#Screen Separator Machine

[mobilerepairtool]

To empower the business of repairing cell phones and tablets in a short span of time, it is the best choice for you to buy the Screen Separator Machine.

Buy now - https://mobilerepairtool.com/product-category/separator/

[nancytheslutwheeler678]

Very talkative and provacative rn

[lizardcornertable]

i remember when setting up a new computer was not just a parade of advertisements.

[wanrooe8618962233220]

Working principle The roller device is installed obliquely on the frame. The motor is connected with the roller device through a coupling through a reducer, and drives the roller device to rotate around its axis. When the material enters the drum device, due to the inclination and rotation of the drum device, the material on the screen surface is turned and rolled, and the qualified material (the product under the screen) is discharged through the outlet at the bottom of the rear end of the drum, and the unqualified material (the product on the screen) ) is discharged through the discharge port at the end of the drum to complete the screening of materials.

[stewystew]

Holy shit i just found a part for an embroidery machine that I’ve been looking for for like four years

[miyadollie]

R/CRUSHES : HOW DO I TALK TO MY OFFICE CRUSH ? sillyguy0813 says : dude just borrow a stapler

★ STARRING office worker lee jeno x fem reader ( ft. best friend jaemin ) ★ WORD COUNT 2.6k + 3OO bonus ★ CONTAINS co-workers to dating, fluff !! lee jeno being a cutie, jaemin is a menace to society, workplace romance, ★ MIYA SAYS 💗 this is my first time TRYING to write a long fic :3 pls give me any constructive criticism and feedback thank uu 🧘🏼‍♀️ . update : wow i absolutely dislike my writing here but its been rotting in drafts too long and i gave up on fixing this TT

it starts with a stapler.

one you’re not even sure belongs to you. maybe you bought it once during a sale, or someone left it at your desk during a particularly chaotic week, and it stayed. quietly claimed as yours.

the moment wasn't love at first sight, no grand declaration of love with bouquets or fireworks. just a quiet tuesday morning, your inbox overflowing, the boss increasing your headache by preponing your deadlines, the coffee machine on its last breath and the fluorescent lights above flickering slightly like they, too, were tired of this job. and then there’s him.

lee jeno. clean-cut. soft-spoken. the kind of guy who always says “excuse me” when passing behind you, even when there’s plenty of space. always dressed a little too well for your casual office. not flashy—never that—but tidy, crisp. thoughtful. one cubicle down, diagonal from yours. he’s been here a while. a familiar face in the sea of semi-familiar ones. you’ve never really talked but only ever exchanged the kind of polite nods reserved for coworkers who share nothing but recycled air and a breakroom.

until today. “could you pass the stapler?” you look up, startled slightly by the voice.

he’s leaning just slightly over the low partition separating your desks, eyes trained on the corner of your workspace where your lonely black stapler sits. he gives you a smile. not flashy. not flirtatious. just—nice. warm. gentle. you blink once. then reach for it. “thanks,” he says. you nod. he returns to his screen. that’s it. except… it isn’t. because the next day, he borrows a pen. the day after that, post-its. then tape. then scissors. always returning everything. always smiling. always saying thank you like he means it. and now you’re wondering. is this flirting? some kind of extremely office-safe, hr-friendly version of it? or are you just painfully, embarrassingly overthinking it? or maybe did you have an unspoken crush on him? not that you can be blamed. - lee jeno is attractive. undeniably so. you’ve seen him once—just once—rolling up the sleeves of his white button-down in the middle of summer, and you swear you forgot how to form a coherent sentence for ten straight minutes. defined forearms. slim but strong hands. that razor-sharp jawline, often tilted thoughtfully while reading something on his screen. dark lashes. deep voice. a gym guy, apparently—you overheard it once when he mentioned it to jaemin (you weren’t eavesdropping, you just… have really good ears). you haven’t initiated anything. neither has he. but those tiny moments? the ones that make your heart skip? they’re adding up

────

FRIDAY | 4:30 PM

“soo… still down to try that new restaurant?” jaemin asks one afternoon, casually leaning on your desk during lunch with a fresh iced americano in hand—probably his fifth for the day. “obviously,” you reply, eyes lighting up. “people have been absolutely glazing it online. thanks for getting us a table!” he grins. “see you at 9 then.” just as he turns, he spins back around like a cartoon character. “oh, also—jeno’s coming. hope that’s cool?” you freeze. your face says i’m fine, but your body language screams mayday. “y-yeah. sure. totally chill,” you manage. “coolcoolcoolcool,” you say, immediately turning your head towards your computer, and then you see your reflection on the blank empty screen. you were blushing. hard. jaemin smirks knowingly as he walks off. of course he knows. he always knows. after all, he’s the mastermind who told jeno to borrow your stapler in the first place. ────

8:55 PM

the restaurant is low-lit and warm, the kind of place where the wood-paneled walls muffle outside noise, and everything feels just a little more intimate than it should. you arrive five minutes early. out of habit, mostly. or nerves. you’re not sure which. jaemin’s already there, somehow sipping an iced americano even here, scrolling through his phone while pretending not to notice your presence with a dramatic sigh. “i told you 9:00,” he says, without looking up. “it’s 8:55.” “still early.” he glances at you now, then raises an eyebrow. “cute top.” you ignore his antics, he’s just trying to get a reaction out of you. typical jaemin. your heart is already thudding too loudly, because jeno walks in right after. black shirt, sleeves rolled up. clean slacks. a bit of cologne, subtle but warm. his hair’s tousled slightly, and his eyes light up just a little when they land on you. “hey,” he says, with that soft smile. you don’t trust yourself to speak, so you just smile back, scooting over so he can sit across from you. the conversation is light, easy. mostly thanks to jaemin, who fills every awkward silence with a joke, a story, an embarrassing anecdote about your office. jaemin and jeno were friends in school, you get to know that night, they were benchmates. jaemin always chose jeno as his partner for every game, every lab, and jeno just liked his company, so he stood with him always. jaemin talks about you to jeno too—how you both were first day interns and hit it off over a conversation about which seventeen album is truly the best. but every now and then, you catch jeno looking at you. not staring. not even for long. just—looking. like he’s seeing something he's trying very hard not to see too obviously. “so,” jaemin says mid-way through dessert, smirking at you over his spoon, “funny how you two never end up talking at work.” you nearly choke. jeno shifts in his seat. “like, what’s with all the stapler borrowing, huh? no small talk?” you glare at him. he grins. “i’m just saying. feels like there’s some unspoken office tension.” jeno lets out a quiet laugh. and then, after a beat—he looks at you. “i guess i just… wanted a reason to talk,” he says, voice soft. and your breath catches. your heart is thudding again. you manage a smile, small and shy. trying not to mess up words or blabber out something nonsensical. “i noticed,” you reply. the space between you feels full, suddenly. full of every little interaction. every thank-you. every passing smile. jaemin stretches obnoxiously. “well, look at the time! i’ve got a meeting with my bed in ten.” you roll your eyes. “you’re so obvious.” he shrugs. “you’re welcome.” and just like that, he’s gone with the wind. leaving you and jeno, two half-finished desserts, and a quiet restaurant glowing gold in the late-night hush. “i can walk you home,” he says, gently. not pushing. just offering. and something in you says yes. to the walk. to this night. to the maybe that’s been building between you both. ────

10:45 PM

the night is cool, with a breeze just strong enough to lift the corners of your coat and make you tuck your hands into your sleeves. the restaurant’s warm glow fades behind you, replaced by the hush of quiet streets and dimly lit sidewalks. jeno walks beside you, hands in his pockets, his steps matching yours. neither of you says anything at first. the silence isn’t awkward. it’s... full. full of unspoken things. of nerves and glances and the way your arms brush every few seconds and both of you pretend not to notice. “jaemin talks too much,” jeno says eventually, voice low. you laugh softly. “it’s his specialty.” he hums in agreement, then adds, “he wasn’t wrong, though.” you glance at him, catching the way his eyes flicker to yours and then away again, like he’s testing the water, like he’s afraid of saying too much too fast. “i... didn’t really need the stapler that day.” your breath catches. “oh,” you manage, and you’re smiling now. you can’t help it. “i just... i guess i liked the idea of you looking at me. talking to me.” he pauses. “even if it was just a stapler.” you stop walking, just for a moment. jeno turns, realizing you’re no longer beside him. there’s a streetlight above him, casting shadows across his face and soft highlights in his hair. “you could’ve just said hi,” you whisper. he steps closer. barely. but enough to make the air between you buzz. “i know,” he murmurs. “i wanted to. every day. but you always looked so focused. and i didn’t want to ruin that.” your heart is a mess of drumbeats and warmth. “you wouldn’t have.” silence again. then he says, barely audible, “could i maybe get your number... just for office related stuff, of course.” you nod, because your voice has already betrayed you too many times tonight. a soft smile tugs at his lips. the quiet kind. the kind you know he saves for only a few people. he walks you all the way to your apartment. and when he says goodbye, it’s not a hug. not a kiss. just a quiet “goodnight” and a look that lingers longer than it should. but your heart knows. it knows everything. ────

SATURDAY | 9:00 AM

the next day, the office is just waking up. it always feels colder in the morning—half because of the ac blasting too early, half because everyone’s too busy chasing caffeine to talk. desks are still half-empty. monitors glow. the printer sputters. someone sneezes. a mug clinks. you step in, trying to hide the stupid smile that’s been stuck to your face since last night. your coat is too warm for indoors but your hands are cold, so you hold your coffee tighter. and then you see it. your desk. something’s different. sitting neatly on top of your keyboard is a brand-new stapler. blue, shiny, absolutely unnecessary. you freeze. right beside it, a yellow post-it. his handwriting. neat. almost too neat. “thought you could use one that wasn’t cursed.     —jeno :)” you almost laugh. it’s such a him thing to do—dry humor disguised as helpfulness. but your heart? it’s fluttering like it’s stuck in a romcom scene, an angelic choir singing along in tandem. you reach out and pick up the stapler.you didn’t even need one nor were you going to use one. but you want to keep this one forever. cherish it. maybe even pass it on as an heirloom.

just then, you hear someone clear their throat. “new office romance i should know about?” you don’t even need to turn around. jaemin. of course. loud, nosy, iced-americano jaemin. “shut up,” you say instantly, trying to sound bored. your cheeks are already heating up. but he walks past you, grinning like the devil, a bounce in his step like he’s in on the joke you’re still figuring out. and then—your gaze drifts. to the cubicle across. there he is. jeno. typing. or pretending to. his posture is the same—back straight, eyes on the screen—but his fingers are still on the home row keys, just gliding about. and when he feels your eyes, he glances up. It's brief, barely a second. but he smiles. like last night wasn’t just dinner. like it meant something.

a few hours later, a message pops up.

jeno lee “did the new one pass inspection?”

you “it’s still under review by the council. but i think they approve ;)”

jeno lee “let me know if it jams. i’ll personally fix it.”

you smile. a full smile this time. the kind that makes you reach for your coffee, lean back in your chair, and breathe in like something in your world has shifted.

jeno 💗 “what’s your go-to coffee order?”

you “anything except that poison jaemin drinks every day. ‘i like my coffee as dark as my soul’ ahh guy.”

jeno 💗 “haha.” “noted.”

the next morning there’s a cup of coffee on your desk, with yet another post-it note. “it’s the new specialty at a cafe near my place. i thought you’d like it :)”

that was truly the best coffee you had ever tasted. and maybe he started getting it for you every day. ────

WEDNESDAY | 9:00 PM

it's another day at the office. rain taps gently on the windows, a soft drumbeat to the silence of overworked employees and abandoned coffee mugs. you’re still at your desk & so is he. the fluorescent lights overhead are dimmer than usual, humming low like they’re tired too. you stretch your back, glancing at the clock. 9:04 pm. “still here?” comes his voice. you look up to see jeno leaning on the edge of his cubicle wall, sleeves rolled up, tie a little loosened. “so are you,” you shoot back. he smiles. “want company for the walk back?” you nod before your brain catches up.

the streetlights blur against the wet pavement, reflecting like oil paint smudged across the road. jeno’s shoulder brushes yours every few seconds—neither of you move away. he talks about the weird way jaemin eats ramen. you laugh. you tell him about your favorite childhood cartoon. he says he watched it too, and suddenly it’s three blocks later and you’re still talking. at a red light, you both stop. he glances down at you. you glance up. it’s a pause so charged you swear the rain quiets. “...you looked really pretty today,” he says suddenly. his voice isn’t confident or smooth—he says it like a secret. you don’t respond right away. just tuck your hair behind your ear, your face heating. he notices. the light turns green and you simply walk on. on reaching your apartment building you stop at the steps. he’s still holding the umbrella. you don’t say anything. he doesn’t either. there’s that moment again—that pause like the world might tilt if either of you moves. “i’m really glad you came to dinner that night,” he finally says, voice quieter than before. “been wanting to talk to you properly for months.” you blink. “...really?” jeno chuckles. “you had the office’s only decent stapler. of course i had to make a move.” you laugh—nervous and shy and full of everything you’ve been holding back. he takes a step closer. just one. not too much. “but also,” he adds, and this time his voice is a little more sure, “i like you. not just the lunch break, passing-notes kind. the kind where i want to sit and mindlessly watch silly romcoms with you, the kind where i want to walk you home every day and make sure you had dinner. the kind where - " he goes on. but words fall on deaf ears. you feel your heart clench, sweet and sharp. you’re about to respond when— “...so, if you’re okay with it,” he continues, scratching the back of his neck, “can i officially take you out sometime? like, not just coffee machine and post-it flirting. a real date.” you blink. once. twice. your face is warm. your chest feels like it’s glowing. “...yes.” you don’t even hesitate. his smile is soft. wide. genuine. and when he hands you the umbrella and waves goodnight, walking back with his hands in his pockets and a quiet bounce in his step. you think, maybe this started with a stapler. but it’s gonna end with something a lot more permanent. ──── BONUS : FEW WEEKS LATER | 2:00 PM

you, jeno, and jaemin were perched on the edge of the rooftop, paper lunchboxes balanced on your laps, chinese takeout - courtesy of jeno. the breeze is nice, the sky a little overcast, and jaemin's halfway through an enthusiastic rant about the company’s new vending machine layout.

“and like .. why did they move the green tea to the bottom row? what kind of criminal.. oh, thanks man.” he says as jeno hands him a napkin mid-rant, like muscle memory.

you say while giggling, “you guys are like an old married couple.”

jeno chokes on his rice. you pat his back helpfullly , still giggling.

jaemin just shrugs. “what can i say? i raised him well.”

jeno glares at him. mouthing ' stop. talking.' he knew jaemin could slip up any moment. for he always did.

jaemin does not stop talking.

“i mean, not to brag, but if it weren’t for me, he’d still be hovering awkwardly near your desk pretending he needed your stapler.”

you blink. “wait. what?”

jeno drops his chopsticks.

jaemin freezes. realizes.

“oh..." he mutters.

your jaw drops. “waitwaitwait. you told him to borrow my stapler?”

“in my defense,” jaemin says, holding up both hands, “i was just trying to save him from dying of heart failure every time you walked past. it was either that or fake a paper jam crisis.”

jeno is silent. fully hiding behind his lunchbox now.

you slowly turn to him. “is this true?”

“…maybe,” he mumbles.

you snort, trying to hold in your laughter. “oh my god. so all this time..”

“don’t act like it wasn’t genius!” jaemin interrupts. “you’re welcome, by the way. this whole slow-burn coffee shop romcom office love story? all me.”

jeno groans. “can i push him off the roof.”

you lean into jeno’s shoulder, grinning. “you should’ve just said hi.”

he sighs. “i wanted to. but every time i tried, you were always typing so fast. and glaring at your screen like it personally insulted your ancestors.”

you snort. “fair.”

jaemin raises his water bottle. “to true love, born from borrowing office supplies.”

jeno snatches it from him and takes a sip without asking. you think that’s revenge enough. read more ❤︎ please like, reblog and let me know your reviews (๑>◡<๑) this work is a piece of fiction and is not intended to reflect the real personalities, actions, or beliefs of the individuals portrayed. the idols mentioned are used purely as fictional characters for storytelling purposes. no harm, disrespect, or objectification is intended. everything written here is entirely imaginative and not based on real-life events or relationships.

[endreal]

actually I'd like to change my answer - pinball is a type of slot machine

before electronic computers and things like high score boards, the main purpose of a pinball machine was plausibly deniable gambling - I watched a programme recently where a vintage games restorer was working on a pre-electric pinball machine from a seaside arcade or promenade or something in I think the 30s and the play mechanism was basically put your penny in, release the ball, use the plunger to fire the ball into the playing field, and if you were skillful and lucky your ball would hit pins that directed it into a win hole that could get the player up to 6p in return. Not only was there a slot for inserting your coin but, if you'll allow me to extend the definition, the holes in the playing field are also slots designed to either recapture the ball or trigger the payout mechanism hidden behind the board.

the irony of course is that most modern "slot machines" are wholly digital, which makes them videogames.

Is pinball a board game? In good faith I'd say yes but only as a gut instinct based on your post

pinball is a video game

[unintentionalseductress]

Uncoded

Warnings: ANGST, slow burn, self-deprecation, general sadness, NO SMUT Summary: Stuck in Linkon City, you never thought you'd be someone other than the MC. What happens when you spawn in the game as an NPC? WC: 8.8 K A/n: Hello everyone! I know it's been a hot minute since I wrote a oneshot, and thank you to all the kinds folks that reached out after I said I was let go a few weeks ago. I'm taking a break after being burnt out at that job, and planning my next moves, but I do want to get back into the joy I found while writing. And who is this girl, there's no smut?! *gasps*

The operating room was cold, and the bright overhead light caught on sterile surgical tools that gleamed under the fluorescent bulbs. The regular beeping from a heart rate monitor, the hissing and mechanical thunks of the machines that supported the delicate task of the operation filled the room, broken only by the shuffle of surgical gowns and the clink of metal as the used tools were discarded into a separate bowl after their use. 

"Bovie," Zayne says, his voice low but clear.

You passed it to him carefully, your gloves brushing against his briefly, and still, despite the dozen or so times you had done this seemingly insignificant act, it sent little tingles of electricity down your spine. Zayne doesn’t flinch. He never does. He was laser-focused on his patient, the cautery moving with robotic precision along the patient’s heart, the pungent smell of charred tissue mingling with the clean air of the operating theatre. 

Your gaze lingers on him longer than intended. The surgical mask hid most of his face, but his eyes were narrowed in utmost concentration. He always looked like that when he operated, calm and unwavering. Nothing outside the human heart he held in his gloved hands mattered. It was admirable, but you couldn’t stop the sharp pang of longing that lodged itself in your chest every time you assisted in the operating room. 

He doesn’t see me.

You don’t know when the thought first curled into you like a parasite, but it lived there now, quiet, constant, gnawing away at your insides. 

“Retractor,” Zayne requests.

Your hands automatically move, anticipating his needs. As the operation theatre grows quiet again, your mind wanders. 

It had happened three days ago.

You had gotten home from another long day. The world was dark, work sucked, and you had no desire to do anything. After reheating a bowl of leftovers and doing your nighttime routine, you had curled up in bed under the warmth of the comforter, and logged in to the only thing bringing you any semblance of relief from your otherwise shitty reality. The dim glow of your phone screen bounced off the white walls of your bedroom as a familiar cafe suddenly bloomed into life, and a man dressed in a black shirt and black slacks made his appearance.

“You’re here.” He extended his hand towards you, and you’d tapped his palm, wishing he were real. 

You tapped the relax time icon and chose the option for holding hands, feeling warmth spread into your chest as he intertwined his simulated fingers with yours, before kissing the back of your hand. 

“Thank you for being my stress relief.” He released your screen hand and took a few steps back. You zoomed in to focus on his face, admiring the sharp amber-green eyes, the straight curve of his nose, and the black hair that fell softly onto his forehead. You tapped his lips.

"If your hands keep being mischievous, I can show you how surgeons tie knots."

You giggled, and repeated the action before he finally got fed up, and turned his back to you, during which time, you amused yourself by poking his bottom, watching as he tensed up and shook his head in disapproval. You played the claw machine with him, then tenderly tapped his face one last time before logging out of the game. 

“If only.” You’d murmured into the darkness, as his handsome face consumed your thoughts again, as sleep overtook you. 

“Zayne…” you sighed his name, aching for him, even though you knew it was ridiculous, pining over a fictional man that didn’t exist. 

And then…You awoke abruptly. You squinted against the harsh lights that filled your vision and realized you were in a sleeping pod, like the ones in the game. How had you ended up here? Even stranger, why did the guy who had woken you up look like…

“Greyson?” You’d asked as he pulled you up by the wrist.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you! Dr. Zayne is about to operate on an unstable patient. OR 2 stat!” You followed along clumsily as Greyson escorts you, and soon you’re in the atrium outside of the OR. 

Greyson presses the intercom button. “I found her, Dr. Zayne. Good luck.” 

You’d glanced around in panic, wondering what to do when your body acted on its own accord. Suddenly, you’re scrubbing with the surgical soap, washing up to your elbows, a voice in your head counting the seconds, then drying off. You walked into the OR and an assistant held out gloves, which you dipped your hands into, marveling at how they were the right size. Your feet automatically carried you towards the operating table, where you could just make out the lead surgeon, completely covered by his mask and cap, sharp eyes glaring at your approach. You’d assumed the position in front of the surgical instrument tray.

“Thank you for joining us.” There’s a bite of impatience and obvious sarcasm, and your heart jolted as you recognized the voice.

“Beginning anasthesia, Dr. Zayne.” One of the medical staff members calls to him. 

“Scalpel,” Zayne stated simply, his hand extending towards you in expectation. 

And your hands moved in response, gloved and steady, body responding like you’d done this your entire life.

You’d glanced up several times during the procedure, trying not to pass out from the giddy way your heart fluttered, and your stomach flipped each time he asked for another instrument. There he was…Zayne. 

Alive. Breathing. Not pixels. Not a script. A man.

Your breath had caught in your throat as you observed him. Sweat had gathered on his brow as he’d operated, and when he’d turned to face towards you, your hand had reached for the designated towel to gently pat his brow clean, feeling like you could melt at how intimate the gesture felt. It was like a dream come alive. And for the duration of the surgery, you’d felt like the luckiest woman on the planet. It was only after that that your dream had quickly turned into a nightmare. 

You’re jarred back to the present as Zayne makes a quiet sound in his throat. “Forceps.”

You quickly handed him the pair. 

“Good,” he murmured, more to the heart he was holding than to you.

You had tried to understand the rules of this world. You weren’t a scrub nurse, not in real life. You didn’t know the first thing about being in an operating theatre. 

But here, your body is moving like it has been trained. You knew his surgeries by heart, knew what he would ask for next, and had knowledge about how long each surgical procedure would run. Everything was scripted, everything was clean.

A background NPC.

It had been humbling to realize it. Yet you couldn’t help but hope anyway. Hope Zayne would see you. Would realize how much you had yearned for him, separated by a screen, memorizing every microexpression on his face. 

“Closing sutures,” Zayne says briskly, and you hand the needle holder, locking eyes with him briefly over his mask, before he looks away. Another successful surgery. Thanks to you. But you’d already known what would happen the moment Zayne left the OR.

He didn’t say thanks, didn’t even acknowledge your presence. And the reason why was obvious. Glancing up at the large viewing gallery, you saw someone sitting in the front row of seats, someone you knew intimately, despite having never spoken in this world. 

Her eyes were exactly like yours. She had the same mouth and nose, features you’d painstakingly crafted while glancing into a mirror every few seconds, and her hair was styled in a cut that you would have loved to have, but were too unsure to try. She was wearing the distinct Hunter’s uniform and was gazing intently at Zayne.

You tried not to let the wave of envy swallow you as you looked at her. She was you after all. Or rather, the version of her you’d created in the game; the all-important MC. 

And Zayne had eyes for no one but her, his view fixated on her form. She smiles and gives him a thumbs up, and you see the effect she has on him. His shoulders, which had been tense and bunched, grew slack. He raises ten fingers, and points to the operation theatre door, and your MC nods, getting up to meet him. 

He brushed past you, and you felt your stomach lurch, silently following him to scrub out. Your mind was chewing away at the thoughts inside your head, and even though you knew what to expect, you still couldn’t stop the first pang of pain that hit your heart when you Zayne and your MC in the staff lounge. You quickly ducked into the fridge, pretending to grab some yogurt. 

Zayne, real, impossibly tangible Zayne, was leaning towards her, their body language too comfortable with each other to suggest this as a recent development. His face had softened, and his voice, when he spoke, carried a tone of warmth you had never heard when it came to addressing his surgical staff.

“Glad you waited,” he said, an almost imperceptible quirk in his lips that has your MC grinning at him as she shakes a paper bag in front of Zayne’s face. 

“I brought those steamed buns you like. Thought you could use something warm after three back-to-back cases.”

You had imagined this very scenario several times when you had been playing the game, being the MC and handing Zayne a snack after his surgery had finished. At that time, it felt like anything was possible.

Zayne takes the bag from her and lays a hand on her shoulder.

“Thank you.”

That’s when it hits you. 

This wasn’t the beginning of the relationship between Zayne and your MC. He already knew her, had allowed her to become part of his life, and sought her out after a hard day.

In this world, this prewritten, coded dream, Zayne already loved her. 

The realization steals the breath from your lungs, and suddenly, you feel like you are intruding on a private moment. You quickly close the fridge and sprint out of the lounge. 

The game texts you had been replying to, believing it was you, were actually being sent by your MC. The confessions Zayne sent, which you had thought were meant for you, were for her. 

Your MC was the one who got his late-night messages and accepted his coffee invitations. She got his time, his kindness, his smile. And it felt like the world was crumbling beneath your feet.

You had always known the game version of yourself was awesome. Of course, she was. She was smart, a professionally trained hunter with a badass job. She had hobbies and a fit body. She was witty and sassy, and everyone loved her, including you. Which was why you had tried your best to model her after yourself.

But she’s not me. She’s everything I’m not. 

The awful truth of it all sinks in. 

She’s the better version of me. Of course, he doesn’t see me. Why would he?

You reach the hospital’s rooftop, which was covered with rows and rows of potted plants, Linkon’s attempt at creating a calming environment. You slink away between the rows of tall trees, which engulf you, creating the perfect hiding spot.

Hot tears spill down your cheeks as you sob quietly.

Zayne had been your comfort character, the one you wanted to see at the end of the day, even if he wasn’t real. But now he was, and somehow, you wished you could go back; back to the days when you could delude yourself into believing Zayne could love you, not the MC version of you, but the real you.

Yet he was blissfully unaware of your existence, cozying up with the MC you had made, while you sat alone, the cool night air whipping your face, drying the salty tracks that covered your cheeks. 

I’m not someone he would love. I’m nobody. Nobody. 

ʚ‎‏ ͜ ̩͙ ︵ ̩͙ ୨ ♡ ୧ ̩͙ ‏︵ ̩͙ ͜ ɞ

In the days that followed, you tried to make yourself known. Your MC was amazing, but only because you had designed her so. After the misery of the previous night, you decided that despite the game dynamics, there might still be hope. 

You couldn’t help it. Like a moth drawn to a flame, despite knowing he didn’t perceive you in any meaningful way, you couldn’t help but want to attempt to leave an imprint, some kind of trace to make him aware of your existence. 

You tried to carry yourself with purpose as you strutted down the halls of Akso Hospital, straight-backed and buoyed by the small chance of possibility. The tablet in your hands had been opened to the patient scheduled for surgery today, a casual way to open a conversation, in your opinion. You spied Zayne at the nurses’ station and made your way over. It would appear like small talk, a tiny opening into his field of vision.

“Dr. Zayne.” You say his name quietly as you approach. That turn as he heard his name, the brief blink of surprise, followed by recognition. Your breath caught as his gaze fixed on you, almost driving the entire premise of the conversation out of your mind. His eyes fall on the tablet you’d pushed towards him, and he looks at you expectantly. 

“I had a question regarding today’s surgery.” You manage to say, trying not to sound breathless. Another blink, followed by a nod. 

“Yes, go on.”

“I see the patient was a smoker. He’s due for a transplant. I wanted to know if there are any precautions I should take, or any steps of the procedure I should exercise more caution. Or perhaps stock more supplies for.”

And there it was: a brief, almost imperceptible quirk to his lips, like he’d nearly smiled at you. How long had you stared at the screen of your phone, watching and tenderly memorizing every micro expression he made? 

“A very astute question,” he says with a touch of praise, and it instantly triggers a million butterflies in your stomach, wings beating rapidly inside you. “You’ll want to make sure we have extra clamps, and notify the blood bank ahead of time to ensure we have some in case of an emergency. Double check his blood type.” 

You nod, hanging onto every word like a smitten schoolgirl. “And…should I prepare OR 2?” 

“Yes, please do.” The sharp lines of his face have lessened. “It is my preferred OR after all.”

“I’ve noticed,” you reply, unwilling to lose the flow of the moment. “May I ask why?”

Zayne is about to respond when his gaze suddenly fixates on something behind you. You turn to look over your shoulder, then feel your heart drop to your knees as your MC makes an appearance again. The moment shatters like glass. 

“What are you doing here?” Zayne steps around you to greet your MC, like you were a tree obstructing his view. 

“You left your charger at my place,” you hear her reply, and your heart sinks another inch or so towards the floor. If he had left the charger at her place, then that must mean…

You stop yourself. It was too painful to imagine. You were barely two feet away, the tablet lying on the counter, forgotten. Neither of them notices as you pick it up and leave. 

A few days later, you tried again. You had convinced yourself that the last time had been a coincidence, that the arrival of your MC had been the only factor that had deviated from what had been an otherwise positive conversation. 

It was lunchtime, and you saw an opportunity to maybe try bonding with him over a weakness of his. 

“Dr. Zayne.” You call out as you meet him near the elevator. He turns, clearly not expecting you. 

“I heard they’ve made that chocolate mint cake today in the cafeteria. Maybe we should try to snag a slice before it’s all gone?”

This time, a genuine glimmer of interest in his eyes, followed by a huff of what appeared to be amusement.

“Word certainly seems to spread around the hospital.”

“Of course. Besides, it’s not like it’s a secret, right?” You banter back carefully. “Your fondness for sweets?”

Zayne fixates on the panel of buttons in the elevator and remains quiet, but you observe the way his ears turn red, an endearing sight indeed, something you’d loved about him since seeing it in the cafe screen interactions. 

“No, I suppose not,” he says after a beat, and you try to suppress your smile. It was the closest you had been to him outside the operating room. “But I’ll admit it’s a bit disconcerting that people have noticed this about me so easily.”

“Or maybe,” You boldly begin, then push on. “They notice these things because they want to get to know you better. It creates reasons to interact, you know?”

He considers this, then nods in agreement. “I suppose that’s a more flattering way to look at it. I think it’s nice that people want to get to know me.”

Your heart feels like it might burst from your chest, and just as you’re about to ask him if he takes coffee with his cake, the elevator doors ping open, and you feel the air rush out of your lungs. 

There stands your MC, and in her hands is a little paper plate carrying a slice of the cake you had been talking about seconds ago. Zayne’s eyes light up, little fireflies against the dark backdrop of his irises before he approaches her, and you once again, fade into the background.

You can hear the warmth in his tone, the way his movements are casual as he draws her away from the crowd. Passersby look at them with smiles on their faces. Look at the young, happy couple. Look at them stealing away to enjoy a small moment of privacy, the intimate exchange too obvious to ignore. You step hollowly out of the elevator. The cafeteria was out of cake by the time you arrived. You buy a cold slice of pizza and eat it alone at the table in the farthest corner of the room. 

The final ditch attempt to get his attention was quiet. A fragile action in the hope that he would at least remember your name, or show some form of acknowledgement. You made a cup of tea, his favorite one, your hands trembling as you steeped it in the lunge, carefully cradling the cup as you brought it to his office. The door was open, but he wasn’t in, so you’d placed it on his desk with a sticky note, nothing fancy, a simple “Till your next surgery.” Part of you, the foolish little part that refused to believe Zayne wasn’t yours, had made this last-minute decision, but your mind was already braced for the crushing rejection. 

You exit his office and are a few feet away when you hear footsteps, and you glance back to see Zayne and your MC enter his office, the door clicking shut. You’re unable to stop yourself from walking back, placing your ear against the door, hoping to hear what you so desperately wanted. 

Inside, Zayne lifts the cup and sniffs it, little rifts of steam still arising from it, frowning. He glances at your MC, and you hear his question muffled through the door.

“Did you leave this?” he asks your MC, who looks puzzled. 

“No, but it’s your favorite, right?” She asks in your voice, the voice you’d spent so much time customizing in an attempt to make it sound like you. And it did sound like you. A more musical, attractive version of you. Just like the rest of her. 

You hear Zayne take a sip, followed by a hum of appreciation, before your MC starts teasing him about how absent-minded he’d grown, brewing tea himself and forgetting about it. 

The door felt like it put dimensions between you. You were always the outsider, trying to find a way in. It wasn’t meant to be. The comfort you used to find from Zayne was long gone. It had been crushing to let go of the one final thing you’d used to escape from your crappy reality. Now, the thing that gave you joy was the source of your angst. 

You’d escape this world if you knew how. But you were trapped, forever the wallpaper, never given more than a second’s glance before people moved on. Even if you went back to reality, how were you supposed to cope, knowing you had been so close to the love of your life, yet unable to make him open to your presence? 

That the man you’d idolized was in love with another version of you, who had been crafted so perfectly that you almost wanted to scream at the injustice. You felt the betrayal keenly, resentment welling up inside you. The MC was you. YOU. How could a fictional version of yourself outdo you so astoundingly?

You wanted nothing more than to put a universe's worth of distance between yourself and Zayne. To disappear into the vast region of Linkon City and never reappear. But the game dynamics limited your mobility. You had an apartment (surprisingly like the one your MC had), which your programmed self knew how to enter, and the route between there to Akso hospital was the standard routine. 

Like a never-ending loop, against your will, you had to join Zayne in the operating theatre no matter how much it hurt you. And you hated it. Hated him. Well, not really. You loved him. And the sharp razor blade sting you felt inside your chest every time you looked at him, while he looked at someone else, was all you had. 

ʚ‎‏ ͜ ̩͙ ︵ ̩͙ ୨ ♡ ୧ ̩͙ ‏︵ ̩͙ ͜ ɞ

You withdrew as the days went by. Like a chameleon, blending into your surroundings, inconspicuous. Somedays, you felt like a ghost, certain that if you stood in someone’s way, they’d walk right through you and not notice a thing. 

With no way out of the game, you performed your surgical tasks robotically, not looking at Zayne unless it was necessary, handing the instruments and backing away until he asked for the next one. 

He, of course, was unperturbed. Zayne continued with his surgeries, consultations, and his regular meetings with your MC. Since the day of the teacup incident, you’d tried your best to avoid noticing their interactions, but the hospital seemed to be smitten with them.

All the nurses would giggle whenever she dropped in and asked if Zayne was in a meeting, or when Zayne would change into a set of fresh clothes before leaving the hospital in anticipation of a date night.

During one surgery, you had been close enough to observe a faint, pink hickey on his neck, and had looked away, resisting the urge to stab his awaiting hand with the scalpel you were meant to hand him. Prim, proper, Dr. Zayne, who should have been so professional and discreet, was now unbothered about turning up to work with hickeys on his neck. The damn man had no shame. That’s what you’d told yourself as you’d quickly run to scrub out after the surgery had ended. And shouldn’t your MC have known better than to do something so brazen? She was a wild little freak as far as you were concerned, and it helped to believe this narrative rather than to accept the inevitable: that they were a young couple falling in love. 

“DeBakey foreceps.” Zayne’s hand appears in front of you again. 

You’re about to comply, the game coding driving your hand towards him, when you feel a pull of defiance bubble inside you. What would happen if you didn’t promptly hand him what he needed? Wilful restraint stilled your hand, satisfaction flooding your veins when the game seemed to freeze at your unwillingness to oblige the scripted system. You hadn’t asked to be an NPC; you had sentience, and the rebellious act was sweet. Your hand jerks as the code tries to make you submit, but you persevere, savoring the little control you have. 

“DeBakey foreceps,” Zayne repeats, and this time, you notice something strange; a small ripple distorts the room, the occupants becoming temporarily distorted, pixelated shapes, before order is restored. The retractor in your hands fades away, reappearing in Zayne’s, and he continues his surgery as though nothing has happened. 

No one had seen it. Your heart hammered in your chest as you started to piece together what had happened. Had the code simply overrode your attempt at defying the game's logistics? You had a theory; you wait until you were out of surgery to test it.  

There were no deviations in the route of an NPC. Once the day had ended, you always took the same train to the apartment. Today, as you stepped outside the hospital, you make a cautious step in the opposite direction of the train station. When you had tried this before, the game pixelated and reset you back at the entrance of Akso Hospital.

Today, nothing happens. Your small act of noncompliance had changed the dynamics. You take a few more steps, feeling the rush of freedom soar into your heart before breaking into a sprint. You were no longer bound by the rules of the game; an unchained NPC. 

ʚ‎‏ ͜ ̩͙ ︵ ̩͙ ୨ ♡ ୧ ̩͙ ‏︵ ̩͙ ͜ ɞ

The days that followed were a giddy fantasy. The game could no longer call upon you to do your fixed role. You put the liberation to good use, exploring much of Linkon City, using whatever gold the game gave you to space out your time at the various cafes, bookstores, and amusement parks. 

Although the pain of being jilted by Zayne still lingered, it was easier to ignore now that there was distance between you and him. Your heart ached whenever you walked past a dessert place, old memories of your imaginings coming alive, of taking Zayne and doing a tasting menu with him.  

Now you ate the desserts alone, appreciating the macarons, cakes, and delicious mocha lattes as the richness flowed on your tongue. Some days, you could convince yourself that things were ok. That you would heal and that you’d eventually move on from Zayne.

It still ached deep within that you had the perfect man in your palm, only to realize he was just that; a man, and despite the game’s premise, men didn’t go for the mousy bookworms. Even in fantasies, they went for the cheerleader, and nothing could change the balance of that system. 

Besides, you thought, as you sat on the rooftop of your apartment building, watching the sunset, Zayne probably wouldn’t have noticed anyway. There would be a new scrub nurse, one who didn’t love him, who would have replaced you, like slipping a brick into an open spot in a wall. His world wouldn’t stop at your absence.

But sometimes you wish it would. 

ʚ‎‏ ͜ ̩͙ ︵ ̩͙ ୨ ♡ ୧ ̩͙ ‏︵ ̩͙ ͜ ɞ

Back at Akso hospital, Zayne had in fact continued with his routine as expected, but with one small change; he had started to notice things. 

The first few days after you had walked out of Akso Hospital had been the same; there had been no issues getting through his surgeries, and he’d proceeded just as he always had. The voices and faces of the other staff had always been insignificant to him. It didn’t matter. Per NPC rules, they merely stood there to ensure game function continued. He’d done his rounds, completed his charts, and met with your MC as usual.

But a few days after the incident, he’d glanced at the scrub nurse handing him the tool and squinted, feeling a little unsettled. He could’ve sworn the scrub nurse that assisted him was different, the features of your face fuzzy in his mind, but he was confident he wasn’t mistaken. 

Sensing his hesitation, the replacement NPC asks, “Is everything all right, Dr. Zayne?”

“Yes, yes,” Zayne murmurs, accepting the tool from her, but he can’t shake off the feeling that something is amiss. “Did you ask me if we could get cake together in the cafeteria?” he asks.

The NPC’s eyebrows raise, and she shakes her head no. 

“Never mind then.” Zayne refocuses on his patient, but there’s a nagging feeling that this wasn’t the order of things. Your MC floats into his mind, yet he feels like he’s seeing differences in his memory. 

Your MC’s eyes, so symmetrical and large, yet another almost-identical pair replaces them, not quite so symmetrical, but still quite pretty. The perfect, glossy little Cupid’s bow of your MC’s lips fades to be replaced by ones that are pressed into a line of attention while poring over a medical chart, dry from the lack of self-care. 

Why was he thinking of these things? He was in love with who he needed to be per the code. And his girlfriend was perfect, a vision of beauty. Yet all he could focus on now were the small imperfections he thought he remembered, and finding them more attractive than he thought he did. 

“Was there someone before you?” he asks the new scrub nurse, hoping the answer would be no. The new scrub nurse nods, and Zayne feels a little lurch inside his stomach. 

“I’m not sure what happened to her. Perhaps a game update made her obsolete?” The NPC suggests, and Zayne tries to appear nonchalant. 

“Perhaps. It doesn’t matter. Let’s focus here, please.” He redirects the room’s attention back onto the patient, and silence falls once again, leaving him alone to mull over his thoughts and misgivings. Even if there was someone different before, why did it matter? The routes were on track, he was performing as he should be. It absolutely made no difference. 

Once the surgery was over, he scrubbed out and prepared for a follow-up appointment. The patient smiles at him as he enters his office. 

“No pain since the transplant?” Zayne asks as he inspects the fading incision in the man’s chest.

“None at all! And your scrub nurse was so kind to me post-op. Kept checking in to make sure I was comfortable.”

“My scrub nurse…?” Zayne falters, and suddenly he recalls a tablet being pushed towards him, and questions about precautionary measures to be taken before a transplant surgery. He purses his lips, and the patient grows silent, noticing the pensive look on Zayne’s face.

“Can you remind me…what did my scrub nurse look like?”

The patient looked taken aback at the question, but answered politely, and it did nothing to satisfy Zayne’s curiosity. For all that mattered, he had described the MC in almost striking detail. Yet he knew it couldn’t have been the MC…she had left the hospital after giving him his charger…and he’d gone into surgery with…

As Zayne becomes increasingly broody, the game ripples like it had the other day, only this time, he sees it; all the crisp objects and the patient in his office becoming pixelated before the world seems to snap like a whip, and all is well again. Shaken, Zayne stares at the patient who seems oblivious to what has occurred.

“Your incision is healing well.” Zayne moves away as the patient rebuttons his shirt and presses his fingers to the bridge of his nose, trying to clear his head. “Let’s schedule another follow-up in a month. You can make your appointment with the receptionist.”

Zayne is almost impatient as he waits for the patient to leave, and once he’s exited the office, Zayne quickly gathers his belongings and drives home. The house was silent, and when he went to his bedroom, there was the MC, snug under the covers, exactly how things should be.

But he’s restless as he slips into bed, trying his best to remain neutral as the MC turns to snuggle into him. Even as everything felt right, it felt like he was doing this simply because he was told to do it. A puppet, all his actions triggered by little prewritten things inside the game’s engine. 

Zayne sleeps fretfully, and when morning arrives, he’s dreading the day for some unfathomable reason. He did not need to feel this way. Wasn’t everything working like it should? He had his career, MC was humming in the kitchen, and he was in love. Or, something resembling love. 

What was love anyway? A neurochemical response in the brain. Were his responses to love also coded? Did the game begin the neurochemical cascade inside him when MC made an appearance? Or was it more so, the game ensured MC was always around him, thus ensuring he developed some sort of attachment to her? What was love, really?

Unbidden, a neglected, steaming teacup filled with his favorite, freshly brewed tea, comes into mind, and he jerks up in bed, his heart racing.

This can’t be it. He was doing it right. He was with the person he was supposed to love. He shouldn’t be fixating on teacups and tablets, and quiet eyes that observed him intently during all his surgeries. These were mere background elements, required entities to move the game forward. He shouldn’t be recognizing them, much less feeling this jittery sensation in his stomach when he thought of them. No. No, clearly he must be coming down with something. Perhaps this was due to the pending update. Yes, once the update is installed, this would go away, and everything would return to normal. It was a glitch, surely. He gets ready in haste and kisses MC goodbye. 

“Meet you for dinner!” She says sweetly, squeezing his hand. He smiles wearily at her, hoping she doesn’t notice and goes about his day.

But as he wandered the halls of Akso Hospital, he was further disconcerted at the fact that things that were supposed to remain as insignificant attributes were now starting to become quite conspicuous. Was Greyson’s hair always brown? Had Yvonne always had bangs? He keeps noting these small things in various other characters as well, and a few hours into his shift, Zayne is visibly shaken.

“Dr. Zayne, are you all right?” Greyson asks concernedly. Zayne had been spacing out, his eyes glassy and unfocused as Greyson spoke to him about a paper.

“Greyson…” Zayne shakes his head and makes a split-second decision. “Do you remember the scrub nurse who assisted on my last heart transplant surgery?”

Greyson looks nonplussed, but takes it in stride. “Yes, I do. Why do you ask?”

“She hasn’t been at work for a while. I wanted to check in on her. I suppose there isn’t a way to get her phone number or address, is there?”

This wasn’t something Greyson had been expecting from Zayne, but he decides not to pry, not when Zayne looked like he’d been dragged through the dirt. 

“She lives in that large apartment building about 20 minutes from here. It’s the same building where Yvonne lives. If you want, I can-”

Greyson is cut short as Zayne quickly turns and makes his way to the nurses’ station. 

“Ask her,” Greyson completes, his words falling into empty air. 

ʚ‎‏ ͜ ̩͙ ︵ ̩͙ ୨ ♡ ୧ ̩͙ ‏︵ ̩͙ ͜ ɞ

You’re startled as your doorbell rings. No one visited you. No one knew you lived here. Certain that it was a delivery sent to the wrong apartment, you opened the door only to be dumbstruck by your visitor.

Zayne looked haggard, his fingers twiddling with the hem of his sleeve as he stared at you. Your heart hammers in your chest, and you’re waiting for the game’s auto reset to pull him away because surely, this must be a glitch? Because it simply wasn’t possible for Zayne to break the game’s coding and take the route to arrive at your apartment.

There was no script to support this or trigger action that could have caused it. Yet here he was, at your doorstep, like you’d wanted all this time. You stiffen, your heart keenly smarting as you remember the humiliation of his repeated rejections. 

“Dr. Zayne,” you say stiffly, refusing to move. “Why are you here?”

“Please let me in.” It was not a demand. It was a request, and his soft voice carried the subtle tone of a man about to crack. 

A lump forms in your throat, your instinct warning you this can only hurt you, but you relent and allow him inside, the door clicking quietly as it shuts.

As both of you enter your living room, Zayne’s eyes fixate on you with such intensity that you feel naked. Like his vision was X-raying you through your clothes, probing your thoughts, peeling away layers of your skin until he reached the tender and delicate version of you that ached underneath. Your pride forces you to look at him despite the overwhelming intensity to look away, and your heart jolts at what you see. 

As your eyes meet, you see the undeniable response; his pupils widen, swallowing the ring of amber surrounding the green. Zayne is stunned; it wasn’t possible. There was only one MC in this world. How could you stand there, bearing so much similarity to her, yet not be her? The MC in his memory overlaps with you, yet he sees the differences. 

Compared to her, you were a sharp patch of light, crisp and alive, and somehow, despite her perfections, the MC appeared blurred in his mind’s eye, like an unfinished graphic, still in the works of an unpublished designer. He saw what the game had masked: the texture of your skin, the not-so-straight line of your lips, the little imbalances of your eyelids. Yet they made him yearn, something poignant welling inside of him. 

Zayne’s throat closes up from the emotions bubbling up inside him. The sensation was alien, like something was trying to claw its way up from his gut. It was raw and uncomfortable, something he had never experienced before. The MC made him calm, and he’d assumed that was what it meant to love someone. He didn’t want to feel this hot, pulsing entity that was grappling with the lines of existence, forcing him to acknowledge it. 

“You’re not her.” He states it plainly, unable to fathom what was happening inside him. 

“Took you long enough,” you retort, feeling the irony; Zayne in your apartment, finally seeing you, just like you’d always wanted, but now you were too hurt to accept it. “I kept waiting. Trying, hoping for the tiniest scrap of your attention.”

Satisfaction burns in your veins as you notice the look of anguish that comes on his face. The strange delight of seeing him like this, of rubbing the raw truth of your feelings in his face, even as you felt your own heart clench painfully at the thought of hurting him. 

“I watched for a sign that you saw me as anything other than an NPC. Even though I was practically right in front of you, with my MC a few feet away, you still only saw her.”

“I noticed when you were gone,” Zayne begins, and you let out a derisive laugh. 

“Oh, did you now, Dr. Zayne? You noticed when I was gone. So it took my absence for you to notice.”

“Yes damn it!” Zayne’s voice is loud, contrasting with the calm, cool way he typically speaks. “So what if I was a little late? I did notice! And it’s been pretty miserable ever since! I notice things in the game I never did before. It’s like you opened a gate between realms, and now I have no understanding of the world I live in!”

“Oh, I’m soo sorry, Dr. Zayne,” you chide mockingly. “Made you a sentient game character, that must suck. Good thing your feelings weren’t hanging in the balance.”

“But they are now!” Zayne nearly shouts, and you flinch at the tone, and he immediately checks himself. He continues in a level manner. “Look, you disappeared. And ever since you did, it feels like the system broke. I’m questioning everything now, especially-” He cuts off abruptly, realizing what he was about to admit. 

Your breath hitches, but you know your curiosity will never be satisfied if you don’t hear him say it. “Especially?”

“My love.” The words fall out in a confused whisper, and Zayne swallows, trying not to appear unhinged. “I picture you everywhere. At first, I thought it was the MC, but no, it’s you.”

He closes the gap between you and pulls you into his arms. Frozen, your fight or flight instincts vanishing, you allow yourself a moment of weakness, pressed against the warmth of his chest, his cologne filling your senses. Everything about him screamed comfort, the only thing you looked forward to after a long day. You squirm, trying to break free, but he only holds you tighter.

“Let go. Please…” you request pathetically, but you know it’s futile. Like a bird that had become accustomed to captivity, you couldn’t find the presence of mind to push him off, even though you were certain he’d let go if you did. You stood there, drowning in his presence as silent, hot tears tracked down your cheeks. 

“It’s not fair,” you whisper into his jacket. “It’s not fair that you get these feelings for me now. Not when I was trying to figure out how to survive without you. Because the reality is, even if you loved me, so what? This is a game. I’m bound to go back to reality someday. And what was I supposed to do with this digital love? I’m already so unlovable.” You sniff and continue brokenly. 

“If my fictional crush doesn’t love me, then what hope is there in the real world?”

“Why do you think you’re unlovable?” Zayne’s hands rest on the small of your back, his cheek resting on your hair, feeling the texture and softness on his skin, his heart heavy. 

“I…I’m not that amazing.” You don’t know why your tongue is loosening, but you couldn’t bring yourself to stop. “I guess I’m average. I’m not ugly, but I’m not super pretty either. I’m not toned or muscled, but I do exercise and try to take care of myself. I’m not stupid, but I’m not that smart either. I’m the average. Common. Overlooked. Unremarkable.”

Your deepest fears spill out of you, and your head hurts along with your heart now. Your eyes flutter closed, trying to savor this moment because you know it could end at any moment. If this was all you got of him, you weren’t about to spend it thinking about your shortcomings and imperfections. You wait for the inevitable moment Zayne would release you, and this little dream foray would vanish.

But Zayne sighs, his breath caressing your hair, before gathering you impossibly closer. When he finally talks, it sends a shiver down your spine.

“You say average like it’s a flaw. But maybe it just means you’re real. Not exaggerated. Not manufactured. Just… honest. Do you know how rare that is? Especially in a world like this?”

He takes a small step closer, his voice getting quieter with each word.

“I’ve spent so long surrounded by perfection that was never true. Flawless beauty, brilliance on cue. But none of it ever stayed with me when the code started to break. You did.”

His large hand cups the back of your head, and you hear his heartbeat, the rush of his breath as he gets closer to your ear, causing goosebumps to erupt over your skin. 

“If average means someone who shows up, listens, cares, and stays when no one’s watching... I think average is a wonderful thing.”

Your entire body still as you feel his lips graze your hair. “You don’t have to try to shine so hard to be noticed. Even at your average, you’re already like the north star. Brilliant, consistent, unwavering. Those are qualities to be appreciated. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” 

His reassurance takes root inside you and you hide your face in his chest as it screws up, a sob wrenching itself from the deepest parts of your pain. The world seems to stop spinning, levitating in this moment, as though trying to prolong it as much as possible.

“And you’re not unlovable,” Zayne murmurs into your ear. “Because I love you.”

You blink back tears as you look at him. “What?” 

“I love you.” Zayne cups your face between his palms, and your entire body comes alive, tingling like a live wire under his touch. 

Before you can reply, the world suddenly blurs. Ripple after ripple forms and vanishes inside the apartment, everything alternating between pixels and cohesivity. You cling to Zayne as the world starts to shake. Alarmed, Zayne looks at you, and you look back at him fearfully. The familiar theme song of the game begins to play, accompanied by a loud, computerized voice echoing through the chaotic din. 

“Resources not verified. Corrupt elements detected. Beginning immediate update and reboot.”

The message is repeated twice, and the world around you dissolves. Outside your window, you can see the buildings, cars, and people beginning to vanish, pixelating before turning into dust and floating away into nothing. You look at Zayne, who hasn’t let you go, but a look of comprehension dawns on his face. 

“This is my fault,” he says over the roar of destruction. “I broke a majority of the codes when I ventured off my path.”

“So what does that mean?”

When he doesn’t reply, you shake him urgently. 

“Zayne, what does that mean?” Your eyes are brimming with tears. His fingers grasp your chin, and when you make eye contact, there’s sorrow in his expression, but he’s smiling gently at you. 

“You’ll be all right,” he says softly. “The update only removes abnormal elements. This isn’t the end for you.”

“What about you?” His lack of worry is beginning to fill you with dread, and you wait for an answer. 

But instead, Zayne dips his head down and covers your mouth with his. You shiver, then yield, the sweet feeling of his lips on yours flooding your body. A heady spiral of heat shoots through you as you kiss him back, trying to convey everything you feel for him in that kiss. Your first kiss with Zayne. You focus on him, trying to commit everything about him to memory: the softness of the kiss, the taste of his tongue, and his heated breath on your face.

When he lets go, he brushes your cheek tenderly. “Be the average. I promise you everything will be fine. Don’t stop offering to get cake, or making tea for someone you like.” His smile is calm, and you realize what was about to happen a split second before it does. 

Zayne begins to dissolve in a blur of colors, little squares consuming his shoes, crawling up his legs, and towards his torso. 

“Zayne!” You’re hysterical as you watch, yet helpless to prevent it. “Zayne, don’t go!”

His hand was still holding yours, and he squeezes it tightly. “I love you. You are not unlovable. Remember that.”

“Zayne!” He’s nothing but an incohesive blob of pigment now as the pixels consume the remainder of his face, and the hand holding yours turns to dust as he’s carried into the abyss. Looking down, you see the game has deconstructed most of you as well, the portion below your waist a confusing flash of light and pixels. 

“Zayne…” Your voice fades into a whisper as your consciousness fades, and you’re consumed by blinding white light until you see no more. 

ʚ‎‏ ͜ ̩͙ ︵ ̩͙ ୨ ♡ ୧ ̩͙ ‏︵ ̩͙ ͜ ɞ

When you wake up, you’re in your own bed in the real world. Blinking, you try to focus, then with a jolt as the haze fades from your mind, you scramble to find your phone, which was resting on the nightstand beside you. 

You launch the game, impatiently drumming the screen as the update pushed through, slowly filling the status bar up bit by bit. After what seemed like a decade, the launch screen appears, and you punch the ‘enter game’ button harder than intended. The cafe loads, and there he was. 

“Only you’d use me as an ice cream maker,” Zayne says with a disapproving shake of his head. Numb, you watch him on the screen. Everything was back to normal. You were back in reality. And Zayne…Zayne had been reset. Back into his coded routine, like nothing had ever happened.

As the truth of it falls around you, you curl up into a ball and cry, sobs wracking your body. Zayne loved you. Had chosen to become an uncoded element and risk it all to love you, even if it had been for a brief moment.

How on character for him. The irony isn’t lost on you; sacrificing, punished if he loved, that was Zayne’s entire persona, wasn’t it? Even as a scripted character, he hadn’t been able to defy his fate, his memories probably wiped and reset to love the MC just as it should have been. 

“My love,” you whisper brokenly, tracing his face with your fingertip. “I guess…It was never meant to be.” 

Acknowledging it didn’t help. You wept until you passed out from exhaustion, feeling like your heart had been split into two, spilling its pain into your system until you were bled dry. 

You didn’t go to work. When your boss called, you said you weren’t well. How do you recover from losing the love of your life?

“I love you.” Zayne’s voice echoed in your dreams at night, and you’d wake up covered in sweat. 

“I love you.” You heard it when you uninstalled the game, unable to pine over his face any longer.

“I love you.” His words lingered when you finally returned to work. 

“I love you.” It served as a reminder when you were building your dating profile, and were about to swipe ‘yes’ on a questionable match. 

“I love you.” It hurt so bad, but it was the only thing keeping you together.

That for a brief moment, he had shown you that you were worthy of being loved. That it existed, even if it was short-lived. 

Sometime after the incident, you found the energy to not feel irritable on the weekend when the cheerful sunlight crept into your room to rouse you from sleep.

You found the state of mind to dress up, spending time indulging in matching your outfit and accessories. You decided you needed a haircut, not a trim, but perhaps a new look, something you wouldn’t have dared to try before. The stylist had been thrilled when you showed her the reference photo and had expertly snipped and layered your hair into a head-turning look.

Feeling dandy, you’d all but skipped out of her chair, admiring her work in the window reflections as you walked towards a coffee shop a few blocks away. As you’d placed your coffee order, you looked at the dessert display and ordered the last slice of mocha caramel cake, imagining how it would melt in your mouth and pair with the coffee you’d ordered. 

“Was that the last slice of that cake?” A deep, strangely calming voice asks behind you. Your heart skips a beat at how familiar it sounded, and you whip around to see who the stranger is.

Your heart thuds as you take in a tall man standing behind you, looking disappointed at the now-empty cake display. His dark hair had been neatly combed, and his glasses were slightly askew, sitting almost on the tip of his nose. 

“Yes,” you say slightly breathlessly as you try to calm your racing heart. Even as logic takes over, you couldn’t help but stare at him. He looked so similar to Zayne…but you could tell it wasn’t him. Just a normal human, bearing an uncanny resememblence.

“Unfortunate. It’s one of my favorites.”

Before you can reply, the barista calls your name, your coffee ready and the cake on a small plate. You wet your lips, then gather courage.

“Would you like to split the cake with me?” you ask, and you can see the man is surprised at the offer. A smile graces his lips.

“Do you often offer to share your cake with strangers in coffee shops?” he asks with a touch of amusement, and you laugh. 

“No, but desperate times call for socially awkward solutions,” you quip back nervously, and the man huffs at your banter. 

“I see. Well, in that case, allow me to reimburse you for your coffee. After all, I was raised right. And mildly suspicious of free cake.”

You can’t stop the giggle that escapes your throat. You take the plate and coffee and choose a table before the stranger sits down opposite you. Looking more closely at him now, you see the differences: code vs reality.

“What do you do?” you ask him politely as you offer him a fork. 

“I’m a doctor.”

Your smile widens. “Of course you are.”

© unintentionalseductress original work | no copying, plagiarizing or translating

flashing dividers by @cafekitsune, banner by me using Canva

@tokyorevengersrin @brekkersgf @ladyparamount @otomegamesforlife @shddyboo @supernaturalbaesduh @sweets-kozume @theimmortalbuns @venussakura @prisjean @laddelulu30 @ravenclaw-jojo @redactedbimbo @crypt-0rchid @fattybattysblog @xinnn6 @xiaoderrrr @evansdmitri @decileste @thesoftuglywrites @belt0-0 @snatched-bubblegum-bitch @wynter-lily @cordidy @delphiakira @ibreathesmut @thedeepspacecadet @mcdepressed290 @plzdonutpercieveme @arsenicjuice

[indigosfindings]

my friend has got me watching this popular russian competition reality show about like psychics participating in Psychic Challenges to prove who is the Most Psychic (битва экстрасенсов/battle of the psychics) and it's pretty much what you expect (silly "tests", extreme credulity, loud personalities, bizarre editing, etc) but it remains an extremely fun time-waster... but like, the only english version we've been able to find is a youtube channel that uploads episodes in english (with ~30 views per video) that is really really obviously machine translated--like, it seems to have used a speech-to-text THEN a machine translation THEN a text-to-speech to dub the series into english, which has resulted in a wildly inaccurate & often nonsensical translation (one of my favourite exchanges was "What's your name?" "Scientists"), and this makes the show like barely comprehensible (you can only understand the broad strokes of what's going on, & even that requires a few educated guesses) & it's only a remotely tenable medium (lol) because we have a russophone in the room watching the original version on a separate screen and speaking up periodically to clarify the mistranslations, but on the other hand it's also like riotously hilarious, like the translation just makes people start saying death threats or talk about aliens apropos of nothing. anyway what im building up to is that theres one particular challenge im completely unable to stop thinking about, which is that the contestants were asked to like Use Their Psychic Powers to "Solve" the death of kurt cobain (it's about as tasteful as youd imagine lol) but like. the tts dub voices & accompanying subs keep saying it as. Kurtka Bane. & on one occasion Courtocabina

[mobilerepairtool]

What is a Screen Separator Machine and how it assists to Repair Mobile Phone Screens

To empower the business of repairing cell phones and tablets in a short span of time, it is the best choice for you to buy the Screen Separator Machine. It can assist you solve many issues with renovating the screens of cell phones and tablets.

Why do we select to use a screen separator machine?

These days, you can see many people use a mobile phone across you in our regular life. It is very comfortable for us to search all types of data or information on the internet through the cell phone. Regardless where do you want to go, you don’t have to be concerned about you are lost, or you don’t know how to speak the local languages as you have a cell phone in your hands.

What exactly is the LCD separator machine?

They are the equipments that you can use to segregate the glass cover from LCD screens and remove the OCA adhesive remains on the LCD screens. The best way to fix the screens of cell phones is by using both the equipments together.

How the separator works?

For the freezing equipment, the temperature can be lessened rapidly by the action of the air compressor and refrigerator within the equipment and the temperature can be dropped rapidly. After the freezing, the components on the screen of the cell phone would be hardened and solidify. Currently, the operator can rapidly segregate the glass cover from the LCD screens or segregate the frame from the LCD screen of the cell phones or tablets by using very thin cards.

At a Pre-heating station, the machine is heated a bit to create thermal energy, and it uses a vacuum to absorb the screen of the cell phone.

[inseobts]

Ghost Knife

strawhat crew x fem ! winter soldier ! reader (platonic)

inspired by bucky barnes (marvel) - after getting separated from the other strawhats you return as the world government’s masked assassin with orders to kill them all. but then memories begin to resurface and so does the person you used to be.

a/n: omg I had a huge crush on bucky at some point so thank you anon for this request lmao

words count: 4.3k

tags: platonic, sabaody archipelago arc spoilers, kidnapping, brainwashing, torture, angst, hurt/comfort, cybernetic arm

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

“Robin!”

Your voice cracks as you watch her vanish into thin air. One second she’s there, eyes wide, body tense, and the next, she’s gone. Swallowed by that giant’s palm. Sent flying through nothingness by Kuma’s strange power.

You run to where she stood, hand outstretched “Robin!”

The man, the machine, turns toward you.

Your breath catche “Don’t you dare.”

He says nothing. Just moves.

“Y/N!” Luffy yells from behind, voice full of panic “Run!”

You try to run. Kuma’s too fast. In a blink, his hand slams down.

You land hard. Cold floor. White lights. The air smells like metal and bleach.

You groan, pushing yourself up “Where…?”

Then pain shoots through your side. You curl up, coughing.

“Subject is awake, she forgot again.” a voice says above you. Mechanical. No kindness.

You blink through the blur. A face leans close with goggles, gloves, clipboard.

“Where am I?” you whisper.

He ignores your question “Sedate her again.”

“No!” You try to stand, but hands grab your arms. Straps hold your legs. A needle pricks your neck.

Your world fades to black.

The days bleed together.

They don’t call you by name. They call you Asset. Like a tool. Like a thing.

You scream the first time they put you in that chair. Metal clamps, flashing lights. They press buttons. You forget how many days pass. You forget the sound of Luffy’s laugh. Nami’s voice. Zoro’s snoring.

You try to run.

One day, you make it to a hallway before someone shoots your leg. You fall. They drag you back.

They don’t punish you with words. They punish you with fire.

“You’re stubborn,” the woman says. She has short black hair and cold eyes “Most subjects break after three weeks. You’ve lasted five.”

You spit at her.

She slaps you “Fine. We’ll go further.”

The next time you try to run away you then wake up with your left arm gone.

You scream until your throat bleeds.

“You don’t have to be in pain,” they say “Just obey.”

You don’t speak.

They give you a new arm. It’s metal. Heavy. Cold. It hums when you move it.

They teach you how to fight like a machine.

They wipe memories. Try to bury your name.

But in your dreams, Luffy still grins “You’re our nakama!”

Zoro still says “Tch. Don’t get soft.”

Usopp still brags “I’ll protect you!”

Robin still reads with you under the sun.

They can’t take that from you.

At least not yet.

Later on, the voice returns, steady and cold, always the same, “Who are you?”

You answer like they trained you to “I am Weapon Unit 27.”

“What is your mission?”

“Obey. Eliminate targets. No emotion. No hesitation.”

Your voice doesn’t shake anymore. Not like the first time. Or the fiftieth. But when you sleep, if they let you, shadows curl at the edge of your mind. Laughter. A rubbery arm slinging around your shoulders. Someone yelling about meat. Orange hair in the sunlight.

You reach for it but always end waking up screaming.

The woman with the cold eyes, Commander Drayke, watches as you fight in the simulation room. You’re faster now. Your metal arm crushes steel like paper. You don’t flinch when blades touch skin.

“She’s nearly ready,” Drayke says “Complete memory collapse in progress.”

The man beside her, white coat, tired face, glances at his screen “Her brain patterns still show flickers.”

“She’ll forget,” she says “Sooner or later.”

You now sit in your cell. Metal walls. One bed. One sink. One screen.

A small bird taps on the bars, black feathers, a bag tied to its leg.

News Coo.

The guard grabs it, rips the newspaper free, tosses it into your room.

“Read. Stay updated. Don’t fall behind.”

You almost ignore it.

Then your eyes catch two names.

PORTGAS D. ACE AND MONKEY D. LUFFY

The paper crinkles in your hands.

Luffy.

Ace.

The names itch in your chest.

You stare at their faces. Luffy’s wild smile. The straw hat on his back. Ace, strong and scarred, fire dancing in his hands.

You tilt your head.

“Why do they look… familiar?” you whisper.

You flip the page. There’s a bounty poster. A crew. Pirates.

The words Strawhat Pirates ring in your ears. It makes something in you tighten. Like a string pulled too hard.

Your hand trembles. You clutch your head.

Something hurts. Deep.

Like static in your skull.

“No. I don’t know them” you mutter.

But a voice inside you says: Liar.

Year 1, Month 8

Location: Secret Government Base – North Blue

The Winter Soldier... you stand motionless in the training room. Your breath is slow. Controlled. Your mask hides the lines of your face, but not the stillness of your new soul.

You don’t remember the ocean, the Going Merry, your family.

Only orders. Only targets. Only missions.

“Tell me what you are” the voice echoes from the intercom.

She answers with no hesitation.

“I am the blade of justice.”

“And who do you serve?”

“The World Government.”

“And your purpose?”

“To eliminate threats.”

“Good girl,” says Drayke “Deploy her.”

Same time - Weatheria, Sky Island

Nami lounges under a cloud tree, weather scrolls beside her. She flips open the latest News Coo with a sigh.

“Huh,” she mumbles “Another article about that assassin again…”

She reads aloud “The Winter Soldier has completed 35 high-level government missions. No survivors left at any site. Her origin is unknown. World Nobles call her their ‘Ghost Knife.’”

She frowns, “Creepy.”

She turns the page, trying to ignore the chill down her spine.

Kuraigana Island – Wasteland Castle

Zoro slices through a falling boulder like it’s paper. Perona floats nearby, holding up a newspaper.

“Hey, Moss-For-Brains, have you seen this? New assassin. Woman. Metal arm. Wears a mask. Total psycho.”

“Not interested.”

“She’s got a bounty on her head even without being a pirate. That’s rare.”

Zoro grabs the paper, scans it.

The image is blurry, during nighttime, shadows, but she’s unmistakable. That mask. That arm. That stance. The way her fist dents solid rock.

Zoro stares a little longer than he needs to.

“Huh,” he mutters “Feels… familiar.”

Boin Archipelago

Luffy stares at the newspaper like a child with candy.

“She looks SO COOL!” he yells, eyes shining “Usopp would freak out if he saw this!”

He points to the tiny, grainy picture of the Winter Soldier mid-kick, her metal arm glowing, mask hiding her face.

“Do you think she can stretch like me?!”

Rayleigh laughs from across the fire “She’s not like you, Luffy. She's basically a war machine now.”

Luffy tilts his head “That’s sad.”

Impel Down – Level 6, Hidden Room

You stand over a rebel leader, blood pooling on the floor.

“Good,” Drayke says through her comm “Leave no trace. Return for recalibration.”

You turn to leave, but something on the prisoner’s jacket catches your eye.

A small pin. A broken symbol. An old pirate jolly roger. It’s familiar.

You don’t know why but you kneel down, fingers brushing the worn cloth, as something in your chest twists.

A campfire. A boy with a slingshot. A reindeer with wide, teary eyes. Laughter.

You jerk back, eyes wide behind the mask “What was that?”

Two Years Later - Sabaody Archipelago

The sea smells like salt and blood.

You stand stiffly on the deck of the government ship, black mask fixed over your face, mechanical arm humming quietly. Behind the mask, your heart feels cold. Heavy.

The voice buzzes in your ear “Mission: Eliminate the Strawhat Pirates. Neutralize any other threats.”

You nod once, sharp “Understood.”

The ship docks silently and you jump off without a word, disappearing into the crowd.

Nami and Usopp walk quickly through the thick crowds, keeping their heads low.

“You sure it’s this way?” Usopp whispers nervously.

“Yeah,” Nami mutters “Shakky’s bar should be close—”

She stops dead.

Ahead, a group of pirates blocks the path. Rough-looking men. One of them is dressed ridiculously like Nami, down to the orange wig.

“Hey, hey, look at these cuties,” one of the fakes sneers “Where ya rushing off to?”

Nami grits her teeth “Move.”

The fake Nami shoves her hard “Make me, sweetheart.”

Before Usopp can react, a shadow drops between them. Heavy boots slam into the ground. A figure, all black armor and shining metal, stands there.

You.

The Winter Soldier.

The thugs laugh, until you move.

A brutal punch knocks the fake Nami out cold.

The other pirates don’t even have time to scream before you take them down with smooth, efficient blows. No wasted motion. No mercy.

Nami and Usopp stare, wide-eyed. The street falls dead silent.

You turn your masked face toward them.

No words.

No threat.

Just silence as the two Strawhats freeze.

Usopp’s voice trembles “T-thank you…?”

You say nothing.

Nami grabs Usopp’s sleeve “RUN!” she hisses.

They sprint away.

You stand there, unmoving, just watching them disappear into the trees.

You could have chased, but you don’t. Something in your chest aches, and you don’t know why.

Shakky’s Bar

The Strawhats start gathering inside the bar.

Zoro leans against a wall. Franky orders drinks. Robin smiles softly. Brook hums a tune. But the air feels… wrong.

“They should be here by now” Nami says, pacing.

Usopp wipes sweat off his forehead “You guys. We saw someone scary out there. I think… it was her. That assassin the whole world’s been talking about.”

Nami shudders “Yeah. She saved us. But she was terrifying.”

Chopper clutches his bag “Isn’t she working for the government…?”

Nobody has real answers. Only dread. Only waiting.

Meanwhile — Grove 34

Marine soldiers scatter like bowling pins as Luffy punches through them easily, grinning wide.

“Man, you guys are weak!” he laughs.

He turns the corner and freezes.

You stand there, waiting. Black mask. Cold metal arm. Heavy silence.

You don’t speak. You rush him.

Luffy grins, slipping into Gear Second, pink steam curling off him. But his smile fades when he sees your eyes through the slits of your mask. Empty. Hollow.

You clash. Fist against fist. Rubber against steel.

The street cracks under the force of your hits.

“You’re strong!” Luffy yells, blocking another strike.

But then he ducks under your punch and with a sudden roar, he slams his fist straight into your mask.

The metal splits and the mask breaks off, clatters to the ground.

You stand there, gasping softly, face bare under the sunlight.

Your face.

Scarred. Pale. Tired.

The other Strawhats arrive, running after the noise and they all skid to a stop when they see you.

Dead silence.

Luffy stares at you, his mouth hanging open. His fists lower. His heartbeat screams in his ears.

“Y…Y/N…?”

Nami covers her mouth “No…”

Chopper’s eyes fill with tears “It’s her! It’s really her!!”

Sanji falls to his knees, sobbing heart-shaped tears “A goddess! And it’s OUR Y/N!!”

Robin’s eyes go wide in quiet shock. Franky clutches his huge hands over his mouth. Brook stares, frozen.

You blink at them confused.

You step back, raising your weapon again “Who’s y/n? I don’t know you.”

The words feel wrong on your tongue.

Luffy steps forward slowly, like approaching a wild animal.

“You’re my friend,” he says, voice rough and low “You’re my nakama. You’re part of our family.”

You hesitate.

Some random images flash in your mind.

Your grip tightens. Your orders scream in your mind: Eliminate them.

You attack.

The fight is brutal.

You move like a ghost, precise and devastating. But your strikes aren’t as strong anymore. Your hand shakes once when you aim at Nami. You freeze when Chopper cries your name.

Luffy blocks, dodges, and refuses to hit you hard. His voice breaks every time he calls your name.

“Come back...” he pleads.

“Wake up!” he begs.

Your body moves automatically, but inside, you are screaming.

In a desperate move, you throw a smoke bomb to the ground to blind them.

You retreat. Not because you were ordered to but because something inside you felt like breaking.

You stumble onto the ship, heart pounding.

Memories hit you like waves.

You fall to your knees in the empty hall, breathing hard.

“Luffy…” you whisper.

You don’t hear the footsteps behind you.

The scientists grab you and drag you to the white room. Cold metal cuffs slam around your wrists.

One scientist squints at you.

“What did you say?” he demands.

You clench your jaw. But it’s too late. They heard.

The lead scientist sighs coldly “She’s remembering. Begin full brainwash protocol.”

You struggle. You fight against the straps “Please! I don’t want to forget—!” you scream, thrashing.

The machine hums louder.

“You don’t need memories,” the doctor says flatly “You need orders.”

Tears prick your eyes as the sedation hits you.

The last thought in your mind before the darkness swallows you whole... I have to find them. I have to remember. I have to go bac home.

As the smoke clears. The mask lies broken in the dust. The air still hums with tension, but you’re gone.

The Straw Hat crew stands frozen in the middle of the wrecked street, staring at the empty space where you once stood.

No one says anything.

Chopper’s small voice finally breaks the silence.

“…She ran away.”

Robin steps forward slowly, picking up the shattered piece of your mask. The black metal is cracked, still warm.

She studies it with sad eyes.

“It was her,” she murmurs “All along.”

Usopp gulps “The Winter Soldier… that assassin everyone’s been talking about… that was Y/N?”

Franky clenches his fists “No wonder she was so strong.”

Sanji exhales a puff of smoke shakily, eyes low “Two years. That’s how long she’s been… gone.”

They walk slowly back to Shakky’s bar, the mood heavy like storm clouds. Inside, silence falls again.

Then Nami speaks.

“I should’ve known it was her.”

She sits down hard, shaking her head.

“When she saved us earlier, I didn’t… I didn’t recognize her. But the way she stood. The way she moved. It felt familiar. And I ignored it.”

Usopp adds, guilt in his voice, “Her eyes… They looked empty. She didn’t even blink. Like she wasn’t even… human anymore.”

“She was scared,” Chopper whispers, tears sliding down his cheeks “Even though she didn’t show it. I could feel it.”

Zoro leans against the wall, jaw tight “They must’ve brainwashed her. Tortured her. Trained her like a weapon.”

Luffy doesn’t say a word.

He’s sitting at the bar, hunched over, hands clasped so tightly his knuckles have gone white.

Robin turns to him gently “Luffy…”

He doesn’t look up.

“For a second I thought she was dead.”

His voice is low. Quiet. Broken.

“After I broke that mask her eyes felt nothing like our y/n.”

He slowly lifts his head. His eyes are red, jaw tight with emotion.

“But she’s still y/n. They turned her into that but she hesitated.”

“They stole her from us,” Luffy growls “They made her forget us.”

Nami looks up, blinking back tears “What do we do now?”

Luffy stands “We go get her.”

Everyone looks up.

Robin nods “They won’t let her go easily.”

“I don’t care,” Luffy says, voice firm now “She’s our nakama.”

“She probably doesn’t even remember us fully...” Usopp mutters.

“She doesn’t have to,” Luffy replies “I remember her.”

The room goes quiet.

Zoro smirks “Then we break in. We take her back.”

Sanji flicks his lighter “Hell yeah we do.”

Brook plays a low note on his violin “Let’s bring our friend home.”

Meanwhile, your body lies strapped down in the cold lab room.

Machines buzz around you. Wires in your head. Drugs in your veins. But somewhere deep inside your mind, something fights.

You stand in a white, empty space.

Alone.

Then “Oi! Don’t eat all the meat!”

Laughter.

“I’ll patch you up, just stop moving!”

“You’re one of us now, dummy!”

Voices. Memories. Echoes of who you were.

You stumble forward. The ground starts shaking. The white fades.

A hand reaches for you through the dark.

It’s Luffy’s.

“Come back” he says softly.

Some days later, the alarms blare. Explosions rock the outside of the base.

Marines run through the halls in panic “We’re under attack!!”

Outside Luffy crashes down through a wall, fist first.

“Y/N!!!”

The Strawhats have come.

Your eyes snap open.

Lights above. Cold metal around your wrists and ankles. Straps tighten across your body.

The head scientist leans over you, calm as ever.

“They’ve come for you.”

Your breath hitches.

You don’t ask who. You already know.

“Kill them all” he says.

A command.

Your programming obeys. A new steel mask is replaced. The black suit sealed. Your left arm whirs to life.

You stand up, empty inside.

The Straw Hats move like fire through the base.

Zoro cuts through waves of marines, swords flashing. Robin breaks them apart with giant phantom arms. Sanji kicks his way through steel walls and floors, growling, “Where is she!?”

Luffy punches another door down “She’s somewhere here. I can feel it.”

They find you in the inner chamber, standing alone, blocking the hallway.

Winter Soldier mode on. Silent. Masked. Deadly.

You raise your weapon, red light glowing on your metal arm.

Luffy stops.

So does the rest of the crew.

You stare at them and they stare back.

You speak first.

“Leave. Or die.”

Zoro doesn’t even flinch “Not happening.”

Your eye twitches behind the mask.

“I said leave.”

You dash forward. Fast.

Your punch aims straight for Sanji’s chest but he doesn’t move. You slam into him and he staggers back, coughing blood, but doesn’t strike back.

You hesitate.

Why didn’t he fight back?

You spin, launching kicks and strikes at Nami, Robin, Usopp... They dodge or take the hit but they don’t attack.

Nami yells, voice shaking, “We’re not gonna hurt you, Y/N!”

You freeze mid-swing.

Luffy steps forward, fists unclenched.

“You can try to kill us,” he says “But we’re not gonna stop until you remember who you are.”

“I know who I am... I’m the Winter Soldier” you reply coldly.

“No” Luffy says.

“You’re Y/N. Our nakama.”

You punch again and again, he takes it. Blood drips from his mouth. Still, he grins.

“Come on,” he says “I know you’re still in there.”

Your vision shakes. A memory flashes. You stumble backward, clutching your head.

“Stop! Stop!!”

Luffy doesn’t stop. He steps closer.

Robin gently calls, “You saved us so many times, Y/N. Let us save you now.”

“Don’t you remember?” Usopp says “You made me that slingshot charm, back on Water 7. You said it’d keep me safe.”

Sanji places a gentle hand on your shoulder “You called us family.”

The words hit like thunder.

You scream.

You drop to your knees.

The pain behind your eyes explodes and the memories rush in.

Every laugh. Every fight. Every hug. Every scar. Every sunset on the Sunny. Every meal Sanji made. Every time Chopper patched you up. Every stupid, perfect moment.

The mask suddenly feels wrong. Tight. Heavy. You rip it off.

Tears streak down your cheeks.

“I remember.”

Luffy holds out a hand to you, grinning through a split lip.

“Welcome back.”

You take his hand and stand up. The mask lies shattered at your feet. Tears drying on your cheeks. The Straw Hats stand beside you.

You don’t feel like the Winter Soldier anymore.

Now, you feel like you.

But the moment is short-lived. Behind you, the reinforced blast doors hiss open.

White coats. Scientists. Dozens of them. Their voices are calm. Clinical.

“She’s unstable.”

“Reactivate the protocol.”

“Sedate her before she infects the others with sentiment.”

You freeze. The crew tenses.

You feel the shift in the air. The pure, boiling rage that radiates from behind you.

Zoro steps forward first. One hand on his sword.

Sanji lights a cigarette. Hands shaking with fury.

Luffy cracks his knuckles “You’re the ones who did this.”

The scientists don’t even flinch.

“She was never yours to begin with.”

Wrong answer.

Zoro unsheathes his sword.

“Zoro—wait—” you try, but it’s too late.

He’s gone. Charging forward with the fury of a storm.

Luffy launches after him.

Sanji’s right behind, kicking straight through the steel wall just to get a shortcut to them.

Franky roars, cannon arm charged.

Brook draws his sword with an eerie silence “You hurt our friend.”

Even Nami gets ready to attack them saying “How dare you doing that to our y/n!”

Usopp, Robin, and Chopper stay behind you, but even they look mad and protective.

You turn to them, breath fast “We can’t let them go too far.”

“They tortured you!” Chopper yells, ears flat, teeth clenched “They hurt you for two years!”

“I know...” you say softly.

Robin’s eyes are hard, but she’s not moving “People like them… they don’t stop unless you make them.”

“They already broke laws” Usopp says “They broke you.”

You step between them and the path ahead.

“I’m not asking you to forgive them. I’m asking you not to become like them.”

Screams echo through the halls.

Zoro’s blade slices through security bots. Sanji kicks a scientist across the room. Luffy punches straight through a wall of machines.

They’re not holding back.

“YOU SHOCKED HER—FOR WHAT?!” Sanji bellows, grabbing a doctor by the collar.

“She was scared, and you punished her?”

Luffy blasts a ceiling open.

Zoro cuts through an entire server bank, sparks flying “You brainwashed her.”

“She’s a person” Franky says, as Nami stands beside him and continue the sentence “She’s not your weapon.”

You land hard in the center of the chaos, skidding between your friends and the scientists. The room is smoke and ruin. Bodies groaning. Fire crackling.

You raise your hands “STOP!!”

They do. Barely.

Luffy stands over a lead scientist, fist drawn back. Shaking with rage.

You step between them.

“Luffy,” you whisper “That’s enough.”

“She crushed your arm, Y/N,” he growls “She erased your name.”

“I know,” you say “And I’m still standing.”

His fist trembles in the air.

“Please,” you whisper “Let me go forward now.”

His arm drops.

Slowly, the others follow. Zoro sheaths his swords with a hard glare. Sanji turns away, biting down on his cigarette so hard it snaps. Franky’s fists stop sparking. And Nami look at you apologetically.

You stand there, panting, eyes wide.

No one speaks.

The scientists back away, terrified now. Not of the fists. But of the silence.

Robin walks over to you slowly. She places a hand on your arm.

“You brought them back” she says.

“Now I remembered who I am,” you whisper “And who I fight for.”

Hours later, the ship is quiet.

You sit on the deck, wrapped in a warm blanket. Chopper’s checked your wounds three times. Sanji made you soup and hasn’t stopped calling you “my dear lost goddess”. Nami prepared you a good warm bath and brushed your hair.

After you get out all clean and dressed as your real usual, Luffy joins you, plopping beside you with his usual grin.

He doesn’t say anything at first.

Just sits.

Then he says “You’re really back now.”

You nod.

“I missed you, Y/N.”

Your chest tightens.

“I missed you too.”

For the first time in years, you feel still. Safe.

Your new arm clicks softly as you lift your drink. It’s light. Comfortable. Yours. Matte black metal with gold lines running through it like veins, designed by Usopp and Franky, who proudly call it “The Strong Arm Mk. I”.

“Mk. II has a built-in slingshot compartment,” Usopp boasts, puffing up “Just in case.”

Franky flips his sunglasses up “And the third one comes with a grappling hook! So you can be SUPER mid-air!”

You laugh “I love it.”

They both beam like kids on Christmas.

Chopper bounds over next, stethoscope in paw “Arm okay? Nerves stable? Circulation’s good?”

You nod, smiling “You’ve checked it twice already.”

He pouts “I just wanna make sure! What if the bone memory causes—”

You hug him before he finishes the sentence.

He squeaks, face turning red “O-okay! You’re fine, you’re fine!”

Later, in the kitchen Sanji won’t stop cooking.

Plates stack up faster than you can eat them: your favorite stew, that spicy rice from Drum Island, a cake that’s somehow in the shape of your arm, and a hot drink with cinnamon swirls on top.

He hovers proudly nearby, heart eyes practically glued to you.

“I’ll make it every day if it makes you smile, mon étoile!”

You snort “You’re gonna spoil me.”

He spins dramatically “Then let me!! You’ve been through hell, now all you get is heaven!”

Brook strums his violin, a slow, sweet tune.

It’s the lullaby you used to hum when you couldn’t sleep.

He doesn’t say anything. Just plays for you.

Robin sits beside you, passing you a book she picked from her personal collection. It’s about strong women who survived and changed the world.

She doesn’t say much either. She doesn’t have to.

You squeeze her hand. She squeezes back.

Nami and Zoro hang back at first.

You find them leaning against the mast, watching the crew buzz around you.

“You okay?” Nami asks quietly.

You nod “I am now.”

Zoro doesn’t look at you, but his voice is low and honest “You scared the hell outta us.”

“I know” you say softly.

“I’m sorry.”

He glances over at last “You don’t have to be. Just don’t vanish again.”

You smile, holding back tears “I won’t.”

Nami smiles back at you “I’m so happy to see you smile again!”

Later that night, Luffy slams his mug down “Alright!! Now that everyone’s back, let’s celebrate!”

The crew cheers.

Meat piles up. Lights string along the mast. Music plays. Laughter fills the air.

You’re laughing too, tears in your eyes, surrounded by your family.

They don’t treat you like you’re broken. They don’t treat you like a weapon.

They treat you like Y/N.

The next morning the sails are up. The wind is perfect. The Log Pose spins confidently.

Nami grins “Let's start, next stop: Fishman Island!”

Luffy points ahead “Full speed!!”

You stand beside him, wind in your hair, new arm gleaming in the sun.

“Let’s go.”

Because this time, you’re not just coming along.

You’re finally home, with them. And the world better be ready.

[kuyatecallate]

...taking this as an excuse to throw up in the tags because I'm a coward.

I went down a Youtube rabbit hole today of watching horror games framed as computer viruses, to videos on the history of actual computer viruses and trojan horses, to then just thinking about video game creepypastas, so I've just been kinda in that clashing thoughts stage of "there is an incomprehensible DCA AU just outside of my grasp rn." Yeah, it sure is a vibe. Don't know what it is though

[angelseraphines]

ೃ⁀➷ you can be the boss ˗ˏˋ꒰ 🦢 ꒱

╰┈➤ boss!cho sang-woo x employee!reader imagine

a/n: i would like to give a special thank you to @lumillsie for the layout of this post and for the filter used on the header!

˚ ༘♡ you had started working at joy investments a few months ago, a job you knew from the beginning you weren’t particularly suited for. numbers, spreadsheets, and statistical analysis felt foreign to you, but the evening hours worked well enough while you attended university. the pay was sufficient, and the promise of experience at such a reputable firm was worth the initial discomfort.

˚ ༘♡ getting hired had been a grueling process. three separate visits. a preliminary interview, where they assessed your general competence, followed by a secondary round that tested your ability to handle pressure. the final round had been the most nerve-wracking, a panel interview that felt as though they were peeling back layers of your personality, searching for weaknesses. when you were finally offered the position of secretary in the business investment sector, you accepted without hesitation. the role was simple, answer phones, manage the endless cascade of paperwork, coordinate schedules, and ensure the office ran like a well-oiled machine. simple, but draining.

˚ ༘♡ your department was overseen by cho sang-woo, an investment banker with a reputation that preceded him. you met him on your first day. he was tall, with sharp features softened only by the polished glasses perched on his nose. his ironed grey suit fit him perfectly, a testament to his meticulous nature. he was polite but distant, his words clipped as he showed you to your workspace. his focus shifted elsewhere as quickly as he arrived, consumed by the weight of responsibilities you could only guess at. despite his calm demeanor, there was something captivating about him, his quiet authority, the precision in how he carried himself, the faint traces of fatigue that made him seem more human.

˚ ༘♡ the first few weeks were suffocatingly mundane. you answered endless phone calls, most from irate clients demanding updates on investments you barely understood. your inbox overflowed with documents needing filing, scanning, or distributing. appointments had to be coordinated, schedules revised, and egos soothed. it was work that tested your patience, and yet, you did it without complaint. mr. cho rarely spoke to you beyond pleasantries, his days swallowed by meetings, late-night calculations, and hushed phone calls.

˚ ༘♡ on the rare occasions you stayed late, you noticed he often did too, seated at his desk with his tie loosened and sleeves rolled up, poring over spreadsheets or fielding yet another call. it became an unspoken routine for you to bring him coffee when you saw the office lights still on. he would glance up from his work, his glasses reflecting the faint glow of his computer screen, and offer a quiet, “thank you.” it wasn’t much, but something about those brief exchanges stayed with you during the long walks back to your desolate apartment.

˚ ༘♡ perhaps it was the contrast, how someone so stoic and seemingly untouchable could look so worn under the harsh fluorescent lights. or maybe it was the way he always acknowledged you, even in his busiest moments. either way, his presence made the monotony of the job feel a little less stifling.

˚ ༘♡ one evening, long after most employees had gone home, the office was quiet, the buzz of the city outside muffled by thick glass walls. the sky outside was smeared with hues of deep blue and violet, a harbinger of nightfall. after hours spent rearranging meetings, your eyes burned, and the air inside felt stale. you decided to step out for a moment, seeking the cool relief of the evening breeze.

˚ ༘♡ you pushed open the back door of the building and paused. mr. cho was there, leaning casually against the wall, a cigarette dangling between his fingers. wisps of smoke coiled lazily around him, catching the last rays of light. he looked… wretched. the angular lines of his face made obscure by an expression you couldn’t quite place. the glassy sheen in his dark eyes hinted at something far away, something melancholic.

˚ ༘♡ “i’m sorry,” you murmured, startled. “i didn’t mean to interrupt. i’ll leave you to it.”

˚ ༘♡ he turned his head slowly, shaking it. “no need. stay. i don’t mind.”

˚ ༘♡ his voice was steady, unhurried, like the rest of him. you hesitated, then let the door fall shut behind you. descending the short staircase, you stood a few paces from him. the city sounds, car horns, the hum of distant chatter, filled the silence between you.

˚ ༘♡ without a word, he took out a cigarette and held it toward you. surprised, you accepted, pressing it between your lips. he struck the lighter with a practiced flick, the small flame reflecting briefly in his eyes. leaning in, you felt the scathing heat as the cigarette caught.

˚ ༘♡ “you’re new here, aren’t you?” he asked after a moment, exhaling smoke that curled and dissipated into the night air.

˚ ༘♡ you nodded, drawing in your first hesitant puff. “yes, sir. i have been working at joy investments for about four months now.”

˚ ༘♡ “hmm.” he studied you, his gaze intent but not unkind. “interesting. some of the secretaries here have been around for years, yet you do a better job than most of them.”

˚ ༘♡ his words struck you, unexpected and disarming. “thank you, mr. cho. i try to do my best,” you said softly, your voice almost lost in the city’s backdrop.

˚ ༘♡ you stood there together, the silence stretching long but never uncomfortable. you flicked the ash from your cigarette, watching the tiny embers fall and scatter on the ground. eventually, you put it out against the metal railing and tossed it into a nearby storm drain. mr. cho didn’t move, still leaning against the wall, staring into the distance as you murmured a polite goodnight and slipped back inside.

˚ ༘♡ later, when your shift ended, you gathered your coat and scarf, bracing yourself for the cold walk home. you were buttoning your coat when you spotted mr. cho by the lobby doors, speaking with another member of his team. his presence was magnetic, even in passing.

˚ ༘♡ what surprised you was how he excused himself mid-conversation, turning to approach you.

˚ ༘♡ “are you walking home?” he asked, his tone more direct now. “it’s late, not exactly safe out.”

˚ ༘♡ you mulled over the proposition, your fingers tightening on your scarf. “i don’t mind the walk. it’s peaceful at night. i live in eunpyeong-gu, not too far from here.”

˚ ༘♡ he frowned slightly. “eunpyeong-gu?” he repeated, as though thinking over the distance. “i’m heading to ssangmun-dong. it’s on the way. let me drive you.”

˚ ༘♡ his words were more command than offer, but there was a warmth beneath them. he retrieved his keys from his blazer pocket, the metallic jingle cutting through the stillness.

˚ ༘♡ you nodded, accepting his generous offer graciously. “thank you, sir. i’d appreciate that.”

˚ ༘♡ his car was sleek and black, understated but undeniably expensive. he opened the passenger door for you without a word, the leather seats felt comfortable against your skin, and the faint scent of cologne and tobacco drifting in the air.

˚ ༘♡ the drive was quiet. the city lights of seoul blurred into long streaks through the tinted windows, and for that passage of time, the world outside felt far away. mr. cho said little, his hands steady on the wheel, his dark eyes fixed on the asphalt road ahead.

˚ ༘♡ when he pulled up to your building, he shifted the car into park but kept the engine idling. his eyes flicked to you, dark and unreadable, his usual composure fraying at the edges. “get home safely,” he said, his voice quieter than it had been all evening.

˚ ༘♡ you paused, your hand on the door handle, the chill of the outside air seeping in through the crack you’d opened. the thought of leaving the car, of letting the night end like this, made your heart ache. before you could think twice, the words slipped out. “would you like to come inside for tea? i was planning to brew some.”

˚ ༘♡ his brow lifted slightly, the slightest sliver of surprise crossing his features. he considered your offer for a while, he said nothing, merely staring ahead at the dashboard as if he was working through some internal debate. finally, he exhaled. “tea would be nice,” he murmured, more to himself than to you.

˚ ༘♡ you led him up the narrow staircase to your apartment, the silence between you thick but not awkward. the soft hum of the building’s fluorescent lights filled the lounge area, and you could feel the subtle feeling of his presence behind you. when you unlocked the door and stepped inside, the herbal scent of lavender from an old diffuser greeted you. the space was modest, organized but lived-in, with books stacked haphazardly on a coffee table and a blanket draped over the couch.

˚ ༘♡ “make yourself comfortable,” you said, slipping off your coat and setting it over a chair. he stood just inside the doorway, his tall frame almost too large for the small entryway, his hands shoved into his pockets like he wasn’t sure what to do with them.

˚ ༘♡ “you have a nice place,” he said after a beat, his voice tender but strained.

˚ ༘♡ you offered a small smile, glancing over your shoulder as you moved toward the kitchen. but you didn’t make it there.

˚ ༘♡ when you turned back, he was closer, standing in the dim light of your apartment like he wasn’t entirely sure why he’d followed you in. his eyes caught yours, and the short space between you felt like it dissolved in an instant. neither of you spoke, but the air was charged, something unsaid yet painfully understood passing between you.

˚ ༘♡ his hand reached out first, tentative, brushing against your arm as if testing the waters. when you didn’t move away, his grip tightened, and suddenly his mouth was on yours, fierce and urgent, like he’d been holding back for far too long. the scent of him, tobacco, something woodsy, filled your senses, and your hands moved instinctively, fingers digging into the fabric of his wool blazer.

˚ ༘♡ your back hit the wall softly, and then his hands were at your waist, his body pressed against yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch. it wasn’t careful, and it wasn’t slow, it was messy, a tangle of mouths and hands, you were two people trying to lose themselves in each other for just a little while.

˚ ༘♡ you barely registered how you ended up in your bedroom, your coat and his blazer discarded somewhere along the way. the dim light from the streetlamp outside spilled through the curtains, casting long shadows across the room. the bed was warm, and so was he, but there was an ache beneath it all, an edge of something desperate and passionate.

˚ ༘♡ when you woke the next morning, the light was harsh, spilling through the cracks in the curtains and illuminating the reality of the night before. you stirred first, the weight of him beside you a reminder of everything that had happened in that heated entanglement.

˚ ༘♡ he was awake, lying on his back with an arm draped over his face. his dress shirt was wrinkled, and his tie hung loose around his neck, half-forgotten. there was a tension in his posture, his hands clenched into fists, his lips pressed into a thin line.

˚ ༘♡ “i should go,” he said finally, his voice hoarse, hardly above a whisper. he didn’t look at you as he lifted himself over the edge of the bed, sitting there for a minute, trying to mentally gather the strength to move.

˚ ༘♡ you watched him, your heart sinking deeper with every passing second. “you don’t have to go,” you said delicately, your voice barely above a whisper. you reached out, your fingers brushing against his shoulder, hoping to mend this disaster in a pathetic gesture of affection.

˚ ༘♡ he tensed under your touch but didn’t pull away. “this shouldn’t have happened,” sang-woo muttered, his voice thick with self-reproach. “i’m your superior. i’m over twice your age…” his words trembled as he exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his black hair. the carefully calm demeanor he usually wore at the office was ebbing away, slipping through the gaps. “fuck, where are my glasses?”

˚ ༘♡ his frustration wasn’t directed at you, but it stung all the same. his gaze swept the room until he found them, the frames haphazardly thrown to the floor. he bent down to retrieve them, clutching them tightly in his hand.

˚ ༘♡ standing upright, he looked at you for the first time since he spoke, his expression torn with anguish. “i’m sorry,” he said, and for once, the words that left his lips sounded unpracticed, raw and genuine. “i shouldn’t have done this. i shouldn’t have taken advantage of my position over you.”

˚ ༘♡ you stayed where you were, the blankets tangled around you, half-dressed and vulnerable. his words landed like small cuts, brutal and wounding. “if this is your way of saying it’s the first and last time, just say that,” you said, despite the hurt bled through. “don’t hide behind excuses.”

˚ ༘♡ his eyes glistened with something, regret, guilt, or maybe even longing. “no,” he said, stepping closer, hesitant but determined. his hands reached for your face, his touch warm and grounding. “of course i would love to see you again, but how can we? i’m your boss. you work for me. it’s an abuse of power, and if anyone found out, we’d both be ruined. management at joy investments wouldn’t hesitate to fire us for violating corporate policy.”

˚ ༘♡ “then we keep it a secret,” you replied, your voice laced with desire, your gaze locked with his.

˚ ༘♡ sang-woo let out a dry, humorless laugh, shaking his head slightly. “you think i wouldn’t want that? you think i wouldn’t want to steal moments with you, even if no one could ever know?” his voice dipped lower, almost a plea. “but pretending not to care about you when we’re in public, keeping my distance, watching you from across the room as if you don’t mean more to me than anyone else…” he broke off, rubbing his temple. “it would drive me insane.”

˚ ༘♡ “weren’t you already doing that?” you said, a small grin tugging at the corner of your lips.

˚ ༘♡ he blinked, then chuckled lightly despite himself. “i was maintaining professional boundaries,” he admitted, though the words sounded hollow now. he slipped off his glasses, polishing the lenses absently with the edge of his sleeve. “boundaries i’ve crossed in every possible way last night.”

˚ ༘♡ he paused, his gaze returning to yours, weaker now. “so maybe you’re right,” he added, his lips curving into a wry, self-deprecating smile. “what’s left now for us to ruin?”

˚ ༘♡ the affair continued in shadows, a secret tether binding the two of you as the world moved obliviously around it. at work, everything appeared as it always had, professional, restrained, unassuming. he never lingered too long at your desk, never glanced your way for more than a few fleeting seconds. if anyone noticed anything amiss, they never said a word. yet, behind closed doors, the charade unraveled.

˚ ༘♡ sang-woo would text late at night, asking to see you, his messages never too explicit but unmistakable in their intent. you would find yourself in his car again or at a hotel just out of town, places chosen carefully to avoid recognition. in those moments, he was different, a vulnerable man. his hands would hold you like he couldn’t bear to let go, his lips pressing against yours with a hunger that belied the restraint he showed the rest of the world.

˚ ༘♡ but even as his touch ignited you, doubts began to creep in. at first, they were small, quiet things, easily dismissed when he whispered your name like it was the only word he cared to know. yet over time, the flaws became unfathomable to ignore.

˚ ༘♡ you started to notice how he never stayed too long after. he always had somewhere to be, an early meeting, an obligation with colleagues, an excuse that left you alone in bed, staring at the ceiling. at work, he was cordial but cold, his focus fixed on maintaining appearances.

˚ ༘♡ “we have to be cautious,” he’d say, his tone firm but not unkind. “you know how people talk. one rumor and it’s over for both of us.”

˚ ༘♡ you nodded each time, swallowing your sorrow, pretending it didn’t sting. but it did. the secrecy, the pretending, the constant tug-of-war between what you wanted and what you could have, it wore on you.

˚ ༘♡ weeks turned into months, and though the moments you shared with him were still intense, they began to feel hollow. you weren’t just hiding from the world; you were hiding from yourself.

˚ ༘♡ you started to wonder what you were to him. not a girlfriend, he never called you that. not a partner, because partners didn’t live in secrecy. what was the point of loving someone who couldn’t even say your name without glancing over his shoulder first?

˚ ༘♡ you confronted him one evening, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “what are we doing? what am i to you?”

˚ ༘♡ he froze, the usual calm, calculated expression gone. “you’re everything to me,” he said finally, but the words felt too rehearsed, too easy.

˚ ༘♡ “then why does it feel like i’m nothing?” you asked, your voice cracking.

˚ ༘♡ he rubbed the back of his neck, pacing the room like a man trapped. “it’s not that simple. my position, my reputation, it’s all i have, sweetheart. if people knew about us, it would ruin everything i’ve worked for.”

˚ ༘♡ “and what about me?” you shot back, the heat rising in your chest. “do you think this doesn’t ruin me? hiding, pretending, giving everything to you and getting scraps in return?”

˚ ༘♡ his shoulders slumped, and for a second, you saw something raw in his eyes. “i love you,” he said, and you believed him. but love wasn’t enough, not like this.

˚ ༘♡ “then prove it,” you said bitterly, your voice shaking.

˚ ༘♡ he didn’t answer, and the lack of answer spoke louder than any explanation could. he was a man desperate for respect, for the image he’d spent years crafting and perfecting. and you were an unfortunate deficiency in the foundation, a risk he wasn’t brave enough to take.

˚ ༘♡ as you stood there, the existence of your situation all settled on your shoulders. you realized you were giving pieces of yourself away to someone who could never give you the same in return. and for the first time, you weren’t sure if you could keep doing it.

˚ ༘♡ he reached for you, his touch hesitant, but you stepped back. “sang-woo, i can’t continue being your secret,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “i deserve more than that.”

˚ ༘♡ he didn’t stop you when you left, and that, more than anything, told you everything you needed to know.

˚ ༘♡ he spent the next few weeks trying, in every way he knew how, to reach you. his texts came first, short, imploring messages that grew more desperate with each passing day.

˚ ༘♡ you never responded, deleting them as soon as they appeared. then came the emails, written in his typically formal tone but laced with an underlying urgency that bordered on uncharacteristic. he didn’t beg, but the underlying message was clear, he was losing his sanity over you.

˚ ༘♡ at work, sang-woo started appearing in places he never had reason to be, near your desk, by the break room, even in hallways he had no meetings to attend. every time, his eyes would search for yours, pleading silently for something, acknowledgment, forgiveness, anything to mend the chasm that had opened between you. but you refused to meet his gaze, your resolve hardening even as your heart ached.

˚ ༘♡ eventually, he stopped. no more texts, no more emails, no more waiting outside your office. it was as if he’d resigned himself to your silence, as though he understood you had no intention of reopening the door he’d closed with his hesitation.

˚ ༘♡ but not at heart.

˚ ༘♡ you saw it in the way he carried himself now, his body tensed, his stride slower, his face devoid of the quiet confidence he used to exude. in meetings, he seemed distracted, his eyes landing on you only to dart away when he thought someone might notice.

˚ ༘♡ when you passed each other in the corridors, the pain in his expression was unmistakable. he didn’t try to speak to you anymore, but the way he looked at you, like you were something he’d lost and could never reclaim, was worse than any words he could have said. it was agony, for both of you, and you felt it every time.

˚ ༘♡ you told yourself this was for the best, that you couldn’t live your life tied to someone who wouldn’t fully claim you. you told yourself that his claims of love wasn’t enough when it was buried beneath secrecy and shame. but those rationalizations didn’t stop the hollow ache in your chest every time you caught his reflection in the glass of the office windows or saw his hands fidgeting during a presentation.

˚ ༘♡ he wasn’t just grieving the loss of you, he was punishing himself for it. you saw it in the way he avoided the employee lounge now, where you might be, the way he no longer stayed late after work, perhaps because the silence reminded him of what had once been. he was a man unraveling in slow motion, and though it hurt to watch, you knew you couldn’t be the one to put him back together.

˚ ༘♡ you told yourself you couldn’t think of him forever. and yet, in the quiet hours of the night, when you lay awake in your empty apartment, you found yourself wondering if he was awake too, staring at the ceiling, trying to forget you the way you were trying to forget him.

˚ ༘♡ when he suddenly stopped showing up one day, you told yourself it didn’t matter. you’d spent weeks distancing yourself from him, building walls to protect the fragile peace you were trying to restore in your life. his absence should have been a relief. you should’ve been grateful for the quiet. but instead, it gnawed at you.

˚ ༘♡ you reasoned he might have taken a business trip or been sent to a conference. yet, as the days stretched into weeks, the silence surrounding his disappearance became impossible to ignore. whispers began to circulate in the office, snippets of overheard conversations that sounded too wild to believe.

˚ ༘♡ “forgery,” someone murmured near the coffee machine. “embezzlement,” said another, their tone tinged with disbelief. “siphoning client funds, can you imagine? what an idiot.”

˚ ༘♡ you dismissed it at first, refusing to entertain the thought. rumors spread like wildfire in the corporate world, often fueled by jealousy or boredom. but the uneasy feeling in your chest wouldn’t leave.

˚ ༘♡ unable to bear the uncertainty any longer, you sought out the manager of all investing departments, a stern man known for his no-nonsense approach. he seemed surprised when you asked about cho sang-woo but didn’t wait to provide an answer.

˚ ༘♡ “it’s true,” he said bluntly. “he siphoned money from client accounts to fund personal investments, stocks, futures, the works. lost every cent. he’s disappeared now. hasn’t answered calls or emails. if he shows up again, he’ll be fired on the spot and handed over to the authorities unless he reimburses the clients in full. but, between you and me, i doubt he has the means.”

˚ ༘♡ you stood there, numb, the significance of all that occurred with you ignorant to it all pressing down on your chest. sang-woo, austere, professional, and fiercely intelligent, had done this? the man you thought you knew, who always carried himself with precision and dignity, had thrown everything away on a gamble?

˚ ༘♡ you wanted to be angry, furious that he could have made such reckless choices. but instead, all you felt was an overwhelming wave of worry. where was he now? what was he doing? was he even safe?

˚ ༘♡ you couldn’t stop yourself. you called his number, your fingers quivering as you pressed the digits. it rang and rang, only to cut off. no voicemail. you texted him, pleading for an answer, any sign that he was okay. nothing.

˚ ༘♡ the lack of response was unbearable, so you did the only thing you could think of, you went to his neighborhood. it was an impulsive decision, driven by a pitiful dismay you couldn’t suppress.

˚ ༘♡ you arrived late in the evening, the streets quiet under the dim glow of streetlights. his building loomed ahead, its windows dark and uninviting. you buzzed his unit at the entrance, your heart pounding in your chest.

˚ ༘♡ no response.

˚ ༘♡ you buzzed again, and again, your desperation mounting with each unanswered call. finally, an older tenant passing by offered to let you in, probably mistaking your apprehension for something more passive. you murmured your thanks and slipped inside, the air in the stairwell gloomy and stale.

˚ ༘♡ you reached his door and knocked, the sound echoing in the stillness. “sang-woo?” you called out, your voice exhausted. “are you in there?”

˚ ༘♡ nothing.

˚ ༘♡ pressing your ear to the door, you strained to hear any sign of life, a shuffle, a breath, anything. but the apartment was silent, as if no one had been there for days.

˚ ༘♡ a burdened pang pierced at your chest, and you leaned against the doorframe, fighting the rising surge of fear. what had happened to him? where could he have gone?

˚ ༘♡ you tried to tell yourself he’d resurface eventually, that this wasn’t your responsibility, but it was a hollow comfort. the man you’d loved, the man you may still love, was out there somewhere and you couldn’t bring yourself to let go.

˚ ༘♡ you stayed at the door longer than you should have, staring at the splintered wood as though it might suddenly yield. but it didn’t, and you left with a growing sense of unease. it wasn’t until you stepped onto the street, cold air biting your cheeks, that you caught sight of him.

˚ ༘♡ he was farther down the block, walking briskly, his head low, his shoulders hunched against the evening chill. his clothes were rumpled, his actions were quick and uneasy, like he was trying to outrun something. you stood still, watching him for a few minutes before instinct kicked in.

˚ ༘♡ you followed him at a distance, your heart pounding harder with every step. he didn’t notice you as he turned a corner, heading toward a dingy motel that sat on the edge of the neighborhood. the neon sign buzzed faintly, flickering erratically, casting a sickly green glow on the pavement.

˚ ༘♡ he disappeared inside, and you hesitated for a moment before pushing through the door. the motel’s lobby smelled of stale cigarettes and mildew, its yellowed walls decorated with faded prints of generic landscapes. you saw him again, down the narrow hallway, his motions slower now as he unlocked a door and slipped inside.

˚ ༘♡ you followed, your pulse a chaotic drumbeat in your ears. when you reached the door, you knocked, first lightly, then harder. no response.

˚ ༘♡ “sang-woo,” you called, your voice low but steady. “it’s me. open the door.”

˚ ༘♡ nothing.

˚ ༘♡ your hand hovered over the handle, and when you pressed down, it gave way. the door creaked open, revealing the dim, suffocating space beyond.

˚ ༘♡ the room was barely lit, a single bulb flashing weakly overhead. clothes were draped haphazardly over the back of a chair, and an empty bottle sat tipped over on the nightstand. the air was thick, the scent of alcohol and something that reeked of chemicals clinging to every surface.

˚ ༘♡ then you saw him.

˚ ༘♡ he was in the bathroom, the door half-open, slumped in the narrow, grimy tub. the water was filled to the brim, cloudy and tinged with a faint, sickly hue. an empty soju bottle dangled from his hand, his head tilted back against the tiles. his shirt was half unbuttoned, clinging damply to his skin, his face pale and weary.

˚ ༘♡ you couldn’t move. your breath caught in your throat as you took in what was haopening, the torment of the painful scene before you hitting you all at once.

˚ ༘♡ “sang-woo,” you said, stepping into the bathroom, your voice horrified. “what the hell are you doing?”

˚ ༘♡ his head turned slightly, his gaze unfocused but intense enough to bore into you. his lips twisted into something that might have been a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “what does it look like?” he muttered, his voice slurred and thick.

˚ ༘♡ you crouched beside the tub, grabbing the glass bottle from his hand and setting it aside. “you’re out of your mind,” you said, your tone hard but trembling beneath the surface. “is this your plan? to drown yourself in this… this mess?”

˚ ༘♡ he chuckled, the sound brittle and malicious. “it’s not a plan,” he said. “it’s… it’s only easier. don’t you understand? everything’s gone. the money, the clients, the respect. i lost it all. so what’s the point?”

˚ ༘♡ you wanted to shake him, to drag him out of the water and back into the real world. instead, you stayed where you were, staring at the man who seemed so far removed from the one you thought you knew.

˚ ༘♡ “you think this fixes anything?” you murmured. “you think disappearing into this terrible motel will make it all go away?”

˚ ༘♡ he didn’t respond, just let his eyes drift to the chipped ceiling.

˚ ༘♡ you stood, your hands quivering as you turned off the faucet and grabbed a towel, tossing it at him. “get out of the tub,” you said, your tone leaving no room for argument. “dry off. sober up. and then figure out what the hell you’re going to do. because this?” you gestured around the room, your frustration emerging. “this isn’t an answer. it’s pathetic.”

˚ ༘♡ he flinched at the word, but he slowly began to sit up, the water sloshing over the edge of the tub. droplets clung to his skin, and his movements were sluggish, like he was dragging himself through quicksand. you didn’t offer to help, stepping back instead, arms crossed as the sound of water dripping onto the marble tiled floor.

˚ ༘♡ “oh my gosh, get yourself together,” you muttered, yet you sounded as if you were on the verge of tears.

˚ ༘♡ he didn’t respond, just sat there for a moment, his shoulders slumped, his hair plastered to his forehead. eventually, he grabbed the towel, wrapping it loosely around himself as he climbed out of the tub.

˚ ༘♡ the atmosphere was suffocating, dense with unspoken words and unacknowledged fear. he walked past you without meeting your eyes, water pooling on the floor with every step.

˚ ༘♡ then came the knock.

˚ ༘♡ it wasn’t loud or insistent, only a single, deliberate tap against the door. your eyes snapping toward the sound. for an agonizing instance, neither of you dared to act, the atmosphere shifting into something more solemn, something grave.

˚ ༘♡ “who is that?” you asked, your voice unstable.

˚ ༘♡ he didn’t answer, but his brow lowered, his unease evident. he took an unstable step toward the door, but before he could reach it, a card slid through the slit beneath.

˚ ༘♡ the stark white rectangle lay on the worn carpet, the edges crisp, as though it had been placed with care. you moved first, bending to pick it up, your fingers skimming the surface.

˚ ༘♡ when you flipped it over, you saw on one side there was a simplistic, unsettling design, a circle, a triangle, and a square, printed in bold black ink. the shapes were clean, symmetrical, and yet somehow they carried a dreadful presence.

˚ ༘♡ you turned the card over, the other side detailed a date, stating the twenty-third of june, and a location, which only stated it being as the same one was before, leaving you bewildered beyond comprehension.

˚ ༘♡ “what is it?” he asked, his voice rough, ridden with something between interest and dread.

˚ ༘♡ you held the thin piece of paper out to him, letting him take it from your hands. his expression darkened as he studied it, his fingers constricting around the card.

˚ ༘♡ neither of you spoke. the silence was unbearable, the air electric with implicit perplexity and the creeping realization that whatever this card was, it wasn’t random.

a/n: a little longer than my other works, please let me know your thoughts and if you would like me to turn this into a series. part three of the professor cho-sang woo series is also coming soon!! 🤍

[wanrooe8618962233220]

Features 1. The sieve hole is not easy to be blocked. 2. Stable operation and low noise. 3. Simple structure and easy maintenance. 4. The screening cylinder can be closed, which is easy to seal and collect dust. 5. The whole machine has high reliability and less one-time investment. 6. Adopt special screen, high screening efficiency and long service life.

[mullermilkshake]

An unreadable measure

Part 10 <- Part 11 -> Part 12

You and Jinwoo try and get the twins ranked, courtesy of the hunter's association.

Yandere!Jinwoo Sung x Fem Hunter!reader Tags - Pregnant reader, talks about pregnancy, mentions of medical tests/ needles, pet name, hormonal reader,

<<< For more Dark/Yandere content, click this link to go back to the Masterlist! >>>

<<< Or back to this fic's Master list. >>>

EDIT - I have only watched the anime and haven't gotten round to reading the manhwa yet. Please refrain from spoilers.

You never agreed to meet Jinwoo’s mom and sister until your twelve week scan. Anxiety no doubt.

Jinwoo’s system quest clocked over at thirty out of one hundred. 

Still early into your pregnancy, the twins were growing at the same rate as Hae-in’s pregnancy. Despite a month and a half apart, according to the doctor, Jinwoo was sure she shouldn’t have mentioned that. Odd. You didn’t speak on it though, despite her baiting it like it was some sort of competition. You never bit.

That day, after the scan, you were scheduled to test the mama of the babies in a ditch effort to get some sort of a reading instead of guessing.

Chairman Go’s idea of course.

“This is stupid… how is this even going to work?” Your hand absentmindedly rubbed your visible baby bump, your other lazily pressed to your back.

A short, little man dressed in a smart suit adjusted his glasses and wrote notes on his clipboard. “Well, based on the aura your pregnancy is producing, the Chairman is curious to see if you can produce a score other than your own unreadable measurement. It will give us an idea of what kind of rank your children will be once they are born.”

You huffed and flicked your hair out of your face. “That’s if it actually works, what if it just reads my own score?”

“Block off your aura and only make contact with the sensor using your stomach.”

“How the hell do I do that- oh my god!” Jinwoo lifted you onto his shoulder, high enough so that you didn’t need to reach the meter.

He smiled and ignored the cursing under your breath. You were as light as a feather, and each time Jinwoo levelled up again, he would need to lift you with caution as to not overdo how easy it was.

The man stood back and watched the screen closely, he fiddled with some dial knobs. “Okay, we’re ready. Go ahead and touch it- only with your stomach, nothing else.”

Jinwoo edged towards the meter, holding his breath with each inch. He’d taken note of the babies mana as they were growing even if you couldn’t, and it was only getting more intense with each passing week.

Right now, Jinwoo could sense that if the twins were born with their current mana intact, they were easily upper B-Ranks right now, Maybe even A-Ranks, but that was only a guess.

“We’re going to start the test now, so please hold still.”

You sat upon his shoulder with ease, remaining as still as you could with comfort. Jinwoo stopped as soon as he felt the resistance of your little bump on the meter.

And then it turned on.

The machine hummed and made whatever noises were expected for Jinwoo’s third time standing in that room, and something shifted.

“What? T-That can’t be right…” That man fiddled and spammed the controls. “It’s- it’s unreadable!”

You didn’t react the way Jinwoo expected, more of a slouch if anything. “It’s probably just my mana level you’re reading.”

“N-no… the meter's detecting four separate energy sources…”

“If there’s four, just ignore the two S-Ranks.” It was that simple, Jinwoo didn’t understand his hysterics.

“That’s the thing, Mr Sung… all readings are S-Ranks. I-I can’t tell them apart- it’s making the system overheat, they’re all unreadable!”

“Oh shit.” It was meant to be under your breath, but it wasn’t.

The systems alarm whistled and beeped, airing a warning in the room. Jinwoo set you down and pulled you over to the side getting in between you and the mana meter.

“Turn it off.” He said, commanding the room to the effect of making the man panic further, flicking all kinds of switches. “I said, turn it off.”

“I’m trying!”

The alarms groaned, making the meter tremble and shudder in an invisible icy breeze, emitting smoke from the top of it.

“We have to get out of here.” You left his side and stormed off towards the door that didn’t open. “Why won’t this open?”

“It’s in a system shut down- the whole system’s fried! The room shuts itself off if there’s a fault, it’s to stop further damage to headquarters if the fault causes a fire hazard, it won’t open until the system either cools down or erupts completely!”

“Iron.” Jinwoo called upon his shadow.

He chose Iron due to his raw, tanked strength but also to your own familiarity having met only Igris thus far. He, appeared in his brute fisted glory and hunched over watching you instead of Jinwoo. 

"Who is- What is he doing?" You asked, neither backing away or getting closer.

Jesus… he’s always so distracted. 

Jinwoo pinched the bridge of his nose. “ He's insufferable... Iron. Go and disconnect it before it blows up.”

The shadow nodded and trudged over to the thickened power cable, pulling at it and ripping it out of the wall. 

But the meter didn’t let up.

“It’s still going, it’s going to rupture!” The man ducked and cowered behind the console.

Jinwoo got a hold of you. “I can shadow exchange, keep ahold of me-“

He wasn’t in the room anymore, a split second and the room had disappeared, so did you. The experience was weightless, without any effort and kept him in suspended animation. You had pulled Jinwoo into Royal’s Gatekeeper, floating inside a mana made portal flat against the wall with a viewing hole back through to the room. Iron trudged about the place and covered his face when the meter blew up, casting bits of hard metal and singed plastic everywhere. By some miracle the man by the console survived and Iron morphed back to Jinwoo.

“We should be safe now.” You said, sitting in a position that you almost floated, weightlessly watching.

So beautiful.

He would have told you that too if your nose hadn’t started bleeding right in front of Jinwoo’s eyes. He called out to you, but you’d already stepped back out in to the destroyed and charred plastic covered room. The entire window had blown out, emitting a high pitched winded whistle zipping past on the high floor. The scattered papers from the clipboard were ripped and torn and singed on the edges. 

He said your name again, yet you spoke first. “We didn’t have time to think, so I just acted off of instinct… what is it?”

“Your nose, what’s wrong? Are you feeling alright- are the babies doing something? You used your ability, has it drained your mana?”

You batted him off and wiped your nose, your eyes widening in shock at the red across your hand. “What is… what’s happening?”

“It appears that your babies are using your mana to grow, hence their S-Rank status at three months gestation.”

Jinwoo looked up just as startled as you were. “Chairman Go.”

“I see you’ve destroyed my meter, that was quite a show.”

“It was an accident, Chairman. I think the equipment read it wrong.” You tried to even the playing field, taking accountability.

The Chairman entered the room with his hands hidden behind him, Jinwoo naturally flocked to you, pulling out a tissue to wipe the red from your nose and got in front of you. 

He and the Chairman both mirrored each other, unknowingly sizing the other up in a way that animals did, being in favour of the one who was strongest.

And that was exclusively Jinwoo.

He could obliterate the Chairman quite easily if he wanted to, and he wanted to for not-so-clear reasons. Even so, he also wanted to see how this played out, finding hidden secrets and things in plain sight. There was something bigger at play here, Jinwoo could tell from the jittering in his bones.

“Please, stand down, Hunter Sung. Although the meter will be down for a week or two, I’m thoroughly pleased with the result.” He smiled sweetly, clasping his hands together as though to say, this is just perfect for me.  

“What does that mean exactly?” You asked, emerging from Jinwoo’s guard. “The twins are using my mana- they’re draining me. Is that why I can't sense them? How do you know all this, anyway?”

So you picked up on that too? Jinwoo knew this was all too well thought out, he just never asked the questions until he had something more concrete to go on. You jumped ahead of him once again, a reason for why he was in love with you. Your somewhat dominant side.

“We’ve only seen this once before in Japan. It was the same case there for the mother, and apparently they can use the mother's mana. It disguises their own mana as they'll use the more accessible mana to their disposal. That being said we only have observations to go on, we’re all still pretty much in the dark. it's purely anecdotal... But I think they’ll be some people who’d like to meet you both, but for now, I think further tests are essential.”

You scoffed. “What sort of tests? You’re not prodding me or these babies with needles.”

“No needles, I assure you. Some mana tests and other observations once they’re here. That’s all.”

Tests and examinations needed for Jinwoo’s children? Poking and prodding them while they’re so tiny and vulnerable just to see the rare genetics passed down from their mother? Not to mention anything they could inherit from Jinwoo.

Like hell would anyone treat them like guinea pigs.

“Not a chance.”

“Jinwoo?”

He maintained eye contact with the Chairman, not you. “I said no. No testing those babies, they’re babies . Leave them alone and observe them from afar.”

“Jinwoo-“

“We can discuss this at a later date, for now, go and get some rest.” The Chairman addressed you directly. “You look exhausted. A mother-to-be needs plenty of rest.”

You didn’t respond, not at first, anyway. Not until the Chairman left. “What the hell did he say? I look tired- what does that even mean?”

“W-well-“

“He means nothing by it.” Jinwoo eyed the man from behind the console, emerging back into the room.

“What? What does he mean, Jinwoo?”

Jinwoo knew better than to offend someone who was exhausted and pregnant. This man however, was too honest. A fucking idiot.

“The Chairman meant that you look…” His voice trailed off, stepping back from Jinwoo’s narrowed eyes.

“He meant… nothing by it.” 

“O-Of course! I meant nothing by it- she- you look healthy and glowing!”

“Good man.” 

You sighed heavily, rubbing your stomach before cursing something under your breath. Then, you walked right out of the room in a stomp, leaving the weak little man in Jinwoo’s company.

And that compulsion came back.

Jinwoo grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and clenched his fist tight around the material. “Think before you speak. If you speak out of turn and upset her again, you’re going to wish you died in that explosion.”

“Y-Yes, Mr Sung- I won’t say anything at all, I promise!”

Jinwoo dropped him on the floor and left the room to follow you, skipping a step of the stairs up towards the apartment. Igris was nearby, hovering around up there as near to you as your aura would allow. By the time Jinwoo arrived, he noted how your energy still hadn’t changed, he could sense it from the front door all the way to the en-suite bathroom.

You were really emotional.

Jinwoo called your name softly, hoping it might change your mindset or do literally anything else besides upset you further.

It didn’t. Well, you didn’t respond.

He called out to you again and waited, edging closer to the bathroom until the sound of your stifled sobbing permeated the bathroom door through the crack.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” The pet name slipped out.

You didn’t react to it. “I’m exhausted!”

Little black streaks dribbled down your cheeks from the waterlogged mascara, eyes swollen and puffy, nose all pink and adorably blushed. Jinwoo rubbed the marks away from your cheeks the best he could, moving the slick strands of hair from your damp face.

“You could have fooled me.” He said. “I happen to think you look beautiful.”

“No. You’re just saying that. I look horrible and bloated and I’m a big mess!” The flood gates opened and you couldn’t stop crying.

Jinwoo wanted to say something had the babies aura not spiked, it stopped him in his steps. Like they were reacting to you, but it could have been an array of reasons, maybe they were moving about or kicking and you couldn't feel it? Despite that, he monitored it with each passing moment, but never said anything to you.

I guess I’ll be dealing with this a lot for the next seven months. 

“You don’t look bloated, or horrible. But I think it has been a long day, and I think we should leave seeing my mom and go lay down. I can get you whatever you want, or everything for you,” Jinwoo took it a step further and ran his hand over your baby bump. “And whatever these two need, you’re going to have cravings soon, right?”

“I am…” It didn’t stop you crying, but took your mind off things. “I’m getting cravings already- I just wasn’t sure what-“

“Shh, shh…” You let him embrace you, stroke your hair lovingly to soothe you. “We can trial it. See what you like and don’t like, then I’ll buy one hundred of it, okay?”

“Okay…” Sniffling into his shirt, you clung to it. “Okay… that sounds good.”

Just like that, you were starting to rely on him. Jinwoo wanted to give you the entire world, to you and the babies.

All he wanted from you was that love in return, eventually. The rest of the world could leave for the day, including the chairman and whatever intentions he had.

Jinwoo could sort it later. You and his babies were the top priority.

Part 10 <- Part 11 -> Part 12

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DISCLAIMER - Crossposted from my AO3 - I do not own any of the characters or anything from the anime or manhwa. This is a work of fan fiction and is absolutely not representative of the views or intentions of the original creator(s).

Also please don’t post any of my work without permission thank you!