jeonghan never really explains why he likes the sea so much during winter.
you ask him once, hands hidden inside your sleeves as you try to keep up with his slow steps along the cold shore, and he just shrugs.
“because it gets empty.”
the answer should feel simple, but nothing with jeonghan ever is.
the wind is brutal that afternoon, cold enough to leave your cheeks numb. he’s wearing a black beanie pulled low over his hair and an oversized hoodie that swallows his hands whole. pretty in a way that feels unfair. quiet in a way that feels even worse.
you walk in silence for a while, listening to nothing but the waves crashing against the rocks.
it’s not uncomfortable silence. it never is. with him, silence feels like a conversation nobody else knows how to hear.
“you’re still walking that close to the water even though you hate getting your shoes wet?” he asks suddenly, eyes still fixed ahead.
you let out a small laugh.
“you pay way too much attention to me.”
“someone has to.”
your heart does that stupid little squeeze again. because that’s what jeonghan does. he says small things like they mean nothing while completely ruining you without even trying. or maybe he is trying. sometimes you think he knows exactly what he’s doing.
especially when he looks at you like that.
that long, quiet stare that lingers half a second too long.
like now.
you turn your head toward him and find his eyes already on you, soft and unreadable. he doesn’t look away immediately. he never does. he just stays there, watching you like he’s thinking about saying something.
but he never says it.
never.
“what?” you ask quietly.
the corner of his mouth twitches.
“nothing.”
liar.
the problem with being friends with yoon jeonghan is that he gives you just enough to keep hoping, but never enough to be sure.
he grabs your hand when you cross the street, but lets go too fast. falls asleep on your shoulder during long bus rides, then acts normal when he wakes up. texts you “did you get home safe?” after every single hangout. knows you better than anyone else. and still, when seungkwan called you two a couple last week, jeonghan laughed.
laughed and said,
“please. she only tolerates me because she’s patient.”
you laughed too. because it was either that or let everyone see the way your chest caved in.
the wind gets harsher near the rocks and you rub your hands together, trying to get feeling back into your fingers. jeonghan notices immediately. without saying anything, he grabs your wrist and pulls you closer to him.
his warmth seeps through the layers of your clothes instantly.
“jeonghan—”
“you’re freezing.”
“i’m fine.”
“liar.”
his voice comes out low. calm. way too intimate.
you hate the effect he has on you. you hate even more that you’d probably let him do anything he wanted with your heart and still thank him for it.
jeonghan keeps holding your wrist long after you stop shivering. and then the silence comes back. that dangerous silence.
waves crash against the shore. the sky slowly darkens above you. you can smell his perfume mixing with the cold salt air and somehow that feels unfair too.
because nobody should be allowed to look that beautiful while emotionally confusing someone at the same time.
“sometimes i think you do this on purpose,” you say before you can stop yourself.
he turns toward you slowly. “do what?”
“make me confused.”
his expression softens instantly. and somehow that hurts more than anything else.
jeonghan stares at you for a few long seconds. quiet. unreadable.
then he lets out a small breathy laugh, almost humorless.
“you think you’re the only one who’s confused?”
and there it is. there it is.
because suddenly everything changes. your heartbeat becomes unbearably loud.
“jeonghan…”
but he looks away toward the ocean before you can say anything else.
like he’s scared.
maybe he is.
“i like it here in winter,” he murmurs. “because the whole world gets quiet enough for me to hear my own thoughts.”
you swallow hard.
“and what do they say?”
finally, he looks at you again.
wind-tangled dark hair peeking out from under his beanie. pink nose from the cold. tired eyes that look painfully sincere for once.
genre/warnings/wc. gn!reader. suggestive, angst, vague historical + war au. one allusion to off-screen sex so mdni. in the same universe as push and pull (royal!yjh x general!reader). unbeta’d, mistakes my own. 0.9k.
note. for @kmgswrld, in response to jeonghan + an izumi shikibu tanka. thank you so much for waiting!! part of anchors.
Against all odds, spring arrives quietly.
Jeonghan watches the plum blossoms overhead flutter with the wind. The stars peek through from beyond the little flowers; their stillness contrasts with the swaying branches.
A part of him dreads the thaw—there is already a meeting scheduled at dawn tomorrow, to discuss their next plans. More intel from spies, more poring over maps and strategies, more little wooden pieces on the table. As though they did not represent real men who might not live to see the cherry blossoms, much less their families.
“I should have known I’d find you here, Your Highness.”
Jeonghan swivels around, meeting your eyes. “Big day tomorrow, general.”
You click your tongue. “Not quite; we are deciding on the big day tomorrow.”
“Hm.” He pats the space beside him. “Sit with me.” In the low light, he catches you purse your lips for a moment before acquiescing, settling down a respectable distance away from where his hand had been. Jeonghan huffs. “No one is watching.”
“Indeed.” You remain where you are.
“So straitlaced, my general is.”
“It has kept our men alive so far.” You lift your hand, taking a quick swig off your flask. Jeonghan grins.
“And yet, you drink.”
You scowl, swigging again. “I am a general, not a monk.”
Jeonghan snakes his hand around your waist, pulling you flush against his side. You inhale sharply; one hand braces your fall against his chest. The flask drops to the ground beside you, empty.
“I know very well that you are no monk.” You shiver when his breath hits the shell of your ear. Jeonghan dips his chin to nose the spot just under your jaw. A featherlight kiss against your pulse, and he hears your shaky exhale. The faint smell of alcohol clings to you, combined with sweat and a musk that drives him mad.
When you are pressed up against him like this, he is so very easily lost.
“Darling…” he sighs against your skin. He pulls you closer, onto his lap—and for all your heated debates and protests while on duty, you are surprisingly pliant in his arms, all but melting when he finally pulls away from your neck to catch your mouth with his own.
“I told you—not to call me that…” You sigh against his lips with barely any heat. Jeonghan simply hums.
His hands trail along your body, pressing against your clothes to imagine the heat of your skin beneath. He grunts as your hands trail up, curling around his nape, pulling the hairs on the back of his head until he reluctantly gets the message.
“We can’t,” you murmur. You’re panting softly, mouth kiss-swollen, pupils blown in a way he knows mirrors his own. Even now, when discouraging him, your fingers toy with his hair, soft as a lover.
“Not even somewhere private? My bed misses you, you know.” You huff a small laugh at that.
“Don’t foist your sentimentalities on your furniture, Your Highness. Besides,” your expression sobers, “We must prepare for battle soon.”
“Are our assignations truly over, then?” He keeps his voice light, though something in him cracks all the same.
Your hand stops carding through his hair. “Your Highness, I…”
“We did agree it would only be for the winter.”
He catches the split second your composure cracks, your eyes betraying your devastation before you don again the façade of your persona. “Indeed.”
As though the world had also decided to let the moment fade, Jeonghan hears, more clearly, the sounds from the camp. The wild merriment was a needed morale boost—something to bridge the cold anxiety of winter vigilance and the inevitable clash its thawing would bring.
“I take my leave, then.” You bow shortly. You begin to stand, picking up the flask while arranging your clothes so no one would be the wiser.
“Wait,” Jeonghan says, standing, before he can stop himself. He clamps a hand down your wrist. You halt. “Will you still not call me by my name?”
There is a war behind your gaze. You lips purse, then part, then purse once more.
He tugs you back to him, and you return his passion equally, betraying yourself, cupping his face with your hand.
“Please?” He breathes against your lips. You part from him, resting your forehead against his.
“Jeonghan,” you murmur finally. “I am sorry it had to be this way.” He shakes his head.
“Do you remember what I said before we rode to war?” He whispers.
“You said you will…” You swallow. “You will come out of this war with me or not at all.”
“Indeed. That has not changed.” He cups the hand on his face with his own, clasping it gently between his own, feeling your rough callouses against his fingers.
He thinks of the plum blossoms again. Tomorrow, he will be able to see them in all their crimson glory. If he were a poet, he would find some metaphor in how they bloomed even in the cold. Even the way they sometimes stain the white landscape in deep red seems an apt metaphor.
The only color war interests itself in is blood red. Yet when he bleeds, he feels himself stained with a different battle entirely.
“My general,” he sighs. Jeonghan lets his mouth rest around those words. He has been sharpened and cut by them, defeated and made victorious. My as in allegiance. My as in an oath. My as in devotion. General as in his right hand. General as in his sword. General as in the one he could have in battle, but never in peace.
Jeonghan knows—he may detest war, but in his heart of hearts he thanks it for being the only time he could keep you.
He kisses the inside of your wrist before releasing you. “I will see you at dawn.” Your smile does not reach your eyes, even as you bow shortly and walk away.
note. plum blossoms (ume) predate cherry blossoms (sakura) as the flower of prestige in ancient japan. where sakura represents transience (mono no aware), plum blossoms were known for resilience, as they bloom through the cold of winter to herald early spring. they can be white, pink, magenta, deep red, etc. ume blooms before sakura, hence the reference that soldiers may die before they see the latter. that said, in the heian period (when the tanka inspiring this would have been from), the sakura would gradually begin to be more popular.
anyway thank you for waiting so very patiently for me <3 i will be working on the next anchor drabbles too; work has finally eased up a teeny tiny bit
⚬ pairing: tennis player! jeonghan x star tennis player! reader
⚬ word count: 9k
⚬ genres: angst, coworkers(?) romance, v much inspired from the movie 'challengers', grumpy reader who suffers from the popular mean girl syndrome lowkey but we stan, v banter-y heh i love them, use of nicknames: he calls her sweetpea.
⚬ warnings: anger issues, mentions of physical injury, hair pulling (not in a sexual way but the reader is aggressive lol), spice/nsfw and smut - filth, filth filth, public sex, dirty talking, grinding and inappropriate dancing, creampies (dont be silly cover ya willy) mentions of dr*gs tho no one consumes them and other mature themes MDNI
credits to @strangergraphics for the beautiful dividers <3
pls reblog the fic if you like it, reblog with a #tbr if you are saving it for later. support authors and artists of the fandom by reblogging our works
<3 synopsis: trying to escape the 'has been' reputation after a brutal knee injury throws you off your a-game, you aim to make a comeback in a category you vehemently despise- the mixed doubles. there aren't a lot of men you can get yourself to play with, but the idea of having to play against yoon jeonghan is just diabolical. and so, you must get him to be on your team and not against you or else you're sure he is going to wear you out- on and off the court.
<3 songs recommended: the challengers movie soundtrack by trent reznor and atticus ross
author's note: part of my valentine's day event, lmk if you'd want to be tagged :)
p.s. - all these fics come with a lil letter hehe, here's one for u!
jeonghan's love letter to whoever is reading (esp. for @livmarauder for getting into uni <3 and for @paradiseonthemoon for being so precious to me)
Dear you,I know that when it comes to life, you like playing solo. it's not that you wouldn't like some help, but a pro like you is seldom satisfied by a helping hand. this valentine's, i beg of you, my love, to allow me to serve you right…to help you smooth things over, not because you're incapable of doing them on your own, but because sometimes, little acts of service is all we need to remind ourselves that we're not alone and that the people who love us, will be here for us in need.
yours forever and whatever that follows after,
hannie <3
Everything moves painfully slow, almost like the air around you has been replaced with honey.
No, scratch that—at least honey would taste sweet.
But a bitter, rancid acid is all you feel at the back of your tongue as your spiked shoes skid dangerously over the turf to reach the ball on time because you know your partner still hasn’t recovered from his previous stance. You wonder if his brain has even registered the smash that the opponents for this practice session—your coaches—have delivered your way.
No matter how hard you strain the muscles of your thighs or the behemoth weight you put on your ankles to stabilize them, you’re unable to reach the ball that thuds and lands right by your partner’s feet.
You don’t even allow it to bounce back up when you turn around to accuse him, exasperated, “Jason you’re too slow!”
Jason, your partner for the doubles tournament, straightens up, his arms spread wide like he can’t believe you’re so worked up about a mistake.
“Chill,” he says with a low smile, “this isn’t the actual game, I don’t wanna wear myself out already.”
You glare at him, the heat of it makes his grin evaporate almost instantly.
“But yeah…I’ll be more careful.” He splutters not convincing anyone—especially not you.
You shoot a sharp glance towards the coaches—yours and his—across the net. His coach simply shrugs in agreement while yours gives you a little nod, just enough for you to see.
‘Calm down.’ It translates.
“Okay.”
You suck in a sharp breath, straightening up as Jason’s coach begins testing another ball in her stance to serve.
The amount of sweat beading above your brows and dripping down is more than all three of them combined—not because you sweat too easily, but because you’re the only one treating this session like an actual game.
You always do. What even is the point of practice if everyone’s gonna be a fucking pussy about a little ankle sprain before the big game?
Losers.
Jason’s coach delivers the serve and you instantly jump into action, hitting all the right angles at all the right times. It’s beautiful, honestly, the way you play…the way your body knows just how much to bounce when expecting the ball, the way your eyes trace every movement and your brain calculates the curve of the arcs the balls would bounce at, the way you recover quickly after hitting the ball and immediately get ready for the next one—fucking breathtaking.
Sometimes, when you’re going over the videos of your own games, you do get turned on by the girl you see on screen. All sharp and magnetic, flirting—no fucking with the ball.
Too bad that folks like Jason ruin that visual and eventually, the game, by being the human equivalent of a sad, saggy, wrinkly ball-sack in each porno.
Despite the heavy weight of exhaustion settling dull in your bones, you hold the game remarkably well for another six minutes or so before Jason fucks up again because he couldn’t stand back up on time to take the next ball that your coach directed towards him immediately after.
When the ball hits the ground—in the centre of your very court—it’s like a sledgehammer slamming against your own ribs.
You screech in agony, almost doubling over from pain after witnessing the sheer act of incompetency from someone you’re supposed to win this thing with.
That inhumane scream doesn’t only undoes the restraints in your throat that your coach has forced you to tighten your chords with, but it also unscrews every bolt that has tightened this new armour that your body is supposed to mould itself into—that of a professional, celebrated tennis player who had the reputation of being an unforgivable force on the court until a knee injury humbled her last season.
The girl who is supposed to smile instead of smirk when interviewers ask about her game now.
The girl who is now supposed to wear the boring, normal sports gear instead of the custom pink Nike.
The girl for whom, once, the only penalties on court used to be her constant slew of curses but who is no longer allowed to say ‘shit’ even during practice sessions now.
Yeah, you stab that girl right in the fucking throat when Jason blinks at your frustrated scream like you’ve lost your mind.
“Are you fucking stupid Jason?” You yell, “Do you think this is a fucking dance floor where you’ll dive and sweep and flash a grin to the audience and they’ll throw their bras at you?”
“I–” he begins but you cut him off.
“I told you to fucking work on your reflexes Jason, can you not handle the racket with your fucking fingers anymore? You hold it like you’re jerking off a fucking dick? What is your issue!?”
Behind you, you hear the hurried shuffle of feet as the coaches surround you.
“You stand there,” you go on, gesturing wildly, “like your brain is buffering. Ball comes at you and you’re like—” you widen your eyes and slack your jaw, “—wow. Sphere. And then it dies. Right in front of you. Because even gravity gives up waiting.”
“Hey, hey enough now!” Jason’s coach tries putting herself between the two of you.
“Enough?” You scream, totally unhinged now with a voice so hoarse that someone might’ve just scrubbed your vocal chords with a sandpaper, “This is nothing compared to how much of a disrespect I’ve faced with an actual fucking ass playing behind my ass. You’re both gonna cost me this tournament and you both know it!”
Jason’s coach remarks, “Well if you’re so good then why don’t you go play solo?”
That.
That wrings you so brutally that the reality of your present condition crashes down on you like a castle of boulders.
You don’t speak, just rapidly suck air in and out of your pursed lips.
Your coach doesn’t defend you like Jason’s. He always has been like this—just gives you instructions and leaves you to face the consequences upon disobedience. You turn to face him only to find the silence you had predicted. It is hard-set on his face, almost like a reminder of what happened the last time you ignored one of his instructions—you ended up with your knee under the surgeon’s knife, months of physiotherapy and an incapacity to play solo for a foreseeable future.
You know you’re wrong.
You shouldn’t lose your temper, or your faith, this easily at Jason.
The stern line of your coach’s mouth is enough to tell you that he won’t participate in a conversation unless you apologize to Jason. Your eyes flit down, already rimming red, not from embarrassment or grief—you delay dealing with any emotions that even contain a sliver of shame until you’re soaking in your ice-cold bath—but from the sweat that managed to slip into them.
You blink that sour tinge of salt under your lashes away, fingers tight over your hips as you gather your words.
“I…” you begin but then you commit the mistake of looking at Jason's face. Not because he makes you feel guilty of your cruel outburst.
But because…
He is fucking crying.
All snot and tears and silent sobs with his head hung low.
“What the fuck?” you whisper before you can swallow that in. “What the actual…FUCK!?”
Unsurprisingly, Jason’s coach pulled him out of your duo and even out of the tournament after the ‘irreversible damage’ your corrosiveness caused to his self-esteem.
The guy practically worshipped you and was among the firsts to reach out to you after you announced your return to the game but not in singles and offered to be your doubles partner.
Fortunately, you still have an army of fanboys formed before your injury—when you were still the next hot thing—ready to jump at the opportunity to play with you.
Unfortunately, you don’t want any of them.
After your outburst, your coach left it up to you to decide whom you can play with without earning charges of manslaughter. Such a tough fucking job…because ever since you picked the racket up at age five, you’ve been a solo player. An aggressive, controlling one at that.
For you, the tennis court has been like your bed. And though you might fuck them in the bathrooms, on the kitchen counter, or even on the floor—you never take any lovers to bed.
Even after your hiatus, your game hasn’t rusted. You can still reach all the spots, get yourself closer to the sweetness of getting it, hit the perfect angles…you just need a little support. Someone who can calm you down as you begin riling up to a point of mania and risk aggravating your wounds. Someone who can reach the places you can’t…
(God, you really need to learn how to separate the ideas of tennis from sex in your mind.)
As you make your way down the bleachers, the impatient, chatty crowd hushes down enough that you can hear your wedges as they click soft against each stair. You’re out of your usual pristine tennis skirts and instead donning a killer denim that dips into the curves of your ass and waist like a second, more alluring skin. Your enormous sunglasses are a silent barrier between you and those who wish to talk to you. You’re in no mood to stroke your ego by signing autographs and taking selfies.
Instead, you’re here to watch some good tennis at the men’s singles and potentially hunt a new partner for yourself.
You sit down on the seat that is right across the net—one which allows an impartial view of both the players. Flipping your diary open, you begin continuing the notes you’ve taken on all the players so far.
Another two hours, another disappointing game.
The court has begun chilling down as the sun begins to set and you regret not bringing a jacket. Thankfully, for some reason, the crowd hasn’t dissipated so there’s still that elemental body heat from the audience around you keeping your teeth from chattering.
The last game of the day is about to start in ten minutes. The crowd should be leaving by now, especially after the boring disappointments of lousy back and forths that were the last games. Yet, everyone holds their breaths.
“I am telling you, he still has it in him.” Someone from behind you murmurs, making your ears perk up.
Honestly, you like to believe in the opinion of the fans who stay back late to watch the games more than you believe the professional statisticians of the game. These fans are the ones who know the ins and outs better simply because of the selfless passion they harbor for the sport—just how a fangirl of Justin Bieber would know more about him than some journalist from PopCrave.
“I don’t know if he still has it or nah,” the man’s friend answers, “I just love watching that guy play. He's fascinating.”
You can’t stop yourself from turning around, pushing your sunnies up and asking, “I’m sorry to be eavesdropping but who are you guys talking about?”
The men’s eyes widen with recognition in tandem at the sight of your face. They whisper your name under their breaths like you’re some mythical legend, a mermaid or a nymph, taking form in front of their bare eyes.
“I…is that…oh…” one of them stutters.
You raise your eyebrows, nodding a little impatiently, “yes, it indeed is me. Now tell me who are you guys talking about?”
“We…I’m sorry, is your knee alright now?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you positive? I heard you’re back in the game…has it healed completely?”
“Wanna test it out by seeing if I can kick your balls right back into your bladder with it?”
The two of them blink, surprised. But you quickly fake a laugh to show them that you’re joking (you aren’t), and they laugh regardless.
“Kidding!” You raise your hands up in surrender, grinning with all your teeth out on display, “I’m curious, who were you talking about?”
Just as the man is about to open his mouth, the referee announces on his mic. “Ladies and gentlemen, this final round match will be the best of three tie-breaker sets. To the left of the chair, William Donovan. To the right of the chair, Yoon Jeonghan.”
“Will’s fucking incompetent,” you mutter, “so it’s the other guy you were excited to see play?”
The man behind you nods eagerly and leans in, “Well, William isn’t that bad…not since he changed his coach. But, he doesn’t stand a chance against Jeonghan. This guy is just fucking insane but he’s underrated. I’m sure you’d be able to see value in him.”
“Mhmm,” you respond, as the match begins. “Tell me more about him.”
“Just like you, he’s just back from a hiatus—”
“Hiatus ‘cause of what?”
“We don’t know…he was fucking amazing. Played Junior level at many international tournaments and won. But then he disappeared. For years.”
“Wait, how old is he?” you ask.
“Thirty.”
“Comeback at the age of retirement?” You remove your glasses fully, your head following the ball left and right as the game starts gaining heat. “That’s bold.”
And here you had thought your life was over because of knee boo-boo at twenty-two.
“Yeah, he’s eccentric like that. He has got a certain way of playing…and living, I guess?” The man says.
You nod slightly, too immersed in studying the game to pay head to him. Before you, an enigma—not a game—unfolds. Nobody can tell what it is about this game that is pushing them further and further off their seats. Judging by his face, you know that even William can’t figure out what it is making him lose control like that.
With every hit, William gets more jittery…almost as if Jeonghan, whose stance is looser than any tennis player’s you’ve witnessed so far in your life, is sucking the energy and calm out of him.
Even the referee squirms in his high-chair.
No one can figure out this energy that is overflowing the court and inching further and further up their toes until they curl.
Oh, but you do.
You definitely know what’s going on. In fact, you deduced it within the first five minutes of this game.
“This man is fucking annoying.” You scoff, your head not bobbing from left to right unlike everyone else’s, but fixed on Jeonghan who smiles as he lands a low-effort smash. “And I must have him.”
As per the rules, you’re not supposed to be here.
But for someone who wears penalties like a badge, there’s no way in hell that you’re going to honor the rules of some challenger tournament of some no-name country-club.
As you stand there high in your heels, your hands folded right under your chest as the material of your denim grows damp from the sheer amount of steam emanating from the men’s shower rooms, you try not to let your eyes drop down to anyone’s crotch.
The place reeks of sweat and an abhorrent amount of Axe-body spray. You scrunch your nose in disgust—at the smell and at the guys who are in a frenzy of covering themselves up since the moment you walked in not even a whole minute ago.
As if you’re interested in knowing what they got going down there at the moment.
“Where’s Yoon Jeonghan?” you demand to the nearest player who has managed to wrap a towel around himself.
“Uhm…wha–wait, are you—”
“Yes, I am her. And yes I am not supposed to be here,” you exhale, then repeat yourself, “where’s Yoon Jeonghan?”
Your glasses have begun fogging up from the steam of the room so you don’t notice him as he makes his way out of one of the shower stalls with a towel tossed haphazardly over his shoulders while his worn-out sweatpants ride low on his hips.
His presence looms near you for a second before you feel the weight of it settle beside you, his voice smooth like fresh clay as he says, “You know, you could have asked for my number like a normal fan instead of crashing my post-match shower party like an insane one.”
You shoot him a glare. “Me? A fan of yours? Get over yourself Mr. Yoon.”
“Really?” He says, stretching a t-shirt that has a mustard stain on it over his abs. You don’t miss how his tight muscles flex under his skin as he continues, “With the way you were eyeing me throughout the match and followed me here, you could have fooled me.”
“I intend to talk to you.” You state, ignoring him.
“And I intend to catch the last bus home and rest.” He says, slinging his kit over his shoulder and walking past you with that slouched posture and that ‘I know you’re gonna follow me’ smirk.
You do.
But not for long because the moment you’re both out of the building, you grab hold of his backpack and jerk him back. Despite being evidently stronger than you, he doesn’t fight back—just shakes his head with a knowing laugh and turns around, “What?”
“I said,” you clench your teeth, “I must talk to you.”
If his indifference towards you so far hadn’t made it clear that Jeonghan was one of those few who didn’t follow your update pages on Instagram, the demeaning manner in which he bends down to your eye level to show you just how much smaller he thinks you are than him—physically and skillfully—it makes it very evident that Jeonghan isn’t one of your fans.
“And I said,” he begins, almost as if speaking to a child or someone stupid, “that I need to go home and rest. Had a long day of winning matches, y’know? Not all of us enroll in and out of games as per our conveniences, Miss Grand-slam seeker.”
With another half-smile, he begins retreating back to his full height—only if you allow him. Because just as he’s about to, you grab a fistful of his hair, keeping him stationed in front of your face.
“Listen to me and listen to me very carefully dickhead,” you whisper, dangerously low, “I know how hilarious it is to make fun of me for fucking my timeline up and being here with you low-lives when I was predicted to be winning the US-open last year. But don’t you fucking forget that I made this sport hot when I came into the scene.”
There is no way anyone can deny that fact. It was the virality of your fierceness on court, your swagger and approach to the game that brought the attention of social-media and eventually the general public back to tennis. And when that attention began bleeding hot, investors circled it like sharks—pouring more money, arranging more frequent tournaments.
There is a reason why you can yell at Jason like he isn’t your peer.
There is a reason why you can barge into the men’s shower rooms without worrying about any disciplinary consequences.
There is a reason why you can pull Jeonghan by his hair to meet your eyes and listen to you even as his last bus departs.
Not because you are the best player in the world right now—you lost that position the day your knee gave out during the second set of your final game in Tokyo. But because you still hold something more valuable than any ranking, any medal, or any past glory.
You hold the power to make people care about the game again.
And that's a damn rare thing.
The kind of thing that no amount of time off or injury can take away from you.
“I’m the reason why this country club even thought of investing enough money to organize this tournament where people like you can try over again. So you’re going to listen to me Yoon Jeonghan when I tell you to.”
Several moments pass in silence. Your fingers are still buried deep in the lush tresses of his hair—your grip has loosened, but it has only made the sensory pleasure of feeling it tickle between your soft skin heighten even more. Yoon Jeonghan is effortlessly beautiful when he plays…midnight hair flowing in the wind almost as if he has a truce with the air to never make him look bad, clear skin dotted with a faint sheen of sweat that looks more like a gloss on him, pink tongue peeking out occasionally when he delivers a killer shot. But up close? He is ethereal. His eyes are darker as he stares at you with no emotion, just heat.
His lips part, but no words come out. Just a puff of air. Barely.
You don’t know if he’s scoffing at you or if that’s his nervous laugh.
“It’s the last one.” He says, finally.
“What?”
“The bus, it really is the last one.”
You finally let his hair go, “I can drive you.”
Jeonghan straightens up, rolls his eyes like in a day full of 4 am practice, brutal warmup, jittery waiting and a ferocious match against William—you are the name that tops his list of inconveniences. But he follows you regardless, loose limbed and all smiles as you march ahead of him.
“I want you to play doubles with me.” You cut straight to the chase.
It has been ten minutes of total silence in your car. Jeonghan has made no visible attempts to try to thin this ice out, nor does he show any interest beyond a single brow raise at your offer.
“Why me?” He finally asks.
“Because I know that after watching you play today, there are going to be others approaching you to get you to play with them. And you’re fucking annoying on the court…you play a game of percentages trying to wear your opponent out instead of playing it to win. And I’d rather have you behind me than have you against me.”
“So this is why you entered the den of penises and unwashed men?” he smirks, referring to the stunt you pulled earlier, “you were afraid someone else was going to pluck me out before you could get your claws on me?”
“Congrats, you possess reasoning and comprehensive capabilities.”
Jeonghan, unlike everyone else, glosses over your snippy remark. “Well, what if I don’t want to play doubles?”
“I know you do.” You glance over at him momentarily, “I know you’re going to play singles, doubles, challengers, tournaments—whatever that'll make you qualify for the US Open in either category. You cannot afford deselection this year, you’re already 30 and have a leg of your game in the grave no matter how much of a smartass you are. With me, you just have a better chance at winning and climbing the ranks quicker. Not to mention the attention of advertisers and investors that comes with my name.”
He leans back comfortably in your passenger seat. No one has ever dared to relax like that in your car, in your space, the way Jeonghan does with his feet up your dashboard.
He smirks, “Woah…you really love playing God, don’t you?”
“And you love acting like the devil even though you’re a gremlin at best.”
“What if I say no to you and join someone else? I haven’t seen you play in over a year since your injury, you could be struggling to even hold the racket right for all I care—”
He pauses when he realizes just how much you’ve slowed the car down and how the two of you are in the middle of the path in the town that passes through the jungle.
He suppresses a shudder when you speak next, “Jeonghan. Don’t you ever dare doubt my game.”
“Fair,” he quickly recovers. “But my dilemma still stands. What if I join hands with someone else and do what I do best—wear you out playing against you? I still get to win. Apart from a few additional ads for fuckass protein supplements, I don’t see how your offer benefits me at all.”
“Okay well first, no one in this no name challenger is gonna take me down no matter how much you try.” You speak, swerving the wheel effortlessly, “And second, if I see your annoying ass in the competition with someone else across from me, you best believe I will smash the ball so hard in your fucking face that your liver would be digesting your own teeth for weeks, Jeonghan.”
You don’t allow yourself to look at what amount of displeasure or fear must be on his face as you slow down before finally killing the engine in front of the building he gave you the address of. If you did, you’d find none. Just utter fascination as Jeonghan watches you with this glint in his eyes.
“Give it a thought.” You sigh, still not looking.
You hear him shuffle out of the car, snapping the door shut with a swift click. Just as you’re about to restart the engine, someone knocks at your window. Jeonghan. You roll the glass down, with a quirked brow.
He leans against your door coolly, his knuckles reaching forward to brush against your cheek and it takes everything within you to not shudder at that smooth display of charm from him.
“I will.”
You blink, half confused, half annoyed. “Think about it?”
“No.” he laughs.
“Then what?”
“I will play with you, sweetpea.”
“Got it!” He calls out.
That still doesn’t stop you from bolting back to where the ball goes hurling towards your doubles partner—Jeonghan.
Maybe it’s just muscle-memory and the trauma of playing with Jason, you still feel the need to carry the entire game on your shoulders. Thankfully, unlike Jason, Jeonghan does honor his call and hits the ball.
But your distraction costs you, so when your coach hits a ball in the area you are designated to cover on the court, you’re unable to reach it on time.
Jeonghan rushes forward, hitting it for you but you both slam into each other by the end of it.
The whistle blows just as you crash into his chest, preparing to collapse down on concrete. But strong arms hug you whole, pulling you further into his hard body and stabilizing your fall.
“You alright?” He asks instead of getting mad at you.
The steady streak of sweat dripping down his chin gets lost in your equally damp hair—an evidence that just like you, he believes in working hard even in practice sessions.
You nod as best as you can considering Jeonghan is practically crushing you into himself.
When he finally lets loose, it comes with a displeased sigh, “You gotta start trusting me. You could end up hurting yourself like that.”
“I do trust you,” you lie, breathing hard, “I guess I’m just still used to Jason.”
Jeonghan’s hands fly up to his hips as he shrugs, “then unlearn.”
“It’s not that easy.”
Your coach is near the two of you now. “He’s right. You gotta let loose now…Jeonghan’s evidently more responsible than Jason. Had he not caught you right now, you could have cracked your knee again.”
You wince at the memory of what had happened last year—the snapping sound loud enough to override all the cheers from the audience, the sharp pain that shot through your entire body and jolted your spine as you stumbled down, the animalistic scream that tore apart from your lips…
You squirm, “I’ll…I’ll be more careful.”
The coach nods. “Let’s call it a day for today. Tomorrow, 6 a.m.”
With that, he leaves you with your partner to discuss what just happened more informally. Sometimes you think if your coach even cares about you anymore ever since you disobeyed his strategies and got hurt. You don’t want to think much about him, but you do find yourself shooting daggers at his retreating back. He should be here solving this for you…
Instead, Jeonghan steps closer.
“Tell me what you need.” He says.
“What do you mean?” you dab the towel he hands you over your neck.
“Tell me what you need from me to trust me in this.”
“I do trust you.”
“You don’t.”
You huff, feeling too cold and too exposed all of a sudden now that your adrenaline has run out. The sweat acts like a cooling agent in the evening wind making goosebumps dot your skin under the twilight. Something lodges in your throat, and no amount of the water you gulp down can clear it up. You haphazardly attempt to zip your jacket up, your clammy fingers unable to grab hold of it.
Wordlessly, Jeonghan steps in, taking the ends of your jacket from your fingers, straightening the material and slowly pulling it together.
“Let me,” he whispers, slotting the zipper in its place over your lower abdomen.
The movement is gentle, almost deliberate, like he's aware of the subtle tension that hangs in the air between the two of you. His hands brush against your skin as he pulls the zipper upward, the cool metal of the zipper clicking softly with each motion.
“Better?” His voice is quiet now, different from the careless energy that usually lights him up.
You nod, not trusting yourself with words in a moment whose weight is already crushing your ribs. You’re too aware of everything now. Of the ghost of his arms from when he had hugged you to stop you from falling just minutes ago. Of the sheer closeness of him as his perfume—that of fresh cut grass and aftershave—invades your senses.
You’re also aware of how your skirt flutters in the cold air and how the material of your stockings stick to your sweaty skin, almost begging to be peeled away. It really doesn’t help that amidst all this overstimulation, you can feel his eyes—clear and burning—all over your face as you begin to flush.
“I just…” you begin, licking your lips that feel too dry now, “Jason was my third partner in the last seven months. They all always disappoint me. I know you’re a better player than all of them but I guess I just need to give my body some time to trust you.”
“Oh.” is all he says.
You don’t know if he understands you or not, but the way he smooths his hands over yours makes it feel like he does. He intertwines his fingers with yours, locking his thumbs with yours in a manner that slots you to him like you’re a piece of some puzzle. Perfectly cut-out for him.
“Come with me.” He whispers, pulling you along.
“I really don’t get what you’re trying to do.” You grunt, feeling the armour that you had slipped off during that rare moment of vulnerability with him on court tightening itself back again over your skin.
“I’m trying to introduce you to the local clubbing scene.” he shrugs like it’s nothing.
“I don’t know if the cold shower froze your brain enough to forget this but we need to be on court for practice at six tomorrow.” You shove your phone in his face, “it’s already nine.”
“Chill.” He smirks, “if we want this to work out, you gotta trust me enough to bring you back on time for practice. Just a little experiment.”
That shuts you up. You don’t trust him. Not absolutely. And you know that you’ll be saying ‘I told you so’ when the coach screams in his face tomorrow morning. But you also know that trust is an exercise built over time, so for now, you shove all your ‘told you sos’ in your purse and focus on the other issue at hand.
“I’m clearly not dressed for clubbing.” you point to the grey joggers and black sweatshirt you had put on after showering, not knowing that when Jeonghan asked you to meet him after dinner, he wanted to take you out to party.
He glances at you, “you look just fine.”
“Says the one in denim and leather jacket.” You grumble, staring out of the window. It’s not like you care too much about what the local townspeople would think if you showed up to a club like this, your God-complex has already made you immune to insecurity.
But you’re also a young woman in her twenties who would love to party the right way. Perhaps a little dress, some smoky eyes and high heels wouldn’t hurt right now.
Beside you, on the driver’s seat, Jeonghan chuckles. “Here.” He tosses something at you.
It’s a package. You blink in confusion as you tear it open to survey the contents of it—a black mini dress and matching pumps. No, your black mini and your black pumps.
“What the…” you begin before your voice booms, “you broke into my room and stole my clothes?”
Jeonghan glances over at you with an innocent grin, his hands still firmly gripping the wheel as he drives. "I didn’t break in," he says, his voice smooth and teasing. “I just entered, the door was unlocked.”
“What?” You can’t believe this…you must’ve been too tired and disgusted by your own sweat to care about locking your door. “Doesn’t excuse you from the fact that you went through my things!”
"I just borrowed them." He shrugs casually, as if the entire situation is just a small inconvenience. "I figured you’d want to feel like yourself tonight."
You stare at him, half shocked, half amused, unsure of whether you should be mad or impressed. "Are you serious right now?" you huff, glaring at the dress and heels in your lap. "You went into my room and borrowed my clothes? Without asking?"
Jeonghan doesn’t even flinch, "I know what works for ladies. The black dress is always a winner.
“You’re fucking creepy, dude.” You say, but clutching the package in your hand, you begin climbing in his backseat regardless.
“Hey, hey, hey!” he laughs, losing control momentarily when your inner thigh brushes against his hand on the gear, “at least warn me before you rub yourself all over me baby, you could have got us killed.”
“Why? I trust you to drive us safely even through some turbulence.” you smile sweetly at his reflection in the rear-view mirror, “now let me change. Creep.”
He just shakes his head, focusing back on driving.
And though your gaze remains fixed on his eyes to catch him being a creep again as you change in his backseat, you don’t ignore the fact that Jeonghan never steals a glance. Not even once.
The club is unlike anything you’ve gotten used to in the city. It is more of a garage at the back of somebody’s house. This place has that underground vibe. The air smells faintly of smoke and cheap floral perfume, and you can hear the distant clink of bottles being opened and the hum of low voices, too many people packed into a small space.
You step inside, your heels clicking against the uneven concrete floor. The lighting is dim, and there’s a long bar to the left, an assortment of people lounging on leather couches in various corners, and a few groups dancing wildly near the DJ booth.
Jeonghan has already got that grin on his face, the one that’s mischievous, like he’s got a secret as he pulls you toward the dance floor. His hand never lets go of yours, guiding you past a circle of people moving to the beat.
People give you an appreciative look as you pass them, some unabashedly checking out your shapely limbs or the natural tan of your skin—all a product of your labor on the court.
“Wanna dance?” Jeonghan shouts over his shoulder for you.
“Yeah!” You say, surprising even yourself.
Usually, you would allow yourself some time to ease into it. Perhaps grab a drink or two, talk shit with whoever you’re partying with, maybe flirt with the strangers, or even allow yourself to feel giddy about it when someone inevitably recognizes you.
But Jeonghan just pulls you into the core of this party with him like a whirlwind. He stops near a cooler to grab some drinks—two cans of cherry-cola for the both of you.
“I want something harder!” you say, actively making a bad decision that’ll impact your practice tomorrow but honestly—who cares when your body is already bopping to the music.
Jeonghan smiles and switches your soft-drink for a beer. He sticks with his cola though, being the designated driver that he is.
The moment you step into the crowd, the music wraps around you, and it’s like the world narrows down to just this—the thumping bass, the flashing lights, and the rhythm of everyone moving together.
Already having downed half the contents of your watery beer, you start to feel the tension melt away. Jeonghan’s already swaying to the music, his smile wide, his head bobbing to the beat like it’s second nature.
You can’t help but laugh, the sound swallowed by the music as Jeonghan pulls you closer. “See? Told you it’s not that bad,” he yells over the noise.
“The beer for sure is!” you retort, “is it even alcoholic?”
Jeonghan shakes his head and your eyes widen in surprise. But you only giggle, swatting him as you dance, “You tricked me!”
“I don’t want you getting drunk tonight,” he speaks next to your ear, breathing hot down your neck, “I asked for your trust and I am not gonna let you regret this when you have to run drills hungover tomorrow.”
Jeonghan’s hand is on your waist now, guiding you through a series of steps, not so much dancing as just moving.
“Oh come on!” you whine, stomping your feet a little, your hands collide against his biceps but he does nothing to remove them, “a little fun never hurts anyone—OW!”
Someone bumps into you from behind, effectively making your body mash into Jeonghan’s harder one. The sheer material of the dress doesn’t do much to shield your softer flesh from the heat of his rigid muscles. Or how his grip over you tightens. That little moment is enough to summon what you’ve been trying to forget for hours now—the weight of his hands on you when he hugged you, the brush of his knuckles when he zipped your jacket up, the steady presence of this tension that surges higher and higher with each boundary that you cross with him.
Jeonghan watches you intently, moving a little slower now. There is something unreadable, yet unmistakable, in his eyes now…that slow gleam of a decision being made. And just when you think he’s about to act on that decision, he straightens up a little to allow his fingers to slip something inside his mouth.
“A little fun?” he whispers, low and smoky, but you catch it—the little white pill in his mouth. “You sure ‘bout that, sweetpea?”
You nod almost docilely, watching him stick his tongue out just enough for you to see the white pill on top of it.
You don’t know what it is.
You don’t care to find out.
Because the challenge in his eyes is too inviting…and the tendency to accept a challenge isn’t something that flows in your blood—but it is something that is stitched inside your very bones.
You crane your neck enough to capture his mouth between your own and for a moment, you forget the pill when the knowledge of the fact that you’re kissing your doubles partner crashes down on you. Jeonghan doesn’t allow you a window to ruminate about the complexities that this kiss is going to give birth to when he tightens his fingers over your waist and pulls you even closer. Your legs stumble in your heels but you realize you don’t need your balance now that Jeonghan has you leaning most of your weight on him. He angles his mouth to deepen the kiss, his teeth grazing over your bottom lip gently at first before he bites down hard on it.
Your whine of pain laced with euphoria is muffled in his smirking mouth as he begins sucking on your lip. It is that when you remember what led to this—the pill.
Throwing your arms around his neck, it is your turn to push his head deeper in your mouth for some exploration. Your tongue crashes against his with a heated passion, fighting for dominance. He gladly allows you to ravage his mouth only stealing little kisses here or playful nibbles there as you look for the pill. By the time you’re able to steal it away from his mouth, it is melted in half.
First, the mint registers—you thought it was just the taste of him. But by the time the pill melts fully into sugary sweetness in your mouth, you realize:
“It was a fucking tic-tac!” you accuse, grinning regardless.
“You thought I’d give you molly or what?” He says, dragging his fingers up to your hair and pulling your mouth back into his own. “This is more addicting anyways.”
“Yeah,” you agree into the searing hot kiss, letting him take complete charge of this one.
It is wet, it is wild—the way your teeth clash or the way you survive on each other’s labored breaths. Your lips are bruised red now but he doesn’t stop devouring them until they’re swollen. Leaving you breathless, he begins kissing his way down your cheek, your chin, all the way to the column of your neck leaving wet imprints behind. He licks at the expanse of your smooth skin before sinking his teeth into the patch right below your ear. You moan, snaking your palms down from his hair and onto his shoulders.
While he is busy stamping you with maroon hickies, you do some nibbling of your own when you begin biting down on his neck before peppering smaller, apologetic kisses to the skin you just abused. You graze your teeth against the low stubble on his jaw, causing him to let out a disgruntled sound.
“Fuck, you’re feisty.” He says, bringing his palms down to grab fistfulls of the flesh of your ass, kneading it between his long fingers.
Instinctively, your fingers fly to grip his veiny forearms because the more he gropes your ass, the higher your dress rides.
“Jeonghan…” you whine, debating if you should stop him or not.
“No one can see us, sweetpea.” He smirks, then grabs your cheeks between his long fingers, making your lips pout as he jerks your face around to look at the thick crowd—everyone is immersed in themselves, the flashing neon green making everything look like nothing more than some hallucination. “See? Now will you let me play with your ass?”
You answer him by scratching your nails all the way up his forearms until they’re digging deep into his shoulders as you kiss him. Jeonghan eagerly responds, pinching your flesh and using it to position you in a manner so that your hips are flush to it. You sway some more, feeling your crotch rub directly against the tent in his jeans making him break the kiss with a painful moan.
His mouth is set in a straight line as he glares down on you. The very next moment, you think the lights are playing tricks on you when he disappears from your sight. That’s when you realize he has spun you around and now cages your arms into his own from behind—such is the amount of control you’ve lost over yourself and handed to him in a silver platter.
“Come on,” he whispers from behind you, his hard length digging against the curve of your ass, “bend over for me the way you do when you’re about to land a drop-shot.”
You blink surprised, arching over in the position he’s referring to regardless, “you’ve studied my game videos?”
“Oh,” he coos, snaking an arm around your belly and pulling you closer, “they’re my pornos.”
You smile, more pleased than you should be. “Me too.”
You begin thrusting against Jeonghan’s groin, hard, your whole body becoming very aware of the firm bulge in his jeans as he begins thrusting right back.
“Look at you, sweetpea. Shaking your sweet little ass on me.” As overheated as you are, Jeonghan’s dirty comment sends a shiver through your body.
Jeonghan brushes your damp hair from over your neck, pulling it to a side to kiss your spine and shoulders from behind, leaving marks there too. The patch between your legs grow damper with every kiss, your panties feeling stickier with every thrust. The more he gyrates you against himself, the closer you feel to this heightened pleasure. But not enough.
“God fuck me!” You tell him, straightening up so that your back his flush to his chest, “fuck me Jeonghan.”
“Here?” he blinks, not expecting this sudden demand.
Your hair is wild and sweaty, getting all over your face and mouth. You can only imagine how insane you might look right…almost like an animal in heat when you press his palm over your abdomen.
“No one can see, no one will know.” You tell him, “please…your fingers, your dick, anything!”
Jeonghan’s mouth tilts into a demeaning smirk when that plea leaves your lips. He’s so clearly enjoying this. And if there’s anything you know about Jeonghan, it’s what you deduced about him first—Jeonghan loves to play a game of percentages. He wears people out until the game is fully at his mercy.
Without even you realizing, he just wore you out too until you are here in his arms, begging for his mercy.
From the unnecessarily hard hug on the court, to the deliberate zipping up of your jacket, the flirtations in his car, the tricks of his tongue with the pill—it was all his game to pull you into this chasm of pleasure that you know you can’t climb out of without his assistance. Without letting him play alongside you. Without surrendering some of your control to him and his trust.
You both stare at each other, now fully aware of what is unfolding more than ever. He waits for something from you, anything. A word, a sign, a gesture.
You give him a kiss…it is your way of telling him you’re in on his strategy from here on.
One of his hands disappears between your legs while the other clutches your own to bring it to his crotch. When his fingers dip into your heat, right over the lacy fabric of your panties, he groans.
“You’ve been standing here getting this wet, sweetpea?” He chastises.
Carefully, he pushes the fabric of your underwear away as you struggle with the zipper of his denim. It shouldn’t be this hard, undoing his fly and putting your hand inside his boxers, but his fingers go straight to business as he begins rubbing rapid circles over your aching folds. You nearly scream, toppling over but he grips your waist to stabilize you.
Somehow, you undo him and feel his hard dick slap your inner thigh when your shivering fingers manage to pull it out of its restraints.
Almost as if the DJ is in on with this debauchery between the two of you, the song changes to some nasty track by the Weeknd just as Jeonghan’s fingers gain a maddening rhythm over your clit. You bite down hard on your palm as he relentlessly rubs you, his thumb flirting with the idea of penetrating you as your gaping hole aches for something, anything.
Just as the orgasm catches up to you in blinding waves of thick, hot lust under the flashing neons, Jeonghan gives you something thicker, more substantial than his thumb. He doesn’t even line himself up or stretch you to accommodate, he just slams himself inside of you, stuffing you full while you’re grappling with the throes of your first release. Your knees buckle again, but he holds you up and sways your body back down, fucking you to the rhythm of the music by slamming your hips onto his own again and again until there are actual tears streaming down your face.
His fingers slip over your warmth, spreading your soaked lips to help you get used to him. His other hand cups one of your bouncing breasts to distract you from the searing pleasure or heighten it even more—you don’t know. He slides inside and out of you over and over again, almost with no restraint in long, impatient strokes, opening your tight heat much more than anyone had ever before. He is large, but from behind, like this, it’s a wonder how you’re able to take him.
The more you whimper, the more you wriggle to get used to his thickness, the harder he squeezes your breast reassuringly, occasionally rubbing your spine with his free hand. You can feel the sheer maleness of him, the hard muscles pressing tight behind your thighs as you spasm around him again. He is stretching you so open, penetrating you so deep and wild in the middle of a fucking dance club. His free hand switches between your cunt and your breasts as he continues pounding inside of you.
At one point, you accidentally grab onto the arm of the girl in front of you. She doesn’t turn around, pays no attention and you sigh in relief because if she did, she would have found you with your eyes glazed wide and mouth hanging limp as the man behind you possessively clutches your hips and moves it against his own. You wonder how much time would it take her to realize what was going on…to see that this wasn’t just another couple grinding on each other with the music, and whether she’d be repulsed by it or into it?
Lust takes over you completely as you let your head thud lifelessly against Jeonghan’s shoulders. You were still reeling from the consequences of your first orgasm delivered by his skillful fingers when he slammed his dick inside of you, and you can already feel the telltale buildup of your next one. It’s almost as if he fully intends on making you go mad tonight.
You bury your nose under his jaw, trying to breathe his scent in as he begins fucking you with shorter, jerkier thrusts now. The force of them rattles your entire body, making your breasts bounce wildly against his palms. He tugs at your nipples through your dress, while you find yourself matching his lewd hunger with erratic movements of your own hips.
“God look at you,” he mumbles into your neck, “what if some fan of yours recognized you here, like this?”
“Lucky day for them cause I’d give them a kiss.” You manage to blabber, seeking out his lips.
“You know,” he says, pulling your lip between his teeth and letting it go with a wet pop while slowing down to a more sensual rhythm, grinding into you instead of fucking you open, “I could see the exact moment where you got all sex-crazed. It was when I mentioned tennis…your game-videos, wasn’t it?”
You nod eagerly, craving the earlier pace but not complaining much about the current one either—it’s not like you can do anything about it when he has you in an iron grip and moves your bodies whatever way he likes.
“I bet you get all worked up while playing, yeah?”
“Yes!” you hiss, the pleasure in your groin swelling into something more dangerous, “Jeonghan, please—”
His fingers find your clit again, pinching it between them. “And when you win, it’s like an orgasm?”
“Almost…” you mewl, as he begins plunging in and out again, “it…it’s never this good.”
“Then let’s make sure that it is from here on.”
He begins filling you deeper than before, his fingers rubbing your clit more and more firmly. Oh God, you weren’t going to last long like this. His low moans in your ears overtake the music as his fingers and dick send you crashing over the edge all over again. You moan helplessly with no one but him to hear you in a room full of people.
His sure touch coaxes your melting cunt to quiver and spasm even more on the unyielding rod thrusting into you, his thick fingers urging more ripples of pleasure.
“Come on sweetpea, come on, just one more.” He whimpers in your ear, hugging you tight.
Your body buzzes but obeys him regardless, you can’t stop. You gasp when your eyes meet his dark ones under this electrifying neon as one of his hands tighten into your hair and pull it hard, making you look at him. You’re grateful for one of his strong hands on your waist—the only thing keeping you from collapsing on the ground as he comes inside of you with soft, satisfied groans and deep rhythmic thrusts.
He levers your body, closing his eyes and letting his sweaty forehead fall against your shoulder as he empties himself inside of you with broken gasps. You let out a few, ragged breaths before collapsing into him too.
Somehow, he manages to zip himself up and smooth your dress down, pulling you out of the club. All throughout your drive back, you steal kisses from him, squirming in your seat because the awareness of the sticky mess he made between your thighs keeps you from staying still. When you find it hard to walk back to your room, gasping as the remnants of him run down your thighs, he carries you in his arms and tucks you in your bed.
The clock by your bed reads 2 a.m.
You’re supposed to be on court with him in the next 4 hours. You stretch your arms wide, inviting him to bed with you.
“I wasn’t lying,” he says sometime during the night as he spoons you from behind.
“About what?” You ask.
“About turning those ‘almost’ orgasms of winning a game into real ones.”
You try to hide your smile into your pillow…the pillow that is seeing you let a man sleep beside you in your bed for the first time ever.
REBLOG, COMMENT AND INTERACT JUSEYO YEOROBUNNN <3
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perms: (valentines tags in subsequent reblogs, lemme know if there's an error <3)
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!
theres this one jeonghan x reader fic that i read like year ago that I'm looking for, where jh and reader are both actors. it is set in Paris. exes to lover. y/n is a doomed actress and jeonghan is very successful one. they meet in a museum and then jeonghan takes her on a date to the eiffel tower, where the press catches them. lots of slow burn and angst and heartbreak.
the story is so vividly engrossed in my head. I remember everything about it YET I cannot find that masterpiece. I read it like a year ago and have been searching for it since then because my ass forgot to reblog or like it. my greatest fear is that the author may have deleted it or is ia.
pairing: tennisplayer!sunghoon x film major!fem!reader
summary: everybody knew park sunghoon, the tennis player at harvard that was most likely going to go pro as soon as he graduated. determined to get closer to him to gather videos for her final, film student nishimura yn tries to find out more about the infamous tennis player everybody seemed to talk about.
warnings: mentions of excessive drinking and smoking (please don’t do any, your bodies are precious 🙏), they’re both lowk bad people LOL
“Whoa there,” you say, camera loosely hanging around your neck as you watch Park Sunghoon slam his racket on the floor till the strings popped out.
“What?!” He screamed, eyes practically bulging out of their sockets. He takes a deep breath, realizing that he has too much of a reputation to lose it over too little of frustration.
“Hey, don’t mind me.” You lift your hands in surrender, “just gotta film something for my final, you know.”
“Film major?” Sunghoon scoffs, throwing his now broken racket to the side as he shuffles through his gym bag for another. “Funny.”
“Very funny,” you shrug. “When I get into a big studio and start making films that blows up Hollywood, Park.”
“I’m just saying,” Sunghoon doesn’t look at you, instead focusing on his footwork. “You got into Harvard and you’re doing film?”
“You got into Harvard by doing tennis.” You snark back. “I think we’re on the same page.”
Sunghoon laughs, and it’s the first time you’ve ever heard such thing from the boy. The only things you do hear is his groans of frustration and grunts as he hits the ball back and forth.
“Not bad,” he compliments you, finally deciding to turn over. “Want to get beer tonight?”
“I thought athletes don’t drink?” You sit up straight from your previous position on one of the plastic chairs placed near the players that oversaw the whole tennis court.
“Pft, which liar told you that?” Sunghoon packs away his things, and despite having played for 3 hours, he still looks as good as ever. “How do you think I keep sane in tennis? Medication? Fuck no.”
For the first time, you see a glint in Sunghoon’s eyes, one that wasn’t the competitive glint he wore like a blood sucking cheetah every tournament.
By the end of the night, you realize that Park Sunghoon can really drink.
He’s downed 6 shots already, but his face is still as bright as ever. In fact, he asks for three more.
“The adrenaline is similar to playing tennis.” He says with his oh so cheeky smile.
As soon as the server passes Sunghoon his drinks, he wraps one shoulder around your frame, cheering, “to Nishimura Y/N, the film major at Harvard!”
You laugh, pointing your camera at his smiling face. He’s too drunk to notice you recording, swaying you side to side as the alcohol consumes his living thoughts.
🎾 ⊹ ‧
You’re pleasantly surprised when Park Sunghoon invites you to one of his matches. It’s not a state competition—but it’s his competition that he invited you to nonetheless.
Your eyes rush back and forth from Sunghoon to his opponent, the ball stroke faster and faster until your head starts hurting from cranking too close. It was a match against Stanford, Sunghoon was playing against a girl named Kelsley Aptos, who was stunning enough to make your film pop.
You cracked your neck before taking out your camera, recording the two competing. As soon as Kelsley misses the ball, you stop filming, standing up to applaud Sunghoon.
The girl isn’t happy, in fact, she’s almost furious with the way her lip twitches. But she does as any good sport would do, shake Sunghoon’s hand and tell him good game.
“I like your skirt,” Sunghoon tells her, licking his lips which were now dry from all the playing. “It’s pretty.”
“Well thanks Park,” she replies. “I like your stance.”
You’ll never understand the way athletes compliment each other—and hell you probably never will since you’ve practically signed your life to the film industry.
He grins, then makes his way to you. “You see how I beat Aptos? She was great, stunning.”
You don’t know why your stomach churns at the way he describes her. Was it jealousy? It couldn’t be; you barely knew Sunghoon, so why the hell were you genuinely upset over him calling Kelsley Aptos stunning?
“C’mon,” he draws you to his side, way too close for two people who’ve only gotten to know each other in the span of two days. “I believe we have to celebrate with drinks.”
🎾 ⊹ ‧
If there’s one thing about Park Sunghoon that you’re utterly confused by is his lack of self control.
On the court, he’s insane, unbeatable, practically a God in the world of tennis. But after tennis, after the matches, he’s chugging down as many alcoholic beverages as he can take, which is far too many a person—much less a college athlete—should inhale.
Sunghoon liked it though. He liked the way the liquor burned as it went down his throat, he liked the way it cooled in his body and how lightheaded he felt everytime he’d drink. When he wasn’t drinking, he was smoking.
You two were perched on lawn chairs, on opposite ends of each other. The chairs oversaw the beach near Harvard, and you could hear the whoosh of the waves as it drew closer.
“Your coach would kill you,” you said, grinning as you watched him inhale the cigarette. He’s not sober, clearly, but his stamina is good enough that he could make out his surroundings and conversations.
“He totally would.”
You perch your camera up on your knee, secretly recording Sunghoon as he leaned his head against the chair. Although he claims he’s so out of it, he looks so beautiful.
“Will you teach me tennis one day, Park?”
He lifts his head up slightly, eyes making direct contact with yours. “Will you teach me film?”
You nod, and he does too.
“Then it’s a deal Nishimura.”
🎾 ⊹ ‧
Sunghoon is a bad influence.
You can tell now that you’ve known him for a month and by the way he drags you into parties, your little camera still dangling around your neck like it was engraved there.
“You know what they would say if they saw Harvard’s precious athlete partying his ass off on a Wednesday night?” Sunghoon yells over the music.
“What?” You yell back.
“How preposterous!”
The two of you giggle loudly at that, bodies so close to each other that it looks like you’re making out to anyone who wasn’t closely paying attention.
“Hey Y/N,” he says, and as you look up, his eyes are already meeting yours. “I like you a lot.”
You smile at that, letting Sunghoon lean in and kiss you right there and then.
It just felt right. So right. Like a missing piece of a puzzle was finally discovered.
“Will you be my girlfriend?”
“Yes.”
🎾 ⊹ ‧
It feels like you’re discovering a new piece of Park Sunghoon everyday as you get to know more of him.
He was no longer Harvard star tennis player Park Sunghoon, but your boyfriend Park Sunghoon.
It felt weird, but giddy. Girls who had thrown themselves on him before backed off with fury, wondering why a random film student of all people got with their beloved athlete.
You don’t mind that Sunghoon loves tennis, you really don’t. You know he wants to go pro, it’s all he’s ever talked about on your dates and calls.
“I’m gonna make it to the Olympics.” He says. “You’ll see.”
“I’m sure I will Hoonie.”
What you do mind is the fact that Sunghoon loves tennis too much. His fixation with the sport concerns you, but that’s just what happens when you’ve been playing since you were 3, isn’t it? The sport becomes one with you.
“Park Sunghoon! How was your match?” The interviewer asks, shoving his microphone into Sunghoon’s face.
“Oh it was great man, lovely weather.”
“Mhm, a great warm glow over Boston today! Have you always loved tennis this much?”
“Yes, honestly, tennis is my number one. It’s the reason I breathe and live today.”
He doesn’t mention anything about you when asked about what he loved. He never did. It was always the same thing.
Tennis, tennis, tennis.
If you hadn’t seen the red flags that were ringing before, you clearly were now.
“Are you seriously upset I didn’t mention you in my interview?” Sunghoon asks, biting into his apple angrily.
“Yes! It’d be nice for you to mention me once in your interview but you never do! It’s always the same bullshit Hoon!”
“I love tennis, why can’t I talk about it? It’s what the people want! They watch me for tennis, they don’t watch me for some stupid relationship.”
“Oh, so this is relationship is stupid to you now?”
“You’re twisting my words and you fucking know it.”
You and Sunghoon haven’t talked in over a week. All because you had practically begged him just to talk about you once. Was it so hard for him to show appreciation to his own girlfriend?
It didn’t help when you went to try and visit him on the court, practicing what you were going to say. He was already too engrossed in his conversation with Kelsley Aptos, their proximity dangerously close.
Fine. You think. If Park Sunghoon wants to play this way, we can fucking play it this way.
The next thing you knew, the headlines were filled with PARK SUNGHOON, HARVARD STAR ATHLETE CAUGHT EXCESSIVELY DRINKING AND SMOKING, blaring all over Boston, with the clips from your camera being right on the front page.
welcome to precinct seven! balancing the demands of justice with their own demons, the detectives must confront their pasts and navigate the blurred lines between right and wrong in a gripping tale of mystery, betrayal, and redemption.
✩ general warnings: !!SLOW BURN!! fluff, angst, possible suggestive themes/smut for hyungline but unlikely (and if so, it will be tagged individually.) darker/heavy themes (descriptive mentions of crimes.) warnings for individual fics vary, please read them accordingly before proceeding.
✩ series playlist: modus operandi ✩ enhypen [spotify + ongoing]
✩ starry night - yang jungwon ✩
✩ synopsis: your favorite constellation is cassiopeia, and you talk about it as often as you can. what you don't realize is that your eyes hold all the stars, and jungwon sees that more than anyone.
✩ pairing: detective!yjw x delivery driver!reader
✩ genre: acquaintances to lovers | idiots to lovers.
✩ read here!
✩ falling alone - lee heeseung ✩
✩ synopsis: cold cases were heeseung's specialty, and he cracked every single one. cold hearts were your specialty, and you have yet to make a single chip in your husband's.
✩ pairing: lieutenant!lhs x housewife!reader
✩ genre: established relationship to ??? | opposites attract.
✩ read here!
✩ speed drive - park jongseong ✩
✩ synopsis: meeting you is like looking in a mirror of what could have been, who he could have been. it doesn't help that your passion runs deep, deeper than his love for his job.
✩ pairing: detective!pjs x clandestine racer!reader
✩ genre: fated lovers | star-crossed lovers.
✩ read here!
✩ easy, kitty - sim jaeyun ✩
✩ synopsis: after years of being referred to as a white whale by your respective detectives and being poorly sought after by single (and...not-so-single) suitors in your department, you're rescued by sim jaeyun - only for information in return.
✩ pairing: detective!sjy x bookkeeper!reader
✩ genre: fake dating au | unrequited love.
✩ read here!
✩ radio silence - park sunghoon ✩
✩ synopsis: in which you break sunghoon's heart just a little bit more every time you ask him to help you run background checks on any of the suitors on your roster.
✩ pairing: private investigator!psh x radio host!reader
✩ genre: former friends with benefits to ??? | childhood sweethearts.
✩ read here!
✩ dilemmas & desires - kim sunoo ✩
✩ synopsis: kim sunoo was by far your biggeset opponent - both in and out of the court room. he fought his way to the top, and you hated coming in second to his wins...much like you hated being second priority to his studies when you dated in law school.
✩ pairing: attorney!ksn x attorney!reader
✩ genre: rivals to lovers | second chance romance.
✩ read here!
✩ first impressions - riki nishimura ✩
✩ synopsis: first impressions are everything - so when riki spills coffee all over you the first time you meet, it's safe to say you're not very fond of him...right?
✩ pairing: rookie detective!riki x rookie detective!reader
✩ genre: coworkers to lovers | mutual pining.
✩ read here!
author's notes: special thanks to @enhaeven for encouraging me to write this series. i wouldn't be doing this without you, and thank you for always thinking of me and believing in me. i love you! ♡
author's note pt.2: none of these stories are meant to romanticize criminal activity and i do not encourage breaking the law. keep your buffoonery at a minimum. thanks!
๑´ ³`) ﾉ pls leave feedbacks if u liked it ♡ REBLOG !!
“i mean your abs are pretty impressive, pretty convenient for a washing board though.”
an offended, loud gasp from just beside you, makes you giggle. the cardboard boxes rustle against each other, a few of them being opened up to take out your newly ordered white vases, which your helpful neighbour skillfully places among the wooden shelves.
meanwhile, you wipe off the dust and rearrange the little trinkets on the white showcase, occasionally admiring your handsome neighbours’ work.
“when did you see my abs though, are you lying to me, ms y/n?”, jake scoffs, putting the last vase on the shelf.
you giggle, finishing off your work on the showcase, “i think you're forgetting that our apartment complex has a gym, mr jake,” you walk towards him, an unexpected rise in your heartbeat, “last week.”
“was i on the bench press?”, jake smirks, before catching his lower lip between his teeth and flicking it outside. you don't know what he's trying to do with all that, but he is sure to make your heart beat faster.
“treadmill”, you correct him.
the proximity between you and your striking neighbour increases by the windowsill, where both mild sun rays and inquisitive pairs of eyes can peek in, but it's something that doesn't bother you. after all, sim jake is only here to help you, just a helping hand for you when you've decided to clean and rearrange your apartment.
you don't know how the helping part is kept aside for now, confused at how jake is staring into your eyes, a hesitant but longing step closer to you. he should've been helping you with the bookshelf now, stacking in the new books to the according racks.
but right now he is busy igniting new feelings to your heart.
jake is too close for your own good, left hand threatening to close in around your waist and pull you into such a proximity he has only imagined. he could smear that pink lip gloss of yours now, his hand on you and his mind all dizzy, it would be a perfect weekend for him.
and as he's about to accomplish that, when you swiftly glide out of his imaginary hold on you and pick up the new books to be kept in place, breaking your poor neighbours’ heart.
“that's too much work for a pretty girl like you,” jake was fast, you have to give it to him, well not only in pace but also incredibly fast to make you squeal inside, “i'll take them from ‘ya.”
“you know i can do that myself”, you scoff, leaning against the bookshelf as he snatches the basket full of new books, arranging them.
“yes ma'am”, jake sings, pulling out another giggle from you while he pushes the new books between the old ones, “but i'd rather do it myself you know? wouldn't want your arms all tired.”
you had enough time, strength and leisure to stroll around your apartment and bedeck it, a change of scenario and colours for your eyes, a break from the dust collecting shelves eyeing you from their constant spot. you definitely didn't need another flirty neighbours’ help who could easily pull you into a scandal.
five months ago when you first moved in here, you didn't expect a cheeky, lovestruck neighbour, jake, to knock on your doors every weekend. and even if you're not willing to talk, his flirting skills would find his way to your smile anyway.
so jake became a regular face to witness, a regular voice to hear and a regular touch that you wished would linger for one more second.
“nosy neighbours”, jake reads out the title of the last book on his hand, “ouch, am i a nosy neighbour?”, a dramatic hand over his heart and a fake pout made you giggle harder.
“shut up jake”, you roll your eyes, hitting his arm.
“actually i'd like to borrow this book from ya”,
“you read books too?”, you tilt your head in confusion, an eyebrow raised at his request.
“are you surprised?”, jake giggles, taking a step closer to you as he secures the book in his hand.
“of course i am”, you let out a hearty laugh, hands flying up to your face to cover your flushed cheeks, “i thought all you do is flirt with women and lure them into your apartment”, you tease.
“that's not very nice, ms y/n,” and he goes back to his unnecessary honorific and a dangerous smirk tugging at his lips, making you swoon, “i’m hurt to know you think of me like that.”
jake leans in until he's face to face with you, his hot breath tickles your cheeks and makes them bloom from inside. he's at it again, his infamous grin while he stares you down, his rosy lips are too close to yours.
“the only woman i want to take home is you”, he whispers, pushing a strand of your hair behind your ears. his eyes wander about to face, to your eyes to lips to neck to your eyes again, “do they kiss in the book?”
“no spoilers”, you whisper back.
“fair enough”, jake scoffs, his lips hovering over the corner of yours as he pulls you in by your waist, until you have to create a barricade between you two by softly pressing your palms against his chest. but jake doesn't really gives you what you want, he teases you, grazing his lips over the corners of yours and pressing a light peck on your cheek before pulling back.
he leaves you blushing and stunned, which he likes and smiles at.
“o-ok now i have a lot of work,” you hurriedly grab jake’s hand and begin to drag him towards the door.
“aww are you shooing me away, y/n?”, jake whines, walking the few steps to the exit on his own, “i was just having fun!”
“i wasn't”, you bite your lips, suppressing in a chuckle as you look at him, standing on your threshold.
“oh? is that so?”, jake's eyes widens, he's loving this little act of yours.
as if you didn't turn butter under his touch just a few seconds ago.
“yeah! now off you go jake, i have a lot of things to do”, you try to send him off, lightly pushing on his chest and he's quick to grab your hand.
he brings it near his lips and kisses the inside of your wrist, looking up at you he says, “why don't you come over someday? return my favour maybe?”
all the blood in your body rushes up to your ears and cheeks and you stand still before him, not knowing what to do when you slowly retract your hand. he's intoxicating and he knows it, even if you don't visit him, jake already has an excuse to return his borrowed book to see your pretty face again. maybe you should give it a thought, give him a chance? after all, you can't deny the fact that he does make your heart beat faster.
you clear your throat, “i'll think about it.”
jake chuckles, “you better, ‘want to lure in my favourite pretty girl”, he winks at you, a final blow before he quickly pecks your cheek again, “9:30, i'll be waiting, gorgeous.”
summary: a collection of thoughts on each of hyung line being fathers
note: implied relationship between enha and the reader. i wrote it so the reader can have any pronouns, so i hope all engenes feel like they can read this!
warnings: none?
word count: 1.2 k
~~
HEESEUNG enjoys playing more than the kids. He’s the one who asks for five more minutes to play cars or build Legos. He’s a true child at heart, especially at home where he doesn’t have to worry about the members.
HEESEUNG also passes on his love for music - singing lullabies, humming on long car rides, taking the kids to concerts (both his and others’). He loves his family karaoke nights, and loves hearing the kids sing or play instruments, always encouraging them and supporting them.
HEESEUNG always makes time for the kids. Think working from home if he’s writing music, or making “take your kid to work day” a regular thing. He loves taking them to the studio, teaching them what buttons to push, and letting them mess around with recording on the mic.
HEESEUNG thinks he’s an excellent father, citing past experience “raising Niki” (who he refuses to let babysit but that’s another story), and even though you like to joke that he isn’t, you can’t help but agree. He’s a model father, and you think the kids are so lucky to have him.
HEESEUNG refuses to let the ENHYPEN members babysit (with the exception of JAY) - some have messed up in the past, and others were never trusted from the beginning.
(jungwon didn’t put the kids to sleep because he wanted to stay up; sunoo got distracted with the good lighting in the kitchen; niki was playing violent video games; sunghoon and jake were never trusted to begin with)
HEESEUNG goes all out for all the holidays - he’ll dress up as Santa, and comes up with the most elaborate Halloween costumes. He loves doing themed costumes with the family as well.
~~
JAY has always wanted to be a father. Growing up an only child, he’d always wanted multiple kids, so they could have the close sibling bond he’d always craved.
JAY is usually a mature adult, but not when the kids are fighting. You think he enjoys watching them argue, calling each other silly insults - “farthead”, “butthole”. He never bothers breaking up their fights - “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger” - and instead tries to get you to bet with him on who’ll win tonight’s argument. You’re interested to see what he says when they get older and start swearing.
JAY insists on family cooking nights at least once a week. He enjoys teaching the kids to cook, and cooking with them. He also hardcore judges them for their interesting choices when it comes to pizza toppings.
JAY loves cooking for the kids as well. If you can’t find him, you know he’ll be in the kitchen, working on a meal or a snack or dessert. You love the smile on his face when the kids take a freshly baked cookie and tell him it’s great - his eyes crinkle up and his grin is bright and he looks like he just won the lottery.
JAY also loves tucking the kids in - he’ll read them stories, sing them lullabies, strum on his guitar before wishing them a good night.
(you’re thankful for that as well because jay’s usually the one they wake up if they have nightmares - you get to carry on with your beauty sleep)
JAY loves getting gifts for the kids so much that it’s a problem. You argue with him on this all the time - “they’re 5, jay, they don’t need designer”. He’ll just respond with “I can’t help myself, Prada has such cute outfits”. He insists on making sure the kids are dressed well, and you can’t help but smile at how cute it is to see Jay acting like their stylist.
~~
JAKE balances his roles of “father” and “friend” really well. He’s extremely playful - always ready to play-fight or build Legos or have a tea party - but won’t hesitate to switch to “dad-mode” should a fight break out or a bad word be said. He’s still sweet though - “don’t repeat that word again sweetie”.
JAKE is the kids’ number one fan (you and him argue over that title all the time). No matter how busy he is, he’s always cheering them on, whether it be a soccer match or a dance recital.
(he’s “gotten sick” on several content-shooting days just to jump up and down at a sports game)
JAKE wants the kids to explore so they can find their passions. He introduces them to soccer, singing, violin, but doesn’t hold them to it - “they were my passions, so i think you should look into them, but they don’t have to be yours too”. He’s more than happy to cheer them on for basketball or trumpet as well.
JAKE loves going for family walks. Jake, you, the kids, and the family dog, strolling around the neighborhood on a nice day. Jake will challenge the kids to naming different types of clouds, and he’ll throw back his head and laugh when they come up with ridiculous names.
JAKE is the most supportive person ever, and you think that the kids are so lucky to have him. He understands how important it is to have supportive parents, considering his journey to becoming an idol, so he always supports you and the kids in everything you do - trying out a new activity, taking a challenging class, having a long day at work. He’s always there for his family.
JAKE becomes more confident after becoming a father as well. You think he was a little insecure about his voice before - “I wish I sounded like Heeseung hyung” he’s said on more than one occasion - but the kids (and you) are enamored with his voice, always insisting that he sing on long car rides and before going to sleep.
~~
SUNGHOON loves taking the kids skating. In the winter, he’ll regularly take them to the local ice rink, and teach them to skate. He abandons his fancy twists and jumps, opting rather to hold his kids’ hands, and teach them how to glide across the ice.
SUNGHOON is a constant, steadying force in the family. He’s not always talking, but you and the kids always know he’s there for you. At dinner, he’ll sit quietly, listening carefully as the kids recount their days at school, smiling at the fun parts, and threatening violence when he hears about mean kids or annoying teachers.
SUNGHOON insists on family dance battles. Some nights after dinner, he’ll have everyone gather in the den, and start playing music. He always looks so happy just to be doing something fun with the people he loves.
SUNGHOON is very cheesy in that he loves the “typical family things”. He insists on nice photoshoots for greeting cards during the holidays - he’ll book a date, buy coordinating outfits. He’s also a sucker for the traditional family road trip, beach day, ski trip.
SUNGHOON is so sweet on those previously mentioned ski trips. He’ll hold everyone's hands on the chairlifts, making sure everyone feels comfortable. He’s more than happy to help you and the kids get down the mountain, and won’t hesitate to wipe out on purpose to make you and the kids smile.
SUNGHOON is also the kind of guy who will regularly quote Lilo and Stitch - “Ohana means family, and family means that no one gets left behind.” He’s really sweet, and cheesy, and you and the kids love him for that.
trainee!sunghoon x fem!reader (mentions of wonyoung from ive)
“just wanna let this story die, and i’ll be alright“
synopsis: you and sunghoon have been best friends for so long, but distance has grown between you two after he got with wonyoung.
warnings/content: written in third pov. miscommunication(?). confrontation. angst. unrequited love (kinda). open ending! reader actively avoids sunghoon, and gets closer to jake (bestie vibes only). sunghoon gets jealous (always). not proofread. cursing!
comments, likes, and reposts are appreciated :)
word count: 3.9k
a/n: message request. — this was kind of rushed, sorry :(
༘˚⋆𐙚｡masterlist⋆.✧˚
current song playing: we can’t be friends by ariana grande
↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺
1:05 ──────|───────────── -3:22
night had already fallen upon hybe building and y/n was still in the practice room, staying stuck on a few dance moves that had her frustrated.
“no this is not right..,” she grumbled to herself, sighing in defeat.
“you’re still here?” a voice bellowed from behind with a chuckle afterwards.
the girl quickly turned and was delighted with a smile plastered across her face.
“sunghoon!” she beamed. “what are you still doing here?” her voice squeaked, heart doing somersaults in the sight of her handsome friend.
“i should be asking you that question.” he grinned ear to ear as he watched his best friend continue to try and catch her breath.
“you’re practicing so late, y/n. you know that’s not good,” sunghoon frowned. “trainer kim’s already gone for the night.”
she rolled her eyes at his little scowl. “i know, i know.., i just really wanted to get this dance move down.”
hoon shook his head at her words before handing her an icy, cold water bottle. “well cool down, won’t you? i have good news.”
her heart slightly clenched in response. what could be such good news at midnight?
y/n gave a quiet nod and he shyly smiled to himself.
it couldn’t be, could it?
her body was tensing with every second he let pass by in his utter motive to irk impatience.
“sunghoon!” she fumed, nudging his shoulder back in slight frustration.
the male laughed in return, fangs flashing to make her a blushing mess as he uttered, “sorry, sorry! i just wanted to build it up!”
her eyes playfully rolled as he continued.
“wonyoung and i are finally going out! you remember her, right?”
remember her? yeah.
how wouldn’t she remember such a pretty girl like her?
the way that starship trainee mindlessly talked to sunghoon, swooning him with her simple words that already had him flustered.
heck, wonyoung did what y/n couldn’t — and that was leave the friend zone.
everything else he chattered on about afterward almost deafened in y/n’s ears. she couldn’t feel anything but her heart that shattered into a million pieces. every small shard striking her by the vein in her blood, giving a numbing sensation in her hands.
“y/n?” he called, looking at her for approval. “what do you think?”
what did she think? why would that matter if he was going out with someone else?
“good..!” she mumbled, voice almost coming to a quiet squeak. “that’s good for you, hoon!”
“i was just with her and..,”
he kept going on and on, but she couldn’t bare to hear it.
how could she when she was in love with him? her best friend. her everything. her favorite person who she couldn’t call hers.
they went through thick and thin as trainees of hybe — experiencing everything big and small that’d always be celebrated upon.
and it wasn’t like she hated wonyoung. no, that gorgeous girl was too good for the world. how could she hate her?
but she knew she’d have to keep a distance.
she couldn’t do anything else but accept it anyway. besides, it was just the right thing.
. . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆
about a month had flashed by before y/n knew it, and though it wasn’t the easiest, her and sunghoon weren’t as close anymore.
he spent most of his time with his girlfriend, ensuring her the best like a good boyfriend.
but even then, he’d still try to make plans with y/n — hinting at little cafe places to try, asking about convenience store runs, murmuring about plans to sneak out of the dorms for their weekly movie nights — but she always rejected.
she avoided him with every intention she had.
if he tried to talk to her, she’d adjust her attention to someone else.
if he tried to get a duo dance with her, she’d quietly ask the trainer to switch with another person.
sunghoon didn’t know if he did something wrong but he knew the energy was off between them, as if something drifted them apart.
and to make matters worst, she had gotten closer to jake — another hybe trainee in their friend group.
hoon didn’t know why, but he hated seeing them become an iconic duo. the way jake mindlessly stepped into his position as her designated best friend was throwing him off.
he hated it. every time he’d notice their interactions, he’d find himself clenching with a tense jaw and fisted hands.
but why?
the only excuse he could find to all of this stupid resentment he had towards the aussie boy was that him and y/n weren’t the same anymore.
not at all.
and it was confirmed once he heard little mentions of ‘weekly movie nights’ pass through his ears.
sunghoon rolled his eyes with a quiet scoff leaving his throat, hating how sour he turned in a quick second.
“uhm..,” jungwon cleared his throat. “are you.. okay?”
the members, excluding jake, turned to the boy who was undeniably burning holes at the two in front of him.
“sunghoon..?” jay poked, shifting his gaze to the oldest member.
heeseung knew not to mess with hoon when he was pissed, so when he turned his direction where the boy was staring at, he prayed a little for jake.
“you can’t be jealous,” the oldest one murmured with a pat to the latter’s back.
“what?” sunghoon spat back with an annoyed face. “why would i even be jealous? i’m with wonyoung.”
“right, so.. you can’t be staring at them that way.”
“what does it matter anyway? it’s not like she’ll talk to me.”
the other members chose not to comment afterward, letting hoon continue to glare at the two with soft sighs leaving them.
he hated what was in front of him.
how could he be okay with this? how could he even be feeling this?
the burning in his heart. the rage-filled eyes. the tensed-up jaw. the fuming curse words inexplicably forming in his head.
was it really jealousy?
no. can’t be.
‘can it?’ he quietly questioned to himself, looking at the ground before picking his head back up to glance at the two.
the way y/n loudly laughed and slapped jake’s arm like it was nothing. the way she’d make her usual disgusted look as instinct. the way her fingertips would unintentionally drag against his when he’d offer a water bottle.
fuck, he hated this.
was it possible to be jealous over a best friend like this?
‘but maybe i just miss how we used to be,’ he’d attempt to rationalize.
but even then, it boiled every bit of blood he had whenever he’d find his best friend and another close trainee giggling about whatever was talked about.
. . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆
everyone was almost done for the night as they gathered into a huge circle with breath pants heard in the room, many still wheezing from practice.
“so,” niki gasped, body almost completely down on the ground. “movie night?”
a spark hit y/n’s heart when the suggestion was put out there, taking a small glance to sunghoon who already had his gaze on her.
his eyes softened once they met and it seemed to cry out for her — almost asking if she even remembered any of the memories they shared when it was a movie night, and it was just them.
and when it’d get late in the night, they’d fall asleep on each others shoulder, heads bunking against each others with quiet snores and aching backs from their positions.
then a blanket would “magically” fall over them, causing the two to cuddle as platonic friends (who were obviously in love with each other).
but she couldn’t think that way.
not when he had a girlfriend.
still though, she couldn’t help but let her eyes stay on his a little longer than intended, eventually letting it linger onto every facial feature on him that she used to adore.
his moles, his fanged smile, his thick brows, his charming eyes — with her effort to avoid him, her heart beat more than it did before after re-loving his features.
but she turned away after feeling like a creep, shifting it to jake instead, who was smiling like a puppy with big eyes.
“yes, a movie!” she heard him beam.
best friend coded indeed.
a smile curled onto her lips as she heard each member chime in on their part to agree.
“i’m in,” sunghoon’s aggressive voice uttered.
the rest of the members turned to y/n with pleading eyes — “what about you?”
she took a gulp. she wanted to reject after finding out that he’d be there but they were all still friends.
“um..,” she croaked, chewing her lips while avoiding eye contact from the boy she was still in love with.
“oh come on! you and sunghoon used to always have secret movie nights with just the two of you!” niki yelled in defense, causing a loud smack to be thrown at him from jay.
it was awkward and quiet given that everybody knew the two used to be inseparable.
a tense chuckle erupted out of y/n while she only scratched her head.
“yeah we did..,” she admitted. “but i don’t know, they’ve become more strict with where we go now.”
“we’ll be finee!” sunoo tried to deflect.
a few more pleadings happened here and there, eventually leading y/n to quietly fume out a — “fine.”
the six members cheered in delight while sunghoon hid his smile. he was finally going to spend some time with his best friend.
. . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆
as the members happily walked out of the practice room, hoon was left alone, staying behind to clean up just a little more — unbeknownst to the fact that y/n had accidentally left her jacket in the room.
she walked back with quiet curse words in her head, hating to have to go back and forth.
when she walked in, she unexpectedly found sunghoon staring right at her with fluttered eyes.
“oh..,” she murmured, body tensing in seconds.
“hey…,” the boy replied, shoving his hands into his pockets with a slight sigh of relief. he was finally alone with her and his heart was melting at the fact that it was only them now.
“you forget something?”
his thick brow raised in question, causing y/n’s stomach to flood with butterflies. she gulped and nodded before forcing her feet to move to her jacket — which was close to him.
“yeah..,” she awkwardly laughed. “i forgot my jacket, but i’ll see you there!”
✩ ‘i don’t wanna tip toe, but i don’t wanna hide’ ✩
she attempted to leave but the pull on her wrist struck her back to the same spot as earlier.
y/n felt the grip of his hand softly tighten, careful to not be too rough in how he held her.
“y/n, talk to me.”
his husk voice rang in her ears, sending alarming signals throughout every part in her body as she shivered.
“what do you mean?” the girl tried to deflect, hating the sudden confrontation.
✩ ‘but i don’t wanna feed this monstrous fire’ ✩
“you know..,”
a lump was caught in her throat and she couldn’t get it past her to swallow it down.
“we’re gonna be late, sunghoon, we should go.”
her body faced the door, turning her back on him to finally leave the scene when his voice stopped her — “are you gonna keep avoiding me?”
y/n’s heart dropped. “no..,” she mumbled back with a lip bite. “we’re fine.”
“you haven’t talked to me in weeks, we’re not fine and you know it.”
when she turned to face him, she found the boy to strike her with unforgiving eyes that had tears almost taking its fall.
she hated that she was the reason for his obvious pain, but they were friends, why would it hurt him?
a sigh left her throat as she scoffingly smiled. “you’re with wonyoung now, can’t we just focus on that?” she tried to attempt another lip curl to uplift the mood, but sunghoon wasn’t buying it.
“no, you’re my friend and i want to know why you’re not talking to me the way you used to.” his brows furrowed and a slight eye roll was taken as he thought back to her and jake laughing to themselves.
he watched her carefully for any readable expression but she only kept her gaze down.
“friend?” she softly reiterated. “that’s all i am to you?”
this time, it was sunghoon who froze in his stance. “what?” his eyes blinked repeatedly. “what are you talking about?”
his grip accidentally loosened and y/n felt it, taking the chance to slip out of the hold and say, “nevermind sunghoon, it’s nothing.”
“it’s not nothing if you can’t tell me.” he grumbled, feeling slightly irritated at her lack of communication.
“drop it.”
she walked towards the middle of the room, allowing him to catch up while uttering — “no, tell me.”
“it’s nothing.”
“y/n.”
his lips firmly pushed together as he expressed a disappointed reaction at her.
“let it go, it’s not important.”
“so then just tell me.”
they went back and forth, voices overlapping and echoing over each others.
“sunghoon, enough!” y/n exclaimed, pushing his chest back. “it doesn’t matter anyway so what’s it to you?”
hoon clicked his tongue. “i know you’re purposely avoiding me but i honestly can’t think of what i’ve done, so i’m just gonna ask this once.”
he sighed before continuing, “why are you avoiding me? did i do something to upset you?”
✩ ‘i didn’t think you’d understand me’ ✩
he leaned himself a little closer to her, causing the girl to softly back away with blushing cheeks. she hated how much her heart still lit up at every small thing he did.
“no, i’ve just been busy…,”
sunghoon scoffed, disbelief clear in that puff of air as he continued to gaze at her. “don’t try that with me, y/n. i know you, and i know you don’t like to talk when something bad happens, so what happened?”
“hoon, enough, please.”
she picked her head up to peer back at him with pleading eyes, but he couldn’t stop. he had to know.
“no.” he firmly spoke with a soft sigh. “you can’t get out of this because i need to know.”
y/n picked up on the way his eyes quickly watered. though he tried to hide it and look composed, she still couldn’t help but notice the tears that built up around.
“why?” she exhaled a breath of hers. “why do you need to know so badly hoon?? we’re just friends.”
‘friends’ — she hated how she had to confirm that to herself.
“exactly.” sunghoon spat. “you’re my friend, you’re the one i go to about wonyoung and other things, and now you’re so suddenly close with jake. what even is that? you’re here, but why aren’t you here for me?”
is that all she was to him?
her heart shattered, and all she wanted to do was clench onto the pain. she bit her lip as she responded, “jake has nothing to do with this, he’s only been close with me because of his interest in my friend. even then, you don’t need to know this. you’re in a relationship now, there are limits that i’m not gonna cross because you should be telling wonyoung this, not me.“
she paused, clenching her teeth to bite back the tears that were close to streaming. “i’m not your girlfriend. i’m not.. your girlfriend.” she repeated, letting the second sentence bring her back to reality.
there was a flicker in his eyes once she confirmed it — like his gaze shifted from what was once stern to a softer stare.
but he stayed quiet for a while, unsure of what to say.
tension filled the air, and it was beginning to suffocate y/n with how awkward and tense it was.
“i missed you, did you know that?” sunghoon croaked in the silence, lips faintly curling. “i missed you, and i missed how we were. what did i do that made you not talk to me anymore? because whatever it was, i’m sorry.”
he didn’t get the message, and he still wasn’t understanding.
the boy continued to go on and on, apologizing for whatever he did that could possibly upset her.
“sunghoon-“ but he kept blabbering.
“sunghoon-“ but he couldn’t stop thinking about what he did wrong.
“sunghoon!” she finally bursted, finally catching his attention.
he let his gaze fall on her and she heaved her chest in fear, feeling her legs become limb.
“i..,” her voice trailed off, stopping herself to not say the three words thats been stuck in her head. “i can’t be friends with you.”
her heart shriveled at the words that left her mouth. she didn’t know what’d spew out, but once it echoed in the room, she couldn’t take it back.
“what?” hoon softly murmured, taking small steps closer to her.
his face was close enough that she could feel his breath hit her skin, but not too close where his lips could ghost over hers.
“why?”
y/n’s gaze fell down to his lips and watched how it trembled. he was hurt.
her head was still drooped low until his finger hooked under her chin, bringing it up so they could lock eye contact.
“tell me.” he softly whispered, softened eyes indicating that he wanted to hear the truth.
the girl didn’t do anything, letting silence take over once more before a phone buzzed in the room.
the two snapped out of it, turning their attention towards the device and seeing the contact name of jungwon pop up.
‘are you guys coming? what’s taking you guys so long? ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ’
a sigh escaped from y/n’s lips as she finally backed away.
once the jacket and the phone was in her possession, she found sunghoon already close to the door.
he gave the cold shoulder, eyes faintly giving a glare towards her, but she still found a hint of her best friend in there.
he scoffed a little before leaving the practice room to herself.
right, she said they couldn’t be friends.
she sighed as she held herself back longer than intended so she wouldn’t cross with him, soon leaving to jay’s place right after.
. . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆
as the night progressed further and y/n finally arrived not too long after sunghoon did, their movie night eventually begun.
the film was decided upon a vote, clearing it to be a horror movie, as always.
a few members situated themselves on the ground while others sat on the couch — including y/n who was comfortably by jake.
sunghoon stayed in the kitchen, gathering his snacks before approaching the group of idiots clustered into one.
“sunghoon hyung, i saved you a spot on the couch!” jungwon beamed, patting the cushioned seat though sitting on the ground.
the older boy grinned with a murmur of ‘thanks.’
but when he looked up at the people on the furniture, his heart slightly dropped. the girl who wasn’t his friend anymore was next to jake (like always).
he softly grumbled quiet curse words. was it jealousy again?
whatever. it wasn’t like he cared anyway. (he did)
✩ ‘you cling onto your papers and pens’ ✩
y/n was now squeezed between jake, who was all giddy about his current crush and sunghoon, who was her used-to-be best friend.
the film finally started and the lights were completely turned out for the full horror effect.
but the girl didn’t like horror movies. as much as she hated it, she couldn’t oppose to it with how much excitement thrilled the boys, so she forced herself.
or tried to force herself.
throughout the movie, she’d try to hide behind her hands, covering her eyes so she could only look at what she wanted to see.
sunghoon couldn’t help but linger his gaze over to her. he knew she didn’t like anything horror. heck, she used to scold him whenever he’d put it on to tease.
✩ ‘wait until you like me again’ ✩
watching her peek through her hands was adorable, and watching her quietly squeal at every small jumpscare was heart-throbbing.
wait. adorable and heart-throbbing?
was he going crazy?
he shook his head, hating that he slowly transitioned to this thinking.
the boy tried to change his attention back to the screen in front of him, but they’d still linger back onto her.
and of course she didn’t notice, her eyes were basically closed with how much she shielded herself away from the movie.
his heart always felt full at the sight of her. how could it not? the way she looked in desperate need to cling onto someone (him), and the way she was almost about to burst with how much horror movies bothered her.
he wanted to hold and comfort her, just anything for her to know that she shouldn’t fear such a thing, but as a friend right?
sunghoon chewed his cheeks in thought. how could he be thinking this when she stated she couldn’t be friends with him?
he sighed and forced himself to stare at the tv screen, hating the conflicting swelling in his chest.
. . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆
when the movie ended, most of the members had knocked out.
the ones on the ground overlapped legs and arms with each others while jake took up half of the couch, leaving y/n to curl up into a ball and be slightly close to sunghoon.
the only one awake was hoon, chuckling as he turned off the end credits of the movie.
once he was comfortably situated in the tight space, he scrolled through social media, laughing about whatever until he felt a sudden bump on his shoulder.
sunghoon paused once he confirmed what he thought it was. he took a gulp, and turned towards the direction of the thunk.
the sight in front of him had his heart fluttering. he found y/n soundlessly asleep with her head set on his shoulder, quiet snores leaving her mouth as she unintentionally snuggled closer.
he missed this. all he could think about was how they’d fall asleep after their own movie nights, and she’d rest against his shoulder with their height difference.
he smiled to himself, lips stupidly curling at every memory flooding back. then he’d think about every little thing y/n would laugh about, every small detail about him that she made sure to remember, every single recollection that they shared together.
then he started thinking about her and her personality that was made match in heaven to suit him.
and eventually, it’d lead to her attractive features — her crooked smile, her eye smiles, her constant nose crinkles, her adorable habits that he loved to copy.
god, he looked like an idiot with how much he smiled to himself.
he didn’t even smile like this when he thought about wonyoung, but he loved her, not y/n.
then the trickling fear hit him.
panic spread across his face as he looked back at the sound-asleep girl next to him.
his heart was almost beating out of his chest once he realized it.
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