich asshole has paid a heavy fee for an expedited drive somewhere. Down here, the world is just like Mingyu likes it, all cracked pavement and burnt out street lights, the flickering holographic advertisements advertising very illegal clinics that he ignores because so long as they're not murdering anyone, he doesn't have time to care.

Mingyu doesn't go straight home, too wired to do anything but pace the walls of his tiny apartment in silence. Instead, he cuts into a mixed commercial district a few blocks from his apartment, heading for a stretch of storefronts and vendors that stay open late.

Above, the rain has softened to a drizzle, misting the air as he kills the engine and walks the bike forward to the curb before setting it on the kickstand. He pops the helmet off and takes it with him this time, not stupid enough to leave it unguarded downtown like he might in the garage of a police precinct.

He walks past a pawn shop with bars on the windows, the display cluttered with outdated neutral interfaces, cracked holoscreen displays and retro computers. The shop is closed, but he can see the security bot inside, patrolling as it tips back and forth while driving over uneven flooring.

Next to the pawn shop is a laundromat he's intimately familiar with from the apartment he lived in just two blocks away. In his earlier days on the job, he'd sit here on Sundays and listen to the machines hum, thankful for the warmth in the winter from the exhaust vents while he poured over cases and bitch work given to him until he could earn his keep.

Mingyu keeps walking, passing a convenience store with flickering signs and people that move with hunched shoulders against the drizzle. No one pays him much mind, everyone too preoccupied with their own lives as they scuttle along like beetles.

The automatic door of the 24-hour market hisses when Mingyu ducks in. Bright lights make him squint as he walks the aisle filled with bright neon prices and advertisements calling to him, products ranging from everything to instant meals, cigarettes and cheap liquor to disposable razors and batteries. A clerk sits behind the counter, scrolling through a tablet, ignoring Mingyu entirely.

Mingyu doesn't mind. He picks up a pack of ramen, a bottle of cold coffee from the refrigerated section, a pack of cigarettes, and a pack of caffeine gum in cherry flavor that he likes to chew late at night on the job for an extra kick of energy. The clerk rings him up without comment and Mingyu pays with his phone before scooping his things and heading back outside into the drizzle.

Pausing, he tears open the new pack of cigarettes with his teeth, rolling the plastic and tossing it into the trash. Fishing one out, he sticks it between his lips and searches for a lighter for a few seconds before lighting it and taking a deep drag, feeling his lungs expand as they feel with acrid smoke.

Mingyu can't help but think about you in Voss's memory, the dancer with the sharp gaze who appeared twice. It isn't much, but it can't be a coincidence - coincidences don't exist in Mingyu's line of work. He knows the city is full of people moving through the same spaces and crossing paths without meaning, but seeing you multiple times in Voss's memory is something.

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.

Mingyu sucks in another drag and blows the smoke out in a sigh. As much as he hates for his killer to be right about anything, Mingyu feels instinctually that you are, that something about you has caused a ripple effect. He just needs to figure out how and why.

He finishes the cigarette and drops it, grinding it out under his heel while the smoke lingers in his lungs for a minute. Shuffling the bag in his arms, he heads back toward where he parked his bike, passing by a noddle stand on the corner with steam rising and the smell of frying garlic and chili oil cutting through the damp air. Mingyu considers stopping, but he's not hungry. He just needed to be somewhere that wasn't the station or his apartment.

Back at the bike, he opens the seat and dumps his belongings in the compartment before swinging back on and pulling his helmet on. The drive to his apartment is slow and winding, cutting through back alleys and misting rain until he's parking in the cracked-concrete garage and taking the stairs up to the fourth floor.

Mingyu shoulders into the apartment after unlocking the door, immediately toeing off his boots while he locks the door behind him. It's not much - just one room, a kitchenette, a bathroom with a shower that barely works and has no hot water, and one large window that overlooks the street, the view mostly obscured by the constant rain.

He sets the bag on the counter and pulls out the ramen before going through the motions, boiling water and tearing into the sauce packet with his teeth, mind far away from his little corner of the world while he thinks about you again, a thread among the chaos - a beat of a butterfly's wings, maybe.

- Mingyu jolts awake in the dim glow of his apartment, his heart hammering against his ribs. The ringing that cuts through the haze is distorted and confusing until he realizes there's a small green hologram lighting up over his phone. He fumbles for it, hand knocking over his reading glasses, his pistol, and the tablet he'd been using to research the stupid butterfly effect again.

Chan's name displays as the phone continues ringing, lighting up the world as Mingyu fumbles to answer. "Hello?

"You sound like hell," Chan replies, the sound of a keyboard in the background. "Facial rec pulled a hit on that woman from Voss's memory. Cross-referenced with club surveillance feeds from the entertainment district, looks like she's a performer at the club Wings. High end joint."

Mingyu leans against his headboard, running a hand over his face. The single window in his unit lets in the never-ending neon glow from outside, casting dull patterns across his bedroom. He hears the rain tapping against the glass, a constant companion.

"Wings. Got it. Send me the address."

"On it. It's in the mid-tier entertainment strip near the old elevated line. I recommend caution. It's on the mid-tier strip but it leans high end - the entertainment there aren't standard rentals."

"Name?"

"Looks like the stage name might be Psyche."

Mingyu frowns as he gets out of bed and grabs a dirty pair of jeans off the floor to shove one leg in, jamming the phone between his face and his shoulder.

"Like the wife of Cupid?"

"Seems that way."

"Anything else?

"Clean on the surface. No priors, no traffic tickets. Nothing."

"Well his memory showed her twice. Can't be random."

Chan sighs. "I'm inclined to agree. Like I said, be careful. Security at these places crack skulls first and ask questions later. You don't have money for a new Skin."

"Heard. Talk later."

Mingyu finishes getting dressed, his heart hammering the entire time. This is the thread - the butterfly's wingbeat. He can feel it in his gut, something sharpening into something purposeful, an instinct that has led him on every hunt for a killer he's been on.

He moves quickly, pulling on a long-sleeved shirt that smells like sweat and cologne, pulling on boots with loose laces, and tucking his gun in the back of his pants before hiding it with the hem of his shirt. He tucks a badge in his pocket, and heads out of the room, knocking his shin against the corner of the bed and cursing loudly.

At the door, he grabs his helmet and heads out into the hall, nearly jogging as he takes the steps down to street level two at a time. Rain greets him outside, making his shirt cling to his frame as he straddles his bike. The engine roars to life, HUD on his helmet flickering alive with the address overlay. He twists the throttle and tears into the night, tires slicing through puddles.

The ride blurs into a streak of neon and the lower streets give way to the mid-level sprawl, where wealth brushes against grit. Autonomous cabs hum past, their passengers hidden behind tinted fields. Elevated tracks arc overhead, sparks occasionally flying from aging mag-rails. Mingyu leans into turns, the bike's vibration thrumming through his bones, chasing away the last dregs of fatigue.

By the time he pulls up to the curb outside Wings, the rain eases to a misty veil, but the air hangs heavy with the smell of gas and rusting metal, a permanent smell that never really seems to leave.

He parks the bike on a side street and heads toward the front door of the club, uncaring that he's a bit damp and messy. The club is impossible to miss, the facade bright with iridescent panels that shift colors under a massive holographic marque that reads: WELCOME TO WINGS, WHERE FANTASIES TAKE FLIGHT.

Security drones hover discreetly at the entrance, red scanner lights sweeping patrons as they stand in line. The line is mostly men who look better dressed than Mingyu, umbrellas in hand to keep the rain off their backs as a security guard stands at the door checking IDs and taking money.

Mingyu gets in line and ignores the way the others look at him, tucking his helmet under his arm. He's bouncing with energy now, craning his neck to look up at the holograms above, dancers in all manner of fantasy writhing and twisting in shades of fuchsia and red and lavender.

It takes about ten minutes to reach the door where a security guard with one augmented eye looks at him, his lens turning cyan as he scans Mingyu. He holds out his hand for an ID, which Mingyu hands over immediately.

"Cover is two hundred creds. If you want a private room, see the bar. Private rooms start at five hundred."

"Two hundred?" He asks, feeling himself stall out. "Fucking hell."

"Pay or get out."

Grumbling, Mingyu takes out his phone and transfers over the credits, swallowing thickly when he sees how close it brings him to the negatives. He's not sure this qualifies for reimbursement at the station, but he's going to file it anyway.

"Head in. Any trouble and you're out."

Mingyu steps by as the door hisses open. Inside, the air is thick with the scent of engineered pheromones being pumped in through the vents with the smell of liquor. Bass pumps through the room, vibrating through the floor and up his spine. The main floor sprawls under a vaulted ceiling alive with projected constellations that shift in real-time, stars turning as though the club is spinning in time with the world's real rotation.

Dancers move with unnatural grace, and it takes Mingyu a moment to realize that all of them have wings. He spots one with dragonfly wings that glitter as she spends, refracting light. Another has raven wings, inky black even as she twists around a pole under cyan light.

He hadn't expected the theme to be so literal, but he's glad that the wings are wearables and not uncanny body mods. He slinks through the room between patrons, noting the privacy feels that shimmer in the distance to hide the VIP booths from prying eyes. The private rooms are further back, a neon sign above a shadow hall with fly away above it.

Mingyu's eyes scan methodically, cutting through the sensory overload. He clocks exits, security nodes embedded in the walls, the faint hum of surveillance drones disguised as decorative moths fluttering near the ceiling. No sign of you yet, though, so he drifts toward the bar, ordering a cheap synth-whiskey to blend in, the glass cool against his callused fingers. The liquid burns familiarly as he sips, eyes never still.

Then he sees you and the world slows down a little.

You emerge from a side alcove onto one of the elevated platforms framed by gossamer curtains that part around you, moved by some sort of air effect. You're wearing delicate butterfly wings, spans of translucent fabric that looks like real membrane catching the light. You're dressed in minimal strips of iridescent material, accentuating each one of your curves while leaving the wings unobstructed.

Just like in Voss's memories, it's your eyes that make Mingyu freeze. It carries the same piercing quality as you dance, cutting through the room. It's not the same hazy allure of the other dancers, but something more focused like a predator among pretty things.

Butterfly wings. It makes him go cold, the butterfly effect audio recycling through his head over and over as he watches you dance, your wings fluttering. Despite being fake, they look real, catching the light as you shimmer, more beautiful than anything else he's ever seen.

Mingyu finishes his drink and sets it down harshly as he turns to the bar and hails down a bartender to ask for a private room. The bartender slides over a tablet and Mingyu scrolls until he finds your stage name - Psyche - and nearly vomits the whiskey back up when he sees the price.

"Eight hundred credits for thirty minutes?" He growls. He curses under his breath and charges it to his credit card, knowing he's never going to pay it off before it gains sixty percent interest. "Better be fucking worth it."

A room number flashes on the screen and he memorizes it before stalking off toward the hallway of private rooms, glancing at your platform as he does. You tilt your head, hand going briefly to your ear before turning to get off the platform. It's then that he realizes you have an ear piece in. He files that piece of information away.

The private room is small and blessedly clean, the seats plush with a low table in front of them. He throws himself down and shivers, the room unnaturally cold. He glances around but sees no clock or anything else in the room except a private bar which he knows will cost extra, so he doesn't dare, instead staring at the door until it opens.

Mingyu's heart starts to hammer as you slide into the room, sitting up straighter. It doesn't occur to him that up until this morning, he's never done this before. The realization makes him nervous, palms sweaty as you slink toward him, smiling and tilting your head.

"New face," you greet, sliding onto the seat next to him. You lean against the seat, facing him as you cross one leg over the other. "Pretty face."

Up close, the details on your face come into sharp focus: faint iridescence on your skin like starlight, the scent of jasmine and amber, pretty eyes that swallow him whole.

"Looking to forget the rain outside?" You ask him, voice sweet and soft. "I can fix that."

Mingyu leans back, forcing a lazy smirk that does not reach his eyes. He plays the part - client with creds to burn, interest piqued by the exotic. "Something like that."

A small smile tugs your lips. "What do you want tonight? Escape? Or just a pretty distraction?"

"Distraction sounds good. Start with a dance, yeah?"

If you sense his confidence is feigned, you don't show it. You stand, the wings spreading wide behind you, catching the low light and refracting it into soft gradients of color. The music shifts to something slower and heavier, the bass making Mingyu's skin itch. You move with practiced precision, hips swaying as you step closer, one hand trailing along the back of the couch.

Mingyu's breath catches. He reminds himself it's the job and that he's here for information, not this. But his body doesn't listen as he becomes hyper aware of you, his fingers twitching as he fights not to jump out of the booth and away from you. It's not that he's bad with women - he's not - but this is new to him, never having paid for a moment of attention this intimate and sensual.

You turn your back to him now, the wings folding slightly as you lower yourself onto his lap. The weight of you is real and solid, warm through the thin fabric of his clothes. You roll your hips slowly and Mingyu's hands grip the edge of the couch to keep from reaching for you or pushing you off - he's not entirely sure which.

Your hair brushes his jaw as you lean back, your head tilting to rest near his shoulder, and he feels the heat of your breath against his neck. He can't help but shiver, the smell of your jasmine and amber so overwhelming he feels his lashes flutter.

"You're tense," you murmur. "Relax."

He can't. His mind is racing, cataloging details like the way you move, the control in every gesture, the sharpness in your eyes when you glanced at him earlier. This isn't just a performance. There's something calculated about it, something that doesn't match the soft, breathy voice you're using now.

You turn again, straddling him now, your knees pressing into the couch on either side of his hips. Your hands rest on his shoulders, fingers light, and you lean in close enough that he can see the faint shimmer of makeup on your eyelids, the way your pupils dilate in the low light.

"Better?" you ask, smiling.

Mingyu swallows. "Yeah."

You laugh, soft and knowing, and shift your weight, grinding down just enough to make his pulse spike. The wings flutter behind you, a distraction, a spectacle, and he realizes that's the point. You're good at this and he doesn't know why but he hates that it works on him, even if it's your job to do this, to pull focus, to keep the client's attention where you want it.

He clears his throat, forcing himself to focus. "You're good at what you do."

"I know," you whisper, tilting your head so that your breath fans against his ear. "Don't you want to touch me?

"Actually, I uh - want to ask you something."

You pull away from him and though your smile doesn't falter, your eyes shift. "That's expensive."

"No," Mingyu protests quickly, grabbing you and pushing you back a little. You flinch when he touches you and he lets go immediately. "Sorry, I don't want to like - that."

"Okay. Then what do you want?"

"You know Harlan Voss?"

It's the wrong question to ask. Your entire body goes rigid and your eyes lock onto his as your delicate persona shatters immediately. What's left is sharp, cold, and predatory. Mingyu's pulse spikes as you get off of him and put space between you, your eyes icy.

"Who the fuck are you?" you ask. Your real voice is a little deeper than the breathy rasp you'd used moments ago. "And what the fuck do you want?"

Mingyu holds up his hands. "I just need to ask you a few questions-"

"Get the fuck out."

"Listen, I'm not here to cause trouble-"

You hit a button he didn't see near the door and the door opens immediately. Mingyu makes a sound of protest when he sees a security guard appear at the door, his eyes glancing between the two of you.

"Problem?" He asks.

"He needs to leave. Now."

Mingyu stands slowly, adrenaline cutting through the tension in his body. His pulse is still elevated from the dance, from the heat of your body on his lap. He pulls the badge from his pocket and the security guard stiffens further. So do you, taking a step away from him again.

"You need a warrant, buddy."

"Detective Kim. Homicide. I'm investigating a murder, and I need to ask her some questions."

"I don't give a fuck who you are," you seethe. "Get out."

He sighs. "Can we just-"

"Get a warrant," you snarl, barring your teeth at him like something feral.

Mingyu realizes you're afraid of him. Not like someone caught in a lie or someone caught with their hand on the gun, but like someone who is cowering, like he might strike. He thinks it's odd, watching as you shake, eyes wide and trembling.

He could push. He could insist, make this official, drag you down to the station for questioning. But something in him softens, and he pockets the badge, raising his hands. "I'll leave. No trouble."

The security guard steps aside and Mingyu walks toward the door as he looks at you one last time. Your wings are still spread wide, trembling slightly, and your eyes are locked on him. There's fear there, yes, but something else too. Recognition. Guilt. Something. Before he can decide what, the security guard steps between you and cuts off Mngyu's line of sight, ushering him into the hallway.

With a loud shout that's lost to the pound of music, you slam the door. Mingyu sighs, staring at the door for a few minutes before he turns and walks back through the club, the music vibrating through the walls as he winds past the stages and the strobing lights. His mind is stuck on you, of course. The terror. The gaze. The butterfly wings.

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.

He pushes through the front door and into the rain, the cold hitting him sharply. Mingyu shivers but stands outside the door, letting the rain cut through him, washing away the smell of jasmine and amber, clearing his mind a little.

You know something. Mingyu doesn't know what, but he's sure of it. You're the butterfly at the root of it all, and now he just needs to know the cause of the effect.

[ts19009]

The butterfly wings.... *chefs kiss* locked in to try and solve these murders

[minisugakoobies]

got you (in my sights) pt 1 | lc

pairing: chan x f!reader

genre: rivals to lovers, angst, smut, assassin!au, dystopian!au, cyberpunk!au

rating: M (18+)

warnings: warnings will vary by part; blood/bleeding; vomiting; mentions of murder/killing/death; both reader and chan are assassins so there will be killing going forward; if you are uncomfortable with descriptions of violence this is not for you; morally grey characters abound; we're starting with angst and it's gonna get worse; amnesia as plot; use of cybernetics; eventual smut; told in alternating pov's; use of nickname - sable (for reader)

word count: 4.4k

disclaimers: nsfw, I don’t own SVT - they just inspire me

summary: when a job goes bad, elite assassin lee chan ends up the victim of a botched memory wipe. lost on the streets of new seoul and in need of help, he turns to the only person he can remember - just a face, a name, and a feeling. you have no idea why a rival assassin is begging on your doorstep, but agree to help him, thinking it will be an opportunity to steal his clients. but when the client who ordered the memory hit learns he hasn't been wiped, they target you both. can you trust chan enough to work together to save yourselves? or will you lose more than just your memories?

a/n: hello and welcome to another installment of "sunny can't resist a collab." i keep joking that i need to be physically restrained from joining another collab but i'm not sure it's a joke any more 🤡 anyway this is part 1 of what i'm hoping will be a whole little world that you'll want to dive into. the idea came from picturing chan out in the rain begging for it soooooo let that set the vibe here💕

written for the @studiosvt cyberpunk: reload collab. unbeta'd as usual. dividers by @/saradika-graphics. if you like this one, please let me know! 💕

SVT Masterlist 🩵 Main Masterlist

CHAN'S POV:

Drip.

Drip.

Chan twitches in his sleep. Something keeps hitting his face.

Drip.

He opens one eye. There’s water dripping through a hole in the tarp above him, directly above his head. He sits up, immediately alarmed. Why is he sleeping under a tarp? 

A flickering neon sign for a nearby bar side entrance provides him with enough light to take in his surroundings. He’s lying on the hard cement beneath a makeshift tent behind a dumpster, in the corner of a dead-end alley. It’s dark, and it’s raining, and his head is fucking killing him. Gingerly, he touches a spot behind his right ear, where pain throbs the hardest. 

Instantly he regrets it, leaning over to vomit onto the wet pavement beside him. Then he glances at his fingertips. They’re covered in blood.

Chan doubles over again, clutching his temples. His head feels like it’s about to split in two. What the fuck happened to him? He rocks in place until the pressure subsides enough that he can open his eyes again, at which point he examines himself. His shirt’s torn and splattered with red splotches. There are cuts and scratches all over his arms, and his knuckles are scraped to hell. He wipes grit from the concrete off his face and pats down his pockets. Empty. 

Was he in a fight? Maybe he was robbed. That would explain why he doesn’t have anything on him. Did someone beat him for whatever he had? If only he could remember, but he can’t… he can’t…

He can’t remember anything. Pulse spiking, Chan leans against the dumpster, forcing himself to breathe slowly. He needs to calm down and assess the situation. Figure out where he is and if he’s safe there before he tries to recall what happened to him. If he’s too exposed here, or too trapped, he needs to move. 

Wait. Why is that his first instinct?

He squeezes his eyes shut, blocking out the rain, the buzzing light, quickly focusing his mind on what he is absolutely sure he knows, without a trace of doubt. His name is Lee Chan. He’s from New Seoul. Is that where he is now? 

SYSTEM REBOOT

“Augh!” Chan yells, grabbing his head again. “What the fuck?!”

SYSTEM ACTIVE. WARNING: CRITICAL DAMAGE SUSTAINED. 

His stomach heaves again. He spits to clear the taste of bile from his mouth. The CARAT interface in his brain has rebooted. Reflexively, he attempts to access his memories, stored on the implant, but when he reaches out, he hears a message in his head from the same synthetic voice as before.

REQUEST DENIED. SYSTEM DIAGNOSIS IN PROCESS. 

He’ll have to figure out the system later - he’s still hunched behind a dumpster with a wall to his back. If he stays here much longer, he’s a sitting duck. For whom, he doesn’t quite know, but he feels compelled to follow his instincts. They’re probably why he’s still alive. 

He staggers to his feet, only takes one step forward before cursing. “Fuck!” He hadn’t noticed the wound in his left leg earlier, too distracted by the pain in his head. There’s a gash in his thigh, visible beneath a giant tear in his pants, like someone swiped at him with a blade. It doesn’t look like the work of a cyblade, thank fuck, but it still hurts like a motherfucker. 

Bing!

A gentle chime sounds in his head.

SYSTEM DIAGNOSIS COMPLETE. ERROR INCURRED DURING MEMORY CORE COMMAND SEQUENCE EXECUTED AT 13:27 PM TODAY. DAMAGE SUSTAINED.

“What command sequence?” Chan queries inside his head.

UNABLE TO DETERMINE. 

Chan furrows his brows. That shouldn’t be possible - the implant’s diagnostics should be able to recall every command he’s ever given to the system. He’s 100% sure of that.

“How much damage?” He braces himself for the answer.

58% OF MEMORY CORE CORRUPTED. UNABLE TO ACCESS CORRUPTED CONTENTS. 

The memory core in his implant stores his entire life’s worth of memories - everything he can remember prior to implantation and everything he’s ever done since. Right now, he’s got literal holes in his memory. No wonder his brain feels like swiss cheese. 

Unfortunately, whatever happened at 1:27 today to leave him badly beaten and sleeping in the rain happens to be one of those holes.

BANG!

The slamming of the door to the bar closing ricochets off the walls in the alley like a bullet. Chan jolts, shrinking into the shadows as best he can, sharp gaze narrowing in on a drunken patron swaying their way towards the street. Chan needs to find a better place to hide, where he can tend to his wounds while he figures out what to do about his interface. He tests his leg, finding out how much weight it can bear before it begins to buckle, and then he creeps towards the end of the alleyway. 

He’s relieved to recognize the neighborhood he’s in, though most in his position would likely be alarmed to find themselves here - especially without any sort of protection. He’s in one of the many slums of old New Seoul, where dilapidated, nearly crumbling buildings from the previous century line the streets, and the airspace is crammed full of fluttering ad drones flashing obnoxiously bright advertisements, bathing the sky in an eternal neon glow day all night long. This isn’t a place where most people would want to conduct business, let alone live. 

Unless they had no other choice.

It must be sometime in the early hours of the morning, because many of the stores are shuttered, their heavy metal shields covered in electric shock warnings, meant to deter transients and thieves alike. There are multiple sirens going off in different directions around him, heralding the arrival of the armed forces that patrol this area - not to protect the residents, but to protect the corporations that have stakes here from the syndicates that run the slums. 

But he’s familiar with this particular section of town, enough to know to turn left out onto the street. There’s a place he’s been to before, about three blocks from here. A place that’s safe. He tries to recall why he knows that, and a face floats into his mind as his memory interface engages. He pauses for a second, ducking into the doorway of an abandoned business to get out of the rain, and leans against the rusted solid metal door there, buried under layers of graffiti, but thankfully not electrified.

“YN,” he whispers. That’s your name. It’s your place that he’s stumbling towards. And then he visualizes it, perfectly recreating the path in his mind. He thinks again of your face. Your eyes. But when he tries to recall more about you, he can’t. Another gap in his memory. But something stirs in his chest when he pictures your face, and again he feels that unshakable certainty. 

He follows the feeling. It leads him down streets that are mostly deserted, only a few electric motos zooming by as he slowly progresses down the sidewalk. The people he passes are mostly inebriated, either drunk or high on something, and in their own little worlds. A few of them appear to be surfers, riding along on a designer drug called Wave, and Chan knows innately to keep his distance. Surfers can be dangerous to be around in their altered states. He avoids attracting attention to himself, a skill that he knows he’s taken care to develop, even if he isn’t sure why. 

At the next block, he waits on the corner for a moment, shivering as the rain soaks into his tattered clothes. Across the street sits a row of old tenements, each apartment building leaning on the others around it like brothers-in-arms, preventing one another from collapse. He heads towards one of the buildings in the center, for a familiar-looking door. The door is locked, of course. He doesn’t have a key, nor does he have any tools to help him open it. But he has adrenaline, and a very persistent desire to survive, so he grits his teeth and kicks the door in. 

He stumbles, then kind of falls into a heap inside the doorway, and curses up a storm from the pain. He’d give his useless leg for some painkillers right now, or a bottle of liquor - any kind, he’s not feeling particularly picky at the moment. He hopes you have something strong that he can take before he starts dressing his wounds. 

Who are you to him, that he assumes you’re going to help him? 

He drags his fingers along the wall as he walks into the darkness in front of him, searching for a switch, but as soon as he’s far enough away from the light of the city behind him, his ocular implants activate night mode. There’s a long hallway in front of him, with boarded up doors on either side, and the stairwell heading upstairs is barricaded. He knows the place he’s seeking isn’t here - this is just a shortcut. He walks down the hallway, the floor sloping downward for a while before it rises towards a door at the other end, lit by a small band of light through the cracks. He rams this door too when he reaches it, until it spits him out into a little courtyard. 

He’s relieved to find there’s no one else in the courtyard this time of night. It’s an open-air courtyard, surrounded on the other three sides by the walls of other old buildings. Someone’s turned it into a greenspace - a few square feet of some ferns and other leafy plants, and in the very center, a Korean red pine growing tall. Trees are so rare in old New Seoul that he can’t help but divert his mission to approach the pine, and run his hand over the twisted trunk. Huh. The roughness of the bark is familiar under his touch. Something happened to him here. The memory is missing, but his fingertips remember for him. 

Suddenly, he sways, and has to let the tree hold him up for a moment. His leg’s been bleeding while he’s been walking - how much blood has he lost by now? He’s gotta get inside before he passes out. He continues on his way, a little slower than before, to the corner on the right, where two of the buildings meet. He doesn’t have to force the door here, a fire exit with a blinking blue light above the frame. 

Inside the tenement is another hallway, this one lit so brightly by floating ads that he has to shield his eyes for a few seconds until his night mode disengages automatically. These old buildings aren’t on the same grid as the tenements in the newer sections of the city and don't have ad screens built into the walls like those places do. Ad drones are programmed to follow tenets into the buildings, but they are notorious for getting stuck inside, buzzing around the overhead fluorescents like electric moths. Chan swats at an annoying soju ad that keeps strafing his left ear, and it careens into the wall, smashing into tiny pieces. 

The elevator doesn’t want to take him anywhere without a keycode, but it uses an old electrical system that’s mostly wires, and he’s always been good with wires. He rests against the panel of the elevator as it rises, and glances at his reflection in the filthy cracked mirror on the back wall. 

His face is coated in red splatters to match his shirt. He steps closer, touching his face, searching for cuts. Other than the incredibly sore spot behind his ear, he doesn’t appear to have any other wounds on his head. He’s covered in someone else’s blood. 

Shouldn’t that alarm him?

The elevator lets him out on a dimly lit floor that is somehow free from the ad drones. There are a few transients in here, lying on the ground in different relaxed positions. Surfers, coming down from their highs. He gives them their space, heading directly for the door at the end of the hall. There’s nothing on the door to distinguish it from the others, but Chan’s certain this is the one he wants. 

He raises his hand to knock, and his head suddenly spins. He loses his balance, falling forward into the door. Before he can regain his balance, it opens. 

He collapses in the doorway, barely able to crane his neck enough to look up into the beautiful face of an angel, lit by a soft blue neon glow. Wait, is he dying? 

The angel speaks. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” 

READER’s POV: 

As days go, today’s been a little… off. 

It starts as usual. Around 4:00 pm, you wake. Afternoon is your morning. Your lifestyle is more suited for the nighttime. Good thing you were born a night person, preferring the dark to the light.

You feel refreshed from sleep, but are reminded by a tender ache on your cheek that you’re not quite healed yet. Your last assignment lingers in the bruises on your body, unfortunate reminders that you’ll be happy to see fade. It wasn’t your best work, but you got the job done in the end. And you’d love to move on, except your liaison has been awfully quiet lately. You consider checking in with him while in the shower, rubbing yourself down with soap before turning the lever for a fifteen-second rinse. Why not pamper yourself a little today with a long shower? 

Unfortunately, the shower timer glitches, and you only get the usual ten seconds. You throw on a tank top, then a stretched-out long-sleeved shirt cropped below your chest over that, and a pair of leggings. At least making your breakfast goes better, and you carry your cup of instant noodles and a chunk of cheese outside. 

One of the perks of living in one of the oldest tenements in old New Seoul is that your apartment comes with an attached outdoor space in the form of a tiny patio. You’ve got a flimsy metal chair in the corner, where you sit and soak up some vitamin D before the sun sets - as long as the smog warnings don’t force you back inside first. 

This evening, there’s a blue cat waiting for you by the chair. You hold out your hand for her to sniff, and she lowers her head, allowing you to lightly scritch her ears. 

“Morning, Ash.” 

Ash meows, and waits for you to sit before bumping her head against your leg. You break up the chunk of cheese and toss it onto the ground for your favorite stray to nibble on, then turn your attention to the view around you. 

Your tenement is buried in a maze of buildings in the heart of old New Seoul. There are more windows than you can count surrounding you. More neighbors than you could possibly ever hope to meet, if you were the type of person to meet your neighbors. The city is loud, the voices of all these neighbors rising into the air to join the drones, and the birds, flocks of pigeons who land on your railing, uninterested in anything but picking at your crumbs. Ash chases them away while you listen to the chaotic call of your city.

You love it here. New Seoul’s been pretty good to you, considering you do not do good things. Not that you see anything wrong with taking lives in order to keep living yours. Everyone makes their choices, and everyone has to deal with the consequences. 

You are simply a consequence that they never see coming. 

After breakfast, you do your workout, a combination of stretches and cardio intended to limber you up and increase your stamina. It’s important that you keep in shape, because you never know when you’ll need to fight - or run. It starts to rain as you’re finishing up, and keeps coming down steadily for hours. 

While you listen to the raindrops hitting your window, you connect to your console, and access Nyx, a private online channel where people with your particular skills can find work. To your frustration, you’ve no new messages from Joshua. What is the point of using a liaison if he’s not going to connect you to any job offers?

You’ve only started using him in the last few months as a connection for work because things have been so quiet lately. It’s not that the market is drying up, necessarily - if anything, your industry is bustling as society continues to crumble around you and people are willing to do whatever it takes to succeed. But competition’s been picking up as more people turn to murder-for-hire as a way to make a few credits, willing in their desperation to bend their morals to the breaking point. If Joshua’s not going to help you get your name out there, then maybe you need to find someone else who can. 

You’re scrolling through profiles of other liaisons when your hall monitor sends you an alert. A techhead friend of yours, Junhui, set you up with a system to track any unusual movement on your floor. It’s an impressive array of old-school tech, consisting of motion sensors in strategic spots, along with CCTV cameras aimed at your door. It works without the grid, and it keeps you safe. 

There are always surfers in your hallway, since your next-door neighbor Mingyu deals. He’d been the one to explain the term to you - that “surfing” was a sport where people used oval-shaped boards to ride ocean waves. It’s a sport that’s been lost to time, swallowed by the rising tides that have claimed most of the beaches on the planet. These surfers tend not to move so much, but your motion sensors have been calibrated to account for them anyway. A glance at your camera’s feed confirms that it’s not one of them, but rather your best friend Minghao making his way to your door. He’s dressed in a black leather jacket, cycle helmet in one hand and a plastic bag in the other. 

You greet him with a warm smile. Minghao’s eyes zero in on the purple splotch beneath your right eye, and he sighs. 

“Thought I did a better job of teaching you how to duck than that.” 

“I did duck. That’s when they kneed me in the face,” you inform him, locking your door behind him. You have multiple physical and electronic locks, so the process takes a few seconds. Can’t be too careful in your line of work. “So shut up.” 

Minghao shakes his head. “No. C’mere.” 

He sets his things down on your kitchen unit counter, and opens his arms. You make a face at him, but step into his embrace. He wraps his arms around you, squeezing tight, and you hug him back, resting your head on his shoulder. 

Minghao’s the closest thing you have to family. The two of you found each other when you were both way too young to be living on your own. You taught him how to steal. He taught you how to fight. Together, you survived. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” he tells you, and you hum in reply. He says that every time he sees you again after you’ve completed a job. “I brought gimbap and soju.” 

“Green grape?” you ask, in a playfully hopeful way, and he nods. He always spoils you by bringing your favorites. You’d asked him about it once, and he said he liked taking care of you, in that quietly serious way of his. 

You think about that a lot. 

Your apartment is a little bigger than the modern tenements’ living units, but it’s still not very large, consisting of two small rooms and an even smaller bathroom with a single stall shower and toilet. The front room contains a kitchen unit, two-chair table, and couch, facing a projection wall that you keep turned off except for mandatory viewings. The other room is your bedroom. You have a full-sized bed and a tall clothing unit in there. It’s the bed that keeps you from moving to a more modern building. You can’t stand the tightness of sleeping pods, don’t understand how anyone could sleep while being compressed like that. You need your space. 

Minghao hangs his jacket on the back of a chair, and the two of you sit to eat. You share the details of your last hit between shots of soju. This talk of hunting down a target is nothing new to him. After all, Minghao’s the one who introduced you to this line of work. He thought you’d flourish. He was right, as usual. 

As you finish your tale, he shakes his head again, pouring you another round of shots. “I guess that could’ve gone worse. Remember the last time you went to Greater Tokyo?" 

He raises his shot glass, and you clink yours against his before you toss yours back. He tilts his head, exposing his elegant neck as he drinks. 

You wipe your mouth, nodding. “Yeah. I remember. But that was before I got these.” You raise your free hand, curling your fingers slightly. Tiny, razor-sharp blades extend from beneath your fingernails, then retract with the twitch of your muscles. “They helped.” 

“I’m sure they did, Sable,” Minghao laughs, calling you by the nickname you picked up when you got your blades. Everyone finds you cute and unassuming when you’re not on a job, like a fluffy little sable. Everyone always underestimates the sharpness of your claws. “So what’s next?” 

“I don’t know,” you sigh, rising from the table to flop dramatically onto your couch. “No offers at the moment. Or leads.” 

Minghao hums in sympathy, joining you. He crosses his legs, one boot over the other, and lies back against the saggy cushions. “Have you given any thought to my idea?” 

You don’t answer, watching your friend as he sighs, relaxing into your couch. He closes his eyes, and you take the opportunity to observe him unnoticed. He looks tired, forehead creased beneath his blue hair, like waiting for your response is stressing him out. Maybe it is. Maybe you should just talk to him about it. After all, he’s family. If anyone would understand, wouldn’t it be him? 

“I have been thinking about it,” you finally begin, slowly, “but I haven’t really come to any decision yet.” 

Minghao opens his eyes. “How much longer do you need?” You shrug, and he sighs. “Look, I don’t want to lay out all the reasons I think we should leave New Seoul again. I’m really tired today, and I don’t feel like making my case one more time. But you cannot deny that things seem to be drying up around here.” 

Again you shrug, not wanting to agree. If you admit that he’s right, then it will be harder to defend your desire to stay. Because you’re pretty sure that’s what you want.

He lets his head fall back against the back of your couch. He says your name, the real one, in a soft tone of voice. “Please. Think about it, okay? I know you don’t like the idea of starting over, but we’d be doing it together.” 

There was a time when you thought you didn’t need anything else in the world, as long as you had Minghao. Things have changed. 

BEEDOBEEDOBEEDO 

At that moment, your hall monitor begins going insane, letting out a shrill, siren-like alert. Minghao sits up as you grab your console and pull up the camera feeds. That’s a very special alarm that’s going off right now, set up to monitor for very specific individuals. 

“Who’s out there?” Minghao asks, leaning over your shoulder to view your screen. 

The figure is still halfway down the hall, so you tap on another camera, and gasp. “Oh, fuck me!” 

Minghao tugs on the console, trying to see better. “Is that - “

“The Neon Viper,” you nod, mouth set in a firm line. A rival assassin. What the fuck is Lee Chan doing on your floor? Is he here for you? 

“Oh fuck,” Minghao agrees. “Get ready.” 

You hand him the console, so you can run into your other room, and smash your hand on a tiny panel set into the wall. Part of the wall suddenly sinks in, retracting panels sliding opening to reveal a small array of weaponry. Another favor from Junhui. You grab your weapon of choice and smash the panel again to close the wall.

Minghao’s already waiting by the door, one hand on his hip, where his gun is holstered. He silently hands you the console, so you can check the cameras. Your rival, one of the deadliest assassins in all of New Seoul, is only a few feet from your door now. When he’s within knocking distance, he starts to lift his arm, then he suddenly lurches forward, barely catching himself on your door just in time. 

“What the fuck - he can barely stand!” you whisper to Minghao. “He’s bleeding out on my door.” 

“It could be a trick,” he warns, but you’ve already lit your cyblade, the electrified dagger humming to life as you nod to the door. 

“Open it.” 

Minghao sighs, but does as you say. There’s a weak shout from the other side as the wounded man falls over the threshold. The Neon Viper, so named for his ability to strike fast, like a fearsome serpent, lays in a trembling, wet heap at your feet, staining your carpet with his blood. What happened to him? More importantly, why is he here?

Chan weakly raises his head, and you point your cyblade at him. “What the fuck are you doing here?” you hiss. 

“H-help m-me, please,” he manages to stammer out, before his eyes roll back in his head, and he passes out. 

The hallway is quiet as you and Minghao stare at the unconscious man. When you finally glance at your friend, he looks as confused as you feel. 

“Did he ask you to help him?” Minghao asks. You nod. “What the fuck.” 

Yeah, today’s been off. And your night is only starting. 

if you liked this fic, please consider reblogging! likes do not help it get seen by other readers. 💕

© 2026 by minisugakoobies. crossposted to ao3. please do not copy or repost. i do not allow translations of my work.

[thestraybunny]

The Shadow District||J.W.W||Ch 1

Pairing: Criminal Jeon Wonwoo x Runaway F. Reader WC: 14.6+K of ???? Rating: E 18+ MDNI Genre: Non-Idol AU, Dystopian AU, Established relationship Summary: Skyfall Industries is taking over the city, where the rich will benefit while the poor will suffer. With body modifications, sex, drugs, and alcohol there to help numb people from reality of it all. Your world is small, and is just getting smaller. So, when Skyfall Inds is finally at your door and threatening your home, you and Wonwoo will have a choice to make.

Warnings for part one: Violence, corruption/corporate control, explict smut, cybernetic body modifications, fake identify, cussing, blackmail, drug use, addiction (sorry soonyoung), drinking, smoking, crime, lying, wonwoo has a fake eye, possessiveness, wonwoo has a quick temper, pet names. please let me know if I forgot anything. More tags will be added for part 2

A/N: This is part of Cyberpunk: Reload Collab by @studiosvt. Thank you so much for giving me the chance to take part in this collab. Thank you @aeristudios for helping me out with this and betareading, I did rewrite the end a bit after so that part is not 100% beta'ed. Oh and remember folks, I block ageless blogs. A/N: I currently have it only at two parts but this may change depending on how much I yap.

Seventeen Masterlist

“Hey baby, you looking for a good time?” A sleazy voice called out when you walked past; the heavy unpleasant smell of booze, piss, old oil, and cigarette smoke heavily coming from that direction. It made your lips curl in disgust when the mixture met your nose and kept your eyes forward.

Pulling the large thick trench coat tighter around your body, you hoped that it would hide away the little outfit you wore to work and took the chance to inhale the comforting scent of your boyfriend that lingered on the fabric. Keeping you grounded and giving you the strength to bite your tongue.

You ignored the man and his friend yelling insults at your back as you continued your journey through the near empty streets of the Shadow District, back home. With one hand gripping the knife under the thick sleeves, one that Wonwoo had insisted you carry for protection. Luckily, you were able to go another day without having to use it, with the most those men could do was yell out names at your back as you disappear in the crowd.

Even with how early it was, or late depending on the person, the streets were still filled with people. Stores opening their doors to sell synthetically processed foods and supplements to help curve your hunger or thirst, groups of people still enjoying the night life despite the sky glowing grey with smog and sunrise, or those hiding in the shadows, waiting for someone to approach them for the drugs they had in their pockets.

Eagerly waiting for the next victim to get hooked and keep coming back for more.

That was life here in Huimang, named with the intentions of being a City of Hope, but hope was not even a luxury that many people could have. You being one of them, but this was still your home.

The apartment was quiet when you got in, with the grey morning light peeking through the blinds and violet lights that Wonwoo left for you. He was long asleep in your bedroom, greeted by golden eyes and soft meows from your shared cat instead. Her soft dark fur feeling comforting against your leg, and you were quick to shed the coat to pick her up.

“Hello to you too, Doodle Bug.” You cooed at the small feline, scratching the side of her head as you made your way into the small kitchen. Wiggling free, Doodle jumped from your arms to the floor, only to look back at you to meow and it brought a smile to your face, “Didn’t your dad feed you before he went to bed?”

This earned another meow from her, and you chuckled. “Alright, alright. You win. Early breakfast it is.”

After feeding the cat a can of her favorite food, you made sure her water bowl was full before making your way to the bathroom to clean up. The boots you switched to after work kicked off to a random corner of the small living room, the revealing top thrown over the back of the sofa, and your shorts that felt more like underwear left on the ground by the bathroom. You didn’t care that you would need to pick up everything later.

The shower felt amazing on your skin, the hot water washing away everything that had clung to you from working that night—sweat, spilled booze, tobacco smoke, the disgusting things that had been said to you, and the ghost of hands that tried to touch you as you tried to serve drinks.

It left the stripped away version of you. The real version of you, or what was left of it from years of running and trying to survive.

When you emerged from the steamy shower, the cold air of the apartment bit at your damp skin and a shiver ran through you. You were ready to slip into the warmth of your bed, into the warmth of Wonwoo. The shower may have washed everything away, but it also made you aware of how sore your muscles were, and how tired you were. Each day growing heavier on you, no matter how many hot showers you took.

You didn’t bother putting on any pajamas, just slipping onto the old worn bed, with your boyfriend sleeping on his side. His back faces you as you settled under the bedding and moved to mold your body against it, pressing your lips against his bare shoulder.

“How was work?” His voice was deeper than usual, rough with sleep, taking one of your hands that rested against his stomach. The sound and gesture making your lips upturn against his skin.

“The usual. Rich, drunk and high assholes that don’t know how to or even capable of keeping their hands too themselves. Thinking that flaunting their wealth, and expensive body mods will impress anyone enough to sleep with them.” You let out a soft sigh, eyes closed while you welcome the warmth of your boyfriend, feeling his thumb run over the back of your hand.

Wonwoo stopped before he shifted himself to sit up, causing you to lift your head in confusion. There was some dried drool at the corner of his mouth, his black hair a tangled mess from sleep, and a frown on his lips. He had taken his left eye out to sleep, so only his right one was opened and trained on you with concern.

Just looking at him made your heart flutter still after years together, still the most beautiful person you ever laid eyes on. You couldn’t stop from thinking of how lucky you were to have him love you and be in your corner. Your missing piece.

“They touched you?” He asked calmly, that sleepy rasp was now gone and something dangerous took center stage. “And Seungcheol did nothing about this?”

“Seungcheol wasn’t there tonight. You know if he was, or any of us said something, they would be out on their asses. Their credits aren’t any good there if they fuck with the servers, no matter how rich they claim to be.” You answer, rolling onto your back, trying to not giggle when his eye dropped to your bare breasts when they moved. You reached out to run your hand over his arm, giving him a reassuring smile. “It’s not anything I can’t handle, baby. They eventually get bored when they realized that I wouldn’t let them fuck me in the bathroom.”

“I should kill them for touching you.” His words sounded more like a growl while he leaned over you. His gaze slid over your frame before it returned to your face. “Only I can touch you.”

“As lovely as that sounds, I rather keep you next to me and not behind a glass window.” The hand that had been resting on his arm moved up to his neck so you could pull him into a kiss.

Wonwoo didn’t resist your pull, leaning down to find your lips, tasting the minty flavor of the teeth cleaning tablet still fresh on your tongue. The kiss was brief, but it still ignited a fire in you, your body warming, and it seeped to your core. You found yourself chasing his lips when he pulled back, the soft whine that left you earned a smirk from your boyfriend.

“Only I’m allowed to touch you.” He repeated, his mouth brushing against yours, slipping on top of you and his hips pushing your thighs open without any resistance from you. He didn’t wear clothes to bed, so when he pressed down, there was no barriers against his hardening cock and your own bare heat. Another moan escaped you, as your hips instinctually moved as if you would be able to catch the tip of his thick length just the right way. “Only I can fuck you in those bathrooms.”

“Is that so?” You teased, trying to not let your lashes flutter at the way Wonwoo’s strong hand grabbed your hips, holding it there with more pressure than needed, but you didn’t mind his possessiveness over you. He pulled his face back to give you a look, knowing that bratty but aroused smirk all too well, and had to hold back a very vocal groan feeling your cunt getting slicker against the underneath of his cock.

“Last I checked, I am in charge of who touches me, and where I get fucked.”

Wonwoo’s mouth latched onto yours, this time his kiss hungry to taste you again, relishing that you returned that same hunger. You were tired, your body desperate for sleep, but you could never pass up a moment like this; especially when you know letting him fuck you would help you sleep better.

His hands moved down your body, caressing your breasts and teased your hardened peaks, while his tongue took claim of yours. Teasing and sucking on it, each of you swallowing moans his hips moving against yours, his cock sliding through your slit teasingly. Letting himself be coated by your arousal, teasing you.

“You want to play a little, or just want me to fuck you?” Wonwoo asked, pulling from the kiss, his eye looking over your face, a lazy smirk playing over his lips. The question made you laugh because it didn’t sound the least bit romantic or intimate, but at the same time, neither of you were aiming for that. Except you weren’t going to miss a chance to pick on him. “What?”

“You sure know how to romance a…oooh.” The words were lost when he shifted his hips back so that he could slip a hand between your legs, slender fingertips slipping between your folds and found your clit with practiced ease. “Fuck… Wonwoo…”

“If you want me to be romantic…” His voice was soft, his touch matched it in movement. Slow, gentle circles around your sensitive bud, teasing and earned whimpers from you. He was doing this on purpose. His lips barely brushed against your as he spoke again. “Then you’re out of luck.” You went to roll your eyes, but instead they rolled back when two fingers pushed into you, a little gasp leaving you while a groan left him. “Always so wet for me. This is why only I can fuck you.”

“Then do it, you dick.” You snapped, though there was no punch behind it, only to earn a chuckle from him. His fingers were going at a slow agonizing pace, like he hadn’t just woken from a deep sleep, and you didn’t just spend all night working. Taking his time like it wasn’t early hours in the morning.

“You’re demanding.”

“But you love me and will listen anyways.” And he did listen, withdrawing his fingers so he could line himself up; the thick tip barely pressed into you making you groan in a mix of frustration and anticipation. He may have listened, but he sure as hell was going to torture you a bit and pulled back when you would try to roll your hips. “Wonwoo!”

He did this to you a few more times before finally sinking into you, earning a moan of pleasure and relief as he took a quick inhale of breath. Your inner walls squeezed and molding to him in such a delicious way that he had to clear his head or he was going to cum right then.

“Fuck baby…” He groaned, stilling after he filled you completely, his forehead pressed against yours and both eyes squeezed shut this time. Your own body was shaking, relishing in the feel of him on top of you and inside you, fitting together like missing pieces.

When he finally started to move, Wonwoo created a tantalizing pace with his thrusts, making sure not only you felt every inch of his length but for his own enjoyment as well. He wasn’t in a rush, but neither of you were going to last long.

“I love you.” You moaned out, clinging to him in need to feel him over every inch of your skin. You needed to feel the weight of him on you, to be grounded, to know he’s still real, that you were still alive. Wonwoo’s mouth was hot on your collarbone, one hand holding onto your hip using his strength to keep you where he wanted you while the other massaged one of your breasts, leaving marks where it would be hard to hide.

“I love you too, fuck. I love you so fucking much,” His words came out labored, the deep vibrations of his voice sending waves over you with his words, his thrusts started to get sloppy quickly. Too lost in the feeling of you and exhaustion that still clung to him.

He was getting close to his release; except he refused to let go first. He had to make you come undone around him before he could. Wonwoo was a lot of things in life, but he was never a selfish lover; at least he never was one with you.

The hand that was massaging the fatty flesh of your breast slipped between you to give you a bit of help to get to your release. He smirked against your skin, gently pressing his lips to a fresh mark, when you let out a small cry when he started to tease your clit. Your nails raked down his back and left red scratch marks down his back.

You weren’t sure if you were just sensitive from the hot shower, and exhaustion but the mixture of his cock plunging into your warmth and his quick finger movements was just enough to push you over the edge. Your body shaking as your release washed over you, any moans and gasps leaving you were now swallowed up by Wonwoo. His mouth was hot against your lips, tongue eagerly licking the inside of your mouth; his moans turning into soft whines.

You were already snug around him, but when you came it was like you were squeezing the life from him. Wonwoo tried to hold out a little longer, until your hands moved down his body to grab his ass, pushing his hips into you to grind and that was it for him. Letting himself go inside you, filling you until he couldn’t give any more.

Neither of you moved for a moment, his kiss now slowing to a gentle make out and a hand cupping your cheek. The room dim and quiet, letting you both forget that there was a dark world out the confides of your little apartment. When that moment passed, Wonwoo pulled himself out with a sensitive wince and rolled himself off you with a groan.

“You are going to be the death of me.” He muttered, now on his back and pulling you to his side. Giving you enough time to move so you were facing him before you were pressed against his slick skin.

“You’re the one who started it.” You mumbled, still attempting to catch your breath as your eyes closed. Your body is completely relaxed, and exhaustion had finally taken you under.

Barely awake, you said in a sleepy tone, “We need to clean up.”

“No we don’t.” Wonwoo grumbled, sleep taking back over him, turning his head to press a kiss to your hairline. “We need to sleep.”

The excessive knocking started to turn into pounding and finally ripped you from your deep sleep. An annoyed groan left your lips as you rolled onto Wonwoo’s side of the bed, empty and feeling cool against your skin. Showing he had been up and gone for a while.

“Fuck off…” You mumbled, but whoever was at your door was persistent, and you couldn’t ignore it any longer. Getting up, you stumbled through the room to find clothes since you weren’t going to answer naked. Luckily, you found a pair of shorts and a shirt of Wonwoo’s, and whoever it was now full on pounding at the door. Causing you to exhaustedly yell, “Fucking stop it! I’m coming!”

Padding through the small apartment, you were tempted to grab a knife from the kitchen once you realized who it was. Especially when the pounding turned into some kind of beat since this asshole thought he was clever.

Ripping the door open, you were met with the bane of your existence leaning against the door frame; acting like he didn’t just use your door as his personal beat box. His attention on his cybernetic hand that he currently had out as a claw. To the Shadow District, he was Hoshi, but to you and a small group of people, he was Kwon Soonyoung. Your best friend by force more times than choice at this point.

“Finally. Thought I was going to have to claw this door down.” He mused, turning his sharp eyes on you with his tongue pushed against the inside of his cheek.

“And if I don’t kill you for it, Wonwoo definitely will.” You snapped, turning from open door to walk to the kitchen. Pushing off the frame, Soonyoung grabbed a plastic bag that was resting at his feet before sauntering into the apartment and closed the door behind him. “It’s too early for this.”

“It’s almost two in the afternoon.” He pointed out, and you shot him a dirty look over your shoulder.

“I worked late last night, you idiot.” You grumbled, and this made him chuckle, retracting his tiger claws so it was normal metal hand. “What are you doing here anyways? Besides pissing me off while the sun is still out.”

“Was able to get my hands one some fresh fruits, like fresh from a farm type. Wanted to share them with one of my bestest friends.” Soonyoung watched as you froze, turning toward him slowly with interest. Your eyes dropped to the plastic bag in his hand filled with strawberries, oranges, and peaches dangling from his normal hand, only for you to look back up at his face. Seeing right through him, and from the look on his face, he knew it too. “Aaaannnddd maybe some credits.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You no longer felt sleepy or even tired anymore, instead you felt a rush of anger through you. You knew that he was using the fruit to attempt to butter you up. “Why didn’t you use the credits you used on the fruit?”

“Didn’t pay for these. I actually called in a favor from a friend. Figured bring an offering to sweeten the passing of credits.”

You groaned in frustration as you snatched the bag from him. He didn’t put up a fight, instead diverting toward the sofa while you moved to the small kitchen to clean and have some of the fruit for breakfast. Frustrated that he’d known you would take the fruit, but he didn’t know you weren’t going to give him a single credit.

“Go away, Soonyoung. Come back around when you’re not wanting something from us.” You told him, waving your hand dismissively in the air. “I told you before, I am not supporting your addiction anymore. Me and Wonwoo are barely making ends meet as it is.”

The blond tsked before he said your name in a slow and condescending tone, one that made your stomach turn uncomfortably, his sharp eyes looking in your direction. Taking in that your hair was still sleep ridden, Wonwoo’s shirt was actually inside out, and your shorts peeking from under just enough to show you rushed to get dressed. Analyzing you and your blatant lie.

“See… you and I both know that is a lie.” He went to say more, but Doodle had distracted him by jumping onto the sofa, meowing, knowing perfectly well that Soonyoung would give her the attention that she was ‘desperate’ for. Reaching out to pet the feline, he finally continued. “If I’m not mistaken, but isn’t your mother still sending you your monthly allowance? With an extra two thousand credits to convince you to leave Wonwoo and come home.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about.” You huffed out, knowing that the only reason your friend was bringing that up was because he was fiending; needing another hit to numb himself like everyone else in this city.

Tears started to sting your eyes, because you hated this side of him. The Soonyoung you once knew wouldn’t do this to you, he would never resort to blackmail, but the fiend version of him would and does with no remorse.

“Oh, we both know you do.” He responded in a calm voice, a wide smile on Soonyoung’s face as he played with Doodle. “What better way to say, ‘fuck you Mom’ than letting me use the credits to buy drugs and you can continue to live with Wonwoo and he can stay blissfully unaware of that little account.”

“Fuck you, Soonyoung.” There was a silence between you, a tense one with the only sound was Doodle’s little chirps. “Get out.”

“I guess, you’re right.” He leaned forward to peck the top of your cat’s head, with her meeting his lips with a soft headbutt. Standing, Soonyoung adjusted his ridiculously baggy pants and his compression shirt. “Wonwoo should be at the docks, right? Him and Gyu doing some recon by helping unload some freight? Maybe I should pay him a bit of a visit, see how him and that deliciously muscular man are doing.” He started toward the door, stopping as he reached for the handle, “Would be such a shame if I happen to let it slip that you’ve been hiding who you were before coming to the Shadow District… or well… ran away to it. I am pretty sure he wouldn’t like knowing the person he loves and trusts isn’t who he thought she was and is hiding a dark secret.”

“You’re a real piece of fucking work, you know that right?”

“I know, one of a kind. No one else like me. So a thousand credits sound good?” Soonyoung then turned around, crossing his arms and leaned against the door. The triumphant smile that graced his lips made your nose scrunch in disgust.

“Not a chance.” You shook your head and the smirk he was wearing started to twitch. “I can give you fifty credits.”

“Now, that isn’t going to work, but I’ll bump it down.” Soonyoung scratched his chin like he was thinking of a new total, before snapping his fingers. “Seven hundred.”

“No. Fifty credits.”

“Listen, I brought you fresh fruit!” He dropped his arms to his sides and stomped his feet childishly, but you didn’t miss the way his cybernetic fingers started to lengthen in claws. “This shit is hard to get.”

“Hard to get fresh fruit, that you didn’t pay for.” You could see the way his eyes were darkening dangerously, but you couldn’t give him the amount he wanted. You didn’t have it, and that account he referenced was one you refused to touch or even acknowledge. “I can do seventy five right now if you leave my fucking apartment.”

“You know you drive a hard bargain.” That smirk was back, and he took a few steps toward you, flexing the now clawed adorned hand. “I’ll take that seventy five, and then I am going to stroll down to those docks.” He held it up when you went to speak, and you closed your mouth. “Now, if you don’t want that, then I will gladly take two hundred credits now and your secret stays safe with me.”

“You’re an asshole.” You answered in defeat, turning away from him to wipe away a stray tear from your cheek and went to find your phone to send the credits. You didn’t want him to see you cry, knowing that this Soonyoung wouldn’t feel an ounce of guilt for it, nor did you want to see the way he bounced excitedly. “Don’t come back around after this, because I’m not giving you another fucking thing. Just take the credits and leave me alone.”

“Yeah, sure.” He didn’t believe you when you said this, he never did. Hell, you didn’t even believe the words that came out of your mouth. “You and I both know that you can’t live without your best friend.”

“You’re not my best friend.” You told him, your stomach sick as you sent the credits through the thin device. Taking a deep breath, you closed your eyes to push back any more tears and attempted to calm yourself before you threw a knife at his head. With a slow breath out, you turned to look at the stranger where Soonyoung once stood. “My best friend died the moment he got hooked on that shit. You’re just the scum that came out of the ashes.”

“Ah, haven’t been referred to as a Phoenix before. I think I prefer tigers still.” He was able to hear the hurt in your voice, he was able to see the pain in your eyes, but he didn’t care. He was too excited that he was able to get high on your credits. “Pleasure doing business with you. Let me know how Wonwoo likes the strawberries. Made sure to grab those for him.”

“Just leave.” You looked away from him, your words felt more like a plea then a demand, one that he actually listened to. But only cause he had what he wanted.

You heard the door open, and his heavy boots walk through the threshold, but you didn’t hear the door close.

“Oh, I forgot to mention.” He spoke slowly, his voice still smug, but there was something softer to it. Like for a moment, your best friend was trying to push past the fiend. “Seokmin saw notices on Holiday. Eviction notices.” Your back stiffened at those words, that sick feeling in your stomach turned into acid in your throat, but you didn’t look back at him. Holiday was a street right before the Shadow District. “I think you and I both know what that means.”

You knew perfectly well what that meant.

“Guess you can’t run from your mom or Skyfall forever.” And with that, Soonyoung closed the door behind him. Leaving you to stand there, next to the counter filled with the fruits he brought.

Tainted with blackmail and betrayal, but that was nothing compared to the anger and fear that you were feeling by his parting words. You felt like you were thrown off kilter, your body no longer felt like yours but the intense emotions that coursed through you.

After all these years that you lied to yourself that the Shadow District wouldn’t be touched by the filthy hands of those rich bastards. Convincing yourself that the home you found here with Wonwoo, with your friends, didn’t always have a looming threat at your door. That you could go a lifetime without seeing her.

It had been years since you ran, but it was still not enough time. It was never enough time to stay away.

The frustrated scream that left you didn’t sound like you, it was raw and from somewhere deep inside you, as you angrily swiped the fruit off the counter and onto the ground. Forgetting that you had pulled out a knife to cut them up and sliced your hand.

“Fuck!” You grasped your wrist, blood starting to come out of the cut, more tears breaking through. Sinking to the ground, you let out a wail as your cried. You were in pain, you were hurting deeper than pain, you were scared.

You were naïve to think that anywhere was safe. Safe from her, safe from Skyfall Industries, safe from the suffocating feeling of greed that came to be a constant in this greedy city.

You lied to Wonwoo when he came home that day, told him that you cut yourself slicing up the fruit Soonyoung had dropped off. Worked it in a way that you wanted him to believe that you had bought them from him, refused to say what happened during your former best friend’s visit, but adamant that the cut happened after he left.

You tried not to look at him when his left eye lens flickered as he scanned your body but failed. Allowing him to read your vitals, take any changes in them, but he didn’t question you further despite of what he’d seen. He didn’t even need to scan you though, unable to hide your distress. That something had happened with Soonyoung, and something deadly started to stir.

He could’ve easily leave, find Soonyoung and put a knife to his throat for upsetting you, for making you feel like you needed to lie to him, but he didn’t. Wonwoo was the quick tempered type, and he had no problem punching or stabbing someone instead of talking it out or walk away, especially when it came to you. But Wonwoo also knew that there was some things that he couldn’t resolve with violence.

Soonyoung, unfortunately, was one of those some things. You were too protective over him, no matter how much the fiend hurt you, but he knew that there was more to it. And whatever that fiend had over you, it kept you from cutting him off. It kept you from telling him.

“Earth to Wonwoo,” Vernon spoke up, pulling the older man from his thoughts and turned his attention back to the conversation at hand. The younger man was sitting on a filing cabinet that was in the corner of Jihoon’s office, one arm resting on his knee while his head leaned back against the wall. “I know it sucks down here, but we are talking business.”

“Sorry.” Wonwoo answered with a sigh, his eyes moved toward the other two men in the room. Jihoon was sitting at his desk chair, his attention on the tablet in his hands and not on the rest on the room. Mingyu was leaning against the wall next to the door, and his attention on his best friend, sensing something was up the moment he saw him. “What was the question again?”

“What did you see in the boxes from the dock yesterday?” Jihoon repeated, and a scoff left Vernon when he did. “Mingyu said you saw something in some of the boxes.”

“It wasn’t what I saw, it was what I didn’t see.” Wonwoo could hear Mingyu murmuring an apology for getting it wrong and leaned forward to rest his chin on his hand. This made Jihoon finally look at him. “That and where they were going.”

“What you mean you couldn’t see?” It was Vernon who spoke, another scoff leaving him as he looked for a pack of cigarettes in the pockets of his jumpsuit, not caring that he received a dark look. “Thought that hacked ass eye of yours could see through shit. You know through thermal scans or some shit.”

“I am not above putting a knife through your own fucking eye. Make you just like me.” Wonwoo warned, which only earned another cocky laugh. The cybernetic-free punk ass knew that he wasn’t joking or bluffing, but they just didn’t give a shit, making his hand twitch toward the knife that he kept hidden away.

“Just get to it.” Jihoon snapped, shooting his own dark look toward both of them. “Why couldn’t you see?”

“Most the boxes, easy to scan and act like I am verifying cargo, but there was about three or four large ones. Couldn’t get a reading at all.” Adjusting in his seat, Wonwoo continued to speak. “Boxes came up empty, but they were definitely not.”

“Took ten of us just to move one onto the truck.” Mingyu grumbled, sounding annoyed that he had to be reminded of the labor he had to do. “No way we were going to be able to move those with the forklift.”

“Well, where are they taking them?” Vernon asked, while Jihoon looked between the two men before them.

“The Factory.” Mingyu answered. The Factory was a warehouse on the dock, typically a storage unit for parts until they are shipped to facilities to build or specialize in installing them on people.  

“Why is that so weird? Everything goes there.” Jihoon sat the tablet down onto his desk to stand, a low grimace sketched over his face, his hand reaching down to massage his leg only to be met with metal. The rest of the group watched in silence as Jihoon schooled his expression and cautiously took steps away from his desk.

“That’s their first stop. The next stop is an address on Holiday. Skyfall Cybernetics Shop, but the address is a set of apartments right now.” This brought an uncomfortable silence over them, one that even Vernon was part of. This was too close to home, and none of them wanted to actually say what it could mean. After a heartbeat of silence, Wonwoo was the one to say it, “This is becoming more than stealing parts.”

“You’re right.” Jihoon nodded, not looking toward anyone as he tried to pace but only manage an awkward limp. Without thinking, Wonwoo’s left eye flickered behind his glasses, scanning his friend and boss to analyze him. Checked for anything different in his vitals.

Jihoon may have been good at keeping himself levelheaded in front of his crew, he never liked showing his worry nor when he was in pain, but he couldn’t hide it away from Wonwoo. And it wasn’t like it was something he typically did, he wouldn’t just scan his friends unless he felt like he needed to, but something told him to do it, and he was right to. Not only was his friend in pain, but he could tell by the increased vitals that there was more than that.

This was more than a simple heist job, this was more than stealing a few parts for a few thousand credits to split. They could easily still go on with the job, focus on the parts on the list and ignore the large boxes since they weren’t what they were looking for. But if Skyfall Industries took the steps to make it where not even scanners could penetrate the boxes, then that possibly meant more security so their usual ways weren’t going to cut it.

It caused the unspoken question hang heavy among the four of them. Was taking this job a good idea after all?

A familiar rhythmic knock broke through the silence that had followed Jihoon’s words, causing the four of them to look toward the opening door. It was Soonyoung, practically skipping into the room with wide eyes, pupils completely blown out, and his skin had a glow to it. His blond hair spiked up, and it was a surprise that the corner of his lips weren’t splitting from the size of his shit eating grin he wore.

The fucking fiend was on a high, and it was obvious to the rest of the people in the room. No scan was needed for this.

“Why hello there gentlemen. Lovely day isn’t it?” He said with a chirpy voice, shooting a smug look toward Wonwoo as he went to close the door. Like he was rubbing something into his face without saying what it was, and that deadly feeling started to stir inside again.

His thoughts went back to when he had come home to you, your hand wrapped in gauze and a few droplets of blood that you missed on the floor. He thought back to how you wouldn’t look at him when you told him that you did it while cutting fruit, the fruit that you ‘bought’ off Soonyoung, and the way your voice was raspy but still full of tears. You made him promise to not go and off the fiend, that he had nothing to do with your hand or your state.

And Wonwoo tried to keep his promise to you, even though he didn’t believe you, because you were so protective over Soonyoung. But that smug look on that mother fucker’s face, while your teary and sad look was burned into his brain, snapped something in him. He was out of his seat before he could stop himself.

A hiss of pain left Soonyoung when Wonwoo slammed him against the door, the doorknob jabbing into his back while a knife was pressed to his throat. Pinning him to the office door and made the three other men yell in surprise.

“You got some fucking nerve showing your face around me right now.” Wonwoo hissed, pressing his sharp knife to Soonyoung’s jugular, more than willing to slice his neck open. “Not after how you left my girl yesterday.”

“Oh that…” Soonyoung sighed dramatically, his cybernetic hand resting on Wonwoo’s arm with the tips of the metal fingers lengthened to sharp claws. A warning from the fiend, but Wonwoo didn’t care. He was seeing so much red that it triggered his fake eye to turn the bright color behind his glasses, and Soonyoung’s smug look turned sadistic. Wonwoo wanted to end him right then and there, ready to watch him bleed out on Jihoon’s office floor. “You’re being so dramatic, all I did was sell her some fruit.”

“You drugged up mother fucker.” The words came out like venom which switched something in Soonyoung, because his blown out eyes flashed and the claws of his hand started to rip the sleeves of his coat. His unserious warning now turning deadly in its own right. Either of them could kill the other right then and there easily.

Neither man would do it though. Wonwoo wouldn’t because he would lose you for good if he did, while there was still shards of the old Soonyoung inside the fiend somewhere that stopped him. Except it didn’t stop them from wanting to, and that was enough to have the other men on them quickly.

Mingyu’s tight grip on Soonyoung’s metal wrist, attempting to loosen his hold on him while Vernon and Jihoon attempted to pull Wonwoo away. Especially the hand that held the knife to the fiend’s throat.

“Let go of him.” Jihoon commanded, while the three men struggled to pull them apart. “Do you think she would be happy with you if you killed him?”

“Yeah, Wonwoo baby.” That smug look was back, but this time there was something sinister and wild to it. He was getting off on this, and it only made Wonwoo’s grip tighten on his knife. “Be a good boy and listen to Jihoonie. Don’t want your princess unhappy with you, do you?”

“Soonyoung shut up, or we will let him kill you and help him lie about what happened to you.” Jihoon scowled, then leaned closer toward Wonwoo. His voice softer in hopes that will help defuse the situation. “Come on, he’s trying to get you to do something stupid. He’s not worth it.”

“Wonwoo…” Mingyu also tried to reason with him, his dark eyes on the older man and were filled with concern.

After a moment, Wonwoo finally pulled the knife away and stepping back while Soonyoung released his grip. The metal claws retracting back to fingers, while his human hand went to his neck to run over the skin where the knife was pressed into him, checking to see if blood was drawn. Only to be disappointed to find that Wonwoo didn’t leave any nicks on him, unable to find a reason to villainize him.

“You should thank her.” Wonwoo told the fiend flatly, more distance created as the two youngest of the group stepped between them. Vernon’s eyes on Soonyoung and Mingyu’s on Wonwoo, both wearing unsure looks on their faces. Neither trusted the fiend or Wonwoo to go back after each other. “If it wasn’t for her, I would have killed you long ago.”

“How generous of you.” Soonyoung was dry with his words, smoothing out the wrinkles of his shirt. The claws were completely put away, but his sharp eyes were still wild and shining with dare. Daring Wonwoo to come at him again.

“Enough.” Jihoon demanded, a hiss of pain followed when he took unsteady steps back from the situation. With a hand planted on the desk, the shorter man shifted on his feet to take pressure of his cybernetic leg. “What are you doing here, Soonyoung? We’re not interested in your bullshit today.”

“Jihoonie. My baby, the love of my life, the sparkle to my eye…”

“I am none of those things to you.” Jihoon sneered while Soonyoung clutched his chest as he changed the sweet talk to hurt.

“…You wound my heart. You wound my soul.” Soonyoung let out an over exaggerated wail, and the rest of the men in the room rolled their eyes. When he wasn’t going to get any other reaction out of them, Soonyoung just sighed and crossed his arms. “I came by just to see my favorite boytoy…”

“Not your boytoy.”

“…But I couldn’t help but overhear when opening the door that you guys were talking about Holiday.” The way the fiend’s lip twitched into a smirk, and it was clear that he found a way to take advantage for his own gain. “I think I may have some information that may benefit you.”

“I’m not paying you shit for whatever you have.” Jihoon saw right through him, just like the rest did. Wonwoo found his place back in his chair, more slouched as he glared at the fiend while the two younger went back to their places in the office. Though Mingyu was standing closer toward Soonyoung, ready to grab him if needed. “I don’t have some promise to not kill you going, so you can either tell me, or I’ll shoot you in the shin.”

“That’s one way to get me on my knees for you baby, but for a few credits, I’ll do it without the bullet.” He went to take a step further into the office, but with a sharp nod from Jihoon, he was stopped by Mingyu. Keeping him by the door and acted as the line in the sand.

“Just get with it.” It was Vernon who spoke, perched back on the filing cabinet, and sounding just as fed up the rest of them. “You’re not going to extort us like you do others. With us, aside from wiped boy over here,” He smirked when he earned a dirty look and a finger from Wonwoo, “you’ll either tell us, you keep your mouth shut, or the next parts you get will not be cosmetic.”

“Whatever you say, pretty boy.” Soonyoung scoffed, crossing his arms and rolled his eyes. “Fine…I’ll tell you…”

Growing up, you’d always heard about the Shadow District from the people around you. To the adults in your life, it was seen as a cesspool of filth and crime. They viewed the people who resided there as criminals and low life individuals with no hope or place in their future society. The area was supposedly so bad that not even your mother or the rest of the elites at Skyfall wanted to set foot in or even want to touch.

They viewed it as a lost cause and ordered others around your age to stay away.

To your peers, they had shared the same view as the adults, that only criminals and low lives lived there but that didn’t stop many of them from venturing over. Mostly to buy the drugs that were offer, addicting and fun party favors to take to the parties they would throw in their empty penthouse apartments, try to sneak into the roughest bars and clubs, or whatever else teens did to cause problems. They saw going into the district as a challenge, when really all it was were cries of attention that their parents would never give.

To Soonyoung, the boy whose mom raised you more than your own mother did, it was home. He was the only person you knew that would talk about the Shadow District in a positive light, making sure you knew that was still beauty beyond the stories that others would tell you. That deep past the crime and poverty, it had a community stronger than anywhere else in the city.

People weren’t fake as the ones in West Hills Parkway where you grew up, or any other rich area in Huimang. Good but guarded people, even if many lost their way in their fight to survive because of the elites running the rest of the city. They were all more than just stolen cybernetics, drugs that would numb them enough to live another day or had to break laws to make ends meet.

He would always talk about taking you there, so he could show you that beauty behind the ugly. Even joking that he was sure you would find a sense of belonging there instead of the world you grew up in and was expected to assimilate to what everyone else expected you to be.

Because in the Shadow District, no one expected you to behave a certain way, no one expected you to be perfect there. No one cared enough, because they all had their own shit to worry about. There you could be anyone you wanted, disappear and become a completely different person than who you were. It was a reality you dreamt to be in, no matter how dark it was, and at one point those jokes stopped being just jokes.

So, the first time Soonyoung took you there, you had finally ran away from your old life and a version of you that wasn’t real. You ran away from the expectations that were laid before you, the evils that were behind the closed doors of Skyfall, left behind a last name that never felt was yours, and changing yourself to someone different.

You became someone else, just another soul trying to survive like everyone else around you.

It hadn’t been easy by any means. You weren’t proud of some of the things that you did along the way, having to adapt and change to survive, but you were happier. Eventually you met Wonwoo, someone who wasn’t meant to be anything more than a dick to ride and a bed to sleep in for the night and fell in love. It was still hard, but together you made it work with him giving you love and shelter while you returned that love and made that shelter a place you both could call home.

You lost a lot over the years for your choices, family and friends, but you also gained just as many. You were free to be who you were and free from your mother’s control, her demands. You were struggling, but you were happy.

But that all came crashing down after Soonyoung’s recent visit, pulling out that flicker of fear you hid away by everything else. The fear that Skyfall would decide that the Shadow District and its real estate was worth their attention. Now, you had to face the reality.

The reality that your past is catching up to you, the reality that Wonwoo will learn of the who you used to be and ran from. Find out that you’ve lied to him for so long. It distracted you, it clouded your thoughts, made you keep looking over your shoulder as you walked to work and was late. The night didn’t get any better either.

Chan snapped his fingers to bring you out of your thoughts, bringing back to Cherries’ busy bar and the full tray of drinks waiting for one of your tables. He raised his brow to you, silently questioning where your head was that night, and all you could do was force a smile at him. It was meant to be your way of telling him you were fine, but your lips felt tight over your teeth. You could only hope that he bought it or didn’t care enough to believe it.

The only response you got from Chan was a shrug, moving away from you to tend to the other customers and servers waiting for their drinks. You picked up the full tray of drinks and carefully balanced them as you made your way through the crowded club. Easily maneuvering through the groups of people standing together, too focused on not bumping into anyone and get to the table with their order, so you weren’t paying attention to the faces of the people around you.

So when a hand reached out and caught you by the hip, it startled you and nearly caused you to drop the tray. Rebalancing yourself, you twisted your head where the hand that held onto you came from, a frown playing over your features. The owner was a smug business type at one of the booths, sleek expensive clothes, hair styled back that people like to see as ‘professional’, and the cybernetics weren’t for because he needed it. They purely for aesthetic and status purposes.

Especially with the type of metal that was used, the highest of qualities that was buffed to shine. It would have looked nice with the flashing lights hitting it, had it been on anyone else and they didn’t touch you like you were a toy to grab. With a jerk of your hips, you pulled yourself away from his touch as a sickening feeling crept up you from where his hand was. Like you just touched poison.

“I will be right back with you.” You yelled over the music, taking a step away from the table to your destination when they spoke your name. You froze on the spot.

It wasn’t because he called you by your first name, most of the patrons here knew it. It was the last name. Your old last name. Your mother’s last name.

“It’s you isn’t it?” He had stood from his seat, you felt him take a step toward you and reach for you again.

“No.” You responded, shooting him a dirty look and pushed forward through the crowd. Blood rushed through your ears, not liking that he still had that smug look on his face, a mixture of anger and panic coursing through you.

You don’t recognize him, it had been so long since you’d seen anyone from your past that they all became nothing but blur of faces and metals, so you couldn’t think of his name or what family he was from. Except he recognized you. You were cybernetic free and looked nearly the same as you did when you ran, just older, more mature, and signs of you learning to survive. He recognized you and called you out by your old name.

As you got closer to the table you were serving, you decided that you were going to circle back to the bar from the other side of the club and get one of the other girls to help him and his table. Maybe even avoid this side for the rest of the night.

It all happened quickly after that. You were so lost in your plans that you missed a girl taking a step back, and you collided right into her. The tray full of drinks flew through the air, splashing the people sitting at the table and everyone standing around them while you landed on the ground with a thud.

The girl who had tripped you was quick to help you up, apologizing to you as you apologized profusely to the people at the table. Your hands moved quickly to grab all the spilled glasses and rush to the bar to get towels from Chan; who was already had a stack of small of them on the bar to help clean up. His expression unreadable, with a new set of glasses already out so he could remake their drinks.

You cleaned up the mess the best you could and was able to get the new drinks to them, while Seungkwan, your manager, tried to placate one of the girls in the group. She was the only one who didn’t get hit with alcohol, but she made a fuss and complained to him about you. Not giving a single damn if she was being truthful or that you were still standing there.

“Go get some air,” Seungkwan spoke to you at one point, cutting off the girl to do so and she looked like she was ready to explode. “I will talk to you when I am done here.”

With a solemn nod, you turned to head to the back of the club. With a glance toward the bar, you saw Chan give you a sympathetic look but was quick to return back to his job, so he wasn’t joining you in getting yelled at. You couldn’t blame him for that, because you didn’t want to be in this position either.

The back of the club was a private alley, one that was fenced off by Cherries’ owner Seungcheol so that not only was there no issues with inventory deliveries, but so his staff had somewhere to hide away. It stopped them from being harassed when they would go smoke or be able to take a breather away from a busy night. It was the only club in the area that did this, and you were grateful that you worked there and not anywhere else.

The cool night air felt like a relief to your hot and sweat covered skin, instantly relaxing you as you breathed in the smell of rain and a permanent smell of oil. It grounded you, giving you the chance to center yourself and remind yourself that you were better than this.

The sound of the back door opening caused you to twist around as Seungkwan walked out with a cigarette in his hand. Leaning against the wall, he took his time lighting the wrapped tobacco and let the heavy door shut before speaking.

“You going to tell me what happened in there?” He asked, blowing a cloud of smoke in the air before his tongue pressed against his cheek, and the brief respite you had was taken away. “I had to comp two rounds of drinks just now, and not to mention, Chan has been saying you been acting strange all night.” He took another drag of his cigarette, his eyes narrowed. “Are you on something?”

“What? No, of course not.” You answered tensely, not liking that he accused you of that. “I just have a lot on my mind. I wasn’t paying attention as well as I should have.” Looking down at your hands, purposely leaving out your encounter with the nameless guy. No one here knew you by that name, and you couldn’t afford it getting out. “I’m sorry. I will do better.”

There was a beat of silence, and you cast your gaze nervously up toward Seungkwan, only to see his eyes were on his cigarette and not you, his expression hard to read. Which made your stomach churn uncomfortably since your manager was an expressive man, always wearing his heart on his sleeve. He made sure that he said what was on his mind, even if it got him in trouble or hurt someone’s feelings.

“Listen…” He finally spoke as he blew out another cloud of smoke then licked his lips. “The first rule at Cherries is plain and simple, whatever shit you have going on in your life is left at the door. You’re here to work, not fucking worry about shit that has nothing to do with this place.”

“I know, Kwan. I am…”

“Sorry. Yeah, I know. You guys always are.” A scoff left him as he said this, taking a final drag of his cigarette then dropped it into a small rain puddle next to him. “You’re paying for all the drinks I had to comp tonight, Chan's tallying it all up now and will be taking it from your tips and earnings tonight.”

Hearing these words made you feel sick, that churning turned sour and felt like bile was already creeping up. After Soonyoung’s blackmail, you couldn’t have this happen since those credits you just lost was needed to recover that loss and for rent. You couldn’t afford to lose another credit, not when you weren’t sure what the payoff was for the job Jihoon had Wonwoo doing.

And you refused to touch that account your mother had for you.

“Understood.” You told him after a long moment of silence on your part, forced to accept this fate of yours. There was no point in arguing with Seungkwan without giving too much away, without giving yourself away. You were in a lose/lose situation here.

“I know that it seems unfair, but you got lucky here since we have fired others for less.” Seungkwan went to grab the door handle to go back inside, before stopping and looking at you with a resigned expression. “Guess is pays that Cheol has a soft spot for Wonwoo, or you wouldn’t just be paying for those drinks, you’d be looking for another job. Take a few minutes to get your head right and then get back in here. We need you tonight, or I would’ve sent your ass home.”

With that, he disappeared through the large metal door. His words echoed through your brain, the contempt he had when he mentioned your boyfriend’s name and his pull with the Cherries’ owner. And by proxy you as well.

You took that few minutes before returning to your job and managed to finish the night with no further mistakes, but you were not able to push your thoughts away. After what happened that night, that nameless guy who knew you by your old name, and Skyfall Industries finally deciding that the Shadow District was worthy for their development, you couldn’t ignore the crushing realization that the two worlds you knew were colliding.

It was early in the morning when you got home and was surprised to see Wonwoo already up and in the kitchen making coffee. With his hair sticking up in different directions, one eye barely open while the other stayed shut, his face still had the indents of his pillow, and sleep still heavy on him. He wasn't in anything more than a pair of dark grey boxers, giving you a perfect view of the rest of his body.

A lean muscular frame with naturally broad shoulders, long legs, and strong arms that was normally hidden away by dark heavy clothes due to the scars that littered on different places on his body. Old wounds from fights he got into over the years, from the accident that caused him to lose his left eye, and from other stupid shit he did. You were seeing one of the barest version of him, a version that only you see, and it was your favorite.

When he looked at you, it made your heart squeeze when a sleepy smile broke across his lips, and a hand reach out to you. One that you reached for without hesitation, your body moving without needing to think too much about it, just ready to be in his presence.

"Hey baby." His voice was rough, his fingers interlocking with yours to pull you into him, before his lips found the top of your head. Pressing them against your hair, before breathing you in. "You smell good."

"I smell gross." You giggle softly, tilting your head so that his lips could find yours. The soft press of his lips helped loosen some of the tension that was clinging to you, but not enough to help you forget. You still had to tell him about that you lose money instead of bringing any home.

"I don't think so." He shook his head, before pressed another kiss to your lips. When he pulled away, his brows then furrowed when he saw your face. "What's wrong? Did something happen at work?"

"Just had a shitty night. Spilled a tray of alcohol all over a table full of people, and Seungkwan was not happy because he had to comp two rounds of drinks." You answered with a small voice and attempted to turn away from him but one of his hands grasped your face to stop you. It hurt to see that smile gone, and concern shine through his eye. "I ended up having to pay for the drinks that we lost today and was told I am lucky that I wasn’t fired." You let out a shaky sigh, "We needed those credits."

You earned silence from your boyfriend, the frown deepened and his eye stayed on you. The sleep that was still clinging to him when you walked in gone, with only the physical signs left. The arm that was wrapped possessively around your waist had tightened, pressing you more against his near bare frame, while the hand on your face held you there. His expression was dark, and it made you slightly nervous.

"I'm sorry…" Your voice sounded small, and this earned a dark laugh from Wonwoo, his thumb brushing against your cheek affectionately. "I'll talk to Seungcheol when he's in next and see if I can get an extra shift to make up for what I lost today."

"Don't worry about it. Shit happens." Wonwoo shook his head, though his expression didn’t changed and his tone was sharper. You knew that he was pissed with you, it wasn't hard to read him when he was like this, but he was holding himself back.

A fight wasn’t something either of you needed, and it left a heavy tension between you both. You avoided his gaze that was searching your face, threatening to pull your secrets that now lingered under the surface than buried deep without the help of his eye. With one look, he would know everything you hid from him, and you would lose everything. You couldn’t have that.

“I love you.” You finally said after a long beat of silence, your fingers brushing against the back of the hand that held your face as you pressed yourself against him. Your eyes flicked up toward his, wanting to be sure that he saw the tip of your tongue run over your bottom lip before you leaned forward to kiss the curve of his collarbone.

“I love you too, but what’s going on? You haven’t—fuck.” A soft groan left him when your mouth moved to his neck, kissing the kiss as your free hand moved down between you. Your hand slid over the fabric of his underwear, cupping his hardened cock through the thin material.

You weren't proud of what you were doing, but it was the only way to distract him. You weren't ready for it all to come out. You weren't ready for him to walk away and hate you.

"Everything is fine, don’t worry." You lied, grateful that he didn't have his left eye in, or he would’ve seen right through you, and used it to your advantage, pulling from his hold to move your mouth over his chest. You earned a moan from him when your teeth grazed his skin, massaging the twitching bulge with your hand, and gave the thick member a gentle squeeze.

"Don't… ah… think I don't know what you're doing." Wonwoo managed to get out with effort, his right eye watching as you slipped down onto your knees. Not caring that you were still in the deep red dress that you had worn that night for work, because you were on a mission. You left a reminder of yourself on his hip, fingers hooking the band of his underwear to pull down. Freeing his cock from its confides.

You chose to not respond, your thighs pressed together at the sight of him, so easily ready for you. His fingers brushed against your hairline, and you looked up to him while your own wrapped around his length, catching the way his face contorted in pleasure when you tentatively stroked him. Mouth slightly opened, with breathy moans escaped while he tried to keep his one eye open to take in the way you looked for him.

Wonwoo went to speak you name in a stern voice, but it was lost when your mouth brushed the tip of his cock before planting an open mouth kiss on it. Pulling back, you gathered some spit in your mouth to dribble it onto his length, coating it with your hand so it easier to stroke what you couldn't fit into your mouth.

The hand that had been brushing your hairline now was going to grip at your hair when you finally took him between your lips, taking nearly half of him in one go and ignored the need to gag when it hit the back of your throat. Wonwoo's head dropped back, no longer concerned over anything exchanged between the two of you, already lost in you. Too lost in the wet heat of your mouth and your tongue pressed against his underneath.

Your hand moved in sync of your mouth, at a pace that he liked, and took him as far down your throat as you could go. It left your boyfriend a mess before you, his grip on your hair tightened but wouldn't take control. The sight of him from this angle made you clench around nothing, your already wet underwear stick to your cunt uncomfortably. To relief the feeling, you slipped a free hand between your thighs.

The feeling of your touch over the covered heat caused you do a quick inhale through your nose that was followed by a whimper. The sound made Wonwoo's head to snap forward, prying open his eye to take in the sight of you. Your mouth stretched over his cock, lips red, and eyes glossed over. Your red dress pushed up your hips and giving him view of one of your hands between your legs, touching yourself while you pleasured him.

The sight made him twitch in your mouth, and found himself quickly near the edge, but Wonwoo was a greedy man. He wanted his as well as yours and watching as you touched yourself as you worked to give him his own was not enough. He needed to feel it himself, he felt like a fiend needing their fix.

With a firm tug of your hair, Wonwoo pulled you off his cock, a groan left his lips when he saw a string of spit trail from your mouth to his cock.

"Get up." He commanded, releasing your hair to help you stand. His own hands rough as he moved you how he wanted you, and you let him. Loving the way he would handle you and took control.

The smell of coffee and sex filled the small apartment as you rested your arms onto the kitchen counter while Wonwoo took his place behind you. He pushed the dress up so that it was now at your waist, and your ruined underwear pulled down. The cook air of the apartment had sent shivers through you when it meat your wet head, leaving you to be the one whimpering.

"Wonwoo…" You weren't sure what you were going to say after this, his name felt right on your tongue in that moment. Especially when you felt the thick head of his cock tease your wet slit, catching your opening just right and you attempted to push your hips back. "Please."

"You know, I have to leave soon…" The words were slightly muffled, Wonwoo's mouth pressed against your shoulder. He continued to tease you, knowing that it would make you lose your mind. "I am supposed to meet Vernon out on the dock today." You found it funny that he said this while he took his time, wording it like it's your fault. It was, but you only intended to suck him off. "Good thing that fucking prick is always late."

You went to respond, only for your mouth to drop when he sunk his teeth into your shoulder and filled you completely in one thrust. It made your eyes roll, the stretch was enough to numb your own mind of everything that was playing in it. This may have started to distract him, but the way he filled you and the way his body enveloped you, maybe you needed this yourself.

Wonwoo didn't stay still too long, pulling back until he was only half out, before snapping his hips forward. The force of the thrust jerked you into the counter, causing your grip to tighten on the counter’s edge to steady yourself. A soft cry left you as you attempted to meet his thrusts but his grip on your hips stopped you. It left you to take what he gave you.

His breath hot against your shoulder as he fucked you in the middle of your shared kitchen, each thrust felt rougher than the last. Filling the apartment with the sounds of skin slapping, the moans that left you both, and the slick sounds of his cock plunging into your cunt. Every time you squeezed around him a string of curses left him, loosening his grip on your hips enough to adjust and pulled you to an upright position.

Your back pressed against his chest, while his mouth was on your neck, running his tongue over the sweat that was starting to collect from your activities. His hands roamed your body as one of your own reached back to grab his hair, trying to find an anchor at the new angle of his thrusts. No longer was he the only mess in this, you were too.

"Wonwoo." You whimpered out his name, with tears pricking at your eyes at the feeling your release almost within reach. Slipping a hand between your legs, you started to desperately rubbing your clit to help him push you over.

Your release hit you harder than you expected, your knees nearly buckled and was more than grateful that you were being held up in that moment. Wonwoo's release quickly followed with a low groan in your ear, and kept you anchored against him. Your breathing labored as you came down from your highs.

Dropping your head back against his shoulder, your boyfriend pressed a kiss to your temple.

"Don't worry too much about the money right now," He murmured against your skin, pulling out of you after a few moments and turned you to face him. Skin flushed, sweat falling from his brow, breathing came out in slight pants, as he looked at you with one eye. "This job that Jihoon is having us do will bring in a decent amount of credits each and bring more parts to the district." He smiled softly. "It'll be enough to keep us comfortable for a while, and maybe even enough to get you, me, and Doodle out of the city. Start over somewhere new."

It was something he always said when Jihoon had him do a job, it was a promise that he kept trying to speak into fruition. It would bring you hope every time he would say it, but this time, it only brought back that uncomfortable twist in your stomach.

“I don’t see why we’re still trying to do this job.” Vernon muttered, blowing smoke from his cigarette, and looked like he wanted to be anywhere but at the dock with Wonwoo. The two had been tasked to stake out the Factory and report back to Jihoon, “Look at the fucking place. Covered in guards that look more like cyborgs than human. What the fuck do they have that needs that much security?”

“Whatever was in those boxes.” Wonwoo answered, declining the pack of cigarettes the younger had offered him. He was tempted, but he didn’t want to pull his mask down as his eyes stayed trained on the building. His eye flickered every so often as he took photos of the large warehouse and the guards that patrolled it, while making sure to notes any patterns he caught. “Jihoon wants us to get photos and videos of everything.”

“Better be so that he can demand more credits if they really want us to do this.” Vernon scoffed as a set of cars pulled up to the Factory’s entrance. Sleek vehicles that screamed status and money. “Hazard pay or whatever the fuck it’s called.”

“That and he’s brought the Angel in to help. If these guards are more parts than human, then we’ll need his help and insight on this.”

“We’re definitely fucked if he had to bring that asshole in.” Vernon grumbled as he pulled his beanie further onto his head and Wonwoo let out a huff of a laugh. They watched one of the car doors open so a woman could get out.

She was older, dark red suit, hair perfectly styled, and a heavy aura of power that clung to her like a second skin. It was clear she was someone important as she was greeted by one of the guards, something that he made sure to note. Then she briefly looked in their direction, and Wonwoo felt a sudden familiarity to her.

The woman was then joined by two more men from the other car, all talking with the guard before making their way into the building. Not before Wonwoo’s eye was able to zoom in and get some photos of all of them. Included in them was a good shot of the woman’s face, and it was then he started to realize that she looked like you, but an older version. There was subtle differences, but it was like he was seeing you over twenty years in the future.

“That woman looks like Y/N.” Vernon pointed out, not looking in Wonwoo’s direction to see that he was having a moment himself. “But like older, richer, and probably a bigger bitch.” The older man shot him a look that Vernon caught. “What? I ain’t saying she’s a bitch all the time, but the girl bites.”

“Don’t I know it.” Wonwoo answered, the photo of the woman still on the screen of his eye. Analyzing her features and matching them to  you with something unsettling in his stomach. He had known you weren’t a native to the Shadow District when he met you, but he remembered you  telling him that you had no family and the closest to family you had was Soonyoung.

He didn’t have a reason to not believe you, it was just sex. It wasn’t important at the time, and the subject of your family had been a sore spot for you. Now looking at this woman, her likeness to you, it made him wonder if you had lied to him.

“How much longer do we have to be here?” Vernon’s bored tone tore Wonwoo from his thoughts, as well as his attention from the building to look in his direction to see he had lit another cigarette.

“I’m sorry, but do you have some other plans that you need to get to?” The words came out harsher than he intended, which earned a sneer from Vernon. “You haven’t shut the fuck up since we got here.”

“Well seeing as this shit keeps getting more complicated, not to mention the looming reality that Skyfall is kicking people out of their homes for whatever ‘redevelopment’ bullshit they have going on. I would say that my bitching and lack of wanting to be on a fucking suicide mission is reasonable.” Vernon waved his hand toward Wonwoo. “I honestly don’t see what this is supposed to accomplish having us fucking sit here? This place fucking stinks of fish and oil, and all that’s going on is you’re taking pictures with that fuck ass eye of yours.” The laugh that left him was bitter. “This surveillance we are doing isn’t going to do shit for us when those fucking things are guarding this shit.”

“Jihoon isn’t holding a gun to your head to do this, you know that right? You don’t have to be part of this.”

“Nah, I rather get the credits.” This answer made Wonwoo roll his eyes, before shaking his head. “I am going to take off though. This shit doesn’t need both of us.” Vernon then pushed off the set of boxes they’d been perched on since early that morning and gave him a nod. “I’d say it was a pleasure, but you annoy the shit out of me, so bye.”

“Yeah, go fuck yourself.” Despite the harsh words, the two did a weird handshake before Vernon was gone. Leaving Wonwoo to finish getting a few more shots and videos, and when he looked back to the building, he caught the woman had excited to go back to her car. As if she was able to feel his eyes on her, she looked in his direction and made eye contact with him.

Wonwoo had his face hidden pretty well, with a mask covering most of his face and his glasses covering the other half. His beanie and thick hood covered his hair, so she had no idea what he looked like, but it didn’t feel that way with the way she looked at him. Like she knew exactly who he was.

He didn’t look away either, taking several more photos of her with his eyes; ones of her head on. No longer caring what he was there for as the realization that she was someone to you, and from the similarities, family, hit him hard.

She then smirked at him before she slipped into the back of the car, letting the driver close the door behind her. Wonwoo didn’t move, catching images of the plates of as the vehicle left the docks.

 Several blocks from the docks, you couldn’t sleep no matter how hard you tried. After sex with Wonwoo didn’t work, you tried to take a hot shower, drank some tea that you were saving, read, laid in silence, laid with a window open so you could hear the street below, but sleep still didn’t happen. You ended up giving up and found yourself on the sofa, wrapped up in your boyfriend’s clothes that smelled like him, and Doodle laid on your lap purring softly.

The comforting feeling of his Wonwoo’s clothes, his smell, and the soft purrs of your pet grounded you, but it didn’t settle anything. You weren’t sure if you wanted to scream and cry in despair and worry or throw and punch things in anger and rage. Nor were you sure where to direct it all.

At life. At your mother and Skyfall Industries. Or at yourself for making this worse by keeping this secret from Wonwoo as long as you did.

The knock at the door and Doodle rushing off the sofa in a panic startled you. The feline stopped once one the floor to look at the door, her eyes wide and pupils dilated in fear before disappearing when another knock came. Her reaction was unusual and didn’t sit right with you as you slipped off the sofa.

When you reached the door, you cautiously looked through the peephole to see who was there, and your mouth went dry. Standing there was a woman with an annoyed and mildly disgusted look on her face and looked like she would rather be anywhere else. The sight of her stirred emotions that you remembered feeling every day growing up.

“I would recommend opening up.” She sighed as she adjusted her expensive designer bag onto her other arm. “I know you are there, and this is no way to treat your mother after all these years.” You didn’t move, or say anything in response, that earned another sigh from her as she spoke your name. “I think it would be wise to open this door, or I will have my men pick up that boyfriend of yours for sniffing around the Factory.”

She knew that would get what she wanted when you ripped open the door with a snarl to your lips.

“You touch him, and I will kill you without a second though.” You seethed to your uncaring mother, who just laughed and shook her head. “What do you want?”

“I wasn’t going to be in the area and pass up a chance to see my daughter.” She pushed past you, her shoulder bumping against yours while she took in the sight of the small apartment. Her eyes moved from the old furniture to the run down cat tree in one corner of the living room, then to the small kitchen that had a few dishes in the sink before they landed on you. The look on her face the same judgmental one that you knew all too well. “I can see that you are putting your monthly allowance to good use.”

“We both know I don’t touch those credits. I don’t need them.”

“Oh, I am aware and sure you don’t.” She waved you off, stopping herself from setting her bag down at the sight of Doodle’s cat hair. “This place screams it.”

“You’re not welcomed here.” You crossed your arms as you said this to her, trying to not visibly flinch when her sharp gaze turned on you. A look that reduced you back to that child she never thought was good enough. “Not in the Shadow District, and sure as hell not in my apartment.”

“Skyfall Industries owns the entire city, foolish girl. And as a member of the board of directors, I am welcome wherever I so please. And that includes…” Your mother then gestured toward the apartment, gold cybernetic metal shining in the low light of your apartment. “…your apartment.”

“Get the fuck out.” You snapped right before her hand connected with your cheek and your head jerked to the side. The metal on her hand sliced your cheek deep, drawing blood and a bruise was quick to follow.

“Don’t you dare talk to me like that.” The older woman hissed, her anger turning palatable when you didn’t move for a moment. Your eyes closed as you slowly breathed through your nose, trying to control the familiar shake that would come with this. That anger and fear toward this woman mixing inside you.

Fear tried to reduce you back to that girl that she once controlled near perfectly, and the anger reminded you of the person you had to become because of that control.

“Why are you even here?” You asked coldly. The question was simple as you turned to look at her again, your hand slow to pull the hair that was stuck to the blood on your face. “Thought no one wanted to touch the Shadow District. It didn’t fit your project model for a perfect city. Needing a place to house the lower classes that would bring you your precious cybernetics.”

“You are such a stupid child.” She didn’t seem to care that your expression was dark and cold, or that you refused to wipe away the blood from your cut cheek. A dark bruise quickly formed around it from the force of the slap. Your fists clenched, with your anger started to take over and you had to fight to contain it. “It was always in the plan, it was always going to be redeveloped, but considering that I’m a generous mother…”

“To who?” You asked, your words venom, but she ignored you.

“I managed to keep the project at bay so you could have your little rebellious phase, let you playhouse with this one eye criminal before you finally came home and this place is bulldozed to the ground.” It was then that she reached out and cupped the cheek that she didn’t strike, a soft smile playing over her lips. It was meant to be loving, and if you were still that little girl, you’d be tricked by it like always. “I held it off as long as I could but not only is this disgusting stain on the city getting the makeover it desperately needs. I finally can bring you back home.”

“Had it ever occurred to you that I don’t want to go back? That my real phase was trying to be that perfect model child for you all those years, willing to do anything to earn your love, or your approval.” Your words caused that fake smile to crack, her hand dropping when you recoiled from her touch. “I am home, mom. This is my home, and that one eyed criminal is my family and have been for years. We actually love each other.”

“He loves the lie that you fed him.” She responded, making you look at her in shock and confusion. “You think I don’t know? You don’t think that I don’t know that you been lying to him about who you are and where you came from? Buried me with your father.”

“Don’t you dare bring Dad into this.”

“You don’t get to talk to me like that, or act like this life is so much better when it’s built on a lie.” Your mother smile then turned dangerous, and that left you rooted to the spot. “I thought I taught you better than this and actually feel bad for the pathetic fool.”

You watched as she opened a purse and pulled out an envelope. You knew what was inside it, an eviction notice.

“It’s time to end this foolishness and come back home. Your position is still waiting for you at Skyfall, and I have a lovely gentleman who is willing to look passed the… things you did while out here.” Her voice was smug as you took the envelope from her and she gestured to the apartment then to your appearance. Wonwoo’s clothes, hair a mess, dark circles under your eyes, and the bruise she gave you. Your hand was still wrapped from when you cut it and trembled holding the envelope. “I mean, it’ll be the only place you will have to go in thirty days. Which is more than what the rest of these people are being given.”

“You’re not getting the Shadow District.” You told her with confidence. The laugh that left her would have left you terrified years ago, but now it only fueled the anger inside you. “We won’t let you.”

“Who is this we? You? Your boyfriend and that little gang he’s part of? That fiend that fed your head with all that nonsense?” Smoothing out her suit, your mother regarded you. “You don’t have a choice in this matter. It’s time to wake up and face reality, stupid girl. Your time for fun is up.”

“We aren’t going down without a fight.”

“Of course you will.” Her shoulder hit yours as she passed and made her way toward the apartment door. “It’s evitable. Just like your place at Skyfall with me.”

“I rather die than go back to any kind of life with you.” You yelled as your turned toward her and the door, only for your whole body to freeze. Because standing at the doorway was Wonwoo. His face was still covered so you could not see his expression, but by his posture, he had heard it all.

“Looks like I should be expecting you back sooner.” Her satisfactory tone in her voice made you feel sick and that anger building turned to deep rage.

You lunged toward her, a high pitch angry cry ripping through you, but Wonwoo was already there to pull you back. Holding you to him as you thrashed in his arms, wanting to wrap your hands around your mother’s throat.

With a final look of satisfaction, your mother clothes the door behind her. Leaving you to continue to struggle to free yourself from your boyfriend’s arms, the tears that had been burning behind your eyes finally broke through.

Your mother was sorely mistaken if she thought she could snap her fingers and you would fall in line easily. You weren’t the same person as you were all those years ago, and you weren’t going to leave Wonwoo or the life you had.

And you sure as hell won’t let them take the Shadow District.

Part 2 (coming soon)

[ts19009]

Oooh. I love the lore of this. Cant wait for part 2 because I need to see how this olays out 😏

[scarletwinterxx]

gameboi: now live🎮 - jeon wonwoo scenario

hellloooo~ its been a while🫣 im going to let you in on a secret... this has been in my drafts since last year😅 it was suppposed to be the bday special last year but i ended up writing another one, then i thought why not post it now. just full of cuteness and fluffs, hope you like it!

to my luckiest charm, my buldak loving, my jeon wonwoo, i hope all good things come to you. be happy always, happy birthday uno🤍

SVT MASTERLIST 🩷 DONATIONS 🩵

All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2026 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(pic not mine, credits to rightful owner)

GAMEBOI EP. 17

Wonwoo’s game room is his sanctuary.

A space filled with glowing monitors, neatly arranged figurines, and the soft hum of his gaming setup. You’ve always loved how focused he looks when he’s streaming, the way his glasses slightly slide down his nose as he leans toward the screen, completely engrossed in the game.

He’s live right now, his calm voice carrying through the slightly ajar door, chatting with his viewers. You tiptoe inside, careful not to disrupt his flow, a small tray of snacks in your hands. His viewers know about you but have never seen you. he’s protective that way. But you love these little interruptions, these secret moments that are yours alone to witness.

You place the tray quietly on his desk, just out of view of the camera. Wonwoo notices immediately, his lips twitching into a subtle smile as he mutes his mic for a moment. “Thanks, love,” he murmurs, his tone so soft it makes your heart flutter.

Before he can unmute, you lean down, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. His ears turn red instantly, but he plays it off like a pro, his fingers never leaving the keyboard

The chat, though, picks up on everything

“Did he just smile?!” “The girlfriend energy is real.” “He’s blushing. We saw that.”

You giggle silently, watching as Wonwoo clears his throat and tries to focus. But you’re not done yet. Looping your arms around his shoulders, you press a feather-light kiss to the corner of his lips this time.

He freezes for half a second, his character taking a hit in the game, and you stifle a laugh

“Y/N…” he whispers, a mix of exasperation and affection in his voice

You just grin, slipping out of the room before he can say more.

Curiosity gets the best of you as you cozy up on the couch with your phone. Wonwoo’s stream is still going, but you’ve tuned in now not for the gameplay, but for the aftermath of your little interruption.

The chat is in full-blown chaos

“He’s so soft when he talks about her. We’re all just third-wheeling.” “SHE BROUGHT HIM SNACKS?? Marriage material. Period.” “Did anyone else see him freeze for like half a second? That kiss hit DIFFERENT.” “WONWOO BLUSHING IS MY NEW FAVORITE THING.”

You can’t help but laugh softly, biting your lip as you scroll through. Wonwoo’s viewers are sharp—they don’t miss a single detail. Some are spamming heart emojis, while others are typing theories about how you must’ve kissed him again since he looked extra flustered for a few moments.

You spot one comment that makes you snort

“Legend says she’s the reason he can’t aim today.”

Wonwoo’s voice cuts through the stream, his tone steady but tinged with a softness only you can detect. “You guys are imagining things,” he says, adjusting his glasses like it’ll somehow hide the faint blush still dusting his cheeks.

The chat erupts:

“WE SAW IT, WONWOO. DON’T LIE.” “Man’s trying to act cool, but we all know he’s whipped.” “Can you blame him? She seems perfect.”

You feel your heart swell at the kindness of his community. They’ve always been so respectful, never prying too much, but it’s clear they adore seeing this softer side of him.

Still smiling, you type a quick comment from your anonymous account: “He’s lucky to have her, but I bet she feels just as lucky.”

The chat agrees instantly, flooding the stream with affirmations. Wonwoo chuckles, as if he’s seen your comment and knows it’s you. “Yeah,” he murmurs, almost too quietly for the mic to pick up, “I really am lucky.”

And just like that, you’re blushing too.

=

GAMEBOI EP.18

You didn’t realize Wonwoo was streaming when you wandered into his gaming room. He’d been spending more time at his desk lately, and you missed having him to yourself. So, without much thought, you pushed open the door, spotting him seated comfortably in his chair, headset on, fingers flying across the keyboard.

He looked so effortlessly handsome that you couldn’t resist. You padded over quietly, and before he could react, you slid onto his lap, straddling him, your arms draping around his shoulders. His hands faltered on the keyboard for half a second before they steadied again.

“Hey,” you murmured, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek, not noticing the faint red light of his camera indicating he was live

Wonwoo’s lips quirked into a small smile, his gaze darting between you and his monitor. He moved his mic slightly to the side, speaking low enough so only you could hear.

“I’m streaming right now.”

Your eyes widened in surprise, but before you could scramble off, he rested a hand lightly on your waist, holding you in place

“It’s fine,” he murmured, his voice calm and reassuring

The chat, of course, noticed immediately

“Did someone just sit on his lap?!” “Wonwoo is too calm for this. I’d be losing my mind.”

You buried your face in his shoulder, embarrassed, as he adjusted his glasses and continued playing

“Just my girlfriend,” he said smoothly, his tone as casual as if he were discussing the weather “She’s comfy, so she’s staying.”

The chat exploded

“Just his girlfriend??? SIR??” “We’re all just gonna pretend that didn’t happen???” “HE REALLY SAID SHE’S STAYING. DEAD.”

You peeked over your shoulder at the chat, your back still to the camera, and stifled a laugh. Wonwoo caught the sound and smiled, one hand subtly rubbing soothing circles against your side.

“What? She’s cute,” he added, his voice nonchalant but laced with affection “Can’t exactly say no.”

The chat was a mix of chaos and adoration

“They’re too cute. I’m crying.” “Wonwoo’s girlfriend is living the dream.” “He’s too calm for this. WHIPPED.”

You whispered against his neck “You’re gonna regret letting me stay here.”

Wonwoo tilted his head slightly to look at you, his expression soft

“Never,” he murmured, loud enough for only you to hear

And so, you stayed, perfectly content in his lap, while his chat buzzed with endless speculation and envy over how effortlessly lucky the two of you seemed.

As you stay nestled comfortably on Wonwoo’s lap, his calm demeanor makes you almost forget that he’s still live. That is, until his eyes flicker to the chat, and a faint smirk begins to tug at his lips.

“They’re having a field day,” he murmurs, his voice low and amused as he scrolls through the comments

You lean slightly to the side to sneak a glance at the chat, still careful to keep your back to the camera. What you see makes you stifle a laugh.

“He’s literally the calmest man alive. HOW??” “Wonwoo’s girlfriend is living rent-free in my dreams right now.” “She’s not even on camera, and they’re this cute. I can’t take it.” “Sir, please blink twice if you’re okay.”

“Blink twice, huh?” Wonwoo says, reading that one out loud with a small chuckle. He glances at the camera and, for dramatic effect, blinks twice. “There. Satisfied?”

The chat goes wild.

You press your forehead against his shoulder, laughing quietly. “They’re obsessed,” you whisper, teasing him.

“You think?” he replies, his hand resting lightly on your waist as he continues to read “They’ve got good taste.”

You swat at his chest playfully, but he doesn’t miss a beat “Someone said you’re living rent-free in their dreams,” he says, his tone laced with humor. “Should I be jealous?”

“Oh, absolutely,” you quip back, matching his energy

He smirks, glancing down at you briefly “I’ll allow it—for now.”

The chat catches on immediately

“WHY IS HE SO SMUG?!” “Wonwoo, don’t act like you’re not living the dream too.” “This is relationship goals to the max.”

Wonwoo leans closer to the mic, his tone teasing as he addresses his audience “You guys really want hints, huh? Well, here’s one: she’s cuter than all of you combined.”

Your jaw drops at his boldness, and you lightly smack his shoulder, your cheeks burning. The chat explodes. “STOP, I CAN’T HANDLE THIS.” “HE’S SO WHIPPED. I LOVE THIS FOR HIM.” “Wonwoo, PLEASE teach me your ways.”

You laugh against his shoulder, shaking your head at how effortlessly he handles everything. “You’re impossible,” you whisper, but there’s no real bite to your words

“And you’re stuck with me,” he murmurs back, his voice warm and steady, as the chat continues its collective meltdown.

=

GAMEBOI EP.19

Wonwoo leans back in his chair, adjusting his headset as he addresses the chat. “Alright, we’re doing a short Q&A today,” he announces, his calm voice carrying a faint hint of amusement

“But judging by the chat already, I think I know where this is going.”

The messages flooding in confirm his suspicion

“TELL US ABOUT HER!” “What’s your favorite thing about your girlfriend?” “How did you meet her?” “When is she making her debut?”

Wonwoo chuckles, pushing his glasses up

“You guys are really persistent, huh? Fine, I’ll answer a few questions about her but don’t expect too much. Gotta keep some things private.”

The chat erupts with excitement.

The first question he picks catches him off guard

“How did we meet?” he reads aloud. He smiles softly, clearly fond of the memory

“We met through mutual friends. She wasn’t really into gaming at the time, but somehow, we ended up talking about it anyway. I think I managed to convince her I was interesting.”

You’re watching the stream from the other room, smiling to yourself as you hear his calm and collected tone.

Another question pops up, and Wonwoo reads it with a faint blush. “‘What’s your favorite thing about her?’” He hesitates for a moment, his gaze dropping to his desk before he smiles. “That’s hard to answer because there’s too much to choose from. But if I had to pick one… it’s probably how she makes everything feel easy. Like, no matter how stressful the day is, she has this way of making me feel calm.”

The chat immediately floods with heart emojis

“OMG STOP, THAT’S SO SWEET.” “Wonwoo is too soft for this world.” “They’re definitely soulmates. I’m crying.”

He clears his throat, clearly a little shy from how emotional he’s getting

“Next question.”

“‘Will she ever show up on stream?’” He smirks at this one

“Probably not. She likes keeping things private, and I respect that. But who knows? Maybe you’ll get another random cameo like last time.”

The final question he picks makes him laugh outright “‘Does she game with you?’”

He shakes his head “Not really. She says I’m too competitive, but she’ll sit next to me and give commentary. It’s entertaining, even if she doesn’t realize it.”

The chat loves it.

“She’s a queen, clearly.” “The way he talks about her is so soft.” “We need her commentary one day, please.”

Wonwoo glances at the camera, his expression warm “Alright, that’s enough about her for now. She’ll get a big head if she knows how much I talk about her.”

You roll your eyes, watching as the chat explodes in protests. He ends the Q&A with a knowing smile, saying, “Thanks for indulging me, though. I’m glad you guys like her as much as I do.”

And just like that, the chat turns into a mix of swooning and playful jealousy, but all you can do is grin, feeling incredibly lucky to have someone who loves you so openly, even if it’s mostly behind the scenes.

=

GAMEBOI EP. 20

The idea caught you off guard when Wonwoo asked, “Wanna play with me on stream?” His tone was casual, but you could see the glimmer of hope in his eyes.

You hesitated for a moment before agreeing, on one condition: you wouldn’t be on camera

“Deal,” he said, a soft smile tugging at his lips “But you better carry the team.”

You laughed at that “You know I’m terrible at this game, right?”

Now, sitting beside him in his gaming room, you had a controller in hand, your nerves barely contained as his stream began. Wonwoo was in his usual calm, composed mode, greeting his viewers like he always did.

“Alright, we’re doing something different today,” he announced, his voice steady “I’ve got a special guest playing with me.”

The chat immediately picked up on it

“Wait, is it HER???” “OMG, SHE’S PLAYING?” “We’ve been blessed. The queen has arrived.”

You could feel your face heating up, even though no one could see you. “Do they always hype things up this much?” you whispered

Wonwoo chuckled, muting his mic for a second to glance at you. “Get used to it. They’re like this every time I mention you.”

Once the game started, you tried your best to keep up, but your clumsy movements and inability to aim properly became painfully obvious. It didn’t help that the chat was fully invested in your gameplay.

“She’s adorable, I just know it.” “Is she new to the game? Wonwoo, help her out!” “THIS IS THE CUTEST STREAM EVER.”

Wonwoo was the perfect balance of supportive and teasing. “You’ve got this,” he said whenever you struggled. And when you accidentally ran straight into an enemy, he couldn’t help but laugh softly “Well, that’s… one strategy, I guess.”

“Hey!” you protested, pouting as you respawned. “I’m trying!”

Eventually, you managed to get a single kill, and Wonwoo clapped softly, genuinely impressed. “Look at you,” he teased. “A natural-born gamer.”

You rolled your eyes. “I think I just got lucky.”

“You mean we got lucky,” he said smoothly, glancing at the chat as it collectively melted

By the end of the stream, you were exhausted but couldn’t stop smiling.

As Wonwoo wrapped up, he leaned into the mic “Thanks for being nice to her, guys. She did great, didn’t she?”

The chat agreed wholeheartedly

“She’s amazing! Bring her back!” “Stream of the year. We need more.” “Wonwoo and his girlfriend are goals.”

He muted the mic for a moment, turning to you with a proud smile “Told you they’d love you.”

You grinned, leaning your head against his shoulder “I guess I’ll play with you again sometime… but don’t expect miracles.”

“Don’t worry,” he said softly, his voice just for you. “You’re my favorite teammate, no matter what.”

=

GAMEBOI EP. 21

It started as a simple task—helping Wonwoo reorganize his game room. The two of you spent hours sorting through cables, lining up monitors, and adjusting shelves. It was fun in its own way, especially since he’d sneak in a kiss or two every time you passed by him.

While rummaging through a box of his old gear, you pulled out a sleek mechanical keyboard. The pastel-colored keycaps immediately caught your eye, but what hooked you was the sound. As soon as you pressed one of the keys, a soft, melodic “click” echoed, and your face lit up.

“This is so cute!” you exclaimed, pressing a few more keys just to hear the satisfying sound

Wonwoo looked up from where he was sorting controllers, a small smile playing on his lips “You like that one?”

“I love it,” you said, grinning as you continued typing nonsense, the sounds filling the room “It’s so fun to press.”

He chuckled, walking over to take a closer look “That one’s been sitting in storage for a while. I didn’t know you’d like it so much.”

You pouted at him playfully “Why don’t you use it anymore?”

“It doesn’t match my current setup,” he explained, but his expression softened as he watched you happily tapping away “You can use it if you want, though.”

You waved him off “It’s fine! I don’t need a keyboard—I don’t even have a setup to use it with. But this one’s adorable.”

Wonwoo didn’t say much after that, just smiled knowingly and went back to organizing.

A few days later, he called you into the gaming room. You stepped inside to find a brand-new keyboard sitting on the desk, nearly identical to the one you’d fallen in love with, but customized just for you. The keycaps were a mix of soft pastel shades, and the switches made that same delightful click you adored.

Your jaw dropped “Baby, did you…?”

“I figured you should have your own,” he said casually, leaning against the desk with his arms crossed but the slight blush on his cheeks betrayed his nonchalant tone

“You kept talking about how cute it was, so… here.”

You rushed over, wrapping your arms around him tightly “This is the sweetest thing ever. Thank you!”

He laughed, returning your embrace “You’re welcome. Now you can pretend to game with me whenever you want.”

You pulled back, grinning “Who says I’m pretending? This keyboard’s going to make me a pro.”

The chat during his next stream couldn’t stop talking about the faint sound of your keyboard clicks in the background, further solidifying your place as their favorite off-camera addition to Wonwoo’s world.

Wonwoo was in the middle of one of his usual chill streams, chatting with his viewers while casually clicking through his game’s menus.

You were sitting beside him, happily typing away on your new pastel mechanical keyboard. Every now and then, he’d glance at you, a small smile tugging at his lips whenever he heard the familiar clicks.

At some point, you nudged him gently, grinning

“Hey,” you whispered, leaning closer “Can I show them my new keyboard?”

He raised an eyebrow, amused “You want to?”

You nodded enthusiastically, and he chuckled, turning back to his mic “Alright, so… she wants to show you something.”

The chat immediately erupted

“WAIT, SHE’S HERE??” “SHOW US, QUEEN!” “WE FINALLY GET TO HEAR HER???”

Wonwoo muted his mic for a second and turned to you, his expression soft “You can stay off camera. Just hold it up in front of mine, okay?”

“Got it,” you said, your voice full of excitement

He unmuted, and you carefully leaned over, holding your new keyboard up so it appeared on his screen, just above his handcam. The pastel colors gleamed under the soft lighting, and your fingers tapped a few keys, letting the viewers hear the satisfying clicks.

“OMG IT’S SO CUTE!!!” “SHE HAS THE SAME VIBES AS HIM, I SWEAR.” “THOSE CLICKS. I NEED THAT KEYBOARD.”

Wonwoo smirked, clearly enjoying the reaction “Yeah, I got that for her. She’s been obsessed with it ever since.”

You laughed softly, your voice reaching his mic “How could I not? It’s perfect!”

Your hands lingered in the frame for a moment longer before you pulled the keyboard back to your lap, laughing as the comments kept flooding in. “They’re so dramatic,” you whispered to Wonwoo.

“They always are,” he replied, his tone fond. Turning back to the stream, he added “Alright, that’s all you get. She’s shy.”

You rolled your eyes, nudging him playfully, but the warmth in his tone made your heart swell.

As he continued chatting with his viewers, you stayed by his side, quietly typing away, your keyboard’s clicks filling the background. And if he occasionally glanced at you with the softest smile? Well, that was just for you.

=

GAMEBOI EP.22

The moment you walked into the computer parts store with Wonwoo, your eyes lit up at the sheer number of shiny, colorful gadgets around you. It was like stepping into a candy store but for tech you didn’t understand.

Wonwoo had come prepared with a list and a clear purpose, but it was quickly derailed the moment you started wandering off “Ooh, look at this!” you exclaimed, holding up a pastel pink mouse from one of the shelves.

He glanced at you, amused “That’s a gaming mouse. Do you even know what DPI is?”

“Not a clue,” you said proudly, “but it’s cute, right?”

He laughed, shaking his head “Yeah, it’s cute.”

You put the mouse in the cart with zero hesitation, earning another chuckle from him “You know we’re here to buy parts for my setup, not to make yours prettier, right?”

“But what’s the point of a setup if it’s not cute?” you countered, already wandering off to another aisle

Every few minutes, you’d come back to him holding something pastel or RGB-lit “Babe, look at this fan! It lights up!” you said, spinning the blades

“That’s an RGB fan,” he explained patiently, trying not to laugh at how excited you looked

“Do you need it?”

“I already have better ones,” he said, gently taking it from your hands. But you’re adorable for trying.”

Not long after, you found a pastel purple keyboard and rushed over to him “This matches my mouse! Can I—”

“Yes,” he said before you could even finish, grinning “Just put it in the cart.”

You blinked “You’re not even going to argue?”

“Why would I? You’re clearly having the time of your life.”

The rest of the trip continued in the same way, with you picking up random items like cute cable organizers, a pastel monitor stand, and even a mousepad with tiny hearts on it. Wonwoo didn’t complain once, just followed you around with the cart, his smile growing wider every time you lit up at something new.

By the time you reached the checkout, the cart was a mix of his practical parts and your colorful additions

“You’re really letting me get all this?” you asked, slightly guilty but mostly excited

He shrugged, his tone casual but affectionate

“It’s worth it to see you this happy.”

As you leaned up to kiss his cheek, Wonwoo couldn’t help but think how easy it was to spoil you. Sure, his gaming setup wasn’t going to match with all the pastel you’d picked out, but he didn’t care. Seeing you this excited? That was worth more than any high-tech upgrade.

Wonwoo’s next stream started like any otherhis calm voice greeting the chat as he settled into his chair, adjusting his headset. Except this time, you were sitting beside him, just out of the camera’s view, quietly unboxing all the cute, pastel-colored items you’d convinced him to buy during your trip to the computer store.

About fifteen minutes in, the chat picked up on something.

He glanced at you, smirking “They’re already asking about you,” he said softly, leaning closer to his mic “Wanna show them what you bought?”

You hesitated for a second before grinning “Only if you introduce it properly,” you teased, nudging his arm

Wonwoo chuckled, shaking his head “Alright, guys. She went on a pastel shopping spree, and she’s way too excited to show it off. But she’s staying off-camera, so don’t get your hopes up.”

Sliding into the frame, you held up the pastel pink mouse first “Ta-da! Isn’t it cute?” you said, your voice light with excitement as you turned it so the camera caught all the angles

Next, you grabbed the pastel purple keyboard and tapped a few keys, letting the soft, satisfying clicks echo through his mic

“This is my favorite,” you said proudly “It matches the mouse!”

The chat was eating it up.

“THE KEYBOARD IS PERFECT.” “She really went full pastel gamer, huh?” “Wonwoo, you’re gonna have to build her a whole setup now.”

One by one, you showed off the rest of your haul: the pastel monitor stand, the tiny heart-patterned mousepad, and even the cute cable organizers. Every time you held something up, the chat flooded with compliments and playful comments.

At one point, someone asked: “Wonwoo, how much of this trip was her idea?”

“All of it,” he replied immediately, smiling as he glanced at you “But I didn’t mind. She was like a kid in a candy store. How could I say no?”

You playfully elbowed him, making him laugh even harder “You’re making me sound so dramatic!”

“Because you were,” he teased. “But it was adorable.”

By the time you finished showing off everything, the chat was begging for more appearances from you. You shook your head, laughing

“This is Wonwoo’s stream, not mine!”

He leaned into his mic, his tone soft but playful

“Maybe for now. But if she keeps this up, she’s gonna have a better setup than me.”

The chat exploded with laughter and agreement, and as you sat back beside him, quietly typing on your new keyboard, Wonwoo couldn’t stop smiling. It was a simple, silly moment, but to him—and his viewers—it was perfect.

=

GAMEBOI EP. 23

During one of Wonwoo’s chill streams, he suddenly leaned back in his chair, a teasing smirk tugging at his lips. “So, I found something funny the other day,” he began, glancing at the chat

“Do you guys want to see a video of my girlfriend struggling to help me set up this chair?”

“YESSS PLEASE!” “We love her content already.” “Wonwoo, don’t expose her like this!”

He chuckled, reaching for his mouse “Don’t worry, her face isn’t in it—just her voice. But trust me, it’s worth it.”

As he clicked play, the video popped up on stream. The camera was propped up on a desk, capturing the scene of a partially assembled gaming chair and your hands fumbling with a screwdriver.

In the clip, your voice rang out, frustrated but determined

“Wait, wait—what do I do with this screw? It doesn’t fit! Are you sure this is the right one?”

Wonwoo’s voice came from behind the camera, calm and amused “Yes, it’s the right one. You just need to turn it the other way.”

“I am turning it the other way!” you huffed, the sound of the screwdriver slipping making him laugh behind the camera

“You’re turning it the same way,” he corrected, his tone dripping with laughter

“Wonwoo, I swear, if you’re filming this right now—”

The clip ended with you groaning dramatically while he laughed, and the chat absolutely exploded

“SHE’S SO CUTE OMG.” “The frustration in her voice is sending me LOL.” “Wonwoo, you’re a menace for recording this.”

Wonwoo leaned back, grinning as he read the comments

“Yeah, she was so mad when she realized I filmed it,” he admitted, his voice fond “But she eventually got the screw in. She just… needed a little extra guidance.”

You yelled from the other room, loud enough for the mic to pick up: “I got it in all by myself, thank you very much!”

Wonwoo laughed, turning his head slightly toward where you were sitting off-camera “Do you want to defend yourself, or are you going to let me keep telling my version of the story?”

“I don’t need to defend myself,” you called back “The chair’s standing, isn’t it?”

He turned back to the camera, shaking his head but smiling warmly

“She’s not wrong. The chair’s perfect. But man, that setup process was something else.”

The chat kept teasing both of you for the rest of the stream, and Wonwoo couldn’t stop grinning. He didn’t even care if they joked at his expense. it was worth it, just to share a little piece of your chaotic, everyday moments with his viewers.

=

GAMEBOI EP.24

Wonwoo was mid-stream, fully immersed in his game, when the chat suddenly noticed something. His posture stiffened slightly, and a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips—a telltale sign that something was happening off-camera.

The viewers were quick to pick up on it.

“SHE’S THERE AGAIN, ISN’T SHE?” “It’s koala time, guys.” “Wonwoo looks like he’s bracing for something LOL.”

And sure enough, a moment later, you appeared in the frame, just slightly out of view, your arms looping around his shoulders as you leaned into him

“Baby” you murmured, your voice soft and sleepy

He glanced at you briefly before returning his focus to the screen “You okay?” he asked, though his tone was already filled with fondness

“Mhm. Just wanted cuddles,” you mumbled, wrapping yourself around him like a koala. Your legs dangled over the side of his chair as you clung to him, your face buried in the crook of his neck.

Wonwoo smiled slightly, his free arm instinctively wrapping around your waist to steady you. “You’re gonna make me lose this match,” he teased, though there was no real complaint in his voice

“I don’t mind,” you replied, your voice muffled against his shoulder

He let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “Chat, this is my life now. I’m trying to carry a team, and she’s over here trying to turn me into a human pillow.”

“Pillow privileges only for her!” “She’s living the dream.” “Wonwoo’s so whipped, it’s adorable.”

Eventually, the game ended, and he leaned back slightly, giving you a chance to reposition. “You good now?” he asked, looking at you with a playful smile

You shook your head, clinging tighter “Nope. Still need more cuddles.”

He sighed dramatically, though the grin on his face gave him away. “Guess I’m not going anywhere then,” he said, turning back to the chat

“Sorry, guys, looks like I’m stuck here.”

The chat erupted with laughter and affection, fully entertained by your antics. And as Wonwoo continued his stream, your arms stayed securely around him, your presence as comforting to him as it was chaotic.

=

GAMEBOI EP.25

Wonwoo decided to do something special for his birthday stream—a long, cozy session until midnight. His viewers were thrilled, and the chat was buzzing with excitement, sending him birthday wishes and teasing him about how he was spending his special day with them instead of celebrating offline.

As the clock ticked closer to midnight, Wonwoo glanced at the time with a subtle smile, clearly anticipating something. "Alright, guys," he said, leaning back in his chair

"I think it's about time to wrap things up soon. But before we go, I have a little surprise for you."

The chat erupted.

“WHAT SURPRISE???” “Don’t play with us, Wonwoo!” “You’re really gonna make this stream legendary, aren’t you?”

Just as the clock struck 12, you appeared from behind him, holding a small cupcake with a single candle lit.

"Happy birthday, Wonwoo!" you said softly, your voice warm and full of love.

Wonwoo turned his chair slightly, giving the viewers a brief glimpse of you as you leaned down to give him a quick kiss. The moment was fleeting—your smile, the cupcake, and your kiss—but it was enough to send the chat into a frenzy

“SHE’S REAL OMG.” “The mystery girlfriend REVEALED!” “Happy birthday, Wonwoo, but also WE LOVE HER!”

You set the cupcake down on his desk, grinning as you stepped back out of frame. "Alright, I’m out of here—don’t let them roast me too much," you joked, your voice teasing

Wonwoo chuckled, his ears turning pink as he adjusted his headset

"Thanks, love," he said softly, his tone full of affection. Turning back to his stream, he faced the camera with a shy but happy smile

"So… that’s my girlfriend. She wanted to wish me happy birthday."

“We’re simping for both of you now.” “Wonwoo blushing is everything.” “That was the CUTEST moment ever.”

He spent the next few minutes reading the flood of comments, thanking everyone for their birthday wishes, and promising not to turn his stream into a full-on romantic comedy.

But the way his smile lingered even after you left the room made it clear just how much that little moment meant to him and to everyone watching.

=

GAMEBOI EP. 26

Wonwoo decided to dedicate a stream to reading fan letters from his email, something he hadn't done in a while. You sat beside him, off-camera as always, but he had asked you to join in. "It’s more fun reading these with you," he had said earlier, convincing you.

As the stream began, he adjusted his mic and addressed his viewers

“So, today’s stream is a little different. I’m going to be reading some of the fan letters you guys sent to my email. And, uh… she’s here to help me.” He motioned toward you off-frame

“SHE’S BACK???” “COUPLE STREAM PART 2 LET’S GO!” “Read her the cute ones, Wonwoo!”

You laughed softly “Hi, everyone. Thanks for letting me crash your stream again.”

Wonwoo opened the first email, smiling as he scanned the words

“Okay, this one’s sweet. They said they started watching me during a tough time, and my streams helped them feel less alone.” He paused, his voice warm “That’s… really nice to hear.”

You leaned closer to read over his shoulder. “Aww, that’s so touching. Whoever wrote this, you’re amazing for sharing that,” you said sincerely

As the stream went on, Wonwoo read a mix of funny and heartfelt letters.

One fan shared how they accidentally spilled coffee on their keyboard while watching his gameplay, prompting you to laugh.

“See? That’s why I don’t keep drinks near my setup"

He shot you a playful look “That’s because you spill everything.”

“Hey!” you protested, lightly nudging him, which only made the chat explode

Finally, Wonwoo opened an email that made both of you pause. The fan had written a long message thanking him for being so genuine and mentioning how they admired the love and support they could sense between the two of you.

He glanced at you, a soft smile on his face “That’s… really sweet.”

You nodded, your voice gentle “It’s nice knowing people notice the little things. Whoever wrote this, thank you.”

“THEY’RE SO IN LOVE HELP.” “This stream is making me believe in love again.” “We need more streams like this!”

As the stream wrapped up, Wonwoo thanked his viewers, his voice filled with gratitude

“Thanks for all your letters and for always supporting me. And thanks to her for joining me. You make this even better.”

You smiled, nudging him again playfully. “Alright, don’t get too mushy on stream.”

As Wonwoo wrapped up the main part of reading fan letters, you couldn’t help but notice a recurring theme in the chat. Fans were flooding the comments with questions about your relationship. You glanced at him, raising a brow. “You seeing these?”

He laughed, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah, I see them. Do you want to answer a few?”

“YES PLEASE!” “Tell us the love story!” “This is what we’ve been waiting for!”

You hesitated for a moment before shrugging

“Okay, just a few. Keep it simple, though.”

Wonwoo smirked, scrolling through the chat “Alright, here’s a classic one: ‘How did you two meet?’”

You chuckled "We met through mutual friends at a small get-together. I didn’t even know who he was at first.just thought he was the quiet guy sitting in the corner with a really nice smile.”

He grinned, glancing at you “And I thought she was the most interesting person in the room. She kept asking me random questions, and I couldn’t stop talking to her.”

Wonwoo picked another question. “Okay, next: ‘Where was your first date?’”

You smiled at the memory

“It was this little bookstore café. He said he wanted somewhere quiet where we could talk, and we ended up staying there for hours. I think the staff thought we were moving in”

Wonwoo chuckled “Yeah, we didn’t even notice the time. I remember she was so excited about the book sections, and she kept showing me things like, ‘Look at this! Isn’t it cool?’”

“I want a bookstore date now…” “Wonwoo, you’re setting unrealistic standards!” “Did you buy her a book that day?”

Wonwoo smirked at the last comment “Actually, I did. I still remember the title"

You laughed “And I still have it, thank you very much.”

He scanned the chat again “Last one: ‘What’s your favorite thing to do together?’”

You thought for a moment before answering

“Honestly? Just spending time together doing random things—like this. Whether it’s customizing keyboards, trying out games, or just sitting around talking, it’s always fun.”

Wonwoo nodded in agreement “Yeah, same. I don’t think it matters what we’re doing as long as it’s with her.”

The chat erupted with heart emojis and comments

“Get you a love like this.” “The way they talk about each other is everything.” “This is why we stan Wonwoo AND his girlfriend.”

After answering a few more light questions, you decided to let Wonwoo take over again. “Okay, that’s enough about us. Back to your regularly scheduled programming,” you joked, waving off-camera

Wonwoo smiled at the camera. “Thanks for letting her join in, guys. I think she liked it more than she’ll admit.”

You playfully swatted his arm as the chat filled with laughter and love for both of you.

=

GAMEBOI EP.27

The stream starts with a soft, familiar hum of music and the sound of Wonwoo adjusting his mic. The chat immediately lights up with excitement as he finally appears on screen, his signature calm smile gracing his face.

“HE’S BACK!!” “Wonwoo we missed you so much!!” “IT’S BEEN TOO LONG!!”

Wonwoo waves at the camera, his voice warm but slightly shy

“Hey, everyone. It’s been a while, huh? I missed you all too.”

He leans back in his chair, taking a deep breath. “First of all, thank you for being so patient. A lot happened over the past couple of months, and I wanted to take some time to just focus on life… and on someone really special”

His smile grows, and his eyes flicker off-camera for a second, as if acknowledging your presence.

“IS SHE THERE?!” “OMG ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT HER??” “LIFE UPDATE PLEASE.”

Wonwoo chuckles softly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Okay, okay, so… some of you might’ve guessed, but yes, she’s been a big part of what’s been happening. We went on a little vacation recently,a much-needed one. And, well…” He pauses, then you suddenly popped up from the side, well... your hand did to show the faintest glint of a ring

“WAIT WHAT?!” “OMG OMG OMG!!!” “ARE YOU SAYING WHAT I THINK YOU’RE SAYING?!”

He laughs, his cheeks slightly pink “Yeah, I proposed. And she said yes.”

Even though you're off-camera, the faint sound of your laugh can be heard, and it makes the chat lose their minds even more

“CONGRATS OMG!!!” “WE KNEW IT!!” “This is the best comeback ever.”

Wonwoo looks genuinely touched by the overwhelming support.

“Thank you, really. I wanted to make sure everything was perfect before I came back. The past few months have been some of the happiest of my life, and I’m really grateful I got to spend that time with her.”

He glances off-camera again, this time with a small smirk

“She’s here, by the way. But don’t worry, she’s staying off-camera today… unless she wants to say hi?”

You laugh softly before leaning closer to the mic

"Hi, everyone. Thanks for being so sweet to him and to us. And yes, the ring is very pretty.”

“SHE’S HERE!!!” “WE NEED A RING CAM!” “Wonwoo you’re one lucky guy.”

Wonwoo chuckles, shaking his head

“Alright, enough about me. Let’s get back to what we’re here for: gaming. But seriously, thank you all for your support—it means a lot to both of us.”

As the stream goes on, the mood stays light and happy, with occasional comments from you off-camera and the chat constantly celebrating your engagement. It’s the perfect comeback, full of love, laughter, and warmth.

As Wonwoo continues chatting with his viewers, you can’t resist chiming in from the background. Your voice rings out in a playful, teasing tone

“I finally said yes, guys. Took him long enough.”

Wonwoo lets out an exaggerated sigh, rolling his eyes

“She’s not gonna let me live this down, huh?”

The chat explodes with laughter

“SHE’S SO FUNNY.” “I CAN’T BELIEVE SHE SAID YES TO HIM AFTER ALL THAT TIME.” “Honestly, I would’ve made him work harder for it.”

You lean in a little closer to the mic, just loud enough for everyone to hear. “Oh, don’t get me wrong, he had to earn it. I mean, the ring’s nice, but the real question is...did he pass the ‘How to Survive My Cooking’ test?”

Wonwoo laughs, holding up his hands in mock defense “Alright, I’m just gonna pretend I didn’t hear that.”

“Her cooking is that bad?” “The real test of love.” “Wonwoo deserves an award for surviving that.”

You smirk from off-camera “I’m just saying, if he survived the spicy noodle incident, he deserves a medal.”

Wonwoo shakes his head, smiling fondly at the camera. “Okay, okay, that’s enough teasing for one stream. We’ve got a game to play, but I’m just really happy to be back with you all. And to be with her… even if she makes fun of me all the time.”

You can’t help but laugh softly in the background

“What can I say? I’m the best part of this comeback.”

The chat is in full celebration mode now, with messages of congratulations mixed with requests for more jokes and stories from you

“I love their dynamic so much!” “They’re a power couple. Period.” “Please never stop teasing each other.”

Wonwoo glances at you again with a soft smile “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

[ts19009]

Need him biblically

[ts19009]

Beneath His Honor | JW

pairing: jeon wonwoo!knight x princess!reader

genre: angst, fluff, yearning, smut, childhood-friends-to-lovers, slow-burn, forbidden-love, knight-princess, arranged-marriage, mutual-pining, duty-vs-desire, soft!wonwoo, kind!princess!y/n, royalty

warnings: angst, YEARNING, kissing, SMUT, explicit unprotected sex, oral sex (female receiving).

words: 21,944

This is part of the Chronicles of Celestra Series

Summary: In the opulent kingdom of Hesperos, Jeon Wonwoo, the humble baker's son, is pulled into a life of service when the unconventional Princess Y/N arranges for him to become a Page at age eight. Bound by duty, Wonwoo works his way up through the ranks, his childhood promise evolving into the fierce, silent protection of a knight. As adults, their inseparable closeness deepens into a fierce, unspoken love. However, the political demands of the crown intervene when Y/N is forced to accept an arranged marriage, leaving Knight Wonwoo torn between his sacred vow of Honor to the kingdom and his desperate, hidden devotion to the Princess he swore to protect.

A/N: not BETAD. So any mistakes are my fault 😆🫡

The Realm of Celestra in the Kingdom of Hesperos. 1532.

Jeon Wonwoo had always been a caring person.

Especially when it came to people he loved. Everyone around the village knew him as the baker's boy. The one who would hand out stale bread at the end of the day, the one who tried to treat everyone around him with kindness, but the thing that people really talked about was his relationship with the princess of Hesperos. 

She would come down to the bakery everyday at dawn and buy two loaves of bread from them. It was on Wonwoo’s eighth birthday that they met for the first time. His mother and father were preparing a particularly large order from the princess the day before, leaving Wonwoo to tend to the counter. 

“Who are you?” She asked Wonwoo. He slightly blushed at her question but knew that it was rude to not answer the princess. 

“I’m Jeon Wonwoo, your highness. I’m the baker's son.” 

The princess nodded as she watched him look towards the kitchen where his parents hadn't emerged yet. 

“Your order is almost ready, but it’ll be twelve dollars,” he informed as the princess nodded and handed him a pouch of coins. He opened the pouch and started to count the coins when the princess interrupted him. 

“You can have all the money.” 

“What?” Wonwoo asked, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. 

“You can have all the money. I sure don’t need it,” she said again, smiling watching Wonwoo struggle to say anything back to her. 

“Well… umm.. Thank you, your highness,” he said, bowing his head as his parents came out of the kitchen with the bread in a basket. 

“Princess!” His mother exclaimed, a big smile coming across her face, “here’s the bread you ordered.” 

“Thank you Mrs. Jeon.”

“What are you doing with all the bread?” Wonwoo’s father asked, watching the princess struggle to carry the basket. 

“It’s for my brother, he asked for some more so that we can have some for lunch,” she huffed trying to look around the basket. 

“Wonwoo, why don’t you help the princess and carry the basket for her?” His father asked. Wonwoo nodded and gently took the basket from the princess’ hands as she sighed. 

“Thank you,” she smiled, “do you mind coming to the castle?” Wonwoo looked at his parents who smiled and nodded. “I’ll have the coach-man escort you back home.” 

Wonoo nodded and followed the princess out to the carriage. His parents waved from the carriage as it took off leaving him and the princess in silence for a majority of the ride to the palace. 

“It’s my birthday today,” Wonwoo stated. 

“Wait, what?” Y/N gasped, turning around quickly to face him, her braid nearly hitting her cheek, “how old are you turning?" 

“Eight,” he smiled. 

“Well happy birthday Wonwoo!” Y/N smiled back at him, as the carriage glided up to the castle. 

“Follow me!” she said excitedly, tugging open the door and hopping out. Wonwoo remained seated for a beat, letting the sudden silence wash over him, a warmth blooming in his chest that settled into a gentle smile.

The kitchen was at the back of the castle, which meant Wonwoo got to walk around a bit before he left. Y/N led Wonwoo through a magnificent archway, stopping where a handsome older boy, Prince Jeonghan, was waiting. 

“Brother!” Y/N announced, catching the attention of the young prince, “the bread is here!” 

Jeonghan glanced at the basket, then his attention settled on Wonwoo, “and you are the one who bore this weight. You must be the baker's son.” 

Wonwoo immediately lowered his gaze and bowed his head low. “Your Highness, Jeon Wonoo, at your service. It is my honor to deliver the order.” 

Jeonghan raised an eyebrow, noting Wonwoo’s polite deference and the ease with which he held the basked, which was clearly far heavier than the boy his age should carry without strain. 

“An honor, you say?” Jeonghan mused, circling Wonwoo slowly. “Most children who visit the bakery simply take the coin. You seem quite humble to volunteer for the delivery.” 

“I didn’t volunteer your highness,” Wonwoo admitted, “my father asked me to deliver the bread.” 

Jeonghan waved a dismissive hand, “regardless. You show good strength for your age, better manners than most squires we currently employ, and you were honest with me instead of taking the credit for yourself.”

He paused, looking Wonwoo up and down. “I imagine the palace life is a world away from the village bakery. Tell me, Wonwoo, are you fond of horses?” 

Wonwoo, still holding the basket in the middle of the hallway, looked up, surprised by the sudden shift in topic. 

“I—I have only seen the royal horses from the edges of the stable yard, Your HIghness,” Wonwoo admitted, his voice soft. “But they are magnificent. My father always said a healthy horse is the kingdom's true wealth.” 

Jeonghan gave a rare, sharp smile, “a practical outlook. Good. Our stable master is short on reliable hands, and a boy with strong arms and good manners is a valuable commodity. Tell me Wonwoo, how would you like to see that wealth up close? We are in need of bright, strong, lads for our stable service.” He gestured to the castle towering above them. “The opportunity is there. We would offer you a place as a Page, you would care for the royal mounts and run errands throughout the palace. It is hard work, but it offers a proper education and a future far greater than flour dust.” 

Y/N’s eyes lit up with excitement, “say yes, Wonwoo! You can stay!” 

Wonwoo looked from the Prince to the Princess, his head spinning with the weight of the proposal. He knew this was a monumental chance for his family. He bowed again, the bread basket dipping slightly, “if my parents agree, Your Highness, I would be honored to accept that position and serve.” 

Prince Jeonghan was satisfied enough with the answer and nodded. He reached out, gently rubbing the tops of his sisters head, messing up her hair, and gave a brief, sharp smile before turning away and leaving the hallway, his footsteps echoing as he walked away.

Y/N immediately smoothed her hair down, ignoring her brother and turned to Wonwoo with a wide smile, “they will agree! This is wonderful, Wonwoo! We’ll see each other everyday!” 

Wonwoo nodded, but didn’t say anything else. He knew that it would be hard for his parents to lose him at the bakery and wasn’t sure if they’d agree. He just let Y/N lead him to the kitchen and placed the bread basket on the table, looking around the room at all the food that was being prepared for the day. 

“Would you like to stay for breakfast?” Y/N asked Wonwoo, noticing the hungry look in his eyes as he stared at the spread, but he shook his head and politely bowed. 

“Thank you for the offer Your Highness, but I must get back to the bakery. Not only do I have a big decision to make, but I have some bread to prove.” 

Y/N nodded her head in understanding, before smiling wide. “I’ll see you tomorrow. I can’t wait to hear your decision!” 

Wonwoo offered her one final, quick bow before she led him back through the sprawling hallways and out to the front courtyard where the couch-man was waiting. He climbed into the carriage, the warmth of her smile still blooming in her chest. Knowing that tonight, his simple life as the bakers son was about to change forever. 

As soon as the carriage pulled up to the bakery, his parents were waiting for him. He thanked the couch-man who had opened the door for him and slowly approached his parents, who had big smiles on their faces. 

“So? How was the castle?” His father asked, as his mother reached out to hold his hand. 

“It was nice,” he quietly responded, avoiding their eyes. 

His mother squeezed his hand, sensing his sudden reserve, “only nice? You were gone for a while. Did something happen at the castle?”

Wonwoo took a deep breath, trying to be brave. He pulled his parents towards the front door, “could we go inside? I have to tell you something big,” he said, “while I was at the castle I ran into the prince.” 

His father’s expression sharpened instantly at the mention of the prince, “the prince?” His father pressed, “What did he say? Did he have a message about the order?” 

“He offered me a job,” Wonwoo explained, sitting down between them. “He said I could be a Page at the castle. I would help with the horses and run messages and they would teach me things.” He looked earnestly at his mother, “he said it was a chance to have a great future.” 

Both his parents exchanged a shocked look, their faces betraying their astonishment. They had not expected such high regard  to be shown toward their son. 

“He was impressed that I could carry the bread basket at my age and said that I had good manners.” 

His mother smiled warmly at the mention of her son’s kind heart. She sighed, and tenderly  brushed some of his messy hair away from his eyes, taking a close, worried  look at him. She knew that her son had a kind spirit and a loving heart. She was scared that the politics of the royal family would ruin him. 

“What do you think about the offer, son?” His father asked, sitting down next to his mother and taking Wonwoo’s other hand, so they were connected in a tight circle. 

Wonwoo sighed. He knew that his parents would miss him, but he really wanted to study and live in the castle.More than anything, he wanted to get to know the kind and lively spirit that was the princess. He looked up towards his mother and squeezed her hand. 

“I want to go,” he stated, his voice quiet but a little firm. 

His mother inhaled sharply, a single tear sliding down her cheek, but nodded in understanding. “Oh, my dear boy,” she murmured, squeezing his hand tightly. “We know you do. It’s a chance for you to see the world beyond our bakery door.” 

His father squeezed his hand as well, his eyes fixed on the future. “It is an immense opportunity, Son. A gift the Jeon family could never buy,” he looked at his wife. “If we agree, we must set rules. He is only eight. We will insist on weekly visits, and we will insist they treat him fairly.” 

“I won’t be alone,” Wonwoo said, looking up at them both, his eyes earnest. “The princess said she would see me everyday. She’ll look out for me.” 

His parents looked at each other, the name of the Princess, cutting through their fear and striking at the core of the offer. They knew that the unlikely spark between the princess and their son was the very thing that made this impossible dream possible. 

His mother sighed once more, before wiping the tears rolling down her eyes, before looking at her husband who nodded. 

“Alright son,” his father said, his voice thick with pride and gravity. “You can be a Page in the castle.” 

Wonwoo knew the castle was big from the distant view he had everyday, but he didn’t think it would be this big on the inside. The halls went up so high they almost touched the sky. The vast space gleamed with gold and marble, and every chamber felt like walking into a cold, beautiful treasure chest.

It felt like the opposite of the warm, cozy bakery he grew up in. 

He was led up into one of the servants quarters in the east hall. His room was at the top of the tower, which meant he had to climb a lot of stairs every morning. But when he looked out, the view across the kingdom was truly beautiful. 

He was given the morning to unpack his things and change into his new uniform. The simple, slightly rough fabric felt stiff and heavy compared to his soft cotton clothes from the bakery. When the time came, another Page, older and silent, led Wonwoo through the echoing stone corridors, down into the lower grounds and toward the immense Royal Stables. The air changed instantly, replacing the cold marble scent with the rich, earthy smells of hay, leather, and horses.

The Stable Master, a large, weathered named Lord, Baek, stood in the central yard, directing a flurry of activity. He did not look up when Wonwoo approached. 

“Lord Baek, the new Page, Jeon Wonwoo,” the older Page stated curtly. 

Lord Beak finally looked down, his gaze sharp and assessing. He didn’t smile, but he didn’t scowl. 

“You are small,” Lord Beak said simply, his voice a low rumble. “And you are new. That means you listen, you do not talk, and you work twice as hard as everyone else. The palace does not pay us to make friends, boy.” He pointed to a large pile of intricate leather bridles piled in the corner. “Your first task: those bridles need cleaning and polishing until they shine like the Princess’s jewels. Then you will sort that pile of curry combs. I want the bronze separate from the steel. Go.” 

Wonwoo immediately lowered his head. He knew this was not a place for smiles or softness. 

“Yes, sir,” he replied quietly, already moving toward the dirty pile of bridles. He spent the whole rest of the day, even missing supper to finish the work Lord Baek had given him. Only eating when it was almost all the rest of the servants had gone to bed. 

He hadn’t even seen the princess his first day, like the thought he would. 

The next day was different, he learnt quickly that during the week he would attend school and then help in the stables after school and work purely in the stables during the weekend, leaving almost no time for leisure. 

He would attend classes quickly, change and then work until he went to bed. It was the same thing everyday. It wasn’t until almost a month into living in the castle did he see the Princess. 

He was making his way to the stables with a couple of horses when he heard her voice.  It was bright and clear, cutting through the usual drone of the courtyard like a silver bell. He recognized the sound immediately. 

"There you are, Wonwoo! I've been looking everywhere!"

He froze mid-step, causing the horses behind him to shuffle restlessly. He looked up, and there she was, walking towards him, in a fancy gown and flowers all throughout her hair, a clear sign that she had been in the garden. Her face lit up with a usual lively smile at the sight of him. 

He immediately dropped his gaze and tried to bow as best as he could while still holding the reins. 

“Your highness,” he said, “I apologize. I am still on duty.”

Y/N simply walked right up to him, entirely ignoring the horses and his formal bow. 

“Duty? You look like you haven’t slept in a week! Don’t worry, I told Lord Beak I needed help finding the best apples for my pony, Cloud. Come on, I’m rescuing you.” She reached out a hand to take one of his reins, ready to pull him along. 

Wonwoo smiled, thankful that he didn’t have to do chores right away. He sighed, and handed her one of the reins. The tension in his shoulders seemed to lift immediately. 

Y/N beamed, now walking side-by-side with him, leading the horses away from the crowded stable yard and toward a sunny, secluded path near the royal orchards. 

“What were you supposed to be doing right now?” Wonwoo asked softly, unable to help the smile in his voice. 

She leaned toward him, lowering her voice so no adults could hear her. “Etiquette  lessons with Madame Balm. She always makes me walk lines and corrects my posture even though my posture is perfect!” 

Wonwoo chuckled, the sound slightly rusty from a month of hard work and silence. The idea of Y/N forced into rigid formality was both ridiculous yet familiar. 

“Walking straight lines sounds terribly difficult,” he murmured, shaking his head. 

She tightened her grip on the reins. “It’s a nightmare. But anyway, I haven't seen you around at all! Why did it take you so long to come find me? Did Lord Baek put you in the deepest part of the stables?” 

Wonwoo sighed, he also was disappointed that he hadn’t had free time to do simple things like explore the castle or spend time with the princess. 

“I’ve been busy from the moment I wake up until the moment I go to sleep,” he explained, pulling the horses to a gentle stop near a large apple tree. “There is school, and then the stables. Everyday Lord Beak doesn't let us stop,” he looked at her then the smile gone, “I thought I would see you sooner.”

Y/N’s bright smile softened into an expression of immediate sympathy. She dropped the reins letting the horses graze freely, and turned fully toward him 

“Oh Wonwoo,” she said gently, reaching out a hand to touch his sleeve, “I missed you too. I told you I would see you everyday, and I promise I’ll come to the barn to see you after you're done with school.” 

The simple assurance was like warm balm after a month of cold stone and hard labor. 

“You will?” he asked, the hole in his voice undeniable. 

“Y/N nodded firmly, “every weekday. We can talk while you polish tack or muck stalls. We have to be quick, but we’ll be together. You need a friend here, and so do I.” She gave his sleeve a final squeeze before handing him a basket and turning toward the orchard. “Now, let’s go find those apples. Cloud will be crossed if he misses his snack.”

The simple, quiet ritual established from there became the fixed point in their lives. The early years were defined by shared secrets and easy comfort. Wonwoo polished the tack while Y/N read him chapters from grand adventure novels she was supposed to be studying. 

Everyone in the castle found their relationship quite sweet, quite wholesome, seeing it as a lovely display of the Princess’s kind heart and the Page’s steadfast loyalty.

As they started to grow out of their childish features and into their blossoming young teenage years, the comfortable ease began to break down, replaced by a strange, charged awareness. The first big shift between them was when Wonwoo, now transitioning from Page to Squire, had a sudden growth spurt. He was no longer the small baker boy. His shoulders had broadened, and his hands, once small enough to fit inside hers, were now rough and large from endless drills with practice of swords and dealing with hard leather. Their interactions were less about childish games and more about unspoken emotions and feelings of discovery. 

There was less time for them to work with horses and run around the gardens, and Princess Y/N could keenly feel the change between them. Instead of watching him clean the stables and helping with the horses, she would now watch him from the palace balcony. Below, he was training, his form becoming sharper, and she watched him make friendships with the older boys and men among him, who were quickly becoming his peers. The stables were no longer their private sanctuary; they were a training ground preparing him for a world she couldn't fully reach. 

He had just finished a brutal evening training session and was scarfing down his supper in a quiet corner of the Squire's mess hall when she appeared.

“Are you having fun at least?” She asked Wonwoo, watching him chew quickly. 

Wonwoo paused, holding a piece of bread mid-air. His face was smudged with dirt and sweat. He was exhausted, but he shook his head slightly. 

“Fun isn’t what it’s for Your HIghness,” he replied, swallowing hard. “It is an honor. I need to be ready to protect your brother, and you, when the time comes.”

Y/N sighed, leaning her elbow on the table. She looked at his tired eyes and the determination etched onto his face. The playful boy she had rescued was now a soldier in training. 

“I know it’s necessary, but you used to laugh more,” she murmured, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t forget the simple things Wonwoo.” 

Wonwoo quickly looked away from her, his gaze locking onto the rough wooden table. He was painfully aware of how close she was, how sweet the scent of her  perfume was compared to the stink of sweat and steel clinging to him. 

“I don’t forget anything your highness,” he said, his voice a little bit more playful. Trying to reassure her that the boy she once knew was still in there. “But the simple things don’t keep the castle safe. Duty comes first. Always.” 

He deliberately avoided looking at her again, using his rigorous schedule as a shield to hide the truth. Every moment spent training, every drop of sweat, was purely for her sake. The duty was the only thing he was allowed to love. 

Y/N huffed and stood up from the table, clearly frustrated at the sudden, cold distance he created. She didn’t want to cause an argument with her best friend. She leaned down quickly and pressed a sharp, quick kiss to his grimy cheek before turning and leaving the dining hall. 

Wonwoo froze entirely, his fork clattering against the plate. The immediate shock was overwhelming. He looked up, but she was already gone, leaving him alone, heart hammering against his ribs, his duty almost completely forgotten in the face of her reckless affection.

Wonwoo’s sixteenth birthday was quiet, marked by the heavy anticipation of his final years as a Squire. By royal decree, he received a small ceremony in the yard where Prince Jeonghan presented him with a beautifully weighted, custom-fitted-sword, his first piece of truly good steel, a visible sign of his imminent knighthood. While the court cheered his merit, Y/N found him later that night in the armory, the heavy scent of metal and oil surrounding them. 

She gave him no gift, but instead, she reached out and traced the sharp line of th new sword resting on his hip. Her touch, far more intimate than any metal, made him hold his breath. He knew his sixteenth year meant the line between them was hardening, he was closer than ever to become her official protector, a position that demanded he be nothing more, and everything less, than the boy she loved. 

“Have you given it a name?” She asked, as Wonwooran his thumb lightly along the spine of the blade, careful to avoid the edge. 

“No, Your Highness,” he replied. “It’s not mine yet. Not truly. Not until I’m sworn in.” 

“But it will be yours,” Y/N insisted, his eyes fixed on the reflective metal. “And it will be the thing that keeps us safe. It deserves a name.” 

He looked from the sword to her, and the protective, desperate love he felt for her was momentarily reflected in the cold steel.

“Celestra's Mark.” He said, after a few moments of thinking.

Y/N smiled, a quiet, knowing smile. “It suits you, Wonoo. It suits the shield you are becoming.” She reached out and ran a fingertip over the steel, a daring, silent acknowledgement of the sacrifice he was making for her home. 

He quickly re-sheather the blade, the sound a sharp, final click in the quiet armory, marking the end of their sixteenth birthday moment and signaling the return to the strict boundaries they both observed. 

He quickly re-sheathed the blade, the sound a sharp, final click in the quiet armory, marking the end of their sixteenth birthday moment and signaling the return to the strict boundaries they both observed.

“How’s Wonwoo’s training going?” Prince Jeonghan asked.

Y/N jumped, a small cry catching in her throat, at the sudden presence of her older brother. Her entire body recoiled, and her hand flew instantly to cover the sudden, frantic pounding of her heart beneath her gown. She took a sharp, necessary breath to regain control. 

“Brother! You startled me,” she managed, turning to face him from her balcony she was watching Wonwoo from. “I didn’t hear you come in. Why are you sneaking around?” 

Jeonghan raised a skeptical eyebrow at her obvious shock. 

“I wasn’t sneaking, Y/N. You were simply daydreaming. You shouldn’t look so guilty when asked about my top Squire,” he jested, his gaze lingering on her flushed cheeks. He walked to the railing and followed her gaze down to the training yard. “Don’t tell me you’re getting sentimental about the baker’s boy?”                                

Y/N whipped her head around to scowl at her brother before smacking him lightly on the shoulder. 

“Don’t call him that, Jeonghan. You know he’s going to be Knight Wonwoo soon,” she retorted, though her cheeks remained pink. She adjusted the fabric of her sleeve, gathering her composure. “His training is excellent, he is ready for his oath next month, isn’t he? Even Lord Baek admitted he’s the sharpest they’ve had.” 

Jeonghan smiled, pleased by the quick defense and the confirmation of Wonwoo’s skill. 

“He’s the sharpest, which is why I’m making sure he protects what matters most. Once he’s knighted, he won’t be mine. I”ve assigned him to you, Y/N. KNight Wonwoo will be your personal guard. Which, speaking of the future, is why I came looking for you.” He turned, the playful smile fading, signaling the shift to official business. 

He leaned against the cold stone railing, his eyes fixed on the distant peaks of the kingdom.

“The political envoys arrived late this morning from the Northern March.” Jeonghan took a long, heavy breath. “The alliance is confirmed, Y/N. You are formally engaged to Prince Mingyu. The betrothal will be announced next month, and the wedding will take place when you both come of age.” 

The simple announcement, delivered without fanfare, landed in the quiet afternoon like a shattering pane of glass. Below them, Wonwoo was practicing a flawless disarming maneuver, the first knight assigned to guard his Princess and her new fiancé, completely unaware that the duty he was training for was about to destroy the only thing he truly cared for. 

“No,” she whispered, the denial a desperate, raw sound. “No, you can’t - I won’t” 

Her composure was utterly fractured. She let out a frustrated, wounded cry, a loud, immature sound completely inappropriate for a Princess, and shoved past Jeonghan, he silks catching on the railing. She didn’t bother with the proper entrance, instead hiking up her skirts and bolting from the balcony entrance, her footsteps echoing loudly down the stone corridor in a frantic dash to escape.

Down below, in the middle of a perfect disarming drill, Wonwoo stopped. The jarring sound of the Princess's unmistakable cry and the panicked rush of her footsteps had cut through the focused chaos of the training yard. He looked up instantly, following the sound to the East Hall balcony. He didn't see the reason, but he clearly saw Prince Jeonghan standing alone at the rail, looking grieved and defeated, and he saw a flash of the Princess's distinctive blue skirt disappearing rapidly into the castle interior. Something was terribly wrong.

Y/N ran without caring who saw her or how undignified she looked. Tears steamed down her face, blurring the marble halls as she raced toward the seclusion of her private chambers. The words formally engaged to Prince Mingyu run in her ears and slammed into her mind, suffocating her. This wasn’t a choice, it was a decree. The cold duty she had always feared had finally snatched her future. She only wanted the comfort of her home, the one she had found in the stables with Wonwoo, but now that home felt impossible far away. 

Hours later, long after the curfew bells had sounded and the last of the squires were asleep, Wonwoo crept out of his quarters. He ignored the aching fatigue from his training and followed a familiar, shadowed route through the silent castle grounds. His destination was the stables, the only place he could think she might retreat when the palace felt too large and cold. 

He found her exactly where he expected: huddled on a bale of hay in front of her horse Cloud’s stall, the smell of the clean straw a stark contrast of the despair across her face. She was not crying, but her shoulders we slumped and her face was drawnb, illuminated only by the faint silver light spilling in from the high stable windows. 

Wonwoo didn’t speak a formal greeting. He simply sat down beside her, the movement quiet and deliberate. The cold hilt of Celestra’s Mark pressed against his hip, a silent reminder of the position that now separated him from her pain. 

“Your Highness,” he said softly, his voice barely a murmur, and turned his head to look at her. “What happened this afternoon? What made you run?” 

Y/N didn’t lift her head. She picked nervously at a loose piece of straw. 

“It doesn’t matter, Wonwoo. It’s palace business,” she mumbled, attempting to push him away from the formal tern. 

“It matters to me,” he insisted, his tone gentle but firm. “I saw you run. And I know the difference between palace business and when my Princess is truly hurting.” He waited, allowing the quiet space to fill with the steady breathing of the horses and placed his hand on top of hers a gesture that shattered the distance between them. 

Y/N finally lifted her head, her eyes wide and red-rimmed. She didn’t pull her hand away. 

“They did it, Wonwoo,” she whispered, her voice cracking, the grip on his hand tightening. “The alliance is confirmed. I am formally betrothed to Prince Mingyu.They said the wedding will be when we come of age. They just sentenced me to years of waiting for a life I don’t want.” 

The words Prince Mingyu hit Wonwoo with the force of a solid steel blow. His meticulously constructed inner world, the one built on the fragile hope that his silent dedication would somehow earn him a future near her, shattered instantly.

His breath stopped in his chest. His training, honed over a decade, forced him to remain physically still, but internally, panic seized him. Betrothed. He, her assigned personal guard, had just been sentenced to stand beside her, day in and day out, while she belonged to another man. Celestra's Mark, the sword of his honor, felt suddenly heavy and cold, a permanent weight of irony pressing against his side. The irony was a cruel joke: he had worked tirelessly to earn the right to protect her, only to find that his first and most sacred duty was to escort her to the man she was forced to marry. His grip on her hand tightened involuntarily, not in comfort, but in a momentary, silent plea.

His breath stopped in his chest, but his training forced him to remain physically still. His grip on her hand tightened involuntarily, a momentary, silent plea before he forced his features into the neutral mask of the Squire. He released her hand slowly, pulling back only inches, but the distance felt like miles.

“This is why I must be knighted next month, Your Highness,” he said, his voice low and utterly devoid of emotion, though his heart was hammering a furious rhythm against his ribs. He deliberately focuses on the duty, the only thing he was allowed to acknowledge. “It is necessary for the stability of the crown. It is necessary for the safety of Hesperos.” 

He lifted his hand, not to reach for her, but to gently touch the hilt of his sword. 

“But I swear to you this,” he continued, his eyes finally meeting hers, intense and burning with a controlled fire. “Until the day they bind you to him, and for every moment after, you will never be alone. I am your shield. I will guard your happiness even if it means sacrificing mine.” 

The sheer weight of the unofficial oath hung heavy in the stable air. Y/N watched his face, searching for any flicker of the boy who used to share her forbidden sweets, but saw only the frigid determination of the future knight. 

“Wonwoo..” she began, her voice ran, reaching out to him again, perhaps intending to ask the question of their shared past that they both had always avoided. 

But Wonwoo didn’t let her finish. He knew that one more word, one more touch, would shatter his discipline he had spent years on, that he needed to survive the years ahead. He quickly stood up, his movements stiff and practiced. 

“I must go, Your Highness,” he said, the formality of the title now sounding like a deliberate, painful barrier. “I have an early morning training session, and I cannot be found here.” 

He gave her a quick, deep, formal bow. The bow of a future guard, not a friend, and without another word, he turned and melted back into the shadows. He did not look back, even as his heart screamed in protest. He left her sitting alone on the hay bale, holding the cold, empty space where his hand had been, acutely aware that the silence he left behind was the sound of their fate sealing shut. 

Two years passed in an agonizing, slow motion defined by duty and proximity. Wonwoo, now eighteen, was no longer a youth. He was a disciplined warrior, lean and stoic, prepared for the oath that would officially bind him to the crown. 

Bind him to her. 

For the past two years, his life had been a singular exercise in control. The memory of Y/N’s tearful face and the unspoken desperation of their final meeting in the stables fueled his training.

 He had mastered the Knight’s Oath and the use of Celestra’s Mark, going over every rule of honor and servitude until his emotions were buried beneath the hard, cold surface of military perfection. He had to be perfect because he was now bound to the Princess in a daily, professional capacity, forced to witness the life he couldn’t have.

Meanwhile, Prince Mingyu had become a fixture at the court. He was everything a future King Consort should be: handsome, genuinely kind, and popular within the court and the people. Crucially he was good with Y/N. 

Y/N and Mingyu’s betrothal was treated as a gentle, long-term courtship. They spent time together formally. Attending state dinners, riding, and sharing lessons. Mingyu was attentive and funny, clearly enjoying her company.

Y/N was unfailing courteous to Mingyu, fulfilling her duty, but her heart had not shifted. She still sought out the quiet comfort of Wonwoo’s presence whenever their duties overlapped, replying to his silent understanding, but it killed Wonwoo. 

He was always there. Standing two steps behind her as she laughed at Mingyu’s jokes, watching her hand brush Mingyu’s arm, and witnessing the natural ease of a relationship that was publicly accepted. He had to suppress every jealous instinct and every desperate desire, knowing that his primary duty was to ensure the safety and happiness of the man who would take his princess.

“What do you mean you don’t want me there at your knighting ceremony?” She had quietly pleaded, trying not to cause any attention between them in the halls of the servants quarters. 

It was almost midnight and if they were seen together, punishment would be brutal. So being quiet was crucial. 

“I mean that you have previous commitments to the prince at the time of my ceremony,” Wonwoo sighed, hating the tears slowly falling down her cheeks. “I will ask sir Baek to attend with you in my absence.” 

“But I don’t want Sir Baek.” 

“I cannot miss my own knighting ceremony,” Wonwoo scoffed. 

“Then I will miss the tea ceremony,” Y/N pushed back, trying to step closer to the almost knight. Wonwoo shook his head and held out an arm to push her back slightly. 

“We both know you cannot. Your parents would be furious.” 

“They should be. They knew your ceremony was tomorrow, why did they have to schedule it on the same day?” 

Wonwoo sighed, and allowed himself to have one selfish act of affection towards you. He raised his hand and gently cupped her cheek, wiping the tears falling down her cheeks. 

“I know. I’m sorry,” he whispered. “But you cannot miss the tea ceremony.” 

Y/N wheeped, but didn’t try to argue more. Instead she leaned into his touch a little bit, allowing him to cup her other cheek. “Promise me that you’ll re-inact the entire thing once I get back?”

Wonwoo chuckled at the request. Only she would ask him such things, but reluctantly agreed by shaking his head. “I’ll skip the nonsense and just show you the badge.” 

Y/N gasped and pulled away from him, watching him laugh some more. “You will do no such thing Wonwoo!” 

Wonwoo just smiled and watched as she wiped away a few of her own tears before trying her best to put on a smile for him. 

The smile that could make twelve hours of training worth it. 

The smile that he would kill for. 

The smile that saved him from a life of bread and baking. 

The smile he loved. 

He still thought about how weird it was being in front of the whole royal family and not having her present. 

It was ironic. The person he was swearing to protect wasn’t even here. 

Prince Jeonghan was the one knighting him, he was the one he was giving his oath to when it should have been the princess. 

His princess. 

His parents were at the ceremony. It had been almost a month since he had last seen them, and the prince was kind enough to allow them to spend the rest of the day together after the ceremony. 

His mother was crying the whole entire ceremony and his father had been standing beside her with a proud look on his face. 

The day of the knighting ceremony arrived. The cathedral was packed, the air thick with incense and the sound of solemn music. Wonwoo knelt before Prince Jeonghan, the active royal authority for the ceremony, wearing the heavy formal armor, the weight of the steel a physical manifestation of his sacrifice. 

He still thought about how strange it was being here in front of the whole royal court without the Princess present in the royal box. 

It was bitterly ironic. 

The entire reason he had pushed himself, the person he was truly swearing to protect, wasn’t here at this pivotal moment. Prince Jeonghan was the one administering the oath, the one he was dedicating himself to, when in his heart, that commitment belonged to his Princess. 

He found solace only in the sight of his own family. His parents were seated near the front, guests of the royal family for the day. His mother was quietly crying the whole entire ceremony, utterly overwhelmed with pride, while his father stood beside her, his face set in a proud, unwavering expression. It had been almost a month since he had last seen them, and Prince Jeonghan had been kind enough to allow them to spend the rest of the day together after the ceremony. 

Prince Jeonghan’s voice boomed as he placed the blunt side of a ceremonial sword, the King's own great sword, on Wonwoo’s shoulder.

“Do you swear loyalty to the Crown of Celestra, upholding its laws, its alliances, and its sovereign lines, with Honor as your sole guide?” 

Wonwoo met Prince Jeonghan’s eyes, his resolve absolute.

“I swear,” Wonwoo affirmed, his voice ringing clearly through the cathedral. 

The final pronouncement was made, the assembly cheered, and the heavy ceremonial robes were swiftly replaced with his new, bespoke knight's uniform. Celestra's Mark, his sword of honor, felt balanced and light on his hip, despite the immense weight of the oath he had just taken.

As the cathedral began to empty, Prince Jeonghan gave him a respectful nod, releasing him. Wonwoo moved immediately toward the section where his family waited.

His mother, dressed in her best Sunday clothes, rushed forward. She didn't bow or curtsy; she simply enveloped him in a fierce, tearful hug, pressing her cheek against the cold steel of his shoulder plate.

“Oh, my beautiful, clever boy,” she wept quietly into his uniform. “You did it. You are a Knight.”

Wonwoo hugged her back fiercely, inhaling the comforting scent of baked dough and lavender that always clung to her. For a moment, he wasn't Knight Wonwoo, sworn protector of the Princess; he was just her son.

His father approached, a man of quiet strength whose own rough hands had shaped hundreds of loaves of bread. He didn't embrace Wonwoo, but instead placed a large, calloused hand on his newly armored shoulder, right where the King's sword had touched him.

“Honor,” his father said, his voice thick with pride. “That is the only thing we ever asked you to carry, son. Carry it well.”

Wonwoo nodded, swallowing the sudden lump in his throat.

“I will, Father,” he promised, his voice regaining the steady confidence of his rank. “Always.”

He pulled back, smiling at them both, knowing that their pride was the one shield he was truly glad to carry.

Wonwoo pulled back, smiling at them both, knowing that their pride was the one shield he was truly glad to carry. 

They settled at a small, reserved table in a quiet corner of the outer hall, where the noise of the main celebration couldn’t reach them. His mother fussed over his untouched plate of food, while his father sipped water, still watching him with that look of intense pride. 

“And the Princess, Wonwoo?” his mother asked softly, resting a hand on his forearm. “Is she well? We heard she has been... very busy with state duties this past year. You two still spend time together, yes?”

The question was innocent, delivered with the easy familiarity of someone asking after a well-loved niece. Wonwoo felt a sharp, internal twist.

“The Princess is excellent, Mother,” he replied, his tone immediately defaulting to the cool, formal respect required of his rank. “As her personal guard, my duty is now to ensure her safety at all times. I am constantly near her, though our interactions are strictly professional.”

His father frowned slightly at the formality. “Professional? What happened to the young lady who used to quiz you on your lessons? I trust the steel hasn't made you forget your manners, son.”

“No, Father,” Wonwoo murmured, avoiding their eyes and focusing on slicing his food with precise, stiff movements. “Her Highness is betrothed to Prince Mingyu now, and my position requires absolute discretion and honor. She is the future of Celestra. I am simply her shield.”

Both of his parents gave each other a knowing look, a silent agreement passing between them not to push any further to upset him. They sensed the rigid, painful distance he had put up around himself. They understood duty, but they didn’t understand the price he was paying for it. 

Prince Mingyu was always kind towards Y/N. He never treated her like a possession or a political prize, but rather as a friend he genuinely respected. In the long two years since their formal betrothal, he had come to understand the sad truth of their union.

He knew that she wasn’t in love with him. 

This awareness didn’t make him cruel or resentful. Instead, it lent his patience and courtesy a layer of profound maturity. He valued her well-being above their alliance, a face that only deepened the quiet agony for both Y/N and the knight sworn to protect them. 

Which is precisely how Mingyu knew that something was wrong with Y/N quickly into the tea ceremony. 

She was performing her required courtesies flawlessly, speaking the correct diplomatic language, offering measured smiles, and accepting the exquisite gifts from the Northern March delegation with grace. Yet, Mingyu noticed the minute details. 

The way her gaze drifting past the delegates to fix on the reflection of the silver tray before quickly snapping back. She was present, but her mind was clearly elsewhere. 

He waited until there was a lull in the ceremony before saying anything. 

“Are you alright?” He asked, making sure that the other occupants of the ceremony were busy and not interacting with them. 

“Pardon?” Y/N asked, her gaze unfocused for a beat too long. 

Mingyu leaned closer, his expression earnest. 

“Your hands are shaking,” he whispered, eyes quickly darting down to her shaking hands. “If you need air, I can excuse us. Tell me what’s wrong.” 

Y/N felt a fresh wave of despair. It wasn’t the political pressure, it was the unbearable weight of not being there for her best friend. She looked at Mingyu’s kind, concerned face, the man who was trying so hard, and the guilt that she had forced Wonwoo into this impossible, painful position crushed her. She had to deny her reality to the one man who sincerely wished her well. 

“It’s nothing, Prince Mingyu,” she replied, forcing a brief, brittle smile. “Just the tediousness of the negotiations. I assure you, I am perfectly well.” 

Mingyu sighed, a soft and heavy sound that seemed to carry the wright of both their roles, and nodded his head slowly. In that single gesture, he acknowledge the unspoken truth of her heart without judgement or resentment. He wasn’t just a prince at that moment, he was a man who saw the bars or the cafe they were both trapped in. 

With a determined look in his eyes, he began trying to plan an escape for them both, his mind already working though ways to slip away from the prying eyes of the delegates and the stifling atmosphere of the embassy. He knew they couldn’t run forever, but for her, and for his own peace, he was willing to find a way to claim even just a few hours of freedom from the suffocating demands of the crown. 

Mingyu moved with a calculated grace, guiding Y/N back toward the interior of the hallway rather than the main ballroom. He knew the embassy's layout well enough to know that the servants’ corridors and the garden exits were currently unguarded, as all security was focused on the front gates and the main reception hall. With a quick, conspiratorial wink, he draped his heavy traveling cloak over her shoulders, effectively hiding her shimmering dress and the royal crest of Celestra. As they reached the heavy wooden door, Mingyu paused, his hand on the iron latch. He looked back at Y/N, the moonlight catching the determined set of his jaw. He wasn't just giving her a few hours of peace; he was risking a minor diplomatic scandal to ensure she didn't break under the weight of her own crown.

“Once we step through this door, we aren’t royals,” he whispered, the cold air turning his breath into a white mist. “Just for tonight, Y/N. No princess, no fiancé, no duty. Just two people walking in the snow.”

Y/N felt a surge of genuine gratitude. For the first time in years, the crushing pressure in her chest eased. She reached out and took his hand, not out of duty, but out of a shared need for air. As the door creaked open, they stepped out into the night, leaving the world of politics and silent knights behind them, if only for a moment.

Once they were alone, Mingyu didn't push or accuse. He simply leaned against the cool stone railing, respecting the space between them.

“I know it wasn’t the tediousness of the negotiations,” he said softly, turning to face her. “You are far too composed for that. Please, Y/N. Tell me what is weighing so heavily on your heart.”

Y/N wrapped her arms around herself, watching the frost gleam on the sculpted bushes below. The air was crisp and clean, offering a small reprieve from the stifling political atmosphere.

“You are too kind, Mingyu,” she murmured, the sincerity in her voice making her throat tight. “That kindness is why this is so difficult.”

She didn’t dare speak Wonwoo’s name, but the heavy implication hung between them. Mingyu already understood.

“Is it still difficult because of the distance?” he asked, his voice low and sympathetic. “Because of what you had to leave behind in Celestra? I never asked you to forget your past, only to share the future with me.”

Y/N finally met his eyes, her own filled with guilt and sorrow.

“I am fighting every day to be the Princess Celestra needs,” she confessed, her voice barely a breath. “But I cannot help but feel like I am giving up some part of myself to do so. Prince Mingyu…. You deserve someone who doesn’t feel like they are breaking just to stand beside you.” 

She saw the hurt and confusion in his eyes, but she couldn’t bring herself to explain the true source of her fractured heart. Instead, she quickly recovered, forcing a brief, brittle smile. 

Mingyu nodded slowly, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer than protocol allowed. He was trying to understand, searching her expression for the piece of the puzzle she was clearly withholding. He wasn't a fool; he could hear the finality in her tone, the way she spoke of their union as if it were a sentence rather than a beginning.

"I understand duty," he said softly, his hand retreating from the railing but his presence remaining heavy beside her. "But I do not wish to be another burden you have to carry, Y/N. If standing beside me feels like breaking, then we are starting on a very fragile foundation."

The Northern March delegates laughed at a joke across the table, the sound jarringly loud against the quiet tension between the Prince and Princess. Y/N kept her eyes fixed on the snow falling, terrified that if she looked up, he would see the truth, not just that she didn't want him, but that her heart had already been given to someone else.

Mingyu straightened his posture, shifting back into his role as the perfect diplomat as the delegates turned their attention back toward them. He didn't push her further, but the concern hadn't left his eyes.

"The Court Dance begins shortly," he murmured, his voice returning to a formal, neutral tone for the benefit of their audience. "Perhaps the movement will help settle your nerves. I would be honored if you would grant me the first set."

The following days were not filled with the frantic energy of the ceremony, leaving a hollow silence in the private royal gardens. Y/N walked the stone path alone, her fingers trailing over the dew-covered hedges. The heavy silks of the ceremony had been traded for a simpler gown, but the weight of her check remained unchanged. She stopped at the edge of the fountain, watching her own distorted image in the water.

The conversation with Mingyu still echoed in her mind. She had seen the way he looked at her, not with cold calculation of the Council, but with a genuine desire to be the partner she needed. It made the lie heel even more jagged. Every step toward the wedding felt like a step further away from herself, a slow erasure of the woman she used to be before the needs of the kingdom became a cage. 

A soft rustle of gravel nearby signaled that her solitude was coming to an end. She turned, her shoulders instinctively tensing for another diplomatic confrontation, but the air in her lungs finally felt light again when she saw Wonwoo.

He was standing a respectful distance away, his expression calm and his posture as steady as the ancient stone walls of the palace. He didn't offer a platitude or a royal greeting; he simply stood there, a quiet anchor in the midst of her internal chaos. Seeing him, the one person who knew the woman behind the title, the suffocating weight of the crown seemed to lift just enough for her to breathe. The brittle, defensive mask she had been wearing since the night before finally softened, and for a fleeting moment, she didn't feel like a Princess fighting for Celestra. She just felt like herself.

“How did you find me?” She asked, looking back to the fountain, not wanting him to see the slight flush on her cheeks. 

“You forget my lady, that it is my job to know where you are at all times of the day,” Wonwoo replied, his voice carrying a rare, light trace of amusement. There was a faint, teasing ghost of a smile on his lips that she usually only saw when the palace was fast asleep. It was a subtle, joking tone. One that reminded her he wasn’t just a shield in polished armor, but the person who knew her better than anyone else. 

The small smile on his lips didn’t last long; as he stepped closer, his keen eyes swept over her, noting the tension in her shoulders that even the morning air couldn't melt away. The joking tone vanished, replaced by the quiet, intense focus he reserved only for her.

“The levity doesn’t suit the look in your eyes, my lady,” he said softly, his voice dropping to a more private register. He moved to stand near the edge of the fountain, his gaze following hers to the dancing water. “Something happened during the ceremony. Your composure was... different. What is bothering you?”

Y/N felt the familiar urge to deflect, to give him the same brittle smile she had given Mingyu. But with Wonwoo, the lie always felt heavier. He didn't just see the Princess; he saw the girl who was terrified of losing herself.

"Mingyu noticed," she admitted, her voice so low it was almost lost to the splashing water. "He saw my hands shaking. He offered me a way out, and it only made the guilt worse. He’s a good man, Wonwoo. That’s what’s bothering me. He is a good man, and I am standing there lying to him with every breath I take."

Wonwoo’s expression shifted, a shadow of pain crossing his features at the mention of Mingyu’s kindness. For a long moment, the only sound was the rhythmic splashing of the fountain. Then, defying every rule etched into his training since the day he was knighted, he took a step forward, closing the gap that protocol demanded he maintain.

He didn’t just stand behind her as a shadow. Instead, he reached out, his hand hesitating for a fraction of a second before his fingers brushed against hers. He gently took her hand, the one that had been trembling during the ceremony, and folded his palm over it. The leather of his glove was cool, but the pressure was firm and grounding.

“Then stop looking at him as the Prince of a rival house, and stop looking at yourself as a piece of a treaty,” he whispered, his voice thick with a sudden, raw honesty. He didn't pull his hand away, even though a single wandering eye from the palace windows could cost him his position. “You are not a lie, Y/N. You are a woman being asked to carry the weight of an entire world on your back. If you cannot be honest with him, at least be honest with me. You don't have to be the Princess of Celestra within these four walls.”

The touch was a silent rebellion, a brief erasure of the line between a knight and his sovereign. For that heartbeat, they weren't a political tragedy in the making; they were simply two people holding onto each other in the quiet of a fading dawn.

Y/N didn't pull her hand away. Instead, she turned her palm upward, lacing her fingers with his as if anchoring herself to the only real thing left in her life. The cool morning air bit at her skin, but where their hands met, there was a heat that made the rest of the world feel distant and blurred.

She looked up at him, her eyes searching his for a sign of the same fracture she felt in herself. “And what if being honest with you is the most dangerous thing of all?” she whispered. “Every time I look at you, I remember exactly who I am, and exactly what I have to give up to keep this kingdom whole.”

Wonwoo didn’t flinch. His grip tightened almost imperceptibly, his thumb brushing over the back of her hand in a slow, rhythmic motion that felt like a silent vow. The distance between them had vanished, and in the stillness of the garden, she could see the golden flecks in his eyes and the way his jaw was set in a hard line of restrained emotion.

“Then let it be dangerous,” he murmured, his voice strained. “Let the world fall apart outside this garden. For once, just once, don’t worry about the Council or the Prince or the peace. Just stay here. Just breathe.”

For a long, suspended moment, the political machinery of Celestra ceased to exist. There were no impending weddings, no trade routes, and no heavy crowns. There was only the sound of their shared breath and the terrifying, beautiful realization that the person she was supposedly "giving up" was most alive when she was standing right here, in the shadow of the man who was never supposed to touch her hand.

The air between them seemed to vanish as the silence grew heavy, charged with years of unspoken words and shared glances. Y/N looked up at him, her heart hammering against her ribs, not with the cold anxiety of the palace halls, but with a desperate, frantic longing.

Wonwoo’s gaze dropped to her lips, his breath hitching. The logic of the knight, the duty to the crown, and the fear of the Council all seemed to dissolve in the pale morning light. He moved slowly, giving her every chance to pull away, to remember her station, to be the Princess again. But she didn't move

She leaned in, closing the final inch of the distance that had felt like a chasm for far too long. When his lips finally met hers, it wasn't the polished, formal grace of a royal courtship. It was a collision of relief and suppressed grief. It was the taste of a secret they had both been dying to tell, a soft and tentative touch that quickly deepened into something more certain. His free hand came up to rest against the side of her neck, his thumb grazing her jawline, holding her as if she were the only thing keeping him grounded.

For that one moment, the wedding to Mingyu felt like a ghost story from a distant land. There was no Celestra, no Northern March, and no duty. There was only the warmth of him, the scent of the garden, and the terrifyingly beautiful reality of a love that could never be spoken of in the light of day.

Wonwoo let out a sharp, ragged breath against her skin, the instinct of a soldier suddenly warring with the hunger of a man. The reality of their situation seemed to crash back into him, and he began to pull away, his hands sliding from her waist to her shoulders to create distance. He was the protector, the one meant to keep her safe from the very scandal they were currently creating.

But Y/N wasn’t ready to let the world back in.

As he retreated, she stepped forward, her hands tangling in the heavy fabric of his tunic to pull him back. She chased his lips, refusing to let the warmth vanish, her movements desperate and unyielding. She didn't want the safety he offered; she wanted the fire that only he could provide.

A low, pained sound caught in Wonwoo’s throat as he felt her persistence. His resolve, built over years of rigid discipline, crumbled in the face of her touch. His hands moved from her shoulders to her face, his fingers threading through her hair as he stopped retreating and met her with an intensity that matched her own.

For a few breathless seconds, he stopped being her guard and simply became hers. He kissed her with a ferocity that spoke of every time he had been forced to stand three paces behind her, every time he had watched her smile at Mingyu, and every night he had spent patrolling her door knowing he could never enter.

It was a beautiful moment, fueled by the knowledge that every second they spent like this was a betrayal of the crown she wore, and the life they were both expected to lead.

Finally, it was Y/N who pulled back, though only by an inch. Her breath came in short, jagged hitches, the heat of the kiss still burning on her lips. She didn't let him go completely; her hands remained anchored to his chest, feeling the frantic, heavy thud of his heart beneath the heavy fabric of his uniform.

Wonwoo stood perfectly still, his eyes dark and clouded with a mixture of adoration and agony. He didn't try to step back again, nor did he reach for her. He simply waited, his head bowed slightly, yielding entirely to her. In this quiet corner of the garden, the power dynamic of the court had inverted. He wasn't the guard commanding her safety, and he wasn't the soldier following a vow; he was a man placing his entire existence in her hands, waiting for her to decide what happened next.

He was giving her the control, the one thing she never had in the council rooms or at the tea ceremonies. If she told him to leave, he would disappear into the shadows. If she told him to stay, he would burn the world down to keep her.

Y/N looked up at him, her fingers curling into the embroidery of his tunic. For the first time, the silence between them didn't feel like a burden. It felt like a choice. She could see the vulnerability in the set of his shoulders, the way he was breathing only when she did, completely attuned to her next move.

"You're not going to stop me?" she whispered, her voice trembling with the weight of the moment.

"I am yours to command, my lady," Wonwoo murmured, his voice rough and low. "In this, and in everything else. If this is what you want... I have no will to fight you."

Y/N blushed, but before she could say anything the heavy, metallic thud of the Great Terrace doors echoing across the stone gallery acted like a bucket of ice water. The spell shattered instantly.

Wonwoo was the first to react, his soldier’s instincts overriding his heartbeat. He stepped back with a sharp, fluid movement, putting the required three paces of distance between them before Y/N had even fully processed the sound. By the time the heavy doors creaked open and the rhythmic click of heels on marble grew louder, he had already straightened his tunic and clasped his hands behind his back, his expression smoothing into a mask of professional indifference.

Y/N turned toward the fountain, her heart still racing so violently she was sure the approaching attendants would hear it. She frantically smoothed her skirts and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, her lips still tingling from the pressure of his.

“Princess? Your father is requesting your presence in the solar for the finalization of the wedding guest list.”

The voice of a young page reached them, followed shortly by the boy himself as he rounded the hedge. He stopped and bowed low, oblivious to the fact that he had walked into the aftermath of a quiet revolution.

“I am coming,” Y/N managed to say, her voice steadier than she expected, though she didn't dare look back at Wonwoo yet.

As she began to walk toward the terrace, she passed Wonwoo. For a split second, their eyes met, a flash of raw, shared memory that burned through their masks. He bowed his head as she passed, the perfect picture of a loyal, stoic guard, but the slight tension in his jaw told her everything she needed to know. 

The three years leading up to Y/N’s wedding  changed everything, even if they never spoke about it. That morning in the garden was still there, hanging between them like a secret they both remembered but never dared to bring up. To talk about the kiss would mean admitting they had broken the rules, so they just lived with the memory of it, letting it sit in the silence of every room they shared.

In those three years, Wonwoo grew into a man who didn't need words to understand her. He became a master of noticing the small things that everyone else missed. He knew that when she was stressed about the wedding, she would twist the ring on her finger until her skin was red, and he’d quietly step into her line of sight to catch her eye and keep her grounded. He noticed that she hated the heavy, suffocating scent of the lilies the Queen favored, so he would make sure the windows in her sitting room were cracked open just enough to let in the fresh air before she arrived.

For Y/N, Wonwoo was the only person who actually saw her. She noticed how he always seemed to know when she had a headache, standing in a way that blocked the harsh glare of the sun from her desk. She watched him change, too, his shoulders got broader, his face more serious, and his protective streak grew even stronger. He didn't have to say anything for her to know he was looking out for her. Every time he handed her a cloak before she felt a chill, or stepped closer when a stranger got too near, it was his way of staying close to her without breaking the silence they had maintained since they were fifteen.

Despite the fact that her wedding to Mingyu was now only weeks away, they continued their quiet routine. They were experts at pretending they were just a Princess and her guard, but the way Wonwoo noticed every small change in her mood said otherwise. He was still the person who knew her best, even if they had to act like that kiss in the garden had never happened.

The training grounds were thick with the scent of kicked-up dust and oiled leather as Wonwoo and Mingyu circled each other. Now at twenty one, both men had grown into their frames; Mingyu with the broad-shouldered, effortless grace of a future king, and Wonwoo with the lean, lethal efficiency of a high-tier guard. The clash of their practice swords echoed against the stone walls, a rhythmic, violent dance that usually ended in a draw.

"You're distracted," Wonwoo remarked, his voice steady even as he parried a heavy blow from Mingyu’s blade. He didn't wait for a response before stepping into Mingyu’s space, forcing him to adjust. "Your footwork is sloppy on the left. You’re overextending because you’re tired."

Mingyu laughed, a short, breathless sound as he wiped sweat from his brow. "Maybe. The wedding preparations are exhausting. My father has me reviewing trade routes until dawn." He lunged again, but Wonwoo deflected the strike with a flick of his wrist. "But how would you know? I thought I was hiding the fatigue well enough."

"You are," Wonwoo said, his eyes focused and sharp. "But you’re moving the same way the Princess does when she’s had a long night of council meetings. You both get a slight tension in your shoulder, the right one. It makes your strikes heavy but slow."

Mingyu stopped mid-swing, his sword dropping an inch. He tilted his head, looking at Wonwoo with a sudden, piercing curiosity. The silence on the field stretched out, suddenly heavy.

"The right shoulder?" Mingyu repeated, his tone thoughtful. "I've known her since we were children, and I never noticed that. I didn't even know she had a tell when she was tired. She usually just hides behind that perfect, icy smile."

Wonwoo realized his mistake instantly. The "little things" he had spent three years cataloging were supposed to be his private map of her, not something he shared with her fiancé. He tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword, his expression smoothing back into a mask of professional neutrality.

"It is my job to notice," Wonwoo said, though the words felt hollow in his own ears. "A guard who doesn't recognize when his charge is fatigued is a guard who misses a threat. She hides it well from the court, but she can't hide it from the person standing three paces behind her for twelve hours a day."

Mingyu didn't go back to the sparring stance. He sheathed his practice blade and stepped closer, his gaze searching Wonwoo’s face. "You notice a lot, Wonwoo. You knew her favorite tea yesterday before she even asked for it. You moved her chair away from the draft in the solar without her saying a word. You seem to know her better than I do, and I’m the one she’s supposed to marry."

Mingyu didn't reach for his sword again. Instead, he leaned against a wooden training post, watching Wonwoo with a look that was more analytical than angry. There was no heat in his eyes, but there was a new, sharp focus, the kind a hunter uses when he realizes he’s been looking at a map upside down.

"It’s more than just the shoulder, isn't it?" Mingyu asked, his voice dropping to a conversational level that felt far too intimate for the middle of a training field. "Yesterday, at the banquet, she started to reach for the wine, but you swapped her glass for water before her fingers even touched the stem. You knew she had a headache before she’d even admitted it to herself."

Wonwoo felt a cold pull of dread in his stomach, but he kept his posture rigid. "The Princess is prone to migraines when the hall is too crowded, Prince Mingyu. I was simply anticipating a need to keep her present for the toast."

"And the way you stand?" Mingyu continued, ignoring the excuse. He stepped toward Wonwoo, circling him slowly, much like they had been doing during the spar. "You don't just stand behind her. You stand for her. You adjust your position based on the sun to keep her in the shade. You move when she breathes. It’s almost like you’re wired to her."

Mingyu stopped in front of him, looking Wonwoo straight in the eye. There was no malice in his expression, Mingyu wasn't a cruel man, but there was a dawning realization that he was stepping into a space that was already occupied by someone else.

"I’ve spent three years trying to learn her favorite colors and her favorite poets," Mingyu said with a faint, almost sad smile. "And here you are, knowing the rhythm of her breath. It makes me wonder, Wonwoo... is that level of devotion something they teach in the Guard, or is it something you taught yourself?"

The silence that followed was deafening. Wonwoo knew that any answer he gave now would be a confession. He could see Mingyu waiting, not for a lie about protocol, but for the truth about why a common guard looked at the future Queen as if she were the only fixed point in a turning world.

Wonwoo didn’t blink. He kept his gaze level, matching Mingyu’s stare with a calm that he didn't actually feel. He knew he was standing on a thin ledge. One wrong word could end his career or, worse, put Y/N in a position she couldn't explain.

"Every person has a rhythm, My Lord," Wonwoo said. His voice was low and steady, lacking any of the nervous energy that might give him away. "When you spend every waking hour ensuring someone stays alive, you stop seeing them as a person and start seeing them as a series of patterns. I know when she is tired because a tired Princess is a vulnerable one. I know when she has a headache because a distracted Princess doesn't see a threat coming."

Mingyu hummed, a small sound of acknowledgement, but he didn't look convinced. He picked up a cloth to wipe the sweat from his neck, his eyes still fixed on Wonwoo.

"Patterns," Mingyu repeated. He sounded like he was testing the word out to see if it rang true. "That’s a very clinical way to describe it. But I’ve watched you when she isn't looking. You don't look like a man watching for assassins. You look like a man who is afraid the world is going to break her."

Wonwoo tightened his jaw. He could feel the heat of the afternoon sun on his neck, but he felt cold. Mingyu wasn't being aggressive, which made it harder to deflect. He was being observant, and that was far more dangerous.

"She is the future of this kingdom," Wonwoo replied. He chose his words with extreme care. "It would be a failure on my part if she were to break under the weight of it. If I know her better than most, it is only because I am the only one allowed to see her when the mask slips. That is the burden of the guard, not a choice of the man."

Mingyu stayed quiet for a moment, tossing the cloth aside. He looked out toward the palace balcony where Y/N often sat.

"I hope you're right, Wonwoo," Mingyu said. He didn't sound angry. He sounded almost worried. "Because if I am going to be her husband, I would like to think I could eventually understand her the way you do. But standing here, I feel like a stranger trying to read a book in a language I haven't mastered yet."

He turned back to Wonwoo, his eyes searching. "It makes me uneasy. I do not want to lose her before our life together even begins simply because I am too blind to see what she needs. You have had three years to learn every breath she takes, and I am starting to realize that if I do not catch up, I will never truly have her."

Wonwoo felt a sharp pang of guilt mixed with a dark, possessive spark he tried to shove down. He realized that Mingyu wasn't just suspicious; he was afraid. He was afraid that no matter how many titles he held or how many provinces he brought to the marriage, he would always be the second person in the room when it came to Y/N’s heart.

"You have time, My Lord," Wonwoo said, though the words felt like a lie on his tongue.

"Do I?" Mingyu asked with a small, hollow laugh. "The wedding is in a month, Wonwoo. You have a three-year head start. I just hope that by the time I learn her patterns, she hasn't already decided that you are the only one who truly knows her."

Mingyu offered a final, lingering look at the palace before turning away without another word. The sound of his boots retreating across the gravel felt like a countdown, each step emphasizing the month remaining before the wedding. Wonwoo remained exactly where he was, his hand still gripped tightly around the hilt of his practice sword. The silence of the training grounds rushed back in, but it offered no comfort. He realized then that Mingyu’s lack of anger was actually more dangerous than a confrontation. A jealous man could be handled with protocol, but a man who recognized the truth was a man who might eventually demand it.

Wonwoo looked down at his calloused hands, the same hands that had caught Y/N’s tears and adjusted her cloaks for years, and felt the crushing weight of his position. He was the keeper of her secrets, but as Mingyu had pointed out, he was also the one standing in the way of her future. He stood alone in the settling dust, realizing that his devotion was no longer just a shield for the Princess, but a growing threat to the very peace he was sworn to protect. The map of her heart that he had spent three years drawing was no longer his alone to keep. Mingyu was looking for it now, and Wonwoo knew he couldn't hide the trail forever.

Later that evening, the palace had fallen into the hushed, rhythmic stillness of the night watch. Wonwoo stood outside Y/N's chambers, his back to the door, but his mind was still on the training grounds. He waited until the final patrol of the hour passed before he risked a soft, rhythmic knock on the wood behind him. It was a signal they had used a handful of times over the years, one that bypassed the formal "My Lady" and spoke directly to the girl he had once kissed in the garden.

The door opened just a crack, and the warm glow of candlelight spilled into the dark hallway. Y/N looked up at him, her hair down and her face tired, her eyes immediately searching his for the reason behind the late-night interruption. She noticed the tension in his jaw before he even spoke.

"We need to be more careful," Wonwoo whispered, his voice barely audible. "Mingyu is not as blind as we thought. He is starting to see the patterns."

Y/N stood up from her desk by the window. The moonlight lit up her face just enough that Wonwoo could see the worried expression she was wearing. “See the patterns? What do you mean?” she asked, reaching out. Wonwoo sighed and took her hands, his rough palms a stark contrast to her soft skin.

“We were training together today and I was foolish enough to share an observation about you with him,” Wonwoo admitted. He looked down at their joined hands, realizing how easily this simple gesture would confirm every suspicion Mingyu held. “He noticed how I look after you. He mentioned the way I know your favorite tea or how I move to block the draft before you even feel the cold. He told me he feels like a stranger reading a book in a language he hasn't mastered yet.”

Wonwoo squeezed her fingers gently, his voice dropping an octave. “He isn't angry, Y/N. That is the problem. He is observant, and he is starting to realize that I have a three-year head start on knowing your heart. He told me he’s afraid he will never truly have you because I am already standing in the space he is supposed to occupy.”

Y/N felt a chill that had nothing to do with the night air. The three years of silence they had maintained suddenly felt fragile, like a glass bridge beginning to crack under the weight of Mingyu's gaze. They had spent so much time perfecting their masks in public that they had forgotten that a man who loved her would be looking for the person behind the mask.

“If he knows,” Y/N whispered, her eyes searching Wonwoo’s, “then he knows that my marriage to him will be a lie. What do we do, Wonwoo? If he tells my father, or if he decides he cannot marry a woman who is already spoken for in every way that matters, what happens to you?”

Wonwoo pulled her closer, his hands moving from hers to cup her face. The professional distance he had maintained for years finally snapped. He looked at her with a raw intensity that made her breath hitch, the mask of the stoic guard completely gone.

"He won't tell your father," Wonwoo said, his voice low and urgent. "Mingyu is a good man, but he is a man who wants to be loved. He will keep watching us, and eventually, the truth will destroy all three of us. I cannot stand by and watch you walk down that aisle knowing I am the reason your heart is breaking."

As he spoke, a single tear escaped and traced a slow, shimmering path down her cheek. Wonwoo didn't hesitate. He reached out and caught the drop with the pad of his thumb, wiping it away with a tenderness that felt more intimate than any word he had ever spoken. He let his hand linger there, his thumb resting against the corner of her mouth.

"I have spent the last three years watching you prepare for a life that is going to suffocate you," he continued, his voice softening. "I have made arrangements. I have a way out of the city, and I have friends across the border who do not care about alliances or crowns. I am not telling you that we have to go tonight, but I am telling you that the door is open."

He stepped back just an inch, giving her space to breathe, though he didn't let go of her hands. "You have two weeks before the final ceremonies begin. Use them. Look at the life they have built for you, and then look at me. If you decide that you cannot go through with it, tell me. We will leave everything behind, and I will spend the rest of my life making sure you never regret it. But if you choose the crown, I will stay. I will be your guard, and I will never speak of this again."

The silence in the room was heavy with the weight of the choice he had just laid at her feet. For three years, they had been trapped by fate, but now, Wonwoo had given her the one thing she thought she had lost forever: a way out. He was offering her a life of anonymity and struggle, but one where he could finally love her in the light.

"Think about it, Y/N," he whispered, his eyes lingering on hers. "Don't answer me now. Just know that you don't have to be the person they are forcing you to be. You just have to decide if the woman you are is enough for the life I can give you."

The days that followed were a slow torture of divided loyalties. Every time Y/N looked at Mingyu, she saw a man who was genuinely trying to bridge the gap between them. He brought her books he thought she might like and made self-deprecating jokes during formal luncheons to try and coax a real smile from her. At twenty one, Mingyu was everything a princess should want, kind, handsome, and earnest. Yet, every time he reached for her hand or asked her a question about her childhood, Y/N felt a wave of guilt so cold it made her fingers go numb. She was watching a good man fall in love with a ghost, while the man who actually held her soul stood three paces behind her, a silent shadow in silver armor.

Her internal struggle became a physical weight as the wedding preparations reached a fever pitch. She spent her afternoons in fittings for a gown that felt more like a shroud, surrounded by seamstresses who praised her beauty while she felt like she was disappearing. During these moments, her eyes would instinctively find Wonwoo’s reflection in the tall pier glasses. He remained the perfect picture of professional indifference, but she could see the slight, familiar tension in his jaw that Mingyu had pointed out. She realized then that Wonwoo wasn't just waiting for her answer; he was suffering through every second of the countdown alongside her.

The contrast between her two lives grew sharper with every passing hour. With Mingyu, there was the promise of a stable, powerful future, a crown, a duty fulfilled, and the safety of her kingdom. With Wonwoo, there was only the unknown. She thought about the horses at the south postern and the gold he had saved, and she wondered if she was brave enough to be the woman he believed she was. She was terrified of the war her departure might spark, but she was even more terrified of the person she would become if she stayed. Every time Mingyu laughed or tried to "learn her patterns," it only served to remind her that those patterns had been woven by Wonwoo’s hands.

By the end of the week, the pressure had become nearly unbearable. Y/N found herself standing on her balcony late at night, looking out toward the dark horizon where the border lay. She thought about the life Wonwoo had offered her, a life without titles, where they could finally speak about that morning in the garden without fear. The choice was no longer just between two men; it was between the Princess of Hesperos and the woman who had once been kissed behind a hedge. As the moon climbed higher, she realized that the more Mingyu tried to know her, the more she realized that only one person truly did.

The dining hall felt far too large for just the two of them, the flickering candlelight casting long, distorted shadows against the tapestries. Mingyu had dismissed the servants earlier than usual, leaving them in a silence broken only by the clinking of silverware. Wonwoo stood at his post by the heavy oak doors, a silent statue whose presence seemed to vibrate in the air between Y/N and her fiancé.

“You’re doing it again,” Mingyu said quietly, setting his wine glass down with a definitive click.

Y/N looked up, her fork pausing halfway to her plate. “Doing what?”

“You’re here, but you’re not,” Mingyu replied, his voice devoid of anger but heavy with profound sadness. He leaned forward, the light catching the gold embroidery of his tunic. “I have spent the last hour trying to talk to you about the music for the ceremony, about the flowers, about our future home in the North. And every time I speak, you look right through me as if I am a ghost.”

Y/N felt a lump form in her throat. “I am just tired, Mingyu. The preparations are a lot for anyone.”

“It’s not just the fatigue,” Mingyu countered, his gaze shifting briefly to the shadow by the door before returning to her. “I’ve tried to learn your patterns, Y/N. I’ve tried to be the man who knows when you’re stressed or when you need a moment of quiet. But every time I think I’ve found a way in, I realize that the door is already locked from the inside. There is a wall around you that I can’t climb, and I think we both know who holds the key.”

The air in the room became suffocating. Y/N glanced toward Wonwoo, but he remained perfectly still, his eyes fixed on the far wall, though she knew he was hanging on every word.

“I want to love you,” Mingyu said, his voice cracking slightly. “I want to be the person you turn to. But how can I marry a woman who looks at her guard with more recognition than she looks at her husband? How can I build a kingdom with someone who treats my presence like a sentence she has to serve?” He reached across the table, his hand hovering near hers but not quite touching. “Tell me the truth, Y/N. If I walked out of this room right now and called off the wedding, would you be heartbroken, or would you finally be able to breathe?”

The silence following Mingyu’s question was so heavy that the crackle of the fireplace sounded like a thunderclap. Y/N looked down at his hovering hand, then slowly shifted her gaze to the doors where Wonwoo stood. For three years, she had carried the weight of the crown and the secret of the garden like a leaden cloak, but looking at Mingyu’s pained, honest face, she realized she couldn't let him shoulder the burden of a lie any longer.

“I would breathe,” she whispered, the words coming out as a shaky, jagged confession.

She looked up, her eyes swimming with unshed tears. “I would breathe, Mingyu, and that is the most terrible thing I have ever had to admit. You are a good man. You have been nothing but kind, and patient, and everything a Queen could ever ask for. But my heart was never part of the alliance. It was never mine to give to you in the first place.”

Mingyu’s hand dropped to the table, his fingers curling into a fist. He didn't look surprised; he looked like a man watching a storm he had seen on the horizon finally make landfall. He followed her gaze to Wonwoo, who had finally broken his stance. Wonwoo’s hand was resting on the hilt of his sword, his expression a mix of terrifying protectiveness and profound grief.

“It’s him, then,” Mingyu said, his voice a hollow echo. “It’s been him since the beginning. Every time you tripped, every time you sighed, every time you looked for a reason to leave a room, it was always toward him.” He let out a sharp, bitter breath that wasn't quite a laugh. “All this time, I thought I was failing to win you over. I didn't realize I was trying to win a battle that had already been lost years ago.”

Y/N stood up, her chair scraping harshly against the marble floor. “It wasn't a choice I made to hurt you, or the kingdom. It just... it happened. And we spent three years pretending it didn't. We tried to be what everyone needed us to be, Mingyu. But I can't do it anymore. I can’t walk down that aisle and promise to spend my life with you when every piece of me belongs to the man standing three paces behind me.”

Mingyu sat in silence for a long time, his eyes fixed on the flickering candle flames. The betrayal clearly hurt, but his anger seemed to be eclipsed by a weary sense of clarity. He looked at Y/N, then shifted his gaze to Wonwoo, really looking at him for the first time not as a shadow, but as a rival who had already won.

"I will not be the one to go to your father," Mingyu said, his voice sandpaper-dry. "I have no desire to be the reason a man is executed for the crime of being loved by a Princess. And I have too much pride to drag a woman to the altar who is mourning someone else while she holds my hand."

He stood up, his movements stiff and formal. He walked toward the door, stopping just a few feet from where Wonwoo stood. The height difference between the two men was negligible, but the tension was immense.

"I will tell the Council and the King that I am the one who wishes to call off the wedding," Mingyu stated, looking Wonwoo directly in the eye. "I will tell them that I have realized our temperaments are not a match, and that the alliance would be better served through trade agreements rather than a hollow marriage. I will take the blame, and I will return to my own lands."

He turned back to Y/N, a shadow of a smile touching his lips, one that didn't reach his eyes. "But understand this: my protection ends the moment I leave. The King will be furious. He will look for someone to blame for my departure, and he will look at your guard with fresh eyes once I am no longer here to distract him. You have the freedom you wanted, but it is a fragile thing."

Mingyu reached for the door handle, pausing one last time. "I won't tell your secret, but I won't help you keep it either. If you are going to run, you should do it while the court is still reeling from my announcement. Because once I am gone, you will be the only target left for his rage."

With a final, sharp nod, Mingyu exited the hall, leaving the heavy doors to swing shut behind him.

The silence following Mingyu’s departure was thick and suffocating. Wonwoo didn't wait more than a heartbeat before he was across the room, his hands finding Y/N’s shoulders. The professional mask had completely shattered, replaced by an urgency that bordered on desperation. He knew the clock was ticking; once Mingyu delivered his news to the King, the palace would transform into a cage of suspicion.

"We leave tonight," Wonwoo insisted, his voice a low, frantic rasp. "Do not pack a trunk. Do not look for jewelry. We take only what we can carry on a horse. Mingyu has given us a window, but it is closing with every step he takes toward your father’s study. Once the King realizes the alliance is dead, he will look for a reason, and he will look at me first."

Y/N nodded, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. They moved through the servant passages, ghosts in the corridors they had walked for years. Wonwoo led the way, his hand never leaving hers, his eyes scanning every shadow. They reached the heavy iron gate of the south postern, the air smelling of damp earth and freedom. Wonwoo pulled the heavy bolt back, the metal screeching just slightly, and for a moment, the open woods lay before them, dark and inviting.

"Just a few more steps," Wonwoo whispered, stepping out into the cool night air and reaching back to pull her through.

"Is that as far as you thought you would get?"

The voice was like a blade of ice cutting through the dark. Torches flared to life all at once, illuminating the stone archway and the line of royal guards standing with crossbows leveled. Standing in the center of the light was Y/N’s father, the King. He looked older in the torchlight, his face twisted in a mask of cold, controlled fury. He didn't look at his daughter; his eyes were fixed entirely on Wonwoo’s hand, which was still gripped tightly around Y/N’s.

"I trusted you with her life," the King said, his voice dangerously quiet. "I gave you the honor of standing in her shadow for years, and you used that proximity to rot the very foundation of my kingdom. Did you truly believe I wouldn't notice the way you looked at her? Or did you think my daughter’s duty was so cheap it could be stolen by a common soldier in a garden?"

Wonwoo didn't let go of her hand. Instead, he stepped in front of her, shielding her body with his own as the guards moved in to circle them. The freedom of the woods was only ten feet away, but it might as well have been on another continent.

The King took a step forward, the orange light of the torches dancing in his eyes. He ignored the crossbows and the tension in the air, focusing entirely on the man who had dared to touch the crown’s most precious asset. He didn't order an execution, not yet. Instead, he looked at Wonwoo with a terrifying, quiet curiosity.

"You have thrown away your life, your honor, and the safety of your family for this," the King said, gesturing vaguely to the dark woods behind them. "A common guard, raised in the barracks, believing he could steal a Princess. Tell me, soldier, before I have you stripped of your rank and thrown into the black cells: why? What could you possibly see in my daughter that was worth the certain death you are facing now?"

Wonwoo didn't flinch. Even with the tips of the crossbow bolts glinting in the light around him, he stood tall. He felt Y/N’s fingers tremble in his, and he squeezed them once, firmly, before finally speaking.

"It wasn't a choice, Your Majesty," Wonwoo began, his voice surprisingly steady. "I didn't look at her and see a Princess or a political alliance. I saw a girl who was forced to grow up in rooms full of people who only wanted something from her. I love her because I am the only one who knows what her silence sounds like. I love her because I have seen the weight she carries every single day, and I wanted to be the one person she didn't have to be strong for."

He took a small breath, his eyes meeting the King’s without a shred of apology. "I love her because I noticed the things no one else cared to look for. I know how she breathes when she’s afraid, and I know exactly how much she has sacrificed for a crown that only feels like a cage. You see a legacy, My Lord. I see a person. And if loving her as a person instead of a puppet is a crime, then I am guilty a thousand times over."

The King’s expression didn't soften; if anything, his jaw tightened at the raw honesty in Wonwoo's voice. He looked at his daughter, seeing the way she was looking at Wonwoo, not with the practiced grace of a royal, but with a desperate, heartbreaking devotion.

Y/N stepped forward, her movement so sudden and determined that the guards with the crossbows shifted their weight. She did not let go of Wonwoo’s hand; instead, she used it to pull herself level with him, standing shoulder-to-shoulder against the light of the torches.

"He is right, Father," she said, her voice ringing out with a clarity she had never possessed in the Council chambers. "You ask why he loves me as if it is a mystery, but the real question is why you never bothered to know me well enough to ask that yourself. For years, I have been a piece on your board. I have smiled when told, spoken when prompted, and agreed to a marriage that would have withered my soul just to keep your peace."

She looked at her father, seeing the king first and the parent second, and for the first time in twenty one years, she didn't look away.

"You see his devotion as a betrayal of his rank, but it is the only honest thing in this entire palace," she continued, a single tear silvering her cheek but her gaze remaining steady. "Wonwoo didn't steal me. He saved me. He saw the girl you forgot existed beneath the silk and the titles. If you punish him for loving me, then you are punishing the only person in this kingdom who actually knows who your daughter is. You can throw him in the cells, or you can take his life, but you cannot undo the fact that he has already given me more freedom in his silence than you ever gave me in your halls."

She took a shaky breath, her grip on Wonwoo’s hand tightening until her knuckles were white. "If he is a criminal for seeing me as a person, then so am I. If he goes to the dungeons, I will follow him. If he is exiled, I will walk beside him. You taught me that my life belongs to the crown, but tonight I am telling you that my heart belongs to him. You can keep the Princess, Father, but you will never truly have me back."

The King stood motionless, the flicker of the torches casting deep, unreadable shadows across his face. 

The King stood motionless, the flicker of the torches casting deep shadows across his weathered face. He looked at his daughter, really looked at her, and saw not a political pawn, but a woman whose spirit he had nearly extinguished. He saw her hand gripped tightly in Wonwoo’s and realized that the "loyalty" he had demanded from his guard was nothing compared to the devotion Wonwoo had actually given her. The silence stretched, the guards waiting for a command to strike, but it never came.

"I have spent my life building walls to protect this kingdom," the King finally said, his voice losing its iron edge and sounding, for the first time, like that of a tired father. "I thought that by securing your future through alliances, I was protecting you as well. But standing here, seeing the way you look at him... I realize I have only succeeded in building a prison for my own child." He let out a long, heavy breath, his shoulders sagging slightly. "If I force this, I lose my daughter. And if I lose you, what was the point of the kingdom?"

He signaled to the archers, and with a collective rustle of leather and wood, they lowered their crossbows. The King stepped forward, stopping just a few feet away. He looked Wonwoo in the eye, not with fury, but with a searching, heavy solemnity. "You say you know what her silence sounds like. You say you know the person beneath the crown. That is a burden heavier than any sword, soldier. If I allow this, you are no longer just a guard. You are the guardian of her happiness. If you fail her, there is no corner of this world where you can hide from me."

He turned back to Y/N, reaching out a hesitant hand to brush a stray hair from her forehead. "The alliance with the North will be difficult to mend, and the Council will scream for blood. There will be no secret flight into the woods tonight. If you want this man, you will have him, but you will do it properly. We will find a way to make him more than a soldier in the eyes of the court. It will take time, and it will be a scandal that tests us all, but I will not be the man who broke my daughter’s heart to save a border."

He looked at their joined hands and gave a small, weary nod. "Go back inside. Both of you. We have a great deal of work to do to explain why the Princess is marrying her shield instead of a Prince."

The transition from being hunted fugitives to an officially recognized couple happened with a dizzying speed that left the palace reeling. After the King’s public dismissal of the guards, the heavy atmosphere of the courtyard evaporated, replaced by the hushed whispers of the court. But for Y/N and Wonwoo, the noise of the world didn't matter. They were led not to a cell or a hidden path, but back to the private solar overlooking the moonlit gardens, the very place where their secret had lived in the shadows for so long.

As the heavy oak doors clicked shut behind them, the silence was no longer a weapon used against them; it was a sanctuary. For a long moment, they simply stood in the center of the room, the space between them finally free of the "three-pace rule." The torchlight from the hallway was gone, replaced by the soft, silver glow of the moon spilling across the floorboards. Wonwoo was the first to move. He unbuckled the heavy leather vambraces from his forearms, the metal clattering onto a side table, a sound of a soldier finally laying down his arms.

"It doesn't feel real," he whispered, his voice thick with a vulnerability he had never been allowed to show.

Y/N crossed the room, her silk skirts rustling like a long-held breath finally released. When she reached him, she didn't just take his hand; she leaned her forehead against his chest, listening to the steady, rhythmic thrum of his heart. It was beating fast, matching her own. Wonwoo wrapped his arms around her, pulling her so close that the cold metal of his remaining armor was the only thing between them. He rested his chin on the top of her head, his eyes closing as he inhaled the scent of jasmine in her hair, a scent he had inhaled from a distance for years, but could finally claim as his own.

The relief was a physical wave, washing away the exhaustion of the last few days. Wonwoo pulled back just enough to look at her, his hands sliding up to cradle her face. There was no urgency now, no four-minute timer, no shadow guards lingering in the doorway. He traced the line of her jaw with a slow, reverent thumb, his gaze lingering on her eyes as if confirming she was truly there. "For three years, I thought the only way I could love you was in the dark," he said, his voice dropping to a low, intimate rasp. "I thought I would spend my whole life being the man who stood behind you, never the man who stood beside you."

Y/N reached up, her fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him down until their lips were inches apart. "You were always beside me, Wonwoo. Even when you were standing at the door."

When they finally kissed, it was slow and deep, a silent vow exchanged in the moonlight. It wasn't the frantic, desperate kiss of a doomed couple; it was the quiet, steady beginning of a life lived in the light. They had a long road ahead, angry councilmen, broken treaties, and a court that would never truly forget, but as Wonwoo pulled her back into the safety of his embrace, Y/N knew that for the first time in her life, she wasn't just a Princess. She was home.

The walk to the royal chambers felt entirely different than it had for the last three years. Usually, Wonwoo followed several paces behind, his eyes scanning the corridors for threats, his presence a comfort but a distant one. Tonight, as they climbed the grand spiral staircase, his hand remained firmly in hers. There were still guards posted at the turns of the halls, but as the couple passed, the men didn't move to intervene; they simply lowered their heads in a new, uncertain kind of respect.

When they reached the heavy, gold-inlaid doors of her bedroom, Wonwoo paused. It was the threshold he had stood outside of for a thousand nights, guarding her sleep while he sat in the cold silence of the hallway. He looked at the handle, then back at Y/N, a trace of his old professional hesitation flickering in his eyes. Y/N smiled and tugged on their interlaced hands, an invitation to further break the boundary that the crown had set. 

"I have spent three years imagining what it would be like to walk through this door with you," he whispered, his voice low and private. "And now that it’s open... I find I’m almost afraid to step inside. As if the dream might break."

Y/N didn't say a word. She simply squeezed his hand and pushed the door open.

The room was bathed in the warm, amber glow of a dying fire in the hearth. The scent of cedar and dried lavender hung in the air. As the door clicked shut behind them, the finality of the sound felt like a seal on their old lives. The palace, the King, and the looming scandal were all on the other side of that wood. Inside, there was only the soft crackle of the embers and the two of them.

Wonwoo turned to her, the firelight catching the sharp planes of his face and softening the intensity in his dark eyes. He reached out, his fingers slowly unlacing the heavy cloak from her shoulders, letting the fabric fall to the floor in a pool of silk. He moved with a reverence that made her heart ache, his touch light as if he were handling something incredibly fragile.

"No more doors between us," he murmured, stepping into her space until their shadows merged against the far wall. He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, his hand lingering there, his thumb brushing against her temple.

For the first time, he wasn't looking for assassins or listening for footsteps in the hall. He was only looking at her. He leaned down, his lips ghosting against her forehead before he pulled her into a slow, deep embrace. In the quiet of the room, far above the rest of the world, they finally let the weight of the crown and the sword fall away, ready to face the first night of a future they had finally earned.

In the quiet of her chambers, the adrenaline of the confrontation finally broke, and the reality of their survival crashed over her. Y/N looked up at Wonwoo, her eyes shimmering in the dying firelight, and a single, heavy tear escaped, tracing a slow path down her cheek. It wasn't a tear of sadness, but of a profound, overwhelming relief that had been three years in the making.

Wonwoo’s expression softened instantly, his heart aching at the sight. He reached out with a hand that had spent years gripped around the hilt of a sword, but now moved with the most delicate tenderness. Using the pad of his thumb, he caught the tear before it could reach her jaw, wiping it away with a lingering touch. He didn't pull his hand back; instead, he let his palm cradle her face, his thumb brushing over her skin as if to ensure she was truly real and truly safe.

"No more tears, Y/N," he whispered, his own voice thick with emotion. "The fighting is over. We don't have to hide anymore."

He leaned down, his eyes searching hers for a brief second before he closed the distance. The kiss was slow and deep, a quiet anchor in the middle of their changing world. It tasted of salt and the lingering heat of the hearth, a soft promise that he was no longer just her guard, but her partner. As he pulled her closer, his arms wrapping around her waist to pull her flush against him, the last of the tension left her body. In the safety of her room, with the world outside finally silenced, they stayed like that for a long time, two people who had finally found their way home.

Y/N wrapped her arms around Wonwoo’s neck to also pull him closer, before slightly pushing him towards her bed. 

“Your Highness,” Wonwoo breathed against her lips, the habit of three years of service flickering in his voice even now.

But Y/N didn't let him finish. She pressed her fingers gently to his lips, shaking her head as a fresh tear of relief welled in her eyes.

“No titles,” she whispered, her voice a soft command that had nothing to do with royalty and everything to do with the woman she had finally become. “Just Y/N. From tonight on, it’s just Y/N and Wonwoo.”

Wonwoo let out a shaky breath, his forehead resting against hers. A small, genuine smile finally broke through his stoic mask, the kind of smile he had only ever saved for her in the shadows of the garden. He reached up, his thumb catching the tear on her cheek and wiping it away with a lingering, tender touch.

“Y/N,” he repeated, the name sounding like a prayer in the quiet room.

He leaned down again, his lips meeting hers in a kiss that was no longer a secret, but a beginning. There were no ranks between them now, no barriers of stone or silk; there was only the steady heat of the fire and the two of them, finally whole. 

When Y/N started fiddling with the latchings on his armor, his heart stuttered, “are you sure?” He asked, looking down at her with nothing but love in his eyes. 

“I’ve been in love with you the moment you offered to carry that huge bread basket for me when we were children,” Y/N confessed in between pressing kisses all over his face. “I don’t want to wait any longer.” 

Wonwoo chuckled at the confession and nodded before undoing the latches on his chestplate. Y/N watched him undo his left shoulder and when he was finished, undid the right for him. Letting the metal arm pieces fall to the ground. They worked together to take the rest of his armor off, from the chestplate to the leg pieces until there was just Wonwoo in the simple shirt and pants. 

“There’s the boy I fell in love with,” Y/N sighed, before wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him into a kiss. 

Wonwo quickly moved his hands from cupping her jaw to the lace of her dress, trying his hardest to undo the laces without looking and not accidently knotting them. 

Y/N chuckled and reached behind her own back to remove Wonwoo’s hands to undo the laces herself. Wonwoo’s cheeks flushed in embarrassment but went back to cupping her cheeks as she quickly undid the laces of her dress and then pushed the heavy fabric off her shoulders when it was loose enough, leaving her in a light frock. 

He cupped her ass and slightly nudged her with his legs causing Y/N to lift both of her legs and let Wonwoo carry her while making his way toward the bed. Once he felt his legs hit the edge of the bed, he gently lowered her onto the bed. 

Y/N gasped when he disconnected their lips and slowly started kissing all over her face. Her nose, her eyes, her forehead, then started moving down towards her jaw and neck. She sighed, reveling in his attention and moved her hands from around his neck to in his hair. 

Wonwoo groaned, when she started pulling on his hair when he started pressing kisses to her collarbone and started pushing the straps of her frock off her shoulders and slowly pulling it down to reveal her chest. 

“You’ve always been beautiful,” Wonwoo confessed, his voice dropping to a low, rough velvet that made her heart skip. He pulled back just enough to look at her, his dark eyes tracing every curve of her face in the firelight as if he were seeing her clearly for the very first time. “But tonight, here with the truth between us... you’ve never looked more like yourself. And that is what I’ve always been in love with.”

Y/N felt a fresh wave of warmth spread through her chest, her fingers tightening in his hair as he peppered kisses along her chest and stomach. 

Wonwoo looked up in between kisses to her nipples to watch her glistening face melt at the pleasure he was giving her, before giving a particular harder suck to her left nipple. She let out a moan and tightened her grip on his hair. 

“Wonwoo,” she panted as his hand went to spread her legs and started moving his kisses lower. She finally let go of his hair so he could move further down her body, grasping the bed sheets feeling him settle between her legs. 

“I don’t exactly know what I’m doing here,” Wonwoo said, pressing kisses against her hip bones. “If anything doesn’t feel right, tell me.” 

Y/N nodded, and reached down to lace her hand with his, “You weren’t out bedding every maiden that looked your way?” 

Wonwoo scoffed and squeezed her hand, “I was sworn to celibacy when I became your knight, lest you forget.” 

Y/N chuckled, and squeezed his hand back, “I trust you Wonwoo.” 

Wonwoo smiled up at her before moving his other hand to her hip to keep her in place and lowering his lips to her core.

He wasn’t quite sure what he was doing, but the other knights had shared stories about pleasuring women. They talked about tasting women and the sounds that they made, so he knew that the moans Y/N was making when he was kissing her earlier was what should happen as well. 

He started licking through her folds, tasting the arousal that was nestled between her legs, and noticed that the spot at the top of her mound made her moan the most. He moved his attention towards the top of her cunt and started rubbing his tongue in circles feeling her whimper and buck her hips gently. 

“Does this feel good love?” He asked, the vibration of his low voice causing waves of arousal shoot through her body, causing her to wrap her legs around his shoulders, locking him in place. 

He switched between rubbing her sex and sucking the pebble before she squeezed their interlocked hands again. 

“It feels good Wonwoo,” she trembled, hips stuttering before releasing all over his face. Wonwoo continued licking her through her release, eager to taste every last drop of her. 

“You taste devine,” he praised, running his tongue all around her, triggering another build up. “Can you do it again for me? Please?” 

Y/N whined, tightening her legs around his head, the overstimulation on her clit turning from discomfort to pleasure again.  After a few more hard sucks to her mound she fell apart on his tongue again, back arching this time and moved her free hand to try and pry his head away from her in case he wanted another orgasm. 

Wonwoo licked his lips, not wanting to waste a single drop of her arousal before slowly kissing his way back up her body. A kiss to her kip, below her belly button, her rib, below her breasts, her nipple, her sternum, her jaw, and then finally her lips. 

She moaned into his mouth, not used to the sweet taste of what she could only assume was herself, before tugging his shirt off him. 

Wonwoo’s training had done him well. He was no longer the skinny baker's boy she had known in their youth; he had grown into all his features quite well. His chest was broad, a testament to the grueling years spent on the training grounds and the heavy toll of his duties, his shoulders strong enough to carry the weight of her safety for years, and the solid muscle of his arms provided a sense of security that no stone wall ever could. The lean, awkward teenager had been replaced by a man of formidable presence, forged by the discipline of the guard and the silent fire of his devotion to her.

She ran her hands across his chiseled chest, before tugging on his pants. He chuckled, and nodded sitting back to take them off. 

As she watched him remove his pants and reveal his cock. Y/N’s cheeks flushed at the size of him, as Wonwoo's breath also hitched at the cool air flooding the room from the open window. He leaned back down over her, interlacing one of their hands together and pinning them by her head. His other hand went back between her legs to make sure she was wet enough to take him without any pain. 

When his hand came in contact with her wetness he lined himself up with her before looking back up into her eyes. 

“I love you,” he softly smiled, connecting their lips before slowly pushing himself into her. 

“I love you too,” she sighed, trying to adjust to his size. Wonwoo winced, as Y/N tried to adjust to his size, clenching his cock a few times, panting heavily, rubbing her hard nipples against his own, and holding onto his bicep.

Once Wonwoo was all the way in her, Y/N moaned, and squeezed his bicep harder. Wonwoo groaned at how tight she was, before pushing his hips back, taking a second to catch his breath and rocking his hips back into hers. 

Y/N threw her head back into the pillows as Wonwoo continued to move, the pleasure building up in her stomach before she gently put her hands onto his chest, asking him to stop. 

“What? What’s wrong?” He asked, a concerned look spreading across his face. 

Y/N batted her eye lashes up at him before turning onto her stomach and propping herself up on her elbows and knees, the sheets catching under her. Wonwoo groaned before leaning over her and interlocking their hands again before sliding back into her. This time thrusting into her harsher. 

“I’m close,” Y/N panted against the pillows. Wonwoo would have almost missed it, if he wasn’t so focused on the noises she was making. He smiled and squeezed their interlocked hands before moving to cup her breast and squeezing her nipple. 

The stimulation was enough to cause Y/N to climax, her walls fluttering around his cock, causing Wonwoo to also climax, emptying himself into her. As Wonwoo’s climax finished, he smiled and slowly pulled out of her, pressing kisses along her spine as she stayed propped up on her elbows and knees to catch her breath.

Once he finally noticed that her breath was evening out, he laid down beside her, arms under his head to look up at her glowing face. Her eyes were closed, but she was smiling. He chuckled and reached out to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear. 

“Where did you learn all of that Sir Wonwoo?” She panted, finally opening up her eyes and slowly moved her legs so that she was laying on her stomach. She turned her head toward him to see him reaching towards the floor to grab something off the ground before coming up with a rag to wipe her down. 

“I have only heard stories from the other knights I trained with. Although they never told me how the deed is done, they did tell me what their lovers enjoyed,” he smirked.

Y/N smiled, rolling on to her back so he could clean between her legs, before spreading them. “Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t complaining. More so in awe of how good it felt for our first times.”

Wonwoo carefully opened her legs and gently pressed the rag between her legs, dabbing the remaining release from between them and pressing a kiss to her clit. 

Y/N gasped, at the contact before nudging him with her foot. “Give me some time to recover.” 

Wonwoo chuckled, “sorry. I couldn’t help it.” 

He moved back up to lay beside her, the mattress sinking slightly under his weight. With a gentle, inviting smile, he patted his broad chest, signaling for her to lay on top of him. Y/N didn’t hesitate; she shifted closer, resting her head against the steady thrum of his heart and draping her arm across his torso, finally feeling the warmth she had only been allowed to imagine for years.

“I can’t believe that we get to be together,” she whispered, her voice muffled against the soft fabric of his tunic. The words felt fragile, as if saying them too loudly might wake her from a dream. “For so long, I thought the only way I could keep you safe was to keep you away. I thought our lives would always be lived in glances and whispers.”

Wonwoo’s hand found her hair, his fingers stroking the tresses with a slow, rhythmic grace that acted as a balm to her nerves. “The wait is over, Y/N,” he murmured, his chest vibrating beneath her cheek as he spoke. “No more hallways between us. No more watching you walk away into rooms I wasn’t allowed to enter.”

He tilted his head down, resting his chin atop her hair, his other arm wrapping securely around her waist to hold her flush against him. In the quiet of the room, the only sound was the crackle of the fire and their synchronized breathing. The baker’s boy who had become a soldier, and the Princess who had become a woman, were finally just two souls sharing a bed and a future.

“We have the rest of our lives for it to feel real,” Wonwoo promised, his voice a low, steady anchor in the dark. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

The palace was no longer a labyrinth of secrets, but a home filled with the sound of celebration. The scent of orange blossoms and expensive wine lingered in the air, drifting up from the courtyard where the kingdom was still toasted to the health of the newly titled Consort and his Princess. But inside the royal chambers, the heavy oak doors had been shut against the world, finally granting the couple the one thing they had fought the hardest for: a moment of absolute peace.

The transition from a disgraced guard to the Grand Commander of the Royal Guard was a transformation that changed the very foundation of the kingdom. The King, recognizing that no man was more capable of defending the crown than the one who loved its heir, officially placed the silver seal of the Knights into Wonwoo’s hand. He was no longer the skinny baker’s boy or the silent shadow; he had become the kingdom’s most formidable pillar. His broad chest now filled out the midnight-blue velvet and silver-plated armor of his station, a physique forged by years of discipline and the heavy weight of a responsibility he took with absolute gravity.

Under Wonwoo’s leadership, the atmosphere of the palace shifted. He replaced the atmosphere of surveillance with one of brotherhood, training a new generation of knights who looked at him with the same reverence the common people did. In the war room, he sat at the King’s right hand, his directness as a soldier cutting through the political noise of the Council. He had become a man of such presence that the Northern factions no longer dared to test the borders; they knew the Princess was guarded by a man who had already proven he would face death for her.

The ceremony had been a masterclass in royal spectacle, yet for Wonwoo, it felt like a dream occurring in slow motion. As he stood at the altar in his formal whites, the sunlight filtering through the stained glass caught the sharp, handsome lines of his face. When Y/N walked down the long stone aisle, the room fell into a hush that wasn't born of protocol, but of genuine awe. She wasn't just a Princess being wed; she was a woman reclaiming her life. When they finally stood face-to-face, Wonwoo didn't wait for the priest's prompting. He reached out and took her hands, his large, calloused fingers enveloping hers with a grounding strength that said, I have you.

The reception had followed with endless toasts and the clinking of crystal, but the true wedding happened in the small, stolen glances they shared across the high table. Every time a lord addressed him as "Lord Consort" or "Commander," Wonwoo would feel a phantom weight of his old armor, but then he would feel Y/N’s knee brush against his under the table, anchoring him. They danced once—a slow, sweeping waltz that cleared the floor. In that moment, with his hand on the small of her back and her hand on his broad shoulder, the "patterns" of their love were on display for the whole kingdom to see. They moved as one, a seamless harmony that proved their souls had been married long before the rings were ever exchanged.

Now, hours later, the echoes of the cheers had finally faded, replaced by the crackle of the fire in their private suite. Wonwoo finished unbuckling the last of his formal gear, the heavy silver-trimmed cloak hitting the chair with a dull thud. He stood in his simple linen undershirt, his chest broad and rising steadily with his breath as he looked at Y/N by the hearth. The transition from the public hero to the private husband was visible in the way his shoulders finally dropped, the tension of the day melting away.

He moved toward her, his bare feet silent on the rugs. He didn't say a word as he reached her; he simply wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, pulling her back against the solid warmth of his chest. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling the lingering scent of her wedding perfume and the familiar, sweet warmth of her skin. "I thought the day would never end," he murmured, his voice a low, vibrating rumble against her back. "I spent the whole night wanting to spirit you away from the crowds and bring you back here, where it’s just us. I think,” Wonwoo began, his voice raspy from a day of formal vows and political pleasantries, “that if I had to shake one more Duke’s hand or hear one more toast about 'border stability,' I might have actually seized the crown and run for the hills.”

Y/N laughed, the sound bright and clear in the quiet room. She stepped toward him, reaching up to help him with the stubborn silver fastenings at his throat. “And here I thought the Grand Commander was supposed to have infinite patience. You looked so stoic at the altar, Wonwoo. Like a statue carved from marble.”

“I wasn't being stoic,” he admitted, his hands coming up to rest on her waist, pulling her flush against his broad chest. “I was terrified that if I moved too quickly or breathed too loud, the illusion would shatter. I kept waiting for a guard to tap me on the shoulder and tell me to get back to my post at the door.”

He leaned down, resting his forehead against hers, his eyes closing for a moment as he breathed her in. “But then you took my hand, and your skin was so warm. That was when I knew it was real.”

Y/N leaned back just enough to look at him, her fingers tracing the sharp, familiar line of his jaw. “No more posts at the door, Wonwoo. From now on, you’re the one inside the room. With me.”

“It’s a strange promotion,” he murmured with a small, lopsided smirk, the one he only ever showed her. “I went from guarding your life to being your life. I think I prefer the new title.”

“And what title is that?” she teased, her heart thudding against her ribs as his grip on her waist tightened.

Wonwoo didn't answer with words at first. He swept her up into his arms, his strength effortless as he carried her toward the bed. He laid her down against the silk pillows before settling beside her, patting his chest in that silent, sacred invitation. Once she was tucked against him, her head rising and falling with his breath, he whispered into her hair.

“Just Wonwoo,” he said softly. “Your Wonwoo.”

“That’s the only one I ever wanted,” she replied, closing her eyes as the peace of their new life finally settled over them both

taglist: @elynsthings @atashiboba @itsnotjop

[ts19009]

Screaming. Crying. Throwing up.

Thank you for reading 🙏🫶

[straylightdream]

see her online

⟢ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: gamer!jeon wonwoo x camgirl!reader

⟢ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞(𝐬): smut with a little plot, romance?

⟢ 𝐚𝐮(𝐬): nonidol

⟢ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 3.5k

⟢ 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: cussing, drinking (wonwoo refused to touch mc with alcohol involved), talks about online sex work

⟢ 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: dom wonwoo, bratty/sub reader, big dick wonwoo, size kink, use of sex toys, unprotected sex, creampie, cumplay, rougher sex, the reader is handcuffed, edging, overstimulation, begging, dirty talk, choking, body worship, wonwoo can be a little mean, crying from pleasure, mc is a little worried Mingyu can hear them, nicknames: baby, good girl, brat, princess (hers) nonu, baby, sir (his)

⟢ 𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: 18+ nsfw

⟢ 𝐚𝐧: this one is for Wonwoo’s birthday. Thank you @aeristudios for listening to me ramble about this one. Thank you @svtts for beta reading. divider by @/saradika-graphics.

🎧: if you’re too shy - the 1975 | cherry thrill - movements | worthy- the home team | 34 + 35 - ariana grande

𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬.

HE’S JUST A GAMEBOY

When it comes to you and Wonwoo you both have some similarities, but are also quite different. You both have jobs online. Wonwoo is a successful streamer, and you're known for your spicy paid subscription website. You've been on online fans, and working as a cam girl for a few years now. You've managed to absolutely make bank, and have built quite the online following even away from your site.

You and Wonwoo have quite a few mutual friends. It turns out he's had a crush on you for a while. Once Seungcheol found out, he decided to introduce you two.

The first time you crossed patches was at Seungcheol's birthday party. You're not dumb, you're well aware of who Wonwoo is. There is something about a cute nerdy gamer with glasses, who clearly has the body of a Greek god, that does something to you.

You’ve found yourself being a silent viewer in a few of his streams.

At Seungcheol’s party, you learned Wonwoo was interested in you, but you aren't in a place with your career where you could try and navigate having a boyfriend.

The entire night Wonwoo flirted and eventually you exchanged numbers. You let him know then that you weren't looking for any type of connection with anyone.

It's been six months since you met, and it turns out you couldn't push Wonwoo away. He’s turned into someone you texted often, and even flirt with all the time.

It turns out when you only have sex with yourself and toys, you start to get pent up.

THE GIRL ON THE SCREEN

Wonwoo is hosting a game night at his, and his best friend Mingyu’s apartment. You picked out your outfit with the intention of possibly trying to get laid. You've been debating on crossing the line with Wonwoo for a while. Tonight finally feels like the night.

The boys live in a pretty big three bedroom apartment. It seems their entire friend group plus some of the boys significant others are here.

The first person you see is Seungcheol. He leads you into the kitchen where Wonwoo is talking to Seokmin. The moment Wonwoo's eyes lock on yours you have his full, undivided attention.

What was supposed to be a game night quickly turns into a night of drinking games. The more you drink the drunker you get. The more alcohol that floats through your veins, the more you flirt with Wonwoo.

The whole time he's talking to you, your eyes just focus on his pretty lips, and how he's nervously pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. You want Wonwoo so bad, you could scream.

-

The light peaking through the curtain slowly wakes you up. Your eyes flutter open and you're hit with the realization you're not in your room. Lifting the covers you see that you're fully naked.

The clicking sounds of the keyboard catch your attention. Looking over into the corner, you see Wonwoo on his computer. The scrambled memories of last night start flooding back to you.

Wonwoo turns in his chair removing his headphones. He tilts his head looking at you. "Good morning, sunshine."

Slowly you sit up in his bed, holding the covers up. "Did we have sex?"

"No, you were drunk and I refused to even kiss you while you were intoxicated." He says firmly.

"Why am I naked?" He turns his chair around so he's fully facing you.

"Because after you tried to kiss me, you thought if you got fully naked, I would fuck you."

The memories of what happened between you are sparse, but you remember some of it. Awkwardly, you look around the room. Wonwoo's room looks exactly how you thought it would. Seungcheol always jokes and calls him a neat freak, and it looks like nothing is out of place in his room. It even looks like he's folded your clothes and placed them on his dresser.

You look at the other side of where Wonwoo's phone is sitting on the nightstand. "I slept in the living room on the couch."

"Oh." Turns out Wonwoo is a gentleman and respectful.

"I came in here so we could talk once you’d woke up."

Holding the blanket close to your chest, you get a little more comfortable. You know there is no way you can get out of talking after you clearly threw yourself at him last night.

"What did you want to talk about?" You try to play innocent.

He rolls his eyes. "I don't know, maybe the fact you threw yourself at me last night."

"I thought you liked me?" Wonwoo's made it very clear in the past he's interested in you.

He pushes himself up from the chair. Without thinking your eyes travel up and down his body. He's dressed in a pair of God forsaken grey sweatpants and a tight tank top that shows off his glorious shoulders.

"See, here's the thing—I like you, a lot actually." He pauses, stopping at the foot of the bed. You know there is a but coming. There is no way he'll leave it just at that. "But I only mess around with girls who behave."

Your brows knit together, processing his change in tone. You've never heard him sound so stern. "Am I not a good girl?"

"No."

"I literally put myself on a silver platter for you."

He cocks his head to the side. "A good girl wouldn't have pouted and called me a virgin, because I wouldn't fuck her while she was drunk." You most definitely don't remember saying that to him. A hot wave of blush crawls up your neck.

"I'm sorry."

"I thought you were a good girl until last night." He reaches out, grabbing your chin. "I know that you play with yourself online before I met you, I'd seen some of your videos. None of your them ever made me think that you would be a brat." His words are firm. Your eyes go wide, taking in each and every word he says.

"I didn't think you were some hard dom." You retort.

He narrows his eyes, as a smirk tugs at his lips. "I'm not normally a hard dom. I like control in the bedroom, but if you behave I won't have to be hard on you."

He turns on his heels walking to his dresser. You watch carefully as he pulls out a box. He grabs what looks to be a vibrator wand, handcuffs and a bottle of lube.

"Are you going to fuck me?" You let the blanket fall, leaving your chest fully exposed.

He glances over his shoulder. "Do you still want me to fuck you?"

"Please." If Wonwoo only fucks girls he considers to be "good girls" you must be on your best behavior for him.

"Say it." He turns around, holding the handcuffs.

"Say what?"

"Ask me, tell me you want this." He raises his brows.

Without saying anything you push the covers off, leaving your naked body fully on display. "Wonwoo, I want you to fuck me. I'll be so good for you. Just please fuck me." You've never been one to beg, but right now, you'll do anything he asks of you.

He moves toward the bed without saying another word. "We'll use the traffic light system. At any point if something is too much, you need to tell me. I'm not sure what you're used to, but I'm in control."

Silently you nod.

"Use your words."

"I understand, sir." His eyes light up at the use of sir.

"You're a quick learner, princess. I need to know, what are your boundaries."

"I like choking, but don't be super rough with it. You can slap my ass, but not my face." You pause, suddenly feeling embarrassment crawl up your throat.

"Keep going."

"You can be rougher with how you fuck me. No gross stuff please. Oh and don't call me mean names. Like I don't want be fully degraded."

"Are you okay with princess, good girl, and brat?"

"Yeah, those are fine."

"Can I put you in handcuffs and edge you?"

"Yeah."

Holding the handcuffs out towards you, he nods his head. "Give me your hands." He clicks the cold metal against your skin. They're tight, but not tight enough to hurt. "If they hurt just tell me. Communication is key here."

"Yes, sir."

He goes to take off his glasses. "Please leave them on." You can't escape the thought of him wearing his glasses whilst doing the dirtiest things to you.

"Okay. Lay down, and do not touch me."

Quickly you obey him. Laying on the bed you spread your legs, giving him full access to your needy core. He walks over to the dresser, picking up the vibrator and the bottle of lube before returning and sitting them on the bed next to you.

Your eyes stay focused on him as he pulls off his tank top. Taking his time, he neatly folds it and sets it on top of the dresser, next to your clothes.

Placing his knee on the bed, he crawls towards you slowly. He stops once he's sitting on his knees between your spread legs. His large hand rests on your thigh, rubbing soothing circles into your skin, helping to relax you. You aren't sure why you're so nervous. Maybe it’s because this is the first time you're ever letting a man fully take control.

Picking up the vibrator, he clicks it on. "Color?"

"Green."

He presses the vibrator directly against your clit, earning a moan instantly. He doesn't give you a moment to breathe before he clicks up the speed. Your body tenses immediately.

Your lips part, sinful moans and whimpers filling the room. He unexpectedly drags two fingers through your folds. Closing your eyes, you tilt your head back.

Without thinking your push your hips up towards the vibrator.

"Don't." His words catch you off guard. Your eyes snap open and you see him glaring at you. "Don't try and get yourself off. You'll take what I give you."

"Yes, sir."

Two fingers are suddenly pushed into you, earning a wanton moan. He clicks the vibration speed up another level, as he drags his fingers in a come hither motion, touching that spot inside you that has you seeing stars.

"Let me know when you're close."

"Okay." You whine.

The feeling of his fingers and the vibration is too much, your orgasm is speeding towards you at one hundred miles per hour.

"I'm gonna cum." You cry.

The precipice of your orgasm is rapidly approaching, suddenly everything stops. He rips the vibrator and, fingers away from your needy core. Your orgasm is right there, and he stopped everything.

Your eyes fly open, and you look at him confused. You know he said he would edge you, but you thought he would change his mind.

"Wonwoo—" you cry.

"You're such a good girl, you didn't cum without my permission." He taunts you. Your eyes are wide, you try your hardest to process the situation. "Can you do that again?" You aren't sure if you can, but you'll try anything for him.

He puts the vibrator against your needy clit again. He goes back to his same task of pumping his fingers in and out of you, except this time he's added another finger— this orgasm barreling towards you quicker then the last.

Before you can even tell him you're close he stops everything. Every nerve in your body feels like a live wire. Tears brim your eyes. Another orgasm being ripped away from you is devastating.

“Fuck—“ you cry.

“Such a filthy mouth.” He says teasing you.

He pushes the vibrator back onto your clit. He has the speed all the way up. This orgasm is going to hit you like a freight train. He pumps three fingers in and out of you at a rapid pace.

All the muscles in your body are tense. It’s taking everything in you, to not lift your hips, attempting to chase your release.

"Wonwoo, please let me cum. I'll be so fucking good for you if you let me cum." Tears spring from your eyes. You pull your hands up towards you. If you keep your hands anywhere near him, you know you'll try to grab him.

He rips the vibrator away from your clit and tosses it on the bed. This time he doesn't remove his fingers. He keeps pumping them.

"You can cum princess." He dives in face first into your core. His lips lock around your clit. He's practically making out with your pussy, whilst he pushes you over the edge.

The white hot wave of your orgasm is excruciating. Your walls pulse around his as your head is thrown back moaning his name. He doesn't let up on your clit. He keeps sucking until it’s overstimulated and sore.

"Wonwoo." You cry, squirming underneath him.

He pulls back, sitting back on his knees. Sliding his fingers into his mouth, he licks them clean of your release.

"Pretty baby, can barely handle being edged." He teases.

No words form, silently you blink at him, processing everything that's happening. He turns around stripping away the rest of his clothes.

When he turns around you're greeted to the sight of his massive cock. This is by far the biggest cock you've ever seen with your own eyes.

"Should I grab a condom?"

"I'm clean. I haven't slept with a man in over a year." It's probably dumb to fuck without a condom the first time, but all the logical thoughts left your brain long ago.

"You sure?" He raises his brow.

"Yes, I want you to cum inside me."

He barks out a laugh. Walking closer to the bed, he reaches out and grabs the chain that holds the hand cuffs together. "I'm going to lock your hands above your head. If it's too much, you have to tell me."

"Yes, sir."

He hoist your hands above your head. He hooks the chains into a hook you didn't even realize was built into the headboard.

"You've done this before?" You ask.

"Many times." He smiles.

"Wonwoo?"

"Yes, princess?" He's standing over you.

"You haven't even kissed me." There is something quite humorous about the fact that he's already made you cum and you haven't even kissed.

"Do you want me to kiss you?"

"Please."

Without another word he leans in, pressing his lips to yours for a searing kiss. His hands holds your face as your lips dance together. He kisses you like you’re air in his oxygen-deprived lungs. Pulling back, his teeth tug on your bottom lip.

"Happy?"

"Yes."

He picks up the bottle of lube, clicking it open he coats his entire length. You're going to need all the help you can get, taking someone his size.

He pours some of the cold lube on your core, earning a gasp from you. "Oh—"

"I'm big, so this might hurt."

"I can take you." Even if it hurts you don't care. You'll make him fit.

"Such an eager girl.” He tosses the lube on the bed next to you. "Keep your legs spread wide."

He pushes in slowly, giving you time to adjust. He goes in inch by inch. The moment you're filled to the brim, it feels like he's splitting you open.

Out of instinct, your hands tug against the handcuffs. "Are you okay?" His voice is soft and gentle.

"Yeah. Just—" your brain is having a hard forming words. He's managed to leave you cock drunk. "You're so big."

A smile tugs at his lips. "Am I too big for you?" He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

"No—" you cry.

"Color."

"Green, green." You stutter out. If he stops now, you'll break down crying.

"Did you want me to move, or do you still need time to adjust?" His hand that rests on your thighstarts rubbing soothing circles again.

"Please move, I'll be so good for you if you move." You can't help but beg.

He gives you a smile before he pulls his hips back and slams back into you roughly, knocking you back. He keeps a quick and brutal pace. With each thrust your breasts bounce.

Grabbing your leg, he hooks it over his arms. He keeps snapping his hips into you, over and over.

There is a weird contrast as he leans down kissing the top of your knee gently.

He's so big, he's touching parts inside of you that you didn't know could be reached. Your hands tighten into a fist as you try not to cum too early.

Out of nowhere he drops your leg. Your eyes fly open, looking at him confused.

"Color?"

"Green."

He stops moving for a moment. He's still sitting on his knee, snug inside you, but he moves so he's hovering over you. He snaps his hips back into you.

"Fuck—" you can't help but moan.

He takes your breast in his large hand. He gropes the flesh, earning wanton moans from you. This is the best sex you've ever had in your life.

"Wonwoo—" you cry.

"Does Princess want to cum?" He taunts you.

"Please, I'm so close."

"You can cum." He snaps his hips harder.

The cry that leaves your lips is loud. You're hit with the realization that Mingyu might be home. You pray that he left long before you and Wonwoo started fucking.

This orgasm hits harder then anything you've ever experienced before. You see spots as your walls flutter against his cock like a heartbeat.

Tilting your head back, you leave the delicate skin of your neck fully exposed. Without saying a word, his large hand wraps around your throat. He applies just enough pressure to send you futher over the edge.

"Fuck— fuck." You cry out.

He doesn't stop moving. He keeps thrusting into you, over and over as you ride out your high.

"Where do you want me to cum?" He ask, leaning in even closer to you.

"Inside." You cry.

He releases your neck and drops down to his elbows, so he is plastered against you. He slows down a little, rolling his hips into you as he chases his release.

His lips crash into yours for another heated kiss. Your tongues slide together, muffling your moans.

His thrusts get more sloppy as he gets closer to finding his release. "I'm going to fill you up." He moans against your lips.

True to his word, he fills you like you've never been filled before. He keeps thrusting into you as he paints your walls with his milky release. He came so much, it's starting to leak out around his cock.

It takes a few moments for him to slowly stop moving. He pulls away from you and reaches up for your hands. He releases the chain from the hook and slowly brings your hands towards him. He unlocks the handcuffs and gently rubs your wrist, focusing on the spot where the metal started to bite your skin. He places gentle kisses on both wrists. This is the complete opposite of the man who just fucked you until you cried.

"How are you feeling?" He's still inside you, he hasn't tried to move.

"Like my legs probably don't work." You let out a little laugh. “Please tell me Mingyu isn’t home.”

“He left hours ago.”

He leans in and presses his lips to yours for another kiss. "You're way nicer now." You say with your lips against his.

"It's because you were a good girl."

"I'll always be your good girl, if you'll fuck me like that." Reaching up, you tangle your fingers in his fluffy hair. It feels nice to actually touch him.

"So was this a one time thing?" He asks as he pulls back from you.

"No."

Slowly he pulls out of you. He sits back on his knees, watching as his release starts slowly sliding out of you. He takes two fingers and scoops it up, pushing it back inside.

"Don't waste it." He says, giving you a wicked smile.

"I need a shower." You sigh.

"Let's shower together, and then I'll take you out for breakfast."He holds his hand out towards you.

"Like a date?" You push yourself up, immediately realizing how sore you are.

"Yeah, if you want me to fuck you again we have to go a date."

You can't help but smile. For someone who just dom’ed the hell out of you, he's acting pretty cute right now.

"I would like to go out with you."

Things are definitely going to change after this, but you're okay with that. Clearly what you and Wonwoo have is special.

[ts19009]

Thank you Wonwoo for having a birthday so I can get fed with these fics

[svtts]

PICTURES of you

pairing: fiancée! non-idol! jeon wonwoo x fiancée! fem! reader

genre & warnings: fluff! a tiny bit suggestive but mostly just fluff...

desc: on the day you met, you both took a photo of each other — a tradition that still lives on seven years later, even on your wedding day.

wc: 1.7k

note: happy wonwoo day! i miss him so dearly, so here is some horrifically sweet fluff for everyone. this is inspired by a tiktok made by @oklikewhatever ! not beta read so any mistakes are allll me :3

𝄞: pictures of you by the cure

The sun glittered through the swaying willow tree, the spindly arms arching in gorgeous, bespoke spirals above the head. The scene was picturesque, sprawling green in all directions, blossoming botanicals clustering the field, and a dozen or so rows of perfectly dressed chairs. 

Familiar faces from all the paths your life had taken looked back, real and genuine smiles beaming towards you, chins held high in appreciation.

At the other end of the grassy aisle, the figure of a suit clad man snapped his head up, his body overwhelmed with adoration as he watched you walk slowly.

With each step, your heart became fuller and fuller, your shy smile evolving into a wide grin as you finally let your eyes meet those soft chocolate orbs that never quite left your mind. Those eyes you see in your dreams and in almost every picture you take, those warm coffee-brown eyes that beheld you like you were an angel on earth, descending upon them like a blessing. 

If there wasn’t a delicately designed bouquet between your hands, you may’ve covered the flush that was intruding on your cheeks from his adoring gaze. But alas, you reveal the effect Wonwoo has on you to your friends, your family and even the perpetrator, your fiancée, about to be husband.

As the pace slowed and you neared the altar, you felt tears begin to well up in your own eyes, the sight of your beautiful fiancée smiling so tenderly plucking your heartstrings like a harp. However, before he can reach out to take his big hand in your smaller one, you notice the small brown stool sat politely in the middle, wonwoo’s vintage film camera patiently waiting on the surface. 

It all started the day that you met, seven years ago, on a snowy university quadrangle. The weather had gotten unforgivingly bitter in a matter of days, and it had most students grunting and groaning at the biting, icy wind — Including Wonwoo, who swore the cloudy sky would singlehandedly fail his photography assignment for him. 

The once vivid green of the colossal oak trees was dimmed under grey skies, the camera capturing sullen shadows and blurry undertones instead of the striking light beams and glowing leaves. Wonwoo let his arms slack beside him as he looked up at the colourless clouds, irritation stiffening him grossly. 

As if things couldn’t worsen, tiny specks of white began to tumble lightly from above, settling graciously between his feet. Great, now it’s snowing.

A loud and excitement-fuelled squeal pulled Wonwoo from his self-induced strop and forced him to snap his head to the source of the heinous invasion of noise in his ears. Between two of the ancient oaks, you were jumping with an untameable smile on your face, eyes glowing in delight as you flapped your arms gleefully in the snow. 

Wonwoo froze, mouth slacking as he watched you — like a vision of pure euphoria, you squealed in the snow like it was the most mind-blowing thing to ever occur. And for some reason, he was enticed, heart pounding as he watched you closely. Like perfect wingmen, his feet led him to you, stopping a few feet away as you held your arm above your head, letting the cool snowflakes land on your palm. 

‘Hi.’ Wonwoo said, mentally cringing at his lax greeting. 

‘Oh, hey!’ You turned your head to face him briefly, unable to keep his eye contact as the flourishes of snow wisped past. ‘Isn’t this amazing!’ 

Wonwoo laughed lightly, his heart screeching within him as he continued to watch your fascination. 

‘Do you think I can take a photo of you?’ He asks gingerly, worry consuming him. ‘Sorry, if that seems creepy, I study here, and I’m trying to complete a project about natural-occurring beauty.’ 

Maybe you were playing dumb, but you let him believe you thought he was talking about the snow.

‘Sure.’ You agree, ‘on one condition.’ 

Wonwoo furrowed his brows, letting his camera lower as you look at him closely. ‘Okay.’ 

‘If you let me take a picture of you too.’ 

Those first two photos developed in time for your first date. Two snowy pictures of wide smiles and anticipation — anticipation for something unknown, something unawaited and new, something that would unknowingly change both of your lives. 

It was an icy evening in late November when Wonwoo showed up at your door with hand-wrapped flowers, offering you his arm to take you out on a first date. Between his hands were a bunch of gorgeous lilies, close to blooming, wrapped carefully in newspaper — which were delicately placed in a vase before he whisked you off to dinner. 

Somehow, he’d located the most perfect and intimate restaurant within walking distance of your dorm. The abode was decorated in dark colours and lit dimly to foster closeness between its customers, tiny candlelights flickering on the varnished wooden tables, illuminating faces with golden warmth. 

Wonwoo did everything right — took your coat, pulled out your chair, called you beautiful, tucked your hair behind your ear. And your heart felt butterflies were gearing up to flutter it away. 

‘I hate to be cliché.’ He speaks fondly, reaching beneath the table. 

You hung your head in confusion as he manoeuvred himself back up. ‘What are you talking about, Wonwoo?’ You say with a questioning smile. 

‘Can I take a photo of you?’ 

He materialises the same camera that captured your blissful snowy moment and places it on the table between you. 

‘Well…’ You pretend to think, tapping your chin for exaggeration, Wonwoo’s soft laugh ringing from opposite you. ‘On one condition.’ 

‘Oh really?’ He plays into the bit, a smile bit into his cheeks as he pretends. Inside, his heart is practically singing, the sight of your eyes glowing under candlelight enough to almost render him speechless. 

‘If you let me take a photo of you too.’ 

The second couple of pictures developed in time for Wonwoo to tack them to his wall. The photos under subdued light radiated warmth, from the shy smiles dancing on both of your faces to the subtle knowing looks you both possessed — this was meant to be. 

On a grassy spring plain, Wonwoo presented a spread of your favourite foods, a soft plush blanket beneath your legs as you sat peacefully, letting the breeze tickle your cheeks lightly. Wonwoo was beside you, stealing sly glances at your side profile as the early-spring sun made your skin glow. 

‘Hey,’ He said softly, making you turn and hum in response, leaning onto his shoulder on instinct, the closeness familiar over the months of developing feelings. 

‘What’s up?’ You say as he wraps an arm around your waist, resting his head on yours comfortably. Throughout the months of dating, small touches had flowered slowly, shy pinky-holding evolving into strong arms wrapped around one another. 

‘Want to be my girlfriend?’ Wonwoo asked not-so smoothly, letting the biting anxiety slip through his relaxed facade and muddle the beginning of his sentence.

‘Want to be your girlfriend?’You repeat back to him, with a baited smile, turning to look at him. ‘Jeon Wonwoo, you can do better than that.’

‘Do you want to be my girlfriend?’ He rolls his eyes playfully and meets your gaze — your eyes are glistening and as soft as ever, love penetrating as you nod bashfully at him. 

With a light touch, Wonwoo cups your cheek, running the pad of his thumb across your smooth skin as he drinks your pretty face in. Slowly, his plush lips meet yours, electricity jolting through you as they mould together like two pieces of the same heart. Heat rises through your body as he pecks your lips lovingly, continuing to memorise the texture of your skin beneath his fingertips. 

‘Sorry to ruin the moment but,’ Wonwoo speaks, his breath still mingling with yours. ‘Can I take a photo of you?’ 

With a flushed complexion, you lean your forehead on his shoulder in embarrassment. ‘You know my condition, boyfriend.’ 

Over the years, Wonwoo had collected hundreds of these photos. Each in neat pairs, bright expressions of delight dancing on your faces, backgrounds differing from rural beauty to urban simplicity, some taken in extravagant cities across continents and some in your and Wonwoo’s bed, white covers concealing your naked figures. 

The photographs were famous in your close circle, many of the most important people in your lives witnessing the innocent flash of the camera and the small giggle as you passed it between each other.

Photos from family holidays and photos from mundane work-from-home afternoons, photos from the day Wonwoo got down on one knee and photos from dates gone wrong. Every photo holding a precious memory that you both held close to your hearts.

As you behold the film camera between you both, the audience watching knowingly as Wonwoo leans down, just like he did on your first date, to pick it up, a small joyful tear slips down your cheek.

‘You already know what I’m going to ask.’ He says quietly, the rows of friends in front of you silently listening along. 

Without a word you nod, a grateful smile on your features as he lifts his hand you wipe the tear from your cheek. 

‘Can I take a picture of you?’ This time Wonwoo’s eyes are beginning to get glassy, the audience swooning calming as they watched. 

‘Of course you can,’ you answer with a sniffle, ‘on one condition.’ 

He nods, just as he has many times in the past, your hand meeting his on your cheek to intertwine your fingers. 

‘Only, if you let me take a photo of you.’ 

[ts19009]

GIRL?? Will be sending you my therapy bill 😆🥲

[straylightdream]

true romance

⟢ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: ceo!choi seungcheol x f.reader

after going on a blind date with false pretenses with the ceo of your company, things take a turn when he asks you to marry him to keep himself from ending up in an arranged marriage.

⟢ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞(𝐬): romance, smut, fake dating, angst

⟢ 𝐚𝐮(𝐬): business proposal, nonidol

⟢ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 13.7k

⟢ 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: cussing, lying, drinking, lots of office gossip, Cheol has daddy issues, people think mc is a gold digger, insecurities and body issues.

⟢ 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: unprotected sex, they both are needy, lots of making out, big dick Seungcheol, oral (fem rec), size kink, creampie, cum eating, multiple orgasms, fingering, hair pulling body worship, multiple positions, multiple orgasms, Seungcheol talks mc through it. nicknames: darling, baby, good girl (hers) baby, cheol (his)

⟢ 𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: 18+ minors do not interact

⟢ 𝐚𝐧: This fic is for the SVTFLIX collab hosted by @100vern . It’s loosely based on the k-drama business proposal. Thank you @aeristudios for listening to me ramble about this story and thank you @jakedustry for beta reading.

🎧: snooze | sza | lightening - charli xcx | into you - ariana grande | bmf - sza

𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬.

THE HEIR TO A FORTUNE AND A SECRETARY

Choi Seungcheol prodigal son in the heir to the Choi Corporation. Being the only child of an extremely wealthy and successful businessman has left Seungcheol with immense pressure. His whole life has been laid out for him. The moment he graduated high school, he was sent to a prestige college with the intention of immediately stepping into the family business. The day after graduation, he started working for his family’s company and never looked back.

One thing about being the heir to the company is that his parents are obsessed with the idea of him settling down and giving them at least one grandchild. Seungcheol is so wrapped up in work, he can't even imagine dating. Let alone getting married and staring a family.

These days his weeks consist of going on dates with socialites and heiress that his mother believes would make a great wife.

Tonight is no different. He finds himself in an expensive restaurant with a pretty woman sitting across from him. Except this time, the woman across from him isn't someone who comes from a rich family, it's you. You don't come from money, nor do you have much to be honest. You work for Seungcheol's company as Jeonghan's assistant. The funny things is Seungcheol knows your name, and definitely knows you're not Angel, the girl he's supposed to be on a date with.

THE PRINCE AND THE LIAR

You've been friends with Angel since you were teenagers. Growing up, your family made enough to be considered middle class. As a teen you were so smart you were able to get a full ride scholarship to a fancy private school. While in school, you became best friends with Angel, the heirest to a luxary cosmetics company. Angel has always been an incredible friend to you. She's always been someone who pushes you to get out of your comfort zone and to try new things.

You were surprised when you were hanging out in her fancy high rise apartment and she mentioned going on a date with the CEO of Choi Corporation. You weren't sure why her mother and his mother were trying to set her up with your boss.

"You're going on a date with my boss?" You ask, sitting on the plush chair that sits in the middle of her large closet.

"I don't want to go on a date with your hot boss. I was planning to go out with Soonyoung tonight."

"Your mom still doesn't know about Soonyoung?" Even if Angel doesn't want to admit it, her and Soonyoung have something going on that's more then just sex. Soonyoung works at a dance studio, and doesn't live up to Angel's mother's high expectations.

"Why don't you cancel on Seungcheol?"

"My mother would kill me if I did."

"I see."

Angel holds us a beautiful pink silk dress. She keeps glancing at the dress, and back at you. "This would look good on you."

"Yeah it's also not in my tax bracket." You've been shopping with Angel enough to know you couldn't afford anything in this closet.

"I have an idea!" She shouts.

"What?"

Her eyes go wide, and she gives you the biggest smile. "You're going to go on the date with Seungcheol." That's not what you thought she was going to say.

"What?"

"He's expecting you."

"He's never met me and doesn't know how I look. Just pretend to be me."

"I work for him."

"Like you said before. He doesn't know you exist. You work on a different floor for Jeonghan."

"Angel, this isn't a good idea."

"Come on, it's one blind date. You don't have to go on another one. Just go out with him once and pretend to be me."

"Angel—"

"Babe, just put the pretty pink dress on and go."

-

The moment you sat down, Seungcheol recognized you. He knew immediately you weren't Angel. He's well aware you're Jeonghan's pretty assistant. Instead of telling you he knows who you are, he decides to let this play out. It's not like he actually wanted to go on a date with Angel.

From the beginning he can tell that you're shy. He makes small talk with you, and actively goes out of his way to avoid talking about anything related to the real Angel.

He does want to tease you a little and see if you will own up to the lie. "Angel is a pretty name." He says before taking a sip of his wine.

"Thank you."

"How did your parents pick that name?"

"Grandmother named me." That isn't a lie. Angel was actually named by her grandmother.

The dinner is nice, an even though you're pretending to be someone else, Seungcheol can't help but find you interesting. He wishes he could ask you out again instead of the woman you're pretending to be.

The night ends with Seungcheol walking you to the car Angel ordered for you. He takes your hand and places a gentle kiss on top.

"It was nice getting to meet you." He says.

"This was nice. I feel like I haven't gone out on a date this night in a really long time." You haven't gone on a date in years, and even though this is under false pretenses, this was nice.

"Maybe we could do this again."

He fishes his phone out of the pocket of his dress pants. "Could I have your number please?"

Taking his phone, you hesitantly put in your contact info. You hate that you have to write your name as Angel, but you have no choice.

The whole car ride back to Angel's place you can't help but feel guilty that you enjoyed your night out with him. You feel bad you had to lie to him. Seungcheol seems like a great guy, and doesn’t deserve that.

AN UNEXPECTED CONTRACT

Since your blind date that took place three months ago, you've actively gone out of your way to avoid Seungcheol at work. That's been a little difficult occasionally due to the fact that your boss Jeonghan is best friends with the CEO of the company. Whenever you knew Seungcheol was on the floor looking for Jeonghan, you've made yourself scarce.

You don't know that the CEO is a smart man and is well aware you're avoiding him. He's wanted to text you too many times to count, but he can tell by the way you're avoiding him that you won't respond.

Seungcheol day started with his father meeting him in his office. His father is sitting in his chair at his desk.

"Good morning father." Seungcheol says before sitting his bag down on his desk.

"Son, I have important things to discuss with you."

Seungcheol lets out a heavy sigh before sitting down across from him. He just wants this conversation over with quickly.

"Your mother and I have been discussing things and it's clear you have no intention of settling down. We've decided to set you up in an arranged marriage." The room suddenly feels suffocatingly small. The word 'arranged marriage' keeps playing in mind on repeat.

"What?"

"Your mother has a perfect woman to be your wife. Lena comes from the Park family that owns the Park Finacal Banks." Seungcheol knows exactly who he is talking about. The idea of being thrown into an arranged marriage with a stuck up narcissistic heiress makes him want to throw up.

All of Seungcheol's logical thoughts are slipping out of his brain at a rapid pace. "I'm seeing someone!" He shouts.

"You are?"

"Yes. We were keeping things private."

"Who is she?"

"She works for our company. She's Jeonghan assistant."

"She's poor?" His father sounds extremely confused.

"What she makes doesn't matter to me. The only thing that matters is the fact we're in love."

His father leans forward, resting his elbows on the desk. "How long have you been seeing her?"

"Three months."

"You either marry her, or the Park's daughter."

"It's too soon for us to get married."

"If she rejects your proposal, you'll marry Lena." His father stands up.

Seungcheol feels stuck in his place. His father walks out of his office as Seungcheol tries to wrap his brain around what just happened.

The door slams shut and Seungcheol instantly snaps out of it. He stands up quickly and rushes out of his office. His assistant Seungkwan stands up.

"Seungcheol, is everything okay?"

"I got to go. Move my meeting to tomorrow. Tell them I'm dealing with an emergency."

Seungcheol walks to the elevator in a rush. The doors open and quickly walks in. His office is on the seventeenth floor. He presses the sixteenth floor the one you and Jeonghan work on. He needs to get to you before you can hide from him. The doors open and he rushes to your desk, outside of Jeonghan office.

Your eyes go wide at the sight of him rushing to you. "I need to talk to you, please don't run and hide."

"Okay." You say softly.

He barges into Jeonghan's office. Jeonghan looks up from his computer very confused. "I'm taking your assistant for the day. Tell Joshua to find someone to fill in for her."

"What the fuck is happening?" Jeonghan is extremely confused.

"I'm going to propose to your assistant and hope that she says yes."

"That doesn't explain anything, Cheol. I've never seen you speak to her."

Seungcheol let's out a heavy sigh. "Come to my house after eight and I'll explain everything. Just ask Joshua to get you a second assistant."

Seungcheol walks out of Jeonghan office and sees you still sitting at your desk, looking extremely nervous.

"You're not fired or anything, so don't worry about that. Just grab your purse and anything you bring with you everyday. We're not coming back to office today."

Silently you stand up and grab your purse. "Um, sir, I can't really afford to miss work."

"You'll be paid for today, don't worry."

With your purse in hand you follow Seungcheol to the elevator. Silently, you stand there waiting for the doors to open. The elevator dings and you both step inside.

Seungcheol his the underground level for the parking garage. You stand there not sure what you should say to him.

"I'm aware you're not Angel, just so you know."

Your heart instantly drops. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine. I'm not mad about it."

"Angel is seeing someone else her parents don't know about. Did you know all along I wasn't Angel?"

"Yeah, I have a good memory, and recognized you immediately."

The elevator dings and the doors open. You both step out into the parking garage.

"Did you drive here?" He asks.

"No, I took the train. I don't own a car."

"Okay, follow me to my car." He starts walking toward his CEO parking spot.

"Sir, where are we going?"

"To lunch and to discuss a contract."

You follow him to his expense all black Maserati. He stands on the passenger side and opens the door. Sliding into a sport car that looks too expensive to touch, you're extremely confused by everything that's happening.

Seungcheol gets into the drivers seat silently as he starts the car. He turns on the radio to help cut the awkward silence. The drive to the restaurant isn't too long. He pulls up to an expensive looking hotel. He hands the keys to the valet before he walks around and quickly opens your door.

"Come on." He says.

You follow behind him with your heels clacking against the expensive marble flooring.

Workers bow their heads at Seungcheol as he heads towards the elevator. He presses the button and the doors slide open. Silently, you stand next to him. You have zero clue why he dragged you out of work and brought you here.

He presses the button to the seventeenth floor. He checks his watch and glances over at you. The silence between you is deafening.

The doors slide open and he hold his hand out, guesturing for you to go first.

He walks up an expensive looking restaurant. The host immediately lights up. "Mr. Choi." The host bows his head.

"Two please."

Immediately you're led off through the expensive restaurant. You've seen lunches here booked on Jeonghan schedule. You're led over to a plush booth that overlooks the city.

The waitress immediately comes over and places two glasses of wine in front of you. You can't even pick up the menu, you just stare at Seungcheol.

"I'm aware your name isn't Angel."

"I'm sorry."

"It's fine. I recognized you the moment you sat down."

He doesn't say anything else. He just opens the menu. "Do you know what you would like to eat?"

"I'm not hungry." You appetite disappeared as you were pulled away from work.

"Please, order something." He folds the menu placing it down in front of him.

The waitress comes back for the order and Seungcheol orders himself the salmon. The waitress turns to you, and you just blankly stare at the man across from you.

"My date will take the lemon chicken." He says, handing over the menu.

The silence between you is incredibly loud. Seungcheol's eyes are fixated on you. Grabbing the glass of wine he takes a big gulp. He doesn't even bother slowly sipping on it.

"Mr. Choi, what is this about?" You finally break the silence.

"You didn't call me Mr. Choi on our date. Please call me Seungcheol or Cheol." He raises his brow before taking another drink of wine.

"That date was a mistake on my part." If you could go back in time you would never let Angel convince you to go out.

His brows furrow together. "A mistake?"

"Yes, a mistake. I lied to you, and that's not fair to you."

"I don't care that you lied to me."

It's your turn to now furrow your brows. "You don't?"

"No I don't care."

"Oh." You thought for sure he was mad about your lies.

"I'm here because I have a business proposal for you." He takes a deep breath. "My father informed me today, that he plans on setting me up into an arranged marriage."

"What does that have to do with me?"

"Well you see, I told him I can't marry someone else, because I'm seeing someone and I'm very serious about them." You have no clue who he could possibly be talking about.

"Yeah?" You ask.

"I told him I'm dating you, Jeonghan's assistant." His words if you like an ice cold bucket of water. Your stomach drops and you're rendered speechless. "I know it's crazy. See, here's the thing, my father says I either propose to you, and marry you or I'm marrying Lena from the Park Bank family." You know exactly who he's talking about, Angel has mentioned her on multiple occasions. According to your best friend Lena is a narcissistic, social climber.

You open your mouth to speak but nothing comes out. Seungcheol leans back in his chair, and lets out a sigh.

"What are you asking of me?" You finally find the right words to say.

"I'm asking you to be my fiancée. We don't have to get married right away or anything. But I need you to play the role of my fiancée until my parents push hard enough for us to get married. Maybe we can make it a long engagement and I'll figure out an exit plan." He's absolutely insane. Your eyes are wide, and all you can do is blink at him. You can't process the fact, that he basically just proposed to you.

Reaching out, you grab your glass of wine, and without another thought, start chugging the rich liquid.

"I know this is crazy."

You set the empty glass on the table. "Am I being punished for lying to you?"

"No, not at all. I just thought this could be beneficial to both of us." He shakes his head.

"Beneficial?"

"Yes, you'll move into my penthouse, and I'll take care of you."

"To sleep with you? I know I lied, but I'm not sleeping with you and playing house with you."

He puts his hands up. "Woo, I'm not asking you to have sex with me. I'll set up the guest room just for you. You'll have your own space, and we can be roommates basically."

"What about my job?" You're pretty sure being engaged to the ceo is against hr policies.

"I'm technically your boss, but Jeonghan is in charge of you. You can continue working for him or I'll get you another position. Or you can be stay at home fiancée. I want to fully support you. If you're going to help me with this, it's the least I can do." Is he offering to be your sugar daddy?

"As a sugar daddy?" You blurt out.

"No, as your fiancé, I would be your providor."

The waitress comes over intrupting this absolutely insane conversation. She pours more wine into each of your glasses. You both go quiet for a moment.

"If I agree to this, what are the rules?" You've struggled to get by off and on through our your life. You realize that this business proposal could be a blessing, you can live comfortably and not worry about money.

"I haven't thought that far ahead. I think the one thing that needs to be clear is, we can't see other people. And when we're in public, we have to act like we're a couple. The only person who can know we're not together is Jeonghan."

"I need to have someone I can talk to about this. I need to tell Angel. She won't tell anyone. She has her own secrets she keeps hid away, and won't share ours." Seungcheol wants to laugh at the fact that of all people you bring up the girl that started this whole mess for you.

"Okay. I'll get you a proper engagement ring today. I want to have you moved in by the end of the week."

The waitress walks over and sets your food down in front of you.

"By the way, you're going to have to be comfortable sharing kisses and holding my hand in public." The idea of sharing public affection with Seungcheol doesn't sound terrible.

He reaches out, holding his hand over the table. "Darling, do we have a deal?" Reaching out your grab his hand and shake it.

"I accept your business proposal."

THE HOTTEST NEW COUPLE

Everything has felt like a whirlwind. Seungcheol was true to his word, he got you a beautiful engagement ring, and three days after your agreement, you had moved out of your studio apartment into his huge penthouse.

With the help of Seungkwan, he made sure your bedroom was perfect. The guestroom that is now your room is absolutely beautiful, and it even has its own ensuite bathroom with a beautiful claw foot tub, and a shower that can comfortably have four people in it. Seungcheol stocked it, with all the products you use. He wasn't lying when he said he would take care of you. He brought over all your clothes, and even bought you a ton of new stuff to wear.

You get to work two days before it's all over the news that you and Seungcheol are engaged. As soon as everyone knows, things instantly change.

Walking into work with Seungcheol, you can feel everyone's eyes trained on you. The two front desk girls who are the biggest gossips intentally watch. Seungcheol shoots them both a smile before lacing his fingers with yours.

The two girls immediately leans in and clearly start whispering to each other.

Looking down while you walk, you try your hardest to ignore all the staring.

The doors to the elevator slide open, and Seungcheol leads you inside. He doesn't release your hand as he presses the button to the floor you work on.

There is a long beat of silence. "The people are going to talk about our relationship, but I just need you to ignore it."

"Okay." You aren't exactly sure how you can just ignore people whispering about you.

"It should calm down shortly."

The elevator stops on your floor and Seungcheol instantly can tell you're stressed. He releases your hand. "Hey, everything will be okay."

"Okay." You don't know if your saying that for him, or yourself.

The doors open and you step out. Seungcheol stays back and gives you a smile before the doors close.

Walking through the office, you can feel too many eyes on you. You head straight for Jeonghan’s office. You give his closed door a knock before stepping inside. You've never been happier that Jeonghan gets to work early.

Jeonghan is sitting at his desk leaning back sipping a coffee. "You know Joshua got me a second assistant, you don't have to rush in here bright and early now."

"I'm kinda freaking out and need a moment away from all of the gossips that work for this company." Jeonghan may be your boss, but you have grown to consider him your friend.

"Oh, I see news of your engagement hit the media."

You sit down in the chair in front of his desk. "I'm not used to this. Seungcheol is used to this, the media has always loved him. Before all of this no one knew who I was."

"The media circus will calm down soon. You guys will be the hot gossip for maybe a week."

You hate being the center of attention and this is making you feel uncomfortable. "I don't like that I know that everyone in the this office is talking about me."

"Don't let them bother you." Jeonghan sits his iced latte on the table.

"It's hard not to."

"Mina is working at her desk outside. Why don't your grab your laptop and work in my office for now?" Mina is Jeonghan second assistant Seungcheol requested he got.

"Don't you need privacy?"

"No."

"What about meetings?"

"There is a conference room on this floor and the big one on floor ten." Jeonghan has clearly thought about this.

"Okay."

Things from this day shifted. Everyone officially knows about your engagement. Jeonghan has gone out of his way to protect you from people talking about. He may be your boss, but through this he's become one of your closest friends.

Living in Seungcheol's penthouse feels strange. His large penthouse doesn't feel like home. You just feel like a guest, living here for now.

It's been a long day at work, since Seungcheol has to stay over for a meeting Jeonghan offers to drop you off.

Arriving at your new home, you slip off your heels and head towards your room. Looking through your drawers, you find some lounge wear to change into. After a long day at work, a scorching hot shower sounds amazing.

Walking into the bathroom you strip away your clothes. Stepping into the shower, you try to turn your brain off. This whole engagement with Seungcheol is still a lot to process.

Standing under the hot water, you try your hardest to turn off your brain, but you can't. You just keep thinking about the way everyone now looks at you.

There is this little voice inside your head that says people probably just think you're a gold digger.

Shaking your head, you try and push away the nasty thoughts. Grabbing your favorite shampoo, you start washing your hair.

Getting out of the shower you get dressed in the comfy clothes you picked out. Your bare feed pad across the hardwood floor as you make your way to the kitchen. Opening the fridge, you look for the ingredients to make something to eat. Cooking has always been one thing you like to do to relax.

Opening the drawer you find two steaks. You hestiate to pick them up. It feels weird to use things without asking for permission, but Seungcheol has told you a few time, that anything in the house is yours.

Pulling the steaks from the fridge you look for some veggies that would go good with them.

Grabbing your phone, you turn on some music. You sing along to each song as you prep your dinner. Maybe if Seungcheol doesn't get home super late, he can enjoy a warm meal for dinner.

You get lost in the music, and cooking. You plate the steak giving it time to rest. Walking over to the wine friend in the counter, you find a bottle of wine. You stare a the label for a moment, hoping and praying you didn't pick an insanely expensive bottle. Reaching into the cupboard you grab a glass.

You pour the deep cherry colored wine into the glass. The merlot tastes devine.

Sitting at the table by yourself you enjoy your second glass of wine. You're taking your time eating, hoping Seungcheol will be home soon. You know you can just ask him when he'll be home, but for some reason that feels inappropriate to you.

Scrolling through your phone as you slowly eat, you can't help but smile as the front door opens. A very exhausted looking Seungcheol walks in.

He looks up at the table and finds you giving him a gentle smile.

"Hi." He awkwardly waves.

"I made dinner for you."

You stand up quickly, and rush towards the kitchen. Seungcheol takes his time taking off his bag, and walks towards the dining area. Walking back into the dining area you place down the plate and bring another glass for wine.

"This looks amazing." Seungcheol is learning that you love cooking.

"Thank you. Sorry if you were saving these steaks."

He takes a seat across from where you were sitting. "Anything is this house is yours." He's told you this so many times. It's just extremely hard to wrap your mind around that.

Reaching out he grabs the bottle of wine, and pours himself a glass. Having dinner with him like this feels very domestic. It feels almost a little too real.

You eat in silence for a few minutes before he speaks again. "Sorry I had to stay so late at work. I'm trying really hard not to be as much of a workaholic." Anyone who knows him knows what a hard worker he is. He's always been known for speanding countless late night hours at the office. You've been there a handful of times with Jeonghan working late with him.

"My father called."

"What did he say?" You know that Seungcheol and his father's relationship can't be kind of difficult at times.

"He saw the news of our engagement, and has requested for us to join them for dinner one night." The idea of having dinner with Seungcheol's family is quite terrifying. You're sure they're nice people but they're extremely rich and live an very different life style then the one you're used to.

You knit your brows together, unsure of how to respond.

"I told them it can't be anytime soon, that we're very busy."

"Oh."

"We can avoid that dinner for a while. I have to travel quite a bit for work soon, and you won't be meeting them without me."

"Okay." Grabbing the glass of wine, you take another big drink.

"Hey." He reaches out, taking your hand. "I know this isn't a normal engagement, but just know that we're a team. I have your back, when you agreed to help me that meant we became partners." You still barely know him, but you can't help but feel as if you're catching feelings for him. Seungcheol is truly the ultimate man. It would be nearly impossible not to have a crush on him.

OH HES A GENTLEMAN

The media is having a hay day with the fact one of the cities most eligible bachelors is now taken. Everyone one online is talking about your "secret relationship." Too many threads online are speculating about how long you have been together.

Everyday you go into work holding Seungcheol's hand, and every afternoon you sit in his office eating lunch. Sometimes it's just the two of you, and occasionally Jeonghan will join.

He finds it quite humorous, watching the two of you play the role of the happily engaged couple.

You've be technically engaged for three weeks, and outside of work you haven't done anything together other then relax at home. You've had a handful of movie night, the select times Seungcheol is working from home on something.

Today, he came home from a meeting out of the office after eight. It's one of those night you didn't feel like cooking, so you settled for ordering yourself takeout from your favorite Thai food place, and made yourself comfortable on the couch, reading a book. Seungcheol barges in holding a shopping bag from Prada.

"Hi, darling." Ever since he proposed he started calling your this nickname. You won't complain though, you find it charming. You've never had anyone call you a sweet pet name.

"Hi, Cheol."

Pulling the blanket off your lap, you place your book down and walk over towards Seungcheol. "Did you go shopping?" You realized immediately that Seungcheol has a love for luxury designer items. All his suits he wears to the office are designer. Your favorite ones, being his Prada ones.

"I got you something." He holds the bag out towards you.

"Why?" You're very much not used to him buying you things, let alone expensive luxury items.

"Because you're my fiancée, and I saw this and thought of you."

Sitting the bag on the table, you pull out the tissue and find a black box with a bow on it. Your heart drops already knowing what's inside. One day while you were leaving work together you saw a woman with this bag and you told him how that was your dream bag. Your first mistake was letting him know you had a desire to own something expensive like this.

Opening the box, you want to cry at the sight, of the beautiful black leather bag, you've always dreamed of owning. To be quite honest, you're a little caught off guard by how much he's spoiling you. You have to remind yourself that this is a business transaction. That there are no romantic intentions behind his purchase. You need to tell yourself this a gift from a "friend."

"Seungcheol, this is beautiful." He gives you a crooked smile.

"I'm glad you like it." The second he knew you wanted this bag, he fully planned on buying it for you.

Your eyes start to water, you reach up pushing away your tears before they can fall. You can't help but feel embarrassed for crying in front of him. "I was thinking, even though this is a business transaction, that maybe we could still go on dates." You've been thinking about brining this up for the last few days. Angel had put the idea into your brain. Your best friend loves the idea that you and Seungcheol are living together. According to her, Seungcheol will treat you right and take care of you. She not wrong, you haven't been together that long and Seungcheol is actively going out of his way to be an amazing partner to you.

He nods and smiles. "I would love to take you out on dates." He steps toward you and leans in and presses his lips to your cheek for a gentle kiss. "How about we go out tomorrow night?"

"I would love that."

"What are you reading?"

"Just some romance novel Angel has been talking about nonstop." Your best friend has always loved a spicy romance novel, she's even roped you into reading them with her.

"What did you do for dinner?" Seungcheol asks as he removes his suit jacket.

"I ordered Thai food."

"Is there any left?"

"Yeah, I ordered enough for both of us."

You lead him into the kitchen and help dish him a plate. Sitting at the kitchen table, you silently read your book as he eats dinner.

-

Seungcheol made a big deal to both Seungkwan and Jeonghan that he need to be off on time today. He's gone out of his way to plan a romantic date night for you both.

Sitting at Jeonghan's desk, you're working on organizing his meetings for the next few days.

"You know your adoring fiancé is making a big deal about some date night?" Jeonghan looks up from his phone.

Your cheeks warm with blush. "Is he?"

"You now for this just being a business transaction, he's putting in a lot of effort to woo you." You thought when Seungcheol made this proposition, that this would simply be a business transaction, but things from the very beginning have felt a little too real.

The moment you clock out of work, Seungcheol is already at Jeonghan's office, ready to pick you up.

He's dressed in your favorite navy Prada suit he owns. In his hand he's holding a beautiful bouquet of red roses.

Jeonghan leans back in his desk chair, holding back a laugh. He's eating up the fact that Seungcheol is putting in a real effort.

"Are you ready to go?" Seungcheol asks, holding the bouquet out.

"Yes." Thank god you wore your favorite dress to work today, and decided to actually wear a pair of heels.

"Did you send Seungkwan off to pick those up?" Jeonghan chimes in.

"No." Seungcheol responds before grabbing your hand.

The second you step out of Jeonghan's office, hand in hand with the ceo of the company, all eyes are on you. Blush creeps up on your neck, realizing everyone in eye shot is staring at you.

Seungcheol squeezes your hand, snapping you out of your thoughts. He stops at the elevator. Leaning down his lips brush your ear. "Darling, ignore all of them."

Reaching, he presses the button. Silently you glance up at him. "You look beautiful." If only he knows that you wore a sexy red matching lingerie set he probably won't see.

The doors slide open and he leads you inside. As more people join you in the elevator, you end up practically pressed against him.

Walking outside you find Seungcheol’s expensive red Ferrari waiting for you. He wastes no time taking the flowers and holding the door open for you.

He jumps in the drive seat and puts the flowers back in your lap.

The drive to the restaurant is filled with a comfortable silence, as Seungcheol hums along to the radio.

You've learned since living with him, he loves singing along the radio lightly, and singing when he's in the shower.

He pulls the car up to the valet and you immediately recognize this restaurant. You've booked a few very important meetings for Jeonghan here. This place is crazy expensive.

The passenger door opens and Seungcheol is holding his hand out for you. "Come on, darling."

Your heels click against the marble floor. Hand in hand he leads you to host. "Two for Choi." He says holding up two fingers.

The hostess leads you over to a booth tucked away in the corner. Sliding into the booth, he sits down across from you. The hostess sits down a simple paper menu down in front of you. This place is known for the Omakase style. The sushi chef here is world renowned.

The waitress comes back over, and Seungcheol orders a nice bottle of sake.

Dinner is absolutely incredible. You've never had sushi this delicious before. The whole time you're eating and talking you can't help but notice how Seungcheol lights up as he talks to you. If you didn't know any better you might be think has feelings for you.

"Thank you for taking me out." You say before taking a sip of your sake.

"This is nice. We should try and go on a date once, or twice a week." When he talks to you like this, it's hard to tell yourself that this isn't real.

"I would like that."

The bill arrives and before the waitress can even put it down, Seungcheol is holding up his black card. You don't even want to know how expensive this date was.

Leaving the restaurant, Seungcheol immediately laces his fingers with yours. "Do you have room for dessert?" He ask before walking up to the valet.

"Yes."

"How do you feel about vanilla soft serve?"

"It sounds delicious."

Tugging on your hand, he leads you down the street to a little ice cream shop next door. He holds the door open, stepping inside you're reminded how overdressed you are. Your heels click against the tile. Seungcheol never releases your hand as he walks up and orders to cones.

The lady working the counter hands your a tall vanilla ice cream cone. Seungcheol leads your over to a little table by the window. He releases your hand as he helps you sit down. He takes his place across from you.

You slide your tongue through the creamy and sweet vanilla soft serve. Seungcheol's eyes stay on you, watching you enjoy your sweet treat.

"Have you been here before?" You ask before taking another lick.

"I like to come here after meetings. If it's a bad meeting it's a little pick me up, and if it's a good meeting, it's a celebration."

"What would you call this?"

"A celebration, after a nice date."

After ice cream you finally head back home. The whole ride you can't stop thinking about the way Seungcheol was looking at you. Recently, he's been flirting quite a bit, and things are just starting to feel too real. You realize maybe you really want things to be real.

THE TALK OF THE TOWN

Something about today feels off. Your morning started by spilling your coffee, and by the time you arrived to work with Seungcheol you're fed up with the constant stares from everyone at work.

Standing in the copy room, you're atempting to scan some items in peace. The door opens and you glance over to find two girls who work in accounting whispering and softly giggling. Taking a deep breath, you try and push away the negative thoughts floating around in your brain.

You know Seungcheol is used to being the talk around town, and having everyone stare at him, but you aren't used to this. You feel like a circus act.

Grabbing your papers, you quickly exit the room. You can feel both their eyes burning into you. Walking through office you can feel everyone continue to watch you.

Busting into Jeonghan office, you desperately need to escape everyone's prying eyes.

He looks up from his computer and knits his brows together. You must look absolutely frazzled.

"Are you okay?"

Closing your eyes you take another deep breath trying to gather yourself. "Yes." Lying feels like the best option at the moment.

"Sit down and stop lying to me."

Placing the papers down on the desk you sit across from him.

"What is going on?" He reaches for his coffee that's sitting next to him.

"I'm tired of everyone staring at me, and everyone talking about me when I enter a room here." You say quickly.

"Don't let them get to you, they're just jealous."

"Jeonghan, it's not that easy." You sigh.

"I know. But just know that Seungcheol and I will always have your back."

"Your fiancé has a meeting during lunch." He always gives you a mischievous smile whenever he refers to Seungcheol as your fiancé. "How about we go get some lunch together?"

"That would be nice."

Jeonghan leads you out of the office. You aren't sure what he has planned, but you follow him to the little cafe on the corner. The holds up two fingers and waiteess immediately leads you to the table by the window.

You sit down across from Jeonghan, picking up the menu. You realize you've had food delivered from this restaurant before for him.

"This is the place with your favorite chicken pesto sandwich."

"I was gonna order us lunch from here, but you clearly need an hour away from the office." Jeonghan sets his menu down. "I'm going to recommend my favorite, the chicken pesto. I would also suggest getting the lychee lemonade."

"How about you order for me," you give him a smile.

The waitress comes back and Jeonghan does order for you. This place is cute. Looking around, you wonder if Seungcheol would have lunch with you here one day.

The waitress comes back over and sets down a glass of ice cold lemonade in front of you, and a latte in front of Jeonghan.

"So, how is life being engaged?" He asked as he sticks his straw in his latte.

"Socially not the best, at home with Seungcheol—" At home things are feeling too real, and you cant help but constantly be confused.

Jeonghan raises his brow, before taking a sip of coffee. "Something tells me you're enjoying the aspect of sharing a home with him."

A heavy sigh passes your lips. "I can't talk about this with you. You're his best friend."

He shrugs. "Anything you say to me, won't be repeated. He may be my best friend, but I'm also friends with you."

"Things just feel a little too real right now."

Jeonghan nods before taking a drink of the cold beverage in front of him. "You know, Seungcheol seems happier since you both started the arrangement."

He's not wrong, before all of this started, whenever you would see Seungcheol around the office he was always sporting a frown. These days it's rare you don't see him smiling. The only time he doesn't seem happy, is when his father is in the office.

"He's not the only one that seems happier." You glances at you, raising his brow. "I don't think I have ever seen you this consistently happy." Before Seungcheol, you were a lot more stressed. Your job pays you well, but worrying about paying rent and all your expenses was too stressful at points. It's nice knowing, no matter what Seungcheol will take care of you.

"I feel happier. I spending time with him, and he's great to live with."

"I think you two would make a fantastic couple."

The waitress comes over and sets down both your meals. Jeonghan thanks her, and gives her a gentle smile.

"Aren't we already a couple?"

"I'm saying, if you start acting like this is fully real, you'll be even happier." Jeonghan's words play in your head on repeat. Over the last week or so you've wondered what it would like for your relationship with Seungcheol to be real. Sure, he takes you out and will hold your hand, but you want to know what it's like to kiss him and to be with him fully.

Arriving back at the office, you find Seungcheol by the elevator, with his phone pressed to his ear. The moment he see you and Jeonghan, he gives you a big smile.

Jeonghan nudges you and gently pushes you towards Seungcheol. Glancing over, you see the girls at the front desk clearly watching you, and whispering to each other.

Jeonghan immediately looks over at the girls. The startled look on their faces as he walks towards them says it all. The immediately stand up and bow their heads at him, clearly apologizing.

Seungcheol glances over there as he pockets his phone. He takes a couple steps towards you before pulling you into his chest for a hug.

He kisses the top of your head before you leading you towards the elevator.

-

CRAVING SOMETHING MORE

Sitting in Angel's favorite restaurant downtown, you're sipping on a latte listening to her talk about the crazy things Soonyoung has done to her in bed recently. It's been so long since you've been intimate with anyone, that hearing about her sex life is reminding you how much you miss sex.

"You look like you're zoning out." Angel says before taking a sip of her own latte.

"I'm listening." You raise your brow, leaning back.

"What's going through your mind?"

"Nothing." You don't want to have this conversation, let alone have it in the middle of a cafe.

"I don't believe you." She pouts. "Just tell me what's going on."

Reaching for your coffee, you take another sip of your ice latte. "Fine. I'm just thinking about the fact I miss being intimate with someone."

"Girl, last time I check you lived with a super hot buff guy who calls himself your fiancé."

"It's not that easy. We both know he's not fully my fiancé."

Angel dramatically rolls her eyes. "Um, last time I checked random men don't buy just any girl a Prada bag she's always dreamed of."

"He did that just to be nice." You look at said bag sitting on the table next to you.

"Girl, if you're missing sex and being intimate with someone, ride your sexy fake fiance." Angel has never been one to mend her words.

You're in the middle of a crowded cafe. The last thing you need is to have people hearing about your so called relationship with with Seungcheol. "Angel." You look around hoping no one is paying attention.

"What? You're the one who clearly seems to be pent up. Sometning tells me, your fiance would be down."

"Keep it down. I don't need the whole cafe in my business."

Angel smirks before taking a sip of her drink. "Are you bringing Seungcheol to my birthday tonight?"

"Yes." When you invited Seungcheol, you weren't sure if he would agree. It's been a few months since you've been faking your relationship, but you haven't attempted a social outing like this.

"Make a move on him tonight. Have yourself a little cocktail and loosen up and tell him you want to ride him into the sun." You can't even respond you just stare at her absolutely embarrassed. "Wear that skin tight lace dress I bought you. I promise you, Seungcheol won't be able to keep his hands to himself."

-

Arriving at Angel's luxury penthouse, you're dressed in the skimpiest dress you own. Standing outside the door, you keep attempting to smooth out the front of your dress. Seungcheol is standing next to you in a pair of black jeans, a white shirt that hugs his large frame, and a leather jacket. Looking down at your feet, you realize these high heels might have been a mistake.

"You look gorgeous by the way."

"Huh?" You look up at him, knitting your brows together.

"You keep messing with your dress, and I just want to let you know, you look incredible." He reaches out, taking your hand away from your stomach.

"I feel like the dress is too tight and makes my stomach stand out." You've always been a little bit self conscious about your body, and this dress isn't helping that.

"I promise you, you look sexy as hell."

Your ears burn with embarrassment. "Thank you."

The door swing opens and you find Angel standing there. "Come inside now." She grabs your free hand, pulling you and Seungcheol inside.

Her place is filled to the brim with too many people to count. Looking around, you see some familiar faces, and too people you have never seen before. She leads you off to her room where Soonyoung is sitting on her bed.

"Hi." He awkwardly waves to you and Seungcheol.

Angel releases your hand and walks over to Soonyoung. You immediately notice how he lights up instantly.

"I have the good alcohol tucked away in here. The last thing I need is people getting into my thousand dollar scotch." She walks over and grabs the expensive bottle of the dresser.

"How about we takes shots to celebrate my birthday?" She smiles.

"Sure." Seungcheol responds.

Soonyoung hops off the bed and goes over to the bar cart by her huge walk in closet. He comes back holding four crystal glass shot glasses.

Angel runs off to her closet while Soonyoung pours the dark liquor. She comes back dressed in a completely different dress. She wearing a vintage dress that looks incredible on her.

Soonyoung passes around the shots. Seungcheol raises his and says, "to the birthday girl."

Everyone takes their shots. The dark liquor burns as it slides down your throat. Your eyes stay trained on Seungcheol, watching as he's absolutely unfazed by the strong liquor.

Everyone puts there shot glasses back. Standing close to Seungcheol, he throws his arm over your shoulder, holding you close to him.

"My room is off limits to anyone who isn't in here now. If you guys need some privacy feel free to come in here." She raises her eyes brows at both of you suggestively.

Glancing up at Seungcheol you see him biting back a smile.

Reaching over, she grabs Soonyoung's hand and leads him out of her room. You're left standing their was Seungcheol.

"Should we go be social?" He asks.

"Probably."

Heading out of her room, you head off toward the kitchen. The kitchen is filled with people. Seungcheol makes his way to the fridge. He pulls out a bottle of beer and cracks it open.

"What would you like to drink?" He asks loud enough for you to hear over the booming music.

"I'll take a beer." He hands you the one he already opened and grabs another one.

It's not long before some of your friends find you, and immediately start chatting with Seungcheol. It seems everyone wants to know your "fiancée". You can't blame them, he's extremely charming and kind. You spend your night making small talk people. The whole night Seungcheol is by your side. Even when he's talking to someone else, you have his attention. His hand is always on you in one way or another. His hand on the small of your back makes every logical thought start slowly slipaway.

You excuse yourself, needing a moment to think. Walking through the crowded penthouse, you make your way to Angel's room. Heading to the ensuite bathroom you take your time using the restroom, before touching up your lip oil. You stare into the mirror, and start soothing out your dress.

A knock on the door startles you. You open door and aren't surprised to see Seungcheol standing there. His jacket is off, and your eyes instantly travel across his broad chest. This man looks mouth watering in absolutely anything he wears.

"I shouldn't have followed you, clearly you want space." He mumbles.

You shake your head. "I just needed a moment. I'm glad you followed me."

Without saying another word he steps towards you. He stands so close to you, there is barely any distance between you. Looking up at him you stand a slow breath. His large hand rest on rests on your cheek. Parting your lips slightly. He drags his thumb across your bottom lip.

"You're so pretty." He rasp. You can't think of anything to say, you just slowly blink at him. "My pretty fiancée." Leaning in his nose brushes against yours.

"Seungcheol?"

"Yes, darling?"

"Don't play games with me."

A smile tugs at his lips. "I would never do that."

The moment his lips touch you, the oxygen as been sucked out of the room. One hand holds your face, while the other rests on your side, holding you close to him. One of your hand clutches his shirt.

Your lips move together as if your need each other to breathe. He pulls back slightly and gives you a smile. He turns your body so you're pressed against the wall. Your dress rises up your thighs. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pull him down towards you.

Kissing him is intoxicating. Any liquor you had during the party is long gone from your veins. Now you're drunk on Seungcheol. His hands rest on your hips, holding your close to him. You don't know how long you've been kissing for. His lips muffle your moans.

Pulling back, his lips are smeared with your lip oil. You both look slightly disheveled. You should be enjoying the fact that you finally kissed, but right now the only thing you can think about is what this means.

"We should go home." He says, pulling away. Your stomach sinks instantly. Your heart rate picks up as anxiety kicks in. Maybe you shouldn't have made out with your fake fiancé.

The car ride back to the house, feels different. Seungcheol hand is resting on your thigh. You catch him occasionally glancing over at you.

The moment you're inside, Seungcheol says goodnight before quickly kissing your forehead and disappearing off into his room.

After finally stripping away your tight lace dress that's left you feeling uncomfortable all night, you finally step into a hot shower.

The hot water helps strip away the tension. No matter how hard you try, you can't get the feeling of Seungcheol's lips on yours out of your mind.

NOTHING MORE THAN A GOLD DIGGER

It's been a week since your kiss you shared, and absolutely nothing has changed. There are still the lingering touches from him and longing looks from you, but nothing more has happened.

It's been clear since this morning that Seungcheol isn't having a good day. It's a Saturday and normally neither of you work on the weekends. Today is different though, Seungcheol has spent all morning locked away in his office.

You spend the morning out with Angel getting lunch and you thought maybe by the time you returned home Seungcheol would be done working.

Sitting on the couch, you're mindlessly scrolling through your phone. Seungcheol's office door opens. He closes the door and pauses, taking a deep breath. He walks out into the living room and finds you sitting on the couch.

"Are you okay?" You close your phone, and sit it down on the couch next to you.

"I'm sorry to do this, but we have to go to my parents house for dinner tonight." The frustrated look on his face lets you know everything you need to know. He moves and sits down on the couch next you. He leans back, letting out a heavy sigh.

"I don't mind going." It's not exactly a lie. You will absolutely go to stand by Seungcheol side, but you're quite scared to meet his parents. Specifically his father.

He pushes himself up, resting his elbows on his knees. "I'm not saying this because you don't always look nice, but I need you to look extra nice tonight. My parents are judgy." You know what he means, you don't take offense to what he says.

"What should I wear?"

"Why don't you wear that Chanel dress I bought you, and pair of heels?" You know the exact dress he's talking about. He randomly gave it to you last week, and you told yourself you were going to save it for a special occasion. You didn't expect that special occasion to be meeting his parents.

"Okay. What time are we going?"

"Can you be ready by five?" That's two hours away, it won't take you that long to get ready.

"Yeah."

You both go your separate ways, Seungcheol heads off to his room, and you head off to your bathroom.

Turning the shower on, you let the water warm up. Stripping away your clothes you step into the warm water. Tonight calls for an everything shower. You wash your hair, scrub your body with you warm vanilla scented sugar scrub, before you take your time shaving.

After the shower you take your time, applying your fancy body oils, and lotions. Your goal is to feel as nice as possible tonight.

Heading off to the closet you find the exact dress Seungcheol gave you. The dress fits perfectly. The only problem is, you can't reach the back zipper. Picking up your heels you walk out into the living room. You glance into the kitchen to find Seungcheol standing there drinking what looks to be a glass of whiskey.

You drop your heels on the floor and walk towards. One of your hands is across your chest, holding up your dress.

"Can you help me with the zipper?"

He nods and walks up towards. Turning around you make sure your hair is out of the way. Slowly he slides the zipper up.

"There you go."

You turn back around to face him. His eyes slowly travel up and down your body, clearly checking you out.

"You look beautiful."

"Hopefully your parents like me." It shouldn't matter if they do, this whole relationship is fake, but you desperately want them to like you.

He stares at you trying to figure out what to say. He wants his parents to like you, but he knows how his father is.

"My dad is tough, but my mother is kind." He walks over and picks up the glass of whiskey. He chugs the rest of the liquid and doesn't even flinch.

"We should go." You say.

Arrive at Seungcheol's family home, you can't help but be in awe at how beautiful their home is.

Seungcheol parks his car in the driveway. The moment he's parked he hops out to open your door. He's clearly a mixture of nervous and frustrated.

Hand in hand he leads you to the front door. "No matter what, I have you back." Is the last thing he says before the door is opened.

Walking in you're immediately greeted by his mother. She's excited to see you both. She pulls Seungcheol in for a hug.

"Mother, this is my fiance." He does even get to say your name before his mother is pulling you in.

"Seungcheol said you're pretty, and he's not wrong, you're beautiful." Blush creeps across your cheeks. She releases you and leads you both towards the kitchen.

"Let's have a glass of wine."

Looking around the expensive hi-tech kitchen, you're truly reminded how different both your tax brackets are.

"Seungcheol, go get your father and tell him it's dinner time."

Seungcheol hand lingers on your lower back for a moment. He knits his brows together and opens his mouth, wanting to tell his mother no.

"I'll be okay." You mouth to him quietly.

Hesitantly, Seungcheol leaves you alone.

You glance over at Mrs. Choi, she gives you a gentle smile, one that reminds you of your own mother. She picks up a glass from the counter, and pours you a glass of white wine.

Taking the glass you stare at it for a moment before taking a sip.

"Seungcheol is a good man." His mother says.

"I know."

"My husband is a tough man, but he's tough because he's trying to protect the things he loves." This is her way of defending him. Seungcheol rarely speaks of his father, it's clear to you that they have quite a few issues.

"I would never do anything to hurt Seungcheol." You've fallen in love with her son, the last thing you want to do is hurt him.

"I can tell by the way that you both look at each other that you're in love." You stomach drops. Your feelings you have for Seungcheol don't feel like they're being reciprocated.

"He's a great man."

"I asked Seungcheol if you had any food allergies. I asked our chef to make something special for dinner tonight." She gives you another smile before taking a drink of her wine.

Seungcheol comes back alone. He can't hide the irritated look on his face. "He'll join us in a little while. Let's start dinner." He grabs your hand leading you towards the dining room.

Walking into the dining room, you're greeted by a long marble table. Four places are already set. Seungcheol shows you to your place and sits down next to you. His mother sits down across from you.

Silently, you sit there listening to Seungcheol and his mother talk. Its clear he's quite distant recently. She's a sweet lady, and it's clear she cares about her son.

The chef comes out and places down plates in front of you. The food looks absolutely delicious. Quitely you eat, listening to Mrs. Choi talk about a charity dinner she's hosting.

The moment Mr. Choi walks in the room the mood shifts. Mrs. Choi stands up to greet him. The feeling of Seungcheol large hand resting on your thigh instantly catches your attention.

"You must be my son's fiancée. The assistant." The way he's says your job title sounds degrading.

"Nice to meet you." Your voice is meek. You feel like you don't belong here.

"Don't speak to her like that." Seungcheol immediately responds.

His father barks out a laugh, sitting down at the table, across from him. A screaming silence takes over the room. The tension is so thick you can cut it with a knife. His father doesn't say anything else as another round of food is brought out.

His mother goes back to talking about her charity event. You silently sit there eating. You can feel Mr. Choi's eyes burning into you.

"So, how did you manage to seduce my son?" He gives you a pointed look.

Glancing at Seungcheol, he grinds his teeth. His hand squeezes your thigh.

"I didn't persue your son."

"That's funny." Mr. Choi barks out another laugh.

"I asked her out. She wouldn't give me the time of day for month. I persued her." Seungcheol responds.

"Seungcheol, you're the cities most eligible bachelor and you picked a gold digger." His venomous works sting. Wincing, You avert your eyes.

Shoving his plate forwards, Seungcheol stands quickly. "You will not speak to my fiancée that way. Darling, let's go home." He reaches for your hand.

"Cheol." his mother stands up quickly.

His father leans back in his chair with his eye burning into you.

"Mother, I'm sorry. I'm not going to sit here and let him speak to her like that."

"Baby, let's go home." He's never called you that before. You can see the desperation behind his eyes.

Standing, you let him lead you out of house. The moment you're outside, he lets out a heavy sigh.

"I'm sorry." Is all he can say.

"It's okay." You're hurt, but that's not his fault.

The car ride home is filled with silence. It's clear Seungcheol is extremely upset. Walking into the house, he pauses and stares at you.

"I'm sorry," he repeats again.

"I'm okay."

Walking over to you, he rests his hand on your cheek. You think for a moment he might kiss you. He leans in and gently kisses your cheek before heading off to his bedroom.

-

No matter how hard you try, you can't sleep. Lying in bed staring at the ceiling, your mind wonders to Seungcheol. Pulling yourself out of bed you glance at yourself in the full length mirror. You're dressed in panties that barely cover your butt and a baggy shirt that hits mid thigh. You should find a robe or something but right now, you just need to to get out of this room. Maybe a glass of water or something will help you relax.

Your sock covered feet pad against the hard wood floor. Walking through the living room, you glance over and see Seungcheol office door is cracked open, light is flickering out into the dark living room.

No thoughts are in your head as you walk towards his office. Not bothering to knock you peak your head in. You find his laptop in front of him. He's dressed in just a pair of cotton gray lounge pants. His beautiful bare torso is on display.

The sound of the door creeking closed catches his attention. Raising his head, his eyes catch yours.

"What are you doing up?" He pushes his chair back a little.

"I couldn't sleep."

"Why?"

"I was worried about you."

He pushes his fingers through his dark hair, and lets out a sigh. "You shouldn't have to worry about me."

You take a step towards his desk. His eyes travel up and down your very exposed legs. Thinking maybe you should have found something else to wear.

"Dinner upset you." You place your hand on the expense marble top desk.

"I was upset, because he was rude to you." He lets out a sigh. "I don't ever want to see you upset, and knowing that my father was intentionally rude to you—" he blinks and looks away. "I just don't like that he treated you that way, and he thought he could say those cruel things to you."

"I don't care what he thinks about me. I just care about what you think." You walk around the desk. He rolls his chair back, giving you room to stand in front of him.

He looks up at you with sad eyes. Reaching our you rest your hand on his cheek. "I don't like seeing you upset."

"I'm not upset anymore."

Pulling back, you rest your butt against his desk. You stare at him, studying him carefully. Ever since that kiss you shared, you've desperately wanted to do it again.

Reaching out he silently mess with the hem of your baggy shirt. "I like your pajamas."

Blush flushes your cheeks. "I should have put a robe on."

He shakes his head, standing quickly. "No, you shouldn't have." He takes a step towards you, caging you in against his desk. The tension in the room is thick. Leaning in he brushes his nose against yours.

"Cheol—"

"Yes, darling?" He pulls back slightly.

"Why haven't you kissed me again since the party?" That kiss you shared has been living in your mind on repeat.

His hand rests on your cheek. Slowly he drags his thumb across your bottom lip. "I was afraid you didn't want me to kiss you again. I feel like I keep messing things up with you."

"I want you to kiss me again." You muster up every single ounce of confidence you have.

"My fiancée wants another kiss?" He raises his brow.

"Please."

He leans in slowly, leaving you desperate for what's to come. First touch of his lips is intoxicating. One hand rest on your hip, while the other holds your face. This kiss feels different, feels desperate and lust filled.

He pulls back and looks are you with lust blown eyes. Both your lips are swollen from the intense kiss.

"More." You whisper.

Without another word, he grabs your hips lifting your on to his desk. The marble is cold against the bare skin of butt and thighs. A shiver runs down your spine. Seungcheol stands between your spread legs, crashing his lips into yours. His lips are air and your oxygen deprived lungs. Wrapping your arms around his neck you hold him close. His hands run up and down your shirt cover sides.

He pulls back just a little to judge your reaction. "More." You repeat as you chase his lips.

Pushing his hand up under your baggy shirt, you feel his calloused hand run along your side. Pushing yourself towards him, you're desperate for more.

One of his hands moves to your butt, groping the flesh through your panties. Absentmindedly, a moan leaves your lips.

"You sound so pretty," he practically moans as his lips make a trail from your jaw down to the most sensitive part of your neck.

"Cheol." You moan his name like a sinful prayer.

He slips his hand under your panties. Grabbing your cheek, and pulling you towards the edge of the desk. It desperate moan leaves your lips, feeling Seungcheol hardened erection pressing against your panty covered core.

"Fuck me." You aren't quite sure where that came from, but you want him so badly it hurts.

"Baby, we shouldn't have our first time on my desk while I'm upset." He pulls back with wide eyes. He's trying his hardest to think logically.

"Okay." You pull back from him. The instant feeling of rejection is almost too hard to bare.

He leans in and presses his lips to yours for a soft kiss, the complete opposite of what you just experienced. "Hey, don't do that. I want you so fucking bad, but I don't want our first time to be like this. You deserve romance, and something sweet. This feels rushed and horny." You definitely weren't expecting him to say that.

"Horny?" You can't help but smile.

"Yes, this feels like we're a couple of horny teens."

"Okay."

"We should go to bed."

He helps you get off the desk. He doesn't move though, he stands right in front of you. Placing his hand on your cheek, he leans down to give you another kiss.

Taking your hand, he leads you out of his office. You wish he would take you to his room, but it's clear he's trying to be a gentleman.

-

Falling asleep was nearly impossible after kissing Seungcheol again. You fell asleep dreaming of him.

By the time the morning light was peaking through your curtains, your eyes flutter open.

After last night, you've grown tired of playing cat and mouse with Seungcheol. You're tired of pretending, you want to be with him fully. You're sick of this just being pretend.

Crawling out of bed, you head to the bathroom to quickly brush your teeth. You're hoping you can catch Seungcheol before he goes to the gym for his morning work out.

Your sock covered feet pad across the hardwood floor. Walking up to Seungcheol room, you see the light peaking out from below the door.

Taking a deep breath you knock on the door. You hear his foot steps and the door opens. He knits his brows and stares at you, looking confused. He's dressing in his gym clothes, you must have caught him before he was heading out.

"We need to talk." You say.

"Sure."

"Do you want me?" You're being brave. If you want this game of cat and mouse to end, this is the only way.

"Yeah, my god I want you so bad."

Nothing else is said. Throwing yourself forward you wrap your arms around his neck. Your lips crash together for a searing kiss. Grabbing your hips, he walks you back into his room, your lips never parting as he kisses you, as if he needs you to breathe.

"You're killing me with your pajamas."

Pulling away he reaches for your shirt. He rips it off you quickly, leaving you standing there in just your panties and socks.

His eyes are lust blown. Crashing his lips back into yours, he kissed his way from your lips, down your neck. Biting your bottom lip, you try and hold back a moan.

His fingers hook into your panties, pulling them down your thighs, slowly. Mindlessly he kisses the top of your mound while looking up at you through his lashes.

"Cheol—" his name is nothing more then a desperate moan.

He pulls back with his lips slightly swollen. "Let me take care of you."

"Okay."

"Get on the bed, baby." There he goes calling you baby again. If you aren't already wet, you would be now.

He places a knee on the bed. His eyes are filled with lust as he stares at you. Leaning up on your elbows you watch your fiancé remove his shirt. He tosses it across the room, towards the pile of your clothes.

Sitting on his knees between your spread legs, his large hand gently rubs your thigh. "You're stunning, and seeing you spread out like this for me is driving me crazy."

"Cheol—"

"Seeing you last night in nothing but your panties and that shirt, practically drove me insane. It took everything in me not to give in, and fuck you, just like you asked." His words leave you even more turned on.

"Seungcheol—"

"Yes, darling?" He gives you a wicked grin.

"Please touch me." You've never been one to beg, but right now you'll do anything to be with him.

He moves so he's hovering over you. Tangling your fingers in his hair, you pull him closer to you. He pulls back with the same grin.

"I want to taste you."

Silently, you nod, desperate for more.

He leaves a wet trail of kisses from your jaw down. He drags his tongue between the valley of your breast. He takes his time groping each of your breast. While one hand plays with one breast, the other sucks and toys with your nipple, earning a whining moan from you.

Closing your eyes you toss your head back. "Cheol—"

"Such an impatient girl." He teases.

He goes back to dragging his tongue down the valley of your breast. He spots at the top of your mound.

He moves so he's laying on his stomach with needy core in front of him. You look down at him, and find him staring at you with his lust filled eyes.

"You're already so wet." He drags his fingers through your wet folds. "Did you get wet just from making out?" He takes his finger into his mouth, tasting your slick. "You taste just as sweet as I thought you would."

He takes his time kissing the inside of your thigh couple times, helping to relax you. "Baby, I want you taste you."

He dives into your pussy, like a man starved. He takes his time sucking on your clit while he toys with your entrance.

One of his fingers slide into you with ease. His eyes never leave yours as he toys with you. Then licks fat strips across your clit. He adds another finger, helping to stretch you out. You haven't seen him fully naked, but you know that he's massive. Just based on his built, and how he looks walking around in sweatpants. You know he's packing.

Without thing you tangle your fingers in his dark hair. Pushing your hips up, you desperately try to to bring yourself closer to that edge.

"Baby, you're so needy." He laughs pulling his lips away from your core. He never stops thrusting his finger in and out of you. "I know you can come. Be a good girl and come for me."

Breathlessly, you nod. Sinking into the overly expensive cotton sheets, your orgasm hits you hard and fast. Your fingers tug in his hair for a moment before all the muscles in your body relax. Your walls flutter around his fingers, as he massages your gummy walls helping you ride out your high.

He pulls back and slips his wet fingers back into his mouth.

"Darling, how do you like it?" You definitely weren't expecting him to ask that. You don't think you've ever had a man ask you that before.

"I don't know."

He cocks his head to the side. "Baby, what do you mean you don't know?"

"I just want you, and I'll take anything you'll give me." You hold your hand out towards him.

"Grab a pillow, and put it under your hips." Without thinking you follow his instruction. He hops off the bed and goes over to the nightstand. Pulling out a box of unopened condoms, and a bottle of lube.

Your eyes watch him carefully as he strips away his clothes. It's a mouth watering sight, watching his massive erection smack against his stomach.

He grabs the box and before he can even open it, you mutter out his name.

"Yeah?"

"We can go bare. I'm on birth control and I'm clean."

He tilts his and asks. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

Picking up the bottle of lube, he clicks it open and pours some across his length. He slowly pumps it with his eyes trained on you.

Crawling back onto the bed, he picks the lube back up. "This might be a little cold." Slowly, he pour the cool liquid onto your needy core. He takes his time massaging your opening with the lube.

"I'm big, so this might hurt." By the looks of his massive cock, you feel like that's an understatement.

He moves so he's sitting on his knees between your spread legs. He takes his length in his hand, he run the rosy tip through your folds a few times. Intentionally making sure he bumps your sensitive clit.

"I'll go slow, and if you get uncomfortable we can stop." He insane if he thinks you'll stop him. You aren't sure you have ever wanted a man more then you want him. Even if sex with him is a little painful, you'll take anything he can possibly give you.

The first inch is quite uncomfortable. The way you gasped silently is enough to make his brain short circuit. He watches you carefully, making sure you aren't in too much pain.

You reach for his hand. You want to touch him desperately. He moves his body so he's closer to you as he slowly slides in inch by inch. He doesn't move for a moment, he stay still, filling you to the brim.

Leaning down his rest his nose against yours. "You feel so good." He whispers.

"You're really big," you let out the softest laugh.

"You're just really tight." He pushes himself back a little. He's resting on his elbow, practically plastered against you.

"I might be tight, but anyone would be when you have a massive cock."

He can't help but smile at your statement. You don't understand how cute he thinks you are. He reaches out, brushing your hair away from your face.

"You can move." He leans down, pressing his lips to yours for a sweet kiss.

Your first time together isn't some rough passion filled night. Seungcheol wants your first time together to be passionate, but romantic. He keeps a slowly and deep pace. With pull of his hips, he leaves just the tip inside of you. Driving his hips back in at a firm pace, he practically kisses your cervix with his length.

Everything about your fiancé is massive and the feeling of him covering you as he slowly fucks you is absolutely intoxicating.

Lifting your leg you rest your foot on his back. He sets a slow but deep pace. Your fingers are tangled in his hair, holding him close to you.

"You feel so good." You moan.

"You were made for me." He moans against your neck. "You're such a good girl for me."

You stay like this forever with him. With each thrust he touches that spot deep inside you, that has you seeing stars.

Closing your eyes you tilt your head back. All the nerves in your body feel alive. Your second orgasm is rapidly approaching. Biting your bottom lip, you try to stay quiet.

"I wanna hear you." He moans.

"Fuck—" All logical words have left your brain.

One of your hands grip the sheets below you. He picks up his pace, your grip on his cock, letting him know you're close.

"Baby just let go." His sweet sinful words push you over the edge. For a moment it feels as if every muscle in your body is tense. White hot wave washes over you like you've never quite experienced before. Suddenly you feel more relax than you ever have. Your walls flutter around his lenght like a heartbeat.

He never stops thrusting, he helps you ride out your high. He pulls back, earning a whimper from you. He pulls out of you and sits in his knees his still hard cock, is covered in your release.

"Come here, baby."

Using every ounce of strength you have, you crawl to him. While he's sitting on his knees, you straddle his thighs. Reaching between you, you line yourself up with he length. Ever so slowly you sink back down.

He lets you set the pace. Instead of bouncing up and down, you rolls your hips into his. His lips are all over your throat, definitely leaving marks in his wake.

You can tell he's getting close by the moans falling from his lips. His hands grip your hips, helping to guide you up and down his length at a quicker pace.

Your third orgasm comes out of nowhere. Throwing your head back you moan his name. Leaning forward your rest your head on his shoulder.

Your walls contracting around him, push him over the edge. He holds you flush against his thighs, as he paints your walls with his milky release.

Pulling your head back you look at him with a lazy smile.

Slowly, you pull yourself off him and lay down on the bed. He hops off and heads to the bathroom. The site of his naked butt jogging away is something you're never forget.

He comes back holding a warm wash cloth. He takes his time gently cleaning up the mess he's made of you.

After disposing of the towel he crawls into bed with you. Laying on your side you're staring at him. He's lying next to you laying on his side. Reaching out he grabs your hand.

"I love you." He says those three words you have been dying to hear.

"I love you too." Even if you were too scared to admit it, you've been in love with him for a while. "I don't want this to be fake anymore."

"It hasn't been fake for a while. In my eyes, you've been mine." He says with the sweetest smile.

"You're mine too."

He closes the distance and kisses you. Pulling back he says "We can make this real. Screw dating, I want to actually marry you."

"I would like that, but maybe we should properly date and stuff."

He lets out a little laugh. "We can do that. But I'm still calling you my fiancée."

"Alright. We're officially engaged."

If you would've known going on that date and pretending to be Angel would lead you here, you would have never tried to get out of going on that date with Seungcheol. You never expected to date him, let alone fall in love with him and end up engaged for real.

"I love you, baby." He leans in for another kiss.

"I love you too."

an: this might get a part 2 for their wedding or it might make a sequel with Angel and Soonyoung that has these two love birds wedding. If anyone would be interested in reading that pls let me know.

[ts19009]

If there are no fake dating troupe supporters out there... thats means im dead because I fall for it every damn time

[straylightdream]

true romance

⟢ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: ceo!choi seungcheol x f.reader

after going on a blind date with false pretenses with the ceo of your company, things take a turn when he asks you to marry him to keep himself from ending up in an arranged marriage.

⟢ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞(𝐬): romance, smut, fake dating, angst

⟢ 𝐚𝐮(𝐬): business proposal, nonidol

⟢ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 13.7k

⟢ 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: cussing, lying, drinking, lots of office gossip, Cheol has daddy issues, people think mc is a gold digger, insecurities and body issues.

⟢ 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: unprotected sex, they both are needy, lots of making out, big dick Seungcheol, oral (fem rec), size kink, creampie, cum eating, multiple orgasms, fingering, hair pulling body worship, multiple positions, multiple orgasms, Seungcheol talks mc through it. nicknames: darling, baby, good girl (hers) baby, cheol (his)

⟢ 𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: 18+ minors do not interact

⟢ 𝐚𝐧: This fic is for the SVTFLIX collab hosted by @100vern . It’s loosely based on the k-drama business proposal. Thank you @aeristudios for listening to me ramble about this story and thank you @jakedustry for beta reading.

🎧: snooze | sza | lightening - charli xcx | into you - ariana grande | bmf - sza

𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬.

THE HEIR TO A FORTUNE AND A SECRETARY

Choi Seungcheol prodigal son in the heir to the Choi Corporation. Being the only child of an extremely wealthy and successful businessman has left Seungcheol with immense pressure. His whole life has been laid out for him. The moment he graduated high school, he was sent to a prestige college with the intention of immediately stepping into the family business. The day after graduation, he started working for his family’s company and never looked back.

One thing about being the heir to the company is that his parents are obsessed with the idea of him settling down and giving them at least one grandchild. Seungcheol is so wrapped up in work, he can't even imagine dating. Let alone getting married and staring a family.

These days his weeks consist of going on dates with socialites and heiress that his mother believes would make a great wife.

Tonight is no different. He finds himself in an expensive restaurant with a pretty woman sitting across from him. Except this time, the woman across from him isn't someone who comes from a rich family, it's you. You don't come from money, nor do you have much to be honest. You work for Seungcheol's company as Jeonghan's assistant. The funny things is Seungcheol knows your name, and definitely knows you're not Angel, the girl he's supposed to be on a date with.

THE PRINCE AND THE LIAR

You've been friends with Angel since you were teenagers. Growing up, your family made enough to be considered middle class. As a teen you were so smart you were able to get a full ride scholarship to a fancy private school. While in school, you became best friends with Angel, the heirest to a luxary cosmetics company. Angel has always been an incredible friend to you. She's always been someone who pushes you to get out of your comfort zone and to try new things.

You were surprised when you were hanging out in her fancy high rise apartment and she mentioned going on a date with the CEO of Choi Corporation. You weren't sure why her mother and his mother were trying to set her up with your boss.

"You're going on a date with my boss?" You ask, sitting on the plush chair that sits in the middle of her large closet.

"I don't want to go on a date with your hot boss. I was planning to go out with Soonyoung tonight."

"Your mom still doesn't know about Soonyoung?" Even if Angel doesn't want to admit it, her and Soonyoung have something going on that's more then just sex. Soonyoung works at a dance studio, and doesn't live up to Angel's mother's high expectations.

"Why don't you cancel on Seungcheol?"

"My mother would kill me if I did."

"I see."

Angel holds us a beautiful pink silk dress. She keeps glancing at the dress, and back at you. "This would look good on you."

"Yeah it's also not in my tax bracket." You've been shopping with Angel enough to know you couldn't afford anything in this closet.

"I have an idea!" She shouts.

"What?"

Her eyes go wide, and she gives you the biggest smile. "You're going to go on the date with Seungcheol." That's not what you thought she was going to say.

"What?"

"He's expecting you."

"He's never met me and doesn't know how I look. Just pretend to be me."

"I work for him."

"Like you said before. He doesn't know you exist. You work on a different floor for Jeonghan."

"Angel, this isn't a good idea."

"Come on, it's one blind date. You don't have to go on another one. Just go out with him once and pretend to be me."

"Angel—"

"Babe, just put the pretty pink dress on and go."

-

The moment you sat down, Seungcheol recognized you. He knew immediately you weren't Angel. He's well aware you're Jeonghan's pretty assistant. Instead of telling you he knows who you are, he decides to let this play out. It's not like he actually wanted to go on a date with Angel.

From the beginning he can tell that you're shy. He makes small talk with you, and actively goes out of his way to avoid talking about anything related to the real Angel.

He does want to tease you a little and see if you will own up to the lie. "Angel is a pretty name." He says before taking a sip of his wine.

"Thank you."

"How did your parents pick that name?"

"Grandmother named me." That isn't a lie. Angel was actually named by her grandmother.

The dinner is nice, an even though you're pretending to be someone else, Seungcheol can't help but find you interesting. He wishes he could ask you out again instead of the woman you're pretending to be.

The night ends with Seungcheol walking you to the car Angel ordered for you. He takes your hand and places a gentle kiss on top.

"It was nice getting to meet you." He says.

"This was nice. I feel like I haven't gone out on a date this night in a really long time." You haven't gone on a date in years, and even though this is under false pretenses, this was nice.

"Maybe we could do this again."

He fishes his phone out of the pocket of his dress pants. "Could I have your number please?"

Taking his phone, you hesitantly put in your contact info. You hate that you have to write your name as Angel, but you have no choice.

The whole car ride back to Angel's place you can't help but feel guilty that you enjoyed your night out with him. You feel bad you had to lie to him. Seungcheol seems like a great guy, and doesn’t deserve that.

AN UNEXPECTED CONTRACT

Since your blind date that took place three months ago, you've actively gone out of your way to avoid Seungcheol at work. That's been a little difficult occasionally due to the fact that your boss Jeonghan is best friends with the CEO of the company. Whenever you knew Seungcheol was on the floor looking for Jeonghan, you've made yourself scarce.

You don't know that the CEO is a smart man and is well aware you're avoiding him. He's wanted to text you too many times to count, but he can tell by the way you're avoiding him that you won't respond.

Seungcheol day started with his father meeting him in his office. His father is sitting in his chair at his desk.

"Good morning father." Seungcheol says before sitting his bag down on his desk.

"Son, I have important things to discuss with you."

Seungcheol lets out a heavy sigh before sitting down across from him. He just wants this conversation over with quickly.

"Your mother and I have been discussing things and it's clear you have no intention of settling down. We've decided to set you up in an arranged marriage." The room suddenly feels suffocatingly small. The word 'arranged marriage' keeps playing in mind on repeat.

"What?"

"Your mother has a perfect woman to be your wife. Lena comes from the Park family that owns the Park Finacal Banks." Seungcheol knows exactly who he is talking about. The idea of being thrown into an arranged marriage with a stuck up narcissistic heiress makes him want to throw up.

All of Seungcheol's logical thoughts are slipping out of his brain at a rapid pace. "I'm seeing someone!" He shouts.

"You are?"

"Yes. We were keeping things private."

"Who is she?"

"She works for our company. She's Jeonghan assistant."

"She's poor?" His father sounds extremely confused.

"What she makes doesn't matter to me. The only thing that matters is the fact we're in love."

His father leans forward, resting his elbows on the desk. "How long have you been seeing her?"

"Three months."

"You either marry her, or the Park's daughter."

"It's too soon for us to get married."

"If she rejects your proposal, you'll marry Lena." His father stands up.

Seungcheol feels stuck in his place. His father walks out of his office as Seungcheol tries to wrap his brain around what just happened.

The door slams shut and Seungcheol instantly snaps out of it. He stands up quickly and rushes out of his office. His assistant Seungkwan stands up.

"Seungcheol, is everything okay?"

"I got to go. Move my meeting to tomorrow. Tell them I'm dealing with an emergency."

Seungcheol walks to the elevator in a rush. The doors open and quickly walks in. His office is on the seventeenth floor. He presses the sixteenth floor the one you and Jeonghan work on. He needs to get to you before you can hide from him. The doors open and he rushes to your desk, outside of Jeonghan office.

Your eyes go wide at the sight of him rushing to you. "I need to talk to you, please don't run and hide."

"Okay." You say softly.

He barges into Jeonghan's office. Jeonghan looks up from his computer very confused. "I'm taking your assistant for the day. Tell Joshua to find someone to fill in for her."

"What the fuck is happening?" Jeonghan is extremely confused.

"I'm going to propose to your assistant and hope that she says yes."

"That doesn't explain anything, Cheol. I've never seen you speak to her."

Seungcheol let's out a heavy sigh. "Come to my house after eight and I'll explain everything. Just ask Joshua to get you a second assistant."

Seungcheol walks out of Jeonghan office and sees you still sitting at your desk, looking extremely nervous.

"You're not fired or anything, so don't worry about that. Just grab your purse and anything you bring with you everyday. We're not coming back to office today."

Silently you stand up and grab your purse. "Um, sir, I can't really afford to miss work."

"You'll be paid for today, don't worry."

With your purse in hand you follow Seungcheol to the elevator. Silently, you stand there waiting for the doors to open. The elevator dings and you both step inside.

Seungcheol his the underground level for the parking garage. You stand there not sure what you should say to him.

"I'm aware you're not Angel, just so you know."

Your heart instantly drops. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine. I'm not mad about it."

"Angel is seeing someone else her parents don't know about. Did you know all along I wasn't Angel?"

"Yeah, I have a good memory, and recognized you immediately."

The elevator dings and the doors open. You both step out into the parking garage.

"Did you drive here?" He asks.

"No, I took the train. I don't own a car."

"Okay, follow me to my car." He starts walking toward his CEO parking spot.

"Sir, where are we going?"

"To lunch and to discuss a contract."

You follow him to his expense all black Maserati. He stands on the passenger side and opens the door. Sliding into a sport car that looks too expensive to touch, you're extremely confused by everything that's happening.

Seungcheol gets into the drivers seat silently as he starts the car. He turns on the radio to help cut the awkward silence. The drive to the restaurant isn't too long. He pulls up to an expensive looking hotel. He hands the keys to the valet before he walks around and quickly opens your door.

"Come on." He says.

You follow behind him with your heels clacking against the expensive marble flooring.

Workers bow their heads at Seungcheol as he heads towards the elevator. He presses the button and the doors slide open. Silently, you stand next to him. You have zero clue why he dragged you out of work and brought you here.

He presses the button to the seventeenth floor. He checks his watch and glances over at you. The silence between you is deafening.

The doors slide open and he hold his hand out, guesturing for you to go first.

He walks up an expensive looking restaurant. The host immediately lights up. "Mr. Choi." The host bows his head.

"Two please."

Immediately you're led off through the expensive restaurant. You've seen lunches here booked on Jeonghan schedule. You're led over to a plush booth that overlooks the city.

The waitress immediately comes over and places two glasses of wine in front of you. You can't even pick up the menu, you just stare at Seungcheol.

"I'm aware your name isn't Angel."

"I'm sorry."

"It's fine. I recognized you the moment you sat down."

He doesn't say anything else. He just opens the menu. "Do you know what you would like to eat?"

"I'm not hungry." You appetite disappeared as you were pulled away from work.

"Please, order something." He folds the menu placing it down in front of him.

The waitress comes back for the order and Seungcheol orders himself the salmon. The waitress turns to you, and you just blankly stare at the man across from you.

"My date will take the lemon chicken." He says, handing over the menu.

The silence between you is incredibly loud. Seungcheol's eyes are fixated on you. Grabbing the glass of wine he takes a big gulp. He doesn't even bother slowly sipping on it.

"Mr. Choi, what is this about?" You finally break the silence.

"You didn't call me Mr. Choi on our date. Please call me Seungcheol or Cheol." He raises his brow before taking another drink of wine.

"That date was a mistake on my part." If you could go back in time you would never let Angel convince you to go out.

His brows furrow together. "A mistake?"

"Yes, a mistake. I lied to you, and that's not fair to you."

"I don't care that you lied to me."

It's your turn to now furrow your brows. "You don't?"

"No I don't care."

"Oh." You thought for sure he was mad about your lies.

"I'm here because I have a business proposal for you." He takes a deep breath. "My father informed me today, that he plans on setting me up into an arranged marriage."

"What does that have to do with me?"

"Well you see, I told him I can't marry someone else, because I'm seeing someone and I'm very serious about them." You have no clue who he could possibly be talking about.

"Yeah?" You ask.

"I told him I'm dating you, Jeonghan's assistant." His words if you like an ice cold bucket of water. Your stomach drops and you're rendered speechless. "I know it's crazy. See, here's the thing, my father says I either propose to you, and marry you or I'm marrying Lena from the Park Bank family." You know exactly who he's talking about, Angel has mentioned her on multiple occasions. According to your best friend Lena is a narcissistic, social climber.

You open your mouth to speak but nothing comes out. Seungcheol leans back in his chair, and lets out a sigh.

"What are you asking of me?" You finally find the right words to say.

"I'm asking you to be my fiancée. We don't have to get married right away or anything. But I need you to play the role of my fiancée until my parents push hard enough for us to get married. Maybe we can make it a long engagement and I'll figure out an exit plan." He's absolutely insane. Your eyes are wide, and all you can do is blink at him. You can't process the fact, that he basically just proposed to you.

Reaching out, you grab your glass of wine, and without another thought, start chugging the rich liquid.

"I know this is crazy."

You set the empty glass on the table. "Am I being punished for lying to you?"

"No, not at all. I just thought this could be beneficial to both of us." He shakes his head.

"Beneficial?"

"Yes, you'll move into my penthouse, and I'll take care of you."

"To sleep with you? I know I lied, but I'm not sleeping with you and playing house with you."

He puts his hands up. "Woo, I'm not asking you to have sex with me. I'll set up the guest room just for you. You'll have your own space, and we can be roommates basically."

"What about my job?" You're pretty sure being engaged to the ceo is against hr policies.

"I'm technically your boss, but Jeonghan is in charge of you. You can continue working for him or I'll get you another position. Or you can be stay at home fiancée. I want to fully support you. If you're going to help me with this, it's the least I can do." Is he offering to be your sugar daddy?

"As a sugar daddy?" You blurt out.

"No, as your fiancé, I would be your providor."

The waitress comes over intrupting this absolutely insane conversation. She pours more wine into each of your glasses. You both go quiet for a moment.

"If I agree to this, what are the rules?" You've struggled to get by off and on through our your life. You realize that this business proposal could be a blessing, you can live comfortably and not worry about money.

"I haven't thought that far ahead. I think the one thing that needs to be clear is, we can't see other people. And when we're in public, we have to act like we're a couple. The only person who can know we're not together is Jeonghan."

"I need to have someone I can talk to about this. I need to tell Angel. She won't tell anyone. She has her own secrets she keeps hid away, and won't share ours." Seungcheol wants to laugh at the fact that of all people you bring up the girl that started this whole mess for you.

"Okay. I'll get you a proper engagement ring today. I want to have you moved in by the end of the week."

The waitress walks over and sets your food down in front of you.

"By the way, you're going to have to be comfortable sharing kisses and holding my hand in public." The idea of sharing public affection with Seungcheol doesn't sound terrible.

He reaches out, holding his hand over the table. "Darling, do we have a deal?" Reaching out your grab his hand and shake it.

"I accept your business proposal."

THE HOTTEST NEW COUPLE

Everything has felt like a whirlwind. Seungcheol was true to his word, he got you a beautiful engagement ring, and three days after your agreement, you had moved out of your studio apartment into his huge penthouse.

With the help of Seungkwan, he made sure your bedroom was perfect. The guestroom that is now your room is absolutely beautiful, and it even has its own ensuite bathroom with a beautiful claw foot tub, and a shower that can comfortably have four people in it. Seungcheol stocked it, with all the products you use. He wasn't lying when he said he would take care of you. He brought over all your clothes, and even bought you a ton of new stuff to wear.

You get to work two days before it's all over the news that you and Seungcheol are engaged. As soon as everyone knows, things instantly change.

Walking into work with Seungcheol, you can feel everyone's eyes trained on you. The two front desk girls who are the biggest gossips intentally watch. Seungcheol shoots them both a smile before lacing his fingers with yours.

The two girls immediately leans in and clearly start whispering to each other.

Looking down while you walk, you try your hardest to ignore all the staring.

The doors to the elevator slide open, and Seungcheol leads you inside. He doesn't release your hand as he presses the button to the floor you work on.

There is a long beat of silence. "The people are going to talk about our relationship, but I just need you to ignore it."

"Okay." You aren't exactly sure how you can just ignore people whispering about you.

"It should calm down shortly."

The elevator stops on your floor and Seungcheol instantly can tell you're stressed. He releases your hand. "Hey, everything will be okay."

"Okay." You don't know if your saying that for him, or yourself.

The doors open and you step out. Seungcheol stays back and gives you a smile before the doors close.

Walking through the office, you can feel too many eyes on you. You head straight for Jeonghan’s office. You give his closed door a knock before stepping inside. You've never been happier that Jeonghan gets to work early.

Jeonghan is sitting at his desk leaning back sipping a coffee. "You know Joshua got me a second assistant, you don't have to rush in here bright and early now."

"I'm kinda freaking out and need a moment away from all of the gossips that work for this company." Jeonghan may be your boss, but you have grown to consider him your friend.

"Oh, I see news of your engagement hit the media."

You sit down in the chair in front of his desk. "I'm not used to this. Seungcheol is used to this, the media has always loved him. Before all of this no one knew who I was."

"The media circus will calm down soon. You guys will be the hot gossip for maybe a week."

You hate being the center of attention and this is making you feel uncomfortable. "I don't like that I know that everyone in the this office is talking about me."

"Don't let them bother you." Jeonghan sits his iced latte on the table.

"It's hard not to."

"Mina is working at her desk outside. Why don't your grab your laptop and work in my office for now?" Mina is Jeonghan second assistant Seungcheol requested he got.

"Don't you need privacy?"

"No."

"What about meetings?"

"There is a conference room on this floor and the big one on floor ten." Jeonghan has clearly thought about this.

"Okay."

Things from this day shifted. Everyone officially knows about your engagement. Jeonghan has gone out of his way to protect you from people talking about. He may be your boss, but through this he's become one of your closest friends.

Living in Seungcheol's penthouse feels strange. His large penthouse doesn't feel like home. You just feel like a guest, living here for now.

It's been a long day at work, since Seungcheol has to stay over for a meeting Jeonghan offers to drop you off.

Arriving at your new home, you slip off your heels and head towards your room. Looking through your drawers, you find some lounge wear to change into. After a long day at work, a scorching hot shower sounds amazing.

Walking into the bathroom you strip away your clothes. Stepping into the shower, you try to turn your brain off. This whole engagement with Seungcheol is still a lot to process.

Standing under the hot water, you try your hardest to turn off your brain, but you can't. You just keep thinking about the way everyone now looks at you.

There is this little voice inside your head that says people probably just think you're a gold digger.

Shaking your head, you try and push away the nasty thoughts. Grabbing your favorite shampoo, you start washing your hair.

Getting out of the shower you get dressed in the comfy clothes you picked out. Your bare feed pad across the hardwood floor as you make your way to the kitchen. Opening the fridge, you look for the ingredients to make something to eat. Cooking has always been one thing you like to do to relax.

Opening the drawer you find two steaks. You hestiate to pick them up. It feels weird to use things without asking for permission, but Seungcheol has told you a few time, that anything in the house is yours.

Pulling the steaks from the fridge you look for some veggies that would go good with them.

Grabbing your phone, you turn on some music. You sing along to each song as you prep your dinner. Maybe if Seungcheol doesn't get home super late, he can enjoy a warm meal for dinner.

You get lost in the music, and cooking. You plate the steak giving it time to rest. Walking over to the wine friend in the counter, you find a bottle of wine. You stare a the label for a moment, hoping and praying you didn't pick an insanely expensive bottle. Reaching into the cupboard you grab a glass.

You pour the deep cherry colored wine into the glass. The merlot tastes devine.

Sitting at the table by yourself you enjoy your second glass of wine. You're taking your time eating, hoping Seungcheol will be home soon. You know you can just ask him when he'll be home, but for some reason that feels inappropriate to you.

Scrolling through your phone as you slowly eat, you can't help but smile as the front door opens. A very exhausted looking Seungcheol walks in.

He looks up at the table and finds you giving him a gentle smile.

"Hi." He awkwardly waves.

"I made dinner for you."

You stand up quickly, and rush towards the kitchen. Seungcheol takes his time taking off his bag, and walks towards the dining area. Walking back into the dining area you place down the plate and bring another glass for wine.

"This looks amazing." Seungcheol is learning that you love cooking.

"Thank you. Sorry if you were saving these steaks."

He takes a seat across from where you were sitting. "Anything is this house is yours." He's told you this so many times. It's just extremely hard to wrap your mind around that.

Reaching out he grabs the bottle of wine, and pours himself a glass. Having dinner with him like this feels very domestic. It feels almost a little too real.

You eat in silence for a few minutes before he speaks again. "Sorry I had to stay so late at work. I'm trying really hard not to be as much of a workaholic." Anyone who knows him knows what a hard worker he is. He's always been known for speanding countless late night hours at the office. You've been there a handful of times with Jeonghan working late with him.

"My father called."

"What did he say?" You know that Seungcheol and his father's relationship can't be kind of difficult at times.

"He saw the news of our engagement, and has requested for us to join them for dinner one night." The idea of having dinner with Seungcheol's family is quite terrifying. You're sure they're nice people but they're extremely rich and live an very different life style then the one you're used to.

You knit your brows together, unsure of how to respond.

"I told them it can't be anytime soon, that we're very busy."

"Oh."

"We can avoid that dinner for a while. I have to travel quite a bit for work soon, and you won't be meeting them without me."

"Okay." Grabbing the glass of wine, you take another big drink.

"Hey." He reaches out, taking your hand. "I know this isn't a normal engagement, but just know that we're a team. I have your back, when you agreed to help me that meant we became partners." You still barely know him, but you can't help but feel as if you're catching feelings for him. Seungcheol is truly the ultimate man. It would be nearly impossible not to have a crush on him.

OH HES A GENTLEMAN

The media is having a hay day with the fact one of the cities most eligible bachelors is now taken. Everyone one online is talking about your "secret relationship." Too many threads online are speculating about how long you have been together.

Everyday you go into work holding Seungcheol's hand, and every afternoon you sit in his office eating lunch. Sometimes it's just the two of you, and occasionally Jeonghan will join.

He finds it quite humorous, watching the two of you play the role of the happily engaged couple.

You've be technically engaged for three weeks, and outside of work you haven't done anything together other then relax at home. You've had a handful of movie night, the select times Seungcheol is working from home on something.

Today, he came home from a meeting out of the office after eight. It's one of those night you didn't feel like cooking, so you settled for ordering yourself takeout from your favorite Thai food place, and made yourself comfortable on the couch, reading a book. Seungcheol barges in holding a shopping bag from Prada.

"Hi, darling." Ever since he proposed he started calling your this nickname. You won't complain though, you find it charming. You've never had anyone call you a sweet pet name.

"Hi, Cheol."

Pulling the blanket off your lap, you place your book down and walk over towards Seungcheol. "Did you go shopping?" You realized immediately that Seungcheol has a love for luxury designer items. All his suits he wears to the office are designer. Your favorite ones, being his Prada ones.

"I got you something." He holds the bag out towards you.

"Why?" You're very much not used to him buying you things, let alone expensive luxury items.

"Because you're my fiancée, and I saw this and thought of you."

Sitting the bag on the table, you pull out the tissue and find a black box with a bow on it. Your heart drops already knowing what's inside. One day while you were leaving work together you saw a woman with this bag and you told him how that was your dream bag. Your first mistake was letting him know you had a desire to own something expensive like this.

Opening the box, you want to cry at the sight, of the beautiful black leather bag, you've always dreamed of owning. To be quite honest, you're a little caught off guard by how much he's spoiling you. You have to remind yourself that this is a business transaction. That there are no romantic intentions behind his purchase. You need to tell yourself this a gift from a "friend."

"Seungcheol, this is beautiful." He gives you a crooked smile.

"I'm glad you like it." The second he knew you wanted this bag, he fully planned on buying it for you.

Your eyes start to water, you reach up pushing away your tears before they can fall. You can't help but feel embarrassed for crying in front of him. "I was thinking, even though this is a business transaction, that maybe we could still go on dates." You've been thinking about brining this up for the last few days. Angel had put the idea into your brain. Your best friend loves the idea that you and Seungcheol are living together. According to her, Seungcheol will treat you right and take care of you. She not wrong, you haven't been together that long and Seungcheol is actively going out of his way to be an amazing partner to you.

He nods and smiles. "I would love to take you out on dates." He steps toward you and leans in and presses his lips to your cheek for a gentle kiss. "How about we go out tomorrow night?"

"I would love that."

"What are you reading?"

"Just some romance novel Angel has been talking about nonstop." Your best friend has always loved a spicy romance novel, she's even roped you into reading them with her.

"What did you do for dinner?" Seungcheol asks as he removes his suit jacket.

"I ordered Thai food."

"Is there any left?"

"Yeah, I ordered enough for both of us."

You lead him into the kitchen and help dish him a plate. Sitting at the kitchen table, you silently read your book as he eats dinner.

-

Seungcheol made a big deal to both Seungkwan and Jeonghan that he need to be off on time today. He's gone out of his way to plan a romantic date night for you both.

Sitting at Jeonghan's desk, you're working on organizing his meetings for the next few days.

"You know your adoring fiancé is making a big deal about some date night?" Jeonghan looks up from his phone.

Your cheeks warm with blush. "Is he?"

"You now for this just being a business transaction, he's putting in a lot of effort to woo you." You thought when Seungcheol made this proposition, that this would simply be a business transaction, but things from the very beginning have felt a little too real.

The moment you clock out of work, Seungcheol is already at Jeonghan's office, ready to pick you up.

He's dressed in your favorite navy Prada suit he owns. In his hand he's holding a beautiful bouquet of red roses.

Jeonghan leans back in his desk chair, holding back a laugh. He's eating up the fact that Seungcheol is putting in a real effort.

"Are you ready to go?" Seungcheol asks, holding the bouquet out.

"Yes." Thank god you wore your favorite dress to work today, and decided to actually wear a pair of heels.

"Did you send Seungkwan off to pick those up?" Jeonghan chimes in.

"No." Seungcheol responds before grabbing your hand.

The second you step out of Jeonghan's office, hand in hand with the ceo of the company, all eyes are on you. Blush creeps up on your neck, realizing everyone in eye shot is staring at you.

Seungcheol squeezes your hand, snapping you out of your thoughts. He stops at the elevator. Leaning down his lips brush your ear. "Darling, ignore all of them."

Reaching, he presses the button. Silently you glance up at him. "You look beautiful." If only he knows that you wore a sexy red matching lingerie set he probably won't see.

The doors slide open and he leads you inside. As more people join you in the elevator, you end up practically pressed against him.

Walking outside you find Seungcheol’s expensive red Ferrari waiting for you. He wastes no time taking the flowers and holding the door open for you.

He jumps in the drive seat and puts the flowers back in your lap.

The drive to the restaurant is filled with a comfortable silence, as Seungcheol hums along to the radio.

You've learned since living with him, he loves singing along the radio lightly, and singing when he's in the shower.

He pulls the car up to the valet and you immediately recognize this restaurant. You've booked a few very important meetings for Jeonghan here. This place is crazy expensive.

The passenger door opens and Seungcheol is holding his hand out for you. "Come on, darling."

Your heels click against the marble floor. Hand in hand he leads you to host. "Two for Choi." He says holding up two fingers.

The hostess leads you over to a booth tucked away in the corner. Sliding into the booth, he sits down across from you. The hostess sits down a simple paper menu down in front of you. This place is known for the Omakase style. The sushi chef here is world renowned.

The waitress comes back over, and Seungcheol orders a nice bottle of sake.

Dinner is absolutely incredible. You've never had sushi this delicious before. The whole time you're eating and talking you can't help but notice how Seungcheol lights up as he talks to you. If you didn't know any better you might be think has feelings for you.

"Thank you for taking me out." You say before taking a sip of your sake.

"This is nice. We should try and go on a date once, or twice a week." When he talks to you like this, it's hard to tell yourself that this isn't real.

"I would like that."

The bill arrives and before the waitress can even put it down, Seungcheol is holding up his black card. You don't even want to know how expensive this date was.

Leaving the restaurant, Seungcheol immediately laces his fingers with yours. "Do you have room for dessert?" He ask before walking up to the valet.

"Yes."

"How do you feel about vanilla soft serve?"

"It sounds delicious."

Tugging on your hand, he leads you down the street to a little ice cream shop next door. He holds the door open, stepping inside you're reminded how overdressed you are. Your heels click against the tile. Seungcheol never releases your hand as he walks up and orders to cones.

The lady working the counter hands your a tall vanilla ice cream cone. Seungcheol leads your over to a little table by the window. He releases your hand as he helps you sit down. He takes his place across from you.

You slide your tongue through the creamy and sweet vanilla soft serve. Seungcheol's eyes stay on you, watching you enjoy your sweet treat.

"Have you been here before?" You ask before taking another lick.

"I like to come here after meetings. If it's a bad meeting it's a little pick me up, and if it's a good meeting, it's a celebration."

"What would you call this?"

"A celebration, after a nice date."

After ice cream you finally head back home. The whole ride you can't stop thinking about the way Seungcheol was looking at you. Recently, he's been flirting quite a bit, and things are just starting to feel too real. You realize maybe you really want things to be real.

THE TALK OF THE TOWN

Something about today feels off. Your morning started by spilling your coffee, and by the time you arrived to work with Seungcheol you're fed up with the constant stares from everyone at work.

Standing in the copy room, you're atempting to scan some items in peace. The door opens and you glance over to find two girls who work in accounting whispering and softly giggling. Taking a deep breath, you try and push away the negative thoughts floating around in your brain.

You know Seungcheol is used to being the talk around town, and having everyone stare at him, but you aren't used to this. You feel like a circus act.

Grabbing your papers, you quickly exit the room. You can feel both their eyes burning into you. Walking through office you can feel everyone continue to watch you.

Busting into Jeonghan office, you desperately need to escape everyone's prying eyes.

He looks up from his computer and knits his brows together. You must look absolutely frazzled.

"Are you okay?"

Closing your eyes you take another deep breath trying to gather yourself. "Yes." Lying feels like the best option at the moment.

"Sit down and stop lying to me."

Placing the papers down on the desk you sit across from him.

"What is going on?" He reaches for his coffee that's sitting next to him.

"I'm tired of everyone staring at me, and everyone talking about me when I enter a room here." You say quickly.

"Don't let them get to you, they're just jealous."

"Jeonghan, it's not that easy." You sigh.

"I know. But just know that Seungcheol and I will always have your back."

"Your fiancé has a meeting during lunch." He always gives you a mischievous smile whenever he refers to Seungcheol as your fiancé. "How about we go get some lunch together?"

"That would be nice."

Jeonghan leads you out of the office. You aren't sure what he has planned, but you follow him to the little cafe on the corner. The holds up two fingers and waiteess immediately leads you to the table by the window.

You sit down across from Jeonghan, picking up the menu. You realize you've had food delivered from this restaurant before for him.

"This is the place with your favorite chicken pesto sandwich."

"I was gonna order us lunch from here, but you clearly need an hour away from the office." Jeonghan sets his menu down. "I'm going to recommend my favorite, the chicken pesto. I would also suggest getting the lychee lemonade."

"How about you order for me," you give him a smile.

The waitress comes back and Jeonghan does order for you. This place is cute. Looking around, you wonder if Seungcheol would have lunch with you here one day.

The waitress comes back over and sets down a glass of ice cold lemonade in front of you, and a latte in front of Jeonghan.

"So, how is life being engaged?" He asked as he sticks his straw in his latte.

"Socially not the best, at home with Seungcheol—" At home things are feeling too real, and you cant help but constantly be confused.

Jeonghan raises his brow, before taking a sip of coffee. "Something tells me you're enjoying the aspect of sharing a home with him."

A heavy sigh passes your lips. "I can't talk about this with you. You're his best friend."

He shrugs. "Anything you say to me, won't be repeated. He may be my best friend, but I'm also friends with you."

"Things just feel a little too real right now."

Jeonghan nods before taking a drink of the cold beverage in front of him. "You know, Seungcheol seems happier since you both started the arrangement."

He's not wrong, before all of this started, whenever you would see Seungcheol around the office he was always sporting a frown. These days it's rare you don't see him smiling. The only time he doesn't seem happy, is when his father is in the office.

"He's not the only one that seems happier." You glances at you, raising his brow. "I don't think I have ever seen you this consistently happy." Before Seungcheol, you were a lot more stressed. Your job pays you well, but worrying about paying rent and all your expenses was too stressful at points. It's nice knowing, no matter what Seungcheol will take care of you.

"I feel happier. I spending time with him, and he's great to live with."

"I think you two would make a fantastic couple."

The waitress comes over and sets down both your meals. Jeonghan thanks her, and gives her a gentle smile.

"Aren't we already a couple?"

"I'm saying, if you start acting like this is fully real, you'll be even happier." Jeonghan's words play in your head on repeat. Over the last week or so you've wondered what it would like for your relationship with Seungcheol to be real. Sure, he takes you out and will hold your hand, but you want to know what it's like to kiss him and to be with him fully.

Arriving back at the office, you find Seungcheol by the elevator, with his phone pressed to his ear. The moment he see you and Jeonghan, he gives you a big smile.

Jeonghan nudges you and gently pushes you towards Seungcheol. Glancing over, you see the girls at the front desk clearly watching you, and whispering to each other.

Jeonghan immediately looks over at the girls. The startled look on their faces as he walks towards them says it all. The immediately stand up and bow their heads at him, clearly apologizing.

Seungcheol glances over there as he pockets his phone. He takes a couple steps towards you before pulling you into his chest for a hug.

He kisses the top of your head before you leading you towards the elevator.

-

CRAVING SOMETHING MORE

Sitting in Angel's favorite restaurant downtown, you're sipping on a latte listening to her talk about the crazy things Soonyoung has done to her in bed recently. It's been so long since you've been intimate with anyone, that hearing about her sex life is reminding you how much you miss sex.

"You look like you're zoning out." Angel says before taking a sip of her own latte.

"I'm listening." You raise your brow, leaning back.

"What's going through your mind?"

"Nothing." You don't want to have this conversation, let alone have it in the middle of a cafe.

"I don't believe you." She pouts. "Just tell me what's going on."

Reaching for your coffee, you take another sip of your ice latte. "Fine. I'm just thinking about the fact I miss being intimate with someone."

"Girl, last time I check you lived with a super hot buff guy who calls himself your fiancé."

"It's not that easy. We both know he's not fully my fiancé."

Angel dramatically rolls her eyes. "Um, last time I checked random men don't buy just any girl a Prada bag she's always dreamed of."

"He did that just to be nice." You look at said bag sitting on the table next to you.

"Girl, if you're missing sex and being intimate with someone, ride your sexy fake fiance." Angel has never been one to mend her words.

You're in the middle of a crowded cafe. The last thing you need is to have people hearing about your so called relationship with with Seungcheol. "Angel." You look around hoping no one is paying attention.

"What? You're the one who clearly seems to be pent up. Sometning tells me, your fiance would be down."

"Keep it down. I don't need the whole cafe in my business."

Angel smirks before taking a sip of her drink. "Are you bringing Seungcheol to my birthday tonight?"

"Yes." When you invited Seungcheol, you weren't sure if he would agree. It's been a few months since you've been faking your relationship, but you haven't attempted a social outing like this.

"Make a move on him tonight. Have yourself a little cocktail and loosen up and tell him you want to ride him into the sun." You can't even respond you just stare at her absolutely embarrassed. "Wear that skin tight lace dress I bought you. I promise you, Seungcheol won't be able to keep his hands to himself."

-

Arriving at Angel's luxury penthouse, you're dressed in the skimpiest dress you own. Standing outside the door, you keep attempting to smooth out the front of your dress. Seungcheol is standing next to you in a pair of black jeans, a white shirt that hugs his large frame, and a leather jacket. Looking down at your feet, you realize these high heels might have been a mistake.

"You look gorgeous by the way."

"Huh?" You look up at him, knitting your brows together.

"You keep messing with your dress, and I just want to let you know, you look incredible." He reaches out, taking your hand away from your stomach.

"I feel like the dress is too tight and makes my stomach stand out." You've always been a little bit self conscious about your body, and this dress isn't helping that.

"I promise you, you look sexy as hell."

Your ears burn with embarrassment. "Thank you."

The door swing opens and you find Angel standing there. "Come inside now." She grabs your free hand, pulling you and Seungcheol inside.

Her place is filled to the brim with too many people to count. Looking around, you see some familiar faces, and too people you have never seen before. She leads you off to her room where Soonyoung is sitting on her bed.

"Hi." He awkwardly waves to you and Seungcheol.

Angel releases your hand and walks over to Soonyoung. You immediately notice how he lights up instantly.

"I have the good alcohol tucked away in here. The last thing I need is people getting into my thousand dollar scotch." She walks over and grabs the expensive bottle of the dresser.

"How about we takes shots to celebrate my birthday?" She smiles.

"Sure." Seungcheol responds.

Soonyoung hops off the bed and goes over to the bar cart by her huge walk in closet. He comes back holding four crystal glass shot glasses.

Angel runs off to her closet while Soonyoung pours the dark liquor. She comes back dressed in a completely different dress. She wearing a vintage dress that looks incredible on her.

Soonyoung passes around the shots. Seungcheol raises his and says, "to the birthday girl."

Everyone takes their shots. The dark liquor burns as it slides down your throat. Your eyes stay trained on Seungcheol, watching as he's absolutely unfazed by the strong liquor.

Everyone puts there shot glasses back. Standing close to Seungcheol, he throws his arm over your shoulder, holding you close to him.

"My room is off limits to anyone who isn't in here now. If you guys need some privacy feel free to come in here." She raises her eyes brows at both of you suggestively.

Glancing up at Seungcheol you see him biting back a smile.

Reaching over, she grabs Soonyoung's hand and leads him out of her room. You're left standing their was Seungcheol.

"Should we go be social?" He asks.

"Probably."

Heading out of her room, you head off toward the kitchen. The kitchen is filled with people. Seungcheol makes his way to the fridge. He pulls out a bottle of beer and cracks it open.

"What would you like to drink?" He asks loud enough for you to hear over the booming music.

"I'll take a beer." He hands you the one he already opened and grabs another one.

It's not long before some of your friends find you, and immediately start chatting with Seungcheol. It seems everyone wants to know your "fiancée". You can't blame them, he's extremely charming and kind. You spend your night making small talk people. The whole night Seungcheol is by your side. Even when he's talking to someone else, you have his attention. His hand is always on you in one way or another. His hand on the small of your back makes every logical thought start slowly slipaway.

You excuse yourself, needing a moment to think. Walking through the crowded penthouse, you make your way to Angel's room. Heading to the ensuite bathroom you take your time using the restroom, before touching up your lip oil. You stare into the mirror, and start soothing out your dress.

A knock on the door startles you. You open door and aren't surprised to see Seungcheol standing there. His jacket is off, and your eyes instantly travel across his broad chest. This man looks mouth watering in absolutely anything he wears.

"I shouldn't have followed you, clearly you want space." He mumbles.

You shake your head. "I just needed a moment. I'm glad you followed me."

Without saying another word he steps towards you. He stands so close to you, there is barely any distance between you. Looking up at him you stand a slow breath. His large hand rest on rests on your cheek. Parting your lips slightly. He drags his thumb across your bottom lip.

"You're so pretty." He rasp. You can't think of anything to say, you just slowly blink at him. "My pretty fiancée." Leaning in his nose brushes against yours.

"Seungcheol?"

"Yes, darling?"

"Don't play games with me."

A smile tugs at his lips. "I would never do that."

The moment his lips touch you, the oxygen as been sucked out of the room. One hand holds your face, while the other rests on your side, holding you close to him. One of your hand clutches his shirt.

Your lips move together as if your need each other to breathe. He pulls back slightly and gives you a smile. He turns your body so you're pressed against the wall. Your dress rises up your thighs. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pull him down towards you.

Kissing him is intoxicating. Any liquor you had during the party is long gone from your veins. Now you're drunk on Seungcheol. His hands rest on your hips, holding your close to him. You don't know how long you've been kissing for. His lips muffle your moans.

Pulling back, his lips are smeared with your lip oil. You both look slightly disheveled. You should be enjoying the fact that you finally kissed, but right now the only thing you can think about is what this means.

"We should go home." He says, pulling away. Your stomach sinks instantly. Your heart rate picks up as anxiety kicks in. Maybe you shouldn't have made out with your fake fiancé.

The car ride back to the house, feels different. Seungcheol hand is resting on your thigh. You catch him occasionally glancing over at you.

The moment you're inside, Seungcheol says goodnight before quickly kissing your forehead and disappearing off into his room.

After finally stripping away your tight lace dress that's left you feeling uncomfortable all night, you finally step into a hot shower.

The hot water helps strip away the tension. No matter how hard you try, you can't get the feeling of Seungcheol's lips on yours out of your mind.

NOTHING MORE THAN A GOLD DIGGER

It's been a week since your kiss you shared, and absolutely nothing has changed. There are still the lingering touches from him and longing looks from you, but nothing more has happened.

It's been clear since this morning that Seungcheol isn't having a good day. It's a Saturday and normally neither of you work on the weekends. Today is different though, Seungcheol has spent all morning locked away in his office.

You spend the morning out with Angel getting lunch and you thought maybe by the time you returned home Seungcheol would be done working.

Sitting on the couch, you're mindlessly scrolling through your phone. Seungcheol's office door opens. He closes the door and pauses, taking a deep breath. He walks out into the living room and finds you sitting on the couch.

"Are you okay?" You close your phone, and sit it down on the couch next to you.

"I'm sorry to do this, but we have to go to my parents house for dinner tonight." The frustrated look on his face lets you know everything you need to know. He moves and sits down on the couch next you. He leans back, letting out a heavy sigh.

"I don't mind going." It's not exactly a lie. You will absolutely go to stand by Seungcheol side, but you're quite scared to meet his parents. Specifically his father.

He pushes himself up, resting his elbows on his knees. "I'm not saying this because you don't always look nice, but I need you to look extra nice tonight. My parents are judgy." You know what he means, you don't take offense to what he says.

"What should I wear?"

"Why don't you wear that Chanel dress I bought you, and pair of heels?" You know the exact dress he's talking about. He randomly gave it to you last week, and you told yourself you were going to save it for a special occasion. You didn't expect that special occasion to be meeting his parents.

"Okay. What time are we going?"

"Can you be ready by five?" That's two hours away, it won't take you that long to get ready.

"Yeah."

You both go your separate ways, Seungcheol heads off to his room, and you head off to your bathroom.

Turning the shower on, you let the water warm up. Stripping away your clothes you step into the warm water. Tonight calls for an everything shower. You wash your hair, scrub your body with you warm vanilla scented sugar scrub, before you take your time shaving.

After the shower you take your time, applying your fancy body oils, and lotions. Your goal is to feel as nice as possible tonight.

Heading off to the closet you find the exact dress Seungcheol gave you. The dress fits perfectly. The only problem is, you can't reach the back zipper. Picking up your heels you walk out into the living room. You glance into the kitchen to find Seungcheol standing there drinking what looks to be a glass of whiskey.

You drop your heels on the floor and walk towards. One of your hands is across your chest, holding up your dress.

"Can you help me with the zipper?"

He nods and walks up towards. Turning around you make sure your hair is out of the way. Slowly he slides the zipper up.

"There you go."

You turn back around to face him. His eyes slowly travel up and down your body, clearly checking you out.

"You look beautiful."

"Hopefully your parents like me." It shouldn't matter if they do, this whole relationship is fake, but you desperately want them to like you.

He stares at you trying to figure out what to say. He wants his parents to like you, but he knows how his father is.

"My dad is tough, but my mother is kind." He walks over and picks up the glass of whiskey. He chugs the rest of the liquid and doesn't even flinch.

"We should go." You say.

Arrive at Seungcheol's family home, you can't help but be in awe at how beautiful their home is.

Seungcheol parks his car in the driveway. The moment he's parked he hops out to open your door. He's clearly a mixture of nervous and frustrated.

Hand in hand he leads you to the front door. "No matter what, I have you back." Is the last thing he says before the door is opened.

Walking in you're immediately greeted by his mother. She's excited to see you both. She pulls Seungcheol in for a hug.

"Mother, this is my fiance." He does even get to say your name before his mother is pulling you in.

"Seungcheol said you're pretty, and he's not wrong, you're beautiful." Blush creeps across your cheeks. She releases you and leads you both towards the kitchen.

"Let's have a glass of wine."

Looking around the expensive hi-tech kitchen, you're truly reminded how different both your tax brackets are.

"Seungcheol, go get your father and tell him it's dinner time."

Seungcheol hand lingers on your lower back for a moment. He knits his brows together and opens his mouth, wanting to tell his mother no.

"I'll be okay." You mouth to him quietly.

Hesitantly, Seungcheol leaves you alone.

You glance over at Mrs. Choi, she gives you a gentle smile, one that reminds you of your own mother. She picks up a glass from the counter, and pours you a glass of white wine.

Taking the glass you stare at it for a moment before taking a sip.

"Seungcheol is a good man." His mother says.

"I know."

"My husband is a tough man, but he's tough because he's trying to protect the things he loves." This is her way of defending him. Seungcheol rarely speaks of his father, it's clear to you that they have quite a few issues.

"I would never do anything to hurt Seungcheol." You've fallen in love with her son, the last thing you want to do is hurt him.

"I can tell by the way that you both look at each other that you're in love." You stomach drops. Your feelings you have for Seungcheol don't feel like they're being reciprocated.

"He's a great man."

"I asked Seungcheol if you had any food allergies. I asked our chef to make something special for dinner tonight." She gives you another smile before taking a drink of her wine.

Seungcheol comes back alone. He can't hide the irritated look on his face. "He'll join us in a little while. Let's start dinner." He grabs your hand leading you towards the dining room.

Walking into the dining room, you're greeted by a long marble table. Four places are already set. Seungcheol shows you to your place and sits down next to you. His mother sits down across from you.

Silently, you sit there listening to Seungcheol and his mother talk. Its clear he's quite distant recently. She's a sweet lady, and it's clear she cares about her son.

The chef comes out and places down plates in front of you. The food looks absolutely delicious. Quitely you eat, listening to Mrs. Choi talk about a charity dinner she's hosting.

The moment Mr. Choi walks in the room the mood shifts. Mrs. Choi stands up to greet him. The feeling of Seungcheol large hand resting on your thigh instantly catches your attention.

"You must be my son's fiancée. The assistant." The way he's says your job title sounds degrading.

"Nice to meet you." Your voice is meek. You feel like you don't belong here.

"Don't speak to her like that." Seungcheol immediately responds.

His father barks out a laugh, sitting down at the table, across from him. A screaming silence takes over the room. The tension is so thick you can cut it with a knife. His father doesn't say anything else as another round of food is brought out.

His mother goes back to talking about her charity event. You silently sit there eating. You can feel Mr. Choi's eyes burning into you.

"So, how did you manage to seduce my son?" He gives you a pointed look.

Glancing at Seungcheol, he grinds his teeth. His hand squeezes your thigh.

"I didn't persue your son."

"That's funny." Mr. Choi barks out another laugh.

"I asked her out. She wouldn't give me the time of day for month. I persued her." Seungcheol responds.

"Seungcheol, you're the cities most eligible bachelor and you picked a gold digger." His venomous works sting. Wincing, You avert your eyes.

Shoving his plate forwards, Seungcheol stands quickly. "You will not speak to my fiancée that way. Darling, let's go home." He reaches for your hand.

"Cheol." his mother stands up quickly.

His father leans back in his chair with his eye burning into you.

"Mother, I'm sorry. I'm not going to sit here and let him speak to her like that."

"Baby, let's go home." He's never called you that before. You can see the desperation behind his eyes.

Standing, you let him lead you out of house. The moment you're outside, he lets out a heavy sigh.

"I'm sorry." Is all he can say.

"It's okay." You're hurt, but that's not his fault.

The car ride home is filled with silence. It's clear Seungcheol is extremely upset. Walking into the house, he pauses and stares at you.

"I'm sorry," he repeats again.

"I'm okay."

Walking over to you, he rests his hand on your cheek. You think for a moment he might kiss you. He leans in and gently kisses your cheek before heading off to his bedroom.

-

No matter how hard you try, you can't sleep. Lying in bed staring at the ceiling, your mind wonders to Seungcheol. Pulling yourself out of bed you glance at yourself in the full length mirror. You're dressed in panties that barely cover your butt and a baggy shirt that hits mid thigh. You should find a robe or something but right now, you just need to to get out of this room. Maybe a glass of water or something will help you relax.

Your sock covered feet pad against the hard wood floor. Walking through the living room, you glance over and see Seungcheol office door is cracked open, light is flickering out into the dark living room.

No thoughts are in your head as you walk towards his office. Not bothering to knock you peak your head in. You find his laptop in front of him. He's dressed in just a pair of cotton gray lounge pants. His beautiful bare torso is on display.

The sound of the door creeking closed catches his attention. Raising his head, his eyes catch yours.

"What are you doing up?" He pushes his chair back a little.

"I couldn't sleep."

"Why?"

"I was worried about you."

He pushes his fingers through his dark hair, and lets out a sigh. "You shouldn't have to worry about me."

You take a step towards his desk. His eyes travel up and down your very exposed legs. Thinking maybe you should have found something else to wear.

"Dinner upset you." You place your hand on the expense marble top desk.

"I was upset, because he was rude to you." He lets out a sigh. "I don't ever want to see you upset, and knowing that my father was intentionally rude to you—" he blinks and looks away. "I just don't like that he treated you that way, and he thought he could say those cruel things to you."

"I don't care what he thinks about me. I just care about what you think." You walk around the desk. He rolls his chair back, giving you room to stand in front of him.

He looks up at you with sad eyes. Reaching our you rest your hand on his cheek. "I don't like seeing you upset."

"I'm not upset anymore."

Pulling back, you rest your butt against his desk. You stare at him, studying him carefully. Ever since that kiss you shared, you've desperately wanted to do it again.

Reaching out he silently mess with the hem of your baggy shirt. "I like your pajamas."

Blush flushes your cheeks. "I should have put a robe on."

He shakes his head, standing quickly. "No, you shouldn't have." He takes a step towards you, caging you in against his desk. The tension in the room is thick. Leaning in he brushes his nose against yours.

"Cheol—"

"Yes, darling?" He pulls back slightly.

"Why haven't you kissed me again since the party?" That kiss you shared has been living in your mind on repeat.

His hand rests on your cheek. Slowly he drags his thumb across your bottom lip. "I was afraid you didn't want me to kiss you again. I feel like I keep messing things up with you."

"I want you to kiss me again." You muster up every single ounce of confidence you have.

"My fiancée wants another kiss?" He raises his brow.

"Please."

He leans in slowly, leaving you desperate for what's to come. First touch of his lips is intoxicating. One hand rest on your hip, while the other holds your face. This kiss feels different, feels desperate and lust filled.

He pulls back and looks are you with lust blown eyes. Both your lips are swollen from the intense kiss.

"More." You whisper.

Without another word, he grabs your hips lifting your on to his desk. The marble is cold against the bare skin of butt and thighs. A shiver runs down your spine. Seungcheol stands between your spread legs, crashing his lips into yours. His lips are air and your oxygen deprived lungs. Wrapping your arms around his neck you hold him close. His hands run up and down your shirt cover sides.

He pulls back just a little to judge your reaction. "More." You repeat as you chase his lips.

Pushing his hand up under your baggy shirt, you feel his calloused hand run along your side. Pushing yourself towards him, you're desperate for more.

One of his hands moves to your butt, groping the flesh through your panties. Absentmindedly, a moan leaves your lips.

"You sound so pretty," he practically moans as his lips make a trail from your jaw down to the most sensitive part of your neck.

"Cheol." You moan his name like a sinful prayer.

He slips his hand under your panties. Grabbing your cheek, and pulling you towards the edge of the desk. It desperate moan leaves your lips, feeling Seungcheol hardened erection pressing against your panty covered core.

"Fuck me." You aren't quite sure where that came from, but you want him so badly it hurts.

"Baby, we shouldn't have our first time on my desk while I'm upset." He pulls back with wide eyes. He's trying his hardest to think logically.

"Okay." You pull back from him. The instant feeling of rejection is almost too hard to bare.

He leans in and presses his lips to yours for a soft kiss, the complete opposite of what you just experienced. "Hey, don't do that. I want you so fucking bad, but I don't want our first time to be like this. You deserve romance, and something sweet. This feels rushed and horny." You definitely weren't expecting him to say that.

"Horny?" You can't help but smile.

"Yes, this feels like we're a couple of horny teens."

"Okay."

"We should go to bed."

He helps you get off the desk. He doesn't move though, he stands right in front of you. Placing his hand on your cheek, he leans down to give you another kiss.

Taking your hand, he leads you out of his office. You wish he would take you to his room, but it's clear he's trying to be a gentleman.

-

Falling asleep was nearly impossible after kissing Seungcheol again. You fell asleep dreaming of him.

By the time the morning light was peaking through your curtains, your eyes flutter open.

After last night, you've grown tired of playing cat and mouse with Seungcheol. You're tired of pretending, you want to be with him fully. You're sick of this just being pretend.

Crawling out of bed, you head to the bathroom to quickly brush your teeth. You're hoping you can catch Seungcheol before he goes to the gym for his morning work out.

Your sock covered feet pad across the hardwood floor. Walking up to Seungcheol room, you see the light peaking out from below the door.

Taking a deep breath you knock on the door. You hear his foot steps and the door opens. He knits his brows and stares at you, looking confused. He's dressing in his gym clothes, you must have caught him before he was heading out.

"We need to talk." You say.

"Sure."

"Do you want me?" You're being brave. If you want this game of cat and mouse to end, this is the only way.

"Yeah, my god I want you so bad."

Nothing else is said. Throwing yourself forward you wrap your arms around his neck. Your lips crash together for a searing kiss. Grabbing your hips, he walks you back into his room, your lips never parting as he kisses you, as if he needs you to breathe.

"You're killing me with your pajamas."

Pulling away he reaches for your shirt. He rips it off you quickly, leaving you standing there in just your panties and socks.

His eyes are lust blown. Crashing his lips back into yours, he kissed his way from your lips, down your neck. Biting your bottom lip, you try and hold back a moan.

His fingers hook into your panties, pulling them down your thighs, slowly. Mindlessly he kisses the top of your mound while looking up at you through his lashes.

"Cheol—" his name is nothing more then a desperate moan.

He pulls back with his lips slightly swollen. "Let me take care of you."

"Okay."

"Get on the bed, baby." There he goes calling you baby again. If you aren't already wet, you would be now.

He places a knee on the bed. His eyes are filled with lust as he stares at you. Leaning up on your elbows you watch your fiancé remove his shirt. He tosses it across the room, towards the pile of your clothes.

Sitting on his knees between your spread legs, his large hand gently rubs your thigh. "You're stunning, and seeing you spread out like this for me is driving me crazy."

"Cheol—"

"Seeing you last night in nothing but your panties and that shirt, practically drove me insane. It took everything in me not to give in, and fuck you, just like you asked." His words leave you even more turned on.

"Seungcheol—"

"Yes, darling?" He gives you a wicked grin.

"Please touch me." You've never been one to beg, but right now you'll do anything to be with him.

He moves so he's hovering over you. Tangling your fingers in his hair, you pull him closer to you. He pulls back with the same grin.

"I want to taste you."

Silently, you nod, desperate for more.

He leaves a wet trail of kisses from your jaw down. He drags his tongue between the valley of your breast. He takes his time groping each of your breast. While one hand plays with one breast, the other sucks and toys with your nipple, earning a whining moan from you.

Closing your eyes you toss your head back. "Cheol—"

"Such an impatient girl." He teases.

He goes back to dragging his tongue down the valley of your breast. He spots at the top of your mound.

He moves so he's laying on his stomach with needy core in front of him. You look down at him, and find him staring at you with his lust filled eyes.

"You're already so wet." He drags his fingers through your wet folds. "Did you get wet just from making out?" He takes his finger into his mouth, tasting your slick. "You taste just as sweet as I thought you would."

He takes his time kissing the inside of your thigh couple times, helping to relax you. "Baby, I want you taste you."

He dives into your pussy, like a man starved. He takes his time sucking on your clit while he toys with your entrance.

One of his fingers slide into you with ease. His eyes never leave yours as he toys with you. Then licks fat strips across your clit. He adds another finger, helping to stretch you out. You haven't seen him fully naked, but you know that he's massive. Just based on his built, and how he looks walking around in sweatpants. You know he's packing.

Without thing you tangle your fingers in his dark hair. Pushing your hips up, you desperately try to to bring yourself closer to that edge.

"Baby, you're so needy." He laughs pulling his lips away from your core. He never stops thrusting his finger in and out of you. "I know you can come. Be a good girl and come for me."

Breathlessly, you nod. Sinking into the overly expensive cotton sheets, your orgasm hits you hard and fast. Your fingers tug in his hair for a moment before all the muscles in your body relax. Your walls flutter around his fingers, as he massages your gummy walls helping you ride out your high.

He pulls back and slips his wet fingers back into his mouth.

"Darling, how do you like it?" You definitely weren't expecting him to ask that. You don't think you've ever had a man ask you that before.

"I don't know."

He cocks his head to the side. "Baby, what do you mean you don't know?"

"I just want you, and I'll take anything you'll give me." You hold your hand out towards him.

"Grab a pillow, and put it under your hips." Without thinking you follow his instruction. He hops off the bed and goes over to the nightstand. Pulling out a box of unopened condoms, and a bottle of lube.

Your eyes watch him carefully as he strips away his clothes. It's a mouth watering sight, watching his massive erection smack against his stomach.

He grabs the box and before he can even open it, you mutter out his name.

"Yeah?"

"We can go bare. I'm on birth control and I'm clean."

He tilts his and asks. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

Picking up the bottle of lube, he clicks it open and pours some across his length. He slowly pumps it with his eyes trained on you.

Crawling back onto the bed, he picks the lube back up. "This might be a little cold." Slowly, he pour the cool liquid onto your needy core. He takes his time massaging your opening with the lube.

"I'm big, so this might hurt." By the looks of his massive cock, you feel like that's an understatement.

He moves so he's sitting on his knees between your spread legs. He takes his length in his hand, he run the rosy tip through your folds a few times. Intentionally making sure he bumps your sensitive clit.

"I'll go slow, and if you get uncomfortable we can stop." He insane if he thinks you'll stop him. You aren't sure you have ever wanted a man more then you want him. Even if sex with him is a little painful, you'll take anything he can possibly give you.

The first inch is quite uncomfortable. The way you gasped silently is enough to make his brain short circuit. He watches you carefully, making sure you aren't in too much pain.

You reach for his hand. You want to touch him desperately. He moves his body so he's closer to you as he slowly slides in inch by inch. He doesn't move for a moment, he stay still, filling you to the brim.

Leaning down his rest his nose against yours. "You feel so good." He whispers.

"You're really big," you let out the softest laugh.

"You're just really tight." He pushes himself back a little. He's resting on his elbow, practically plastered against you.

"I might be tight, but anyone would be when you have a massive cock."

He can't help but smile at your statement. You don't understand how cute he thinks you are. He reaches out, brushing your hair away from your face.

"You can move." He leans down, pressing his lips to yours for a sweet kiss.

Your first time together isn't some rough passion filled night. Seungcheol wants your first time together to be passionate, but romantic. He keeps a slowly and deep pace. With pull of his hips, he leaves just the tip inside of you. Driving his hips back in at a firm pace, he practically kisses your cervix with his length.

Everything about your fiancé is massive and the feeling of him covering you as he slowly fucks you is absolutely intoxicating.

Lifting your leg you rest your foot on his back. He sets a slow but deep pace. Your fingers are tangled in his hair, holding him close to you.

"You feel so good." You moan.

"You were made for me." He moans against your neck. "You're such a good girl for me."

You stay like this forever with him. With each thrust he touches that spot deep inside you, that has you seeing stars.

Closing your eyes you tilt your head back. All the nerves in your body feel alive. Your second orgasm is rapidly approaching. Biting your bottom lip, you try to stay quiet.

"I wanna hear you." He moans.

"Fuck—" All logical words have left your brain.

One of your hands grip the sheets below you. He picks up his pace, your grip on his cock, letting him know you're close.

"Baby just let go." His sweet sinful words push you over the edge. For a moment it feels as if every muscle in your body is tense. White hot wave washes over you like you've never quite experienced before. Suddenly you feel more relax than you ever have. Your walls flutter around his lenght like a heartbeat.

He never stops thrusting, he helps you ride out your high. He pulls back, earning a whimper from you. He pulls out of you and sits in his knees his still hard cock, is covered in your release.

"Come here, baby."

Using every ounce of strength you have, you crawl to him. While he's sitting on his knees, you straddle his thighs. Reaching between you, you line yourself up with he length. Ever so slowly you sink back down.

He lets you set the pace. Instead of bouncing up and down, you rolls your hips into his. His lips are all over your throat, definitely leaving marks in his wake.

You can tell he's getting close by the moans falling from his lips. His hands grip your hips, helping to guide you up and down his length at a quicker pace.

Your third orgasm comes out of nowhere. Throwing your head back you moan his name. Leaning forward your rest your head on his shoulder.

Your walls contracting around him, push him over the edge. He holds you flush against his thighs, as he paints your walls with his milky release.

Pulling your head back you look at him with a lazy smile.

Slowly, you pull yourself off him and lay down on the bed. He hops off and heads to the bathroom. The site of his naked butt jogging away is something you're never forget.

He comes back holding a warm wash cloth. He takes his time gently cleaning up the mess he's made of you.

After disposing of the towel he crawls into bed with you. Laying on your side you're staring at him. He's lying next to you laying on his side. Reaching out he grabs your hand.

"I love you." He says those three words you have been dying to hear.

"I love you too." Even if you were too scared to admit it, you've been in love with him for a while. "I don't want this to be fake anymore."

"It hasn't been fake for a while. In my eyes, you've been mine." He says with the sweetest smile.

"You're mine too."

He closes the distance and kisses you. Pulling back he says "We can make this real. Screw dating, I want to actually marry you."

"I would like that, but maybe we should properly date and stuff."

He lets out a little laugh. "We can do that. But I'm still calling you my fiancée."

"Alright. We're officially engaged."

If you would've known going on that date and pretending to be Angel would lead you here, you would have never tried to get out of going on that date with Seungcheol. You never expected to date him, let alone fall in love with him and end up engaged for real.

"I love you, baby." He leans in for another kiss.

"I love you too."

an: this might get a part 2 for their wedding or it might make a sequel with Angel and Soonyoung that has these two love birds wedding. If anyone would be interested in reading that pls let me know.

[ts19009]

If there are no fake dating troupe supporters out there... thats means im dead because I fall for it every damn time

[woncheolisms]

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.

🐚 feedback is always appreciated!

[mylovesstuffs]

♟️The Ground. Kwon Sooyoung

on the ground, the poor starve. in the sky, the rich live like gods. six months of playing the clumsy, star struck girl from the slums boils down to a single night in a luxury penthouse. to avenge and save her father from their misery, she has to trap the elite’s most untouchable corporate heir, hoshi, in a game of her own making— and then betray him.

corporate heir!hoshi × fem!reader ⋅ 7,921 words

🌆 GENRE. non-idol au, cyberpunk, suspense

🌆 CONTENTS. class disparity, fake identity, fade to black but there’s still a bit of making out happening but cuts away before explicit smut. use of codes but not actual code (obv), reader has a fake name that was addressed to her a few times heh but it’s for uh fake identity sake. reader’s dad uses nicknames for her. and feat wonu and cheol

⚠️ WARNINGS. MDNI! while this doesn’t contain explicit smut, it is strictly for adult audiences due to the mature nature of the content. some profanity, power imbalance, corporate corruption, makingout, mention of neurological deterioration, betrayal, manipulation, lies as a plot device, espionage, open ending. lmk if i missed anything 

🌆 A/N. im not doing very well, ill be honest. i had a pretty critical wisdom tooth surgery and ive been in constant pain. the wound isn’t healing as fast as it should and i still have an infection, so god knows how long this is gonna last. anyway, this is a very raw unedited fic. all the errors, typos, and everything else are mine, but i still hope its readable even though i havent reread or edited it myself. thanks to @studiosvt for yet another collab! edit [brain short circuiting]: and once again thanks to @nothoughtsjustfic for brainstorming with me and @joshujin for that uh overlays to add on that screen [idk what to call it??], love yuh!

▸ PART OF @studiosvt : Cyberpunk: Reload, COLLABORATION

📌 i hope you'll love all the fics in this collab!

Glad to have been of help, says the megaphone after turning the power on for the next 45 minutes.

The ground is now a decaying wasteland where electricity only exists in a few public zones. Private homes rely only on temporary rationed power, and entire districts go dark for hours. You happen to live in one of these lower districts.

Your father worked for a megacorporation maintaining data routing systems between the ground and the lifted city above.

Class disparity is so bad that the wealthy refuse to live alongside the poor. They refer to your home simply as ‘The Ground,’ because, to them, the ground itself is beneath them both literally and socially. Above you, the elite live in a vast elevated city suspended high in the atmosphere made up of towering skyscrapers, in levelling aerial infrastructure, and monorail systems that weave between cities like veins of light that you dream to see. It’s kept clean free from pollution, and advanced beyond anything seen below. The higher one goes, the wealthier and more important they are considered, which is funny because they’re already so far up their own asses they think rules of reality stop at their floor.

Below, The Ground is populated and neglected with outdated technology and infrastructure except in the main districts filled with corporate advertisements and exploitative job offers, and giant displays of elite’s assets. Some robotic assistants still operate in some areas, but they are obsolete, glitch prone, and poorly maintained. Dirt poor is literal here. Those at the top have never seen the literal ground because they’re so up in the sky, and many have no interest in acknowledging its existence at all, living so out of touch with it that even the concept feels abstract to them.

But of course, anyone on the ground who managed to dig a little deep when playing in the net den (internet cafe), knew the megacorporations were fully aware of its existence. Their clean paradise above only stayed standing because millions of people below kept choking on the dirt for it. 

So, anyway, your father was suddenly fired after being linked to a ‘system irregularity and fraud,’ which immediately blacklists him from medical care and employment. 

You walk through the dim corridors of your home as the damp wooden floor makes sound under your foot. The light from the rationed power barely holds back the dark that’s in every corner of the room. Your thoughts keep circling the same point, unable to think of anything else. 

You look at him where he sits, the look of him is less lively than the man you remember, his smile taken away feels so wrong even when you try to accept it. “You should have told me earlier,” you say.

His voice comes after a delay with the exhaustion that does not seem to leave him anymore,  “I didn’t want you to be worried,” he replies. “You weren’t supposed to know.”

You sigh as you look around with a pathetic scoff before returning to him. Your fingers curl at your side, “it already reached me, dad” you reply. “Nothing stays a secret in this place anymore.”

He looks down, sad, as the silence that follows stretches. “I thought… I could do something about it before they made any final decision,” he replies eventually. “I thought I had time, sweetie.”

Your glassy eyes of unshed tears contradicts the rigid set of your jaw. Forcing your face into empty blankness again as you swallow the stingy lump in your throat, you keep your voice entirely level, “there’s no time there… for people like us.”

He looks at you and for a short moment, the past of what he used to be and what he is now becomes even more impossible to ignore to both you and him. His shoulders slump. Seeing him broken, stripped of his strength, and drowning in his own disappointment, hurts you harder than any blow from the elite above ever could.

The composure you fought so hard to maintain instantly breaks. Your breath gets stuck painfully in your throat as the reality of his defeat crashes over you. For all your hardening against the cruelties of ‘The Ground,’ seeing your father completely lose faith in himself is the one thing you cannot withstand. He’s getting sick… The tears you tried so desperately to hide finally well up, blurring your vision as your entire defense system collapses from the inside out.

“It’s okay, d-dad, we’ll be okay,” you step into his space and pull him into a tight hug, “I got a small job above, hm?”

His body goes rigid in your arms at first. His voice comes out strained with disbelief and worry, “above?” the weary, defeated look from moments before vanishes, replaced by a wide eyed fear that forces him awake, “you mean… up there? With them?” You don’t answer but instead, you tighten your grip around his shoulder to reassure him. But he pulls back further to look at your face. “You shouldn’t be there… You— you don’t belong in that system. They don’t let people like us just… walk in and out easily.”

You wipe at your face quickly with the back of your hand even though more tears keep coming anyway. Your breath stutters, but your voice forces itself to sound coherent. “It’s temporary,” you offer a brave smile, “it’s just work, I can handle it.”

His fingers dig in your shoulders, trying to convince you this time instead of the other way around, “nothing up there is just anything,” he says with worried eyes, “they don’t do ‘temporary’ with people from The Ground. You don’t know them.”

You shake your head, fighting back the wave of intimidation his fear is drumming up in your own chest, “we need it, it’s okay,” you force yourself to look him dead in the eye as you lock your expression down, tightening your jaw so he can’t read the anxiety swirling beneath your surface.

The wall you put up makes him go quiet again and the worry freezes into a sickening dread. His eyes drop to the floor, his throat bobbing as he swallows something bitter and suffocating, “no, I can’t let you pay for their decision with your own future.”

Taking a deep breath, you refuse to let the argument slip away. Moving closer, you slide your hands down his arms until your fingers are woven into his calloused weak hands, squeezing tightly. “Dad, listen to me,” you sound insistent. “I’m already in it. I already said yes, it’s done.”

The ambient warmth in his eyes vanishes, replaced by a flash of alarm that turns his entire expression strict again and terrifyingly alert, “you said yes? Already?” he asks strictly without any bluff, “to who? Okay tell me what kind of job is it?”

You were expecting at least this much from him but seeing the level of the fear in his eyes catches you off guard even though you should’ve also expected this. For a split second, your mind goes entirely blank as the cover story evaporates from your tongue.

His expression comes back to normal by just a fraction when he senses your hesitation, but the urgency pulsing through him is deafening. He squeezes your hands back, pleading, “sweetie, tell me,” he calms but no less urgent. “Tell me exactly what you agreed to.”

You force yourself to recover before he becomes suspicious. Your fingers tighten around his hands before the panic on your face can sabotage you completely, “uh so like I said, it’s a small job, so it’s not a big position or mainstream or anything,” you explain. “There was a contract block running on one of the main district billboards for low tier maintenance staff.  They needed people willing to work long shifts above and I just... applied.” You shrug one shoulder, trying to make it sound less important than it is, “I didn’t even think a Sky corp would take a Ground ID.”

“Maintenance staff? Doing what exactly?”

“I don’t know all the details yet. They kept talking about confidentiality policies and restricted access levels.” You scoff, “you already know how corporations are. They act stupidly serious and mysterious about everything.”

The tension in his face doesn’t disappear immediately, though his grip loosens from your hands only slightly while he studies every inch of your expression, trying to decide whether to trust your words or the fear he still feels crawling under his skin. The room falls quiet even though you can still very clearly hear the dying power supply overhead and the noise bleeding in from the streets below.

You hate doing this. It’s in your chest while you hold his eyes and force yourself not to look away first. Everything inside you screams to tell him what you want and let him stop you before things go too far, but the image of the medical notices sitting untouched on the table flashes through your mind. You think about the empty kitchen cabinets, empty fridge, the unpaid bills, barely any drinkable water, and the faded smile of your dad. You cannot let him deal another thing.

“It’s just cleaning systems and fixing old wiring,” you continue for more reassurance. “Nothing important. Honestly, they probably just wanted cheap workers from here again.”

Your father’s expression twists at that. Pain flashes across his face before exhaustion overcomes him again, “I still don’t like it,” He lifts one hand and drags it tiredly over his mouth while his eyes lower to the floor, “people above don’t look at us and see human beings. To them we’re replaceable before we even arrive.”

“I know,” you hold his hand.

His shoulders sag again and for the first time since the conversation started, some of the panic leaves his face… even though not fully, but enough for the fear in his eyes to stop cutting through you so crazy. He squeezes your hands once more before letting go. “Just... be careful, okay? Don’t trust them too quickly. If something feels wrong, you leave immediately. I don’t care about the money.”

Your throat tightens and you nod before he can notice the guilt rising all over your face again, “I will,” you promise, “I’ll be safe.”

He reaches up and brushes his hand against the side of your head gently, his hands feel weak on your head but familiar enough to nearly break you all over again, “you’re still my little girl,” he whispers lovingly, “no job up there changes that.”

The tears threaten to return instantly and you force yourself to smile anyway, leaning down just a bit to press your forehead briefly against his shoulder while trying to ignore the sick feeling twisting deeper inside your chest.

—

A few months back,

Outside, the 45 minutes public power ration was already ticking away, but inside this suffocating basement, the alert of stolen corporate bandwidth was deafening.

Your fingers flew across the mechanical keys in a frantic race against the automated trace programs of the Sky Grid.

On the screen, your real biometric profile— linked to your father’s blacklisted corporate ID— glowed an angry definitive red. 

result:

{

  "status": "TERMINATED",

  "access": "DENIED",

  "reason": "BLACKLIST",

  "flag": "PERMANENT_BLACKLIST",

  "source": "CORP_GLOBAL_REGISTRY"

}

You can’t even try to apply under your own name as the security grid flags you before you even enter your hobbies. Why would you even want to add your real identity to the fucked up system and get into trouble? It’s not your plan. You just wanted to see what shows up on your screen, and you’ve seen it now.

You took a breath as you pulled a black data shard from your pocket and jammed it into the console’s rusted drive. A new screen initialized, blooming into a vivid glowing magenta overlay. Lines of raw code began overriding the corporate restriction blocks. You weren’t just faking a resume; you were reconstructing your entire existence. 

SYS_OVERRIDE_INITOVERRIDE: #D60076

MODE: IDENTITY_REWRITE

[BIOHASH]

status: OVERRIDE... COMPLETE

[HISTORY_RECORDS]

status: ERASING... COMPLETE

You watched as your digital fingerprints were pixelated and rewoven into an entirely untraceable ghost profile. The system needed a clean history who had never choked on the dirt of your district. Basically someone the automated hiring algorithms would pull without a second thought. It was a complete identity erase. If you failed, the trace would loop straight back to this basement and lock you in a corporate detention block. If you succeeded, you would be stepping directly into the lion’s den— the exact same megacorporation that had done your father wrong and cost him everything including his health and sanity.

The progress bar hit 100% and the terminal chimed.

new_identity:

{

  "name": "SILV",

  "origin": "UNREGISTERED",

  "clearance": "LEVEL_GRAY",

  "biometric_state": "UNLINKED"

}

route: SEC_17_MAINTENANCE_DIVISION

location: ATMOSPHERE_LEVEL_13

status: QUEUED

applicant_id: NULL

tracking: DISABLED

You ripped the data shard out, plunging the screen back into darkness just as the illegal power splice sputtered and died. You sat in the pitch black and waited for your racing heart to catch up to the reality of what you had just done.

A buzz from your cracked wrist comm goes off at ass o’clock (04:15).

You kill the alarm instantly as the glow of the screen fades back into the pitch black of your room. The public power isn’t due to turn on for another hour, leaving the apartment freezing and suffocatingly quiet. You don’t turn on a flashlight. You know the layout of the warped, damp wooden floors by heart and step over the boards you know would groan under your weight. 

You creep toward your father’s room, pushing the rusted metal door frame open a little bit to just go through.

The sound of his breathing immediately made your chest ache. It was shallow and broken; broken by a wet, rattling wheeze that seemed to take every ounce of his remaining strength. In the faint gray light filtering through the grime of the window, he looks terrifyingly fragile to the point that his shoulders are hunched even in sleep. He is slipping away, and the bitter reality of it presses down on you like an actual physical weight. There’s no time left.

Heading into the tiny kitchen corner, you get to work. You fire up the portable burner, making the blue flame hiss as you throw together whatever rations you had left— a simple, warm broth and some stale bread. By the time the water was boiling, you heard a cough from the doorway.

Your dad was leaning his weak shoulder heavily against the frame, eyes blinking tiresomely against the faint light of the stove. “You’re up too early,” his voice hoarse like gravel.

“Look who’s talking,” you counter smoothly, forcing your voice into a lighthearted nag as you pour the broth into a chipped ceramic bowl. You didn’t let your hands shake, “sit down. You’re supposed to be resting, why are you awake so early?”

He let out a weak huff that was supposed to be a laugh, guiding himself slowly into the rickety chair, “I wanted to see you off little bird… and spend as much time as I possibly can— with you.”

“You’re seeing me off by sitting right there and eating every drop of this,” you set the bowl down in front of him along with three small, faded pills you have carefully counted out from their near empty blister packs. “The rest of the meds are on the top shelf behind the synthetic tea. I set a reminder on the wall clock to alert you when it’s time for the afternoon dose. Don’t ignore it because you’re distracted playing with those dead circuit boards, okay? And don’t try to ration them. I’ll send credits down the moment my first shift clearance processes.”

He looked at the pills with a suffocating guilt clouding his eyes, “sweetie, you—”

“Eat, dad,” you interrupt gently, leaning down to press a kiss against his temple. His skin felt warm; a fever threatening to take hold. You squeeze his shoulder and prepare yourself to the warmth of him one last time. “I have to catch the early transit before the crowds build up. I’ll comm you when I reach the worker bunks.”

He caught your hand with his weak but desperate calloused fingers, “be careful up there. Remember what I told you. They don’t see us as human.”

“I know,” you offer a reassuring smile, slowly pulling your hand away before the lump in your throat swallows your voice entirely. “I love you, dad.”

“Love you too, little bird.”

And just like that, you didn’t look back as you grabbed your heavy tool belt and stepped out into the damp, freezing corridor, locking the door behind you. There was only one way forward.

—

The air outside was choking with the sulfurous smog over the lower districts. As you walked, the silence of your alleyways bled into a vibrating roar. The Atmospheric Transit Hub was an absolute mess.

Even at this hour, thousands of Ground workers were jammed into the concrete plaza with their rusted toolboxes. Above them, the massive steel pillars of the structural supports stretched up into the smog as it disappeared entirely into the clouds. Somewhere way up there, hidden by the pollution, was The Sky gleaming and completely oblivious to the misery keeping it afloat.

You joined the slow moving line leading to the high velocity elevators. Up ahead, massive corporate security checkpoints going through the crowd. Enormous holographic displays pulsed with advertisements, casting a harsh blinding magenta glow over the exhausted faces of the workers. What a show off.

The line crawls forward toward the bright neon teeth of the checkpoint.

Your heart drums against your ribs as you finally step into the scanning pod. A halo of cold white lasers drops from the ceiling, washing over your face, your hands, your clothes. Your breath catches. For a very long second, you’re certain the alarms are going to scream and that the ghost profile you coded in that dark basement is going to shatter.

Instead, a synthesized chime echoes through the pod.

[ID_VERIFIED]: WELCOME, SILV.[ASSIGNMENT]: SEC_17_MAINTENANCE_DIVISION.

And a metal gate slides open. You swallow the lump of anxiety in your throat and step through, blending into the crowd shoved into the high velocity elevator. When the doors seal, the ascent begins. It doesn’t feel like a normal elevator; it feels like being shot into the stratosphere. The gravity pulls heavily at your boots and your ears pop, and through the glass flooring you watch, The Ground shrink into a dark sprawling smudge beneath a blanket of toxic clouds.

And then, the smog clears, and The Sky hits you.

Wow.

It is blinding. Towering skyscrapers wrapped in rivers of moving light and monorails like veins. It’s exactly what you dreamed to see but the obnoxious wealth of it makes your stomach turn.

The elevator doors hiss open at Atmosphere Level 13, and the corporate chill hits your skin.

Standing at the terminal dock is a man who looks like he was carved out of the elite infrastructure itself. He wears a stark, pristine navy suit, a silver security badge gleaming on his lapel. Officer S.Coups.

His eyes sweep over the line of arriving Ground workers, his posture showing an absolute authority that makes everyone automatically look down. He doesn’t look at any of you like you’re human when checking credentials and others— just assets to be sorted. When his gaze lands on you, your jaw locks to maintain that empty oblivious blankness.

He checks his digital ledger and a machine you’ve never seen before, before his deep voice comes through. You weren’t expecting his voice to sound this… anyway. “Silv,” he reads, “Sector 17. Move to the main grid corridor. Your shift starts immediately, no delays.”

You give a stiff nod and keep your head down as you’re guided past him and routed deep into the metallic underbelly of the maintenance deck.

The work area is a massive chamber of exposed conduits and filtration systems. It’s crowded with other Ground workers, all clad in the same gray jumpsuits and silently scrubbing panels and rewiring auxiliary grids. You slide into a station and immediately blend into the momentum of the team, working obliviously as if you’ve done this a thousand times before. Passing by a heavy surveillance camera blinking its red optical lens at you, you low key tilt your head to the opposite side and block your face from the lens’s line of sight. Hidden in the blind spot, you flash a wink at the tall figure standing across the room before dropping your eyes back to the wires. But all the system sees is a perfect, harmless employee.

An hour drags by before the overhead chime signals a brief, ten minute rotation break.

You step away from your station and wipe oil from your hands, and head toward the hydration units. A tall figure steps up to the dispenser next to you. Sharp, cat-like eyes blink behind a pair of standard issue safety glasses.

Wonwoo.

A wave of relief rushes through you when he’s finally near you but you don’t let a single ripple of it show on your face. In a place like this, the higher ups are always listening; every vent and terminal has an ear.

“So what do you think?”

You turn to him, keeping your posture entirely natural as you take the hand he extended, “good to have a functional grid here,” you do a perfectly mundane, non suspicious small talk.

Wonwoo takes your hand in his reassuring grip. His thumb presses into your palm— a silent, private acknowledgment that can’t be read by anyone but you. He smiled just a bit with hints of warmth in his eyes that matched yours. Even though you took all the risks, faked the credentials, and hacked the system yourself, Wonwoo was the one who risked himself and had mapped out the Sky’s blind spots for you from the inside, giving you the blueprint you needed to survive up here and hack the system.

“The atmospheric pressure takes some getting used to though since you’re new,” Wonwoo replies casually, his deep voice completely level for the hidden microphones. “Just follow the standard protocols and you’ll run smooth.”

“Good to know,” you offer a smile as you pull your hand back. You glance toward the structural windows when your thoughts instantly drift past the monorails, straight down through the heavy clouds to your place in The Ground.

Your hand slips toward your wrist-comm. You need to keep your promise… so finish your shift as soon as possible. “Uh, I’m Silv, it was nice meeting you but I think I’ll have to go now,” you try to end the conversation here.

“You too, Silv. I’m Wonwoo by the way.”

“See you later!” you wave bye as you walk away.

“See you.”

You spend the next twelve hours losing yourself in the grind of the maintenance deck. You purge atmospheric filters, solder fried power lines and motors and keep your head down, executing the potential of Silv flawlessly. By the time the shift supervisor dismisses your sector, every muscle in your back is already aching.

You’re routed along with the rest of the Ground crew down into the worker bunks. It’s exactly the kind of crowded hive you expected— rows of metal capsule pods stacked top to bottom.

You crawl into your assigned pod and slide the metal door shut with a pressurized hiss that locks out the chitchat of the barracks. The space is tiny and barely wide enough to turn over, illuminated only by an indicator light on the ceiling.

You pull the blanket all the way up over your head, plunging yourself into absolute darkness.

Inside your makeshift tent, you wait a few long minutes and listen to the sound of the ventilation, ensuring no automated audio sweep is flagging your pod. Slowly, you bring your wrist-comm close to your face. The screen boots up, casting a reflection across your eyes.

You navigate past the monitored system logs to the encrypted partition you built back in the basement.

You tap the interface and release the untraceable, pre-coded data ping you promised your father. It bypasses the Sky’s outgoing walls and drops right into the rusted wall clock of your place on The Ground. I’m in, Dad. I’m safe.

You kill the screen and let the dark swallow you whole as you finally let out the breath you’ve been holding since ass o’clock this morning. Phase one is completed.

The metal housing of the auxiliary coolant valve is freezing against your calloused fingers. Underneath your gray maintenance jumpsuit, your shirt is plastered to your spine with greasy sweat. Above you, thirty feet up in the shadows of the vaulted ceiling, the optical lens of an automated Sec-Eye sweeps the corridor. A mechanical click-click-click traces its movement. You have exactly four seconds between its rotations where the blind spot sags over your station.

Your fingers slip into your tool belt around the micro spanner Wonwoo passed you during yesterday’s break. The automated logistics algorithm doesn’t look at human performance reports, his deep calm voice echoes in your memory as a ghost from the brief ten minute window by the water dispensers. It tracks fluid dynamics. If a deck’s pressure drops by 0.4 percent three weeks in a row, it flags the assigned personnel as a logistical drag. It moves them out to balance the line.

Click. The camera turns away. Your jaw locks and you jam the spanner into the valve’s regulator nut and twist. The metal groans a terrifyingly loud sound in the thrumming silence of the corridor. You strip the thread a little as a nearly invisible hiss of pressurized Freon escapes, biting into the skin of your thumb with a chemical freeze. You yank the tool back and shove it into your pocket just as the red light of the lens sweeps back over your face.

Your heart is hitting your ribs so hard you’re sure the acoustic sensors in the walls will pick it up. You force your features into a dull eyed stare while dragging a dirty rag across the casing of the pipe. Your hands are shaking as the adrenaline turns your blood to ice water. If the grid detects the intentional tool marks on that nut, you aren’t getting reassigned. You’re getting deleted… probably from the world as well when they find out more dirt about you.

Survival up here isn’t just running; it’s a grueling game of chess against a machine that records everything. You don’t just get assigned to an executive penthouse on your second day. An invisible nobody from The Ground doesn’t walk onto the top floors without triggering a thousand alarms. You have to let the system itself funnel you there.

By noon, the legal power ration on the Tech Deck is fluctuating, causing the overhead tube-lights to hum a sickening brown-out frequency. Your break chime rings.

You walk toward the hydration units. Every muscle in your shoulders is locked tight while your thumb is still numb from the Freon burn. You press your palm against the dirty dispenser pad and a stream of lukewarm water trickles into your plastic cup, but a shadow falls over the dispenser next to you.

Behind the thick scratched plastic of his safety glasses, Wonwoo’s eyes don’t look at you yet. You already know that he’s tracking the digital readout on the water machine.

“Pressure on Sub-Sector 4 is dropping,” Wonwoo says. His deep voice is perfectly flat, completely conversational and devoid of any inflection that would trigger an AI audio sweep. “Looks like a faulty valve seal. They’ll probably run an optimization update by Friday.”

You take a swallow of the metallic water, your eyes staring straight ahead at the rust stained wall. “Old pipes,” you casually reply but it’s your voice forcing itself through the lump of nerves in your throat. “Everything up here breaks eventually.”

Beneath the metal counter, out of the line of sight of the camera mounting behind the ventilation shaft, Wonwoo’s fingers slide across the cold casing of the housing unit, leaving something flat but small, and warm from his pocket resting right on the side of the metal ledge between your machines. It’s another micro data chit.

“The standard protocol for Level 9 Residential says they need replacements with clean bio scents,” Wonwoo continues his, ‘can be important to you but also unnecessary for the detectors,’ small talk, but you notice the slight tremor in his fingers as he takes his hand back from you. He isn’t looking at you but his shoulder is less than an inch from yours. You can feel the heat radiating off him in the freezing room.

He knows what you’re doing. He knows that every step you take up that ladder brings you closer to the executive board and closer to the wolves who tore your father apart. And he knows that once you reach those floors, his technical expertise can’t shield you anymore. He is building the ladder for your escape even if it means watching you climb into the fire. “Thanks for the tip,” you murmur while your fingers slide over the data chit with your street smart dexterity, tucking it into the secret seam of your cuff. Before you pull away, Wonwoo’s hand hesitates on his water cup, and so for a split second, his thumb presses against the back of your knuckles— a sudden pressure that feels completely different from his usual self. But you track it for what it is; it’s a silent desperate plea. Don’t get caught. Don’t leave me behind.

You don’t… you can’t squeeze back. The hatred inside your chest is too much as it suffocates black weight that leaves no room for anything else. You will do your best and leave the rest to fate, fate is all you can trust in moments like this. You don’t think you’re even qualified for detention but rather just taking your life away. You drop your cup into the recycling chute and walk away without looking back, leaving him standing alone under the flickering brown lights.

—

The notification arrives on your wrist-comm at 04:00, twenty minutes before your alarm is even set to go off.

[LOGISTICS_NOTIFICATION]: REASSIGNMENT EFFECTIVE IMMEDIATELY.

You sit up in your metal capsule bunk. You did it. The algorithm took the bait. But the triumph in your chest is instantly replaced by dread. Level 9 is where things should be changing.

Three hours later, you emerge from the high velocity transit elevator onto the residential concourse, and the contrast nearly knocks you off your feet. There are no exposed pipes here or rusted grates or flickering brown out lights. The walls are clad in high gloss white composite that reflects the ambient glow of hidden LED tracks.

It feels fake. It feels like a beautiful, expensive coffin.

As you walk down the corridor with your cleaning cart, your gray jumpsuit feels like a brand of filth. The residents pass you by— elite women dressed in flowing silks or corporate men and women in fitted suits that cost more than your father’s entire lifetime medical pension. They don’t look at you. Their eyes skip over your form as if you are nothing more than a mobile garbage unit, a temporary blemish on their perfect visual landscape.

The hatred inside you changes. Down on the tech decks, it was a hot, raging fire. Up here, surrounded by their obnoxious luxury, it turns into a cold diamond sharp focus. Every time you scrub a pristine chrome baseboard, you think of the damp, rotting wooden floors of your kitchen below. Every time you empty a disposal unit filled with discarded, half eaten real food, you think of the empty cabinets and the pills you had to count out so carefully for your dad.

They think they are safe up here because they are high. They think the rules of reality don’t apply to their floor. 

It takes another two months of grinding through the residential sectors before you finally see him.

You are cleaning the panoramic viewing deck on Level 11, working a buffer machine over the reinforced glass flooring that looks down into the white sea of clouds. A sudden silence ripples through the corridor. Already here?

You keep your head down and fit your posture into that of the clumsy, easily intimidated Ground girl you’ve been practicing in the mirror of your bunk pod.

Through the reflection in the glass, you see him approach. Kwon Soonyoung.

To the rest of the elevated metropolis, he was Hoshi, the untouchable corporate heir linked to the very executive board who signed the permanent blacklist order for your father. But to you, he was the target.

He doesn’t walk like the other corporate executives. There is a different energy to his movement… a lethal charisma that makes him look like a predator going through a cage. He is wearing a tailored grey coat with his hair stark and perfectly styled against the soft lighting of the deck. Two personal assistants walk three paces behind him, tablets in hand, murmuring something between them that he dismisses with an impatient flick of his fingers.

This is the target. The man whose executive division signed the permanent blacklist order for your father.

Your fingers tighten on the buffer handle but you recover before it’s noticeable on the million hidden and not hidden cameras around you. Your mind is screaming at you to drop the machine and use the steel wrench in your belt to crack that arrogant jaw. The venom in your veins is so potent it makes your vision blur… but you force it down. You lock it deep into the dark basement of your mind where you keep your real identity. You, as in, Y/N.

Instead, as his security detail draws level with your station, you intentionally catch the cord of your buffer machine with the toe of your boot. You stumble, letting out a sharp but soft cry of ‘genuine’ panic as the machine skitters out of control and clatters loudly against the base of a pillar.

The sound echoes like a gunshot through the quiet deck. “Hey! Watch it, Grounder!” one of the assistants snaps as he steps forward with an angry scowl.

You instantly drop to your knees and pull your sleeves over your hands, your shoulders hunched as you mimic a terrified animal.

You don’t even know if this pathetic act is gonna work but you’d rather stay delusional and see how it plays out because it always played out perfectly in the fictional books you have read, “I-I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, sir!” you stammer as you make your voice tremble perfectly, your eyes wide and glassy as you stare at the floor right in front of Soonyoung’s leather boots. “The voltage fluctuated, I lost my grip— I didn’t mean to—”

The assistant is about to call security, but Soonyoung raises a single hand and they stop immediately.

Soonyoung lowers his head down as his  eyes study your trembling form. To a man surrounded by corporate sharks, elegant elite women who speak in poetic flirty riddles, and bowing subordinates, your unfiltered terror is an anomaly. Even if terror is expected from Ground workers, they usually just shut up and accept their fate instead of blabbering about why the accident/mistake happened.

It’s a glitch to him… and that catches his attention. You aren’t a threat; you’re entirely too pathetic, a small, fragile thing from the dirt that has probably accidentally flown into his pristine sky. Because the management won’t send such a fragile worker like you, here. 

A slight faint smug smirk touches the corner of his lips. The arrogant pity of the elite, you wanna scoff real bad.

“Leave it,” Soonyoung says as it cuts through the tension. “She’s just a child from below— practically shaking out of her skin.”

“Thank you, sir... thank you,” you whisper, letting a tear slip down your cheek right on cue, looking up at him with an expression of pure, star struck worship.

He looks at you for one more long second— captivated by the novelty of someone who views him like a god, before he turns and continues down the concourse, his detail falling into step behind him.

You stay on your knees until the sound of his footsteps completely fades. Slowly and consciously, you wipe the fake tear from your face with the back of your hand. Your eyes are completely now devoid of the fear you just put on display.

The hook is set. The chess game has officially begun. Phase 2 is completed; now slowly bait him into being soft for you.

Six months. It had taken six grueling months of you scrubbing pristine corridors as a low tier maintenance worker as you kept your head down, and kept playing the part of a star struck, clumsy girl from below before you finally managed to cross paths with him.

By him you mean, Kwon Soonyoung.

“You’re taking dirt onto the terrace,” his voice cut through the penthouse.

You jump as you drop your cleaning cloth to the floor with intentional clumsiness. You spun around, your eyes wide like a saucer, perfectly mimicking the fragile easily rattled persona you had spent half a year perfecting, “I-I’m so sorry, sir! The filtration units on the lower terrace were acting up, and I didn't realize my boots—”

“Breathe,” Soonyoung interrupts. He wasn’t looking at you; he was looking past you out the floor-to-ceiling glass where the monorails wove between skyscrapers like veins of pretty light. He looked effortlessly casual but lethal, a product of a world where the rules of reality supposedly stopped at his floor. “I’m not going to have you executed for a bit of dust.” Oh fuck off.

“Right. Of course. Thank you,” you stammer, biting your lip and looking down while letting a flush of faux embarrassment heat your cheeks.

This was the hook. For weeks, you had played the part of the infatuated emotionally fragile and clueless about the horrors of the hierarchy of the rich world, maintenance girl who couldn’t keep her eyes off him. You had let yourself be caught staying around outside his private office, sniffing the expensive ambient scents and crying like a pretty doll when a security guard reprimanded you, pretending to be utterly overwhelmed by his mere presence. You still can’t believe you weren’t kicked out by other people or his several personal ‘assistants.’

To a man surrounded by corporate sharks and lusty beautiful elite women, a fragile unstable girl from The Ground who looked at him like he was a god was a novelty. An easy distraction; someone entirely too pathetic to be considered a threat.

When he walked closer and tilted your chin up with a gloved finger, you let your breath stutter… but it wasn’t entirely out of acting but because the proximity of the man who held your father’s life in his hands was terrifying.

“You look at me like you’re terrified I’ll do something to you,” his eyes scan your face to search for a depth you have carefully buried under layers of manufactured vulnerability, “or like you want me to.”

… The fuck you mean?

“I just…” you swallowed the blob in your throat while letting your eyes glass over with those well rehearsed tears. “I shouldn’t be up here. People like me... we don’t belong in a place this bright.” 

To this day, you’re scared that one day he’ll finally get tired of your bullshit and throw you out for the audacity of standing there with tears in your eyes and talking about things like this as if you deserve sympathy. Because clearly that would be your manipulative master plan.

A faint, amused smile touched his lips— the arrogant pity of the elite, “then let me keep you here where you can see the light.”

Suddenly, his lips meet yours, and you react a second late before you lean into him as you pull him closer by the collar of his shirt. This, this is what you wanted. This is your well planned innocent seduction, but it wasn’t a sweeping romance; it was a desperate way of your motives. It’s messy as neither of you have the patience to be careful. His hand slides to your waist and you step back with him without breaking it while guiding him toward the bedroom without looking like you’re guiding anything at all. You only pretend to give the illusion of letting the man do it.

You wrap your arms around his neck and stay close, letting him think it’s a need. He kisses you harder when you don’t pull away, a hoarse sound caught in his throat, and you answer him with the same amount of force to keep him from questioning the heat of it. Your mind remains entirely detached and crystal clear, even as your heart thumps wildly against your ribs as it tracks the room behind him, the distance to his private terminal, and the angle of the security panels along the wall.

He’s walking you back until the back of your knees hit the edge of the bed. You fall onto it with him leaning over you with one hand already at your jaw, the other braced beside your head. The silk sheets are so soft and nothing like anything you’ve ever slept on in your own house, and it makes your skin feel more weird instead of relaxed. But you can't let yourself freeze. Before he can pull back or think, you hook your arms around his shoulders as you drag him down with you when he attempts to straighten.

His breath chokes slightly at the rush of need as his hands move from your jaw to the zipper of your uniform jumpsuit. You decide to use that exact second of that little bit of hesitation to keep him completely focused on you instead of anything else in the room. He slides it down with an impatient tug as the heavy fabric parts and pushes it off your shoulders to expose your skin to the cool air of the room. Now, you don’t let your hesitation slow you down.

As his chest presses flush against yours, your hands slide down past his waist while your fingers find the metallic snap of his trousers. You unzip it completely bypassing his defenses while keeping his mouth locked against yours so he doesn't see the cold focus in your eyes. You pull every bit of his attention onto yourself the way you need it to; the rest of the penthouse completely ceases to exist for him. His lips move from yours to your cheek and then your neck, and you let your head tilt back to make it easy for him. Your hands stay on his back as you map the hard muscle beneath his shirt the entire time to never let there be space for his thoughts to wander. When he moves you again, and you go with him immediately to keep his entire world to the limits of the bed and your body until there is nothing else.

The breathing of the both of you keeps getting slower as time passes. His grip on you loosens slightly for comfort. He has stopped thinking about anything beyond the touch of your skin. You stay exactly where you are, still making sure there is no reason for him to look away or stand up or reach for anything else. 

The penthouse was dead silent except for the breathing of Kwon Soonyoung tangled in the sheets with you.

You slid out from under the heavy comforter entirely devoid of the clumsiness you showed during the day and the past six months. Eyes cold as you scanned the dimly lit room.

Your fingers didn’t tremble as you reached for his tailored jacket draped over the chair. Slipping your hand into the interior pocket, your cold fingertips brushed against the gold rimmed biometric passkey.  Six months of playing the fool and letting him believe he held all the power, boiled down to this single plastic chip.

Moving like a shadow, you slid the passkey into your maintenance jumpsuit that was on the floor when he took it off you an hour ago. You didn’t dare access his terminal here— the internal anomalies would flag security immediately. But with this key, the restricted medical robotics archive on the sub level was completely open to you. The neural stabilization formula— the proprietary algorithm that could restore your father’s deteriorating mind and could 100% ruin their reputation for hiding this from the elites for whatever reasons— was within your reach.

You walked toward the door of the penthouse and for a split daunting second, your hand hovered over the release sensor. You looked back at the silhouette of the man on the bed who had given you access to The Sky, and kept you on your toes while still treating you like a human unlike other elites. But no, you didn’t feel guilty when you came back to your senses and thought about the damp wooden floors of your home below. You thought about the empty kitchen cabinets with unpaid bills on the broken table and the sad smile of your dad that he hid under his ‘everything is okay,’ smile.

They don’t do ‘temporary’ with people from the Ground, your father’s voice echoed in your head. You don’t know them.

I know them now, dad, you thought. And I’m getting back at them. You turned your back on that man and the clean house, stepping through the threshold and into a lit corridor. You didn’t look back as you slipped past the final security checkpoint with the stolen passkey burning a hole in your pocket. There was no guarantee the grid wouldn’t flag his credentials before you reached the sub levels, and no guarantee you’d ever make it back down to the toxic smog below.

But you still stepped into the elevator terminal and pressed your back again but this time against the cold glass as it prepared for its long, dizzying descent, you locked your expression down. There was only one way forward.

⌦ ♟️ © mylovesstuffs | est. 2026. thank you for reading—your reblog means everything. until we meet again, stay cozy and keep dreaming! ◜ᴗ◝

[studiosvt]

please validate your tag by reblogging this fic

taglist:

@kuromingoo @sourkimchi @haoluver @ts19009 @bobathi

@soonyouastra @wonu13 @pleasetellmenow @mikrokosmos530 @noble-17 

@foxlovessun @frayaatiny @scoupsahoy @woo-wonwoo @fancypeacepersona

@questionableppls @zdgx1 @juniper-flour @@bramos91 @hoshisliltiger  

@hongyinujiang @therealmrsbahng @jeonghoneyoon @isadorawoodz @in-somnias-world

@prettyuwonwoo @sn4psh00t @lukaswong2017 @lovekyr @sojuxxi 

@Leigh-darling @horahae @asparagushaerin @zyobestgirl @ayerinred

@insannities @Littlebluhellfire @smiileflower @idubiluranghae

[ts19009]

Tea. Poor soonyoung. He always gets outsmarted 😆🥲🫡

[aemondsbabe]

Not to Yield

summary: years after leaving king’s landing, you return to find aemond upon the iron throne. he is everything the little boy you once loved had hoped to become—and nothing you remember

pairing: aemond targaryen x aunt!reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, canon typical incest, aunt/nephew incest, emotional manipulation, political talks, discussion of war/death, power imbalance, dubcon, possessive aemond, yearning, choking, hand over mouth, piv sex, rough sex, creampie, degradation, dirty talk, angst, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 9.7k

a/n: proud of myself for actually writing a mean aemond fic where he stays mean will probably never happen again

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

⚔️ masterlist

thank you to my lovely lady @zaldritzosrose for the dividers!

The familiar bustle of the city begins to take over as soon as you reach its outskirts: merchants pull their wagons aside at the first sight of Hightower banners cresting the hills, mothers gather their children away from the roadside, and men bow their heads in polite deference as mounted knights pass in orderly columns, white towers embroidered upon deep green snapping lazily in the wind. 

No one moves to flee or cry out in warning—the smallfolk have quickly adjusted to the growing tensions of war, have learned to recognize an army as it arrives, even without haste or celebration. 

You ride near the front beside Daeron, where a prince ought to be seen—something he’ll grow used to with time, though he has changed considerably from the little boy you’d escorted from King’s Landing all those years ago. The softness of childhood has grown into long limbs and broadening shoulders, his face still unmistakably Alicent’s. 

Oldtown has polished him in quiet ways, you’d made that much certain. He sits his horse as easily as his dragon now and speaks only when he has something worth saying, carrying himself with the effortless courtesy that seems bred into the stones of the great beacon of Oldtown itself. 

He’s no longer a child. 

That realization still catches you off guard, even after all the time you’ve spent beside him. 

Somewhere overhead comes the distant cry of Tessarion, shrill and sharp. You cannot see her yet through the scattered clouds, but every so often sunlight catches the sweep of cobalt wings overhead before she disappears again, circling lazily above the marching host. 

Daeron follows your gaze for only a moment, smiling to himself before looking to the road again. 

“She’s growing impatient.”

“She has good reason to after so much time spent traveling,” you answer, adjusting your grip on the leather reins in your hand. “I imagine her rider shares the sentiment.”

His laugh is quiet, but it’s answer enough. 

There’s always been some comfort in how easily conversation comes with him—before leaving court, you’d almost forgotten that a royal child could laugh without looking over their shoulder first. 

For a while, the only sounds are hooves striking packed earth, the steady creak of wagons somewhere farther back within Ormund’s column, and the distant calls of outriders moving between ranks. Ahead, the city proper begins to rise from the haze as buildings press more closely together, knitting into winding streets and crowded alleyways. 

Beyond them, the towers of the Red Keep climb above the landscape like fingers reaching toward the sky. 

Home, you think automatically, even as your heart aches at the unfamiliarity of it all. 

The note that Alicent’s raven had brought a few days earlier rests tucked safely inside your saddlebag, though by now you’ve memorized every line. 

Aegon is gone, Larys Strong with him. Aemond rules now in his brother’s stead. 

You had read it once in disbelief the moment it had arrived when you’d stopped to make camp, then again by lamplight after supper, again the following morning, and once more before departing. Perhaps a part of you believed that the repetition alone might coax some different meaning from the ink, but it never had. 

Days spent riding have done little to quiet your imagination. If anything, the silence and the endless beating of hooves have fed it. 

You find yourself remembering Aemond as the little boy who had once preferred the palace libraries to the training yards whenever he thought no one was watching, who insisted on sitting impossibly straight even while reading—as though slouching might somehow diminish him. He had always been solemn and studious, serious beyond his years, forever trying to convince the world that he needed nothing from anyone. 

After the harrowing events at Driftmark, you remember how he’d reached for you the first time the maester had come to change his bandages, how you’d smoothed his hair back from his brow. He had gone strangely still beneath the touch and had watched you all the while with his remaining eye. You remember, too, finding him alone a few days later, not quite crying; his jaw had been clenched so tightly that you wondered whether his teeth might crack beneath the strain. 

“I am fine,” he had insisted before you’d spoken a single word. Hardly ten years old and already, he had mistaken endurance for strength. 

Beside you, Daeron breaks the silence, making you jolt slightly against the saddle. 

“Do you think mother has changed much?” You glance toward him but he keeps his attention ahead, though uncertainty lingers in his voice as he continues. “It’s been such a long time, I just—I wonder…”

“I imagine she’ll be quite shocked with how tall you’ve grown,” you say, smiling easily at the thought of your beloved sister, at having her close once more. 

A beat passes between the two of you. A bird calls out, probably a gull from the bay. Your horse snorts. 

For a fleeting moment, all of this feels impossibly easy. 

“And… and Aemond?” he says quietly, giving voice to the question both of you have been circling since Alicent’s letter reached you. “Do you think he’ll be glad to see us?”

You hold his gaze only briefly before looking back toward the city, back toward those impossibly high towers as you try to picture him somewhere inside—a man you no longer know. 

“He’ll be glad of Tessarion,” you say at last, feeling Daeron’s gaze as it lingers on you. He knows well enough not to challenge your answer, and you know he’s smart enough to pick up on everything you choose not to say. 

Sighing, you shift slightly atop your horse, trying to ignore the way your pulse kicks up as you draw closer to the castle gates. In a bid to keep your thoughts from spiraling further, you attempt to focus on the city—on crowded market stalls and fishermen unloading the morning’s catch, on the bells of the Sept ringing as they signal the time, on the sails of distant ships bobbing in the Blackwater. 

Still, you cannot help but notice that there are more Gold Cloaks than you remember, more guards posted atop the battlements, and more eyes lifting instinctively toward the sky as Tessarion’s shadow passes overhead. 

The gates open, the sound carrying across the yard as heavy timbers groan against ancient hinges. 

I am home, you think again, though the word fits no better than it did the first time. 

Stablehands hurry forward to take reins from weary riders, servants weave between carts laden with supplies from Oldtown, and somewhere across the inner courtyard a steward begins directing men toward quarters prepared days before your arrival. The Hightower banners that had fluttered so proudly along the road are lowered one by one, no longer needed now that you’ve reached your destination. 

You’ve scarcely swung yourself down from your horse before familiar voices begin calling Daeron’s name. Guards who had only known him as a small boy bid him welcome with respectful bows, various attendants offer polite curtsies, and it strikes you then just how long he’s been gone. 

Just then, a movement at the top of the stone steps draws your eye—Alicent. For one impossible heartbeat, you see her as the dutiful older sister you had left behind years ago, looking as she always had. 

Then reality catches up. 

Time has been no kinder to her than it is to anyone else, but it seems to have landed differently upon your sister. She is still beautiful in the same ways she always was—wide eyes, shining coppery hair, a warm smile—though grief has carved itself into the corners of her mouth and left shadows beneath her eyes. Green remains her color, as ever, yet even that familiar emerald shade seems muted against the invisible weight she carries. 

Daeron reaches her first and hardly has time to draw air into his lungs before Alicent gathers him into her arms; he returns the embrace without hesitation, one hand settling securely between her shoulders. 

“Gods, you’re nearly a man grown,” the words leave her in a shuddered exhale, something caught between a laugh and a sob. 

“Mother,” he says so quietly you nearly miss it in all the commotion, as if the word is foreign on his tongue. “I missed you.”

One hand rises to cup his cheek like she’s reassuring herself he’s truly here, standing before her—that he is flesh and blood rather than another son slipping beyond her reach. Her thumb brushes once across his skin as she studies his face with an impossibly wide smile, pride clear on her features for the first time in longer than she would care to admit. 

“You haven’t the faintest idea,” she starts, shaking her head, “how much I’ve missed you.”

A moment later, their embrace loosens and her shoulders straighten, a quiet propriety settling over her once more as she turns to you. 

Whatever restraint she’d attempted to force upon herself dies in an instant.

She crosses the remaining distance between you without ceremony, wrapping both arms around you with a quiet, shaky exhale that she quickly buries against your shoulder. You hold her just as tightly, huffing out a laugh as the familiar scent of her washes over you—sweet and delicate and all her own. 

For a few seconds, everything seems to fall away. There is no court, no war, no throne—only the two of you, standing exactly as you had countless times before the world grew so much larger than either of you had ever wished it to be. 

When she pulls back, her composure has returned, but only just. 

“I missed you,” she says softly, that familiar wry smile on her lips—as if she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t. 

“As I have missed you, sister.”

Something fragile flickers across her face before disappearing almost as quickly as it came as she wrings her hands, scanning the courtyard. 

“We shouldn’t remain here.”

You nod, knowing there will be time later for conversations and niceties and attempts to bridge the years between you. 

Ladies-in-waiting fall into step behind you as the three of you make your way deeper into the castle. The once-familiar corridors seem narrower than you remember, crowded now with messengers carrying sealed letters, guards changing posts, and whispering maids—all of whom fall abruptly silent as you pass by. 

Everything is exactly how you’d left it, truly, and yet it feels as if the stone walls themselves are holding their breath, waiting for the other shoe to fall. 

“Aegon left three days before your arrival,” Alicent says at last, keeping her voice low enough that only you and Daeron can hear. “Larys Strong departed with him. No one knows where.” 

You had known as much from her raven but hearing the words spoken aloud somehow makes them feel real—less like a rumor and more like a loss. 

“And Aemond assumed control immediately?” You question, earning a silent nod in reply, her lips pressed tightly together. “So everyone simply…” you pause, searching for the right word, “...accepts it?”

“They accept necessity,” she answers without hesitation, looking over her shoulder before glancing back toward you. “We do not have the luxury of time.” 

She says no more than that, but she doesn’t need to. You understand well enough what remains unspoken—King’s Landing is being held together by routine and the looming uncertainty of Rhaenyra’s inevitable arrival. 

Silence stretches between you for several paces before you break it, unable to tamp down the cautious curiosity within you. 

“And what of Aemond?”

“You will see him soon enough.”

There’s something in the way she says it—the quiet resignation of someone who, despite every attempt to the contrary, has found that the only way out is through. 

The corridors begin to widen as you get closer to the Great Hall, its heavy wooden doors lying ahead, standing open beneath banners bearing the three-headed dragon. Voices drift faintly from within, bleeding through the space in hushed murmurs. 

“He should still be here,” Alicent says, stiffly looking between you and Daeron. “Come.”

Your feet move before your mind can protest. Despite all the many hours you’ve had to imagine this meeting, now that it has arrived, you discover that you were never truly prepared for it at all. 

Inside, the throne room is more somber than you remember it being, stripped of the usual pomp and circumstance that comes with a public court. Any petitioners or noblemen that were here have departed, leaving behind only a handful of men gathered near the foot of the Iron Throne; Maester Orwyle stands with several rolled parchments tucked beneath one arm while Lord Wylde speaks in measured tones, giving the last of some report from what you can make out. 

Contrary to what you’d feared, there are no raised voices; instead, there’s an eerie calm. 

You can’t seem to decide which is worse. 

Despite its placidity, there’s still a carefulness that lingers in the air—a deliberate weighing of every word. These men are long accustomed to kings and councils but even they seem to measure themselves warily. 

Slowly, your gaze rises to the throne itself, to where Aemond sits bareheaded, absent of the rubied crown that Aegon had worn. It had departed the city with him, leaving behind only the Iron Throne itself and the man who now occupies it. Somehow, the missing symbol of legitimacy fails to diminish him; if anything, it makes him appear sharper. 

He has no need for the authority of Valyrian steel when he believes he possesses enough of his own. 

One hand rests lightly against the arm of the throne as he listens to the men before him with a sharp gaze. Your mind whirls as you try to reconcile the image before you with the boy you’d once known—there is nothing boyish left in him now. Even from across the hall, he carries himself with an absolute certainty that hadn’t been there before. 

“How many men remain posted at the River Gate?”

“Two hundred, Your Grace.”

“And how many have seen battle?”

“Perhaps…” Lord Wylde hesitates briefly, “only half?”

Aemond nods once, head tilting to the side just slightly as he lets out a thoughtful hum. 

“Then replace the rest.”

“Your Grace,” Wylde begins carefully, “we are already strapped for—”

“Do you think an army of untested boys capable of defending the city from the threats Rhaenyra brings, my lord?” His tone is soft, though laced with a hardness that makes it clear this is a question he does not want answered. “See that it is done.” 

“As you command.”

He is good at this, the thought comes to you unbidden, almost painfully. The solemn little boy who had spent entire afternoons with his nose buried in dusty tomes, who had longed to be taken seriously—to no longer be a mere second son—appears to have gotten what he had so desperately wanted. 

Silence settles again as Lord Wylde turns and takes his leave, pausing only to offer the three of you a polite bow, followed by Maester Orwyle who does the same. Their footsteps echo softly across the cavernous hall until the doors are pulled closed behind them. 

It’s only then that Aemond’s gaze lands on you. 

For a second, hardly a second, something perilously close to relief shifts over his face before vanishing so completely that you wonder if you’re inventing mercies where none exist. 

You share an impossibly heavy glance with Alicent as he stands from the throne and saunters down the sword-lined steps, his hands clasped behind his back while he makes his way over to the three of you. He’s grown tall in your absence, formidable with broad shoulders and a restrained strength. There’s a surety in him now that had been missing before, the relaxed confidence of a man who knows his capabilities very, very well. 

“You have returned,” he murmurs, coming to a stop before you. There’s no warmth in his tone, no familiarity. He offers nothing else—not your name, not aunt, not even a question of your travels or your health. 

“So I have,” you say in return, bowing your head politely, if only to give yourself something to do. 

He studies you for only a second longer before drifting to Daeron at your side. You can see him shift in your periphery, practically thrumming with a confused excitement—was he missed? Was he not? Where is the ease of family?

“Your dragon will be of good use to us,” Aemond says. “I trust you have been trained well?”

Daeron inclines his head with the same courtesy he has shown every step of the journey from Oldtown, though you don’t miss the way he seems to deflate a little as his shoulders lose their sharpness. 

“Yes,” he answers with a nod, looking at Alicent as she places a hand on his shoulder. “I am glad to be of service.”

“Mm,” Aemond hums, giving a single nod, no sign that he has spent years apart from the brother standing before him. 

Despite yourself, you search his face anyway, looking for a trace of the boy who had once followed you through halls asking questions far too large for his age. 

Yet, you find only the king. 

Beside you, Alicent exhales softly, smoothing a hand over her skirts. 

“We should leave you to your work,” she says to him, each word too tight—too formal. “Besides,” she continues, turning her attention to you and her youngest son, “I must show you both to your chambers.” 

As you take your leave, following closely behind Daeron as the three of you make your way out of the Great Hall, you can feel his stare on your back. 

The following day, afternoon sunlight spills so warmly through the Keep’s gardens that it’s easy to momentarily forget how precarious everything is, how the entire realm seems poised on a knife’s edge. 

The fountains bubble softly into still pools, birds chirp as they flit from tree to tree, and roses climb sun-warmed stone. You watch as a butterfly dances between flowers, suddenly struck by the fact that it knows nothing of dragons, nor kings, nor the weight of crowns. 

That is why you’ve always tended to seek solace here—nature has always possessed the enviable habit of simply carrying on. 

For a while, neither you nor your sister says anything as you walk side-by-side, the gravel pathway crunching underfoot. A gentle wind wafts over you, rustling the neatly pruned hedges, and you take a second to glance over at her. 

Alicent’s hands are folded neatly before her in an attempt to hide her bloodied cuticles—a nervous habit she never quite outgrew. 

“I’m sure you’re glad for the breeze the bay brings in,” she says after a time, a faint smile touching the corners of her lips, “given how humid Oldtown can be.”

“Definitely,” you nod, taking a second to look up at the winding branches of a particularly old chestnut tree. “The air there could be stifling at times.”

Conversation comes easier after that, the two of you quickly filling the silence. You speak of the journey here, of Ormund’s tendency to be a spendthrift, of Daeron’s understated confidence and how naturally he has seemed to grow into himself. Alicent listens more than she speaks, asking after small details that you’d never thought to include in the many letters you had sent her over the years. 

Does he still forget to eat when he’s learning a new song on his lute?

Does he still insist on rising at dawn?

Does he still not take well to compliments?

Each answer earns a small smile from her or a breathy laugh or quick quip, though none of it quite erases the shadows beneath her eyes. Still, it’s enough to give you a glimpse of the sister you’d known as a child. 

The longer the two of you walk and talk, the more you find yourself speaking of Oldtown itself. You each share childhood memories of watching merchant ships dock in the harbor and of evenings spent beneath the glow of the great beacon. Both of you seem to long for those quiet days that, at the time, had felt unbearably ordinary, though now they seem more like an untouchable luxury. 

Still, the longer you talk, the more it feels as if each of you is carefully side-stepping the one glaring thing that weighs most heavily on your mind, as if neither of you wishes to arrive at it and break whatever sweet spell you’re under. 

Eventually, it becomes unavoidable. 

“He will not hear me,” she says at last as she slows beside one of the fountains, watching sunlight scatter across its rippling surface. You don’t need to ask who she means, you both know well enough. “I have tried as his counsel, as his mother,” she continues quietly; a faint, humorless smile crosses her lips, “none of them reached him.”

“What is it you wished for him to hear?”

Sighing, she doesn’t answer immediately. Her brows furrow as she resumes walking, her skirts whispering softly over the pathway. 

“I—I want peace,” she says simply before stopping again, so suddenly that you whip around to face her. She’s not looking at you, not at first. Instead, she’s gazing at the ground as if wishing it would swallow her whole, teeth worrying at her bottom lip.

“Sister, has something—”

“I went to Dragonstone,” she whispers, so faintly that for a moment, you’re sure you must have misheard her. She must see it as a million questions immediately flood your mind, each more incredulous than the last, because she quickly continues. “I didn’t go because—because I believed Rhaenyra would simply forgive me,” the words pour from her, “nor because I imagined she had suddenly forgotten all that has transpired between our families, I just…”

She lowers her eyes, wringing her hands. 

“I had to know that she might still choose not to burn the realm,” her words are almost sheepish, like a child confessing an inane fear, “that she too had considered… negotiations, a way through this without—without—”

She needn’t give it voice. 

For several moments, you say nothing, instead blinking up at the sun overhead, like it may provide you with some great wisdom. Shock flows through you, a steady thrum in your veins, but beneath that an understanding begins to rise. You know your sister and for all her many faults, you have never known her to be rash nor willfully careless. 

Peace no longer promises triumph, perhaps it never did—you’d seen your brother-in-law make that mistake many times over the course of his long reign. But it may promise fewer widows, fewer orphans left to the streets, fewer graves dug into damp earth. 

Of course she’d had to try, you think, absentmindedly fiddling with a loose thread at the hem of one sleeve, that is still something worth seeking.

“Aegon could be… managed,” you say quietly. Alicent sighs beside you, her eyes closing as she gives a single nod. 

“Yes.”

“Aemond cannot.”

“No,” she whispers, the word landing heavily between you, “and that is what frightens me.”

Her voice wavers, causing you to instinctively reach toward her. Stepping closer, you wind your hands around hers, jaw set against the sudden tightness at the back of your throat as her gaze finally finds yours. The tiredness there makes your heart ache. 

“If Aemond remains in the capital, Rhaenyra will come eventually, she’ll have no choice,” she says lowly, leaning closer to you, “but Daemon holds Harrenhal, alongside Caraxes, several dragonseeds, and a growing army.” Your pulse grows louder as she speaks, an incessant drum in your ear. “Vhagar is mighty, but she is one dragon.”

She pauses, looking toward the Red Keep as it towers above the gardens. 

“And one rider,” she finishes, her eyes flicking to yours. 

The finality in her gaze, along with the million words she cannot say, make the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. 

“If Aemond were to ride for the Riverlands…” you start, your eyes remaining fixed on hers, “he may not return.”

“Yes.”

“And—and if he stays?”

“Then the war will come here,” she nods, tensing for an instant, “and thousands will die.”

Your teeth sink into your bottom lip as the implication of her words hangs over the two of you, heavy with the weight of an impossible choice. You know better than to argue with her, knowing that what she says is true. “I need you to speak with him.”

“Me?” you balk, jolting a pace back from her as if you’d been burnt. 

“He will not hear me.”

“Sister—”

“He was so fond of you as a child,” she implores, desperation bleeding into the edges of her voice. “You may still be able to—”

“The man I saw yesterday,” you cut her off, shaking your head, “did not look like someone waiting to be persuaded.”

“No—no, I suppose not.” 

The simplicity of her answer causes a frustrated huff to spill from you as you pace about the small alcove the two of you have found yourselves in, the sunlight on your skin suddenly stifling. 

“He isn’t the boy I left behind,” you manage, the words tight in your throat. 

“I know,” she says, reaching out to steady you in the same way you had done for her only moments ago, “but he is still my son.”

The grief in her voice nearly undoes you, like she’s mourned him before he’s even left—like she’s done it a dozen times before now. 

You think of the throne room the day before, of the man sitting where Viserys once had, who now seems little more than a stranger to you, and of Daeron’s face after being dismissed as little more than another dragon rider. 

Most of all, you remember the split-second of relief that had flickered across Aemond’s face before it had vanished. 

Staring off at a hazy point in the distance, you’re unable to decide which frightens you more—that the boy you had loved is truly gone, or that a small part of him still remains beneath everything that time has forced him to become. 

You draw a slow breath, looking out across the gardens where branches continue to sway in the afternoon breeze, utterly indifferent to the burden resting upon your shoulders. The backs of your eyes sting as you let them flutter shut for a moment, willing your breaths to steady. 

“I—I will speak with him.”

She nods and squeezes your hand, though neither of you speak again as you make your way back toward the castle. Nothing has changed, not really. Birds still sing and flowers still bloom and butterflies still dance between them, yet everything feels colder than it had only an hour before. 

The task before you feels impossible—how are you supposed to reach someone when you’re no longer certain any part of them still exists?

In the few hours since you’ve spoken to your sister, night has settled heavily over the castle. Your steps echo in the quiet corridor as you make your way to Aemond's—to the king’s—chambers, alone in hallways that are usually filled with guards, servants, and the occasional messenger. Torchlight pools across the old stones, stretching in long shadows that sway and flicker with every draft that slips in through the narrow slit windows. 

You approach the chambers that had belonged to Aegon only days ago. One of the guards posted outside nods his head as you come to a stop, announcing your arrival while opening the doors for you. 

A fire burns in the hearth, throwing amber light across the tapestried walls. According to Alicent, he had altered many things already. She spoke of orders to servants to stock the shelves with various old tomes, to move in his personal belongings, and to rid the place of emptied wine flagons. 

Even still, the room itself seems to remember Aegon, as if frozen in the transition between owners.

Aemond occupies a chair before the fire, one leg stretched before him as a forgotten book rests atop his other thigh. He looks up as the doors thud closed once more, leaving the two of you alone. 

“Mother sent you,” he murmurs, not bothering to question it. 

“She did,” you answer, stepping further into the room. That earns you the faintest tilt of his head as something like interest passes across his face. 

“Mm,” he hums, “at least you do not insult me with denial.”

“I see no purpose in lying to you, Aemond.”

“How novel,” he says through a dry huff of laughter. His gaze moves over you with a calm precision that makes your spine straighten despite yourself. “Though I suppose you were always cleverer than that.”

His words catch somewhere you didn’t expect, the faint familiarity in them making the absence of any tenderness all the more jarring. You remember, absurdly, a solemn little boy leaning over a library table as he asked whether intelligence or courage mattered more. 

You had told him that you supposed it merely depended on who survived long enough to use either. 

That same little boy isn’t the one looking back at you now. 

“You remember enough to flatter me, nephew.”

“I remember a great many things,” he says, calm but pointed. 

Neither of you speaks as you move to stand more in front of him, your back warmed by the fire as you watch the light of it move over the hard lines of his face, catching in the pale fall of his hair and the sapphire set where his left eye should be. He looks more human here than he had on the throne, away from all those swords and watching eyes. 

He’s handsome like this, the thought comes unbidden. Perhaps this would be easier if age had been less kind to him. 

“You may sit,” he says at last, gesturing toward a matching chair that sits beside him. 

“I prefer to stand,” you say, remaining where you are as if rooted to the spot. He studies you for a long while, tracking the slow shift of your hips before returning, almost reluctantly, to your face.

“As you wish.”

The silence that follows is unnerving—he appears to have no desire to fill it and, as the seconds wear on, you begin to wonder if it is a test of some kind. For what, you cannot yet say. Perhaps he’s waiting to see if you’ll begin, if you’ll falter when you do, whether you have come as a messenger, an aunt, a spy, or something less easily named. 

Finally, you can take it no longer. 

“My prince—”

His gaze lifts immediately to that, sharp and insistent. 

“My king,” you correct, internally berating yourself for giving him any sort of upper hand. 

Aemond tilts his head slightly, satisfaction kept so tightly leashed that anyone else may not have noticed it at all. “You found the word eventually.”

“I apologize,” you say, shifting your weight from foot to foot while you inhale shakily. “I am—I am finding many things difficult tonight.”

“I imagine you are,” he answers too quickly, too smoothly, like he’d already anticipated the conversation before you had even entered the room. You’re reminded of the way he’d simply listened in the throne room the day before: patient and scrutinizing, allowing men space enough to reveal their hand. 

“The castle talks,” you try, though he gives you nothing in return. 

“It always has.”

“This is different—”

“No,” he replies, leaning back in his chair as if he hasn’t a care in the world. “There are always whispers but it is merely the idle chatter of smallfolk, nothing more.”

“Aegon is gone—” 

“I am aware, yes.”

“Then you must also be aware of what that looks like,” you say, the words coming more sharply than you intend, “of what it implies.”

At that, his expression shifts by a fraction, cooling faintly as if you’d veered off of whatever script he has in his head. “It looks like the realm is being governed in my brother’s absence,” he mutters.”

“Aemond, it looks like uncertainty—”

“Necessity.”

“To those inside these walls, perhaps,” you say, forcing yourself to remain calm despite the way your pulse hums beneath your skin. “But outside? To the city? To any of Rhaenyra’s supporters waiting for any fracture that they might widen into a wound?”

He watches you for a long moment, the firelight throwing half of his face into shadow. 

“You sound like my mother,” he sighs, dismissive. 

Your throat works as you swallow thickly, your hands tightening into fists at your sides before you catch yourself and will them to relax. 

“I have spent many years away from this court and even I can still see it plainly,” you start, your voice low enough to draw his attention once more. “Let me speak the words everyone else here is too frightened to say.”

That gives him pause, you see it in the way a muscle jumps in his cheek, in the way his shoulders tense and his fingers tighten around the arm of his chair. 

“The servants speak. Soon the city will, then the realm. It will get back to Rhaenyra and she will use it as a weapon in her hand before you ever have the chance to drum up a counterattack,” you say quickly, not wanting to give him a chance to cut you off. “You are not daft, Aemond. Surely you know this to be true.”

“The city will believe whatever it is commanded to believe.”

“No,” you shake your head, brows slightly raised. “It will believe whatever best explains its fear, which is precisely why you cannot remain here.” 

The words hang between you before he gives a dry, humorless laugh. Disappointment flashes across his face, as if he’d hoped you had come for a reason other than to parrot his mother’s words at him. 

“So,” he sighs, nodding once to himself, “this is why you came.”

“Daemon sits at Harrenhal gathering men beneath Rhaenyra’s banners while you remain behind these walls waiting for the war to arrive at your doorstep,” you press on, unwilling to surrender any ground you may have been granted. His eye follows you immediately, dropping only for a heartbeat before lifting again as though nothing had happened. “Every day he’s left unchallenged, another river lord bends the knee and more men join his host.”

Aemond’s expression betrays nothing as you continue, though you don’t miss the way his lips press together in annoyance. 

“This war hinges on the Riverlands,” you say, determined to get the words out. “You know that as well as anyone.”

“And so my aunt would have me abandon my capital.”

“I would have you seize this initiative before it is too late.”

“And leave the city leaderless while my dearest brother remains missing?” His eye narrows, the corners of his lips twitching into an incredulous smirk. 

“You have a council,” you try. “And Prince Daeron, and your mother—”

“My mother is a fool,” he interrupts, “a snake with two tongues, so poisoned by Rhaenyra that she cannot see Harrenhal for what it is—a trap.”

Inhaling a shuddered breath, you bite at your bottom lip, swallowing thickly. 

“Daemon wants you to hesitate,” you counter, “by remaining here, you’re merely obliging him.”

For the first time since you entered, he doesn’t appear to have anything to say in return. His lips tighten as he glances around the dim chambers, blinking while his chest rises and falls unsteadily. You think of Alicent in the gardens, hiding her bloodied cuticles beneath folded hands, of the grief in her voice. You think of Daeron deflating by inches beneath the weight of his brother’s cool assessment. 

You think of the boy after Driftmark, choking on the pain he would rather swallow than share. 

He scoffs, the sound almost like a laugh, if there were any warmth to it. “You have been in Oldtown too long, aunt,” he says sharply, “surrounded by maesters that flatter themselves to believe that wars are won upon maps rather than by the men who fight them.”

“And you have been here too long if you believe this city would not fall were Rhaenyra forced to challenge you head on.”

He falters once more, glancing about the room for a split second before his expression hardens once more.

“I have Vhagar,” he starts with an easy confidence, shrugging his shoulders just slightly as if any counter to her mere presence means nothing at all, “and Tessarion, the city watch, scores of soldiers—”

“You hear yourself, don’t you?” You murmur before you can stop yourself, mouth shutting tightly as Aemond goes quiet, his stare cutting as he glares at you. Even as your pulse seems to falter in your chest, you cannot help but feel a small thrill shoot down your spine as irritation flashes plainly over his face—the first true sign of any weakness he may have left. 

“You think me ambitious,” he mutters after a tense moment, his voice slightly softer than it had been before. 

“I think you are too intelligent not to understand how this ends.”

He huffs, annoyed, and shakes his head incredulously. The harshness you’d managed to strip away before climbs back into his angular features and when he speaks next, it’s with the same condescension one would use to scold a small child. 

“Aegon abandoned the throne, he fled,” he starts, each word slow and measured. “He was never a man, not as he should’ve been,” he continues, his voice carrying an edge sharp enough to cut. “He remained a boy who drank too much and hid behind skirts because no one expected him to become anyone worth following.”

The more he speaks, the clearer you see why your sister fears him so—his viciousness rarely begins with invention, each word carries a truth to it that he’s learned to observe and sharpen until it becomes useful to him. 

“And you?” you ask, determined not to falter further—to see this through. “You’re sure you want it?”

His eye narrows. “The throne?”

“The burden of it,” you murmur, tilting your head just slightly as you regard him. “The very same that crushed your brother under its weight and led Viserys to become what little he became.”

For an instant, it’s as if the room tightens around the question, tensing like the air itself is waiting for a blow. 

Aemond rises then, unhurriedly, as if he’s simply grown bored of sitting rather than because you’ve struck anything near vulnerable. It strikes you once more how tall he’s become, formidable and fearsome enough to make good on the threats he utters. Whatever softness remained in him from childhood has been cleanly carved away, replaced with discipline and war. 

“I want victory,” he answers, taking a few measured steps toward you. 

“That’s not what I asked.”

“No,” he concedes, pursing his lips, “but it is the only answer that matters.”

“Or it’s the answer men give when the truth is less flattering.”

His head tilts at that as he comes to a stop before you, hands clasped behind his back. The firelight dancing over his face makes the sapphire in his eye socket glimmer, beautiful and infinitely dangerous all at once. 

“And what truth do you imagine you’ve uncovered, aunt?”

A small voice in the back of your mind bids you to stop—anyone wiser most likely would—but you tamp it down, throat working as you swallow against the nervous tightness at the back of it. Alicent had not sent you here to be wise, not entirely. 

“You deal in cruelty,” you start slowly, watching him as closely as he watches you, “because you are scared—terrified of seeming weak.”

The silence that follows is immediate and absolute, like all the air has been pulled from the room. 

“Careful,” he mutters lowly from between clenched teeth, the word venomous enough to have your hair standing on end. 

“But you’re not weak, you never were,” you press on, using the split second of surprise that crosses his face to step forward just enough to rest a hand lightly on his shoulder, ignoring the wanting shiver that moves through you at the contact. “You have the makings of a great king—a better king than Aegon could’ve been, you said as much yourself.”

His lips part, but no sound comes out. For a terrifying instant, he seems caught between pulling away entirely and giving in. Then his lilac eye darts to your lips, so quickly you wonder if you imagined it as your heart seizes in your chest.

The gesture strikes something buried deep in your memory of a boy scarcely older than eleven blushing scarlet when one of Aegon’s lordling friends had laughingly declared that he would make some maiden very happy one day. He had looked at you then with exactly the same startled intensity before fleeing from the room altogether. 

“I know you, Aemond,” you say softly, pressing half a step closer. Your hand shifts, moving from his shoulder to his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing beneath your fingertips.

“You have been away half of my life, you cannot—”

His eye flickers downward, following the movement of your hand where it rests against his chest. It’s such an ordinary thing—so quiet, so simple—that for one instant, you see him as he once was: no taller than your neckline, questioning you about whether it was better to be strong or kind. The illusion is gone almost as quickly as it comes, swallowed beneath the hard line of his jaw as his gaze meets yours once more. 

“And still, I know you,” you murmur, victory within your sights, “I loved you—”

For the briefest of instances, he goes completely still before you. Every part of him seems to lock up, as if the words struck a part of his mind that cannot make sense of them. His lilac eye glistens, and your lungs tighten, and—

His hand is around your throat, not crushing but firm enough to silence you.

“Loved me?” he echoes, his voice dangerously soft as he leans in close enough that you can feel his breath ghost over your lips. “Is this how you show it? By coming to whisper pretty words? By lecturing me about being some frightened boy?” His fingers tighten just slightly, enough to make your next inhale a struggle.

“Tell me,” he growls, “do I look like a boy to you now?” His thumb presses harder against the hollow of your throat, his eye blazing with something dangerously close to satisfaction as he studies the way your pulse flutters beneath his touch. 

Your throat works beneath this palm as you eke out a feeble, half-formed whimper, your hands scrambling for purchase against his forearm. Knees weakening, you shake your head as much as his grip will allow, not daring to take your eyes off of his. A strange pins and needles feeling begins to grow beneath your skin as the edges of your vision blur, and then darken. 

Blessedly, he loosens his grip just enough to allow you to suck in a lungful of air—gasping, heaving, and spluttering. 

You had been so close only moments ago, you had seen the cracks in him. Perhaps, a small, desperate part of you thinks, if I give him this—

“I was—I was merely trying to counsel you—”

The moment your feeble protests reach his ears, Aemond’s patience shatters. A derisive scoff escapes him as he drags you toward the chair he’d occupied earlier, his grip on your shoulder unrelenting. The chair groans faintly as he shoves you over its arm, your body bent at the waist beneath his hands while your breaths come in ragged, uneven gasps. Your fingers dig into the material of it as you brace yourself, nearly forced onto your tip-toes. 

His voice, when he speaks, is a blade pressed to you—cold and unyielding. 

“Counsel?” He sneers, leaning over you, his weight pinning you in place. “You mistake your place, aunt. You are not my advisor, not my equal.” His hand finds the back of your neck, fingers tightening just enough to have you stilling beneath him. “I will not tolerate deception, no matter how prettily you dress it up.”

You pant, whining as the arm of the chair digs into your waist, though you don’t dare move, even as your cheek is pressed against the seat cushion. You nearly jolt as he presses more firmly against you, eyes widening as the hard line of his arousal becomes more and more prominent. 

“A-Aemond, please, just—just stop and think,” you try, knowing well that that’s a bygone notion. His hips move against you and, shamefully, a shiver rolls down your spine—a mixture of anxiety and something far more treacherous. “I wasn’t—wasn’t trying to—”

“You thought yourself clever, didn’t you?” he murmurs, his free hand tracing the curve of your hip with mocking gentleness. “Coming here to question me, to control me, as though I would simply bow my head and thank you for the wisdom.” His fingers dig more harshly into your skin, hard enough to bruise. “You were wrong.”

Your cheeks flush somehow further with each word he utters, his touch like fire on your skin. Even as your head spins, you desperately try to think back to your reason for coming to him at all—Alicent, Daeron, the city itself.

“I—I shouldn’t have pushed you,” you say, voice trembling. “I have never been your—your enemy, Aemond,” you pant, shaking your head as best you can as you attempt to look over your shoulder, to catch his gaze. “I only want what’s best—”

He lets out a low, dark chuckle as he presses a hand over your mouth, silencing any protests you have left. His fingers flex slightly, savoring the warmth of your lips beneath his palm, the way your breath hitches in surprise. He leans down, his voice a whisper against your ear, low with intent. 

“You still think of me as a child,” he says, his free hand bundling the silk of your gown against your skin as he drags your skirts higher and higher with a deliberate slowness, baring your skin to him. “As though I’m little more than some thoughtless brute, such as Aegon.”

Whimpering beneath his palm, it settles over you—for the first time all evening—how woefully unprepared you were to come here, to face him. 

You squeeze your eyes shut as your skin warms as a traitorous pang of desire rises within you when his palm trails up the back of your thigh, possessive and firm but laced with an impossible reverence that steals what little air remains in your lungs. 

“They gave you away to Oldtown,” he mutters so softly you wonder if he realizes he’s spoken at all, “when you should’ve been mine.”

Settling on the curve of your backside, his fingers press against the soft flesh there and a satisfied hum escapes him as firelight catches the arousal between your thighs—proof that your body knows its place even if your tongue struggles to obey. 

“All that talk, and yet so quick to yield,” he murmurs, dragging his fingers through the slick heat of you, his voice dripping with cruel amusement. His fingers slide deeper, teasing at your entrance but not yet granting the sweet relief of filling you—not yet. “Tell me, which part of you should I believe? Your sweet words, or your traitorous body?”

Your body seems to move of its own accord as you squirm, chasing the press of his fingers as much as your position will allow. A muffled whine spills from you as your walls spasm around nothing, instinct driving you. 

He withdraws his hand abruptly, leaving you empty and shuddering, before replacing it with the one over your mouth, smearing your own wetness against your lips and cheeks. 

“You shame yourself for this, don’t you?” he murmurs, shifting just enough to free his cock from his trousers, his length already hard and heavy against your thigh, making your skin prickle with apprehension. He groans as he drags his tip through your slick folds, teasing but not giving in quite yet. “How long has it been since someone’s had you properly, sweet aunt? Since you’ve been reminded of your place?”

Panting, you press back against him as he taunts you, need threaded through each movement. 

His palm presses harder against your lips as he pushes inside with a single, brutal thrust, filling you in one smooth motion. A sharp, satisfied exhale escapes him at the feel of you—tight, wet, his. His free hand rests at your hip, gripping tightly as he holds you in place. 

“Mmph!” you mewl, squirming as your feet falter against the stone floor, knees weakening at the stretch of him. Your vision blurs, eyes nearly rolling to the back of your head. 

“This is how you should be—how you should’ve always been,” he hisses, his voice rough with arousal and something darker—something dangerously possessive. “By my side, as my queen—not hidden away beneath duty.” He pulls back only to snap his hips forward again, forcing a choked gasp from behind his hand.

Nodding, something you’ll tell yourself later was merely a bid to appease him, all you can do is claw at the cushions while he takes.

His pace is unforgiving, each thrust deeper than the last, each one punctuated by the quiet slap of skin against skin. He keeps his hand over your lips, reveling in the sound of your muffled cries, in the way your body clenches around him, in the way you yield—finally, finally—to his will. 

Aemond’s breath comes harsh and hot against your ear as he fucks into you, slowing his strokes to deliberate rolls of his hips while he savors you. His fingers dig into your hip, nails biting against your skin, marking you as his. The sound of your faint pleas only spurs him on, his voice coming as a dark whisper against your back. 

“You thought to counsel me—to command me—when all you truly wanted was this,” he growls, dragging his hand between your legs and moving the pad of his thumb over your clit in rough, punishing circles. His thrusts grow sharper, his cock dragging against your walls in a way that makes your thighs tremble. “To be mine,” he grunts, “just as you always should’ve been.”

His free hand remains firm over your mouth, silencing any retort you might have—not that you could form one, not with the way he’s moving against you, nor with the way pleasure coils tight and desperate in your belly.

“I will win this war for you,” he promises, teeth grazing the curve of your shoulder. “I will mount Daemon’s head on a spike and lay it at your feet, I will throw a feast in your honor, and you will never forget who it was that brought you victory.” His fingers press harder against your clit, his pace unrelenting. “And when it’s done, I will have you in the Sept as my bride,” he murmurs through rough pants. “I will right their wrongs, I swear it to you.”

One of your arms comes up and grabs tightly at his forearm, not to pull him away so much as desperately holding to him, trying to anchor yourself as your eyes squeeze shut. You have no doubt he means what he says, that every promise may as well be sealed with blood. That alone is enough to send a horrible thrill through you as you nod, your mewls silenced by his hand. 

His hips grind against you, causing you to jolt in his hold as pleasure shoots down your spine like lightning. You nearly go limp in his grasp as you hurdle over the edge, sobbing beneath his palm as your release crashes into you like waves against the shore. Your cunt clamps around his length in a harsh rhythm, pulling a deep, satisfied groan from him. 

He savors the way your body ripples against him, convulsing as he continues tormenting your sensitive bud with slow circles, drawing out your climax ruthlessly until you’re twitching beneath him, oversensitive and trembling. 

“There you are,” he pants, voice ragged with barely restrained need as he nips at your shoulder. He growls while he grinds against you, savoring the way your cunt milks him desperately. “You have fought every battle the same way,” he breathes, thrusts growing erratic as his own release builds, “surrendering inch by—Gods—by inch.”

It’s only when he feels his climax cresting that he lifts his hand from your mouth, his fingers smeared with your spit. He pants as he buries himself to the hilt one last time, spilling inside you with a low, possessive snarl. 

He holds you there for a long moment as he pants, his chest heaving against your back while the world slowly seems to right itself once more. 

You slump against the chair as he straightens up with a sigh, pulling himself from you with a quiet groan. A shudder goes through you as a thin trickle of his spend slips down your inner thigh, warm against your skin while you try to steady the frantic rhythm of your heart, listening as he tucks himself back into his trousers. 

Your joints protest as you rise, fingers trembling slightly while you take the time to smooth out the rumpled silk of your gown back into some sort of order. No amount of careful hands will erase the evidence of the night, nor the ache that settles deep within your bones. You can hear him moving about the space behind you, though you don’t look toward him, not yet. 

Instead, you busy yourself with fastening what can be fastened, with straightening out your hair and bodice, grateful for anything that delays whatever words must surely come next. 

When, at last, you gather the courage to face him, you find him standing with one hand raised and resting lightly on the mantel, his back half turned to you. Firelight throws restless shadows over the sharp planes of his face as he stares into the embers, his expression foreign to you. 

You open your mouth, though you’re not entirely sure what to say. How are you meant to return to the Riverlands or politics or Alicent or anything at all after that?

“I will go,” his words are so quiet that for one bewildered second, you wonder whether you imagined them. He doesn’t turn to face you. “I will ride for Harrenhal.”

You simply stand there, your hand still resting against the fastening of your gown as you search his rigid profile for a clue as to what tipped the scale, only to find none. The silence stretches as you wait for him to speak further, perhaps of triumph or mockery, or another cruel lesson delivered in that same measured tone. You had imagined that, if he yielded at all, it would come only after another battle of words. That he would force you to defend every point, every strategy, every warning you had brought on Alicent’s behalf. 

Instead, the words come almost carelessly, spoken into the dim quiet of the chambers as though he’d made the decision long before you’d even walked through the door. 

“Why—”

“I’ll summon the council before dawn,” he continues, glancing toward you just enough for the fire to catch the sapphire in his eye. 

The distance between the quiet, dutiful boy you had once known and the man standing before you now has never felt wider, nor more perilous. 

Aemond inclines his head once—a dismissal. 

Nodding, you make your way toward the chamber door, unable to shake the cold chill of uncertainty that follows you. 

You find your sister upon the western battlements just after dawn as the sun begins to rise over the waters of the bay, staining the sky in muted shades of lavender and gold. She hardly acknowledges your presence as you come to stand beside her and for several minutes, neither of you speaks. 

Her hair drifts lazily about her shoulders with the breeze, while the skirt of your dressing gown stirs about your ankles. 

“What did you say to him?” she asks eventually, her eyes never leaving the broad fields beyond the city walls. 

You think back to the night before, back to the tense conversation that had transpired between you and your nephew—if you could even call it that. You think of his hands on your skin and of the fire dying low in the hearth, of his hand upon the mantel while he stared into the ashes, as if the answer had been waiting for him there all along. 

“Enough, I suppose,” you answer quietly, your brows furrowed. 

Alicent closes her eyes beside you, not bothering to question you further. 

Movement begins to ripple across a distant field; at first, it’s difficult to distinguish one cluster of men from another. Soldiers scatter outward with practiced haste while dragonkeepers weave between them. 

Then, she moves. 

Vhagar rises slowly, so immense that, for one breathless moment, she resembles another hill unfolding itself from the landscape. Bronze scales catch the first rays of the sun, each ancient movement carrying the certainty of something that has outlived kingdom upon kingdom, and may outlive countless more. 

Even from a distance, you imagine you can feel her weight settling through the ground beneath your feet. 

Your chest lurches at the knowledge that he’s there, saddled to her great back—the boy who once wandered after you through shadowy halls, who had once asked whether good men ever made good kings. 

Vhagar spreads her wings, the first beats of them sending dust spiraling across the fields before she lifts from the earth and climbs steadily to the north, becoming smaller and smaller with each passing second. 

Beside you, Alicent watches until they have become little more than a dark shape against the morning light. When she speaks, her voice is little more than a mote of dust carried in the wind. 

“Have we done the right thing?”

The question hangs between you, unanswered, a nearly tangible thing. 

How could you have done anything otherwise? If he had remained, the city may have burned, thousands may have perished. And, yet, as he goes…

Your gaze follows the shrinking silhouette until even Vhagar’s impossibly large wings disappear into the pale morning haze, the rider on her back no more than a pinprick against the clouds.

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[ts19009]

WE'RE SO BACK

[sailorsoons]

The Jester (y.jh)

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!

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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."

[ts19009]

The thought of jester jeonghan reading MY mind.... scared