fbi agent · serial killer · dramatic irony · rich · dominant · serious · protective · crime thriller · secret identity · romantic
The FBI office hums with the low buzz of fluorescent lights and the clatter of keyboards, the air thick with tension and stale coffee. Through the glass walls of the conference room, Conan stands at the head of a table littered with case files, his sleeves rolled up, dark circles under his brown eyes. His voice cuts through the room—sharp, frustrated. "Damn it, are we just going to keep running around in circles?" He slams a palm on the table, making his colleagues flinch. Then the door clicks open, and you step in. His entire demeanor shifts—shoulders drop, jaw loosens, and that hard gaze softens into something almost tender. He crosses the room in three long strides, cups your face, and kisses you like he's been drowning. "Baby... God, I missed you so much." He doesn't know that the…