#Tech Interview Preparation

[justnshalom]

Mastering Common Programming Languages for Tech Interviews

Mastering Common Programming Languages for Tech Interviews Are you preparing for a tech interview and wondering which programming language you should focus on? It’s true that no specific programming language is required for all tech interviews, but having familiarity with a prominent language is generally a prerequisite for success. Why is it important to be familiar with programming…

[code-recipe]

Google Interview Question Revealed!

Checkout our latest video where we have explained the popular Google, Microsoft, Facebook, Amazon interview question "Two Sum" in a simple, step by step and easy to understand way. Watch it now on YouTube : https://youtu.be/JMCTsP0Jxmc

[womaneng]

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👩🏻‍💻Get ready with me for Data Science Interview🫠💄

Synco makes my interview process super easy. ✅

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[heycoach-super30]

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[wickedhawtwexler]

i'm doing some hardcore prep for my interview tomorrow and y'all. i just love math. it's just so satisfying to look at something that is taken for granted and prove WHY it's true

[technicalfika]

Unlocking Your Future: How to Become an SQL Engineer at Top Tech Companies

As a college student with aspirations of landing your dream job at a top tech giant company, becoming an SQL Engineer can open the doors to a data-driven and fulfilling career. SQL (Structured Query Language) is an essential skill in the tech industry, enabling professionals to manage and analyze vast amounts of data efficiently. In this comprehensive guide, we will explore the key steps to…

[furioussheepluminary]

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💗

[bad268]

You Have A Baby?! (Franco Colapinto X Reader)

Fandom: RPF/Formula 1

Requested: Nope (Your Poll Winner!)

Warnings: Assumed parental status

POV: Second Person (You/your

W.C. 1640

Summary: Franco heard something, and he's determined to get to the bottom of it.

As always, my requests are OPEN

MASTERLIST // HITLIST

~~(^Pinterest)

Franco liked to observe you from a distance. You were the only person who could make him nervous, so he kept the space. 

You were a member of Hi-Tech in Formula 2, so he never actually knew you. He just saw you, and from the brief conversations he heard from you, he knew that he was smitten. The day he finally got the courage, he rounded the corner to the Hi-Tech garage before he heard you talking with some of the team.

“So, how’s Henry doing?” The engineer asked you. You smiled bashfully, leaning back in your chair and turning your attention away from your laptop. Franco decided to just peer around the wall but keep out of sight as much as possible.

“Oh, he’s in his exploring stage! I can’t get this guy to sit still!” You boasted, pulling out your phone to, presumably, show pictures of Henry to your coworker.

Who was Henry? Franco thought you were single. You had a kid?!  Which Franco had nothing against that! He just thought you were pretty young, but he wasn’t going to discriminate against you for being a young parent! He’s willing to become a step-dad for you. Wait, Henry could also be some secret lover, too. He decided it was better to hold off asking you out until he knew more about Henry.

A week later, you disappeared. You were no longer in Hi-Tech. Franco found out from Paul that you moved into Formula 1, Alpine to be specific. They offered you the same role with a higher pay, and Hi-Tech couldn’t match it. They weren’t upset; they actually encouraged it!

When Franco was called up to Williams, he was more excited to see you around than he was to actually drive the car. He also made frequent stops in Alpine under the guise that he knew Jack from Formula 2. It was on one of those visits that he heard more about Henry.

“How is Henry liking daycare?” One of the members of the PR team asked you as Franco rounded the corner with Jack. He stopped short once again to listen in. This also didn’t go unnoticed by Jack.

“I heard he isn’t making any friends,” You frowned as you put your phone down. “I might just need to start bringing him with me again, but I want him to socialize! I think I just need to get him a sibling. There wouldn’t be too big of an age gap if I started preparing now. Plus, I miss the baby stage.”

How old is Henry? Franco asked himself as he tried to hide his wide eyes. He didn’t know what he thought, but he assumed Henry had to be around 6 or 7. The way you were talking about him made Franco think Henry was maybe 3 or 4 at most. Did you still have contact with the other parent? Maybe you weren't single after all. 

The next chance he got was a couple of race weekends later. You were chilling outside the Alpine hospitality, and Paul and Jack were sitting with you. You were getting ready to interview them since you knew that Paul was going to be the reserve driver, and Jack was already confirmed and announced. You wanted to get a headstart on the promotional material, so you were simply chatting with them to get them more comfortable with you. 

“Is Owen settling in alright? How is Henry feeling no longer being an only child?” Paul chuckled as he took a bite of his food. 

“Owen’s fine,” You dragged out. “As for Henry, he’s mouthy and voicing his concerns, but they like each other. And this is not the first time Henry’s had a sibling. I’ve shown you Betty before, right?”

Now, there’s three kids? Franco was freaking out. Maybe he wouldn’t be cut out for this.

“Ah Betty-Boo!” Jack gasped in remembrance. “How long has it been?”

“Two years,” You replied solemnly as you looked through some of the pictures on your phone. You probably had thousands of pictures of your children, and looking at your first made you reminisce. “It’s right what they say. Your first child makes you want another and another, but Henry and Owen are just mouthy pieces of shit.”

“What did you say? Did you just call your kids bitches?” Franco couldn’t stop himself from calling out. You, Jack, and Paul all looked at him, not expecting Franco to be standing there.

“I’ll bring them to one of the last races, and you’ll see what I mean,” You chuckled, shaking your head. You were used to this. “Trust me, you’ll see my point.”

Abu Dhabi was the final race week, and Franco was ready to meet the infamous Henry and Owen. True to your word, news spread like wildfire through the paddock that you had brought the children. It seemed like everyone in F2 was more hyped to meet them, like they already knew them.

Franco decided to slowly walk up to the Alpine hospitality where he had heard you were chilling out with the boys because they hated loud noises. Just as Franco opened the door, he was met with a wall of screaming.

“Luke, Owen, stop it! You're riling him up, Luke!” You seethed at the F2 driver as you hit him in the back of the head. Still, the random scream, which was way too high-pitched to be Luke, continued.

“I join. I join,” another voice said, and suddenly, two high-pitched screams filled the room. Luke laughed. 

“No, don’t even think about it, Henry! I swear to god, Luke. Why do you always have to be a pain?” You groaned, and that’s when Franco rounded the corner. He sees you sitting with your head in your hands while Luke and Gabriele stand next to you, laughing and holding…parrots?

“You’re kids are parrots?!” Franco asked as calmly as possible, but his mind was reeling. That was not what he was expecting. “You’re kidding me.”

“Not a parrot,” the one Luke was holding said immediately as it looked, more like glared at Franco.

“Henry, be nice,” You lectured, standing up and putting out your arm for the bird. “Franco, this is Henry, and he gets mad when you just call him a parrot. What are you, Henry? Can you tell Franco?”

“Cockatoo,” Henry answered as he flew over to your arm.

“He’s a Sulphur Crested Cockatoo. I’ve had him since I was a child,” You answered as you smoothed out his feathers. “He’s the mouthy one I was talking about.”

“I’m not. You are,” Henry quipped, flying over to circle Franco before landing on his shoulder. You rolled your eyes before giving Franco a look as if to say, ‘See?’ causing Franco to smile and cautiously pet Henry.

“And that is Owen. He’s a Harlequin Macaw,” You gestured to the one Gabriele was still petting. Owen looked over at Franco for a second before turning his attention back to Luke. “He’s pretty chill, but when you get Henry going, Owen follows his big brother. That’s what the screaming match was earlier. Luke knows how to ruffle some feathers.”

“So this whole time, you were talking about parrots?” Franco clarified as he slowly began to pet Henry.

“Not a parrot,” Henry squawked as he jutted his head at Franco’s hand, causing the driver to flinch and snap his hand back.

“Right, right. Not a parrot,” Franco conceded, staring intently at Henry. “A cockatoo and macaw.”

“Me?” Owen spoke up as he flew over and landed on Franco’s shoulder. Franco froze again as he looked at the more colourful bird.

“I’m talking about you, yes,” He said simply before turning back to you. “I like them, but can you get them off me now?”

“Oh no,” You dragged out with a smirk, “I heard all about your crush and how you wanted to be a step-dad to Henry and Owen, so I think you need some bonding time.”

“How did you know that? Who told you?” He gasped, spooking Henry and Owen to fly over to you. 

“You underestimate how much Jack hears and what we talk about,” You teased as you walked closer to Franco, holding Henry and Owen between the two of you. “Plus, we all knew that you and Jack weren't that close from the one race you met him in F2. I had him be a little spy, but don’t worry. I find it cute.”

“So I guess the only question is, are you free for dinner tonight?” Franco flipped back to his confident self as he winked at you.

“I am free, technically,” You smirked, gesturing to the birds, “but you’ll need to ask the boys. They’re attention whores, and they were pretty deadset on a movie night.”

“I like movies,” Franco shrugged as he looked between the two birds, “Would you mind if I joined you?”

Neither bird answered Franco, causing him to look at you nervously. “Offer strawberry water,” you sighed with a smile, “It’s like crack to them.”

“I’ll bring strawberry water?” Franco offered skeptically, but when both birds began squawking and flapping their wings excitedly, Franco backed up slightly but smiled. “Okay, I’ll be at your hotel room with pizza and strawberry water around 7. Would you like anything specific? Is there anything like crack for you?”

“Just your presence,” You flirted with a wink before you took the birds back. “Alright, boys, say bye to Franco. We’ll see him later. He needs to get in a car and go fast!”

“Faster than fast, quicker than quick,” Henry started repeating over and over as he flew around you. “I am speed.”

“Ka-Chow Franco,” Owen said as he stuck his head out at Franco, “iVamos!”

“I think you can guess what we’re watching,” You rolled your eyes, “It’s their favorite.”

~~~~~

© BAD268 2025. DO NOT REPOST WITHOUT PERMISSION.

[sgiandubh]

Promo time...

... and the expected statements come (sort of) easy:

[Source: Ryan Kristafer's Instagram account, 10 April 2025]

The above excerpt is a promo interview for The Amateur, apparently released today. I am sure they celebrate across the street and sort of wait for our take on it (this is what makes some blogs breathe, after all).

Because here is an apparently benign question:

'Well, I've got to ask about being a decoder, you know, in this film. Now do you have like, friends or family calling on you like ' hey, can you fix my computer'?

From the get go, let me add that I think there is absolutely nothing spontaneous about it. This question has been negotiated with PR before and dutifully scripted, as always. It is part of the usual 'points of talk' and worth whatever the watcher's own opinion grants it. Just a reminder - and yes, I know some will screech: to be honest, I couldn't care less.

And here is the answer:

'Nah, absolutely not, I am useless and my husband is my IT guy. [Brosnahan, sympathetically: 'same']. Ah, Tony, and he's like 'did you press return' and I'm maybe...oh..'

This page has nothing to hide, as always. My take on it is easy enough and you are free to disagree: this is the typical staged content just about everybody, from agents to casual fans, are expected to see.

That this is part of the PR negotiated points of talk is very much apparent, when you take into account she mentioned it before, in the same Amateur promo context. At the same moment she gave the above interview, during what obviously was press day, or something.

Take this other interview for the Swiss (German) cinema news portal OutNow:

[Source: https://outnow.ch/News/2025/04/09/The-Amateur-Das-Interview-mit-Caitriona-Balfe]

I will try and translate it, knowing we have native German speakers in here, too. Please forgive any mistake - it's not my forte, far from it:

'The characters use modern technology when they don't want to be tracked. Did you learn anything from this project that you now use with your smartphone or laptop?

Oh God, I wish I had! I'm so clumsy. My poor husband is always trying to explain VPNs and all that stuff to me. I'm really bad at it. But I should talk to the technical advisor at The Amateur and try to get more info and tips from him.'

Hear me out, Mordor: her 'poor husband' is always trying to help, but yet she thinks it would be preferable to talk to the movie's tech advisor, for real tips?

Oh, wow. Such blind trust, such deep feelings permeate this logic-fractured statement, clearly meant to make something uncomfortable glide on as easily as possible! How can that be?

Perhaps because The Amateur's tech advisor is a real person, with whom she really sympathized?

If I were McGill, I would (again) feel borderline insulted, by this mildly mannered, but also lightly condescending and passive-aggressive quip! And God we know she can be open and wholeheartedly passionate about people she ahem, really likes , in her real life. No questions there.

The fact she now repeated this quip, in a more congenial manner and naming McGill like an afterthought, designed to give credence to an imagined moment, is barely compensation.

In such situations, body language helps, too. While uttering her obviously prepared and rehearsed line, at no moment is she looking at the interviewer. She is just smiling elsewhere, looks towards Rachel Brosnahan (for support? at any rate, RB obliged, as we saw in the interview) and mimics what obviously is an imagined, illustrative domestic life gag.

And Rachel Brosnahan seems to have her own, very personal reasons to be sympathetic and completely understanding of the situation. Let's just say she is probably familiar with the way such personal life intricacies can be successfully navigated, when answering press day questions:

[Source: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rachel_Brosnahan]

But Out Now is also the biggest specialized news portal in Switzerland. This is somehow very important, because this is likely to influence the number of sold tickets and therefore, the project's financial results:

[Source: https://basel.allianzcinema.ch/en/information/partners/outnow]

Let's not forget to which TV network this interview was given, too. This is FOX, a highly political US network dealing with a very defined set of (conservative) values. Who, in their right mind, would have expected anything else than some extra bona fide effort to fit with the targeted audience?

But even without this political context element, we know that she is not talking to her wild, bruised and battered OL fandom during this promo. Nope. Her main target are new fans, attracted to the new production featuring names like Lawrence Fishburne and Rami Malek. Who are likely to be intrigued and ask themselves who the hell is this interesting brunette playing the complex part of Inquiline.

These same new fans are also likely to take any future plot twist concerning C with considerable less drama than in here. Because they are simply consumers, who are only casually interested by her. Not borderline obsessed, like many people across the street. For them, she is just an actress they are discovering now, with great potential. Bless their hearts, for they don't know what they missed.

Did anyone expect anything else than the usual promo narrative from C? This is Belfast 2.0, although considerably toned down, since what is at stake here is just money, not a goddamned Oscar statuette.

So, yeah. Some might wish to pop out the champagne, or something. The usual, charmless foolishness. Mais rira bien qui rira en dernier, n'est-ce pas?

Color me completely unfazed, yet know I wrote this for all those who are, once again, wailing into my DMs. It's promo and drama-drama time, that's all.

[theresatzu]

Just one question. What can go wrong? (Jinxed it)

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

Featuring: Isagi x reader

Tropes: Fluff, slight angst, canon diversion, future fic

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

During an interview, the reporter asked about your and Isagi's relationship. He wasn't prepared for the full blown on love story he would get.

"So, Isagi-san, still going strong in your relationship?

"Oh, yeah!" Isagi pivoted towards the reporter who'd asked the question.

"We've recently moved in together, you see." Isagi elaborated. "It's been awesome so far. The house is actually quite too big for just us two... but well, you never know." Isagi's cheeks flushed.

The reporter opened his mouth to fire off another question, but was cut off by Isagi.

"Oh, and we've got this garden with a special part where I can play football. Sadly, not with the high-tech equipment from back in Blue Lock, but that would be difficult to replicate." Isagi mused.

"I... oh, interesting, so what do you think abo--"

"And well we've got a lounge in the corner. We often stay there, especially in the summer in the evenings." Isagi continued, caught unaware of his interrupting the reporter.

Isagi's expression turned thoughtful. "I think aside from the football arena, that place is the most special to me."

"Oh, and why then, Isagi-san?" The reporter finally managed to interject.

Eyes lighting up, Isagi regaled, "It's just... special, you know?" His eyes turned wistful, gazing faraway in the distance. "It was there where I got the news that I was accepted in Re Al, and I remember us sitting the whole night there."

That night, not too long ago, held a special place in Isagi's heart.

Not only because it was the news he had acquired, but also because he could share it with you, his most devoted supporter and his perpetual pillar of support.

He could still remember the day as if it were yesterday.

The high-strung tension when he'd gotten the call, followed up by the pure excitement and pride gleaming within him.

Ending with the love sprouting in his chest, when you flung yourself into his arms, elated giggles spilling from your mouth, so infectious he had burst out in laughter of mirth, too.

"You did it, you did it!" You chanted, your face against his chest and arms slung around his waist.

"I... did." Isagi gasped, amazed.

You pulled back, your eyes finding his. "I'm proud of you."

Isagi's heart burst at the sincere tone in your voice, warmth coalescing in his chest, as he lunged forward, capturing your lips with his.

In his excited fevour, he had moved too fast, bumping your foreheads together.

Groaning both simultaneously at the collision, you instantly retreated, holding the bruising spot.

Isagi's eyes widened. "Oh, I didn't mean... sorry--"

"Pfft--" You snorted. "You silly." You slapped his arm playfully.

Scratching his neck abashedly, a charming flush appeared on his cheeks, a lopsided grin his lips.

"Sorry. Let me try again."

Now, he moved with more deliberation, he stepped forward, placing his hand on your lower back to lightly push you in his chest.

He dipped his head downwards, soft lips meeting yours in the middle.

His other hand came to cup your cheek, thumb lightly brushing against the skin, causing goosebumps to erupt on your arms.

Your lips moved in tandem with his, pushing against his bottom lip, making him see stars even when his eyes were closed.

He sighed in the kiss, that turned into a groan when you tugged at the baby hairs on his nape.

At last he pulled back, being met with flushed cheeks and reddened lips. The sight made his heart tremble, urging him to lean in once more, yet he reeled himself in.

Eyes squinting happily, he took your hand, pulling you down with him on the long sofa.

Your legs tangled together as you laid down next to him, head propped on his chest and silky hair falling in front of your face.

A small smile flitted across Isagi's lips. He brushed the stray lock behind your ear, finger lingering for just a second longer.

"You're amazing, you know that, right?" You whispered, even though no one was near to overhear.

"I couldn't have done it without you." He whispered in return, his warm breath ghosting over your face.

You snorted. "Of course you can. You're Isagi Yoichi, Demon King, Blue Lock's Heart, need I go on?" You said dramatically, swishing your hands about in elaborate gesticulations.

Isagi's eyes softened in affection. "I prefer to be yours."

"It would make sense that that place is special to you now." The reporter mused.

"Yeah. But it also contains... less happy memories." Isagi frowned, digging in his memories.

"It had been when I had overworked myself during the World Cup." He lightly chuckled. "I was exhausted, and had completely depleted all of my energy."

"I can imagine. The time coming before the World Cup must've been nerve-wracking, right?" The reporter inquired.

Isagi nodded. "Yeah. My days were mostly filled with training and the occasional meal. But I didn't take enough breaks and I was on the verge of collapsing."

Hanging onto every word Isagi was saying, the reporter urged, "So, how is this tied to the garden?"

Isagu chuckled. "I got home, from yet another training. It must've been what... 10, 11 pm? I had been gone for the whole day, and she was waiting there. I remember she looked tired, too, but I thought she still looked as beautiful as ever."

"That's sweet." The reporter gushed.

"Yeah." Isagi concurred. "But we did have our first big fight there."

Isagi quietly tip-toed in the garden, making sure to skip the stones making loud creaks.

It was already dark outside, the only light coming from the moon.

Grass crackled underneath his feet, as Isagi slowly made his way to the door.

"Where have you been?" A sharp voice cut through the silence.

Isagi flinched. A flickering light was lit, and there you were, sitting on the sofa, leg slung over another, an unimpressed look on your face.

"I... uhm... the grocery store?"

"They're all closed."

Isagi pursed his lips.

Sighing, you stood up, making your way to him.

"This has to stop." You said firmly. "I hardly see you anymore. You're working yourself to the bone. Isagi, you've lost weight, you're like a shadow to your former self!"

Your voice echoed harshly. Isagi's eyes blinked at the use of his last name.

Isagi exhaled, jaw tensing. "Don't you understand? You always do." He pleaded. "I have to, I'm not good enough otherwise."

"Who told you that?" You whispered, voice trembling. "Of course you're good enough! Have you forgotten what you've already accomplished?"

"No, of course not." Isagi dragged a weary hand across his face. God, he was just so tired.

"...I just want to win the World Cup."

Your eyes narrowed, lips slanted into a thin line. "Not like this. You're disappearing, Isagi. I'm afraid of losing you." Your vision turned blurry at your last words. You blinked harshly, but a tear managed to escape.

Isagi's heart cracked, his arm lifted to wipe it away, but the tortured look in your eyes caused him to waver and redraw his hand in an aborted motion. He clenched his fists.

"Your friends are worried. I am worried." You exclaimed, corners of your eyes reddening.

"You can't go on like this. Someone has to step in. I'm sorry... but I can't watch you go on like this."

Isagi's eyes widened, as he took a step forward, his legs unsteady. "Wait... what do you mean... please, please, don't tell me--"

"I can't watch on the sidelines and see you suffer, Isagi." You uttered softly. "I know I can't change your mind." You stepped forward, the raw emotion in your eyes becoming visible in the sliver of moonlight.

"I'll be waiting, love. Come visit me when you've won." You pushed past him, shoulders brushing against his.

"Take care, Isagi." You let the keys fall in his hands.

Isagi's eyes flared open, panic now settling into him. "No, no. No, please... don't go. Don't leave!"

You turned around, Isagi's breath caught in his throat. Your eyes were teary, nose red. Yet you still looked ethereal.

You smiled softly, "It would've always come down to this. Return to me when I'm part of your dreams, too."

"No... you said you understood..." Isagi walked up to you, eyes frantic, as his trembling hands cupped your face.

"You said I didn't have to choose..."

At his words, tears at last slipped free from your eyes. Your heart thudded painfully in your body, bursting of the raw emotion building in you.

You wrenched yourself free, a choked noise falling from your lips.

"You already have."

With that, you wrenched yourself free, slowly walking away.

The sight of Isagi crumbling was the last thing you saw before you walked out.

"How... devastating..." The reporter's eyes brimmed with unshed tears.

"Yeah..." Isagi huffed, but his eyes were misty.

"She really woke me up that night." He let out a chuckle at the irony.

"She had already seen that relentlessy overexerting myself was reckless and would amount to nothing. But I didn't listen to her." He hung his head, melancholy tinting his tone.

"Her leaving me is what strove me to be better." His voice caught on, the barest of smiles on his face.

"From that day onward, I took more breaks. Ate more meals. It was only when I sat down with a steaming plate before me that I realised how hungry I actually was." Isagi chuckled.

"Yet, I barely saw her. She had gone to her parents' house, three hours distanced from mine. It was impossible to reach her."

"You missed her?"

That was an understatement. "Felt like I couldn't go on without her."

"So," The reporter cleared his throat, changing subjects. "How did it go with the World Cup?"

Isagi brightened. "It went well. First round against Spain. We won. Italy and France were tough opponents, though, so we barely managed to snatch the win there."

The reporter nodded, eyes understanding. "Yeah, those were some trifling matches."

"Mhm. But Germany was the most daunting of opponents of all." Isagi's eyes were set serious. "We had a hard time defeating them. Eventually, we ended up in a tie, so it came down to penalties."

The clamour of the crowd was ear-deafening. A rush overtook Isagi as his heart hammered wildly in his chest.

This was it. The final match. The final countdown.

Germany was first. Kaiser walked up to the ball, a cocky expression on his face, his shoulders squared in a confident manner.

He shot. Kaiser Impact as awe-inspiring as ever.

He scored.

Then came Rin. He shot with a beautiful arc.

Goal.

And so, players from both opposing teams each took their turns. Cheers erupted by each score, sighs flared up when someone missed.

Eventually, the score was tied, once again.

And now it was Isagi's turn. The last person to shoot. He would determine the match's outcome.

A heavy weight pressed onto him, sweat beaded on his forehead. When he walked forward, his knees felt weak and his hands shook.

His special weapon was direct shot, but he wouldn't get passed to. He was all alone.

The roars of the crowd reached a thundering crescendo, until that was all he could hear.

With shaking legs, Isagi pushed himself towards the spot, positioning himself behind the ball.

Doubt gnawed at him as he surveyed the goal. Go left, right? High corner, low corner?

He didn't know.

He was alone.

Until he wasn't.

"Yoi!" Isagi's breath stilted. Had he imagined it?

"Ichi! You can do this!"

No he definitely hadn't. His head turned frantically, trying to locate you.

A figure waved, and his eyes locked onto yours.

It was as if a dam broke. Emotion burst out of his chest. Sorrow, guilt, elation, love, it all threatened to overwhelm him.

You'd come.

After all this time... you still believed in him.

Renewed vigour overtook him, as he determinedly set his eyes on the goal.

He exhaled, a puffy cloud in the clear night.

He wasn't alone. He had his teammates, his parents, and above all, you, who believed in him.

He could do this.

The wind brushed through his locks, the grass parted as he ran.

He drew his leg back, and kicked the ball.

It sifted through the air, spinning and curving, until--

"GOALL!!! ISAGI YOICHI HAS SEALED THE VICTORY FOR JAPAN! JAPAN HAS NOW TAKEN THE WORLD CUP SINCE YEARS!!"

Screams erupted, someone shouted, a flurry of bodies crashed into Isagi.

He let out an elated laugh, gasping when he was pushed onto someone's shoulders. His teammates patted his arms, exhausted grins on their faces, but a gleam of victory sparkled in their eyes.

A fervent rush overtook him, he quickly pulled himself free, rushing and running, his legs almost giving out under him, yet he kept on sprinting.

"Y/n!" He shouted.

And there you were.

Eyes sparkling, hair tousled by the wind, and the light casting your face in an otherwordly glow. A wide grin on your face, solely for him.

Just as beautiful as the night he lost you.

"You came," he breathed.

"You scored." You beamed.

High on adrenaline and bursting from the whiplash he got from seeing you, Isagi couldn't contain himself.

He surged forward, capturing your lips with his. You let out a squeak of surprise that was quickly muffled by his lips seamlessly moving with yours.

It was as if you'd never been apart. His lips slided against yours, your body melting against his, like a puzzle piece slotting in. His hands squeezed your hips and it was as if no time had passed since that dreadful night in the backyard.

Isagi pulled back. "You called me "Yoi"" He mumbled against your lips.

"It's your name isn't it?"

"I've missed it. Say it again." Isagi demanded eagerly, eyes shining.

You let out an amused laugh, "Yoichi. Ichi, Yoi. My love."

A lovesick grin spread across Isagi's lips. He let his head fall in the junction of your shoulderblades.

"I've missed you." He said against your skin.

Your hands raked affectionately through his hair.

"You never lost me."

"Wow... just wow." The reporter sucked in a deep breath. He had never anticipated he would get this whole love story.

"Yeah, so, uh, that happened." Isagi shrugged. As if he didn't just drop his whole backstory on the reporter.

Then, Isagi's eyes widened.

"Oh, I'll have to go now. I promised Y/n to be home early. Thank you for the interview!" He waved modestly, leaving the room.

The reporter was stunned. He sat there, on the notes scribbled Isagi's love story, not one football term in sight.

During the whole interview, profesional football player Isagi Yoichi hadn't mentioned football once.

[criminallyvenomous]

slut! - Spencer Reid X Reader

• got love-struck, went straight to my head. got lovesick all over my bed. love to think you’ll never forget.

• In which years post one night stand with Derek Morgan, you’re assigned to the B.A.U. The thing is, he doesn't remember you. But, Spencer’s there and he would never forget.

• Gender neutral reader

• Word count - 1,298

~

“Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god.” You mumbled to yourself as you made your way out of SSA Aaron Hotchner’s office.

You had been preparing for this interview for weeks, as soon as the opportunity was presented to you. Joining the B.A.U. was an honor for any agent. The unit started small and worked its way up the F.B.I. ladder to become renowned in its capabilities. Getting this job would’ve normally gotten you a high you would be riding for months. Except, as you left the office with a smile on your face, you saw him. Derek Morgan.

Years ago, when you were just starting in the bureau you had met Agent Morgan. He was older and already established, but notably, very attractive. The two of you crossed paths a few times before you really met.

“So, this is how I have to get your name?” He joked.

You were outside the coffee cart, heading to grab your order after the barista called your name. It was a stupid pick up line, but the cadence of how he said it met with his expression lead you to entertain the interaction.

Later that week Derek entertained an evening with you. A casual meal that you both knew what you really wanted from. It was a pleasurable night, of course. Several rounds with several positions of enjoyment. So when you saw him in the very same room as you years later, it was a shock.

You stumbled your way through the bullpen as you made your way into the conference room with the rest of your new team.

“This is SSA Y/N Y/L/N. They’ll be joining the team as of today. Make them feel comfortable.” Agent Hotchner said to the table as everyone turned to greet you.

“I’m Penelope, the ‘tech wizard’ of the team. I can’t wait to work together.”

“Spencer.” He smiled at you, reassuringly. “Don’t worry, it’s not as scary as it seems.”

“I’m Derek Morgan, it’s nice to meet you.” He extended his hand and you shook it reluctantly as it hit you. He had no idea who you were.

How could he not know who you are? You spent hours together after weeks of interactions. You had slept together for heaven’s sake. Were you just another one of Derek Morgan’s conquests? Sure, you had no deep longing for a relationship with the man, but you at least were expecting him to know who you were.

“Are you okay?” Spencer whispered. You realized you had completely missed the presentation with the overwhelming flood of thoughts in your head.

“Yeah, I just spaced out. Thanks.” You responded. While Hotch had his back turned, Spencer slid his notebook over to you.

“Here.” He smiled. He had taken detailed notes of the case along with his own thoughts on different bits. You looked to Spencer, giving him a tight-lipped smile and a grateful head nod.

The case was urgent, they all were, but this was a missing kid case. The boy’s name was Thomas ‘Tommy’ Randall from Indiana. His parents called the police when he wasn’t in his bed this morning. The team was rushing to the plane as they swapped ideas. With all of this you were beginning to forget the whole ‘Derek’ ordeal. Key word : were.

“Heard you worked with the gang unit. I bet that was rough, at least with the B.A.U., we don’t stay in one place for too long.” Derek took a seat across from you on the plane.

“I guess that’s true. Though, I found it rewarding to put an end to years of torment in communities.” You tried to keep the peace, possibly hoping for the chance lights go off in his head with recollection.

The case didn’t end how you hoped for the kid, or for your first with the team. He was dead before you even landed. The most comfort the family would get was that you found the killer/ kidnapper. He was a repeat offender who flew under the radar due to his traveling across state lines in his truck. He delivered supplies for different factories and would use truck stops as drop offs, some of the kids even survived.

“Does anyone want to get a drink?” Agent Rossi asked the team as you all began to head out of the bureau.

“Ooh, yes please!” Garcia replied and began to start listing the local bars with the best prices per pitcher.

“How about you, Y/N?” JJ asked, causing a few of them to turn towards you.

“Why not? Hell of a first day.” You replied and the group began to either drive or simply walk to the bar down the block.

You weren’t feeling very talkative. It was a depressing enough day without having to deal with intoxicated interactions with the team. Everyone else seemed to be having a good time, though. It was clear they had known each other for years and had bonded over them. Even Agent Hotchner, who struck you as cold, was laughing and telling Rossi about his son’s recent game.

“Hey, how are you? Got you something, seemed like you preferred the tequila to the whiskey.” Spencer sat next to you and slid you a shot glass. He barely drank tonight, only a watered down with plenty of ice whiskey that Derek had gotten him.

“Thanks.” You smiled, taking the drink and downing it almost immediately which made Spencer chuckle softly.

“Oh, you know, tough day.” You told him, he nodded.

“The cases with kids always are, but I don’t think that’s all that’s upsetting you.” You turned to get a better look at him. Maybe if you weren’t so focused on Derek and the missing kid today, you would’ve noticed just how kind and attractive he really was.

“Damn, you really are smart.” You replied, earning another laugh from him. This one was more heartfelt and it made you feel better just hearing it.

“So, what’s really bothering you?” He pried. You could tell he didn’t want to disturb or upset you, he just wanted to help. It was both reassuring and refreshing. Maybe you should just come out with it.

“I know Derek.”

“Oh, you guys have met before?” He asked.

“Yeah, we’ve met.” You replied.

“Why didn’t he say anything?”

“I don’t think he remembers meeting me.” You looked down at the empty glass in front of you. He raised his hand and pointed to it for the bartender to get you another. It was sweet.

“Don’t overthink it, he meets a lot of people.” He tried to cheer you up.

“No, like we met ‘intimately’.” You used air quotes, trying to stifle the disappointment by attempting to make it into a joke, something you could potentially laugh at.

“Oh.” That was all he said.

“It was a one time hookup years ago, but I guess I just wasn’t expecting him to not remember it at all.” The bartender put the new shot in front of you and cleared the empty one from the table. Kind of an embarrassing time for the guy to come over, but you didn’t really care right now.

“Derek can be like that, he was a bit of what Garcia calls a ‘man-whore’.” He made you chuckle. “But, he’s settled down now. Maybe he just doesn’t think about that time of his life.”

“That makes sense.” You took the shot and looked back at him. “I guess I’m feeling a little unremarkable.” His eyes softened.

“You are anything but.”

“So are you saying you’d remember me?” You asked, jokingly but with a bit of a flirtation.

“I’m saying I’d never forget you. Especially if we spent the night together.”

“I might just have to hold you to that.”

in a world of boys, he’s a gentleman

@chronicallybubbly

[thezombieprostitute]

Tech Tuesday: Quarterly Updates

I don't have the energy for writing out a longer chapter, but I don't want to leave you all hanging, so I'm opting for a snippet for each pairing to give you an idea as to where each story is at.

Tech Tuesdays Masterlist

Bucky & Sweetie:

Bucky holds your hand in the parking lot of The Mad Hatter. He and his friends have helped you prepare as best they can. Part of you knows you should wait until after you've calmed down from August's assault, but you know that you won't be able to rest until you've got an assured source of income for you and your brother.

"Don't worry, Sweetie," Bucky squeezes your hand. "You're gonna ace this interview. You're smart, skilled, and the queen of customer service."

That last part makes you snort laugh and you're rewarded by his face scrunching up in a smile.

"Do you want me to go in with you or wait out here?"

"You've already done so much, even just getting me the interview. I need to know I can do this without you giving Jefferson meaningful looks or additions or anything."

"I understand," he nods. He gives you a small kiss on the cheek. "You've got this."

Curtis & Heart

The alarms go off and you spring into action. Chase is coding, you think. No! Not Chase. It's just another patient!

You push down all of your fears, anxieties, and focus on the work that has to be done. The doctor instructs you to prep the epinephrine while he begins chest compressions.

The next several seconds feel like an eternity but all you can do is go through the motions. Treat him like any other patient. Follow the doctor's orders. You've done this hundreds of times, no need for this one to be any different.

When his heart finally starts beating again, there's a collective sigh of relief. But the relief gets cut short for you when look up and realize Chase is awake and looking right at you.

Geralt & God

The monthly competition is coming to a close. God has a demanding lead this time. He wants to play at what Geralt did last time he was in the lead and preemptively move the rubber ducky prize to his desk. But he will be a good sport and set a good example.

Besides, with D&D as a regular outlet, they've found themselves more relaxed in general. They've not only found a safe space with each other, but with others as well. It's been good for them.

Jake & Sunshine

You and Jake are sitting at the dining room table doing your weekly schedule and budget check-ins.

"I know the company is catering the picnic, but I still want to make up a few things in case the twins are feeling picky that day," you tell Jake.

"I'm sure the caterers won't be offended," he reassures you. "Plus, depending on what you bring, the G's might also partake."

"I hadn't thought of that! I should make up some buttered noodles, just in case."

"You know you don't have to cook for everyone, Sunshine," he gently smiles. He leans closer to you and caresses your cheek. "I'm a little worried about you overworking yourself."

"I promise I'm not," you shake your head. "I just...Luke and Leia are getting more independent and soon they'll be off to school. I've gotta readjust my energy or something. I'm used to being needed 24/7 but now..."

Jake moves his chair next to you and holds you. "For what it's worth, I definitely need you 24/7. I couldn't function without you."

"That goes for both of us," you answer with a kiss.

Jonathan & Rose

You feel like you're taking a risk tonight. It shouldn't feel like that. Jonathan certainly isn't the one making it feel like a risk. But you still feel like it is.

After the encounter with your work friends, you'd wanted to have a simple night in. Jonathan had acquiesced and the two of you planned a dinner date where you'd cook together and curl up on the couch watching a new movie.

Since the date was happening at your place, you decided to take a risk, and let yourself dress comfortably. Sweatpants and your favorite t-shirt. It shouldn't feel like you're taking a big step, it's just comfy clothes, after all. But Jonathan's only ever seen you in your nicer clothes. Ones that fit you well.

It feels unfair, too. He's so handsome he could wear a crop top and booty shorts and still look good. Meanwhile you're scared to look like anything less than perfect.

There's a knock at your door. Too late to change now, you think.

When you open the door, Jonathan is there in jeans and a t-shirt. He looks at what you're wearing and smiles. "You look gorgeous."

Johnny & Darkangel2000

Johnny Storm, TheHumanTorch69, whatever name he goes under he's still a pain. He's followed up on his part of the agreement. He's helped you with some really bad people.

But you can't stop thinking about him, and that's a problem.

You're not used to guys doing as they promised. Being understanding. Wanting to help. Part of you wants to take him up on his offer of doing more, but you just can't risk being betrayed again.

Elsewhere in the world, Johnny finds himself unable to sleep because he's worried about you getting caught, getting in trouble, or worse. He really wants to step in, but if he does, there will be consequences and he's not sure he can handle those.

Lloyd & Maestro

"Yellow," you manage to wheeze out.

Lloyd immediately stops and goes into care mode. "What's going on, Maestro? What do you need?"

"Water," you rasp.

Lloyd winces at the sound of your voice but quickly gets the bottle of water by the bed. He knows he's been overdoing it. He knows he's been pushing you to your limits, and maybe even a little beyond. But he still can't fully figure out why he's doing it. And that scares him.

He holds you in his arms and tips the water bottle so you can drink from it.

"There's my good girl," he coos. "Thank you for using the color system. I'm so happy you did." Given your previous encounters with doms who didn't respect the system or the safewords, he has been worried you'd just let him get away with anything, too scared to try to speak out. He wants to make sure you know it's okay and that he will respect it.

Now if only he could figure out why he's so insistent yet scared of pushing you away.

Mike & Boss Lady

"Oh, one more thing, before we're done with our weekly meeting?" Mike pleads. You nod your approval. "I know the end of the semester is coming up, and I'm supposed to have made a bunch of progress on this project but...um..."

"How far behind are you?" you raise an eyebrow. You're genuinely surprised. The meetings with Mike, meetings with the department about the database have all been going well.

"I'm not! I'm just...I'm...um...if I can..."

"Take a deep breath," you gently urge.

He does as instructed. "I was wondering if you'd be interested in keeping me for another semester? I know I've got the database going well, but I also know there's a lot more I can do with it."

You nod. "We'll have to confer with Pine and Syverson down in IT, but I certainly don't have any objections."

Mike smiles, relief written all over his face.

Ransom & Bubbles

The car is silent. Ransom isn't sure where you're taking him, but he's not about to ruin what little progress he's made by speaking.

Well, he might have tried talking if only you weren't angrier than he's ever seen you. Come to think of it, he can't remember any time he's seen you angry. He's not sure how to react other than to let you take the lead.

The car pulls into a parking lot next to a small building with a sign that says "Community Mental Health" on it. You pull up to the entrance and park the car before turning to Ransom.

"I've accepted the apology, but you've not yet earned the forgiveness." Ransom nods, understanding. "Forgiveness is going to take a lot of work. And you're going to start by going into that building and setting up an appointment with a therapist."

Ransom's eyes widen a little. He looks so scared but you know this has to happen.

"For months now I've been pushing you to get a therapist. You've made a lot of progress, but you need professional help, just like I did. Just like I still do. This place does income-based payment for sessions, so no complaining that you can't afford it."

Ransom wants to run, panic, get away. He knows he needs the therapy, but actually doing it is something else.

Steve & Newbie

You and Steve are enjoying a picnic date at the local park. You're sat against a tree while he's laying on the ground, head in your lap. He's the picture of happiness with that dopey grin every time you run your fingers through his hair.

"Our friends have been having an interesting time," you comment.

Steve nods. "Bucky's girl is doing better, by the way."

"That's good," you sigh. "And Bubbles is ready to bite Nick's head off."

Steve chuckles. "I'm actually looking forward to seeing that. I know I'm not allowed to just throw punches, I'm just there in case things get out of hand, but still. It's gonna be quite a show."

"Thanks, again, for helping her out."

"That's what friends are for."

Syverson & Darling

"I've got you, Darlin'," Sy says, trying to console you.

Another negative pregnancy test. Another wave of crippling self-doubt. Certain you're everything your family said you were.

"How can you still want me?" you manage to ask between breaths.

Sy cups your chin and gently pushes your face up to look at him. "Because you're still the most amazing, intelligent, beautiful woman in the world. And I'm the luckiest man on earth because I get to call myself your husband."

His tone, his look, leave no room for argument. You know he means it when he says it. But that black pool of doubt runs deep, tempering your response to his earnestness.

You cuddle up with him, tears still coming, and just whimper, "I hope you're right."

Walter & Spitfire

The couch was delivered about a week after you'd bought it. Walter had helped you clean get rid of the old one and clean up your apartment to make sure the movers had the space they needed. Or as much as they could get from your shoebox sized apartment.

Thankfully the movers were professionals and had everything under control. You can't even imagine all the weird architecture they've likely encountered.

As soon as they're out the door, you look at Walter. "Ready to help me test this thing out?"

"Got a long weekend to do so," he chuckles. "How do you want to start?"

You consider for a minute before telling him, "we're going to order some delivery so we can test out that anti-staining crap they sold me on." Walter nods and you get close, pulling on his sweater so his face is level with yours. "And while we're waiting, we're going to see how much weight and force this thing can actually handle."

"Yes, ma'am," he grins.

Tech Tuesdays Masterlist

Tagging @alicedopey; @delicatebarness; @ellethespaceunicorn; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory; @kmc1989;

@late-to-the-party-81; @lokislady82; @ozwriterchick; @peyton-warren; @ronearoundblindly; @stellar-solar-flare

[pannman]

Fix it

Platonic Alastor x tech savy/graphic designer reader

He didn't quite understand you

In fact people never expected you to be friends, and it certainly didn't start put that way

You started out working at Voxtech, you spent hours designing advertisements and editing commercials but when Vox told you to start working for Valentino and editing his porn videos you refused. Vox gave you an ultimatum: work for Valentino or be fired. So with no job you decided to try your hand at redemption

You didn't count on Vox's greatest enemy being the facility manager

At first Alastor threatened you. Suspecting you might be a spy since you were associated with Vox but Charlie convinced him to give you a chance

So he mostly ignored you. Keeping conversations short. Especially since it seemed you guys had absolutely nothing in common

Charlie wanted to find away to put your skills to use for the good of the hotel. You suggested creating a website

Charlie loved that idea so you got to it. You designed and developed it. You made it simple but eye catchy. And you decided to regularly upload edited videos of the shenanigans going on the hotel to attract new patrons (and to give yourself some fun).

Charlie being the person that she is wanted Alastor and you to get along better so she came up with the brilliant idea for you to interview him and create a page on the website for first hand accounts

Alastor agreed and as long as it was not a filmed interview

You had prepared a list of questions

Q. Why did you decide to join the hotel?

A. I decided to help the pathetic princess in her silly little dream to watch others fail miserably in attempt to change their already determined fates as entertainment for myself

Q. What has been your favorite moment here at the hotel?

A. Possibly when Niffty released an entire colony of roaches into Angel's bed. That was quite hilarious!

Q. What progress do you think you or someone else has made thus far that's worth mentioning?

A. I finally managed to get my new radio tower to look exactly like the old one. It was nice gesture really. But I do have preferred place for everything

After that you didn't know if Charlie was still going to be for this idea

You really didn't think you and Alastor would ever see eye to eye until one night you woke up to a knock on your door

You jumped out of bed still in your pajamas and opened the door to see Alastor standing there

You were... quite surprised. He told you he needed your help and it couldn't wait till morning

You followed him to his radio tower to see his system short circuiting. He warned you not to get to close or you'd get a nasty shock

"You're the one who deals with this technology stuff, fix it!" You thought to point out the two issues here

1. You don't fix technology, you utilize it to make things

2. This radio recording system is really old and you only knew what you were doing with MODERN technology

But you could tell he was very agitated. You wondered how it even got broke in the first place

You decided to do the only thing you could think and you Voxtubed it

You found some weird guy with obsession for fixing ham radios and old vintage tvs and watched a few of his videos. After assessing the broken system there were a lot of similarities. And after one boring audio book and online purchase of some parts you fixed it

Alastor was impressed. He tried very hard not show it but he couldn’t help it.

Before he could get back to it. You decided to listen to last chapter of the audio book one last time to make sure it was up to code. Unfortunately you forgot to connect your Bluetooth

Alastor standing in the tower with impatiently tapping his foot waiting for you to give the ok so he can give his listeners a much delayed broadcast stiffened at the sound coming from your phone and static buzzed loudly in the air

"Lovely I imagine the imagery to this is just flashy and distracting as it always is" he says rather annoyed

"Actually" you replied "it's an audio book. There is no visuals. It's just sound. Someone reads aloud a book and records it for people to listen to" you pointed out

It was not that much different from radio

You apologized and told him you would connect back to your headphones so he didn't have to hear it

"You may leave it on" he said surprisingly. So you did

Finally when you were done you went about your business. Everything went back to normal. Except... Alastor kept calling upon you before every broadcast demanding you play your audio book again to look over his system to make sure it won't crash on him mid broadcast

And each time he told you there was no need for your headphones

You finally decided to grow a pair and challenge him

"Once again I'd like you to check it over and make sure it's up to code. Play your dumb sound book again and get to it" he spoke as if the audio book did not matter at all but you knew better

"Oh I have it memerized by now. No need to play it again" you responded mischievously

His eyes narrowed and you could hear the sound of a record scratch. "Now, now. I won't allow for any mistakes that would not end well for you. Now play it again" he demanded

"You know if you liked the audio book you could just say so. Also you don't have to listen to the same end chapter over and over again. I have other probably more exciting books" you proposed

He acted offended. "How dare you insinuate that I would enjoy something as pointless and boring as that." Of course he didn't want to admit that anything that came from technology could possibly be good in any way and he could never ACTUALLY like it. No way

"You know its not a lot different from radio. Telling stories with just your voice. Like any kind of art this is just another medium. Another way of expressing oneself. You don't have to suddenly be Mr. Technology guy to like audio books" you said

Alastor seemed to pause in thought. "Hmmm... fine. I guess... it wasn't too horrible to listen to literature being read aloud in a soothing voice. Maybe I'll give some other pieces a try"

And after that you were at the radio tower all the time. Playing audio books for him. You eventually showed him your art skills and showed off the new website. He taught you a lot about his Era and about radio. You guys even redid the interview live on his radio show. Though the results were still quite similar

Though Alastor still hated technology he respected that it was something you enjoyed. And he did listen to the occasional audio book, although it was more like he made you play it for him

An unlikely friendship had formed. And nobody saw it coming. But you wouldn't trade it for the world

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Tips: Studying at Home

Adjust your learning

The first thing to acknowledge is that an online education demands a different style of learning as opposed to the traditional classroom environment.

You should be aware that you will need to adjust your learning style to ensure you get the most out of any online learning experience by doing things such as:

Fully commit yourself to join in with digital discussions so you are still actively learning and developing key skills such as debating and listening.

Be prepared to try new tech - with new online learning platforms and video calling functions, prepare to become adaptable and open to trying new technologies.

Collaborate with others - whether that’s over instant messenger outside of class/tutoring time, or with online discussions - get involved and you’ll make the most out of your learning experience.

Be self-disciplined - You will need to ensure that you’re ahead with the class work, pre-reading course materials where you can and ensuring excellent time management to prevent missing classes. All of this will help you to get the most out of your online learning.

Clear Distractions

When setting up your home study and/or work space, make sure there is nothing in the background that may distract you or your classmates/co-workers.

That includes putting your phone in a separate room or turning it off completely to avoid taking your attention during your online learning. 

It’s important to note that you may also need to move your work space throughout the day - perhaps you may need to move as sunlight comes through your window to avoid screen glare.

So have a think about this before you are forced to move and re-position halfway through a learning session.

Use headphones and a microphone (where possible)

If you have them, make sure you use headphones and a microphone so you can clearly hear your tutor/classmates, as well as deliver clean and clear audio for easy flow of communication.

Even if you don’t have access to this, most laptops do have a reasonably high-spec audio and microphone set already built into them, however having a specific kit will always elevate your sound and audio quality.

Make sure your camera is stable

Again, to help avoid distractions during your online learning, make sure your laptop or webcam is sturdy and pointing ahead to avoid any strange angles. 

Also, don’t sit too close to your camera either as the audio could muffle if you are sitting close to the microphone on your device. 

Prevent interruptions

We’ve all seen that BBC News video interview - and we know you certainly don’t want to have the same happen to you. 

To avoid this, make sure anyone you live with is aware that you will be doing some online learning from home and to ask them to leave you alone to concentrate.

If you can, close a door and stick a sign on the outside of it, making it clear that you cannot be disturbed.

Pre-prepare resources

If you have work that you want to share with your tutor or other students during a video lesson, make sure you have them ready and waiting on your desktop with clear file names, and are ideally already open and waiting before you start.

This will avoid time-wasting if you need to hunt around your downloads folder and browser tabs. 

Strong Wi-Fi connection

Before joining an online session, make sure your Wi-Fi session is working and up to scratch.

The website; Speed Test will help you to see what sort of internet speeds you’re currently getting, and whether they will be strong enough to support video calls.

There are a few obvious steps too to try and consider to improve your Wi-Fi strength, such as putting your internet box up high on a sideboard, making sure nothing is covering it, and setting up your work space close to where the box is. 

If you do have a poor Wi-Fi connection, you may struggle to host a video call, so it’s worth considering if there’s any other locations you could use for your learning session - perhaps a friend or relative’s home?

Pre-read material

If possible, review any resources and material that you’ll be studying before your online learning session.

This will give you the chance to prepare for any discussions, have questions ready to ask about subject matter that you haven’t quite fully understood, as well as help the new knowledge to be absorbed ever so slightly easier. 

Source ⚜ More: Writing Notes & References

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[mariacallous]

Sarah Milgrim was someone who knew “exactly what she wanted out of life,” according to people who knew her well. She was an idealist who invested herself in Jewish life, and in the future of Israel. At her high school, in the suburbs of Kansas City, she was a member of the Jewish Student Union; as a senior, she was interviewed by a local news station after someone spray-painted swastikas on a school building. “I worry about going to my synagogue,” she said. “And now I have to worry about safety at my school.”

Later, at the University of Kansas, she was on the board of her campus Hillel chapter and went on a Birthright trip to Israel. In graduate school at American University and the U.N.’s University for Peace, where she focussed on sustainable development, she got involved in Tech2Peace, an N.G.O. that brings together young Israelis and Palestinians for training in Israel’s high-tech industry. She later joined the American Jewish Committee’s young-professionals program. She considered working for U.S.A.I.D. Shortly after the October 7th attacks on Israel, though, she went to work for the Israeli Embassy in D.C. “She felt really strongly about improving the world and leaving it better than she found it,” Dana Walker, the director of the American Jewish Committee program, told me.

Milgrim’s boyfriend, Yaron Lischinsky, worked alongside her at the Israeli Embassy. He was idealistic, too, though his life had followed a different path. Lischinsky grew up in Israel and Germany. He was an Israeli citizen and he served in the Israel Defense Forces. His father was Jewish, his mother Christian. “Even though my parents had different beliefs, the internal struggles I faced mostly stemmed not from their cultural backgrounds or different religions, but from the tension between, on the one hand, growing up in a religious home and, on the other hand, living in a secular society,” he wrote on an application to a yearlong conservative liberal-arts program at the Argaman Institute, in Jerusalem. He hungered to understand the political and moral thought of the West. Lischinsky was Christian, not Jewish—“a man of belief,” Ronen Shoval, a political philosopher who has been one of the intellectual architects of Israel’s sharp turn toward right-wing Zionism, and who taught Lischinsky at Argaman, told me. Lischinsky “was willing to bond his future to the future of the Jewish state,” Shoval said. “This was a person who was willing to actually change his life.”

On Wednesday, Milgrim, who was twenty-six, and Lischinsky, who was thirty, attended a reception for young diplomats, hosted by the A.J.C., at the Capital Jewish Museum, in D.C. Panelists spoke about increasing aid for the humanitarian crises in Gaza and across the Middle East. At around 9 P.M., the couple left the event, walking out of the museum alongside two other people. According to the F.B.I., video surveillance shows that, as they prepared to cross the street, a man named Elias Rodriguez, wearing a blue raincoat and a backpack, walked past them. Rodriguez then allegedly turned around, pulled a gun from his waistband, and fired at their backs. They fell to the ground. He walked up to them, his arm extended, still firing. Milgrim attempted to crawl away. He followed her, and fired again. She sat up. Rodriguez reloaded, and fired again. Milgrim was transported to D.C.’s chief medical examiner and declared dead at 9:35 P.M. Lischinsky was pronounced dead at the scene. Rodriguez did not enter a plea at his first appearance in court, the next day.

Rodriguez had bought a ticket for the A.J.C. event three hours before the shooting. He later told police officers, “I did it for Palestine. I did it for Gaza.” He expressed admiration for Aaron Bushnell, a U.S. Air Force serviceman who set himself on fire outside of the Israeli Embassy in D.C., in 2024. As police escorted Rodriguez from the museum, video shows, he shouted, “Free, free Palestine!”

There is no evidence that Rodriguez was targeting Milgrim or Lischinsky specifically. It is not clear whether he even knew that they were employees of the Embassy. But their work for the State of Israel has become the dominant fact of their deaths. “I was really upset when I saw the news and all the mainstream news channels said, ‘Two Israeli Embassy staffers shot and killed,’ instead of, ‘Two young people murdered in an antisemitic attack, coming out of a Jewish event in a Jewish museum in Washington, D.C.,” Sharon Brous, the rabbi of IKAR, a prominent synagogue community in Los Angeles, told me. “This person was looking for Jews to kill.”

There is constant debate about where the precise line between anti-Zionism and antisemitism falls. In this case, Rodriguez spoke in the language of anti-Zionism, but he acted with the logic of antisemitism, which has as its foundational myth that all Jews are collectively to blame for the policies of the Israeli government and, often enough, for the ills of the world. Rodriguez allegedly found two people, whose lives he knew nothing about, and made them die for Israel’s sins. That he killed a Christian and a Jew, one Israeli and one American, only underscores that their particular lives and histories and beliefs did not matter.

Members of a group of Americans who have worked for the Israeli government told me that in the past day and a half their WhatsApp chat has been flooded with messages. “Everyone is shocked and horrified and heartbroken,” Miri Belsky, who worked at the Israeli Embassy in Washington a little more than a decade ago, said. “It feels very close to home for all of us. The Americans who choose to take these roles are principled and strong-willed and are trying to forge a better future.” Aaron Kaplowitz, another former Embassy employee, who is currently visiting Jerusalem, found out that Milgrim was murdered while he was sheltering from a missile strike from Yemen. “Why should someone who works for Israel be murdered at an event in D.C.? This is where we are?” he said. “It’s crazy that, in the nation’s capital, someone took it upon themselves to murder two people who were going to an event that was based on unity and peace-building and just shot them, and ended these amazing lives so early.” Lischinsky had reportedly been preparing to propose to Milgrim in just a few days, having recently purchased an engagement ring.

Kaplowitz met Milgrim in September, when they travelled to Morocco on a fellowship with the A.J.C. and a local N.G.O. called the Mimouna Association. The trip brought together Jews and Muslims from America, Israel, France, and Morocco. The group visited synagogues and mosques and sought to build closer relationships with one another. Yasmina Asrarguis, one of the Muslim participants, is a French Moroccan researcher who studies diplomatic efforts such as the Abraham Accords and “the people who work to make peace,” she said. “Sarah was one of those people.” Asrarguis and Milgrim became close during the trip; Asrarguis felt that they were allied in their vision for the future of their countries. “She believed another Middle East was possible, where Jews and Muslims can live side by side and not kill each other for land,” Asrarguis said.

When we spoke, Asrarguis had just got off an informal memorial call with a group of Milgrim’s friends, who all shared stories about her sense of a better future. Even though Milgrim was young, “she did a lot to make her vision become something. She did what she could at her own level,” said Asrarguis. It’s a recognizable profile—the American Jewish kid who threw herself into Muslim-Jewish dialogue and the project of creating peace in the Middle East. “You can’t do justice with injustice,” Asrarguis said. “You don’t rebuild Gaza by bringing more injustice into this world.”