“you are not my mission,”
content: krisyeol & krisho

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Kris Wu x Kim Junmyeon

Junmyeon stares at the tall, dark-haired server that fluently maneuvering himself around the room. The server looks so proper in his standard uniform, back straight, and hair slicked. He almost looks like he belongs with the guests; clad in designer’s number, exchanging intelligent political banters while eating tiny canapes and sipping bubbly.

The server catches his stare and flashes him a mild smile. Junmyeon does not avert his eyes; keeping his stare fixed on the server so he would think that Junmyeon is simply staring into space—which is not an ideal stance for a bodyguard but either that or caught staring. The server’s lips twitched into a more mischievous and knowing sneer.

The rest of the night is uneventful—which is good, no one is trying to assassinate the minister. Junmyeon returns to his room at three a.m after a thorough debriefing. That is when he sees the server again. The top three buttons of his white shirt ed and his dark hair ruffled into a perfectly messy bedhead. The server smirks at him with a kiss-swollen lips.

Junmyeon sees the leather briefcase cuffed to his hand. Junmyeon knows that it’s a briefcase filled with a country’s government secrets.

And he is thankful that it’s not the briefcase of his minister.

“I have to stop you,” Junmyeon states in accented English.
“I would like to see you try,” the server replies in sharp and crisp Korean.

Junmyeon is familiar with the concept of honeytrap—beautiful and highly trained, young spies camouflage as servers, high-end escorts, and what-have-you to steal classified documents and files.

The beautiful spy charges towards Junmyeon and while he is taller than Junmyeon, Junmyeon is more agile. In one swift motion, Junmyeon manages to pin the spy’s wrists above his hands. The cuff digging angry red lines into the spy’s skin. The two of them are panting and Junmyeon weighs himself down, his thighs locking the spy’s movements while his other hand is pressing the spy’s chest down.

To say what comes next knocks Junmyeon out of his mind is not completely false. The spy smirks and closes the distance between their faces. The spy’s lips taste like cigar and whiskey. Junmyeon presses his lips tightly but the spy is persistent, and his lower lip greedily.

Junmyeon relents into the kiss. They kiss and kiss, the spy struggles under his hold but Junmyeon doesn’t budge. The spy pull away with a small gasp, lips red and swollen, eyes glazed and—

The thump between his eyes blinds him. The bastard headbutts him. What the ing hell.

It’s a basic technique but, Junmyeon isn’t prepared and the bastard has a head like a rock. The spy makes a dash but Junmyeon doesn’t chase him. The spy is not his problem and his head is throbbing as if someone is drilling a manhole between his eyes.  

Two hours later, hell breaks loose. The briefcase of a representative from one of the European countries is stolen. All bodyguards immediately station themselves in front of their countries’ representatives.

“Thank the heavens it’s not me,” the minister whispers to Junmyeon.
“Thank the heavens it’s not you, Sir,” Junmyeon replies, biting back a smile.

(Junmyeon finds a piece of crumpled paper with “Kris Wu” and an email address scribbled in one of his pockets)

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Kris Wu x Park Chanyeol

Chanyeol tugs on his collar. Despite the fact that he is a secretary at the embassy, black tie events are still something that he can’t get used to. With his height and long limbs, one could be either extremely graceful or embarrassingly clumsy. Guess which one that describes Chanyeol perfectly. Hint: It is not the first one.

Tonight the embassy is having a gala dinner to celebrate the end of a summit that discuss trade between neighboring countries. The countries that attending the summit reached an agreement that merits everyone.

Chanyeol is not really obligated to attend the gala from the beginning to the end but, in the next few months, his workload will be doubled so, he deserves all the champagne and tiny sandwiches he can get.

Chanyeol tries his best not to be seen so, he hangs out around the corner of the ballroom sipping his champagne slowly and politely smiles back at anyone who smiles at him. Most of the guests ignore him, fortunately. He converses with the other secretaries and most of them are halfway to drunk.

Chanyeol is only slightly tipsy and that is the only thing he can afford tonight.

He is about to finish his third champagne when he sees him. The man is as tall as him, clad in expensive-looking designer couture collection or some like that, copper hair slicked back, making his sharp features looking even more intense. He moves with a casual grace that Chanyeol will never be able to achieve.

The man notices that Chanyeol is staring and he smirks. , that smirk goes straight to Chanyeol’s . Heat creeps up to Chanyeol face and the secretary immediately averts his gaze. Once he thinks that the stranger is not smirking at him, he finds Baekhyun on his side, whistling.

“Hot damn,” Baekhyun sighs.
“Mhm, hot damn,” Chanyeol agrees.

The two of them grins and clinks their glasses together.

The gala starts to wind down and Chanyeol is still only at that slightly tipsy stage. Baekhyun was cornering the new temp ten minutes ago and the two disappear not five minutes later. Chanyeol feels warm in his expensive-looking suit and he decides to take a walk along the hall to sober up before heading home.

That’s when he sees the stranger, again. The stranger has a couple of buttons of his shirt undone and he looks slightly disheveled, on his hand, he has a briefcase—

The stranger is a spy. . Chanyeol’s training did not come on protocol to face a spy—or maybe it did but he is not sober enough to remember it. The stranger looks startled but he easily smiles because he probably thinks oh it’s just that awkward kid.

“Stop right there,” yeah, Chanyeol, as if that’s going to stop the er.
“You know that you’re not a match for me,” the man replies in a slightly accented Korean.

Chanyeol does the next thing anyone would do—well, not really, he does the thing that any movie heroine would do—he charges for him. It doesn’t end well for him. The stranger easily knocks Chanyeol down. Chanyeol is not completely out of it, he can still see the way the stranger’s leather shoe shines in the dark walking away from him.

Oh, dear god, it will be a complete storm for the next few years.

Chanyeol is right, the next day, all hell broke loose in the embassy. Turns out, one of the representatives was seduced by a honeytrap. The spy managed to take an extremely classified documents. Every single staff and guests are being investigated, including Chanyeol.

He can’t really provide any important details because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. He doesn’t know anything because the er knocked him down. It is a complete mess.

Three months later, after back-and-forth between the ministers and politicians, they manage to keep everything under wraps. The media was paid to broadcast the fact X Minister from Y country was caught in an intimate setting with an at-least-a-decade-younger-than-him B-list actress.

The embassy pays for Chanyeol’s medical bill and therapist and all is well, again.

Or so Chanyeol thought.

It is an uneventful Friday and Chanyeol is just going out for a cup of Mocha Frappe when he sees the er again. The said er is wearing an apron, scribbling down on a cup while smiling at a patron in Chanyeol’s favorite corporate chain coffee shop.

“Hi, how can I help you?” the er beams at him, his smile is all teeth and almost innocent.

Chanyeol wants to knock him down, a payback for what he did three months ago (thanks for giving me hell, the government was breathing down his neck and questioning his royalty, what the ), but at the same time, Chanyeol is ting his pants (not literally) because the er might kill him with a trenta-size cup.

“Uh- never mind, I forgot my wallet,” Chanyeol grumbled.
“Oh, take this then, it’s a wrong order so it’s on me,” the er stops him, handing him a cup of unknown drink.

Yeap. Park Chanyeol, 28, cause of death: poisoned.

“No, thanks,” Chanyeol answers, stiffly.
“Take it,” the er is smiling and Chanyeol is scared.

He makes a hurried exit with a tall cup of unknown drink. When he is about to dump it, he sees something scribbled on the other side of the cup.

Call me – 010 xxxx xxxx – yf

(Chanyeol doesn’t call him, he texts him)

sadly, yes, i am still alive.