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۶ৎ aeridisc's — ★ ` navigation

katrina , 270505 , svt and aespa enthusiast .

— find more of my works on #aeridisc !

# ` yoon jeonghan , 𝜗ৎ

hidden shadows , gentle hands — yjh . / pt.one

— hidden truths, fragile trust, and the kind of love that feels like safety, even in the dark.

the light beneath his shadows — yjh . / pt.two

— until you stumble upon a clue to the world he tried to keep hidden.

always , even after — yjh . / pt.three

— in the penthouse — once a place of shadows — they rediscover light through small gestures and honest words. The story ends in stillness ; two people who have finally learned how to stay .

# ` series , 𝜗ৎ

love , money , fame | idol!reader x svt

— unspoken feelings surface between verses, harmonies, and stages. in an industry where emotions are rehearsed but hearts never are, love become forbidden thing to write .

chapter one ; the first encounter

chapter two ; shared secrets

chapter three ; ??

the eden's syndicate | mafia!seventeen x reader

— painting the city red ; not with love, but with loyalty. Until you appear, soft as morning light, and they start questioning which blood they’re really willing to spill.

chapter one ; the stranger in the rain

chapter two ; the morning after

chapter three ; the quiet watchers

chapter four ; echoes of the glass

chapter five ; ??

#aeridisc

echoes of the glass — chapter four .

A bullet shatters your quiet world — and the illusion of safety with it. For the first time, you see what they truly are… and what it means to be under their protection.

Rain again. It always seems to follow them.

The café hums with the low sound of the grinder when the window rattles — just once, sharp enough to make you flinch. The sound doesn’t belong to thunder. It’s closer, metallic.

You step toward the front, half-ready to scold the wind, when Mingyu’s voice cuts through the door.

“Get down.”

It’s not a request.

He’s already moving, dragging you behind the counter just as another crack splits the air — glass shattering, the bell above the door screaming.

Your breath catches. “Was that —”

“Bullet,” he says, voice steady but eyes alert. “Stay here.”

He pulls a small comm from his pocket. “Target on the south side. Two men. Jeonghan, Jun — lock the block.”

Through the haze of panic, you hear their replies crackle like lightning — quick, precise, terrifyingly calm.

Jeonghan’s voice, soft as silk : “Already on it.”

Jun, lower : “Visual on both.”

Then the sound of footsteps outside — many, measured, organized.

The air feels colder, heavier. You press a hand to your chest and whisper, “Why me?”

Mingyu glances at you, then looks away. “It’s not about you. It’s about him.”

Him. Seungcheol.

The name tastes different now — less like safety, more like inevitability.

Moments later, the café door creaks open again.

Seungcheol steps in through the broken glass, coat soaked with rain, eyes hard. Behind him, Wonwoo and Hoshi sweep the room with silent precision.

“Any injuries?” he asks.

You shake your head, but the tremor gives you away.

He nods once, then turns to the men. “Clean this. No traces.”

His orders move through them like current ; Woozi already at the wall panel, erasing camera feeds, Jun and The8 checking the street, Joshua outside speaking quietly to police contacts who will never write a report.

When the noise fades, Seungcheol crouches beside you.

“Are you hurt?”

You meet his gaze, shaking your head again. “Just… scared.”

Something flickers in his eyes ; regret, maybe. “You shouldn’t.”

He stands, takes off his gloves, and hands you his jacket. It’s warm, smells faintly of smoke and cologne.

“We’ll handle it,” he says. “But until then, you don’t open this place alone.”

Jeonghan appears beside him, smiling lightly despite the tension. “Looks like we’re short-staffed anyway. We’ll help out.”

You blink. “You? Work in a café?”

Jeonghan’s grin widens. “You’d be surprised what we can do when the boss insists.”

The laugh that escapes you is shaky, but real — and for a heartbeat, the weight lifts.

Outside, the rain begins to ease, but the scent of gunpowder lingers.

That night, you lock the café early.

The street is quiet again, yet every shadow feels alive. Somewhere nearby, you know they’re there — your strange guardians of steel and sin.

And for the first time, fear and comfort feel almost the same.

۶ৎ — aeridisc .

the quiet watchers — chapter three .

Familiar faces lingering by the windows, quiet men in dark coats, and smiles that feel more like secrets. You tell yourself it’s protection… but it’s beginning to feel a lot like possession.

The week passes in fragments — the clink of coffee cups, the hum of the espresso machine, the quiet weight of eyes that never quite leave you.

Since that night, your café has never truly been empty.

At first, you thought it was paranoia. The way a black car always seemed to be parked across the street. The same tall figure appearing near the window, pretending to be a customer but never finishing his drink.

But now… you know better.

They’re watching you.

Protecting you — or so they say.

The bell rings one morning, and a soft laugh follows.

“Cute place,” someone drawls, stepping inside.

Long blonde hair, immaculate clothes, and a smile that feels both charming and dangerous.

Jeonghan.

He scans the café like he’s assessing a stage. “You’re just as he described,” he says, eyes glinting with amusement.

“Who?” you ask carefully.

He leans on the counter. “Seungcheol, of course. He doesn’t usually bring civilians into our world, you know. You must’ve made quite an impression.”

You freeze. The leader — Seungcheol — actually talks about you?

Before you can respond, another voice joins in, calm and steady.

“Jeonghan, don’t tease.”

Joshua walks in behind him, his presence the opposite — smooth, polite, almost comforting. His tone could calm a storm, but his eyes are sharp enough to see through you.

“She’s already nervous,” he says quietly, offering you a small smile. “Don’t make it worse.”

You blink. “You… all really don’t have other cafés to go to, do you?”

Joshua chuckles softly. “This one has the best coffee in Seoul. And it happens to be safest.”

You catch the meaning behind his words.

Safe — because they made it that way.

Later that afternoon, you notice new faces outside. Men in dark coats, posted like silent shadows.

When you step out with the trash, one of them — a man with silver hair and tired eyes , Jun — gives you a small nod.

“Stay near the lights,” he murmurs.

Before you can reply, another figure appears from the corner — Woozi, holding a tablet and muttering something into an earpiece.

He barely glances at you, but his tone is firm. “We’ve got eyes on the alley. Don’t wander. Orders.”

You retreat inside, heart pounding. This is real. All of it. The Syndicate isn’t just a rumor anymore — it’s sitting in your café, breathing your air.

By closing time, the last customer leaves, and it’s just you wiping down tables again. You almost relax — until the door opens one last time.

“Evening,” says Seokmin, his usual brightness oddly gentle tonight. Behind him stands Mingyu, hands in pockets, that same soft concern flickering across his features.

“You shouldn’t close alone anymore,” Mingyu says simply.

You sigh, trying to keep your voice steady. “If you keep showing up like this, people will start thinking I’m involved with something shady.”

Seokmin grins. “You kind of are.”

Mingyu elbows him, but he only laughs harder.

For a moment, it feels almost normal — like they’re just friends teasing you after work. But when Mingyu steps closer to lock the door for you, the weight of his presence reminds you it’s not normal at all.

“You don’t have to be afraid,” he says quietly. “Just… trust us a little.”

You meet his gaze. “That’s a lot to ask from someone who doesn’t even know what you are.”

He hesitates — then smiles, slow and honest.

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

When you finally go home that night, Seoul feels different.

The streets are still full of noise and light, but you can sense it — a silent rhythm moving underneath it all.

And somewhere in that rhythm, they are there.

Watching. Waiting.

Protecting you, perhaps.

Or maybe… claiming you.

۶ৎ — aeridisc .

the morning after — chapter two .

You tell yourself it was just coincidence — until he returns. Claiming you need “protection.” But as they settle into your quiet world of coffee and warmth, you start to wonder why the danger feels almost tender when it’s them .

The next morning feels strange. Too quiet, even for Seoul.

You replay last night over and over in your head — the men in black, the silver ring, the way the leader’s voice wrapped around your name like a warning and a promise all at once.

You’d locked the café door twice before going home, double-checked every window. Still, you couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching.

And yet… you open the café again the next day. Habit, maybe. Or denial.

The smell of roasted beans fills the air, and for a while, you almost convince yourself it was all a dream — until the bell over the door rings.

You freeze.

He’s there again. The leader.

No coat this time, just a crisp black shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, the faint shadow of a gun holster just barely visible beneath the fabric. He looks out of place among the soft lights and pastel cups — too sharp, too composed.

But his eyes soften a little when they meet yours.

“You opened early,” he says.

“I always do,” you reply quietly, setting down the milk jug. “You’re here early, too.”

A ghost of a smirk. “Couldn’t sleep.”

You don’t ask why. You don’t have to.

He takes a seat at the counter, silent as you prepare his drink. The sound of steaming milk fills the air, and for a moment, it’s just the two of you — normal, almost domestic.

When you slide his cup over, he nods. “You make it better than anyone else.”

You blink, caught off guard. “You come here often?”

He hums. “Used to. Before things got… complicated.”

You don’t press. You just smile faintly, and something shifts — a flicker of warmth behind his calm exterior.

Then the door opens again.

Another man steps in — tall, broad shoulders, hair slightly tousled. Mingyu. You recognize him from last night. His eyes dart around the café before landing on you, and he grins.

“Morning,” he says easily. “Boss didn’t tell me this place was cute.”

You raise an eyebrow. “I didn’t realize this was a group visit.”

He chuckles, leaning against the counter. “Just making sure everything’s… secure.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning,” the leader interjects without looking up, “you’ll be seeing us around for a while.”

Your heart skips a beat. “You’re serious about that?”

He finally meets your gaze. “We don’t make idle promises.”

There’s something final in the way he says it, and yet — something protective, too. You don’t know whether to be afraid or oddly comforted.

Mingyu flashes another grin, softer this time. “Don’t worry, we don’t bite. Much.”

You roll your eyes, but can’t help the small laugh that escapes you. The sound makes both men pause — like it’s something they weren’t expecting.

“You should laugh more,” Mingyu says, half under his breath. “It doesn’t suit this place to be so quiet.”

You ignore the flutter in your chest and turn back to the espresso machine, pretending to focus. But when you glance up, you catch the leader watching you again — not with the cold precision of last night, but something almost… thoughtful.

By noon, they’re gone.

But when you step outside to take a break, you spot it — a black car parked across the street, tinted windows glinting under the sun.

Someone’s there. Watching.

And for the first time, you realize this isn’t going away.

You’re in their orbit now — caught between danger and something that feels dangerously like safety.

That night, you find a note slipped under the café door.

Lock up earlier tonight.

— S.C.

You stare at the initials, pulse racing.

You should be scared.

You should want to run.

But instead, your fingers trace the letters....

and you wonder when his voice started echoing so clearly in your head.

۶ৎ — aeridisc .

the stranger in the rain — chapter one .

A late-night customer changes everything. — His gaze lingers too long, his words weigh too heavy ; and by the time the rain stops, you’ve unknowingly caught his attention

The café is quiet at night — just the soft hum of the espresso machine and the rain whispering against the windowpane. Seoul’s streets glimmer outside, reflections of red and gold lights stretching across puddles like veins.

You wipe the counter absently, lost in the rhythm of the raindrops. It’s closing hour, and the last few customers have already left. You should’ve locked up ten minutes ago, but you like this part of the night — when the city slows, and you can finally breathe.

The bell above the door rings.

You look up.

A man steps inside, shaking off the rain from his coat. He’s tall, dark hair slicked back, dressed in black tailored to perfection — the kind of presence that makes the air shift without trying.

“Sorry, we’re—” you begin, but he looks up, and the rest of your sentence dies in your throat.

Sharp eyes. Calm, commanding.

He doesn’t look like someone who walks into cafés at midnight.

“I’ll make it quick,” he says quietly. His voice is smooth, low. “Just a black coffee.”

There’s something about the way he speaks — polite, but final. Like it’s not a request.

You nod, turning away to prepare it. You can feel his gaze following your every movement. It’s not threatening, exactly — just aware. Like he’s reading more than what you show.

When you slide the cup toward him, your fingers brush against his glove. Warm leather, a faint scent of smoke and rain.

“Long night?” you ask, trying to break the tension.

He huffs a quiet laugh, eyes softening just a little. “Something like that.”

You smile, though his expression doesn’t quite match yours. He looks like someone carrying a thousand thoughts, none of them light.

He finishes his drink in silence. Then, before leaving, he sets a bill on the counter — far more than the coffee costs.

“Keep the change.”

You blink, but before you can protest, he’s already halfway out the door. The bell rings again, swallowed by the rain.

You watch him disappear into the night, a shadow melting into Seoul’s heartbeat.

You don’t see him again for a few days.

Until one evening, just as you’re closing again, you hear the sound of engines outside — several of them. Black cars lined up across the street, sleek and silent.

Your hand freezes on the light switch.

The door opens.

He’s back.

But this time, he’s not alone.

Five other men step in behind him — each distinct, each radiating a different kind of danger. One with long blonde hair and a smile too knowing. One with calm eyes and a cross necklace glinting under the dim lights. A quiet one in glasses who scans the café like he’s calculating exits. A tall man with a scar on his knuckle. And another who grins easily — too easily.

You swallow hard.

“I— I think we’re closed.”

The first man — the one from before — takes a slow step forward.

“Not for us.”

His voice is the same, smooth and steady. He places something on the counter — a small silver ring, engraved with a symbol you don’t recognize.

“You saw something the other night, didn’t you?”

Your stomach drops. “What do you mean?”

He looks at you, and this time, the air in the café turns cold.

“Outside, near the alley. You shouldn’t have been there.”

You open your mouth, but no sound comes out. You remember it now — that night when you took out the trash and saw two men arguing in the rain. One of them had drawn a gun. You ran before seeing more.

“I— I didn’t tell anyone,” you manage.

The man studies you for a moment, then exhales softly, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly.

“I know. That’s why you’re still here.”

The others exchange quiet looks.

“From now on,” he says, voice dropping to something darker, something that makes your pulse quicken, “you’ll keep your head down. And stay close.”

You frown. “Stay close? To who?”

He leans in, eyes glinting under the amber light.

“To us.”

You don’t realize it yet — but that night, you stop being invisible.

۶ৎ — aeridisc .

shared secrets — chapter two .

By the end of the day, you realise secrets don’t stay buried for long — but for now, yours still holds.

The morning after a show always feels like an echo.

You wake to the hum of hotel air-conditioning and the faint ache in your shoulders left by yesterday’s choreography. The city outside the window is still wet from last night’s rain ; banners for The Wave Awards flap limply against the glass.

Your phone lights up on the nightstand : a message from the manager — 9 a.m. rehearsal for the joint charity stage. SEVENTEEN’s team will share the studio.

You sit up, hair a mess, the glitter from last night still caught at your collarbone. Somewhere across the hall, Nari’s alarm goes off, and Chaerin starts complaining about coffee. The normal chaos of a comeback week.

By the time you reach the rehearsal building, caffeine in hand, the floor already vibrates with bass from another practice room. Through the half-open door you can hear laughter — deep, familiar.

“Mingyu, it's your turn for five-minute punishment dance!”

Seungkwan’s voice cuts through, bright as ever. You push your mask higher, stepping inside your group’s assigned room.

eclypse warms up quietly. The mirrored walls catch flashes of silver and black, the sharp cut of your jacket, Iseul’s restless bouncing. A staff member drops off an itinerary, murmuring something about joint choreography segments later in the day.

Half an hour into stretching, the door slides open again. Wonwoo leans in first, expression neutral.

“Hey,” he says low, almost to himself.

You nod, returning the greeting softly. He doesn’t linger — just checks the equipment list on a clipboard before stepping out again. Simple, professional.

But a few seconds later Jeonghan appears behind him, followed by Hoshi, both holding bottled water.

“Morning, ______” Jeonghan calls, voice light. “Didn’t think we’d see you this early.”

Iseul grins, immediately engaging him in conversation about last night’s encore. Hoshi crouches beside the speaker setup, glancing at you with that dancer’s curiosity.

“You changed the ending formation yesterday, right?” he asks.

“A little,” you reply, adjusting your mic pack. “Felt like the beat needed more lift before the bridge.”

“Smart. Looked cleaner.”

You exchange quick notes about counts and transitions, the sort of talk that only makes sense to performers. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Jeonghan half-listening while scrolling his phone —then pausing when a photo flashes across his screen.

“Huh,” he murmurs. “You two really look alike.”

You glance up. On his phone is a fan-taken photo from last night: you walking down the same backstage corridor as Wonwoo, both mid-laugh. The caption: “eclypse’s _____ and SEVENTEEN’s Wonwoo caught chatting — same features ?”

For a heartbeat, no one speaks. The air hums with the low buzz of the monitors.

“Oh come on” Chaerin laughs first, waving it off. “They just have that ‘idol sibling energy.’ You know, same vibe.”

Wonwoo, re-entering with a water crate, catches the tail end of the sentence. He meets your eyes briefly — something quick, unreadable.

“Let’s…... focus on practice,” he says evenly. “Schedule’s tight.”

The room shifts back into motion. Yet the words linger like static.

Later, when rehearsal breaks for lunch, you step into the hallway. The vending machine hums ; staff pass with clipboards. You spot Joshua near the window , quietly tuning a guitar.

He glances up when you approach.

“Tough morning?”

“Just long” you answer.

“People notice things fast in this industry,” he says gently, eyes flicking toward your wrist where the same minimalist bracelet as Wonwoo’s catches the light. “But most of the time, they forget just as fast.”

You nod, unsure how much he knows or how little he’s saying. The air feels warmer near the window, city haze blurring everything outside.

A staff call echoes down the corridor : “Joint run-through in fifteen!”

Joshua smiles, soft and non-intrusive.

“Guess we’ll see you inside, _____ .”

He walks away, guitar still humming faintly in his hands.

You stay there a moment longer, heartbeat steadying. Secrets have a way of slipping through even the smallest cracks, but for now it’s still yours to keep.

You pull your mask back up, inhale, and head toward the sound of the next song cue.

۶ৎ — aeridisc .

the first encounter — chapter one .

The moment lasts only a few breaths, but under the roar of the crowd and the blinding lights, it already feels like the start of something you shouldn’t feel.

The dressing-room door sighs open to a rush of cold air and sound. Bass from the main stage thrums through the floor, each beat flickering across the mirrored walls in pulses of gold and violet. You slip inside, tugging at the cuffs of your black leather jacket —metallic, sharp under the lights, a contrast to the steady rhythm of your breathing.

It’s the last night of The Wave Awards, and your group, eclypse , is slotted between legends. Stage managers weave around you with clipboards ; stylists swarm the mirrors ; someone shouts that SEVENTEEN just finished sound-check.

You glance up. The monitors above the mirrors play the live feed —thirteen figures moving as one, black and red against the LED storm. The cheers of the crowd spill faintly through the walls. Even after months of sharing schedules and corridors, it still makes your chest tighten to see them in their element , flawless, unstoppable.

“_____ , five minutes to lineup!”

Your leader Nari calls over the noise. You nod, sliding your in-ears into place. Iseul spins in her chair, blowing you a kiss; Chaerin hums through her verse, half-dancing in her hoodie. The usual chaos feels steadier tonight. You wrote half the lyrics for this stage, and that knowledge steadies your pulse more than the makeup artist’s touch ever could.

Outside the corridor smells like stage fog and perfume. You’re adjusting your mic pack when another door opens a few meters down.

SEVENTEEN.

They file out in twos and threes, half-laughing, half-tired, sweat still glinting on their collars. Wonwoo catches your eyes first ; he doesn’t smile , just lifts a brow, a tiny silent 'you okay?' before someone calls him toward the manager.

A familiar voice breaks through ....

“_____ ? …hey.”

Jeonghan. Hair pulled back, silver chain at his throat, smile curling like he knows something you don’t. You bow instinctively, professional, and he mirrors it with exaggerated politeness that makes Joshua snicker behind him.

“Your group’s up next, right? Heard you produced part of the track.”

“Yeah,” you answer, keeping your voice even. “It’s a shorter version for tonight, but—yeah.”

He tilts his head, studying you for a heartbeat too long.

“It’s good. I listened during rehearsal.”

The compliment lands somewhere between friendly and something heavier you can’t name. You thank him, bow again, and step back when the staff yells for both groups to move to standby.

Now you’re side by side in the narrow hallway leading to the stage. The curtains ripple with every bass hit. Seungcheol gives a last-minute pep talk to his members; Naeun squeezes your shoulder. Someone from production counts down — ten, nine, eight .......

The lights beyond the curtain bloom into white.

SEVENTEEN passes you on their way out, exchanging nods, half-smiles, tired laughter. Mingyu bumps your shoulder by accident, mumbles an apology without meeting your eyes. You can feel the tremor of the crowd as their encore fades.

Then the staff waves you forward.

You take one last breath. The fog machine exhales; the LED floor ignites beneath your boots. Somewhere behind the curtain, you hear a low voice — maybe Jeonghan, maybe Joshua — say,

“Good luck, _____ .”

The words dissolve into the roar of the audience as you step into the light.

And just before the music hits, you think you could get used to this feeling.

Or you could drown in it.

۶ৎ — aeridisc .

always , even after — yjh .

The confrontation at the warehouse ends without violence, closing Jeonghan’s old life. On the quiet drive home, he and the reader begin to breathe again. In the penthouse — once a place of shadows—they rediscover light through small gestures and honest words. The story ends in stillness: two people who have finally learned how to stay.

𝜗ৎ — the light beneath his shadows . (pt.two)

The rain had stopped hours ago, leaving the city wrapped in a thin, silvery haze. Streetlights glowed through the mist as Jeonghan’s car rolled to a halt outside the warehouse. You could hear only the steady rhythm of the wipers and your own breath.

Inside, the air was heavy with salt and iron. Men’s voices carried across the concrete floor, sharp, brittle. Jeonghan walked first, his shoulders relaxed in that effortless way that hid tension. You stayed a step behind, watching the way his hand brushed his coat pocket, ready but calm.

“You shouldn’t have come back,” one of the men said.

“I came to end it,”

Jeonghan replied, voice low enough that it felt like the air might crack around it.

For a moment it looked as if old ghosts might pull him backward. Then he simply turned away. The weight broke; no threat followed. The past, you realised, wasn’t powerful anymore.

The drive home was quiet. City lights slid across his face like ripples of gold and shadow. Every so often he’d reach over the console, his fingers finding yours as if to check that you were still there. When the car finally pulled into the garage beneath the tower, you felt the world exhale.

The elevator opened into his penthouse — dark marble, steel lines, the faint hum of the city below. It was beautiful, but cold, a space built for distance. Tonight it felt different. He dropped his keys in a dish and, without a word, took your coat, his fingers lingering at your shoulders.

The only light came from the city through floor-to-ceiling glass. Outside, rain still traced the windows; inside, the silence was soft. He loosened his tie, leaving it draped over the back of a chair. You crossed the room and turned on a single lamp — warm amber spilling over black leather and glass.

“It doesn’t suit you,” you murmured.

“All this darkness.”

He smiled faintly.

“It did, once. Not anymore.”

You stood near the window, watching the reflection of the two of you against the skyline. He came up behind you, arms circling your waist, chin resting on your shoulder. The city lights haloed you both. His voice was barely above a whisper.

“You shouldn’t have had to see that part of me.”

“Maybe I needed to,” you said.

“So I could see all of you.”

He turned you gently to face him. For a heartbeat, neither of you spoke. Then his thumb brushed the corner of your mouth, a silent apology. You leaned into the touch, your hand finding his chest —steady heartbeat under your palm. The tension of the night slipped away, replaced by warmth, by quiet.

He drew you closer until there was no space left between you, only the soft rhythm of breathing and the faint hum of the rain. You rested your forehead against his. The words that followed weren’t loud; they didn’t need to be.

“I’m done with secrets,” he said.

“You’re my peace now.”

You smiled, small and sure.

“Then keep it this way.”

He nodded, pressing a kiss to your temple — gentle, lingering. Around you, the penthouse seemed to change: the dark walls reflecting soft amber, the sharp edges blurring in the low light. He poured tea, the simplest gesture, and handed you a cup. Steam curled between your hands. It smelled of mint and quiet promises.

You curled up together on the couch, your head resting against his shoulder, the city spread beneath you like a map of stars. His fingers traced slow circles on your arm, grounding, affectionate. When you looked up, he was already watching you, eyes softer than you’d ever seen them.

"Hannie ?"

“We made it” you said.

“We did” , he answered, voice a whisper against your hair.

“And I’m never letting this go.”

The clock ticked once, twice. Outside, the rain faded into silence. In the heart of that dark penthouse, warmth settled in for good.

۶ৎ — aeridisc .

the light beneath his shadows — yjh .

After promising there would be no more secrets, Jeonghan seems lighter — until you stumble upon a clue to the world he tried to keep hidden.

Following him out of curiosity, you find yourself face-to-face with the truth: Jeonghan’s life isn’t as ordinary as you thought. In a moment of danger and rain, he rushes to your side, torn between fear and love.

With quiet words and trembling hands, he promises honesty and safety — and though his world still lingers in the dark, he keeps it gentle when it reaches you.

𝜗ৎ — hidden shadows , gentle hands . ( pt.one )

The morning after your quiet reconciliation felt lighter — Jeonghan made breakfast, humming softly while you watched from the kitchen doorway. His sleeves were rolled up, his hair a little messy, his smile easy again. For the first time in weeks, the apartment smelled like peace.

But peace never lasts long for people who live half in shadow.

That evening, while folding laundry, you noticed a slip of paper fall from his jacket pocket—just a plain card with a symbol pressed into it, nothing written, but it made your stomach twist. Before you could ask, his phone vibrated. He looked at the screen too long before silencing it.

“Work?” you asked.

His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Just something I need to check on. I’ll be right back.”

He kissed your forehead and left. The door clicked shut; the silence that followed felt too heavy. You tried to tell yourself it was fine, that you trusted him now. Still, your fingers found the strange card again.

Curiosity tugged harder than sense, and before you could stop yourself, you were outside too — just a few steps behind him, far enough that he wouldn’t notice. The city was quieter than usual, the air thick with rain.

Around the corner, Jeonghan was talking to two men in dark coats. You couldn’t hear the words, but the tone was sharp. One of the men’s movements made your pulse race; it wasn’t violence you saw, just tension — a sudden stillness that said everything.

Then Jeonghan turned, eyes locking onto yours.

The look on his face — shock, fear, and something fierce — made your breath catch. He broke away from the men and crossed the distance between you in seconds, taking your wrist and pulling you close.

“What are you doing here?” His voice was low but urgent. His hand trembled slightly as it cupped your cheek. “You shouldn’t be here, angel.”

“I wanted to understand,” you whispered. “You said no more secrets.”

He exhaled shakily, scanning the street before steering you into a narrow alley lit by a single amber lamp. The rain started to fall, soft against the pavement. He held you against his chest, heartbeat quick beneath your ear.

“I never wanted you to see this part,” he said. “They’re not people you should ever meet. I promise, nothing will touch you. Not while I’m breathing.”

You looked up at him. The damp hair clung to his forehead, eyes glassy with something deeper than fear — love, worry, devotion all tangled together.

“You don’t have to protect me from everything,” you said, voice small. “Just be honest with me.”

Jeonghan’s thumb brushed away a raindrop — or maybe a tear —from your cheek. “I’ll try,” he murmured. “From now on, no hiding. You have my word.”

He drew you into his arms again. The hug was strong, almost desperate, but gentle in the way only he could manage—like he was afraid to break you and couldn’t bear to let go.

“You’re the calm in all of this,” he whispered against your hair. “When things get dark, I remember this — us — and it keeps me human.”

You smiled faintly, hands resting on his chest. “Then don’t forget it.”

The rain eased into a mist. The city’s noise returned, distant and harmless. Jeonghan kissed your forehead — once, lingering — then laced his fingers through yours.

“Come on,” he said softly. “Let’s go home.”

As you walked back under the dim streetlights, his grip never loosened. The world he carried still lingered somewhere beyond the corners of the night, but his warmth beside you was real.

And though you didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, you knew one thing for certain ;

whatever shadows followed him, Jeonghan would always keep them soft when they reached you.

𝜗ৎ — always , even after (pt.three)

۶ৎ — aeridisc .

hidden shadows , gentle hands — yjh .

You always thought Jeonghan was just an ordinary man — warm smiles, soft laughter, and a heart that felt like home. But lately, his late nights, mysterious phone calls, and hidden bruises have started to chip away at your trust. When your worries finally spill over into an argument, Jeonghan is forced to face the truth he’s been hiding: he’s part of a world far darker than you ever imagined.

Still, beneath the secrets and danger, his love for you remains unshaken. In a quiet night filled with tears and gentle apologies, Jeonghan finally lets you in — promising that from now on, there will be no more lies between you.

— mentions of trust issues , physical touch , protective jeonghan and fragile reader .

The evening air was unusually quiet. The only sound that filled the apartment was the faint ticking of the clock and the soft hum of the city outside. You sat curled up on the couch, your knees drawn to your chest, your mind tangled in thoughts you couldn’t quite name.

He had come home late again. No messages, no calls — just a quiet “I’m home” and the soft click of the door closing behind him.

You didn’t look up when Jeonghan stepped into the room. He looked the same as always — white shirt slightly wrinkled, dark hair falling over his forehead, that gentle smile that could disarm anyone. But tonight, it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice carrying that familiar warmth. “You’re still awake.”

You let out a small, tired breath. “You didn’t tell me you’d be late again.”

He paused for a moment before replying. “I know. I’m sorry, things got… complicated.”

“Complicated,” you echoed. “You always say that.”

He walked closer, the soft scent of his cologne — something woody and clean — filling the space between you. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

But you were worried. Not just tonight — for weeks now, you’d noticed things. The phone calls that made him step out of the room. The bruises he brushed off as accidents. The late nights, the strange people he sometimes met. You had asked before, but he always smiled that same disarming smile and changed the subject.

And you had trusted him. You wanted to.

But tonight, the ache in your chest was heavier than usual.

“Jeonghan,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “Do you trust me?”

He blinked, his brows furrowing. “Of course I do.”

“Then why—” You swallowed hard. “Why do I feel like you’re always hiding something from me?”

Silence filled the room. The kind that made the air thick, made your throat tighten. Jeonghan’s gaze dropped to the floor, and for a moment, he looked almost fragile — the calm, composed Jeonghan you knew seemed to waver.

He sat down beside you, close enough that your knees brushed. “It’s not that I don’t trust you,” he said quietly. “I just… didn’t want to drag you into my world.”

“Your world?” you repeated, frowning.

He hesitated, the words caught between his lips — and that hesitation was enough to make your heart ache.

You shook your head, eyes stinging. “You think I can’t handle the truth?”

He reached for your hand, fingers brushing yours so softly you almost pulled away — but you didn’t. “It’s not about what you can handle,” he murmured. “It’s about what I don’t want you to lose. The peace. The safety. The way you smile when you look at me without fear.”

And then you understood. He wasn’t just hiding something out of pride or secrecy — he was protecting you. From something darker. Something that lived behind the gentle smile and soft voice you loved so much.

Still, the hurt didn’t fade.

“Jeonghan,” you said, your voice breaking, “I don’t care how dangerous it is. What hurts more is knowing you couldn’t tell me.”

He looked up at you then, eyes glimmering with guilt and something unbearably tender. “You’re right,” he whispered. “I should’ve told you.”

The air shifted — slow, fragile, intimate. He moved closer, his thumb brushing away the tear that slipped down your cheek. “I didn’t want to lose you,” he said. “But in trying to protect you, I almost did."

Your eyes met his, and for a long moment, neither of you spoke. There was only the quiet rhythm of breathing, the soft thud of your heart echoing in your chest.

When Jeonghan finally leaned in, it wasn’t desperate — it was gentle. His forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin. His hand cupped your cheek, thumb tracing small, comforting circles.

“I promise,” he murmured, voice low and earnest. “No more secrets. You deserve all of me — even the parts I’m scared to show.”

You nodded, tears slipping quietly down your face. “Just… don’t shut me out again.”

He smiled, faint but real this time, and pulled you into his arms. His embrace was warm, steady — the kind of warmth that seeped into your bones and chased away every doubt.

You sank against him, fingers clutching the fabric of his shirt, feeling his heartbeat beneath your palm. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, lingering there, as if anchoring himself to the moment.

For a while, you stayed like that — wrapped in silence and safety. The world outside could wait. Whatever shadows he carried, whatever secrets he kept — for tonight, he was just Jeonghan. Yours.

And when he whispered softly against your hair, “I love you,” it felt like a promise that would hold — even in the dark.

𝜗ৎ — the light beneath his shadows (pt.two)

۶ৎ — aeridisc .

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