#preparing for selective school test

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[schooltutoring]

Selective School Exam Tutoring is a specialized educational service designed to prepare students for entrance into high-achieving academic institutions that require rigorous selection processes.

[privatetutoringvictoria]

Preparing for Selective Schools Test: Tips and Strategies

Are you getting ready to take the Selective Schools Test in Victoria? The Selective Schools Test is a rigorous exam that assesses students' academic abilities and potential for future success. Preparing for this test can be a daunting task, but with the right strategies and tips, you can improve your chances of success. In this article, we will discuss what the Selective Schools Test is, why it is important, and how you can best prepare for it.

What is the Selective Schools Test in Victoria?

The Selective Schools Test is an exam that is used to select students for entry into selective high schools in Victoria, Australia. These schools are known for their high academic standards and rigorous curriculum. The test is designed to assess students' abilities in areas such as mathematics, reading, and writing. It is a highly competitive exam, with only a limited number of spots available for incoming students.

Preparing for the Selective Schools Test is crucial if you want to secure a spot in one of these prestigious schools. The test is challenging, and students who do well on it will have a greater chance of being accepted into a selective high school.

Tips for Preparing for the Selective Schools Test

Start Early: Begin preparing for the Selective Schools Test as early as possible. Give yourself enough time to review the material and practice answering sample questions.

Create a Study Schedule: Develop a study schedule that allows you to cover all the necessary material before the test date. Be sure to allocate time for each subject that will be tested on the exam.

Practice, Practice, Practice: Practice is key when preparing for any exam. Work through sample questions and past exam papers to familiarize yourself with the types of questions you may encounter on the test.

Seek Help if Needed: If you are struggling with certain subjects or topics, don't hesitate to seek help from a teacher, tutor, or study group. Getting extra support can make a big difference in your preparation.

Stay Calm and Focused: On the day of the test, try to stay calm and focused. Remember to pace yourself and read each question carefully before answering. Don't let test anxiety affect your performance.

Why is the Selective Schools Test Important?

The Selective Schools Test is important because it determines which students will be admitted to selective high schools in Victoria. These schools offer specialized programs and resources that can help students excel academically and prepare for future success. By doing well on the Selective Schools Test, you can open doors to new opportunities and pave the way for a successful academic career. In conclusion, preparing for the Selective Schools Test requires dedication, hard work, and strategic planning. By following these tips and strategies, you can improve your chances of performing well on the exam and securing a spot in a selective high school. Remember to start early, practice consistently, and stay focused on your goals. With the right mindset and preparation, you can ace the Selective Schools Test and set yourself up for a bright future. Good luck!

[dostoyevsky-official]

The Elite College Students Who Can’t Read Books

Nicholas Dames has taught Literature Humanities, Columbia University’s required great-books course, since 1998. He loves the job, but it has changed. Over the past decade, students have become overwhelmed by the reading. College kids have never read everything they’re assigned, of course, but this feels different. Dames’s students now seem bewildered by the thought of finishing multiple books a semester. His colleagues have noticed the same problem. Many students no longer arrive at college—even at highly selective, elite colleges—prepared to read books.

This development puzzled Dames until one day during the fall 2022 semester, when a first-year student came to his office hours to share how challenging she had found the early assignments. Lit Hum often requires students to read a book, sometimes a very long and dense one, in just a week or two. But the student told Dames that, at her public high school, she had never been required to read an entire book. She had been assigned excerpts, poetry, and news articles, but not a single book cover to cover.

[...] Twenty years ago, Dames’s classes had no problem engaging in sophisticated discussions of Pride and Prejudice one week and Crime and Punishment the next. Now his students tell him up front that the reading load feels impossible. It’s not just the frenetic pace; they struggle to attend to small details while keeping track of the overall plot.

No comprehensive data exist on this trend, but the majority of the 33 professors I spoke with relayed similar experiences. Many had discussed the change at faculty meetings and in conversations with fellow instructors. [...] Daniel Shore, the chair of Georgetown’s English department, told me that his students have trouble staying focused on even a sonnet.

Failing to complete a 14-line poem without succumbing to distraction suggests one familiar explanation for the decline in reading aptitude: smartphones. Teenagers are constantly tempted by their devices, which inhibits their preparation for the rigors of college coursework—then they get to college, and the distractions keep flowing. “It’s changed expectations about what’s worthy of attention,” Daniel Willingham, a psychologist at UVA, told me. “Being bored has become unnatural.” Reading books, even for pleasure, can’t compete with TikTok, Instagram, YouTube. In 1976, about 40 percent of high-school seniors said they had read at least six books for fun in the previous year, compared with 11.5 percent who hadn’t read any. By 2022, those percentages had flipped.

[...] Mike Szkolka, a teacher and an administrator who has spent almost two decades in Boston and New York schools, told me that excerpts have replaced books across grade levels. “There’s no testing skill that can be related to … Can you sit down and read Tolstoy? ” he said. And if a skill is not easily measured, instructors and district leaders have little incentive to teach it. [...] The pandemic, which scrambled syllabi and moved coursework online, accelerated the shift away from teaching complete works.

[...] But it’s not clear that instructors can foster a love of reading by thinning out the syllabus. Some experts I spoke with attributed the decline of book reading to a shift in values rather than in skill sets. Students can still read books, they argue—they’re just choosing not to. Students today are far more concerned about their job prospects than they were in the past. Every year, they tell Howley that, despite enjoying what they learned in Lit Hum, they plan to instead get a degree in something more useful for their career.

[...] For years, Dames has asked his first-years about their favorite book. In the past, they cited books such as Wuthering Heights and Jane Eyre. Now, he says, almost half of them cite young-adult books. Rick Riordan’s Percy Jackson series seems to be a particular favorite.

[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

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~kc💗

[mysteryshoptls]

Fellow Honest Shared Lines

Level Up 1: This is all a fountain of knowledge!

Level Up 2: I'm improving bit by bit. So, this is what it means to learn!

Level Up 3 / Buddy Level Up: Well, ain't this a surprise. Who'd've thunk I'd still have room to grow?

Level Max: Bet you never thought some washed-up loser like me would ever get this far, huh? Watch me surpass those cocky little scholars one day! Fwahahahaha!

Vignette Level Up: You must have it rough, always surrounded by those magically gifted little brats every day. When you get tired of it, you should come to the school I plan to open. We'd welcome you with open arms. Fwahahahahahahaha!

Spell Level Up: How'd ya like them apples? See, even someone like me can get it done, if I take some classes! Don'tcha think I'm looking more and more like a proper scholar?

Friendship Level Up: Can't believe you're trying to be friends with me, after going through that harrowing experience. You're a little too soft-hearted, ain'tcha? Not gonna be my fault if you get taken for a ride again, fwahahahahaha!

Friendship Level Max: Whew, you sure got me at a loss! How is it you're such a little charmer? Hmm? Sure, I'm pretty good at that sort of stuff too, but you're definitely not bad at your attempts to bond.

Uncapped: Me 'n Gidel'll keep growing stronger. When that happens, none of you will be a match for us. Prepare yourself for that moment.

Groovification: Regardless of their status, everyone should have the equal chance to gain an education. Schools are a necessity.

Lesson Select 1: Okay then, let's see what's so great about Night Raven College.

Lesson Select 2: Listen to that, Gidel. The happy voices of children on their way to class is a pleasant sound, indeed.

Lesson Select 3: Homework and tests...? No wait, calm down and think it through. If I decide I don't like it, I can just not have them at my school when I set it up...

Lesson Start: Onwards, to class!

Lesson Finish: This is the type of course they have at an arcane academy, hm...

Battle Start: You’ll see just what Fellow Honest is capable of.

Battle Won: Being an actor is hard work, you know.

Requested by Anonymous.

[cloakedsparrow]

Alfred is Tim's Biological Grandfather AU

Bruce and Alfred had found it slightly odd that Jack and Janet Drake didn't ask any questions about Tim spending so much time at Wayne Manor. True, the Drakes could have questioned Tim and he simply could have not told them. However, the boy knew better than to keep it to himself if he'd made any excuses Bruce might need to know or if his parents were likely to make any complaints. Neither of the Drakes ever contacted Bruce or the Manor. They never requested to see or speak with any member of the family.

While they were making the arrangements for Janet's funeral (because Jack was in a coma and Tim was just a child), Bruce received a summons from her lawyer, stating that she'd remembered her dear friend in her will. Bruce was immediately suspicious because he and Janet Drake hadn't been friends.

Bruce receives a letter, along with a small, locked box, about the size of a document mailer. The letter apologizes for the deception and requests that Bruce give the box to Alfred Pennyworth, stating that the combination was Tim's birthday. Out of respect for Alfred more than anything, Bruce follows the instructions.

After going through the box privately, Alfred appears more solemn than Bruce has seen him in decades. He tells Bruce that -years before- he'd slept with a upper-class woman when visiting his father, who had already been working for the Waynes. After coming to work for the Wayne's himself, Alfred had learned that the woman had gotten married not long after and had a child. A child that was just the right age to potentially be his. At his request, Thomas and Martha invited the woman and her husband to a party at the Manor. Alfred very professionally informed her that she had an important phone call and to please follow him to an appropriate guest phone. Once they were in a private room, Alfred calmly informed her that he was going to require proof that the child was not his. He would be happy to take a paternity test himself, or she could take one for her husband that proved he was father. Whether she told her husband or did it behind his back, Alfred didn't care. He had no intention of causing a scene but he fully intended to be there for his child if he had one. The woman had agreed and discreetly had a paternity test done that had proven her daughter was her husband's child.

Alfred had thought that was the end of it. However, Janet Drake had left him a letter informing him that she had been that child. More importantly, she had informed him that the paternity test had been forged to keep him out of the picture since her mother had found a better prospect in her husband. After her parents died (she'd been an adult), Janet had found the results and a letter from her deceased maternal grandmother (who helped with the forgery) explaining the matter. She hadn't been sure how to feel or what to do about it. She'd ended up just ignoring it.

She had been concerned when Tim suddenly started spending time at Wayne Manor, but when she asked Tim about it, after talking about how nice Mr Wayne was and how cool Dick was and learning to play tennis and getting help with his gymnastics et all, he'd started talking about Alfred. He kept talking about how amazing he was. How kind he was. How funny he was. How clever he was.

Even though Tim hadn't known about the blood they shared, he'd clearly loved Alfred. Janet couldn't take his grandfather from him. That was why she let him spend so much time at Wayne Manor. That was why she never demanded to speak to Bruce. As far as she was concerned, it wasn't really about him. It was about family.

She also let Alfred know that she'd always been the primary caregiver for Tim. She'd always made the decisions in regards to him. She selected his nannies, babysitters, and boarding school. She saw to his medical appointments and made sure anyone preparing meals for Tim knew about his allergy (I always headcanon hazelnuts for some reason). She signed him up for gymnastics and martial arts. She made sure he got to and from Summer camp.

She knew Jack wouldn't know how to be a parent and requested that Alfred help out as much as he was comfortable with.

She also apologized for not telling Alfred the truth until it was too late for her to get to know him herself. She told him that the more Tim talked about him, the more she considered telling them both the truth. That she'd truly wanted to know him but just kept putting it off. If he was reading the letter, then she’d obviously waited too long.

Bruce and Alfred double check Alfred's blood against Tim's in the Cave before Alfred tells the boy he's his grandson. With Tim's permission, he discreetly has a proper blood test ran and uses the results to quietly assume custody of his grandson while Jack is in a coma.

When Jack wakes up and Alfred learns that he's both made arrangements for Tim to get an early junior's license to drive him around and also to work at Drake Industries for him, he doesn't just complain. He sees Jack privately and informs him that HE has had custody of Tim, not Bruce, as the city has assumed. He informs him of their relation. He informs him that he made a good deal of money both in the service of Her Royal Majesty and the Waynes and he invested that money wisely. In fact, he currently has more money than Jack. He informs Jack that unless he wants them to take it to a judge, Tim will not be acting as a caregiver, chauffeur, or executive assistant to Jack. If the man cannot afford to hire appropriate help, then Alfred will happy to pay for it, discreetly, of course.

Jack takes the latter option. He and Tim still move into the Manor next door, so that Tim can easily & quickly go to Alfred if he needs anything. While he's reluctant to say it aloud and almost petulant about it at times, Jack actually appreciates Alfred's help with Tim. He doesn't pay as much attention to the boy, but Tim ends up better taken care of anyway.

Alfred attends the Young Justice parent-Red Tornado conference alongside Dick (he asked Dick to still come as he’d understand the needs of a group of young heroes better than anyone else present). Unlike the others, he always stays on top of what the kids are getting up to. He refuses to participate in the sixteenth birthday trauma, which Tim figures out quicker since Bruce is working on his own (and he has someone to turn to afterwards -Alfred and Bruce have WORDS). He also holds people who hurt him accountable (it's harder with Bruce, who he sees as a son, but he does not mince words with Jack, Stephanie, or anyone else). He adored Dana and they had tea together once every fortnight just to ensure they were on the same page with Tim. He steps in and treats Tim much more fairly after Damian enters the picture. He goes full John Wick on Ra's after the man goes after his grandson.

He's still a grandfather to the others, but having custody of Tim (and a letter from his daughter asking him to care for the boy) gives him a sense of authority that he lacks with them. With the rest of the Waynes, he tries to stay somewhat professional, despite his feelings for them. He doesn't feel the need to do so with Tim because he's not the valet who also helped raise him. He's his grandfather, first and foremost.

[redrose10]

Can we do professor/student “quiet baby the others will hear you”. Please ?

<Quiet Baby>

💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕

Professor Yoongi x Female College Student Reader (both consenting adults)

Warnings: Jealousy, using someone else to make someone jealous, light smut (smuttier than I planned but nothing crazy), swearing

I hope you like it! Also, since it wasn’t noted, I wrote this with Yoongi because it just fit him. I hope that’s okay!

💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕

There was nothing sexier than watching your boyfriend looking all studious surrounded by books and papers, his tie undone hanging loosely around his neck, sleeves rolled up, and his glasses on the tip of his nose as he was buried deep in thought making notes and editing his paper. His recently bleached hair (he was a sweetheart and let you test out a new product on his hair before sacrificing your own) was tousled from hours of running his hands through it. He was finishing up his dissertation in preparation to obtain his PHD and you were so beyond proud of him.

You were also getting incredibly turned on by the sight in front of you.

Before you knew it you were inserting yourself between him and the table to straddle his lap. Slowly you started placing kisses down his neck.

“Y/N…please.”, he grumbled.

“Come on Yoongi. You’ve been working all night. Let me make you feel good.”, you mumbled into his skin focusing your lips on the spot just behind his ear that always drove him crazy.

“Y/N.”, he hissed as you began rolling your hips a little, “Any other time your clothes would already be across the room, but I really need to focus right now.” He placed a kiss on your lips before scooting the chair back slightly to make it easier for you to hop off.

He chuckled seeing your pout and the defiance of you refusing to get up. “I promise I’ll make it up to you once I turn this paper in. I’ll be all yours for anything you want.”, he said before giving your thigh a light smack to encourage you to get up.

“Fine.”, you huffed and retreated to the bedroom to try and get some sleep instead.

When you woke up the next morning Yoongi was already gone. On Thursdays he had an early morning lecture. Not only was your boyfriend a smart phd candidate, but he was a hard working college professor teaching a physics course.

And you just happened to be lucky enough to be in his 2pm class. Which gave you a great idea because you were still a little bit annoyed that he had rejected you so easily the night before. So you carefully selected your outfit, a short black pencil skirt and a crisp white blouse neatly tucked in with a pair of sheer black tights and your favorite black pumps, an outfit Yoongi had told you many times absolutely drove him crazy. To anyone else you were dressed up to give a presentation or maybe you were having a job interview, but you knew he would know the real reason and it would get to him and you could feel the excitement building.

When he walked into the lecture hall closing the door behind him your breath got caught in your throat. He greeted a few of the students as he made his way to the front of the class. He looked so warm and cozy and handsome in his favorite pea coat his cheeks just a little red from the cold winter air. You smiled when you noticed the blue sweater he had underneath, a Christmas gift you’d given him last year. You were really glad you decided to go back to college giving you the chance to meet and fall in love with such a man.

You did your best to keep your composure as he took off his coat and set up for class because no one else knew that the two of you were a thing. Even though you were two consenting adults, the school still wouldn’t like it.

Unfortunately for you, Yoongi didn’t really seem to notice or care about the little ensemble you were wearing. You didn’t get a smile or even an eye roll which you would have appreciated. This only made you more determined to get him worked up just as much as you.

“Hey Jimin?”, you whispered to the man next to you. When he looked in your direction you leaned over in his direction, “Do you happen to have the notes from last class that I could copy? Somehow I lost mine.” Enthusiastically he nodded and handed you his notebook, “Yeah of course. Color coded and everything.”

“Thank you Jimin!”, you exclaimed, “You’re just the best!”

Yoongi cleared his throat, “Miss L/N…Mr. Park…is there anything you’d like to share with the class?”, he said. Jimin sat up straight and shook his head, but you were less afraid of Yoongi. “Nope, we’re good. I just really needed some help and Jimin was happy to assist.”, you said with a smile. Yoongi eyed you both before turning back to the board to continue with the lecture.

“Wow is it warm in here or just me?”, you sighed quickly undoing a couple more buttons on your blouse. The top of your white lace bra just barely peaking through. Jimin, being quiet the gentleman, did his best to keep his eyes focused on the front of the room. That is until you leaned over unnecessarily close to him giving a better view of your cleavage and bra, “Here are your notes! Thanks again. You’re such a life saver. And a cutie on top of it!,” Shyly he chuckled before grabbing the notebook out of your hands.

Yoongi clapped his hands together, “Well it looks like the snow is getting pretty bad out so why don’t we end class early so you all can get home. We’ll pick up from here next class. Be safe out there everyone.”

You couldn’t help but pout a little feeling like you didn’t accomplish what you set out to do. Although it did warm your heart thinking about how he worried for the safety of his students. As you were packing up your belongings you heard him clear his throat again, “Miss L/N, can I please have a word with you?”

Slowly you finished packing up your stuff as you waited for the last few students to leave the room. When you were alone you walked over to his desk ready to get a talking to or something of that matter.

“I’m not really in the mood for one of your lectures right now.”, you groaned when you got in front of him.

But he surprised you by grabbing your hips spinning you around and pinning you against the desk underneath him, “Yeah then what are you in the mood for hmmm?”

He kissed your lips before slowly moving his own lips down your neck to your chest nipping at the skin and pulling your bra away with his teeth. This was completely unlike him. He definitely wasn’t into PDA especially around the campus.

“Yoo-Yoongi.”, you stuttered out. His hands slowing pulling up the hem your skirt as his fingers trailed up your thighs making your brain turn to mush. “What do you think you’re doing to me huh? You teased me last night when I was busy. I could barely focus. Now you’re teasing me here…showing up to class dressed like this…flirting with Park right in front of me. Do you know how hard it was for me to control myself?”

He rocked his hips against you to give emphasis on the word hard. The feeling making you whine out in need. “S-Someone’s opening the door.”, you finally managed to get out in a panic.

Yoongi grabbed your things and your hand and swiftly pulled you into the small closet off to the side.

On the outside you could hear chairs being moved and a few mumbles from students coming into the room getting ready for the next class.

Your heart felt like it was going to beat out of your chest thanks to the fear of being caught, but your boyfriend seemed to have other ideas.

He gripped your hips pulling you back against him gently grinding himself against your backside. You bit your lip to stifle a moan at the thought and feeling of him needing you so badly.

The professor started the lesson and was going on and on about some equation. You tried to keep your focus on what was happening out there so that you could hear if anyone was coming to the closet and give yourself time to come up with a story to explain everything, but Yoongi’s grip on your hips intensified as he quickened his movements behind you. At some point one of his hands had reached into your blouse and lifted your bra up giving him easy access to gently squeeze at your breasts. The sensation making you arch your back and push yourself onto him even more. Both of you struggling to keep quiet.

Without another word he pulled up your skirt until it was around your waist. The tights were a lost cause those being nearly ripped from your body at the start. The sound of his belt being undone sent a burning feeling through your body.

“Is this what you wanted? What you were so needy for?”, he asked.

Unable to speak you nodded.

“You had no problem talking to Jimin earlier, but now you can’t speak? I want words Y/N.”, he whined feeling your wetness with his fingers.

“Y-yes. I need you Yoongi. Right now. I need you. Please.”, you mewled bracing yourself against the walls of the closet.

“Good girl.”, he gritted as he easily entered you in one go. Both of you doing your best to stay silent.

“Yoongi move please.”, you begged needing more stimulation.

“I-I know baby. I just..I need a minute.”, he groaned into your shoulder blade. Still upset about the prior night you decided to clench around him as hard as you could making him hiss before immediately pulling out so he wouldn’t finish so quickly.

“You think you’re funny don’t you.”, he spat while spinning you around to face him.

“Yeah a litt-“, you tried to respond, but were silenced when he hoisted you up holding you against the side wall of the closet. He entered you once again, but this time didn’t wait for either of you to adjust. He started pounding into you with such a rapid pace you completely forgot where you were and a loud drawn out moaned escaped you.

You put your hand over your mouth in shock because it sounded like footsteps were getting closer and closer to the closet.

Yoongi continued to lazily thrust in and out of you like he was determined for both of you to finish no matter what happened and you had to admit that the feeling was getting you close.

After a minute of silence the footsteps moved farther and farther away and the professor resumed the lecture.

You looked at him to see if he still wanted to continue and it seemed that he did because he picked up the pace again while sucking a bruise into your skin. You willed yourself to not make any more noise, but every time Yoongi would hit that spot just perfectly getting you closer and closer to your release, you would whine and whimper just a little bit more.

“Quiet baby the others will hear.”, he smirked before picking up the pace even more this time. It didn’t take much longer for the two of you to both come undone together. He held you up for a minute while you caught your breath. Slowly he let you down and pulled out, both of your wincing at the overstimulation.

“Fuck Y/N. That was so hot.”, he sighed as he grabbed his scarf out of his bag to help clean you up. “Yeah uh…I didn’t mean for it to go exactly like this, but I’m not complaining.”, you giggled, “So uh how long is this class?”, you asked suddenly realizing you were going to be stuck in the closet for a while.

“This is a quantum physics class and it usually lasts about two hours.”, he apprehensively said.

“Well that sucks.”, you scoffed feeling a little annoyed now.

“Does it though?”, he asked pulling you against him once again, “I don’t know about you, but I could definitely go for another round…maybe two.”

[pookalicious-hq]

˚₊‎‧welcome to the all-japan youth summer games‧₊˚

description: the all-japan summer league is a prestigious event that runs from may to the end of august, with only the best players from various sports associations, leagues, and clubs from across Japan receiving invitations. we hope to see you there.

guidelines: - only sfw // there will be suggestive things but no smut - you are free to send in requests about a certain character - each reader insert will be specific to their own story/fic (differentiated by last names) unless otherwise specified - this IS a crossover au

˚₊‎‧♡‧₊˚ welcome - 0.0 (intro)

For years, a vast stretch of land just outside Tokyo’s beating heart had been draped in secrecy. It sat quietly, like a slumbering giant, only fifteen minutes from the city’s restless hum, yet worlds away from prying eyes. Tall walls and guarded gates kept it hidden, while the murmur of construction whispered through the air. It was as if the earth itself had been stirring beneath the surface, preparing for something grand, though no one quite knew what. Rumors danced through the city—some claimed it was the site of a new stadium, others a corporate headquarters.

Then, as if the secret could no longer be contained, the truth was finally revealed.

The land had been transformed—not into a simple complex, but into a world of its own. A sprawling, exclusive sports facility, rivaling anything ever seen before. This was no ordinary venue. The gates would not open to the public, nor would casual spectators ever stroll its paths. Instead, a self-contained village now stood where dirt and machinery had once ruled—a place carved out for only the best of the best.

Here, in this enclave, Japan’s finest young athletes were to be housed, nurtured, and tested. Handpicked from high schools across the country, they came not just to compete, but to stake their claim on something far greater. This was the All-Japan Youth Summer Games—where talent would be sharpened to its finest edge, and where the fire of competition would burn hottest under the summer sky.

sports clubs to watch out for:

haikyuu (the monsters)🏐

MonstersJV is a Japanese volleyball league that spans from U14 to U19. This elite, non-profit organization represents the pinnacle of Japan’s youth volleyball scene, showcasing the nation’s top players on a global stage. Athletes from across the country go through rigorous tryouts, where they are selected to form a rotating roster of elite teams. These teams compete against one another within the league, constantly pushing the limits of their abilities in preparation for international exposure.

miya atsumu... ˚₊‎‧♡‧₊˚first glance... 2.6k words: atsumu realizes love at first sight is a real thing when he falls victim to it himself. tags/tws: crossover au, insta stalker atsumu, swearing, fighting, love at first sight, jjk!mma!reader ˚₊‎‧♡‧₊˚ loading...

blue lock (the infinities)⚽

Blue Lock Academy earned its invitation to the All-Japan Youth Summer League following its explosive success in the Neo-Egoist League. Known for its revolutionary approach to developing strikers, Blue Lock has handpicked its top players to form elite teams that will represent the academy in the AJYSM. These players, already sharpened by fierce internal competition, now stand ready to showcase their unique talents on an even larger stage, further solidifying Blue Lock’s claim to producing Japan’s next great soccer prodigies.

˚₊‎‧♡‧₊˚ loading...

kuroko's basketball (the miracles)🏀

KNGenBasket was established to spotlight the key players who transformed Japan’s youth basketball landscape. Over the years, the league expanded, bringing together more exceptional individuals to form elite teams. However, its true rise to fame came with the emergence of six extraordinary players, each possessing unique strengths that captivated the nation. Now, these teams represent the very best of Japan’s youth basketball, standing as a testament to the league’s evolution and the incredible talent it has fostered.

˚₊‎‧♡‧₊˚ loading...

jujutsu kaisen (the curses)🥊

The Jujutsu Kaisen Curse is an elite MMA gym that exclusively trains and houses the top fighters in Japan. Known for producing ruthless and extraordinary athletes, the gym has earned a fierce reputation within the global MMA community. After years of dominating the sport, The Curses were invited to the All-Japan Youth Summer League to showcase their raw talent and unrivaled power on a new stage. Each fighter that steps into the ring under their banner carries the weight of the gym’s legacy, feared for their relentless strength and skill.

sukuna ryomen... ˚₊‎‧♡‧₊˚ bestest friend... 2.5k words: they've always been best friends since anyone could remember, what's changed now? tags/tws: crossover au, childhood friends to lovers, swearing ˚₊‎‧♡‧₊˚loading...

attack on titan (the titans)👟

AttackElevate stands as Asia’s most elite and expansive Track and Field club, rising from Japan’s competitive landscape to earn international recognition. From the age of 10, the club selects only the most promising young athletes, putting them through rigorous training with one goal in mind: to reach Olympic-level excellence. These athletes, forged through years of intense discipline and competition, represent the pinnacle of track and field talent. Now, AttackElevate has been invited to the All-Japan Youth Summer League, where their relentless pursuit of greatness will be put to the test against Japan’s finest.

˚₊‎‧♡‧₊˚ loading...

more coming... (send an ask)

[im-not-a-ghost]

Winter is coming ❄️

What are the energies awaiting you for the upcoming winter? Which messages and advice does your spirit team wish to convey to you in preparation for this time of the year? To find out, select one of the following groups either based on the number or the picture.

Group 1 Deer

6 of wands, knight of swords, The Lovers, 4 of wands, ace of wands, 6 of cups

Oh dear 😉 group 1 it seems like this Winter season will be a lucky time of the year for you. You may be receiving communication that you were waiting for and that will make you extremely happy. This may be especially true if you were hoping for significant progress within a romantic connection. If that is your case, your person of interest may very well be willing to kiss your under the mistletoe this Christmas. Whether you were in separation or not, the flame will be rekindled and this connection may very well be taking a new turn. If you were mere acquaintances this could progress into a solid crush. If you were casually dating, this person may be asking you to be their lover. If you were in a relationship for a while, they may be proposing to you a form of commitment. I feel like this is something you had been fighting for for a while now, which will feel like a major victory for you. If we’re not talking about a person, this could be about a project that was very dear to you. Possibly something related to your childhood and your home. So for instance, and this may be very specific so take what resonates, if you were hoping to buy your childhood home to keep it in the family and pass it down to your children, you may be able to this Winter. You may also be invited by your parents to spend the Winter with them for those of you that are living away from your loved ones. Overall I pick up on various good news and a very good energy to be celebrating and spending good times with the ones you love. You are encouraged to remain optimistic and cherish the good vibes. Keep working toward your goals, don’t be afraid to express your love and needs around you and enjoy your Winter.

Group 2 Rabbit

Justice, 9 of swords, ace of swords, World, Wheel of fortune, 2 of wands

This Winter you will be gaining clarity about a situation that was troubling you. This could have been a work situation, something about your health, about your family, friends or partner. This could be anything. It could have involved legal procedures but this doesn’t have to be the case for everyone. I feel like though the first part of Winter may be challenging and tiring you will quickly gain momentum and get back on track. Major change is coming into your life. You may be travelling during Winter and making new plans for the future. I feel like for a lot of you this could be work related. Maybe you were jobless and desperate to find a new contract. If that is the case I see you getting a job away from your home. For some of you, you could have applied for a project or a school and were waiting to see if that worked out. You may receive an official reply that you have been accepted provided that you pass a test or an interview. Some of you may have to travel to deal with legal matters. Perhaps these legal issues do not involve you directly but a family member. These will only be temporary. You are asked to trust the process and keep your calm, make sure that you get the rest you need and keep in mind that better days are coming. You are strong enough to overcome this situation and you have what it takes to turn the wheel and create your luck.

Group 3 Sparrow

Tower, 4 of pentacles, 4 of wands, knight of swords, 2 of swords, Judgement

An unexpected event will lead you to having to re evaluate everything in your life. This is something that you will not see coming and it may be difficult for you to adapt in this situation. Your life will be completely turned upside down and this may feel like a bad thing at first because of the suddenness of this change. This may be related to your finances and/or your home. The event may take the shape of a letter or a mail that you didn’t expect. It could be a legal decision regarding your job, your home, a relationship of any kind. You may feel confused and at a loss of what to do. You may feel insecure and want to cling to your former state. Spirit is asking you to let go and let yourself be guided to whatever next stage follows this upheaval. There will be people and instances that you can rely on and you are encouraged to solicit those. Communication will be extremely important in this situation. Winter may be a very challenging time for you, a period of transition in all areas of your life. You may have to suddenly move out of your home, change your job, change your status from committed to celibate or vice versa, depending on your situation. You aren’t necessarily losing something per se. Rather I feel like you are gaining something but that something is uncertain for now and may vary depending on your case. It’s like your plans are being countered by the Universe’s prerogatives. Though this may be frightening you will later on understand why this was necessary.

[cakesunflower]

lovelorn (and nobody knows) [rafe cameron au fic] chapter 4

Summary: Isla Carrera had planned for the summer before college to be focused on three things: helping out at her family’s restaurant (the helpful daughter), preparing for college (the good student), and having fun with the Pogues (the loyal friend). But one fateful night, where her car breaks down and her rescuer is none other than Rafe Cameron, seems to send her summer down a path she didn’t see coming–one teeming with a secret, illicit romance with the last person she expected. And if her friends and sister found out, Isla isn’t sure they’ll be so understanding, no matter what her feelings are.

Previous Chapters: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

Isla is pushing a grocery cart down the snack aisle of the grocery store when she spots someone she is in no mood to interact with.

Her ex-boyfriend, Carlo, stands at the end of the aisle, peering at the shelf before him as he makes his snack selection. Thankfully, he’s oblivious to Isla’s presence as she slowly backs down to exit the aisle at the other end, hoping to disappear around the corner before he can spot her, her grip on the handlebar of the shopping cart tight as the wheels rattle with every spin.

Luckily, Isla is able to reach the end without bumping into anyone or anything, and pulls and pushes the cart down the side aisles instead, putting distance between herself and Carlo. She can just get the snacks at the end—anything to avoid risking running into him again.

The two of them had broken up a year ago, but Isla had to spend the entire school year seeing him, since they shared a few classes together. The breakup had been messy, to say the least; they’d dated all throughout sophomore year, the summer after, and a few months into their junior year. Except, Carlo had gone to New Jersey for that summer, visiting family, and it wasn’t until the school year had started that Isla found out he had been cheating on her with some girl he met during his vacation. The only way she found out was because the girl had discovered that he had been in a relationship with Isla, and reached out to her through Instagram to tell her of what Carlo did.

It had been devastating for Isla because, truly, she did love him—or, well, as much as a sixteen year old was capable of love. But the second his infidelity came to light, she had ended things—and he had the audacity to tell her that she was the one making a mistake by breaking up with him. As if the mistake hadn’t been made by him when he decided to spend his summer hooking up with a girl down at the Jersey Shore. And then for a long while after, he kept trying to win her back, as if she was some prize that slipped away from his fingers, despite Isla never giving him the time of day.

And although the idea of violence doesn’t exactly thrill Isla, she was relieved that when John B took it upon himself to threaten Carlo with physical harm if he didn’t leave Isla alone, her ex finally backed off. For the most part. Escaping his line of sight at the grocery store is her not wanting to really test those waters again.

She occupies herself by going to the other side of the store, getting her toiletry essentials that she’s running low on and hoping that by the time she goes back to the snack aisle, Carlo is gone. The party Sarah is throwing at her place is tonight, and Isla is in charge of buying snacks for the guests. Sarah’s going to end up ordering pizza at some point for everyone, but enough snacks should hold the rowdy, drunk teenagers for a good bit. 

As if on cue, Isla’s music playing through her headphones gets interrupted by an incoming call, and she pulls her phone out of her pocket to see Sarah’s name and a selfie of them two lighting up the screen. “Hey, are you on your way yet?” Sarah asks by way of greeting.

Isla huffs out a breath, placing her preferred coconut scented body wash into the cart. “In a bit. Hit a snag at the store and I gotta drop off my stuff at home before heading over.”

“A snag?” Sarah repeats. “What does that mean?”

Pursing her lips briefly, she confesses with a sardonic chuckle, “I saw Carlo in the snack aisle and bolted to the other side of the store.”

“Oh, crap,” her friend mutters. “Yeah, okay, take your time. Hope you don’t have to deal with him.”

“Me and you both, sister,” Isla mutters, pushing her way out of the aisle. “Are the others there yet?”

“Yeah, Kie and Cleo have been helping me move my parents’ valuables into the locked rooms,” Sarah snickers. It’s not their first time throwing a party in the Cameron household, so they’ve become experts in taking anything expensive that Ward and Rose Cameron hold dear and putting them away into a locked room so they don’t get destroyed during a party. “The guys just got here with the drinks.”

“Let me guess—JJ got his hands on a keg.”

“Two of them,” Sarah laughs. 

Isla whistles, smile burgeoning as she makes her way through the store, her gaze half sharp to look out for her ex. “Sounds like we’re in for a rager.” 

They hang up soon after that, and Isla braces herself to go back to the snack aisle and breathes out a sigh of relief when she doesn’t spot Carlo anywhere. She makes quick work of grabbing several party sized bags of chips before heading back to the front of the store. She feels a little paranoid, stupidly so, that she’s going to see Carlo, so she works quickly. Having any kind of conversation with him is not on her agenda for today—or ever—because why should she give the guy who cheated on the time of day? 

As much of a stretch as it may be, Isla is kind of hoping she never has to see him again now that school is over. It might not be realistic, since she’s going to college over on the mainland and the Cut isn’t that big, so running into him is totally a possibility. But a girl can dream, right?

Isla makes her escape quickly enough and is pulling up to Sarah’s house thirty minutes later. As she gets out of her car—finally back from the shop—Isla can’t help the way her gaze scans the Cameron’s gravel driveway in search of a certain guy’s motorcycle, heart thudding when she doesn’t spot it amongst Sarah’s own parked car and John B’s van. As she opens the trunk of her car, she’s not quite sure if she feels relief or disappointment when she doesn’t spot Rafe’s motorcycle, that in of itself is complicated as all hell. 

If only her friends heard that thought—they might think she’s gone insane. Maybe she has.

“I’m here!” Isla calls out, a tote bag filled with her outfit and makeup for tonight hanging off her shoulders while her hands grip the grocery bags. “A little help?!”

She hears footsteps as she makes her way to the kitchen in the bag, smiling in relief as Pope turns the corner and comes into view. “Here, I got you,” he says, helpfully taking some of the bags from her. “Jeez, how much did you get?”

“Hopefully enough to feed a houseful of people,” Isla answers with a snort, putting the remaining bags on the marble countertop. She and Pope begin taking out the several bags of chips, along with the packs of red solo cups Isla had also picked up upon Sarah’s request. “Where are JJ and John B?”

“Setting up the Christmas lights in the backyard,” Pope replies and off her arched eyebrow, he chuckles and explains, “Sarah wanted it to look pretty and colorful.” He puts air quotes around the words with a fond roll of his eyes. “Last I checked, they were still trying to untangle the whole thing.”

Isla hums in acknowledgement before asking, “When are people supposed to start coming?”

Pope glances at the digital watch on his wrist. “Like, two hours. Less than, I think.”

Isla grabs her tote. “I need to get ready.”

Her friend shakes his head, scoffing. “It should not take you two hours to get ready for a party.”

She flips her hair over her shoulder, already walking out of the kitchen as she tells him, “Perfection takes time, Pope.”

She takes the steps two at a time as she heads upstairs, hearing the girls’ chatter the closer she gets to Sarah’s room. Upon entering, Isla spots her sister in front of the mirror in the ensuite, leaning close to her reflection and lips parted as she applies mascara; Sarah’s in front of her vanity, blotting blush onto her cheeks, while Cleo sits cross legged in front of the floor length mirror as she slicks her dark hair back into a high ponytail.

“Damn, are there any mirrors left for me?” Isla teases, catching her friends’ attention.

She’s met with laughter while Kie calls from the bathroom, “I’m almost done!”

From her place on the floor on the other side of the room, Cleo asks her, “Whatcha wearin’ tonight?”

“I was thinking these,” Isla answers, gesturing to the distressed denim cut-offs she’s already got on while digging through her tote bag. “With this.”

She holds up the crocheted purple and black bralette top, a cute find she had discovered when she and Kie had gone to the mainland for some thrifting. “Very cute,” Sarah nods approvingly, cheeks a pretty pink glow. “Are you gonna swim?”

Isla shrugs, undecided. “Not sure.”

“Unless the guys throw you in the pool,” Kie says as she walks out of the bathroom, dressed in her own black denim shorts and a red tank top, the strings of her yellow bikini top tied around her neck.

“Only if they have a death wish,” Isla scoffs, grabbing her small makeup bag and heading to the bathroom. She doesn’t mind taking a swim, truthfully, but she’d hope the guys would give her enough time to empty her pockets; one of the last times they so lovingly tossed her in the pool, Isla’s phone was still in her pocket and she ended up needing to buy a new one. A bowl of rice definitely did not help.

Isla takes her time in getting ready, accompanied by conversations with her friends as she does her makeup under the bright lights of Sarah’s bathroom mirror. Truthfully, Isla is only half listening to Cleo’s story of how she chased out a would-be robber from Heywards’—an unsurprising pastime for Cleo—because her thoughts keep drifting to a certain guy with blue eyes and dark blonde hair whose face keeps flashing through her head.

Isla’s jaw clenches, movements slowing in buffing out her foundation as she gazes at her reflection, throat working. It unnerves her how frequently Rafe has been creeping through her thoughts since that night he helped her out when her car broke down. And then again when he let her borrow his shirt, before giving her a ride home to escape from the cops. She has interacted with him more just this last week than she has in an entire month in the past. Whatever their interactions, they shouldn’t have a lasting effect on Isla like they do. She keeps trying to remind herself that none of it is a big deal, and yet…

Shaking her head at herself, Isla continues on with her makeup and then brushes out her hair, her ears already decked out in jewelry. Her neck also adorns matching gold jewelry, necklaces layered together against her smooth brown skin. When she walks out of the bathroom to put her makeup bag back in the tote, Kie lets out a whistle and teasingly says, “You’re gonna drive your favorite touron crazy.”

The others giggle at Kiara’s statement, Isla forcing out a laugh of her own, skin warming at the fact that her stupidly foolish brain has only been focused on one guy—most likely the wrong guy.

When the girls are ready, it’s almost the time for when people will start coming, so they head downstairs and to the back, music already blaring through the speakers that have been set up. Isla is impressed by the set up, the Christmas lights wrapped around the trees and across the gable roof of the porch, also wrapping around the porch pillars. 

Letting out a whistle, Cleo says to Sarah, “Jeez, how many Christmas lights do you have?”

Sarah snickers. “Pretty sure we have some for every room in the house, plus for outside of the house.”

With the sun setting, the Camerons’ backyard is alight with different colors thanks to the lights the boys put up, along with the blue glow of the pool and some of the sconces lit up along the wall that separates the yard from the street they live on. The guys are already helping themselves to drinks, unsurprisingly, while playing beer pong on the opposite side of the yard across the pool. 

As they walk over to the guys, Sarah gasps and grabs Isla’s arm. “Oh, shit, wait, I forgot to ask! Did you manage to leave the store without Carlo seeing you?”

“Whoa, wait, what?” Kiara asks, stopping as she widens her eyes at her sister. “You saw Carlo?”

“Yeah. I guess he’s spending his summer in OBX,” Isla says, face scrunching up in distaste. He seemed to enjoy his summer out of North Carolina, so Isla has no qualms about him leaving again if it meant she could go a summer without running into him.

“Gross,” Kie mutters before throwing an arm around Isla’s shoulders, pulling her close. “Well, he’s irrelevant, so fuck him.”

Cleo snaps her fingers. “Amen.”

Fortunately, it isn’t long until people start arriving, the volume of the music turning up as more and more people come. It’s not long until Isla has a drink in her hand, taking a few shots with her friends before enjoying a High Noon since she’s not quite in the mood for beer tonight. Those shots, though, get the job going right away, and it’s not long until she’s in the backyard, dancing to the music pounding through the speakers with her friends.

She lets loose easily, giggling in between sips as they dance to songs by Sabrina Carpenter to Pitbull. There were loads of people splashing around in the pool, using the diving board to jump in, while others either danced or played games spread around the yard or inside the house. At one point, Isla takes part in an intense game of flip cup, laughing as JJ, standing next to her, yells in her ear to hurry up and flip the cup upright. She ends up laughing so hard, she needs to ditch and go to the bathroom, only to find both bathrooms downstairs occupied, so she ventures up the stairs.

Dodging and weaving past other partygoers, Isla finds the bathroom in the upstairs hallway and breathes a sigh of relief when she finds it empty. Locking the door behind her, she uses the toilet, the party muffled beyond the door as she takes a look at herself in the mirror, washing her hands. Her brown hair falls in messy waves around her shoulders, makeup still intact and a subtle glazed, glassiness to her eyes. She’s not drunk, at that point of tipsiness where she’s still aware of her faculties and surroundings, but it all does make the smile come onto her face easily.

When she exits the bathroom, someone else is waiting to go, practically shoving her out of the way to go inside. Isla stumbles, eyebrows furrowing as she glares at the door and shouts, “Rude!” before turning to head back down the hall.

And maybe she’s drunker than she thought, because surely she can’t have spotted Carlo at the end of the hall, chatting with some people. Isla freezes, blinking a couple of times as the distant sound of a Taylor Swift song plays outside, and praying that she’s only imagining things, because seeing Carlo at the store earlier had been enough.

But, nope, he’s right there, and he’s looking like he’s about to walk away from the people he’s talking to and head in her direction—even though he hasn’t spotted her yet. And Isla panics, knowing that if he sees her, he’s going to want to chat, and so her gaze darts around as she reaches the first door she finds, other than the now occupied bathroom, and shoves it open.

Slamming the door shut, Isla presses her back against it, blowing out a breath as she wills for the slight dizziness, as a result of moving so quickly, to stop. She squints, the room bathed in darkness, and feels along the wall until her fingers come across the lightswitch, flicking it on and pressing her lips together in realization when she sees not only that she’s in a bedroom—but it’s Rafe’s bedroom.

What are the Goddamn odds?

Rolling her lips into her mouth, Isla pushes away from the door and wanders further into the room. She’s never been in here before, never had a reason to, and her eyebrows raise in curiosity as she looks around. There’s a four poster bed to her right, and a set of glass doors that lead to a small balcony that looks over the backyard. A shelf is filled to the brim with all sorts of books, the mantle under the TV opposite of the bed holding some frames with pictures of Rafe with his family. There’s also a desk where his laptop sits, along with notebooks and folders and books, a cup filled with pens and pencils. The dark oak dresser by the closet has plenty of colognes, some watches, deodorant, lotion, and other belongings of Rafe placed neatly on top of it.

Everything is tidy and in its place, and Isla isn’t surprised that Rafe is kind of a neat freak—but she is surprised that she finds that attractive. Isla knows that she should leave instead of venturing further into Rafe’s room, that she shouldn’t be invading his privacy like this. She tries to tell herself she isn’t snooping per se—definitely just observing, maybe, as she takes in a breath and feels her mouth curve up when she inhales his familiar earthy, woody scent.

Isla wanders over towards the dresser, eyebrow ticking up curiously when she spots the bracelets sitting among his watches. She tilts her head, fingers brushing along the beaded bracelets, all in dark colors, that sit with his Rolex, Cartier, and Omega watches. It’s a stark difference, because the bracelets definitely look hand-made, and there’s quite a few of them. Matter of fact, Isla is pretty certain she has seen Rafe wearing them, along with the colorful ones Sarah occasionally wears.

Isla hums in curiosity, practically twirling on her heel to gaze out the window and mumbling a quiet, “oh,” when she gets a little too dizzy. “No spinning,” she mutters to herself, feeling more of the effects of alcohol sink into her blood. With a newfound urge to sit, she squeezes her eyes shut to keep the dizziness at bay while blindly grabbing the back of the desk chair, wheeling it towards her before sitting down. 

She tells herself she’s only going to sit for a few minutes, just enough to be steady on her feet again. She’s not sure, however, when she ends up drifting off to sleep.

*****

“Isla? Hey. Wake up, Isla.”

She’s being shaken gently, slowly being pulled out of her impromptu slumber. Her eyebrows furrow together, inhaling sharply as her body comes to the realization of the mildly uncomfortable position she’s in. Her arms are folded under her head, her cheek resting against them before slowly lifting her head as she blinks her eyes open. “What..?”

There’s a hand gently gripping her shoulder, warm, as Isla straightens in the chair and winces slightly at the subtle heaviness in her muscles. How long had she been asleep for? She remembers not to rub at her eyes, since she’s got on makeup, and resolves to cover her mouth with a hand as she yawns before asking, “What time is it?”

“Nine-forty-two,” comes the reply, a voice way too familiar and it’s possible Isla has sobered up now as she freezes where she’s sitting.

Slowly, Isla lifts her gaze, pulse quickening when her eyes meet a pair of blue ones. Bright and beautiful and tinged with both surprise and concern as Rafe stares down at her, most likely wondering what the hell she’s doing in his bedroom. 

Heat crawls up Isla’s neck and floods her cheeks, wishing she was drunk so she could be numb to any sort of embarrassment, but that, unfortunately, isn’t the case as she becomes keenly aware of his hand still on her shoulder, his skin touching hers thanks to the straps of her top. Looking up at him, Rafe arches an eyebrow and maybe she should consider herself lucky that he doesn’t look pissed that she’s found herself in his room, but it’s embarrassing all the same. The ten minute nap wasn’t worth it, even if it did sober her up a little.

“Um,” she sounds, trying not to cringe as she tries to think of something to say.

“You sure know how to party, huh?” comes Rafe’s response, and when she glances up at him, she sees a smirk dancing on the corners of his lips as he looks down at her, eyebrow arched. There’s no doubt there’s mirth dancing in those eyes, too.

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” she defends, embarrassed, as she runs her hand through her hair. “Just needed to make an escape.”

“An escape?” Rafe repeats, stepping back as she gets to her feet. She tries not to miss the warmth of his hand. “From what?” Before she can answer, he scrunches his face in bewilderment and asks, “Why are you always running from something?”

Isla clamps her lips together, suppressing the sudden urge to laugh because, really, he’s not wrong. He’s been playing her rescuer the last few times they interacted, and it’s ironic that it’s his bedroom she found refuge in to keep out of Carlo’s sight. Her lips tremble until the laugh bursts free, hand clamping over her mouth as her shoulders shake. It’s really not that funny, but maybe Isla is still a little tipsy as she watches Rafe’s expression shift from incredulity and melt into amusement of his own, eyes lightening with mirth as he watches her laugh, his own lips tipping upwards.

“What the hell is so funny?” Rafe asks, though the words escape in between his own chuckles.

Isla shakes her head and shrugs. “I don’t know,” she answers, still giggling, cheeks flushed. Either from the alcohol or him, she doesn’t know. And, God, who would’ve thought that Rafe Cameron would be making her blush? Her laughter slowly subsides and, noting that Rafe is watching her, Isla bites the inside of her cheek before saying, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, like, invade your privacy.”

She gestures lamely to the room, lips pressing together. Rafe, in response, smirks as he lifts his chin and gives a one shouldered shrug. “You’re not invading anything,” he says coolly, surprising her. She definitely thought he’d be upset that she was finding refuge in his room. “It’s fine—so long as you tell me why you were hiding out in here,” he adds, arching his eyebrow.

She huffs out a breath, not surprised he isn’t dropping it. She gazes out the window to her right, taking note of the party going on out in the backyard. From where Isla stands, she can see JJ tossing Kie into the pool, just barely hearing her sister’s screech over the music, and Isla is glad she wasn’t down there to be the next victim.

Feeling Rafe’s expectant gaze on her, Isla answers, “My ex is here—don’t know why, since I know none of us invited him—and any sort of conversation with him is going to piss me off.” Not to mention, hurt with the reminder of what he did. “I saw him out in the hall and just ran into the first room I could find.”

Rafe arches a brow as he moves towards his bed, walking to the bedside table and grabbing the box of Marlboros Isla hadn’t noticed before, along with a lighter. “Ex, huh?” he muses, pulling out a cigarette and placing it between his lips as he walks back over to her, his gait casual. He tips the small pack towards her and Isla pulls a cigarette out for herself; not her preferred blunt, but it’d do, as Rafe opens the balcony door but doesn’t step outside. “What’d he do?” he asks, flicking the lighter on in one try and bringing the flame to the end of his cigarette.

Isla places her own between her lips, pulse quickening when Rafe holds the still flaming lighter towards her. Their eyes meet as she leans forward, cigarette between her middle and index fingers, bringing it closer to the flame until it catches. Straightening, Isla takes a drag, letting the nicotine fill her lungs with that familiar subtle burn as Rafe does the same, the end of his cigarette glowing ember.

She exhales, letting the smoke drift out the window, and answers, “Cheated on me.”

Blunt and to the point, and she tries not to flinch at the truth. It’s one she has accepted, but sometimes the sting still accompanies it whenever she thinks or talks about it. And, frankly, it’s a little humiliating to acknowledge that she wasn’t enough for someone, to the point where her boyfriend found someone else. That she was so lacking as a girlfriend, as someone to be wanted, that a guy that she loved gave his attention to another girl. It brought up insecurities Isla didn’t know she had, ones that she’s been fighting off ever since silently. 

But then Rafe stands in front of, watching her with a look in his eyes she can’t quite decipher, exhaling the smoke through his nose as he states, “You’re better off without a dumbass like that.”

His words bring forth a warmth that she should consider dangerous. Even still, Isla keeps her gaze locked with Rafe’s as she responds, “I know.”

He looses a rough chuckle before asking, “Your friends know you’re up here?”

Isla tilts her head slightly, peering up at him. God, he’s tall. A whole head, probably more, than her. “Do they know I’m up here in general, or that I’m up here with you?” she asks, bringing the cigarette back to her mouth.

Rafe smirks and her stomach tumbles. “If you’re asking, then you already know.”

Her skin is warm, but Isla knows it has nothing to do with the smoke in her lungs and everything to do with the man in front of her. “They don’t know where I am,” she admits, reaching her hand out to the side table where an ashtray sits, hovering her cigarette above it as she taps the ashes away. “But they’ll probably start looking for me.”

Rafe hums with an upwards tilt of his chin, and Isla has to force herself not to openly admire the sharp line of his jaw. “Guess you should probably go find them before they find you,” he drawls, and the look in his blue eyes is challenging, almost.

Isla blows a cloud of smoke out of her mouth, and it isn’t lost on her how at ease she feels in this moment with Rafe. If her friends found her here, they for sure would be confused as all hell. Maybe even mad. Betrayed? Seems dramatic, but not impossible. “Tired of having a Pogue in your room?” Isla finds herself taunting with a subtle tilt of her head, eyebrow raised.

To her surprise, Rafe’s expression shifts, a scoff escaping him as he rolls his eyes. “You and our sisters,” he starts with a shake of his head, tapping his cigarette over the ashtray, head ever so slightly ducked as his bangs frame his temples and forehead. “What’s so bad about where you’re from and what you have that the three of you would rather be from that side of the island?”

Instead of hearing any scorn in his tone, Isla mostly picks up bewilderment and incredulity, like he can’t possibly understand why she, Kie, and Sarah would rather be Pogues than Kooks. That’s always been a source of dissent between Sarah and Rafe, too. While her older brother is comfortable with the life they have, Sarah has always felt restless, which is why she found friendship and solace with Isla and her friends. It’s why they welcomed her with open arms, because Isla and Kiara were the same way, too.

They know they’re privileged, lucky enough to have what they have, which is more than what their friends do. It’s not that they’re ungrateful—far from it. But growing up on Figure Eight, within a wealthy society, comes with a set of expectations and pressure that neither Isla nor Kiara were good with handling. Their parents worked hard to give them a good life, which they’re thankful for, but that doesn’t mean giving up their freedom to put on masks and pretend to be someone they’re not. Isla’s parents raised her and Kiara to be themselves, to be independent, and they found a lot of that independence and freedom with their friends, who just so happen to be on the other side of the tax bracket.

Wealth has nothing to do with it. It’s all about living their lives the way they want to, without any sort of judgment and ridicule. For Isla, there is a lot of self-imposed academic pressure that she struggles, sometimes, under the weight of. When it comes to everything else, she would like as much freedom as she can—the kind of freedom and carefree lifestyle that isn’t possible living under the lens of Kooks.

“I don’t think you get it,” Isla says to Rafe, not being pity or scornful, but just wanting him to understand. When he looks at her expectantly, Isla shrugs, her smile small but soft. “It’s not about materialistic things or hating where we’re from. We know we’re lucky to have what we do. It’s honestly really just about our friends and how, at the end of the day, there’s no real divide between us.” She shrugs, cheeks heating under Rafe’s quiet gaze. “There’s no ego, no one’s trying to one-up the other. It’s just a real friendship between all of us and, personally, I never found that here. But with them, it’s easy. It’s right.”

Truthfully, Isla half expects Rafe to scoff in her face, to tell her she’s being a child and that it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard. It would track, simply by the way he and her friends have interacted in the past, even if it would be a contrast to how he’s been acting around her recently. Her skin is on fire, feeling like an exposed livewire as she distracts herself by finishing off the rest of her cigarette, the walls of Rafe’s room vibrating slightly with the bass of the music playing outside. The party is louder now, thanks to the open balcony doors, though from where Isla stands, she can’t really see down to the backyard from over the balcony. 

“Well, when you put it like that,” Rafe begins, muttering slightly as he shrugs his broad shoulders, reluctantly meeting her gaze. “Doesn’t sound that unreasonable.” 

Isla blinks at him, surprise no doubt evident on her face upon hearing his words. Her lips part, but no words come out for a brief moment before she blurts, “Seriously?”

Rafe looks at her, raising an eyebrow. “It’s so hard to believe that I’d believe you?”

Is she being punked? Maybe this actually was a blunt. Or maybe she’s still drunk. “Um, a little,” she admits, blinking at him in bewilderment. “Because I’m sure Sarah’s probably told you the same thing, so why’re you taking my word for it and not your sister’s?”

He shoots her a flat look, though there may be a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. “She’s my younger sister. I’ve become an expert in tuning her out most of the time.” When Isla scowls at Sarah’s expense, Rafe chuckles. “Don’t worry. It goes both ways,” he tells her, moving around her and towards the dresser behind her.

Isla turns, following him with her gaze as he unclips the watch he’s wearing and places it on the dresser. Her head tilts in curiosity, gaze dropping to the surface of the table, and finds her gaze drinking in the sight of his tall, lean figure as she asks, “What’re those bracelets?”

Rafe glances at her over his shoulder before looking back down at his collection of bracelets. Her heart does something funny in her chest when Rafe’s fingers brush along the bracelets and a ghost of a smile touches his lips. “Wheezie went through a phase of making a bunch of these things,” he tells her. “These are the ones she made me.”

Isla presses her tongue to the floor of her mouth, his explanation one that makes her heart trip once again—a sensation that is slowly becoming exclusively just Rafe’s, which might be dangerous. But she can’t help it—not when she knows that those beaded bracelets she has seen him wearing in the past, ones she never really given much thought to, are ones his youngest sister made for him. She doesn’t want to admit it, but it begins to paint Rafe in a new light; not just the guy who gets into fights with her friends. Hell, Isla thinks her opinion of him was already slowly changing since that night he helped her when her car broke down, and now is the night she’s willing to admit it.

“That’s. . . Very cute,” Isla says, almost in wonder.

Rafe turns to look at her, mirth dancing in his eyes. “You calling me cute, Isla?”

Her cheeks heat, scoffing so she doesn’t look as flushed as she feels. “No,” she says vehemently, maybe a little too much so as Rafe cocks an eyebrow, that smirk appearing once more. “I meant the bracelets.” His smirk only widens and her pulse is racing to face as she stubs out the cigarette and says hastily, “I’m gonna go,” as she turns and heads towards the bedroom door, face on fire.

Her hand grasps the doorknob when she hears, “Isla.” She freezes at the sound of her name on his tongue again, turning to glance at him over her shoulder. He gives her a tiny smile. “I don’t mind having you in my room.”

Her eyes widen slightly, pulse skipping a beat or two as she makes sense of his words. “Is that—” She resists the urge to clear her throat. “An invite?”

That smile becomes his signature smirk, blue eyes light and so teasing. “Just a statement of fact.”Oh, God. She’s not sure what to say to that, if there is anything to even say. Words certainly don’t come to the tip of her tongue. Especially not when he’s watching her, like he’s expecting some sort of reaction. She doesn’t give it to him. Instead, Isla opens the door and leaves the room, willing her thundering heart to calm down as she goes to find her friends with the weight of Rafe’s gaze still heavy on her back.

[schooltutoring]

Book your first lesson online or speak with one of our selective school experts. Our team will match your child with the perfect tutor for them and send through confirmation of the first lesson by email and SMS.

[ericshoney]

Use your words ~ Brothers!Sturniolo Triplets

Summary: You had a rough day at school, but luckily your brothers are home to help, even if you can't talk about what happened.

Warnings: usual swearing, autistic!reader, selective mute!reader, anxiety, overwhelmed, crying

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Today had been rough to say the least. It was a good start to the morning, with Nick, Matt and Chris being home and helping you get your bag ready, Matt even drove you to school. But from there on, it was terrible.

It started with your maths teacher being off sick. Most people wouldn't care, but with you being autistic and seeing the same teachers regularly, it broke your routine. You were also a selective mute, so when the substitute teacher tried to get you to answer the questions, that didn't settle well. Luckily one of your classmates explained the situation, but it didn't make you feel any better.

You then went to your English class and your teacher thought it would be cool to spring a pop test on you, which always threw you since you never had time to prepare.

Then at lunch, you were going to get something to eat, only to see everything you hated. You had a very plain taste pallet and didn't like anything that the hall was offering.

When it came to afternoon classes you were happy as you only had one, it being PE, which you quite liked. That was until you saw the sport. Cricket. You didn't like cricket.

So by the time you got home, you were overwhelmed and tired. Nick, Matt and Chris were home too whilst your parents were out. The trio noticed you and instantly knew something was wrong.

"Hey sweetheart, how was school?" Nick gently asked as the three found you curled up on your bed.

You just frowned at him and shook your head. The guys walked in and sat around you.

"Was it not a good day?" Matt asked.

You shook your head in response, whining slightly as tears welled up in your eyes.

"It's okay bub, we're here." Chris said softly, rubbing your leg to help you relax.

Suddenly, all your emotions hit at once. You were sad, angry, overwhelmed and tired all at once. Which resulted in you hitting out. This didn't happen often, only when you got really upset.

"Hey, hey don't hit us. We're trying to help." Chris said, holding your fists tightly in his hands.

"Come on petal, use your words." Matt cooed, rubbing your shoulder to ease the stress.

"We don't care how long it takes." Nick said.

"Bad day." You mumbled.

"Okay, what happened, where did it start?" Nick questioned.

You sighed and eventually explained everything that happened. The guys listened closely, gently praising you for relaxing and explaining with your words what happened.

"We fully understand how hard today was, kid. We really do. But you've made us so proud with how you've explained everything." Chris said.

"Sorry I hit you." You apologised.

"It's okay, sweetheart. But if you get into that position again please try and express it in another way." Nick replied.

You nodded and leaned into Matt. He held you gently, your head resting against his chest as you heard his heartbeat. It had been a bad day, but luckily you had your brothers to help.

[twooftheluckyones]

Disciples

Pictured above left to right: Zepar, he's the head chef. Gemma, she's lead disciple. Hano, he's the head of arts and crafts, plus sin.

Any god needs faith, but the devotion of a common follower pales in comparison to that of a dedicated disciple. In the world of Luck of the Lamb, disciples are a select handful of the many hundreds of people of the cult, numbering roughly around a dozen. The path to becoming a disciple is long and rigorous. A follower must first dedicate a serious amount of time to studying. Their initiation test will involve being heavily questioned on divine history, arts, fluency in the demonic language, and many more topics that the average follower will not be normally educated on. While school is provided for every member, the topics are simple and only begin to brush against the large degree required to pass discipleship initiation. Additionally, a follower making their attempt will need to prove their loyalty and devotion for many months or years prior, regularly attending sermons and participating in the more basic rituals to build their rapport. Some followers try for decades to become a disciple, and for many it never becomes more than a idle fantasy. If the follower passes their initial exam, they will be dubbed an initiate and taken into the fold. Disciples do not typically mingle with the outside followers, living inside an exclusive section of the temple only accessible to disciples. The initiate will be given a necklace of proven loyalty, but they are far from receiving their halo. For five years they remain on probation, never leaving the protected inner area as they slowly adjust to their new life. A disciple gives themselves fully to their faith, expected to abandon their possessions, family, and more. They are expected to follow any order, perform any task, and do it all with a smile on their face knowing its for the good of the cult. What happens beyond this point is known only to those who pass it, and there is no return. If one fails their initiation, either by attempting to leave or failing to integrate properly, they are never heard from again.

At the end of their probation, an initiate is tasked with the final test of their unwavering loyalty. They must place their head on the chopping block, passing into divinity like the Lamb they worship did as well. Resurrection is only used in this exact situation, so the initiate has no way of knowing what will truly happen, but they must go in without hesitation to prove they trust fully in the divine. They must be willing to die without question. Only after a new scar decorates their neck upon their revival do they earn their halo and become a true disciple.

Many followers have an idealized concept of what a disciple does. Many see the mysterious lifestyle, living so close to the fabled Lamb, and can only dream. The reality is much more intense. Disciples follow a strict schedule of daily chores and prayer. Initiates are often tasked with preparing meals, cleaning, and other rudimentary tasks. Disciples themselves have many duties, ranging from delivering sermons and minor blessings to the wider flock and producing art in glory of the Lamb and Death.

But of the duties, one of the most important was rituals. The average follower has very little to do with complex rituals, which for the vast majority of the flock have been adjusted to seasonal festivals more approachable to the uninitiated. However, beyond the locked doors of the temple complex, disciples still perform the horrifying and intense rituals that the faith demands. Deep in the temple, dissident prisoners are sacrificed, lust flows freely, and true power is wrought. Their necklaces, given to them upon becoming a disciple, allow them to tap into the devotion of the flock and become a conduit for it. While normally they then pass it on to their gods, they may use some to use curses if needed.

[yerimbrit]

WWIB > 5. lunch with pretty (wc: 1.2k)

danielle grins happily as she listens to y/n explain each classroom and their respective teachers. mrs. kim and mr. park, the math teachers, mr. baek the literature teacher—the list goes on. y/n has more annoyed complaints to say about mr. song, which makes danielle giggle with her hand covering her mouth.

she notices her mentor has a hard time making eye contact with her. everyone that she's talked to is okay, but it seems it's different when it comes to danielle. it reassures her in thinking that her seatmate may already have some feelings for her too.

"mrs. kim is nice, but she keeps giving us pop quizzes," y/n gulps down the last of her pocari sweat and throws it away at the nearest recycling bin. "i don't know about mr. park but from what i've heard for eunchae—the girl who kept poking me in class today—he likes pop quizzes too."

danielle takes a sip of her strawberry milk. y/n was adamant about treating her, even if it was just the school vending machines. they finally replaced the selection with better drinks, and everyone's been swarming the machines during break according to the girl. "that's bad," she pouts, "i can't do well on tests without studying super hard; i'll have to study everyday."

y/n widens her eyes and shakes her head, finally glancing at danielle. the transfer student's eyes glimmer with genuine fear. "ah, it's not that bad! they're usually right after we review some introductory material or something like that, don't worry."

they walk through the hallways. some students stare in awe at danielle as they walk past the pair, even more so when she greets each of them with a bright smile. y/n looks like she's seconds away from either passing out or growling at the other students.

they're about to enter the cafeteria when danielle stops briefly. "you didn't have plans with your friends, did you? i know i asked if you wanted to eat lunch together but it's not too late to back out..."

y/n ponders for a moment, glancing around. "i'll... i want to eat lunch with you, it's okay. do you know anyone else here?" she slowly asks. 'she really has a permanent smile on her face,' y/n notes in her head.

"i have a friend who's a senior, but she's... busy today. i can always catch up with her later!" danielle answers easily, hoisting her backpack up to adjust it.

y/n nods and they walk into the already-bustling lunchroom. they don't bother getting in line since danielle brought her own food for today and y/n had a particularly big breakfast with haerin.

"you're not gonna eat?" danielle decides to question this decision, pulling her comically large lunchbox out of her bag, which separates into three different containers. she almost looks disappointed at the lack of food in front of her mentor. 'she's really expressive,' y/n adds to her mental note.

the girl in front of her stares in bewilderment, looking between danielle and her abundance of food that she prepared for lunch. "is that all for you?" she asks in astonishment, before quickly realizing that danielle might take it the wrong way. "i mean, not that i'm calling you-"

y/n gets cut off by the girl laughing. the sound makes her feel like she's floating, ready to ascend to whatever's up there. 'this must be heaven.'

"it's okay! i'm a big eater, i'm pretty active. i used to do track back in australia, but i had to quit because my family was moving back to korea."

the girl across from her nods in understanding, drumming her fingertips on top of the table. "you're from australia?"

"yeah! i was born there but we moved back and forth between seoul and newcastle. my mom's korean."

danielle takes the lids off of her lunchbox containers, revealing a copious amount of gimbap, some cutlery, and a whole box dedicated to a mix of cherry tomatoes and baby carrots. she gestures to the container filled with the fruits and vegetables. "want some?"

"oh," y/n's mouth forms an 'o' shape, and she picks a cherry tomato from the pile. "thank you."

the australian watches as y/n pops the fruit into her mouth with expectant eyes. "is it sweet?"

"mm, very."

"that's good! i love fruits and vegetables, i can't go a day without having them. oh, especially carrots. i love carrots," danielle rambles as she picks up a piece of her gimbap with her chopsticks and shoves it in her mouth. she repeats this until all of her lunch is gone, before y/n can even blink.

"hey loser," eunchae sets her tray down on the table, taking a seat next to y/n. "hi danielle!"

danielle flashes a huge grin and waves, recognizing the girl as the person that y/n was talking about earlier. "hello! eunchae...?"

"big baby..." y/n mutters under her breath. unfortunately for her, eunchae hears it and pinches her on the side. they side-eye each other.

then, as if nothing happened, she turns back to danielle with a friendly expression. "that's right! yunjin-unnie told me lots about you."

this turns out to be something that danielle didn't expect, because she lets out a loud gasp. "you know yunjin-unnie!?"

y/n curses at eunchae in her head.

the two get wrapped up in an exciting conversation about yunjin and how they know her, and also getting to know each other in the process. danielle, yunjin, and another girl named yuna grew up together, and they still keep in touch even now. they keep each other updated on almost every detail of their lives while danielle is away, and also exchanging small pieces of gossip.

eunchae's older sister, chaewon, is close friends with the musician, and she describes them as a "budding situationship" before she laughs it off and changes to a different subject. internally, y/n takes back the curses she directed to the younger girl as she also got to know the pretty girl better through their interaction.

two figures approach their table and eunchae and danielle's conversation is put on pause in order to see who arrived.

"ah, finally!" y/n stands up, moving her bag so the student council power couple could sit. "you took forever."

"danielle," eunchae starts, pointing to the girls that had just settled down in their seats with a lunchbox that the secretary packed. "this is hanni-unnie and minji-unnie, our very own student council secretary and president. guys, this is danielle, the new transfer."

"wow! it's so nice to meet you! i didn't know y/n-ssi was so connected."

"it's very nice to meet you, danielle," hanni states, making a face at y/n, who flips her off while the bright girl isn't looking.

the rest of the girls finish their lunch, with some taking their share of danielle's offered tomatoes and carrots (minji made a face, though no one except hanni and y/n noticed), and soon lunch was over. y/n's face pales at the bell.

she still has class with the new girl in two periods.

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