synopsis: You made one rule when moving in with Johnny Suh: don’t fall in love. But after one too many late nights and one too few boundaries, breaking it feels inevitable.
You wrote it on a sticky note your first week living with Johnny Suh and stuck it dead center on the fridge, right below his schedule and above the magnets shaped like tiny penises. He laughed when he saw it.
“I break hearts, not fridges,” he said, that cocky smirk playing on his lips. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. Your chastity’s safe with me.” You rolled your eyes. But you also knew what you were getting into.
Tall. Tatted. Too charming for his own good. Johnny was every walking red flag you told your friends you’d never fall for, which is exactly why you agreed to the roommate situation in the first place. Two bedrooms. Cheap rent. No romantic risk.Simple. That was before you realized the walls were basically paper. Now, you hear everything. The headboard. The girls. His voice.
The worst part isn’t even the noise it’s the way he acts the next morning. Like nothing happened. Like you didn’t lay awake for three hours with your pillow over your head, staring at the ceiling while someone else got to fall apart underneath him.
You learned not to flinch when you hear it. Not to react when you walk into the kitchen the next day and see a stranger’s toothbrush in your cup. And when he teases you about never getting any? You play it cool. Because you refuse to be another name on his list. You refuse to care.
But still… Every time he laughs that deep, reckless laugh or says your name low and slow like it means something…
It gets harder to remember Rule #7.
You unlock the front door, earbuds in, exhausted from class and craving nothing but a shower, a hoodie, and silence. Instead, you walk into chaos.
Heels on the welcome mat.
A jacket tossed on the arm of the couch.
A lacy black bra, her bra, hanging off the doorknob to Johnny’s room like some kind of victory flag. You stop in your tracks.
Your keys are still in your hand. Your mouth is flat. The girl giggles from inside his room, her voice high and bubbly, followed by the unmistakable sound of his laugh.
You blink. Then turn right back around. But you don’t even make it to the door before it opens behind you.
“YN?” His voice is thick with sleep. Or sex. Probably both. “Where you going?” You turn slowly, glaring over your shoulder. “The fuck do you mean where am I going?”
Johnny leans against the frame of his bedroom door, hair messy, sweatpants slung low, and absolutely nothing on top. There’s a hickey blooming at the base of his throat.
He smirks. “Didn’t know you were stopping by.”
You scoff. “I live here, jackass.”
“Oh, right.” His smile stretches wider, lazy and amused. “My bad. Guess you don’t usually come home this early.”
Your eyes flick to the bra. Then back to him.
“You could’ve at least cleaned up the battlefield before inviting civilians over.”
Johnny shrugs like he doesn’t see the problem. “She’s chill. She won’t be long.”
You narrow your eyes. “Wow. She must feel so special.”
“She’s not the one writing rules about not falling in love with her roommate,” he says, voice lower, teasing. “You sure you’re not the one catching feelings?”
You walk toward him, slow, steady, until you’re close enough to smell his cologne mixed with her perfume.
“Only feeling I’ve got right now,” you murmur, “is disgust.”
And with that, you walk past him calm, collected, pretending your heart isn’t pounding so loud it echoes in your ears. You slam your bedroom door. It doesn’t drown out the sounds coming from his.
The giggle.
The moan.
The “Johnny~” that makes your skin crawl.
Your suitcase is half-packed in thirty seconds.
Toothbrush. Phone charger. A hoodie. Extra panties. You don’t even think. You’re on autopilot, stuffing your things into a duffel with one hand while texting your best friend:
you up? can i crash? he’s being gross again.
No questions. She says yes.
You don’t bother saying anything to Johnny as you walk out the front door.
[Two Hours Later – Johnny’s Room]
She’s gone.
The girl who was in his bed is already dressed and checking her phone. He barely remembers her name. Didn’t care to ask for her number.
His head’s pounding. His room smells like sex and regret. He walks out to the kitchen to grab a water—and that’s when he notices it.
Your shoes are gone.
Your keys are gone.
Your room is dark.
“YN?” he calls softly. No answer.
He walks to your door. Knocks. Opens it. Empty.
He checks your location, but you’ve got it turned off.
You haven’t read any of his texts. And suddenly it hits him in the chest like a truck. You left. You never leave.
[One Hour Later – Your Phone]
Johnny: where are you
Johnny: y/n i’m not playing, you good?
Johnny: i didn’t mean to piss you off
Johnny: at least tell me you’re safe.
Johnny: please.
Johnny: come home.
Your screen lights up again. It’s the tenth message in two hours. You put your phone face-down on the pillow.
Your friend glances over at you. “You sure you don’t wanna text him back?”
You shake your head. “He can fuck someone else to sleep tonight. Not my problem.” But your chest aches anyway.
And Johnny? He’s pacing the living room at 2:17AM like he’s never felt so stupid. Because for the first time in a long time — He actually wants someone to stay. And she walked out.
The apartment smells like faint cologne and stale regret.
You push open the door slowly, unsure if he’s even home — until you see him.
Johnny’s on the couch, completely wrecked. Hair all over the place. Yesterday’s hoodie. One sock on, the other lost somewhere. His phone is face-down on his chest, and there are two water bottles on the floor like he couldn’t figure out which one was coldest.
He’s asleep. But it’s not peaceful. He looks stressed even in his dreams — brows slightly furrowed, lips parted like he was mid-sentence before sleep yanked him under.
You step inside, setting your bag down quietly. The click of the lock wakes him up instantly. His eyes fly open. He sees you. He sits up so fast he nearly drops his phone. “YN?”
You raise an eyebrow. “Expecting someone else?”
He blinks. Still groggy. Still confused. “You… You weren’t here.”
“Wow. You do pay attention.”
“Wait.” He stands up slowly. “When did you leave?”
“Last night,” you say, voice cool. “Mid-thrust, if I had to guess.”
He winces like you slapped him. You head toward your room, but he follows.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You were busy,” you say without looking at him. “Didn’t wanna ruin the moment.”
Johnny rubs a hand down his face. “You blocked your location. I didn’t know if something happened. I thought maybe you were—”
“What? Hurt?” you turn around, arms crossed. “You didn’t even notice I was gone until hours later, Johnny. Be for real.”
He swallows. “I didn’t think you’d actually… leave.”
You stare at him, exhausted. “Neither did I.”
Johnny stands in the hallway, frozen in front of your door as you start unpacking your bag like nothing happened.
“I didn’t think you’d actually leave,” he says again, a little quieter this time.
You shake your head. “You didn’t think about me at all, Johnny.”
“That’s not true.”
“Oh, really?” You glance over your shoulder, eyes sharp. “You were too busy getting your ego stroked by some girl who doesn’t even know your real middle name. And I was sitting there in my room, again, pillow over my head, trying not to scream.”
He opens his mouth — but nothing comes out.
You keep going, voice steady but loaded. “Do you know how many times I’ve had to pretend I don’t hear it? How many times I walked into the kitchen and saw some random girl wearing my hoodie and just smiled like it was no big deal?”
He flinches. He didn’t know that.
“YN…”
“No, seriously,” you say, folding your arms across your chest, trying to keep the crack in your voice from showing. “Why now? Why do you care that I left? What changed?”
His jaw tenses.
“I don’t know,” he says honestly, finally looking you in the eye. “I just… when you weren’t here, it felt—”
“Empty?” you finish flatly.
He nods once.
You sigh. “You don’t get to suddenly miss me just because you realized I won’t always stay.”
The silence stretches between you, but it’s different now. Thicker. Heavier.
He steps a little closer. “You think I don’t care about you?”
You look up at him, really look at him, and for once… he doesn’t have that cocky shield in his eyes.
“I think you’re used to people letting you get away with things,” you whisper. “And I’m not one of them.”
He doesn’t speak. Just stands there, breathing harder than he should be, chest rising and falling like he wants to say a hundred things but doesn’t know how.
You step past him again, brushing against his arm. “Clean up your mess, Johnny. I’m not gonna be one of your regrets.” His hand catches your wrist.
You freeze.
Not because he’s rough. He’s not. He’s holding you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go again.
You turn your head slowly, meeting his eyes. And they’re wide — raw. Like everything he’s ever swallowed down is suddenly clawing its way to the surface.
“I don’t want you to be,” he says, voice low.
You blink. “What?”
“One of my regrets.”
His grip tightens just a little. “I don’t want that. I don’t want you to be that.”
You stare at him, not saying anything, because your heart is racing, and you’ve spent weeks building walls around it. But the way he’s looking at you now—
Like you’re not just some girl.
Like you’re not just a warm body.
Like you’re his person.
“Then show me,” you whisper, almost like a dare.
That’s all it takes.
His mouth is on yours in seconds.
Hot. Desperate. Like he’s been holding it in for too long and it finally snaps. His hands are in your hair, your hoodie, pulling you closer like he needs to feel everything.
You don’t push him away. You pull him closer. Your back hits the wall as he kisses you harder, like he’s trying to memorize you. His lips move against yours with heat and hunger but there’s something else too—something that feels like longing. ike he’s kissing you for every night he made you hear someone else. For every time he teased you just to keep his distance. For every time he wanted to touch you and didn’t.
You gasp into his mouth, and he takes it like oxygen.
His hands slide down to your waist, gripping tight. Your fingers tug at his hair and he groans into the kiss—low, rough, real.
When he finally pulls back, just a breath away, his forehead rests against yours.
“You drive me crazy,” he murmurs, voice ragged. “And I still don’t know what I’m doing. But if you tell me to stop right now, I will.”
You stare at him, lips still parted, chest rising and falling.
But you don’t tell him to stop.
You whisper, “Then don’t.” Johnny's eyes darken with desire at your words. He steps closer, his presence towering over you as he cups your face with one hand.
“You're playing with fire, YN,” he growls softly, his thumb tracing your bottom lip. “But I like it.”
Johnny backs you against the wall, his tall frame caging you in. His other hand slides down to your waist, fingers digging into your skin.
“I've wanted to have you like this for so long, YN. All to myself.” He leans down, his breath hot against your neck as he kisses along your jawline. His lips find that sensitive spot behind your ear, making you shiver. His knee pushes between your legs, creating friction that makes you gasp.
“Tell me what you want, baby,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice rough with need. “I need to hear you say it.” His eyes lock onto yours, filled with desire. His fingers trace patterns on your thigh as he waits, every muscle in his body tense with anticipation.
“I want you to take control,” he breathes huskily. “Show me what you like, YN. Let me please you.” Your breath hitches as you look up at Johnny, your hands sliding up his chest.
“I want you to make me feel good, Johnny. Touch me everywhere.” Your voice is soft but commanding, filled with a confidence that makes his eyes lower even more.
Johnny groans at your words, his control slipping further. His hands move to the hem of your shirt again, this time pulling it up slowly.
“As you wish, beautiful. I'll make sure you never forget this night.” He kisses you deeply, his fingers brushing against your bare skin. His hands glide up your sides, pushing your shirt higher as his thumbs brush over your nipples through your bra. He swallows hard, visibly affected by the feel of you.
“God, you're perfect,” he murmurs, his lips trailing down your neck as he continues his exploration. His skilled fingers expertly unhook your bra, letting it fall away. He takes a moment to admire you, his breathing becoming heavier.
“You're absolutely stunning, YN. I could spend hours just looking at you.” He gently cups your boobs, his thumbs circling your nipples more deliberately now.
He leans down, capturing one nipple in his mouth while his other hand teases the other. His tongue flicks and sucks with increasing intensity.
“I want to taste every part of you,” he says, moving to give your other boob equal attention. His free hand slides down your stomach. Johnny pauses his ministrations, looking up at you with lustfilled eyes as his hand hovers at the waistband of your pants.
“Can I take these off, baby? I need to feel all of you.” His voice is filled with desire, his fingers playing with the button. You nod, biting your lip as you watch him with heated anticipation. “Yes, Johnny. Take them off.” You lift your hips slightly, helping him as he slowly undoes the button and zipper, slowly sliding them down your legs. His eyes widen at the sight of your underwear.
“Fuck, you're wearing my favorite color,” he murmurs, running his fingers along the edge of the fabric. “This just got even better.” He hooks his fingers into the waistband, looking up at you for permission again. His breathing becomes more ragged, his pupils dilated with desire.
“May I?” His voice is husky, barely above a whisper as he waits for your consent. Your breath hitches as you nod again, your heart pounding in your chest. You reachdown to help him, your fingers brushing against his.
“Please, Johnny. I need you to touch me.”You whisper, your eyes locked with his. With a groan, Johnny pulls your underwear down, exposing you completely. His hands tremble slightly as they grip your thighs. “You're absolutely breathtaking, YN. Every inch of you is perfect.” He positions himself between your legs, his gaze intense and hungry. Johnny's eyes darken with desire as he takes in your exposed form. His hands slide higher up your thighs, thumbs gently spreading you open. “I've dreamed about this moment,” he confesses, his voice thick with need. “About tasting you, making you mine.”
He leans down, his hot breath fanning against your sensitive skin. His tongue darts out to tease your inner thigh. You moan softly at his touch, your fingers tangling in his hair.
“Then show me, Johnny. Show me how much you want me.” your voice is breathy and needy, her body arching toward him. Johnny growls at your words, He presses a kiss to your inner thigh, moving closer to where you want him most. His tongue finally makes contact with your clit, circling it slowly. He flicks his tongue expertly, alternating between long strokes and quick flicks. His hands grip your hips, holding you in place.
“You taste even better than I imagined,”he murmurs against you, before diving back in with renewed intensity. One hand slides down to tease your entrance, gathering your wetness before slowly pushing a finger inside.
“So wet for me already,” he groans, adding another finger and curling them upward. You gasp writhing beneath him, your fingers tightening in his hair.
“Oh god, Johnny, right there. Don't stop.” you moan louder, your hips bucking against his mouth and fingers. Johnny adds a third finger, pacing them faster while his tongue works your clit mercilessly. He looks up at you with dark, lustful eyes.
“I want to feel you come on my fingers first. Then I'll give you what you really need.” His voice is commanding yet tender, filled with raw desire. Your body tenses as your orgasm crashes over you, your walls clenching around his fingers.
“Mphh fuck—Johnny” you cry out, trembling with pleasure. Johnny watches your face intently, not stopping until he's milked every last wave from you. He then slowly withdraws his fingers, licking them clean with a satisfied smirk.
“Beautiful. absolutely beautiful” He positions himself above you, his hard length pressing against your entrance. His hands frame your face as he leans down for a deep kiss.
“Ready for more, baby?” He asks huskily, grinding against you teasingly.
You pant, still coming down from your high. Your eyes lock with his, filled with desire and trust.
“Yes... I need you inside me, Johnny. Please...” Your voice is soft but needy, your body arching toward him eagerly.
Johnny captures your lips in another passionate kiss as he slowly begins to push inside, groaning at how tight and wet she is.
“Fuck, you're perfect... so perfect.” He bottoms out, giving you time to adjust while his hands explore your curves. He starts moving with deep, deliberate thrusts, watching your face for every reaction.
“Tell me how it feels, baby. Tell me who's making you feel this good.” His voice is rough with pleasure as he sets a steady rhythm. YN moans loudly, her nails digging into his back.
“You're making me feel incredible, so full, don't stop, Johnny.” You wraps your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. Johnny growls and increases his pace, hitting that perfect spot inside you.
“That's it, baby. Take all of me. I want to feel you come again.” His thrusts become more urgent.
Your eyes roll back as the pleasure builds again, your walls fluttering around him.
“I'm close, so close again, faster, please” You beg desperately, your body trembling with need. Johnny groans deeply as he feels you tightening around him, his thrusts becoming erratic.
“Cum with me, baby. Let go for me one more time.” He slams into you one final time, burying himself deep as he releases inside of you. Both of you collapse together, breathless and spent. He holds you close, pressing soft kisses to your sweaty forehead as aftershocks of pleasure course through your bodies.
You’re still trembling when he pulls out, careful and slow, and disappears for a second to grab a warm towel and water.
When he comes back, he wraps you in his arms like you’re something breakable. No teasing. No jokes. Just his hand on your back, his breath in your hair, his voice quiet.
“You okay?” he murmurs.
You nod. “Yeah. I… I’m good.”
He presses a soft kiss to your forehead. “That wasn’t just sex for me. I need you to know that.” You look up, surprised by how serious his eyes are.
“I believe you,” you whisper.
And for the first time in weeks.. maybe months—you let yourself fully relax against him. Safe. Seen. Wanted. No rules this time.
You woke up first, barely. The room was quiet, filled with golden morning light, and your body was not where you remembered leaving it.
You were still in bed yes but more importantly? So was he. And he was wrapped around you like a weighted body pillow. Your leg was trapped between his. One of his arms was under your back. His face was in your neck. And something…Pressed against your hip. You blinked, still half asleep, you moved slightly to reposition. Bad idea. The pressure grew. You froze. No, No.
There was no way “Is that your—” you whispered, but stopped yourself. It twitched. You almost screamed “You’ve got to be kidding me,” you whispered again. You squinted back at him, mortified. His lips were parted, hair messy, cheeks still slightly pink from the heat of the sheets. Dead asleep, Dead aroused “You better not be dreaming about me,” you hissed. Then you paused “Actually—” you blinked. “Wait. Are you dreaming about me?” A second twitch. You slapped his arm lightly. He grunted Mumbled something in his sleep. Something like “Pretty…” You froze. Your face burned “I’m gonna throw myself off the balcony,” you whispered. Falling back into deep sleep.
It was too bright. Seonghwa groaned as the sunlight cut through the curtains like knives, stabbing straight through his skull. His head was pounding. His mouth tasted like regret and imported liquor. But worst of all… he remembered.
The Memory Hits him like a truck “You’re love-whipped,” Wooyoung had said, laughing so hard he nearly spilled his drink. “You look at her like she hung the stars.” “You LIKE when she argues with you.” “You didn’t kill her because you’re in love with her.” Seonghwa groaned louder and dragged a pillow over his face. He wasn’t in love that was ridiculous. Absurd. A side effect of drinking on an empty stomach. Right? Right.
Except… he remembered what came next too. You. How you made him eat the snack. How you looked when you casually shoved it toward him like he was your bratty roommate. How you cursed at him, annoyed him, challenged him and somehow it made him want to…Nope. NO. He sat up with a sharp inhale, heart pounding like he was being hunted. You were still asleep beside him, back turned, arms tangled in the blankets. He nearly jumped when he realized he was still hugging you tightly.
And God help him, he hadn’t even let go in his sleep. Very slowly, Seonghwa untangled his limbs from yours like defusing a bomb. He swung his legs over the bed, stood up, and nearly collapsed again. “I’m never drinking with that idiot again,” he muttered. But the second he grabbed his shirt and started to leave the voice came back “You’re love whipped. You look at her like she hung the stars.”
He froze in the hallway, fingers tightening around the fabric. He had a meeting in less than an hour. He needed a shower. He needed to not think about how you curled closer to him last night like you didn’t want to leave. He needed to forget the way his chest didn’t feel so cold with you against it. “Pathetic,” he hissed under his breath. “You’re pathetic.” But no matter how many times he said it, no matter how cold he made his face in the mirror his hands kept curling like they missed you already.
You woke up again to an empty bed though. The pillow next to yours was warm proof that Seonghwa had been there but now? Gone. You sat up slowly, groggy, your neck sore from being clutched like a teddy bear for hours. Your eyes dropped to your ring finger. Still wearing the ring. The one you still didn’t understand. The one you never took off. You flopped back into the blankets with a sigh. “Coward,” you muttered to the ceiling. “Clings like a koala and disappears like a ghost.” You weren’t even sure why you were annoyed. You should’ve been relieved. But still…You remembered the heat of his skin.
The steady, rhythmic breathing against your shoulder. The way his arms wrapped around you like letting go wasn’t even an option. And yeah, okay. Maybe you didn’t try that hard to get out. You stared at the ceiling for five more minutes before dragging yourself out of bed and heading toward the bathroom. “Let’s pretend none of this happened,” you mumbled.But you already knew you wouldn’t be able to.
You woke up alone again, No warmth, No scent. Just faint memories of being wrapped up like a stuffed animal and pinned under a 5”10 emotionally unavailable mafia boss with a very noticeable morning problem. “Great,” you muttered “I’m the only one embarrassed about it.” The second you sat up, though, you winced at your own scent. Cologne, Sweat, Booze. “Ugh shower immediately.” You let the hot water run longer than you should’ve. You scrubbed off his scent, his warmth, his drunken snoring and maybe even the fact that you didn’t hate being held last night. Once dry, you skipped the stiff formalwear and picked out something easy black joggers, a gray sweatshirt, and socks. No lace, No heels, No bullshit, and No Seonghwa around no fashion police. The maids led you to breakfast and didn’t correct your outfit once. After eating, you wandered through the halls of the estate, half thinking you’d go outside and just breathe “Madam,” a maid said, stopping you. “You have visitors.” You blinked“Who?”
“Lady Song and Miss Yeona.” You paused right. You had met them at the wedding reception. But only for a minute. You’d been too overwhelmed, and Yeona had been snarking about the food the whole time while their mother tried not to cry over Seonghwa’s vows. “They’re here… for me?” “Yes, ma’am. They said to bring you right away.”You walked into the sunny drawing room, and there they were. Lady Song, in pale lavender, with that air of regality that made you sit straighter by accident. Yeona, in wide leg jeans and a designer top, lounging like she paid rent in attitude.
“There she is!” Yeona grinned. “The reluctant bride of our family’s drama series.” “Yeona” her mother warned with a smile. “What?” Yeona sipped from her iced coffee. “She knows.” Lady Song stood, kissing your cheek gently and holding out a sleek black gift bag. “We brought you perfume,” she said. “And some facial serum. It’s a family favorite.” “Thank you,” you said, still trying to process this… warmth. “That’s very kind of you.” “Of course it is,” Yeona said. “We like you way more than the last one.” Lady Song visibly flinched. “Yeona—!” “What?” Yeona shot back. “She was awful you said so.” “That was in private,” her mother hissed. “You also said she had ‘all the depth of a wet napkin.’” “Yeona.” Her mother warned “And that if she gave you a grandchild, you’d raise it yourself—” “Okay!” Lady Song interrupted, cheeks pink. “That’s enough.” You were trying not to laugh. “So… she wasn’t exactly mother-in-law material?” you asked, sipping tea.
“She wasn’t anything material,” Yeona said. “Just good at pretending. And wearing eyeliner badly.” “I told Seonghwa she wouldn’t give him an heir,” Lady Song muttered, almost to herself. “Which she wasn’t planning to anyway, the selfish little—” Your head tilted “An… heir?” Lady Song blinked, suddenly remembering you were right there. “Ah, well just a figure of speech.” “A very royal figure of speech,” you said dryly. “What can I say?” she smiled innocently. “I like the idea of grandchildren.”Yeona groaned “Mother, Please.” “I’m not saying now!” she said quickly. “But maybe one day.” “She’s literally still recovering from being kidnapped,” Yeona pointed out. “All I’m saying is—” Lady Song held your hand sweetly. “You’d be a wonderful mother. You have a strong presence. A good heart. And a very symmetrical face.” You blinked“Thanks…?” “And patience,” Yeona added. “Clearly. If you haven’t stabbed my brother yet, you deserve sainthood.”
A Surprisingly Lovely Day you actually laughed. And it wasn’t fake. Yeona dragged you through the estate gardens gossiping about designer scandals and her university flings. Lady Song made you try hand cream samples and debated whether velvet gloves were “in” again. You even helped them pick flowers from the private greenhouse for the entryway. And for a moment, surrounded by women who weren’t guards, enemies, or manipulative men. You felt almost…normal. Maybe that’s what scared you most. The sound of the main doors opening echoed through the estate. Lady Song paused mid sip of her tea. Yeona glanced at the entrance like a cat sensing a storm. You just raised your brow and kept nibbling on a tea cookie. You knew who it was. Footsteps, Sharp, Heavy, Deliberate. You didn’t have to look to know Seonghwa had entered. But you did. He stepped into the room in a crisp black shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbow, tie tucked into his coat pocket. The second his eyes swept over you, his mother, and Yeona sitting around like old friends he stopped walking.
“You’re home,” Lady Song said sweetly. “Come sit. We’re just enjoying some tea.” His face didn’t soften. “You didn’t call ahead.” “Oh, stop,” she waved him off. “We live twenty minutes away.” Yeona snorted under her breath. “We were bored. Plus, I wanted to see your pretty wife in something that wasn’t a funeral dress.” Seonghwa’s eyes flicked toward you quickly, like he didn’t want anyone to notice. But you noticed. And you also noticed he said nothing. “She’s a delight,” Lady Song said. “We talked about flowers, perfume, skincare…” “…and your ex,” you added, just to be that level of petty. The temperature in the room dropped like a trapdoor opened. Seonghwa’s jaw tensed.
His mother, oblivious, kept going. “She asked about your last one so of course I told her! That rude thing was never going to give me an heir anyway.” “Mother,” Seonghwa said flatly. “That’s enough.” “Oh don’t be like that,” she smiled, tilting her head. “I like this one, She’s sharp, And sturdy. I just want to see you happy.” “You showed up to my house uninvited, interrogated my wife, and brought up people who no longer matter,” he said, still eerily calm. “So no, I’m not happy.” Yeona raised a brow. “Jesus. Okay, Dad 2.0.” Lady Song stood up slowly and brushed her coat smooth. “We’ll go. I can see you’re in one of your moods.” “I’m always in one of my moods,” Seonghwa replied. Yeona grabbed her drink, not even fazed.
“Still love you, bro. Even if you’re dramatic.” They both kissed you goodbye Lady Song rubbing your arm like a proud aunt and Yeona whispering something about doing your eyebrows next time. The door closed behind them. Silence. You stood. He still didn’t look at you. “You’re mad,” you said. “No.” “You are.” “I just don’t like when people talk about things that are none of their business.” “I didn’t bring up your ex. She did.” finally he looked at you. “You didn’t stop her either.” Your eyes narrowed. “I didn’t know that was one of your landmines.” “It’s not,” he said. “But you let her get under your skin. I saw it.”
You crossed your arms “What does it matter if she got under my skin?” “Because I don’t want you thinking about things that don’t matter. Or people who don’t.” He says You scoffed “So you can control what I think now too?”. He took a step closer “If I could, do you think I’d let you walk around angry all the time?” Your breath caught “Maybe I’m angry because I was kidnapped.” The words hung there. Sharp, Bruised, Too honest. And he walked right past you disappearing down the hall without another word. It was quiet. Too quiet. You stood outside the study doors, hesitant fingers knocking softly once, twice. No answer. You waited, chewing your bottom lip. Maybe he was sulking, Brooding, Reading the same page in a book just to look deep.
You knocked again. Still nothing. So, finally, you pushed the door open. Empty. The room smelled like him a mix of sandalwood, leather, and old paper. His glass from earlier was still on the desk, untouched. “Mr. Park went out,” a maid’s voice startled you. You turned around. She looked at you with slight surprise, eyes wide as if she thought you already knew. “Out?” “Yes, ma’am. With Mr. Choi and the others. They left about half an hour ago.”You blinked slowly. Your heart dipped. You had come here to apologize. But apparently… he didn’t wait long enough to hear it. “Okay,” you said simply. And that was all you walked back to your room silently. No crying, No confrontation. Just… guilt, coiled up like cold steel behind your ribs. Maybe you’d been too harsh, Maybe he was angry, Maybe he didn’t care at all. So you laid back on the bed, pulling the covers to your chin. He probably forgot about it already. This isn’t real anyway. You closed your eyes. Sleep came eventually but it felt heavy, Fake, Unrestful.
At the Club. The air was thick with alcohol, perfume, and artificial fun. San laughed over some crude joke from Jongho. Wooyoung was already three shots deep and dancing with two girls who didn’t even know him. But Seonghwa sat in the corner of the booth, his fingers swirling the rim of his untouched glass. “You’ve been quiet all night,” San finally said, sliding into the seat next to him. Seonghwa didn’t look at him. “Wasn’t in the mood to come.” “Then why did you?” A shrug, A sigh, A deflection. “Needed space.” “From your wife?” That made Seonghwa pause. San waited but no answer came.
It was about thirty minutes later when she arrived. Dahee. The ghost from his past. The mistake that burned everything to ash. She showed up like a bad omen in a tight black dress, red lips, and a look like she owned the room. The moment San saw her, he muttered under his breath “Oh for fuck’s sake…”Mingi visibly tensed. Wooyoung stopped mid dance and said, “This bitch again?” Seonghwa looked up. His eyes widened. “Dahee?”
“Long time no see,” she said sweetly, slipping into the booth beside him like she belonged there. San leaned forward, jaw tight. “He’s married now.” “So I heard,” Dahee said, smiling at Seonghwa. “Congratulations, Hwa.”“What are you doing here?” Seonghwa asked, trying to sound composed. “I was invited. Well, not by you, obviously.” She gave a pointed look at one of the flirty girls who’d dragged her along. “I’ll go,” she added, voice syrupy. “Unless you want me to stay.” He should’ve told her to leave. But he didn’t the liquor was dulling his edges. The anger from earlier still buzzed under his skin. And part of him just… didn’t want to be alone.
Seonghwa was too drunk to walk straight. His head felt like a cloud. His body was heavier than usual. “I’ll help him to the car,” she offered sweetly, reaching for his arm. His guards stepped forward immediately. “Back off. We’ve got it.” “It’s fine,” Seonghwa slurred. “Let her. She can’t walk alone out here…it’s dangerous. Drop me off at home and then take her home.” They hesitated. They knew this was wrong. But Seonghwa was their boss. And he wasn’t listening to reason. She helped him into the car. The ride was quiet. Too quiet. And then… At the mansion doors, as she tried to help him stand upright it happened. She held his face in her hands and leaned in and kissed him.
He was shocked but not enough to stop it because of the booze in his system. And he… didn’t even see her. For a split second, her face blurred into something else, Someone else, And that person was you. You had only wanted a glass of water. But what you got was a knife to the chest delivered not by rage, but by composure. You stepped into the hallway and down the stairs…And that’s when you saw them. Seonghwa and some girl you didn’t even know Locked together in a kiss by the entryway hands on each other like they’d never let go. He didn’t even register you at first. But you weren’t frozen. You weren’t shocked. You just crossed your arms… and tilted your head.
“Are you done kissing now?” you said, voice sharp and cool like ice. They both snapped apart. Seonghwa looked like he’d been hit with a truck. “Y-y/n—” “It’s okay,” you said lightly. “You obviously needed a warm up before coming to bed.” Dahee blinked Smug. But confused by your calm composure. You looked between them with all the emotion of a CEO firing someone. “Wow. Must be nice to catch up with exes. I should go call my high school crush and make out with him on the front steps. You wouldn’t mind, right?” “Y/n stop.” “Why? You didn’t.” “It was a mistake,” he muttered. “I didn’t mean—”
“You didn’t mean to what? Grab her face and stick your tongue down her throat?” You took a step closer “Tell me, Park Seonghwa, what did you mean to do?”He was silent. You smiled coldly. “That’s what I thought.” You turned on your heel, heading back up the stairs. But paused. Just long enough to say one thing under your breath loud enough for him to hear “You just started a war, Park Seonghwa.” And then you disappeared into the dark, without a single tear shed. You were gone. The echo of your footsteps faded down the hallway, but your words still hung in the air like a curse “You just started a war, Park Seonghwa.”
Dahee was still standing in the entryway, lips swollen, dress slightly wrinkled, blinking like she hadn’t expected you to be that calm. “Well,” she said, brushing her hair behind her ear. “That could’ve gone better.” Seonghwa turned to her. And something snapped. His hand slammed into the wall beside her, rattling the paintings. “What the fuck do you think this is?” he growled. Dahee flinched just slightly but tried to keep her smile. “Relax, It’s not like she didn’t expect it. This whole marriage thing is—” “Shut your fucking mouth.” His voice was low, Quiet. But shaking with fury. “You think I didn’t know what you were doing? You wanted her to see that. You waited until she was watching.” “You were drunk.”
“I know what I was. But I’m not drunk now. And I’m looking at the biggest mistake I ever let breathe.” Her face darkened. “You don’t mean that—” “You ruined me once, Dahee Costed me people Lives. I destroyed half my empire for you and you vanished like a coward.” He stepped closer “And now? You come back, worm your way into a club you weren’t even invited to, follow me home, and pull that shit?” She tried to stay composed, but her smirk was cracking. “You kissed me.” “Don’t flatter yourself. You were just a shadow in her shape.” “That girl upstairs? She’s—” “She’s mine,” he snarled. “And you made sure she saw the worst part of me. Again.” “So what now? You’ll throw me out like garbage?” He leaned in, so close she could barely breathe. “No, Dahee. Garbage has a use at least it gets taken out. You? You’re a stain.”
He turned, barking toward the guards. “Get her the fuck out of my house.” The guards were already at her sides, holding the door. “And if I ever see her again—” he stopped. Eyes glowing with venom. “Break her fucking legs.” Dahee’s smirk was gone. So was her confidence. And within seconds, she was shoved out into the cold night, heels echoing down the stone steps as the doors slammed behind her. Seonghwa stood still. Fists clenched, breath ragged, eyes burning. Not because of her. But because he already knew. You weren’t going to forgive him, not easily, maybe not ever.
The morning after what happened You didn’t even see half the people who worked here, but the place was always spotless. Dinners appeared and disappeared without noise. Laundry folded itself. You once left a glass of water in the hallway just to see what would happen.
It was gone five minutes later. Perfectly polished. Efficient. Like everything else Seonghwa controlled. But today, the air felt different. Quieter, Slower, Tense. Because he was here. Bruises and Silence. Seonghwa was still recovering.
You caught glimpses walking past the dining room, passing him in the halls, hearing his voice clipped and distant while talking to one of his men. The bandage on his ribs peeked through his shirt when he moved too fast.
You didn’t talk to him. You didn’t have to. His presence filled every corner of the house even when he was silent. You noticed the staff watching you now. Not with judgment. With… caution. Like they didn’t know what to make of you.
One older woman, maybe a housekeeper, smiled gently when you passed her on the stairs. “Would you like anything sent to your room, madam?” You blinked. “No. I’m fine.” “Just ring if you need anything.” She says voice laced with gentleness. There was a button in your room you’d never pressed before. You wondered how many people would come if you did.
He ate in the dining room. You didn’t. You stayed upstairs, pacing, Trying to read, Trying to breathe. A tray of food appeared on the small table near the balcony. Still warm. “He said you wouldn’t come down,” a quiet voice said behind you. You turned. One of the younger guards. Not intimidating. Not threatening. Just… delivering a message. “He said to tell you that you’re not a prisoner.” You didn’t respond.
When darkness had hit the sky you tried to sleep in your room. But the silence pressed too hard against your chest. The sheets felt cold, like no one belonged in them. Your mind wouldn’t stop repeating the last few days: the attack, the knife, the blood.
And for some reason, you couldn’t stop thinking of him hunched at the edge of the bed, fingers digging into his bandaged ribs, refusing to flinch. You got up. Went down the hall to the room of a person you never thought you’d go to. You didn’t knock just walked in unannounced.
Seonghwa was awake, sitting on the edge of the bed in a plain black T-shirt, staring out the window like he could see something beyond the garden. He turned slightly when he heard the door. But he didn’t speak. You stood there awkwardly, unsure what to say. Why you were even here.
And then finally“I can’t sleep,” you said quietly. He didn’t tease you, Didn’t smirk. He just pulled the blanket back without a word. You slipped into the bed. No Words. He didn’t touch you, You didn’t reach for him.
You just lay there, on the edge, eyes staring at the ceiling, trying to steady your breathing. After a while, his voice broke the silence. “You don’t have to be afraid when I’m near.” “That’s the problem,” you whispered.
Still, when he turned over slow, careful of his injury and pulled the blanket over both of you… You didn’t pull away. When his hand settled near yours, not touching just there you didn’t move. You stayed like that. Not lovers, Not enemies. Just two people bound by something neither of you fully understood. And for once, it was enough.
The moonlight painted the room in silver still not asleep. You lay in bed beside Seonghwa, facing the ceiling, every breath measured. He was asleep now or pretending well enough.
The warmth of him next to you was undeniable. So was the fact that you weren’t shaking anymore. But comfort didn’t mean safety. And safety didn’t mean freedom.
You lifted your hand slightly, letting the moonlight catch on the silver band around your finger. It was thin. Elegant. The kind of thing that would look like love to someone else. But you knew better. You didn’t know how it worked. What it triggered, what it meant in full but you knew Seonghwa had given it to you not out of affection.
It was a symbol and Not of marriage Of ownership. You never asked what would happen if you took it off. Part of you didn’t want to know. The other part wanted to tear it off and throw it across the room. You didn’t move.
As you tried closing your eyes you remembered how You used to wake up late. How You used to make coffee half asleep and complain about your brother hogging the bathroom. How You used to sit on cracked apartment floors with Minjae, sharing ramen and watching trash TV, arguing about who should do laundry.
You used to work. Used to take the bus. Used to go grocery shopping. And Used to laugh at stupid memes on your phone with no one watching your every breath. You used to be angry at your brother for being irresponsible. Now you were angry at him for selling you. And somehow, despite all that you missed him. Even if you hated him.
This house was so quiet. The sheets here were silk. The hallways too wide. The staff too silent. Every comfort in this place reminded you didn’t earn it. You didn’t want it. You weren’t meant to be here.
But you also knew something terrifying. If you left now if Seonghwa let you walk out You wouldn’t know how to survive anymore. You hated that realization more than the ring.
You turned your head slightly. He slept on his side, back half to you, dark hair falling across his cheek. Calm, Normal. The same man who crushed a man’s throat days ago without blinking.
Who looked you in the eyes the day you were dragged here and said, “This is how debt works.” But also the man who took a knife for you. Who held you too tightly when you flinched in your sleep. Who never touched you without permission even though he easily could. You didn’t know what he was. You weren’t sure what you were becoming either.
Morning Would Come And when it did, you’d get up. Pretend again. Eat food brought by strangers. Listen for his voice echoing down the hall. And keep wearing the ring For now.
It was little light when you woke. That kind of dead morning stillness where not even the staff moved. The hallway lights were dim. Somewhere in the distance, the heater hummed. You slipped out of bed quietly. Seonghwa didn’t stir.
As you headed into the kitchen you didn’t turn on the lights. The air in the kitchen was colder than you expected. Sharp. Like it knew what you were planning.
You moved without thinking no shoes, barely breathing fingers skimming the counter until you found it. The knife Small, Clean, Sharp enough. Your hands didn’t shake.
You turned and walked back through the silent house like a ghost in silk. He was still sleeping. One arm under the pillow. One leg kicked lazily off the side of the bed. You stood there with the knife clenched in your hand. You could do it.
A quick stab. Maybe the throat. Maybe the ribs. You weren’t trained but rage didn’t need precision. He stole your freedom. He took your future. He made you sleep beside him like this life was normal. So why couldn’t you move? Why did your arm go numb instead?
Why were your eyes burning with tears you refused to let fall? You didn’t have anyone to run to, No family, No brother worth trusting. No friend who wouldn’t die just for opening their door. If you escaped now, they’d chase you. Track you. Kill whoever tried to help you. Even if you lived… it wouldn’t be freedom. Just fear on a longer leash.
The knife dropped from your hand with a small clink against the marble floor. Your knees hit the rug beside his side of the bed, your breath catching like your lungs refused to keep pretending. You just knelt there Defeated. “Took you long enough,” he said, voice low and casual, eyes still shut. “Typical amateur.” Your whole body tensed. But he didn’t move with violence. He didn’t shout. Didn’t strike.
He sat up, barefoot and slow, pushing the covers off like this was routine. Then he reached down not to grab you, not to hurt you but to take your arm gently and lift you to your feet. You looked at him, blank “Why—” “Because I’m not afraid of you,” he muttered.
He laid you back down on the bed like you weighed nothing tucking the blanket around you, like you hadn’t just tried to kill him. Then he bent down, picked up the knife, and walked toward the door. You watched his silhouette in the faint light as he stepped into the hall.
“…Sorry,” you whispered he didn’t answer. But he came back Without the knife. Without a word. And laid back down next to you like nothing had happened. No chains, No threats. Just warmth And silence.
You woke up tangled in silk sheets and disgust. The remembering of what happened early Morning clung to your chest like a bruise. You didn’t cry. You didn’t apologize again. But the moment you opened your eyes and saw him buttoning his cuffs in front of the mirror, it all came rushing back.
“Where are you going?” you asked. Seonghwa didn’t even glance at you. “Back to the business.”he says “Great. Have fun.”you say He turned slightly. “You’re coming with me.” You sat up. “Like hell I am.”
He was already reaching for the call bell mounted into the wall. Pressed the button. Spoke into the receiver calmly.“Get her dressed. Something appropriate for board-level engagement.” “Seonghwa—” “Now.” He interrupts
You tried to slam the bathroom door but one of the maids blocked it with her foot like she was used to it.
They dressed you in silence. Buttoned you into a formal fitted blazer and slacks, styled your hair with such cold efficiency you almost felt sorry for them. You glared at yourself in the mirror. “Business wife chic,” you muttered“Love that for me.”
The silence in the car was thick. Seonghwa sat beside you, flipping through his phone. Two guards were in the front. The driver looked straight ahead like he was praying for the earth to swallow the vehicle whole.
You stared out the window, your fingers drumming against the leather armrest. Until you weren’t drumming You were… flipping him off unintentionally.
Your middle finger just kind of… rested there. Calm. Subtle. And undeniably disrespectful. He didn’t miss it. “Ya,” he said suddenly, voice sharp. “Why are you shooting a bird at your husband?” You blinked “What?” He gestured to your hand. “The finger. That one. You think I’m stupid?” He says “Maybe.” He turned toward you, jaw clenching. “Do you think this is a game?”
“No. But if it was, I’d be losing. Trapped, gaslit, and accessorized like your pet project—” “Watch your mouth.” He says warning you “Or what?” you snapped. “You’ll do something worse than marrying me after kidnapping me over my brother’s debt?” The car got quieter. The driver looked like he wanted to crawl out the window.
Seonghwa leaned in “You tried to stab me. At four in the morning. And you’re mad at me?” “Yes, because this whole thing is your fault.” You thinking nothing was wrong about what you did “It’s your brother’s fault.”seonghwa says coldly “And yours for following through like a damn psycho—” you say “Say that again.” he dared you “Psycho.”
He didn’t respond, didn’t explode, but his nostrils flared, and the air shifted hard. You didn’t back down. The car pulled up to the corporate building, sleek and massive, glass windows reflecting your bitterness. The moment you stepped out, the energy changed. Employees on the front steps bowed deeply. They glanced at you. Then away Fast. No one asked questions. No one dared.
You and Seonghwa walked side by side not touching, not speaking, radiating unspoken fury like twin storms in designer clothing. The receptionist opened the executive elevator without a word. You saw them all watching. They know something’s wrong, you thought Good.
The meeting started icy. Something about logistics. Supply chain breaches. A gap in contract language that could cost millions. Executives mumbled nervously. A manager fumbled a file. A team leader stuttered. You sat beside Seonghwa, arms crossed, resisting the urge to throw your shoe.
Until “That’s a clause mistake,” you said flatly. “The second contract overrides the first because it was signed in Seoul jurisdiction, not Busan.” Everyone went silent. One of the directors blinked. “That’s… actually true.”
Seonghwa turned to you slowly not surprised. Just… watching. You kept going. “You need to adjust the phrasing in your next vendor draft. And probably get a legal double-check on the new shipment schedules.” Murmurs. Agreement. Someone scribbled notes. Seonghwa’s hand rested on the table slow, deliberate. He didn’t say thank you he didn’t need to. You’d proven you weren’t just a ring on his finger. You were useful. And that… was worse.
It started fine. You sat quietly on the couch in Seonghwa’s office, watching the clock, checking your nails, trying not to die of boredom. Ten minutes passed. Then thirty. By the one-hour mark, you slumped backward with a dramatic sigh. “I’m so bored I could scream,” you said, voice full of boredom “Don’t,” Seonghwa replied without even looking up from his laptop. So you stood and started wandering. You paced across the room, fingers trailing over bookshelves and gold framed degrees. Opened a cabinet. Closed it. Reopened it. Tapped the glass.
“What’s this button do?” you asked with a grin. “Don’t touch that,” he said, not even glancing up. “What about this drawer?” you continued, already pulling it open. “Put that down, YN,” he muttered, clearly starting to regret his life choices. You moved toward his desk like a cat circling prey. He still didn’t stop you. So you pulled open the pen drawer and started rearranging his perfectly lined up pens just to watch his eye twitch. “Why do you even have four pens the same exact color?” you asked. “Because they’re expensive,” he replied flatly. “You’re expensive,” you shot back. He exhaled through his teeth but didn’t respond. You flopped into the seat across from him, legs tucked underneath you like it was your office now. “I’m hungry,” you said, pouting like it was the most urgent problem on Earth.
“You’re always hungry,” he replied, monotone and annoyed. You blinked, staring at him in disbelief “You can’t say that,” you said, offended. “It’s true,” he said, finally looking at you with the laziest smirk. “Still rude,” you huffed.“There’s a vending machine near the end of the hall,” he said, already pulling out his wallet like this was routine. “Take a guard. Don’t disappear. Get something light we’re having dinner with the board tonight.” He handed you exactly enough for 2 snacks.
You stared at the 8 dollars in your hand like they were a personal insult. “This is child allowance money,” you deadpanned. “And you’re acting like a child,” he said, already turning back to his laptop. “You’re acting like a dictator with no fashion sense,” you muttered. “You’re wearing my money,” he shot back, not missing a beat. You gasped dramatically “I hope you choke on your overpriced tie,” you snapped. He waved you off, eyes still on the screen. “Go. Before I find something for you to do that involves spreadsheets,” he said lazily. You didn’t go to the vending machine. Why would you, when the building had a full food court on the mezzanine floor and your favorite bakery had a branch there?
You ordered two things. Then three. Then added two more just because they smelled too good to ignore. Your assigned bodyguard followed you with the patience of a monk, until a cluster of voices nearby made you freeze. Three girls and two guys. Young, Corporate, Loud, Cruel. “Is that her? The girl who tried to stab him?” “She doesn’t look dangerous. Just bratty.” “I heard he bought her. Like, literal auction-style.” “Would explain why she’s dressed like someone’s doll.” Your hands clenched the paper bag tightly. Your jaw set. The guard stepped beside you. “Don’t. They’re not important,” he said softly. “And they wouldn’t say a word if he were standing next to you.” You didn’t answer. You just turned and walked away head high, heels sharp.
You kicked the door open with your foot because your hands were full, and Seonghwa looked up from his desk, surprised. “I didn’t expect you to bring back a whole shop,” he said, raising an eyebrow. You dumped the bags on his desk with dramatic flair. “A vending machine doesn’t sell taste,” you said, already digging into your first pastry. “You weren’t given permission to buy from the food court,” he said with that infuriating calmness. “I gave myself permission,” you shot back. You pulled out a cheese roll and shoved one toward him.“Eat this,” you said, tossing it to his desk. “No thank you,” he replied, brushing it aside. “I said eat it,” you repeated, more forcefully. “I said no,” he snapped. “Seonghwa.” You lowered your voice. Calm, Firm, Lethal. He finally met your eyes “Take. The. Snack,” you said slowly. “You’re insufferable,” he muttered. “You’re starving,” you said, tilting your head like it was obvious. He rolled his eyes, snatched the pastry, and bit into it like it insulted his ancestors. A beat passed he kept chewing. “Good, right?” you said with a smug little smile. “It’s fine,” he grumbled “Liar,” you said, smiling wider. He didn’t reply but he didn’t stop eating either.
The car ride to the board meeting dinner was thankfully quiet this time probably because you were both emotionally exhausted from round two of whatever this relationship was. The corporate event was sleek and high-profile glass walls, black ties, champagne trays, and music humming like tension. Employees smiled and bowed as the two of you entered. No one said anything about the look on your face. Or his they all knew better. Seonghwa led you toward the private lounge where drinks were already being passed out. You accepted a glass of champagne, sipping slowly as your eyes scanned the crowd.
“This is so fake,” you murmured to him without looking. “That’s business,” he replied. “So everyone here is lying to your face?” “No,” he said with a faint smirk. “Some of them lie behind my back.” You raised your glass to him sarcastically “Cheers to power.” “Cheers to you behaving,” he said. “No promises,” you replied, sipping again. His eyes narrowed just slightly, but you turned away before he could speak again the taste of champagne and control sharp on your tongue.
The dinner was winding down. Most of the executives had left, but you stayed seated beside Seonghwa as he made small talk with a few trusted board members. You were nibbling on dessert, not paying much attention… until he arrived. Wooyoung loud, smiling, and already halfway tipsy. “There he is!” Wooyoung shouted across the room as he approached, arms wide. “My favorite cold-blooded bastard.” Seonghwa raised an eyebrow. “You’re late.” “I was bleeding out money in Tokyo, sue me,” Wooyoung said, throwing himself into the seat across from you two. “But I heard you got stabbed. Stabbed, bro. You didn’t even wait for me to say congratulations on not dying.” “You can say it now,” Seonghwa replied dryly. “With alcohol,” Wooyoung grinned. “Come on, one shot.”“No.” “Two.” “Still no.” “Three.” “Wooyoung.” “Ten.” Seonghwa sighed. “You’re exhausting.” “You’re sober. That’s the problem.”
Eventually, Seonghwa gave in. You watched in silent amusement as they poured each other soju like it was water. First glass. Second. Fifth. Voices getting louder. Faces turning a bright, flushed red. Seonghwa’s blazer was off. His tie loosened. His hair a mess. You sat there casually eating tteokbokki, watching them slowly unravel like grown children at a sleepover. “What’s your type again?” Wooyoung asked, already slurring slightly. “I always forget.” “We’ve had this talk,” Seonghwa muttered. “You always dodge the question, you tight lipped pretty fuck,” Wooyoung said. “C’mon. Humor me.” “You first,” Seonghwa said, waving a finger. Wooyoung leaned back dramatically. “Tight skirts. Sharp tongues. Anyone who can kill me with their heels,” he grinned. “I want a woman who’d slap me for blinking too loud. You know? Keeps me humble.”
You choked on your food trying not to laugh. Seonghwa shook his head. “That sounds exhausting.” “You’re one to talk,” Wooyoung shot back. “You’re literally married to a woman who bit a guard and tried to stab you from what the hell you’re telling me.” “It wasn’t a real stab,” Seonghwa muttered. “Bro.” Wooyoung blinked at him. Then leaned in. “You’re so love-whipped. Like actually whipped. I get it now. That’s why you didn’t kill her.” “That’s not why,” Seonghwa said quickly, ears turning red. “I bet you didn’t even get mad when she flipped you off earlier. You LIKE it.” “Shut up,” Seonghwa mumbled. “You’re in love with her, dude,” Wooyoung said loudly. “You’re straight up obsessed. You look at her like she hung the stars.” “I don’t,” Seonghwa whined, face fully flushed now. “Stop.”
“You do,” Wooyoung laughed. “You just haven’t realized it. You’re a simp in denial.” “Shut UP,” Seonghwa said again, now laughing despite himself. “You’re gonna get punched.” “I’ll take it,” Wooyoung said, raising his glass. “To men who pretend they’re cold hearted, but melt for women who treat them right.” Somehow, Wooyoung stood Kind of. He stumbled. Wobbled. Then shouted, “Time for me to go before I start confessing my sins to the wine rack!” His guards rushed to support him, one grabbing his jacket, the other his arm. “Bye Seonghwaaaaa! Bye stabby wife!” he shouted across the room as they dragged him out. You buried your face in your hand “He’s crazy” you muttered.
Seonghwa barely made it out of the lounge. He staggered, leaning on you half the way like his limbs forgot how to work. “You walk like a cartoon giraffe,” you said. “Don’t bully me,” he slurred. “I’ll bully my husband if I want to,” you snapped. “You shouldn’t say that to your lovely, respectable, extremely handsome husband.” he said with a hiccup. “It’s disrespectful.” “You’re literally drooling.”you say disgusted “You’re not a nice wife.” “You’re not a sober man.” He pouted. “Mean.” You tried to push him toward the car, but he flopped against you, laying his head on your shoulder with a deep sigh. “I like it here,” he mumbled, already half-asleep. “Oh my god,” you groaned. “Can someone help me?!” Two guards rushed over, and it still took all three of you to get him into the car.
By the time you reached the estate, Seonghwa was still out cold barely able to lift his own head. But somehow, he walked kinda into the big house without falling face first. He started undressing by the time you reached the stairs. Shoes gone. Blazer dropped on the third step. Shirt slung over the bannister. He staggered into his bedroom, muttering nonsense, and collapsed onto the bed face first. Almost Free of this night. You turned to walk out but a hand shot out, grabbed your wrist, and yanked you straight down into the bed. “Seonghwa—” you hissed. “Let go.” He didn’t respond.
Just held you in a firm, drunken bear hug, your face squished against his chest. “You bastard—” “Let—go—of—me—” He didn’t move, Didn’t flinch, Didn’t even snore. He was dead weight but comfortably warm. And trapped you like a weighted blanket you never asked for. You sighed, body giving up as the tension bled out. Then you froze. Because something was… poking you. And what it was a boner. You slowly tilted your head “…No,” you whispered. “Absolutely not.” But Seonghwa didn’t answer. He just held you tighter.
after you left, Jaemin’s photos stopped looking like real life. He tried. He photographed strangers. Models. Faces that looked almost like yours in the cheekbones, in the eyes, in the way they smiled without meaning it. But they never looked like you.
Before the silence. You and Jaemin met when you were seven. Both scraped your knees falling off the same tire swing, and you yelled at him for crying “like a baby.” He followed you around the playground after that. You let him. Eventually. He was the quiet kid who took pictures of clouds and ants with a beat up point and shoot camera. You were the loud one with chalk stained fingers and wild paint ideas. You called yourself “an artistic visionary” in the fifth grade. He called you “delusional.” You stayed inseparable.
Middle school blurred into high school, and by then, people already thought you were dating. You weren’t. But he drove you home. You doodled on his arms. He took your photos without asking always at the right time: when you weren’t posing. When you were laughing with your head tilted back or wiping paint off your nose with the back of your hand. He never said it aloud, but you were his muse before you were anything else.
In high school, you crushed on people Hard. Especially the boy from art club with the tattoos and sleepy eyes named yuta nakamoto. The one who complimented your color theory and offered you gum every Thursday. You talked about him too much eyes dreamy, lips smiling. Jaemin hated him on sight. He never told you. But the more you rambled about other boys, the more silent he grew. The more he picked at his thumbnails. The more photos he didn’t show you. He swore he wasn’t the jealous type. Until he realized he wasn’t just your best friend anymore. He wanted to be the one you painted for. It happened the summer you were sixteen. After a neighborhood cookout, you and Jaemin wandered back to your house, stomachs full, shoes in your hands. “I’m gonna wash up,” you said, stretching with a yawn. “I’ll walk you around the side.”
The sky was still fading. The fireflies blinked lazily as you rounded the garage, barefoot in the grass, laughter trailing between you. Then you stopped behind the building the one spot the motion light never reached. You turned toward him, smile soft. “Hey,” you asked out of nowhere, “have you ever kissed anyone?” He blinked “No.” Jaemin said. “Me neither.” You say. The silence turned dense, warm. You stepped in a little closer. “Wanna try?” He hesitated for half a second. Then nodded.
You both leaned in slow, unsure lips brushing for the first time like it was something fragile. It wasn’t perfect. Your noses bumped. His fingers twitched. But it was soft, Real. When you pulled back, you were smiling, breathless. “That was… not bad.” He didn’t smile. Instead, he said, “You should stop talking about that guy from art club.” Your eyebrows lifted. “Why?” “Because he’s not the one who kissed you behind a garage.” He answers. You grinned, heart thumping. “Fair point.” You didn’t talk about it again. But that kiss? Neither of you forgot it.
The gallery was loud with chatter Bright lights, Jazz. But Jaemin stopped walking the second he saw you. You were standing with Jeno Laughing. And you were in front of that photo the one Jaemin had taken of the empty chair outside his room. The chair you used to sit in when you painted with your legs tucked under you, rambling about color tones and dreams and things you were scared to say out loud. You didn’t know it, but that photo was you. Jaemin walked over without thinking. You turned and your breath caught. “Wait,” Jeno said, blinking between you two, “you guys know each other?” Jaemin didn’t look away from you. “We used to.” Jeno froze. Then nodded slowly. “I’ll, uh… go look around.”
Once he was gone, you said it soft and guilty. “I didn’t think you’d ever want to see me again.” “I didn’t think you’d give me the chance,” Jaemin replied. “You’re mad.” You say “I was more than mad. I waited. I called. I thought you’d say goodbye.” He says You look down. “I couldn’t. If I talked to you, I wouldn’t have gone.” “So disappearing was easier?” He says clearly hurt
“No. It just… felt like the only way.” You said with guilt in your voice Jaemin stared at you. “You were my best friend. My first kiss. My everything.”Your voice cracked. “I know. And I hated myself for leaving like that. I still do.” A pause. He swallowed hard. “You and Jeno?” He asked You shook your head fast. “No. Just a friend. He doesn’t know anything about us.”Jaemin nodded slowly. “I still have your photo. The one from the fountain. The last time you smiled like you loved me.” Jaemin said
Later that night Jeno waited for Jaemin outside the gallery. “You good?” he asked carefully. “No,” Jaemin answered honestly. “But I think I will be.” “I didn’t know it was her.” Jeno said “I know.” Jaemin answered “She talked about someone, though. Said there was a boy she left behind who ruined dating for her.” Jaemin looked at him. “I figured it was a metaphor,” Jeno said. “Didn’t know it was you.” A pause. “I’m not mad,” Jeno added. “But… if you still want her, you should go get her.”
The Café
You were early. Of course. Jaemin slid into the seat across from you, quiet for a few seconds. Then he pulled something from his backpack. An old SD card. You tilted your head. “What’s that?” He pushed it toward you. “The last photo I took of you.” You popped it into your laptop. It was you, at sixteen, sunlight in your hair, paint-stained shirt, sitting on the edge of the fountain in your backyard. A daisy tucked behind your ear. You stared at it. “I remember that day,” you said quietly. “You were talking about dreams. And I thought mine looked like you.”
You reached into your bag, pulled out a small canvas, and handed it to him. It was a painting of Jaemin, asleep on your couch, camera clutched in his hand You smiled. “I painted that when I missed you too much to sleep.” He stared at it Then at you “Do you still love me?” he asked softly. “I never stopped.” Jaemin exhaled. Reaching across the table. Taking your hand “Let’s start over.”
And later still… He took new photos, In his apartment. With you in his hoodie, coffee in your hand, your smile a little older but no less bright. This time, when he clicked the shutter, you didn’t disappear. You stayed. You stayed.
after you left, Jaemin’s photos stopped looking like real life. He tried. He photographed strangers. Models. Faces that looked almost like yours in the cheekbones, in the eyes, in the way they smiled without meaning it. But they never looked like you.
Before the silence. You and Jaemin met when you were seven. Both scraped your knees falling off the same tire swing, and you yelled at him for crying “like a baby.” He followed you around the playground after that. You let him. Eventually. He was the quiet kid who took pictures of clouds and ants with a beat up point and shoot camera. You were the loud one with chalk stained fingers and wild paint ideas. You called yourself “an artistic visionary” in the fifth grade. He called you “delusional.” You stayed inseparable.
Middle school blurred into high school, and by then, people already thought you were dating. You weren’t. But he drove you home. You doodled on his arms. He took your photos without asking always at the right time: when you weren’t posing. When you were laughing with your head tilted back or wiping paint off your nose with the back of your hand. He never said it aloud, but you were his muse before you were anything else.
In high school, you crushed on people Hard. Especially the boy from art club with the tattoos and sleepy eyes named yuta nakamoto. The one who complimented your color theory and offered you gum every Thursday. You talked about him too much eyes dreamy, lips smiling. Jaemin hated him on sight. He never told you. But the more you rambled about other boys, the more silent he grew. The more he picked at his thumbnails. The more photos he didn’t show you. He swore he wasn’t the jealous type. Until he realized he wasn’t just your best friend anymore. He wanted to be the one you painted for. It happened the summer you were sixteen. After a neighborhood cookout, you and Jaemin wandered back to your house, stomachs full, shoes in your hands. “I’m gonna wash up,” you said, stretching with a yawn. “I’ll walk you around the side.”
The sky was still fading. The fireflies blinked lazily as you rounded the garage, barefoot in the grass, laughter trailing between you. Then you stopped behind the building the one spot the motion light never reached. You turned toward him, smile soft. “Hey,” you asked out of nowhere, “have you ever kissed anyone?” He blinked “No.” Jaemin said. “Me neither.” You say. The silence turned dense, warm. You stepped in a little closer. “Wanna try?” He hesitated for half a second. Then nodded.
You both leaned in slow, unsure lips brushing for the first time like it was something fragile. It wasn’t perfect. Your noses bumped. His fingers twitched. But it was soft, Real. When you pulled back, you were smiling, breathless. “That was… not bad.” He didn’t smile. Instead, he said, “You should stop talking about that guy from art club.” Your eyebrows lifted. “Why?” “Because he’s not the one who kissed you behind a garage.” He answers. You grinned, heart thumping. “Fair point.” You didn’t talk about it again. But that kiss? Neither of you forgot it.
The gallery was loud with chatter Bright lights, Jazz. But Jaemin stopped walking the second he saw you. You were standing with Jeno Laughing. And you were in front of that photo the one Jaemin had taken of the empty chair outside his room. The chair you used to sit in when you painted with your legs tucked under you, rambling about color tones and dreams and things you were scared to say out loud. You didn’t know it, but that photo was you. Jaemin walked over without thinking. You turned and your breath caught. “Wait,” Jeno said, blinking between you two, “you guys know each other?” Jaemin didn’t look away from you. “We used to.” Jeno froze. Then nodded slowly. “I’ll, uh… go look around.”
Once he was gone, you said it soft and guilty. “I didn’t think you’d ever want to see me again.” “I didn’t think you’d give me the chance,” Jaemin replied. “You’re mad.” You say “I was more than mad. I waited. I called. I thought you’d say goodbye.” He says You look down. “I couldn’t. If I talked to you, I wouldn’t have gone.” “So disappearing was easier?” He says clearly hurt
“No. It just… felt like the only way.” You said with guilt in your voice Jaemin stared at you. “You were my best friend. My first kiss. My everything.”Your voice cracked. “I know. And I hated myself for leaving like that. I still do.” A pause. He swallowed hard. “You and Jeno?” He asked You shook your head fast. “No. Just a friend. He doesn’t know anything about us.”Jaemin nodded slowly. “I still have your photo. The one from the fountain. The last time you smiled like you loved me.” Jaemin said
Later that night Jeno waited for Jaemin outside the gallery. “You good?” he asked carefully. “No,” Jaemin answered honestly. “But I think I will be.” “I didn’t know it was her.” Jeno said “I know.” Jaemin answered “She talked about someone, though. Said there was a boy she left behind who ruined dating for her.” Jaemin looked at him. “I figured it was a metaphor,” Jeno said. “Didn’t know it was you.” A pause. “I’m not mad,” Jeno added. “But… if you still want her, you should go get her.”
The Café
You were early. Of course. Jaemin slid into the seat across from you, quiet for a few seconds. Then he pulled something from his backpack. An old SD card. You tilted your head. “What’s that?” He pushed it toward you. “The last photo I took of you.” You popped it into your laptop. It was you, at sixteen, sunlight in your hair, paint-stained shirt, sitting on the edge of the fountain in your backyard. A daisy tucked behind your ear. You stared at it. “I remember that day,” you said quietly. “You were talking about dreams. And I thought mine looked like you.”
You reached into your bag, pulled out a small canvas, and handed it to him. It was a painting of Jaemin, asleep on your couch, camera clutched in his hand You smiled. “I painted that when I missed you too much to sleep.” He stared at it Then at you “Do you still love me?” he asked softly. “I never stopped.” Jaemin exhaled. Reaching across the table. Taking your hand “Let’s start over.”
And later still… He took new photos, In his apartment. With you in his hoodie, coffee in your hand, your smile a little older but no less bright. This time, when he clicked the shutter, you didn’t disappear. You stayed. You stayed.
📎 you should know: I write stories where people fall in love gently… or burn for it quietly. There will always be fluff. There will always be ache. Sometimes it’s a garden. Sometimes it’s a graveyard.
💌 If you read me, expect:
☁️ comfort fics that wrap you up
🕷 slow ache & softness with scars
💐 deep bonds, emotional layers
✿ Fluff that makes your chest warm
🕷 Angst that leaves your throat tight
🔥 Smut that’s detailed, sensual, and earned
🥀 K-drama style slow burns with tension that hurts
💐 Friends to lovers, exes to lovers, protectiveness, obsession, & soft doms
🛏️ Emotionally loaded sex scenes (yes, I write those “I miss you” ones)
📎 characters who feel real, flawed, and full of love
📝 What Inspires Me:
K-dramas like When the Camellia Blooms, Our Beloved Summer,
My Liberation Notes, and Reply 1988 — all the shows that feel like home and heartbreak at once.
🖤 Note: I’m soft but I’ll emotionally destroy you if the plot calls for it :)
🥀✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ 🌸
❝ I don’t just write fluff — I write the moments that make it matter ❞
The smell of rain on pavement always made you feel safe.
It reminded you of childhood warm lights, tea kettles whistling, your brother calling your name with tired affection.
But this storm didn’t feel safe. It was quiet. Too quiet. You stood at the window of your apartment, watching water drip from the overhang, phone in hand, thumb hovering over Minjae’s name. Five calls. No answer. Not even a read receipt.
That wasn’t like him. Not when he was the one who usually flooded your phone with updates and late night “grab eggs on your way home” messages. Not when he was the one who always said, “We only have each other. Stay close.” You should have known something was wrong. The apartment was modest but clean furnished with secondhand furniture, tastefully decorated with soft neutral tones and a few framed photos. One of them sat on the entryway table. You and Minjae. Both laughing. Back when things were simple. Back when you still believed he could protect you from anything.
10:34 PM The sound of keys jiggling in the front lock made you exhale in relief.“Finally,” you muttered, padding to the door. But it didn’t open. The metal scraped. Then again. Then Your breath caught in your throat. Not keys. Not him. The lock was being picked. “Hello?” your voice trembled, barely above a whisper.
Then a second of stillness before the door burst open with a slam, and three men in black stormed inside. You didn’t even have time to scream before one grabbed your arm, another yanked your phone from your hand and slammed it to the floor, and the third cuffed your wrists behind your back like you were a criminal. “LET GO OF ME!” You kicked. Fought. Bit one in the shoulder hard enough to draw blood. “GET OFF ME, I’M—!” A fist connected with your stomach. You dropped to your knees, gasping.
“Shut her up,” one muttered. A black cloth was tied over your mouth. The hallway lights spun as your body was lifted dragged out of the home you fought to build, down the stairwell, into the pouring rain. No one stopped them. No one helped. The last thing you saw before the trunk door slammed shut… was the cracked photo of you and Minjae on the ground. Shattered.
𝒪𝓉𝒽ℯ𝓇 𝓈𝒾𝒹ℯ ℴ𝒻 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝒸𝒾𝓉𝓎
“She’s on her way,” a man said, adjusting the cuff of his suit. Across from him, Park Seonghwa sipped from a glass of red wine, his expression unreadable. “Was there trouble?” “She fought like hell.” The man in front of him said Seonghwa’s lips curved just slightly. “Good.” He set the glass down. Turned toward the hallway that led to the grand staircase. “I hate quiet women”
𝒯𝒽ℯ 𝒶𝓇𝓇𝒾𝓋𝒶𝓁
The mansion was cold. Not cold like winter, but cold like death like silence that never left. Your boots one of which had been ripped halfway off dragged uselessly across the marble floor as two men hauled you through the gilded foyer.
Your face was bloodied, Lip split, Knee raw from when you slammed into the pavement trying to run. Wrists swollen from the cuffs. Your hair stuck to your face from the rain and the fight. But your eyes they still burned. You didn’t cry. You wouldn’t.Not until you found your brother.
They dragged you up a staircase lined with oil paintings and security cameras, then down a velvet runner to double doors with black handles. One of the guards knocked once. Someone inside said, “Let her in.” The door creaked open.
And there he was. Park Seonghwa. Leaning against a sleek black desk. Dressed in black, from his collared shirt to his gloves. Clean. Unbothered. Cold. His eyes met yours like you were dirt tracked into his house. His gaze dropped to the blood on your chin, the bruising on your wrists.
“Tch,” he said. “I told them to bring you in one piece. They always overdo it. You ripped your arms out of the guards’ hold and staggered into the room. Your breathing was ragged, but your voice was steady. “Where’s Minjae?” Seonghwa tilted his head. “Hm?”seongwha questions “My brother. Where. Is. He.” You ask
He slowly walked toward you, his gloved hands in his pockets, lips twitching into something that might’ve been a smirk or a warning.“You mean the man who sold you?” You flinched. “Shut up.”“He did,” Seonghwa said, stopping a few feet from you. His tone was light. Amused.
“He offered you up like a business deal. Told me you’d be quiet. Obedient. Well-trained.” He chuckled lowly. “Clearly, he oversold.” Your nails dug into your palms. Your voice cracked.“You’re lying.”
“Am I?” he said softly, leaning in close enough for you to smell the leather and wine on his breath. “Then why aren’t you in your home right now, sweetheart?” “Why hasn’t he come for you?” “Why did he disappear the moment his debt was wiped clean?”
You stared at him, heart pounding. “He would never do that to me.” Seonghwa smiled. Not kind. Not gentle. It was the kind of smile people saw before a gunshot. “Then I have some bad news.”
“Your brother…” He walked slowly around you like a predator circling a wounded animal. “Is the reason you’re here.” “He’s the reason you’re standing in my house.” “On my time. On your knees, if I tell you to be.” You turned and shoved him hard. “GO TO HELL!”Seonghwa didn’t even stumble. He just laughed.
“You think this is hell?” he asked cruelly. “You haven’t even worn the dress yet.” Tears pricked the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them away. “He’s going to come for me,” you said. Seonghwa’s eyes sharpened like a blade. “No, he’s not.” “He—” just as you were about to deny it “He thinks you’re dead.” Seongwha says. You froze.
“And if he ever tries to prove otherwise…” He leaned in. Voice low. Deadly. “I’ll make him wish he never crawled out of his mother’s womb.” You fell silent. Everything inside you cracked, then went quiet. And for the first time since they’d dragged you out of your home You felt truly alone.
The bed was too soft. The sheets too clean. You lay still in the dark, surrounded by velvet, silk, and the scent of roses that somehow made your stomach turn. The bruises on your ribs pulsed with every breath. Your wrists still burned. Every time you blinked, you saw Seonghwa’s smile that cold, beautiful smirk right before he said your brother wasn’t coming.
You didn’t cry. Tears meant defeat. You just stared at the ceiling and waited for morning like it might bring a knife or a miracle. Neither came.
soft knock stirred you awake.“Miss YN?” a quiet voice called. “It’s morning. We’ve brought you clothes.” You didn’t move.
Seconds later, the door creaked open. Two women stepped inside, dressed in sleek black uniforms, heads slightly bowed. Their hands moved quickly—pulling open curtains, laying out folded clothes in pale linen, a basin of warm water. You sat up slowly, muscles aching. “I don’t want your clothes,” you said. One of them spoke softly. “Mr. Seonghwa asked for you to join him for breakfast.”
“I don’t care.” Still, they helped clean your wounds gentle hands, but no warmth behind them. Like trained staff changing a display doll. You didn’t fight. Not because you gave in. But because you were watching. Learning. Waiting. They dressed you in a soft, cream blouse and a long skirt that hugged your waist. Barefoot. Hair fixed to be perfect. Lip still cracked.
The Dining Room. You were escorted through a hall of mirrors and marble to a wide, sun-drenched room. The table was long enough to seat twenty. At the end sat Seonghwa, dressed in a pressed gray shirt, sipping black coffee like he hadn’t destroyed your entire life twelve hours ago.
“Good morning, Mrs. Kang,” he said calmly, not looking up from the newspaper. “Or shall I say, soon-to-be.” You didn’t respond. You sat at the farthest end of the table, untouched food in front of you fruit, toast, eggs, tea. Your stomach turned. “Aren’t you going to eat?” he asked, finally meeting your eyes.
“I’d rather starve.” He leaned back in his chair, his tone smooth. “Go ahead. I’ll feed you myself if I have to.”You said nothing. He smirked. “Fine. Starve. But don’t faint during the fitting. That would be dramatic even for you.” Your head snapped up.“What fitting?” You asked “Your wedding dress, of course,” he said simply. “Unless you’d prefer a coffin. You’d look stunning in either.”
The Fitting Room
The room looked like it belonged in a bridal magazine. Ivory walls, full-length mirrors, gowns in every shade of white hanging from delicate racks. You stood in the center, arms crossed, refusing to speak as a designer shaky and nervous presented one dress after another.
“This one is Paris silk. Or this, in hand-beaded lace—” “I’m not wearing any of them,” you snapped. Seonghwa sat in the corner, legs crossed, sipping wine like it was water, watching you like a man amused by a storm behind glass.
“You’ll have to wear something, darling,” he said lazily. “Unless you want to be married naked. I’m not opposed.” You turned to him, eyes blazing. “Why are you doing this?” He didn’t answer immediately. He just stood slowly and walked toward you hands in pockets, posture relaxed, like he wasn’t the villain in the room.
“You want a reason?” “Fine.” “Because your brother begged for his life and gave yours instead.” “Because I can.” “Because I wanted to see if you’d look this angry in white.” He tilted his head. “And you do. It suits you.” You tried to slap him. He caught your wrist. “There it is,” he whispered, smirk gone. “The fire.” You yanked your hand away, trembling.
“You can force me into a dress. But I will never belong to you.” He smiled softly now, something far more chilling than mockery. “You already do.” Then he turned to the designer. “Let her choose whatever she wants. But make sure it fits her neck just tight enough to remind her it’s still a noose.”
Dinner was quiet. Too quiet. You sat at the end of the massive dining table in a soft ivory dress. Your wounds were mostly healed, though a faint bruise still lingered on your cheek, hidden beneath powder. Seonghwa sat at the head of the table like a king cutting his steak calmly, sipping wine like the world was perfectly in place.
He barely spoke to you. Just the occasional glance. You fixed your face to smirk when your fork scraped the plate too hard. He knew you hated this. That you were performing. But tonight, you didn’t fight. You played along. Because tonight, you were going to run.
After Dinner A warm bath had already been drawn for you. Lavender. Rose oil. All too gentle for a prisoner.
Two maids helped you in silence, washing your arms and legs like you were royalty instead of a woman stolen from her own life. You didn’t argue. You let them dress you in a pale silk robe, fixed your hair up for what’s appropriate for bed, place slippers at your feet.
You smiled. Thanked them. And when they left the room, you counted down from sixty…And moved.
You crept down the hall like you’d done in your mind a dozen times.The guards rotated out every thirty minutes. You’d timed it. The side door near the garden was always unlocked between dusk and nightfall. The window at the end of the corridor? Slightly faulty. You tested it once when no one was looking. You moved fast and quieter than you’d ever been.
You turned the corner. Pressed your fingers to the window latch Lifted A voice stopped you cold. “I was wondering when you’d try this.” You froze. No, No, no, no He wasn’t supposed to be here.
Seonghwa stood at the end of the hall, his sleeves rolled up, expression unreadable. No guards. No violence. Just him. “You bathed. You smiled at dinner.”His voice dropped. “That was your first mistake.” You turned and bolted down the hall “oh fuck, fuck” you say but you didn’t make it far.
His arm came around your waist, spinning you into him. You fought like hell kicking, elbowing, screaming into his chest but he didn’t flinch.
“Let me GO!” “You had your chance,” he growled.
He threw the door open and slammed it shut behind him, locking it with a loud click. You backed away, eyes wild, chest heaving. “You’re a fucking psycho!” You screamed “You’re a terrible liar,” he said. “You don’t smile when you eat with people you hate.”
“You think this is about dinner?” “No,” he said coldly, taking off his watch and setting it on the table. “It’s about you not learning.” You lunged for the door. He caught you, this time pinning your wrists to the wall. But he didn’t strike. He didn’t curse. He just stared at you.
“Are you going to sleep now,” he murmured, “or do I need to tie you to the bed?” You spit at him. He laughed. Low and dangerous. “You’re lucky I like fire.” He didn’t tie you down.But he did something way fucking worse.
He slid into your bed that night. Fully dressed, one arm around your waist, holding you like an anchor. Like a threat. His breath hit the back of your neck. His body heat wrapped around you like chains. “Sleep,” he murmured. “If you try to run again, I’ll cut the air out of this room.” You hated him. But still… you slept.Because for one fucked up moment You felt warm.
Wedding Morning
You woke alone, in silks and sunlight. A note sat on the edge of the bed in his handwriting: “Don’t bother running. The whole estate is locked. See you at the altar, Mrs. Park.” You tore it in half. But part of you… knew he was right.
The Ceremony The air was thick with incense and expectation.
The hanbok was heavy on your shoulders, red and gold silk trailing across the floor like blood. You stood at the edge of the ceremonial platform, staring at the courtyard full of strangers and snakes every one of them dressed in power, silence, and secrets.
Then Seonghwa entered. His robes matched yours. Traditional, regal, perfect. His expression was unreadable. Cold like always. His father nodded. His mother didn’t blink. His sister whispered something to a woman beside her and smirked.
You didn’t want to bow. You did anyway.You went through the motions.The rituals. The slow, careful sips of tea. The hand-holding. The gazes locked as petals fell from above. It looked beautiful. But it felt like a funeral. You couldn’t help but wonder which version of yourself had died. The free one? Or the foolish one who thought she could ever escape?
The Wedding Night
The room was dimly lit, the bed adorned in red. You sat on the edge in silence, still wearing the hanbok. You refused to change. You refused to make this more real than it already was. When Seonghwa entered, he looked amused.“Still dressed?”“Still waiting to fight.” He poured himself a drink. Didn’t come near you. “You think I’m here to sleep with you,” he said, sipping slowly. You stayed silent.
“Oh please,” he scoffed, turning to face you. “I’m not that evil. I don’t fuck people without consent.”You looked at him then. Calm. Sharp. “You’ve done everything else without consent.” He didn’t flinch. But the tension shifted just slightly. “Touché,” he said softly. “I’ll give you that.”
He walked toward you, slowly. Stopped in front of you, his hand reaching out But only to undo the ribbon holding your hanbok together. You flinched.“Relax,” he muttered. “Just take it off. You’ll sleep better.” “Not if you’re in the room.” “Then I’ll sleep on the balcony.” “I don’t want you near me.”
“You’re not getting what you want,” he whispered, brushing a stray hair behind your ear. “But you are getting what you need.” You slapped his hand away. He only smiled. Then walked out onto the balcony and shut the door behind him.
The Next Morning You woke up alone. Again. You sat up, sore in places that had nothing to do with the body and everything to do with the soul. You got dressed in silence, ignored the breakfast tray someone had left, and paced the room like a caged animal. Then the knock came. And before you could answer, the door flung open. “OHMYGOD you’re so pretty! You’re even prettier up close. hi! HI! You must be YN right? The wife? Oh my god, I’m so nervous—”
A girl barreled into the room like a caffeinated storm. Probably around your age, but her energy felt like it belonged to someone half that. She was short, bubbly, wearing a bright yellow dress that absolutely did not belong in this house of marble and menace.
“Who—” “Oh! Sorry! I’m Jiwoo. Seonghwa said I’m your gift!” You blinked.“My what?” “Your gift. Companion. Friend. Emotional support prisoner okay, I made that last one up but seriously! He thought you might be lonely and since I never shut up and he’s y’know, him he said maybe we’d balance each other out.” You stared at her.
She smiled. Big, Bright, Unapologetically chaotic. Then Seonghwa appeared in the doorway, hands in his pockets, watching the chaos unfold with deadpan amusement. “She talks too much,” he said flatly. “I’ve thought about killing her at least a dozen times.” “Hey!” Jiwoo pouted.
“But…” he continued, eyes on you. “I didn’t. I thought you might want someone… different.” You said nothing. “Don’t thank me,” he added coolly.
“It wasn’t kindness. I just don’t want you going mad and slicing your wrists before the reception.” “Wow,” Jiwoo whispered beside you.
“He’s so romantic.” As she says that you look at her like she just bitch slapped you in the most offending way “what?, am I wrong”
You weren’t told about the reception until an hour before it began. You had just finished dealing with Jiwoo who was now humming and twirling in the corner of your room like this was a princess movie and not your private hell when another knock came.
Two women entered with a new hanbok, this one sapphire blue with gold embroidery. “Mr. Seonghwa is expecting you downstairs. His family and inner circle are waiting.” You didn’t move. “Inner circle?” “The rest of The Gild,” one said quietly. “His brothers.”
The Reception ballroom was opulent, candlelit, laced in gold, white peonies, and shadow. Music drifted through the air, traditional instruments mixed with low modern undertones. Guests stood in clusters, sipping champagne and smiling like none of them had killed a man in their lives. And then you saw them. They weren’t wearing name tags. But you knew they were different. Eight of them. A unit. A force. Seonghwa’s Gilded Circle.
“Don’t look so stiff,” a voice murmured beside you. It was him. Seonghwa, appearing at your side, dressed in jet-black hanbok lined with silver. “Smile, Mrs. Park. You’re about to meet the people who can ruin countries with one phone call.” He took your hand. You didn’t smile.
The Introductions were…..kinda weird but some comforting and some not. First came Hongjoong. Sharp eyes, short stature, commanding presence. He gave you a polite nod, but his gaze was calculating. “So you’re the fireball,” he said. “Didn’t think Seonghwa had it in him.” “Had what?” You questioned “A conscience. Or a wife.” Seonghwa just sipped his drink beside you, unimpressed.
Then San stepped forward, grinning. More casual, but his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You punch people when you’re mad or break their stuff?” “Both.”you say “Nice,” he smirked. “You’ll fit in.”
Then came Wooyoung, who looked you up and down shamelessly before letting out a low whistle. “Damn. We thought you’d be boring.” “I am,” you deadpanned. “Feisty I see” he winked, nodding toward Seonghwa. Seonghwa didn’t even blink.
Yeosang came next elegant, quiet, and unreadable. He didn’t speak to you. He just bowed his head slightly and moved on. But his eyes lingered long enough to say he was watching.
Then Mingi towering, warm smile, but his knuckles looked like they’d never fully healed.“I don’t like what he did to you,” he said, completely unprompted. “But if he didn’t, someone worse would have.” You blinked. He gave you a small, sad smile.
Jongho was last younger, observant, and with a presence that felt like stone beneath silk. “You’re stronger than you look,” he said quietly. “Don’t let him break you.” You didn’t answer. Because if you spoke, the truth might come spilling out. I’m already cracked.
The reception was winding down fewer strangers, more silence, and far more eyes on you. You stood near a row of white camellias, clutching a glass of untouched wine, barely breathing. Then he appeared beside you. “It’s time,” Seonghwa said, quiet enough that only you heard. “My family wants to speak with you.” You didn’t answer. He didn’t wait for one.
His Mother. Lady Park was standing beneath a paper lantern tree, dressed in a soft jade hanbok that shimmered like water. Her features were refined but not cold, and when she saw you, her entire expression changed. Warm, Gentle, and Surprisingly maternal. “So… you’re our girl,” she said softly, stepping forward.
You were braced for something sharp. Instead, she took your hands in hers. “You must’ve been so scared,” she murmured. “I can only imagine how strange all of this must feel to you.” You blinked. “I—yes. It’s… a lot.” She gave a small, knowing smile. “My son is many things. He’s not good at slow beginnings.”You almost laughed. Almost.
“But he’s loyal,” she added. “And dangerous. And sometimes kind in ways no one sees.” “You’re stronger than I expected. That’s good. He needs someone who doesn’t flinch.” Then she did something no one else had done since you were taken. She hugged you. No theatrics. Just soft arms around your tense frame, and a mother’s calm voice in your ear. “You’re not alone here. Not entirely.” You didn’t know what to say.
His Father. Lord Park stood to the side, swirling a glass of dark liquor, eyes unreadable. He looked at you once. Nodded. “Strong jaw,” he said. You blinked. “Excuse me?” You say confused by the words he chose to use “Your face. You’re not weak. That’ll serve you well here.” He says. You weren’t sure if it was a compliment or a warning. Maybe both. He didn’t speak again.
His Sister. You didn’t notice her until she popped up beside you with a full plate of snacks and the world’s most mischievous grin. “I saved you the only good food they served,” she whispered. You blinked. She shoved a piece of tteok into your hand. “Eat. You look like you haven’t had a real meal since they kidnapped you.”You choked a little.
“I’m Yeona,” she said, linking your arm with hers. “Seonghwa’s sister. Technically. Emotionally? Way cooler.” You didn’t know how to react. She winked. “If you ever wanna run, I know five exits, six secret doors, and which guards take bribes.” “You’re joking… right?”you ask She just smiled. “I’ll let you decide.”
Later That Evening You sat on the balcony alone, hair undone, shoes off, wine glass half-full. For the first time since you arrived here, your body wasn’t clenched in fear.
You didn’t feel safe. But you felt seen. Maybe… maybe that was something. Seonghwa appeared in the doorway. “They liked you,” he said. “Even your father?” You say “That was his version of affection.” You glanced up.
“Your mother… she hugged me.” You say softly “She doesn’t do that for just anyone.” he answered “And your sister?” You asked “If she gave you food, you’re part of the family now. Permanently.” You paused. “That’s not comforting.” Seonghwa smiled just a little. Then turned to leave. “Get some rest. Tomorrow I’m giving you a gift.” “A gift?” You asked “You’ll see.” He says
“Why the hell are we going to a mall?”you say confused “Because I said so,” Seonghwa replied. That was your only warning. Jiwoo squealed with excitement as soon as she heard, spinning in her socks down the hallway. “OHMYGOD YES. I haven’t touched real lip gloss in months. I’m going to buy fifteen.”
“I’m not going,” you muttered. “Yes, you are,” Seonghwa said without looking up from his watch. “You need clothes. You’re not wearing funeral gowns for the rest of your life.” “I like black.”you say “And I like seeing you in things you didn’t fight someone to wear.”
In the car You sat in the back of the black SUV. Seonghwa beside you. Jiwoo in the front seat, feet on the dash, singing along to a girl group like this was a road trip instead of a power play. The windows were tinted. The guards followed in a separate vehicle. Two more were stationed in the mall already. You weren’t escaping.
You knew it. He knew it. But you still glanced at every exit like a plan might suddenly fall into your lap. “Don’t,” Seonghwa said without looking at you. “They’ll shoot you before you hit the street.” “You’re charming,” you muttered. “You’re married. Get used to me.”
The Mall he took you too was packed. You hadn’t seen so many people in weeks. The lights were bright. The air smelled like cinnamon pretzels and perfume samples. Teenagers laughed. A couple held hands by the escalators. Two kids were playing in the fountain and got scolded by their mom. The normalcy was dizzying. You didn’t realize how empty you’d felt until now.
Jiwoo dragged you into a clothing store within seconds. “Okay, okay, hear me out,” she said, holding up a sparkly crop top. “This and the red heels. Boom. Hot girl vengeance.” “I’m not trying to be hot.” You say coldly“You already are,” she said.“Now let’s dress like it.”
You let her shove clothes into your arms, not fighting this time. Not yet. Not here. You tried on a few outfits. Picked some jeans, tops, soft sweaters. Things that didn’t feel like chains.
You stepped out of the dressing room in a simple beige dress, short and sleeveless. Seonghwa, seated casually by the wall, looked up from his phone. Paused. And stared. “Is it too much?” you asked Jiwoo. But he answered.“No,” Seonghwa said. “It’s perfect.”
The Food Court was filled with many people and You didn’t want to eat with him. So Jiwoo filled a tray with bubble tea and spicy tteokbokki and sat with you in the corner booth. Seonghwa sat across from you both, sipping iced Americano like he wasn’t a mafia husband watching his wife eat fish cakes. “Why are you really here?” you asked him, low. “To spend time with you.” “So now you care?” You asked
“No,” he said, lips curling. “I just like keeping you close. Watching you squirm.” “You’re sick.” You say glaring “And you’re still here.” He says Jiwoo made a dramatic choking sound between bites. “Can you two NOT flirt like villains at a high school lunch table? I’m trying to digest.” You glared. Seonghwa smirked.
“Okay this is it,” Jiwoo grinned.She dragged you to the glowing beauty counter like it was a holy altar. “Today, I turn you into a hottie in mascara.”
“I don’t need makeup to be a hottie” you smirked. “Fair. But imagine being hot and bad as hell. That’s unstoppable.” She started dabbing highlighter on your cheekbones while you scowled in the mirror. Seonghwa stood across the store, arms crossed, watching like a hawk as two guards lingered nearby. But for the first time… you didn’t care.
You were laughing. With Jiwoo. With someone who didn’t want to own you or control you. Someone who might actually be your friend. “Hey,” Jiwoo whispered while brushing powder on your jaw. “You know why he brought me to you, right?” “Because I was lonely?” You say confused “Because he trusts me to kill anyone who gets too close.” You blinked surprised. she smiles like nothing. “I may be loud, but I’m trained. Your little bodyguard. And You? You’re the only person he’s ever looked at like you matter.”
Your stomach flipped. “He doesn’t care.” You say determined that he doesn’t “He would’ve killed me a long time ago if he didn’t care about you.”
You were exiting the store when something happened. You caught a glimpse of a man in a cap too still, eyes too alert. You turned, just in time to see the blade glint in the air “SEONGHWA—!” You yelled But Seonghwa had already seen it. He pushed you back, took the hit with a grunt. A silver dagger buried deep in his side. Blood soaked through his white shirt instantly.
The guards tackled the attacker. A another attacker coming towards you this time. Jiwoo without hesitation kicked the attacker back knocking him to the ground and swiftly kicking him in the face knocking him unconscious.
You dropped to Seonghwa’s side, shaking. “Stupid girl,” he muttered through clenched teeth. “Why are you shaking? I’m not dying.” “Shut up,” you whispered “Stop talking like it’s just a scratch—”you scold him “It is.” He inputs
But it wasn’t. Blood poured from the wound, hot and terrifying. And yet all he said wasAre you hurt?” ”What?” You say caught off guard by the question “Are. You. Hurt?” He repeats “No—god, no, but you—” you say “Good.” Then he passed out in your arms.
Later That Night He survived. Of course he did. Three doctors. Private surgery. And a scar that would haunt you forever. You sat beside him in his private room, still in your dress, blood dried on your sleeves. He hadn’t woken yet. Jiwoo brought you tea. She didn’t talk much after that. “He told me once,” she said, quiet, “that there are only two reasons he wouldn’t kill someone who got close.”“Why?” You ask “One because they were useful. Two because they made him feel something he couldn’t understand.” She looked down at her cup. “He doesn’t understand you.”
He woke at midnight. Groggy, Pale, But alive. And the first thing he did? “Check her,” he rasped. “Did anyone touch her?” The guards shook their heads. You were stunned silent. Later that night, after the chaos cooled and the bleeding stopped, he called for you. A black velvet box sat beside him. “What is it?” You questioned “Our rings.” He says “What?” You say confused “Marriage rings. Real ones.” He says.
You stared. Inside were two delicate silver bands, thin and simple. One for him. One for you. Etched with some sort of symbol you didn’t recognize.“You’ll wear it,” he said. “Always.” He says “What if I take it off?” You ask. His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Don’t.”
You slid it on your finger. Something cold pricked your skin for a brief second like a needle under the surface. You gasped. “What the hell—?” “Security,” he said. “So you’re never unmarked again.” You stared at him. He wore his too.
Helloooo 💗 I'm so glad that you're back. I missed A Curved ball from the past sm 🥹🫶 I hope that you would continue that series since that's one of my comfort series here on tumblr. Wishing you all the best 💖
Hi I'm so glad that you are my age. But anyway can I request that you do a yuta x shy jap reader that is a onryo yokai (ghost) and she was born into a yokai family and her family is a big fan of NCT 127, their favourite member is yuta. Yuta also meets her daughter that looks like her and she is a single mom. She also introduced Yuta to her family.
Of course these will be one of my future projects and I will be working on it as a start of now ! ^u^
As Yunho wakes up, he stretches, feeling the slight stiffness in his muscles from the previous day. The early morning light filters through the blinds, casting soft patterns on the walls of his bedroom. He takes a deep breath, mentally preparing for another day of work. After a quick shower, he dresses in his usual attire—comfortable but professional—then heads to the kitchen for a light breakfast. While sipping his coffee, his thoughts wander back to you and Ye Joon. He can’t shake the feeling that there’s something more he needs to uncover, something that’s just out of reach. He tries to focus on the tasks ahead, but memories of the past keep slipping through the cracks. As he grabs his keys and heads out the door, he wonders if today will bring him any closer to understanding the missing pieces of the puzzle that is his old life and the new connections forming in the present. Yunho locks the door behind him and steps outside, the cool morning air waking him up fully. As he walks to his car, he can’t help but glance at his phone, half-expecting a message or call that will somehow bring clarity to his tangled thoughts. But the screen stays dark and silent. On the drive to work, his mind keeps replaying the moments from yesterday—Ye Joon’s proud smile, your distant gaze, and Wooyoung’s endless theories. He grips the steering wheel tighter, trying to shake off the unease that’s settled in his chest. There’s a nagging question in his mind, one that he hasn’t had the courage to voice out loud: What if the truth changes everything? Arriving at the practice field, he forces himself to focus on the present. The kids need him sharp, and he won’t let them down. But as he steps out of the car, the thought lingers—today might not be the day he finds answers, but he’s getting closer, and that both excites and terrifies him. For now, Yunho pushes those worries aside, greeting the team with a smile. But deep down, he knows that the question of who Ye Joon’s father is will eventually have to be answered.
Date: 6 Years Ago
It was one of those lazy Sunday mornings, the kind where time seemed to stretch and the world outside their bedroom didn’t matter. Sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room. The bed was a tangle of blankets and pillows, evidence of a night spent in each other’s arms. Yunho lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling with a satisfied grin on his face, while you were nestled beside him, your head resting on his chest. His fingers traced idle patterns on your arm, the rhythm soothing and familiar. The sound of your soft laughter filled the room as you playfully teased him about his terrible attempt at cooking dinner the night before. “I swear, if I ever let you near a kitchen again, we might just have to live off takeout forever,” you joked, poking him lightly in the side. He chuckled, his deep voice rumbling through his chest. “Hey, I thought burnt pasta was a delicacy in some countries!” “Oh, sure,” you replied with mock seriousness, lifting your head to look at him. “I’ll be sure to book us a trip to wherever that is.” Yunho laughed, pulling you closer and pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I’ll leave the cooking to you, then. But you have to admit, I’m not so bad at making you laugh.” You smiled, your heart swelling with affection as you looked into his eyes. “Yeah, you’re pretty good at that.” For a moment, neither of you said anything, just enjoying the quiet intimacy of the morning. You felt safe and happy, like nothing in the world could touch the little bubble of joy you had created together. Then, out of nowhere, Yunho started tickling you, causing you to burst into uncontrollable laughter. “Yunho! Stop! I can’t breathe!” you gasped between fits of giggles, trying and failing to squirm away from him. He finally relented, laughing as he wrapped his arms around you again. “Okay, okay, I’ll stop. But only because I love that smile of yours too much.”Catching your breath, you looked up at him, your eyes sparkling with happiness. “You’re impossible, you know that?” “And yet, you’re still here,” he teased, his smile softening as he brushed a stray strand of hair from your face. “Yeah,” you whispered, your voice filled with all the love you felt for him. “I’m still here.”
As Yunho sat at his desk, lost in thought and memories of the past, the sound of footsteps approaching broke through his reverie. Before he could fully snap out of his thoughts, a familiar voice called out. “Earth to Yunho!” Wooyoung grinned, waving a cup of coffee in front of his face. “You look like you could use this.” Yunho blinked, pulling himself back to the present. He hadn’t even noticed the time passing. “Thanks, Wooyoung,” he said, taking the coffee gratefully. “You were really zoned out there,” Wooyoung observed, leaning against the desk. “Thinking about someone special?” Yunho sighed, taking a sip of the coffee. The warmth of the drink helped ground him, but the thoughts of you still lingered in the back of his mind. “Yeah…something like that.” Wooyoung raised an eyebrow, clearly interested but sensing that Yunho didn’t want to go into too much detail. Instead, he opted for his usual lighthearted approach. “Well, whoever she is, you better snap out of it and focus, buddy. We’ve got a busy day ahead, and I can’t carry all the charm and good looks around here by myself.” Yunho chuckled despite himself, shaking his head. “You’ve got a point. Let’s get to it.” As they both settled into the day’s tasks, Yunho couldn’t help but feel grateful for Wooyoung’s timing. His friend’s antics might be a little over the top at times, but he always knew how to bring a bit of lightness to even the heaviest of days. And for now, that was exactly what Yunho needed.
At practice, Ye Joon was full of energy. He loved baseball—every throw, every swing, every cheer from his teammates. Today felt different, though. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but he felt even more motivated than usual. As Coach Yunho and Coach Wooyoung gave them tips and instructions, Ye Joon soaked it all in. He wanted to make his mom proud, but there was something about Coach Yunho that made him want to give it his all even more. Maybe it was the way he talked to him, or how he seemed to understand what Ye Joon was thinking without him having to say a word. After a particularly good throw, Coach Wooyoung came over, clapping him on the back. “Nice one, Ye Joon!” he said with a grin. “Hey, by the way, I heard a rumor—you got any secrets you want to share with your old coach?” Ye Joon looked up at him, his face lighting up with a mischievous smile. He put his index finger to his lips and whispered, “It’s a secret, Coach! Only me and Mom know!” Then, with a playful wink, he ran off to join the other kids, leaving Wooyoung laughing behind him. As practice went on, Ye Joon felt the weight of his secret, but in a good way. He knew something special that no one else did—something that made him feel important. And as he looked over at his mom, sitting in the bleachers with a proud smile on her face, he knew that whatever secrets they had, they were safe with her. Ye Joon’s eyes darted to the stands once more, and he spotted his aunt waving excitedly beside his mom. She had come to every practice lately, cheering just as loudly as his mom. He felt even more energized knowing that both of them were there, supporting him. Auntie always brought him snacks after practice, and he could already imagine the treat she’d have waiting today. As he waited for his next turn at bat, he could hear her voice over the crowd. “You got this, Ye Joon!” she called out, her smile as bright as his mom’s. It made him feel like a superstar. When he finally hit another solid shot, sending the ball soaring across the field, he could hear both his mom and aunt celebrating together. They jumped up, high-fiving each other, and Ye Joon couldn’t help but laugh as he rounded the bases. After practice, as he ran toward them, he saw his aunt holding out a bag of his favorite snacks. “Great job, superstar!” she said, ruffling his hair as he took the bag. “Thanks, Auntie!” Ye Joon beamed, feeling on top of the world with both his mom and aunt there to cheer him on. As practice wrapped up, all the parents and children gathered near the field. The air buzzed with excitement as Wooyoung and the other coaches stepped forward, calling everyone’s attention.
“Alright, everyone!” Wooyoung began, clapping his hands to quiet the chatter. “Listen up, because we’ve got some exciting news. Next week, we have a big game coming up. And if we win, guess what?” He paused, grinning as the kids leaned in closer, their eyes wide with anticipation. “We get to go on a trip!” The kids erupted in cheers, their faces lighting up with excitement. Ye Joon’s eyes grew wide as he looked up at his mom and aunt, who smiled back at him, just as thrilled. The idea of a team trip added an extra layer of motivation for everyone.“We don’t know where we’re going yet,” one of the other coaches added with a wink, “but I promise it’ll be something special. So, make sure you’re all practicing hard this week!” The parents exchanged amused glances, some already discussing the logistics of the possible trip. The kids, meanwhile, were buzzing with energy, talking about how they were going to train even harder to ensure the win. Ye Joon looked up at his mom, tugging at her sleeve. “Mom, do you think we’ll win?” he asked, his voice filled with excitement and determination. She smiled down at him, ruffling his hair. “I know you’ll do your best, Joonie. And no matter what, we’ll be there cheering you on.” As Yunho observed the interaction between Ye Joon and you, he couldn’t help but smile. The way Ye Joon’s face lit up with excitement, and the warmth in your eyes as you encouraged him, stirred something deep inside Yunho. It was a scene that felt both familiar and distant—like a glimpse into a life he once imagined but never fully had. Seeing you with Ye Joon, your bond so natural and strong, brought back memories of when things were simpler between the two of you. For a moment, all the worries, questions, and uncertainties faded away, replaced by the quiet contentment of watching this small, precious moment unfold. Yunho’s smile lingered as he turned his attention back to the kids, his heart feeling a little lighter yet still weighed down with what could have been.
As the field cleared out and the other parents and children began to leave, Yunho lingered, organizing the last of the equipment. He overheard two moms standing near the bleachers, their conversation shifting to you. “Did you hear about Y/N?” one of them said, her tone laden with gossip. “I heard she might be messing around, and some say she might not even know who Ye Joon’s real father is. There’s even a rumor that Ye Joon could be her sister’s child.” The other mom nodded in agreement. “It’s just strange how private she is. Maybe she’s hiding something. It wouldn’t be the first time someone’s pretended to be something they’re not.” The remarks stung, but Yunho’s concern for you and Ye Joon overpowered his initial shock. He walked up to them, his expression serious. “Excuse me,” he said firmly, “but it’s not okay to talk about someone like that. Ye Joon deserves to have his family’s privacy respected, and you have no right to spread such rumors. For all you know, Ye Joon’s father could be someone who works hard to support him and Y/N.”
The two women glanced at each other, taken aback. One of them asked, “Are you the father, then?” Yunho was momentarily speechless, caught off guard by the direct question. He quickly shook his head. “No, I’m not.” The woman smirked. “That’s what I thought,” she said, her tone dripping with skepticism. Yunho felt a mix of frustration and sadness. “I don’t want to hear any more of this. It’s not acceptable to gossip about someone’s private life. You should treat others with the same respect you’d want for yourself. Please don’t let this happen again.” Seeing the gravity in Yunho’s demeanor, the women reluctantly agreed. They nodded, mumbling apologies, and quickly walked away. Yunho watched them go, feeling a mix of relief and lingering frustration. He hoped that by standing up for you, he had done something positive—something that might start to mend the distance between him and the life he had left behind.
As the weekend rolled around, you, Ye Joon, and your sister decided to tackle the grocery shopping together. The aisles were bustling with shoppers, and the three of you navigated the crowded space, chatting and picking out items for the week. In the midst of your shopping, Yunho happened to walk into the same grocery store. As he made his way through the aisles, he spotted you and your sister a few rows over. Just as he was about to approach and say hello, a tall man with a warm smile and an easy demeanor came up to you.
“Hey, Ye Joon! Hi, Y/N! Hi, Jihyun!” the man greeted, his voice cheerful. Ye Joon ran up to him with excitement. “Mingi!” he exclaimed, hugging the man tightly. Yunho stopped in his tracks, his curiosity piqued. He watched as Mingi interacted with you and your sister, noting the friendly and familiar nature of their conversation. The way Ye Joon clung to Mingi and the ease with which Mingi spoke to you gave Yunho pause. As Yunho observed from a distance, he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy. He noticed how Mingi seemed to be an important figure in Ye Joon’s life, though Yunho couldn’t quite piece together the exact relationship. The affectionate interaction between Mingi and Ye Joon affection towards each other was very questionable like their were a son and father duo. Yunho’s thoughts swirled with questions and unspoken regrets. As he continued to watch from afar, he felt an increasing sense of longing and a subtle pang of envy. The sight of Mingi’s easy rapport with you and Ye Joon only deepened Yunho’s feelings of what could have been, leaving him to reflect on his choices and the path his life had taken.
Yunho’s heart ached with a blend of envy and regret as he watched the interaction between you, Ye Joon, and Mingi. From his hidden spot, he observed Mingi’s effortless ease with your family, the way Ye Joon beamed at him, and how comfortable and natural everything seemed. Mingi’s presence brought a warmth to the moment that Yunho felt he had missed out on.He saw how Mingi gently guided Ye Joon through the grocery store aisles, making him laugh with playful banter. The sight of you and your sister chatting with Mingi, clearly at ease and familiar with him, only deepened Yunho’s sense of exclusion. He envied the way Mingi seemed to fit into your lives so seamlessly, providing a comfort and stability that Yunho felt he had failed to offer. The affectionate way Ye Joon interacted with Mingi, calling him by name and hugging him with genuine affection, tugged at Yunho’s heart. It made him question his own choices and the opportunities he had lost. He couldn’t help but wonder if he had been too late, if there was still a place for him in your lives. As Mingi said his goodbyes and left, Yunho remained behind, lost in thought. The sight of you and Ye Joon walking away together, content and happy, left him grappling with a deep sense of regret. He envied the relationship between Mingi and you, feeling the sting of missed moments and wondering if he could ever bridge the gap that had grown between him and the family he had once hoped to have. With game day 1 day away, the atmosphere becomes electric. Yunho can’t shake the feeling that this game could change everything—for the team, for Ye Joon, and perhaps for his own life as well. He notices how Mingi seems more integrated into your life, and the envy he feels gnaws at him, a constant reminder of what he lost. Every time he sees Ye Joon practicing, he can’t help but wonder about the connection between you, your son, and Mingi.
Your sister, always the supportive one, keeps things light-hearted, but even she can sense the unspoken tension. You find yourself caught between the excitement of the upcoming game and the unresolved emotions that seem to bubble up whenever Yunho is around. Every interaction, every glance exchanged, seems to carry a weight that wasn’t there before. As the days tick by, Yunho wrestles with whether to finally address the questions that have been eating away at him. He knows he needs to focus on the team, but the lines between his personal and professional life blur more and more with each practice. The closer the game gets, the more Yunho realizes that he’s not just fighting for a win on the field—he’s fighting for clarity, closure, and perhaps a second chance. After practice, Ye Joon is full of energy, despite the long session. His little legs move quickly as he runs toward you with a wide grin on his face. “Mama, did you see me? I hit the ball really far today!” he exclaims, his excitement contagious. You smile warmly, crouching down to his level. “I saw, baby! You did amazing. You’re getting better every day.” His aunt ruffles his hair playfully, adding, “You’re going to be a star, Ye Joon. Just like your favorite player!” Ye Joon beams, his confidence soaring. As you all gather his things and prepare to head home, you notice how he can’t stop talking about the upcoming game. “If we win, we get to go on a trip! Coach Wooyoung said so!” he says excitedly, bouncing on his toes. As you buckle him into his seat, you can’t help but smile at his enthusiasm. “We’ll be cheering for you the loudest,” you promise, giving him a kiss on the forehead. On the way home, Ye Joon chatters non-stop about practice, the game, and even Mingi, who has been helping him with some extra practice sessions. His excitement is infectious, and by the time you reach home, you can’t wait to see him shine on game day. At dinner, the atmosphere is cozy and filled with warmth as you, Ye Joon, and your sister sit around the table. The scent of the meal fills the air, and the clinking of utensils is accompanied by light-hearted conversation. Ye Joon excitedly recounts his practice, his voice animated as he talks about his friends and the upcoming game.
Your sister smiles as she listens, occasionally chiming in with a joke or question, making Ye Joon laugh. You can’t help but feel a sense of contentment, watching your little family interact so naturally. After dinner, you and your sister clear the table, while Ye Joon goes to grab his favorite bedtime story. Once the kitchen is clean, you move into the evening routine—preparing Ye Joon for bed. He eagerly brushes his teeth, and you help him into his pajamas, all while your sister tidies up his room. As you tuck him in, Ye Joon pulls out the storybook, holding it up with a sleepy smile. “Can you read it to me, Mama?” he asks softly, his eyes already drooping. You sit beside him, smoothing his hair as you read aloud. Your sister sits nearby, adding funny voices to the characters, making Ye Joon giggle. Soon, his laughter fades, replaced by the steady rhythm of his breathing as he drifts off to sleep. Once he’s settled, you and your sister quietly step out of the room, closing the door softly behind you. The day has been long, but the moments spent with your family bring a sense of peace as you both prepare for the night ahead.
As you prepare yourself for bed, your thoughts drift back to the old times with Yunho. Memories flood your mind—his laughter, the way he used to look at you, the moments you shared. Those days felt so distant now, yet still so close in your heart. You sigh as you slip into your pajamas, staring at your reflection in the mirror. The thought of telling Yunho the truth about Ye Joon crosses your mind, lingering there for longer than usual. Maybe he deserves to know. Maybe it’s time to stop hiding and give him the chance to be a part of your son’s life. But as you focus on that idea, doubt creeps in. What if he’s angry? What if he can’t forgive you for keeping such a huge secret from him all these years? The thought of Yunho’s possible reaction—his hurt, his anger—makes your chest tighten. You pause, letting out a shaky breath. The risk feels too great. The fear of losing what little peace you’ve found outweighs the hope of a happy reunion. No, you can’t tell him—not now. Maybe not ever. With a heavy heart, you crawl into bed, pulling the blankets over yourself. As you close your eyes, you try to push the thoughts away, but Yunho’s face lingers in your mind. Sleep doesn’t come easily, and when it does, it’s filled with dreams of what could have been and what may never be.
The morning of game day arrives with a mix of excitement and nerves in the air. Ye Joon wakes up early, buzzing with energy. As soon as he opens his eyes, he’s already thinking about the game, imagining himself on the field, ready to make his big plays. You wake up to the sound of him rustling around in his room. When you enter, you find him already half-dressed in his uniform, struggling with his socks, a determined look on his face. You can’t help but smile at his enthusiasm. “Ready for the big game, champ?” you ask, leaning against the doorframe. Ye Joon looks up, his eyes shining with excitement. “I’m gonna hit the ball so hard today, Mom! Just like Coach Yunho taught me!” You laugh softly and help him with his socks, making sure his uniform is all set. After a quick breakfast, you pack his practice bag with water, snacks, and his glove, double-checking that everything is in place. As the two of you head out the door, your sister joins you, carrying a small cooler with snacks for later. The morning sun is bright, and the crisp air feels refreshing. Ye Joon’s excitement is contagious, and you find yourself feeling optimistic about the day ahead. In the car, Ye Joon talks nonstop about the game, his strategy, and how he plans to impress everyone. You listen, smiling at his determination, and give him a few encouraging words. When you arrive at the field, it’s already bustling with parents, coaches, and kids. Ye Joon hops out of the car, practically bouncing with excitement. You watch as he runs ahead, ready to join his teammates, your heart swelling with pride. As you make your way to the bleachers, you spot Yunho talking with Wooyoung, both of them looking focused and ready for the day. When Yunho catches sight of Ye Joon, a smile spreads across his face, and he waves at your son, who eagerly waves back before joining his friends. The game day has officially begun, and you can’t help but feel a mix of pride and nerves as you take your seat, ready to watch Ye Joon give it his all.
As the game progresses, the scores remain tied, and the tension on the field is palpable. Ye Joon steps up to the plate, determination in his eyes. But just as the pitcher winds up, something feels off. The ball comes hurtling toward Ye Joon, not at the bat, but at his thigh. The painful thud echoes through the field, and Ye Joon stumbles back, clutching his leg. A collective gasp rises from the crowd as you shoot up from your seat, making your way down to the field. Ye Joon, furious, prepares to retaliate, but before he can, the other coach intervenes, pushing him back. "Stop right there, kid. You need to calm down," the coach orders, his voice stern. Before you can even reach them, Yunho steps in between Ye Joon and the opposing coach. "Keep your hands off him," Yunho says, his voice firm. "Your player hit him on purpose—and mocked ye joon by sticking his tongue out at him"
The other coach glares at Yunho, his voice rising. "Are you the father of this kid? Because if you're not, maybe you should step back and let the parents handle it." Yunho opens his mouth to reply, but just as he's about to speak, you arrive, stepping in front of both men. "I’m Ye Joon's mother," you say, your voice steady but full of controlled anger. "And I don’t appreciate anyone putting their hands on my son. That pitch was deliberate, and your player owes him an apology." The other coach sneers, refusing to back down. "Maybe if you taught him to handle the game without causing a scene, we wouldn’t be here."
You cross your arms, unwavering. "My son wasn’t the one who threw that ball out of spite. Your player needs to learn that sportsmanship matters." Yunho nods in agreement, stepping beside you. "There’s a difference between a mistake and intent. This wasn’t an accident—it was intentional." The coach narrows his eyes at Yunho, still defiant. "A coach, huh? Maybe teach your team to take some heat instead of running to his mom every time." You take another step forward, your voice firm. "This isn’t about taking the heat. It’s about respect. Your player crossed the line, and you're making excuses for him." After a few more moments of tense back-and-forth, the opposing coach realizes he's outmatched. With a huff, he raises his hands. "Fine. Let’s just get back to the game." You give Ye Joon one last reassuring look before heading back to your seat, knowing that, despite everything, your son is ready to finish the game. Meanwhile, Yunho stays on the field a moment longer, his eyes lingering on you and Ye Joon.
Even after the argument and Ye Joon’s minor injury, his team won the game and the trip to wherever they wanted to go. The celebration was lively, and you were joyfully cheering with Ye Joon. As the excitement continued, your sister pulled you aside, her tone serious. “You need to tell Yunho the truth,” she urged. “He needs to know that Ye Joon is his son. It’s the right thing to do.”You were about to reply when a sudden crash interrupted you. Two cups of water had fallen, their contents splashing onto the floor. Looking up, you saw Yunho standing a few feet away, his face a mix of shock, disappointment, and heartbreak.
He took a step forward, his voice trembling slightly. “Is it true? Am I… am I Ye Joon’s father?”
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