Allen x Fem!Reader (Dahye)
Synopsis: Dahye thought she had buried everything she felt for Allen years ago. then he shows up again and it turns out she hadn't buried anything at all
Warnings: slight smut, old feelings, stalker, tension, bullying
an: english is not my first language, they may be grammar mistakes xx (sometimes i use translator lol)
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Gun-woo's apartment smelled like cold coffee and quiet worry.
Dahye was sitting in front of her laptop with her elbows on the table, looking at the screen with the focus of someone who knows exactly what they are doing but would rather not have to do it. Gun-woo was on her left. Woo-jin was on her right. Both of them were watching the screen with that particular silence they had when something was bothering them but they didn't want to say it out loud
Dahye turned to look at them both. Her expression was a little apologetic.
—If I go in now... this laptop probably won't work the same after
Woo-jin didn't think twice
—Don't worry about that. I'll buy you a new one.
Dahye looked at him for a second and then smiled a little. Small but sincere
—You don't have to do that. If we finish this thing, that's more than enough.
She turned back to the screen. Her fingers moved across the keyboard with calm precision, not fast, not nervous, just steady. She had learned a long time ago that rushing got you caught. She pulled up the browser, opened a specific page that looked completely blank to anyone who didn't know what they were looking at, and entered the access code from the fake debit card that Mr. Moon had given them. The screen loaded slowly. Then it loaded all at once.
The IKFC website opened in front of them and none of them said anything for a moment
It looked almost normal at first. Clean design, dark colors, professional. But then you started reading and you understood what you were actually looking at, underground fights, live betting, illegal matches broadcast to paying members all over the world. Money moving in numbers that made Gun-woo's jaw tighten. Names of fighters listed under upcoming events like products on a shelf
And then Dahye scrolled down and Gun-woo's name was right there.
Kim Gun-woo. Next scheduled fight. Date and location listed like it had already been decided, like he had already agreed, like Im Baek-jeong had already written the ending and was just waiting for everyone else to catch up.
Gun-woo and Woo-jin looked at each other. Neither of them said anything. But Dahye saw it, the way Woo-jin's expression went flat and hard, the way Gun-woo looked away from the screen for exactly one second before looking back. They were worried. They were frustrated. And they were both trying very hard not to show it in front of her.
She was about to click on another link — something that looked like internal communication logs — when it started.
One tab opened on its own. Then another. Then three more. Pop-ups filling the screen faster than she could close them, white and grey boxes flickering over everything, covering the IKFC page completely. She pressed escape. Nothing happened. She clicked the X on each tab as fast as she could, but for every one she closed two more appeared, and the whole screen was shaking now, stuttering, the cursor moving half a second behind her hand
And then everything went white.
One full second of white. Then the screen went back to the normal desktop like nothing had happened. No browser. No IKFC. No logs. Just her wallpaper and her desktop icons sitting there completely calm, like they had no idea what had just occurred.
Dahye stared at the screen.
Then she exhaled through her nose and turned her chair around to face Gun-woo and Woo-jin.
—A virus got in, —she said. —I'm going to have to throw the whole laptop out.
—We're sorry, —Gun-woo said immediately.
—Don't be. We got something. —She leaned back in her chair. —We know what the site looks like now. We know they already have your name on the next fight. That's not nothing.
The three of them spent the next hour talking through what they had seen, pulling out conclusions, trying to build something that looked like a plan. Dahye listened and talked and wrote things down on paper — old habit, never trust a screen with things that matter — and by the time the conversation wound down she had three pages of notes and a tension headache sitting right behind her eyes.
What Dahye didn't know was that Allen had been watching the whole time.
He was leaning back in his chair on the other side of the city, in a room that was all screens and blue light and the quiet hum of machines that cost more than most people made in a year. His hair was its usual color, the kind of color that made people look twice and then not quite be able to describe it later. His expression was relaxed in the way that meant he was paying very close attention.
He had found their connection the moment they accessed the site. That was expected. What he hadn't expected was her.
He had recognized the IP pattern almost immediately. He knew her setup. He had known it for years, had kept track of it the way you keep track of something you tell yourself you're only watching out of habit. He had sent the virus with two keystrokes, easy, almost lazy, and then he had done what he always did when he was bored and satisfied at the same time.
He opened her laptop camera.
Gun-woo and Woo-jin were already looking at each other with those worried faces. But Allen wasn't looking at them. He was looking at Dahye, watching her stare at the blank screen, watching her exhale and turn around and tell the boys in that calm steady voice that it was fine, she'd handle it.
He smiled. Slow. The kind of smile that didn't reach his eyes but meant something anyway.
After so many years. Still exactly the same.
He closed the camera feed. But the smile stayed.
The first time Allen ever saw Kim Dahye, he had his headphones in and was losing badly at a mobile game he was too proud to admit he found difficult.
He was in the back row of a classroom in a high school that smelled like chalk and floor cleaner, sitting sideways in his chair the way he always did because sitting the right way in a chair had always felt like a small surrender. His headphones were in not because he was listening to anything but because they kept people away, which was the point.
It didn't keep these four away.
He saw them coming before they reached him — the way their eyes landed on him with that specific look that meant today was going to be that kind of day. He took his headphones out slowly. There was no point leaving them in. It made things worse when you pretended not to notice.
The tallest one slapped the back of his neck first. Not hard enough to really hurt, hard enough to make a point. Then another one grabbed his phone out of his hand and held it up, laughing at the game on the screen.
Allen sat very still and looked at nothing in particular.
He had learned that fighting back made it last longer. He had learned that reacting at all made it worse. So he had gotten very good at going somewhere else inside his head while his body stayed in the chair and waited for it to be over.
And then someone grabbed the hand that was reaching for him.
—Let him go, —a voice said. —And get out of here before I tell the director everything. And I mean everything.
She was standing there with her hand wrapped around the wrist of the tallest one, holding it like it was nothing, looking at all four of them with an expression that was completely calm and absolutely serious. Long black hair. Straight fringe. The face of someone who had decided she was not interested in being afraid of people like this.
The four of them left. They didn't want to but they did, because something in her voice made it clear she wasn't bluffing.
She turned to look at Allen.
And then she smiled at him. Just like that. Simple and warm, like it was easy, like people smiled at him all the time.
—Are you okay? —she asked.
Allen looked at her for a second. He wasn't sure what to do with the question.
That was how it started. Slowly at first. she sat near him the next day without making a big thing of it, just sat there and opened her textbook and occasionally said something quietly that he could answer or not answer, and either way she didn't seem to mind. Then they started talking more. Then more. He stopped putting his headphones in when she was around. She started saving him a seat without him asking.
He had never had anything that felt like that before. Not at home, not anywhere. Someone who just… showed up. Without wanting something back.
He thought about it a lot. Too much, probably. He thought about the way she laughed when something actually surprised her — loud and a little undignified and completely real. He thought about how she argued about things she cared about with this focused energy, like she had been waiting for the right moment to say it. He thought about how she looked at him sometimes, not like he was strange or difficult, just like he was there. Just like he was a person worth looking at.
He never said any of that. He was seventeen and very bad at saying things.
And then the people outside of school found him, the way they always find people who are good at certain things and don't have much to lose. It started small. A favor here. A small job there. Money that felt enormous for something that felt easy. Allen was very good at computers in a way that went beyond what school taught — he had always been able to see systems the way other people see rooms, able to find the doors that weren't supposed to be there.
He told himself it was temporary. He told himself it didn't change anything.
But Dahye started looking at him differently. Not with fear — she wasn't the type. With something sadder than that. Disappointment, maybe. Or concern. The kind of look that meant she could see where things were going and she didn't know how to stop it and it was hurting her to watch.
He couldn't handle that look. It was worse than anything the four boys in the classroom had ever done to him.
So he stopped showing up. To class first. Then everywhere else. He told himself it was cleaner that way. That she was better off without someone who was already half gone. He told himself she would forget about him quickly because people like her had plenty of other people to turn to.
He was very good at lying to himself when he needed to be.
Dahye's apartment was quiet at night.
She had showered and changed and was sitting on the edge of her bed in the dark, not quite ready to sleep, when the feeling started. She knew that feeling. The back of her neck. The small specific sense that something in the room wasn't right.
She looked around slowly. Nothing. Her things in their places. Window closed. Door locked.
Then she looked at her laptop sitting on the desk.
She stood up and walked over to it and looked at it for a long moment. The screen was dark. It looked normal. But she had spent enough time around people who knew how to hide things to understand that looking normal didn't mean anything.
She picked up her keys. She picked up the laptop. And she left.
The building's underground parking was empty at that hour, just concrete and yellow light and the smell of engine oil. Her car was near the back wall. She walked toward it with the laptop under her arm, already thinking about where to throw it, already planning the conversation she would have with Gun-woo tomorrow about getting a clean device—
The figure stepped out from the shadow beside the wall.
Her first reaction was her hand moving toward the car key in her fist, automatic. But then the light hit his face and her hand went still and she just stood there, looking at him, because her brain needed a full second to process that what she was seeing was real.
Allen. Older. Different in ways she couldn't immediately name. But the hair was still that color and the posture was still that particular kind of relaxed that meant he was paying complete attention to everything, and the smile — that smile — was exactly as she remembered it. Slow and sharp and like he knew something you didn't.
He was holding his phone loosely in one hand, turned toward her. On the screen, a live feed. Her room. Her desk. The angle of her laptop camera.
—Long time, —he said. —My angel.
Dahye's throat moved. She took one step back.
—What are you doing here, —she said. Her voice came out steadier than she expected.
—What's the matter? —He tilted his head slightly. —I can't visit?
He took a step toward her. She took another step back and felt the cold wall against her shoulders and stopped. Allen stopped too, close enough that she could see his eyes clearly now — still that same look, still that same impossible-to-read quality, like he was always three moves ahead and enjoying the fact that you knew it.
—How long have you had access to my camera.
—No, —he agreed. —It's not.
She looked at him. He looked at her. The parking was completely silent around them.
—You haven't changed, —he said. Quieter now.
—You have, —she said. And she meant it differently than it might have sounded — not as a compliment, not as an accusation. Just as a fact. Something she had watched happen from a distance and hadn't been able to stop.
Something moved in his expression. Brief. Gone quickly.
—Where did you go, —she said. Her voice was still steady but the words came out with more weight than she planned. —Allen. Where did you actually go. Because one day you were just — not there anymore. And I waited. For a while I actually waited.
—That's all you have to say?
He looked at her for a moment. Then he looked at the ground, which was something she had not seen him do in a very long time. She remembered that. He used to do that when he didn't know how to say something — look down for just a second, like he was finding the words somewhere on the floor.
—I was already gone before I left, —he said. —You know that.
—I know what you were getting into. I saw it happening. —She pressed the laptop against her side, holding it tighter than necessary. —I wasn't asking you to be different. I was just — I was there, Allen. I was right there.
He looked back up at her.
—You being there, —he said, and his voice had lost the sharp easy tone it had when he first stepped out of the shadow. —You looking at me like that. Like you could actually see something worth looking at. —He exhaled once. —I couldn't take it with me where I was going. It didn't fit.
She stared at him. The anger was there — she could feel it, clean and familiar, the same anger she had packed away years ago when she understood he wasn't coming back. But underneath it, other things. Older things. The kind that don't go away just because you decide they should.
—You're on the wrong side, —she said. —You know that, right? Whatever Baek-jeong has you doing — you know what he is.
—I know exactly what he is.
—Because the world runs on information, —he said, simply, like it was obvious. —And I'm very good at information. —A pause. —It doesn't have to be complicated.
—It is complicated. —She pushed off the wall slightly, just enough to look at him straight. —It's complicated because Gun-woo's name is on that site. Because people are getting hurt. Because you're helping make that happen.
—And that doesn't bother you.
He looked at her for a long moment. The smile was completely gone now.
—More than I'd like, —he said quietly.
She didn't know what to do with that. She hadn't expected that answer and it knocked something loose in her chest that she had been keeping carefully in place for years.
Not fast — slowly, the way you move when you want the other person to see you coming and make a choice. He closed the space between them and she didn't move away, even though there was room to, even though she absolutely should have. He reached out and took the laptop from her hands and set it on the roof of the nearest car without looking away from her face.
That was the part she would think about later. That she let him.
His hand came to rest on her waist. Light at first. Just there. She could feel the warmth of it through her shirt and she hated how immediately familiar it felt, how completely her body remembered something her brain had spent years trying to forget.
—You should go, —she said. Her voice was very quiet.
—I know, —he said. Same tone he had used when she said it was complicated.
He wasn't going anywhere. And she wasn't moving either.
He lowered his head slowly, and his lips found the curve of her neck just below her jaw, and Dahye's eyes closed before she made any decision about closing them. It was soft. Careful. Like something being handled gently. She felt her hand move on its own — reaching for his arm, fingers closing around it.
He didn't stop. But he slowed. His lips moved slightly, warm and unhurried, and she was still holding his arm and not pulling it away and they both knew what that meant.
He lifted his head and looked at her face. She was looking back at him with an expression she couldn't control, the anger still there but thin now, worn through, something else showing underneath it.
He took her hand from his arm gently. Held both her wrists in one hand, loosely — not tight, she could have pulled free easily. Just held. Like punctuation.
And then the distance between them was gone completely.
The kiss was not soft. It was the opposite of soft — it had years in it, everything that hadn't been said, every time she had looked at the empty seat next to her and looked away again, every time he had watched her on a screen in the years since and told himself it was just a habit. It had all of that. She felt it in the way her hands moved when he let go of her wrists — immediately, without thinking, up and around his neck, pulling him closer even while some part of her brain was still filing an objection that the rest of her was completely ignoring.
He kissed her like he had been thinking about it for a long time.
She kissed him back like she had been angry about it for just as long.
Allen kissed her again the second they got inside the car, slamming the door shut while his hands gripped Dahye’s waist like he had waited far too long to touch her again. She could barely think straight anymore; her mind was a mess of anger, confusion, and that dangerous feeling Allen had always managed to pull out of her, even back when they were teenagers.
“You’re still beautiful,” he murmured against her lips before slowly trailing kisses down her neck.
A shaky breath escaped her when she felt his mouth against her skin, unhurried, almost enjoying every little reaction he got from her. Her fingers tightened around the fabric of his black jacket, trying to hold onto at least a little control.
“We shouldn’t be doing this…”
Allen lifted his eyes to hers, wearing that crooked smile that always made her nervous.
Because even after all these years, her body still reacted to him the exact same way.
Allen kissed her again, deeper this time, slower, until Dahye’s arms wrapped around his neck while he pulled her fully against him. The heat between them was unbearable; every touch felt like it was dragging years of buried feelings back to the surface.
His hands slid slowly up her thighs before settling at her waist, slipping underneath her shirt to touch her bare skin. Dahye closed her eyes for a second, letting out a soft gasp when his fingers pressed gently against her.
“You react like this just by touching you,” he whispered near her ear.
A low laugh left his lips before he kissed her again. There was something desperate in the way he touched her, like he had spent years imagining this exact moment. Dahye could feel her heartbeat pounding in her chest while his hands moved slowly over her body, making her forget where they were or who Allen had become.
Dahye’s shirt disappeared first, followed by Allen’s. The cold air inside the car clashed against the warmth of their bodies pressed together. Her hands slid over his chest while Allen returned to her neck, kissing her skin slowly enough to make her shiver beneath him.
“Allen…” his name left her lips almost like a plea.
He looked up at her then, and the teasing look in his eyes was gone. Now he looked completely consumed by her.
Their lips met again while Allen gently pushed her back against the seat, positioning himself between her legs. Dahye clung to him completely now, losing herself in every kiss and every slow, teasing touch he seemed to enjoy far too much.
The car windows slowly fogged up while the silence of the parking garage filled only with uneven breaths and quiet gasps. Allen kissed every inch of her skin like he had truly missed all of it — her voice, her touch, even the way she trembled underneath him.
And Dahye hated admitting it, but she had missed him too.
More than she ever wanted to confess.
Allen rested his forehead against hers for a moment, breathing heavily before gently brushing his fingers against her cheek.
“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” he whispered softly, staring directly into her eyes. “Ever since you saved me.”
When they finally separated it was just by a few inches, both of them breathing slightly uneven, the parking still empty and yellow-lit and completely indifferent around them. Allen looked at her face. She looked at his.
—This doesn't fix anything, —she said.
—You're still on the wrong side.
—And I'm still going to help them stop Baek-jeong.
He looked at her for a moment. Something moved in his eyes that she couldn't read, the same way she had never been able to fully read him, even at seventeen, even when she had been closer to him than anyone.
—I know, —he said. And then, quieter: —Be careful. He's not someone who loses things gracefully.
She studied his face. —Is that a warning?
—Take it however you want.
He stepped back. Picked up her laptop from the car roof and held it out to her. She took it and looked down at it for a second and then back up at him.
He was already walking away, hands in his pockets, back toward the shadows at the edge of the parking. He glanced back once, over his shoulder.
—Get a new laptop, —he said. —That one's compromised.
Dahye stood in the empty parking with the laptop in her hands and the cold concrete under her feet and the feeling of a kiss that had answered several questions and created about thirty more. She stayed there for a moment. Then she exhaled once, slow and long.
She walked back to the elevator.
She had a lot to think about. And in the morning she had to sit across from Gun-woo and Woo-jin and act like the night had been completely uneventful, which was going to require a level of calm she was not currently feeling.
But she was good at calm. She had always been good at that.
She pressed the button for her floor and watched the doors close and thought about a boy in the back row of a classroom who had never known what to do with someone who just — showed up.
She thought she probably still didn't have an answer for that either.
