Wony reverses roles with oc
The door chimed softly as Jang Wonyoung stepped inside, moving with the kind of quiet grace that comes from years in the spotlight. She was dressed to deflect attention: oversized hoodie, a black mask, long legs in wide-legged jeans. The hood was pulled low, casting her in subtle androgyny, but it did little to mask her beauty.
The cafe was mostly empty, the hum of an espresso machine filling the space with a calming rhythm. As she scanned the room, her eyes landed on someone who didn’t quite fit the usual mold.
A young man sat alone at a corner table, absorbed in whatever quiet ritual he was practicing—half-sipped tea, a worn leather notebook open in front of him. His skin was darker than she was used to seeing in this part of Seoul, a deep bronze warmth that caught the golden light from the window. But it wasn’t just that. There was something in his presence—a kind of grounded elegance, a softness that didn’t ask for permission to exist.
And then she saw his nails.
Painted in pastel hues—lavender on one hand, soft blue on the other. The colors were delicate, intentional, and beautiful. She didn’t even realize she was moving toward him until she was standing right in front of his table.
Giorno looked up the moment her shadow crossed his page. His gaze was sharp, calm, assessing. Not surprised, not startled—just present.
Wonyoung hesitated, then offered a casual smile. “I noticed your nails and I wanted to—”
He lifted one hand lazily, cutting her off.
“You gonna say it’s girly?”
That caught her off guard. She blinked behind her mask, then tilted her head, playfully.
“So what if I was?”
Gio let out a quiet sigh, eyes rolling slightly as he sat back.
“Then you can keep walking. I’ve already heard every version of it—‘Are you gay? Are you trying to be a girl? What’s the special occasion?’ No, I’m not gay. No, I’m not confused. I just like a little color when I feel like it. Something to catch the light. If you’ve got anything insightful to say, I’ll hear it. Otherwise…”
He gestured toward the door, unbothered.
Wonyoung stood there, momentarily stunned. Despite the soft polish and the chill vibe, he was firm. Rooted. Masculine in a way she wasn’t used to—a kind that didn’t bark or posture, but held its ground like stone warmed by the sun.
Her curiosity only grew.
She pulled her mask down just enough to speak clearly. “My name’s Jang Wonyoung. What’s yours?”
Gio gave a quiet huff, somewhere between amused and tired. “I know who you are. I can’t go five feet in Korea without your face plastered on some wall.”
Wonyoung smiled, flipping her hair like a challenge. “I am pretty famous, after all.”
Then, with a shift in tone, she leaned in slightly.
“But seriously—what’s your name? It’s not every day I meet boys like you.”
There was a pause, and then:
“Giorno. But you can call me Gio.”
Her eyes lit up. “Like the JoJo guy?”
“Yes,” he said flatly, like he’d answered it a hundred times.
She grinned. “Okay, Gio. I like it. Where are you from?”
“California.”
Her smile widened. “Oh? Like me. I guess we’re both California girls.”
Gio’s lips twitched, a laugh threatening to break through. “I guess.”
A beat passed, warm and charged.
Wonyoung studied him. “So what do you do that lets you look so pretty?”
That caught Gio off guard. He blinked, his posture shifting slightly as a faint blush rose under his skin. Wonyoung saw it—he hid it well, but not from her trained eye.
“I’m a screenwriter,” he said finally. “One of my films is premiering here this week.”
Wonyoung tilted her head, processing. Then her eyes went wide. “Wait—Harbinger?”
Gio raised a brow. “Yeah.”
“I’m going to that premiere,” she said, smiling slowly. “Guess if it’s boring, at least I’ll have something pretty to look at.”
He rolled his eyes, but she didn’t miss the way his lips curved despite himself.
Gio stood, gathering his notebook with calm ease. “Well, time to go. See you there, Wony.”
She watched him leave, sipping her coffee as he stepped out into the street.
“Definitely not boring,” she murmured to herself, a smile playing on her lips.
A few nights later they both found themselves at the premiere of Harbinger. Wonyoung had chosen a dress that emphasized Grace and femininity but to her it felt almost forced.
The red carpet gleamed under bright flashes. A wave of camera shutters echoed across the plaza as Korea’s elite glided past in gowns and tuxedos. Everything smelled like perfume, polished ambition, and imported flowers.
Inside the theater, the energy shifted. Dimmed lighting. Velvet seats. Quiet expectation.
Wonyoung moved through the crowd with practiced grace, her dress a sleek shade of onyx that caught the light like wet ink. Her long hair was pinned back in soft waves, her makeup luminous but understated. She was beauty distilled—but as she walked past fans and stylists and actors, her eyes scanned the crowd for just one person.
She spotted him by the refreshment bar.
Gio.
No suit. No stylist. He wore a fitted black turtleneck under a suit jacket and in the jacket pocket a lavender and pastel blue pocket square. Also, he wore black trousers, casual but confident. His pastel-painted nails still caught the light—cool blue, gentle lavender. Even in a crowd, he didn’t seem to try to draw attention. He simply… captivates.
She approached quietly.
“Look who actually cleaned up,” she said, smiling.
He turned, his eyes already recognizing her. “And look who walked straight out of a perfume ad.”
“Compliment accepted,” she said, cocking an eyebrow. “But yours was better.”
He smiled, sipping his drink.
“Didn’t expect you to find me in this crowd.”
“You’re easy to spot,” she replied. “Everyone else looks like they’re playing a part. You don’t.”
That made him pause. Not defensively—just taking it in.
Wonyoung stepped closer. “That’s not a dig,” she added softly. “I like it. I’m used to being around people who perform masculinity like it’s a checklist. You don’t. You just… are.”
He tilted his head. “And how do you perform yours?”
Wonyoung blinked, caught off guard by the question—but not in a bad way.
“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “I’m always supposed to be soft, graceful, desirable. But with you… I feel like I can tease. Be sharper. Heavier.” She grinned. “It’s weird. I feel girlier and stronger at the same time.”
Gio let out a low chuckle. “Maybe that’s the point. You don’t really need to pick.”
She stared at him, something unspoken shimmering behind her lashes.
“I think I envy that about you,” she admitted. “You wear pastels and nail polish and still walk around like you own gravity.”
“I don’t own it,” Gio said. “I don't need to. I just do me.”
That hit somewhere in her chest. The softest kind of truth.
“You know,” she said after a moment, “I thought I had to keep femininity neat. Controlled. But standing next to you, I kinda want to mess it up a little.”
He looked at her, that same calm gaze—reading her, not judging.
“Then mess it up,” he said quietly.
Wonyoung let out a slow breath, a smile spreading across her face like dawn.
“Sit with me during the film?”
“I was hoping you’d ask.”
They moved toward the main theater together—not as idol and writer, not as boy and girl in some rigid binary, but as something softer. Warmer. Freer.
And as the lights dimmed and the movie began, Wonyoung didn’t watch the screen—not at first. Her eyes lingered on Gio’s painted nails resting lightly on the armrest beside hers.
Lavender. Blue.
Wonyoung rested her hands on Gio’s and felt electricity flow between them
After the movie Wonyoung felt a fire in her chest and being with Gio only intensified it.
“God I don't wanna leave you just yet she said with a mischievous smile,”
Giorno stared at her before saying, “Well, if you want I can drive you home,” Wonyoung nodded thinking about her next move then impulsively said,
“What if I spent the night with you?”
Gio smirked and said sure.
The door clicked shut behind them.
The suite was understated—sleek modern design, warm amber lighting, tall windows overlooking the glowing city. A half-empty bottle of red wine sat on the table, and one of Gio’s notebooks lay open on the bed, a pen tucked into its spine like a secret he hadn’t meant to share.
Wonyoung stepped further into the room, removing her coat with a slow, deliberate motion. Her heels clicked softly on the polished floor. Her posture was different now—shoulders relaxed, head high, gaze sharp and unapologetically present.
She turned to find Gio standing near the window, silhouetted against the city. He was still wearing the same fitted turtleneck from earlier, but with his jacket off and sleeves pushed up. He hadn’t spoken much since the premiere. He didn’t need to.
Wonyoung took a slow breath and walked up behind him, her voice low, near his ear.
“You don’t talk much when you know you’re being watched.”
“I talk when it matters,” he said, glancing back. “Everything else is just noise.”
She smiled, circling to face him. “What if I want the noise?”
“Then you’ll have to make it,” he said, cool but unshaken.
Something about that answer thrilled her.
This version of herself—pursuer, commanding, playful, and direct—wasn’t new, but it had always been dressed in softness. Always within a palatable frame. Tonight was different. She was the one stepping forward, eyes hungry and alive with curiosity.
Wonyoung reached out and took his hand, turning it gently to study his nails again.
“Still my favorite part of your whole look,” she murmured.
“Even more than the face?”
She smirked. “Debatable.”
She stepped closer—close enough to feel the warmth of his chest. Gio didn’t move away. He stood like the city behind him: quiet, solid, glowing from within.
Wonyoung’s hands trailed down his arms, slow and sure. “You’re different from other men I’ve known,” she said. “You don’t perform power. You just are.”
He tilted his head slightly. “And you don’t seem afraid to reach for it when you want something.”
She smiled, emboldened. “Tonight, I want you.”
He didn’t flinch. “And what do you think you’ll find?”
Her fingers slipped under the hem of his sweater—not to undress him yet, but to anchor the moment. To touch him without asking permission, as she’d always been told to. And yet he didn’t become passive. He stood firm, grounded, letting her explore without giving anything away that wasn’t earned.
“I thought if I chased someone, I’d lose my power,” she confessed, her voice quieter now. “But you… You make it feel like claiming it.”
Gio raised a brow, a slow smirk tugging at his lips. “Masculinity looks good on you, Wony.”
“And your softness…” she leaned in, her mouth barely brushing his, “is not soft at all.”
The tension between them was electric—coiled in the space between a question and an answer. She could feel how still he was. Not hesitant. Just… unmoved.
A man who didn’t need to push to prove his strength.
That made her want him even more.
She kissed him—slow, certain, claiming. And he kissed her back, steady and restrained, letting her lead without folding beneath it. The kind of kiss that didn’t ask for anything, but met her on level ground.
When they finally pulled apart, Wonyoung touched her forehead to his, breath uneven.
“I could get used to this.”
“To what?” Gio asked.
“Being the one who takes,” she whispered. “And knowing you won’t break.”
Gio’s smile was quiet, eyes half-lidded, voice low.
“Then take.”
And she did
The kisses went from Chaste to lurid with exceptional expedience. Wonyoung’s tongue dipped into Gio’s mouth as she desperately tried to claim Gio.
Wonyoung smiled as she lowered herself to Gio’s cock, “Does my pretty girl want his fat cock sucked?”
Gio felt a weird rush as Wonyoung said that. At first a rush of shame then arousal as he watched Wonyoung’s expression. She fished his cock out and wrapped her pretty pouty lips all over it before confidently bobbing up and down. A moan escaped lips as Wonyoung’s lips bottomed out on Gio’s cock.
“Oh, you're a slut!” she said as she continued sucking him off. Her throat tightened around Gio’s cock before Wonyoung stopped. She smiled as she got up before taking off her black dress. Her pale body glowed in the low light. As Gio got up Wonyoung stopped him with a finger. She pushed him down and she said
“Strip pretty girl, and spread those legs for me,” Giorno followed her instructions before she slid on his cock,
“Fuck my pretty girl feels so nice inside me, can my pretty girl pound his daddy?” Wonyoung asks as she moans on Gio’s cock. Gio loses it when Wonyoung calls herself daddy. He lifts her up and begins thrusting into her svelte body. Wonyoung moans deliriously as his cock ravages her.
“Fuck pretty lady you're so deep for daddy,” Wonyoung groans before she feels her pussy spasm around Gio’s cock before she comes.
Gio smiled as she rode him to get more out of her high and said, “You like that, Daddy?”
Wonyoung smirks as she wobbles off of Gio’s cock “Yeah,” she slurs as she sits next to him on the bed.
They stare at the ceiling and Wonyoung asks for Gio’s number.
“So when are you leaving Korea?”
“In two days,”
“You should come to my next performance,” Wonyoung says and Gio laughs.
“Oh, so you're down bad,”
Wonyoung rolls her eyes then says, “Maybe I just want my slut there so I can fuck him after,”
Gio laughs then says “sure ill be there,”
Wonyoung smiles and happily kicks her feet basking in the afterglow.
The city has quieted. The lights are dimmer now. The bottle of wine is nearly gone.
Wonyoung sat cross-legged on Gio’s bed, one of his oversized shirts hanging off her frame. Her makeup was smudged in the prettiest way, her hair tousled. She wasn’t trying to be beautiful anymore. She just was.
Gio was lying beside her, half-propped up on one elbow, still shirtless, his skin glowing bronze in the warm light. His nails — still lavender and blue — rested against the pillow as he played with a thread on the hem of the blanket.
There was a silence between them, but it wasn’t heavy. It was full.
Wonyoung spoke first. “Can I ask you something kinda dumb?”
Gio turned his head. “Sure.”
“When you said I looked good taking power — did you mean it? Or were you just… playing into the moment?”
He gave her a long look. “I don’t play with things I respect.”
Her breath caught a little.
He continued. “I meant it. You walk into a room and people want to frame you. Put you on a shelf. Worship you in a glass box. But when you move like this—” he gently ran his thumb along her jaw, “—when you choose someone, when you pressinstead of pose? You’re terrifying. In the best way.”
She swallowed. “That doesn’t scare you?”
“No,” he said simply. “Because I don’t disappear just because you take up space.”
That answer sat in her chest as a stone dropped into deep water. Heavy and grounding.
She stared at him, fingers absently tracing his shoulder. “I’m tired of being a doll. Of being graceful. Effortless. Pretty but contained.”
“You’re still pretty,” he said.
She smirked. “Even when I’m the one who pushes you down?”
He raised a brow, then leaned in close, voice soft like velvet and smoke.
“Especially then.”
She exhaled slowly, her forehead touching his. Their breaths synced. In that moment, they weren’t just idol and writer. Girl and boy. Soft and hard. They were orbiting something deeper.
“Gio,” she murmured, “what are we?”
His answer was quiet, unwavering.
“Whatever you’re brave enough to want.”
And she smiled.
The more ing came swiftly after they passed out and woke up.
Sunlight poured through the curtains, painting golden stripes across the sheets.
Gio was already awake, sitting at the edge of the bed in soft gray sweats, sipping black coffee. He looked relaxed but alert — the kind of man who never fully lets sleep claim him. His curls were mussed. His posture is grounded.
Behind him, Wonyoung stirred, still curled in his sheets, one arm flung over the pillow he’d left behind. She blinked, stretched, and slowly sat up.
Gio glanced over his shoulder. “Good morning.”
She smiled sleepily. “You’re disgustingly composed for someone I made beg last night.”
He smirked but didn’t flinch. “Balance.”
She laughed as she stood, grabbing his shirt again, and walking over to the window. She opened the curtain wider, letting more light in. It glinted off his nails — still unchipped.
“You know,” she said, looking out, “I used to think the man should chase. Should lead. Should always be ready to command.”
“Did you like it?” Gio asked without judgment.
“I liked the illusion of safety,” she said, glancing back. “But it never really gave me space to be… me.”
She walked over and sat beside him, stealing a sip of his coffee. “But you. You didn’t chase. You waited. Held your ground. And I came to you.”
He looked at her for a long moment, then nodded. “Because I saw you. And I knew you’d find me when you were ready.”
She rested her head on his shoulder. He leaned in slightly but didn’t overtake her space.
“You let me be loud,” she said. “And you didn’t try to make yourself smaller.”
“That’s not love,” Gio said. “That’s performance. And I don’t perform for intimacy.”
She leaned in and kissed his cheek. “I want to try something real, Gio. Something where I don’t have to shrink to be loved.”
He looked at her, serious and steady. “Then let’s make something real.”
They sat like that in the sun — the rising pulse of the city beneath them, and the quiet understanding of two people who refused to fit inside boxes. Who found freedom in the space between.
The car roared to life as Gio turned the key, and Wonyoung immediately regretted giving him full control of the aux cord.
Because blaring through the speakers came Dance Gavin Dance — all frantic guitar riffs, chaotic time signatures, and vocals that bounced between high-pitched falsetto and guttural screams.
Wonyoung visibly flinched.
Gio looked entirely unbothered behind the wheel, one hand casually resting on the gearshift, sunglasses on, hair tousled perfectly. “You said you needed energy,” he said matter-of-factly, bobbing his head to the breakdown.
“This is not what I meant by energy!” Wonyoung shouted over the music, her delicate voice trying to compete with sonic warfare.
“This is peak kinetic energy,” Gio replied, smirking.
Wonyoung slumped in her seat, hoodie pulled over her head like a makeshift shield from the screaming vocals. “I feel like I’m being spiritually suplexed by a screaming raccoon.”
Gio just laughed. “But like, a sexy raccoon, right?”
Wonyoung peeked out from under the hoodie, eyes narrowing, but a smile tugged at her lips. “Fine. I’ll allow it. For the aesthetic.”
They drove in chaos for a few more moments before Gio mercifully turned the volume down. Wonyoung let out a dramatic sigh of relief.
“So,” she said, “about this whole… You being my pretty lady thing.”
Gio raised an eyebrow. “Regret it already?”
“Not even a little,” she said easily. “But I’m curious. Like… how do you just own this weird in-between space? Most guys I know — even idols — freak out if you call them pretty. And yet here you are, letting me top you in public and wear your hoodie in private.”
Gio tilted his head thoughtfully, eyes still on the road. “Because I decided I get to choose what’s masculine and what’s not. Simple as that.”
Wonyoung blinked. “Just like that?”
“Just like that,” he said. “Masculinity isn’t some fixed checklist of things I need to perform. I’m a man, so whatever I do — whether it’s painting my nails lavender or letting you call me your girlfriend — is masculine because I say so. Because it’s me doing it.”
Wonyoung watched him in the side profile — sunlight cutting across his face, soft and strong all at once. Her gaze lingered. “That’s… actually kind of hot.”
“I know,” he said smugly.
“But seriously,” she pressed, “don’t you ever feel boxed in? Like, don’t people try to tell you who you’re supposed to be?”
“All the time,” Gio said. “But I stopped caring when I realized I’ve got the most boy and girl power on the team.”
Wonyoung burst out laughing. “Wait. Wait. Is that a Persona 4 Golden quote?”
Gio grinned. “Kanji Tatsumi, baby.”
Wonyoung cackled, slapping his arm. “God, you nerd. You really do have bi energy.”
“I prefer ‘genderfluid menace,’” Gio said, flicking his turn signal on.
“Well then,” Wonyoung said with a wicked smirk, leaning over to whisper in his ear. “I’ll definitely test that later.”
Gio’s hands briefly tightened on the wheel.
“I’m driving,” he said through a breathy laugh.
“I know,” Wonyoung said, settling back into her seat with a feline grin. “But you started it, pretty lady.”
Outside the windows, Seoul approached in a blur of motion and light — but inside the car, it was all tension and ease, edges and warmth. A dance with no choreography but perfect rhythm.
They were still figuring it out — femininity, masculinity, and everything in between — but with each line blurred, they seemed to fall into place more completely.
As the car rolled into the underground employee lot, Wonyoung slurped the last of her iced Americano and casually pointed toward the security checkpoint.
“Just tell them you’re my new bodyguard,” she said, adjusting the oversized Magic: The Gathering shirt she’d borrowed from Gio. It draped off her like a dress, cinched slightly at the waist with a belt, revealing toned legs and an attitude that dared anyone to question her fashion choices.
Gio raised an eyebrow but went with it. He parked, stepped out of the car, and gave the guards a look that screamed "Try me and meet God."
Being 6’4”, imposing in build, splattered with tattoos, and exuding the cool menace of someone who probably had an enchanted blade under the passenger seat, he didn’t have to say much. The security waved him through without question.
Wonyoung led him to the elevator, her stride confident, her iced coffee swaying in her hand like a scepter of cool-girl authority.
As the doors slid closed and the lift began its climb, she turned to Gio and smiled.
“Oh, you look so pretty today,” she said, her voice teasing and soft. “My girlfriend is all clean and sparkly for me.”
Gio chuckled and held out his hand. Wonyoung took it without hesitation, their fingers interlacing. For a brief moment, they stood like that — silently basking in the intimacy — until the elevator dinged.
Poker faces on. Showtime.
The door creaked open.
Wonyoung entered first, sunglasses on, coffee in hand, radiating poise and main character energy. She was the picture of luxury chaos.
Trailing behind her: Gio. Hood up, pastel nails on full display, jawline sharp enough to be a villain in an anime, wearing a baggy hoodie and sweats that made him look like a streetwear demigod who wandered out of a rock opera.
The girls looked up—and time stopped.
Yujin, mid-stretch, paused with one leg in the air.
Rei inhaled sharply and immediately started choking on her water bottle.
Gaeul blinked, lowering her phone as someone had just turned off the simulation.
Leeseo and Liz stood frozen, as if they’d just seen a ghost in nail polish.
Wonyoung sipped her drink, then gave them her best smug grin.
“Everyone, meet my girlfriend—Giorno.”
Silence.
Then Gaeul said, flatly, “That’s a man.”
Gio raised a hand in a casual wave. “Hi.”
Still grinning, Wonyoung leaned into him like a proud boyfriend. “Yes. He is.”
Rei, wide-eyed: “I thought you said, girlfriend.”
“I did,” Wonyoung replied breezily. “Because I get to choose the labels. And this is my girlfriend, Gio.”
Leeseo looked visibly confused. “But… he’s not a girl…”
Yujin, arms crossed, surveyed Gio like she was scanning for weak points. “You cool with this, man?”
Gio met her gaze calmly. “As long as I don’t have to wear a dress, she can call me whatever she wants.”
Rei, regaining oxygen, pointed at his hand. “Wait, are those… lavender and blue?”
Gio held up his fingers with mock grace. “Pastels. Mood’s been soft lately.”
Liz snorted.
Gaeul raised a brow. “And you just… let her top you like that?”
Wonyoung cut in proudly: “He loves it. He’s firm but gentle. Like a warm rock.”
Gio side-eyed her. “You make me sound like a space heater.”
“It’s a compliment,” she cooed, giving his cheek a quick kiss.
Yujin dropped into a chair, shaking her head. “I’ve never seen you in boyfriend mode before.”
“I’m not in boyfriend mode,” Wonyoung corrected. “I’m in Wonyoung mode. That includes boyfriend privileges, girlfriend aesthetics, and main character syndrome.”
Leeseo whispered to Liz, “Do you think he’s actually really pretty? Like… pretty-pretty?”
Liz, dead serious: “I’d ask him for skincare tips and then cry because mine won’t work the same.”
Gio looked down at Wonyoung. “Is this what it’s always like?”
“More or less,” she said. “You’ll adjust, pretty lady.”
Rei narrowed her eyes. “What do you do, anyway?”
“I’m a screenwriter,” Gio replied casually. “Just premiered a film called Harbinger.”
All of IVE: “THAT was you?!”
Wonyoung smirked like a cat in the sun. “I know how to pick ’em.”
Rei leaned in toward Yujin. “So he’s tall, hot, emotionally intelligent, artsy, and cool with being called Wonyoung’s girlfriend?”
Yujin sighed, defeated. “It’s over. Men are done. We’re living in her world now.”
Gio smirked, hands in his pockets, standing comfortably in the eye of their chaos.
Wonyoung looped her arm around his. “He’s mine. No refunds.”
Yujin sighed then told everyone to get ready for practice as they had to get ready for the next performance in a couple of days. They were in the middle of an intense comeback Gio nodded and turned to leave before setting down a bottle of water he carried in for Wonyoung.
Wonyoung smiled and said, "I'll see you later pretty lady,"
The rest of Ive rolled their eyes as Gio walked out and went back to his car. After he left the choreographer walked in to talk them through the dances and how to excel with them. Soon they were neck deep in practice mode.
The bass thumped low and heavy, echoing off the mirrored walls. Sweat-slicked limbs moved in tight synchronicity, sneakers squeaking on the polished floor as the IVE girls pushed through the choreography again.
“Five, six, seven—” the choreographer called out.
They launched into formation. All precision. All polish.
But something was different.
Wonyoung was in the front, center-left — and it was like watching a storm masquerading as a goddess. Her movements hit harder. Her chest pops had weight. Her angles were sharper, more aggressive, yet somehow every turn of her wrist oozed sensuality.
She wasn’t performing cute anymore.
She was owning the floor.
Gaeul missed a count.
Yujin, behind her, glanced up through the mirror and slowed ever so slightly.
Wonyoung’s voice cut across the room during the cooldown, lower than usual — smooth, grounded. No high-pitched aegyo. No gentle drawl. Just confident, commanding alto.
“Rei, let’s reset that transition before we burn it in wrong,” she said, grabbing a towel off the floor.
Even the way she wiped her neck seemed different. Less dainty, more casual. Like she didn’t care if she was being watched. Like she expected to be watched.
Yujin paused, hands on her hips. “You’re kinda scary right now.”
Wonyoung arched a brow. “Good. We’re performing for a stadium, not a school recital.”
Rei blinked. “Are you okay?”
Liz leaned against the mirror, catching her breath. “You’re like… dancing differently. Like you’re trying to seduce and intimidate someone at the same time.”
Leeseo added, “And your voice is deeper. Did you catch a cold?”
“Nope.” Wonyoung tied her hair up into a high ponytail, the sleeves of Gio’s borrowed t-shirt rolled above her shoulders, exposing the lines of her arms — toned, powerful.
Her reflection in the mirror looked like a pop star and a mafia boss had merged.
Yujin narrowed her eyes, watching Wonyoung bounce slightly to the beat as they prepared to run it again.
“Wait… is this… your boyfriend mode?”
Wonyoung smirked, lips quirking to one side. “I prefer the term Alpha Diva, thanks.”
Rei burst out laughing. “Oh no she's going crazy.”
But there was admiration there, too. That look when someone you’ve known for years starts showing a new face — and it’s magnetic.
They started the music again. This time, all eyes subtly flicked toward Wonyoung in the mirror.
She didn’t just hit the beat — she owned it. Like her body knew it was both the weapon and the invitation. There was this push and pull, this tension in her movement, as if she were dancing for someone specific. Her walk during the break was more of a prowl.
Yujin muttered under her breath, “Yeah. This girl’s definitely getting laid.”
Liz: “And pretty well from the looks of it.”
The song ended. Breathing hard, Wonyoung glanced around, all confidence and sweat and satisfaction.
“You’re welcome,” she said with a wink.
Gaeul raised a hand. “Permission to make that your new stage persona?”
Rei nodded. “I’m ready to simp for her.”
Wonyoung just smirked again, walking over to grab her water bottle like she didn’t just rearrange the group’s perception of her entire identity in a single practice.
She texted Gio one-handed as she sipped:
I think I just made the girls fall in love with me. Again.
Alpha Diva powers unlocked.
He replied:
Boy AND girl power, baby.
Wonyoung smiled.
“Again from the top,” she said, voice steady and low.
And this time, they followed her lead.
After hours of practice, the girls were exhausted and ready to go back to the dorms. Yujin Leeseo and Gaeul went on the first van while Rei Liz and Wonyoung waited for the second one. As they waited Wonyoung sat patiently waiting.
The Starship practice room had mostly emptied out, the earlier energy of choreo drills and vocal warmups fading into a quiet hush. Sweat still lingered in the air, and the mirror-lined walls reflected dim, post-practice fatigue. Wonyoung sat in one corner, legs stretched out, idly playing with the hem of the oversized Magic: The Gathering shirt she’d “borrowed” from Giorno. Her long hair was pulled into a lazy half-up twist, and there was a softness to her expression—tired, but grounded.
Liz approached quietly, a water bottle clutched in her hands. She sank down beside Wonyoung with a practiced ease. For a moment, neither of them said anything.
Then Liz glanced over, voice low and tentative.
“Can I ask you something… personal?”
Wonyoung didn’t look surprised—just curious. She lifted an eyebrow, half-smiling.
“As long as it’s not about what lip tint I’m wearing.”
Liz gave a quiet laugh. “No. It’s about Giorno.”
That earned a slower blink from Wonyoung. Amused, maybe a touch wary, but not defensive.
“What about him?”
Liz hesitated a beat, then asked plainly, “Is he bi?”
Wonyoung tilted her head, processing. Not because it was a shocking question—just one that deserved an honest answer. She let the silence stretch before replying.
“He hasn’t exactly labeled himself. But yeah. He’s open. To people, to energy…” Her mouth curled into a smirk. “And trust me, I’ve tested that theory.”
Liz laughed, but it came with that thoughtful undertone she always carried. She toyed with the water bottle label, quiet for a moment.
“And how do you feel about that?” she asked softly.
Wonyoung leaned back on her elbows, eyes drifting to the ceiling like she was watching the answer form above her.
“I used to think I’d be jealous,” she said. “Like I needed someone who only liked my kind of woman. That if I wasn’t enough of something—feminine enough, beautiful enough—I’d lose them.”
She turned to Liz then, her voice softer but stronger.
“But Gio doesn’t love me because I’m a girl. Or an idol. Or some fantasy. He loves the way I choose him. The way I take up space.”
Liz studied her with quiet admiration. “So you don’t feel like you have to shrink to keep him.”
Wonyoung smiled, slow and self-aware. “No. I feel like I’ve expanded.”
Just then, the door creaked open and Rei padded in, towel slung around her neck and a suspicious squint in her eyes. She spotted the two on the floor and made her way over.
“Are we having a feelings circle without me?” she asked, dropping down beside them.
Wonyoung gave her a lazy wave. “Only if you brought snacks.”
“Nope,” Rei replied. “Just questions.”
She turned her attention to Wonyoung, expression open but direct.
“So… this thing with Giorno. Is it just a fling?”
Wonyoung blinked at the bluntness, but didn’t flinch. Liz glanced between them, staying quiet.
Rei leaned her chin on her hand, watching Wonyoung carefully. “Like, is this just a phase you’re vibing through right now, or is this... real?”
Wonyoung was quiet for a moment. She pulled her knees in, resting her arms on them, letting the silence settle before answering.
“It’s real,” she said finally. “But not in the way people usually mean that. It’s not about forever or labels or proving something.”
She looked between them both.
“When I’m with him, I’m the most me I’ve ever felt. That’s real enough.”
Rei hummed, clearly mulling that over. “So it’s a soul thing, not a situation thing.”
“Exactly,” Wonyoung said, smiling faintly. “I don’t know where we’ll end up. But I know I’m not pretending.”
Rei nodded slowly. “Okay. That’s fair.”
Liz nudged her. “You worried about her?”
Rei gave a one-shoulder shrug. “A little. Not in a ‘he’s bad’ way. Just… Wony’s never given herself to something like this. She’s always been the one everyone else wants.”
Wonyoung looked at Rei then—truly looked.
“I still am,” she said. “But now, I get to want back. That part? I’m keeping.”
Rei smiled, soft and satisfied. “Alright then. Just don’t let him outdo you in eyeliner next time.”
Liz burst into laughter. “Too late.”
Wonyoung groaned and flopped backward dramatically. “I hate you both.”
“Love you too,” Rei and Liz said in perfect sync.
And just like that, the mood shifted again—comfortable, teasing, solid. The kind of grounding only found in sisterhood, in shared mirrors, bruised knees, and whispered secrets after the music fades.
The black van idled at the curb as the sun dipped low behind Seoul’s skyline. Wonyoung climbed in with a quiet sigh of satisfaction, the kind that only comes after a brutally good practice session and a proper ego boost. She kicked off her sneakers and sprawled across the backseat, her long limbs draped over the plush seats like a spoiled cat. The city buzzed outside, but her mind was elsewhere.
Eyes half-lidded, she let herself drift. In her daydream, her “girlfriend” Gio was in an apron, sleeves rolled, cooking something delicious and far too complicated while feeding her small bites with a gentle firmness. He teased her in that lazy drawl of his, calling her princess but not letting her lift a finger. Wonyoung smiled in her half-sleep, completely and shamelessly smitten.
Meanwhile—on the other side of the city—her “girlfriend” in question was anything but domestic.
Giorno sat in his hotel room, surrounded by dim light, three empty coffee cups, and a wall of index cards covered in cryptic notes. His laptop glowed with the skeleton of a new script, one he’d been obsessing over for weeks: a mythic saga about ancient knights and cursed bloodlines, where chivalry collided with hellfire. It was dark. Brutal. Beautiful. And just cerebral enough to keep him up at night.
He was in the middle of editing a fight scene when his phone buzzed. The name “Elijah” flashed across the screen—his friend, producer, and occasionally his chaos manager.
Gio answered with a groggy, “Yo.”
“Hey, hey. Gio. Can I ask a huge favor?”
“How huge?” he asked, leaning back in his chair, already dreading the answer.
There was a pause, then Elijah dropped the bomb. “Our villain—Imperious Void—the guy we just cast? Turns out he’s been abusing his wife. It just broke. He’s out.”
Giorno sat up straighter, jaw tightening. “Goddamn.”
“Yeah. It’s bad. PR nightmare. Production’s frozen until we replace him. Do you think… could you step in? As Imperious Void?”
Gio groaned. Not out of laziness—he was already neck-deep in projects—but because that role was not his natural terrain.
“I don’t know, man,” he said. “Void doesn’t really fit me. I can write dudes like him, sure, but be him? That’s a different thing.”
“Look,” Elijah said, urgency creeping into his tone. “You don’t have to mimic the last guy or what you helped me build. We can reshape the character. Bring something new. I just need someone who can ground him, make him terrifying without being a cartoon. You’re a great actor, man you just don't know it yet. And we trust you.”
Gio sighed, long and slow. His gaze drifted toward the script he’d been building, then back to the call. There was something poetic about it—jumping from the role of creator to destroyer. From knight to demon.
He rubbed the bridge of his nose, then muttered, “Fine. But you owe me, Elijah. Like… steak-dinner-in-Vancouver level owe me.”
“Done. I’ll Venmo you in hugs and caviar. I’ll send you the files tonight.”
As the call ended, Gio stared at the ceiling for a moment, then reached for his notebook and scrawled the words:
Imperious Void doesn’t shout. He doesn’t need to.
He walks like a man who’s already ended something beautiful.
A slow smile curved at the corner of his mouth—equal parts weary and intrigued. If he had to become a monster, he might as well make it poetic.
The next morning, the dressing room at the variety buzzed with the usual whirlwind of stylists, vocal warm-ups, and blinking light strips. Wonyoung, already in full glam, sat perched on the makeup counter, her iced Americano in one hand and her phone in the other, screen tilted toward her with that unmistakable glow that meant only one thing:
She was texting her “girlfriend.”
Her legs swung lazily as she typed, eyes sparkling with mischief. A few feet away, Rei was practicing her rap lines, but glanced over when she heard Wonyoung laugh softly to herself.
“Gio texted you something spicy again?” she teased.
Wonyoung grinned, teeth flashing. “Not spicy yet. But it will be.”
Her phone buzzed, and her expression changed as she read the message. She straightened slightly, sipping her drink with interest.
“He’s been cast in a movie. He’ll be playing a villain,” she said aloud, to no one in particular. “Like a full-on villain. Imperious Void. Isn’t that the sexiest thing you’ve ever heard?”
Rei raised an eyebrow. “Imperious Void sounds like a Mortal Kombat character.”
“Exactly,” Wonyoung replied, eyes glittering now. “He’s gonna be all dark and commanding and terrifying. I’m obsessed already.”
Before Rei could respond, Wonyoung hopped off the counter and quickly called Gio.
He picked up on the second ring. “Hey—”
“You listen to me,” she said, walking toward a quieter corner of the dressing room. “Whatever you think you’re supposed to be for this role—forget it. Just go in there and own it.”
Gio chuckled on the other end. “I just woke up, and you’re already giving me villain pep talks?”
“I mean it,” she said, her tone sharpening in that low, confident register she’d recently grown into. “You have this weight to you, Gio. This presence. It’s captivating. You walk into a room and people shift. You barely say anything and they listen. That’s power. That’s villain energy. Let them feel that.”
He went quiet for a beat.
Then, in that warm, amused drawl: “You trying to direct me through the phone?”
“I’m your number one fan and it girl girlfriend,” she replied smoothly. “Of course I am.”
Gio sighed, smiling despite himself. “Alright. I’ll channel it. Give now go focus on your schedule you have a long day ahead of you.”
“Good girl,” Wonyoung said, biting her lip playfully. “I can’t wait to hear that deep voice go full evil. It’s gonna ruin me.”
“Oh, you like evil Gio, huh?”
“Maybe,” she purred. “But only if he brings me popcorn after.”
From the other side of the dressing room, Yujin called out, “Wonyoung! Five minutes!”
“I gotta go,” she said into the phone. “You are devastating. I’ll be dazzling.”
“Deal.”
They hung up, and Wonyoung turned back to the mirror, adjusting her outfit with renewed confidence. Something about Gio’s shift—his willingness to become this shadowy, commanding force—lit a fire in her. It gave her permission to push harder too. To let go of the saccharine softness and embrace the edge.
Today, her stage persona wouldn’t just be pretty. It would be powerful. She’d burn the house down in glitter and fire.
And backstage, as she joined the other girls, Rei muttered under her breath, “You’re glowing again.”
Wonyoung smirked. “That’s because my girlfriend’s gonna destroy some souls. And I taught him well.”
The day had stretched into a blur of lights, rehearsals, interviews, and adrenaline. From variety show to photo shoot to the main performance hall, IVE had burned through every stage like fire through dry grass.
Now, the venue was quieting. The roar of the crowd still echoed in the bones of the building. Confetti clung to the rafters. Fans slowly filtered out into the night, voices hoarse from singing along.
Backstage, Gio leaned against a concrete pillar, inconspicuous in the oversized black hoodie that labeled him as “staff”—a weak disguise for someone who stood out even when he tried not to. Tall, inked, and quietly commanding, he still looked like someone who’d wandered off the set of a moody arthouse action film.
He’d arrived just before IVE’s main set.
And once Wonyoung hit the stage, everything else melted away.
Gone was the sugary, polished idol persona from her variety clips and PR photos. What stood before him now was something else entirely—sharp, fluid, dangerous. Her dancing was precise, yet alive with unpredictability. There was a rhythm in her body that flirted with both masculine bravado and sensual elegance. She didn’t just perform—she claimed the stage.
She looked like someone who didn’t need permission to be brilliant.
During a brief costume reset, Wonyoung slipped backstage and found him right where she expected—watching her like a man witnessing a prophecy unfold.
She sauntered over, breath still high from the adrenaline. “Does my pretty girlfriend like what he sees?”
Gio smiled. “You look amazing, darling.”
She leaned in, teasing. “And the performance?”
He hesitated, then said, “I’m a little overwhelmed to give you anything articulate, but… right now, you’re breathtaking.”
Satisfied, she gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and returned to the stage. The second half of the show was even more intense—Wonyoung moved like she was orchestrating the crowd’s every breath. Even her members seemed caught in her gravity. But she had eyes only for one person tonight.
When the stage lights finally dimmed and the curtain fell, Wonyoung slipped away from the dressing room chaos and found Gio waiting by the staff entrance. She climbed into the back of the sleek black sedan without hesitation, sliding in beside him.
The city flickered outside as they pulled away. Neon signs blinked, car horns echoed, and the quiet hum of the sedan’s engine filled the silence between them.
Wonyoung curled up in the middle row, legs tucked under her, jacket draped over her lap. Her hair was still damp at the ends, her makeup slightly smudged, but her eyes were alive.
“You watched me,” she said softly, breaking the quiet.
Gio glanced over. “Of course I did.”
She smiled, her expression unreadable in the passing streetlight glow. “Well?”
He took a breath. “You were incredible. Commanding. Like you owned every breath in that building.”
She hummed, pleased but already calculating. “Good. That’s what I wanted. I was trying to channel you. That weight you carry when you’re just being.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Me?”
She nodded. “You have that energy. That unbothered, unmoved presence. I want that onstage. I want Imperio Void to have it, too.”
Gio chuckled under his breath. “So now I’m the model for your villain crush fantasy?”
“Exactly,” Wonyoung said, completely serious. “But also… I want the audience to feel what I feel when I look at you. That slow, terrifying realization that they’re about to fall. Not because you’re loud or flashy—but because you exist like gravity.”
Gio glanced at her, then turned back to the road. “You want Imperio to be still powerful?”
“I want him to be inevitable,” she said, voice low and certain. “He doesn’t have to raise his voice. He doesn’t need theatrics. He just is. And that alone should make people tremble. I want him to feel like a storm that’s already arrived.”
Gio was quiet for a moment.
“And how did you fall for me, exactly?” he asked, his voice softer now, more curious than coy.
Wonyoung smiled. “You were soft, but never fragile. Gentle, but never passive. You knew who you were. And I wanted to be the only one who could get past that armor.”
Gio felt heat rise in his cheeks but didn’t look away. “You did.”
“Good,” she said, sliding closer to him across the seat. “So now, give me that. Let Imperio Void be terrifying not because he yells—but because he doesn’t need to. Let him walk like he’s been touched by fire and blessed by war. Let him sound like you do when you’re serious. That voice you have? Low. Steady. Like a confession or a warning.”
He exhaled slowly. “You’re directing me again.”
“I’m guiding you,” she corrected, nestling her head against his shoulder. “But only because I know what kind of monster the world is about to fall in love with. And it’s not just Imperio Void. It’s you.”
He glanced down at her, fingers grazing her hand gently.
“Fine,” he murmured. “I’ll give them Imperio. But next time, I’m writing a role for you.”
Wonyoung’s eyes fluttered open. “Make me the ice empress who brings entire empires to their knees.”
Gio smiled. “Deal.”
They pulled up to the hotel room in the late evening early night.
The hotel suite was dimly lit, cast in the warm gold of sconces and the distant flicker of city lights beyond tall windows. The coffee table—once scattered with Gio’s notebooks, script pages, and half-drained energy drinks—was now cluttered with takeout containers and Wonyoung’s legs, draped carelessly over his lap like she owned the space. Like she owned him.
Gio leaned back on the couch, sleeves rolled, script in hand. He looked like an accidental muse—part exhausted writer, part reluctant heartthrob. His pastel-painted nails tapped idly against the paper as Wonyoung studied him from the corner of her eye.
“You know,” she said suddenly, sitting upright. “We should run a scene.”
He glanced over, brow raised. “Now?”
“Yes. You need practice being sexy and terrifying.”
Gio gave her a slow, amused look. “You’re awfully demanding for someone eating all my dumplings.”
“I’m your director tonight,” she replied, already rising. “And I have vision.”
She moved across the room barefoot, hips swaying with casual grace. With a sharp twist, she turned one of the armchairs to face him and sat—crossing one long leg over the other like she ruled a kingdom. And just like that, she was no longer Wonyoung.
She was the Empress.
“You enter my court uninvited, Void,” she intoned, voice low, regal, laced with quiet threat. “And yet you act like the throne belongs to you.”
Gio didn’t answer immediately. He let the silence stretch. Then, slowly, he folded the script and set it aside. His whole frame shifted—his spine straightened, gaze sharpening with a quiet, devastating confidence. When he spoke, it wasn’t Gio’s voice anymore.
“Oh, you misread me, Empress,” he said, voice like embers in velvet. “I don’t seek thrones. I seek liberation.”
A flicker passed through Wonyoung—barely perceptible, but there. Her chin lifted, but her breath hitched.
“I could have you torn apart by wolves with a snap of my fingers,” she challenged.
Gio stood. Not abruptly, not threatening. Just… undeniably. Each step forward was deliberate, like gravity itself was bending to clear his path.
“You could try,” he said, stopping just in front of her. “But if you haven’t already… It’s because you know. You know I’m the only one in this empire not afraid of crowns. And you—” his voice softened, a blade wrapped in silk, “—you’re tired of wearing yours.”
Wonyoung’s breath left her in a shaky exhale. She broke character with a strangled laugh and flopped back in the chair.
“Jesus,” she muttered. “That’s the one. That’s the voice. That’s the thing.”
Gio tilted his head, expression unreadable. “You wanted menace. I’m giving menace.”
“I said bisexual menace,” she corrected, pointing at him with manicured intensity. “You’re doing it. It’s too effective. You’re… dangerous. But gorgeous. Like a cursed prince and a femme fatale had a child and trained him in seduction and warfare.”
He raised a brow, stepping forward again with a grin tugging at his mouth. “You want the full spectrum? Seductive warlord with a poet’s soul?”
“Yes. Yes. Dip in and out of it. Like you’re wearing both energies like cloaks.” She stood again, circling him. “Be tempted. Be powerful. Be… Gio.”
Gio let out a low, deliberate breath. Then, in a voice silkier than sin: “I already did. The moment you called me your girlfriend.”
Wonyoung choked. Her composure shattered. She slapped his arm, laughing, stumbling back a step. “Stop. Stop—are you trying to kill me?”
He only grinned. “You said unleash it.”
“I didn’t know you’d weaponize it against me,” she said, heat rising in her cheeks. “This is entrapment.”
“And you’re enjoying it.”
“Obviously,” she muttered.
Gio didn’t miss a beat. He stepped into her space, tilting his head, his voice now dipping into that dangerous register that made Wonyoung’s knees weak.
“Should I keep going, Empress? Or have I already conquered your court?”
Her lips parted—no words, just breath. Then:
“God, you’re going to ruin the internet.”
He leaned in, brushing her cheek with the back of his fingers.
“Only if you want me to.”
She grabbed his collar and kissed him—sharp and hungry.
There were no more lines after that. No Empress, no Void.
Just the two of them, drowning in power, pull, and the heat of a thousand unsaid things.
“Fuck pretty lady,” Wonyoung moaned.
“I need you right now,” Wonyoung said as she lifted Gio’s shirt. Gio tortously mirrored her intensity with slow sensuality, she felt him dip out of the need to hunt to claim, right into coy seduction and she hated how naturally both came to him but Wonyoung needed to be railed right now.
“Babe please. I need you inside,” Wonyoung whined.
“Not yet Wony tonight I decide the pace,” Wonyoung groaned as Gio’s fingers lightly brushed against her breasts. He was deliberate and meticulous drawing moans and mewls from his girlfriend. His eyes locked with hers as he massaged her body slowly sensually. The sweat from performing till clinched to her lithe taught body.
“I could devour you completely ruin you and you'd beg for more,” Gio said teasingly. Wonyoung’s breath hitched as she sat eyeing him annoyed.
Gio’s eyes narrowed as his touch lingered soft and seductive just enough to make her feel hot and bothered. Wonyoung groaned
“Come on baby girl daddy needs it,” she cried out and at that Gio lost all control. He slid inside her wet snatch with a practiced ease as he relentlessly pumped in and out of her leaving her breathless.
“Fuck baby girl you're gonna make daddy cum,” Wonyoung moaned as her pussy clenched around Gio’s cock. Her petite tits bouncing up and down as he failed her into submission, Gio watched as she came undone moaning his name like a prayer. Feeling a rush of power he told Wonyoung,
“Cum for me darling,” and Wonyoung screamed as her body took her for a devastating ride.
Her pussy seized as she convulsed lost in radiating waves of pleasure that drove her crazy.
When she came down all she could see was Giorno about to plaster her face with cum. She reveled in it saying filth like “do it,” “cum all over me baby girl,” Her words spurred on Gio’s orgasm as rope after rope covered Wonyoung and she smiled feeling it all run down her body, warm and full of life.
After that, Wonyoung smiled and said, “I want you to be my baby girl,”
Gio laughed and said “sure daddy,”