jitrulyslayyed

[jitrulyslayyed]

𝐒𝐚𝐥𝐭 𝐈𝐧 𝐌𝐲 𝐋𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐬

Pairing: merman!hyunjin x marinespecialist!afab!reader, fantasy au

Synopsis: meeting a merman at work wasn't on the schedule. neither was having feelings.

Warnings: gore a teeny bit, fantasy fluff, strange sounds and feelings, language barrier, confused feelings, innocent curiosity

A/n: inspired by @ssickmagnolia8's losing my breath for you. If you have extra eyes for errors no you don't . I tried so hard to get out of my writers block 😭 I barely have inspo but my drafts are crazy full 😭

You weren’t raised on fairy tales. You were raised on currents. Your father was a sailor, your mother a coastal ecologist, and the ocean was their god. Family vacations were tidepool cataloging. Bedtime stories were legends about deep-sea creatures that mimicked men but weren’t. But you didn’t believe in monsters—not really. You believed in data. Pressure changes. Temperature shifts. Migration patterns. At seventeen, you watched your mother drown. Not in a storm. Not in a dramatic, cinematic scene. No. Your mother simply walked into the tide, arms wide, eyes blank, whispering something only the water could hear. Her body was never found.

You never went near the shore for five years.

But obsession is the child of grief.

You became a specialist in acoustic telemetry, tracking marine life through sound and signal. You hunted the sea with sonar instead of boats. Your reports were clinical. Clean. Controlled

Still, you pushed forward. You had a name to clear, a memory to honor, and a gut feeling you couldn’t shake. Something was wrong with the ocean.

The SS Kismet was a research vessel outfitted for deep-sea tracking, manned by six specialists and one quietly fraying you. The day was standard. The sun overhead bleached the deck white, waves slapped rhythmically against the hull, and the equipment hummed with numbers and graphs. you stood near the stern, notebook in hand, listening to the low-frequency pings returning from their latest scan.

“Same patterns as last week,” murmured Aaron, the lead sonar tech. “Migration normal. No anomalies.”

You didn’t respond. Her eyes flicked to the live display:

Depth: 145 meters. Movement: Moderate. Bio-signature: 3.4

Everything made sense. That was the problem.

The sea was too quiet. After five hours, the crew packed up. Equipment retracted, samples secured, reports logged. The boat turned back toward shore under a rose-gold sky, and conversation rose around you—light, casual. But you stayed at the edge of the boat, watching the way the water seemed to stretch too long. Like it was holding its breath. They docked by sunset. Seagulls screamed over the marina. Lights from the harbor winked like tired eyes. The others disembarked, laughing, boots hitting wet wood. You trailed behind them… until she saw it.

Far off. Barely visible in the waning light. Something was moving. Not in the water, from the shore. It was tall. Human-shaped, but too fluid. Staggering like its bones didn’t fit right. Its skin—if it had skin—glinted wet like oil on pavement. It moved into the surf, slow and steady. Not fighting the pull. Letting the sea take it back.

You squinted. No one else noticed. You opened your mouth to speak, but your throat clenched. Because the thing paused.

And turned.

And though it had no eyes you could see, you felt it look at you. Right at you.

Your voice cracked in the thick evening air as you called out, “Guys? Hey—HEY!”

But your words dissolved into the wind, carried off with the laughter of the team now too far along the dock. Their boots were on asphalt. Yours were still on splintered planks. Alone.

You cursed under your breath. The figure had disappeared into the surf, but her gut twisted with the knowledge, it was still there. Half-lost in the tide, half-drenched in something darker. Not seaweed. Not shadow. Blood.

Your hand slipped into your gear pouch, fingers wrapping tightly around the hilt of a folding blade. Not large. Not elegant. Just sharp enough to buy you three seconds if things went wrong. And something told you they were about to. The dock faded behind you as you stepped off onto the wet sand, shoes sinking slightly. The air was cooler down here, closer to the sea’s breath. You moved carefully, knees bent, eyes squinting into the low mist as the tide rolled in slow and deliberate like it was trying to lull you.

Then you saw it. He was collapsed at the edge where sea met sand, half-submerged, slumped like a dying god. Not a man. Not entirely.

His body was long, too long. From the waist up, he looked almost human—shoulders broad, chest marked with faint violet ridges that pulsed softly, like gills. His skin was damp, luminous, stretched over lean muscle and speckled with gashes, torn open by jagged coral or perhaps claws of his own kind. But from the waist down…a tail. Not cartoonish or shiny. This was monstrous beauty. Deep, obsidian-blue scales etched with silver patterns like ancient runes. Fins like torn silk fluttered weakly at the edge, trembling with effort. Blood—dark, almost black—pooled beneath him in the sand and hissed quietly when it touched saltwater.

His hair was soaked and tangled, clinging to his sharp cheekbones, framing a face too sculpted to be human. Ethereal. High-boned. Lips split at the corner. Eyes—

Oh God, his eyes. They snapped open at your approach.

Sharp. Slit pupils. The color of storm-lit seawater green and grey and gold all at once.

And then he hissed. Low. Defensive. His lips peeled back just enough to show teeth—sharp, serrated like a predator’s.

You froze, raising your free hand. “Hey—hey, it’s okay. I’m not gonna hurt you.”

But he didn’t understand. Or didn’t care. His arms pushed against the wet sand, trying to lift himself. A growl reverberated deep in his chest as he whipped his tail, sending a spray of water across your face. The movement tore open a gash along his hip, he let out a strained cry, somewhere between rage and agony, before collapsing back with a choked gasp.

You stepped forward instinctively, breath shallow.

He was shaking. Drenched. Wild. And yet… vulnerable. This was no sea monster.

This was someone. And he was dying. Your heart hammered as you stepped closer, sand slipping under your boots. Your hands were up—one still holding the small knife, the other palm-out, slow, nonthreatening.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” you whispered, voice thick with breath. ��You’re hurt. I—I can help.”

But he didn’t understand your words. He only saw movement. A human form. Something closer. With a feral grunt, the merman twisted, shoulder muscles flaring, tail slapping the sand in a weak arc. He tried to crawl back toward the surf instinct pulling him to the safety of the ocean, of away. But pain lanced through him again. His shoulder gave out. One of the wounds split wider, the dark ichor spilling fresh and hot.

He cried out, low and guttural, collapsing again with a strangled wince.

You flinched but didn’t move away. Her pulse skipped, but your feet stayed rooted.

You dropped to your knees a few feet from him and carefully pulled your field pack open. Out came a fabric square, military-grade wound wrap, waterproof and heat-reactive. Not exactly meant for mythological sea creatures, but she had to try.

You slid forward. Close enough now to hear the rough sound of his breath—shaky and uneven. “I’m going to touch you now,” she murmured, voice trembling. “Please don’t—don’t freak out.”

He snarled again, a rumble in his throat, but it wasn’t as sharp. More confused than aggressive now. He tracked every movement of your hand with those uncanny eyes. You leaned in, breath soft, and gently pressed the wrap to the gash along his ribs. His skin twitched beneath her touch warm, slick, and… not completely alien. The scales shimmered faintly beneath your fingertips, flexing and fluttering as if responding to her. He hissed again, low and tight. Not from anger this time from pain. But he didn’t strike. Didn’t move away.

The bandage clung instantly, sealed by body heat. You pulled another out and looked at him.

“I can help with the rest,” she said softly, holding the next strip up. “If you let me. If you can… I don’t know, trust me?”

He blinked. Slow. The growling had stopped. His eyes scanned your face, lingered on your lips, your eyes like he was trying to read something in you, some language you weren’t speaking. He shifted, inching forward on trembling arms. His head dipped slightly. One of his fins curled inward. And then—quietly, hesitantly—he leaned toward you.

You sucked in a breath as he drew closer, breath brushing your cheek, cool and wet like fog. His tail slid across the sand with a soft drag. He was allowing it now. Allowing you. His body gave the answer his voice couldn’t. You moved gently, methodically, patching another wound on his side, then his forearm. The gashes were bad—too deep for you to handle on a beach. He needed more. He needed help. But he was still looking at you.

And not like you were a threat anymore. You sat back on your heels, hands trembling just slightly from the cold, the adrenaline, the impossibility of what you was seeing. You’d patched him up best you could with what you had, but they couldn’t stay here. Someone would find them. Your team would come looking. And he… he couldn’t defend himself like this.

You looked down at him, where he was half-curled in the sand. Still bleeding. Breathing hard. “Can you walk?” she muttered aloud, half to herself, her voice barely above the hush of the waves behind them.

You realized how stupid it sounded the second it left your mouth—he had a tail, not legs.

But still, she made the motion with her fingers, as if puppeteering invisible legs. A silly little walking gesture, the way you’d signal to a child. To your absolute disbelief, his eyes followed the motion. His brows furrowed in that elegant, ocean-slick face. He looked at his own tail. Looked at your. Then—

He began to shift.

Slow at first. Painfully. The sound that came from his throat was low and rough, like gravel pulled by the tide. But his body began to change. The fin that had glimmered like black opal under moonlight began to split, crackling, warping, folding in on itself like liquid glass folding into clay. The deep iridescent scales retreated, melting away like dew drying off skin. His tail was gone. In its place: long, pale legs, scarred and sleek. Powerful thighs. Knees bent awkwardly as if unfamiliar. The bruises from earlier still colored his skin. Salt and blood clung to him in places no human anatomy textbook could prepare you for.

Your lips parted, jaw slack. “What the actual—”

He looked up at you, panting. Exhausted. On his hands and knees now, shivering in the wind and the wetness, completely bare and utterly other. But also… human. Or something achingly close. You stumbled to your feet, ditching the knife completely now, and bent to hook an arm under his. “Okay, alright. Come on. I’ve got you.”

He flinched as their skin touched, his reflexes still caught between fight or flight. But this time, he didn’t pull away. He let you help him.

You pulled his arm over your shoulder, feeling the sharp weight of him, every muscle trembling under the strain of transformation. His wet skin pressed against your clothes, soaking through instantly. He leaned heavily on you, and she tightened your grip, breath hitching as he groaned again. They stumbled together across the beach, two shadows limping toward the faint lights of the Marine Center in the distance. You  kept your head low, whispering reassurances under your breath, some for him, most for yourself.

“Just a little further, okay? We’re almost there. You’re doing good… god, you’re doing so good.”

You used the back entrance of the Center—you’d done it a hundred times for late data drops, but never with a naked injured merman draped over you like seaweed.

Somehow—by divine panic and dumb luck—they made it across the dark, tiled hallway, up a flight of stairs, and into your tiny staff dorm tucked behind the labs. You kicked the door shut behind them and locked it in one motion.

Inside: warm, quiet, safe.

You turned to him. He was half-collapsed against your twin bed, blinking slowly, skin clammy, lips slightly parted in pain and confusion. So much humanity in his expression. So much… fear. You swallowed hard and dropped beside him.

“I don’t know what the hell you are,” you whispered, brushing hair—still wet, still tangled with seaweed and blood—out of his eyes. “But I’ve got you now.”

You moved quickly now, your brain scrambling to shift from shock to survival mode. You rummaged through the spare shelf under your bed and yanked out a clean, fluffy gray blanket—one you usually used for late night writing sessions or curling up with ocean current charts. Not for covering up the naked sea man bleeding out in your room. You turned back to him, and he was watching you. Dazed. Alert, somehow, but like he was in a completely foreign world his body shivering, his mouth slightly parted, hair clinging to his cheek in stringy wet ribbons.

“Okay,” you breathed, kneeling down. “I’m not gonna look. Promise. Just—just let me…”

You draped the blanket over his hips carefully, gently, shielding his body from view. He flinched at the sudden warmth, but didn’t stop you. His eyes stayed locked to yours.

God. He was beautiful in the kind of way nightmares made you want to stay asleep. His features sharp, yet soft where it mattered, scars across his chest, jaw taut, lashes too dark for someone that alien. That injured. You turned away for a second and grabbed your first aid kit from your bottom drawer. The click of the latch opening echoed like a scream in the quiet room. You pulled out antiseptic, gauze, butterfly stitches, and waterproof medical tape.

“Okay, okay…” you whispered, settling beside him again. your hands hovered over his ribs, hesitant. “You’re not gonna hiss at me again, right?”

His eyes narrowed slightly. You smiled nervously. “Yeah, I didn’t think you understood that.”

Still, you took the silence as permission and began cleaning one of the slashes along his side. He tensed immediately, but didn’t strike or pull back. Just let out a low, shaky sound somewhere between a growl and a breath. His muscles tightened under your fingers.

“Sorry. I know. This probably stings.” He made a small noise in reply. It wasn’t a word, but it wasn’t nothing either. It sounded like… acknowledgment. Like he was trying to echo your tone, mirror her comfort.

“That’s right, okay…” she murmured. “You’ve got  a bit of sea glass in here. Jesus, what happened to you?”

No answer. But the way his fingers curled into the edge of the blanket made you think—something bad. Something he couldn’t explain. Or didn’t want to.

“You’re not from here, are you?” you whispered. “God, what am I even asking… Of course you’re not.”

Again, he didn’t respond. But he watched you. With that eerie intensity. You moved to his arm next, patching a shallow puncture wound near his bicep. His skin was oddly soft under your hands. Like velvet soaked in sea salt. And warm. Too warm. “I don’t even know if this stuff works on you,” you muttered as you applied ointment and sealed the wound with gauze. “I mean, for all I know, you could be allergic to—”

Knock knock knock.

You froze.

Three crisp knocks. Familiar. Then a voice.

“Y/N? You in there?” Her heart dropped into her stomach.

It was Maya—from the marine lab downstairs. Always checking in. Always conveniently around when you didn’t want to be disturbed. You turned sharply to the merman and whispered, “Stay quiet. Please, just—don’t move.”

He blinked slowly. Stayed perfectly still.

“Yeah!” you called, scrambling to her feet, trying to sound normal. You stepped toward the door, heart slamming in your chest. “I’m just—uh—getting ready to crash. What’s up?” Maya’s voice was muffled through the wood. “You alright? I didn’t see you with the others after landing. We were gonna go over sonar readings in the morning but—if something’s up—”

“No! No, I’m good,” you replied, too fast. Too bright. “Just tired. You know how the sea gets to me.”

A beat. Then, “Alright. You sure?” You looked over your shoulder. The merman’s eyes were on you. Unmoving. But… calm.

“I’m sure,” you said, softer this time. Another pause. Then footsteps retreating.

You exhaled all at once, sagging against the door. You turned back to him, letting your back slide down the wood until you were sitting again. His head tilted slightly at you, like he understood everything and nothing all at once.

“Okay,” you whispered. “You just became my biggest secret.”

The antiseptic sting was nearly done now—just a few more cleaned cuts and sealed bruises. You moved with careful hands, your breath soft and slow as you finished wrapping a particularly deep laceration just under his collarbone. The moment felt still. Thick. Like the air around them had pressed pause to let something ancient slip in between.

You gently pressed the last bit of gauze in place, smoothing it down with your palm.

“You’re not bleeding anymore,” you murmured. “That’s a start.”

Your eyes flicked up to meet his. He was staring. No—focused. Brow furrowed, mouth slightly parted. Not in confusion… in concentration.

“Are you—are you okay?” you asked, softly. “Does anything still hurt?” His lips moved. Just a little. Then again. She paused.

“Wait… did you—did you say something?”

He did it again. This time, slower. And then—barely audible—a whisper, rough like gravel washed up on shore:

“…Hyun…jin…”

You blinked. Your heart skipped.

“You—your name?” you whispered, eyes wide. “Is that your name?”

He gave a weak nod, eyes fluttering as if even that had drained him. “Hyunjin…” she repeated softly, like it was a sacred word. “That’s beautiful. Well, mine’s Y/N.”

His mouth twitched—something like a smirk, but more like relief. Then he tried again, speaking low, gravelly, the syllables pulling against his throat like he wasn’t used to forming them.

“I… learn…”

You leaned in instinctively, every hair on her arm standing on end. Your lips parted, disbelief creasing her brows.

“…your… speak. Lips. Words.”

You sat up a little straighter, realization blooming in your chest like heat. “You’re reading my lips,” you breathed. “You’re trying to talk like me…”

He nodded again. Slow. Exhausted. But committed.

“Oh my god,” you whispered, scrambling to the side table for your small, water-stained notebook and a pencil. You scribbled something down quickly, mouthing the word as you wrote it. “That’s… that’s incredible. You’ve been watching how I talk and trying to mimic it—do you know how hard that is?”

Hyunjin blinked. His shoulders rose and fell, barely able to shrug—but his gaze never left yours. You set the book down and looked back at him, your voice gentler now.

“Can you tell me what happened to you?”

He blinked. Then glanced toward the floor like he was searching for a word buried in the shadows.

“��dark…” he rasped.

You leaned in, eyes flicking across his lips, helping him find the rest. “Dark?” she echoed. “You were… somewhere dark?”

He nodded. Struggled.

“Chains,” he whispered next, the word thick and ugly in his mouth. “Hurt. Hunt. Run…” Your stomach dropped. The pencil in her hand went still.

“They hunted you?”

His eyes darkened. He nodded once. The memory laced with something almost feral, something wild and buried.You placed a hand on your notebook, the other gently touching his arm.

“I won’t let them find you again,” she said. Firm. Soft, but sure. “You’re safe here, okay? I promise.”

He stared at her. And this time, something deep in his chest shifted. His head tilted forward slightly.

---

The rain had started again—soft, misty, tapping against the dorm window like fingers too shy to knock. You set your kit aside, tucking bandage scraps back into their place, then wiped your hands on the towel draped across her lap. Hyunjin sat propped against the bedframe, now cloaked in the oversized blanket you’d given him earlier, the dark fabric falling over his lap and down his hips, obscuring the freshly formed legs that still trembled when he moved them too quickly.

“You must be starving,” you said, more to yourself than to him as you stood and stretched your arms above your head.

“No.”

You paused. Turned slowly to him, brows slightly raised. He had spoken clearly. Not perfectly. The edges of the word still had a rawness to them, a beginner’s sharpness. But it was unmistakable.

“No?” you repeated, a smile tugging at your lips.

He shook his head, still watching you.

“Okay…” you murmured, moving toward your desk. “I’ll eat something myself, then. You sure you don’t want something? Just a snack? Fish—oh. That might be offensive.”

He didn’t laugh. But you caught the subtle twitch at the corner of his mouth. You opened a granola bar instead, taking a quiet bite while flipping through your research journal. But even as you tried to distract yourself with the scribbled notes and observations from that morning’s dive, you felt him watching.

Your gaze slowly lifted. Hyunjin hadn’t moved. Not even a blink. He was staring. Unapologetically. Eyes fixed on you like you were the only real thing in the room. The only solid thread holding him above water. You cleared your throat and looked back down at the pages, pretending not to notice the burn of his gaze.

You turned a page. He was still staring. You tried adjusting the chair. Shifted your posture. Took another bite. Still. Eyes on you.

“I can feel you watching me, you know,” you muttered, not unkindly. You glanced up again. “Why do you keep looking at me like that?” Hyunjin tilted his head slightly. Like he didn’t understand the question. Like that wasn’t unusual.

You leaned forward on your elbows, eyes narrowing slightly, but your smile stayed.

“I’m not that interesting,” you teased. He nodded.

You blinked. “Wait. You’re saying I am that interesting?” Another slow nod.

And still—his gaze didn’t falter. You bit the inside of her cheek, cheeks heating. “You really are learning fast.”

Hyunjin’s eyes softened a little. As if your amusement pleased him. As if your presence, chaotic and human as it was, brought something to his chest that hurt a little less. You sighed, shutting your notebook and setting it aside. You stood and walked slowly over to him.

He straightened—just slightly. Still weak. Still wrapped in layers of pain. But attentive. You sat at the edge of the bed, cross-legged, and faced him.

“You don’t have to keep staring like I’m going to disappear,” you said quietly. “I’m not.”

He didn’t answer. But the way his eyes dropped—for a moment—to her hands resting in your lap… then slowly lifted back to meet yours…

It said everything.

The room had settled into a gentle quiet. The rain outside had softened to a drizzle, a constant hush against the glass. The kind of lull that made time feel slower, suspended in a fragile bubble of calm. You stood, brushing invisible lint off her shirt before turning to face Hyunjin. “I’m gonna take a quick shower,” you said, half-expecting no reply. “Don’t touch anything. I mean it. Don’t go poking around or—” you paused, narrowing her eyes, “—biting my electronics.”

Hyunjin blinked up at you from where he sat on the bed, cocooned in the blanket like it was part of him now. His lips moved, just a little—mimicking the shape of your words. But he didn’t speak. You smiled, gave him a little nod, then grabbed your towel, clean clothes, and a small caddy of products before disappearing into the bathroom. The door shut with a click. The soft shuffle of clothing followed, then the metallic hiss of the shower turning on.

At first, Hyunjin did nothing. Just sat there.

But… the sound of the water. The echo of your voice still lingering. The delicate scent of her body wash in the air. It was unfamiliar… intoxicating. And more than anything, his curiosity was gnawing at him. Was she… cleansing her scales?

Like he did in the moonpools beneath the reef?

He shifted his legs off the bed—still new, still foreign. They trembled under his weight, but he managed to stand. A soft grunt left him as he staggered toward the bathroom, one hand trailing along the wall for balance. The floor was cold against his soles. Each step felt uncertain.

He reached the door. Didn’t knock.

Didn’t even think to. The door wasn’t fully shut. Just barely ajar. Enough for him to press a hand against the wood and nudge it open silently. Steam rushed out instantly, curling like seafoam around his feet. The air was thick with warmth and lavender. His dark eyes flicked upward.

And there you were. Silhouetted through the fogged glass of the shower.

Water traced down the length of her body—rivulets running along her shoulders, down her back, catching the curves of her waist. Her hair clung to her skin, dripping. Her skin glowed under the bathroom light, radiant, almost otherworldly.

Hyunjin's breath caught. His heart thudded.

She… she didn’t have scales.

Not visibly.

But your skin—it shimmered slightly in the heat, smooth like moon-polished shells. Unmarked. Unnatural in the way it tugged at something deep in him. Your limbs, the way you moved, the grace—

He wondered, foolishly, if you were like him. A creature hiding among humans. Then you turned. You reached for a small bottle, arm extending, her gaze shifting—right into his. They locked eyes.

Everything froze. Your expression contorted in a split second from relaxed to horrified.

“JESUS—HYUNJIN!”

You fumbled for the shower door, practically slipping in place. “GET OUT!” you shouted, voice bouncing off the tile walls, echoing in his ears. Hyunjin’s eyes widened like he’d just been caught stealing a royal treasure. His cheeks flushed a violent red—deep, warm, crawling all the way to his ears.

“Sorry—sorry—!” he blurted in a mangled rush of syllables, then staggered back, nearly tripping on his own feet as he yanked the door shut behind him.

Thud. A beat of silence. Then the sound of water slapping tile resumed.

Hyunjin stumbled backward into the room, hands clutched over his face. He fell onto the bed like a sack of kelp, groaning softly, curling into himself beneath the blanket.

His heart wouldn’t slow down. You looked like a sea spirit. A siren. A goddess. He buried his face into the pillow and whispered to himself in broken syllables, “She’s not… mermaid? But… so… shining…”

He wasn’t sure what he’d just done. But he was absolutely sure he would never be able to look you in the eyes again without drowning in heat.

The door creaked open slowly, steam billowing out like a slow exhale from a sleeping giant.

You stepped out, wrapped in a thick towel, your damp hair clinging to your shoulders, droplets tracing the slope of your collarbone. You clutched your clothes to your chest with one hand and rubbed the towel dry against your temple with the other. Your skin was flushed from the heat of the water—and maybe a little from what just happened.

Hyunjin was sitting on the bed, perfectly still, legs crossed beneath the blanket like a chastised child. His gaze was fixed firmly on the floor, ears beet-red, and his fingers fidgeted with the fabric on his lap.

You raised a brow, then—softened. You tried to keep your expression firm, tried to muster the energy to be mad, but the sheer look of guilt on his face, the nervous way he sat there like a drenched cat in trouble, made your laugh.

“Well,” you said as you padded closer, “if you were trying to sneak up on a woman—you failed miserably.”

Hyunjin’s eyes widened. He scrambled to shake his head, hands waving in front of him in frantic denial. “No! No sneak—I was… just… see? Curiosity!” His voice was breathy, each syllable clumsy but earnest, like he was still tasting every word for the first time. You tilted your head and crossed her arms. “Right. Curiosity. Sure.” You couldn’t help the smirk curling at your lips. “That what you say to all the girls you spy on in the shower?”

“I didn’t know you were…” Hyunjin gestured wildly at your towel, his cheeks darkening again. “No fins. No… shell armor. Just skin. I think—maybe you were like me.”

You blinked. “You thought I was a mermaid?”

He nodded shyly.

You let out a laugh then light, amused, the tension in your shoulders slipping away. “God. You’re a disaster,” you muttered fondly. “But I get it. You’re new to… all this. Just—next time maybe knock? Or don’t open the door to the sound of running water?”

“Okay,” Hyunjin whispered. Then, with a bit more strength, “Okay. No door. Knock. First.”

“Good,” she smiled, grabbing a long shirt from her dresser and slipping into it over the towel with your back turned. “Now get some rest. You’ve been through a lot, and your wounds are still fresh. You need sleep.”

You turned around again, drying your hair with the towel. That’s when he said it. Softly. Like it had been resting on the edge of his tongue the whole time, unsure whether it should be spoken.

“Beautiful.”

You paused mid-pat. Your arms dropped slightly.

You looked at him.

His head was tilted, his long hair falling across his cheek, still slightly damp. His lips were parted just enough to prove he’d said it on purpose. And those dark, wide eyes still locked on her like you were the most fascinating creature in the entire world.

“I’m… sorry?” you said, a little thrown off her rhythm.

He straightened up a bit, the blanket slipping down his chest. “You are,” he said again, slower this time. “Beautiful.”

There was no stutter. No nervousness. Just sincerity. Your heart did a little stumble in your chest. You blinked again, unsure if you should laugh, thank him, or hide.

“…That’s probably the first compliment I’ve ever gotten from someone who tried to break into my shower.”

Hyunjin’s brows furrowed. “Break?” You giggled and waved it off. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

A beat passed. “You’re not too bad yourself,” you muttered under your breath, more to yourself than to him. But he heard it. And the shy smile that tugged at his lips was brighter than anything you’d seen him wear so far.

“Sleep, merboy,” you said, grabbing a blanket to toss over him. “You’re gonna need all your strength tomorrow.”

He nodded, but his eyes stayed on you just a moment longer before they fluttered shut—content, safe, and still trying to memorize the shape of you.

The soft click of your pen was the only sound filling the room now. You sat at your desk beneath the glow of your small reading lamp, scribbling into your worn leather-bound logbook. Your handwriting flowed like gentle waves as you recounted everything: the field report from earlier that day, the strange movement you’d seen on the shore, and most of all—the merman.

You paused, eyes flicking toward the bed where Hyunjin lay now, blanket pulled loosely around his waist, his breathing deep and even. The soft rise and fall of his chest, the way his fingers curled slightly near his face—it all looked so… human. But you’d seen his tail. You’d seen the shimmer of his scales and the way pain bent his body like a broken current.

He wasn’t human. But somehow, he didn’t feel entirely otherworldly either.

You sighed, placing your pen down and closing the log gently with a satisfying thud. You stared at the bed again, then made your quiet decision.

You grabbed a spare pillow and a folded fleece blanket from the closet, spread it out on the floor beside the bed, and slid down into the makeshift sleeping space. It wasn’t the most comfortable, but you didn’t care. He needed the bed more than you did. And somehow, you liked the idea of being close. Close enough to keep watch.

Sleep took you slowly, like the tide, and you drifted off with the faint sound of the ocean still playing in your head.

---

A loud, unfamiliar clink stirred you awake.

Then another—followed by a slosh. Your brows furrowed, lashes fluttering as you pushed the blanket off your face. The light pouring in from the window told you it was early. But something else reminded you you weren’t alone in the room.

Splash.

Y/N sat up immediately. And then blinked.

“…Hyunjin?”

Your voice was rough with sleep, but the sight before you yanked you into full alertness.

The door to your small bathroom was wide open. Inside, the floor was gleaming with droplets, like a trail of spilled moonlight. And in the middle of your bathtub—full, nearly overflowing with water—sat Hyunjin. He was half-submerged, his elbows propped on the edge of the tub, chin resting on his forearm like a lounging sea prince. His hair was wet again, slicked back to reveal his sharp cheekbones and curious gaze, which locked on yours the moment he heard your voice.

And trailing out of the bathtub—spilling onto the tile floor—was his tail.

It shimmered in the light, the scales shifting colors with every ripple of water: deep ocean blue, obsidian black, hints of silvery green. It flicked lazily now and then, the end curling like a question mark, his fin slightly translucent at the edges.

You stared, eyes wide.

“You… turned back?” you whispered, rising slowly to your feet. “How did you—?”

“I woke. Body… ache,” he said in his soft, careful voice. “Needed water.” He gestured to the bathtub with a small, proud smile. “Tub… good. Like sea. Not same. But… good.”

You looked around. He’d figured out the faucet. The floor was wet, sure—but not flooded. He’d used one of your measuring pitchers to balance the temperature—no idea how he got that down. And here he was. Tail out. Glowing like something carved by the sea gods.

Y/N ran a hand through your hair and groaned with a small laugh. “You… literal fish man. You really filled my tub with your sexy dolphin tail.”

He tilted his head. “Sexy… dolphin?”

“Never mind,” you chuckled, rubbing your temples. “Just—next time, ask. Or at least… splash quieter.”

Hyunjin’s laugh was soft but genuine, almost like bubbles rising to the surface.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” you muttered, grabbing a towel to mop the floor. “Now we’re both going to smell like salt for the next two weeks.”

He watched you as you moved around, his smile warm. When you glanced back at him, his tail gave a little flick of contentment.

“Tub good,” he said again, like it was the highest compliment.

You shook your head, biting back a grin. “I’ll add that to my log. Merman approves of modern plumbing.”

The bathroom was thick with the scent of saltwater, warm mist curling lazily in the air as sunlight spilled through the cracked window. You stood at the threshold, arms folded loosely across your chest, watching the way Hyunjin’s tail stirred the bathwater like it was second nature.

He looked so at peace there. As if the bathtub, as absurdly small as it was, offered him a sliver of his world again—something familiar. Something that didn’t bleed pain.

You leaned your shoulder against the doorframe. “You look… better.”

Hyunjin opened one eye, gaze drifting up to your face. He blinked slowly, lips curling just slightly at the corners. “Water helps.”

You nodded, chewing on the inside of her cheek for a second. “Yeah, I figured.”

A pause settled. Not awkward—just thick with thought. You stepped closer and sat on the closed toilet lid, knees brushing the side of the tub. Your voice came quieter this time.

“Hyunjin…”

He tilted his head again, curious. “We have to figure out a way to get you back to the ocean.”

At first, there was no reaction.

Then, slowly, his shoulders tensed. The warm contentment in his gaze flickered, lips parting just slightly in confusion—or hesitation.

“I mean,” you rushed gently, “you can’t stay in my dorm forever. As much as I’m enjoying the company of a bathtub-dwelling sea prince, I don’t think my RA will approve.”

He gave a breath of a laugh, but it was hollow. He dropped his gaze to the water, scales catching in the light. For a long moment, he didn’t speak. The water lapped quietly against the porcelain. When he finally did respond, it was soft. Barely a whisper.

“Not… ready.”

Your heart ached at that.

“Is it because of what happened?” you asked gently, reaching out to rest your hand on the edge of the tub near his own. “Are you scared to go back?”

He looked at your then, really looked eyes dark like the deep, searching for something in your expression. He opened his mouth. Closed it. Struggled with the words.

Then, carefully, he said, “Scared… of alone.”

The silence that followed hit like a wave crashing the shoreline.

You blinked, your chest tightening. You hadn’t expected that. Not from a being who came from an entire world beneath the surface. But now… now he was stranded in yours. And he didn’t want to be alone in either.

“You’re not alone,” you whispered.

He nodded slowly, as if he wanted to believe you. His hand brushed yours, just barely like the kiss of tide on a docked boat. You squeezed it gently. “We’ll find a way to get you back home. Together.” Hyunjin exhaled through his nose, his tail flicking once like a nod of agreement. Then he looked at you again, lips twitching into something soft and shy. But when you glanced up, his expression wasn’t dreamy anymore.

It was far away. Cold. Haunted. You lowered her voice. “Hyunjin?” He blinked once, then slowly met your gaze.

“I remember,” he whispered.

Your heart stumbled in her chest. “You remember what?” He hesitated—like dragging words up from the deep cost him something.

“The cages,” he said softly, and your breath hitched.

He looked down at the water, hands gripping the edges of the tub, knuckles pale. “They came. On boats. Bigger than yours. With hooks that burned. With nets that… screamed.”

You felt your throat close. He wasn’t just recounting—he was reliving.

“They pulled us out. My family… my brothers… We didn’t understand. We tried to speak. They laughed.” His jaw trembled. “They cut us open. Not to eat. Not for anger. Just… to look.”

“Hyunjin,” you whispered, moving closer, your hand brushing his arm gently.

His tail shifted beneath the surface like a restless tide, voice shaking. “They said we were myths. That we shouldn’t exist. But we did. We lived. We danced. We sang under the moon.” He paused, a tremor rushing through his body. “And now… they are gone.”

You sat in silence, the ache in your chest thick and rising. Your fingertips curled into the towel on your lap.

“All of them?” you asked softly. His eyes slowly lifted to yours, endless, broken.

“I’m the last.”

The room went quiet. No ocean, no gulls, no passing footsteps. Just the sound of a tub barely large enough to hold grief this deep. You reached for him. Not out of pity—but reverence. Your hand slid over his, grounding.  held him like you weren’t afraid of the saltwater or the sorrow or the truth that he carried in his bones.

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered, and you meant it with your whole being. “You shouldn’t have to carry that.”

“I don’t want to forget them,” he said.

“Then we won’t let them be forgotten,” you replied, tears burning the edges of your voice. “Tell me everything. Their names. The songs. The dances. I’ll write them all. I’ll remember with you.”

His lips parted, chest rising unevenly. Then, slowly, he gave a tiny nod—his hand tightening over yours.

He didn’t thank her with words. He didn’t need to.

Because when you’re the last echo of an entire people, the quiet presence of someone who sees you… is the loudest mercy of all.

---

The morning had unraveled gently around them, filled with soft conversation and the occasional sound of water lapping against porcelain. Hyunjin had calmed, though shadows still lingered beneath his eyes. You were crouched in front of your closet now, pulling out a simple change of clothes—comfortable sweats and a hoodie that would look oversized even on you, let alone on him.

You placed them on the edge of the bed beside a small plate of fruits and crackers. “This should keep you a little full,” you said, giving him a soft look, “I know you said you weren’t hungry, but… in case your stomach changes its mind.”

Hyunjin was sitting on the bed, towel-dried hair falling messily over his collarbones, legs tucked up to his chest like he still wasn’t quite used to them. His tail had faded with the morning light, and in its place were long, lean limbs that still trembled slightly with every shift of movement. But he was healing. Slowly. Carefully.

“I have to go… just for a few hours,” you murmured, grabbing your ID badge and stuffing it into the front pocket of your hoodie.

He looked up fast, eyes wide and sharp. “Go?” His voice was raspy, like the word didn’t sit right in his throat. “Now?”

You smiled gently, walking over to sit beside him. “I don’t want to, trust me. But if I don’t show up, they’ll come looking. And I really don’t want them knocking on this door and finding you trying to nap in the tub.” He tilted his head, visibly uncomfortable. His fingers flexed at his sides like he didn’t quite know what to say—but his eyes said it all. Stay. Please.

“I’ll be back,” you reassured him, brushing a strand of damp hair behind his ear, “I promise. I just need to clock in, finish some reports, act like I didn’t rescue a literal myth from the shoreline last night, and then I’m yours again. Sound fair?”

He didn’t answer right away, but his shoulders slumped, the tension bleeding out with a quiet exhale. “I don’t… like it.”

Your heart pulled. “I know.”

“Danger,” he murmured, voice low. “Land is… danger.”

“I’ve survived it this long,” you smiled, though it was sad around the edges. “But thank you for caring.”

Then, you stood, walking to your desk to grab a notepad and scribbled something down. Walking back, you handed it to him.

“If anyone knocks—anyone at all—you go into the bathroom, lock the door, and don’t make a sound. There’s a towel in the cabinet and a curtain you can pull over the tub. Got it?”

Hyunjin studied the paper like it was sacred. Then, nodding slowly, he whispered, “Hide.”

“Good boy,” you grinned, ruffling his hair gently. He blushed hard—cheeks blooming red under his damp skin—but he looked pleased.

You leaned down, grabbed a soft knit blanket from the end of the bed, and draped it over his lap. “Just rest. Try on the clothes if you’re comfortable. Explore. Don’t break anything. And don’t open the door, even if someone says my name.”

Hyunjin’s brows furrowed like he wanted to say more—but instead, he reached out slowly and brushed your pinky with his, like he was trying to hold on to you in the smallest way he knew how.

You looked at him, then gently squeezed his hand. “I’ll be back before sunset.”

As you turned to go, bag slung over your shoulder and heart heavy in your chest, you heard him say softly behind you—

“Y/N?”

You turned. “You smell like the ocean.” A faint smile pulled at his lips. “I think that’s why I trust you.”

Your throat went tight. You didn’t know how to respond. So, you slipped out the door, locking it behind you.

---

The sun was sharp overhead, glinting off the glass walls of the Marine Research Center as Y/N swiped her badge through the scanner. The soft beep welcomed her back to the real world—where mythical creatures didn’t exist, and last night’s discovery would’ve landed her in a padded room if she ever breathed a word of it.

She plastered on a neutral smile as she passed the lobby, offering a quick wave to her supervisor, Dr. Malia, who was already deep in conversation with another researcher over a cup of instant coffee.

“Y/N, you’re just in time,” Malia called over, barely glancing up from her tablet. “Need you in Lab 3—readings from yesterday’s dive are showing some unusual activity along the southern ridge.”

Y/N nodded politely, her voice calm. “On it.”

She moved quickly, weaving past teams in wetsuits, interns in scrubs, and walls lined with aquatic maps. But her thoughts were miles away—in a warm dorm room with closed blinds, behind a locked door, where a water-dwelling boy was hopefully still curled up on the bed.

She exhaled through her nose, trying to focus. Inside Lab 3, the familiar hum of machines and the smell of sea salt clung to the air. The monitors flickered with sonar readings and temperature charts, but the moment she saw the movement spikes from the southern ridge, her heart skipped.

That’s where she found him.

The readings pulsed—faint tremors of large movement—but they were irregular, like something had been moving there for a while and suddenly stopped. No wonder the team wanted it flagged. If only they knew.

She sat down at her console, running diagnostics. Her fingers moved, but her mind kept drifting. To Hyunjin's voice, unsure but velvet-smooth. “You good?” a voice asked, breaking through her daze.

She blinked. It was Lani, one of her coworkers, tilting her head curiously as she leaned on the desk beside her. “You seem… somewhere else.”

Y/N forced a soft laugh. “Didn’t sleep much.”

Lani narrowed her eyes teasingly. “Didn’t sleep much or didn’t sleep?”

“Oh my God, not like that,” Y/N scoffed, cheeks warming way too quickly. “I just… got caught up with notes. You know me and my midnight logs.”

“Mm-hmm,” Lani smirked, clearly not buying it. “Well, just don’t die on me before lunch. You owe me ramen.” Y/N waved her off with a small chuckle as the screen lit up again with another pulse. Her heart jumped, but she masked it under a yawn.

She needed to finish up these reports, make an excuse to head back early, and double-check that Hyunjin hadn’t started opening windows or something.

---

The walk back from the Marine Center was a blur. You had shoved your reports into your bag, mumbled something about needing to rest, and practically sprinted the last two blocks to your dorm with a plastic bag swinging at your side—filled with warm rice bowls, fresh fruit, and the kind of seaweed snacks you figured a merman might vibe with. Your key fumbled in the lock for a second—your heart already racing ahead of your hands.

Click.

You swung the door open—

—and the world softened.

There he was. Hyunjin was sprawled lazily across your bed, legs tangled in the sheets, water clinging to the tips of his constantly-damp hair as it curled messily around his face. You’d have to figure out where the heck the water came from. He was hunched over the tiny wooden chess set you kept on your shelf for decoration, eyes narrowed in fascination as he moved a knight and immediately tried to counter it with a bishop—against himself. Like he was having a full-on strategic war solo.

He looked up the moment the door creaked open. His eyes lit up like sunrise on open water.

And then he chirped—a soft, echoing, melodic sound that rippled from his throat and filled the room like a song sung underwater. It was strange and beautiful, rising and falling like a tide, and loud enough to startle you into stillness.

You blinked.

“…What was that?” you asked through a surprised laugh, dropping the bag onto your desk. “Was that—was that a hello?”

Hyunjin’s lips curled into the most angelic, boyish smile as he sat up straighter, fingers still ghosting over a rook. “It means…” He touched his chest, then motioned towards yours, and looked you in the eye. “Warm return.”

Your breath caught. “You mean like... welcome back?” He nodded, then shyly added, “But more.”

You didn’t know what to do with that for a second, heart thudding stupidly hard. “Well… warm return to you too, I guess,” you teased, brushing your hair back and walking over to him. “I brought food.”

Hyunjin tilted his head, sniffing the air like a curious cat. “It smells… green.”

“It’s seaweed,” you grinned. “And rice, and a few other things that won’t kill your stomach. I promise.” He took the bag from your hands slowly, reverently, like it was a gift from a goddess. You handed him chopsticks, and he stared at them like they were mini swords.

You sat beside him, close enough that your shoulders brushed. “So… how was your day, Fish Prince?”

“Strange,” he said after chewing thoughtfully. “The mirror makes my face look upside down if I bend over it. And the blanket trap is warm.” You snorted. “It’s called tucking yourself in. And you’re supposed to sleep under it, not roll into a sushi burrito.”

Hyunjin mimicked “sushi burrito” to himself and giggled behind the rice bowl. Your chest bloomed at the sound.

Once he’d eaten his fill, you leaned back against the headboard, pulling one leg up and chewing your lip.

“I’ve been thinking,” you said softly, eyes flicking to him. “We… we can’t keep you here forever. You need to get back to the ocean. I know where. Quiet, but… it’ll be hard, but I think I can get you there soon. It’s just—people might be watching the coast. We’ll need to be careful.”

Hyunjin’s eyes darkened slightly with understanding. “Return?” he asked, voice gentler.

You nodded. He looked down at his hands, curling his fingers in thought. Then he whispered, “I trust you.”

You reached over and brushed a bit of rice off his cheek. “Then we better make a plan.”

You sat cross-legged on the bed, notepad in hand, your brows furrowed as you sketched out a rough timeline. A coastal tide map was open beside you, and your pencil tapped restlessly against the paper.

“We’ll need to leave before dawn,” you murmured, half to yourself, half to the echo of the plan forming in your head. “Maybe tonight. I can grab wetsuits, maybe—”

You felt it again. That unrelenting gaze. Without even looking up, you sighed through a soft laugh. “Hyunjin… I’ve warned you about staring.” His voice came slow, curious, like he was rolling the words on his tongue. “But you’re… beautiful when you think. Your eyes talk.”

That made you blink up at him. He was sitting at the foot of the bed now, curled in the blanket he refused to let go of, legs drawn up like a question mark, hair falling in soft curtains around his face. His eyes were impossibly focused—on your lips, your cheeks, your very being.

“Humans…” he started slowly, “How do they show… when they love?”

You tilted her head. “Love?”

He nodded, a gentle seriousness washing over his face. “Like… like how I feel when you smile. Or when you came back, and I thought the room had air again.”

You didn’t speak for a second. Your heart was stuttering, and your mouth had gone dry.

“Well…” you said, voice a bit shaky but trying to sound casual. “We hug. We hold hands. We kiss. We say things—sometimes silly, sometimes deep. It depends.”

Hyunjin listened like a student before a sacred text. “And what does a kiss mean?” You looked at him then. Really looked. “It means… I see you. I trust you. It’s… a kind of giving. A promise. Sometimes it’s just fun. Sometimes it’s everything.”

There was a pause. A silence soaked in something heavy and gentle.

Then—

“In my world,” Hyunjin said softly, “We sing in pairs. The song is just for the one we love. It never sounds the same with anyone else. And we dance, too. Not with our feet… but with the way we move through the water together. Like… like we’re breathing in the same rhythm.”

You smiled, heart tightening. “That’s beautiful,” you whispered.

He studied you for another long beat. “Can I… try it?” he asked. “Your way. The human way.”

You blinked, startled. “You… you want to kiss me?” He nodded, slow but sure. “I think I love you,” he said simply. “And I want you to know. I want to speak it in your language.”

You opened your mouth to respond, to tell him that you both were nothing close to a relationship, but your breath caught somewhere in your throat—and he moved forward, leaning in with a hesitancy that felt sacred. Like he was approaching a sunrise.

His fingers brushed your cheek, light as a question. His gaze dipped to your lips.

And then—

He kissed you. You were beginning to think he’d seen other people do this for him to know what to do. A couple by the sea, workers on deck sneaking around. It was soft at first—like he was learning her shape. Testing how their worlds aligned at the edges. His lips were warm, gentle, tasting of salt and curiosity. He lingered for a breath, then another, before pulling back just slightly… and resting his forehead against hers.

You hadn’t moved. Couldn’t move.

He whispered, “Did I do it right?”

You let out a breathless laugh, eyes closing. “You did…it? I guess…”

Your fingers hovered near your lips, the ghost of his kiss still blooming like an aftertaste. Hyunjin was watching you again—his eyes wide, waiting, like he wasn’t sure if he’d crossed a line or unlocked a door. “That was…” you cleared your throat, heart thudding as she tried to find her voice. “Really good for a first time. But um… kissing has a bit of a rhythm to it. Like your songs, remember?”

He tilted his head. “Like a… duet?”

You smiled despite herself. “Exactly.” He leaned forward again, a little too eager, and you giggled, pushing him back gently. “Okay, no pouncing. Let’s take this slow. Follow my lead.”

You shifted closer on the bed, cupping his face softly. His cheeks were so warm under your touch. “When we kiss,” you whispered, “don’t just press in. Feel it. Think of it like… listening with your lips.” He nodded once, completely enthralled.  Why were you doing this? You’re teaching a merman how to kiss? Not like he’s going to need it in the future or anything. Your noses brushed, breaths mingling—and then you kissed him again.

This time, it was slower. Softer. Your lips met in a careful rhythm, Hyunjin mimicking your movements like a dancer finally learning the steps. He let out the smallest sound—something between a hum and a purr, low and delicate, and so intimate it sent a shock down your spine.

Your body tensed involuntarily.

That sound. It curled around your spine like heat. It wasn't just affectionate—it was sensual, primal in a way he likely didn’t even understand. You gasped, pulling back suddenly, your eyes wide and cheeks flushed.

Hyunjin blinked, confused. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No! No, no—” you laughed nervously, waving your hands, desperate to cool your face and your hormones. “That was… you’re doing great. You’re… a very fast learner.”

He beamed. “So, we kiss more now?”

“Absolutely not!” you squeaked, scrambling for your notepad like it was a lifeline. “We’re gonna focus on the plan, okay? The plan. The whole get-you-back-to-the-ocean thing. Remember that?”

Hyunjin pouted, flopping back onto the mattress, watching you with lidded eyes and a pout that was frankly unfair. You kept your gaze firmly on your scribbles.

“Okay,” you muttered to herself, “tonight tops, avoid the main marine patrol routes, smuggle you through the south dock…”

“I like kissing,” Hyunjin said helpfully behind you.

“Hyunjin,” you warned, voice tight.

“Yes?”

“Please. Let me focus.”

“Okay,” he said sweetly. “But after?”

You buried your face in your hands.

God help you. You were going to need a stronger distraction than a map and a marker.

---

The cold air bit at Y/N’s skin as she tightened her hoodie around her body, footsteps soft against the gravel path leading away from her dorm. Midnight painted everything in shadows and silver light. The marine center’s lab lights were off for the night, save for the emergency glow that hummed faintly near the edges of the supply shed.

Clutching a small bag and her keycard, Y/N glanced over her shoulder once more. Every step away from Hyunjin made her chest tighten, like some part of her knew he was still watching her from that tub, curled in warmth, eyes glowing in moonlight.

She just needed supplies. Just gauze, saline, maybe a blanket or two. Nothing traceable. Nothing suspicious. She’d just swiped her card through the lock when—

“Y/N?”

She flinched like a thief, spinning fast. A flashlight flicked on, landing on her face. Oh crap.

“Layla?” she blurted, blinking against the light.

Layla—a fellow researcher and one of her dorm neighbors—lowered the flashlight, brows raised, dark hair tied up in a sleepy bun. She was in sweatpants and a coat, holding a mug of tea like she’d only just come out for air.

“What are you doing out here? It’s almost 1 AM.”

Y/N froze. Her mind raced. Say something normal. Say something smart.

“Oh! Uh… I forgot I left my sketchbook in the lab,” she lied quickly, offering a sheepish grin. “Needed it for some ideas I had about tide cycles.” Layla tilted her head. “You’re sketching tide cycles? At midnight?” Y/N laughed nervously, cringing internally. “You know me. I get randomly inspired. Couldn’t sleep, so I figured I’d be productive.”

There was a long beat. Layla sipped her tea slowly, watching her. “…You okay though? You look kind of… flushed.”

“Flushed?” Y/N swallowed. Was she still red from the kissing? Oh God. “Probably just the chill. I was in bed and didn’t think I’d be out long.”

“Hmm.” Layla nodded, then smiled, yawning. “Well, don’t stay out too long. If Dr. Malia catches you raiding the supply kit again, she’ll have a fit.”

“Noted,” Y/N said, exhaling as her friend turned to head back to the dorm. Y/N waited until she disappeared from sight before slipping into the shed. Her fingers were shaking—part nerves, part adrenaline.

She gathered what she needed in under five minutes: more gauze, protein bars, wet cloths, a heating pad. As she stuffed the supplies into her bag, her heart thrummed like a drumbeat in her ears.

Not from fear. From urgency. Hyunjin needed to go back. And soon.

Because the longer he stayed…the harder it was going to be to let him go.

Y/N’s hand hovered above Hyunjin’s shoulder, hesitant to wake him. He looked peaceful in her bed, for once. The soft light of dawn hadn’t broken yet—only a bluish tint stretched across the room, casting shadows on his long limbs tangled in the blanket. His hair was damp against the pillow, tail gone now, legs stretched awkwardly, human again—but still otherworldly.

She knelt beside him and gently touched his shoulder. “Hyunjin,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Wake up. It’s time.” He stirred immediately, blinking hazily. When he saw her face, something in his gaze shifted—alert now. He sat up, brows furrowing. No questions. He trusted her.

She offered a towel and a pair of her loose marine trousers. “Dry off. You’ll need these,” she murmured, glancing at the door.

Hyunjin obeyed, fumbling with the fabric but managing to wrap the towel around his waist and slide the pants on, even if a bit clumsily. His legs were stronger now, steadier. She helped him with the drawstring, their fingers brushing—brief, electric.

They moved like ghosts through the building—silent, invisible. Y/N led them down the emergency stairwell, the soles of their feet brushing the cold tile, their breaths caught in their throats. Every creak of a door sounded like a shout. She held her breath when they passed the night guard’s office, her hand clutching Hyunjin’s tight.

He looked at her like she was leading him to the stars. Once they hit the back doors, Y/N paused, peering through the narrow glass pane. The coast behind the center was calm, the water like ink under the faintest touch of moonlight.

“Now,” she whispered, and they slipped out.

The small boat was waiting—an old rowboat with a modest engine, one she’d repaired herself last year during maintenance season. Hyunjin stepped into the shallows with careful feet, his balance off but improving. She helped him in, her hands steadying his arms.

He sat on the edge of the bench seat, watching her like she was a miracle in motion. Y/N climbed in behind him, heart thundering, hands quickly working over the ignition. The soft whirr-click of the engine starting filled the air.

They were moving.

The boat glided over the glassy water, away from the shore, away from the dorm, the marine center, the human world—just the two of them under the sliver of a moon. Wind tugged at her hair. Salt kissed her lips. Hyunjin was quiet beside her, eyes wide as he watched the horizon.

Y/N gripped the steering handle, jaw set.

This was it. No turning back now.

The boat rocked gently under the hush of the very early morning sky, the sound of soft waves licking against the sides blending with the distant hum of the world still asleep.

Y/N had steered them just far enough—beyond the line where marine patrols might sweep through, but close enough that she could come up with a believable excuse if someone questioned her presence.

“We’re not far,” she muttered, cutting the engine so they drifted in silence now. “This should be okay, but I still have to think of what I’ll tell them—God, maybe I’ll say I came out to chart the tides or observe plankton migration. No, that sounds stupid—ugh, maybe I can say I dropped something, like a waterproof recorder—do I even own a waterproof recorder?”

She kept talking, eyes darting around, hands nervously adjusting the rope tied to the oar, the bag at her feet, anything to keep from looking at him.

“You have to go now,” she said, finally turning. “We don’t have time, and if they find me out here with you—”

Her voice faltered when her eyes met his.

Hyunjin wasn’t moving. He wasn’t scrambling to dive in, or panicking. He just sat there, elbows resting on his knees, watching her with those impossibly soft eyes—dark, vast, unreadable, like the very ocean they sat on. His gaze held her steady, like he was anchoring her to this moment.

She swallowed hard.

“You have to hurry,” she tried again, forcing the words through the tightness in her throat. She looked away, blinking fast. “Please. Before someone sees.”

But her voice betrayed her—too brittle. Her hand tightened around the edge of the boat, nails digging into the old wood. She couldn’t let herself feel this. They haven’t even spent a week together and she felt like it’d been a year already. It was probably the kiss.

Not now.

Not when he was looking at her like that. Like she was home. Hyunjin tilted his head slightly, the sea breeze playing with the strands of damp hair framing his face. He reached out gently, not touching her yet—just hovering his fingers near hers.

Still, he said nothing.

He didn’t have to. The boat drifted in a hush, the world wrapped in that soft pre-dawn blue that made everything feel suspended in time.

Hyunjin stood barefoot on the edge of the boat, trousers abandoned in a loose heap beside him. His tail shimmered into view under the moonlight—pearlescent blues and silvers catching the glow like he was carved from the ocean itself. Water dripped from his skin, running down the length of his scales in lazy trails, and yet… he hesitated.

He looked back at you.

You stood there, arms crossed like you were trying to hold yourself together, chin tilted up in some desperate attempt at bravery—but your eyes were glassy, your throat tight. What was wrong with you?

“You need to go,” you said softly, a weak smile tugging at your lips. “Now, Hyunjin.”

But you didn’t sound convincing. Not even to yourself. And maybe he sensed it.

Because he didn’t jump. He turned to you fully, sitting on the boat’s edge, and leaned in. His hand cupped your cheek so tenderly it undid the dam you were trying so hard to hold up and before you could even breathe, he kissed you.

It was soft, warm, filled with something far more permanent than either of them had planned for. He pulled back an inch, just enough to see your stunned face.

And then he kissed your again—deeper this time, like he wanted to remember what you tasted like. When you finally pulled apart, you gave a breathless laugh, blinking through the tears brimming in your lashes.

“You’re getting better,” you whispered, brushing your fingers down his jaw. “Every time.”

Your smile faded. “But you seriously have to go now. Before it’s too late.”

He looked like he wanted to argue, to stay just one more second, to soak you in a little longer. Before you could counter your actions, you gently pushed his shoulder.

“Go,” you whispered, voice cracking. “Please.”

He let himself fall backwards into the sea with a graceful splash, tail flicking in one final arc.

You didn’t waste time. She threw a decoy box—full of ocean samples, broken equipment, anything you could gather last minute—into the water. It hit the surface right as a voice called out behind her.

“Y/N? What the hell are you doing out here?” It was your manager.

You snapped your head toward the shore. “Oh—hey! Sorry! I dropped a specimen container during a test dive last night. I came back to look for it before the tide took it.”

The manager frowned, clearly annoyed but unconvinced enough to challenge you. “At this hour?”

You forced a tired laugh. “I couldn’t sleep. Figured I’d get it done now before the boats start moving.” He gave a grumble of approval and walked away without another word. You turned back to the sea, breath caught in her throat.

The surface rippled gently… and there he was. Just beneath the water, Hyunjin’s eyes gleamed in the dark. He looked at her with that same softness from before. One last goodbye.

Then, as if the ocean itself responded to his emotions, he let out a sound—not a word, not a call. Just a song. A pulse of something deep and ancient and mournful that rippled across the water like a shiver.

It hit her like a memory she never had, aching in her chest.

Her tears finally slipped free.

Just a few. But enough.

“Goodbye,” she whispered.

I hope it's okay I'm getting better ideas I promise 🙏

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[jitrulyslayyed]

𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐏𝐚𝐰𝐧

Pairing: richkid!felix x richkid!afab!reader, established relationship, non idol au,

Synopsis: the night after your graduation, you and Felix spend some time together. But wealth comes with a price and he's willing to fight for you.

Warnings: suggestive, angst, comfort, Felix swears

A/n: if you have extra eyes for errors no you don't

You were the kind of girl who turned heads and left whispers in her wake. Not because you tried but because everything about you screamed unreachable. Daddy’s favorite. Expensive perfume. Lips that looked like secrets. You and Felix had ruled your private school like royalty—matching designer uniforms, eyes only for each other, and enough tension to make people look away out of respect. Both of you came from families who had money longer than most people had family trees. Mansions with echoing halls, old paintings, and staff who knew to knock once, then disappear. But while your parents believed in power dinners and pearls, Felix’s family dripped in chaos and generational wealth wrapped in leather and fast cars. He was the black sheep with platinum blonde hair, a jawline you could cut a diamond on, and the kind of smirk that made rules feel like suggestions.

And tonight? The rules didn’t exist.

8:42 PM.

The text came in while you were still glossing your lips.

Felix💕 : They just left. Pool’s heated. Door’s open.

Felix💕 : Bring that blue set. You know the one I like.

Felix💕: But lose it before you get in the water.

And a devil emoji.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at your mouth. You slipped into that tiny electric blue bikini that wasn’t even technically legal and threw a hoodie over it. The Bentley your dad gifted you for surviving your first year of uni purred as you pulled out of your family’s circular driveway. You didn’t need the address. You’d memorized every curve of that road to Felix’s house. More than that, you'd memorized every inch of him.

The butler—Mr. Sang—opened the front doors before you even knocked. “Miss Y/N,” he said with a neutral face, though you swore you saw the tiniest twitch of a smile. “He’s expecting you. He’s outside by the pool.”

“Thanks, Mr. Sang. You always keep it classy,” you grinned. Your bare feet padded across the marble floors, through the open hallway, and out into the night air.

The pool looked like something out of a luxury ad. Wide, glassy, glowing cyan under the moonlight. Speakers tucked into hidden corners played that sultry R&B playlist Felix swore he made just for you though you’d caught him using it on other occasions. Still, he insisted, "No one makes me use it like you do, babygirl."

And there he was. Chest bare, dripping wet, perched on the edge of the pool like a Greek god someone turned into a spoiled rich boy. His blonde hair stuck to his forehead, a silver chain clinging to his collarbones, black swim trunks riding low on his hips. He looked up, saw you, and that smirk broke across his lips like sin.

“Took you long enough,” he drawled. “I was starting to think you were scared to come play.” You sauntered forward, shrugging off your hoodie so it slid down your shoulders, slow and intentional.

“I’m not scared of you, baby. I’m scared of what I might do to you.” He groaned—actually groaned—and fell backward into the water with a splash, like your presence physically knocked the air out of him. You stopped just a few feet from the water’s edge, the breeze kissing your skin as you pulled off the hoodie and tossed it to the nearest lounge chair. The moment the blue bikini hit the open air, Felix sat up straighter in the pool, his eyes locked onto you like a hawk spotting its prey. A slow whistle slipped past his lips. “I thought I asked you to lose the bikini.”

You raised a brow, crossing your arms under your chest, your hips cocked to the side. “And I thought I told you I’m not going skinny dipping with you, Lee Felix.”

He let out a dramatic sigh, water dripping off his abs as he leaned back on his elbows in the shallow end, head tilted as he looked you over with a hunger that was more worship than want.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered, licking his bottom lip slowly. “You show up looking like that, acting like you didn’t come here to ruin me.” Then louder, just for you: “You’re a fucking goddess, you know that?”

A slow smile curled your lips as you pulled your hair up into a lazy bun. “And you’re just realizing this now?” you teased, your voice like silk dipped in amusement. He let out a breathless laugh, shaking his head, his hand gliding over the surface of the water as he waited for you. “Come here already.”

You took a step forward, toes slipping into the heated water, then another, feeling it wrap around your skin like a luxurious embrace. The pool lights lit your body from beneath, and Felix swore you looked unreal, like some forbidden deity crawling from moonlight. You glided toward him until you stood chest-deep, only inches away.

“Hi,” you said softly, almost like a secret, voice warm and teasing.

Felix reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against your waist before circling around you. “Hi,” he whispered back, eyes only on your mouth now. And then you leaned in—slow, electric, intentional—and kissed him. It wasn’t rushed. It was deliberate his lips parted the moment yours touched, your hands bracing against his chest, his arms wrapping around your waist underwater, pulling you closer like he needed you to breathe.

His mouth moved with practiced hunger, but there was reverence in the way he kissed you. As if he knew how dangerous this was. As if kissing you might be the start of something he couldn’t undo. Water rippled around you as your bodies pressed together, soft gasps tangled between the kisses, your hand sliding up to grip his hair as he deepened it with a growl so low it reverberated in your ribs.

Finally, when you pulled away for breath, your foreheads touched.

“Don’t convince me to skinny dip,” you whispered. Felix grinned against your mouth, voice rough, eyes dark. “Fine,” he said, “but I’m still getting that bikini off you tonight.”

The kiss deepened with a kind of hunger neither of you were trying to hide anymore. Felix pulled you in tighter, his hands gliding beneath the water one settling at the small of your back, the other tracing the curve of your thigh like he was memorizing you by feel.

You tilted your head, gasping softly as he kissed down your jaw, lips wet and warm against your skin. “Felix…” you murmured, your voice feathering into a moan when he nipped lightly at your neck, water sloshing gently around your tangled bodies. His fingers danced along the side of your bikini bottoms now, low enough to make your breath hitch, high enough to keep you guessing.

“You drive me insane,” he whispered, voice like gravel and honey. “You feel like a dream in my hands, babygirl.” You didn’t get the chance to answer because just as Felix’s hand slipped a little too high—

“Ahem.”

The voice sliced through the moment like a blade. You practically jumped out of your skin, gasping as your arms shot to your chest, turning sharply toward the source of the interruption.

Felix groaned audibly. “Mr. Sang! Could you at least knock or jingle some bells or something? We’re out here trying to have a moment!” Mr. Sang stood a few feet away at the edge of the pool deck, tray in hand, expression unreadable as ever.

“I do not knock on open air, sir,” he said dryly, eyes deliberately trained toward the hedges behind you both. “Your champagne is ready, as requested.” Still trying to regulate your breathing (and your rapidly heating cheeks), you covered your face with your hands and stifled a laugh. “Thank you, Mr. Sang,” you said with a little giggle.

“You’re welcome, Miss,” he replied, not missing a beat. Then, without another word or even the twitch of a smile, he pivoted cleanly on his polished shoes and disappeared back into the mansion, tray left on the side table nearby. Felix sighed and scrubbed his face with both hands. “He does this every single time, I swear.”

You raised a brow, finally recovering enough to swim back toward the edge with a teasing smirk. “Well, maybe if we weren’t about to get it on in his line of sight—”

“You were just starting to let me be great,” he said with a whine, climbing out of the pool with that unfair, soaked Adonis body. Water glided down his torso as he walked over to grab the champagne tray. “The man’s got built-in cockblock radar.” You tried not to laugh as your eyes subtly followed the movement of his back, all lean muscle and wet skin. “I mean… he's good at his job,” you said innocently.

He came back with the tray, handing you your flute with a raised brow. “He’s lucky I like him. Otherwise I’d fire him for the emotional damage.” You clinked your glass with his, chuckling. “To emotional damage, then.” Felix sipped and hummed in approval. “Mmm. Nothing says romance like being interrupted right before I commit several crimes in the pool.” You shook your head and leaned back against the tile. “You’re so dramatic.”

“And you,” he said, gaze dropping to your lips again, “are lucky Mr. Sang has impeccable timing… or I wouldn’t have stopped.” You bit your lip. “I didn’t ask you to.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Say that again.” You sipped your champagne, deliberately teasing, the smirk on your lips a silent challenge. “I said… I didn’t ask you to stop.”

Felix took a slow step forward, water reaching his hips, eyes dark and locked on you like you were prey and he was starving.

“Finish your drink, baby,” he said smoothly. “You just signed a contract you can’t back out of.”

The cool fizz of champagne slid down your throat as you floated near the edge, the night wrapped around you in velvet quiet. The earlier tension had melted into a soft calm, the kind of hush that only came after adrenaline and laughter had run their course.

Felix leaned beside you, his arm resting along the ledge of the pool, fingers occasionally trailing lazy circles in the water beside yours. You glanced at him, chin slightly tilted. “So,” you murmured, “now that we’ve graduated… what’s next for you, Felix?”

He blinked, caught off guard for a moment, then gave a small chuckle. “Damn. You just went from ‘let me straddle you in the pool’ to ‘career counseling’ real fast.”

You laughed. “Sorry! I’m just curious. I mean… you could do literally anything, you know?”

Felix looked up toward the sky, eyes soft, lashes fluttering like he was counting stars to avoid something heavier. “Yeah, that’s the problem, though. I can do anything… but I don’t know what I want to do.” He paused. “My parents want me to take over the business. Something about legacy, honor, ‘don’t embarrass the family name’—you know, classic rich people pressure.”

You frowned, watching his jaw tighten. “But you don’t want that.”

He shook his head, voice quieter now. “I want something that’s mine. I don’t wanna live in a house filled with my dad’s portraits and my mom’s glass trophies and pretend like I care about shipping and logistics or hedge funds or whatever the hell they do.”

You swam closer, propping your chin on your arms at the pool edge beside him. “So, what’s the dream?” He gave you a side-glance, then smirked shyly. “Promise not to laugh?”

“I swear on Mr. Sang’s inability to knock.”

Felix snorted. “Alright then… I wanna start a little studio. Like, music, photography, video—creative stuff. I wanna work with people who give a damn. Build something from scratch, with my name on the door and no one’s permission needed.” Your heart thudded at the rawness in his voice. There was something so intimate about hearing a dream spoken out loud especially from someone like Felix, who usually wore confidence like a second skin but now looked exposed in the moonlight.

“That’s not silly,” you whispered. “That’s beautiful.”

He turned to face you more fully, expression softening. “You think so?”

You nodded slowly. “You’re passionate. You’re talented. And you’re the kind of person who makes people feel seen. If you open that studio one day… people will want to be part of it just because you’re part of it.”

Something shifted in his eyes something deeper, heavier. Then, he leaned in suddenly and kissed you. It wasn’t teasing or wild this time. It was tender. Like he was kissing you because of what you’d said, not in spite of it. Like your words had curled around his ribs and squeezed tight. You kissed him back, hand slipping behind his neck, tugging gently on his damp hair. He pulled you closer with a quiet, murmured “come here, my love,” before kissing you again—deeper now, his lips moving with more heart, less rush. The kind of kiss that said I see you, I hear you, I need you.

Your chest brushed his, wet skin to wet skin, as your fingers traced up his shoulder. His hands found your waist under the water, thumbs rubbing slow, dizzying circles into your sides. Then almost playfully he reached up, unhooked the strap of your bikini top with one smooth flick, and whispered, “Oops.”

You gasped, eyes wide. “Felix—!”

He just smirked, a smug tilt to his lips. “Guess it slipped.”

“You little—” You were mid-splash to his chest when,

“Mr. Felix.”

You both froze. There stood Mr. Sang once more, like some eternal guardian of interrupted intimacy. His face, as always, was a masterclass in neutrality. No reaction. No judgment. Just solemn duty.

Felix groaned. “Seriously? Do you just live in the walls?”

Mr. Sang cleared his throat. “Your father left a message, sir. He would like to speak with you in the study at your earliest convenience.” You covered your chest with your arm, sinking deeper into the water with a little giggle, lips still tingling from the kiss.

“Thanks, Mr. Sang,” you said sheepishly.

Mr. Sang nodded once. “Enjoy your evening.” And with the elegance of a stage exit, he turned and vanished once again into the night. Felix looked at you, then at the sky, then dramatically flopped his head back into the water. “This man’s entire life mission is to make sure I never get laid.”

You laughed so hard you nearly choked on your champagne. “He’s just doing his job.” Felix raised a brow, voice low again. “Well then maybe you should help me finish mine later… when there’s no witnesses.”

---

You both emerged from the pool in soft ripples and lazy sighs, the night air cool against your damp skin. Felix was out first, always quick on his feet, and he reached back toward you like a prince offering a hand to his queen.

“C’mon, goddess,” he grinned. “Before Mr. Sang returns from the shadows again.”

You took his hand, and as you stepped out, you instinctively crossed your arms over your chest. Felix clicked his tongue and crouched slightly in front of you, fingers moving carefully, respectfully, to help re-fasten the strap of your bikini top.

“Relax, baby,” he murmured with the sweetest smirk, not even looking up at you. “Not my first time dealing with a wardrobe malfunction. Although, I gotta say—this one was caused by intentional sabotage.”

“You’re lucky I don’t push you back into the pool,” you quipped.

“You’re lucky I wouldn’t mind that,” he replied smugly, handing you a fluffy white towel.

You rolled your eyes with a smile and took it. He wrapped another towel low around his waist, water glistening off his toned chest as he grabbed the champagne glasses and led you back inside, barefoot and dripping through marble-tiled floors. The warm, low lighting in the hallway made everything feel more intimate. The house, for all its extravagance, felt like it had dimmed just for you two. Like even the chandeliers were rooting for you.

Once inside his room—ridiculously big, decorated like a luxury magazine spread—he dropped his towel and went straight to the dresser. You hung back by the door, still toweling off your legs. He turned, holding a t-shirt in one hand and a pair of shorts in the other. “Did you bring anything else besides that hoodie? Like… I dunno, clothes?”

You blinked. “Oh my God. I completely forgot.” Felix stared at you. “You? Miss planner? Miss ‘I have three different bags depending on mood’? Forgot?”

You laughed, hiding your face with your towel. “Shut up!”

“Nah, nah,” he teased, tossing the clothes at you. “I’m never letting you live this down. You’re officially on my ‘needs supervision’ list.”

“You’re such a brat.”

“I’m an accommodating brat. See? I even picked out the good boxers. The stretchy kind.”

You caught the shirt and shorts mid-air, inspecting them. Of course they were designer. Of course they smelled like cedarwood and cashmere and him. He walked up behind you as you turned to head for the en-suite, lowering his voice with that casual mischief of his. “Do you want me to shower with you?”

You turned, pressing a slow kiss to his lips, letting it linger. “Hmm…”

Then you gave him a playful shove on the chest, making him stumble back with a grin. “Not tonight, Lix.” He clutched his heart dramatically. “Denied. Brutal. I’ll go cry into my throw pillows.”

You blew him a kiss before disappearing into the bathroom, giggling as the sound of his fake sobs echoed behind you. Steam soon filled the space as water rained down and the heat soaked into your skin, but even with all that warmth… your mind was still sizzling from his touch, his words, the way he looked at you like you were his favorite thing in the whole world. The steam curled behind you like a silk veil as you stepped out of the shower, warm and clean, wrapped in a plush towel that was too big to be anything but Felix’s. The bathroom smelled faintly of amber and lavender and mischief.

You glanced at the counter, spotting his infamous skincare routine laid out in militant order: toner, serum, moisturizer, eye cream, something in a gold tube you couldn’t pronounce but knew cost more than rent. With a small smile, you dipped your fingers into the products, patting and smoothing them onto your skin. By the time you slipped into the clothes he gave you, you felt good. Relaxed. A little dreamy. The kind of soft that only came after late-night swimming, too much flirting, and hot water washing the day away. When you finally stepped out of the bathroom, towel now draped over your shoulder, your feet slowed to a stop.

Mr. Sang was there, as if summoned by the universe. Unbothered. Standing beside a small table now set near the sliding glass doors, elegantly arranged with silver cloches and delicate side dishes, a pitcher of fruit-infused water and two champagne flutes.

“Miss Y/N,” he greeted with a gentle nod. “Master Felix asked me to bring this for you.”

You blinked, adjusting the shirt you were swimming in. “Oh—wow, thank you. Um… where is he?” Mr. Sang clasped his hands behind his back, always perfectly formal. “He said he needed to freshen up in the other bathroom. He’ll be stopping by his father’s study afterward.”

You paused, towel still in hand, something tightening in your chest. “Oh.” The butler didn’t elaborate, and he didn’t need to.

Felix’s father wasn’t someone people casually strolled in on. That man was the kind of rich that didn't just own wealth—he orchestrated it. Corporate tycoon. Boardroom tyrant. The kind of man whose voice could fold executives like origami. Felix never said much about him, but the tension whenever he was mentioned did the talking for him.

"Thanks, Mr. Sang,” you said softly, watching him step away with the same ghost-like elegance he always carried. You sat down, lifting the silver dome and revealing perfectly plated salmon, grilled vegetables, and a creamy truffle pasta that definitely wasn’t part of a late-night menu. Felix must’ve asked for it specifically. For you. Like he always did.

Still, your fork hovered, eyes occasionally drifting toward the closed hallway door that led to the study wing of the house.

You wondered what was happening behind it. What Felix was saying—or being told. What it cost him to keep playing this role of the golden boy with a bite. The perfect heir who hated perfection. Because even if you were the goddess by the pool… he was still the prince in the glass tower. And sometimes, even princes had to face dragons.

---

The halls of the Lee estate were too quiet—the kind of hush that settled like velvet over secrets. Felix walked with deliberate steps, damp hair falling into his eyes, clothes clinging faintly to his skin from the shower. The laughter and warmth of the night lingered behind him… and in front of him, trouble waited. He pushed open the tall oak doors of his father’s study with barely a knock.

“Didn’t expect you to be home so early,” Felix said casually, leaning against the frame like he hadn’t just interrupted the silence. His father didn’t even glance up from the whiskey he was pouring. “The event wasn’t entertaining.”

Of course it wasn’t, Felix thought bitterly. No audience to impress. Mr. Lee finally turned, his crisp white shirt unbuttoned at the collar, watch glinting beneath the low light. “I saw you with her.”

Felix arched a brow. “Yeah? And?” His father’s tone dropped like ice into the glass. “You need to cut ties with that girl.” Felix blinked once. “I’m sorry, what?”

Mr. Lee paced to his desk, setting the glass down without taking a sip. “There was a… situation. At the event. Your little girlfriend’s father and I had a disagreement.”

Felix scoffed, arms crossing. “Shocker. What else is new?”

“Don’t be smart, Felix,” his father warned. “He publicly challenged a deal I’ve been negotiating for months. Do you understand how much this complicates everything?”

“And what the fuck does that have to do with me and Y/N?” Felix snapped, suddenly standing straighter, sharper. Mr. Lee looked at him with that same infuriating, surgical calm he used in board meetings. “Because as of tonight, our families are enemies. And I can assure you—her father will not hesitate to use you to get to me.”

“So what? You want me to punish her because you pissed off another billionaire with a fragile ego?” Felix laughed, but there was no humor in it. “I’m not cutting her off because you screwed up a deal.”

“This isn’t about the deal—this is about optics. Reputation. Control.”

“No, this is about you thinking you still get to make every decision in my life,” Felix growled. “I’m trying to protect you,” his father snapped.

“By tearing apart the one good thing in my life?!” Felix shouted back. “How the hell do you not see that you’re the problem?!” Mr. Lee’s jaw locked tight. “If you don’t end things with her—I will.”

A dangerous silence fell.

“She’s been dragging you down anyway,” he added coldly.

The words detonated.

Felix’s face twisted. His knuckles whitened against the back of the chair he'd gripped. “You arrogant son of a—” he stepped forward, voice rising. “She’s the only person who doesn’t treat me like a pawn or a brand. The only one who sees me as me, and you think she’s the dead weight?!”

Mr. Lee narrowed his eyes, but Felix was already shaking with fury.

“You’re not cutting her off,” he said with deadly finality. “Not you. Not your money. Not your pathetic empire.”

“Felix—”

“Over. My. Dead. Body.” The two men stood there—father and son, business tycoon and rebellious heir—like storm clouds ready to clash.

And upstairs, completely unaware, you sat in Felix’s room with champagne and truffle pasta, waiting for a boy in love to come back from war.

You were halfway through your glass of champagne when the door creaked open. Your eyes lifted, expecting the usual confident, slightly smug expression Felix always wore after annoying someone or after seeing you. But tonight… it wasn’t there.

He walked in silently, closing the door behind him with a soft click. You could instantly feel it, something was off. His damp curls messier than before, and his jaw… clenched so hard it could’ve cracked a diamond. He didn’t look at you right away. Just walked over to the edge of the bed and sat, hands buried in his hair, elbows on his knees.

“Felix?” you asked gently, putting the glass down. No response.

You stood up, crossing the room in slow steps. “Baby, what’s wrong?” Still nothing. His silence wasn’t heavy—it was suffocating. And it wasn’t like him to hold anything in.

You reached out, fingertips brushing his shoulder. “Felix.”

And that’s when it broke. He stood suddenly, eyes blazing—not at you, never at you—and stormed to the door. He threw it open and leaned halfway into the hallway.

“I hate you!” he yelled.

The words echoed through the mansion like gunfire. Cold, loud, loaded.

Then he slammed the door shut so hard the frame trembled. His back hit the door as he leaned against it, chest rising and falling fast. You stood there, heart thumping in your ears, as he looked at you now eyes glassy, but not weak. Just… angry.

You approached him slowly again. “Felix…”

He exhaled hard and rubbed his face before speaking. “He wants me to cut you off.” Your brows knit together. “Who?”

“My dad,” he muttered bitterly. “He had an argument with your father at the event tonight—some dumb business deal, egos clashing. Now, apparently, that means we’re enemies. And because of that, I’m supposed to drop you like a bad investment.”

You blinked, mouth parting in disbelief. “What?”

Felix looked at you, something raw behind his usual calm. “He said you’ve been dragging me down.” The words came out like venom. “That if I don’t end things, he will.” Your stomach twisted, your voice caught somewhere between rage and heartbreak. “And what did you say?”

Felix didn’t hesitate. “That he’d have to kill me first.”

Your breath left your lungs in a rush.

“He doesn’t get to choose who I love, baby,” he said, stepping closer, eyes locked on yours like they were anchoring him. “And I’d rather burn this whole damn house to the ground before I let him scare me into losing you.”

Your hands found his face instinctively, thumbs brushing his. “He’s wrong,” Felix continued, voice breaking just slightly. “You’re not a liability. You’re the only person who’s ever made me feel like I’m not just… some golden boy people use when it’s convenient.”

He looked at you like you were the only safe place in the world.

“And I’d rather lose every inheritance, every fake-ass socialite friend, every damn dollar with my name on it… than lose you.” Your chest tightened, eyes pricking.

“Felix…” you stepped into him, hands gently cupping his face, your thumbs brushing away the wetness that had formed along his lashes. He leaned into your touch like he’d been starving for it.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered.

“I know,” he said, swallowing thickly. “But I just—needed to make that clear. To him. To you. To myself.” You kissed him soft at first. And then deeper. Warmer. A kiss that tasted like defiance and devotion and everything in between.

He pulled you into his chest, arms wrapping around your waist like he couldn’t bear the idea of letting go again. “I’m so sick of him trying to control my goddamn life,” Felix muttered, voice low and dangerous, arms tightening around you. “Like I’m just some pawn. Like you’re just some disposable secret.”

“Felix—”

“I hate this. I hate that he thinks he can touch what we have.” His mouth pressed against yours hard—angry, possessive. “You’re not his to talk about.”

“Felix,” you said again, pulling back slightly. “Calm down—”

But he didn’t listen. He didn’t want to. His hands gripped your face, thumbs brushing your cheek as he kissed you again—desperate this time, like if he just kissed you hard enough, it would shut out the entire world trying to pull you apart. The edge of the bed hit the backs of your knees and he followed you down with too much need, too much pressure.

“Felix—” you gasped, turning your head.

“She doesn’t drag me down,” he hissed like he was still arguing with his father. “She makes me better. She makes me feel—”

“Felix!” You finally pushed him back with both hands on his chest, breath shaky and eyes wide. “Stop.”

He froze. His eyes met yours, glassy and red, and the silence between you dropped like a thunderclap. Your voice trembled as you stepped away from him, wrapping your arms around yourself. “My dad told me to end things with you too.”

He blinked. The fury melted into confusion. “What?” You nodded slowly, unable to meet his eyes. “He… told me this afternoon. Said he knew what he was about to do was going to spark something ugly. That it was going to affect us. That I should let go now—before it got worse.”

Felix looked like someone had punched him square in the chest. “And you didn’t tell me?”

“I wanted to,” you whispered, finally looking up at him, guilt swimming in your gaze. “I tried to. But you looked so happy when I got here. And I got scared. I didn’t want to ruin that… or us.”

He stared at you, jaw slack, chest heaving. “I didn’t want you to look at me like I was some kind of burden,” you said softly, voice cracking. “Like he did.” Felix shook his head slowly, walking toward you again, but more carefully this time. No heat. Just heartbreak. His fingers brushed your cheek gently.

“You are not a burden,” he said, voice hoarse.

“I know,” you said quietly. “But you looked like you needed to believe it too.”

He pulled you into his chest, this time without urgency just silence, and the soft thud of his heart, threatening to break under the weight of the war around you.

For the first time that night… both of you were no longer hiding. He didn’t let go of you, not yet but there was a stillness in his hold, like even his heartbeat had stopped to wait for your answer.

“So what do we do now?” Felix asked, voice low, searching your face like it held the blueprint for how to survive this. “How do we fix this?”

You hesitated. It was just a second. But that one second was enough for everything to shift.

“…We don’t,” you whispered.

The world didn’t explode. It didn’t shatter into glass and blood. It just... stopped moving. Like the earth skipped a beat. Like your words stunned time itself. Felix pulled away from you slightly, eyes narrowing as if he hadn’t heard you right.

“What?”

“We don’t fix it,” you repeated, barely able to look him in the eyes. “Maybe… maybe we should end things.” His hands dropped from your waist like you’d burned him. He took a step back, blinking—twice, three times—as if the words were stuck in the air between you, echoing in slow motion.

“What the fuck are you saying right now?”

“I’m saying we can’t win this, Felix,” you said, voice breaking. “If our families are already declaring war, what’s the point of pretending we’re not caught in the crossfire?” Felix’s chest rose and fell, shallow and erratic. “You’re giving up.”

“I’m trying to protect you—”

“No.” He cut you off, the sharpness in his tone making you flinch. “No, don’t you dare twist this into some fucking noble sacrifice.”

“Felix—”

“Is someone forcing you to say this shit?” His voice cracked, raw and louder than usual. “Tell me. Right now. Are you being threatened?” You swallowed hard but didn’t answer. You didn’t have to.

Your silence said enough. So did the way your shoulders tensed. The way your eyes darted away. The way your bottom lip trembled even though you were trying so hard to be strong. Felix’s nostrils flared. He let out a humorless laugh—sharp and cold.

“Wow,” he muttered. “Wow, this is actually happening.”

Still no response.

He raked a hand through his damp hair and turned his back to you for a second, fists clenched at his sides, jaw tightening with every breath he took. “Tell me who the hell said something to you,” he demanded, voice lower now, but seething. “Was it your dad? His people? One of my father’s snakes? Who?”

You just stood there, arms crossed, tears building behind your lashes like rain on a glass window. Felix turned back to you and took a slow, careful step forward, eyes softer now but that storm still swirled beneath them.

“I would burn this whole goddamn town to the ground for you, Y/N. You know that, right?”

A tear finally slipped down your cheek, and you nodded, brokenly.

“Then why…” he whispered, “why are you standing there telling me to let you go?” You opened your mouth to answer but nothing came out. There was nothing left to say. You were already moving before your mind could even finish the thought.

“I have to go,” you said, voice thick, throat tight.

“Wait—wait, no, baby, please—” Felix tried to catch your arm, tried to hold you there, tried to fix it with just his hands and his voice and his hear, but you pulled away.

Hard. The force made him stumble back a step.

“Y/N—”

You were gone before he could speak again. Darting out of the room, half-blinded by tears, nearly tripping over your feet. He chased after you, barefoot and furious, the hallway too quiet around his ragged breathing.

“Y/N, STOP!” Felix’s voice echoed down the marble corridor, sharp and cracked. “FUCKING COME BACK!”

And then, at the top of the staircase—his father.

Standing still by the railing. Arms crossed. Blank expression. Like he was watching a rehearsal of a performance he wrote himself. Felix stopped, chest heaving. It hit him then. This wasn’t just a reaction. This was the plan. All of it, timed.

“You—” Felix seethed, stepping toward him with eyes like fire. “You did this.”

His father didn’t blink. “You set this up. You wanted her to leave. You wanted me to lose her.”

Still, his father said nothing. Not a word. Not a shift in posture. Cowardice dressed in tailored authority.

“You’re a fucking coward, you hear me?” Felix shouted, pointing a trembling finger at him. “You’re a son of a bitch, and you’re a useless father!”

Nothing. But behind those cold eyes, there was something. A flicker. A wound, maybe. One he wouldn’t show, but couldn’t fully hide. Felix scoffed and turned, taking the stairs two at a time until he burst through the front door and into the warm night air.

There you were. Standing by your car. Hands shaking as you tried to find your keys. Breathing fast. The hurt written across your face like a damn symphony of pain.

“Y/N—”

You didn’t turn. “Baby, please—” Felix called out again, running to you. “Don’t get in the car. Not yet.” You ignored him. Your hand trembled harder as the keys fumbled in your grip.

“I’m not giving up on you.”

You froze.

His voice cracked right in the middle. Honest and raw and almost too human to survive this world.

You turned slowly, meeting his eyes, those messy, desperate eyes. Chest still rising and falling from all the running and the screaming and the wanting to destroy everything that tried to pull you apart.

He took a step closer.

“I don’t care what your dad said,” he whispered. “I don’t care what my dad wants. I don’t care how powerful they think they are. They’re not us. They don’t get us. And they’re not taking this from me.” You didn’t know when the tears started falling again, only that you couldn’t look away from him.

“They can kill my name, ruin my future, burn everything I’m supposed to inherit—fine. Let them.” His jaw clenched. “But they don’t get to take you.”

Silence.

Then your voice—soft, aching.

“Felix…”

“Please,” he whispered. “Just… stay.”

It all came crumbling down at once. Your knees nearly gave out beneath you, the sound of Felix’s voice—the plea in it—ripping right through the shield you’d built to protect yourself. The trembling in your hands turned violent, your breath hitching as the sob pushed itself up your throat.

And then—you fell. Right into his arms.

Felix caught you instantly, wrapping around you like you were the only thing keeping him standing, too. His arms were strong, frantic, one hand cradling your head as the other pressed you against his chest, holding you like you were glass and already broken.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t want to—Felix—I didn’t—”

Your voice cracked, and then it all spilled out in wet, shaking sobs against the base of his neck. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry—”

“Hey, hey…” he whispered, voice thick with tears of his own now, his jaw pressed to your temple. “Stop. Don’t say that. Don’t apologize, baby, please—don’t—” He rocked you just slightly, just enough to feel like you were both still alive. His heartbeat was pounding, hard and fast beneath your cheek.

“I should’ve told you. I should’ve said something earlier, but I didn’t know how,” you choked out. “I thought maybe—maybe if we just held on long enough—”

“I know,” Felix murmured, eyes clenched shut. “I know. I thought that too.” The driveway was still and heavy with night air, cicadas humming in the trees, the scent of damp earth and chlorine lingering on your skin.

And then—

“Master Felix.” Mr. Sang’s voice interrupted gently from a distance, but it still made you both flinch like a match had been struck too close.

You turned your head slightly, still cradled in Felix’s arms.

He stood just at the edge of the drive, his hands folded neatly behind his back, perfectly poised despite witnessing what was unmistakably heartbreak in live-action. “Should I ready a car for you and Miss Y/N?” he asked carefully, like he was offering an exit from the battlefield.

Felix didn’t hesitate. His voice was hoarse, but steady.

“Yes.”

Mr. Sang nodded once, respectfully, and turned to make arrangements. Felix stayed there with you for a second longer. Your arms wrapped tight around him. His chin resting on top of your head. The world silent except for the rustle of wind and the whisper of your apologies, still tucked between your sobs.

“Where are we going?” you asked quietly, voice so small it nearly disappeared into his chest.

He kissed the top of your head.

“Anywhere but here, babygirl.”

The sleek, black sedan hummed low as it pulled up the driveway. Mr. Sang stepped out before the engine had even stopped, his movements as smooth and calculated as ever like he hadn’t just watched your heart fall apart at the seams fifteen minutes ago.

“Where to, Master Felix?” he asked, holding the back door open. Felix looked at you first. His hand was still laced in yours, fingers tight, grounding. Your eyes were red, your skin damp from tears and chlorinated water, his hoodie still hanging off your frame.

You didn’t answer.

You didn’t need to. Felix gave a tight nod, jaw clenched. “Take us to the lake house. No one should be there.”

Mr. Sang simply bowed his head once, no questions, no surprises. “Very well.” You slid into the backseat, curling into the far end, and Felix followed, sitting close enough to keep a hand on your thigh, his thumb moving in slow, mindless circles. Comfort, even if he was fuming beneath the surface.

The car moved. The mansion, the pool, the pain it started falling away behind tinted windows and silent roads. It was nearly twenty minutes of heavy, weighted silence before Mr. Sang, in an unusual break of protocol, spoke again.

“You know,” he said, eyes still forward, tone almost... casual, “love and loyalty tend to be the greatest rebellion of all in families like yours.”

Felix blinked. You sat up slightly.

Mr. Sang continued without turning around. “The truth is, most parents hope their children will obey. Some are terrified when their children start choosing their own happiness instead.” A pause. “But I’d rather serve a son who chooses love over fear. It’s rare. And it’s brave.”

Silence dropped again, like a pin hitting velvet.

You and Felix looked at each other, eyebrows raised.

Felix tilted his head, lips twitching. “Wow,” he drawled, voice still raspy. “Thanks, Mr. Sang. That almost sounded like... human emotion.” Mr. Sang didn’t even blink. “Don’t get used to it, sir. I’ll be back to emotionally vacant sarcasm once we arrive.”

Felix snorted. You cracked a watery smile.

For a second, the weight lifted. Just a little. And outside, the trees gave way to the open road, stars blinking through the clouds as the lake grew nearer.

---

The lake house loomed quiet and still against the backdrop of moonlit water, like it had been waiting just for them. The air was cooler here—soothing, even. Crickets whispered in the trees, and a light breeze skimmed across the water’s glassy surface.

Mr. Sang remained in the driver’s seat without needing instruction, a silent guardian under the soft hum of the engine. The doors clicked open with that signature luxury softness, and you both stepped out into the night, the gravel crunching under your sneakers. Felix didn’t say a word, just reached out and took your hand again, fingers interlocked with quiet urgency.

The dock creaked beneath your weight as you walked toward the edge. It smelled like damp wood and pine trees, like memory. You used to come here on spring breaks. Pool parties. Boat races. But tonight… it was different. Private. Real.

Felix sat first, legs swinging off the edge, and you sat beside him, the water shimmering beneath your feet, cool wind brushing against your skin. His hand hadn’t let go.

“I used to think this place was boring as hell,” he murmured, gaze cast on the lake. “Now it’s the only place I don’t feel like I’m being watched.” You didn’t answer at first. Just leaned into his side, cheek on his shoulder. His arm wrapped around you.

“So… what now?” you finally whispered.

Felix sighed hard through his nose. “Honestly? I don’t know.”

You pulled back slightly to look at him, face barely lit by the dock light behind. “Do we really just… go back to pretending we’re okay when we’re not?”

“I don’t want to pretend anything with you,” he said immediately, turning to face you fully. “I’m not breaking up with you. Not for him. Not for anyone.”

“But we can’t act like this won’t get worse,” you said gently, voice wobbling. “Our families—”

“Let them be enemies,” he cut in, firmer than before. “We’ve been trying to live in their world. Maybe it’s time we start building our own.” Your chest tightened. “That sounds like a fantasy.”

He gave a crooked grin, the kind that never quite reached his eyes when he was hiding something. “Then let’s make it real.” You went quiet again, watching how his hair moved slightly in the wind. How his jaw clenched like he was ready to fight the whole damn world for you. And maybe he was.

“Felix…”

“Look, baby,” he said, reaching for your face now, brushing your cheek with his thumb, “I know I can’t fix everything. But I can choose you. Every day, even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard.”

Your breath caught. “And if they try to pull us apart again,” he added, voice low and certain, “we’ll pull harder. Yeah?”

Your heart thudded. Loud. Painful. Real.

You nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

He smiled, then kissed your forehead, holding you close again, your bodies silhouetted by moonlight and rebellion.

And from the car, Mr. Sang watched the two of you on the dock, then checked his watch and turned up the radio just a little, giving you the moment you deserved.

yes i did remember felix likes blue

Taglist: purple means I can't tag you

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[jitrulyslayyed]

Oh my gawd. You have me lost for wordssss what was this?? Excuse me??

Law and Jisung is something I didn't expect

𝐈𝐧 𝐌𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞 𝐞𝐭 𝐋𝐞𝐠𝐞

Pairing: manager!jisung x intern!afab!reader, enemies to lovers, law firm, the slow burn

synopsis: in mind and law. You tackle the new momentum of your job, something you've mentally and physically prepared for. But emotionally? It's not what you had in mind

warnings: suggestive, angst, law, lots of law, jisung is sarcastic, tension, mention of Changbin, plot, one Korean word (translations), time skips

a/n: 16k+ words, fellas. if you dare to have extra eyes for errors no you motherfucking dont. I loved this a lot.

You were born on the wrong side of the skyline. A place where ambition was considered arrogance, and dreams were just things people couldn’t afford. Your father was a mechanic—soft-spoken, hands always coated in grease, and eyes full of pride when you read under the streetlamp because the power went out again. Your mother, a former literature teacher turned night shift waitress, fed you stories instead of lullabies. They taught you that intellect was armor. That silence wasn’t submission, but strategy. That being underestimated was a weapon.

You weren’t the loudest girl in school—but you were dangerous on paper. Top of every class. Knew how to smile at teachers just enough to get what you needed, but never too much to owe them anything. You worked part-time at a bookstore just to read for free. When other kids were partying, you were drafting essays for scholarship competitions at 2AM with shaking hands and coffee-stained sleeves. You didn’t get into university by luck. You got in because you bled for it.

It was Riversley Law University, one of the most prestigious and soul-crushing programs in the country. Everyone whispered about the competition. The gatekeeping. The legacy students who’d never even touched a student loan form. You applied anyway. With one glowing recommendation from a retired judge, you’d once tutored on legal tech for free. With an application essay so raw it made the admissions board cry. With test scores so perfect they thought they were fake until you walked into the interview and quoted obscure 14th-century civil codes like they were bedtime stories.

You got in. Full ride. No one knew how. They thought you were connected. Rich. Sponsored.

You let them think what they wanted.

The top firms came recruiting like vultures during your final year. But Daejin & Grey? They didn’t do job fairs. They didn’t post openings. They hand-picked. And one day, a letter arrived. Real envelope. Black wax seal. No email. No call.

“You’re invited to an exclusive selection round. No details will be repeated. Bring your brain, your backbone, and black ink.”

Turns out, you were one of six students in the entire nation selected to compete for one internship spot. The selection process was insane—contracts in languages you barely knew, impossible moral dilemmas, interrogation-style interviews. People dropped out. Cried. Snapped. You didn’t. You passed. And you became the girl no one saw coming. The intern with fire in her veins and no family name behind her just you. Alone. Hungry. Unshakable.

Jisung was born into brilliance… and burden.

His mother was a top criminal defense lawyer known as “The Viper” in the courtroom—sharp heels, sharper tongue. His father, an occult historian and philosopher who lectured on forbidden languages and secret societies. He grew up in a glass penthouse where success was oxygen and weakness were punishable by silence. Jisung was 17 when Daejin & Grey found him. He had just won an underground student legal warfare competition (an invite-only thing where prodigies go to destroy each other’s arguments in mock trials that felt more like mind combat). He didn’t even enter; someone forged his application. He just showed up… and obliterated future politicians, heirs, and scholars. A week later, a man in an obsidian coat approached his mother during one of her high-profile court cases. Whispered something in her ear. She signed a contract on the back of a napkin. Jisung was summoned. They didn’t interview him. They tested him. Gave him an unsolvable case and watched him create a loophole in 24 hours.

They mentored him in secret. Fed him real cases under the table. Made him sign a blood clause at 19. By 24, he was the youngest partner in the firm’s history. He was the youngest to ever win a national law debate. A certified genius with a smirk that could convince CEOs to sign away their souls and maybe they did. People admired him. Feared him. Worshipped him. But they didn’t know him.

Because Jisung? Jisung was never taught love. He was taught leverage.

Daejin & Grey Law Firm wasn’t founded. It was forged out of war, silence, and unspeakable deals.

The firm traces back over 80 years, born during the post-war reconstruction era. Two men, Ha Daejin—a radical, silver-tongued lawyer who defended war criminals—and Theodore Grey, a disgraced British solicitor exiled for running a covert empire of offshore finance and blackmail, met in Seoul under unusual circumstances. Both were brilliant, both had nothing left to lose, and both were addicted to power. Together, they built Daejin & Grey as more than a firm. It became a sanctuary for those too cunning for politics, too dangerous for the courts, too ambitious for morality. It handles clients that other firms fear from criminal syndicates, foreign diplomats, to weaponized corporations. It's not just law, it’s chess. And they always win.

Rumor has it: The firm has a vault with contracts that could collapse governments. There's a floor you can only access if your name is etched in obsidian. No one leaves Daejin & Grey. You’re either promoted… or erased.

---

You stood in the towering glass lobby of Daejin & Grey, your heels echoing on the polished marble like tiny declarations of war. The receptionist didn’t even look up. Her access badge was silver. Everyone else’s was black. You felt the heat of judgment from passing associates, the subtle way people scanned your thrifted yet sharply styled outfit. You knew you didn’t look like money. But your mind? That was priceless.

An older woman with tightly coiled hair and stilettos sharp enough to stab came striding toward you.

“Intern. Y/N. You’re late,” she said. You weren’t.

“Follow. No questions.”

You moved through what felt like a museum of silence and danger—glass-walled rooms, people whispering in three languages, floors that required fingerprint scans. And then the library.

My God, the library.

Blackwood shelves. Ancient tomes. One door labeled RESTRICTED: Contractual Souls Only.

You swallowed. This wasn’t law school anymore. This was the underworld in heels.

Han Jisung entered from the rooftop.

The chopper dropped him five minutes behind schedule, and he hated being late—especially today, when a new batch of interns were supposed to arrive. He hated interns. Eager. Sweaty. Trying to impress him with quotes from Nietzsche.

He adjusted his ring, black obsidian with a serpent curling up his middle finger and rolled his neck before descending. His assistant, Jinhee, tried to brief him. He waved her off.

“Did they assign me one of the interns?”

“Not officially, but the chairman requested one observe your methods—”

“No.”

“But sir—”

“I said no.”

He walked into his office. 47th floor. The air smelled like power and espresso. His desk was cluttered with folders, red-stamped files, and one curious black envelope marked:

“Observe her. She doesn’t belong—but she might change everything.”

He frowned. Tossed it aside. He didn’t believe in fate.

---

Jisung and Y/N walked the same hall that morning. Opposite directions. Didn’t notice each other—yet. Y/N was being led through the Hall of Legal Legends, where portraits of past partners hung like silent judges. She paused in front of one particularly cold-looking man.

“That’s Ha Daejin,” the tour guide said. “He once freed a serial killer because he didn’t believe in prison. Said the law should be feared, not followed.” Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like a villain.” The guide smirked. “You’ll hear more of that.”

Meanwhile, Jisung turned a corner, passed a group of interns. Didn’t look at them—except for a second. One girl. Silver badge. Holding a leather-bound notebook like it was a weapon. Unfazed by the architecture. Sharp eyes. He paused for half a second. Blinked. Then walked on.

She felt it. That glance. That storm. They didn’t know each other yet.

---

The conference room at Daejin & Grey was less a meeting space and more a statement. A massive oval table of obsidian-black glass stretched across the room like the eye of some mythic beast. The lighting was deliberately dim—soft golden strips along the ceiling—making everyone’s expressions unreadable, dangerous. It smelled of polished leather, old money, and cold ambition. Interns filed in one by one silent, shoulders squared, eyes darting. You were among them, notebook pressed to your side, trying not to flinch at the weight of legacy pressing on you. All of you were being watched. Every step, every breath, being measured.

You took a seat at the far end, instinctively positioning yourself with your back to the wall. Never the center. Always the observer. The doors opened again and this time, the room actually paused.

In came Mr. Grey.

No one knows his first name. Not really. Just Grey. He walked with a cane not because he needed to, but because he liked the sound of it on marble. A silver three-piece suit, perfectly tailored, skin pale like stone, and a face so unreadable it could’ve been carved.

“Ladies. Gentlemen. Sharks in training,” he said, his voice laced with silk and venom. “Welcome to Daejin & Grey.”

“You are not here to learn. You’re here to prove you can survive. We will not teach you to be great. We will simply see if you already are. If you are not—” he gestured lazily toward the wide floor-to-ceiling windows, “—there is the door, and down there is your future. Bleak. Insignificant.”

Someone gulped. You did not. “From now on,” Grey continued, “you do not breathe without purpose. You do not blink without calculation. And if you ever speak in this room without reason…”

He smiled. Sharp and slow. “I will end your career before it begins.” He stepped back. “Now, allow me to introduce one of our youngest and most... unorthodox partners.”

The doors slammed open again.

Han Jisung strode in with the kind of lazy confidence that screamed I own this room. No tie. Shirt collar undone just enough. A black ring catching the dim light. His hair was slightly tousled, like he’d just walked out of a midnight negotiation and won. He didn’t look at anyone. He just leaned against the edge of the table, one hand in his pocket.

“Interns,” he said. His voice was casual, disinterested. “Congrats on making it this far. I assume most of you will disappoint me.” Some people chuckled nervously.

He scanned the room—quick sweep. And then, their eyes met.

You didn’t blink. Neither did he.

It wasn’t recognition. It wasn’t fate. It was challenge. His gaze said, Don’t try me.

Yours said, I already am.

Something shifted. Jisung turned back to Grey. “Can I go?”

Grey raised an amused brow. “You just got here.” Jisung shrugged, pushing off the table. “I’ve seen enough.” But he paused by the door. Tilted his head. Glanced over his shoulder not at the group. Just at her.

One second.

Two.

Then he left.

And you? You smelled the war before it began.

After Jisung made his dramatic exit, Mr. Grey waved a gloved hand, summoning the woman standing beside the projection screen. That was Ms. Park, the Head of Public Relations a woman whose smile was sharper than her Louboutins.

She took the lead. “Here at Daejin & Grey,” she began, “we operate on six principles. Discipline. Foresight. Loyalty. Discretion. Precision. And finally—ruthlessness.”

A nervous laugh rippled across the room. She didn’t smile. “That wasn’t a joke.”

The next forty-five minutes were a blur of corporate philosophies and non-negotiable ethics. Every new intern had to memorize the internal PR structure, the crisis protocols, and the company’s “zero tolerance” policy for emotional decisions. Everything had a script. Even your heartbeat.

You took notes like your life depended on it. Because it did. But the more the PowerPoint clicked forward, the more you felt the weight of your blouse clinging to her skin not from nerves, but from expectation. From the knowing glance Grey had shot her earlier. He knew.

The interns were finally dismissed for a break, filing out toward the executive café like a herd of wolves pretending to be sheep. The space was insane, sleek glass, gold accents, and meals plated like art. Even the salad looked like it had a stock portfolio.

You picked at a caprese toast, more out of habit than hunger.

Jisung wasn’t there. Of course not. He probably had his meals flown in, signed with blood, and served with jazz. You sipped your drink, but your mind wandered. Back to that look. The unreadable glance between you and Jisung. Like a challenge had been accepted without a single word exchanged.

Just as you were returning your tray, a shadow passed over you.

“Miss Y/L/N.”

That voice. Smooth as obsidian. You turned. Mr. Grey. He didn’t beckon. He just turned, and you followed. You stepped into a smaller conference lounge less intimidating, more personal. Warm-toned wood, a velvet chaise. Only the elite got invited here, you were sure of it.

Grey didn’t sit. He stood by the window, cane in hand, observing the city skyline.

“Well?” he said without turning. “What’s the verdict?”

You hesitated. “I… I think I’m scared. But I’m also excited.”

He glanced at you now. Just slightly. “Good. Fear without eagerness is cowardice. Eagerness without fear is arrogance. We don’t need either.”

You nodded slowly. “I’ll try not to let you down.” Grey turned to face you fully now. His expression softened—barely—but it was there. A flicker. Almost paternal. “I know where you came from,” he said.

You froze. He continued, “Not everyone here was raised on champagne and legacy. Some of us crawled into this place with blood on our hands and fire in our eyes. You belong here, Y/N. But you’ll need armor.”

“I’ll build it,” you whispered, voice steady.

Grey nodded, satisfied. But then he tilted his head, curious. “You looked at Han Jisung today.” A pause. You raised a brow, unashamed. “He looked first.” That earned the ghost of a chuckle.

“You want to know about him?” Grey asked.

You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to. Grey tapped his cane twice on the floor. “Han Jisung is a prodigy. Recruited after flipping the legal department of a rival firm upside down as a client. Took the bar just to prove he could. Now he leads special projects and high-risk negotiations. Untouchable. Brilliant. Reckless.”

You absorbed the information like wine. Grey’s tone turned sharp again. “He does not play well with others. And he doesn’t train interns.”

You met his gaze. “Noted.” Grey smirked. “Good girl.”

---

The door clicked shut behind you.

Your apartment was quiet. Small, but personal. Walls filled with original sketches, abstract prints, pinned timelines, articles with handwritten notes in the margins. A vision board sat in the corner with the word “Grey-level” in capital gold foil across the top. You kicked off your heels and unpinned your hair, letting the curls fall as you moved like clockwork—smooth, efficient, methodical. Laptop open. Lights dimmed. Jazz humming low in the background.

Search: Han Jisung | Daejin & Grey

The results? Not much. Of course not. Grey’s people erased footprints before they were even made. But you was raised to dig deeper than the surface. And you did.

You found mentions of his name in trade journals, coded phrases like “unexpected turnaround,” “miracle negotiation,” and “the golden ghost.” Not a single photo. But a whisper here, a quote there.

Then, an old university blog.

“The Boy Who Sued a Corporation and Won.”

You clicked. A grainy screenshot showed a boy with a snapback on backwards, standing outside a courthouse. Young. Angry. Smirking like he knew too much for someone his age.

Summary:

Age 19. Filed a class action suit against a powerful music label for contract exploitation. Represented himself in preliminary hearings. Won the case and took a settlement. Disappeared from public eye for three years. Resurfaced… at Daejin & Grey.

You sat back, the gears in your mind turning. “So he’s that type,” you murmured.

Anger-driven. Genius-fed. Doesn't like to lose. Hides behind sarcasm because it's safer than vulnerability. You bookmarked the article. Then looked out the window at the glowing city. A little smile curved on your lips.

“This’ll be fun.”

And with that, you shut your laptop and poured yourself a glass of red a silent toast to a storm you knew was coming.

---

The routine had set in fast.

Early mornings. Sharp tailoring. Neutral tones and cool metal accents. You walked the marble floors like you’d owned them in another life, heels tapping like a metronome against the low murmurs of ambition. Daejin & Grey was a world built on precision and aesthetics—every glass panel, every steel fixture, every whisper of silk or leather had its place. You adapted like water in a crystal decanter.

You learned fast, spoke clearly, and listened sharper. You made yourself invaluable to your department, your reports were always early, always clean, always with that extra insight that made supervisors raise their brows and take notes. You didn’t speak unnecessarily in meetings, but when you did, the room always turned.

But Jisung?

Ghosted in and out. Rarely at your floor. Always with his tie loose, mouth set in a line of amusement or disapproval, never in between.

You caught glimpses. Like shadows in polished windows. And every single time your eyes met; it was electric. Subtle, but raw. Sometimes it was across the coffee machine, him leaning against the wall with a smirk as you stirred your drink without sugar. Sometimes in passing through the 8th floor where the high-stakes clients had rooms like hotel lobbies and meetings that reeked of old money and moral grey zones. And sometimes, just a glance across the conference table, where he sat sideways, his leg crossed, chewing the tip of a pen like he knew you were looking.

And she always was.

The blinds were half-drawn, letting in only slanted light that painted the dark wood floor in broken stripes. Mr. Grey sat behind his massive obsidian desk, signature cup of jet-black coffee steaming near his right hand, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose as he skimmed a tablet. His navy tie was undone, a telltale sign he’d been in meetings since dawn. Jisung stood by the window, posture casual, arms crossed, dressed in a soft black turtleneck and slacks that looked far too expensive for how uninterested he seemed. His hair was slightly tousled—he’d run his hand through it a few too many times. Typical.

“I told you, Grey. I don’t like babysitting,” he said, eyes fixed on the skyline. “There’s enough on my plate. Lee’s merger alone is—”

“This isn’t babysitting.” Grey didn’t even look up. “It’s exposure. Real-world pressure. She needs to be in the field, and you…” He finally glanced up, eyes sharp. “You need to get out of that damn ivory tower you’ve built around yourself.”

Jisung scoffed. “Nice motivational speech. You should sell it with the company’s scented candle line.”

“I’m serious, Han.” Grey slid a file folder across the desk. “Y/N. She’s sharp. Observant. A little quiet. Good instincts, but not molded yet. Reminds me of someone else I hired years ago.”

“Oh, please don’t say—”

“You,” Grey cut him off dryly.

Jisung rolled his eyes and walked over, taking the file with reluctance. He cracked it open, the name Y/N typed neatly on the top corner. There was a small square photo paperclipped to the first page. His eyes flicked over it briefly. She looked poised. Quietly powerful. The kind of face that looked like it’d seen a lot, but wouldn’t tell you unless you earned it.

He didn’t say anything.

“You’ll meet her at the conference,” Grey added, sipping his coffee. “I told her she’d be perfect for this. Don’t make me a liar.”

Jisung closed the folder with a snap and ran a hand through his hair. “What time?”

“Eleven. Don’t be late.”

“I’m always late.”

“I’ll dock your paycheck.”

“Charming,” he muttered, tucking the folder under his arm. “She better be worth the hassle.”

“She is,” Grey said, finality in his tone. “And maybe… just maybe, she’s the type to make you think again, Jisung.” Han Jisung didn’t answer. He just walked out, file in hand, wondering why the hell this girl was already starting to live in the back of his mind.

It was a Thursday.

You remembered because you wore the wide-legged gray slacks you saved for “power move” days. A quarterly strategy conference was underway, where junior analysts, interns, and mid-level associates were gathered to observe the department leads speak on major upcoming cases. Mr. Grey sat at the head of the room, calm, in control, sleek in that navy suit with no tie.

Then came the part no one expected: live assignments.

“Some of you will be handling case shadows,” Grey said, clasping his hands. “And some of you will be leading minor client packages. Let’s make things interesting.”

Papers were passed.

Your folder landed with a soft thunk. You opened it. A name. A file. A logo. A red tab labeled

Priority Confidential.

Below it:

Supervisor – Han Jisung

Your blood stilled. Just as you looked up, you saw him lean on the doorframe at the back of the room, arms crossed, sleeves rolled, silver watch catching the light. He tilted his head slightly as your eyes met, mouth tugging in that slow, you ready for this? smirk.

“Y/N,” Mr. Grey called from the head of the table. “You’ll be reporting directly to Jisung. He’ll catch you up on the brief by end of day. Congratulations.” You swallowed, spine straight. “Understood, sir.” Jisung gave you a two-finger salute. The room kept moving.

But you? You were already calculating. Preparing. Bracing for impact. Because something told you this assignment was going to be everything you wanted… and everything you weren’t ready for.

You stood outside the glass wall of Jisung’s office, heels clicking softly against the polished concrete floor. Your reflection blinked back at you, sharp, composed, lips pressed into a line so thin it could cut glass. The folder in your hand had bite marks on the corner where you’d chewed it while overthinking. Not that you’d ever admit it.

You exhaled once. Twice. Then knocked.

“Come in.”

The voice was casual, distracted. You entered.

Jisung was leaning back in his chair, black sleeves rolled to his elbows, a pen lazily twirling between his fingers. His office smelled like cedar and fresh ink, the lighting warm but sterile like someone had tried to make it welcoming but gave up halfway through. Like him, maybe.

His eyes flicked up briefly. Then back down to the paper on his desk. “Y/N, right?”

“Yes.” You shut the door softly behind her. “You’re my supervisor on the K-Tech acquisition case.”

“Mmh,” Jisung hummed, still reading. “That’s what Grey says.” You didn’t sit until he gestured vaguely toward the chair in front of him barely looking up. His posture was everything you’d expect from someone with way too much power and too little patience: cocky, distant, infuriatingly relaxed.

You hated it.

“I’ve already gone through the case summary,” you said, placing the folder neatly on his desk. “I’ve highlighted the inconsistencies in the subsidiary’s financials. There’s—”

“—a shell company in Taipei laundering R&D funds,” he finished without missing a beat, still not looking at you. “Yeah. Noted that three weeks ago.”

You paused. Tilted your head. “Then why is it still unresolved?” That made him look up.

Slowly. Like a cat flicking its tail, unbothered but aware. His gaze was sharp, dark, and laced with something unreadable. Maybe amusement. Maybe boredom. Maybe both.

“Grey told me to loop you in,” he said, leaning back, fingers steepled. “Not give you the steering wheel.”

“I’m not here to steer,” you shot back, tone cool. “I’m here to work. But if you’d rather I sit in the corner and watch you twirl pens, I can pencil that in too.” There was a beat of silence.

Then,

“Cute,” Jisung said, a slow smirk curling at his lips. “You’ve got teeth.” You sat back in her chair, arms crossing. “And you’ve got ego. Big one. I’m surprised it fits in here with all the air you take up.” He actually laughed. A quiet, surprised sound, like you’d caught him off-guard and he didn’t hate it.

“Most interns are too scared to say half that.”

“I’m not most interns,” she said simply.

His gaze lingered. Too long.

You didn’t flinch. Didn't blink. You was dangerous, he realized. Not in the way of lawsuits or incompetence—but in the way your eyes cut right through his performance, the way your presence didn’t flinch under pressure. He’d seen plenty of people fold under his disinterest. But not you.

And the thing was, he liked it. God, he liked it way too much.

“Fine,” he said, voice dropping a note lower. “Let’s get this straight. You bring me something smart, I’ll listen. You waste my time; I’ll make you regret it.”

Your lips twitched into something dangerously close to a smile. “You won’t scare me off, Han.” He leaned forward, elbows on the desk. “Good. Wouldn’t be fun if I did.” The room felt smaller. Warmer. Something thick and charged buzzed in the silence between you. Then he grabbed your folder and opened it, eyes scanning fast. You watched him, arms still folded, legs crossed, a flicker of fire in her gaze.

“I need full employee logs for the Taipei branch,” Jisung said, tapping his pen against the folder. “Also, see if you can get internal memos from the last quarter. Anything involving the budget committee.”

“Got it,” You replied, standing smoothly.

You reached for the folder, fingers brushing the edge of his desk like it owed you something. Confident. Effortless. And just as she turned on her heel to leave—

—he looked.

He hadn’t meant to. Not really. It just—happened.

The way your skirt hugged your hips, the subtle sway as you walked like every step was calculated, fluid, commanding the air around her. Jisung blinked, his jaw clenching a little too tightly.

Fuck.

He looked away fast. Sat back. Ran a hand down his face like it’d erase the ten seconds of weakness he just experienced.

“She’s your intern, man,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head, already annoyed with himself. “Get a grip.” But the image lingered. Along with the snarky little grin you gave him earlier the fire in your voice, the nerve.

He didn’t know whether he wanted to argue with you or—

Nope.

He shut the thought down. Immediately. He grabbed a random paper off his desk and stared at it like it was the holy gospel.

It wasn’t. It was a receipt for pens. Still, anything to distract himself. Because damn it, you were going to be a problem. And a hot one at that.

---

You leaned your head against the window, the cool glass pressing gently into your temple as your car hummed along the road, lights of the city beginning to dim behind you. Your phone was plugged into the AUX, and the low, rhythmic voice of RM filled the car like an ocean tide.

His voice always settled her nerves. Heavy thoughts dissolved into gentle weightlessness as you watched neighborhoods blur past concrete melting into trees, the air growing less polluted, the traffic thinning. Your week had already been a blur: Daejin’s pressure cooker energy, the barbed words exchanged with Jisung, the way he looked at you today like you were both a problem and a puzzle—

And still, he stared. Like he couldn’t decide whether to fight you or fold.

You scoffed softly to yourself and turned up the volume. You weren’t going to think about him right now. Not when your heart softened the closer you got to home.

The car crunched against the gravel driveway, your headlights sweeping over the familiar brick front and small white porch your dad had painted a decade ago. The house stood modest, cozy—just big enough to hold love and struggle in equal measure. You stepped out, heels in hand, dress blazer folded over your arm. The night air smelled like coming rain and hibiscus soap, your mom’s favorite. You climbed the steps two at a time and opened the door.

Inside, your father was seated by the small living room window, a blanket over his lap, the TV on low. Your mother was in the kitchen, humming to herself and peeling fruit, and Mr. Tae—her parents’ long-time caregiver—stood nearby folding laundry.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Mr. Tae greeted first, smiling warmly as he turned around.

“Hi,” you whispered, setting your bag down. Your voice dropped into something gentle, reverent. “How’ve they been today?”

“Good. Your mom’s been on her feet most of the day—she’s stubborn as always. Your dad’s been quieter. Tired. But good.” You smiled softly and nodded. You walked over to your dad first, knelt beside him, and gently placed a kiss on his cheek. He didn’t say much—just smiled at you with kind, weary eyes and touched your hair the way he used to when she was little.

Your mom came over next, wrapping you in a warm hug that still somehow smelled like love and cornbread.

“How’s the new job?” her mom asked, brushing a strand of hair from your face. You gave a half-laugh. “Complicated. Intense. Full of egos and deadlines. But I’m hanging in.”

“You always do,” your mom replied, patting your hand. “You’re our miracle, remember?” You sat with them for a while. Ate some fruit. Let yourself be their daughter instead of a rising corporate intern or legal assistant. Let yourself exhale.

Because when you walked back into Daejin the next morning…you’d need that fire again.

---

The door clicked shut behind him.

Jisung leaned against it for a moment, keys still in his hand, the silence of the apartment washing over him like warm static. No city horns here. No coworkers. No Grey. No you. He exhaled slowly, dropping his bag by the door and kicking off his shoes with mechanical grace. The space was minimal, sleek—clean lines and dark accents. Black couch, polished concrete floor, deep green plants that he tried not to forget to water.

It looked like someone with taste lived here. It felt like a hotel room someone never fully unpacked in. He peeled off his blazer, draped it over the bar stool, and walked straight to the kitchen—grabbing a water bottle and a leftover half sandwich from the fridge. Gourmet. Chef Han at it again.

The light of his laptop blinked softly from the corner of the living room.

He ignored it. Instead, he wandered to the window, bottle in hand, and stared down at the city glowing like an artificial galaxy beneath him.

Another day of everything and nothing. He’d barely slept this week. Work had been brutal. Interns had been annoying.

Well…one intern.

His jaw twitched slightly at the memory of you walking out of his office, confident as hell, throwing shade and facts like you was born in a courtroom. That mouth on you—sharp. Quick.

Too damn smart for her own good. Too damn hot for his peace of mind.

He took a long sip of water, then grabbed his phone. Your file was still open in his emails. He didn’t mean to reread it. He did anyway. Background: modest. Grades: impressive. Demeanor: biting. Expression? Always looked like she was two seconds from either kissing you or ending your entire bloodline.

And that skirt?

Jesus.

He dropped the phone face down on the kitchen island.

This wasn’t good. This wasn’t ideal. He hated supervising for a reason—he didn’t like people clinging to him, watching him, depending on him. Especially not people who stirred up whatever this was. But you were different. Not in some romanticized, poetic way. No, more like…threateningly competent with legs for days and an attitude that gave him a headache and a half-chub at the same time. He groaned, running both hands through his hair before sinking onto the couch.

“God, Grey, why her?” he muttered aloud, throwing his head back dramatically.

No answer, of course. Just the sound of Seoul vibrating behind his window.

The weight of your stare still burned behind his eyes.

He knew this was going to get messy. He just didn’t know how soon.

But one thing was for sure, you were going to ruin him if he wasn’t careful. And part of him?

Didn’t want to be.

The food he had ordered just arrived, a warm burst of garlic and spice filling the cool silence of the apartment. Jisung set the cartons down on the island, unwrapping the napkins with the kind of robotic precision you pick up when you’ve eaten alone too many nights in a row. Spicy pork bulgogi, kimchi, rice, a small bottle of soju he didn’t ask for but the restaurant always tossed it in when they recognized his name on the order.

Perks of being Han Jisung.

He had just opened the chopsticks when his phone buzzed.

Dad

Incoming call.

Jisung stared at the screen for a second too long, jaw tightening. His thumb hovered, not because he didn’t want to answer, but because he already knew how this conversation would go. Still, he accepted the call and pressed it to his ear.

“Yeah?”

A deep voice crackled through the line, rough and low like worn leather.

“You sound tired.”

“I am,” Jisung replied simply, stabbing into his rice. “Been a long week.”

“Hm. You’re still working with Grey?”

“Still am.”

A pause. The silence between them said more than words could. His father had always had this way of making small talk feel like an interrogation.

“He’s using you.”

Jisung scoffed, mouth full. “Grey doesn’t use people. He recruits weapons.”

“Exactly.”

He didn’t answer. He chewed slowly, staring at the television that wasn’t even on.

“You still think you’re doing something different than me?” his father asked.

“Yeah,” Jisung said flatly. “Because I don’t destroy people for sport.”

Another pause. This time heavier.

“You sound just like your mother when you say shit like that.”

Jisung’s stomach twisted. He took another bite, mostly to shut himself up.

“You supervising someone?” his dad continued, like nothing had just happened.

Jisung rolled his eyes. “Why do you care?”

“Because I know what that means. You don’t let people close. If Grey’s making you, it’s not for nothing.”

Jisung hesitated, his mind flickering to you, the fire-eyed intern with the mouth that didn’t quit and the brain to match. The way you stood her ground, talked back, made his blood rush like he was seventeen again.

“She’s…interesting,” he finally muttered.

“She hot?”

“Jesus, Dad.”

“What? You said interesting. That’s code.” Jisung pinched the bridge of his nose. “She’s smart. Loud. Got a mouth on her.”

“So, you hate her.”

“…Something like that.”

There was a hum of amusement through the phone. For once, not a scoff or scold. Just understanding. A scary kind. “Watch yourself,” his father warned. “Grey doesn’t push you unless he’s trying to teach you something. Or test you. Or both.”

“I’m not new to this.”

“You’re new to her.” Jisung froze for a second, chopsticks suspended in the air.

“I gotta go,” he said, clearing his throat. “Food’s getting cold.”

“Call your mother.”

“I will.”

“Jisung.”

“What.”

“Don’t ruin it before it starts.”

Click.

The line went dead. Jisung sat there for a second, staring at the phone like it might say more. Then he set it down, picked up his food again, and muttered under his breath,

“…She’s still just an intern.”

But for some reason, he didn’t believe it.

Jisung was never the golden boy. Not in the traditional sense.

He wasn’t the loudest, or the most obedient, or the one who stayed out of trouble. But he was the sharpest. Razor-witted, eyes always ten steps ahead, and a tongue that could cut through hypocrisy like glass. From a young age, he was used to watching people argue from the staircase—his father, tall and thunderous, always in some perfectly pressed suit, barking down at his mother like she was one of the many subordinates who feared him.

His father, Han Joon-won, was a underground kingpin. Notorious in South Korea’s legal underworld for getting even the dirtiest white-collar criminals off scot-free. even though he was just a professor, he made his name not by defending the innocent, but by twisting narratives so well, the guilty walked out smiling.

His mother, on the other hand, Min So-ra, had been a viper in her work but the soul of the house.  Jisung had grown up watching them clash. Not over love—they hadn’t had that in years—but over principles. Over Jisung.

“He’s not going to be your legacy, Joon-won.”

“No. He’s going to be my evolution.”

When Jisung was 16, his mother left. Just packed her bags one night, kissed his forehead, and disappeared into a train station fog with nothing but her passport and a spine of steel.

She didn’t fight for custody. She didn’t drag him through courts. She just said, “I trust you to choose who you want to become.” And that ruined him more than any custody battle ever could.

When he was 20 and fresh out of university—with the kind of transcripts people framed—Jisung had offers lined up. Corporate firms, legal think tanks, political gigs. But none of it felt… earned. It felt like a train his father had put him on long ago, and the tracks were already built for him.

Daejin wasn’t a regular firm. It wasn’t even fully public. It was a private legal-intelligence consulting group, used by billionaires and politicians when the government couldn’t be trusted. Rumors said they helped broker backdoor treaties and helped dismantle crime rings from the inside. Jisung had accepted. Not because he trusted Grey, not because his mother signed behind his back, but because it felt like the first decision that was his.

He’d finished the bulgogi, the soju still cold beside his elbow, untouched. A silence lingered too long in the space around him—the kind that scratched at his ears. So, he picked up his phone again and scrolled to “엄마”. mom

He hadn’t called in weeks. She picked up on the second ring.

“Sung-ah.”

His chest clenched. Her voice hadn’t changed. Soft, calm, always like the air after a thunderstorm.

“Hey,” he said, a little hoarse. “You free?”

“For you? Always.”

He smiled softly, letting his head fall back against the couch.

“I got assigned someone today.”

“At work?”

“Yeah. Intern. I’m her supervisor.”

“And how do you feel about that?” He paused. How did he feel?

“She’s… interesting,” he muttered.

“That’s not a feeling, baby.”

He chuckled, rubbing his forehead. “She’s annoying. And smart. And looks at me like she’s trying to read my blood type.”

“So, she’s not scared of you.”

“No. And that’s the problem.”

“Or the point.”

Silence passed between them again, but this time it felt full. Safe. “Don’t let your father live in your mirror,” she said softly. “Not when there’s still light in your eyes.”

He closed his eyes. Let her words sink in.

“Thanks, Mom.”

“Call more often. I like hearing you wrestle with your own stubbornness.”

He smiled, biting back the wave of emotion building in his chest.

“I will.”

Click.

The line ended, and Jisung sat there for a long time phone on his chest, soju uncapped. Thinking about you, about the case, about whether this internship of yours was the beginning of your legacy...

…or the unraveling of his.

---

The lights in War Room A were low but moody designed that way to make people feel like the truth mattered more in the dark. Glass boards lined the walls, already filled with cryptic arrows and pin-dotted strings from other ongoing cases. The table was long, cold steel, with matte black folders laid out like they were handling national security instead of corporate lawsuits. Y/N walked in clutching her notepad, lips set in a calm line, her heels tapping softly against the grey tile. Her nerves simmered under the surface, but her expression stayed focused, professional. The room had a tension to it like the oxygen had been filtered for people who played chess with lives.

Jisung was already there, sleeves rolled to the forearms, silver watch glinting under the ceiling light. His jaw looked sharper this morning tighter. He didn’t look up when she entered.

Just said, “You’re late.”

“I’m early,” she replied smoothly, glancing at the wall clock—9:02.

He looked up then. Eyes dragging from her face to the file in her hand, then back. “Right. Two minutes early. Congratulations, you want a cookie?”

“Only if it’s got sarcasm chips in it.”

A ghost of a smirk flicked at the corner of his lips. But it vanished before it could get comfortable. “Sit,” he muttered, motioning to the seat beside him. As she sat, more of the upper-tier team began filing in. Analysts. Consultants. A lead from the surveillance branch. Everyone looked polished and exhausted, like they hadn’t slept more than three hours in days. The weight of high-profile work wore heavy on everyone here and Y/N felt it. Like iron in her bones.

Grey entered last. Of course.

Wearing an all-black turtleneck and long grey coat, he looked more like a grieving poet than the head of a high-level legal-intelligence firm. But the room straightened when he walked in. His presence commanded without barking.

He didn’t speak until he’d set his black coffee down.

“This is the KraneTech litigation,” he began. “Thirty-two million dollars’ worth of hush money misfiled as marketing budget. A whistleblower’s coming forward. We’re handling the internal case, prepping for external liability.”

He glanced around the table, then locked eyes with Y/N.

“This will be Y/N’s first live case. She’s under Han.” Jisung sighed through his nose. Loud enough for her to hear it. Not loud enough to get called out.

“Everyone, give her the floor.”

Y/N blinked. “Wait—”

“You have 90 seconds,” Grey added casually. “What’s your understanding of the case from the file you read yesterday?”

Shit.

She straightened. “KraneTech misappropriated marketing funds to pay off silence regarding potential internal abuse and fraudulent operations. The whistleblower is anonymous for now but has indicated they have documentation and digital logs.”

The room watched her like hawks. She continued. “There’s a timeline gap between February and April 2023 where no financial statements match the campaign budgets. That’s likely when the payouts happened. There’s also a legal scrub done during April that feels… strategic. Like they were anticipating investigation.”

Grey leaned back, considering. “Interesting.”

She held her breath. Then, he nodded once. “You’ll shadow Han. You have two days to prove you can handle the next phase of the audit alone.”

He turned to Jisung. “She’s yours. Try not to murder each other.”

Jisung’s jaw ticked.

Grey left with most of the others. The moment the room was half empty, Jisung stood and walked toward the glass board at the front of the room. Y/N followed, silent, watching him as he clicked a button and the case projection flickered to life.

He didn’t look at her as he said, “You’re not bad.”

“Was that… a compliment?”

“Don’t get cocky.”

“I’m writing it down anyway.”

“You do that.”

They stood side by side now, looking at the digital board—emails, blurred invoices, personnel profiles. “What’s your plan?” he asked.

She crossed her arms. “Trace the digital logins. Identify the cleaner who did the scrub in April. Follow the emails that were archived after the fact. There’s always metadata.”

“Metadata and luck.” He paused. “You might actually survive here.”

“I don’t need to survive,” she muttered. “I plan to win.” He turned his head just slightly, watching her profile as her eyes stayed on the board. It annoyed him. How pretty she looked when she was focused. How cocky she sounded when she didn’t even know the half of what Daejin really did behind closed doors.

“You’re stubborn,” he said.

“I adapt.”

“That’s worse.”

She smirked without turning to him. “Maybe you’re just slow.” He blinked. God, she was insufferable. And kinda hot.

He cleared his throat. “Meeting’s over. Get what you need. I’ll send you internal files by noon.” She nodded, then turned to leave the room.

His eyes dropped instinctively—for a second—to the sway of her hips, her skirt hugging just enough.

He looked away instantly, jaw clenched.

“Fucking hell…” he whispered under his breath.

The office they used was colder than necessary. The kind of cold that kept you awake and working, courtesy of Daejin’s air conditioning set to “keep them alert or kill them trying.” The space was sleek, functional, and minimal: two large desks facing opposite walls, a shared table in the center stacked with files, highlighters, redacted papers, and two half-drunk cups of espresso.

Y/N had shed her blazer somewhere around 9AM. Now in a simple white shirt with the sleeves folded to her elbows, her fingers flew over her keyboard, the blue glow of her screen reflecting off her glasses. She was in full problem-solver mode, lip caught between her teeth, brows furrowed in that way Jisung had, unfortunately, noticed more than once.

Jisung sat across from her, slightly reclined, eyes darting between an evidence board and the KraneTech whistleblower’s anonymized file. He was chewing the tip of a pen, annoyed that it was yielding nothing new. His own desk was chaos with purpose: files, sticky notes, USB drives, all organized in his uniquely ‘smart but unhinged’ way.

Silence passed between them—not uncomfortable. Just focused.

“You notice this?” Y/N asked suddenly, flipping her laptop to face him.

Jisung stood and leaned over, arms braced on either side of her chair as he scanned her screen. Her perfume—something light and sweet—hit him too quickly. He pulled back a little.

She pointed. “The logs from the scrub session in April? Someone tried to delete twice. Different time stamps. But only one was executed.” His eyes scanned fast. Sharp. “Good catch. That means they weren’t working alone. One initiated. One canceled. Which means—”

“Which means the second person might’ve backed out,” she finished. Their eyes met. A beat of satisfaction passed between them.

She looked smug. He hated that he liked it. He straightened and returned to his desk without comment. “Cross-check the list of digital IDs with those on the financial audits,” he added, already typing again. “There’s a chance the person who canceled left a trail out of guilt. I’ll trace the IP from the meta headers.”

“On it,” she replied.

Hours passed. Coffee refilled. Notes scribbled. The room thickened with brainpower and caffeine fumes. By 12:17 PM, her stomach growled audibly. She froze. Jisung glanced up, cocked a brow. “You gonna eat or let your stomach file a complaint to HR?”

“I’ll grab something later—”

“You’ve been saying that for four hours,” he cut in, pulling out his phone. A few taps. “Lunch will be here in ten.”

“You didn’t have to—”

“I chose to. Which means now you’re going to eat, intern.” His tone was teasing but firm. “Take a break. Let your frontal lobe reset before it fries.” She gave him a look, soft but stubborn. “You didn’t have to—”

“If you say that one more time, I’m ordering dinner too and making you eat it in front of the entire board.”

She blinked. He smirked.

“And that’s not an empty threat.”

Ten minutes later, lunch arrived—grilled chicken wraps, sweet potato fries, and iced black tea. Jisung slid one over to her, then turned back to his desk like it meant nothing. Y/N stared at the food. Then him.

“You’re not eating?”

“Later,” he muttered. “I want to finish this trace.”

“You sure? I can share.” He shot her a sideways look. “Don’t tempt me.” Her cheeks flushed, but she masked it with a sarcastic chuckle, “Relax, Park. It’s not a marriage proposal. It’s just fries.” He smirked, but didn’t respond, back to his files, eyes scanning deep.

Y/N finally took a bite.

And—damn it—it was really good.

For the next half hour, they worked in silence again. Separate desks. Separate minds. But the same rhythm. The same obsession. The same unspoken energy. Enemies? No. Allies with fire in the air? Absolutely.

And neither of them realized it yet…

…but this was how chemistry always began at Daejin.

The city outside had long gone quiet. Seoul’s skyline twinkled through the window, streetlights casting streaks of orange and silver across the tiled floor. The office was quieter now—no whirring printers or urgent footsteps. Just two exhausted minds submerged in data, theories, and the kind of mental endurance that only legal warfare demanded.

Y/N sat cross-legged in her chair, one earbud in, hair messily pinned up with a pen poking through it. Her screen was a swirl of digital records, duplicated entries, firewall logs, she was squinting now, moving files around like puzzle pieces in her mind. A cold cup of coffee sat beside her, untouched for the last hour. Her knee bounced unconsciously, the adrenaline refusing to die down even though her body begged for sleep.

Then—she paused.

Froze.

Brows lifted slowly, lips parting. Her fingers darted over the keys, pulling up the original access logs from April’s double-deletion. She’d been chasing a ghost for hours, but there it was, plain as day: a duplicated ID signature tied to two different employee databases. The same person had registered under two different teams. Fake alias.

“Oh my God,” she whispered, breathless.

She snatched the file from the table where Jisung had left it earlier—his own scribbled notes, dots connected, theories half-built. The answer had been under both their noses the whole time.

“Jisung!” she called out instinctively, spinning her chair around, face bright with excitement and a little disbelief.

But when she turned—

He wasn’t responding.

Slouched in his chair, arms draped lazily across the desk, Jisung’s head had dropped sideways. His laptop screen still flickered, casting soft light over his peaceful expression. One hand was still holding onto the same file she now clutched, his notes stopped mid-sentence.

She blinked, then smiled. The moment softened her. There was something intimate about seeing someone brilliant in their most unguarded state. She stepped closer, voice low. “Guess we cracked it… both of us. Not bad for an overachiever and a half-asleep grump.”

No reply. Just a soft rise and fall of his chest. A slight twitch of his lips, like he was dreaming—maybe about work, maybe something far less exhausting. She shook her head fondly, knelt beside him, and tapped his arm gently.

“Hey, genius. Sleeping on the job now?”

Jisung stirred. Eyes slowly opened, bleary and unfocused at first. His lashes fluttered and his brows knitted as he squinted.

“Shit—did I pass out?” he muttered, sitting up too fast.

“Yeah,” she chuckled. “Right in the middle of your future law firm commercial. ‘Park Jisung: brilliant, relentless, occasionally unconscious.’”

He ran a hand down his face, groaning. “Fuck. I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine,” she said quickly, voice firmer now. “Don’t apologize.” He looked at her, confused, still blinking the sleep out of his eyes. “You need to go home,” she said softly, but there was command in it. “You look like you’ve been tired for years, not just tonight.”

“Y/N—”

“Don’t argue.” She reached for his laptop and closed it. “I’ll clean up here, write up a preliminary. I’ll shoot you a copy before morning.”

He hesitated, still groggy, but caught in her unwavering gaze. Her voice was gentle, but it left no room for negotiation.

“…You always like bossing people around?” he mumbled, standing slowly.

“Only when they’re being stupidly self-destructive. Karma, really.”

That earned a small smirk. He slung his bag over his shoulder, but before he left, he paused at the doorway. She was already turning back to her laptop, immersed again.

“Thanks,” he said, voice quieter. She didn’t look up.

“Go home, Han.” He lingered for one more second, eyes tracing her silhouette under the cool light of the monitor.

And then he was gone.

---

Han Jisung’s apartment was all clean lines and controlled chaos. A half-folded hoodie hung off a kitchen chair, vinyl records were stacked by the turntable in no real order, and the scent of his cologne lingered in the hallway like a memory too stubborn to leave. He was buttoning up his dress shirt, sleeves still rolled to the elbow, his hair damp and messy from a rushed shower.

He grabbed his phone from the counter just as it buzzed.

New Email: Preliminary Draft — Case #1782

Sender: Y/N [yn.daejin.legal@corp.kr]

He blinked, brows furrowing.

Already?

He opened it, skimming fast at first—but then slowing.

Thorough. Organized. Insightful. She hadn’t just pieced together the data. She’d cross-referenced employee signatures, restructured their timeline, and even color-coded the suspects in the margin.

“…Damn,” he muttered, under his breath.

Then another ping.

Text from Y/N:

Morning. I might come in a little late today—just wanted to give a heads-up. Will join as soon as I’m done. Thanks again for last night. Hope you got decent sleep.

He stared at the message a moment longer than necessary, lips twitching into something that wasn’t quite a smirk but definitely wasn’t neutral. His fingers hovered above the keyboard—he started to type, paused, erased, then just tossed the phone on the bed.

“Tch,” he muttered, grabbing his blazer. “Why is she so annoyingly good at this…”

And still, as he grabbed his bag and locked the door behind him, the corner of his mouth wouldn’t stop lifting.

He walked into the morning rush of Seoul, suit crisp, heart slightly off-beat, and thoughts already spiraling back to the girl who’d made him a little more tired… and a lot more intrigued.

—

The room hummed with pre-trial tension. A long, oval table dominated the center—sleek, black wood polished to a mirror shine. Screens displayed the case name, stacks of legal documents fanned out in front of each assigned seat, water bottles untouched beside stiff black folders. Jisung sat near the end, one ankle lazily crossed over the other, arms folded, eyes flicking between the time on his watch and the door.

9:05. You was five minutes late. Not a big deal.

But it made his left eye twitch.

He was about to tap his pen against the desk when the door finally swung open.

You stepped in—hair pulled back in a high, slick ponytail, glasses perched delicately on your nose. That outfit? Deadly. A gray pinstriped shirt peeking from beneath a black cropped cardigan, slacks hugging your hips in a way that made Jisung’s train of thought flatline for two full seconds. He sat up straighter unconsciously.

You looked... put-together. Smart. Sharp. And not trying too hard. Your eyes met his and—there it was again—that same flicker of tension. Familiar, unspoken. But you walked over calmly, confidence in your steps, setting down your laptop and notes beside his before leaning in slightly and whispering, “Did you read the preliminary?”

He gave you a slow blink.

“Yeah.”

“Did I mess anything up? I—I rushed the tail end and didn’t double check that section with the warehouse codes.”

Jisung’s brows rose. You were nervous.

He leaned in slightly, voice low and smooth. “No, you didn’t mess up. It’s tight. You caught things even I didn’t at first glance.” You narrowed your eyes at him skeptically, biting back a smile. “You’re being sarcastic.”

Jisung tilted his head. “I’m actually not. Don’t get used to it though.”

You chuckled softly and straightened your back, trying to hide the little breath of pride you exhaled. The compliment, sarcastic or not, buzzed in your chest. Just then, the door opened again and Grey strolled in, black suit, no tie, coffee in hand, and that ever-serious gleam in his eyes.

“Alright,” he called out. “Let’s get this started. We’ve got five days before trial and no time to fumble.”

The room fell silent instantly, shuffling to attention. Jisung caught your glance from the corner of his eye as you both turned to face the screen. You were in this. Present. Awake. Ready. And damn if he wasn’t a little impressed. And a little more in trouble than he thought. Grey stood at the head of the table, setting down his coffee and clapping his hands once to get everyone locked in.

“Let’s keep it clean, focused, and brutal,” he said, eyes sweeping over the team. “We’ve got motive, but the jury’s going to need a narrative they can eat with a spoon. What’s the angle?”

There was a beat of silence before you cleared her throat gently.

“We start with the financial discrepancies in the subsidiary accounts,” you said, clicking your laptop and flipping the screen to show a clean graph. “Every quarter leading up to the embezzlement charge, there’s a small spike in activity—same offshore account, different shell companies.”

Grey raised a brow, mildly impressed. “And the evidence chain?”

“Verified. We have authenticated statements, plus a testimony lined up from the former assistant—she’s agreed to testify under condition of anonymity.”

Jisung leaned back in his chair, clicking his pen against his thigh. “It’s a good start. But it’s not enough to prove intent. The defense will call it mismanagement or incompetence. We need to tie the money trail to motive.” Grey nodded slowly and gestured. “Han?”

Jisung leaned forward, fingers steepled. “So, we hit them where it hurts—optics. The accused transferred funds under the guise of ‘consultancy fees’ to a company owned by his college roommate. We subpoenaed his travel history—it matches up with four ‘retreats’ that happen to line up with the largest deposits. Add in emails recovered from the IT sweep…”

He tapped his file. “There’s one that says—and I quote—‘just make sure they don’t notice until Q3.’ That’s intent, with a side of cocky.” Your eyes flicked over to him. “And we link that to the board vote he forced through last September? That’s when he got majority control.”

Jisung glanced sideways at you and gave a little nod. “Exactly.” Grey folded his arms. “So, what’s the sequence of presentation?”

You raised a hand slightly, already halfway flipping pages. “We open with the paper trail—the clean, technical breakdown. It builds credibility. Then Jisung drives the intent point home with the emails and personal ties. By the time we present the witness, the jury already suspects him. Her testimony just confirms it.”

Jisung looked at you. Really looked. “We build the wall first, then drop the hammer.”

You didn’t smile, but your lips twitched in mutual understanding. “Exactly.” Grey looked between them for a moment before nodding, pleased. “Good. Tag team it. Han, you handle cross. YN, you prep the witness and the opening presentation. You’ve got three days. I want a mock run-through by Thursday.”

Everyone else began gathering their things and filtering out, but YN and Jisung lingered, documents still splayed across the table like a living crime scene. You gathered your notes silently, then paused.

“You’re not bad at this,” you said lightly, not looking at him.

Jisung let out a soft scoff. “You’re pretty decent yourself. For someone who doesn’t shut up.”

“Maybe if you weren’t always so smug, I’d have less to say.” He shot you a lazy smirk, grabbing his folder. “Nah. You’d still talk. It’s the only way you function.” You raised a brow, grabbing her coffee as she stood. “Just be ready Thursday, counselor.”

“Oh, I will be,” he murmured, half to himself as you walked off ahead of him. His eyes dropped to the sway of-

Focus, Han. Not now.

The case was a web. But with you, he realized it wasn’t just untangling it. It was figuring out who was pulling the strings alongside him. And for once, it didn’t feel like he was doing it alone.

Prep for the Mock Trial

The fluorescent lights in your shared office buzzed quietly as papers rustled and two cups of coffee sat cooling, forgotten. The clock ticked past 9:00 PM, but neither of you had noticed the time. You were seated cross-legged in one of the chairs, balancing your laptop on your knees, voice low but focused as you ran through your opening statement draft. Jisung was pacing slowly with a pen in his mouth and a highlighter tucked behind one ear, eyes darting from paper to whiteboard. Every now and then, he’d mumble something or make a noise of disapproval under his breath.

“You skipped over the offshore transfer in August,” he said suddenly, cutting into her flow like a scalpel. “What?” you blinked, scrolling up. “No, I didn’t—”

“You did. You jumped from July to September like August didn’t exist. That transfer ties into the witness’ credibility. If you miss that in court, we lose the entire momentum.”

“I said August,” you insisted, your tone sharp now. “You must’ve zoned out again.” Jisung rolled his eyes, dragging a hand through his hair. “I don’t zone out; I just actually pay attention.” That landed a little harder than he expected.

Your fingers froze on the trackpad. “Are you seriously implying I don’t pay attention to my own case?”

“I’m implying,” he said coolly, “that maybe if you stopped treating this like a performance and started treating it like law, you wouldn’t miss simple stuff.” Your mouth parted, stunned. “Excuse me?”

“You’re great at talking, Y/N, no doubt. But law isn’t about sounding smart. It’s about being right. And sometimes, you skip details because you’re so busy trying to be the smartest person in the room.”

The air went ice cold.

“Wow,” you said, standing up slowly, voice lower than before. “You know, I get it. You’re used to being the genius. The golden boy. So, God forbid someone comes in and actually keeps up.” Jisung’s mouth opened, then shut. His jaw flexed.

“I didn’t say that—”

“But you think it. And maybe you’re right. Maybe I do care about how I come across—because I have to. Because unlike you, I don’t have a safety net. I don’t have parents who could afford law school. I don’t have a family name. I earned my place here.”

“You think I didn’t?”

“No,” you snapped, “I think you didn’t have to fight tooth and nail just to be seen. I think you have no idea what it’s like to have people doubt your intelligence the second you walk in because you don’t come from the right background.”

He looked like he wanted to fight that but then he muttered it, barely audible:

“Maybe if you weren’t so defensive all the damn time, people wouldn’t doubt you.” Your eyes widened slowly. That one hit like a punch to the ribs.

“You know what?” you said quietly. “Screw this.”

You grabbed your laptop and shoved it into your bag with trembling hands. He stepped forward instinctively, guilt rushing in like a wave, but you cut him off with just one glance, eyes glassy and betrayed.

“Don’t,” she warned.

“Y/N, I—”

“You don’t get to apologize.” The door clicked behind you as you walked out, leaving only silence and the buzzing light.

Jisung stood there for a long time, the weight of his words pressing down hard. He knew he messed up. And he knew sorry wasn’t going to cut it.

---

The atmosphere in the trial room was different.

Tense. Unspoken.

The team sat behind the long table facing the mock jury box. Grey was seated like a hawk, sharp-eyed and still. Jisung was at the end of the table, posture impeccable, face unreadable. His tie was perfect, hair neat, but his fingers tapped nervously under the desk. You walked in five minutes before the session started.

You were pristine with pressed slacks, a sleek ponytail, silver-rimmed glasses. The same woman from the steps that morning. Cool, composed, unreadable.

You didn’t look at him.

You didn’t even hesitate. Grey gave a curt nod as the session began. “Let’s run it like it’s real. Y/N, opening.” You stood, the room holding its breath.

And as you spoke—calm, clear, devastatingly precise—Jisung could feel the growing tension in his chest. You were flawless. Unshakable.

And she wasn’t looking at him.

The mock courtroom buzzed with a synthetic energy, the kind that stemmed from performance but mimicked the high-stakes atmosphere of a real trial. Every step, every statement was under scrutiny. Professors and legal consultants sat with clipboards, eyes flickering between the two leads of the case.

You hadn't glanced at Jisung once. Not during his opening statement, which was admittedly impressive but a touch rushed. Not when they passed each other the exhibit binder. Not even when he tapped your arm to hand over his notes on the cross. You took them without a word.

Your expression remained neutral, every movement calculated.

Jisung was unraveling. Internally. On the outside, he maintained the illusion of calm, jotting things down, nodding here and there, but underneath, it was pure chaos. He’d stolen a few glances. Your eyes were deadset on the witness, your jaw sharp, mouth pursed in thought. And each time you succeeded, each time the jury murmured in appreciation, he should’ve felt pride.

Instead, he felt the hollow throb of regret.

You stood for cross-examination, heels clacking against the floor with commanding rhythm.

“Mr. Wexler, you mentioned that the email correspondence between you and the defendant occurred ‘frequently’ throughout Q3, correct?”

“Yes.”

You tilted her head, sharp. “Can you define ‘frequently’?”

“Uh… maybe twice a week?”

“Twice a week,” you echoed, eyes flicking to the projector. “Then can you explain why there are only four emails logged between July and September?”

The room shifted. The witness stammered. Jisung smiled. Instinctively, he turned to share that moment with you.

You didn’t even twitch. Didn’t acknowledge the success. Didn’t give him the usual side-smirk you shared when a point landed. Nothing.

You sat, fingers interlaced calmly. Cold. Professional. Grey leaned in slightly toward Jisung, whispering just loud enough: “She’s sharper today.”

Jisung forced a grin. “Yeah. She is.”

What Grey didn’t know was why she was sharper. Pain had a funny way of refining focus. And you were in no mood to forgive and forget. Especially not mid-trial.

As everyone gathered near the board, unpacking the session, you contributed where necessary, objective and direct. When Jisung asked you if you needed his notes for the rebuttal? You turned to Grey and said, “Could you pass me the updated printout?”

When he brought up a shared strategy they’d discussed last night?

“Actually, I revised that this morning. I’ll use mine.”

Every time he tried to breach the space between you — professional or personal — you slid past him like smoke. Unbothered. It was killing him.

---

Jisung finally caught you at the vending machine, alone. No audience. No Grey.

“Y/N—”

“I don’t want to talk to you right now.”

Your tone was low but heavy. He opened his mouth. Closed it.

“Okay,” he finally said.

You didn’t even turn. Just grabbed your drink and walked away, leaving him standing there with his apology still stuck in his throat.

The Actual Courtroom Trial – Day One

Location: Seoul District Court, 9:15 AM.

The courtroom was charged. Polished wood gleamed under harsh lighting, papers rustled like whispers, and every cough, click, and sigh echoed like it mattered. The gallery was half-filled with press, executives, and sharp-eyed legal interns hungry for drama. Y/N sat at the plaintiff’s table, expression blank, body composed like a trained performer. Her braids were pinned in a clean updo, her suit crisply tailored, gray with a deep navy undershirt that matched the cold glint in her eyes. Jisung, sitting beside her, looked the part too, fitted black suit, no tie, top button undone. Hands loosely folded over his notes; brows furrowed. He’d barely said a word to her since the mock trial.

She hadn’t said a word back. And now wasn’t the time to fix anything. Because the judge walked in.

“All rise.”

Everyone stood.

“Court is now in session in the matter of Daejin Tech vs. KraneTech and Min Hyunsoo.”

The judge, an older man with sharp eyes behind square glasses, glanced down at his docket. “Opening statements?”

Grey stood first. “Your Honor, we intend to prove that not only did the defendant willfully breach contract, but in doing so, they manipulated internal reporting systems to inflate data and secure funding under false pretenses.” He glanced down at Jisung, who gave the most subtle nod. Grey continued: “We will show you emails, witness statements, and system logs that confirm deliberate falsification, with direct involvement from Mr. Min.”

It was clean. Sharp. Confident.

The defense countered with a calm but vague approach — denying nothing directly, playing the ‘miscommunication between departments’ angle.

Classic. But weak.

Witness Examination — Day Two

By now, the courtroom had warmed up. The crowd had grown. Legal press had started posting snippets, curious about the two Daejin lawyers making waves. Jisung took the floor this time. His steps were slow, measured. The court reporter’s keys tapped steadily as he approached the witness: a former financial analyst who’d been fired six months prior.

“You mentioned seeing irregularities in the data, correct?”

“Yes.”

Jisung leaned against the podium, casual but precise. “And you reported it?”

“I tried. But the internal review team—”

“Objection. Hearsay.”

“Withdrawn,” Jisung said easily, before shifting pace. “So you saw something. And you did…nothing?” The witness shifted. “I was told it wasn’t my place.”

“By whom?”

The man hesitated. “Let the record show the witness is taking a long pause,” Jisung added calmly, then looked to the jury. “Sometimes silence tells us more than words.”

The gallery buzzed. Y/N didn’t look at him. But her pen stopped moving for half a second. Just a twitch. Their next witness was the IT manager. Now it was Y/N’s turn. She stood tall, calm, with a file in hand as she stepped to the center. Her voice? Smooth and precise.

“You were in charge of all server logs for KraneTech?”

“Yes.”

“You have access to login timestamps, message histories, cloud storage?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She clicked a remote. The screen lit up behind her. “Can you explain this file name?” she asked, pointing to a suspicious folder — ’dev_recalibrationsQ3_v2’.

“It’s not one I authorized.”

“Yet it came from your department.”

“It did.”

“Then who accessed it?”

The man hesitated. Y/N didn’t blink. “I’ll save you the trouble,” she said, clicking again. “The IP address matches the defendant’s personal office system. And the login code was hardwired to his biometric key.”

Gasps.

“Would you still say you weren’t aware of any tampering?” she asked quietly. He swallowed. “No, ma’am.” Her face was emotionless as she turned back to the judge. “No further questions.”

Recess

Grey gave both Y/N and Jisung subtle nods of approval, but neither of them smiled. They weren’t talking. Not outside the courtroom. Not even in the prep room. They passed each other case files like strangers forced to cooperate. They presented united fronts like seasoned partners. But underneath?

It was a cold war.

Final Courtroom Verdict — Seoul District Court

Day Six, 3:45 PM

The courtroom was still. Not the kind of silence that came from boredom or fatigue, no, this one crackled. Anticipation hung heavy like fog, wrapping around every person in the room. Phones had been tucked away. The press wasn’t even live-tweeting anymore. Everyone was waiting. Jisung sat tall, his hands resting loosely on his lap. He didn’t look at Y/N. Not once. She looked straight ahead, lips barely parted, a pen clutched tightly in her right hand not writing, not fidgeting. Just holding. Her back was straight. Her jaw was steel.

The judge cleared his throat. “I have reviewed the evidence, testimonies, and expert analysis provided throughout this trial.”

A pause. “And while the defense attempted to establish a chain of miscommunication, this court finds that the fraud was deliberate, premeditated, and tied directly to Mr. Min Hyunsoo.”

A murmur swept through the gallery.

“I hereby rule in favor of the plaintiff, Daejin Tech.”

Boom. Just like that. Case closed. Grey let out the smallest exhale. A pleased smile tugged at the edge of his lips. “Well done,” he said under his breath. But his gaze wasn’t on Jisung. It was on Y/N.

They stood. They bowed. The courtroom emptied slowly, reluctantly — like no one really wanted to miss what came next.

But Y/N didn’t stay. She packed up her documents methodically, not bothering to make eye contact with anyone. The moment the courtroom cleared, she slipped into the hallway, heels echoing sharply against the marble floor. Her suit jacket clung perfectly, hair neat, gaze fixed forward.

Until,

“Y/N,” Jisung called from behind her.

She didn’t stop. Not until he caught up and stepped in front of her, blocking her path just outside the conference room doors. The hall was mostly empty, voices muffled behind glass and oak.

“I just—” He paused, jaw clenching. “I need to apologize. What I said that night, I wasn’t thinking—”

“Don’t.” Her voice was quiet but cutting. She looked up at him, not angry just… disappointed. Like she'd seen a side of him she wished she hadn’t.

“I shouldn’t have let myself get comfortable with you,” she said, slowly. “That was my mistake.”

Jisung’s mouth parted, but nothing came out.

“And I’m sorry for assuming I could be safe around you and still… be myself.” Her eyes dropped for just a second, then came back up, colder. “Won’t happen again.”

“YN/…” His brows furrowed, the guilt in his expression unmistakable. “Don’t do that.”

But she was already pulling herself back together. Tightening the line in her shoulders. Drawing the wall back up, brick by goddamn brick. “I’ll see you at work, sir,” she said, stepping past him.

That one word — sir — sliced clean and cruel. Not professional. Not respectful. Just distant.

And then she was gone. Leaving Jisung standing in the hall, stunned silent, holding onto an apology that had come too late.

---

The house smelled like warm rice and thyme-simmered chicken, that comforting kind of scent that wrapped around your bones and said you’re safe here. You sat at the edge of the couch, curled up under your mom’s old woven blanket. Your mother had already bombarded you with a second helping of food you didn’t ask for, and your dad had just settled beside her with a cold glass of malt.

“So,” her mom said gently, “how’d the case go?”

You exhaled slowly, letting your body sink into the soft curve of the couch. “We won,” you murmured, voice small but proud. Your mom grinned and reached out to squeeze her hand. “I’m so proud of you, baby. All those sleepless nights, hm?”

“Barely slept at all,” You chuckled softly. Your dad leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees. “And this Jisung guy? Your supervisor?” Your lips tightened slightly. “He was… fine.”

“You say that like he set your desk on fire,” your mom said with a teasing smirk. You smiled faintly but didn’t elaborate. Just twisted the edge of the blanket between your fingers. Your dad raised a brow, the way he always did when he was scanning for more beneath the surface. “Something happen?”

There was a long pause before you gave a small nod. “He said something… personal. During a fight. It just… I don’t know. Hit too close.” Your mom’s eyes darkened slightly. “What did he say?”

“Nothing worth repeating,” you muttered.

Your dad studied you for a moment longer, then sat back with a deep sigh, that thoughtful dad sigh that only ever came before life advice that could level you. “You know,” he said slowly, “sometimes we say stupid things when we care too much and don’t know how to say it.”

You blinked. “He doesn’t care—”

“He does. That’s why he pissed you off so easily. And why you’re still hurt.” You looked at him then, eyes tired. He met your gaze with a small, knowing smile.

“I’ve said some cruel things to your mother before. Words that hurt deep, even if I didn’t mean them. Sometimes men get scared, or flustered, and instead of admitting it… we shoot. And the first thing in the line of fire is usually the person closest.”

Your mom nodded softly from beside you. “Forgiveness doesn’t make you weak, darling. It means you’re strong enough to love past someone’s worst day.” You exhaled through your nose, leaning your head on your dad’s shoulder. You didn’t say anything but the weight in your chest loosened just a little.

—

The office lights were dimmed to a low glow, but Jisung hadn’t moved. His suit jacket lay draped over the couch, his shirt sleeves rolled up, tie undone. He stared at the report on his desk, not really reading it. His fingers tapped mindlessly against the table.

There was no music. No celebration. Just silence and a gnawing ache behind his eyes.

He couldn’t stop replaying the way she said sir.

He’d earned that. He deserved that. But it still stung like hell. The door creaked open, and Grey strolled in with two takeaway cups in hand. “You’re still here?” he asked, incredulous. “Jesus, Sungie — we just won our most high-profile case this quarter.”

Jisung didn’t look up. Grey set one cup on his desk. “Why aren’t you home getting drunk and screaming into a karaoke mic with Changbin?”

Silence.

Grey’s gaze narrowed as he pulled up a chair. “This is about her, isn’t it?”

Still no answer. “I shouldn’t’ve made you supervise her,” Grey said eventually. “You hate team-ups. I knew that.” Jisung finally shifted, rubbing the back of his neck. “That’s not it.” Grey’s brow lifted. “Then what is?”

Silence again but heavier this time. More telling.

Grey leaned back, mouth twitching. “You fought, didn’t you?”

Jisung didn’t confirm it, but he didn’t have to. Grey sighed, shaking his head. “She’s smart. And she keeps you on your toes. And she makes you care when you’re trying not to.”

“Grey…” Jisung muttered, tone low and warning.

“Don’t worry, I’m not gonna lecture you. I’m just saying, maybe don’t be a dumbass.” He stood, finishing his coffee. “Go home, Jisung. This office doesn’t need your brooding. And she sure as hell doesn’t need more silence from you.”

He clapped him on the shoulder once not hard, not playful. Just grounding. Then he walked out.

And Jisung sat alone again.

But this time… he picked up his phone. And he stared at her name. For a very, very long time.

…One Week Later…

The clack of heels against marble, the hum of printers, the sharp scent of espresso drifting from the break room work carried on like the world hadn’t cracked open just days ago.

Y/N walked in every morning exactly at 8:50. Not too early. Not too late. Her hair pinned neatly, makeup clean and sharp. Professional. Untouchable.

Jisung noticed. He always did. But he kept his eyes on his screen when she passed his office. He pretended not to glance up when her laugh rang out from across the hall quieter now, but still there.

They only spoke when absolutely necessary.

And those conversations?

Clinical. Precise.

Like cutting stitches with cold hands.

Jisung stepped in to the meeting room with a file in hand, the tie he forgot to tighten swinging slightly as he moved. Y/N was already seated at the end of the table, flipping through a document.

“Update on the Barlow merger,” she said without looking up.

He slid into the seat across from her. “I… yeah. I got your notes.” A pause. “They were good. Really… good.” She nodded, still not looking at him.

The silence stretched like plastic wrap thin and suffocating. Jisung tapped the corner of his folder. “YN, I—”

She turned a page.

He swallowed. “About last week—”

“Jisung,” she said gently but firmly, still not lifting her eyes. “Let’s keep it about work.”

He nodded. Slowly. The tightness in his chest returned like a tide. “Right. Just work.” He left first.

---

The doors slid open. She was already inside.

He hesitated just for a second. But it was enough. She saw it.

“Getting in?” she asked quietly.

He stepped in. They stood in opposite corners, the silence buzzing with everything unsaid. As the doors closed, he risked a glance. Her arms were crossed. Eyes forward.

“I didn’t mean it,” he muttered.

She blinked. “What?”

“That night,” he said, a little louder now. “What I said. I didn’t mean it. Any of it.”

Her eyes flicked to him, unreadable. “I know.” That should’ve been comforting.

But it wasn’t. “Then why won’t you look at me?” She exhaled. “Because I’m trying to keep my distance.”

The elevator dinged. She stepped out without turning back.

---

Grey glanced up from his desk when Jisung walked in looking like a man who’d just been hit with a lawsuit and a love confession at the same time.

“She talked to me,” Jisung said, tossing himself into a chair.

“Progress?”

“I think it was worse than silence.”

Grey hummed, closing his laptop. “You wanna know the worst kind of heartbreak?” Jisung rubbed his temple. “I already feel it, so go ahead.”

“When you realize they don’t hate you,” Grey said, “they just don’t trust you anymore.”

Jisung didn’t respond. Grey leaned back. “So, you’ve got two options. One — give up. Let her slip away because it’s easier than fighting. Or two — work your ass off to prove her heart’s safe with you again.”

Jisung looked up slowly. “And if she never gives me that chance?”

Grey cracked a small smile. “Then you better make damn sure she knows you would’ve taken it.”

---

The knock was soft, but firm.

Grey didn’t even look up from his screen. “Come in, Y/N.”

She pushed the door open, the crisp scent of bergamot tea and wood polish instantly familiar. The blinds were cracked just enough for the golden evening light to spill in, catching the silver in Grey’s cufflinks. “You wanted to see me?” she asked, stepping in and shutting the door behind her.

He finally looked up tired eyes, lips pursed, tie slightly loosened like he’d been too busy to care today. Or maybe, too weighed down.

“I hate doing this,” he muttered, leaning back in his chair. “Truly, passionately, hate it. But apparently, I’ve become the damn emotional chaperone in this firm.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “I’m sorry… for what, exactly?”

Grey rubbed the bridge of his nose. “You and Han Jisung. You haven’t spoken more than four sentences unless it’s about legal briefs or witness statements in two weeks. And that boy—” he paused, exhaling deeply, “—he’s not okay.” Her throat tightened just slightly, but she kept her face still. “We’re being professional.”

“You’re being frosty,” Grey deadpanned. “And he’s being distant because he thinks he deserves it. But the truth is, Y/N…” He paused. “He’s breaking. Quietly. Slowly. And I’ve only seen him like this once — first year. He tried so hard to prove himself and failed a case that cost an innocent man jail time. I walked into the office and he was just… sitting there in the dark.”

YN swallowed. She hated the visual of that, Jisung, the firecracker of their courtroom, looking that dim. That alone hurt.

“He hasn’t said anything,” she said carefully.

“Because he doesn’t know how to,” Grey said. “Because people like Jisung? They weren’t taught love like you were.”

She looked at him. Really looked.

Grey leaned forward. “His parents didn’t raise him with softness. His father only calls to scold or guilt-trip, and his mother left him to fight those battles alone. Every emotion he’s got, every ounce of passion or fear or pride, he channels into work because it’s the one place he can control. He doesn’t fall for people easily, YN. But when he does, it’s… heavy. Terrifying.”

“I didn’t know,” she whispered, heart twisting.

“Of course you didn’t,” Grey said gently. “He doesn’t let people know. But I do. I’ve seen it. I see it now. He’s in love with you, Y/N. Has been for a while.”

Her breath caught. She blinked. “No… he’s not. He’s just… regretful.”

“Regret doesn’t make someone stare at your desk like it’s a missing limb,” Grey said sharply. “Regret doesn’t make him pause at your office door and walk away ten times in a day. That’s love. Unsaid. Unshaped. But it’s there.”

She sat back in the chair, the leather cool against her skin as her mind tried to wrap around the weight of Grey’s words. The idea that Jisung — chaotic, brilliant, frustrating Jisung — loved her was something she hadn’t let herself entertain. Not really.

“You’re scared too,” Grey said quietly, watching her expression change. “But I’m telling you now… either talk to him, or you both keep walking around like ghosts. And you’ll regret it far more than that night.”

Y/N didn’t speak for a long time.

But when she left his office, her fingers hovered near her phone.

---

The quiet of your apartment felt louder than usual. No music. No background show running just for noise. Just the low hum of the fridge, and her pacing footsteps against the hardwood floor.

You stood by the window, your phone in hand, thumb hovering over Jisung’s contact like it weighed ten pounds. Grey’s words were still spinning in your head, colliding with the memory of Jisung’s tired eyes, his hands pausing at her office door, the things he never said.

You pressed Call before she could overthink it again. The phone didn’t even get to the second ring.

“Hello?” His voice came fast, sharp, almost breathless. “Y/N? Hey. Hi—are you okay? Did something happen? I—I was just—Are you okay?”

You blinked at the window, lips twitching despite herself. “Hey, Jisung.”

“Hey,” he breathed, like your voice hit him like air after drowning. There was a pause. Then he continued, voice softer, still a little shaky:

“Sorry. Sorry. I didn’t think you’d… I mean, I hoped you would. I just—God, it’s good to hear you.”

Your chest squeezed at that. “I just wanted to check on you,” you said gently. “How are you?”

Another pause. A breath.

“I’m okay. I mean—work’s fine. Everything’s… fine. I’m just—” He stopped himself, then laughed under his breath, awkward and raw. “I’ve been better.”

“Yeah,” you whispered, heart aching. “Me too.”

You could hear his breath slow just slightly, like the ice between them cracked not broken yet, but thinned. “I wanted to ask,” she continued, voice steady now, “if I could see you. Tomorrow. In your office. Just us. If that’s okay.”

Jisung didn’t even hesitate. “Yes,” he said immediately. Then softer. “Yeah. Please. Anytime. I’ll be there.”

“Okay,” she said, a tiny smile ghosting her lips. “Tomorrow, then.”

“Tomorrow.”

There was another silence, but this one was warm. Almost comforting. And when they hung up, both of them stared at their ceilings for a long, long time. Waiting. Ready to try again.

---

The sun had barely settled into the sky when you stood at the threshold of Jisung’s office, your heart thudding harder with every breath. You weren’t nervous at least, you told yourself you weren’t. You were just… bracing yourself. For a conversation overdue. For feelings neither of you had signed up for. Your hand hovered over the handle, fingers curling in, then releasing. The hallway was quiet at this hour. No distractions. No excuses. Just you, a closed door, and the man you hadn’t stopped thinking about.

You finally knocked, three soft taps. Polite. Almost unsure.

“Come in,” his voice called through almost instantly, like he’d been sitting there waiting.

When you opened the door, the first thing you noticed was how he looked up fast, like he’d been facing the door the whole time. His hair was a little messy, eyes tired but alert, like he hadn’t really slept even though it was a new day. His tie was loose. The sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up just enough to show his forearms.

Your heart did a little tumble you didn’t appreciate.

“Hey,” you said quietly, stepping in. He stood up halfway. “Hey.”

And for a second, neither of you knew what to say. It was like the air between you was stitched together with tension and apologies that couldn’t be said in passing. Jisung cleared his throat. “Do you want to sit?” he asked, nodding to the two chairs by the coffee table near his desk. The sunlight was spilling in through the blinds, casting soft stripes of light over everything. You nodded and took a seat, smoothing down your skirt. He sat across from her, elbows on his knees, like he was ready to leap forward—or run.

“I wanted to talk,” you started, eyes locked on him.

“I know,” he said quickly. “I mean—I’m glad you did. I’ve been trying to figure out how to…” He trailed off, sighed, then ran a hand through his hair. “God, I’ve messed things up, haven’t I?”

“Not entirely,” you said softly. He looked up at you like that single sentence kept him from drowning. You licked your lips. “I talked to Grey.”

His brow lifted slightly. “Oh.”

“He told me things. About you. About how you grew up. About how… hard it is for you to get close to people.” Jisung shifted. The slight flinch in his posture wasn’t lost on you. “I didn’t come here to push you,” you said gently. “I came here because I needed to hear you. Not your file. Not Grey. You.”

He exhaled, almost crumbling.

“You scare me,” he muttered suddenly.

You blinked. “What?”

“You do. You walk in like you’re on fire and you don’t even notice the way the room bends around you. You don’t flinch when I’m cold. You challenge me. You see through me like no one ever has and I—I hate it because it’s terrifying and I love it because it’s you.”

You sat frozen for a breath. Then another. Your lips parted, stunned. “I didn’t mean what I said that night,” he said, voice lower now. “I knew I crossed the line the second I saw your face fall. I’ve been trying to figure out how to say I’m sorry ever since.”

You nodded once. “You did hurt me.”

“I know.”

“But I also didn’t let you explain.” Jisung stared at you for a long time, then whispered, “You didn’t deserve any of it.”

“I know,” she said back. Another moment passed. And then you reached for the coffee cup sitting cold on the table between them, lifted it to your lips, and made a face. “Jesus. How long has this been sitting here?”

He huffed a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Don’t drink that.”

“So, we agree it’s toxic waste?”

He nodded. “100%.” A beat. Then she smiled barely. But it was there. And Jisung? He smiled too, but his was full, slow, blooming like it had been dying to stretch across his face again.

“I still owe you lunch,” he said.

“And I still owe you a win,” youreplied.

They weren’t fixed. But they were trying.

Han Jisung’s hands have never felt so useless. He’d just begun to feel like the ground beneath them was leveling out, like he could speak to you again without hating himself. And then you had to look at him like that, half-curious, half-devilish. Like you were planning something dangerous, and he was helpless to stop it.

You sat forward, your eyes locked on him, voice honeyed but sharp.

“So… why didn’t you tell me?” you asked casually, like you weren’t about to unravel him.

Jisung blinked. “Tell you what?”

“That you have feelings for me.” His brain blue-screened. Full-on system failure. “I—uh—w-what? Feelings? Me?” You tilted your head, clearly amused. “Grey sort of told me yesterday.”

“Grey told—?!” he choked. “That—traitor—”

“Why didn’t you just say something?” you asked again, eyes twinkling. He fidgeted in his seat like it was suddenly too small for him. “Because! You’re—you. And I’m me. And this wasn’t supposed to happen. I’m your—supervisor,” he stressed, as if that helped.

“That never stopped you from bossing me around in meetings,” you teased.

He groaned. “Don’t say it like that, I already feel like I’ve committed emotional HR violations.” You leaned back, lips pressing together to hide your laugh. And then, slowly, you stood. Jisung watched you, wary. “What are you doing?”

You circled his desk like a cat, stopping behind his chair. “Wait,” you said, a grin tugging at your lips, “are you flustered right now?”

“I’m not—!” he squeaked, voice cracking slightly. “I am composed, thank you.”

“Flustered. About me,” you sang, enjoying this far too much. “Han Jisung has a crush on his intern…”

“You’re impossible,” he muttered under his breath, cheeks flushing even deeper.

“As if you aren’t too,” he shot back suddenly, the words slipping out before he could stop them. And it hit you like a slap of heat. Your smile faltered for half a second. You blinked. “What did you just say?”

Jisung’s lips parted, like he wanted to take it back but he didn’t. His eyes flickered to yours, wide and honest.

“Don’t act like it’s just me.”

A silence fell between them, heavy and buzzing. And then—God help them both—you leaned forward, bracing your hands on the arms of his chair. Close enough to see the stubble on his jaw. Close enough to feel his breath hitch.

You tilted your head. “You talk too much.”

Then, without warning, you kissed him.

Soft. Bold. Quick. But the second your lips pressed to his, your brain short-circuited with a thousand alarms. What did I just do? Your heart slammed against your ribs, panic bubbling up before you even pulled back.

“I—” you breathed, stepping back fast, “I shouldn’t have—”

But you didn’t get the chance to finish. Jisung was already out of his chair. And then his hands were on your waist, pulling you in, and his lips were back on yours, urgent this time. Messy. Real. Like he’d been waiting for this moment since the first time you argued with him.

You melted into it until you were both breathless and laughing against each other’s mouths.

“You totally overstepped,” he whispered, grinning. You rolled her eyes. “You literally chased me.” He smirked, still breathless. “And I’d do it again.”

One kiss turned into two. Then three. Then neither of you could remember who started what anymore. Jisung’s hands were frantic, like he couldn’t decide where to touch you first. Your waist? Your jaw? Your hips? He settled for all of them, one after the other, pulling you impossibly closer between kisses that left you both gasping.

You weren’t helping—at all. You were smirking against his lips, fingers sliding under the collar of his shirt as you murmured, “You know, for someone so professional in meetings… you’re kinda desperate right now.” Jisung pulled back just enough to look at you, mouth parted in shock. “Wh—” His voice cracked. “That’s not fair—!”

“Awww,” you teased, dragging your finger down the center of his chest, “did I hurt your feelings?”

“Yes!” he whined, genuinely, breath stuttering. “Why are you bullying me right now?”

“Because you’re easy,” you grinned, grabbing the end of his tie and giving it a little tug. “And cute when you pout.” Jisung muttered something incoherent—probably a curse—before he gave up entirely and kissed you again, this time deeper, one hand firm at the small of your back while the other traveled down, fingers skimming the edge of her thighs. You let out a sharp inhale when he hoisted you up onto his desk like you weighed nothing. Papers crumpled beneath you, a pen went clattering to the floor, and you couldn’t bring yourself to care because his hands God, his hands were trailing up your legs with reverence and want all rolled into one shaky exhale.

He was looking at you like he didn’t know whether to worship you or unravel you.

“You’re trouble,” he whispered against her skin.

“I learned from the best,” you shot back, already popping open the first button of his shirt. “Mr. Han.”

“Oh my God—” He was dizzy. Fully, utterly gone for you. His tie was undone, shirt halfway open, and your lips were ghosting along the edge of his collarbone like you wanted to memorize the taste of him.

And then—

RIIINGGGG—!!

The desk phone blared.

The two of you froze.

Jisung groaned. “No. No, no, no.” You snorted, forehead falling to his shoulder in disbelief. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I’m about to unplug that thing for life,” he mumbled into your neck. “Shouldn’t you pick it up?” you teased.

“I should sue it for emotional damage.”

“You’re dramatic.”

“You kissed me and now I’m ruined—of course I’m dramatic!”

The phone kept ringing. Reluctantly, breath still uneven, Jisung reached around you for the receiver, muttering a soft, “Don’t move,” like you were going to evaporate if he looked away for too long. He cleared his throat before answering voice still wrecked, like he’d just sprinted up a dozen flights of stairs.

“Y-Yeah, Han speaking…”

There was a pause. You watched his expression shift from annoyed to concerned, his brows furrowing, jaw tightening.

“Mhm. Okay—okay. Yeah. I’ll be right there.”

He hung up and sighed like he just aged ten years in thirty seconds. You tilted your head. “That didn’t sound like a lunch reservation.” Jisung winced. “It’s not. That was about the Parker brief—something blew up with the client and I need to help clean it before it spirals. They’re asking for me personally.”

He stepped closer, brushing your hair back gently. “I swear to God, if I didn’t have to go—”

“You’d what?” you teased, lips quirking. He grinned, leaning in to kiss you one more time, slow and deliberate. “I’d definitely get fired.”

You laughed against his mouth and pulled back. “So dramatic.”

“I mean it,” he said, his tone suddenly sincere. “But I am going to make it up to you tonight.”

“Tonight?”

“Dinner. Just you and me. No work. No Grey. No emergencies. Just us.” Your brows raised. “Is this a bribe, Mr. Han?”

“This is me asking you on a date, finally,” he said, smirking. “And lowkey bribing you.”

“You’re lucky I like food,” you said, hopping off the desk as he helped her down. “Lucky you like me,” he mumbled under his breath.

You caught that. You both smiled. As you adjusted your blouse and smoothed your skirt, you stepped over to him and fixed his tie with practiced ease, eyes focused on the knot like it was the most delicate task in the world. Then you slid a finger down the center of his shirt, giving one button an extra pat.

“There,” you murmured. “Ready for war.”

“I was gonna say court,” he chuckled, “but same energy.” You turned to leave, heels clicking against the polished floor. And of course, his eyes dropped immediately to your hips. And stayed there. Shamelessly. You didn’t even have to look back to know. You paused at the door, turned slowly, and caught him red-handed, gaze glued to you like he was trying to memorize every step you took.

“So, you were staring,” you said, one brow arched in challenge.

Jisung blinked, caught like a guilty puppy. “I—I was just—I mean, technically, you’re walking in my office so it’s my job to supervise…”

“Supervise my ass?” He grinned. “Exactly.”

“God, you’re insufferable.”

“And yet, you’re still showing up for dinner.”

“Only because I want dessert.”

“Ohhh my God.”

You winked and walked out, leaving Jisung running a hand through his hair, muttering, “She’s gonna destroy me,” with the biggest lovestruck smile on his face.

@pixie-felix @pessimisticloather @necrozica @sh0dor1 @leeknow-minho2 @jitrulyslayyed @igotajuicyass @bbokvhs @katyxstay @maisyyyyyy @katchowbbie @yoongiismylove2018 @morkleesgirl @rockstarkkami @alisonyus @whatdoyouwanttocallmefor @makeawitchoutofme @jc27s @jeonginnieswifey @nikki143777 @lillymochilover @imeverycliche @heartsbystars @iknow-uknow-leeknow @maxidential @ebnabi @ari-hwanggg @xxxxmoonlightxxx @rossy1080 @hanniebunch @tricky-ritz @woozarts @zerillia @queenofdumbfuckery

Waw....our flustered boy always comes out in the end huh? 🥰

Taglist: purple means I can't tag you

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~kc💗

[jitrulyslayyed]

This is just crazyyyyy

𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐨𝐜𝐨𝐥

Pairing: ex!FBIagent!Chan x FBIagent!afab!reader, partners in crime to acquaintances?

Synopsis: he died. Everyone believed he did. But you found out. And whether you like it or not, keeping you alive is now his job.

Chapter Synopsis: Reynolds catches on to you two, and so do the Russians. Chan is now forced to tell you what happened in Cuba. But you feel like he's hiding even more

Warnings: violence, weapons, character death, blood, secrets within a truth, Russian (translations)

A/n: pay attention!! I should make a playlist for this atp...if you have extra eyes for errors, no you don't

previously...

The velvet buzz of laughter, clinking glasses, and live jazz hadn’t dulled. The charity event rolled on with practiced elegance as you and Chan moved through the ornate hallway, walking just fast enough to feel purposeful, but slow enough not to raise suspicion. Chan had slipped back into character—charming, cool-headed, his arm lightly placed around your lower back as you moved toward the grand staircase. You, still electrified from your exchange with Petrov and the revelations unearthed, schooled your features into polite disinterest, like a bored heiress ready to call it a night.

“You good?” Chan murmured under his breath, leaning just slightly closer.

“I’ll be better when we’re not in a building full of men with guns and secrets,” you replied softly.

Chan smirked.

You rounded the staircase, descending past clusters of partygoers, some mid-toast, others in deep political conversation. Security passed them once eyes glazed from routine but didn't stop them. Near the bar, amongst a circle of politicians and businessmen, Reynolds lifted his gaze. His glass paused mid-sip. There, moving across the hall toward the exit, he saw you.

His eyes narrowed slightly. Not in full recognition, but that kind of gut reaction the flicker of familiarity that twists in the stomach.

“Excuse me,” he said to the man beside him, handing off his drink and slowly stepping away.

You felt it first, that prickle at the back of your neck. Something subtler than fear. A sense of being watched.

Your stride faltered for half a second, enough for Chan to glance down at you.

“What is it?”

“...Someone’s looking.”

Chan’s hand gripped your waist a little firmer, subtly steering you toward the side door instead of the main one. The soft golden lights reflected off the glass, casting warped shadows across the tile floors as they passed the last few guests.

Behind them, Reynolds weaved through the crowd like a shark in still water, polite smile fixed in place, but his gaze locked. Then a flicker of a smirk curled on his lips. He recognized you.

But before he could call out, the couple vanished through the side exit, the heavy door shutting behind them with a soft click. A breeze swept through the night, ruffling the corners of your dress. The car Jisung arranged was parked inconspicuously near the garden’s edge, engine already running. Chan opened the door for you, eyes scanning the shadowed corners as he did.

As the car pulled away from the estate, the gala lights glowing like stars behind them, Reynolds stepped out onto the balcony above—watching.

And smiling.

Reynolds stood with a casual posture that masked the fury simmering just beneath the surface. His gaze didn’t leave the now-closed balcony door. That woman — you — walking out like you hadn’t noticed he was here too. And now… you’d come with someone.

“Get me the security feed from the east wing hallway,” he said sharply, breaking the silence.

A guard beside him nodded and tapped quickly on a nearby console. Footage blinked onto the screen smooth, grainy black-and-white. You and Chan, walking in sync. Close. Coordinated. Not lovers, not friends, most likely partners. That kind of body language didn’t lie.

Reynolds leaned forward.

“Who the hell is that man?”

---

Rain danced lightly on the windshield as Chan drove them through the quiet parts of the city, one hand on the steering wheel, the other propped lazily against the open window. The gala behind them felt like a lifetime ago. Next to him, you leaned back in your seat, arms crossed, face half-lit by the passing streetlights. You were still quiet. Processing. Your mind somewhere between Cuba, Petrov’s half-finished words, and the aching curiosity of what exactly Chan was keeping from you.

Chan’s voice broke the silence.

“I’m pulling into this convenience store,” he announced. “Could use a snack. Or six.”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “What? I just survived a gunfight and a ballroom. I deserve food.”

He parked smoothly and hopped out without waiting for an answer. You followed him into the little 24-hour shop with its fluorescent hum, cracked tiles, and sleepy cashier who barely looked up from his phone. Chan picked a table in the corner the kind only old men or late-night insomniacs gravitated toward. He leaned back, letting out a small groan as he stretched his arm, feeling the bruises already setting in.

“You get the snacks,” he said with a grin. “Get something classy. Like spicy chips and microwavable dumplings.”

You gave him a dry look. “You’re telling me what to do?”

“Aren’t we still a couple?” he added without missing a beat. You scoffed, rolling your eyes as you walked away. As you wandered off toward the fridges and snack aisle, Chan reached up to adjust the comms earpiece.

“Han? You there?”

There was a brief crackle, then Jisung’s voice slid in like a lazy breeze.

“Alive. Glad you guys could get out safe.”

“Thanks. You’re as comforting as always,” Chan muttered. “Where’s the gear?”

“Safe house three,” Jisung replied. “Same spot we used last time we were here. I restocked it earlier yesterday — clothes, weapons, burner phones, first-aid kits. The drive’s probably being flagged already, so you need to ghost fast.”

Chan drummed his fingers on the table. “And shelter?”

“Hotel’s too risky. There’s a secondary location on the north end of Malá Strana. I’ll send you coordinates. It’s off-grid — the guy who owns it owes me three favors and a kidney.”

Chan huffed a laugh.

“Take Y/N there. Lay low. I’ll monitor traffic on Petrov and Reynolds.”

“Copy that.”

Just then, you returned, holding a paper bag with a sandwich, chocolate milk, and shrimp chips. Chan gave you a knowing look.

“Thank you, my lovely wife.” You plopped down across from him with a soft snort. “It’s tradition.”

He took the bag, rummaged through, and held up a strawberry yogurt with mock betrayal.

“Eat your dumplings and shut up, if you wanted something different you would’ve gone by yourself.” you replied, but your lips twitched into a smile. For a moment, they sat in the soft, quiet lull of the dim store two ghosts in a city.

Then Chan checked the time, and the drive in his pocket. The corner of the store glowed dimly under flickering lights. Chan sat across from you, unwrapping the plastic off his microwaved dumplings with fingers that bore the bruises of the night. You sipped from your chocolate milk, one leg crossed over the other, your eyes flickering to the entrance every time the chime above the door dinged.

Stillness. Then, ding.

The door swung open. Three men walked in.

Not loud. Just… deliberate.

Chan’s head didn’t move, but his eyes tracked them through the faint reflection on the freezer door behind you. Their coats were too thick for the weather. Their hands bare. No gloves. No prints. One of them kept glancing over the aisles like he was casing a mark. The other? Walking like his boots were familiar with blood.

Then he saw the third man. His body tensed just enough for you to notice. Your brows pulled together. “Chan?” you asked under her breath.

“Put down the milk,” he said softly. “And listen to me carefully.”

Your back straightened. “Don’t turn around. Just get up. Walk to the bathroom hallway. There’s an emergency exit door that leads to the alley. Wait for my signal.”

“Why? I know how to fight Chan.” you stated, already hesitating.

“Don’t ask questions,” he snapped quietly. His voice didn’t raise but there was an authority laced into it.  Your eyes darted down. The sarcasm was gone. His expression had shifted. You rose, grabbed your bag, and left with practiced grace—casual, even adding a yawn, like you were just going to find the restroom. One of the men glanced toward you. Chan locked eyes with him immediately.

Look at me, bastard. Not her.

The man didn’t flinch.

As you disappeared into the hallway, Chan stood, tossing his empty food container in the trash as he slowly approached the drinks cooler again not because he needed anything, but to move.

The three men were now close. One stepped forward.

"Забавно видеть тебя здесь." the tallest one said. (Funny seeing you here)

Chan tilted his head. “Small world.” The man laughed but there was no humor in it. “I knew I recognized that face. You’re the one from Havana,” he said, switching to English with a thick accent. “Or was it Rome?”

Chan let out a low, exaggerated sigh. “You guys never get tired of the whole global hunter thing, huh?” The shorter one stepped closer. “You’ve got something. And apart from your life, we want it.” Chan glanced down at the dumpling sauce stain on his shirt. “If you want the drive, you’re gonna have to wait until I finish my midnight snack, bratan." brother

The tall one smirked, his hand shifting inside his coat.

Chan’s expression didn’t change but his weight subtly shifted to his back leg, hand grazing his belt loop. His eyes scanned the store four people inside now. Two of them civvies, too scared to notice. The cashier? Useless, still watching his phone.

“Don’t do it here,” Chan said. “Too many cameras.”

The Russian nodded slightly…then lunged.

Chan grabbed a bottle off the shelf and smashed it across the shorter man’s face. Shards flew. A scream erupted. The shoppers ducked. The tall man pulled a blade, but Chan swiped a metal tray from the counter and blocked it, twisting, using his elbow to slam into the guy’s ribs.

The third man grabbed Chan from behind—too slow. Chan slammed his head backward, breaking the man’s nose with a sickening crunch, then twisted out of his grip, grabbed him by the neck and shoved him straight through the freezer door with a deafening crash. Blood sprayed and glass cracked.

“Y/N, Move!” he barked into the comms, breathing hard.

The tall Russian wiped blood from his lip and sneered. “You don’t know who you’re messing with.”

Chan grinned, panting. “I’m counting on it.”

He threw a can of soup at his head, distracting him just long enough to leap over the counter, sliding on his side like it was second nature, then bolting through the back hallway.

---

You had already pushed the rusted emergency door open with your shoulder, heart hammering. You were halfway down the alley when Chan came skidding out behind you, limping slightly but still moving fast. You turned and grabbed his wrist, yanking him behind a dumpster as tyou both ducked. He leaned against the wall, breathing hard. He wheezed, then offered you a breathless, sarcastic grin. “What, you think I get beat up for fun?”

You stared at him, torn between adrenaline and fury.

“You need to stop playing hero.”

“Yeah? I’m sorry ma’am I don’t think I will.” You rolled your eyes, but didn’t let go of his wrist. Then the comms buzzed.

“You two still alive?”

“Barely,” Chan muttered. “We need to move. Russians just showed up.”

“You kidding? Shit. They’re probably tracking the drive already. But for what? I’m sending coordinates. Get out of there. Now.”

Chan looked to you. “Let’s go.”

Together, you disappeared into the shadows of the alley, hearts pounding, every step taking them closer to answers — and deeper into the storm.

---

Your footsteps echoed down the narrow alley as you both moved fast, side by side, slipping into darkness like they’d done this a hundred times before. The city blurred behind them with neon lights and the hum of late-night Prague drowned beneath adrenaline and the low buzz of the comms. Chan’s hand was still pressed to his ribs, where one of the guards at the gala got a lucky jab in. You caught him wincing and grabbed his arm, steadying him.

“Talk,” you said sharply. “Now. Who were they?”

He gritted his teeth, eyes scanning ahead.

“They’re not just any hitmen,” he muttered. “They’re part of the old Moscow syndicate. You remember? The Russians that came to the building that night.”

“They traced you here?!” He shot her a tired smirk. “Maybe.”

“Really Chris? What the fuck did you do?”

Chan pulled you around a corner, fast, ducking behind a parked van as a pair of motorbikes roared past the street behind them. Then he looked at you with a mix of regret and grit. “Back when I was still with the Bureau, I intercepted one of their arms deals. Took out half a warehouse. Left their second-in-command with a shattered spine and burned every dime they were laundering through East Asia.”

“Jesus, Chan…”

“I had a charming personality,” he muttered. “They’ve been looking for a reason to kill me ever since. And now that I’ve got that drive with Petrov’s little secrets? They finally have an excuse.” You exhaled sharply, tugging your coat tighter around you. “So, this isn’t just about the mission anymore. They want blood.”

“They always have.” He glanced at you. “Mine first. Yours if you stay near me.”

Your jaw clenched. “Well too late for that now, isn’t it?”

He gave you that look again that unreadable one. The one that used to mean I warned you not to follow me. But this time, it was layered. He was scared. Not for himself. For you. Before either could say more, the comms lit up again, with Jisung’s voice ringing through.

“I rerouted surveillance. You're clear to move east. Chan — the duffel bags are at an old supply unit three blocks from you. It’s got everything: burner phones, gear, passports, two handguns, med kit, and a toothbrush if you’re lucky.”

“What, no snacks?”

“You’re welcome, by the way.”

He clicked off, then turned to you.

“We get the bags. Then we find somewhere off-grid. No more convenience stores. No more chances for them to catch up.” You nodded, eyes hard. “And if they do?”

Chan’s hand settled on her lower back, guiding your forward.

“Then I do what I should’ve done in Havana.”

You blinked. “What’s that?”

“Make sure you walk away. No matter what happens to me.”

---

The lights were dim. A desk lamp flickered low, casting long shadows across glass walls. Reynolds stood stiff, one hand resting on the edge of the table, the other tapping a pen rhythmically as a grainy footage flickered across the wall-mounted screen.

“Back it up,” he muttered. His analyst glanced over nervously. “Sir?” Reynolds leaned in. His eyes didn’t blink.

“That woman… the one near Petrov. Back it up. Zoom in. Slow it down.”

The analyst did as told, typing quick commands into the console. The footage rolled backward—time rewinding in blurry frames—until the moment YN walked out of the lounge and onto the balcony. Reynolds’ jaw tightened.

“There. Who’s that with her?” The analyst hesitated. “I—I don’t have a match.”

Reynolds stepped closer to the screen, eyes narrowing as the figure in the video turned slightly. Just enough for the light to catch his face. The side profile. The walk. The damn posture. Reynolds let out a breath that almost sounded like a curse and whispered under it like a man seeing a ghost.

“…Christopher Motherfucking Bang.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. A sardonic laugh escaped, dry and bitter. “Of course it’s you.” The analyst looked up, confused. “Sir…?” “Nothing,” Reynolds said. “Just realizing I’ve been chasing phantoms with knives. And one of them’s real.”

He turned from the screen and gave a short, cold command:

“Run facial recognition through all the charity feed. Every angle. Every guest. I want confirmation. And if it is him… we burn protocol and escalate this to international watchlist status. Quietly.”

---

It was old. Dusty. Probably hadn’t been used since the Cold War. And you’d gotten used to sleeping in strange places at this point. But it was safe. Off-grid. Quiet. The floor creaked under your boots as you stepped into the main room. Chan had already collapsed onto the couch, one arm resting across his ribs, breathing shallow but still refusing to show pain. You set down the bag Jisung prepped and pulled out the first aid kit. No hesitation.

“Take your shirt off.”

He glanced at you with a smirk, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You offering or threatening?”

You didn’t blink. “Off. Now.”

He groaned, sitting up with effort. The bruises along his ribs were already blooming purple-blue, and a cut at his side had soaked into the waistband of his pants. He winced as the cold alcohol hit him, but you didn’t flinch. You was quiet at first. Focused. Until the silence between them started to turn thick.

Then you spoke.

“What happened in Cuba?”

Chan froze. Your fingers stilled against his side, waiting. Demanding. “I know that’s what Petrov was going to tell me,” you added, voice lower. “Right before his guard walked in. He looked at me like I should already know.”

He swallowed, jaw locking. You stepped back slightly, eyes narrowed. “Chris. What the hell happened during Operation Nightfall?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

You snapped. “Well too damn bad.”

Silence. He looked away.

“I’ll tell you everything when it's safe.”

You crossed your arms, eyes burning. “Were never gonna be safe. So, either I hear it from you now, or I hear it from Petrov later.” That name made his knuckles tighten around the edge of the couch.

He stood suddenly—halfway, anyway—and hissed from the pain, holding his ribs. “You don’t understand-.”

“I’m not here for the pretty version,” you said, softer now. “I’m here because somehow, I trust you. Even when I shouldn’t.” That’s when he finally looked at you. Something in his face cracked his usual sarcasm chipped off just long enough for you to see it. He sat back down slowly, jaw clenched, and turned his gaze to the floor.

“I’ll tell you,” he murmured. And with that, the silence returned, thicker now, coiled with all the ghosts of Havana still waiting to be named.

Chan leaned against the wall, a shadow cast over half his face from the lone desk lamp in the room. you sat across from him, still, her arms crossed over her chest—but her eyes… her eyes were soft. Not accusing. Just listening.

Chan took a breath, like it hurt to pull the memory from where he buried it.

“His name was Seungmin,” he began, voice low. “Kid was twenty-one. Barely out of Quantico. Fresh-cut suit. Could hack into anything, and still trip over a cable right after.” A small, sad smile twitched at the corner of his mouth.

“He wasn’t supposed to come to Cuba. Hell, I fought Reynolds on it. Said he wasn’t field-ready. But the kid was adamant. Said he needed to prove he could handle it. Said it was his shot.”

The house was small. Old fans spun slowly on the ceiling, blowing warm air around. Seungmin sat on the couch, legs crossed, laptop open, screens buzzing with codes and satellite pings.

Chan walked in from the back room, half-drenched from the heat and half-wary from a cartel meeting he’d just walked out of. No vest. No wire. Just a worn T-shirt and eyes that never stopped scanning. Seungmin perked up, pushing his glasses up his nose.

“You okay, boss?”

Chan dropped onto the opposite couch with a grunt. “Still breathing. That’s a win.” Seungmin smiled awkwardly. “You always say that.”

“‘Cause it’s always true.”

Seungmin clicked a few keys and sighed. “Man… when this op ends, I’m gonna apply for tactical. Maybe counterintelligence. Or cyber-terror. Think I got a shot?” Chan raised an eyebrow. “All of them?”

The boy nodded with wide-eyed hope. “Why not? Dream big, right?” Chan scoffed but fondly. “You puke at the sight of blood, remember?”

“Details.”

Chan chuckled, then went quiet for a beat. “You know you remind me of my brother?” Seungmin blinked. “You have a brother?”

“You're the most annoying.” Seungmin grinned, pride in his eyes like a little brother who’d just earned a badge.

Chan exhaled, rubbing his thumb across the scar on his knuckle.

“He was smart,” he said. “Too smart. A week before the takedown… he started feeling off. Said something didn’t feel right. That our usual data feeds from HQ had stopped cold. And he wasn’t wrong.”

You leaned forward slightly. “And Reynolds?”

“Brushed it off. Said there were protocol delays. But Seungmin—he kept pushing. He stayed up for two days straight combing through old code, searching for something buried in the encrypted files.” Chan’s voice cracked just a bit, barely enough to notice.

“I told him to rest. Told him to trust me. I told him—I told him I’d keep him safe.” Your gaze faltered, your chest rising slowly.

“What happened, Chris?” Chan’s jaw clenched. The next words took everything in him.

“We walked into a slaughter.”

Thunder rolled in the distance. The air reeked of oil and blood. Rain fell in sharp streaks across crates and crates of illicit cargo. Chan moved through the shadows, dressed like the enemy, wired to hell with cameras, gun tucked under his jacket.

Seungmin was beside him, pale but focused, scanning the area with shaking hands. “We shouldn’t be here, Chan,” he whispered, breath fogging. “Something’s wrong. Where’s the backup?”

“They’re coming,” Chan said, lying through his teeth.

And then— gunfire. From the wrong direction. It wasn’t the cartel. It wasn’t their own. It was a clean-up squad. Trained. Silent. Deadly. There to erase witnesses.

Seungmin’s scream cut through the night as bullets tore into his vest, knocking him backward into a crate. Gunfire echoed across the rusted steel crates as the downpour drowned the docks. Water slapped the concrete in sheets, mixing with the crimson that pooled beneath bodies—their men. FBI. Chan’s boots skidded over soaked gravel as he ducked behind a storage container, grabbing Seungmin’s vest and yanking him down with him. “We were set up!” Seungmin gasped, voice cracking, clutching his side as blood oozed between his fingers.

“I know, I know—just stay with me, okay?” Chan barked, yanking open his belt pouch and tearing gauze with his teeth.

Seungmin’s eyes were wide and terrified. His chest heaved under Chan’s hands.

“Where’s backup?” he choked. Chan didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

They were never coming. He pressed the gauze harder. “You’re gonna be fine, Seungmin. I got you.”

His fingers trembled. The gunfire was slowing now either they were running out of bullets or they thought everyone was dead.

Seungmin coughed, a splatter of blood painting his lips.

“I—I can’t feel my legs.”

“No. No, no, look at me.” Chan grabbed his face. “Just focus on me. You’re gonna walk out of here with me, yeah? We’re gonna finish this. You’ll make Tactical. You’ll get your badge. You’ll puke all over your first hostage rescue, and I’ll be there to laugh at you.”

That earned a tiny smile, watery and full of pain.

“Promise?”

Chan’s voice broke.

“Promise.”

But Seungmin’s eyes started to glaze. His hands were turning cold. Chan felt the shift, felt that awful drop in pressure when life tries to leave a body. “No. No, hey! Stay awake, dammit! Look at me—MINNIE!”

Seungmin blinked slowly… then locked eyes with him. And for a second, he wasn’t an agent. Wasn’t a prodigy. Wasn’t a casualty.

He was just a kid.

“Hyung…” he whispered, chest rattling. “I just… wanted to be like you…”

And then his head tilted. His lips parted, but no breath came. Just the sound of rain. Chan stared, frozen. The world slowed, and the thunder muted. Everything went distant—unreal. He touched Seungmin’s cheek.

Still warm. Still soft.

But gone.

Something in Chan cracked. Not loud. Not even violent. Just a silent, splintering collapse in his chest, like a dam breaking underwater. He inhaled sharply, jaw trembling. And then he screamed; muffled against his arm to not give his position away. A sound of rage and grief crushed down, a sound no one would ever hear.

Tears mixed with rain as he kissed Seungmin’s forehead.

Then footsteps approached with voices. Russian.

“Проверь за контейнерами.” Check behind the containers

Chan slipped into the shadows, rage coiling in his stomach, crawling up his throat. His fists clenched around his weapon, but he didn’t fire. Not yet.

He had to survive. He vanished into the dark, like smoke, Seungmin’s final words clinging to his back like a curse.

“I didn’t know, YN,” Chan choked, the memory slashing back with raw intensity. “I thought we were just gathering intel. But they… they used us as bait. To lure out the rivals. Then they burned it all.”

“He died in my arms,” Chan whispered. The room went cold. You sat frozen. The breath you finally let out trembled.

“You didn’t tell me,” you said softly. “I couldn’t,” he replied, hollow. “Because if I told you, you’d realize the truth.”

Your eyes met his.

“That Reynolds knew?”

Chan nodded once, slowly.

“He ordered the hit. Covered it. Buried the op with the help of Petrov.” He ran a hand through his hair, shoulders tight.

“But I remember every detail. Every shot. Every second. And every time I close my eyes; it’s his voice I hear.” Silence fell like a hammer between them.

And yet, when you finally moved, it wasn’t away.

Now, the room was dim, lit only by the faint yellow glow of a small desk lamp and the occasional flicker from the muted TV in the corner. Rain tapped lightly at the windowpane, a cruel echo of that night in Cuba. The scent of antiseptic still hung in the air. Chan sat on the edge of the bed, shirt off, bandages loosely wrapped around his side where you had cleaned and patched the wound earlier. His hair clung to his forehead, sweat and memory weighing him down like a phantom limb. His eyes didn’t look at you. They just stared—straight ahead, but not really seeing.

You stood across the room, arms crossed, silent.

You didn’t dare speak at first.

What could you say to a story like that? A part of you wanted to press on. Ask what happened to the intel? What happened to the cartel he worked for? One person’s death couldn’t just cause the FBI’s golden boy to go rouge. Yes, it was heartbreaking to lose someone like that but it doesn’t add up to why he left everything behind. That couldn’t be everything that happened in Cuba.

“I didn’t know,” you finally whispered. Chan chuckled softly. Bitter. Hollow.

“Yeah. No one does.”

You took a step closer. “Why didn’t you ever tell anyone?”

“What good would it do?” His voice was tired, dragging. “Reynolds buried the op the second the docks were reported clear. Said it was too much bad press. Too much blood for an operation they shouldn’t have greenlit in the first place. Didn’t even give Seungmin the credit he deserved, called him ‘an unfortunate loss.’ Like he was a typo in the mission report.”

Your jaw clenched. “That’s why you left.”

He gave a slow nod, finally meeting your eyes. And God, they were wrecked. Not red. Not crying. But the kind of wreckage that time doesn’t touch. That gets stitched into your soul.

“I was done following orders from men who sit behind glass walls while kids like him bleed out in alleyways.”

Silence stretched between them. The kind that hurt to break. You sat beside him, the bed creaking under the weight of grief and unspoken history. You reached for his hand, and to your surprise… he didn’t pull away. “You still carry it with you,” you said softly. “All of it.”

“I deserve to,” he murmured. “No,” you said, voice sharper now. “You don’t get to decide that.” He looked at you, something defiant flaring but it flickered and died when he saw the tears you was holding back too. “Seungmin made a choice. You didn’t kill him, Chan. You loved him.”

His lip quivered. He bit it down.

“Still lost him.”

“And you’ll lose yourself too if you keep living like this.” You squeezed his hand. “You don’t have to carry it alone anymore.” Chan didn’t answer. But the silence he gave you this time it felt different. Like the beginning of something instead of the end. He removed his hand from your touch. Then his comm crackled to life.

“Uh, hate to break up the trauma bonding,” Jisung’s voice buzzed through, voice low and alert, “but I think Reynolds might’ve just made you.”

Chan exhaled, slow. Gutted. You looked at him.

“What now?”

The night settled heavy over the city, the world outside muffled by thick walls and weary hearts. The rain hadn’t stopped, still weeping against the windows as though the sky itself mourned.

 Chan lay on the worn-down mattress, one arm tucked beneath his head, the other stretched across the empty side of the bed. You had already fallen asleep in the next room, the door left slightly ajar. A soft hum of the heater filled the space, but it couldn’t quiet his mind.

His eyes stayed open far too long until they blurred, until exhaustion finally pulled him under. But rest wouldn’t come easy.

Not for him. Not tonight.

He found himself standing barefoot on the sands of a beach that didn’t exist anymore. Not physically, anyway. The sky overhead was a blur of orange and deep violet, waves crashing rhythmically in the background.

And there—sitting on a washed-up log with his hands tucked into his sleeves—was Seungmin. Wearing that same old navy hoodie he’d worn in Cuba. The one Chan had always said made him look like a “K-Drama puppy.”

He looked up as Chan approached, face younger, untouched by blood or gunpowder. “You’re late,” Seungmin said, deadpan. Chan let out a dry breath, something between a laugh and a sob. “Sorry. The Russian mafia and unresolved trauma kept me.”

Seungmin smiled softly. “You always did have terrible time management.” Chan knelt in the sand in front of him. “God, I missed you, kid.”

“I know.” A beat passed. “I keep seeing your face,” Chan whispered, voice cracking. “Every time I close my eyes, you’re there—bleeding out in my arms, asking me to save you and I can’t—” His voice broke entirely, hands shaking. “I couldn’t, Minnie.” Seungmin just looked at him, gaze steady, kind.

“I never blamed you, hyung.” Chan’s chest tightened. “You should’ve.”

“You did everything you could. I knew the risks. I chose to follow you.” He leaned forward, eyes softening. “You didn’t lead me into death, Chan. You led me into purpose.” Chan dropped his head, shoulders trembling, fists buried in the sand. “I’m tired,” he choked. “I’m so fucking tired, Seungmin. I don’t know who I am without the Bureau. Without the blood. Without you and your motivation.”

Seungmin reached out, resting a hand on his shoulder. “You’re still the same guy who taught me to tie a tourniquet with one hand. Who played old Epik High songs at 3 a.m. when I was homesick.” He gave a faint smirk. “The guy who made me call him ‘boss’ even when we were off-duty.”

“That was for morale.”

“That was for your ego.”

They both laughed—soft and bittersweet. Seungmin's gaze grew more serious now. “You’re allowed to heal, hyung. You’re allowed to live.”

“How?”

Seungmin tilted his head. “Start by forgiving yourself. You always said, ‘Don’t carry weight that isn’t yours.’ Maybe it’s time you listened.” Chan swallowed hard, tears falling freely now.

“I'm scared, Minnie.”

“I know.” Seungmin leaned closer, their foreheads almost touching. “But you're not alone. Not anymore.” Then, Seungmin gave him one last smile. Warm. Real.

“You don’t have to be a weapon forever. And please, tell the pretty lady, everything.”

And just like that, the waves pulled him away, his figure fading into sea foam, into dawn—

Chan jolted awake, heart thudding. The lamp flickered beside him, casting soft shadows on the cracked walls. He sat up slowly, wiping his face—wet with tears he hadn’t realized he’d shed.

His breath caught in his chest, but something was different now. Not peace.

But a fragment of it. A beginning. He glanced toward the cracked door where you slept, your silhouette curled under the blankets. And for the first time in a long time… he didn’t feel completely lost.

---

Late evening. The city lights bleed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long shadows against the walls. The air smells faintly of cigars and ambition. Petrov sat first, hands steepled, posture loose but commanding like a wolf in silk. His signature cane leaned against the armrest. Reynolds entered shortly after, dressed in his usual monochrome suit, tie still crisp despite the hour. He nodded once, his expression unreadable, and took the seat opposite him.

A bottle of aged scotch sat between them, untouched.

For now.

“Petrov,” Reynolds said, calmly. “Always a pleasure.” Petrov’s smile was polite. Thin. “Reynolds. How’s the Bureau doing?”

Reynolds smirked. “Still alive, which is more than I can say for most of it.”

A pause. Then Petrov leaned forward, eyes glittering. “I heard you’ve been watching the tapes.”

“And I heard your guards need better training,” Reynolds quipped, but there was venom behind the words. “You let the lady in.”

“She was vetted. Clever. Disarming. I wasn’t aware you were still so concerned.”

“Not concerned. Just cautious.” He tapped the table twice. “He was with her, you know. At your gala. Bang Chan.” Petrov didn’t flinch, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “Interesting. So hes not dead?”

“He’s alive, reckless, and apparently, back on the grid. That makes things complicated.” Petrov reached for the scotch, finally pouring two glasses with the ease of a man who enjoyed control. “Complicated… or convenient?” Reynolds raised a brow. “You think this is convenient?”

“I think it’s catalytic,” Petrov replied smoothly, sliding a glass toward him. “If Chan’s involved, that means someone else is watching. And if someone’s watching… we have a stage.”

Reynolds didn’t touch the glass.

“I want him neutralized,” he said. “Quietly. No theatrics.”

“And the girl?” Petrov asked, swirling his drink. A long pause.

“She’s loyal to a ghost,” Reynolds muttered. “She still believes in the Bureau. That makes her dangerous… but also predictable.” Petrov leaned back. “So let me guess. You’ll let them run, watch what hole they crawl into, and then strike when the story’s at its climax.”

Reynolds gave a thin, mirthless smile. “Something like that.”

They sipped in synchronized silence, the tension between them a careful balancing act. History. Power. Betrayal. It all clung to the air like smoke. “You always were the romantic type,” Petrov muttered. “And you,” Reynolds replied, finishing his drink, “always underestimate ghosts.”

Hehehehe...so like what if there was a plot twist? Asking for a friend...

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[jitrulyslayyed]

I was hooked from the start 👏👏

𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝

Pairing: vampire!Felix x afab!reader, strangers to potential lovers, vampire au

synopsis: to prove that you are once again always the brave one, you take one a dare. But meeting a cursed attractive vampire wasn't part of the deal.

Warnings: blood, angst?, curses, Felix falls in love easily (esp. with blood), but hes a meanie, dead people

A/n: this was a request made a while ago by a beautiful angel that I can't remember..but I know it was a request 😔 I'm sorry love! Please enjoy the story as it's my first time writing a supernatural au even though it's not my type. If you have extra eyes for errors, no you don't.

It all started with a bonfire and a bottle of cheap vodka.

The night was unusually cold for early autumn, and the wind that howled through the trees felt almost like whispers brushing against the skin. The fire cracked in the center of the clearing, surrounded by seven dare-hungry souls seeking thrills in a town where nothing exciting ever happened. Except for the one thing no one dared talk about—except in jest, when the alcohol flowed and the night felt invincible. The abandoned mansion at the edge of Marrow’s Hollow.

“It’s just an old ruin,” one of the boys, Devin, said, passing the bottle. “Creepy? Sure. Haunted? Nah. You’d die of boredom before any ghost got you.”

“But people have died there,” Margo whispered, her voice trembling just enough to sound like a challenge rather than fear. “Five kids from Cresthill went in last year. Never came back.”

“Because they ran off to the city. Typical runaway story,” someone laughed, brushing it off.

Then came the dare. Drunk on adrenaline, firelight, and fermented courage.

“Y/N,” Margo grinned, eyes glittering in the dark. “You’re always bragging about how brave you are. How about you prove it?”

Y/N raised a brow, the fire’s glow casting sharp shadows across her face. “Oh? And how exactly do I do that?”

“Spend the night in the mansion.”

The group erupted in shocked laughter, some clapping, others gasping, but all eyes were now on her.

“You’re kidding,” she scoffed. “That place is sealed off.”

“Nope,” Devin replied, digging into his backpack and pulling out a rusted old key. “Found this in my grandpa’s shed. He was a cop back when the town tried to shut the place down. This opens the back gate.” The air shifted then. Like something had turned to listen.

“The rules are simple,” Margo continued. “Go inside before midnight. Stay until sunrise. No phone. Just you, your flashlight, and whatever you find inside.” Everyone expected her to say no.

But Y/N smirked, heart racing with the thrill of being challenged. “Fine. I’ll go.”

None of them knew she’d return with eyes wide, blood on her leg, and a name carved into her skin.

Felix.

She packed her bag as the sun dipped below the hills, smearing the sky in shades of bruised violet and blood-orange. No phone—part of the dare. They claimed it was cheating, that the spirits “didn’t like tech.” Instead, Y/N grabbed a flashlight, a small notebook, two protein bars, a lighter, a flask of water, and a silver pocketknife she didn’t usually carry. Just in case. Her heart thundered like a drum, but her face remained calm, stoic. She’d accepted the dare. She wasn’t backing out. By the time she reached the edge of Marrow’s Hollow, the sky had turned black, and the wind carried the sharp scent of decaying leaves and something fouler, metallic, damp, like blood soaked into ancient wood. Her boots crunched over dried twigs and gravel as the path narrowed, twisting through skeletal trees that clawed at her jacket like they wanted to drag her back.

The mansion loomed in the distance like a corpse propped upright. Gothic spires stabbed the sky, and its shattered windows stared outward like blind, furious eyes. The iron gates stood crooked, rusted with time and something darker. Moss clung to the stone fence that wrapped around the property like a noose.

That’s when she saw them.

The graves.

Dozens no, hundreds of them. Scattered around the mansion in irregular rows, half-swallowed by the overgrown earth. Some headstones were cracked down the middle, others too weathered to read, and some… disturbingly fresh. The dirt on a few was still unsettled, as if the earth hadn’t finished claiming what was inside. Her breath caught in her throat as she counted at least seven graves marked only by wooden stakes, their surfaces smeared with what looked like dried crimson.

She swallowed.

“Just theatrics,” she muttered to herself. “Someone’s sick idea of a prank.”

The beam of her flashlight trembled as her hand shook, breath shallow, every instinct screaming to turn back—but she forced herself to step further into the mansion. The air inside was colder, as though the house itself had forgotten what warmth felt like. The scent of mildew, rotting wood, and something iron-like clung to her lungs, thick and suffocating.

Her footsteps echoed through the empty, crumbling foyer. A grand staircase loomed ahead, shrouded in shadow, its once-elegant banister now splintered and dark. She panned the flashlight upward, slowly.

That’s when she saw it.

Hanging upside down like some twisted bat from the rafters, a figure motionless. Pale skin, platinum-blond hair matted with streaks of red, arms hanging limp, face partially obscured by the tangled mess of bloodstained mesh fabric. At first, she thought it was a corpse strung up in some sick ritual. But then—the light caught his face.

She didn’t scream.

Not yet.

His eyes snapped open.

Crimson.

Not the dull, dead kind of red, but burning like fire and fury trapped behind his irises. Y/N gasped, the sound too loud in the dead silence of the house. Then he moved. In one fluid, inhumanly fast motion, the figure dropped from the ceiling—landing directly in front of her with a soundless grace that chilled her blood.

She screamed and fell backward, scrambling on the cold, dusty floor. Her flashlight clattered away, spinning wild beams of light across the walls. Her hands scraped against jagged floorboards as she kicked herself back until her spine slammed into the wall behind her.

Trapped. Frozen. He was crouched in front of her now, head tilted slightly, hair casting jagged shadows across his face. His mouth curled slowly into a smirk, fangs glinting in the dim light, and he leaned in—too close.

“Why did you come here?” he whispered, voice like velvet dipped in danger.

And Y/N… couldn’t speak. He was crouched in front of her like a predator—still, coiled, every inch of him humming with danger. His head tilted slowly to the side, platinum hair falling messily across one glowing eye, the other hidden in shadow. His lips curled into something that might have been a smile… if it weren’t so cruel.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said, voice low and velvety, but with an edge like a blade dragged across bone. “This place doesn’t welcome the living.”

Y/N’s mouth was dry, her chest heaving. She could barely form words. “I—I was dared… I didn’t think it was real. I didn’t think you were real.” He leaned in, so close now she could see the blood dried along his jawline, the faint twitch of his lip as if the word ‘dare’ had amused him in some feral, irritated way.

“A dare?” His voice deepened, colder. “You risked your life because some idiot told you to? For fun?”

Her breath caught as he rose, standing over her now. “Leave. While you still have your limbs attached,” he growled. “Or stay, and regret it for however long I let you live.”

She stared up at him, trembling but unmoving. Her body was screaming to run—but her heart refused. Something in her, deep and stubborn, latched onto the way his voice wavered on the edge of warning and loneliness. She could’ve crawled away. But she didn’t.

“No,” she whispered.

Silence. The air thickened around them like molasses. His eyes narrowed, burning red. Then—pain. Sharp and sudden. He dug his nails into her thigh, not just pressing but sinking in—deep enough to tear through her jeans and into flesh. She cried out, her back arching from the wall, her hands scrabbling at his wrist in shock and agony.

“Do you want to die?” he snarled, voice close to her ear now. “Or are you just this stupid?”

Tears welled in her eyes from the pain, but still—she shook her head. “I just… I couldn’t leave. Not yet.”

His expression flickered something dangerous, but almost curious. He stared at her a long time, then slowly removed his hand, his fingers now painted in her blood. He brought them up, inspecting the crimson smeared on his skin with idle interest.

“Not yet?” he echoed, voice low, dangerous.

Y/N winced as she sat up straighter against the cold wall, her hands trembling against the floor. “I-I have to stay the night. That was the dare. I can’t leave until sunrise.” At that, the vampire actually chuckled.

A dark, guttural sound slipped from his throat, followed by a slow shake of his head as he crouched again in front of her this time more relaxed, his elbows resting on his knees. “You humans are so entertaining,” he drawled, tone thick with sarcasm. “Stay the night? What is this, some sadistic version of hide-and-seek?”

She didn’t answer.

He leaned in, eyes flicking downward and that’s when he saw it. Blood. A slow, lazy smile stretched across his lips, revealing just a hint of fang. “Oh…” he purred, as if delighted by a surprise dessert, “You're bleeding.”

Y/N followed his gaze in horror to the gash on her thigh—right where he’d dug his nails in earlier. It was deeper than she’d realized. Crimson soaked through the fabric of her pants, trailing in a warm line down her skin.

He didn’t ask permission.

He slid forward smoothly, his hand gripping her injured leg—firm, cold, and possessive. Before she could pull away, his head dipped low. His lips met her thigh, and she gasped—whether in pain or shock, she didn’t know. His tongue traced the blood in a slow, deliberate motion, warm and terrifyingly intimate. A groan rumbled from his chest, vibrating against her skin.

“Sweet,” he murmured. “So very… sweet.”

Y/N’s heart thudded violently in her chest, panic twisting with something else, something she didn’t want to name. She finally found her voice, strained and fragile. “W-Who are you…?”

He pulled back just enough to look at her, licking the remaining blood from his bottom lip, the tip of his fang glinting in the dim light. “You don’t know who I am?” he asked finally, voice hushed, but heavy with something ancient and cruelly patient. His crimson gaze locked with hers.

“Felix,” he said, his voice low, intimate. “The thing that haunts this house. The monster they warned you about.”

He leaned in closer, his lips nearly brushing her ear.

“And darling… you just walked into my cage.”

Felix didn’t pull away completely. He stayed close, crouched like a predator who wasn’t done playing with its prey. “You want to know how I became this?” he asked suddenly, his voice lower, weightier. His eyes didn’t glow as brightly now. There was something old in them—haunted, even.

Y/N swallowed hard but nodded.

He leaned back slightly, hands resting on his thighs. “A curse,” he said simply. “From someone I trusted. Loved.” He tilted his head, lips curling into a bitter smile. “She didn’t like that I left her. So she took everything from me. My soul. My time. My death. Gave me this… thirst instead.” His nails idly traced a line on the dusty wooden floor. “She said I’d rot in this mansion forever—feeding, waiting, watching. Everyone who comes through here ends up in the ground.” He glanced at her then, eyes flicking to the window, to the graves just beyond the overgrown glass.

“I didn’t think you’d be stupid enough to come in.”

Y/N kept her face as neutral as she could, though her heart was hammering in her chest.

She breathed in shakily, brushing her hair back from her face. “Well, I didn’t come for you,” she muttered. “I came to explore the house.” Felix blinked, stunned for a second then broke into a low, amused laugh. He stood slowly, fluid and graceful, brushing the dust from his pants. “That so?” he said. “And here I thought I was the main attraction.”

He stepped back, letting the distance grow between them. “Go on then,” he said, voice still rich with mocking humor. “Explore.”

Y/N’s leg throbbed, the cut still fresh. She gathered her bag and stood, wincing as she tested her weight on the wounded limb. The stairs loomed ahead, worn and shadowed. She took a step. Felix’s voice drifted behind her, casual. “Need help limping, sweetheart?”

“No,” she bit out, without looking back.

Her hand gripped the railing, jaw clenched as she pulled herself up step by step, trying not to let him see the pain with every movement. She was determined, stubborn, stupid she knew all of it. But she wasn’t going to run. Not yet. The stairs creaked under her weight. She could hear his footsteps below but when she turned, he wasn’t there. She took another step.

He was suddenly behind her—no sound, no warning—his breath ghosting the back of her neck. She spun around, startled, but he had already vanished again.

“Ghosts aren’t the only ones who haunt,” his voice echoed faintly from the upstairs corridor.

She gritted her teeth and kept walking. Room after room stretched out before her each one dust-covered, untouched by time yet heavy with it. Cobwebs swayed in the cold air. Mirrors were cracked and warped. A child's doll sat in a corner, its porcelain face fractured like it had screamed too long.

And every time she stepped into a room… he was there. By the window. On the ceiling. In the reflection of a broken mirror. Watching and following.

She tried to pretend she didn’t see him. Tried to act like the shadows weren’t moving with him. But her fingers trembled on the edge of the doorframe as she entered the master bedroom. She whispered to herself, more for courage than belief.

“I’m just here to explore the house…”

A deep chuckle echoed from the wall.

“Keep telling yourself that, little lamb.”

The room she finally settled in was at the end of a long corridor its once grand double doors hung slightly ajar, one barely hanging onto its hinges. The air inside was thick, still, like it hadn’t been stirred in decades. Dust swirled in lazy circles through the beam of her flashlight as she hobbled in, limping more heavily now. She didn’t care. Her thigh burned with each step, but her body was too exhausted to keep moving.

The room had a tattered armchair near the fireplace, a velvet couch that had long since given in to mold, and faded wallpaper that peeled at the corners. Moonlight filtered in through shattered glass, casting silver puddles across the wooden floor.

Y/N slumped into the armchair with a pained sigh, letting her head fall back. Her fingers grazed the torn fabric of her jeans where his nails had sliced her earlier. It was still bleeding. Dull, hot pain flared through her nerves, but she welcomed it. It meant she was still alive.

Still human.

She didn’t hear him enter, but she knew. The air shifted. Warmer. Closer. She opened her eyes, and sure enough Felix was there, lounging across the arm of the ruined couch like he’d been waiting for her all along. His boots were kicked up, his dark eyes locked onto her, lazy but alert.

“Done exploring already?” he teased.

“Shut up,” she muttered, leaning her head against the chair’s backrest. “I’m bleeding and tired.”

He smirked. “You should’ve left when you had the chance.”

“I already told you. I’m not going anywhere.”

A beat passed. Silence, except for the ticking of an old grandfather clock down the hall.

“Do you ever get bored?” she asked suddenly. Her voice was softer now, tired but curious. “I mean… being here. Alone.” His smirk faded just slightly. “Sometimes.”

“You have friends?” she asked, tilting her head to look at him. Felix’s gaze shifted to the ceiling, then back to her. “I did. Once. But time… time isn’t kind. Not to mortals. Not to memories.”

There was something sad beneath his words something that slipped between the cracks of his usual sarcasm. Y/N let the silence stretch again before speaking. “I had a brother,” she said quietly. “He used to dare me into dumb things like this. Climb towers. Break into abandoned schools. He died a few years ago.”

Felix didn’t say anything. He just watched her, expression unreadable now.

“I guess I kept doing it. The dares. The exploring. Because I didn’t want to forget the rush.”

He leaned forward slightly, interested now, his elbows resting on his knees. “And vampires,” she said, a breath of a laugh in her voice, “I always thought they were… I don’t know. Lonely. Tragic. Kind of romantic in a twisted way.”

His head tilted slowly. “Romantic?” he echoed, something sharp glittering in his eyes. She nodded. “Yeah. There’s something sad and beautiful about someone who can live forever but never really live again. Always hungry. Always chasing something they can’t have.”

Felix didn’t move for a long moment. Then he rose slowly, his movements fluid, predatory.

“You’re strange,” he said quietly, stepping toward her. “Most people scream. Cry. Beg me not to kill them. And you… sit here bleeding, talking about tragic romance.” She watched him approach, heart thudding loud in her chest, but she didn’t flinch. Not this time. He crouched in front of her, his face close to hers again.

“Careful,” he whispered. “You’re starting to sound like someone I might like.” And though every instinct told her to be terrified, something in her stirred drawn in, caught in the storm of his presence.

She didn’t look away. “Maybe that’s the problem,” she whispered back.

The silence between them grew heavier. Not awkward—no, something more dangerous than that. It pulsed in the air like a heartbeat, slow and charged. Y/N shifted in the armchair, the dull ache in her thigh impossible to ignore, but what really unsettled her was the way Felix was watching her now. His eyes weren’t just curious anymore they were hungry.

His tongue ran along the sharp edge of his teeth, deliberate and slow. “Do you want me to take care of that wound?” Her breath hitched. The question lingered in the air, heavy with implication.

“You mean like… disinfect it?” she asked, though she already knew the answer.

He tilted his head, a crooked smirk playing on his lips. “Not exactly.” There was a long pause. Her heart pounded against her ribs, but then she nodded small, cautious. “Okay.”

His smile deepened, something dark and pleased glinting in his crimson gaze. “You’re brave. Or reckless.” He crossed the room with a smooth, predatory grace and knelt before her. Without asking, his fingers ghosted over her torn jeans. Then, with a soft rip, he tugged at the fabric, exposing more of her thigh. The skin was slick with blood, the wound still fresh and tender. She winced, but didn’t pull away.

His lips hovered above the gash.

“This might sting,” he murmured, almost like a tease. Then his tongue touched her skin.

It was warm. Slow. Precise. He licked up the blood in gentle, deliberate strokes like he was savoring every drop. His hands anchored her leg, firm but not painful. And when he moaned softly against her flesh, she shivered. “God,” he whispered, pulling back just enough to look up at her. “You taste sweet. Like dusk and danger.”

Her breath caught in her throat. His eyes were glowing brighter now, pupils blown wide with something that looked disturbingly close to desire. And still, he didn’t move away.

He stared at her, lips stained crimson. Then his voice dropped, lower, almost pained. “You should stay away from me, you know.” She blinked, lips parting to ask why, but he spoke first—his voice raw, quiet, like a confession.

“Because if you don’t… I’m going to fall in love with you.”

Y/N’s heart stopped.

Before she could say a word, Felix stood, licking the last trace of blood from his thumb. His eyes lingered on her for a second longer searching, maybe hoping she’d stop him. But she didn’t. And he was gone. The door creaked shut behind him, and she was left alone, her wound clean, her pulse racing, and her mind echoing with the words she hadn’t expected to hear from the monster in the mansion.

…

The room was warm when Y/N stirred, the kind of warmth that only sunlight could bring the soft kind that seeps through worn-out curtains and brushes against the skin like a memory. She blinked slowly, her lashes fluttering, head heavy and sore. For a moment, she forgot where she was. Then the dull pain in her thigh reminded her.

She sat up, realizing she was no longer in the chair from last night. She was on a bed now, tucked beneath a thick, dusty quilt that smelled faintly of old wood and faint cologne. Her eyes darted around the room. The lamp was off. Her bag was still against the wall. But the window to the side was cracked open, golden light pouring in. The sun had risen.

She gasped and threw the covers off, adrenaline kicking in.

“I overslept—damn it,” she muttered, quickly limping to her things and throwing everything into her backpack with shaky hands. Her heart was racing not just from panic, but from everything that had happened. The wound on her leg was bandaged now—probably by him—and she didn’t know how to process the fact that a vampire had basically confessed to her hours ago.

As she zipped her bag shut, a voice from the darkest corner of the room, cloaked in shadow, interrupted her.

“You’re in a rush,” Felix said softly.

She startled, turning to the voice. The far corner was untouched by the sun’s rays, but his silhouette was unmistakable leaning against the wall, arms crossed, as if he’d been standing there for a while.

“How long have you been there?” she asked, breath catching.

He shrugged lazily, one brow lifted. “Since before you started dreaming. You talk in your sleep, you know.” Her cheeks flushed despite herself. “I didn’t mean to sleep in,” she said quickly, strapping her bag on. “I need to get going.” She turned to leave, but something about his silence made her pause. She glanced back and that’s when she noticed it.

He looked… sad. Not dramatically so. Just the subtle downturn of his lips, the slight slump of his shoulders, the way his eyes didn’t quite meet hers. It was the kind of sadness that came quietly, like a bruise blooming under the skin.

“I was just starting to love you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

She froze. It wasn’t said with charm or seduction. It was said like it hurt to admit like every time he let himself feel, the wound from his past reopened. She turned fully, letting her bag fall from her shoulder, and stepped closer into the shade.

He looked different in the dark. The edge to him was softer, the menace stripped away. She hadn’t seen him fully before not like this. His skin was pale but not lifeless, like marble kissed with moonlight. His hair, tousled and shadow-drenched, framed his face like a halo of ink. And his eyes—those haunting red eyes—weren’t glowing now. They were watching her quietly, searching. She reached out, touching the sleeve of his shirt gently. “You say that like it’s a curse,” she said.

He gave a dry smile. “That’s because it is.”

Her breath hitched. Her fingers brushed his wrist, just barely, and still he didn’t pull away. He looked down at where she touched him, then back up at her face—taking her in like he was trying to memorize her.

“You really have to leave?” he asked, voice low.

She hated herself for saying it. The words slipped past her lips before she could stop them, fragile and foolish and far too human.

“I’ll come visit,” she whispered, eyes not quite meeting his. “Every other day… if you want.”

Felix didn’t answer at first. His red eyes remained unreadable, shadowed by the darkness of the corner he stood in. But the silence stretched, heavy and uncertain. Finally, he let out a low, dry laugh—one that barely sounded amused.

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not,” she insisted, taking a step closer, heart hammering painfully in her chest. “I don’t break promises.” His eyes narrowed slightly, scanning her face for a hint of insincerity. Whatever he found, it seemed to shake him a little. His shoulders relaxed. Just a bit.

“I never got your name,” he said, quietly.

She blinked, realizing she never told him. “It’s Y/N.”

He repeated it softly under his breath, like tasting it on his tongue. Then he moved slow, deliberate, and with the kind of grace that didn’t belong to anything human. He stepped out of the shadows, careful not to touch the spill of sunlight on the floor. When he reached her, he stopped just a breath away. His hand came up, ghosting against her cheek before he leaned in and pressed his lips to it. A kiss; soft and fleeting but it lingered like heat.

When he pulled back, he hovered there, his lips close to hers. Close enough to feel her breath stutter against his mouth. His gaze dropped to her lips, then lifted back to her eyes, searching.

He didn’t want to overstep. Not after everything. Not when he wasn’t sure if she truly meant what she said.

So, he leaned in… slowly. Hesitant. Shy. A boy hiding beneath a monster’s skin.

And Y/N… Y/N closed the distance. Their lips met gently, mouths molding together like they were made for this one moment in time. It was cautious at first, full of question and fear, but it didn’t stay that way. Her hands gripped the fabric of his shirt, and he angled his head slightly, deepening the kiss with a hunger that had nothing to do with blood.

When he kissed her jaw, she tilted her head, giving him space. His lips found her neck.

She gasped softly as he trailed slow, reverent kisses down the side of her throat, each one more possessive than the last. When he found the spot just above her pulse, her breath hitched, and his lips paused there.

He inhaled sharply, and for a moment, he forgot to breathe. Her blood sang to him.

His fangs throbbed with temptation. His hands tightened on her hips. But he pulled away just in time. He turned his face from her neck, lips parted, a shiver of restraint trembling through him.

“You need to go,” he said hoarsely, his voice thick with longing. “Now… before I forget how to be gentle.”

His eyes glowed faintly, raw with emotion and desire. And he stepped back into the safety of the shadows, watching her like a secret he was too afraid to keep.

“I’ll come back,” she promised again, softer this time, as if saying it any louder might break whatever fragile thing had just formed between them.

Felix didn’t respond right away. He stood a few steps behind her in the dim shadows of the mansion’s doorway, the place where the light ended and he could no longer follow. His red eyes were softer now, less hungry, less dangerous just… quietly watching her like he didn’t want to forget what she looked like. Y/N adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder, her fingers trembling slightly as she turned away from him. Her legs still ached, the memory of pain clinging to her thigh, but she didn’t look back just yet. She didn’t trust herself to.

The wooden door creaked as she pushed it open, a harsh contrast to the soft silence behind her. Sunlight greeted her like a slap—too bright, too warm—reminding her she was back in the world that made sense. She stepped outside and paused on the stone steps of the mansion, the cold air brushing against her skin. Then slowly so slowly she turned around.

The building loomed behind her, still and ancient, its windows like tired, sun-dulled eyes. The vines clinging to the stone looked like veins frozen in place, and the old wood creaked under the wind’s touch. And there he was. Felix stood in the shadows, just behind the doorway, his form half-ghosted by the dark. He didn’t speak. He didn’t wave. He just watched her his head tilted ever so slightly, as if he was memorizing her all over again. There was something vulnerable in his stillness, like a statue that longed to move.

She offered him one last look, her eyes lingering on his, before finally, reluctantly, turning away.

Her footsteps were slow at first, each one echoing against the cracked stone path that led back to the world. Then, quicker. Further. Her heart pulled back with every step, but she didn’t stop.

And Felix… he stayed at the threshold, his fingers curled around the edge of the doorframe like he wanted to follow but couldn’t.

Not yet. Not in the sunlight. Not in the world she belonged to.

…

When YN finally reached the edge of town and stumbled through the gates of her dorm, the weight of the mansion still heavy on her, she was immediately met with wide eyes and frantic voices.

“YN?! Oh my God—what the hell—where were you?”

“You actually went through with it?”

“Are you okay? You’re bleeding!”

The voices of her friends swirled around her like a whirlwind. Arms guided her inside, and she was gently eased onto the common room couch, blankets thrown over her shoulders, questions raining down before she could even catch her breath.

She winced. “Guys, I’m fine—seriously.”

“Fine? You look like you just crawled out of a horror movie,” one of them said, pointing at the tear in her pants and bandaged wound. They demanded answers.

“What did you see in there?”

“Was the mansion really haunted?”

“Did something attack you?”

Y/N’s lips parted, her throat dry. She could still feel Felix’s lips brushing her neck, the ghost of his voice in her ear, the aching sweetness of his presence. But she couldn’t tell them that. They’d never believe her.

So she lied, believably.

“There were... graves,” she started, voice low and steady. “Dozens of them, some old, some more recent. The place is completely overgrown. Windows shattered, furniture still inside, like everyone left in a hurry.” Her friends leaned in.

“I think I tripped on one of the broken floorboards. It was dark I didn’t have a good flashlight. I cut my leg on something… maybe glass or rusted wood. I panicked, stayed in one of the rooms till sunrise, then came back.” They stared at her, wide-eyed.

“You stayed the night there alone?” Margo whispered, half in awe, half in horror.

She gave a small shrug, eyes lowered. “I didn’t really have a choice.”

None of them questioned her further not about the wound, not about the strange tiredness in her eyes, not about the way she kept glancing toward the window as if expecting someone or something to be there, watching.

She never mentioned Felix. Not his name. Not his eyes. Not his curse. That part... was hers alone.

@pixie-felix @pessimisticloather @necrozica @sh0dor1 @leeknow-minho2 @jitrulyslayyed @igotajuicyass @bbokvhs @katyxstay @maisyyyyyy @day138 @katchowbbie @imeverycliche @yoongiismylove2018 @morkleesgirl @rockstarkkami @alisonyus @whatdoyouwanttocallmefor @lillymochilover @idol-dream-catcher @iknow-uknow-leeknow @maxidential @ebnabi @ari-hwanggg @rossy1080 @hanniebunch @tricky-ritz

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[jitrulyslayyed]

Y'all should keep up with this baddie 🫴🫴🤧👑🫶

𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐨𝐜𝐨𝐥

Pairing: ex!FBIagent!Chan x FBIagent!afab!reader, reluctant allies to friends, fake relationship

Synopsis: he died. Everyone believed he did. But you found out. And whether you like it or not, keeping you alive is now his job.

Chapter Synopsis: on escaping from the Russians, chan takes it upon himself to help you with the info you need. In exchange you learn more about him in the strangest ways.

Warnings: slow burn, violence, weapons, gore? a bit yeah, sarcastic Chan, ft. Jisung and Lix, mentions of Minho, time skips because why not?

A/n: Also, I think at one point I had a problem with the times of day...but I tried my best to make it sync. If you have extra eyes for errors, no you don't. So not proofread.

previously...

The motel lobby was dimly lit, the old fluorescent lights buzzing faintly overhead. Chan stepped up to the reception desk, his fingers drumming lightly against the wooden counter as the night clerk barely looked up from his phone.

"One room. Just for the night," Chan said, voice low and firm.

The clerk gave him a once-over, his gaze flicking to Y/N, who stood just behind him. She could feel the man sizing them up, probably making his own assumptions about the situation. Chan didn’t seem to care. He pulled out a few crumpled bills from his pocket, slid them across the counter, and within seconds, a key was pushed toward him in return.

"Room 207," the clerk mumbled before going back to his phone.

Chan didn’t wait. He grabbed the key, gave a subtle nod in Y/N’s direction, and started walking. She followed him down the hall, her mind racing as she took in her surroundings. The hallway smelled of stale air and cheap cleaning supplies, the faded carpet muffling their footsteps. When they reached the room, Chan unlocked the door and pushed it open, flicking on the light. The room was exactly what was expected—two twin beds, a small wooden table with a single chair, a flickering TV mounted on the wall, and an old, beige telephone sitting on the nightstand. It wasn’t the worst place she had ever stayed, but it definitely wasn’t home.

Chan tossed the key onto the nightstand and shrugged off his jacket, throwing it onto the nearest bed. "You hungry?" he asked, turning toward her.

She hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah."

Without another word, he pulled out his phone and scrolled through a local takeout menu. Within minutes, he placed an order for two burgers and fries from a fast-food joint a few blocks away. Once the order was placed, he tossed his phone onto the table and leaned against it, arms crossed. The silence stretched between them until she finally spoke.

"Why didn’t you come back?"

His jaw clenched slightly, but he didn’t look away. "Come back where?"

"The agency." She sat on the edge of one of the beds, watching him closely. "You found out what they were doing. You could’ve confronted them. Exposed them."

A humorless chuckle left his lips. "And then what? Be silenced before I could say a damn thing? You think I didn’t consider it? I saw what happened to the others who tried. People who were supposed to be on my side turned against me. The minute I started asking the wrong questions, I became a loose end."

She frowned, thinking back to the files she had uncovered. It was all there—the fabricated reports, the missing agents, the unexplained deaths. "But you were one of their best. Why would they—"

"Because loyalty only matters until you become a threat." His voice was sharp now, edged with something darker. "I stopped being useful to them the second I figured out the truth. So they made sure I wouldn’t be a problem anymore."

She let his words sink in, the weight of them pressing against her chest. But she still had questions—questions he wasn’t answering.

"Do you regret it? You know… disappearing?"

He exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head as he reached for the plastic bag of takeout that had just been delivered outside their door. "Eat." He tossed her a burger and fries before settling onto the other bed with his own meal.

She took a bite, but her mind was still turning.

"What about your family?" she asked carefully. "Did you ever—"

His whole body stiffened, his reaction instant, his grip tightening around the burger in his hand. His jaw flexed, his eyes darkening as he stared at the food like it had suddenly lost all appeal. He didn’t answer. Didn’t even look at her. Instead, he set his meal down, stood up, and walked toward the bathroom. "I’m taking a shower," he muttered before shutting the door behind him. The sound of rushing water filled the silence, but Y/N barely noticed.

You had hit a nerve. And you realized then just how much of Christopher Bang was still buried beneath the hardened shell of the man sitting across from you.

The bathroom door creaked open, and steam billowed into the room as Chan stepped out, his bare chest glistening slightly from the residual dampness. A white towel hung low on his hips, clinging to his sharp V-line as he ran a hand through his wet hair, pushing it back. His movements were unbothered, casual like walking around half-naked in a cheap motel room with a near-stranger was nothing new to him.

Y/N swallowed, forcing herself to keep her eyes on his face as he made his way toward his duffel bag. He crouched down, flipping it open, but after rummaging for a few seconds, he stilled.

Then he sighed.

"Shit." He ran a hand down his face. "Forgot to pack extra clothes."

She watched as he stood up and, with no hesitation, reached for the black trousers he had worn earlier, slipping them back on. The fabric clung to his still-damp skin, and for a second, she thought about how uncomfortable that must feel.

"Sorry… for earlier." Her voice was quieter now, hesitant. "I shouldn’t have asked about your family." Chan glanced at her, then let out a small breath through his nose—a sound that wasn’t quite a sigh, but close. "It’s fine."

She wasn’t sure if she believed him, but she didn’t push. Instead, he nodded toward the bathroom. "Go freshen up. Get some rest. We’ve got a lot to do tomorrow." She shifted slightly, still sitting cross-legged on the bed. "You’re not gonna finish your food?"

"Not hungry." He gestured lazily toward the leftover takeout on the table. "Help yourself if you want."

She considered it for a moment but ultimately shook her head. "I’m good."

With that, she stood and grabbed her own bag, heading into the bathroom. The hot water did little to ease the tension in her muscles, but she welcomed it anyway, letting it wash away the grime of the past few hours. It wasn’t until she stepped out and reached for her bag that she realized, she hadn’t packed extra clothes either.

Her stomach sank slightly. She hadn’t planned for any of this. Sighing, she pulled her trousers back on, then hesitated before deciding to just stay in her bra instead of her now slightly damp shirt. It wasn’t ideal, but it was better than wearing something uncomfortable to bed.

When she stepped back into the room, the lights were dimmed, casting a softer glow over the space. Chan was already lying on one of the beds, one arm resting behind his head as he stared up at the ceiling, his other hand loosely draped over his stomach. His breaths were even, steady but she could tell he wasn’t asleep. She slipped under the covers of the other bed, turning onto her side so she was facing him.

Her eyes traced his features, the way his lips were slightly parted, the sharp angles of his jawline softened by the dim light. His hair was still damp, strands falling over his forehead.

She thought about everything that had happened that night.

About the gunfire. The way he had protected her. The way he carried the weight of his past like an unspoken burden. She wanted to ask him more. Wanted to understand him. But instead, she just watched. And before she even realized it, sleep started to pull her under.

You stirred at the sound of rustling, the soft shuffle of fabric and the faint clinking of metal. Your brows furrowed as you blinked your eyes open, adjusting to the dim morning light filtering through the dusty motel curtains. Chan was already up fully dressed in the same black trousers and shirt from yesterday, though now slightly less wrinkled. He stood near the rickety wooden table, stuffing a few things into his duffel bag with quick, practiced movements.

"You didn’t wake me up?" your voice was rough with sleep as you pushed herself up on your elbows. Chan barely spared her a glance. "Oh, my bad," he deadpanned, zipping up the bag. "Next time I’ll throw a bucket of ice water on you for the full wake-up experience."

You rolled her eyes. "Asshole."

He slung the duffel bag over his shoulder and turned to face her. "Get up. We’re going to Prague." You froze mid-stretch, staring at him in disbelief. "The fuck for?" Chan sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose like you were giving him a headache before the day had even properly started. "I have an informant there."

You groaned, flopping back onto the bed for a second before dragging a hand down your face. "Of course you do." He eyed you, crossing his arms. "You also need a new passport. I’ve got someone we’re meeting before we head to the airport."

"Great," you muttered, swinging your legs over the edge of the bed. "At least let me shower first."

"No time."

"What do you mean, no time?" you asked incredulously.

"I mean we have to leave now, or I’m leaving you behind," he said flatly, walking towards the door. With an annoyed sigh, you quickly pulled on the same clothes from the night before, stuffing your things into your bag before following him out.

The lobby was empty as usual except for the bored-looking receptionist scrolling through his phone. Chan dropped the room key onto the desk without a word, and they stepped outside, the morning air crisp against their skin.

The car was parked where they left it, and as soon as they got in, Chan started the engine. He didn’t waste time with small talk, navigating through the quiet streets like he knew them by heart. After a while, you glanced out the window and frowned. "Where are we going now?"

"Getting new clothes," he replied, taking a sharp turn onto a side street.

A few minutes later, he pulled into a small clothing store, nothing fancy just practical. Inside, Chan moved quickly, grabbing things off racks with little hesitation hoodies, flannels, caps, t-shirts. He stuck mostly to dark colors, predominantly black. You watched as he barely even looked at anything outside that color scheme.

"You know," you noted, picking up a gray hoodie, "I think you might be allergic to color."

"Black is practical," he said, unfazed, handing a few items to the cashier.

"Black is suspicious," you corrected. "You look like an action movie cliché."

"Says the girl who almost got me killed last night," he shot back with a smirk, swiping his card.

You rolled your eyes and grabbed the bag of clothes, following him back to the car. As soon as you both were inside, she sighed. "I’m hungry." Chan gave her a look, deadpan. "Are you always hungry?" The answer to that was a straight yes but you just ignored him.

Luckily, he stopped at a gas station a few minutes later. While Chan focused on filling the tank, you made a beeline for the convenience store inside, grabbing whatever looked remotely edible; chips, bottled water, granola bars. When you got back to the car, Chan was already in the driver’s seat, drumming his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel.

"Took you long enough," he muttered as she climbed in. You tossed a snack at him, and he caught it with one hand, raising a brow. "What’s this?"

"Breakfast." Chan glanced at the granola bar, then at you. Then, with a small smirk, he shrugged and tore it open. "At least you’re useful for something." You shot him a glare as you unwrapped your own snack.

With that, he started the car again, merging back onto the road.

The bar was dimly lit, the scent of cheap alcohol and cigarette smoke lingering in the air. It wasn’t crowded just a few people scattered around, either drinking in silence or murmuring in low voices. A faint blues song played from the jukebox in the corner, barely noticeable over the quiet hum of conversation.

Chan led you to the back, past the bar counter where a middle-aged bartender barely spared them a glance. There, tucked into a booth, sat a man with light brown hair, sharp eyes, and a playful smirk that only deepened when he saw them approach.

"Well, well, well," the man drawled, leaning back in his seat. "Christopher fucking Bang. Thought you were a ghost." Chan slid into the seat across from him with ease, looking unimpressed. "Yes, that was the idea, Felix." You hesitated for a moment before sitting down beside Chan, watching as Felix’s gaze flickered to her. His smirk widened. "And who’s this? Don’t tell me you’ve finally made a friend."

"She’s the reason my ghost has lost its aura," Chan said dryly, tossing his duffel bag onto the seat beside him. Felix chuckled. "Poor you. And here I thought you liked your lone wolf act." Then he extended a hand towards you. "Felix. And you are?"

You shook his hand, still thrown off by how casual this felt. "Y/N."

"Nice to meet you, Y/N. If you’ve managed to survive Chris’s bad mood for this long, you must be decent."

"Still debating that," Chan muttered, and you elbowed him. Felix laughed and gestured to the table. "So, what brings you to my fine establishment of illegal transactions?" Chan got straight to the point. "We need two passports for Prague."

Felix raised a brow, tapping a finger against the rim of his glass. "Prague, huh? Interesting choice. Who are we running from?"

"Nosy as ever," Chan remarked. "Hey, I like to know if I’m making passports for people who’ll get me killed," Felix said, then nodded toward Y/N. "That include her too?"

"Unfortunately, yes," Chan sighed.

"Oh, come on," You scoffed. "I’m literally helping you."

"And you’re doing a fantastic job at getting me into more trouble," Chan shot back.

Felix chuckled. "Same old Chris. Alright, let’s get to work."

He pulled out a laptop and a small suitcase filled with equipment—scanners, blank passport books, laminating sheets. The moment he unzipped it, you realized just how skilled he must be. Everything was neatly arranged, every tool looking well-used but carefully maintained.

"What names do you want?" Felix asked as he booted up his laptop. "Ryan," Chan said immediately.

Felix scoffed. "Real original."

"It works."

"Sure, it does. And for you, Y/N?"

She thought for a moment. "Andi." Felix nodded, already typing. "Andi and Ryan. Got it. What nationalities?"

"Keep mine Australian," Chan said.

"Make mine British," You added.

Felix hummed as he worked, fingers flying across the keyboard. "And here I thought you two would at least try to be creative. Guess not."

"We don’t have time for creativity," Chan muttered.

"We never do," Felix sighed, pulling out two blank passport books. "Alright, give me a bit. This’ll take an hour, maybe less. You two want a drink while you wait?"

"No," Chan said immediately. "I could use one," you said at the same time.

Felix grinned. "See? I like her." Chan just shook his head, leaning back in his seat while Felix got to work, the hum of the printer soon filling the air as new identities took form.

As he stood he walked over to the bar, poured you a drink with practiced ease, sliding the glass over to her while he took a sip of his own. The liquor burned going down, but it wasn’t unpleasant. you glanced over at Chan, who was leaning back in his seat, arms crossed, eyes closed completely unbothered by the fact that they began talking about him right in front of him.

"You know, should be careful with the questions you ask," Felix said, swirling the liquid in his glass.

You exhaled. "I may have overstepped yesterday."

"Already? Sheesh. By the looks of it you did a really good job too," Felix said with a slight smirk, but then his expression softened. "Chris… He’s a good guy, you know? Just misread as a bad one. People like us, we don’t get the benefit of the doubt." You watched as Felix’s gaze flickered to Chan for a moment before he turned his attention back to you. "He’s done things, sure. But never without a reason. Just… don’t push too hard."

You nodded slowly, understanding the warning underneath his words. "He still should’ve come back instead of running."

"Maybe. Maybe not." Felix set his glass down. "You ever think that some fights aren’t worth it anymore?"

Before you could answer, the machine beeped, snapping both of their attention back to the task at hand. Felix grinned, standing up and stretching. "And that’s our cue. Looks like you two are officially new people."

Chan opened his eyes and sat up as Felix grabbed the newly made passports, flipping through them with a nod of approval before sliding them across the table. "Ryan and Andi. Welcome to your new lives."

Felix clapped Chan on the back as they stood near the entrance of the bar. "Be careful, mate," he muttered under his breath, just low enough for only Chan to hear.

Chan didn’t react immediately, just gave a slow nod before gripping Felix’s shoulder for a brief second an unspoken acknowledgment. "Appreciate it."

With that, he turned and led you out of the bar, the door swinging shut behind them as they stepped into the afternoon. The air was hotter now, the city’s hum buzzing into the background as they made their way back to the car. The drive to the airport was mostly silent, save for the occasional sound of Chan drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. His focus was set ahead, his jaw clenched slightly as you stole glances at him from the passenger seat.

"So, what’s the plan?" you finally asked, breaking the silence.

"We get to Prague, meet with my informant, and get the intel we need," Chan said flatly, eyes still on the road. "It’s a simple in-and-out. No unnecessary risks. We keep a low profile, and we don’t start anything we can’t finish." you tilted her head, studying his expression. "And what exactly are we looking for?"

"Proof." His fingers tightened on the wheel. "Proof that the agency isn’t what it claims to be. That I didn’t just vanish for no reason." You nodded slowly, absorbing his words. "I genuinely want to help with this." Chan exhaled sharply through his nose, a short, humorless laugh. "Then do as you’re told and don’t fuck things up." His words came out sharp, blunt.

Your brows furrowed. "You’re still pissed about yesterday, aren’t you?"

"No," he said quickly. Too quickly.

She rolled her eyes. "Sure. I totally believe that."

Chan didn’t respond. He just kept driving.

They arrived at the airport parking lot a little into the evening. They would have arrived earlier, save for the fact that you had become hungry again. The lot was half-full, the bright glow of overhead lights casting long shadows across the pavement. Chan pulled into a spot near the entrance, killing the engine before leaning back in his seat. "Grab what you need," he muttered as he reached for his duffel bag in the backseat. He shrugged on a black flannel over his t-shirt, pulling a cap down low over his face. A precaution.

You adjusted your own bag before stepping out of the car, slinging the strap over your shoulder. You glanced over at him. "You really think someone’s still tracking you after all this time?"

"It’s not about thinking," Chan muttered, adjusting the cap slightly. "It’s about knowing.” You didn’t argue.

They made their way into the airport, weaving through the late-night travelers and half-empty check-in lines. As they approached the counter, Chan handed over his fake passport with ease, his movements practiced, unbothered. You did the same, watching as both your boarding passes were printed and their bags weighed. Everything was going smoothly until you noticed Chan tense slightly beside you.

His posture didn’t change, but you could feel the shift in his demeanor. His eyes flickered toward the far side of the terminal. A man. Dressed casually in jeans and a hoodie. Dark sunglasses despite it being well into the night. Standing near one of the pillars, his posture too relaxed, his gaze locked onto Chan. He stared back, and for a moment, the air between them felt charged.

Then the man turned and walked away. Not rushed. Not panicked. Just slow, deliberate steps.

You followed Chan’s gaze but saw nothing out of the ordinary. "What is it?" you asked, shifting slightly. Chan’s expression didn’t change. "Nothing," he muttered, turning back as he grabbed his boarding pass. You obviously didn’t buy it, but before you could press further, the attendant gestured you forward. Both of you moved toward the security checkpoint, blending into the steady stream of travelers.

As you stepped into the lounge to wait for your boarding call, Chan’s eyes subtly scanned the area, his mind already running through possibilities. Someone had recognized him. And that meant trouble was closer than he thought.

---

The overhead lights in the plane flickered as passengers shuffled to their seats, the hum of quiet conversations filling the cabin. Chan and Y/N settled into their row, a middle and window seat on the right side of the aircraft. Chan sat by the aisle, his posture relaxed, but his eyes sharp as they scanned the boarding passengers.

The man entered.

He came in through the opposite aisle, stepping past rows of seated travelers with practiced ease. Y/N wouldn’t have noticed him if it weren’t for the way Chan suddenly tensed. His body didn’t move, but his gaze locked onto the stranger’s as he passed. The man didn’t break eye contact. Not until he reached his seat, a few rows ahead.

Chan let out a slow breath. "We’re being followed."

Y/N turned her head slightly, careful not to make it obvious. "Are you sure?" she whispered.

Chan didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he shifted in his seat, reaching into the back of his jeans and pulling out a compact, matte-black pistol. He kept it low, just below the armrest, so no one around them would notice. Y/N’s eyes widened. "How the hell did you get a gun on a flight?" she hissed under her breath, her voice barely audible over the boarding announcements.

Chan smirked slightly, his fingers resting lightly on the weapon. "Had help."

"Help?"

"People owe me favors," he said simply, tucking the gun beneath his jacket before anyone could see. "Now act normal." Y/N swallowed, shifting in her seat as the final boarding call rang through the speakers. The plane doors sealed shut, the hum of the engines growing louder as the aircraft prepared for takeoff. The man didn’t turn around again. He didn’t need to.

Chan knew better than to believe in coincidences. The cabin lights dimmed slightly as the flight settled into its long journey. Passengers were lost in their own worlds; some sleeping, some watching in-flight entertainment, some mindlessly scrolling through their phones.

With time, Y/N had made herself comfortable, pulling out the tray table in front of her. A half-eaten airline meal sat beside a small cup of juice, and she was fully engrossed in a movie playing on the tiny screen in front of her. Chan wasn’t watching anything. Not the movie, not the meal service. His attention kept flickering to her how relaxed she looked despite everything, how she absentmindedly chewed on a straw while focusing on the screen. He envied how easily she adapted.

Then, without a word, he unbuckled his seatbelt and stood up.

Y/N immediately turned to him, raising a brow. "Where are you going?"

"Relax," he muttered, voice low so only she could hear. "I’ll be back."

She frowned slightly but didn’t press further as he slipped into the aisle, making his way towards the rear of the plane. As he passed by the galley, a flight attendant—a woman with sharp eyes and neatly pinned-back hair—brushed past him subtly, slipping something into his palm with practiced ease, just the way she had slipped the gun into his hands earlier.

A silencer. Chan didn’t react, didn’t even acknowledge the exchange. He simply continued walking until he reached the lavatory, pushing the door open and stepping inside without a second glance. The door remained unlocked. He moved quickly, screwing the silencer onto the barrel of his gun with steady hands. Then, he leaned against the wall, letting the steady hum of the engines drown out his thoughts. Now, he waited. Because he knew the man had been watching him too as he stood up.

But the wait didn’t take long, the moment the man stepped inside, Chan’s grip tightened around the gun. The tiny lavatory instantly felt smaller, the tension suffocating. The man turned, locking the door behind him with a click. His eyes, concealed behind dark shades, flickered to the gun in Chan’s hands.

Chan didn’t waste time. "Who sent you?" he demanded, keeping his voice low but firm. The man didn’t answer. Instead, his fingers twitched, his stance shifting just slightly. It was enough of a tell. Chan moved first, but the man was faster. With a sharp pivot, the attacker lunged forward, his palm striking the inside of Chan’s wrist. The sudden impact sent the silenced gun skidding across the cramped lavatory sink, landing with a dull clatter.

Chan’s jaw clenched. "You shouldn’t have done that."

The next second, the fight erupted.

The man threw a punch aimed at Chan’s ribs, but Chan twisted, dodging at the last second. He countered, driving his elbow into the man's throat. It wasn’t enough to collapse his windpipe, but it sent him staggering against the sink, gasping for air. Before Chan could press the attack, the man recovered quickly, yanking open the flimsy overhead compartment and smashing it into Chan’s face. He barely had time to shield himself before the man grabbed his head and slammed it into the mirror above the sink. The glass spiderwebbed upon impact, fragments cracking away and slicing into Chan’s forehead.

A warm trickle of blood dripped down his temple. He wiped it away with the back of his hand, then grinned through the sting. "That all you got?" The man sneered but didn’t waste breath on words. Instead, he lunged again.

Chan sidestepped, grabbing the man's wrist and twisting it violently. A muffled pop sounded as the joint dislocated. The man barely had time to register the pain before Chan drove his knee into his stomach, knocking the air out of his lungs.

The man’s sunglasses flew off, revealing dark, bloodshot eyes that burned with hatred. "Who sent you?" Chan demanded again, this time grabbing the man by the collar and slamming him against the wall. Still, no answer. Instead, the man snapped his head forward in a brutal headbutt. Pain exploded across Chan’s nose, stars dancing in his vision. He barely had time to react before the man reached for a concealed blade in his boot.

Shit.

Chan instinctively twisted his torso, the knife slicing through the air where his ribcage had been a second ago. No more playing nice. With swift precision, Chan caught the man's wrist and smashed it against the metal sink. Bone cracked, the blade clattering to the floor. The man hissed but didn’t get a chance to retaliate before Chan grabbed the back of his head and slammed it against the already-broken mirror. Glass shattered. Blood sprayed. The man groaned, slumping slightly, but Chan didn’t let up. He spun the guy around and pressed his arm against his windpipe, locking him in a tight chokehold.

"Last chance." Chan’s voice was dark, deadly, each word laced with unspoken violence. "Who sent you?" The man gagged, his fingers clawing at Chan’s arm. His face was turning purple, veins popping along his forehead.

Nothing.

No name. No last words.

Just a silent, defiant glare before his body went limp.

Chan held the choke for a few more seconds, ensuring the bastard was unconscious before finally letting go. The man crumpled to the ground, blood dripping from his forehead, nose, and shattered lips.

Chan exhaled, flexing his fingers. His hands were covered in blood—some his, some the guy’s. Mostly the guy’s. His reflection in the broken mirror was splattered with red, a fresh gash on his forehead still bleeding down the side of his face.

He wiped his nose, tasting copper, before bending down and retrieving his silenced gun. Then, as if nothing had happened, he straightened his flannel shirt, turned toward the unconscious body, and sighed.

"Should’ve just answered the damn question."

Chan crouched over the unconscious man, his breath steadying as he quickly searched the guy’s pockets. His fingers skimmed past a pack of cigarettes, a crumpled napkin, and finally, a folded photograph.

He pulled it out. His own face stared back at him.

Chan’s stomach tightened, but he shoved down the unease, slipping the photo into his own pocket. He continued searching until he found the man’s cellphone. He didn’t recognize the model, but that didn’t matter. Information was information. He pocketed it and stood up. Turning to the mirror, he sighed. Blood trickled from the gash on his forehead, staining the edge of his brow. His knuckles were raw, the bruises already beginning to form. He looked like hell.

He turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on his face, hissing at the sting when it hit the fresh cut. The metallic scent of blood mixed with cheap airplane soap as he washed away the evidence of the fight. Then, making it look believable, he flushed the toilet.

He unlocked the door, stepping out casually before pulling it shut behind him. As he made his way back to his seat, he rolled his shoulders, shaking off the remaining tension.

Y/N’s eyes widened the second she saw him.

"Chan, what the fuck happened?"

He slid into his seat, resting an arm on the armrest as if he hadn’t just nearly killed a man in the lavatory. "We were being followed," he muttered, his voice low enough that only she could hear. Her concern deepened. "Followed? By who?" He sighed, tilting his head back slightly. "No idea."

Y/N frowned, scanning his bruised knuckles and the drying cut on his face. "So, what—? You just fought him? On a fucking airplane?" Chan smirked, resting his cheek against his fist. "Kept it quiet."

"Yeah, real subtle, bleeding all over the place," she muttered. He chuckled, but there was no humor in it. "Trust me, the other guy looks worse." Y/N’s gaze flickered with unease. "Did you...?"

"He's alive. But I doubt he’ll be up anytime soon."

LIES.

She exhaled, shaking her head. "Shit... What did you find on him?"

Chan pulled the folded photograph from his pocket and handed it to her. She opened it, her expression shifting from curiosity to unease the moment she recognized his face staring back.

"That’s you."

"Yeah. Seems like someone really wants me dead."

Y/N swallowed, gripping the picture tightly. "And you have no idea who sent him?" Chan leaned back, his fingers tapping against the armrest. "Not yet." But he would find out. And when he did, they’d regret ever sending someone after him.

As the plane touched down in Prague, Chan kept his posture relaxed, but his eyes remained sharp, scanning every passenger as they disembarked. Y/N could tell he was still on high alert from the incident mid-flight. She, too, found herself glancing around, paranoia creeping in despite her best efforts to stay calm. The moment they stepped into the terminal, Chan’s phone buzzed. He pulled it out, checking the message. A smirk tugged at his lips.

"Our ride’s here."

Y/N barely had time to process his words before a familiar voice called out.

"Look who finally decided to show up." She turned to see a young man leaning casually against a pillar, arms crossed over his chest. He had messy brown hair, a confident smirk, and eyes that danced with amusement. Dressed in a dark hoodie and ripped jeans, he looked nothing like what she expected from an "informant."

Chan rolled his eyes. "Cut the dramatics, Jisung."

Jisung pushed off the pillar and walked up to them. "Come on, hyung, I was starting to think you got yourself killed before making it here." His eyes flickered to Y/N, and his smirk widened. "And who’s this?" Chan sighed. "Jisung, meet Andi. Andi, this is Jisung—one of the few people I actually trust."

Y/N raised an eyebrow. "You trust people?" Jisung barked out a laugh. "Right? That’s what I said." Chan groaned. "Both of you, shut up and get in the car." Jisung led them through the bustling terminal and out to the parking lot, where a sleek black SUV was waiting. "I pulled some strings to get you a safe house. Should be secure for now."

As they climbed into the car, Y/N couldn't shake the feeling that things were only going to get more complicated from here.

---

The safe house was tucked away in a quiet neighborhood, an unassuming apartment building that looked like it hadn’t been lived in for years. Jisung led them inside, locking the multiple bolts behind them before gesturing toward the dimly lit living room. "Make yourselves at home," he said, flopping onto the couch and kicking his feet up on the coffee table.

Y/N and Chan exchanged a glance before setting their bags down. The space was minimalist barely any furniture except for a couch, a TV, and a cluttered desk stacked with papers and electronic equipment. The faint hum of a computer running in the background filled the silence. After giving them a few minutes to unwind, Jisung reappeared with a bag of snacks, tossing a granola bar at Y/N. She caught it, arching an eyebrow. "Not exactly a five-star meal, but it’s what I got," he shrugged before tossing a bag of chips toward Chan.

Chan caught it mid-air but didn’t open it. Instead, he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. His expression turned serious. "The data, Jisung."

Jisung sighed dramatically, rummaging through his hoodie pocket before pulling out a flash drive. "Yeah, yeah, Mr. No Fun. I got some of what you asked for, but—"

Chan’s jaw tightened. "But?"

Jisung plugged the drive into the TV. The screen flickered, and multiple files popped up—profiles, reports, security footage, transaction logs, and classified documents, some of which were heavily redacted. "Here’s what I managed to pull," Jisung began, clicking through the files. "I got dirt on Reynolds, his known aliases, offshore accounts, deals that he’s made with some pretty bad people. There’s a list of buyers who’ve worked with him, footage of his men moving shipments. But…"

Chan’s fingers drummed against his knee. "Spit it out, Ji."

Jisung turned to face them, his expression more serious than usual. "There’s a key piece of evidence I couldn’t get. It’s too heavily guarded, even for me. Whatever it is, they know it’s important, and they’ve locked it down tight." Y/N frowned. "What kind of information are we talking about?" Jisung exhaled. "A hard drive. It contains direct links between Reynolds and the black-market trades—evidence that could get him convicted. But it’s not something I can hack into remotely. It has to be taken physically."

Chan leaned back, rubbing his chin. "And where is it?"

Jisung smirked. "That’s where things get interesting. There’s a high-profile event happening this weekend in Prague. A charity gala except the only charity involved is rich assholes patting themselves on the back while laundering money."

Y/N crossed her arms. "And let me guess, someone attending has the hard drive?"

Jisung nodded. "Bingo. His name is Viktor Ivanov. On paper, he’s a respected businessman, philanthropist, all that bullshit. But in reality? He’s got his hands in everything from illegal arms, human trafficking,to black market trades. And he’s worked with Reynolds before. If anyone has the missing piece of evidence, it’s him."

Chan’s gaze darkened. "So, we go in, retrieve the hard drive, and get out."

Jisung chuckled. "Easier said than done. Security’s gonna be tight armed guards, facial recognition, the works. This isn’t some back-alley operation. We’ll have to blend in, go undercover."

Y/N raised an eyebrow. "Undercover? Like… black-tie event undercover?"

Jisung grinned. "Oh yeah. Time to break out the fancy clothes, sweetheart. You and Chan are gonna have to play the part of a wealthy couple."

Chan let out a deep breath, running a hand through his hair. "Great."

Y/N smirked at his reaction. "Not a fan of suits, Ryan?"

Chan shot her a look. "Just focus on the mission, Andi." Jisung clapped his hands together. "Alright, lovebirds. We’ve got a lot of work to do before the gala. Hope you’re ready, ‘cause once we’re in, there’s no turning back."

---

The safe house was quiet at night, save for the faint hum of computers and the distant sound of cars passing outside. The air was thick with an eerie calm, a stark contrast to the chaotic lives they were leading. Y/N padded down the stairs in her socks, her initial plan being to grab a drink and head back to bed. But as she entered the dimly lit living room, she paused, noticing Jisung sitting by the window, his back to her.

Multiple monitors flickered in front of him, casting an artificial glow over his face. The TV beside him slowly transitioned through lines of data, profiles, security footage, encrypted messages. He had his legs pulled up onto the chair, one hand lazily clicking through files while the other tapped absentmindedly on the desk. "You don’t sleep?" Yn asked, leaning against the kitchen counter as she opened a bottle of water.

Jisung turned slightly but didn’t seem surprised by her presence. "Not when there’s work to do," he replied, eyes still glued to the screens. "Hyung doesn’t say it, but I know he’s stressed. Figured I’d help him sort out some of the security details before the weekend."

Y/N took a sip of her drink, watching the data flash across the TV. "That’s… actually really nice of you." Jisung let out a small chuckle. "I know, I’m an angel." He stretched his arms, his fingers cracking from hours of typing. "Oh, and I ordered what you guys are gonna wear for the gala. Should be here by tomorrow."

Y/N raised an eyebrow. "You already know my size?"

Jisung smirked. "Please, I’ve been in this line of work long enough to tell at a glance."

Yn rolled her eyes but smiled, walking over to where he sat. As she glanced at the multiple screens, curiosity gnawed at her. "Hey, Jisung… can I ask you something?"

He hummed, still typing away. "Sure. What’s up?"

"Were you also ex-FBI like Chan?"

Jisung snorted. "Me? Hell no. I wouldn’t last a day under all those strict-ass rules." He leaned back in his chair, finally turning to look at her. "I was just a hacker. A really, really good one. But that also meant I ended up working for some of the worst people."

Yn’s brows furrowed. "Then… how did you meet Chan?"

Jisung’s smirk faded slightly, and for a moment, he was quiet. The only sound in the room was the quiet whirring of the hard drive. Then, he sighed.

"Chan was supposed to kill me."

Y/N blinked. "What?"

Jisung nodded, his gaze distant now, as if remembering something far away. "Back then, I was working as an informant for a guy Chan had been hunting. I didn’t know what I was getting into. I was just good with tech, and they paid well. But when Chan found out I was feeding them intel, he was sent to put a bullet in my head."

Y/N swallowed, watching as Jisung tapped his fingers against the desk. "I was on my knees," Jisung continued, his voice quieter now. "Gun pressed to my skull, and I was sure I was gonna die. But then, just as he was about to pull the trigger… my phone rang."

Y/N felt her heart tighten. "Who was calling?"

Jisung smiled faintly. "Minho. H-He was my boyfriend."

A heavy silence settled between them. Jisung took a deep breath before continuing. "Chan hesitated. He’s got this thing… he hates killing people who have someone waiting for them. Innocent people. I guess in his mind, if you have a loved one, you can’t be all bad." He scoffed. "So, he lowered the gun. And that should’ve been the end of it."

Y/N’s throat felt dry. "But it wasn’t."

Jisung shook his head. "No. Because after that, he found out the agency had lied to him. They told him I had no loved ones, no attachments. That I was just another loose end to tie up. But when he realized they’d fed him false intel, he snapped."

"So, what did he do?" Yn asked.

Jisung let out a dry chuckle. "Oh, he kept me. Bound me, made me work for him until the mission ended. Made sure I couldn’t run, couldn’t betray him. But instead of torturing me, he made me dig. He forced me to look into the agency. And that’s how I found it—the betrayal."

Y/N felt her chest tighten. "You’re the one who helped him uncover it."

Jisung nodded. "Yeah. I was the one who pulled up the records. The fake mission reports. The buried files. The orders that didn’t make sense. And when we pieced it all together… that’s when Chan knew he had to get out." Y/N stared at him, the weight of his words sinking in. She had known Chan had gone through betrayal, but hearing it from Jisung, someone who had been tangled in the mess firsthand made it all the more real.

"So, after all that… he let you go?" she asked softly.

Jisung grinned, though there was something tired behind it. "Yeah. But instead of running, I stuck around. Guess I figured if someone like Chan, who was trained to be a weapon, could turn against the people who made him… then maybe I could, too."

Y/N exhaled, shaking her head slightly. "That’s… that’s insane." Jisung laughed, spinning his chair around. "Yeah. But life’s more fun that way, don’t you think?"

Y/N didn’t answer right away. Instead, she glanced toward the hallway where Chan had gone to sleep. Everything about him made a little more sense now.

She turned back to Jisung. "Thanks for telling me."

Jisung gave her a small salute. "Don’t mention it. And hey, try not to get killed at the gala, yeah? I worked really hard picking out that dress for you."

Y/N chuckled, shaking her head as she stood. "Goodnight, Jisung."

"Night, Andi."

As she walked back upstairs, her mind replayed everything Jisung had said, the pieces of Chan’s past coming together like a puzzle she wasn’t sure she was ready to see completed.

---

The smell of food lingered in the air, warm and inviting, a stark contrast to the tension of the past few days. The scent of eggs, toasted bread, and something slightly savory maybe sausage or bacon drifted through the quiet safe house. Sunlight filtered weakly through the dusty curtains, casting soft shadows across the living room. You groggily sat up in bed, stretching before slipping out into the open space that served as both a kitchen and living area. The sight that greeted her was unexpected. Jisung was sprawled out on the couch, one arm dangling over the side, his mouth slightly open as he slept. His laptop was still open on the coffee table, its screen dimmed but faintly glowing with lines of code and security details he had probably been working on until he passed out. A blanket was lazily draped over him probably Chan’s doing.

Speaking of Chan…

You turned your gaze to the kitchen, where the man himself stood, finishing up breakfast. He was dressed casually, black sweatpants and a loose t-shirt but there was a methodical precision in how he moved, from the way he flipped the eggs to how he plated the food with practiced ease. The muscles in his forearms flexed as he set a dish down, and you had to remind herself not to stare too long.

He must’ve sensed your presence because he glanced over his shoulder. "You're up." His voice was slightly rough, as if he hadn’t spoken much yet this morning. "You good?"

You nodded sleepily, rubbing at your eyes. "Yeah… What time is it?"

"Late enough for breakfast." He turned back to the counter, grabbing a plate, and you assumed it was for you. Your stomach grumbled softly at the sight of warm food, and you took a step forward—

Only to watch as Chan walked straight past you. She blinked, caught off guard, as he headed to the couch, crouching down beside Jisung. With careful ease, he nudged the younger man's shoulder. "Wake up, Ji. Eat."

Jisung groaned, shifting slightly but refusing to open his eyes. Chan huffed, setting the plate down on the coffee table before nudging him again, this time a little firmer. "Don’t make me force-feed you."

Jisung cracked an eye open, barely awake. "Mmm, five more minutes…"

Chan’s response was unimpressed. "You said that three hours ago." Jisung groaned dramatically, but the smell of food seemed to win him over. With sluggish movements, he pushed himself upright, rubbing his face as he blindly reached for the plate. "You're a saint, hyung… a scary saint, but still."

You scoffed quietly to herself, shaking your head as you moved to the counter. You grabbed a plate and served yourself, but as you sat down at the small dining table, your eyes flicked toward the couch.

Chan’s actions weren’t anything grand, nothing overly affectionate, but there was a certain care in the way he handled Jisung. The way he made sure he ate first. The way he woke him up with just enough force to be effective, but not enough to startle him. Even the way he placed the plate within easy reach like this was second nature. Jisung, despite his usual joking and laid-back nature, didn’t argue. He simply ate, barely keeping his eyes open as he muttered a soft "Thanks, hyung."

Chan grunted in response before returning to the kitchen.

You quickly focused on your food, trying to shake off the strange feeling settling in your chest.

After a few moments of quiet eating, Chan finally spoke again. "Hey, Andi. The drive—can you get it for me?"

You looked up, still chewing, before nodding. You wiped your hands on a napkin and pushed back your chair, heading toward your bag where you had stashed the device. Retrieving it, you walked back and held it out. Chan took it without a second glance and without even checking it first passed it straight to Jisung.

Jisung, now slightly more awake, caught it lazily and smirked. "Damn, no trust issues at all, huh?"

Chan shot him a look. "Just work."

You watched as Jisung plugged the drive into his laptop, the screen flickering to life. Whatever information was on there, it was important. But as Chan leaned against the counter, arms crossed, his gaze sharp and calculating, she couldn't help but wonder,

Just how much trust had been built between these two for things to flow this naturally?

Jisung sat slouched on the couch, still recovering from sleep as he shoveled food into his mouth with one hand while lazily scrolling through the files on his laptop with the other. His eyes flickered across the screen, scanning the reports and documents, occasionally squinting as if processing something particularly interesting.

Chan sat nearby, sipping his coffee in silence, while Yn leaned against the counter, observing the exchange. The safe house was quiet aside from the faint clacking of Jisung’s keyboard and the occasional rustle of cutlery against plates. Then, Jisung’s phone rang.

His head snapped up, eyes darting to the device on the coffee table. The second he saw the caller ID, a light pink hue dusted his cheeks.

You, ever the observer, caught the reaction immediately. Jisung coughed into his fist before scrambling to grab his phone, swiping to answer with a voice softer than either of them had ever heard from him.

"Yeobo?"

You’s eyebrows shot up. Chan blinked.

Jisung barely noticed their reactions, completely immersed in the voice on the other end. His entire demeanor softened, the playful smugness slipping away to reveal something more vulnerable more genuine. His fingers absentmindedly traced the edges of his laptop, his lips quirking up into a fond, almost dreamy smile.

"No, no, I’m fine. I just woke up, actually… Yeah, I know, but hyung made me eat, so don’t worry." He paused, listening intently. His expression wavered between shy and utterly smitten.

You smirked as you watched him, your curiosity piqued. Who could possibly turn Jisung the fast-talking, cocky informant into this lovesick mess? Chan, on the other hand, seemed unfazed, though a barely perceptible smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. Jisung hummed in response to something the caller said, his free hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. His ears were definitely turning red.

"Mhm… No, I’m safe, I promise. I would tell you if anything happened."

There was a pause. Then Jisung chuckled, low and warm, his entire body relaxing into the couch. His voice dropped into something softer, more intimate.

"You always worry too much, Min. But I like that about you."

You nearly choked on your coffee.

Chan raised an eyebrow but said nothing, merely tilting his head as if evaluating how long this little lovesick performance would last. Jisung, oblivious to their reactions, sighed contently before mumbling, "난 널 너무 사랑해, 여보." I love you so much, honey.

He paused, biting his lip before grinning like a fool. "Mm, yeah, me too. I’ll call you later, okay? Take care of yourself. Bye, baby." He hung up with a dopey smile still lingering on his face.

A beat of silence passed before you, unable to help yourself, leaned forward with a knowing smirk. "So, he drives you that lovesick, huh?" Jisung scoffed, but the blush on his face gave him away. "Tch. I don’t know what you’re talking about."

You gave him an unimpressed look. "Jisung, you just called him ‘yeobo’ in the first two seconds of answering the call. And if I’m correct that translates to sweetheart." Chan finally spoke, his voice laced with mild amusement. "How do you know about Minho?"

Jisung, still stuck in his post-call haze, simply shrugged before mumbling, "I told her." Chan's expression shifted slightly, something calculating flickering in his eyes. He leaned back, arms crossed, studying both of them before exhaling through his nose. "Huh."

You turned to him. "What?"

Chan shrugged, a small smirk playing on his lips. "Just didn't think Ji would spill his tragic backstory so easily."

Jisung rolled his eyes. "It’s not tragic, it’s romantic." You snorted. "Yeah, because getting nearly executed was so romantic." Jisung pointed at you. "Exactly. Life-or-death romance is the best kind." Chan sighed, rubbing his temples. "You two are going to give me a headache."

You grinned, nudging Jisung. "Well, at least now I know what kind of mess you turn into when Minho calls."

Jisung groaned, throwing himself back onto the couch. "I will never live this down, will I?"

You and Chan shared a look before replying in unison.

"Nope."

Are you loving this? I am!!

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[jitrulyslayyed]

Gurl you got me hooked fr!!! mullet Chan???? Mullet??? GAHHH

𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐨𝐜𝐨𝐥

Pairing: ex!FBIagent!Chan x FBIagent!afab!reader, slow burn, strangers to reluctant allies, nonidol au

Synopsis: he died. Everyone believed he did. But you found out. And whether you like it or not, keeping you alive is now his job.

Warnings: violence, switching btwn chris and chan (but its the same person), russian (there will be translations), mullet chan...

a/n: I liked this piece a lot actually, and I hope you do. dw, there will be more parts (relax...), uhh my longest so far? 5k words? yeahh..if you have extra eyes for errors, no you don't.

Christopher Bang is dead.

The world had been convinced that Christopher Bang was dead.

His funeral was quiet, attended only by select FBI agents and a few grieving colleagues. A closed casket. No family to claim him. A legend reduced to whispers in the hallways of Quantico. They said he died in an operation gone wrong, a noble sacrifice to protect the country. Christopher Bang had never been an ordinary FBI agent. He was a prodigy—recruited young, trained hard, and shaped into one of the Bureau’s finest operatives. His reputation was legendary, whispered in briefing rooms and hushed conversations. He was the kind of agent you sent when failure wasn’t an option. His career had been built on precision, unwavering loyalty, and an unshakable sense of justice. He wasn’t just good at his job; he was the job. His instincts were lethal, his mind sharper than the blade he always carried strapped to his thigh. From high-profile kidnappings to dismantling international crime syndicates, Chan had seen it all. And for a while, he believed in the mission. Believed in the Bureau.

Until he didn’t.

The cracks had always been there, but Chris only started noticing them after Operation Nightfall. Nightfall was supposed to be routine—an undercover mission to infiltrate an arms smuggling ring with direct ties to high-ranking officials. The Bureau had been tracking them for years, their operations spanning across borders, feeding civil wars, and keeping global conflict at a steady boil. This was supposed to be the mission that brought them down. Chan had spent months buried deep in the criminal underworld, assuming the alias of a ruthless gunrunner. He had earned their trust, gathered intelligence, and secured evidence that could take down some of the most powerful players in the game including politicians and government officials who were supposed to be on his side.

That was his mistake.

Because when the time came for the bust, nothing went as planned. The moment his team stormed the compound; they were met with bullets. Not from the criminals, but from their own men. The FBI’s tactical unit, the very people meant to back him up, had turned their guns on him and his informant. It was a hit. Chan barely made it out alive. His informant, his only lead to the bigger players and his best friend, was executed in front of him, and he had been left for dead in the chaos. A staged accident. A casualty of war. But Chan had survived. Wounded, disoriented, and betrayed, he disappeared into the underground before the Bureau could finish the job.

It took weeks for him to recover, to put the pieces together. The truth was uglier than he could have imagined. The people he had trusted had sold him out to protect their interests. He had two choices: fight back and risk everything, or disappear.

Chan chose to disappear.

Faking his death wasn’t easy, it never was but it was the only way to move undetected. He had to erase Christopher Bang from existence. Burn his past. Cut ties. He left behind no body, no trace, nothing for the Bureau to track. The world mourned him, but he watched from the shadows. And from those shadows, he did what he did best.

The glow of your desk lamp cast long shadows across the scattered case flies, illuminating worn folders that had become your life for the past three weeks. The first time you saw Christopher Bang; he was nothing more than a file on your desk. You didn’t mean to stumble onto his case. It had been a late night at the office, one of those quiet, lonely shifts where the air smelled like stale coffee and ink-stained fingertips. Fewer voices, more room to think. Most agents had gone home, the bullpen dimly lit by the glow of monitors. You had been assigned to a different case—routine arms trafficking, nothing out of the ordinary. But in the midst of your research, his name popped up not once and that didn’t sit right with you. At first, it was a footnote. A long-forgotten alias linked to an offshore account. It should have been nothing just another dead man’s forgotten assets. But then, the details started to unravel, one thread at a time. The account had been accessed recently. Money had moved. And whoever had moved it knew exactly what they were doing.

Your fingers tapped rhythmically against the keyboard of your system as you scrolled through classified financial records, piecing together a puzzle that didn’t quite fit. The deeper you dug, the more the numbers twisted into a dead end. As you combed through the financial web, his name resurfaced again. Your breath hitched.

“Ok, what the actual fuck?”

The world buried that name two years ago but here it was, tied to a forgotten alias buried in offshore transactions. “Thats impossible.” You turned in your chair toward the stack of classified files and papers piled on your other desk. Quickly, your flipped through the pages and pushed aside other papers. The alias wasn’t obvious, Chan had been careful but when you spotted it, you knew. The name was one you had come across years ago during a different case, linked to a false identity the Bureau once used for deep-cover work. An alias that had supposedly died along with him. Yet here it was alive and well, funnelling money through ghost accounts. The neatly organised system you prided yourself on was gone, replaced by a frantic need to confirm what you already feared.

“Come on, come on...” you muttered, flipping again past cases that had long since gone cold. The scent of ink and the faint musk of time filled your senses as you pulled open another manila folder, the edges frayed from years of handling. And when you saw it, your pulse spiked.

FBI CLASSIFIED: CONFIDENTIAL – AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY

BANG, CHRISTOPHER CHAN

Stamped in bold red ink across the top was a single word that now could’ve been a lie.

DECEASED

Swallowing hard, you spread the contents across your desk. A black and white photo of Chan stared back at you, his badge clipped neatly to his suit, a small smirk playing at the edge of his lips.

Name: Bang, Christopher

Alias(es): Phantom, K-Strike, Shadow OP

Date Of Birth: October 3, 1997

Place of Birth: Sydney, Australia

Nationality: Australian/Korean

Last Known Rank: Senior Special Agent – FBI covert Operations Unit

Specialization: Deep cover infiltration, counterterrorism, tactical reconnaissance, financial crimes, high-risk asset extraction

Status: Deceased (as per Bureau records, declared KIA during Operation Nightfall, 2023)

You glanced through the pages of his physical and psychological evaluation, very impressed by his results. On his classified operations list, Nightfall was disclosed as a failed mission declaring his KIA, which should have solidified his name as a martyr in the agency’s war against organised crime. People who die in the field don’t get forgotten so quickly. When you reached the last page however, a small text at the bottom was handwritten which stood out to you;

FILE STATUS: ARCHIVED

NOTICE: Any activity involving this alias or financial transactions linked to Agent Bang should be considered a breach of classified intelligence. Further investigation requires authorization from the Director’s Office.

Signed, M. Reynolds.

You grabbed his mission report, flipping through the pages searching for what you might have missed. Nightfall had always seemed too clean on paper. A mission that ended in disaster, yet conveniently wrapped itself up without loose ends. No body recovered. No autopsy. No real proof of death, only ‘witness reports’; a term that had been conveniently vague. You stomach twisted as you skimmed the list of operatives present during his last assignment. A few familiar names, including higher-ups who were still active in the Bureau today. And one name in particular...

Deputy Director M. Reynolds.

You stiffened. Reynolds had been the one to officially close Chan’s case. If Chan had supposedly faked his death, Reynolds either knew about it or it was one of the reasons he disappeared in the first place.

The weight of the situation dwelled heavily on your chest. You weren’t just looking at a missing agents financial trail. You had reopened a case the Bureau had long since buried. And if you weren’t careful, you’d be buried alongside it.

Deputy Marcus Reynolds was once one of the most respected figures in the Bureau a man who built his career from bringing down high-profile syndicates. But Chan had seen what others hadn’t: the cracks in his so-called justice. Their relationship had always been tense. Reynolds saw Chan as an asset useful but too unpredictable. Chan, on the other hand, never trusted Reynolds, especially after noticing discrepancies in classified reports. The deeper Chan dug, the cleared it became Reynolds wasn’t just complicit in the corruption; he was orchestrating it. His last mission, Nightfall, had been an evident setup. The intel had been too clean and easy. As if someone wanted him in the field open and vulnerable. But when it went sideways, Chan realized too late, that he was the target. And he had to disappear.

Reynolds closed the case within 72 hours, an unusually fast decision for a high-ranking agent’s death. Because if Christopher Bang was dead, he couldn’t expose what he knew.

The next few weeks were a blur of late nights and hushed conversations. You moved quietly, off the books, following leads that didn’t exist. It was dangerous work digging where you weren’t supposed to. But you had always trusted your instincts, and your instincts told you something was very wrong. You kept this new discovery to yourself of course, exposing it may open multiple Pandora’s boxes that couldn’t be closed. You didn’t know why you chased him. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was something darker, the need to understand why a man like that would fake his own death. Or maybe, deep down, you knew that whatever he had been running from was still out there. The breakout came unexpectedly. Against the dim glow of your laptop casting shadows across your apartment walls. While cross-referencing transaction time stamps with recent disappearances, you noticed a pattern- each financial movement coincided with a known safehouse burning to the ground. It was subtle, almost untraceable, but not for you. When you saw it you knew. Christopher was surviving. Amongst all the locations you had scouted one hadn’t been touched yet. An old decommissioned safehouse outside the city; a place you remembered from your early years at the Bureau. Officially, it had been abandoned after an op went sideways and unofficially could be Chan’s hideout. If he was still alive.

You grabbed your gear- a discreet sidearm, burner phone, flashlight, and the flash drive with all the evidence. The drive that proved the Bureaus corruption against Chan and why he had to disappear. The drive that could get you both killed.

The night air was thick with the scent of rain-soaked earth as you navigated the overgrown path toward the building. It stood hidden between skeletal trees, its exterior worn by time, but the security measures were still intact. A rusted fence. Motion-triggered floodlights ones that shouldn’t work but flickered on as soon as you stepped closer. He was here you were so sure of it. Your breath came shallow as you approached the side entrance, pressing against the damp wall. The door had been reinforced new locks, fresh welding along the hinges. Not abandoned at all. He’s careful.

You reached into your pocket, pulling out a small USB device. It wasn’t the evidence neither was it just a tool; it was bait. Plugging it into the old security panel, you let it do its job—overloading the system for a brief five-second window. It was all the time you needed.

Click. The lock disengaged. Heart pounding, you stepped inside. The interior smelled of dust and aged wood, but there were signs of recent use—a makeshift bed, scattered papers, a half-empty glass of water on the counter. A map was pinned to the wall, red markings circling names you recognized. People who had gone missing. People the Bureau wouldn’t miss. People Chan had eliminated. Then, movement.

A whisper of sound behind you. Before you could react, an arm wrapped around your throat, pressing just hard enough to warn, not to harm. A gun was at your temple, the cold steel sending a shiver down your spine.

"Who sent you?" The voice was deep, familiar. You swallowed hard. "You did." A pause. His grip didn’t loosen, but he didn’t pull the trigger either.

"You should have stayed away," he murmured.

You turned your head slightly, just enough to meet his eyes. Dark. Calculating. But underneath it all—a flicker of something else. Something human. "I couldn’t," you whispered. "Because you didn’t."

 A sharp exhale—barely a whisper—was the only warning you had before you were tackled to the ground. The impact knocked the breath from your lungs as your wrists were wrenched behind your back, pinned in an unbreakable grip. The cold press of a gun barrel met the back of your skull, and the weight of a solid, muscular frame held you immobile against the dusty floor.

"One last time," a deep voice murmured above you, low and lethal. "Who sent you?"

You gritted your teeth, twisting slightly beneath him. "No one." A pause. The weight above you shifted slightly, but the gun didn’t move.

"Third times a charm, princess. Try again."

His voice was cold, but something about it struck you—not just familiarity, but certainty. You had found him.

"Bang Chan," you rasped. "I found you." That was the wrong thing to say. The grip on your wrists tightened, his knee pressing into your lower back with just enough force to make your ribs groan. You clenched your jaw to keep from gasping. "Yeah?" he mused, almost mocking. "And how exactly did you manage that?"

You sucked in a breath, your pulse thrumming against the barrel of his gun. "Your offshore accounts," you admitted. "One of your old aliases popped up in my case files. I traced the transactions—saw the pattern. You're covering your tracks, but you missed one."

A slow exhale. He was processing. Then, suddenly, he yanked you up. Your legs scrambled for footing as he hauled you to your feet with an ease that sent a shiver down your spine. He spun you around, and for the first time, you got a good look at him. His hair was longer now—jet black, damp at the ends, curling slightly at the nape of his neck. It fell into his sharp eyes, barely concealing the raw intensity burning behind them. The years had refined him, hardened him—his jawline sharper, his muscles defined beneath the tight black shirt clinging to his frame. He adjusted his grip on his gun, holding it lazily by his side but never out of reach.

But what struck you the most was the way he was looking at you. Like he was deciding whether to kill you or let you live. "Prove it," he ordered, his voice softer but no less dangerous. Your breath hitched. "I have proof of the Bureau’s corruption. On a flash drive. I brought it with me." His gaze flickered—just for a moment—before hardening again. He exhaled sharply through his nose, then abruptly released you, shoving you back slightly. "Don’t follow me next time," he muttered before turning away.

Your heart still pounded as you watched him move, muscles flexing beneath his shirt as he returned to whatever he had been doing before your arrival.

You took a step forward. "You're just going to pretend this didn’t happen?"

"Yes."

"Are you serious right now?"

"Yes."

Your frustration flared. "So, what, you’re just gonna keep hiding in the shadows? Killing off whoever you think deserves it?" Chan finally looked at you again, his expression unreadable. "That’s what ghosts do." A beat of silence stretched between you before he turned away again. "You should go back to where you came from," he said, voice quieter this time.

But you didn’t move. Because now that you had found him, there was no way in hell you were letting him disappear again.

Chan had stripped off his tight black shirt, revealing the sharp, battle-worn lines of his torso—faint scars cutting across his chest and shoulders like remnants of a past he didn’t care to remember. He pulled a clean, loose shirt over his head before dropping into his chair, exhaling as he propped his combat-booted feet onto the wooden desk. A plastic bag of heated ramen sat beside him, the faint steam curling up as he ripped open the top. The scent of instant broth filled the air, and with a slow, almost lazy motion, he dug his chopsticks in, slurping up a mouthful without a care in the world.

But when he turned his head, there you were. Still standing. Arms crossed. Stubborn as ever.

His chewing slowed. "Why the hell are you still here?"

"I'm not leaving without an explanation." Your voice was firm, unwavering. Chan let out an amused scoff, flicking his eyes away as he continued eating. "Not my problem."

"It is," you shot back. "You disappeared. You faked your own death. People thought you were murdered, Chan."

His expression didn’t change. He didn’t even pause, still chewing. "And?"

"You don't get to just vanish without an answer," she pressed, stepping forward. "You were one of the best agents we had. Then one day, you’re gone? What was I supposed to think?" Chan finally lowered his chopsticks, resting them on the rim of the ramen cup. His fingers drummed against his thigh as he exhaled slowly through his nose. Then, with a lazy, almost bored movement, he reached for the gun beside him. The soft click of the chamber sent a chill down your spine.

Without lifting his feet from the desk, he cocked the gun and aimed it directly at you. "You should go," he murmured, voice laced with quiet threat.

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t back down. "You’re not going to shoot me." Chan tilted his head slightly, something dark flickering in his eyes. And then—

BANG.

The sound shattered through the room. A sharp sting cut across her cheek as the bullet tore through the window behind her, the glass shattering into a thousand shards. A thin line of warmth traced down her skin—a graze. He had aimed for the perfect near miss. Your breath hitched, heart hammering as she stared at him in disbelief.

Chan twirled the gun in his fingers before leveling it back at you, still slouched in his chair.

"I don’t bluff, darling," he murmured, lips curling into a smirk.

The weight of his gaze pinned you to the spot, daring you to make your next move. But you wernt going anywhere. And by the way Chan’s lips curled into a smirk, he knew too. The silence stretched between both of you, thick and suffocating only broken by the soft plink of glass shards hitting the floor behind you.

You didn’t flinch. Didn’t take a single step back. Instead, you exhaled sharply, leveling your gaze with his, voice steady. "Fine then," she said, brushing a thumb over the fresh graze on her cheek. "I guess I’ll just go back and tell Reynolds where you are. Let him know his little ghost isn’t as dead as everyone thinks—"

The reaction was immediate. Chan’s boots hit the floor with a solid thud as he swung his feet off the desk. His once lazy posture vanished as he stood, slow and deliberate, the air around him shifting into something darker. His expression didn’t change—no anger, no frustration—just a cold calculation in his eyes as he started toward her.

"You see, that’s where you make your first mistake." His voice was smooth, deceptively calm, as he took another step forward. "You think Reynolds is the one pulling the strings."

Your jaw tightened, but you didn’t respond. Chan smirked. "Your second mistake? Threatening me. You don’t have the leverage you think you do, sweetheart." Another step. He was close now, towering over her. She could see the sharp lines of his face, the way the dim light cast shadows beneath his jawline.

"And your third mistake?" He tilted his head slightly, gaze flicking down as he scoffed. "Letting me get this close."

She stiffened, but he didn’t move—just watched her, eyes scanning every inch of her like he was reading her next move before she even made it. Then, his voice dropped lower.

"How long have you been in the agency?"

She swallowed, keeping her stance firm. "Five years."

"Hm." He studied her, gaze lingering on hers a moment too long. "And in those five years, did you ever stop to wonder why you care so much about this?" She narrowed her eyes. "Because you disappeared. Because none of this makes sense, and every time I get close to an answer, another door shuts in my face."

Chan hummed, considering her words. His gaze flickered between her eyes like he was searching for something.

"And?" he pressed, voice barely above a whisper now.

She exhaled. "And because you were one of us. One of the best. If they turned on you, who’s to say they won’t turn on me next?"

That made him pause. For the first time since she walked in, something flickered across his expression—something almost unreadable. He was quiet for a moment, the distant sound of the city outside the only thing between them.

Then, in a tone laced with something far heavier than before, he murmured, "They already have."

Chan’s gaze flickered back to her, something sharp settling behind his dark eyes. "What’s your name?"

You hesitated for only a second before responding. “Y/N.” He chuckled under his breath, shaking his head as he walked back toward his desk. Chan exhaled, running a hand through his hair before turning his attention back to her. "Tell me something. Did you tell anyone about this little research project of yours?"

You straightened. "No."

He let out another humourless chuckle. "You should’ve left it alone. Left me alone. Whatever you found, whatever little breadcrumbs you were following, you should’ve buried them. I was doing just fine in the dark." Your jaw clenched. "I'd rather work under the right leaders than serve corruption."

He stopped, tilting his head slightly. He was about to respond when—

A voice. Muffled, hushed yells from outside. His entire posture snapped into something rigid, head whipping toward the sound before his gaze cut back to you, something deadly brewing beneath his calm exterior. "You cleared your tracks, didn’t you?" His tone was laced with sarcasm, but his eyes told a different story, survival mode kicking in.

"I did," you shot back, but even as you said it, her stomach twisted. Had you been wrong? Had you been followed? Chan scoffed, already moving. "Of course you did."

Then, instinct kicked in. He grabbed a duffel bag from beneath the desk, moving swiftly, shoving in stacks of cash, fake passports, and a few flash drives you barely caught a glimpse of. He zipped the bag, yanking open a drawer and pulling out two guns, checking the clips before tucking them into his waistband. The voices outside grew closer. Chan turned to her, jaw tightening. "See what you’ve caused?" Before she could respond,

CRACK!

A bullet shattered through the window. Her body froze for half a second, but Chan was faster. He yanked you down, his grip firm as another round of shots rang out, tearing through the walls. "You just had to come looking for ghosts, didn’t you?" His breath was hot against her ear, voice low and edged with frustration.

You didn’t have time to argue. Not when the next shot nearly clipped the spot where she was just standing. The sound of heavy boots against concrete echoed through the abandoned building, growing closer with each passing second. Mixed in with the rapid orders were voices speaking in clipped Russian. Chan’s body went rigid.

"Чистите здание!" Sweep the building!

His jaw locked. His fingers twitched around the grip of his gun, the muscle in his temple ticking as he processed. Russians. He cursed under his breath. His gaze flicked to her. "Stay close, don’t do anything stupid." You opened your mouth to respond, but he didn’t give you the chance.

With practiced ease, he slung the duffel over his shoulder, grabbed your wrist, and yanked your toward the back of the room where the garage was. Another voice cut through the air. "Если увидите его—убить сразу." If you see him—kill him immediately.

Chan’s grip on you tightened. "Move.”

The gunfire had stopped, for a while but Chan knew better than to think they were safe. The silence was worse—it meant they were moving, repositioning. The Russians didn’t shoot blindly; they cornered their targets like hunters. He pulled her through the darkened hallways of the safe house. The air was thick with dust, the only light coming from the flickering emergency bulbs that barely held power. His pace was quick, calculated, and she had no choice but to keep up.

They burst into the garage, Chan’s boots crunching against the concrete floor as he beelined for the nearest car. He didn’t care which one just one with gas and working tires. He threw the duffel bag into the backseat, yanked the driver’s door open, and turned to you.

“Get in.”

You hesitated. Only for a second. But he wasn’t in the mood for second-guessing.

“Now.”

There was something about the sharpness in his voice, the raw edge of urgency, that made you obey. You slid into the passenger seat, barely buckling up before the roar of the engine cut through the silence. Chan reversed so fast that the tires screeched, burning rubber as he whipped the car around and sped toward the exit. The second they burst onto the empty road, the garage door behind them rattled. A second too late—the Russians had reached the safe house, but they were already gone.

His hands tightened around the wheel, jaw clenching as he forced his breathing to steady. But Y/N wasn’t stupid you saw the shift in his composure. The rigid tension in his shoulders, the flicker of something dangerous behind his eyes.

“Who were they?” you asked, your voice steady despite the lingering adrenaline.

Chan didn’t answer immediately. He exhaled sharply through his nose, gripping the wheel until his knuckles turned white. “Since I became a ghost and not dead, someone put a bounty on my head.”

“A bounty?” She blinked, processing. “By who?” He hesitated, just for a beat. Then, his lips curled into something bitter. “A former Russian cartel.”

Silence.

“Wait? A Russian mafia?!”

Chan rolled his eyes, his grip flexing on the steering wheel. “Oh, don’t sound so shocked, sweetheart.” You turned in your seat, still trying to wrap her head around it. “You mean to tell me you pissed off the Russians? The same ones who wipe out entire families without blinking? And you thought, what? That they’d just let you go?”

He shot her a look, unimpressed. “I did die, remember?” He tapped his fingers against the wheel. “They weren’t supposed to know I was still breathing.”

“But they do know,” she pressed. “No shit.” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I should’ve expected it.”

She stared at him for a moment, piecing it together. “What did you do to them?”

Chan didn’t answer immediately. His jaw clenched, a muscle ticking there. The headlights illuminated the stretch of road ahead, but he wasn’t seeing it—his mind was elsewhere.

“Something they don’t forgive,” he murmured. And somehow, that was more unsettling than anything else.

The road stretched endlessly before them, a dark ribbon of asphalt cutting through the night. The drive was silent. The only sounds were the occasional creak of the car’s frame and the distant wail of sirens in the city. Chan’s hands remained steady on the wheel, his foot pressing just enough on the gas to keep them moving fast but unnoticed. The hum of the engine filled the silence, punctuated only by the occasional flicker of headlights from distant cars.

Then, without looking at you, he asked, “So, are you willing to become a ghost, just like me?” His voice was low, unreadable.

You turned to him, your brows furrowing slightly. “What?” Chan exhaled through his nose, still keeping his eyes ahead. “You found me. Which means others can, too.” His fingers tapped against the wheel, slow, deliberate. “Now that you know I’m alive, you’re at risk.”

You let the weight of his words sink in.

“If you want answers,” he continued, “there’s no going back. You either disappear, like I did, or you keep living with the lie that I’m dead.” Silence settled between them. The reality of the situation pressed against you, suffocating in its finality.

You didn’t know what to say.

All you wanted was the truth—why he disappeared, why his name kept surfacing in places it shouldn’t. But now, you were tangled in something far more dangerous.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, voice quieter than before. “I just… I just want to know the truth behind everything.”

Chan scoffed under his breath. “Truth comes at a price.”

You turned back to him, watching the way his jaw tightened, the flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.

And for the first time, you wondered if you were ready to pay it.

Chan's grip on the steering wheel was tight, his knuckles pale in the dim glow of the dashboard. His mind was running a mile a minute—running through every possible reason why they had found him so easily, why she had been so careless.

Or maybe… she hadn't been careless.

Maybe they were watching her before she even found him.

He pulled into the parking lot of an old roadside motel, one of those places where no one asked questions as long as you paid in cash. The neon sign flickered above them, casting an eerie red glow over the cracked pavement. He killed the engine, but neither of you moved for a moment.

Finally, he turned to you, his expression unreadable. "Here’s the deal, Y/N," he said, voice low. "You have two choices. You stay here tonight, in this room with me, and by morning, you’re gone. You forget you ever found me, forget what you saw, and go back to playing by the agency’s rules." He let the words settle before continuing.

"Or…" he leaned in slightly, eyes sharp, "if you're actually ready for this life, if you’re ready to stop working under men like Reynolds and start chasing the real truth—you stay until morning."

A pause.

"But if you stay, there’s no going back."

You stared at him, the weight of his words pressing down on you like a loaded. Your pulse pounded in your ears, but you refused to show any hesitation. You had risked too much and come too far. He was giving you a way out, to turn back and pretend none of this ever happened. Btu you couldn’t do that.

“You think came al this way just to walk away now?” you finally said, arms crossed as you met his gaze head-on.

Amusement flickered in Chan’s eyes. “You really don’t know when to quit, do you?” he muttered.

“No,” you shot back. “I don’t.”

Taglist: purple means I can't tag you

@whatdoyouwanttocallmefor @alisonyus @rockstarkkami @morkleesgirl @yoongiismylove2018 @imeverycliche @katchowbbie @pixie-felix @maisyyyyyy @katyxstay @day138 @necrozica @nebugalaxy @strsforjsb @pessimisticloather @iknowyouknowminho @imagine-all-the-imagines @jc27s @igotajuicyass @jitrulyslayyed @sh0dor1 @idiotmaterial @leeknow-minho2 @btskzfav @glenda2107-blog @jeonginnieswifey @makeawitchoutofme @nikki143777

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~kc 💗

[jitrulyslayyed]

💕💕🙈

_doolsetnet insta update / 250316 [edited]

[jitrulyslayyed]

He kills as well??? What the cliffhanger??

𝐒𝐮𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞

Pairing: stalker!perv!hyunjin x afab!reader, nonidol au, straight up strangers

Synopsis: he's a good boy. Honest. But when it comes to you? He can't help himself. You belong to him. Even though you don't know it yet. 🤷

Warnings: real suggestive, hyune is a gross perv, reader is oblivious of him, possessive!Hyune, subtle hint of murder, did I say he was gross??

A/n: wHy Do I fEel LIkE sOmeBodY'S waTchInG Meeee!! Buh yeah. I wanted to make this a nerd type jinnie but this came up instead. If you have extra eyes for errors, no you don't.

Viewers Descretion Is Advised heh...

He was on his knees, his hands clutching at your thighs, his lips parted in desperate prayer.

"Please…"

His own voice haunted him, soft and broken, echoing in his skull. He was never like this. You stood above him, eyes filled with unreadable amusement. His fingers burned to touch you, but in his mind, you were cruel.

"You want to touch me, Hyunjin?"

He whimpered, nodding frantically.

"Beg."

And he did. His voice cracked as he pleaded, hot and ruined. But just before he could feel your skin against his—

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t reality.

His nightly alarm ripped him from the fantasy. His eyes snapped open, chest heaving, body twitching with the aftershocks of his release. The stickiness between his thighs made him shudder, disgust curling in his gut. Hyunjin lay tangled in his sheets, sweat beading along his forehead, his breath coming out in ragged gasps. That was pathetic of him, making a mess over a few words from your lips.

"Fuck," he whispered, running a hand through his damp hair. He sat up slowly, blinking at the dim light of his LEDs. The mess on his sheets was undeniable. His jaw clenched.

This wasn’t the first time.

Hyunjin moved on autopilot, stripping his bed with practiced ease. He shoved the soiled sheets into the laundry bin, his hands gripping the fabric a little too tightly. His body still buzzed from the dream; the ghost of your voice still sweet in his ears.

But he had more important things to do. Especially at 2:00am in the morning.

He turned everything on. The glow of neon green bled into every dark corner of his room. Security feeds flickered across his monitors; a digital shrine dedicated to you.

Padding barefoot to his desk, he clicked open the surveillance feeds. The middle monitor flickered to life, and there you were—curled in bed, skin soft beneath the green hue of his night-vision cameras.

His heartbeat slowed to something steady. He zoomed in on you and his eyes roamed over the gentle rise and fall of your chest, the way your fingers twitched in sleep. Did you dream of him too? His tongue darted out to wet his lips. No. You weren’t even aware of him.

Yet.

Hyunjin leaned closer to the screen, his breath fogging up the glass as he watched you breathe.

He wasn’t primarily this akward and neither was he much of a stalker. He did know somethings about digital security and all. When he saw you the first time all the sane thoughts flew out of his head. Before you, Hyunjin had nothing.

Nothing mattered, at least. Sure, he woke up, ate, breathed, slept. The usual routine. He went through the motions of a life he didn’t care for. He felt hollow and detached from most of the problems of his world. He had tried to fill his void with multiple distractions- art, music, indulgences in things that could make the common man love. But for Hyunjin, nothing ever lasted.

It was a mistake really, seeing you. A glorious life-altering accident, though.

Hyunjin had been sitting in a quiet corner of a well-known library around the block, flipping through a book he had no real interest in, when you walked in. At first, it was just a glance, a flicker of movement in his peripheral vision.

God, but your voice?

That voice of yours as you greeted the librarian cracked something inside of him. He looked up fully this time taking in your perfection, your stance. He was ruined now.

His grip om the book tightened, his breath caught, his pulse spiking. Never, had he felt something his…visceral. Hell, you didn’t even notice him. You had walked past his table with your intoxicating scent lingering in the air.

Like stupid puppy, Hyunjin followed.

No, not physically, c’mon I’m weird but not that weird. I was watching her. Even after she left the library.

Yes, he was. Every moment of your movements. Since you appeared at the library often, he would come often. To see how you nibble on your nails when the book was really captivating, how you’d check your watch to see if you were running late. Just simple, small things he thought were cute to watch.

Then it escalated. He lingered outside your coffee shop, sat at the back of the café to read your order from your lips. He walked past your apartment building when you got home from work late just to know where you live.

And then one night under the cover of darkness, he stood outside your window. His ragged breath fogging up the window. You had no idea, of course going on with your night per usual.

And fuck, it felt so, so good.

It made him feel, for the first time and Hyunjin didn’t want to turn back.

__

Hyunjin sat hunched over his desk, the glow of the monitors casting sickly green light over his face. His fingers twitched over the keyboard, adjusting the angles, zooming in. He was motivated to buy a tech set just to watch you, him told himself it was to ensure that you had security cameras that actually functioned.

Liar.

You stirred.

His breath hitched as your body shifted beneath the covers, the faintest movement sending a jolt of something filthy down his spine. Your legs stretched, the blanket slipping just enough to reveal the curve of your thigh. He exhaled shakily, fingers gripping the edge of his desk.

Then, you moved. He leaned in. You sat up, hair messy, eyes half-lidded with sleep. You yawned, rubbing your face before swinging your legs over the side of the bed. Hyunjin felt like he was going to be sick with excitement.

Where are you going, baby?

He already knew. He had your habits memorized down to the way you sighed before standing up. The way your footsteps padded lazily against the floor.

Bathroom.

The grainy black-and-green feed followed you as you dragged yourself toward the restroom. The second you disappeared behind the door, Hyunjin groaned and slumped back in his chair.

His hand drifted downward, hovering over his waistband.

No. Not again. Not yet.

He needed to see you first. He stayed like that, body tensed, until you finally returned to bed. Even as you rolled onto your side, pulling the blankets up, he still watched. His head felt heavy, eyes drooping, but he didn’t move. He tried so hard to focus on you as you slept.

So beautiful…

The next alarm jolted him awake. He slept off again. He blinked rapidly, disoriented, before his gaze snapped to the monitors again. Where were you? Hyunjin clicked through the feeds, hands shaking.

Kitchen.

Hyunjin’s lips parted, a strangled noise caught in his throat. He glanced at his wall clock. Nine in the morning. Saturday.

Saturdays. God, he loved Saturdays.

You stood at the stove, your back to the camera, wearing nothing but a crop top and tiny shorts. Your hair was pinned up lazily, your skin on full display. His stomach twisted.

His fingers dug into his thighs.

Your bare legs, smooth and glowing under the kitchen light. Your waist, the dip of it, the skin just barely peeking out from beneath your top.

And your face—

You were still so fucking perfect.

Hyunjin swallowed hard.

Need touch you so bad, Y/N.

He wanted to run his hands over every inch of skin you exposed, press his fingers into your thighs, bite down on your shoulder just to feel you jolt. The image of it made him ache, his breathing growing heavy. He imagined you in his apartment, cooking breakfast for him, dressed exactly like that. Maybe even less than that.

He clenched his jaw, shaking the thought away. He wasn’t stupid.

You weren’t his. But you would be.

----

Hyunjin’s hands trembled as he slid the key into your door. A perfect replica. He had stolen your original a few months ago for only a few minutes, just long enough to make a copy before slipping it back unnoticed. And now, he was inside.

He always came visiting when you weren’t around, making lunch getting, comfortable in your clothes. Today you left to visit a friend who had just gave birth (I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop but you talk really loudly when you’re excited.)

His breath hitched as he stepped into your bedroom, the scent of you wrapping around him like a drug. Soft. Sweet. Addictive. His knees nearly buckled. He shut the door behind him, his fingers grazing over your belongings—your bedside lamp, your half-full water bottle, your hairbrush tangled with strands of your hair.

Your bed.

The sheets were messy from this morning, still holding the faintest imprint of where your body had been. His stomach twisted, and he let out a shaky breath as he took slow, careful steps toward it. He lowered himself onto the mattress, hands gripping your blanket as he buried his face into your pillow.

Fuck.

It smelled just like you.

His eyes fluttered shut, his fingers clutching at the fabric like a starved man. He could live here. He could stay in this bed forever, wrapped in the scent of your shampoo, your skin, your warmth.

His hips shifted against the sheets, and a whimper escaped his lips before he could stop it.

He was so fucking hard.

The thought of you sleeping here, rolling around in these sheets, completely unaware of how much you were being watched—it made him dizzy. He sat up suddenly, gripping the bottle of your perfume from the dresser. His hands were unsteady as he popped the cap off and sprayed it onto his hoodie, onto his wrists, onto his neck—

That’s what he thought as he inhaled deeply, drowning in the artificial presence of you. His head spun, his entire body hot with feverish need. He lay back down, eyes locked onto the ceiling, hips pressing against your mattress. What if you were here?

What if he woke up next to you every morning, watching you stretch and yawn, your body warm from sleep? What if he rolled over, tangled his fingers in your hair, and whispered—

"No one else gets to have you like this, understood?"

The thought sent him spiraling. His hand drifted down, palm pressing into the bulge between his legs. A soft, desperate moan slipped out. He rocked into your sheets, bit down on your pillow, breathed you in like his life depended on it.

And then—

"Fuck—"

White-hot pleasure ripped through him, his body twitching, throbbing, spilling over himself in a filthy, obsessive mess. His hips jerked one last time before he slumped against the mattress, panting, ruined, completely drunk on you.

For a few minutes, he just lay there, staring up at your ceiling, his entire body pulsing with aftershocks.

But then—he realized.

He had made a mess. Hyunjin let out a slow, shaky laugh, sitting up as he ran a hand through his damp hair. His gaze flickered quickly to your sheets, checking if he’d left a stain.

No? Thank God.

He should feel ashamed. But if he had done it, you’d be sleeping with a part of him tonight.

__

Hyunjin sat in the dark, his fingers digging into his thighs so hard that his nails left crescent-shaped marks in his skin. His entire body trembled, his breathing shallow and uneven.

Because he was watching you. You came home late, Hyunjin could pardon that but not only that, you brought someone over. It was rare to see you with someone else of the opposite gender in your home, but when you did bring them over Hyunjin was more than furious. The monitor in front of him flickered with the grainy image of you—his perfect, beautiful, innocent girl—laughing at something another man had said.

Another man.

Some piece of shit standing in his spot, breathing his air, sitting too fucking close to you. You didn’t tell him you were going on a date this evening. Was it what you planned? Hyunjin’s grip on the edge of his desk tightened. His jaw ached from how hard he was clenching it. His heartbeat was thunderous, deafening, furious. He watched as you leaned over, playfully shoving the man’s shoulder. His stomach twisted when you smiled at him like that. Like he mattered.

Like he was worthy of you.

His vision blurred with rage as he saw the man place his hand on your thigh.

No.

No, no, no, no—no one touches what belongs to Hyunjin.

His fingers twitched, the overwhelming urge to reach through the screen and rip that hand away flooding his entire system. He should be there. He should be the one sitting next to you. Holding your hand. Making you laugh. Whispering in your ear.

The man leaned in closer, too fucking close.

Hyunjin’s breath hitched, his entire body tensing— And then you stood up. He exhaled sharply, watching as you walked away, into the kitchen. The man stayed behind, scrolling through his phone, completely unaware that he was being watched.

Hyunjin’s lips curled.

He tilted his head, eyes narrowing as his fingers ghosted over the switchblade resting on his desk. He had his own history with the few men you’d brought over. Sure, it was…unethical. Everything he did for you was.

But the man wasn’t meant to last.

No one else was meant to be in your life but him.

And if he had to make that clear over and over…

He would.

What did I write...

Taglist:

@whatdoyouwanttocallmefor @alisonyus @rockstarkkami @morkleesgirl @yoongiismylove2018 @imeverycliche @katchowbbie @pixie-felix @maisyyyyyy @katyxstay @day138 @necrozica @nebugalaxy @jeonginnieswifey @leeknow-minho2 @jitrulyslayyed @igotajuicyass @imagine-all-the-imagines @pessimisticloather @sh0dor1

Check out my pinned if you want to be added to the taglist!

MASTERLIST:

~kc 💗

[jitrulyslayyed]

👀👀🤌🏾

Between these four walls

pairing: lee felix x afab!reader

genre: thriller/sci-fi, smut, fluff

synopsis: lee felix is your 89% match. please proceed to the house assigned to you where your relationship will be subjected to various tests. if you manage to complete all objectives and get your match to 100% you may proceed to leave. sex is strictly prohibited. remember, they're always watching.

wc: 13.4k

warnings: desc. of drowning, illness, drugging, tripping (psychedelics/stimulants), mention of needles, paralysis, gutting a fish (yes that's a warning), some blood

nsfw warnings: fingering, handjob, unprotected sex, spanking, cumshot

a/n: felix always inspires me for these kinds of concepts. i hope you enjoy💜

~ divider by @anitalenia

~ masterlist

Lee Felix. 89% match. Congratulations!

You stared at the device in your hand, your heartbeat picking up speed. Finally. Finally you had someone you matched with. The last time you tried a similar, underdeveloped program like this, it only led you to more disappointment and heartbreak.

But, everyone you knew was raving about Cupid Corp. and how they found the love of their life after participating in their program. You asked questions, curious about why they stayed so long in the Cupid Corp. village, what they had to do to get their match to a 100, to walk out with them hand in hand.

Their faces would change from the happy expressions and shiny eyes into something dull, drained of color.

"We signed a document that prohibits us from revealing anything." they'd answer.

It all sounded so mysterious and a little alarming but you were so damn tired of being lonely and seeing all these people walking out of Cupid Corp. with big dumb smiles on their faces.

So, after doing some thinking, you applied.

It was a long process, to say the least. There were tests you had to take, all of them online. Starting with a psychological test, then an IQ test, then a personality test. It took them a month as they asked for everything, from your family disease history to your hopes and dreams for the future.

The more data they gathered, the more detailed your profile became. You even had a few online interviews with a woman named 'Cherry' whose face you couldn't see as she was wearing some sort of mask, only her cherry red lips were visible to you.

"We will take your data into consideration and calculate the best match. Thank you for applying at Cupid Corp. We hope you find your dream lover." the woman talked in a monotone voice.

You didn't wait for too long. Only four days later, you got a package from them, inside it a round device with a screen and one button. You pressed it and when it came to life you were greeted with your match. Just his name and the percentage.

With it, you got a document that stated the location of the village as well as your house number, 14B and a ton of rules, most of them prohibiting you from talking about the activities and 'tests' inside the village as well as a 'no cellphone' rule. You thought it was kind of weird, but you didn't want to back out now. Not when you had a match with such a high number.

It can't be so hard to get it up to 100, right?

You read through all the rules, coming up to the last one.

'You and your partner are not allowed to engage in sexual activites during your stay in the village. Kissing and physical touch is fine unless it is erotic or stimulating in that sort of way. After you sign this paper, you have agreed to all the rules above and are aware that you will be filmed and monitored 24/7.'

You gulped, some kind of unease washing over you as you stared at the document. The little cupid drawing that was the company's logo looked so sweet and innocent but it didn't help the churning of your stomach. Taking a deep breath in, you grabbed you pen and signed the paper.

There is no going back now.

As soon as you entered the village through the gate, it felt like you walked right into a fairytale. The houses were all pretty pastel colors with white picked fences and gardens full of all sorts of beautiful flowers. Everything looked perfect.

The only weird thing was that you didn't see another person anywhere as you walked. It was eerily quiet, only your footsteps were echoing on the pavement and the sounds of your suitcase being dragged behind you. The village was far away from the bustling city so you couldn't hear any sound for miles.

Then you saw it, 14B, a pretty pastel blue house and you smiled to yourself, it looked so cute and cozy. Your heart suddenly skipped a beat when you noticed someone standing outside by the fence.

It was a guy close to your age, and as soon as he noticed you coming towards him, a big smile spread on his face. He waved awkwardly and you waved back as you neared him, your heart hammering in your chest. When you got closer to him, your stomach did a little flip.

He is so beautiful!, you thought as you observed his smiling face, his warm chocolate eyes, his plump heart shaped lips and all the pretty freckles adorning his skin.

"I'm Felix. Nice to meet you." he said, pleasantly shocking you with his deep voice.

"Y/n. Nice to meet you too." you smiled, your face burning up. You hoped you didn't look like an awkward tomato in front of this beautiful man, who was your match! You were already swooning over him as he helped you get your suitcase inside, dragging both of your luggage together while you looked around the garden.

"I guess this is our house." he said as the two of you walked in. You noticed right away that it was decorated in the way you wanted to decorate your dream house, a question you had to answer in one of the tests they gave you. You also noticed some knick knacks you didn't recognize, they were probably something Felix wanted to have in his house.

"They really went all out with the decorations." you said as the two of you made your way to the kitchen and Felix chuckled.

"They did." he nodded, the air between you a little awkward.

"Oh. What's this?" you noticed an envelope adressed to the both of you on the kitchen table.

You picked it up and opened it as Felix peered over your shoulder.

"Dear Felix and Y/n. Welcome to our Village of Love! We hope you enjoy your stay, no matter how short or long it is. You'll find everything you need inside your house, we hope you find it cozy and that you settle in well. Take your time to get used to your surroundings and learn a little about each other before you move onto the next phase. Tests will begin shortly. Have fun!" you read out loud before looking up and seeing a camera staring right at you, the red dot blinking.

"Tests, huh? Doesn't sound too fun." Felix said and you nodded.

"No, it doesn't." you shook your head. "Do you know anything about what happens here?"

"I have no idea. I asked a few of my friends and no one would tell me."

"Isn't that kind of suspicious?" you asked and Felix chuckled nervously, looking up at the camera.

"Aren't they like listening to us right now?" he whispered.

"I'm sure everyone who came here wondered about the program." you shrugged.

"I guess we will find out." Felix said, still being somewhat quiet as he kept eyeing the camera.

You walked over to the fridge and opened it, finding all sorts of groceries inside it, mostly your favorite food and probably Felix's.

"Hungry?" you looked back at him and as if on que, his stomach growled.

You giggled and he laughed, the sound filling up your ears and tugging at your heart.

"I'll take that as a yes. Do you wanna cook together?" you asked and he nodded eagerly.

"I'd love that." Felix answered with a sweet smile so the two of you pulled your sleeves up and washed your hands, getting ready to tackle dinner together as you maneuvered the unknown space.

"What made you decide to apply to this program? You don't seem like you'd have a problem finding a partner." you started the conversation and his cheeks became rosy as he chuckled.

"Well, I tend to fall for the wrong people. The ones who use my kindness against me. And I really don't wanna hurt anymore or just experiment and 'try' again. I want to know that I have the real deal, you know? To be sure that the person is my ride or die."

The honesty in his answer took you by surprise.

'I want my partner to always be honest with me, to tell me the truth even if it is painful.'

You remembered the line you wrote when you were asked to put down on paper everything you wanted in a partner. They had probably looked at Felix's personality test as well as yours, and the things you had written down as your dream partner, putting the two of you together that way.

Your cheeks burned as you remembered how high your percentage is. He must really be the man from your dreams which would make you the woman of his. Butterflies swarmed your stomach.

"What about you?" Felix snapped you out of your thoughts as you continued cleaning the meat.

"Oh, same. I was disappointed many times before. I just want to find someone that will feel like home." you smiled at him.

"Exactly." he agreed. "So, what do you think the tests will look like? Do you think they'll be similar to the ones we had to do while applying?"

"My guess is as good as yours. Though, I must admit I do feel a bit uneasy with all the people not being allowed to say what happened while they were here..." you trailed off, before sighing.

"Then again, they all looked so happy with their partners." you finished. "And I want that."

"Yeah, I feel a bit uneasy myself but we'll go through this together, right?" Felix gave you a shy smile and you nodded as your cheeks warmed up.

After cooking dinner and eating, you had learned a bit more about each other, finding it incredibly easy to keep the conversation going like you've already talked many times before, sharing similar viewpoints and interests. It seemed too easy and you knew that you didn't have to necessarily agree on everything or love all the same things to be a match.

There was definitely something deeper there than the superficial stuff like hobbies and favorite colors when you've already gotten to 89% without even interacting with each other.

"Should we do a tour of the house?" Felix asked when you finished cleaning up.

"Sure, let's do it." you smiled and one by one, you visited all of the rooms starting with the living room that was next to the kitchen.

"Oh, we have a tv." you pursed your lips. "I thought we weren't allowed any kind of electronics."

"I guess they thought having movie nights at home is a date we'd both enjoy." Felix pointed to all the dvds on the shelves around the tv. "We have a good collection of every genre. Skipping horror though, I'm not a fan of scary things." he visibly shivered and you chuckled a little.

"I'm fine with those." you said and Felix gasped a little.

"Well if you want us to watch horror movies together just be prepared that I will be hiding behind like five blankets and probably crying my eyes out."

"Aw, it's okay, we don't have to watch them if they scare you so much." you smiled at him, making his heart skip a beat.

"I'll watch them for you. Well, kinda watch them since I'll be under all those protective blankets."

You chuckled together before you made your way upstairs. Your heart immediately skipped a beat and a shiver ran through your entire body when you saw the bed. Of course, you were meant to sleep together in it.

Felix noticed you staring at it, both of your faces red.

"I can sleep downstairs on the couch." he said, as if reading your mind.

"No!" you said a little too quickly. "I mean, I'd feel a lot safer if you were here with me." you admitted sheepishly.

"Oh." his smile was shy. "Then I'll be here with you."

Gosh, he is so sweet!, you thought, feeling overwhelmed that such a sweet person was your very own match. Not even a day with him and he already checked so many of your boxes. You hoped he felt the same for you.

"We have separate bathrooms." Felix noted and you looked to the right to see a door labeled with your name and on the left his name.

"I think there are no cameras in there, so that's why..." he trailed off and immediately you felt your stomach doing flips. They were really making sure you don't do any funny business which was kind of understandable since everything was being filmed. But then again, why wouldn't they make a special room for the two of you? You had so many questions and any possible answer created even more questions.

The two of you then decided to unpack, the sounds of opening and closing drawers filling up the space.

"We have a backyard." Felix said as he stood by the window in your room. "And a pool."

"It looks cozy except the pool. I don't know how to swim." you confessed, shivering a little.

"Really?" Felix looked a bit surprised. "Well, I love swimming so you can sunbathe while I swim?" he added with a giggle.

"I can." you nodded. "The entire house and the neighborhood looks so nice. Which brings me to this, have you seen another person since you got here?" you asked and Felix shook his head no.

"Neither have I. Weird, huh?" you said.

Felix opened his mouth to answer but the sound the doorbell ringing frightened you both.

"Is that... someone at the door?" he lifted one eyebrow.

"Let's go check together." you stood by his side as your heart hammered in your chest.

Felix walked first and you followed behind him, peering over his shoulders as he slowly opened the door.

You were greeted by a smiling woman and man, standing somewhat similarly to you and Felix.

"Hello, sorry to bother you. I'm Gina and this is Ethan. We were paired up today and noticed we were neighbours so we just wanted to say hi."

"Oh." Felix chuckled and you visibly relaxed, now standing beside him.

"This is y/n, and I'm Felix. Nice to meet you." you all shook hands, deciding to meet up tomorrow for breakfast since the program encouraged couples who were paired up at the same time to become friends.

"You okay?" Felix asked after closing the door.

"I just can't shake off this weird feeling." you shook your head.

Felix bit on his lip, his eyes raking all over your form gently as you hugged yourself. Tentatively, he reach out and brushed his knuckles on your cheek.

"I'm sure you just need time to adjust." he smiled, and you shivered from his gentle touch, your eyes fluttering.

"Yeah. Maybe a good night's sleep is all I need."

"There you go. Positive thoughts." Felix smiled brightly, warming you up instantly.

You got ready in your separate bathrooms and you came out first, claiming your side of the bed as you sat, leaning your back against the headboard and fidgeting with your fingers. Felix came in after a minute or so, smiling at you slightly as he hesitantly lifted up the covers and slid in.

"You sure you're okay with this?" he turned to you, his deep brown eyes looking big and doe like.

"Yes, I'm comfortable." you nodded. "You?"

"Of course. Just making sure you feel okay." Felix then smiled sweetly, making your stomach flip again.

"I am." you whispered. "Um, it's just weird not to have my phone to play with before sleeping." you looked around, noticing a stack of books on a shelf.

"Tell me about it. I'm like chronically online, it's a problem." Felix shook his head with a chuckle. "Or like playing videogames. My computer will be so dusty when we get out of here."

You giggled at him as he scrunched up his face and made a cute whiny sound.

"I like videogames too. We should play together soon."

"Wow, you really are the girl of my dreams." Felix looked at you, wiggling his eyebrows and you laughed, your entire body on fire from the giddiness he made you feel.

He slid down then, getting comfy on his side and you followed suit, relaxing between the clean sheets and melting into the soft pillow.

"How long do you think it will take us to get out of here?" you whispered after a few moments of silence.

"I hope not too long." Felix whispered back. "Sweet dreams, y/n." he added after another pause.

"Night, Felix." you smiled before turning on your side and closing your eyes.

You were nervous for what's to come but Felix's presence gave you a sense of comfort and safety you didn't know you needed. Just the sound of his breathing calmed you down and slowly lulled you to sleep.

Your eyes fluttered open and for a moment you were completely confused. You blinked a few times, rubbing the sleepiness from your eyes as you took in your surroundings.

Right. You had come to the Village of Love yesterday, with your match. Which made you turn around quickly and gasp when you noticed the other side of the bed was empty.

"F-Felix?" you said, your voice a little raspy from sleeping. For a moment, you felt the dread creeping in but then you heard clinking, followed by a few curses coming from downstairs.

Upon arriving to the kitchen you were greeted by a frantic and disheveled Felix. You had to supress in a laugh, but it still seeped out in small giggles.

"Oh, y/n!" he exclaimed, turning around with his eyes slightly widened and his pink lips parted. "I barely slept last night so I got up like at 6am? I wanted to make myself useful so I tried making pancakes? I swear they taste better than they look! It's just that I'm usually not a morning person so-"

"Felix." you stopped his rambling, coming closer to him as you chuckled into your palm, your other hand gently placed on his arm to soothe him.

"Felix, it's okay. I'm sure the pancakes are delicious." you looked down at the half burned scraps of pancakes. "It's the thought that counts." you added with a giggle. "Aren't we meeting our neighbors for breakfast anyways?"

"Oh. That's right, we are. I'm silly." he sighed, turning the stove off with a defeated pout.

"You're cute." you said without thinking, your cheeks warming up as soon as those words left your mouth.

"You think so?" Felix chuckled, a little smirk forming on his lips and you nodded as he stared at you intently. "You're cuter." he leaned in, his breath hitting your face and you almost dissolved right then and there.

"Oh, shut up." you chuckled, making him laugh. "Let's go get dressed."

You got ready in your separate bathrooms, wondering how everything will play out for however long you'll be here. You decided to wear a dress with a floral pattern, something comfy and flowy. You hoped Felix would like it as much as you did.

And he seemed to be stunned the moment you walked out of the bathroom, giving you elevator eyes as he gulped visibly, his cheeks becoming rosy. You stood there nervously as he seemed to be lost in a trance.

"Felix?"

"Oh." he looked up at your face, the redness creeping up on his neck. "You look really pretty."

"Thank you." you giggled, your heart rate picking up while he smiled at you.

"Shall we?" he asked, reaching his hand towards you. You nodded, sliding your hand into his, your palms pressed together and fingers entwined.

They fit perfectly together, like two pieces of a puzzle that were waiting to be completed forever.

You met up with Gina and Ethan who were also holding hands, waving at you enthusiastically.

"Morning, neighbors!" Ethan smiled at the two of you.

"Good morning." you smiled back as everyone greeted each other.

"Did you get the map of the village?" Gina asked and Felix nodded.

"Found it in the living room this morning."

"Us too. Isn't it crazy having all these cameras around?" Gina chuckled and you looked around, noticing that all over the neighborhood there were cameras on every lamp post, every driveway, every front door.

The uneasiness settled in your chest again and you squeezed Felix's hand. He looked at you, squeezing back and giving you a small, reassuring smile. The restaurant wasn't too far away, it was a garden with lots of big trees giving shade to the tables, the sweet smell of colorful flowers mixed with the nice smell of food being cooked, making you even more hungry than you were. Finally, you saw other couples, chatting at different tables and you felt much more at ease. It felt normal.

There was soft music playing from the little building where you presumed the kitchen and servers were situated. The four of you found a table near a koi pond, excitement taking over you as you looked at the pretty fishes swimming around.

"I was about to reach for my phone and take a picture." Felix chuckled and Ethan nodded.

"Same." he said and you shook your head, thinking about how you'd probably do the same thing.

You stared at the koi fishes, who seemed to be mindlessly floating back and forth, confined in such a small pond. You wondered if they ever wanted more freedom, a bigger pond or was this all they knew so they could never think about having more space. Maybe they felt safe in a familiar, tiny enviroment.

One of the servers came to your table with a pen and notepad, writing down your orders and snapping you out of your thoughts.

The four of you made small talk before your food arrived.

"At least these pancakes look better than mine." Felix noted when the plate was placed before him and you chuckled.

"So, what do you guys think the tests will look like?" Gina asked suddenly while you ate. You looked up at the camera above your table and swallowed nervously.

"Isn't it kinda like a video game? We got a map of the place, we will have objectives or tests, we got our 'safe room', like our house where we have supplies..." Felix started and Ethan chuckled.

"I just hope there are no zombies or such. Or like damage." he added and the four of you laughed.

"I'm sure it can't be that bad." you said.

"How high is your percentage?" Gina asked.

"89%." you answered and she gasped a little.

"Ours is 74%. I guess we'll be here longer than y'all." she pouted.

"Well, we can't know that. When we have no idea what awaits us." Ethan said. He was right, you had no idea what Cupid Corp. planned out to put your connection to the test. Your eyes fell on the pond again, the koi fishes spinning around and around in circles, the repetitive motion almost making you dizzy.

~

"Do you wanna take a walk around the village?" Felix asked after you parted ways with the friendly couple next door.

"Yeah, sounds good. I need to get some blood flowing in my legs, we sat for so long."

"We did, I think we clicked with them too. Could it be they put us close to each other so we could become friends?" Felix asked when the two of you started walking, your hands entwined again, making your heart beat faster.

"Probably. I have a feeling nothing is random here." you pursed your lips.

"Me too." he agreed.

The village was really something out of a fairytale book. Not only were the houses cute but there was a cute bakery, a gallery, a flower shop, a cafe and a few other stores for groceries and such scattered around. There was even a little park for picnics and a forest to ride your bike or take a walk there. You saw other people working in all the buildings and couples walking around or sitting in the cafe or riding their bikes. It looked different than yesterday, when everything seemed eerily quiet and abandoned.

You and Felix talked about your families and job, getting to know some random facts about each other as you walked around, the sun warming your bodies up. It felt like you knew each other forever.

That evening, you decided to have your first movie night date. After a short debate since you were both indecisive, you settled on Clueless, a classic, and prepared some snacks and blankets to make the viewing more cozy.

Felix seemed a little nervous and fidgety as you got comfy on the couch, some distance created between you. He played with his fingers and the blanket, picking on it as you clicked play on the tv.

"You okay?" you asked and he nodded quickly, grabbing the bowl of popcorn.

"It's just... I like to cuddle while watching movies. Or um, I like to cuddle whenever, a lot. Physical touch is definitely one of my biggest love languages. I hope you're okay with that." Felix confessed, redness covering his freckled cheeks.

You sighed in relief, a giggle escaping your lips as you scooted closer to him, making his breath hitch.

"Okay? I'm estatic. I'm a big cuddler, it's one of my top love languages too." you nodded and Felix smiled sweetly at you.

"Right. I keep forgetting we matched so well and start feeling nervous. I don't wanna do something wrong, you know? And with the cameras watching, it adds to the awkwardness." he explained.

"I'll tell you if I'm uncomfortable with anything, okay? And you tell me too. Open communication is important." you said and Felix nodded, agreeing. "And forget about the cameras for now. I'm trying not to think about them supervising us the entire time. Let's just enjoy the movie."

"You're really sweet, y/n." Felix smiled cutely, his eyes shining as he stared at you, tongue darting out to wet his plump lips.

You followed the movement for a second, your heart fluttering.

"Says you." you chuckled, poking his cheek and he giggled, relaxing next to you and scooting even closer so that your legs and shoulders touched.

Pretty soon, both of you were relaxed, forgetting that you were being filmed as you enjoyed the movie, laughing and repeating the iconic lines. Your head ended up on Felix's shoulder at one point and his heart started beating fast instantly, his hand reaching for yours. He caressed your skin with his thumb as you giggled at the tv. You've never felt this comfortable with someone you just met.

The entire day was filled with positive experiences that you almost forgot about the weird dread gathering in the pit of your stomach.

You felt a huge attraction towards Felix, your body craved to be in his warmth and when you laid in bed next to him that night, you wanted nothing more than to roll over and hold him. But maybe it was too early for that, you thought as nervousness washed over you.

"Good night, y/n." his warm voice was quiet in the darkness of the room.

"Good night, Felix."

~

The man in the chair leaned over his computer, typing in the log of the day. The two of you were perfect subjects for this village, both of you sweet and kind, ready to welcome each other into your lives. He looked at all the screens that filmed your quiet house, eyes lingering on your calm, sleeping forms. Soon, everything will change.

A whole week has passed by perfectly. It was a little too quiet, too perfect for your liking. You wondered when the actual tests would start, when you were gonna get an envelope with some objective you have to fulfill. It made you feel uneasy the entire time and you had always trusted your intuition so you knew your gut feeling was right.

You had expressed this to Felix and even though he was nervous about the whole experience too, he tried to reassure you that it can't be that bad. That maybe the test had already started by just watching the two of you interact with each other.

It sounded plausible so it calmed you down just a little bit.

At the same time, you couldn't deny the connection building between you and your match. Felix was everything you ever wanted and more, kind and thoughtful, funny and sweet, he listened to you with interest, happy to know every little detail about you; his heart was pure and full of love, not just for you but for everyone. He made you melt on the spot with just one look and smile.

Every time you cuddled while watching movies, you got a little closer, the warmth of his body enveloping you, messing with your senses. You loved being close to him like that and he loved being held or holding you, it didn't matter as long as you were embracing each other in any way.

"It's such a beautiful sunny day. We could have a date by the pool?" Felix suggested one morning, batting his eyelashes at you and pouting cutely.

"Oh, sure. But I'll be watching you as I sunbathe because well, you know." you shrugged.

"Are you scared of the water? I could help you, teach you how to swim. It's good to face your fears." he smiled encouragingly and you chuckled, grabbing his hand.

"Maybe it is. I'll think about it." you smiled.

"Great! That's progress." Felix leaned in, pressing a chaste kiss on your cheek and it was enough to make your heart burst.

For some reason, you didn't think about how the two of you will be almost naked by the pool and that thought crossed your mind only after you put your bathing suit on in the bathroom. A little gasp escaped your lips as your cheeks became completely red.

You decided to throw a little dress over your frame before you walked into the room. Felix was already waiting for you, dressed in swim trunks and a t-shirt. You blushed at the sight of his legs, mentally scolding yourself and trying to calm down your heart.

Felix didn't hesitate to throw his shirt off as soon as you got to the pool. Your eyes immediately went to his abs and chest, a warmness spreading within you as you shifted. He noticed your look, his face and ears warming up. He smirked a little, enjoying the fact that he made you squirm.

"Ugh, I- I left my sunscreen upstairs." you whined.

"I'll go get it for you." Felix said. "Is it in the bathroom?"

You nodded and thanked him as he made his way into the house. After you took your dress off, your attention was grabbed by a sloshing sound of water inside the pool. Your brows furrowed, there was no wind. You gulped, coming closer to the edge of the pool, staring at your distorted reflection as the water kept sloshing.

It was just a milisecond, you couldn't react or realize what was happening, it was as if something invisible had pulled you into the water. With a loud splash your body was submerged under the surface as you started flailing your arms and legs, bubbles coming up where you were desperately trying to breathe. You managed to pull your head above water for a second, panicking as you tried to grab onto the edge of the pool, turning around just in time to see Felix running towards the pool with a terrified expression on his face. You couldn't keep yourself above water but just before you were completely submerged again, a pair of arms wrapped around you, pulling you up to the surface.

You gasped, trying to catch your breath as you clutched onto Felix and he pulled you close, pressing your body into his.

"You're okay, love. I got you. I got you." he kept repeating as he caressed you, holding you tightly as he led you to the shallow part of the pool.

Tears spilled out of your eyes as you sobbed, wrapping your arms around Felix's body, your face buried in his neck.

"It's okay. I'm here. Shh." he tried to soothe you as your body shook against him.

Neither of you noticed the shadow moving away from the window inside your kitchen.

"Let's get you out." Felix led you towards one of the chairs and you sat down as he wrapped a towel around you. He caressed your hair shortly as he grabbed another chair, pulling it closer so it was facing you. He sat down and grabbed your face gently.

"Can you tell me what happened?"

"I- I don't know." your lips trembled.

"I was just standing there and next thing I know, I'm underwater."

"Maybe you slipped?" Felix wondered, his brows furrowed.

"No, it was like something pulled me in." you swallowed and Felix looked back at the calm water.

"Well, whatever it was I am not leaving you alone by the pool anymore. I won't let this happen to you again." he promised, pulling you into a hug, your cheek pressed against his chest. You shivered as you held onto him, but this time it was because you felt his skin against yours. Sure, you held onto him in the pool but you were in such a state of panic that you didn't even feel your body let alone his.

You leaned back a little and looked up at Felix. His eyes travelled down to your lips and he licked at his. Your stomach swarmed with butterflies as your face neared his. Felix held you tighter as your hot breaths mingled, before he pressed his plump lips on yours. You melted instantly as you started moving together, kissing gently and savoring every second of your lips touching like that.

It felt like it was meant to be, like you were made to kiss his lips and he was made to be yours. Felix licked at your bottom lip and you parted them, letting his tongue touch and play with yours. Pressing your body against his even more, you almost forgot about Cupid Corp., the cameras, the pool. But when he bit on your bottom lip, pulling it between his teeth, his hands squeezing your waist, you had a moment of clarity and pulled away with a gasp.

"We can't get carried away." you panted and Felix nodded, swallowing as his dark eyes lingered on your lips. His cheeks were red, his hair messy and his lips looked even more pink after kissing you.

"Sorry. I couldn't help myself, love. I'm really attracted to you." Felix said, pressing his forehead against yours.

"Me too. I like you a lot, Lixie." you smiled and he chuckled sweetly, pressing a few kisses on your lips and cheeks.

"I like you a lot too. I'm so glad I signed up for this program." he said, pulling you into another hug.

"I'm glad to be here too." you tangled your hands in his hair, caressing him and he sighed happily.

"Do you still wanna stay by the pool or you wanna do something else?" he asked and you looked at the water.

"I'll sit here and you go swim." you smiled.

"Are you sure?"

"100%." you nodded and with that, he pecked your lips again and practically skipped towards the pool. You giggled to yourself, knowing he really wanted to swim so you were content with sitting by the pool and just watching his beautiful form in the water.

Goosebumps rose on your neck and you turned to look at the house, feeling like there was some kind of presence there. You tried shrugging it off as you turned back to Felix, watching him having fun and waving at you cutely.

When he got out of the water, you couldn't help the admiration in your eyes as they raked all over his naked wet body, the droplets of water sliding from his chest to his abs and disappearing under the waistband of his swim trunks. Your throat was very much dry in that moment, but your panties were not. Felix smirked at you as he walked slowly, probably trying to seduce you even though you already folded.

He leaned over you, his hands on the armrests of the chair, the water from his body dripping onto yours.

"Enjoyed the view?" he asked as you looked up at him.

"Very much so." you smirked back and he leaned in to kiss you.

"I'm glad you did." he kissed you again. "Let's get inside, it's getting dark." Felix added and the two of you made your way into your house.

As soon as you walked in, a loud beeping noise scared the both of you. You covered your ears as Felix looked around.

"What is that?!" you asked.

"I don't know." Felix yelled over the piercing noise. He followed it with you trailing behind him and holding onto his back.

"Oh. Look!" he exclaimed, grabbing the round device you had gotten in the mail.

As soon as he clicked the button, the loud sound stopped, the screen lighting up.

90%. Congratulations, Felix and Y/n!

"D-did we get a point because of me drowning in the pool?" you shivered.

"I think we got a point 'cause I saved you." Felix bit on his lip, his expression turning into one of worry. You looked up at the camera in the kitchen, your eyes wide. Just what kind of sick game were Cupid Corp. playing? And what did they have in store for you?

~

"You think they really tried to drown me on purpose?" you asked Felix when the two of you got under the covers.

"It seems so." he said as he chewed on his lip.

"I think they could escalate things." you gulped and Felix looked at you, scooting closer to your side.

"What kind of test is that? Who wouldn't jump in to save someone they love? And even someone they don't know. I'd jump in anyways." Felix got upset.

"I know, I don't understand either."

"At least we are closer to 100%." Felix said, reaching out for you. You got closer to him and he smiled sweetly, his arm wrapping around your waist.

"Will you let me hold you like this?" he whispered, rubbing the tip of his nose against yours.

"Yeah, of course." you whispered back, kissing his sweet lips.

"I'll keep you safe, love." he smiled.

"I hope they don't hurt you."

"They can try. I'm stronger than I seem."

"I belive that." you nuzzled into him as you wrapped around each other. It felt so good to be in his embrace, like nothing bad could ever happen to you.

When Felix opened his eyes the next morning and saw you sleeping so soundly in his arms, he almost melted into a puddle. He gently tucked your hair behind your ear, caressing your face as his sleepy eyes observed you.

It didn't take long for you to wake up too, seeing that Felix was already looking at you made you whine and shut your eyes tightly.

"Don't look at me." you said.

"Why?" Felix chuckled as you tried hiding your face with your hands.

"Because I don't look the best when I wake up."

"What are you talking about?" Felix gently moved your hands away. "You're beautiful." he added and leaned in to kiss you but you blocked him quickly with your hand.

"Morning breath."

"Do I look like I care?" he giggled against your palm, grabbing your hand in his and kissing you despite your protests.

"So beautiful." he rasped.

"Has anyone ever told you that you're a sweet talker?" you smirked.

"No, but I'll take that as a compliment." Felix giggled. "Mm. Let's stay like this." he pulled you closer, his chin resting on the top of your head.

"I'd love to. But don't we have a brunch with Gina and Ethan?"

"Ugh. We do. Five more minutes." Felix said and you giggled, pressing your lips into his pulse. You heard his breath hitch and felt him tremble as your lips brushed against his skin.

"Don't make it harder for me to resist you, love." he whispered and kissed your head, making your cheeks warm up instantly.

"Sorry." you leaned back and he gave you a lazy smirk as he played with your hair.

~

"Ethan is sick." Gina whispered to the two of you after you rang the doorbell.

"Sick?" your brows furrowed as you noticed her eyes being shifty, darting left to right like she was on high alert, looking around to spot danger.

"Yes. High fever. Tremors. Headache." she craned her neck to look behind the two of you and you followed her eyesight, not noticing anything out of the ordinary.

"I have to go. I have to go. They're watching, you know? They're watching." she murmured before disappearing into the darkness of her house and closing the door, the clicking sound indicating she had locked it.

"T-that was weird." you swallowed.

"Very weird." Felix backed away, pulling you with him. "You wanna go to brunch still?"

"Yeah." you nodded as the two of you walked away from your neighbor's house.

You kept throwing glances back, noticing the curtain on one of the windows moving as a figure disappeared behind it.

You couldn't stop thinking about the state Gina was in and what the hell was happening inside her house?

Sitting by the koi pond, you couldn't help but think that all of you were just koi fishes and the village was just one small pond that was being observed by a bigger creature.

"You okay?" Felix put his arm around your shoulder, his other hand placed on your knee.

"Just worried about Gina and Ethan. And... us."

"Us?"

"What if the same happens to us. Or worse." you swallowed, your eyes becoming big as you looked at Felix, fear bubbling up inside you.

"It won't."

"How do you know that?" you asked, your eyes filling up with tears.

"I'll keep us safe, I promise." Felix pressed a lingering kiss on your forehead.

Your heart was still hammering in your chest, your stomach churning.

Something was wrong.

~

"Y/n, do you trust me?" Felix held you as the two of you stood in the shallow part of the pool.

"I do. It's just-"

"You're scared, I know. If it becomes too much, we'll get out immediately. But I'd love it if you at least tried. I'll hold you the entire time, okay? I won't let you out of my sight."

His reassuring words chipped away at your fear, replacing it with warmness and safety. You've never met someone like Felix, someone who was so invested in helping you get over your phobia.

"Okay, we'll start walking first." he pulled you in, holding you against him as you clutched at him.

"Relax." he tried soothing you as his hands caressed you and slowly but surely you started feeling relaxed.

"I'll hold you and swim. You try to move your legs like I told you, okay?" Felix guided you and you struggled a little at the beginning but the more he smiled at you and reassured you, the more confident you felt.

"Just stay close." you said.

"Of course, sweetheart." he smiled and your heart leaped out of your chest as your face warmed up.

Soon, you didn't even realize you were moving on your own, with Felix hovering next to you.

"You did it, y/n!" he laughed, his arms wrapping around your waist as he pulled you into his body.

"All thanks to you, Lixie." you giggled, turning around in his arms so you could look at him.

"Well, you had the will to try so it's on you too." he said, pecking your lips. His kisses were addictive, whenever he'd press his lips on yours, it was hard to stop as the two of you clung onto each other like you've been glued together.

The kisses escalated as your tongues massaged each other, your hands roaming on his freckled back. Your legs wrapped around him and he pulled you in closer, chest against chest, his hands on your butt.

"F-Felix." you stuttered, nails digging into his shoulders when you felt his erection brushing against your core.

"I'm sorry." his arms wrapped around your waist as he buried his face in your neck, lapping at the droplets of water dripping down your skin. "I can't help it. You're so delicious, sweetheart." he nipped at your sensitive neck.

"T-the cameras." you looked around at the five different cameras in the backyard.

"I know. I know." Felix kissed your lips with a huff before he swam you both back to the shallow part.

"You can get out if you want. And give me a second to calm down." he looked at you sheepishly.

"Okay." you giggled, wrapping your body up with a towel.

Felix swam a little more while you made some lemonade, keeping an eye on him from the kitchen window.

He got out just in time as you brought the refreshing drink outside. He wiped his body with the towel quickly, throwing it aside as he pulled you closer, making you squeal, the two of you losing balance. You ended up in his lap as he sat in the chair and you chuckled as he squeezed you tightly, rubbing his cheek against your back.

"Are you sure this is a smart position right now?" you asked and he smirked at you.

Before he could answer, the familiar beeping sound blasted next to the two of you. Your heads snapped towards the device you brought everywhere, hoping the percentage would go up.

"Felix! 92%!" you gasped when you grabbed it.

"92? How did we get two points?" he stared at it.

"I have no idea! But we should celebrate. Just 8 more. And then we can leave together." you smiled as you turned you body towards him.

"I can't wait, my love." Felix smiled, leaving kisses on your arm.

You wondered why you got two points. And if it was really that easy.

~

That night, Felix was clingier than usual, completely wrapped around you as he spooned you. His lips kept pressing gentle kisses on your neck and shoulder, making goosebumps rise on your skin, heat erupting inside you.

Felix couldn't help it anymore, his own body betrayed him as he got excited again, being so close to you, feeling you pressed against him, he craved nothing more than to be even closer to you.

"L-Lix." you felt him against your backside.

"Fuck, I'm sorry. Don't worry about it, it'll go away." Felix whimpered quietly, and you squeezed his wrist as he pressed into you tighter, unable to contain himself.

"It's okay." you guided his hand down to your panties, feeling desperate for his touch too.

"Y/n." he whispered. "What about the camera?"

"It's dark. And they can't see under the covers. As long as we stay quiet and don't move too much, we should be fine." you whispered back, pushing his hand beneath the waistband of your underwear.

"That's a test within itself." Felix joked and you giggled.

"Please, Felix." you begged as he hesitated.

"Fuck, baby. You don't have to beg for me. You have me always." he bit on your shoulder, his fingers exploring until they pressed into your clit when you spread your legs just a little so he can have more access. Felix started drawing slow figure eights on your sensitive clit, dipping his fingertips into your heat to gather some wetness and smear it around.

Your breath hitched and you gripped onto the cover, bringing it closer to your lips so you could muffle the little sighs coming out. His tongue darted out to lick at you neck as he played with your clit, moving slower but pressing hard. Felix sunk his teeth into your neck, sucking on it and creating a purple bruise marking you as his. You moaned quietly and he shushed you, teasing your little clit and making you clench around nothing.

"Felix." you said quietly.

"Yes, baby?" he whispered between kisses.

"I wanna touch you too." you said, so quiet so that only he could hear it. Felix's cock twitched against the back of your thigh.

"Okay." he said and you turned around, sliding your panties off and pushing them aside. Felix did the same with his underwear and grabbed your leg, putting it over his so he could spread you a little.

His hand was back between your legs, now without any tight obstacles and you had to bite back a moan as your eyes flitted towards the red dot blinking in the corner. You gripped the cover and pulled it up, only leaving some space for air and so you and Felix can kind of see each other.

You sneaked your hand down his chest and abs, fingers playing with his happy trail leading down to his leaky cock. The tip was already wet with pre cum and Felix almost groaned when you touched him, smearing it around as your fingers massaged him.

"B-baby." the tip of his nose touched yours and he leaned in to kiss you as your hand wrapped around his length. He sighed into your mouth and you swallowed it, breathing in his air while he slowly pushed his finger inside your welcoming heat.

You bit on his lower lip when he pushed in deep, your pussy clenching and begging for more. Felix groaned quietly, pushing into your hand while you moved it slowly, giving him gentle pleasure. Both of you moved in sync with each other, keeping the slow and torturous pace that was somehow sweet. You were both lingering on edge, wanting more.

Felix pulled his finger out and before you could protest, he started pushing two fingers in. The entire time you were making out, swallowing each other's moans and breaths.

"God, faster please." Felix whispered and you looked at the direction of the camera again, excitement rushing through you at the thought of getting caught. You sped up, pumping his cock as he fucked your pussy harder.

"Shh, quiet down love." he said when you started moaning silently.

"Sorry." you whispered and leaned in to kiss his neck. Felix immediately threw his head back, a quiet grunt escaping his lips as you attacked his skin with bites and kisses, flicking your wrist.

"I- I- can't." Felix groaned quietly. "Y/n." his fingers stilled inside you as he came, spilling his hot cum on your thigh, hand and the sheets. You helped him ride his high, kissing his lips and whispering quiet praises against them.

"Bring your legs up." he said, pressing your legs together, sliding his arm under your knees and lifting them towards him.

"Wh-what..."

"Shh. Trust me, sweetheart." he said as he leaned over you a little, his fingers sliding on your wet slit. He slowly pushed them back in, the position of your legs lifted up and pressed together like you were in a fetal position added to the pressure between your legs, his fingertips pressing right into your sweet spot.

"F-Felix!" you whimpered and he pressed his free hand against your lips, shushing you as he started fucking his fingers in and out of you.

You feared that this was definitely visible on the camera, the movement of his hand was too frantic under the sheets. Your muffled whines made Felix lean in and leave sweet kisses on your face.

"Shh, it's okay, just relax and let go, sweetheart." he cooed at you, his tongue licking at your ear.

Your eyes fluttered closed as he removed his hand from your face and pressed his lips on yours, his fingers ramming into your sweet spot repeatedly.

"Lix." you whined against his lips as he licked at them.

"Cum for me love." he encouraged and your pussy clenched around his fingers, your heart beating out of your chest as you let go, spilling your release on his fingers, some of it ending up on the mattress below you.

"Shit." he cursed quietly, caressing your wet pussy.

You clutched onto him, kissing him again like you needed it to breathe.

"You okay?" he asked, his hand searching around for his boxers.

"Y-yeah." you answered. "You?"

"More than okay." he smiled as he grabbed the boxers and cleaned both of you up as much as he could. "Um. We can't really change the sheets now, it would look suspicious." he added, throwing both of your underwear sneakily on the floor next to his side, where the camera wouldn't see.

"We can sleep on your side?"

Felix smiled and pulled you over, making you giggle quietly as the two of you settled against each other. He buried his face in your neck, his hand gently caressing your figure as you played with his hair, running your fingers through his soft locks.

The man in the chair smirked. Bingo.

When your eyes fluttered open the next morning, you were greeted with the cutest sight. Felix was still sleeping, his face smushed against the pillow as he drooled a little. Overwhelmed with your growing feelings for him, you leaned in and bit at his cheek.

Felix groaned quietly and you giggled, kissing where you had bitten him before you went lower, biting his neck and then his shoulder.

"Y/n." his deep voice made you shiver and you giggled against his soft skin again before sinking your teeth into his arm. His eyes fluttered open as he smacked his lips and looked at you.

"Interesting way to wake me up, not gonna lie." he smirked a little before grabbing you and making you squeal as he suddenly flipped the two of you, him being on top.

"Felix!" you chuckled when his fingers ghosted on your sides, tickling you slightly.

"Yes, sweetheart?" he smirked, burying his face in your neck and teasing you with little licks and kisses.

"D-don't. It's daytime, the camera-"

"I'm just gonna bite you a little. Return the favor." he blew on your neck before biting into your skin and sucking. You had to bite on your lip to stop yourself from moaning. Isn't this prohibited too?

"F-Felix, you have to stop." you whined.

"You're lucky the cameras are here. Otherwise, nothing would be able to save you from me." he wiggled his eyebrows and you chuckled, playfully pushing him away.

The morning started beautifully and you completely forgot about the rules whenever Felix smiled at you. You were both walking on cloud 9 and you couldn't wait to get out of this place so you can go anywhere with him by your side.

"Do you think they saw us last night?" Felix asked while the two of you munched on your food.

"I hope not." you said, your cheeks becoming red as you looked away from him.

"Getting shy on me, sweetheart?" Felix smirked, fingers brushing against your cheek.

"A little." you confessed, biting on your lip as your heart sped up.

"Don't be." he smiled wide as he leaned in, pecking your face with kisses. You started chuckling before you grabbed his face and kissed his lips.

"There. Better?" you asked and he nodded.

"Much better." Felix said and stood up to put his plate away. You took another sip of your coffee before a loud crash made you jump.

You turned around instantly to see the plate broken into pieces and Felix grabbing at his stomach.

"F-Felix?" you stood up abruptly, your chair flying on the floor.

Felix struggled to open his mouth and speak, he struggled to breathe as he clutched at both his stomach and chest.

"Oh my god! Felix!" you cried, grabbing at him as his face got red and his eyes watered.

"W-what is happening?!" you panicked, not having any kind of phone or knowing what to do in that moment. You turned to the camera in the corner.

"Help us, you fucking assholes!" you yelled at the camera as Felix shook and heaved in your arms.

A moment passed and his breathing started getting more normal, his face becoming paler in contrast to the redness that appeared before. His eyes were glassy, hands shaking as he slumped against you, falling to his knees. You quickly wrapped your arms around him as he gripped at you, seeking comfort from you. Heat radiated from his body and you touched his forehead, realizing he was burning up with a fever.

"Oh, Felix. Can you hear me?" you held his face in your hands as he looked through you.

His lips opened and closed a few times and he blinked before focusing on your eyes.

"I-it hurts." he rasped, his fingers desperately digging into your arms.

"What hurts, baby?" your body filled up with fear and anger. They did this.

"Everything." Felix sniffled and you helped him get up as he leaned on you.

"Let's get you to the couch." you led him to the living room before making him sit down. He looked horrible, a 180 from just a few moments ago when everything was normal. He was sweating profusely, his skin pale, his breathing heavy.

The doorbell suddenly rang, making you jolt.

"I'll be right back." you said, covering Felix up with a blanket as he was shivering even though he was burning up.

You had no idea who to expect at the door, maybe a paramedic, maybe a savior, maybe an explanation.

But you didn't expect Gina.

"G-Gina?" you eyes widened.

"Here." she shoved a box in your arms.

"W-what is this?" you asked.

"Medicine. They said... I had to deliver it to you. He'll be okay like Ethan. Just be careful. Be careful. They watch, you know? They know everything. They know." she looked a little panicked before she turned around, murmuring to herself and repeating how they watch and they know.

You opened up the box and sure enough there were different vitamins, medicine and bags of tea inside it.

You turned to look at the camera with a scowl on your face before you rushed off to Felix.

"Y/n." Felix whimpered, his bottom lip trembling as he looked up at you with teary eyes.

"It's okay, baby. You'll be okay." you tried to calm him down even though you were panicking too. You quickly fluffed up the pillows and helped him lie down.

"Are you comfy?" you asked.

"C-cold." he shivered, clutching onto the blanket.

"I'll bring another blanket for you." you said.

"Don't leave me!" Felix looked panicked as he gripped at your wrist.

"I won't, I'll be right back, I promise." you leaned down to kiss his burning forehead. He made a little noise but still let you go, albeit reluctantly. After finding another blanket, you tucked him in, taking it upon you to make him some tea, give him medicine and try to get his fever down however you could. You say next to his legs and placed a wet cloth on his forehead making him whine as he threw his arm around your thighs.

It was weird. The way he suddenly developed a high fever was unnatural. He wasn't sneezing or coughing, just shaking and sweating. You racked your brain, spinning different scenarios in your head and ways of how they could make him sick.

Then it clicked. The food.

But, how did you not get sick, just Felix? You couldn't understand how it was possible for these faceless and nameless individuals to play god with your health and safety. And what the hell did that have to do with you being a good match?

You wondered if the two of you could leave before you get to 100. You've never heard of such cases but surely there was a way? Maybe you could run away? Who could stop you, right? You have free will and you can leave whenever you want, you're not a prisoner.

"Y/n." Felix said weakly, his eyes fluttering open.

"Lixie. How do you feel? Any better?" you asked and he nodded.

"A bit." he said.

"I'll make you some soup." you said, knowing you have no other choice than to trust that not all your groceries were laced with some kind of virus.

"Okay." he said and you caressed his face shortly before standing up.

"Call me if you need anything. I won't be long." you said and he nodded again.

As the soup boiled, so did your anger. First they try to drown you then they make Felix sick? What's next on the menu? You looked up at the camera for the nth time.

"Hurt him again and I'll find you." you said quietly but the man behind the screen heard you, typing away on his laptop. He felt a bit bad for you but there was nothing he could do, he was just tasked to watch and report the progress.

"Can you sit up?" you asked Felix after you brought the warm soup to the living room.

"Ugh. Help me." Felix whimpered and you wrapped your arms around him as he held onto you, pulling him into a sitting position.

"I feel weakness in my arms and legs." he muttered.

"You'll be back on your feet in no time." you tried to soothe him as you sat next to him. "If they don't lace more of our food with a virus."

"How are you so sure?" Felix gulped.

"Because I'm taking care of you. And if they try something again I will burn this fucking village down." you made sure the camera picked up what you said and Felix let out a pained chuckle, grabbing at his side.

"Feeling protective over me?" he asked and your cheeks reddened instantly.

"I- I mean... Yes." you nodded and he smiled.

"If I wasn't in so much pain, I'd be really turned on right now." he said and you giggled, rolling your eyes playfully.

"Shut up and eat your soup."

"Feed me?" he pouted.

"Sure." you chuckled, shaking your head a little as he acted cute. Well cuter than usually.

"Will you cuddle me?" he asked after you managed to feed him the soup without making too much of a mess and you nodded, scooting closer to him and covering yourself up with the blanket too.

"Come here." you whispered and Felix leaned in, pressing his forehead into your neck. He was still warm but less than before and you hoped that the worst had passed.

"I don't think it was the food." he whispered suddenly, making goosebumps rise on your skin. The tv was loud enough to not let the camera hear what you were whispering about and after glancing at it you glanced down at Felix's sleepy face pressed against your chest.

"What do you mean?" you whispered into his hair.

"Look at my arm. Very carefully." he whispered back and you pretended to caress him until you uncovered his sleeve, acting nonchalant for the camera. Your brows furrowed as you stared.

"Is that a needle mark?" you asked.

"I think so." he looked up at you and you covered him up and held him tighter against you.

"You think they snuck in while we were sleeping and put some kind of virus into your body?" you asked and he nodded against you.

"That's sick. That's really sick. I- I think we should leave."

"We can't, not until we get to a 100." Felix said, rubbing his cheek against you and squeezing you tighter.

"B-but what if they do something worse?"

"It'll be okay." he muttered as he drifted off.

You sighed, running your hand through his hair soothingly as you stared at the tv absentmindedly, a random movie from the dvd collection playing on it.

You looked at him occasionally, admiring his cute sleeping face. Did you really have to wait until 100 to start your life with Felix?

Over the course of the next two days, you had been by Felix's side the entire time. The medicine worked perfectly and pretty soon Felix was back to his old self, healthy and full of energy.

"Y/n. Love." he held you tightly. "Thank you for taking care of me." he stared at you with sparkly eyes before he kissed you like his life depended on it, stealing your breath away.

"Of course." you smiled as you parted.

The loud sound of the device startled you both. Felix neared it, picking it up and looking at the screen.

"95." he scoffed.

"For what? Almost killing you." you said. "This is some sick game to you, isn't it?" you turned to the camera then, furious.

"Sweetheart, don't. We're almost done." Felix pulled you into him. "I have a plan." he whispered into your hair and you nodded.

You were going to escape the village.

~

That night, you got ready for bed as usual, your hands reaching to open the covers so you could get in. Before you could even touch the blanket, you were grabbed as Felix wrapped his arms around you and lifted you up, almost making you scream.

"Come with me." he pulled you into his bathroom.

"Felix we can't-"

"We're leaving anyways." he said, closing the door before pinning you against it. His hands held your wrists gently but firmly as he pressed his body against yours, nudging your legs apart with his knee.

"Felix." you let out a little gasp when his thigh pressed against your warmth.

He couldn't wait anymore, one hand still pinning your wrists and the other gently holding your chin as he crashed his lips into yours. Both of you whimpered quietly into each other's mouth as your tongues collided. Your mind became fuzzy instantly and Felix was becoming impatient, his hand wrapping around your neck and squeezing ever so slightly as his other hand slid down towards your chest.

"It's hard to keep my cool around you. I just want you so much." Felix talked lowly, both of his hands grabbing your breasts and massaging them. You whimpered, grinding against his thigh on instict.

"I want you too, Lixie. I can't wait anymore."

"Yeah? You want me to take you right here, against the door?" he smirked and you gasped as he leaned back with a smirk, pushing your panties aside and touching your clit.

"Y-yes." you whispered and he chuckled, hands on your waist as he swiftly turned you around to face the door. Your palms slapped against it and you dug your nails in as he slid fingers over your wet pussy.

"I think she's ready to take me." he leaned over you, lips brushing your ear as he pulled his boxers down. You swallowed when you felt the tip of his cock pressing against you. Warmness washed over you and you clenched in anticipation.

"Tell me if it's okay. Or do you want me to prep you?" he asked, his hand sliding down your back.

"J-just fuck me, Felix." you begged and he chuckled darkly.

"My baby has a dirty mouth, hm?" he slid his tip between your folds, back and forth, slowly, teasing you and torturing you.

"Please." you whimpered again and his own desperation got the best of him, he couldn't tease you and himself anymore so he slowly pushed in.

You moaned while he filled you up, your eyes fluttering shut as your knees buckled.

"Fuck. So tight." he groaned, bottoming out.

"L-Lix." you whimpered and he gripped your hips, moving slowly at first, letting you adjust.

You pushed back into him, meeting his thrusts as you let out moans of pleasure, your voice getting more high pitched every time his tip pressed into your sweet spot.

"You take me so well, baby. You really were made just for me." Felix moaned, fucking harder into you, his hips smacking against you.

You were a mess, not even able to answer as he got you drunk on his cock instantly.

"Fuck." Felix groaned as he looked at your ass, his hand coming down on your flesh, spanking you and making you whine out loud.

"You like that, sweetheart?" he smirked behind you and spanked you again.

"Y-yes!" you moaned and he sped up, his hips unforgiving as he shook your body, his hands gropping and slapping. He felt you clenching around him, his arms wrapping around you, hands on your breasts as he pulled on your nipples and played with them.

"Are you gonna cum for me, baby? Make a mess on my cock?" Felix fucked into you harder.

"Yes, ah!" you whimpered, your legs shaking as you spasmed and came all over his length.

"Good girl. You make me so proud." he groaned, chasing his high.

"Y-you have to pull out, I didn't take the pill... Since I got here." you moaned, feeling overstimulated.

"S-shit!" Felix whimpered, pulling out of your pussy and giving himself a few tugs, exploding behind you, his cum landing on your ass and back.

"So pretty." he gripped at your ass. "Mine."

"Yours." you whined back when he spanked you again.

He let out a low chuckle and wrapped his arms around you, turning you so you were facing him.

"That was absolutely not how I imagined our first time." Felix said, pecking your lips.

"How did you imagine it?" you held onto him with a smile on your face.

"Dinner, flowers, you know the whole thing. You put on some pretty lingerie for me and then we make love the entire night." he pressed his forehead against yours.

"Aren't you romantic?" you giggled, kissing him gently.

"I am. A lot." he grinned, pulling you into a hug.

"We can do all that when we get out of here. Which is what we should be doing right now."

"Yeah. You got your bag ready?" he asked and you nodded.

"Let's clean up then."

~

The streets were dark and empty, the only light that was coming from the lamp posts was dim and barely illuminated your path. It must've been around 3am. Dead silence filled up the space, every house was dark and quiet. No one was awake. The two of you stalked towards the gate, knowing the cameras are watching you.

There was no blind spots, they thought of everything. You didn't give a damn anymore. They can come and stop you themselves instead of playing these sick games.

Of course, the gate was locked.

"Felix?" you swallowed and his head snapped towards you. "That wasn't there when we got here, right?" you pointed and he gasped.

Electric fence.

Everywhere you turned to look, there it was.

"What the hell?" Felix frowned. "Are they crazy?"

"Obviously they are." you stated. "What should we do now?"

"How about the forest? Could be connected to like a main road? There's no way they put this electric fence all around." Felix looked frustrated.

"We could try." you nodded, your hand reaching out for his. With fingers entwined you hurried the other way.

Suddenly, a loud alarm pierced through the calm night air, making you both scream out as you grabbed at your ears, the sound pounding inside your head, making you want to pull your hair out.

Your vision became blurry and you tried to stay close to Felix as the sound became even louder and in the corner of your eye, you saw shadows moving.

Everything went black.

~

You woke up in your room, drenched in sweat. It was still dark out and you looked around, noticing Felix was still sleeping and the device on his night stand was blinking.

"Lix." you shook him gently.

"Hm."

"Lix." you repeated, leaning over him to look at the little screen.

"98?" you frowned. "Why?"

"What?" Felix sat up slowly. "What is it?"

"We're up to 98. Because we tried to escape?"

"I- I don't know. Ugh, I feel weird." Felix said and as soon as those words left his lips, you felt lightheaded yourself.

"I can't feel my legs." he gasped.

"What's happening to us? What did they do?" your eyes watered as you felt the same paralyzing feeling.

"T-they drugged us." Felix tried to grab at you but his arms weren't listening to him no matter how much he willed them to move.

"Felix." you whimpered, feeling some kind of tiredness washing over you. "I love you."

"I love you." he whispered back before everything went black again, neither of you noticing the device was now blinking with 99.

The light was barely coming in through the branches, the sun not being completely up yet. The air was damp and smelled of the earth, rain and trees. You took in a deep breath, wiggling your fingers against the ground, feeling the texture of moss under your fingertips.

You felt as if you were floating even though you were very clearly touching the ground. Your eyes slowly fluttered open and you gasped. Everything seemed distorted, like you couldn't focus your eyes on what's in front of you. Weird sounds filled up your ears, ones you couldn't recognize or understand. One moment they seemed like distant shouts and the other it was as if someone was talking gibberish right into your ear.

You lifted your shaky hands towards your face as you felt hot tears sliding down your cheek and into your hair splayed on the earth. Your hands. You were looking at them but it was as if they were separated from your body, like you weren't in control of them. You stared for however long, not being able to conceptualize if it was 10 seconds or an hour.

When you finally sat up, your head started spinning and you saw shadows moving in the corner of your eye, hiding behind the trees and melting into the ground. You blinked a couple of times but your sight remained blurry even when you got up. Your legs buckled for a second and you almost fell, grabbing at a tree next to you.

Find him. Find him.

Something whispered and you felt a buzzing sensation spreading all over your body. You grabbed at your ears as the whispers kept getting louder until-

FIND HIM!

A yell, a dark screeching voice echoed inside your brain.

Felix. You have to find him.

You had no idea how you even ended up in the forest and what was wrong with you while you were walking, your limbs felt like they were disconnected, your head pounded with a headache and your forehead was covered in a thin sheen of sweat.

You heard a smacking sound on your right, like something hit the wet ground and you turned to look but couldn't see anything there.

"Felix?!" your voice came out weak, your throat burning. "Felix!" you whimpered, more tears spilling out your eyes.

The whispers and the smacking sounds became louder, closer, more of them surrounding you. You started freaking out, panic building up within you. The sound of cracking caught your attention and you screamed out when the trees started growing in towards you, their branches becoming longer and reaching out to grab you. You kept screaming as you squatted down, covering your head up and crying.

"Please, stop!" you cried. It was silent. You lifted your head up slowly and the trees were exactly how they were before. No menacing branches hovering over you, reaching to take you.

You quickly stood up, your sight a little less blurry as adrenaline from the fear kicked in. Your legs reacted faster than you could anticipate as you started running, small twigs snapping under the weight of your feet.

The smacking sounds were back and now you could see what they were. All around you, koi fishes wiggled and smacked against the floor, trying to breathe in the dry air. You gasped, wondering how the hell was this happening.

You must be tripping.

The rational part of your mind reminded you that whoever was behind Cupid Corp. didn't hesitate to use all sorts of methods to execute their 'tests'.

They probably drugged you and everything you were seeing right now was a hallucination.

With that realization in mind, you carried on through the forest as it got thicker, ignoring all the voices around you and the fishes seemingly falling from the sky.

Things lurked in the bushes and behind trees, shivers running up your spine as it got darker. You thought you heard Felix calling for you among all those distorted voices.

"Felix?!"

"Y/n!" you heard a distant sound.

"Felix? Where are you?" you hurried up, almost slipping on the moss.

"I'm here!" the voice was clearer now, to your left and you ran and ran until you were stopped in your tracks. A huge koi wish wriggled on the ground where Felix should've been.

"Felix?" you were perplexed as you stared at the sight before you.

"Get me out of here."

Is he... inside the fish?

You noticed a knife on the floor next to it. You blinked and the next thing you knew you were standing in front of the fish with the knife in your hand. You stabbed into the flesh, blood oozing out as you started cutting up the fish like a maniac, guts spilling from the inside until Felix emerged, covered up in all of the fish goo, the stench of it making you nauseous.

"What the fuck?" you swallowed and then everything disappeared, pulling you into the darkness again.

~

The loud piercing sound of the device you prayed to every single day shook your entire body. You jolted up, realizing you were in bed and Felix was waking up next to you.

No fishes, no guts, no forest, no whispers.

100%! Congratulations and have a safe departure from our Village of Love!

"Village of love? More like village of horror." you said as Felix leaned in to look at the screen. A loud sound scared you again, a masked voice following after it.

"Thank you for participating in our program. You've proved your love to each other, built up devotion and trust in just a month. You are now the perfect match. We apologize for any discomfort you felt here and offer you The Juice of Oblivion so you may forget about the... less fun experiences you had here. You can choose not to drink the juice, but remember after you leave through the gate, you're obligated by law to not talk about our tests here. Enjoy the rest of your life together!"

You glanced at the night stand, seeing the suspicious blue liquid inside a bottle.

Felix suddenly started laughing next to you and you looked at him. Laughter bubbled up from your throat too and the two of you cackled for a good minute, until you were heaving for breath and wiping tears away.

"This was fucking insane." he said.

"Were you really stuck inside a fish?" you asked and Felix looked at you like you were insane.

"Was I what?"

"I had to gut a koi fish to get you out, in the forest." you explained and he shook his head.

"You were tripping. We both were, I figured that the moment I stepped foot on the pool. Like on the water. And you were under it, trying to get out but it was as if there was some kind of barrier keeping me from you. I had to find a spot to pull you out. The amount of anguish it gave me..." Felix licked at his dry lips and you reached out to grab his hand.

"Do you wanna drink the juice?" you asked.

"I just wanna get the hell out of here." he said and you agreed.

You were pretty sure this was illegal, all of the stuff happening here; them not disclosing the use of psychedelic stimulants or whatever the drugs were in the contract was also illegal.

But at the same time, if you never participated, maybe you would've never met Felix.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked as you approached the gate with a few other couples, including Gina and Ethan.

"How I'm glad I met you. But I'm gonna need therapy." you said and Felix laughed.

"We'll go together. This is just the first day of the rest of our life." he smiled, kissing your forehead and squeezing your hand.

The man in the chair watched all the couples leave. His lips turned upwards into a smirk as he saw new cars approaching the village.

He wondered what kind of sick tests they had in store for the new inhabitants of the Village of Love?

taglist: @moonchild9350 @janepg @velvetmoonlght @hwanghyunjinismybae @jehhskz @porangporangmeong @laylasbunbunny @laughatdanger @jeonginslefthand @sapphirewaves @s3ungm1nxxl0ve @painterhyunjin @moon-ttokki-x @saintcosette @ooshyana @frehyun @scarlet789 @skzdust @schniti-is-in-the-house @eastjonowhere @sona1800 @channiesrightasscheek @justwonder113 @yvettemint @inaribu00 @httpdwaekki @possum-playground @ria-april @yn-x-them @mariahxrrera @0omillo0 @halfwinterhalfuniverse @cooldeermagazine @delulkpopstan143 @todorokiskitten @compersian @azxulskz @stayp1eceposts @minniesverse @skzdreamer13 @0325ale @j-ji-jia @shannthewriter

[jitrulyslayyed]

AAAHHHHH

Folded Up With You

Pairing: Seungmin x Reader

Word count: 1,353

Content warnings: Soft smut, MDNI, Fluff, cursing

Summary: Seungmin comes home after his vocal lessons and finds you in a slightly indecent state as you do laundry. You absolutely drive him wild and he can’t control himself when it comes to you.

The smell of his favorite laundry detergent greets his nose as he opens your shared apartment door causing him to sigh tiredly as a happy warm smile slips onto his face. Seungmin has just come back from finishing his vocal lessons and he’s ready to spend the rest of his day with you being lazy on the couch. But as he spots all the folded piles of laundry laid out on the couch he knows that his plans will have to wait for a moment. His eyes widen slightly at the massive amount of laundry that you’ve not only washed and dried but also folded in neat piles for the two of you. He hadn’t realized that it had gotten to be so much since he’s been busy with his schedules.

Just then he spots you walk into the living room with a laundry basket on your hip singing a happy tune dressed in what looks like the shirt that he wore to bed last night. Desire grips Seungmin tightly in it’s grip as he stares at you from the door as you bend over at the waist and set the laundry basket on the floor. He gets an eyeful of your naked lower half as you grab a piece of clothing from the basket and straighten up to begin folding it while the television plays in the background Looking down at himself he rolls his eyes as he feels how instantly hard he got at just seeing you in his shirt and then your little flash of indecency further cemented how much he wanted you right this instant.

He moves slightly to step out of his shoes and into his slippers before he’s moving quietly around you not wanting to alert you that he was home yet. Coming up behind you he grabs you around the waist and you cry out in surprise while he drags your body back against his and grinds himself into you. He moans loudly into your ear and you gasp as you feel his jean covered hardness against your naked core.

“You do this often?” he asks sultrily in your ear. He bends his head down towards your neck and nips at the skin behind your ear for a second which causes you to shiver in his arms before moaning softly.

“Do what Minnie?” you gasp out at him as his tongue lathes against your neck slowly. Seungmin has never felt desire rush at him so quickly as it does now after seeing you in his shirt folding laundry. There was just something about you being at home waiting for him while doing chores for the household. And the fact that you’re wearing nothing underneath the shirt drives him absolutely wild.

“Wear my clothes while doing laundry?” he asks softly as his hips grind up against your ass slotting himself between your thighs.while beginning to repeatedly grind against you. Heat is starting to course through him and he knows that you’re feeling just as turned on as him when your soft gasps start to fill the air. 

“Sometimes, especially when it’s this much because I can’t keep all of it in the laundry room so I have to fold it out here. Other times I do laundry naked.” you confess to him and Seungmin groans loudly as the image of you naked folding the laundry fills his mind.

“Fuck baby.” he groans out as he slams his hips up into yours causing you squeak at the movement His hands start to move over your body towards your core and when his fingers dip in he has to grit his teeth to calm himself down at how wet you are. “I need you baby. Can I have you? Please? Fuck I need you, you’re being such a good housewife for me. Doing my laundry while half naked.” he begins to babble and you whine softly at his words while his hips continue to grind into you and his fingers coat themselves in your slick as he plays with you. One of your hands comes up to grip at the back of his head and you turn your head to capture his lips with yours.

Seungmin moves you both to the back of the couch and leans you over the back of it. “Please baby. Let me fuck you. I swear I’ll make you feel so good. Gotta take care of my perfect housewife when she does the chores.” he pleads with you

“Fuck Minnie, you found a new kink here baby?” you ask over your shoulder breathlessly as he continues to grind his hips into yours. You whimper when you hear his fly unzipper and when his hardness presses along the curve of your ass under his shirt your knees buckle slightly but you’re able to catch yourself on the back of the couch.

”This is gonna be quick baby. I’m too turned on to go slow. I need to fuck you.” He tells you honestly and you just moan in response. You feel his hardness glide against your wet core and whimper softly before he’s slamming into you. Your breath is knocked out of you as you back arches and your hands grip the back of the couch tightly. Seungmin smirks when you choke on another gasp when he’s fully seated inside of you, your walls clenching and unclenching around him making him feel pleasure radiated throughout him. “Fuck baby.” He groans out loudly to you and you cry out as he begins to thrust against you at a fast pace.

Pleasure is coursing through the both of you as you both move against each other. Seungmin’s hips press yours in the back of the couch as his hands slip underneath his shirt that you’re wearing to cup your breasts tightly in his hands. He nuzzles his face into your neck while groaning loudly.

”You’re so perfect for me. Wanna make you a real housewife.” He mumbles into your skin as he punctuates each word with a harsh thrust of his hips. Your walls clench around at his confession and he moans loudly at the feeling. “You like the sound of that baby? Wanna be my housewife?” He asks while panting for air.

”Wife.” You gasp out as your head falls back on his shoulder and he furrows his brow at you.

”What?” He asks never stopping his movements as he leans further over your back to hear what you’re saying.

”I want to be your wife Minnie.” You whine out to him and Seungmin moans in a broken tone as he grips your hips tightly before slamming himself as far into you as he can before releasing inside of you.

”Oh fuck.” He groans out and you cry out loudly as your own orgasm flows over you at the feeling of his own orgasm.

”Minnie, Minnie!” You cry out and he quickly wraps his arms around you tightly as his hips buck into you in the aftershocks of his orgasm.

”I got you baby. I got you.” He promises as let’s you ride out your orgasm with him buried inside of you. “That’s it sweetheart. I got you.” He coos at you before slowly releasing you to lean against the couch while you catch your breath. He’s still buried inside of you when you shiver feeling his fingers graze down your spine. “Wanna be my wife huh?” He asks sultrily and you shiver again at his question. “What about the mother of my children too? Wanna be that?” He asks eagerly and you whimper when you feel him twitch inside of you.

”All of it. I wanna be all of that for you.” You gasp out as you press your hands into the back of the couch and lift your upper body off the couch.

”Good girl. My perfect girl.” He coos at you before suddenly bucking up into you again making you cry out desperately. “Let’s go for round two and then we’ll talk specifics.” He says to you softly making it sound like a promise that you were eager to keep with him.

SKZ Taglist: @kayleefriedchicken, @babigriin, @inlovewithstraykids, @channiesrightasscheek

[jitrulyslayyed]

When you text Minho wanting to see photos of his cats, he sends photos of himself instead

Pairing: Lee Know x Reader

Type: Text, fluff, Minho calls reader jagi and reader calls Minho babe

Summary: You wanted to see some pictures of the babies, Soonie, Doongie and Dori as you missed seeing them. But what you didn't realise that Minho had other plans in mind

Note: Finally got round to doing another text imagine. I've been wanting to write more but work has been a pain. And I know it's another text imagine with Soonie, Doongie and Dori but I couldn't help myself. They're too adorable. The pictures are from Minho's bubble and enjoy this new text imagine! The picture that Minho sent in the imagine (of him and Dori) will be at the bottom of the text. I had trouble uploading it onto the app!

The picture that Minho sent of him and Dori

[jitrulyslayyed]

Gurl noo!!!!! I've been wanting moree!!!! It's was Chris calling Victoria a bitch for me AAAHHHHH

𝐃𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲 𝐈𝐬𝐬𝐮𝐞𝐬

Pairing: dad!chris x teacher!afab!reader, friends to lovers, nonidol au

Synopsis: Chris really loves what you do for Mia and he gets motivated by something to ask you out...

Warnings: fluff, nervous Chris, Victoria is a bish but that's already been established, ft. 2racha again. If you have extra eyes for errors...no you don't.

A/n: PART TUW!! Another cliffhanger? Oh no my mistake 👀

previously..

That was the loop. The constant loop that went on and on. Chris was so tired of it all.

Till you came in.

The first time Chris met you; he had been too exhausted to notice much about you other than the fact that you were warm. Not in the literal sense, but towards your colleges, and the way you treated Mia and your students like they mattered. Mia adored you. When she’d rush to him after school on his days, she tells him about the praises you’d sing of her.

“Miss L/N called me a star!”

“I was playing and I got injured, and when Miss L/N patched me up, she called me a valiant girl. What does that mean?”

“Daddy! Miss L/N says I’m the best reader in class!” Chris had smiled at everything she said.

At every PTA meeting, at every school performance, you were there- calm, attentive and always looking out for Mia (in his defense she was the only student he really cared about, the others received their share of love too,) and Chris noticed. He noticed the way you’d lean down to the kids at their level, bringing them in for motivation. The way you’d always have a soft smile for Mia when she was nervous to go on stage. The way you’d noticed him, too. His interactions with you were small and casual. Questions briefly on his wellbeing, talking about Mia and her education, the topics always skirted around the obvious. He did think you were beautiful, and he admired your kind eyes and delicate features that made him pay attention to you more than most times. But it always stopped there. Crossing the bridges of feelings was something Chris didn’t want to risk again.

She had noticed him right away. Not because he was handsome (though, God, was he handsome), but because of the way he looked at Mia like she was his everything. Y/N had always seen Chris as a great dad. From the first day she had seen him she knew he was an outstanding figure. When he dropped off Mia in her class on her first day, it was obvious how much he adored his daughter. He was the kind of parent to show up at every meeting, who listened intently to the needs and achievements of his daughter-not just academically, but emotionally too. At first, he was just another parent. Another father trying his best. But then she started putting the pieces together. The way Mia never talked about her mom. The way she clung to him on Friday afternoons. The way Chirs seemed a little lost when it came to things other parents never thought twice about- like school projects or dance recitals. Y/N had seen single parents before, but unlike them Chris was giving everything. It was during their first meeting that she discovered that he was a victim of divorce. He didn’t dwell too much on the subject, and she didn’t want to pry.

“Mia doesn’t speak much about her mother. Is that something serious or? If she’s passed, I’m totally sorry for overstepping-”

He cut her off gently, waving his hand in dismissal. “No, no she’s not passed. It’s just that…her mother and I aren’t really together anymore.” Y/N shut her eyes in regret. “I’m sorry.”

“Nah, it’s okay it been a few years now so. Please, don’t pity me or Mia. Take her as another normal girl, okay? She’s too young to be treated like she has problems.”

That had been one of the silent promises that they made. Yes, there were moments where Mia would disassociate herself from class to cry and not participate in anything, but she wouldn’t dare tell him. The job she had given to herself was to be Mia’s joy giver and Chris’ helper. Just so that he didn’t have to think about her. It was then she started to see herself caring more than she should.

One evening, after a school event, Chris and Y/N found themselves walking together in the quiet carpark only because they had unknowingly parked close to each other. Mia was fast asleep in his arms.

“She really loves you, you know,” Y/N and said softly, her hand squeezing the strap of her bag. He glanced down at Mia, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Yeah. I just…wish I could give her more.” Y/N hesitated as she reached her car, then said, “You’re already giving her the most important thing- love. She’ll remember that more than anything.” She gave a small smile and got into her car. Chris had looked at her then, really looked at her, and for the first time in a long time, he felt something unfamiliar. Something…warm.

Letting Mia go was a pain on its own. What always came with it however led him to hate the day as a whole. Strained conversations, forced politeness, seeing the smug disgusting face of that dickhead named-

Chris, language.

Sorry.

It was all suffocating standing in front of a house that used to be his. In the back of his mind, seeing Victoria was like seeing a corpse. She was dead to him. He pulled up in front of Victoria’s pristine modern hoke. The kind of house that looked like it belonged in a rental magazine. It had never feltlike a home, not to him. Not even when he lived there.

Mia clutched his shirt from the backseat, eyes groggy with sleep but still awake, her tiny fingers curling into the fabric. “Daddy, can’t I stay just one more night?” his heart clenched, but he put on a soft smile, brushing her hair back. “You know the rules baby. But I’ll see you on Friday, okay?” she pouted but nodded. He unbuckled her seat belt, lifting her out of the car, and carrying her up the steps. The door opened before he could even knock.

Victoria stood there, arms crossed, looking flawless as ever. She was in a silk robe, her blonde hair in curlers. The sight of her still made Chris’ heart twist. In spite of course. C’mon he wasn’t stupid to want her back.

“You’re late,” she said already exasperated.

Chris set Mia down, forcing himself to stay calm. “It’s ten minutes, Victoria.” She rolled her eyes, stepping aside to let Mia in. “Go wash up sweetheart.” Mia hesitated, looking back at Chris.

“Bye, Daddy.”

“Bye, baby. Love you.”

She ran inside, leaving him alone with Victoria. The worst part. “You need to stop filling her head with nonsense,” Victoria said leaning against the doorway. “Last week she threw a tantrum saying that this wasn’t her real home. What the fuck? If her staying with you is going to have this effect one her believing that she lives elsewhere, then I can’t have it.” He gritted his teeth. “She barely gets to see me. Maybe I give her the right amount of love more than you do.” She scoffed. “Oh, here we go again. Chris don’t let me remind you who’s stronger.” Chris clenched his fists. He didn’t want to argue. Not anywhere near Mia, or where her husband was vividly lurking from the bedroom balcony upstairs.

“I’m not doing this tonight,” he said, stepping back. “Just…take care of her.”

Victoria smirked. “I always do.” He didn’t respond. He just turned and walked away, the sound of the door shutting behind him feeling like a punch to the gut.

-

“Look man, if it’s really pissing you off so much just tell us. I know a guy who knows some guys and we can get that Dylan dude arrested for domestic abuse. It’s that simple.”

“Agreed. Don’t think I’ve had these guns available for nothing.” Changbin flexed his muscles on the screen while Jisung gave him a side eye through his camera. Chris stopped the grocery store before arriving at home. once he did get home Changbin and Jisung hade facetimed him to ask about the drop off. Like they always did. Every Sunday.

“Thanks guys, but I doubt that I have a say in any of this. Dylan would make it stay that way for as long as he’s concerned.” He placed his phone by his bedside taking a deep breath as his head hit the soft pillows. The boys shrugged in silent acknowledgement.

“Just don’t let him get to your head dude.” Jisung said slumping down on his own bed. They said their goodbyes and went off. As Chris lay there, he tried to get some sleep and for some odd reason his mind drifted to you. God, you were beautiful, always looking so elegant and peaceful like nothing was ever going wrong with you. He was grateful to you for making Mia enjoy herself, it helped him ease the burden of being paranoid over her. He should probably thank you.

But what did you like? Are you a gift person? Maybe he should get to know you more…when’s your birthday? It would look weird giving you a gift on no special occasion…Mia should know…Mia, babygirl…Hopefully Victoria remembered to give her her vitamins…

Fucking bitch.

_

“Mr. Bang?”

“I’ve told you to call me Chris, Miss L/N.” He smiled lightly.

“Oh. Sorry, my mistake, Chris. What are you doing here? Schools over.”

It was Tuesday. Y/N sat at her desk, red pen in hand, as she was working through a stack of assingments. The classroom was quiet now, the last of the kids having been picked up, leaving only the faint scent of crayons and the soft hum of the ceiling fans. She was so lost in her work that she didn’t hear the knock at first.

When he came in he looked tense. Which was adorable. He wore a denim jacket with matching pants, his hair falling in front of his eyes. She looked up, startled, and found Chris standing in the doorway, a small paper bag in one hand, his other tucked into his jacket pocket.

“I hope I'm not disturbing,” He stepped inside, looking a little sheepish. “I, uh… just wanted to stop by.” He lifted the bag slightly.

“Oh. If I had known I wouldve gotten you something from the lounge.” She stood up in attempt to go to get him something but Chris stopped her with a smile “It’s okay really I'll be gone soon.” She was hesitant to sit back then but she did anyway.

“Is there anything I can help you with?” Y/N motioned him over to the seat across her and he timidly sat.

He lifted the bag. Chris cleared his throat, “N-not really, I just came to say thanks. You know, for… taking care of Mia. At school. I should've told you before that I was coming, I'm sorry.” He rubbed shaky on his thighs. Was he nervous? This is too cute.

Y/N tilted her head, amused. “You didn’t have to get me anything.” Chris chuckled softly, looking down. “Yeah, well… I wanted to.” He placed the bag on her desk, glancing at the scattered papers and coloring sheets. “You busy? I really am disturbing…”

“I’m just grading,” she said, still watching him curiously “But I don't mind the company. It was getting too quiet for me anyways.”

Curious, Y/N lifted the bag closer to herself and peeked inside. She felt a warm laugh bubble up. Inside was a journal, a set of colorful pens, and a lip gloss in a shade she actually loved.

She looked up at him, touched. “You really didn’t have to do this.”

Chris shrugged, the tip of his ears tinting pink. He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Mia’s always talking about how nice you are to her. I just wanted to… I don’t know, say thanks properly. She also kinda told me what you’d like so…it's all her.”

Those goddamn lips.

Y/N smiled, running a finger over the journal’s cover. Why would anyone not want to have him? She tried to keep her compusre, biting her bottom lip and staring at the cover more. “Well, this is really sweet. Thank you.”

Chris rubbed the back of his neck. “Well… you are, too. I mean—uh, not that I meant it like that, but you know, you’re good with Mia and—”

Y/N laughed. “I get it.”

Chris exhaled in relief, then hesitated, glancing around the room. “So, uh… do you usually stay this late?”

“Sometimes. There’s always something to grade or prep.” She leaned back in her chair, tilting her head. “And you? What brings you to school besides delivering gifts?”

Chris stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Honestly? Just wanted to see you.” He mumbled. Y/N’s brows lifted slightly, and Chris noticing that she heard him, rushed to explain. “I mean, talk to you. About Mia. And… other stuff, I guess.”

They talked about Mia for a while—how she was adjusting, the friends she’d made, the funny little things she’d said in class. But then the conversation drifted as well, becoming something more natural. To relatable moments with kids, Y/N even gave him tips on how to go around with handling problems that Chris came across.

Comfortable silence lingered across as Y/N tucked the gifts in her drawer and got back to grading. The blades of the fan created a calming rhythm for Chris and his nerves. Chris shifted again, glancing at the door before clearing his throat.

“So, uh—” He rubbed the back of his neck again, suddenly looking more nervous than before. He looked up at the teacher. “Are you… free on Saturday?”

Y/N froze, blinked, caught off guard for the second time. “Saturday?” She looked at him now.

Chris cleared his throat, suddenly looking anywhere but at her. “I just—I mean, if you’re free, maybe we could… I don’t know, get a coffee or something?” He hesitated before quickly adding, “Not like a date or anything, just… y’know, to talk. About Mia. Or just… get to know each other better.”

Fuck! We can do whatever you want, Chris.

It was kind of endearing seeing him like this.. He's like a teenager.

A slow smile curved Y/N’s lips. “That kinda sounds like a date, Chris.” His ears turned red. “It’s not—unless you want it to be? I mean—” He groaned, covering his face. “I’m bad at this.”

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. “Relax, Chris.” She leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. “I’d love to go.”

He blinked. His eyes were on her like a child who was given his favorite toy. “You—wait, really?” Y/N nodded, smiling. “Yeah. I think it would be nice.”

Chris lowered his hands. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He exhaled, relief washing over his face before a shy smile crept onto his lips. “Cool. Great. Uh, I’ll text you the details? We can change anything if you don't feel comfortable with it. It's all your choice.”

Y/N chuckled. “Sounds like a plan.”

He nodded, still looking a little dazed. “Okay, well… I’ll see you Saturday, then.”

He lingered for a second, watching her—how the golden light from the window softened her features, how she twirled the red pen between her fingers absentmindedly. There was something about being in her presence that made his shoulders relax, even after a long day.

Chris stood up slowly, took a step back, rubbing the back of his neck again before glancing toward the door. “I should, uh, get going. Just wanted to stop by.”

Y/N leaned back in her chair, watching him with amused eyes. “I appreciate it, Chris. And the gift.”

He grinned, shifting his weight slightly. “Well, Mia always says you deserve nice things, so…” Y/N’s heart fluttered at that. “She’s…a sweetheart.”

Oh, how she wanted to say his name instead.

“She is.” His voice softened. “Anyway, I’ll let you finish grading. See you Saturday.” Chris hesitated just a second longer, like he wanted to say something else, but instead, he just gave her a small nod and turned toward the door.

As he walked out, Y/N couldn’t help but shake her head with a soft laugh, staring down at the little bag of gifts.

hehe...Chris is a loser in a hot body. Foight me. I'm lost on how to continue tbh...

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[jitrulyslayyed]

Aww this was tooo cute!!!! Not the naked scene tho 😅😅

𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭

Pairing: chan x afab!reader, established relationship

Synopsis: aftercare of aftercare of love time with your baby. And maybe a casual proposal??

Warnings: kisses, suggestive references, fluff, more kisses, strawberries, anything else?

A/n: in my defense the month of love isn't over. 1/3 complete.

“You awake?” he murmured, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

You hummed contentedly, nuzzling closer to him.

“You tired?”

“I’m okay, baby. More than perfect.”

He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through his chest. “Good. I was worried I’d tire you out.” “Now, now let’s not go on assuming you were that good.” You teased, grinning against his skin.

The sheets were a mess, so to say, twisted around your bare legs.

Chan gasped in mock offence, tilting his head to look down at you. “Excuse me? You were literally begging a few minutes ago.” A warm flush crept up your neck. “Shut up,” you mumbled, hiding your face against him. He laughed lightly, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.

He placed another soft press of lips on your shoulder, the corner of your jaw, the space just between your ear. Languid, unhurried touches to make the moment last a little longer.

“You hungry?” Chan asked, after placing a longer kiss on your cheek. “Yes, please.” He paused and let out a deep amused laugh. “Guess I wore you out for real.” You groaned dramatically. Before you could protest, he rolled out of bed, stretching with a satisfied groan. The dim lights caught on the sharp lines of his body- broad shoulders, toned arms, your hickeys, the way the sheets barely hung unto his hips as he stood. Oops-

Your cheeks heated up fast as your eyes roamed shamelessly. “You really gonna walk around like that?” he smirked over his shoulder. “Why? Distracted?” Smug idiot. You threw a pillow at him. “This isn’t your dorm, Bang.” Still laughing he disappeared into the kitchen.

The soft sounds of waves crashing against the shore outside, their rhythmic melody blending with the distant hum of the city. The scent of sea salt lingered in the cool evening air, crawling in through the slightly open balcony door. The beach stretched out beyond the horizon, the moon casting a silvery glow over the water, but inside, in the warmth of the dimly lit bedroom, the world felt much much smaller- just the two of you, surrounded in the afterglow.

When he had gotten back to Australia, Chan had truly outdone himself for Valentine’s. A private beachfront house (because why not?), candlelit dinner, beach walks along the shore that had sand clinging to your feet as the water lapped at your ankles. The company had given him a week off to spend some time with you for the holiday. He went all in for this mini getaway just to spend with you, that made you feel like time had ceased. You had told him that staying at your place was more than okay, but being the stubborn human, he is, he insisted that you went on this together. It was small, intimate and perfect.

Hours after love had been made that night and confessions had faded into soft moans and breathless laughter, you lay tangled in the sheets with him, wrapped in his warmth. His body was pressed against yours, his bare chest against your back, arm draped lazily over your waist as his finger skimmed absentminded patterns along your skin.

Chan arrived with a bowl of chocolate covered strawberries.

“You’re going all out with this Valentine’s thing, I swear.” He plopped back onto the bed, pulling you into his lap before holding up a strawberry. “Had to do something for my girl.” Your heart melted as you took a bite, the flavor bursting on your tongue. Chan watched with soft eyes before leaning in to kiss away the juice lingering on your lips. The kiss deepened, burning slow and indulgent, a contrast to the passion from earlier. He nibbled on your bottom lip before pulling back, his forehead resting on yours.

“I love you,” he whispered, voice full of sincerity.

You smiled brushing you thumb over his cheek. “I love you too, Chan.”

More cuddling. More kisses. More jokes. More strawberries. It was the perfect night and you didn’t need anything more. You hummed, stretching slightly against him before turning to face him. The bedside lamp cast dim shadows over his face- his tousled curls, his soft, now swollen lips, the faint smirk tugging at his mouth.

“I think I ate too much,” you groaned, shifting to glance at the mostly empty plate of chocolate covered strawberries on the nightstand. Chan chuckled, fingers grazing your stomach gently, yet teasingly. “Told you to pace yourself, baby.”

You shot him a playful glare. “Excuse me, Mr. Let’s Have a Second Round of Snacks after a Second Round of-”

His hands flew to your mouth before you could finish. His face heating “Okay, okay, no need to expose me like that. The other guests may hear you.” you liked his palm. And he pulled with a disgusted groan. “Why are you like this…?”

“Don’t ask. You love it anyway. You decided to date this version.” He rolled his eyes but pulled you closer, letting out a content sigh. “Yeah, I do.”

Comfortable silence brewed over you two, only rarely broken by the distant sound of waves. The sheets smelled faintly of the candles he lit earlier, some still flickering. Peach? Yeah, peach. You could stay like this forever. How could you ever repay him for making you feel so good? For spending so much on the both of you? Then Chan’s voice broke through, pushing away your train of thoughts casually yet teasing.

“So, like…marriage.”

You stopped mid- reach for another strawberry. “Huh?”

He grinned, nudging your cheek with his nose. “I mean, were already great at living together, sharing food, stealing the blankets-” “You steal the blankets,” you sharply corrected.

“-And,” he continued, ignoring you, “we’re obviously obsessed with each other.” He kissed your shoulder then your jaw, voice dipping into something softer. “Wouldn’t be so bad right?”

“Hmm. I don’t know. Are you saying all this cause its Valentines Day?” he smirked “Maybe. Maybe not.” You snorted. “Y’know I’d be very sweet about it,” his voice became softer now, “I’d just say, ‘Hey, wanna do this forever?’”

In the weirdest way, your chest ached. Of course, you wanna do this with him forever.

“That’s not bad.” His eyes softened. “Yeah?” you nodded, a smile tugging at your lips. He leaned in capturing your mouth in a slow lingering kiss, one that spoke of forever without needing anymore words. “Noted,” he murmured against your lips. “For the future.”

The waves rolled outside and the night stretched on. You were in for the long run. And boy, were you happy.

Oh my gawd it's so short. I apologize...heh..

1/3. Complete

Taglist: purple means I can't tag you

@pixie-felix @jitrulyslayyed @pessimisticloather @imagine-all-the-imagines @leeknow-minho2 @imeverycliche @jc27s @necrozica @sh0dor1 @yoongiismylove2018 @idiotmaterial @makeawitchoutofme

y'all blog names....

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[jitrulyslayyed]

𝐎𝐮𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭

Pairing: rockstar!jisung x rock journalist!afab!reader, secret lovers, nonidol!au

Synopsis: he was the best and worst part of your job. Because it's always hard to interview your boyfriend and be cool about it.

Warnings: fluff, teeny crack??, reader is good at keeping secrets and jisung is cocky??

A/n: I don't know what I did. Period. Take it or leave it. If there are errors I'm sorry. I'm just a girl. Please note that this is set in the 90's...that type of rock era

The lights are harsh, the camera guy counts down and you slip into your professional persona. You took deep breaths. Your pre- interview routine was in rotation. Brushing through your notes, testing the mic, maintaining eye- contact with your guest. Jisung. Jisung, the lead singer of the band, Dead Rebels sits across from you, sprawled lazily in his chair with that signature cocky smirk. The man you’ve always wanted to meet. The number one man on your bucket-list of interviews. Your celebrity crush. His jeans, leather jacket, and messy curls screamed rockstar chaos. The director gives you a go ahead and you immediately got into character.

“Jisung,” you start, keeping your voice steady. Shoving away any signs of unease.

Pfft. As if you weren’t just tangled up with him in his dressing room an hour ago. Smooth.

“It’s been a while since we’ve had you here, back home, right? Welcome back.” He leans into the mic smiling heavily like he’s been drugged with dopamine. “Why did you guys miss me?” he asked looking directly at you. “The answer to those type of questions is always confidential, c’mon now.” You tried to play along, without your cheeks heating up. Fail. Jisung chuckled, his cheeks puffing up with his smile.

“Alright then. Let’s get into it. What’s the first question, sweetheart.” The crew chuckles at his natural charm, but your eyes subtly widened at the pet name slipping out on air. He’s pushing it. Clearing your throat, you keep it professional. “You are indeed an attraction to many personalities. Your Riot Nights, which was a sensational world tour has just concluded, congratulations on that, and it’s been a massive success. Fans are calling it you’re most electrifying yet. What’s been the most memorable moment for you so far?” Jisung tilts his head, genuinely thinking, then he smiles. “On our last night, the crowd’s energy was insane. The screaming- I swear I could fell the crowd’s adrenaline. It was so addictive. I didn’t even want to leave.” He pauses, then his eyes find yours. 

“The faces were pretty unforgettable too. Some old, some new.” You grip on the mic tightens. You knew he was talking about the fans. You tried so hard to believe that was true, but you know the real him- the one who sneaks into your hotel room after shows, the one who whispers that you’re his against your lips when no one’s watching.  And honestly, it was never meant to end up like this. 

Y/N didn’t start with a microphone in hand and camera’s rolling. Her journey into the chaotic world of rock journalism began with ink- stained fingers, late- night deadlines, a disastrous love life and a relentless passion for music. Fresh out of college with a degree she had landed her first gig in a small but scrappy rock magazine- Sound Riot. With three-star reviews, it was the place where cigarette smoke filles the office, coffee ran through pipes like water and her editors through whiskey while debating the best guitar solo of all time. Of course, she didn’t get to get to the top in an instant, you started at the bottom. Transcribing interviews, fact- checking articles, coffee runs for her selfish co-workers. But she was determined. What she tried to pitch was often rejected but never discouraged. Then, the big break came.

A last-minute cancellation left no one to cover an up-and coming band’s gig at a dive bar. The editor in charge tossed her a notepad and said, 

“You wanna write? Prove it.”

That night, Y/N wrote an article so raw, so full of grit and passion, that it got published- without edits. From then on, she became the magazine’s go to for live concert reviews, artist profiles, and eventually, exclusive interviews. And although she was on print, television came knocking on her door when her natural presence caught the attention of a producer at Pulse TV. She was hesitant at first, but the thought of being able to go face to face with the biggest rockstars of the decade? Impossible to resist. Sure, her first few takes weren’t perfect. But she soon found her rhythm fast, witty and completely unafraid to challenge even the most arrogant frontmen. 

You quickly became a favorite, not only among the company but fans too. For asking real questions instead of the industry fed fluff. For making your guests feel comfortable and at ease with you on tv. For not being afraid to push. Artists respected you for not being a sellout, for knowing true music. By the time she started interviewing the Dead Rebels and Jisung, she had a reputation. The one who asked hard- hitting questions but also made them laugh. The one artists truly wanted to talk to. 

And with Jisung, it was different from the beginning. He played along with your humor, challenged you right back, and somehow just somehow, between interviews, late- night calls, and stolen moments at afterparties, things got personal. What started as a strictly professional relationship blurred into something neither of you could ignore. The industry loved your chemistry on camera- his effortless charm and clumsiness and your sharp wit made every meeting electric. Fans obsessed over your banter, creating theories that maybe he had a thing for you.

They had no idea how right they were.

You’re one of the most respectful rock interviewers, now, although you wrote when you could. Your friendliness with artists made you a big secret keeper, but the most dangerous one you’ve kept? 

You’re in love with a man your supposed to be objectively reporting on. Nothing, absolutely nothing had prepared you foy the storm that was Han Jisung. 

Dead Rebels had just exploded onto the scene with their debut album, Eulogy of the Wild. The band had a rep for backstage chaos and making teenage rebellion poetic. When you were first sent to interview them you expected another ego-driven freak who thought he was larger than life. What you got instead was Jisung- charismatic and entirely too observant for your comfort.

You could’ve sworn he’d never taken his eyes off you. had looked at you like he saw past your façade. Then you kept crossing paths in award shows, backstage events. He’d seek you out and you’d always forget to ask him one or two questions that lingered too long.  

“How does someone like you end up in a job, like this?” he asked once, during a cigarette break on the balcony. Both of you were at another party that you’d forgotten the name of. No cameras followed you this time.

“Someone like me?”

He nodded, leaning against the railing. “You’re too real for this industry. I mean, you don’t just ask questions and shit…you get people. Y’know?” you shrugged. “I like music. I like the truth. Simple as that.” Jisung nodded, flicking ash from his cigarette. “No one’s ever asked me the truth before you did that day.”

And bam!

Phone calls then lasted till odd hours where you talked about anything but work. Sneaking out of parties and events just to spend time together. Songs played only for you, in your hotel room where Jisung let down the rockstar persona and became himself. And then one night he kissed you. Just a peaceful lingering moment in the dim light of your apartment (yes, you had given him your address after he asked nicely more than seven times) with the weight of everything unspoken pouring out.

“This is a bad idea”, you had whispered against his lips. 

“Probably,” he murmured “But I’m still gonna do it again.”

And he did. Again, and again.

Jisung hated secrets and loving you and having to keep you as one was something that pissed him off even more. The media was already obsessed with his love life constantly linking him to models, actresses and fellow musicians.

“You need to stop making vague comments now, people are getting suspicious.” You had said one day, flipping through a tabloid in a hotel room. The headline roared, JISUNG’S SECERT MUSE, WHO IS SHE? Jisung groaned as he took it from her hands. “But I love watching them lose their heads.” You rolled your eyes. 

Ever since they embarked in a relationship there were too many close calls with the paparazzi. And the fights, over secrecy and the constant fear of being exposed. Y/N’s career could be ruined or the band’s image could be shaken. But their love was real. And no amount of cameras, tabloids or industry bullshit could change that.

-

“That’s a wrap!”, someone called out, and the tension in the room snapped as crew members bean moving equipment, conversations picking up around them. And so, the backstage lounge was clogged up with cigarette smoke once again as Jisung and his members lit blunts. Y/N’s heart was still pounding as she slid off her mic pack, the remnants of the interview still hanging as the last of the media crew packed up their equipment. Y/N sat across from Jisung as she handed a crew her mic. He looked at her. 

‘Another illusion well crafted, babe. I’m proud of you.’

You forced a professional smile. “I hope to see you around, rockstar.” You stood, smoothing out your blouse. “You heading out already?” he asked. You glanced over your shoulder meeting his gaze. “Yeah. Early flight tomorrow.” Jisung leaned back on the couch feigning nonchalance, but the way his fingers gripped the armrest betrayed him. “Shame. Guess I’ll be drinking alone tonight.” You smirked, turning back to the door. “Don’t do anything reckless, rockstar.” And you walked out ignoring the way his gaze burned on your skin.

-

 The elevator ride was quiet, save for the classics overhead. You pressed your lips together, steadying your breath. The soft ding signaled your arrival. You walked through the hotel lobby, head down, hood up. You were just another guest walking through. In your pocket your fingers brushed over the room number scrawled in Jisung’s lazy handwriting. When you reached the door, you knocked once. On your attempt to knock again the door cracked open.

There Jisung stood. Fresh out of the shower, his damp hair messily falling over his forehead, droplets still clinging to his skin. He was wearing nothing but a pair of low-hanging sweatpants, revealing the sharp cut of his abs and the intricate designs of his tattoos. The air that wafted out of the room smelled like soap, cologne, and a faint trace of smoke, mixing with the heat from his shower. His eyes flickered over you, slow deliberate, like he was drinking you in.

“You’re late,” he murmured, voice hoarse yet laced with softness. Before you could respond he reached out, gripping your wrist and pulling you inside. The door clicked shut behind you, and Jisung used his other hand to twist the lock.

Your breath hitched as his fingers ghosted over your waist, firm enough to keep you in place. “Had to make it convincing,” you finally murmured, your pulse skyrocketing. His lips curled into a knowing smile. “Yeah?” low and teasing he stepped closer. “Oh, and by the way, that little eye roll earlier? Cute, but they’re gonna catch on one day.”

“And whose fault is that?”

His hands slid to the small of your back. “You make it really hard not to look at you the way I want to.” You exhaled sharply, letting your forehead rest against his. “Jisung…”  

“I know, baby.” He murmured. “Just us. Just for tonight, yeah?”

You answered by closing the distance between you. your lips melting with his, fingers tangling into his hair as he sighed into the kiss- like he’d been waiting all damn day. You both had. For the moments that didn’t always last. With no camera, no prying eyes and no pretending.

I feel dissatisfied with this...I feel like I could've done more. please try to enjoy. I'll do better next time.

Taglist:

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~kc💗

[jitrulyslayyed]

AAAAHHH!!! 👏🏾👏🏾👏🏾👏🏾🤌🏾 CHEFS KISSS CANT WAIT FOR MORE CHAPTERSSS

𝐃𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲 𝐈𝐬𝐬𝐮𝐞𝐬

Pairing: dad!chris x teacher!afab!reader, friends to lovers, nonidol!au

Synopsis: Go ahead and cry, little girl, Nobody does it like you do, I know how much it matters to you, I know that you got daddy issues, And if you were my little girl, I'd do whatever I could do, I'd run away and hide with you

Warnings: domestic fluff, angst, tears and all, references to the neighborhood, ft. 2racha, lemme know if I've missed something

A/n: the neighborhood. They did this to me. Reader isn't going to be mentioned on the story a lot...well at least in this first chapter. I swear I got carried away with this I didn't mean for it to be this long 😔 it wasn't even meant to be a chapter like story...

She wasn’t his. A constant reminder that knocked at the back of his mind.

Chris wasn’t the kind of man to complain over every small detail. Life had handed him its fair share of punches, and he’d taken his fair share without even flinching or losing the warmth in his heart. Anyone who saw him on the outside would think of him as the one that had everything good happening to him. But on the inside, the scars remained- ugly and tender. Before it all turned grey, he was actually living the life. A newlywed with a beautiful baby three months in the making. Victoria, his now ex-wife was an extravagant person and Chris knew that but she still had other loveable qualities which he doted on. Come five years down the line, and the secrets began to come to light.

Victoria had always wanted more. More money, more status, more luxury. She knew Chris had all of that so she just decided to play along with his domestic loveable fantasies. And Chris had known this about her from the start, but he had convinced himself that love would be enough. That their little circle-just him, Victoria, and their now four-year-old daughter, Mia-would be enough.

He was wrong.

It started with the late nights out, business dinners and events with people whose names Chris never recognized. Which Chris saw as karma for constantly keeping his late nights at work too but she always came back with excuses that didn’t really add up but then again, he pushed it aside, to exhausted from his own work and raising Mia to argue. Then it was her appearance. Disheveled hair, messed up make up, hickeys? Sure, he’s been lacking in being the romantic husband but he didn’t remember giving her any of those.

“Can we talk, baby?” he had tried to ask her one evening, when he put Mia to bed. They were in their shared bedroom which was beginning to feel lonelier by the week. Victoria sat at her vanity, in pristine white doing her night routine. “About?” she responded flatly.

“U-us,” he takes off his shirt and folds it neatly. “Am I not making you feel good anymore?” she paused, looked at him through the mirror and chuckled “What’s making you say that, Chris?”

“You’ve got marks. And I haven’t given you any…”

She applied cream under her eyes. “isn’t that supposed to make you feel bad?” he gave a tight-lipped expression “Baby,” he walked over to her. “I-I know I haven’t been as romantic as I was before and that’s on me. But it’s making me feel uncomfortable that I’m seeing this and that it wasn’t me who- “

Victoria sighed, setting down the jar of cream with an exasperated clink. She turned in her chair, crossing her legs as she reagree Chris with an almost amused expression.

“You’re being dramatic,” she said cooly. “It’s just a few marks. Why does it matter where they came from?” Chris felt his stomach twist. “Because I love you. because I-”

“Love isn’t enough, Chris,” she interrupted, her tone sharp. “You think just because you get to come home every night and kiss Mia goodnight it’ll make me so obsessed with you that I’d forget my own needs?” his brows furrowed as he plopped himself on the edge of the bed. “I-I don’t understand…” Victoria rolled her eyes. “It’s not just about her, Chris. I have needs too. I need just as much excitement and love as Mia gets. I need passion, I need to be with someone who treats me like I deserve to be loved not like another chore at the end of the day.” Chris felt something crack inside his chest. “A chore?” He echoed, voice above a whisper. Isn’t that what she made him feel like? Barely giving him any breathing space with all the ‘don’t forget to pick these up at the store’, or ‘I can’t make it blah blah blah I have an appointment’ and all the other useless excuses he carried on his shoulder.

“And Mia? What does she need. What does she deserve?”

“Don’t start that. She deserves stability. You work all the time too and I’ve told you timelessly that you can’t be keeping your late schedule when we have her to think about. Look, the difference between us is just that I’ve found a way to make it work for me. To balance you and my…real needs.”

Realization dawned like a cold slap to the face. “There’s someone else.” She didn’t deny it. Didn’t. Even. Flinch. Victora turned back to the mirror, picking up her cream again as if the conversation had already ended in her mind. “You don’t have to worry about me, baby. I can take care of myself and leave. We’ll file for divorce. And I’ll take Mia.” He couldn’t even understand her anymore. She just wants to leave? She’s not going to hear his side of the story? Taking his baby girl?! His eyes shot up. “Like hell you will.” Chris rarely raised his voice at her before, but that night, the betrayal shattered something inside him. “So that’s it? You’re walking away from your family for a supposedly bigger paycheck?”

Her eyes still focused on her reflection she spoke, “This is a blessing in disguise, Chris. Take it or leave it.”

And that was when the real war began.

The woman had connections, the bitch. Lawyers who knew how to twist the narrative. Chris worked long hours making him ‘too busy’ to be a full-time parent. He didn’t come from money making him ‘unstable’ compared to Victoria’s new fiancé- a wealthy, well-respected businessman. The court never even asked who Mia wanted to stay with. Despite everything Chris fought. Hard. But the corrupt system wasn’t built to favor fathers like him. In the saddening end, Victoria was granted full custody. He was left with weekends and whatever stolen moments he could manage. Innocent Mia had sobbed in his arms the first time she had to leave. Chris had nearly broken down right there with her. She couldn’t understand it all but what she did know was that being with her father was never enough. He was so close yet so far away.

At the time Chris didn’t have a lot of people to lean on, but if there were two people who saw everything from the beginning, it was Changbin and Jisung. They saw it all. They were the ones who stayed- when everyone whispered about how he should’ve seen it coming or how maybe he just wasn’t enough. Changbin was the first to throw a punch when some asshole had the nerve to call Chris pathetic for loving someone who was visibly used him. Jisung had been the one to show up at his doorstep at 3 A.M., with food, refusing to leave until Chris had at least eaten something. Now, they were the ones who made sure Mia had people who truly adored her and treated her like family, even when her mother made her feel like a second thought.

-

The school bell echoed through the courtyard, signaling freedom for dozens of gleeful kids. Chris leaned against his car, scanning the crowd until his eyes landed on her- Mia, sprinting towards him with wild abandon, her backpack bouncing on her shoulders.

“Daddy!” She screamed, her face lighting like the sun. Chris opened his arms just in time for her to crash into him. He lifted her off the ground spinning her around as pure joy surged through him.

Mia’s eyes sparkled as she hugged him tight. “Can we get ice cream before dinner tonight?” he chuckled. “Ice cream before dinner? That sounds like trouble, baby.” “Please?” she begged, tilting her head in that way that always melted him. He sighed dramatically. “Anything for my babygirl.”

Chris’ apartment wasn’t grand. Well not as grand as the one he used to have with his ex-wife. But it was warm. Lived-in. The type of place where every corner held memories- some old some new, most centered around Mia, of course. Mia’s drawings were taped to the fridge, stick figures holding hands with big smiles and a sun in the constant corner that shone too brightly. Tiny pink socks and stuffed animals littered the couch, evidence of the weekend play sessions that always ended with Mia curled up against his side, fighting sleep just to stay up a little longer with him.

When she was with him, Chris was dad in every sense of the word. He cooked her meals even when they turned out slightly burnt, he helped her with homework (which explaining to her sometimes confused him in the process). When it came to bedtime stories, he helped her pick them out and carried her to the bed when she fell asleep mid-play. Some Saturdays he would take her to the studio and sometimes it was unavoidable. Mia was always curious about her dad’s job. Plus, she vaguely remembers that she used to see him working with different genres of people when she was younger, back when she had more than weekends with him.

So, after stopping for her favorite snack on a Saturday morning, they arrived at the studio. When they walked in, Mia’s eyes widened as she took everything in. tiny sparks of color filled the faint memories of this place in her mind. The soundproof walls, the scattered yet arranged equipment, the glowing computer screens displaying colorful waveforms. “Woah…” She bounced forward, her tiny hands gripping her bunny in its ears. Chris smiled watching her.

“Cool, yeah?” Chris ruffled before guiding her to the main recording room. “Come on, I’ll show you where the chaos happens.” Before they could go any further, a familiar voice called out.

“Yaa! Is that my favorite troublemaker?!” Mia’s face lit up instantly as Changbin appeared from one of the side rooms, arms spread wide. “Uncle Binnie!” she squealed, running to him without hesitation. Chris barely had time before she leapt into Changbin’s arms, giggling as he spun her around. “Look at you, getting so big! What happened to tiny Mia I used to know?”

“I’m still tiny,” she giggled. “I dunno…you’re almost as big as your dad now,” He teased, shooting the other man a smirk. Chris rolled his eyes. “Funny.” They got in to the studio together. Chris dropped Mia’s backpack on the couch at the end of the room, as Changbin sat her on his lap.

“Where’s J. One?” he asked. As if on cue the door opened with Jisung walking in, coffee in hand. His eyes darted straight to the tiny person on Changbin’s lap, playfully blinking in disbelief. “No way. Is that my Mia?”

Mia gasped. “Uncle ‘Sung!” she wriggled out of the other’s arms and ran straight for Jisung who caught her one-handed with ease, throwing her into his arms. “Daang, I haven’t seen you in forever!” he said dramatically, pretending to stagger under her weight. “You sure you’re not twenty now?” she squeaked, hitting his shoulder “I’m six!”

“Six? No way. You’re lying,” he teased dropping her.

Chris shook his head, watching as they fell into playful banter. Mia looked genuinely happy, completely forgetting about everything else. And it made Chris forget about everything to for a while. At least on most Saturdays.

-

Sundays were the worst. For both of them. Sunday nights felt like losing her all over again. Chris never liked to bring up Victoria unless Mia did first. He knew better than to talk shit about her mother in front of her, no matter how much resentment he held. She was too young to understand the full extent of what happened, and he didn’t want her carrying the weight of their broken marriage. But sometimes, she asked questions. And those were the hard moments.

After dinner one Sunday, with Mia’s bags packed and toys arranged, Chris was brushing her hair. She sat on the couch, the bunny clutched to her chest. She had been quiet. They were always strangely quiet on Sunday nights. He didn’t push, but Mia always spoke when she was ready. Mr. Bean played softly on the TV in the background when she finally spoke.

“Do you like Mr. Dlyan?”. He froze, his hands pausing mid-stroke. That was the name of Victoria’s new husband. The one that seemed to have wider pockets according to her. He forced himself to keep his voice light. “Why do you ask, baby?”

Mia shrugged, kicking her feet. “Mommy says he’s nice. And that he takes good care of us.” “He’s mommy’s new husband, but you know that already.” He said carefully. “Do you like him?” she hesitated, her tiny fingers fiddling with the edge of her animal’s ear. “He buys me lots of toys,” she admitted. “And he says I can call him Dad if I want to.” His grip on the brush tightened. He took a slow breath, forcing down the lump in his throat.

“And do you want to?”

She looked up at him then, big, honest eyes searching his face. “No.”

Relief washed over him so quickly it made him feel guilty. He cleared his throat and set the brush down, gently pulling her into his lap. “Mia, listen to me,” he said softly. “You can call him whatever makes you comfortable. But just because mommy married someone else doesn’t make me any less of a father. Especially your father. That will never change. Okay?”

Mia nodded, gripping his shirt. “I don’t want him to be my dad. I already have one.” He smiled pressing a kiss to her head. “That’s right, baby. You do.” She snuggled closer. “But mommy says I should be happy with him. That its better this way.”

Chris shut his eyes for a moment, trying to gather his emotions before they could break through. He hated the idea of Mia feeling pressured, of her thinking she had to accept this new man as a father figure just to keep the peace. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, Mia,” he murmured. “You’re allowed to feel how you feel.”

She turned back to the tv. “But I want to be with you.” Chris held her a little tighter, kissing her forehead like he always did when the words I love you weren’t enough.

“Me too, baby. Me too.”

The sky was painted in muted hues of blue and orange, the sun seemed reluctant to set as Chris’s car idled in front of his ex-wife’s pristine suburban house. Mia sat in the backseat, silent, her small fingers anxiously twisting the strap of her backpack. Chris stole a glance at her through the rearview mirror, his chest tightening at the sight of her downcast face.

“We’re here, sweetheart,” he said softly, hating the weight of those words. Mia didn’t move. Her lips wobbled, and tears threatened to spill over her long lashes. Chris unbuckled his seatbelt and turned in his seat, reaching for her hand. “Hey,” he whispered, “It’s okay.” “It’s not okay,” she sniffled, her voice breaking. “I hate going back. Mommy doesn’t even talk to me ask, Daddy. She’s always busy with her friends and her phone! Its better being with you daddy! I don’t wanna go back!”

“I know it’s hard,” he murmured, cupping her cheek. “But you’ll be back with me on Friday. We'll do anything you want, yeah? Just you and me.” She tried to smile, but crumbled into tears. He couldn’t take it anymore. He unbuckled her seatbelt and pulled her into his arms, letting her cry against his shoulder. “It’s okay to cry, baby,” he whispered, his own voice thick. “But I promise- Daddy always comes back for you.” her fingers clutched his jacket like a lifeline. “I love you, Daddy.” She choked out.

“I love you too, Mia. So much.”

That was the loop. The constant loop that went on and on. Chris was so tired of it all.

Till you came in.

Gawddd I swear I didn't want it to be this long...this was prolly just like an intro ig...I don't know 😭

Taglist:

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~kc💗

[jitrulyslayyed]

For the life of me...😭😭😭😭 Please baby!! Your too sexy for this world

HYUNJIN for GIVENCHY BEAUTY & MARIE CLAIRE