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A TALE OF FIVE DESTINED ENCOUNTERS of fated lovers who meet through different seasons of spring and the amazing love story that came from it.
PAIRING: idol!joshua x fem!reader
GENRE: Soulmate AU, Strangers to Childhood Friends to Strangers to Lovers, Tooth Rotting Fluff
AU: Spring AU/ Idol AU/ Soulmate AU
TOTAL WC: 11.9K
FIC WARNINGS: mentions of getting lost, parents leaving the child behind on accident (not descriptive), mentions of getting married, talks about the future, one tiny mention of a stalker (reader thinks that joshua is a stalker but he isn't), a mention of dying/death (reader thought joshua was dangerous but he isn't, he is a lover boy)
PLAYLIST: under the cherry blossoms
LIV'S NOTES...
hello! sorry that i disappeared for so long! i am slowly (but surely) making my return very very soon! but this is a fic for @dorereef Spring Collaboration! thank you to our lovely admins for hosting this collab and if you haven't already, please be sure to check out all the other works under this collaboration! (which i will be doing and reblogging as well when my school is out this week!)
special thank you to @jakedustry for beta-reading this like the champ she is. for my loves @orbitondgtl @cherrymayz @dollhoonki @jaylaxies @filmsbyun @gyuzies @saccharinezennie for sprinting with me and spurring me on to complete this fic! this fic would not have been possible without the many of you <3
without further ado! let's get onto lover boy joshua!!
(ps: this fic is completely separate from written in the stars! i just love soulmate aus x idolverse aus lol!)
Check out the other Spring Fics -> The Reef In Bloom
MAIN MASTERLIST | NAVI
THE CHILDHOOD PROMISE
Joshua would say that a part of him always felt like something was missing.
At the age of eight, he remembers traveling to Seoul for the first time with his mother. It was a spontaneous trip, something that his mother had decided just a week before. However, Joshua was young and going anywhere felt like a new journey.
As he held onto his mother's hand, he remembers his eyes widening at the sight of all the cherry blossoms in the park and pointing them out to his mother.
"Mum! Look!" He said, glancing upwards towards his mother. "There's so many of them!"
His mother laughed as Joshua tugged her towards the trees, eager to get a closer look. A breeze swept through the park, making the cherry blossoms sway as a couple of loose ones fell around the two of them.
Joshua pulled his hand away from his mothers as he began jumping up and down, trying to catch a few, intrigued by how pretty the blossoms looked. His mother watched, her smile widening more if possible as she felt her heart swell at how cute her son looked at this moment. His tiny bunny hops increasing by the minute as he kept reaching for a singular cherry blossom to land in his hand.
Her hand covered her mouth as she tried her best not to giggle at Joshua's little disappointed grunts, each time the cherry blossom floating past his hand. She wondered how long it will take for him to give up on his quest and pick one up from the ground instead. However, she knew her son well enough to know that Joshua was never one to let adversity get him down, that he was stubborn enough to continue until he got his way.
A trait that he no doubt picked up from her.
Joshua, oblivious to his mother's stares, stopped his jumps, trying to figure out how to complete his mission. He gazed at the falling blossoms before his eyes locked onto two that were coming right towards him. He narrowed his eyes and bent his knees before he jumped as high as he could, his hands reaching out as high as he could, feeling as if they were going to rip out of their sockets before clenching his fists so hard, he knew his hands were going to turn red.
Joshua's mother watched as her son missed his footing and landed on his bum with a hard thump, making her eyes widen as she raced over to him.
"Joshua?!" His mother exclaimed as she reached his side and crouched down beside him. Her eyes darted from his face to his bum and legs as she assessed him for any injuries. "Are you alright?!"
Joshua, however, didn't hear any of his mother's questions and just peered at his hand. His heart pulsed hard in anticipation as he slowly opens both his hands, feeling something in both of them.
His eyes widen, lighting up as he feels the silky smooth petals in both his palm as his endorphins skyrocket.
He whipped his head up to meet his mother's eyes, giving her a slight shock at the big grin on his face.
He eagerly shoved his hands in-front of her eyes, making his mother's head tilt backwards as she peered at the light pink petal in one of his hands and two white ones in the other.
"I got them!" Joshua said giddily, his hands animatedly swaying a little from the excitement that was rushing through his veins. "I actually got them!"
His mother's face changed to one of relief and amusement, feeling the worry seep away from her veins from her little boy's bright grin as he showcased the flowers in his hands. She let out a breath she didn't know she was holding as she helped Joshua stand up, dusting off his pants as he did.
"Be more careful next time." Joshua heard his mother mutter as she gave him one last look. "You almost gave me a heart attack."
Joshua furrowed his eyebrows at her words, a frown on his lips as he felt a little bit of guilt seep into his veins. "I'm sorry." He softly said, his doe eyes shimmering which makes his mother sigh as she shook her head.
"It's alright, sweetheart." She said, brushing his hair softly.
"I just wanted to catch one to give to you because it was pretty." Joshua muttered, his eyes flitting down to his shoes for a split second as he lifted the hand with the pink petal in it, stretching it towards his mother.
Her heart warmed at the sight as she watched Joshua gnaw on his bottom lip nervously. She reached out and took the cherry blossom in between her fingers, a small smile appearing on her face as she did so.
"You're such a sweet boy, Joshua." She softly stated, her eyes pricking a little with tears as she watched Joshua peer upwards at her.
"Really?" He asked softly, his doe eyes melting his mother more which made her nod, her smile getting bigger by the second.
"Really." She placed her hands on her knees as she stood up, stretching a little as she does. She spotted an ice cream cart not too far from them, giving her an idea. "And since you're so sweet," She peered downwards to her son. "I think you deserve a sweet treat. Don't you agree?"
Joshua's eyes widened at her words, spotting what his mother was talking about as he nodded excitedly. Joshua's mother lets out a laugh at how excited he was.
"How about you sit down underneath the cherry blossom tree and wait for me?" His mother suggested sweetly as she gestured towards the tree that was not too far away from where they were standing. "I'll be back in ten minutes."
Joshua nodded frivolously at his mother's words before he sprinted towards the tree and plopped himself onto the ground, eager to please his mother as he excitedly waited for his sweet treat.
He brings up his right hand that held the two white petals that he caught before, pride blooming in his chest as he felt the texture in between his fingers. He smiled, feeling the smoothness of the petals as he peered up to take in what the world had to offer.
The birds were chirping, the petals were gracefully falling and he felt as though he was on top of the world. Nothing was going to break the serene, peaceful environment that he was in.
"MUMMY? DADDY?"
Except for that.
Joshua jumped, hearing the yells as he whipped his head around to the source with his eyebrows furrowed.
Who was doing all that god-awful yelling?
That was when he noticed you.
You looked around his age, maybe a year or two younger than he was, in a fluffy polka-dotted skirt with a pink unicorn top as well as⌠bunny ears?
Joshua frowned at the weird get-up, not knowing why you were doing all this yelling before he noticed that you were crying. The realization made him frown even more as he analyzed you. Why were you crying?
He watched you clutch the bunny that you had in your hands, tighter to your chest as you sniffled and looked around anxiously.
Joshua's eyebrows furrowed even more as his emotions wrestled internally at the sight. Should be go up and talk to you?
His answer came to him as he heard you let out another watery yell, this one more distressed than the last which pushed away all thought of going back to pretending as if he didn't see you. Because that's not how his mother had raised him to be.
He stood up, dusted off his pants just like his mother did a few minutes ago before he walked over to you, concern etched onto his face with a frown to tie it all together.
You, on the other hand, were trapped in your own world. You didn't know how you had gotten here. One moment, you were holding hands with your mother and your father, admiring all the cherry blossom trees, the next, you were all alone. You did get slightly distracted by something that looked an awful lot like a bunny and left them but you were smart! You retraced your steps as your parents had taught you but when you had reached the cherry blossom tree that they were at, they weren't there.
Panic had started coursing through your veins at the thought of being left behind, making tears prick your eyes as you called out for them. You were tired, hungry, and just wanted to go home at this point. You rubbed away a few stray tears, ready to give up when a voice broke all your thoughts.
"Are you alright?"
You jumped at the sudden voice, whipping around to see a boy with the prettiest doe eyes that you've ever seen, dressed in a comfortable woolly jacket that was a little too big for him, denim jeans as well as some really cute sneakers. You looked at his face and how concerned he looked before shaking your head in response.
"No." You sniffled out. "I can't find my parents."
Joshua's eyes widened in response as he started to whip his head in every direction, trying to see if there were any distressed parents who were looking for you, as you had just been looking for them.
"Where did you last see them?" He asked softly.
"Under this tree." You admitted, hugging your bunny impossibly tighter to your chest as you tried to soothe your nerves. "I was bad... I saw this bunny and ran off when they weren't looking so it's all my fault."
Joshua frowned more at the admittance as he stepped closer to you before bringing you into a hug, just like his mother had taught him to do whenever he saw someone that was upset. He felt you soak his woolly sweater a little with your tears but he didn't care at that point. All he saw was this sad and scared little girl who needed a hug.
He pulled away, making you peer up at him with your boba shaped eyes.
"I am sure they are looking for you!" Joshua reassured before gesturing over to the tree. "Do you want to wait with me? My mom will be back soon with ice cream!"
Your eyes widened at that, "Ice cream?" You asked, hope in your tone which made the boy nod eagerly before taking your free hand into his and flashed you a gigantic, handsome grin.
"Let's go!"
He tugged you back to his spot under the tree as he plopped back down onto the ground before he pat the empty space next to him, a gesture that he wanted you to take a seat as well. You sit, placing your stuffed bunny on your lap, fidgeting slightly with the ears when Joshua spoke up again.
"My name is Joshua and I am eight years old this year!" He introduced, the smile on his face never fading as he held up eight fingers for you to see, just to solidify his point. You repeated his name making Joshua's smile grow even wider as he nodded at your pronunciation. "What's yours?"
You chewed on your bottom lip before softly telling him your name and that you're six years old this year. He repeated it, just like you had done before with his.
"That's a really cool name!" He admitted making your cheeks flush a little at tho boy in-front of you, who seemed so excited at just any words that leave your mouth.
"Thank you." You responded shyly, your hands still fidgeting with the bunny ears. Joshua buzzed a little with excitement at the fact that he had made a new friend, his mother would be so proud of him!
"We're friends now!" He said, nodding with a big smile on his face as your heart soars at the thought of making a new friends, your nerves slowly melting away.
Joshua gave you a once over before pointing to your bunny. "Does your bunny have a name?"
You glanced downwards to the stuffed toy in your hands before looking back up at him and nodding. "Her name is Penny." Joshua smiled at you as you outstretched your arms out to him with Penny in them, letting him have a better look at your support toy. "My mummy got him for me when she went to America last week!"
Joshua's eyes widened, "Wait really?!" He asked, excitedly scooting closer to you. You nod, a little confused by his outburst.
"I'm from America! My mummy and I are here on holiday!" He watches as your eyes widen at his words, your jaw dropping open.
"That's so cool!" You managed to get out, making the boy nod along with your words. He watched you fidget with the bunny ears once more before pointing upwards at the trees.
"Do you like the pretty trees?" Joshua asked as he peered upwards to see more cherry blossoms failing over the top of your heads as another gust of wind blew past.
You eyes lit up a little at the question as you nodded. "My mummy said that they're called cherry blossoms." You stated, peering upwards as well to look at the pretty blossoms that were cascading downwards. "She also said that there are over two hundred different ones!"
Joshua's eyes widened at your fun fact as his jaw dropped open slightly. "Two hundred??" It was a lot for his little eight-year old brain to comprehend. "That's more than the numbers that we learn in class!"
You let out a giggle, caught off-guard at the exclamation which made Joshua's heart soar more. He made you laugh! He was pleased with himself, he was doing everything that his mother had taught him about being a good gentleman.
Joshua continues on his tangent, distracting you as you shared more fun facts about the spring season with him. You giggling every once in a while which spurred Joshua on more. Your nerves and panic slowly seeped away from your veins as you continued to talk to Joshua, getting more and more interested about the boy in-front of you.
"Do you live here in Seoul?" Joshua asked, making you nod.
"I live pretty close to the park." You softly admitted, looking up to scan at the different buildings before pointing in a direction. "Over that way!"
Joshua's eyes widened at your admittance before his hand flew to yours to tug it back down. "You can't tell people where you live!"
Your eyebrows furrowed. "I'm not telling people⌠I'm telling you."
Joshua shook his head at your words. "But what if I'm a total stranger! You shouldn't be going around telling people that."
"But aren't we friends?" You asked softly, tilting your head to the side and making Joshua's heart jump a little. He internally frowned at that motion, unsure of why his heart was acting this way but he pushed it away in-order to correct you.
"We are!" He corrected, raising his hands in surrender, scared that you were about to cry once again. "But you shouldn't tell people that."
Your eyebrows furrowed even more, opening your mouth as you were about to retort when a woman's voice interrupts you.
"Shua, here's your iceâ oh!" The two of you turned towards the sound of the voice, seeing Joshua's mother stood there with two cups of ice-cream in her hand. "Who is this?"
Joshua smiled before gesturing towards you proudly. "My new friend!" He admitted making you nod shyly as he tells his mother your name.
His mother looked between the two of you before giving you a smile. "Nice to meet you!" She said softly as she passed Joshua his ice-cream. "Where are your parents, sweetheart?"
Joshua watched as your smile dropped before going back to fidgeting with the bunny ears before he turned to his mother. "She lost her parents a little while ago." He admitted softly, glancing at you as he said it, hoping that it wouldn't set you off crying again.
His mother's expression changed to one of understanding. "Ah⌠I see." She turned to you, crouching down to your height, her eyes filled with empathy as she analyzed you. "Do you know their phone number by any chance, sweetheart? Anything that we could use to call them?"
You thought for a moment before nodding your head. "I know my daddy's number." You softly admitted which made Joshua's mother's eyes light up.
"Wow! You're such a smart girl." She cooed, patting your head as she took a quick glance at Joshua. "I've been trying to get Shua to remember my number for over a year now and he still forgets."
"Mom!" Joshua whined, making you giggle as his mother shoot you a wink and handed you her phone for you to put your father's number into before she turned to her son.
"But it's the truth!"
Joshua pouted at his mother's words but it cracked slightly as he watched you giggle, feeling his heart warm at the sight of your toothy smile.
He glanced down towards the cup of chocolate ice-cream in his hands before outstretching it out to you. "Would you like to share?"
He watched you blink in surprise. "You want to share with me?"
Joshua nodded eagerly at your question. "Of course! We're friends now." He said, scooting a little closer to you. "Being friends means that we share everything! Including ice-cream." He glanced up at his mother. "Isn't that right, mum?"
His mother felt pride bloom in her chest at her son's words and actions before she nodded. "That's right, sweetheart."
Joshua smiled at his mother's answer before placing the cup of ice-cream between the two of you and offered you the first bite. You shyly take the spoon from him before you scooped up a small bit of the ice-cream and placed it into your mouth.
Your eyes widen at the burst of sweet flavours coating your tongue as Joshua let out a giggle as he watched you take more of the ice-cream before playfully telling you that you needed to share.
His mother's heart warmed at the sight of the two of you sharing that singular cup of chocolate ice-cream. She felt her lips tick upwards, a small smile gracing her face before she dialed the number on her phone.
Not more than twenty minutes later, your parents arrived, their faces etched with relief at the sight of you happily playing with a boy who looked slightly older than you were.
"Bunny!" The childhood nickname and voice made you perk up as you turned to see your parents race towards you. You jumped up, your heart beating fast as you met them halfway and jumped into your mother's warm embrace.
Your mother cried a little as she patted your head, smoothing out your hair as your father went up to Joshua's mother, shaking her hand and rapidly thanking her for taking such good care of their daughter.
Joshua felt himself internally wrestle with the feelings in his chest. He was happy that your parents were here to get you and you looked so relived that they did, but he wasn't sure if he was ever going to see you again. Him and his mother were leaving back to LA in a few days and they had a lot of plans.
A slight tug at his sweater brought him out of his thoughts as he noticed you were standing right in-front of him, your head tilted to the side as you gave him a quizzical look.
"Are you okay?" You asked, your voice soft and sweet which brought a smile to Joshua's face as he nodded, obscuring his sad emotions and thoughts from you.
"Of course!" He hummed out, glancing behind you to see your parents and his mother talking. "I'm glad your parents are here."
You nodded, a small smile on your face as silence enveloped the two of you.
"Will I ever see you again?" You asked him softly, your eyes locked with his as they shimmered with a pretty sparkle sheen. Joshua felt his heart sink at the question, knowing that he had just wondered that a few minutes ago before you brought him out from his thoughts.
"I'm not sureâŚ" Joshua answered honestly, making you nod, a little sadly, a small pout forming on your lips. Joshua gave you a once over as your eyes stayed locked on your shoes, obviously a little sad that you had to go and you might never see the doe-eyed boy again when he got an idea.
He fished around his sweater pockets and pulled out the two white cherry blossoms that he had caught earlier in the day.
"Here." He said softly, outstretching one of the petals towards you. Your eyes widened as you glanced upwards at the taller boy. "Something to remember me by." You shakily take the petal from Joshua, running your fingers across the petals gently as Joshua held up his own.
"See, now we're matching." Joshua told you, a small on his face that didn't quite reach his eyes. You continue to stare at the petal, stoning a little which made Joshua a little nervous. "Don't tell me you're going to miss me already?" Joshua joked, trying to lighten the mood as his nerves spiked from how you weren't looking at him.
He wanted to add on another light jab to lighten the mood when you surprised him by wrapping your arms around him, nearly tackling him to the ground. He let out a grunt as you hit his chest with a hard thud, almost knocking the air out his chest as he stabilized the two of you.
Joshua slowly wrapped his arms around you, feeling the sad emotions that he tried to push away, overwhelm him a little more as he felt your warmth envelope him.
"I'm going to miss you." He heard you mutter out, slightly muffled as you bury your head deeper into his woolly sweater. He sighed, burying his face into your hair.
"I'll miss you too, Bunny." He whispered out, using the nickname that he heard your mother call you by. It was really apt for you, with how soft spoken you were, how you quietly observed everything around you. Joshua couldn't help but feel that the nickname was just meant for you. That the word was designed just for you.
"Tell you what." Joshua started softly, pulling away from you a little to see your face. "For as long as you keep that petal." He gestured to the white cherry blossom in your hand. "I will always find you."
Your eyes widened at his words before you pulled away completely, lifting your hand up to the boy, with your pinky being the only finger out, waiting for the boy to give you a pinky promise.
"Swear on it!" Joshua couldn't help but laugh at the sight of you and how serious you were taking this, but, he lifted his own hand and joined his pinky with yours.
The childhood promise sealed between a six year old girl with the nickname Bunny and an eight year old boy who had eyes like Bambi.
"Can I call you Bambi?" You wondered aloud which made Joshua blink at you before he let out a soft laugh as he nodded. "Sure, Bunny."
The two of you let out a fit of giggles before your mother called for you, gesturing that you needed to go. You looked between her and your father before looking at the boy in-front of you, not wanting to leave so soon.
Joshua, however, sensed the hesitation in your figure. He didn't want you to leave yet either but it was getting late and he knew that your parents wanted to get you home and safe and make it up to you so he gave you a reassuring smile.
"You should go." He said softly, giving your head a small pat. "I'm sure your parents are taking you out to eat something really nice."
He watched you chew on your bottom lip before you nod and squeezed Joshua in one last hug before you step away from the boy.
"See you soon, Bambi."
Joshua's heart warmed at the nickname. "See you soon, Bunny."
You gave him one last glance over before you ran over to where your parents stood, taking your mother's hand into yours as Joshua's mother walked back over to his side.
You and your parents started to walk away, towards the pathway where the small stream and bridge were. Joshua felt his mother grab his hand and laced their fingers together but his focus remained on you and where you were.
He watched you take one last pause as you turned to look at him as you gave him one last wave which he returned, the smile on his face turning into a sadder one. With that, he watched you turn back around and exit the park with your parents, going the way that you had pointed out earlier when he had asked where you lived.
His heart felt heavy and he didn't know why. The two of you had just met. However, something told the eight year old boy that he would see you soon. He didn't know when or how but he had hope that he would. He had to.
"Ready to go?" His mother asked, the question gently coaxing the boy out of his thoughts. Joshua nodded, giving his mother a small smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Yeah." He softly admitted, letting himself take one last glance towards where you had been just moments ago. "Let's go."
Joshua felt around in his pocket as he gently caressed the white blossom in it as he and his mother exit the park. His wrist felt warm for some reason, but decided to attribute it to the sweater and moved on to wonder about something happier, like what he and his mother were going to have for dinner.
Unbeknownst to him, a few months later, he would find a small mark on his wrist that looked oddly like the white cherry blossom that he had given the little girl to make sure that she would always remember him.
What a twist of fate.
THE THING ABOUT SECOND CHANCES
The next time Joshua arrived in Seoul, he was eighteen years old.
Fresh out of high school and having just been scouted by Pledis Entertainment. He anxiously rubbed the white cherry blossom mark on his wrist, a habit that he picked up after it had appeared.
He didn't remember when it had appeared or why it did but after having so many talks with his mother and the doctor or specialist that his mother had taken him to. He had a soulmate, someone with a similar mark on their wrist.
Joshua had grown up hearing about soulmates from his mother. It wasn't uncommon to have a soulmate but only about fifty percent of the world had one. Joshua didn't know if it was luck or not to be one of the few to have one because he didn't even know who it was. He had a feeling he knew but he didn't know if he would ever see you again.
You plague his thoughts every once in a while. He isn't even sure if you remember him but he remembers you. The soft spoken girl from under the cherry blossom trees that he had given the white cherry blossom to. It had to be you and he had asked his mother to try and reach out to your father, the number having been dialed in her phone before but it seemed that when she did, your father had changed his number.
So he had lost all hope of ever getting into contact with you again. Until the Pledis global auditions came and now, he was actually in Korea.
He had been here for a few months, training tirelessly with the rest of his members and learning more Korean at the same time. It definitely wasn't as good compared to when he was younger but he felt himself getting better by the day with the help of Vernon and the other members who volunteered to teach him sometimes, in exchange for learning some english.
Safe to say, he might be doing better at learning Korean than the rest of his members who wanted to learn English. He chuckled a little at the memory as he prepared to go out for the day.
It was one of the rare few days off that the company had given them, having passed all the auditions to get into Seventeen and actually make the line-up. The company decided to give the day off before they needed to return to prepare even more tirelessly for their debut.
He fidgeted with the bracelet that his mother had given him, made out of white cherry blossom that he had caught that faithful day almost ten years ago.
"What are your plans for today?" Joshua turned, seeing Seungcheol leaning against the doorframe to his shared room with Seokmin and Seungkwan.
Joshua took a quick glance towards his wrist before his eyes flitted back up to meet Seungcheol's. "Thought about going to see the cherry blossoms today." Joshua answered coolly, a small smile on his face.
Seungcheol's eyes flit downwards to Joshua's wrist for a split second before he nodded towards it. "Hoping to see her again?"
Seungcheol and Jeonghan were the only two to know about Joshua's mysterious mark. Joshua hadn't meant for any of the members to find out, but he had been careless, and the makeup that he had put on the wrist had gotten wet by accident. He shouldn't have chosen to not use a waterproof concealer that day. It resulted in not only the general leader seeing the mark that stained his skin, but Joshua's evil twin as well.
Seungcheol and Jeonghan had pulled Joshua right after that to reapply the makeup, careful to not let the staff see them or the cherry blossom. Seungcheol shot the two of them a look which stated that they would talk about this later. Hence, Joshua instead told the both of them everything right after practice, in the safe space of Seungcheol and Jeonghan's dorm room that they shared with Mingyu and Jihoon.
The two of them had been understanding (to Joshua's delight) and also a little annoying about it (to Joshua's dismay). Jeonghan had taken the opportunity to do a small little jab every time one of the other members brought up even the idea of having a soulmate to the others.
Seungcheol would shoot a warning look towards Jeonghan the first few times it happened, but after many unsuccessful tries of getting Jeonghan to quit it, he decided to join him instead.
If you can't beat them, join them.
Joshua spared another glance towards his wrist. "Yeah." He answered truthfully. "It's been ten years but⌠I'm still holding out hope that I will."
Seungcheol was quiet at that, an unreadable expression on his face before he sighed. "Just⌠be careful." He sounds out, the double meaning of the sentence not lost on the younger man.
"I will." Joshua assured which makes Seungcheol look over him once more before nodding and leaving the room.
"Remember to bring an umbrella." Seungcheol called out from the hallway. "The forecast said that it's going to rain."
Joshua's eyebrows furrowed at his words, turning his head to look out at the bright clear sky that showed no signs of rain at all. Joshua let out a sigh as he shook his head. Seungcheol has definitely been spending too much time around Jeonghan. Hell, Jeonghan probably put him up to this to see if Joshua would actually bring an umbrella out because he knew better than to trust Jeonghan after the raincoat incident.
Joshua glanced at the umbrella at his desk before shaking his head at it and shouldering the sling bag that he had packed his camera into and wearing the bracelet that his mother made for him.
He stepped out of the dormitories, the sun greeting him with it's warm glow making him take a deep inhale of the spring air, feeling himself get more refreshed by the second. He smiled to himself as he started heading towards the park.
On a beautiful day like this⌠what could go wrong?
The answer was everything.
Absolutely everything.
The minute Joshua had arrived at the faithful park, the sky had dimmed and the beautiful morning that he had seen was immediately replaced with the darkest clouds the world has ever seen.
As soon as he stepped off the bus, it had started to drizzle and then it started to pour making Joshua realize that Seungcheol had been right. It was forecasted to rain today.
And when it rains, it certainly pours.
Which is how Joshua ended up here, underneath the faithful tree that had brought the two of you together that day and under the pouring rain. Spring rain was definitely a sight to see. It was his first time experiencing spring after he had moved to Korea but it was his second time overall. The first being ten years ago which was where he had discovered that he loved rain in the first place.
Joshua let out a sigh as he inhaled the smell of the rain, instantly feeling more relaxed than he did a few moments before. He really loved the rain. It was refreshing and walking in the rain was definitely an experience that makes him feel at peace.
His members called him crazy for that but there was just something about the rain that brought out the tranquility of his soul. It reminded him a lot of home and spring rain was definitely the best kind of rain that anyone can experience because April Showers had definitely become a favourite of his.
He felt the urge to go back out into the rain and just let it cascade down his body and hair when he was interrupted by the sounds of squeaky sneakers coming from behind him. He peered around the tree and noticed a girl, slightly younger than he was, dressed in a pink raincoat that had cherry blossom sketches around it and⌠bunny ears?
His eyebrows furrowed at the unique combination as he heard the girl huff out a breath.
"Stupid spring rainâŚ" He heard the girl mutter as she ruffled her raincoat, trying to get the excess water off. "I normally really love you but I didn't want it to rain todayâŚ"
Joshua didn't know whether to be scared of the girl who was talking to herself but she looked like she was having a bad day. "Are you alright?"
The girl jumped at his sudden question, shocking her and himself as she places a hand over her heart.
"Geez, dude!" The girl yelled out. "Where did you come from?!"
Joshua blinked at the girl. "Erm." He looked around the two of them. "I was actually here first."
The girl blinked at him before giving him a deadpanned look. "Whatever, dude." She muttered out as she crouched down to play with the grass. "Stupid rain."
Joshua stared at the girl for a few more seconds. "Do you hate the rain or something?"
The girl scoffed at his words before shaking her head. "Not that it's any of your business." She began, poking around the grass still. "I actually really love the rain."
"Then whyâ"
"Because it's the start of the blossoms today." She softly admitted, picking up one of the semi-muddy cherry blossoms that had dropped off the tree because of the rain. "My mother really loves them and I wanted to take a few pictures of them to frame as a surprise for her birthday next week and today is the only free day that I have open."
Joshua took a few moments to digest the words coming out of the girl's mouth and let out a sound of understanding. "That's sweet." He said, making the girl let out a hum.
"Well, but the plan is ruined nowâŚ" She muttered out, losing more and more interest in the grass as the seconds whizz by. "I guess I won't be getting her a present this year."
Joshua frowned at the girls words, feeling slightly empathetic for the girl before his mother's teachings kicked into his being. He peered upwards at the sky, seeing it begin to clear slightly before turning back to the girl in distress.
"Does your mother like the spring rain too?" He found himself asking making the girl whip around, a frown etched onto her face as she tilted her head to the side in confusion.
"Yes." She frowned even more. "But I don't see how that wouldâ"
"Give me your camera." Joshua finds himself saying, making the girl stare at him, slightly stunned.
"I'm sorry?" She asked, wondering if she had heard the boy wrong.
Joshua pointed at the camera in the girl's backpack. "What if we use your camera to frame you, the cherry blossoms and the ending of the spring rain in one picture?" He gestured to the clouds above as the rain starts to slow down. "The spring shower is ending soon and I think it will create the perfect opportunity for me to help you snap a photo because of the effect that the April shower will create."
He watched as the girl digested his words and the cogs turned in her brain before her eyes widened.
"You're a genius stranger!"
Joshua couldn't help but laugh at the nickname the girl gave him as they scrambled to get the shot set up.
By the time that the rain had almost totally slowed down, they were ready, with the girl's camera in Joshua's hands and the girl standing a little uncomfortably in the shot.
"Are you sure, she would want me to be in the photo?" The girl found herself asking the stranger in-front of her. "She might just want the April shower and cherry blossoms you know?"
Joshua shook his head stubbornly and surely. "I can assure you, this is the best present for her."
The girl shot him a skeptical look before begrudgingly accepting her fate and posed in-front of the cherry blossom tree with her pink bunny raincoat.
Joshua snapped a few shots here and there, giving her a bit of direction every now and then as he felt his synapses in his brain fire around it. The more that he looked at this girl, the more she looked kind of familiar to him.
He tried brushing that thought aside, thinking that he was crazy as he took one last final photo for the girl as the sky began to clear and the rain drizzled to the a stop.
"AndâŚ" Joshua trailed off, looking at the last photo that he took, a satisfied smile on his face. "We're done!"
The girl rushed over to Joshua's side, eager to see the photos that the boy had just taken. As she clicked through them, her eyes widened as they flitted between the camera screen and the boy standing next to her.
"Woah." She softly stated as she continued to flip through the photos. "These are really good." She turned to Joshua, a toothy grin on her face. "Thank you so much."
Joshua gave her a grin back as he shook his head. "Small thing." He said as he gestured to the photos. "You did all the hard work by modeling for it!"
The girl lets out a laugh as the sun peeked through the clouds that were still in the sky. She peered downwards at the watch that was on her wrist before letting out a heavy sigh.
"Well, I need to get going." She said, shutting her camera down and putting it into her backpack. "Thank you so much for helping me with this."
Joshua waved her off. "It was my pleasure."
"Is there anything that I can do to repay you?"
Joshua pondered for a moment before his mind went back to you which made him glance at the cherry blossom tree.
"Know any fun facts about cherry blossom trees?"
The girls eyebrows raised in response. "That's a weird question." She stated, giving him a weird side-eye. Joshua shrugged in response.
"I just like fun facts."
The girl stared at him for a few seconds before she opened her mouth and said, "Did you know that the the biggest cherry blossom capital in the world is actually in Macon, Georgia, which holds over three hundred thousand cherry trees?"
Joshua's eyes widened at her response. "Wait that's so interesting."
The girl gave him a satisfied smile, "My mother is a big cherry blossom nerd." She said, picking up her backpack. "She shares a lot of different fun-facts with me and also made me this."
She pulled out a pendant from inside her clothing that was tied to a necklace. Joshua gazed closer at the pendant as his eyes widened bigger.
"Is that a white cherry blossom infused into the resin and made into a pendant?"
The girl nodded proudly. "Yep!"
"That's insane." Joshua commended, taking a step away from the girl. "I really commend your mother."
"Yeah." The girl let out a satisfied hum. "She is pretty cool." The girl smiled at the fond memory of her mother giving her the necklace. "She made this necklace for me because some boy gave me this cherry blossom many years ago when they thought that I went missing or something."
Joshua felt his whole being freeze when she said that and blinked at the girl in-front of him who was fidgeting with the pendant around her neck.
"What?" He heard himself whisper aloud making the girl nod.
"Yeah, he was really sweet and nice and he apparently shared an ice cream with me." The girl took another glance at her watch before her eyes widened, becoming as big as saucers.
"Holy shit!" She yelled out as she slung her backpack across her shoulders. "I'm late!"
Joshua found himself panicking slightly. "Waitâ" He said, trying to get your attention.
You, however, gave him one last smile before waving goodbye to him. "Thank you again for your help!"
Joshua felt the words on the tip of hid tongue, die in his throat as he watched you run away from him like your life dependent on it, making him sigh.
He huffed, running a hand through his semi-wet locks before his phone rang.
"Hello?" He answered, sighing as he heard Seungcheol's voice over the phone. "Yeah." He said, his gaze still fixed on the spot where you once were. "I'm on my way back. I'll see you and the rest in thirty."
Seungcheol let out a hum of understanding before he hung up the phone, leaving Joshua to his own thoughts as he went on auto-pilot and picked up his sling bag as he felt frustration course through his veins.
So much for second chances.
THIRD TIMES THE CHARM
On the spring of Joshua's twenty second birthday, he finds himself back underneath the faithful cherry blossom tree. The only difference is that it is eleven at night. He had just finished a team dinner with the rest of the group, celebrating a big win that they just had with the release of one of their newest albums. All that hard work and tireless preparations had paid off and they were now celebrating the fruits of their labour.
Seungcheol and Jeonghan were by Joshua's side when they had exited the restaurant but for some reason, Joshua felt a little bit restless, like something was tugging on his soul that he shouldn't go home just yet.
With that, Joshua bid the two older men goodbye and headed off to his safe space, a space that the members had coined as the soulmate spot after Joshua finally gained the courage to tell his members about his soulmate and the cherry blossom story that came with it.
Joshua leans against the tree that is still flourishing even though it was coming to the end of spring. The petals still had that sheen that told the story of the start of spring till nearly the end as they were going into fall, the week after next.
He sighs, feeling the restlessness start to seep away from his bones. Just being in this spot was comforting for him because he felt connected to you. After you had taken off that day four years ago, Joshua hadn't seen you since.
Not for the lack of trying as well.
Joshua had just gotten so wrapped up in the life of being an idol that he was traveling more often, spent a lot less time in Korea and he felt that each practice was more intense than the last.
He still tried to stick to his outstanding bi-weekly date that he had with the cherry blossom tree but with all the new promotions and practices that seemed to be popping up from left, right and center, he had definitely missed a few during the last four springs.
However, looking at how serene the park looked at night with the crackling streetlamps as well as the fairy lights that are no doubt a new addition, Joshua feels at peace at the fact that nothing else has changed about his favourite safe spot.
He had quite a few of them⌠one being a corner of the practice room where he always sat during the breaks with his earbuds in. Another being a corner in Jihoon's office that he uses whenever the world got too overwhelming (and that Jihoon let's him use by just pretending that he isn't there) and the last but definitely not the least, was the cherry blossom tree.
He closes his eyes, just taking in the ambience of the park and listening to the crickets chirping, the static flickering of the streetlamps and fairy lights and allowed himself to breathe.
He wasn't Joshua Hong, one of the two American members of Seventeen.
He was just, Joshua.
"Is this spot taken?" He hears someone softly ask from in-front of him. Joshua opens both his eyes to see a girl about his age, a hood obscuring most of her face as she leaned down slightly, no doubt to ask him the question.
Joshua panicked for a moment, wondering if the girl had noticed who he was but then remembered that he was wearing a baseball cap as well as a mask, concealing about sixty percent of his face.
He internally let out a breath of relief before shaking his head no as he gestures to the spot next to him. "You can sit if you like." Joshua states, not really sure of the words flowing out of his mouth at the moment.
On any other day, Joshua would've probably not offered the space next to him to a total stranger that he has never seen or met before. However, today had been a long day and his walls were all the way down after a long day of practice than the award show and then the team dinner.
If he wasn't feeling restless, he would've probably called it quits and been back at the dorm, in his comfy bed.
The stranger mutters out a small 'thank you' before plopping down next to him. The sound of the rustling plastic bag catches Joshua's attention, having not noticed the convenience store bag that the girl had in her right hand.
Joshua's eyes flit downwards to where his phone lied on his lap and did a quick click of the side button to see that it was 11:30pm. His eyebrows furrow as he looks back at the girl who takes out an aluminum wrapped roll of kimbap.
"Is that your dinner?" Joshua found himself asking, shocking himself and the stranger who gives Joshua a sideways glance before nodding her head. "Why are you eating so late?"
"You always ask this many questions to a stranger you don't know?" The girl replies after swallowing her first slice of the kimbap.
Joshua, a little taken aback by her question, lets out a low and tired chuckle as he shakes his head. "No." He answers honestly, "I was just wondering why a girl is wandering around at 11:30pm and eating a roll of kimbap underneath a cherry blossom tree with a stranger."
"Because this is my safe space." The girl admits nonchalantly, without a second thought as she eats another slice of her kimbap.
Joshua blinks a few times at the girl's answer. "Weird." He states. "This is my safe space too." He finds himself admitting, unsure why he is telling a random stranger. But it had been a long day and Joshua's guard is down.
At his words, the girl stops eating and turns her head towards him for a few seconds, analyzing him. "You always this trusting to strangers?"
Joshua scoffs, "You admitted that in a heartbeat as well, mind you."
The girl just shrugs and continues to munch on her kimbap as the wind breezes past them, making a few of the loose cherry blossom petals fall.
Joshua watches them slowly drift down, smiling a little to himself as it brings back memories of his first spring in Seoul.
"Did you know that there are over two hundred varieties of cherry blossom trees?" Joshua hears the girl mutter out making his eyebrows furrow, his brain synapses firing.
Has he heard this before?
"I did know that actually." Joshua admits, making his company let out a hum of acknowledgement. "Did you know that the cherry blossoms and their tea leaves are actually edible?"
He watches the girl nod, pulling down more of the aluminum foil to unwrap the last three slices of her kimbap. "They're used in like Japanese sweets, teas as well as desserts right?"
Joshua nods, closing his eyes. "My favourite is the sakura mochi."
There was silence for a few moments before the girl replied with a, "No way, that's mine as well."
Joshua hums. "You have good taste."
Joshua hears the girl beside him let out a laugh at his quip making his chest warm a little. The girls laugh reminded him of you in a way, the soft laugh that you had let slip past your lips four springs ago still etched in his mind.
"Did you also know that the the biggest cherry blossom capital in the world is actually in Macon, Georgia, which holds over three hundred thousand cherry trees?"
Joshua feels himself freeze at that statement. Now he had definitely heard that one before.
His eyes widen as he gets transported back to that faithful day under the rain where his soulmate had slipped through his fingers for the second time in his life.
You continue to yap on about fun facts that your mother had shared with you about cherry blossoms, unsure of why you were telling a random stranger this information, but it was a long day and this stranger felt⌠safe to you?
You couldn't explain why.
"Did you know that some varieties have more than five petals for their blossoms? Like the Kanzan can have up to twenty-eight petals per flower? That makes it look so much fuller with a pom-pom like appearâ"
"Bunny?"
You pause your tangent upon hearing the childhood nickname that your mother still uses every now and then, feeling your blood run a little cold at the stranger saying it.
You whip your head towards the stranger who is now sitting fully up-right and facing you as your eyebrows furrow. "Why did youâ"
The stranger doubles down and whispers out your name, making you freeze as you scoot back a little, fearful for your life now. The one time you choose to trust a stranger and it turns out that he might be a stalker?
How low is your social awareness that you didn't seem to realize that the man beside you might've been stalking you all this time? Were you about to die? How were you going to get out of this? What was the best exitâ
Your spiral gets interrupted when the stranger removes his cap and mask, allowing you to see the bambi doe-eyes that you have been dreaming about for the last few springs. The warmth and comfort in them, still as persistent as you remember.
"Bambi?" You breathe out, the nickname that you gave him when you were six, rolling off your tongue easier than you thought it would. "Joshua, is that you?"
Joshua nods eagerly, seemingly frozen in place as he watches you take him in before you jump into him. He catches you easily, seemingly a little more prepared than the last time when he was eight years old as he buries his face into your hair, just like he did that day, fourteen years ago.
"I can't believe I found you again." He mutters out into your hair as he feels you let out a watery laugh into his sweater that he was wearing. He pulls away a little, noticing that your hair is a little ruffled from the hoodie being launched off after you had jumped into him. He feels you shiver a little and goes to pull the hoodie back up for you to protect your ears when he notices the bunny ears sewed onto the hood.
A wide grin appears on his lips as he internally shakes his head at the fact that he didn't notice them before, deeming it to the long day that he just had.
"I've only seen you on television." Is the first words to come out of your mouth after the whole affair, which makes Joshua giggle as he pulls away fully to look you in the eyes. "That's the first thing you say to me, your soulmate, after years of not seeing each other?"
You couldn't help but laugh at his dramatic outburst as you pull him back in for another hug, the necklace that you are wearing, the pendant hitting him in the chest, which makes a smile adorn his face at the memory of what the pendant is made out of.
The two of you stay like that for a few moments more before you pull away to get a good look at Joshua's face. You were telling the truth, you had only seen Joshua through YouTube videos and whenever the various Music Award Shows were on, always silently cheering him on.
You had recognized him after they had their first debut show on TV, the doe-eyes immediately speaking to you as he came onto stage. You had know that you were his soulmate, right after the mark had appeared on your arm ages ago.
Your parents also had a long talk with you about it but after your father's phone had gotten smashed during a really bad day of work, there was no way to contact him or his mother. So, you went the next ten years not knowing if Joshua had remembered you, the weirdly dressed girl with bunny ears and soft toy.
Until that april shower when you were sixteen, you didn't realize you were talking to him until you were twenty blocks away from the park, eager to get to your next tutoring teacher's class.
You had cursed yourself for being a little too oblivious but as you stared at the white mark on your wrist, you realized that the timing probably wasn't right just yet for the two of you and you just needed to wait for fate to push you both together once again.
That faithful day is today.
"No." You answer truthfully, shaking your head at Joshua's question. "I think our first order of business should be to get each other's numbers so that we don't have to wait for fate to bring us dumbasses back together for the fourth time."
Joshua lets out a laugh at your answer, nodding with a cheeky grin on his face. "They do say third time's the charm."
You roll your eyes at his cliche answer but deep down you silently agreed with it.
Maybe it truly is, third time's the charm.
THE GOING SEVENTEEN TWIST
"Ugh." You mutter out, messing with the bunny patterned mask on your face, getting a little frustrated with how hot it is underneath the mask. "I don't get why we need to keep wearing a mask if your company has booked out the entire park for your Going Seventeen episode."
Joshua lets out a chuckle at your frustrations as he rubs your forearm soothingly, a tactic that he picked up a few years ago when he realized that it was the fastest way to calm you down (other than food of course).
"Well," Joshua starts, adjusting his own mask and cap in the process. "We rented out the park but that doesn't mean the general public still won't recognize us because the area isn't covered."
You let out a huff, knowing that he is right.
"It also doesn't help that Hoshi yells like a maniac and gathers the attention of said general public." You mutter, making Joshua laugh at your whines.
He looks around before lowering his mask to give you a small kiss to the top of your head before pulling it back up, just as one of the managers calls for him.
He spares the manager a quick glance before his attention is back on you, to make sure that you are okay with him leaving.
"Go." You assure him, nudging him slightly in the direction where the manager is waiting for him. "I've been around these shoots long enough to know the procedure by now."
Joshua's eye lines crinkle, a sign that he is smiling as he nods.
You weren't wrong, you had been coming to the Going Seventeen shoots for almost the entirety of your relationship with Joshua. The two of you weren't really public but you two weren't private either.
Your relationship wasn't a secret and Joshua had brought you up a few times before, mentioning you here and there in some interviews that he has done with Vogue or Cosmopolitan.
You had also become a small little mention in the Going Seventeen videos where sometimes Joshua would let something small about you slip past his lips. It was a routine at this point and the fans had been using this to their advantage, creating many different videos such as; "A compilation of all the times Joshua has mentioned Bunny" or "Joshua being the biggest simp for his girlfriend/soulmate for 4 minutes and 48 seconds."
But, it was good.
The fans had accepted that the two of you are together and Joshua was more open with his soulmate mark and talking about you now to the point where he doesn't conceal the white cherry blossom mark on his wrist anymore.
Now he wears it with pride, just like the bracelet that ties the both of you together.
You fidget with your pendant, recalling all those memories with a smile. Thanking the universe for bringing the two of you together that day eight years ago.
"Right!" One of the directors call out, knocking you out of your thoughts as you move from yours and Joshua's cherry blossom tree, realizing that they are about to begin their filming.
Joshua appears beside you, moments later looking more dolled up and refreshed compared to half an hour ago making you grin as you notice his hair sticking up slightly.
Without a word, you step forward to him, his arms wrapping around your waist habitually as you fix your eyes on the cow-lick in his hair. You brush it down, not noticing the way that Joshua is watching you as you fixate on his hair, brushing it till it looks perfect for the shoot that they are doing today.
"What's the shoot for today?" You ask him, softly, fixing a few strands of stray hairs that the stylist didn't manage to get. Joshua let out a hum, his hands warm on your waist.
"We're filming something special." Joshua admits shyly. "That's why I asked you to get a little more dolled up than usual today."
He had told you that the night before. It was unusual for Joshua to be this quiet about the shoots that he and the rest of the members were meant to film. Joshua would at least tell you beforehand what the shoot was about and the premise of it but for this particular shoot, he had been quiet.
All the information you had was that you might have to appear once or twice as emotional support for your boyfriend. The rest of the members had also brought along their significant others or girlfriends as well and when you had asked them about what the shoot would be, they had side-eyed each other and shook their heads, seemingly not knowing what it was as well.
"You've been acting weird lately." You mutter out to your boyfriend, messing with one last stubborn strand of hair that was sticking upwards. You side-eyed your boyfriend, "You aren't doing a secret horror episode today are you? You can't do that in our safe space."
Joshua lets out a laugh at your imagination before shaking his head, a big toothy grin on his face. "I love your imagination sometimes, Bunny."
You raise an eyebrow at his words. "Yet," you start. "You did not deny it."
Joshua gives you a mischievous grin, that you have seen one too many times making you roll your eyes at how mysterious your boyfriend was being.
"I guess you just have to wait and see."
"Fine." You relent, finally get that strand of hair to get down. "Keep your secrets."
Joshua leans in closer to you, surprising you a little as you watch his eyes scan your face, from the top of your forehead, to the slope of your nose to your chewed lips that you had been gnawing on since you had arrived because you weren't sure what to expect today.
You feel your cheeks heat up from how intense his gaze is before he surprises you once more by leaning in and giving you a peck on the lips, a lovesick grin on his lips right after he does.
You blink at your boyfriend, unsure of how to react to the quick peck. The two of you had set boundaries beforehand about PDA and everything else that was related to the public.
Kissing or pecks were a gray zone in a sense where you could do it but only if the members, cameras as well as the rest of the world was not around.
However, Joshua broke that rule today by kissing you in the middle of the set where everyone can see.
"Did you justâŚ" You trail off making Joshua nod, seemingly more relaxed than you are.
"Yeah."
"Butâ"
"I just wanted to." He nonchalantly admits, shrugging his shoulders as he does so. "You looked so cute focusing on me that I wanted to kiss you as soon as you were almost done fixing my hair."
"Your hair is done by the way." You admit, the words coming out of your mouth faster than you could have processed them, making Joshua bark out another laugh at how slow your brain was comprehending information.
"I love you." Joshua admits softly, after he was done laughing. Your heart warms at his words as you give a once over to the set before leaning in to give Joshua a peck.
"I love you more."
The producer of the episode immediately signals that it is time to start filming making you step away from your boyfriend's embrace as you give him a confident smile that tells him that he's got this.
Joshua gives you a smile before nodding and making his way over to the rest of his members.
You, on the other hand, walk towards the rest of the girlfriends who were engaging in some other small talk. They made room for you and were talking about the newest thrills that their boyfriend seem to have been into when a producer calls your name.
You perk up, slightly confused as to why you were being called out for until you realize that Joshua is standing in-front of your cherry blossom tree, with his hands behind his back.
"Before we begin today's filming." The producer starts, looking between you and Joshua. "Joshua would like to say a few words before we kick-off this weeks filming." He turns to Joshua with a big smile on his face before passing him the microphone.
Joshua clears his throat before speaking into the microphone.
"Bunny." He softly calls out making you peer out of the area you were sitting in. "Could you please come forward to where I am?"
You skeptically look at the love of your life but proceed to join Joshua at the front. As soon as you had moved there, you immediately ask a slew of rapid questions to your boyfriend to which he only replied with his shinning smile.
"Bunny." Joshua breathes out, turning to face you completely as he blocks out the rest of the world. "When I first saw you at the age of eight, I thought you were the biggest crybaby on the planet."
You feel your cheeks heat up as he says that, about to retort when he beats you to it.
"However, you were so unique and different that I was intrigued by you." Joshua softly admits, "I spent majority of my life searching for you ever since I had gotten this mark that ties us together and every time I tried, the universe always had something to say about it until that day where you had stumbled under the cherry blossom tree to eat kimbap at 11:30pm." That got a few giggles from the Going Seventeen team as Joshua continues. "I always knew that something in my life was missing. I've known that since I was eight years old and after I met you, I realize that you are the missing piece that I've been waiting for."
Your eyes widen as you realize why he is saying all these things.
He pulls out a velvet box from behind him and looks at you with the doe-eyes that you had grown to love more and more, everyday of your relationship.
"You complete me and my life, Bunny." Joshua softly admits, rolling the velvet box in his hand as he locks eyes with you, making you pulse quicken as you realize that he is about to do it. "So," Joshua starts, handing the microphone to you before he gets down on one knee, making you let out a gasp you didn't know you were holding. "Will you make me the happiest man alive and marry me?"
"Yes." You breath out into the microphone. "A thousand times yes."
A toothy grin appears on Joshua's face before he launches himself forward slightly and captures your lips with his, making your heart soar at the thought of calling Joshua your fiance.
The two of you pull away, hearing all the loud cheers and whistles from the Seventeen members, their significant others as well as the staff members on set which makes you giggle a little.
"So the whole shoot is a lie?" You softly ask making Joshua nod his head. "We just needed to get you down to this location so we disguised it as a shoot because if we had told you anything else, you would've figured out the surprise."
His words make you warm as you shake your head, a soft smile on your face.
"You're such a nerd."
"I am your nerd for the rest of your life." Joshua goofily admits making you roll your eyes, a small giggle escaping your lips as you tighten your grip around him, "Hello, fiance." You softly say, looking up at Joshua who peers downwards at you, the grin on his face never fading. "Hello to you too, fiancee."
You peer downwards at the box that Joshua is holding, making you clear your throat as you fixated him with a mischievous grin.
"So are you going to put the ring on me or what?"
THE FUTURE UNDER THE CHERRY BLOSSOMS
"And that is the story of how your mummy and daddy met and got married before we had you guys." Joshua finishes as his daughter bounces slightly on his lap. "The End!"
"Do you think I will ever get a soulmate, daddy?" His daughter asks, her bambi, doe eyes shining and making Joshua's heart melt.
"Of course, sweetheart." Joshua admits, giving his daughter a little once over as the wind blows past them, making the cherry blossoms fall of the tree. "If you are anything like your mother, you will definitely get one, baby."
"What lies are you feeding our daughter this time?"
Joshua looks up, spotting you waddle over to the picnic blanket and his heart soars even more. "No lies." He admits, the mischievous grin on his face never fading. "Just telling her how you were absolutely in-love with me when we first met."
You roll your eyes at your husbands words as he gestures for you to take a seat next to him. "That's such a lie." You breath out, looking straight at your husband. "We both know it was you who was in love with me the first time we both met."
Joshua barks out a laugh as your daughter stands up from his lap, in awe of the pretty cherry blossoms that are cascading down.
"Mummy! Daddy!" She exclaims. "Look!"
The two of you share a quick glance at each other and smile. "Aren't they pretty, baby?" You ask her making her nod, her doe eyes still shimmering as she tries to catch one of the blossoms.
"Did you know that there are two hundred different variants of cherry blossoms trees, baby?" Joshua asks your daughter making the little girl stop her jumping as her eyes grew as big as saucers.
"That's bigger than the numbers we're learning in class right now!"
You couldn't help but laugh at her answer, shaking your head as the fond memories begin to flood your mind.
"Is that where you got my name from, mummy?" You tilt your head to the side as you take a quick glance at Joshua.
"What do you mean, sweetheart?"
"Well, my name is Cherry. Did you name me after the pretty trees?" Joshua grins at his daughters question and nods fondly.
"Yes." He admits. "We did because you're so precious to us and we can't wait to see you blossom and grow."
"Would I become as pretty as the pretty flowers?" Cherry asks making Joshua scoff as he grabs her and pulls her back into his lap.
"Cherry." Joshua coos, patting her head. "You're going to be prettier than any other flower that will ever grow, you know why?"
Cherry shook her head before Joshua locked eyes with you. "Because the reason of how your name came to be and the story behind it, is the best and prettiest thing that we could've ever asked for."
@livmarauder2026
Thank you guys so much for reading my spring collab fic! Be sure to check out all the other amazing works that this collab has to offer! New fics should be hitting tumblr very very soon...
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Summary: Â To the Kingdom of Hespros, Jeonghan is a silver-haired storm of pure, unfiltered energy, a tournament victor who treats his crown like a toy and diplomacy like a game of dare. Heâs impulsive, brilliant, and completely unmanageable, which is exactly why the King anchors him to Y/N, the soft-spoken, steely daughter of the Iron Coast sent to stabilize his chaotic reputation. Raised in a world of grey stone and strict discipline, Y/N arrives loathing his lack of restraint, while Jeonghan becomes instantly, dangerously addicted to the challenge of cracking her icy composure. He spends his nights dragging his "enemy" into midnight escapades and high-stakes trouble, thriving on the adrenaline of almost getting her caught just to see her perfect facade slip. Yet, beneath his cheeky provocations, Jeonghan is haunted by the quiet fear that his passion is unrequited. Convinced heâs just a beautiful disaster ruining her life, while sheâs only enduring his presence as a royal duty. He has no idea that every rule he forces her to break feels like a revelation; while he worries heâs a habit sheâs trying to quit, Y/N is secretly falling for the fire heâs sparked in her, realizing sheâd rather be ruined by him than saved by anyone else.
The bells of Hespros were supposed to be ringing for a wedding. Instead, they rang for a trophy that felt like a lead weight in Jeonghanâs hands. He rode through the city gates, his pitch black hair catching the sun, his face a perfectly constructed mask of "charming victor" as he waved to the crowds. Heâd won the tournament, outmatched every knight in the South, and yet the only prize heâd truly wanted, the physical alliance with the Southern throne, had slipped through his fingers when the Princess of the South chose another.
He knew what was waiting for him inside the palace. He knew the temperature of his fatherâs rage.
Jeonghan didn't wait for a servant to announce him. He strolled into the private royal solar, his boots clicking rhythmically against the marble. "I hope the wine hasnât gone sour," he called out, his voice a smooth, melodic drawl. "Winning a tournament for a kingdom that doesn't want you is surprisingly thirsty work."
âThe wine hasnât gone sour, but your time as a young bachelor might have,â Jeonghanâs father said, from behind him. He positioned himself right beside the door, so Jeonghan couldn't see him immediately.Â
Jeonghan sighed and smoothly turned around to face his father, âam I not allowed one evening to celebrate my victory father?â
Jeongahnâs father sighed, and pushed himself off the wall, a goblet in hand. âThat was not a victory, Jeonghan. You did not secure a marriage.âÂ
âNo, but I secured an alliance.âÂ
âWe do not need just an alliance. We need you to get married. You need to secure the royal line. Especially now that your sister has married Jeon.âÂ
Jeonghan scoffed and shook his head a little. He had thought his father had accepted his sister's husband. âI thought you liked Wonwoo?â
âI do,â he replied, handing him the goblet. âBut that doesnât mean I canât ignore the facts. He does not have royal lineage, therefore they and their offspring can not inherit the throne. It is up to you Jeonghan.âÂ
âNo pressure father,â Jeonghan scoffed and his father grabbed his arm firmly. It was not time to make jokes.Â
âThere should be pressure. You allowed your sister to get close with the Jeon boy. Now it is your responsibility to deal with their actions.âÂ
Jeonghanâs eyebrows furrowed. He didnât think marrying his sister and her guard would make his life so much harder.Â
âYou should have thought of that before letting the princess go as well.â Jeonghan rolled his eyes and took a sip of whatever was in the goblet. âI know you think that not marrying the princess is not a big deal, but you are almost twenty four. We have been more than generous enough in not pushing anyone down your throat for six years, but people are starting to question whether or not you want to take care of the kingdom.â
Jeonghan scoffed, âis giving up my entire childhood to this kingdom not enough?âÂ
Jeonghan always had more responsibilities than his sister. When she had to take etiquette and ballroom classes, Jeonghan had to learn the ways to run a kingdom. He had to learn how to keep the balance without ruining each aspect of the kingdom, which was ultimately, way more stressful.Â
The king didn't even look up from the map he was studying, his indifference a sharper blade than any direct insult.
âNo, it is not enough,â the King said flatly. âBecause a childhood spent in preparation is a debt you owe the blood in your veins. You speak as if you were a martyr for learning the ledger, yet you stand before me now behaving as if youâve never seen one. You are the future of Hespros, Jeonghan. And the future cannot be built on drinking games and fountain-jumping.â
Jeonghanâs grip tightened on the goblet, the silver metal groaning under the pressure of his fingers. He felt the familiar, hot prickle of resentment rising up his throat. He had been a miniature adult at seven, a strategist at twelve, and a shadow-king at eighteen. Yet to his father, he was perpetually a disappointment.
âThe Southern Princess was your chance to prove you understood that,â the King continued, finally turning to face him. His eyes were hard, devoid of the warmth a father should have for a son. âInstead, you played the fool, and she chose a man who understands that a crown is a crown, not a costume. So, since you cannot be trusted to choose for the benefit of this realm, I have chosen for you.â
The King gestured toward the door, where Y/N was waiting in the hallway, caught in the suffocating silence of the palace.
âY/N of the Iron Coast will be here to ensure that your 'spontaneity' has an end date. She is the anchor. You will marry her, you will produce an heir, and you will finally stop acting as if the world is a stage for your amusement.â
Jeonghan sighed, and chugged the rest of this wine, before leaving the room to drink his sorrows away from his father.Â
soo.... im appearing to update everyone on ruin my life.
it unfortunately won't be out by June 1st. I had to deal with two of my immediate families health issues and on top of that I started a new job with 10 hour shifts.
so im pooped, but the job is only for a month so after that I have the whole rest of the summer and hopefully the health stuff gets a little easier to navigate so ill more time/ability/ mental capacity to write.
I'm truly sorry that I keep pushing back release dates but this one was extremely urgent.
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pairing: f1 driver! husband! father! yoon jeonghan x wife! mother! fem! reader
genre & warnings: angst, lots of fluff, childbirth
desc: it's eight months after revealing your pregnancy to your husband, and you've gone into labour...whilst jeonghan is on the track in japan..
wc: 2.1k
note: ahh i'm so in love with hannie :3 really tempted to just write a full-length yjh f1 au at this point lol...áŻâđ anyone else but you by the moldy peaches & i've never met anyone i thought i could really love (until i met you) by westside cowboy
Pregnancy is hard, harder than most things life throws at you, harder than anything you couldâve possibly imagined.Â
Itâs difficult to remember every single supplement in the morning, especially when youâve spent most of the night over the toilet bowl. Itâs difficult to fit your trainers on your swollen feet at week thirty. Itâs especially difficult to wave Jeonghan onto a jet and watch him speed at almost two hundred miles per hour on your TV screen.Â
Watching the jet door suction shut, the click too familiar now as you sat in your car on the runway, waving innocently to Jeonghan whose eyes didnât leave your distant figure until you reversed and drove off.Â
It was always common knowledge that your pregnancy with Jeonghan wasnât going to be easy. Especially when you refused to let him skip a season.Â
âYou above everything else, baby, thatâs what I said in Italy when we slid these rings on our fingers!â Jeonghanâs voice was raised, not quite shouting, but he held his left hand up, exaggeratedly pointing at his wedding band.Â
You sighed, a long one. You were twenty-six weeks pregnant now, and the new season was rolling around rapidly â and with that, Jeonghanâs hesitation to leave his pregnant wifeâs side.Â
But you insisted.Â
You refused to let him stop now, not when the momentum was so strong, his placing on podium last season setting him up for the perfect pole this season.Â
âJeonghan,â your bump was particularly visible now, sticking out of your slightly cropped tee as you leaned against the island in the kitchen. âDonât let yourself give this up right now, please.âÂ
He was ready to refuse, shake his head almost violently until your glassy eyes met his. You knew how important racing was for him; being here every day would drive him insane. You knew he needed to be out there. âPlease.âÂ
After days of talks between the two of you, he agreed on many conditions. He would not race leading up to your due date. Ferrari could cope without him for one race. If he, god forbid, were involved in any sort of collision, he would step back for the rest of the season, and the moment you needed him, he would drop everything. He wouldnât hesitate.Â
So whilst he lapped around Sazuka, your due date comfortably two weeks away, you were on the way to the hospital, your best friend Seungcheol behind the wheel.Â
Jeonghan had thought of every scenario of your labour. Including this. One late night, when youâd found your husband pacing your vast conservatory, face etched with stress, he explained the plan in detail.
If, or when, you were to go into labour whilst he was away, Seungcheol was to call him immediately. In the rare, or not so rare, chance that he was on the track when it happened, Seungcheol was to ring Minghao immediately.Â
From there, Minghao was to alert your husband. And Jeonghan would stop, get his car off the track and go straight to the landing strip to fly straight to you.Â
âSimple as that.â He finished, his hands holding yours tightly as you nodded, agreeing, knowing that he needed this more for his mental health than anything.
Breathing in heavily and exhaling with a painful huff. Sweat slipped down your head like you were in a shower. Your thighs were wet, but you were in too much pain to even think about Cheolâs expensive Audi seats.Â
Through the pitching pain, you could hear Cheolâs voice beside you, his engine roaring as he weaved through the busy Seoul streets.Â
âHao,â He said, voice slightly shaky as he looked at you, tears running down your face as your contractions overtook your body.Â
âFuck, itâs time?â The manâs voice bled through the car speakers, the instant shuffle of commotion caught by the microphone.Â
In the humid Japanese climate, Minghao ran across the pit lane. Seungcheolâs one word was enough to spring Jeonghanâs well-rehearsed plan into action.Â
The heat stuck to everyone, the blinding track lights making everyone look particularly sickly right now. The CEO couldnât decide if he felt sick or if everyone around him looked unwell. Gripping his headset, he nodded to the race engineer in silent understanding.Â
Letting out a big breath, he let himself be heard by the Ferrari driver, who was on lap thirty-five of fifty-three.Â
âJeonghan,â Minghao spoke with deadly calm, despite his horrific nerves. âSheâs gone into labour, itâs time.âÂ
On the track, it felt like the entire world had slowed; his brain was speeding as the surroundings blurred, your husband was processing the information as fast as his car was moving. The cheering of the crowd and the roaring of the engine were deafened as Jeonghan only thought about you, across the East Sea, breathing heavily, your child hours away from being born.Â
Back in Seoul, Seungcheol was helping you out of the car, your pants and grunts loud and alerting as he pulled in front of the rather fancy private hospital Jeonghan insisted you attend.Â
Seungcheol wasnât just Jeonghanâs best friend â he was the best man at your wedding, he was there the day you met, the pair of you young and immature as you leaned over the railing in Baku, a microphone in your hand, Jeonghan in a trance as he looked up at you above him.Â
Heâd drop everything for both of you, his absolute best friends, and itâs how he landed the job of being your makeshift number one in this situation.Â
âFuck Cheol,â you tried to bark out a laugh, that turned into a teeth-clenching roar of pain.Â
Jeonghan was pulling into the vast landing strip, the jet heâd paid to be prepared at every location so far, ready just as he had anticipated. His mind was racing as he sped, rather illegally, through the streets, wondering how you could be in labour two weeks early when everything was going perfectly.
Without a second thought, he ditched the sports car, chucking the keys to the designated staff before practically sprinting onto the plane, his phone held to his ear.Â
âChoi, this better be going exactly as I planned.â He tried to joke, but he was tense, strapping himself into the seat as he gripped the phone as if it could ground him.Â
âSheâs in,â His best friend sounded stressed, a heavy sigh escaping with the words. âSheâs in pain, but the nurses have said everything is healthy.âÂ
âDo-do we have an estimate on timings?â Jeonghan felt himself beginning to well up, the pressure and anxiety of him missing the birth of your child sitting on his shoulders like the heaviest weight heâd ever felt.Â
No race, championship or season had rattled him like this. No amount of looming pre-race anxiety or adrenaline could even begin to compare to what was pumping through his veins at the moment.
âNurses said anywhere between three and five hours.â Seungcheol reassured your stressed husband. âFly safe, Han, Iâll see you soon.âÂ
When Jeonghan arrived at the hospital, everything seemed to move in slow motion around him. Seungcheol stood at the door, a scowl on his face, before he enveloped Jeonghan in a hug, an arm around his shoulder as he guided Jeonghan through the endless corridors.Â
He listened intently to his best friendâs words but couldnât escape the ringing that persisted until the door to your suite opened, and like a vacuum seal breaking, sound and movement burst into his periphery. Your husband didn't hesitate; he was at your side instantly, your skin coated with sweat as your hair stuck to your face.Â
âBaby,â you gritted out, taking in his dishevelled appearance as you turned your head to him, your gorgeous eyes even glowing right now.Â
âMy angel,â he replied, instantly smoothing your hair off your face and kissing the top of your head.Â
For the hours to come, Jeonghan didnât leave your side; he swore he wouldnât leave your side ever again. He was there, the force of your hand squeezing his harder than any g-force heâd ever felt. He was there, a hand running through your wet hair to attempt to soothe you as you arched back into the pillow. He was there, dabbing your head with a cool towel as your child was born.Â
Love swelled out of him that day, blooming into something so beautiful that no feeling came close to the love he felt for you and your child. Tears streaming freely as you held the baby in your arms, Jeonghanâs arm around both of you, his smile wider than any grin heâd ever mustered.Â
âąď¸ NINE Months Later
The sun beat down on the vast English countryside, Silverstone shining within the greenery. The cool breeze wisped Jeonghanâs hair as he stood in the paddock, his fire suit tied on his hips.Â
Engineers held tablets up to him, pointing out statistics and discussing manoeuvres. It all dulled as you appeared through the paddock door, pushing a stroller with a neat parasol looming over it.Â
The pair of you spent the first five months of your sonâs life cocooned away in your house on the outskirts of Seoul. Spending sleepless nights together, cooing at the small being as he babbled in your expansive garden and nestling him to bed wrapped in both of your arms.Â
However, as always, another season rolled around, and as a compromise, you agreed to come along, baby and wife at each and every race. Little ear defenders on his sonâs ears as soon as his fatherâs booming engine powered up.Â
Jeonghanâs changing room in the motorhome became home to a cot, a fridge full of milk and a nappy bin. And, even on the hardest days, he knew heâd have it no other way.Â
Without hesitation, Jeonghan stepped away from the fuss, nodding absentmindedly at his crew, and he beelined to you. A large and enthusiastic grin on his lips at your wave, his arm pulling you into him, his lips landing on yours like they were magnets.
The scary and rather sassy driver became a muddle of coos as he leaned down to see his son in the stroller. The little being began to giggle and kick at the sight of his fatherâs smiley face.Â
âHey little one,â he said softly, your arm rubbing his back as you swooned for your husband and son, both of the boys in your life bringing such intense and immense joy.Â
Jeonghan picked his son up, ever so cautiously and cradled him in his arms, letting you park the stroller out of the way as the crew became enchanted with the sight of their fiercest driver becoming a mush of cuteness with his son in his arms.Â
âMother of the year,â Minghao greeted you, pulling you into a hug.Â
âMinghao,â you replied happily, letting him sling his arm around you as you both observed Jeonghan softly. Your husband was introducing the baby to everyone, letting your son grip the finger of the pr manager â who, despite all the shit youâd both put her through, would do it again in a heartbeat.Â
âHow is it going?â He questioned as you both leaned over the small balcony.Â
âGood,â you say, Jeonghan turning to you with a smile that was reserved just for you, your gaze catching his milky chocolate eyes across the paddock as he winked at you. âGreat, in fact.âÂ
Minghao ruffled your hair, letting a sweet sigh leave his mouth. âItâs so lovely to have you here, he seems moreâŚâ the man breathed out, pondering on his next words, âcalm, when youâre both close by.âÂ
For the first time in a long while, you felt truly relaxed, truly at home. It didnât matter that it was the paddock, surrounded by commotion or disarray, because Jeonghan was here, stealing loving glances at you, your son was here, healthy and gabbling away and stealing the attention of one of F1âs most prestigious teams, your family, each and every person in this paddock was here, caring for you and your husband with such tenderness at times it felt unbelievable.Â
As Jeonghan pulled up to the start line today, he glanced up to the balcony, catching your figure, your smile noticeable through the hordes of people, your son bouncing on your hip, his ear protection almost flooding his head as you pointed at his fatherâs car.Â
Now he had two people to win for. There was always the team and the fans. But his wife and his son trumped everyone else a million times over. He forced himself to look away and towards the start line, his race engineer speaking over the headset.Â
PAIRING:Â Minghao x f. reader
SUMMARY:Â As the second daughter to one of the most powerful businesses under the Choi Syndicate, youâve always lived your life free of responsibility - until your sister dies and you become the heir. So when your family announces one of your new responsibilities as heir is an engagement to the son of a powerful shipping conglomerate, it comes should come as no shock. Minghao, however, is full of surprises, each one of them more deadly than the last.
WC:Â 33,779
AU: Mafiaverse, Cyberpunk, Arranged Marriage
GENRE:Â Smut, Angst
RATING:Â 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: Graphic violence and assassination attempts, descriptions of blood and on screen murder (two with a knife, one with a garrote), mentions of off page deaths of a sibling and a parent (one via suicide), references to organized crime/syndicates with political marriages, power plays, and illegal activities, references to physical abuse from a family member but honestly very vague and ambiguous, hemes of grief, trauma, deception, and identity secrets, some power imbalances throughout, lots of showcasing of disparity of wealth throughout, some angst and a lot of lying, reader is kidnapped, explicit language, explicit sexual content featuring oral (f. receiving), vaginal fingering, unprotected penetrative sex, multiple orgasms/positions, uhhhhh I think that's it. It's a Syndicates fic y'all, as always read with caution. Smut is warned in-text when it starts and stops.
A/N:Â I have been working on this chapter since November 2025 and it is finally here. I'm going to apologize in advanced if the plot seems a bit twisty turny or if the motives are a bit weak - taking that long between the first 15k I wrote for this fic and the second 15k I wrote for this resulted in me writing a completely different story than what I started with. Also - reader was supposed to be a lot more mystical but it's just sort of vague in this. She is not literally magical in a fantasy sense, but rather the same way that there are mysteries of the universe and energies etc. i really hope this makes sense - thank you for being patient with me as I put this chapter out. I think I like this one... maybe. Also, we are introduced to three new characters who are relevant in the rest of the series - especially Kero :) This fic takes place during the events of Baby for your timeline purposes.
A/N 2: It is recommend you read the other works of the Syndicates collection before you read this fic - specifically Baby. You don't have to read the others to understand the fic as I try to sum up the world and plot well, but I'm not perfect so ready this totally separate of the other stories might not be as easy as I crack it up to be!
A/N 3: This is un-beta'd we die like men.
COLLECTIONÂ |Â ASKÂ | NOW PLAYING:Â UNTIL DEATH | SYNDICATES WORLD GUIDE
THE EVENING OF YOUR SISTER'S DEATH, YOU HAD DRAWN THE WORLD, REVERSED FROM YOUR TAROT DECK. You remember staring at it, unsettled, tracing the details as if the lines themselves could tell you what was coming.
It was one of those rare, hand-crafted decks, a fragment of the old world, tangible and delicate. In a world with so little physical art and so little understanding of the universe, you'd cherished the deck, a small luxury in a world where most people wouldn't have understood.
You remember knowing the card was a warning. The only trouble was you didn't know what for. You left the card face up on the desk and blew out your candles, your mother's voice calling through the estate's intercom again, impatient and angry because you were late.
Again.
To her, being late was a condition, not a habit. To you on that rainy November evening, it had been a kind of salvation, though perhaps salvation wasn't the right word. You didn't believe in gods or higher beings, but you did believe in the strange, quiet ways of the universe.
Strange, like how lingering over a single tarot reading could keep you from stepping into the restaurant when the gas explosion tore through the back of the block - when your sister, waiting at your usual table, became the first member of your family to die.
Gone in a moment, the entire direction of your life rearranged.
The world, reversed.
-
The rain over the Upper District is thin and metallic. It sheets off the glass buildings in vertical lines, turning each tower into a waterfall of neon and water. You watch the rain from the back of the car, forehead pressed to the cold window. The city slides past, a smudge of light.
Nexus Capital rises ahead of you, a monolith of glass punch through the low cloud ceiling. You stare at the building that's a feat of architecture with a list of awards and features in architectural magazines. You don't understand why a banking building needs to be an architectural work of art.
You don't find it to be very artistic anyway. Nexus Capital is one hundred and twelve floors of smoked glass and carbon fiber, no logos and no name, but a solid black tower threaded with light that everyone knows when they see it glow against the horizon.
Most nights, it turns invisible, like a trick of the light. If it weren't for the purple LEDs pulsing through the building's framework now, lighting it up to make air travel safe, you wouldn't even see it, though you know exactly where to look.
The car turns into the private ramp beneath the plaza, the security gates opening slowly. The car pauses as the driver cracks the window to state your business and clearance information. You wait, staring dully out the window as the scanners read the car for weapons and trace the plates. When it clears, the driver pulls through, continuing down the spiraling ramp toward the sub-level reserved for people who don't use the public lobby.
People like you.
You step out into a cold, concrete garage. Security guards are waiting on either side of the elevator for you, their charcoal suites pristine. They nod politely as you approach, heels clicking. One presses his palm to the panel, the lift doors opening with a soft hiss.
Your ride is eighty-nine floors, no stops. You breathe slowly, in through the nose, out through the mouth. Four counts in, hold for four, exhale eight. Even numbers. Good numbers. Your pulse steadies.
The reflection in the glass wall of the elevator is jarring: black dress, black blazer, hair tamed, heels, minimal jewelry. The girl who used to sneak out of charity galas to stare up at the moon and fill jars of water to collect its energy is nowhere in sight.
A chime indicates your arrival and you stiffen. The lift opens directly into an executive corridor of basalt floors and recessed lightly. It smells faintly of cedar in the hall, no doubt pumped in by an unseen air filtration system, meant to give the offices an old, serious feel.
The eighty-ninth floor is nothing but meeting rooms and executive spaces. You walk along the network of empty rooms now, knowing the way by heart - you'd practiced the route a million times. Normally, even after hours, the meeting rooms would be full of people. This evening's meeting is high profile though, so the entire floor has been reserved and dismissed.
Double doors greet you as you turn a corner. A security guard is outside, tipping his head to greet you before opening the door to let you in. Inside is a massive board room full of people.
One entire wall is made up of glass, Hyperion glittering on the other side: neon arteries, ribbons of traffic, the distant strobe of a casino in the Pearl District. The table in the center of the room is a massive rectangle of smoked quartz, lit from beneath so it looks frozen.
You go straight to your side of the table where your father and board members sit. There's a single, high-back chair for you next to your father - it used to be your mother's, but after she'd killed herself a few months ago, she bequeathed the chair to you.
Her ghost clings to you every time you sit in the chair, a coolness sticking to your skin. You grit your teeth. This room needs sage and perhaps some selenite. It has neither, so you ignore the way a shiver slides up your spine, phantom fingers reminding you of the heaviness of her absence. Ghosts don't like to be ignored, but no one else in this room can feel the way spirit lingers, the way memories have a way of clinging to a place.
Today is not a day for fear and superstition. Today is the kind of day where you have to ignore all of your instincts in favor of being practical and analytical - the kind of girl your sister would have been, instead of you, the strange one who believed in the energies of the universe and its strange higher powers.
Lifting your eyes, you peer across the table as your father clears his throat to settle the room. Xu Minghao is seated directly across from you, the polished surface of the crystal table stretching like eons between you. He's narrower than the file photos, dressed in a suit so dark that it seems to eat the light around him. His hair is longer too, styled neatly around his ears to rest against his collar bones. It suits him, you think.
He's prettier than you realized, too. His face is exquisitely balanced between sharp and soft, his eyes fierce and burning as he stares at you, his mouth soft and supple. His equally sharp jawline is offset by a gentle nose, a blend of contrasts that make him breathtaking to look at.
And extremely intimidating.
"Shall we begin?" Your father asks. He's using his calm voice, the one he likes to use to show he isn't intimidated.
The Xu side inclines heads in near-perfect synchrony. Minghao's father, Xu Jian, sits at the center opposite your father, his hair dark and long like his son, threading with silver at the temples. Odd, you think. In a world where showing age is so rare, you find it fascinating that the Xu family's patriarch has deliberately decided to show his age. A powerplay, perhaps, that he does not fear how fast the world around him is moving, nor is he influenced by the trends of appearing young.
Xu Luli is the opposite. Minghao's mother is a radiance of youth, dressed in immaculate dove silk with a single jade pendant the size of a small egg pinned to her blazer. Her face has no obvious lines, full and flushed with color like she's still in her twenties. It's unsettling, and when your eyes flick to Minghao, you realize how much he looks like her with his full lips and sharp eyes. He's nearly her mirror, save for his eyes are dark and near-black where hers are uncanny stormy grey.
Across the table, Minghao sits perfectly upright, his hands folded loosely on the table. No rings, no watch, no jewelry at all. There's just a faint scare across the first knuckle of his right hand, pale against otherwise flawless skin.
Your father gestures to the lead counsel on your side to begin. She taps the table and a holo screen blooms above the quartz, rotating for all to see. It's a splitting of proposed assets, tallied net and financial worth, assets both tangible and liquid, and everything else about you both true and not splayed for everyone to see.
"Xu Worldwide Logistics currently moves forty-three percent of all container freight through Hyperion's docks in the Civ District," the lead counsel begins. "Post-marraige, joint control of the merged entity will be split sixty-forty in favor of Xu Worldwide Logistics, with veto rights retained by Nexus Capital."
Xu Jian smiles. "Forty-three percent is a conservative assessment of our business. Perhaps seventy-thirty would be more appropriate."
"Sixty-five," your father answers, smiling. "Thirty-five. That feels more appropriate. Our assumptions of your capital are conservative, as you say."
Jian bows his head and agrees.
You watch in silence as your assets are debated for you - assets you didn't have until a year ago, when your sister had been blown apart in a freak accident. Your hands sweat looking at the figures and numbers that shouldn't belong to you, the endless amount of credits, properties, offshore accounts and liquid assets you don't even understand.
Swallowing past a dry patch in your throat, you glance at Minghao. He doesn't look at the rotating holograms of your entire net worth reflected for a room full of suits - he looks directly at you. He's not staring, exactly, but you fight the urge to shiver anyway. His gaze is intense and cataloging, like he's reading every tiny expression on your face.
In fact, he probably is. Minghao's family isn't from Hyperion, but they've clawed their way to the top with the money and empire they've built in Hyperion, which means they know how to play the game. After all, if they didn't know how to play, they wouldn't be sitting at this table negotiating a political marriage to gain access to the one of the city's most powerful Syndicates.
"Along with the marriage comes guarantees," your father says, catching your attention. "Of additional security for shipments."
No one says Choi Syndicate. No one has to. This entire marriage is for the Choi Syndicate, who are seeking an advantage in the Yong Syndicate-owned shipping yards in the Civ District. While the Xu family has remained neutral thus far, the fact that you're all sitting in a room discussing your legal marriage to the heir of their business is an aggressive move for the Xu family.
"Additionally," your father adds, as though sensing the unsaid danger in the room, "Nexus Capital is partnered with Aegis Security Corp. They're a long-standing client of ours, and are happy to provide additional support, both personal and professional to the Xu family and clients."
You can't help the way you start to roll your eyes. Aegis Security Corporation is a legitimate business portfolio pledged to Nexus Capital, but that certainly isn't the security your father is promising. He's promising the Xu family Choi Syndicate protection, a silent acknowledgement that by being here in this room, they are agreeing to the risk of being targeted by other Syndicates but will be offered the protections of guns, money and blood that the Choi Syndicate can offer.
The smile the Xu patriarch gives assures you that he is right where he wants to be, though his son remains expressionless, eyes unreadable.
Minghao's mother leans forward, her jade pendant catching the light. "And the personal union? We understand the principal heirs will co-own the new holding company directly. We would like the details of residence, public representation, and succession details clarified."
This time, you do cringe. You can't help it. The word succession details crawls inside of your ribcage and threatens to start corroding. She means where will you live, who gets to be the press's shining star, and who inherits if someone dies inconveniently.
Or conveniently, depending on if you die and all your assets default to the man across the table. Which is a real threat that you've talked about with your father, knowing that he could be signing you over for someone to assassinate you and claim rights to all that you own. It is exactly why the proposal keeps the shipping assets in favor of the Xu family and the banking assets in favor of your family, a shared split but a majority of both residing with the original shareholder.
Your father looks to you to answer Minghao's mother. The message is clear: youâre the woman of the family. Speak to your counterpart.
"Residence will be the penthouse at the Observatory," you answer. "It's at the edge of the Upper District near the Estate District."
"The Observatory?"
"A starter home for us to settle. When we decide to have a family, there is a private residence left to me in the Estate District as dictated by my mother's will." She leans back, pleased. Your eyes drift to Minghao. "I assume Mr. Xu has no objection to living above the clouds to start."
"Height has never bothered me," he answers. His voice is soft, but the way he says it makes the hair on your arms raise. "It's a generous gift."
You learn forward, resting your forearms on the cold table top. The sleeves of your dress ride up just enough to show the faint bruise on your left wrist, fingermarks from last week when your father decided punctuality required emphasis. You adjust the sleeve, but when you look up, you see Minghao's eyes latched to the spot.
"Public representation," you continue quickly, trying to keep him engaged, "will be joint. Galas, council meetings, the usual. We smile, we shake hands, we let the photographers snap pictures. Public image is a joint effort and a joint success."
Both of his parents nod, pleased. Minghao is still staring at your covered wrist. "As far as succession, if one of us dies, the surviving spouse inherits full voting control of the merged entity for a minimum of five years. After that, it reverts to the strongest board proxy. Standard widow's clause."
"What is your security like?"
Minghao's question catches you offguard. You're unsure if he means the traditional security you use as the heir to one of the city's richest families, or the Choi Syndicate security you use to ward people away from you. You're sure he doesn't mean the spell jars hidden in the drawers of your room or the spell oils you tinker with.
"Standard," you offer. It seems like a safe answer.
"Standard." He frowns. "I find that the standard rarely does the job."
His father starts to speak, but Minghao lifts a finger, barely a centimeter. You watch in shock as it silences his father. It's so subtle you're unsure if anyone else notices it. Strange, for a son to dictate what a father does. You file that bit of information away for later.
"Do you have a recommendation, then?" You ask. "Feel free to propose something less standard."
His mouth twitches, a ghost of amusement. "Security protocols should be put in place. Travel routes, choices of driver, general schedules, should all have a shared veto. If one of us believes a risk is unacceptable, the other yields. No appeal."
Your father makes an angry sound. "You're asking for the right to countermand my daughter's security detail? That's entirely too controlling and rather convenient if you wanted her assets."
The accusation ruffles the feathers on the other side of the table, but Minghao remains nonplussed, eyes flicking to your father. His expression has barely shifted, but there's something subtle there, something sharp.
"I'm asking," he corrects, voice soft, "That neither of us dies stupidly because the other was too proud to listen. I find that joint decisions on matters of travel and security are often best, especially considering that this marriage will be highly publicized."
"Fine," you answer before your father can object. "Shard veto, with the amendment that our security teams are jointly chosen. You may not employ any member of security who has not been vetted and agreed upon by me personally."
Minghao inclines his head. "Agreed."
Above the table, a redline version of the agreement drafts as you trade amendments. Your eyes drop down to the scar on his knuckle again. It's thin and precise, the kind of mark left by a wire garotte or a very sharp knife. Not the sort of scar you get from yachting around the world like you've been told he does frequently.
Strange. In just a short manner of time, the list of strange things about Minghao grows longer. Something about him tugs at your tuition, a feeling of premonition you can't place.Â
When you look back up, Minghao is watching you. His mouth twitches and your skin burns like you've been caught. You try to work out the expression on his face, but as his mother brings up the section regarding children, it's like dunking your head into ice cold water.
"Two," she says smoothly, fixing you with a pointed stare. "Minimum. More is fine. Bloodline continuity is non-negotiable. Two is safe, should the other-"
She cuts herself off, face going white. No one speaks. Your father is stiff next to you - you don't even think he's even breathing. Luli looks like she doesn't know what to do, caught between needing to apologize and the terrible of making such a bad social faux pas.
It's a reminder that the Xu family isn't from here. Arkos isn't a city that far away, but it's foreign enough in social structure, political makeup and culture that you're reminded how hard the Xu family must have worked to adapt to Hyperion's complex pecking order and social norms, and Luli has just made a terrible mistake. Were she in a room of Hyperion socialites or Syndicate women, she'd probably never recover.
"Should the other die," you finish for her. "Yes, we're quite familiar with the concept. Two minimum makes sense. Do you have a preference on gender?"
The silence in the room is so complete you can hear the faint echo of the city outside. You wait, staring across the table, trying to do anything but think about how intimately familiar you are with parents needing an heir and a spare, especially in a city like Hyperion. Luli's lips part, then close, surprised at how quickly you've addressed her concern and moved on.
"So do you?" You ask again, eyes flicking between Minghao and his mother who glance at one another. "I'm only asking because some families still care about sons carrying the name. Saves awkward paperwork later."
"Gender is irrelevant," Minghao answers. "Healthy heirs are all that matters."
"Yes," his mother agrees. "Healthy. And timing?"
You lean back in a dead woman's chair. Not for the first time, you wonder if this is what your sister had to sit through. Though you were only a few years apart, your sister is alien to you. Unfamiliar. Did she have to sit through board rooms and negotiate terms and rights to her womb? She did have to pledge herself to a total stranger and promise to pop out heirs?"
Of course she did. You wonder if she was any good at it. You never asked her. You'd been too busy hiding away from your family in the gardens, watching butterflies land on the water lilies while the house keeper told you about craft and how certain herbs had metaphysical properties. Youâd been fascinated by her and her practice, an ancient, earthy belief that most people thought was nonsense.
"Five years," you tell her. "Minimum. Our data shows that the city's current climate is not ideal for infants." You pause as the lead counsel shows the data in question. "After that, we can revisit timelines. Medical oversight may be split eighty-twenty, with my priorities and preferences emphasized."
"I would prefer-"
"Accepted," Minghao says softly, cutting off his mother. She leans back, pursing her lips. You don't know much about Xu Luli, but she looks like someone who would prefer far more control over the birth of her grandchildren. Minghao's eyes slide back to you. "A final item, if you will."
Your father gestures for him to continue. Minghao reaches inside of his pocket and produces a matte-black rectangle no larger than one of your tarot cards. There's no logo or text, so dark that it drinks the light in like his suit does. He sets it on the table and flicks it with a finger, sliding it across the table like oil slick.
You blink in surprise when you realize it's a comm device, thin enough to slice paper with the faintest holo-sheen on it. You've never seen its make before, and you look back up at him, questioning.
"A private channel," Minghao says, addressing you. "Encrypted. Off-grid. Not monitored by family, counsel, or security. For discussions that do not belong in the meeting minutes."
Next to you, your father's scoff is immediate and sharp. "She doesn't need-"
"Voluntary, of course," Minghao assures. "Either party may choose never to use it. It exists, though. Personal devices will be the main point of contact."
Xu Jian's smile is thin. "A gesture of good faith and a family tradition. The Xu family places emphasis on having direct contact with our partners in times of turmoil."
"And what turmoil do you predict to befall this city?"
Minghao's father spreads his hands. "The world is ever-changing. It is not a reactionary practice, but perhaps a proactive one."
Your father's fingers drum on the table. The rhythm is familiar - you've heard it in the back of cars, against the arm of the couch, on the top of a desk. It's the telltale sign of his increasing irritation, the need to do something with his fingers before he strikes.
After a long beat, your father nods. "Voluntary."
Minghao dips his head. "We have no other amendments."
The lead counsel taps the table. The contract above ripples, red lines bleeding into final black. A soft chime confirms transmission, and you look down to see the new draft appearing in the table's interface in front of you. Your name is already glowing in the signature line, waiting for your official sign off.
Swallowing hurts. Your throat is desert-dry as you pick up the stylus, hating the way it shakes in your hand. You grip it tighter, fighting off the tremor as you glance up instinctively.
Minghao is no longer watching you. His head is bowed, stylus moving in a single, fluid stroke that ends in a flourish. He sets the stylus down with deliberate care, aligning it parallel to the edge of the table before he looks up at you again, expectant.
You look down and sign, a nervous trickle of fear cutting through you. Once executed, the documents appear across the interface in rotation, allowing for the room to sign as witnesses. You keep your gaze fixed to the document rather than him, but you can feel the eight of his stare settle on you like a blade pressed to the hollow of your throat.
"Ajourned," your father says as soon as the final signature is to document.
Chairs roll back in a sudden rush of sound. Quiet chatter rises, the polite and rehearsed gratitude backtracking the soft shaking of hands. A side door you hadn't noticed opens and two white-gloved staff glide in with trays of chilled plum-infused water, coffee, and tiny plates of yuzu macarons dusted with gold leaf.
You cringe. The refreshments are small but you know they cost more per bite than most people in the Lower District make in a week, the display of wealth so suddenly unfamiliar to you that you feel your stomach flip.
People begin to mingle. Your father is already shaking Xu Jian's hand, voice pitched politely again. Luli is laughing at something one of the lead counsel members is saying bright and lilting.
You stand, knees shaking. The air feels a little too thick for you, your pulse a frantic bird trapped inside your ribcade. You don't bother excusing yourself verbally - no one in the room notices you. They never do. So no one stops you when you slip through the door into the corridor.
Outside the boardroom the air is cooler. You breathe in the cedar-scent, walking away from the room. Your heels are too loud and you soften your steps, making it feel like you're sneaking off. And you kind of are, honestly. You need a break, a breather from the formality and the cage of formality.
You find a smaller meeting room, windowless and lit only by a single strip of amber light along the ceiling. There's a narrow table with four chairs and nothing else. You lean back against the door for a moment, letting out the breath you'd been holding the entire meeting.
Reaching into the pocket of your blazer, you produce a silk-wrapped bundle. The cards are warm from your body heat, the silk falling away as you unwrap the tarot set. You walk toward the table, shuffling the cards. You feel your anxiety ease with the familiar weight of them in your hand, the soft schk as they shift in your fingers.
You don't even ask the deck a question. You just need the feel of them, need something familiar in this strange building with these strange people. The cards speak anyway, three cards slipping from the deck to clatter on the table, face-up.
The Tower, upright. The Moon, reversed. Death, upright.
It feels cold in the room. You stare at them, teeth working your bottom lip as you process, your eyes dragging over each guard. Lightning splitting stone. Lies and illusion dissolvering. And ending that's a beginning. It's the usual trio that's been haunting you since you drew the World, reversed a year ago.
You don't hear the door open as you look over them. It isn't until you see a shadow fall over them that you flinch, whirling around with your hand flying to your chest.
Minghao stands just inside the threshold, one hand still on the handle, the other loose at his side. He closes the door without a sound, tilting his head to peer around you at the table of cards. You step to block his line of sight, vision pounding.
"Oh, it's you-" You break off, unsure what to say. He probably has no concept of tarot cards anyway. "It's a⌠hobby of mine."
Minghao says nothing. He approaches with deliberate, lithe steps until he's standing next to you but with a respectable distance between you. You catch the faint scent of pine and cold air clinging to his jacket, refreshing.
"What do they mean?" He asks, voice soft. "When they fall like this? What do you see?"
"You know what they are?"
"I know it's strange that you have them. You don't strike me as a wicked woman." You frown at the term wicked woman. It's slang for the women who work backdoor craft and ritual practices - you're curious how someone of his status knows the word at all. He points to the cards on the table. "Tell me, please."
You step forward, fingers tightening around the deck. "The Tower means sudden change. The collapse of something that was supposed to be stable. Violence, sometimes."
"The Tower like the rulers of the Syndicates?"
"Yes."
He hums. "Keep going."
"The Moon reversed is lies coming undone. Secrets dragging into the light whether one wants them to or not."
"I see. And Death?"
"Death isn't always literal." You don't know why you feel the need to clarify, but you do. "It's transformation. The end of one thing so another can begin. You can fight it or you can walk through it, but you never stay the same."
Minghao is quiet for a long moment. The light bathes him half in shadow, half in light, like a dark angel. He's so beautiful it's hard to think straight for a moment, hard to realize this is the man you're going to marry.
"You're practiced at reading these, then?"
"Very. I trust very few things, but these have never lied to me."
"You're too honest," Minghao's gaze lingers on the Death card before he turns to leave, not sparing you a glance. "It will hurt you one day."
â
The night of your engagement part, the party planning committee led by Xu Luli outdoes itself. The Sky Venue at The Elysian is an architectural wonder - one hundred and thirty-three floors up, the entire top level has been gutted and rebuilt into a single floating garden suspended beneath a retractable dome of smart glass.
Tonight, the dome is open to the stars. The air is warm despite the cooling season, the climate controlled by tiny micro-drones flying around the open dome, naked to the eye. The air tastes faintly of night-blooming jasmine, and guests wander through the garden with glasses of champagne.
Waterfalls pour from above into man-made koi ponds, night lilies floating on the rippling surfaces. Servers in white silk glide past, careful to avoid the ponds as they serve golf leaf canapes and cocktails served in what you think might be diamonds. In the corner, a string quartet plays on a platform of transparent glass suspended thirty meters above the ground, music cascading down and over the crowd.
Spared no expense, someone mutters as you walk by. Of course you didn't. This is the night that your family alongside the Xu's are selling you to the city and showing off their wealth.
A statement night, really.
You stand near one of the koi pongs in a gown of liquid obsidian. There are thousands of microscopic diamonds hand-stitched into the dress, making it look like you bend the light the same way as your fiancĂŠe's suit. Your neckline plunges just enough to be daring, and the back is open to the base of your spine.
A single strand of black tourmaline beads is loped around your wrist. To anyone not paying attention, it looks like diamonds. To you, it's grounding, steadying you against the thousand eyes currently cataloguing you.
Minghao finds you before you find him. He appears at your left shoulder without a sound, a flute of champagne in his hand. You flinch when you see him - over the last two months, you've been entirely unable to adjust to the way he materializes out of thin air.
"You look like a dark priestess," he murmurs. "Very on-brand, wicked woman."
You turn to him, trying to control your pointed smile. "Call me that again and I'll make your mornings quite unpleasant. I will hide hex bags where you will never find them."
His mouth twitches. He doesn't look at you, his eyes scanning the crowd, sharp as ever. He hands you the glass and you take it, knowing better than to dismiss him in public.
"Threats already," he observes. "We're not even married yet."
"I'm not a wicked woman," you say. "It's rude to call me one. I'm a practitioner. Kind of. I wanted to be. I don't sell phony fixalls from behind a Rose Room in the Lower District."
"And what is it you practice?"
"None of your business."
He hums. "You smell of incense and herbs, wicked woman. It's nice."
"If you're trying to upset me-"
"I'm trying to distract you." He glances at you, dark eyes glittering. "You have an angry resting face. It makes people think you're unhappy to be here."
"I am unhappy."
He lets out a small sound. You realize it's amusement and you feel an odd twitch behind your ribs. "I told you already, you are too honest."
In the last two months since your engagement, your interactions with Minghao have been minimal. He is doggedly polite, formal, and stiff, saying all the right things and smiling at all the right times, but none of it is real. He's so practiced and rehearsed that at first, you thought it might be real. But the more you watch him, the more you realize that Minghao is the perfect imitator.
Except now. His poking and prodding seems in jest, though you know there's certainly something more to it, something important that you're missing. This light banter is new to you, and you dislike that he asks questions about your practice. The elite don't often take kindly to those who believe in powers beyond money and Syndicates, but Minghao seems more amused than disturbed.
You glance beyond Minghao, eyes settling on the Tower of the Choi Syndicate. You feel your mouth go dry at the sight of Choi Moojin. He stands a distance away with his wife, dressed in a bespoke midnight suit, the mountain emblem embroidered in a threat of silver at his cuff.
The Tower of the Syndicate is the single most powerful person in the room, if not the city. Though there are two other Syndicates in the city, the Choi Syndicate has been strong the last few years, gaining a slight power foothold both politically and economically.
Not territorially, though. Their loss of the Port of Hyperion being located in the Choi-dominated Warehouse District to the Yong family had been a blow, and was the entire reason that your wedding to Minghao was happening at all.
As long standing patrons dedicated to the Choi family, your union to Minghao guarantees better assurances for Choi-owned shipping freight and better sway and management with the shipping authority.
A smart match. A political one. All dictated because the Tower of the Choi Syndicate needed it. Strange, that your entire life has shifted at the command of a man you've never personally met because he needs something from you that he'll never pay you back for.
A little ways away from the Tower and his wife, their children argue. At least, that's what it looks like they're doing. Seungcheol leans against a pillar nearby, murmuring something to his sister, expression heated. She ignores him, staring out into the crowd as though she can't hear him at all.
The Choi heiress is the kind of beauty that commands the attention of the entire room, even now as her brother mutters urgently to her. Recently engaged herself, you're surprised you don't see her fiancĂŠe lurking about. You're sure that Kim Yijun was on the guest list. Instead, she ignores Seungcheol, a haunted look on her face, a beautiful dove with a broken wing. She'd looked like that the last time you'd seen her too, an empty shell of the girl you'd gone to etiquette school with.
"Strange," Minghao murmurs, drawing your attention back to him. "To see them in person."
"Why?"
"They seem normal."
"They are."
Minghao hums but doesn't answer. Perhaps he has a point - they do seem normal. But why shouldn't they? They're two of the most privileged people in the room, growing up under a banner of Syndicate peace and prosperity. Had he expected obvious criminality? Knives and guns, threats of violence?
The way he observes them with his mouth slightly downturned tells you he might have expected exactly that. He's unfamiliar with the Syndicates, and you think belatedly of the scar on his knuckles, the one you often wonder after.
You drain your champagne in one swallow. "They're here to make sure this is a union they support, not cause violence."
"The union was their idea." You cut a glance at Minghao. It's a truth that no one says outloud, least of all here. He returns your stare, his eyes inky and unreadable. "They wouldn't suggest it if they didn't support it."
"You told me being too honest would get me hurt one day. Maybe you should consider that as well."
"Should a husband not be honest with his wife?"
A passing server offers caviar on mother-of-pearl spoons. You ignore him, your eyes on the Choi heiress who turns to her brother and says something that shuts him up. Minghao gives the server a single look and sends him scurrying away, your fiancĂŠe sliding a step closer to you.
"You strike me as someone who uses truths to hide other truths," you note, looking him up and down. "You'll tell me one honest thing to make me confident while you hide six others."
Something flickers behind Minghao's eyes. It's that same flare of something like that first day you met him. Maybe surprise or recognition. You're not entirely sure, but it does something to you that you can't name, a little tug right behind your ribcage.
"Observant."
"I have to be."
"What have your cards told you about tonight?" You give Minghao a sharp look. He doesn't look at you but he sighs. "It wasn't a barb. I'm not sparring with you- not anymore, anyway. Iâm trying to get to know you."
He laces his hands behind his back, waiting. Minghao is good at waiting, you've noticed. He doesn't ask for things twice, and he never clarifies himself - save for you. There is power in silence and waiting others out, and Minghao maneuvers that silence like a carefully sharpened blade that he's intimately familiar with.
"The same three cards," you tell him eventually. "The Tower. The Moon, reversed. Death."
"You don't have to pretend to believe in it for my sake."
"I don't know what I believe in. Perhaps there is some truth to your tarot and the spell jars you keep hidden in your pockets. Who is to say?"
Before you can answer, a ripple moves through the crowd. You watch as heads turn and you find the source. The Tower is moving, slow and inevitable toward you. Your heart lurches and you glance around, looking for your father, who should be here to receive this conversation, but he's nowhere to be found.
Minghao's hand settles at the small of your back, making you swallow thickly. The heat of his palm against your skin is an inferno, but it grounds you as the Tower approaches with his wife, children and Wisdom in tow.
You glance at Yoon Minji, the Wisdom of the Choi Syndicate. You hadn't noticed her at first, the woman a near imperceptible shadow lurking behind the Tower's wife. She's dressed in a blue so dark that it's almost black, hair pulled back and slick as oil. Her son is at her side, a twin shadow that you have heard is her image in more than just physical likeness.
Choi Moojin stops an arm's length away. Up close, he's larger than you remember, the kind of presence that fills up a room and makes you feel small. His eyes are fathomless, but surprisingly warm, a weird offset to the danger you know he poses.
"You look beautiful," he says, voice soft. "Congratulations on your engagement. Your families must be proud, you're an exquisite couple with good taste."
You dip at the knees and lower your head, bowing as deep as decorum for the moment demands. "Thank you, Tower. Your blessing is appreciated."
Seungcheol steps around his father, offering his hand to Minghao while his sister lingers behind him, a strange look on her face as she watches you, almost like panic. Her brother shakes Minghao's hand firmly before he takes yours and kisses the top politely. "Congratulations."
Minghao's fingers flex against your spine, the tiniest pressure before you drop Seungcheol's hand and the Choi's drift away. You feel yourself exhale as they do, relief flooding your system at their obvious approval. The Mountain will stand behind your marriage, which is as good as signing the paper and saying your vows.
The Wisdom goes with the Choi's, dipping her head toward you with a small smile that unsettles you, but her son lingers, drifting closer with a lazy grin.
Jeonghan offers a hand to Minghao. "A union of banking and shipping. Tell me, does love come standard with the merger, or is that an optional upgrade?
It's crass. From what you know of Yoon Jeonghan, it isn't surprising that he likes to see you squirm. Though he's next in line to be the Wisdom of the Choi Syndicate when his mother steps down from the title, you're unsure if he's suited for it if he can't help but make inappropriate barbs at an engagement party.
You have half the mind to tell him so, but it's Minghao who answers, a sharp smile on his face as he shakes Jeonghan's hand. "We prefer equity over love."
Jeonghan laughs, delighted. "Enjoy the party. Congratulations on your union."
With a final wink, Jeonghan drifts away, chasing after Seungcheol who is arguing with his sister again. The Tower ignores his children, clapping someone on the back from Nexus Capital's board of directors.
Minghao's hand slides from your back to your wrist, thumb brushing the tourmaline bracelet once before he drops his hand entirely. You don't dare look at him. The touch is intimate and softer than you expect. It unsettles you that itâs the softest bit of warmth anyone has shown you in years.
Your fiancĂŠe waves to a group of people familiar to him but not to you. You expect him to lead you over and introduce you, but he doesn't, drifting away from you with a final look that you can't read. You watch him go, the place where his hand rested burning like a brand.
-
Your new penthouse is too large for two people. You knew that before you moved in, but with someone as quiet and absent as Minghao, it feels like you're on your own most days.
The penthouse occupies the entire crown of the residences at The Observatory in the northeast corner of the Upper District. Your new home is four thousand square feet of smoked glass, matte black steel, and pale ash wood that leaves the home cold.
The main living space is a single open expanse, the kitchen bleeding into the dining room and lounger. Floor to ceiling windows frame the open space on three sides, letting in the spill of city flights on a clear night. Tonight, it's cloudy, the fog on the glass pressing close and obscuring the world. It makes you feel like you're in your own dimension far away from Hyperion.
Your bedroom is in the east wing of the apartment, Minghao's is in the west. Two totally opposite ends of the space you're supposed to share together. Live in together. Be married in together. He'd requested your rooms remain separate, and though it hadn't bothered you at first, it does now.
It doesn't matter what bothers you, though. There's no one around to complain to. Your days have settled into a brittle sort of rhythm: you get up at seven to go to the gym to find him already gone. You never see him leave but when you make your mugwort and lemon tea, the kettle is always warm. He returns sometime between nine and noon, hair damp, expression icy. He gives you a polite nod, then vanishes to his wing of the apartment.
No words. Nothing.
You spend the hours alone learning the layout of your home. It's different from the rolling estate of your family. Smaller and bigger all at once, lacking the intricacies and oddities of a home that has been in a family for generations.
The windows never open - you suppose that makes sense, this high up. The air is triple-filtered and scent-neutralised, making the rooms feel dead and clinical. You decide to combat this every Wednesday after the cleaners have gone.
As soon as they're gone, you begin your work. The routine is simple, nothing extravagant. You take a small bundle of palo santo from the tin you keep with your tea and light one end, letting the sweet smoke rise. With the woody smoke drifting from the lit end, you walk the apartment slowly, clockwise while thinking on your intentions.
You trail the smoke along the windows, under the sofa, around the legs of the stools at the island. You grow hesitant when you near Minghao's room, but you let the smoke drift toward his door anyway. You don't open it, but your hands trace the doorframe, a small peace offering.
As you work, your mind empties save for your little intentions: peace, protection, harmony. You're kneeling in the middle of the living room, passing the palo santo beneath the low coffee table one last time when the front door opens without warning. You sit rod straight, turning to see Minghao come into the apartment. Your eyes flick to the clock and you frown. He's early today.
He's dressed in black workout clothes, hair damp, a bottle of water dangling in one hand. He stops the moment he sees you.
Smoke curls between you. He says nothing and neither do you. You half expect a question, a raised brow, anything. He looks at the palo santo in your hand, the thin ribbon of smoke, and then back to you. Something shifts in his expression that you can't place, but he doesn't say anything.
Instead, he steps carefully to the kitchen, giving you a wide berth despite the physical distance already between you, and opens the fridge. He takes out a second bottle of water, and sets it on the island counter top toward you.
"You look dehydrated," is all he says before he tips his head and walks back to his wing.
You remain on your knees, staring at him, lips parted a little. His bedroom door shuts with a distant click, leaving you in the silence and the curling smoke.
Eventually, you get up, knees cracking as you do. You feel a little dizzy and realize you are thirsty. You have no idea how he was able to clock that you're dehydrated by simply looking at you, but you file it away as one of Minghao's oddities, a neverending list that points to him not being the arrogant rich kid you expected.
Heading to the counter, you grab the water, the condensation on the bottle cold and exactly what you needed. As you drink it, Minghao surprises you by coming back out, a bag over his shoulder. You frown, eyes dropping to the bag.
"I'll be gone for three days," he tells you. "I'll see you on the morning of the third day."
"Where are you going?"
"Business." You don't like the ambiguity, but he's already halfway out the door. He hesitates and turns to you, mouth opening and closing as he chooses his next words carefully. "This is your home. Practice how you'd like."
"Pardon?"
"Your⌠practice. You don't need to hide it from me, Wicked."
You scowl. "I told you not to call me a wicked woman."
His mouth tilts. "I'm not. Simply wicked, is all. Not quite a wicked woman, not quite a practitioner, hmm?"
You glare through his logic and he shrugs, heading for the door and slipping through like smoke.
-
"Here," you say softly, shoving a bundle into Minghao's hand. He raises his brows, eyes skirting the crowd around you. "This is for you."
It's not the best time to give him the gift, but Minghao is never at the penthouse and keeps hours strange enough that you almost never see him despite living with him. The charity auction for the Archaeology Restoration Fund swells around you under the floating sky of the Lumina Tower, but as a moment of quiet opens up while you're standing next to the orchid walls, you take your change.
His dark eyes flick to your face, then back to the offering. He unwraps the silk with careful fingers, revealing the bracelet nestled inside. It is a deep blood-red cord, braided deliberately by your own hands over several quiet nights in the penthouse. Woven into the threads are three fine strands of your own hair, unmistakeable. At the center hangs a small, polished azabache charm, a piece of jet stone you sourced a few days ago. The stone is smooth and cool, carved with subtle protective sigils only visible under the right light.
He stares at it for a long moment, thumb brushing over the braided cord and the jet stone. Something unreadable flickers across his features before he quickly schools it away.
âYou made this?â His voice is low, almost cautious.
"Yes."
"What is it?"
"The red is for strength and safety. The azabache is for warding off the evil eye. The hair binds my intention."
"It's not a curse?" You scowl and his mouth twitches. "You threatened to hex me, forgive my hesitation."
Minghao turns the bracelet slowly in his fingers, the azabache catching the soft light. He runs his thumb over the braided strands of your hair, expression softening by the smallest degree. "You continue to surprise me."
"Yeah, well. You don't have to wear it if you don't want to."
Minghao is quiet for another long beat. Then, without a word, he slips the red bracelet onto his right wrist. The contrast of the vivid red cord against his black suit and pale skin is striking. He flexes his hand once, as if testing how it feels, then looks back at you.
"Thank you." There's no mockery or deflection as he lowers his hand. "I'll wear it."
"Don't read too much into it."
"Hm. Too late. Thank you, Wicked."
For a moment, the nickname sounds fond instead of teasing, and the noise of the gala fades. The glowing orchids, the drifting lanterns, the murmur of high society - all of it recedes and leaves the two of you standing in this small pocket of quiet among the spectacle.
-
When you were a little girl, you always imagined that your wedding might be somewhere in a forest, somewhere where forests still legitimately existed. You'd be barefoot, feet planted firmly on a mossy ground, and your hands would be bound in red ribbon to your lover, covered binding oil distilled from flowers and herbs over your wrists until the ribbons were saturated and heavy with the smell of herbs.
This wedding is not that.
The air in the bridal suite is scented heavily with orchids and warm vanilla, the florals spilling over their vases and decorating every surface even here when no one can see them. You stand motionless before the towering mirror, the weight of your gown weighing you down as attendants move around you, adjusting the train of your dress and the butterfly-delicate gossamer of your veil.
Thankfully, the gown is a little like what you imagined. Forgoing the traditional white, it's made of layers of midnight silk, covered in thousands of hand-stitched obsidian beats and microscopic diamonds that fracture in the recessed lighting, turning it into layers of constellations. It spills dramatically into a trail of inky fabric.
You'd commissioned the dress six weeks ago, requesting the design to echo the deep, light-devouring suits Minghao favored. It was a deliberate statement of unity, power, and ultimately, ownership. You'd done it on purpose, and your father had approved when he'd seen it for the first time this morning.
A small win.
Your fingers drift beneath the long sleeve on your left wrist, tracing the black tourmaline and jasper cord hidden against your skin. The cord feels warm, a quiet tether to something older and more certain than the spectacle awaiting you. You breathe deliberately - four counts in, four out. It calms the frantic bird trapped behind your ribs, but only barely.
The reflection in the mirror is alien to you. You've never seen yourself look more elegant and composed, but inside you still feel like the little girl who collected moon water in jars and whispered secrets into manifestation journals.
Beyond the heavy double doors, the ceremony garden waits. The Garden of Eden is one of the city's finest venues, a floral dream suspended three hundred floors above Hyperion's rain-slicked streets. Real, living soil fills massive engineered beds through the space with towering tropical ferns planted, their glossy fronds glinting with dew. Multiple water falls cascade from tiered rock formations into koi ponds, the splash audible even from behind closed doors.
You'd chosen the venue because it was the closest thing you could get to the living earth in Hyperion. Minghao's mother had chosen it because it was the most luxurious venue she'd ever had access to up until now, a haven reserved for the elite. The commonfolk of Hyperion didn't have access to house plants, much less the night-blooming jasmine climbing up trellises and arches or the deep blood-red roses and exotic orchids dotting the aisles.
Hundreds of guests are already seated under the domed ceiling with an engineered twilight sky. Hidden audio systems weave strings and the resonant hum of crystal bowls through the space, frequencies chosen to evoke harmony and solemnity. You can hear the din of the crowd over the sounds, the Upper District elites shimmering in jewels and silks worth more than entire city blocks.
A soft knock interrupts your thoughts. Mina, your lead attendant, slips inside. She's only a few years older than you, but she's sharp-eyed and had years of service with your family, previously working with your sister. You don't mind her - she's not a friend, but she's also not unfriendly, which you'll take.
âItâs time, miss," she informs you. "The Tower and his family are seated and the Xu family is positioned. The garden is ready."
You nod once, throat tight and dry. There is no escape. The contracts were signed in that cold boardroom months ago. You'd known since the moment your sister died that this is what your life was now - the Tower upright, sudden change. The moon reversed, lies coming undone. Death, upright, great transformation. You'd been pulling the same cards for months, each the same thing.
It was the universe's way of telling you that this was your fate, as inescapable as any hard law or scientific rule.
Fragrant air greets you in the corridor. The staircase is full of flowers and dripping in vines, the steps covered in moss and trailing ivy that release sweet smells with every step. Swallowing, you walk down the stairs carefully, attendants behind you and ensuring you don't trip until you're at the bottom of the staircase behind a private screen, preparing to turn the corner and walk down the aisle.
Taking a breath, you turn the corner. Your heart pounds in rhythm with the distant music as the aisle comes into full view. The aisle stretches in front of you, a pathway edge with living white orchids. The ceremony cuts right through the heart of a lush garden, mist curling around the guests feet as they rise, hundreds of them moving in a wave of silk and murmurs.
Eyes track you from every angle - envy, calculation, hunger, approval, curiosity - but you keep your gaze fixed forward, suddenly latching to the man waiting beneath the grand arch of vines and cascading blooms.
Minghao is a shadow given form. He's dressed in black on black, the fabric so absolutely it seems to absorb the light and color from the greenery. His hair is styled longer, framing the exquisite balance of his face. His eyes find yours instantly, intense and unreadable, a stillness that calls to you.
Your pulse thunders as you start the walk. The train trails behind, gently managed by two young attendants as mist from the nearest waterfall kisses your skin, cooling the heat rising in your cheeks. Anxiety coils tight in your stomach, a living serpent, but you move with the trained grace of someone who has practiced this exact path in rehearsals. Future matriarch. Bride. Pawn in a larger game of shipping lanes, banking power, and Syndicate alliances. You wonder if your sister felt this same suffocating weight on her own path or if it was cut too short to ever consider it.
When you reach the altar platform, Minghao extends his hand. You offer him yours, hating the way your hands shake. He grips your hand firmly, and the contact sends a subtle spark up your arm, grounding amid the overwhelming sensory storm of the garden. For a single heartbeat, the hundreds of eyes, the cameras, and everything else recedes, leaving only you and Minghao.
His eyes are fathomless, easy to lose yourself in. His hand tightens a fraction around yours, his eyes only for you. "Temperance upright," he murmurs, only to you. "Patience. Balance. You embody those qualities. I appreciate them."
You blink in surprise when you realize he's talking about the tarot cards. You don't know what to say, the compliment stunning you, but Minghao doesn't wait for you to respond. His eyes flick to the officiant, a respected and neutral legal arbiter provided by Hyperion's council for this special occasion. She's dressed formally, her face perfect and impassive, making it impossible to tell how old she is.
Her voice is solemn but commanding as she urges the guests to sit, the ceremony beginning. Your hand remains in Minghao's, dropped between your waists as you stare ahead with unseeing eyes. You hear the officiant's voice, but you barely hear the words, your pulse loud in your ears as your heart hammers, each word spoken another piece of your sealed fate.
Ahead, the officiant speaks of alliance between houses and the merging of love and families. When you exchange rings, your hands are shaking again, stilled only by Minghao's gentle fingers as he clasps your hand to steady you, helping you slide the plain obsidian band onto his fingers, his sleeve pulling up just slightly to reveal his red bracelet.
Your ring is just as dark, inlaid with gold leaf and precious black stones that make it glimmer and flash dangerously. It feels heavy. Permanent. You watch as his nimble fingers slide it onto your hand, the single scar on his finger catching the light.
"Say the vows," the officiant instructs softly.
"I take you as my husband," you start, nearly whispering. You glance up at him and he nods a fraction, urging you to continue. You continue, voice clearer. "I vow to stand beside you in shadow and in light, in power and in duty, in prosperity and in peril, until this union is dissolved by law or by death."
Minghao doesn't miss a beat. "I take you as my wife. I vow to stand beside you in shadow and in light, in power and in duty, in prosperity and in peril, until death."
"It's-"
He cuts off the officiant's correction. "I know the words."
Your heart flutters, Minghao's choice to skip until this union is dissolved by law or by death a deliberate choice. Somehow it feels more powerful the way he's said it, like he's promising only death can tear you away from him. You think perhaps it's just the last bits of you clinging to the idea of romance, the idea of love that makes you feel that way.
The officiant pronounces you husband and wife and thunderous applause erupts, mixing with the hush of the waterfalls. Minghao lifts your face toward his with careful fingers, his touch lingering at your jaw, fingers gentle as they tilt your face upward. His eyes flicker with something so quickly you don't catch the emotion, and then he's leaning forward, pressing a brief, chaste kiss to your lips. He tastes faintly of wine, the touch lingering as he pulls away quickly.
Husband and wife. The words sink deep, heavy as the rings now on your fingers.
-
The reception is an ode to extravagance that most people cannot fathom. Spanning across three floors, each level opens into cascading terraces of real gardens with multi-tiered waterfalls feeding into glowing pools where rare bioluminescent koi swirl and swim. Walls of ferns, flowering vines, and fruit-bearing trees create alcoves with glass benches and trickling fountains. Each table is overflowing with food that won't be eaten, servers passing by with platters of rare chocolates dusted in edible gold and endless flutes of vintage wines and champagnes.
You navigate the crowd at Minghaoâs side, his hand a near-constant presence at the small of your back. The contact is grounding for you but probably possessive in the eyes of your onlookers - and there are many. But only a single onlooker matters tonight, and as Choi Moojin approaches with his wife, you feel your spine go rigid until he offers his formal congratulations and blessing. As always, his daughter lingers nearby with that familiar haunted expression, her brother behind her like a shadowed gargoyle.
You smile until your cheeks ache. You exchange pleasantries with board members, accept compliments on the dress, the venue, the fabricated love story fed to the press. The floral scents grow heavier, the constant murmur of voices and music pressing against your temples. The bird in your chest flutters more desperately with every passing minute, and after nearly an hour and a half of relentless performance, you need a break.
"I need a moment," you murmur to him. "I'm just going to go to the upper powder room terrace. I'll be brief."
He studies your face carefully, then nods. âTake Mina and let security know where you're going."
You slip away with your attendant after telling security where you're going and getting their nod of affirmation before they mutter instructions into an earpiece. Mist from a nearby waterfall cools you off as you walk up the stairs, Mina helping with the heavy train. When you're finally alone on a private terrace, security just outside, you let yourself relax against a stone fountain, drawing in deep breaths of the mineral-rich air.
For the first time since the ceremony began, your practiced smile slips. Your feet hurt, your neck and shoulders ache, and you're starving, wishing you could stop the pleasantries for a moment to just eat.Â
A small, wet gasp cuts through the peaceful trickle of the fountain and you spin around, startled. Time fractures as you try to put the pieces together of the image in front of you. A man dressed as a server with the lower half of his face obscured by a mask stands directly behind Mina, a gloved hand clamped over her mouth while she screams into his palm. He draws a sharp blade across the softness of her throat, scarlet spraying.
Mina's eyes widen in terror, locking onto yours for a single, agonizing heartbeat before they glaze over, her body convulsing once before she goes limp. Blood pours down the attacker's arm and down the front of her uniform, spilling red onto the terrace floor.
A scream rips from your throat, raw and primal, echoing off the stone walls. "Security!"
No footsteps thunder toward you. No shouts of alarm. The doors remain closed. The posted guards don't answer your call, and the music and laughter from the reception floors below continue uninterrupted, as if the universe itself has muted you.
Terror floods your system like ice water. Your heart slams against your ribs so violently you feel it in your throat. Adrenaline surges, sharpening every sense while simultaneously making your limbs feel distant and heavy.
Your right hand dives into the hidden slit of your gown, fingers closing around the small, discreet knife you've kept on your person since your sister's death. You yank it free, gripping the handle with enough force that your knuckles hurt as you pivot from the fountain, putting it at your back for a sliver of protection.
The attacker releases Minaâs collapsing body and he crumples to the ground in a heap of blood-soaked fabric, her eyes open and staring. The masked figure turns toward you with predatory calm.
"Security!" You scream again, the sound of your voice bouncing off the terrace walls.
No one answers, and a single, horrifying realization crashes over you - either the guards have been compromised or they're dead, and this attack was timed with terrifying precision.
There's no time to think as the attacker lunges.
You twist desperately to the side, the blade whistling past your ribs by inches. The movement throws you off balance on the wet stone, but you slash out wildly with your own knife, catching the attackerâs sleeve and drawing a thin line of blood. He grunts angrily and pivots, his knife slashing at you again. You duck and stumble backward, the fountainâs stone foundation scraping painfully against your hip as you use it to keep distance.
Fear is a living thing inside you now, clawing at your lungs, making every breath sharp and ragged. Iâm going to die here. On my wedding night. In front of a fucking fountain while people drink and celebrate without knowing. The thought fuels a desperate surge of fury and you lunge at him this time, catching him off guard as you stab upward.
You manage to nick him, but you don't know how to fight and his retaliation of your anger is brutal as his knife flashes against and slices across your forearm, cutting through silk and skin in a burning line of pure agony. Blood pours instantly, hot and slick down your wrist and hand, making your grip on your own knife slippery and you scream out in pain.
A second strike follows before you can recover, a deep gash opening up across your upper left arm as you turn away from him. The pain is white-hot and blinding, and you let out another choked, animal sound as your vision narrows, blood roaring in your ear.
Every heartbeat sends fresh agony through the gashes, but terror keeps you moving. You kick out hard, your heel connecting with the attackerâs knee and he staggers but recovers easily, closing the distance to kill.
And then Minghao is there, exploding onto the terrace like a force of nature. One moment he's at the door, the next he's a blur of controlled violence as the killer turns to face the more immediate threat. Minghao is fast, stepping inside the man's guard, hand shooting out to grip his wrist and twist with bone-cracking force. A sickening crunch echoes and the man screams, the blade clattering to the ground.
The man swings with his free hand, but Minghao ducks under the wild punch with fluid precision, driving his elbow upward into the manâs throat in a devastating strike. The sound is wet and choked, the cartilage shattering under Minghao's elbow.
You stumble backward against the fountainâs stone foundation, left arm hanging useless and burning, blood streaming down your fingers in hot rivulets. Your own small knife trembles in your right hand, slick with blood. Fear still claws at your throat, tight and awful as Minghao - your husband for less than two hours - moves like something trained for this exact kind of violence. The polished, soft-spoken heir from the boardroom is gone. In his place is something sharper, darker, and far more dangerous.
The attacker tries to recover, lashing out with a desperate kick, but Minghao catches the leg, yanks it forward, and slams his knee into the manâs inner thigh with brutal force, dropping him to one knee. Then Minghao is behind him, a single arm snaking around the attacker's neck. For a second, your eyes meet Minghao's, his gaze ice and fire all at once. Then, he snaps the man's neck hard, the crack loud and final.
The attackerâs body goes limp instantly, collapsing in a heap beside Minaâs body. Blood pools beneath both bodies, mixing with the water from the fountain and staining the delicate white orchids that edge the stone paving.
Minghao is heaving, catching his breath as he stares at you across the violent terrace. He takes a single step toward you before chaos erupts in the doorway, heavy footsteps thundering across the stone as members of the Choi Syndicate flood the space. Seungcheol is in the room first, face like thunder and gun in hand. Jeonghan is behind him, the lazy smirk gone and replaced with deadly focus, armed and gun raised over Seungcheol's shoulder.
Seeing Soonyoung surprises you - you hadn't realized the Sword of the Choi family was here. You'd heard he'd been unpredictable and unhinged as of late, but from what little you knew of him, he was Seungcheol's first line of defense and probably went everywhere the Tower's son did.
Behind him, you vaguely recognize another Sword of the Choi family speaking into a comm at his wrist. You've met Joshua several times at galas and parties, his family high up enough in the Choi Syndicate to run in the elite circles - you even remember them being disappointed he'd become a Sword instead of a socialite or something less violent.
More personnel pour in behind them, your fatherâs security, Nexus Capital executives, event staff in panicked disarray. The peaceful mist of the terrace turns thick with the metallic stench of blood and the overlapping shouts of orders while you lean against the fountain, light-headed and bleeding.
Your fatherâs voice cuts through the noise like a whip. âShut it down! Shut the entire fucking wedding down! Seal the floors now!" He pushes through the growing crowd, face flushed with fury. âI want this building locked. Find out how the hell this happened under our security! Someoneâs head will roll for this!â
The chaos swells. Guests from the lower levels begin to murmur and push upward as rumors spread like wildfire. Security teams from both families clash in their attempts to take control, voices rising in overlapping commands. Someone is already photographing the bodies. Another is calling for medical extraction.
Through it all, Minghao moves straight to you.
âEveryone back!â he barks, voice sharp as Nexus Capital security moves toward you. "I will handle my wife. Get away from her."
Minghao sits you on the edge of the fountain, the water spraying your back and soaking through your dress. He drops to his knees in front of you, shrugging off his jacket in one fluid motion and pressing the expensive fabric hard against the deep gashes on your left arm. The pressure sends fresh waves of white-hot pain radiating through your shoulder and chest, but you bite back a cry.
âBreathe," he instructs, voice soft. "In for four, out for four."
You look at him sharply. "How do you know that?"
"You did it the entire time we were at the altar, Wicked. Where are you hurt?"
"Cuts on my arms."
"Deep? Tell me ba-"
Your father pushes closer, still shouting as he interupts whatever Minghao was about to say. âMinghao, let my people handle this. We need to get her to a secure-"
âNo,â Minghao snaps, rising to his full height while pulling you to his side, hands pressed against your wounds to staunch the bleeding. âNo one touches her except me right now. This is my wife. My responsibility.â
The possessiveness in his tone sends a strange shiver through you, mixing with the adrenaline and pain. He begins guiding you slowly away from the fountain, toward the far side of the terrace where the chaos is slightly less suffocating, his hands never leaving the wounds, applying constant, firm pressure.
Joshua separates himself from the Syndicate group and approaches carefully, hands raised in a clear non-threatening gesture. Minghao pulls you away but you squeeze his arm and whisper, "Syndicate. High up. Don't offend him."
"I don't care-"
"I can help," Joshua cuts in, earnest and gentle. "My fiancĂŠe is here tonight. Sheâs an ER nurse and is always prepared because I'm a bit of a disaster. She has supplies in her bag. Let her patch your wife quickly and privately. We can move to the adjacent private lounge. Itâs secure.â
Minghaoâs jaw tightens and his eyes flick to you, assessing the amount of blood still soaking through his jacket and the way your legs are beginning to tremble. For a long second, he seems ready to refuse. Then he gives a single, curt nod. âBriefly. Privately. No one else comes near her.â
Joshua signals quickly. A moment later, a woman in an elegant deep emerald gown slips through the crowd, escorted by a man you don't know. Her expression is focused and professional, despite the surrounding chaos. She doesn't waste time with introductions, marching toward the small, adjoining private lounge just off the terrace.
Inside, the space is quiet, dimly lit with warm amber lighting, furnished with low couches and lush potted plants. She works with swift efficiency, focused on helping instead of introducing herself. She orders Minghao to keep pressure on your wounds while she cuts away parts of your dress to clean the gashes with antiseptic. The sting makes you hiss through your teeth, fresh tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. Minghaoâs free hand finds yours, squeezing gently, surprising you.
"Cuts are deep but clean," she says, voice clinical. "No major vessels hit. Youâll need proper stitches and antibiotics soon, but this will hold for now."
She applies quick-acting clotting powder, then wraps your forearm and upper arm in tight bandages. The pressure is firm, immediate relief against the constant bleeding. Throughout it all, Minghao stays close, one hand on your back, the other assisting where needed.
Your mind spins. Minaâs lifeless eyes flash behind your eyelids every time you blink. The wet sound of her gasp. The way the attacker moved, professional, silent, deadly. This wasnât random. This was targeted. On your wedding night. In the middle of the most public spectacle Hyperion has seen in years with some of the heaviest security you've ever been around.
You glance up at Minghao. His face is a mask of controlled fury, but his touch on you remains careful, almost tender as the woman finishes securing the last bandage.
"That'll hold until you get her to her own private care."
âThank you,â you manage, voice hoarse and shaky. The pain is still there, a deep, throbbing burn, but it is no longer actively bleeding you out.
Minghao helps you to your feet, keeping his arm securely around your waist. He nods once at Joshua and his fiancĂŠe. "We're leaving."
Joshua nods and opens the door, letting you back into the chaos.
Outside, your father is still shouting orders to shut everything down, demanding answers, threatening careers. Syndicate members move through the growing crowd like shadows, securing perimeters. Soonyoung and Seungcheol stand guard near the doors, expressions grim while Jeonghan leans against a wall, watching everything with those sharp, unreadable eyes.
Minghao keeps you tucked firmly against his side as he guides you out of the private lounge and through the swelling chaos of the upper terrace. His arm around your waist is unyielding, taking most of your weight while his other hand maintains relentless pressure on your bandaged left arm.
Every step sends fresh throbs of pain radiating through the deep gashes, but the clotting powder and tight wraps are holding. Still, warm blood seeps slowly through the bandages, staining the sleeve of your ruined obsidian gown. The once-beautiful dress now hangs heavy and ruined, torn silk clinging wetly to your skin.
âClear a path,â Minghao growls, cutting through the crowd.
Syndicate members fall in around you without question, creating a protective bubble as he steers you toward a discreet service corridor hidden behind a wall of flowering vines. The lush greenery brushes against your shoulders, leaving faint pollen and the sweet scent of jasmine on your skin. Mist from the waterfalls still clings to the air, now carrying the unmistakable metallic tang of blood.
Your head spins. The adrenaline that kept you upright during the fight is crashing hard, leaving your legs unsteady and your vision edged with black spots. You lean heavier into Minghaoâs side, inhaling the faint pine and rain scent that always seems to cling to him. He doesnât falter. His grip only tightens, steady and sure.
The private exit corridor is dimly lit with recessed amber lighting, two armed guards stationed at the end snapping to attention when they see Minghao, stepping aside instantly. A reinforced service elevator waits. Inside, the space feels claustrophobic, the mirrored walls reflecting your bloodied, disheveled appearance back to you.
Minghao says nothing. He simply helps you out when the elevator doors open directly into an underground private garage reserved for the highest tier of guests. . An armored black car idles, its engine humming. The driver steps out briefly to open the rear door and Minghao helps you inside first, easing you onto the leather seat with surprising care before sliding in beside you. The door seals with a heavy, reassuring thunk, and the car pulls away smoothly.
Minghao leans forward toward the driver and speaks in a fluid, melodic language you have never heard before, making you frown. It doesnât sound like any of the common trade tongues used in Hyperion or Arkos, but the syllables roll off his tongue with effortless familiarity, carrying the weight of something old. One of the dead languages, you think. The driver responds in the same tongue, short and affirmative, before accelerating.
You stare at Minghao, startled. He settles back against the seat. His suit is ruined with your blood, the dark black of his shirt somehow darker. His hair is slightly disheveled for the first time since you met him, a few strands falling across his forehead. His eyes are sharp and unblinking, fixed entirely on you. He hasnât relaxed. Not even slightly. His posture remains coiled, ready, one hand resting on his knee while the other occasionally flexes as if wanting to reach for a weapon.
You swallow hard, meeting his gaze head-on. âWas that your people? Did your family arrange this? To test me? To test the alliance?â
Minghao doesnât look away. His expression remains unreadable, but something flickers behind his dark eyes. âIâm not sure."
The honesty lands like a stone in still water. No deflection. No smooth corporate reassurance. Just the stark truth that unsettles you more than any lie could have. In a world built on calculated performances and half-truths, his directness feels dangerous and alien.
You let out a shaky breath, leaning your head back against the cool leather. The city lights streak across his face in shifting patterns of neon violet and electric blue.
âThank you,â you whisper after a long moment. âFor saving me."
Minghaoâs jaw tightens. "Youâre no use to my family dead.â
The words aren't kind or romantic. They carry no warmth, no reassurance. Still, they're true. In this transactional marriage of power, your survival is an asset. The bluntness stings a little, and it unsettles you. He's repeatedly told you that honesty would get you killed, and hear he is being honest himself.
Well. Honest to hide other truths, you're sure, as is his way.
You study him in the shifting light. The scar on his right knuckle stands out pale against the dried blood on his hands and you're reminded of the way he dismantled the attacker. It wasn't a survival reflex like your clumsy attempt had been - it was the training of someone who practiced and who fought efficiently, someone professional.
"Who are you?" You ask, narrowing your eyes. The car glides through a tunnel, plunging you both into momentary shadow before neon lights wash over you again. âYouâre not who my family was led to believe. That wasnât the fighting style of a logistics prince. You killed him like youâve done it before.â
Minghaoâs gaze hardens. He leans forward slightly, elbows on his knees, watching you with that intense, cataloguing stare that makes your skin prickle. âDonât ask questions you donât want the answers to.â
The warning hangs between you and you can feel the weight of his hidden truths again. None of it makes sense - the scar, the ancient-sounding language, the way his father deferred to him with a single finger twitch in that boardroom. Something isn't right with Xu Minghao, but you don't know what.
"I think I deserve to know who I just married," you say evenly. You ignore the warning, the throbbing in your arm. "My family thought they were allying with a neutral shipping empire from Arkos but you fight like someone who was trained to kill. You played into being an idiot party boy. You are not."
Minghao exhales slowly through his nose. For the first time, you see a flicker of something almost like weariness cross his features. He leans back again, eyes never leaving yours.
âThis marriage is transactional,â he says evenly. âYou donât need to know everything about me. You only need to know that you're my wife and I would go through great pains to keep you alive. It has to be enough.â
The finality in his tone closes the subject like a door slamming shut. You want to argue, to demand more, but the pain in your arm is sharpening as adrenaline fully ebbs, and exhaustion is pulling at the fraying edges of your patience.
Minghao continues watching you, tense and alert, as if expecting another threat to emerge from the shadows at any moment. His hands, still stained red, rest on his thighs as the armored car glides through the upper levels of Hyperionâs streets, the neon sprawl of the city reduced to blurred streaks of violet, crimson, and electric blue beyond the tinted windows.
The car eventually slows and turns into a private underground entrance beneath a sleek, unmarked residential spire in the Upper District. Not the Observatory penthouse you selected as your starter home, but something else. A contingency location, you realize. One of the secure safehouses that must have been part of the joint security protocols you both negotiated and approved during those long, tense meetings.
When the vehicle comes to a stop, Minghao exits first, then reaches in to help you out with careful hands. His arm slides around your waist again, supporting your weight as your legs threaten to buckle on the polished concrete. Two figures step forward immediately from the shadows of the garage, security personnel you recognize from the joint vetting process you and Minghao conducted weeks ago.
A woman named Elara with sharp eyes and a calm demeanor, and a man named Kai, broad-shouldered and quiet. They were among the handful both of you had personally approved after rigorous background checks and interviews. Neutral. Capable. Unaligned with either familyâs deeper entanglements.
âStatus?â Minghao asks them.
âAll clear, sir,â Elara replies. âThe building is locked down. Three additional teams on the perimeter. No unauthorized movement.â
Minghao nods once, satisfied, and guides you toward the private elevator. The ride upward is silent except for the soft hum of machinery. When the doors open, you step into a spacious, fortified apartment that is elegant but deliberately understated compared to the Observatory penthouse.
Minghao leads you straight to a wide, low couch in the main living area, easing you down with surprising gentleness. Elara and Kai take up positions near the entrance, professional and unobtrusive. A medical attendant has already been prepared in an adjoining room, but Minghao waves off immediate further treatment for now.
He kneels in front of you, his bloodstained hands resting lightly on your knees as he studies your face. For a long moment, the only sound is the soft hum of the buildingâs air filtration system and the distant murmur of the city far below.
âI need one of your little wicked jars,â he says quietly. âThe one youâre still hiding on yourself.â
You blink, startled despite the fog of pain and exhaustion. "Why? And how do you even know I have one?â
Minghaoâs mouth twitches, the faintest bit of amusement. âIâm observant.â He glances meaningfully at the torn sleeve of your gown where the bandages peek through, then back to your eyes. âAnd considering youâre still alive after what just happened, they must work. I would like to keep one with me for what Iâm about to go do.â
"What are you about to go do?"
"Something very violent."
The request hangs between you and you hesitate before you lift your trembling fingers to reach into the hidden inner pocket sewn deep into the bodice of your dress. The small glass jar is still there, warm from your body heat. Black salt, rosemary, hematite, sealed with wax and a drop of your blood. You press it into his waiting palm. The glass looks small against his bloodstained fingers.
Minghao closes his hand around it carefully before tucking it into the inner pocket of his ruined suit jacket. "Thank you."
He rises to his feet, but doesnât step away immediately. Instead, he looks down at you with that intense, unreadable gaze. âDo not leave this safehouse until I return. Elara and Kai have their orders and they answer to us both. Doctor Tzintzun is here - I understand she is your family doctor."
You nod. "Be careful. Please."
Minghao lingers one final second. His thumb brushes a stray strand of hair from your forehead in a gesture so unexpectedly gentle it contrasts sharply with the violence you witnessed barely an hour ago. It makes your heart skip, the breath getting stuck in your lungs for a moment. Then the mask slips back into place, the familiar cool and controlled calm you know.
He lifts his wrist, flashing the bracelet you gave him. "Youâre protecting me, right? I'll be fine. Iâll return before dawn. Rest. Let the doctor fix your arm, Wicked."
He turns and walks toward the entrance without another word. Elara and Kai acknowledge him with respectful nods as he passes, and the door seals behind him with a solid, final sound.
The silence that follows feels immense. You lean back against the couch, staring out the windows where the cityâs distant lights glitter like cold stars. Your left arm pulses with deep, aching fire, but the bandages hold. Minaâs face flashes behind your eyes again, her wet gasp and spray of blood, the way her body crumbled. You swallow hard against the rising nausea.
Doctor Tzintzun sticks her head out of the adjoining room. "Ma'am? Whenever you're ready."
You nod and allow her to come out and help you to your feet. She guides you toward the adjoining room to clean, stitch and re-bandage you again. As she does, your mind drifts back to the car ride and specifically, your new husband.
None of it makes sense. The ancient language. The brutal efficiency with which Minghao ended the attacker. His unflinching honesty when you asked if it was his people. The blunt truth about your value to his family. And now, the small spell jar resting against his chest as he walks into whatever shadows heâs about to confront.
You close your eyes as fresh antiseptic stings the wounds, tourmaline cord still warm around your wrist. The universe had warned you with its cards. The Tower falling. Illusions stripped bare. Death and transformation. Tonight, it delivered all three in blood and violence, but a steady sense of foreboding had been building all night, like the cards aren't done with you yet.
You wonder, as the pain dulls under medication and exhaustion finally pulls you under, what exactly Minghao is doing out there and what background taught him to be this way. As you fall asleep, you hope the small jar of salt, herb and intention will be enough to bring him back so you can find out.
-
Minghao moves through the rain-slicked unverbelly of the Civ District like a shadow. The neon glow from distant shipping cranes reflects off puddles stained with oil and blood, turning the narrow alley into a fractured mirror of Hyperionâs endless hunger. He's swapped the ruined wedding suit out for something more form fitting and breathable - and more importantly, free of your blood.
He'd scrubbed his hands free of your blood a few hours ago, but now someone else taints his knuckles as he presses his hand to his chest, ensuring the small spell jar that is tucked there is undamaged. It's a strange talisman, this jar that you've given him. He doesn't think they work, exactly, but it's a fascinating little practice, this stuff of yours. He's since looked into practitioners and the culture of women who practice craft, but he still can't understand how or why you came to it.
Still, he likes to wear the bracelet you gave him, often looking at it before going into a room to add another body to his list or before he has to do something he needs strength for. He's never thought much about luck, fate, or the universe, but now he carries the jar and bracelet on him like personal tokens of faith and protection.
Of all the things that Minghao finds most surprising, how often he thinks of you now is number one on the list. This marriage between you is purely transactional, a bridge between Nexus Capital's banking power and the Xu family's growing logistics empire. A calculated move to secure favor with the Choi Syndicate as instructed by the Virate to expand foothold in Hyperion.
But, strangely enough, he is fascinated by you. He's not fascinated by much, but when he'd seen you in that board room hiding bruises beneath your sleeves and drawing your peculiar tarot cards in secret, he felt a slight crack in his plan to use you and push you to the side. You were not the sheltered, obedient heiress they described. You were something sharper. Something that watched the universe with quiet, stubborn belief.
And tonight, someone tried to kill you.
He'd been shocked to find you with a knife in your hand despite the terror in your face. He'd heard you scream - he still doesn't know how, considering how far he had to run to get to you. The universe, perhaps. It impressed him to see that you'd fought back despite how bad you were at it, and the steadiness in your voice when you asked him point-blank in the car, whether his people had tried to kill you had nearly cowed him.
Most heirs in this city would have crumbled. You fought. You pushed. You handed him the spell jar without fully understanding why he wanted it, just that he did. He doesn't know what he wanted either, but it's warm against his chest and it's nice to have. Perhaps if a little jar of rocks and dirt and blood can save you from an assassination attempt, it can save him from whatever plot is unraveling in the shadows.
Minghaoâs jaw tightens as he reaches the service door of the nondescript warehouse. The man inside - Strakos - is a mid-level fixer who'd coordinated the attacker's movement tonight. He'd been sloppy, though, and Minghao was incredibly good at finding out information in a city that didn't understand the nuances of the Virate.
He slips inside without sound. The interior is dimly lit by hanging work lamps, the air thick with the smell of rust, seawater, and cheap synth-cigarettes. Strakos sits at table, back to the door, reviewing holo-feeds of some shitty porno that makes Minghao's blood boil. This man had helped plan your death, and he's sitting in the middle of a warehouse, fully clothed watching someone get fucked over a couch.
Minghao strikes before Strakos has time to react.
One hand clamps over Strakos's mouth, yanking his head back while the other loops a thin wire garrote around his throat. Strakos thrashes, hands scrabbling at the wire as Minghao gathers it in his hand and pulls, his mouth brushing against Strakos's ears.
"You ruined my wedding," he murmurs.
The wire cuts through flesh and blood wells instantly, hot and dark. Strakos bucks wildly, knocking over the table as he gurgles, hands clawing at his throat. Minghao holds firm, knees braced against the chair as he pulls, gritting his teeth. Strakos's struggle is ugly and desperate, his feet kicking as the chair legs scrape against concrete, wet chokes escaping despite the crushing pressure.
Minghaoâs mind remains clear, detached. This is not rage. This is correction. The Virate taught him long ago that hesitation kills empires.
He thinks of your face in the car, exhausted but determined, eyes wide with pain as you demanded the truth anyway. He thinks of the way you pressed the spell jar into his palm without hesitation. Of the faint scent of incense and herbs that always clings to you, the quiet rebellion of your tarot cards and hidden rituals. You are not soft. You are not simple.
You are as unexpected to him as he is to you, he thinks. And he's been very sloppy around you, unguarded and far too honest in the way that he keeps thinking will get you killed.
The wire sinks deeper. Strakos's struggles weaken, then cease entirely. Minghao holds the tension a few seconds longer, ensuring Strakos is dead before he finally releases, the body slumping forward onto the table with a dull thud. Blood drips onto the concrete floor, and Minghao smashes the phone to stop the crude holo from playing.
Minghao wipes the garrote clean on the dead manâs sleeve and tucks it away. He scans the room quickly, deleting the holo-feeds and pocketing a small data chip that might contain further connections. Only then does he pull out his encrypted comm device - the same matte-black rectangle he gave you all those months ago - and dials his father.
Xu Jian answers on the second ring. "Son."
âItâs done,â Minghao says quietly. He stares at the corpse, expression impassive. "Now to trace the loose threads of the web to the spider."
A long exhale on the other end. âBe careful. Your little display at the reception has the Choiâ curious.â
Minghaoâs mouth curves into something that isnât quite a smile. âLet them wonder. The message is clear: she is under my protection now."
"They don't know we're Virate. You could have exposed us."
"I made a calculated decision and you'll say nothing more of it. The Choi Syndicate has other things to worry about than wondering if we're Virate. I want you to look into who hired these scum. If it was Virate, we have a problem."
"It will be done."
In Arkos, under the old laws of the Virate - a loose but iron-bound confederation of family lineages bound by blood oaths far older than the Syndicates - Minghao isn't the quiet heir he is in Hyperion. He's the patriarch, the lead of his family, raised from childhood within the Virate's hidden ranks and trained in their shadows, a hidden member loyal to the Triptych.
Jian might appear to be the head of the family in Hyperion, but Minghao's elevation through blood and merit in the Virate is where the Xu family truly gets their power. While his father played the public face of Xu Worldwide Logistics here in Hyperion, planting seeds and building legitimate fronts, Minghao had been the blade ensuring those seeds took root. The true power behind the throne.
Of course what he did tonight was a risk. He knows that. Honestly, if he was doing what the Virate asked of him, he would have let them kill you. You weren't actually a necessary piece to the puzzle, but he knows that with you alive, he has a better narrative with the Choi Syndicate and it's annoyingly perceptive Wisdom and her son.
Minghao grimaces at the thought of Jeonghan and his eyes that see far too much. He knows that tonight will be a grave error and that the Wisdom's son will dig his teeth into Minghao and ask questions and prod, but it can't be helped now. What's done is done and Minghao had taken a calculated risk that he could keep the Choi's away from the Virate ties in favor of saving your life.
His father sighs on the other end like he can hear Minghao's thoughts. "This marriage is already more complicated than we anticipated."
"She is not what we expected,â Minghao admits. "She fought tonight, though she doesn't know how. Most heirs would have just screamed and died."
"You sound fond."
Minghao exhales slowly. Fond. The word feels too small, which unsettles him. From the first boardroom meeting, something had shifted. What was meant to be a strategic union already matters more than it should, and just meeting you has complicated Minghao's world when Minghao has never had complications before.
He killed for you tonight without hesitation. Not just because you are a valuable asset, but because the sight of your blood on the terrace floor had ignited something cold and possessive in his chest. He's unused to the feeling.
"I protect what belongs to me," Minghao says eventually. "She is Virate now, though she doesn't know it. I'm committed to her safety as I would be for you or mother."
His father chuckles softly. âYou always did prefer the old ways. Be careful, son. You cannot lean on the Virate. We're in the shadows.â
"I know the rules. I was forged by them.â
Minghao ends the call and slips the comm back into his pocket. For a long moment he stands over the body, rain drumming steadily against the warehouse roof. His thoughts return to you again and again, like a current he cannot escape.
You, sitting across from him in the car, shaken and unflinching as you asked whether his people had tried to kill you. The quiet strength in your voice when you thanked him even after his blunt reply. The way you fought with that small knife, desperate and untrained.
This marriage was never supposed to matter beyond its utility. Yet tonight, watching your blood spill, something fundamental had shifted. You're no longer simply the Nexus heiress - you're his wife, and in the old customs of the Virate, that bond carries weight far heavier than any corporate contract.
Minghao straightens his jacket and leaves the warehouse the same way he entered. The rain washes away the last traces of blood from his hands as he walks toward the car, ready to shower and sleep.
He'll return before dawn, as promised. And later, he'll find the remaining threads of tonight's violence and cut them clean. And perhaps, in the quiet of whatever time he finds, he'll decide how exactly he's going to be a husband to a woman who believes in tarot cards and moon water in a city that only worships power, violence and credit.
For now, the head of the Xu family has done his honor bound duty to his wife, and somewhere across the glowing city, you're probably sleeping. Bandaged but alive, carrying the barest hints and pieces of Minghao's secrets and your strange, annoying charm with you.
Minghao touches the small jar in his pocket once more, feeling its faint warmth against his chest, and allows himself the smallest ghost of a smile in the darkness.
-
Minghao steps out of the armored car into the private underground garage of the safehouse, the rain from the Civ District still clinging to him like second skin. The neon glow of the city filters down in muted streaks, casting long, fractured shadows across the concrete.
He moves on autopilot, muscles aching from the night's violence. His mind is still razor sharp though, cycling through every detail of the kill, every loose thread he'd severed tonight.
Elara and Kai materialize from their posts near the elevator, postures alert. They relax when they see Minghao and bow respectfully, straightening as he approaches. They're among the few personnel both you and Minghao jointly vetted, neutral enough to serve the new union without picking sides.
âReport,â he asks, walking into the kitchen.
âAll secure, sir,â Elara replies immediately. "Doctor Tzintzun treated her and gave her something for the pain and to sleep. Sheâs resting in the east wing suite. She did ask about you."
Minghaoâs chest tightens at the words. She asked about you. Of course you did. Even bleeding and exhausted, you pushed for answers, for truth. He nods once.
"No one comes in or out. Not even her father or anyone from Nexus Capital."
Kai inclines his head. âUnderstood. The Choi Syndicate has sent discreet inquiries. Mr. Kwon personally. Theyâre offering additional support.â
âLet them offer,â Minghao replies. âWe accept the appearance of cooperation, nothing more."
Minghao dismisses them with a wave and heads toward the east wing, leaving them back at their posts. He finds you in the master suite, tucked beneath dark sheets. Your face is relaxed in sleep, but tension still lingers in between your brows and your jaw as you frown. The black tourmaline cord peeks from beneath the edge of the bandages on your wrist. Minghao stands in the doorway for a long time, simply watching the steady rise and fall of your chest.
Something unfamiliar and dangerous twists behind his ribs. He had not anticipated this complication. The scales feel tipped out of balance, like something new has taken root, and he doesn't know what to do about it.
Minghao finally turns away and moves to the bedroom across the hall to strip off his tactical gear with mechanical, practiced movements in the bathroom. He's careful with your little spell jar, setting it down gingerly on the counter where the low bathroom light catches the glass.
He lets the scalding water melt everything but his thoughts away. He stands under the spray, watching the water swirl around his fink and fade from pink to clear. The heat feels good, unwinding his muscles and burning him to the point that the only thing left are thoughts of you and this new predicament he's in.
When he can't take the heat anymore, he steps out and changes into something soft and comfortable before settling in the middle of his bed with his computer in front of him. With the tap of a key, the screen projects holograms around him in a circle, broken only by his arm as he inserts the data chip from Strakos' warehouse into the computer.
He finds limited information on it - remnants of someone referencing the union of Nexus Capital and Xu Worldwide Logistics. He taps his fingers on his knees. The enemies in Hyperion are endless, but few of them have killing power. Most of the people in the city who hate his family are business competitors, minor patrons of various Syndicates in Hyperion. None of them have the power to send a Syndicate-sanctioned attack on his wife, which means this hit is higher up than simple city corporations.
It could be Syndicate, he supposes. He's still learning about the nuances of the three powerhouses that sit at the top of the food chain in Hyperion, but he's not convinced the Kim or Yong family would be moved enough by the marriage to do something so public about it - especially not with Choi Moojin's daughter engaged to Kim Yijun as a sign of union.
A sour feeling settles in Minghao's stomach. The easiest conclusion to make is that the threat is from the Virate. A finger of dread traces his spine at the thought. In a way, families of the Virate were similar to families of the Syndicate - they vied for power, it was always at war, and the most powerful family was always the one that was ten steps ahead. Unlike the Syndicates of Hyperion though, the families of the Virate collectively answered to the three heads of the Virate, the Triptych.
Except members of the Virate didn't know the Xu families were members. Outside of the Triptych, the Virate didn't even know Minghao existed. To them, Xu Jian was a retired member who had moved to Hyperion when he was seventeen after being honorably discharged and given the blessing of the Virate. Even with their blessing, Jian had given up all ties, powers, assets and favors from the Virate for life. That was the way it worked. His wife Luli, who had tried to leave the Virate once before, had joined him.
They'd left a key part of them there, though. Their son. The Triptych was in need of a family with old ties to be removed and relocated elsewhere, someone they could trust and that could believably sever ties with the Virate. The Xu family had been just that, and they'd given their only son to the Triptych to raise in the shadows, nameless and unclaimed as a Shade, forged in the Triptych's perfect image of an assassin before sending him to do the single thing he'd been created for: win over a Syndicate in Hyperion.
He sighs. He's tired - he's always tired these days, even more so than when he was a teenager learning how to become a shadowed killer. The lying and scheming is often harder than the killing, and trying to uncover his enemy hiding in the dark without access to real Virate influence and pull is a challenge.
An email to his personal catches his attention. It's one of the Trustees of Nexus Capital with more of Minghao's access to his new assets - your assets that are now his. It's overwhelming. Nexus Capitalâs vast banking networks, offshore accounts, silent partnerships, voting proxies. Pages of sensitive data scroll past full of liquidity reports, hidden holdings in Syndicate-adjacent ventures, influence maps.
Minghao swallows. It's exactly what he wanted. With this level of access, the family can begin weaving influence deeper into Hyperion's financial arteries, and through the Choi alliance, they can steer shipping lanes and capital flows without the Syndicates ever realizing a new, quieter power is embedding itself beneath their foundations. The Choi's believe this is nothing more than a political marriage for port advantages. They have no idea what the Virate is capable of.
Minghao should feel satisfied. This is entirely the reason he was given to the Triptych and raised as a Shade, a nameless member in the shadows, someone without influence and without a name, but one of the most valuable members of their society. Everything is proceeding according to plan, and yet for the first time in his life, he feels sharp, unwelcome conflict like the edge of an enemy's blade.
His gaze drifts again toward the door where you sleep just across the hall. You were never part of the equation. You were meant to be kept at a distance, polite and useful, a spoiled brat who would go to parties and be the socialite Minghao was told you were. Instead, you have lodged yourself under his skin and you haven't even done anything - you'd simply looked at him after he'd killed the attacker tonight not in fear, but wary recognition that Minghao was also not what he seemed.
Protecting you tonight had felt instinctive. Necessary. The thought of you lying dead beside Mina had ignited a cold fury he rarely permits himself. And that realization terrifies him.
Loyalty to the family and to the old ways has defined Minghao's entire life - every choice he has ever made. It gave him purpose when his father focused on building the legitimate Hyperion front, it forged him into steel when he was being wiped and cut and tested. Attachments were always meant to be managed, never indulged, and yet here he is sitting in a safehouse, conflicted over a wife he doesn't really know.
If future objectives ever require sacrificing your safety, or keeping truths from you that could destroy the fragile trust beginning to form - what then? A few months ago, Minghao would have said he'd cut you away no problem. Now, he thinks he might need to cut you out like cancer, nearly killing himself in the process to sever the tie.
How unsettling. He isn't sure how he's gotten here, but as always, it's up to him to figure it out. Right now is not the time, though, so he rolls his shoulders and continues working through the remaining hours of darkness, mapping pressure points within Nexus Capital, noting which Choi figures might be influenced over time. Every new door opened by the marriage is another step into Hyperion's core, his entire purpose.
The first hints of dawn begin to lighten the sky beyond the glass of the bedroom. He glances up and realizes his current work has no business being done in the light of day, so he powers down the computer, the cyan numbers and screens vanishing. He stands and shuffles across the hall to check on you, opening the door as quietly as he can.
You're still asleep, breathing steadily in the same position he left you in. Sighing, he sits down in one of the chairs, leaning so his elbows are on his knees and his chin rests in his elbows, staring at you as you sleep.
For the first time in his life, the sharp edge of his purpose feels negotiable. Not abandoned or broken, but rather complicated by the strange, stubborn woman sleeping in front of him.
Perhaps you are wicked, but rather for the things you do to him instead of your actual deeds.
-
The last place you want to be tonight is the Eternal Bloom Gala at the Celestial Atrium in the Pearl District. The atrium is a floating marvel suspended between three interconnected spirals, gardens far more exquisite than even your wedding dominating every space. Though it looks nothing like your wedding, it's close enough to make your stomach turn, your fingers brushing across the closed wounds, still healing since the attack three weeks prior.
Massive domed ceilings of smart glass reveal the night sky above Hyperion, projected stars mingling with the real ones when the clouds part. Tiered terraces overflow with tropical foliage and cascading waterfuls that tumble into artificially glowing pools full of night-blooming lilies the size of dinner plates.
Crystal lanterns drift lazily overhead like captive moons, casting warm golden light that softens every sharp edge of wealth on display as women glide through the gardens in gowns of liquid silk and embroidered starlight. Servants in white move like ghosts, offering flutes of shimmering vintage and tiny edible sculptures dusted with real gold leaf.
Tonight, you're playing the part of socialite perfectly despite the bone-deep exhaustion that clings to you even now. Your gown is a deep forest green this evening, chosen to complement the venueâs living opulence and because it has sleeves that high the healing scars on your arm. Minghao stands a few paces away, devastating in a green so dark that it's almost black, his presence a dark anchor amid the glittering crowd.
Your husband is a startlingly good date. He's attentive in public, close enough for appearances, but never quite warm. He speaks to you more than he used to, small observations about the room, quiet comments on people passing by, but the deeper questions you ask still meet that same polite, impenetrable wall.
Despite asking multiple times, he still won't tell you who trained him to kill with such clinical efficiency. Won't explain the ancient language he used with the drive that night. It doesn't matter how much he dances around your questions - you still probe, willing to chip away at his armor with every conversation if you have to.
You turn your attention back to the circle of high society ladies surrounding you. As much as you hate it, they're the gatekeepers of Hyperion's upper echelons, wives and daughters of banking dynasties, shipping magnates, and Syndicate families. Their gowns shimmer in jewel tones, their smiles sharp as broken glass.
Though exhausted, you have spent the last hour slowly weaving Minghao into their world, dropping careful mentions of his insights on logistics and neutral trade routes, painting him as a valuable new addition to the delicate balance of power.
Lin stands at the center, as she usually does. She's always been a ring-leader, now married to a mid-level Sword whose name you forget. She carries herself with the confidence of someone whose family has hovered near the inner circle for generations. You've known her since you were teens, your circles overlapping heavily enough that she feels almost like an old yet complicated acquaintance.
Tonight, she's in deep crimson silk that catches the lantern lights like fresh blood, her smile sweet on the surface but sharp underneath You don't miss the way her eyes linger on Yoon Jeonghan as he glides by, bowing politely to the women and giving them all his dashing smile. You don't think it's dashing at all, feeling your spine stiffen as the Wisdom's son winks at you and Minghao before vanishing into the crowd.
Suianne is next to her, and you're surprised to see her. She'd married into the Yong family and though the Syndicate's were currently at peace, the Yong family and the Choi family had been fighting at the docks which was the entire reason you got married to Minghao. Neither of you speak of business tonight, instead focusing on her pretty, navy gown that flowers like water.
Eva stands to Linâs other side, beautiful and brittle in shimmering silver, still nursing the very public sting of being discarded by Kwon Soonyoung after she let him into her bed. From what you'd heard, he's not spoken to her since and as you watch her eyes flick around the gala, you can see the humiliation that still clings to her.
The three of them form a petty but influential ring, always watching and always trading secrets. They're not your favorite women to spend time with, but you don't have friends. Not really. Your sister had always been the one to establish the relationships, and you'd only started after she'd died, making for awkward conversations and learning social queues clumsily.
Lin leans in slightly, lowering her voice as a drift of jasmine-scented mist curls toward you. "You have to tell us - honestly. How are you really finding married life with your mysterious Xu heir? The whole city is still rumbling about your wedding. I'm so glad you're alright."
You offer a measured, slightly tired smile, letting them see the exhaustion beneath the polish to make the performance more authentic. "Minghao is quieter than most men, but there's a steadiness to him I enjoy. He remembers small details."
"He certainly watches you closely," Suianne notes, tilting her head. "A man in love, I suppose."
You glance across the garden where Minghao stands speaking with a small cluster of neutral businessmen. His dark eyes find yours almost instantly, holding for a heartbeat too long. He tilts his head as if to ask are you okay and you nod back. He seems appeased, eyes flicking back to the men he's speaking to.
The two of you have moved back into the Observatory penthouse full time. The space no longer feels quite so vast and empty now that he joins you for breakfast some mornings. He even is willing to sit in the living room while you light palo santo, watching you warily. He still deflects every real question about his past, but the silence between you has grown less brittle.
"He's attentative," you agree, turning back to them. "Last week he remembered I prefer lemon-mugwort tea in the mornings without me saying anything. Weâve settled back into the penthouse, just the two of us above the clouds. Itâs peaceful. We're still learning."
Eva lets out a soft, bitter laugh, swirling the liquid in her glass. âAt least he comes home to you. Kwon Soonyoung fucked me senseless for three weeks straight and now pretends I donât exist when weâre in the same room. The man is a ghost after he gets what he wants.â
Lina's smile turns knowing. "That's what you get for fucking the mad dog and thinking you could mend him after she left him."
Eva looks put out by Lin's comment, but Suianne drops her voice to a whisper. "Speaking of her - no one has seen her in weeks. Not since her engagement party. You used to be close with her, weren't you Lin?"
"We're still close," Lin sniffs. "She's simply busy with her fiancĂŠe. Kim Yijun is a demanding man." She waves a hand and turns to you. "Enough about Baby. Tell us more about your husband. Is he as intense in the bedroom as he looks in public?"
Eva shouts Lin's name as the question lands like spark on dry tinder. Heat floods your face instantly and your mouth opens and closes. For a moment, all your carefully practiced poise deserts you and you're left staring at Lin who looks rather smug, like she's caught you in a lie.
"Um," you manage. The women burst into delighted laughter, clearly pleased to have cracked your composure. âHe is considerate. But that's not something I'm going to discuss in detail."
A smooth voice interrupts from just behind you. âOh, Lin, you terrible thing. Must you scandalize the poor girl in public?â
You turn, grateful for the interruption, as a woman you donât recognize steps into the circle with effortless confidence. She's utterly striking, tall and elegant in midnight blue silk that pools around her like shadows, her dark hair swept up with silver pins.
âMinael,â Lin says warmly, reaching out to clasp the womanâs hand. âI didnât know you were coming tonight. And with your husband, no less.â
Minaelâs husband steps forward beside her, a tall, well-built man in impeccably cut black. His features are sharp, with cool grey eyes that seem to take in everything at once.
"Sato Ken," he introduces himself, offering his hand with a polite smile that doesnât quite reach his eyes.
You extend your hand to shake his, and the moment your palms meet, your gaze drops down involuntarily to his hand. There, across the first knuckle, is a thin, precise scar, nearly identical to the one on Minghaoâs hand. Pale, deliberate, the kind left by wire or a very sharp blade. Not the sort of mark one expects on a society husband.
A chill slides down your spine. Ken's grip is firm, lingering just a fraction too long, and when you meet his eyes again, he's studying you with an intensity that feels uncomfortably familiar, As if he is cataloguing you the same way Minghao does.
Something in your gut turns rotten. A chill settles over you as you stare at Ken. Beyond him, something catches your eye. Near the top of the trees, a black bird lands, shuffling its wings. It's so black it's almost blue, oil-slick feathers shining in the light as it shuffles, craning its head until it blinks two beady eyes at you. You stare at it for a moment - you don't think you've ever seen a crow in the city before.
And then it flutters its wings and flies away through the open roof, vanishing into the inky sky like it was never there at all.
âPleasure to finally meet you,â Ken says smoothly, bringing your attention back to him. âWeâve heard much about the new Xu-Nexus union.â
Minael laughs lightly, linking her arm with Linâs. âDarling, you must tell me everything later. Iâve been dying to hear how the mysterious Arkos heir is settling into our little ecosystem.â
The conversation shifts around you, but you remain hyper-aware of Ken. He stands slightly behind his wife, eyes occasionally drifting back to you with that same probing focus. Something isn't right about Sato Ken. His wife seems perfectly well and good at socializing and you can tell Lira and the others are doting on her, but her husband is bad at this, his presence a palpable edge to the softness of his wife.
A tingle prods at the back of your neck, and instinct tells you to be wary of him. You engage with him little, ensuring that his wife is positioned between the two of you at all times. Your finger brushes against your bracelet, warm from your skin and grounding.
Thankfully, Minael and Ken don't linger long. After a few minutes of polite exchange, they drift away toward another group, the eerie man casting one final, lingering glance over his shoulder at you before disappearing into the foliage.
Moments later, Minghao appears at your side, moving with that silent grace you have come to expect. His hand settles lightly at the small of your back, warm through the silk. You suck in a breath, glancing at him, a little startled by his nearness.
âAre you ready to go home?â he asks quietly, voice pitched so the others can hear. âWe were supposed to stay another hour, but you look exhausted.â
âYes,â you murmur. âPlease.â
He nods once and excuses you both from the group with polished grace, and guides you through the gardens toward a private exit. As you walk, you glance back one final time to see Ken watching you from across the atrium, half hidden behind a curtain of jasmine vines. An odd, unsettled feeling twists in your stomach and you turn away, leaning slightly into Minghao.
The armored car waits in the secure bay below. Once inside, the doors close behind you and the vehicle glides smoothly onto the road. You don't hesitate, getting onto your knees and reaching into your dress for the wrapped tarot deck you'd hidden in your pocket.
Minghao watches you from across the seat, eyebrow slightly raised. âNow?â
"Hush."
You shuffle the cards, the soft shck of the cards familiar. You donât ask a specific question out loud. You rarely need to anymore. The deck knows, and three cards slip from the deck and fall face up onto the seat as you shuffle.
The Devil, upright. Ace of Swords, reversed. Nine of Wands, upright.
You stare at them, heart sinking. Chains and bondage. Blocked clarity. A wounded warrior still standing guard, exhausted but defiant. The message feels heavy, layered with warning. Something binding. Something obscured. Something that requires continued vigilance despite deep fatigue.
Minghao leans forward slightly, studying the cards with open curiosity. âWhat do they mean?â
You donât answer immediately, tracing the edges of The Devil with one fingertip. The image of chained figures stares back at you. Your mind drifts to Ken's scar, to the way he studied you.
"Well?" Minghao asks again.
You glance at him. "Do you know Sato Ken?"
"Who?"
You frown. "The man I just met at the party. He had a scar like yours, and grey eyes."
Minghao goes unnaturally still. "What scar?"
"You have a scar on your finger." You reach out and grab his hands. He lets you, frowning as you lift his hand to the light and point to the faint scar on his knuckle, thin as can be. His hands are warm in yours, the fingers rough against your skin. "This one."
Minghao stares at where your hands are linked. "That scar specifically?"
"Yes."
A vein in his temple twitches before he shrugs a shoulder. "I don't know a Sato Ken."
Not for the first time, it sounds like Minghao is telling the truth. But you think about the way he uses truth to hide other things, and as you drop his hands and look back to the cards, you wonder which card is Minghao. The man in chains or the wounded warrior still standing guard. Maybe both.
-
Being in the Lower District alone is a bad idea. You have no choice, though. Hours in the library in the Legal District have led you here, an impossible lead buried in nonsense files. It hadn't been easy to find - Sato Ken hadn't brought up any solid leads, nor had his wife. But your search had revealed a Sato Rhia who had died in a car crash a decade ago with her husband and adopted son, a young boy who was named Zhi Yuan, not Sato Ken, but who had the same uncanny grey eyes and the beginnings of a face like the man you remember from the gala.
Pulling your coat hood up against the drizzle, you begin walking toward the nearest transit hub that will take you down to the Lower District where your research indicated the shelter was. If Zhi Yuan passed through the system, someone might remember him. Someone might know how a boy with grey eyes and a future scar ended up.
You get lost twice trying to find the train to take you to the Lower District. You've never been there without security personnel, and when you finally board the train, you feel a sense of apprehension as the car rocks back and forth, neon smearing by on the windows before it shoots underground.
Sitting near the head of the car, you settle with your hand tucked inside your coat, finger brushing the hilt of your small knife. The other rests against the tiny vial of protective oil in your inner pocket, its glass warm and grounding.
Through the scratched windows, the city becomes visible briefly as the train dives in and out of subterranean tracks. People huddle under leaking overhangs, begging for credits or hovering near fires for warmth. When the train stops, you step out and cringe, the smell of too many bodies living close together hitting you all at once.
Climbing the stairs is dangerous, the grime and rain making the ascent slippery. You hesitate to touch the rail when you see the rusted filth, and instead ask the universe to keep you from busting your ass.
The streets here are narrow and chaotic, slick with oily rain that reflects stuttering neon signs in iridescent puddles. Real rain falls harder at this level, drumming against rusted metal awnings and corroded pipes. Gang tags in glowing spray-paint pulse on every wall, though above them are the looming symbols of the Syndicates.
Street vendors hawk bootleg data pads, hacked implants, and vials of questionable stims from flickering stalls. The air grows thicker, heavier, carrying the unmistakable smells of unfiltered rain, and fried street meat. You feel painfully exposed, your coat too clean and posture too refined for this district.
Eyes follow you - some curious, some calculating. You keep your head down but your sens sharp, hand never far from your knife as you navigate the rain-slicked streets.
The shelter squats at the end of a dimly lit side street, a squat brutalist building reinforced with bolted steel plates and outdated security cams that flicker with static. Faded holographic signage above the entrance flickers with the building name, though it's broken and half on so none of the letters seem to make sense.
Rain drips steadily from the overhang as you push open the reinforced door. Inside, the air is warm and stale. You curl your nose, immediately missing the freshness of recycled air. You hadn't realized what a privilege it was until now.
Rows of cramped cots line the main hall. A few residents glancing at you curiously. A man mopping the floor with water that doesn't look any cleaner than the sticky tile nods politely at you. You approach the front desk where a middle-aged woman in a worn uniform flicks through data on a tablet under the weak glow of a buzzing fluorescent bar.
âExcuse me,â you say, keeping your voice low. âIâm looking for information about someone who might have stayed here as a child. His name was Zhi Yuan. This would have been around twenty to twenty-five years ago. I think he was adopted by Sato Rhia and her husband Amar.â
The woman studies your face, noting how obviously out of place you are before she ignores you and goes back to reading whatever is on her tablet. You grit your teeth and pull out your phone, tapping the small tile on the desk to transfer credits.
"Try again," you say through your teeth.
She glances at the credits and stiffens, rolling her shoulders as she begins typing. "Zhi Yuan?" She repeats, voice raspy. "Might not have the records that far back."
"That far? It was only twenty something years ago."
She huffs. "Listen lady, we don't got fancy storage here. We delete shit."
"Are you going to do the search or not?"
She grumbles and hits a few keys. "All I've got is some random kid from Arkos here for a few weeks. That's it."
"That's it?"
"You can transfer me more credits, but it won't do shit."
You think about leaving a handful of rusty nails, but you force a sharp smile. "Thank you so much for your help."
As you reach the door, the older man in stained janitorial coveralls pauses his mopping. He's weathered with deep lines around his eyes and hands scarred from years of hard labor. He glances at you, then at the woman behind the desk.
"You shouldn't be chasing ghosts down, miss," he whispers. "Not that one."
You pause, turning back. âWhat do you mean?â
"The boy. Let him stay dead. Virate operates that way."
The word lands like cold steel against your spine. Virate.
It's an unfamiliar word to you, but it tugs at your gut, like something is telling you it's important. âWhat is the Virate?â
The manâs expression shutters immediately. He looks over his shoulder toward the back rooms, then back at you. For a moment, genuine concern flickers across his weathered face.
Better that you donât know,â he says quietly, almost urgently. âGo home, miss. The Lower District isn't for you."
He returns to mopping without another word, the wet slap of the mop against cracked tile the only sound between you. You stand frozen for a long second, heart hammering, before pushing open the door and stepping back into the relentless rain.
-
Minghao sits across the table from his mother in the private tearoom of the Xu family residence in the Upper District. The space is deliberately designed, a copy of old Arkos interior design and architecture. Low tables of dark lacquered wood rest on mats woven from rare fibers imported at great expense, and the walls are paneled in warm cedar that release a faint, woody smell.
Soft paper lanterns hang at varying heights from the ceiling, their golden light diffused and flickering gently, mimicking the old-world illumination of ancestral estates back in Arkos. Outside the reinforced floor-to-ceiling windows, Hyperion sprawls in an endless, restless web of neon arteries, flickering holograms, and rain-streaked towers piercing the low cloud ceiling.
Rain taps steadily against the glass, a metallic percussion that Minghao has long since learned to tune out since moving here. Inside, the air is warm and fragrant with the steam rising from the teapot and the subtle notes of jasmine.
It should feel peaceful. Instead, it feels like the calm before a storm he himself is about to unleash.
Xu Luli pours the tea with the same graceful precision she has always possessed, her movements fluid, the delicate porcelain cup gliding silently across the surface of the table as she pushes it toward him. Her grey eyes catch the lantern light as she lifts her cup, sipping.
Luli looks eternally young. It's always unsettling to Minghao that his mother doesn't look like she ages, while his father lets himself age freely. He knows it's a status and power play, but he hates the way he looks at his mother and sees someone frozen in time, someone he will eventually surpass because augmentation and longevity is not for him.
Minghao watches her hands. Elegant. Steady. The same hands that once ran through his hair when he was a young boy, before the Virate claimed the rest of his childhood and turned him into a trained weapon, a blade at their beck and call.
He takes a slow sip of the tea, letting the rare Arkos blend warm his chest and ground him. The flavor is complex, floral and slightly bitter, with an underlying earthiness that reminds him of the herbs you roll into handles and distill into oils that you like to spray across doors and clothes and objects.
"You look well," Minghao offers, sipping his tea.
Luli smiles at him softly, the kind of smile she reserves only for him. "You look tired. The marriage has been⌠eventful."
âEventful,â Minghao echoes, a dry note threading through his voice. He studies her face in the golden lantern light, noting every micro-expression. "My wife and I have not had an easy start."
"All marriages are complicated. Your father and I were not always easy, either."
âNow that you've mentioned it, Iâve been thinking about your life before Father. Before the Xu name became yours.â
Her fingers pause for the briefest moment on the teapot handle. Minghao catches it, the tiny tightening at the corner of her mouth, the way her stormy grey eyes flicker once toward the reinforced window overlooking the glowing, rain-streaked city below. The lanterns cast shifting golden patterns across her flawless face, highlighting the elegant line of her jaw.
âIt was a difficult time,â she says lightly. "Your father and I found each other at the right time."
"You were out of the public eye for a while. Why was that?"
"Youthful rebellion," she snorts. "I thought I could escape the expectations placed on me. Your wife has done a better job at hers, I will admit."
"And yet you think she's wicked."
"I never said wicked. She's just strange."
Minghao tilts his head, watching her with the same intense, cataloguing focus he once used on targets in shadowed rooms. The lantern light plays across her features, softening nothing.
"Was there someone before my father?" The question catches her off guard and her cup clinks sharply against the plate when she sets it down. "I always wondered. I never could figure out what made you leave."
"Minghao-"
"The Triptych always told me you wanted to leave," Minghao continues, nodding. He puts his chin in his palm, watching his mother keenly. "And that's why they were willing to part ways publically, that you'd asked for it. But your first departure from the Virate wasn't after you received permission. So what was it?"
"SonâŚ"
"I'm not angry. I'm just looking for some answers."
Luli is quiet for a long moment. She lifts her own cup, takes a slow sip as if buying time, and sets it down with deliberate grace. The soft clink of porcelain against lacquer sounds unnaturally loud in the quiet room. Outside, the rain intensifies, drumming harder against the glass.
âYes,â she admits at last. âI ran away with a lover.â
The admission hangs heavy in the air between them. Minghao nods, mind racing ahead. His eyes drop down to the red bracelet you'd given him, the azabache charm cool against his skin.
"Who was he?" He asks.
"Someone unsuitable. From outside the Virate. He was very charismatic, brillitan in his own way. I thought I could disappear and live outside the rules."
âAnd then?â he prompts when his mother falls silent again.
âI became pregnant.â
The words land like a blade between his ribs. Minghao goes very still. The lantern light suddenly feels too warm, the cedar scent too heavy. His mother continues, her voice trembling only slightly now, each word pulled from somewhere deep and painful she has clearly tried to bury for decades.
âI carried the child to term. A boy. We lived happily for a year before he decided that the child and I were too much. So I went back." She swallows. "The child wasn't Virate, though. So they took him and offered to place him somewhere safe and give me a new start, a single offer of mercy.â
"A safe start," Minghao echoes. "They offered to let you part with the Virate publicly if you did favors for them privately, didn't they?"
She chews her lip and nods. "I married your father and then we had you. You know the rest from there. We had you until you were five. Then we moved and you were theirs."
Minghaoâs mind races, pieces clicking together with brutal, crystalline clarity. Grey eyes. The thin, precise scar. The way Sato Ken had studied you at the gala. You'd been unsettled by Ken, though Minghao had neither seen the man nor heard of him. None of his contacts knew of the name Sato Ken, and a quick online search had simply told the story of a businessman who married into a wealthy family.
In any other circumstance, Minghao might have disregarded it. But you'd been unsettled more than usual, insisting that the man with grey eyes - a Lin family trait from his mother's side - had the same scar as him. He trusted your instincts.
It was the same scar the initiated members of the Virate had, one where a finger had been severed during interrogation only to be later surgically added back on. The scar was always a reminder that members had passed, that they'd like the Virate take a part of them during an interrogation that felt realer than anything else Minghao has ever gone through, and that they could take it just as easily again.
He rubs his finger now, fingers brushing over the scar, remembering the snap of the bone and the way he'd nearly bit through his tongue. He'd not given up the information, though, and that had been enough to pass and earn the digit back.
If you were unsettled by a man with grey eyes and the same scar⌠well, Minghao didn't believe coincidences. Not since he had started watching you read your tarot and scribble into dream journals when you thought he wasn't paying attention.
âDoes father know?â he asks eventually, voice low and tightly controlled.
âNo. No one does. Only the Triptych."
Minghao exhales slowly, mind already spinning through the implications. If this Sato Ken was Minghao's brother - either by blood or initiation - he existed only in the dark. Which meant he was a Shade, and no one but the Triptych knew he existed. It unsettles Minghao more than he would like, mind scrambling to find a motive. Jealousy? Resentment? A move within a move by the Virate? It could be anything.
As a Shade himself, Ken shouldn't know Minghao existed. Not even the most coveted of the assassins belonging to the Virate knew the identity of one another, which was why Minghao thought nothing of Ken at the gala - hadn't even seen him. It makes him feel shaken, a ghost slipping by him that Minghao was trained to find, to see.
Worse was that Ken had seen you. Approached you. Shaken your hand. He'd done all that and Minghao simply hadn't noticed him. Years of Virate training had failed him, and he'd let something as dangerous as a Shade get close to you. It not only wounds his pride, but it wounds him.
Minghao feels the red bracelet you gave him shift against his wrist again. The azabache charm feels heavier suddenly, a small weight of your strange faith pressing against his skin.
He stands abruptly, the low table creaking as his knees push against it. Rain continues to lash the windows, the sound growing louder as the storm intensifies outside.
"I have to handle this," he mutters.
"What?" She asks, slipping into Zhenwen, a language dead to the world for generations but kept alive by the oldest families of Arkos. "What's happening?"
"Your illegitimate son tried to kill my wife."
"No," Luli shakes her head. "He was adopted into a family, outside of the Virate."
Minghao tsks. "You think the Virate gave away your child without training him? The Shade is born in darkness and has no name. I would know."
Luli closes her eyes, a single tear slipping down her eternal face. Minghao turns away before the sight can soften him. He cannot afford softness right now. Not when the delicate balance he has spent years maintaining is suddenly threatening to shatter around him for a haphazardly protected secret.
"I will do what I must for my family," Minghao tells her, steeling himself. "Blood for blood."
"Blood for blood," she agrees.
As he walks out of the room, he touches the red bracelet on his wrist, thumb brushing over the braided strands of your hair woven into the cord. The small protective charm you made for him feels both absurd and strangely vital at this moment. He wonders what you would say if you knew the truth, that the man you married carries blood older and darker than anything you have imagined. That the secrets he keeps are not just his own.
Whatever game is being played either by this half-brother of his or by the Triptych, Minghao will end it.
But for the first time, the thought of collateral damage makes his stomach turn because now, the collateral has a name, and she sleeps in the east wing of his penthouse and sticks her nose where it doesn't belong because she's too smart for her own good.
-
Thick, metallic air swallows you the moment you step into the bar. Sweet smoke chokes the room, the neon bleed of alternate reality systems flickering from behind closed doors. A few patrons sit slumped over table tops, nursing drinks lazily as though they're half in a dream. Most of the doors are shut, the private alternate reality rooms cutting them off from the bar and everything else in the real world.
Energy shifts immediately. Your skin prickles, and you scan the room, sensing the way energy here is a vacuum, like these rooms that offer everything but reality suck the essence of the soul out of the body.
The rain from outside clings to your coat in silver beads, but the oppressive warmth in the bar immediately makes your back and neck start to sweat. You step into the bar further, letting the door shut close behind you, cutting off the sound from the Pearl District. Neon from the district streets leaks through frosted windows in fractured violet and electric blue, painting the high wooden beams in shifting colors.
A few figures who move with the careful grace of people who have stepped between realities one too many times. You scan them all without making it obvious, your fingers brushing the black tourmaline cord hidden beneath your sleeve. The small knife in the hidden slit of your coat presses reassuringly against your ribs as your gaze settles on the woman behind the bar.
She's pretty, pouring someone a drink as she laughs at something the customer says. A simple black tank top shows toned arms covered in faint tattoos that seem to shift when the light hits them at the right angle. Her features are difficult to hold onto, like she's someone you might forget the moment you turn away while being strangely magnetic.
You drive toward the bar, hyperaware of the way the bartender notices you. Based on the description, you think she's who the Tower's daughter told you to find.
Kero, she'd said, eyeing you warily. Kero is good at information. Are you okay, though? I can help if you're in danger, you know that, right?
It had been a kind offer whispered at a gala last week, a rare moment where the two of you had been in the powder room and you'd been insane enough to ask her for a good source of information in the Syndicate.
Your heart pounds thinking about it again, remember the way she'd raised her brows and urge you to tell her if there was something wrong. Her kindness was a rarity in the Syndicate, and though you were somewhat familiar with her, facing her full on had been nearly overwhelming.
The bartender turns toward you as you slide onto a stool, her lips curving into a grin as she leans one hip against the bar.
"Hi," he drawls, eyes flicking up and down as she drinks you in. "New face. You look very expensive, sweetheart. What can I pour you?"
âIâm not here for a drink,â you say evenly. âIâm looking for Kero.â
Her smile doesnât falter, but something sharp flickers behind her eyes. She tilts her head, studying you more carefully now, as if reassessing the woman standing in front of her.
"Kero is around. What do you need?" She asks eventually, fingers tapping the top of the bar.
"The Tower's daughter told me Kero might be able to help me with some information."
The words land with weight. She straightens slightly, the playful curve of her mouth diminishing. Mentioning the Towerâs daughter commands absolute authority here, you realize. She gives you a long, measured look, dark eyes tracing over your face, your coat, the way you hold yourself, drinking in every detail.
"I'm nothing if not a humble servant to the Tower and his children," she says eventually. "I'm Kero. You can come with me, sweetheart. Keep your pretty hands where I can see them, yeah? Baby is a good friend of mine, but I don't know you."
She slips out from behind the bar fluidly, exchanging a quick, wordless nod with the burly bartender who steps in to cover her station seamlessly. You follow, weaving between tables. No one notices you as you walk by, each customer staring off into nothingness with a glazed over expression that makes you shiver.
Kero leads you to a narrow hallway, the walls covered in flickering frames of alternate reality landscapes. You glance at them as you walk by, looking into lush forests, empty beaches, and night skies. At the end of the hall, she stops and presses her balm to a hidden scanner, a heavy wooden door hissing open after her clearance passes. She gestures for you to enter first, grinning and winking as you pass by her.
The private room beyond is small but surprisingly comfortable, a storage space turned lounger. Dim amber sconces cast warm, flickering light across two worn leather armchairs and a low table. A plush couch sits against one wall, and shelves hold bottles of rare liquor, scattered data pads, and a few precious paper books.
Kero closes the door behind you, engages the lock with a soft click, then turns with that same half-smile. She gestures to one of the armchairs, leaning casually against the tableâs edge. You sit gracefully, unwilling to let her know that she makes you feel off keel.
Something about her unsettles you. In the dimmer room, her features are even harder to latch on to, like her eyes change everytime you look away or her hair is a shade adjusted. She watches you like a cat watches a mouse as you sit, and though you know mentioning the Tower's daughter has awarded you some power, you're not sure it's given you immunity here.
âSo,â she says lightly. "What kind of trouble are you in, hmm?"
"Who says I'm in trouble?"
"It's written all over your face. You're tense as shit."
You give a small, knowing smile. âIâm not used to the Pearl District. That doesnât mean Iâm lost.â
Kero cocks her head. âDamn, no VR for you, huh? You rich types donât really need to escape reality. You have everything you could ever want.â
âNot everything.â
"Unless you're trying to escape that fancy marriage."
"So you know who I am?"
Kero pushes off the table and walks over to a chair, dropping into it unceremoniously before pivoting sideways to hook the backs of her knees over the arm.
âOf course I do,â she snorts, dropping into the opposite chair and hooking her knees over the arm. âBig wedding. I wasnât invited. Not high enough up the ladder, you know what I mean?â
"No."
"You're very honest, Mrs. Xu."
You meet her eyes without hesitation. âIâm very honest, yes.â
The name Mrs. Xu still feels foreign, but you no longer flinch. You so rarely hear people use your new legal name - most people still often see you as the heiress to Nexus Capital, content to use your family name because in this city, Minghao has married into your family, not the other way around.
"I met a man a few days ago at a gala and he left me with questions," you start slowly. Kero raises her brows. "No one really seems to know who he is, which isn't common among the elite."
She snorts. "You came here because someone isn't as well known as you?"
You ignore the barb, continuing, "He gave me the name Sato Ken. He doesn't seem to be much - just a mid-level businessman who married the daughter of a Patron of the Choi Syndicate. I think he might have a second name, though. Do you know anyone by the name of Zhi Yuan?"
Kero shakes her head. "Should I?"
"I don't know. Do you know what the Virate is?â
Keroâs entire posture changes in an instant. The lazy sprawl vanishes. She unhooks her legs and plants her boots on the floor with a quiet thud, leaning forward sharply and the playful glint in her eyes hardens into something guarded and alert.
âVirate,â she repeats, voice low and sharp. âWhat are you doing with the Virate?â
"I don't know what the Virate is."
"Of course you don't." She stands in one fluid motion, pacing a tight circle behind her chair, one hand dragging through her hair. âTell me how you came across the Virate. Explain in detail."
You do. You tell her about the man from the gala, how something about his energy felt misaligned, your instincts screaming. How your research led you to the foster home in the Lower District where the cleaner had given you the strange, ominous warning about the Virate. About how you think Sato Ken and Zhi Yuan might be the same person.
Kero stops pacing. She steps closer, extending her right hand under the nearest sconce, palm down. You're not sure what you're supposed to be looking at until your eyes catch the smallest little scar, silver and right over the knuckle. Just like Sato Ken. Just like Minghao.
"Did he have a scar like this? Do you know?" She asks.
"Yes."
Kero pulls her hand back, flexing it once before sinking into her chair with heavier grace. The leather creaks as she rubs her temple, staring at the low table for a long beat while distant bass throbs from the barâs VR rooms and rain drums steadily against the outer walls.
âAlright,â she says at last, voice quieter. "The Virate isnât some street gang or Syndicate. They're like the Syndicate's here in the city but the structure is very different and they're a lot more complex. Think generations of bloodlines that build a shadow confederation that works in the cracks most people never see. They pull kids through foster systems, adoptions, quiet placements. Forge them. Shades, they call the ones with no names. Ghosts trained from blood and bone to serve the Triptych - the three who sit at the top.â
"Okay," you say slowly. "So you're saying maybe Sato Ken was Zhi Yuan previously, and now he's Sato Ken and he's a member of the Virate."
She shows her hand again, the silver scar making you shiver. "Virate initiation. They take the same finger during interrogation to see if you break. If you don't, they give you the finger back. If you break, you die."
You sit frozen, the weight of her words pressing down like cold rain. Minghao has that scar. You think of Minghaoâs brutal efficiency on the terrace, the dead language in the car, the way he always deflects with half-truths. Your heart beats hard, frantic.
"If Sato Ken isn't a real name, you might be dealing with a Shade. It's hard to say. Shades are hard to find and are usually found only if they want to be⌠being uncovered for them is like death. They're the hidden assassins the Triptych likes to raise. Not even standard members of the Virate know who they are." Kero leans back. "Did he make any threats or have you seen him before?"
"No," you tell her. Your mind is on Minghao and not Ken - Yuan, whatever his name is. "Just met him at a party. My gut tells me he's important."
"If your gut managed to find an assassin for the Virate, that's a pretty good stomach."
You hum, noncommittal. "So you're a member of the Virate?"
"Was," she corrects. "Left when I was thirteen."
Both of you sit in silence as your mind races through fragments that feel too sharp to ignore. The scar on Keroâs knuckle. The identical mark on Sato Ken - Zhi Yuan. And Minghao. That thin, precise line across his first knuckle that youâd noticed from the very first boardroom meeting. The way his father deferred to him with a single finger twitch. The ancient language he spoke in the car after the wedding attack. The effortless violence on the terrace. The way he knew about your practice without you ever showing him.
The realization settles heavy in your chest. Your husband - the man who pressed his jacket to your bleeding arm, who wears the red bracelet you braided with your own hair - is not who anyone thinks he is.
Kero doesnât mention the Xu family once. Doesnât connect Minghao to any of this. Her ignorance of your husbandâs involvement is louder than any confirmation could be- Minghao is an unknown member of the Virate. A Shade, Kero had called it. A ghost wearing the face of a logistics heir, planted here for purposes far beyond shipping contracts and political marriages. You keep your expression neutral, swallowing the storm of questions and fears that you can't let consume you - not here, not with this stranger.
âThank you,â you say quietly. "This helps."
You reach into the inner pocket of your coat and pull out two things: the sleek, matte-black digital card and a small silk pouch youâd prepared weeks ago during one of your quiet Wednesday rituals. You set the card on the low table first, then slide the pouch toward her with careful fingers.
âIf you ever want a new private account set up, use this," you tell her. "It's completely clean and untraceable, with access to resources most people here only dream about in these AR rooms you run." You point at the pouch. "This is for protection. Black salt, rosemary, a bit of hematite. I made it myself. Itâs nothing fancy, but⌠it's my way of showing gratitude."
Kero stares at the offerings, genuine surprise flickering across her face. She picks up the silk pouch, turning it over in her scarred hand. âYou made this?â Her eyes lift to yours, sharper now. âAre you a practitioner?â
âI dabble. It was something I started as a kid to pass time. I.. didnât have much of a childhood and some of the housemaids practiced.â
Keroâs lips curve into a faint, knowing smile, but she doesnât press. She tucks the pouch into her pocket with surprising care. âIf you ever want to apprentice with real practitioners, go to the Silver Thorn Apothecary in the Lower District, near the old canal bridge. Tell them Kero sent you. They donât take just anyone, but they might make an exception.â
âI appreciate it.â
Kero leans back, studying you for a long moment. The amber light softens the edges of her shifting features. âWatch yourself with the Virate. They donât play by Syndicate rules. They bind blood, erase names, and turn children into weapons. Once youâre in their sights, itâs hard to get out.â She pauses, tilting her head. âStill⌠thereâs something about your energy. Stubborn. Grounded. I like it."
A small grin tugs at your lips. âIâm trying. I should go. Thank you again, Kero. For everything."
You stand and she rises with you, holding the digital card in her hand. "Don't be a stranger, Mrs. Xu. Try to stay alive."
Rain hisses down on you as you leave, your boots splashing softly in the shallow puddles pooling in the concrete. The Pearl District is alive with partygoers, tourists and socialites heading to clubs, casinos and more, their laughter harsh against the churning of your mind.
Minghao is a Shade. You know with utter certainty, somehow. He's a ghost - a weapon, and you have no idea what it means that he married you or what he wants. He'd told you that you were no use to his family dead and you still believe that, but now you want to know for what.
In an alley between buildings, you dig around in your pocket for your cards. You shuffle them quickly, rain beading on their glossy surface as you do. Three cards slip out one by one, catching on your wet hands until you pull them out of the deck and flip them over.
The Tower. The Moon reversed. Death.
Thoughts of the cards haunt you all the way to the train. Your hood is pulled low, the black fabric of your coat blending into the sea of weary commuters. The bracelet on your wrist feels heavier than usual, a quiet anchor against the unease crawling up your spine.
Pressed between a businessman muttering into his phone and a woman clutching a synthetic flower bouquet, a sense of unease creeps up on you. Eyes on you. Not the casual glances of strangers, but something deliberate and predatory.
The doors hiss shut and the train lurches forward, accelerating into the tunnel with a low whine that vibrates through your bones. You keep your gaze fixed on the scratched window, watching the blur of service lights streak past like dying stars. Your hand slips into your coat pocket, fingers brushing the matte-black comm device Minghao gave you months ago. The private channel. Encrypted. Off-grid. You havenât used it yet, but it feels good to have in your hand.
You shift your weight, scanning the car without turning your head. Faces blur in peripheral vision, a sea of tired eyes, downturned mouths, and people asleep in seats. No one stands out. No one meets your eyes for too long. Yet the sensation builds, a slow pressure like storm clouds gathering before lightning splits the Tower.
Two stops pass and your pulse quickens with each one. At the third, you make a split-second decision to get off that's nowhere near your intended route toward the Observatory. You elbow your way toward the doors as they open, stepping onto the platform and into the sub-level station, ait thick with the scent of damp rot and the distant rumble of freight loaders. Neon signs flicker overhead, advertising cheap stim-packs and off-grid betting dens.
You donât look back. Not immediately. You weave through the sparse crowd, heels clicking against cracked concrete, and take the exit stairs two at a time. The streets above are narrower, hemmed in by crooked buildings and powerlines that spark intermittently in the thin rain. You turn left, then right, cutting through a market alley where vendors hawk sticky buns and meat skewers, fat sizzling.
Still, the feeling follows.
Your breath comes sharper now and you pause at a corner stall, pretending to examine a rack of knockoff jade pendants while your eyes flick across reflections in a rain-streaked metal panel. Nothing. A shadow shifts two stalls down, but it's gone when you focus. Your instincts, honed by years of the universeâs subtle nudges, scream a single name.
Sato Ken.
The thought lands like a cold blade between your ribs. The scar on his knuckle flashes in your memory. So does his polished smile and the way his gaze had lingered too long at the last charity function, heavy with something unreadable. Youâd felt it then too. The Devil.
You quicken your pace, ducking down a narrower side street. The rain intensifies, sheeting off overhangs and turning the ground into a slick mirror of fractured neon. Your coat clings to your skin, heavy and cold. Heart hammering, you slip into a shadowed alley between two derelict storage units where it smells of rust and urine.
Crates are stacked haphazardly against one wall, providing meager cover where you press your back to the damp brick, breathing through your mouth to stay quiet. Water drips from a rusted pipe overhead, steady as a metronome. For a moment, only the distant train rumbles and your own pulse fills the space.
A splash confirms you're being followed and you don't hesitate. Your fingers close around the comm device, pulling it free with trembling hands. The surface is cool, almost alive under your touch, drinking in the faint alley light. You activate it with a press of your thumb, the faint holo-sheen blooming like starlight in the dark. The private channel connects with a soft chime that feels too loud in the confined space.
It rings once. Twice.
âCome on,â you whisper, voice barely audible over the rain.
Your free hand grips the small knife in your other pocket, though the blade feels inadequate against whatever waits in the shadows. The universe had warned you. The cards had warned you. Death upright. Transformation through violence.
The line clicks open and Minghao's voice comes through, low and immediate. "What's wrong?"
You've never been happier to hear his voice. The sound of his calm and controlled voice nearly buckles your knees. You lean harder into the wall, eyes darting to the alley mouth where a silhouette might appear any second. Rain sluices down your face, mixing with the cold sweat on your skin. The feeling of being watched intensifies, a prickling heat at your nape like fingers hovering just above your spine.
"I need you to find me," you tell him, voice barely audible. "I'm about to get taken or killed."
"Wicked-"
"You have access to my medical records," you interrupt. "You should have been emailed how to access. I have a subcutaneous tracking chip. Activate the emergency beacon with the password given to you - it pings your private network. Do it now."
Footsteps again, deliberate now, closing in from the alleyâs entrance. A shadow detaches from the gloom, tall and masked.
âI know youâre a Shade,â you whisper. âMaybe I mean nothing to you at all, but you saved me on our wedding night and if Iâm still important to your family, you need to find me. Or at least my body."
Minghao says your name - not wicked woman, not wicked - just your name. You say nothing else, swallowing as you drop the comm in the rain and crush it under your heel, the sharp crack lost to the sound of increasing downpour.
When the figure steps out of the shadows, all you can see are the grey eyes. You stare at him head on, refusing to show him fear despite the way your hands tremble in the cold rain.
"Is your husband coming?"
"Yes."
He nods. "Good."
-
Thunder shakes the penthouse. It's not loud enough to drown out the hammering of Minghao's heart as he gets dressed frantically. For once, Minghao feels like he might be panicking. He's not entirely sure - panic is a foreign concept to him. As a Shade of the Virate, he doesn't operate in adrenaline and panic - he simply exists in the detachment of calm and deliberate decision making.
This doesn't feel like that. He has no idea when he started caring about you so much - can't even really figure out when it happened. He supposes between the random late night dinners, the rare instances of breakfast, and the weekends when he watched you sit at the coffee table with your little herbs and candles muttering to yourself, he decided he liked you.
Had you been the elitist, snobby socialite he assumed you were going to be, he wouldn't be in this situation. Yet fate - because he's starting to believe in fate - had put you into your position - unprepared and woefully unjaded - through the violence of your sister's death, and put you directly into Minghao's path. He doesn't know what else to call it, because only destiny could be this specific.
Rain crawls in silver streaks down the windows, turning Hyperion into a smeared galaxy beneath the clouds. Minghao stands in front of the open wardrobe in a black compression shirt and tactical trousers, fingers gone motionless around the clasp of his chest holder as the information he'd requested through your instructions appears across the retinal display he'd put over his right eye.
Minghao watches as your biometrics spike violently across the lens. Oxygen levels unstable, cortisol flooding yourself, neutral activity elevated. Nothing in your current vitals tells him that you're dying, which is the single positive news he has while he finishes buckling the holster before he opens another hidden compartment in his room, revealing weapons.
He takes the knives and two guns. They charge at his touch, the pulse letting him know they're primed as he holsters them. The red cord around his wrist slides with his hand movement, the azabache charm clicks against the gun as he removes his hand.
You'd looked so serious when you handed it to him, like you were testing him. He hadn't seen it then for what it was - a leap of faith to see if he was serious about you practicing your little customs without fear from him. Now he knows that he'd passed the test, because you'd start being more open around him. Not hiding things. Calling him and telling him you needed his help.
Minghao yanks a jacket over the holsters and accesses the medical feed again with a blink of his eyes. Nothing has changed, and your location still pings in an abandoned shipping corridor near Pier Nine. It's in Xu territory, a dock that belongs exclusively to Minghao's father, and by extension, Choi Moojin.
The hours Minghao has spent trying to track down his half brother have gone to waste. It appears that his brother has the jump on him, and why shouldn't he? Zhi Yuan or whatever the name he goes by now has known Minghao existed for far longer than Minghao has known he had a sibling, and it's clear that you've been in his sights for a while as an obvious attempt to get to Minghao.
Minghao is going to kill him. He made the decision long before you'd called him. He had decided before his mother even finished telling him about Yuan, about the first born son she naively thought the Virate gave away. It doesn't matter if Yuan is blood, though. He'd spilled the blood of those under the protection of the Xu family, and Minghao was bound by honor to pay him back.
Blood for blood.
It's not an easy situation. Minghao doesn't know if his brother is here by authorization of the Virate, or if he's gone rogue. The right thing to do would be to contact the Triptych, but Minghao has no plans of doing that. It's too much of a risk if they've sanctioned whatever attack this is, so he's decided to do what he wants. He knows it'll have consequences - he has carried out the punishment for this kind of thing plenty of times.
"Fuck," Minghao sighs, running a hand over his face.
As much as he wants to do this alone, he knows that the odds will be better if he has leverage. Everything with the Virate and the Triptych especially is above leverage and moves within moves, and Minghao doesn't have any right now. So he picks up the phone and dials a number he's never called before, heart hammering as the phone rings.
"Xu Minghao," Jeonghan answers softly. "What can I do for our favorite shipping heir on a rainy Thursday evening?"
Minghao slips a knife into the sheath at the base of his spine as he speaks. âI need a deal.â
Jeonghan pauses. "Oh?"
"In exchange for leverage and information on the Virate."
"I'm listening."
"I need protection and support from the Choi Syndicate if the Virate comes knocking at my door."
Jeonghan's no longer amused or joking when he says, "And why would they do that?"
"Agree to it before I say anything."
Jeonghan pauses. "Why'd you call me?"
"You're the heir to the Wisdom and you're smart. You'll know whether I'm lying or you'll figure it out yourself. Now I want a deal before I say anything."
The Observatory feels too high, too isolated tonight, suspended above the storm like a fragile glass cage. Neon from the distant Pearl District bleeds through the fog in fractured violet and electric blue, painting the matte black steel beams in shifting hues that do nothing to calm the unfamiliar knot twisting in his chest.
The line is silent for a beat too long. Jeonghanâs voice returns, stripped of its usual lazy amusement. âA deal, how bold. Alright - I, Yoon Jeonghan, Second to the Wisdom, affirm that the verbally negotiated agreement between us is valid and binding, and will be upheld by the Choi Syndicate under penalty of death or exile. Talk."
âThe Virate,â Minghao starts, running a hand through his hair. "I'm a member. They raised me as a Shade. Nameless. Trained for killing and secret work. My familyâs move to Hyperion, the logistics empire, this marriage - it isn't just business moves, itâs for the Virate. They wanted someone nameless but loyal to sow seeds and gain influence with one of the Syndicates of the city, ideally the Choi Syndicate."
A soft whistle from the other end. âAnd here I thought you were just another pretty Arkos heir playing at power. Continue.â
Minghaoâs jaw tightens. He moves to the bedroom door, glancing once toward the east wing where you should be safe. The biometric feed in his retinal display pulses steadily, your location fixed, stress elevated but alive. For now.
âI have an unexpected target on my back,â he says, already striding toward the private elevator. âA Shade operative. One I didnât know existed until recently. He orchestrated the wedding attack. Tonight, he has her. Iâm on my way to eliminate him. It might blow back. If the Virate decides Iâve gone rogue or exposed too much, theyâll come for cleanup. I need Choi Syndicate support if that happens - protection, resources, a buffer. In exchange, Iâll give you information useful for leveraging a partnership with the Virate in Arkos. Real leverage. Names. Structures. Weak points the Triptych would rather keep buried.â
The elevator doors hiss open. Minghao steps inside, the mirrored walls reflecting a man dressed for violence. His hair is still damp from the earlier rain, eyes sharp and unblinking. Jeonghan is quiet again, but Minghao can hear the calculation in the silence, the Wisdom's son weighing angles, risks, opportunities.
"Hm," Jeonghan hums. "Interesting. You know this verbal agreement could be void based on your intent to threaten the safety of the Syndicate, right?" Minghao doesn't answer as the elevator plunges downward. "Why trust me with this?"
âBecause youâre useful,â Minghao answers flatly. âAnd because my wife is bleeding time in a warehouse while we talk. Agree or donât. But if I walk into this alone and donât come back, you lose the chance at whatever game youâre playing with the docks.â
âYouâre more interesting than I gave you credit for, Minghao. Fine. Deal. Choi support if the Virate comes calling. You deliver on the information. And try not to die, Baby would be devastated if the lead she gave your wife ended up with her dying."
Minghao pauses. "We'll discuss what you mean later."
"Sure."
Minghao pockets the phone. His mind cycles through possibilities of Yuanâs training, the scar, the grey eyes that matched his motherâs. Blood for blood. The old laws demanded it, but something sharper cuts beneath the duty now. Your voice on the comm, steady even in terror. The way youâd crushed the device rather than let it lead danger straight back here. Stubborn. Honest. Wicked in ways that had nothing to do with tarot cards.
The doors open into the cold concrete expanse. Elara and Kai snap to attention near the armored car, but Minghao waves them off with a sharp gesture. âStay here. Guard the penthouse. No one in or out. If Iâm not back by dawn, call Yoon Jeonghan."
âUnderstood, sir.â
Minghao slides into the driverâs seat himself, the engine humming to life. Rain hammers the garage ramp as he accelerates upward, the cityâs neon arteries blurring past. His grip on the wheel is steady, but the red cord around his wrist catches the dashboard light.
His hands tighten on the wheel. He's ending this game of shadows tonight.
-
Your head throbs with a deep, nauseating pulse that radiates from the back of your skull down through your jaw. The world tilts when you try to lift it, the edges of the dim warehouse blurring like wet ink on parchment. The concussion is surely courtesy of the desperate headbutt you'd delivered when Zhi Yuan had grabbed you in that alley. The satisfying crunch of his nose breaking still echoes faintly in your memory, a small, defiant victory amid the terror.
Thick ropes bite into your wrists and ankles, securing you to a heavy metal chair bolted to the floor. The warehouse is vast and derelict, one of the many abandoned husks along the Lower Water Street docks where Xu shipping containers sit in rows.
Rain hammers on the corrugated roof overhead, leaking in thin streams through gaps in the panels to form oily puddles on the concrete. Dim emergency lights cast long, sickly yellow shadows across stacked crates and rusted forklift skeletons.
You test the ropes around you subtly, keeping your movements small, but there's no give. Your small knife is long gone, though the black tourmaline bracelet is still there, warm against your skin, a fragile tether.
Across from you, Zhi Yuan is seated casually on an overturned crate. Blood has dried in dark rivulets from his broken nose down over his mouth and chin, staining the collar of his shirt. The injury makes his sharp, balanced features turn grotesque, his grey eyes eery in the low light. He holds a stained cloth in his hand, dabbing occasionally at the swelling in his face.
"You're not what I expected," he admits. "Though I suppose any woman associated with the Choi family fights back."
You lift your chin, ignoring the way the motion sends fresh dizziness spiraling through you. Fear coils tight in your gut, but you refuse to let it show. You meet his gaze evenly, challenging every boardroom lesson your father ever drilled into you since your sister's death.
"Headbutting you was worth the headache," you mutter. "Though I imagine it hurts worse on your end."
His mouth twitches into something like a smile. "I've endured worse. You know, most heiresses would be sobbing by now. Begging. Offering credits or Syndicate favors."
"I'm not worried."
"You think your husband is coming?"
"I know so."
He leans back and sighs. "I know so too." His eyes watch you carefully. "I saw the way you looked at my scar at the gala. Same as his. You don't miss much, do you?"
âEnough to know you're a threat. What do you want, Zhi Yuan? Or is it Ken? Does the Virate let you keep any name at all?"
His grey eyes narrow slightly, but the amusement doesn't fade. "Names are fluid for us. Tools. Zhi Yuan was the boy the system forgot. Sato Ken was the man who married well and smiled at galas. Neither is real. But you can call me Yuan. It's... familiar."
âFamiliar because of whatever connection you have to my husband.â
Yuan stops dabbing his nose and watches you for a long moment. He rises slowly, pacing a few steps through the puddle-streaked space. His boots splash softly. Yuan drags another crate closer and sits across from you again, legs stretched out casually.
âTell me,â he drawls. âHow does it feel to be married to a man who was never meant to have a wife? A real one, anyway.â
âIt feels like he's going to kill you." You stare at him. "And if he doesn't, the Choi Syndicate will. I'm not some random woman you can steal away in the middle of the night. Your turn - why me if this is about him or the Virate?"
"I was at your wedding, you know?" He cocks his head. "You made a beautiful bride. The intent was to kill you and turn the Choi Syndicate against him, but once I saw that he cared, I knew that wouldn't work. They would see his honestly. So now you're just bait. My brother owes me a conversation."
The revelation hits you like a physical blow. Your breath catches sharply in your throat. Brother. You look into Yuan's eyes and don't know how you missed it - Luli looks right back at you, the cool grey, the calm eye of the storm.
Yuan watches your reaction with dark satisfaction, leaning back slowly. âYes. Luliâs firstborn. The one she tried to hide. I found out about him by accident, you know? There he was, golden second son, raised by our mother and Jian in relative comfort, given a public name and legit empire to inherit while being a Shade for the Virate. All while I rotted in foster homes and training cells, learning how to kill before I could read properly. It wasnât fair. He got life, the light, the illusion of choice. I got the shadows and the scars."
The Devil upright. A man in chains, who cannot escape what he is bound to. The tarot cards make sense, suddenly. You're looking at the devil, a man who cannot or will not escape the fate he thinks he's tethered to. You think of the Nine of Wands upright - a wounded warrior still standing guard, exhausted but defiant - and realize it's Minghao. Someone stuck between two worlds.
"I don't care where you're from or who you're related to," you spit out. "Only a weak man pities himself to this degree."
It hits a nerve. Yuan stands, violence written all over his face, but a device on the table a few feet away chimes and shows a hologram of a map, a red dot pinging as it approaches. Your heart lurches when you realize it's Minghao, throat tightening as the dot speeds through the roads of the Warehouse District.
"Finally," Yuan sighs. "I get to meet my brother."
Thunder rolls in the distance. Your heart hammers in your chest as you watch the entrance door, hearing the hiss of tires and the slamming of a car door. You can barely breath until the heavy metal door is being ripped open, rain pouring in as a dark silhouette slips through. Minghao shuts the door behind him, water streaming off of his black jacket, hair plastered to his forehead and neck. His eyes are unreadable, scanning the room before they fall on you.
Minghao strides forward, ignoring Yuan entirely. Your heart stutters, the violence in his eyes like nothing you've seen.
"Are you okay?" His voice cuts through the rain, low and steady.
You manage a nod, the motion sending fresh spikes of pain through your skull. The ropes bite deeper as you shift, but you hold his gaze. âIâm alive.â
Minghaoâs jaw tightens, a muscle feathering along his cheek. For a heartbeat, the polished heir you met in the boardroom vanishes completely. This is the man who snapped an assassinâs neck on your wedding night. This is the Shade.
"Good. I'll be just a moment, okay?"
You nod and only then does he turn to his brother. Yuan is standing, clearly annoyed. The resemblance is unmistakable now that you know to look for it - the same sharp-soft balance in their features, the same predatory grace. But where Minghao carries a coiled stillness, Yuan vibrates with resentment, grey eyes burning with untapped rage.
âBrother,â Yuan greets. âTook you long enough.â
Minghao doesnât waste words on pleasantries. âYouâre no family of mine. We cull men weak enough to be driven by petty jealousies.â Minghao gestures to him. âKnives only. Old way. No guns. No tricks. You and me."
Yuanâs smile widens, splitting the dried blood on his lip. âYou still cling to the old customs? You're a little princeling here - you aren't Virate.â
âI honor what I am,â Minghao replies. He shrugs off his jacket, letting it fall to the wet floor. Beneath it, the compression shirt clings to his frame, revealing the holster straps and the faint outline of the small spell jar you gave him, still tucked against his chest. The red bracelet on his wrist stands out like a slash of blood against pale skin. âDo you?â
Yuan laughs, low and bitter and strips down to a similar compression shirt as Minghao. Two blades appear in his hands, thin, wickedly curved karambits that catch the light. âI was forged in the same dark you were. Letâs see which of us the Triptych favored more.â
Minghao draws his own knives. No flourish. Just efficient, practiced motion. One in each hand, shorter than Yuanâs but perfectly balanced. He rolls his shoulders once, eyes never leaving his brotherâs face as the rain hammers the roof in relentless sheets and water drips from cracks overhead, plinking into puddles that spread across the concrete like spilled ink.
You test the ropes again, heart hammering against your ribs. The black tourmaline bracelet feels warm against your skin, a small circle of your own intention. You close your eyes, sucking in a short breath as you center yourself and focus on the single intention you have: Minghao living.
The fight begins without warning and you flinch. Yuan lunges first, a blur of motion across the wet floor, his karambit slashing in a wide arc meant to open Minghaoâs throat. Minghao twists inside the reach, blades flashing up to parry. Metal screams against metal and sparks fly, tiny and bright in the dimness. They separate, circling each other like lions.
Yuan attacks again, faster this time, feinting low before slicing high. Minghao ducks, but not quite fast enough as the blade catches his shoulder, opening a shallow line of red. Blood wells immediately, mixing with rainwater. Minghao doesnât flinch. He counters with a vicious upward thrust that forces Yuan to leap back, boots splashing.
Each collision is brutal, knives cutting air. Feet slide on the slick concrete, searching for purchase. Yuan is slightly taller, leveraging reach, but Minghao is faster and more economical with his movements, his efficiency brutal as he slashes Yuan across the rib, tearing fabric and flesh.
Minghao presses the advantage, driving Yuan backward with a series of rapid strikes. Their blades lock, faces inches apart, and for a moment, they strain against each other, muscles corded, breath visible in the damp air. Yuanâs grey eyes gleam with something like joy.
"I knew you liked the girl," Yuan goads. "This isn't business for you. This is emotional."
Minghao headbutts him hard and Yuan's face explodes in blood again, the damage you'd done earlier doubling. He stumps and Minghao follows, his knives dancing in a pattern too fast for you to track as he cuts open Yuan's shoulder, his forearm, his thigh. Minghao moves like pain is irrelevant, cutting Yuan until the man is screaming and kicking at Minghao for distance.
Yuan feints left, then spins, driving a blade toward Minghaoâs kidney. You suck in a sharp breath but Minghao pivots and catches Yuan's wrist, twisting violently with a sickening pop. Yuan roars, dropping one karambit while swinging wildly with the other. Minghao takes a cut across the chest for it, but he doesn't let go. Instead, he yanks Yuan forward and drives his own knife upward where it sinks into Yuan's side, just under his ribs.
Yuan gasps, eyes widening. He tries to pull away, but Minghao holds him close, almost intimate. Their faces are inches apart, rain dripping from Minghao's hair onto Yuan's cheek.
"Blood for blood," he says, voice hard. He says something to Yuan in that same language you don't understand before he twists the knife.
Yuanâs mouth opens in a silent scream while his free hand claws at Minghaoâs shoulder, leaving bloody streaks. His grey eyes lock onto Minghaoâs for one long, terrible second. Then the light in them gutters out. Minghao yanks the blade free and Yuan collapses to the wet concrete with a heavy splash. Blood spreads beneath him, dark and final, mixing with rainwater and oil. The body twitches once, twice, then stills.
Minghao stands over his brother for a long moment, chest heaving, blood running down his arms and torso. Then he turns to you. The shift in him is immediate and devastating as the killer melts away into something soft. He crosses the distance in three strides, dropping to his knees in the puddle before your chair
His hands are trembling as he unties the ropes at your wrist, careful as he cuts through them with the knife slicked in his brother's blood. His dark eyes search your face frantically, cataloguing every bruise, the swelling at your temple, the way youâre favoring your head.
"Are you hurt?" He murmurs. "Tell me where. Please."
Please. You don't think you've ever heard him say that. Not to you. The way he says it is devastatingly soft, his sharp eyes round as he looks up at you, hands hovering like he doesn't know what to do.
âIâm okay," you whisper.
Minghao cuts away at the ropes around your ankle before tossing the knife and pulling you forward, careful not to press against any injuries. His embrace is fierce and gentle at once, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other spanning your back. You can feel his heart hammering against yours, fast and terrified in a way his face never shows.
It's the first time he's touched you - honestly touched you - since your brief kiss at the altar and the night you were almost killed. His touch is grounding and warm, the smell of him comforting but laced with the metallic tang of blood. You pull away, your hands hovering as you look at all the places he's bleeding.
âYouâre bleeding-"
âIt doesnât matter.â He pulls you back in, his voice muffled by your hair. "You are nosey and you are stubborn and you are fascinating. Thank you for calling me."
"Minghao, you need stitches."
âLater.â He presses his forehead to yours, eyes closed. Rain drips from his lashes. âYouâre safe. Thatâs all that matters right now.â
The spell jar is still pressed between you, warm against his chest. You can feel its faint outline. The red bracelet on his wrist brushes your skin as he cups your face again. Something inside your chest cracks open, relief, fear, the strange blooming warmth youâve been trying to ignore for months.
âI knew youâd come,â you whisper.
âI will always come for you.â The words are quiet, almost reverent. He kisses your forehead, then your temple, avoiding the bruise, then the corner of your mouth. Not possessive. Just desperate reassurance. âIâm sorry you had to face him alone."
âI headbutted him. Broke his nose.â
A soft, startled laugh escapes him. âOf course you did.â His thumb traces your jaw. âMy wicked, impossible wife.â
He helps you stand, supporting most of your weight when your legs threaten to buckle. The warehouse spins for a moment, but his arm around your waist anchors you. He keeps you turned away from Yuanâs body, shielding you with his own as he guides you toward the broken door.
Outside, the rain is still falling in torrents. Minghaoâs car idles just beyond the entrance, lights off, engine humming low. He helps you into the passenger seat with painstaking care, buckling you in, checking the angle of your head, murmuring soft instructions to breathe slowly. Then he rounds the car and slides behind the wheel.
For a long moment, neither of you speaks. Rain lashes the windshield. Minghaoâs hands grip the wheel, knuckles white. Blood still trickles from the cut on his chest, but he ignores it, eyes fixed on you.
âI killed my brother tonight,â he says eventually, voice hollow. âFor you. I need you to know I would do it again. I understand I have not been forthcoming or warm, but I care for you.â
You reach across the console and take his hand. His fingers curl around yours immediately, tight enough to hurt. The red bracelet shifts between you.
âI know,â you whisper. âThank you.â
He lifts your joined hands and presses a kiss to your knuckles, eyes closing again. When they open, the intensity is back, but softer now. Protective. Possessive in a way that feels like safety rather than the chains you'd felt that first meeting in the boardroom.
âLetâs go home,â he says.Â
You nod, exhaustion crashing over you like the rain outside.
-
Doctor Tzintzun finally steps back, wiping her hands on a sterile cloth. The Observatory penthouse is quiet except for the low hum of the air filtration system and the distant patter of rain against the floor-to-ceiling windows. Fog presses close outside, turning Hyperion into a muted glow far below
The doctor packs her kit with efficient movements, glancing between you and Minghao. âThe stitches on your arm will hold, but keep them dry. Concussion protocol is in place - rest, dim lights, no screens. As for you, Mr. Xu, those cuts were deep. Change the dressings in six hours. Pain management is on the bedside table. Call if anything worsens.â
Minghao nods once, voice low. âThank you. Elara will see you out.â
The door seals behind them with a soft click, leaving the two of you alone in the low-lit living room. Your body aches in new and old places, your temple tender from the concussion. But youâre alive. Heâs alive.
Minghao sits on the wide, low couch beside you, closer than heâs ever been in this space. The black silk robe he wears hangs open at the chest, revealing the edge of white bandages and the hard planes of muscle beneath. His hair is damp, falling across his forehead in dark strands. The red bracelet you made him still circles his right wrist, the azabache charm catching the soft amber light from the single lamp. He hasnât taken it off.
You shift slightly, the oversized shirt you wear - his, you realize - riding up your thighs. The silence stretches, thick with everything unsaid. The fight. The blood. The truth of what he is. Your eyes trace the line of his jaw, the faint scar on his knuckle, the way his chest rises and falls with careful, controlled breaths.
He turns toward you, dark eyes intense in the dimness. For once, thereâs no polished mask, no deflection. Just raw, unguarded focus on your face.
âI donât know why you get under my skin,â he says quietly. "I was trained not to let anyone close. Attachments were liabilities. You were supposed to be a transaction - a bridge that was useful and controllable."
He reaches out, fingers brushing a strand of hair from your cheek with surprising gentleness. The touch lingers, callused fingertips tracing your jaw. âBut you fight back when you should crumble. You read the universe in cards and smoke and believe in it so stubbornly it makes me question everything I was forged to be. You called me when you were terrified and trusted me to come.â
His thumb strokes your lower lip, eyes dropping to watch the motion. The air between you crackles, charged like the moments before lightning. Your pulse quickens, heat blooming low in your belly despite the exhaustion and pain. You can smell him, clean skin, faint pine.
âI donât understand it,â he murmurs, leaning closer. "You affect me. You make me want things I was never meant to have.â
"So have them," you murmur.
He laughs and kisses you. Itâs not the chaste brush from your wedding. This is real and hungry, months of restrained tension exploding between you. His mouth claims yours, tongue sweeping in to taste you deeply. You moan softly into him, hands fisting in the front of his robe, pulling him closer. He tastes like mint and rain and something darker, needier. His hand cups the back of your neck, tilting your head to deepen the kiss, the other sliding down your side to grip your hip.
The world narrows to the wet slide of tongues, the soft sounds of breath and need, the heat of his body pressing you back against the couch cushions. Your bandages pull slightly but the pain is distant, drowned in sensation. His scent envelops you. The low groan vibrating from his chest makes your pussy clench.
He breaks the kiss only to trail his mouth down your neck, sucking lightly at your pulse point. âTell me to stop,â he rasps against your skin, voice wrecked. âIf this is too much after I lied-"
âDonât you dare,â you whisper, threading fingers through his damp hair and tugging him back up for another searing kiss.
Minghao makes a low sound and shifts you both, pulling you into his lap so you straddle him. The robe falls open completely, revealing his bandaged torso and the hard length of him pressing against you through thin fabric. Your shirt rides up, bare thighs against his hips. Heâs already hard, thick and hot, and the realization sends a fresh wave of arousal flooding through you.
He kisses you like a man starving, hands roaming under your shirt to cup your breasts, thumbs circling your nipples until they pebble tight and you let out a shaky sound, overwhelmed.
âSo fucking perfect,â he growls, breaking the kiss to yank the shirt over your head.
Cool air kisses your skin, then his hot mouth is on you, sucking one nipple deep while his fingers pinch and roll the other. The wet heat of his tongue, the gentle scrape of teeth, the suction - all of it pulls desperate whimpers from your throat. You arch into him, grinding down against his cock, feeling the thick ridge slide against your dampening folds through your panties.
âMinghao-" His name breaks off on a moan.
He switches sides, lavishing the other breast with the same filthy attention, sucking hard enough to leave imprints of his teeth on your skin. One hand slides down your stomach, dipping beneath the waistband of your panties, fingers finding you soaked.
âThis wet for me already?â he murmurs. âMy wicked wife.â
Two thick fingers push inside you without warning, curling deep. You cry out, hips rocking instinctively as he starts to pump them slowly at first, then faster, thumb finding your clit and circling with devastating pressure. The wet, obscene sounds of his fingers working in and out of your pussy fill the room, mixing with your gasps and his low groans. He kisses you again, swallowing your moans as he finger-fucks you harder, scissoring and curling until youâre trembling on the edge.
âCome for me, baby,â he demands against your mouth. âLet me feel it.â
The orgasm crashes over you, sharp and sudden, and you clamp down hard around his fingers, thighs shaking as it rips through you. He doesnât stop, working you through it with deep, steady strokes until youâre whimpering his name.
He pulls his fingers free, bringing them to his mouth and sucking them clean with a groan. âTaste so good. Need more.â
Before you can catch your breath, he lifts you effortlessly, ignoring the way you yelp, hands hovering near his injuries. He lays you back against the wide couch and kneels between your spread thighs, peeling your soaked panties down your legs and tossing them aside. The cool air hits your exposed, dripping pussy, making you shiver. Minghao stares like a man possessed, eyes dark, lips parted.
He spreads your thighs wider, hooking your legs over his shoulders, and buries his face between them. The first long, slow lick from your entrance to your clit draws a broken cry from you, his tongue parting you like velvet.
âFuck, youâre dripping for me,â he mutters, voice muffled.
He sucks your clit between his lips, tongue flicking rapidly while two fingers plunge back inside you, fucking you in time with his mouth. It makes you suck in a sharp gasp, lost to the heat of his tongue, the stretch of his fingers. You fist his hair, hips grinding against his face as another orgasm builds fast and brutal. He curls his fingers against that perfect spot inside you, sucking hard on your clit, and you shatter again with a sharp scream, thighs clamping around his head as you come again.
He laps you through it, gentler now, until youâre twitching and oversensitive. Only then does he rise, wiping his glistening mouth with the back of his hand. His cock strains against his pants, a wet spot forming at the front that makes you eager. You reach for him, tugging the fabric down, freeing his thick, heavy length to reveal a flushed dark head slick with precum. You wrap your hand around him, stroking once, and he hisses, hips jerking.
âNeed to be inside you,â he rasps, voice wrecked. âNow.â
He sits back on the couch, pulling you into his lap again so you can straddle him with your knees sinking into the cushions on either side of his hips. His cock slides hot and bare against your soaked folds as you grind down, coating him in your arousal.
âFuck me,â you whisper lips dragging against his. "Like you mean it. Like I'm yours. Like you should have on our wedding night"
Minghao grips your hips, eyes locked on yours, and pulls you down onto him in one smooth, relentless thrust that has you gasping into his mouth, your hands cradling his face.
The stretch is exquisite, burning pleasure as he fills you completely, bottoming out with a shared groan. Youâre so wet he slides in easily, but the fullness makes your breath hitch. You can feel every ridge, every throb of his cock buried deep enough to make you shiver.
"Fuck," he hisses. His hands knead your ass, guiding you to rock on him. âSo fucking hot and wet around me.â
You start moving, riding him slow at first, savoring the drag of his thick cock against your walls. He floods your senses - his scent, the taste of him still on your lips from earlier kisses, the sight of his bandaged, muscled torso flexing beneath you, the feel of his hands guiding you harder, faster.
He surges up, capturing your mouth in a messy kiss as he thrusts up to meet you. The angle hits deep, grinding against that spot inside of you that has you twitching. Sweat slicks your bodies where they press together, his heart pounding against yours.
âRide me harder,â he growls, one hand pressing your lower belly, feeling the bulge of his cock inside you. âWant to feel you come on my cock.â
You do, grinding down with fluid rolls of your hips until the pressure builds again. He sucks harshly against your neck then lower, biting and licking his way toward your chest. The feeling of his teeth scraping against you sends you over, coming around him as you hide your face in his neck, crying his name.
Minghao curses, flipping you onto your side gently with your back to his chest. He's careful as he lifts one of your thighs and hooks it over his, and he slowly thrusts back into you from behind in a single, fluid stroke. His arm wraps around you, hand cupping your breast, pinching the nipple as he fucks you with long, drawn out thrusts that have you panting.
"My pretty wife," he pants against the shell of your ear, nipping lightly. "Fate brought you to me. I know it. I never believed before until you."
You moan helplessly, pushing back to meet every thrust. Another orgasm crashes over you, vision whitening as your walls flutter and squeeze him. Minghao groans deeply, pace faltering until he buries himself to the hilt, hips jerking as he spills inside you.
You stay locked together, panting, bodies slick with sweat. His cock softens slowly inside you but he doesnât pull out, holding you close. His hand strokes lazily over your stomach, down to where youâre still joined, feeling the mess of your combined release leaking out.
After long minutes, he presses soft kisses to your neck, your shoulder, your jaw. Turning your head, he kisses you properly again.
âI never intended this,â he murmurs against your lips, breaking the kiss. âI was supposed to use this marriage, keep my distance, and fulfill the Virateâs purpose. But you deserve better. You deserve a real husband. Protection, honesty, partnership. I promise you that - until death, like I said. No more shadows between us."
"I would like that," you whisper, looking up into his eyes - open and honest for the first time. "Thank you."
Rain taps against the window as you lay there, tired and safe in his arms. For once, you don't worry about anything - there is nothing to worry about. The Tower has already fallen. The illusions are gone. All that remains is what you choose to build from the wreckage.
-
The wedding you always imagined is better than your first one. Late afternoon light filters through the canopy of trees in soft, dappled gold, catching on the mist that clings to ferns and low-hanging moss. The air carries the scent of damp earth, pine resin, crushed herbs, and night-blooming jasmine. For once, the rain has paused, like the earth is letting you have this brief moment among the trees.
This is nothing like the extravagent wedding suspended three hundred floors above the city. No cameras. No political theater. Just earth. Just intention. Just truth.
You're barefoot on a small clearing of soft moss and fallen petals, wearing a simple slip of midnight silk that brushes your ankles. Minghao stands across from you, barefoot and dressed in loose black linen that makes him look less like a Shade and something softer. More solid. Something yours.
A length of hand-dyed red silk binds your hands together, soaked through with oils, saturated with the smell of rose and mugwart and something bitter. Baby stands a respectful distance away beside Seungcheol, her haunted expression gentler today, almost peaceful. Jeonghan leans against a tree with his usual lazy smirk while Kero grins, all teeth.
âThis is the one that matters,â Minghao murmurs. "Until death."
desc: you and jeonghan had decided to spend the last twenty-four hours before your wedding day apart, however everything gets too much...
wc: 1.8k
note: this is a six-year-old draft that i just finished (aaaa), heavily inspired by the voulez-vous scene in mamma mia, enjoy!
In true wedding tradition, Jeonghan and his hoard of groomsmen were banished to the bars and clubs on the beach whilst you and the girls partied at the hotel. It had been a day of running around â last-minute adjustments, make-up practices and flower bouquet arrangement changes.
And, without Jeonghan by your side to contribute his minimal yet valuable opinion, it felt ten times more stressful than it did before. Initially, the whole âlast 24 hours apartâ seemed like a good idea. Excitement all pent up, ready for the big day. However, as the last 24 hours began to creep up, you only seemed to dread it even more.
The anxiety of the day, combined with the pressure of the wedding, made you regret agreeing not to see Jeonghan. To be honest, you yearned to see your fiancĂŠe, who could soothe your worries with a few words.Â
Absolutely shattered, you dragged a small summer dress over your frame and made your way to the hotel bar with your bridal party. The hotel was exotic, with vast luxurious terraces that sported coloured lanterns shining primary colours onto makeshift mosaic-style dance floors, dark wood tables and chairs had been cleared to the side of what wouldâve been the main patio. Dark bushes climbed along the walls, yet the view out to the ocean was not obstructed, the water just a few minutes away.Â
However, no matter how pretty or enjoyable the surroundings were, you couldnât seem to budge the feeling of longing.
âLetâs get a drink down you,â one of your friends suggested, snapping you out of the trance with the dying sunset and grabbing onto your arm lightly, a cheeky smile on her face.Â
After two cocktails, both horrendously strong, you sighed, sitting down, watching as your friends all danced around.Â
They were radiant, excitement and alcohol pumping through them. Swaying and sipping as they screamed along to a pop song that the dj queued up.Â
âYou miss him, donât you?â Only one voice couldâve said that, your mom, wrapping her arms around your shoulders.Â
âCould you tell?â You let out a small laugh, holding onto her arms as they engulfed you, tears threatening to break the horizon and slide down your face.Â
âWant to know something funny?â she questioned, placing her thin wine glass on the table and sitting tightly next to you, a squeeze of your thigh offering temporary grounding.Â
âHm?â You looked up at her, still toying with the hem of your dress, meeting her soft and familiar eyes, almost a replica of yours.Â
âI was exactly like this when I married your father,â she giggled, a girly one that reminded you that she had been in your shoes all those years ago.Â
Tracing the outline of the palm trees that swayed lightly in the wind, you smiled, silently beckoning for her to continue.Â
âI couldnât cope without him,â she said, âI was convinced I had to call it off.âÂ
You shot her a confused look, eyes widened and jaw slack.Â
âLet me finish, darling,â she continued, âso as soon as my bridal party went to sleep,â her head turned to your drunken group of friends, all of them shimmying almost aggressively at each other, âI slipped out and spent the night before in your dadâs arms.âÂ
Both of your faces mirrored each other, tender smiles borderline beaming as she held your hand.Â
âIâve never seen someone make you glow as Jeonghan does, honey,â she rubbed her thumb comfortingly along your hand, âIf you need to see him, go find him.âÂ
Before you could muster a reply, a rather drunk friend of yours came grooving over, grabbing your arm.
âCome and dance!â she shouted over the music, and you laughed, getting up. Letting out a large sigh, you wave to your mom, who nods knowingly, and you join them.
The music pumped through your body, the floor below you vibrating with the bass. At some point, a drink was shoved in your hand and then a shot, and then another drink â Your friends quickly became a blur of faces and bodies as sweat slicked down the back of your dress. Someone had put a makeshift veil on your head, which seemed to be pressing too tightly into your pressure points. The lights were distant and couldnât quite illuminate the people around you like they wanted to.Â
It was creeping up your throat, clawing and thrashing like a storm. The anxiety, the longing, making their vicious reappearance as you struggled to recognise anyone around you.Â
Tears. Tears were first. From being overwhelmed, from missing your fiancĂŠe, from the heat and the crowd. Then your hands were shaking, your breathing becoming choppy, panic beginning to surge through you as you pushed your way out of the crowd.Â
Your breath was running away from you; it was practically sprinting, doing absolute laps around you. Get out of there was all your head was saying, your ears ringing in a high pitch as you escaped the colourful lights and followed along a blurry path â your tears compromising your vision as you dipped into a small garden, still rife with panic.Â
This was a panic attack. A very bad one, the symptoms worsening by the second. It had been months since youâd wobbled your way through one of these, and every time, since the day you met Jeonghan, heâd been by your side to coax you through it.
All you needed was Jeonghan; his soft touch on your shoulder would ground you. You know exactly what heâd say to you right now â âWhatâs gotten you all twisted, angel?âÂ
Desperately, you tried to imagine him in front of you, his beechwood scent, squeezing your eyes shut as tight as you physically could.Â
â_____? Are you okay?â A soft-faced Joshua appeared in the hedge arch you'd previously entered through. Immediately darting to you and crouching in front of you. Through your dreary state, you had failed to hear him approach, but he was alarmed, his features etched with worry.Â
Panic continued to possess you, even with the familiar face within your vicinity, your heart couldnât stop speeding.Â
âThe girls said you disappeared.â Concern bled through his look, the alcohol pumping through him rendering him useless to the panic attack dominating you. âEveryone is looking for you.âÂ
âHan-â You manage to spit out, âGet Hannie.âÂ
Joshua sprang into action, like your panic-stricken command had pulled all the booze out of his system. Almost sprinting out of the garden, his shoes tapped loudly against the paving as you looked up towards the night sky, trying to count the stars you could see.Â
To no avail, your breathing was making you nauseous, your head beginning to bang from the dehydration.Â
âBaby?â His voice echoed from afar, and it made you feel as if his hands were ghosting down your body. âAngel!âÂ
Before you could even look up, Jeonghanâs arm was around your shoulder, pulling you into his chest exactly how he had done many times before.Â
The scent, it was so him. So your fiancĂŠe, soon-to-be husband. So the man whom you will give everything for.Â
âOh baby,â he said softly, scanning your shaky frame and stroking your hair lightly. âBreathing with me sweetheart, just how weâve done it before.âÂ
After many, many minutes of him breathing with you, his fingers wiping your tears without hesitation, you began to calm down, the headache a steady booming in your head.Â
âIâm here angel,â he continued, holding you closely to him.Â
Finally, your glassy eyes met those warm, chocolatey brown ones you adored so much; his dark hair was half pulled back into a ponytail, his fringe tickling his eyebrows.Â
Your breath evening out forced the shaking to subside under his soft yet solid grip.
âYou look so beautiful,â he said, a sincere and loving smile on his face as he traced your jaw with his thumb. This stifled a small laugh out of you; his statement was nothing but a nicety. âThereâs my girl.âÂ
âIâm sorry to pull you away.â You hiccup finally, your voice hoarse and spent, but Jeonghan just shook his head.Â
âYou over everyone, every day in every life.â He said, his romance wooing you after so many years. âDo you want to cancel tomorrow?âÂ
This question tugged tightly on both of your heartstrings, and you couldâve collapsed on the spot if it wasnât for his sturdy arms.Â
âNever, ever.â You replied, nestling into his warm chest, slightly bare from the undone shirt he was wearing. He let out an audible sigh of relief and pulled you impossibly tighter to him. âToday just got a bit much.âÂ
âAngel,â he pouted sadly.Â
âI know that we agreed not to see each other before,â you started, âbut, I think I needed you here today, they were asking me questions about flowers and food and-âÂ
âI shouldâve been there,â a slight scowl played on his lips, why didnât they ask him?Â
âAnd I just missed you.âÂ
Jeonghanâs big eyes looked at you with such tenderness that you felt you could dissolve into him. âI missed you more than I can even say.âÂ
A light silence settles between you as you both look up at the night sky, the distant sound of birds whistling floating through the air. Jeonghan couldnât tear his eyes off of you, he wouldnât, afraid youâd start to shake again.
âI canât wait for you to be Mrs Yoon tomorrow.â He said with a wide smile on his face.Â
âMr and Mrs Yoon.â You replied, lacing your hands together.
âShall we go to bed?â He asked, looking down at your now calm state, his gaze classifying you as glass in this fragile mess. You nod smally, fuck the traditions, all that matters is him and you. âIn my bed. Both of us.â He clarified.Â
âI thought youâd never ask, Mr Yoon.â You manage to joke, allowing him to steady your legs as you stand.
âWell, soon to be Mrs Yoon, how does sharing a bed with me for the rest of our lives sound?â He pressed a kiss to the crown of your head, bathing in your scent.Â
âGosh,â You exhale, âMight have to think about that one.âÂ
Both of you chuckle, his arm securely around you as he guides you back to the buzzing hotel, avoiding the crowds and nodding at Joshua as you weave through the terrace.
âYou know, my mum and dad stayed together the night before their wedding.âÂ
could u please write something idol!yn x idol!mingyu where they get in the same situation kai from exo and krystal from f(x) got a few years back
(pretty sure it was 2017 and someone caught them buying three packs of condoms đ at a convenience store and the cashier even posted the receipt as proofâŚkai and krystal even bought a bunch of random shit just to try and be slick and their asses still got caught đ
Caught red handed || Kim Mingyu x idol!reader
A/n: THIS IS SO FUNNY HAHHA
Wc:
Warnings: none!!
MASTERLIST (idol!reader au masterlist)
-
The first thing you notice is that Mingyu is being suspiciously affectionate.
Not in the obvious way he sometimes got when he missed you after schedules.
He keeps pulling you into him every time you pass by the kitchen, resting his chin on top of your head while you scroll through your phone, kissing the side of your neck every few minutes like he's trying to distract you from something.
You're sitting cross-legged on the couch in one of his hoodies while some random variety show plays in the background. The apartment is dim except for the yellow glow from the kitchen lights and the television flickering across the living room walls.
Mingyu disappears into the bedroom for a moment before reappearing with his wallet in hand. âWe need to go to the convenience store.â
You blink slowly up at him. âRight now?â
Mingyu leans against the kitchen island with his arms folded across his chest, already dressed in a hoodie, âyeah.â
You glance toward the digital clock glowing beneath the television. 11:47 PM.
Your brows pull together immediately. âItâs nearly midnight.â
âAnd?â he asks easily, like that means absolutely nothing.
The answer comes way too casually. That alone makes you suspicious.
You narrow your eyes at him instantly, studying the expression hidden behind his annoyingly pretty face. Mingyu only acts this relaxed when he is hiding something.
Usually it comes with a smile exactly like the one he is trying not to show right now, lips twitching at the corners like he already knows something you do not.
âYouâre weird,â you mumble slowly.
His grin appears immediately, boyish and completely unapologetic. âYou love me.â
You stare at him flatly. âThat doesnât answer my question.â
He pushes himself off the counter and walks over toward the couch, stopping right in front of you before reaching down to tug lightly at the blanket wrapped around your legs. âI want snacks.â
âYou couldâve ordered them.â
âI donât want delivery.â
There's a split second pause before you laugh in disbelief because that is objectively the biggest lie he has ever told.
âYou literally order everything,â you say, sitting up straighter now. âGroceries. Toothpaste. Protein bars. You ordered batteries online once because you said you were too lazy to go downstairs.â
âThat was different.â
âHow so?â
âIt just was.â You squint at him harder.
âNo,â you say slowly. âSee, now youâre definitely hiding something.â
Mingyu exhales through his nose like he is trying not to laugh. âIâm not hiding anything.â
âYouâre literally smiling.â
âI always smile at you.â
âSmooth,â you admit reluctantly.
âI know.â
You stare at him for another few seconds before sighing dramatically and throwing your phone onto the couch cushions. âIf Dispatch catches us buying instant ramen at midnight, Iâm blaming you.â
Mingyuâs eyes brighten with victory so quickly it almost makes you regret agreeing. âThey wonât.â
You point at him accusingly. âYou said that last time and then somebody uploaded a photo of us holding matching umbrellas.â
âThat was romantic.â
âThat was humiliating.â
He only laughs before leaning down to press a quick kiss against your forehead, entirely too pleased with himself.
âGo put shoes on, baby.â
~
Twenty minutes later, the two of you are stepping out of the apartment building dressed like the most suspicious people alive.
Both of you are in oversized hoodies and sweatpants. Caps pulled low. Face masks covering most of your faces.
You even changed your phone case because Mingyu once claimed sasaengs could identify idols by accessories alone, which still sounded insane to you.
The problem is that Mingyu is unfortunately still very recognisable no matter what he wears.
He is too tall. Too broad. Too handsome.
Even hidden beneath layers, he still looks unmistakably like Mingyu.
The convenience store down the street is almost empty when you walk in. You grab a basket while Mingyu wanders toward the drinks section.
âYouâre not even gonna tell me what we came here for?â you ask.
âNope.â
You shake your head before drifting through the aisles alone. At first you genuinely only grab one bag of chips, but then the late-night convenience store cravings hit you all at once.
Strawberry milk. Gummy candies. Instant tteokbokki. Ice cream. Two random pastries you absolutely do not need. A cup ramen because suddenly you are starving.
You toss things into the basket absentmindedly while humming quietly to yourself, occasionally glancing around for Mingyu.
Every now and then you catch sight of him at the end of another aisle, towering over shelves while reading labels.
At one point you notice two teenage girls near the drinks fridge staring very hard in his direction.
One of them grabs the otherâs arm so aggressively that her juice nearly falls out of her hands.
You immediately duck your head lower beneath your cap.
Oh, great.
Mingyu either does not notice or simply does not care. Probably the second option.
By the time you make it to the checkout counter, your basket is embarrassingly full.
You set it down with a sigh while fishing around in your hoodie pocket for your phone.
The cashier glances up lazily at first before completely freezing. His eyes flick between you and Mingyu. Then widen. Immediate recognition.
Mingyu finally walks over beside you, one hand tucked into his hoodie pocket casually. And then, without a single ounce of shame, he drops three boxes into the basket.
Three packets of extra large condoms. Your entire soul leaves your body. You stare at the boxes. Then at him. Then back at the boxes again. Wide-eyed.
âMingyu.â The word comes out somewhere between a whisper and a threat.
His gaze moves to you innocently. âWhat?â
You lower your voice instantly. âWHAT is that?â
Mingyu follows your stare down into the basket like he genuinely has no idea what you are referring to. Then he looks back at you. âCondoms.â
âI can SEE that.â
âWe were out.â
Your mouth opens. Closes. Then opens again because the complete calmness in his voice is making this infinitely worse.
Around you, the convenience store suddenly feels painfully quiet.
The cashier, who had looked mildly bored thirty seconds ago, is now staring at the ramen noodles like itâs the most interesting thing in the world.
You can physically feel the heat crawling up your neck beneath your mask.
âMingyu,â you hiss quietly, âyou couldâve bought one.â
He shrugs. âI bought three.â
âThatâs not helping.â
His eyes crease with amusement above the edge of his black mask, shoulders relaxing like this entire situation is perfectly normal to him.
âBabe, relax.â
âRelax?â you whisper sharply, glancing nervously toward the cashier before lowering your voice even further. âHe knows who we are.â
At that exact moment, the cashier avoids looking at either of you so aggressively that it only confirms your fears.
Meanwhile, Mingyu stands there completely shameless, one hand in the pocket of his hoodie while the other lazily taps against the counter.
âOkay,â he says reasonably, âbut we still needed them.â
You stare at him in genuine disbelief.
âHow are you not embarrassed right now?â
That finally makes him look at you properly, brows lifting slightly beneath the brim of his cap like the thought had genuinely never crossed his mind.
âWhy would I be embarrassed?â
âYou just threw giant condoms into the basket in public.â
âSo?â
âSo?â you repeat incredulously. âDo you want the public to know what size condoms you use?â
âThereâs one person here.â
âThatâs not the point.â
His gaze flicks toward the cashier for half a second before returning to you again, completely unbothered.
âHe doesnât care.â
The cashier suddenly scans the chips with unnecessary intensity. Beep. Beep. Beep. The sound somehow makes everything worse.
âYouâre cute when youâre embarrassed.â You stare at him in disbelief. âBesides, all I did was buy condoms.â
âThree boxes of them? Really?â
He tilts his head slightly. âYou say that like itâs my fault we go through them fast.â
You make the most offended sound imaginable while the cashier nearly misses scanning the strawberry milk.
~
On the walk home, you keep smacking his arm while he carries the plastic bags with zero remorse whatsoever.
âYou are actually unbelievable.â
âWhat did I do?â
Your head snaps toward him so fast your cap nearly falls off.
âYou couldâve ordered them online like you do with literally everything else!â you whisper-yell while walking beside him down the quiet street, your sneakers scuffing against the pavement as you struggle to keep up with his stupidly long legs.
âWhy would you buy something soââ
You cut yourself off abruptly, hands flailing in frustration because you genuinely cannot find the words to describe how insane that entire interaction had been.
Humiliating? Mortifying? Life ruining?
You let out a defeated groan instead, dropping your head back dramatically toward the night sky. âOh my god.â
Beside you, Mingyu looks entirely unbothered . Actually, no. Worse. He looks pleased with himself.
âYouâre overreacting,â he says lightly.
You whip your head toward him immediately. âI am NOT overreacting.â
âYou kind of are.â
âThe cashier literally sawââ
âHeâs probably seen people buy condoms before.â
âNot you!â
That finally earns a laugh out of him. A real one this time. Low and warm and completely unhelpful.
âWe needed them immediately.â
The words come out so casually that your brain almost does not process them at first. Then it does.
You stop walking instantly.
Mingyu takes another step before noticing you are no longer beside him. He turns around slowly, streetlights casting soft gold across the edges of his face beneath his cap.
You stare at him. He stares back calmly. Completely serious. Then he gives the smallest shrug imaginable. Like that explanation should make perfect sense to you.
Your jaw drops. âMingyu.â His mouth twitches. âYouâre so annoying!â
The satisfaction in his eyes is immediate. Pure smug amusement sparkles there while he walks back toward you slowly, hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie now.
âAnd yet,â he says smoothly, stopping right in front of you, âyou still came home with me.â
You groan loudly, shoving his shoulder hard enough to make him laugh again.
âBut am I wrong?â
âYes.â
âYou hesitated.â
âI did not.â
âYou did.â
âShut up.â
He grins beneath his mask, eyes practically glowing with amusement while you try to ignore how unfairly attractive he looks standing there under the streetlights.
âYouâre lucky I love you,â you mumble finally.
His fingers slide easily between yours.
âI know,â he says quietly.
Then, because he cannot help himself, he leans down close enough for you to feel his breath against the top edge of your mask.
âGood thing too. Otherwise those three boxes wouldâve gone to waste.â
You stare at him in complete horror before smacking his arm again while he laughs loud enough to echo down the empty street.
~
The next morning is catastrophic. Absolutely catastrophic.
You wake up to your phone vibrating nonstop against the bedside table.
At first you think it is your manager. Then you see the sheer number of notifications. Messages from friends. Messages from staff. Messages from members. Missed calls.
Your stomach drops immediately.
Beside you, Mingyu is still half asleep, face pressed into your shoulder. You unlock your phone. And nearly scream. Worldwide trending.
He leans down to kiss you despite your complaints, smiling against your lips while you groan in embarrassment.
Photos of you and Mingyu walking into the convenience store. Photos of you leaving. A blurry zoomed-in picture of Mingyu holding the plastic bag.
And somehow, horrifyingly, a leaked photo of the receipt. You stare at the screen in complete silence. Then another post appears captioned: âNOT THE THREE XL PACKS?????â
You throw your phone onto the bed. âMingyu.â
He hums sleepily.
âMingyu.â
âWhat?â
âWeâre trending.â
That wakes him up slightly. âFor what?â
You just point at the phone with the expression of somebody moments away from losing their mind. He picks it up.
Scrolls. Reads. And then the audacity of this man.
He starts laughing. Actually laughing. Youâre horrified. âMingyu, this is not funny.â
âItâs a little funny.â
âThe cashier POSTED THE RECEIPT.â
He bursts into louder laughter at that, falling back against the pillows while you bury your face into your hands in pure humiliation.
âOh my god,â you mumble miserably. âI can never show my face again.â
âYouâre being dramatic.â
âPeople know what size condoms you use now.â
âThatâs not exactly devastating for me.â
You look at him in disbelief. Heâs still grinning. Still completely unbothered.
Then he wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you down against his chest despite your protests.
âYou know,â he says casually, âthe comments seem pretty supportive.â
You groan loudly into the pillow.
He only laughs again before kissing the top of your head, entirely too pleased with himself while your dignity dies in real time across the internet.
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SYNOPSIS. A spur of the moment decision makes you decide to get an intimate back tattoo. Luckily, your boyfriend is a tattoo artistâa very talented and thorough one, in fact.
PAIRING. tattoo artist!joshua hong x fem!reader
GENRE. smut (minors dni đ), fluff, suggestive, established relationship
WARNINGS. mentions of needles and descriptions of what a tattoo feels like (everyone has diff pain tolerance tho!!), mentions of blood, shua and reader both have tattoos, lowkey me describing my dream spine tattoo, cursing, terms of endearment, joshua getting horny as heâs tattooing you lmao đđ, kissing, making out, body worship, lots of praise, unprotected sex, standing doggy wooweee backshots!
WORD COUNT. 5k
notes: shoutout to @mellow-wishes for permanently imprinting the thot of tattoo artist!joshua in my brain. oh to get tattoed by him đđ anyway, i hope u all enjoy!! wanted to get this fic out b4 i go out of town for the weekend so apologies if it's rushed i didn't rlly proofread it. pls don't forget to reblog w ur thoughts!!
âAre you still sure about this, sweetheart?âÂ
You shoot a playful glare at your boyfriend, arms crossed loosely over your chest. You find yourself standing in the small corner of your shared apartment, which has been turned into a private studio corner where Joshua frequently freehands designs, sketches out his linework for clients, and practices on synthetic skin. Sometimes he even practices on himself, which is how he ended up with a rose stem behind his ear a month ago.Â
All of your current tattoos are from him too. Tiny constellations scattered along your ribs. The moth beneath your collarbone that he freehanded at three in the morning because neither of you could sleep. A koi fish running down the curve of your hip. Every single piece carries his fingerprints in it somewhere.
The fairy lights hung around the room have been dimmed low, the coffee table pushed aside, and his client chair unfolded in the open space near the big window. Soft rain taps against the glass from the outside, and some calm lo-fi music plays throughout the apartment to set the mood and calm your nerves, even if youâve planned this for a whileđJoshua had sacrificed hours upon hours to bring your idea to life. You canât back away from this now.Â
The idea is a long, elegant spine tattoo: a powerful dragon that coils gracefully down your back with its body and sharp scales interwoven with delicate cherry blossoms. Strength and softness tangled together, exactly as you had imagined. You remember when you first told him about it and the way his eyes had grown wide, like a mixture of excitement and awe, but also⌠a subtle pinch of fear.
Because itâs you, and he knows that he canât afford to screw up, especially with something as permanent as a tattoo. Youâre willingly offering a big piece of yourself for him to mark, and thatâs a huge weight heâs had to carry while sketching out your concept. Thereâs no undo button for that kind of trust.Â
âIâve thought about this for a long time, Shua,â You tell him firmly, though thereâs that twitch of your nerves to your voice that doesnât go unnoticed. âThereâs no going back now.â
Joshuaâs eyes turn fond, taking a step closer to you. Heâs wearing a sleeveless black top, the fabric stretching across his chest and showing off the ink drawn over his skin. One of his arms is completely bare of any tattoos, but his other is a beautiful canvas of pieces heâs collected over the yearsđsome intricate fineline, others that are more bold and striking. He even has some dotted over his ribs as well, particularly the Gemini tattoo that you love kissing.
He reaches out instinctively, sliding his arms around your waist to pull you closer to him. Your head falls onto his chest naturally, breathing him in, giving him the opportunity to press a kiss to the top of your head. You can feel his steady heartbeat against your cheek, and it helps to lessen your nerves a little.
After all, itâs temporary pain for something permanent on your skin forever. And of course, itâs created by the man you love.Â
âAlright,â he murmurs, pulling back to look at you properly. âLetâs get you ready then, love. Can I take this off you?â
His fingers linger underneath your (his) shirt, tracing circles on your back as if heâs drawing it out on you. It sends shivers of anticipation up and down your spine. Heâs giving you one last chance to change your mind, but you both already know you wonât.
You tilt your head to look at him back. âYes. Please.â
You swear you see his eyes darken for a split second at your words. Without another word, he leads you to the mirror perched in the corner, turns your back to him, and peels the oversized shirt off slow enough it almost seems like heâs purposely teasing you. You help by lifting your arms as it slips off you, leaving you bare from the waist up. Youâre not even wearing a bra underneath, and you hear him suck in a sharp breath.
For a second, he just⌠stares at you in the mirror, lips pursing at the way your nipples tighten in the cool air. Then he drinks in the sight of your bare backđhis beautiful untouched canvasđtaking in how the dim lighting in the room highlights the line of your spine and the elegant curve of your shoulders. The thought that heâs about to leave something permanent there visibly makes him swallow.Â
âJesus Christ,â he mutters, mostly to himself. âHow am I supposed to concentrate for the next six hours when you look like this?â
âLike what?â You ask amusedly, meeting his heated gaze in the mirror.
âLike a goddess,â he finishes roughly, letting a hand hover near your waist, close but not exactly touching you, as if heâs scared to ruin you with carelessness. âA masterpiece I shouldnât be allowed to worship.â
Heat blooms through your face at that. You grab his hand thatâs lingering over your side, guiding it to where heâs finally touching you properly. His palm is slightly cold at first, but it warms instantly the second heâs touches your skin. His other hand joins in, sliding up your ribs until both palms rest just beneath your breasts, thumbs tenderly brushing the undersides. Then he leans in to kiss a line down from your nape, nipping gently on where your neck meets your shoulder.Â
He smiles against your skin when he feels you tremble in his hold.
âI love it when you worship me,â You tell him quietly.
Immediately, you swear you see the way your words make his mind flashđperhaps with images of past intimate nights with your bodies tangled in bed together, his mouth between your thighs for hours, marking his territory on top of his own art. He also imagines how youâd look from behind when he sinks insideđ
âOn the chair now,â he orders, forcing himself backward. âbefore I lose my mind.â
With a breathless giggle, you sit down on the client chair, straddling it so that your chest is pinned against the leather backrest. The position leaves your entire back deliciously exposed to him. You hear the sound of gloves being snapped on and the roll of his stool wheeling right next to you. Even though you canât see him, you still feel the heat of his eyes roaming over you.
The next few minutes are spent cleaning you. Joshuaâs gloved hands move slowly as he wipes your entire back down with antiseptic solution, his thumbs applying some reassuring pressure along your spine. You shiver when it hits your skin, and he notices immediately.Â
âYouâre shaking,â he murmurs. âStill okay?â
âMhm,â You breathe, eyes half-closed. âJust⌠sensitive.â
He hums in understanding, then leans in to place a soft kiss to your shoulder blade.
Once your skin is clean, he carefully applies the stencil. He smooths it down your skin inch by inch with both hands from the nape of your neck all the way to the curve just above your ass. You can already imagine every detail of itđthe long, coiling scaly body of the dragon, along with the delicate cherry blossom branches that will soften it.Â
When the stencil is peeled away, both the room and Joshua take a collective deep breath together.Â
The dragon already looks beautifully alive on your skin. Its serpentine body twists down the length of your spine, the tail end just above the waistband of your lounge shorts. Cherry blossom petals and branches burst along its scales, a few petals seemingly drifting free like a small breeze across your skin. The lines are fine, crisp, perfect. Even Joshua himself seems completely speechless of the linework that he created.Â
Thereâs really nobody else that you trust more than him to do this.Â
âWow,â he utters out softly, refusing to blink for a few seconds as if heâs scared youâll vanish. âYou look⌠illegal, baby.â
A choked laugh leaves you, reality settling within your bones that youâre seriously doing this. âYeah?â
âYeah.â He caresses a gloved finger down your back right beside the stencil. âYouâre really going to sit through this, huh?â
âYouâre really going to make me sit through it.â
âFair,â he quips with a grin, before exhaling a breath through his nose. âBut if it gets too much or becomes too painful, you tell me immediately, okay? Weâre only doing the outline for today, then shading later another time.â
You glance at him over your shoulder, wiggling a brow at him. âBossy.â
âIâm serious,â Joshua says pointedly, yet thereâs a layer of softness underneath. âThis is your body, love.â
That lands more harder than it should.
Your smile fades and brightens at the same time. âAnd I trust you with it, Shua. I always have.âÂ
Joshua pauses from where heâs been squeezing out the black ink into some tiny plastic caps. For a moment, you see the professional artist facade on his face crack and sparkle of love in his eyes. Because after all, he is your boyfriendđthe man who kisses your forehead when youâre sick and the one whoâs about to carve forever on your skin with hands thatâs thoroughly mapped every inch of you.Â
He rolls his stool until heâs right in front of you. Without any hesitation, he leans in to steal a slow, deep kiss to your lips, leaning his forehead against yours for a minute.Â
âThen let me make this perfect for you, my brave girl,â he whispers assuringly, rolling himself back beside you. The sound of the machine buzzing to life cuts through the rain shower outside and the low tunes of his playlist. âColour system, alright? Iâll work my way from the top to the bottom.âÂ
You nod, gripping the top of the client chair a little tighter as the familiar buzz of the tattoo machine fills the room. After getting multiple pieces done already, you find the sound oddly comforting now, especially if itâs with Joshua.Â
When the needle touches down at the nape of your neck, your lips tighten together into a thin line and you have to force yourself not to flinch. You feel the vibrations of the machine carry into your skull as Joshua starts to outline the head of the dragon, keeping one hand settled at the small of your back anytime the needle starts dragging to more sensitive flesh.Â
Each precise pass sends little sparks of fire down your nerves, some of them curling low in your belly in a way that feels way inappropriate given the situation. As the long minutes drag by, you close your eyes and rest your forehead onto the cool leather backrest. Every so often Joshua lifts the machine to wipe away any excess ink and blood, and to plant soothing kisses beside the fresh ink as if to apologise for the pain and praise you for your strength at the same time. Itâs strangely intimateđletting him mark you like this, claim you like this.Â
Minutes slowly blur to an hour. The silence is filled mostly with Joshua updating you with the progress so far and checking in on you, the occasional sigh of discomfort from your lips when the needle hits a particularly sensitive spot on your spine, and his playlist now shifting to some smooth jazz (Sade, mostly). By the time the second hour hits, Joshua kills the machine for a short break, which gives you the opportunity to finally stretch from being stuck in the chair for so long.
âThe head and neck are done,â he tells you, ditching the gloves and offering you some water. âHow are you feeling?â
You extend your arms up to the ceiling, groaning at the sensitivity in your muscles.Â
âStiff,â You admit hoarsely, rolling your shoulders carefully. âBurns like hell near my spine. But⌠Iâm okay. I want to keep going.âÂ
Joshua watches you with soft, attentive eyes as you take the glass of water from him. The sleeveless top heâs wearing clings to his frame from the warmth of the room. His gaze drifts down your bare torso and the redness of your skin from where the needle had been, lingering on the way your breasts move as you stretch, before flicking back up to your face.Â
His sweatpants are beginning to feel uncomfortably tight too, but he tries to ignore the feeling with an audible cough out of his throat. The professionalism is hanging on by a thread at this point. Because youâre still technically his âclientâ, despite the fact that you both sleep in the same bed together every day and he knows your mind and body by heart.Â
But youâre also his girlfriend⌠who is completely topless in front of him. So his thoughts are basically bound to go haywire.Â
âAlright, try to relax for me again, baby,â Joshua instructs, snapping on a fresh pair of gloves. He leans over you, close enough that the warmth of his body hits your skin, and presses a hand between your shoulder blades to guide you back into position. âYouâre doing so good for me, you know that?â
The machine buzzes back to life, and the needle meets your skin once more with that delicious burn, causing an unconscious whimper to tumble out of you. The dragonâs body is thicker towards the middle of your back, but Joshua works his way down with steady and careful strokes, ink blooming beneath your skin like ribbons.
But you can sense the shift in him.Â
His breathing grows heavier with every involuntary sound you let out from the pain or how your back arches beautifully when a raw area is drawn over, brows furrowed together as he works in concentration, even if itâs fraying by each minute that passes.Â
When he finally reaches the tail-end of the dragonđjust above the waistband of your shorts and the swell of your assđthe needle drags across the sensitive skin of your lower back, sending sharp sparks straight down your spine and between your legs. You canât stop the soft, needy moan that escapes you this time.Â
âColour?â Joshua asks, wiping away the excess ink.Â
A shaky breath leaves you, trying to steady yourself even if your body feels like itâs been set ablaze in the best and worst ways.Â
âGreen⌠mostly,â You mutter in response. âItâs a lot on the lower back, but I can take it.â
Joshua hums in acknowledgement, offering a reassuring squeeze to your hip. You feel him shift on the stool beside you, his gloved hand roaming down your lower back and stopping just shy of the waistband of your shorts. One of his fingers slides underneath from behind to trace the sensitive skin there teasingly.Â
His warm breath fans against you, a smug smirk on his face that you canât see but can definitely sense. âI can tell youâre wet for me, love.âÂ
Heat instantly floods your cheeks, embarrassment crawling up your spine. âShuaâŚâ
âDirty girl,â he says with a low chuckle, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards. âGetting turned on by me marking up your back, hm?â
You bite at your bottom lip hard in embarrassment, both mortified and aroused at the same time. The bastard knows you too well.Â
âI canât help it,â You mumble shyly, refusing to look at him. âIt feels good⌠especially with your hands on me.âÂ
Joshua gives a playful snap to his gloves, causing you to flinch in the seat out of pure anticipation. God, it kills him to see how needy you are for him right nowđbut he has a job to finish and heâs determined to do so. Heâs blessed at being able to keep his patience afloat, most times to tease you more than anything; otherwise, he would have you bent over the chair right now.Â
âI still have the lower back to finish,â he reminds you, reluctantly pulling his hand away from you. âThink you can behave long enough for me to do it?âÂ
You nod your head, even as you grind subtly into the chair for that small ounce of friction. You say yes, but you both know thatâs a lie.Â
The machine whirs back to life instantly. When the sharp stick of the needle meets the sensitive skin of your lower back, your whole body reacts. The skin there is tender and sensitive after the long hours of being worked over. And the second Joshua drags another line across your lower back, your hips twitch up involuntarily as you fight to stay still. If today is only for the outline, you could only imagine how the shading process would be like.Â
âBreathe for me, love,â Joshua coos lightly, pausing for a minute. He flattens a hand to the curve of your waist to hold you down and rub circles on your skin. âLower back is evil, I know. Just a little more.â
Easy for him to say.
You feel the vibrations of the machine travel straight through your pelvis. Your grip tightens around the leather backrest, breasts pressed flush against the chair as you try to breathe through the stinging fire licking up your spine.Â
âSo pretty like this,â he praises absentmindedly as he draws out the cherry blossom petals. âTaking it so well for me, sweetheartâŚâ
You canât tell if the praise makes it better or worse. Worse, probablyđit sinks hotter into your skin than the needle does. Youâre probably soaked as well. Embarrassingly so, since his hands have been on you the entire time, and the words that come out are in that familiar adoring tone he only uses in the bedroom with you. Youâre not sure if what youâre feeling is pain or need anymore.Â
Joshua knows it too. His low chuckle vibrates through the quiet room as he continues the final outlines on the cherry blossoms right where the tail curls.Â
After what feels like a literal eternity, the machine is finally killed off for the last time, and the room falls into a strange kind of silence with the exception of your ridiculously heavy breathing. The relief is immediate when the needle is away from your burning skin, but the desperate ache between your thighs continues to throb. You near the loud snap of Joshua removing his latex gloves and rolling his stool back to retrieve the aftercare supplies.
Joshua takes his precious time wiping away what remains of the excess ink over your inflamed skin. After everything is pat dry, he applies a final layer of soothing ointment, before slowly rolling on the second skin, pressing it down with careful palms from the nape of your neck all the way to the curve of your lower back. The cool, transparent film material settles protectively over the fresh dragon and cherry blossoms, sealing them in.Â
The moment heâs done, you hear him lean back on the stool, just staring at youđand his workđfor a long minute. You lift your head to glance at him over your shoulder.
He looks completely wrecked. Thereâs some exhaustion there obviously, fatigue sitting directly beneath his eyes from all the long hours of concentration. But the heat in his gaze is unmistakable.Â
âAre you gonna say something or just stare at me forever?â You ask him with a sly look.Â
Joshua blinks as if you pulled him out of a trance.Â
âGod, come here, love,â he urges, and before you can respond, heâs pulling you by the arms and leading you towards the large mirror in the corner of the room.Â
He positions you right in front of the mirror, standing behind you with his hands resting on your hips. The fairy lights cast a warm glow across your skin, almost making the second skin on your back shimmer faintly.Â
âLook,â Joshua whispers hotly, spinning you gently so your back is visible in the reflection. âLook at what we made together.â
Your breath catches in your throat when you catch sight of the tattoo for the very first time. The dragon coils elegantly down your spine as if it had always belonged there. Cherry blossom branches and petals drift along its body like theyâre caught in a permanent spring breeze. The head rests between your shoulder blades while the tail disappears low near the waistband of your shorts. It looks almost alive.Â
âShuaâŚâ You breathe, unable to find the proper words from how stunned you are as you peer back up at him. âItâs beautiful.â
Joshua nuzzles his nose into your hair, inhaling you in, before tilting his head slightly so that his mouth barely grazes your neck.Â
âYeah?â he murmurs, gliding his hands up your sides, stopping short of your breasts. âItâs more than beautiful, love. Itâs perfect on you.âÂ
A kiss to your neck severs any kind of response you could say, stealing the words right off your tongue and replacing it with a soft, trembling breath. Joshua smiles against your skin, pulling more shaky sighs out of you as he kisses his way down to your collarbone.Â
When he pulls away, your eyes lock together. In the small space between your bodies, you can feel the hours of lingering tension, pain, pride, and need. Joshuaâs gaze is dark, full of love and unbridled hunger. You only have to flick your attention down to his lips once before heâs on you.Â
Joshuaâs mouth crashes onto yours, fueled by the desperation thatâs been simmering for the past few hours. His tongue slides against yours like heâs trying to taste every sound of discomfort and pleasure that left you. You moan softly into his mouth as your hands tangle up in his dark hair, his arms sliding around you to pull you closer but ensuring to not put any pressure on your freshly tattooed back. You can feel how hard he is through his sweatpants.Â
âCareful, beautiful,â he breathes against your lips, even as he walks you backward until the backs of your knees collide with the client chair. âItâs still fresh. Iâm not ruining my best work because I canât keep my hands off you.âÂ
But the way heâs kissing you says otherwise. And the way his fingers wander underneath your shorts to cup your clothed pussy says otherwise, too.Â
âI need you, Shua,â You mutter breathlessly, hands sliding underneath his sleeveless top as you feel his fingers glide through your soaked folds. âPlease⌠want you inside me.â
Joshua groans at your pleads, exhaling harshly through his nose.
âGod, how can I ever deny you?â he rasps darkly, guiding you around so that your chest is braced up against the side of the chair. âKeep that pretty back arched for me, baby.âÂ
You obey instantly, folding forward and resting your forearms on the seat. The position leaves you shamelessly exposed for him, your back arching beautifully so that he has the perfect sight of the dragon tattoo from behind.
Joshuaâs breath catches. âFuck, just like thatâŚâ
You hear the rustle of fabric as he finally pushes his sweatpants and boxers down his thighs. Then you feel him drag down your lounge shorts in one smooth motion, letting them pool at your ankles. He steps up behind you, one hand smoothing up the back of your thigh while the other kneads at the soft flesh of your hip, thumb brushing just beneath the edge of the second skin.Â
He leans in to plant open-mouthed over the untouched skin of your back, his hardened cock nudging teasingly at your entrance. The heat of his breath ghosts across your spine as he drags his lips slowly upward.
âStill okay?â he whispers, voice rough yet still tainted with that familiar tenderness that makes your chest ache. âTell me if anything hurts, love.â
You subtly grind yourself back against him, aching for more. He grips your hips even more tightly at the contact.
âIâm okay,â You reassure him, voice trembling with need. âWant all of you, Shua⌠please.â
Joshua presses one more lingering, grateful kiss to the centre of your upper back right beside the dragonâs head as if to silently say thank you, before slowly pushing the thick head of his cock inside your soaked entrance. The two of you moan softly at the familiarity of your bodies joining together. His bare chest leans protectively over your body, close enough that you feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat against your back.Â
He slowly enters you inch by inch, letting you feel every ridge and vein inside until his hips are flush against your ass. A shared, breathy moans from the two of you travels through the quiet apartment. He stays still for a long moment, just to savour the feeling of being perfectly connected with you and to let you adjust. One of his arms wraps gently around your waist to rest a warm palm over your stomach as he continues to worship attention to every inch of skin he can reach with his mouth.Â
Then he starts to moveđunhurried deep thrusts that drags his cock alongside your sensitive walls. His hand on your stomach lowers until theyâre between your legs, fingers seeking your clit and running through your wetness to bring that added pleasure. You push back against him, desperate for more, but he keeps the pace torturously steady.
âTake it easy, sweetheart,â Joshua murmurs against the shell of your ear. âDonât move too much. Let me take care of you.â
His free hand tantalisingly traces the edge of the second skin. The sight of his art on your spine while he fucks you spurs him on even further. With a guttural groan, he starts to pick up the pace, still mindful of your back but unable to hold himself back completely. The wet sounds of your bodies mixes in with your broken whimpers, each thrust sending thrilling flames of pain and pleasure down your body.
You grip the leather chair even tighter, your back arching deeper instinctively. âShuađright theređfuckđâ
Joshua curses under his breath. He angles his hips slightly to kiss that particular spot that makes your vision blur, his fingers moving on your clit even faster.
âThatâs it,â he praises thickly in that low, filthy register you love, giving an encouraging squeeze to your ass. âLet me hear you, love. You took my needle so fucking well⌠and now youâre taking my cock just as pretty. Been thinking about this every single minute I was marking you.âÂ
His words make you clench tightly around him, drawing a deep groan out of his chest. His hips begin to snap harder into you, causing your head to helplessly fall onto the cool leather of the chair as he continues fucking you from behind. Every thrust sends your breasts crushing harder into the chair, nipples aching from the friction.Â
Youâre so embarrassingly close already from the hours of teasing, the needleâs sting, and his cock driving in and out of you at a relentless rhythm.Â
âMy perfect canvas⌠my masterpieceâŚâ he murmurs possessively against your skin, sending another rush of heat through you. âAll mine to mark, to worship, and fuck.âÂ
When your legs start to shake, Joshua notices it immediately, responding by rubbing more tighter circles on your clit, exactly how you like it. His own rhythm starts to falter as he feels himself nearing the edge as well, but he doesnât dare slow down. He wantsđno, cravesđto see you fall apart while his art is still fresh on your back.Â
âShuađshitđIâm close, so closeđâ You pant hoarsely, feeling the coil in your stomach wind tighter and tighter.Â
âYeah?â he asks, teeth grazing over your shoulder. âCum on my cock, baby. Youâre squeezing me so goodđcome on, sweetheartđâ
Thatâs all it takes.
Your orgasm crashes into your hard, a broken sob of his name tearing out of your throat as your walls pulse around him. The pleasure and fiery pain ripping through your body only heightens your release even stronger. Joshuaâs hips stutter against you, his fingers working through you to draw every last sigh until youâre sensitive and gasping.Â
When the last hints of your orgasm fades, he finally lets himself go as well, burying himself deep inside of you with a short-winded grunt. His forehead drops onto the slick skin of your shoulder, his chest rising and falling heavily against you.Â
Neither of you move for a while, only listening to one anotherâs ragged breathing as you both come down from your intense releases together. Joshua reaches down to intertwine his hand with yours thatâs been gripping the chair so tautly.Â
âYou okay?â he asks breathlessly while caressing a tender finger over your hip bone with his free hand. âDoes anything hurt?â
You let out a shaky, yet contented chuckle. âEverything burns a little, but⌠itâs good. Really good.â You give a reassuring squeeze to his hand. âMmmh⌠youâre insatiable.â
Joshua hums in relief. âYouâre the insatiable one, my love. Have you seen yourself? And we still have to do the shadingđhow am I supposed to hold myself back for that?â
Your cheeks flare up at his words, causing you to smack him playfully on the rear, but he retaliates with a tender kiss to the side of your neck. Then he cautiously pulls out of you, the two of you hissing at the sensitivity. He helps you straighten up before spinning you around to give you a proper kiss on the lips, bringing that shy giggle out of you that he adores so much when he draws back.
He angles your body slightly to check the second skin on your back, making sure itâs secure.
âEverything looks good,â he says, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. âItâs going to heal so beautifully on you. Iâll make sure of it.â
You grin up at him with hazy eyes. âI know you will.â
As he helps you back into your shirt and puts on his own clothes, he leads you to your shared bedroom. Now that the healing process has started, he knows he canât wait to see how itâll look entirely completed in its beautyđwhen he can run his fingertips over it without worry, and maybe, just maybe, when he can pin you down into the sheets and worship his work on you once again.Â
Because you still have to get through the shading sessions.