the gap moe is gojo satoru, number one gaming youtuber in japan, and how he crashes out loser style whenever people hit on his vlogger girlfriend. (that’s you, by the way.)
content: language, crude humor, crack fic, modern au, youtuber au, everyone is an adult, hints of reverse harem
SUMMARY: They said money is the solution, while you naively believed it wasn’t the answer to everything. Yet you found yourself in despair as your father’s fate fell in the hands of the town’s so-called “impartial” judge. You begged him to see reason, swearing your father was innocent. But there was another deception lurking beneath the surface.
WARNINGS: mature themes content (strictly MDNI), strong language, power imbalance, bribery, abuse of authority, manipulation, gaslighting, system corruption, implied stockholm syndrome, unprotected sex, fingering, impregnation kink, biting, skin sucking, dubcon ig?, abuse mention (not reader or jeonghan, just for the case), psychological disturbance, rough sex, heated kiss, pregnancy (mentioned), violence & death (major character death).
WC: 22k
add tags❦: bakery owner! reader, jeonghan is a little evil here, detective! seungcheol, seokmin as childhood friends, lawyer! joshua, possibly another love interest(?), widower jeonghan, implied docile reader, beauty n beast reference if you squint slightly, grief, ambiguous ending(?), morally grey characters, inaccurate legal system, wouldn't call this dark romance cuz this is so fucked up lmao
A/N: wow, the number of people who liked the preview was amazing. yall nasty fr, anyway happy reading (or not). disclaimer: fictionalized and inaccurate legal procedures for narrative purposes.
The smell of freshly baked goods filled the bakery. The lingering scent tingled your nose, though you were already used to it.
It had been almost four years since you began managing the bakery on your own. After your grandmother passed away, you reopened it yourself. You hadn’t planned to continue your higher education at the time, especially when your father had fallen ill, only recently recovering.
You greeted your regular customers as usual, the place busy from morning until noon. You were grateful that the bakery’s success repaid every sacrifice you had left behind. Even though becoming a lawyer had once been your greatest dream. Helping people, fighting for justice, but seeing customers happily buying your goods and complimenting them each day made you feel like the happiest person alive.
Still, deep inside, you were just a girl who once dreamed of becoming a good lawyer—someone who could help others obtain the justice they deserved.
So focused on your work, you didn’t notice Seokmin tailing you like an excited puppy until he startled you from behind.
“Goodness, Min,” you sighed, rolling your eyes as you stepped back into the pantry to refill the bread display. “Don’t scare me like that. What brings you here?” you asked without looking up at him.
Seokmin hummed, crossing his arms. “Can’t I stop by to see the lovely Miss Baker?” he chuckled, still following you as you busied yourself. “Say… are you perhaps available this weekend? I mean— I’d love to take you out for a nice dinner.”
When you didn’t respond immediately, too focused on arranging the croissants, he sighed dramatically.
“Okay… I’m sorry, just this once,” he continued, stepping in front of you so you had no choice but to look at him properly. “I know the last time you said you couldn’t, but please give me a chance.”
You softly sighed, patting your hands against your apron as you shook your head. “I’m sorry, Min. I just… I can’t, okay?” you said, moving to the cashier counter to busy yourself with nothing in particular. “I’m already occupied. I don’t know if I can make time for…”
You hesitated to mention the word love or relationship.
Seokmin had been your friend since childhood. Though he was two years younger, you always treated him as an equal. At first, you saw him as a younger brother, maybe you still did, even after he grew into a fine young man. Still, you couldn’t allow yourself to enter a relationship, let alone think of marriage. You had always been content with what you had… especially when you weren’t ready to leave your father’s side.
You had lost count of how many times Seokmin had tried to ask you out. His attraction toward you wasn’t subtle, he had always pined like a lovesick puppy. You, on the other hand, never took his feelings lightly. Even after rejecting him when you were younger, he remained persistent. You appreciated him deeply, as a friend, perhaps even as family, but your bond with him had always remained platonic.
Before you could even answer his many questions, your attention was already stolen by the customer standing in front of you.
Mr. Yoon.
He was one of your regulars. You stated the total, and he handed you the money, which you politely accepted. You weren’t sure when it began, but there had always been something melancholic about him. He usually bought the same thing, the castella cake, or simply a plain pound cake. On rare occasions, when he seemed to be in a particular mood, he would choose the lemon-flavored one. You never questioned it. In fact, you had memorised his preference so well that you made sure it was always restocked, just in case.
You thanked him, offering your usual polite smile as you watched him walk toward the door. You didn’t even realize you had been staring at his figure as it slowly disappeared outside until Seokmin called your name, snapping you out of your thoughts. Blinking, you looked at him. “If you keep startling me like that, you might as well help around here,” you huffed, pretending to count the notes in your hand.
It wasn’t that you were understaffed. But the bakery had been packed all day, with massive pre-orders and constant restocking. You felt a little guilty watching Seungkwan and Chan shuffle back and forth without proper breaks.
You had always greeted your customers cheerfully, even asking about their day with genuine warmth.
The only exception was that man.
Mr. Yoon, the judge of the courthouse in town. Known as one of the most respectable individuals in the district. You first met him years ago when you were still a student. He had been invited to your university for a legal workshop. You remembered admiring him back then. He was articulate, confident, someone who spoke about justice as if it were sacred.
After you dropped out, he became nothing more than a distant memory. Seeing him again years later felt… different.
It wasn’t as though you had any lingering attachment. Still, the unfortunate incident involving his late wife, the arson case the newspapers wrote about had changed him. At least, that was what people said. Perhaps that was why he carried that quiet heaviness around him now.
But it was none of your business.
“Seeing Judge Yoon this close was kind of scary, if I’m honest,” Seokmin said while helping pack the goods. “It feels like a shiver runs down my spine whenever I’m around him.”
You stilled, eyes still fixed on your list, not responding immediately. “Come on, you’re exaggerating. If anything, everyone probably feels that way because of his position.”
Seokmin only grinned, nudging you gently, and you returned a faint smile. “If I were serious like him, would you have accepted me?” he leaned closer, voice playful. “You know… my sex appeal would be more attractive if I used it properly.”
You rolled your eyes, though a small smile lingered as you moved away so he wouldn’t get distracted. “Less talk, more work. I like a hardworking man, Min.”
Chapter 1: The Corrupt Judge and His Sullied Court
People’s gossip was never something that interested you. Sometimes you overheard things here and there, but you rarely paid attention.
Although, you couldn’t deny it unsettled you whenever the subject revolved around Judge Yoon.
It wasn’t surprising for people to talk about scandalous marriages or secret affairs. But this time, the conversation was about something more serious.
“I heard about the recent case, Mrs. Kwon being accused of murdering her own husband?” one of the middle-aged women said suddenly, making you subconsciously listen as you stood with your back facing them. “They said in court she claimed it was self-defense. Apparently, she revealed that her late husband had been abusing her.”
“Oh dear, that’s horrible,” the other woman gasped. “I hope everything goes well… I wonder how she’s feeling now. It would be unfortunate if she fails to prove her innocence. All that fortune from her husband would eventually go back to his family.”
You hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, yet there you were, listening to every word as you gathered the ingredients you had just bought. The conversation eventually died down, and you hurried along, mentally cursing yourself for rejecting Seokmin’s offer to help.
It wasn’t that you thought their discussion was unnecessary.
If anything, it made you uneasy.
When you first heard that Mr. Kwon had died from murder, it genuinely shocked you. He had been one of your regular customers and, if you remembered correctly, an acquaintance of Seokmin’s. You could still vividly recall the bright smile he wore whenever he stood at your counter, proudly bragging about how smoothly his business was running.
Though he was one of the wealthiest men in town, he carried himself with humility, at least, that was how he appeared to you. He had a way of making you feel like you were no less important than he was. So hearing that he had allegedly abused his wife felt almost unbelievable.
You had met Mrs. Kwon a few times at the clothing boutique. She often spent lavishly on glamorous pieces. You were never one to judge someone’s lifestyle, but the news still came as a shock.
Almost too suspicious. Or perhaps you simply shouldn’t have judged a book by its cover.
When you returned to the bakery, it didn’t go unnoticed that your staff were slacking off in the back. You shook your head as you approached them, both far too invested in the newspaper spread across the table.
“Would you like your pay to be cut short?”
Your voice nearly made Seungkwan and Chan jump out of their skin as they scrambled back into position. Seungkwan was the first to break the tension, attempting to smooth things over with a dramatic whistle. “Oh dear, I think I might’ve forgotten how to make pain au chocolat—do you know where the recipe is, Chan?”
“I seriously don’t know, man,” Chan agreed smoothly, wiping an already spotless surface with his rag.
You sighed, shaking your head before picking up the newspaper they had been so absorbed in. Your eyes skimmed over the article.
Ah.
Of course.
A small column near the top mentioned the recent court case. You were certain details like this weren’t meant to be public, yet here it was in ink.
Mrs. Kwon’s case.
According to the article, she had been sentenced only to probation. Which meant the court had acknowledged her claim of self-defense. Meaning… the allegations about her husband’s abuse were true after all. You weren’t sure how to process it. It felt unreal. Yet, in the end, it didn’t matter anymore, Mr. Kwon was already dead.
Still, something inside you twisted uneasily.
Just a week ago, he had been standing at your counter, smiling brightly. You had always assumed he was a kind man. Seeing this revelation in print felt almost impossible to reconcile. Your eyes drifted toward the familiar surname printed beneath the article. The reporter had made it clear that the case was handled under Judge Yoon.
That name always lingered somewhere in your mind, though you could never quite pinpoint why. Perhaps it was simply because you saw him at the bakery so often. Standing near someone of his caliber had always felt surreal. Even meeting prosecutors or judges once in your life carried a certain weight.
The desire to become one of them had already died long ago.
You folded the newspaper and set it aside, returning to your stock work while your staff resumed whispering about the news.
“Man, I can’t believe Mr. Kwon was that kind of person,” Chan murmured as he arranged the trays.
“I know, right?” Seungkwan replied, hands busy shaping pastries. “I never imagined someone we knew could turn out like that. What’s crazier is that I saw his wife shopping at the jewelry boutique the other day like she didn’t have a care in the world. Then boom— murder.”
That was enough.
You cleared your throat deliberately, and their chatter died instantly. There was no use crying over spilled milk now.
──
Your life had always been simple, you preferred it that way.
Though that never stopped people from running their mouths, especially in a neighborhood like yours. They often commented that your life had been “robbed” by your sick father, as if you hadn’t chosen to drop out of your studies to care for him yourself. As if sacrifice had not been your own decision.
After all, he was your only family.
Sure, it had been years since then, yet some still criticized your choice to remain a bakery owner instead of pursuing a “more respectable” profession, especially as a woman in this era.
You had grown used to it.
But you would never allow them to speak badly about your papa. He was everything you had left after your grandmother passed away. That was why you chose to continue the business, pouring everything you had into rebuilding it. And now, seeing familiar faces return each day, watching customers smile at the taste of your pastries, it felt worth it.
The bakery was filled with warmth and sweetness.
At your age, it was only natural for people to question your marital status — a topic you always brushed off with a polite smile. It was rather nosy of them, prying into matters that did not concern them. So what if you chose not to settle down?
It hadn’t gone unnoticed that a few bachelors had shown interest in you, but you politely declined before anything could even begin. Most people found you odd, perhaps they always had. Even when you were younger, you had been too engrossed in books, too eager to learn and discover more.
The only man you allowed close was Seokmin. He was perhaps the only one who never attempted strange advances or crossed lines. Even after being rejected more times than you could count, he continued to respect your boundaries.
When he suddenly entered the bakery, his face looked unusually troubled. Before you could even greet him, he grasped your arms gently, as if steadying you or himself, while carefully choosing his words. He called your name softly.
“Listen to me… I need you to stay calm. Just listen to what I’m about to say.”
You stared at him, confused, searching his expression for any hint of what was coming. Your heart began pounding, a nervous rhythm echoing in your ears.
He wasn’t joking.
“Your father…”
The rest blurred. The moment he uttered the words of arrest, accusation, embezzlement, and everything else drowned in a loud buzzing inside your head. The details slipped past you, lost somewhere between disbelief and fear.
Your papa has been arrested for embezzlement. It didn’t make sense. None of it did.
You didn’t waste a second. There was nothing you wanted more than to see your father immediately.
At the detention centre, where your papa was now being held, the sight of him behind the metal barrier made your heart clench painfully. His face brightened the moment he saw you and Seokmin approaching.
“Papa!” You rushed forward, fingers curling around the bars as if you could reach him through sheer will. Your chest felt unbearably heavy at the sight of him confined like this.
“My dearest… thank God you’re safe,” your father sighed in relief.
Safe?
You were the one falling apart.
“____, you shouldn’t worry about me—”
“Please, Papa,” you interrupted quickly, shaking your head. “This is serious. Of course I need to be involved.” Your brows furrowed. “I’m not a child anymore. You should be worrying about yourself. How did this even happen?”
Your eyes scanned him anxiously. He looked physically fine, healthier than he had been two years ago, but that didn’t stop your mind from spiraling. Stress alone could undo his recovery.
Your father gently placed his palm over yours against the cold barrier, grounding you.
“My dear, take care of yourself,” he said softly. “You mustn’t fret over me. We can hire an attorney…”
His gaze shifted to Seokmin, giving him a meaningful nod just as the officer called for the end of visitation.
“Take care of her for me.” Before you could say another word, your papa was already being led away. The metal door shut with a sound that echoed too loudly in your chest.
“Hey—it’s alright,” Seokmin murmured, gently turning you to face him as you stood frozen. “I’ll help you, okay? I’ll hire an attorney for your father. We’re in this together.”
Your expression softened, though you slowly shook your head, much to his visible disappointment.
“No, Min… I can’t do that to you.” Your voice trembled slightly. “Your family already helped us when Papa was ill. And when I reopened the bakery…”
You couldn’t ask for more. Seokmin’s family had always been better off financially. They had never once made you feel small for it. His parents adored you, yet accepting more help felt dangerously close to indebting yourself.
And you hated feeling indebted.
Seokmin’s hands tightened gently around yours as he called your name. “Please let me help. I want to do this. I mean it.”
You hesitated. In a situation like this, you couldn’t afford an incompetent attorney.
After a long moment, you nodded.
“…Alright.”
──
In the Union States of Sebong, there was a man who directed the courthouse under government administration while quietly collecting profit for himself.
His name was Yoon Jeonghan. In posterity, he would be remembered as the Collector.
No one ever understood how he determined the outcomes of his cases, whether the accused were found guilty or not. It hardly concerned honor. If you had money, you were saved. But even that did not guarantee your life. That decision belonged to corruption itself.
No one dared to question him.
Yoon Jeonghan was regarded as the most respectable man in town. Therefore, once his verdict was spoken, it was final. In the courtroom, Jeonghan liked to believe that every sin committed passed through his hands alone. He decided who was guilty. He decided who was innocent. And if they paid enough to be acquitted, then their crimes would be permitted.
Only cash would do.
Well… at least in hell.
He did not consider himself greedy. After all, wasn’t he helping those in need? In the end, they should all understand that their lives depended on him.If they wanted salvation, they would pay the proper fee.
Jeonghan adjusted his judicial gown as he prepared to enter the courtroom for the next case. The doors opened at his silent command. The room stilled. Prosecutors, attorneys, defendants, and spectators rose to their feet in respect.
He took his seat, face stoic, voice low and neutral.
“Now,” he said calmly, “let the trial begin.”
You tensed in your seat, sitting rigidly on the wooden bench with your fingers clasped tightly in your lap as your father stood before the court. He looked smaller somehow. Not physically, but diminished under the weight of accusation.
What you hadn’t expected was that Judge Yoon would be assigned to your father’s case.
You had to remind yourself that he was not the quiet regular customer who bought castella cake from your counter. Not the man you occasionally admired from afar.
Down here, beneath the towering ceiling of the courtroom, he felt different.
Intimidating. Distant. Powerful.
And you felt very, very small. You had heard the whispers before, that defendants prayed never to fall under Judge Yoon’s trial. They called him ruthless, though the public preferred a more refined word.
Impartial.
He carried that reputation flawlessly.
And yet, despite everything you had heard, you silently prayed that this time. Just this once, the case would favor your father.
You needed his innocence to be proven, and him to come home.
As the trial progressed, your heart remained heavy with distress and unease. Sleep had abandoned you entirely these past few nights. For now, the bakery was left in the capable hands of Seungkwan and Chan while you dedicated yourself to gathering every possible record, financial statements, receipts, testimonies — anything that could support your father’s innocence.
You have done everything.
When the opposing counsel finally rose to speak, your stomach twisted.
You couldn’t help but frown at the confident cadence of his voice, at the certainty dripping from every word he uttered. His client sat beside him, posture relaxed, almost assured as if victory had already been promised.
That unsettled you.
You weren’t supposed to feel doubt.
Not when you knew your father was innocent.
“Your Honour,” the prosecutor began, voice clear and unwavering, “the evidence will show that this was neither a mistake nor a misunderstanding. This was a deliberate, long-term scheme of embezzlement.”
He paced slowly as he spoke. “We will present the paper trail—the bank transfers, the altered receipts, and the final destination of those funds: the defendant’s own pocket.”
A pause.
“At the conclusion of this trial, we will ask this court to hold him accountable for this grave breach of trust.”
The words echoed in the chamber, heavier than they had any right to be.
You felt your fingers tighten against each other in your lap.
Deliberate. Long-term scheme. Embezzlement.
It sounded so certain when spoken aloud.
The defense attorney rose slowly, adjusting his spectacles. “Your Honour,” he began, voice firm but measured, “the prosecution presents a compelling story. Thus, a story is not a conviction.”
A murmur rippled faintly through the gallery.
“The transfers cited required dual authorization. My client did not possess unilateral access to those accounts. Furthermore, the alleged altered receipts were processed through a third-party accountant, one who has yet to be summoned before this court.”
The prosecutor scoffed lightly. “Deflection.”
The defense ignored him.
“My client built that company from the ground up. Twenty-two years of work. If he wished to steal, he would not do so through traceable bank transfers under his own name.”
Your father finally stepped forward.
His voice trembled, not from guilt, but from exhaustion. “I would never steal from my own partners,” he said. “That business fed my family. It fed theirs too. I have nothing to gain from destroying it.”
Your throat tightened.
For the first time since the trial began, the room felt human.
All eyes slowly shifted toward the bench.
Judge Yoon had not moved once. His hands were folded neatly before him. His expression is unreadable.
He studied your father.
Then he spoke. “Mr. ____,” he said evenly, “you claim loyalty.”
“Yes, Your Honour.”
“You claim integrity.”
“Yes.”
“And yet,” Jeonghan continued softly, “the funds did arrive in an account bearing your name.”
Silence.
Your father swallowed. “They were transferred without my knowledge. I reported the discrepancy.”
“After how long?”
A pause. “…Three weeks.”
The courtroom shifted. Jeonghan leaned back slightly. “Three weeks,” he repeated.
The way he said it made it sound like a confession.
Your fingers dug into your palms.
The defense attorney quickly intervened. “Your Honour, my client needed time to verify the irregularities before escalating—”
Judge Yoon raised one hand. The entire courtroom went silent instantly. “I find,” he said calmly, “that the evidence presented thus far establishes sufficient ground to treat the defendant as a potential flight risk.”
The words didn’t register at first. Your head snapped up.
What?
The defense attorney stiffened. “Your Honour?”
“Pending further examination of financial records,” Jeonghan continued, voice cold as winter steel, “the defendant’s bail privileges are hereby revoked.”
The courtroom erupted.
Your heart stopped. “No—!” you nearly rose from your seat.
Your father turned toward you, shock written across his face as two officers approached him.
“Your Honour, this is highly irregular!” the defense protested. “My client has complied with every summons—”
Judge Yoon’s gaze sharpened. “Compliance,” he said quietly, “does not erase capability.”
The room fell into stunned silence again. That was it. That was the ruthlessness people whispered about.
He simply decided. The reality bent.
Jeonghan adjusted his sleeve. “This court will recess for thirty minutes,” he declared. “Proceedings will resume thereafter.”
His gavel struck once. Final and absolute.
As people began to move in frantic confusion, he stood from his seat. For the briefest second, you swore that his eyes met yours, you find his eyes were not apologetic or cruel. Just… assessing. As if he was calculating something. Then he turned and disappeared through the chamber doors, leaving you frozen on the bench.
──
The trial continued, though the entire session blurred together in your mind.
Arguments were dismissed one after another. Evidence you were certain was clear enough seemed to crumble under the opposing attorney’s effortless rebuttals. Every time hope rose in your chest, it was quietly struck down.
You kept telling yourself this wasn’t the end. It couldn’t be.
Yet when you finally heard Judge Yoon deliver the verdict, your head snapped up.
“This court has reviewed the exhaustive ledger entries, the third-party forensic audits, and the defense’s claims of ‘procedural irregularities.’ However, the law does not operate on intentions that remain silent for three weeks. It operates on facts.”
Your throat went dry. Your gaze flickered anxiously between your father and Seokmin.
“The facts show a systematic diversion of five hundred and eighty thousand dollars. It shows a breach of fiduciary duty that crippled a twenty-two-year-old institution.”
The judge paused.
The silence in the courtroom felt suffocating.
“Therefore, on the count of Grand Larceny and Embezzlement in the First Degree, this court finds the defendant—”
Your heart pounded violently.
“—GUILTY.”
The word struck the room like a physical weight.
You watched as your father’s expression did not change, but his head lowered slightly. That small movement shattered something inside you. Across the courtroom, the opposing party erupted in quiet satisfaction, their lawyer already gathering his papers with a victorious air. Meanwhile, you sat frozen in your seat, the world around you collapsing into noise and silence all at once.
Judge Yoon had already risen from his chair. The gavel had fallen. The case was closed.
Just like that.
──
Your heart pounded violently in your chest as you ran toward the estate gates. Your dress and cardigan clung to your skin, drenched from the rain as you rushed toward Mr. Yoon’s residence begging for the fifth time to plead your papa’s innocence. You had called out to him when he declared your father guilty of embezzling a large sum of money, a crime you were certain he had been framed for. Your papa would never do such a thing. He was the gentlest and the sweetest man you had ever known.
It couldn’t be happening.
Even when you tried to approach the judge as he exited the courtroom, an unease settled deep in your stomach. The case had been decided in a single day. It was unfair. No one listened to you. Evidence was dismissed as if it meant nothing, when it was obvious some high-ranking bastard had set your father up.
It was heartbreaking.
Your papa was the only family you had aside from your bakery. When he fell ill during your studies, you dropped out to care for him. He was your world. And so you continued your grandmother’s bakery, running it just as she once had. Your knees ached from kneeling too long. Your fists rested against them as you bowed your head before the estate gates. The rain poured relentlessly, yet you remained there for nearly two hours, desperate to speak with Mr. Yoon. What had your papa done to deserve this? Was it about money? Of course you didn’t have enough to bribe him.
But why your papa?
The men who framed him were celebrating their victory while your father bore the blame.
You needed answers. You would do anything to prove them wrong.
Your father had only just recovered from his illness. You never wanted him to work again, but he insisted. Maybe you should have tried harder, then none of this would have happened.
The estate doors opened. A housekeeper approached, likely to dismiss you as usual but instead, a pair of polished leather shoes stopped in front of you.
You didn’t dare look up.
Your soaked fists trembled against your knees. You weren’t sure if you had any tears left, or if they had simply blended into the rain.
Then something shielded you from the downpour.
An umbrella.
Mr. Yoon stood above you, one hand holding it over your head, the other tucked neatly inside his robe. He did not look surprised. “Get up,” his familiar voice said calmly.
You slowly lifted your head.
“We’ll discuss this inside.”
You felt awkward changing into the nightgown one of his female employees had handed you. A shawl was draped over your shoulders, a gesture of courtesy from him. Now warmer, you sat quietly with a cup of tea cradled between your palms, staring into the amber liquid absentmindedly.
It was late.
Even if you returned home now, no one would be waiting. Ever since your papa was imprisoned, the house had felt unbearably hollow. The cell must be colder than the rain you endured outside his estate. The food, if they even fed him properly, would be nothing like the warm bread you baked every morning.
God… you just wanted him to be alright.
Your thoughts spiraled into darker possibilities. Prison was never kind. Guilty or not, men often met terrible ends there. So lost in your mind, you didn’t hear Mr. Yoon calls your name more than once. You blinked, startled, quickly mumbling an apology. When you tried to speak, your words got tangled. “Why… the evidence was there. You didn’t even… hear us out. Why?”
Silence settled between you.
He did not look offended nor surprised. “Why?” he repeated smoothly, placing his cup down. “The case was decided. The defendant’s side presented their argument well. Their attorney was… quite persuasive.”
You frowned in disbelief.
Of course. That would be his answer.
“But Mr. Yoon, it was obvious my father had nothing to do with it,” your voice trembled, almost pleading. “He was framed. Used by those—”
He lifted a hand, silencing you effortlessly. “The case is closed. I have no intention of reopening it.”
Before he could rise again, you spoke. “…You took a bribe from them, didn’t you?”
Your eyes didn’t waver.
Something in your gaze despite your soaked, pitiful state caught his attention.
He thought that it’s either you were bold or simply foolish. Either way, he decided to entertain you. “What makes you think that?” His expression remained unreadable.
You swallowed, intimidated by his composure but pressed on. “I heard rumors. I didn’t want to believe them. But I looked into your past cases.” Your voice steadied slightly. “There’s a pattern.”
For a moment, he studied you. Then a slow, faint smile appeared on his face, “So you finally completed your assignment. Impressive. As expected from a law student.”
There’s a pause in between. “Though you are a dropout now.”
Your breath hitched at the sudden revelation. You wanted nothing more than to understand how he had unearthed pieces of your past you thought were long buried.
He began listing your full name. Your birthplace, your former university, your academic standing and last but not least, your withdrawal records. Basically your entire history.
Cold crept up your spine.
You wanted to ask how he knew, but no words came.
“I have my ways,” he said lightly. “This isn’t the first time someone has accused me. And you’ll notice…” He took another sip of tea, responding to your accusations, “I never directly deny it.”
Your stomach twisted at that. So he wasn’t even ashamed.
“Go on,” he gestured lazily. “Threaten me, expose me, harm me. Others have tried but I’m not sure about you.”
But you did none of that. Instead, you only lowered your head. “…Please release my papa. He was wronged.”
He watched you carefully. Most people would’ve shouted at him. Threatened him with a murderer or arson, maybe threw chairs too.
But you only knelt before him at the gate, in front of his estate, looking docile and desperate. Like a little kitten seeking shelter after getting caught in the rain.
He sighed softly, tilting his head slightly. “You want me to help your father?” He leaned back, fingers interlocked over his knee. “Then pay the fee for your life, little bird. Salvation isn’t free, you should already know how it works.”
You stared at him, stunned by how openly he admitted it. He wasn’t even trying to deny it. Those bastards who framed your father must have paid thousands to secure their victory enough to bury your father behind the iron bars. So logically, you would need to offer double that amount.
Obviously, you didn’t have that kind of money.
The bakery barely covered expenses. The staff salaries and maintenance. The lawyer you already hired though you paid more than that. Your family had never been wealthy. Just ordinary people trying to live quietly in town.
Your silence answered him.
Jeonghan observed you for a moment and seemed to understand. He had only presented the option to demonstrate how the world functioned. He already knew you couldn’t afford it.
He rose from his seat, “I thought so.”
When you saw him move to the door, panic surged through you as he walked toward the door. His unreadable face made it clear, he would not consider it unless it benefited him.
“Judge Yoon, wait!”
If he walked out now, everything was over.
Something inside you just snapped. “Please—just this once—I—” Your voice faltered. Then the words tumbled out before you could stop them. “I’ll do anything!”
His steps halted just before reaching the doorknob. Slowly, he turned. “Be careful with those words, birdie,” His voice lowered. “Those words shouldn’t be used so carelessly. They carry weight.”
You didn’t care and didn’t know what else to offer. Pride might as well had no place here. Without hesitation, you knelt again. Hands resting on your thighs, eyes lowered to the floor. At that moment, humiliation and dignity meant nothing.
Only your papa mattered.
“…I mean it, Mr. Yoon,” your voice cracked. “I’ll do anything to prove my papa’s innocence. Just this once. I won’t ask again.”
He stared down at you. Your trembling lips, your clasped hands and the way you refused to look up. Something twisted inside him. It had been a long time since he felt this… entertained. And he loved the sight before him.
Anything huh?
He stepped closer. Then slowly knelt in front of you. His thumb brushed against your cheek, wiping away a tear with deliberate gentleness. “Don’t cry, little bird,” he cooed softly, almost tenderly. “Tears don’t suit you.”
His gaze darkened, there’s a pause in between as he continues. “And kneeling…” His thumb lingered under your chin, tilting your face upward just enough. “Though I must admit, it is rather fitting.”
His lips curved faintly. “Still, I’d prefer you in other positions.”
It made you stiffen slightly, caught off guard by the sudden shift in his tone. Yet you didn’t pull away. You weren’t even sure you were allowed to.
“Now,” he murmured, voice softer, “did you truly mean what you said just now?”
You could have sworn you saw the faintest grin tug at his lips.
You nodded slowly, and his smile widened. Not close to amusement nor pleasant. Something darker, like he had planned something evil behind those eyes. You felt a chill creep up your spine. In that moment, it truly felt as though you had struck a bargain with the devil himself. Maybe you should have thought about this. But what choice did you have when you were already standing at such a disadvantage?
His gaze lingered over you, studying every reaction. Your eyes. The slight tremble in your brows. The way your lips parted unconsciously. He exhaled quietly as his slender fingers traced from your cheek down to your bare neck. The nightgown clung softly against your skin, the very one he had provided after the rain.
You realized then that he had planned this comfort far too smoothly.
“I must say, birdie…” His voice lowered, almost silk-like. “You look rather exquisite in my late wife’s nightgown.”
Your breath faltered. Only then did the realization fully settle in. You were wearing his wife’s clothing. You hadn’t thought much of it earlier, too consumed with desperation to question the wardrobe he kept. But now, standing this close to him, the fact felt intimate in a way that made your stomach twist.
So this was why he owned a woman’s nightgown.
His fingers drifted to the shawl resting on your shoulders, the one he had draped there himself. Slowly, almost thoughtfully, he toyed with the fabric between his fingers.
The same shawl meant to keep you warm. You hadn’t even noticed how close he had moved. His face hovered inches from yours now, his presence overwhelming, his eyes never once breaking contact. You forgot how to breathe. You couldn’t remember the last time you had stood this close to a man, close enough to feel the warmth of him, close enough to sense the quiet control radiating from his stillness.
And he knew it.
“I’m not a good man, as you can see…” His voice lingered, gaze lowering in a way that made your skin prickle. “Perhaps you’ve already realized that, but I can be gentle… if I choose to.”
Your eyes met his grin. It was a smile, yes, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Those held something unhinged. Something close to dark, that made your pulse thunder in your ears. You had never felt fear like this before. People always exaggerated when they spoke about walking into hell. But if anyone ever asked you what it felt like, you would describe this moment.
And this was only the beginning.
You hadn’t even touched the fire yet.
The tip of the iceberg.
Suddenly, he yanked the shawl from your shoulders. You let out a soft gasp, instinctively clutching the thin fabric of the nightgown as though you had been exposed.
“Say it again.” His tone shifted, no longer smooth, but commanding. It was controlled and final. “Did you truly mean what you said?”
His fingers tightened slightly around the discarded shawl. “I would appreciate it if you didn’t make me repeat myself. Just because I said I can be gentle… doesn’t mean I am patient.”
Your lips parted, breath trembling. “Y–yes,” you managed, voice barely steady. “I’ll do anything. Please… save my father.”
You didn’t even realize you had maintained eye contact the entire time.
It felt as though he was pulling the words out of you without touching your mouth at all. Like you were stepping forward willingly, even as every instinct told you to run.
And there he stood. The devil himself.
Your karma. Your judge. Your biggest nightmare.
Yoon Jeonghan was the very definition of a blessing in disguise.
He grinned, almost too satisfied with what you had told him. His fingers lifted your chin, prompting you to look up at him as though he were inspecting you. “Just to make sure… are you being courted, Miss ___?” he asked lightly. “I figured a woman of your age would be married by now. It’s a shame such a lovely lady like you hasn’t.”
Hesitating, you slowly shook your head. “...N-no… I wasn’t… and never…”
You swore you saw the glint in his eyes sharpen. Whatever idea had formed in his mind was not something you were thrilled about.
“Ah,” he hummed. “You’re one of a kind. I honestly thought someone had already taken you off the shelves.” Then he leaned closer, too close for your liking yet you stayed still, not daring to make the wrong move and risk upsetting the man before you. “I’ll need to make sure of something…” he murmured against your ear, the warmth of his breath making you shudder.
Suddenly he dipped his head, his face brushing near your jaw as he nuzzled into the crook of your neck.
A soft gasp slipped past your lips.
His hands wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer, his grip anything but gentle. At that moment, you almost forgot how to breathe as he inhaled your scent.
“M-Mr. Yoon?!” you whispered weakly.
He shushed you at once.
His hold tightened. Your breath hitched as he began trailing soft kisses along your neck. You hated how the closeness made something unfamiliar stir within you.
It started softly. But gradually it became greedy.
He pulled your body flush against his, arms wrapped firmly around your waist as he pressed open-mouthed kisses along the column of your throat. A quiet moan escaped you before you could stop it. Your eyes widened. You had never expected a sound like that to come from yourself. Jeonghan chuckled lowly at your reaction, continuing to scatter hot kisses along your neck before moving down to your collarbone. His fingers tugged slightly at the shoulder of the nightgown, pulling the sleeve lower.
He grew rougher with each passing second, as if he wanted to devour you whole. You bit your lip, struggling to keep any more sounds from escaping. After a while, he finally pulled back, studying the marks he had left behind like an artist admiring his work.
You felt flushed—hot, exposed, and strangely dazed.
A sly smile curved on his lips as he leaned close again, your noses brushing. “If I had known you were like this,” he murmured softly, “I would have swept you away right there from the bakery.”
You blinked, sharply inhaling at his words.
Seeing this side of Yoon Jeonghan awakened a dangerous thought in the back of your mind. You had stepped into territory far more dangerous than you ever imagined.
Chapter 2: The Doting Father and His Daughter
That night, you ended up sleeping at Yoon’s estate with one eye open the entire time. When you finally returned to the bakery the next morning, you were greeted by a cluster of worried faces, including Seokmin’s. It seemed your sudden disappearance had sent everyone into a panic, searching for you like anxious hens.
You only brushed it off with a small smile. You could never tell them you had been at Yoon’s estate.
“Um, actually… there’s a gentleman looking for you,” Chan spoke up, causing you to frown in confusion.
Curious, you stepped out to meet him. A man stood there in a neatly pressed suit, offering you a gentle smile. He looked calm and warm—almost the complete opposite of Jeonghan.
“You must be Miss ___,” he said, extending a hand.
You hesitated for a moment before accepting it. Instead of a firm handshake, he simply held your knuckles lightly, far gentler than expected. “Yes… yes, that’s me,” you replied, returning a faint smile. “Is there a reason you’re looking for me?”
“Ah,” he said politely, “I suppose Judge Yoon has already informed you beforehand. Hasn’t he?”
Oh.
You remembered then.
Mr. Yoon had mentioned that a new attorney would be appointed for your father’s case.
You were surprised he had helped you this easily. Too easily. Something about it made your stomach twist. You knew better than to believe this was kindness.
Nothing from Yoon Jeonghan came without a price.
But he did it. He really did.
You just hated knowing the price you would eventually have to pay.
“With that,” the man continued gently, “my name is Joshua. I will be representing your father’s case from this point forward.”
And just like that, Joshua—now your father’s newly appointed attorney had entered your life.
The rest of the day passed by in a blur. Even though you were physically present, going through your usual routine, your mind drifted somewhere else entirely.
Too many possibilities. Too many outcomes.
You knew you had to see Mr. Yoon again tonight. Perhaps you could ask him more about everything. Somehow, it all felt unreal—too easy, too good to be true. Your heart refused to calm down. If anything, the unease only grew stronger. No one knew about this arrangement except the two of you. Yoon Jeonghan and you. That night, you really did meet him again, just as the two of you had agreed for further discussion, yet somehow, you had a bad feeling about this meeting.
Was this how Judge Yoon handled every arrangement tied to bribery?
But you weren’t like those people. You hadn’t bribed him.
Instead, you had offered yourself willingly to do anything. That was what you told him, yet even now, you weren’t sure what you were actually willing to give. The thought alone made your stomach twist in discomfort, especially when you knew you couldn’t possibly repay him with money. You glanced around his study as you waited for him, examining the room and its surroundings. That was what the maid had told you to do when you first arrived.
Obviously, he was a busy man.
You couldn’t expect someone like him to spare much attention for a matter like yours, someone who had come here desperately begging him to release a father accused of a crime he didn’t commit.
It was pathetic, really.
You refused to accept defeat even when it seemed painfully clear that the odds were against you. So why had Judge Yoon even bothered to pay attention to someone like you?
Your thoughts scattered the moment the door suddenly opened.
The devil himself had arrived.
Mr. Yoon stepped into the room, looking as though he had just finished dealing with something important. “I apologize for the delay, Miss ___,” he said casually, tossing his coat onto the chair behind his desk. Then his eyes landed on you. “Now,” he continued coolly, “spit it out. What can you offer me?”
Something about Mr. Yoon was unsettling. He could combine politeness and cruelty within the same sentence.
You blinked, caught off guard by the bluntness of his question. “Pardon?”
Mr. Yoon began unbuttoning the cuffs of his sleeves before rolling them up, exposing his forearms. “You heard me,” he said flatly. “Don’t pretend you didn’t.”
He stepped closer. Close enough that heat rushed to your face.
You didn’t know what to say.
Yes, you had agreed to this arrangement, but the thought of what it might truly mean suddenly made your resolve waver. A cold feet.
He could take your bakery. Your savings. Everything you owned.
But offering yourself—
That possibility had never crossed your mind when you first begged him. And now you are here. Standing in front of him, unsure of what you had truly agreed to.
“Or perhaps,” he murmured, his voice lowering, “you’re pretending you didn’t know what you signed up for… little bird.”
Suddenly, his hand gripped your waist. You gasped as he effortlessly lifted you onto the edge of his study desk. His arms caged you in on both sides, trapping you there as his gaze bore into yours—dark and unreadable. His hand moved to loosen his tie, the knot sliding down as he undid two buttons of his shirt.
The sound of his slow exhale made your body tense. It was obvious now that he was in a foul mood. And he had no patience left to entertain hesitation.
“I told you, I’m not a patient man…” he murmured lowly, leaning closer.
You felt his hands creep up along your thighs, the touch almost sensual, and instinctively you stopped him. His lips tugged into a smirk at your reaction.
“My, my, ___,” he drawled teasingly, “you’re making me look like a monster with that reaction.”
He chuckled softly as he withdrew his hands, resting them back on the desk on either side of you. His head tilted slightly as he studied your expression.
“You knew the price for this,” he continued. “If you can’t seem to pay the fee… you might as well pay with something else.”
His gaze lingered meaningfully as he leaned close to your ear. “…or rather,” he whispered, “someone else.”
With a casual flick, he popped open the button of your dress collar. The fabric loosened instantly beneath his fingers, and you gasped, hurriedly clutching it closed again. He chuckled under his breath, almost mockingly, as though amused by how flustered you were. “You act like a virgin.”
Then, unexpectedly, his expression shifted. “I have a daughter,” he said suddenly.
That made you pause.
“…She has always liked the castella cake I buy for her. Which is probably why you realized by now why I always purchase that specific one from your little bakery.”
You stayed quiet, unsure how to react. You knew he had been married once, but you had never heard that he had a daughter. The thought that someone like him was actually a father felt strangely unsettling.
“Her mother and I were arranged in a loveless marriage,” he continued casually. “I never felt any romantic attachment to her. But we had a child nonetheless.”
His fingers brushed along your cheek, and you shivered slightly at the unexpected gentleness of the touch. “But I do dote on my daughter,” he said, almost thoughtfully. “Quite a lot, actually. I cherish her.”
He paused for a moment before continuing. “Her nanny has grown rather old over the years. I’ve been looking for a replacement.”
Your brows lifted slightly in surprise. You weren’t sure if he was implying what you thought he was. You didn’t even know how old his daughter was.
He noticed the faint relief crossing your face. Then his hand suddenly slid back over your dress. You yelped softly when his warm palms settled against your bare thighs.
“Oh, don’t look so relieved just yet,” he murmured with a low chuckle. “I still have my interests in you, little dove.” His voice rumbled with quiet amusement as his fingers traced lightly over your skin. “You belong to me now,” he continued, his gaze locking onto yours.
“For a lifetime.”
His hands slowly brushed along the inside of your thighs. He leaned closer until his lips were a hair’s breadth from yours. “I’m having a bad day dealing with some outdated fools,” he murmured. “The least you could do for me is be good.”
His nose brushed against your jaw as he inhaled deeply, as though savoring your scent. You instinctively held your breath. One of his hands pinned your wrist against the desk while the other settled at the back of your nape.
His lips curved into a wicked smirk, his eyes glinting with satisfaction. “You like this, don’t you?”
His hands slid higher, fingers grazing the lacy edge of your panties. A soft gasp escaped you before you could stop it.
He hushed you immediately, his voice dropping into something almost coaxing. “You signed up for this, sweetheart,” he murmured. “I think it’s far too late to back out now. Think about your precious papa sitting in that cell.”
This bastard.
He had done that on purpose, just to remind you.
You frowned, and he seemed to enjoy that reaction far too much.
Leaning closer, he pressed soft kisses against the edge of your ear before trailing them slowly down your jaw. He wasn’t touching you intimately, not truly, but it felt like he was.
Every brush of his fingers, every whisper against your skin set your nerves on fire. He was stoking something inside you, a slow-burning heat you weren’t sure you wanted to extinguish.
You weren’t even sure you could.
“Come now, little dove,” he breathed, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear.
“Are you going to be good for me… or do I need to make you?” His teeth grazed your earlobe, and you yelped softly. A biting tease, a silent threat. He wanted to hear you say it. And if you didn’t, he looked entirely prepared to make you beg.
His fingers slip beneath the fabric of your panties, touching your bare skin for the first time. Your whimper fills the air, a sweet sound that makes his blood sing with hunger. He feels the heat of you, the slickness of your folds. “Dirty girl, already this wet while waiting for me?” he taunts you, the soft pad of his thumb pressed against your clit, the way your body yields to his touch. It’s intoxicating, addictive, and he knows he’s found something he wants to possess completely.
Your face grew warm at the realization, feeling embarrassment rush over your entire face that you were capable of such a thing. You were definitely ashamed of it.
His fingers stroke through your folds, teasing, exploring—learning what makes you gasp and what makes you moan. “You’re so soft, so responsive. I can feel you throbbing for my touch already.” He continued to circle your clit with the pad of his finger, applying the barest pressure just enough to make you ache for more. His other hand slides up your side, cupping the soft swell of your breast, thumb pressing over the peak of your nipple through the fabric of your dress. He can feel it stiffen under his touch.
Part of it was that you hated how your body responded to him in every way possible. You couldn’t help but shudder at every touch he gave, your voice betraying you with involuntary sighs and soft whimpers.
“Look at you,” he whispers, voice rough with desire. “Coming undone with the simplest touch. I’ve barely started, and you’re already panting for me.” His fingers dip lower, slipping between your folds, feeling your slick heat coat his skin. “I wonder how long it will take before you’re begging me for more?” He curls his fingers inside you, stroking your inner walls, feeling them clench around him. His palm grinds against your clit, the pressure delicious and maddening all at once. From the looks of it, he’s not going to let up, not until he’s had his fill.
And judging by the way your body responds, you might just let him have it. “Keep your eyes on me while I fuck my fingers into you, sweetheart,” he drawled, his voice almost commanding. His dark eyes stayed fixed on you. Your mouth fell open as you struggled to maintain eye contact while he worked you through it.
His fingers thrust deeper—harder, the obscene sound of your wetness filling the room. “Can feel you getting closer, your cunt tightening around me. You want to come, don’t you?” He taunts you as he leans in, brushing your ear, breath mingling with yours. “Come for me then, sweetheart.” With that, his fingers pump harder, faster—driving into you with a newfound urgency. He can feel you tensing, your walls fluttering around his invading digits, and he knows you’re close.
You gripped his shoulders, tightening around him as you finally got your release, coming undone hard enough that you moaned out his name.
“That’s it,” he praises, capturing your mouth in a searing kiss. He swallows your cries, drinking in the sweet sounds of your ecstasy. His tongue delves deep, tangling with yours as he claims you thoroughly. The kiss feels like more than simple desire. It’s as if he wants to devour you entirely, like he wants to crawl beneath your skin and stay there, chasing the heat and hunger only you seem able to give him.
When he finally breaks the kiss, you’re both left panting.
His eyes are dark, his pupils blown wide with desire, a wicked glint flickering in their depths. He’s not done with you yet. Not by a long shot. “Fuck… that was intense.”
He slips his fingers from you, bringing them to his lips. You watch, dazed and pleasure-drunk, as he slowly licks your essence from his skin. The way his eyes never leave yours only makes the sight more embarrassing, more intimate than it should be. “Tastes better than that sweet cake itself,” he confesses, a filthy smirk tugging at his lips.
“For someone so defiant like a kitty, you sure listen to me obediently.” He laughs softly, the sound edged with mockery.
His hands grasp your knees before he sharply spreads your legs wider, making you gasp. His gaze never leaves you, firm and unwavering. “From now on,” he says calmly, “you’ll cater to my daughter’s needs… and meet me like this every evening at six.”
With that, he captures your lips in another heated kiss. Your protest is muffled as he maneuvers you roughly against the desk.
The rest is history.
…
You had never had a child of your own, nor had you ever imagined caring for one. However, that didn’t mean you were bad with children.
So when you met the current nanny, a woman probably in her sixties, you couldn’t help but feel slightly surprised. She didn’t look nearly as fragile as Jeonghan had exaggerated. If anything, she seemed rather firm, strict even like someone who had managed the Yoon estate for many years.
It was clear she had experience.
You had no doubts about her abilities. If anything, your doubts lay with Jeonghan himself.
Whatever reason he had for suddenly assigning you the role of caring for his daughter felt unusual. Why would he entrust you with something so personal? Of all people, he should know better than to let a stranger become this close to his family.
The thought lingered quietly in your mind.
Once, when you had tried to pursue your original profession, you had worried it might someday put your family at risk. Perhaps that was why things had never worked out the way you had hoped.
Perhaps there had been a reason you never managed to follow that path.
As you listened to the rules she explained, you soon realized she wasn’t merely the young lady’s caretaker. She had been managing the Yoon estate for many years. You didn’t ask for further details, but it was clear she must know Jeonghan far better than most.
When she opened the door that presumably led to his daughter’s room, she began, “You will only need to prepare teatime for Miss Yoon. You don’t need to concern yourself with the rest of the household.”
You blinked as you glanced through the small opening of the door. From where you stood, you couldn’t see the girl clearly. She appeared to be sitting by the window, her figure faintly reflected in the glass, but the details of her face were indistinct.
“Then… may I ask?” you said cautiously. “How old is the young lady?”
Your question made the old woman hesitate.
It was subtle, but you noticed the way her shoulders stiffened as she tried to remain composed. “…She’s ten.”
That was all she said.
Something about the way she answered made suspicion stir within you. She had been sharp and confident before, yet now there was uncertainty in her voice, her eyes avoiding yours.
As if she were lying.
You brushed the thought aside, not wanting to make it a bigger issue than it was.
Everything should be manageable. You could balance your time between the bakery and this new responsibility. After all, Jeonghan wasn’t that cruel.
For now.
Soon, you would have to attend your father’s trial.
And then what?
Even if Jeonghan truly guaranteed your father’s innocence, you knew things could never return to the way they once were. You had already paid the price. There was no backing out now. You had chosen this yourself, after all. And yet… a quiet unease lingered in your chest, as though you had stepped onto a path that would never let you walk away.
Joshua handled the proceedings with remarkable efficiency.
The case was brought before a different judge that morning, an older man with silver hair and a stern expression who barely spared a glance at the spectators filling the small courtroom.
Documents were presented. Testimonies reviewed.
Joshua spoke calmly but firmly, pointing out the inconsistencies in the accusation that had placed your father behind bars in the first place. What had once looked like an open-and-shut case slowly unraveled before the court’s eyes.
By the end of the hearing, the truth was painfully obvious. Your father had been wrongfully accused.
The judge adjusted his spectacles before delivering the final verdict. “Given the evidence presented,” he said gravely, “the court finds no grounds to continue this prosecution.”
Your hands tightened around the wooden bench.
“The defendant is hereby cleared of all charges and released effective immediately.”
The gavel struck.
And just like that, your father was free.
Your heart suddenly felt lighter. The heavy weight that had been pressing against your chest for so long finally began to lift. Though you knew there were still many things waiting to unravel in the future, you couldn’t guarantee that life would ever return to normal after this.
All you could do was pray that the world would be kinder to you from now on. Although… that felt like too much to ask after bargaining with the devil.
Your father would be released properly soon enough. For now, you and Joshua stepped outside the courtroom together.
It wouldn’t be a lie to say that you were curious about how Jeonghan had managed to secure someone like Joshua as an attorney so quickly. Then again, a man like him probably had connections everywhere.
You wondered if Joshua knew what lurked behind Jeonghan’s deception.
“Thank you for everything, Attorney Hong,” you said, offering him a small smile. “You helped us a great deal.”
In return, he gave you his usual gentle smile.
“I already told you to just call me Joshua,” he said lightly. “But yes, it is my job.”
You couldn’t help but wonder more about him, whether he knew anything about the truth behind all of this. You searched his expression carefully for any hint of the kind of manipulation Jeonghan carried so effortlessly.
But there was none.
“I know this may not be my place to ask,” you began slowly, “but… do you and Judge Yoon know each other?”
Joshua chuckled softly as he adjusted his tie. “Ah, there’s no need to worry about that. We’ve known each other since we were students,” he replied. “So when he suddenly asked me for a favour… I’ll admit it was rather unusual coming from him.”
“Oh,” you murmured. “A favour, you mean?”
Joshua hummed thoughtfully. “He didn’t specify much. Only that there was a complicated case he thought would suit me.”
So that meant he was unaware of your situation… and of your arrangement with Jeonghan. Still, the thought of anyone else learning about it made unease stir within you.
“Miss ___?” Joshua’s gentle voice pulled you from your thoughts.
“Yes?”
“This may sound a little forward,” he said carefully, “but… is there someone waiting for you?”
You blinked, trying to process his question.
Seeing your confusion, he laughed softly, his expression charming and warm. “My apologies,” he clarified. “What I meant to ask is… are you currently seeing anyone?”
It took you a moment to respond before you shook your head with a faint smile. “No… there isn’t anyone like that waiting for me.”
Joshua smiled, almost with relief. “Then… would you mind if I sought to court you someday?”
That truly caught you off guard. You hadn’t expected such a question. It wasn’t the first time someone had expressed interest in you. There had been others before, even Seokmin once.
But that felt like a lifetime ago.
You hesitated before answering. “…I’m sorry, Joshua,” you said gently. “I don’t think I’m in the right place to pursue love or marriage right now.” You offered him an apologetic smile.
If you were being honest, you had considered such dreams once. But those hopes had faded long ago, first because of your father’s illness, and now because of your situation with Jeonghan.
Perhaps a life of your own family simply wasn’t meant for you.
Joshua accepted your rejection with remarkable grace. “I understand,” he said calmly. “Then I can only hope that if fate allows us to meet again… you might consider me with an open heart.”
You smiled in return, grateful for his kindness.
He reached for your hand and pressed a gentle kiss against your knuckles. “Do write to me if you ever need my help.”
With that, he finally took his leave.
For some reason, you found yourself wishing him happiness. And deep inside, a small part of you hoped that perhaps, in another life or under different circumstances, you might meet him again properly.
As you watched Joshua disappear down the courthouse steps, a black carriage stood quietly across the street.
Inside it, a familiar pair of eyes observed everything.
...
Six o’clock was nearing.
You informed Chan to handle the closing at the bakery. After all, you trusted your staff completely, they had been working with you for years.
You also told your papa not to wait for you tonight. You claimed you had matters to attend to outside, much to his disappointment that you couldn’t spend the evening with him. It hurt more than you expected to lie to him like that.
You had told him you were fortunate enough to meet a capable attorney, that his case had been reopened through a petition. The lie tasted bitter in your mouth, but it was easier than explaining the truth. It pained you to lie to Seokmin as well. Though you had been careful and secretive about it, you could only hope he hadn’t noticed anything strange.
Something about the Yoon estate always made you uneasy.
There were maids and servants around, yet you could hardly feel their presence. They rarely spoke, barely interacted with anyone. Sometimes you wondered what the point of hiring them was if they behaved like shadows.
The only person who ever spoke to you normally was the nanny. She had been in the estate the longest.
It wasn’t the quiet that bothered you, it was the air itself. Something about it felt… unsettling. Perhaps it was just your imagination. Still, for such a large estate, the silence felt unnatural.
By now you should have heard a child running down the hallways, laughter echoing through the rooms.
But Miss Yoon wasn’t quite the child you had imagined.
It was strange, yet you never questioned it.
You replaced the tea and placed a fresh slice of cake on the table, just as the nanny had instructed. You didn’t look directly at the young lady, nor did you attempt to speak to her.
Still, you couldn’t help noticing that the table sat just beside the chair.
From behind, you could see the young girl sitting there, facing the window.
Unmoving.
At first, you hadn’t paid much attention to the details. But over time, you began to notice something odd.
The same warm tea would grow cold. The same slice of cake would remain untouched.
Morning. Afternoon. Evening. Night.
Every time you replaced them, they remained exactly the same. It felt wasteful, yet the nanny had insisted you change everything at every teatime.
A faint sense of dread began to creep into your thoughts.
While waiting for Jeonghan’s arrival, you took a quiet stroll through the estate. Your eyes wandered toward the library, a room that had quickly become your refuge. The shelves were filled with books of every kind, and whenever you had spare time, you found yourself drawn there.
Strangely enough, Jeonghan never seemed to mind. That alone unsettled you.
Your steps eventually slowed near a familiar door. His daughter’s room.
The door was slightly open.
You stepped closer, peering inside. The same chair faced the window, its back turned toward you. Once again, you could only see the girl’s silhouette.
You leaned slightly to catch her reflection in the glass.
Just before you could make it out—
“Miss ___.”
You startled at the voice. Mrs. Thompson stood behind you, her expression stern. “You shouldn’t be here,” she said firmly. “Lord Yoon will be arriving shortly.”
You blinked slowly, adjusting the silk robe around your shoulders. “…Right. I’m sorry. I was just returning from the library.”
Mrs. Thompson studied you for a moment before stepping forward and gently closing the door. Her movements seemed almost… protective or perhaps cautious.
Your attention then shifted to the suitcase she was holding. “Were you about to leave?” you asked, brows lifting in surprise.
The thought of her leaving so soon unsettled you more than you expected. If anything, you preferred having her around. It had only been a week since this strange routine began, and the estate already felt eerie enough.
She nodded. “I received a letter earlier today. One of my relatives has passed away,” she explained calmly. “I informed Lord Yoon beforehand. I trust you will be able to manage in my absence.”
“Ah… I see,” you murmured quietly. You tried not to show your disappointment. “My condolences.”
You were never the type to pry into other people’s affairs. Still, it was difficult to ignore when there were so many things left unexplained, so many mysteries surrounding this house. Everything in this estate… everything involving Yoon Jeonghan himself… felt unsettling.
Disturbing, even.
Ironically, when you first met him, you had assumed he was simply a lonely, sorrowful man. Now it felt like something far deeper than that. Whatever lay behind his actions, you knew better than to dig into it. Some things were better left unknown. Ignorance was bliss, as they say.
Your fingers drifted over the frame of a photograph resting on his mahogany desk, the very same desk where he had taken you before. The memory alone warmed your cheeks, and you quickly pushed the thought away.
The photograph showed a young girl. Her smile was angelic. You assumed it must be his daughter. At last, you were seeing her face clearly. It was almost amusing how much she resembled her father.
Your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door creaking open.
Jeonghan had arrived.
You quickly set the photograph back down before turning toward him.
His eyes flicked briefly to the frame you had just replaced, then returned to you. “I assume Mrs. Thompson has already informed you about her leave?” he said casually.
He approached slowly, hands tucked inside the robe draped over his nightwear.
“She did,” you replied, straightening slightly. “Though I’m not sure when she’ll return.”
Jeonghan smirked. The expression alone sent a chill down your spine as he stepped closer, trapping you between him and the desk.
Your back pressed lightly against the wood.
“Why the worried face?” he murmured. “Afraid you’ll be spending more time here than you expected?”
You stiffened as he leaned down, his breath brushing beneath your jaw as he inhaled your scent. To him, the faint sweetness of flour and sugar lingering from the bakery, mixed with your soft perfume, was intoxicating.
“I wasn’t,” you replied.
But your voice came out softer than intended. Barely audible. Not when his face was already buried against your neck, his lips brushing down toward your collarbone while you instinctively steadied yourself with your hands against his chest.
He pulled back suddenly. His face hovered inches from yours. “Next time,” he said calmly, his dark eyes piercing into you, “try saying it properly. Like you’re standing in a courtroom… not whimpering beneath me.”
Heat rushed to the back of your neck.
The audacity of this man, placing the courtroom and your humiliation in the same sentence.
He chuckled. His hands slipped easily around your waist, pulling you closer as he hummed softly, clearly pleased by the sight of you in silk nightwear. “Don’t start acting shy now,” he teased. “Not when you were moaning my name beneath me just yesterday.”
You inhaled sharply, staring at him in disbelief. “Could you not say that?”
“Oh, of course I can,” he replied lightly. “You’re mine, after all.”
He tilted your head gently before pressing his lips to yours. This kiss was different. It was slow and sensual. Nothing like the rough intensity he usually showed. And you hated the way you found yourself melting into it.
You had never imagined something as simple as a kiss could feel so intoxicating—not when he deepened it, his tongue brushing against yours as though claiming you completely.
For a moment, you forgot why you were even here.
Eventually, you both pulled away, breathless. “You enjoy this more than you realize, little bird,” he murmured with a grin.
“Ugh.” You tried to turn away, but he caught your hips easily, holding you in place.
His chin rested against your shoulder as he whispered softly beside your ear. “Ah, ah. And where do you think you’re going?”
You exhaled slowly, your breathing shallow as your back rested against him, his arms loosely wrapped around you.
“Though I would prefer you to be more obedient,” he continued thoughtfully, “I must admit this defiant side of you is far more entertaining.”
His lips brushed gently against your neck, sending a shiver down your spine.
He was infuriating. A cruel bastard.
Those were the words you wanted to say. In spite of that, you had made an agreement with him. Even so, the strange atmosphere of this house continued to nag at the back of your mind. Yet you dared not ask directly.
Instead, you tried something safer.
You asked about his daughter. “I haven’t heard her name yet,” you said carefully. “May I ask, if you don’t mind?”
For a brief moment, silence filled the room. You didn’t dare turn around to see his expression. You couldn’t tell if he was upset or something else entirely. But eventually, he answered. “Jiae,” he said simply. “…It means wisdom and intelligence, combined with love.” His voice softened slightly. “Isn’t that beautiful?” His fingers tightened slightly around your waist when he said her name.
You could feel his warm breath against your skin. For a moment, the way he held you felt almost like that of lovers.
Except that the two of you were nothing close to that.
You hadn’t expected him to answer so calmly. If anything, you had expected him to snap at you.
“It is…” you replied quietly.
The thought lingered in your mind. This man was a father, and yet he lived a life surrounded by corruption. You couldn’t tell whether it was driven by pleasure, greed, or hatred. Perhaps it was all of them.
Either way, you decided you would rather not know.
Come to think of it, you wondered if he had any other family aside from just him and his ‘daughter’. It wasn’t your place to ask anyway. You had your assumptions here and there, but you preferred to remain unbothered by them. Feeling a bit braver, you spoke up.
“...Are there any family members aside from just your daughter and you?” you asked softly, your head not daring to turn toward him as if he might bite the moment you did.
He only let out a faint chuckle, the kind that made every part of your skin crawl in the most eerie way. “Interested in my lineage, huh?” His grip tightened, squeezing your hips and forcing you to shift.
“To answer that…” he whispered against your ear in a way that felt almost intimate, both electrifying and unsettling. “…I’m quite distant from my parents. Ever since my late wife passed away, I’ve been distant from my in-laws as well.”
What does he mean by that?
Your lingering thoughts were abruptly cut off when he suddenly pushed you against his desk. Your palms instinctively caught yourself on the surface as you felt your body bend forward. You blinked in surprise, feeling him hover over your back. Your hips pressed against him, making you stiffen as a sharp inhale escaped your lips.
“Why? Interested in continuing my bloodline?” he whispered, his hot breath making you feel flushed at how close he was. His hands rested over yours, pinning them there.
His chuckle this time was crueler, as if he were mocking you or simply enjoying the way you reacted.
When you tried to protest and spin around, he held you firmly in place, making you gasp. The position was compromising, normally you would have tried to shove him away, but you couldn’t afford to provoke his temper. For someone with such a sharp tongue, he also had a dangerously quiet patience.
“Stay where you are, sweetheart,” he murmured lowly, his voice turning rough. “If you’re interested in being part of my family, the option is always open.”
A small, helpless whine escaped your lips when you felt him grind sharply against you. Your breath caught in your throat at his words. The implication alone was enough to make heat rush up your neck, your fingers tightening against the polished wood beneath your palms.
“You’re unbelievable,” you muttered, though the protest lacked its usual sharpness.
Another low chuckle escaped him. “Am I?” he murmured, voice brushing against your ear as his chest pressed closer to your back. “You’re the one asking about my family.”
You swallowed. “That’s not what I meant.”
His fingers slowly slid over yours where they rested on the desk, deliberately intertwining them as if he were claiming the space between them. “But you’re curious,” he continued softly. “And curiosity always leads somewhere interesting.”
You tried to twist around to face him again, but his hand settled firmly against your waist, keeping you exactly where you were.
“Did I say you could move?” he asked, the amusement in his tone unmistakable.
A frustrated breath left you. “You’re insufferable.”
“And yet,” he murmured, leaning closer so his lips nearly brushed the shell of your ear, “you keep coming back to me.”
The warmth of him behind you was impossible to ignore now. Every slight movement only made you more aware of how close he was, how easily he could keep you pinned there.
Your heart pounded louder than you liked. “You’re impossible,” you whispered.
“Perhaps.” His grip tightened slightly on your waist, not painful, just enough to remind you of the position you were in. “But you didn’t answer me,” he added quietly. “About joining my family.”
You scoffed under your breath, trying to regain some composure. “You’re the one who dragged me into this mess in the first place.”
“Dragged you?” he hummed. “That’s an interesting way to describe it.”
Before you could reply, he pressed himself against your back, one hand sliding around to your stomach while the other gripped your hip possessively. He leaned down, his lips brushing against your neck as he spoke with a needy rumble. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful. I can’t believe you’re not married.”
Your breath hitched, your mouth falling slightly open when you felt his other hand slide lower, cupping your inner thigh beneath the silk fabric, just close enough to touch you intimately. His other hand slid up from your hip, fingers tracing the underside of your breast through the thin fabric of your nightwear. Your heart racing beneath his palm, matching the frantic pounding of his own.
He nipped at your earlobe before trailing open-mouthed kisses down the column of your throat, his tongue darting out to taste your skin. Cupping your breasts fully, his thumb brushing against the peak of your nipple through the fabric. Letting out an audible sigh, your silk robe slipped slightly off your shoulder, the thin strap of your nightwear sliding easily down your smooth skin.
Jeonghan’s hand slid up, yanking the silk robe the rest of the way off. He pushed the outer layer aside as it pooled on the floor, exposing your skin to the cool air, and to his heated gaze. Now his hand cupped the soft swell of your breast, thumb brushing against the curve as he leaned in to whisper hotly against your ear, “You like this, don’t you?” He made a sharp thrust against your ass, yelping at the roughness. “Keep whimpering like that, sweetheart. I’m going to fuck you so hard until all you know is the feeling of me inside, around you, consuming you completely.”
His words send shivers down to your spine. He let out a low, feral growl as he pulled your nightwear up, the silky fabric, and ripped your panties aside, baring your most intimate area to his gaze. You could feel the heat of your core, the slick arousal that coated your folds and the cold air made you whimper. He wasted no time as his fingers slid through your slickness, teasing your entrance before pushing inside, filling you in one swift, hard thrust.
"Always so ready for me, little bird,” he groaned, “Can feel how much you want this, how much you need me inside you.” He pumped his fingers in and out of you, thumb finding your clit and rubbing tight circles around the sensitive nubs. His other hand slid up to kneading the soft flesh roughly as he pinched and rolled your nipple between his fingers. Before you could even process the pleasure of having him finally touch you, he took it away from you.
You could only whine helplessly, feeling the surge of overwhelmedness, he was grinning and you tried to plead him wanting for more. At this point, you can’t help but to surrender to your desire for your desperate release.
Jeonghan didn’t waste no time in fulfilling your desperate plea, with a guttural groan, he hilted himself inside you with one powerful thrust, your body yielding to his as he stretched and filled you completely. A moan escaped from your lips, your walls clenching down around his hard length.
He set a hard, fast pace, pounding into you with a fervor you’d never experienced before. Each thrust pushed you forward, the desk creaking beneath you with the force of his lovemaking. One hand gripped your hip, fingers digging into your soft flesh as he held you in place. The other slid up to your throat, tilting your head back to expose the column of your neck to his hungry mouth. Licking and sucking at the sensitive skin, his teeth grazing your pulse point before he bit down, marking you as his. All the while, he never ceased his relentless thrusts, his cock driving into you deep and hard. Hitting that secret spot inside you that made stars explode behind your eyelids.
He punctuated his filthy words with a sharp thrust, grinding his pelvis against your ass as he filled you completely, his cock throbbing and pulsing inside your fluttering walls. You were blabbering nonsense as he fucked you, unable to keep your mind straight.
Jeonghan groaned deeply as he felt your walls fluttering and clenching around his throbbing cock, your body tensing as your climax approached. He redoubled his efforts, fucking you with wild abandon as he chased your pleasure, determined to make you come undone. “That’s it, darling,” he growled against your nape. "Come for me, I’ll pump your womb full with my seed and put a baby in you.” He could feel his own release building, his balls tightening as your velvet walls squeezed him like a vice. He gritted his teeth, fighting back his own climax, wanting to hold off until he could make you come first.
The thought of yourself pregnant with his child is almost frantic, yet your pussy clenched hard around his shaft, like you’re about to snap him in half. He chuckled darkly when he felt it, “You want that, sweetheart? I’ll make you a mother then, so that you could only depend on me.”
Suddenly, he felt your body stiffen and then convulse beneath him, your back arching as you cried out his name. Your walls flutter as your orgasm crashes over you. He mumbled out a cuss, his voice echoing off the bedroom walls. Jeonghan slammed into you one last time, burying himself to the hilt inside your spasming cunt. He let out a guttural groan, finding his own release as he filled you with his hot seed.
“You are so good to me, sweetheart.” he gasped out, brushing his lips against your nape, hips jerking erratically as he emptied himself inside you. “...so fucking good. You’re mine…all mine, remember that.” he whispered, placing a feverish kiss on your bare shoulder.
Chapter 3: A Confession To Be Told
You have been spacing out a lot lately. Sometimes you would be sleeping soundly beside Jeonghan, and then there would be moments when you felt strangely restless.
Both mentally and physically, you felt disturbed. You weren’t sure if you had lost track of your cycle, and your appetite had become so sensitive that you could barely eat properly. You figured it was simply the result of stress, managing the bakery along with everything else weighing on your mind.
Your thoughts were suddenly snapped away when Seungkwan called your name repeatedly as you stood at the cashier. “Are you alright?” he asked, examining you from head to toe as if trying to make sure.“You’ve been distant a lot lately. I hope you’re not seriously sick.”
You gave him a faint smile and shook your head. “I’m alright… just a little restless, perhaps.”
He didn’t seem convinced. His eyes lingered on the silver diamond necklace around your neck. “That’s beautiful,” he said. “When did you buy it?”
You didn’t answer right away. Absentmindedly, you reached up and gently held the necklace. Your mind drifted as you remembered it was given by Jeonghan. Though to you, it felt less like a gift and more like a collar, something meant to remind you that you belonged to him.
Instead, you gave Seungkwan a small smile. “It’s from a friend…” you said.
Seungkwan hummed thoughtfully as he continued packaging the goods. “Right. This friend of yours definitely knows how to choose the perfect gift for a lady.”
You didn’t reply. It almost sounded as if he was implying you were seeing someone, though the situation was far more complicated than he imagined.
Setting that thought aside, you greeted another customer approaching as usual, offering the warm smile you always wore. A man stood tall before you, his broad shoulders immediately catching your attention. He looked a little intimidating at first. You didn’t think you had ever seen him around before, probably a new face.
After he made his purchase, he gave you a small nod, and you returned it with a polite smile. It was unusual; you found yourself watching his figure until he disappeared from sight.
“Boo, do you know that man just now? I don’t think I’ve ever seen his face here…” you asked.
Seungkwan lifted his head from his work and thought for a moment. “Oh, yeah. He just recently started coming by. I think his name was Seungcheol?” he said. Then he added, “He usually comes around this hour when you’re not here.”
You turned to look at him. “Recently?” you questioned.
Seungkwan hummed in response. “Yeah, he said he’s kind of new here. Got dispatched here because of work reasons,” he shrugged casually.
You didn’t answer immediately. “…Oh. May I ask what his occupation is?”
“I think he mentioned something about investigation-related work,” Seungkwan said with another shrug. “I don’t know much though. Maybe he’s a police officer or something.”
Unexpectedly, Seokmin came in, his usual bright smile directed at you. It made your heart feel lighter for a moment, only a little. Sometimes you had forgotten that you’d been spending less time with him. You had even forgotten that you’d promised him a day out, something he had been looking forward to for a while.
So you went anyway, wanting to get some fresh air from everything. Just to breathe, even for a moment. You hoped he didn’t notice the weariness on your face that you sometimes tried to hide. The thought of him questioning you about it made you feel even more drained. You simply didn’t want to explain anything.
As the two of you strolled past the shops, you suddenly noticed a familiar figure across a boutique.
It was Mrs. Kwon.
Since when had her probation ended? You assumed you simply hadn’t been keeping track, but seeing her spending lavishly again, just like before. It reminded you that she had won favor in her previous case regarding her late husband. Ironically, she didn’t look sorrowful at all. In fact, it was the complete opposite. She looked exactly the same as she did before the case, as if nothing had ever happened.
Your suspicion stirred.
Then you remembered that Judge Yoon had been the one assigned to her case.
Did she bribe him too?
So occupied with your thoughts, you didn’t even hear Seokmin calling your name several times. You blinked and turned to him.
“Yes?”
He studied your face. “You’ve been so distracted lately. Your staff even told me you’ve been acting unusual,” he said with a sigh. “You know, if you’re feeling unwell, you can tell me anything.”
You smiled at him, a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes, though you hoped he wouldn’t notice.
“I’m alright. Just a little restless, I guess.”
Seokmin smiled back, believing you. He continued browsing the jewelry displayed in the shop window.
“I was thinking of getting you something nice,” he said, “but when I saw that necklace you’re wearing, I decided to choose something else.”
Blinking, you glanced down at the necklace Jeonghan had given you.
“T-this?”
He hummed as he examined the different pieces of jewelry. “It got me thinking. The one you’re wearing is actually part of a matching set with a ring. It’s almost like a wedding gift.”
His eyes turned toward you.
Your throat suddenly felt dry. You didn’t know what to say. Did Jeonghan give it to you on purpose? Instead of feeling flattered, you only felt as if you were being trapped in something you had never agreed to.
Seokmin seemed not to notice your pale expression.
“It’s a shame,” he continued softly. “I was planning to choose that for you. I know you told me before that you don’t want to settle down yet, but I just wanted to make a promise with you.”
You felt a little lightheaded. Seokmin’s words never truly reached you. Your mind was flooded with too many things, and love simply had no space left within it.
“Are you alright, ____?” Seokmin gently held your hand, his voice soft with concern.
You steadied your breathing and nodded.
He could tell you were overwhelmed. Your lack of response made him flustered. “I’m sorry if I’m being too forward,” he said quickly. “I told you I would respect your decision—your space.” He inhaled slowly before continuing. “The truth is, I really want to be with you, ____. Lately, my family’s business has been facing a lot of problems. We’re dealing with some charges for reasons I don’t even fully understand yet.”
He hesitated before adding quietly, “I even got your father’s blessing for us.”
Your heart clenched.
“I just… I want to promise you the life I hope to build with you,” he said earnestly. “Maybe someday, when you’re ready, when you finally decide to find happiness with me.” You heard him clearly, his devotion, his sincerity. But you couldn’t accept it. Not when you were trapped in the circumstances you had created. Your life was no longer normal.
Sensing your silence, Seokmin rested his hand gently over yours and gave you a small smile. “Think about it, okay?” he said softly. “You know I’ve always loved you.” And yet the weight of the necklace around your throat felt heavier than ever. Even at this moment, when he wasn’t physically present, it felt as if Jeonghan was still there.
Then your eyes drifted past the glass of the shop window, and you saw the last person you expected to meet right now.
Jeonghan.
He was staring straight into your soul. Sitting inside the café across the street with one leg crossed over the other, he calmly sipped his drink. Had he been watching you the entire time while you were with Seokmin? The implication alone made your breath hitch.
Slowly, you withdrew your hand from Seokmin’s. Your pale expression was impossible to hide now. “I think… I need to go somewhere else first, Min,” you said suddenly. “We can… talk about this another time. After everything settles down, alright?”
You looked at him hopefully, wishing he would let it go. To your relief, he did, though you could see a hint of disappointment in his eyes when you indirectly avoided the conversation from earlier.
“Alright,” he said with a gentle smile. “Take care. I’ll be here whenever you need me.”
You nodded, offering him an apologetic smile before leaving the shop quickly. For some reason, your feet carried you straight into the café where Jeonghan was sitting.
He didn’t look surprised by your presence at all. Instead, he casually gestured toward the empty chair across from him. “Surprised, are we?” he said calmly. “Come. Won’t you accompany me on this lovely evening?”
You didn’t respond. You simply sat down across from him.
Whatever he was planning behind that calm expression, you refused to lower your guard. He had clearly seen you with Seokmin, yet it was impossible to tell what exactly was going through his mind.
He looked up at you now, his gaze steady and unreadable. He seemed… pleasant. That somehow made you even more uncomfortable.
“Is there any reason why you’re here?” you asked immediately, perhaps a little too sharply, as if you were trying to stop him from speaking first.
Jeonghan only grinned and placed his cup down with a soft clink. “Why? I’m simply enjoying my evening. I do have a life outside the courtroom, you know.” He hummed in amusement as he glanced out the window, toward the very place where you had been standing with Seokmin earlier. “I must say… that ‘friend’ of yours was rather touchy for someone getting close to a woman who doesn’t belong to him.”
The way he emphasized those words made you frown.
“He’s not just a friend,” you replied defensively. “He’s family. Perhaps even closer than that.”
Jeonghan hummed again, his eyes returning to yours.
“Is that so?” he said slowly. “Do family members usually propose to you and take you out to buy rings?”
You didn’t answer. Your palms tightened against the fabric of your coat.
He smirked at your silence. “And let’s be clear here,” he continued smoothly. “Does he even know you’re with me?”
You were about to reply, but he cut you off immediately.
“Don’t compare this to some cheap affair,” he said coldly. “Does it look like I treat you as a mere kept woman?” Leaning back in his chair, he crossed his arms over his chest with quiet arrogance. “The moment you made an agreement with me was the moment your life began to belong to me. Remember that.”
You stared at him in disbelief, momentarily at a loss for words.
“It’s unfortunate,” he continued casually, “that your friend happens to be the sole heir of his family business.”
Your ears sharpened immediately.
“I heard they’re currently facing charges involving money laundering. The opposing side has even approached me, asking if I would be willing to… assist them.”
Your brows furrowed. The implication became painfully clear in your mind. “Are you going to accept it?” you asked sharply. “Are you threatening me by putting my friend’s life at risk?”
Jeonghan chuckled softly. “Come now, little bird. You know it’s not my style to choose sides so easily. If something is too risky, why would I involve myself?”
He spoke casually, almost lazily. “Of course… it always depends on the case I’m handling.” He tilted his head slightly. “Though it’s usually quite obvious which side ends up being favored.”
Your heart began pounding violently. If the Lee family lost the case, they could go bankrupt–even if they were innocent. And judging from the way Jeonghan spoke so lightly about bribery and influence, it was clear he was playing with you.
Forcing you to choose. Just so he could remind you how much control he truly had.
“So?” he said with a soft tut. “The choice is yours, sweetheart. Say the word, and I’ll give you whatever you want.”
You could hear the amusement in his voice, see the faint smile tugging at his lips.
The Lee family has helped you and your father many times. Of course you felt indebted to them. The thought of them suffering while you knew the truth… you weren’t sure you could live with that guilt.
You had already given yourself to Jeonghan. What more could he possibly want?
Exhaling slowly, you lifted your gaze to meet his. “What exactly do you gain from all of this?”
For a brief moment, he said nothing. He simply stared at you.
“You,” he answered at last.
You didn’t believe him. “Stop messing around,” you said, though your throat had gone dry.
Especially when the look in his eyes suggested something far more possessive. “Does it look like I am?” he asked quietly. He stood up and walked over to you, his steps slow and deliberate until he loomed beside your chair. “In return…” he murmured, leaning slightly closer. “You give yourself to me completely.”
Somehow, the necklace around your throat suddenly felt impossibly tight. Almost suffocating you, so that you can't even breathe.
…
You were never particularly religious, but sometimes you would stop by the church to offer your baked goods whenever they held Sunday prayers.
There were also days when you generously donated food to the orphanage, the lovely children who always welcomed you with bright smiles.
Lately, however, you had no reason to visit anymore.
And yet here you were now, early in the morning, sitting quietly in the church. You were the only one there as you clasped your hands together, your head bowed in prayer.
Everything had become so heavy. So difficult. With everything happening around you, you found yourself here, seeking solace and guidance, anything that might ease the turmoil in your heart. It felt as though you were walking straight toward the pit of hell, step by step, and there was no turning back.
You had never felt this lost before. Everything had become so complicated. When you finally finished your prayer, you let out a slow breath. Somehow, it made you feel a little lighter. Just a little.
The air inside the church felt cool and quiet. You should have been alone. Yet you could feel someone’s presence behind you. You didn’t turn around. “Speak,” you said calmly. “I know you’re there.”
A brief silence followed.
Then a voice spoke. “I apologize for disturbing you, madam,” the deep voice said. “My name is Choi Seungcheol. “Do you know a man named Yoon Jeonghan?”
You froze. Slowly, you turned to face the man. You tried not to show your surprise, but the mere mention of that name betrayed you.
“…No,” you said slowly. “…not personally. Why?”
The man named Seungcheol sighed as he stood up from the pew and approached you. You frowned immediately, your body going slightly rigid with caution.
“I would appreciate it if you didn’t lie to me,” he said calmly. “I saw you with him yesterday. At the cafe.”
You let out a defeated sigh and stood up. “In that case, I have nothing to say about this.”
You began to walk past him, intending to leave, when suddenly he grabbed your wrist. Your brows furrowed as you immediately yanked your hand away. “I would appreciate it if you didn’t pull people around like that,” you said sharply, glaring at him. “Do you always grab someone’s hand whenever you feel like it?”
You hadn’t meant for your words to come out so harshly, but lately you had been far more sensitive than usual. At this point, you couldn’t even bother trying to be polite anymore.
Why did a man always have to bother you every time?
Seungcheol studied you for a moment, unfazed by your sharp tone. “There have been reports of judges accepting favors, altering verdicts,” he said. He paused slightly before adding, “His name tends to appear around those rumors.”
Something about his words made your heart pound violently, so hard that you couldn’t answer him right away. You didn’t know whether you were walking on thin ice, or if your prayers had been answered a little too quickly.
Thanks to Jeonghan, your paranoia has probably worsened.
Seungkwan did mention what kind of person Seungcheol was, and you figured this must be what he meant.
“Rumors,” you echoed, looking away as if clinging to a false sense of hope. But what was the point? You had long since let that kind of hope fade. “A judge receiving personal profits is something anyone would say after losing a case,” you continued. “If it’s only a rumor and not an actual allegation, then I can’t answer that, sir.”
With that, you turned and began walking out of the church.
Seungcheol hurried after you until you stopped and turned around again. You were already exhausted from everything surrounding this situation—until he suddenly held out an envelope.
“Hear me out,” he said, slightly out of breath. “You have no idea how long I’ve been investigating this man. Four years now.” His expression hardened. “He’s not the kind of man you think he is.”
You stared at him, then at the envelope in his hand. Deep down, you already knew that. But whatever truth lurked inside that envelope… you weren’t sure if you could handle it.
Still, you took it.
Later, the two of you sat together, discussing everything in private.
A cup of warm tea sat between you on the table, untouched. You hadn’t even noticed it growing cold as you listened to Seungcheol recount everything he had discovered during his investigation. Case after case. Rumors of corruption. Suspicious verdicts. Influence that reached far beyond the courtroom. All you could do was sit there, almost hollow, as if your soul had already drifted somewhere far away. None of this truly surprised you.
Somehow, though, you still felt… lost.
Then Seungcheol mentioned something about Jeonghan’s past. Something that made you falter.
“What?”
Seungcheol spoke carefully. “I need your help,” he said. “If you can bring me anything from his mansion—documents, records, anything that could serve as evidence.”
“I can’t do that,” you replied immediately. “What if I find nothing?”
“You have to try,” he insisted. “It’s the only way we can prove it in court.”
You looked down again at the newspaper article inside the envelope. An old tragedy. An arson incident involving the Yoon residence. It reported the devastating loss of Jeonghan’s family.
Then something caught your attention.
His daughter.
Your heart began pounding again, this time in a far more unsettling way.
The article stated that both his wife and daughter had died in the fire. Their injuries had been too severe for them to survive.
“Seungcheol…” you said quietly. “Tell me more about this case.”
He leaned back in his chair, recalling what he remembered.
“It happened about eight years ago, if I’m not mistaken. From what I gathered, it was likely retaliation from people who were dissatisfied with the outcome of a trial.”
He continued, “Judge Yoon was assigned to the case. I’m not sure exactly how things escalated, but the losing side apparently didn’t take the result well. They wanted revenge.”
Your throat went dry.
“So they targeted his family.” He sighed. “It was tragic, really. I never thought people could go that far just because they doubted someone’s work.” He paused before adding, “Maybe that incident changed him. But whatever the reason, it still doesn’t justify what he’s doing now.”
His tone hardened. “He’s practically letting criminals walk free.”
You were already aware of that. But your thoughts drifted to something else.
To a specific memory. To the girl inside that mansion.
The one living there with you and Jeonghan.
“D-does that mean… he’s the only survivor?” you asked hesitantly.
Seungcheol shook his head. “He wasn’t even home at the time,” he replied. “He returned from work just as the mansion was already burning.”
Your stomach twisted.
“They said he was screaming when he saw the fire.”
God.
You suddenly felt like you were going to throw up. Then who was that girl in the house? The one you had been serving. The one you brought tea to every day. The one who never touched the cake you carefully prepared. You pressed a hand to your forehead as dizziness washed over you. Lately, you have been feeling like this more and more often.
Maybe even longer than you realized.
“Are you alright, ____?” Seungcheol asked.
You nodded weakly. “I’m fine,” you said, attempting to reassure him. But the effort barely held.
Chapter 4: The Beginning and The End
He was known as a ruthless and impartial judge, a figure many defendants hoped to avoid once they learned he would be presiding over their case.
Everything in Jeonghan’s life had always been dull and gray.
The reason he pursued his profession was simple: he was following in his grandfather’s footsteps, the former director of the courthouse of the Union State of Sebong. For generations, the same career had passed down within his family.
From his university days to where he stood now, he had done nothing but live under those expectations. Even his marriage had been arranged by his mother. He paid little attention to it at the time; it was obvious they expected him to marry someone of equal status–the daughter of the chief judge.
Although their marriage was strained, they eventually had a child.
It was a girl. Her name was Jiae.
For the first time in his life, Jeonghan experienced something close to genuine joy when he first held that small bundle of life in his arms. He adored his daughter dearly, doting on her every chance he could. She grew up to be a kind and intelligent child. But that joy lasted only a few short years.
One evening, while he was on his way back home, he saw something that made his entire world collapse. His mansion was burning. Flames raged violently through the building, lighting up the night sky. His expression faltered as he rushed forward, attempting to run inside, but someone stopped him before he could reach the entrance. People were already trying to contain the fire, shouting over one another as the flames consumed everything.
Everything happened all at once. The suffocating heat. The deafening chaos. Jeonghan screamed until his throat burned raw, calling his daughter’s name as if she could somehow hear him through the inferno.
As if calling for her would bring her back.
Eventually he collapsed onto his knees, watching helplessly as the fire devoured the building.
A week later, during the funeral, he could only stare blankly at the gravestone of his daughter. His wife’s grave stood beside it. All he could think about was how painful it must have been for her inside that fire. How scared she must have been. The thought alone felt like knives tearing through his chest.
Time passed, but his grief never faded.
Then one day, he discovered something that changed everything. Behind the arson attack was the truth about his father-in-law. The man had been arrested for accepting personal profits for years. One of the cases he had presided over involved war crimes. He had deliberately allowed the perpetrators to walk free.
The verdict enraged the victims, causing the entire village to rise in anger. That anger eventually turned into violence. The violence that reached Jeonghan’s home.
His daughter. His family.
Jeonghan gripped the newspaper tightly in his hands as the truth finally connected in his mind. Everything made sense now, but one question remained. Why did he and his daughter—have to suffer the consequences of someone else’s sins?
Strangely, he found that he felt little grief for his late wife. Their marriage had always been nothing more than a loveless arrangement. They argued constantly. The only thing that had ever kept him together… was Jiae. She was the only good thing this world had given him, and the world had taken her away. Years passed, yet he still couldn’t move on. He lived trapped in the bitterness of the past, isolating himself from everything around him. Work became the only thing that occupied his mind.
Until one day, something strange happened. He passed by a small shop.
Something about it seemed to call to him. Inside, the store was filled with dolls, rows and rows of them, staring silently from shelves and glass cases. It was one of the most eccentric places he had ever seen.
Custom-made dolls, he assumed. He wandered through the shop slowly, examining them one by one.
Then a man suddenly appeared beside him. He wore an apron and carried a wide, almost mischievous smile. A Cheshire grin. The man introduced himself as Jun, the owner of the shop. Jeonghan hadn’t even realized how their conversation had begun. But when Jun suddenly spoke about believing in magic, Jeonghan nearly scoffed. Jun claimed he could make anything come true. Naturally, Jeonghan found the idea ridiculous and was about to leave.
Until he saw it.
A doll.
No… not just a doll.
It looked almost exactly like his daughter.
Jeonghan immediately asked if it was for sale.
Jun refused.
“No matter the price?” Jeonghan asked.
Jun shook his head. “It’s not for sale.”
Jeonghan attempted to negotiate anyway, offering more money than most people could imagine.
But Jun remained firm. Instead, he offered something else.
A deal.
Jun explained that if Jeonghan truly wanted the doll, he would have to pay with something far more valuable.
Jeonghan frowned at that. If the man wanted money, he would simply say so. In spite of that, Jun kept insisting that what he wanted was something only humans could offer. Something more valuable than gold. When Jun mentioned something close to a soul, Jeonghan furrowed his brow.
And yet… he still accepted. So he made a deal with the devil.
From that day forward, Jeonghan began collecting greedy humans. Those who came to him with bribes, believed money could buy justice. He was selective with his clients. Even if they escaped punishment in court, their freedom never lasted long.
Soon after, they would disappear. Gone without a trace. Jeonghan never believed in witchcraft or supernatural nonsense, but watching them celebrate their purchased victories with dirty money only convinced him of one thing.
Hell was the only place waiting for them.
No one had the right to judge his sins except himself. He would never allow people like them to escape with the fortunes they used to corrupt the world.
And every soul he collected brought him one step closer.
Back in his mansion, the doll stood silently in its place. It looked almost alive. Life-sized, the same height as his daughter had once been. Its porcelain skin glowed softly beneath the light, dressed in a beautiful gown. Jeonghan treated it as if it were alive. He always returned home quickly, afraid she might feel lonely during his absence.
Sometimes he even spoke to her, as if she could hear him. He had convinced himself of one thing. If he collected enough greedy souls…
He might be able to bring her back to life.
…
The mansion felt unusually quiet.
It had always been quiet, but something about the air now felt even more eerie than before. After discovering everything from Seungcheol—who claimed to be part of the officers, you couldn’t see this place the same way anymore.
You knew Jeonghan had never been a good man. Whatever the reason behind it, you somehow found yourself capable of feeling a little sympathy for the tragedy that had happened to him. Still, none of his actions could ever be justified. It simply didn’t make sense.
Losing a child was something no parent could easily overcome. You could empathize with him for what he had been through, but grief was something a person had to face on their own. Yet the conflicting emotions only made your head ache the more you thought about it.
You have been emotionally sensitive lately, restless and easily overwhelmed. You really needed to take better care of yourself, especially when you were walking a line as fragile as a tightrope.
Before coming here, you made sure to tell Seungkwan and Chan to take care of the bakery in case there were days you wouldn’t return. They had looked confused, but you brushed it off. You even wrote a letter to Joshua. You couldn’t help it. In a situation like this, where you couldn’t tell anyone, not even your father, he was the only person you could trust. Perhaps it was because he was an attorney, someone you might eventually need to rely on.
It felt almost like you were foreshadowing something terrible the moment you stepped into Yoon’s mansion.
What if he suddenly decided never to let you leave? You needed to stop thinking like that.
Your hands trembled as you tried to steady the tray, the slice of cake and the teacup rattling slightly against the porcelain. Eventually, you gave up and placed it back down.
“You seem rather unwell these days,” Jeonghan’s voice came from behind you. He pushed himself away from the doorframe and slowly approached. “Exhausted, perhaps?”
You sighed softly, remaining where you stood, your arms folded loosely around your silk robe. “Maybe.”
He hummed quietly, studying the way you absentmindedly tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “I’ll take care of it,” he said calmly. “Go and rest.”
Yet somehow you still found yourself following him as he carried the tray toward his daughter’s room.
You stopped at the doorway. You didn’t dare step inside. From where you stood, you watched him carefully place the plate and teacup on the small table beside the chair facing the window. The figure sitting there had its back turned, only visible from your angle.
The soft melody of a music box filled the room as he opened it.
Jeonghan began speaking to her. His voice was quiet, almost gentle.
You couldn’t bear to listen. Letting out a slow breath, you stepped back and leaned against the wall outside the room.
The lullaby from the music box should have sounded comforting. Instead, it made your skin crawl. Something about it was too eerie, too wrong. You felt frozen in place, as if your body didn’t know whether to run or stay. There was no way he could be keeping a living corpse in there. If that were true, you would have noticed something before—the smell, the decay, the unmistakable signs of death.
But the last time you stepped inside the room, it smelled faintly of flowers.
And the glimpse you caught… the smooth skin, almost porcelain-like. Far too perfect to belong to anything human.
In the end, you quickly returned to the bedroom—his room, or rather, the one you both shared now. You wouldn’t even be surprised anymore if he suddenly showed up one day with a ring, just to seal the deal.
After a while, you saw him enter the room carrying another tray with two teacups. “Drink up,” he said simply. You sat up from the bed and took the cup, glancing down at the liquid before looking back at him.
He chuckled lightly, taking the cup from your hand and sipping from it before returning it to you. “What?” he teased. “Do you think so little of me that I’d poison you?” You didn’t protest, sipping from the same spot his lips had touched. An indirect kiss. The aroma of the tea filled your senses—ginger and peppermint, you thought. It soothed the nausea that had been bothering you lately.
The gesture itself was strangely sweet, and yet you still found yourself drawn back to him. It wasn’t like he had ever been violent with you. He had never once raised a hand to harm you.
Only rough in bed.
Ironically.
You placed the cup aside. He was sitting at the edge of the bed beside you. The moment felt almost too calm. For someone like him, he was the perfect image of an angel in disguise, acting like a gentleman even though you knew deep down he was crueler than the criminals he judged. You wondered what he had been like with his late wife. He had mentioned it was a loveless marriage. Still, imagining him with a lover was the last thing you would have expected.
Then again… he was a father. Humans were complicated like that. Even they could never fully understand their own hearts.
“You’re acting strange today,” you said, glancing toward him.
He only grinned and leaned closer across the bed. You had already grown used to the closeness. “Am I?” he murmured with a soft chuckle, his nose nearly touching yours. “It’s a little sad that you didn’t come in earlier. My daughter has grown rather fond of your presence.”
You froze for a moment, your eyes searching his.
Still, you forced yourself to remain calm. “…Is that so?” you replied slowly. “I didn’t realize my presence mattered that much.” He hummed, his hand gently cradling your face before leaning in to kiss you.
You kissed him back.
“It does,” he whispered softly. “And what if I told you she wants you here forever?”
You pulled back slightly, studying his face. “Don’t joke about something like that.”
“I wasn’t joking.” His eyes remained fixed on yours, completely serious.
For a moment, neither of you moved. The distance between you was barely a breath. You sighed quietly and pulled him back into another kiss. He groaned softly against your mouth. “You’re rather needy today, little bird.”
You exhaled softly against his lips. “I’m emotionally sensitive these days,” you murmured before pressing your lips to his again. You needed warmth, something comforting. And the only person you had was him. Jeonghan didn’t deny you. He gave you exactly what you wanted as your kiss deepened. For a moment, you tried to forget the uneasiness creeping through your mind, the fear that lingered in the corners of this house.
And the only place you could hide from it…
Was in him.
…
You had never felt so anxious, so mentally exhausted and drained. Now, standing in front of his daughter’s room felt deeply ominous.
Slowly, you pushed the door open.
Your trembling hands steadied the tray as you placed it carefully on the table, trying your best not to look at the figure sitting beside it. As much as you wanted to know, you had never felt this afraid before. Not wanting to know the truth felt safer. Because sometimes the nightmares were already bad enough when you woke up beside Jeonghan. Your thoughts drifted back to Seungcheol’s words. So far, you haven't found anything. You had searched his study room before, hoping to find documents or evidence that could help, but there was nothing.
Nothing at all.
And you had never dared to check inside this room. Until now. Because you had simply been too scared.
Slowly, you forced yourself to look.
Your eyes moved toward the so-called person sitting by the window. You froze. Your feet carried you forward without thinking, moving slowly to the side so you could finally see it clearly.
Its eyes were closed. The lashes looked almost real. Everything about it seemed delicate… beautiful even.
And yet, it wasn’t alive.
You stepped back abruptly, your heart racing at the realization. When you looked closer, there was no doubt.
It was a doll. A life-sized one, crafted with terrifying precision.
For a moment, you couldn’t even tell if it had once been a real body that had been turned into this thing. The thought alone made your stomach twist violently.
You nearly collapsed right there.
Then suddenly—
A soft lullaby began to play. You jolted in shock, turning around quickly.
The music box.
You must have brushed against it accidentally. The tiny ballerina inside spun slowly as the melody filled the room. The atmosphere instantly became unbearable.
Too quiet. Too eerie. Too wrong.
You needed to get out.
Now.
But before you could turn away, Jeonghan was already standing in the doorway.
You flinched.
“I thought the nanny told you before,” his voice said calmly. He didn’t sound angry. But the look in his eyes told you everything. You had discovered something you were never meant to see. Your words stumbled over themselves as you slowly stepped backward, your heart pounding violently. He wasn’t supposed to be home yet.
Why was he here?
“I—I was…” Your voice faltered as you tripped slightly against the bed when he continued walking toward you. “…I thought you would be home late.”
“I was,” he replied calmly. Now he stood over you, trapping you against the bed, his hands resting on either side. “…but I figured if I came home early,” he continued softly, “I could see my girls sooner.” His gaze slowly dropped to your stomach. “…and my little one.”
Your breath caught sharply.
The implication hit you instantly. You had already suspected it, the nausea, the dizziness, the strange exhaustion. You never imagined that he would notice, or that he would accept it so easily.
Then suddenly, both of you turned your heads when you heard a loud commotion outside.
Jeonghan moved quickly to the window. From above, angry voices echoed through the night. People were shouting—furious, chaotic.
He muttered a curse under his breath.
You watched him in confusion as he began pacing across the room. Then you saw him pull something out from the drawer.
A revolver.
Your eyes widened in alarm. “What does this mean?” you demanded, almost frantic. “Tell me right now, Jeonghan.”
You needed answers.
And whatever was happening outside didn’t look good at all. He didn’t answer, instead, he grabbed your hand firmly. “Be quiet,” he said sharply. “Just follow me if you want to stay alive.”
He began pulling you toward the doorway—
But suddenly someone barged into the room.
Both of you stopped abruptly.
Jeonghan immediately stepped in front of you, shielding you behind him. Your heart pounded violently as you tried to understand what was happening.
The man standing before you was someone you recognized all too well.
The same bastard who had framed your father.
And judging by the fury in his eyes, he had come here with only one purpose.
“I told you, Judge Yoon,” the man sneered. “I thought we had an arrangement. Yet you decided to betray it so easily when I needed your help.”
His gaze shifted toward you. “So this is what it’s about?” he scoffed. “You chose that wench instead? When I offered you a fortune in gold to help me?”
Jeonghan let out a cold, mocking laugh. “It aches my heart a little,” he said dryly, “but I let my gavel fall cleanly—for money.”
The man’s expression hardened instantly. He raised his gun, pointing it directly at both of you. Your breath hitched as fear surged through your body. Your grip tightened around Jeonghan’s hand.
“Say that again,” the man hissed, “and I’ll make sure you finally get what you deserve.”
Jeonghan remained completely unfazed. “I would never hand over my fortune to the likes of you,” he replied calmly. “Especially not someone who pretends to be a kind businessman in public while secretly stealing from orphanages.”
The gunshot rang out suddenly.
You flinched, but the bullet didn’t hit either of you. Your trembling hands clutched Jeonghan tighter as you looked up at him.
That was when you noticed—
He had already raised his revolver. Pointed straight at the man. A broken sound escaped your throat as panic flooded your chest. Then you smelled something.
Smoke.
Your head snapped upward to see the ceiling above was beginning to burn. Flames crept along the corner near the window. Your entire body froze in terror.
“Déjà vu, isn’t it?” the man chuckled bitterly. “I thought you should be reminded why all this is happening. By now you should know that dreaming of something mo—”
A gunshot cut him off.
Jeonghan fired first. The bullet tore through the man’s arm, forcing a painful grunt from him.
But the man fired back immediately.
The second shot struck Jeonghan in the side. He grunted in pain.
Before the man could react again, Jeonghan fired the final shot. The bullet pierced straight through the man’s head.
He collapsed instantly. Dead.
You screamed. Horrified, you rushed forward just as Jeonghan’s body began to give out. He collapsed into your arms as you fell to your knees with him, carefully lowering his back against you as blood began pooling from the wound at his side.
A broken breath escaped your lips as your hands pressed desperately against the injury. “No—no, no… why did you do that?” you cried, panic overwhelming you as his eyes half-closed in pain.
“Fuck…” he hissed weakly. His gaze lifted toward your face. For a moment, something strange flickered across his expression. A moment of realisation hits him, he hated seeing that look on your face. That terrified, devastated expression.
Perhaps this would be the first time… and the last.
It was a shame that this face of yours might be the final thing he would remember. Then again… there would be no afterlife waiting for him.
Only hell.
The smoke thickened around the room, the flames slowly climbing across the walls. You struggled to keep Jeonghan upright, your hands trembling as you pressed against the wound on his side.
“Get up,” you pleaded desperately. “We have to go, the house is burning!”
He barely moved. His breathing was uneven, but his eyes were strangely calm.
Then, a sudden voice barged in, calling your name. A voice shouted through the smoke.
You turned your head sharply to see Seungcheol burst through the doorway, coughing as he stepped inside. His eyes immediately scanned the scene, the dead man on the floor, the flames spreading along the ceiling, and you kneeling beside Jeonghan.
“Are you insane?” he barked. “The whole place is about to collapse!”
He rushed toward you and grabbed your arm. “We’re leaving. Now.”
“No!” you cried, pulling away. “He’s hurt—he can’t walk!”
Seungcheol glanced down at Jeonghan briefly. Their eyes met for a moment. Something silent passed between them. “He made his choice,” Seungcheol said firmly.
“I didn’t!” you snapped back. “I’m not leaving him here!” You tried to pull Jeonghan up again, but he stopped you. His hand gently caught your wrist.
“…Little bird.” His voice was softer than you had ever heard it before.
You froze. The fire crackled loudly around you.
“You should go.”
Your head shook immediately. “No.”
“I’m serious.”
“You’re bleeding!” your voice broke. “You can still make it, we just have to—”
His gaze shifted past you. Toward the room, the room where his daughter sat waiting. “…She’s still there,” he murmured quietly.
Your breath caught. “Jeonghan…” you whispered, horrified.
“You should leave before the roof collapses,” he continued calmly. “You shouldn’t stay in a place like this.”
You grabbed his shirt desperately. “I’m not leaving you!”
For the first time, something in his expression softened. His hand slowly moved to your stomach. “…Take care of them.”
Your chest tightened painfully.
“Don’t say that.”
“I’m serious.” His thumb brushed lightly against the fabric. “…You’ll be a good mother.”
The words made your vision blur with tears. Seungcheol stepped forward again, grabbing your shoulders.
“We don’t have time for this!” he snapped. “The fire is spreading!”
You struggled against him. “No! Let go!”
Jeonghan watched silently. Then he spoke again.
“Take her outside.”
Your eyes widened. “You don’t get to decide that!” you cried. But Seungcheol had already pulled you away. Your nails dug into the floor as you tried to hold on.
“Jeonghan!”
For a moment, he simply watched you. The flames reflected faintly in his eyes. “…It was nice,” he said quietly.
You stopped struggling. “What?”
“For a while.”
Your chest tightened painfully.
Then he turned his gaze away. Toward the hallway, to the room where the doll waited.
“Go.”
Seungcheol didn’t hesitate this time. He dragged you toward the exit as the fire roared louder behind you. “Jeonghan!” you screamed, your voice breaking as the smoke swallowed the room except that he never turned back.
Everything blurred together. Seungcheol had finally dragged you out of the mansion, and now all you could do was watch as the fire swallowed it whole. Flames roared violently, devouring the entire building while people around you shouted, rushing back and forth trying to control the chaos. It was too much. Your shaking gaze drifted upward toward the floor where he had been. From outside, you could only see the fire consuming everything. A broken, devastated wail escaped your lips. You tried to rush forward again, desperate to go back inside, but Seungcheol was faster, grabbing you before you could do something reckless.
“No—!” you cried, struggling against him. But his grip tightened as he pulled you back.
All you could do was cry as he held you in place.
Your body slowly grew weak, your knees finally giving out beneath you. Seungcheol followed you down as you collapsed, kneeling beside you while trying to steady your trembling shoulders.
“It’s over,” he murmured firmly, though his voice softened slightly. “You can’t go back in there.”
It felt strange that you were capable of feeling something like this for Jeonghan. The man who had brought so much misery into your life.
And yet…
You had never truly known what lay behind the mask he wore. You knew it wasn’t love, not even close. Somehow, the warmth you had felt from him, however small, had not been completely fake. Maybe some small part of it had been real. And somehow… that realization hurt. Or maybe it was just the hormones.
Everything around you slowly became distant. The noise, the fire, the shouting. Your vision dimmed as exhaustion and shock finally overtook you. And before you realized it, everything went black.
In the burnt remains of the mansion, they would later find what looked like the charred bodies of a parent and a child.
At least, that was how Jeonghan might have seen it. In truth, all they found was the body of a solitary man… and a scorched porcelain doll.
Eight years had passed.
You placed the flowers gently on the gravestone. The name Yoon Jeonghan was engraved across the stone.
It had been a long time since your last visit. Your eyes lingered on the name for a moment, something distant stirring in the back of your mind.
“Mama, who is this?” Your daughter looked up at you with curious eyes, her small hand swinging as she held yours.
You smiled softly and patted her head. “Someone I knew in the past…” You turned when someone called your name. Your husband stood a short distance away, waiting patiently.
Joshua.
“Why don’t you go to Papa first, sweetie?” you said gently. You knelt down to her level, and she nodded before running toward her father. Joshua laughed softly as he easily lifted her into his arms. You slowly stood up again, giving the gravestone one last glance before finally turning away.
After a while, you returned home. Not long after entering, you noticed a package waiting at the door. It was a medium-sized box, carefully wrapped with a ribbon. You frowned slightly as you picked it up.
Your daughter bounced excitedly beside you. “Jiae, don’t jump around,” you scolded lightly. “You’ll hurt yourself.” She pouted but watched eagerly as you untied the ribbon and opened the box.
Inside was a porcelain doll. Beautiful and delicate.
You said nothing at first, a strange sense of déjà vu crawling over your skin. Jiae giggled happily and immediately picked up the doll, holding it carefully in her arms. You noticed a small card attached to it. It must have been from the sender. You frowned. You couldn’t remember Joshua mentioning anything about a gift. And you hadn’t kept in contact with many people since your marriage, aside from your father.
You turned the card over and read it.
He told me to give this to you.
His final wish.
— Jun W.
Your brows furrowed. You assumed it was a shop owner. A workshop, maybe. But that only raised another question. Who would send this to your address? You were certain you had never given it to anyone… except your father. Another card rested inside the box. Your hand hesitated before picking it up.
Slowly, you read the message.
I hope you love this gift.
I made sure she resembles our little one.
— Y. J.
You froze. Your gaze slowly lifted toward your daughter, who was already playing happily with the doll across the room. Your steps felt heavy as you walked toward her. When you looked closer at the doll in her arms, your breath faltered slightly.
It looked… strangely familiar, not exactly the same, but close enough. Uncomfortably close.
Jiae looked up at you with a bright smile. “Look, Mama! She’s pretty!” You forced a small smile in return. Jiae hugged the doll tightly, “Mama, can I keep her?” You watched the porcelain face for a long moment.
Somehow… it felt like the past had found its way back to you. Even after all these years, some things never truly disappeared. And perhaps, some legacies refused to be buried.
FIN(?)
a/n: ah, we've come to the end! dang, that was tragic but pls don't romanticize these lol. i honestly sleep with an eye open after re-reading back to this story cuz idk how i came up with that plot tbh (i had a vocaloid phase, so ig i would say it was based from that lore series lol). reblogs n comments are appreciated. thanks again, dear apples!
wc: 17k || art creds: @/winterrbluess @/su2kuna || 18+
frat!sukuna x shy!nerd!reader
A/N lowk this fic is much more toned down compared to what i usually post but fuck it we ball it's cute
summary ! sukuna doesn't give a shit about chemistry, that is until the big red 8% on his last test threatens to get him kicked out of his frat. desperate, he turns to the only person who can save him: you, the adorable, shy girl who aces every quiz. you agree to help, but only if he helps you get the attention of your hallway crush, his best friend, toji. what starts as a deal between you slowly turns into a spiral of love and jealousy. (18+, fluff, slight toji x reader (?), no angst for once omg go me)
the big red number stares back at him from the top of the paper like a brand burned into his pride. 8%.
sukuna exhales through his nose, the sound rough, annoyed. the paper crumples in his hand before he tosses it onto the desk. he leans back in his chair, the metal legs creaking under his weight as his jaw works.
normally, he wouldn’t give a damn about a grade. it’s not like chemistry was ever something he cared about. but this time, it’s different. one more fail and he’s out. the frat has rules, grades too low and you’re done. and he knows exactly what’ll happen if that happens.
tojis smug laugh. satoru’s endless teasing. the guys calling him “brain-dead” for weeks. no more parties. no more sorority hoes. no more lazy afternoons drinking on the porch with his friends.
he runs a hand down his face, dragging his fingers over the faint scar under his eye and the sharp tatted lines on his cut face. he can’t let that happen.
at the front of the room, their professor is rambling about averages and assessment weightings, something about the next major project. sukuna tunes back in when he hears the words “sixty percent” and “partner work.” that catches his attention.
the next gruelling assessment is a two-month long research investigation worth sixty percent of their final grade.
he was on the verge of strangling himself to death or jumping out of the top story window when he realised.
that’s it.
that’s his way out. he just needs a smart partner who can carry his hopeless ass.
sukuna’s eyes sweep across the room, scanning for anyone who looks like they know what the hell they’re doing. most of the people he usually talks to in class are as useless as he is, too busy flirting or sleeping through lectures.
but then his gaze catches on someone sitting right up the front.
you.
the quiet girl with the tidy notes and the neat handwriting, the one who always answers when the professor asks a question no one else dares to.
you’re sitting there now, head slightly tilted as you jot something down, your pen gliding across the page with that easy confidence of someone who actually understands this shit.
you’ve always sat alone, tucked near the window. you never talk during lectures unless you have to, and even then your voice is small, hesitant. you wear oversized sweaters, keep your hair pinned up, and avoid eye contact with anyone who looks remotely like they belong to his world.
still, he’s noticed you before. everyone has. it’s hard not to. you’re the kind of girl that seems untouchable, not because you’re trying to be, but because you’re so far removed from everything he knows. soft, focused, real sweet.
and right now, you look like salvation.
he pushes up from his seat, ignoring the curious glances from a few classmates as he moves down the aisle. his tall frame blocks the light for a second when he stops beside your desk. you glance up, startled, your pen pausing mid-sentence.
"yo, my names sukuna. and you?"
"uh, hi? it's y/n." he smirks at your shy response, but continues.
“you’re like, a chem genius, right?” his tone is low, rough with disinterest, though his eyes linger on you a little too long.
you blink up at him, hesitant. “oh, um… i guess? why?”
“i need a partner, like, real bad,” he says, dropping the failed exam onto your desk with a dull slap. the red ink almost glows. “i'm gonna be honest, i completely fucked myself with this last exam. i can’t afford to fail again.”
you stare at the paper, then at him. up close, he’s intimidating. messy pink hair, dark eyes sharp and unreadable, tattoos trailing up his arms, his face, and peeking out from under his shirt collar.
he looks nothing like someone who’d ever ask for help, especially from you, and the fact that he’s doing it now makes your mind reel.
“i- look, don't take this the wrong way, but... theres a lot of people in this class,” you manage softly. “why pick me?”
he shrugs, leaning one hand on the desk beside your notes. “because you actually know what you’re doing. and i’m not looking to get stuck with some idiot who’ll drag me down, i'm already so fucking cooked."
you hesitate, glancing away. you’ve never really talked to him before. actually, you’ve barely even noticed him beyond the times you’ve seen him walking across campus with toji. that’s usually when your stomach does that stupid fluttering thing. watching toji laugh, his arm slung lazily around sukuna’s shoulders, both of them looking like they own the place.
it’s strange seeing one of them standing here now, asking you for help.
you fidget with your pen. “that's fine, sure. but… if we’re partners, wed have to split the workload.”
"yeah,” he says. “i can pull my weight, don't stress it, sweetheart. mostly just need someone to keep me from bombing it.”
it’s almost funny. he’s trying to sound casual, but something about the way he’s watching you feels uncharacteristically careful. like he’s actually waiting for your answer rather than being the overbearing dick he usually is.
maybe it’s because you’re cute. or maybe it’s because he knows you hold his fate in your small, nervous hands.
you chew your lip for a moment, then nod. “yeah, okay. i’ll help you out.”
his mouth tilts in a grin that’s half smug, half genuine relief. “good. 'preciate it, babe.”
you look down instantly, pretending to organize your papers so he doesn’t see the way your face warms. you weren't used to such casual name calling.
he drags a chair over from the next row and drops into it beside you, leaning back like he’s been sitting there all semester.
the professor’s voice fades into the background again as you stare straight ahead, trying to focus on anything but the fact that sukuna ryomen, the most notorious guy in beta tau, is now your project partner.
a few minutes pass in silence. the lecture drags on, your notes filling another page. but your mind’s racing the whole time. sukuna, meanwhile, can’t stop sneaking glances at you from the corner of his eye.
he hadn’t expected you to actually agree. and he definitely hadn’t expected to find himself curious about you. you’re so… different. not the kind of girl who shows up to parties. not someone who flirts back when he smirks at her. just quiet and sweet, head buried in your work, the type that shouldn’t even be in his orbit.
and yet here you are.
when the professor dismisses the class, people start packing up. you hesitate, fingers tightening around your pen. then, before you can talk yourself out of it, you turn to him.
“hey… sukuna?”
he hums, eyes flicking toward you lazily. “yeah?”
you look nervous, the words almost tripping over themselves before they leave your mouth. cute. “i’ll help you pass. but… can you help me out with something too?”
his brow arches. “hmm. depends what it is.”
you take a quiet breath. “it’s about your friend. uh.. toji.”
that gets his attention. his posture stiffens a little. “what about him?”
you look down at your notebook, like it’s safer than looking at him. “i just… i think he’s really attractive. and he looks nice. i know it’s kind of stupid but i was wondering if maybe... you could help me get him to notice me.”
for a second, sukuna just stares at you.
out of all the things he expected you to say, that wasn’t it.
you, the shy little thing sitting up front, blushing and tripping over her own words, want toji fushiguro. one of the biggest assholes on campus. his best friend, sure, but a guy who barely remembers girls’ names after he sleeps with them.
he leans back slowly, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. “you’re serious?”
you nod, eyes still fixed on your notebook.
he studies you for a long moment. you’re fidgeting again, twisting your pen between your fingers, your voice so soft he almost misses it. “you don’t have to if it’s weird, i just thought… you two are close, so maybe…”
sukuna exhales through his nose. part of him wants to tell you it’s a bad idea. that toji doesn’t deserve someone like you. that you’d get hurt trying to chase a guy like that.
but he doesn’t.
instead, he tilts his head and says, “yeah, fine. i’ll help you out.”
your head snaps up, eyes wide. “huh? really?”
“yeah. but only because you’re saving my ass with this project,” he says, smirking a little. “guess we’ll call it even.”
you smile, small, bright, genuine, and something tightens in his chest.
you're so cute.
“thank you,” you say quietly.
he grins again, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “don’t mention it, honey.”
and as you pack up your notes, he watches you go, already trying to ignore the strange feeling crawling up the back of his neck.
he tells himself it’s just a deal. a trade. nothing more.
but as you disappear out the door, he can’t shake the thought that maybe, just maybe, he’s gotten himself into more trouble than he realises.
~
music blasts through the frat, heavy bass shaking the walls, bodies moving in rhythm across the living room floor. someone’s yelling over the noise, someone else is laughing too loud.
the air smells like bad beer, smoke, and sweat, the classic friday night cocktail that means beta tau is alive and wild again.
sukuna leans against the kitchen counter, red solo cup in hand, watching a game of beer pong play out in front of him. the noise is deafening, but it’s a familiar kind of chaos. toji’s across the table, grin sharp as he sinks another ping-pong ball into the last cup.
“hell yeah,” toji shouts, hands raised. “that’s another win for me, baby!”
someone hands him another drink, and he downs it in one go, slamming the cup down as the room cheers. toji fushiguro lives for this kind of night, beer, bets, and easy company. sukuna’s used to it, the routine almost comforting.
he joins the next round, barely losing after a stupid bounce, then lets himself collapse onto the sagging couch beside toji. the music’s pounding through the walls, but the corner they’re in feels quieter, almost like the noise fades around them.
toji stretches out, arm slung over the back of the couch, shirt sticking to his skin. “you’re slipping, man,” he says, smirking at sukuna. “used to be able to hold your own in beer pong.”
“fuck up,” sukuna mutters, head tipped back, eyes half-lidded. “that last shot was rigged.”
“rigged?” toji laughs, deep and unrestrained. “you’re just rusty.”
sukuna grunts, tossing his empty cup onto the coffee table. his head’s buzzing, not from the alcohol, just from thoughts, mostly the image of you, the way you looked earlier in class, keeps floating up uninvited. you sitting at the front of the room, your careful handwriting, the little way you’d fidget with your pen when you were nervous.
he doesn’t even realize he’s been quiet until toji elbows him. “yo, what’s got you zoning out?”
sukuna runs his tongue over his teeth, deciding. screw it. “you ever heard of someone named y/n?”
toji raises a brow, blinking like he didn’t catch that over the noise. “who?”
“y/n,” sukuna repeats.
toji shakes his head, lips quirking. “nah. that some new chick you’re banging?”
sukuna sputters, choking on air. “what? no. i’m not-” he cuts himself off, dragging a hand down his face. great. smooth start.
toji’s smirk widens. “come on, man. don’t get shy on me. you’re stuttering like some freshman.”
“shut up,” sukuna mutters, glaring at him. “it’s not like that.”
“then what’s it like?”
he hesitates, watching the light flicker off the beer bottles on the table. there’s no way to explain it without sounding weird. he’s not even sure why he’s bringing you up at all, except that he made a promise, and now he’s gotta start somewhere.
“she’s just… in my chem class,” he finally says. “smart as hell. the kind that actually knows what she’s doing, y’know?”
toji snorts. “so, a nerd.”
“yeah,” sukuna says, ignoring the way toji says it like it’s an insult. “but, like… cute. shy, quiet, nice, i guess.”
toji’s grin widens. “bro. you’re seriously telling me about a crush right now? what the hell happened to you?”
“it’s not a crush,” sukuna says quickly, though his voice comes out sharper than he means. “she’s just..” he stops, running a hand through his hair. “she’s helping me with chem, okay? and i told her i’d help her with something too.”
“what, she want free alcs?” toji laughs.
“no.” sukuna exhales through his nose. “she wants you.”
that earns him a pause. toji tilts his head, eyes narrowing like he’s trying to decide if he misheard. “me?”
“yeah.”
“as in… she wants to, what, date me?”
“basically.”
toji’s silent for a moment, then he breaks into a bark of laughter so loud it turns a few heads. “you’re kidding, right? some shy nerdy girl wants me?” he grins, tapping his chest. “guess she’s got good taste.”
sukuna grits his teeth. “don’t be an ass about it.”
“what? i’m not being an ass,” toji says, still smirking. “just saying, that’s not really my type, man. i like girls who can actually keep up, y’know?”
“yeah, i know,” sukuna mutters. “that’s kinda the problem.”
“problem?”
sukuna leans forward, elbows on his knees, voice dropping low. “look, she’s… she’s sweet. like, actually sweet. the kind of girl that probably still says ‘sorry’ even when someone bumps into her first. you’d break her in half.”
toji shrugs, unbothered. “then maybe she shouldn’t be into me.”
“she doesn’t even know you,” sukuna says, frustration creeping into his tone. “she just saw you around. thinks you’re… i don’t know. hot and nice.”
“ha,” toji barks out a laugh, finishing his drink. “then she’s definitely got the wrong idea.”
sukuna sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. this was going nowhere.
he tries again, his tone careful. “i just figured maybe you could give her a chance. she’s not like the other girls you mess with. she’s…” he hesitates, searching for the right word. “different. the kind you’d actually like if you gave her five minutes.”
toji side-eyes him, clearly amused. “you trying to sell me a girlfriend or something? what’s in it for you?”
sukuna’s jaw tightens. “nothing. i told her i’d help her out, that’s all.”
toji grins, eyes glinting. “you sure about that? you sound kinda like you wanna keep her for yourself.”
sukuna’s silent for a beat, his pulse ticking faster than it should. “i don’t.”
“right. and i’m the pope.” toji laughs, leaning back. “are you high? tellin’ me about how cute and shy she is… just fuck her and move on, bro. no need for all this emotional shit.”
sukuna drags a hand down his face, groaning. “i wish i was fucking high. jesus, you’re impossible.”
the music gets louder again, another chant rising from the kitchen as someone calls for shots. toji stands, stretching, grinning down at him. “come on, man. stop thinking so hard. let’s go get wasted.”
sukuna waves him off. “nah, i’m good. go ahead.”
toji shrugs and disappears into the crowd. sukuna sinks further into the couch, head tipping back, letting the noise drown out the frustration burning in his chest.
this was going to be a nightmare.
.
the next morning, the fluorescent lights of the lecture hall feel like punishment. the air smells like stale coffee and paper, and the chatter around the room grates on his nerves. sukuna slouches into his seat, sunglasses hiding the exhaustion clinging to him.
you’re already there, of course. neat stack of papers beside your laptop, pen in hand, posture perfect. you glance up as he approaches, offering a small smile.
“morning,” you say softly.
“hey,” he mutters, sliding into the seat next to you.
the teacher doesn’t waste time, telling everyone to start working on their projects. pairs scatter across the room, some staying behind, others leaving for the library. you glance at sukuna, uncertain.
“should we…?”
“yeah, library,” he says before you can finish. “less noise.”
you nod quickly, tucking your notes under your arm as you follow him out.
the walk’s quiet. you keep close but not too close, fingers gripping the strap of your bag. sukuna glances at you once or twice as you walk, the sunlight catching the edge of your hair. there’s something weirdly calming about you, like your presence forces the chaos in his head to settle for a bit.
when you reach the campus library, you pick a small table near the back, away from the groups of whispering students. the morning light filters through tall windows, catching dust motes in the air. it’s quiet enough that every turn of a page feels loud.
you sit across from him, pulling your laptop from your bag. “um, before we start, maybe we should exchange contact info?”
he nods, pulling out his phone. “yeah. what's ya' number?”
you rattle it off, and he types it in. his phone pings a second later when you text him, and he adds your contact with a lazy swipe. then you both exchange social media.
you open your instagram to show him, but he’s already found it. your account’s small. cozy, soft colors, pictures of coffee cups, notes, and the occasional selfie that looks like you were trying not to take one.
then you look at his. thousands of followers, stories from parties, shirtless gym photos, snapshots of him and toji grinning like idiots with red cups in hand.
you blink, then smile politely. “ours are… really different.”
he huffs out a quiet laugh. “yeah. just a little.”
he doesn’t tell you that he finds it kind of adorable, how small and peaceful your corner of the internet looks compared to his chaos.
you both settle in to start discussing the project, papers spread between you. you talk about ideas, your voice growing steadier as you get into the topic. you explain concepts easily, your hands moving as you describe how you could structure the research, how to divide the work.
he listens. or tries to. mostly, he’s just watching the way you light up when you talk about something you love.
after a while, you pause, glancing at him with a small, hopeful look. “did you… talk to toji?”
he freezes for a fraction of a second, mind flashing back to last night. the laughter, the teasing, the absolute disaster of that conversation.
“yeah,” he says after a moment, forcing a smile. “i did.”
your eyes widen, curious. “what’d he say?”
he hesitates. you’re looking at him so earnestly, waiting for an answer, and he can’t bring himself to tell you that toji laughed it off, that he’d said something crude about just sleeping with you and moving on.
so he lies.
“he seemed interested,” sukuna says smoothly. “asked who you were. said you sounded cute.”
you go still for a moment, then your cheeks flush, and you duck your head. “really?”
“yeah,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “told him you were smart, nice. he said that’s rare.”
your shy smile makes his chest tighten in a way he doesn’t understand.
“that’s… really nice of you, sukuna,” you say softly. “thanks.”
he shrugs, forcing a grin. “told you i’d help.”
but as you turn back to your notes, still smiling faintly to yourself, he can’t look away. he doesn’t know what’s worse, the way lying to you actually hurts his heart, or the way part of him’s starting to wish that toji never finds out who you are.
because the thought of you smiling like that at anyone else makes his stomach twist.
~
the frat house is quieter than usual when sukuna pushes the door open.
no bass pounding through the walls, no laughter echoing down the hallway, no beer pong table clattering in the kitchen. just the faint hum of the refrigerator and the distant muffled sound of someone’s tv from another room.
it’s strange. unsettling, almost. he’s gotten used to the constant noise, the never ending roar of people that filled the house from dusk till dawn.
he kicks off his shoes at the door, shoulders rolling back as he heads for the stairs. his head still feels heavy from the long day, the faint scent of your shampoo stuck in his memory.
it’s weird? he’s been around a thousand girls, maybe more. girls who practically threw themselves at him, who laughed too loud at his jokes and leaned in too close.
but somehow, you, sitting across from him with that shy smile and your soft voice explaining inter molecular relationship, manage to stick in his head longer than any of them ever have.
his room’s dark when he steps inside, save for the light bleeding in from the street through the blinds. he tosses his keys onto the desk and falls back onto his bed, exhaling. the ceiling stares back blankly.
he doesn’t even mean to grab his phone, but his hand moves before he can think. he unlocks it, thumb hovering over instagram.
just checking something, he tells himself.
his fingers type your username into the search bar without hesitation.
your profile opens instantly.
the same cozy layout he remembered. a few new story highlights. your bio, something simple, maybe a quote or a flower emoji. his thumb scrolls down slowly, eyes following the grid of neatly arranged photos. you, a few landscapes, coffee cups, snippets of sunlight through your window, a cat that might not even be yours.
he stops when he sees a picture from about a month ago.
you’re holding a tiny puppy in your arms, your face caught mid laugh, like someone had said something funny right before snapping the picture. the puppy’s paw rests against your chest, nose tucked near your chin. in your other hand, you’re holding a paper cup of coffee, a little swirl of foam peeking through the lid.
he stares at it for longer than he should.
it’s just a photo, nothing special, but something about it hits him hard . the little details, the way your fingers hold gently under the puppy’s paw, the sunlight catching on the curve of your cheek, the way your smile looks completely unposed.
he catches himself wondering stupid things.
was that your dog? probably not. maybe a friend’s. or some random one you met at a cafe.
was the coffee yours? it looks like something you’d order, something simple. maybe vanilla, maybe something with caramel.
where was that taken? some small corner cafe? a weekend morning somewhere quiet?
he doesn’t know. and that bothers him more than it should.
his thumb hovers over the photo for a second before he double taps it. the little red heart fills in on the corner of the screen.
great. now you’re going to see that he liked a post from a month ago. real smooth.
he tosses his phone onto the bed beside him, covering his face with his hands.
“what the fuck am i doing,” he mutters.
he’s never been that guy. the one who scrolls through a girl’s profile like he’s studying for an exam. the one who cares enough to wonder what her favorite coffee order is, or if she likes dogs or cats more. he doesn’t ask those questions. he doesn’t want to ask those questions.
but he can’t stop himself.
he scrolls again, back up to your most recent post, another candid shot, you’re wearing one of those oversized sweaters you always seem to wear to class, sleeves pulled over your wrists.
you look peaceful. and sweet. and so painfully far from the world he lives in.
his throat tightens unexpectedly, he looks deeper, really looks at you.
you’re really fucking pretty.
he’d always known that. he’d noticed, sure, he’s not blind. the first day you’d agreed to work with him, he’d thought you were cute. adorable, even. but now, staring at your pictures, seeing the small glimpses of your life beyond those chemistry notes and shy smiles, he realizes it’s more than that.
you’re beautiful.
and that realization sits heavy in his chest, thick and uncomfortable.
because he knows exactly where this is supposed to go.
he still owes you. he still promised you something.
toji.
the thought of his friend’s name makes him exhale hard through his nose.
he can already picture it. if he brings you up again, toji will laugh the same way he always does. say something crude. maybe shrug and agree to meet you, just for the hell of it. and maybe you’d smile that soft, nervous smile at him, and maybe you’d fall for him harder than you already have.
and that image, that thought? makes sukuna’s jaw clench.
he shakes his head, forcing the phone screen off.
“get a grip,” he mutters, rolling onto his side.
but it’s no use. even as he closes his eyes, the image of you laughing with that puppy burns into the back of his mind.
~
two weeks pass withf lectures and late-night text exchanges about project deadlines.
you’ve met up three times since that first day at the library. each time, sukuna’s noticed small things. how you seem to relax around him more, how you’ve started teasing him lightly when he messes up an equation, how your laugh sounds quiet but genuine when he actually manages to make you smile.
and now, on the fourth meeting, he finds himself heading to the library again, trying to ignore the way his stomach feels weirdly tight.
you’re already there when he walks in.
same table. same corner near the back.
but this time, something’s different.
you’re standing by your seat, waving slightly when you see him. and in your hands, you’re holding two cups of coffee.
“hey,” you say, your voice bright and clear in a way that makes him pause.
he blinks, momentarily thrown off by how cheerful you sound. “hey,” he replies, trying to sound as casual as usual.
you hold out one of the cups toward him. “i, um, got this for you. black coffee, right?”
for a second, he just stares.
it’s stupid. it’s a coffee cup. but his mind stutters anyway.
“yeah,” he says, voice quieter than he means it to be. “yeah, that’s right.”
“i wasn’t sure how you take it,” you admit with a small laugh. “you seem like the kind of person who drinks it straight. no sugar, no milk.”
he huffs out a small laugh, taking the cup from you. “you got that right.”
“lucky guess.”
you sit down, cheeks faintly pink. he watches you for a second longer than necessary before clearing his throat and dropping into the chair across from you.
“thanks,” he says finally, lifting the cup slightly. “for the coffee.”
you smile, soft and genuine. “you’ve been helping me a lot with this, so i thought it was the least i could do.”
he wants to tell you that you’ve got it backwards, that you’re the one keeping him afloat, not the other way around, but he bites his tongue.
instead, he takes a sip, the bitter taste grounding him.
“you didn’t have to, y'know.”
“i wanted to,” you say, eyes flicking down to your notes.
and for a brief second, he feels his pulse skip.
you wanted to.
he tries to shake the feeling, pulling out his own notes. “alright, so. what’s the plan for today?”
you talk about the experiment data, what needs to be written up, the references you still have to gather. he listens, but part of him’s distracted.
it’s the way you’re talking now, louder, lighter. you’re not tripping over your words anymore. you’re not afraid to meet his eyes. the shy girl who could barely look at him two weeks ago is now smiling at him between sentences.
and fuck if that doesn’t make something twist in his chest.
as the minutes pass, the project talk starts to blur into something else. he’s the one who changes the subject first.
“so,” he says, leaning back slightly. “what’s with you and coffee? every time i see you, you’ve got one.”
you look up from your laptop, blinking. “i just like it, i guess. i go to this little place near campus almost every morning before class.”
“the one with the green sign?”
“yeah, that one.”
“figured.”
you laugh quietly. “you go there too?”
“sometimes,” he says. “after workouts. they’ve got good espresso.”
you tilt your head. “you work out every morning?”
“almost,” he says, smirking faintly. “gotta keep my sexy frat guy aura in tact.”
“oh, right,” you tease, eyes glinting a little. “wouldn’t want to disappoint your fans.”
he blinks, caught off guard. “fans?”
“your instagram,” you say, trying not to laugh. “you’ve got, like, a thousand girls following you. i saw.”
he groans, rubbing a hand over his face. “don’t remind me.”
“why?”
“because half of them don’t even go to this school,” he says, grinning a little. “they just… show up.”
you laugh, the sound soft but real, and he finds himself smiling before he can stop it.
after that, the conversation drifts. you talk about random things. your classes, your favorite kind of music, the dog from your photo (“that’s my friend’s puppy,” you explain. “he’s named mochi.”).
sukuna finds himself asking questions, more than he’s ever asked anyone before. not just because he wants to fill the silence, but because he genuinely wants to know.
you tell him about your hobbies, your part tme job at the campus bookstore, how you’re saving up for a trip after graduation.
he listens. really listens.
and for every small thing you share, he feels himself drawn in deeper.
when the session finally ends, the clock showing that two hours have slipped by without either of you noticing, you start packing up your things.
“same time next week?” you ask, glancing up.
“yeah,” he says. “same spot.”
you smile again, that soft, shy one that makes his chest ache.
and as you wave goodbye and walk out of the library, sukuna stays seated for a moment, staring at the empty chair across from him.
he should be thinking about the project. about grades. about keeping his promise to you.
but all he can think about is how the smell of coffee still lingers faintly on his fingers and how, somehow, that’s become his favorite part of the day.
~
the frat house always feels heavy on monday mornings. air thick with the smell of stale beer and cheap cologne, empty red cups scattered on tables like small grave markers from the weekend before. sukuna drags himself through the hallway, towel hanging around his neck, hair still damp from a quick shower.
toji’s already waiting in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with a protein shake in one hand and his phone in the other. he looks up when sukuna walks in, flashing that familiar cocky grin.
“yo, you down to hit the gym?”
sukuna doesn’t even hesitate. “for sure.”
mondays are brutal, but skipping a session isn’t an option. not when you’ve got someone like toji keeping score. they finish off their drinks, grab their bags, and head out.
the campus is still quiet. early morning sun stretches across the pavement, birds chirping somewhere above. their sneakers hit the concrete in sync.
“bro, did you see the game last night?” toji asks, tossing a smirk his way.
“yeah,” sukuna mutters. “you owe me twenty.”
toji groans. “bullshit. that last call was garbage.”
“still counts.”
they go back and forth for a while typical talk. girls, workouts, who pulled who at the last party. toji’s loud, animated, the kind of guy who fills silence with his own voice. sukuna listens, laughs when he should, but half his mind’s somewhere else.
they’re cutting across the main quad when he spots you.
you’re walking toward one of the lecture halls, tote bag slung over your shoulder, hair catching the light in a way that makes his breath hitch.
you’re wearing something simple. a cute shirt and nice jeans, your hands wrapped around a coffee cup, but somehow it makes you stand out more than anyone else on the path.
you don’t see him, too focused on your phone, but his chest tightens anyway.
for a second, it’s like the rest of the campus fades away.
then he remembers who’s walking beside him.
toji’s still talking about some girl he hooked up with over the weekend, words fading into the background as sukuna’s jaw tightens. he forces his eyes away, tells himself to stop being weird. this is stupid. you’re just his lab partner.
except he’s not supposed to be thinking about how good you look in the morning light. he’s supposed to be thinking about the deal.
the one with toji.
his throat feels dry as he forces himself to speak.
“hey,” he says suddenly. “you remember that girl i was talking about the other night?”
toji glances over, raising a brow. “the chem one?”
“yeah. that’s her.”
he nods toward you before he can second-guess it.
toji slows immediately, his attention shifting in your direction. you’re still walking across the path, the sunlight brushing over your face as you look up for a moment, squinting.
sukuna watches as toji literally stops in his tracks.
“no way,” toji says, eyes widening. “that’s her?”
“yeah,” sukuna mutters.
“holy shit.” toji’s grin spreads, sharp and impressed. “you didn’t tell me she was that cute.”
sukuna doesn’t respond. he just keeps walking, pretending to be unfazed, but every word toji says feels like it’s digging deeper under his skin.
“seriously, bro,” toji continues, still staring after you even as you disappear into the building. “you made her sound like some dorky little nerd. i was picturing ugly glasses, messy bun, the whole thing. but she’s, damn. she’s adorable.”
sukuna’s stomach twists. he forces a smirk, because that’s what’s expected. “yeah, she’s not bad.”
“not bad?” toji laughs, clapping a hand to his shoulder. “she’s gorgeous. you holding out on me, man?”
“nah,” sukuna says quickly. “just didn’t think you’d be into that type.”
“what type?”
“the smart, quiet type,” he says, voice flat. “thought you liked girls who could ‘keep up,’ remember?”
toji scoffs. “yeah, well, she’s too cute to pass up. shit, you should let me tag along next time you’re studying with her. see what she’s like up close.”
sukuna forces a laugh, but it comes out strained. “yeah, sure. whatever.”
inside, he’s cringing so hard he feels sick.
they head into the gym, the sound of clanging weights filling the space. he tries to focus on the burn in his muscles, the rhythm of his breathing but his thoughts won’t shut up. toji’s words keep echoing. she’s adorable. she’s gorgeous. you holding out on me?
this was what he was supposed to do. this was the plan. introduce you to toji, let things fall into place, make good on his end of the deal.
so why does it feel so wrong?
~
the next study session comes faster than he expects.
the day’s overcast, the library quiet except for the soft hush of the air conditioning. you’re already there when he walks in, sitting in your usual spot by the window, books neatly stacked, pen tapping absently against your notebook.
you look up when you hear his voice.
“hey,” he says, slipping through the aisles toward you.
your face brightens instantly, that small, warm smile tugging at your lips.
“hi,” you say, already starting to greet him.
then your voice falters.
because right behind him, towering and broad-shouldered, is toji.
your words die halfway out of your throat, eyes going wide. he’s impossible to ignore, dark hair, sharp grin, that easy confidence that radiates from him like static.
sukuna can see the exact moment you freeze. your fingers grip your pen a little too tightly, your posture going stiff.
“this is toji,” sukuna says, trying to sound casual. “he wanted to tag along today.”
“hey,” toji says smoothly, pulling up a chair without asking. “nice to meet you, y/n.”
you nod, cheeks pink. “h-hi.”
it’s awkward from the start. painfully so.
sukuna tries to start things off, opening his notebook and asking about the data you collected last week, but toji’s already jumping in with his own questions, none of them relevant.
“so,” toji leans forward, elbows on the table. “you’re really good at this chem stuff, huh? always been a little nerd?”
you laugh nervously, eyes flicking between the two of them. “i… guess so?”
“yeah, i could never,” he says, shaking his head. “i barely passed last year. too many parties, you know how it is.”
you nod politely, but the look on your face says it all, you have no idea what to say.
sukuna grits his teeth.
toji keeps going, oblivious. he talks about the last frat party, about the time he benched two hundred in front of half the football team, about some girl who texted him last night. you just sit there, smiling faintly, giving small nods and quiet hums of agreement.
it’s brutal.
every word toji says feels like a slow car crash sukuna can’t stop. he knows he should’ve expected this. this was always how toji was but now that it’s happening in front of you, he can’t stand it.
you’re sitting there, trying so hard to be polite, cheeks flushed, fingers fidgeting with your sleeve. and for the first time, sukuna hates how loud the other guy is. hates how he’s filling the space that’s always felt quiet and easy with you.
after what feels like forever, toji’s phone buzzes. he glances down, reads the message, and stands up.
“gotta head out,” he says, smirking. “good luck with your project, sweetheart. maybe i’ll swing by next time, yeah?”
before you can respond, he gives you a wink.
you freeze again, murmuring something that barely sounds like a goodbye.
he leaves, whistling under his breath, completely unaware of how painfully awkward that was.
the second he’s out of sight, sukuna exhales hard and runs a hand through his hair.
“fuck,” he mutters. “sorry about that.”
your eyes widen a little. “oh, um, it’s fine.”
“no, seriously,” he says, glancing at you. “i should’ve told you i was bringing him.”
you hesitate, then smile, shy but real. “it’s okay. i was just… nervous, i guess.”
he tilts his head. “why?”
you look down at your notes. “he’s just… kind of intense. i didn’t expect that.”
“yeah,” he says quietly. “he’s like that.”
the silence that follows isn’t awkward, though. it’s calm. steady.
you’re visibly more relaxed now, shoulders no longer so tight, your voice softer when you start talking again. sukuna listens, his chest loosening with every word.
you don’t mention toji again.
and he doesn’t either.
for the rest of the session, it’s just the two of you again. back to the easy rhythm he didn’t realize he’d missed until it was gone. you explain a reaction mechanism, he teases you about your handwriting, you roll your eyes and laugh.
when it’s time to leave, you pack up your things slowly, almost like you don’t want the moment to end.
“see you next week?” you ask.
“yeah,” he says, smiling faintly. “next week.”
you give a small wave, and as you walk out, sukuna watches you disappear between the shelves, that same quiet warmth settling in his chest.
he should feel relieved, he did what he was supposed to. he introduced you to toji. he followed through.
but instead, he just feels like he’s made a mistake.
because the whole walk back to the frat, the only thing running through his head isn’t how toji couldn’t shut up or how awkward the whole thing was.
it’s how your voice had softened when you told him it was fine. how your eyes met his, even for a second, and he felt that stupid little spark again.
he doesn’t know what to call it. doesn’t want to.
but deep down, he knows one thing for sure.
the next time you two meet, he’s showing up alone, keeping you to himself.
~
music pounds through sukuna's chest, pulsing out of the open doors of the sorority like a heartbeat on overdrive. laughter spills down the steps, mixed with the sharp scent of alcohol and perfume and that sticky-sweet haze that always clings to these kinds of parties.
banners hang crooked above the door, fairy lights tangled like spiderwebs. the sorority girls really went all out.
it’s a mixer. one of those invite only things, where every girl in greek row tries to get noticed by the “right” house. and sukuna’s frat, their house, was always the right one. full of grade A hotties like sukuna and toji and successful athletes like gojo and geto.
he spots toji near the entrance, already in his element. white t-shirt, chain glinting at his throat, grin carved sharp enough to cut through the noise. every few seconds, someone calls his name. girls from different sororities, guys from the rugby team, even one of the organizers waving him over.
toji was built for this. sukuna knew it. hell, everyone did.
“about time, man,” toji says when sukuna steps up beside him. “thought you’d bailed.”
“nah,” sukuna mutters. “just took my time.”
“yeah, well, tonight’s supposed to be wild. let’s make the most of it.”
they shoulder their way through the crowd, music pounding overhead, the smell of beer and sweat and too much perfume thick in the air. sticking together like usual.
a few girls call out sukuna’s name as they pass, and he just flashes that lazy grin he’s perfected, the one that says he’s not interested, but he might be later.
it’s all automatic now. the smirk, the eye contact, the way his shoulders roll when he laughs. it’s all muscle memory.
but tonight, something feels off.
maybe it’s the way every laugh sounds fake. maybe it’s the way the lights flash too bright, painting everyone in the same plastic color.
maybe it’s because all he can think about is you.
they end up in the kitchen, where the music’s still loud but not deafening. beer pong’s already set up on the long dining table, cups half-filled, ping-pong balls scattered across the sticky surface.
toji grabs a ball and grins. “let’s go. loser does a shot.”
sukuna smirks, rolling up his sleeves. “you’re on.”
they start playing, drawing a small crowd of girls who cheer and giggle at every throw. toji’s competitive as always, talking shit between shots, while sukuna plays quiet and steady. the rhythm feels familiar, the weight of the ball, the sound of it hitting the cup, the way everyone leans in to watch.
after two rounds, they’re tied. toji wins one, sukuna the other. the girls watching don’t seem to care who’s winning they’re too focused on the way the two of them look, the easy confidence that comes with knowing the room revolves around them.
and then they descend.
a blonde slides up beside toji, pressing herself against his arm. another girl, brunette this time, drapes herself over sukuna, laughter dripping from her lips like honey.
“you guys are, like, scary good at this,” she says, voice high and flirty.
“practice,” sukuna says automatically. his smirk looks real enough. it always does.
her nails trace the edge of his sleeve, and she leans closer. “bet you’re real good at other things too.”
normally, this is the part where he’d lean in, let the moment pull him under. he knows how this goes, shots, dancing, slipping upstairs when the music gets too loud. normally he'd do anything for a quick fuck.
but tonight, it doesn’t land.
he looks down at her, at the perfect makeup and glitter around her eyes, and all he can think is how different she is from you.
how you’d never lean on someone like this. how you’d never grab at someone you just met. how when you talked, you actually meant what you said.
his jaw tightens.
toji’s already got two girls around him, laughing loudly, drink in one hand, the other at someone’s waist. he looks like he’s having the time of his life. and for the first time, sukuna feels nothing but exhaustion watching it.
the brunette keeps talking something about the psych department, something about a pool party next weekend but her words fade into static.
god, he can’t stop thinking about you.
he pictures your small smile, the way you tuck your hair behind your ear when you’re nervous. the way your voice lifts just slightly when you talk about something you love. the way your eyes meet his only for a second before darting away again.
then he thinks about how you’d react if you saw this.
if you saw toji right now, grinning, drunk, hands everywhere.
you’d look crushed. maybe not outwardly, but he knows you’d feel it. he can see that tiny flicker of hurt in his head, your lips pressing together, pretending not to care.
and for some reason, that thought hits him like a punch.
you’d be heartbroken over a guy like toji. and he hates that. hates it enough that his fake smirk starts to slip.
because toji’s the one you wanted. and toji’s right there, laughing with some random girl like you never even existed.
it makes his stomach twist.
the brunette leans in closer, her perfume cloying and too strong. she presses her lips against his neck, and something cold floods through him instead of the usual heat.
he stiffens.
she pulls back, confused, maybe even offended, but he just steps away, shaking his head.
“you good?” she asks, pouting a little.
“yeah,” he mutters. “just need a smoke.”
he grabs a beer from the counter and makes his way outside.
the air’s cooler out here, cleaner. it hits his lungs in a way that almost feels like relief. he digs into his pocket, finds his pack, and lights up. the first drag burns his throat, grounding him a little. he thinks back to the time you'd seen a flash of the packet in his pocket, the look of concern plastering your cute face.
"you smoke cigarettes? y'know that pretty bad for you, sukuna..."
he sighs and takes another drag, he knew you were right, hell, he even cut down after that little statement.
inside, the party’s still raging. someone shouts, laughter echoing off the walls. he hears toji’s voice above the rest, loud and easy and so damn sure of himself.
sukuna exhales a long stream of smoke and stares out at the street.
why’s he even thinking about you like this?
you're just a girl. just a project partner. you needed his help, he needed yours. that’s all it was supposed to be.
but then he remembers how you'd smiled when he showed up on time for once, how you’d brought him that stupid cup of coffee just because you thought he’d like it. how careful you’d been, shy but trying.
and now he’s here, surrounded by everything he used to want, feeling nothing but restless.
he thinks about the library tomorrow morning.
you’d be there early. you always are. waiting at the same table, your notebook open, your pen tapping as you concentrate. you’d look up when he walks in, offer that small, quiet smile like you’re genuinely happy to see him.
the thought of showing up hungover makes his stomach knot.
he can’t let you see him like that. not reeking of beer, not bleary eyed and dead from a night he didn’t even enjoy.
he flicks the ash off his cigarette, curses under his breath.
“what the fuck am i doing?”
he looks back toward the house. the windows are glowing with golden light, silhouettes moving inside. laughter spills out again, shrill and wild.
that used to feel like home.
now it just feels loud.
he takes another drag, the ember lighting up in the dark.
this isn’t him. at least, it’s not the version of him you’ve seen. the one who actually listens, who tries, who stays sober enough to remember what you said about catalysts and reactions. the one you’ve somehow turned him into without even knowing.
he huffs out a quiet laugh, bitter and low.
you’d probably never believe it if someone told you sukuna ryomen left a mixer early because of a girl.
but here he is.
he stubs out the cigarette, tosses the butt into the gutter, and pulls his jacket tighter around him.
he steps back inside just long enough to find toji at the beer pong table, a girl perched on his lap now, and rolls his eyes.
“yo,” toji calls over. “where the hell’d you go?”
“m' heading out,” sukuna says. “got shit to do tomorrow.”
toji raises a brow. “it’s friday, man.”
“yeah. i know.”
“whatever,” toji laughs. “your loss.”
sukuna just shrugs, already turning toward the door.
the music fades behind him as he walks out again. the night air hits him, cool against his skin. campus is mostly empty now, streetlights flickering.
he lights another cigarette as he walks, the smoke curling up into the cold.
his mind won’t stop racing.
he thinks about you again, about how small you look sitting behind your laptop, about the way you focus so hard you don’t notice him staring sometimes. about how quiet the world feels when it’s just the two of you in that corner of the library.
you’d laugh if you saw him now. the guy everyone calls a monster, walking home early from a party just because he wants to look sober in front of some shy chemistry nerd.
but it’s not just that anymore.
he doesn’t want to look sober. he wants to look good for you.
he wants you to think he’s better than this. better than what everyone thinks he's like.
he blows out smoke and watches it fade into the dark.
when he gets back to the frat, the house is nearly empty—most of the guys are still at the mixer. it’s quiet for once. he climbs the stairs, every step heavy, and stops at his door.
he stares at the handle for a second before going in.
the room smells like cologne and laundry detergent. his desk’s still a mess, papers and dumbbells scattered everywhere. he drops onto the bed and stares at the ceiling, cigarette burning low between his fingers.
he should sleep. he should forget tonight.
but all he can see is you.
your smile. your voice. your eyes when they meet his and flick away just a second too fast.
“fuck,” he mutters under his breath.
he ashes the cigarette in the tray, lets his head fall back, and closes his eyes.
the thought of you lingers like smoke in his lungs. intoxicating, slow, impossible to shake.
and for the first time in a long time, the idea of tomorrow doesn’t feel like just another day. it feels like something he’s waiting for.
~
the sun crawls through the blinds too early for a saturday.
pale light drags itself across the room, landing on the mess of clothes and empty bottles scattered over the frat floor. everyone’s still passed out.
bodies everywhere. some sprawled across couches, others snoring in corners, heads tipped back with half-empty beer cans slipping from their hands.
but not sukuna.
he’s awake.
he’s the only one who doesn’t feel like he got hit by a truck. no pounding head, no sour stomach. just the faint trace of smoke on his tongue and the quiet buzz in his chest that’s been there since last night.
he sits up, rakes a hand through his hair, and exhales. the air smells like sweat and cheap vodka. he looks around at the disaster that was his frat house, sticky floors, someone’s shoe on the counter, a guy in nothing but boxers drooling into the carpet, and shakes his head.
he’s not sticking around for the aftermath.
there’s something about this morning, something clean, light, strange. he grabs his hoodie, slings his bag over his shoulder, and checks his phone. too early for most people. not too early for you.
he smiles a little at that.
when he walks into the hallway, a few guys groan from the couch.
“yo,” one of them croaks. “where the hell are you going? it’s like… eight?”
“got plans,” sukuna says, slipping on his sneakers.
“plans?” another mumbles, half-asleep. “with who?”
“no one,” sukuna says quickly. “don’t worry about it.”
he’s already halfway out the door before they can start asking more questions. the last thing he needs is toj or anyone, really catching wind of this and deciding to tag along like last time.
the air outside hits him cold and fresh. campus is quiet, only the occasional sound of birds or a bike rolling past. everything’s washed in soft gold light, the kind that makes the world look cleaner than it really is.
he starts walking.
there’s a bounce in his step that he tries to ignore. it feels stupid to feel this way. giddy. like he’s got something worth looking forward to. he tells himself it’s just because he didn’t drink last night. he’s clear-headed. alert. that’s all.
but he knows it’s a lie.
the café comes into view just down the block. it’s the one you always go to, the one with the green sign. he remembers the first time he saw you there, hunched over your laptop with a coffee that had already gone cold, scribbling in your notebook like the world might end if you looked up.
the memory makes his chest feel weird.
he pushes open the door, the little bell chiming. the barista greets him with a sleepy smile. he glances over the glass case, scanning the pastries. croissants, muffins, a few danishes. then he spots the one he remembers you ordering once, faky and soft, sugar dusted over the top.
“one of those,” he says, pointing.
the barista wraps it up neatly in paper. sukuna hands over the cash, then hesitates when she asks if he wants a drink.
he almost says yes. almost orders a sweet coffee for you.
but then he remembers.
you’ll already have one right now, you always do.
“nah,” he says, shaking his head. “js' the pastry.”
he walks out with the small paper bag in hand, a faint smile tugging at his mouth.
he feels ridiculous. it’s a fucking pastry. but somehow it feels like more than that. like he’s carrying a confession.
when the library comes into view, he spots you right away.
you’re there, in your usual spot. that back table near the window, the one you’ve claimed without ever really saying so. your coffee’s beside your laptop, steam curling up faintly. you’re biting your lip, eyes narrowed in concentration as you read through something.
and god, you’re cute.
it slaps him all over again.
the way your hair falls forward, the soft sweater you’re wearing, the tiny crease between your brows. you’re not trying to be anything. you’re just there, focused, quiet, real.
he stands there for a second, just watching.
then he remembers himself and walks over.
“g'morning,” he says.
you look up, startled, then your whole face softens when you see him. “oh, hi! you’re early.”
“yeah,” he says, dropping his bag into the chair across from you. “didn't wanna sleep in today.”
you laugh softly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “fair.”
he pulls the paper bag from his hoodie pocket and slides it across the table.
he holds it out to you. “for you. figured you might want breakfast.”
you blink, startled. “wait, really?”
“yeah. it’s from that cafe you like.”
your mouth falls open slightly, and your cheeks go pink in that way he’s starting to adore. “you... remembered that?”
“guess so.”
you take the bag from him carefully, like it’s something fragile. when you peek inside and see what it is, your expression softens even more.
“oh my god,” you whisper, smiling so hard your eyes crinkle at the corners. “this is my favorite one.”
he watches, almost helpless, as you keep talking, thanking him over and over. your voice stumbles with embarrassment, your fingers fidget with the bag, and the more flustered you get, the more something warm spreads through his chest.
“you didn’t have to! really, that’s so sweet of you.”
“it’s nothing,” he says, but his voice is rougher than he means it to be. “just figured you might be hungry.” he softens.
you look down, still smiling. “thank you.”
and it hits him, how long it’s been since a girl said that to him and meant it.
you break the silence first, switching to the assignment, pulling up your notes and explaining something about the next section. he nods along, but he’s not really listening. he’s watching the way you push your hair behind your ear, the way your brows furrow when you focus.
he forces himself to pay attention. still, the moment feels easy.
you talk for a while about the project, comparing notes, trading small jokes. he feels himself relax into the rhythm of it, like it’s become a routine.
and then, without warning, you bring up toji.
you clear your throat first, eyes flicking down to your notes. “so, um... toji.”
he stills, one brow lifting, you were finally gonna talk about him since that awful run in last time. “hmm?”
“he’s… very…” you trail off, searching for the word. “loud.”
he snorts. “that’s one way to put it.”
“and, um, big. like, physically. and personality-wise. very… confident.”
he groans, dragging a hand down his face. “yeah. sorry about that. he’s… a lot. again, i didn’t mean to unleash him on you like that.” he was apologising again, so out of character for him but he couldn't help it. not with you.
“no, no,” you say quickly, shaking your head. “he’s just… different than i expected.”
“different how?”
you hesitate, chewing your lip. “i guess i thought he’d be more like you.”
the words hang between you for a second. his pulse stutters.
“like me, huh?” he says, teasing, leaning back in his chair, spread wide as he looks you up and down. “what’s that supposed to mean, hm?”
you go red instantly, trying to drag your eyes away from his man spread legs. “i just meant- you’re, um, thoughtful. more focused. not overbearing, you're nice...”
he grins. "nice, huh?"
you hide your mouth behind your hand and look off to the side. "nicer than toji, yeah."
he laughs, "that's not a very high bar to clear."
you giggled in response, letting him continue.
“so you like my type better?”
“that’s not what i said,” you mumble, covering your face with your hand again.
“didn’t have to.”
you peek at him through your fingers, and he has to bite back a laugh. your cheeks are so pink it hurts to look at you.
“you’re bullying me,” you say, your voice small.
“maybe.”
you shake your head, still smiling, and reach for your coffee. he watches the way you hold it, the delicate tilt of your wrist, the little sigh you make after a sip.
then, quieter, he asks, “so… you still interested in him? toji, i mean.”
you freeze.
“i.. uh.” your voice falters. “i guess so? i... i don’t know.”
“you don’t sound sure.”
“he’s just, not what i thought he’d be. i thought he’d be a little calmer.”
“he’s not really the type to surprise you in a good way,” sukuna says.
you smile faintly, eyes on your cup. “yeah. maybe not.”
the way you say it, soft, thoughtful, uncertain, it makes his chest ache.
you’re too sweet for this. too genuine. you deserve someone who actually listens, who doesn’t treat you like background noise. and for some reason, he hates that the person you’re hung up on is his best friend.
he sighs, rubbing his jaw.
you look up, curious. “what’s wrong?”
“nothing,” he says, forcing a smile. “just tired.”
you nod, and the two of you fall back into quiet work. it’s peaceful again, the only sounds the soft click of your keyboard and the scratching of his pen. time blurs.
when you finally close your laptop, stretching your arms, he realizes two hours have passed.
“we got a lot done,” you say, smiling.
“yeah,” he says, though he can’t remember a thing you just studied.
you start packing your things, tucking the empty pastry bag into your bag. before you can leave, you hesitate. then, shyly, you step closer and wrap one arm around him in a little side hug.
“thank you,” you murmur, voice barely above a whisper. “for breakfast. and for helping me.”
for a second, he forgets how to breathe.
you smell like coffee and sugar and something faintly floral. your hand rests briefly against his side, and he swears every nerve in his body lights up.
then you pull away, smiling up at him, oblivious to the chaos you’ve just caused.
“see you tomorrow?”
“yeah!” he says quickly, way too excited. “d-definitely.”
you wave and head out, the door swinging shut behind you.
he stands there for a full minute, still staring at the spot you’d been standing, until he realises his hands are clenched and his pulse is hammering.
he grabs his bag, mutters something under his breath, and heads outside.
the moment he’s in the open air again, he takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself.
the breeze does nothing to cool the heat crawling under his skin.
he walks fast, head down, eyes on the pavement.
every step feels heavy with restraint.
because all he can think about is how soft you felt, how small your hand was against him, how much he wanted to pull you in, bury his face in your neck, keep you there for hours.
he curses under his breath, tugging his hoodie lower, hoping it hides the problem growing in his jeans.
“get it together,” he mutters.
he tries to think about anything else the assignment, the game tomorrow, the half finished paper on his desk but his mind keeps circling back to you. your laugh. your blush. your hug.
by the time he reaches the frat, his heartbeat’s finally starting to slow, but the feeling stays. that dizzy mix of guilt and want.
he steps inside quietly, the house still a mess of hangovers, and slips upstairs to his room.
the first thing he does is sit on his bed, elbows on his knees, and let out a long, shaky exhale.
he’s in trouble.
he knows it.
because he can’t stop smiling.
~
the gym in the frat house isn’t much. it’s a dim room tucked behind the kitchen, with cracked mirrors and rusted weights, the air always heavy with the stale scent of sweat and cheap deodorant.
the guys call it a “home gym,” but it’s really just a collection of mismatched dumbbells, an old bench press, and a speaker that always buzzes when the bass hits too hard. its nothing like the fancy campus one him and toji visit, still, it works for sukuna.
he’s halfway through a set, sweat sliding down the back of his neck, when his thoughts start slipping away from the burn in his muscles and land right where they always seem to go lately.
he tries to ignore it, focusing on the motion, the rhythm, the push and pull of the bar in his hands.
but the harder he tries not to think about you, the more vivid you become. your voice, soft but steady, your shy little smiles whenever he cracks a joke, the way you always tuck your hair behind your ear when you’re trying not to blush.
it’s infuriating, how easily you creep into his head.
he exhales sharply, finishing the set with a grunt, letting the bar clang down harder than he means to. it rattles against the frame, echoing in the small room.
“fuck,” he mutters under his breath, sitting up and grabbing the towel draped over his shoulders.
he wipes his face, breathing hard, his reflection in the mirror smudged with fingerprints and dust. he looks exhausted, not just from the workout but from everything sitting in his head.
you and toji.
you and that stupid, innocent crush you’d confessed to him like it was nothing.
he leans forward, elbows on his knees, towel hanging loosely around his neck. he can’t keep fucking around pretending like this is going to work anymore.
he can’t sit through another study session with you knowing that toji knows you're into him.
toji doesn’t even remember half the girls he flirts with, so why should he get to occupy that sweet spot in your brain.
that thought alone makes his blood boil.
you’re too good for that. too damn good.
he picks up the dumbbell again, trying to lift through the frustration, but his mind keeps racing. toji’s face flashes in his mind—the obnoxiousness, his interest in you only after finding out what you looked like.
the memory makes his jaw clench.
toji doesn’t deserve to know you exist, let alone be someone you lose sleep over.
his grip tightens around the handle. he lifts again, but it feels pointless now, his muscles burning for a different reason entirely.
finally, he slams the weight down and stands up, chest heaving.
he’s done.
done thinking he can stomach this, done keeping that deal, done lying to himself.
without even thinking about it, he walks out of the gym, towel still slung over his shoulder. his feet move on instinct, carrying him through the hall, up the grand stairs, straight to toji’s room.
the door’s half-shut, light spilling from the gap, and he doesn’t bother knocking. he pushes it open, the wood hitting the wall with a dull thud.
toji’s sprawled across his bed, shirtless, scrolling through his phone. there’s a protein shake on the desk, a game controller tangled in the sheets. he looks up lazily when sukuna appears.
“yo,” he says, grinning. “you look pissed. what, satoru stealing your shirts n' shit again?”
sukuna doesn’t answer. he stands there for half a second, jaw tight, and then the words just fall out before he can stop them.
“y/n has a boyfriend,” he blurts. “so you can forget the whole crush on you thing.”
toji blinks, confused. “uhm?”
“what,” sukuna says, crossing his arms. “shes got a guy.”
toji sits up slightly, eyebrows furrowing. “who’s y/n again?”
the silence that follows is deafening.
sukuna stares at him, the vein in his temple twitching.
“are you actually deadass right now?”
toji shrugs. “bro, i talk to a lot of girls, you gotta be more specific.”
that’s it.
sukuna drags a hand down his face, muttering something that sounds halfway between a growl and a groan. he doesn’t even bother explaining. it’s not worth it.
“don't worry, man,” he snaps, spinning on his heel.
he slams the door behind him hard enough to rattle the frame.
by the time he gets back to his room, his chest is tight, the frustration boiling over into something heavier. he paces once, twice, then finally drops onto his bed, letting his head fall back against the wall.
“who’s y/n again?”
the words echo in his mind like a bad joke.
he can’t believe it. he can’t believe he ever thought this was a good idea, trying to set you up with that idiot.
it’s not even about the deal anymore. it’s about you.
because now he knows what it feels like to be around you, to hear you laugh, to see the way your eyes light up when he remembers the smallest things. he knows what it feels like to walk beside you through campus at night, the air cool and soft, your voice quiet but steady.
he likes you.
really, really likes you.
and it’s not just because you’re pretty, though god, you are. it’s because you’re kind. because you make him feel human again, in a way that nothing else ever does. because you talk to him like he’s worth something more than the reputation that follows him.
he doesn’t know when it happened, but it’s there now, and it’s not going away.
.
the weeks that follow move in a blur. the two of you keep meeting for study sessions, but they’ve shifted. so subtly that neither of you seems to notice.
you’re more relaxed now. you smile more, laugh easier. you’ve started showing up with little things for him too. chocolates, protein bars, a can of cold brew. every time, he teases you about it, but inside, he’s having a spaz out.
and every time he brings you something in return, you light up like he’s handed you the world.
you’ve started talking about more than the project. now, it’s everything. random things. favorite youtuber, weird scandals, childhood fuck ups, "yeah, i used to be one of those devious lick kids in middle school, me and gojo stole an entire sink".
sometimes, you talk so much you forget the assignment altogether, and he never stops you.
he lives for these moments.
sometimes, when you’re sitting side by side at the library, your knees brush under the table. it’s barely a touch, accidental every time, but it makes his pulse stutter.
you’ve started giving him hugs too, real ones. not just quick, polite ones, actual, full-bodied hugs that make him want to forget how to breathe. all he wants to do is bundle you up and take you back home, lock you away where no one could possibly taint that beautiful smile.
he pretends to be chill and nonchalant, but inside, he’s crashing out so hard.
one afternoon, it’s raining outside, and you show up in a damp tank top, hair slightly damp. he nearly forgets how to speak. you hand him a hot chocolate and giggle when he stares at it like he’s never seen one before.
“it’s not that weird,” you say, smiling. “i thought you might want something warm and sweet for this type of weather.”
he looks at you for a long moment trying not to stare at your see through chest, then takes the cup. “thanks,” he murmurs, and it sounds like something heavier than gratitude.
you shrug, shy but pleased, then sit down beside him, close enough that your shoulders almost touch.
when the session ends that day, he walks you home like he always does. it’s become a quiet habit between you. no one suggested it, but neither of you questions it either. you live just off campus, in a small apartment with ivy creeping up the walls, and every time you reach your door, you both hesitate.
he wants to ask if he can come inside, just once.
you always look like you might invite him, too.
but neither of you ever says it.
instead, you smile, soft and warm, and tell him goodnight. he always watches until you disappear inside, until the light flicks on and frank ocean starts softly pouring from the window.
and every time, he walks back to the frat with that same ache in his chest, the one that’s half longing and half fear.
he knows he’s in wayyy too deep.
but he can't stop.
you’ve started coming out of your shell in little bursts. you tease him now, gently. you call him out when he’s being lazy, roll your eyes when he tries to act too chill. and he eats it the fuck up. every second of it.
you’re different with him now. freer. you trust him.
and that makes everything both better and worse.
because every time you look at him with that open, honest expression, he has to remind himself of the lie he built this on, th e deal, the fake promise to get you closer to toji.
it barely comes up anymore. sometimes you mention toji in passing, usually as a joke, and you both laugh it off. it’s like neither of you really care about it anymore.
and maybe that’s the truth. maybe it stopped mattering the moment you started looking at him like that.
one evening, when the sun’s setting, you’re sitting across from him at the library, talking about nothing in particular. you’re smiling, head tilted, your voice soft. and he catches himself staring, not hearing a single word.
you stop mid way through your sentence, blinking. “what?”
he shakes his head quickly. “nothing.”
“you’re staring,” you say, cheeks pink.
“you’re imagining things, honey."
you laugh, hiding your face in your hands.
he smiles too, but there’s something behind it something he doesn’t let you see.
because in that moment, it hits him all over again, stronger than before.
he’s seriously can't do this shit any longer.
he doesn’t want to help you get to toji anymore.
he doesn’t want to stand by while you talk about someone else, even in passing.
he wants you. all of you.
the quiet smiles, the shy blushes, the little quirks he’s learned by heart.
he wants to be the one who gets to see every part of you, every version of that soft, sweet girl who’s been slowly unraveling in front of him.
and he knows, deep down, that if he ever let himself say it out loud, he’d never be able to take it back.
so he keeps it buried, just for now, as he walks you home again that night. the streetlights stretch long shadows across the pavement, and your arm brushes his once, twice, and each time, he swears of he doesn't concentrate he'll trip over his jordans.
when you reach your door, you turn to him with that same bright smile, the one that always knocks the air from his lungs.
“thanks again,” you say softly.
he nods. “anytime.”
you linger for a second, like you want to say something more, then wave goodnight and disappear inside.
he stands there for a long moment, staring at the door, listening to the faint hum of music from your apartment.
then, finally, he exhales, a small, helpless laugh slipping out.
he’s ruined. completely.
and for once in his life, he doesn’t even mind.
~
the classroom is thick with the sound of quiet chatter, chairs scraping against tile, pens clicking as people jot down reminders before leaving. the fluorescent lights flicker slightly, casting everything in a washed-out glow that makes it feel like time’s been stretched too thin. the chemistry teacher’s voice cuts through it all, cheerful but distant.
“alright, everyone, just a quick reminder that your paired assignment is due at the end of this week. make sure you’ve got everything finalized. i’ll be checking submissions on friday.”
the words hang in the air like a quiet ending bell.
you look up from your notes at the same time sukuna does, and for a moment, your eyes meet across the shared lab table. he’s already watching you, elbows resting on the counter, twirling his pen between his fingers.
he gives you this crooked half-smile, something between fond and nervous, and you return it, though yours falters just a little at the edges.
it hits both of you at once. this thing between you, this rhythm you’ve fallen into, the study sessions, the walks home, the quiet coffees before class? it’s been built around this assignment. and when the assignment ends, what happens then?
he taps his pen against his notebook, looking away first. “guess we’re almost done, huh?”
you try to sound light. “yeah… crazy how fast it went.”
but it doesn’t feel fast. it feels full. it feels like a lifetime compressed into a few short weeks, every minute threaded with something unspoken.
he hums in agreement, glancing at you again. “we should probably go over everything one more time. make sure it’s perfect.”
you nod, pretending to check the notes in front of you. “mhm, library after class?”
“yeah,” he says. “one last session.”
one last. the words make your stomach twist.
.
sukuna drops his bag on the chair across from you, stretching his arms as he sits down. his hair’s a little messy from the wind, and he smells faintly of the sexy cologne he always wears, something clean and manly that clings to his skin.
you open your laptop, trying to focus on the document in front of you. it’s almost done, just small edits, formatting, double-checking citations, but the words keep blurring. you can feel his presence across the table, solid and steady, and it’s impossible to think about chemistry when he’s right there.
he’s quieter than usual too. his knee bounces under the table, a restless rhythm, and every now and then you catch him glancing up, like he’s about to say something but decides against it.
the silence stretches between you, thick and loaded. you can’t stand it anymore.
“so…” you start, voice softer than you mean it to be.
he looks up instantly, like he’s been waiting for you to speak. “yeah?”
you open your mouth, close it again, glance at your hands. “never mind. it’s nothing.”
he frowns slightly. “come on. what is it?”
you shake your head, forcing a small smile. “seriously, it’s nothing. just focus.”
he watches you for a second longer, then sighs and leans back, crossing his arms. “fine. but you’re acting weird.”
you let out a soft laugh that sounds too nervous. “i could say the same about you.”
that gets a real smile out of him, crooked and teasing, but it fades quickly.
you both go quiet again, typing half heartedly, neither of you really working. the tension builds, unspoken and unbearable.
you can feel the words sitting on your tongue, begging to be let out. you want to tell him everything. how the crush on toji fizzled out weeks ago, how stupid it feels now, how you can’t stop thinking about him instead. how every time he looks at you, your whole chest feels like it’s about to give out.
you glance up. he’s staring at his screen, jaw tight, eyes unfocused. and somehow, you can tell he’s holding something back too.
finally, you both move at the same time.
“i have to tell you something,” you say, right as he says, “there’s something i should tell you.”
you both stop, eyes locking.
you laugh softly. “you first.”
he shakes his head. “nuh uh, you first.”
“no way,” you say, smiling now despite the nerves. “you looked like you were about to explode. go ahead.”
“ladies first,” he shoots back, that teasing lilt returning to his voice, though his eyes are still serious.
you roll your eyes, but your heart’s hammering. “fine,” you breathe.
he leans forward, forearms on the table, watching you carefully.
you swallow, your fingers twisting the edge of your sleeve. “okay. so, um… this is kind of embarrassing, but.."
you stop, take a breath, try again. “it's about toji.”
his expression flickers for a second, something unreadable crossing his face. “yeah,” he says slowly. “what about him?”
you toy with a pen to keep your hands busy. “i don’t really… feel that way anymore. about him.”
his brow lifts just slightly, his voice careful. “ts' that so?”
you nod, cheeks warm. “yeah. i mean, it was kind of silly, wasn’t it? i barely knew him. i think i just liked the idea of him. and then when you brought him to that one session, i realised he’s… kinda clapped, nothing like what i imagined.”
he lets out a small sound, something close to a laugh, but it’s quiet, almost nervous. “yeah, that sounds like him.”
you smile faintly, tracing a finger along the edge of your notebook. “the truth is, i think i was just projecting. when we started hanging out, i didn’t know you that well, and i guess i thought maybe toji was like you. you know? confident, funny, easy to talk to.” you pause, your gaze flicking up to his. “but he’s not you. not even remotely close.”
his breath catches slightly, and for a moment, he forgets how to speak.
“i don’t know,” you go on, voice softer now, almost trembling. “i kept thinking i wanted someone like toji, but… the whole time, i was really just wishing he’d be more like you, sukuna.”
you meet his eyes fully now, and the world seems to narrow around you both. “and then i realised maybe i don’t want someone like you. maybe i just, you know, want you.”
the silence that follows feels endless.
he’s staring at you, completely still. you can see the realization hit him. the tension in his shoulders easing, his expression softening in disbelief and relief all at once.
you bite your lip, instantly flustered. “that sounded so stupid, didn’t it?”
he shakes his head quickly. “no. no, not at all.”
he leans back in his chair, letting out a long, shaky exhale. it’s the biggest breath of relief you’ve ever seen someone take. he runs a hand through his hair, laughing under his breath, a sound that’s half disbelieving, half overwhelmed.
“holy shit,” he murmurs, still smiling. “you have no idea how good it is to hear that.”
you blink. “uhm, what?”
he laughs again, softer this time, his hand still pressed to the back of his neck. “that’s what i was gonna tell you. i’ve been losing my fucking mind these past few weeks because i’ve been trying so hard not to say it.”
you stare at him, your heart pounding. “say what?”
he meets your gaze again, eyes warm and honest. “that i like you. like, really like you. i’ve had this massive crush on you for a while now, and it’s been killing me trying to act normal.”
you can’t help the little laugh that escapes you, part disbelief, part giddy joy. “you’re deadass?”
he nods. “one hundred percent.”
“but… the deal,” you say quietly. “you were supposed to help me with toji.”
“yeah, about that,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish grin. “i kinda… just didn’t.”
you tilt your head. “uhhm, what?”
he laughs again, nervously this time. “i told him you had a boyfriend.”
your eyes widen. “you did?"
he winces. “yeah. i told him that weeks ago. i just... i couldn’t do it anymore. couldn’t keep pretending i was helping you get with him when all i wanted was to keep you all to myself.”
you blink once, twice, then cover your mouth to stifle a laugh. “you told him i had a boyfriend?”
“yep.” he grins now, a little cocky, a little embarrassed. “guess that’s me sabotaging the deal.”
you drop your hand, still smiling. “that’s so stupid.”
“i know.”
“but…” you pause, your smile turning softer. “it’s kind of sweet.”
he leans forward again, elbows on the table, eyes never leaving yours. “you’re not mad?”
“mad?” you repeat, shaking your head. “no. that’s… exactly what i wanted, actually.”
he blinks. “really?”
you nod, heart in your throat. “yeah. i didn’t want you helping me with toji. not anymore. i just didn’t know how to tell you.”
he stares at you for a long moment, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “so what now?”
you smile. “i don’t know. maybe we just… stop pretending.”
he exhales, leaning back with a grin that could light up the whole room. “i can do that.”
for a moment, neither of you says anything. you just sit there, the quiet hum of the library around you, the sun slipping lower through the windows, painting his skin in gold.
finally, he breaks the silence, voice low. “for the record, i was terrified you were about to tell me you had a new man for real.”
you laugh softly. “no chance.”
“good,” he says, and the way he looks at you soft, sure, a little possessive, makes your pulse race.
you don’t know who moves first, but suddenly you’re both leaning across the table, closer than you’ve ever been. the distance between you shrinks until you can feel his breath on your lips, his hand brushing lightly against yours.
neither of you say anything. you don’t need to.
the moment stretches, slow and sweet, full of everything you’ve both been holding back.
~
the second you get back to your apartment, your face ignites with the kind of fire only a really nice fireplace could match, the ones in those fancy houses you see on the block.
the guy you'd been crushing on for a total of four weeks now had just told you he felt the same. and ever more, he'd been so obsessed he'd told your ex-crush you'd had a boyfriend in hopes of bagging you himself.
for a girl not used to being in the spotlight, having such a loud, well known frat guy like ryomen sukuna become vulnerable, just for you? it was like the world came crashing and burning down at your feet. he made your stomach swim with love and passion, a feeling you'd only ever gotten from receiving higher grades than everyone else, a feeling so much better than finding a new delicious pastry you couldn't help but order again.
ryomen sukuna was it. he was the kinda guy you'd been dreaming of ever since you'd started college. he was the perfect man, and he was as into you as you were him.
you settled into your living room with an adorably large smile painted on your lips, the sensation of fulfilment taking over your ever thought as you dreamt of what was to happen next.
~
the week after the submission crawls by. you think about both sukuna and the possible grade you'll both get every day. every time you pass the lab, every time you open your laptop, every time you catch sight of sukuna across the courtyard, leaning against the wall with his friends.
you can tell he’s thinking about it too. the way he catches your eye during class and offers a small, crooked smile says everything. neither of you can really stop wondering what the final mark will be, as well as what life has in store for the both of you.
friday finally rolls around, the classroom feels weird. students trickle in with tired faces and restless energy, everyone buzzing quietly with the same anticipation. the teacher walks in, holding a stack of papers in one hand and a steaming cup of coffee in the other.
she sets everything down at the front desk, claps her hands together, and gives a small, approving smile.
“alright, everyone,” she says, her tone almost teasing. “i’ve marked your projects. you’ll get the official grades through the online portal, but since i know you’re all impatient,” her gaze sweeps the room, landing briefly on you and sukuna, “i’ll let you know this much: some of you really impressed me.”
a ripple of chatter runs through the class. sukuna shoots you a look from across the room, eyebrows raised. you smile nervously and shrug.
after class, the two of you linger by the doorway, waiting for the crowd to clear out. you’re clutching your phone, refreshing the student portal again and again even though the grades still aren’t visible. sukuna leans close, peering at your screen.
“nothing yet?” he asks.
“no,” you sigh. “probably another hour.”
he tilts his head, thinking for a moment. “want to check it together later? at that little cafe with the green sign?”
you blink. “awe, my favourite. sure!”
“of course,” he says, smirking lightly. “how good am i remembering your favourite things n' shit.”
you laugh, cheeks warming. “what a man. how about we meet there at five?”
“five it is.” he gives a small wave as he heads down the hall. “see you then, partner.”
the cafe smells like roasted coffee beans and sugar, the air humming with quiet conversation and the clinking of ceramic cups. it’s early evening, and the place is wrapped in that warm, lazy glow that makes everything feel softer. the green sign outside flickers faintly through the window, the letters worn from years of weather and sunlight.
you spot him immediately sitting near the counter, wearing a black hoodie and tapping his thumb against his phone screen. his hair’s pulled back, a few loose strands falling into his eyes. he looks up the moment the door chimes, and that grin spreads across his face like it’s second nature.
“hey,” he says as you approach.
“hey,” you echo, sliding into the seat across from him.
he gestures toward the counter. “i already ordered for us. black coffee for me, that thing you like for you, and...” he grins, “...a pastry, because apparently you can’t sit in this place without one.”
you laugh softly, trying to ignore the way your heart flutters. “you know me too well, we needa' hang out less.”
“noo,” he teases, leaning back. “i'm just an observer.”
the drinks come quickly, steam curling from the cups. you take yours with both hands, staring at the little swirl of foam, trying to calm your nerves. sukuna pulls out his phone again, refreshes the student portal, and freezes.
his eyes widen. “holy shit,” he mutters.
you look up sharply. “what?”
he turns the screen toward you. there it is, your names side by side, and next to them, the number that makes your breath catch.
98%.
you stare at it for a second, then look at him, and the two of you just burst out laughing.
“oh my-” you say, grinning from ear to ear. “ninety-eight?”
he leans back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. “holy shit- holy shit! can’t believe it,” he says, half-laughing, half-sighing in disbelief. “i actually passed. i can stay in the frat. holy shit.”
you laugh again, the sound bubbling out of you uncontrollably. “i told you you’d do fine!”
he stands up suddenly, still laughing, and before you can react he pulls you into his arms. it’s a full, tight hug, so warm, so big. his chest rumbles with laughter, and you can feel how much this means to him, how much the stress and pressure have finally melted away.
“thank you,” he murmurs into your hair, his voice low, almost breathless. “thank you so much for helping me. i would’ve completely fucking tanked without you.”
you laugh against his shoulder, feeling your own face heat up. “you’re welcome,” you mumble, your words muffled by his hoodie. “you did so good, really.”
when he finally lets go, you can still feel the warmth lingering where he’d held you. he looks just as flustered, rubbing the back of his neck as he sits back down.
“sorry,” he says, half-smiling. “got a little carried away.”
“it’s fine,” you say quickly, trying not to sound as breathless as you feel. “it was… nice.”
his grin widens at that.
you both take a moment to calm down, sipping your drinks in the cozy corner. the sound of the coffee machine hums faintly in the background, and sunlight filters through the leaves outside, dappled across the table. it feels like the whole world’s slowed down just for the two of you.
“so,” he says eventually, voice softer now, “ninety-eight percent. that's so peak."
“yeah, we did that,” you reply, smiling. “you’ll probably get a compliment from the teacher next class.”
“you too,” he says. “you carried me, you're actually so clutch.”
“you helped too,” you insist. “you actually tried, sukuna. that’s what mattered.”
he chuckles, shaking his head. “yeah, but even if i hadn’t passed…” he pauses, his eyes flicking up to meet yours. “i don’t think i’d be too upset.”
you tilt your head, smiling faintly. “no?”
“nah.” he leans forward, resting his arms on the table. “because i got to spend all that time with you. and honestly? that made it worth it.”
your chest tightens, a flutter rising under your ribs. you look down quickly, pretending to focus on your coffee. “you’re just saying that.”
“i’m not,” he says firmly. “you made studying actually fun. no one’s ever done that shit before.”
you look up again, and his expression is so genuine, so open, that you forget how to breathe for a second.
“well,” you say softly, “i liked spending time with you too.”
your cups sit forgotten on the table, the croissant half-eaten, and all you can hear is the chatter of other uni kids and the soft clatter of dishes.
you stare into his eyes, and there’s a question there, unspoken but clear.
he smiles, almost shyly, a rare thing for him. “so… what now?”
you shrug lightly, but your smile mirrors his. “i don’t know. i guess we don’t have to stop hanging out just because the project’s done.”
his grin grows wider, and you can see the faintest pink dusting his ears. “good,” he says. “because i was kinda hoping you’d say that.”
he hesitates for a moment, then sits up a little straighter, as if gathering courage.
“actually,” he says, rubbing his thumb against the edge of his cup, “there’s something i wanted to ask.”
you tilt your head. “hmm? and what’s that?”
he exhales slowly, eyes locked on yours. “i know this is probably cheesy as hell, but… i’d really like to take you out. like, properly. dinner, movie, whatever you want. an actual date.”
the words sink in, soft and certain. you blink, surprised but instantly smiling, your cheeks growing hot.
“you mean… like, a date date?” you ask, teasing just a little.
he laughs under his breath. “yeah. a date date.”
you can’t help the grin that spreads across your face. “i’d love that.”
his expression softens into something that almost makes your heart ache. “yeah?”
“yeah.”
for a moment, you just sit there, both grinning like idiots. it feels unreal, like something out of a quiet, sunlit dream.
he leans back in his chair, relief washing over him in waves. “good,” he says. “i was worried you’d say no.”
you shake your head, still smiling. “never.”
the light outside shifts slowly, spilling gold through the window, painting his skin in soft warmth. he looks at you like he’s memorising the moment, the coffee, the laughter, the way you keep tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.
and as he sits across from you, grinning like he can’t quite believe his luck, you know that whatever comes next, it’s going to be something worth waiting for.
~
months slide by, slow but lovely. what once was a study partnership built on awkward exchanges and quiet glances has become something sooo much more. somewhere between library stops, coffee stops, and tight hugs, it shifted. you shifted. sukuna shifted. the line between school and romance blurred until it disappeared completely.
now, you’re his. officially his. and he’s yours.
the first time sukuna brings you to the frat house as his girlfriend, it feels like stepping into a completely different world. the place is loud, music spilling from bluetooth speakers, guys shouting from the kitchen about who’s out of beer, the smell of cheap cologne and pizza hanging in the air.
you pause in the doorway, clutching sukuna’s hand like it’s an anchor. he glances down at you with that little smirk that never fails to make your heart stutter.
“don’t stress it baby,” he murmurs, leaning close enough that his breath grazes your ear. “they’ll love you.”
and they do.
weather or not that's because he threatened to beat them unconscious if they made you feel uncomfortable before you came over is irrelevant.
satoru’s the first to notice you, perched on the couch with a controller in hand. he looks up mid game, grins wide, and immediately calls out, “holy shit, sukuna actually brought a girl here voluntarily?”
“shut up,” sukuna grumbles, tightening his grip on your hand. “this one’s permanent.”
that earns a chorus of oohs and whistles from the guys nearby. your face burns, but when you glance up at sukuna, he’s smiling,not his usual cocky grin, but something softer. proud.
“hey,” you mumble under your breath, “it smells so bad in here, ryo.”
he chuckles quietly. “you’ll get used to it.”
before you can even respond, toji appears from the kitchen, a beer in hand and a knowing grin on his face. “well, if it isn’t the little chem genius.”
you blink. “you… remember me?”
“of course,” toji laughs, setting his drink down and stretching out a hand. “heard you saved this idiot’s academic career.”
“hey,” sukuna cuts in, rolling his eyes. “i wasn’t that bad.”
“you had an eight percent, bro.”
the whole room bursts into laughter. sukuna just grumbles and flips toji off while you try not to giggle too loudly. it’s strange, seeing them all like this. so loud, so chaotic, so different from the quiet rhythm you’re used to, but somehow, it feels okay. you feel okay.
by the end of the night, you’re sitting between sukuna’s legs on the couch, his arms draped loosely around your waist, your back against his chest. someone puts on an old movie in the background, and the chatter slowly fades into easy quiet. for the first time, the frat doesn’t feel intimidating. it feels warm. welcoming.
satoru catches your eye from across the room, giving a thumbs up before mouthing, she’s a keeper. sukuna just smirks.
later that night, when everyone else has gone to bed and the house has fallen quiet except for the hum of the fridge and the faint creak of floorboards, sukuna presses a kiss to the top of your head.
“told you they’d love you,” he whispers.
“yeah, you were right,” you murmur, smiling softly. “they’re so nice.”
“you’re even nicer,” he says, his voice barely audible. “that’s why they love ya'.”
and you can hear the truth in his tone. you know he means it.
after that, everything starts to fall into blissful routine. you help him study, drilling formulas and reactions into his head late into the night. he’s surprisingly good at it now, his grades climbing steadily, proof that maybe he was capable all along, he just needed someone to push him in the right direction.
and in return, he helps you come out of your shell.
he brings you to tiny cafes you’ve never been to before, teaches you how to play pool (terribly, but he doesn’t care), and pulls you into spontaneous late-night walks through campus when the air is cool and the stars are bright.
sometimes, you end up sitting on the hood of his car, his jacket wrapped around your shoulders, your fingers tangled with his as he talks about everything and nothing.
he tells you things he’s never told anyone else—about his parents, about the pressure to be someone bigger, stronger, louder. about how he never really cared about anything before he met you.
“you made me start giving a shit,” he says one night, his voice low as he traces lazy circles against your palm. “about school, about the future. about being a better guy.”
you glance up at him, smiling faintly. “you're the bestest guy, kuna.”
he looks at you for a long time, his chest squeezing with the urge to squish you until you pop. then, with a soft exhale, he leans down and kisses you. gentle, slow, like the world could end and he’d still be happy just holding you against his muscular chest.
word gets around campus fast. whispers follow you sometimes. half disbelief, half awe. people don’t really understand how you ended up with him. the shy, quiet girl who sits at the front of every lecture, always polite, always prepared… dating one of the loudest, most notorious frat boys on campus.
but the thing is, neither of you care.
you’ve seen the way people look at you two when you walk hand in hand across campus, his tall frame towering beside yours. you’ve heard the murmurs, 'how long do you think it’ll last, she’s too good for him, he’ll get bored'. but then he catches your hand, presses a kiss to your knuckles, and all of it melts away.
"don't listen to those clowns."
because you know him now. the real him.
the boy who wakes up early to get your favorite pastry from the cafe before class. the one who drapes his hoodie over your shoulders when it’s too crisp. the one who never forgets to text you goodnight, even when he’s exhausted.
the one who stopped showing up to most frat partys because, as he put it, “none of it’s fun without you anyway.”
you see it in the way he’s changed. not because you asked him to, but because he wants to.
he doesn’t flirt with girls anymore. he doesn’t even seem to notice when they do. his focus is all on you. your laughter, your voice, your little quirks that no one else ever bothered to notice.
and it’s not just the big things that show it. it’s the way he always walks on the side of the road closest to the cars. the way he remembers all your orders without ever asking. the way he’ll pull you closer when you’re out together, even if it’s just to rest his big hand on your hip.
he doesn’t talk about feelings much, not directly. but in every gesture, every glance, it’s there.
you’re his world now, and everyone can see it.
his room at the frat house has changed, too. gone are the stacks of solo cups and random gym gear scattered across the floor. in their place are little pieces of you. a throw blanket you brought one day, a mug you left on his desk, your notebook tucked on the shelf next to his textbooks.
he keeps a photo of the two of you pinned on his bulletin board. it’s a candid, one of those moments you didn’t even know he was taking. a shot of you sitting cross-legged on the couch, wearing his hoodie, laughing with a half-eaten cookie in your hand. he swears it’s his favorite picture in the world.
“you look so fucking cute, and happy,” he tells you when you catch him staring at it one night.
“i am happy,” you reply softly.
“better be,” he says. “that’s all i ever want for you, y/n.”
some nights, he stays over at your apartment instead of the frat. he always claims it’s because it’s quieter, easier to focus on studying. but you both know it’s just because he sleeps better when you’re beside him.
you cook together sometimes, though “cook” might be a really shitty out of touch excuse for the disaster you two create. he burns half the things he touches, laughs through every fuck up, and still insists on taste-testing everything like he’s on master chef. you can’t stay mad when he grins at you with flour on his cheek, his dimples showing as he holds up a misshapen cookie.
“hey, we’re improvin',” he says.
“barely,” you reply, giggling.
he just leans down, presses a quick kiss to your nose, and murmurs, “yeah, but you’re still here, so i must be doing somethin' right.”
there are still parties, of course, he’s still in the frat, and sometimes showing up is expected. but it’s much different. when he does go, he stays by your side the whole night, a protective hand on your back or wrapped around your waist.
he barely drinks anymore, claiming he doesn’t need to. when people flirt or make comments, he just laughs them off and pulls you a little closer.
and when it gets late, when the music’s too loud and the air too heavy with alcohol and perfume, he’ll lean down and whisper, “wanna get out of here?”
you always nod. and the two of you slip away, walking through quiet streets until you reach your place, where everything feels calm again.
people still whisper, still wonder how it works. how a shy, soft-spoken girl could tame someone like ryomen sukuna. but you know the truth.
you didn’t tame him, you just saw him. really saw him. beneath the tattoos, the reputation, the arrogance. you saw the boy who just needed someone to care, and he saw the girl who needed someone to make her feel brave.
and together, you found something that feels a lot like forever.
months pass, the seasons shifting from late autumn to the first chill of winter. the air turns crisp, the sky pale and bright. the two of you walk through campus hand in hand, your breath forming little clouds in the cold.
“remember when we first started that project?” you ask one day, laughing softly. “you barely knew what a periodic table was.”
“hey,” he says, pretending to be offended. “i knew what it was. i just didn’t give a shit.”
“hmm, and now you’re pulling straight a’s.”
he grins. “guess i had a real good tutor. she's real sexy, too..”
you bump his shoulder lightly. “awe i bet she'd be real flattered to hear that.”
he stops walking for a moment, looking down at you with that same warm, unguarded look that still makes your stomach flip.
“you know something?” he says quietly.
“hmm?”
“i still think that fuckass project was the best thing that's ever happened to lil' ol' me.”
you smile, reaching up to fix the collar of his jacket. “yeah?”
“hell yeah,” he murmurs, leaning down until his forehead rests against yours. “because it led me to you.”
the world fades for a moment, the cold, the noise, the people around you, and it’s just him. just you.
when he kisses you, it’s slow, steady, full of all the fuzzy romantic fire that’s been culminating between you since the day he walked up to your desk with a failed test and a hidden nervous smile.
you remember that moment so clearly now, and you can’t help but think how far you’ve both come. from shy glances and awkward silences to this. a love that feels like home.
and as his hand tightens around yours, you realize something simple, something certain.
you’ve both found exactly where you’re meant to be, with each other.
synopsis. you love your friends, you really do, but maybe you shouldn’t have agreed to go to a graveyard in the middle of the night? because why in the hell is there someone trying to graveyard rob and a corpse just suddenly came alive, and being told he’s your husband?
content warnings. horror-esc, graveyard robbery, yandere tendencies, possesiveness, obssesive tendencies, house husband trope, some angst is there, kind of cracked, lowkey pretty fluff actually, soul-connected concept
word count. 4.9k
it all starts like most bad decisions do; a friday night, cheap food, and devon’s stupid grin across the table.
you’re at that one diner you always go to — the one with the sticky booths and a jukebox that hasn’t worked since high school. everyone’s half-listening to will complaining about his boss when devon interrupts with, “okay, okay, but hear me out… what if we went somewhere haunted?”
you groan instantly, head dropping to the table. “here we go,” you mutter.
“i’m serious!” devon insists, leaning forward like he’s pitching a million-dollar idea. “like, a real haunted place. graveyard. midnight. just us, flashlights, vibes.”
tasha perks up. “graveyard vibes? i’m down.”
mia raises her eyebrows at you. “cmon, that actually sounds kind of fun.”
“no,” you say immediately. “nope. why would we do that?”
“because we’re bored,” will says, picking at his fries. “and because we’re twenty-something and stupid. let’s lean into it.”
you shoot him a look. “i like being boring and alive, thanks. i’m not trying to end up on some ghost documentary with blurry security footage and a tragic piano soundtrack.”
devon points at you. “you always say that, but you still hang out with us. that makes you complicit.”
“i hang out with you because i’ve made peace with your idiocy,” you say. “that doesn’t mean i want to be dragged into a literal graveyard in the dead of night to summon spirits who didn’t ask to be summoned.”
mia grins. “you’re scared.”
“i’m smart,” you correct, sipping your drink. “there’s a difference. this is literally the plot of every horror movie ever. you start with, ‘let’s go somewhere spooky for fun,’ and end with half the group dead and the other half possessed.”
will shrugs. “could be worse.”
you stare at him with a deadpanned expression. “you are literally describing the worst-case scenario.”
devon’s already got his phone out, searching up maps. “there’s this old cemetery just outside of town. like, super old. forgotten. no lights. real horror movie vibes.”
“why is that a selling point?” you ask.
no one listens. of course they don’t. you consider backing out. you really do. but then tasha says, “don’t be a buzzkill,” and mia says, “it’ll be fun,” and devon grins that grin and for some reason, some very dumb, regrettable reason, you agree.
it’s the following weekend when you find yourself at the gates of a cemetery that looks like it fell out of a victorian fever dream.
there’s no official entrance — just a rusted iron gate halfway off its hinges, creaking every time the wind breathes too hard. the trees hang low and heavy like they’re trying to smother the place. everything smells like damp leaves, mold, and something older.
you clutch your flashlight like it’s going to save you from anything, and already, your stomach is doing that sinking thing. that deep, awful churn that says, you should not be here.
“this is already cursed,” you muttered out but no one hears you.
devon’s filming, obviously. “night one of exploring the haunted hollow creek cemetery,” he narrates, phone in hand. “some say no one’s been buried here since the 1800s. some say those who have never left…”
will throws a stick at him. “shut up.”
tasha skips ahead, flashlight beam bouncing wildly. mia hums the twilight zone theme.
you trail behind them, stepping carefully over gnarled roots and crumbling gravestones. the fog is thick tonight, weirdly so, curling at your ankles like it’s alive. your flashlight catches statues and names that are more worn than readable.
you read one outloud. you feel like your eyes are playing tricks on you, like the name changed in front of you but you rubbed your eyes and shook your head. “enzo… damn you can’t even read his last name because it’s faded. died in 1851.”
mia steps next to you. “you think he’s still in there?”
“no,” you say. “i think he’s right behind us.”
she flinches, then laughs. you don’t. because even joking about it makes your spine crawl. “alright, huddle up!” devon says ahead. “let’s split into two groups and explore.”
“nope.” you say instantly.
“i’m with them,” will says, motioning to you. “splitting up is how people get murdered.” you muttered out a ‘thank you,’ because someone finally gets it.
devon shrugs. “fine, all together then. just, like, be cool. don’t disrespect anything, don’t step on graves, don’t say anything latin.”
“i never say anything latin,” you mutter. “that’s the first rule of not dying in a horror movie.”
they’re all laughing, playing. tasha makes up fake ghost names, mia pretends to do a séance, will keeps trying to scare you by stepping on twigs behind your back. you keep telling yourself it’s fine. you’re being paranoid, overthinking, but it doesn’t feel funny. not to you.
you feel like the ground is watching you.
and then you hear it. a metallic clink. sharp and hollow. everyone stops their tracks.
“... did you guys hear that?” you ask, almost praying to every other entity out there.
you follow the sound to a corner of the graveyard you hadn’t noticed before — past the mausoleums, under a tree that looks like it’s been struck by lightning more than once.
that’s when you see them, not ghosts but people. real people.
three of them, dressed in black. one with a shovel, another with a flashlight. the third holding something that glints in the dark — maybe a crowbar.
they’re standing over a grave. digging.
“no,” you whisper. “no no no.. what the hell.. are they robbing it?”
no one answers. you’re all frozen, ducking behind an old angel statue, too afraid to move. then it happens. the ground shifts.
at first it’s subtle. like the dirt is settling, but then it swells, breathes, and something beneath it is pushing upward. you can’t look away. and then—
a hand.
pale, gray, bloated. fingers curl over the edge of the grave, and then an arm, a shoulder, a head.
you think your heart might stop.
the thing climbs out in stuttering, unnatural jerks. its clothes are rotted, skin stretched too tight over its bones, jaw hanging slightly askew.
and it looks around.
with eyes. not empty sockets. not glazed-over death stares. eyes. fogged and pale, but aware. you can’t breathe. and then it sees you. its head snaps unnaturally in your direction and you feel it.
not see, not hear, but feel. like a hook buried in your chest.
its mouth opens slowly, and when it speaks, it’s like gravel soaked in blood. “who dares.. wake me?”
your legs won’t move. your brain is screaming run, but your body is frozen in place, eyes locked with his. his name punches into your skull before anyone says it.
enzo.
but wasn’t that the name from the grave you passed by earlier? hell, you don’t know how nor do you know why, but you know his name.
the grave robbers drop everything and bolt. mia grabs tasha, will yells something, devon’s gone. but enzo is still looking at you. only you.
he smiles, not like a person. like something that wants to eat your soul. your flashlight flickers, your knees finally give out and you stumble back into a headstone, heart jackhammering so loud it drowns out the world.
and then, in the quiet, you hear it. low, raspy. a laugh.
just for you.
and you screamed.
｡ ｡ ｡ ｡ ｡ ｡
enzo was a man once.
before the silence. before the dirt, before the stillness of a grave that never should have opened.
he was a man. he had a name.
enzo marlowe.
born 1821, a quiet life, a simple one. not always easy, but full.
he lived on the edge of the woods in a house he built himself. stone and timber, thick walls and thick hearths. he liked his life there — secluded, yes, but peaceful.
and then he met her.
no one remembered her name anymore. not really. time had a way of wiping women like her from the record — those who didn’t fit neatly into the roles they were given.
she was wild-eyed, brilliant. she studied medicine, plants, stars, things no woman was supposed to know. they whispered “witch” in town long before the torches came.
he loved her immediately. not because she was different. but because she saw him. not just the man. not just the quiet loner in the woods. she saw his kindness, his softness. the parts of him the world didn’t want.
they built a life together, and when the world kept children from their bodies, they made room for others.
three, in total.
marisol, the oldest, stubborn and bright. luca, the boy who never spoke above a whisper but always knew when someone needed a hand. and josie, wild and sweet, with laughter like windchimes and a fierce loyalty to the people she loved.
they were happy. maybe too happy.
the town didn’t like things it couldn’t understand. a quiet man and his brilliant wife and their mismatched children, always walking too close to the trees, speaking too softly, reading too much.
it didn’t take much. just a sick animal. a failed crop. a muttered accusation from the wrong mouth at the right time. and then they came.
with fire.
he remembers the smoke before the screaming. he was in town. picking up salt, flour, apples — josie’s favorite. he was humming. it had been a good morning. he didn’t notice the silence until he reached the trees and realized no birds were singing.
he ran. and then.. the smoke. the screams. the fire. the smell.
they’d tied them inside, boarded the doors, piled the kindling themselves.
he reached the clearing too late. the house was already swallowed in flame, the windows glowed orange, the roof crackled. he screamed their names until his voice broke. he ran inside anyway.
he got burns down both arms, trying to tear the door apart, trying to find a way in. but there was only heat, only the sound of beams collapsing. only death.
the villagers stood at the edge of the trees and watched.
and when it was over, when the sky turned gray and ash coated the ground like snow, they said it was his fault.
he should never have brought her here. he should never have adopted those strange children. he should have known better.
he buried their bones in the charred garden.
and then he walked into the woods, deeper than anyone dared go, and dug a hole. no one found him. no one looked. the forest swallowed him whole.
and he slept.
longer than anyone should sleep. the soil grew over him, roots wove through his bones. his name vanished from memory.
the world moved on. until it didn’t. until noise shattered the silence. a crowbar. a flash of light. laughter. footsteps. intrusion.
his grave — violated.
he had not asked to return. he had made peace with death. but the living pulled at the veil. and something inside him stirred.
not rage. not vengeance. just… ache.
he clawed his way up through damp soil and fractured wood. the first breath in centuries burned like fire in a chest long dead.
and the sky. the sky was wrong. too bright. too loud. everything was wrong.
except.. you.
standing still as stone. half-hidden behind an angel statue. light in your hand, fear in your eyes.
and something… familiar.
he couldn’t place it. not yet. but it pulled at him. like the tether he’d lost so long ago, like the last warmth of a fire he thought had died. he looked past the grave robbers. past the others. past the world that was not his.
he looked at you. and something ancient moved in his chest.
not life. not exactly. but memory.
of a hand in his. of a smile shared across candlelight. of trust, of love. of home.
it wasn’t her face. it wasn’t her voice. but it was her presence. and so he smiled.
he hadn’t smiled in over 170 years. he smiled at you, and only you. because even in this decayed shell of a body… even with dirt in his lungs and death in his bones.
he knew you.
not your name. not your life. but your soul.
and now he can’t look away. the others scream. they run, but not you. your eyes stay locked on his, wide with terror — but something deeper too. a flicker of… recognition? no. it couldn’t be.
and yet… he steps forward.
your flashlight trembles in your hand. you stumble back, heart racing. you don’t understand what’s happening. you don’t understand why he’s coming toward you.
but he’s not hunting, he’s remembering, he’s mourning. he’s reaching for something he thought was gone. and now he’s awake. and he’s looking for the only thing in this world that doesn’t feel rotten and strange and lost.
you.
｡ ｡ ｡ ｡ ｡ ｡
you don’t run.
you should. every instinct in your body is screaming at you to move, to turn, to bolt into the trees the way your friends did — screaming and stumbling into the dark, into anything but this.
but you stay frozen. not out of bravery. not out of courage.
just… confusion. paralysis. a cold that has nothing to do with the night.
he’s standing in front of you now. the corpse. the man. the thing with dead eyes and a name that doesn’t belong in your century.
enzo.
he says it again — his voice like cracked earth and forgotten prayers.
“my love… you came back.”
your heart stumbles against your ribs.
“i don’t.. i don’t know you,” you manage, barely above a whisper. “i don’t know what you’re talking about.”
his expression doesn’t change. he looks at you like he’s known you forever.
his eyes, clouded with the fog of death, but still impossibly human, search your face like he’s waiting for a flicker of recognition. as if the shape of your lips or the tilt of your eyes is something he’s memorized across centuries.
you take a shaky step back. “please don’t,” you say, your voice cracking.
and then — his hand moves. slow. deliberate. he raises it toward your face like he’s reaching out to touch something delicate, something holy.
you flinch, instinct screaming that he’s going to grab you; maybe tear at your skin, maybe sink those gray hands into your chest and pull out your heart like a flower.
but he doesn’t.
he cups your cheek. and suddenly, you don’t feel fear. you feel warmth. impossible. quiet. wrong.
his hand is rough, but not rotting. cold, but not dead. and under your skin, where his palm rests gently against your face, something sparks.
like a memory you don’t remember having.
like the echo of a feeling that doesn’t belong to you.
you open your eyes wider; startled, breathless, and that’s when you see him.
he’s changing.
his face, once sunken and slack with death, begins to fill out. the color returns, little by little, bleeding into his skin like ink into water. his jaw tightens. his cheeks smooth. the lines of his youth begin to reappear beneath the hollow mask of decay.
his hair stays in that same white shade but his lips regain shape. his eyes, while still misted with the long fog of death, begin to shine with something painfully human.
enzo.
not the corpse. the man. and for just one, suspended second, he looks like someone you could have known. someone you should have known.
he smiles.
and it breaks your heart a little. because there’s no horror in it. no hunger. just love. just recognition.
“you found me again,” he says softly.
your lips part. the words are there, what the hell is happening? but your voice refuses to carry them.
his thumb brushes gently beneath your eye, as if memorizing the lines of you all over again. and then he says it.
“eleanor.”
the name rips through your mind like a bell. your head jerks back. the sound feels wrong, too loud, too sharp. it’s not a name, it’s a scream made quiet. it slams into your skull and rings in your ears like a siren only you can hear.
you reel from it. step away. press your hands to your ears as if that will muffle the noise echoing inside your bones. “no,” you breathe, shaking your head. “that’s not. stop.”
he blinks, confused. but calm. waiting.
“that’s not my name,” you manage. “my name is…”
you say it. your name. your real name. the one you’ve carried your whole life. the one on your license. the one your parents gave you.
he hears it. he nods. and still, he smiles. soft. understanding. with something quiet and aching in the corners of his mouth.
“you don’t remember,” he says.
you swallow. “remember what?”
“me.”
his voice is so gentle, it almost kills you. “her,” he adds after a beat. “who you were. who we were. the life we lived before… before they took it.”
you shake your head slowly, but the world spins when you do. because there is something there.
not memory. not quite. just pressure. a feeling at the back of your mind like the outline of a dream you can’t hold onto. a fire. a garden.
someone calling your name — not this name, not the one you know, but eleanor.
your stomach turns.
“you’ve got the wrong person,” you whisper, unsure if you’re lying or not.
enzo’s eyes never leave you. he doesn’t argue.
he just looks at you the way people do when they already know the truth, even if you haven’t caught up to it yet.
“you don’t have to remember,” he says softly. “you just have to be here.”
you breathe in sharply, chest tight, lungs aching. you want to run again. you should. but your legs don’t move.
because whatever this is; it’s not over. you don’t know what he is. you don’t know what you are. but some part of you, some ancient, buried thing..
is listening.
｡ ｡ ｡ ｡ ｡ ｡
a month slips by.
you’re not sure when exactly it happened, when your boundaries softened, when your loneliness outweighed your logic, when the sound of your own thoughts at night became too loud to bear. maybe it was that night you found him sitting by your doorstep in the rain, hands limp in his lap, dirt still clinging to his skin. maybe it was the way he looked at you like you were the last thing tethering him to this world.
so you let him in. and he never left.
enzo has no concept of space or routine. but he’s trying, in his own quiet way, to fit himself into your life. your mornings are a slow dance, fumbling, careful, strange.
you’re in the bathroom now, toothbrush in one hand, hair a mess, sleep still clinging to your bones. enzo’s behind you. again. arms circled tightly around your waist, cheek resting against your shoulder like you’re an anchor and he’s afraid the tide will take him.
you groan, leaning forward to spit into the sink. “enzo, i can’t brush my teeth with you glued to me.”
his voice is soft, rough from disuse, barely above a whisper. “just… a little longer.”
you glance at him in the mirror. his eyes meet yours there, wide, distant, like he’s still not used to reflections. or maybe like he doesn’t recognize himself anymore.
“you said that ten minutes ago,” you mutter, trying to reach for your face cream.
he buries his nose into the side of your neck. “you’re warm.”
you sigh. “you say that every morning.”
“because it’s true.” there’s a faint lilt of stubbornness in his voice now. “the bed’s cold when you leave.”
“so is my paycheck when i don’t go to work.”
he frowns against your skin, arms tightening like he might actually try to keep you hostage if he thought it would work. “i don’t like it when you go.”
“yeah,” you say gently, untangling his hands. “but i always come back.”
he’s silent for a moment. then, quietly:
“you didn’t before.”
your chest tightens. you turn around and cup his face. it’s still cool to the touch, too still, but his eyes… his eyes are full of something that almost feels alive.
“i’m here now,” you whisper.
his gaze flicks between your eyes, searching for something he never says aloud. then he nods. just once. and lets go.
friday night.
your apartment smells like takeout and cheap candles. the lights are dimmed, couch cushions scattered, blankets tossed over armrests. it’s your monthly hangout, devon, will, tasha, mia. your people. they’re here like they always are, except now everything’s different.
enzo is sitting on the floor by the window when they arrive, watching the night sky like it’s something unfamiliar.
you greet them at the door.
“hey,” devon says first, handing you a plastic bag filled with snacks. “we brought the weird popcorn you like.”
“bless you.”
mia hugs you lightly. “how’s, um… you know.”
“enzo?” you glance over your shoulder. he hasn’t moved. “quiet. weird. clingy.”
tasha raises an eyebrow. “so basically a cat with attachment issues.”
you huff a laugh. “yeah. if the cat was a dead guy who crawled out of a grave.”
they file in slowly, eyes drifting toward him. will’s the last to come in, pausing by the door a moment longer than the rest.
“he doesn’t blink,” he mutters.
“he does. just not often.”
you all settle eventually, pizza boxes open, movie picked, wine passed around. enzo stays close, but not too close, sitting cross-legged near your feet, staring at the tv like he’s trying to decode it. you can feel his gaze flicking to will every few minutes.
the group tries to pretend it’s normal.
“so…” tasha sips from her glass. “does he… like, sleep? or just stand around in the dark and watch you?”
“he doesn’t sleep,” you say, matter-of-fact.
devon leans forward, lowering his voice. “have you asked him how he, uh… came back?”
you nod. “he said he doesn’t know.”
“what does he tell you then?” mia asks.
“mostly that i’m warm and he misses me while i shower.”
will snorts. “romantic.”
enzo finally speaks then, soft, direct, like his voice cuts through everyone else's.
“you smell different when you’re wet.”
the room goes still.
“…okay,” devon says, blinking slowly. “gonna go ahead and file that under ‘things i never wanted to hear from a corpse.’”
you just sigh and pat enzo’s head. “he means well.”
“does he?” will mutters.
enzo’s eyes shift to him. they stay there.
the movie starts. you try to relax. conversation quiets down. the group slowly gets pulled into the plot. enzo doesn’t. he’s still focused on you. or more specifically, your proximity to will, who keeps leaning too close, laughing too loudly, brushing against your shoulder.
then it happens again.
will reaches over you for the popcorn bowl and his fingers brush your hand. barely. not even intentional.
enzo moves.
he stands slowly, like something ancient waking up. your body tenses before your mind even catches up.
he walks over, silent and deliberate, and kneels in front of you. everyone’s eyes are on him now. the air in the room shifts—heavy, unsure.
he leans in close. too close.
“…( name ).”
his voice is cracked marble, something broken and echoing. your name comes out like a warning. or a reminder.
will shifts away immediately. you hear devon exhale. tasha straightens. mia clears her throat but doesn’t say anything.
you look down at enzo. “really?”
“yes.”
you sigh. “come here.”
he climbs up beside you without hesitation, curling into your side like he was built to fit there. his hand finds yours. his head rests against your chest. the tension doesn’t fade, not really, but no one says anything.
he’s not watching the movie.
he’s watching your friends. counting how many times they smile at you. memorizing the ones who laugh too loud. wondering how easy it would be to remove them from the equation.
just in case.
you wrap an arm around him and feel him relax instantly. his grip on your shirt loosens, but he still doesn’t look away from the group.
you don’t say anything.
you just hold him. because if you don’t, you’re not sure who, or what, he might become.
｡ ｡ ｡ ｡ ｡ ｡
another month passes. enzo has changed.
not in the way you were afraid of. he still sleeps curled at the foot of your bed like a loyal pet, still stares too long at your face when you’re trying to eat dinner, still whispers your name like it’s the only word that matters, but there’s something different now.
he’s… learning.
you started noticing it in small ways. the way he stopped flinching at the microwave. how he started replying with full sentences instead of one-word mumbles. how he stopped calling your phone a "tiny black mirror" and started asking for the wifi password instead.
you came home once and found him watching youtube tutorials on how to fold laundry. another time, he said “lowkey” in a sentence and you nearly dropped your keys.
today, you’re exhausted. work dragged you across the coals and back, and you’re two seconds from collapsing onto the couch when you step through the door.
enzo is waiting.
he’s standing in the hallway, wearing one of your old sweatshirts and joggers you thought you threw away. his hair’s tied back in a small, messy bun. his eyes are wide, bright, strangely focused.
“welcome home,” he says.
you blink. “…hey?”
he steps forward. not close enough to trap you in a hug like usual. just close enough for you to feel something coming.
then, “i want to be your househusband.”
you freeze mid-step. “what?”
he tilts his head, hands clasped in front of him. “i’ve been researching. i understand the role. i think i’d be very good at it.”
you just… stare. because what else do you do when your dead ex-husband from a whole different timeline asks to be your domestic partner like it’s the most natural thing in the world?
he keeps going, calm and serious like he’s rehearsed this. “i can clean. i can do the dishes. i can cook you food. i made a list of meals i want to try. i’ll get groceries too. i saw there’s an app for it. or i can walk to the store—”
“enzo.” you hold up a hand, overwhelmed. “you… can’t go outside.”
he goes quiet for a second. thinking. then he nods slowly. “because i don’t breathe and my blood doesn’t move.”
“…yeah. that.”
“i’ll wear a hoodie.”
you rub your forehead. “enzo—”
but when you look at him again, you stop.
he doesn’t look like he did two months ago. his skin isn’t as sallow, his eyes not as sunken. there’s a strange flush of color beneath his cheeks, faint but noticeable. his posture isn’t stiff anymore, and his movements are more fluid, less… unnatural.
you step closer, studying him.
he looks almost alive.
if it weren’t for the silence in his chest, the way he doesn’t blink unless he remembers to, the stillness behind his breathless words, you’d almost believe it.
he watches you closely. always watching. waiting.
you sigh, lowering your bag onto the counter. “okay. fine. you can try.”
his expression shifts — hope blooming behind his eyes like something sacred. he doesn’t smile, not quite, but his hands twitch like he doesn’t know what to do with the joy flooding into his bones.
“you’ll need to get a debit card,” you add, walking to the fridge. “you can’t walk around with cash. and if you’re ordering groceries, here’s what you usually need to buy—”
you grab a notepad and scribble down the basics. enzo stands beside you, nodding carefully, almost solemn.
“i watched videos,” he says. “i searched for what people make for the people they love. i want to cook things that make you feel safe.”
you pause.
your hand rests on the counter. you glance at him again, but this time… something’s softer. your gaze lingers longer. not out of wariness. just curiosity.
affection, even.
he feels it.
the way your eyes settle on him, the way your voice doesn't carry hesitation, just tired acceptance. the way your presence doesn’t shrink away from his anymore. you’re not running. you’re not pushing him away. not tonight.
for the first time since he clawed his way back to you, enzo knows, this is working.
this is right.
you finally see him as something more than what he was. maybe not quite alive. maybe not quite human.
but his. yours. real.
you hand him the list. “don’t blow up the stove.”
“i won’t,” he promises.
you arch a brow. “seriously. last time you thought oil was ‘a flammable blessing.’”
enzo stares at you, dead serious. “i’ve learned.”
you snort, shaking your head. “god, you’re weird.”
he steps a little closer. “but you’re smiling.”
you realize you are. and for once, it doesn’t feel forced.
he reaches out carefully, brushing your hand, then gently pressing his fingers to your wrist like he’s trying to feel your pulse. like it’s a sound he wants to memorize.
“i’m going to be good to you this time,” he says, voice low.
you don’t respond. not right away. but you don’t pull away either.
and he knows, this is how it starts again. not with fire. not with a grave. but with warmth. and slow, quiet love.
i just want a svt angst where any svt member fucked up and fumbled y/n so bad. years passed, they meet again and i just want that svt member to yearn and grovel. LOOKING AT Y/N WITH THOSE SOMBER YEARNING EYES. TEARY. HOPING. BEGGING.
and itll be so hard because youre hurt and you wanna hurt him back so youre doing everything to make him feel hurt I WANT HIM TO CRY YALL. FEEL HIS HEART ACHING JUST BY THE SIGHT OF Y/N
wow i love hurting myself lol and i will always deny the hopeless romantic allegations
normalize having favorites. in fact, normalize me being your favorite. normalize loving me more than you’ve ever loved anyone else. please please please please please please
SUMMARY: After discovering Vernon experienced a violent possession on Halloween night, you try to help him get his old self back. Except Vernon is insisting he's not still possessed and this has always been what was lurking under his surface... and you're not totally convinced that you mind.
RATING: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.
TEASER WARNINGS: Brief, non-descriptive mentions of murder, mentions of spiritual possession, light depictions of the start of a ritual, Vernon being a cocky little shit, references to sexual acts.
A/N: Blame the new teaser. I don't know how I ended up writing the part I swore I never would.
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COMING SUNDAY, MAY 5
Vernon watches you with hungry eyes, leaning back on his palms. His legs are crossed casually, entirely at ease. The only part of him that appears dialed in is his eyes, tracking your every movement, a predator tuned in to its prey.
“Stop looking at me like that,” you mutter, turning to your backpack on the floor.
“Like what?”
“You know like what.”
“Like I want to taste you again?” Your stomach flips and your grip tightens on the notebook you pull from your bag. “Fine, I will try not to look at you like that. Proceed with your little ritual.”
“You agreed to it, you know?”
“Like I said.” He sighs, rolling his head back so that he’s staring at the ceiling. “Your wish is my command. And it’s not going to work - I’m just me. Nothing to get rid of.”
“Well ‘just you’ can’t cross a line of salt, so that must not be true.”
“It’s my new salt allergy.”
“Vernon.”
He’s grinning at you when you look at him, that ravenous gaze just as present on his face. “It’s a joke, Love. Feel free to laugh at your convenience.”
Love. Not Lovecraft, like he used to call you, but something new and with weight to it, something intimate, said with a velvet purr that makes your hands sweat. Not darling like the spirit that had - and still might be - possessing him.
You think he is still possessing him, anyway. Vernon insists that it’s just him with a new edge, forever changed by that night on Halloween. You cannot imagine it’s just Vernon and not the spirit of the murderer Thomas inside of him. Why else would Vernon have killed those people? Why else would he not be able to cross salt? Why else would he look at you like he would set the world on fire for you?
He’s looking at you like that right now, gaze half-lidded and heady. You ignore him in favor of scanning your scrawled script on the paper, memorizing the words you’re supposed to chant. You nod and toss the journal back onto your bag, wiping your sweaty palms on your jeans before standing in front of the circle.
Vernon looks up at you. He looks beautiful like this, his long, silky lashes framing his dark eyes. His face is flickering in shadow from the candles, equal parts demon and angel. Again, you fight the urge to shiver. Instead, you begin walking clockwise, careful not to break the line of salt.
Voice wavering, you whisper, “By salt of earth and flame of will, I break your hold, I bind, I still.”
synopsis: how svt would react when you say "i don't think i can do this anymore"
warnings: angst, emotional vulnerability, miscommunication, relationship strain, heavy tension && not proofread!
a/n: hello lovies! first reaction so why not add angst am i right? (i apologize in advance because this is gonna hurt like heck) also i apologize, i stop adding scenarios and just did the reactions, i couldn't find more scenarios. hope you like it!!
S.COUPS
he's been out of it for the past few months, overworking himself and coming home irrtated and in a horrible mood, never finding the time for being happy, or you.
but when the words leave your mouth he stills. "what do you mean?" his voice is soft, one you've never heard before, and the look on his face had hurt written all over it.
"please don't leave me, you're the one reason i haven't gone insane." he says cupping your face. "i'll do better, i promise." he adds, while cupping your face in his hands.
JEONGHAN
you’ve been pulling away for weeks now — quieter replies, shorter calls, no more "i miss you"s. you thought maybe he'd say something. notice, or ask. but he didn’t.
for once he doesn't joke, doesn't deflect. doesn't smile to lighten the mood. he stares at you like you're some he doesn't recognize. "i didn't think it'd come to this." he says quietly.
"did i stop fighting for us before you did?" he said, voice cracking.
JOSHUA
he's in the room with you, but he hasn’t really looked at you in days. conversations feel forced, kisses are automatic. he says “i love you” but it doesn’t sound like it used to. you tried to fix it. tried to pull him back in, but now you're sitting beside someone who feels a world away.
but when you tell him, he's quiet. too quiet, like he's too stunned to speak, as if he had no idea what hit him. "i thought we were okay.. i thought we were just comfortable." he whispers, lifting your chin with his fingers, but you look down.
you shake your head. "comfortable doesn't feel this lonely." there's a pause- painful and heavy, before he holds your hand. "please. i can't lose you." he whispers voice faltering.
JUN
lately, it feels like jun is wrapped up in his own world. you're the last person he makes time for, and you've begun to feel like an afterthought.
as soon as you say it, he stops in his track. he walks over to you, brushing your hair behind your ear and gently tilting your face to meet his gaze.
"i'm sorry." he whispers. "i love you, but if you don't want it anymore, i'll let you go."
HOSHI
you've been giving your all into the relationship, but he's not. he's become distant, always busy with something else.
he's quiet at first, taking in your words. it stings, and he knows it's his fault. "i fucked it all up didn't i?" he whispers.
WOOZI
his eyes search your face, his expression shifting. the arguments were far too many these days, and today you'd realized you can't keep going like this.
tears stream down his face as he tries to open his mouth, his voice trembling as he speaks: "you were the one thing i thought i could keep."
WONWOO
"what?" he asks. "i don't feel important to you anymore." you whisper looking down, but he immediately cups your face, his expression numb but the little shifts hinting to remorse.
"i didn't realize.. i'm-i'm so sorry." he whispers back, "please forgive me, and please don't give up on us yet."
DK
the smile that covered his face earlier dissapeared immediately, and he hung up the phone.
"you- what?.. what do you mean?" he asks confusion written on his face as he walks towards you.
"i don't feel like your girlfriend, i feel like a roommate. and i'm tired of putting in all the effort." you sniffle, and guilt floods him. "i- i'm sorry, i shouldn't've-.. i'm so sorry." he stammers, his brain flowing with remorse that causes him to stumble over his words.
"let me make this right." he adds, while looking at you with remorse filled eyes.
but you shake your head, and he realizes it's too late to make things right. paper won't go back to the way it was after being crumpled.
MINGYU
his gaze shifts from his phone to you. you'd called out to him for the tenth time that day, but he'd been ignoring you, not purposefully, but he'd been busy. just like he'd been the past three weeks.
"baby, what?" he asks laced with confusion in his tone. "i can't keep being ignored by you, like- like i just don't exist! i'm your girlfriend not a ghost.." you sniffle, and his face saddens.
"please- please don't say that." his voice says, faltering slightly. but when he sees your expression and realizes you mean it, his tone changes. "fine," he says, tears brimming in his own eyes, "if leaving will help you, i won't stop you."
MINGHAO
your eyes dart away from him the second the words leave your lips, and the silence that fills the room is deafening. until finally, his voice breaks through it.
"i should've known better than to think someone like you could stay." he says it with a bitterness that could make tears well in your eyes in an instant. "that's on me, i guess." there’s no fight in his voice. not because he doesn’t care, but because he does. too much. enough to let you go without begging, enough to respect your words even though they’re tearing him in half.
and somehow, that hurts more than anything else.
SEUNGKWAN
you sit down on the chair, eyes facing the floor, but you can feel his gaze on you, the silence speaking for what has yet to be said.
"i was scared. i closed myself off out of fear of losing you. but i lost you anyway." he steps back, like the words physically hurt.
VERNON
the words hang in the air, heavy. final. he's quiet at first, merely looking at you. like he's trying to process that you actually said it.
then he blinks, exhales slowly through his nose and says almost too softly. "you're right." it hurts, even though you saw it coming. he's not agreeing because he wants out, but because he knows.
"you shouldn't have had to fight so hard just to be loved right." his voice remains calm, but his eyes are glassy. not crying, not yet, just.. unsteady.
DINO
you don't say it to hurt him, but because you're tired. because holding on to this relationship feels like standing in the rain, waiting for someone who keeps promising they're on their way.
he doesn't respond right away. he looks at you, stunned. like the words haven't quite sunk in yet. and then they do.
his eyes drop, his shoulders sink. he presses his lips together like he's trying to stop them from trembling.
"i always thought you'd be there." he says it like a secret. "i didn't realize i was running out of chances."
thinking of a yandere! who used to be your old crush.
you never noticed it. far too smitten with the small interactions that he'd give you, the way that his lips would quirk up into a smile upon seeing you, the little sparkle in his eyes he'd give you when you asked him for a pencil. something about the softness of his voice entranced you, the way he blended into the background and yet spoke to you with so much ease... it was comforting in a way. to be the one able see the leak of sincerity in his tone.
he adored it. the feeling you gave him, knowing that you were out there obsessing over him. you only saw the quiet nice guy that he presented himself as, you didn't see the total loser who'd pant your name in his bed, screaming out for you as his toes curled at the thought of your earlier interactions.
but there was another girl. sofia. with cheeks rosy and painted with red, freckles kissing her face, and a smile so lovely that told you that you couldn't compete.
she understood why you were so charmed with him, and it was never in your nature to compete. you were all to happy to be the hand that nudged her towards him, that encouraged her advances, but you were also the one who's heart ached in jealousy.
and so you told yourself to move on.
the tiny moments that you used to seek with him, the daily interactions you'd work towards achieving with each day halted. you fixated on other things, and drowned in your school work, anything to take your mind away from him. he wouldn't notice. he'd love her, and to you he'd blend into the shadows like a celebrity long forgotten.
and you were able to.
you were so enamoured with the feeling of freedom that grasped you once you'd abandoned your obsession that you were too naive to pick up on the little things that would have sent you crazy in the past.
the way his eyebrows would furrow once you didn't linger your hand on his a moment more than needed. the stare he'd drill into the back of his head as he wondered, why weren't you looking back?
most of all, you failed to acknowledge the betrayal that he felt.
sofia stopped attending school. so did he. and there was a moment of peace, were your friends wouldn't give you teasing nudges each time you walked past him, and you wouldn't need to endure the facade of friendship that the two of you held. you had no problems with her, yet she stood as a painful reminder, one that disappeared without a trace.
to this day you still don't understand how. the way that she was able to vanish, the mystery behind her departure. that faithful night that she had walked away from her house without looking back had spread through the news, with no leads and no more than a cold case.
he came into school a few weeks later, his body thinner with a sleeves that hugged his arms.
and once again, you were in the dark.
about the involvement he held in her disappearance, the intricate carvings of your name on his wrist that he kissed each night before bed. he was a total freak, with pictures he'd taken of you covering a corner of his room, paired with offerings of crystals and ribbons that he tied into a bow to look nice.
After getting thrown into jail for a crime you refuse to talk about, one of the wardens takes a keen interest in your past.
Tags: Male Yandere x Fem Reader, blood, violence, mentions of child abuse, lowkey kind of sweet, 10k words
Being in jail is no fun. Being in a maximum security prison after being found guilty of homicide? Somehow even less fun.
You've tried to make the best of it. Got some posters to put up in your cell, started a book club, took up macramé. But you can't really paint a veneer of normalcy over incarceration.
It's violent, it's dirty, and most inmates tend to avoid you. And the thought of at least thirty more years of the same routine, day in and day out? Well, that's plain depressing.
Still, some days are worse than others. Today seemed like it was going to be a good day. The cafeteria food was actually hot, an acquaintance shared some gum with you, you managed to get a new book from the library. Things were, if not great, at least bearable.
Until the tour.
The wardens - also called Corrections Officers, COs, screws, or rotten, motherless bastards - were almost always training new recruits. The prison system had an unsurprisingly high turnover, which meant an almost constant stream of new faces. With time, you'd learnt to ignore the tours and walk-throughs. With one exception.
Slammer.
He was a senior CO who seemed to almost always turn your cell into the final stop on his grand introductory tour of the glorious prison system. Maybe you were just nice to look at or maybe he had a chip on his shoulder. Either way, things almost always ended with you being gawked at.
Like right now.
The 'tour group' was clustered outside your cell. Slammer was in the lead, his baton out and his little piggy eyes gleaming.
The trainees were in their new minted uniforms. Most of them uncomfortable and tugging at the scratchy, starched collars. You could have told them not to bother. That it was better for them to at least pretend they were comfortable. COs weren't your friends - every single prisoner in here would see that lack of confidence, that slight sense of unease. And they would pounce on it the first chance they got.
You hated being looked at like a zoo animal. And you especially hated the way Slammer showed you off to them like you some prize piece in his menagerie. Fellonus Homicidus perhaps.
You hated feeling their eyes on you. But you weren't going to make the mistake of showing them that. The less the COs knew about you, the better. It was like rule number three of incarceration. (Rule one being ‘never trust a warden’ and rule two being ‘don't fight the jacked inmate with prison tattoos.' Obviously).
You didn't bother to get up from your bunk to greet them. You stayed just as you had all afternoon - one arm behind your head and one leg hanging off the bed.
You pretended to keep reading your beat up paperback.
"This one is especially dangerous. Stabbed her neighbour forty eight times before the cops could get her off," Slammer told them.
"Forty six," you corrected without looking away from your book. "Coroner said it was forty six. Allegedly."
You could feel their eyes on you again.
"Right," Slammer drawled, "Because those last two stabs made all the difference."
You didn't bother to answer him.
"She really did that?" One of the trainees, a lanky guy with too large ears, asked. "She looks harmless."
You were almost offended at that. You flicked your eyes over them. They were mostly men, and most of them were looking at you in that hungry, contemplative way you knew so well. Wondering how much they could get away with once they were full fledged COs.
It should have bothered you. It didn't. Horny COs were just a part and parcel of life here. If you were smart, you could wring all sorts of goodies out of them before their supervisors caught on.
"Listen to me son. Every single prisoner in here is dangerous. They wouldn't be locked up if they were like you and me. They don’t feel guilt, not even when they steal from their poor old momma."
"You wound me, Slammer." You turned the page with a flick of your thumb. "I loved my mama. Only stole from her once or twice."
You didn't have much hope of them noticing your sarcasm. COs weren't the brightest bunch.
Slammer ignored you. "Don't ever say they're harmless. They sure as hell ain't. Two weeks here and you'll know exactly what I mean."
You could tell they didn't believe him. In the popular imagination, a women's prison was nothing like the men's. Women weren't dangerous. The trainees probably assumed you spent all day knitting scarves and talking about the lovely husband and kids you were oh so keen to get back to.
They would lose that notion pretty damn fast.
"Are you supposed to tell us the prisoners' charges?" A man's voice, neutral and respectful, but you thought you could hear a hint of reproach in his tone.
You looked back at the group and you were amazed that you didn't notice him earlier. He stood perfectly still, hands clasped behind his back like he was at parade rest. Unlike the others, he had the quiet confidence of someone who knew their job and knew it well.
His blond hair was slicked back and his uniform sat on him in a way that was a lot more natural than any of the others trainees. Ex-military or police, if you had to guess. Not that unusual. Corrections wasn't such a huge leap from those fields.
You sat up and answered him before Slammer could get a chance.
"He's not. Inmate information is confidential. But Slammer here doesn't always listen to the rules."
You shot the head CO a condescending smile. "He's a reaaal rebel."
Slammer scoffed. "The new officers have a right to know exactly how dangerous you are."
You put a hand to your chest, all faux innocence. "Little old me? Slammer, I'm a saint! A nun! I've been to chapel three times this week."
"Yeah. To sell cigarettes and buy booze."
"Just as the good Lord intended."
Slammer didn't find you funny. You could tell from the fact that a) he wasn't laughing and b) he was grinding his teeth like he was a beaver about to dig into a particularly scrumptious tree.
"Fact is, prisoners like her are the worst of the bunch. You think they're harmless, but the second you turn your back, they'll shiv you and run off with your tazer."
You grinned at the trainees as winningly as you could.
"Only did that once by the way. And the guy had it coming, swear on my mama."
Most of them were shifting around uncomfortably. Hearing Slammer keep banging on about your crimes was finally enough to get it through to them. The prisoners are not nice.
You'd assume that was obvious, but incarceration taught you that however slow you thought the wardens were, they could always get dumber.
The only one who didn't seem bothered was the blonde. He was looking at you like you were nothing more or less than a piece of furniture. You got the sense that he was analysing you, looking past your fake smile and even faker bravado.
You also got the feeling that he wasn't impressed with what he saw.
You flopped back down on your bunk and tried not to let it bother you. One more person thinking you were a delinquent. What difference did it make?
He was the last to leave. His eyes did one final scan of your cell before they landed on your paperback. He raised a brow.
"The Green Mile? Isn't that a bit depressing?"
You shrugged, uncomfortable but not entirely sure why.
"I like to think of it as aspirational."
"And why's that?"
"The wardens aren't all assholes."
That earned you a flicker of a smile before he turned on his heel and disappeared.
You forgot all about him after a week. To be fair, there were other things to occupy you. A fist fight on D Block that you somehow got dragged into. Drama in the book club. A warden getting caught with his pants down. Standard prison fare.
It was a Tuesday when you saw him again, in the middle of the cafeteria. You only had a split second to recognise him before he was dousing you in pepper spray and sweeping your legs out from under you.
That was misleading maybe. He wasn't totally unjustified in greeting you like that. You were technically in the middle of beating a CO with a lunch tray.
(He deserved it, but that's not exactly a good excuse when his nose is gushing blood all over the table).
You were still coughing on pepper spray when he hauled you to solitary, your eyes and throat burning.
"Glad...to see you got...the job Blondie," you managed to wheeze.
He sent you stumbling into the cell with a practiced push.
"Yep," he said simply, "They hired me on the spot."
Your shoulder was still a painful mess when he slammed and locked the door, leaving you in the half dark to wash the stinging out of your eyes.
You rubbed at your aching joints. "I can see why."
Pepper spray was considered the least lethal way to subdue a prisoner. Easier than a taser, less brutal than the baton. But despite its shining reputation, it was your least favourite tool in a CO’s belt. A taser was at least quick. The baton left a bruise but the pain didn't linger.
Pepper spray on the other hand? It left your eyes and throat and nose irritated for days.
You were still trying to rinse it out of your mouth when he returned, boots heavy on the linoleum and his keys rattling.
You turned to him with your white prison issued tank practically soaked. To most other guards, that would be an invitation to gawk. Not him though. His eyes never dipped below your chin.
"Sit down. I've got some cold cloths for the swelling."
You sat, more confused than anything else.
"That's not standard regulation Blondie. Usually, they just let us suffer through it."
He tossed you the cloths, still icy from a quick minute in the freezer. You pressed them to your face gratefully.
"It is standard regulation. Treating pepper spray once the prisoner is subdued."
You scoffed. "Why am I not surprised that no one ever told us that?"
He stayed quiet and you peaked at him over the edge of the fabric. He was a lot leaner than you realised, his sleeves rolled to his elbows, his forearms toned with muscle.
And covered in tattoos. Damn, he had some sick tats.
You cleared your throat, not exactly sure why he bothered to do this for you.
"Thank you. It sucks to deal with. Makes everything taste awful. For days."
He raised a brow.
"I just dragged you to solitary and your main worry is that the food won't taste good?"
"The food never tastes good. This is more so a matter of bloody awful becoming hellish awful."
"It can't be that bad."
"Get back to me after you've spent five years chomping down on lukewarm hash browns and soggy peas."
"You've been in here five years already?"
You sighed, pressed the cloth against your brows so you didn't have to look at him.
"Yep. And I've still got another thirty to go."
"Why?"
That got an unexpected laugh from you.
"Didn't you hear Slammer? Homicide. Found guilty on all charges."
"Did you do it?"
"Allegedly."
What was his angle? Was this some new, interactive approach to corrections? Getting friendly with the inmates so they were less likely to riot?
"Didn't they teach you not to ask those sorts of questions?" you asked. "Not really something people in here like to talk about."
You saw that little flicker of a smile again.
"They did. But I get the feeling you don't mind it as much."
He was right. You didn't mind. At least, not with him. He had a kind of quiet confidence that, surprisingly, made you feel comfortable.
"Why did you want to work in a prison? Or more accurately, what the hell went wrong that you ended up here?"
"You think it's such a bad job?"
"I'd never do it and I live here."
He leaned against the cell wall, hands on his belt. There it was again. A veteran's stance, weapons in easy reach in case you tried something.
"It's a boring story."
"I've got nothing but time."
That earned you another raised brow.
"As we've established."
What's this? A CO actually cracking a joke? You never thought you'd see the day.
"And anyway, we're not here to talk about me. I'm here to find out why you attacked my fellow officer."
Ah, so that was why he was playing nice.
"I didn't like his face."
He narrowed his eyes and pushed himself off the wall. "Disappointing. I thought you'd have a better reason than that."
You didn't like his tone, or the way it made you feel. Ashamed. Like you'd failed his test, even though you didn't know you were supposed to be studying.
He paused at the door, like something occurred to him.
"What's her name? The girl he was picking on?”
You raised you head. "What?"
"The guard you attacked. He was causing trouble, wasn't he?"
How did he know? Did he see it? Oh God, was Ruby going to get into shit because of you?
"Listen, she had nothing to do with it. She had no idea what I was going to do. It was all me."
He shrugged. "How am I supposed to believe that's true if I don't know the full story?"
You bit your lip. You didn't like saying too much to the COs. And your instinct was telling you this one would be able to read a lot deeper than the rest.
"Guess I'll just have to ask her then."
"No!" You dug your hands into your sheets to stop yourself from bolting to your feet.
"No, Ruby has nothing to do with it I swear. She’s almost sixty. She gets enough shit as it is. Just leave her alone."
You swallowed. "Please."
He was looking at you again, much sharper this time.
"Explain."
Your grip on the sheets tightened until your knuckles were pale. Did you really have to talk about this shit out loud?
"Ruby is..." you started. "She's different. Older than most of us, keeps to herself. She's not...all there, if you know what I mean."
He turned to face you and settled back against the wall. "Go on."
"Most of the inmates don't bother her. Why would we? She's just a little old lady. Not harmless, no ones really harmless, but about as close to it as you can get. But some of the COs..."
His lips thinned. "They have a nasty streak."
"You can call it that. Usually it's just calling her names. But sometimes some of them get it into their heads that what she really needs is a hard knock. Rattle those screws around enough and maybe they'll fall back into place."
"Is that what happened today?"
You sighed, looked down at your hands and the blood dried in the crevices of your nails.
"Yep. CO was all in her face, being nasty. Grabbing her wrist. Taunting her. And she... she just stood there and took it. Old enough to be the his grandmother and he didn't care."
You closed your eyes.
What else were you supposed to do?
He'd been at it for five minutes when you stood up with your lunch tray. By then you'd had enough. No one else was going to do anything, so it was going to be you.
The lunch trays were a hard plastic, meant to keep from breaking on impact. You'd left your half eaten bowl of chow on the table and walked up behind him, your heart beating steady and calm. Some part of you had already decided the consequences were worth it.
Some of the inmates were looking at you and every single one of them knew exactly what you intended. But none of 'em said a word.
You could still feel the smack of your tray against his head. The way he stumbled forward with the momentum.
You'd caught him by surprise and you weren't going to let him get over it. You swung the tray at his face, as hard as you could. You could feel his nose breaking. He was on his knees by then. And maybe you'd have let him up, might have ended things there.
But then you saw Ruby's wrist. A frail thing, with the warden's finger marks standing out a livid red.
"I see."
You opened your eyes. He was still watching you, his face unreadable.
You shrugged and tried to smile.
"Today was practically hum drum by our normal standards."
"How exciting," he deadpanned.
"Just wait 'til Christmas time. It gets positively festive."
He snorted and started for the door again.
"You're aren't such a hard ass after all, are you? Saving little old ladies in your spare time," he said.
"Just think how safe senior citizens will be when they let me back out."
It was only for a few seconds, but you liked it when he smiled. It softened that tough guy demeanour just enough to make you wonder about the man underneath.
When he was gone, you laid down with the cloth still pressed against your cheek. Who'd have thought it. A CO who you didn't want to punch in the teeth.
The CO you beat didn't come back to work for two weeks, and when he did, you heard that he asked for a transfer to a different block.
Ruby made you a macaroni necklace and said something about alien warships picking you out of everyone else. You figured that was her way of saying thank you.
And maybe the most notable thing of all: Blondie was assigned to your cell block. Surprising. Yours wasn't the worst part of the prison, but you weren't a bunch of saints either. Rookies wouldn't even be considered until they'd had at least a year's experience.
It was yet another thing pointing to his past. Something, somewhere, had given him enough experience to slip ahead on the promotion queue.
You didn't much mind it. Hell, you'd almost say it was enjoyable. He wasn't rude, he didn't pick favourites and he was keen eyed enough to catch a lot of the under table business that inmates engaged in.
You didn't go out of your way to talk to him - getting too cosy with a CO wasn't a good look - but you made it a point to greet him whenever you could.
Well, you called it greeting. Most other folk saw it as a smirk and a sing song "Hey there Blondie!"
He must have had some sort of interest in you too. You'd look up from your lunch and see him watching you, head tilted just a little. Like he was trying to puzzle you out. You took to winking at him whenever you caught him.
It would usually be enough to make him look away, but never for long. His eyes would always find you again.
You should have been annoyed at it, or unnerved. But honestly, the way he looked at you was borderline sweet compared to the other COs. You'd occasionally catch some of them watching you too. Usually with their hands on their belts.
There wasn't much to do in prison besides read, sleep and exercise. But around the third week after his arrival, you started getting letters.
Not totally uncommon. Plenty of folk wrote to prisoners. But to you? That was a different story. You put the letters you received into two categories: perverts and the pervertedly curious.
The perverts were exactly what you'd expect. People who thought your mugshot was the hottest thing since Megan Fox taking a swim. Their letters were particularly uncomfortable to read. And often sticky. You never wrote back.
The pervertedly curious were a whole ‘nother class. They probably ran across your case on a true crime podcast or on a documentary. And their first thought at hearing the story was to wonder exactly what it felt like. They'd write and ask you what was going through your mind. What did the knife feel like sinking into his flesh? What did the blood smell like?
A fun bunch of freaks. You'd write back sometimes, more for your own amusement than anything else. Your answers were never even remotely true. I was mostly thinking about how late my taxes were and what a bastard it would be clean up. Stabbing him felt like cutting a steak except more scream-y. The blood smelt like a stack of pennies on a warm summer day, but mostly it just smelt like blood.
You'd always end your sentences with your trademark allegedly.
These new letters were nothing like those at all. The paper was crisp and clean and most importantly, not sticky. The folded lines were sharp, like the writer pressed them down with their thumb nail.
The writer didn't ask about the murder. They didn't ask about your bra size. They were almost...sweet.
You must be lonely in prison. You must get bored. I hope you're safe.
You read it again and again before you wrote a reply. Silly really. They seemed much too nice to be writing to someone like you. Maybe someone trying to do a good deed.
You should scare them off. Writing to a prisoner is sweet and all, but most folk in here would use it as just another way to wring someone dry. You were no different. Your anonymous pen pal would be better off working at the animal shelter if they wanted to help a stray.
I've got a whole host of buddies. We discuss the best ways to get blood out of our socks and pillow cases. I'm not bored at all. We've got a badminton league. Obviously the best way to spend federal cash. I'm as safe as a lamb in the hay. Only got stabbed twice last week.
There. That would get rid of them.
You mailed it out on cheap exam pad paper with a stamp you lifted off your neighbour. You didn't expect a reply.
When the mail got delivered the next week, you were more than a little surprised to find a new letter waiting for you.
The same crisp paper, the same neat, slanting hand.
You can't scare me off. I know you're only prickly and sarcastic because deep down you're scared. Scared a lot. Scared all the time.
I looked you up. You were barely out of high-school when it happened. Well behaved, normal family, no record of misdemeanours. Prison must have been an awful adjustment.
You had to put the letter down and take a deep breath. The kid clocked you. Less than two letters in and they'd read you better than anyone had in years. Better than anyone ever had maybe.
What were those first few years like, I wonder. How did you survive? Please write me back. I like checking in on you.
You considered not replying. What were they hoping to achieve, getting all familiar with a killer?
The letter sat on your shelf for half a week before you gave in and wrote a reply.
I survived by being mean and cruel and evil. Stop writing me kid. I'll bite your head off and drink your blood.
The next letter came almost instantly. If anything, the writer seemed amused more than anything else.
Scary. Did they put you in for homicide or suspected vampirism? You want to get rid of me, but I'm not going anywhere. You don't have to reply, but I know you must need a friend. They aren't easy to come by behind bars. Any alliances you form will always have the expectation of reciprocation. It must be exhausting.
Did I tell you I bought a new car last week? A Camaro. I know. How stereotypical of a Marine to buy a car like that, right? But it's gorgeous. I'd like to take you for a drive someday. Nothing but the open road. I think you'll like that.
You didn't even wait a full day before you wrote back. Because they were right. You really did need a friend. Someone to just shoot the breeze with, without any subtext of a favour being repaid later on.
You didn't know anything about your mysterious pen pal. Not their age or their gender or even the colour of their eyes. They signed all their letters with a simple from B.
They mostly asked you questions. Not obtrusive or gross ones either. They wanted to know which foods you missed the most, which tv series and movies you wanted to catch up on, which actors you thought were getting Grammys this year.
When Grammy and Oscar season rolled around, you choked out a fellow inmate to get the TV remote. You left them sitting up on the couch, passed out and looking like they were just asleep. Blondie almost caught you. He walked past the door and paused to stare at your victim.
You gave him your most charming grin.
"She said the opening ceremony was too long and to wake her up when the red carpet is over," you explained.
He scoffed and moved on.
When you wrote your next letter, you packed it full of award show details.
B wrote to you for the better part of a year. But you only learnt a handful of things about them. They were in the Marines, they now worked some kind of federal job, they had tattoos, they liked Nicole Richie, and they hated fried chicken. Like really hated it. With a passion.
I promise to never cook you fried chicken, you wrote, only fried calamari, fried onion rings, fried mushrooms, fried liver, fried green beans, fried -
Can you even cook? they wrote back. Or are you just running your mouth?
For a while, you were happy. They'd occasionally send you new books in the mail, burnt CDs to listen to on your busted radio, packets of sweets.
Prison was hell, but it was a structured, expected sort of hell. You could deal with it.
But then she arrived.
You didn't bother to learn her name. She was tall and lean, green eyes like pond scum, and teeth chipped from fighting. You didn't like her from the first, but you had no reason to quarrel and so avoided her as much as you could.
Blondie didn't like her much either, and that's where the trouble started.
She'd deliberately bump into Blondie whenever she could. Hard enough that you could almost feel the impact.
"Oops... Didn't see you there."
If it was anyone else, they'd probably get thrown in solitary. But Blondie was a stickler for the rules. He'd brush his uniform off like just touching an inmate was enough to cause a plague. And then he'd settle his blue eyes on her, cool and detached.
"Watch where you're going next time."
That was how it went on. Weeks of passive aggression, slowly getting more and more physical.
You didn't want to intervene. Blondie could protect himself. Still, you kept your eye on him as much as you could.
There was another thing about the new girl you didn't like.
She had a way with people.
Could convince even the most stubborn inmate to do something, even if it was against their own best interest.
She got an inmate who was almost out on probation to attack and almost blind a CO. She got innocent old Ruby to start selling cigarettes. She almost got you to pick a fight with someone for damn near no reason at all.
She was dangerous, in a way no one before her had been. You could feel it in the harsh whispers after lights out. Got to make those dirty screws pay. Fucking COs have had it too good for too long. Who the fuck do they think they are anyway?
A riot was brewing. You started staying in your cell a lot more. Managed to pull some metal out of your mattress and spent every night sharpening it to a point.
Some of the COs were smart enough to notice the tension and your outside time got shortened to half an hour, lunch got pulled back to fifteen minutes. Their solution was to keep you locked in your cells for as much of the day as possible.
Not a good move.
Prisoners with no distractions tend to amuse themselves by planning all sorts of nasty things. How to grab a CO from behind and get their keys before anyone noticed. How to choke out the one bastard who kept throwing them in solitary. How to pay back all those times a CO groped them in the middle of a search.
You could feel it heightening to a point. Could feel it in the dirty, oily stickiness of the air.
When Blondie came past on patrol, you stopped him. You'd been hoping to catch him for a few days and you weren't going to miss your chance.
"Yes?"
Those blue eyes were staring straight through you, cool as a winter without a radiator.
You remembered the pepper spray, the cool cloth pressed against your burning skin.
"Listen, I think you should call in sick for the next week."
Oh no, it came out sounding like a threat.
You cleared your throat, tried to smile.
"I owe you one, okay? So just trust me on this and don't show up for a while."
He narrowed his eyes.
"There's going to be a riot,” he said.
"Seems like it."
"When?"
"I don't know. It's not exactly a scheduled thing. But it's going to be bad."
He looked away from you, scanning the long row of cells across from you. You could hear the ambient shuffling and coughing and laughing of a hundred people living together.
"Can it be stopped?"
You sighed. You'd seen it play out a few times already. Wardens had all sorts of ways to handle riots, but once the fever was brewing, it was near impossible to break. It was in the atmosphere, in the tense glances between prisoners. It was bigger than all of you.
He must have seen the answer in your face.
He shook his head, stubborn to the last.
"I've got a job to do. If I got scared every time the prisoners got rowdy I'd be out of work real quick."
You sighed and pulled away from the bars.
"Your funeral Blondie."
You really hoped it wouldn't be.
The thing that started the riot was so small that on a normal day you'd call it borderline routine.
A CO was watching the cafeteria line, hustling people along when they paused longer than he liked. When he came to one of the girls a few spots ahead of you, he got impatient and shoved her forward. Not hard. Barely enough to make her stumble.
You cringed. For a second or two, you imagined you could feel it on your skin. A static crackling like lightning about to strike.
She punched the CO in the throat.
He stumbled backwards, holding his neck and gasping.
Other prisoners were already moving forward. Three of them grabbed his arms and bunch of the others ripped off his gear. Taser and baton and pepper spray now in the hands of a pissed and petty prison populace.
The other officers were already coming forward, batons out. Usually that would be enough to break things up, but they had just about everyone against them. Numbers always won.
The veneer cracked and the riot finally started. It took less than a minute.
The yelling was enough to make your head throb. Bouncing off the cafeteria walls and ringing ringing ringing in your ears.
You ducked out of the way as much as possible, always on your guard. Riots weren't just dangerous for the wardens. Inmates saw them as a way to settle old scores without ending up in solitary or back in court. And lord knew, you'd accumulated a hell of a lot of grudges over the years.
A prisoner rushed you. She was clutching a shiv made out of a ballpoint pen and a piece of wire coat hanger.
You dodged, sticking your foot between her legs and making her stumble. Your adrenaline was pumping, your vision dark at the corners.
You grabbed her hair before she could recover, and slammed her head against the edge of a metal cafeteria table.
She dropped like a rock.
You stepped away before any of her friends noticed you, your heart so far up your throat you could almost taste it.
That's when you saw her. That green eyed bitch, slipping out a side door with two of her cronies behind her.
You could feel your neck prickling.
There was only one score she had to settle and you knew exactly who it was aimed at.
You followed as quickly as you could. The backup had arrived and two tear gas canisters were belching thick white smoke into the room.
Despite your best efforts, by the time you made it out your eyes were stinging and she was long gone.
You swore and sprinted down the corridor, thinking fast.
If she managed to corner Blondie, she’d want to take her time with him. That's how scores were settled when you had a mean streak. Slow. Painful.
That meant she’d want privacy. Somewhere the riot officers wouldn't immediately find her when things calmed down.
You grabbed the corner of a wall and used it to shoot down the main hall, prison issued sneakers pounding the linoleum.
The showers. That's exactly where you'd go if you were her.
She didn't have time to block the doors. You banged through them shoulder first, the same way a cop would. The room was still thick with steam from earlier and Blondie's blood was running in thin streams toward the drain.
"The fuck is wrong with you?" she barked.
Green eyes, the one who instigated this whole mess.
She was standing with her sleeves rolled up and a razor blade between her fingers. The small, rectangular kind that goes in a straight razor.
Her two cronies were holding Blondie by the arms, stretching him out like he was on a cross.
Blondie clearly hadn't made it easy for them. Green eyes had a nasty bruise blooming on her cheek and both her cronies were sporting ugly nose bleeds. His baton was laying abandoned on the shower floor, rolled up against a bench.
Even a man as strong and well trained as he was couldn't go up against three armed felons and win.
You must have been just in time. The worst they'd done to him was cut his cheek, all the way from his temple to the bridge of his nose. It was bleeding bad, but didn't look too deep.
You straightened up and smiled at them, big and broad like you'd never had a better reunion.
"Having some fun without inviting me?"
Green eyes scoffed. "Why do you care? This shit is personal. Find something else to do."
You tilted your head, still smiling.
"You're right. It is personal. As in I owe Blondie over there a personal favour. As in I don't want you fucking with what's mine."
Blondie was watching you with those sharp eyes. If he took issue with being called yours, he didn't show it.
"Let him go." You didn't scream. You didn't demand. You simply said it. That's what made them nervous.
"Listen bitch - I don't care that everyone is scared of you. What you did on the outside doesn't matter one fucking bit."
You kept smiling, but your fingers were buzzing. The same why they had the night you stabbed a man forty six times.
You flicked your wrist and the shiv fell into your palm.
It was as long as your hand and sharpened into a wickedly pointed tip. It could slide between someone's ribs and kill them in less than five heart beats.
"They aren't scared of me because of what I did outside."
The two cronies were looking at each all worried-like. You vaguely recognised them, but it was clear that they recognised you no problem.
The boss turned to face you fully, light and easy on her toes like a boxer.
"You really gonna make a big deal over a fucking screw? A CO?"
"Since he's the only CO I've met who isn't a total piece of shit, I've got a vested interest in keeping him around."
She rolled his shoulders like a fighter would. You bit back a sigh. This was going to really hurt.
She didn't come at you right away. She ran her eyes over your body - your posture, your build, everything that might give you an advantage.
Then she charged.
Fast, even on the still slippery tiles. There wasn't enough time to duck or dodge.
You blocked her first punch with your arms, her fist smacking against your skin and spiking a sharp pain all the way down to your bones.
You stepped backward and kicked at her knee, but she saw it coming and turned her leg at the last second, took it on her thigh instead.
She’d dropped the razor blade - without a handle it was just as dangerous to her as it was to you - which meant she had full use of her fists.
She kept pummelling at you, catching you on the ribs and then on the sternum. You slammed back against the lockers, winded.
She pushed her advantage, going straight for your throat. You dropped down at the last second and her fist slammed full force into the metal.
She screamed and then screamed again as you slammed your shiv into her thigh.
You grabbed her throat and shoved her away from you, breathing hard.
She was clutching her thigh with one hand, blood welling up between her fingers. Dark red, but not enough to be fatal. You hadn't hit any arteries.
You slammed the heel of your hand into her nose, aiming upwards. You felt cartridge crunching.
She screamed again and scrambled away as quickly as she could with her injured leg.
Blood was running into her mouth, and when she snarled at you, her teeth were red.
You smiled again, as cheerful as a choir girl.
"Had enough?"
She spat blood at your feet.
You waited, half your attention on the other two. They hadn't yet moved to help her. You weren't sure if it was out of fear of letting Blondie go, or just a strong self preservation instinct.
Green eyes finally gave in. Or more accurately, her leg did. She buckled and fell, knees smacking hard on the tile. You winced.
She looked pale, in the about to pass out sort of way.
You sighed and jerked your head at her.
"Get her to the second floor nurses office. Wrap something around her leg. Tight. She’ll live but it's going to hurt a whole lot more if you aren't quick about it."
The other two were looking between you and her, eyes wide.
You wiped the back of your hand across your mouth, still holding the bloody shiv.
That seemed to decide them. They let go of Blondie all at once and grabbed their boss under the arms. Between the two of them, they were able to drag her out.
She left a trail of bright red behind.
When they were gone, you sat on the closest bench, holding your ribs. Hopefully they weren’t cracked - it hurt to breathe. You'd have to visit the infirmary as soon as things died down.
"She’s going to get even with you," Blondie said.
He was watching you. He hadn't moved. Blood was still running in thin streams down his cheek, like he was crying red.
"Yep. She's got a lot of friends too. It's not going to be fun."
"Why do you do that?"
"Do what?"
"Act so light hearted about everything. I can see your hands shaking."
You balled them into fists and avoided looking at him. The silence stretched.
Finally, "Why did you really kill your neighbour?"
"I didn't like his face."
"I don't believe you."
"Believe what you want. The court already made up its mind."
He finally moved. Picked up his baton and slipped it into his belt. Grabbed a towel and balled it up, then pressed it against his face. The white started spotting red almost immediately. You watched him from the corner of your eye.
"Give me the knife."
"It's called a shiv. You should know that."
You rubbed the handle against your pants, getting rid of any fingerprints. Redundant, given there were three witnesses who saw you stab another inmate. Old habits don't really die, you supposed.
You handed it to him without looking at his face.
He wrapped it in a smaller towel and stuck it in his belt.
You could hear faint sirens from beyond the door, and his radio was crackling with orders. The wardens seemed to be getting things under control.
"I'm throwing you in solitary. And then I'm requesting a transfer to another block."
"Aww shucks, I'll really miss you Blondie."
"Not a transfer for me, you idiot. A transfer for you. It won't stop her entirely. There's always a little bit of communication between the blocks, no matter how hard we try and prevent it. But it should give you some time to make friends of your own."
"I've never been very good at that."
"Maybe try being less sarcastic."
He grabbed your upper arm and pulled you to your feet. His grip was light, a formality more than anything.
"Why did you really save me?"
You couldn't look at him. You shrugged.
"It's like I said. You're the least terrible warden in here. Not a very high bar to be fair, but still."
He started towards the door and you followed.
There were officers coming down the corridor in full riot gear. He waved them down and thrust you towards one.
"Solitary. Protective custody."
"Why?"
Blondie didn't even hesitate. "Because she saved my life."
Solitary wasn't so bad when the other option was tossing and turning on your bunk, just waiting for a knife to your ribs.
You'd almost call it relaxing. Your ribs were bandaged tight and the painkiller the doc gave you left you floating on a cloud of dope.
When you heard the footsteps pause outside your door, you didn't bother to get up.
Blondie didn't say anything for a long while. When he finally spoke, it was so soft that you had to strain to hear it.
"I still don't believe you. I don't think you're a cold blooded killer. I think that whatever happened between you and that man wasn't really brought before the court."
You sighed.
"Drop it Blondie."
"No."
Maybe it was the medicine or maybe it was the confession booth feeling of the half dark. Either way, you ended up giving away more than you intended.
"It doesn't matter. If the whole thing was public, it would only hurt people who've already been through enough."
"You had a reason for killing him."
"Yes."
"What?"
"I won't tell you. Won't tell anyone, ever. It's not my story to tell”
“You're in jail because of it. Who else could possibly have more to lose?"
"You'd be surprised."
It was his turn to sigh.
"I'm going to find out eventually, y'know."
"Have fun with that. Don't give yourself a headache."
He sighed and walked away.
You didn't see him again for half a year.
They kept you in solitary a whole week. Long enough for your ribs to stop hurting and for the bruises to lighten. Long enough for green eyes to be processed and transferred further up-state. That was unusual, even if she was the one who instigated the riot. You had a feeling someone pulled some strings behind the scenes. And you had an even stronger feeling about who it must have been.
When you were finally out, you were assigned to a new block. Your stuff was already waiting for you in your new cell, your books and CDs and a new letter from B.
Won't be able to write for a while. I've got something important to work on. Hopefully I'll be back soon.
You couldn't ignore the way that stung. Without meaning to, you'd come to rely on their letters. A little reprieve from the life you were stuck with.
The new block wasn't too bad. You took Blondie's advice and made some friends. Tried to avoid fights as much as possible. If green eyes ever managed to convince someone to get even for her, they didn't go through with it.
Life was, if not good, then at least bearable. You tried ignoring the little nagging part of you that constantly wondered about both Blondie and B. Without either of them, you felt...emptier somehow. Lonely.
When a warden came to tell you that you had a visitor, your heart lurched. Your family didn't visit you much anymore. And you cut off your friends the day you got convicted - no need to draw them into your mess. Secretly, you hoped it was B. You had no clue what they looked like, but after six months without hearing from them, you were almost desperate.
You smoothed down your uniform before you stepped into the visitors' centre, your eyes sweeping the room for familiar faces.
You noticed him almost immediately. Blondie, his hair shaggy when it wasn’t gelled back and his usual uniform replaced by a flannel shirt and jeans. A man was sitting next to him, his pinstripe suit still neat and pressed despite it being late afternoon.
He didn't even give you time to say hello.
"This is Mark Lawrence. Your lawyer."
You squinted at the man, confused. He was clearly a cut or two above the overworked district attorney who'd handled your case.
"No he isn't. I haven't seen him before in my life."
He sighed, irritated. "Mark is the lawyer I hired to represent you when we go to court next month."
"...Why am I going to court next month?"
"To challenge the original ruling."
"Okay. Why?"
"Because I've found another witness to your case, one that didn't testify last time."
You felt like were slammed face first into a bucket of icy water. With rusted nails in it.
"Who?"
"The victim's daughter."
"No."
"Yes."
Your handcuffs rattled as your balled your hands into fists.
"She's just a kid. What she needs is to put the past behind her, not re-live every minute of it up on the witness stand. No. We're not doing this."
You glared at him and he met you straight on. The tension cracked.
The lawyer finally interjected.
"Knowing the full details of the case changes things dramatically. Your charge goes from first degree murder to manslaughter. We might be able to cut your sentence down to fifteen years or less, with time served contributing."
"No. I'm not putting that little girl up on the stand."
Blondie practically snarled. "Yes. You. Are."
"No. I'm. Not."
"She's so much older now! Practically a teenager. She can handle it. And besides, she said she's happy to do it."
"You spoke to her?!"
Could this day get any worse? Why the hell did he have to go and drag up old memories? It must have been just as unpleasant for the kid as it was for you.
"Yes. Myself and the original detective both."
"Why? Is this what you've been doing the past six months? Trying to overturn my sentence?"
He looked away from you for the first time, his ears turning red.
"Yes."
You leaned back in your chair, conflicted and confused more than anything else. You hated to admit it, but a part of really wanted this. Even if the chance was slim, even if it meant another round of dockets and cross questioning. You were tired of prison. You wanted your life back.
You watched the late afternoon sun reflecting off the ceiling.
"I want to talk to her first. And then...maybe."
"Deal." Blondie sounded immensely satisfied.
You kept watching the sun and half listening to the conversations around you.
"Why are you doing this for me Blondie?"
Your voice was awfully soft.
"I'm returning a favour."
Your eyes slid to the lawyer.
"Pretty damn expensive way to do it."
He smirked. "I prefer my method to yours. Requires a whole lot less stabbing."
The kid came to visit you the next day. Blondie was right. She was almost a teenager. Did time really go by so fast?
You grinned at her.
"Hey kid. Sorry to drag you out to this place, but they don't let me out much."
"I bet."
She’d lost a lot of the baby fat from her cheeks and her dark eyes didn't have the haunted look you remembered so well.
"How's life with your aunt?"
"Great actually. The school is nice and we've got this Great Dane. And she isn't like... well, she isn't like my dad."
That made you happy. The kid deserved something good after everything she’d been through.
She broke in before you could keep asking questions.
"I want to do it. I want to testify against my father."
You paused, your smile fading. You could still hear her voice from that night, high and tinny and begging her dad to stop.
He hadn't stopped. He hadn't stopped beating his little girl until the moment you sunk a knife into his chest.
You swallowed, your mouth tasting like metal.
"Are you sure? It's not going to be easy."
She met your eyes. "I don't care. You saved me. I'm not going to let you rot in a place like this."
When she left, you couldn't help thinking about her eyes. The last time you saw her, she wouldn't even look at your face. Wouldn't say more than three words at a time.
The kid might never outrun her past, but she’d done a damn good job so far.
You tried not to be too hopeful. Homicide was almost impossible to overturn.
You tried not to be too hopeful, but the lawyer Blondie hired clearly knew his stuff. He laid it all out in front the judge.
How you used to babysit the kid when her dad wasn't around. How the man used to get violent when he was drunk, but never hit the kid until that night.
How you heard the screaming and banged at his door for fifteen minutes. How you broke in through a back window when it wouldn't stop.
How you found the girl half dead with her father standing over her. Still going at it.
How you grabbed a knife, just to try and threaten him, maybe bring him back to his senses.
How he attacked you. How you stabbed him and then kept stabbing him until he stopped moving.
How you bundled the kid off to her aunt and then called the cops on yourself.
The whole story this time. No pleading guilty and then sitting back down without another word. No half hearted defence by a state lawyer already over worked and underpaid. No half truths.
It took three weeks of court dates to get through the whole story, with witnesses and cross examination. By the time it was done, you wanted to wash your hands of the whole mess. Innocent or guilty, you just wanted to stop reliving that night.
The judge was a hard faced man who'd seen a thousand criminals come and go. You didn't have much hope for yourself when the bailiff told you to rise for the verdict.
"In the case of the state versus the accused, in regards to the appeal and additional information provided to the court, the court hereby considers this appeal to be..."
You felt your heart stutter. The last time you were in court listening to a verdict the outcome was a forgone conclusion.
"Granted."
You almost sat back down, your knees weak. There's no way. After all this time, were you really about to have your freedom back?
The judge continued, "The accused's sentence has been adjusted to account for time served. The original sentence of life imprisonment with the chance of parole after thirty years has been changed to immediate parole on strict assessment."
The judge looked at you, eyes maybe a little softer than they were before.
"This court will never condone murder, not even in defence of a child. But I think it's clear, young lady, that you've spent more than enough time behind bars."
Your lips felt numb. Your whole future changed in one sentence. In one afternoon. It was staggering.
"Thank you, your honour."
The bailiff read out a list of regulations to follow. Weekly check ins with both a parole officer and a state psychiatrist. No furthers run ins with the law, not even misdemeanours. If even one person close to you felt you were a threat, they could report it to the police and have you sent back to jail almost immediately. You were on house arrest until further notice. It was one of the strictest parole agreements you'd ever heard.
You didn't care if they told you to do a hundred push ups morning and evening. You were free again. You were going to behave like a damn saint for the rest of your days.
The only hiccup was when he mentioned the address that you were registered to stay at. You raised a brow at your lawyer but he avoided your eyes.
When court was finally dismissed, the first thing you did as a free woman was give Blondie a hug.
He was much taller than you, though you'd never realised it before.
"How much do I owe you? When I get a job, we can work out some kind repayment plan."
He waved you away and lead you from the courthouse. You tried to ask your lawyer about the house arrest, but he managed to slip away before you could.
His car was waiting for you. A new Camaro barely a year months old.
You let out a low whistle.
"She’s a beauty."
When you climbed into the passenger seat, you were sure to buckle your seat belt. No tickets for you, not ever.
The car started up with a thrumming purr.
It ate away at the road, even in the dense city centre. It wasn't long before you were almost at the city limits and cruising.
"By the way, do you know where I'll be staying? I didn't recognise the address."
You couldn't be sure, but it seemed like his hands tightened on the steering wheel just a tad.
"Mm-hmm. You're staying with me."
What? You couldn't possibly do that to him.
"Thank you. But don't you feel a little awkward having a felon in your home? I've still got my savings from before. I can rent my own place for a little."
"You're staying with me. Do you know how hard it is to get a good apartment with a criminal record?"
"I guessed as much. But Blondie, I already owe you. I can't possibly intrude on your life. Maybe you think you still owe me from that day. You don't. We're square."
He was quiet for a bit, but finally managed to force a smile into his voice.
"No. I'm not doing this because I feel indebted to you."
He kept his eyes on the road, his hand loose and confident on the wheel. His sleeves were rolled up again and you got your first good look at his tattoos. They were a collection of really well done pieces, each small tattoo blending with the others. Mostly fine line work, simple and clean.
"Why are you doing it then?"
He didn't answer.
When you arrived, his house was ranch style three bedroom with a huge, rolling yard and a neat wraparound porch.
You let out another low whistle.
"How do you afford this on a correction officer's salary?"
"I don't. It's paid off already. I was in the USMC for a long time. The money was good."
"I knew you weren't a normal civvie."
He grinned. "What gave it away?"
"The muscles."
He laughed and pulled your duffel bag from the trunk.
You'd told your parents to donate all your clothes when you were first sentenced. You didn't think you'd ever be free again so why hoard? Someone out there was probably making good use of your Doc Martens and distressed denim. Whatever normal clothes you currently had were what you were locked up with. The outfit on your back and little else.
The suitcase was instead filled with your meagre prison possessions, the stuff you didn't want to leave behind. Your collection of books. Some postcards. The CDs that B sent you.
Blondie carried it across the lawn like it weighed nothing at all.
Stepping into his house was a surreal experience. You hadn't been inside someone else's home since the night of your crime. Your last few years were exclusive to the grimy and outdated rooms of state buildings.
It was like stepping back in time. Or more accurately, like stepping into a future you thought was lost to you.
Clean, without the tang of cheap, industrial grade bleach. The walls painted and wallpapered instead of just whitewashed. The feeling of finally being somewhere you could relax. Not an in-between place.
Home.
He showed you to your room, a neat guest bedroom across from his, with a double bed and wide windows.
You didn't sit down on the bed or on the neat desk chair. You didn't feel clean enough. You still felt the stink and grime of prison clinging to you.
He raised a brow but showed you where the bathroom was.
It was another taste of freedom. Showers in prison were monitored and timed affairs. No standing under the water and just enjoying the heat, no taking the time to scrub and exfoliate. In and out and done as quick as possible.
You stood under the hot water for a long time, your face wet not just from the spray.
When you finally climbed out, you felt clean for the first time in years.
Blondie was gone when you got downstairs, a hasty note scrawled on the fridge about grabbing you some new clothes. You tilted your head at the handwriting. You could swear it looked so familiar... But no, it couldn't be. That was ridiculous.
You brewed yourself a hot drink, fully intending to sit on the porch and enjoy it. Like a little old woman.
The backdoor was locked.
You frowned. Okay, not that uncommon. Folk kept their doors locked all the time. He probably intended you to use the front door instead.
But that one was locked too.
So were all the downstairs windows. Closed shut with little hatches you hadn't noticed earlier.
You tried not to panic. He was probably just looking out for you. Being careful. You were still a felon. How did he know you weren't going to make a break for it the second you could, his tv and laptop in tow?
It was fine. You were fine. You could just drink at the table and wait for him to get home. You kept telling yourself that, even as you searched through the kitchen drawers for a spare key.
Nothing.
You didn't want to panic. You'd spent years locked away. Wasn't this much nicer than a cell?
No. Because at least in a cell you had no illusions about your freedom.
You ended up in his bedroom without knowing when you'd gotten there. You didn't dig through his drawers. He'd know instantly. But you did open them all, one by one, as if you'd find the key right on top of his neatly folded shirts.
You found the letters in the last drawer. The one right next to his bed, like he read them every night.
It took you a while to recognise them, even though you were looking at your own handwriting.
Your letters to B. Every single one of them. The envelopes neatly cut open and the letters themselves stacked in chronological order. The most recent one was at the very top and you picked it up with numb hands.
Hey B! Guess who's going back to court. Guess they missed seeing me strutting down the aisle.
Don't worry. I haven't down anything bad (at least not this time). Someone who thinks they owe me a favour has gotten it into their head that the best way to repay me is to get me out of jail.
The legal way, that is. No midnight tunnels or disguises. (Boo. How boring. What happened to romance?)
I don't have much hope, but at least it means a break in the monotony. And nicer chow.
You'd better write me soon. Can't believe I'm admitting this out loud, but I get a warm fuzzy feeling in my heart whenever I get a new letter from you. I think it must be acid reflux.
-your favourite felon.
B did, in fact, write back quickly. For the last time - no return address on the letter. In that, and in so many other ways, it was clear it was the final letter you were getting.
You're the most complicated person I've ever met. Caring and kind but somehow wrapped up in the most sarcastic personality. I've fallen in love with you. Stupid. Incredibly stupid. But it's true.
I love you.
-B
You'd sat in your cell with your eyes almost bugging out of your skull. Wondering what B did to have the misfortune of falling for a girl like you. Wondering if you could have loved them back, if given the chance. Wondering who they really were.
Well, here was your answer. B, the person who wrote you sarcastic poetry and hunted down your favourite books, was Blondie, the warden who owed you his life.
And he was in love with you.
You sat down, knees replaced by lunch time jelly cups.
No wonder he did what he did. No wonder he paid for an attorney and got your house arrest registered at his house. No wonder he kept the doors and windows locked.
There was a light step behind you and you flew to your feet, the letter still clutched in your fist.
He was standing in the doorway, watching you with cool blue eyes.
"So. You found them."
You couldn't answer.
He stepped into the room, his eyes never leaving yours. He'd taken off his shirt and stood in only his tank top and jeans, his arms lean with muscle. You'd spent years fighting and you knew in one glance that you could never take him. He was stronger. Had years of Marine and police training. It had taken three prisoners and a razor blade to finally hold him. What chance did you have?
"The world isn't built for prisoners. Rehabilitation is hard. What were the stats again? Eight out of every ten end up back in jail before ten years is up?"
He continued towards you, as calm as ever.
"You're safer here. With me. You said you'd be a great housewife remember?"
"I was joking," you managed. "Just kidding around."
He reached you and gently took the letter from your unresisting fingers.
"I won't make you do anything you don't want to. But you're not leaving me. You're not leaving this house."
"Why?"
He smiled, that half smile that gave you a glimpse past his tough guy shell. This time, you didn't like what you saw.
"You know why."
"I'm a terrible person to love. I'm prickly and sarcastic and I suck at doing the dishes."
"I've got a dishwasher."
"All I know how to cook is fried chicken."
He wrinkled his nose. "We'll work on it."
"I snore all night."
"You don't. I've watched you sleep."
"Really?"
"Really. I'd stop outside your cell and just watch you sometimes. I couldn't help it. You're so much calmer when you sleep. It's like seeing another version of you."
He tilted his head and closed the last bit of distance between you, until you could smell his cologne and see the flecks of green in his eyes. You'd never noticed them before.
"There are worse cells than this, aren't there? All you have to do is stay with me. Be happy. Let me love you."
"Do I have a choice?"
He smiled that secret smile again.
"Nope. It's either me or straight back to prison."
It was true. He was a model citizen – a veteran with a clean record as a corrections officer. Even if you did talk to your mandated psychologist or parole officer, they wouldn’t believe you. You’d be the ungrateful prisoner trying to manipulate her way out of house arrest.
You knew it from the start. Rule one - never trust a warden. They never have your best interests at heart. All they want is to cover their own skin and get theirs.
But, you never were very good at following the rules, were you?
did this bias sorter and here are the results………it’s actually really accurate if you ignore some of the placings that i don’t really agree with 🧍
try it out moots! @yudaies @hanniescookie @noircheols @wooahoe @slytherinshua @wonkierideul @kissbyoon @kyeomviiee @seokmn @gyuwrites @mi9yuz (you can try it even if you weren’t tagged! if you want to be added or taken off, let me know!)
in terms of entirely green or entirely blue i didnt get bingo </3
if u disagree with my choices send me the most 'this will fix you.' fanfic in my ask box. or argue idc
MY ADDENDUMS BC I LIKE TO OVEREXPLAIN also original under the cut
i am so neutral about most tropes its all about delivery jgkdshkdshgdk .... some of the yellow i would even say i dislike but the delivery can make me like it
a lot of the blue ones i would enjoy if there were some sort of subversion from the 'typical'/expected, or there's some layers. like if its an age gap i prefer an older woman-younger man. i like gentle dom and sub. i like necro if its angsty or yandere.
omegaverse is the bane of my existence i'm sorry. it feels like gender roles but if we made it lgbt but also if they were just kinda cishet LMFAOOO but dw i see the appeal! obviously, since theres purple. also i think sex is just funner when ppl do it just because. not because they literally have no choice due to biology
size difference overrated i'm sorry. i see the appeal though.
i made servitude orange but realistically i would enjoy it if its willing/devoted servitude. i was imagining forced servitude i guess.
A lot of these are more "it depends". Depends on how good the writing is, how cliche (I love roles being switched), and some other aspects that are just very unique, little details.
No pressure: @ozzgin @feefivefoe @fxckn-sxck-fr @tiramissyoucake @wordsofwhimsy
I'm not sure if I should expose myself like this, but...you will find I am a very unscrupulous man when it comes to fictional tropes. "No idea" translates to "I still don't know what this means", or "I guess it works but it's not my immediate go-to".
Tagging @madwomansapologist, @yandereunsolved, @monstersholygrail, @yandere-yearnings, @yanderedrabbles and @bwabysmain
