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bratzkoo · 2 months ago

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If you guys have twitter/x, hope you can read /kinda/ prequel of “our three year plan”

>> three years before that: mingyu x ela - thread

our three year plan pt. 3 | wonwoo

Author: bratzkoo Pairing: chaebol heir! wonwoo x chaebol heiress!/ nurse! reader Genre: angst, fluff, eventual smut Rating: PG-15 to NC-17 Word count: 6.5k~ Warnings/note: hi. i need someone to beta read this fic. hELP, dm me if interested!

summary: you think your life is ruined when your parents announced that you’re marrying the heir of a tech chaebol; jeon wonwoo. so you offered him a plan, pretend to be in love until you can fake a catastrophe to break the engagement.

jeon wonwoo thinks his life just got better when his parents announced that he’s marrying the heiress of the medical group. his long time crush and basically the woman of his dreams. so when you offered him your plan, he’s going to use it to make you fall in love with him

masterlist

Y/N adjusted the necklace Wonwoo had given her that morning—a delicate platinum pendant that matched her engagement ring—as flashbulbs popped around them. The Jeon Industries annual charity gala was their first major public appearance as an engaged couple, and it felt like all of Seoul's elite had their eyes trained on them.

"Smile," Wonwoo whispered, his hand resting lightly at the small of her back as they posed for what felt like the hundredth photograph. "You look like you're contemplating murder."

Despite her nerves, Y/N found herself laughing at his unexpected humor. "Maybe I am. Starting with whoever designed these heels."

Wonwoo's eyes crinkled behind his glasses. "Three more minutes of photos, then I'll rescue you with an urgent call from a fictional business associate."

"You've done this before," she observed, genuinely impressed by his social navigation skills.

"Corporate heir survival tactics," he replied with a wink that made several nearby socialites sigh dreamily. "Lesson one: always have an escape plan."

As promised, Wonwoo's phone rang exactly three minutes later, and he smoothly excused them from the photo line. Y/N exhaled with relief as he guided her toward a quieter corner of the ballroom.

"Thank you," she murmured. "I didn't realize fake-fiancée duties would include quite so much smiling."

"You did beautifully," he said, handing her a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. "My mother is already texting to say everyone is enchanted by you."

Y/N nearly choked on her drink. "Somehow I doubt that."

"It's true," Wonwoo insisted. "Though she did add that your dress could have been 'more befitting of the Jeon name.'"

Y/N glanced down at her elegant but understated navy gown. "What does that even mean?"

"It means you didn't spend enough to buy a small car," Wonwoo explained with a slight eye roll. "Don't worry about it. I think you look perfect."

The compliment felt sincere, and not for the first time, Y/N found herself confused by Wonwoo's seemingly effortless ability to play the adoring fiancé. Over the past three weeks since they'd begun their charade, he had been unfailingly considerate, attentive, and convincing—sometimes so convincing that Y/N had to remind herself this was all an act.

A passing couple stopped to congratulate them, and Wonwoo's arm slipped around her waist, drawing her closer. Y/N automatically leaned into him, their bodies fitting together with a comfort that belied their arrangement.

"You're getting better at this," he murmured once they were alone again.

"At what?"

"Not flinching when I touch you," he said matter-of-factly, though something flickered in his eyes. "The first week, you tensed every time."

Y/N hadn't realized he'd noticed. "Practice makes perfect, I suppose."

"Indeed it does." Wonwoo's gaze drifted over her shoulder, his expression shifting slightly. "Your parents have arrived. Shall we go greet them?"

Y/N suppressed a sigh. "Might as well get it over with."

As they navigated through the crowd, Wonwoo kept his hand loosely entwined with hers, his thumb occasionally brushing over her knuckles in a gesture that felt oddly reassuring. Y/N found herself grateful for the contact, an anchor in the sea of social obligations she'd never enjoyed.

Her parents were deep in conversation with an elderly couple when they approached. Her father broke into a rare smile at their arrival, a public display of warmth that rarely extended to private settings.

"Ah, here they are—the happy couple!" Dr. Lee exclaimed with practiced joviality. "Chairman Park, you remember my daughter Y/N? And of course, her fiancé, Jeon Wonwoo."

Introductions were made, compliments exchanged, and Y/N slipped seamlessly into her role as the dutiful daughter and bride-to-be. She'd had a lifetime of practice at these corporate functions, though previously she'd been permitted to stand quietly in her parents' shadow. Now, as half of the merger—she couldn't help thinking of it that way—she was expected to engage, charm, and represent both families.

To her surprise, Wonwoo subtly guided the conversation whenever she faltered, filling silences and deflecting potentially awkward questions about wedding dates and future plans. By the time they extracted themselves, Y/N was genuinely impressed by his social dexterity.

"You're good at this," she commented as they made their way toward their assigned table.

"Years of practice," Wonwoo replied with a self-deprecating smile. "Corporate functions have been my second home since I was old enough to wear a tie."

"It must have been lonely," Y/N observed, the words slipping out before she could censor them.

Wonwoo glanced at her, surprise evident in his expression. "It was. Most children had playmates; I had shareholders and board members."

There was no self-pity in his tone, just a simple statement of fact, but Y/N felt an unexpected pang of empathy. Perhaps they had more in common than she'd initially thought.

Before she could respond, a familiar voice called her name. Y/N turned to see Ela approaching, stunning in a crimson gown, with Mingyu by her side. For the first time that evening, Y/N's smile was entirely genuine.

"You look amazing," Ela said, embracing her. "Both of you. The engagement photos in the business section didn't do you justice."

"Thanks for coming," Y/N replied, genuinely grateful for friendly faces among the corporate crowd. "I didn't know you'd be here."

"Mingyu's company is one of the sponsors," Ela explained. "Plus, I think our parents are testing us to see if we can be in the same room without causing a scene."

Mingyu's expression was a mix of amusement and resignation. "Three months since the last public argument. I think that's a new record."

Wonwoo greeted his friend with a warm handshake that transformed into a brief hug. "Glad you made it. Our table has two empty seats if you'd like to join us."

"Rescue accepted," Ela said with a laugh. "My parents are on the other side of the room with the pharmaceutical contingent. I'm happy to delay that particular reunion."

As they settled at their table, Y/N found herself observing the easy camaraderie between Wonwoo and Mingyu. There was a genuine friendship there, built on what was clearly years of shared experiences. Wonwoo seemed more relaxed, more himself, than she'd seen him before.

"How are you really doing?" Ela asked quietly while the men were engrossed in conversation. "This can't be easy."

Y/N glanced at Wonwoo, who was laughing at something Mingyu had said. "It's... not what I expected."

"Meaning?"

"He's..." Y/N struggled to articulate her confusion. "He's good at pretending. Sometimes I almost forget we're not really engaged."

Ela studied her thoughtfully. "Maybe he's not pretending as much as you think."

Before Y/N could question her friend further, Wonwoo turned to them, his smile warming as his eyes met Y/N's. "What are you two conspiring about?"

"Just girl talk," Ela replied smoothly. "I was asking Y/N when you two lovebirds are joining us for dinner. It's been too long since we all got together."

"Actually," Mingyu interjected, "we were thinking of hosting a dinner next weekend. Something small—just us, you two, and maybe our parents? Like a pre-wedding families meetup."

Y/N nearly choked on her water. "All our parents? Together?"

"It could be... interesting," Wonwoo said diplomatically, though Y/N could see the same apprehension in his eyes that she felt.

"By 'interesting,' you mean potentially catastrophic," Ela said with a laugh. "But maybe it's better to get it over with before the wedding planning really begins. My parents already have opinions about the venue, and I'm sure yours do too."

The conversation shifted to wedding plans—all hypothetical, all part of their charade—but Y/N found herself struggling to focus. The reality of how deep their deception ran was hitting her anew. This wasn't just about living together and attending occasional events. There would be family dinners, wedding preparations, a lifetime of intersecting social obligations before they could execute their exit strategy.

Three years suddenly felt like an eternity.

"That wasn't so terrible, was it?" Wonwoo asked as they drove home, the city lights casting intermittent shadows across his profile.

Y/N leaned her head against the cool window, exhaustion setting in now that they were away from prying eyes. "It was fine. You were right about the escape tactics."

"I've had years to perfect them," he replied, a hint of weariness in his voice. "Though I must admit, having you there made it more bearable than usual."

Y/N glanced at him, surprised by the admission. "Really?"

Wonwoo kept his eyes on the road, but a small smile played at the corners of his mouth. "Really. It's nice having someone to share sardonic glances with when Chairman Park starts his third investment story."

The observation made Y/N laugh. "I thought I was being subtle."

"You were. I'm just becoming fluent in your expressions." Wonwoo navigated a turn, his hands steady on the wheel. "Your left eyebrow raises slightly when you're skeptical, and you have a particular smile that doesn't reach your eyes when you're being polite but unimpressed."

The accuracy of his observation was unsettling. "You're very observant."

"I told you, I notice things," he said simply. "Especially about you."

The statement hung between them, weighted with an implication Y/N wasn't sure how to interpret. Before she could respond, Wonwoo changed the subject.

"About the dinner with Ela and Mingyu—we don't have to go if you'd rather not."

Y/N considered the prospect of all their parents in one room. "No, Ela's right. If this were real, our families would be getting to know each other. We should maintain the illusion."

Wonwoo nodded, though he seemed distracted. "I'll confirm with Mingyu, then."

The rest of the drive passed in comfortable silence. By the time they reached home, Y/N was struggling to keep her eyes open, the emotional toll of the evening catching up with her.

"Go on up," Wonwoo said as they entered the house. "I'll lock up."

Y/N paused at the foot of the stairs, watching as he moved through their shared space with familiar ease, checking windows and setting the security system. In just three weeks, they had developed a domestic rhythm that felt strangely natural—Wonwoo taking care of the house's security, Y/N usually managing the kitchen on her days off, both of them respecting each other's space and privacy.

"Wonwoo," she said impulsively, "thank you. For tonight. You made it easier."

He looked up, surprise and something warmer flickering in his eyes. "You're welcome. Sleep well, Y/N."

As she climbed the stairs, Y/N couldn't shake the feeling that something was shifting between them—something beyond the parameters of their arrangement. The thought both intrigued and alarmed her as she prepared for bed, removing the delicate necklace he'd lent her for the evening.

It wasn't until she was drifting off to sleep that she realized she'd stopped thinking of their engagement as entirely fake. Somewhere in the past three weeks, it had become real in small, domestic ways—not the love, perhaps, but the partnership.

The realization should have frightened her more than it did.

Morning brought a return to normalcy as Y/N prepared for her hospital shift. She was pouring coffee into her travel mug when Wonwoo appeared in the kitchen, already dressed for work in a crisp suit that made him look every inch the corporate heir.

"Early meeting?" she asked, noting the time. It was barely 6 AM.

"Board presentation," he confirmed, moving to the refrigerator. "You're on until eight tonight?"

Y/N blinked, surprised he'd remembered her schedule. "Yes. How did you know?"

Wonwoo withdrew a paper bag and handed it to her. "I made you lunch. Nothing fancy, just some kimbap and fruit."

Y/N stared at the bag, then at Wonwoo, completely caught off guard by the thoughtful gesture. "You didn't have to do that."

"The hospital cafeteria is abysmal, and you always forget to eat on long shifts," he said matter-of-factly, as if preparing her lunch was the most natural thing in the world. "There's extra if you want to share with Seungcheol or your friends."

Y/N was momentarily speechless. It wasn't just the lunch that stunned her, but the casual demonstration that Wonwoo paid attention to details of her life—her schedule, her eating habits, her workplace friendships.

"Thank you," she finally managed. "That's... very kind."

Wonwoo shrugged, seeming almost embarrassed by her gratitude. "It's what partners do, right? Even fake ones."

There it was again—that blurring of lines between their arrangement and something more authentic. Y/N didn't know how to respond, so she simply nodded and finished preparing her coffee.

As they moved around the kitchen in their morning routine, Y/N found herself hyperaware of Wonwoo's presence. The domesticity of their situation struck her anew. In a parallel universe where their engagement was real, this could be their life—shared mornings, small considerations, the quiet rhythm of two lives intertwining.

The thought was both comforting and disquieting.

"I should go," she said, gathering her things. "Good luck with your presentation."

Wonwoo looked up from his own coffee, his expression softening. "Be safe. Text me if you'll be later than eight."

The concern in his voice seemed genuine, and Y/N found herself nodding. "I will."

The drive to the hospital gave Y/N time to process her confusion. Wonwoo was proving to be nothing like the cold corporate heir she'd imagined. Instead, he was thoughtful, perceptive, and surprisingly easy to live with. Their fake engagement was beginning to feel like a real partnership, at least in the domestic sense, and Y/N wasn't sure how to feel about that development.

By the time she arrived at the hospital, she had resolved to maintain clearer boundaries. This was still a temporary arrangement, regardless of how comfortable it might become. Getting too attached would only complicate their eventual separation.

As Y/N changed into her scrubs, her phone chimed with a message from Wonwoo:

Forgot to mention—your mother called yesterday about wedding venue tours next month. I said we'd discuss it and get back to her.

Reality crashed back. The wedding. Of course their families would expect planning to begin in earnest now that their engagement was public. Y/N texted back a quick acknowledgment, her earlier contentment evaporating.

This was the reality of their situation—a constant performance, a fabricated future they were building solely to dismantle later. No matter how genuine Wonwoo's kindness might be, it existed within a framework of deception.

She needed to remember that.

"Someone's got an admirer," Alexys commented, dropping into the seat across from Y/N in the cafeteria later that day. "That lunch looks way too good to be hospital food."

Y/N glanced down at the meticulously prepared kimbap Wonwoo had made. "It's nothing. Just something quick from home."

"'Home,'" Alexys repeated with air quotes. "Still weird to think of you shacking up with Tech Prince Charming."

Ela joined them, setting down her tray with a sigh. "Ignore her. She's just cranky because Tiya from pathology rejected her latest batch of samples."

"Not rejected. Questioned," Alexys corrected indignantly. "As if I don't know how to prepare a proper slide after six years. Just because she has an MD after her name doesn't mean—"

"We know," Y/N and Ela said in unison, having heard this particular rant many times before.

Alexys narrowed her eyes. "Fine. Let's talk about Y/N's fancy fiancé instead. Spill the details on domestic bliss."

Y/N picked at her food, uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation. "There's nothing to spill. We're... adjusting."

"Adjusting, huh?" Alexys wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. "Is that what the kids are calling it these days?"

"It's not like that," Y/N protested, perhaps too quickly. "We have separate rooms."

Ela studied her thoughtfully. "But you're getting along? He's treating you well?"

The genuine concern in her friend's voice made Y/N soften. "Yes, he's... not what I expected. He's actually very considerate."

"Considerate enough to make you lunch, apparently," Alexys observed, stealing a piece of kimbap. "Damn, that's good. Can he cook for all of us?"

Despite herself, Y/N smiled. "He does enjoy cooking. Says it relaxes him after work."

"A rich, handsome man who cooks," Alexys sighed dramatically. "Are you sure this is an arranged marriage and not a Hallmark movie?"

Y/N's response was interrupted by the appearance of Seungcheol, tray in hand. "Mind if I join you?"

"Please," Ela said, shifting to make room. "We were just discussing Y/N's domestic situation."

Something flickered across Seungcheol's face as he sat down. "Right. The engagement. It's all anyone's talking about since those photos hit the business section."

Y/N hadn't considered how public their arrangement would become within the hospital community. "People need to find better gossip."

"You're the CEO's daughter suddenly engaged to a tech mogul," Alexys pointed out. "It's prime hospital gossip material."

Seungcheol picked at his food, his usual easy demeanor replaced by something more reserved. "So, how is... everything? With the engagement?"

Y/N felt a strange tension, aware of both her friends' curious gazes and Seungcheol's careful neutrality. "It's not ideal, but it's what my parents want," she replied carefully, maintaining their arrangement's secrecy while acknowledging the arranged nature of the match.

If she had been watching more closely, she might have noticed the flash of hurt in Seungcheol's eyes. But Alexys quickly steered the conversation toward her latest pathology department grievance, and the moment passed.

As lunch continued, Y/N found herself increasingly aware of Seungcheol's unusual quietness. Had she said something wrong? Before she could consider it further, their pagers went off simultaneously—multiple trauma incoming from a building collapse.

Professional mode took over as they rushed to the emergency department, personal concerns set aside in the face of immediate need. For the next several hours, Y/N lost herself in the work she loved, the rhythm of emergency medicine washing away her conflicted thoughts about Wonwoo, Seungcheol, and the increasingly complicated web they were weaving.

It was late evening by the time things calmed down, all patients stabilized and either admitted or discharged. Y/N was updating charts at the nurses' station when Seungcheol approached, two cups of vending machine coffee in hand.

"Thought you could use this," he said, offering her one. "It's terrible, but it's caffeinated."

Y/N accepted gratefully. "Thanks. You were amazing in there with that crush injury."

Seungcheol shrugged, though his eyes warmed at the praise. "We make a good team."

"Always have," she agreed, the familiar ease of their friendship reasserting itself.

They worked in companionable silence for a while, shoulders occasionally brushing as they moved around each other with the synchronicity born of years working together. It was comfortable, predictable—everything her arrangement with Wonwoo was not.

"There's a hospital fundraiser next month," Seungcheol said suddenly. "Black tie, very fancy. Will you be attending with..." He hesitated. "With your fiancé?"

The question seemed loaded with something Y/N couldn't quite identify. "I suppose so. These public appearances are part of the package now."

Seungcheol nodded, his expression carefully neutral. "Right. Of course." He paused, then added quietly, "Are you happy, Y/N?"

The directness of the question caught her off guard. "What?"

"With the engagement," he clarified. "Are you happy?"

Y/N hesitated, unsure how to answer truthfully without revealing too much. "It's not ideal, but it's what my parents want," she repeated, the practiced line feeling hollow even to her own ears.

Something shifted in Seungcheol's expression, a flash of emotion quickly masked. "As long as you're happy, that's what matters."

Before Y/N could respond, another nurse called Seungcheol away for assistance with a difficult IV. As he walked away, Y/N had the distinct feeling she'd missed something important in their exchange.

Her phone vibrated with a text from Wonwoo:

Running late at the office. Don't wait up. There's dinner in the fridge if you're hungry when you get home.

Home. There was that word again, carrying a weight and meaning Y/N wasn't ready to examine too closely.

The next morning, Y/N awoke to the sound of voices downstairs—one familiar, one unexpectedly female and definitely not Korean. Curious, she pulled on a robe and padded downstairs to find Wonwoo in the kitchen with a young woman who could only be Haerin, her glamorous younger sister.

"Unnie!" Haerin exclaimed, rushing to embrace Y/N. "Surprise!"

Y/N returned the hug automatically, too shocked to do anything else. "Haerin? What—how—"

"I told everyone I was doing a cultural exchange program, but really I just missed my big sister," Haerin explained, stepping back to examine Y/N critically. "Still working too hard, I see. Those are definitely new eyebags."

Wonwoo watched their reunion with an amused expression, already dressed for work despite the early hour. "Your sister arrived about twenty minutes ago. I was just making her breakfast."

"He's cute," Haerin stage-whispered to Y/N. "And he cooks. Did the universe finally reward you for all those double shifts?"

Y/N felt her cheeks warm. "Haerin, this is Wonwoo, my—"

"Fiancé, yes, I know," Haerin interrupted with a dismissive wave. "The announcement made it all the way to my Italian Instagram. Very chic photos, by the way."

Y/N glanced at Wonwoo, who seemed remarkably unfazed by Hurricane Haerin's arrival. "I didn't know you were coming."

"That's what 'surprise' means, unnie," Haerin said with a laugh, hopping onto a barstool at the kitchen island. "When Mom told me you were engaged, I had to see this miracle for myself. My workaholic sister, actually settling down? I thought the apocalypse would come first."

Wonwoo set a plate of perfectly prepared eggs and toast in front of Haerin. "Coffee?"

"Bless you, yes," Haerin replied with a dazzling smile. "I can see why she said yes. A man who makes breakfast is worth a thousand with fancy cars."

Y/N felt a surge of panic. Haerin had always been able to see through her, even as children. How long before her perceptive sister realized their engagement was a sham?

"I have an early meeting," Wonwoo said, checking his watch. "I'll leave you two to catch up. There's plenty of food if you're hungry, Y/N."

"Thank you," Y/N managed, still processing Haerin's unexpected arrival.

Wonwoo paused beside her on his way out, then, to Y/N's shock, leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on her cheek. "Have a good day," he murmured, just loud enough for Haerin to hear. "I'll text you later."

The casual intimacy of the gesture left Y/N speechless. As the front door closed behind him, she turned to find Haerin watching her with raised eyebrows.

"Well, well," her sister said, a knowing smile spreading across her face. "Interesting."

Y/N touched her cheek, still warm from Wonwoo's kiss. "What's interesting?"

"The way you looked at him just now," Haerin said, taking a bite of toast. "Like you actually care about him."

"Of course I care about him," Y/N replied automatically. "He's my fiancé."

Haerin's eyes narrowed. "Hmm. Sit down, unnie. Eat something. Then you're going to tell me what's really going on."

"I don't know what you mean," Y/N said, pouring herself coffee to avoid her sister's scrutiny.

"Oh please," Haerin scoffed. "I've known you my entire life. Three months ago you were complaining about being married to your job. Now suddenly you're engaged to Korea's most eligible tech heir? Something doesn't add up."

Y/N should have known she couldn't fool Haerin. Her sister might project an image of carefree frivolity, but beneath the designer clothes and perfect makeup was a razor-sharp intelligence.

"It's complicated," Y/N hedged, joining her sister at the island.

"Complicated as in arranged?" Haerin guessed, her tone softening. "I figured as much when Mom started dropping hints about 'advantageous connections' after I refused to come home from Italy."

Y/N stared at her sister. "You mean—"

"If I'd been in Korea, it probably would have been me instead of you," Haerin confirmed with a grimace. "Sorry about that. Though I have to say, you seem to have landed the better end of the deal. He's hot, he cooks, and he actually looks at you like you matter. Arranged or not, there are worse fates."

Y/N wasn't sure how to respond. The idea that Wonwoo looked at her "like she mattered" was both comforting and confusing. Was he that good an actor, or was there something more genuine in his attentiveness?

"It's not what I planned for my life," Y/N finally said, opting for honesty without revealing their secret arrangement.

Haerin reached across the island to squeeze her hand. "Few things ever are. But sometimes the unexpected turns out better than the plan."

"When did you get so wise?" Y/N asked, studying her sister's face. There was something different about Haerin—a new maturity behind the fashionable facade.

"Italy has been educational in more ways than one," Haerin replied with a mysterious smile. "But we're talking about you, not me. Is he good to you? Really?"

Y/N considered the question. Wonwoo's thoughtfulness, his respect for her career, the small ways he tried to make their arrangement easier—all genuine kindnesses that went beyond their agreement.

"Yes," she admitted. "He's good to me."

"Then maybe give it a chance," Haerin suggested. "Not just the arrangement part, but the relationship. You might surprise yourself."

Before Y/N could protest that their relationship wasn't real, her phone chimed with a message. She glanced down to see a text from the hospital administration:

Approval for your participation in the Philippines medical mission (May 15-June 15) is pending final review. Please submit additional documentation regarding coverage of your regular duties during absence.

Y/N's heart leapt. The month-long medical mission she'd applied for months ago—before the engagement, before Wonwoo—was finally moving forward. It was exactly the kind of work she was passionate about: bringing healthcare to underserved communities, using her skills where they were most needed.

"Good news?" Haerin asked, noting her expression.

"Potentially," Y/N replied, already mentally cataloging what documentation she needed to submit. "A medical mission I applied for might be happening."

Haerin's brow furrowed. "When is it?"

"May through June."

"Isn't that around when Mom was talking about venue tours and engagement parties?"

The realization hit Y/N like a bucket of cold water. Of course—the mission would conflict directly with the wedding planning their mothers were eager to begin.

"I'm sure Wonwoo will understand," Y/N said, though uncertainty crept into her voice. "My career was one of our conditions. He knows how important these missions are to me."

Haerin looked skeptical. "It's not just about Wonwoo, though, is it? This is about appearances. You disappearing for a month in the middle of engagement celebrations isn't going to look good to either family."

Y/N felt a familiar frustration rising. This was exactly why she'd resisted the arranged marriage in the first place—the inevitable clash between her calling and her family's expectations.

"I'm still going," she said firmly. "If this arrangement is going to work, Wonwoo needs to support my career just as I respect his."

Haerin studied her for a long moment. "You know, for someone in an arranged engagement, you sound awfully invested in making it work."

The observation struck uncomfortably close to home. "It's a partnership," Y/N said defensively. "For however long it lasts."

"Hmm," Haerin hummed noncommittally. "If you say so, unnie. But I think there's more happening here than you're admitting—even to yourself."

Y/N changed the subject, asking about Haerin's adventures in Italy, but her sister's words lingered. Was she becoming too invested in their arrangement? Was she starting to see it as something more than the temporary solution it was meant to be?

And how would Wonwoo react when she told him about the medical mission that would take her away for a month, just when their families expected them to be planning their future together?

The question troubled her more than it should have for a relationship that wasn't real.

The hospital fundraiser was in full swing when Y/N and Wonwoo arrived, the grand ballroom of Seoul's most exclusive hotel transformed into a glittering showcase of wealth and influence. As the daughter of the hospital's CEO and the fiancée of a tech mogul, Y/N found herself the center of attention despite her preference for anonymity.

"You look beautiful," Wonwoo murmured as they entered, his hand warm at the small of her back. "That color suits you."

Y/N smoothed the emerald silk of her gown, chosen specifically because Wonwoo had once mentioned it was his favorite color. The realization that she'd considered his preferences made her pause. When had his opinion started to matter?

"Thank you," she replied, accepting a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. "You clean up nicely yourself."

It was an understatement. In his tailored tuxedo, Wonwoo looked every inch the successful heir, though Y/N had come to recognize the subtle tension in his shoulders that appeared whenever they attended public events.

"Shall we make the rounds?" he suggested, scanning the room. "Your father is watching."

Sure enough, Dr. Lee was observing them from across the ballroom, his expression expectant. Y/N suppressed a sigh. "Duty calls."

They spent the next hour circulating among Seoul's elite, playing the part of the devoted couple to perfection. Wonwoo kept her close, his fingers lightly entwined with hers, occasionally leaning down to whisper observations that made her laugh despite her nervousness.

By the time they reached the hospital staff section, Y/N was exhausted from the performance. She brightened at the sight of Ela and Alexys, both looking elegant in formal wear that contrasted with their usual scrubs and lab coats.

"Finally!" Alexys exclaimed. "We thought the corporate vultures would never let you go."

"Hospital benefactors," Ela corrected with a subtle elbow to Alexys's ribs. "Show some respect to the people who fund your lab equipment."

Wonwoo chuckled. "It's fine. I've called them worse in private."

Y/N glanced up at him in surprise. It was easy to forget sometimes that beneath the polished corporate exterior was someone who understood the frustrations of navigating the elite business world.

"Where's Mingyu?" she asked Ela, noticing her friend's husband's absence.

"Running late. Some crisis at the office." Ela rolled her eyes fondly. "He works almost as much as your fiancé."

"Speaking of workaholics," Alexys interjected, "Seungcheol's been looking for you, Y/N. Something about next week's schedule."

Y/N scanned the room, spotting Seungcheol in conversation with several other nurses near the bar. "I should go check in. Work stuff."

Wonwoo nodded, releasing her hand. "Go ahead. I'll catch up with Mingyu when he arrives."

As Y/N made her way across the ballroom, she was acutely aware of the weight of Wonwoo's gaze following her. It was both comforting and unsettling, this constant awareness of his presence.

Seungcheol looked up as she approached, his face lighting with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Y/N! I wasn't sure you'd make it."

"Hospital CEO's daughter," she reminded him with a rueful smile. "Attendance is mandatory."

He nodded toward where Wonwoo stood with Ela and Alexys. "Your fiancé seems to be fitting in well with your friends."

There was something in his tone that Y/N couldn't quite identify. "He's easy to talk to once you get to know him."

Seungcheol studied her for a moment. "Alexys mentioned you two hit it off right away. I guess arranged marriages aren't always what people think."

Y/N felt a flicker of discomfort at the reminder of their deception. "It's... complicated."

"Is it?" Seungcheol's voice was quiet. "You seem happy together. The way he looks at you..."

"How does he look at me?" Y/N asked, genuinely curious about how their performance appeared to others.

Seungcheol's expression tightened almost imperceptibly. "Like you're the only person in the room."

The observation sent an unexpected warmth through Y/N. Was that true? Did Wonwoo really look at her that way, or was it just part of their charade?

"Alexys said you wanted to discuss the schedule?" she prompted, eager to change the subject.

"Right," Seungcheol seemed to collect himself. "We're short staffed next week. I was hoping you might be able to pick up a few extra shifts."

"Of course," Y/N agreed readily. "Just let me know which ones you need covered."

They fell into familiar professional conversation, the awkwardness fading as they discussed work matters. Yet Y/N couldn't help noticing that Seungcheol seemed different—more reserved, less free with his usual easy humor.

"Is everything okay?" she finally asked. "You seem... I don't know, off somehow."

Seungcheol hesitated, then sighed. "I'm just surprised, I guess. By all of this." He gestured vaguely in the direction of Wonwoo. "It happened so suddenly."

"That's how these arrangements work," Y/N said carefully. "Efficiency is valued over romance."

"And you're okay with that?" There was something in his eyes—concern, perhaps, or something deeper. "Being with someone because your parents arranged it?"

Y/N felt cornered by the question. "It's not ideal, but it's what my parents want," she replied, the practiced phrase feeling hollow.

Seungcheol looked hurt, though Y/N couldn't understand why. "As long as you're happy, that's what matters," he said, echoing his earlier sentiment.

Before she could respond, they were interrupted by a commotion from the pathology department's table. Alexys's voice rose above the elegant murmur of the fundraiser:

"Are you serious right now? You rejected my samples because the labels were 'slightly smudged'?"

Y/N turned to see Alexys facing off with a slender woman in a striking blue gown—Dr. Tiya Park, the new pathologist who had apparently become Alexys's professional nemesis.

"I rejected them because they didn't meet proper documentation standards," Tiya replied calmly, though there was steel beneath her pleasant tone. "Patient safety isn't negotiable, even for rushed labs."

"Oh please," Alexys scoffed. "You've been finding excuses to bounce my work since you started. Just admit you have a problem with the med techs."

Y/N exchanged an alarmed glance with Seungcheol. "I should probably—"

"Yeah," he agreed. "Before Alexys gets herself fired."

They hurried over to the rapidly escalating situation, Y/N reaching Alexys just as she was building to what promised to be a particularly colorful assessment of pathology department politics.

"Alexys!" Y/N interrupted, taking her friend's arm. "There you are. Dr. Kim was just looking for you about that new equipment order."

Alexys blinked, momentarily derailed. "What equipment order?"

"The important one," Y/N emphasized, tugging her away from Tiya. "The one we need to discuss right now."

Tiya watched them with cool amusement as Y/N led Alexys toward a quieter corner of the ballroom, Seungcheol following closely behind.

"What are you doing?" Alexys hissed once they were out of earshot. "I was just getting to the good part."

"You were about to cause a scene at the hospital's biggest fundraising event of the year," Y/N corrected. "In front of the board, the donors, and pretty much everyone who signs your paychecks."

"She started it," Alexys muttered, though some of the fight had gone out of her. "With her 'documentation standards' and her perfect hair."

Seungcheol stifled a laugh. "Her hair? That's what you're mad about?"

"Have you seen it?" Alexys demanded. "It's unfair to look that good in scrubs and formal wear. She's probably one of those people who wakes up looking perfect too."

Y/N and Seungcheol exchanged amused glances. "Sounds like you need another drink," Y/N suggested. "One that doesn't involve confronting the pathologist who processes all your lab work."

"Fine," Alexys conceded with an eye roll. "But this isn't over. That woman is out to get me."

As Seungcheol escorted Alexys to the bar, promising to keep her away from the pathology department for the rest of the evening, Y/N felt a warm presence at her back. She turned to find Wonwoo, an amused expression on his face.

"Your friend is... spirited," he observed.

Y/N laughed despite herself. "That's one word for it. Sorry about the drama."

"Don't apologize. It's the most entertaining thing that's happened all night." His eyes crinkled with genuine humor. "Most hospital conflicts I've witnessed are conducted through passive-aggressive emails, not ballroom showdowns."

"Alexys doesn't do passive-aggressive," Y/N explained. "Just aggressive-aggressive. But she's brilliant at her job."

"The best ones often are a bit unconventional," Wonwoo agreed, his gaze softening as he looked at her. "Speaking of which, how's the medical mission paperwork coming along?"

Y/N stiffened, surprised he knew about it. "How did you—"

"Haerin mentioned it," he explained. "She was concerned about the timing."

Of course Haerin would bring it up. Y/N braced herself for Wonwoo's objections, preparing arguments in defense of her career commitment.

"I know it conflicts with the wedding planning," she began, "but this mission is important to me. It's the kind of work that makes a real difference."

To her surprise, Wonwoo nodded thoughtfully. "I assumed as much. Have you contacted the program director about the specific training requirements? Some NGOs have preparation protocols that start months before departure."

Y/N blinked, caught off guard by his practical support rather than the resistance she'd expected. "I... yes, actually. There's a weekend training session next month."

"Let me know when it is," Wonwoo said. "I'll make sure our schedule is clear so you can attend without any conflicts."

"You're not going to try to talk me out of it?" Y/N asked, still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Wonwoo looked genuinely confused. "Why would I? It's your career, Y/N. Your passion. That was our agreement, wasn't it? That both of us would continue our professional paths without interference."

Relief and something warmer flooded through her. "Yes, but I thought—with your parents' expectations—"

"My parents' expectations are not your problem," Wonwoo said firmly. "We'll manage them together. If you want to go on this mission, then we'll make it work with everything else."

Y/N studied him, trying to reconcile this supportive partner with the corporate heir she'd initially dreaded. "Thank you," she said finally, meaning it. "Most people don't understand why these missions matter to me."

"I'm not most people," Wonwoo replied simply. "And I don't have to understand something completely to respect that it's important to you."

The statement, delivered without fanfare, touched Y/N more deeply than any grand gesture could have. Perhaps for the first time, she felt genuine gratitude for the partner she'd been assigned.

The moment was interrupted by the arrival of both sets of parents, converging on them with the determined air of people with agendas.

"There you are," Mrs. Jeon said, her critical gaze sweeping over Y/N. "We've been discussing wedding dates with your parents. June seems ideal—"

"Actually," Wonwoo cut in smoothly, "we were thinking of a fall wedding. September or October."

Y/N shot him a grateful glance, understanding immediately what he was doing—pushing the timeline beyond her medical mission.

"Fall?" her mother repeated, clearly disappointed. "But the gardens are so beautiful in June."

"Y/N has professional commitments in June," Wonwoo explained, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Her medical work is important, and we both want to respect that."

Y/N's father frowned. "Surely these... nursing duties can be rescheduled. The merger—I mean, the wedding—should take priority."

"On the contrary," Wonwoo replied, his voice pleasant but firm. "Y/N's dedication to her profession is one of the qualities I most admire. We won't be scheduling our wedding at the expense of her career."

Silence fell among the parental contingent, all four clearly taken aback by Wonwoo's stance. Y/N herself was speechless, never having witnessed anyone—much less a corporate ally—defend her nursing career to her father.

"Well," Mrs. Jeon finally said, her tight smile not reaching her eyes, "I suppose we can discuss the timeline further at dinner next weekend. Ela's mother was just telling me about their lovely home in Gangnam."

As the parents drifted away, clearly regrouping for their next assault, Y/N turned to Wonwoo in amazement. "You didn't have to do that."

"Yes, I did," he replied simply. "Partners support each other. Even fake ones."

There it was again—that line between pretense and reality blurring until Y/N could no longer clearly see where one ended and the other began. Wonwoo had defended her, not for show or because their agreement required it, but because he genuinely seemed to respect her work.

It was becoming increasingly difficult to remember that their engagement was just a three-year plan with a predetermined expiration date.

As the evening continued, Y/N found herself watching Wonwoo with new eyes, noticing the small kindnesses he extended not just to her but to everyone around him—remembering Ela's assistant's name, helping an elderly donor navigate the crowded ballroom, listening intently to Alexys's animated explanation of some lab technique.

This wasn't just the polished performance of a corporate heir. This was who Wonwoo was beneath the public persona—attentive, considerate, and surprisingly genuine.

The realization was both comforting and terrifying. Comforting because it meant the next three years might be more bearable than she'd initially feared. Terrifying because it made their eventual separation all the more complicated.

What happens, she wondered, when pretending becomes too close to reality? When the lines between performance and truth blur beyond recognition?

As Wonwoo caught her watching him and smiled—that private smile she was beginning to recognize as meant only for her—Y/N felt something shift inside her. Something that made their three-year plan suddenly seem both too short and too long.

Too short for whatever was beginning to grow between them.

Too long to maintain the pretense that it meant nothing.

#mingyu socmed fic #mingyu fic #mingyu au

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bratzkoo · 2 months ago

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tw// nsfw rant (woozi related CAUSE WTF)

the big dick woozi agenda is confirmed by the man himself, ooh, im suddenly so motivated to write that jihoon fic in my wips

#by kowi #WOOZI WTF

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bratzkoo · 2 months ago

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bratzkoo · 2 months ago

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writing toxic f1 driver joshua is so HAAARD WHY DID I DO THIS MYSELF

#by kowi

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bratzkoo · 2 months ago

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we got married | hoshi masterlist

Author: bratzkoo Pairing: hoshi x reader (soonyoungiiie~) Genre: fluff, angst, crack, dont take hoshi and woozi away from me. Rating: PG-13

Note: slow updates, still haven't figure out the outline and plot. i just wanted to finish this before the tiger serves and slay in his military.

summary: After his bandmate and his now gf's success in WE GOT MARRIED, our resident horanghae lover gets his turn. But what if the girl end up being the person that broke his heart before he debuted. Will he get the same ending as his bandmate?

pre production episode 1 episode 2 episode 3 episode 4 episode 5 episode 6 episode 7 episode 8

episode 9 last episode. Seokmin/DK's WGM series masterlist

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bratzkoo · 2 months ago

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pre production | wgm hoshi

Author: bratzkoo Pairing: hoshi x reader (soonyoungiiie~) Genre: fluff, angst, crack, dont take hoshi and woozi away from me. Rating: PG-13

Note: slow updates, still haven't figure out the outline and plot. i just wanted to finish this before the tiger serves and slay in his military. written in episode vibes, so uhm sorry? IT WILL BE CRINGEY AND I WILL NOT APOLOGIZE !

taglist (hit me up if you wanna be added): - @sumzysworld

requests are close, but you can just say hi! | masterlist

series masterlist

SETTING: A neutral meeting room at MBC studios, designed to look like a comfortable café. Two cameras are positioned to capture both individual reactions and the couple's interaction. The PD sits off to the side with a clipboard.

TIME: 2:00 PM on a Tuesday afternoon

Hoshi bounces into the room at 1:50 PM, ten minutes early as always. He's wearing a casual but stylish outfit—black jeans, a white button-down with the sleeves rolled up, and his signature bright smile. His hair is styled in soft waves, and he's carrying a small bouquet of sunflowers. There's a small tiger keychain hanging from his phone case that's visible in his back pocket.Hoshi bowed and waved to the camera, “Annyeonghaseyo! I’m Seventeen’s Hoshi. I’m here for my first meeting with my…wife?” he laughed nervously, “This is strange. I brought flowers because my eomma always said to bring flowers when meeting someone important.” He made his horanghae claws with his hands, “Horanghae! I hope she likes tigers… wait, should I not lead with the tiger thing? What is she’s scared of tigers?”

He sits down, fidgeting with the flowers and checking his phone. His leg bounces under the table—a nervous habit he's had since trainee days.

"I'm really nervous, actually. After seeing how well things worked out for Seokmin-hyung... there's pressure, you know? What if we don't have chemistry? What if she doesn't like tigers?" he grinned and made the horanghae sign again. "Actually, not kidding about the tigers. That might be a dealbreaker. I mean, I'm literally a tiger! Horanghae!" "Okay, maybe I should tone down the tiger thing for the first meeting..."

He practices different ways to introduce himself, muttering under his breath

At exactly 2:00 PM, Y/N enters the room. She's dressed in a chic black midi dress with white sneakers, her hair in a sleek ponytail. She carries herself with the confident grace of someone used to being watched, but there's something in her posture that seems slightly more tense than usual.

The moment she sees Hoshi, she stops mid-step. Her eyes widen almost imperceptibly, and her hand instinctively moves to her collarbone—a nervous habit she developed years ago. For a split second, her composed mask slips.

"Oh..." she says, barely audible.

Hoshi looks up from his flowers and freezes. The bright smile falters for just a moment as something flickers across his face—confusion, recognition, something he can't quite place. His "10:10" eyes narrow slightly as he studies her face.

"You're... you're my..." Hoshi stands up too quickly, forgetting about the flowers.

They stare at each other for a beat too long. The room feels charged with an energy that neither the cameras nor the production team can quite understand.

Y/N recovers first, her professional training kicking in. She forces a bright smile and steps forward, bowing politely."Annyeonghaseyo! I'm Y/N from Xenon. It's nice to meet you, Hoshi-ssi."

Her voice is steady, but there's something in her tone—too formal, too careful. She extends her hand for a handshake rather than going for the casual familiarity that might be expected.

Hoshi blinks, the moment of whatever-that-was passing. He grins widely and takes her hand, but doesn't let go immediately.

"Annyeonghaseyo! I'm Hoshi from SEVENTEEN! These are for you." he offered the sunflowers while still holding her hand. "You seem... familiar somehow. Have we met before? Also, horanghae!" (makes a quick tiger claw gesture with his free hand)

Y/N's breath catches slightly—but not just from the recognition. She stares at his horanghae gesture, and for a moment, there's something almost fond in her expression.

"Thank you, they're beautiful. And no, I don't think we've met officially. Though I've seen SEVENTEEN's performances, of course. You're an incredible dancer." she paused and made the horanghae sign. "And... horanghae to you too."

Hoshi's eyes widen in surprise and delight.

"You know horanghae?! Wait, you're not just saying that to be polite, are you? Do you actually like tigers?" he said too excitedly, "You too! I mean, I've watched Xenon's stages. Your dance break in “Maybe it is” was insane. The way you hit that final pose..." he has to demonstrate the move. "I tried to learn it but could never get the timing right."

Y/N's eyes widen. That choreography was something she'd developed during her trainee days and had incorporated into the song. Very few people would have noticed the specific technique.

Y/N's expression shifts slightly—there's something almost melancholic about her smile now.

"I... I've always found tigers fascinating. They're powerful but also... lonely creatures, aren't they? Always having to be strong."

Hoshi stops mid-bounce, struck by her words. It's such a specific way to describe tigers, and it hits deeper than his usual playful tiger persona.

"That's... that's exactly right. Most people just think tigers are fierce, but they're actually... they're complex. They can be playful and protective and vulnerable all at once."

Y/N nods, her fingers unconsciously tracing the edge of the sunflower petals.

"Someone once told me that tigers are the most beautiful when they're just being themselves. Not performing, not roaring for others. Just... existing."

The room falls silent. Hoshi stares at her, something flickering in his memory.

"Did someone... did someone you know say that?" Y/N realized she said too much. "I just... I read it somewhere. Online probably."

Sure! Here's your beautifully written scene restructured into a flowing, seamless narrative with natural dialogue pacing and emotional buildup, preserving all the nuances and emotional depth:

The PD gestures for them to sit, and they settle across from each other at a small table. A vase of sunflowers sits between them like a quiet barrier.

PD (off-camera): "So, first impressions?"

Hoshi scratches the back of his neck, a shy smile tugging at his lips.

“She’s… not what I expected,” he says. “I mean, she’s beautiful, obviously. But there’s something about her that feels… comfortable? Like I don’t have to try so hard to be entertaining.”

Without realizing it, he does the horanghae gesture again.

“And she didn’t run away when I did horanghae!”

Across from him, Y/N smiles, her voice soft but steady.

“He’s exactly what I expected from watching him on variety shows—energetic, sincere, very expressive.” She pauses. “But also… his tiger thing isn’t just a concept, is it? It’s really part of who he is.”

Hoshi’s eyes light up.

“She gets it!” he exclaims, leaning forward. “You actually get the tiger thing! Do you know how rare that is?”

He laughs and finally stops bouncing.

“Sorry,” he says, sheepishly. “I do that when I’m nervous. Or excited. Or thinking. Actually, I do it a lot. The tiger thing too, apparently.” He mimics tiger claws with his hands. “My members say I’m 96% tiger, 4% human.”

Y/N chuckles.

“The tiger gestures are endearing. They’re very... you. Natural.”

Hoshi pauses mid-gesture, visibly touched.

“You really think so? Some people think it’s too much…”

“The right person would never think you’re too much,” she replies. “They’d love your tiger side especially.”

A beat of silence falls between them. Hoshi’s expression softens.

“That’s… really nice to hear. Thank you.”

PD: “Any concerns about the show?”

Y/N shifts slightly in her seat.

“Just… I hope we can be natural with each other. Sometimes on camera, people try too hard to create moments instead of just letting them happen.”

“Exactly!” Hoshi nods, animated again. “I want us to be real with each other. Life’s too short for pretense, you know?”

At those words, Y/N's expression flickers. Life’s too short—he used to say that during their trainee days.

PD: “Before we wrap up, how about a little dance challenge? Just to break the ice.”

Their eyes meet, immediately brightening.

“What kind of challenge?” Hoshi asks.

“Teach each other a move from your groups,” the PD explains. “See how quickly you can learn it.”

Y/N grins. “I’ll teach you the ‘Maybe It Is’ move you mentioned.”

“And I’ll teach you the killing part from ‘God of Music.’”

They move to the center of the room. Y/N demonstrates her move slowly. Hoshi watches intently and mirrors her movement—about 80% correct, but his hand placement is slightly off.

“Here, let me…” she steps closer, gently adjusting his arm. “Your hand should be more… like this.”

The moment she touches him, both freeze. The gesture is familiar. Too familiar. Hoshi looks at her like he’s remembering something.

“You’re a really good teacher,” he murmurs. “Natural. Like you’ve done this before.”

“I just… I’m good at reading movement,” Y/N says quickly, stepping back.

Hoshi nods slowly, but something in his expression says he’s not convinced.

“My turn,” he says. “This move is all about attitude, so you have to really commit.”

He demonstrates the move, and Y/N picks it up almost instantly—too perfectly. She nails the style, flair, even his exact rhythm, like she’s seen him do it a hundred times.

“Wow,” Hoshi breathes. “You got that really fast. Are you sure you haven’t learned this before?”

“I just… I watch a lot of dance videos. For research,” she replies, flustered.

They stand there for a moment, catching their breath, hearts racing—not just from dancing.

PD: “That’s a wrap for today! You’ll see each other again next week for your first official date.”

They bow to the production crew and begin gathering their things. As they reach the door, Hoshi hesitates.

“Y/N-ssi…” he calls out. She turns slightly.

“This might sound weird, but… do you ever feel like you’ve lived a moment before? Like déjà vu but… stronger?”

Y/N’s fingers tighten on her bag strap.

“Sometimes,” she answers softly. “Usually when I’m dancing. Why?”

“No reason. Just… today felt like that. Like I’ve danced with you before.”

They hold each other’s gaze. Y/N seems like she’s about to say something, but then thinks better of it.

“I’ll see you next week, Hoshi-ssi.”

“See you next week… Y/N-ssi.”

She turns to leave. But under his breath, Hoshi mutters, almost unconsciously—

“…See you next week… my tiger…”

He blinks, confused. Why did I say that?

“Wait! Y/N-ssi!” he calls out louder. “Horanghae!”

Y/N freezes at the whispered words, hand flying to her mouth. She turns back slowly, eyes shimmering.

“Horanghae, Hoshi-ssi,” she says softly.

She makes a small tiger claw gesture—not exaggerated like on TV, but soft, intimate. Then she quickly hurries away.

Hoshi stands there, stunned, pressing his hand over his chest.

“…My tiger?” he whispers. “Why did I… where did that come from?” -

HOSHI (in interview): "She's... there's something about her. I felt like I knew her immediately, which is crazy because we just met. But when we were dancing together, it felt like muscle memory. Like we'd done this dance a hundred times before." (makes unconscious tiger gesture) "And the way she responded to horanghae... it wasn't just politeness. She understood it. She understood me. That never happens." (pauses, confused) "I called her 'my tiger' when she was leaving. I don't know why I said that. It just... came out."

Y/N (in interview): "He's exactly like I remembered— I mean, like I expected. From watching him on TV." (catches herself) "The tiger thing... I thought it might be overwhelming, but it's actually... it's beautiful. The way he lights up when he talks about tigers, the way he sees the world through that lens... it's pure." (voice gets quieter) "Someone once told me that tigers are most beautiful when they're just being themselves. I think... I think he's the most beautiful tiger I've ever seen." FINAL SHOT: The empty meeting room, sunflowers still on the table, two empty chairs that somehow seem to be waiting for their return.

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bratzkoo · 2 months ago

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raise your hand if you've ever been personally victimized by the statement "hello this is pledis entertainment" 😭

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bratzkoo · 2 months ago

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keep your enemies close | yjh

Author: bratzkoo Pairing: spy! jeonghan x spy! reader (afab) Genre: angst, fluff, smut, e2l Rating: NC-17 Word count: 3.4k~ Warnings/note: filthy hate sex, i am so sorry. also, enemies to lovers and spy! jeonghan... jeonghan himself should be a warning. is this what you call pwp, because it might me. lemme know if you want part 2???

+ MINORS DO NOT READ THIS PLEASE + LISTEN TO BEDROOM WARFARE by ONEOKROCK if you want to know the vibe. summary: Jeonghan finds you on a mission in Vienna trying to get the same thing as him. He hates you, you hate him, but then somehow you end up in his bed or anywhere else he can bend you over, apparently.

taglist (hit me up if you wanna be added): @escoupseu , @yanabaaaaaaarysheva , @spnyin , @sousydive , @gyuguys , @gyubakeries , @kwonhs96

requests are open, but you can just say hi! | masterlist

Y/N moved through the crowd with effortless grace, her black dress tailored to blend in with the high society she was infiltrating. The identity of "Eva Park, art curator" fit her like a second skin, perfectly pressed, professionally distant.

She was examining a haunting piece, a war-torn cityscape rendered in blood reds and smoky greys, when she felt it. The undeniable sensation of being watched. Slowly, she turned.

There he was.

Standing across the room in an immaculate black suit, Yoon Jeonghan raised his glass in a mock toast. His lips curved into a smirk that was both irritating and unfairly attractive. Her heart gave a traitorous thud.

Of course he's here. And of course he's... She shut the thought down before it finished. The enemy didn't get to be beautiful.

Predator met predator. Her gaze narrowed. His smirk deepened. And somewhere beneath her skin, something dangerous and uninvited sparked to life.

He approached like a man who knew the room would part for him. She didn't turn her head as he came to stand beside her, both of them now facing a new painting—an 18th century battle scene, brutal and glorious.

"The brushwork is exquisite," he said, voice smooth and laced with something sharper. "Though I’ve always found battle scenes a touch... predictable."

"Have you?" Y/N replied without looking at him. Her tone was sweet, but her words were blades. "I find them fascinating. The moment before the decisive strike, when both sides think they have the advantage."

"Ah, but the truly skilled warrior knows the battle is won before it even begins." His English was precise, softly accented. Calculated.

"Wouldn't you agree, Miss...?"

"Park. Eva Park." She extended her hand like a challenge.

"Han Yoon. Cultural attaché." His grip was firm, his palm warm. He held on just long enough to make it feel like a test. "I deal in... acquisitions."

She didn’t flinch. "How interesting. I imagine you're quite good at taking things that don’t belong to you."

He chuckled. "Only when they’re worth the trouble. And you, Miss Park—what brings you to Vienna?"

"The same thing that brings every collector here. The thrill of the hunt."

They drifted through the gallery like a pair of dancers locked in a duel. Jeonghan’s every step was measured, his charm weaponized. Y/N matched him move for move.

"You have excellent taste," he said, pausing at a painting of an elaborate chess match. "Do you play?"

"I prefer games where I can see my opponent’s face when they realize they’ve lost."

His smile flickered wider. He stepped closer under the pretense of admiring the painting, his shoulder brushing hers. Her skin burned where they touched.

"Confidence is admirable," he murmured, low enough for only her to hear. "But premature celebration has ruined many a promising player."

An elderly collector approached, forcing them to retreat into the personas of polite strangers. But beneath every comment about brushstrokes and auction houses, the subtext pulsed: I know who you are.

"The Korean collection is particularly strong this season," he offered casually.

"Yes, some impressive acquisitions. Especially pieces thought to be... permanently out of reach."

He looked at her. "The most valuable items often have extensive protections."

"Only makes the victory sweeter."

Y/N slipped away under the guise of a phone call, heels clicking against the marble floor as she entered the gallery’s lavish bathroom. She locked the stall, whispered into her comms: "Target confirmed. Proceeding."

When she emerged, she found him waiting.

"This is the ladies' room," she said, spine straightening.

"I’m aware." He locked the door behind him.

"We need to talk."

"I can’t imagine what we’d have to discuss."

"Cut the act. CIA? Or MI6? Doesn’t matter. Walk away from the Pandora Files."

She stepped forward, chin lifted. "Or what? You’ll stop me?"

Their bodies were inches apart now, the air between them electric. His eyes dipped to her lips.

"I think you’re not as immune to me as you pretend."

"You’re right," she whispered. "I’m not immune. But that doesn’t change anything."

His hand came up, brushing her cheek. Thumb tracing her lower lip.

"Doesn’t it?"

Their mouths hovered, breaths mingling. Just before contact, voices echoed in the hallway.

Y/N shoved him back. "Don’t touch me."

"You were going to let me kiss you."

She lied with practiced ease. "I was going to let you think you were winning. Stay away from me, Jeonghan."

His name, his real name, cut through the room like a thrown knife.

She exited first, face composed, but her hands shook as she texted her handler: Target identified. Proceeding as planned.

Jeonghan waited, watching the door she vanished through. Then he stepped to the sink, splashed cold water on his face, and cursed softly.

Back in the gallery, they avoided each other, orbiting in the same space like opposite charges. Every glance was a challenge. Every smile a threat.

Later, she stood in her hotel mirror, fingers grazing her lips where his thumb had been. She hated that she could still feel it.

Across the city, Jeonghan poured himself a scotch, eyes fixed on the glowing skyline. Eliminating her would be the smart move. But something told him she wasn’t going to be easy to forget. This isn’t over. -

The morning after the gallery, Vienna wore its beauty like a blade—clean light, cold air, and the steady hum of a city used to secrets. Y/N sat in the corner of Café Sperl, a steaming cup of coffee untouched in front of her. Dressed in jeans and a soft sweater, she blended perfectly with the tourists and students who frequented the historic coffeehouse.

She looked casual. Relaxed. But every muscle was alert. Her eyes skimmed the newspaper while her real attention stayed locked on the man three tables away—her target for the morning.

Then came the second interruption.

Yoon Jeonghan slid into the seat across from her with the ease of someone who believed the world would make room. He wore an immaculate navy coat over a dove-gray shirt, his expression infuriatingly calm.

"Good morning, Eva," he said like a man greeting a lover.

Y/N didn’t lower her paper. "Better before you arrived."

"Stalking’s a strong word. I prefer ‘professional interest.’"

"I prefer you gone."

"You're in my city. I should be asking what you're doing here."

She finally met his eyes, a flicker of frustration rising at how smug he looked this early in the morning. "Public space, Han. I’m allowed to sit wherever I want."

"So am I. Though I imagine you’re used to taking whatever you want, too."

"Only if it’s worth the effort," she said.

His smirk deepened. "Tell me then—am I worth the effort?"

Y/N’s mouth twitched, betraying the start of a smile she did not give him permission to earn. "You’ll never know."

They parted ways an hour later, but it was far from over.

By midday, the game resumed—this time in the streets. Both had tracked the same courier to the city center. Their mutual target was subtle, careful. But not careful enough.

Y/N watched from a narrow alley as Jeonghan made contact at a newspaper stand. The conversation was effortless, the handoff nearly invisible. She knew the move. Recognized the technique. Damn it.

She slipped into a bookstore, regrouping. In the reflection of the glass, she saw him look her way.

Twenty minutes later, she approached the courier again—this time at a tram stop, disguised as a lost tourist. Her hair pulled into a lazy bun, scarf trailing down her coat. Her laughter came easy as she asked directions, brushing his arm, leaning in.

From across the street, she could feel Jeonghan watching.

Her phone buzzed.

Jeonghan: Nice technique.

Y/N: You're not bad yourself. For an amateur.

That evening, the Korean Embassy shimmered with wealth and power. Diplomats mingled beneath chandeliers, flutes of champagne balanced like grenades.

Y/N moved through the crowd in a red dress designed to distract. Her press credentials hung around her neck, a perfect cover.

And yet, she felt it before she saw him.

Jeonghan appeared at her side, tuxedoed and dangerous. "Ms. Park," he said smoothly. "Enjoying the exhibition?"

"It’s illuminating." She accepted a glass of champagne, fingers brushing his. "Though I find some pieces more authentic than others."

"Discerning eyes are rare. Would you care to see something... exclusive?"

She knew the trap. But the mission required access. And, if she was honest, so did something deeper. "Lead the way."

The tango demonstration began with applause. The ambassador introduced the dance as one of passion and precision.

Jeonghan offered his hand. "Shall we?"

Y/N hesitated. "I lead."

He smiled like a man who already knew the ending. "We'll see."

They moved together like fire and gasoline. His grip on her waist was possessive, controlled. Her steps defiant. Their bodies fit too well. Their proximity, too familiar.

"You're tense," he murmured against her ear.

"You're arrogant."

"You're still dancing with me."

She hated how true it was. Hated that the moment his hand pressed lower on her back, her body forgot who he was. Forgot who she was.

The guests applauded at the finish. She didn’t remember the last steps. Only his eyes. Only the way her breath came faster.

She needed air.

She slipped away, ducking into the coatroom. The coolness of the dark, quiet space steadied her.

Until he followed.

"Quite the performance," he said, closing the door behind him.

"You trying to grope me in front of fifty diplomats? Classy."

"You didn’t stop me."

She turned, jaw clenched. "You think this is a game?"

"I think you want to lose."

He was closer now. The smell of his cologne, the heat of his body—it was too much.

"My body doesn’t make my decisions."

"Then tell it to stop responding."

She grabbed his tie and yanked him down.

"I hate you."

"Good. Keep hating me."

Then their mouths collided. It wasn’t romantic. It was war. A brutal, breathless tangle of teeth and hands and heat. He pushed her back against the coats. She pulled him tighter.

When footsteps approached, they broke apart. She straightened her dress. He adjusted his tie.

They returned to the party as if nothing had happened. Their masks flawless.

But the air between them had changed. Every look across the room was heavier. Every smile, calculated.

She interviewed the ambassador. He toasted trade deals. And the whole time, they tracked each other like snipers.

That night, alone in her hotel room, Y/N stared at her reflection. Her lips were raw. Her hands trembled.

In his apartment, Jeonghan sat in silence, tie undone, glass half full. His body remembered hers.

Y/N's report: Target remains engaged. Proceeding as planned.Jeonghan's report: International agent identified. Situation under control.

This is getting out of hand. -

The warehouse stank of dust, oil, and something metallic underneath. Shadows clung to the steel beams, thick and suffocating. But none of that mattered. Not when her back was pressed to Jeonghan’s side, his hand settled low on her waist, a possessive gesture that had nothing to do with affection and everything to do with strategy.

"Stay close," he murmured, breath tickling the shell of her ear.

She stiffened. "Don’t get any ideas."

His hand tightened slightly, thumb tracing a slow circle on her hipbone through the silk of her dress. "Just like how you’re not leaning into me right now?"

She immediately straightened, cursing internally. Every nerve in her body buzzed with the need to push him away, and the even more dangerous need to press closer.

"Focus on the mission," she said.

He didn’t respond. But his smirk said enough.

The weapons dealer’s men were already on alert. The handoff was scheduled in ten minutes. Their covers, husband and wife clients from Singapore, required constant physical closeness. Kisses on the cheek. Lingering touches. She’d barely made it through the first brush of his fingers against the back of her neck earlier without shivering.

They entered the main floor together, every step calculated. Jeonghan’s hand on the small of her back, her fingers curled loosely around his wrist. To anyone watching, they were a high-class couple shopping for black market munitions. But beneath the polished exterior, everything inside her screamed.

The mission itself was uneventful, clean. Almost too clean. He handled the conversation and she watched the guards. They moved together like they’d done this for years, like they'd trained together. Her glances were his signals. His touch meant stop, go, watch.

They didn’t speak. They didn’t need to.

By the time they exited the back door with the USB drive in her clutch and the exchange complete, her pulse was thundering, not from fear. From something much worse.

Adrenaline. Proximity. And the fact that Jeonghan was grinning like a man who knew exactly what he was doing to her.

The safe house was tucked in an anonymous building on the edge of Vienna’s 9th District; concrete, beige, and entirely forgettable.

Inside, it was a single-room apartment with a bed, a kitchen counter, and one grimy window. Functional. Quiet. Secure.

Y/N slammed the door behind them and immediately crossed to the far wall. "That was too smooth."

Jeonghan unbuttoned his coat. "Should I apologize for being good at my job?"

"You were enjoying it."

He leaned against the counter, sleeves rolled up, shirt open at the collar. "You weren’t?"

She paced, chest tight, her limbs buzzing with energy that had nowhere to go. "Don’t start."

"I’m not starting. Just stating facts. You looked like you were having fun."

"Fun isn’t the word I’d use."

"No? What would you call it?"

She stopped pacing. Turned.

"The fact that we functioned like a well-oiled machine out there doesn’t change the reality. We’re enemies. You’re a threat to my entire op."

"And yet here you are, in a safe house with me, not pulling a weapon." He stepped closer. “Interesting.”

"You think I won’t?"

"I think if you were going to, you’d have done it already." He was closer now, voice lower. "Tell me, does your pulse always do that when you’re angry?"

She realized he could see her throat, see the way it moved when she swallowed. Her body betrayed her in every possible way.

"You’re playing a dangerous game," she said.

"So are you." He stepped even closer. "I think you’ve been wondering what it’d be like since the gallery."

She didn’t answer.

"You want to hate me. You want to stay in control." His hand brushed her wrist, and she jerked away like she’d been burned. "But you can’t stop imagining it, can you?"

"Fuck you."

He smiled. "Is that an invitation?" The question hangs in the air between them. Her chest is heaving, his pupils are dilated. They're standing so close she can see the pulse hammering in his throat.

She moved first.

Her hands fisted in his shirt, slamming him into the nearest wall hard enough to rattle the frame. His mouth crashed into hers like a storm,violent, breathless, devastating. Their teeth knocked, their lips bruised, their hands everywhere at once.

"I hate you," she growled, ripping open the last buttons of his shirt.

"I know," he said, pulling her closer by the hips. "I hate you too."

There was nothing soft about it. No romance. No warmth. Just the raw, burning need to consume and dominate and forget everything else.

He spun them around, slamming her against the wall now, thigh sliding between her legs. She gasped as she ground down on him.

"This doesn’t mean anything," she panted.

"Nothing at all," he murmured, fingers already at her underwear, dragging the lace aside with practiced ease. "Just getting it out of our systems."

The first stroke of his fingers made her head fall back with a choked moan. She was already soaked, already throbbing, and it made her furious.

"Bedroom," she managed.

He lifted her easily, legs locking around his waist as he carried her across the room. They didn’t make it cleanly. They crashed into the wall, into the edge of the mattress, but neither cared. They fall onto the mattress in a tangle of limbs and desperate touches. Clothes are torn off rather than removed, buttons scattering across the floor. When she finally gets her hands on his bare skin, muscles flexing under her touch, she digs her nails in hard enough to leave marks.

"Fuck," he hisses, but his hips buck forward at the sensation. "You're going to be the death of me."

"That's the plan."

She tries to flip him onto his back, to take control, but he's stronger and keeps her pinned beneath him. His mouth is everywhere - her throat, her collarbone, her breasts - marking her as his while she writhes beneath him.

"Let me up," she demands, but her voice is breathless.

"No." He captures her wrists, holding them above her head with one hand while the other traces down her body. "You're mine right now."

"I'm not yours. I'm not anyone's."

"We'll see about that." His fingers find her center, and she cries out despite herself. "Look how wet you are for me. For someone you hate."

She wants to deny it, but she can't form words when he's touching her like that, when he's looking at her like she's something he wants to devour. All she can do is move against his hand, chasing the pleasure he's giving her.

When she's close, trembling on the edge, he stops. She makes a sound of frustration that's almost a growl.

"Say please," he commands, and she can see the satisfaction in his eyes at having her so desperate.

"Go to hell."

"Say it, or I stop completely."

She stares up at him, at the man she's supposed to destroy, and realizes she's never wanted anything more than she wants him to touch her again. "Please."

"Please what?"

"Please make me come, you bastard."

He grinned and gave her everything.

When he finally enters her, they both freeze at the sensation. She's tight and hot around him, and he has to fight not to lose control immediately.

"Move," she demands, her nails raking down his back. "Don't you dare be gentle with me."

He doesn't need to be told twice. He sets a punishing pace, and she meets him thrust for thrust, their bodies slapping together in the small room. It's rough and desperate and exactly what they both need.

"You feel so good," he groans against her throat. "So perfect. I hate how perfect you feel."

She can't respond because he's hitting that spot inside her that makes her see stars. All she can do is hold on as he drives into her, over and over, like he's trying to brand himself into her memory.

When she comes, it's with his name on her lips, her back arching off the bed as pleasure crashes through her. He follows seconds later, burying himself deep as he spills inside her with a curse that might be her name.

They collapse together, breathing hard, sweat cooling on their skin. For a moment, there's only the sound of their ragged breathing and the thundering of their hearts.

Then she rolled away.

"This was a mistake," she said, staring at the ceiling.

"The biggest mistake I’ve ever made," he agreed.

Beat.

"Same time tomorrow?"

She threw a pillow at his face.

The light was different in the morning. Soft. Golden. Unforgiving.

Y/N sat up slowly, the sheet tangled around her waist. Jeonghan was still asleep beside her, one arm draped over the edge of the mattress. His face was peaceful. Human.

It made her stomach twist.

She slipped from the bed, quietly dressing. One shoe. Two. Shirt buttoned. Hair tied. She was almost to the door when,

"Running away?"

His voice was hoarse with sleep, and something else she couldn’t name.

She turned. "This was a mistake."

"So you said."

"It can’t happen again."

He sat up, the sheet falling low. God help her, she looked. Again.

"Because we’re enemies?"

"Because I can’t want you."

He stood, completely unbothered by his nakedness. "But you do."

She flinched. Just slightly.

"It was just sex," she said.

"Did it help?"

"What?"

"Get it out of your system."

She looked at him, at the marks on his chest, at the way her body still hummed with the memory of his touch.

"No," she whispered. "It made it worse."

He closed the space between them, his hand lifting to cup her cheek. She leaned into it, just for a second, then pulled away.

"This changes nothing."

"It changes everything."

"I’m still completing my mission."

"So am I."

"May the best agent win."

She opened the door. Paused.

"See you around, Jeonghan."

"Count on it."

Y/N’s report: Target compromised. Proceeding with caution.Jeonghan’s report: Operative contact unavoidable. Situation escalating.

One time was a mistake, but once won’t be enough.

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