thediamondlifenetwork

[thediamondlifenetwork]

The8 x Reader: tender edges. [+18]

DATE OF RELEASE: 3rd August, 2025

WORD COUNT: 4.2 K

RATING: +18

GENRE: fluff, smut

WARNINGS: Knife play, minor injury & bleeding (accidental), brief mentions of death

SMUT TAGS: Dry humping, fingering, female orgasm, female masturbation, knife play, verbal degradation

SUMMARY: One day, you decide to fulfill your childhood fantasy of owning a really cool knife. Little do you know, some other fantasy begs to be fulfilled, too.

There is a subtle lift of his eyebrow from above the book he’s reading as you enter the apartment with a face of a child excited about the new dinosaur they learned about. He doesn’t question it – not for now, at least, while he still doesn’t know what caused such elevation in your mood. He stifles his curiosity, waiting for you to come up and share it yourself.

Except you don’t. You come up and kiss his cheek as a hello, but don’t utter a word before disappearing in your room.

There is a package in your hand as you leave – rather narrow and extended – and it makes Minghao frown with the first thought that comes to his mind. It’s one that shouldn’t bother him. You’re allowed to have your fun without him included, of course. But you don’t usually completely omit him in your considerations, and that gnaws at the edge of his conscience.

There is a silence for the next few minutes and no sound come from your room. Minghao realizes that he won’t be able to focus on the book anymore, because the curiosity is getting too strong.

But he can’t have himself submitting into it so easily. He has a reputation to uphold, and his pride doesn’t allow him to snoop around.

So he sets the book down and takes a slow walk to the kitchen instead, hoping that he will hear anything – anything – while passing by your room, that will give him a better idea – or a confirmation, at least – that his theory is right.

Nothing. Still no sound. Maybe some shuffling, if he squints, but definitely not what he expected. So he lets out a sigh and ends his journey in the kitchen, taking lemonade out of the fridge and pouring himself a glass. The liquid cools him down a little, distracting him from the subtle, pricking sense of frustration at the back of his head.

But he’s a patient man. He won’t act up because of something like that.

He's almost done with his drink when the door to your room suddenly snaps open and you rush out of it and straight into the bathroom, not bothering to close the door behind. The sound of water running fills the apartment. Minghao stares at the door for just a second before setting the glass down and rushing towards where you disappeared.

“Are you okay?” he asks before you even appear in his sight, concern lacing his voice. He finally enters the bathroom behind you, and his heart stops for just a second at the sight of redness spilling from your non-dominant hand.

He rushes to your side and gently holds your wrist, taking a look at the rather shallow, but long cut on the inside of your palm that you are holding under the stream of water. It looks harmless, but it bleeds dramatically, and the water running down the sink is pale pink.

“What did you do?” He frowns and, although you let out a whine, the pathetic embarrassment in your voice prevails over actual distress or pain, which is enough to calm him down. But he still demands the answer.

“It’s, uh, nothing, just accident…” you mutter, trying to sound ambiguous enough for him not to dig deeper.

It results in the exact opposite. But he focuses on the current task – for now.

“Well, I better hope you didn’t do it on purpose” he shots back, letting go of your wrist and stepping back towards the cabinet, retrieving the first aid kit from the back. You watch him with a smile forming on your lips. There is a loving appreciation in your gaze at the way he doesn’t ask before preparing to tend to your injury, no matter how trivial it is.

The blood flow ceases a bit and you turn the water off.

“Sit down” Minghao commands and you listen, taking a seat on the toilet lid while he crouches down in front of you. He puts the first aid kit on the floor for convenience and places a sheet of toilet paper on your lap to soak in the mess. Then, his hand takes your gently and he takes a closer look at the wound. It’s unusually clean at the edges, he notices. “So? How did it happen?” he asks, letting go of your hand when he reaches to the first aid kit and takes out an antiseptic and cotton pads.

His gaze sometimes reaches your face, but he mostly focuses on cleaning your wound instead, waiting for you to speak up.

“I’m faster than my brain, it seems” you reply quizzically. “I was just fiddling around and, well, forgot it’s sharp.”

“Fiddling with what, exactly?”

You gnaw at the inside of your cheek when he puts the antibiotic ointment on your hand and starts wrapping it gently with a thin dressing.

“I will show you. But don’t laugh at me.”

He won’t. Minghao isn’t like that. He will send you judgmental stares, instead.

It takes a few more minutes of making sure you’re not in discomfort and cleaning up the bathroom, including the few dots of blood that accidentally slipped when you were rushing there. It is only then, when everything is addressed properly, that you seem ready to go back to your room and Minghao is doing his best to not let you know that he’s very – very – curious about what you have been hiding.

The two of you enter the room and it doesn’t take Minghao more than a few seconds to spot the piece of silver on your desk, glistening in the last bits of sunset entering through the window. He stops in his tracks, staring at it for a moment with nothing but utter confusion on his face.

“Is that what you…?”

You press your lips together, walking past him and to your desk, picking it up.

It is a knife. Not a kitchen knife, but neither is it a pocket knife that you could fold, or a butterfly knife that people do tend to lose fingers while playing with. Instead, it is completely symmetric and lacks a proper handle – that part is made of the same silver as the blade, flat and likely not too comfortable to hold. It is carved, not in a way that would scream fancy, but enough to not look boring. And Minghao can’t help but find it pretty, especially as you hold it carefully by the blade, holding out to him to take a closer look.

So he does. Waiting for your hand to disappear from the blade before he moves it, not wanting your other, healthy hand to suffer an “accident” as well.

He feels it out in his hand. It is, as he predicted, not too comfortable to hold like a knife should be held. But, aesthetically, he can’t help but feel mesmerized by the detail. There is something about the way it feels in his hand, about the weight of it when he holds his finger against the dull edge, making it easier to maneuver around.

But he still doesn’t understand why is something like this in your possession, and so his eyebrow lifts when he looks at you, wordlessly demanding a further elaboration.

“W-well” you stutter at first, blush creeping up your cheeks. “It’s a throwing knife” you explain. “I always thought throwing knives is so cool when I was a kid. But, like, not like I could do it when I was a kid. Like, no one would give me a knife like that. And I wouldn’t afford it. But it recently got to me I’m an adult now, and it’s not even that expensive, you know, I thought I can just get it and try to learn throwing it just for fun.” Your voice raises gradually as you get yourself riled up with renewed excitement at the thought of doing something cool like that. He can’t help but find it a bit adorable. “And, you know, it’s just the beginning. Do you know it’s totally legal to buy a real sword? I can get a real sword as well-”

“I would rather you do not” he deadpans with a pointed look at your hand.

You clear your throat, deciding not to argue, but your excitement never ceases.

“Either way, it’s so cool, isn’t it? Who wouldn’t want to know how to throw knives.”

There’s a smile on his face and he shakes his head. He has always known you have unique taste – getting drawn to things like that, things that are either considered immature as for an adult, inappropriate for a lady, or straight up deranged; he has seen the kind of literature you keep on your shelves, and it shouldn’t really surprise him. No, in fact, it’s not only your charm – it’s something he sometimes reciprocates as well.

And he can’t help but be curious how far that interest goes.

He’s careful and slow at first, his gaze observing you intently for any sign of discomfort, when he lifts the blade and places the dull edge against the exposed skin of your upper arm, making you flinch at the cold sensation. But it is only the cold that you flinch at – not the fact that it’s there, against your skin, although with the dull edge – one flip of Minghao’s palm and he could slice it open. That part you don’t seem so startled about, but your breath picks up and there is a newfound curiosity on your features as your gaze shots between the blade and his face, trying to figure out his intentions.

He smiles reassuringly and drags the dull edge down a little, making you shiver.

“Hao…” There is something in your voice; a need, a plea, one that you don’t seem to be able to voice out just yet, fearful of making the moment disappear. But he grasps the intention.

The blade disappears from your skin and he takes note of the way your eyes cloud. You gulp, realizing how easily your mood changed from something this silly, something that in normal circumstances should have caused you fear or discomfort at least.

How degenerate, you think, but Minghao doesn’t seem to mind as he pushes you backwards with his free hand until your ankles hit the edge of your bed and you fall backwards. He motions you to move and you scoot up, giving him the space to follow. Your gaze lingers on the blade he holds between his fingers, pointing downwards as he joins you on the mattress.

 He straddles your waist and puts his hand on your sternum, pushing you down. You let yourself relax.

“Remember your safeword?” he asks. You hum a dreamy mhm and he nods. He can swear there are hearts in your eyes as he holds you down with the slight pressure against your chest, and they only grow when he lifts the knife and brings it to your arm again, a bit further, where your skin is warmer and you shiver all the more as he presses it flat. He smirks. The knife is starting to warm up from your and his touch alike.

He lets the blade wander to your collarbone, then down your chest slowly, but it does not quite feel as tangible through the layer of your clothes, and it is only when he lets go of your chest and uses that hand to pull your shirt up, pressing it into your bared ribcage, that your breath hitches and you whimper.

There is a new look on your face – the kind of submission Minghao swears he has never seen before. And he has seen you in many different states of body and mind. But this one, this is something extraordinary – the way you let yourself give up, as if he already cut you up and you were uttering your last breaths, submitting into the embrace of death itself. As if him holding your life in his hands put you at ease.

“Would you let me slice you?” he asks, rhetorically. There is a hint of mockery in his voice, but it’s not ill-intended. He knows the way it works on you.

“Do it” the plea in your voice almost takes him aback. Like the self preservation is gone on you and there is nothing you yearn more than the attention he gives you.

He shakes his head in disbelief.

“Maybe another time” he replies. He’s not yet sure if he could go as far – but most definitely not without all sanitary precautions.

The blade traces lower until it finally reaches the hem of your pants. And lingers.

Minghao clicks his tongue, turning the blade so the tip pokes into the soft tissue of your abdomen. You dare not to flinch, but your breath picks up again. It’s not enough to pierce – but the pain is tangible, the weight of the blade alone enough to make you feel as if it already went in. His hand presses against your stomach, keeping you still – making sure you won’t move in a way that could actually end poorly. He knows you’re not quite unhinged enough to do that on purpose; but you’re starting to lose touch with reality, and before anything, he needs to make sure you’re safe.

He takes the blade away and sets it aside for a moment. Your eyes follow – like you are longing.

“Eyes on me” he tuts, shaking his head. You obey without a second thought.

His fingers slowly undo the button and zipper of your pants. He taps your thigh so you move a little, helping him pull the garment down and off completely.

The sun finally dies behind the horizon, and Minghao hovers, reaching above your frame and to the sconce above the headboard. It looks like an innocent motion, serving nothing but the utility of lighting up the space around you, but the distinct smells of his body fills your lungs, the fabric of his shirt hanging loose below his silhouette and brushing your nose.

He sits back on your thighs. The fabric of his jeans rubs against your bare now skin. He tears his gaze away from your face and looks towards the fabric that is still in the way – your underwear, and shirt, now pulled up your chest, barely exposing the edge of the bra beneath. He looks pleased with the sight; you’re disheveled, like you didn’t prepare for it, like everything is happening too fast. He likes that look on you.

He decides to change the position, now kneeling between your legs instead. The inner sides of your bare thighs press against the outer of own when you try to clench them together. He doesn’t have to do anything for it to be fruitless. He massages your legs, letting his hands travel up, the brush of his fingers helping you relax yet again.

His hand reaches to retrieve the knife again and you can’t help the small grin forming on your face. Your eyes are sparkling with excitement.

Your smile dies into a whimper when he presses the tip of the knife into your pubic mound. You cover your mouth with your healthy hand when he slowly drags the dull edge down. His hand presses against your abdomen, firmly now – making sure you don’t make any sudden movements. But the rest of your body still jerks slightly, and eyebrows furrow when he carefully points the knife down and presses the tip against your clothed clit.

Your breath becomes shallow. Your eyes wander between Minghao’s face and the knife, not knowing what is more important at the moment. But the way the blade glistens between your legs makes your thighs shiver.

He looks down and curses under his breath.

“You’re drenched” he speaks as a matter-of-fact. His eyebrows are furrowed, as if he’s disbelieving his own eyes. “I’m holding a knife against your pussy. And you are fucking drenched.”

Your face heats up and your whole body trembles now, so much that he decides to take the pressure off, because he swears you could impale yourself on the blade without meaning to.

“You are crazy” he utters breathily.

His arm wraps around your bent knee, the hand holding the knife nonchalantly as the other slowly pushes your panties to the side. The fabric sticks to your skin from the moisture, it feels suddenly cold, and the smell of sex fills the air.

His fingers trace your entrance slowly, almost lazily, spreading the wetness around. His thumb brushes your clit a time or two – making you clench around nothing and inhale sharply. He takes his time, as if oblivious to the way your body trembles underneath his touch.

But he notices – he knows your body like his own, and that small whine you let out when he pushes his fingers into you just slightly before retreating – he knows that it means you’re closer than you would like to admit.

There is shame written on your face, one that seems to rile you up; the humiliation of being helpless like that, of his words echoing in your skull. You don’t ponder. You let it swallow you. Sometimes, he thinks you could cum just from him degrading you. But today, he wants to torment you some more before giving you that sweet release.

As if suddenly losing interest in your neither regions, his hand travels up, fingers smudging the moisture up your abdomen until he reaches your chest again. His fingers trace the side of your breast through the shirt. You unwittingly raise your arms, letting him caress you. They lay limp next to your head – your body is starting to get tired from the constant tension, and he finds it entertaining when your eyes almost slip closed. But you, too, don’t want to miss the slightest moment of it, so you fight to keep them open.

It is tempting to let yourself drift off when his fingers brush your collarbone and finally wrap around your neck. Not squeezing, but holding firmly, pressing you down into the mattress a bit more, making you feel like you are drowning in it.

He flips the knife in his palm before bringing it down again. The metal cooled down already, making you flinch when he holds it flat against your neck. It makes you fearful for just a brief second, on instinct, before you relax in his hold.

His knee suddenly pushes against your crotch, making your back arch.

“You are going to make yourself cum while I hold it here, got it?”

You try to nod, but the motion dies in his hold and he smirks.

You lift your hips a little, pressing yourself against him and rubbing your core against his knee. It comes with difficulty. You let out a whimper when you manage to stimulate yourself just enough to have your thighs closing around him.

“Use your hands if you have to” he instructs.

With your healthy hand – the other resting still – you reach down slowly, tentatively. Your eyes are fixated on him only. He presses his knee against your core a bit harder and you groan. Your fingers travel down and your breath hitches when you touch yourself through the damp fabric. The friction makes your knees tremble.

“Come on.”

 Your neck feels warm from his touch. The knife touching the side of your throat, slightly above it – managed to warm up, too. Your eyes slip closed in pleasure, for a second making you forget about it.

But Minghao doesn’t let you forget; he leans down and presses his lips into the side of your face in an open-mouthed kiss that caresses your body and soul.

“Just like that” he praises, whisper seeping straight into your ear when his face presses against the side of yours, taking in your scent, your warmth. You moan, hips buckling against his knee, wanting more than you can give yourself, and Minghao responds by shifting a little to grind his lower body against yours.

“A-again” you breathe out a plea.

“Say please” he teases, although you can tell, he’s struggling keeping himself from following out of his own desire.

“Please, Hao, d-do again…” Your tongue stumbles, words flee the moment they are pronounced, but Minghao catches them all off your tongue and grinds into you once more, forcing a strained moan out of the depth of your chest.

He thinks he wants to hear you beg some more, but your eyes roll to the back of your head and with every next time he grinds into your sweet spot, with every next time your fingers find it in between his movements, you seem to forget what it was all about, to lose touch with reality all the more, focused on nothing but the pleasure that forms quickly.

He knows your body so well. He knows when you are right there, at the edge of it, right where your desperation is the highest, right where there is no thoughts or reason left in you, only the pure instinct.

That’s when his hold suddenly strengthens.

Not enough to choke – enough to keep your head in his steel hold.

He flips the knife around, the sharp edge pressed into your cheek; the smallest motion would make the skin break and blossom with red. He doesn’t let it. Your lips part.

“You’re deranged.” His lips press the words into your ear, and that’s it, like that, he pushes you over the edge.

Your hands refuse to cooperate and he takes over, grinding into you almost forcefully. Your body convulses and he tosses the knife on the floor, wrapping both hands around your neck and pressing his mouth against yours, swallowing the loud moans that pour out all at once.

For the next moments, you only see stars.

And then Minghao slows down, your body – trembling, heartbeat rushing and breaths ragged as if you’ve just ran a marathon.

His hold on your neck loosens, cradling it instead, massaging your skin gently with his fingers while he presses gentle kisses into your jaw in a wordless reassurance.

You are still panting a little when things gradually come to a still and Minghao lays on his side next to you, propping his head on one hand while the fingers of the other trace your skin like the knife did before – but this time it only calms you down, making you soften under his touch.

The words he spoke to you moments ago pull a quirky smile onto your lips, but when your gaze finally finds his again, you see it filled with nothing but adoration.

Minghao’s face falters a bit when you turn to face him, and you can’t help but frown at that. His finger reach up to the side of your face and brush it gently.

“I’ve hurt you a little, I’m sorry” he speaks. You feel a brief sting there, on your chin, and your eyes wander to the smudge of blood on his thump as he pulls away, making you chuckle.

“It was bound to happen at some point” you speak with amusement lacing your voice.

Minghao shakes his head.

“I wasn’t planning to. We didn’t talk this over.”

Rules are rules, and you love that he always take them seriously. But right now, you can’t bring yourself to care, and you reach your hands to cup his face and bring him into a kiss – this time, for once, you are in control of your body, and you put all of yourself into this one gesture: a don’t worry, an I love you, and a thank you.

“Did you like it?” you ask after a moment, burying yourself in his chest with your arms wrapped around him, as if to make sure he doesn’t flee your grasp.

The man stutters a little, as if suddenly shy about what just happened. You stifle a chuckle.

“I- Well, we need to talk about this later, but, I wouldn’t mind doing it again.” He seems too embarrassed to admit it directly, but what he says is enough. His arms wrap around you, returning the embrace. He, too, doesn’t want you to flee – even though neither of you seem to want to.

He seems just as tired as you are when his body slumps against the mattress, and your holds weaken, your hand reaching to the blanked folded nearby and the two of you pull it over yourselves together.

The wet sensation between your legs becomes a bit uncomfortable now, but you decide to disregard it for at least the next few minutes. Soon, the two of you will have to get up and sort yourselves up – including taking care of the small injury you suffered in the meantime.

But now you let yourself recover in safety. You briefly think that the safety you feel now is the same as you felt earlier – with a knife against your throat, because not even for a brief second did you think that he could bring you any actual harm.

But the way his eyes sparkled as he traced the blade down your body was memorable.

“Hao?”

“Hm?”

“I think you’re a bit deranged, too.”

A/N: Thank you for your time! Please reblog if you enjoyed and check out my masterlist for more SVT fics. And, of course, follow if you would like to read more in the future.

Network Tags: @ksmutsociety @svthub @k-vanity @blossomnet @thediamondlifenetwork

Special thank you to the Degenerate Subunit of the Svthub for dealing with me at my worst (and kinkiest): @mylovesstuffs @eclipsaria @nerdycheol

[thediamondlifenetwork]

HELLO YUKI IM HERE

can i get a mingyu fluff 👉👈

first kiss... and they bump noses

《 Just A Little Boop 》

Summary // As always, your heart overflows with Mingyu’s clinginess, wrapped in just the right sprinkle of clumsiness.

Genre : non-idol fluff au

Pairing : SVT Mingyu x female reader

Warnings : extreme fluff and clingy🥰

W/C : 696

Rating : [ 13+ SFW ]

Now playing : Snap Shoot - SEVENTEEN

Note //

I almost teared up a little when I saw an ask, even if it's from my moots😭😭 like pls omg rae can you be my wife too😭😭 I will let you share my husbands too, and don't worry, I won't seduce your man🥰

HELP I ONLY JUST NOTICED AFTER RAE CLARIFIED: IT'S NOT FIRST KISS AFTER WORK BUT LITERAL FIRST KISS😭 i misinterpreted wrongly but rae still comment that it's cute🥹🥹🥹

↻ Main Masterlist Seventeen Masterlist Taglist ↺

The door creaks open, and Mingyu springs up from the sofa. A smile naturally curves his lips, eyes scanning eagerly, hope flickering in them as he waits for you to appear around the corner.

"Baby?" you call out gently, and his grin only widens. With his hands tucked behind his back, he bounces slightly on his heels, barely containing his excitement as he waits for you to step into his heart(aka the living room).

When you finally appear, Mingyu looks at you like there’s a glow surrounding you, like the universe decided to shine a spotlight on the love of his life, complete with invisible hearts floating around your tired figure. You seem drained from work, but your expression isn’t sour, just weary. Seeing that, Mingyu decides to test your patience in the way only he can: by launching himself at you.

He wraps you up in a tight hug, giggling as he roughly nuzzles his cheeks against yours.

"Baby~" he whines, voice soft and playful. You giggle despite yourself, too used to his clinginess to even think of stopping him. If anything, it only reassures you. Four years in, and he still loves you with the same fervor.

Yes, you're tired, but not once does it cross your mind to push him away. So you simply let him do as he pleases, your expression surrendering with quiet fondness even as your body stays still.

"Baby, baby, baby~" he repeats, still aggressively rubbing his cheeks against yours. Then, with both hands, he cups your face and squeezes gently until your lips pout up at him. You hum in protest, eyes lifting toward him since your head can’t.

Mingyu just beams, leaning in to kiss your lips.

"Welcome home," he murmurs between kisses. Once, twice, a third, a fourth, and finally a fifth time before you groan and try to swat his hands away. When you succeed, you tiptoe up and give him a quick peck of your own, smiling softly.

"I love you too."

He squeals like a giddy child and dives in for a sixth kiss, but ends up bumping your nose with his in the rush. Both of you wince from the impact, only to burst into laughter a moment later.

"My Mingyu is extra clumsy today," you tease, patting his head as you try to move past him toward the washroom. But before you can get far, he grabs your hand and pulls you back into a hug. He bends down to your neck, inhaling deeply as if you were the most comforting scent in the world.

"Thanks for working so hard," he whispers. Then, without letting go of you fully, he guides you to the sink, turns on the tap, and gently washes both your hands along with his.

"What shall we do tonight?" he asks, lacing his fingers with yours under the water.

"Drama talk?" you suggest.

Mingyu hums, turning off the tap and handing you a towel. "Someone’s got tea, huh? I’m so in."

You take the towel from him and dry both your hands, the domestic quiet between you filled only by the soft brushing of fabric and water dripping into the sink. Mingyu leans against the counter, watching you like you're his favorite part of the day—which, honestly, you are.

As you finish, he gently pulls you into his arms again, this time slower, calmer, holding you like he has all the time in the world.

"You know," he murmurs against your hair, "no matter how tired you come home, you always bring peace with you."

You smile against his chest, your fingers lazily tracing circles on his back. "You make it easy to come home."

He exhales, like your words are all he needed to hear today. And then, just before he lets go, he plants one final kiss on your temple.

"I’ll get the snacks ready. You go change."

You nod, pulling away with a soft smile, but not before stealing one more kiss from him.

And just like that, the weight of the day melts away, because home isn’t just a place, it’s Mingyu, and tonight, like every night, you’re exactly where you belong.

Tagging // @stvrrylove @sol3chu @firstclassjaylee @ateez-atiny380 @reiofsuns2001 @thetjtales @metaphorandmoonlight @slytherinshua

[thediamondlifenetwork]

To Love Is To Let Go - J.WW

📔Who: Jeon Wonwoo (Seventeen) x female reader 📔What: Angst, dark themes (check warnings), fluff, supernatural, suggestive (18+). Strangers to friends to lovers. Immortal crypt spirit Wonwoo. Human reader. 📔Word count: 25.3k 📔Warnings: Reader’s family are toxic/manipulative. Human sacrifice (no physical harm/violence). Implied grooming for sacrifice since childhood. Spirits/ghosts. Loneliness/abandonment. Loss of time/disconnection from the outside world. Mentions of sex, including thoughts (no portrayals/smut). Yearning. Age gap. Mentions of death. Mentions of past battles and related deaths. Heartbreak/emotional pain. Minor, non-descriptive injury. Portrayed, non-descriptive death. Reader death (natural causes), but it’s still a happy ending! 📔Summary: “Since the dawn of time, humans have sacrificed their brethren for the sake of the ‘greater good’, and the reasons often differ from good health and protection to monetary wealth. But no matter the reason, humanity still believes in exchanging the life of a living, breathing being for the sake of granting a wish.  Unfortunately, your family still believes in human sacrifice, and as the only young adult of your bloodline, you’re next in line to be tossed aside for this long-standing tradition.  Doubly unfortunately, you don’t know about it until it’s too late.”

Minors do NOT interact. I WILL block any account that interacts without an age indicator in their bio.

Masterlist

A/N- This story has been in the works for a while, but I stopped writing it because the timing felt off, and then I just got stuck and unmotivated. But the absolute sweetheart @mylovesstuffs has been so supportive and encouraging about this crypt spirit Wonwoo idea that I’ve finally managed to finish it! So, thank you, Celeste, for being the reason this story is finished, and for helping me with it at the last minute, I appreciate you endlessly 🥺💗

Ever since you were a child, you’ve travelled to the family crypt once a year to pay your respects to your ancestors and thank the crypt spirit for protecting your bloodline for the past centuries. 

Though, it seems as if you are the only adult in your family who doesn’t believe that there is a spirit watching over your family. When you were a child, you believed in it the way all children believe in whatever their parents and trusted adults shove down their throats. But you grew up and came to question that which you can’t see and have no proof of. 

When you had said as much to your parents as a teen, they were beyond offended and went on a long spiel about the good fortune your family has, the health in all of your bodies, and the love you share. You have doubts against all of those points, but it was then that you realised that you’re alone in your disbelief of the spirit of the crypt and have kept your thoughts to yourself ever since.

As soon as you were old enough with sufficient funds in your bank account from tirelessly working, not some gracious blessing by the crypt spirit, you left the family home and lessened your contact with your family. You knew that your views are far too different to truly be at peace in one another’s presence any longer.

Still, you truly do love your family, despite their misguided beliefs. So, you attend family gatherings, send birthday and holiday well wishes, and, reluctantly, join them for the annual trip to the family crypt. To pay respects to long dead relatives you can never remember the names of and to thank the spirit you don’t even believe in. 

You’ve been taught all about crypt spirits since you were little. Their whole deal is looking after the remains of a particular bloodline from the safety of the crypt assigned to them. How they’re assigned exactly, nobody has ever been able to tell you as much. Which had probably been the start of your suspicious doubts about this whole crypt spirit business. Regardless, you know that they apparently endure an eternal existence in one building, surrounded by caskets of remains, and the souls of those too stubborn to let go of this world. 

Honestly, it sounds like a sad life, or un-life as it may be. When you still believed in them, you always made sure to make something extra special for your family’s crypt spirit to leave on the yearly excursion in hopes of cheering them up. 

However, it’s been well over a decade since you stopped believing. 

Today, as you follow your parents into the crypt with your aunt and her family behind you, your hands only hold an old, wooden box. 

You have no idea what is in the box. Your mother had shoved it into your hands upon leaving your parents’ house half an hour ago and then batted your curious hands away when you tried to open the latch to peer inside. Apparently, it’s a very special gift for the crypt spirit that your family must leave every fifty years. It’s the first you’ve heard of it. Then again, you’re only half that age, so you’re not surprised it’s new to you and simply accept it. 

It isn’t until all of the gifts and offerings are placed down in the centre of the stone table in the middle of the main crypt chamber, and you realise that there’s no space left for the box still in your hands, that you turn to your mother on your right to question her.

“Where is this supposed to go?” you wonder, half certain that your uncle has taken up the space the box belongs due to his excessive gifts this year. Which, you are pretty sure, are supposed to sweeten the spirit into blessing his new business. The third this year, but he’s positive he won’t get scammed again. But he will because he’s a fucking idiot.

“I’ll show you after the thanks,” your mother responds quietly, before patting your hand on top of the box with a little smile sent your way. Something odd flashes in her eyes, something strangely sad and her touch lingers for a moment too long. But then she’s facing forward to where her own mother stands in her usual space near the table to lead the annual thanks to the spirit. 

You know there’s no point in trying to talk any further, it’d earn you nasty looks and a slap over the back of your thigh in scold, so you copy everyone else and give the head of the family your full attention. 

At this point in your life, you could recite the whole speech yourself if you desired to, though you truly do not want to do that. But it does mean that you don’t have to give your full attention to repeat the mantras in all the right places without drawing attention to yourself for misspeaking, which means your gaze can wander without risk. 

It's always struck you as odd, that every single year the crypt is perfectly clean when you all arrive. There are no cobwebs, no dust and dirt lingering at the edges of the room, no leaves blown in through gaps and cracks that you know must exist in a building as old as this. Your family crypt has been in this very spot for at least two centuries now and your family is proud of the structure being entirely original, so you know that time would’ve claimed some of the stone. There has to be cracks in the slabs and stones. Yet, you see no dirt.

Which wouldn’t be odd if you had ever heard of any of your family visiting the crypt outside of the annual trips. But as far as you’re aware, this one day a year is the only time anyone comes near to this old building. 

For a family so obsessed with the thought of crypt spirits and respecting ancestors, none of them seem to care to give them attention past words and thoughts all other days of the year. It’s just another reason you stopped believing a long time ago. Surely, if these spirits really exist, they would’ve shown some anger to your family over the years for not keeping their home clean. 

Then again, maybe that’s why your family never seems to quite have the luck and good fortune they claim to. Always missing that one last number on the lottery. Always being in front of the person in line who wins a year’s worth of coupons in restaurants. Always catching the edge of clothing on sharp corners they should’ve missed and ruining fancy garments. Things you notice but your family never seems to register. 

It kind of drives you crazy that they ignore the obvious things in front of their own eyes yet believe in invisible beings with no proof. You’re just glad that you don’t have to deal with it that often. It’s the little blessings that make all the more impactful differences, you find.

Even though your eyes are wandering around the main chamber, you’re not really focused on what you’re looking at. You’ve seen it all before and nothing ever changes. Even your grandmother still wears the same elegant, purple velvet dress she has been wearing since you were little. You could probably perfectly replicate the scene with pencil and paper if you weren’t such a terrible artist. 

Yet suddenly, just after you’ve passed your uninterested gaze over the gate at the side of the chamber, the gate you know leads down into the catacombs and hasn’t been unlocked since your great uncle passed away before you were born, your mind registers the face peering back at you. 

Immediately, your eyes dart back to the gate. But even as you flicker your intense focus over it, peering carefully into the darkness beyond and paying extra special attention to where your mind had told you a face peered around the corner of the wall, you see nothing. 

In over two decades of coming to the crypt, you have never seen anything present other than your family, no hints of their beliefs having even the slightest hint of merit. Yet now…

You must just be tired. 

You’re mentally exhausted from work and spending the previous few hours with your parents while your mother reminded you of all the family held true about the spirits of the crypts. All things you know well enough and had tried to tell her as much, but she insisted that you needed to hear it once more before the ritual started. In the end, you had relented and let her drone on and quiz you. 

Over the past year, she’s tried extra hard to bring you back home, and to spend more time together. But you can only handle so much of her growing insistence that you need to embrace the spirit that resides over your family crypt. You’ve learned to just let her get it over with, lest you want to turn a ten-minute update phone call into an hour-long lecture when you have much better things to do.

Deciding that it must’ve just been your mind playing tricks on you, you do your best to push the image of those barely visible features out of your mind and focus on your grandmother instead. 

Once the final thanks has been said a handful of minutes later, all at once, in eerie synchronisation, your entire family turns to look at you. Even the children. 

Suddenly, you think you’re missing something very important. 

“What?” you mutter uneasily and try to step back instinctively. Yet your mother puts her hand on your back and urges you forward with a firmer hand than she’s ever used on you. “What’s going on? Ma?” 

“It’s time for the offering,” she answers while leading you over to the gate. 

“The box?” you ask, glancing at it, then over your shoulder to your family. You spot the back of your father as he rapidly leaves the crypt while everyone else continues to stare at you in a rather unnerving manner. 

“Yes, sweetheart, the box,” your mother confirms and taps your back, prompting you to turn back around and realise that the gate is now open, yet you hadn’t heard a single thing. There wasn’t a creak of metal, no clack of a key in the lock despite the fact you can see it in the lock right now. There should’ve been a noise, even a new gate would make noise. 

Are you really that tired to have not heard?

“Down there?” you gawp in disbelief while motioning to the stairs. You can’t see down them without stepping forward onto the landing at the top due to the fact the stairs go down to the right, but you know it’s dark, like really fucking dark. 

“Yes, this is a very special offering, sweetheart. It’s a great honour to be chosen.” 

“Then I’m sure someone else will love to do it!” you chirp and try to hand the box over, but your mother steps back. “I don’t even believe in all this! Make someone who believes in this shit deliver the old, creepy box down the old, creepy stairs!” 

“The reason you don’t believe is the reason you should be the one to do it,” your grandmother speaks up as she shuffles closer. “I watched my brother take his own box down those steps fifty years ago tonight, and now, it is your turn.”

“Your brother?” you question. “The one who died fifty years ago? Is this how he died? He fell down the stairs and broke his neck?”

“We should just push her,” the asshole teen boy of your oldest uncle declares, making you glare at him; though you feel smug when your uncle smacks the back of his son’s head and hisses at him not to be disrespectful. You knew you liked that uncle for a reason. Though, the guilt in his eyes when he looks at you makes you question his title of favourite uncle as your heart twists uneasily. 

“Come, sweetheart. Here, you won’t go blindly,” your mother encourages as she offers you a wind-up torch that she procures from her little cross body bag. The torch is practically the same size as the bag; it must be all it contains and something about that feels very strange to you. “At the bottom of the stairs, keep walking to the end of the hall then turn right. You will enter the main chamber where the family crest is carved into the floor; place the box in the centre.”

“This really seems like something someone else should do,” you try to refuse, yet your mother places the torch on top of the box then moves even further away than she previously stood. 

“It has to be you, my little one.” She hasn’t called you that in an awfully long time and certainly not in such a tender voice. 

It doesn’t feel right. None of this feels right. 

“I-I come right back, right? It’ll just be a few minutes,” you reason and rearrange the box into your left arm so that you can pluck the torch off of the top with a shaky grip. 

“You’ll be okay, I promise,” your mother says, yet her voice wavers and you just know that she’s lying. 

“Ma…” you whisper.

“Go,” she replies just as quietly, though it does nothing to hide the tremble in her tone. 

You want to argue, every instinct in you is telling you to drop the box and run out of there, to get as far away as possible. Yet there is another part of you, something in you that you can’t name, nor have you experienced before, that is telling you that you need to do this. Even if you don’t truly know what this is yet. But you’ll know soon, you’re certain of that.

“I love you,” she says as you take your first step onto the landing at the top of the stairs. 

You pause and look at her, see the tears in her eyes. “Do you?” you can’t help but wonder, because with everything in you, you know that whatever this is that you’re being forced into, it can’t be something that someone who truly loves you is capable of. 

“With my whole heart,” she insists and steps closer naturally. 

“No, you’ve always loved this more,” you argue softly before turning away to press the button on the torch and shine the beam down into the darkness. Before your mother can formulate a response through her pained gasp, you descend the steps. 

Despite it all, despite the fear in your veins and the heart breaking in your chest, you can’t help but notice how odd it all is as you walk further underground and along the stone hall, until the candlelight from the crypt chamber no longer reaches your back. 

It’s cooler down here, of course it is, but it’s not the damp cold you expected, nor is it cold enough to make you wish you had worn a cardigan or jacket over the elbow length sleeves of your dress. There’s the expected earthiness of being underground, even with the stone in between the dirt and yourself, but it’s not unpleasant. 

Yet, the biggest oddity of all, the oddity you haven’t seen the full extent of yet due to your limited lighting, is that it’s as clean as the crypt above. There’s not a single speck of dirt or cobweb in the entire catacombs as far as you can see, and even further to where you can’t see. At least, not yet.

Although it’s incredibly fucking creepy being underground in stone rooms you can barely see, you don’t hesitate; having decided to just get this over and done with so that you can shortly go home and promptly cut all contact with your family from this day onwards. You move as quickly as you can without risking getting hurt in the low lighting; following the directions your mother gave you until you locate the crest carved into the large stone slab in the centre of the room. Carefully, you crouch down and place the box as perfectly in the middle as you can before turning and rushing out.

You don’t look back, but if you had, you would’ve seen the figure step onto the crest and pick up the box.

The toes of your heels catch on the steps a few times as you rush up them, but for the first time in your life, you manage to catch yourself every time and make it up to the landing. Where your heart promptly drops into your stomach. 

The candles are still lighting up the chamber. The offerings are still neatly set up on the stone table. The fresh flowers and garlands are still decorating the space. Yet you are the only one left to witness it. Your family is gone, and worst of all, the gate is closed.

“No, no, this is…no, they wouldn’t take it this far,” you mutter out in desperate disbelief. You lift one trembling hand to grip the ornate metal of the gate with hope in your chest that this is just a joke and it will swing open when you pull it. It clunks as the latch catches in its frame, holding the gate securely in place. “No. No, no, no.” You grab the gate with both hands as firmly as possible with the torch still in one hand and shake at the gate as hard as humanly feasible.

“Stop that,” a sudden male voice makes you stop with a shriek and turn to peer down the stairs. The beam of your torch lights up a figure standing at the bottom and looking up at you with dark, stern eyes. 

With another shriek, you launch the torch downwards without thought, trying to defend yourself, yet the torch clatters onto the floor and the man is nowhere to be seen. 

You swear at your own idiocy as you watch the light flicker out before only darkness greets you down the stairs. It’s frankly put, terrifying, and to make things even worse, your phone is in your father’s car so you can’t even use the torch feature from that either. 

Throughout your whole life, there has been a rule that no electronics, especially phones, are allowed in the crypt to not risk disruption during the ritual. You’ve never thought anything of it; it makes sense really. It would be disrespectful to have a phone start to ring and ruin the thanks. Yet now, you wish you hadn’t accepted that rule so easily. Accepted any of the rules and traditions so easily.

There’s a part of you that tells you not to turn away from the stairs, not now that you’ve seen that face much more clearly: the sharp jaw and short, dark hair. He looked so real, sounded so real; you can’t accept that it was just your imagination again. But you need to try and find a way out and it’s certainly not down those steps.

So, you take an unsteady inhale to gather your nerve and turn back to the gate to peer through in hopes of there being something within reach that you can use to break the lock and free yourself. You don’t dare rattle the gate again.

You look, and look, and look, and yet, you find nothing.

The candles lighting up the crypt are the same brand and style as your family has been using for some years now, ones you even buy yourself purely because they’re easily available in most stores, so you know that each candle burns for four hours. 

The last candle on the table flickers as you stare at it forlornly before going out, leaving only smoke and darkness behind. 

For three hours, you’ve been sitting on the stone landing, leaning against the gate, and hoping that some kind of miracle will occur and free you. Someone has to clean up all the food and burned-out candles, there has to be some kind of groundskeeper who will be by and can free you. Someone will come by any second. Right?

Without the candles, you can’t even begin to guess how much longer you sit there with your eyes closed so that you don’t have to see the never-ending darkness enveloping you. It could be ten minutes; it could be an hour or more. You have no idea. But it gets too much to just sit in silence. You know it will drive you crazy, so you need to do something to try and keep your sanity for a little bit longer. 

Even when you open your eyes, you can’t see a thing and it’s utterly terrifying. If there is one thing that will make this a little easier, it’s light. You don’t have much hope in you that the torch still works, you had heard it crack against the stone floor after all, but it’s your only option.

Carefully, you shuffle along the ground on your backside until your feet slip down onto the first step. Then, you slowly descend, feet tapping at each step until they’re steady in place before moving further. 

When your feet don’t slide off anymore, you know you’re at the bottom of the stairs and stop for a moment to gather your nerves again. This is where you saw that man standing. You have no idea who he is, ghost or spirit. Or something else, something worse. You just hope with everything in you that he isn’t evil and watching you ready to strike. 

You were always told that the spirit of the crypt’s entire purpose is about protecting the bloodline, your bloodline, meaning it would logically go against his very purpose to hurt you. Which would be comforting if you had confirmation of the man’s reason for being here. But you don’t, so there is still fear in your heart making every movement hesitant.

After timidly crawling around on your hands and knees and blindly patting the floor for long enough that your knees hurt from the hard slabs, you finally feel plastic under your hand and quickly grab the torch. When it’s in your hands, you lean back onto your knees to fiddle with it and wind up the crank. 

Suddenly, now that you’re no longer facing downwards, you realise that there is the faintest glow coming from the room up ahead. It should feel ominous, you think, seeing the soft light at the edge of the archway into the room, but it doesn’t. It’s oddly…welcoming. 

You remain in place for a moment or two, then get to your feet, wincing at the pain in your knees as you do. Once you’re standing at your full height and have the torch gripped in both hands in a strange method of self-soothing, you edge towards the room.

Part of you expects to see the man inside of the room, so it takes a silent little pep talk to yourself before you can make yourself peer around the arch into the room, only to find it empty. Oddly enough, the light isn’t coming from in here but another hallway. 

“Oh, I’m going to die,” you mutter to yourself as you force your feet forward to enter the room and approach the hallway. The light is brightest at the other end, yet still, there doesn’t seem to be a light source there, just another hallway. “At least I’m already in the tombs,” you muse and tighten your hold on the torch before bravely walking forward.

You pass a few small tombs on your way down the hallway, none of which are lit but the light somehow reaches them enough that you can tell that they’re all impeccably clean and empty of life. Well, if you can even call a spirit or ghost a life, that is. You’re not sure what they’re classed as exactly, especially crypt spirits, but you don’t think it’s really all that important right now, if at all.

At the end of the hall, the light is brighter to the right, so you turn and follow it to the other end of the short hallway, then down another, and another, until you finally find the source. 

You come across a large room, decorated beautifully with various materials. Silk draped artfully from the arched stone ceiling and wrapped around columns. Velvet cushions of varying colours sizes dotted comfortably around the space. Rich, dark wood carved into various pieces of furniture. 

Everywhere you look, there is more to see and boggle your mind. It seems impossible to find all these beautiful items so deep underground. Especially when you know that your family doesn’t bury the deceased with anything other than the clothes and jewellery on their body.

Yet, not as impossible as the fact that no matter where you look in the room, you cannot see a single light source. No candles, no torches, no flames of any type. There isn’t a single light, yet you can see every inch of the room and its décor as if multiple lights fill the space.

“What the fuck?” you whisper incredulously and step into the room to try and get a better look. 

Now that you’re further in and the large shelving unit isn’t blocking the view to your right, you can see another archway further down the wall, like the multiple on other walls, yet this one also has light coming from within. Curiously, you follow it.

“Okay, what the fuck?” you gawp as soon as you’re at the doorway and notice that this is, without a doubt, a kitchen. 

It’s perhaps only a third of the size of the room behind you; nevertheless, it still feels spacious and bright. Yet cosy, with a large, circular table taking up most of the space and surrounded by multiple chairs, outdated counters around the edge of the room, an old wood-burning stove against one wall, and even a sink with taps. 

There’s steam coming from the pot on the stove and now that you’ve seen it, you can suddenly smell something mouthwatering. You’re not sure what’s cooking, it’s never been your forte, but you know when something smells delicious. 

Too hungry and intrigued to be cautious, you walk over and lean closer to get a better scent without lifting the lid. You may not know much about cooking, but your parents scolded you many times in your earlier life for removing lids and opening oven doors when they had been cooking; so, you know that you could run the risk of ruining whatever is bubbling away within the pot by removing the lid. 

Deciding that standing here will just make you hungrier, you turn with every intention of returning to the main room, though the sudden presence in the archway makes you freeze in place.

It’s the man, and he’s staring at you with those intense, dark eyes. 

“H-hi?” you offer after swallowing thickly. “Are you the crypt spirit?” 

The man, or spirit may be more apt, doesn’t respond for a moment, just stares at you intimidatingly before he nods, and his posture deflates a little as he sighs. “My name is Jeon Wonwoo. I have been watching over your family for almost eight centuries now.”

“Eight centuries? The crypt is that old?” you gawp in utter shock.

“No. I was your ancestral guardian before I became your crypt spirit. I was the one who you all prayed to and asked to come to the living realm to guide your ancestors’ souls to the afterlife. Now, however, I am stuck here, thanks to your ancestors building this place.” 

“Oh…sorry?” 

He waves a dismissive hand. “You were not the one to trap me and I have spoken to those ancestors since; I guided them after all. They did not know that building the crypt would force me to be tied to this world and have apologised profusely. I hold no resentment and have grown accustomed to my home.” 

“They built this for you?” You motion vaguely around the kitchen and to the room behind him.

“No, I once had the ability to do that myself; to manipulate the sacred space of the catacombs.” 

“But you don’t now?” 

“No.”

“Why not?”

“You do not seem to be scared of me any longer,” he comments and moves further into the kitchen, so you step aside to let him access the stove when he motions to it. “I may not be able to manipulate the catacombs to such a degree any longer, but as far as you are aware, I could still hurt you.” 

“I’m going to die down here regardless of what you do or do not do to me, Jeon Wonwoo. I’m the type of person to quickly accept the inevitable.”

“Is that why you remained on the stairs for four hours?” 

“It was light.” 

“And then it was not.” 

“And then it was not,” you agree, yet have nothing more to say on the matter because he’s right. You hadn’t accepted your situation then and still held onto hope. But now that you’ve wandered the catacombs deep enough that you know you won’t easily find your way back, you know you won’t be able to leave this place. 

“You must be hungry, sit.” 

“How did you get food down here?” you wonder as you do as told and move to the table to sit on one of the cushioned chairs, so that you can watch his broad frame move to fill the two bowls he plucks from one of the under-counter cupboards.

“I am not a ghost, I need sustenance as much as you, so the catacomb provides. As long as I am here, food will appear.”

“Oh, so you are a living being,” you comment with a hum. Wonwoo glances at you curiously before stepping aside to open the bread bin. He pulls out the loaf from within and cuts off a few generous slices. “I was wondering what a spirit is classed as; if you are alive or ghost-like.”

“Why would you give food offerings to a being that has no use for it?” 

“Humans are stupid.” 

The way Wonwoo laughs makes you perk up; it’s such a lovely sound and you suddenly want to know what he looks like when he laughs. You imagine his handsome face looks even prettier lit up.

“You are a human,” he points out. 

“I didn’t say I’m not stupid. I must be, I’m here, aren’t I?” 

“No, you are perhaps the only one in your family who is not stupid,” he corrects as he turns and carries a plate of sliced bread in one hand and two spoons in the other. 

He places the plate on the table then offers you one spoon before placing the other in front of a chair a few away from your own, further around the table so you will be able to see one another as you eat without being as far away as possible, while putting himself directly opposite you. 

“I’m the only one who didn’t believe in you,” you point out as he returns to the counter to grab the two bowls. 

“It is not stupid to not believe in things you have no proof for.” 

“Strange thing for a spirit to say.”

“Perhaps,” he agrees, placing both bowls down then moving to fill two glasses with water while you peer into your bowl at what looks like some kind of stew or soup. All you know is that it’s a warm orange-red, has lumps of what looks like vegetables, and smells delicious. “What that also means,” Wonwoo starts as he returns, putting the glasses down beside your bowls before finally sitting. “Is that you do not believe in the ridiculous human sacrifice nonsense.” 

“Human sacrifice?” you repeat dumbly and lift your head to look at him instead of staring hungrily at the meal before you. “They sent me down here for you to kill?!”

“No, no.” He shakes his head slightly. “Not at all. Even if I wanted to kill you, I could not; it goes against my very purpose. I think your family must know at least that much.”

His assurance does calm your sudden disbelieving anger. Something about Wonwoo feels so genuine that you don’t doubt him even the slightest bit. He could probably tell you that the world is a giant computer simulation, and your entire life is nothing more than lines of code you could never comprehend, and you’d just nod and accept it. Though the way his gaze keeps flickering distrustfully to the broken torch on the table makes you wonder if he knows anything about modern technology. Probably not.

“For some bizarre reason, a few decades after building this crypt, your ancestors decided that I require a human for company, so they started a tradition of sending an adult down into the catacombs every fifty years to live the rest of their days with me.” 

“You don’t want the company?”

“Why would I want the company of humans who will wither away before my very eyes? I have had to burn seven of your ancestors so far. You will be my eighth when your own time comes.”

“When will that be?” 

“I am not psychic,” he deadpans and picks up his spoon, then uses it to motion vaguely at your bowl before dipping it into his own. “Eat; before it gets cold.” 

“Oh, right, thank you,” you respond gratefully and do as told, making a soft, appreciative noise when you have your first spoonful. “This is delicious.”

“Thank you, but were you never taught to not talk with your mouth full?”

You’re already too busy spooning food into your mouth to respond.

After dinner, you help Wonwoo clean up; learning where everything goes, and how he likes to clean. And unintentionally staring in awe at the taps long enough that he questions you.

“Are these no longer in use on the surface?” he wonders, gently touching the cold tap with the slightest hint of a pout on his lips. “These are a wonder in of their own. I cannot imagine how you can live without them, and I refuse to change them. I do not have the power any longer to do it even if you ask.”

“No, it’s not that, we still use taps just like these, but I’m just wondering how the fuck you have working plumbing down here.” 

“Your great uncle showed them to me in his mind after a few decades with me; he was beyond fed up with the pump. When I saw this marvel, I copied them to the best of my ability with the limited knowledge he had. I do not know any more than the taps; that they are metal, and one produces hot water and the other cold. I know nothing of plumbing.”

“Wait, are you telling me that there aren’t pipes bringing the water? It just appears?”

“I can only replicate what I can see.”

“Holy shit, that’s insane.” He frowns at you. “That’s a compliment,” you insist, assuming his expression to be offence and proven correct when the furrow in his brow smooths out. “So, you can make anything?”

“No, not now. My powers are too weak, too limited these days.” 

“Why?” 

“Your family stopped loving me.” 

“What?” You look at him puzzled and ignore the hint of pain on his features as he turns and heads out of the kitchen. Of course, you follow. “My family practically worships you.”

“That is not love. That is for their own gain; always praying for wealth or beauty, nothing meaningful.” 

“They believe you bless us with good health.”

“I…I do what I can,” he admits with a forlorn sigh and stops at the shelf to take a frame down to show to you. 

You look at it and are surprised to recognise the ugly ice-lolly stick frame. It’s stained partially red from all of the colourings in the frozen treats you had made yourself ill to consume and make this very frame. The drawing within looks the same as the day eight-year-old you drew it; a vague humanoid shape holding hands with a little girl under the sun with creepily big smiles on the faces. But they’re happy. They’re supposed to be happy together.

“Your family loved me once, but it faded long before your own did. I used the last of my power to retrieve this from where it had been in the crypt chamber for five years. The last time I was loved by your family.” 

“I stopped believing in you,” you admit. “And because of that, you lost your power?” You frown guiltily at him and hand the frame back, so he puts it back in place with nothing but love in the way he handles the almost two-decade old frame stuck together with PVA glue and a child’s love.

“Not entirely. I still have some, otherwise I would fade away. As long as your family continues to visit annually and pray to me, I will exist and have some power. But it is the love of the family we protect and guide that gives us true power. I lost that, for a long time. But when you were a child, you loved me and that gave me the power to see into your great uncle’s mind and recreate the kitchen and bathroom. I am truly grateful to you for loving me for long enough to allow me to learn of a modern toilet and bring one into my home.” That makes you laugh and now, as he sees you laugh, you are blessed with Wonwoo’s smile for the first time. 

You were right, he truly is beautiful when he smiles.

Time passes differently underground. Of course, you have no way to see outside, to watch the sun and moon chase one another across the sky, so you can’t tell how the day progresses. Wonwoo, however, knows. He still has enough magic in his body to just know these things. He makes sure to feed you three meals a day and send you to bed at what you assume must be a reasonable time.

It had been very strange to get used to the bedroom that he had presented for you to live in for the rest of your days. He made a point of showing you the springy mattress on the metal bedframe, both of which creak with every movement, but he had looked so proud that he has a modern bed for you that you haven’t complained once in the past weeks of living together, even if your back constantly hurts.

There had clearly been some effort on Wonwoo’s part to make this room comfortable for your great uncle based on the man’s mind. Which is very sweet of the spirit, and you appreciate his care, but it’s all very outdated and suited to a man stuck in the 70s. There’s only so many times you can listen to glam rock records on the turntable while staring at posters of David Bowie and Queen before becoming wildly uncomfortable with someone else’s choice of décor leering down at you as you lay in bed.

So, you take up spending time in the main room; that large, beautiful room where Wonwoo is often found sprawled over cushions reading yet another book. At first, you hadn’t been that interested in the books, but with little else to do, you pick books off of the shelves to work your way through.

The days don’t seem to drag as much when you can look up and see Wonwoo absorbed in a book across the room. Just knowing that you’re not alone helps. Even if some days you barely say a few sentences to each other, it’s still comforting to occupy the space together.

Still, some days, you can’t settle on a book, and you don’t want to bug Wonwoo to entertain you, so you retreat to your uncomfortable room to play those same records and have staring contents with posters that reign supreme in the sport. 

“You can remove them, you know,” Wonwoo’s voice pulls you away from where you’re glaring at the biggest poster of David Bowie; you think it’s from one of his albums. It’s a famous photo of the man with a colourful lightning bolt painted over his eye, but you’ve never been a fan of the man. Although you can now sing along to some of his songs, you still wouldn’t say you’re a fan. If anything, you think you might even dislike him and his music now due to the forced proximity. Still, you don’t have any other music to play, so you reluctantly listen to the vinyl record with his name on it and mumble the words back at him to pass the time.

“What?” you ask, rolling your head on the rug under you to look at him in the doorway. 

“Those posters, they were your uncles, I don’t care for them. You can remove them. This room is yours to do with as you want; if you do not like the posters, you can remove them instead of glaring at them all the time.”

“I don’t glare all the time.”

“Every time I pass your room, you are glaring.”

“Why do you pass my room?” You give him a puzzled look. 

“To get to the library.” He lifts the book in his hand; the one he had been reading earlier when you gave up reading your own book and retreated to your room.

“There’s a library?!” you sputter and abruptly sit up. 

“Of course, where did you think I get my books from?”

“The shelves in the main room, or your bedroom, not a fucking library!” 

He sighs. “Was cursing necessary?” 

“Yes!” You jump up and turn the record player off before urging him to show you the way. “You should’ve told me about the library, Wonwoo!” 

“I assumed you would’ve discovered it on your own,” he admits as he obligingly walks down the hall and motions to the room at the end to allow you in first. 

You step in and gasp at the sight of the shelves upon shelves of books and scrolls, plus even more stacks of books on the floor around the room due to running out of shelf space. 

“I have never told you that any room is off limits to you, just warned you not to venture out of our living area lest you get lost in the catacombs.”

“You have never told me I can go wherever I want to either,” you reason as you run your fingers over the spines of the books on the shelf closest to you. 

There doesn’t seem to be a system in place, at least not that you can tell when there are multiple languages present and you only know your native tongue. You really can’t tell what these books are about, nor if they’re in some kind of alphabetical order. 

“I’m like a vampire,” you add. “I need to be explicitly invited to a place to step inside.”

“What’s a vampire?” he queries, making your head snap around to look at him in surprise. There is the slightest purse to his lips, showing that he’s pressing them together. 

“Wonwoo!” you exclaim, when you realise that he’s trying not to break and laugh at his own joke, and then you realise why he would find this so funny. “You’re literally carrying Dracula!” You point at the book in his hands, and he cracks, laughing and leaning over with the force of it. “Honestly, your sense of humour is so outdated.”

“I am almost nine hundred years old,” he reminds amidst his laughter and walks into the room to put the book on the shelf and start to look for another to catch his attention.

“You look good for it,” you comment casually, unaware of the way Wonwoo immediately looks at you with widened eyes and a blush tickling his cheeks. Though, he quickly rushes to hide around the other side of the unit in front of him out of your sight until the pink leaves his skin. 

The two of you peruse the shelves in a content quiet for a while until you pop up behind Wonwoo to ask him a question about the book in your hands. Your sudden appearance makes him shriek and panic, abruptly shoving the book in his hands onto the shelf. Though in his rush, he fails to make it secure, and the book falls down to the floor between the two of you.

For a few tense seconds, you both stare at it. Without warning, you dart down to reach for the book. Wonwoo shrieks again and rushes to grab it first, using a little of his power to pull the book across the stone to him before you can grab it. 

“That’s cheating!” you accuse as you straighten up.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Wonwoo replies as he shoves the book under his shirt by the button open near his collar. You watch the book drag down the inside of his shirt and stop at the waistband of his trousers, where he always neatly tucks his shirts into. 

“If you think I’m afraid of playing dirty, you really don’t know me,” you point out while stepping closer to him. Wonwoo steps back with eyes wide and both hands over the book at his stomach. “Are you going to be a good boy and give me the book or am I going to have to take it from you, Jeon Wonwoo?” you question as his back hits the shelf and he yelps softly at the contact. 

It’s beyond amusing to you to see the ancient spirit being so skittish. It’s the most entertainment you’ve had in the past weeks, and you decide right here and now to make it a habit to play with Wonwoo like this.

“I…” Wonwoo starts yet trails off when you step even closer until your left foot finds a place partially between his. His wide eyes dart down between your bodies then back up to meet your gaze. 

You just about manage to catch sight of his suddenly very pink cheeks before he vanishes. You’d yell out and call him a cheater again if something hadn’t hit your foot when he vanished, drawing your attention down to where the book he had tried to hide is now half propped on your left foot. 

“Huh,” you muse and reach down to pick it up curiously. The golden writing on the spine is in another language, so you almost give up on finding out what exactly Wonwoo had tried to hide from you and pretend he hadn’t been intrigued by. Yet you still open the book and immediately, a grin lifts your face as you understand. “Oh, Wonwoo, you horny fucker,” you snigger, noticing the illustration of a man and woman having sex on the first page you see. You turn the page and find that this must be some kind of smutty novel, or a guide on how to have sex, based on how the illustrations change as if walking the reader through the stages and movements.

You flick through the pages a little more then get bored and decide to put the book away and return to your own task. Wonwoo can collect his porn in peace later, and you’ll only tease him minimally. Mostly because, based on the pictures, it seemed rather vanilla and Wonwoo had been pretty flustered for something so innocent, at least by your standards.

By the time you pick a book to take to the main room, Wonwoo hasn’t returned to the library and has instead decided to read one of the books from the shelves in the main room, where you usually get your own reads from. At least, he’s pretending to read. 

Even once you sit down and open your own book, in your periphery you can see him repeatedly looking over at you from over the top of his own book. Though you don’t point it out and just giggle quietly to yourself before focusing on your story.

Months pass with Wonwoo. Over time, you’ve explored your home and discovered that there are many things stored around; more records, even more books, various art supplies, and plenty of older games and activities. Each of which Wonwoo obligingly sits and patiently teaches you to play, regardless of how long it takes or how many times you get the rules wrong in your effort to learn. 

During the months, the two of you get closer, which was bound to happen after living with someone and having only them for company, but you hadn’t expected how quickly it would happen. 

Clearly, Wonwoo hadn’t expected it either, as one day, some months in, when he tries to use his power to playfully steal your favourite huge cushion away before you can reach it to sit on, the cushion moves a lot faster than expected and pelts him in the face. 

“Holy shit!” you exclaim and crack up, almost falling over from laughing so hard. Especially when Wonwoo just gawps dumbly at the pillow covering half of his body where he’s now slouched against his own pillow pile. 

“You love me,” he blurts, instantly shutting you up.

“What the fuck, man?!” you sputter.

“You think of me as your friend?” he asks in surprise. 

“Well, yeah,” you confirm. 

“And you love me.”

“Whoa, dude, I do not fall that easily, take it a step back. You’re pretty and all, but down from your self-appointed pedestal, thanks.”

“You think I’m pretty?” he asks quietly. 

You just nod silently, trying to wrap your head around this whole conversation. It feels rather surreal and you’re starting to wonder if he had hit his head when the cushion smacked into him. Can spirits get concussions? 

“I think you’re beautiful,” he informs honestly.

“Oh, uh, thank you.” You shuffle your weight from foot to foot awkwardly and look away shyly. “But uhm, just because I think you’re pretty, it doesn’t mean I’m in love with you or anything.”

“I know.” 

“Then why did you say that?!” You look at him frustratedly confused. 

“I said you love me, not that you’re in love with me. Do humans no longer platonically love their friends?”

“Ooooh.” You understand as your eyes round out slightly. “I see. Yes, yes, we do. Sorry, people tend to mean romantic love, so my mind automatically went there. Yes, I do love you platonically, what has that got to do with anything?”

“I told you; when your family loves me, my powers come back.”

“Wait, that still applies?” You rush over and yank the cushion off of him to drop onto at his side with wide, excited eyes. “Even though I’m down here with you, loving you still affects you?”

“As long as you are alive, your love for me will always affect me.” 

“Then I guess there’s only one thing for it,” you decide and take his face into your hands, making his eyes blow wide and cheeks warm under your palms. “You’re going to have to make me fall in love with you, Jeon Wonwoo.”

“What?!” he sputters and removes your hands from his face. “Why would you even suggest such a thing?!”

“I imagine the more I love you, the more of your power returns, right?” He nods. “Then we can have so much fun! You can raid my mind and make so many things to improve our home!” 

“You do not like our home?” He frowns, almost pouting offendedly. “I have worked hard to build this home. I love this home, why don’t you?”

“I do, actually. It’s beautiful and I feel more at home here than I ever have anywhere,” it’s only as you say those words that you realise the truth to them. “Huh, that’s true.”

“Did you intend to lie?” He frowns further, more genuinely upset this time at the thought of you lying to him; something you haven’t done so far, and you can’t imagine a situation where you will feel it necessary to lie to the man either. 

“No, no, not at all,” you assure and wiggle your arms a little so that he removes his hold from your wrists. Though, you grab his hands before he can move them away to hold them in your own. 

It’s the first time you’ve held hands, but the sight of Wonwoo’s shy, diverted gaze and red tipped ears makes you internally promise to hold his hand at every available chance. He’s so easy to fluster, it’s so endearingly cute.

“I just meant that I hadn’t realised until I said it. Perhaps when I was little I felt at home with my parents, but then I grew up and realised how obsessive they are about all this. Even my dad follows it all despite not being part of the bloodline. But here, I feel safe, comfortable, happy. I feel like you accept me entirely and enjoy being by my side. That’s all I’ve ever wanted, all I’ve ever needed in a home, and now I have it, with you.” 

“Oh.” He lets out a breath and slowly nods. “I can’t recall my childhood, or much of my human life, but I think I may feel the same way. I can’t remember ever being this happy and content in eight hundred years.”

“Okay, this is really sweet but I’m very stuck on what sounds like you were a human once?” You gawk when he just nods. “What the fuck, Wonwoo?” You let go of his hands to hit his shoulder scoldingly. 

“What?!” he exclaims and grabs your hands before you can hit him again. 

“Why did you never tell me?!”

“I wasn’t aware it was something you care to know!”

“Of course it is! I want to know everything about you, idiot.”

“Oh…I didn’t realise. You never asked.”

“Well, I didn’t know that you were human to ever ask about.”

“All spirits are, at least guardian spirits. I don’t really recall much of my life, only glimpses and vague memories, but I think I was spoiled, not a nice man, so I was punished upon death to live as guardian to one of the bloodlines I wronged.”

“You were shitty to my ancestors so now you have to watch over their shitty descendants; that sucks.”

“Sometimes. I must admit, many of your family have been terrible people,” he agrees and looks at your hands that are once again in his own. Bravely, he adjusts his hold until your palms can comfortably press together. “But knowing you makes it worth it.” As Wonwoo lifts his head to look at you with a gaze so earnest, your heart skips a beat. 

You think he’ll make it so easy to fall for him.

A whole year passes with Wonwoo growing stronger and stronger as your love for him grows bigger and brighter with every smile, every day spent simply existing together. 

You never thought you could fall in love so peacefully, so entirely without any fear or attempt to stop it. But it feels right, like perhaps you were always meant to love Jeon Wonwoo.

Sometimes, you do wonder if he knows the extent of your love. Obviously, he knows that it’s pretty extensive at this point; he can feel it and regularly shows off his growing powers by surprising you with new items in your home. Items he saw in your uncle’s mind yet never had the power before to create, including a hot tub that he refuses to go near. 

Though, he also refuses to go into your own mind to recreate anything you’ve seen, no matter how much you pout at him. You really want a new bed, but he has never given you the chance to even say that and instead has the habit of vanishing whenever he thinks you’re going to ask him to delve into your mind, without explaining why he won’t even take a peek for one item. 

Based on how Wonwoo’s power and general aura has grown exponentially in the past year, he must know that your love passed platonic some time ago. But he never mentions it, never shows any sign of being aware. At this point, you can’t tell if it’s because he genuinely hasn’t put those pieces together in his innocence, or if he’s taken up being skilled at tricking you just to prevent making things awkward and bringing your unreciprocated feelings to light. 

If he’s not going to mention it, you sure as hell aren’t either. You may not be ashamed of your love or care that he doesn’t return it, but you certainly don’t want to face rejection. You may be comfortable in your own skin, but even you would be embarrassed by the man telling you that he doesn’t return your love. 

It feels unnecessary at this point, anyway. You’re happy with the way things are, happier than you have been in a long time. 

At least, normally you are.

Of course, with it being a year to the day that your family locked you up in the catacombs with their only offers of sustenance being on the other side of the locked gate, it means it’s time for the annual family trip to the crypt. 

Although you closed your heart off to your family when the last light of the candle burned away that day, today, your heart aches.

The gentle call of your name makes you look away from the mocking eyes of David Bowie on your wall and to Wonwoo in the entranceway. He has a box in his hands that you haven’t seen in a year. “I think perhaps it’s time to give you this.”

“The offering?” you mutter confusedly as you sit up and cross your legs, so Wonwoo walks over and places the box on the bed in front of you carefully.

“You were the offering; this was always for you.”

“For me? Then why did you hide it from me?”

“It wasn’t hidden. It’s been in my room waiting for you, but you never go in there.”

“I’m a vampire,” you remind, and he chuckles. “If it was mine, you should’ve put it in here.”

“I almost did at first, but I thought you were doing well without it. Though today, you miss your family knowing they will be above us soon, so this might help. Or not. I haven’t looked inside but I know these boxes are always sent with the sacrifice to offer comfort to them as they pass their years stuck with me underground.”

“Oh.” You reach for the box and flick the latch. 

As soon as you start to open the lid, Wonwoo chooses to vanish instead of walking away like he usually does, unless to escape your teasing or line of questioning. You’re not sure why exactly he left like that, maybe nothing more than just because he wanted to give you privacy and panicked that you were opening the box, or maybe something else. Though the first option seems the most likely for your oddly skittish friend.

Choosing to ignore his behaviour, like you often do, you focus on opening the small chest. Although there is an envelope on the top with your name written on the front in your mother’s handwriting, your attention is drawn to the worn face of the ragdoll underneath. You haven’t seen the doll in such a long time. 

It was your favourite toy as a child; you carried it with you everywhere and couldn’t sleep without it, and would cry for hours if you ever misplaced it. Thinking about it now, you can’t recall when you outgrew the toy exactly, but you know that when you found it in a box of old toys when you were an angsty teen, you had tossed it in the box for donation and hadn’t thought about it since. Now, as you stroke your fingers over the worn-soft face of the doll, you’re silently glad that your parents didn’t listen to you and saved your childhood comfort.

Under the doll are some family photos; one for every annual trip to the crypt, showing the progression of your family’s growth and age, with you right there in the centre between your grandmother and mother. Until now, you’ve never noticed that you were always placed in the centre despite almost everyone else changing positions around you. Only your grandmother and mother remained in place at your sides and all of your blood relatives just fit wherever suited them at the time. 

Until now, you hadn’t considered once in the past year that maybe it hadn’t been a spontaneous decision to sacrifice you out of all of the adults of your bloodline. Yet now that you’re thinking about it, it makes sense. 

You always thought that it’s just because your mother is the closest to your grandmother as her eldest that you were raised with the most fanatical upbringing. Your mother had always drilled the importance of the yearly visit and ritual into you at every available opportunity. And ever since you were old enough, she would quiz you and give you homework to write your own essay of thanks to the crypt spirit on a weekly basis. None of your mother’s siblings have raised their children in the same way, even if they all believe in the spirit too. You just thought she was intensely devout.

But maybe it’s always been much worse than that. Maybe, she has been raising you for the sole purpose of sacrificing you one day.

Now that you’re thinking about that possibility, you can so vividly remember the time your mother had admitted to you that she never wanted children, and had never been a maternal woman like her sisters and friends. When you asked why she had you if she didn’t want children, she smiled, cupped your too young cheek, and simply said “for the love of family”. You had assumed she meant the family she made with your father, the three of you, but now, now you’re wondering if she had always meant the bloodline. Now you’re wondering if the only reason she birthed you was to give you away to a spirit one day in the misguided belief it will benefit the bloodline.

With that thought in mind, you pack everything back into the box and take it to find Wonwoo. He’s not in the main room so you assume he’s cleaning the catacombs, and you don’t want to go wandering around the halls looking for him and risk getting lost. You know he would find you once he realises that you’re not at home, but that could take a while; he has a lot of halls and tombs to clean.

You put the chest down on the table for him to find when he returns and go to the recently developed second bathroom. Or as you call it, the hot tub room. Wonwoo, however, just calls it your bathroom, even if it only contains the hot tub and some décor.

Although the hot tub itself is wonderful and Wonwoo had managed to create it with multiple settings so that you can adjust it to how you’d prefer, there is something important he failed to factor in when creating the hot tub; suitable clothing for you to wear in it. 

When Wonwoo had seen the hot tub in your uncle’s memories, he hadn’t seen anyone but men using it, wearing swimming trunks Wonwoo had assumed were simply shorts. So, in his innocence, he had assumed that you can wear your own shorts and t-shirt in the hot tub. It hadn’t occurred to him that you would need something else, and he had vanished when you tried to explain to him what a bikini is. 

As you strip down to bare skin and clamber into the heated, gently bubbling water, you muse if the reason Wonwoo refuses to enter this room, other than his distrust for modern technology, is that he knows the hot tub implies you will be naked and that flusters him greatly. Even if he has no issue with going near the bathtub or shower, at least you assume so as he’s always clean, but maybe that’s just part of his spirit powers.

Sometimes, you do ponder what exactly Wonwoo’s powers are. You know that he can manipulate your home within the catacombs when he’s strong enough. And he can always repair and clean all of the catacombs and crypt; hence why it’s always clean despite your family only visiting once a year. 

You also know that Wonwoo cannot enter the crypt himself. The gate is imbued with some kind of celestial power that keeps him trapped in the catacombs. He can’t reveal himself to the bloodline unless guiding them, so he can’t even leave the catacombs when they open the gate for the sacrifice to descend the stairs. 

Whenever he cleans the crypt, he has to stand on the other side of the gate and summon a crypt cleaner to clean the sections that he can’t see himself to send his magic to. It used to take a lot out of him, but now that he’s full of your love, he finds the task much easier and only looks a little run down after cleaning the crypt chambers.

But other than those things, you don’t know if Wonwoo’s powers extend further. You’ve never explicitly discussed how he watches over your family, how he “does what he can” in regard to giving your family good health, or how he guides the deceased to the afterlife. At least you know that one day, you’ll have the answer for the latter when he has to guide you. You just hope you have plenty of time with the man before then.

The thing about Wonwoo’s creating the hot tub, other than the no swimwear issue, is that despite it logically being water focused; therefore, all the normal water rules apply, Wonwoo had forgotten that aspect when creating the hot tub. Which means that this water doesn’t have the habit normal water does of making your skin wrinkle. 

Many days you’ve spent enough time relaxing in the water with your mind wandering down various paths without realising how long you’ve been inside, until Wonwoo knocks the door timidly and tells you that it’s time to eat or go to bed.

Today is no different. You know you’ve been in the water for quite some time, and your stomach is starting to tell you it’s getting close to lunch time, when there’s an almost too-quiet knock on the door. 

You lift your hand out of the water to eye the perfectly smooth skin of your fingertips as you remain silent, just to mess with Wonwoo and force him to knock a little louder and call your name through the door.

“I can’t hear you!” you call and reach over to turn the bubbles up. You can hear Wonwoo talking through the door; you can actually clearly hear him questioning why you left the box in the main room, but you need a pick-me-up right now and flustering Wonwoo is a sure-fire way to brighten your day. “Sorry, Wonwoo, but I really have no idea what you’re saying, you’ll have to come inside!” you sing-song and move over to the side of the tub facing the door to cross your arms on the edge and rest your chin on them to watch the door intently.

Honestly, you’re pretty convinced that Wonwoo will just give up and leave, that he’ll simply wait until you come out of the room of your own accord to talk to you then. Yet, after a few anticipatory moments, the door handle tentatively turns and your eyes light up.

You can’t help but giggle as Wonwoo shuffles awkwardly into the room with his eyes squeezed tightly shut. He has the chest in one arm as his other hand remains gripping the door.

“Shut the door, you’re letting all the heat out,” you scold. It’s not true at all, there’s no chill entering the room at all. It’s always at the perfect temperature and Wonwoo knows that; he’s the one who designed the room that way. Yet he obeys and closes the door before pressing his back against it and holding the box with both hands. “What’s the matter, Wonwoo, something in your eyes?”

“N-no,” he stammers and lifts the box a little. “Why is this not in your room?” 

“I don’t want it.” 

“What?” His features scrunch in confusion. “What do you mean you don’t want it?” 

“I mean what I said.” 

“But…it’s for you.” 

“No, it’s to make those people who are supposed to be family feel better about bringing me into this world for the sole purpose of sacrificing me.” That makes Wonwoo open his eyes to look at you incredulously. His eyes widen fractionally at the sight of your bare, glistening arms, yet he can’t see the rest of your body, so he manages to only softly blush shyly and keep his eyes open.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I’m always in the middle of those photos and my mother always said she’s not maternal, never wanted kids, yet she had me ‘for the love of family’. Which I’m pretty sure means this; sacrificing me for the sake of appeasing you.” 

“Are you certain?”

“It makes sense.” You shrug and motion vaguely to the box. “Look for yourself at those photos and try to tell me it’s not suspicious that I’m always pride of place.” 

Wonwoo holds your gaze for a moment before nodding slightly then lowering to sit on the floor and open the box. With gentle hands, he moves aside the doll to pick up the photos and look through them carefully. 

“See, everyone but my grandmother, mother, and I change place.” 

“I see,” he mutters. “That is strange,” he concedes and puts the photos away, plucking up the envelope instead. “Oh, you did not read your letter.”

“I don’t want to. Either it’s lies about them loving me, or the truth.”

“You’re not curious?”

“Curious? Yes. Willing to read the words? No.”

“Perhaps, I could read it to you?” he offers and looks back up at you. “Then you will know for certain.”

“Just read it and summarise, I don’t need it word for word,” you agree and move to another side of the tub so that you can lean back against it slouched down, only your shoulders and head above the water. Wonwoo immediately looks away as soon as you start to move so that he won’t see anything even if you sit upright.

He’s quiet for a minute or so, eyes stuck to the letter as he silently reads it before he lets out a disappointed breath. “Your suspicions aren’t explicitly confirmed, but it does seem like you’re correct. She states that this is your fate and such crap.”

You gasp and look at him in amusement. “Jeon Wonwoo! Did you just drop a very minor curse?”

“The situation calls for it.”

“Watch out, you’ll stop using coasters next, you bad boy,” you tease, giggling at the red that tinges the tips of his ears. “Anything else in that letter?”

“It does state that if you had a family of your own, children to look after, they would’ve sacrificed your childfree aunt instead.” 

“So, I’m only good to sacrifice or raise children.” 

“That…seems the gist of things, yes,” he confirms and folds the letter up to place it back in the envelope, then puts that in the chest to close it. “What shall I do with this now?”

“I don’t care right now.”

“I’ll put it somewhere for safe keeping until you decide.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then you don’t. This isn’t the only one of these I have down here.” He pats the box before getting up with it in his hands. He looks at you, seeming to have forgotten that you’ve moved, and immediately freezes. 

“Are you a virgin?” you suddenly query. Wonwoo squeaks and vanishes, taking the box with him, making you snicker and assume it is a confirmation to your suspicion, however an unintended confirmation. It’s no wonder he reads such vanilla porn.

Although you still can’t tell the passage of time down here, you know when your family arrives at the crypt due to the fact Wonwoo sits at your side on the pillows in the main room and takes your hand into his. He never usually initiates affection, only blushes and accepts your own, so you know this is him comforting you. 

“You can feel them?” you assume, giving up on your book and instead leaning closer to him to rest your head on his shoulder. 

He hums in confirmation and holds your hand tighter. “What would you like me to do?” 

“What do you mean?”

“To improve our home.”

“Oh. I’ve always wanted a huge bed to spread out on.” 

“A bed? That’s all you want?” 

“Well…” For a second, you almost consider explaining to him what sex toys are, but you think that is too far and just nod. “Yeah, I saw this bed in a movie before; I’ve always wanted it. Can you recreate something from a movie I saw?”

“What is a movie?” You lift your head to peer at him suspiciously, expecting this to be another one of his jokes about being old and out of touch with modern living, yet he looks entirely serious. 

“Oh, a moving picture to tell a story. Movies are usually somewhere between an hour and four hours long, but an hour and a half to two hours is the average length.”

“Are you telling me that not only have humans developed instant portraits but moving ones too?” he gawps at you in awed shock.

“I guess you can put it that way,” you giggle amusedly. 

“Why do all of your photos not move if that is a possibility?”

“Ah, movies are shown on TVs or in cinemas, not on pieces of paper or in frames.”

“What are TVs and cinemas?”

“If you look in my mind, you can see; I’m not going to be able to explain it to you.” You motion to your head. Wonwoo glances at your head with an uncertain frown. “Why are you so against looking in my mind, Wonwoo? I am entirely consenting.”

“Because it becomes so easy after the first time. I have to create a link between our minds and that’ll mean I will be able to access your mind at any point.”

“I have nothing to hide.” 

“You will have no true privacy. I won’t purposely enter your mind without consent, but sometimes if I’m relaxed enough, my own mind opens up and travels, connects. I know that it will be a constant fight around you to keep to myself, I’ve never been so comfortable with someone before.” 

“That doesn’t bother me.”

“In those moments, it won’t just be your memories I see. I’ll see your thoughts too.”

“You can read minds?” 

“Only if the connection is strong enough. I’ve…I’ve never done it before, but I know I will with you.” 

“Makes me feel special,” you joke softly.

“You are to me.” 

“Oh.” 

There’s a moment here. Of sparks and racing hearts. Of flushed cheeks and a tightened hold of another’s hands. Of gravitating fractionally closer, before he looks away and plucks your book from your lap to look at in a slightly trembling hand.

“Wonwoo-” you murmur softly, wanting to bring that moment back and wondering what it will take. Although it was only a glimpse of something between you, you think that something could be exceptional, if only it would happen.

“A bed?” he asks, returning to the previous topic. 

“A big comfy bed, with a wooden frame.”

“Oh,” he frowns slightly. “You don’t like the metal one? I thought it is very modern, and you would like it.”

“It’s noisy and the mattress isn’t comfortable.”

“Why have you never told me?” He looks at you. 

“Well, at first, it was just because you looked so proud of it that I didn’t want to upset you, and then I figured there’s nothing to be done about it. But then when you got strong enough, I tried, but you always vanished or changed the subject when I tried to bring up you going in my mind to see the bed I want.” 

“I apologise. If I knew it is so uncomfortable, I would’ve done all I can to change it. I’ll create a wooden framed bed which I hope will be comfortable for you.” 

“Does that mean you’ll look in my mind?”

“No.” He shakes his head and hands you your book back as he leans back against the pillows propped against the wall behind you both. “I have seen many beds in my time; I can recreate one of those.”

“Many beds, huh?” you tease but he misses the insinuation and just hums in confirmation, making you giggle. 

Wonwoo glances at you curiously but instead of questioning you, he just smiles and then motions to your book. “Read to me.” 

“I don’t have a very good reading voice,” you warn as you put another pillow on your lap so that you can prop the book on top and hold the pages open with one hand, just so that you don’t have to let go of Wonwoo’s hand still clasped securely in your own.

“You have a beautiful voice, all of you is beautiful,” he disagrees softly, making you look at him and find him looking at you in a soft, tender kind of way that makes your heart race all over again. “I could spend forever listening to you talk about whatever makes you happy.” 

“I don’t know enough about you to talk about you forever,” you retort, and giggle when his cheeks visibly warm.

“I- that- you-” he sputters before pointing at your book quickly and looking away. “R-read.”

“Whatever you wish, my dear Wonwoo.” You hum and turn your focus back to the book to do as asked, while Wonwoo watches you with adoration in his eyes and truly willing to spend forever like this. As long as he’s with you.

As more time passes with Wonwoo in the catacombs, you learn more about the man and he you. But what you feel the most important out of your newfound knowledge is that without a doubt, the spirit returns your feelings.

You can’t say that he is definitely wholeheartedly in love with you like you are him, but after almost two years together, you’re very positive that all of his shy blushes when he initiates affection first and tender smiles when you catch him watching you, can only mean one thing. Unless those things suddenly change when a human becomes a spirit and spends centuries stuck underground, but you don’t think so.

Still, despite being certain that Wonwoo loves you and knowing that it’s impossible that he doesn’t know that you are head over heels in love with him, nothing has happened between you. There have been a few instances where he’s lingered and you’ve waited, but he always turns away, or vanishes, or changes the subject so abruptly that you can only dumbly blink at him as your mind tries to figure out what the fuck just happened.

Although you have the rest of your life to spend by Wonwoo’s side, the rest of your life to love and be loved by him, you’d rather not have to wait the rest of your life to hear him admit to the words. 

Part of you, a rather big part admittedly, wants to grab Wonwoo by his stupidly handsome face and kiss him until the confessions flow effortlessly from your tongues. And also, that your tongues wind up in each other’s mouths. You’d really like that.

But the other part of you, the logical part of you, knows that doing as much would make Wonwoo freak the fuck out.

If you’re going to do it, you need to ease him into it. Baby steps, so to speak.

So, one day when you sit down next to him to read like you do every single day, you press a quick kiss to his cheek nonchalantly before focusing on your book. No sooner have you found the place where you last read to, Wonwoo vanishes, and you sigh. 

“Okay, even smaller,” you mutter and get comfortable in place to try to read your book while your mind is distracted wondering how you’re supposed to take a smaller step than kissing his cheek.

The same evening of the day you kiss Wonwoo’s cheek, you find out that perhaps, you took the exact right step, despite the fact the man hasn’t shown his face until he calls you for dinner.

Every single day, Wonwoo cooks for you; he insists on also laying the table and serving you himself. And today is no different. Everything is set up on the table already and Wonwoo is hovering behind your chair when you enter the kitchen. 

You eye the meal set up on the table. It’s much more extravagant than he’s made in a while. “Were you stress cooking?” you wonder as you sit in your chair and let him tuck you in.

“No,” he replies too immediately to be honest. You snicker, though cut off in shock when he leans down to press a kiss to your cheek before darting away to take his own seat.

For a moment, you can only stare across the table at his reddened cheeks and downturned eyes as he pretends to be entirely focused on serving the various dishes between you, always spooning your share onto your plate before he even thinks about himself. 

When you’ve fully registered that Wonwoo had actually reciprocated your affection from this morning, you stretch your legs out to tap your foot against his, making him look up at you with wide eyes. 

“This looks delicious, Wonwoo, thank you.” 

“O-of course,” he replies and shyly moves his foot closer to allow your ankles to lock together under the table while he goes back to dishing up. But now, there’s a content little smile turning his lips up and you think that things will fall into place soon enough.

In some ways, things between you and Wonwoo change drastically after the day you first kiss one another’s cheek. At least, drastically for a shy, centuries old spirit who is skittish at best when physical relationships are even vaguely referenced, and infinitely skilled at disappearing at worst. 

Every single day, Wonwoo kisses your cheek, sometimes multiple times, and he has even started to kiss your head when you rest it against his shoulder while curled side by side on the pillows to read. He doesn’t even hesitate to hold your hand anymore; he even bravely laces your fingers together to secure the tender hold.

Yet, in other ways, nothing has changed. 

You haven’t discussed what it all means; that your feelings passed platonic long ago and are clearly very mutual. A few times, you’ve tried to bring it up. Yet, every time your voice turns serious, and you look at him so earnestly, Wonwoo clams up and vanishes; sometimes with a little squeak if he’s extra taken off guard. 

Despite how you’d love to climb into his lap and make out with his pretty face, you know that’s far past his comfort levels and you’re okay with that. You can take it as slow as he needs, even if you’d rather the only slow is more in the slow and deep way involving zero clothing and your legs wrapped around his waist. 

You’re more than willing to take it a miniscule step at a time, but you need to hear him say it. You need to hear him admit that he has feelings for you. Of course, Wonwoo saying “I love you” is the ideal scenario, but you will accept him simply saying that feelings exist in a romantic manner. 

Although you’re pretty damn confident about how mutual your feelings are, there’s still a small, insecure part of you that taunts you with his inability to be honest about his heart. And unfortunately, that little part is starting to spread its thin, spindly fingers out to try and claim more space for uncertainty to grow.

It takes you some time of thinking on it, of not rushing through the mental process of trying to come up with a way to get the words from the man, before you realise that maybe trying to coax him into talking isn’t the way forward. 

Perhaps, the best course is to bare your heart first and hope that he will follow suit.

One night, while you’re both getting up from the pillows ready to head off to your beds, you decide that despite being pretty sure that you have plenty of time left with Wonwoo, that there’s no time like the present. 

“I love you,” you declare, abrupt in that the room was quiet before and there was no warning that you intended to speak. Yet your tone is still soft, still gentle to not disturb the calm of the room in hopes that Wonwoo won’t be so startled.

Instantly, he lifts his head from where he’s just gotten to his feet after neatening the pillows. His eyes are wide and a little wild, and lips parted ever so slightly. He looks like he wants to say something; that there are a million thoughts behind his eyes but he’s unable to catch any of them to create a response.

“Not just as a friend, though I do also treasure you in that way too. But I mean that I’m completely in love with you and want to spend the rest of my life loving you and being loved by you in return. I’m not expecting you to say anything back right this second, you can have time to gather your thoughts, but I’d like to know how you feel, Wonwoo,” you make sure that your tone is serious, yet still soft, still cautious of scaring him away. You want him to know that you’re being honest and that this is important to you; but that won’t matter if he vanishes before you can get your point across. “I can take things at your speed, but I need to know that this means to you what I think it does; that you feel the same way about me as I do you.” 

Even though you usually kiss his cheek, and gain a kiss in return, every night before you part ways to go to bed, tonight, you don’t. Wonwoo is still staring at you as if he is frozen in place as his mind tries to decipher the meaning of life itself, so you really don’t think it’s wise to touch him right now. 

“Sleep well, Wonwoo,” you finish with a little smile then turn and go to your room. 

As you get ready for bed, you feel oddly lighter than before your confession. You hadn’t expected to feel this way because you’re positive Wonwoo already knew of your feelings. The man can literally feel your love, so he certainly already knew. But something about speaking the words aloud pushes those sharp fingers of insecurity away from your heart and allows you to breathe a little easier. 

Just as you clamber into your big, comfy, wooden framed bed, there’s frantic knocking on your bedroom door. 

In the three years you’ve lived here with Wonwoo, he has never knocked on your door like that. In fact, he’s never knocked on your door before. Your door is always open during the day when you’re awake, and he’s never had a reason to talk to you at night.

As quickly as you can, you shove the duvet out of the way and scuttle to your door to open it.

Wonwoo still looks a little wild, his eyes are still wide as they land on you, but there’s something new in them. Something determined that shines a little darkly and makes your heart thrum.

“I love you,” he rushes out firmly before deflating slightly, as if it took a lot of strength for him to admit to those words. “I have never wanted to spend an eternity by someone’s side until I met you. You are everything I never knew I wanted, everything I never knew I needed, and I never want to let you go. I hate your family for the pain they caused you, but I will forever be grateful to them for sending you to me. I love you with everything in me, and I will continue to for the rest of my existence. I wish I could spend all of my endless years with you, but I can’t, and it makes my heart ache to think of the day I have to let you go. However, until that day, I want to give you all the love I have. Will you allow me that honour?” 

You blink at him dumbly for a moment before you slowly nod, unable to actually gather the words on your tongue. Though, by the way he lights up and smiles so brightly in a way you’ve never seen him before, you think he’s more than okay with your silent agreement. 

“I’ve never kissed someone on the lips before, but I would really like to try, may I?” he requests, stepping closer and gently touching the tips of his fingers to your jaw, coaxing you to tilt your face towards him.

“Please,” you whisper, trembling fingers grasping onto his shirt over his chest. For the very first time, you’re the flustered one between you; mind still whirling with the genuinely unexpected and heartwarming confession, not to mention his request to kiss you added on top. 

None of this is going how you played it out in your mind, how you thought tonight would go, and your heart and mind is a mess of Wonwoo, Wonwoo, Wonwoo, but there’s nothing you would change given the chance.

Wonwoo smiles at you softly, looking more like his usual shy self now as he carefully cups your face in both of his warm palms. You can feel the slight quiver of his fingers as they press gently against your skin, a sign of his nerves as he leans in. 

Ever so carefully, Wonwoo brushes his lips against yours, almost testing the waters, before he tilts his head a little to the right and kisses you so tenderly that you think you would melt into a puddle by his feet if he wasn’t holding you. Your knees feel weak, and your cheeks are warmed so ridiculously for such an innocent and short kiss. 

It’s more perfect than any first kiss you could’ve imagined with him. Even your fantasies of climbing on his lap and sliding your tongue into his willing mouth can’t compare to the truth of the simple and undeniable love of this kiss.

Somehow, when your eyes meet again after he’s pulled back, you think you love him even more than before. Your heart swells and he takes a shaky breath as his chest expands as if he feels it too. You think that by the way his heart races under your palms, he most certainly does.

Considering how shy Wonwoo had been for the first three years of your time together, you really had thought that was a good basis for assumption to how he’d be once in a relationship with you. You assumed, that if anything, he’d be even shier thanks to the added layer of affection and commitment between you.

But as it turns out, you do not know Jeon Wonwoo as well as you had thought.

The very morning after your exchanged confessions and sweet first kiss, Wonwoo greets you with his lips against yours and a hand on your waist. After breakfast, while he’s leaning around you to pick up your dirty dishes ready to take to the sink, he kisses you again. As he sits by your side for your morning reading session, he kisses you yet again, sweet and simple. When you’re both in the library looking for your next reads, he kisses you against the shelves with his arms bracketing your head and chest brushing yours. And so, the habit continues throughout the day, all the way until he kisses you at your bedroom door before going to his own for the night. 

And the next day, the cycle repeats.

Of course, you never once refuse his enthusiastic kisses that grow braver and braver each one. There’s not a single part of you that wants to refuse, and you’re more than happy to accept him as far into your personal space as he wants to be. Even if it’s highly unexpected, but definitely a pleasant surprise. 

Though, as the days pass and Wonwoo gets more confident, more adventurous with how he kisses you and how his hands press and pull your body to his heart’s desire over your clothing, you realise that you’re going to have to do something you really don’t want to do.

You’re going to have to stop him. 

Sure, you’re thoroughly enjoying this, and he is too based on the increasing frequency and urgency of his lips against yours, but you don’t want him to get ahead of himself. He’s never admitted to having zero sexual experience before, but based on the confession that he hadn’t kissed anyone before you, you think it’s a pretty logical deduction that Jeon Wonwoo is a virgin. 

An almost nine hundred year old virgin. 

You’re probably more into that than you could ever admit. There’s a part of you that really doesn’t want to stop him, that wants to push him down the next time he groans softly against your mouth as his hands explore your body, that wants to show him what he’s been missing out on and absolutely ruin him. You just know he’d look so fucking beautiful with pink staining his cheeks, your claims blooming red and purple over his body, and eyes blissed out and glued to your body as you ride him until your body gives out. You think it’d be a great way to go out, honestly.

But unfortunately, you love the man far too much to not at least try to have an honest conversation about it all before climbing onto his lap and letting him experience things that his innocent, vanilla porn reading mind could never imagine. 

You want to blow his mind as he blows his load, so to speak. But first, talking.

“Sweetheart,” you start, putting a hand to his chest to stop him leaning in again. Some time ago, possibly ten minutes, possibly longer, Wonwoo had backed you against the corridor wall just outside of the hot tub room before you could enter and immediately attached his mouth to yours. Of course, you hadn’t argued at all and had happily pulled him closer encouragingly. But now, your conscience is waving the morals flag and reminding you that you should be the bigger person right now, as the experienced one.

“Don’t you want to kiss me?” he asks, frowning at you, looking very much like a sad puppy. It almost makes you remove your hand and let him lean back in to steal your breath away all over again with his thorough kisses, but you remain strong. 

“I do, a fucking lot, but we need to talk.” 

“About kissing?” He tilts his head slightly, utterly confused and only furthering the puppy likeness. 

You suddenly imagine him wearing a collar and your brain short circuits for a few seconds until he tries to lean in again, assuming your silence means you’ve given up on talking. Though him pressing against your hand to try and get closer brings you back to reality, and you nudge him back again. 

“My love,” he complains. “I want to kiss you.” 

“I know, baby, I know,” you coo and cup his face. “But we need to talk.”

“About what?” he asks, sounding impatient.

“That before me, you hadn’t kissed anyone.”

“Oh…” Suddenly, he leans away, pushing away from the wall where he’s leaning on one arm, and removing the other from around your waist as he puts space between you. “I didn’t realise it was so obvious. I’m trying hard to learn.” 

“No! No, no! I didn’t mean it like that!” you insist and push away from the wall yourself so that you can take his hands into yours and squeeze reassuringly. “You’re not bad at kissing, like, not at all. I thoroughly enjoy the way you kiss me, Wonwoo.”

“Oh, that’s good.” He perks back up a little and adjusts his hands in yours to slot your fingers together and hold you more securely. “Then what do you mean if not that I’m bad at kissing?”

“Well, based on how much you back me against the nearest surface and kiss me so heavily, I’m pretty fucking sure you want to have sex with me, right?” 

Wonwoo blinks at you a few times dumbly as he takes in your words and accepts that you’ve seriously said them to him. Then, his cheeks suddenly bloom pink, and he shyly looks away to a low spot on the wall behind you to your left. “U-uhm, y-yes,” he admits in a nervous stammer. “If-if you would like that-that.” 

“I’ve wanted to climb you for years; I most certainly want that.”

“Climb me?” he questions puzzled as he looks at you, too bewildered by your words to be shy.

“Fuck you.” 

“Oh!” he squeaks and looks away again, blush darkening beautifully. 

“But based on the fact you’re new to kissing, I think it’s safe to assume you’ve never had sex either, correct?” Wonwoo hesitates before nodding, unable to look at you or verbally confirm your words. “Which means, I think we should talk about it; our desires and interests before we get that far. We need to be on the same page.” 

“Isn’t that clear?” He looks at you again, once again puzzled and so innocent. “We wish to have sex; that is our desire, is it not?”

“Yes, but there are many ways to have sex, sweetheart. Some people like it rough, others don’t. Some like to involve toys, others don’t. And many other things that we will need to discuss, but for now, we need to discuss expectations for our first time together. What exactly do you want to happen, Wonwoo?”

“I…want to have sex with you?” He tilts his head. “I don’t understand what you’re asking.”

“Okay, bluntly; is all you want right now is to put your penis in my vagina?” Wonwoo’s eyes bulge and his whole face pinkens, tips of his ears so red they practically glow with heat. “Wow, if you blush so dark at that, you really aren’t ready for anything more.”

“There’s more?!” he sputters, practically shrieking. 

“Well, have you heard of oral sex?” 

“Oral? That means mouth…” 

“Mmhmm,” you confirm and tug him closer as your lips turn up a little in a slight smirk. “Using the mouth to make your partner orgasm.” 

“H-how?”

“Well, for example, I could take you to your room right now, lay you on your bed, pull down your trousers, and fill my mouth with your cock.” Wonwoo inhales sharply, fingers curling into the backs of your hands and lips popping open. “I could explain how I would bring you to orgasm that way, but I’d much rather just show you, if you’d let me. Can I show you, my love? Will you let me make you cum with my mouth?” 

“Fuck.” It’s the first time you’ve heard Wonwoo swear, and it makes your blood fizzle with rapidly growing desire. Now that you’ve heard how good the curse sounds in Wonwoo’s low, aroused voice, you know that you’ll do everything you physically can to hear it again.

As soon as he nods in consent, you’re dragging him to his room to push him down onto his bed, more than just a little excited to do your best to earn curses and moans to fall beautifully from Wonwoo’s lips. 

And earn them you do, repeatedly. It’s better than you could’ve ever imagined.

Time with Wonwoo passes in a way that feels slow, like a calm river gently flowing along as you float atop, curled up safely in his arms and holding him in return. It’s a content kind of life you live with him.

Yet, you age and are reminded that as much as you don’t want it to, your time with Wonwoo will inevitably come to an end.

Although you’re pretty certain that Wonwoo can’t feel your emotions, he always seems to know when that sour little stone in your heart weighs you down with the reminder that this, as much as you’d love it to, isn’t eternal. Only Wonwoo is.

You would accuse the spirit of reading your mind, but you know he can’t. He still refuses to look into your mind, even if he’s tempted to for the sake of learning more about movies, so he hasn’t created a mental connection with you. 

Still, after five years, he just knows you. 

“My love,” he says softly while watching you look at your reflection in the mirror on the dressing table in his room. Well, your shared room, but originally just his. Yet now, he’s added extra touches to make it suitable for you both, brought all of your belongings in, leaving your old room to David Bowie on the wall.

“Mm?” you respond, prodding and pulling at your face, at the delicate wrinkles beginning to fall into place with age, with the smiles and laughter Wonwoo brings to your being every single day. 

You don’t hate the blooming wrinkles for what they are; proof of how happy you are. That even though you haven’t seen the sun or sky in five years, there’s nowhere in the world that could create these growing signs of a joyful life on your skin. Yet, at the same time, you hate them for reminding you that you’re nothing more than a human; destined to grow old while Wonwoo remains eternally thirty-six and has to watch you die one day. It's not fair to either of you, but you can’t do a damn thing about it.

“Come to bed, beautiful,” he requests softly, having watched you for the past almost ten minutes, watched your lips turn down the longer you observe your reflection in the ornate mirror.

You don’t argue, you never have it in you to refuse Wonwoo, especially when he makes his wishes in such a tender tone; latches his wants directly to your heart and makes you unable to do anything but bend to his will. It’s not his powers at work, just you being utterly whipped for Jeon Wonwoo. If he was anyone else, you would rather it was his magical, mystical, spiritual powers manipulating you instead of you just being a giant fucking simp for the man. But it’s Wonwoo, so you oblige willingly. Always happy to make him happy.

As soon as you’re under the duvet, Wonwoo dims the light and settles down at your side where he belongs.

For a few minutes, you lay there, both on your sides facing one another as your gaze turns unfocused as you think. For his part, Wonwoo just watches you, silently and patiently waiting for you to be ready to either talk or curl up in his arms to go to sleep. 

When you let out a soft exhale, sighing a little and blinking your eyes back to him instead of staring over his left shoulder, he knows you’re ready, and by the way you remain where you are, he knows it’s not to sleep.

“What’s on your mind?” he questions, lifting his left hand from the mattress in between you to tenderly brush your hair back from your face, tucking the choppy strands behind your ear to not interrupt his view of you even a little. 

A few days ago, you handed Wonwoo a pair of scissors and told him that you had full faith in his ability to not make you look utterly insane. He had zero faith in himself, but he still gingerly cut away at your hair until you were content with the length. He still thinks he did a terrible job and should never cut your hair for you again. Though, his unskilled job has at least lessened the strands that hang around your face, so when you inevitably ask again, he knows he’ll say yes. Just so that he can make more of your features unobscured to his adoring gaze without having to constantly push your hair aside.

Still, he’ll never cut away any more than this, if he did, he wouldn’t be able to brush your hair back and let his fingers trace over your skin. He’ll take any chance to admire your beauty and caress your skin, even if that means making chances for himself by leaving your hair just a little too long to not fall across your face and threaten to poke you in the eyes when you lay down. A perfect excuse to reach out and touch you.

“Do you remember what you wanted your future to look like when you were human?” you ask, tilting your head back a little to see him better.

“Not really,” he answers honestly, no hesitation in talking about his life those centuries back. It always makes your heart warm a little when he responds so openly regardless of what you ask; even his painful memories of battle and losing friends and family aren’t off limits when you ask. “I was more career focused.” 

“General Jeon,” you hum, remembering that Wonwoo had once told you that he had been so close to reaching the rank of general before he died in a battle he wasn’t even supposed to be present for. But he had been over ambitious and stubborn, insisted he should be there because he knew it would better his chances of promotion. Yet the information hadn’t been accurate, and he and his men had been ambushed and quickly overwhelmed. Wonwoo doesn’t know what happened after that, if any of his men survived, or if they all perished thanks to his egocentric orders. You know that he has never let go of that guilt, but he also doesn’t have the strength in him to try to learn what happened, even when he could’ve found out in those years before he was bound to the crypt.

“I don’t think I ever considered anything else in detail. I only have a vague memory of wanting to climb the ranks until I was satisfied.”

“No intention of falling in love and starting a family?” 

“Not that I recall. I was never interested in romance growing up. Neither did I have interest in peering into the brothels with the other boys to get a glimpse of the scantily dressed women. I just wanted to train, and study maps and battle strategies.”

“Nerd.” 

Wonwoo sighs, making you giggle. His unimpressed look melts away and he smiles adoringly at you. “I will happily be your nerd, if you continue to giggle that way.”

“You already are, no backing out now.”

“I have no intention of doing so,” he assures and moves closer, smoothing his left palm over your waist and to your back to bring you close enough to tangle your legs together under the duvet. “Is that what you’re thinking about? The future you wanted?”

“I never had a specific plan in mind. I was content to just exist and live a happy life. The details never mattered to me. Except one thing.”

“Family,” he finishes, making you look at him as if he’s crazy. “What? You didn’t want to have your own family, children?”

“If it happened, sure, but it wasn’t a thing. I never fantasied about it or anything.”

“Then…a husband?”

“You’re shit at guessing, you know?” you deadpan, and he pouts a little. You can’t resist leaning in to press a soft kiss to his protruding lip, then giggle when he pulls you back in with his hand on your jaw to make you kiss him properly. Not that he ever needs to make you; you’re always more than happy to kiss Wonwoo at every available opportunity.

When he’s satisfied that you’ve made up for your teasing kiss, he loosens his hold and allows you both to settle your heads comfortably on the long, plush pillow spread across the head of the bed for you both to share. 

“What did you fantasise about then, for your future?” he inquires curiously, hand settling on your waist under your sleep shirt where his fingers trace soothing patterns mindlessly against your skin, one of his favourite hobbies.

“I always wanted a cottage.” 

“A cottage?” he repeats, raising a questioning eyebrow. 

“Yeah. Every time I saw them in the older movies, those cosy little cottages with their cute gardens, and thatched roofs, and shutters on the windows, I always imagined living in one. Waking every day to the view of the countryside, going downstairs and making breakfast in a little kitchen, not too little, but not too big. Cosy. The whole house would be cosy. Always just a little below comfortably warm, so that I’d have an excuse to start a fire in the fireplace and curl up on a comfy chair in front of it and watch the flames dance. And now…” You let out a breath, lips turning down at the corners. “I can so easily imagine you there by my side, taking turns to read passages from the same book aloud, fire warming our feet and nothing but time left.” 

“That sounds perfect, my love,” he says with his heart aching and knowing that yours is doing the same judging by your downturned expression. 

It sounds like a dream; living with you in an actual house, somewhere where the two of you could step outside into the fresh air to lay on the grass and watch the clouds when the weather is nice enough to. Where you could go for walks hand in hand down country lanes, stopping to point out little animals and insects to one another. Where he could pick wildflowers for you every day and present them to you with the breakfast that he’d bring you in bed, so that you’d wake up and never doubt his love and devotion to you. Where he could learn to grow a garden lush and thriving, yet incomparable to your beauty no matter how many variations of colourful and delicate flowers that he filled it with.

“You’d like that, a cottage in the country?” you ask, smiling a little as your mind wanders further with the life that you can’t help but imagine with the man you are so wholeheartedly in love with.

“I’d like anywhere as long as you’re by my side.” 

You shove him gently, smiling pleased by his words while he chuckles at your smile, looking nothing but entirely endeared even as you roll your eyes. “Cheesy fucker.”

“Mm. You make me like this,” he declares. “I think a sweet little cottage in the countryside sounds perfect. I would love to try to grow my own crops, to make even better, fresher meals for you.” 

“Maybe I could take up painting as you tend the garden,” you suggest.

“You could paint the landscapes we decorate our home with,” he agrees.

“No,” you scoff. “I’d paint endless portraits of you. You’d be the prettiest view even there.”

“Ah.” He blushes, still shy when you compliment him so intensely, sounding so confident of your own words. He no longer argues with you, he even believes you now, that you really think he’s that beautiful, believes that he is. “I don’t think I’d like to have paintings of my face everywhere.”

“I plan to become an expert at nude portraits,” you say with a salacious smirk, wiggling your eyebrows at him for comedic effect. It creates the intended outcome, and he laughs.

“Okay, darling, I look forward to your masterpieces. You’ll have to paint a self-portrait for me to have on my bedside table.”

“Is it not enough to sleep next to me every night? You need me on the bedside table too?” you joke, shuffling closer and finally wrapping your arm around his waist. It makes Wonwoo relax, unaware that he even held any tension until it melts away with your hand caressing his back and your lips curled up into a sweetly happy smile as you peer at him with sparkling eyes.

“I need to have your beautiful face everywhere I turn,” he declares, trying to sound serious, but he’s smiling too much.

“Ah, should I paint a fresco of us on the ceiling above our bed? A tasteful, erotic scene.” Wonwoo just laughs before he kisses you, overcome with his love for you. 

When the kiss naturally breaks, he starts to talk about the library in your shared cosy home, leading to further discussions of the hypothetical future while both of you giggle and smile, even as sleep tries to drag you under. There’s no rush to fall asleep, not when neither of you want to miss a moment of this.

It's a wonderful thought; imagining the happy ending you could’ve had together if you met as humans. But you didn’t. You didn’t meet as humans, and you don’t get your happy ending.

Although you spend all night exchanging sweet words and designing your dream cottage together, it leaves a bitter taste on your tongue.

When you were a teenager, you had a friend who didn’t believe that love and happiness could ever last. 

She came from a broken home; not because her parents were divorced, they were married and had no intention of parting ways, but because they remained together despite clearly no longer holding an ounce of love for one another. 

Your friend watched her parents fall out of love as a child, watched their happy home turn into a darkened shell of what once was. And she lost the ability to believe that love really means anything; to believe that it’s real and can last more than a handful of bittersweet years.

You had never agreed with her. Even as a teen, you didn’t think it was right for her to have such a negative outlook. That her parents aren’t proof of anything, that they aren’t the rule to love, but simply two people who just weren’t suited to one another anymore.

Throughout your life, even as you distanced yourself from your family, you didn’t believe her at all. Even when your family sacrificed you and you realised that their love for you wasn’t what you thought it was, and yours for them vanished in the blink of an eye, you believed that she was wrong. 

You believed that love looks different for everyone, but it can last; even with time passing and people changing and growing, love can remain.

Then, you met Wonwoo, fell in love, and you knew she was wrong. 

Every day you wake next to him and love him a little more. Every time he smiles at you, you know that nobody will ever make you happier. You know that as long as you’re by his side, you’ll always know love and happiness.

You love Wonwoo with everything in you and he says he feels the same. He shows you that every single day…

At least, he used to show you that.

It takes you a little while to notice it, but Wonwoo starts to withdraw from you. Such minuscule increments at a time that you don’t notice at first.

Don’t notice that his eyes no longer shine as bright when he looks at you, the gradually muted edge to his smile when you say, “I love you”.

“Look at this, Wonwoo!” you enthuse, showing him your latest attempt at painting his portrait. It’s terrible, really utterly atrocious, but he smiles at you and accepts the little canvas into his hands as if it’s something precious. His gaze runs over the messy brush strokes and incorrectly mixed shades as you rest your chin on his shoulder from behind. “I think I’m finally getting that spark in your eyes right.” He doesn’t respond, just hums, gaze glued to the eyes that no longer reflect his own. “I’ll work on it. I have the rest of my life to stare at your pretty face and learn to recreate it on canvas.”

“Yeah,” he agrees softly as you pluck the canvas back into your own hold, ready to bounce back off to your recently created art studio. 

“I love you,” you sing as you skip out of the room, smiling as Wonwoo returns the words, yet you don’t look back and because of that, you fail to notice the weight pulling down the corners of his smile.

Don’t notice that he doesn’t reach for your hand at every chance anymore, that he slips away more often than necessary to clean the catacombs.

Just as you sit beside Wonwoo on the pillows, a book already open in one hand and the other left free for him, he closes his own book and gets up. You look at him puzzled and let out a questioning noise.

“I’ve just remembered, it’s been a while since I’ve cleaned the Eastern most corridors,” he states, putting his book aside for later. “I won’t be long,” he says, leaning over to press a lingering kiss to your lips, but you don’t realise that he was going to walk away without even kissing you if you hadn’t puckered your lips at him in a silent request. 

“Okay, I’ll keep your seat warm,” you declare cheekily while shuffling around to lay across the space he usually occupies at your side, but he walks away and you don’t even realise the significance of that.

But now you know.

Now you’ve noticed him pulling away and feel so stupid for not noticing sooner. For not paying better attention and tightening your grip before he could slip between your fingers.

Now you’ve noticed and can only watch as the distance grows little by little. You don’t know what to do to fix it. You don’t want to let him know that you’ve noticed, in fear that it will be the final push he needs to admit that he no longer wants to be with you. That he was wrong and his love and devotion to you isn’t eternal.

Now you’ve noticed, and you feel so stupid for not believing your friend when she said that love and happiness never lasts.

In the end, you don’t get the chance to gather your nerves and ask what went wrong. In the end, Wonwoo takes a look at you, at your pale skin hidden from sunlight for eleven years, at the lines on your skin showing the passage of time, your withering life, and he breaks.

“I can’t do this,” he chokes out as he watches you collect your nightclothes from on top of the dresser, beside where his own still remain neatly folded ready for him. Side by side like every night for the past years. Side by side like you belong with him, but he can’t face that anymore. 

“Do what?” you ask, putting down the bundle as you turn to look at him puzzled and concerned, hearing the broken edge to his voice. Though, one look at him, the pain in his eyes as he looks at you as if it’s the last time, and you know. “Oh.” You feel the strength rush out of you and you have to take a step back to lean against the dresser behind you, lest you collapse into a boneless pile on the floor. “Y-you don’t want me.” 

“I do,” he insists, getting up from being perched on the end of the bed to approach you and hold your face so securely that despite the past years of watching him slip between your fingers, you believe him. “I never want to be without you, my love. I said that and I still mean it with all of my heart. You are my heart. I can’t live without you.” 

“Then what do you mean, Wonwoo? If you mean that, why have you been pulling away for so long?” You want him to argue. You want him to tell you that you’re fucking crazy for suggesting that he’d do such a thing. You want him to tell you that you’ve been imagining it. But he doesn’t. 

Wonwoo’s expression turns guilty as his thumb strokes under your eye. “I am so sorry for that; that you noticed. You must be hurting.” 

“I am. So, tell me why and we can fix it, we can make us both happy again.” 

“I’m happy with you, I’ve never not been happy with you.” But the sadness weighing down the edges of his mouth and eyes down tells you another story. “And that’s why I know I can’t keep you here.” 

Your heart stops for a second as a cold fear takes over your body. Your hands tremble as you lift them towards his hands, yet before you can make contact, he lets go and rushes off. “Wonwoo!” you yell desperately, scrambling to rush after him but he doesn’t slow down. 

For the first time in a decade, you leave your home and enter the catacombs, following Wonwoo through the seemingly endless corridors while your calls of his name grow more and more panicked. 

There’s something twisting and turning in your chest, dancing at the edge of your mind, taunting you with a suspicion you can’t understand with the terror growing thicker in your veins. You know with everything in you that whatever Wonwoo is planning, it’s not good. That whatever he wants to do, it will change everything irreversibly and hurt in a way that you’re not prepared for.

Your mind is whirling too much to even realise that Wonwoo isn’t vanishing like he easily could, that he’s staying within your sight; far enough that you can’t reach him no matter how hard you push your legs, but still close enough that you don’t lose track of him. He’s purposely leading you through the catacombs, but you’re too full of fear to notice.

It’s only when the air becomes lighter and you recognise the barely visible crest under your rushing feet that you realise where Wonwoo is going. Now that you’re crossing the main chamber of the catacombs, Wonwoo darts off, practically sprinting out of sight. 

You can hear his frantic footfalls slapping down onto the stone steps. Somehow, you manage to push yourself faster in your sudden bout of extreme fear and stumble to the bottom of the stairs just as he reaches the landing at the top and comes to a still in front of the locked gate. 

“What’re you doing?!” you yell in alarm as Wonwoo grabs onto the gate, skin sizzling as his hands glow with the visible use of his power. You’ve never seen his power before, only how it affects your home. This is something different, something incredible. Something insanely fucking dangerous. “Stop it!” you scream, running up the steps as fast as you can, toes of your shoes catching on multiple steps and barely managing to catch yourself as your wide eyes remain glued to Wonwoo.

“No!” he grits out through teeth pressed so tightly together that you fear they will crack and fall apart under the pressure. Your heart feels much the same right now as you watch the man you love with everything in you putting himself through such agony. 

“Wonwoo, stop it!” you reach out but can’t touch him. He’s emitting so much power right now that it’s creating a physical yet invisible barrier around him. A shield of pure mystical energy that a mere human such as yourself has no chance of breaking through. “You’re going to kill yourself!”

“I’m already dead!” he snaps, looking at you with eyes so dark with the power flowing through him that he doesn’t look like the man you love. 

You take a step back and almost lose your footing on the steps, almost tumble back, but something wraps around your waist, something that feels like a manifestation of his love as it pulls you safely upright. When your eyes meet his again, they’re softer, scared, and desperate, yet so full of heart-breaking adoration that you wonder how you thought for even a split second that this isn’t your Wonwoo. 

“But you’re not,” he continues, voice a lot quieter now, trembling around the edges with the weight of the decision he’s made, a decision he still hasn’t let you in on. “I can’t watch you waste away at my side. You deserve a good life, the best life. I want you to have it.” 

“I want to be with you, that’s all I want.” 

“I know, I know you do.” He lets go of the gate with one hand, reaching out to you to gently brush his fingers over your cheek while his eyes roam your features as if he’s memorising every single atom of life within you. “I want you by my side too, my love. I have never loved anyone the way I love you, and I never will again, no matter how long I live. And that’s why I can’t let you squander your limited years with me.”

“It-”

“My love, please,” he pleads, using his power to pull you in closer so that he doesn’t have to remove his reverent touch from your cheek, his right hand still pulsing with light against the gate. You expect him to say something more, to try and explain himself further, beg you to understand, but he doesn’t.

Wonwoo leans in and presses his lips against yours as if it’s the first time. As if it’s the last time. 

Your heart breaks and swells all at once, overflowing with your love for him, and perhaps, that was your mistake here; allowing him to kiss you knowing how it always sends your heart into overdrive with pure unyielding affection and adoration for the man holding you so tenderly. 

You’ve always known that your love gives Wonwoo power, that it makes him strong, though you never knew it was something to wish to avoid. You never before thought that Wonwoo would ever use your love for him against you.

With your thundering heart strengthening him, Wonwoo succeeds in emitting a pulse of pure mystical energy that blows the gate right off its hinges, sending it flying across the crypt and crashing into the opposite wall. Immediately, the crypt around you starts to tremble; dust and little pieces of centuries old stone begin to crumble down around you.

You barely manage to blink at Wonwoo in fear before that same invisible force wraps around you and rushes you through the crypt, past the entrance doors that blow open as you near, and deposits you on the grand stone steps outside.

“What are you doing?!” you screech, trying to walk forward and return to your love regardless of the crypt falling down, falling to pieces in front of your very eyes. 

Your heart is shattering, tumbling to the ground with the pieces of ancestral stone as the air between you and Wonwoo grows thicker with dust. You can see him watching you, can see the sad smile on his lips, the shine on his cheeks as tears stain them. You want to run to him, want to wipe away his tears and hold him close, even if it kills you. But you can’t. Wonwoo has created a shimmering barrier in front of you, protecting you from harm’s way. At least physical harm because you know that your heart has never hurt like this. You know it never will again. 

He’s tearing your heart in two and yet, you still love him with every broken piece of you. You want to stop so that he no longer has the power to keep you away and you can return to him, but that very urge only proves that your feelings haven’t wavered the slightest amount.

“Wonwoo, please,” you desperately beg, words thick and choked out with the tears clogging your throat and spilling freely over your cheeks. “I love you so fucking much, please don’t do this.” 

“I love you the same, sweetheart, that’s why I have to do this,” he responds, voice so gentle yet perfectly clear to you, as if he’s standing right in front of you, as if he never forced you apart. As if he’s not making you watch him be buried alive. 

“That makes no sense!” you yell, slamming your palms against the barrier. 

“To love is to let go.”

“No!” Your legs give out under you, weakened by the pain coursing through your body from your chest, and you drop to your knees, eyes still glued to him. “Wonwoo… Please, don’t let me go,” you sob, using what little strength you have left to stay upright, fingers doing their best to dig into the barrier and let you through. But it’s too strong.

“I have to,” he whispers, voice trembling as his own pain becomes too much to hold back. His hands curl into his shirt over his chest as he struggles to stay where he is, as he fights the urge to run to you because he knows he can’t. He still can’t leave the crypt even with the gate destroyed. He’s no longer trapped in the catacombs, but he’s still bound to this space, and trying to fight that would only shorten the time he has left to look at you. 

“I-I don’t want to lose you.” 

“You’ll see me again, in a long time. You need to live a long, happy life, okay, my love?” he requests, sniffling around his words. “Then when we meet again at the end, you can tell me all about the world as I guide you to the afterlife.”

“Then-then we’ll be to-together?” 

Wonwoo doesn’t answer, but the sad downwards tilt of his mouth speaks volumes. When your time comes to pass on, you’ll see Wonwoo again, yes. He’ll take your hand and guide you to your afterlife, but that will be the last time you ever see him. He’s a crypt spirit, an ancestral guide, he isn’t allowed to rest. He hasn’t been granted his afterlife because he has to guide your bloodline. 

You shriek and jerk forward when a large slab falls from the crypt ceiling directly behind Wonwoo. Inches away from landing on him. “You need to leave!” you scream. 

“I can’t, sweetheart,” he reminds sadly, raising a shaking hand slightly to at least protect himself with a shimmering barrier. He can’t die, but he can still get hurt, and although he doesn’t care about that for his own sake, he doesn’t want you to see him injured. He’s already hurting you enough as it is, he couldn’t live with himself if he forced you to watch him bleed. 

“Wonwoo…” You want to beg and plead with him, yell at him to at least try to leave. He blew the gates off, something he should’ve never been able to even touch, let alone manipulate like that, but he did. 

Surely, if he tries hard enough, he can leave the crypt. Right? 

Yet, as much as you want to say the words, want to believe in them, you know deep down that there’s nothing Wonwoo can do. He’s trapped for all eternity thanks to your family.

It's as you remember that, that something occurs to you.

Abruptly, you stop crying and straighten up, chest shuddering and breath coming out in uneven hiccups still, but the tears cease as a surge of hope gives you strength. Wonwoo’s eyes widen a little as he watches the strange change in your demeanour.

“Y-you’re here because of my family,” you recall. Wonwoo nods slowly. “Because we want you to remain and watch over us.” 

“Sweetheart…” Wonwoo says, shuffling forward, feet breaching the border between catacombs and crypt chamber ever so slightly as his heart twists with worry and fear of what you’re working towards here. He isn’t sure what you’re thinking, but his heart seems to be three steps ahead of his mind and panicking. 

“If one of us sets you free, removes your ties to the family, you can leave.”

“No, no, my love, no,” he begs, rushing closer, dodging the pieces of the crypt suddenly falling heavier between you as he desperately tries to get to you and stop you. “I-I won’t be able to guide you!” 

“If I don’t free you now, no-nobody will. You’ll be stuck here forever. You deserve to rest, you’ve paid your dues, Wonwoo. You showed me a love I never would’ve had otherwise.”

“Please, sweetheart, don’t,” he sobs pleadingly. “We won’t see each other again!” 

“I know,” you say and smile at him, full of love and a pained acceptance for what this means. But you love him too much to force him to live a life of painful solitude after you’re gone. He deserves to know peace and to have his own afterlife. “To love is to let go.” 

Wonwoo opens his mouth to argue, to plead some more as he stumbles forward, reaching out towards you in a last desperate attempt to stop you before you can say the words.

“Jeon Wonwoo, I set you free.” 

For the last time, Wonwoo vanishes.

Watching Wonwoo disappear into thin air is a memory you will never escape. The fear in his eyes, the pain, the silent scream of betrayal. It’s haunted you ever since that day, but you don’t regret it, even all these years later.

Not a day has gone by where you haven’t thought about Jeon Wonwoo, haven’t felt your old, barely patched together heart ache for the man who you still love with everything in you. 

Decades have passed; you’ve travelled the world, made memories, met people, adopted some animals, lived in multiple different houses, and yet, you’ve never really found a place where you belong. 

Not that it’s been a bad life, not at all. You’ve kept Wonwoo’s words in mind and done all you can to experience all humanly possible in your limited time. You’ve been happy, even experienced love multiple times, but it’s never lasted. Not when your love is still at home in Wonwoo’s heart, wherever he may be. 

You often ponder about that; what Wonwoo’s afterlife is like. You hope it’s a good one, that he’s happy there, genuinely happy. You don’t want him to have forgotten you, but you hope that he’s not lingering on what can’t be. 

Then again, wishing for him to have accepted that you’ll never see each other again is rather hypocritical of you when you’ve never been able to give your heart to another, and every night dream of a life with Jeon Wonwoo. A life you will never have, and you’ve accepted that, but you still dream.

Still, no matter how far you go, you always return here; to this heap of rocks that means nothing to anyone but you anymore.

“I wonder, can you see the stars tonight, my love?” you question once you’ve settled your old body down on the dusty steps, leaning back against the same old slab you’ve used as a back rest for almost six decades now. Your walking stick lays at your side, too far out of reach to be of use again, but you know that doesn’t matter. You know you won’t need it again.

The wind blows gently against you and although you know Wonwoo is no longer here, you always like to imagine it’s him responding, showing you that he hasn’t forgotten you.

“It’s the last time I’ll visit you,” you declare after a while of calm, content silence. Peaceful last moments. “I don’t know what my afterlife will look like, but I hope I remember you still. I hope there’s a shrine I can visit to talk to you. I know you won’t hear me, I know you don’t now, but I still wish for it.” You lift a rapidly weakening hand to brush your fingers over the stone under you. “I still love you with everything in me, Jeon Wonwoo, and I always will. Wherever you are, I hope you know that.”

You’ve pondered this moment for a long time, what it’ll feel like; if it will hurt, if it will be like falling asleep, if you’ll even feel the moment it happens. 

In the end, it feels natural. 

You get to your feet, feeling decades younger and turn to look down at where you’re laid perfectly still, eyes closed and looking nothing but content. Like you’re taking a nap in the arms of your lover. Peaceful. 

“I’ve always known it,” the voice coming from behind you makes your chest tighten and eyes widen. You had thought that a ghost wouldn’t have a heart to beat, but you feel it thundering against your ribs as you shakily turn around and let your disbelieving gaze settle on the man before you. 

He’s still so beautiful. 

“W-Wonwoo,” you choke out.

“Hello, my love,” his voice wavers while his dark eyes shimmer as they take you in. As soon as he takes a step, you do the same and throw yourself into his opening arms with a sob.

There are so many things that you want to say, questions on the tip of your tongue, but you don’t voice them at all. You hold on so tightly to the man you’ve missed so dearly for the past fifty six years and melt against his chest as his arms clutch onto you as if he’s missed you just as deeply.

Although you know that it hasn’t been a simple short few minutes that you’ve been standing and holding onto one another, you know that it’s been quite a stretch of time, it doesn’t feel long enough. You never thought you’d see Wonwoo again and you had genuinely been okay with that, but now that you’re back in one another’s arms, you never want to let him go. 

“Please don’t,” you whisper pleadingly when he tries to loosen his hold and create a little space between you. You grip onto the back of his shirt, the same shirt you had once admitted you liked the best on him, and he had worn it at every chance after that.

“It’s time to go,” he says softly, hands sliding across your shoulders and down your arms where they’re wrapped around his waist to gently unwind them from him. 

“Please-”

“You don’t have to worry,” he promises, lifting your hands to cup his face, making you lean back to look up at him, uncaring that your cheeks are slick with tears you hadn’t thought possible for a ghost to cry. At least you’re not the only one who has visibly felt their emotions; his eyelashes are clumped with his own tears and eyes a little red. But he’s smiling as he turns into your palm to press an adoring kiss in the centre.

“But-”

“Do you trust me?”

“With everything in me,” you answer without hesitation, without any hint of doubt for the man. You have full faith in him and always have, even now. 

“Then don’t fight it. Take my hand and let me guide you like I’ve been waiting to for all these years.”

There isn’t a falter to your steps when Wonwoo steps back, lowering your hands and lacing the fingers of your left hand with his right. You follow him, eyes locked onto him, and he smiles in relief.

He pauses just to lift your connected hands and press a kiss to the back of yours before he turns and starts to walk, and you follow. 

You’d follow him anywhere, even if your mind is reeling with the image of stepping into your afterlife with your hands empty and no one at your side. But your heart doesn’t doubt him. Your heart trusts him, still beats in time with his, and where Wonwoo is involved, your heart has always reigned supreme. 

Wonwoo had never told you what it’s like to guide a soul to the afterlife, how he does that other than taking their hand and walking with them. You hadn’t known how he accesses the afterlife; if there’s some kind of door, a portal, or something else. And honestly, even now, you’re not sure how it works. 

You walk alongside Wonwoo, eyes glued to him and savouring every moment you have with him, uncertain which will be your last. You miss the moment you step from the living world into the next. You don’t even realise that you have until Wonwoo comes to a stop and turns to look at you with a nervous, shy little smile.

Silently, he motions forward with a tilt of his head, making you look forward and realise that you’re no longer in the cemetery you know so well after ninety years of life. You don’t know where you are, but it’s beautiful. 

The air is crisp and clean, the sky bright and blue, the grass so green and alive and dotted with masses of beautiful flowers of all types, many you’ve never seen before. It’s like something out of a dream and a part of you feels like you’ve been here before, like maybe you did dream this up once upon a time yet forgot it, like most dreams. 

Though the landscape isn’t even the point of focus, the thing that really catches your eye, that makes your breath stutter in your chest and eyes to prickle with a fresh round of tears, is the sweet little cottage in front of you. 

Ever since you were a small child, you’ve wanted to live in a cosy little cottage like you’ve only seen in movies, like you hadn’t found the likes of no matter how hard you looked over the past decades. Nothing ever lived up to the image you painted in your mind’s eye, an image that Wonwoo had helped create as you spent nights tucked up together painting a mental picture together of a future life, a home you both knew you’d never have.

Yet here it stands before you. 

“Say something,” Wonwoo requests barely above a whisper, hand holding tighter to yours when you just stand and gawp disbelievingly at the home before you for a few beats too long. 

“It’s beautiful,” you manage to get out breathlessly, and feel Wonwoo relax at your side. You turn your head to look at him, eyebrows furrowing. “I don’t understand, Wonwoo. What’s going on? How are you here right now? Why are you not in your afterlife?”

“I am now,” he turns and takes your free hand, gently encouraging you to face him fully. “When you freed me and I lost my tie to the human realm, I was sent to the spirit realm and put before the Grand Council; the spirits who delegate a spirit’s position and can approve or reject the termination of a bind, like you did for me that day.”

“They rejected it?” you assume, gasping in horror. 

“No,” he reassures, still smiling his precious, adoring smile as he watches your expression morph with every emotion in your chest. “They said that I had long paid my dues and could pass on.” 

“But…you were the one to guide me.”

“I was the one to reject it.”

“What the fuck?!” you sputter, making him laugh. “Why the fuck would you reject it?! Are you insane, Jeon Wonwoo?!”

“Because I have never stopped loving you,” he says as if it’s the simplest thing, a natural fact of the universe. Jeon Wonwoo loves you; everyone knows it. “If I passed on that day, I knew I would never see you again, not the real you; just a poor imitation in my afterlife that could never hold a candle to you. But if I remained and continued to watch over your bloodline, I would one day have the chance to see you again.” 

You blink at him as you try to wrap your head around his words, what they mean exactly, how he’s still here right now. “But the crypt was destroyed, where have you been?”

“Before the crypt was built, I could travel between the spirit and human realm as I wished, travel where I wished as long as I still fulfilled my duties. I’ve been watching over your family, but mostly, I’ve been by your side.”

Your breath catches in your throat as the meaning to his words settles in your mind. That through the past decades, you’ve never truly been without your love, even if you hadn’t known that. “Are you serious?” 

“I am.”

“For the past sixty years?”

“At every possible moment. Admittedly, I did leave when you took bedfellows.” His features twist with distaste at the memories of witnessing you taking lovers over the years. It makes you giggle and his expression melts as he leans closer to you as if enchanted by your melodic laughter. “Even though I didn’t enjoy those aspects and always wished it was my hand you held and arms you slept in, I have never been truly sour about it. I’m glad that you found others to love and lived a full life. All I wanted was for you to be happy and healthy, and you have been. You travelled and experienced so many things. I experienced many with you too, even if not in the same way. It felt as if we experienced them together, and I’ve been happy to have you in what way I could these years.”

“But I never knew you were there.” You frown. “All the times I’ve talked to you and wished to hear you talk back yet only heard the wind.” 

“I know, sweetheart. I always responded, always wished you could hear me, but it wasn’t time.”

“Until now.”

“Until now,” he agrees. “I’ve been waiting to guide you and I’m beyond glad that it happened naturally after a full life.” 

As happy as you are to see him, to know that his devotion and love has never wavered, you’re still so confused about why he’s standing by your side in the afterlife. “Why are you still here?” you blurt suddenly, unable to hold back the question anymore.

“Do you not want me here?” he questions, frowning and suddenly looking hesitant, as if he had never considered that possibility.

“Of course I do, idiot!” you exclaim and watch his shoulders loosen as the sudden weight on his chest flies free with his momentary fear that you don’t want him to remain by your side despite still loving him. “I’m just so fucking confused! I thought you don’t go to the afterlife with the souls you guide!”

“I don’t ordinarily,” he confirms and steps a little closer until the toes of your shoes are touching. “When I returned to my role as your family’s ancestral spirit, I struck a deal with the council.”

“What kind of deal?”

“That I would return to the role willingly, for as many years as it takes until I can guide you as my final crossing, and then…I will stay by your side and share your afterlife with you.” 

“What?” you murmur in shock, eyes wide as you stare at him in disbelief. “Share it with me?”

“Yes, but only if you truly want me. If you don’t, well…you do want to spend your afterlife with me, yes?”

“I never want to be without you again,” you answer honestly, nodding firmly and holding on tighter to his hands. “Don’t you dare leave me, Jeon Wonwoo.”

“I won’t. I promise, I’m here for all eternity by your side.” 

“Good.” You nod in approval. “What would happen if I said no?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t have an afterlife. I would simply…cease to exist.” 

“And you agreed to that?!” you baulk. “Wonwoo!” 

“You love for me didn’t waver even as I forced you away. Even as I held you back and made you watch the crypt begin to bury me, you still loved me so strongly that I had the strength to hold you back. Even after that, even after freeing me and I was sent to the spirit realm, I still felt that love. I knew in my soul that you will always love me, and I put my entire faith in that remaining true until now and for even longer. For all eternity.” 

“I would say your faith in me is crazy, but considering we’re here right now and I still love you as much as I always have, if not more, you’re clearly much wiser than me.”

“Well, I am over nine hundred years old,” he jokes, grinning teasingly as he leans down, closer to you.

“God, you’re so fucking old,” you groan playfully before tilting your head up to kiss him as if it’s the first time all over again. 

At least this time, you know you never have to worry about a last kiss. You have all of eternity to kiss every inch of his pretty face, and body, to your heart’s desire. Something you will certainly take advantage of at every opportunity. 

And there really is no time like the present.

“So, I’ve got my thirty-something-year-old body back,” you declare as your arms loosely wrap around Wonwoo’s neck. He tilts his head to the side, curious and silently questioning where you’re going with this as his fingers curl into your hips to hold you that bit closer. “If I recall correctly, there should be a huge bed in our dream home, correct?”

“Yes, that is what we discussed,” he confirms with a nod, eyes flickering a little as his mind starts to catch on to what you’re edging towards.

“Well, then I think that the combination of a young body again, a big bed, and sixty years apart means we have a lot of catching up to do, don’t you, my love?”

You can see the moment it all clicks into place in Wonwoo’s mind. His eyes widen as they light up in understanding, before his eyelids turn heavier, eyes darker, and lips tilt up in a smirk that never fails to make you feel weak in the knees.

“Oh, that we do, sweetheart,” he agrees and slides his hands down to the back of your thighs to pick you up as effortlessly as he always has. You’re momentarily very glad that his spirit strength has remained the same even now, but then he’s slotting his lips against yours and leaving you unable to do anything but wrap yourself around him and lose yourself in his touch.

Somehow, Wonwoo gets you both into the cottage and where you need to be, but you don’t pay any attention to anything but him, not yet at least. All you care about right now is being back in the arms of the man you love, and who you know loves you just as entirely; you can take in the décor later. 

You have all of eternity left, after all. 

Don’t forget to reblog if you liked to help spread the story and let others read it too! And don't be shy to leave comments or send an ask so I can see your thoughts 🥺 💖

Permanent taglist: @okiedokrie, @svtiddiess, @codeinebelle

[thediamondlifenetwork]

on my mind (pt. 2) || l.c (m)

You had come to terms that you'd never see Chan again after your pool interaction; however, life works in funny ways. The next time you see him is at the grocery store, and the next time after that, at your apartment.

💦 Pairing: idol!Chan (Dino) x nonIdol!Reader (f) 💦 Rating/Genres/AUs: M(18+); Smut, fluff; Idol au, strangers to lovers au 💦 Warnings: Pet names (baby, pretty girl), bigDick!Chan, oral (m rec.), gagging, mirror sex, piv, unprotective sex (don't do this plz), fingering, hair pulling, cum eating, semi-rough sex, dirty talk, reader wears chan's clothes 💦 Word Count: 6.4k 💦 Author’s Note: FINALLLLY Y'ALL! I've been working on this on and off since part one, but it's finally here! I didn't plan to make this a three-parter, but it will be. I can't guarantee the next part will come sooner than this one did, but I'll try! TYSM for those who patiently waited for this and those who helped me decide some of the plot 🥰

PART ONE

seventeen masterlist | main masterlist

this blog is 18+. minors do not interact. plz & ty! (ageless/minors/blanks blogs will be blocked)

Having just moved to Seoul means an empty fridge and a desperate need for a grocery run. However, you underestimated just how starved you were.

Your small handheld basket weighs like an elephant, and you’re juggling to keep all your products inside. You really shouldn’t have gone shopping while you were hungry.

As you lean down to grab a bottle of soda, you hear something tumble to the floor.

“Shit,” you mutter, reaching to grab your runaway Spam when a hand grabs it before you can.

You shoot your eyes up to see who the arm belongs to. A handsome man with long, black hair stares at you with a toothy grin.

“Need some help?” he asks, eyes glancing down at your full basket.

You take the Spam from his outstretched hand and shake your head. You notice a small camera on a stick in his other hand and silently wonder what it’s for. Perhaps he’s one of those vloggers you’ve seen online.

“No thanks, I’ve got—" you begin to reply, however, as if calling your bluff, another item jumps overboard.

The man chuckles and grabs it.

“I don’t mind. I’ll get you a cart,” he says while standing up. He carefully places the item back in your basket, then turns to retrieve a cart.

You follow, embarrassed by being caught overloaded. You want to protest but feel it won’t do anything, so you quietly accept the help.

You see the carts a few feet away, but are stopped by a familiar voice before you reach them.

“Oh, hyung! There you are.”

Your brain connects the voice to the face too late.

The air leaves your lungs.

The man whom you met at the pool three months ago stands on the other side of your helper. He doesn’t seem to see you.

Chan wears a hoodie, jeans, and a cap. Though despite his basic attire, he looks just as handsome as you remember.

“Did you get the soju?” Chan questions his friend.

It’s then you notice he’s also holding a selfie stick with a small camera. Does that have anything to do with his job, or is it a hobby among friends?

“Not yet. Let me just get a cart, and then I’ll go get it,” your helper says.

“We already have one, hyung,” Chan replies, brows knitting and lips dipping in confusion.

“Not for us,” the stranger says. He nods in your direction before jogging the rest of the way toward the carts.

Chan turns to understand and instantly freezes when his eyes meet yours. His mouth drops, his eyes widen, and the selfie stick droops in his hand.

With Chan’s attention on you, the world around you loses focus. All you can think about is Chan. Flashbacks of you two in the pool float around your mind. It makes your body warm to remember the intimate moment you shared. You never did see him after that.

The sound of a cart rattling draws your attention back.

“Here you go,” your helper trails off upon seeing the silent exchange between you and Chan. There's a subtle crease between his brows.

“T-Thanks,” you stutter, slowly placing your handheld basket in the cart.

The man nods and nudges Chan.

“No problem,” the man says with a kind smile, then gently pulls Chan away and down one of the aisles. Chan still has a slack expression, following his friend with slow feet.

Once they’re both out of sight, you feel your body lax.

The last person you expected to run into was Chan, your one-pool-stand. At the grocery store, for that matter! It makes you feel better to know he was as shocked as you were. You wonder if he lives nearby to be shopping here. Does that mean you’ll see him again? Although you had an amazing time with him, the idea of having a second chance makes you nervous. What does he expect from you now? Are you supposed to forget about him again or try to reconnect? But reconnect as in another one-time bump-and-grind or try as something more?

He didn’t seem eager to exchange numbers back then, so maybe he isn’t looking for a romantic relationship. While the thought disappoints, you’ve had months to come to terms you’d probably never see him again, so it doesn’t bother you as much now. You still don’t even really know him. He could be the wrong fit for you.

Paranoid you’ll run into him again today, you decide to check out. You have enough to get you started in your new apartment.

As you’re loading your car with your groceries, rapid footsteps sound behind you. Curious, you peer up.

A man with a cap and face mask is jogging in your direction. You can’t see their face clearly, but as they get closer, you recognize their eyes.

“Hey, do you need some help?” Chan asks, stopping a little away to give you space. He doesn’t have the camera anymore.

A part of you wants to act like you don’t know him, but your reaction earlier says otherwise.

“I’m okay, thanks,” you reply while continuing to move things.

Chan stands awkwardly, hands stuffing and unstuffing his pockets.

“It’s, uh, good to see you again,” he says shyly.

You pause to look at him. What is he trying to accomplish here?

Sensing your question, Chan speaks again. “I just wanted to say hi since I wasn’t able to see you one last time at the hotel.”

You recall waking up early and sitting at the hotel’s breakfast area in hopes of seeing him. However, he must have already left by then because you never spotted him again.

“Hi,” you reply.

Chan’s eyes crinkle, letting you know he’s smiling beneath the mask.

“What are you doing in town?” he wonders.

The weary side of your brain says to give a vague answer, but there’s something about Chan that makes you still feel safe.

“I just moved. It’s only my second day,” you explain. “Do you live nearby?”

Chan seems reluctant to answer at first.

“Not really,” he trails off. “Mostly here for work.”

“As in here in the country or here in the town?” you question, trying to gauge the likelihood of running into him again.

“The town.”

“Ah,” you say. You’d joke and say he could show you around, but you fear he may take you seriously and decline. Even if the offer would've been said jokingly, you don’t want him to reject you again.

After finishing transporting your groceries, you close your trunk and grab the cart, prepared to return it. Chan still stands a bit away; he shifts his weight back and forth, and you wonder if he’s doing the same with his thoughts. You know you are.

Awkward silence continues to loom over you, so you decide to take a risk.

“Would you like to get coffee sometime?” you ask.

Chan looks away. You wonder why he’s always so hesitant.

“Or you can help me put together some furniture,” you jest.

Chan looks at you with wide eyes, a burst of eager hope flooding his expression. “Sure!”

You chuckle and tilt your head. Cute.

“O-Oh,” he mumbles, turning his head away. “You were just…”

“I was, but I guess if you really want to, you're welcome,” you say.

You know asking someone who’s basically a stranger over is dangerous, but your gut says you don’t have to worry about Chan. And maybe the curiosity to learn more about him makes the opportunity too good to pass up.

“I wouldn’t mind,” Chan replies with crinkled eyes.

You return the smile. “Okay.”

You pause to see if he’ll offer his number, but he doesn’t. Not wanting to be denied, you grab your purse and retrieve a pen. You quickly scribble your address on the back of your receipt before holding it out.

Chan takes it, glances at your writing, then stuffs the paper in his pocket.

“So,” he says with a little more confidence. “When are you free?”

It’s been nearly two weeks since you saw Chan outside the grocery store. You wish you didn’t have to wait for so long, but you had to get your furniture and work around Chan’s schedule. Although you don’t know his job, it seems to be demanding.

Most of your furniture remains in its boxes, but you ended up putting together your bed and nightstand so you could have a place to sleep. Luckily, your small couch was delivered already assembled.

Besides those, you don’t have much furniture to put together, so hopefully you and Chan can finish assembling everything. Despite you agreeing to this out of hopes to be around him more, you’re also grateful to have some help.

You spend the day sweeping and vacuuming. Your home isn’t very dirty, but the nerves make you incapable of staying still for long. Your jitters are bouncing relentlessly.

You’re excited to see Chan again, but nervous it won’t go well. Will it be awkward again? Does he see your invite to build furniture as another way of asking him over for ramen? Not that you would entirely be upset if things went that direction, but wouldn’t that just make you two fuck buddies? Did you want to be fuck buddies?

Your face warms at the memory of how he felt pushing into you, his lips on yours, and his hands gripping you. Maybe it wouldn’t be the worst situation in the world.

Hearing your doorbell causes your heart to skip a beat.

You hastily set the broom aside and rush to the door.

You open the door in a hurry, wisps of hair lifting in the air from how fast you are. Though seeing your hair reminds you of your messy updo. You hastily untangle your hair.

“S-Sorry, hi,” you say sheepishly while running your fingers through your locks in a poor excuse of a comb.

Chan watches with a smile beneath his mask. Like before, he has a cap on, and it’s a little difficult to see his full expression.

“No worries,” he replies.

You nod, step aside, and gesture for him to come in.

Chan moves past you, and you wonder if he’s feeling nervous too.

He slips off his shoes, cap, and mask as you shut and lock the door. Now with his back to you, you quickly take in his appearance—a simple oversized hoodie and jeans. His hair looks slightly damp like he just showered. You hate that your mind wanders back to him in the pool. You remember how sexy he had looked with water dripping from his hair and down his sculpted chest.

“I liked your hair up,” he comments.

“W-What?” you stutter, gaze rushing up to meet his as you reel yourself back to reality.

He chuckles and shakes his head to dismiss his comment.

“What should we put together first?” he asks instead.

Your heart pounds in your chest at hearing his compliment echo in your ears. You didn’t imagine that, right?

“I, uh, whatever you want,” you reply, leading him into the living room so he can view his options.

Chan follows and peers around at the boxes.

“Let’s start with your entertainment center, then your desk?” he suggests.

“Sounds good,” you answer, walking to grab your tool bag.

Chan takes the scissors you hand him and starts opening the box.

“Sorry, I don’t have power tools,” you say as he begins laying out the pieces.

He chuckles and flips open the manual. “No worries. I wouldn’t know how to use them anyway.”

You watch as his eyes scan the papers, brows scrunched and lips pursed as he tries to understand it. You lean closer to read as well, but try to keep a respectful distance.

Your focus on the manual quickly shifts when you get a whiff of Chan’s cologne. The need to bury yourself in his arms becomes too strong. He’s too close and the temptation's too strong.

You take a few steps back.

“Do you, uh, want something to drink?” you ask.

Chan glances at you with a smile. “Sure. Whatever’s fine.”

You nod, turning around to look through your fridge. Unfortunately, all you have are bottled waters. You hope he wasn’t expecting something more flavorful.

Chan has two pieces of furniture resting against each other, propped with one hand while the other holds a screwdriver.

You set two water bottles on the floor and peer at the instructions again. Just as Chan’s about to screw the pieces together, you stop him.

“Wait, I think A and C are supposed to go together. Not A and B,” you say.

Chan cocks his head as his eyebrows furrow. Your chest warms at the cute sight, and you shift your gaze back to the papers. You point at what you’re looking at.

“Oh.” Chan laughs awkwardly. “Guess that makes sense.”

He trades Part B with Part C.

“Maybe you should be in charge of the instructions,” he says with a smile.

You laugh. “Okay.”

As Chan begins screwing the nail in, you turn on some random music so it’s not silent. Chan doesn’t seem to mind as he works.

“Done. What’s next?” Chan asks eagerly.

For the next few hours, you and Chan get into a routine. You read the instructions and watch as Chan follows. You lend an occasional hand, but you mostly guide him and hand him the necessary items to finish the task. Occasionally, he bobs his head or taps his fingers to the beat of the song.

An entertainment center, desk, and a few decorations later, you're both finished. Your apartment looks more like a home thanks to Chan.

Chan moves to stand behind you, eyes darting at the big mirror he helped remove from the package earlier. During his time assembling the furniture, he discarded his hoodie, leaving him in a white tank top and jeans.

“It looks good, yeah?” you ask as you analyze the angle the mirror is slanted at. It's too big to hang, but you like it this way—leaned against the wall.

Chan slowly comes closer until you can feel the faint heat from his body. You know one step backward would put you against him. Unable to stay away, you lean your body back slightly. Chan takes the subtle invitation to rest his hands on your waist.

“Yeah. Looks good,” he answers lowly and shifts his gaze to your reflection.

You nod, not sure what to say next. His hands on your waist are light, like he’s still unsure. You wish he weren’t. To help lessen his hesitance, you place your hands on his wrists and rub your thumbs against his skin.

Chan’s lips twitch in a small smile, and he closes the space until his chest presses against your back. His eyes in the mirror move to where your hands are on him, then it slowly rises over your body. It’s not a sensual gaze; it’s tender like he’s imagining what it’d be like if he were yours.

Or maybe that’s just you projecting your desires.

Chan’s hold tightens briefly when he speaks.

“I know this may sound crazy, but I’ve missed you,” he says lowly, eyes watching your face.

Your hands squeeze his arms. Your heart warms at his confession, but then you remember what you both did last time. There wasn’t any time to get to know each other so…

“Did you miss me or what I offered you?” you can’t help but ask. You know you shouldn’t be upset if he said the latter, but something in you wishes otherwise.

“All of you,” he whispers and nuzzles his cheek against your head without breaking eye contact. “I missed all of you.”

“You barely know me,” you murmur.

He smiles, though it’s a little sad.

“I’d like to change that,” he replies.

You turn slightly in his arms to stare at him directly.

Chan’s focus moves from the mirror to your face. Seeing him so close has your heart beating faster. How can someone be so attractive?

“Really?” you question, a mix of hope and doubt laced in your word.

“I-I probably shouldn’t, but yes. If you’ll allow me to.”

Your face scrunches in confusion. “You shouldn’t?”

He releases a deep breath and rubs your sides as if to rid any worries he may have caused.

“My job makes it hard to… date,” he says. There seems to be more he wants to say, but he refrains.

“Date? You want to date me?” you ask, eyes growing wide.

He glances away, flustered. “I mean, we don’t have to go that far. Maybe not now or not ever if you don’t want to… I just really want to get to know you more, because you seem like a nice person and someone I’d like to have in my life.”

Your mouth slowly drops as you take in his words.

“Sorry. That was probably too forward,” Chan says as he begins to retract himself.

You quickly reach out and hook a finger into his necklace, keeping him close. His eyes widen at the act. His hands are hovering in the air like someone just hit the PAUSE button on his life.

“Kiss me?” you ask softly.

Chan’s mouth breaks out into a big smile, and he circles your waist once more.

“Until you tell me to stop,” he answers before connecting your lips in a tender kiss.

Something in your chest bursts at the seams the moment your mouths touch. It’s as if your body becomes alive again. While kissing Chan the first time felt hasty and steamy, this one feels seductive and hot.

You hum happily and move your hand to hold the nape of his neck. You pull him closer like you can’t be apart, which you fear may come true after tonight. However, Chan doesn’t protest. He twists your body so you’re flushed against him. His hard chest feels so nice against yours, and for some reason, it feels better the second time.

By the time you both pull away, you’re panting with a silly smile. Chan doesn’t give you much time to rest before he’s tilting your face and slotting his mouth with yours. His tongue finds yours quickly, hands rubbing your sides a little rougher.

He nips at your bottom lip, causing you to giggle into his mouth. Chan’s lips spread in a grin, and he does it again.

“Chan.” You laugh against his lips.

He continues to smile and brings you close again to kiss you. Any time you think it’s over, he just connects your mouths again.

“Chan,” you mutter against his lips, hands tightening on his shoulders.

“You haven’t told me to stop.” He smirks, quickly leaning in to steal another kiss. Your laugh breaks the kiss once more and makes Chan look at you fondly.

“Want me to stop?” he questions teasingly.

You shake your head and tuck your face in the nook of his neck. Whispering against his neck, "I want more."

Chan squeezes your body and rests his head against yours.

“I want more, too, but I don’t want it to seem like I only came for that,” he murmurs.

You carefully lift your head and cup his face, offering a reassuring look.

“If that were the case, I think we would’ve already been naked,” you tease.

Chan chuckles sheepishly.

“Hm… That or you’re really patient and know when to initiate—"

“No! That’s not it at all,” Chan interrupts hastily. “I’m fine without having sex.”

You pull his face towards yours to plant a soft kiss since you teased him.

“What if I’m not?” you question.

Chan’s Adam's apple bobs as he swallows. “Then we’ll have sex.”

You can’t help but laugh at his response. His eyes shine bright, ready to give you whatever you want and more.

“I’d like that,” you say and lean in, brushing your lips over his. “A lot.”

Chan’s mouth splits in a big grin before he captures yours.

Your hands slide from his face to the bottom of his shirt, taking your time to feel his toned chest along the way. There's a split second of your mouths separating as you tug his shirt off before you find his lips again. When you do, he instantly dives his tongue past your lips. The way he strokes and swirls his tongue makes your body melt against his. Just his kiss keeps you captive. However, there's something you've been wanting to do since you first saw him.

You carefully move him against the back of the couch, then shift your kisses to his cheek, making Chan smile, then to his jawline. You pause at the junction of his shoulder and his neck to lap and nip at his skin. Chan hums out a moan, hands gripping your waist tightly.

As you start to descend his body with peppered kisses, he grabs the bottom of your shirt and lets you slip out of it as you lower yourself to your knees. You watch as he drops your shirt on the floor while you unbutton his pants. Then, to your surprise, he grabs one of the pillows on the couch and drops it near you.

"For your knees," he says softly.

"Thanks," you reply with a smile, heart-warming as you slide it under you.

"You're welcome," he responds. He places both hands behind him on the couch's edge and steps out of his pants and underwear once you get them to his ankles.

A curse is said mentally as you see his hard cock again. It's as big and thick as you remember. Its veins and leaking pre-cum make you clench around nothing.

You lean forward and place open-mouth kisses up his length while one of your hands caresses the other side, keeping him in place.

Chan sucks in a breath above you. Your eyes glance up briefly to see him staring down with parted lips.

"Fuck," he mutters when you wrap your lips around his tip. When you pull back, you let a glob of spit trickle down your mouth and over his head. You reach up and smear the substance along his cock before you begin stroking his length. He's getting harder and heavier in your hands, making your mouth salivate.

"Put your mouth on me, Yn," Chan says. "Please."

The way he pleads your name causes heat to race downwards.

You oblige and sink your mouth slowly down his cock. Chan curses and leans his head back. Seeing his exposed neck has you wishing you had marked him.

You hum against him and lower yourself until his tip hits the back of your throat. When you do, a small gag fills the room.

"Shit, again, Yn. I need to hear you gag on my cock again," Chan groans.

Your legs squeeze together at his request. You brace one hand on his thigh while the other holds the part of his dick you can't fit. Then, you bob your head again, and again, letting the tip hit the same spot and gagging.

You notice Chan's hands gripping the couch as if he's trying to keep control. However, that doesn't last long. One of his hands tangles in your hair before he pushes your head lower, his cock sliding down your throat.

"Oh, fuck," he gasps, head snapping forward to see you. His eyes find yours briefly before they shift down to your lips stretched around his thick cock.

When you start sputtering, he releases you. You slide off with a gasp; strings of saliva connect you to his cock. The look of utter bliss on Chan's face makes you sink back on his length fast. Fuck, he looks so damn good getting his dick sucked. You can tell he's quickly losing himself in the feeling.

Chan's grasp in your hair tightens as you bob with a speed that rolls his eyes toward the back of his head. It's not long before he starts thrusting in your mouth, tip sliding down your throat repeatedly. The sound of your gags and wet mouth makes the arousal between your legs pool.

With a strained grunt, Chan shoves his cock all the way down until your nose touches his skin. Your hands squeeze his muscular thighs, and your eyes shut tightly. Then, before you start worrying about breathing, he lets you go.

You barely get two breaths in before his mouth is on yours. His hand wraps around the back of your neck to keep you close.

He pulls back shortly after. "Your pretty mouth is perfect." Another kiss. "Could fuck it all day."

He chuckles when you nod in agreement.

"You'd like that, yeah?" he hums.

"Yeah." You smile.

Chan takes a second to stare into your eyes, then he gives you a rough, short kiss.

"Need your pussy, now, though," he says after he pulls away. He's so close that his lips still graze yours. You nod eagerly, ready to give it to him.

"Take off your clothes for me, baby," he whispers.

You retreat and hurriedly remove the rest of your clothing. Chan watches you with dark eyes, and there's a small part of you that feels bashful under his fierce gaze.

"So beautiful," he murmurs. Your body warms at his compliment.

"Come here, pretty girl," he instructs as he moves closer to the mirror. "On your stomach. Yeah, just like that."

Chan lifts your hips and slides the pillow from earlier under them. He parts your legs, then lowers a hand to graze his fingers over your wet pussy.

"All this just because you sucked my cock?" He smirks.

"Yes," you say, slightly ashamed.

He swirls his fingers through your arousal, coating them with it as he leans over to your ear.

"Will you let me prep you this time?" he asks with a teasing grin. His hand moves lower to circle your clit, causing your hips to jerk.

Your cheeks warm, remembering how eager you were then. While you are still eager, you feel less hurried than before. Before, there was a risk of getting caught. Now, it's just you and him in your home.

As soon as you nod, Chan slides back to your entrance and dips two fingers in your hole.

You gasp at the stretch. Your body leans forward as if to get away, but Chan follows you, sinking his fingers deeper.

"So tight and wet," he marvels. "You remember how my cock filled this pussy last time?"

He begins pumping his fingers slowly, speeding up as he continues talking. Soft moans spill from your mouth.

"How it stretched you and had you moaning?" he asks while he adds another finger.

You nod, eyes on his gaze through the mirror. The wet sounds of your pussy grow louder the faster he fucks his fingers into you.

"Fuck, Chan. Channie," you gasp.

"Call me that again," he demands and slows his pace. His fingers begin stroking your inner walls, making your mouth fall open.

"Channie," you whine. He smiles.

"You ready for my cock, pretty girl?" he asks, dipping his head down to capture your lips. You lean up on your elbows to meet him halfway.

"Yes! Fuck me, Channie. Please. I need your cock," you whimper against his mouth.

Chan curses as he pulls away and sits up. With one hand, he spreads one of your ass cheeks, and with the other, he aligns his tip with your entrance. Without another word, Chan rolls his hips.

Your mouth drops in a silent moan as he pushes inch after inch, after inch, into your dripping hole.

"Oh, fuck, you feel as good as I remember," he groans.

Your hands claw at the floor the deeper he gets, trying not to whimper. His thick length forces your walls to accommodate him, and while it hurts now, you know it'll turn into pleasure soon. He stills when his hips are flush with your ass.

"You okay, baby?" he asks, gaze rising from where you're connected to yours in the mirror.

You give him a reassuring smile and release a breath you didn't realize you were holding.

"Yeah. You're just…" you trail off.

He chuckles and tucks his head down like he's embarrassed. His hair falls in his face, hiding his eyes. "I know."

"But you feel good," you say, walls clenching unintentionally, making him suck in a breath. "I love how big you are."

Chan tries to hide his smile but fails. He nods and moves his hands to your ass, squeezing and spreading your cheeks. Your heart races knowing he's staring at how well your pussy is taking him.

"You okay if I move?" he asks after a few seconds.

"Yes."

Chan's thrusts are slow and shallow at first. It's a pace that causes you to focus on every inch of him inside you. The way his length slides along your slippery walls drives all thoughts out the window. Over time, Chan slides more of his cock inside. Only when he stuffs your pussy all the way that he starts a faster pace. Each thrust cranks up the speed until the sound of his hips against your ass is so loud, you're sure your neighbors can hear.

Your arms give out, and your chest falls forward onto the floor. Your cheek rests against the cool surface, eyes closed as you let Chan pound into you. A chorus of moans leaves your mouth and combines with all the other obscene noises filling your home. It's almost humiliating how loud the squelching is; you've never been so wet before.

"You're so fucking warm and tight," Chan grunts, hands gripping your hips roughly to keep you from sliding forward. "All those nights I spent touching myself. Thinking of your pretty pussy wrapped around my fucking cock and your breathy moans."

Your walls squeeze around him at his words. You love knowing he got off at the memory of you. He wasn't the only one replaying that day in his head. You thought of it more than you'd like to admit.

"They never did the real thing justice. You feel so damn amazing." He sighs with pleasure. He shifts his weight so he's nearly on top of you, causing him to thrust deeper.

"Channie," you cry at the new angle.

He grabs your hair and raises your head so you're looking into the mirror. Chan's hair hangs over his forehead, and his muscular chest has a sheen of sweat. He looks incredible. Chan nearly moans when his eyes find yours. Your mouth is open; your eyes are dazed.

"Look at you, baby," he says between breaths. "So beautiful getting fucked by me."

You moan at his words.

"Think you can come for me?" he asks.

"Need more," you whine.

He nods and lets go of your hair. When your head begins to droop, he slams his hips into you roughly.

"Eyes on me, baby. Keep watching," he demands.

Your eyes snap up, obeying him. You watch his hips thrust forward, hitting your ass and making it bounce. The sight makes the coil in your stomach tighten.

Chan reaches a hand down your stomach and begins rubbing your clit quickly.

"Chan!" you gasp, hips immediately bucking at his rough movements. "Oh my god."

"Need you to come over my cock," he rasps. His pace slows down slightly as he focuses on your clit, but he still rocks into you with power. Each movement is so precise and sharp, reminding you how skilled he is with his hips.

You press your hands into the floor to keep your body from moving too far forward.

"C-Close," you mewl, dropping your head to your chest.

"Look. At. Me," Chan nearly growls and pinches your clit.

"Fuck," you gasp as your head springs up.

Chan smirks and rapidly rubs your bud. Suddenly, the coil snaps, and your walls squeeze tight. Your body jerks and trembles throughout your orgasm. Your eyes roll back while your toes flex.

"Fuck yes, baby," Chan pants.

The moment you sag against his body, he yanks his cock from your spent cunt. He rolls you over to your back and cradles the back of your neck as he moves forward.

His cock comes into full view. As if it's an automatic response, your mouth drops open as you continue panting.

Chan moans at the sight and jerks his fat cock rapidly. His brows are knitted together while his chest rises and falls quickly. Soon, spurts of hot cum land on your face and in your mouth. Chan's moans are deep in his throat and send another wave of desire straight to your core.

You stare up at him as his climax courses through his body. You're still coming down from yours to even gather your thoughts.

After a moment, Chan lowers himself to the floor and tugs you to his chest. He carefully wipes away his cum on your face with his thumb. He brings the digit to your awaiting mouth, and you happily clean it. He chuckles and kisses you once he's done.

You stay in his arms for a long while. Neither of you says anything while you gain strength again. Chan pets your head in the silence, and you rub his back lazily. Against your better judgment, your heart falls for him a little more. Perhaps it's the after-sex glow, but there's a shift in your chest that's unmistakable.

"You okay to stand?" he asks softly. You notice the contrast from earlier. Selfishly, you wish you're the only one who knows the Chan who gets rough when turned on.

You nod.

Chan stands slowly and helps you up. You take one step with him, but your knees buckle.

"Maybe I was too rough," he says while sweeping you up in his arms. You nuzzle your head against him shyly.

"I liked it," you murmur.

Chan laughs lightly as he makes his way to your bedroom.

"That's good to hear," he replies. He angles his face to kiss your head. "I liked it, too."

He sets you down in the bathroom, gives you a soothing kiss, then allows you privacy as he steps out.

After using the restroom and washing your hands and face, you find him in the living room, dressed in just his jeans.

"Your turn," you say.

"Okay," he replies and hands you your clothes. While he's in the bathroom, you slip on your underwear and shirt. You don't bother with clean clothes since you need a shower anyway.

Your sight lingers on Chan's hoodie. There's a delusional part of your brain that wants to wear it and pretend you are something more. It looks soft and surely smells like him.

"Wear it," Chan says from the bedroom door.

You jump at his unexpected arrival. You step away from the hoodie, embarrassed to have been caught staring at it.

You shake your head. "It's yours."

He laughs and grabs it. He steps closer.

"Arms up," he instructs.

You shake your head again. "I'm okay, really."

"Up," he repeats with a smile.

Sighing, you raise your arms.

Chan carefully slides the garment over your arms and down your body. The hood gets caught on your head. He carefully tucks stray hairs behind your ears before his eyes dance over your frame.

"Perfect," he murmurs, leaning in to plant a kiss on your lips.

Your hands curl over the edges of the sleeves as you relax into his touch.

"Are you leaving?" you ask after he pulls away.

Chan grabs his phone from the kitchen and takes a glance.

"I've got some time before I have to go. Do you want me to leave?" he questions, setting the device back down.

You shake your head and reach out for him. You shouldn't, but you can't help it. It's so easy to slip into the alternate reality that he's yours.

Chan beams you his signature handsome smile and lets your arms snake around his waist. He wraps his own around your shoulders, resting his head against yours.

"You look good in my hoodie," he says quietly, almost as if he didn't mean to say it aloud.

You can't fight the smile on your face, snuggling closer to him. His warm skin is slowly turning cooler.

"Can we cuddle on the couch?" you ask and peer at him. You slide the hood off so you can see him better.

"Of course," he replies and slips from your grasp. He holds one of your hands as he walks to the couch. He lies down and pulls you on top of him, legs tangling.

An hour passes before Chan reluctantly leaves. It's spent talking about your move and what you like to do in your spare time—with a few kisses in between. You learn he likes to dance and sing, and that he's not the best video-game player. When you take note of the ring on his pinkie, he informs you it's a friendship ring. It's unusual to see men with friendship rings, but you find it endearing nonetheless.

Chan tells you to keep the hoodie while he slips on his shoes. Despite your protests, he doesn't yield. Something about it being an excuse to come see you again, which you don't object to.

By the time he's gone, you're left with your thoughts. You never imagined you'd bump into Chan again. Let alone be able to experience his touch once more. Despite loving every second of it, you fear you'll never find someone who can fuck you as well as Chan does. The delightful soreness between your legs is just a testament to your theory.

You're preparing to take a shower when you notice a folded piece of paper on your bed with your name on it. Knowing it can only be from Chan stretches your lips into a smile. You open it eagerly.

Here's to getting to know each other more. I had fun spending the day with you 🖤 Channie

Your smile widens when you see he left his phone number. He must trust you to have done that considering he's been hesitant to disclose that information from the start. The realization causes your heart to flutter in excitement and nervousness. You know once you message him, things will change. You still don't know if you'll ever be more than friends, but like you felt the first time you met him, even if you were to be loved by him for only a little while, it would’ve been worth it.

You pick up your phone and type the number, hope filling your chest.

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[thediamondlifenetwork]

supersweet | kim mingyu

SYNOPSIS. in which your superhero boyfriend takes aftercare really seriously. PAIRING. superman!kim mingyu x journalist!fem!reader GENRE. post-coital tooth-aching fluff, humour, establish(ing) relationship WARNINGS. mentions of sex, cursing, nudity (not explicitly described), mention of public indecency (used as humour), kissing, use of superpowers for aftercare, terms of endearment, mingyu cleaning reader up, they're both so in love i'm jumping off a cliff WORD COUNT. 2.3k

notes: unfortunately, i am still not over the superman movie and superman!mingyu in general. takes place after a scene in off the record <3

You hardly remember the last time you ever felt this warm.

Not just in the flushed, post-coital kind of way𑁋though, you won’t deny that your body is still thrumming, skin tingling from all the spots that were just thoroughly and gently kissed and worshipped. You’re still completely bare, the sheets are sprawled only up to your waist. The residual heat from the moments before have begun to calm now, and you find yourself surrounded by the quietness that comes right after. 

You just did Superman. Wait, that sounds strange𑁋no, you just did things with Superman. Dammit, that sounds even stranger. 

And you have no idea what to do with that thought. 

Instead, you just giggle.

It starts off small, a breathy sound that escapes your lips before you can even stop it. Beside you, Mingyu turns his head on the pillow to look at you, his dark hair all messy and eyes caught between bliss and disbelief. Gosh, it’s almost offensive how he still looks good even all disheveled. He blinks a few times, then grins𑁋bashful, yet smug as hell. 

“What?” he mutters gravelly. “What’s so funny? Did I do something?” 

You bite your bottom lip to suppress another laugh, shaking your head lightly. “No, just… Can’t believe I slept with Superman.”

Mingyu groans at your words, burying his flushed face back into the pillow. “Okay, rude. I have a name, you know.” 

You let out another airy giggle, rolling over so that you’re properly facing him now. “I know your name, farm boy. Doesn’t make it any less insane.”

He muffles something into the pillow that you can barely distinguish. Then, he finally lifts his face back up to meet you eye-level as well, his bare, unfairly sculpted chest pressing up against yours in the crumpled sheets as he drapes an arm over you. When you try to entangle your legs with him, a quiet wince leaves you.

Mingyu immediately stiffens.

“Hey, wait𑁋did I hurt you?” he asks worriedly, pulling his hand away as if he’s suddenly burned you. “Did I go too fast? Shit, I should’ve𑁋”

“What? No, no, I’m okay,” You say, cutting him off from his panic.

But it’s still not enough to convince him as he props himself up with one elbow, hovering slightly above you as his eyes rigorously scan over you. He looks like he’s searching for bruises, any sign of discomfort or regret that might have slipped past him during the heat of the moment. His brows are furrowed together, strands of his hair flopping adorably over his eyes, jaw tense as if he’s blaming himself for something that didn’t even happen. 

“God, I’m so sorry. You were just so beautiful and making all these sounds and I kind of got caught up and𑁋”

“Mingyu,” You call out his name again, reaching up to caress his cheek tenderly. “I’m okay. I promise.”

Mingyu pauses briefly, but when he catches sight of the small smile on your face, he visibly relaxes. His broad shoulders hunch back down, and he lets out a sigh of relief. 

“Okay, okay,” he murmurs softly. “But… you’d tell me if something was wrong, right?”

“Of course,” You reassure him, thumb brushing lightly over his jaw. “You just made me feel… a lot. But it was good. I felt… safe.”

His lips tug up from your words, a little sheepish and boyish. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, thank God. I was about to turn in my cape and resign.”

You nearly choke at that. “I𑁋you can’t just do𑁋”

But then he leans in and kisses you, shutting you up immediately. It’s sweet at first, barely there, just a shaky breath against your lips that already has your head spinning again. It isn’t rushed or heated like earlier. Then it becomes a little more firmer, a little more deeper, enough to have the two of you smiling and giggling into the kiss.

When he pulls back, he presses his forehead against yours, letting himself linger there for just a few moments. 

“Do you, uh… need anything?” he asks quietly. “I could get you some water or snacks. Or a heating pad. Or five pillows. Actually! Stay right here, I’ll be back.”

Before you can even retort, Mingyu’s already gone. Like, literally gone. 

One second he’s naked and in bed with you, and the next there’s a loud whoosh that causes the sheets and your hair to flutter from the force. You dazedly blink down at the now Mingyu-less spot right next to you, and you can’t help but shake your head and smile despite yourself. The air is still warm where he used to be. 

He’s actually ridiculous.

You don’t even have time to fully tug the sheets back up your chest before he’s back.

The gust of air ruffles your hair again, and suddenly Mingyu is standing at the foot of the bed, his arms full of shit and looking way too pleased with himself. There’s two water bottles, a bag of chips that he probably found in your pantry, a clean towel from your bathroom, and the blanket from your couch draped over his massive shoulders like a makeshift cape.

He’s also wearing boxers again, which are definitely not the same colour as the ones that are still somewhere on your bedroom floor, meaning he must have stopped by his own apartment too𑁋because of course he did. Maybe it was out of modesty, but honestly? Kind of hot. 

You stare at him. “Mingyu.”

“Yes, beautiful?”

Your heart skips at the pet name. “Did… did you fly to your place just to get a fresh pair of boxers?”

Mingyu sets the pile of supplies at the end of the bed and beams like a cute and very proud golden retriever. “No one saw! Plus, these ones are more comfy. And I want to be comfy while cuddling you.”

“Oh, my God.” You cover your hands over your face, half-laughing, half-mortified. “Superman just committed public indecency.”

“I told you no one saw! I went at hypersonic speeds!” he defends, even giddily laughing himself and completely unbothered by the fact that he broke several laws of physics and indecency regulations. “I used my super hearing and super vision to make sure!”

“You flew with your ass out in public!” 

“For aftercare! This is the most important moment of my life!”

“Jesus Christ.”

As the laughter dies back down, you feel the bed dip from his weight as he settles right next to you again. The bag of chips rustles in his hands and he nearly drops the water bottle from trying to adjust into a comfortable position like the clumsy idiot he is. But when he’s finally seated, he helps prop the pillow behind your back for support.

“Is it okay if I clean you first?” he suggests, holding up the towel.

You look down at yourself, cheeks warming again to where the sheets don’t quite cover you, and then back up at him. A nervous, fond little grin stretches across his face, and you feel your brain short-circuit from it.

“Yeah,” You mutter quietly. “That’d be… really nice.”

Mingyu exhales loudly out of relief. You watch as his eyes turn a glowing red𑁋just for a second𑁋using just enough of his heat vision to warm up the water bottle, before pouring just the right amount on the towel and testing it out carefully on his own wrist. It’s so casual in the most absurdly superhero way possible. 

Then he scoots himself closer to you, eyes flickering up to your face just to make sure you’re okay with him touching you like this. When you give him another nod, that’s all he needs. 

He starts with your shoulders first, then your collarbones, then down your arms. You can barely look at him as he cleans you. Not because you’re ashamed or uncomfortable, but the way he’s so soft and gentle has you nearly spiraling again.

Your entire life has taught you to keep things at an arm’s length. You’re a journalist who pries in other peoples’ lies and built a career out of never trusting a single thing at face value. The only place in your schedule where vulnerability was allowed is during your late-night grinding fests with three deadlines piled on top of you. 

So how the hell did a fucking Kryptonian superhero𑁋of all things that live on this planet𑁋manage to punch a hole through every wall you’ve put up?

You instinctively flinch when you feel the towel graze a sensitive spot in between your thighs. Mingyu pauses right away. 

“Sorry! Are you okay?” he blurts out, eyes wide with concern. “Is the towel too cold? Should I reheat it?”

You shake your head swiftly in response. “No, just… A little sensitive.”

Mingyu’s features soften, and he lifts one of your hands up to his lips to press a reassuring kiss to your knuckle. “I’ll be more gentle. If it’s too much, you tell me, okay?”

God, you swear if he’s anymore supersweet with you, you may as well spontaneously combust, because you have no clue how to act about it. It’s as if cleaning you up after making love is a privilege, not a chore. 

He dabs carefully in between your thighs, his touch slow and gentle as he said, just enough to wipe away any remaining evidence of your earlier intimacy. You see the way his Adam’s apple bobs, how the tips of his ears are literally red, and hear the unsteadiness in his breath as he tries to focus on cleaning you, clearly struggling with the fact you’re still glowing and blissed out in front of him.

When he finishes, he tosses the towel aside, and places a kiss to the top of your knee, your thigh, and a final one to your shoulder. The affection sends a shiver running up and down your spine. 

“All done,” he says, tugging the blanket back over your body. “Still okay?”

You muster another nod. “Yeah. Are you?”

“I’m… better than okay.” He gives you that bright, dopey grin again, before reaching over to grab a water bottle and offer it to you. “Here. For you.”

A quiet thanks leaves you as you take a grateful sip. It’s almost natural how easily these next few minutes fall into place. Like the routine of something the two of you have always known, despite it only being after your first time with him and knowing this won’t be the last.

When you set the water bottle back on the bedside table, a pair of large arms immediately wrap around you, and you find yourself being pulled back into Mingyu’s still very naked chest. He nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck and lets out a soft sigh.

“Your heart is beating really fast,” he mumbles into your skin. “I love listening to it.”

You hum softly, carding your fingers through his hair. “Can you blame me? My boyfriend just committed aerial nudity for aftercare.”

Mingyu immediately straightens up from your words like a puppy smelling a treat, suddenly appearing more alert, more awake, as if you’ve unintentionally fired up every single one of his senses. He stares down at you with wide eyes in complete bewilderment, the tips of ears turning pink once more. 

“Say that again,” he says lowly. 

You blink. “What?”

“You know what.”

After a few moments, the realisation hits you𑁋because you did say that, didn’t you?𑁋and a sly smirk spreads across your face.

“Boyfriend?”

Mingyu stares at you for a good minute as if you’ve just dropped a nuclear warhead in the middle of the room. But then, a smile blooms across his face, and it’s so goddamn bright and pure and beautiful it may as well rival the entire fucking sun. His fists clench at his side like he’s trying to not get too overwhelmed, and then𑁋

“Holy shit, I’m your boyfriend,” he whispers, more to himself than to you, like he had just won the lottery. “You’re my girlfriend𑁋I have a girlfriend!”

Before a grin of your own can appear on your face, he’s kissing you again. It’s messy and uncoordinated and filled with so much happiness for it to be any less than perfect. A giggle escapes your lips when you feel his teeth accidentally knock against yours, then suddenly you’re rolling on your back again with Mingyu hovering above you, peering down as if you’ve given him the universe. 

“You’re so beautiful, angel,” he breathes out. “It’s unfair how beautiful you are that I… I just want to stare at you forever.” 

Your breath catches in your throat. It isn’t the first time he’s said that, and it certainly won’t be the last, but it still wrecks you every time. For a few moments, you allow yourself to just lie there and look at him. Not as the flying, godlike being that the world worships. Not even as your awkward, giant dork of a coworker who spills coffee down his shirt and is continuously late to meetings. 

But just as… Kim Mingyu. With his messy hair, starstruck eyes, and an overly soft heart that he keeps trying to give to you again and again. 

And now, you’re giving your own heart back to him. 

You reach up to cradle his face in your hands. “Mingyu.”

“Yes, girlfriend?”

“Oh, my God𑁋”

“Hey! You just officiated me as your boyfriend so I get bragging rights,” he says with a dramatic pout. “I will not be shutting up about this for weeks.”

As you’re about to open your mouth again, he brightens up once more.

“Wait, wait, does this mean I get to leave a toothbrush here?”

“Mingyu!” You exclaim, bracing both of your hands on his shoulders. 

That finally snaps him out of his rambling daze𑁋that, and the way you’re staring up at him and he’s blinking down at you, all wide eyes and puppy guilt. You’re glaring right back up at him, though the lovesick smile to your face betrays you entirely. 

“If you don’t kiss me right now, I will be revoking your boyfriend privileges.” 

Mingyu freezes as if you’ve completely shocked him with a stun ray. 

“...Yes, ma’am.”

And then he kisses you.

Again.

And again.

And again.

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[thediamondlifenetwork]

🤝 on your side

Being seatmates with Chan for your senior year back in arts high school changed your life forever. Being estranged friends with Dino, the much-anticipated idol trainee turned celebrated idol-slash-actor, messed with your head—and your heart. Being the Chief Financial Officer and right-hand of Sebong Corporation’s newest CEO Mr. Lee Chan turned you both into people who barely knew each other. But would you both be willing to stick it through to the end, claiming to be on each other’s side? —inspired by the song “on your side” by wet

pairing: entertainment company ceo!lee chan x cfo!fem!reader word count: 8.3k+ genre: angst, not really a happy ending but not too bad either, high school friends to vague situationship to workplace enemies to civil colleagues to distant friends at peace rating: PG-13 tags: puppy love and high school crushes, slices of idol trainee and working uni student life, this is just life i guess, corporate speak, VERY conversation heavy you have been forewarned warnings: cursing, mild drinking and mentions of alcohol, cheating allegations, confrontations, some trauma, resentment, mild mention of therapy

a/n: i am back! and one whole month LATE to the posting deadline but IT’S HEREEEE. please welcome my entry to the that’s showbiz, baby! collab hosted by tara @diamonddaze01 and kae @studioeisa! what a journey. when kae approached me last december for this collab, i was on the fence abt the whole thing but if there’s anything this past half year proved, it’s that writing fanfiction is better done with friends, and i adore how this collab fostered a community i will cherish for lifeeeee

major thanks to a @chugging-antiseptic-dye for being my accountability buddy aka going insane together for this collab and for watching my own insanity unfold yet accepting me still; viv @heartepub and kae for helping me make sense of my thoughts and this story; tara for making this beautifully simple yet effective banner; bennie @miniseokminnies and sam @joonsytip for bouncing off character ideas back and forth with me to the point where we used our brainchildren in each others’ fics. quite literally, this fic would not exist without you all mwa

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ masterlist . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

The Beginning—

The minutes tick by painstakingly slow. Despite the coffee you feel must be running in your bloodstream by now, you feel the clutches of drowsiness clawing at you. You force yourself awake, trying to focus on the predominantly male voices in the room.

“Solid financials, Ms. Y/L/N. Thank you as always for your hard work. I don’t know what Sebong Corp would be without you,” said the voice almost secondary in your head. You meet eyes with Mrs. Baek, your boss of seven years who has always seen you as someone who would succeed in her footsteps when the time came.

But you have eyes for another. Mr. Woo glances at you with his steely eyes, never giving any indication of overt emotion. It was sensible because this meeting is pure business, especially with the stakes presented from the get-go.

They were retiring this year. This wasn’t anything new, not when it got the whole office buzzing as to who would be replacing Mr. Woo as the Chief Executive Officer and Mrs. Baek as the Chief Financial Officer. The two most senior individuals in the company were looking for those next in line, and it was no secret that you were at the forefront.

A steady mantra in your head got you through the interview process—multiple conversations with multiple people across several levels. As if you haven’t spent more than half of your career in this company, asking questions whose answers you knew like the back of your hand.

However, with all your hard work, it didn’t hurt to aim higher, didn’t it? Mrs. Baek saw you following in her footsteps as CFO, having worked multiple roles under her guidance. But if there was anything that you learned from your time spent counting and earning money for this company, it was how you could spend the money right.

Mr. Woo is good, but he is not the best. His management style is outdated and bygone, with his tendency to be stingy with money being the undeniable cause for Sebong Corp’s rise in the ranks of South Korea’s richest companies.

But times are changing, evolving, and the company needed new blood, fresh ideas, a new branding to keep up with competitors like Carat Company, who clearly listen to their audiences. How else can an entertainment company gain a surge of followers with an undeniably captivating roster of artists and content?

Not Sebong Corp. Not yet, so you thought.

Sebong Corp needs someone young who knows the ins and outs of the industry. Someone who is capable of leading with the know-how to handle the workings of a full-fledged, national conglomerate. Someone who—

“—can handle the figures the way Ms. Y/L/N does and does not get overwhelmed with the targets we have set for the artists and repertoire that we have.” You snap back into attention as Mr. Woo addresses the conference room. Sebong Corp’s Board of Directors turns to his presence at the head of the table.

“Mrs. Baek and I interviewed multiple candidates, internal and external, reviewed their credentials, and identified their personalities and loyalties. It has always been Sebong Corp’s culture to find people with integrity and passion to put the artists and their craft at the forefront. After separate meetings with Chairperson Jeong and the rest of the board, I would like to officially announce the next CEO and CFO of Sebong Corporation.”

A weird knot forms in the pit of your gut. Something was going to happen—one you cannot describe yet, but has gotten hold of you like a vise.

“These two candidates have been outstanding in their respective fields and are exactly the people the company needs to breathe fresh life into our respected organization.” Mr. Woo takes a deep breath, one you unwittingly take along with him.

“Ms. Y/N Y/L/N.” You turn at the sound of your name.

He looks straight at you, his unwavering look almost softening to something wholly unfamiliar. “I have full confidence that you will follow both Mrs. Baek’s and my footsteps as one of the most loyal and dedicated people in this company.

“There is no one else more fitting for this position than you. Congratulations on your new appointment as Sebong Corp’s CFO.”

A chill grips your senses and renders you speechless, your voice suddenly something you can’t unearth from yourself. You don't know how you find it again, but you manage to say, “Thank you, Mr. Woo, Mrs. Baek. I will not let you and the company down.”

“Good, because I’m sure you would make a good tandem with our new CEO. It’s a shame he couldn’t come today due to prior commitments, but he has already responded positively to your appointment.” Gears start spinning in your mind. So he already knew about the appointment before I did?

“But, without further ado, I would like to announce that the new CEO of Sebong Corp is K-pop superstar and actor, and now my successor, Dino. Or as most of us will now address him in the office, Mr. Lee Chan.”

It takes a tremendously immense effort to maintain the composure you have arranged on your exterior. It takes your full willpower to prevent all of the memories of the past two decades from resurfacing all at once.

I will be working under Chan as his CFO?

Mr. Woo continues, blessedly oblivious to the turmoil happening in your system. “He sends his regards, and he will be reporting to the office starting next week. The next few months will be spent transitioning responsibilities to our new leaders right here. I officially adjourn this board meeting. Thank you everyone for your time.”

The collective noise of people moving fills the room, suits rustling against each other mixed with murmurs of business talk and congratulations directed at you. You decide to have this moment of sole acknowledgment, where no one else can steal your spotlight. Not yet. For now.

Mrs. Baek greets you with an enthusiastic hug, gushing at how all your hard work paid off. Mr. Woo joins in, a gesture you appreciate when he could act otherwise. But you decide that the converse might have been better because the conversation that ensues is one you wish had been skipped entirely.

“Ms. Y/L/N, congratulations. I mean it when I said that there is no one else better for this position than you are.”

Despite the conflicting feelings in your chest, a shot of pride beams through the emotions you were feeling. “Thank you, Mr. Woo. You don’t know how much this means to me. I… I promise to live up to your expectations.”

“I have no doubt you will. I trust Mrs. Baek’s expert judgment.” The CEO pauses briefly before looking at you with curious eyes. “You know, Chan was pleased when he heard that you’d be CFO. In fact, it surprised me when he said that he knew you, mentioned that you two go way back—all the way from your time in Hanlim? I never knew you went to an arts high school. How did you two get to know each other?”

You gave him the most nonchalant smile. “We just did a lot of school projects together. You know how it is in high school.” You swallow the lump in your throat to carefully hide the spiteful tone in your voice instead. “I’m sure he’s just excited that we’ll be working together again after so long.”

Seventeen years before The Beginning—

“You know, I like working with you. I can’t believe it took us this long to actually be friends.”

“Who said that we’re friends?”

Chan looks at you, the feigned look of shock visible on his features. “I take everything back then. We are not friends and I do not like working with you.”

You laughed, that intoxicating laugh that Chan has come to miss every time you’re not around. He laughed in return, the one that has everyone looking at him, but you hoped against hope that he only looked for you amongst the crowd.

You both didn’t know why it took so long for the two of you to be this close—not until you were forced to sit together on the first day of Arts and Production Class.

Whispers were abound during your first day of school, with students marking the who’s who of idol trainees and celebrity aspirants in the class. But even the teachers agreed that a chaebol heir was a rare sighting in Hanlim Multi Arts High School.

It was an unlikely pairing: Lee Chan, son of one of the richest people in South Korea and the heir of a chaebol empire, and you, daughter of your middling parents who struggled to make ends meet every so often.

As the months passed, you soon found yourself on equal footing with each other: Lee Chan, the golden boy of the practical dance department, and you, the darling of the filmmaking department.

You’d heard of him even before senior year, but you weren’t sure if he’d heard of you, to which he confirmed that “How could I not know about the most celebrated film director in Hanlim who gets all the recognition during the annual student film festival?”

You and Chan came to build an easy companionship in class, especially when he could be friends with almost anyone else in the school as you expected at first, but it wasn’t until the late-night walks that you truly got to know each other.

You both don’t know how these evening Han River walks started—they just did. What began as a weekly hangout with a bunch of classmates slowly dwindled into a handful of people. Yet time and again, what never changed was you and Chan walking the streets of Seoul and passing through parks in the cover of night as the weekday turns to weekends, with conversations that didn’t usually show themselves within the confines of high school.

He asked you why you chose filmmaking. “Do you want the government answer, or the real answer?” Chan raised an eyebrow and, of course, asked for both. “Government answer: I’ve always loved telling stories. Films are just one way I could do that.

“The real answer? I actually started out in community theater doing plays and musicals and stuff.” His narrow eyes widened impossibly. You cut him off before he could get a word in, “But life had a different plan for me.”

You shared that you also auditioned for filmmaking on a whim. It was a backup plan brought by a gut feel, because that’s how you were brought up—to never put all your stakes on one thing. Turns out you were right, because while you were accepted into Hanlim, it wasn’t for musical theater. And if it weren’t for that filmmaking audition, you might not even be in Hanlim in the first place.

You asked him how he managed to keep such a low profile. “My parents are away most of the time. To the point that people don’t even associate me with them. Also helps that they keep their private life a huge secret…as if I were the one they wanted to keep secret from the world.” He continued with a shrug and a nonchalant one, “It’s cool.”

At this point, you already knew he wanted to be a celebrity. Even if he didn’t say so, everyone in the school knew that he was born to be on the stage. But what only a handful—including you—knew was that his parents forbade him from auditioning to be a trainee and to be their successor instead.

It became the whole reason he enrolled in Hanlim: to train and learn what he could, even if he wasn’t yet a trainee up for debut. Chan cut his parents a deal that if he graduated with high honors, then they would—should—allow him to audition. They agreed.

So you asked him why he wouldn’t just audition then, how maybe they wouldn’t find out if they were always away. “Oh, believe me,” he scoffed, “they’ll find out. They always have their ways. Not this time, though. For my future, I will have my way, and no one else’s.”

That was how these nights were usually spent. However, this one felt different. It was a seemingly silent agreement that the reason it felt as such was because it was graduation in two weeks.

A week before that, Chan would be a trainee under one of the biggest entertainment companies in the country having already passed the audition.

A week after that, you would start going to cram school to prepare for the CSAT.

It was also an unspoken agreement that it was just a walk for the two of you. Chan just asked if you were free this Friday for the usual and you said yes, as you always did. You asked if he invited anyone else and he said no, which you didn’t feel the need to question. It was as if both of you were thinking the same thing.

His saying that you two weren’t friends sparked something in you. He knew what he was doing; you were sure of it. You hoped that the heat rising to your cheeks would subside before you reached the street light, but you could excuse it to the slight chill in the evening air.

“Yeah, not friends, hate working with you. I totally agree,” you said as you bumped his shoulder against yours. As per usual, he exaggerated by almost going out of balance. And as per usual, you fell for it by automatically reaching out and grabbing him by his arms.

The sudden movements did almost make him fall, and he clasped your arms in return, righting himself as he steadied against your grip. A mess of limbs and peals of laughter later, you find that your hands are in his, their warmth seeping against yours. His fingers pressed into your palms for a moment too long.

In that moment, his eyes found yours, and he reflected the smile that you’re sure was plastered on your face. Not for the first time, your gazes remained locked on each other. Slowly, you feel the corners of your lips drop in time with the way that your heart starts beating faster. You see Chan visibly swallow a seeming lump in his throat.

Too serious. Lighten the mood.

You let go of his hands too quickly and jokingly swatted at his arms. “I told you not to do that! You know how easily I fall for your tricks.”

He shoved his hands in the pockets of his parka, as if finding warmth to replace the ones that yours gave. He pursed his lips in thought before responding, “Maybe I should try a different trick next time to finally get you to fall for real.”

“You want to see me plant my face on the floor so bad, huh?”

“You wouldn’t have the chance to. I’ll always catch you if you fall.”

A million emotions flashed through your face, and Chan just laughed at them all. “Lee Chan, is this flirting I hear from you? I thought we were friends.”

“You said we weren’t friends!”

“All this because I said that?”

“Then take it back!” You two really shouldn’t be making this much noise in the stillness of the night against the calm of the Han River in the background.

You roll your eyes at him, though he doesn’t see as he walks a few steps in front of you. “Take what back?”

“Tell me we’re friends.” He stopped to face you, standing at just the right spot against the shine of a street lamp. This guy—your friend—looked ethereal, a natural spotlight forming around him as he owned the world like his stage.

How could you possibly be friends with Chan when you couldn’t even name these feelings that were trying to burst out of you? Was it just attraction? Admiration? You couldn’t even call this a crush. Or maybe it was…

You shook your head, more to yourself than to answer Chan’s question. With a step forward, you faced him and these feelings with sudden bravery.

You stopped right in front of him and shared the light. He looked down at you, suddenly unsure how to proceed. He bit his lower lip. “Why this all of a sudden?”

“You know what? I take that back.” With defiant eyes, you said, “From now on, let’s consider each other colleagues.”

It was his turn to roll his eyes. “Seriously?”

You pushed forward and took a step away from him—away from his shining light and into the cover of darkness. “We are colleagues at best, acquaintances at worst.”

“Easy, let’s stick to colleagues and not get ahead of ourselves. Do you so badly want me out of your life?” He quickened his pace to catch up to you, but you just went faster.

“Besides,” you mused, “you’d be an idol soon enough. I’d be the CEO of the biggest entertainment company someday. That makes us colleagues, right?” You could dream big, right?

“Oh, you'd so become a CEO. I can see it.”

“Just you wait, Channie-ya. You be careful with your words around me. Maybe I can give you some favors when you finally decide to pursue that idol-slash-actor career of yours.”

“Nah, you’re too good. I won’t be surprised if you forget all about me when you’re a big boss calling the shots.”

“Forget you? The shining and brilliant Lee Chan from Hanlim? Never.”

Chan coughed, disguising the embarrassment in his tone. “Ya, you be careful with your words. Don’t say things you don’t mean.”

“I’m serious! How can I forget you? I'd make you my top star if I could.”

You felt a hand grab yours, stopping you in your tracks. You turned and saw Chan looking at you with eyes that were questioning and vulnerable. “Do you really mean that? Would you really?”

You swallowed, realizing the depth of your words. “Yeah. You're meant to be a star, Channie. I'm meant to keep that star of yours shining.”

Everything was shining, but the brilliant Lee Chan was looking at you as if you were the only thing that shone in this night. He doesn’t let go of your hand. You don’t let him.

He pulled you in as you took one step toward him. He cupped your face as you closed your eyes. You both leaned in.

And when your lips touched, the world suddenly went quiet. You briefly parted to lock eyes, but it followed with another kiss, and another, each one deeper than the last, and you felt each other’s smiles against your lips. Each kiss brought an explosion of colors, the roar of a symphony, the thunderous applause.

When you both gasped for air and finally parted, you looked at each other and your kiss-swollen lips as reality suddenly set back in, along with the sounds of the Han River evening.

“Chan…Channie.” You don’t know if you were laughing or on the verge of crying. Because why now? Why not earlier?

Why now, when you two will be worlds apart by next week?

“I—I know, I know.” He clasped both your hands. Tight. His thumbs rubbed over the back of your palms. He wouldn’t let go of you this time.

“Y/N-ah. Are you willing to take the risk with me?”

You nod, even though you didn’t know what you were agreeing to. All you knew at this moment was that you could never say no to Chan. How could you?

Three months after The Beginning—

There is a physical kind of pain that comes with working with someone you just happen to have a deep, long-standing history with. It’s even worse when this person is your CEO.

The weight of things unspoken left a visceral and indelible mark on every interaction between the two of you, subtle at first, but undeniably growing stronger every single day.

But you two are professionals, of course. No one else needs to know about the past.

How you have not resigned yet remains a mystery even to you. Maybe it was your pride to begin with, as someone who would not dare risk all the years you have toiled in your company, all because of this…stranger coming into the picture.

With each passing week of seeing Chan’s screen-ready smile and winsome attitude toward all the employees, you realize that he was good at this. Every time you sat in a meeting room with him with either the internal teams or the company’s external stakeholders, his charm and wit matched the reasoning and firmness in his statements.

He’d always had the smarts that were good at winning people over, you know that much. And it has you seething.

Yes, it was definitely your pride winning over your rational thoughts of distancing yourself from the person you knew would be no good for you.

Despite the inner turmoil, you were both artists in your own right who had mastered the art of the professional exterior—polite smiles every time there were other people in the room and friendly banter in between the critical business deals.

But every time your eyes meet each other across the table during executive meetings and business dinners, you know that the unreadable expressions in his eyes show a semblance of similarity to your thoughts—thoughts of inconvenient loathing, but with a hidden softness you both were denying, one that spoke of a deeper sense of hurt and sadness.

You wouldn’t admit as such. You’ve just learned to live with it.

He had pinged you a few minutes ago to meet him briefly at his office, a place you avoided at all costs. The reality of being alone with him in the same room was too suffocating to even think about.

A knock on his door and you push on the handle, stepping inside in time to see him stand. He was dressed down today, wearing a dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up and his hair falling into his eyes. He sweeps a finger across his forehead to clear his vision, seeing you dressed like your usual professional self, your high heels allowing you to stand tall against his figure despite the distance.

“Yes, Chan-ssi?” He visibly cringes when you speak, but he has no choice but to follow your wishes of maintaining the honorific. He hates even more how he reciprocates the use of the same honorific attached to your name, and how it doesn’t faze you at all.

“Take a look at this.” Chan lays open a folder on his desk with more force than usual. You walk toward it and see rows of numbers, with a grand total amount and your signature in full view.

“And what about it?”

“You know perfectly well that this is one of the last documents required to greenlight a film. And you also know perfectly well that I’ve been adamant against greenlighting this film.”

“And?”

“Why did you sign off on the budget sheet?”

“Because the figures were correct and the reasoning was sound. They’re a little under budget if you ask me. They projected costs very well for the anticipated returns of the project.”

Chan’s tone turns incredulous. “Returns? I—you know whose project this is, right? Vernon’s. And that indie director he’s so dead set on working with. Marketing is having a PR crisis managing this current rebellious streak of his when we have been working on his portfolio for years.”

“And? Marketing also says that this is generating the necessary hype to make this movie a blockbuster. I’ve asked them to do the projected analytics for this with the current buzz. Remember: bad PR is still PR. They’re already working on it. And it seems that Vernon is handling this ‘PR crisis’”—you complete with imaginary quotes in the air—“the best way possible. Sometimes you need a complete twist to turn things into instant hits.”

“No, you do not get it.” Chan started pacing back and forth against his daunting ceiling-to-floor windows that added to his gravitas. “We have a strategy in place. We had A&R build up the year and execute plans to maintain this status quo. I have a board of directors to answer to with this whole fiasco.”

“Why do you keep calling it a fiasco when it isn’t? Honestly, I find this so funny. I should be the one worrying about investing in our highest-paid actor working with a virtually unknown director, but I’m not. Because I believe in what they are creating.”

“Fine. Then you have the privilege of telling me I’m wrong. Just make sure that I don’t end up saying to your face that I told you so.”

“You won’t. If there’s any risk that would be good to take for this year, it’s this.” Your words force Chan to halt his pacing, his eyes piercing into yours. You feel a shift in the already rising tension, but you push on. “Risks can be high-yield, and this one will pay off."

“Risks,” Chan says with a scoff. "You talk to me now about risks when we already have everything in place. You, of all people. I didn’t think you would be the type to take risks. I distinctly remember otherwise."

Fifteen years before The Beginning—

“Lee Chan.” You confront him, gathering up all the strength you have in your body to hide the true emotions on your face amidst the chill.

Chan couldn’t meet your eyes. He was standing in the glow of the streetlight, a contrast to the dull city lights and the vast darkness of the Han River. When he bowed his head, it looked like he was under an interrogation lamp.

“You ask me to meet you here as if nothing happened and now you’re silent.” You looked at him with eyes of contempt. “Why did I even expect any different? How typical of you to call me out here in the middle of the night expecting things to be the way it was before. As if you didn’t just disappear from my life with no explanation months ago.”

“I already told you why I had to do that—”

“No, you still don’t get it!” Your raised voice was enough for him to lock his gaze with yours. You knew that your eyes gave off the fire of someone in pain, but you did not expect to see…emptiness in his.

You exhale in exasperation before you continue. “I will not accept that pathetic excuse. How difficult is it to send a single text? How simple is it to just ask me out to coffee to tell me something important? You know I’d drop everything for you in an instant.”

“You say that now. But would you really? Drop everything?” Chan replied, his quiet voice a stark contrast from yours. “I told you it was a risk—this was a risk. You knew it from the start, yet you said yes.” His exterior was calm, but his words had a bite to them.

“A risk can only be so calculated.” You try to match his tone, but it only made you sound desperate and helpless, as if he was your only lifeline when you tried to fight against this very idea. Frustrated tears threatened to fall. “Channie, you left me alone, left me unheard. Where were you?”

You remain silent, angrily wiping away the tears to clear your blurry vision. He opens and closes his mouth several times, rearranging the words in his head at light speed. In truth, he had no idea what else he could say to better the situation. “You know where. Couldn’t you just have trusted me?”

“How can I trust you when the first thing I hear about you in six months is a dating scandal from a tabloid?” You paused, lost in your disillusionment. “I didn’t even know you were so close to debuting.”

“LMNT Studios and Dove Entertainment’s Top Trainees and Rookies Have a Wild Night at a Private Party”

“Project LMNT’s Dino and Dovetail’s Yume Caught Cozying Up in Hongdae”

This was the news that popped up as soon as you opened your phone on that fateful morning. If it weren’t for the name of Chan’s company and trainee project in the headline, you wouldn’t have cared for it otherwise. You didn’t even know he had a stage name already.

Before this, there had been nothing but radio silence from Chan’s end, nothing from him to disprove any of the claims that had been made. The pictures were all the evidence you needed.

Your life had been derailed since that day. You were messing things up at school and at work. Your teachers and your boss were reprimanding you. Your parents were dreadfully worried. And you couldn’t tell any of them the true reason why.

You knew it would be difficult to see an idol trainee. Now you see that you had bitten off way more than you could chew.

“They disbanded the trainee project, if you must know. All because some stupid paparazzi took a photo that wasn't even supposed to get out.”

“But it still happened.”

“Y/N, she's a friend! I've known her since I started as a trainee.”

“You never told me about her.”

“But you know that there are just some things I can’t always tell you.”

“So you decided to just ghost me for months, then. That was your solution? You could’ve just told me that you wanted to end things, Chan. That would’ve been way simpler and easier. Might’ve even hurt less.” The sarcasm dripped from your voice, but you couldn’t help it. Everything was hurting at this point.

“Look, I’m sorry. I just—I don’t know what I’ve been doing and…I’m just so damn tired all the time—”

“You could have told me, Chan! Don’t you get it? You’re tired, I’m tired. That’s life. You try working double shifts on weekends with a full load of schoolwork on the weekdays.

“You get paid to be tired doing what you love. I get paid shit for doing anything just to make ends meet, and all you do is complain.”

Stop it, you think, you’re going too far. Stop now. But you couldn’t—the floodgates had been forced open. 

“Oh, don’t you start this on me. You don’t get to compare how we ended up when you chose that life for yourself, just as much as I chose mine. I can’t take this.” With a disgusted look on his face, Chan started walking away.

To you, it seemed like he was walking away from everything you two ever stood for.

“Fine. Leave. You’ve had everything easy anyway, right? Everything just falls into your lap, whatever you choose. If I got everything so easily, I guess I can just throw things away just as easily.”

That made Chan stop in his tracks. “Throw things awa—how dare you?” A scoff escaped his lips as he turned around to face you again. “Easy? How was anything easy? You think money and fame can get you everything easy?

"How dare you, Y/N. As if you weren’t there. As if you didn’t bear witness to every single day where the only thing I gave away was blood, sweat, and tears to get to where I am today.”

“I was there, Chan. I was. Then you shut me out.”

“You really think I left you? You don’t know what it’s like to be left alone every single day of your life. People only come when the lights are shining on you. But when the lights are gone, they just leave and go back to the shadows.”

“Just like the way you’re leaving me now?”

Upon hearing those words, Chan softened his edges. He couldn’t deny the tears building up in his eyes anymore. So he decided to close the gap between the two of you instead.

Tentatively, he reached for your hand, and he hoped against hope that it could convey all that he truly wanted to say—even if he didn’t know what those were.

But at this moment, when you would usually feel how close his warmth would be whenever you two touched, all you thought was that he could not be farther away from you than he already was. It’s all for show at this point, you think.

“I’m not your enemy, Y/N. I’m just asking you to keep taking this risk. Couldn’t you do that for me, for us?”

“I can’t risk any more than I have if you’ve proven that you’re only a risk on yourself. I’ve already wasted enough years of my life chasing after someone I should’ve known wouldn't give a fuck about me in the end.”

You let go. “Goodbye, Chan.”

You walked away. And he let you go.

One year after The Beginning—

You were right. You were goddamn right. And Chan was wrong.

And if he’s proven wrong, he knows when to give up a fight.

If there’s anything that hasn’t changed over the years, he realized, it’s that you are a good director. Even though you weren’t directing high school films anymore, you were directing command over a team that knew how to do their job right for you to make the right decisions.

It shows maturity, experience, expertise—things Chan isn’t sure he has right now with his position.

He's overlooking the balcony down toward the red carpet with the Han River as its backdrop, reflecting the lights from tonight's movie premiere afterparty. From above, he sees the stars of tonight's show: Vernon Chwe and his film director, a rising icon from the indie scene whose talent has now finally gotten the spotlight it deserves. 

Seeing them arm-in-arm and their eyes meeting each other every so often, he could see that what he initially saw as a scandal turned out to be mutual respect for their respective artistry. It was unmistakable to see the affection they had for each other—maybe it was even on the verge of something deeper and truer.

He used to walk down red carpets like this, mostly alone, usually with fellow labelmates and unit members, but never with someone on his arm. Such was the life of an idol, one he can never escape, no matter where he goes.

Idly, he allows himself to daydream about what would have happened if things turned out another way—if maybe he did things differently, said things differently.

Maybe that one night with you all those years ago would've turned out different. Maybe it could've been you two arm-in-arm on this red carpet.

Maybe…

Maybe he should stop. This is all futile anyway.

“Congratulations, Mr. Lee.” He looks back to see you enter the balcony with two glasses of champagne in each hand. “The first successful movie premiere under your belt.”

He lets out a self-conscious laugh. “I believe the recognition should all go to you, Ms. Y/L/N. Congratulations.” He grabs the glass that you were offering and raises it toward you. He waits.

“This must be the first time you’ve shown me such kindness.” You drink from your glass without meeting his. This doesn’t escape him. Smirking, he sips the champagne from his own.

Chan chooses his next words carefully. “I’d say the same to you, but you’d deny it. As always.” You roll your eyes at him, even though he was right.

“And as promised,” he continues, “you have the privilege of telling me I’m wrong. Go ahead, I won’t hold it against you.”

You give him a questioning yet smug look. “I’d rather tell you that I am right, as expected. I know what I’m doing, Chan. There’s a reason why the board chose me as part of their risk management committee, and not you. Sorry.”

“No offense taken.”

You both stand in silence, equally unsure where to bring this conversation. The past few months had been civil, to say the least. Since that tense standoff in his office before that ended with you storming out, and him having no choice but to give the final sign-off on the documents to proceed with the project, you both avoided any other opportunity to be alone with each other.

It proved to be easier than expected, given that both of you had business partners, teams, directors and producers, and a lot more people to busy yourselves with. Both of your secretaries had learned how to work with each other very well—if any message could be coursed through them, you two would do it.

What you both didn’t admit, which was plenty evident as time went on, was that you needed each other. The same still held true after all these years: you two worked better together. The whole company could see that your strong voices, while attempting to drown each other out, instead complemented each other in every key meeting and discussion.

This brought Sebong Corp to a whole new high as seen in both company stocks and public sentiment. Your joint presentation during the last board of directors meeting was applauded for innovation toward a fresh new direction for the company. Equal praises were given, but the board directed more compliments to the CEO.

But Chan knew, deep down inside him, that everything would not have been possible if it weren’t for you—who knew the ins and outs of the company and the industry, how to manipulate the data and navigate negotiations. He was just Sebong Corp’s shining star executive who could sway the room with his carefully practiced charm. But you were the mind and the heart, the true talent of the company.

In this rare moment alone with you, he wonders how he can best package all those sentiments into a statement palatable enough for you to accept. Especially coming from him. He is still plenty convinced that you hate his guts.

“Can I tell you something plainly? Off the record. Work hours are officially over anyway.”

Chan is caught off guard by your casual tone. What surprised him even more was how you sounded unsure, tentative, almost trying to mask what he might consider as vulnerability. He hums in approval.

“You might not think you’re doing well, but you are. This is coming from someone with years in the company, okay? Yeah, you’re not perfect, but no one is. For what it’s worth, I see what you’re doing.”

“What are these high praises I’m receiving all of a sudden?”

“You’re almost a year into this CEO business. As your CFO, it’s also my job to tell you if you’re doing a shit job. And you’re not. Especially for someone with virtually no corporate experience to speak of.”

“I would never have survived this without you. You know that, right? You don’t give yourself enough credit for saving my ass how many times, so thank you.” A beat. “I know that you expected to be CEO before I came into the picture. I believe you should’ve.”

You shrug. “That’s life.” And he senses it, how you’re starting to close off again. Wrong move, Chan. But he takes his chances.

“Can I tell you something plainly, then?” You nod.

“I admit that I regret a few things. No, a lot of things. Most of all, I regret how I treated you.”

It takes you a while to realize what he’s talking about, but it becomes evident that he isn’t talking about your professional business anymore. The laugh that came from your lips was humorless. “Isn’t it too late for all of this, Chan?”

“It’s never too late to offer a proper apology to someone who deserves it.”

“I’ve made peace with our past a long time ago. It’s really not that big of a deal anymore.”

“I don’t think that’s true. The fact that you’re being defensive like this says otherwise.”

“I’m not defen—” He cuts you off with a raised eyebrow, sipping from his champagne as if waiting for you to finish. You drink from your glass and busy yourself with flippant nonchalance.

“Y/N.” You meet his eyes despite the fear of seeing someone else, a younger version of Chan that you could never run away from. “I’m on your side, you know? Trust me, I’m not your enemy. I never have been, and I don’t want to be.”

I’m not your enemy.

With a single sentence, he managed to bring you back to a time years ago when you two didn’t know any better, when feelings took over rationale, and when you both held up your egos rather than opening up space for understanding. You were both young.

“I realized that eventually. We were just two hurt people hurting people. Especially the ones they love.”

“Or loved?” He furrows his eyebrows as he looks to you from his respectable distance, but your gaze is far away, reaching across the other side of the Han River.

“It’s possible to love someone still, in a different way or form, or maybe in a sort of bottled-up memory of the love you once had. You can never take away someone’s right to love you.”

Chan says his next words, attempting yet failing to hold his tongue. He can taste the bitter hope that they contained. “What are you saying?”

“You know how a river just flows? There are days when it's strong, desperate, rushing nonstop, and there are days when it’s nothing but calm. Don’t you feel that way sometimes?”

You continue with a laugh. “It’s also funny how we keep ending up at the same place, too—by a riverside, as if telling us that we’re like two rivers just running parallel to each other with our own forces, both hot and cold, fast and slow, attempting to converge but failing to do so.”

Chan lifts a corner of his lips. “Since when were you this poetic?”

“Since I went to therapy,” your tone is matter-of-fact. “If I could, I’d charge you some of those bills.”

Chan shuts his eyes and purses his lips, a slight smile showing. “I do not know what to reply to that.”

“You don’t have to.”

You down the remaining contents of your champagne glass before you continue. “I hope this is the last time we ever speak of this.”

Chan looks at you, and you hold his gaze. And you both finally see, almost hear it.

Everything that was left unsaid.

And you both understand.

“We’re okay, Chan,” you say. “We’ll be okay.”

You hold out your hand. He takes it, his grasp firm. You exchange this formal handshake as a means to resolve all that is left. You both don’t deny how it lingers by fractions of seconds for it to be purely professional.

When he lets go of you, he smiles softly. “I never got the chance to congratulate you properly.”

“What do you mean? You just did.”

He nods toward your hand, and you know what he’s talking about in an instant.

“Ah. Seems we were both too busy antagonizing each other to even celebrate anything.”

“They're lucky to have you. I'm serious.”

The glint of the small crystals on your finger catch your eyes. And maybe for the first time since you two started working together, the curve that ghosted your lips was a genuine one.

“Thank you, Chan.”

The Ending—

You sit at your desk waiting, anticipating the notification. You had just sent the email a few minutes ago. Now, you’re just waiting for him to finish reading it for sure.

Ping. The notification sound popped up on your phone.

CEO Lee Chan 💬 please come to my office immediately.

You take a deep breath and start making your way to meet him. You expected this day to come, but maybe a bit later than sooner. Still, you brace yourself for the conversation you were about to have.

A knock on his door and you push on the handle, stepping inside to see him settling down on his seat. He was wearing a bespoke suit, tailor-made to let him look his smartest. He just came from a pivotal business meeting for the company—a potential partnership that could spell major change. You would know, because you were the one who set it up.

It was about time Chan met with Carat Company’s CEO Jeon Wonwoo. You’d been wanting to secure this deal for years now, but he was too busy dealing with Sebong Corp this past year to probably even think about this. So you took matters into your own hands to turn this rivalry into something more productive for both companies.

Apparently, he knew their Head of Legal, so when your executive team met them for lunch, they hit it off quickly. Mr. Jeon and the rest of their team were thankfully receptive to the presented proposals.

It’s just a shame that you won’t be around to see things through.

“Y/N-ssi. We were just together for that business lunch. Did you really need to write an email before telling me about this?”

You shrugged. “You know me. I follow protocol. HR will kill me if I don’t, and you know how much a pain in the ass Minghao can get.”

“You didn’t even state a reason in your email. I thought we were past this antagonism. We’re okay, right?” He drops this so casually, but in reality, he was shaken to his core.

“Yeah, but I knew you’d want to speak with me anyway. So I’m here.”

“Why are you resigning?”

You give him a bittersweet smile as you sit in the upholstered chair in front of his desk. “I’d like to move on.”

He blinks. “Maybe you can be a bit more specific here. You’re not giving me much to work with right now, Y/N.”

“I know. But you have to understand this wasn’t an easy decision for me to make either.” Your tone is calm in an attempt to break this news gently.

He waits in silence for you to continue. This is an executive tactic of his that you know well. So you have no choice but to follow.

“I’m moving to the US with my fiancé. He was reassigned to California, and I would like to go with him.”

It was your turn to wait in silence as Chan took in this information. He leaned back on his chair with his arms crossed, studying you first, then a distant point to your side interchangeably.

When he speaks again, it’s slow and careful. “Have you accepted any offers there already?”

“Not yet, but I’ll be looking.”

“Why not stay here for a few months with us while you’re still looking for a job?”

“I told you. I’d like to move on.”

His words are measured when he continues. “Your fiancé knows we work together, right?”

“Yes, Chan. He knows everything. Even the past.” When he remains silent, you add, ��And no, that’s not the reason why I’m leaving.”

“Then what is?” He’s struggling to understand. He’s not only losing a key asset of his company, but he feels like he’s losing you again.

He mentally slaps himself. What was he thinking? You were never his to lose anyway. Not anymore.

“I’ve been working non-stop since university—with school and my part-time jobs. I’ve been working to stay with this company for most of my professional life—more than seven years at this point. But I think I’ve reached the point where I need to distance myself physically from my current life for things to make sense again.”

“Do things not make sense while you’re working here?”

“It’s not just this job, Chan.” You pause. “Why did you accept this CEO offer?”

“Out of familial obligation,” he deadpans.

“No, beyond that. I know there’s more to it than that. Whatever that is, it’s the same for me. Shouldn’t you know by now that we’re more alike than I’d want us to be?”

As always, you were right. Chan understands. “Alright. Then let’s leave it at that. I don’t think I can do much about it, can I?”

“I’m really sorry, but you can’t. No offer you have will make me stay.”

“Not even if I offer you the CEO role?”

You sit up straighter at his statement. “Why would you do that? Besides, you can’t even.”

“I can endorse someone. I’m still a part of the board as the CEO.”

“Do you really want to leave, though? I just told you that you’re doing well. You don’t have to prove anything to anyone.”

Chan knows the answer to that question. He missed being onstage, but it seems that his roots proved him to be someone who should lead. Just as yours proved that you could return to your first love: stories.

“So what now?”

You take in a deep breath. “Hmm, I’m not sure yet. For the first time in my life, I won’t be working for a while. I’d also like to take this time to rest and focus on the ‘moving my whole life to the US’ aspect of things for now.”

He nods slowly, accepting the finality of your statements. “Okay. Let’s schedule a few meetings then. Minghao will need to hear about this before anyone else, so I suggest you meet him right now if he’s available. I’ll also need to make a few calls to look for a potential replacement.”

He stands from his seat, which you take as a cue to this conversation’s end. He holds out his hand for you to shake, one that you return. And you both deliberately let your hold on each other linger. Who knows when the next time will be?

“Thank you, Y/N. For what it’s worth, it was definitely a pleasure working with you. Until next time.”

He grabs his phone to make those said calls. We move on, as you mentioned. On to the next.

“Chan-ah.”

He looks up at you. Your hand was on the handle, ready to leave.

“We were never enemies. I’ll always be on your side. I’m rooting for you.”

“You too.”

You both smile.

[thediamondlifenetwork]

kiss proof

pairing: dk x gn!reader wc: 0.4k genre:: fluff (a/n): this is a request by (@teddy0809) thank you for the cutest idea ever!! lipstick tests + seokmin being all soft and giggly?? yes please. i had way too much fun writing this one hope you like it!

“Okay. This one’s called Endless Cherry Kiss.” You hold up the tube dramatically like it’s some sacred artifact. Seokmin, sprawled across your couch in a sweater two sizes too big, squints at it.

“Endless?” he echoes, poking his cheek. “Like, endless kissing?”

You ignore the way his ears go a little red and nod seriously. “We’ll see if it’s worthy.”

He sits up straighter, already bracing. His cheeks are a watercolor painting of reds and pinks, each smudge more enthusiastic than the last. Lipsticks are scattered across the table in front of you like little soldiers who’ve already lost the battle.

You apply the new shade carefully, then turn to him. “Ready?”

Seokmin smiles—big and bright and totally unbothered by the growing lipstick museum on his face. “For you? Always.”

You lean in and kiss his cheek, soft and quick.

Both of you pause.

He blinks at you, hopeful. “Did it… work?”

You lean back and squint. “Nope.”

Seokmin pouts immediately, lifting a finger to the new cherry print. “You said this one was endless. I feel lied to.”

You burst out laughing as he flops backwards with a dramatic sigh, arms splayed out like he’s been emotionally betrayed. “We’ve tested twelve,” he says. “Twelve! That’s, like… a dozen kisses!”

“I can do math,” you tease, picking up another lipstick.

He peeks at you with a small grin. “I’m just saying… if we don’t find a kiss-proof one, I wouldn’t be that upset.”

You glance at him, cheeks warm. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he whispers, eyes soft now. “This is kinda my favorite experiment.”

You pause. Then lean in and kiss the tip of his nose.

“Mine too,” you admit.

“…That’s gonna leave a mark, huh?”

“Yup.”

“Good.”

~~~

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[thediamondlifenetwork]

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the first move

Your VIP guest needs help, and as his personal concierge, it’s your job to give him whatever he wants.

wc: 12.5k 🤢 tags: pwp (i say even tho it has a monster wc and i already have an entire story marinating in my head for these two) cw: maldives joshua, fem!reader, imbalanced power dynamic (reader is serving joshua as his personal concierge during his stay at the hotel she works at) but everything is consensual, joshua is a solo pop star (not an idol), whipped as usual (pls never expect anything else from me tbh i’m wholly incapable of writing a man who’s not completely and helplessly wrapped around a woman’s finger) smut warnings: dom!joshua, ish?, unprotected piv, semi-public sex? it’s a suite on a private beach but technically any boats could just zoom by i guess?, pool sex, kink negotiation, sir kink, color system (and use of the color red), hair pulling, light degradation, fingering, oral f. receiving, breath play, edging, spanking, dacryphilia if you squint, spitting and before you point out i’m beginning to make a pattern out of svt spitting into mouths idc leave me alone, hickies, doggy style, creampie, cockwarming, scratching hard enough to break skin, brief mention of blood, i think that’s it lmk if not a/n: i remember seeing an article about a couple who had to be hospitalized after having sex in the ocean bc the suction created some kinda vacuum and they got stuck together. so. idk maybe don’t have sex underwater but it’s your life! anyway. here it is. thanks to the anon that motivated me to work on this even if every second was complete torture :) tbh this is probably riddled with typos and mistakes. sorry not sorry bc i feel insane and i just want to be rid of maldives!joshua and i don’t want to have to read this over LMAO. have fun. i guess.

This VIP guest of yours has been quite the enigma for you. You’re used to receiving calls in the middle of the night, insisting you find pizza because your guest is tired of the “weird” (see: properly seasoned) food on the island. Or being forced to be a pack mule, lugging all of their unbelievably expensive belongings around as you follow them and watch them do random activities that don’t require any of the shit you’re carrying. Or being treated like an executive assistant, looking over your VIP’s schedules, fielding calls they keep forwarding to your desk, or even making calls on their behalf—both personal and professional. And you do it all with a smile since it means a tip almost twice your whole month’s pay because these people are so rich, they don’t even know what constitutes as an appropriate tip (and you’re not going to correct them).

But Joshua Hong is unlike any other VIP guest you’ve served before. He definitely demands almost all of your time the same way everyone else has in the past, but the difference is he manages to ask hardly anything of you at all. Which is bizarre because you’re the resort’s VIP concierge, and it’s literally in your job description to do whatever he asks—within reason, of course.

He doesn’t seem to care, though; the man is determined to simply monopolize your time and presence. It’s always the same: he calls for you with some vague variation of “I need help”, and you’ll make your way to his multi-bedroom water suite, where he’ll claim to have forgotten what he wanted but insist you stay in case he remembers (he does not). Or he’ll ask you for your opinion on something like his shirt and insist that’s all he needed but maybe you should hang around in case he needs an opinion on something else. Or he’ll ask you for a recommendation for dinner, something he could have asked you on the phone—or literally any staff member since the grounds are crawling with them. Then, he’ll ask if you can actually escort him there and when you arrive, he’ll insist on treating you to a meal (something you’ll never turn down, though if Joshua Hong continues to provide for you like this, you’ll have to stop doing groceries to refrain from throwing out uneaten food). 

On multiple occasions, your help was requested to extend his stay, which should’ve been over after three days and is now approaching its third week. 

And if your entire livelihood and career didn’t depend on your utmost professionalism, you wouldn’t mind being needed to this extent because to be frank, your VIP guest is the hottest you’ve ever had. You’re used to hosting men pushing 80 on vacation with their 20-something girlfriends. Or greasy incel entrepreneurs who don’t know how to keep their hands to themselves. Or asshole celebrities with personalities so ugly, you can’t for the life of you find anything attractive about them. You aren’t used to hosting quiet, kind, gentle, and heartbreakingly beautiful singers who ooze and drip sex appeal, leaving a trail of it everywhere they go. So you do mind being needed to this extent. Because every time Joshua calls you, it’s the fight of your life to stay professional. It’s a test of willpower to keep your eyes from wandering below his neck, and even then, his face is so goddamn breathtaking, your mind is constantly going blank. Every time he walks a little too closely and you get a whiff of whatever delicious cologne he uses, your mouth immediately salivates. One time, he brushed your cheek because he said there was a tiny bug on it. You almost fell to your knees right then and there.

You would do something about it in the real world, but it isn’t the real world; it’s your job, and it’s a job that pays stupid well considering the kind of people you tend to. So you have to stay on top of your game, and it would be so much easier to do that if you didn’t have to have direct eyesight of your sexy VIP—if he would just stop claiming to need you at his side virtually at all times.

Of course, that would be too easy, and that simply won’t suffice. Joshua Hong requires your presence, and now, as you stand frozen at the doors leading to his private outdoor deck, watching him watching you, you’ve never resented that fact about him more. 

The singer is seated in his infinity pool, gloriously backlit by the brilliant pink and orange hues of another looming Maldivian sunset that feels impossible to appreciate with him right there. He has both elbows propped up on the wall he's resting against and both eyes glued to you. 

You were used to letting yourself into his suite; he always told you whether or not you should whenever he called you. You were not used to finding him half naked in the pool with his hair wet and slicked back and a tattoo you weren’t aware he even had visible on his bulging bicep. He doesn’t greet you, soft and kind like he usually does; he doesn’t greet you at all. He simply continues to watch you, his fingers skimming and flicking the surface of the water casually like he hasn’t just put you into fight or flight mode.

As nonchalant as he looks, his face belongs to someone else right now—least of all to the pop star you’ve been assisting for the last two weeks. His now heavy-lidded eyes are devoid of any of the joy and warmth they’ve shown you, now several shades darker—not in color but in want. His usually angelic smile is curled into a barely there smirk that makes you feel like he’s taunting you, and something about his posture tells you that he’s entirely, completely done. With what, you’re not sure, but the sudden, dull ache between your legs makes it very clear it wants to find out.

He doesn’t speak, obviously perfectly content with staring you down like you’re prey. The only sounds come from the gentle breeze coming through his suite’s private beach, the tide of the ocean behind him, and the light splish splash of his fingers against the water. When it’s getting to criminally awkward levels of silence, you clear your throat and stiffly force yourself to step away from his room and onto the deck fully. Even then, you stand right by the door like it’s an emergency exit.

“Mr. Hong,” you greet him, bowing your head a little. His smirk only deepens. “You called for me. How can I assist you, sir?”

He hums in thought, the sound deep and rumbling coming from his naked chest. You want to press your hand up against it and see how the vibrations of his contemplation feel. You frown a little at your inner thoughts before schooling your face and forcing your brain to focus. Joshua Hong has made you a mini fortune staying at the resort as long as he has, and if you can manage to finish his trip strong, you’ll have more than enough to cover rent until the end of the year.

“I did call you,” he confirms, nodding slowly. “I’ve called on you quite a bit during my stay, haven’t I?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary, Mr. Hong,” you lie. He’s called you more than any other VIP ever has, and you’ve hosted billionaires that made it their mission to ensure you didn’t get a wink of sleep on their watch. “I’m always happy to help you, sir.”

He snorts, smirk turning a little mean. It makes you feel entirely too warm despite the hotel’s lightweight uniform. 

“Why don’t you take a seat?” he asks and gestures to the chair nearest to the edge of the pool opposite him with a nod.

“A seat?” you practically squeak, feeling a bit too out of control of your hormones to be any nearer to him than you already are. Your willpower already wavers dangerously on a good day. But today? When he looks like this? And is practically burning a hole into you with his eyes? You don’t trust yourself to keep your job if you’re not planted right here, by the exit. “I’m fine, sir. I—”

“Sit down.”

The command in his voice is something you’re not-at-all used to—not with him, and not with any of your other VIP guests. Most of your clients use their overly nice—if not totally inappropriate—schmoozing voice with you. Men who want to butter up their young, female host. Billionaires cosplaying as normal human beings so you feel more comfortable around them. For the entirety of his stay, Joshua Hong has exhibited nothing but an elegant and delicate demeanor, voice never louder than it needs to be. Always as soothing as the very breeze on this deck. Never sharp around the corners, never thick with dominance like it is now.

Your legs are moving, you’re pulling the chair out away from the outdoor table, turning it to face him, and your ass is meeting it before you realize what’s happening. As soon as you’re seated, you can see how pleased he looks and it surprises you to realize it makes you just as pleased to evoke that reaction out of him.

“What can I help you with, Mr. Hong?” you ask again, slowly this time so he hopefully doesn’t hear how labored your breathing suddenly is.

He narrows his eyes at you infinitesimally like he’s studying you, letting silence blanket over the both of you again. Finally, he answers: “I don’t need your help.”

You frown. “But… you called me, sir.”

“And every time I’ve called you for the past two weeks, I never needed your help,” he says frankly. He huffs a laugh out. “I’m a grown man. I don’t need you around to rattle off restaurants to me that I can Google.” He pauses before he apologizes for his snappiness. “Sorry. I seem to be at my wit’s end tonight.”

You believe it. He’s never been so direct and so serious with you before. You almost feel like you’re at the principal’s office getting scolded. You purse your lips a bit to keep it from turning into a confused scowl. 

“I’m not sure what you mean, Mr. Hong,” you say through barely concealed annoyance. What you really want to ask is: Then what the fuck was I coming all the way down to your suite and torturing myself for?!

“Well, what other reason would a man like me want a woman like you nearby?” he asks like he’s spelling it out for a child. 

You fidget a little, as your panties get more and more soiled by the second. You can’t say you didn’t wonder if he called on you because he just wanted you near him, but like anybody else would, you convinced yourself your ego was too big for your own good and that while mind-numbingly sexy, maybe Joshua Hong was also just incredibly useless. Or lonely. Or both.

You clear your throat. “I… um…”

His laugh comes out as a scoff. “Let’s be honest with each other. I’ll go first. I’ve extended this hiatus of mine countless times just to be able to spend more days around you,” he informs you. Your eyes widen at him and he nods like he agrees with something you didn’t even say. “Yeah, I’m still here because of you. Insane, right? I have a world tour to prepare for and instead, I’m still here. In the Maldives. With my entire team’s numbers blocked so they can stop calling me, and I can be left alone to think about all the things I’d do to the hotel’s VIP concierge if given the chance and the time. But I can’t keep putting my life off. I have to get back, and I don’t have the time to wait for you to figure it out anymore.”

The words leave you with absolutely no air, and you briefly contemplate scrambling out of the chair and running back through the door, never to see the singer’s face ever again. 

You are going to lose your job if you stay here, you horny bitch! your conscience screams at you. Against better judgment, you stay seated and settle for squeezing your thighs tightly together.

“I call on you day and night with zero requests for you, I make any excuse to be physically near you, I shower you with compliments and praise, I try to make conversation with you—try to get you to stay around me for as long as possible before you go running back to your office… so it’s either you don’t return my attraction or you’re choosing to ignore me.”

“It’s not that I don’t return your attraction,” you assure him so quickly, you can’t even stop the words before they’re out of your mouth. “I… um, you’re very, uh, kind, Mr. Hong. I thought that’s all that was,” you say honestly. He keeps staring at you so you fill the silence with a more straightforward answer to the question he didn’t ask. “It wasn’t clear to me that you… were staying here because of me.”

He tilts his head at you, drops of water sliding down his skin in that direction, and your intrusive thoughts assault you in a way they never have before. You want to lick the droplets right off his tan skin. You want to lick, suck, bite, and bruise that skin. You want to work hard enough that your sweat mingles with the water on him now. More than anything, you want to shrivel up and die.

You find it unnerving how well he can maintain eye contact. Your gaze keeps flitting from his face, to the ocean, to the floor, to the sky, and back, and each time, he’s still staring at you like you’re all he wants to waste time looking at. 

“I’m at a bit of a disadvantage,” he says, voice so low, you almost miss what he says against the sound of the tide. He doesn’t wait for you to ask what he means. “I can only make my desires so clear before this becomes a client inappropriately harassing an employee who’s being forced to be in his proximity. I’m not going to do something that you’re being paid to grin and bear politely. I only want someone who genuinely wants me back.”

Your mouth opens to respond but you stop yourself. This is your job! the annoyingly responsible voice in your head shrieks. Do not get yourself fired! Your embarrassingly wet cunt is screaming very different things at you, though.

He wants you just as badly as you’ve wanted him this whole time. He wants to touch. He wants to taste. Let him!

“We’re in the grey area. If there’s a first move to make at all… I was never going to be the one to make it,” he states, eyes so deliciously carnal, you want to jump into the pool and eat him right up. “It’s your turn to be honest. So…” he trails off as his gaze rakes your entire frame painstakingly slowly. He only continues when his eyes meet yours again. “With the assurance that you won’t be punished or your pay withheld for turning me down… I want to know. Is there a first move to make?”

“I…” you start, having no idea where that train of thought is going. “I’m…” Joshua doesn’t rush your answer, but his intense attention doesn’t waver either. He patiently waits, eyes fixed on you the whole time as you muster up the strength to say the last thing you want to. “I can’t.” The ache between your legs is agonizing. “This is my livelihood. I’ll… I’ll get fired for doing this… I can’t.”

You think it’s something that should disappoint the singer, but instead, his smirk makes a return, curving up at one corner of his pretty, pink mouth. You realize it’s because even as much as it sounds like one, it isn’t a rejection; it’s a confirmation that you need this just as badly as he seems to. You’re just holding yourself back a tiny bit better than he is.

“You’ll only get fired if someone finds out,” he says, voice raspy with want. “Do you see anyone around that would find out?”

You inadvertently look around. He’s spending five figures a night to stay at one of the most expensive suites at the hotel. It comes with its own building, its own deck, its own dock, and its own private beach. The only boat driving by would be staff coming to his suite. There isn’t anyone here, and there won’t be—not as long as you are. The front desk knows you’re here, and you’d be called over your radio before anyone would dare to show up at your VIP’s suite unannounced. 

“No,” he answers for you, sounding triumphant. Like he just won an argument. “You don’t. So let me ask again.” That dominance from before seeps back into his voice now. “Is there a first move to make?”

You know that realistically, you never had a chance. Resistance was dependent on Joshua Hong never wanting you the way you wanted him. Your willpower could only go so far and if a sexy singer wanted to fuck your brains out before he had to jet back to his unimaginably lavish life, who were you to stop him?

You swallow the dryness in your throat and you give him a small nod.

“I’ll only accept words as consent,” he tells you. The authority in his voice tightens the already wound up coil in your lower abdomen.

“Yes,” your mouth answers even as your brain struggles to fully register what he just said. “There’s a first move to make.”

“Good,” he says like there was always a right and wrong answer and you just chose correctly. “Then come here and make it.”

You’re up and out of your seat as soon as he commands it. Your hands tremble as you set your phone and the tablet you bring everywhere down on the table behind you. You take your earpiece out, unclipping the radio it’s connected to from the back of your skirt and putting it beside your tablet. You unplug the earpiece and turn the volume up on your radio so you can hear anybody who calls for you on your channel, and when that’s done, you pause to realize that this is truly the last chance you have to leave. After this, you’ll be stuck with any of the consequences you might face for sleeping with your VIP. 

“You can change your mind at any time,” he assures you, obviously sensing your hesitation. “Even if you get in here, even if you let me have my way with you. At any point, if you don’t want this anymore, you can change your mind.”

You glance over your shoulder to look at him. His expression is just as desirous but you can tell he’s being sincere. It’s in the eyes—those eyes that you only realize now tell on him and every thought and feeling he has. You just haven’t wanted to really look at them until this very moment.

“I’m not changing my mind,” you finally decide as you turn away from the table. You walk slowly to the edge of the pool directly in front of him.

His eyes drop to your feet as you carefully toe off your heels, and you thank whoever’s listening that you decided to get a fresh pedicure over the weekend. You slowly undo the side zipper on your skirt and you let it slip to the ground, biting your lip when the ocean breeze meets the heat of your cunt through the thin layer of mesh covering it. Joshua’s stare never wavers and his blank expression never changes, but you know his tell now. You can see how badly you’re wanted through those big, brown eyes.

You unbutton your blouse, and when it’s completely undone, you shrug it off, letting it slip off your arms to join your skirt on the ground. You fight the urge to cover yourself now that you stand in front of him in nothing but your bra and panties (a mismatched pair because your luck ended with the pedicure). 

Joshua hums like he’s mulling over a thought but whatever it is, he doesn’t vocalize it. “Well?”

You lift a foot out of the skirt and place it on the first step into the pool, the water the perfect temperature. Still, you shudder against your will, and you know it’s because you’re now a measly two steps away from a VIP who’s made it clear exactly what he wants to do to you tonight. Your fear of losing your job is quickly turning into an ugly, desperate, and uncontrollable need to be filled. Filled up by Joshua Hong.

You make it down the steps too soon, the water coming up to your waist as you stand in front of Joshua, who’s still as tall as you despite sitting on the seat that lines the infinity wall. 

He leans back against that wall now, water lapping up against his arms and chest as he looks at you, one eyebrow quirked like he’s asking if you’re brave enough to take what you want.

Your answer is to reach forward and rest your hands on his shoulders—so tan and warm and hard—and pull yourself up onto the seat to straddle him, hungrily pressing your drenched, aching cunt to his pelvis. Your hands immediately venture down to his naked chest— so wide and built and solid—and despite the confidence he speaks with, you feel the way his heart beats wildly under your touch. He inhales deeply and slowly, but he makes no move to put his hands on you yet, knuckles turning white as they turn into fists.

“That’s the first and last move you get to make,” he informs you. “Tonight, you’re mine to do whatever I want with. If you agree to this…” his voice gives away how little control he’s holding onto, “I’m going to fucking ruin you.” He swallows before he asks, “You still want this?”

You don’t hesitate to nod. “I want this.”

He doesn’t smirk this time; his mouth is more interested in other things—mainly yours. He reaches up and cups a hand around the back of your neck, gently pulling your face to his. He wraps the other arm around your waist and maintains eye contact with you up until the moment your own eyes flutter shut. Then, his lips are parting yours, his tongue greeting yours, his moans mixing with yours. With how gentle the singer has been the past two weeks, you don’t expect his mouth to move the way that it does. Filthy and greedy. Possessive.

It ignites something in you—feeling like you belong to Joshua, like he’s staking a claim on you. You start to roll your hips into his, your clit aching for any kind of friction he’s willing to give you. You feel him hardening under you, and you try not to quicken your movements even more in excitement.

Suddenly, the hand on the back of your neck dives into your hair and his fist closes around it, not roughly but enough to tilt your head back and have you breaking away from the kiss to look at him.

“Is this okay?” he asks as he leans forward and plants open mouthed kisses up your neck, just barely tightening his fist to let you know he’s talking about the hair pulling.

“Yes,” you breathe. He has a tight enough grip on you that you don’t even try to nod. “God, yes.”

His dick twitches under you and you groan, rubbing your cunt against him. 

“What about spanking?” he asks slowly, his breath hot on your neck. When you say yes, you feel him smile into your skin just before licking the spot. “Degradation?”

“Like what?”

He comes back up from your neck to kiss your lips gently, and when he smiles—genuinely smiles—you see remnants of the man you’ve gotten to know in the last two weeks shine through. “Like… can I call you… a slut?” You instinctively squeeze your thighs. He smirks when he feels you against his own thighs, and you nod.

“What did I say about consent?” he reminds you.

“Yes,” you say aloud this time. “You can call me a slut.”

He kisses you again and it feels like a reward for following directions. You crave even more.

 “Whore?” 

“I… don’t think so.” 

“Okay,” he says easily. “Dirty?”

“Yes.”

“Any words off limits?” he asks, massaging your waist where his hand rests. 

“Uh, can I… can I let you know?” you ask, blinking hard as he goes back to licking up and down your neck, nipping here and there. You can hardly process anything other than that right now.

“Of course, baby,” he murmurs, the vibration of his voice reverberating from his chest to yours. The sensation goes right to your nipples. “And how about… breath play?”

“Choking?” you ask to make sure. You’ve never done most of these; your one-night stands tended to be quick, straight-to-the-point encounters that usually didn’t even involve oral. He nods against you. “Um…”

“You can say no to anything,” he reminds you, relaxing his fingers just a bit to scratch your scalp. You sigh into the soothing sensation, and the hand not currently entangled in your hair drops from your waist in response.

It runs down your side, finding your ass, kneading the flesh there, and pulling your hips even closer to his. You gasp at the friction, and when you instinctively press your chest to his, he fully buries his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling like he’s been waiting for this. 

“I want to try,” you finally answer, “but I don’t know if I’ll like it.”

“Okay,” he says. “Is there anything you like that you want to do?”

All you’ve wanted since Joshua walked onto the resort grounds was for him to be inside you. You never thought beyond that. You shrug. 

“I don’t think so.” 

He nods his understanding, hips bucking up into you as he rolls you onto him with his hand. “We’ll use colors.” All you can do is moan. “Red for stop, green for keep going. Be vocal, okay? I don’t know what you don’t like if you don’t tell me.”

“Yes, sir,” you exhale in a moan. Your eyes widen at the slip and you look at Joshua. “Ah, sorry, force of ha—”

“Don’t be,” he dismisses your apology quickly. “I like it.” He presses his fully hard cock against your clothed hole. “Do you feel how much I like it?”

You wince at how empty you feel. He’s right there. You just need to pull his shorts down, push your panties to the side, and sink down onto him. You nod frantically, pushing as far as the fabric of your panties will allow you to. “I feel it,” you bite your lip before you accidentally call him Mr. Hong. “Yes.”

His fist closes around your hair once more and a lot more roughly this time. You gasp as it causes you to flinch away. He raises his eyebrows at you expectantly.

“Yes, sir,” you immediately correct yourself. He smirks.

“You catch on so quickly, don’t you?” he asks, keeping you pulled off of him. “Such an obedient, little slut.”

His first use of the word sends a thrill down your spine that has you arching into him. But when you do, he tightens his hold on your hair, keeping you in place. He takes advantage of the little space it affords him, and he brings his free hand to your wet heat, two fingers pressing down on your clit hard. 

You inhale sharply and when you try to move your hips further into his hold, he gives your hair a soft tug that reminds you of your place. 

“Uh uh,” he mutters, eyes glued to where his fingers meet your pussy. “I was just calling you a good girl. You don’t want me to have to take my words back, do you, baby?”

You shake your head as much as his hold will allow. “No, sir.”

“Then stop moving and let me do the work.”

He rubs harsh circles into your clit and your eyes shut on their own accord, mouth falling open as your release builds swiftly and mercilessly in the bottom of your stomach. You hold onto his shoulders like that will help you from falling into the abyss of pleasure he’s pushing you into. Your nails start to dig into his skin but he doesn’t stop you; in fact, it seems to invigorate him because he finally shoves your panties to the side, sliding his pointer and middle fingers into you easily, his thumb continuing to work your clit as he pumps in and out.

You can’t help but cry out at the feeling of being full, even if it isn’t what you want to be filled with. Upon hearing the sound, his fingers reflexively tighten at the nape of your neck but immediately relax back to their previous grip, relieving your scalp of the sudden burn it brought on. 

“And edging?” he asks suddenly, voice husky and mean. You open your eyes and look down at him to find him smirking up at you now, his fingers unrelenting as he speaks. “Green or red?”

“Oh god, please,” you whine, already knowing what’s coming next. You try to tamp down the need to grind harder—hide how close you are from him because if he knows, he’ll just stop.

“Green,” he repeats, voice dangerously calm, “or red.”

“Guh—” the word devolves into nonsense as he starts to rub the sensitive, ridged spot inside you. 

“Words,” he grunts, hips inadvertently bucking up into your ass again.

“Gree-gr—” The word isn’t even fully formed in your mouth, or your brain for that matter, before Joshua is taking his thumb off your clit and letting his fingers go still inside you. You groan, this time in frustration, your hips relaxing against him as you fail to reach your orgasm. 

Joshua releases his hold on your hair and you let your head loll forward, forehead resting on his bare shoulder as you breathe heavily. 

“Mean,” you pant. He chuckles, running his free hand up and down your back soothingly like he didn’t just violently rip an orgasm out of your grasp. 

He gently removes his fingers from your cunt, and before you can fidget and get your panties back into place, he’s pushing your hips away from him until you’re standing waist-deep in the water again.

“Are we… done…?” you ask dumbly. 

Joshua laughs the same way he’s laughed at your polite jokes or the way he’s laughed at himself stumbling over his own feet while playing tennis. His eyes crinkle in the corners and his mouth opens in a big smile—far too lighthearted and cute for the current situation at hand. 

“No,” he says when he finishes laughing at you. He stands along with you and cups your face before kissing you hard. When you break apart, he assures you, “We haven’t even started.”

His hands find your waist once more, but instead of holding you there, they immediately move on to your panties, shoving them down your hips and over your ass. When he can’t push them any further without dunking his head underwater, he settles for unhooking your bra, and even though you know there isn’t anyone around, you instinctively press yourself against him to keep yourself covered. He laughs again, wrapping an arm around you tightly, and you feel the vibration of his laughter against your breasts. You press your bare pelvis to his (still annoyingly clothed) at the sound.

“Mmm,” he hums as he reaches down and squeezes your ass again, welcoming the press of your heat against his. “Shy? I told you, no one’s here, baby.”

“I know,” you breathe, though you make no move to give him space.

“Though…” he trails off as he leans back enough to have a better view of your chest. His finger comes up to graze your nipple, smiling when he sees your reaction to it. “I bet a slut like you wouldn’t mind an audience, would you, baby?”

You blush fiercely imagining anyone seeing you get absolutely railed by Joshua Hong. You don’t respond at all because admitting that the idea of it excites you would be so dumb of you as someone who was just terrified of getting caught not even a full ten minutes ago.

“Bet you’d get off on the thought of someone seeing you getting fucked as hard as I’m about to fuck you,” he whispers, catching your nipple between two fingers now and tugging roughly. You hiss at the sensation. “Acting all shy, but I know you’d love for everyone to see how well you take me. How hard I’ll make you come.”

“Joshua…” you breathe.

His hold on you tightens and his eyes snap up to you, his teasing with your nipple completely forgotten. “Say that again.”

It dawns on you then that it’s the first time you called him anything beside Mr. Hong or sir.

Even though you get the feeling you should ask for permission to do anything at all, you can’t help but lean forward and catch his lips with yours, and thankfully, he doesn’t step away or tell you you’re not being good. He eagerly returns the kiss, tongue diving into your mouth like its second nature. When you part, you make sure to be as filthy as possible when you moan: Joshua.

For the first time, you see his control slip, his eyes suddenly wild and frenzied as he shoves his own swim shorts down and kicks them away from the two of you. You try to catch a glimpse, but he gets to work immediately, blocking your line of vision to his dick.

He starts kissing his way down. Down your neck. Across your clavicles. Down to your chest. Tongue swirling around your nipple as he cups his hand around you and  pushes your breast up and into his mouth. Down between the valley of your tits, down your sternum. You think he’s done because any lower involves going underwater, but you’re proven wrong again. He takes a deep breath against your skin before he sinks under the surface of the water, and you jerk when you feel him kiss past your belly button, and down to just above your cunt. Without meaning to, your hands go into his hair, not to restrain him or pull the way he did, but to keep you from floating outside of your body, which you’re convinced will happen at any moment.

He doesn’t breach the surface even when your hands turn into fists, and you feel his fingers hook into your panties and pull them the rest of the way off, sinking deeper and away from your hold so he can kiss down your legs as he removes your underwear from each. And instead of coming back up like you again incorrectly predict he will, he wastes no time burying his face between your legs, his thick arms parting them and lifting up so that you fully come out of the water, squealing a little at the sudden movement and the bite of the breeze as it caresses your skin where the water was keeping you warm. 

You sway to keep your balance, but Joshua doesn’t let you go anywhere. You’re seated right on his biceps, legs wrapped around his head as he presses his hands into the small of your back to keep you on his mouth. You gasp and arch your back before rolling it forward when you feel his tongue slide between your folds until it finds your clit. The movement sends your cunt further into his mouth, but he doesn’t stop or complain. He walks a few steps to the edge of the pool opposite the infinity wall.

He gently lowers you so that you’re seated on the concrete, your feet submerging back into the water. He pushes your legs open wider, until they fall off his shoulders and you’re leaning back on your palms to spread for him. Then, he’s devouring you like he hasn’t eaten in years. 

Joshua’s mouth is delectably hot when it fully envelopes your clit properly this time, tongue spiraling around it feverishly. He makes out with your pussy just as well as he does with your mouth—maybe even better—and it quickly knocks you off your hands, forcing your back to meet the ground as it arches in sheer pleasure.

He pauses briefly to look up at you through heavy lidded eyes and with that voice that makes your legs quiver, he orders: “Say it again.”

You open your mouth to say his name but he continues putting his tongue to work and all that comes out is a depraved moan. He slips a finger in you and hooks it, rubbing the spot inside you once more. 

“Say it,” he practically barks this time, refusing to return his mouth to your clit until you say it. 

His finger rubs the spot aggressively, and you feel tears begin to run down the side of your face and into the concrete beneath you. It feels like he never edged you to begin with—like your orgasm had been building up that entire time and is now coming back tenfold.

“Joshua,” you whimper, thinking that’s not how he wants to hear it, all pathetic and needy like this, but he groans in response, pleased and bending back down to reward you. When the heat of his tongue is back on you, your hips buck into his face and you warn him, “Joshua… going to… I’m going to come.”

“Go ‘head, baby,” he mumbles without lifting his mouth off of you. He adds another finger and your hands close tightly around nothing. “I’ve got you. Come for me.”

You’re not sure what it is about being reassured that Joshua is holding you through it, but the safety you feel pushes you the final few strides, and your orgasm crashes into you like a violent wave. 

“Joshua!” You’re not sure if it’s a shout or a moan, but either way, the man responds to his name and works you through the height of it, his tongue and fingers simultaneously slowing when your pussy starts to unclench, calming down to small spasms around Joshua. 

When he’s sure it’s passed, he removes his fingers and pokes his tongue into your hole, causing your legs to tighten around his head. He doesn’t remove you, though, too lost in tasting your climax. You moan through it, tears still steadily streaming down your face as you start to venture into overstimulating territory. He seems to sense that, though, removing his tongue from you—but not before licking up and down your slit like your cum is a delicacy he doesn’t want to go to waste.

“Joshua,” you pant, chest heaving as you stare up at the sky above you. You can’t find the energy to sit up and look at him so you settle for closing your eyes and saying his name once more.

It isn’t until you feel the warmth of the water embracing your body again that you realize the singer has carefully brought you back into the pool with him, taking it upon himself to wrap your legs around his waist and keep you close to his chest. He kisses the tears in your eyes gently before going straight to your lips. He tastes like you and chlorine. It’s slow and sensual and not-at-all hurried or desperate the way the others have been, and somehow, that gets you even wetter. It feels like Joshua no longer fears not having enough time with you. It feels like he has the luxury of having too much time with you—like he can kiss you forever and not have to go anywhere or do anything or be anyone. 

“You taste unreal, by the way,” Joshua mutters against your lips between kisses. “So much better than I thought you would.”

“You thought about this?” you ask, resting your forehead against his. 

He looks at you with zero shame when he says, “Morning, noon, and night. If I wasn’t with you, I was thinking about you, dreaming about you, touching about you.”

“Me too,” you admit. “Wanted you so bad, I dreaded having to see you every day.”

“Oh? And why is that?” he asks even though if his smugness is anything to go by, he knows exactly why. You indulge him anyway.

“I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to control myself,” you say quietly. 

“I’m glad you couldn’t,” he tells you before kissing you again.

Your hips move on their own, grinding against him except this time, you’re exhilarated to feel his dick sitting ready and hard just under you. You sigh and brazenly start to rock your hips back and forth, dragging your clit across the length of his cock, the remnants of your orgasm still sending shocks up your nerves. You continue anyway.

He hums, mouth turning up in a smile. “So needy, hm?”

“Yes, sir,” you openly admit. Now that you have one orgasm out of the way, you’re feeling less ashamed about expressing exactly what you want: more of him. “Needy for you. Want you inside me already.”

He grips your ass so tightly, you think it’ll bruise tomorrow. He releases briefly to deliver a hard spank to the cheek, quickly gripping the spot again to soothe the sting. You jerk into him, gasping as you do.

“Color?”

“Green,” you answer quickly as you continue to use his dick as a toy.

“You’re being a little demanding, don’t you think,” he states more than he asks. “I thought I was the VIP guest.”

“You are,” you agree, applying more pressure to your clit as you roll your hips up his cock. You suppress another sigh. “My VIP guest.”

You’re not sure if Joshua likes you staking your ownership on him because you get no visible reaction from him. All he does is ease his hold on your ass, rubbing slow circles into the flesh he just struck. “I’m going to fuck every last thought inside that pretty head out of you,” he says quietly. “Until all that’s left is my name.”

You clench around nothing. 

He brings you back to the infinity wall, setting you on the seat where you first found him. He cages you in, one hand on the wall on either side of you. 

“I’m going to ruin it for every man that comes after me,” he tells you, nose just barely grazing yours as he stares at your lips. “You’re never going to be loved the way I’m going to love you tonight.” 

You know that “love” means something very different right now. You know that. And still, you see brief flashes of the Joshua you’ve gotten to know over the past couple of weeks and the word stirs something violently inside your chest.

“So then do it already,” you breathe, the anticipation killing you. 

His hand is around your throat in a split second. He doesn’t squeeze, simply tapping his pointer finger against your jugular. “Don’t get mouthy with me now, baby. I’m ready to give it all to you.” He takes your hand and wraps it around his cock, and you moan at the size of him in your grip. “Are you going to be good?”

The hand around your throat squeezes lightly now, his fingertips applying pressure to the sides of your neck. Your breath hitches.

“Color?”

“Green,” you rasp.

He squeezes a little harder. “Are you going to be good?”

You nod, swallowing nothing. He smirks when he feels it under his palm. 

“Words.”

“Yes.” It comes out more mouthed than spoken but he accepts it all the same.

Without sacrificing the pressure around your throat, he takes his free hand and hikes your leg around his waist, the other following naturally. You resist the urge to bring him closer to you, knowing it might push another button and make him decide you aren’t ready for him. So you lock your ankles together over the small of his back, but you don’t move a muscle.

“Tap my forearm twice if you want me to let up, okay?” he tells you, eyes going down to your neck. He lightens his hold just enough for you to whisper you understand before he squeezes again. You close your eyes, trying to breathe through your nose evenly. “We can always stop, baby.” He leans down to kiss your jawline before moving to the corner of your lips. “We can take it to the bed. We can fuck missionary. We can not fuck at all. Just say the word, and we do whatever you want to. Alright?” 

The pressure lifts completely. “Okay. I trust you.”

He kisses you more fully. When he leans back, he brushes strands of wet hair away from your face. “I’m glad. Because I’m going to take such good fucking care of you, baby.”

Then, with both hands, he’s gently lifting your hips up and angling them to meet his. His eyes don’t leave your cunt as he watches the water-blurred shape of his cock start to push into your entrance. You grip his forearm as you stretch around him, and even though he’s not choking you right now, you find it hard to breathe as he inches into you. 

He pauses when your hand squeezes harder. He leans forward to kiss your forehead, his right thumb massaging the crease of your hip. “Doing so well,” he mumbles, eyes shut as he, himself, adjusts to the tightness. 

When he feels you relax a little, he opens his eyes and continues pushing, fully sheathed just moments later. You both exhale forcefully like you’ve been holding your breaths the entire time. He laughs a little at that, and you find yourself smiling too, even though you do feel like you’ve been impaled by his dick.

“You can move,” you whisper when you’re sure you’re not going to die in his arms. He doesn’t waste any time after that.

His cock slowly and carefully drags out of you, not quite all the way, before he thrusts back into you sharply. You gasp at the sensation, most of it a stinging burn rather than pleasure, but you know it’ll be a very different story once you acclimate to Joshua’s size. He keeps his movements shallow like this, only allowing for a slightly deeper thrust every time he feels you relax a little more. You feel like the wind is getting knocked out of you every time his hips slap flush with yours, his balls hitting your ass so forcefully, you think you might be able to come from that alone. By the time Joshua is pulling all the way out before slamming all the way back in, the pain has already evolved into a pleasure so foreign to you, you can’t even wrap your mind around what’s so different this time that you never received in the past.

All you know is that Joshua was right; sex is going to be absolutely ruined with every man that comes after him.

“Joshua!” you gasp as he fucks you relentlessly and recklessly now. His eyes flick up from your pussy to your chest, where your tits bounce in tandem with his every thrust. As if he’s listening to a voice inside his head, he releases his hold on one hip and grabs your breast, massaging it before leaning down to suck a bruise into it. “Oh god.”

Your moans turn downright pornographic as his fingers twist and tug on your nipple, his mouth immediately moving to another spot to bruise. His hips never lose their pace or rhythm as he paints your chest with blooms of purple. 

“Joshua,” you repeat his name, though you don’t know why. He says your name right back at you and you feel it all the way down where your bodies are joined.

“Feel so fucking good,” he groans, releasing your tits and leaning up to bury his face in your neck. He kisses the skin there, merciful enough to refrain from leaving hickies that can get you in trouble at work. “I’ve waited for you for so long. Fuck. Fuck!”

“Joshua, please,” you whine, your nails dragging down his back desperately. 

You aren’t even sure what you’re begging for; he’s as close to you as he can get, but it still doesn’t feel like enough. You want him buried inside you forever. You want to be so filled up with him, you can’t remember what it’s like to go without. You don’t think you’ve wanted anything or anyone else more, and you already have him right now. You don’t know what else he can do, but you know you need it.

“What is it, baby?” he asks, voice hoarse like it’s taking everything in him to have to speak right now. 

“More,” you breathe, hips rising to meet his with even more force. You know your ass will be sore tomorrow. “Please, more.”

He doesn’t ask what you need or what “more” is. He just smirks as he gets impossibly rougher, thrusting into you almost violently, your shoulders getting pounded into the wall behind you. But you don’t care. You need more.

Just as your second orgasm starts to rear its head and you’re about to start chanting “yes” to the rhythm of his thrusts, he slows down considerably until he’s almost at a standstill. You shake your head.

“No…” you whine, trying to use your feet behind him to quicken his pace again. Of course, it doesn’t work.

“What’s wrong, baby?” he whispers as he rolls his hips torturously slowly, the water calming down to gentle ripples with his movement. “You weren’t about to come without asking, were you?”

“No,” you lie.

“No…?”

“No, sir.”

“Good,” he breathes, slipping his hand in between you to massage your clit gently. Your hips twitch and he smiles. “Because then we’d have to punish you, right?” You squirm under him, trying to keep from digging your heels into the small of his back to get him to thrust forward. “You want more?”

You nod frantically. “Yes, please. Yes.”

“Do you think you deserve more?” he asks, his fingers stilling against you as he sheathes himself all the way inside you. 

“Yes, sir.”

“Really?” he asks, his free hand trailing down the side of your face as he continues slowly rubbing your center. “You made me wait almost three weeks… tortured me with that tight fucking skirt.” You groan as you tilt your pelvis. He leaves your clit to hold your hips still. “Uh uh.” 

“Joshua…”

“Shouldn’t I make you wait too?” he asks, ignoring his name. The thought makes you want to sob. “Shouldn’t I show you how it felt? To want someone so bad—someone within reach—and be unable to do anything about it?” 

“I wanted you too!” you remind him, voice embarrassingly dejected and helpless.

“Did you?” he tilts his head at you, staring you down like you’re food. Your nods are frenzied. “If you want more, you have to give me more, love.”

You clench around him at the pet name and he smirks. 

“Tell me more, love,” he says tauntingly, his smile turning triumphant when you clamp down even harder the second time. 

“Since I met you,” you say raggedly. He finally starts to move again—so slow and controlled, you’d be in awe of his restraint if you weren’t so desperate for release. “When I came to welcome you…” 

“I remember,” he says with a roll of his hips.

You had been waiting for him at the boat with one of the drivers, ready to take him to another side of the island, where his private suite awaited. He was dressed in a linen button down and shorts, and as he came up to you, the wind blew his hair and his top back, exposing a little of his stomach. His smile was dazzling and for the first time in your career at this hotel, you were speechless. You stammered. You tripped getting into the boat. You stumbled through your tour of his suite. You forgot to list all the resources available to him. You were screwed from the start. 

“Wanted you to take me right then and there,” you tell him. His pace quickens the tiniest bit at that, and you know exactly what you have to do to get your more. “You walked up to me looking so fucking beautiful—so sexy.” You moan at a particularly hard thrust. “I wanted you to bend me over in half right there. Take me in front of everyone. Fuck me like this and show them all who I belonged to.”

That seems to do it because he finally gives you more, his pace more vigorous, more unforgiving, and more brutal than it originally was. You’re glad he doesn’t ask you to keep going because you’re incapable of speaking when he’s ramming into you like this.

“I would’ve,” he grunts. “All you had to do was ask and I would have fucked you wherever you wanted it.” You gasp as his cock hits an especially sweet spot, and he angles himself to continuously hit it with each thrust. “All you have to do is ask, baby.” He plants a kiss on your lips. “And I’ll give you the fucking world.”

“Joshua,” you near sob. 

“Yes?”

“Please,” you request. If all you had to do was ask, then you were going to. “Please let me come? Please.”

He kisses you again like he’s happy with your corrected behavior. You lean up to chase his lips when he parts with you, but he restrains you, grasping your jaw roughly with a single hand.

“Open,” he commands, his thumb reaching up to part your lips. You suck on it briefly and he exhales hard. He squeezes your cheeks to open your mouth even wider before he leans down, lining his mouth with yours, and you clench hard around his cock as you realize what he wants to do. “Color?”

“Green!” you practically shout at him. His smirk deepens and he leans back once more. His hand moves from your cheeks to your throat.

His lips purse and cheeks hollow for a moment as he swishes a few times. Then, he nods once at you, and you tilt your head up for him, opening your mouth wide, tongue out to make sure you don’t let anything go to waste.

Joshua’s eyes are glued to your mouth before he even does anything. He watches you with darkened eyes, his thumb pressing into the middle of your tongue as he fucks into your cunt harshly. Finally, he lifts his thumb and stretches forward, his hold on your throat tightening and restricting your airflow. His mouth twists into that irresistible smirk as he spits into your mouth. You catch all of it, and when you feel it hit the back of your throat, you both feel how happy it makes you in your pussy. He curses as your walls start to spasm. He presses more weight into his hand until you can hardly breathe, and between his hold on you and the spit, it’s all so filthy and degrading and possessive, it makes you come without warning. 

You cry out as your hips jerk up abruptly. His eyes widen as he feels your orgasm replace his own hold on you. His hand releases you as he looks down where the two of you are joined. 

“Oh fuck, did you just—”

His question is cut off by your broken moans and whimpers, tears once again springing from your eyes as your orgasm rips through your body, absolutely obliterating every nerve on its way up from your pussy.

“Fuck, fuck, baby, stop. Oh fuck,” he gasps, pausing his thrusts abruptly and breathing heavily as he collapses over your chest. He closes his eyes and frowns like he’s concentrating. “Stop squeezing, I’ll come. Stop, holy shit, please stop.”

It’s a far cry from how dominant he’s been this entire time, and it’s a shame the rare moment of power you feel you can’t properly acknowledge or enjoy because of the intensity of your orgasm. 

“I’m trying,” you whimper, breaths coming out in short pants. “Joshua…” you either sigh or sob. You’re not sure. “Shua… feel so good. You feel so good.”

“Oh my god,” he groans miserably against your skin, fully resting his forehead on you now. You would laugh if you didn’t feel like your soul had just been ejected from your body. 

You beg your heart to slow down, for your muscles to relax. As broken as your body feels, you’re not ready for this to be over with him. Even though this is already more than you could’ve ever hoped for, you don’t want it to end here. You want him to do whatever he wants with you late into the night. You want him to deprive you of sleep, food, water. All you need is him. You never want it to stop.

He slips out of you slowly and your tears slide down your face, half from your orgasm, half from the disappointment of being empty once again. Being empty too soon.

“Wait, no,” you whine as he tilts your hips back down so you’re sitting against the wall again. He shushes you with a kiss to your lips.

“Shhh,” he peppers your face with kisses. “We’re not done, it’s okay.” You realize you’re still crying when he presses his finger to the corners of your eyes, catching the stray tears there. “You’re so fucking pretty when you cry under me like this.”

He cups your face to look up at him as he stands over you. When you do, you’re astounded by how beautiful he really is. What you’re more astounded by is that he was inside you just moments ago. Joshua Hong, superstar singer due to start his sold-out world tour in a matter of weeks, was inside you trying not to fill you up with his cum seconds ago.

“I’d have you crying like this every night if you wanted,” he murmurs, thumb caressing your cheek as he holds you. He lets one slip into your mouth again, smirking as he probably thinks about how easy it was to make you come from just a little bit of his saliva.

“I’m sorry,” you grumble when he removes his thumb. He frowns.

“For what, baby? You’re doing so good.”

“For not relaxing,” you say, more tears slipping out of your eyes. “For not letting you continue.”

He snorts, hands going down to your waist. He lifts so that your legs are wrapped around him in the water, his hands rubbing your ass comfortingly. He kisses you slowly before leaning back and smiling.

“You don’t have to be sorry for that,” he assures you. “I just didn’t want to come too early.” He presses his erection into your ass to punctuate his words. You squirm a little. “We still have the whole night.” Your heart races. “The sun is barely setting.”

He glances behind you and you crane your neck around to see. The sun is finally beginning to sink into the horizon. He lets you down and turns you around to face the ocean, pulling you to lean back into him as his arms snake around your waist. You rest your head on his shoulder as you watch the sunset—not the first you’ve watched together, but it will definitely be the most memorable.

The time allotted for sunset viewing on his itinerary is apparently only a few seconds long because almost immediately, he leans down to leave open-mouthed kisses up and down your neck, and his hand comes up to cup your breast and massage gently. 

He brings his free hand to your chin to turn you toward him. His lips are on yours as soon as they’re within his reach, his hand sliding from your face down to your cunt, where he slowly and way-too-gently strokes your clit. Your first moan seems to stir something in him, though, because his touch on your tit and clit both bear down harder. 

You wrap your hand around his wrist, bringing his hand from your chest to your throat, wordlessly asking him for exactly what you want. He chuckles, breathy and disbelieving. 

Without saying another word, he leaves your clit, fingers hooking into your hip to force you into a slight hinge. Then, his cock is pushing back into you in one smooth motion, giving you no chance to gasp when the hand on your throat squeezes simultaneously. He keeps his hand on your hip for leverage, wasting no time pounding into you.

Your thoughts disappear as fast as your breath, leaving you with nothing but the sensation of Joshua’s tip kissing your cervix, keeping you stuffed full of him. 

“You wouldn’t believe my view right now,” he pants, rhythm quickly reaching a fever pitch. “So fucking pretty.”

You try to moan his name but realize you can’t, your airways completely blocked off, his grip on you unyielding. 

“You like being spit on and fucked like this?” he asks, causing your walls to cave in on him. He doesn’t tell you to stop this time, though, his pace just quickening. “Such a dirty fucking slut for me, hm?”

You nod, mouth dumbly opening and closing as you gasp for air. You want to see it through. It feels so good and you want to see it through. You want the both of you to climax like this: literally breathless with his hand around your throat like he owns you as he empties his load into you. But it’s been too long now, and you’re afraid Joshua is getting carried away, too lost in the feeling of his cock dragging in and out of you to notice that your vision is starting to darken around the edges.

Hoping he remembers what he told you, you quickly tap his forearm twice, three times—actually, several times in a row with no intention of stopping—but it’s unnecessary because he releases you immediately. Without his hand to hold you in place against him, you fall forward, keeling over the infinity wall and coughing as air assaults your lungs once more. 

“Red,” you rasp, brain barely catching up with the fact that you’ve already been released. 

“Hey, hey, deep breaths, you’re okay.” His voice sounds far away but his hands are on your back, rubbing it gently.

You don’t know how long you two stay like that, him seated next to your body as it lays limp on the wall, attempting to catch your breath. By the time you finally do, the sun has fully set and the deck, though still doused in a shade of pinkish-purple, is considerably darker. You turn your head to look at Joshua, who’s angled toward you, one arm on the wall propping his head up, the other hooked around you, holding you close. He’s watching you, face carefully blank, but his eyes immediately give away how concerned he is.

“I’m okay,” you say quietly, throat feeling a bit sore.

“Are you sure?” he asks, and your heart squeezes at how guilty he sounds. You nod. “I’m so sorry, baby.” He scoots closer to you and wraps his other arm around you, burying his face in your neck. “I got carried away, but that’s not an excuse. It never should’ve gotten to that point. I know better, and it—”

“It’s okay,” you assure him, shaking your head. “I should’ve said something earlier. I was trying to wait it out.”

“Please don’t ever wait something like that out,” he begs, moving away to look you in the eye and show you how serious he is. “Next time, tell me immediately. You should still be able to breathe! You shouldn’t have to wait anything out!” He seems to realize he’s raising his voice because he pauses for a moment to collect himself.

“Joshua, I—” 

“No, listen to me,” he interrupts, voice calmer now. “This can be really dangerous. I promise I won’t ever lose control like that ever again, but we’re not doing this next time unless you also promise you won’t wait it out. These things only work when we communicate.”

“Joshua, I’m fine—” he throws you a severe look and you hurriedly continue, “but yes, I promise. I won’t wait… next time.” You emphasize the last two words as you say them back to him. He catches on to what you’re doing but doesn’t address it, simply shaking his head and smiling. “Anyway. I’m so s—”

“If you apologize to me right now, you’ll never see me again.” You didn’t even know seeing him again was an option in the first place but you clamp your mouth shut anyway. He smirks. “Good girl. Now come on. Let’s dry off.”

“What?” You hate how whiny you’ve sounded this entire time, but you can’t stop either. “I don’t want to dry off!”

He rolls his eyes. “You’re taking a break and it’s not up for debate. Come on. I have some snacks. We can eat them and watch that movie you were telling me about yesterday.”

You look at him incredulously as he unwraps himself from you and stands. “Are you insane?! I’m not going to watch K-Pop Demon Hunters with you when you should be coming inside me!”

He pauses and looks at you with wide eyes as if he’s the scandalized one. You’re seeing more and more of the original Joshua you’ve been hanging out with the last two weeks now that your poor lung capacity has ruined the mood. 

“Whoa, dirty, dirty,” he murmurs, shaking his head at you.

“Joshua.”

He raises an eyebrow at you and tilts his head slightly. You recognize it as a challenge. “Yes?” 

You open your mouth but falter under his gaze. He grins before stepping toward you to kiss you all too briefly. When he pulls away, his smile is gone and he’s staring down at your lips with dark eyes. 

“Stop mouthing off and get your cute ass out of the pool,” he says, voice low. He looks up into your eyes before he continues. “Or I’m going to edge the fuck out of you until the sun rises.”

You’re out of the pool and wrapped in one of his towels in seconds.

“Look at you,” Joshua mutters as he brings both of his large hands to each of your buttcheeks, spreading them apart just to let go, watching the way your ass jiggles. “Unbelievable.”

You’re on your knees, face pressed down into his pillows, already crying from being edged twice. It turns out there were still consequences from being “a whiny fucking brat” even though you did get out of the pool. Joshua runs his dick along your folds, making lewd sounds as he collects your pleasure on his tip. Your broken moans fill the room.

There’s something even better about sex with him after your brief movie break. Because in those two hours, it was clear he wasn’t just using you as a hole—though frankly, you’re more than happy to be Joshua Hong’s hole. 

But no. He was a perfect gentleman. He dried you off and insisted on showering off the chlorine, gently massaging shampoo into your hair and cleaning you and peppering you with kisses without trying to pull a single move on you. Then, he got you into his clothes, blowdried your hair, and tucked you into his bed while he gathered snacks and drinks, surrounding you with everything that you’ve mentioned liking since meeting him (he was an incredible listener). And as you watched the movie, he held you and laughed at all the right parts, happily replayed your favorite songs, and he even promised he’d learn the songs to sing to you himself.

And something about those two measly hours was doing something to your cunt that you didn’t experience in the pool. It’s as if receiving confirmation that Joshua Hong would be the perfect boyfriend is making sex with him a thousand times more electrifying than it already was.

“What was that you said earlier, love?” he asks, feigning forgetfulness. “Something about wanting me to come somewhere?”

You try to scoff but it comes out as a pained sob. “Please.”

“Was it… on your stomach?” he asks, pressing his tip into your hole briefly before running it back down your folds. You groan. “Your face?” He must see you clench around nothing because he chuckles. “Huh, so you wouldn’t mind the face.”

“Joshua, please,” you pant. 

“What?” he asks meanly. “What does my needy little slut want now?”

“You,” you answer simply. “I just want you.”

The silence that follows is so thick, you wonder if you said something wrong—if your desperation finally turned him off. 

“Joshua?” you whimper, tears sliding down your face.

His cock pulls away from you and you fight the urge to immediately start complaining lest you get edged five more times. His hands are on you, gently turning you over onto your back. You’re naked from the waist down, but you’re still in his shirt since he insisted you keep it on—something about you looking like you belong to him while he fucked you. He fixes it when it twists around your body, then he lays on top of you, slotting himself between your legs.

He looks at you so tenderly, you feel a calmness settle over you—one that stops the flow of your tears. He brushes your hair away from your face and kisses the wetness on your cheeks. 

“Are you ready?” he asks quietly, voice a lot more like the one that belonged to the man who just cuddled you for two hours. You nod. “Words, my love.”

“Yes, Shua,” you whisper. “I’m ready.”

He pushes into you fairly easily now that you’ve already taken him several times tonight. Still, you bite your lip at the sensation, closing your eyes like that will help you come to terms with how otherworldly having Joshua inside you feels. He wastes no time moving in and out of you, the sound of both of your moans, skin slapping skin, and the headboard hitting the wall filling the room.

His rhythm falters a bit when he pushes himself off you just so he can shove the shirt you’re wearing up and over your chest. He groans loudly when he sees your tits bouncing with his every thrust. 

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he sighs, fitting his hand between you to play with your clit. 

His fingers are less collected this time, messily pressing into you with little finesse, and his thrusts are becoming unfathomably fast and rough. You realize he’s already close, and it pushes you even closer than you were after all the edging.

“Joshua,” you gasp as you feel your walls start to tighten and spasm around him again. He feels it too because he releases a series of moans that have you near screaming. “Joshua, baby!”

He watches you through heavy-lidded eyes, sweat dripping from the tip of his nose and onto you. You catch a few drops with your tongue. He curses as he immediately reaches up and squeezes your cheeks together, forcing your mouth open and spitting into it again before you can understand what he’s doing. 

“Swallow it,” he grunts and you obey. 

“Please,” you beg. “More.” You moan desperately. “I’m going to come… Joshua, I’m—please, one more.”

“Come for me, baby.”

He takes a longer time collecting his saliva and when he obliges, letting you have a piece of him once more, you come as soon as it hits your tongue, nails digging into his biceps so hard, you start to draw blood. He doesn’t care, though, his hips slamming into you mercilessly as he feels your orgasm’s death grip on him. You think you’re shouting but you’re not sure because all you can process are Joshua’s moans and curses and nonsense, and then you feel it.

A warm release inside you, warmer than anything you’ve experienced, and it’s coating every inch of your insides, claiming you and rewarding you and ruining you for every man after, just like Joshua promised he would.

“Fuck!” he chants repeatedly as he rolls his hips the last few times, making sure to pump every last drop of his cum into you. You lock your ankles together behind him, keeping him there so nothing spills out. He seems to be on the same page, though, collapsing onto you with zero plan of removing himself. “Oh fuck.”

“Yeah,” you breathe. “Fuck.”

He lays there for a long time, his cock already soft inside you, but you don’t dare move or say anything. It’s just a matter of time before you’ll have to leave—before he’ll have to leave—and you’re more than content with just laying here for as long as he’ll let you.

When he finally does show signs of life, he still doesn’t pull out, instead choosing to kiss you slowly and delicately, his tongue lazily tangling with yours until he smiles into your lips.

“What?” you ask, smiling back. 

He leans back and looks at you. “I’m just glad you came over tonight.”

“Me too.”

“Maybe I should cancel my world tour,” he jokes.

You laugh and the sound of it makes him join in too. “Pussy so good, it makes you cancel a world tour.”

“Pussy so good, it makes me cancel a world tour, buy a home in the Maldives, and become your house husband.”

You laugh even harder. You try not to think too hard about his words because in just three days (assuming he doesn’t extend his stay again), he’ll have to leave and continue being everyone’s favorite pop star, and really, you are just happy and grateful to have had these last two, almost three, weeks with him. So you entertain the joke, and you two paint a picture of what life would look like if he weren’t a singer or you weren’t a VIP concierge set on running her own boutique hotel one day, and you try not to get attached to any of it.

When you fall asleep, right there in his bed, you dream of the man laying next to you. You dream of Joshua and are too deep in it—too lost in him—to stir awake when he untangles himself from you, unblocks his manager’s phone number, and texts him to tell him he’s staying on this island indefinitely, just to block him again.

He sleeps better than he has in his entire life that night.

[thediamondlifenetwork]

Heyyy

I was wondering if you’d be up for writing a Scoups fic sometime! Honestly, I’m not picky about the plot I’m just really craving some good Seungcheol fluff and/or angst right now. Totally no pressure if you’re not feeling it, but I’d love to see what you come up with if you’re down. Thanks so much either way!! 💗

where's the trophy, he just comes running over to me

genre: fluff wc: 492 (a/n): i thought of making an angst drabble. but suddenly the alchemy started playing and this was all i could think of :)

The stadium was louder than anything you’d ever experienced. Your hands hurt from clutching the edge of your seat, but you couldn’t relax — not when Seungcheol stood on the runway, pole in hand, staring down the bar that could make him an Olympic champion.

You could tell by his posture — slightly tense, bouncing on his heels, wiping his palms on his shorts — that he was trying to shake off the nerves. You wished you could scream louder than the whole stadium, just to tell him he could do this.

It was his last attempt. His final shot.

You didn’t even know you were holding your breath until he started running.

His strides were long, fast, every movement so familiar to you by now — the way his arm guided the pole, the slight tilt of his body, the little grunt he always made when he pushed off.

You saw the pole bend, the insane flex of it, then snap forward — and Seungcheol was airborne.

You thought your heart stopped — actually stopped — until he flew over the bar, clean.

It wobbled. Everyone around you sucked in a sharp breath.

But it stayed.

For a second, nothing happened. Then the red light turned white, and the stadium exploded. People jumped up, flags waved, horns blared — but all you could see was Seungcheol, still on the mat, blinking up at the sky like he didn’t believe it either.

Then he sat up. His head whipped around, looking, searching and when his eyes landed on you, it was like the whole stadium didn’t exist anymore.

You barely registered moving, but suddenly you were at the barricade, yelling his name and he was already sprinting toward you, dodging the staff and cameras, like an idiot who didn’t care about protocol or medals or any of it.

He didn’t slow down when he reached you — just grabbed you around the waist and pulled you in so hard it knocked a laugh right out of you.

“You did it,” you gasped, slightly out of breath from his grip.

“I did it,” he laughed, still catching his own breath, sweat sticking his hair to his forehead. “Holy shit, I actually did it—”

He didn’t even finish his sentence before he kissed you. Messy, uncoordinated, and a little sweaty, but you didn’t care — you kissed him back just as hard, hands tangled in his damp hair.

He was laughing too, dizzy with it, forehead pressed to yours. “I told you. I told you I’d win it for you.”

“Gold suits you.” you whispered, brushing your thumb over his cheek.

“Yeah,” he grinned, arms still wrapped around you. “But you’re better.”

taglist: @enhacolor @mikrokosmos530 @gyuguys @vincentvvantae @codeinebelle @ateez-atiny380 @steamyjaehyun @theworldofbec @sungday-16 @toplinehyunjin @gyuslilies @gyuhao365 @smiileflower @mnstxmnbb @stillbeautyuniverse

@jwwrld @markdagascar @yoongznme @babilou-pov @afetepositivamente @haniinah @chariseiswriting @liayaa-17 @coupsbestleader @livelaughloveseventeen @a4latus

@wonsivq @seungcheolsblackcard @ininiyy @soohaosgirl @girlkisserrr69 @gyubluesybimoon @liaaya-17 @imhereonlytoread @minwonwoozi @armycarat2612 @thinkernot @barkwoofyapperson @adiknyamingyu @jaja-salute @imhereonlytoread @vielerie

@dinonara-ara @assoulacaratassil @aaronwarners69thwife @chaseyui @blaycke @markoplolo

[thediamondlifenetwork]

Prompt list 3 (number 6) with Hoshi. Maybe in a situation where reader and Hoshi are in a practice room practicing a dance and they’re practicing one particular move that gets them to be insanely close together? Thank you^^🩷

"Shh. There's People In The Other Room."

Pairing: Hoshi x idol!afab!reader

Genre: suggestive, idol!au, drabble

Rating: suggestive/mature

Word count: 0.3k

"5, 6, 7, and 8."

The two of you hit the final pose, chests heaving, skin glistening with sweat. You and Hoshi have been rehearsing for an upcoming collab stage—both main dancers of your respective groups, your companies decided pairing you up was the best move.

And this dance? Sensual would be an understatement.

There's one move in particular that never fails to fluster you—the moment Hoshi presses against you, his body moulding to yours. And every time, without fail, you catch the faint smirk curling at the corner of his lips.

Catching your breath, you swipe a hand across your damp forehead.

"That was better," you say with a smile. Hoshi nods in agreement.

"Still struggling with one part, though," he pouts, and you have to bite back the internal squeal at how unfairly cute he looks.

"We can run it again," you offer.

Hoshi grins before restarting the song, and your breath stutters when you realise which part he's talking about. His hands settle on your hips as he steps behind you, his chest flush against your back. One arm winds around your waist, dragging you even closer as his nose trails from your neck to your shoulder.

His dark eyes lock onto yours in the mirror, and you can't stop the heat flooding your cheeks. He holds the pose far longer than necessary, the air between you thickening with something electric.

Then his fingers begin a slow crawl up your torso.

"H-Hoshi," you gasp.

"Mhm?" His lips brush your ear, voice a low hum as he nuzzles into the curve of your neck.

A broken sound escapes you when he rolls his hips against yours.

"Shhh," he murmurs, breath hot against your skin. "There's people in the other room."

Another slow grind, another whimper torn from your lip—he's unravelling you, piece by piece.

"Hoshi, please," you whisper, voice trembling.

"Please what, baby?"

"I need you."

A dark chuckle rumbles in his chest. "All you had to do was ask."

Taglist: @tinyelfperson @gyuguys @stay-tiny-things @unlikelysublimekryptonite @miyx-amour @iamawkwardandshy @codeinebelle @brownbunnyb @do-you-remember-summer-127 @sclovreina @theidontknowmehn @toplinehyunjin @gyuhao365 @mysticfairies @cherrylovescheol @cookiearmy @4shypotato @lxnnrobin @sashaaahh @xueisaaa17 @aeriyell @eshia16 @dreamingofpcy @archivistworld @kyeomiis @iwannakisspoutycheol @foxiesgf24 @livelaughloveseventeen @kwanniehae @ateez-atiny380 @junnhuisworld @horangipower17 @cheolsbb26 @scoupshawty @shuas-winnie30 @amaranthar @cherriecsc @shadowkoo @winterisnt @combinatoright-blog @my-neurodivergent-world @chugging-antiseptic-dye @senxgwha @mangssunshine @abibliolife @poutsoonie @jennwonwoo @smiileflower @tremendousthingherodean-blog

[thediamondlifenetwork]

for the drabble event, jihoon + "You're just the cutest." "You're the only one who is allowed to say that." please 🥺

"You're Just The Cutest." "You're The Only One Who Is Allowed To Say That."

Pairing: Woozi x afab!reader

Genre: fluff, established relationship, drabble

Rating: sfw

Word count: 0.2k

Your apartment echoes with the sound of your squeals and uncontrollable giggles, a wide grin stretched across your face—a stark contrast to the deep scowl on Jihoon's. Somehow, against all odds, you've managed to squeeze him into a baby blue unicorn onesie—complete with a gold horn and pink tail.

His arms are crossed, his frown deep, but that only makes your laughter worse. You're laughing so hard your stomach aches, and tears are starting to gather in your eyes.

"W-Wait, I have to get pictures of this," you wheeze between fits of laughter.

"No way," Jihoon mutters. "I'm not letting you take photos of me like this."

"But how else am I supposed to preserve this moment forever?" you grin, already pulling out your phone and snapping away.

He groans but doesn't stop you, standing stiffly as you get your shots in.

"You're just the cutest," you coo.

"You're the only one who's allowed to say that," he grumbles, cheeks puffing slightly in protest.

"Aww, you do love me," you tease, reaching up to boop his nose.

"Shut up," he mutters, rolling his eyes—but the faint blush creeping up his cheeks tells you everything you need to know.

Taglist: @tinyelfperson @gyuguys @stay-tiny-things @unlikelysublimekryptonite @miyx-amour @iamawkwardandshy @codeinebelle @brownbunnyb @do-you-remember-summer-127 @sclovreina @theidontknowmehn @toplinehyunjin @gyuhao365 @mysticfairies @cherrylovescheol @cookiearmy @4shypotato @lxnnrobin @sashaaahh @xueisaaa17 @aeriyell @eshia16 @dreamingofpcy @archivistworld @kyeomiis @iwannakisspoutycheol @foxiesgf24 @livelaughloveseventeen @kwanniehae @ateez-atiny380 @junnhuisworld @horangipower17 @cheolsbb26 @scoupshawty @shuas-winnie30 @amaranthar @cherriecsc @shadowkoo @winterisnt @combinatoright-blog @my-neurodivergent-world @chugging-antiseptic-dye @senxgwha @mangssunshine @abibliolife @poutsoonie @aliiikareed @smiileflower

[thediamondlifenetwork]

"Do you think they will like it?” “They will love it!”

Deokyeom (like could it be first time meeting his parents type of thing)

You could write anything tho whatever idea pleases you

"Do You Think They Will Like It?" "They Will Love It!"

Pairing: Dokyeom x afab!reader

Genre: fluff, established relationship, drabble

Rating: sfw

Word count: 0.4k

You fidget with the gift box in your hands, nerves crashing over you like waves. Your fingers keep smoothing over the wrapping paper, checking and rechecking every fold. You'd gone all out—sourcing the highest quality fruits and ginseng you could find, and even hand-making rice cakes from scratch. You couldn't afford to make a bad first impression on your boyfriend's parents.

Noticing your anxiety, Dokyeom reaches over from the driver's seat, resting a reassuring hand over yours.

"You'll be fine, sunshine. My parents already love you," he says with a soft smile, glancing at you briefly before returning his eyes to the road.

"I know…I just—what if I mess up and they hate me?" you mumble, frowning.

He lets out a quiet chuckle, then lifts your hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of it.

"You won't. I promise," he says, voice full of warmth. "They're really excited to meet you. Honestly, I think they might end up liking you more than me."

You manage a small smile, though the nerves still swirl in your chest. "I just hope they like the gift…Do you think they'll like it?"

"They will love it!" he says confidently. "My mom's obsessed with ginseng—says it's her secret to staying young. And I already know your rice cakes are amazing. They'll fall for them, and you, in seconds."

That earns a soft laugh from you, and your shoulders relax just a bit.

Soon, you pull up to his family home. You inhale deeply before stepping out of the car, clutching the gift box tightly. Dokyeom walks over and gently takes your hand, giving it a firm, reassuring squeeze.

The front door swings open before you even reach it, and his mother greets you with a huge, radiant smile.

"There you are! I've heard so much about you—it's so wonderful to finally meet you!" she says, pulling you into a warm hug.

You let out a surprised chuckle, touched by her kindness. So that's where Dokyeom gets his sunshine-like energy from.

"It's so nice to meet you, too," you say, hugging her back.

She ushers you both inside, chatting excitedly. Her eyes widen when you hand her the gift box.

"Oh, sweetheart! You didn't have to!" she gasps, clearly touched. Her smile is contagious, and you find yourself mirroring it without thinking.

The rest of the day flies by. His parents treat you like you're already part of the family—warm, welcoming, and full of praise. When they try your rice cakes, his mom beams and declares they're some of the best she's ever had. You feel your cheeks warm as compliments are showered your way.

Dokyeom leans in, nudging your shoulder with his and flashing you a grin.

"Told you they'd love it."

Taglist: @tinyelfperson @gyuguys @stay-tiny-things @unlikelysublimekryptonite @miyx-amour @iamawkwardandshy @codeinebelle @brownbunnyb @do-you-remember-summer-127 @sclovreina @theidontknowmehn @toplinehyunjin @gyuhao365 @mysticfairies @cherrylovescheol @cookiearmy @4shypotato @lxnnrobin @sashaaahh @xueisaaa17 @aeriyell @eshia16 @dreamingofpcy @archivistworld @kyeomiis @iwannakisspoutycheol @foxiesgf24 @livelaughloveseventeen @kwanniehae @ateez-atiny380 @junnhuisworld @horangipower17 @cheolsbb26 @scoupshawty @shuas-winnie30 @amaranthar @cherriecsc @shadowkoo @winterisnt @combinatoright-blog @my-neurodivergent-world @chugging-antiseptic-dye @senxgwha @mangssunshine @abibliolife @poutsoonie @smiileflower @cherriecsc

[thediamondlifenetwork]

"so what's the price for this" + jun heheheheheehehheh

"So What's The Price For This?"

Pairing: Jun x afab!potter!reader

Genre: fluff, crack, drabble

Rating: sfw

Word count: 0.3k

You perk up at the sound of the bell chiming, signalling a customer has entered your shop. Straightening up, you head to the entrance to greet them.

"Hello! Welcome to Pottery Paradise. Let me know if I can help you with anything," you say, slipping into your best customer service voice.

The customer—who happens to be really handsome—blinks, his expression blank for a moment before he gives a sheepish smile.

"Hey, uh…just browsing," he says, scratching the back of his neck.

"Of course, feel free! We've got a wide range of wares," you say, gesturing toward the shelves proudly.

He nods and begins to wander the shop, eyes wide in curiosity and admiration.

"Did you make all of this?" he asks, pausing in front of a delicate ceramic vase.

"Yup! All handcrafted by yours truly," you reply, a hint of pride in your voice.

"Wow…that's incredible,” he says, clearly impressed.

Then, after a moment, he glances your way and adds, "So, what's the price for this masterpiece?" While pointing at you.

"…"

"…"

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave," you deadpan.

"N-No! Wait! That came out wrong!" he stammers, eyes wide.

You raise an eyebrow, unimpressed and very close to done with him already.

"I'm serious! I didn't mean it like that!" he insists. "It's just…you're really pretty. And I'd really like to take you out sometime."

You narrow your eyes, then sigh. "Buy one of my vases and I'll give you my number."

"Deal," he says instantly.

You lead him to your most expensive collection, and without hesitation, he picks one out and pays for it. True to your word, you scribble your number on a slip of paper and hand it to him.

He grins as he tucks it into his pocket. "I'll see you soon," he says with a wink, then turns and strolls out the door.

You watch him leave, still not sure what just happened.

Will you reply to his messages? Probably not.

But hey, at least you made a sale today.

Taglist: @tinyelfperson @gyuguys @stay-tiny-things @unlikelysublimekryptonite @miyx-amour @iamawkwardandshy @codeinebelle @brownbunnyb @do-you-remember-summer-127 @sclovreina @theidontknowmehn @toplinehyunjin @gyuhao365 @mysticfairies @cherrylovescheol @cookiearmy @4shypotato @lxnnrobin @sashaaahh @xueisaaa17 @aeriyell @eshia16 @dreamingofpcy @archivistworld @kyeomiis @iwannakisspoutycheol @foxiesgf24 @livelaughloveseventeen @kwanniehae @ateez-atiny380 @junnhuisworld @horangipower17 @cheolsbb26 @scoupshawty @shuas-winnie30 @amaranthar @cherriecsc @shadowkoo @winterisnt @combinatoright-blog @my-neurodivergent-world @chugging-antiseptic-dye @senxgwha @mangssunshine @abibliolife @poutsoonie @aliiikareed

[thediamondlifenetwork]

"it's hot when you talk back" + scoups for the drabble event hehe

"It's Hot When You Talk Back"

Pairing: husband!Seungcheol x wife!afab!reader

Genre: fluff, established relationship, drabble

Rating: sfw

Word count: 0.3k

"Darling, you didn't load the dishwasher properly," your husband sighs from the kitchen.

From your spot on the couch, you frown. You were sure you loaded it properly earlier. Maybe the dishes shifted during the wash?

You head into the kitchen and find Seungcheol standing over the open dishwasher, inspecting it like a crime scene. The dishes are exactly how you left them—neat, organised, totally fine.

"Cheol, what are you even talking about? Everything looks fine," you say, pointing at the rack.

"No, this one's clearly slightly crooked," he grumbles, gesturing to a plate that's tilted maybe two degrees off-centre.

Your jaw drops. You stare at him, utterly baffled.

"Cheol, you cannot be serious," you deadpan.

"I am! They have to be perfect," he insists, arms crossed.

You let out a long sigh and turned to leave. "I cannot do this with you right now."

"Oh, so now you're ignoring me,” he frowns dramatically.

"You're being annoying, and I value my peace, so yes," you mutter as you walk away.

"So now I'm annoying?" he gasps, offended. "Wow. And here I thought you loved me."

You whip around, exasperated. "Cheol, what is wrong with you today?"

"What's wrong with me?! What's wrong with you?!" he fires back.

"You're being ridiculous!" you snap.

"Well, you're being hot!" he blurts.

You blink. "What?"

"It's hot when you talk back," he smirks. "I can't help it—I argue with you for fun."

You stare at him, trying to process whether you want to laugh or scream.

"You little shit," you growl, grabbing the nearest spatula off the counter and swinging it at him.

But Seungcheol's already bolting, laughing like a maniac as he dashes out of reach.

"Get back here!" you shout, chasing after him.

"I love you too!" he calls back, still cackling as he runs.

Taglist: @tinyelfperson @gyuguys @stay-tiny-things @unlikelysublimekryptonite @miyx-amour @iamawkwardandshy @codeinebelle @brownbunnyb @do-you-remember-summer-127 @sclovreina @theidontknowmehn @toplinehyunjin @gyuhao365 @mysticfairies @cherrylovescheol @cookiearmy @4shypotato @lxnnrobin @sashaaahh @xueisaaa17 @aeriyell @eshia16 @dreamingofpcy @archivistworld @kyeomiis @iwannakisspoutycheol @foxiesgf24 @livelaughloveseventeen @kwanniehae @ateez-atiny380 @junnhuisworld @horangipower17 @cheolsbb26 @scoupshawty @shuas-winnie30 @amaranthar @cherriecsc @shadowkoo @winterisnt @combinatoright-blog @my-neurodivergent-world @chugging-antiseptic-dye @senxgwha @mangssunshine @abibliolife @poutsoonie @aliiikareed @jennwonwoo @brownsugarbaybee @adiknyamingyu @smiileflower @yeo6ju @cherriecsc

[thediamondlifenetwork]

"sit on my face" + jeonghan for the event!!!

"Sit On My Face."

Pairing: Jeonghan x afab!reader

Genre: smut, established relationship, drabble

Rating: mature

Word count: 0.2k

Warnings: oral (fem receiving), pussy drunk Jeonghan, lemme know if I missed anything!

"Sit on my face," he growls, dragging you down with him as he collapses onto the mattress.

"J-Jeonghan! Slow down!" you squeal, his frantic hands already ripping your panties aside—thank god you're wearing a skirt.

"Can't. Missed this pretty pussy too much," he mumbles before swiping a rough, hungry lick up your folds, eliciting a sharp gasp from your lips.

"Fuck, Han!" you cry out as he dives in without mercy, tongue working your aching cunt like he's starved for it.

And maybe he is—the way he devours you, messy and desperate, spit-slick and relentless. His fingers dig into your thighs, locking you in place, leaving you no choice but to grip his hair and take it, pleasure coiling tighter with every filthy lap of his tongue.

"C-Cumming!" you whimper, the climax crashing over you like a wave, but Jeonghan doesn't stop. Doesn't even pause. He licks you through it, pushing you straight toward another, until you're sobbing, "H-Hannie!" as your second orgasm shatters you, your juices dripping down his chin.

Only then does he finally pull back, letting you slump onto the bed, boneless and breathless. But before you can recover, he's stripping out of his clothes, looming over you with dark eyes.

"Oh, sweetheart," he murmurs, voice rough, "I'm far from done with you."

Taglist: @tinyelfperson @gyuguys @stay-tiny-things @unlikelysublimekryptonite @miyx-amour @iamawkwardandshy @codeinebelle @brownbunnyb @do-you-remember-summer-127 @sclovreina @theidontknowmehn @toplinehyunjin @gyuhao365 @mysticfairies @cherrylovescheol @cookiearmy @4shypotato @lxnnrobin @sashaaahh @xueisaaa17 @aeriyell @eshia16 @dreamingofpcy @archivistworld @kyeomiis @iwannakisspoutycheol @foxiesgf24 @livelaughloveseventeen @kwanniehae @ateez-atiny380 @junnhuisworld @horangipower17 @cheolsbb26 @scoupshawty @shuas-winnie30 @amaranthar @cherriecsc @shadowkoo @winterisnt @combinatoright-blog @my-neurodivergent-world @chugging-antiseptic-dye @senxgwha @mangssunshine @abibliolife @poutsoonie @cherrybb96 @smiileflower @cherriecsc @tremendousthingherodean-blog

[thediamondlifenetwork]

Prompt list 3 (number 27) with seungcheol, thanks ♡

"Each Of My Thoughts About You Is Improper."

Pairing: heir!Seungcheol x heir!afab!reader

Genre: suggestive, non-idol!au, heir!au, enemies to ???, drabble

Rating: suggestive/mature

Word count: 0.4k

Warnings: mentions of alcohol, lemme know if I missed anything!

The room buzzes with chatter, filled with the clink of glasses and the low hum of pretentious laughter. Prestige and grandeur hang heavy in the air like cheap perfume. You sigh, rolling your shoulders back, already sick of the crowd—plastic smiles, inflated egos, and fake politeness.

Being the sole heir to Kim Corp. means these kinds of events are unavoidable, no matter how much they make your skin crawl.

Your gaze lazily sweeps across the room, scanning the sea of high society masks—until it lands on him. Choi Seungcheol.

Your lips twist into an immediate scowl. Of course, he's here. The heir to Choi Corp., your company's biggest rival—and naturally, your biggest headache. With the rivalry between your families, bad blood practically runs in your veins when it comes to him.

Already annoyed, you grumble under your breath and head toward the champagne table. If you're going to suffer through this night, you might as well do it with a decent drink in hand.

Just as you reach out for a glass, another hand grabs the same one. Your eyes snap up—and of course, it's him. Choi Seungcheol, looking smug as ever.

"Let go, Choi," you snap. "That one's mine."

"Oh?" He raises a brow. "Didn't see your name on it, Kim."

"I touched it first. It's mine," you huff.

You know it's childish. You do. But if it means winning against Seungcheol—even over a glass of champagne—you'll die on this hill.

"Then try and take it from me," he challenges, lips curling into a smirk.

"Were you born this insufferable," you hiss, "or did you have to work for it?"

"Oh, sweetheart," he grins, "only you get this side of me."

"Fuck you," you bite.

"You really shouldn't say things like that," he purrs, voice dropping.

"I'll say whatever the hell I want," you growl.

"Words like that," he murmurs, leaning in slightly, "make it very hard for me to behave."

"W-What?" you stammer, thrown off.

He closes the space, his breath brushing the shell of your ear.

"Each of my thoughts about you is improper," he whispers, voice thick with heat. "And I'm running out of patience."

You choke on your own spit, stumbling back, cheeks burning and eyes wide. Seungcheol simply plucks the champagne from your slackened grip, gives you a wink, and walks off like he didn't just set your entire nervous system on fire.

You're left frozen, heart pounding in your chest.

What the hell kind of game is he playing?

Taglist: @tinyelfperson @gyuguys @stay-tiny-things @unlikelysublimekryptonite @miyx-amour @iamawkwardandshy @codeinebelle @brownbunnyb @do-you-remember-summer-127 @sclovreina @theidontknowmehn @toplinehyunjin @gyuhao365 @mysticfairies @cherrylovescheol @cookiearmy @4shypotato @lxnnrobin @sashaaahh @xueisaaa17 @aeriyell @eshia16 @dreamingofpcy @archivistworld @kyeomiis @iwannakisspoutycheol @foxiesgf24 @livelaughloveseventeen @kwanniehae @ateez-atiny380 @junnhuisworld @horangipower17 @cheolsbb26 @scoupshawty @shuas-winnie30 @amaranthar @cherriecsc @shadowkoo @winterisnt @combinatoright-blog @my-neurodivergent-world @chugging-antiseptic-dye @senxgwha @mangssunshine @abibliolife @poutsoonie @aliiikareed @jennwonwoo @brownsugarbaybee @adiknyamingyu @smiileflower @yeo6ju @cherriecsc

[thediamondlifenetwork]

Prompt list 3 (numbers 5 and 7) with Seungcheol, could they be paired? Maybe in a situation where the reader is jealous of something but it's not official yet with him even though there's a lot of chemistry and feelings involved. Thanks ♡

"You Look Like You Were Jealous." + "Say You Want Me, And I'm Yours."

Pairing: Seungcheol x afab!reader

Genre: suggestive, non-idol!au, drabble

Rating: suggestive/mature

Word count: 0.3k

Warning: mentions of alcohol, lemme know if I missed anything!

Request a drabble from me using these prompts!

Club music pounds in your ears, the burn of alcohol still lingering in your throat. You've been scowling ever since you stepped foot into the place. It's Seungcheol’s birthday tonight, and to celebrate, he dragged your entire friend group out to his favourite club.

Normally, you wouldn't complain. You like clubs—getting drunk, losing yourself in the music, letting the night blur away your stress. But tonight? Tonight, you're more wound up than ever.

And the reason? The birthday boy himself.

Seungcheol's always had that kind of aura—the kind that demands attention the second he walks into a room. Naturally, that comes with girls hanging off him at every chance they get. Normally, you'd just roll your eyes, sip your drink, and pretend not to care.

But tonight, it's different.

Tonight, it's infuriating. Tonight, it feels like every giggle from a girl on his arm is digging into your skin. Your blood simmers, burning like the liquor sliding down your throat.

A thought creeps into your head: Is this jealousy?

You shut it down immediately. No. No way. You are not jealous. Sure, he's strong. Protective. Charming. Hot. But that doesn't mean you like him…right?

Scoffing to yourself, you knock back another shot and close your eyes, letting the alcohol buzz ripple through you. When you open them again, you're met with a familiar smirk.

Seungcheol. Staring straight at you.

You roll your eyes as he saunters over.

"Hey, pretty. Having fun?" he purrs.

You scowl. "What are you doing here, Cheol? Don't you have some whores to flirt with?"

He laughs, unfazed. "Mhm, but you look like you were jealous. So I thought I'd come check on you."

"Please." You scoff. "You wish."

He steps closer, hooking a finger through your belt loop and tugging you in. You gasp as your body collides with his, chest to chest. His brown eyes lock onto yours, intense, unreadable.

Then he leans in, lips a breath away from yours.

"Say you want me," he murmurs, "and I'm all yours."

Your eyes go wide. You swallow hard. A thousand thoughts race through your head—but they all vanish the second your gaze drops to his plush lips.

Fuck it.

Taglist: @tinyelfperson @gyuguys @stay-tiny-things @unlikelysublimekryptonite @miyx-amour @iamawkwardandshy @codeinebelle @brownbunnyb @do-you-remember-summer-127 @sclovreina @theidontknowmehn @toplinehyunjin @gyuhao365 @mysticfairies @cherrylovescheol @cookiearmy @4shypotato @lxnnrobin @sashaaahh @xueisaaa17 @aeriyell @eshia16 @dreamingofpcy @archivistworld @kyeomiis @iwannakisspoutycheol @foxiesgf24 @livelaughloveseventeen @kwanniehae @ateez-atiny380 @junnhuisworld @horangipower17 @cheolsbb26 @scoupshawty @shuas-winnie30 @amaranthar @cherriecsc @shadowkoo @winterisnt @combinatoright-blog @my-neurodivergent-world @chugging-antiseptic-dye @senxgwha @mangssunshine @abibliolife @poutsoonie @aliiikareed @jennwonwoo @brownsugarbaybee @adiknyamingyu @smiileflower @yeo6ju @cherriecsc