irenes wife

⋆.˚ read now ⋆.˚

They called it a dream come true.

That was the headline when you were announced as the sixth member of Red Velvet.

“New Energy Joins the Nation’s Sweethearts.”

“Mystery Rookie Steals the Spotlight.”

“From Trainee to Velvet.”

You smiled at the press conference, posed for photos, bowed with the others. Every movement perfectly rehearsed, every expression practiced. You knew how to be exactly what they wanted.

But in the quiet moments, when no one was watching, you kept your hands folded in your lap just to stop them from shaking.

From the very beginning, you were different.

Where Seulgi teased and laughed, you nodded and listened. Where Wendy brought warmth to every room, you slipped in and out like a shadow. Where Joy and Yeri embraced you with loud affection, you smiled politely but never leaned in.

“You don’t talk much, huh?” Yeri asked one night as you sat side by side on the dorm couch, music low in the background.

You looked up from your phone, blinking. “I talk.”

She grinned. “Yeah, sure. Like… ten words a day.”

You gave a soft laugh. “Maybe twelve.”

Yeri nudged your arm. “You know, we’re not scary. You don’t have to keep everything locked up.”

You shrugged, letting the smile fade as you stared back at your screen. “It’s just easier this way.”

“Easier for who?”

You didn’t answer.

Because if you said it—if you said “for me”—then you’d have to admit you weren’t actually okay. That this wasn’t just your nature, your quiet way. That it was something deeper. A fear. A defense.

You’d have to admit you were scared—of being known.

And once you say something like that out loud, it becomes real.

And then there was Irene.

She didn’t try to force anything.

She just watched.

And that made her the most dangerous of all.

The thing about Irene was that she didn’t fill silences.

She let them stretch. Let them sit between you, unchallenged. And in those moments, with nothing to distract or deflect, you felt exposed.

Not by what you said.

But by what you didn’t.

It happened more than once. You’d walk into the kitchen late at night and find her already there, hands wrapped around a cup of tea. She’d offer you one without asking anything, and you’d accept without thanking her. Not because you were rude—but because you didn’t trust your voice to hold steady.

She never pried.

But she never looked away, either.

It should’ve made things easier, that silence. No pressure, no demands. But somehow, it only made the knot in your chest pull tighter. Because it was kindness without condition. It was presence without performance. And you didn’t know what to do with that.

Because if you let yourself need it, what would happen when it was gone?

The worst part of pretending was that you got too good at it.

You knew how to smile on cue. How to sound grateful, even when your stomach twisted with anxiety. How to say the right things in interviews and bow at the right times and laugh at jokes even when your chest felt hollow.

You were the perfect new member.

But Irene never looked at you like you were perfect.

She looked at you like she knew.

Like behind every carefully placed word, there was a question you didn’t want to answer.

And maybe—deep down—you wanted her to keep asking anyway.

You told yourself not to read into it.

The way she lingered just a moment too long in the doorway when you passed each other at night. The way her fingers would brush yours when she handed over a drink. The way her gaze settled on you in the mirror before performances, like she was silently steadying you from across the room.

You told yourself it was just Irene being Irene.

Calm. Observant. Kind.

But then there were the things no one else saw.

Like the way her expression shifted when you laughed—really laughed, the rare kind that escaped before you could contain it. She didn’t smile in return. She softened. Like it meant something. Like it mattered.

And maybe that was the scariest part of all.

Not that you were falling.

But that she was, too.

It was two weeks before your first music show performance as a full group.

You were in the practice room long after the others had gone, repeating a section of choreography over and over. The lights buzzed overhead, your reflection watching you with that same unreadable expression you wore in interviews—controlled, composed, untouched.

You knew the steps. That wasn’t the problem.

The problem was how your limbs didn’t feel like your own. How every movement felt just a second too slow, your instincts dulled by exhaustion you couldn’t shake. You moved like someone inside a body, not someone of it.

You didn’t hear the door open.

Didn’t notice her until her reflection joined yours in the mirror.

You froze mid-step.

Irene didn’t say anything. Just walked to the stereo and turned the volume down. Not off. Just enough to let the silence in around the edges.

You turned to her. “I’m fine.”

She tilted her head slightly. “I didn’t ask.”

“I know.”

A pause. A beat.

“You should go home,” she said gently.

“I will.”

“When?”

You swallowed. “Soon.”

She stepped closer, folding her arms loosely across her chest. “You don’t have to prove anything to us.”

“I’m not trying to.”

Her voice stayed calm, but the softness in it sharpened. “You think we don’t see how hard you’re pushing? That you stay behind every night for no one’s sake but your own?”

Your hands clenched at your sides. “It’s not enough to just be here. I have to deserve it.”

“You already do.”

The words landed like a blow—too direct, too kind.

You looked away. “You don’t know that.”

“I do.”

You hated how fast your eyes stung. How close the tears felt, as if they’d been waiting for permission.

And somehow, Irene knew. Of course she knew.

She stepped closer, slowly, like approaching a stray that might bolt at any sudden move. Her hand found your wrist—light, tentative.

“If you break yourself to belong,” she said, her voice so quiet you almost missed it, “then who are they even letting in?”

You didn’t cry.

Not in front of her.

Instead, you stepped back.

Not far. Just enough to slip your wrist from her fingers without making it obvious. You didn’t want her to think it hurt. Even though it did, just not in the way you could explain.

“I should practice more,” you said. Your voice didn’t shake, but it was too flat. Too rehearsed.

Irene didn’t move. She just watched you—calm, unreadable. “Or you could rest.”

“I’m fine.”

“That’s the second time you’ve said that.”

“Because it’s true.”

A beat passed. Another.

Irene didn’t challenge you again. She just nodded once and turned back to the stereo, pressing stop. The music faded, and for a moment, the room was so still it felt like time had paused with it.

“I’ll leave the light on,” she said, heading for the door. “But you don’t have to stay.”

You waited until she was gone before you sat down.

Not gracefully—just all at once, like your knees had given up on you. The mirrored floor felt cold beneath your palms. You stared down at them.

Still shaking.

You pressed them into the floor to stop it. Just like always.

But something had changed. The quiet wasn’t comforting this time. It wasn’t a shield. It felt loud. Crowded. Like Irene had left part of herself in the room with you—and it wouldn’t leave you alone.

She saw too much. And didn’t say enough.

You hated that.

You hated how it made you want to say everything.

But you didn’t. Because you didn’t do feelings. You never had.

You grew up knowing that silence was safer than honesty. That staying small was better than being noticed. That needing something—anything—was a risk you couldn’t afford.

You could be useful. You could be impressive. But you could never be needy.

So you learned to fold in on yourself. Tidy up your fears. Present them as discipline. Turn survival into ambition.

It worked. You made it here.

And now… now, someone was holding out their hand and not asking for anything in return.

It terrified you.

Because what if you took it?

What if you leaned in?

And what if she let go?

You stood up again.

Started the music.

And danced until the mirror stopped showing a person and started showing a machine.

The next morning, you showed up at the studio before anyone else.

Your movements were sharp again. Clean. Mechanical. As if sleep—or the lack of it—had burned out whatever emotion had crept in the night before. You had a job to do. A debut to get right. A version of yourself to maintain.

But she noticed anyway.

Irene didn’t say anything when she entered the practice room. Just offered a small nod as she walked past you to the corner, where she usually stretched before rehearsals. Her presence didn’t feel heavy. But it felt there. A weight you couldn’t shake. Like gravity, pulling in quiet.

You focused on the routine.

Counted steps instead of thoughts. Timed breaths instead of emotions.

Halfway through the run, your ankle gave out—not a snap, not dramatic. Just a slight twist, a crack in the rhythm, your body giving you one more quiet warning.

You recovered quickly, didn’t even fall. But Irene saw. Of course she saw.

And she didn’t stay in the corner this time.

“Sit,” she said, already moving toward you.

“I’m fine,” you said again, that same brittle mantra.

“No, you’re not.”

“I can keep going.”

“I didn’t ask that.”

Her tone wasn’t angry. Just… done.

Done letting you lie to her face and call it strength.

You opened your mouth to push back—but this time, there was nothing behind the words. Just air. Empty and tired.

So you sat.

And for a moment, Irene just stood there. Looking at you like she was trying to decide something. Then she crouched in front of you—knees bent, hands resting on her thighs—and asked, quietly.

“Who taught you that breaking down means you’ve failed?”

You didn’t answer. Not because you didn’t know—but because you knew too well.

A mother who cried in locked bathrooms. A father who left when you were still learning to spell your name. A childhood full of quiet rooms and careful footsteps. You learned early how to disappear. How to need nothing.

How to be no one’s problem.

You lowered your gaze, ashamed by how quickly the tears pricked again.

—you opened your mouth to push back.

But Irene kept going.

“You think strength is pretending you’re unbreakable?” she said, crouching beside you. “It’s not. Strength is knowing when to stop. When to rest. When to let someone help you.”

Her voice was low but relentless now, the softness edged with frustration. “You keep carrying everything alone like it’s noble, but it’s not. It’s isolating. It’s self-sabotage. And we care about you more than you let yourself believe—”

“Irene.”

The name stopped her.

Because it wasn’t quiet. Wasn’t whispered.

It was said—clear and steady.

And for the first time, she noticed your face.

The way your eyes shimmered but didn’t spill. The way your jaw trembled even as you held it tight. The way your entire expression was caught somewhere between collapse and confession.

“I know,” you said softly. “Okay? I know.”

You looked down at your hands again, like they might give you a script. Something to say that would make this moment disappear—clean, forgettable. Something polite. Safe.

But there was nothing.

Just the echo of your own voice, still hanging in the air like a wire pulled too tight.

“I know.”

Did you?

Maybe. But knowing and accepting weren’t the same thing. You could know something and still flinch from it. Still bury it. Still refuse to let it change you.

Irene didn’t press.

She stayed crouched in front of you, steady and silent, like she’d become the anchor in a storm you didn’t want to admit you were in.

You took a breath. Then another. And then you laughed.

A small, humorless sound.

“I don’t even know why I’m—” You cut yourself off, hands lifting in frustration before falling back to your lap. “This is ridiculous.”

“It’s not.”

“Yes, it is. I’m tired. That’s all. Everyone gets tired.”

“You’re exhausted,” Irene said, quiet but unflinching. “And scared.”

You flinched. She didn’t miss it.

She continued anyway. “That doesn’t make you weak. It makes you human.”

You shook your head. “You don’t get it.”

“I do.”

“No, you think you do.” Your voice cracked sharper this time—not in sadness, but defense. Panic. “You see me come apart a little and suddenly you think you know everything. But you don’t. You don’t know what it’s like to feel like a placeholder. Like everyone’s waiting for you to mess up just so they can say ‘See? We knew she didn’t belong.’”

Irene blinked, slow and level. “Who said you don’t belong?”

You didn’t answer.

Because no one had. Not with words.

But the silence after your mistakes. The sidelong glances. The way some of the staff still looked surprised when you got it right. The shadow of comparison that followed you like a second skin.

You felt it, always.

You lived in it.

“You think I haven’t felt that way?” Irene said, softer now. Not pitying. Just… honest. “I was the first. I didn’t even have someone to blend into when things got hard. It was just me.”

You looked at her then.

She wasn’t trying to tell you that your pain was the same. She wasn’t competing with it. She was offering hers beside it. Holding it out like a bridge.

Still, you pulled back. Just a little.

Because part of you didn’t want comfort.

Comfort made things real. Made it harder to pretend.

And pretending still felt safer.

You stood, too quickly. Your ankle wobbled slightly, but you masked it. Swallowed it.

“I appreciate it,” you said, tone flat. Formal. “Really. But I’m okay now.”

Irene didn’t move. “You’re not.”

You forced a smile. “But I will be.”

And there it was again.

The lie dressed in hope.

She exhaled, slow and even. “You’re allowed to be more than just strong, you know.”

“I don’t know how to be anything else,” you said. Too fast. Too honestly.

It slipped out before you could catch it.

And for a moment, everything stilled again.

You didn’t mean to say that.

You didn’t want to say that.

But it was out there now. And Irene didn’t reject it. Didn’t look at you with disappointment or pity.

She just… nodded.

“Then let us show you,” she said. “Let me.”

You looked at her.

Not just at her—but into her. The steady weight of her gaze, her presence, the way she wasn’t asking for anything back. Not praise. Not vulnerability. Not even trust.

Just… space.

And that, somehow, felt more terrifying than anything else.

Because space meant choice.

And choosing meant risk.

You didn’t answer.

Not with words.

But you didn’t leave, either.

And that—maybe—was an answer in itself.

For the next few days, things didn’t change.

Not on the surface.

You still trained longer than everyone else. Still answered praise with polite smiles and criticism with nods too sharp to be natural. Still folded yourself up at the dorm each night, careful and quiet, taking up as little space as possible.

But you stopped flinching when Irene sat beside you.

You stopped pulling away when her hand brushed yours in passing.

And once—just once—you looked at her and didn’t look away first.

It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t some cinematic breakthrough. It was a crack. A thin line of light through a locked door.

But Irene saw it.

And she never rushed you. Never leaned too hard on the space you gave. She just stayed close. Consistent.

Until you began to look for her in every room.

Until her steadiness stopped feeling like a question—and started feeling like an answer.

⸻

The night before your first performance, you couldn’t sleep.

Your mind ran too fast, dragging your body with it. You lay in your bed, staring at the ceiling, your chest too tight for breath to come easy.

And for the first time, you didn’t suffer it in silence.

You stood quietly, padded down the hall, and stopped in front of Irene’s door.

You didn’t knock.

But you waited.

And a few seconds later, the door opened anyway.

She didn’t look surprised.

She stepped aside wordlessly, and you slipped in.

Neither of you said anything. You didn’t need to. She just sat back on her bed, back against the headboard, and patted the space beside her.

You sat.

And for a long, quiet moment, that was all.

Until Irene reached over and took your hand—carefully, like always.

And you let her.

Your fingers didn’t shake.

They held.

You didn’t let go.

Not after a few seconds.

Not even after a minute.

Irene didn’t seem to expect you to.

Her hand was warm against yours, palm smooth, fingers light—but not tentative this time. There was nothing halfway about the way she held you. It wasn’t a gesture meant to comfort and retreat. It was steady. Certain.

Like she meant to stay.

You exhaled slowly, the breath catching in your throat before it left you. She didn’t look at you—but not in avoidance. More like she didn’t need to. Her thumb moved once, brushing gently across the back of your hand, and that simple movement nearly undid you.

It said I’m here louder than any words could.

And when you shifted slightly closer—barely enough to feel the side of your leg touch hers—she didn’t react. Just adjusted her grip slightly, like she was anchoring you more fully.

For a while, the quiet held.

But it was a different kind of quiet now.

Not the suffocating stillness of your own mind.

Not the echoing silence you used to hide in.

This one was… soft. Shared. Like a blanket pulled up to your chin. Like a pause, not a void.

“I couldn’t breathe,” you said finally, voice low, barely more than a whisper. “Lying there. I just… couldn’t.”

Irene didn’t ask what you meant.

She didn’t need to.

Instead, she turned toward you, slowly, until her shoulder pressed into yours and her hand left yours only to come to rest lightly on your cheek.

Your breath hitched.

The touch was so gentle you almost leaned away on instinct—some old defense still trying to protect you from feeling too much.

But then her thumb traced along your cheekbone, warm and real, and you let your eyes close.

You didn’t cry.

But you could have.

You could have, and she wouldn’t have pulled away.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” she murmured, voice barely above breath. “Even if it feels easier.”

You leaned into her hand.

Just enough.

“I don’t know how to let someone in,” you admitted.

Irene’s thumb stilled. “That’s okay.”

Your eyes opened slowly. Her face was close now—closer than you realized. Not in a way that startled you. In a way that felt earned.

Safe.

There was a pause.

And then—slowly, carefully—she leaned forward.

Not a kiss.

Not yet.

Just her forehead resting against yours, breath mixing with yours in the hush between you.

“You don’t have to do it all at once,” she said, soft as dusk. “Just… don’t shut me out.”

Your hands, still trembling slightly, found the hem of her sleeve. You held it—not tightly, just enough to feel something solid beneath your fingers.

“I’m trying,” you whispered.

And you were.

Trying to believe in safety.

Trying to believe in her.

Irene didn’t move, she stood frozen in the entryway, fingers curled loosely around the strap of her purse, watching the place where Y/N had just been. The silence stretched, long and cold.

She tried to write it off “Long day, she’s tired, maybe she’s just overwhelmed.” But none of those excuses landed.They didn’t sit right.

Her gut twisted, a quiet ache starting to bloom in the space between her ribs. Not panic, no, not yet. Just that first drop in the stomach, the one that comes when someone you love starts closing a door you didn’t even know was there.

Something was wrong, and Irene could feel it in her bones.

The signs had been showing all day, subtle but steady, if you weren’t paying attention, you’d miss them. But Irene had been paying attention.

At dinner, Y/N sat wedged between Wendy and Joy, her plate nearly untouched. She picked at her food, nudging rice around with her chopsticks like it was part of some quiet ritual. Three bites, maybe four, a small piece of meat, barely chewed before she swallowed and reached for her water like it was something bitter. She smiled when Joy teased her, laughed when Seulgi dropped her chopsticks and muttered a curse under her breath. But it didn’t reach her eyes, her eyes were tired.

Irene watched it all from across the table, close enough to notice, far enough that Y/N probably thought she wouldn’t.

When the others got distracted in conversation, Irene stayed watching. Her gaze landed on Y/N’s fingers, how they clenched around her napkin every time her phone buzzed on the table. She never picked it up right away, stared at the screen for a second, shoulders tight, jaw set.

Eventually, she gave in. One swipe to check the lock screen, one flash of something in her expression, Irene didn’t know what to call it. 

Pain? Disappointment? Something sharp. Too sharp for someone so soft.

Then the screen went black. The phone slipped back into her bag like it had burned her, and the mask came right back on.

Y/N made another effort at a smile when Wendy asked her a question, answered with that gentle lilt in her voice that always made people lean in. But her fingers stayed clenched in her lap the rest of the meal. She even laughed again when Joy pulled out some weird inside joke, but Irene could see the strain behind it. That split second where her smile faltered, just long enough to be real.

It was muscle memory at this point, pretending everything was fine, but Irene knew better.

Y/N was slipping.

And now, hours later, Irene could still feel the echo of that dinner, the weight of it sitting with her like a bruise that hadn’t quite faded.

Irene moved toward their bedroom, dropping her purse on the dresser with a soft thump before sinking onto the edge of the bed. She didn’t turn on the main light, just clicked on the small lamp by her side of the bed. A warm glow pooled softly across the room, barely chasing the shadows off the walls.

She pulled her knees up and folded her arms around them, chin resting lightly on top. Her eyes stayed fixed on the bathroom door across the hall, slightly ajar, a faint mist curling out around the frame.

The water ran steady in the background.

She waited.

It wasn’t impatience, it was a quiet kind of hoping. Maybe Y/N would come out and say something, maybe she’d crawl into bed and let herself be held. Maybe she’d fold into Irene the way she always did when her walls cracked just enough.

But that didn’t happen.

Eventually, the water shut off. A pause. Then the soft rhythm of movement, towel rustling, the creak of the cabinet, the tap of skincare bottles being shuffled around.

A few minutes later, the door eased open with a click. Y/N padded into the bedroom, wrapped in her oversized towel, damp hair clinging to her neck. She didn’t look at Irene, just moved toward the closet, pulled out a hoodie, and tugged it over her head before slipping into a pair of shorts.

Her silence stretched the whole time, thick enough to chew on.

Irene watched her carefully, picking up on every shift, the way she avoided eye contact, the slight tremble in her fingers as she brushed her hair back, how she tugged the hoodie sleeves over her hands like she wanted to disappear inside them.

“You’ve been quiet today,” Irene said softly, finally breaking the silence.

Y/N froze for a heartbeat, not enough to be obvious, but just long enough for Irene to notice. Her back remained turned, her movements paused mid motion as if considering how much to say.

Then she spoke, casual and even, too practiced to be real. “Just tired.”

Irene let the words sit in the air for a moment before answering, her voice still soft but edged with something firmer, something that quietly refused to be brushed off. “You sure?”

Y/N’s hands stilled again, her fingers mid-way through gathering her damp hair into a loose bun. She didn’t look back. Didn’t meet Irene’s eyes.

“Yeah, Joohyun. I’m fine.”

And that name. Joohyun. landed like a stone in Irene’s chest. Not Hyun, not babe, not even unnie that Y/N used when she wanted to be spoiled.

Just Joohyun. 

Flat. Formal. Careful.

The kind of name someone used when they were pulling away, even if they were trying not to show it.

Irene didn’t respond right away. She just watched Y/N quietly retreat to the far side of the bed, lifting the covers, slipping under them without a word.

The days started to blur.

Wake up, schedule, perform, smile, collapse, repeat.

It wasn’t anything unusual on the surface, Red Velvet had been through busier times, but something in the rhythm had changed, and Irene could feel it like a draft sneaking through a cracked window. Not loud, not obvious. Just steady, cold.

Y/N wasn’t just tired anymore. She was somewhere else entirely.

She started coming home later than usual, ten minutes at first, then thirty, then over an hour. She never said where she’d been, and Irene didn’t always ask. Not because she didn’t care, but because she could already guess the answer.

Irene would be waiting in the living room most nights, curled up on the couch with the TV on low, the glow flickering across her face. Sometimes she’d make tea, just in case Y/N wanted some. Sometimes she’d scroll through her phone, pretending not to be watching the door.

And then Y/N would walk in.

“Sorry, lost track of time,” she’d mutter, tossing her keys into the bowl by the door like she hadn’t been avoiding the apartment for hours.

She didn’t sit beside Irene, didn’t steal a sip of her tea, didn’t collapse into her lap like she always used to after long days.

No hug, no kiss, no “I missed you.” She’d just head straight to the bedroom, shoulders stiff, head down.

The door never slammed, never locked. Just closed, quietly. That almost made it worse. It wasn’t anger, it wasn’t even annoyance. It was distance wrapped in politeness, like she didn’t want to bother Irene with whatever she was carrying.

It was the kind of closed door that said she needed space.

And Irene? She heard it.

She sat there most nights in that silence, trying not to feel like a stranger in her own home. Trying not to take it personally, trying to understand without overstepping. But the ache in her chest was starting to feel permanent.

Irene tried.

She didn’t storm the walls, she didn’t pry. She just showed up, in small, steady ways. She’d bring Y/N tea before bed. Offer to run her a bath. Ask if she wanted to watch something, go for a walk, eat out somewhere lowkey.

Sometimes Y/N would agree. But lately, more often than not, it was just a shake of the head, a quiet smile that didn’t reach her eyes, and another “Maybe next time.”

So Irene started asking differently, trying to find cracks in the silence without pushing too hard.

“Are you okay?” she asked one night, her voice casual but weighted with quiet concern.

“Yeah,” Y/N replied without missing a beat, her tone light, practiced, a reflex more than a response.

Another day, Irene tried again, softer this time. “Do you want to talk? Just us?”

“I’m fine, really,” Y/N said, forcing a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

They weren’t harsh answers. If anything, they were soft, too soft. Like Y/N was trying to wrap her detachment in kindness so it wouldn’t hurt as much, like she was trying to protect Irene from her own unraveling.

But the thing about loving someone is, you know when they’re not okay, even if they say they are with the sweetest voice they can manage.

And Y/N’s voice was sweet, but it was full of cracks.

She stopped making eye contact when Irene asked those questions. She started walking past her with a hand on her arm or a kiss on the cheek, brief, like punctuation, not affection. She’d say she was tired, that she had a headache. Say she needed a few minutes alone, and those minutes always turned into hours.

“I’m just tired.” “Don’t worry about it.” “I can handle it.”

At first, Irene let it slide. Maybe she really was tired, maybe a little space would help.

But it kept happening, and each time Y/N said those things, Irene heard the real meaning behind them a little more clearly.

“I’m just tired.” mean “I don’t have the energy to talk about what’s hurting.” 

“Don’t worry about it.” was the synonym of “You shouldn’t have to carry this too.”

Irene never blamed her. She just wanted to wrap her in her arms, tell her she didn’t have to fight invisible battles with her fists clenched in the dark. But every time she got close, Y/N would gently pull away, never rude, never cold, just distant. Careful, too careful.

And Irene didn’t know how to break through that without shattering something. So she stayed quiet. 

For now.

It was a Thursday night, and the apartment felt colder than usual.

Y/N had gone to bed early again, another quiet “I think I’ll just lie down” said halfway through Irene asking if she wanted to order takeout. She hadn’t even touched the dinner Irene made, only pushed the rice around and mumbled something about a headache.

Now the bedroom door was closed, not slammed, just closed.

Irene sat alone on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, the untouched food still on the coffee table in front of her. Some drama played quietly on the TV, but she wasn’t watching, not really. She kept checking the hallway like Y/N might change her mind, come back out, maybe curl up beside her and say what was really going on. But the silence stayed.

Her phone buzzed once on the armrest.

Then again.

Irene glanced down. A couple of notifications, nothing urgent, but one of them had her name. A tagged post. A fan account. Something about Red Velvet’s most recent appearance.

She didn’t usually check those things this late, but her thumb moved on its own. Curious Or maybe just hoping for something to make the silence less heavy.

She tapped in, and wished she hadn’t.

Y/N was trending, but not in celebration, not in the fun, “queen of duality” kind of way.

The comments hit like a slap.

“She’s not Red Velvet material. SM should’ve never added her.”

“She doesn’t fit. It’s like she’s from a different group.”

“Can someone tell her she’s not the main character?”

“Why does she talk so much? Always trying to be the center.”

Irene scrolled, each word heavier than the last. Her throat tightened, her stomach twisted.

She put the phone down slowly, like it might shatter if she moved too fast. It slipped from her fingers and landed beside her on the couch with a dull, final thud.

The TV played on, but she couldn’t hear it anymore. Just noise, just static behind the sound of her own heartbeat, thudding harder now in her chest, in her throat. Irene stared at the screen, the faint reflection of her own face staring back at her, soft in the glow, but tired. Her eyes looked hollow, jaw clenched, shoulders tense in a way they hadn’t been even during the most brutal training days.

She blinked slowly, once, twice.

There was no anger in her, no. She wasn’t mad at Y/N, not even a little. But she was hurting, because she saw it now. All of it.

The closed doors, the rushed excuses, the fake smiles, the way Y/N had started using her real name like a wall between them. The way she said “I’m fine” like it was a line she’d rehearsed, not a truth she believed.

And all the while, she'd been breaking, quietly. 

Alone.

The girl Irene loved more than anything was crumbling right behind a door just a few steps away and pretending she wasn’t.

That was what broke Irene’s heart the most. Not the comments, not the silence. But the fact that Y/N thought she had to go through it alone. That she couldn’t come undone in front of her, that she didn’t feel safe leaning into her anymore.

Irene inhaled, shaky and shallow. This couldn’t keep going like this, something had to give. She wasn’t going to wait any longer.

The hallway felt longer than usual as Irene made her way down it, every step sinking with the weight in her chest. It wasn’t just the dim lighting or the late hour, it was the stillness. The kind that made your ears ring, the kind that followed hurt left unspoken.

She stopped in front of their bedroom door and rested her hand on the knob. It wasn’t locked, it never was. But something about turning it felt like asking permission.

The soft glow from the bedside lamp spilled out beneath the door, warm and golden, the kind of light meant to be comforting. But through the silence, it only felt… sad. Like a light left on for someone who forgot how to come home.

She exhaled slowly.

Then she turned the handle, the door opened without a sound, and the room greeted her with more silence.

Y/N was on the bed, facing the wall. Blankets curled around her. One arm tucked beneath her head, the other draped over the edge of the bed. Her back rose and fell in slow, measured breaths, too slow, too steady.

Irene’s heart ached.

She knew what pretend sleep looked like, knew the difference between the softness of peace and the stillness of someone just trying to disappear.

Irene stepped inside, her footsteps quiet against the floorboards. She closed the door gently behind her with a soft click, sealing the silence in with them. Then she moved toward the bed, sitting down on the edge with care, leaving enough space so it wouldn’t feel like pressure.

Her eyes stayed fixed on Y/N’s back. The curve of her spine beneath the hoodie, the way her fingers were curled into the blanket like she needed something to hold onto.

Irene didn’t speak right away. She just sat there, close enough to reach her, but far enough to let her decide. She folded her hands in her lap and stared down at them, thumbs absently tracing the edge of her sleeve. Her heartbeat was loud in her ears, and her thoughts were louder.

This wasn’t a moment to fill with words, not yet.

So she let the silence settle between them, not to create distance, but to offer something that had been missing. A quiet, open space where Y/N could choose to let her in.

The quiet had stretched long enough that it began to hum in Irene’s ears, vibrating with everything that hadn’t been said. The weight of it pressed against her ribs, made the air feel thinner.

She glanced at Y/N’s back again, took in the way her shoulder blades sat high and stiff, how her knuckles had turned pale from gripping the edge of the blanket too tightly. It wasn’t rest, it was restraint. The kind that comes when you're trying so hard not to break.

Irene shifted slightly, folding one leg beneath her on the bed. Her voice, when it came, was soft but steady.

“You don’t have to talk,” she said, barely louder than a whisper. “But I’m not going anywhere.”

Still, Y/N didn’t move. Her body didn’t tense or relax. It just stayed, like she was trying to disappear into the mattress, like staying still was her last form of defense.

But Irene saw the truth anyway. She always had.

Her eyes dropped to Y/N’s hands again, clenched into the bedding like it was anchoring her in place. Like if she let go, the dam would break.

Irene swallowed.

“I know you think you have to be strong all the time,” she said, slower this time. Her voice dipped into something deeper.

“But not with me, not here.”

There was a beat. A hitch in Y/N’s breathing, then a soft, bitter exhale.

Irene barely caught the words when they came.

“I said I’m fine, Joohyun.”

And there it was. Not the words themselves, but how she said them, tired, guarded, laced with something between guilt and grief. As if admitting anything else would make her weak. As if “fine” was a wall that could hold everything together.

That name again.

No sweetness, no softness. Just the distance tucked inside her full name, like a subtle push meant to keep Irene at arm’s length. It wasn’t anger, it wasn’t cruelty. But it was careful. And that hurt in a way Irene couldn’t describe, because it wasn’t rejection, it was fear disguised as strength.

She could’ve pulled back, could’ve let it go.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she leaned in, just slightly. Her voice didn’t rise, it didn’t sharpen, it trembled with love, with worry, with the ache of watching someone you adore fall apart piece by piece.

“Then why do you look like the world’s crushing you?”

The words settled into the room like dust, and for a moment, neither of them breathed.

Y/N didn’t answer, but something shifted.

Her shoulders drew in tighter, her spine curling inward like she was trying to fold into herself. Her fingers had loosened from the blanket, just barely, but her hands now lay still, open, like she’d run out of strength to hold on.

The silence between them was no longer gentle. It was suffocating. And Irene knew, this wasn’t the time for more space, this wasn’t something Y/N could carry alone, no matter how badly she wanted to.

Irene shifted slowly, deliberately, like she was moving through water. She leaned forward, closing the distance between them inch by inch until her chest was just barely brushing against Y/N’s back.

And then, quietly, gently, she wrapped her arms around her.

Not tight, not urgent. Just there.

Her hands slid beneath Y/N’s arms and found her waist, settling like they belonged there. Her head tucked into the curve between Y/N’s shoulder blades, the scent of her shampoo still clinging to her damp hair. Irene breathed her in like it was the only thing grounding her.

She fit there, perfectly, like she'd done it a thousand times. Like her body knew this shape before her mind did.

Y/N’s breath hitched the second Irene touched her. Not enough for anyone else to notice, but Irene felt it. The subtle shift, the crack forming in the stillness. The tension in Y/N’s spine wasn’t gone, but it wavered. Her back rose unevenly beneath Irene’s cheek, like she was trying to keep control and losing that grip with every second Irene held her.

Her voice came out low, nearly a whisper, full of quiet truth.

“I see you, Y/N.”

She closed her eyes, resting her forehead lightly against the soft cotton of Y/N’s hoodie.

“Even when you try to hide.”

Her arms tightened, not enough to suffocate, just enough to hold. To remind her she wasn’t alone. Her fingers curled gently into the fabric, grounding herself in the warmth of Y/N’s body.

“I’m right here,” Irene whispered. “Please, talk to me.”

At first, it was stillness.

One breath, then another.

Irene thought for a moment she might’ve asked too much. Pushed too far, but then she felt it, so faint it could’ve been imagined.

A tremble.

Y/N inhaled sharply, and her breath collapsed mid way through like a wave breaking against rock. She exhaled with a sound that wasn’t quite a sob, not yet, but it was close, too close.

The sound tore out of her, a single, shattered breath that cracked open into a sob she couldn’t contain. Her body jolted in Irene’s arms, shoulders shaking violently as the dam finally gave way. Her fingers scrambled for something to hold onto before she turned around in a blur of movement, burying herself in Irene without a word.

There was no hesitation.

Her arms wrapped around Irene tight, almost crushing, like she needed to be held together by force. Like she didn’t trust herself to stay in one piece unless Irene was holding her there. Her face pressed into the crook of Irene’s neck, hot tears seeping into her skin. Her breath came in ragged sobs, one after another, pouring out everything she’d been trying to swallow for days.

“I just,” she gasped, voice broken and small, “I didn’t want to be a burden.”

Irene didn’t flinch, didn’t speak right away. She just held her, anchored her. One hand cradled the back of Y/N’s head, fingers threading gently through her hair. The other rubbed slow circles into her back, steady, rhythmic, grounding. Her own eyes stung, but she blinked them clear. Y/N needed her strong right now. Present.

“You’re not,” she whispered, brushing her lips against her temple. 

“You never are.”She tightened her arms just slightly. “Not to me.”

The sobs faded slowly, like a storm rolling off into the distance. Y/N’s breathing was still uneven, but steadier now, less like she was falling apart, more like she was starting to come back to herself.

They lay curled into each other under the blanket, bodies tangled naturally, as if the only way either of them could sleep was like this.

Irene stayed close, never letting go. One hand rubbed slow, gentle circles on Y/N’s back, her thumb brushing along the fabric of her hoodie, up and down in a rhythm that matched her heartbeat. The other was laced with Y/N’s fingers, their hands nestled between them.

When Irene finally spoke, her voice was a whisper, like something sacred. 

“Let them talk.”

Y/N blinked against her shoulder, eyes red and heavy.

“They don’t know you,” Irene said. “They don’t get to define you.”

She leaned in, pressed a kiss to Y/N’s forehead, then the bridge of her nose, then her cheek, each one slow, unhurried. Each one saying I love you, I’ve got you, I’m here.

“You’re mine,” she murmured into her skin. “You’re ours, you’re more than enough.”

Y/N let out a shaky laugh, the sound small but real. “You’re kinda cheesy, unnie.”

Irene grinned against her cheek. “You love it.”

“I do,” Y/N admitted, voice still a little hoarse. “A lot.”

They shifted slightly, adjusting into an even tighter hold. Y/N’s head tucked beneath Irene’s chin now, her hand curled loosely at Irene’s chest, feeling the steady rise and fall. The safety of it.

“You don’t have to pretend for me,” Irene whispered, words soft as breath. “Ever. Not even a little.”

Y/N didn’t answer, but the way she pressed her face closer said enough. She breathed in deep and let it go, like she hadn’t been able to do that in days.

Then Irene added, “And if I ever catch you reading those comments again, I’m throwing your phone in the toilet.”

Y/N let out a tired, half-snorted laugh. “You wouldn’t.”

“I absolutely would, with a smile.”

Y/N smiled back, eyes still wet, but finally peaceful. “You’d cry after.”

“Okay, maybe a little,” Irene muttered, brushing her thumb under Y/N’s eye. “But the point stands.”

They shared a few more soft kisses, no urgency, no need. A kiss to Y/N’s forehead, one to the tip of her nose, a lingering one to her lips that didn’t ask for anything but closeness.

Eventually, Y/N’s breathing slowed even more, the tension finally ebbing out of her limbs. She blinked a few times, heavier with each one, until her eyes fluttered shut for good. Her hand stayed in Irene’s. And for the first time in days, she looked like she might sleep without a weight on her chest.

Irene stayed awake a little longer, just watching her. Watching the calm settle on her face like a prayer answered.

“Mine,” she whispered again.

Then she closed her eyes, and let the peace hold them both.

Morning arrived gently, without fanfare or noise, just a slow bloom of light pressing through the curtains and spilling into the room like a soft promise. It was the kind of light that didn’t demand anything, that let you wake on your own terms, no harsh edges, no urgency.

Irene stirred first.

For a moment, she stayed still, her body still curled protectively around Y/N’s. Her arm was tucked under the younger girl’s head, slightly numb but unmoving, while the other rested at her waist. Their legs were tangled beneath the sheets, the covers pushed down in their sleep, revealing the faint warmth of skin and fabric where comfort had finally settled in.

Y/N hadn’t moved much, and for the first time in what felt like days, her face was completely at peace, no furrowed brows, no clenched jaw, no tightness behind her eyes. Just the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of sleep, her lips parted slightly, her body soft and unguarded in a way that made Irene’s chest ache with quiet relief.

She didn’t want to get up. Part of her could’ve stayed like that forever, just holding, watching, breathing in the fragile stillness of their shared safety.

Eventually, she eased out of bed, careful not to wake her. She padded barefoot through the apartment, grabbing a blanket from the edge of the bed to wrap around her shoulders as she moved. The air was cool, the kind that nipped at your skin before the day fully warmed, and she welcomed it, something crisp and real after the storm of the last few days.

In the kitchen, she moved slowly, deliberately, letting the silence fill the space as she started breakfast. Nothing complicated. Just something warm, something familiar, soft scrambled eggs, a little rice, toast with too much butter, and a sliced apple the way Y/N liked, peeled and fanned out neatly.

Irene didn’t need her to say thank you, she just needed her to wake up to something kind.

It wasn’t long before she heard the quiet shuffling of feet behind her. She didn’t turn right away. She didn’t have to. Y/N wrapped her arms around her waist from behind, pressing her face into Irene’s shoulder, still half asleep and warm from bed. Her hoodie sleeves swallowed her hands, and her voice came out soft, raspy from sleep and last night’s tears.

“Morning,” she whispered, like the word itself might break the stillness between them.

Irene turned in her arms and met her gaze, tired eyes, a swollen face from crying, messy hair, and somehow still the most beautiful thing Irene had ever seen. She reached up, cupped Y/N’s cheek, and leaned in to kiss her slowly, deliberately, like a quiet reassurance.

“Hey, baby,” she murmured against her lips, voice low with affection. “Did you sleep okay?”

Y/N nodded, barely. “Yeah, better than I have in a while.”

They didn’t say anything else for a moment. They just stood there, holding each other, letting the warmth between them say everything that didn’t need to be repeated. There was nothing grand about the way they fit together, no cinematic swell of music, no dramatic line, just quiet familiarity, like coming home after being gone for too long.

“Thank you,” Y/N said finally, her voice barely above a breath, as if she wasn’t sure she was allowed to say it. “For last night, for staying.”

Irene pulled her closer, fingers brushing lightly through the ends of her hair. “There’s nothing to thank me for. I’m always going to stay, you don’t have to earn that.”

Y/N’s eyes softened, and for a moment, she looked like she might cry again, not from sadness, but from the strange, overwhelming relief of being fully seen and still chosen.

They sat down to eat together at the small table, knees brushing beneath it, their bodies still close enough to touch but not needing to cling anymore. There was a kind of stillness between them now that didn’t feel empty. It felt safe.

Halfway through breakfast, Irene glanced up and said, completely serious, “By the way, I meant what I said. If I ever see you scrolling through those comments again, I will drop your phone in the sink.”

Y/N laughed, a real one this time, messy and warm and a little nasal from crying too much the night before. “You’re bluffing.”

“Try me,” Irene said, smirking, but her voice was still soft, still loving.

Y/N reached across the table and laced their fingers together. “You’re dramatic.”

“You love it.”

“I do,” Y/N said, smiling without hesitation now. “God, I really do.”

When they finished eating, they lingered at the table longer than they needed to, fingers still linked. Y/N didn’t look at her phone once. She didn’t check notifications, she didn’t apologize.

She didn’t have to.

And later, when she lay back down on the couch with her head in Irene’s lap and her eyes fluttering closed again, Irene leaned down and kissed her temple, whispering,

“You’re not a burden. You’re mine. And I’m yours.”

you two were head to head in competitiveness. with both of your careers being built on being the best, neither of you liked to lose. the world of contract killings was small, too small for the both of you to move around. the first and only time you crossed paths with irene was a job that went sideways, both of you circled the same target, each unaware of the other's presence until the last minute. no shots were taken, but after that day there was, for sure, unfinished business. it wasn't long before the games began. it started small, anonymous cryptic messages sent every now and again. now, it had gotten bigger, much bigger.

you were out buying supplies, the mundane task that gave you a rare moment of peace. but your phone buzzed, giving you an uneasy feeling. another message. a picture of you, taken from a distance, but close enough to know it was you. a quick peek over your shoulder didn't reveal any vital information as to who could've taken the picture. you were itching to text back, but you knew it would do no good.

you pocketed your phone and forced yourself to remain calm. instead, you finished your transaction, every movement measured, every breath controlled, but beneath the surface, your heart thumped inside your chest. today wasn't a day for you to be so worried. 

you took a little detour. a food stall on the street, smelled to good to ignore. skewers sizzled on the grill, filling the air with the scent of charred meat and seasonings. you ordered something and handed the stall manager your money.

"keep the change." you said with a slight smile, leaning against the metal counter. your eyes scanned the crowd, people moved past in a blur; strangers, harmless.

your phone buzzed. you glanced down, expecting exactly what you saw. another message...with an attachment? your stomach twisted as soon as you saw what it was. it was you, just then talking the stall manager. 

a hungry one aren't you, cutie?

your gaze darted around. someone was close. someone was playing games. your fingers hovered over the screen, but you didn't reply. not yet. if they wanted to play, you'd play, until the end. the man handed you your food and you continued down the sidewalk. you couldn't help but to think about if you were being followed. 

you made it to your loft door, your grip tightening around the keys in your pocket. your mind ran through the possibilities. whoever sent that message, whoever took that picture, had to be close. too close. you glanced over your shoulder, scanning the empty hallway. no footsteps, no movement, but that didn't mean you weren't alone. 

sliding the key into the lock, you turned it carefully, listening for anything to change behind you. you stepped inside, closing the door behind yourself with a quiet click before turning the deadbolt. you set the food on the counter, no real intention to eat anything anymore. ripping the supplies bag open, you unpacked everything with efficiency. ammunition, new lockpicks, and suppressors laid out on the counter. everything in its place, everything controlled. 

you exhaled, rolling your shoulders, willing yourself a moment to relax. maybe you needed a drink, maybe just some quiet time. but then your phone rang. how annoying could a phone be? looking at the screen, you had no choice but to answer. it was your boss. 

"yeah?"

"got a job for you," the bold voice on the other end said. 

you leaned against the counter, rubbing a hand over your face. "who is it?"

there was a pause. your boss wasn't one to hold back information and you weren't one to be kept waiting. "hello?"

"well, it's irene."

your grip tightened around the phone. for a moment, all your focus was placed on the clock ticking just above your head. 

irene. your greatest rival. your shadow. the only woman that could go toe-to-toe with you. 

your boss continued, aware of the tension caused by his words, "listen, the client wants her gone. clean and fast."

"how much?"

"enough for you to retire and be done, forever."

it should've been an easy yes. a contract like that meant irene had pissed off someone big. big enough to set up your future with one phone call. instead of answering right away, you ran a thumb over the edge of the counter, eyes fixed on the newly bought supplies. silence stretched on the line before your boss sighed.

"i know it's a huge job, but you in or not?" 

your jaw clenched. this was it. the job that would end your competition forever. 

"i'm in." you said, your voice steady. 

"good, good. i'll send you the details soon. be safe, y/n."

the call ended, leaving only the sound of your own breathing. you placed the phone down carefully on the stand beside the couch, your mind remained sharp. the air in your loft felt heavier, like the weight of this decision had shifted something unseen. but panic? no. you don't panic. instead, you exhaled and pushed away from the counter. you needed to clear your head. leaving everything where it was, you walked toward the bathroom, peeling off your clothes inside. 

the moment you turned the shower on, steam rose up in thick clouds, fogging the mirror you watched yourself dissolve in. you stepped under the scalding water, letting it soak into your skin, washing away all the tension from the day.

irene. she ran through your mind like a shadow slipping between cracks of light, always there, always just out of reach. a name that had been nothing more than an annoyance to hear was now something else. you had accepted the job. you had to end her. you exhaled, tilting your head back under the water. a contract was a contract. irene was just another target. 

the heat of the water had done its job, easing the tension from your muscles and your mind. as you stepped out, steam still clung to the air, curling around your figure. you wiped your hand over the mirror, watching your reflection reappear, sharped, composed, unreadable. just as it always was.

you wrapped yourself in a plush robe and made your way to the living room, letting the quiet luxury of your space settle over you. watching the city skyline, the lights outside glittering like stars trapped in glass. your furniture was sleek, modern, expensive. a place designed for solitude, not company. 

sinking into the leather couch, you reached for the glass on the side table, pouring yourself a drink. the amber liquid swirled under the low lighting as you brought it to your lips, letting the burn settle your throat. your grip tightened around the glass. 

the city was beautiful through your windows, a glittering sea of lights stretching into the night, but it wasn't the skyline that held your attention. it was the faint reflection in the glass. the sharp silhouette standing just behind you. sleek hair, piercing eyes, the sharp curve of a familiar smirk. 

you took another slow sip of your drink.

"how'd you get in?"

you watched as the smirk deepened. "would you believe me if i said you left the door unlocked?"

you let out a quiet laugh, swirling your glass. "locked it."

she stepped closer like a panther prowling on its prey. "then let's just say i have my ways." a hand swooped the glass from your grip. “you don’t look surprised to see me.” irene said before finishing off your drink. 

“i’m not really big on guests,” you turned, now looking just over your shoulder, “especially when they’re uninvited.” 

“oh, don’t be so uptight, y/n. i just wanted to do something interesting!” 

“interesting?” you flashed a questionable look. “more of an inconvenience.”

irene stepped closer, the scent of her shampoo, exclusive and musky, filled your senses. “are you finding me inconvenient, now?” 

“i just find your methods a bit…” a simple shrug of your shoulders. “intrusive, that’s all. especially when they involve breaking and entering.” 

“intrusion is my specialty,” she purred, her finger tracing your jawline. “besides, i thought we had an understanding. we’re both in the same business, after all.” 

“an understanding?” you scoffed, pushing yourself off of the couch. “we have a mutual interest and occupation in eliminating problems,” you walked close enough to feel her breath on your face. “and right now, you’re becoming a big problem.” snatching the glass from her hand and placing it into your sink. 

“how come you don’t miss me?”

“miss you? irene, we haven’t seen each other in months, nor have we had an actual conversation. there’s nothing to miss.” you turned your body, now facing irene, who was still standing over the couch. “why are you here anyway?” 

you had an idea of why. of course, the day you get a call to take out the lady standing in your apartment, she shows up. she was there to kill you, finish what was supposed to be finished when you saw each other months ago. 

“time is a construct. especially in our line of work, a few months is practically a blink.” she shifted, leaning up against the back of the couch. “as for conversation, some things are better left unsaid, wouldn’t you agree?”

“i prefer clarity. unsaid things tend to lead to misunderstandings."  now, you could see the entirety of her figure, dressed in loose, black slacks and a black buttoned shirt. her poorly concealed pistol outlined on her waist. "misunderstandings that usually involve guns."

"always so practical," she sighed, a hint of amusement in her voice. "where's the romance, y/n?" she let her hand drift towards the neckline of her shirt, a deliberate, slow movement. "or are you too busy being efficient?"

"efficient keeps me alive," you retorted, "and speaking of efficiency, you still haven’t answered my question. why are you here, irene? let's cut the pleasantries."

"pleasantries? she chuckled, a low, throaty sound. "i thought we were just getting started." she rose from the couch, closing the distance between you. "but if you insist. i came with good intentions, but i heard you had a little assignment."

"how long have you been here?" you raised an eyebrow, your eyes narrowing. 

"long enough,” she tilted her head, feigning innocence. "it sounded like an important job."

you remained silent, avoiding her gaze. you weren't going to discuss your work with her, especially not in the middle of her uninvited intrusion.

"oh, come on," irene chuckled, taking a step closer.

"don't be so secretive. it’s not like i'm not going to steal your targets."

"i'm not sure i believe that," you said, raising an eyebrow. "you're known for your persuasive methods."

irene smirked, her eyes lingering on your lips. "perhaps i am, but today, i'm more interested in other methods of persuasion."

she moved closer, her hand brushing against your arm.

you felt a shiver run down your spine, not from fear, but from something else entirely. the mere lust that coaxed her voice. 

“since i saw you that day, you looked so fucking good.” her breath falling against your face. “it was my first time seeing someone so captivating.” 

"captivating enough to break in?" you managed to escape from the counter, walking back to the couch. irene almost on top of you from how close she followed you. 

"captivating enough to rewrite the rules," irene murmured, her voice a low rumble as she closed the remaining distance. "and breaking in," she added, her hand lightly brushing against your hip, "was just the opening act." she settled onto the couch beside you, the close proximity sending a wave of heat through your body.

"you know," she continued, her eyes never leaving yours, "i usually prefer a more civilized approach, but something about you makes me want to throw caution to the wind." you shifted slightly, trying to create some space, but irene mirrored your movement, maintaining the close contact.

 "don't tell me you're nervous," she teased, a playful smirk curving her lips. "i thought you were the type who thrived on a little danger."

"danger is one thing," you replied, your voice steady despite the rapid beating of your heart. "unpredictability is another."

"unpredictability is where the fun lies," she countered, her hand once again tracing the line of your jaw. "you never know what's going to happen next." she leaned closer, her breath warm against your ear. "and with me," she whispered, "anything can happen."

her hand slid down to your neck, her fingers lightly massaging the tense muscles. "you're so tense," she murmured, her voice laced with amusement. "relax, y/n. i won’t bite."

her fingers moved lower, tracing the curve of your collarbone. "unless you want me to." she added, her voice a low, seductive purr. 

the air crackled with unspoken tension. you could feel the heat radiating from her body, the intensity of her gaze. it was a dangerous game she was playing, and you found yourself strangely drawn to it.

"you're very sure of yourself," you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

"i'm sure of what i want," she replied, her eyes locking with yours. "and what i want is you."

“i’m right in front of you, aren’t i?”

you weren’t sure if this game was going to end well. maybe, you would end up dead. maybe, she would end up dead. you hoped for the latter, as it would make your job easier, but the former would be much worse. it’s no use to deny her game, you were just as competitive now as you were seeing her all those months ago. 

she shifted, the soft velvet of the couch cushions rustled with movement. “yes,” she breathed, her gaze tracing the lines of your face, the curve of your neck. "you are, but being this close isn’t enough. i want you closer."

her hand moved, not reaching for you directly, but resting lightly on the cushion between you. a subtle barrier to emphasize the space she wanted to close. 

“i want your attention,” she said, her voice low and smooth, “your complete surrender.” she leaned in, her shoulder brushing up against yours. the warmth of her body radiating through the thin robe that dressed your body. “i want you to forget our occupations, forget the world outside this room, forget everything, but this moment.” her fingers inched closer to your thigh, the subtle movement asking for permission.

“and what exactly does ‘this moment’ entail, irene?” you asked, your voice low and steady, matching her seductive tone. “i feel like we might have different interpretations.”

a slow smile spread across the woman’s face, a hint of amusement dancing in her eyes. “i think we understand each other perfectly,” her fingers finally brushed against yours with a teasing touch, “it entails a little discovery. a little give and take?” 

“give and take?” you intertwined your fingers with hers, “i’m open to fair exchange, but i’m not one to give without a little something in return.” 

“and what exactly do you want in return?” she asked with a low whisper, eyes locking with yours. 

“the truth,” your grip tightened on her hand, “the real reason you’re here, and then perhaps we can discuss some form of compensation.” 

her smile widened, a flash of white teeth in the dim, warm light. “the truth?” she repeated. “such a simple request, but the truth is what i told you.”

“and you’re still sticking to that lie?”

“like i said, give and take.” she leaned closer, her breath warm against your ear. “i give you the best fuck of your life,” hand trailing up your arm, “and you take it just like i give it.”

“what makes you so sure you’re capable of delivering? you countered, “i’ve had my share of good fucks.” 

“good? just good?” she repeated, “darling, i’m not aiming for good. i’m aiming for unforgettable. the type of unforgettable that rewrites your definition of pleasure.” 

her hand that had been tracing up your arm, now made its way to the back of your neck, gently massaging your tense muscles. 

"i'm talking about a symphony of sensations," she whispered, her voice husky. "a crescendo of desire. a masterpiece."

she leaned back slightly, her gaze intense and unwavering. "i'm talking about the kind of connection that transcends the physical. the kind that leaves you breathless, begging for more."

"you’re so full of yourself, irene." you said, your voice laced with skepticism. 

her hand slid down to your chest, her fingers tracing the outline of your heartbeat. "i know how to find the places that make you ache. the places that make you tremble. and i know how to bring you to the edge of ecstasy, and then push you over."

you hesitated for a moment, the air thick with unspoken desire. “and what if i say no?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper. 

“then i’ll have to simply convince you,” she leaned in closer, the scent of her perfume, a heady mix of spice and something musky, filling your senses. her breath was warm against your lips. “and i have a feeling you won’t say no.”

her hand moved to cup your cheek, her fingers gently tracing the line of your jaw. then, her lips were on yours. the kiss started slow, tentative, a gentle exploration of uncharted territory. her lips were soft and warm, and the taste of her was intoxicating. you felt a jolt of electricity surge through your body, a mixture of desire and anticipation. 

the kiss deepened, becoming more passionate. her hand moved from your cheek down to the knot that tied your robe. you responded in kind, your own hands finding their way to the belt secured her slacks to her waist. the world around you faded away, and all that existed was the two of you, locked in a passionate embrace. 

her fingers loosened the knot with ease. The silken fabric of your robe parted, revealing your bare skin underneath. a soft gasp escaped your lips as her touch grew bolder, her hand sliding across your stomach, sending shivers down your spine. 

“you feel incredible.” she murmured against your lips. 

your own fingers fumbled with the buckle of her belt, the cool metal contrasting from your warm hands. with a soft click, the belt loosened, and you felt the fabric of her slacks give away slightly. 

“so do you.” your hand slipped to her crouch. “oh?” you felt her bulge practically bursting from her pants. “i didn’t expect..”

“didn’t expect what? this?” her hand grasped your wrist, her fingers tightening. “you think you’re the only one with surprises?” she whispered, voice laced with a playful challenge.

you chuckled softly, a low rumble in your chest. “and what if i want ‘this’?” your fingers pressed lightly against her through the fabric. 

“then,” she said, her eyes darkening with desire, “i’ll give you exactly that.” 

she shifted, her body pressing closer to yours, tension intensifying. “but first, i think we need to get rid of distractions.”

with a swift movement, she parted the robe letting it fall off completely. her gaze swept over your now bare body. “beautiful, every inch of you.” 

“now, your turn.” you started to unbutton her shirt, taking your sweet time. as each button came undone, revealing more of her body, anticipation grew with energy crackling through the air. 

her shirt fell open, with the last button undone. the toned abs of her stomach and firm breasts presented in front of you. 

“impressed?” irene flashed you a quick smirk. 

“more than impressed. intrigued.” you said tracing the lines in her abdomen. she gasped from the way your hand moved up to her breasts. your gaze lingered, admiring the sight before you. her eyes darkened and a low moan escaped her lips. you watched as she folded from the mere toying of her nipples between your fingers. you leaned in and placed a kiss on her lips, “mine.”

“and you’re mine.” she uttered with a breathy voice. 

“tell me what do you want?”

“i want everything, i want you, i want this.” with this, she pushed you gently back against the couch. you followed her lead, body molding against hers. her hands moved to feel the curves of your body. your own hands equally busy, exploring her toned, smooth back. 

you two practically humping each other, moaning in unison. irene started to move lower. marking your neck with hickeys, groping your tits with need. her teeth grazed your collarbone, eliciting a moan from your mouth. 

“you really like to take your time huh.” 

irene chuckled at your words, “perfection takes time.” she said just before wrapping her mouth around your nipple. licking and sucking like she’d never had anything in her mouth before. 

ravenous, hungry, she knows how to make a woman feel good. your hand found its way into her hair, urging her desperate mouth. she swiftly engulfed the other nipple into her mouth, giving it equal pleasure as the other. her hands pulling at your torso, trying to bring you impossibly closer. 

“you’re so greedy,” you followed with a chuckle, “is this how you treat all your targets?” the word made irene stop her motions and give you a questionable look. 

“targets?” 

you gave her a raised eyebrow in return for her repetitiveness. 

“baby, if i were here to kill you, i would’ve done it already.” she didn’t give anymore to the topic quickly moving to your torso, splattering kisses all over, leaving no place without a kiss. you didn’t care that brushed over the conversation, you just wanted her to make you feel good, faster. 

her strong hands guided your legs apart, her eyes holding yours captive. tongue trailing from your navel to your mound leaving a wet, shimmering path. the warmth of her breath ghosting over your most sensitive skin, sending pure pleasure through your body. gathering the wetness from your sopping hole, her thumb brushed over your clit. 

a sharp pant escaped your lips, your body arching, the touch sending a jolt through your core. her thumb continued motioning in circles, pressing, building pressure with each movement. her mouth kissed the inside of your thighs, tongue gliding across your slick skin. the muscle flicking across your inner folds, opening to get a mouthful of your delicious pussy. once she started, she couldn’t stop. 

she devoured you like she knew you to the core. her eyes focused on your hazy lids, watching while she patterned over your bud. you looked so beautiful over her, it fueled her. your hand shoved her face deeper into your pussy and she didn’t mind one bit. you were making such a mess all over your face and she still kept her pace, ravaging you. 

“still figuring me out?” 

“thoroughly,” she murmured against you, only stopping to utter the words. 

“maybe, you need to figure out more.” 

“more?” she echoed, her eyes gleaming with amusement. 

“is that a problem?” your fingers tightened in her hair. 

“not at all.” she said as her mouth left your flesh. she paused, her gaze flickering something predatory. moving her body over yours, tantalizing her weight on you. her hand, slick and warm, traced a path from your hip to your inner thighs. 

her fingers slid between your folds. one just to open you up. the single finger lingered, a subtle pressure, as she leaned down, her breath warm against her ear. your hips buckled into the feel, so needy for more. you couldn’t help but to groan. 

her thumb brushed against your clit, adding to the euphoria. “such a sensitive little thing.” she said just before dipping her mouth into your neck, running her tongue over the marks she gave to you earlier. “do you like that?”

you could only nod, your breath coming in ragged gasps. she nipped at your neck, her teeth grazing at your skin. “good.” she purred, her finger steady at your entrance, thumb still rhythmic. 

“more.”

“more?” 

“i need more, irene.” you turned your head, coming face to face with the beautiful woman in front of you. your breaths clashing against each other. one hand cupped her chin, the other going down to her wrist. you forced her to isolate two of her fingers just to shove them in your hole. 

you pulled her lips to yours, shoving your tongue in her mouth, exploring. the girl took it upon herself to start ramming her fingers into your hole. the sudden raw pleasure made you feel so good. the kissing being the only thing keep you from screaming, but even then you can’t contain yourself moaning into her mouth. sweat started to bead from your forehead, you pulled away from her. it was too much. you asked for more, but oh how much more could you take?

your hole was practically choking irene’s fingers, but she was so good with the way she used them. she looked at you, admiring the sight in front of her eyes; tears forming at the corner of your eyes, mouth gaping open, the vein in your neck popping out from just her two digits. 

“you’re making me need you even more, baby.” no reply came from your mouth, she figured she might push you over the edge too soon, making her pull them out abruptly. after taking a second to catch your breath, you faced her. no words exchanged, just a mere smirk from irene as she dragged her fingers slowly towards your mouth. instinctively, you took the digits, without hesitation. tongue splitting between the two of them, studying the look in her eyes. lust. 

you wanted to show her as love as she showed you, pulling the fingers out of your mouth, you fully moved away from the spot you occupied. irene raised an eyebrow, trying to figure out your next move.

“stand up, silly.” 

“such a demanding lady,” she said standing up without a second thought. you admired her from head to waist. hair disheveled, lips swollen, tits peeking from just behind her open shirt. your attention set on the gun loosely hanging from irene’s waistband. she noticed, pulling it out to inspect for both of you to see. 

“nice isn’t it?” the gun was fitting for a person like her. black chrome finish with a golden “I” engraved on the barrel. 

“very,” your hands found their way to the button, and with a swift motion, it was undone. “is it new?”

“eh, somewhat. old one kept stovepiping on me, dangerous for missing a shot. that is if i ever missed a shot, you know?” her and that stupid fucking smirk. she twirled the gun in her hand, the movement fluid and practiced. “custom job, personalized. just like me.” she held the gun out, offering it to you. “wanna try it?”

the weight of the weapon in her hand, the casual way she displayed it, you questioned yourself. maybe, she wasn’t there to kill you or was she trying to throw you off?

“what’s the ‘I’ for?” you asked, ignoring her offer and keeping your eyes locked on the gun. 

“irene, of course. it’s like a signature.” zipper undone now. a yank revealed the tight, black briefs encasing her cock. big. not surprising from her ego. your hand could even pull at the waistband. “uh, uh, uh.” irene stopped you. “open your pretty mouth.” 

you stammered, “what?”

“open,” she demanded, “i won’t ask a third time.”

you felt something. scared? oh, no. this was different. thrill, desire, hunger almost. the turn of irene’s demeanor was intoxicating. the power she exuded, the blatant commanding, stirred something within you and you loved it. keeping eye contact, your mouth slowly fell open. usually, it was you behind the gun, pulling the trigger. now, you were in front of it, on your knees, on your couch, in your own penthouse, in front of your rival. the question that still remained, would she pull the trigger?

two of her fingers pulled at your tongue, she placed the cold steel in your mouth. the metallic taste seeping through your tastebuds, she eased it into your mouth. 

“now, suck.” 

the feel of the cold metal inside your mouth was a stark contrast to the heat that pulsed between your legs. the texture was strange and unfamiliar. her fingers moved, guiding the gun, controlling the rhythm, the depth. she watched you, her eyes dark and intense. 

“good girl,” she murmured, voice laced with dark amusement. “just like that.” 

she increased her pace, her hand moving faster, pushing the gun deeper into your throat. you gagged slightly, but she held you firm. she was having such a good time watching as the saliva-covered firearm entered in and out of the hole, watching every flicker of emotion, every shudder. 

clearly not entertained enough, she left the barrel in your throat, watching as you gagged, struggled, clawed at the couch cushion. your eyes watered and your breath hitched in ragged gasps. 

“such a pretty struggle,” voice still dark, “almost pathetic.” she leaned closer, her breath warm against your ear. “but don’t worry,” she whispered, “i won’t let you struggle any longer. at least, not like this.” 

she paused, letting the tension build. letting you writhe in discomfort. then, with a slow, deliberate movement, she pulled the gun out, a thin strand of saliva connected the barrel to your lips. 

“there,” she moved back to her stance over you, “better?” 

your throat almost raw, you couldn’t speak, only managing to nod. 

“good,” her eyes scanned your face, “because i’m not finished yet.” she reached over, placing the gun next to your phone. . 

the absence of the steel in your mouth did little to ease the tension that still crackled between you, irene could solve that in a second. her hand snaked around the back of your neck, pulling your head forward, straight in her bulge. controlling every which way your head moved, she was just teasing you. clothed cock rubbing all over your face, you were getting desperate. desperate to have irene’s cock down your throat, choking you, making you take it.     

the friction, even through the fabric, made you pool beneath yourself. her scent filled your sense, making your mouth water. you wanted more, you needed more. 

“patience.” she said lowly. 

“i can’t wait anymore,” your hands came up from the couch, hooking into the briefs. “i need it.” you tugged, desperate to feel the heat of her skin against her lips. 

“greedy.” helping you, she dragged the briefs to the floor. “now take what you want.” 

the sight of her, so exposed, so sexy, so big. her bronze cock, hard and pulsing, right in front of your face. you felt your mouth water at the sight of the precum oozing from the tip.  without a second thought, you lapped it up, your tongue swirling around the head of her cock, teasing the sensitive skin with soft flicks. 

“fuck,” curses spilled from irene’s mouth. 

you continued to tease her, your tongue dancing around the head of her cock, tracing the ridge of the glans, and dipping into the slit. the girl threw her head back from the sensation, moaning so softly. 

you took your time, savoring the taste of her precum, and the feel of her cock against your tongue. you licked and teased patterns, making her squirm with pleasure. tongue dipping down to the base, tracing the vein that ran along the underside. irene’s hands were clenched into fists, trying her hardest to enjoy the teasing and resist ramming herself down your throat. you noticed the tension building in her body, eyes shut tight, the muscles in her thighs, stomach tightening, and her nipples hardening into stiff peaks. 

there was no urgency from you. you had a feeling she would eventually give in and use you as she pleased. her lids fluttered open, eyes locking with yours. you could see the desperation peaking, and then, in a flash of movement, irene’s control snapped. she reached down, her hands grasped your head, pulling you forward. you felt a rush of excitement as her cock thrusted deep into your mouth.

the rhythm of her hips was fast and erratic. your mouth was stretched wide, your tongue extended, as you tried to accommodate her length. her hands now clenched in your hair, holding you in place, as she fucked your mouth with abandon. her hips moved faster, cock pulsating with need. 

“god, y/n,” she said with a sharp gasp. “your mouth is like heaven.” tears fell from your eyes as she roughly lost herself within you. the intensity was exhilarating, but she knew she had to stop. she couldn’t just cum down your throat and be finished, that would defeat her entire purpose of being there. she gave one last thrust before pulling out of your mouth, cock covered with your saliva. your lips were swollen, eyes just a smidge puffy from your tears, breath ragged, and you looked damned good to irene. 

“pretty girl,” she said, pulling a smile out of you. “you know i’m not finished with you.” 

“i wouldn’t dare to think you were. besides,”  you reached between your thighs, displaying the wetness on your fingers. “you still have a little problem to take care of.”

she leaned closer, “and how do you propose we solve this problem, baby?”

you shifted off your knees onto your ass, spreading your legs, signaling for the girl to make her move. she recognized the unspoken plea, the complete surrender in your gesture. 

a low growl rumbled in her throat as she moved in closer, her gaze fixed on your glistening folds. she knelt between your legs, thighs brushing against yours. she placed kisses all over your neck, giving occasional nibbles. your hand navigated between the two of you to stroke her cock. the friction of your hand sent tremors through her. 

you angled her, pressing the head of her cock firmly against your entrance, pulling a soft moan from your throat. the slick acted as lubricant to ease the way. her lips finally found their way to yours, her teeth taking a chance to bite your bottom lip. 

she pulled back slightly, “do i need to do it myself?” she was getting impatient, you could hear it in her tone. you were tempted to test her, so you gave no response, just staring into her eyes. steadily teasing your hole with the firm pressure of her tip, a flicker of annoyance crossed irene’s face. 

“silence is a risky game.” her eyes were dark and intense. she had no intentions of toying around with you anymore. “if you won’t say anything,” she swatted your hand away, “then i’ll just do it myself.” 

she pushed forward, the head of her shaft sliding inside you. you gasped as the unfamiliar fullness began to fill you. your hands found their way up irene’s back. the warmth of her skin, the taut muscles beneath your fingertips, a strange sense of grounding. as she pushed deeper, the fullness inside you intensified, stretching you to your limits. 

“fuck..”

her hips moved slowly, giving you a chance to acclimate once she was fully inside. the girl’s face contorted into relief, finally relieving the ache that was torturing her. she remained still for a moment, savoring the feeling of being buried deep inside you. then, with a paced rocking of her hips, she fucked you. starting slow, a gentle push and pull to adjust to the rhythm. 

you pulled her closer with need, want. tracing from her jawline to her with your tongue, nipping at her ear. it was the perfect opportunity for irene to get what she wanted, to make you hers. her cock slammed at your hole like there was no tomorrow, each thrust eliciting a moan from you and she loved it. 

“rene, please..” a hmm emerged from her lips, too lost in your walls to respond properly. “rene..” you repeated, voice full of desperation. your hands clawed at her back, surely marking up her skin. she pulled you closer, trying to keep herself inside you. she increased the tempo, her thrusts becoming harder, deeper, faster. the room filled with the sounds of your ragged breaths, her low groans, the wet slapping of skin against skin. 

“you feel so fucking good,” you clenched at her words, “my good fucking girl.” you were on edge. she was on edge. 

“inside me,” you begged, “cum inside me, please.” 

irene continued, only now her hips were frantic. your words sparked her drive. a few curses spilled from her mouth alongside yours. “i’m gonna cum, baby,” with a final thrust, she buried herself deep inside of you, her body tensing as she unleashed her orgasm. a raw, guttural groan ripped through her throat, a sound of pure pleasure. she shuddered, her cock pulsing a thick, warm load inside you. 

the sensation of her coming inside you was overwhelming, a wave that spread through your core, triggering your own release. you cried out, your body convulsing, your muscles clenching around her, milking her for every last drop.

you clung to each other, breaths still ragged. her face was buried in your neck, yours rested opposite of hers. irene groaned, her body just as weak as yours. for a long moment, neither of you moved, just savoring the feeling of each other, until you broke the silence. 

“so, why are you really here?” 

irene rolled her eyes, “is this your way of aftercare? if so we won’t be doing this again!”

you let out a small chuckle, “no, but i thought you were here to kill me.” the girl lifted her head to face. 

“i told you already if i wanted to do kill you, i would’ve done it already. plus, i have no reason to kill you.”

“no contract?”

“no, y/n,” she brought her hand to caress your face, “no contract. i promise.”

“now, we’re making promises? are we a couple or something?”

“i mean..” she said with a quick shoulder shrug. you had a feeling she wasn’t kidding, but before you could even say anything, your phone buzzed beside the both of you. 

“oh, can you hand my phone?” irene followed through with the request, but not before holding the device in the air, out of your reach. 

“kiss me for it!”

“what a cheesy lady you are.” you said before pecking her on the lips. she brought the phone to your face. 

“for you, my lady.”

“thank you, my lady.” you smiled. 

you turned your attention away from irene to your phone, turning the screen on with the power button. there was a message with a few attachments.