Princess 💙✨

everyone, how is your day going? did you eat yet today? 🥺 and to those who are at school/college or at work, make sure you're taking care of yourself (and if you're not, do try as best as you can!) 💗 OR ELSE i will spiritually come into your home tonight and make you chicken soup 😤 /lh

◯⠀﹒⠀ 🎧⠀﹒⠀𓇼⠀ ﹒⠀@i07seo

◯⠀﹒⠀ 🆒⠀﹒⠀𓇼⠀ ﹒⠀

perfect liars — blue lock, profootballer!itoshi sae x idol!reader, fake dating, alcohol mention, one shot, 4.5k-ish words

"You're really bad at this."

There's laughter hidden in your voice, a smirk teasing at the edge of your lips. He's been around you often enough now that he can catch that particular glimmer in your eye that means you're amused. At his expense. Again.

Itoshi Sae knows he's not infallible — he may be called a genius, but that's for the soccer field. Still, it grates — he's not bad at relationships, it's just that this one is fake.

"You're going to get scolded by your manager again," Sae says blandly. You pay him no mind, looping your arm around his and pressing your fingers into his bicep before tugging you both forward to survey the display of jewelry.

"And you're going to violate the contract," you say cheerfully, reaching for a pair of earrings with summer ocean gems. Your voice is lilting, musical, the familiar syllables of home standing out starkly against the murmurs of Spanish all around you. "What do you think?"

"You don't care what I think."

You snort, and it's the first crack in your picture perfect facade he's seen all day. "True, but c'mon, Itoshi, at least act like you enjoy my company."

Right. Sae pretends to spare another precious second looking at the earrings before smoothly sliding his card over to the attendant. You bat your eyelashes up at him, still clinging to his arm. "Thanks, loverboy."

His chest clenches uncomfortably. Sae knows you're making fun of him, but there isn't much he can do about it. For the sake of his career — and yours — the show must go on.

You tuck the earrings into your purse and he holds a hand out for you at the door, suppressing a tiny flare of victory when you flash him an approving lift of your eyebrows. For someone whose face is constantly plastered on giant billboards and magnified through close ups on tv, you know how to downplay everything, looking like just another girl on these not-so-secret "dates". Still pretty and charming, but with none of the star power that turns heads and captivates stadiums.

This is what you're counting on as the two of you return to the peaceful, sleepy streets of a smaller shopping district way outside the city, and the reason Sae isn't wearing a hat to hide his bright red brown hair.

"Exposure, but not too much," his manager had said. "Be seen, but not mobbed."

"Where should we go next?" you ask, squeezing his hand. "The shop attendant just snuck a photo of us, by the way. Lean down like you're going to whisper in my ear."

Sae raises an eyebrow. "Don't kiss my cheek again."

He leans close enough for his lips to brush your ear, which would be more than enough for the camera you're both playing for — but then he murmurs, low, just for you, "Are you wearing my cologne?"

He's rewarded with another crack in your mask — heat radiates from your cheeks as you blush. You lower your lashes and avoid his gaze like you're shy, but he catches it again. That glimmer in your eye.

"It fits my image," you say. "And it smells nice."

Sae lets you tug him down the street once you deem your fake photo op accomplished, depending on your sense for these things to take the lead. He's never cared about his image to the public unless it gets in the way of his chances to play professional football, which is the only reason he signed that contract with you in the first place.

Cold. Rude. Unmarketable.

None of that mattered until his professional football team decided it did, and then his manager was scrambling to find a solution and somehow Sae ended up with you.

You — an idol with a reputation for making waves. Far from being the nation's sweetheart, but famous enough. Your label leaped at the chance to get you a foothold in the international market, and Sae's manager agreed as a way to spike his popularity rankings high enough to offset his attitude.

Privately, though, Sae has a feeling he just pissed off the wrong people in management.

"You have practice tomorrow, Itoshi?" you ask. Your hand is still tucked into the crook of his arm. It does something strange to his insides, seeing your fingers wrapped around his jacket, but he puts that thought away for later.

"Yes."

"Hmm," you hum, "and have your teammates mentioned me at all?"

Sae raises an eyebrow and says dryly, "Planning on ditching me already? And here I thought we were in love."

You laugh and stick a little closer to his side. "I only have eyes for you, Itoshi, don't worry. No, I was just asking because I think you need some props. We don't want anyone getting suspicious!"

"Props," he repeats. "We already changed our phone screens. What more is there?"

"You know… like, you should keep one of my hair ties on your wrist," you suggest, "or you can 'accidentally' have my makeup bag in your gym bag. Oh! I know — how do you feel about marks?"

Sae just looks at you. "Marks."

"Yeah," you grin up at him impishly, and Sae sees a glimmer of why you're so beloved on variety shows. "Don't you want proof? That you fuck?"

"You're just horny."

You laugh out loud at that. "Well, it's not like I can sleep with anyone else while we're together," you say, "but no, I just think it'd be good proof that we're really together. You're supposed to be attractive, right? That means I'd definitely jump your bones at some point."

Sae doesn't deem that with a response.

You drop the topic, but Sae can tell you're still thinking about it. Every step feels weighted, heavy. He can feel every brush of your body against his arm as you tug and nudge him around the town, until the considerable weight of his attention is narrowed down to the places where your body presses against his own.

"Here." You fish out a bucket hat from your purse and hold it out to him. "Your disguise for sneaking into my hotel room."

"I don't need to prove anything to my teammates," Sae says. You slip the hat onto his head and adjust it for a moment, apparently ignorant of any sense for personal space. He catches a whiff of your scent — his scent — and his gut clenches weirdly. "They're the ones who should be proving themselves to me if they want to receive my passes."

"This isn't about football," you murmur, rolling your eyes. "This is about sending a message."

Whatever. Sae watches as you pull on a bucket hat as well and pause in front of a storefront window to check your reflection. "Isn't the point to be recognized?"

"Not really," you hum, sliding your hand into his and lacing your fingers together naturally. "It would be good for your teammates to talk, but we don't actually need sleazy hotel pap pics."

You don't do anything in particular to hide your faces or linked hands as you take him back to your hotel and up to your room, probably banking on the fact that the city is busy enough to hide what's in plain sight. Sae flexes his fingers when you drop his hand to shut the door.

"Take off your shirt," you say. Sae looks at you. "You can take off your shoes, too, if it'll make you more comfortable. This shouldn't take that long, though."

"Should I be offended?" Sae shrugs off his jacket and hangs it up. The clink of the hanger is loud in the silence of your room.

"You never answered my question," you say, fingering the hem of his shirt. Your eyes are liquid depths in the sunset painting the room. "Are you okay with this?"

It's for your careers, isn't it? Sae doesn't know what he would do without football. "Yes."

You tug at his shirt and he pulls it off, drops it on your bed along with the hat. "Oh, you are hot," you murmur. Sae tucks away his smirk.

He must not do a very good job of it, because you grin up at him and it's teasing and you're nudging him back until his knees hit the mattress. He sits and plants his hands behind him, watching you. "Do you do this often?"

"Nope," you reply cheerfully. Sae waits. You climb onto his lap. "Are you ticklish?"

"You would like that, wouldn't you."

You laugh a bit under your breath, dipping down to brush your lips along the sensitive skin of his neck. Sensitive — Sae's used to full body tackles and skinship due to the nature of the game, but it's different with you in his arms like this. Like — this, with your hands resting on his back, your hair tickling his cheek. Your waist soft beneath his hand as he reaches out to stabilize you.

You're hovering above his lap, apparently a little more conscious of personal space now, but then you press your lips to his collarbone and he hisses low.

"Sorry," you murmur, lips still close enough to brush skin, "did I hurt you?"

"No," he says curtly.

Sae holds still as you hum and begin to worry at his neck, alternating between kissing and sucking, nipping here and there and licking soothingly as you work your way down. You pay special attention to the slope of his shoulder where it meets his collarbone, your nails digging lightly into the muscles of his back as you sink lower.

Heat blooms embarrassingly beneath your touch, tendrils zipping quietly along his nerves as he clenches his jaw shut. You don't seem to notice, settling firmly into his lap with a sigh that makes his blood burn.

"I'm gonna scratch your back a bit," you warn, and Sae can't help but tense as you drag your nails down his bare back.

He keeps his tone cool and unaffected when you lift your head to meet his eye. Arousal drips through his veins, heats up his skin. "Are we done yet?"

Your gaze drops to his neck and shoulders and your head tilts critically. It's not cute, but you're warm and soft and sitting directly on his crotch. Sae is — apparently — a weaker man than he thought. "Should I do the other side, too, or do you think you would've flipped me over by now?"

Brazen. Sae slides his hand from your waist to your thigh. "If we were doing this," he says evenly, "we would still be in the foyer."

"Oh."

It's silent for a breath. You blink up at him slowly, and then a smile dawns, dazzling and bright in the light of the setting sun. "So you do think I'm hot," you say smugly.

Sae narrows his eyes. "Don't be stupid."

You're being very warm and distracting. "Let me leave a few more marks on your back, and then you can get out of here."

By the time you're satisfied with your handiwork, you've added a few more hickeys to his chest, bright and blooming, and the lines along his back burn pleasantly with every shift of his muscles. It doesn't take you long, but it feels endless, time stretching out like taffy.

Sae watches you impassively as you lean back in his lap. The movement brings your hips directly against his dick, and he knows you can feel him. He's hard. You're — so warm. You could grind against his cock and bring both of you to dizzying heights with a simple shift of your hips.

But you just smile and pat his chest — tap tap.

"Will you tell me how your teammates react?" you ask, climbing off his lap and dislodging his hand resting on your thigh.

"Maybe," Sae says. He pulls his shirt back on and you hold out the bucket hat. He takes it, deliberately brushing his fingers along yours, just to watch you shiver. "If you're good."

Sae isn't sure what you expected, but you text him after practice the next day with a selfie and a few question marks in a row.

He leaves you on read.

Sae's teammates stare when he takes his shirt off, and a few whistles pierce the locker room chatter. He pays them no mind, gathering up his things for the shower, but Oliver slings an arm over his shoulders before he can get very far.

"Don't tell me your idol girlfriend is actually a hellcat," Oliver says. "Isn't that against the rules? Her image is so…"

"Get off me," Sae says. Oliver always knows how to push his buttons, though Sae will never admit it.

Oliver drops his arm and flashes him a cheeky grin. "You should bring her out with us this weekend," he says, "I can help you show her a good time."

Sae rolls his eyes. "She already has me."

It shouldn't bother him, but the casual comment digs under his skin and sticks. He's witnessed Oliver's track record, the endless revolving door of girls and guys. It doesn't feel right to picture you in that lineup. Not that Sae cares — but your image would probably take a hit. And that wouldn't be good for him.

Sae washes off with a bit more force than necessary, something pleased curling in his gut with every subtle aching reminder of you in his lap just a day ago. Sae isn't a virgin, but it's been a long time, and his half hard cock seems to agree that perhaps it's been a little too long.

You've sent him another photo by the time he finishes moisturizing and pulling on clothes. This time it's a close up of your hand. You're flipping off the camera.

If he softens at his phone, that's just for him to know.

Sae: Not very patient, are we? You: did you know you have read receipts on? Sae: Yes. You: i just wanna know the results of my handiwork. throw me a bone, itoshi Sae: They noticed.

You don't have read receipts, so he has no way of knowing if you simply got pulled away or if you think the conversation is now over.

It digs at him, prods at his attention even as he leaves the locker room and Oliver's reissued invitation fades into a distant memory. Sae goes about his business, drinks his post practice protein shake and ignores his phone.

He knows you have work, even in another country — dance practice and vocal lessons and language homework. He knows your schedule is grueling and unglamorous, a high price to pay for fifteen minutes of fame.

But you normally message him back.

He's always been the one who's left you hanging. You have a tendency to shoot off messages like you don't have a brain-to-thumbs filter, sending texts back to back with abandon, though Sae's noticed it's mostly empty filler. He wonders if you've figured out that he's picked up on it, and if that's why you stopped.

You are a lot more observant than anyone else gives you credit for, but it's interesting to pick you apart. Sae keeps his phone turned face down.

He lets it vibrate the first time, barely glancing up from some tape he's watching, but by the third vibration he gets up to see if it's you.

You: why's your teammate inviting me to clubs on insta? You: i have an image, itoshi!! You: it looks fun tho………. i should be at the club……….. You: should i be at the club?? nobody here would recognize me, right?

Sae frowns and hits the "call" button before he can stop himself.

"Hi, babe," you sound cheerful, but there's a thread of exhaustion buried deep that makes Sae's frown deepen. "Is it weird that I've never been to the club?"

"They're overrated," he says flatly. "Your manager would kill you."

It's silent for a moment. In the background, Sae picks up the squeak of shoes against hardwood, the repetitive stomp and slide of dance practice going on without you.

"There are easier ways to get rid of me," you finally murmur. Your sigh echoes down the line. It takes you another moment, but then you add, "Haven't you wondered why my company's dating ban doesn't apply to me?"

Sae's vision snaps back into focus and he blinks down at his countertop. "You're the only idol they have with cross-cultural appeal."

You laugh quietly, and Sae closes his eyes. It's easier to hear your voice this way. "I'm beloved enough that they need me to self-implode. Wanna help, Itoshi?"

The club lights pulse and shimmer with the beat, loud and drowning. Sae watches you dance and cradles a cup to his chest, leans back against the wall as if it doesn't bother him one bit that you're swaying to the music with his teammate.

Oliver, to his credit, keeps his hands to respectable parts of your body. Only touches your bare shoulder or the lightest graze of your hip. Just enough to keep you in his space and others out.

Sae would respect that, normally. Would even appreciate it, if he hadn't taken the shots Oliver ordered for the three of you earlier.

But you're wearing some impossible slip of fabric and every flash of light cutting through the machine generated fog gives Sae an image of you burned into the back of his eyelids.

"Wanna help, Itoshi?"

"You want me to keep you from crashing and burning?"

"I want you to make it real."

Sae feels your hand slide up his chest and opens his eyes to meet yours. The light makes you look shimmery around the edges, softer than usual, a little hazy. You smell like his cologne.

"I want you to destroy me, Itoshi."

You take a sip from his cup of water before setting it aside, your other hand still flat on his chest. Sae doubts you can feel the rapid beat of his heart when the music rattles his bones, but he leans close anyway, tilts your chin up with one finger and kisses you.

The club disappears as your mouth opens beneath his, a sigh, a silent invitation. Sae dips in, tastes the refreshing coolness from his drink lingering in your mouth, and then your fingers clench his shirt and everything goes hot.

Everything boils down to this, to you. Sae knows people think he's cold, but you're gasping into his mouth and he's sliding his tongue between your teeth and you're kissing him back, wet and filthy and — and you're in public, shit.

The broken sound you make when he pulls back makes his dick throb concerningly in his pants and — when did he get so hard? Sae shakes his head slightly, meets your blown pupils with a hiss, holds you a tiny bit closer. Just to keep you upright, to keep this impossible outfit from exposing any more of your skin to everyone in the club.

"Is it 'cause I wasn't good?" you ask, breathless. Sae aches. "Why'd you leave me on read? How d'you want me? How can I be good for you?"

"I was just busy," Sae murmurs. He runs his fingers up your back, watches you shiver. "They were… impressed. Oliver called you a hellcat."

"And I'm good?" you press.

Sae dips down to kiss you again, spinning the two of you around so his back can be your shield. You cling to his shoulders and it makes him dizzy, makes him kiss you deeper, like you're really his girlfriend.

"I-Itoshi, you've been holding out on me," you gasp accusingly. Your fingers tangle in his hair and he groans into your cheek. Presses a kiss there, and then moves to the soft spot just below your ear. "I should've asked you to destroy me sooner."

Right. Sae pulls back but keeps you pinned against the wall, still close enough that he can feel every soft curve of you pressing against him. "Are you done with the club?"

There's that glimmer in your eye. Or maybe it's just the club lights reflecting every color under the sun in your irises — but it draws him in and he kisses you again, lingering at your lips. Far too soft for what you're asking, but you seem tipsy enough that this can be just for him.

Sae takes a small step back, tucks you into his side, scans the club for the quickest path to the exit. Oliver catches his eye across the crowded floor and tilts his head in question. Sae nods.

He ignores the knowing grin Oliver tosses his way.

You're quiet and — pliant, on the ride back to his apartment. Sae lets you hide kisses along the column of his neck in the taxi, corners you in the elevator ride up with only a huff of amusement when you blink up at him innocently.

"You smell good," you murmur. It's a feeble excuse for the soft brush of your lips on his skin, but he lets you do as you wish. It makes it easier for him to guide you into his cold apartment, to lock the door behind you and to kneel at your feet.

"Here," he says. A hand around your ankle, cradling the delicate bone. The clasps of your heels loosen and he slides them off, sets your bare feet into a pair of house slippers. You hold onto his shoulders as if you need help balancing.

"Itoshi…"

Sae grips your bare calf with an exhale and looks up. "Can you walk to the bathroom?"

You blink down at him, pouting even as you trace a pattern idly along his cheekbone. "You want me to take my makeup off before we fuck?"

Sae's pants are tight. You slide your fingers into his hair and tug lightly. He grunts. "We need to sleep."

"I thought you said you'd help destroy me," you murmur. Sae rises and scoops you up in one smooth motion, smirking to himself when you yelp and throw your arms around his neck. The house slippers fly off your feet with your flailing, but Sae just looks at you. "Itoshi!"

"We went to the club," he reminds you. It takes no effort at all for him to carry you to the bathroom. He sets you on the counter and shuffles around in a drawer. "Here."

You wipe your makeup off and brush your teeth obligingly, not even questioning why he has a spare toothbrush or makeup wipes available. Sae grunts when you wrap your legs around his waist like a koala, but he carries you to the bed without question.

He knows you can feel him — still hard — against your warmth, so it doesn't surprise him when you refuse to let go. Sae drops you onto the bed and his grip on your thighs gets stronger, fingers digging in to the soft muscles there. "Will you sleep in these clothes?"

You shake your head, pouting up at him prettily. "Undress me?"

"Do you let all of your fake boyfriends do this?" Sae asks idly, fingering the straps of your outfit.

"You know you're my first and only fake boyfriend." Even tipsy, you roll your eyes at him.

Sae snorts. It is far too easy to peel your clothes off, though you're loose limbed and only barely cooperating. Sae has to resist brushing his lips along each new inch of bare skin revealed to him, and it doesn't help that you watch his every move with that fucking glimmer in your eye.

You reach for him once you're in nothing but your panties, fingers tugging at the belt loops of his pants. Sae huffs and the sound is too fond even to his own slightly inebriated ears, so he draws the blankets up over your body and steps away before you can drag him in.

"Aren't you coming to bed?" you ask.

"I need to wash up. Go to sleep, you little troublemaker."

You're fast asleep by the time he finishes up, breaths coming out even and slow. Sae watches you for a moment. His apartment is small for a player of his status, but he's never seen a need for a guest bedroom because he never has guests.

Sae wakes up to an empty apartment. Daylight filters in and hits his living room couch from an angle he's never seen before. He blinks up at the ceiling and listens to the silence.

His front door opens and shuts.

"Itoshi," you sing-song. "Are you still on the couch? Can I sit with you?"

You're cradling a paper bag and a tray of takeout cups, and you sit before he has a chance to fully move out of your way. "That shirt is too big for you," he says blankly.

"You can put your head here if you're still tired," you say cheerfully, patting at your lap. Sae eyes the pants you're wearing — stolen from his closet, rolled up at the bottom, cinched to your waist with a belt — and then sighs and lies back down. You grin at him.

"When did you wake up?" he asks. You take a sip of your drink and set his cup to the side for later. "You could have woken me."

"You were sleeping so peacefully," you say. The paper bag rustles as you reach in to break off a piece of pastry. "Besides, you didn't even touch me last night, and I was so defenseless. I thought maybe you were giving up on that part of the plan. So I didn't want to bother you."

"I'm not giving up," Sae says, blinking up at you slowly. The morning light makes you glow. "But I won't take advantage of you while you're drunk."

"I wanted you to," you say matter-of-factly. "I thought you said if we were doing this, we wouldn't make it past the foyer. I got all the way to your bed, Itoshi."

Sae frowns. "Do we actually need to fuck in order to destroy you?"

"It'll make you a better actor," you say casually. Sae catches your eye and you wink. "You're so stiff with me all the time my own group mates asked if it was real."

That makes him bristle, but he just clenches his jaw. You pop another bit of pastry into your mouth. "Is this part of your plan, then?"

"My agency thinks ruining my image will let them wipe their hands of me," you sigh and kick your feet a little. "The international market is different, though. I need something scandalous to keep me relevant. That's why I need you to destroy me… but you kind of suck at acting, Itoshi."

This relationship is fake. It's fake. Sae can be good at relationships. Girls have fallen for him many times. He knows he's attractive, and the evidence is clear that he could easily get a girlfriend any time he wants — even if he's never had time for one before. Still, it can't possibly be that difficult.

He reaches up and laces his fingers with yours. "Fine. I'll make the world believe we're in love."

You squeeze his hand and snort. "Good luck."

locker room - itoshi sae x gn! reader

idk how the story flowed? i dont like it. i had another idea but i guess i'll use it somewhere else haha

itoshi sae- the hot soccer captain of his school, who happens to also be winning the ‘idgaf’ war. call him the nonchalant final boss if you want but you didn't hate him. in the same time, you wouldn't exactly like him 

so how did you both end up stuck in the locker room? 

here’s a little setting for you! yes you! 

you, being a prominent member of the school journaling team, was asked to get some insights from the soccer star. striking up a conversation with him was already hard, how would you push questions on him? you weren't exactly sure but you had to do it, your team depended on you 

clipboard pushed to your chest, you knock on the locker room and surprise surprise, the man of the hour opens it. he doesn’t say anything, tilting his head at you and waited for you to start the conversation or else he would send you out of the room 

“do you mind sharing a few words about your match today? it would help our club with the weekly new-” 

“come in,” sae sighs and you were this close to smacking your clipboard on him but hey, you’re going to be the mature one here 

“brilliant game itoshi,” you complimented and took a seat on the bench facing him 

he puts a towel around his neck and grabs the bottle nearby, taking a sip as if pissing you off on purpose. “tell me something i don’t know” 

“how did you feel when playing today? you didn't let the opponent school score a single point!,” you mention in awe while seeing the scored jotted down 

“how did you expect me to feel?,” sae turned the question to you 

you raise your eyebrow at his words because last time you checked, you were the one asking the questions. “excuse me?” 

sae sighs and puts his bottle down before throwing in the most generic answer. the dry conversation went back and forth, and your polite meter was going to crash if you stayed any longer. 

the star didn't give much of a newsworthy answer but you knew his fanclub would eat it up, allowing your club to rise in school. sae’s answers were short and simple and that was easy to write- a win for you! 

“alright,” you click your pen with a somewhat content smile. “i got everything i need. thank you for your time itoshi” 

“sure” 

you get up, dusting your uniform a bit before heading to the door but.. why was it locked? you twist the doorknob but it wouldn't open no matter how much force you put 

“well would you look at that,” sae gets up and tosses his damped towel on the bench 

you turn over to look at him, a little annoyed at the place you both were now ‘stuck in’. definitely wasn't something planned- who said that?? no no! you both, by pure ‘coincidence’ were locked in. it's not like he paid shidou to put a chair to block the door for an hour. and he definitely did not force your club to send you to interview him

nah, that would be very lukewarm of him 

“so,” sae points to your clipboard. “let’s continue”

@yveswon-zz - do not copy or translate without permission

i feel like mc is gonna die of a heart attack soon lol

fire and brimstone (and you’re a moth made of gasoline) — TWO.

SYNOPSIS. having fought tooth and nail out of high school, university, and law school, only to end up working for a law firm that basically serves as a clean up dog after the biggest organized crime group in the district, you thought you couldn’t get any lower than this. 

the bar is in hell, and yet you’ve managed to limbo six feet beneath that. alternatively— na jaemin is the personification of hell, and your very existence just makes him even worse than he already is. 

PAIRING. na jaemin x female! reader. GENRE. gang! au, lawyer! au, office! au, comedy, drama, romance, very light angst, this is a sitcom, hate to love(?), a somewhat questionable power dynamic, asshole! jaemin (my beloved…my kryptonite…) but he’s also an idiot, jaemin has an eye contact thing, inspired by the manhwas “weak hero” and “study group.” WARNINGS. an abundance of criminal activity (including but not limited to organized crime, fraud, blackmail, DUIs, unethical and illegal occupational practices, etc.), blood and violence, suggestive themes, eventual non explicit sex, jaemin with a tattoo, legal inaccuracies because i am not familiar with south korean laws, so i’m just using my own country’s as reference. also because this is just a stupid thirst fic. who gives a damn. WORD COUNT. 7.6k.

NOTE. i tagged this as hate to love. i meant it. na jaemin is an objectively shitty person and i’ve given myself the herculean task of trying to redeem him (if ever) HAHAHHAHAHAHA. also, i tried to cut as many corners as i could in the trial scene. don’t expect it to be accurate. anyway, hope this chapter is fun! please let me know what you think! NEXT CHAPTER TO BE PUBLISHED.

YOU DIDN’T THINK YOU’D EVER FEEL THIS KIND OF DREAD ON A MONDAY AGAIN. The usual dread borne out of starting yet another week as a capitalist slave is given. It’s nothing special. But the dread you feel today as you drive to Yeongdeungpo Police Station (yet again, to the point that you’re starting to feel like an inmate yourself) is a dread that you haven’t felt in a long ass while.

Specifically, eight years ago. You’re like a broken record at this point, but it doesn’t stop you from continually cursing Na Jaemin in your mind as you stomp through the echoing halls of the station. Officer Jung is leading the way yet again to the visitation room, all while suffering from the brunt of your temper.

“He didn’t decline your request today,” he starts, attempting to make conversation.

No fucking shit, you reply in your head. “Thank you for the patience, officer,” you vocalize with a constipated smile. 

It seems like Officer Jung managed to catch the eye roll you didn’t intend for him to see. He gives you one polite smile and doesn’t make any more attempts after that, speaking only once you’ve reached the visitation room to unlock it and wish you luck with a nod. 

You thank him, sucking in a deep breath as you force your joints to start creaking. Luck. The door clicks behind you. You damn need more than luck to get through this meeting and this entire case. You need the very devil’s mercy and cooperation.

“Good day, Na Jaemin-ssi.”

But the devil isn’t a merciful man. You swallow down a lump in your throat and force out a smile.

“How have you been?”

He stares you down with the weight of a thousand suns, stabbing you right in the gut with a pain enough to incite a wave of nauseous vomit. “Get on with it,” he rasps. “I don’t think you got Mark on my ass just for some stupid fucking small talk. Hurry up and get on with it.”

Your smile twitches. This guy has never learned how to speak nicely.

*‎

(You’ve established that your new seatmate is Na Jaemin. Yet that’s all you’ve come to know about him up until the bell rings to signal lunch time.

Carefully sneaking out of your seat, you peer down to see that he’s still deep asleep. You huff. Wow. Four classes have gone by, and this guy slept through it all. And none of the teachers even called him out— only going as far as sending a look of resigned acknowledgement at your direction, sometimes even relief. Sometimes fear.

Anyhow, that first half of your day was enough to answer why Natty gave you that warning earlier: that the seat you chose was the worst one possible— next to the very embodiment of trouble, even if you don’t know the details just yet.

Despite not knowing much, you’re already blaming him for the fact that you’re eating lunch alone. 

The heat from the stew broth pricks at the skin of your lips as you scan around the cafeteria. You notice a few familiar faces scattered around, all sitting either in pairs or in groups in their respective seats and tables. You even lock eyes with Natty at some point, who simply averts your gaze with guilt ridden twitch as she turns head to her friend, someone you don’t recognize was in your class. 

Seems like you were doomed from the moment you sat your ass down on that seat. Fuck’s sake. Whoever this Na Jaemin guy is, you don’t like him already. You decide to temper your annoyed steps with some ice cream from the snack bar, seeing that there’s still a couple of minutes left before the afternoon bell. You pick up an extra snack as well— a melon bread wrapped in green tinted plastic. Something to pick at from under your desk as you go through your afternoon classes. You grab a can of pink peach soda to drink on the way back.

Upon returning to your classroom, the first thing you notice is the fact that no one else is here when there’s only five minutes left before lunch.

The second thing you notice— 

“Hey, you.”

There is, in fact, someone here.

Na Jaemin had sat up from the cross-armed, sleep-ridden slump he’d been in all morning. He’s awake. Now that his face isn’t buried, you finally have something to match the name.

“Why the hell didn’t you wake me up?”

There’s a distinct scowl on his face as he sets his phone down on his desk, shoulders slacked and sitting with his legs apart, which pushed your seat away to the very edge of your desk space. 

You feel a twitch in your brow. The annoyance prompts your feet to move close, triggers your mouth to open and speak back. “What?” you start. “There’s—there’s a bell that—”

“I was fucking asleep, you dumb fuck.” Na Jaemin cuts you off, and you flinch. “You think I’d hear a damned bell when I’m knocked the fuck out?” 

A gut feeling kicks in, forcing you to preemptively stop, look down, and choke down the remnants of your words into a stifling silence. You try to take a peek at Na Jaemin’s expression, but the sound of a tongue clicking in annoyance and the reeling back of a chair forces your eyes to continue staring at the classroom floor, feeling your entire body reverberating with the loud sound of your heartbeat as Na Jaemin’s presence loom closer. 

“I asked you a fucking question.”

“S—sorry,” you sputter out. “I’ll…I’ll wake you tomorrow.”

For a brief moment, you manage to take a quick glance at na Jaemin’s face, standing right before you.

And the sheer disdain and annoyance in his eyes makes you instantly regret that very decision.

“Useless.” You flinch back down and  hear him release a huff as he snatches the half-drunk peach soda from your hands. Your feet are nailed to the ground, and Na Jaemin proceeds to down the remnants of the drink before tossing the empty can back to you, shoving past you as the bell rings— and you hear a fumble of apologies from outside the door as Na Jaemin saunters out of the classroom.

Finally looking up, you see your classmates crowding outside the classroom, some slowly trickling in upon noticing that the coast is clear. 

You don’t think you’re wrong to assume that they’d seen everything that happened in the room. You don’t think you noticed wrong either that they’re deliberately refusing to acknowledge it.

All of them make it to their seats. No one tries to talk to you after that, but that’s not the topmost thing that you’re troubled with.

You promised to wake Na Jaemin up for lunch tomorrow. You might have just become his personal alarm clock.)

*‎

In retrospect, that was a completely void agreement. God, it pisses you off thinking just how much of a doormat you were. Still are, considering you’re barely keeping it together sitting in front of Na Jaemin when you’re supposed to be the authoritative figure here. It pisses you off even more knowing that he doesn’t even remember you. 

His impatient taps on the wooden table echo and bounce off the walls of the visitation room. 

“Na Jaemin-ssi,” you inhale sharply. “Your hearing is this Thursday, two days from now. I’ve already made the necessary preparations for your defense, and—”

“So, you’re finally getting me out?”

Can this son of a bitch let you fucking speak? “Hopefully,” you promptly answer. “I’m confident in the case I’ve prepared. However, there’s…something I need you to do in order to ensure that the judge will rule in our favor, Na Jaemin-ssi.”

Here we go. You gotta tread this carefully. Very carefully, because you know damn well that Na Jaemin doesn’t like being ordered around. 

“It is very likely that the prosecution will call you to the witness stand. You have every power to invoke your right against self-incrimination. But in our case, allowing yourself to be cross-examined by the prosecution would actually be favorable for us as a testament to your innocence, so long as you stick to the script.” It’s hard to get a hint of how well he’s receiving this because you’re too scared shitless to look him straight in the face. All you can do is hope he’s actually listening and not picking his ears as you continue to prattle on. “You just have to agree to Atty. Jung Sungchan’s line of questioning— even the fact that you fought the witnesses. However, you have to say that you didn’t start the fight. You don’t remember how the fight started. And you sustained significant injuries yourself.”

Na Jaemin got out of that altercation with just a few bruises and scratches, but the doctor Mark Lee referred you to was able to turn that into a couple broken ribs and a dislocated shoulder. He agreed to attest to the medical report on the stand as well.

The only missing piece you really need right now is Na Jaemin’s testimony and cooperation. 

His lack of response does not bode well for you. The room swallows you up in its cold and eerie silence. “Do you…follow…Na Jaemin-ssi…?” you try to prod out a response. And you get a response, all right.

Just not the kind of response you’d been praying for.

“Are you saying that I have to go up there, pretend I took a beating from those sissy fucks, and act all pathetic and pitiful like a little bitch?”

There’s an angry kick against the table. You suck down a breath when you feel the wooden edge jam against your ribcage.

“Who the hell do you think you are to tell me what to do?”

Your eyes squeeze shut, ignoring the sharp pain on your torso because that’s the least of your problems right now. Why…why does he have to be so goddamn difficult? Fuck’s sake. “Na Jaemin-ssi,” you exhale. “I’m not—I’m not telling you to do all those things. I’m just saying that the only way we could see your full acquittal is if we prove that Yoon Naksung and his party were also at fault.”

“We? That’s your damn job, attorney. You want me to do your fucking job for you?” 

This is different from when he was trying to deliberately push your buttons last time.

He’s mad. He’s really freaking mad.

“Get out. Get the fuck out.”

You know a warning when you hear one. You waste no time gathering yourself and speed walking out the door— half out of fear, mostly out of angered frustration because holy fuck. This is a mess. You’re so fucking screwed. Sure, you managed to get Hong Hyunjae, and Ma Gildong to cooperate with you. Sure, you managed to get a doctor to fake his medical exam. But all that would be useless if your bastard of a client decides to run his mouth and brag about just how much he wrecked those idiots’ asses.

Say, you don’t force him to testify. Once the witnesses come out and follow the script you made, the judge might still compel Na Jaemin to take the stand to confirm things. If he says anything to the contrary, you’re as good as screwed. At best, you’d lose the case. At worst, you’d be charged with contempt of court, and you can kiss your license goodbye.

That’s how your meeting ends— with a looming sense of dread that follows you out the doorway.

You exit the visitation room as if you’d just gotten your life ripped out from your own hands. It doesn’t go under Officer Jung’s notice, who’d been waiting by the door. 

“JJS is always handling the tough cases,” he remarks.

You grunt. “Give us a call when you wanna get silly with your gun and try shooting at random civilians.”

Thank god he doesn’t attempt any more small talk, nor does he follow you out. You’re way too exhausted right now— mostly emotionally and psychologically, and you’ve almost broken yourself down to simply just admit defeat and abandon this motherfucker’s ass. He can continue being a bitch in jail for all you care. You’re done. You’re so fucking done. You decide that you don’t give a shit anymore and give Mark a call right outside the station.

Four rings. Then he picks up. “Hey,” you immediately start. “What will you do if I fail to release your dog?”

Mark Lee never even got the chance to greet you back when you tossed this question at him. “Hmm,” he ponders, leaving a gap for a quiet pause. “That’s not something I’ve even considered, attorney. I really value our relationship thus far.”

You don’t even give him a response before ending the call. Your arm falls limp on your side. Fuck. You’re so dead.

Either in the hands of Mark Lee, or Na Jaemin, should you continue trying to push him. You’ve only ever seen the lengths of the latter’s violence. You don’t intend on finding out just how much of a psycho the former is. So death by Na Jaemin, it is.

You bring your phone up and call Mark again and ask for another meeting with your client tomorrow. He says he’s always happy to oblige.

*‎

(At some point, after a whole week of being Na Jaemin’s alarm clock, you started to wonder— why the hell do you have to keep doing this?

Lunch bells. Dismissals. Having to leave the classroom for gym or for some other special class. He expects you to wake him up or else you’d get your fucking ass kicked, and even when you do wake him up, he gives you a nasty ass look as if he’s about to kick your ass, until you promptly squeak out that class has ended, or whatever your teachers’ instructed you to do that day.

It’s only after seven days of this bullshit that you realize that you don’t owe him. You’re under no obligation whatsoever to keep being his alarm lackey or answer to him in any way shape or form. He’s just a guy. He’s just a student, just like you. And you bet that he’s probably just bluffing. 

All he’s ever done is snatch your drink from you. He hasn’t even laid a hand on you.

So just as you march back to the classroom after having your lunch at the cafeteria— alone, because getting involved with Na Jaemin has ruined all your chances of making any friends— you decide that it’s finally time to put your foot down and tell him that you’re not his slave. You’re not doing this crap anymore.

Yet your newfound sense of will-power is promptly deflated when you slide open the classroom door and see that your seatmate isn’t snoozing in his usual spot.

In fact, no one is seated in their seats. Your brows furrow in confusion upon noticing that all your classmates are crowding the windows on the other side of the room, all pressing up the glass, gawking and gasping at the same thing.

“Is that Park Gunho from Class 9?”

“Yeah, dude. I heard him talking shit about Na Jaemin the other day, and— oh! Ouch. That’s gotta hurt.”

“Holy shit, is that blood?”

“Where the hell are the teachers?”

You managed to squeeze in between two of your classmates, looking through the glass and right at the crowded spectacle in the courtyard— just in time to watch Na Jaemin land a crunchy punch into Gunho’s nose that has you wincing, even when the fight is happening from several feet away. 

At this point, the other guy is barely standing on his feet. Practically limping when your demon of a seatmate twists his arm behind, only to shove a kick into his back, sending him straight to the dusty ground. You watch as Na Jaemin stomps a foot into the poor guy’s knuckle’s. You can’t hear Park Gunho from here, but you can feel his choked up yelp penetrating into your skin and shuddering into your bones. Holy shit. This guy is a fucking monster. And you almost just offered yourself up to him like an idiot.

The worst part about it is the fact that Na Jaemin looks like he’s having the time of his life. There’s this crazed look on his face as he walks up to Gunho who’s trying to lip away— only to be yanked by the hair and slammed back into the ground— pinned down by Na Jaemin’s foot as the latter huffs out a grin, and says something that fails to reach your ears.

Needless to say, you’re horrified. This could have been you. 

Na Jaemin seems to have heard your thoughts because right at that moment, he snaps his head up, pinstruck gaze shooting through the windows of your classroom— looking directly at you.

Your blood runs cold. You gulp.

Someone draws the curtains back down. “Fuck, you don’t think he say our faces, do you?” You feel yourself stumble back, and with lightheaded steps, you guide yourself to your assigned seat, and start praying to whatever’s up there that Na Jaemin did not recognize you from down there. 

Much to your relief, he doesn’t return upon the right of the afternoon bell. He comes back between fifth and sixth period, looking like he’s in the best mood he’s ever been throughout your first week here, and it drives an even deeper pit of dread in your stomach.

The classroom grows colder as he comes nearer to your desk. He haphazardly draws the chair next to you back, you flinch, and he sets himself down with satisfied huff, right before assuming his usual position— arms crossed on the desk, serving as his pillow for the rest of the class day. “Oi,” he muffles out to the only person he could be talking to right now— you. There’s still blood on his uniform sleeve. You start to feel nauseous. “Wake me when the bell rings.”

You thought that that fight between him and Park Gunho was the worst thing you’ll ever witness in Ganghak.

Turns out, things would just get worse from here).

*‎

“All rise! The court is now in session. The Honorable Judge Bae Joohyun, presiding.”

It takes all the strength in your body to get up and not fall over from a mere gust of wind from the courtroom’s ventilation system. You’re exhausted. You haven’t gotten any sleep last night from the crippling anxiety of what’s waiting for you today. It took everything in your power to just look presentable for today’s trial. 

You’re a shell of a human being— that much is obvious considering you’re one step behind when Judge Bae instructs everyone to be seated. 

“We are here on the case of Yoon Naksung, Hong Hyunjae, and Ma Gildong versus Na Jaemin. Is the prosecution ready to proceed?”

“Yes, your honor.”

“Is the defense ready to proceed?”

“Yes, your honor.” No, you’re fucking not. You did in fact manage to meet with Na Jaemin one last time yesterday, and you barely managed to acquiesce something of an agreement out of him— most likely because he was threatened by Mark. But you’re not sure if that threat was strong enough for him to actually cooperate with you today.

“Very well. Prosecution, you may make your opening statement.”

Speaking of the bastard, you notice from the corner of your eye Na Jaemin’s unabashed yawn while Jung Sungchan introduces himself and his clients. God. This is a sickening set up— him sitting directly to your right. It’s like this day was designed specifically to make you feel like you’re back in that hell. More than anything, you just want this over and done with. 

“Thank you. May I request the defense to make your opening statement.”

As you make your way to the designated podium, you cross paths with Jung Sungchan. He shoots you an over confident grin and walks past you with his nose high. You chew down a string of swears and curses. Every single man you’ve been dealing with as of late is determined to ruin your life. You hope they all run out of toilet paper every time they have to shit in a public restroom. You hope their zippers get caught every time they have to zip up their pants.

“Your Honor, ladies and gentlemen, the opposing counsel, a pleasant morning.” At this point, your soul is still completely detached from your body. Your mouth is practically moving all by itself as you do your introduction. “The prosecution argues that my client, Na Jaemin, is guilty for disturbing the peace and three counts of physical injury against Yoon Naksung, Hong Hyunjae, and Ma Gildong.” As you say this, your eyes and your eyebags trail across the prosecution’s table, locking eyes with the latter two as you scan past them. “We acknowledge that our party has done some injury to the witnesses. There is a fault in that. However, it is a well understood doctrine that two faults don’t make a right.”

If your client can’t cooperate to save his own ass, those two better do.

They’re smarter than Na Jaemin. They know what’d come for them if they don’t. 

“Your honor, the witnesses have acted in pari delicto, sustaining equally grave injuries against my client, and therefore have no right to seek legal relief. A verdict of guilt against my client would be a grave mockery to our justice system when the ones seeking justice are equally at fault. We hope that you will see the wisdom in our defense. Thank you very much.”

The moment you return to your seat and Jung Sungchan is called first to make their case, your brain continues moving in autopilot. You’re so tired. You’re so damn tired. You know that you should be setting Na Jaemin straight right now, but you can’t find it in yourself to even talk to him without bursting a blood vessel. Jung Sungchan continues to present their evidence— affidavits from his witnesses, a janky recording of Na Jaemin and the other three leaving a bar located right on the cusp of Yeongdeungpo and Mapo, separately where they’d allegedly first bumped into each other, and the same exiting the frame. 

Eventually, he calls Na Jaemin to the witness stand. The air refuses to enter your lungs as the bailiff leads him up the courtroom. You’ve re-oriented him with what he has to do yesterday. You close your eyes, press your palms together underneath the table, and mutter out pleas and manifestations that your instructions managed to get through his thick skull, that an angel would somehow possess him today and prevent him from screwing you over.

But you haven’t done enough good deeds in your lifetime to be granted this one wish.

Jung Sungchan asks him if he admits to being the person who caused Yoon Naksung and the rests’ injuries.

Na Jaemin responds with a shit eating grin saying, “Yeah, I fucking did it.” 

Your face contorts in horror. Your eyes fly wide open, blood draining from your cheeks. Oh, fuck. Oh, fucking hell, please no. Your demon sent client looks like he wanted to elicit his kind of reaction from you— smiling at you from the witness stand, and you feel your nails dig into your clenched palms, biting into the thin skin of your flesh.

To make matters worse, he doubles down. He’s determined to kill you right here and now. “That guy nearly pissed himself when I socked him in the—”

“Your honor!”

This is a stupid fucking move to make, but you’re panicking. And that very panic easily seeps out of your skin and burrows into the notice of your opponent from the other table. Jung Sungchan’s eyes are both sparking incredulously and victoriously at this pretty blatant concession. To think your own client would fuck you over. You’re about to cry. You’re fuming. You’re dying from embarrassment.

“I’d— I’d like to request a short recess to meet with my client.”

Judge Bae narrows her eyes at you. “Overruled.” Yeah, you didn’t expect that to be granted. Fucking hell. You sink back into your seat in defeat, the dread that had once only been creeping up to you now completely swallowing you whole. “Counsel, please continue with your questioning.

No, it’s okay. This is fine, you think to yourself. You still have your witnesses. You’re not totally screwed yet. Maybe that would be enough to dismiss this damned case. Maybe that would be enough to let you walk away scot free.

“Ahem,” Jung Sungchan clears his throat. “Na Jaemin-ssi. Can you tell us the events that unfolded after the four of you left the bar?”

Silence.

“Na Jaemin-ssi…?”

“I don’t feel like answering.”

You let out a muffled noise as you bury your face in your hands. Your face is burning. Not only is he trying to screw you over, he wants to mortify you in front of everyone here.

“Defendant.” Judge Bae Joohyun has decided to intervene. “Are you…invoking your right against self incrimination?”

You almost let out an anguished cry and slam your forehead against the table when Na Jaemin responds with a, “Sure.”

The bailiff escorts him back to your table, and he’s all smiles when he sits down. Is he happy now that he’s thrown a big ass fucking wrench in your plans? Does he not give a fuck that he might get incarcerated as long as he sees you miserable? What a sadomasochistic psychopath, you hope he burns in hell.

“You don’t look too good, attorney,” you hear him chipper from beside you. 

Your head snaps to the side. You hear a crash from inside your ears.

For the first time, you look this son of a bitch dead in the eye— and you might not have a mirror, but you don’t think you’re looking at him pretty pleasantly. In fact, you can feel your own self going lightheaded from the sheer animosity darting through blood vessels in your brain.

Jung Sungchan calls Ma Gildong to the stand, and you turn your head back to the front. Sure, the bastard next to you might have thrown a wrench into your plans, but you still have a few working cogs left— and they better fucking work properly. You think you still have that same, manic look in your eyes when you meet Gildong’s gaze from across the courtroom because he visibly gulps and clears his throat.

Jung Sungchan starts questioning him, and he does just as well as you hoped (unlike the last guy). That rookie attorney gets caught off guard when his client answers with a stuttering, “I—I don’t remember,” in response to Jung Sungchan’s request to recount who started the fight that night. “It all happened suddenly. It was hard to tell exactly who.”

“Witness Ma Gildog,” the judge intercepts once again. “In the affidavit you submitted, you stated that the defendant was the one who started the altercation without warning. What is the meaning of this?”

Ma Gildong looks at you. You look him dead in the eye and he promptly looks away with a hard swallow.

“I…I only wrote that because Naksung hyung told me to.”

Fuck yes.

“We—were were all drunk when it happened. It was hard to tell who started the fight. I didn’t even want to pursue this case, he—he was just pissed that that guy got more punches in.”

“What?! What the hell are you talking about?!”

“Order!”

You watch as the bailiff tries to settle Yoon Naksung down. You stifle down a smile. This whole trial wouldn’t have been necessary if he had only been as cooperative as the other two. God, you wouldn’t have needed to deal with this headache either. 

You hear Judge Bae set down the gavel.  “There seems to be some unresolved issues with the prosecution side,” she starts with a sigh. “In this case, let us have a short recess. We will reconvene after thirty minutes.”

Thirty minutes. That’s just fucking perfect.

“Recess? Are we having a snack break, attorne—”

“Please allow us to use one of your conference rooms.” You quickly shoot up and cut off Na Jaemin, a polite stance directed at the bailiff near you. “That would be alright, right?”

The way the bailiff looks at you makes you come to the conclusion that you don’t look exactly sane right now. Nevertheless, he humors you and leads both you and Na Jaemin to one of the available conference rooms in the district court. It’s hard to grasp the fact he is being very docile right now, lazily looking around with cuffed hands before him as he trails beside you, under the watchful eye of the court sheriff.

A door is opened before you. The moment the bailiff allows you and your client and closes the door behind, you swivel your heels, grab Na Jaemin by the fucking collar, and ram him against the wall with a loud rattle.

Your years and years of disdain for this guy just came to a breaking point today.

You’ve had fucking enough of his difficult attitude.

“Listen.” Your voice comes off as a hiss more than anything. You hear the sound of his handcuffs clatter when you shove him harder against the wall. You feel your nails dig into your palms through the collar of his shirt. You’re beyond livid. “I am trying my god damned best to get you out of here, Na Jaemin-ssi. You’re the last person I want to help. You’re the last person I could give a shit about, but here I fucking I am— fighting tooth and nail for you, for christ’s sake. I literally had to build up a defense out of nothing just to clear you from incarceration. All I asked is for you to not throw a fit, to follow my damned script, to sit still and still pretty for the rest of this stupid trial, and you couldn’t even fucking do that?”

Much to your surprise, Na Jaemin looks pretty much caught off guard. Not intimidated by any means, but he does keep his mouth shut, repeatedly blinking his somewhat widened eyes at you— the only other expression you’ve ever seen from him other than a scowl and that bastardized grin of his.

Another beat of silence. Your upper lip twitches into a snarl. “Useless fuck.” 

You roughly let go of him with a grunt and roll back your shoulders, facing your back to him and release a sigh. Whew. That felt so fucking good. 

Without another word, you take quick strides out the conference room, greeting the bailiff outside with a sweet and refreshed smile, maintaining that same air as you return back to the courtroom, an uncharacteristically cooperative Na Jaemin in tow.

The trial resumes. He doesn’t do anything stupid again after that because you’ve decided to completely remove him from the equation. Ma Gildong and Hong Hyunjae submitted new affidavits as evidence. Jung Sungchan and Yoon Naksung are red-faced and look like they’re sitting on burners from hell— even more so when it’s finally your turn to present your case, speaking before the court with a now clear head and your cards in place. When you call Dr. Qian Kun to the stand to attest to Na Jaemin’s physical exam result, the prosecution table is practically deflated in defeat by then.

You return to the defendant’s table. Your shoulders haven’t felt this light in weeks. Even lighter when the court finishes deliberation, and Judge Bae announces the final verdict.

“In light of the criminal charges against Na Jaemin—”

You inhale sharply.

“The court finds insufficient evidence to declare his guilt beyond reasonable doubt.”

Yes. Yes. Fuck, yes.

“Now, the civil liabilities attached to this case— the witnesses’ participation in the aforementioned offenses creates a unique situation. When both parties are at equal fault or in pari delicto, neither the courts nor law will grant relief to the parties. Although the defendant, Na Jaemin, had indeed inflicted less serious physical injuries against the witnesses, the witnesses have inflicted the same upon the defendant.”

Oh, fuck yeah.

“This court hereby dismisses the case without prejudice for want of prosecution. Court is adjourned.”

There is no one happier in this court than you right now. You lock eyes with Jung Sungchan from across the room. You stick your tongue out because you don’t give a damn anymore.

You’re free. You don’t have to deal with Na Jaemin ever again. You’re fucking free.

*‎

Well, you spoke too soon.

“What...what are you doing here…?”

Four days later, you see the very bastard sitting on your chair at the JSS office. He’s swiveling around, stopping the turn with a foot down to look at you. “Oh,” he starts. “Took you fucking long enough.”

Seriously. What have you done to deserve this? Nevermind, you’ve done a lot of things to deserve ten years worth of bad karma, but that’s neither here nor there. You’d just gotten back from a meeting with one of your clients— a normal client: a sweet, old lady who was drafting her last will and testament to make sure none of her nutjob sobs get even a percentage from her estate. 

The meeting ran longer than expected because the lady kept trying to ask you if you’re single and would be interested to meet one of her nephews. So, you’d just returned back to the office at 6 p.m., most of your co-workers having clocked out already, only to be bitch slapped in the face with this psycho again, not even a week since you’ve last seen him.

You ignore him, eyes flitting up to the direction of your boss’s office. The light is still on. You grit your teeth. This son a bitch’s entry was permitted by the other son of a bitch. If he’s miserable, he should keep his misery to himself.

“Hey, attorney. I’m tryna talk to you.”

“Y—yes?” you choke out, taking a step back when Na Jaemin rises to his feet. God damn it. Your outburst mid-trial was an isolated case as a result of your pent up emotions. You can’t be brave anymore— and he notices.

There’s a slight raise in his brow when you flinch back, a barely visible smile playing on his face. It’s almost like this bastard can smell fear, and you’re completely lathered in it. “You were pretty gutsy enough to swear at my face and shove me around the other day,” he says, voice low. “What happened to all that spunk, attorney?”

You bite down the swear at the tip of your tongue. “I sincerely apologize for my inappropriate behavior that day.” You’re doing your damn best to keep your head down, but it’s increasingly difficult when this guy is trying to get all up in your space. “Any—anyhow. What business do you have with JSS, Na Jaemin-ssi?”

A flip switches. Na Jaemin suddenly looks very annoyed.

“Ugh. Right,” he grunts, digging into his inner jacket pockets like it’s a chore before pulling out an envelope. A really thick envelope. Your eyes widen. He hands it over to you. “The boss wanted to give his extra thanks.”

Extra thanks for risking your life to release one of his mutts. Holy shit. You say nothing as you take the envelope from his hands, the weight of the paper bills pulling you down heavier than they’re supposed to be. You clear your throat and stuff it into the bag you’ve yet to set down on your desk. “Why didn’t he come in person?”

“He’s out on business,” Na Jaemin flatly replies. Then, there’s a twinge on his tongue when he follows it up, “Why? You want to see him that badly?”

The fuck? That very through slips through expression for a second. Na Jaemin clocks this. 

A grin takes over his expression. He releases a bare laugh when he walks past you with a hand on your shoulder. “I gotta hand it to you. You’re pretty damn good at pulling shit out of your ass out of nothing.” 

Your breath hitches when you feel a firm squeeze. Na Jaemin releases you with a hum and a pat and finally starts fucking leaving.

“See you around, attorney.”

When you’ve confirmed that the psycho has finally left, you immediately lunge for your chair and release a long and hefty breath.

Jesus fucking christ. How many times do you have to tell these Nalkeutta bastards that you never want to see their faces again? Not enough, apparently. Because the next day, Mark Lee makes a visit to your office again. He greets you a good morning and you quietly tell him to leave you alone and never talk to you again. He laughs and disappears into Doyoung’s office for the next two hours, before stopping by at your desk again to inquire about your desk nameplate preferences.

“Do you prefer acrylic or marble?” he asks, peeking out from behind your desktop computer.

“Gold,” you soullessly respond. “Avenir font. Engraved. Heavy enough to knock a man unconscious with one blow.”

“Very particular.” Your eyes flit up to see his pleasant smile, and it just ruins your day further. It gets worse when Kim Doyoung follows not long after him. “Oh, Mr. Kim,” Mark greets. “I was just about to head out.”

“Yes, allow me to accompany you down to the lobby, Mr. Lee,” Doyoung chimes in. You look up at him as he leers down at you, noticing that you are, in fact, here. “Congratulations on yet another winning case, attorney.”

He’s five days late. “Thank you. Are you gonna give me my own office yet?”

“You know very well JSS isn’t in the position to grant you that.”

Very expected response, but you’re annoyed anyway. They finally leave you alone so you can mentally curse them once you die from overwork and overexertion. Indeed, you know very well that JSS isn’t in the best spot right now. Your firm’s reputation has been slowly nosediving lately— fully getting tanked recently because of your latest acquittal of Na Jaemin.

The general public has been questioning your integrity as a law firm. That much is fucking expected when you’re partnered with the biggest crime organization in the district. It’s not that this partnership is a recent thing. But with the establishment of a new law firm within your territory, the GP now has a point of comparison to notice just how many obvious criminals JSS has helped to subvert the rule of law.

These articles and nasty forum posts have been the source of Kim Doyoung’s stress as of late. During the next few weeks, you watch his mood sour and sour by the day after every meeting with the higher-ups.

The source of the problem is obvious, but it’s not like JSS can just cut ties with Nalkeutta to clean its name. In fact, it would the dumbest move ever, practically industry suicide considering Mark Lee and his company is your highest paying client. Not only that. All of the firm’s employees practically have immunity from the hefty protection fees all Yeongdeungpo residents have to pay weekly just to pay the streets. And you don’t want to make an enemy out of Nalkeutta either by cutting them off. Your firm is caught in between rock and a hard place with no easy way out.

“I think the boss has started to grow white hairs lately,” Jungwoo tells you over coffee in the breakroom. 

“Why…are you looking at his hair?” you ask, almost worriedly. Jungwoo simply shrugs and you two watch as Kim Doyoung stomps into the breakroom in a fit again to angrily snatch a glass and nearly rip the fridge open for the pitcher of lemon water you started to make every morning, overpouring into the glass before chugging it clean and slamming the glass down on the counter.

He didn’t even ask for permission. What a monster.

Anyhow, you could give less of a shit about JSS’s steadily dwindling reputation. This ain’t your problem to fix. It’s your higher up’s problem. It’s Kim Doyoung’s problem, and— quite frankly— the peak of your week is seeing his grumbling swears every time he stomps out of another admin meeting, watching him scratch at the growing grey hairs at the back of his head through his private office like it’s your own personal TV show. 

It’s such a great sight to see. Added to the fact that you haven’t received a call from Nalkeutta lately, whether it be for consultations or just simple blotter charges, they haven’t been bothering you at all. In short, you’ve been having the best two weeks of your life. 

It comes to a peak when Kim Doyoung calls you to his office one day, prompting the assumption that JSS’s reputation situation has become way, way worse to the point that the firm needs the help of its rank and file employees like you to settle the matter. 

“Damn, good luck. Let me know what’s up,” Jungwoo sends you off.

Honestly, you’re looking forward to having a front row seat to Kim Doyoung’s meltdown, if things have gotten as bad as you think. Your knuckles tap against the wooden entrance to his office, and you’re filled with a longing envy when he tells you to come in because damn— must be nice to have an office of his own. Why does he always have a stick up his ass when he’s got his own 150 square feet kingdom where he can do whatever he wants?

“Come in.”

Muct to your surprise, however, Kim Doyoung looks well rested today.

The moment you step in, you notice that his usual constipated expression is nowhere to be found on his face. In fact, his skin is perfectly clear. His white button up is crisp and tidy. His glasses are shining. His hair is neat and styled— as though it hasn’t been run through a million times today.

Whoa. What the hell? Who is this? Who is this man in front of you?

“How has your work been, attorney?” he starts, elbows on the desk, chin resting on interlocked fingers. 

You tentatively make your way closer to his desk, slightly unnerved at this sudden disposition switch. “The same as usual.”

“That’s good to hear,” he hums. He’s humming. Kim Doyoung is humming. What? He sets his fingers on a folded piece of paper that’s been sitting on his desk, promptly pushing it forward to you. “Read this.” You’re beyond creeped out. You have no idea what’s going on, but you follow instructions anyway, inching a step closer to peel the paper from the glass surface of his desk, and unfold it in your hands. 

He wants you to read it. So, you do.

The moment your eyes register the heading, your neck cranes, squinting. “Sir,” you say, holding the paper down. “Are you sure you gave me the correct sheet?”

“Yes, yes,” he affirms, waving a hand in the air. “Please continue reading.”

You do. You read the heading once again. LETTER OF RESIGNATION, in bold and all caps. Followed by today’s date. Followed by your fucking name.

The paper wrinkles in your grasp. Haha. You don’t remember writing a resignation letter. “Sir,” you start again, voice coming off as a weak wheeze. “There must be some kind of mistake.”

“There’s no mistake,” Doyoung confirms, spinning a pen between his fingers before pushing it forward to you in the same manner as he did with the resignation letter in your hands— your resignation letter. The letter that says you’ve found better prospects elsewhere and sincerely value the experience and growth you’ve had with this firm. What the fuck is this bullshit? You don’t fucking understand. “Would you please affix your signature at the bottom, attorney? I didn’t have your e-signature. That’s why I had to call you out today.” 

Your stomach drops to the very depths of your gut. “You can’t just fucking do this,” you say with gritted teeth. Kim Doyoung readjusts his glasses and responds with a sigh.

“Attorney,” he starts. “You’re well aware of the problem our firm has been facing as of late, correct?” You nod. He continues. “It’s a difficult situation. However, Nalkeutta and JSS have managed to reach an amicable compromise.”

Oh no. Oh, god, do. He can’t do this to you. He can’t fucking do this to you.

“Starting today, you will no longer be JSS’s Junior Associate. You will be working as a private lawyer for Nalkeutta Security Company.”

“You fucking sold me out!”

“I did not ‘sell you out’. Think of it as a promotion.”

Your mouth is hanging open. Your blood is boiling to the point of evaporation. The resignation is a crumpled mess at this point. You slam it back down on his desk. “I can’t even get my fucking severance pay if I sign this damn thing!”

“I’m sure the benefits you’ll receive at Nalkeutta would outweigh any amount of a severance pay that JSS can offer you,” your boss— former boss— flatly replies. “Now. Please sign the letter.”

Your head is spinning. You’re nauseous as fuck. It’s not like you can just run away. Mark Lee would have your fucking head. Sure, you hate working under Kim Doyoung, but at least it made you feel like an actual lawyer, serving only as an occasional cleanup dog for that damned wretched company. With this, you’re not just dipping your toes into organized crime. You’d be fucking drowning in it.

“Sign right there— yes. Perfect. Thank you for your cooperation, attorney. It was a pleasure working with you.”

Nalkkeutta has officially ensnared you in its burning jaws, and you’ve got no way of getting out unscathed.

fire and brimstone (and you’re a moth made of gasoline). © hannie-dul-set, 2025.

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