༉‧₊˚🕯️❀༉‧₊˚ Debts are inherited.༉‧₊˚🕯️❀༉‧₊˚.
~ synopsis : Your father disappeared. No body. No answers. Just a warning: “Debts are inherited.” You enter the world of blood and secrets to repay what he owed, but you never expected Park Jeongwoo.When soulmates are supposed to glow on touch, you stayed dark. And the one person who did glow with him… was your best friend. This is not a love story. It’s the story of what love costs.
~ pairing: mafia!jeongwoo X f!reader
~ genre: Mafia, Romance, Angst (NO COMFORT SORRY), Soulmate AU
~ word count: ~13k W (idk)
~ warnings: Mild violence, emotional manipulation.
~ notes: prompt created and requested by @jeongjeongii all credits for her ideas. This isn't really my writing style but I had so much writing it. not proofread. lemme know if u want to be in a taglist ENJOYYY! <3
masterlist
The coat still hangs behind your door.
You should’ve returned it.
You’ve had chances—moments when you passed him in the hall, when you handed him files, when your fingers nearly brushed and you thought, just for a second, maybe this time it’ll glow.
It never does.
You lie to yourself and say you keep the coat because it’s warm.
But you know better.
You wear it on nights when you walk home alone, even though it smells like the kind of danger you can’t name. Like cologne and cigarettes and blood that’s already been cleaned up. Like Park Jeongwoo.
It smells like a life you’re not supposed to want.
Work, if you can call it that, becomes routine.
You run messages to people who don’t look at you. You track names you don’t speak out loud. You learn to sit quietly in rooms full of power and wait until someone tells you to leave.
Jeongwoo doesn’t speak to you often.
But when he does, it’s never meaningless.
“Come with me,” he says one evening. No explanation. No glance.
You follow.
The hallway feels longer beside him. His silence is weighted. Not cruel—calculated. You’ve learned he’s always thinking. Measuring. Testing. You wonder if you’ve passed anything yet.
He stops outside a metal door, then glances at you.
“Watch.”
Inside, two men argue. One is restrained. The other paces with a knife in hand, ranting about stolen shipments, traitors, leaks.
Jeongwoo doesn’t interrupt.
He waits.
You wait too.
Then, without warning, the pacing man turns and slashes the restrained one across the chest.
You flinch. You hate that you flinch.
Jeongwoo watches your reaction.
When it’s over—when blood pools and the screaming stops—he finally speaks.
“You wanted to be involved,” he says. “This is involved.”
You don’t speak.
He starts walking again, and you trail behind him like a shadow you didn’t choose to become.
Two days later, you’re handed your first real task.
A list of surveillance logs to decode. Patterns to match. Movement to track. You weren’t expecting it—but you’ve always been good at seeing what others miss. Your father taught you that.
Jeongwoo’s voice in your mind, calm and cold: You think you have something worth the price of his betrayal?
You still don’t know the answer.
But you keep working.
“Y/N.”
You turn at your name.
It’s him.
He’s standing in the door of the office you’ve been sorting files in all afternoon. One hand in his pocket, the other holding a mug. Casual. Disarming, in a way that feels more dangerous than any weapon.
“I need your eyes on something.”
You nod and follow.
In his private office—sleek, dark, intimidating—you find blueprints spread across a table.
“Security layout,” he says, sliding it toward you. “Warehouse raid in three days. Find the flaw.”
You blink. “You want me to—”
“I want you to prove you're not wasting space here.”
It should sting. It does.
But more than that—it thrills you.
You bend over the blueprint, pen uncapped, mind already racing.
He watches you.
The air hums.
You’re not sure how long you spend there—arguing over sightlines, guard rotations, camera blind spots—but when you finally look up, his expression has changed.
Softer. Less guarded.
“I didn’t think you’d be right,” he says.
You smile, small and sharp. “You should get used to it.”
His lips twitch. Almost a smile.
“Careful,” he murmurs. “Confidence gets people killed.”
You stare back. “So does underestimating the wrong girl.”
This time, he does smile.
Just a little.
The shift is gradual.
He starts calling you into meetings more often.
He asks for your input.
He starts saying your name like it matters.
One night, you linger too long in the office. Paperwork, you say.
You don’t expect him to still be there.
But he is.
Leaning by the window. A drink in his hand. City lights painting him in gold and shadow.
He glances at you. “You work late.”
You shrug. “It’s quiet. I like it.”
He nods. “Me too.”
You almost leave.
But something stops you.
“You don’t really believe I’m not involved, do you?” you ask quietly.
He doesn’t answer for a moment. Then—
“I think you were born involved. You just didn’t know it yet.”
It shouldn’t feel like a compliment.
But somehow, it does.
The next time he touches you, it’s your fault.
You trip—embarrassingly—over a wire coiled under the desk. You fall forward, arms pinwheeling.
He catches your elbow.
His hand closes around your wrist.
Your breath catches.
You both look down.
Nothing.
No glow. No flicker. No soulmate spark.
Just silence.
He lets go instantly.
You step back, mumbling a thank you, heart crumbling behind your ribs.
He doesn’t react. Not outwardly.
But something behind his eyes changes.
You almost tell Chaeryon that night.
Almost.
But she’s curled up on your couch, hair in a bun, stealing half your fries and talking about a client who burst into tears during a yoga class.
“You need someone to fall in love with you,” she says suddenly, pointing a fry at your face. “Seriously. You’re too intense lately.”
You laugh. “Maybe I’m allergic to love.”
She rolls her eyes. “You’re not allergic. You’re just scared.”
You think of Jeongwoo’s eyes in the dark. Of the quiet way he watches you when he thinks you’re not looking.
Of the ache you can’t name.
“You’d tell me if you were seeing someone, right?” she asks.
You smile. Lie. “Of course.”
Three days later, your phone buzzes at midnight.
Unknown Number:
come to the roof.
You’re not surprised who it is.
The rooftop is colder than expected, the wind biting.
Jeongwoo stands at the edge, coat unbuttoned, hands in his pockets.
You join him, silently.
He glances sideways. “Warehouse op was a success.”
You nod. “I heard.”
He’s quiet for a long time.
Then he asks, “Why did you lie to your friend?”
Your breath catches.
He’s not looking at you, but he knows. Somehow.
You swallow. “She wouldn’t understand.”
“She doesn’t know what you do?”
“She thinks I’m helping clean up my dad’s mess. She doesn’t know who I’m working for.”
He hums. “Smart.”
“Is it?”
He finally turns.
Looks at you.
There’s something bruised in his gaze. Something tired. Like he’s been at war longer than you’ve been alive.
“You’re not wrong to keep her out of this,” he says. “People like her don’t survive in our world.”
You feel the words twist in your gut. “And people like me?”
He doesn’t answer.
Not with words.
Instead, he steps closer.
Close enough to see the cut on his cheek. Faint. Healing.
You don’t know who moves first.
But suddenly, your hand is raised—fingers brushing the bruise lightly. A ghost of a touch.
He doesn’t flinch.
But the air goes still.
You wonder if he hears your heartbeat.
Then he whispers, “Don’t.”
You freeze. “Why?”
“Because you want something I can’t give you.”
You lower your hand. “You don’t know what I want.”
“I know the way you look at me.”
You’re shaking.
From the cold.
From him.
From everything unsaid.
“I know what it means when you hope for something that doesn’t happen,” he continues. “When you feel it in your bones, but your skin stays dark. When the glow never comes.”
The words hit too close.
“You’ve touched someone,” you breathe. “And it didn’t glow?”
He exhales.
Doesn’t deny it.
You stare at him.
And for the first time, you realize:
He’s just as haunted as you are.
Maybe more.
After the rooftop, something changes.
Jeongwoo doesn’t avoid you.
He doesn’t pull away.
But he’s quieter. Sharper. Like he’s trying to solve a puzzle and keeps getting the wrong answer. Like you are the wrong answer, and he doesn’t know why that bothers him.
You know why it bothers you.
You still remember the exact pressure of his hand on your wrist. The stillness that followed. The ache that stayed.
You still wear the coat sometimes. You still find tea on your desk in the mornings—never every day, never enough to make it routine. Just enough to make you wonder.
You stop asking for more.
But you never stop wanting it.
One night, you’re called in late.
An intel drop from a defector—urgent, time-sensitive, messy.
You’re in the back room deciphering hand-written codes when Jeongwoo appears.
His tie is loose. There’s blood on his cuff.
He says nothing for a moment. Just watches you.
Then, simply: “You didn’t go home.”
You don’t look up. “Neither did you.”
Silence.
Then—
“I don’t like that you’re good at this.”
You finally glance up.
“What?”
“You’re not supposed to be good at this world,” he says. “You’re supposed to be someone we use once. Scared. Disposable.”
You swallow.
“But you stayed. You adapted.”
You hold his gaze. “I didn’t have a choice.”
“Yes, you did.”
He takes a step forward.
“I gave you one.”
You think of the night he first saw your file. Of the ten minutes he gave you. Of how quickly you started making space for him in your life without realizing it.
You stand.
Now you're closer than before.
Dangerously so.
“Would you have let me walk away?”
His eyes narrow slightly. “No.”
“Then don’t pretend I had a choice.”
The air hums between you.
And then, for just a moment, you feel it shift.
He steps forward. You tilt your chin up, breath caught—
But then his phone buzzes.
The moment breaks.
He doesn’t look at you again as he leaves the room.
But your hand is still shaking when he’s gone.
You see Chaeryon two nights later.
She shows up at your door without warning—hair in a ponytail, eyes full of something unreadable.
“I brought cupcakes,” she says, holding up a pink box.
You blink. “At ten-thirty at night?”
She smiles. “I was bored. And you’ve been distant.”
You let her in. She flops onto your couch like she owns the place.
“I’m worried about you,” she says as she peels the lid open. “You don’t answer texts. You don’t talk about work. You look like you haven’t slept in a week.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“You’ve been hiding.”
You freeze.
She notices.
“I get it,” she says, quieter now. “You don’t have to tell me everything. I’m not here to guilt you.”
You nod slowly. “I know.”
She hesitates.
Then: “Do you ever… feel it?”
You glance over. “Feel what?”
“The soulmate thing.”
Your breath stalls.
“Like—sometimes I walk past someone, or bump into someone, and for a second I wonder if I’ll feel that spark, you know?” Her eyes are soft. “And I never do. But I keep hoping I will.”
You force a smile. “Yeah. I get it.”
She looks down. “It’s stupid.”
“It’s not.”
You’re lying again.
Because you don’t hope anymore.
You just… ache.
A week later, you’re on a job.
Simple tailing assignment. Shadow a contact. Report back. No engagement.
But it goes sideways fast.
A car screeches into the alley. Two men jump out. One has a knife.
You’re fast. You run. But not fast enough.
You fall. Your ankle twists. Hands grab you.
You scream.
But then gunfire.
Not yours.
The man holding you slumps—bullet through his back. The other flees.
You’re shaking when you look up.
It’s Jeongwoo.
He’s running toward you, gun still drawn.
You try to speak, but your voice is caught.
He kneels beside you, eyes scanning for blood. Hands on your face, your arms, your waist. Checking.
“You’re okay,” he says, breathless. “You’re okay.”
You nod, even though you’re not sure you are.
And then his hand brushes your skin.
You both freeze.
Nothing.
No glow.
His eyes flicker. You see it.
The disappointment. The fury.
Not at you.
At fate.
“You came,” you whisper.
He exhales. “Of course I did.”
You stare at him.
You don’t say it—but it’s there between you.
Even without the glow. Even without the proof. You came.
He drives you home that night.
Doesn’t speak.
When he walks you to your door, you hesitate.
“You didn’t have to kill him.”
“I had to.”
A beat.
“I don’t like people hurting what’s mine.”
Your breath catches.
“Am I yours?”
He doesn’t answer.
But he doesn’t deny it, either.
That night, you can’t sleep.
The memory of his touch burns under your skin. Not because it marked you.
Because it didn’t.
You lie awake wondering how something so warm can feel so cold.
A few days later, Jeongwoo finds you in the archives room.
You’re sorting files. He doesn’t speak.
Just closes the door behind him and walks over.
His expression is unreadable.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” he says.
You don’t respond.
“I need to know something.”
You finally look up.
“If we had glowed,” he says, “would you have stayed?”
The question feels like a knife.
You inhale sharply. “I did stay.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
You stare at him.
“Yes,” you whisper. “I would’ve stayed.”
He exhales. Almost like it hurts.
Then he steps closer.
“Then I’ll give you a reason to keep staying.”
He kisses you.
It’s not gentle.
It’s not slow.
It’s everything he’s been holding back—sharp, desperate, aching.
Your back hits the filing cabinet. His hand cradles your jaw like you might vanish. Like he might burn you alive.
You kiss him back.
Even though there’s no glow.
Even though you know this will break you.
Chaeryon visits two nights later.
She’s radiant.
Smiling.
And yet—nervous.
“I need to tell you something,” she says, biting her lip.
You blink. “Okay?”
“I met someone.”
You freeze.
“Oh?”
“Yeah. He was outside the cafe I go to after yoga. He bumped into me and apologized—and I thought it was nothing, but when he touched my wrist…”
Her voice goes quiet.
You already know what she’s going to say.
“…it glowed.”
Your stomach turns to glass.
You manage to speak. “Who was he?”
She hesitates. “He didn’t give me his name. Just said he was running late. But he looked back before he left. Like he felt it too.”
You nod, mechanically.
“Do you think I should try to find him?” she asks, shy now. “Is that crazy?”
You smile like your world isn’t crumbling.
“No,” you say softly. “It’s not crazy.”
But it is cruel.
Because you already know who it was.
And tomorrow, you’ll find out for sure.
You sit on the edge of your bed, staring at the coat still hanging on your door. The one Jeongwoo gave you. The one that smelled like fire and silence and something too close to warmth.
You should burn it.
Instead, you press your forehead to your knees and listen to the echo of Chaeryon’s voice.
“It glowed.”
It wasn’t supposed to.
You weren’t supposed to feel this much.
You’ve spent months convincing yourself that love could live in the space between fated and chosen. That Jeongwoo didn’t need a glow to see you. That maybe—just maybe—you didn’t either.
But now?
Now, the truth has arrived. Uninvited. Inevitable.
And it wears your best friend’s face.
You don’t go to work the next morning.
You sit in your apartment with your phone in your hand, screen blank.
No messages.
No calls.
You wonder if he’s thinking about you. If he’s tracing the edge of that moment in the alley, remembering the way your wrist felt under his fingers—wondering why it didn’t mean more.
You wonder if he’d still come for you if you were in danger now.
You wonder if he’d still choose you if he knew.
You think he might.
And you know that’s the problem.
The next day, Chaeryon texts you a photo.
It’s blurry. Taken too fast. A man walking away from her at a crosswalk.
“I saw him again. Do you know him?”
You do.
Even from behind, even from a distance—you know that coat, that gait, that impossibly calm posture.
It’s Jeongwoo.
“No,” you reply. “I don’t think so.”
You turn off your phone after that.
You stare at the ceiling.
And then you get dressed.
Because some endings deserve to happen face to face.
It’s raining again.
You don’t bring an umbrella.
By the time you reach the building, your clothes are soaked through and your shoes squish with every step. The guards recognize you. One of them offers you a towel.
You shake your head.
You don’t need warmth.
You need answers.
You walk the halls slowly. Deliberately. Memorizing the path one last time.
You find him where you knew he’d be—his office, door slightly ajar, voice low on the phone.
You don’t knock.
He glances up as you enter. His eyes sharpen when he sees your face.
“I’ll call you back,” he says into the phone. He hangs up without waiting for a response.
“You’re wet,” he says.
You don’t answer.
“You look like you haven’t slept.”
Still, nothing.
He leans back. Studies you.
Then, quietly: “What happened?”
You walk to the center of the room.
“You saw her,” you say.
His expression doesn’t change. Not at first.
“Who?”
You laugh—empty and cold.
“My best friend. Outside the cafe.”
Realization flickers. Not on his face—never that easy—but in the way he sits up straighter. In the way his eyes narrow slightly, lips parting.
“She said it glowed,” you continue. “When you touched her.”
His silence is confirmation.
You take a shaky breath.
“I lied to her,” you say. “I told her I didn’t know who you were.”
His voice is rough. “Why?”
“Because I wanted one more day,” you whisper. “Just one more.”
He stands.
The silence grows.
“You knew,” he says finally. “Before I did.”
You nod.
“You didn’t tell me.”
“You didn’t ask.”
“That’s not an excuse.”
“No,” you say. “It’s not.”
He walks around the desk. Stops in front of you.
You hate how much you want him to reach out.
He doesn’t.
“I thought…” His voice catches, just slightly. “I thought maybe it didn’t matter.”
You laugh again, broken this time. “It doesn’t.”
“Don’t lie.”
You look up at him.
And you see it.
The cracks.
The pain he doesn’t know how to carry.
The way he’s always looked at you like maybe you were the first thing in this world that wasn’t a transaction.
“It wasn’t supposed to be her,” you say.
He nods. “I know.”
“She still believes soulmates are a blessing.”
He closes his eyes.
And when he opens them, you see the truth written there.
He’s already made his choice.
You step back.
He doesn’t follow.
“You should go to her,” you say.
“I don’t want her.”
Your heart wrenches.
“But you glowed,” you say, voice raw.
He flinches.
And it’s then that you understand.
He’s mourning too.
“I don’t believe in fate,” he says. “I believe in control. In choice.”
You shake your head.
“Then why haven’t you touched her again?”
He doesn’t answer.
Because he already knows what’ll happen when he does.
“I stayed,” you whisper. “I did everything you asked. I risked my life. I buried parts of myself I can’t get back. And I still would’ve stayed. Even if it never glowed.”
His jaw tightens.
“But now?”
You take a final step back.
“I think if you touched her again, it would glow brighter than anything we ever had.”
Silence.
Then he says the one thing that finally breaks you:
“I think you’re right.”
You nod.
Slow. Hollow.
There’s nothing left to say.
You turn to leave.
He doesn’t stop you.
And somehow, that hurts more than anything.
You walk back into the rain.
No umbrella. No warmth.
No lies left.
You let it soak you through, erase you.
When you get home, Chaeryon has left a voicemail.
“Hey… weird question. Did you ever figure out who that guy was? The one I bumped into? I think I saw him again today. He looked at me like… I don’t know. Like he knew me. It’s probably nothing. But I can’t stop thinking about it. Call me?”
You delete it.
Not because you hate her.
Because she’s still allowed to hope.
And you’re not.
Weeks pass.
You don’t return to the building.
You don’t reply to Jeongwoo’s messages.
There are only three of them.
The first:
“We need to talk.”
The second:
“I never wanted it to be her.”
The third:
“I’m sorry.”
You never answer.
You can’t.
Because if you do, he might show up again.
And you’re not sure you’d be strong enough to let him walk away this time.
One day, you see a message from Chaeryon.
Just a photo.
This time it’s clearer. A silhouette, standing beside hers. Their hands almost touching.
The caption:
I think I’m falling for him. ❤️
You stare at it for a long time.
Then you turn your phone off.
And you don’t turn it back on.
The coat stays behind your door.
Still untouched.
Still heavy.
You almost burn it once.
But you can’t bring yourself to.
Because it was never yours to keep.
Only borrowed.
Like everything else.
Like him.
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GOD I LOVE HIM SOAYIFVHLSIEBVHLIVHNSKJRFHVAKRIUFNHQUIHGB
