hiiii! I’m like constantly thinking of dad jae-joon so bad and your recent works made me think so hard even more…
could you write a platonic dad jae-joon x reader where its a situation as in the kid was just kind of dropped off with him.. the mother could’ve been one of his usual one night stands where she got pregnant but left the kid with jae-joon either after they were born or even a few years later? just kind of how he or even the others react to it/how he is as a ‘single’ father 😭 its a fun thought and I really enjoy your writing style, thank you!!
Daddy Dearest
Pairing: Single Father Jeon Jae-Joon x daughter reader
Summary: Jeon Jae-joon’s world is turned upside down when a baby girl—allegedly his daughter—is left on his doorstep with nothing but a note, forcing him to confront unexpected fatherhood in the middle of the night.
Word Count: 2k
Author's note: I might turn this in a part 2
The doorbell rang three times.
Not once. Not twice.
Three deliberate chimes—sharp, fast, impatient. Jae-joon, lounging in black silk pajamas with a glass of whiskey in hand, scowled as he padded barefoot across marble floors. It was nearly midnight.
“If this is some stupid delivery mix-up, I swear—”
He opened the door.
And stopped breathing.
There, on the floor of his penthouse hallway, was a basket. A real basket. Wicker, with a handle and a folded blanket and—
A baby. A real, breathing, squirming baby.
“What the hell...?” he whispered, stepping back out of instinct, like it might bite him.
She was tiny, red-faced, bundled in a soft lavender onesie with a fuzzy hood that had bear ears. Her fists jerked upward in reflex, and her mouth opened in a silent cry—no tears, just an outraged yawn.
Taped to the handle of the basket was an envelope. On the front, in messy handwriting:
“Jae-joon. She’s yours.”
He stared at the baby. Then the note. Then back at the baby.
She blinked. One eye opened slower than the other.
“...Oh, hell no.”
Fifteen minutes later, Jeon Jae-joon was pacing his living room, holding the note in one hand and a bottle of aged whiskey in the other. The baby was still in the basket, which he had awkwardly placed on his marble kitchen island like some cursed object.
She hadn’t cried. Not really. She just stared up at the ceiling, occasionally hiccuping and twisting her face like she was chewing on air.
Jae-joon called every woman he’d been with in the last year.
Voicemail. Blocked. Disconnected.
He flipped the note over.
“Her name is Y/N. I can’t do this. You’re the only one who can give her a better life. Don’t look for me.”
No name. No return address. Nothing else.
He sat down on the couch and ran both hands down his face.
“What kind of woman just drops off a baby like a courier package?”
He looked at her again.
Tiny. Pink. Smelled like formula and powder and a bit of spit-up.
“You sure you’re mine?” he muttered, like she could answer.
She blinked up at him.
It was 3:42 AM when he finally gave in and picked her up.
He’d googled how. “One hand supports the neck,” the video said. “Make sure her head doesn’t wobble.”
Wobble? That wasn’t the word for it. Her head rolled like a melon on a plate. But when his hand steadied her, her tiny fingers wrapped around his pinky like instinct.
Jae-joon froze.
“Shit,” he whispered. “You’re warm.”
She made a soft noise—mmmf—and curled slightly into his chest like it was the only safe place in the world.
And somehow... that scared him more than anything else.
The baby—Y/N, apparently—was asleep.
Somehow.
Bundled in a fleece throw Jae-joon had yanked from his designer couch, nestled into the corner like a burrito-shaped intruder, she made faint cooing sounds, snuffling against the silk cushion like it was made for her. His couch. His life.
“This is a nightmare,” Jae-joon muttered, then reached for his phone with trembling fingers.
There was only one person he could call at this ungodly hour.
One idiot loud enough, clueless enough, and disposable enough to be dragged into this kind of mess.
He hit the name: Myeong-oh.
It rang three times before someone picked up.
“The hell do you want?” Myeong-oh grumbled. “It’s four in the goddamn morning.”
“Get over here,” Jae-joon said. “Now.”
Pause.
“...Are you drunk?”
“I’m not drunk enough. Just come. It’s an emergency.”
Myeong-oh groaned. “This better not be like the time you called me to help ‘get rid of a body’ and it was just a pigeon in your fireplace.”
“Just come.”
Twenty-five minutes later, Jae-joon opened the door with bags under his eyes and his hair sticking out in all directions.
Myeong-oh blinked at him.
“You look like hell.”
“Come in,” Jae-joon muttered and stepped aside.
He followed Jae-joon into the living room, yawning, and then stopped dead in his tracks.
“…Is that a baby?” he said blankly.
“No,” Jae-joon deadpanned. “It’s a grenade in disguise. Of course it’s a baby.”
Myeong-oh stared at the infant now drooling into the throw pillow, kicking her feet in slow motion like she was dreaming of swimming.
“…What the fuck?”
“My point exactly.”
“What is this?” Myeong-oh asked, raising an eyebrow. “Some weird PR stunt? Like… ‘Jae-joon adopts a baby to seem like a better person?’ Because this is extreme, even for you.”
Jae-joon slapped a folded note into his chest.
“Read it.”
Myeong-oh read.
Then blinked.
Then reread.
“…Wait. Hold up. She’s yours?!”
“That’s what it says.”
“Who the hell leaves a baby in a basket like she’s f*cking Moses?!”
Jae-joon flopped onto the couch, rubbing his temples. “I don’t know. No name. No contact. Just this… thing.” He gestured to the baby, who hiccuped in her sleep.
“I tried calling every woman I’ve been with in the last year,” he added. “Nothing. No one picked up. Two numbers were disconnected. One girl literally blocked me last month after I told her her perfume made me sneeze.”
Myeong-oh snorted. “Wow. You really leave a lasting impression, huh?”
Jae-joon shot him a murderous look.
Myeong-oh held up both hands. “Okay, okay. Not the time.”
He peered cautiously at the baby.
“So, uh… what now?”
“If I knew that, do you think I’d have called you?” Jae-joon snapped.
Myeong-oh circled the coffee table like he was approaching a wild animal. “You sure she’s yours? I mean, she could be lying. Could be some scam. Maybe she’s not even real. Is she real?”
“Pick her up and find out.”
“Hell no.”
They both stared at her.
Silence.
Then she let out a soft sigh and curled in deeper.
“…I don’t know what to do,” Jae-joon admitted after a while. His voice sounded strange—raw. Like it was echoing from some unfamiliar, cracked part of him.
“I haven’t even held a baby before. I didn’t even want kids. I didn’t even want dogs growing up.”
“Yeah,” Myeong-oh muttered, flopping into an armchair. “You don’t seem like the dad type. You yell when your wine delivery is late.”
“I don’t yell,” Jae-joon said defensively.
“You hiss.”
“I don’t hiss either.”
Myeong-oh grinned, then sobered up. “So what do we do? You gonna take her to the police? What’s the legal thing to do here?”
Jae-joon opened his mouth.
Paused.
Then closed it.
The thought of dropping her off somewhere—of handing her to some social worker, some cold building with waiting rooms and strangers—made something twist in his chest.
“I can’t just abandon her,” he muttered, eyes flicking to her sleeping form.
Myeong-oh raised an eyebrow. “But she can abandon you?”
Jae-joon didn’t answer.
After a moment, Myeong-oh leaned forward, elbows on knees, and stared at her like she was some foreign creature.
“So… what do babies eat?” he asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Milk, right?”
“Yeah, but what kind?”
“I dunno—cow? Almond? Oat?”
“She’s not a f*cking barista!”
Myeong-oh grabbed his phone and started typing. “Alright, alright… I’ll Google it.”
He mumbled aloud as he typed. “What… do… babies eat.”
Then: “How to tell if a newborn is cold. Do babies… breathe weird on purpose?”
He scrolled for a few seconds.
“Okay, apparently newborns are supposed to have formula every two to three hours. Or breastmilk.”
“Great. Where do I get breastmilk at 4:30 in the morning?”
Myeong-oh ignored him. “You also have to burp them after feeding. And change them. And, uh…” He squinted. “Hold their heads like you’re cradling a soft fruit. You can’t let their necks loll around or they turn into spaghetti.”
“Too late,” Jae-joon muttered. “Her head wobbled like crazy when I picked her up. I thought I broke something.”
Myeong-oh stared at him. “You broke the baby?”
“No, but I thought I did.”
They both turned as the baby stirred.
A low, whiny sound escaped her—somewhere between a mewl and a protest. She rubbed her face into the blanket, her nose scrunching up.
“Shit,” Jae-joon said. “She’s gonna cry again.”
“Did you feed her?”
“No!”
“Did you change her?”
“With what diapers, Einstein?”
“…Okay. Emergency baby run.”
Myeong-oh stood up, brushing his hands together. “There’s a 24-hour market a few blocks down. You stay here and… do whatever it is you do. I’ll get diapers, formula, wipes… pacifiers? I don’t know. Whatever babies like.”
“Get a thermometer too,” Jae-joon muttered. “Her face got hot when I picked her up. Is that normal?”
Myeong-oh made a face. “Babies are always warm. That’s their thing.”
“I don’t know that!”
“Now you do.”
He grabbed his wallet, tossed on his hoodie, and headed to the door. “Back in twenty. Don’t drop her.”
“Don’t take forever,” Jae-joon called after him.
The door shut behind Myeong-oh.
Jae-joon sat alone with the baby again.
She was awake now, blinking slowly. Her tiny fists pushed out from the blanket, and she kicked her legs once, twice, as if trying to swim through the plush cushion.
He leaned over her.
She looked up at him.
Those eyes—cloudy, unfocused, impossibly small—found his face. Or maybe just the blur of his silhouette. Still, for a second, she stared at him like she knew him.
Jae-joon swallowed.
“…Y/N,” he said softly, testing the name.
She blinked.
Ten minutes later, she was crying.
Loudly.
Screaming, actually.
Her face turned red, her fists flailed, and Jae-joon panicked.
“What the hell do you want?!” he cried. “You just ate! Wait—you didn’t eat. Shit!”
He scooped her up with the grace of someone holding a cactus and tried bouncing her gently. “Shhh. Shh. I don’t know what I’m doing,” he muttered into her hood. “I’m rich. I’ve never had to do anything myself.”
The baby screamed louder.
Then hiccupped.
Then screamed again.
“Where the fuck is Myeong-oh?!”
As if summoned, the door burst open.
“I got everything!” Myeong-oh panted, arms filled with bags. “Formula, bottles, warmers, wipes, two kinds of diapers, and this giraffe toy that said it ‘stimulates brain development.’”
Jae-joon didn’t look up. “Put the giraffe in the blender.”
“I spent 40 bucks on it!”
“She’s a week old! She can’t even see color!”
Myeong-oh dumped the bags on the kitchen island and pulled out a canister. “Okay. Formula. We need to mix this with warm water.”
“I don’t have bottles.”
“I bought bottles.”
“I don’t have a warmer.”
“I bought one.”
“…You’re not as useless as you look.”
“I take pride in my Amazon addiction.”
Together, they fumbled through the instructions—boiling water, shaking formula, testing it on their wrists like confused dads in a sitcom. Myeong-oh almost spilled hot water on the floor, and Jae-joon nearly used salt instead of formula powder.
Eventually, the bottle was ready.
Jae-joon stared at it.
Myeong-oh stared at him.
“Well?” Jae-joon said.
“I made the bottle, you feed her!”
“I don’t know how to angle it!”
“Just… stick it in gently!”
“That’s what she said.”
“She’s a baby, you asshole!”
They bickered their way through the first feed.
She sucked at the bottle with a kind of furious hunger that made both men stare in awed silence.
Jae-joon swallowed. “She was starving.”
“She’s like a blender,” Myeong-oh said. “With feelings.”
After she finished, Myeong-oh hesitantly tried to burp her. It didn’t work.
Then she spit up on his hoodie.
“GROSS—!” he yelped, holding her away like a dripping cat.
“She got you,” Jae-joon smirked.
“Buy me a new one,” Myeong-oh muttered, peeling it off.
Eventually, after diapers (which took twenty minutes and a YouTube tutorial), a lullaby from a white-noise app, and a failed attempt at rocking her to sleep, the baby finally dozed off again—this time in a crib-shaped cardboard box lined with blankets.
The penthouse was quiet.
Dim.
Still.
Jae-joon sat back on the couch, exhausted, staring at the makeshift cradle. Myeong-oh sipped the whiskey he poured for himself, looking like he’d aged a decade in two hours.
Hey girl! Can you please write a scenario about jae-jun x female reader who's also colour blind.
fluff please 😭❤
Black and White
Pairing: Jeon Jae-Joon x Color-blind female Reader
Summary: For once in your life, you find someone who understands you.
Author's note: Sorry I took long to write and post it but I have it done!
Color-blindness.
The one thing you had always been embarrassed of.
It wasn’t something you noticed at first, not when you were young and the world was simple. When you were little, colors were just labels—abstract ideas attached to things your parents pointed at. You’d hold up a crayon and smile, announcing, “Red!” when it wasn't. Your teachers would chuckle, gently correcting you. Your classmates didn’t laugh then. Not yet.
Your parents noticed something was off when you didn't color objects the correct color. They didn’t scold you. They were kind about it—concerned, but patient. You still remember the day they sat you down in the kitchen. You were coloring in a workbook. Your dad turned off the stove. Your mom placed her hand gently on your back.
“We just want to talk,” she had said. “You’re not in trouble, sweetheart.”
That’s when they explained that you had something called color vision deficiency. Color-blindness. You didn’t fully understand it then. You were just a kid. You only knew that something about the way you saw the world was different.
At first, it didn’t bother you. You didn’t know any different. You just lived your life, blissfully unaware that the sky you saw wasn’t the sky everyone else did.
That changed in middle school.
That’s when it started.
Kids your age were cruel without meaning to be. They teased you for bringing the wrong-colored folder to class when the teacher had clearly said “bring the red one.” They laughed when you showed up in mismatched clothes or painted a tree all the wrong colors during art. One boy even switched out your colored pencils to see how long it would take for you to notice. You didn’t. Not until everyone else did.
From then on, you learned how to hide it.
By high school, your parents had saved enough to get you a pair of color-corrective glasses. They weren’t cheap, but they changed everything. You still remember the first time you put them on—how vivid everything looked, how the world exploded into hues you’d never imagined. You cried. Your mom cried too.
But even with the glasses, your fear lingered. You didn’t want anyone to know. So when someone asked why you wore them, you said they were for vision correction. You let people assume you had poor eyesight. You never corrected them. That lie grew and settled over you like a second skin.
It was easier that way. Safer.
Until you met him.
You met Jeon Jae-joon on a rainy Tuesday morning, the kind where the sky was a flat gray and the entire world felt like it had been turned down to black-and-white.
Fitting, really.
You had ducked into a bookstore café for shelter, shaking water from your coat, clutching your coffee like it could warm the ache in your hands. The place was quiet, soft jazz humming beneath the murmur of pages turning and espresso machines hissing.
You sat down at the only free table, only to realize a second too late it wasn’t free at all.
“Excuse me,” a voice said, cool and clipped.
You looked up into sharp eyes and a face you recognized instantly—Jeon Jae-joon. Rich. Polished. The kind of man who looked like he belonged in black-and-white film noir: crisp suits, expensive shoes, cold expressions.
“Oh—sorry,” you stammered. “I didn’t realize—”
“It’s fine,” he said, brushing his coat over the back of the chair. “Stay. It’s pouring out.”
You hesitated. He didn’t sound irritated—just… tired. Detached. But he didn’t walk away.
So you stayed.
That morning turned into a conversation.
That conversation turned into coffee again, then lunch, then dinner.
He was intimidating at first—brilliant, observant, and too handsome for his own good—but you found comfort in his silence. He didn’t talk unless he had something to say. He listened, really listened. And when he smiled—rare, but real—it was like the world cracked open a little.
You liked him.
A lot more than you wanted to admit.
But you never told him about the color-blindness.
Not because you didn’t trust him.
Because you didn’t want the world to feel small again.
You had monochromacy—total color blindness. People didn’t understand. Even other types of color-blind people didn’t always understand.
So you let him believe you were normal.
And for months, it was fine.
You talked about everything except the one thing you were scared would make him look at you differently.
Until the morning everything slipped.
You were running late.
You had overslept, skipped breakfast, and scrambled into clothes in the dark before rushing out the door. You hadn’t even realized you forgot to put in your color-corrective contacts until you were halfway to work.
You met Jae-joon in your office lobby—he had dropped by unexpectedly, looking perfect as always in a sleek navy suit and a deep tie that, to your eyes, looked black.
“You okay?” he asked. “You look like you fought your closet.”
You gave a breathless laugh. “Did I? Ugh—don’t tell me the shoes don’t match.”
He smirked. “They’re fine. But your earrings are a crime against coordination.”
You grinned and playfully shoved his shoulder. “Whatever, fashion king.”
He followed you to your desk. You dropped your bag and spun around to him. “Hey, can you grab that red folder from the table? I need to send those reports in five minutes.”
He blinked. “Which folder?”
“The red one,” you repeated, motioning without looking.
He walked over, picked up a folder, then held it up. “This one?”
You glanced over and froze.
That folder wasn’t red. It was blue.
Clearly, definitively blue.
You had mistaken it.
You swallowed. Your hands suddenly felt cold.
“Wait,” he said slowly, stepping closer. “What color did you say this was?”
“Red,” you said too quickly, your voice tight. “I meant—sorry, I meant the blue one. I’m still half-asleep.”
He didn’t move. Didn’t say anything.
Your heart pounded in your chest.
He knew.
You could feel it.
You turned away, fumbling with your computer screen. “I’m just tired. Really—”
“You’re not wearing your contacts,” he said softly.
You froze.
Slowly, you turned back to him.
His gaze wasn’t mocking. It wasn’t judgmental. If anything, it was… stunned. And a little tender.
“I didn’t think anyone else—” he started, then stopped.
Your brows furrowed. “Anyone else…?”
“I have it too,” he said.
You blinked. “What?”
“I’m color-blind,” Jae-joon said, voice quieter now. “Complete monochromacy. I’ve had it since I was a kid. I don’t see colors—just light, shadow, shape. I’ve been using filters and calibration apps for years, especially for branding work.”
You stared at him.
And then suddenly, your breath hitched.
“You… You’re not joking?”
He shook his head slowly.
“I used to hate field trips to museums,” he added, a humorless smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Everyone would talk about how vibrant a painting was. And I’d just pretend. I always thought it was easier to lie than explain.”
You laughed softly, tears unexpectedly rising in your throat.
“I used to pretend to be nearsighted so people wouldn’t ask why I wore glasses.”
He looked at you—really looked at you—and there was something in his expression that hadn’t been there before.
Understanding.
Relief.
Maybe even affection.
“I was so scared you’d judge me,” you whispered. “That you’d think I was weird, or broken.”
He stepped forward slowly and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear.
“I’ve never met someone who sees the world the same way I do,” he said quietly. “Not like this.”
You felt a weight lift from your chest—months, years of hiding and pretending and shrinking yourself to fit into the idea of ‘normal.’
He saw you.
Truly saw you.
And he didn’t flinch.
He smiled instead.
“I guess that explains the ‘red’ folder.”
You both laughed, this time together—really together.
In a world of grayscale, something vivid bloomed between you.
Hello, could you please write a headcanon where we are Jaejoong’s daughter (we’re around 15–17 years old, a teenager)?
Jae-joon with Teen! DaughterReader Headcanons
Most people are stunned when they find out you’re his daughter.
“You mean that sweet girl is related to Jeon Jae-joon?”
You're polite, thoughtful, and grounded in ways that Jae-joon… definitely isn't.
But you share his looks. His striking eyes. His signature smirk (that shows up more when you’re annoyed). His quiet confidence, even if yours is softer.
Despite your differences, there’s an unshakable bond—you're the one person he genuinely wants to be better for.
Jae-joon doesn’t understand teenagers. Like, at all.
He thinks problems are solved with a shopping spree or flying you to another country.
“You’re upset? Let’s go to Milan.”
He always gives you the best of the best, but sometimes forgets you need his time, not just his money.
That said, he’s very hands-on when it comes to appearances.
“You’re not going out with your hair like that, are you?”
“Those shoes with that jacket? No. Try again.”
(Cue father-daughter fashion fights.)
Any mention of dating? Immediate side-eye.
“You’re too young. He’s not even good-looking. Does he even wear cologne?”
You once caught him stalking your Instagram followers and blocking people. He denies it. Blames the “algorithm.”
He drives you to appointments and watches you walk all the way inside. If you’re even ten minutes late coming home? He’s calling. Or worse—showing up.
Jae-joon is awkward with emotions, but sometimes he surprises you.
One day you came home crying after someone made a cruel comment about your mother, and instead of yelling or pacing, he quietly pulled you into a hug.
“You’re the best thing that ever happened to me,” he said—rare, vulnerable words from a man who thinks vulnerability is weakness.
You once caught him re-reading your old drawings and crayon-written letters from when you were little. He said he was “cleaning,” but his eyes were misty.
You’re the first person in his life he can’t buy.
When you’re disappointed in him, it wrecks him.
He hates when you call him out: “You only care about image,” or “You only listen when it affects you.”
And even if he denies it, those words eat at him.
But he tries. God, does he try.
He starts attending parent-teacher meetings (even though he intimidates every teacher there).
He reads the books you’re into, just to understand you better.
He even—begrudgingly—gets into music you like. (You caught him humming your playlist once.)
Texts like:
Where are you.
Who’s “🐸💚” and why are they liking all your posts.
Dinner. Don’t be late. I’m picking the place.
He'll be confused if he catches you using codenames for people like pineapple.
You have to beg him not to embarrass you online. He’s the type to post blurry selfies with cringe captions like:
“Dad & daughter. Who’s the better looking one?”
He lives in constant fear that you’ll end up hating him—especially when you grow older and see his flaws more clearly.
He tries to hide his messier sides from you (his pettiness, the lawsuits, the ego), but he knows you’re not blind.
What he doesn’t realize is that, even through all the mistakes, you love him for trying.
And sometimes, when he tucks you in with a clumsy “good night” or waits outside your extracurriculars in his stupid expensive car, you realize—
He might not be the perfect dad, but he’s your dad, and he’s learning.
Hi can you do a story or whatever for when the yandere glory bullies get readers attention and slowly start to make the reader into one of them and whenever the reader have second thoughts about it they always do stuff to make her change her mind
One of Us
Pairing: Yandere Glory Bullies x reader
Summary: A quiet, innocent girl is gradually lured, manipulated, and consumed by a toxic group of bullies who make her feel seen, needed, and powerful—until she becomes one of them, unable to escape.
Author's note: none
You never wanted their attention.
At first, you didn’t even notice them. You were just a quiet student, eyes downcast, focused on surviving school without making waves. You weren’t particularly wealthy. You weren’t particularly pretty in a way they’d care about. You weren’t the kind of girl to hang out at rooftop lounges or wear designer uniforms with extra stitching.
But one day, you looked up—and Yeon-jin was already watching you.
It was during lunch. You were by yourself again, eating quietly on the rooftop away from everyone, when a shadow fell across your book. She didn’t speak. Just looked. You blinked at her, nervous.
“…Can I help you?”
She tilted her head, lips curling into a slow, amused smile. “No,” she said, almost like it was a secret. “But maybe we can help you.”
You didn’t understand what that meant. Not at first. But she wasn’t alone.
That week, Choi Hye-jeong started complimenting your clothes in the locker room. Then Lee Sa-ra offered you a cigarette at the back gate (you declined, and she laughed like it was cute). Jeon Jae-jun started walking behind you in the hall, close enough that you could smell his cologne—intentionally loud, intentionally obvious.
They circled you like sharks with pretty smiles.
And the strangest part? Nobody else seemed surprised.
At first, you thought it was a joke. That they were toying with you. You’d heard the stories—the whispers of what they used to do, what they were capable of. How they used to ruin people.
You weren’t stupid.
So you tried to keep your distance.
“I don’t think I belong with you guys,” you said once, after Yeon-jin invited you to a party in Gangnam. You held your backpack tightly in front of you, standing awkwardly beside her car.
Yeon-jin didn’t even blink.
“You belong wherever I say you do,” she replied softly. “You’re smart. Sweet. Innocent. And we’ve decided we like that about you.”
Sa-ra leaned across the leather seat from the passenger side. “Besides,” she whispered, her pupils dilated—was she high again?—“you’re better with us. You don’t even realize how lonely you are until someone offers you the world.”
They always said things like that.
Flattering things. Creepy things. And somehow, it started to work.
They gave you gifts. Nothing too obvious—at first.
A bottle of imported perfume slipped into your locker. Hye-jeong said it reminded her of you.
A tailored skirt from a boutique that “would look better than the cheap ones you wear.”
Jae-jun, annoyingly smug, sent you a new phone. “Your old one was cracked,” he said like it was obvious, like of course he was watching you that closely.
You tried to return it. He smirked.
“Why would you reject something given with love?”
“…Love?”
His gaze turned sharper. “Or something close to it.”
You started using the phone.
And once you started accepting the gifts, it became harder to say no.
They pulled you in gradually. Not with force. But with need.
They made you need them.
When someone tried to bully you in class? That person never showed up again.
When a teacher embarrassed you over your shoes? That teacher suddenly took a month of leave, face full of bruises.
When you cried after a breakdown during an exam, Yeon-jin took your hand and said, “You don’t have to try so hard anymore. We’ll carry you.”
And you wanted to believe her. Because for the first time in your life, people noticed you. People feared you. People respected you.
They dressed you up in prettier clothes. Took you to expensive places. Let you drink from crystal glasses and whispered that you were finally worthy.
Sa-ra once brushed your hair behind your ear and said, “It’s okay to be selfish now.”
And for a while, it felt good.
But not forever.
You started to feel it. The rot.
You saw how Sa-ra snapped at a waitress and smiled like it was nothing. How Jae-jun hit someone with his car and laughed about it. How Hye-jeong cried to you at 3AM that she wanted to die, but by morning she was back to mocking people behind their backs. And how Yeon-jin—sweet, cool, flawless Yeon-jin—recorded someone getting assaulted and called it art.
You started skipping their calls. Saying you were busy. Pulling away.
And that’s when the shift happened.
When you had second thoughts, they tightened the leash.
“You’re not like them anymore,” Yeon-jin said, her tone low, as she fixed your collar for you in the bathroom. “You’ve changed. You belong to us now.”
Sa-ra cornered you outside the art building once. Her fingers twitched as she giggled. “Don’t leave me. I’ve never liked someone this much.”
Hye-jeong cried again. Hugged you tightly. “Please don’t make me feel like I used to. I was nothing before you noticed me.”
And Jae-jun? Jae-jun smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
“You can leave,” he said. “But we’ll follow you anyway.”
They didn't let you go.
You tried to make new friends. They chased them off.
You tried to transfer schools. The paperwork vanished.
You told your parents. They didn’t believe you—Yeon-jin had already charmed them.
Everything you tried, they were ten steps ahead.
And in the end… you gave in again.
Because when you were with them, you weren’t scared. You were someone. You were theirs.
You wore the lipstick Yeon-jin gave you. Started using Sa-ra’s slang. Laughed at the same cruel jokes. Let Jae-jun touch your waist a little too long. You didn’t mean to become them—but the mirror didn’t lie.
One day, you caught your own reflection. Pretty. Polished. Cold.
And you realized:
You had become one of them.
Still, some nights, your heart whispered rebellion. And every time, they knew.
Yeon-jin would invite you to her house and cry about her mother.
Sa-ra would bring you your favorite snacks and say, “See? No one else knows you like I do.”
Hye-jeong would scroll through your old photos and say, “You were always meant for this.”
Jae-jun would kiss your wrist and murmur, “You’ll never be alone again.”
Jaejun with daughter reader who’s just like totally opposite to him- kind, sweet, respectful and he wonders how they’re actually related because she’s so sweet and he just isn’t to most people
Like Father, Like Daughter . . .?
Pairing: Jeon Jae-Joon x Daughter! Reader
Summary: Despite being the daughter of the cold and calculating Jeon Jae-joon, you grew up kind, warm, and genuine—so different from him.
Author's note: none
People have this expectation about children of the rich.
They expect them to be snobbish, mean, out of touch with the rest of society—spoiled, entitled brats. The kind that throw tantrums when their coffee order is wrong or roll their eyes at anyone who works a normal job.
So people were surprised when they found out you weren’t some stuck-up, snobby, spoiled kid—especially after they found out who your father was.
Jeon Jae-joon was one of those people.
He wasn’t a monster. Not exactly. But he knew how people saw him. Arrogant. Sharp-tongued. Cold. He didn’t make friends; he made allies. He didn’t make conversation; he made statements. His circle was tight, and his trust tighter.
He liked things that reflected him—clean, sharp, luxurious. Everything in his apartment was black or white or some polished shade of beige. His life was curated, and he made sure nothing, not even people, clashed with it.
So when you showed up—this bright, bubbly presence that insisted on baking cookies on school nights and saying “thank you” to the driver every morning—he was sure it was a phase.
It had to be.
No one could be that nice on purpose.
Not his kid.
Not a Jeon.
He watched you the way someone watches a loose bolt on an expensive car. Suspicious. Distant. Waiting for something to go wrong.
But it didn’t.
You kept smiling at waiters. You offered your umbrella to an elderly woman when it rained. You apologized when you bumped into someone. You didn’t care if their shoes cost less than your lunch.
You cared if they were okay.
And Jae-joon didn’t understand it.
Sometimes he watched you laugh with your classmates in the front yard and thought, Is she adopted? Did someone switch her in the hospital?
Because no one had ever called him kind.
No one ever would.
---
It wasn’t like he didn’t try to be a good father. He was a good father. He showed up. Paid the bills. Attended the events. Smiled for the cameras.
But you didn’t just want his presence—you wanted him. You wanted his jokes (which he didn’t really have). You wanted advice (which he gave cold and to the point). You wanted his attention in ways he didn’t always know how to give.
Once, when you were nine, you baked him a cake from scratch for his birthday. It was lopsided and burned at the bottom, but you carried it into his office like you were presenting treasure.
“I know it’s not perfect,” you said nervously, “but I wanted to do something special.”
He remembered blinking at you in stunned silence. No one had ever made him a cake. His birthdays were usually expensive, catered, and cold—like everything else in his life.
And there you were, with flour on your cheek, smiling like sunshine.
He didn’t eat cake.
But he ate every bite.
And he didn’t say much.
But he never forgot.
---
He tried to understand you. Really. But sometimes it baffled him.
You cried during sad movies. You donated your allowance to charity. You helped your classmates with homework even when they didn’t deserve it.
“I just want to help,” you’d say, soft and earnest.
“Not everyone deserves help,” he replied once.
You just frowned. “Maybe. But everyone needs it sometimes.”
That shut him up.
He didn’t know where you got that from. Certainly not from him. And definitely not from Yeon-jin, who treated people like pawns.
You didn’t play chess with people.
You shared lunch with them.
---
At school, teachers adored you. So did janitors, cafeteria ladies, and the bus driver who dropped you off when your father’s schedule changed.
“Your daughter’s so sweet,” one teacher said at parent-teacher conference, clasping her hands. “Polite, thoughtful… honestly, she’s nothing like what people expect.”
Jae-joon blinked. “What do people expect?”
She faltered. “Well, you know… given your background.”
He didn’t reply. Just offered that tight, polished smile of his.
But later that night, he watched you do your homework at the kitchen counter, humming under your breath.
You looked up. “Want to help me with math?”
He didn’t say anything for a second. Then pulled out a stool. “Sure.”
---
You got older, but you didn’t grow out of your softness. You didn’t get jaded. You didn’t become bitter.
Even when some of your classmates whispered behind your back—jealous, catty, cruel—you didn’t retaliate.
You just said, “They’re probably going through something.”
And Jae-joon stared at you like you’d grown three heads.
“Why do you let people walk all over you?” he asked one day, irritated.
“I don’t. I just don’t want to become someone I don’t like.”
He had no answer for that.
But it stuck with him.
---
He never told you this, but sometimes he watched you when you didn’t know it—like when you read to children at the shelter. Or helped the new transfer student find her way around school. Or waved goodbye to the security guards at night.
You were so genuine.
And it scared him a little.
Because the world wasn’t kind.
And you were.
And he didn’t know how to protect something like that.
---
One day, when you were fifteen, you walked into his office while he was on a call.
He held up a finger. “I’ll call you back.”
You waited patiently, your hands behind your back.
“What is it?”
“I… got into the community volunteer program this summer,” you said.
He raised a brow. “You mean the unpaid one?”
You smiled. “Yes.”
“You’re giving up your entire break for this?”
“I want to.”
He leaned back. “You know you don’t have to work. You’re not like other kids.”
“I know,” you said, stepping forward. “But I want to be.”
He didn’t understand it.
But he nodded.
And two weeks later, he donated anonymously to the program.
---
Your kindness wasn’t a phase.
It was you.
And slowly—painfully, awkwardly—Jae-joon tried to meet you halfway.
He didn’t become soft. That wasn’t in his nature. But he did stop snapping at people as much. He stopped rolling his eyes when you talked about helping others.
He even started smiling more.
A little.
He took you to dinner after your first volunteer shift. You ordered something simple. He ordered wine.
He raised a glass.
“To you,” he said. “For being… better than me.”
You tilted your head. “You’re not so bad.”
He laughed under his breath. “You’re the only one who thinks that.”
You grinned. “Well, lucky for you, I’m your daughter.”
He blinked. Then shook his head.
“I still don’t know how that happened.”
---
Sometimes he caught himself wondering if you’d change. If the world would beat that light out of you.
But it didn’t.
When people insulted you online for being a “rich kid,” you just said, “They don’t know me. That’s okay.”
When someone lied to you, you forgave them.
When someone forgot your birthday, you baked them cookies.
And Jae-joon sat in his sleek black car, gripping the wheel, thinking: She’s not like me. She’s better.
But then you sat beside him and said something small—like “I love you” or “You work hard, Dad”—and he felt something in his chest break open.
You were different from him.
But you were his.
---
Now and then, he worried that you’d get hurt because you were so soft.
But then he saw how people treated you—how even the coldest ones warmed under your gaze. How your sweetness wasn’t weakness. It was strength.
You didn’t break easily.
You bent like light.
And the more he watched you, the more he started to think…
Maybe that’s the kind of legacy he wanted to leave behind.
Not money.
Not power.
But you.
His daughter.
The girl who said “thank you” to the barista.
The girl who gave strangers a reason to smile.
The girl who reminded him what it meant to be good.
Pairing: Moon Dong-eun x Adopted Daughter Reader; Jeon Jae-Joon x Bio! Daughter Reader x Park Yeon-jin
Summary: Jeon Jae-joon struggles with guilt and heartbreak over losing his daughter Y/n to Moon Dong-eun, while Park Yeon-jin desperately tries—and fails—to reclaim her, culminating in painful confrontations that reveal deep wounds and shattered relationships.
Word count: 2.3k
Author's note: none
• Previous •
Jeon Jae-joon sat alone in his apartment, the dim lights casting long, distorted shadows on the walls. The silence was unbearable. No basketball game on TV, no music playing, no sound but the occasional clink of ice melting in the glass he hadn't touched in over an hour.
In his hand was a photo — a blurry candid of her. His daughter. His flesh and blood.
His knuckles turned white as he clenched it tighter, crumpling the edges.
“She doesn’t hate me,” he muttered. “She can’t. She’s just confused… Dong-eun filled her head with lies.”
But deep down, he knew it wasn’t just Dong-eun. Not entirely.
He replayed it over and over — the way she’d looked at him. Cold. Distant. No warmth in her eyes, no flicker of curiosity. No longing. Only resentment.
He had shown up thinking maybe, just maybe, there’d be something there. A father-daughter connection, even the faintest spark. But she didn’t even want to talk to him. She’d walked away like he was a stranger. Or worse — someone she despised.
And the truth hurt more than he wanted to admit.
He stood abruptly, knocking over the half-empty drink on the coffee table. Glass shattered.
He didn’t care.
“If that witch hadn’t turned her against me—” he growled, voice rising with each word.
But even as the words left his mouth, he wasn’t convinced. Because part of him knew Dong-eun hadn’t said a word.
It was the truth that turned her against him.
And the truth?
He hadn't been there. He hadn’t even known. And when he found out… he didn’t fight hard enough. Didn’t demand answers. Didn't go looking. He let Yeon-jin and her family bury it — bury her — and went back to his shallow life like it hadn’t happened.
He pressed his hands to his face, dragging them down, eyes glassy.
And then came the why.
Why had it all happened this way?
Yeon-jin.
His lips twisted in a bitter, silent snarl.
“If your damn mother hadn’t found out…” he said through gritted teeth. “If she hadn’t forced you to give her up—”
He punched the wall. Once. Twice. The pain shot up his arm, but it only fueled the rage boiling inside him.
“She wouldn't have hated me! She would've known me—would've loved me!”
His chest heaved. The world around him began to spin. Rage bled into anguish, and the line between the two collapsed entirely.
He stumbled back, legs giving out as he crumpled to the floor beside the broken glass, his breathing ragged.
And for the first time in years—maybe ever—Jeon Jae-joon cried.
It wasn’t a pretty cry. It was guttural. Broken. Animal.
A cry of a man who had just realized too late what he’d lost.
What had been stolen. What he himself had let slip through his fingers.
“She was mine,” he whispered, voice hoarse, shaking violently. “My daughter… my little girl…”
But she didn’t see him as a father. She never would.
Because while he was out living a life of pride, money, and vanity — someone else had held her hand when she was scared.
Someone else had wiped her tears. Taught her to ride a bike. Told her bedtime stories. Tucked her in at night.
That someone… was Moon Dong-eun.
And even though he hated her for it — he envied her more.
His heart throbbed with the weight of a truth he couldn’t undo.
And Jeon Jae-joon, the proud, arrogant man who once thought the world revolved around him, now sat in the center of a storm of his own making — sobbing, broken, and entirely alone.
Because the one person he wanted to love him the most…
Didn’t.
And maybe never would.
The soft chime of the doorbell echoed through the apartment like a ripple disturbing calm water.
Y/n glanced up from the book in her hands, brows knitting. Dong-eun never used the bell. She always had her keys. So who—?
She walked to the door cautiously, barefoot against the creaky wood floor, and peered through the peephole.
A woman stood there in a long beige trench coat, holding an oversized designer gift basket. She was immaculately done up—rich, glossy hair, designer heels, makeup too perfect for casual visits.
Y/n blinked.
She knew that face.
Everyone in town did.
Park Yeon-jin.
The former weathercaster, now mostly infamous for her involvement in the long-buried bullying scandal that had resurfaced like a rotting corpse. But what was she doing here?
And why did her eyes—though smiling—feel like needles?
Y/n slowly opened the door a crack, keeping the chain on.
"...Yes?"
Yeon-jin’s smile widened, all polished charm.
“Hello, sweetheart,” she said softly. “I know this is strange, but… could we talk for just a minute? I promise I won’t stay long.”
Y/n's stomach turned. “Why would I talk to you?”
“I—” Yeon-jin hesitated, then tilted her head, lashes fluttering. “I brought you something. A small gift. May I?”
She tilted the basket slightly to show off the carefully arranged luxury items—silk scarves, perfumes, gourmet snacks, a brand-name skincare kit. Y/n didn’t move.
“You don’t even know me,” she said.
Yeon-jin’s expression shifted, just slightly.
“But I do. I know you.” Her voice dropped to a softer register. “Y/n… I’m your biological mother.”
Silence.
It rang louder than any thunder.
Y/n stood frozen, unable to process the sentence at first. Then her fingers clenched the door harder.
“Excuse me?”
Yeon-jin stepped forward just slightly, her tone sugary and wistful. “It’s true. I know you live here with Dong-eun. She probably never told you the whole story, but I’m your real mother. I gave birth to you. And I—I've wanted to meet you for so long.”
Y/n slammed the door in her face.
But before she could walk away, a shaky voice from the other side spoke up.
“Wait,” Y/n muttered.
The door reopened. This time, without the chain. Y/n’s expression was guarded but calm—eerily so.
“You’re serious.”
“Yes,” Yeon-jin whispered, as if saying it too loudly would shatter the moment. “I’m serious.”
Y/n stepped aside stiffly. “You’ve got five minutes.”
Yeon-jin entered like she owned the place—eyes flicking around the modest space, lips twitching in mild disgust at the outdated wallpaper and scuffed floor. But she quickly masked it and set the gift basket down on the table like it was an offering to a goddess.
“I… wasn’t sure how to approach you,” she said, smoothing her coat. “But when Jae-joon told me what you said… how you felt about us… I just—I had to come.”
Y/n remained standing, arms crossed tightly over her chest.
“I gave you up because I had no choice,” Yeon-jin began, her voice trembling with carefully rehearsed sorrow. “I was just a girl. Seventeen. My mother—your grandmother—she found out and went mad. She said I had shamed our family. She forced me to give you up.”
She took a careful step forward, eyes watery now.
“Sweetheart… if I could have raised you myself, I would have. I didn’t want to let you go. Not for a single second.”
Y/n blinked at her slowly. “You’re saying you gave me up out of love?”
Yeon-jin smiled tearfully. “Yes.”
“Hm,” Y/n murmured. “That’s funny. Because all the records say I was given up without a name. Just a blank space on the birth certificate. And when I found out who you were—not because you told me, but because someone else had to—it turns out you went right back to your pretty little life like I never existed.”
Yeon-jin’s face faltered. “It wasn’t like that—”
“You got married. Had another kid. Became a TV personality. A celebrity.”
“I didn’t forget about you,” Yeon-jin lied, her voice cracking. “Not for a single day.”
“You never looked for me.”
“I—”
“You never cared who had me. What happened to me. You left.”
Yeon-jin’s throat worked hard. The facade was cracking.
“I was trying to protect you—”
“No,” Y/n cut in. “You were trying to protect yourself.”
The air in the room thickened.
Yeon-jin exhaled sharply. “You’ve been poisoned.”
Y/n blinked. “What?”
“By her,” she said. “Moon Dong-eun. She’s filled your head with stories. Turned you against me.”
A sharp laugh escaped Y/n’s lips. “Dong-eun never said anything about you. Not a word. I found out on my own. She never badmouthed you. But the evidence doesn’t lie.”
Yeon-jin’s jaw clenched. “She took you from me.”
“She didn’t take me. You left me. Don’t rewrite the story just because it hurts now.”
Yeon-jin’s calm broke then—completely. The polite mask slipped, and her voice turned sharper, colder.
“I’m your mother,” she snapped. “Not Dong-eun. Me. I gave birth to you. You belong to me.”
“I’m not a thing,” Y/n replied. “And blood isn’t love. It isn’t even parenting. It’s biology. That’s all you ever gave me.”
Yeon-jin took a step forward, furious now. “You don’t get to shut me out! You don’t get to talk to me like I’m some stranger—”
“But you are,” Y/n said, eyes glinting. “You’re just a woman who hurt a lot of people. Who ran from the consequences until they caught up with you. You’re not my mother.”
Tears stung Yeon-jin’s eyes—but they weren’t from sorrow. They were from rage.
“You ungrateful brat—”
A sound at the door interrupted her.
The key turning.
Dong-eun.
The door opened.
Moon Dong-eun stepped in, setting down her bag, and immediately froze when she saw the scene before her.
Y/n. Standing tall, arms folded, face flushed.
Yeon-jin. Near tears. Red-faced and trembling.
Dong-eun’s eyes narrowed. Her voice dropped into ice.
“What are you doing here?”
Yeon-jin laughed dryly, brushing tears away like dust. “Oh, how perfect. She must be so proud of you. All that hatred… You really molded her in your image, didn’t you?”
Y/n’s voice cut through again.
“She didn’t mold me into anything. I chose this. I chose her. Because she shows up. Because she listens. Because she fights for me when no one else would. You? You showed up with a basket and lies.”
Yeon-jin stared at her, stunned into silence.
And for once, she had no comeback.
Dong-eun walked forward slowly. “Get out of my house.”
Yeon-jin turned to Y/n again, one last desperate plea in her voice. “Please… just give me a chance.”
Y/n looked at her with calm detachment.
“No.”
Yeon-jin lingered a moment too long, as if she could change it all by willpower alone.
But the silence remained.
And then she walked out, the door closing behind her with a heavy, hollow click.
Later That Night
Y/n sat curled up on the couch. Dong-eun brought her a blanket without saying a word.
After a while, Y/n finally whispered, "Why now?”
Dong-eun shook her head slowly. “People like her only look back when they’re losing. Not because they care. But because they hate being forgotten.”
Y/n blinked back sudden tears.
“I didn’t mean to yell. I just… I didn’t expect it to hurt like that.”
Dong-eun sat beside her.
“You have every right to be angry,” she murmured. “She left a wound. Pretending it doesn’t hurt won’t heal it.”
Y/n’s voice cracked.
“But I still don’t understand why she wants me now.”
Dong-eun placed a gentle hand over hers.
“Because you're something she can’t control. And deep down, that scares her more than anything else.”
Y/n leaned her head on Dong-eun’s shoulder.
“I’m glad you were the one who found me.”
Dong-eun’s voice was quiet, trembling with emotion.
“So am I.”
And together, in the warm hush of the night, they let the silence speak—for all the words Yeon-jin would never be able to say.
The door slammed so hard it rattled the windows.
Park Yeon-jin didn’t even bother starting the engine. She just sat there, gripping the steering wheel, chest rising and falling like she’d run a marathon. Her eyes were wide, unfocused, her lips parted in disbelief. The silence in the car was suffocating—until it wasn’t.
With a choked cry, she slammed both palms against the wheel.
Her voice cracked with rage. “Why won’t she listen to me?!”
She pounded the wheel again, horn blaring briefly, echoing down the quiet residential street. Her perfectly manicured nails dug into the leather as she leaned forward, forehead against her fists. Her whole body shook—not just from anger, but something far more unfamiliar.
Desperation. Loss. Rejection.
“She’s my daughter,” she hissed, voice trembling. “Mine. Not hers.”
Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them away. She didn’t cry. Park Yeon-jin never cried over anyone.
Except now.
She had come prepared—gifts, carefully chosen words, a new version of the past sculpted in lies. She smiled, softened her voice, and reached out. But Y/n hadn’t believed her. Worse—Y/n had looked at her like she was a stranger. Like a threat.
“‘I already have a mother,’” Yeon-jin mocked in a broken whisper, repeating Y/n’s words, her voice twisting with bitterness. “You think she loves you? You think Moon Dong-eun loves you?”
Her voice suddenly shot up in a scream, raw and high and painful.
“SHE STOLE YOU FROM ME!”
She grabbed the gift bag still sitting in the passenger seat and flung it to the floor. The expensive perfume bottle inside shattered with a muted crack, its scent flooding the car—too sweet, too strong.
“You were supposed to come back,” she whispered, voice collapsing into something small. “You were supposed to see me and remember. You were supposed to choose me.”
Her face contorted, a sob finally escaping as she slammed her head back against the seat, staring blankly out the windshield.
“Why…?” she murmured, barely audible. “Why did she choose her over me?”
She didn’t know how long she sat there, breathing hard, tears sliding silently down her cheeks as the windshield blurred from the inside.
Outside, the world went on. Inside, Yeon-jin finally crumbled.
Not as the perfect anchor, not as the polished socialite, not even as the villain she was known to be.
Just as a mother who had lost her daughter.
And the terrifying part was—she had no one to blame but herself.
Hello! 🌿 I really like your works; they feel so special.I know a similar request has been made before, but I have a slightly different idea.Could you please create headcanons about us being Don Eun’s daughter, who looks very much like her mother, and about how we once meet Yeon Jin’s group at some event?
Moon Dong-eun with Identical Daughter Reader + Yeon-jin and the Group's reaction
Author's note: This may be short but at least it's something.
When you were born, you came out as the carbon copy of your mother.
You’ve been told all your life that you’re the spitting image of your mother, Moon Dong-eun. Not just in facial features—the intense gaze, the quiet poise, the eerie calm—but also in the subtle expressions: the way your lip tightens when you’re angry, the deliberate way you speak.
Sometimes, when Dong-eun brushes your hair or adjusts your collar, she pauses just a second longer—her eyes soft with a mix of love and haunted memory. You look too much like the girl she used to be before everything broke.
When Yeon-jin and the group meet you at some event like Sa-ra's art gallery.
Yeon-jin freezes mid-conversation, glass of wine half-raised.
Eyes narrow instantly — not with recognition, but disbelief.
Yeon-jin murmurs under her breath: “It can’t be…”
Visibly rattled, posture stiffens. She’s transported back to her high school days in an instant.
Tries to laugh it off, but keeps glancing back at you, haunted.
Internally spiraling — “Why is she here? Is Dong-eun watching me?”
Hye-Jeong even whispers to the group, too loudly: “She looks exactly like Moon Dong-eun. Like… freaky-exact.”
Tough to say they are shocked when they see you.
They all have mixed feelings about it but they all find it creepy how much you looked like Dong-eun when she was a teenager.
Some of them are even uncomfortable about it because they remember all of the things they did to your mother.
So when you, a carbon copy of your mother,is standing right in front of them, it makes them feel like they are being judged.
They try to ignore you the entire time that they are there.
It doesn't help that you give them harsh looks towards them.
Hi! I was wondering if you could do a part 2 to All I Want Is You please? Thank you so much!♥️
All I Want Is You Pt. 2
Pairing: The Glory Bullies x reader
Summary: After discovering Moon Dong-eun was driven to drop out due to brutal bullying by Park Yeon-jin and her clique, Y/n publicly confronts and humiliates Yeon-jin in the cafeteria, shattering their dynamic and forcing Yeon-jin to confront the cost of her cruelty.
Word Count: 1.4k
Author's note: none
• Previous •
The morning sun filtered through the tall windows of the student council room, painting long slats of light across the floor. Y/n sat at the head of the table, flipping through proposals for the winter festival with a half-focused mind. Another meeting, another vote, another hour lost to obligations.
“Anyone seen Moon Dong-eun lately?” Y/n muttered casually between debates.
A few heads turned.
“Didn’t you hear?” So-yeon said, nonchalantly sipping from her strawberry milk. “She dropped out.”
Y/n blinked. “What?”
So-yeon didn’t even look up. “Yeah, like three weeks ago? Surprised it took this long to reach you.”
Three weeks.
The words echoed in Y/n’s ears like a gong. The murmurs in the room faded, replaced by a loud, ringing silence. Her chest tightened as a cold weight dropped into her stomach.
Three weeks.
She walked the halls like a ghost after that. She tried to focus on paperwork, but every form blurred before her eyes. She smiled through hallway conversations, but her ears buzzed. Her fingers drummed on the side of her binder as her mind played the timeline again and again.
Three weeks.
She hadn't noticed. Dong-eun’s seat had been empty for three weeks, and she hadn’t noticed. Too busy with exams. With club budgeting. With being the perfect student, the ideal leader. Too consumed by being everywhere for everyone—but Dong-eun.
Guilt burned through her.
That night, she tore through her messages.
The last text from Dong-eun was short, sent almost a month ago.
"Good luck on your exams. Don't forget to eat."
No replies from her.
None sent back.
Y/n stared at the screen until her vision blurred, blinking back tears she hadn’t realized had formed.
She typed:
“Dong-eun, I just heard. Please, are you okay? I didn’t know. I swear I didn’t know.”
It sent.
No reply.
“Where are you?”
Still nothing.
She called. Straight to voicemail.
Again.
And again.
Her voice cracked into the receiver, “Please... just let me know you’re okay.”
It took two days to track her down. Y/n asked an old classmate who used to share notes with Dong-eun. Then someone from the nurse’s office. Eventually, she got an address—a dingy apartment complex on the edge of town. It didn’t sound like a place someone like Dong-eun should’ve ended up. But nothing about this situation was right.
She skipped the next student council meeting.
Dong-eun answered the door with tired eyes and an expression unreadable beneath the soft shadows of the hallway light. She looked thinner. Paler. Her hair, once neatly tied, hung limply around her face. Her hoodie hung off her like she hadn’t eaten properly in days.
“Y/n.”
The name sounded strange from her lips—half memory, half distance.
“Can I come in?” Y/n asked softly.
Dong-eun hesitated for a long moment before stepping aside.
Inside was sparse. No posters, no photos. Just textbooks stacked neatly and a small electric kettle whistling in the corner. The air smelled faintly of ramen and loneliness.
Y/n didn’t speak right away. Neither did Dong-eun.
Finally, Y/n asked, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Dong-eun let out a small, hollow laugh. “Tell you when? In between student council meetings? During one of your five-minute breaks?”
Y/n flinched. “That’s not fair.”
Dong-eun looked away. “Isn’t it?”
Silence fell like snow.
“I didn’t know,” Y/n whispered. “I didn’t see.”
“I know,” Dong-eun said. “That’s the worst part.”
The truth came in slow pieces, like glass being swept into a trembling hand.
It started with whispers. Mocking notes. Burned gym clothes. Unexplained bruises she brushed off with tired smiles. A bruised wrist she claimed was from volleyball. A cracked phone screen she said she dropped.
“Yeon-jin,” Dong-eun said, her voice like steel beneath sorrow. “And her little court of friends. You know who they are.”
Y/n’s mouth went dry.
“She made it a game,” Dong-eun continued. “How far she could push me without getting caught. How far I could be broken before someone noticed.”
“And after that?” Dong-eun looked at her, hollow and brittle. “I figured if I had to beg for someone to care, I wasn’t worth saving.”
“And my mom?” Dong-eun gave a hollow laugh. “She took money. Bribes. To say I left because I couldn’t handle school. That I was emotionally unstable. It’s in my record now. ‘Maladjustment.’”
Y/n stood up, pacing.
“She sold you,” she said through clenched teeth. “She let them do this.”
Dong-eun just shrugged. “She always said suffering builds character.”
Y/n turned to her. “I should’ve seen it.”
“Maybe,” Dong-eun said. “But you were busy being good. I was busy surviving.”
Absolutely. Here's the continuation scene, written in the same emotional, character-driven tone. "Reader" has been replaced with Y/n, and the story follows directly after her learning the truth from Dong-eun.
Y/n didn’t sleep that night.
Because every time she closed her eyes, she saw it all.
The bruises Dong-eun tried to hide. The silent screams beneath her eyes. The resignation in her voice when she said, “They made me feel like nothing.”
And Yeon-jin’s name—dripping from Dong-eun’s tongue like acid.
Park Yeon-jin.
And her smug little empire of power and money and cruelty.
Y/n’s hands trembled as she pulled on her uniform the next morning. Her polished exterior felt like a lie now, like armor worn over guilt.
Because this wasn’t just about what Yeon-jin did.
It was about how long Y/n let it go unnoticed.
But not anymore.
The cafeteria buzzed like normal—plastic trays clattering, students talking about upcoming exams, whispers of new gossip. The usual. Comfortable. Shallow.
Y/n walked through the chaos like a storm coming in from the horizon, eyes locked on the table by the windows.
Park Yeon-jin sat there, laughing with her group—Sa-ra, Jae-jun, Hye-jeong, Myeong-oh. Pretty, rich, untouchable. Like nothing in the world could ever stain them.
Y/n felt her pulse hammering in her throat. She clenched her jaw. Her nails dug into the edge of her tray.
Yeon-jin looked up—saw her coming—and tilted her head in curiosity. Then she smiled.
That was the last straw.
Y/n slammed her tray down on their table, rattling their drinks and cutting off the laughter like a guillotine.
“You think it’s funny?” she hissed, loud enough that the people at the next table turned.
Yeon-jin raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
“What you did to Dong-eun. The bruises. The burned clothes. The notes. The fact that she had to drop out of school because of you.”
The table went still—but only for a moment.
Then Sa-ra snorted. Hye-jeong exchanged a smirk with Jae-jun. Myeong-oh looked vaguely confused.
But Yeon-jin? She just grinned.
“Oh… so this is what it took to get your attention,” Yeon-jin said, leaning forward, chin in her hand. “You know, I was starting to wonder what it would take.”
Y/n’s face twisted. “You think this is a game?”
Yeon-jin chuckled. “I think you should sit down before you embarrass yourself more than Dong-eun already did.”
More snickers.
Y/n’s vision blurred with red.
The tray in her hands—the untouched meal from the cafeteria, complete with kimchi, rice, and soup—was in the air before she could stop herself.
SPLAT.
The entire tray flipped onto Yeon-jin’s chest, crashing against her uniform. Soup spilled down her blouse, rice clung to her collar, and kimchi stained the white fabric in bright red streaks.
Gasps echoed through the cafeteria.
Silence fell.
Y/n’s voice cracked through it.
“You ruined her life for this? For some sick obsession with being seen? Are you happy now, Yeon-jin? Is this the attention you were so desperate to get?”
Yeon-jin froze. For once, her smile dropped. Her face twisted—not in rage, not yet—but in something that almost looked like shock.
Y/n didn’t wait for an answer.
She turned and walked out, fists clenched so tight her knuckles were white.
Yeon-jin sat there, dripping, seething, humiliated. Rice in her hair. Kimchi juice seeping through her bra.
The whispers started instantly.
Phones lifted.
Pictures taken.
Videos recorded.
This wasn’t just a moment—it was going viral in real-time.
And all she could think was:
Y/n.
Y/n had looked at her with hate.
With disgust.
And not because of Dong-eun’s failure—but because of her own.
For the first time, a sliver of something unfamiliar cracked through her pride.
Maybe… just maybe…
She’d won the war.
But lost the only person who made the victory matter.
Can you do a yandere platonic jeon jae and park jin with daughter reader where she was born when they were in high school so she had to give reader up for adoption,but moon deng adopted her and now reader hates her bio parents with passion
When she goes with her mother to get revenge the bullies get attached to reader because she looks oddly familiar (she has her dads or moms face) and they keep showing up to talk to her
Eventualy they find out the truth
My Sweet Little Baby
Pairing: Moon Dong-eun x Adopted Daughter Reader, Jeon Jae-Joon x Bio! Daughter Reader x Park Yeon-jin
Summary: After being forced to give up her baby in high school, Park Yeon-jin is horrified to discover thirteen years later that the daughter she secretly had with Jeon Jae-joon was adopted and raised by her former victim, Moon Dong-eun.
Word Count: 4.3k
Author's note: Omg I love this request and writing for it. I think this is the longest fix I written so far.
• Next •
“HOW COULD YOU BE SO STUPID!”
The slap rings out like thunder in the living room.
Yeon-jin’s cheek burns, but not as much as her mother’s voice.
“You stupid, stupid girl!” Mrs. Park screams, yanking the pregnancy test out of Yeon-jin’s trembling hand and holding it like it’s filth. “Two lines?! Are you out of your goddamn mind?!”
Yeon-jin sways on her feet, arms wrapped around her middle as if she could hide the truth with enough pressure. Her voice is small. “I-I didn’t mean to—”
“You didn’t mean to?” Her mother’s face contorts in fury. “I didn’t raise a daughter who throws away her future for some street boy’s baby! Do you even know how this will look? Do you think I’ll let you ruin our name because you couldn’t keep your legs closed?”
Tears spill over Yeon-jin’s cheeks. She hates crying in front of her. It only makes the woman angrier.
“It’s Jae-joon’s,” she whispers, almost too quietly.
Her mother laughs, bitter and sharp. “Of course it is. That arrogant bastard.”
She paces now, heels clicking like gunshots across the hardwood. “We’ll take care of it. Quietly. Before anyone finds out.”
Yeon-jin’s eyes widened in panic. “No—I don’t want to—I want to keep it.”
Mrs. Park stops.
The silence is worse than the shouting.
“You want to do what?”
Yeon-jin’s hands are shaking now. “I’ll raise it. I’ll find a way. I’m not getting rid of it, Mom. I can’t.”
Another slap. Harder.
“You think you’re a mother now?” her mother spits. “You think you’re mature enough to raise a child when you can’t even manage your grades or keep your secrets? You’ve humiliated this family. And now you want to drag a baby into your mess?”
Yeon-jin sobs now, falling to her knees, cradling her stomach.
Her mother’s heels snap toward her again, stopping just in front of her crouched frame. A hand tangles in her hair and yanks her head up.
“There’s no keeping it,” Mrs. Park hisses, her breath sharp with rage. “You will finish school, keep your mouth shut, and thank me for fixing this disaster.”
Tears run hot and thick down Yeon-jin’s cheeks, but her voice comes out broken and small. “She’s not a disaster…”
Mrs. Park goes still.
“She?” she echoes, lips curling.
Yeon-jin clutches her stomach tighter, breath shuddering. She hadn’t meant to say it. She didn’t even know—it was just a feeling. A deep, aching certainty.
Her mother stands up straight and smooths down her blouse, icy calm settling over her like a mask.
“We’ll send you abroad for a while. Somewhere quiet. You’ll give birth there. I’ll make the arrangements.”
“No—please—” Yeon-jin tries to reach for her again, trembling fingers brushing the hem of her skirt. “She’s mine…”
“She’s mine,” her mother snaps. “Everything you are, everything you ruin—it all falls on me. You are still a minor, Yeon-jin. You don’t make the decisions. I do.”
Yeon-jin waits until the bruising on her cheek fades. Until the morning sickness stops long enough for her to walk without clutching her stomach.
The rooftop is empty, as it usually is after school. The sky is gray. A light wind pulls at her blazer, her hair. Everything feels heavier now.
Jae-joon’s already there, leaning against the railing with his tie loose.
She hesitates.
He looks up—and immediately narrows his eyes. “What happened to your face?”
Yeon-jin wraps her arms around herself. “It’s nothing.”
“You look like hell.”
“I said it’s nothing,” she snaps.
He watches her for a bit. Then: “So? What’s so urgent?”
She doesn't answer right away.
Instead, she pulls something from her blazer pocket and holds it out with trembling fingers.
A crumpled, used pregnancy test. Two bold pink lines are still visible.
Jae-joon stares at it. His mouth opens. Closes. Then it opens again. “Is this a joke?”
She shakes her head, eyes brimming with tears. “I’m almost three months.”
He turns away from her, dragging both hands through his hair. “Fucking hell, Yeon-jin.”
“I didn’t tell anyone else—just my mom.”
He turns back sharply. “And?”
“She wants to send me away,” she says, voice cracking. “Somewhere far. Hide me. Make me give the baby up. She’s already calling people.”
Jae-joon’s face darkens.
“She’s going to take her,” Yeon-jin whispers. “Our daughter. She’s going to get rid of her like a problem.”
Jae-joon lunges forward suddenly, grabbing Yeon-jin by the shoulders, too hard. “You let her do what?”
“I don’t have a choice!”
“Like hell you don’t!” he shouts.
His voice echoes across the rooftop.
Yeon-jin flinches, shoving at his chest until he lets go. Her voice is shrill. “You think I want this?! That I’m okay with it?! She slapped me—she’s handling everything and she won’t let me decide!”
Jae-joon steps back, shaking, chest heaving with adrenaline and disbelief.
“A daughter,” he mutters. “You said it’s a girl?”
Yeon-jin nods slowly. “I just… know.”
He stares out at the horizon, knuckles white where he grips the railing.
And then, in a tone she’s never heard from him before—low, dangerous, trembling with something more than anger—he says:
“She doesn’t get to take our kid.”
Yeon-jin looks up, startled.
Jae-joon turns to her, eyes burning. “I don’t care what your mom says. I don’t care what she’s planning. That baby is ours. Mine. She doesn’t get to erase that.”
“She said it’s already decided—”
“Then we’ll undecide it," he growls. “You’re not going alone. I’ll find a way to get to you. I’ll fight her. I don’t give a shit if it costs everything—”
“She’s going to give her away, Jae-joon,” Yeon-jin whispers.
That’s what breaks him.
The image of his child—his daughter—growing up in someone else’s arms. Laughing at someone else’s jokes. Calling someone else Dad.
Jae-joon’s fists tremble at his sides. The tension in his jaw is palpable, like he’s grinding his teeth down to nothing. His voice is hoarse when he speaks again.
“No one’s taking her from us.”
“Jae-joon—”
“I mean it.” His voice cracks. “I don’t care what it takes. I’ll find her. I’ll find a way. Even if they send you to another country. Even if they erase your name from the birth certificate. She’s ours.”
Yeon-jin doesn’t answer. She only sinks down beside the rooftop fence, curling in on herself. Her palms press flat over her stomach, fragile and instinctive. Protective.
Jae-joon drops to a crouch beside her and, without thinking, covers her hands with his. His touch is uncharacteristically gentle.
“We’ll get her back,” he whispers.
She says nothing, but doesn’t pull away.
Months Later
The labor is long. Painful. Brutal in a way Yeon-jin hadn’t prepared for.
No family allowed. No visitors. Her mother arranged it so no one could take photos or ask questions. Her name wasn’t even on the room registry. Just an anonymous girl tucked away in an expensive, cold facility for girls like her.
The moment the baby’s cries fill the room, something in Yeon-jin shatters.
“A girl,” one of the nurses confirms.
Yeon-jin weakly reaches for her, but the swaddled infant is already being handed to another nurse across the room.
“W-Wait—” she gasps, eyes wide and wet with exhaustion. “Let me—let me see her—!”
“I’m sorry, Miss Park,” the head nurse says with sterile sympathy. “It’s been arranged. No contact.”
“No! No, no—please—” Her voice dissolves into sobs, raw and broken as she tries to push herself off the hospital bed. Blood, sweat, and tears mix as she fights the hands holding her down.
Across the room, the baby cries louder, as if in answer.
Yeon-jin screams.
But the nurse with the child disappears out the door, and just like that… her daughter is gone.
The room was quiet, suffocating in its stillness.
Moon Dong-eun sat across from the adoption agency director, her posture straight, her hands folded neatly in her lap. A single file rested between them, thick with papers and secrets, and it had taken all her restraint not to grab it the moment she entered.
“This is unusual,” the woman began, tapping the file. “There are… complications.”
Dong-eun raised an eyebrow. “I’ve seen worse.”
The director’s eyes narrowed. “This child was given up immediately after birth. No names on the paperwork. The birth certificate was filed by a lawyer on behalf of someone anonymous. It’s clear someone wanted to erase her existence.”
Dong-eun’s voice was calm. “And yet she exists.”
The woman didn’t respond right away. After a pause, she slid the file forward. “Why this child? Why now?”
Dong-eun opened the folder and pulled out a photo clipped to the first page.
A baby, only days old, wrapped in a hospital blanket. Her eyes were open. Clear, sharp, unblinking.
Even then, she looked too alert.
Too much like her mother.
Dong-eun had seen that look before—once in a mirror, once in a school hallway.
The hallway was quiet, too quiet for this time of day.
Moon Dong-eun wasn’t supposed to be wandering alone. The nurse’s slip in her hand was just a pretense to get out of class, to get a moment of silence after the latest round of humiliation. She walked slowly, eyes on the floor, stomach tight with anger that always smoldered just beneath her skin.
The restroom door creaked open, and she stepped inside.
And froze.
Park Yeon-jin stood by the sinks, back to the mirror, shaking. Her head was bowed low over something in her hand—a white stick.
Dong-eun’s eyes landed on the object first. Then the second line.
Yeon-jin was crying. Not like she did when cameras were on her, not like the crocodile tears she used to manipulate teachers or boys or her gang of sycophants. This was raw. Desperate. Silent, shameful sobs.
Dong-eun stopped, invisible in the threshold.
She didn’t know what she was seeing—didn’t want to understand it—but the truth hit her like a punch.
Pregnant.
Park Yeon-jin was pregnant.
Dong-eun took a shaky step back and quietly slipped out the door.
She never said anything.
Not then.
She didn’t pity Yeon-jin. Not exactly. But the image stuck with her—haunted her, even years later. Because at that moment, Yeon-jin didn't look powerful.
She looked terrified.
And now, here it was again, innocent and unknowing.
She didn't need a DNA test. Not when the curve of that tiny mouth and those deep, curious eyes told her everything.
She looked like Park Yeon-jin.
And her jawline?
That was Jeon Jae-joon’s.
A child born from cruelty and pride, left in silence and shame.
“I know who she is,” Dong-eun said quietly. “And I want her.”
Three Days Later
The nurse brought her in slowly, arms cradling a small bundle. The baby made a soft, curious noise—neither crying nor cooing. Just existing.
“She doesn’t talk much,” the nurse said softly. “Barely cries. Just watch.”
Moon Dong-eun stepped forward.
The baby turned her head, locking eyes with her new mother for the first time.
And Dong-eun felt it—something breaking loose in her chest, something ancient and aching and unfamiliar.
She’d carried rage and grief for so long that she forgot what tenderness felt like.
She reached out slowly. The baby didn’t flinch. Her tiny hand lifted, fingers spreading, reaching toward Dong-eun’s face like she somehow knew her.
Like she’d chosen her too.
Dong-eun took her into her arms.
The weight was barely anything—and yet, it grounded her like nothing else ever had.
“What’s her name?” she asked.
The nurse hesitated. “She doesn’t have one.”
Dong-eun looked down at the child, whose small eyes blinked up at her with quiet trust.
“Y/n,” she said softly. “Her name is Y/n.”
It had been nearly thirteen years since Moon Dong-eun first held her in her arms. A tiny, wide-eyed baby wrapped in a hospital blanket, abandoned by the very people who once made Dong-eun’s life a living hell. It felt poetic, almost cruelly so, that fate would drop their child into her lap. Dong-eun hadn’t sought it, hadn’t planned it. But she hadn’t walked away either.
And now, that baby was nearly a teenager.
Y/n sat at the kitchen table of their quiet, modest apartment, legs curled under her in a chair too big for her frame, flipping lazily through a worn-out manga volume. She glanced up as the door opened and Dong-eun stepped in, the summer sun chasing shadows behind her.
“You talked to him?” Y/n asked, as if they were discussing homework instead of a decades-old vendetta.
Dong-eun set her bag down, walking past her daughter to the kitchen sink. “I did.”
Y/n closed the book, lips pursed. “Was he scared?”
Dong-eun didn't answer immediately. She poured a glass of water, her back to the girl. “He recognized me.”
Y/n’s expression twisted into something bitter. “Good.”
Dong-eun turned, leaning against the counter, eyes on the girl she raised—not with lullabies, but with hard truths and unflinching honesty.
“You don’t have to do this with me,” she said quietly, not for the first time. “This… this isn’t your burden to carry. It’s mine.”
Y/n stared at her for a long time before responding. “They made me too. Then they threw me away.”
Dong-eun’s chest tightened. She had never told Y/n the full truth. She hadn’t needed to.
Children are smarter than people give them credit for. Y/n knew. The girl had grown up piecing it together: the way Dong-eun’s hands shook after certain phone calls, the stack of documents she tried to keep hidden, the names she sometimes muttered in her sleep like curses.
And the photos. Y/n had found those one rainy afternoon when she was ten. The smiling faces of her biological parents, younger and crueler. The bruises on Dong-eun’s younger self, frozen forever in glossy print. She hadn’t asked questions then. But her silence had been louder than any scream.
Dong-eun pulled out the chair across from her and sat. “I hate them. I won’t deny that. But I never wanted you to.”
“I know.”
“I wanted you to grow up free of that poison.”
Y/n snorted softly. “You raised me. I’m not poisoned.”
Dong-eun looked at her hands. “But you’re angry.”
“So are you.”
They sat in silence. Outside, the cicadas hummed like an omen.
Dong-eun reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind Y/n’s ear. “Just promise me something.”
Y/n met her eyes, dark and reflective like her own.
“Promise me you won’t lose yourself in this. That if you ever feel like it’s too much, you’ll walk away.”
“Would you?”
Dong-eun faltered.
Y/n leaned forward, her voice low, serious. “I’m not doing this because you want revenge. I’m doing this because I want them to know they don’t get to hurt people and walk away clean. Not you. Not me.”
Dong-eun’s throat tightened with something fierce and painful—pride, sorrow, love.
“You’re not a weapon, Y/n.”
“I know. I’m your daughter.”
Dong-eun reached across the table and took her hand. “You are. No matter how this ends, you’ll always be that first.”
The sound of Yeon-jin’s stilettos clicking against the marble floors echoes through her penthouse as she storms in, clutching a sealed envelope thick with information. The private investigator had said it was thorough—everything he could find on Moon Dong-eun.
She rips it open with manicured fingers, flipping through the dossier with the cold detachment of someone hunting prey.
Employment history. Current residence. Financial records. Medical visits. Travel patterns.
She scoffs. “So boring,” she mutters, tossing aside irrelevant pages.
Then something catches her eye.
A section titled:
DEPENDENTS: ONE (1)
She frowns.
Moon Dong-eun has a child? She flips the page.
> “Adopted female child. Name: [Y/N] (new surname redacted).
Age: 13
Adoption Type: Closed.
Year of Adoption: 2011.
Agency: Everhope Children’s Services.
No available info on biological parents. Sealed record.”
“Closed?” Yeon-jin mutters. “Useless.”
She moves to the next page—then freezes.
A photo.
A candid, long-range shot. Moon Dong-eun holding a girl’s hand as they walk through a crosswalk. The child is mid-laugh, her dark hair spilling out behind her. There’s something about her. Yeon-jin can’t stop staring.
She flips to the next image—this time, the girl is looking directly at the camera.
Her heart slams into her ribs.
That face.
That face.
She drops the file. Papers scatter across the table.
She staggers backward, grabbing the edge of the counter to steady herself.
The girl—no older than thirteen—has her eyes. Jae-joon’s jawline. Her own exact smile.
“No,” she whispers. “No, it can’t be...”
She lunges back to the file, flipping back to the adoption date.
2011.
She does the math quickly. Thirteen now. Born in late 2011.
Her breath catches in her throat.
That’s the year. The year her mother dragged her out of the school restroom after she found the test. The year she was sent to a hidden clinic, and the child—the baby—was taken from her arms before she even had the chance to look.
The child she never held.
The one her mother made disappear.
Moon Dong-eun adopted her.
Of all people.
Of all the people in the world.
The file trembles in her hands as she stares down at the photo. The girl—her daughter—smiling up at Dong-eun like she’s the only mother she’s ever known.
Yeon-jin screams, a raw, wounded sound that rips through the luxury silence of her apartment.
She throws the file across the room, then rips open her phone, calling the investigator.
He answers on the first ring.
“You said the records were sealed,” she hisses.
“They are. I told you—”
“Then how did she get her?!” Yeon-jin roars. “How did Moon Dong-eun end up with my daughter?!”
She hangs up and stands there, heaving.
Her nails dig into her palms. Her throat burns.
“Of all people,” she whispers. “You had to end up with her.”
The backroom is dimly lit with golden fixtures and walls lined with expensive bottles. It reeks of wealth and concealed agendas.
Yeon-jin sits at the head of the table, legs crossed, expression sharp and cold. She slides a thick manila envelope across the table to Son Myeong-oh, who picks it up with a raised brow.
“Is this about Moon Dong-eun again?” he asks, half-smirking. “You’re really not over her, huh?”
Yeon-jin doesn’t answer. Just lifts her chin and stares.
He opens the file lazily, flipping through. His eyes pause on something inside.
“Wait a minute…” he frowns. “She has a daughter?”
Yeon-jin’s eyes flicker. Her fingers tighten around her glass.
“She adopted?” he adds, more amused than concerned. “Since when is Moon Dong-eun playing mommy?”
“Focus,” she snaps. “I don’t pay you to ask questions.”
Myeong-oh squints at her, picking up on something she didn’t mean to show. “You’re weirdly tense about this. Who is the kid—?”
“I said focus, Myeong-oh.”
Her voice is ice. Her jaw locked.
He raises his hands in surrender. “Fine, fine. I’ll find out everything. School, friends, daily routine. No problem.”
Yeon-jin turns away, eyes cold and distant.
Myeong-oh meets Jeon Jae-joon in his boutique, chatting over drinks. Jae-joon is distractedly checking fabrics when Myeong-oh mutters offhandedly:
“Hey, did you know Moon Dong-eun has a kid?”
Jae-joon pauses. “What?”
“Yeah. Apparently she adopted a girl. Weird, right? Didn’t seem the type.”
Jae-joon slowly lowers the fabric. “How old?”
Myeong-oh shrugs. “Eleven? Twelve, maybe.”
Jae-joon narrows his eyes. “Where’d you hear this?”
Myeong-oh realizes too late he’s slipped. “Forget it. Yeon-jin asked me to dig around. Probably nothing—”
But Jae-joon’s already moving.
The usual suspects are gathered—Yeon-jin, Hye-jeong, and Sa-ra.Tension is thick as they discuss Moon Dong-eun’s most recent moves.
Then the door SLAMS open.
Jeon Jae-joon storms in, facing thunder.
Yeon-jin stands, startled. “What—”
“You knew.” His voice booms through the room. “You knew exactly where my daughter was, and you didn’t tell me.”
Everyone freezes.
Hye-jeong stares. “Wait. Your daughter?”
Sa-ra blinks, wine glass halfway to her lips. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Don’t play dumb,” Jae-joon growls, pointing at Yeon-jin. “The kid you gave up in high school. The one your precious mother made disappear. You never told me you knew—”
“This is not the time or place—”
“No, Yeon-jin, this is exactly the time.” His voice cracks with rage. “For years, you let me believe you didn't know where she was. And now I find out the child we had together—the one I never even got to see—was adopted by Moon Dong-eun?”
Hye-jeong gasps. “Wait... wait, you two had a baby?!”
Sa-ra laughs under her breath. “Is this a soap opera?”
Hye-jeong turns to Yeon-jin, offended. “You didn’t tell me I had a niece! I would’ve gotten her matching clothes, Yeon-jin!”
Yeon-jin snaps. “Shut up, all of you! This has nothing to do with any of you.”
“Oh, now it’s nothing,” Jae-joon spits. “Now that it’s blown up in your face.”
Yeon-jin throws her hands in the air. “I just found out she was adopted by Dong-eun. What did you want me to do? That child was taken from me before I even knew what she looked like—”
“You could’ve told me,” he says, quieter now. “I had a right to know.”
Silence hangs. Heavy. Personal.
Then Sa-ra hums. “Well, Moon Dong-eun certainly knows how to hit where it hurts.”
Yeon-jin glares at her. “Don’t even start.”
“Too late,” Hye-jeong mutters. “You brought this on yourself.”
Yeon-jin turns, eyes blazing. “If any of you say one more word—”
Jae-joon cuts her off.
“I’m going to find her,” he says quietly. “My daughter. And if Dong-eun’s already turned her against us... that’s on you.”
He leaves.
The room remains in stunned silence, broken only by the sound of Yeon-jin’s shaky breath and Hye-jeong whispering:
“I could’ve been the fun aunt...”
Jeon Jae-joon had never felt this out of place.
He stood at the edge of the school courtyard, where parents with sensible clothes and worn umbrellas waited for their children. His tailored blazer, Italian loafers, and gold watch glinted under the Seoul sun. He wasn’t used to waiting for anyone. Certainly not outside a public school.
But today, he waited.
He had finally found it—her school.
Y/n.
His daughter.
He rolled the name in his mind like a forgotten song lyric. It felt foreign on his tongue, something he’d never had the right to say but now couldn't stop repeating to himself.
“Y/n.”
The name brought a tremor to his fingertips. He tried to appear casual, leaning against the fence, pretending to check his phone. In truth, he couldn’t stop scanning the crowd of school uniforms spilling out of the building.
She’d be in eighth grade now.
He had missed everything. Her first steps, her first words, her first day of school. All while he was parading around as a man in control, oblivious to the child he helped create and abandon.
But now, he knew. And he wasn’t going to let her slip away again.
A group of girls came out, laughing and jostling each other. His heart skipped a beat.
There.
He saw her.
Slender frame. A dark school skirt, cardigan slightly crooked. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she had that same half-wary expression he remembered seeing in the mirror as a boy. She was walking beside a classmate, talking softly.
Then she stopped.
She looked up.
Right at him.
Their eyes met.
It lasted less than a second, but he felt it—recognition. A jolt that punched straight through his chest.
Her eyes widened.
Then, she turned.
And walked faster.
Not a fluke. Not a coincidence.
She knew who he was.
And she wanted nothing to do with him.
“Y/n!” he called, weaving through students, ignoring the judgmental glances from other parents.
She picked up her pace.
Jeon Jae-joon cursed under his breath and followed.
His polished shoes clacked against the pavement, loud and unnatural against the scuffed sneakers and light chatter of students around him. He caught a few stares. A mother nudged her child protectively out of his way.
He didn’t care.
Y/n ducked behind the courtyard fence, heading toward the back alley—an old, narrow lane lined with vending machines and delivery crates, probably a shortcut home.
He turned the corner and saw her again, ahead of him, almost jogging.
“Y/n!” he shouted, desperation bleeding through. “Please. Just wait—”
She didn’t.
She kept going, jaw tight, back stiff like she was bracing herself for something worse than a man calling her name.
Jeon Jae-joon broke into a half-run. The bricks passed in a blur. A distant dog barked. The hum of a refrigerator from the nearby corner store filled the air.
He finally caught up when she reached the end of the alley and stopped at the small crosswalk.
He reached out gently, breathless. “Please. Can we talk?”
Y/n turned slightly.
Her eyes flicked to his outstretched hand.
And then up to his face.
Expression blank. Cold.
There was no hesitation, no confusion, no curiosity.
Only disgust.
“You don’t get to talk to me,” she said quietly.
He froze.
Her voice—young but firm—cut deeper than a blade. She didn’t scream or cry. There was no drama. Just finality.
He stepped back as if hit.
“I just want to explain—”
“You don’t get that either,” she said, turning back to the sidewalk.
He followed again, this time slower. More cautious.
“I didn’t know,” he said, voice trembling. “I swear to you—I didn’t know you existed. Not until—”
“I don’t care.”
He stopped.
Y/n kept walking.
“I don’t care if you knew or didn’t. You’re still him.”
“Him?”
She finally looked back again, only briefly. “The man who hurt my mom. The one who left me.”
His chest tightened. “Moon Dong-eun isn’t your real mom.”
“She’s more of a mother than Yeon-jin ever was,” she snapped. “And more than you ever were a father.”
He felt like he was drowning. His hands hung helplessly at his sides, the weight of his choices crushing every breath.
I love your platonic Moon Dong-Eun x daughter reader headcannon! Can you continue with a part 2 where they got a happy ending after Dong-Eun finished her mission, and how life goes after? How their relationship turn out after the mission? Reader spending time with both mom and cool new stepdad Yeo-Jeong, from walk through the parks and doing activities, to her parents low-key threatening a boy reader meets when she goes on her first date lmao, to graduating high school and then going to college/university with Dong Eun trying not to cry that her little girl is all grown up, finally at peace knowing that her daughter had a good life she always wanted her to have, that it was all worth it, and all is well 😌🥲
Moon Dong-eun x Daughter reader Headcanons Pt. 2
Pairing: Moon Dong-eun x Daughter reader; Step-father Joo Yeo-Jeong x step-daughterReader
• Previous •
Author's note: none
Aftermath
After everything — the years of quiet suffering, the pain she carried like a second skin — Moon Dong-eun finally puts the past to rest. With justice served and monsters exposed, she allows herself something she never thought she’d deserve: peace. And at the center of that peace is you, her daughter, her anchor.
She’s not quite used to the quiet yet. Some nights she still sits by your door, just listening to you breathe, grounding herself in the fact that you’re safe. That this is real. No more hiding. No more shadows.
Mother-daughter relationship
Dong-eun now can become a mother in peace. Not just the fierce protector or the scarred avenger — but someone who walks into your room and asks about your day, who tries to learn how to use memes and emojis (she sends 👁️👄👁️ by accident once and Yeo-jeong nearly chokes laughing).
She's a little awkward with affection still, but she tries for you. Hugs that were once stiff become second nature. She even lets you lean on her shoulder during movie nights, quietly resting her head on yours.
Sometimes she still apologizes. For the childhood she couldn’t give you. But you always remind her: "You gave me everything when you chose to fight. You gave me freedom."
Step-dad Joo Yeo-Jeong
You still giggle sometimes when you catch them holding hands like teenagers. Dong-eun pretends not to like public affection, but she blushes whenever he brushes her hair behind her ear.
Yeo-jeong takes to stepdad life way too easily. He insists on making pancakes shaped like animals. He teaches you how to drive (Dong-eun refuses to sit in the car after the first time).
Yeo-Jeong definitely starts to make dad jokes.
He also teaches you to throw a punch — just in case. “You never know,” he shrugs, before giving you a wink.
Family bonding
Sundays are sacred. It’s usually a morning walk in the park with coffee and taiyaki, then board games at home (Yeo-jeong always cheats), and later, you all curl up to rewatch Studio Ghibli movies — Dong-eun actually smiles when Spirited Away plays.
Sometimes you three go on mini road trips — cherry blossom festivals, seaside picnics, even spontaneous amusement park visits where Dong-eun swears she won’t get on a ride but ends up screaming on the rollercoaster louder than you.
Bringing a boy home
When you get asked on your first date, you’re excited. Nervous. You try to play it cool when he comes to pick you up. He’s sweet, well-mannered, clearly smitten.
And then there’s your parents.
Yeo-jeong opens the door with a casual, "Oh, you're the boy." Cue intense doctor-smile that somehow feels more threatening than kind.
Dong-eun? She just sits silently in the kitchen, sipping tea like a mafia boss waiting for the kid to slip up.
The poor boy stammers through his name. Dong-eun raises an eyebrow. “You hurt her even once, and you’ll be learning about pain in ways your textbooks never taught you.”
Yeo-jeong adds, “I have access to scalpels.”
You’re mortified. The boy looks like he might faint. But later, you find Dong-eun waiting up, pretending to read. “Did you have fun?” she asks softly. You smile. “I did.”
Graduation + Growing up
The day you graduate high school, Dong-eun wears the dress you picked for her. She’s early to the ceremony — so early that Yeo-jeong had to drag her out of the car to sit.
When your name is called, and you step onto the stage, her hand clenches over her heart. You’re radiant. Confident. Whole. Everything she had once only dreamed for you.
Dong-eun is happy that you got to cross the stage and not drop out like her.
When you find her afterward, she's trying not to cry, lips trembling. You wrap your arms around her and whisper, “We did it, Mom.”
Off to college
Packing for university is a bittersweet storm. She keeps folding and refolding your clothes like she's not ready to let go.
“You’re going to do amazing,” she says, her voice shaky. “You’ll meet people who don’t know your past, and that’s a good thing.”
You shake your head, smiling. “But I’ll always know where I came from. Who fought for me.”
Dong-eun doesn’t let the tears fall until you leave the driveway. Yeo-jeong wraps an arm around her, whispering, “She’s living the life you gave her.”
Happy ending
Moon Dong-eun wakes up some mornings and can’t believe this is her life.
A house filled with laughter.
A daughter growing into someone kind, powerful, free.
A man who sees her scars and still chooses to love every part of her.
And though the world once tried to destroy her, she stands now with something stronger than revenge — she stands with peace, love, and the quiet joy of a life finally lived.
dededos
kianamaiart
andulkaphoto
tangentwithtanner
annaxmalina
stormborns
turnnoffyourmind
pixelskylines