—Nam-gyu with a girlfriend younger than him (4 years difference, all legal)
˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ is always on the lookout for anyone who disrespects you or tries to take advantage of you. His mere glance is enough to make others back away.
˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ He tells you “you’re such a brat” in a mocking tone, but inside, he’s touched by your freshness and energy.
˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ When you talk about your achievements or goals, he doesn’t show it with sweet words, but rather smiles sideways or nods, as if to say, “That’s my girl.”
˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ He doesn’t like seeing you surrounded by boys your age. He always blurts out phrases like:
—“They have nothing to offer you. Stay with me.”
˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ Although he’s rude, he lets his guard down with you. He might stroke your hair while you sleep or let you wear his clothes without complaining.
˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ He enjoys guiding you through new experiences, from music to adult life. He likes feeling like he's "showing you the way."
˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ He knows the age difference matters, so he's gentle with you, but without losing his intense side. He sets the pace and makes sure you enjoy it as much as he does.
˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ He loves to emphasize that you're "his" and that, even though you're younger, you choose him. This gives him a huge ego boost.
˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ Sometimes he makes you feel small with his jokes:
—"You still look like a little girl… but look at you, all mine in bed."
˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ Although he's possessive, he likes you to be mature and not too dependent on him. He's turned on by the fact that you know how to stand up to him.
Summary: after the island explodes, Junho comes back home but he still isn't over the games. You get divorced, and then the baby appears... he must assume his new responsibility.
TW: kinda angst, death of secondary character, mention of divorce, mention of miscarriage, single father Junho, broken couple.
Light smut at the end.
The games are over.
The games are over.
The games are over.
So why does he feel so miserable?
It’s been maybe five months, Junho wanders through the apartment, lost in his mind, his life adrift. He had spent years on a meaningless mission, in a fatal outcome that had cost him his job and his marriage. He checks his phone, hoping for a message from you, but his inbox is full of other trivialities: his boss offering him a position, his mother asking if he’s eaten in the past few days, his lawyer sending the final details of the divorce.
He puts on jeans and a jacket, grabs an umbrella, and leaves the apartment, the door clicking in the hallway, followed by the sound of your own door’s mechanisms syncing with his. He shivers at the sound of your steps, your feet dragging across the polished floor, and the rustle of items in your bag as you sling it over your shoulder.
You don’t say anything; words have no meaning, any attempt to share even a gesture was carried away by the wind of the past month. Junho walks beside you in the hallway, far enough not to bother you, but close enough to make you feel his presence, his scent, his desperation. The elevator opens in front of both of you, the doors closing, stifling any trace of hope in the tiny cabin, though Junho tries to start a conversation, you look away, making your stance clear.
you wait for the same bus at the stop; Junho had to get rid of his car after repeatedly refusing a regular job with the police, stubbornness taking its toll, though he doesn’t mind at all, any everyday problem is trivial to him after all he’s seen. you get on the bus, both standing; you lean on a pole, staring out the window while he watches you. Everything else seems insignificant, except you, strictly essential to him.
He refuses to look at you as a stranger, to act in a dance he doesn’t want to be part of, ignoring everything that happened between both of you, no, everything he put you through. He swallows hard, his throat burning with all the unsaid things stuck inside, all the apologies repeated to exhaustion.
His apartment feels empty, always his, but you had become substantial in recent years, and it felt incomplete without you. He reads carefully the paper in his hands; the annulled marriage is a fact, a painful truth, a reminder of all his failures as a husband and lover. Perhaps it had been too much, perhaps even after finally finding Inho he had grown more distant, almost traumatized by the helplessness of the situation. Junho sought answers, even after the island explosion, even after his brother refused contact, he remained stubborn, unwilling to let it all go. Not even Gihun’s death had stopped him; it had only made things worse.
Depression, disappointment, his hands tied, he said it often, ignoring his duties at home, barely returning at night, locked in his own world of enigmas, much worse than before. You didn’t even see him at breakfast or dinner; the space beside you empty in the morning, with no explanation, because it was implied, you knew what he was doing, who he was looking for. He chased ghosts already distant, denying reality, clinging to the few clues and companions left. And then his mother’s death, the last remnant of his broken family.
“I have nothing left,” Junho said one afternoon, melancholy, trapped in his own misery. Your heart shrinks, do you mean nothing to him?
“You have me,” you stroked his shoulder, but he seemed not to notice; you had become invisible to him, and that created a deep wound.
You tried to be patient when the marriage seemed to fall apart, careful in how you spoke, showing him he still had a life beyond that perverse circus of millionaires; you talk about your work, his, the house, even starting a family -but Junho didn’t want children, he refuses a normal life, because he doesn’t deserve it, not after his ineptitudes, not after letting his own family collapse. But you longed for it, wanting to be part of a project that reminded you both that your world wasn’t so bad if the right choices were made. You desperately wished for a small sign of mutual love, something to focus on the truly important, whatever that was, something that would help him finally forget about the games and his brother, something to ease his obsession and past resentment.
You hadn’t thought about it before; the idea of having children had often scared you, the responsibility overwhelming, but after your promotion at work and the birth of your best friend’s child, your perspective changed, you saw an opportunity to save your marriage, started seeing Junho differently, less as a lover, more as a partner.
You had supported each other over the years, and the idea seemed tempting, only if it were with him. But he flatly refused, and that only worsened the invisible tension between you, especially after the sharp pain in your abdomen one afternoon. You ended up in a hospital, you had had a miscarriage, and didn’t even know you were pregnant… and you thought your child was gone because its father didn’t want it, because you were too disappointed in his refusal, in his self-pity.
You had patience, maybe too much; finally you had broken, like him, but unlike Junho, you couldn’t rely on someone fully sane.
The games had done their job: breaking everyone involved, and this time, in one way or another, it had caught you too. The divorce had been your final move, and he is suffering the final blow, lying on his worn sofa, in his empty apartment, and maybe this would bring him back to reality, being something like his last chance to regain sanity.
******
A month later, routine has descended upon Junho again, the harsh reality falling on his shoulders, unemployed, with Woosik in his car after leaving prison, ideas for an association. He smiles at the thought; maybe new horizons could bring him some stability. He feels happy, or at least not so miserable, sensing some order forming in his life, rebuilding all that was broken. He had even exchanged a few words with you in the city without being too awkward; distance had healed something between you, especially since you moved out of the building.
But like a curse, when he returns to his apartment the world falls on him again, because Inho was very good with jokes, or very cruel with gifts. A crib in his apartment, the baby inside with a card with her name. Merciless and in very poor taste, his brother is a monster, as you had once said. And how brutal irony can be, because at least Inho could have left the baby with his ex-sister-in-law, you, in the hands of someone who wanted children. Thousands of doubts in his mind, storms of possible outcomes, situations where his brother might have thought this was a good idea. The card. The ATM screen reveals the card’s amount is huge, enough to support the baby. And yet, he feels it’s an excessive burden; maybe if his mother were alive she’d know what to do, maybe she herself would have cared for the girl if she thought she was Inho’s.
He returns to the apartment; the baby looks at him with serene eyes, lips pressed, hands fluttering delicately when she sees him, letting out a laugh. Did Inho take care of her all this time and remind her of him? Why would he stay with player 222’s daughter? How would he pass her off as his… niece? He sits on the sofa, elbows on knees, hands clasped behind his neck, exasperated and lost. He has aged too much in the past year; this girl could be his ruin.
A whimper pulls him from his thoughts, the baby stirs in the crib, and Junho knows what he needs. Inho, though a bastard, is careful, leaving countless supplies in a couple of suitcases. The bottle is ready, but Junho doesn’t know if the taste is right, if the temperature is correct, the texture… How did Inho know all this? Maybe because he cared for him when he was born, or had help from one of his twisted henchmen. A YouTube tutorial could save him. Junho isn’t dumb, just distracted, maybe a bit biased on family matters, but this goes beyond his understanding, his mundane daily life -it’s crucial, maybe permanent.
At night, he fears the worst, because he sleeps heavily, because his treatment has helped with the nightmares that stole sleep from both of you over the years, because the timing is off with the events of his life. He rocks the baby in the crib, playing a lullaby on his phone, praying she falls asleep. And she does, smiling as her eyes close, chest rising and falling with deep breaths. He lies on his bed, crib still in motion beside him. He stares at the ceiling, hands on his chest, holding his phone, thinking about writing to you, asking for help, but what would you say after all these months apart? Maybe you’re even seeing someone, and the thought gnaws at his heart. Vagabond thoughts won’t leave him; this isn’t the life he imagined, not the life he had worked for years to achieve.
It shouldn’t be this way; everything had collapsed long ago, maybe since his sister-in-law had fallen ill, the butterfly effect that broke his family, following Inho’s steps, now destroying his own marriage -a precise pattern of destruction among the Hwang brothers. He closes his eyes tightly, realizing he has nothing left, no mother, brother, wife, or job. Friends? A few remain. Apartment, perfect condition, money… money. He opens his eyes abruptly and sits up; maybe Inho isn’t as bad as he thinks. Junho feels that hope he had years ago, the same that made him believe his brother would leave the past behind to rebuild his life, because he could have simply gotten rid of the baby, left her in an orphanage, or worse, but he had chosen to leave her in someone’s care, in his. Inho recognized his abilities, his intrinsic sensitivity, having seen him grow. And better yet, the card was in his name... was he now the official guardian of the girl?
Maybe his conjectures are wrong, maybe Inho had thought in the coldest, most malicious way possible, and yet he is optimistic, knowing that the right thing is to take care of the baby, guide her life properly. Make the decisions that would finally allow him to move forward, as you had demanded before.
He would do it; the decision was made.
*****
He is smart, it runs in his blood; he immerses himself in books, programs, videos on childcare, starts his association with Woosik, and tells him about the girl. It’s sudden, but he leaves no room for doubts, carrying the girl everywhere in a baby carrier against his chest while reading about nutrition and educational programs. He has cases, Woosik will handle them, and if he cannot, retired detective Hwang Junho will, returning as soon as possible to see his girl, his niece Minji, as he introduces her to everyone.
Time passes, Minji grows, now goes to kindergarten… and calls him “dad.” Junho’s heart melts the first time she does, as she stretches her arms for a hug. She is stubborn, like him, or like her parents, he spent years investigating them, trying to weave a credible story for when Minji would grow up, though obstacles were overwhelming, confronting them too often to be random. Inho must be behind this, but he doesn’t care, not when he has to fold girl’s clothes and arrange stuffed animals in a very pink room.
Work goes well, and Minji grows up healthy, perhaps too assertive and clever for her age, but he doesn’t worry about it; he doesn’t wish to mold her in his image, preferring to discover what kind of person his daughter could become with proper preparation, with all the money available for her education and development. He has become a bit paranoid thinking about her going to preschool. At four years old, away from home and him, he wonders if he could handle it, and is surprised when Minji lets go of his hand upon seeing the colorful tables in her classroom. Perhaps it’s not her who is affected by the new stage.
He is the single father in the classroom, the attractive young man with long silky hair, and some teachers try to pair him with a few single mothers, but he subtly refuses, inventing excuses, doing so politely enough that it doesn’t bother them. He’s the typical dad who irons Minji’s clothes, prepares special meals, and leaves her hair in perfectly styled pigtails adorned with colorful accessories. He picks her up at the end of the day and greets her with kisses on the head while she tells him about her day and he carries her in his arms.
Junho forgets she’s not his, doing so when he sees her enjoying the same food as him, scratching her nose the same way, or laughing when playing with other children at the park. Although a little tricky, he has seen her inherit traits from that hidden side of her past, from poor souls caught in situations far removed from him, almost a bad dream.
One day he waits for Minji outside school, hands in his coat rubbing near his mouth as he exhales warm breath forming fine smoke. He should buy her another coat, he thinks while combing his hair back, but his skin suddenly tingles; his heart is far more perceptive than expected. Breath catches in his throat, all sounds around him dissipate, the crackling of falling snow stops for those steps, the way she walks, her scent, each step closer, and suddenly, a subtle brush of fabric against fabric, the coats meeting first. Junho is stunned, it’s a vision; he refuses to believe what he sees is real.
The laughter, he hears it, it’s your laughter, and he sees you from behind, your hair, your figure, your walk. How long had it been? He had cut contact since the divorce and hadn’t bothered looking for you, not after Minji arrived. His heart tightens as he sees the small boy running into your arms, being held close, kisses pressed on his chubby cheeks.
“Did you miss me?” you ask the little one, but it’s Junho who answers in his mind: with all my soul, with all my being. But the trance fades as he hears Minji running to him, calling “appa,” throwing herself into his arms.
“Appa, I want ice cream,” she says enthusiastically.
“Now? It’s too cold for that, are you crazy?” Junho holds Minji’s cheeks in his hands, and they both laugh heartily.
“Junho?” your voice feels like it pierces a wound you thought had healed, the heat growing in his chest, warmth rising to his ears. He lifts his gaze to meet yours, you look at him with your head tilted and the child by your side.
Junho swallows hard, standing, holding Minji’s hand, caressing her back as if it anchors him to sanity. He says your name, his throat burning from years lost without saying it, evoking a feeling only habit could have created.
“Good to see you,” you say, tone casual, masking a bubbling enthusiasm, “I didn’t know you had a daughter.”
“Minji,” Junho says, waving his daughter’s hand, which bows politely, as well-mannered as him.
“Yukyu,” you introduce the boy, who greets the same way.
Junho’s heart melts, moved to see that you’ve moved on with your life, but it hurts to know it was without him. He stops at your face, the mature features of your cheeks, the lively eyes, and your lips, what he would give for a kiss from you… your hand… no ring. He looks at you curiously, and you seem to notice, still knowing how to read his face.
“He’s Gaeul’s, my friend from the restaurant, remember her?” your voice shows sympathy.
“Yes, of course, I recognize the smile; how is she?” Junho feels he’s regained his breath, his soul, his sanity.
“Wonderful, expecting her second child, I help with Yukyu.”
“And you, how are you?” the question conveys more than formality, and Junho doesn’t bother hiding his emotions.
“I’m fine,” you say, his serenity pleasing, yet the miserable heart beats in agony, evoking sensations thought lost. You have so much to talk about, so many doubts, so many unfinished matters… but he has a daughter; she has called him dad, and it breaks your heart knowing he gave someone else the chance he didn’t give you.
“It was good to see you, Junho,” you decide to cut ties with him because you cannot have feelings for a married man, even if you were his first wife and…
“I hope to see you again,” Junho extends his left hand, no ring, no trace of one, you meet his gaze and see him whisper, “it’s complicated.”
******
You expect everything, a one-night stand story, a fleeting relationship that left him abandoned with a daughter, but you do not expect the real story. You look at the photos on the living room table, new ones mixed with old, Minji at various birthdays with Junho and some friends you assume are from work.
“Are you working?” you ask, holding the photo in your hands, Minji’s third birthday.
“I have my own agency; it’s going well,” Junho replies while stirring something in a pot.
“I can see that,” you comment, noticing the furniture in the house, Minji’s high-quality clothes, even the school, which you know from your friend isn’t cheap. You place the frame back on the table and focus on one, the golden frame with floral engravings at the corners, the same that held your wedding photo, now keeping Minji’s first birthday. You let out a deep sigh, melancholy again; it had been long since you felt such deep emotions.
You turn to Junho, still moving around the kitchen; his hair slightly longer, shoulders broader, fit, and still agile. You don’t want to think about his physique, the memory of his hair between your fingers, or the width of his shoulders covering you in deep embraces. So you turn your gaze back to the photos, all the years un-lived, his smile widening each year, so evident that you even wonder if it was you who held him back. There are photos of his mother, friends, Inho, even the damn brother still has a space in Junho’s life while you don’t, erased like a ghost.
“Are you staying for lunch?” Junho asks, placing a tray in front of Minji.
“I wouldn’t want to intrude,” you say, but he doesn’t even look at you, absorbed in setting the table, arranging the chopsticks and spoons.
“Don’t worry, we like to eat together; sometimes we have lunch or dinner with Lu.”
“Lu?” you ask, and Junho looks at you with a wide smile.
“The neighbor across, she’s about 60 with a dog Minji plays with a lot; she taught me to cook some things,” he says, and you smile at the irony -another person in your apartment helping Junho solve his problems, another helping hand.
You sit at the table; good grandmother’s soup cannot be refused, but you do so with other intentions, because deep down, you take some pleasure in seeing Junho live a normal life. He stirs Minji’s soup while talking to her, clearly, as if she were an adult, yet delicate in his movements, like a beautiful porcelain doll, and she seems like one. Big eyes, round nose, perfectly groomed hair, rosy cheeks, very healthy. Junho had become a good father, and that pains you, the misery of not having been part of his transition.
The soup is good; you eat while watching Minji, and Junho eats while looking at you, occasionally at his daughter. The mind is treacherous, memory greedy, because he wants to carry this picture with him for the rest of his life: his daughter and his wife, sitting at a table on any dinner, a family formed by chance. But you weren’t his; you had long ceased to be, and yet it seemed all those years had blurred, lost time meaning nothing, not with you at that table. An impulse, a fire in his chest that doesn’t cease, growing as he watches you interact with Minji, or return a glance.
He admits it, he misses you, had done so for years; the emptiness he felt he could ignore, at least until you returned to him, so casually, so naturally, so destined for him, for the new version you deserved. He wouldn’t let you go, wouldn’t fail, but… would you accept him? Doubts continue as you wash the dishes, a reminder of the shared life. Junho watches you from the corner of his eye while you dry the dishes, the warmth of your presence, the closeness of your being, growing need, vitality stolen and reclaimed.
“It’s late,” you say, kitchen clean, Minji asleep, no excuses left to stay in that house, not even looking for them… or are you?
“I’ll take you,” Junho offers, almost too enthusiastically.
“I called a taxi, don’t worry.”
“At least let me walk you down,” Junho grabs your coats, hands you yours, the light touch sending shivers through you, noticing how strange his touch feels, and how slowly familiarity returns.
The sidewalk is cold, snow piled on the surface, you watching the ground, your phone occasionally, Junho’s eyes on you. Both silent. Nothing left to say, doubts resolved, story told, cycle closed (not really).
“I’d like to see you again,” says Junho, soft gaze, dark eyes on you, lips a line containing uncertainty.
“Me too,” you whisper, unsure but excited, without even looking at him.
Junho’s fingers lift your chin, directing your face to him, to his serene features framed by black strands, snow falling lightly on his forehead. For a moment, everything silences, time stops, the light is on him, the moon illuminating both of you, in that small intimate moment, in a bubble of unspoken things, contained desires. Junho watches you with substantial devotion, anxious for more, so this encounter isn’t fleeting, to have more of these moments, more opportunities, more… closure, or maybe a restart.
“I ruined you,” he says, his fingers still holding your chin, thumb brushing the curve of your lip, “let me rebuild you.”
It’s close and familiar, the touch, the words, the intention, memories unearthed, forgotten sensations, the rush of your mind and stomach about to overflow. There’s pleading in his voice, vehemence in his gaze, defeat and a spark of courage, a nascent glimpse of the Junho you had known years ago, patching the doomed man you had married, returning you to the one you fell in love with. Hope, love, all contained in a simple gesture, in Junho’s closeness. Distance shrinks as he moves toward you, his lips finding your forehead in a warm kiss, a token of latent affection, of love he never stopped feeling for you.
You sink into his chest, into an embrace that dissolves all doubts, dissipating the twisted past that had separated you. The scent of his neck is familiar, smells like home, love, commitment, lost nights, and vanished kisses. Junho’s hands cling to your body, your figure enclosed in his arms. Both know what it means: mutual acceptance, the desire to stay together.
******
Minji adapts easily, having seen old photos of your wedding; you were never just “dad’s friend,” simply the wife who returned home, the woman in all the hidden photos in her father’s closet. You get used to this life, to the secrets to keep, to Minji’s questions, to doubts about her origin… to the fact that Junho’s brother might be wandering nearby, watching his actions. The games may have ended, but their consequences remained, in the form of a small girl full of enthusiasm. And you had learned to live with it, with the little reminder that amidst chaos, calm comes suddenly, unexpectedly, a vision of a hopeful future.
You hold Minji’s hand, Junho holds the other, the three of you walking along the sidewalk. You hear his laughter, now constant, music to your ears and a treat for the heart. You watch him, fulfilled, serene, without a trace of the fragmented man he used to be. You sit on a bench while letting Minji play with some children. Junho rests his hand on your thigh, the ring shining on his ring finger, his wide smile as he looks at you.
“No,” you say before he can start.
“You know how happy we’d make her,” he insists, fingers digging lightly through the fabric of your clothes.
“If we have one now, she’ll be six years older than her brother,” you reply. Junho has insisted all week on having a child, one of both of you, supposedly Minji’s idea of wanting a sibling.
“And what of that? Inho and I have a big age difference.”
“You Hwangs aren’t a good reference for sibling relationships.”
“Before everything, he was cool; he taught me many things.”
“He left you a six-month-old baby…”
“With a lot of money.”
“A bullet wound…”
“After I left one myself.”
No way around it, and you know it, Junho is stubborn, obsessive, which is why he hid your contraceptives, and you’re sure the perforated condoms are his doing. But you don’t insist, deciding to ignore it, pretending he isn’t there, pretending he doesn’t touch you too much while you search for food in the fridge, pretending his trivial excuse to shower with you is real, pretending he really had a bad day and needs extra care tonight, pretending he really slept poorly the night before so you can do it quickly in the morning and relieve his stress. Pretending to have your period so you could have a break…
“Minji has a sleepover tonight,” Junho says, and your blood runs cold; you look at him, recognizing that enthusiastic gaze, like a virgin on graduation night.
******
Empty house.
You slip under the sheets as Junho enters the room, turns off the light, and approaches you, kissing your shoulder, your neck, his hand slipping under the sheets, beneath your pajamas, between your legs.
“I’m on my period,” you say.
“Liar,” he whispers, biting your earlobe, you finished a week ago.
“Are you… following my schedule?” the words catch in your throat as you feel his warm hand sliding the fabric of your pants, his breath heating the angle of your neck, “Junho,” you push him away, perhaps too strongly for foreplay. He straightens, seeking your gaze. You shake your head, looking aside, covering yourself with the sheet.
“Are you okay?” Junho caresses your cheek.
“What if we lose it again?” you whisper, eyes clouded with tears, hugging yourself.
“Not this time,” Junho kisses your cheek, thumb wiping away the crystalline traces sliding down your cheeks, “because this time, I’ll be here for you,” a kiss on the chin, the cheek, the lips. Warmth in his manner, in his promise, vehemence in his oath.
You have made love countless times, yet this time is different, because there is not only lust, there is something more, tacit care, adoration in every caress, tenderness in the fragility of his touch, in the way he fits inside you, in the way his hips press against yours, as sighs of satisfaction coincide with each movement. The sway under the sheets know you perfectly, this repeated dance, this explicit love bent into a promise that beats within you like only habit can. Your hands on his back, the damp embrace of sweaty bodies, foreheads pressed together, the agony of your long voice as you reach the limit, the high pushing your spine to arch, your nails digging into his shoulders as he buries his forehead in your chest.
There is no other place you wish to be, no one else, because you belong there, with him.
Summary: Season 2. After waking up from the coma, Junho and you get married, but he still looks for the island, which may cause trouble in your relationship.
TW: kinda angst, Junho with PTSD, smut (quickie, piv, doggie), mention of death.
You miss, among so many things, his smile, the resolute way the soft sound slipped from his lips, now seeming so distant that the memory almost burns.
You watch, through the darkness of the room, Junho struggling to catch his breath, sitting on the edge of his side of the bed, his broad back expanding as his uneven breathing frees him from a nightmare. You turn on the lamp, the golden light reflecting off the ring you left on the wooden surface.
You move behind Junho, intertwining your hands in front of his chest, your head resting on his back, your palms feeling the frantic beat of his desperate heart.
He places his hands over yours, clinging to the comfort you provide, glancing sideways at his own ring resting on the table. The silent reminder of a promise made almost two years ago.
“It was just another bad dream, don’t worry,” you say, your voice pressing against his back, his skin damp with the sweat only those nightmares bring. Though you know they are more than nightmares, the memories stretch the torment farther than expected.
Junho exhales a long, defeated sigh as he lies back on the bed. You settle beside him, high enough on the mattress for him to bury his face in your chest. He clings to you, almost melting his humanity into your skin, while you wrap him in your arms, shielding him from distant ghosts, from cursed and painful memories.
Another night, one of many. As they have been for the past two years since you married, since you began sleeping beside him, since you noticed how his smile was fading.
There are traces of your husband, the man you fell in love with, the one with curious eyes and a wide smile, but the days his face is shadowed are more frequent… and it hurts. Every night of nightmares hurts because you can’t help him reclaim himself. Inho took a small part of Junho when he left, but Junho lost much more than expected on that island.
You know what Junho went through: the murders, the infiltration, the games… Inho… the gunshot… the misery of the younger brother being attacked by the one who should have protected him; you see it often in his eyes. The memory seems to pierce him like a cold dagger.
Junho’s breathing slows; you watch him sleep against your chest, his legs curled, tangled with yours. You wish you could cover him completely, tuck him into a small box where fears can’t reach him, but the most you can do is caress his back and hair, hug him with the warmth of someone who loves him, someone who promised to stay by his side while placing a ring on his finger.
Away from work, detached from old friends, he has become a hermit immersed in cartography, often visiting the pier to explore the ocean with a bitter old man. He is less than a shadow; Junho walks as the remnants of who he used to be.
Another night, with a routine as dark as the memories Junho carries, memories burdening a fragmented, obsessive mind.
******
The sunlight slips delicately through the curtains, the warmth of golden streaks melting against your back as you lie wrapped in sheets, yawning and adjusting your pillow.
You open your eyes drowsily; not every night do you manage to sleep, especially when Junho wakes up agitated, but it’s what it is, because you prefer sleepless nights to nights without him. Love can be as comforting as it is harmful, but routine can feel as suffocating as prison. Trapped in the consequences of your own choices, as if you had chosen to do wrong, you wake every day under the weight of shadows chasing Junho.
You watch him leave the bathroom, dressed casually, hair neatly combed, walking to his side of the bed to take the ring from the table and slide it onto his ring finger. He gives you a morning kiss, his large hands around your waist, his face pressing against your neck, his nose inhaling your scent, your fragrance fueling his day, and his embrace a silent apology.
“You don’t have to get like that,” you whisper, cupping his cheeks, kissing his forehead, “it’s nothing wrong, it will pass.”
He smiles easily, because he does when he feels protected, because he’s with you, because he has control of his life… at least during the day. At night, as the moon rises and the sky darkens, Junho’s mind becomes restless.
“I lost much of myself, but at least I found you,” he says, his hand reaching your cheek, lips leaving a soft kiss on yours. The warm sensation of his wet breath on your skin, the shadow above his lip brushing yours, it feels much more like the Junho you know.
It’s not the life he wants, not what he strived for after years of hard work, sleepless nights, night patrols. And it’s not the life he wants to give you. The hope of a gentle, domestic routine fades as days pass, as his moods swing between outbursts and despair. He tries to recover, to ignore the vivid scenarios in his mind, though it’s exhausting. He manages to reach serenity at times, especially when he’s been away, focused on work, yet resentment lingers when he sees a police patrol pass by, a stark reminder of what he left behind.
But he looks at you, so serene and fragile; his melancholy seems to consume you quietly, at the cost of your own happiness. But you refuse to feel that, refuse the fact that all his wavering bitterness affects you somehow, because in the end, the hopeful light brings you back to the surface, the light reminding you of the days spent sitting by his hospital bed, at the mercy of a high-pitched monitor beep.
You smile, that comforting smile that seems to dispel the darkness between you, pushing both of you back to reality, to his work and yours. Outside the house, you watch him walk down the street while you take a different path, your steps calm through your neighborhood. The sun is hidden by clouds, yet the day is bright, a comforting reminder that the catalyst of vigor isn’t always visible.
In recent weeks, you’ve been helping your friend at her restaurant, lending a hand during her pregnancy. You take orders or clear tables, small tasks that don’t interfere with your work, offering both a bit of company. You glance at your phone; midday has fallen, and you hadn’t even noticed—the days lately seem to run away, slipping through your hands.
“He’s so cute,” your friend says, wiping a table, “my husband would never come see me like this at work.”
You smile while collecting the dishes, glancing across the street at Junho in his uniform, working on tickets. He does this maybe three times a week, making sure to park near where you are, keeping an eye on you, cautious or obsessive, either works if it keeps him distracted, away from thoughts of that island.
“You and Junho haven’t thought about…?” your friend asks, pointing to her pronounced belly, but you only shake your head, avoiding the question. You tried, but your health wasn’t suitable for pregnancy, and much less with a husband whose priorities differed. Still, after two years together, you dreamed of little feet running through the house… but not with Junho in this state.
You look back at the street, feeling as if you haven’t seen him in days, your heart ignoring that you said goodbye just hours ago. You watch him closely, your husband standing tall, serious, issuing a ticket to another man. You can’t believe you find him so attractive in uniform; your heart still races from afar, as if he weren’t yours, distant and unattainable, because despite years and a marriage, you never get used to having him with you, you fear it’s a dream you’ll wake from, finding him cold and motionless in a hospital bed.
And then, your eyes meet, his dark gaze locking with yours, so kind that you forget your troubles, returning his smile, feeling warmth like that morning. He’s there, in front of you, and your heart fills with heat at his gesture. Bad days, good days, mediocre days… and this is one of the good days, because Junho crosses the street under the pretense of lunch, just to spend time with you.
Face to face, trays full of soup or whatever, food doesn’t matter, not when you have your Junho talking about all the reckless people without helmets or expired licenses, not when he tells you about the young man he’s training. Junho’s expression is gentle, serene, as if he had no sleepless nights, as if for a moment his mind is free from any painful memory. These are the days when both of you are just a normal married couple, free from burdens and worries.
******
You allow yourself a moment of ease as Junho corners you against the bedroom wall, his hands tracing paths of desire, lips leaving wet marks on your neck. He murmurs incoherently while lifting you onto the bed, stripping you bare against the cold sheets, his lips descending to the exquisite center of your femininity. You arch your back, fingers tangling in his hair as he paints ambitious strokes across your body, decorating every curve with his saliva and passion. His arms around your thighs, fingers digging into your skin, his insistence pushing you to the edge.
It’s something he often does, in a burst of impulsiveness perhaps, taking you home midday, claiming you in the bedroom or the sofa, once on the kitchen floor, another time from behind in the dining room, but he makes you his, almost reminding you he will be there for you, just as you’ve been for him.
You feel him inside you, his ecstasy like burning cords collapsing within, while you cling to his back, as he growls, wrinkling the sheet beneath his fingers. A kiss on the shoulder and a compliment, to turn you over and continue his thrusts, as if emerging from a trance, as if he hadn’t touched your body in years. He loses himself inside you, anxiety fading with every stroke, hands resting on your hips, a loud smack with one hand, another sliding down your back, forcing your face into the pillows. The electricity is overwhelming, coursing through your legs and stomach, consuming you in the need to be touched by him, in the delicious sensation of him hitting that soft spot until the bundle of ecstasy inside you bursts again, leaving you trembling beneath him as he releases his second wave inside you.
He reclines, taking you with him, caressing your shoulder, kissing your back as a reward, while you catch your breath, trying to ignore the constant sound of his phone, the alarm he sets at least once a week… the damn alarm.
“Are you going today?” you ask between gasps. Junho keeps his lips on your shoulder, breath catching… and you shake your head, a tired laugh escaping, “fine, go.”
He kisses your cheek, rising with agility, excited like a child, searching for his clothes in the room.
You know where he’s going, rolled-up sleeves, loose jeans, messy hair, grabbing his backpack and slipping on shoes by the door, a smile on his face as he kisses you goodbye, his hand smacking your ass, making you laugh out loud.
“Go already, pervert,” you laugh, pushing him out.
“Earlier it didn’t seem to bother you,” he teases before turning and leaving.
******
Days pass; Junho sleeps well or poorly, depending on the day, depending on the weather. Unpredictable, certainly, but you can live with it, with this fragmented part of him, with this patched routine, carefully assembled in your little world with him.
One day at a time, another day leaving the house, kissing you like he’s drawing your soul out, another day parking his car in front of your friend’s restaurant just to watch you, another day giving tickets, and you bite your lip seeing him so serious, even if a girl flirted blatantly with him, because he maintains composure, handing over the ticket with the hand wearing the ring… another day…
But calm is never permanent; silence in the woods always warns of trouble. After Junho gives a ticket, his boss appears on site.
You don’t understand what he says, but Junho’s deep sigh and tense shoulders speak volumes. He sits with his former boss in the restaurant; the boss scolds him, telling him to return to the station, leave his current work, but he meets the gaze sternly, spilling a stream of reasons why his current job is better. Brazen, almost irreverent, yet convincing.
“Don’t you see what you’re doing to your wife? She married a detective but ends up living with a man who quit his job,” his boss chastises, pleading for reason. “With all that potential, is this the life you want to give her?”
Junho stares rigid, impassive, though his eyes flick toward you, counting money at the register, pretending not to hear. For a moment, you notice something in his face, a glimpse of disappointment, of abandoned humanity, latent fragility. Memories are fragile too; you don’t recall exactly how Junho approached you when he decided to quit, but you sided with him; he’d been through a lot after waking from the coma, interrogations, bosses questioning his decisions, misuse of his weapon, conducting an undercover operation without authorization… all disbelieved, labeled obsessive, ruining his self-perception, disappointing the system he’d wanted to join since childhood.
“This is the life we both want, the life we were dealt when my credibility was questioned,” Junho says flatly, slurping noodles with indifference.
“Again with that,” his boss complains dramatically, “I told you I gave everything for you to the captain, I…”
“You already told me, no need to repeat it,” Junho dismisses, a little humor in his tone. His boss seems to give up, and Junho smiles, trying to calm the waters. “I’m fine, trust me. No evidence, no case, and here I have plenty… I’m fine where I am.”
“I’m not,” the man grumbles but does not insist, not to the retired detective in front of him, who hides a quiet laugh.
It’s painful; deep down, you sense Junho’s melancholy for his job, for what he was, because it seems the effort to rebuild his life was in vain, because he seemed to collapse overnight. You fervently wish you could piece him back together, mend his bruised self, but the whirlpool of his mind and heart escapes your understanding, and your limitation is frustrating.
The day has been long; after the conversation, Junho returns to the station, changing his uniform, looking in the mirror at what he is -or thinks he is. He feels alien in his body; the man in the mirror seems a complete stranger carrying all his bitterness, the shoulder wound left by his own brother. Traces of his former self linger, disturbed and lost, but over time, he finds clarity, embracing his new identity, learning to live with it.
Obstacles remain endless; if not his boss, it’s his mother. Days pass, bringing the anniversary of his sister-in-law’s funeral, the perfect excuse for his mother to summon him home.
The day is clear; the sun hits the concrete, trees surrounding the orderly graves. You link arms with Junho, who holds a small bouquet. He receives a call; your mother-in-law laments on the other end. You hear her as you get closer to him, noticing his preemptive disappointment.
You know, as much as he does, that his brother won’t visit his late wife, confirmed when you see the dried flowers on the grave. Junho reluctantly replaces them, his rough touch leaving the flowers aside. His gaze scans old photos of his brother. You observe too, Inho and his wife, so close, so melancholic… almost like you and Junho. A shiver runs down your spine, and you inhale deeply at the thought that maybe, if life allowed, you could end up like them…
“Don’t even think about it,” murmurs Junho, voice dry, gripping your hand firmly, eyes never leaving the photos, “I’m not like him,” his voice deep, melancholy laced with certainty, a trace of disappointment grown over the years, bubbling resentment dissipated by distant memories.
“I know,” you cling to him, face nestled against his chest. You are safe, between his arms, against the steady beat of his heart, against the vow to stay by your side, no matter what.
Hours later, you serve food to your mother-in-law in the small dining space of her apartment. Silence is palpable, cold, awkward. Surrounded by framed photos you’ve seen before, you distract yourself with them, the family, your Junho smiling beside his mother, and in between, the damned Inho… Wherever he is, his family suffers, fractured in endless lament, in senseless searching.
“I can’t believe he didn’t visit her,” your mother-in-law laments, Junho looking overwhelmed. You fetch your plate, placing it at the table, he watches you, tired eyes following.
You sit beside your husband, caressing his thigh in a vain attempt to soothe his bubbling stress, but his mother’s words don’t help. The conversation becomes tense as she expresses sorrow, the constant worry about her eldest son (not even hers biologically), thinking of all he’s done for them, the kidney he gave Junho…
“He saved his life doing that,” she cries. “And I didn’t help when your sister-in-law was sick… he would have sold his kidney on the black market to pay for her treatment.”
Junho’s patience snaps; he protests loudly, voice raised.
“You’re saying it would have been better if I were dead?” His complaint unfounded, disappointment almost breaking his voice. “He accepted the bribe; Inho only suffers the consequences of his actions.”
Your mother-in-law keeps crying, out of tissues, so you rise for more, colliding with the cabinet with photos, the crash startling everyone. One portrait wobbles, and as you straighten it, a photo of young Junho is in your hands. Your mother-in-law recognizes it, her biological son who is still with her.
The meal continues silently; Junho eats tensely, muscles firm as he handles chopsticks. You glance at your mother-in-law, occasionally observing the photo.
“He was so sweet as a child,” you try to calm the situation, Junho glancing at you, nodding softly. “He has the same striking eyes.”
“Yes,” his mother responds. “Always very trusting,” a smile appears.
“Some things don’t fade,” you whisper, caressing Junho’s shoulder.
“When do you plan on having kids?”
“Mom…”
“Soon,” you interrupt. “For now, I’m helping a friend with her pregnancy; I want to dedicate myself fully to our child when the time comes…”
“Yes… you’re too thin and pale now; you should eat more,” she offers a protein tray. The rest of dinner goes smoothly, as if the argument never happened, as if Inho never disappeared leaving a deep hole of sorrow in that family, in your family.
Back home, in your small corner of peace, Junho strokes your hair while trying to sleep, and you lie pressed to him, feeling the flutter in his chest, sensing the storm brewing in his mind.
“What are you thinking?” your voice vibrates through his clothes, a tickling weight.
“Do you want kids?” His voice is hoarse, doubt and fear spilling through his words. You answer without hesitation:
“You know I do,” you pause, “but you still insist on using a condom, and last time you didn’t, you knew I wasn’t ovulating… it’s like you don’t want to.”
Junho doesn’t answer; for the first time, he has no words. Between the two of you, he’s usually best with them, yet now seems utterly lost. Misunderstanding stings your heart without knowing why; his silence burns your chest.
“The games start in a week,” he breaks the silence. “I saw Gihun again…”
“No,” you sit on the bed. “No, no, no, Junho…”
“It’s my last chance,” he grabs your shoulders, pleading with your mercy.
“You almost died last time, Junho,” you exclaim, voice cracking. “Your brother shot you.”
“This time it’s different… I won’t go alone, it’s planned in detail and…”
“I’d rather you didn’t go.” Your lip trembles; after so much, you feel he has betrayed your trust, crossed an unspoken line. You wonder why he seemed less stressed these days—because when you thought he was recovering, he was actually regressing rapidly.
Tears sting your eyes, chest tight, Junho’s arms encaging you, protecting you from his own reckless choices.
“It’s my last chance to get him back,” he whispers in your ear, but it doesn’t comfort you. On the contrary, you wish deeply…
“…your brother were dead; without Inho, you wouldn’t have to risk yourself again.” The words came out with such disdain they had bypassed your mind.
Junho tenses, slowly letting go of your body, as overwhelmed by your words as you are.
“I didn’t mean that…” you try to mend the misstep.
“I think you did,” he watches you, momentarily disappointed, as if you had broken his heart in anger.
“Sorry,” you take his hand; he pulls away. The feeling of being unreciprocated burns your chest, and you feel shattered, as years ago, rejected.
“I’ll come back safe this time; I have everything covered,” his conviction is dangerous. You know his resolve is deeply rooted, the same reason you fell for him and the same reason he distances himself now.
A silence grows, dense enough to weigh on the chest.
“Don’t die,” you suddenly whisper, tears falling. “I don’t want anything bad to happen to you again.”
Junho empathizes, understanding your outburst is nothing but fear, pain from a specific past event, and regrets having pushed you away even for a moment.
He wipes your tears with his thumbs, cups your cheeks, leaving kisses across your face and neck before wrapping you as if you were a relic, holding you tightly as he kisses your temple.
“I swear I’ll return, safe this time,” his voice lulls you, and his embrace is so warm that your anguish slowly dissipates as you sink into a deep sleep surrounded by his arms and scent…
When dawn breaks, it hurts to see him leave, grab his backpack, adjust the black gloves and holstered weapon. It’s as if he grew a few centimeters overnight, forehead high, shoulders firm, gaze cold, no trace of insecurity. Junho is comfortable in his own skin, dressed to do what he has trained for years.
You step forward to fix his collar, brush strands from his forehead. He looks at you with deep sweetness, contained longing.
“I’ll stay in touch; don’t worry,” he kisses the back of your hand, almost poetic.
A hug cannot express as much, and a kiss cannot vow as much as his. You hold your breath as he leaves the apartment, left with the cold uncertainty of the coming days.
Request: User is junho’s detective partner who he has feelings for, and user is helping him infiltrate the island but junho is being really stubborn because he just wants user to be safe:((
i love ur jaewon as a dad hc!! is it possible you could do that for wi ha joon??
Wi Ha-joon as a Dad
Pairing: Wi Ha-joon x Reader (gender-neutral partner for inclusivity)
Genre: Fluff, Comedy, Domestic Bliss
Warnings: None
Summary: From the life-changing moment Wi Ha-joon finds out he’s gonna be a dad to the sleepless nights and gummy smiles of his baby’s first months, this headcanon is a rollercoaster of tears, laughs, and pure love. Expect drama, hilarity, and all the K-drama star energy as Ha-joon becomes the world’s most extra (and adorable) appa.
Masterlist real people | main masterlist
Word Count: 2k
A/n:Omg,I'm so happy you liked my Roh Jae-won version! Hope you like this one too.
I've been trying to make my posts more aesthetically pleasing. What do you think?
My requests are open, btw, so if you want to request something, just have a look at what I write and my rules.
The Pregnancy Discovery:
Picture this: it’s a rainy Seoul evening, and you’re pacing in the bathroom, staring at a pregnancy test that just turned your world upside down. Two lines. Two. Freaking. Lines. You’re nervous, excited, and maybe a little terrified, but you know you’ve gotta tell Ha-joon in a way that matches his dramatic energy.
You decide to go full dorama: you wrap the test in a cute little box with a bow, tuck it into his favorite snack stash (ramyeon and spicy chips, obviously), and leave it on the kitchen counter with a note that says, “Open for the role of a lifetime 🎬.”
Ha-joon comes home from a grueling day on set, still in his The Worst of Evil leather jacket, hair slightly messy but looking like he just walked out of a photoshoot. He spots the box, grins like a kid, and dives in, expecting his usual comfort food. Instead, he pulls out the test, squints at it, and freezes.
“Wait… is this… JAGI, ARE WE HAVING A BABY?!” His voice cracks like he’s auditioning for a melodrama, and his eyes go wide enough to rival his Squid Game stare-downs. He drops the test, picks it up, drops it again, then scoops you into a hug so tight you can barely breathe, spinning you around the kitchen until you’re both dizzy.
He’s crying before you can even say anything, big fat tears streaming down his face as he laughs and sobs at the same time. “I’m gonna be a dad? Me? Wi Ha-joon, appa?!” He’s kissing your forehead, your cheeks, your hands, and then he’s on his knees, talking to your non-existent bump: “Hey, little one, it’s your appa. I’m gonna be the coolest dad ever, okay?”
Within hours, he’s texting his inner circle—Lee Jong-suk, Park Seo-joon, his mom—with a mix of emojis (🍼😭🎉) and all-caps messages: “I’M GONNA BE A DAD!!!!” His mom calls immediately, already planning what hanbok the baby will wear for their first birthday.
He starts a secret Pinterest board called “Baby Ha-joon Vibes” and saves ideas for cribs, onesies, and—yes—a Squid Game-themed nursery (complete with a tiny pink guard outfit). You have to gently veto the last one.
Insert gif here: Wi Ha-joon’s teary-eyed smile from Bad and Crazy when he’s overwhelmed with emotion.
The Pregnancy Journey:
First Trimester: Overprotective Appa Mode Activated
Ha-joon goes into full Hwang Jun-ho protective mode. You mention you’re tired? He’s fluffing pillows and insisting you lie down. You try to carry a grocery bag? He snatches it away, saying, “Jagi, you’re growing a human, let me handle the kimchi!”
He downloads every pregnancy app known to mankind and reads you fun facts at breakfast: “Did you know the baby’s the size of a sesame seed right now? A SESAME SEED!” He’s so excited he nearly spills his coffee.
He’s also paranoid about everything. He googles “is kimchi safe during pregnancy” at 2 a.m. and wakes you up to double-check. You have to remind him you’ve been eating kimchi your whole life.
He buys you a pregnancy pillow before you even need one, proudly presenting it like it’s an Oscar. “Look, it’s got five stars on Naver!”
Second Trimester: The Ultrasound Party
The first ultrasound is a big deal. Ha-joon shows up to the appointment in a hoodie and cap, trying to be lowkey, but his nervous energy is giving “undercover cop” vibes. He’s gripping your hand so hard during the scan that you lose circulation.
When the doctor points out the baby’s heartbeat, Ha-joon gasps so loudly the nurse jumps. Tears stream down his face as he stares at the grainy image, whispering, “That’s our baby… our tiny, perfect baby.” He records the heartbeat and plays it on loop at home like it’s his new favorite song.
He starts talking to the bump every night, lying next to you with his head on your stomach. “Hey, little one, it’s appa. When you come out, we’re gonna watch Midnight together, okay? Don’t tell eomma, she’ll say it’s too scary.” You roll your eyes but secretly melt.
He’s also convinced the baby can recognize his voice already. When you feel the first kick, he’s jumping around the apartment like he won the lottery: “THEY HEARD ME! THEY KICKED FOR ME!”
Third Trimester: Extra Ha-joon Unleashed
Ha-joon becomes the king of midnight cravings. You mention you want tteokbokki at 1 a.m.? He’s in the kitchen, apron on, trying to make it from scratch (and burning it). He ends up ordering delivery, presenting it to you like he’s a Michelin chef: “For my VIP and mini VIP.”
One time, you casually say you’re craving mangoes, and he disappears for an hour, coming back with an entire crate from a market across town. He’s sweaty, grinning, and says, “Only the best for my baby and my baby’s baby.”
He insists on assembling the nursery himself, but it’s pure chaos. He spends three days cursing at an IKEA crib, muttering, “Why are there so many screws?!” He eventually calls Lee Jong-suk for backup, and the two of them bicker like an old married couple while finishing it. The crib looks slightly crooked, but Ha-joon’s so proud he takes 50 photos.
He buys the baby ridiculous outfits: a tiny leather jacket (“Like appa in The Worst of Evil!”), a dinosaur onesie, and—yes—a mini Squid Game tracksuit. He posts a blurry Instagram story of the tracksuit with the caption “Future player 456 👶,” and his fans go feral.
Insert gif here: Ha-joon’s goofy grin from a behind-the-scenes clip, holding up the tiny tracksuit with pride.
The Big Day:
When your water breaks, Ha-joon’s action-star instincts kick in… and immediately short-circuit. He’s running around the apartment in a panic, grabbing the hospital bag, your slippers, his script for some reason, and yelling, “IT’S HAPPENING! WE’RE DOING THIS!”
In the car, he’s trying to stay calm for you, but his hands are shaking on the steering wheel. He keeps muttering, “We got this, we got this,” like he’s psyching himself up for a fight scene in Bad and Crazy. You have to remind him to stop at red lights.
At the hospital, he’s your rock, even though he’s internally freaking out. He holds your hand through every contraction, whispering, “You’re so strong, jagi. Stronger than me when I did that 13kg weight loss for Midnight.” He sneaks you ice chips when the nurses aren’t looking, winking like he’s pulling off a heist.
When the baby is born—a perfect, chubby-cheeked angel with the tiniest hands—Ha-joon completely loses it. He’s sobbing harder than you, tears streaming as he whispers, “That’s… our baby. Our perfect little star.” He forgets how to blink, just staring at the baby like they’re a miracle (because they are).
He cuts the umbilical cord with trembling hands, looking like he’s defusing a bomb in an action movie. The nurses are charmed, and one whispers, “Is that the guy from Squid Game?” Ha-joon’s too busy crying to notice.
He sends a blurry, tear-streaked selfie with the baby to his family group chat, captioned: “THEY’RE HERE 😭🍼 MY WHOLE WORLD.” His mom calls immediately, already planning the doljanchi.
Insert gif here: Ha-joon’s emotional close-up from Squid Game when he’s overwhelmed, but imagine it with a baby in his arms.
The First Few Months:
Diaper Disasters and Midnight Dances
Ha-joon is a hands-on dad from day one, but he’s not immune to rookie mistakes. The first time he changes a diaper, the baby decides it’s the perfect moment for a projectile incident—right in his face. He just laughs, wipes it off, and says, “First prank, huh? You’re definitely my kid.”
He’s up for every 3 a.m. feeding, even when he’s half-dead from filming. You catch him swaying in the nursery, baby in his arms, singing a lullaby in his deep, soothing voice… until he switches to a desperate rendition of Baby Shark when the baby won’t settle. It works, and he’s so proud he texts you at 4 a.m.: “I’m the baby whisperer 😎.”
He tries to multitask during a Zoom call with his manager, holding the baby while discussing a new project. The baby spits up on his laptop mid-sentence, and Ha-joon just laughs, saying, “Well, at least they’re fed!” His manager sighs but can’t help smiling.
Paparazzi Dad and Fashion Icon Baby
Ha-joon turns into the ultimate baby photographer. His phone is 90% baby pics: sleeping, yawning, drooling, you name it. He sends you 20 photos a day with captions like, “Our kid’s ready for Vogue Korea 😍.”
He’s obsessed with dressing the baby in cute outfits. Think tiny bucket hats, mini leather jackets, and a onesie that says “Appa’s #1 Fan.” He posts one blurry Instagram story of the baby in a Squid Game tracksuit, and the comments explode: “IS THAT HA-JOON’S BABY?!”
He tries to organize a professional photoshoot for the baby, complete with props like a tiny police badge (a nod to Hwang Jun-ho). You have to remind him the baby’s only three months old and probably doesn’t need a modeling contract yet.
Protective Appa Mode
Ha-joon baby-proofs the apartment to an absurd degree. Every corner has padding, the coffee table is wrapped in foam, and he’s convinced the Roomba is a safety hazard. He even makes his mom wash her hands before holding the baby, earning an eye-roll and a playful smack.
He’s lowkey competitive about being the “best dad.” When you mention a friend’s partner built a custom rocking chair, Ha-joon’s like, “Oh, I can do better.” He spends a weekend trying to build a mobile for the crib, only to end up with a lopsided mess. He calls Park Seo-joon for help, who teases him mercilessly but saves the day.
Heart-Melting Milestones
The first time the baby smiles at him, Ha-joon’s entire world stops. He’s making silly faces on the couch when the baby lets out a gummy grin. He gasps, grabs your arm, and yells, “DID YOU SEE THAT? THEY LOVE ME!” He spends the next hour trying to get another smile, complete with exaggerated sound effects.
When the baby says “umma” first, Ha-joon pretends to be devastated: “Betrayal! I changed 200 diapers for this?!” But when they finally say “appa,” he’s crying again, filming it and sending it to everyone he knows.
He’s a pro at calming tantrums. When the baby’s fussy, he picks them up, sways gently, and starts narrating dramatic stories from his filming days: “So there I was, chasing a serial killer in Midnight…” The baby’s out cold in five minutes, and you’re jealous of his magic touch.
Insert gif here: Ha-joon’s soft smile from a fan meet, but imagine it while he’s rocking the baby to sleep.
Bonus Scenes: Pure Ha-joon Chaos and Love
The Fan Encounter: You’re at the park with Ha-joon and the baby (in a carrier strapped to his chest, naturally). A fan recognizes him and asks for a photo. Mid-picture, the baby spits up on his shirt. Ha-joon laughs, says, “This is my life now!” and poses anyway. The fan posts it online, and it goes viral with captions like “Wi Ha-joon: Action Star, Dad, and Spit-Up Survivor.”
The Lullaby Remix: He records a lullaby for the baby but accidentally adds a K-pop beat because he’s been listening to BTS on repeat. You walk in to find him dancing around the nursery, baby in arms, to his own “lullaby remix.” It’s chaotic, adorable, and so Ha-joon.
The Set Visit: He brings the baby to the set of his next drama, and the entire crew melts. Lee Jong-suk and Park Seo-joon show up, turning into the ultimate “cool uncles,” making faces and sneaking the baby extra snacks (just milk, don’t worry). Ha-joon’s beaming, showing off his kid like they’re his greatest role.
The Emotional Night: One quiet evening, you catch him sitting by the crib, watching the baby sleep. He’s got this soft, awestruck look, and when you ask what’s up, he says, “I just… I can’t believe we made this perfect little human.” You both tear up, hugging it out while the baby snores softly.
Insert gif here: Ha-joon’s tender gaze from Little Women, but picture it with a crib in the background.
In Conclusion: Ha-joon, the Ultimate Appa
Wi Ha-joon as a dad is a whirlwind of love, chaos, and pure K-drama energy. He’s the guy who cries at every milestone, turns diaper changes into comedy skits, and probably tries to teach the baby taekwondo before they can crawl. Through every sleepless night, spit-up disaster, and tiny giggle, he’s all in—because being a dad is the role he was born to play.
Summary: Jun-ho visits you in jail after returning from the island, where you were arrested alongside Woo-seok. Despite the serious charges, you lighten the moment with jokes—reminding him why he missed you.
Word count: 655
Notes: ^^^ how reader thought her cell would look like
The metal door buzzed open. Jun-ho stepped into the visitation room, the weight of the island still dragging at his shoulders. But nothing—nothing—could’ve prepared him for the sight of you in that orange jumpsuit, legs kicked up like you were lounging at a rooftop bar.
You grinned wide the moment you saw him.
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Korea’s hottest missing cop, now miraculously alive and judging me through bulletproof glass.”
Jun-ho sat down with a sigh. “You broke into Captain Park’s house with Woo-seok.”
“Allegedly,” you said, holding up your hands. “All I did was ‘trespass on government property with intent to expose a globally illegal death game.’ You’d think that would come with a thank-you card.”
“You’re lucky they didn’t disappear you like the others.”
“I know. Believe me, the moment they slapped cuffs on me, I thought I was dead meat.” You leaned forward, eyes glinting. “But then Woo-seok panicked. Bolted. Got halfway out of the station before they tackled him into a vending machine. It was very cinematic.”
Jun-ho pressed his fingers to his temples. “Jesus. He said it was your idea.”
You snorted. “Of course he did. Coward. I told him to wait for your signal. But the moment I said ‘let’s snoop quietly,’ he brought a crowbar and a GoPro.”
“You’re facing real charges.”
“And a real terrible jumpsuit,” you quipped. “Seriously, orange washes me out.”
He didn’t smile.
You sighed, a little softer now. “I know it’s bad. But when you vanished, Jun-ho, I thought you were dead. Then Woo-seok showed up, half-mad and convinced he had proof the Games were still running. I couldn’t just ignore that.”
Jun-ho leaned back, eyes scanning your face. “You didn’t trust me to come back.”
“I didn’t think you could come back.”
That hit harder than you meant it to. You looked down. “I thought I lost you. And if you were gone, I figured… maybe I could finish what you started.”
He didn’t speak for a long moment. Then: “I’m getting you out of here.”
You blinked. “What, like… legally? Or are we talking Mission: Impossible?”
Jun-ho cracked the smallest smile. “Legally. For now.”
“I vote dramatic rescue. Maybe a helicopter? I look great in wind.”
His brows lifted. “You’re impossible.”
“But charming,” you said, grinning. “Admit it. You missed me.”
He didn’t deny it.
“You’re not going to be in here forever,” he said firmly. “I have contacts now. People who want this whole operation exposed. We’ll fight the charges.”
You leaned in until your forehead almost touched the glass. “And when I get out?”
“We lay low. No more breaking and entering. No more Woo-seok.”
“Deal,” you said. “But only if I get to keep teasing you forever.”
A pause. Then Jun-ho murmured, “I wouldn’t survive without it.”
Why are the Korean police in squid game so fucking useless cause wdym 456 people go missing in Korea and y'all don't even try to fucking look for them, not even fucking once ?? Like even if it's cmon or not and even if they lose hope bruh JUST TRYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY AGAINNNNNNNNNNNNNN FOR THE ONE THOUSAND TIMEEEEEEEEEEE
Warnings: Yandere - Stalker - Dark - - Alcohol - NOT REALLY THAT DARK TBH I BELIEVE ITS REALLY TAME COMPARED TO OTHER FICS I HAVE DONE - grammar mistakes -
Summary: one broken light took you to meet him.
You really did think in fixing it. The dam light from the car that broke one day. Really your mind had it on top of it...till your work took a hold of you.
Not only the amount of pappers you had to cover because "Thats what you are good for" but also faking to not hear the whispers and laughts from your co workers about you.
Since a young age you have been over weight and pass the beauty standars. All your life you had been seen first as that, "the fat girl" and being assumed by it. Only a few got to be nice and get to know you before making a real image of you, and even then some still did judge behind your back.
After one mean comment hidded by a good wish "you should stop coming to work by car, walking would make you good for you know" a pause like the other person was waiting for you to say it "....to prevent any health problems" they ended saying.
So yes, your mind was a war of things to do and peopel to please. And today, when the alarm did not go on and sky said "fuck it" and a storm formed you were left with no option but to get your dear car and go to work. Praying no police officer would stop you.
But of course fate decided to just make your day difficult. A siren went on behind you and lights red and blue reflected on your car.
Part of you wanted yo scream at top of your lungs, seeing the time and also imagining the comments you would get for being late. And going by car. Of course your body always had to do something with it.
A tap on your window broke you out of your mind, you pulled it down, no rain getting in thanks to the umbrella for the officer who was checking something as he spoke.
"Drive liscence, car ID and..." he went on as you pulled all of it. Already done with the day and passed them to him.
When Jun-ho finally got his eyes up to meet you and your pappers his breath stopped for a second. He could tell by your eyes and body language just how done you were.
He took a moment to really see you. The seat bell pressing your chest, letting his imagination wonder, your face a bit more rounded, cheecks bigger and tired big eyes.
He composed himself and went to check the registers getting your full name and direction. A few seconds went by as he had a inner battle till he finally took a quick picture of your information "to make a following" he said to himself.
He returned, ticket in hand. "Do you know why you were stopped?" He asked before giving you the ticket.
"Broken light?" You asked in a shy tone "I promise I will get it fixed!!, I just- things have been going on and I couldnt- and I really need to go to work fast and-"
"I cant let you go with a broken light" Jun-ho responded half based in protocol another part based on his own feelings.
"...What?" Your voice came out small. There was no way you would make it on time by now. And also...you did not bring an umbrella with you...
"Please" Jun-ho heared your voice and part of him made a jump, like a electric shock going down his back. "I cant-"
"My partner will leave it at the station, once there you can pay for the ticket and get it fixed at the moment" he explained "...I can also take you to your work" he added.
And like that you ended in a police car on your way to work. You did not have time before but after giving the police (who's name was Jun-ho as he introduced himself) a quick look you could not stop blushing. Not to be a creep but he was good looking. Too good looking, the type that made your heart beat up faster and feel the blood rushing inside your veins. You gave him quick side looks then faked to check your phone.
Jun-ho who was aware of it tried himself to not smirk or feel too good from it. There was a centrain charm from your shyness and the blushing. If he could he would drive you to his aparment and show you just how cute he found you.
The small talk was one sided. More questions from him and small responses from you. That was fine, he could later check your file and see details.
"And do you like your work?" He asked as he took a turn, stupid question no one liked their work. Not even him.
"Well-its not the work you know? Its the....peopel present there" You responded softly lowering your eyes and playing with your fingers. The details and the bad moments came to you like a bullet. A few tears formed in your eyes but you quickly cleaned them.
"Sorry, allergy" You lied
Jun-ho's face was still the friendly officer but something in the pitch of his stomach felt...bad, like the idea of you feeling down hurted him.
Just as he was getting close to your work and to the parking he saw you tense from his side vision as he saw you see a pair of your co workers.
"Oh fuck no" You whispered praying they would pass by and no-
"Oh its that (Y/N)? What did you do?" A co worker screamed so everyone could hear.
You tensed and Jun-ho felt the instict of protection turn. He was quick to get out and even go and open the door for you.
"Play along" he said in a low voice as he pulled you out by the arm. "Should I go with you so I can explain to your Boss that it was my fault you are late? Sorry I couldnt help myself this morning" he said loudly and added gire by kissing your cheeck.
Some co workers stopped walking and soon they were whispering.
"She- she has a boyfriend?"
"No way? And THAT good looking?"
You blushed and Jun-ho guided you to the main entrance like a good (fake) boyfriend.
"See you tonight" he said as a goodbye leaving a kiss on the side of your lips.
Nothing to say, you did not have peace at work that day but at least no one did wonder or make mean comments about your body.
~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~
A few weeks went by, Jun-ho had checked your file (no records as he had expected) and even did a few inside work to prevent the light incident from being kept in your records.
He even got your number, first to call you about your car. Then the conversations slowly evolved to more personal matters. Jun-ho was slowly getting you in his trap, like a spider wrapping a butterfly and leaving it there, playing with it...waiting to get ready to jump on you.
And the chance finally came. Since he had insisted on you saving his number and in a small meeting (that was totally made by your co workers to see if he was a real boyfriend or not)
"Really, you dont have to come" you have said in a tone that showed how uncomfortable you were "its my fault" you said looking down at the floor "I never really told them what really happened so..." But Jun-ho being the angel he was (and the obsses self he was) had calmed you down by caressing your hair and holding your hands. He told you it was fine, that he had no trouble at all. He was in fact static to make this, make the rest believe he was truly your boyfriend. And so the meet up happened and all of them believed the that the relationship was in fact real. He also got to give you a small kiss...
"Kiss kiss!!" Some sang in the back as you blushed heavy under Jun-ho's gaze "do it! You two must kiss like crazy" another said. And just before you went to say something Jun-ho had took your face between his hands and kiss you softly so softly it was a sin to call it a kiss but he was soft, gentle and acted as a gentlemen even if all of him wanted to do so much more.
But back to present. One of your co workers did call him, telling him you were too drunk and needed someone to take you home. And of course he said yes, got inside his car and drove to where you were.
And when he was you...oh you were a waste. A terrible good looking waste. Hair done, makeup a bit moved but still on and beautiful, and your outfit made you look...so easy for the eyes. Showing your curves in such a way that made his heart beat faster and his hand tremble in need.
He helped you get into the car, said quick goodbyes and drove you two to his home.
"Sorry, I dont usually drink this much" you told him as you did your best to understand the route he was taking.
"Its alright. Its my free night-"
"That makes it worse, I must likely ruined it"
"...you could never ruin something..not even if you tried" he responded touching your knee in a friendly but not so friendly way.
"....my ex called me" you started words mixed in shame "I should have ignore it but I thought we were in good terms...."
Jun-ho listened part of him being oh so jealous his veins burned.
"...it was a prank, he was with his friends and insulted me, lots of old names, things that should not hurt but-"
"But they do. No one should call you anything but words of affection or beautiful things" he said with centrain making you blush "you are so much more than what they see or expect..."
"...Thanks, i needed it. Even if you are part of my life as a lie...im happy with you"
That made his heart shoot, part of his face went red, above his desire and obssesion for you, there was something more. That plagued his mind not only with diry images but with images of him and you being together for real. Beyond all of his delirium or the firm need to know how and where you were or if you were fine. A part of him wished for more, for something real.
Jun-ho took a deep breath parking on the side and getting a odd look from you, his fingers played with the wheel and the fingers on your knee made small circles.
"I...I world not mind being more, being real with you" he said a bit sloopy his eyes meeting yours "I did not plan to ask you like this. I would have done.." Well he could not tell you what he had planned or wanted to do, otherwise it would be categorized as a crime after all. "Thats not important now. What its important its, I care for you. For real. Our small go outs and even the fake date back then...it was real for me. I really like you and if you let me be real for you....then I would make it worth it everyday"
Yes he would do anything, even things he would not tell you about. That ex ? He would make sure the Man never calls you again. Problems at work ? He will hug you and then prepare their demiss. He would be your everytning, good and bad.
And there inside his car, with the alcohol running inside your body, your brain trying to connect his words and make sense of everything. All of it was too much but even with that and with the power of the alcohol you did lean in and gave him a kiss. Timid at first, as if you were trying to see if his words were real.
When you went to separate yourself from him he took the back of your head and pushed his face once more. A more demanding kiss, his tongue pushing inside, leaving no place for a fight for dominance when he had it, he sucked on your lower lip and bite down gently getting a gasp from you. His other hand touched your waist and every curve he could get. He felt you shiver under his touch and part of him wished he could get you on top of him right there and beg you to ride him.
Once it was over both separated, erratic breathing and pupils dilated. Jun-ho tried his best to hide his erection.
"We....you can come to my home. We dont have to do anything" he added even if he was dying to do so. "But we can talk about this" he made a move with his hand indicating both of you. "Tomorrow"
"I....I would really like that" you responded smiling at him.
Jun-ho nodded starting the car again and making his way back home once more. He was relieved he did not have to use the sedative drug he had in the back in case you have got difficult.
