m-325

[m-325]

someone i could love - han jisung

Synopsys: In a world where love often strikes like lightning, two former classmates—once distant and overlooked—find themselves drawn together again under the bright but demanding spotlight of the entertainment industry. As Han Jisung battles his own anxieties and the pressures of fame, you slowly discover the quiet, steady flame of a love that’s been there all along. Through awkward moments, late-night studio rehearsals, and gentle confessions, the two of you learn that sometimes love doesn’t roar—it simmers, growing stronger with every shared smile and every small touch, until it becomes impossible to ignore.

Word count: 9,7k

Warnings: fluff, slight angst, but with happy ending, Han's social anxiety, Han running away

Song in title: someone i could love - charlotte cardin

The ways of love are strange—no doubt about that. Sometimes, all it takes is a single glance. Suddenly, your world tilts, your planet shifts its orbit, and the stars rearrange themselves into something magical. Something otherworldly. A light so blinding, it leaves you dazed. A symphony so loud, it drowns out everything else.

Other times, love creeps in slowly, quietly. Just a spark—barely there—flickering in the shadows, waiting for the smallest gust of wind to breathe it back to life. And when it does, it burns wildly, consuming everything in its path. Like an inactive volcano, silent for years, suddenly erupting with all the emotion it had buried deep inside. This kind of love feels more like longing than anything else.

You meet Han Jisung in school. You share many classes with him, considering you're both foreign students and can only take courses in English. At first, he doesn’t really stand out. He’s shy, a little nerdy, and often keeps to himself. You notice early on that he clams up when he’s uncomfortable and tends to fade into the background unless he’s with people he trusts.

Nonetheless, he has some witty remarks, ones whispered under his breath, not expecting anyone to hear them, that are so funny they make the whole class laugh. He’s definitely a little odd, but there’s something endearing about him. He’s kind, helpful, the sort of person you know you could count on. No one at school has a bad word to say about Han Jisung. He wouldn’t hurt a soul. He smiles warmly at everyone—genuinely, not out of habit—and that smile is something people remember.

You, on the other hand, are a different story.

You’ve got a crowd. Your friends are loud, confident, impossible to ignore. They own every room they walk into, and while you're always with them, you sometimes feel like you don’t fully belong. The odd one out. The quiet presence in the middle of all the noise.

You’re not one for the spotlight, not really—but it can be nice, being surrounded by people. You listen more than you talk. You’re the one who steps in when someone crosses a line, the calm in the chaos. You like your friends, even if they’re a bit too much sometimes. Still, being popular in high school is intoxicating. You like being seen. You like that people know your name, that you’re part of the stories they tell.

And you’re not like the other popular kids. You don’t bully anyone. You’re kind, always smiling—everyone says so. A ray of sunshine, impossible to dislike. You wouldn’t even hurt a beetle.

Everyone is mesmerized by you. Including Han Jisung.

At school, your “relationship” with Han is nothing out of the ordinary. You're not exactly friends, but you sit together in some classes and work on group projects now and then. You only talk about mundane things—never anything deeper than homework or academics. You know he's funny and silly, sometimes clumsy, but it's clear he’s passionate, hardworking, and takes any project he's involved in seriously.

He carries an MP3 player with him everywhere, practically panicking if it goes missing for even a few seconds. He loves talking about music, which you find geeky—but kind of adorable. You think he’s cute, in a helpless little brother sort of way. Not in a would-like-to-kiss way.

Jisung, on the other hand, is convinced he's in love with you from the very first moment you interact—when he asks to borrow a pen. You nod cheerfully and hand him a Hello Kitty pen. As he reaches for it, your hands brush ever so slightly. And that’s it—Han Jisung is doomed.

He makes a quiet promise to himself: he'll savor every second he gets to spend with you. He knows those moments will be limited by social norms, your busy schedule (cool kids always have cool things to do), and his inevitable return to Korea. He hates that his hands get clammy and he gets fidgety around you, but he's grateful for the laughs and easy conversations you share. You're a good listener. You have a skill he envies: the ability to connect with anyone, to befriend whoever crosses your path. He's a little jealous of that, but never resentful—it probably makes him like you even more, even if only from a distance.

If Han is sure of one thing, it’s that you can never find out how he feels. Because his feelings are stupid, he tells himself. He barely knows you. You’re just kids. There’s no way he should feel this attached to the idea of you. So he keeps it quiet. And surprisingly, he manages to hide it for a long time—at least until he returns to Korea.

One day, he’s just gone. No goodbye—not to you, at least. Rumors float around school that he moved back to Korea to pursue a music career. You're surprised, but also oddly proud of him. You didn’t know much about the boba-eyed boy, but if there was one thing you were sure of, it was that he was a music nerd. You make a quiet note to wish him well in whatever he does. And, somewhere in the back of your mind, you kind of hope he makes it big one day.

A few years later, Han finally makes it. He becomes an idol. He debuts with his group, Stray Kids, alongside eight of his friends. He’s finally doing what he’s dreamed of his whole life: making music. He’s having fun, he's found friends he knows are for life.

But still, there’s a certain emptiness inside him.

He finds himself thinking about you every now and then. With every milestone they hit, every award they win, every record they break—he wonders about you. Do you remember him? Do you know he’s kind of famous now? That he’s out there, making music? Do you ever see his face on banners or posters around town? And if you do... are you thinking of him? Are you proud of him?

He tells himself he’ll probably never get answers to those questions.

Until one day, everything changes. One of his members decides to leave the group, and their PR manager is fired for mishandling the situation. A replacement is brought in immediately. The group is called in for a meeting to meet the new recruit.

And the second Han steps into the room, his eyes lock with yours. He recognizes you instantly.

And just like that—like a volcano that’s been dormant for years, quietly building pressure beneath the surface—his heart erupts. All the feelings he thought he buried come rushing back, stronger than ever.

"Han-ah! Close your mouth, or a mosquito’s gonna fly in!" Changbin teases, punching the younger boy playfully on the arm.

"Hyung! Hyung!" Seungmin calls out, trying to break Jisung out of whatever trance he’s stuck in. He waves his hands dramatically in front of those sparkly, boba-like eyes—locked firmly on you—but nothing in that moment could bring Han back to earth.

Bang Chan watches from the side, quietly trying to make sense of the situation. He’s seen his bandmate in all kinds of moods—he’s seen him go completely silent around strangers, and he’s seen him bounce off the walls, spewing nervous nonsense thanks to his social anxiety. But this? This is something else entirely.

Standing there in front of you, Han Jisung is frozen. Speechless.

But his eyes tell a different story. They’re calm. Full of fondness and familiarity.

"What is wrong with your friend?" Seungmin asks Chris, his voice sarcastic, but with a hint of concern—the kind he reserves for his bandmates.

Jisung’s brain doesn’t register anything happening around him. He doesn't hear the chaotic bickering between Hyunjin and Minho. He doesn’t see Seungmin or Jeongin making ridiculous faces, failing miserably at trying to snap him out of it.

All he sees is you.

He watches as a warm smile spreads across your face. He watches the moment you recognize him—the way your eyes crinkle with genuine happiness at seeing someone from the past. Someone you didn’t expect.

"Long time no see, Han Jisung!" you say brightly—and the entire room freezes. The members stare at you in stunned disbelief, silently wondering how and since when you’ve known their beloved rapper.

Han finally snaps out of his daze and acts on pure instinct. He crosses the room in a few long strides and pulls you into a tight hug. Neither of your brains fully processes what’s happening—if he weren't so shocked, he’s certain he would’ve run in the opposite direction instead of being this bold. But he can’t help it. You’re here. You’re finally here.

He’s spent so much time daydreaming about this moment, imagining what he would do, what he would say. But now that it’s real, all those carefully crafted scenarios vanish. Logic is gone. All that remains is something primal, a feeling so deeply rooted it overrides everything else.

You don’t hesitate. You hug him back, your arms wrapping around his lean torso. He smells like a dream. His oversized T-shirt is soft against your skin, warm and comforting—a perfect embrace, one that soothes a restless heart.

“It’s so great to see you again,” he whispers. You’re pretty sure the words were meant for your ears only, but he’s far too excited to control his volume. Everyone hears the not-so-subtle confession, and the room erupts with hollering and whistling.

But none of it registers. Not for either of you. You're too caught up in the moment.

After a few seconds, you pull away just enough to look at him properly. Your eyes scan his face, drinking in the details. He still has that boyish charm—the sparkly boba eyes, the soft pout, the expressive brows, the round cheeks—but he’s changed, too. There’s a maturity in his features now. He’s devilishly handsome in that same geeky, endearing way, but he’s grown into himself. His hair is professionally styled, his skin smooth and glassy, and his signature moles glimmer like rhinestones on his cheeks.

“Ahem.”

Someone clears their throat. Loudly. Both you and Han turn toward Bang Chan like startled deer caught in headlights. Han practically jumps back with a squeak, quickly bowing and blurting out a rapid “Annyeonghaseyo!”—as if the last five minutes hadn’t just happened. He looks like a cartoon character, and you can’t help but laugh at his flustered antics.

You respond in perfect Korean and bow respectfully, greeting each of the members one by one. Your formality surprises them—and Han most of all. You speak the language so fluently, your mannerisms so naturally Korean-like, he’s speechless.

He watches as you chat with Chan, still speaking Korean, and his surprise only grows. He doesn’t remember you ever knowing the language, let alone mentioning a visit to his home country. Somehow, impossibly, this new side of you makes him fall even harder.

The other members chime in, turning the conversation into a full-on interrogation. Where are you from? How did you learn Korean? How do you know Han Jisung? How close are you to their beloved Quokka-boy?

You explain everything. After high school, you moved to Seoul for university. Even though you took English-taught courses, your scholarship required you to learn Korean. After graduation, you decided to stay in the country as you were given a great work opportunity at a renowned company, you just couldn’t miss out on. You tell them that a few weeks ago, a headhunter from JYP Entertainment offered you a payment package impressive enough to switch companies.

Which brings you here. Their new PR Manager.

Han hangs on every word, completely captivated by your confidence. You’ve changed so much. You’re still beautiful—gorgeous, even—but there’s a new polish to you. The way you dress, the way you speak, the energy you carry. It’s probably because it’s your first day at JYPE and you’re trying to stay professional in order to make a good first impression. Still, he wonders: Do you still dress like you used to outside of work? Still laugh the same way? Still walk with that same bounce in your step?

No matter how much you’ve grown, one thing hasn’t changed: your warmth. Your smile still lights up every room. You still speak with that signature fondness. Your eyes still shine with curiosity.

He's standing so close now. Closer than you ever thought he would be again.

And you won’t lie—you don’t mind it. Not even a little.

It’s strange, isn’t it? The way time toys with you. How someone can slip out of your life, leaving behind nothing but fading memories and half-buried what-ifs… only to reappear like a song you used to love but forgot how it went. One moment he’s just a thought in the back of your mind, and the next—he’s here. Real. Right in front of you.

And you can’t stop wondering: did you two just meet at the wrong time?

Because back then… you weren’t ready. You thought you were. You convinced yourself you had it all figured out. But the truth is, you didn’t really see him. Not fully. Not in the way he deserved to be seen.

Your head was somewhere else—floating in clouds, chasing distractions that meant nothing in the long run. You didn’t know what love looked like when it was quiet and patient. You didn’t know what he looked like when he was trying to show you.

And maybe it’s foolish, maybe it’s far too late—but now, standing here with him looking at you like you’re still someone worth remembering… you’d give anything to try again. Not to go back—no. But to reach for something new built on the pieces you never really let go of.

He’s older now. You are too. And even with all the growing up you’ve both done, something about this moment feels like home. Like something you didn’t realize you were missing until it was standing right in front of you again.

You wonder if he feels it too.

Maybe this is the universe finally playing fair. Maybe it’s just another cruel twist in the plot. You don’t know.

But if he asked—if he even hinted—you know you’d try. You’d try to make it up to him.

Not with dramatic apologies or perfect words. Just with something real. Something honest. You’d show up, fully present this time. You’d stay.

If he lets you.

You’re standing right there.

He swears his heart is doing something it shouldn’t be allowed to—skipping beats, crashing against his ribs like it’s trying to break free, to get to you. You haven’t even touched him again, not since that first hug, but he still feels your presence like static on his skin.

It should scare him. It should be too much. But it isn’t. Not even close.

Because to him, you’re already a sin. A temptation he surrendered to a long time ago.

And he doesn't care.

He never stood a chance, not really—not when it came to you. You were sunlight and softness and a mess of contradictions, and he was a kid who didn’t know what to do with the way you made the world feel brighter and heavier at the same time. He kept his distance then because he thought he had to. Because he thought someone like you—someone with so much light—would never want someone like him. Someone who hid in shadows and second-guessed everything he felt.

But now? You’re back. You’re here. And he realizes with terrifying clarity: he doesn’t care if you hurt him.

You could burst into flames right in front of him, and he’d still reach out. You could look him in the eye, say you were only ever passing through, and he’d still hold the door open for you to come and go as you please. He’s not afraid of getting burned—not if it means being near you, even just for a moment.

Because there’s something about you that’s sweeter than the danger. Softer than the risk. Something he can't refuse.

If you asked—if you even looked at him a certain way—he’d become anything for you. A friend. A fool. A flame. A home.

You could wound him again and again, and he’d still stand there, arms open, ready to take it. Ready to hold the pain if it meant he could have a piece of you too.

He’s not like the others. The ones who looked at you and ran because they didn’t know what to do with someone so fiercely alive. Han isn’t running. Not this time.

He’ll stay.

He’ll take the storm, the fire, the chaos. He’ll embrace you, every imperfect part. Every beautiful flaw.

Because, no matter how much it might hurt, loving you has always felt better than losing you.

After the initial meeting and the gruesome interrogation inflicted on you by the members of Stray Kids, the following days go by without anything exceptional happening. You're trying your hardest to catch up on all the aspects of your new job, how you should approach certain topics of conversation, and how to depict the members online in different styles of interviews and shows. Their pre-established style allows their persona to shine through, individually and as a group. You're drowning in work, you're stressed, and worst of all, starving, having not eaten anything else throughout the day, for one chocolate croissant from the company cafeteria, which you considered would go well with your morning coffee.

You’re organizing a few papers on your tablet when you hear a soft shuffle behind you. You turn around and find Han lingering by the doorway like he’s considering turning back.

You raise an eyebrow. “You lost, Han Jisung?”

He grins nervously, then immediately glances at the floor. “No—well, kind of. Emotionally? Spiritually? Logistically? No. I’m here for a reason. I swear.”

You blink at him. “Okay… Should I be worried?”

He steps inside and shuts the door behind him, hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie. “No, no—definitely not. I mean, unless… you hate food. Or me. But I’m hoping you don’t hate either.”

You tilt your head, trying to hide your smile. “That’s a strange way to ask a question, Han.”

“Right.” He exhales. “Okay. Let me restart.”

He straightens his posture dramatically, puffing up like he’s about to give a TED Talk, then immediately deflates. “Wow, nope. That felt worse. Why is this so hard?”

You chuckle softly, waiting.

“Okay. So,” he finally says, stepping closer. “I was thinking… maybe you and I could grab dinner sometime soon? Just, you know, catch up, reminisce about the good old days, complain about school, laugh about how socially awkward I was—and still am, apparently.”

You laugh, genuinely now. “You are kind of in a drama, Han.”

“Yeah, well, if this is a drama, I’m the comic relief. And also the love interest. And probably the tragic backstory guy, too. Triple threat.” He smirks, but there’s a flicker of nervousness in his eyes. “But seriously… I’d like to spend some time with you. Just us. Nothing fancy. We could go somewhere lowkey. I promise I won’t even rap at you unless you specifically request it.”

You pretend to consider. “Hmm… will there be food?”

“Unlimited food,” he nods. “Possibly some awkward small-talk and excited rambling. And maybe—if you’re lucky—an old embarrassing story or two about high school Jisung.”

“Well, how could I say no to that?”

He grins so wide it reaches his eyes, boyish and bright. “So that’s a yes?”

You nod. “That’s a yes.”

Han blinks. “Wait—really?”

You smile. “You were convincing. Also, I’m starving. And you said food.”

“Oh, thank God,” he breathes, the tension melting from his shoulders. “Because if you’d said no, I would’ve had to awkwardly moonwalk out of here and pretend this conversation never happened.”

You laugh. “You still could, if you really wanted to.”

“Tempting, but I’d rather feed you than humiliate myself. Again.” He glances around. “You done for the day?”

You check the time, then shrug. “Honestly? I’ve been pretending to understand this document for the last twenty minutes. I think my brain left the building an hour ago.”

“Perfect,” he says, eyes lighting up. “Come on, then. There’s this little place not far from here. Nothing fancy, but they’ve got killer tteokbokki and mandu.”

“That sounds dangerously good,” you say, grabbing your bag.

“Dangerously necessary,” he corrects, holding the door open for you.

You walk out side by side, the office lights humming behind you, the air outside thick with evening warmth. The conversation picks up easily, full of half-finished stories and half-remembered jokes from school. It’s easy—familiar in the best way.

You’re walking beside him, close enough for your arms to brush every now and then, and Han’s trying not to lose his mind about it. You actually said yes.

You’re not just being polite either—you’re laughing, your steps are light, and you’re looking at him like he’s... someone. Not a background character in your story. Not the awkward kid who used to whisper sarcastic comments during group presentations. Just—Han. And okay, maybe this isn’t a date. But it feels like something. Something rare. Something new. And if this is all he gets, just this one night where you see him in full color instead of the faded tones he’s used to—he’ll take it.

The restaurant is tucked into a quiet side street, warm light glowing through foggy windows. Inside, it smells like fried batter, chili oil, and something sweet simmering in the back. Comfort food.

You slide into the booth across from Han, who immediately flattens the paper napkin on the table like it’s a formal dinner setting. “Please prepare your palate,” he says seriously. “Tonight’s menu includes nostalgia, sodium, and possible indigestion.”

You snort. “Perfect. That’s exactly my vibe.”

He grins, a little lopsided and proud of himself for making you laugh.

When the food comes—steaming hot bowls of tteokbokki, crispy mandu, and two fizzy drinks you can’t even name—he watches carefully as you take your first bite.

You groan. “Oh my god. This is so good.”

“I know, right?” He lights up. “I found this place by accident during trainee hell weeks. It became my go-to comfort spot. Kind of like a greasy therapist.”

He’s funny. He’s always been funny, you realize—but back then, you were too busy stressing over GPA and being the “nice one” in your loud friend group to really see him. He was just the shy guy with headphones and brilliant one-liners whispered under his breath.

You didn’t know he was like this.

Effortlessly charming. Warm. Quick. Comfortable in his skin, but still that same gentle, quiet soul.

And maybe it’s just the glow of the restaurant lights, or the way he’s smiling like he’s genuinely happy just to be here—but you suddenly feel something strange curl in your chest.

A small, silent question: How much did I miss… by not looking closer?

You shake it off, refocus on your food. On him. On now. He’s still talking about old dorm horror stories, his eyes bright with memory, his hands animated. And you’re listening. Really listening.

After that dinner, something between you and Han shifts—not dramatically, but enough that you notice. You find yourself looking for him during work hours, though it’s not easy. Stray Kids are nonstop, always pulled in every direction: studio sessions, dance rehearsals, photoshoots, YouTube lives—you name it. Their schedules are packed tight, and they rarely stop moving.

Yet somehow, Han never fails to drop by your office every single day he’s at the building. Without fail, he shows up with a snack or a coffee in hand, plus a lame joke that somehow gets funnier each time. Some days, he’s already in full makeup, looking sharp and camera-ready; other days, he strolls in wearing sweats and a hoodie, hair tousled, face completely bare—but somehow still managing to look effortlessly handsome.

Every time you see him, it feels a little bit easier to breathe. His jokes get better, his smiles wider, and his hugs—well, his hugs start to feel warmer, like they’re meant just for you. You realize slowly, maybe even a little reluctantly, that he’s becoming something you didn’t expect to want so much. You're knee-deep in schedules and promo notes when a soft knock taps against your open office door.

“Delivery for the overworked and under-caffeinated,” Han says, stepping in with two iced Americanos and a triumphant grin.

You glance up, smiling despite the stress clouding your head. “If this is poisoned, make it quick. I’ve lived a good life.”

“Tempting, but I didn’t have time to Google the dosage.” He sets the coffee on your desk and perches on the edge of the guest chair like he might spring back up at any moment. His hoodie sleeves are pushed up, revealing a few faint ink stains on his wrist, probably from lyric scribbles or doodles. His hair is still damp from rehearsal, slightly curling at the ends. “I brought a joke, too,” he announces, already grinning like he knows it’s terrible.

“Of course you did.”

“What’s a producer’s favorite kind of rice?”

You give him a flat look. “Oh no.”

“Beats-rice,” he declares, finger guns and all.

You groan loudly, covering your face with one hand. “That’s not even a pun.”

“Sure it is. You just don’t get my genius.”

“I do. That’s the problem.”

He chuckles, and for a moment, the room feels lighter, like you’ve both pressed pause on the chaos just outside your door. You sip the coffee he brought and sigh. “You really don’t have to keep doing this, you know.”

“I know,” he says, quiet for a beat. “But I want to.”

You look at him then, really look, and something inside you shifts—just slightly. He’s not the awkward boy from school anymore. Or maybe he is, but now you see the charm in it. The steadiness. The ease. And for the first time, you catch yourself wondering—not all at once, but slowly, gently—how you ever missed this.

You didn’t come here looking for anything. Not love. Not distraction. Especially not someone who smiles like that and makes you laugh like you’re seventeen again.

You’ve always been fine on your own—thrived in your own space, danced to your own rhythm. You’ve built your world with your own two hands, moved cities, chased dreams, handled heartbreaks. You’ve learned not to need anyone else to feel whole.

But lately, when Han looks at you—when he’s lingering in your doorway with some stupid joke and too much hope in his eyes—you feel yourself softening in ways you didn’t plan for.

You try to remind yourself you’re not here for this. You came to work. To be good at what you do. To keep your head down and your heart tucked away. And yet. Something about the way he speaks to you—like you’re familiar and new at the same time—makes you want to reach out. To ask about his sign, like you’re back in high school, making up reasons to keep the conversation going. To wonder if maybe, just maybe, he has some kind of plan that you’re quietly becoming part of.

And even though you told yourself you didn’t need anybody…

You can’t help thinking—if he asked, if he really asked—you might take his hand. And you’d follow him. Wherever this road is going.

Jisung, on the other hand, knows he’s falling.

It’s not subtle, not slow, not something creeping in quietly—it’s loud, immediate, undeniable. It’s been this way since the moment you walked back into his life like no time had passed at all. Since the second you said his name and smiled like you’d been saving that moment just for him.

Back then, back in school, he tried to keep his feelings under control. Told himself you were out of reach. You were kind, warm, brilliant—but you didn’t look at him like that. And he accepted it. Smiled through it. Let himself have the tiniest piece of you in memories and old conversations he kept replaying in his head like a favorite movie.

But now?

Now you’re here. In front of him. Talking to him, joking with him, sharing little pieces of your life like maybe—just maybe—he’s someone who belongs there.

He doesn’t have to guess how he feels. He wants you. Wants to see you every day. Wants to be the reason your smile shows up at random. Wants to give you every dumb, sweet, messy part of himself and trust that maybe this time, you'll see him.

He finds himself wondering what tomorrow will bring—not in fear, but in hope. How your laugh will sound. What you'll be wearing. Whether your hair will be up or down. What tiny, perfect version of you he’ll get to witness next.

He’s not just falling. He’s already there. And all he can do now is hope you’ll look back and see him—clearly, fully—for the first time.

It’s late—later than it should be—and the building is quiet in that kind of way that makes every sound feel more important. The hallway lights are dimmed, and the usual buzz of activity has finally gone still, leaving only a handful of people still working through the night. Of course, Han Jisung is one of them.

You were on your way out—coat slung over your arm, bag in hand—when you passed by the familiar studio door and noticed the light was still on. Something in you paused.

You knock once, twice, and then push the door open.

“Still here?” you ask softly, your voice cutting through the mellow instrumental that plays low through the speakers.

Han’s sitting at his desk, headphones slung around his neck, fingers fiddling with a mechanical pencil. He looks up, surprised—and maybe just a little bit thrilled.

“Guilty,” he says, sheepish. “I swear I was only going to be here for an hour.”

You smile, stepping inside and closing the door behind you. “Let me guess—you fell into the zone?”

“More like the zone dragged me in and locked the door,” he says, spinning slowly in his chair to face you fully. “You still here too?”

“Just finished. I was leaving when I saw your light on.”

He watches you quietly for a second, something tender and open in his gaze. “Thanks for checking.”

There’s a pause—not awkward, just still. You lean against the wall, watching him, and suddenly, the room feels warmer than it did a second ago.

“What are you working on?” you ask, nodding toward the screen.

He turns back to it, clicks play. A soft beat rolls out, gentle but layered—melancholy in a way that makes your chest ache just a little. And then, over it, his voice enters—mellow, melodic, not quite a rap, not quite a ballad. It’s something in between. Honest. A little raw.

You listen in silence until the sample fades.

“That was…” you start, but the words don’t come easily. “Beautiful.”

Han’s ears turn a little pink. He shrugs. “It’s not finished.”

You step closer, slow and careful, not entirely sure why your heart’s started beating faster.

“It sounds like something you needed to write,” you say.

He looks up at you, and for once, he doesn’t hide what he’s feeling. It’s all there—affection, longing, a hundred unsaid things tucked behind his tired smile.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “It is.”

You hold his gaze longer than you mean to. And that’s when you feel it—that subtle shift again. Not drastic. Not earth-shattering. But real. Something warm flickering to life just under your skin. You smile, then reach out and pluck the uneaten protein bar off his desk. “If you’re going to work late, you should at least eat something.

”He blinks, then laughs. “You just stole my dinner.”

You grin. “You can get revenge tomorrow. I’ll be here.”

“I know,” he says, and it comes out softer than you expect.

You leave the studio with the bar in hand, heart a little lighter, thoughts a little messier. Behind you, Han just sits there for a while, staring at the closed door like he’s trying to memorize the exact way you left. The beat plays again, and this time, he hums along with it—already thinking of the next line.

Months go by and your relationship with Jisung shifts again. Not dramatically, but noticeably. You learn that he is big on physical touch. You also learn, that you enjoy it more when it comes to him.

It starts with longer hugs.

At first, they were brief, polite—friendly greetings between two people rekindling an old connection. But over time, they change. His arms start to linger around your waist just a second longer than they should. Your hands stay looped behind his back before either of you lets go. The silences between you grow comfortable, thick with something that isn’t quite tension but feels like possibility.

Sometimes, when you're standing close—talking over a screen or laughing at something ridiculous—you feel the light touch of his hand against your lower back, subtle and grounding. Other times, it’s his shoulder brushing yours when you lean in to read something on his tablet, his pinky finger twitching just enough to graze yours on the armrest.

None of it is overwhelming. It's slow, natural, soft. So soft, it almost doesn’t feel like change��until you realize how much you’ve started waiting for it.

The late nights at the studio become your thing. After the building clears out and the chaos dies down, you find yourselves drifting back there, like gravity pulling you both to the same point. At first, you pretended it was work—consulting on PR angles, previewing content together. But now you both know it’s not about that. Not really.

He plays you snippets of unfinished songs. You tell him stories from your day, things that made you laugh or pissed you off. Sometimes you do nothing but sit side by side on the couch, phones forgotten in your laps, the silence wrapping around you like a blanket.

One night, it’s raining hard outside—steady and rhythmic, tapping against the windows like it’s part of the melody playing through his speakers. You’re curled up at one end of the studio couch, legs tucked under you, your head resting on the cushion. He’s sitting beside you, close, close enough that his warmth bleeds into your skin.

You're not even sure when the closeness shifts into something else.

You must’ve been talking. Or maybe you weren’t. But at some point, your head ends up on his shoulder. And then he leans his head against yours. And when your eyes finally flutter closed, lulled by the steady sound of rain and the softness of his voice humming under his breath—you don’t pull away.

Neither does he.

You wake up hours later, disoriented by the soft hum of monitors and the ache in your neck. The studio lights are low, casting a warm glow over everything. You’re curled into Jisung’s side now, both of you on your sides, his arm loosely wrapped around your waist, your hand resting on his chest.

He’s still asleep, breathing steady, lashes fluttering just slightly like he’s dreaming something good.

And for a second, you just watch him. Really watch him.

The boy you barely noticed back then—quiet, awkward, too shy to speak in front of strangers—is now the man holding you like you’ve always belonged there. You wonder how many moments like this you missed by not looking up back then. How much warmth you overlooked because you were too caught up in your own world to see what was quietly blooming right beside you.

Your fingers twitch against his chest.

Maybe this isn’t where the story ends—or even begins. Maybe this is the middle. The part where everything starts to change, not with fireworks or declarations, but with one quiet night. Two people. And the slow, gentle rhythm of falling into something that feels dangerously close to love.

The soft light of morning creeps in through the narrow studio windows, pale and hazy, casting sleepy golden streaks across the scattered notebooks and empty coffee cups. You blink awake slowly, head heavy with sleep, and the first thing you register is warmth. Steady, solid warmth.

You shift slightly—and freeze.

You’re curled into Jisung’s chest, his arm still wrapped around you protectively, like his body didn’t get the memo that the night is over. His hoodie smells like fabric softener and faint cologne. His fingers twitch slightly against your waist, like even in sleep, he doesn’t want to let go. You glance up. His eyes are cracked open, bleary and still half-lost in a dream. When he realizes you're awake, he stiffens—just a bit.

“Morning,” you whisper, your voice hoarse.

He swallows. “Hi.”

Neither of you moves. The silence stretches, not uncomfortable, just full of words that neither of you know how to say yet.

“I didn’t mean to—” he starts, then winces. “Well, I did mean to fall asleep, just not… like this. I mean—uh—not that I’m complaining! Or that it was bad! I just—sleep is important, you know? And this couch is surprisingly comfortable, which is probably why—”

“Jisung.”

He shuts up immediately.

You shift slightly, propping yourself on your elbow. “Are we gonna pretend that didn’t happen?”

His eyes search yours, uncertain. “Do you want to pretend?”

You hesitate.

“No,” you admit quietly. “But I don’t know what it was.”

He nods, mouth pressed in a tight line. “Yeah. Same.”

Another beat of silence.

“I mean,” he continues, rubbing the back of his neck, “I didn’t… plan to fall asleep holding you like some rom-com lead, but also… I didn’t hate it. Like, at all.”

You huff a laugh. “Yeah, I noticed.”

“Okay, rude,” he mutters, but there’s a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “But fair.”

You sit up slowly, stretching your legs. “I think we’re both confused.”

“Confused is my permanent state,” he mutters under his breath, then louder: “But yeah. I just— It’s weird, because it’s not like I’ve had this whole plan or something. I just... like being around you. A lot. More than I should, maybe.”

That softens something in your chest.

You nod slowly. “And I think... I like it, too. You. Being around you. But I also—this wasn’t supposed to happen. Not now. Not like this.”

“I know,” he says, quieter now. “But it did.”

You meet his gaze and suddenly it feels heavy again—not in a bad way, but in the way that makes you aware of every inch between you, every quiet thing unsaid.

“So what do we do?” you ask.

He shrugs helplessly. “I don’t know. Maybe… we just keep doing what we’re doing? No pressure, no labels. Just… seeing where it goes?”

You watch him for a moment. His messy hair, the sleep still clinging to his lashes, the vulnerability in his eyes.

You nod. “Okay. We’ll see.”

He lets out a breath like he’s been holding it the whole night. “Cool. Yeah. That works. I’m good at casual. Super casual. Like—flannel shirt casual. Or slippers and cereal casual.”

You laugh again, warm and real. “You’re a disaster.”

“And yet, here I am,” he grins, standing up and stretching his arms. “Charming disaster. Patent pending.”

You roll your eyes, but the fondness in your chest is impossible to deny. As he offers you his hand to help you up, you realize you're still not entirely sure what’s happening between you two. But maybe, for now, that’s enough.

You try to act normal.

Really, you do. You keep your expression unreadable, posture relaxed, voice calm as you scroll through the draft PR schedule on your tablet. Han sits across the table in the conference room with the rest of the members, nodding along to whatever Bang Chan is explaining—but you can feel it.

That awareness.

The air feels... different. Heavy in the space between you, like everyone else is swimming through water while the two of you are tethered by an invisible string.

You haven’t even made eye contact yet, and still—your skin prickles with the memory of his arm wrapped around you the night before, the soft way he’d looked at you when he thought you weren’t watching.

You shift in your seat, pretending to adjust your tablet. His foot accidentally nudges yours under the table.

You freeze. He does, too. Then he slowly, very slowly pulls away, like he’s defusing a bomb.

Bang Chan’s voice cuts through the weird tension in your head. “So that’s the plan for the next two weeks. Any questions?”

The table remains quiet.

“No? Cool. Thanks for joining, everyone.”

The room bursts into motion—papers shuffling, chairs scraping, conversation picking up.

You gather your things quickly, hoping to escape without incident. But then—

“Hey,” Chan says softly. Too softly. You glance up to find him watching you. His tone is casual, but his eyes aren’t. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”

You hesitate. Han glances up too, subtly alert.

“Of course,” you say, smiling like this isn’t mildly terrifying.

He waits until the room has cleared before speaking. Not accusingly, not even cold—just… leader-mode. Thoughtful. Quietly concerned.

“I just want to check in,” he says. “About you and Han.”

Your stomach tightens.

“There’s nothing going on,” you say automatically, maybe a little too quickly.

Chan raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t call you out.

“Okay. I believe you,” he says, and he probably does. Mostly. “But I also see things. Jisung doesn’t let people in easily. He jokes, flirts, plays around, but real closeness? That’s rare with him. And it’s happening. With you.”

You look away.

“I’m not mad,” he adds quickly. “Just… making sure you know. Because if this turns into something more, it’s not just you who’s affected. It’s him. It’s all of us.”

“I do know,” you say quietly. “And I would never do anything to hurt him. Or your group.”

He studies you for a moment, then nods. “I trust that. I just hope you’re both being honest—with yourselves, and each other.”

You manage a small smile. “We’re trying.”

He gives a soft chuckle, then rubs the back of his neck. “Alright. Now get out of here before I start sounding like a dad.”

You laugh and nod, turning to leave—

—only to nearly collide with Han waiting just outside the door, his hands in his pockets, pretending to admire a crack in the wall like it’s a masterpiece.

You blink. “Were you… eavesdropping?”

“No!” he says quickly. “I was… standing. Nearby. And hearing. Coincidentally.”

You sigh. He glances toward the office behind you. “Chan give you the ‘don’t break my members’ hearts’ talk?”

“Kind of,” you mutter. “Less dramatic. More dad energy.”

Han grins, then bumps your shoulder with his. “You okay?”

You nod. “Are you?”

“Me?” he asks, eyes wide. “I’m great. Except I might pass out from how awkward that whole thing was.”

You chuckle.

“Hey,” he says again, this time softer. “We’re still good, right? Like... us?”

Your heart thuds. Slowly, you smile. “Yeah. We’re good.” For now.

Schedules shift.

Suddenly, the easy rhythm you and Jisung had found — the morning check-ins, late-night studio rambling, quiet glances over coffee — all begin to fade, smothered beneath the weight of Stray Kids' comeback prep.

The tension starts subtly. Fewer messages. Shorter replies. A missed lunch here, a forgotten inside joke there. You try not to take it personally. You know how this works. You’ve worked with idols before. Comeback seasons are brutal — rehearsals, recordings, performances, content shoots — every second of their day becomes pre-packaged and consumed by the machine.

But still, it stings.

Especially when you pass him in the hall and his eyes barely lift from the floor.

It’s not just you he’s pulling away from. You notice it in the way the members glance at him, quiet concern flickering between them. Chan’s brow is always furrowed these days. Hyunjin’s usual teasing toward Han has softened into wordless pats on the shoulder. And you — well, you remember the conversation Jisung once had with you late one night in the studio, sitting cross-legged on the floor with takeout between you.

“I don’t always know how to ask for space,” he had admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “Sometimes I disappear instead. I know it sucks. But it’s not because I want to push people away. It’s because I’m scared if I don’t, I’ll fall apart with them watching.”

You hadn’t fully understood then. You do now. Because now he’s disappearing — not just emotionally, but physically too. He practically lives in the studio, his messages unread, the space where his presence used to sit in your day now hollow. And you feel it.

Not just the absence of his coffee deliveries or dumb puns or warm hugs — but him. The way he made the world feel softer when he was around. Like you weren’t alone in your own spirals.

You pass by the studio late one evening, and through the tiny rectangular window, you catch a glimpse of him. He’s hunched over the desk, headphones on, hair a mess, his leg bouncing rapidly as he re-records a line for the third, maybe fourth time. Frustration is written all over his face.

You don’t knock. Because you know he won’t hear it. Or he’ll pretend not to. Instead, you linger for just a second longer, remembering how easy things felt when he used to wave at you through that very window, silly grin and all. And now? Now, the silence between you is starting to echo louder than anything either of you had the courage to say.

The hallway is quiet — too quiet — except for the static buzz in Jisung’s ears, the kind that comes when exhaustion bleeds into something darker. He drags his hoodie up over his head, eyes unfocused, shoulders hunched as he rounds the corner.

That’s when he sees you.

You’re standing by the vending machine with Changbin, your heads tilted close together, talking in low voices. You're smiling — not wide, not beaming — but soft, gentle. The kind of smile Jisung used to get. The one that made his stomach twist in that way that felt like home and chaos at the same time.

He can’t hear what you’re saying, but he doesn’t have to. His brain, heavy with anxiety and lack of sleep, fills in the blanks. Changbin is funny. He's stable. He’s good with people. And you — you’re beautiful and kind and warm and there. The static in his head becomes a roar. Of course you’re moving on. Why wouldn’t you? Of course someone like Changbin would make you laugh. Of course someone like Jisung, who shuts down and disappears the moment life tilts a little, could never hold your attention for long.

He watches you place a hand gently on Changbin’s arm, brows furrowed in something that looks like concern, and it burns. Jealousy, shame, heartbreak — all in one sharp, unbearable flash.

He turns on his heel before either of you spot him and bolts. Down the hallway, past the practice rooms, through the stairwell — anywhere that isn't here.

He doesn’t stop until the city lights blur around him, and his phone buzzes endlessly in his pocket — texts from Chan, calls from Minho, your name flashing on screen — and he ignores them all.

He needs air. He needs time. He needs less.

Meanwhile, back in the building, panic starts to ripple.

“He’s not in the studio?” Chan asks, already pulling out his phone.

“No. I checked the dance rooms too,” Seungmin says. “Nothing.”

You step back, heart hammering in your chest. “He—he saw me and Changbin. Do you think…?”

Chan’s eyes narrow. “Saw you doing what?”

“We were talking about him,” you say quickly, guilt washing over you. “I was trying to ask for advice. I just—I didn’t know how to help him without making him feel cornered.”

Changbin nods. “We weren’t exactly being subtle. He probably jumped to the worst conclusion.”

“And now he’s out there alone, spiraling,” Chan mutters, already dialing. “Damn it, Jisung.”

Jisung leans against the cold brick wall outside, the night pressing in around him like a suffocating blanket. His phone vibrates relentlessly in his pocket, but he’s too numb to answer. Instead, he pulls it out and scrolls through the flood of missed calls and messages. One notification catches his eye — a voicemail from you.

His thumb hovers over the play button. Curiosity and guilt war inside him. He’s scared of what he might hear, but he can’t stop himself. He presses play.

Your voice trembles through the speaker, raw and fragile, tears audible between your words.

“Jisung, please… I know you want to be found. And if it’s not by me, then… then fine, I won’t come. But at least let someone know where you are, and if you’re okay. Please, I’m begging you.”

His chest tightens, heart pounding with a sudden ache he can’t ignore. He hates that you’re hurting because of him. That he’s left you worried, scared, alone in the dark.

The walls he’s built start to crack.

After a long pause, he unlocks his phone, his fingers trembling as he taps “Share Location.” The screen fills with the blue glow of the map pinpointing where he is. His breath catches. He sends it. Almost instantly, his phone buzzes with a reply from you.

On my way.

For the first time in hours, Jisung feels a flicker of warmth amid the cold night — a fragile thread tethering him back.

You find him sitting alone on the concrete ledge under the Han River bridge, the city lights shimmering on the water’s surface. His shoulders are slumped, eyes fixed on the ripples below, the weight of hours lost heavy in the air between you.

You sit down beside him, careful not to break the fragile silence. The night hums softly around you—cars passing on the bridge above, distant laughter carried by the wind. Neither of you speaks at first.

After a few minutes, Jisung pulls his phone from his pocket, hesitating like he’s about to reveal something deeply personal. He taps on his music app, then presses play. A soft beat fills the quiet, steady and raw.

Then, almost shyly, he begins to sing:

"You can burst into flames, you can wound me next to you If you like, I can be anything Yeah, you can hurt me, I don't care, yeah, you can burn me Unlike those who run away from you, I'll embrace you...”

His voice is low, slightly rough but filled with emotion, each word trembling with meaning you hadn’t realized was there before. You watch his lips move, mesmerized by the vulnerability in the song.

“Like a volcano Love at a temperature that can melt when touched Take me to you, way below to the end of the ground It's okay if everything burns down Even if I go back hundreds of times, my choice is always... you.”

The words echo softly beneath the bridge, and for a moment, the noisy city feels miles away. You feel your chest tighten—not just from the beauty of the song but from the unspoken connection blooming between you both.

When the last note fades, he glances at you, cheeks flushed with embarrassment but eyes hopeful.

You reach out, gently brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead.

“You’re amazing, Jisung.”

He gives you a small, grateful smile, the weight on his shoulders seeming a little lighter now.

You take a deep breath, the cool night air filling your lungs as you gather your thoughts. His eyes stay fixed on you, patient and curious, waiting.

“Jisung,” you begin softly, voice steady despite the flutter in your chest. “I… I think I was blind before. Back in school, I didn’t see you. Not really. I was so caught up in my own world, in my own noise, that I missed what was right in front of me.”

You glance down for a moment, then meet his eyes again, earnest and open. “You could have been someone to love all along. And I’m sorry it took me this long to realize it. I never meant to overlook you, or to make you feel small or invisible.”

Your hand reaches out slowly, hesitating just a second before grabbing his hand and intertwining your fingers together. “I want you to know — I have no intention of hurting you. No matter how complicated this is, I would never burn you, or run away. I want to be someone you can trust, someone who stays.”

You pause, searching his face for a sign, a flicker of what you hope to find.

He swallows hard, a shy smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Thank you,” he murmurs, voice low and sincere. “That means more than you know.”

The night wraps around you both like a quiet secret, the world hushed under the bridge. Your fingers brush his arm, and Jisung’s eyes search yours with a fierce, hopeful light.

He leans in slowly, but as your lips almost meet, he bumps his forehead against yours with a soft thud.

“Ah, ouch,” he murmurs, rubbing his forehead and giving you a sheepish, yet proud grin. “Smooth move, right?”

You laugh, the tension breaking like a gentle wave. “Definitely unforgettable.”

With a shy but determined nod, he tries again. This time, the kiss is soft, sweet, and a little awkward — but so real, so full of all the feelings he’s been holding back.

When you pull apart, his cheeks are flushed, but his eyes shine with pride and something more — love.

“I’m not just saying this lightly,” he breathes, voice steady, heart wide open. “I’m in love with you. I have been for a while now, and I’m proud of it. So... will you be my girlfriend?”

You smile, your heart swelling with warmth and something new — the recognition of what you almost missed before.

“Yes,” you whisper, “I’d love that.”

His grin stretches wider than ever, and he pulls you close for another, longer kiss — this time, perfectly imperfect, and just the beginning of everything. After you say yes, Jisung’s grin turns mischievous, eyes sparkling with that trademark cheeky confidence.

He pulls you into a quick hug, whispering loud enough for you to hear and maybe the whole riverbank too, “You’re officially mine now. Sorry, Changbin — you can go to hell.”

You laugh, raising an eyebrow. “Wow, confident much?”

He smirks, puffing out his chest like a knight ready for battle. “Of course! Jealousy is just my version of chivalry. Protecting what’s mine.”

You shake your head, smiling. “You’re such a goofball.”

“Hey, I’m your goofball now. Deal with it.”

And with that, he squeezes your hand like a prize, and you both walk off under the soft glow of the city lights, ready for whatever comes next, together.

From his bandmates' perspective, Jisung becomes insufferable in the following days. He can't stop talking about how he's finally got you, how perfect you are, and how glad he is to finally be able to call you his girlfriend. The boys relentlessly made fun of him, but he couldn't care less.

You push open the door to the dance studio, the faint thump of music and the scrape of sneakers on the floor reaching your ears. The room is alive with energy—Stray Kids mid-rehearsal, muscles moving in sync.

Then, out of the corner of your eye, you spot him.

Han Jisung.

The moment he sees you, his entire body lights up like a sparkler on a summer night. He’s bouncing on the balls of his feet, eyes wide, grin impossibly bright.

“Hey! You’re here!” he shouts, nearly tripping over himself as he rushes toward you.

You barely have time to step inside before he’s practically glued to your side, his arm wrapping around your waist like he never wants to let go.

“I missed you all day! Like, seriously, it was torture,” he whines, voice dropping to a mock-serious tone. “I’m not even kidding. I think I might have turned into a sad puppy or something.”

The other members pause their practice, exchanging amused looks. Bang Chan raises an eyebrow, grinning.

“Oh, look at Jisung! The cling monster’s back,” Chan teases, smirking at you. “We were starting to think you vanished for good.”

Changbin joins in, chuckling, “Yeah, we were worried he’d become a hermit again. Glad you showed up before that happened.”

You laugh, shaking your head at their playful ribbing. Jisung, still hanging on your arm, leans in and whispers, “See? Even they know I need my protector. Someone who won’t hurt me.”

You squeeze his hand gently. “I’m not going anywhere, Jisung.”

He beams up at you, the glow of happiness practically radiating off him. The group starts to warm back into their rehearsal, but the mood is lighter, softer—like a fresh breeze after a storm. You glance around at the boys who have become a second family to him—and now, to you—and feel a swell of gratitude. They tease and joke, but beneath it all, you know they’re genuinely glad to see their friend this happy again.

The ways of love are strange—no doubt about that. Sometimes, all it takes is a single glance, and everything changes in an instant. But other times, love grows quietly, almost unnoticed, in the small moments between breaths and words.

Between stolen glances and gentle touches, in laughter shared beneath dim studio lights, and in the silence of a midnight cityscape.

It’s the slow-burning flame, the volcano that rumbles softly before bursting to life, raw and unstoppable.

You realize now that love isn’t always a blinding flash—it can be the quiet spark that finally catches fire, warm and fierce, lighting up everything you never saw before.

And as you look at him—his smile a little crooked, eyes bright and steady like boba—you know that this love, patient and true, is the one worth holding on to.

Because sometimes, the most extraordinary kind of magic is the kind that grows quietly, right beside you, waiting for you to notice.

And in that noticing, everything shifts.

Everything changes.

Everything becomes home.

[m-325]

I'm gonna read this, it looks very good

Pairing: OT8 x Reader

Tags: Fluff, Smut, Friends to lovers

Summary: After a failed date your best friends offer to teach you how to be intimate. Whatever could go wrong?

read on ao3 here

♡︎ chapter one

♡︎ chapter two

♡︎ chapter three

♡︎ chapter four

♡ chapter five

♡ chapter six

more to follow!

a/n: had to make a new masterlist because the other one got reported and hidden from view.. Anyways, thank you sooo much for all the love on this fic <3 taglist is open!

[m-325]

Secret Secret Chapter 1

OT8 Straykids x reader, ABO AU

When a new translation position opened up at your dream job, you were quick to apply. You met all the qualifications, had glowing reviews, and knew you were a perfect fit. There was only one problem. JYP only hired beta's. And you were not a beta.

Story Warnings: Suggestive Themes, Eventual Smut, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Heats/Ruts, Discrimination, Angst, Slow Burn

Masterlist | Next Part

You looked up at the towering glass building with your heart in your throat. There were people walking in and out of the building with ease, likely workers or personal for JYP who didn’t think twice about their positions, about how much you longed to be a part of them.

You had been gunning for this opportunity for years, but now that you were finally there, your feet refused to move. You turned your focus away from the building and spotted a group of three girls all huddled together with their eyes laser focused on the entrance, whispering to each other.

No doubt fans trying to catch a glimpse of their favorite idols.

You let out a sigh. “Okay, it’s okay. You can do this. It’s fine, you got this.”

With a nod to yourself, you dragged your feet forward and practically stumbled through the front doors. The girls from before giggled loudly behind you, and you refused to look back. You hoped nobody else noticed.

You walked over to the reception desk quickly, giving the receptionist a blinding smile to hide your nervousness. His scent reminded you of sugared candy and smelled of beta, but you of all people knew how deceiving scents could be. After all, it was the entire reason you were here to begin with.

“Ah, hello,” You said. “I’m here for a job interview? For the translator position?”

He nodded his head in understanding. You gave him your name and he pulled out a lanyard with the words ‘VISITOR’ printed on it, handing it over along with a quick explanation of where you had to go. You thanked him with a bow, and made your way to the elevators, repeating the direction to yourself.

Second floor, third door to the left. Second floor, third door to the left.

It wouldn’t do you any good to get lost before you even had a chance to get the job. The elevator was quick, the doors opening smoothly with a ding. There was a mirror at the back of the elevator, and taking advantage of nobody else being in there with you, you quickly adjusted your clothes and fixed a stray strand of hair that was sticking out, making sure your face didn’t give away your panic.

You also made sure to quickly smell your wrists, relieved that the perfume you had put on before leaving the house was still strong. The scent blockers would block out your own scent to the rest of the world, and it would draw too many questions from the company you were trying to interview for. The specific perfume you had on was a lovely jasmine scent, and clearly a beta scent.

It was essential for you, considering you weren’t a beta.

You were an omega.

The elevator doors opened onto the second floor and even though you knew where you had to go -Second floor, third door to the left-, you still took a moment to stop in front of the desk to double check you were heading in the right direction. The beta receptionist up here showed a lot more expressions than the one downstairs, giving you a blinding smile and wishing you luck. You thanked her with a small nod, and made your way to the third door to the left.

You paused right outside the door, taking another deep breath.

“You got this,” You whispered to yourself again.

You knew you were qualified. You had a recommendation from your last company, glowing reviews from your manager who had been disappointed to see you go, but knowing that you had bigger dreams than translating for a legal firm. Working in the entertainment industry was your dream job, and JYP was one of the top entertainment companies in the business. This was a big opportunity.

But you knew the one thing you had going against you, was your presentation.

JYP only hired betas. They had for years, and even as the world pushed for equal rights among Omega’s and Alpha’s, the truth was that so many companies hesitated to hire them due to their stereotypes and requirements. And while JYP openly accepted trainees of all presentations, their staff were held to a higher standard.

Omega’s were too emotional. Omega’s needed protection, staff members were expected to protect. Omega’s had heats and would take time off work. Omega’s would want to start families. Omega’s were more likely to develop romantic feelings.

Omega’s were a liability.

You frowned at your reflection in the mirror. All those harsh words that had been thrown at you every time you complained about all the jobs that turned you down. Words said by strangers, friends, even family. Every person who tried to excuse their own biases and refusing to change anything. You wanted to prove them wrong.

“You got this,” You repeated, nodding to yourself.

You were going to prove them wrong. You had to.

Even if you had to lie to do it.

You knocked on the door, and the woman on the other side called you in after only a moment. You made sure to bow to the three people in the conference room as you entered, sitting down at the opposite end of the table from them. You knew how this was supposed to go, since you had done it many times before.

‘I see here you speak 5 languages. Where did you learn them?’

‘You have traveled and worked in other countries? What was that experience like?’

‘We received a glowing recommendation. Why did you decide to leave your last job?’

And just like always, the questions began to get a little too predictable.

‘Are you married, or in a relationship?’

‘Why not?’

‘Are you interested in a relationship?’

And then came the dreadful question.

‘What’s your presentation?’

They always asked you that. Every time, even though you knew full well that they had your resume right in front of them, that they could see it for themselves. It frustrated you, because it had nothing to do with your work. Because you were still obligated to put down your presentation on your resume by law. Because employers would still discriminate against you because of it.

You forced a smile on your face. “I’m a beta, as you can see.”

It wasn’t a crime to lie about your presentation anymore than it was to lie about your gender. Your old boss made sure of it. He was one of the few employers who fought to have you on his team, even when so many other companies and workplaces advised against it, tried to tell him about the downsides to working with an omega.

He had scoffed at them. “Bunch of old fashions dumbasses.”

You loved your old boss.

So unless the company had access to your medical records (which they didn’t), or somehow found a copy of your birth certificate (which you hoped they didn’t, that wouldn’t make any sense), they had no way of doubting your lie.

Which is why you wore the fake scented perfume you had gotten from a lovely little store near your apartment that specifically targeted trans-presentations. You weren’t unhappy with being an omega (just unhappy at the way the world treated them), but the false scents they sold to help those who were had been a god send in making sure you appeared to the words as what you wanted them to think of you as.

If it helped you get the job, you would be a beta for as long as it took.

And with the forced smile still pulling at your cheeks, you were complimented on your outstanding qualifications and experience, and told that they would call you back soon with more information. You thanked them for their time with another bow, and although you weren’t in the clear just yet, let out a sigh of relief the moment you made it back out into the halls.

The young beta girl behind the desk gave you another smile as you passed, and you made sure to thank her for her hard work as you made your ways to the elevator. The beta from the front desk didn’t even look at you twice as you walked through the lobby, but you didn’t mind him, knowing he was busy and had work to do.

The girls from before were gone, and the doors to the building opened and closed as people entered and existed. Birds chirped from somewhere above you.

You crossed your fingers, and prayed.

-0-0-

“Oh my god! OH MY GOD!” You screeched.

“What?! WHAT?!”

Sooyoung, your roommate, looked up from her phone with wide eyes in a panic at your shouts of excitement. You held out your phone to her, but before she could even make out the words on the screen, you were already pulling it back to stare at it in awe.

“I got accepted!” You squealed.

Sooyoung gasped. “You got the job?!”

“I GOT THE JOB!”

“Ahhhh!” Sooyoung screamed in excitement, throwing her own phone to the side and jumping up next to you, both of you hopping around the room. “Oh my god, do you know what this means?”

“That I’m going to need a whole lot more scent blocker?”

“No- well, yes.” Sooyoung stopped hopping, looking up in thought. “Actually, yeah. You’re going to need a shit ton of that stuff. And more of the perfume, now that I think about it.”

You visibly drooped. “Man, it’s a good thing I’m going to be making bank at this job, because that stuff is expensive.”

“Not the point. I was going to say, we need to celebrate,” Sooyoung concluded with her hands in the air.

You laughed at her. “Celebrate lying to my employers?”

“Celebrate sticking it to the man! You are braver than I am, that’s for sure.”

You shook you head in amusement, but her words did make you want to throttle someone momentarily. Sooyoung had been dealing with the exact same discrimination you had, but as an alpha, her battle was targeted more towards those who questioned her aggression and instability, especially ‘as a woman alpha’, as one employer had put it. Seeing as Sooyoung was desperate to work in education, those harmful stereotypes made it impossible to get anyone to trust her around children.

She was making do working at a community college at the moment, but you knew her real dream was to work with preschool aged children.

“It doesn’t make much of a difference,” She had explained to you once. “I swear most of my students act like children anyways, the only difference is they don’t have the excuse of being literally 5.”

You had encouraged her to keep trying, that there was going to be a school out there somewhere that would see past her presentation, but she had already lost hope. You hoped that your own success might encourage her to do something similar, but you knew that wouldn’t fix the real problem. The deep-rooted issues and the systemic injustice.

But that was a can of worms you didn’t want to open at the moment.

Instead, you agreed to a night out on the town (as Sooyoung put it), and with her encouragement, went to go get ready. She had clicked her tongue at your first outfit, scoffed at the second, and rolled her eyes at the third.

“Babe, are you even trying?”

“What’s wrong with this?” You said with a pout, looking down at yourself.

You had chosen a pair of tight jeans that made your ass look good, and a cute white shirt that had a crisscrossing pattern that hugged your waist. If you threw your hair up in a ponytail and added some dark makeup, you would look like you were straight off the set of a kpop music video. But apparently that wasn’t the vibe Sooyoung was looking for.

“Don’t get me wrong, you look good,” She assured as she dug through your closet. “But we want you to look better than good. I want every man and woman to do a double take when you pass by. I want you to be the best dish at the table.”

You laughed. “I thought we were just going out for some fun. Some drinks, hit up a club or something … you sound like you’re trying to get me laid.”

She winked at you. “Who says we can’t do both?”

Typical of Sooyoung. She had been trying to hook you up with someone since you broke up with your ex a few months ago, but you had been so busy with work and then planning out your interview, so you hadn’t had time to think about sex.

Now having a new job and unknown responsibilities for the foreseeable future, getting one last hoorah before you had to be at work in two days sounded like a great opportunity.

You let out an exaggerated sigh. “Well okay then. Let’s see what you got for me.”

Turns out that while Sooyoung loved teaching kids, she could very well get a job as a professional stylist. You hadn’t even been aware that you had a black dress, but she had pulled it out of somewhere. It was … tight. It looked amazing on you, you would admit that, but it was so short and so tight that you felt like you were going to flash someone if you bent over. Thankfully, Sooyoung managed to pair it off with a slightly longer skirt that blended seamlessly with the dress, giving the illusion that it was longer than it actually was.

“Got to leave something up to the imagination,” She had told you.

With the way that the guys at the club were eyeing you, you weren’t sure that really mattered. You hadn’t cared at first, the drinks you had doing wonders in making you not care about the rest of the world and what they thought, but you had reached a point in the night where you didn’t want to drink anymore, but it didn’t seem like Sooyoung was ready to go home just yet.

Unlike you, she didn’t have a limit. She was still going at it strong on the dance floor, pulling some poor omega guy against her and stinking up the area with horny pheromones.

Although, its was a club. There was a lot of that going around.

The stares your were receiving combined with the heavy scents that were being released was starting to make you feel uncomfortable. It didn’t help that you were free of scent blockers tonight, and you were undoubtedly an omega to anyone who got a little too close. You hated their predatory looks turned downright sinister when they thought you would be easy.

“What’s a pretty little omega like you doing all by themselves?” One Alpha tried, and you bared your teeth at him when he released his heavy scent on you.

Your omega cried out at the thought of an alpha, but you were not controlled by your secondary gender. He obviously wasn’t expecting you to fight back, probably wanting some submissive and breed able omega that would let him do whatever he wanted to them. When you told him to fuck off, he gave you a nasty look, but thankfully did as he was told.

You were grateful he didn’t try to push It farther.

Sooyoung caught your eye from across the room, eyebrow raised in question.

You good?

You gave her a thumbs up.

All good.

Satisfied, Sooyoung went back to dancing with … you weren’t sure. It was a girl this time, but you couldn’t tell her presentation from this far away. Whoever it was, they looked like they were having fun. You downed the rest of your drink, and making sure Sooyoung saw you gesture towards the bathrooms, you went to get a break from all the lights and noises.

The hallway leading to the bathroom had a few patrons loitering around away from the loud music and chatting, but it was far less crowded than the main room. The bathroom itself was empty, and you just took a second to breathe.

After two hours out, you were starting to get tired. Sooyoung had a lot more stamina than you did, and she wouldn’t hesitate to end the night right now if you asked her too. But although she had used your new job position as an excuse to go out and have some fun, you knew that this was a night off for her just as much as it was for you. She needed this, and you didn’t want to end her fun just yet.

Besides, you had a plan of your own.

You had downed enough glasses of water and spent enough time off to the side that you had sobered up, and with your mind and thoughts clear, you decided it was time to go get some. You pushed your dress down a little to where your cleavage was on display, fixed your hair, and gave yourself a wink in the mirror.

“You got this.”

You exited the bathroom with the full intention of heading out to the dance floor and looking for someone to have a good time with, but you practically ran out and straight into someone else who was leaning against the wall right next to the door. You nearly knocked them over, and immediately reached out to steady them.

“Shit. I’m am so sorry.”

“Ah, it’s okay,” They reassured you, mouth muffled by the mask they were wearing. “I should have realized standing next to the bathroom door was a bad idea.”

“Oh no, that was all me,” You said, giving the guy a look over.

He wasn’t very tall, but not that short either. His mouth was covered by a black surgical mask, the kind most people in Korea wore when flu season made its rounds, or when the air quality wasn’t very good. It was odd to see someone wearing that kind of mask in a club, but not entirely unheard of.

Besides his black mask, he also wore an entirely black outfit. A black shirt, black sweatpants, and a black hoodie that his most of his hair, although a couple of dark strands could be seen from the sides. He looked more like a college student on their way back home from long hours of studying than someone who was out for a night on the town, like he would be more comfortable at home with friends than a club in the middle of the city.

“Ah, no worries. I guess you can say I fell for you.”

The guy chuckled at his own words, an awkward laugh to a stupid pick-up line that normally would have you rolling your eyes, but the way he said it, like an offhanded joke, had you giggling along with him. His scent wafted over to you in the narrow hallway, a mix of floral and fruity. It reminded you of the beach.

You bit your lip, looking up at him from beneath your lashes. “Well, what can I say. I guess I just have that effect on people.”

His scent grew stronger at your words, and though his eyebrows raised in surprise, there was a pleased hint to his scent. It smelled like alpha, and your omega perked up her metaphorical ears in interest.

“Ah, I don’t doubt that,” He mused, leaning against the wall and tilting his head at you, eyes darting down your figure.

Your stomach flipped under his gaze, your own scent undoubtedly giving away your interest, so there was no reason to play coy. Instead, you gave him a flirtatious smile, deciding to shoot your shot.

“So, what are you doing hanging out outside the woman’s bathroom?”

It was only once you had spoken that you realized how accusatory your words sounded, and you wanted to wince in embarrassment. The men’s bathroom door was directly in front of the woman’s bathroom. For all you knew, he was waiting for a friend, or maybe the stalls were all occupied, and he was waiting for someone to leave, or literally any other reason.

He let out a laugh. “That does look a little bad, huh?”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” You tried to explain, feeling like you had just completely vanished any energy that had started to build.

“No, it’s okay.” He giggled to himself. “I guess I was just waiting for a beautiful lady to fall into my arms.”

“I guess you’ll have to keep waiting, because I’m not exactly in your arms,” You shot back.

“Well that can be arranged.” It was your turn to raise your eyebrows, and the guy backed down immediately with an embarrassed laugh, hands reaching up to hide his face. “I’m sorry, that was a little much.”

Your legs moved forward on instinct, hands reaching up to grab his own in a soft grip. You pulled them away from his face until you could see him clearly, the small expanse of skin that you could see behind the mask turning red, dark eyes staring into yours. You swallowed, giving him a nervous smile of your own.

“Not at all,” You said, softer than before. Your eyes darted down to his masked face, and you wished you could see beneath it. “I … I wouldn’t mind.”

“Being in my arms?”

“Or anything else you offered,” You said.

The energy way back as if it had never left, a heavy haze falling over the two of you. His skin was warm, pupils dilating, and his scent became heavy with arousal, your body immediately reacting by pushing out your own vanilla scent in hopes that it would attract the perfect mate. From in your head, your omega was practically begging for you to make this man your own.

You were finding it hard to argue.

He flipped your grips around so that your hands were now in his. One of your hands was pulled up to his face, your arm twisted so that your wrist was now next to his mask, and you wondered just how much of your scent he was able to pick up from behind the mask. It must have been enough for him to understand because his eyes crinkled as if he was smiling.

“Anything I offered, huh?”

“I mean, if you’re offering,” You said shyly, batting your eyelashes at him.

He let out a huff of laughter, and you used the position of your arms to wrap them around his neck, pulling your body close to his. His grip dropped from your hands and to your waist, stopping you from moving closer.

“And if I said I wasn’t interested?” He asked.

You froze. “Well then this would be very awkward.”

“Ah, don’t worry.” He pulled you up against him completely, one of your knees hitting the wall behind him, a thigh slotting perfectly in between your legs, your chests pressed together. Your face was so close to his that you could feel the cloth of his mask brushing up against your nose. “I’m interested.”

“Great,” You replied, voice breathy.

“There is a bit of a hiccup, however-“

“Is it the mask?” You interrupted.

His eyes crinkled again. “Ah, am I that obvious?”

“I don’t mind,” You reassured him.

You didn’t care why he had the mask on. There were tons of reasons for it, from privacy to insecurities, that were none of your business. You told him as much, and his body seemed to relax slightly against your own, the tropical mix of his scent showing he was relieved at your acceptance. You found your nose drifting close to his neck, to the scent gland in front of you.

This close to him, his scent was thick enough you could practically taste it.

“We can make it work,” You told him, head feeling fuzzy from the sudden onslaught of alpha pheromones. Your omega was embarrassingly close. “Your place or mine?”

“Yours.” He didn’t even hesitate.

And that was how you found yourself pushing yourself into the crowd to get to Sooyoung, letting the alpha stranger that you just needed to give a heads up to your roommate. It wasn’t until she spotted you, letting out a yell of excitement and pulling you towards her, that you realized you didn’t even know the alpha’s name.

Whatever. I wasn’t like you were planning on marrying the guy.

You didn’t even need to explain much to your roommate, the face she made when she got a whiff of you telling her everything she needed to know. She yelled at you to wear protection and you flushed when the eyes of everyone around you turned in your direction, so you made a quick retreat shortly after.

It wouldn’t be until later the next day that you would explain the entire interaction to Sooyoung over a late afternoon brunch. She congratulated you for finally getting out of your rut (pun intended), and you found out that Sooyoung had managed to snag not just the omega she had been dancing with for half of the night, but also the cute beta girl who had joined them later on.

All in all, it felt like a successful night out.

-0-0-

It was only your first day, and you were already feeling a little overwhelmed at the sudden change in your environment. It wasn’t your first time translating in an official business setting, but law firms were much different than a kpop agency, and all the new rules and regulations made your head spin. Thankfully, you were used to doing paperwork, so the sheer number of NDAs you had to read through was familiar for you. It took nearly three hours of your time just to finish signing things, going through an orientation of sorts, and to be introduced to the office where you would be working. You understood why you had been called in so early.

Park Jeonhui, the head translator for JYP entertainment, sat you down around noon to explain the situation to you.

“The past few years, we’ve kept up pretty well with having only a few translators, only hiring extra when necessary, but recently we’ve had more groups to manage, which means more material, more opportunities, and unfortunately, more demand. Specifically, it’s no longer possible for the few translators we have to constantly be jumping from group to group when they are needed.”

You nodded in understanding, and she handed over a folder to you.

“Due to this increase in demand and the multiple world tours that are planned for the near future, it was the companies decision to hire translators who would focus on a specific group. Due to the languages you speak and your experience, we have decided to place you on the team for Stray Kids. Have you heard of them?”

You had, indeed, heard of them. While you weren’t a huge fan (you were much more of a Once than a Stay), you had heard their music and watched their music videos. You probably wouldn’t be able to recognize any of the members if you saw them on the street, however.

“You’ll be meeting with Stray Kids manager and their leader today to go over their current projects and your work expectations.”

“Sounds good.”

“Before that, however, I was wondering if you had any questions?”

It seemed like the perfect opportunity. You physically had to bite your tongue to keep from asking her why the company didn’t hire omega’s or alphas, knowing it was neither the time for that kind of question (you didn’t need to put yourself under scrutiny so soon), nor was it the person you should be questioning. Jeonhui was just the translation head, she didn’t decide company policy.

Even if it was a stupid policy.

“Well in that case, I’ll let them know we’ll be finishing up soon.”

When an older man knocked on the conference door to ask for Jeonhui’s help with something, you took the opportunity to pull out your phone and quickly check out yourself in the front camera, making sure you looked presentable. Your old boss had drilled into you enough time the importance of looking professional in front of clients, and while neither the manager nor leader of Stray Kids were your clients (if anything, they were your bosses), those old habits were kicking in. You were thankful that you decided to at least wear your best professional shirt, a casual white button down.

Jeonhui thanked the guy, and while the first man bowed and left the doorway, Jeonhui remained at the door. She stepped forward and bowed to someone else you couldn’t see, and after a quick exchange of words, she moved to the side.

Two men walked in.

The first one was a dark-haired guy who seemed young, but older than you. His beta scent was stronger than most people, but calm enough that it didn’t bother you. He seemed laid back and easy-going, wearing comfortable clothes as opposed to the professional outfit you had seen other managers use. He bowed at you, introducing himself as the Stray Kids manager, and as you stood up to bow at him in return, he took his seat at the head of the table.

And from behind him appeared a younger man, closer to your age. He was handsome with dark hair and soft eyes, his smile revealing dimples as he chatted briefly with Jeonhui. The normally stoic and polite beta woman seemed to melt in the stranger’s presence, a soft smile on her face. It was jarring. The young man then turned to you, and you once again bowed, but when you raised your head, all you could see on his face was shock.

You were confused, worried if you had accidentally done something you shouldn’t have, but then his scent reached you.

Floral and fruity, like sunscreen and pina colada and the hot sun on sand.

You froze, sharing the wide-eyed gaze with this complete stranger, who wasn’t actually a complete stranger.

Soft moans, fingers brushing up against your thighs as you were filled deliciously from behind, another moan forced out of your mouth as he wrapped his fingers gently around your throat, lips brushing up against the shell of your ear.

“God, you’re so tight.”

You nearly chocked on your spit.

The man you had unintentionally had a one night stand with two nights ago was the leader of Stray Kids.

Your boss.

“Alpha, please!”

“Just a little longer,. You can hold on just a little longer, cant you? Hmm? Don’t you want to be good for your Alpha?”

You were so close. Your body felt like it was on fire and your head spun, the darkness that seemed to engulf you left your nerve endings so sensitive, and you couldn’t see him, could think, couldn’t do anything more than accept the pleasure he was giving you. He seemed to know that you were at your breaking point, because as a whine began to build in your throat, he pulled away.

His fingers pressed right where you needed them most, and you found yourself spiraling.

“Cum for me, Omega.”

And he knew your secret.

[m-325]

Yall really have to read this it's written soo well

Wolfgang — Masterlist (18+)

synopsis: burned out by the constant pressure of city life and overwhelmed by the presence of too many wolves, you—a lone Alpha—left Seattle behind in search of peace. Trading noise for silence, you bought a secluded cabin deep in the woods, hoping to start over far from the chaos of pack dynamics. For the first time in years, you felt calm, grounded, and finally able to breathe. But after a week of solitude, everything shifted the night a pizza was delivered to your door. In a place where wolves lived hidden among trees and old magic lingered in the air, your past—and your true self—began to catch up with you.

content info: werewolf!stray kids x reader, werewolf!reader, bang chan x reader, han jisung x reader, minho x reader, hyunjin x reader, felix x reader, changbin x reader, seungmin x reader, i.n x reader, smut [plenty of it], nostalgia, slow burn, pack dynamics, mature/strong language, more to be added

word count: open

minors do not interact!

CHAPTERS

Prologue: The Road Away

Chapter I: Wildflowers. Lilac. Storm.

Chapter II: Amber Eyes

Chapter III: Fire & Storm

Chapter IV: Scents.

Chapter V: Bond Dreams (18+)

Chapter VI: Gravity (16+)

[m-325]

from love-coded.exe

season one: finding sunshine boy a hacker group, comprised of five members, has their world changed when a glitch leads to y/n joining their private chat. gn!reader.

intro episodes available here or here << back to dash // next season >>

DAY ONE EP 0.1 - taking notes EP 0.2 - eat the rich EP 0.3 - freaky freak EP 0.4 - y/n investigates EP 0.5 - brain rot

DAY TWO EP 0.6 - simping for jesus EP 0.7 - promising leads EP 0.8 - in minecraft EP 0.9 - the plot thickens

DAY FIVE EP 1.0 - zaddy mode EP 1.1 - working hard EP 1.2 - hardly working EP 1.3 - sunshine lore

DAY SEVEN EP 1.4 - svt memes EP 1.5 - fully unhinged EP 1.6 - in minecraft 2.0 EP 1.7 - ✗ marks the spot EP 1.8 - the treasure

DAY EIGHT EP 1.9 - partners in grime EP 2.0 - [redacted] EP 2.1 - name dropping EP 2.2 - svt memes 2.0 EP 2.3 - socks to be you

DAY NINE EP 2.4 - eye eye cappin' EP 2.5 - rip $10 sunnies EP 2.6 - recovery mode EP 2.7 - takin' it wayback - 06/05/25 EP 2.8 - revenge mode - 08/05/25

free preview of first ep

for members: early releases are live

DAY THIRTEEN EP 2.9 - breast stroke EP 3.0 - EP 3.1 - EP 3.2 -

INFO -> as this is a wip you can reach out to be put on the taglist. i've made two methods for you to do this: comment with your user on the google doc or send an ask.

-> current upload schedule: every other day upon completion of a "day" (group of ep's). small breaks may be undertaken between ep groups due to the day not being wholly completed.

[m-325]

When there's monsters on your ceiling, I'll keep you safe

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: og8 x gn reader

Summary: Your first live stream without the guys and management turns into a disaster.

Genre: 9th member AU

Word Count: 2.6k

Trigger warning: Mentions of suicide, dieting culture, skipping meals, and bullying.

Depression and eating disorder resources

A/N: I'm really on a roll with requests. Remember to be nice to idols (unless they're twats) Requestee, you really hit the mark with this one

_ _ _

“You think so?” You laughed at one of the comments someone sent through the Instagram live stream you hosted. “I was thinking the same exact thing, it’d be hilarious.”

You were used to doing live streams when needed. Every so often, your schedule announced you were up to bat. Today, management was lenient with you. Your first official solo stream took place in one of the empty JYP meeting rooms. 

You slipped the company phone in the camera holder before pressing the button to start the live. Today, you didn’t have a specific plan. You had beads, a roll of leather lace, and a dream. Once you started, you couldn’t stop. 

For the past half hour, you’d been making friendship bracelets for the guys. With the help of fans, you were determining what colors to make each person’s bracelet. Not only did it feel like a chance to relax, but you enjoyed speaking to the fans one-on-one without your manager silently trying to get you to avoid a topic in the background. 

“So what do you think of Minho’s bracelet?” You held it up to the camera and placed your palm behind it. Pushing it closer to the camera, you held it steady so fans could see. “What do we think?” 

You pulled back after a few seconds, reading a few live stream comments off your phone. You clicked on your own stream and muted the phone to read responses. A smile appeared as you responded to a few comments. 

“Okay, so now I have to make Han’s, obviously. What do we think?” You glanced back up at the camera. “I was thinking about maybe orange, or red? What about both? It reminds me of his song, Volcano.” 

You went back to the comments. “You should make it red and green for Volcano and Alien.” You pulled back and laughed. “I mean, it’s a good idea, but those two colors together remind me of Christmas. I can do red and orange!” 

Seeing that most comments agreed, you reached out for the string to start to measure how much you needed. You were about to cut it when the comment came through. The moment you read it, your heart fell to your chest. 

‘Hey, here’s an idea. How about you leave all the guys alone and leave the group? You’re the weakest member and ruin everything.’ 

You knew you should have sat there and ignored it, but you couldn’t. Anger swelled up and you blinked rapidly, trying to force it down. “Leave the group, huh? Maybe I should. It’s people like you that make idols give up on all their dreams and kill themselves due to all the pressure.” 

You shouldn’t have said the words, but they came out like a free-flowing spout. What does it mean to be an idol? Really. What does it mean? 

It means giving up bodily autonomy to a company. Skipping meals is expected when the scale’s numbers start to go up. When an interview catches you at an unflattering angle, expect a lecture and a new diet spreadsheet. 

Going through dances over and over and over again. Sweating until you’re breathless and assume you’re going to topple over at any moment. Shaking knees and unsteady steps as you try to push yourself up to find the strength to do it all over again. 

Spend hours learning formations and completing sound checks, trying not to give in and read the hate online. When you’re an idol, everything is placed beneath a microscope. Your flaws, your short-comings, your inability to act the right way, or say the correct thing. It’s all televised for the masses to see. 

And god, are they hungry. The razor-sharp teeth of fan-folk on twitter. The faceless comments and nameless profiles that equip themselves with emojis. They beg for new content, but it’s never enough. Treat their favorites with respect, but if they can get away with bashing another group to bring their favorites up, they’ll do it. 

The dark side of the k-pop industry has always been there. They never try to hide it. The collapsing at concerts. The hidden injuries. Companies bowing down to fan requests, even when the idol’s livelihood is at stake and they’ll do it, too. Because in the heart of the idol world, money is the only god being worshipped and there is no bigger god than greed. 

Comments shot your way, trying to understand what happened. Not everyone caught the comment you did, but they heard the words. They caught your empty-eyed gaze into the screen. A brief glimpse into the actual reality. Maybe you really weren’t okay. 

Maybe you were tired of putting on the mask and playing pretend. Some say to get over it. It’s what you signed up for. You deserve it. Get over it. Toughen up and ignore the haters. Not everyone has a shield of armor protecting them. Not everyone is equipped to handle the hate trains and the protest trucks. The black oceans, the scorns and scoffs, the hashtags praying on your downfall. The flop era. 

Maybe you were tired and said the wrong thing or maybe you were tired of living it all. A pretty and perfect illusion that crumbled before the eyes of the fans. Everyone knew it, but nobody had the guts to say it. 

The companies surely didn’t. Trying to stay neutral, they’d ignore it all. Ignore the fans surrounding the hotels and screaming the names of the favorites at the top of their lungs, wrecking the idols’ sleep schedules, and souring the taste of regular guest’s hotel stays. 

Ignore the purple bags and exhaustion sticking to idols that follow them like ghosts. Give them chicken and rice diets. Drink more water. Cut more calories. Restrict more. Look at yourself and be ashamed.

Ignore the hate trucks. Blame the idols and don’t hold the fans accountable. Sacrifice them to the wolves and know that your company’s reputation will bounce back, but not always the ongoing mental struggle of the idol. 

How many times did you cry because you missed your family? The sibling you couldn’t watch grow up. The stretching crow’s feet in the corner of your mother’s eyes. The deepening wrinkles on your father’s face. A kitchen chair sat waiting for you in your childhood home, longing for your warmth, but you rarely showed up anymore. 

The industry breaks you and reshapes you. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally. You’re dragged through the mud all the time. Dreams are supposed to be hard, but why are some of them so self-destructive? How do you really go about becoming a k-pop idol the right way?

You still remember the shock as you combed your hair one time and found your hair falling out in an alarming amount of strands. Too much stress. Not enough food. Not enough sleep. 

Sometimes your members, they weren’t just your members, but souls tortured just the same as yours. You saw it in the way Chan rambled on bubble, so desperately trying to fix internal fan wars that were never his fault. Always blaming himself, trying to do better. The weight of a fandom was never supposed to fall onto the weight of one man. 

You saw it when Felix drank water and began to heavily restrict before an upcoming photoshoot because he wanted to look perfect. You were forced to confront it after his stomach growled a third time. Hunger lingered in his eyes when he looked your way while you ate your dinner. 

Devastation seeped out of a few members at certain events. They never seemed to get the recognition they deserved. It wasn’t their fault. It was never their fault. It’d never be their fault. 

You blinked rapidly as the tears began to fall. “I’m sorry, I’ve gotta go.” Fan comments rolled in, but you reached forward and hit the end live-stream button. 

Tomorrow, a lecture waited for you with management, but for now, you just wanted to mourn. 

~ ~ ~ 

“Oh…” Felix’s voice trailed off. He sat staring at the blank screen with a frown. Your live was going great until you shut down towards the end. You said nothing, but you also said everything all at once after that last comment. 

Beside him, Han, Minho, and Hyunjin sat just as stunned. They were enjoying your live stream, looking forward to the bracelets they’d be getting afterwards. As one of the younger members of the group, you were cherished a lot. 

“We need to go find them,” Minho pushed himself from the dance practice floor. “Does anyone know which conference room they’re in?” 

Heads shook and Han pushed himself up to follow him. “Let’s go look. Can someone grab the rest of the guys? I think they went out for lunch, but they should be back at any moment. I think we’re really needed right now.” 

“I’ve got it. If you find them first, call me and let me know.” Hyunjin reached the door first and disappeared. 

Felix rushed after Han and Minho. “This is really bad. I didn’t know they felt this way. Should we be worried?” 

“I think we all feel this way sometimes, but we’ve never said it out loud,” Minho mumbled. 

“Hey, I found them!” 

Across the way, the remaining four members looked just as worried. A unit of eight, Changbin led the charge towards the end of the hall. Hyunjin picked up the end and placed a hand on a staggering Jeongin’s shoulder. 

“We should have noticed this sooner,” he uttered softly. 

“How were we supposed to know, Innie? They always keep to themselves. They’re very good at trying to ignore the things bothering them.” 

“I feel like an awful person for not noticing.” 

“It’s okay, we’re going to fix it together.” 

~ ~ ~ 

In the conference room, your head sat in your hands. The colorful beads and leather string sitting around didn’t bring you the joy that it once had. Instead, you silently cried into your hands. 

All you wanted was one nice live without a troll. Instead, you gave them exactly what they wanted. They wanted your tears and your anger. It fueled them for whatever reason.

You didn’t look up when the door burst open. You tensed up, waiting for a member of management to yell at you, but it never came. Instead, multiple footsteps headed your way. A gentle hand fell upon your shoulder and Changbin softly called your name. 

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” you mumbled. 

“Well, that’s just too damn bad,” Seungmin said. His arms crossed over his chest. “I left my biscottis behind and we all gathered here.” 

Minho shot him a glare, but it didn’t bother him. Chan gave him a follow-up warning look and sighed. “Listen, we just wanna make sure you’re alright. The way you ended that live, it was-” 

“Horrible? Unprofessional and irresponsible?” 

“I was going to say bold, but incredibly true. You spoke about the things some idols stay far away from.” 

“I’m tired!” You pulled your hands away from your face. Tears lined your bloodshot eyes. “It’s always something and I’m trying my fucking best! I’m trying to be a good person and a perfect idol and it’s not happening! I can’t do it! I-I-” You sucked in a shaky breath and a whimper fell out. 

You tried so hard to keep it together, but when Felix appeared and squirmed closer to wrap his arms around you, you cracked. Your head buried into his chest as sobs fell from you. 

How much of your life had you given up being judged in the name of your dreams? There would always be people who hated your guts for one reason or another. You’d always have people that disliked you, but in the k-pop world? People would do anything to bring down the idols they hated. 

Spreading rumors, sending hate trucks, and stirring the pot. Taunting, teasing, and straight up bullying. Stalking, harassment, and belittling. It was always something. 

You couldn’t breathe without doing it wrong. Every time you touch a member for too long, you’re being childish and clingy. When you don't say much during a video, you’re dubbed a stuck-up snob. Too close to the opposite gender of another group? You’re probably dating them.

There is never and will never be any winning in the industry until people change. Companies have to stop dragging their feet. It only stops when the industry calls out bullshit as they see fit. Taking the steps for legal action. Knowing an idol is a privilege, not a right. 

Han wiggled his way to the other side of you, squeezing between Changbin and Felix, letting a hand fall to your head. Another hand and then another. As you cried, they all grieved. Tears sprouted from all of them because they all knew. When one of them hurts, they all hurt, and your reasoning? It all sat within them during their down time.

The industry had been built off of breaking people and trying to build them back better. People are not that durable. When you break someone’s soul, there is no going back. Idols learn to hate their imperfections. Change them. Shape them. 

Slave away in the mirror to develop a perfect routine, so no pores are visible. Some trade away their real personalities, not because they want to, but because companies want to market them a certain way. 

Everything is pre-planned to the extreme. Compete against your favorite friends in the charts because they belong to different companies. Slaughter the competition. Sell more albums. Do the embarrassing requests on fan calls. Have no boundaries because the company said so and unless you want to be blacklisted, do it, or fall victim to the endless abyss of wannabe idols that didn’t make the cut.  

“Ah, this is embarrassing,” Jeongin mumbled after a while. “I’m not supposed to be crying in front of everyone. All these hyungs and I’m- 

“Suck it up,” you mumbled, trying to pull back from Felix’s shirt. “Now you know how I feel.” 

“You have pretty cute tears,” Changbin observed. 

“Hey! Don’t cheat on me! You can’t call them pret-” 

“Shut up, wifey.”

Seungmin’s face scrunched in disgust and Han rolled his eyes. Chan glanced down at you and gently squeezed your shoulder. “Are you feeling a little better?” 

You nodded, reached up, and wiped your eyes. “Thank you for letting me cry. I’m sorry that I-” 

Minho’s hand went over your mouth. “Do not ever apologize for struggling with real emotions.” 

Your nose wrinkled and you pulled away. “Ew. How am I supposed to know where your hand has been? That’s so-” 

“Probably around Jisu-” 

“AH!” Jeongin’s hands went over his face and he shook his head. “Stop! Stop! I don’t want to hear it! Enough!” 

“You’re so cute, Innie. Come here! I wanna pinch your cheeks.” Hyunjin walked around you and hurried to Jeongin. Felix cheered for him as Jeongin began to hurry around the other side of the table. 

“Don’t touch me!” 

“I wanna touch my wife!” Changbin hurried after Hyunjin. 

“Oh! Oh! Oh!” Felix grinned and rushed afterwards. “Changbinnie, I wanna touch your muscles!” 

“That’s my cat.” 

“Hey, wait!” Han rushed after Minho. 

“That’s my first-born.” 

“Yeah and I wanna kick the elder’s ass,” Seungmin grumbled, following Chan. He spun around to glance at you. “Are you coming? Don’t you want to throat punch me like usual or something?” 

“How’d you know?” 

“You say it’s always a good day to throat punch me.”

“Sometimes it is.” 

“It’s every day.” 

“Well, stop being a pain in my ass and it won't happen anymore.” 

“You cunt.” 

“Jackass.” 

He huffed and hurried after Chan. You grabbed your phone and hurried up to follow him. In the k-pop world, it was riddled with a lot of issues, but when moments like this naturally happened… 

It was hard to stay upset for long, knowing that the industry brought the eight of these idiots right into your heart; you had a feeling they’d stay there for a long, long time. 

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

Taglist: @lia-linny @seungnishi @stellasays45 @emilyywhyy @rockstarkkami @flightlessackerman @inlovewithstraykids @velvetmoonlght @chrizrizz @ari-hwanggg

Masterlist

Taglist and inbox rules

Ko-fi

[m-325]

Ypu guys better read these they are amazing!!

WELCOME TO THE OTHER SIDE

about: tan. she/they. '98 liner. ceo of choose your own destiny/interactive stories, cliffhangers and happy endings. check out my other blogs here — inspo, sims, personal 💚

rules: do not interact with me or my content if you are a minor, an ageless or a blank blog, i will block you. always make sure to be polite to everyone. pls read this before interacting. 📗

the beautiful divider is from @strangergraphics <3

latest writings:

I LIKE IT — interactive series, chan, minho, jisung x reader, camgirl/camboy au, interactive story

all my writings:

[ MULTIPLE MEMBERS ]

LEVANTER [series, completed, 151K words — completed!] friends/frenemies to lovers, mafia au, jisung, chan, minho x reader

RED LIGHTS [interactive series, completed, 90K+ words — completed!] ot8 x reader, reality tv au, interactive story

MEGAVERSE [interactive series, ongoing] ot8 x reader, parallel universe/sci-fi, video game au, interactive story

24 TO 25 [interactive oneshot, 5K-15K+ words] ot8 x reader, christmas au, interactive story

GIVE ME YOUR TMI [interactive oneshot, 9.0K+ words] minho x reader x jisung, friends to lovers, tutor au, interactive story

AWAKEN [interactive oneshot, 5.5K-12K+ words] 3racha x reader, neighbours au, interactive story

[ BANG CHAN ]

WAITING FOR US [oneshot, 7.9k words] best friends to lovers, college au

SILENT CRY [oneshot, 12.0K words] best friends to lovers, fake dating, tw: daddy issues

CONNECTED [oneshot, 6.8k words] best friends to lovers, chan asks reader for advice with his nudes

KIWI [oneshot, 12.0K] childhood friends to enemies to lovers, travel au, forced proximity

SECRET SECRET [oneshot, 9.3K] friends to lovers, rockstar au, secret identity au

[ LEE MINHO ]

EASY [oneshot, 10.0k words] enemies to lovers, professor minho

[ HWANG HYUNJIN ]

MUDDY WATER [oneshot, 15.5K words] exes to lovers, second chance au

[ HAN JISUNG ]

SUGAR HONEY ICE & TEA [oneshot, 12.7K] roommates au

SAKURA [oneshot, 12.4K words] enemies to lovers

ALIEN [oneshot, 10.9K words] childhood friends to lovers

TOPLINE [oneshot, 10.3K] rockstar au / best friends to lovers, secret identity au

[ LEE FELIX ]

HOLD ON TIGHT [oneshot, 8.5K] enemies to lovers, gamers au

© j-0ne25 2022-2024 | copying, translating or stealing my work is prohibited

[m-325]

Synopsis: When talented producer Y/n (known professionally as the mysterious "Celeste") accepts a position at JYP Entertainment to help Stray Kids with their comeback, she expects to focus solely on creating music. What she doesn't expect is the immediate connection she feels with Han Jisung—the group's quick-witted, sensitive rapper and producer who's been following her career from afar.

Pairing: Han Jisung x Reader

Warnings: Angst, Smut, Heartbreak

If you want to be in the tag list comment on this post!

Chapter 1: New Producer, New Beginnings

Chapter 2: Musical Chemistry

Chapter 3: Movie Night

Chapter 4: Personal Sessions

Chapter 5: Seoul Nights

[m-325]

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, Han. 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. ‘Han 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.

Waw....our flustered boy always comes out in the end huh? 🥰

Taglist: purple means I can't tag you

@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

check out my pinned if you want to be added to the taglist!

~kc💗

[m-325]

heaven come {Blood Rush}

General Masterlist - Blood Rush Masterlist - Read this before interacting

Disclaimer:

⚠︎ I do not permit any form of copying, translation, or reposting. Please reblog if you want to share my work. This work is only appropriate for adults over the age of 18. Ageless/blank blogs will be blocked.

-> Word count: 3.2k

-> Relationships: Han Jisung/f!Reader

-> Rating: 18+ → Mature/Explicit

->Genre/Tropes: Crime/Mafia AU, Romance, Mutual Pining, Romantic/Sexual Tension, Toxic Love (Spoiler tags: Ex's to Lovers?)

-> Warning tags: Physical Abuse, Weapons, Blood and Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, Car Accident, Toxic Relationship. Other Additional Tags to Be Added.

-> Synopsis: You swore you’d never see Han Jisung again. Your plan was to focus on your studies and enjoy your normal college life. However, one phone call changes everything, dragging you back into the chaos you tried to escape.

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

Han Jisung. Always racing into problems' arms like an obsessive lover. 

And you, stupid, went behind him to save his ass.

Aside from the arm, there were bruises on his face and a gruesome purple mark on his chest and stomach. He still had his pants, but the red stains suggested more injuries. Thankfully, nothing appeared broken. At least, you hoped not.

"I'm alright, thank you for asking, darling," he replied, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

A sigh escaped as you headed to his closet in search of the first-aid kit. 

Returning, you kneeled in front of him, careful not to put weight on his body. Your attention focused on his injured arm.

 "Anyone saw you?" You ask, realizing that you'd been holding your breath until you saw it wasn't a bullet wound, only a cut.

"I don't think so. I wasn't exactly paying attention either," he said, his eyes filled with rage, hands clenching.  "I fucked up. They will get my DNA, know it was me and—"

"The car exploded. They can't get you," you interrupted.

Jisung's head shook slowly, his lips forming a thin line. His body thudded against the wall, and a soft curse escaped his lips. 

You wanted to kill him and kiss him at the same time.

Once the wound had been properly cleansed, you noticed it was deeper than you thought, and the bleeding didn't stop. Thanks to Chris, Jisung had at least the basic things to treat a serious wound.

"I'll have to stitch you up," you said, getting the needle.

"I'm sorry," Jisung whispered.

Your hands paused, and you inhaled deeply, brushing aside the apology. Instead, you focused on the task at hand. 

Every wince from Jisung sent an ache through your own heart, and soon you were saying soft, soothing words.

When you were done, you turned your attention to the more superficial injuries.

The accident had been meticulously engineered. They had schemed for months, back when you were dating Jisung. Every minute detail had been plotted—the car's precise placement, the timing of the traffic light, the angles, everything. Jisung was to get out on the streets as soon as he killed the guy and go to the subway. No car should explode, only a minor accident. Enough to be a distraction and ease Jisung's escape.

Something went wrong. 

You’ll have to talk with Chris, and that frustrates you even more. 

You were supposed to be out of this life. 

Cold fingers grazing against your cheek startled you. 

You hadn't noticed him drawing close. His chest, that made your fingers tingle at the thought of touching it, his tempting collarbones, his soft pouty lips that begged for a stolen kiss and the beautifully broken eyes.

"You're thinking too much."

"Someone has to," you said.

Gently, you cleaned the wounds on his face. Jisung rested against the wall again, closing his eyes. 

"What now?" You ask.

"Chris said there's a place to lay low for the night. It's no longer safe for us."

Us? What was your crime? Loving a man just a little bit more than the healthy amount recommended by society?

"I'm supposed to be home, studying for an exam. Not running from the police," you said, letting the rage out. Why couldn’t he have been just an ordinary college guy whose worst crime was smoking weed? It wasn’t fair. “I won’t go with you.”

His eyes locked on yours, gaze so intense it sent tingles down your core.

“I know,” he said quietly. “But you don’t have a choice.”

You hated the guilt in his eyes.

You hated even more how badly you still desired him.

Want to keep reading? You can check it out on my AO3—just click this link to continue: heaven come 🖤

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

Author's note: Hi! I hope you liked this story. English is my second language, so please excuse my errors. Constructive feedback is always appreciated! I do not permit any form of copying, translation, or reposting of my work.

Did you enjoy this? If so, please reblog it. Thank you for reading! Sending love 💕

Copyright © 2025 by Writerastray.

[m-325]

Ok.. so I know this is weird but

I lied to my friends and said I have a friend named Alex from England who is like 16-17 years old and stan skz and I need someone to act like him... dm me if you can 🙏

[m-325]

No cause I read this at school and I couldn't stop laughing. The teacher asked why I was laughing and I showed him and be laughed too😭😭

Crack fic

16+ cuz dick jokes

This won’t be added to my masterlist

Chan lets out a sigh, putting down the bowl with a clink. He was trying to cook, but the sudden door slamming drew his attention away. It meant that someone was up to something.

Chan wipes his hands on the towel, wandering off to see what everyone is up to. There’s only one closed door as he peers down the hallway. It’s the bathroom door.

Chan raps his knuckles to the door. “Hello? Who’s in there? Is everything okay?”

He hears muffled giggles and sighs again. 

“I’m coming in,” Chan says. “You have three second. Three… Two… One…”

He pushes the door open, met with the horrifying sight of you peering down Jisung’s pants. You have the waistband pulled out, and Jisung is smiling.

Chan covers his eyes and whips around, smacking his face into the wall. “I’m so sorry- I’ll leave! I’m going!”

“Chan!” you exclaim. “Come here and look at this!”

Chan shakes his head, still squeezing his eyes shut. “Nope. I’m going to go and die in a hole I think. Wasn’t Minho digging?”

“He was trying to get to the centre of the Earth,” Jisung helpfully chirps. “Chan! Come look at my dick!”

“Why?” Chan slowly asks. He’s very confused but also doesn’t want to know what’s happening here.

“It’s glowing!” you say, which makes Chan pretty much have a heart attack.

“It’s what?” Chan gasps out, hurrying closer. He peers down Jisung’s pants, and doesn’t see a penis.

Instead, there’s a glow stick.

Chan reaches down and brings it up to wave in front of Jisung’s face. “It’s-“

“My dick!” Jisung screeches, grabbing the glow stick back. “Oh my gosh, oh my gosh.”

You pass out, collapsing. Chan barely manages to catch you before your head hits the counter.

Jisung is trying to put the glow stick back, tears running down his face. “No! It’s gone! I- I can’t feel it anymore.”

“Because it’s a fucking glow stick!” Chan snaps, throwing you over his shoulder. “Your dick is still in your underwear!”

Jisung blinks. “Oh.”

@velvetmoonlght @jinnie-ret @hansmic @imeverycliche @strawberryscentedd @iwuberic @lezleeferguson-120 @mbioooo0000

[m-325]

Gonna read this

Number Neighbor | Masterlist

pairing: Fanboy! Han Jisung x Youtuber! Reader

genre: Social media! AU; fluff, comedy, sightly angst.

↳ Jisung has been a fan of y/n since he can remember, what will happen when y/n posts her new youtube video texting her number neighbor who turned out to be Jisung?

Intro 01 | Intro 02

-

part 0 part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 7.1 part 8 part 9 part 10 part 11 part 12 part 13 part 14 part 15 part 16 part 17 part 18 part 19 part 20 part 21 part 22 part 23 part 24 part 25 part 26 part 27 part 27.1 part 28 part 29 part 30

-

Epilogue 1 | Epilogue 2

[m-325]

QUEENMAKER

skz 9th member au

pairing chan x reader

genre ninth member au, angst, fluff, coming of age, social media, cancel culture, anxiety, depression, forbidden love,

summary To JYPE, the solution is simple; take the sole trainee that will not debut with your brand new girl group, and use her to replace the missing vocalist in your male group that insisted on starting as nine.

Unfortunately, to the fans and the members themselves, it isn't that simple.

status ongoing

taglist OPEN

editor in chief, through which all things are possible @rainfallingfromthesky

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

---

BONUS MATERIAL

Y/N's Lines

Ch 26 Breakdown

TAGLIST

@kokinu09 @rainfallingfromthesky @lixie-phoria @mysweethannie @chlodavids

@hanniemylovelyquokka @tfshouldidohere @lauraliisa @puppysmileseungmin @kalopsian-thoughts

@puppy-minnie @readerofallthingss @dvbkie099 @kthstrawberryshortcake-main @acker-night

@d-chagi @lynlyndoll @borahae-reads @ihrtlix @yienmarkk

@minhwa @i2innie @jinnie-ret @conwunder @amesification

@starssongs98 @weirdhumanbeinglol @morinuu @the-weird-mold-in-the-sink @bokkiesplace

@amyyscorner @jiisungllvr @skzstaykatsy @blackhairandbangs @jungkookies1002

@hyuuukais @imsiriuslyreal @thatonedemigodfromseoul @gini143 @mercurywritesstuff

@splat00z @filmbypsh @palindrome969 @crabrangoongirl25 @enzos-shit

@jabmastersupriseee @kayleefriedchicken @hynjinswrld @duhgurl @cheshireshiya

@keepswingin

[m-325]

Can someone help me find a good sub!jisung writer or a very angsty like making me cry angsty jisung fic?

[m-325]

UNPLUGGED

CHAPTER Ⅰ: Insert Member Here

trope: fem!9th skz member warnings: angst, drama, insecure oc, cyber bullying, slow burn pairings: hyunjinxfem!oc next chapter

ISEUL STOOD IN THE CENTRE, chest heaving as she finished the last note of her vocal performance. She stood in the center, heart thudding, as J.Y. Park watched her from across the room, arms crossed, a pleased expression on his face.

The instructors scribbled notes on their clipboards, murmuring among themselves, but she barely heard them — she was still coming down from the high of nailing every run and hitting every pitch perfectly.

“This is why she’s still here,” one of the instructors muttered. “Her voice is a weapon.”

Iseul let out a shaky breath, wiping her hands against her sweatpants. Maybe this month’s evaluation wouldn’t crush her like the last one. Maybe she was finally getting somewhere.

“Now for the dance portion,” the head instructor announced, switching the music.

The moment the soft, cutesy beat of a typical K-pop girl group song filled the room, Iseul’s stomach sank. Still, she pushed through the choreography, forcing herself into the bubbly, delicate movements. But her body resisted — her limbs stiff, her motions lacking the fluid grace they wanted from her.

The song ended. Silence fell.

“You haven’t improved at all since last month,” one instructor said, voice laced with disappointment. “Your dancing is still awkward. Do you even practice?”

“I do,” Iseul said, heart pounding. “But... my style is different. I feel uncomfortable dancing like this.”

“That doesn’t matter,” another snapped. “Being an idol means adapting to uncomfortable situations.”

Before Iseul can defend herself, JYP himself interrupted. “Freestyle,” he said, voice low but commanding.

Iseul froze. “W-What?”

“Freestyle. I want to see what you’re actually comfortable with.”

He walked to the speaker, fingers hovering over his phone. “Pick a song.”

“Anything with a strong beat,” she blurted out, pulse hammering.

His lips twitched in amusement, and a moment later, the room exploded with Bruno Mars "Uptown Funk".

Iseul didn’t think. She moved.

Her body flowed like water, hips snapping with the beat, hands slicing through the air in sharp, controlled motions. She blended belly dance rolls with the gritty aggression of hip hop, commanding attention with every step. For the first time that day, she felt alive.

The music cut off, leaving her panting in the center of the room.

Her chest ached as she tried to catch her breath, sweat dripping from her temples. She could feel her legs trembling from exhaustion, her body swaying slightly as she tried to stay upright. But she refused to show weakness.

JYP remained silent, letting the weight of her performance hang in the air. Iseul’s lungs burned, but she didn’t dare move. She searched his face for a reaction, her fingers twitching at her sides.

Finally, he clapped — slow, measured. “Your style is... unique,” he said carefully, stepping forward. “But raw. It’s instinctive, not refined. If you were debuting in a boy group, this might work better. For a girl group, we usually aim for something more polished and sophisticated. And you aren't cut out to be a soloist.”

Iseul flinched, her heart sinking, but she quickly masked her disappointment. She’d heard those words before. Too rough. Too intense. Not feminine enough. Her style had never fit the mold.

“How long would it take me to refine it?” she asked, voice steady despite the storm in her chest.

“Because if I don’t debut this year, I will have to quit,” she said, voice unwavering.

He blinked, caught off guard. “Why the rush?”

Her gaze dropped to the floor for a beat before she looked back up. “I’ve trained for too long,” she said simply. “I can’t keep waiting.”

It wasn't technically a lie.

This was the promise she had made to her grandparents — a compromise forged in the aftermath of countless arguments and tearful conversations. If Iseul couldn’t debut within three years, she would leave the K-pop industry behind. No more training, no more chasing a dream that seemed to shrink further away with every rejection. She’d return home, bury her ambitions, and resume her studies to become a lawyer, just like they wanted.

A "real" career, as her grandfather had put it. A stable, respectable path that wouldn't leave her hanging by a thread of uncertainty.

His expression softened slightly, curiosity flickering in his eyes. “Is it about proving something to someone? Or to yourself?”

Iseul hesitated. “Both,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

There was a long pause before he finally nodded. “Come to my office tomorrow,” he said. “We’ll talk.”

The next day, Iseul sat stiffly in a chair across from Bang Chan, who kept glancing at her like he wasn’t sure if she was real. His hand rested around his coffee cup, knuckles turning white from how tightly he gripped it. J.Y. Park leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping on the desk.

“We’ve decided,” he said. “Iseul will be joining Stray Kids as the ninth member.”

Chan nearly dropped his coffee, setting it down with a shaky clink.

“Sir, I don’t think that’s a good idea. We’re still recovering from...” He trailed off, jaw clenching. “Another scandal could destroy us.”

“She’s a vocal powerhouse,” JYP said. “And she won’t make it in a girl group. This is her best shot — and yours.”

Chan rubbed his face, fingers digging into his temples. “With all due respect... this could destroy us.”

“Or save you,” JYP said, standing. “It’s up to you.”

Chan looked at Iseul, who met his gaze without flinching. She didn’t look nervous, just... resolved. Like she’d already accepted whatever fallout might come her way.

“I’ll work hard,” she said quietly. “I don’t expect you to like me right away. But I won’t let you down.”

Her voice didn’t waver, but Chan saw the way her hands curled tightly into fists on her lap, her nails digging into her palms. She wasn’t fearless. She was just stubborn.

Chan sighed, defeated. “I hope not,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face.

He didn't get paid enough to deal with this shit.

After the meeting, as they walked out of the office, Chan slowed his steps so he was walking beside Iseul. She didn’t look at him, her eyes fixed straight ahead.

“You really okay with this?” he asked finally, voice low.

Iseul’s jaw tensed. “I don’t have a choice,” she said, her voice quieter than before.

Chan studied her for a moment, something heavy settling in his chest. She reminded him of himself — the way he’d been when they were still just trainees, desperate to debut, willing to carry any weight to make it happen.

But desperation didn’t mean she belonged with them.

They reached the elevator, and just as the doors slid shut, Chan turned to her, voice sharp.

“Why Stray Kids?” he asked, crossing his arms. “Why do you want to debut with us?”

Iseul blinked, caught off guard. “I... I didn’t choose —”

“No, but you could’ve refused,” Chan cut in. “You know how the fans will react, how the members will feel. So why stay?”

Iseul pressed her lips together, fingers curling around the hem of her hoodie. “Because this is my last chance,” she admitted. “I’m not trying to replace anyone. I just... I just want to debut.”

Chan’s gaze hardened. “Wanting it isn’t enough.”

“I know.” She looked at him, voice quiet but steady. “I’ll prove it.”

Chan didn’t respond. The elevator doors opened, and he stepped out, not waiting to see if she followed.

He wasn’t convinced yet. Not even close.

TAGLIST: @leewritesstuff

Yea started with a new project lmfao. Comment if you wanna be added into permanent taglist! Don't forget to comment and like. Reblogging helps a ton too! Stay safe!! ~Candy

[m-325]

Ninth Member!Reader 🪻

<-------- back to ot8 masterlist

<--------- back to main masterlist

Fake Fights - Stray Kids x Ninth Member!Reader (Platonic) F | A

You and Minho decide to strike revenge and prank the boys after they leave practice early because of the tense mood you both created.

Fallen Angel pt 2 - Stray Kids x Ninth Member!Reader (Platonic) A | F

The Stray Kids members have two maknaes to comfort at the end of their 'I'll Be Your Man' cover. One upset because he thought he wasn't good enough, and the other an injured, fallen angel, left hurt because MNET hadn't done enough safety checks on their equipment.

Scarred Knees and Insecurities - Stray Kids x Ninth Member!Reader (Platonic) A | F

When the old scars from your youth, become fresh wounds in your adulthood, the boys are there to pick up the pieces.

Heatstroke - Stray Kids x Ninth Member!Reader (Platonic) F | A

Y/n suffers from heat stroke on the day of their performance at Lollapalooza.

Bite My Tongue - Stray Kids x Ninth Member!Reader (Platonic) A

When an interviewer decides to pick on you specifically, the boys do their best to hold back and get you out of the situation.

Daredevil - Stray Kids x Ninth Member!Reader (Platonic) F

The boys never expected that their shy noona could be such a daredevil.

My Aegi - Stray Kids x Ninth Member!Reader (Platonic) F | A

Y/n was glad she had the boys there to help her raise her kid sister. She didn't know what she'd do without them.

It's a Brit Thing - Stray Kids x Ninth Member!Reader (Platonic) F

The boys find it hard to understand their British member a lot of the time...

Who I Am - Stray Kids x Ninth Member Non-binary!Reader (Platonic) A | F

The boys support Y/N for who they are, and show them that they truly have their back when a podcast goes wrong.

Don't Push Yourself - Stray Kids x Ninth Member!Reader (Platonic) A | F

You thought you were doing the right thing for yourself, but it was only a matter of time before your habits became unhealthy, and the boys didn't even notice until it was too late.

Period Pains - Stray Kids x Ninth Member!Reader (Platonic) F

You're keen to see the boys reactions to what you go through every month.

Super Shy - Stray Kids x Ninth Member!Reader (Platonic) F

Y/N is surprised when the boys turn up at her album debut shoot, and they reassure her on her worries about her new daring look.

Let Noona Handle It - Stray Kids x Ninth Member!Reader (Platonic) F | A

After a difficult, chaotic concert, you prepare a feast to take care of your beloved dongsaengs.

Family is Complicated - Stray Kids x Ninth Member!Reader (Platonic) A | F

After your troubling phone call is overhead by all of the boys, they comfort you and reassure you that they are your true family.

Gyaru, Jjang Yeppeuda - Stray Kids x Ninth Member!Reader (Platonic) F | A

Despite her normal confidence in owning her aesthetic, Y/N begins to feel uncomfortable when she feels the judging stares of other idols.

Togetherness - Stray Kids x Ninth Member!Reader (Platonic) A

Out of all things, the last thing you expected to hear was that your parents are getting a divorce, but it was fortunate that the boys were there to hold you together.

Generation Z - Stray Kids x Ninth Member!Reader (Platonic) F

She's the youngest of the group and the boys can't keep up with her internet slang.

People Pleaser - Stray Kids x Ninth Member!Reader (Platonic) F | A

In her One Kid's Room episode, Y/N reflects on how it was hard for her not to be so kind and sweet to everyone, because she just wanted them to like her.

Hellevator - Stray Kids x Ninth Member Male!Reader (Platonic) A 💚🖤

He's going through voice changes in their debut era and fans are already sending in hate.

Cigarette Duet - Poly!Stray Kids x Ninth Member!Reader | A 💚🖤

You get hounded by your boyfriends after they catch you smoking. How will they react when you disappear and go off the radar?

Placebo - Stray Kids x Hybrid!Ninth!Reader | A | F 💚🖤

The boys are shocked at how your hybrid features present themselves when you are feeling particularly emotional.

Make You Feel My Love - Stray Kids x Ninth Member!Reader (Platonic) | A 💚🖤

The boys help and rescue their fellow member through one of the hardest things she's had to do, all over again - grieve.